Tainted
"I have found the best way to give advice to your children is to find out what they want and then advise them to do it." –Harry S. Truman
Six: Terreille
Larqua Sabel sat straight-backed at her blackwood writing desk, the gleam of its polished surface growing dull with the setting sun. The looming windows cracked open but a few inches allowed enough of a breeze to come in and ruffle the sheets of paper on her desk. It was annoying, but she was willing to put up with it. The hottest part of summer was at its prime in the Terreillian countryside, to an extent that Craft could only do so much. Neither Adair nor Regan knew much craft regarding temperature control; a hearth witch had to be sent for. Even her knowledge was limited.
The young witch was nearing the end of her Old Tongue translations when a great gust of wind blew the window open and knocked her ink pot over. A string of the most un-Ladylike curses followed as she quickly stepped away from her desk. She managed to save her translations, and even her dress was spotless, but the ink quickly splashed over the side of the desk and onto the cream colored carpet below. Throwing her translations on her oak chest, she flitted to the large double doors acting as the entrance and exit to her room. Her pale pink summer gown flew gently out behind her with her quick, predatory movements; her dark brown curls bounced over her bronzed shoulder.
"Elektra!" The command came out as an agitated hiss. Moments later, a young red-faced maid with worried eyes pounced up the stairs, breathing heavily.
"My Lady," Elektra said swiftly, dropping into a clumsy curtsy.
"Why were you not close to my suite of rooms?" Larqua's eyes drew into thin slits, her body drawn up like a fortress of ice.
"I'm sorry, my lady. I was delivering a message for the young master." Both Elektra's eyes and voice fell as she spoke, fearful of the conniving girl before her.
"Then let Santigo's maid handle such matters. And look at me when you speak!"
Immediately, Elektra's eyes snapped up. "I'm sorry, My Lady. The young master's maid has taken ill and-"
"I don't wish to hear excuses for your poor work habits. Now hurry into my room. My ink pot fell over and put quite a heap of ink onto the carpet below."
"Of course, Milady. You should be careful, forgive me for saying so," the maid added hastily with Larqua's nasty gaze, "but your mother says that she can't keep having mistakes of that nature happen. You know Santigo-the young master, pardon me-had several ink spills last month."
Larqua waved her away, as if in disgust. "I am not my foolish brother, and you'd do well to remember that. Now clean up the mess. Hell's fire, at least try to do something right."
Leaving her maid to deal with the mess, Larqua stalked her way down the hallway to her mother's private sitting room. Upon entering, she found the grand windows to be opened, yet the heat had not dissipated. Regan, seeing the look on her young daughter's face, dismissed her maid with the nod of her head. The maid, an older looking woman, nodded gently and exited, closing the door quietly behind her. Larqua, her chest rising and falling more heavily than usual, finally threw herself before the ornate oak chair at her mother's feet.
"Oh, mother. I can barely stand this life here. I'm so tired of the country. Take me to any city, or any court. Just get me out of here," she said as she leaned against her mother's knees, near to sobbing.
Regan, taking great pity on her daughter, stroked her silky hair silently for a few moments. She let Larqua release her anger before cupping her chin in her jeweled hand. Raising Larqua's face to meet her gaze, Regan smiled in a bittersweet fashion.
"Beautiful child, I know your suffering. Your place is not here, as you have a great future ahead of you. Greater than your brother's, or your sister's. You could be somebody wonderful. A member of the Hourglass coven, a first circle witch in a grand court, or, perhaps, a powerful healer. Whatever you want may be yours. Go after it Larqua, for I shall always stand by your side."
"And what of Adair?" Larqua had long ago stopped calling Adair 'father'.
"There are ways around him. He likes to believe he's one step ahead of the game, but really, he's two behind. He's less real than you or me, and therefore a cheap boundary. As cheap as his words."
Larqua stood up quietly, contemplating silently. She tapped one thin nail against her lips while eyeing her mother.
"Make arrangements to get me out of her, mother; disguise me as a merchant, or flute player, or anything to your liking. It just has to be good enough to get me out of here without suspicion. I'll join a court, and work my way up to the Hourglass coven. I'll bedazzle them all, and outshine their achievements. No one can surpass my talent, though cooped up it is here…" With each word, Larqua seemed to lose focus of the room; though her sharp gaze was on her mother, she didn't seem to know she was there. She was conducting a conversation with herself, and flirting with a dream she held hidden inside for too long from all, save Regan.
"Larqua, the court is no place for young girls with manipulative ideals. Apart from that, your father can easily come and retrieve you."
