A gusty wind blew across the gently undulating expanse, carrying with it a multitude of noises and smells.
The steady din made by thousands of people, a distant stench of deep-fried food, the echo of galloping hooves on the ground. Shouts and laughter. Sweat. Horses. Bookkeepers' assistants hollering. Music, fiddles, drums, no doubt from the colorful group of the Wagonfolks. Everything mingled with the eternal touch of sea and salt, of rain somewhere far away. Dust. Rising excitement.
A small group of horses appeared from behind a hillock in leisurely canter, and the crowd seemed to push closer. The sturdy fence separating them from the grassy field groaned under the assault, but it held.
Countless pairs of narrowed eyes followed the horses, took in their every movement, every toss of head and whisking of tail. Did the rider of the strawberry chestnut perhaps rein him in a bit too forcefully? Was the shiny black-with-a-blaze looking unusually muted? Whispers, nods, frowns, scribbling in little notebooks, then a steady flow towards the bookkeepers who tried not to look too pleased.
A gloved hand rose distractedly, swept aside some hairs that had been blown into disarray by the refreshing breeze, then reached towards a plate of sandwiches and picked up one.
"She's a beauty," Chiséra said approvingly.
Gioréo took a bite of the sandwich and nodded. "She is... though, which one are we now talking about? The lady or the horse?"
Chiséra chuckled, lips pursing in amusement. "It applies to both, I think. But we were last talking about the lady, brother dear."
Ghía Gioréo smiled and settled more comfortably against the shining, padded back of his seat. "She'd be a perfect match. With such a family and connections, and beautiful as well."
"Don't try to give me that," Chiséra said with a little shake of his head. "Perfect match be damned. You're in love with her."
Gioréo really, actually looked down and fingered his glass, even though no extra color rose to his fair face. "Maybe I am."
Chiséra couldn't help observing, once more, how wonderfully well black suited his brother. After their father's recent death Gioréo was now the head of the family, but the proper period of mourning was still not over. He didn't let that deter himself from attending the annual Gherto Races, however, and now looked absolutely resplendent in his all-black velvet suit, with trimmings of black satin and the whitest of white lace. Every time the sun peeked from behind the clouds, it made his golden hair shine against the blackness like spun metal.
Chiséra was amused to see the admiring looks ¨C sometimes furtive, sometimes bordering on stares ¨C that they kept getting every time someone passed them by. They were sitting in their roomy landau, facing each other, legs stretched across the space between, with a small table placed on one side to hold their refreshments. To their right and left there were dozens of other carriages, equally parked in this exclusive section of the area where the rich and powerful could settle for the whole day to watch the races in comfort.
Their horses had been walked away, both to make more room and to prevent accidents on the crowded terrace, but the ordinary folks could still walk past nearby and ogle the stupendous display of wealth and splendor. This they did eagerly, especially the women and children, and were diligently ignored by the occupants of the carriages. They in turn were busy ogling something else: the events on the racecourse, spurred either by genuine interest in the animals or a consuming passion for gambling, and of course each other.
Chiséra could see the carriage of the esteemed Renosch family somewhat further away, where the fence made a little bend, and smiled.
"Would you want to switch places with me?" he asked smoothly, and Gioréo's eyebrows quirked.
"Wouldn't that be a bit too obvious?"
"Oh, not at all." Chiséra smirked. "I think I'll go and bet some money on Vixen. You can switch meanwhile."
"You're going to lose," Gioréo warned, but Chiséra merely flashed him a lazy smile.
"Don't be so sure, brother. She's a feisty little thing, it shows in her gait and in the way she looks at everyone around her."
Gioréo shrugged and sipped his wine as his brother stepped down and strolled towards the bookkeepers hovering near the entrance of the terrace, like vultures waiting for prey.
Chiséra felt the eyes on him. This was the first time when he was out like this, in full view of everybody, since Gioréo had officially declared him a Ghía. Yes, his elder brother had indeed done what he'd so many times spoken of, and now Chiséra was legally his next of kin, his brother, living in the mansion amid all the luxury. It was still a new thing, though, and he felt pleasant shivers creeping up and down the back of his neck as he calmly walked to the gate, head held high, wind threading its fingers through his hair.
Let them look, he thought, look and speculate, for that they were all busy at. Where had he come from? Who was he? Was he indeed related to his fair brother? Nobody knew it for certain, but there where whispers and hints flying about.
From the way some people looked at him, Chiséra knew that some suspected a link between the ruthless youngster reputedly employed by the old Ghía some time before his death, and the handsome man walking with a self-assured step past their carriages. Nobody dared say anything aloud, though, because nobody knew for certain. Mere guesses didn't count; they hadn't before, they wouldn't now. Chiséra knew how to look after himself.
