A TALE OF ANGLOA

Chapter 6

December 13th

As they dwelled deeper into December—and winter—they closed in on the festivities of Yule. Maria, together with the other maids, had been called by Mrs. Hammond to help with the ever-growing work that never seemed to stop. The young girl did not really have a place amongst the other maids. Although some were kind toward her, others treated her with such lack of civility that she wondered if they held some personal grudge against her. For her it was always difficult knowing who to trust, and who could turn their back on her the next second.

They were a big group seated in the kitchen, the warmest place in the castle, except for the lord and ladies' rooms. The kitchens were really just a big, spacious room, rectangular in shape and low in roof, to keep as much heat in as possible. Although the heat was appreciated in the cold of winter, it was greatly undesired in summer.

The walls in tiled brick only had two small windows that barely let in any light. So the servants had to rely on the light of the three wide, fireplaces and hundreds of candles, placed about the room. The room divided into sections. One section held a countertop bench for preparing the food before it had to go into the cauldron or roast in the fire. Another section was a long table, going from one end of the room to the other. There the kitchen maids would knead the bread and pastries, or sit down to have a quick bite of leftovers. In some cases, just like this chilly December morning, many maids gathered to sit and work together by the warmth that the fires for the kitchen provided. The air was pleasant as the women chatted away.

Hanging from the beams of the ceiling in thin string where various herbs, plucked during the summer and autumn, left to dry and be used sparingly in winter. In the coldest corner of the kitchen stood a dozen barrels filled with various types of salted meats, also in preparation for the winter. Next to them lay a large pile of cut wood that male servants would refill every morning as the fires of the castle were lit.

Maria sat by the table, occupied with mending linen while other servants polished the silverware for the coming festivities that would soon be held for Christmas. She pricked her finger for the third time until another maid took pity on her and asked if she wanted to switch tasks.

"Aye, for if I continue, this piece of cloth will soon go from white to red," she exclaimed as she sucked up the blood that emerged from her fingertip, trying to block out the pain as she commenced polishing sharp knives.

"Do not worry, it is the least I can do," said the dark-haired girl and sighed with a displeased expression on her face. Suddenly Maria wondered if she had done something wrong.

"Have I offended you in any way?" she asked, going straight to the point. Maria was blunt, she knew that. Even as a maid, she made her opinion heard, ignoring if they could get her in trouble or not, something they had in the past. But she had never liked the idea of tip-toeing around people. Being blunt might seem less refined in the eyes of the gentry, but she was used to it after all.

Another one of the dozen maids in the kitchen just laughed, brushing Maria's question off as something quite hilarious.

"Well at least that would bring some excitement here: a confrontation between maids. No, Lauren is bored, I believe. As are the rest of us," she said while polishing a cup furiously, trying to remove the last speck of dirt that kept it from looking perfect and shiny. Maria felt her eyebrows rise as she looked back at Lauren.

"You are bored? Here?" She did not believe what she heard. The girl just shrugged and kept mending.

"But how can you be bored here? There is so much to see, there are so many things happening. How about the bandits in Raven's Grove? Or what about his lordship?" she asked again, looking around.

Another maid, cutting vegetables on the countertop looked up suddenly, mischief and curiosity shining in her otherwise dull, brown, eyes.

"I heard from Johanna the other day a most peculiar tale," she smirked, getting the attention from the other women in the room. Even the cook, a robust woman that probably tasted half of the food before she served it, looked curious. The girl speaking was Ruth, one of the kitchen maids with a talent for telling tales. Whenever she spoke, people lent an ear, knowing that they were in for some juicy gossip or an amazing story. Ruth continued her poetic pause until it irritated some of the girls.

"Well, go on then! What did Johanna say?" said Lauren impatiently. It was clear that she was dying to get in on the gossip. Maria only sighed. Gossiping was something the maids did often, but she tried to stay out of it, mostly because they would speak about her mistress. She could never hold her tongue, she always spoke up to defend her. It would usually get her into a lot of trouble.

