“Mela, has the viscount ever had children?” La’tiera was in the dining room, her lunch almost finished, it having taken her that long to figure out how to broach the subject.
The old woman raised a questioning brow. “Milady, what prompted you to ask?”
La’tiera stared down at her plate. “Well, he’s always been so good to me, I thought surely he would be a wonderful father. And it would be nice if he did have children, then they could keep him company once I had gone.”
Mela stared at her for a long moment. La’tiera became suddenly certain she wouldn’t answer. Maybe he did have a scarred daughter after all.
“His lordship was married once, long ago. But his wife died before she bore him any children.”
“He didn’t remarry?” Some of the heroic tales La’tiera had read spoke of marriage and the importance of begetting heirs. That it was the duty of the highborn to create stability for the peasants. How one had anything to do with the other she wasn’t sure. She frowned, realizing that her question of children should have occurred to her sooner. Yet it never had.
“His name was matched to hers. He would not demean his vows by marrying another.” Mela’s tone showed a touch of impatience. She’d never been one to answer questions. At least, La’tiera now knew the rumors about a hidden daughter were about her.
“What will you do this afternoon, milady?” Mela wiped the other end of the table as La’tiera finished the rest of her meal.
“I thought I’d take a book and read out in the garden. The morning was very pleasant outside.”
Mela frowned. “Being outside so much is not good for you.”
“I’ll make sure to sit in the shade,” she countered. “Besides, I don’t have much longer, so it shouldn’t matter, should it?”
The old woman gnawed on this for a moment before finally nodding. “Allright, milady. But take care. You seemed a little flushed earlier. The viscount wouldn’t like it if you became ill.”
“I won’t.” She excused herself and made her way to the library. In her mind, she was going over the books she loved best and which of them she’d like to share with Aya. Maybe the girl would also have stories she could share. It would be fun to hear of the troupe’s travels. As long as Aya didn’t decide to embellish them too much, she would learn more about the world she would never see.
With the book she thought might be best, she went on to the garden. It wasn’t until she got there that she realized she had no idea when Aya might be back. Wanting to see her as soon as possible, she headed for the far side of the garden.
She’d yet to ask the girl how she was getting in and of the place without being seen. The tall ramparts stood ever-vigilant beyond the garden wall. Occasionally, she could see a guard walk by, too far away to see other than as an indistinct silhouette. She doubted they could see her any better. She supposed they thought her to be the viscount’s daughter and she was too distant for them to tell if she was burned or not—if they ever looked in instead of out.
She reached the far end of the garden but still found no sign of Aya. A soft breeze touched her hair as she picked a bench under a shade tree to sit and wait for her. Resting against the trunk, she closed her eyes and listened to the birds chirping happily in the early afternoon.
A short while later, she sat up, an unusual metallic sound startling her out of a half-doze. Thinking it must be Aya, she retrieved her book and got up, searching for where the sound might have come from.
Against the wall, close to where it made a corner with the side of the manor, she spotted something that looked like the metallic talon of a bird hooked near the top. Cautiously going closer, she heard scrambling sounds from the other side of the wall then saw Aya’s small form. Though no limbs hung low enough to the wall, a nearby oak shaded the spot, neatly keeping Aya from view of the ramparts.
“Greetings!”
“Welcome back, Aya.”
The girl straddled the wall then inched over it away from the metal hook. “I brought your surprise with me.”
La’tiera didn’t see anything in her hands, and if she had this “surprise” in her pocket it wasn’t obvious. Still, her curiosity was piqued, wondering what the sprite would want to show her.
Aya glanced back to the other side of the wall, a smile on her face.
“Aya, what have you—” The rest of the words choked off in her throat as a dark head crested the top of the wall. The surprise wasn’t a thing but a person.
She took a step back, her book falling on the ground from numb fingers. “No…”
As the new face cleared the wall, the small hope that Aya had only brought another child died. The long black hair, piercing dark-blue eyes and square jaw didn’t belong to any child. The bright band holding back his hair nudged at her memory—he was Aya’s stage partner.
“Stop!” Panic gripped her insides as he pushed onto the top of the wall. “You’re not allowed in here.” Her hand rose to her chest, making sure her necklace was in place, her breathing growing labored.
“What’s wrong? It’s only Dal.” Aya stared in confusion from one to the other. “He just wanted to meet you.”
La’tiera took another step back. He wanted to meet her? Why? Warnings from her uncle about those who would seek for her, of their craving to stop those wanting to appease the demons and save the world, preferring chaos and death, echoed in her mind. Dread covered her like a storm. Of Aya she had no doubts, but this stranger…
The risk was just too great. She grabbed her skirts, preparing to run back to the other side of the garden. She wouldn’t tell on Aya or the stranger, but neither would she stay and take a chance.
“Milady, please wait!”
The unexpected entreaty and sweet baritone brought her to a stop. She didn’t turn back around, however.