"Then I can hide."
"Then I will no longer be able to help you."
"Not even in secret?"
"Adair is stronger than me; he'll find the information he seeks if I have it."
"So be it. I have to get out of her, even if it means taking a bit of skin off my own back."
"I assure you, Larqua, at court much more than a 'bit of skin off your back' is only the beginning of what they will do."
"You sound as if you scorn my plans, now, Regan."
"Not at all. I'm only preparing you for a harsher reality. The court loves a liar and a traitor, Larqua, provided that it doesn't affect them. You must conform to their beliefs and play tangled games with every one of them, even if you hate them-and you will. The greatest misconception about individuality is that you must be staunchly and openly different to be rebel. That is naïve and foolish. You will never get anything done if you openly go against them. You must make them love you, while you conduct your affairs in secret. Alas, these are my final words of advice to you: If you want to be bad, Larqua, then you must be good at it."
Seven: Terreille
Adair stood leaning against the mantel of the large fireplace in his study. His elbow laid limply over the polished surface, while his blank gaze fell to the ashes scattered throughout the quiet fireplace. No fire was lit, as it was already unbearably hot in the house. Strangely, he felt cold. His silence, however, was cut short as he subsided into a coughing fit. With old age came disease and illness; it was depressing if you didn't mind leaving behind what you loved so much. If you accepted it as part of fate. Yet he really wasn't that old. The healers in the neighboring town couldn't find anything wrong with him; at least, nothing physically wrong.
The double doors to his study opened and closed quickly with a quiet clink. When he turned around to face whatever servant that came to bother him, he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was a young little girl who came to disturb his boredom. Smiling, he waved her over.
"Dorothea, I thought you were out for the day riding."
Sliding into a nearby chair, Dorothea slung her old, faded bag to the floor as she smiled over at her father.
"I was, but Will was suddenly called back by his father. So, we had to cut our ride short for the day. I thought you'd enjoy some company."
"Of course I would," he replied gently as he seated himself in a chair opposite of her.
"Ya know, father, ever since I received the Opal jewel in my birthright ceremony last year, I haven't really done anything with Craft lessons-and that's okay," she quickly added at the surprised look on her father's face. "But, I don't think it would hurt to learn a little. It might make it easier to get things done. Liking cleaning and fetching arrows, and that sort of thing."
"Ah, yes, by the state of your room, I can see you need all the help you can get in cleaning it."
"You mock me!" She said, but she was laughing. Adair loved the sound of her laughter.
"Very well, my lovely daughter, I can arrange a tutor for you, like I did or Larqua."
"No, not like Larqua. I don't want the kind of tutor she has." There was a wary look in Dorothea's eyes. Adair's left eyebrow slowly rose as he considered her. His fingers found themselves clasped together in a steeple shape beneath his chin.
"What's wrong with Mr. Laven?" He asked quietly.
"Nothing," she said softly, looking away, as if modestly. This bothered Adair even more as Dorothea was most certainly not modest-almost to a fault. "It's just that I don't wish to learn the same kind of lessons as she does." She gave him a weak smile; he would have preferred for her to keep her gaze on the floor.
"Dorothea-"
"It's nothing, Adair," she said as she flashed him her sharp golden gaze. Her long fingers curled over the arms of the chair as she pursed her lips, the warning her silence begging him to let it go.
Leaning back in his chair, Adair resolved one day to bring it up again, but not now.
"Have you seen your sister today?" It was meant to be a lighter topic, yet it didn't come out that way.
"Yes, shortly before going up to visit with Santigo."
Adair nodded gently as he slowly looked away and they both subsided into their own thoughts. The seeds of fate were sown early for everyone, even now, as they are in all tragedies. Already, nothing could be done to curb Regan's contempt, or Larqua's greed. Nothing could make Santigo healthy or intelligent; nothing could give Adair hope, save Dorothea. They had control over everything and nothing all at the same time. All they could do is set out on the path already made for them, so that history and destiny could go on with no obstacles.
Looking at Dorothea now, silent and isolated, even from him, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to protect her from the inevitable. It was a weak campaign, but he tried to console himself with each breath that "it would be okay." His illness would subside, Santigo would grow strong, and Dorothea would never fear again. His mind suddenly shifted back to Larqua's tutor. There was something eerie about him. He'd ask her about it someday, somewhere. What Adair didn't know-couldn't know then-was that he'd never ask Dorothea about it. And as Dorothea slowly got up to leave, he didn't know that he would never see her again.
