Chapter Four: Tales From Days Gone By
11 August, 1788
The night after Estelle met Flynn, Antoinette demanded to know all the details. Estelle described their walk through the garden and their long discussion of books and philosophy, and she caught herself getting dreamy as she described him. Antoinette had smiled and assured her she'd invite this foreign commoner to the next party, just for her.
Estelle didn't have to wait long to see Flynn again. Antoinette threw parties whenever the whim struck her, so only two weeks later Estelle found herself anxiously searching the ballroom for a familiar ill-fitting wig. She finally spotted him lurking in a corner and wasted no time in closing the distance between them.
"Bonsoir!" She had to stop herself from grabbing his hands as soon as she got close. "I'm so happy to see you again."
Flynn smiled, gently took her wrist, and kissed the back of her hand. "Good evening, Votre Altesse. I couldn't believe it when Lord Chauvet told me I had been personally invited by the queen." He shook his head with his eyes closed. "Seems unimaginable."
"Heh, well, I might have mentioned I'd like to see you again." She folded her hands together and shifted her feet, her skirt and its heavy supporting structure of petticoats swaying.
"I'm afraid you've invited me back too soon." He rubbed the side of his neck. "I haven't read any new books to discuss."
"That's ok." Violins resounded through the great room as the orchestra began another song. "I learned how to say something in Italian. Um, I don't know if I'm pronouncing it right, but… vuole ballare con me?"
Flynn's smile turned into a cheek-to-cheek grin. "You said that wonderfully, and I would love to dance with you." He held out his hand. "My lady?"
Estelle placed hers in his and let him lead her away from the wall. Flynn was wearing the same outfit he'd worn the last time, and she could tell he wasn't comfortable wearing a wig. He was clearly out of place in the extravagant balls of Versailles, but it didn't show in his dancing. While a harpsichord set the melody, they joined the moving crowd in the middle of the room as they circled their partners. Unlike their stroll through the garden, many eyes were upon them inside the ballroom, so they maintained a respectful distance from each other. They only time they touched was when they put their hands together as part of a skip and a spin, or when Estelle twirled beneath his arm. This part was difficult, since her skirt was so wide, but Flynn didn't seem to mind being whacked with heavy fabric as she spun. Their heels clicked on the polished floor and the orchestra swept over them to fill the vast hall. A dozen crystal chandeliers were suspends from above, and their points of light glittered in Flynn's eyes, which Estelle kept catching herself staring into.
"Is this how they dance in Corsica?" she asked as she passed him in a choreographed circle.
"I wouldn't know, actually. I left when I was about ten years old, and I haven't been back."
"What is it like? I've never been so far south. Is it very different from Paris?"
Flynn's eyes drifted and he nearly stumbled the next step of the dance as he was caught in recollection. "It's much warmer. It never snows, and in the summer I liked to walk on the beach in my bare feet and feel the warm sand on my toes. You can sit under a chestnut tree and watch the waves roll in from the turquoise sea."
The words painted a picture in Estelle's mind and now it was her turn to miss a beat. "Wow… it sounds beautiful."
"It is. Perhaps you'll have a chance to visit someday."
"That would be wonderful. I've only ever seen Paris, central Germany, and the carriage ride in between. I've never even seen the ocean."
"I'm sure you will someday,"
She did another twirl beneath his arm and ended face-to-face. "You think so?"
"Sure. With your tenacity in hunting down so many books to read, I'm certain you'll find your way to the sea eventually. When you do, the wait will make it even more beautiful."
"I really hope so." She curled her fingers around his. Through her gloves, she felt his warmth and strength. They paused in a break in the music and Estelle once again found herself staring into his bright blue eyes. Maybe it would be a long time before she got to see the ocean, but for now, this was good enough.