Ruth looked around the open space of the kitchen. The cook sat down by the warm fireplace where broth furiously boiled away. A dozen maids sat by the long table. The kitchen maids continued what they were doing but it was evident that they were listening in as well.

"Johanna is one of the maids that has to serve his lordship. She is the one that changes his sheets and gets to walk freely in his rooms." A sinister smirk spread across Ruth's dull, chubby features. Her mouse colored hair was greasy from lack of washing and her hands were full of scars she had received using the cutting knife on the vegetables.

"She is the chambermaid of Count Hawthorne?" exclaimed one of the older maids. Murmur arose amongst the women. They themselves had a lot of questions for their colleague after finding out her secret. To be the chambermaid of someone like Hawthorne was something no one wished. Before his arrival, they had all refused as Mrs. Hammond had rounded them up to select a willing maid. The general conception after that had been that it was Mrs. Hammond herself who took care of Tristan Hawthorne's chambers.

"Yes, but Mrs. Hammond appears to be the one that accompanies her. Not even she will allow a maid to venture into his lordships quarters by herself," continued Ruth. "It appears that last week, Mrs. Hammond was otherwise occupied and Johanna had to go in herself. She found the main bedroom to be empty and, so, decided that before she started her work, she would go explore." Now Maria listened as well. How could a mere maid dare to go through his lordships belongings? She was infuriated, but she held her tongue, even though she was determined to inform this to Mrs. Hammond when she found the chance.

"She had never gone beyond his lordships bedchamber. It seems it is something he personally requested. He keeps his other rooms clean himself."

"Well, that is very suspicious," a maid added in, matter-of-factly. Others nodded in agreement.

"It seems like Johanna had been thinking the same for she dared to venture beyond his bedchamber. And what she found was beyond her wildest expectations!" Ruth placed both hands firmly on the cutting board and leaned forward. The other maids leaned forward eagerly, waiting for what she would say next. Maria noticed the tension and excitement build up slowly and wanted Ruth to say what Johanna had found.

"Well?" said another impatient maid as she urged her to continue.

"Beyond his bedchambers and personal study there is a small, circular, room that the old master never used. But his current lordship has put it to good use." Another poetic pause followed, in order to fuel the dramatic tension in the room.

"In it is a large mirror. And in the middle of the room is a glass box holding a beautiful red rose." The others seemed let down.

"A rose, that's it? You got our hopes up for a mirror and a rose?" exclaimed the cook from the back of the room.

"I wasn't finished, Mrs. Adams!" yelled Ruth, trying to regain the power she had held through her storytelling just a few minutes earlier. The sour faces of the crowd did not let up, for they had felt as tricked as the cook.

"Have none of you come to realize how strange it was for Johanna to find a fresh rose, cut off from its root, in winter?" Ruth thought herself speaking to a flock of fools and took great pleasure in seeing their eyes light up as they realized what she was saying.

"But how does he keep a freshly cut rose, in the middle of winter?" asked a blonde girl. Others joined in and started demanding answers, soon people started speculating and Maria figured that even more rumors about his lordship were being created. She sighed and stopped listening to their tedious argument about the rose.

As her rough hands kept polishing the many metal cups and cutlery that were still by her side on the table, she noticed how the conversation slowly started turning into another direction. To Maria's dismay, the change of subject did not please her.

"I wonder if Miss. Vega has seen that rose."

"Of course not, she never ventures near his quarters," the chambermaids argued amongst each other.

"Nor does she allow but one person to enter and keep her company these days," grinned another one. She was mending linen as well. Her expressive, delicate eyebrows rose high as her mouth grew into a mysterious grin. She looked over at Maria as she kept mending the piece of cloth.

"Is it not true, Maria, that Miss. Vega has visited Mr. Winston rather often lately?" she asked casually. All eyes turned to the young woman who only stared at the shiny cup in her hand, polishing it to the point where she could see her own, worried, and tired reflection stare back. When she did not answer another maid snickered.

"What else is to be expected from a traitor's daughter? She is yet to be married and already she is cuckolding her fiancée with another!" the maid sounded disgusted, and others agreed wholeheartedly with her as they maliciously judged Christine amongst themselves. Maria felt her patience shatter with the simpleminded group of women before her.

