My apologies for the late update... as some of you may know from my Twitter account, I am currently on a teaching placement away from home that takes up a lot of my time. Also, my grandfather, who has been living with lung cancer for over three months, passed away last night, so until now, much of my time was spent with him. Thanks a bunch for all your patience and understanding. You guys are the best.

Chapter 15

Bella thumbed the plump cushion on her lap as she listened carefully to the cacophony of voices, her gaze fixed on a rogue stone near the foot of her stool. She tasted blood in her mouth. The inside of her cheek was bitten raw from nerves and she couldn't stop herself from gnawing at the tender flesh as the noise escalated and her name rang out in garbled shouts.

"Don't mind the men, darling," said Esme gently. Bella's shoulders sagged. "They always fight like cats, but in the end we'll get our way. You'll see."

"I shouldn't have asked," said Bella quietly, her voice bitter with regret.

"Of course you should have," returned Esme. A blonde man that Bella did not know began to shout and she ducked her head again. Edward's face was pinched with irritation— even Bella, who did not know him well, could see it— but the man carried on and Esme squeezed her hand.

"Just like a man," she whispered irritatedly. "Mihaelo is such an apro."

"He does not like me," Bella said gently. "I've never even met him properly."

"If you can show me a woman he does like, I'd give her my house," dismissed Esme. "He's sour, just as his father was before him, and he blames Edward for the sins of his father."

"What sins?"

Esme shook her head.

"Later," she said wisely. "It would not bode well if he heard us."

"What if they say no?" Bella asked. "What will happen to me then?"

"You are not a prisoner, darling," Esme said. "The Council cannot forbid you freedom of movement. Only Edward can do that, and he's got neither the will nor a just cause."

"Then what's all this even for?" she asked.

"It's protocol," Esme whispered. "Though you've been here for some weeks, you are still an outsider, and outsiders must have Royal permission to move freely between the country and the capital. Edward defers to his council out of nothing more than courtesy— to keep the peace, as one might say— but you've got nothing to worry about."

"But what if they say no?" Bella asked anxiously. "What then?"

"They won't," soothed Esme, "and even if they did, Edward's vote is the one that matters. Do you think he'd deny you?"

Bella bit her lip.

"He wouldn't," said Esme. "He's quite fond of you."

"I don't mean to be a burden," she said. "Had I known, I wouldn't have asked…"

"It is your right to petition the King for permission to leave," said Esme again. "You've done nothing wrong. Mihaelo has always been ornery, and he's contrary for the fun of it. Don't let him upset you."

"He seems angry."

"I'm sure he is." Esme's cool fingers brushed Bella's chin and with only a little coaxing, Bella met her gaze. "But it is not Mihaelo that you should concern yourself with. Edward's is the only voice that matters, and he is a kind and reasonable man."

"I know."

"That is enough." As if he'd heard the anxiety in Bella's quiet whispers, Edward's voice rang over the heads of his twelve councillors with commanding volume. Bella, though the order was not directed at her, fell silent at once, her lip between her teeth.

Esme squeezed her hand in companionable silence and waited for the verdict.

"Do any among you have any other concerns?"

"My Lord…"

"You've had your say, Mihaelo," said Edward harshly, "now be silent. Let your brothers speak. Does anyone object to the lady leaving the city?"

Silence. Mihaelo, whose surly, red face Bella could see from her place along the wall, looked mutinous. Bella watched him covertly from the corner of her eye as he glared at the King, and for one, preposterous moment, Bella thought she saw his fingers twitch towards the gilded, ornate knife hanging from his belt beneath the table. The thrill of fright that seized her lasted only a moment, but when Esme tucked a stray curl behind her ear, Bella knew that she had seen.

"Does anyone object to her request for safe passage?"

Silence.

"Does anyone begrudge her the clothes on her back, or the food on her plate?" Mihaelo bristled again, and Bella went pink. It had been this objection— the one met with a scowl from Esme and angry titters from the rest of the Council— that had made her most uncomfortable. Bella did not want to be a burden. She was grateful for the house room she'd been given, the clothes and food so generously provided, and she had been hopeful that her gracious thanks had been heard.

The table was silent once again. In the sudden hush, Bella watched the vein in Mihaelo's temple throb.

"Good," said Edward. "Good…"

He rose, and the rest of the men followed suit. When he stepped away from the head of the table, Esme gave Bella's sleeve a tug and they both rose as well, though their movement went unnoticed as Edward moved around to the first stair of the dais.

"All in favour?"

A chorus of yeas— a collective, clamorous noise— rang clear, and Bella watched with heart-fluttering relief as Edward nodded his head.

"So be it," he said, and the table began to disband. "The Lady's request has been granted. Go forth and spread the word."

Esme pulled Bella by the hand.