20 February, 1794
Yuri dabbed soap over Flynn's cheeks. Though Judith had given Flynn a haircut shortly after he arrived, they'd been waiting for the bruises on Flynn's face to fade before taking a blade to them. He sat upright in bed, a grubby towel around his shoulders, and his eyes closed. Perhaps he was trying to block out Yuri's words as Yuri told him about dancing with Estelle and the joy they'd had together, or perhaps he didn't want to watch a blade come near his throat, no matter whose hand it was in. Yuri spoke in a slow, soothing voice as he scraped away Flynn's messy beard. He hoped that being clean-shaved again would help Flynn feel more like himself.
When Yuri finished talking, Flynn sat silently. Yuri carefully manoeuvred the razor under his bottom lip, frowning at the blood smeared beneath it. The lip had been split when he arrived, but he kept catching Flynn chewing on it and starting the healing process all over again.
"Why don't you tell me about important things?" Flynn asked when the razor had moved on to his other cheek.
Yuri pulled the razor back quickly, surprised by the sudden words. "Like what?"
"Like…. Current events. How things are going for France." Flynn finally opened his eyes. "I haven't heard any news since November."
"Uh… do you want good news or bad news?" Yuri resumed while he spoke.
"Is there any good news?"
Yuri tried to think of something. "I guess that depends on whose side you're on."
Flynn closed his eyes again. "Tell me the bed news then. I doubt there's any good news for my side."
Yuri wasn't even sure whose side Flynn was on anymore, because apparently he'd ditched Estelle's side. "The fighting in the Vendée has mostly calmed down, which is good. The Republic won, which is… I don't know. This was in the papers just a few days ago, actually. I'm going to go with this being bad news because six thousand royalist prisoners were executed."
"Lucky them," Flynn mumbled.
Yuri searched his memory for anything positive he could say about the state of affairs in France. He recalled hearing last December that there had been a proposal to form a committee to examine all detentions promptly and the free the innocent, but it had been struck down. Yuri had laughed when he read that article, because the mere idea of Robespierre organizing a committee that would actually look after the innocent was absurd. He doubted that Flynn would find the dark humour as amusing as Yuri had. There had to be something non-depressing he could share with Flynn. "Oh! A few weeks ago, the Republic made slavery illegal in the colonies."
"Oh." Flynn had always been opposed to slavery, and Yuri tried not to think about how pleased the old Flynn would have been at this news. "Good for them."
"So, at least the Republic did something right."
"Yes… so they did."
Yuri finished shaving Flynn in silence. When he finished, he wiped the soap away and smiled at the smooth face underneath. With his hair trimmed to its old length, the beard gone, and traces of pink reappearing in his cheeks, he was starting to look like himself again.
Talk of the colonies had brought a new thought to Flynn. "Why didn't this happen in America?"
"Huh?" Yuri tucked an arm beneath his back to help Flynn lower himself back into a horizontal position.
When he'd gotten over the burst of pain from moving, he said, "They got rid of their king and made a new republic. I haven't heard of anything like… this happening over there. What did we do wrong?"
Yuri was not an expert on international politics, and in fact he barely knew anything of America beyond hearing people complain that Louis had bankrupted them by sending too much money to the Americans. This made Yuri predisposed to not like Americans, even if others said Louis had only done it to spite the British, whom Yuri was also predisposed to dislike by virtue of being French, as that was the natural order of things.
"They started a new republic and there were no mass executions," Flynn went on. "Why was it so difficult here? All we wanted… all I wanted… was a constitution. I would have been happy with that. Just… just a constitution and a parliament like they have in Britain. I would have supported a republic, too, but not like this…. It's all gone too far."
"Yeah. It really has."
25 February, 1794
Estelle was sweeping in the hall when she heard Flynn scream. She was already racing up the stairs when the broom hit the ground. There was no one else home with Flynn, since the rest of their group had work outside the house that kept food on the table. Estelle had gotten used to leaving rarely, but having Flynn upstairs had made every moment here tense. She found herself constantly alert for any sound from his bedroom and she imagined this was what new mothers felt like.
When she burst into Flynn's room, she found him on the ground in a tangle of sheets, sobbing and shouting in incomprehensible Italian. "Flynn!" Estelle had not seen Flynn since he kicked her out of his room the first day. She'd resolved to do her best to help him, even if that meant depriving herself of his company for the time being. This situation demanded intervention, though. She dropped to her knees and tried to hold him still.