"Miss Christine would never do such a thing. And you are foolish for thinking so lowly of her, the lot of you!" she spat. She threw the cup away and rose from the table. "Excuse me," she growled while stepping out. She would find work elsewhere in the castle, where she did not have to deal with any maid or servant again.

"Not so rough Christine!"

"If you kept still and did as I told you I wouldn't have to be as rough!"

"It hurts."

"Of course it would hurt, look at this! You should have come to me sooner!" exclaimed Christine in quite a distressed voice. Joseph pouted slightly and shied away, guarding his wound. He had been bed-bound so long that when he finally was allowed to go to his own quarters, away from the Palas, he avoided it like the plague. It meant that his bandages didn't get changed as regularly. Christine—worried about her new friend—had sought him out in his chambers to tend to his wounds herself.

"I appreciate your concern for me." Joseph was worried as he continued because he knew that they were spending too much time together recently. It did not make Christine look better in the eyes of the servants and inhabitants of the castle. He was very well aware of the constant gossip and was afraid not only for her reputation, but also for what impact their growing friendship might have on her relationship with Tristan.

"I know you do," she smiled while cleaning the arrow wound. It was healing nicely. She was not a complete fool. In the corner sat Maria, cutting new bandages that she handed to Christine. She had sought out her mistress later that morning, after having spent time in the kitchens.

The girl started bandaging the wounds and was grateful that there was no hint of infection. Joseph winced as he sat up, supported by the pillows. He took the rest of the bandages away from Christine and took her hands in his. Maria blushed at the forwardness of Joseph and looked away. Christine only stared surprised into Joseph's eyes.

"We have not been friends for long and already I feel as if I have known you for years. But you should be cautious when you come like this to see me." Her soft expression turned into a slight frown as her delicate golden eyebrows knitted together and her lavender blue eyes sank to look at her mint green skirt. She dragged her hands out from his.

"Maria, will you leave us for a moment?" she said while still looking at her skirt. Joseph hoped that he had not angered or hurt her for being so blunt. But he feared that if Tristan misinterpreted their friendship he would get the short end of the stick. But he also did not wish anyone to think badly of Christine.

Maria did not have to be told twice and was out of the room in the blink of an eye.

"What do you imagine this is, Joseph?" She turned her back on him.

"Do you think I have some romantic attachment to you only because I want to spend time with you?" Her tone grew more upset by the minute. What had he gotten himself into now? First the confrontation with the General, and now with his fiancée?

"Please, listen to me-" He had to find the words. He sat straighter on the bed and pulled the covers up further to guard himself from the chill which was creeping into the room. Christine turned around with hurt and scorn in her eyes. But she did not speak, thus allowing for Joseph to explain himself.

"I appreciate the friendship we have. But I don't want it to progress further. The problem is the situation we find ourselves in." He did not know what to say next because he did not believe what he was saying now. Was he abandoning her?

"What situation, Joseph?" she asked as anger and confusion replaced hurt. She should have never had any hopes for their friendship. Joseph would leave her behind—just like the rest— more concerned for his own reputation than their relationship.

"I cannot ignore the malice I hear in the maid's voices as they speak ill of you. And it is even openly now, they do not fear repercussion," Joseph began, suddenly cut off by a very angry Christine. She rose from the bed, staring at him with disgust.

"No, of course. For God help if anything bad would be said about you. Being with me would only taint your good name further, isn't that what scares you the most?" she lashed out at him, hurt and almost feeling mocked. She started walking to the door, her jaw tense, her nostrils flared from anger and her eyes sending a murderous gaze his way.

"I have not been acquainted with you long, Joseph. Yet you of all people here managed to cheer me up, and now that I climbed out of my hole you are determined to push me back in." As she reached for the handle Joseph cried out for her to stop.

"There is more to this than just personal feelings, Christine. Listen to me!" he tried to reach out to her, but his wounds made him wince. He dropped back into the bed, tired and exhausted from where the conversation was going. This had never been his intent. He had only tried to warn her, not make her this upset. But the more he listened to his own words, the more he understood Christine's reaction.