"It is done," she said, just as the chamber doors cracked open. "Come." Carlisle and Jasper, waiting patiently outside, peered in curiously as the first of Edward's Councillors— a tall, gangly man with stooped shoulders and a thin, tanned face— pattered over the threshold.

Mihaelo stormed after him in a flurry of irritation, sparing neither a glance nor a kind word for his healer or his prince. He blew through the hall in a furious temper, and only once he had gone, disappearing behind the thick, wooden doors, did the King speak.

"I am sorry," said Edward, and Bella turned to face him. "I'm sorry you had to hear him."

Bella ducked her head.

"Mihaelo is…" His tired eyes— red-rimmed emeralds encased by dark, bruising circles— stared at the closed door through which Mihaelo had fled. "He is… prickly."

Bella cracked a weak smile.

"I know you are no threat," said Edward needlessly, "but Mihaelo likes to argue."

"Thank you," said Bella, "for everything."

"You are most welcome," said Edward. "We shall see each other soon, I am sure."

Bella didn't reply.

One week. One week was how long it had taken for her request, quietly spoken in the sunset hours when she had been alone with the King in the throne room, to come to fruition. Seven days for him to dig up the old manuscripts, decipher the laws etched in fading ink, assemble his Council, and render his verdict. The law he'd consulted was old— it had been over fifty years since anyone had been forced to use it, and it had taken three full days of debate and discourse with his Council for a consensus to be reached. The documents talked of men and women, and of children displaced or abandoned by tragedy or war, but no matter how hard they looked or how deeply they dug, it spoke nothing of Goddesses.

And Bella's objections to that particular label had gone unheard.

Whensoever a man demandeth asylum, he shall be brought before the King's Court. The decision of the Court shall determine the fate of the man. Any foreign man who has contravened the King's Law is subject to the King's Justice, at the discretion of the King and the King's Councillors. A man of goodly nature and amenable disposition shall not be held unduly.

Whensoever a lady demandeth asylum, she shall be brought before the King. The decision of the King shall determine the fate of the lady. Any foreign lady found to be in violation of the King's Law shall be subject to imprisonment or banishment, at the discretion of the King. A lady of goodly nature and amenable disposition should not be held unduly.

Whensoever a child demandeth asylum, he should be brought before the Queen for immediate referral. If the Queen be indisposed, the child should be brought before the Princess or the Queen Mother. The child, no matter his origin or intent, shall be granted asylum as a Ward of the State, until such time as a suitable guardian can be found.

Bella had read it herself. She had been perched at a tall and sturdy desk in a room off of a long library, running her finger across the lines of text like a child with a picture book. The script had looped and twirled along the tracks of a long-forgotten pen, its once-dark ink fading with each passing year. After she'd voiced her request to him, hedging and quiet, the King had led her to the library, where an elderly, wizened man had crept up a creaky ladder with an armful of documents, all fading and peeling in the shadows of an upper shelf. The scroll had been dusty, and Bella had been afraid that it might crumble in her hands.

"What are they?" Bella had asked.

"Laws," said the King. "Our laws. You are an… interesting case."

Bella waited as the librarian— or, perhaps more aptly, the archivist— was safely on the ground before she accepted the thin, papery scroll from the King's outstretched hand.

"Laws pertaining to Outsiders," said the archivist. "Poorly known and sorely used. Best of luck to you, Sire…"

"Thank you," said the King. "Come, My Lady."

Bella followed, eyes raking eagerly over the stacks of aged parchment heaped in piles on dark, wooden shelves. The King led her through a narrow passage lined with bound books, their embossed spines glinting gold in the yellow light from the skylights overhead. They walked in silence. The soles of Bella's shoes clicked on the stone floor, and each time the King moved his left leg, the sword at his waist knocked against his belt. Her arm was looped through his elbow and he guided her gently until they reached a quiet, well-lit room with a desk and two chairs. One— a high-backed, cushioned thing with ornate arms— was pulled out for her, and the King beckoned her forth

"Please," he said, and she sat carefully atop the thick, velveteen cushion. "Would you like to see?"

She'd said yes.

"Carlisle is an able and trustworthy guardian," said Edward gently. "I trust him to see you through to the southern shore."

"Thank you," said Bella again. Esme, reaching out to her husband, left the pair of them alone. "I…"

"You will be well," said Edward. "And you will return."

Bella did not reply. Cheeks pink and eyes downcast, she did not know how to tell the King the truth. When she got to the shore, she was sure she'd find a boat. And when she found herself a boat…

She had no intention of returning to the capital.

"I'm sure," Bella said. The lie made her flush. "Thank you again for all you've done."

"As much as I'd like to claim credit, it was not my kindness that kept you well," said the King. "My people, misguided though they may be, have provided you with more than I have. The women wove the dresses. The men supplied the food. And even the children— I know their handiwork well enough— created the dolls and baubles for your chamber."

Bella bit her lip.