“It wasn’t my intention to scare you,” he said softly. “Aya only mentioned she’d found a new friend, and I was curious to meet her.”
His words sounded reasonable, but they did nothing to slow her speeding heart.
“I won’t enter your garden, if that is your wish. I’ll go away altogether if looking at me offends you.”
Frowning at the strange words, La’tiera dared to peer behind her. She noted the young man hadn’t moved. Aya’s worried face tugged at her heart.
“You…You don’t offend me. It’s just not allowed. We have rules.” She slowly turned back around but wouldn’t let her eyes meet his. “They’re the viscount’s orders. Outsiders just aren’t allowed in this garden.”
“Allright,” the newcomer said seriously, “then we won’t come in. We’ll just sit here.”
La’tiera frowned, knowing there was more to the viscount’s wishes than that but not knowing how to say so without giving things away. “I really should be going.”
She half-turned to go.
“Wait!”
La’tiera hesitated, wondering at his almost desperate insistence.
“Aya and I did go through some trouble to get here. Couldn’t you at least speak with us for a few moments?”
She shook her head.
“At least, tell me why not. Unless you lied about being offended by my face?”
“I’m sorry, I just can’t!” She rushed off down the path before he had time to say more. Fear and a pang of loss rang through her as she hurried away. Her eyes stung, but she ignored them. If only he hadn’t come! There was so much she wanted to share with and learn from Aya.
She entered the stairwell but didn’t go up the stairs. Mela would realize something was wrong if she rushed up there in her current state. But she couldn’t stay outside on the off-chance Aya’s friend wouldn’t keep his word and came after her.
Left with nowhere to go, she sat on the steps and tried to calm herself. It proved more difficult than she expected. Over and over, she saw the image of the young man in her mind as he scaled the wall. He looked harmless, but how many times had Mela told her that looks meant nothing—that no one could be trusted.
Still, she had made the exception for Aya. Was she not being hypocritical by not doing the same for Aya’s friend? Though she knew little of such things, with only herself, Mela and Tih’ouren as references, she had the feeling Dal wasn’t much older than she was. Someone that young would have no thoughts of wanting demons to run amok in the world. Would they?
So, either she’d safeguarded herself against a possible threat or thrown away a once-in-a-lifetime chance of meeting yet another person from the outside. If only she could figure out which it was!
She stared out sadly into the garden, knowing she would probably never find out.
Once she finally calmed and felt more in control, she slowly climbed the steps. Finding the hallway clear, she quietly made her way to the library and closed the door. She picked up one of the books at random and sat in one of the comfortable, deep chairs. Had any of those who came before her ever felt so apart from everything? Only her soft answering sigh disturbed the silence. It would be yet another thing she would never find out about.
For the next several hours, she struggled to read but found herself reading the same sentences over and over, unable to concentrate. Every mention of a hero or a man made her think of the young stranger. Would his square features be considered handsome? Did he think her fair? But what was handsome, what was fair? She’d always assumed her uncle must be good-looking, the heroes of all the stories always being so. Dal, though, looked nothing like him. Still, his face was appealing.
But there was no one she could ask, no one who would tell her—yet another thing she would never know. Most of her world seemed filled with things she would never know or find out about. Though she pursued her duty willingly, it seemed horribly unfair to know or understand so little about those she would be giving up her life for.
Sitting there in that room, she felt utterly alone and dissatisfied and also knew there was nothing she could do about it.
The gate’s bell was a welcomed relief. Mela would be expecting her back. So, she would have some semblance of companionship to cheer her for a while, and soon her time with her uncle would arrive.
She dropped the book on the chair and hurried to her rooms. Mela only nodded when she saw her.
La’tiera bathed and then dressed, letting Mela take care of her hair and adornments in preparation for meeting her uncle for the evening. There would be another performance tonight, but she was no longer as eager for it as she had been. Seeing Dal and Aya would only bring back all the confusion of the early afternoon and all the yearnings that had never been meant to be hers.
“You don’t seem yourself tonight.”
La’tiera looked up from her plate and across the table at the viscount, only then realizing she’d been but picking at her food.
“Are you not feeling well?” Her uncle’s brow darkened with rising concern.
“No, I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I–I guess I’m just a little distracted this evening. I apologize.” She tried to shove her troubled thoughts aside and smiled. She could feel Mela’s heavy gaze studying her from the side.
“Distracted?” Tih’ouren’s eyes sought her own.
“Yes.” She looked away, knowing she couldn’t reveal the truth and hating that she needed to keep it from him. “I was thinking about words that I understand yet don’t really have the experience or knowledge to truly comprehend.”
“That’s interesting,” he said with a thoughtful look on his face. “Can you give me an example? Perhaps I can help you.”
He was always so kind to her! “Well, what about the word handsome.” It made her chest ache to skirt around the truth like this.