"I am the one who is weaker here, and that is why I decided to warn you. I care for you and do not wish to see anyone speak badly about you Christine."

"If you care for me, then you should not have insulted my pride and my intelligence. I will not fall into self-pity and despair any longer. I am done with it, I am done being taken for a fool!" Christine started speaking more to herself than to Joseph, without realizing it. She turned the doorknob and started leaving the room.

"Wait, I didn't mean for us to stop being friends, I just think we should stop seeing each other for now," he called out, trying to make her stay.

"And start seeing each other when it's convenient for you again, you mean?" Her voice shook slightly. While Joseph understood Christine's reason for acting out, she could, to some degree, understand his reason for wanting to keep a low profile. But even if common etiquette suggested that it was the right thing to do, she still saw it as a blow to her. She felt used and abandoned. She closed the door and saw Maria standing right next to it, with her hands folded and her head bent. She held an expressionless face.

As Christine decided that Maria could take care of the rest, Joseph cursed at himself. The one friend she had managed to make was now telling her that because of gossiping servants they had to be more aware of how much time they were spending together. But he understood, deep down—to some degree—that her words held truth. He feared his name being tainted. That hurt him more than the wounds he had sustained in battle.

December 14th

The inhabitants of Adelton Hall huddled together as the cold air seeped in through the many cracks of the vast building. During the day there had been an impressive drop in temperature. The clouds that had been high over the mountaintops descended and filled the valley with an eerie fog.

Mrs. Hammond was occupied ordering footmen around the fortress to light up all the chimneys. She pulled her cape closer around her and shivered. At this rate all of them would catch a cold. They barely noticed the sun setting as it was so white outside. The maids kept on talking about that it had all to do with his lordship's presence. Rumors about his mask had always been present. But due to the eerie fog that descended so unpredictably that day, the people were going on about Tristan Hawthorne hiding a curse. Johanna, who was always sent to clean his room and make his bed every morning finally gave in and spoke of the amazing rose that would not wilt. It was encased in glass and however she looked at it, it was the most beautiful and perfect rose she had ever seen.

Maria overheard the rumors once more. She did not know what to believe. Whenever she spoke about his lordship with Christine, the young girl would turn sour and shy away from the subject. But her interest always peaked when she heard the rumors about the rose. She soon found herself in her lady's presence, brushing her hair out for the evening as the thick fog still clung to the window and pressed against the old building.

"I've been hearing the maids talking about something interesting these past few days," Maria said as she passed the brush trough the silken hair. Christine's mind was, however, far away, on Joseph. She could not stop pondering about how whatever happiness smiled upon her it was then mercilessly taken away. She started realizing that maybe her life was doomed to solitude. She was destined to be the bride to a man she would never love. She felt trapped and claustrophobic knowing that there was nothing she could do. But still she kept her mask on because she did not want to worry Maria or her mother.

"The castle maids usually tend to gossip, Maria, you should know that." Her mind wandered again and looked out the window only to be met by darkness. What if she escaped and made her way to Raven's Grove? If Hawthorne had defeated the thieves, then surely it had to be safe going there by now. But she would not leave her family alone. Christine knew that if she escaped, then Hawthorne would most likely send her mother away.

"Yes but this is unlike anything I have ever come across." Maria seemed almost giddy as she continued. She knew about Joseph and wanted to take her mistress' mind somewhere else. "It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it, miss!" She brushed more vigorously now and Christine let herself be sucked into the story that Maria was about to tell.

"It seems that the lord of the castle is hiding more than his face behind that mask. One of the maids that makes his bedding and tidies his room each morning speaks of this beautiful rose that he keeps in his room. It is encased in a class box and even though it bears no root nor receives any water it never dies. She says it is the most beautiful and perfect rose she has ever seen in her life."

"That is only a made up story by a maid that clearly has nothing better to do than gossip, Maria. How could such a thing exist?" muttered Christine while fiddling with her skirts. However, the thought of finding that rose did interest her. Her curiosity had been lit and now she wondered how it was that her fiancé had managed to come by a mysterious magical rose that did not die in winter.

