Edna St. Vincent Millay might not be Clarisse's favorite poet, but she is one of my favorites. In the introduction to a poetry anthology I found lying around here, the editor describes how her father recited a few lines by Edna to help regain his balance in a disorienting situation. That's one of the ways this snippet came to be - imagining that Joseph throws a lyrical lifeline to Clarisse. I needed inspiration to keep me writing, and this was a good exercise. So I'm sharing my self-assigned homework with you. Its name comes from the title of the poem Joseph recites.
Probably now is a good time to say that I don't own Clarisse, Joseph, or Mia. I am a Genovian citizen in my imagination only, not in real life. I wish Edna were a relative (I bet she would have been a super cool aunt), but she's not, and I get nothing but happiness from her work.
There are an awful lot of adjectives in this, but I was trying to paint a certain picture, and it was fun to write. Also, yes, I do mention shoulders a lot. That's on purpose (shoulders = burdens), not just a weird fixation, ha ha. I mention it here because I don't know if the symbolism is clear. You could tell me what you think. Not that I'm hinting for reviews, but if you do feel so inclined, I mean, I do like reviews. ;)
As always, thanks for reading! I am so grateful to have you stop by.
Everyone milled around the drawing room like moving figures in a rich and scintillating tableau. The smoke from obscenely expensive cigars gathered in wisps above the intricate, jewel-studded hairstyles of the women and the carefully combed, gelled coiffures of the men. Bare shoulders, dinner-jacketed shoulders, shoulders draped in delicate Genovian lace shawls shot through with gold and silver threads. Clinking glasses, swishing silks and satins, laughter ebbing and flowing. The sophisticated sound of Mozart drifting from the stringed instruments of a quartet tucked away in a corner.
It was beautiful, but tonight, it was all lost on Clarisse. It was hardly the end she needed for the day she had had. An earlier than usual breakfast meeting with her closest staff. A meeting slated for the morning that spilled into afternoon as she mediated a heated discussion between representatives of opposing factions in Parliament. A half-hour break for lunch that was spent on the phone with another country's pushy president who somehow managed to leer at her long distance. Tea with several noblewomen that was filled with fake smiles and polite laughter and looks exchanged in silent judgments.
The days had been like this - full of difficult politicians and tiresome drama and the formality of opulent dinners that threw together people practiced in the dubious art of pretending to like each other.
And the days had always been like this, only now she had no one to help divide and conquer, to share the yoke. Rupert, her husband and partner, was gone. Philippe, her successor and her baby, was gone. Her daily responsibilities, her service to Genovia, her life's work, were marked by an inexpressible sorrow that she transformed into a superhuman level of productivity.
There was Mia, of course. She was working hard to grow into the woman she would need to be in order to fill her grandmother's shoes, but her collegiate career had just begun, and her own coronation date was far off in the future. Though she was still unable to offer little in the way of assistance with official work, just her occasional presence - the freshness of her perspective, the authenticity of her unpolished remarks, the smile belonging to her father that at once broke Clarisse's heart and made her cup of joy runneth over - eased her burden.
There was always Joseph, but his presence almost went without saying. Not because she took him for granted as much as he was so intimately woven into her days that she could no longer think of a single aspect of her life, of herself, that did not include him. She could not imagine being without him. Sometimes, before she was aware that it was happening, her mind wandered to that dark place, and such an ominous chill swept through her that she retreated immediately.
She retreated here, too, in this evening, from these guests. Pulled back just slightly, enough to take a deep breath before going into the fray again. She eased over to the edge of the room, and in her peripheral vision, looked for her Shadow. She frowned, thinking how her hectic schedule full of ever-expanding appointments had caused her to cancel yet another riding date with Joseph. While she was babysitting whiny parliamentarians in a windowless conference room, a glorious afternoon had waxed and waned out in the hills beyond the carefully manicured lawns. It had been ages since they had been out together. She was starting to worry their horses wouldn't recognize them the next time they finally got a chance to escape the confines of the palace and the immediate grounds.
Sighing, she observed in this spacious room a feast for the senses, but hers would not be sated. A natural, Rupert had always told her; she was a natural at this, and it was a high compliment, she knew. But tonight, her natural habitat felt caged and artificial. She had been on edge for days, and now her spirit, repressed and starved, was an ashen version of its former lustrous self. Worse than feeling agitated and moody was the sense of something heavy in her chest that dulled her senses and the ability to feel anything at all.
She saw him then, without having to turn her head, though it did turn toward him, almost imperceptibly. The barest motion, but it helped reorient her thoughts so they aligned with him. Her eyes had flickered restlessly over the scene before her even as the rest of her was the epitome of regal composure; they found a spot to rest on - a valuable painting on the wall across the room that her mind hardly registered - as she waited for him to come stand behind her. She could be patient now, and more at ease, because he would be near her soon.
The moment she heard his voice, she felt the spark of renewal, and she drank in the sound of him as though it were a healing elixir for her weary soul.
"'I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
"'I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
"'And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!'"
She sighed again, this time with the sheer, simple pleasure of hearing her favorite poet's words wrapped in the voice that was her favorite sound in the world.
"Promise?" she asked.
"I do."
"How do you always know what to say?"
She heard the smile in his voice. "Technically, I didn't say it."
"You know what I mean."
He chuckled quietly, and the sound sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. "I'll arrange for our horses to be ready as soon as your afternoon tea is finished. And anyone who interferes with our plan will be strung up in the courtyard by his toes."
"You are my hero."
His response was another soft laugh.
"Do you think we'll be able to look down from the hills and mark which lights belong to our home?" she teased.
"I am fairly certain the palace will be hard to miss. May I take it then that Her Majesty wishes to stay out until dusk?"
"If that's how long we need. I am determined to ride far out of working range for that earpiece of yours, and beyond the point where anyone can distract us until we're ready to be distracted."
"Then I am determined to follow you."
The air between them was thick with sentiments not voiced, soft kisses not dropped on her shoulder as he leaned over it to speak to her, caresses not smoothed over his cheekbone by her thumb as she didn't cup his face with her hand. All things completely natural yet inappropriate in this excerpt of her highly scripted existence.
But the words and his voice had touched her even as he couldn't, and she felt herself relax. The muscles that had bunched her shoulders up too close to her ears released. Her stomach unclenched, as did her jaw, and her breath deepened and flowed more freely. She fought the urge to lean back into him, and took comfort in the fact that he knew it was difficult for her not to. In private, they did not hide their shared longing for a future that might not be in the cards for them.
Whatever else their someday might or might not hold, at least tomorrow they would be riding through sun-drenched, wild flower-scented fields, and the promise of that moment gave them both the hope and strength they needed to bear up under the remainder of this evening.
The end.