I woke slowly at first, then all in one go, as a towering mountain of strangeness crashed down on my senses. The soft bed, the warm covers, the smooth sheets, the glowing coals in the fireplace, the bed curtains, velvet and drawn back, the bed itself with its tall posts...
I sat up with a jerk that made the blood rush dizzily to my head, and by the time I had stopped blinking, I’d remembered the carriage, and the Duke. This was my father’s house. For the first time in far too long, I had a home, and this was it. My head was cool now, though spinning slightly from the violence of my awakening. I rested my weight on my arms and looked around more slowly as Raven scrambled up to my shoulder, alternately chattering and wailing her displeasure at being woken so abruptly.
The sun’s rays streamed into the room from the windows. Judging from the quality of the light, it was afternoon. Of what day, I was unsure. I started as my eyes fell upon the Duke, asleep in an armchair beside the bed. A book lay open on his knee and in great danger of falling. I shifted shakily to the edge of the bed and reached out to rescue it. It was a beautifully illustrated Bible, in Latin, and I flicked through it, my mind straining as I read. Before long I bit my lip. I was quite rusty.
“You must be better.”
I looked up to see my father’s eyes were open and guessed that he had been watching me for a moment or two.
“Well, yes.” I blushed and offered him his book.
“You can read it all you like,” the Duke said, stretching as if stiff.
I continued to hold it out. “No, it’s giving me a headache right now. And this is your book.”
The Duke took it back and smoothed a hand over the battered, but still beautiful, leather cover. “Yes, this is my book. You may have one of your own, if you wish. Or would you like it in English?”
“Well, both,” I said rather absently, thinking of my childhood Bible, with which I had learned my Latin in the first place. Then I realized what I had said and felt embarrassed. “I mean, either will do. I’m not greedy.”
My father laughed at that, and pulled a cord on the wall.
“Is that a servant’s bell?” I asked, distracted from my discomfort. A lot of the better families were having these fitted now, at great expense, but my mother had always used a hand bell.
“My father put them in when he built the house,” the Duke explained, as a maidservant entered. “At the time they were thought as odd as the rest of the stuff, so perhaps some of that will be common one day.” He turned his attention to the waiting maid. “Bring food for my daughter; keep it simple, nothing fancy. Also prepare a hot bath and send up whichever of you is best with lady’s hair.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and left, looking faintly aghast at the last order. I touched my hair in sudden dismay. However many days and nights of fevered tossing had been the final straw. I hoped it could be untangled. I didn’t want it cut; it was still shorter than it had been when Siridean chopped it off.
My head still swam slightly, so I lay down again and my father tucked the blankets over me. I wondered just how ill I’d been, then frowned as a confused memory crept back into my head. “My mother! I saw my mother!”
The Duke sighed. “Yes, I expect you did. I’ll show you.” He pulled the cord again and gave more orders, this time to a footman. A few short minutes later, two rather more solid men arrived, both in the Duke’s livery, which was black and gold like his crest. They carried a large, full-size portrait, which they set down in front of the bed with suppressed puffs.
I stared at the picture, captivated. There sat my mother, younger than I had ever seen her, wearing a beautiful lacy dress in pale green. Younger, but perfect in every detail. My vague memory snapped into sudden clarity as I stared at those beautiful locks of straight blond, that delicate face, the tiny nose, the big brown eyes, the dainty chin. My mother. Young and beautiful. Not tired and...withdrawn.
Eventually I dragged my eyes away enough to look at the other person in the portrait. My father stood behind my mother, one hand on her shoulder, the other resting on his sword. My mother’s hand was raised to his. He was dressed elegantly in a slightly darker green, and he too was younger. His face was unlined, his hair still the same glossy black as now, only lacking the single streak of white that I had previously noticed. A hound lay at my mother’s feet, gazing up at her, while another stood beside the Duke, face also upturned. A horse stood behind, a magnificent black beast partially armored. Its reins hung on the ground as it waited patiently for its master. A familiar ring graced each of the joined hands.
I finally looked at the living Duke, realizing he was dressed as usual in very dark colors, black today, trimmed with dark green. His face was rather closed. Glancing back at the portrait, I noticed that one corner of the frame and a small part of the canvas was blackened and burned. “What happened to it?”
The Duke gave a pained smile in which there was no humor at all. “Your mother put a torch to it as she was leaving. Fortunately we managed to save it.”
I gave him my full attention, as an assumption I had been making ever since learning of my legitimacy crumbled. “She left you?”
The Duke nodded, his eyes distant. “She left me. I would not have left her for the world.” The last sentence was so soft that I barely heard.
“Why did she leave?” I demanded.
“It wasn’t her fault,” said my father quickly. “She couldn’t have done anything else.”
“Then what happened? What did you do?”
The Duke turned his head to say a few words to the footmen, who hefted the painting again and made their way from the room. A maid came in before they could close the door, carrying a tray of food.
“You’d better eat,” said the Duke.
~+~
I ate a thick slice of bread. It was a lot bigger than what I would have paid a half copper for, but this was soft, white bread, made from flour into which no sand or grit had been mixed. Then I had a piece of cheese, but I could only eat half of it, it was so rich. I ate a little slice of lamb, and then couldn’t eat anything more. I hadn’t been so full in years.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” my father asked, as I settled back in the bed, smiling in satisfaction at this feast.
“No, really, I couldn’t eat another bite,” I told him. Raven moved in eagerly on the remains of my meal. The rest of the piece of cheese disappeared, and a slice of lamb, then she curled up in sleepy satisfaction.
“You are my daughter for sure,” murmured the Duke, but before I could ask what he meant by this cryptic comment, he asked, “Where did you come by a dragonet?”
“A what?” I glanced at Raven, startled. “Is that what she is?”
“Certainly.”
“Are dragonets even real? I thought she was an exotic foreign creature.”
“Well, she is exotic. Not foreign, though, she could easily be a British species. And they are real. They are a sort of natural, ah...supernatural creature, if you see what I mean.”
I nodded, looking Raven over again. Raven was still so small that her body fitted in my palm, although her tail trailed and her neck stuck out. She stretched her neck out now and chirruped at the Duke, blinking her large golden eyes at him until he rubbed her under the chin.
“That explains...quite a lot,” I remarked.
“I’ve told the servants she’s an exotic foreign creature from the Americas,” the Duke added. “Best if she’s not seen outside the grounds, though.”
I nodded, yawning, happy with the precaution. Satisfied with the attention, Raven curled up again and the Duke smiled at us both.
“Get some sleep. You’re certainly not allowed up today,” he added, as he left the room.
Just before my eyes closed, I realized that he’d never answered my question.
~+~