"I understand you, my lady, but there is more. Tales of a witch living deep within Raven's Grove have been circling not just within the castle, but in Hayes as well. The maids are speculating that she has some ties with his lordship. Perhaps she put a curse on him?" Maria speculated. Christine rose furiously from her seat and turned to face the young servant woman.

"Never speak such words, do you wish for his lordship to burn at the stake? And if that were to come, what would you think would happen to us?" Even thinking about heresy, the dark arts or of something of the sorts was dangerous. Christine had heard many tales about frantic witch burnings throughout Europe and she knew that they were starting to become all the more popular in Angloa as well. These were frantic times and people hung on to every word the church uttered.

Maria looked hurt but said nothing. She curtsied and silently withdrew from her lady's chamber and made haste to her own sleeping quarters as the cold of the night seeped into her bones.

December 15th

The click of heels against cold marble echoed ominously throughout Adelton. Someone hurried along the dark corridors and empty hallways as the sun rose in the sky. Lady Amelia had had enough. She was determined. She had a mission. Amelia could not find comfort in her sleep ever since they had arrived back at Cadherra. Her bed was too soft, it was too comfortable, too warm, too good for someone like her. When the older woman managed to shut her eyes, horrid nightmares seeped in through the cracks of her mind, mixing in with her reality. She was haunted by her own actions, by her own cowardice. She blamed herself for her daughter's unhappiness. She—once considered herself a loving and caring mother—had watched her daughter wither away, slowly, ever since they had returned to Adelton. After her husband's death the castle had lost its charm to both women. It loomed over their minds like a curse, pushing their sanity to its limits. Amelia tried to find solace in God, going to the chapel in the castle almost twice a day, confessing all her sins in a futile attempt to clear her conscience. She knew that her daughter had taken to her books and to the young Mr. Winston.

She, a once grand lady of Angloa, was now but a shadow of what she used to be, and so was Christine. Both of them had endured endless pain and humiliation in Cadherra and Wessport ever since her husband's death. But during that year, her daughter had been the strong one, keeping her mother's spirits up, never giving up. Her daughter had been, for once in her life, her shining beacon of light when all else seemed dark. But moving back to Adelton changed Christine so much that Amelia barely recognized her anymore. She always thought that her daughter's depression stemmed from her engagement to Tristan Hawthorne. An engagement she had been to foolish not to intervene in. But she had soon found out, by way of Maria, that there was much more to her daughter's pain.

As she neared Christine's room, the wrinkles in her forehead deepened. She only hoped her daughter would listen to her. She had to put an end to this. Both of them had to heal or be destroyed by their tortured minds. Her auburn colored skirts swished elegantly around her feet as she urged her step. The blonde was almost like an older version of her daughter. Alas, Lady Amelia was slowly entering her autumn years, rather gracefully. Delicate wrinkles were prominent on her forehead, they had started appearing ever since the war started, when she did nothing but worry. Yet, small wrinkles around her eyes suggested that there had once been a time when she only smiled. A time when worry did not even touch her mind.

As she reached her daughter's room, she knocked without hesitation. Maria opened the door, the hinges creaking in objection.

"My lady?" uttered Maria in surprise. It was not a secret that lately, the relationship between daughter and mother had been strained ever since Christine agreed to marry Hawthorne.

"Is my daughter available for a word?" she asked, going straight to the point. She was saddened that their relationship had come to this—that she had to beg an audience with her daughter. She saw Christine sitting, fully clothed, on the other side of the room, next to the fireplace, reading. She wore a dark red dress with a faint gold damask pattern. The sleeves were separated in the shoulder and elbow, where the white chemise she wore under peeked through. It allowed her arms to move more freely.

Maria looked hesitantly back and then again at Lady Amelia.

"My lady, I don't think-"

"Let her in, Maria," came Christine's soft voice as she closed the tome in her hand. Amelia noticed that it was her daughter's diary. She was let into the warm room and she went to sit with her by the fire.