Flynn fought against the sheets. "Per favore! Per favore! Non!"
"Flynn!" A hand hit her face, but it didn't have much force behind it. She found his shoulders in the mess and pressed them into the floor, trying to force him to lie still. Flynn howled in pain, his bloodshot eyes looking through her. "You have to calm down. You're hurting yourself."
He struggled, but Estelle was stronger. Successfully pinning him down did not relax him, however. If anything, it made his distress worse. He babbled away in Italian, and Estelle understood a handful of words that were often repeated: no, please, stop, don't.
Where was his mind right now? She suspected he had been having a nightmare that now bled into his waking life, and she didn't know how to snap him out of it. She let go of his shoulders in fear of hurting him more, but luckily he'd at least stopping thrashing. As soon as she released him, he curled onto his side and pulled his arms over his head, muttering and shaking. Estelle knelt on the floor beside him for five minutes before he finally came to his senses.
"Dove…" Flynn coughed and switched to French. "Where am I?"
Estelle's hand rested on his bicep and he flinched, expecting it to hurt. "You're in your room. You're safe now. It's over."
"Oh…. S-safe. Right."
"Were you having a bad dream?"
"Not especially."
Estelle wondered if he knew how painful those words were with the implication that the nightmare that had woken him up screaming wasn't notably worse than anything else. "Whatever it was, it wasn't real."
"Was, too."
Estelle struggled to stay optimistic. "It wasn't real now. It was just a memory. You're home and it's safe and no one is going to hurt you again."
Flynn didn't answer, but he didn't seem soothed by her words.
"Let's get you back in bed." She would do what she could for him, even if it felt like hardly anything. Flynn was easy to lift, since there was hardly any muscle or fat to him these days. Still, she wasn't able to pick him up without his legs bumping the edge of the mattress, causing him to hiss. "Sorry!"
Once on the bed, Flynn curled onto his side and clutched his knee. He panted for breath, eyes squeezed shut and choked out, "Sott'a lu ponte… ci luce la luna… sott'a lu ponte, ci luce la luna…." As he spoke, his shaking slowed down and his voice levelled out.
Estelle watched, feeling helpless. Whatever he was saying, it seemed to help him calm down. It was the same few lines repeated over and over, which made her think he was reciting something, like a poem or a…. Estelle breathed in sharply when she remembered where she'd heard the words.
"Oh, Flynn…." She stroked his hair. He didn't flinch at her touch, which Estelle considered an improvement. "It breaks my heart to see you hurt this much."
"Mi frighje lu core," Flynn mumbled, his brow creased and eyes closed. "Un ne possu più… per favore, un ne possu più."
She feared he was drifting back into a distressing memory. "No, Flynn, stay awake." She rested her hand on his wrist. "Stay in the present. It's warm and safe here, and no one wants to hurt you… listen to me, Flynn."
One eye cracked open, looking through her.
"Come on, Flynn, stay with me. Do you remember the first time you sang that song for me? I remember it really well. Listen to me and don't think about anything but my voice. Don't think about the past, just listen to my story - our story - and… maybe you'll remember why you sang it for me."
28 June, 1789
Ever since King Louis XIV, Estelle's great-some-odd-grandfather, had moved the court to Versailles, the palace has been open to the public. She'd written Flynn a letter last week requesting he come to the palace today, and she could barely contain her excitement as she hurried down a circular staircase. There hadn't been time for Flynn to write a reply, so she could only hope he would be there. Ioder had assured her that Flynn would come in his latest letter, after she'd written to her distant cousin back in Germany to update him on her 'exciting new friend'.
