the novella
Jan. 28th, 2020 02:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7via https://ift.tt/30ZxHXt
oh but. a novella isn’t strictly under 20k. i could go as high as, like, 30 or 40k and it would still be a perfectly reasonable novella.
i could. intersperse some flashbacks and work in a whole lot more of this juicy backstory, and then take out the clumsy as-you-know-bob asides in this thing. and then i’d be finished.
well, fuck, this sounds like fun.
so for example they can be kids, f, and
“What’s your name?” I asked.
Martins sat up on an elbow, looking at me across the aisle. We were in the stables, not exactly hiding from the swordmaster, but taking our time about putting the saddles away after cleaning. “What?”
“I said,” and it was an effort to sound nonchalant, “what’s your name?”
“You’ve known me two years,” Martins said, sitting up all the way. “You call me by my name every day.”
“It’s not your name,” I said, and he stared at me for still one more moment before he got it.
“It’s what I have,” he said, expression pulling inward as if he were hurt.
“The other Martins has a name,” I said, making myself continue even though I hated the way he looked when he was hurt. “I was on duty in the room with him and I heard him and the king talking and the king called him Barti.”
My Martins looked down at his feet. “I know,” he said quietly. “His name was Bartas before he was dedicated to the god.”
“So what was your name before you were dedicated?” I asked.
“I didn’t have one,” he said. His shoulders were hunched in now, and I hated that I was pressing him because it clearly upset him, but I had to know.
“You’re telling me your mother birthed you, looked at you, and said, oh I just won’t call this one anything,” I said. Which I knew fine well was a low blow; nobody mentioned the dead Queen, ever, ever ever. But I knew a lot about dead mothers nobody ever mentioned. And if he turned this back around on me I was prepared to answer it.
“I don’t know,” he said. “No one will talk to me about her at all, Feliks. Why, do you know something?” It came out bitter, a tone that suited him ill.
“Why would I know more about your mother than you do?” I asked, a little startled and guilty. Obviously, Mats did know something, or suspect it, which was why he was trying to use me to find it out, but I hadn’t expected Martins to pick up on that.
“Because people will talk about things in front of you,” he said, explosively, like he didn’t mean to say it, and then he shut his mouth tightly.
But I knew what he meant. “I’m nobody,” I said quietly. “I’m nobody, and I’m little, and I don’t look like I’ll ever be anybody, so people can say whatever they want to in front of me.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Feliks,” Martins said miserably.
“But it’s true,” I said. I hadn’t really thought about it, but it was, and it was exactly why Mats had– well, probably why he’d given me arms in the first place, with an eye toward this end. It was possible it was the entire reason I hadn’t been left out on the hillside where unwanted infants were sacrificed, that Mats had forseen how I’d be useful.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t been shown any affection or anything, but I knew how ruthless even the sweet nursemaid could be, if it meant the difference between survival and starving for the rest. I’d been marked as useful, and so I’d better prove to be, so they wouldn’t have to make such hard decisions for the newer ones.
We sat quietly a moment, and Martins said, softly, “I wouldn’t ask you to spy for me. I’m sorry, that was wrong.”
“No,” I said, and looked up at him. “No, Martins, I would spy for you. If they talk about you, I’ll tell you. If they talk about your mother, I’ll tell you.” But even as I said it, I knew that I’d tell Mats first.
oh but. a novella isn’t strictly under 20k. i could go as high as, like, 30 or 40k and it would still be a perfectly reasonable novella.
i could. intersperse some flashbacks and work in a whole lot more of this juicy backstory, and then take out the clumsy as-you-know-bob asides in this thing. and then i’d be finished.
well, fuck, this sounds like fun.
so for example they can be kids, f, and
“What’s your name?” I asked.
Martins sat up on an elbow, looking at me across the aisle. We were in the stables, not exactly hiding from the swordmaster, but taking our time about putting the saddles away after cleaning. “What?”
“I said,” and it was an effort to sound nonchalant, “what’s your name?”
“You’ve known me two years,” Martins said, sitting up all the way. “You call me by my name every day.”
“It’s not your name,” I said, and he stared at me for still one more moment before he got it.
“It’s what I have,” he said, expression pulling inward as if he were hurt.
“The other Martins has a name,” I said, making myself continue even though I hated the way he looked when he was hurt. “I was on duty in the room with him and I heard him and the king talking and the king called him Barti.”
My Martins looked down at his feet. “I know,” he said quietly. “His name was Bartas before he was dedicated to the god.”
“So what was your name before you were dedicated?” I asked.
“I didn’t have one,” he said. His shoulders were hunched in now, and I hated that I was pressing him because it clearly upset him, but I had to know.
“You’re telling me your mother birthed you, looked at you, and said, oh I just won’t call this one anything,” I said. Which I knew fine well was a low blow; nobody mentioned the dead Queen, ever, ever ever. But I knew a lot about dead mothers nobody ever mentioned. And if he turned this back around on me I was prepared to answer it.
“I don’t know,” he said. “No one will talk to me about her at all, Feliks. Why, do you know something?” It came out bitter, a tone that suited him ill.
“Why would I know more about your mother than you do?” I asked, a little startled and guilty. Obviously, Mats did know something, or suspect it, which was why he was trying to use me to find it out, but I hadn’t expected Martins to pick up on that.
“Because people will talk about things in front of you,” he said, explosively, like he didn’t mean to say it, and then he shut his mouth tightly.
But I knew what he meant. “I’m nobody,” I said quietly. “I’m nobody, and I’m little, and I don’t look like I’ll ever be anybody, so people can say whatever they want to in front of me.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Feliks,” Martins said miserably.
“But it’s true,” I said. I hadn’t really thought about it, but it was, and it was exactly why Mats had– well, probably why he’d given me arms in the first place, with an eye toward this end. It was possible it was the entire reason I hadn’t been left out on the hillside where unwanted infants were sacrificed, that Mats had forseen how I’d be useful.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t been shown any affection or anything, but I knew how ruthless even the sweet nursemaid could be, if it meant the difference between survival and starving for the rest. I’d been marked as useful, and so I’d better prove to be, so they wouldn’t have to make such hard decisions for the newer ones.
We sat quietly a moment, and Martins said, softly, “I wouldn’t ask you to spy for me. I’m sorry, that was wrong.”
“No,” I said, and looked up at him. “No, Martins, I would spy for you. If they talk about you, I’ll tell you. If they talk about your mother, I’ll tell you.” But even as I said it, I knew that I’d tell Mats first.
no subject
Date: 2020-01-31 03:42 am (UTC)