"Are you not a bit too warmly dressed for strolling around the castle?" remarked Christine as she eyed her mother's choice of clothes. She wore an overcoat in auburn. It was lined in black, soft marabou and had a deep hood to protect from the invading winds and snow. Under it, it appeared that the Lady was wearing many unnecessary layers for walking around the castle.

"I came here to see to your well-being," Amelia began. She feared a backlash at any moment. She expected her daughter to start blaming her for not having intervened in her engagement to Hawthorne. But Christine never did.

"I appreciate it." Her eyes betrayed her smile. It was clear that the young blonde held something back. But Christine did not wish to be harsh on her mother. She already knew that Amelia blamed herself for many things that were happening in their lives.

"I came to ask if you would like to take a walk with me on the grounds."

Christine stared out, it was a clear day, with not a cloud in the sky. But the snow appeared as deep as ever.

"In this cold weather?" Christine suddenly understood her mother's choice of clothes.

"I would like to get you outside, so you might get some fresh air. You never see Mr. Winston anymore." Amelia took her daughter's hand in her cold ones. "I just want you to step outside for a moment. I have something to show you." Christine felt her throat go dry at the mention of Joseph's name. But her curiosity got the better of her. She nodded slowly, asking Maria to bring her a thicker coat and some sturdier boots as well.

Soon mother and daughter were making their way to the foot of the palace. On the outside, everything seemed normal with them. As they walked past some servants, they wondered if, finally, Christine and Lady Amelia had reconciled, never really knowing what they had been fighting about in the first place. They started descending into the snowy landscape. They did not say much, mostly they remarked on how cold it was, or how difficult it was getting through certain areas. Yet, Lady Amelia had had a path made earlier that day, in anticipation that her daughter would come. Soon they had left the main grounds of the castle and reached the tree line that grew by the Durun Mountains. It descended and hugged the foot of the cliff that Adelton Hall was perched upon. The landscape instilled a certain awe in its admirers as they pulsed through the snow.

As they neared their destination, Amelia saw it fit to prepare her daughter for what was about to come.

"Today is a special day…" she trailed off. Looking to the distance. The path that had been made ended on a small hill. Christine remained silent as her eyes were glued to something perched on top of that hill. As they neared, she saw what it was and understood why her mother had taken her there. The young woman stopped and tried to turn back, her eyes sending daggers toward her mother at the betrayal she felt.

"Why did you take me here?" she cried as she tried to get past her mother, who would not let her.

"Because you need to say your goodbyes, Christine." Amelia tried to hold back her own emotions.

They reached the top of the hill where most of the snow had been removed, revealing a gravestone. It was Charles Vega's final resting place.

"It is exactly one year today since it happened," continued Amelia as Christine looked away, not even acknowledging her father's tomb.

"I had them put him here for he is not allowed in the family crypt or on holy ground. Did you know that?"

"He was a traitor," Christine said through her teeth, trying to control her emotions as well, trying to keep the unfeeling mask on.

"He was your father!" exclaimed Amelia. "To me, it doesn't matter what he was beyond that and it shouldn't to you either. You need to accept him again. You need to find closure, Christine. It has been a year. You cannot be angry with him forever." Amelia took her daughter's hands in hers.

Christine clenched her fists but she said nothing because she had no words to say. How could she forgive him? What was she even blaming him for? Why was she feeling this way now? When they had been in Wessport she had been fine. But as soon as she entered Adelton it was as if his spirit loomed over her. Slowly her mask withered away like the leaves in autumn, shriveling up as summer died with them. Her emotions broke loose and finally she understood why now. She let her heart ache and her eyes water. It hurt her more than she could have imagine, but it felt good, as if the blocked stream of emotions within her flowed again.

"He… he just left us," she said after a moment's silence. Her voice was fighting hard not to break, she did not want to crumble under her mother's gaze for she still wanted to keep her dignity.

"He never even explained anything to me before they took him away. He refused to let me see him in prison." She finally let her gaze wander to the stone. It was a simple tomb, probably acquired hastily by her mother or someone who had bothered to take care of him after his death. The wording had been chiseled in carelessly and it was hard to read:

Here lies Charles Vega. A traitor to his king and his country. May God save his soul.

