It was days before Aminta could be coaxed out of the bedroom. She went from being wild with grief to completely unresponsive, to aggressive and violent. At any given moment her mood was utterly unpredictable, except that it was anything but happy. The only consistency in her behavior was her stubborn refusal to eat or set foot outside the room in which her baby had died. Even when Nadir took the baby to be buried, Aminta had refused to attend. There was no service, just an informal burial in the Boscherville cemetery. A small stone lamb Erik had carved served as a headstone, with no name or date to mark the occasion. Their child had been conceived in secret, and in secret it was laid to rest.
Erik tried desperately to coax Aminta to eat, but the most he could get her to do was drink a bit of broth he had made of vegetables and chicken. She had lost a considerable amount of weight during her illness, and was losing more by the day. Her eyes were darkening and becoming more hollow, as were her cheeks. The hard bump on her stomach that had once held their baby was nearly flat again, and Erik noticed even her old dresses from before she was pregnant were beginning to fit a little loosely around her breasts.
The only thing that kept Erik from behaving just as erratically as Aminta was her health. By concerning himself with her he was able to fend off the worst of his pain, though when she slept he couldn't help but grieve.
Finally, about four days after the stillbirth, Aminta stepped weakly out of her room to sit by the fire, holding her knees to her chest and resting her chin upon them. Her presence did not go unnoticed by Erik, who came to join her by the fire. "Nadir went home today. He'll be back next week."
The news was met with a quiet nod of understanding.
"Are you hungry? I'm making a stew."
"No." The quiet, careless answer was met with a frown.
"Aminta, you must eat." Erik's voice was insistent, desperate almost.
"Why? You never do."
The biting sarcasm in her voice was trying Erik's patience. "I've eaten more this week than you have, which is saying something. You'll never feel better if you don't eat."
Aminta bit her lower lip. "I don't want to feel better, Erik. Would you? You told me there was a fever going around, you told me I should go. But I did. I got sick and the baby paid for it. I don't deserve to feel better."
"No, I wouldn't want to feel better." He conceded and was quiet.
"It was a boy, wasn't it?" She asked, surprising Erik.
"Yes, it was."
Aminta nodded. "I had a feeling it would be. I had such a hard time coming up with boy names, I never did decide on one. I wasn't sure how you'd take to him being named after you, and I certainly didn't want to name him after your father. Naming him after my father would have been an even worse idea; at least yours only died. Nadir seemed too ethnic for Paris."
"There's an abundance of literary characters you could have used." Erik suggested.
"I guess so. I didn't really think about that. Aaron, for example. Lysander. Fabian. Lorenzo. Adrian."
Aminta smiled a little, privately. "Adrian. I like that. Where's it from?"
"The Tempest, by Shakespeare. You're an English speaker, I take it you've heard of it. Adrian is one of the lords." Her smile prompted Erik to move to the kitchen to fetch bread and water in an attempt to feed her while she was distracted.
"I haven't read The Tempest in years… Adrian. That will be his name then. Our little Adrian." Aminta took the bread and put a little piece in her mouth, absently. Erik was quietly pleased with this small success. "You said he was buried in Boscherville. Isn't that where you were born?"
Erik nodded. "Yes. It's about a day by carriage, I thought it would be private enough to not raise questions but close enough to visit."
"I'd like to see it. Would you take me?" Aminta thought it was fitting that their son should be buried where his father was born. She was curious to see where Erik had grown up and where their son would never grow old.
"Of course. If you eat a good meal tonight we can go tomorrow." He offered in an attempt to bribe her to eat.
"What kind of stew did you say you're making?"
"Boeuf à la bourguignonne. It's beef braised in red wine with vegetables. A peasant dish, but it's really very good."
Aminta seemed to think this was agreeable, as she nodded. Erik moved out of his chair to bring her a bowl of the hearty stew, giving her more vegetables and potatoes than meat to avoid upsetting her stomach after so long without real food. She ate quietly by the fire, finishing her entire bowl and even eating most of a second one Erik brought out for her. She had been hungrier than she claimed, apparently. He couldn't say he blamed her, with how much stress her body had been under the past week.
He made them a light breakfast in the morning, and before long they were on a carriage to Boscherville. The color was already returning to Aminta's face after a full night's sleep and a good meal, Erik was pleased to see. He hid himself well in the carriage, used to traveling discretely by now. Aminta rested her head on his shoulder, quiet for the entire trip. They arrived in the middle of the night, and Erik sent Aminta into the local inn to rent two rooms.
"Why two? And why not come in with me to rent them?" She asked, showing more interest in the goings on of the world around her than she had in days.
"I may be recognized. There aren't very many masked people in the world after all. And two rooms is simply more appropriate."
Aminta rolled her eyes some, though not cruelly. "Okay you can stay here, but we're only getting one room." She took the money he offered her, and moved inside to rent a room on the first floor, opening the window to allow Erik to move inside.
"Don't you even think about sleeping on the floor, either." Aminta stayed in her underclothes for bed and moved under the sheets, patting the place next to her. She knew him well enough to know he'd avoid her like the plague if he got the chance. Except for the night he had that nightmare, Erik had made sure to give her as much spaces as he thought she needed ever since that Christmas night they had been together.
Erik obeyed her, taking off his outmost clothes to slip into bed, but leaving on the mask. Aminta turned to face him and watched him quietly. A brow lifted under the mask. "What is it?"
"Nothing. Thank you for being so patient with me. And for bringing me here. I know this can't be easy for you." She whispered.
"It's… easier than I thought it would be. So far, anyway." He admitted, quietly.
"How long has it been since you've been back here?"
"I'm not sure. At least thirty years, probably more. I left when I was about eight, but I lost track of the years a long time ago."
Aminta couldn't imagine being away from someplace so significant for thirty years or more. "Will you show me around the village?"
"There isn't much to see. Most of it I don't know anyway. I only ever left the house at night, I don't think I ever saw it in the daylight."
Aminta frowned deeply. "Well. Let's go see it now then." She suggested. "Everything but the cemetery." That she wanted to see in the light.
Erik considered this for a moment before agreeing, standing to dress again. Aminta joined him, and together they slipped out the window to avoid rousing the suspicion of the landlord.
They walked through the village, arm in arm. Most of the village was asleep, though several windows had lights on and there were candles burning from inside the church. Aminta caught Erik's attention turn to an ordinary looking cottage, covered in ivy. It had a large, walled in garden in the front and tall windows covered with curtains, though there was light shining from inside. Something clicked in her mind and she looked up at him. "That's it, isn't it? That's where you grew up isn't it?"
Erik nodded quietly, though he was notably more tense than he had been a moment ago, and his jaw was set.
"Wait here." She said suddenly, and let go of his arm to move deliberately towards the house.
"Aminta, don't." Erik reached after her but was glued to the spot.
"I just want to see who lives there now. I'll be right back, I promise." She moved towards the house quickly so Erik wouldn't try and convince her not to pry. Taking a deep breath, she knocked at the door, quietly in case the occupants were asleep and had simply forgot to turn out the lights.
There was movement inside the building and the door opened just the slightest bit. "Who's knocking at such an ungodly hour."
"I'm sorry, Madame. My name is Aminta, I came all the way from Paris. I… There was a boy who used to live in this house with his mother. A boy with a mask. The boy left a long time ago, but I was wondering if you knew where his mother might be?" She asked politely, eliciting long silence from the woman on the other end of the door.
Finally the door opened entirely, revealing the figure of an aging but graceful woman, around seventy years old Aminta guessed. The woman had tears in her eyes as she spoke, softly. "How do you know my Erik?"