"My soldiers kept you safe, and my uncle made you well…"

"Hardly, Edward," said the healer, his light, airy chuckle dancing through the air. "I am merely an agent, bound by the limitations of my craft. The lady was meant to persist, and so she did."

Carlisle's arm wrapped around Bella's shoulders, and Bella leaned in to the comforting weight. The healer appraised her— his kind, careful eyes roving from her face down to her toes— and only when he was satisfied that she was well, he let her go.

"I'll leave you to your plans," he said, giving Bella a smile and the King a respectful nod. "Whenever you're ready, we will set off."

"Thank you," said Bella. A bag— burlap and twine— had already been packed and set aside in the bright blue room that had been her home in the castle. A dress chosen with especial care by Alice, a wrapped bundle of tough, hardy bread, a waterproof pouch of sweet, clear water, and a blanket— a soft, pliable thing that had been tucked into the bed since her third day awake— were all waiting for her up in the blue antechamber.

"Come, darling," said Esme. Her fingers twined with Bella's. "Let's go collect your things, and then we'll be off."

Bella had taken all of two steps, with Carlisle and Esme on her heels, when the King spoke again.

"Uncle?" he said. The healer's arm, which had been hooked through Bella's elbow, went slack, and he disengaged himself with a gentle nudge.

"Edward?"

"May I have a word?" asked the King, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Esme's smile freeze in place. She took up Carlisle's vacated place at once, tucking Bella's hand into her elbow, and led her towards the door of the hall just as Edward's voice began to pick up.

"I'd like to ask you a favour…"

"Best leave them to it," said Esme quietly. "Shall we go upstairs? Perhaps we could fix up your bag…"

But before the door could so much as close behind them, the noise reverberating off of the thick, stone walls, their path was blocked by a hunched, downcast silhouette.

"Jasper." Esme spoke softly, and Bella saw the sudden pinch between her brows as she took in the boy's sullenness— his shuffling feet, downturned head, and stooped, sloping shoulders.

When he looked up at Bella, she saw nothing but guarded hostility behind a veil of pinched hurt.

"You're leaving," he said, refusing to meet her gaze. "Edward's let you go."

"She is coming with Uncle and I to the hut," said Esme. "She is not leaving."

Bella bit her tongue.

"You're leaving," said the boy again, and this time, he did look. Bella almost felt the fire in his eyes, the anger that bubbled so close to the surface plainly evident as his gaze raked over her like hot coals. "Just like I said you would."

"I have to go…"

"No, you don't," the boy interrupted. "You don't have to go anywhere. You want to go, just like everyone else…"

"Mind your tongue," warned Esme, though there was no real threat in her voice. "It is the Lady's right to come and go as she pleases. You know that."

"Yeah, right." Jasper turned away. "Well… goodbye then."

"Goodbye," murmured Bella awkwardly. "I hope…"

His eyes flashed with sudden fury.

"Nevermind," she mumbled. "Goodbye, Jasper."

When Carlisle, grim-faced and serious, exited the throne room with sudden fervor, the boy slinked away, disappearing into a dimly-lit, shadowy room along the far wall.

"Is he alright?" asked Carlisle mildly.

"He's just as he always is," sighed Esme. "But I expect he will be well soon enough. You know how he gets. What did Edward ask of you?"

"Nothing of consequence," dismissed Carlisle. "Simple protocol is all…"

"Protocol?" asked Esme. She surveyed her husband with a critical eye. "What protocol?"

"Nothing, darling." Carlisle kissed her cheek. "Just talk between men. Nothing to concern yourself with."

"What nonsense," scoffed Esme. "What did he ask of you?"

The silence between them was thick. Carlisle surveyed his wife with a careful gaze, and though she did not know him well, Bella could see the mingled admiration and frustration on his handsome face. Esme did not relent— she stared at him, eyes narrowed, waiting for an explanation that was slow to come. Nothing was said for a long, quiet moment, but eventually, when he undoubtedly sensed his wife's obstinance, he spoke.

"Talk of horses," he said finally. "For the Lady. And talk of guardianship."

"Guardianship?" Bella chirped, and both heads turned to her. "Of me?"

"...Yes," hedged Carlisle. "It is simple protocol."

"I don't need a guardian."

"No, I don't think you do," conceded Carlisle. "It is merely a matter of principle."

"Principle?"

It was Esme who sighed this time.

"Yes, darling," said Esme. "Every family has one, and as the head of our household, it is Carlisle's duty to act as guardian."

Bella blinked stupidly.

"Our household?" she queried.

Esme's gaze shifted to the floor, and she did not reply.

"Come," said Carlisle finally. "Come, Miss Bella. It is time to go home."

And so Bella, with a strange, burgeoning excitement rising in her chest that was so rare it felt foreign, made her way towards the door. She was so distracted by the promise of freedom that she didn't even realize that this was the first time in six weeks that she'd heard her name out loud.

