Identity Crisis
Epilogue
In which it is learned that no story truly ends.
*****
Apprentice Manfield walked through the silent graveyard, his hands in his pockets and his eyes not dwelling on any particular tombstone for very long. He hated graveyards, which is probably why Journeyman Macee assigned him this job. She gave every Apprentice tasks that they would hate; she swore it built 'character'. Manfield just thought it built a tremendous case of the creeps.
His Master was up ahead, at a tombstone made of white marble, without flaw. Although he couldn't read the name from where he stood, Manfield could see the blue enamel of the seal of Valdemar that graced the crown of the stone. Since all the Royals were buried in their own mausoleums, that symbol on a grave could only mean one thing: a Herald was buried here. In a silver vase attached to a ledge on the tombstone were a multitude of brightly colored flowers. The flowerheads were like little balls, composed of many triangular petals.
His Master was kneeling before the tomb, rearranging the bouquet to her satisfaction. The last remaining strands of gold in her hair caught the mid-afternoon light, all the more obvious for the grey that dominated. Off to one side, Manfield could see a pair of black kid gloves, and his breath caught. In the five years he'd been in her shop, he'd never seen her without her gloves, and neither had anyone else he'd ever talked to. It was said she even slept with them. He peered curiously at her hands, expecting them to be scarred or deformed in some way. He was vaguely disappointed to find that they were quite ordinary.
As he watched, Master Tatya raised two bare fingers to her mouth, and kissed them. She pressed the kiss to the cool stone, and a trick of the wind carried to him her quiet words. "I miss you still, Rhys."
Then she stood, and turned to find Manfield shuffling his feet and blushing. "Master Tatya," he said, head down, "Viscount Nearcroft has arrived, and wishes to speak to you about his commission."
"And of course," she said with wry humor as she drew on her gloves again, "Havens forbid that the man be forced to wait. It would be a terrible tragedy for my Lord to be forced to experience that thing called 'patience'."
They chuckled together, and began to walk away from the grave. Manfield snuck peeks at his Master from under his lashes, feeling very young, even though he stood a couple of inches taller than she. After the fourth look or so, Tatya's lips curved into a smile. "If you have a question, Apprentice, you should ask it before it burns your lips."
He blushed. "I was just wondering...what kind of flowers were those?" It wasn't what he really wanted to ask, but he thought it was safe enough.
She looked at him, and he had the sudden feeling that she knew everything she was thinking. He squirmed.
"They're chrysanthemums," she said softly, and they didn't speak again until they had left the dead behind.
THE END
Epilogue
In which it is learned that no story truly ends.
*****
Apprentice Manfield walked through the silent graveyard, his hands in his pockets and his eyes not dwelling on any particular tombstone for very long. He hated graveyards, which is probably why Journeyman Macee assigned him this job. She gave every Apprentice tasks that they would hate; she swore it built 'character'. Manfield just thought it built a tremendous case of the creeps.
His Master was up ahead, at a tombstone made of white marble, without flaw. Although he couldn't read the name from where he stood, Manfield could see the blue enamel of the seal of Valdemar that graced the crown of the stone. Since all the Royals were buried in their own mausoleums, that symbol on a grave could only mean one thing: a Herald was buried here. In a silver vase attached to a ledge on the tombstone were a multitude of brightly colored flowers. The flowerheads were like little balls, composed of many triangular petals.
His Master was kneeling before the tomb, rearranging the bouquet to her satisfaction. The last remaining strands of gold in her hair caught the mid-afternoon light, all the more obvious for the grey that dominated. Off to one side, Manfield could see a pair of black kid gloves, and his breath caught. In the five years he'd been in her shop, he'd never seen her without her gloves, and neither had anyone else he'd ever talked to. It was said she even slept with them. He peered curiously at her hands, expecting them to be scarred or deformed in some way. He was vaguely disappointed to find that they were quite ordinary.
As he watched, Master Tatya raised two bare fingers to her mouth, and kissed them. She pressed the kiss to the cool stone, and a trick of the wind carried to him her quiet words. "I miss you still, Rhys."
Then she stood, and turned to find Manfield shuffling his feet and blushing. "Master Tatya," he said, head down, "Viscount Nearcroft has arrived, and wishes to speak to you about his commission."
"And of course," she said with wry humor as she drew on her gloves again, "Havens forbid that the man be forced to wait. It would be a terrible tragedy for my Lord to be forced to experience that thing called 'patience'."
They chuckled together, and began to walk away from the grave. Manfield snuck peeks at his Master from under his lashes, feeling very young, even though he stood a couple of inches taller than she. After the fourth look or so, Tatya's lips curved into a smile. "If you have a question, Apprentice, you should ask it before it burns your lips."
He blushed. "I was just wondering...what kind of flowers were those?" It wasn't what he really wanted to ask, but he thought it was safe enough.
She looked at him, and he had the sudden feeling that she knew everything she was thinking. He squirmed.
"They're chrysanthemums," she said softly, and they didn't speak again until they had left the dead behind.
THE END