Christine stared at the simple words, as if they were meant to summarize her father. Her mask finally fell. Where was the part that said how amazing he had been? Where was the part that said how much he could make her laugh with just a few words, or how he would invent stories that would carry them off into a whole new world? Here lay Charles Vega, the traitor, not Charles Vega, the loving father, and husband.

She went to the tombstone and touched it, imagining that she was touching her father one last time. The small stream turned into a river that coursed through her. Everything she had accumulated during the past year showed itself at last, and stronger than ever.

She broke down crying. Her tears flowed as much as her held back emotions. She never wanted to admit it to herself, but it was her father's death that had been the main weight on her shoulders. Although she was unwilling when it came to marry Hawthorne, it was her duty. A responsibility she knew that she had to go through. But when it came to her father, she knew that she had failed in her duty as a daughter. She had doubted the man that who sired her, the man that had done everything to make her happy. Her cries grew as she lamented. For the first time since her father had died she mourned his death. Her mother came down and placed her arms around her daughter.

"Yes, let it out now, child." Amelia felt her eyes water as well, as the pain of her husband's death was mixed with the pain of watching her child suffer. Christine sank into the comforting embrace of her mother and they stayed there. They didn't know if a few minutes or a few hours had passed by. The cold penetrated both their bodies and soon thick snowflakes fell from the sky, melting as they came in contact with their skin. But they did not care. Here, by the tombstone, they were simply mother and daughter. Not Miss Christine and Lady Amelia, daughter and wife to a traitor.

December 20th

Days had passed since visiting her father's tombstone. The afternoon she had seen her father's resting place she had rushed to the security of her chambers. But the more time she spent there the more she realized that this was no way of living. A growing urge of fulfillment started changing Christine little by little. She had at last mourned her father and once the storm of sorrow passed she emerged a different woman. Mrs. Hammond, George and even Amelia started seeing traces of the old Christine, the determined, strong woman that she had once been. The days she spent recovering from her mourning a single thought coursed her mind. It left her sleepless at night and staring off into the distance as if deep in thought the rest of the time.

Lady Amelia was taking her afternoon tea with her daughter in the smaller sitting room of the castle, only accessible to the ladies. She noted once again how quiet her daughter was as she stared at the shriveled leafs in her cup.

"We have to change it," she said, so suddenly that she surprised her mother with her abrupt outburst. Amelia almost dropped the porcelain on the Persian rug and caught her breath at the small scare.

"What do you mean?" asked Lady Amelia. Her daughter turned to face her mother, her cheeks were rosy from the cold air that seeped in through the tall windows facing east. The fires were slowly dying, making the warmth in the room escape through the small cracks in the walls. Her soft lips were closed in a firm line of utter determination as she hugged the warm teacup harder with her gloved hands. Her expressive eyes cut into her mother's.

"Someone recently told me that if my father was anything like me, then he was a good man. He trusts in his integrity. I don't know if that person is either naïve or a fool. But they put their trust in someone they had never even met." She caressed the warm porcelain and felt the burden on her shoulders slightly lessen. She was not at peace, but she was well on her way reaching it.

"Perhaps he did commit treason, perhaps he did not. You were right, all I ever knew was the father who loved me." Amelia started feeling hope as she saw her daughter slowly coming to terms with occurrences that had happened a year ago.

"All we can do is remember him as he was, not as they painted him to be." Slowly Christine's determined expression turned into a thoughtful one.

"I can only come to peace with all of this once he rests in peace himself," she slowly said.

"You mean that you can only forgive yourself if you set things right?" But Amelia already had an inkling of what Christine was about to say.

"If the king were to pardon him, even in death, he could be moved to the family crypt and perhaps his soul will find salvation," she said hopefully. She found a purpose, something to fight for again. Slowly but surely, her old self was hacking away at the darkness that had held her prisoner. She knew exactly who to turn to for help. There was only one man that could get her to Wessport and into the good graces of His Majesty.

Tristan Hawthorne.