She nearly tripped over her many-tiered gown as she leapt off the final stair and wobbled on the marble floor. Brimming with anticipation, she pushed open the glass double-doors to the courtyard. There he was, standing with his hands folded behind his back and his gaze locked on a terracotta deer head mounted to the wall. For a moment she hadn't recognized him, because while she'd met him many times in the past year, it had always been at formal parties, when he dressed in the most expensive clothing he owned. Seeing him now, Estelle wished she'd worked up the courage to eschew court etiquette and invite him to meet her in private earlier. He was obviously much more comfortable in the clothes he regularly wore to university. His royal blue frock coat was of cheaper fabric and he didn't bother with a wig, letting Estelle see his natural blond hair in all its glory for the first time. She wondered how wigs even sat flat on his head with hair so unruly.
Flynn noticed her watching him before she got over her initial surprise. When he turned, he raised the scroll of paper she had sent him. "Did I find the right place? Your letter said to come to 'the deer courtyard'. I had to ask a servant and he looked at me funny and asked if I meant the Courtyard of the Stag."
"Oh, oops." She giggled and hurried across said courtyard. "I just call it the deer courtyard."
Flynn looked back at the stag bust he'd been inspecting, and then between the seven other busts lining the walls on this floor and the one above. "I can see why."
"But the important thing is that you found it."
"Indeed I did. So!" Flynn took her hand, bowed, and kissed it. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your invitation? Do you need anything?"
"Sort of. I need you to come with me." Estelle tugged on the sleeve of his coat.
"Lead on, my lady."
Estelle brought Flynn back inside and away from the heat of summer. She felt bad for making him wait outside in the heat, but thought he'd be more comfortable there than one of the drawing rooms that were always crowded with servants or courtiers. They passed the staircase she had come down earlier and crossed through a room with golden chairs, a harp, and a uncomfortable turquoise settee.
Estelle paused at the door. "Have you been to the Grand Hall before?"
"I don't think so."
"Oh, boy, wait until you see it!" Estelle pushed the doors open and led Flynn into a long corridor.
He stopped a few steps in, gazing at the the walls lined in dozens of brown marble arches. On the right, the arches housed windows that cast chequerboard patterns of light on the slick bronze floor, and on the left, floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected the midday sun. Above, the entire length of the hall was capped with a rounded ceiling featuring masterpieces of paintings: cherubs and angels, portraits of Estelle's ancestors, and depictions of classical mythology. More than a dozen crystal chandeliers hung from that ceiling.
"Pretty, isn't it?" Estelle asked Flynn's awestruck face. "The floor is really smooth, too. Sometimes, if no one is looking, I like to see how far I can slide in my stockings."
Flynn tore his eyes from the glittering room to look at her with bemusement. "You slide around in your stockings in this opulent room?"
"Only sometimes," she pouted.
The pair strode down the halls. Estelle kept glancing at Flynn's face as he admired their reflection in the many mirrors, or gazed in wonder at the golden statues dressed in robes that stood guard along the wall. She supposed this was very different from his own home, and she wondered if she would ever have an opportunity to see where he lived.
At the end of the long hall, they entered the Peace Drawing Room. Estelle worried Flynn was going to hurt his neck with all the time he spent transfixed by the ceilings in the palace. This room was in a corner of the palace, so they made a right angle past a marble engraving of a horse and entered the queen's bedchamber.
"This is where the queen sleeps?" Flynn asked, marvelling at the canopied bed with its lacy drapes and golden eagles.
"Not really. There's a ceremony of waking up and going to bed in here, but she actually sleeps in a smaller room in the private area." They lingered by the golden balustrade that separated the public part of the palace from the bed. "It's kind of silly. There's a whole deal about her going to bed here, and then when everyone is gone, she gets up and goes to a different bed."
Flynn shook his head. "I will never understand royalty."
Estelle giggled. "Not all royalty is like this. It was really different where I used to live, and Antoinette doesn't like it, either. She said that the court of the Holy Roman Emperor is nowhere near as rigidly formal and he's an emperor and not just a king, so what does that say about that?"
"Still, this room certainly puts my small apartment to shame." Flynn had his arms folded like he was afraid of touching anything.
"You were really rich when you were a kid, though. Wasn't it like this, somewhat?"