The horse seemed infinitely tall and Bella, standing with her trembling fingers on the warm, sleek flank, shook her head.

"Never," she said in response to the groom's question. "Not ever."

"How can it be?" muttered the man incredulously. "A lady of your age having never ridden?"

"Where I come from…" she began, but Bella bit her tongue. Where she came from, men and women did not ride horses from point A to point B. She was not expected to know how to mount a saddle, or sit up straight, or urge a horse forward with a gentle squeeze of her thighs. She knew how to navigate gas pedals, steering wheels, and a sticky clutch. She knew what to do when her engine whined, or when her blessed truck, as old and rusted as an aged penny, stalled mid-drive. She knew just the right way to crack open the gas tank cover, and just how fast she could take the long, winding turns on the shores of First Beach.

But she did not, for the life of her, know what to do when the horse tossed its head, stamped its massive hooves, or trotted away when she tried to grab ahold of the pommel.

"Grip it here," said the man, and he took Bella's hand in his. Carefully, but with enough confidence to keep the horse from startling, he placed Bella's palm firmly on the saddle.

"It's easy once you learn," said Esme sympathetically. Bella had watched with only mild apprehension as the older woman had swung confidently onto her own mount— a small, grey mare with a glossy mane of dark charcoal. Bella's own beast— a taller, slightly wider palomino borrowed from the King's stables— was not as sturdy, and from her vantage point, seemed at least ten feet taller.

"Left foot on the stirrup," instructed Carlisle. His horse stood still as a statue as it waited. Bella obeyed his order, and her own horse began to bristle.

"Have you no other?" complained Carlisle to the groom, who wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "This one seems hardly broken…"

"She is well-broken and well-trained," grunted the groom. "A good girl…"

"Seems skittish," argued Carlisle. "A skittish horse is no good for a beginner."

"There are no others that are suitable," said the groom. "The lady is too small for a stallion, and the only other mare is…"

"I understand," sighed Carlisle, although Bella did not. With her foot hooked onto the stirrup, she faced the groom again.

"What other mare?" she asked.

"It is… nothing," said the man. "Nothing of concern. Now… with your left foot in the stirrup, pull yourself up. Are you strong enough?"

"Yes…" said Bella. She had grown much stronger since her last excursion on a horse, when the King himself had been forced to lift her up. Her legs no longer shook, her arms did not ache, and though she sometimes felt the familiar thumping of a headache in her temples, it was more of a nuisance than a threat.

Bella hauled herself up with as much grace as she could muster, gripping the pommel for dear life as soon as she was settled. The groom clucked approvingly and Esme clapped her hands, but Bella, feeling the gentle breathing of the beast beneath her, was stiff and anxious.

"Good, My Lady," said the groom. "Very good. Now…"

He handed her the thick, soft leather of the reins, and she gripped them with tremulous fingers.

"Squeeze with your legs to move forward, a soft pull on the reins to slow, and a sharp tug to stop, you understand?"

Bella nodded.

"Try it out," urged the groom. "Best to take a tumble here than out on the road."

Bella's face paled.

"It's quite easy," said Esme again. "Kora seems steady now."

As if in defiance, the horse, Kora, tossed her blonde head and whinnied.

"Walk on," said Bella shakily, squeezing the saddle between her thighs. The horse responded at once, and began to trot— slowly, yet steadily, towards the castle gate.

"Good," called the groom. "Now make her stop."

Bella gave a firm tug, and the horse halted at once.

"Good girl," she murmured, patting the horse's neck. "Good girl…"

"Now turn her back," urged Carlisle. "A soft tug in the direction you want to go…"

But Bella, her confidence rising by the second, pulled the horse to the right and watched, amazed, as the creature turned right back around.

"You've got it," said the groom, looking slightly less grim. "Just take her slow, and she'll do well by you."

"Thank you," said Bella again. The horse parked herself next to Esme's mare. "And tell the King…"

"I'll tell him," said the groom. "I'm glad you are well enough to venture out, My Lady…"

And once again, Bella's cheeks went pink.

"Thank you."

"And watch out for yourself in the city," said the groom. "The people are waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"Thank you, Marco," said Carlisle quickly, and Bella caught a glimpse of his nervous, almost embarrassed, face. "Thank you for all your help."

The man bowed, and Carlisle turned to face her.

"We will go as far as the hut today," he explained. "The shore is not far from there, but it is not safe after nightfall."

"Nightfall?"

"It is a long ride home," explained Carlisle. "I expect you'll be tired out."

"I…"

"Come," said Carlisle. "And whatever you do, stay by me."

"Why would I…?"

"The people," explained Carlisle, repeating the groom's mysterious words. "The people are waiting."

The gates swung open and at once, the cheering rose.

Translations:

Apro
Boar