Tih’ouren smiled, obviously amused by her choice. “I see. I suppose that would be something hard to understand, especially with only myself as a measure.”
“No, sir. I didn’t mean—”
He waved her protests away. “I’m only teasing you.” He took a long sip of his watered wine, his eyes gaining a contemplative cast. “The concept of looks lies in the eye of the beholder as well as the fluid set of rules of conduct that help identify such things within a society. What our people might define as handsome will vary from the concept held by plainsmen across the southern border and vice versa. The Bonn Tribesmen’s scars from their rites of passage are thought very attractive by their people, yet our women would cringe from the sight and think any man wearing them ugly.
“But in the same town, who is handsome will vary from person to person depending on their personal opinions and what they themselves find most appealing in those they judge.”
She understood what he said but also realized his definition presented her with another problem—she possessed no idea of what she found appealing. As far as she could tell, she found both Tih’ouren and Dal handsome, each in their own way. “Thank you, Uncle.”
He gave her a doting smile. “Oh, by the way, the troupe will be able to stay for several days. Luckily, they have no pressing engagements.”
La’tiera made herself smile at the news, hiding the mixed feelings running through her at the announcement. If things had stayed as they’d been, she would have had several more days with Aya, several exciting, amazing days—if only she’d never brought Dal to meet her.
“That’s wonderful news.”
A derisive snort came from Mela as she picked up the dishes.
Just as on the previous night, Tih’ouren escorted her from her rooms to the locked balcony. Though she couldn’t be seen and there was nothing to fear, she still felt nervous as she entered the dark box alone. She could hear the excited whispers drifting up from the crowd below. The voices were soon overridden by applause as her uncle made his presence known.
By the partition to the side of the stage, La’tiera caught a glimpse of Aya’s red head as she took a peek at the audience. Her nervousness grew, knowing the girl was probably looking for her in the crowd.
As soon as her uncle gave the word for the show to begin, Aya disappeared from view.
For this performance, the lute player came out first, strumming a soft tune on his instrument. Standing near the edge of the stage, he sang of the promise of lovers, of their desires. The dancer appeared, gowned as a royal lady. She strolled gracefully about the stage, half-dancing. Dal appeared next, dressed as a great lord, his distinctive mane loose about his shoulders. His smile beamed across the stage as he spotted and approached the lady. He swayed to her half-dance as he drew near, then the two joined and twirled together around the stage.
Though the lute player’s song was skilled and beautiful, La’tiera only had attention for the dancers. Deep inside, she felt a yearning to replace the woman on the stage. She’d never danced, other than alone, and then only palely imitating the memory of what she’d seen in her uncle’s rare parties—some of which she’d watched from this very room. The whole concept of dancing seemed strange, and Mela thought it more useless foolishness. She wondered what it would be like not to dance alone.
It was almost a relief when the song finally ended.
Aya rushed onto the stage next, followed by the largest man of the troupe. While Aya played with hoops and balls, the man picked her up and tossed her into the air as if she weighed nothing. Aya flipped through the air, never losing track of her hoops.
Every time the girl was thrown, La’tiera’s heart rose with her. Every time the tiny body plummeted, she felt a touch of panic until Aya was safely caught and then tossed again.
More music followed these antics, giving La’tiera’s heart a much-welcomed respite. Then, as on the night before, most of the players came onstage and did a comedic skit. This time, however, they snagged someone from the audience and made him participate as well.
There were more acts, all received with great appreciation by the crowd. The continuous clapping was almost deafening.
La’tiera stared hard as the troupe came out as one onto the stage to close the show. Could a group of people such as they truly be dangerous? Surely, those who would seek to hurt her would not spend their time entertaining others. But there were no guarantees. Her own lack of experience would create flaws in her conclusions. She could not judge.
Planting a pleased smile on her face, she stood up and went to the closed door to wait for her uncle.
“Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” Tih’ouren presented her his arm after opening the door wide.
“Yes, very much.”
“Good.” He said nothing more as they made their way back to her rooms. La’tiera could not summon enough false cheer to add anything else.
As usual, Mela was waiting for them with a light. La’tiera gave her uncle a curtsey after a light hug, looking forward to sleep quieting her restless mind. She turned to Mela, but his voice stopped her.
“Is everything all right with you?” His voice was low, but seemed to echo off the walls around them.
She made herself turn around and face him. “Of course. I’m just a little tired. I’ve been much too excited, I guess.” She stared at the floor, not able to meet his eyes. She’d once more lied to him while telling the truth.
His thin arms wrapped around her, and she leaned suddenly against him, comforted by his warmth and caring as guilt wracked her. She then felt Mela’s hard stare on her, open shows of affection another facet of life the old woman found foolish.
“Sleep well, my dear, I’m sure you will feel better in the morning.” Tih’ouren caressed her cheek then pulled away. “Mela, I leave her in your care.”