Flynn smiled again, but this time it was amused. "I don't think anywhere else in the world is quite like Versailles. We had a large house in Corsica, but it was nothing compared to this."
Estelle leaned around Flynn to check that no one was looking from the Peace Room, and then over her shoulder make sure the coast was clear from the State Cabinet, and pushed open the gate in the balustrade. Come on, we have to move quickly."
She grabbed his wrist and pulled him beyond the barrier. As they went, Flynn stammered, "W-wait! Are we supposed to be here?"
"No, so shhh." She pushed open a door in the back corner that blended into the wall. Flynn was busy looking over his shoulder as she pulled him through and then hooked around to the door immediately on their right. Estelle poked her head in first to make sure the coast was clear, and then dragged Flynn through a door disguised as a bookshelf and into a small library.
"Where are we?" Flynn whispered.
"You don't have to whisper. The walls are thick. Anyway, this is Antoinette's private library."
Flynn was looking as pale as the white walls. "Are… are we supposed to be in here?"
"Not really, but it's ok. Antoinette took the kids to her hamlet away from the palace, and I told Louis that I would be going with her. But, I told her that I would be staying here. So, we're entirely free right now!" Estelle felt very pleased with herself for her cunning ruse.
"Her… hamlet?"
"Oh, she built a little village for herself away from the palace. She likes to go and dress up in peasant clothes and milk cows and stuff. Have you ever milked a cow?"
Flynn's eyes drifted around the tall bookshelves trimmed in gold, the silver chandelier, and the rows and rows of leather-bound and gold-foiled books. "Can't say that I have."
"I've done it a few times. It's fun, though I don't think I'd want to do it every day."
"Yes, it's probably a pain. So, why are we here?"
"Becaaaause…" Estelle scanned her finger along the spines and then pulled out a thin book with a dark brown cover. "I heard Antoinette mention she had a copy of this book, and here it is." She held it out to Flynn, but he took it with more confusion than excitement.
He eyed the cover, frowning at the title. "I'm afraid I don't speak English. What is it?"
"It's Two Treatises of Government, by John Lock. You mentioned wanting to read the first half."
"Oh!" Flynn opened the book and flipped through the pages. "This is frustrating. I'd like to read this, but I have no idea what any of it says."
"Like I said, I can help you. I've studied English. I'm not really fluent or anything but I think I can get the gist of it."
Flynn lowered the book to a polished wooden table. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't think we have time right now for you for to try to summarize it. It's probably very advanced language, too."
"Well… I guess so." She hung her head.
"Is this why you invited me here today? To show me the book?"
"That's part of the reason. I also just…" She folded her hands and swayed her hips, making her skirts swing like a bell. "Wanted to see you. It's nice, isn't? To be here without a formal party and everyone watching us to make sure we're not improper? And I like your hair."
Flynn's hand went to his head and he looked away, embarrassed. "My - my hair? I'm sorry, I knew I should have worn a wig, I just didn't think of it and…."
"It's ok," she giggled. "I think it looks very nice without powder or fake curls."
His hand slid away from the tousled mess. "My mother always complained that it never lies flat. I did comb it this morning."
"I believe you. Don't worry; I think it's cute."
"Uh… ah… cute…?"
"Yes." Estelle took his hands in hers. "I wish I could meet you where you lived, where you were comfortable, and not always here. It's so… stuffy in here, and it's so hard to find privacy. I wish I could leave the palace just for a day and see Paris the way you see it."
"As a filthy conglomeration of narrow streets covered in horse droppings and sewage?"
"Well… at least it would be interesting. We could spend hours together and not have the eyes of the court constantly on us and making sure nothing ever comes of us." Estelle knew very well that if anyone thought Estelle felt more strongly toward Flynn than merely an entertaining distraction to dance with at balls, their ability to see each other would be shut down at once. Then again, was there anything more? Estelle knew she liked Flynn quite a bit, but they were still just… friends, she supposed. They spent time together, they were frequent dance partners, but that was all they were and it was all they could ever be. It was fun, yes, but Estelle realized that she wasn't satisfied with the way things were.