He completed his transaction with one of the bookkeepers, a prematurely wizened little man who handed the receipt to him and then bowed several times, visibly somewhat flustered. Chiséra had made sure that the man entered his bets correctly in the book, and felt generous enough to nod politely before turning to go. As he walked back, he let his gaze sweep over the people lounging in their carriages and smothered a smirk as he saw several of them turn their heads, pretending to have looked the other way all the while. Why was it supposed to be such a non-genteel thing to show genuine curiosity?
The smile did break through, though, when he got close enough to their landau to notice that Gioréo had indeed taken his advice. The older brother was now settled on the seat Chiséra had occupied mere moments ago, facing in the direction where the Renosch family was seated in their own lofty carriage. That meant Chiséra would have to sit partly sideways to see the racecourse properly, but he didn't mind. Wouldn't he suffer such minor inconveniences for his brother and for the prosperity of the Ghía family?
With a grin he hopped back in and slid on the leather seat that still felt somewhat little warmer than it should, gaze searching for the mare he'd just place a bet on.
"I hope you find the scenery more pleasing to the eye now?" he asked with a lazy drawl and a wink. Gioréo rolled his eyes.
"Plenty, beloved brother. I also observe that I can see the horses way better from here. Are you sure you don't want to switch back after all?"
"Positive." Chiséra crossed his legs, clad in velvet of the deepest, earthiest umber imaginable, and leaned back. "Just use the opportunity well, I'll be perfectly fine here."
Gioréo sighed but didn't press the matter, and in companionable silence they sipped their wine while the participants of the next race were gathering to the other side of the course for the start. Tension was rising among the spectators, under the watchful eyes of the guards the bookkeepers were calling for the last bets for this start, and the so far undecided customers thronged closer, trying to make up their minds before the sound of the bell would carry across the fields.
Chiséra leaned his elbow on the side of the carriage, eyes narrowing as he watched the horses burst into speed. At first they were just a dark, undulating blotch on green grass, but soon the blotch began to stretch longer and narrower, and finally a few individual dark spots separated themselves from the spearhead rushing towards the finish. The rumble of the crowd rose in pace with their madly beating hooves, encouraging, disbelieving, yelling at the sheer tension in the air, and by the time the dark trio thundered across the finishing line, Chiséra was half standing as well, one knee braced on the seat, gloved fingers gripping polished wood.
"By the seven saints," he muttered, lips pulling into a satisfied smirk as he glanced at his brother and settled back on the leather seat. "Didn't I tell you that you were underestimating her?"
"But Vixen wasn't the first one across the line!" Gioréo argued. "Regal Smile won by at least two heads."
"Of course she didn't win!" Chiséra looked smug. "But then, I didn't bet just on her victory. I also made a second bet, that she'd be among the first three, and now I've won anyway."
"I wouldn't have expected such caution from you," Gioréo said shaking his head.
"Caution? Doubling my chances to win, that's what I call it," Chiséra retorted. "Sometimes that is great wisdom. For instance, when I don't want my darling brother to overspend on me but instead intend to try and increase my own fortune as best I can."
Gioréo sighed. This had been the one recurring topic on which they'd nearly quarreled a few times now: money. He would've wanted to split his father's inheritance in two equal parts, one for each of them, but for some reason Chiséra was adamantly against it. He would accept gifts, clothes, jewelry, even the comfortable, albeit secluded villa by the sea that his brother had given to him, but flatly refused to take any more than that.
Gioréo didn't want to fight over it, especially not now, and decided to let the reference slide.
"How much did you bet then?" he asked, curious. Chiséra showed him a piece of paper and he couldn't help rolling his eyes. "Ahh, I take it back. I wouldn't call that 'caution', either."
"I knew you'd see my point of view!" Chiséra raised his glass in a toast. "Let's drink, brother -- to the lovely lady whose very name means money!"
Gioréo smiled and mirrored the motion, then tilted his head in question when Chiséra shook his head with a chuckle. "What?"
"I was talking about Vixen, my dear Gioréo."
Chiséra's tone was one of exaggerated patience, and only then did the older brother realize that his gaze had indeed strayed for a fleeting moment to a certain young lady seated in her family's carriage by the bend of the fence. He felt heat rise to his cheeks.
"Mmm," Chiséra hummed into his drink, eyes glittering with mirth. "Her name means money, too. And I honestly think you should take action, brother, before they have time to promise her to someone else... someone who'd just marry her for the money and connections."
He held Gioréo's gaze for a moment, then added: "Unlike you."
Gioréo made no attempt to reply, and the corner of Chiséra's mouth twitched as he reached out to take another tiny sandwich from the tray.