"We don't have the eyes of the court on us now." Flynn looked around the room, but he didn't even know where the exits were, since the doors were disguised as bookshelves. "What would you like to do now that we're alone?"
"Um… um…." She searched the room for inspiration. She hadn't really thought about this meeting beyond spending time with him alone. "Will you dance with me?"
"Dance? We dance all the time."
"Yes, but… that's court dancing. Can't we try a dance where you're not always a foot away from me? A dance where we actually touch more than just our fingertips?"
Flynn gave her a little half-smile. "Oh? That sounds rather scandalous."
"I read it in a book! There was a character who was complaining about the way the aristocrats were dancing and he said they were, um, it said he put his arm around her and pressed her to his breast and then they 'cavorted and whirled'. Well, the character said it was shameless and indecent, but I thought it sounded really nice."
"Heh. Well, I don't know if I can perfect a dance from a description so vague, but let's see what we can do."
Flynn encircled her shoulders and pulled her toward him, crumpling her puffy dress. Estelle's heart fluttered at being so near to him and she knew, more firmly than ever before, that she wished Flynn could be more than an interesting diversion at parties. His other hand clutched hers and then he pulled her away from the table and began a dance.
Neither of them knew what they were doing. A few times Flynn trod on Estelle's feet and mis-timed steps sent them bumping into bookshelves with a giggle. Flynn began to hum as they whirled around the library, a soft melody barely audible. Pressed this close to him, Estelle could feel the vibration in his chest as well as she could hear it.
She listened in silence, enjoying the haphazard dance, until her curiosity grew too great. "What song is that?"
"Huh?" They paused mid-step and she wondered if he'd even consciously noticed he'd been humming.
"The song you were humming. It sounds so pretty."
"Oh. That. I'm sorry; I mentioned my mother earlier and it ended up stuck in my head. She used to sing it to me. It's just an old lullaby."
"What are the words?"
"Ah… well… I'm afraid I can't really sing… and in it's Italian so you wouldn't understand anyway."
"Oh, please? I promise I won't' judge."
"Well… ok." They picked up the step again, moving with even less grace now that Flynn was distracted by the song. Half of the dance ended up just being swaying around the room, holding each other tight, which Estelle didn't object to in any case.
"Sott'a lu ponte
Ci luce la luna
In celu e stelle
Une manca manc'una
Dormi…"
Flynn had been right; he wasn't a very good singer. His voice came out stumbling and uncertain and he only hit the notes clearly half the time. None of this bothered Estelle, who thought Italian sounded dreamy even if it wasn't performed by a talented singer. She had been to many operas in her time, but she couldn't think of anyone she'd rather listen to than Flynn, stumbling through a childhood song with his voice so close to her ear.
"…Sta sera ma tù. Dormi." The last word flowed across several notes until his voice faded. They drew to a stop and Flynn met her eyes. "Uh… was that ok?"
Estelle gazed back at him, her mind lost in a fuzz of adoration. "It was wonderful."
He was still holding her. Estelle knew how this scene should end, because she'd read it in so many romance novels. Would Flynn mind? Did he think they were just friends? But, no one who was looking at her like this could feel nothing but friendship… right? Estelle took a risk. She pushed herself onto her tiptoes, leaned forward, and quickly pressed her lips against his.
Their lips brushed for a fleeting split-second, and then he pulled away. Flynn dropped his arms and took a step back, his eyes wide.
"I - I'm sorry!" Estelle hugged herself in embarrassment. "I thought - I just-"
"No!" Flynn waved his hands quickly. "No, I'm not upset. I'm sorry. I - I wish I could kiss you."
Estelle pouted. "You sure have a funny way of showing it."
Flynn rubbed his neck and looked at his feet. "Estelle… you know we can't."
"I can kiss anyone I want to."
"What would your uncle say?"
Estelle's hug tightened and she looked away. "I don't have to tell him."
Flynn rested a hand on her shoulder. "He would find out. You said yourself it's hard to find privacy here. If we tried to be together in any real sense, someone would find out."
The worst part was that she knew he was right. And if someone did find out… the consequences would be worse for Flynn than her, for sure. At the very least, she would never see him again. "Why do you have to go and be sensible?"
"What we have is… fun. As much I would love to turn it into something more, you and I both know that it can't last. You will marry a member of nobility to strengthen your family's political ties, and under no circumstances can a princess be romantically involved with a commoner."
"I know. It's just… I wish things didn't have to be this way."
Flynn brought his fingers under her chin and tilted her head back. "Chin up, cara mia."
"Cara… mia?"
"Ah…." Flynn licked his lips and glanced away. "I - sorry, it just slipped out… it means 'my beloved' in Italian. I won't-"
"No." She smiled. "I like it, mein Liebster."
"Heh, ok then, cara mia. Nothing lasts forever, but let's enjoy what we can."
"Ok. We'll make the most of the time we have."
"Now… can we please return to the public part of the palace? I feel very antsy back here."
"As you wish. I'll give you a private tour."
25 February, 1794
Estelle finished talking when she realized Flynn had fallen asleep. There was more to the story, like sneaking out of the library through Antoinette's private sitting room, and Flynn's panic when they snuck through the hidden passage that connected Antoinette's bedroom to the king's antechamber. Flynn had been certain they would be caught by Louis himself, and certain that the king would immediately have him hung, drawn, and quartered after being caught sneaking around with his niece. They hadn't been, though, which meant Estelle got to tease him about his nerves after they returned to the Grand Hall.
Flynn slept peacefully, hopefully not trapped in another nightmare reliving his confinement. Even if her story didn't re-endear herself to Flynn, if it at least helped Flynn slip into a restful sleep, it hadn't been worthless. She was still worried about his pain, though. They'd had him home for nearly two weeks, and he was still unable to leave his bed. The few times he had tried putting weight on his legs, he'd ended in a crumpled heap with Yuri and Judith helping him get back to bed while he moaned and chanted the lyrics to the song again. Estelle guessed that Sott'a lu Ponte had become a mantra of his in prison. She could imagine him singing it to himself while curled up in a dark cell, seeking any sort of comfort in a memory of his childhood. Of course she had noticed his pattern of reciting it whenever his pain spiked, so it seemed he'd taken to using it as a way to distract himself during the worst of his torture.
If only there was something else she could do for him - some way to numb his aching joints and soothe his fractured bones. If they only had proper medical supplies. They barely had the money to afford coal to keep him from freezing to death; there was no way they could afford a tincture of laudanum to drug him out of his misery. Estelle stared out the window at the icicles clustering under the eaves and wished for spring to come soon and then at least they didn't have to worry about him freezing.
Inspiration struck. Estelle mouthed a small 'oh!' and then ran out of the room. She took the pillowcase from her bed and then Rita's (she hoped she wouldn't mind) and then ran downstairs to the garden. Standing on the stone bench, she wrapped her hands around the base of an icicle as thick around as her forearm. After prying it from the awning over the door, she let it fall to the ground and shatter. She tore down a few more icicles until her fingers were numb, and then hopped down and began shoving all the broken fragments of ice into the pillowcases. With the bags weighed down with ice, she returned to Flynn's room.
"I hope this helps," she whispered and gently positioned each bag of ice over a knee. Of all his injuries, it was his knees that seemed to bother him the most. Flynn let out a sleepy groan and then Estelle brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. He really needed a haircut, because his usually unruly hair had become a disaster after three months in prison. "I hope you feel better soon, Flynn," she murmured to him. "And I hope the ice numbs the pain, at least a little bit."
Flynn sighed and then, under his breath, mumbled, "Cara mia…."
Estelle's heart skipped a beat. "Yes, that's right. That's what you used to call me. Cara mia… your beloved." She leaned over so she could speak right into his ear. "And I just know you'll remember that soon." She left a kiss on his forehead, light enough to not wake him. "Ich liebe dich, mein Liebster."
