Chapter 16: Dreams, Confrontations and Plans
Well, I am certainly happy you found your way back, Nosilla! I'm glad I gave you a personal shout-out....makes me feel loved that there was a reason (or two) that you haven't reviewed brushes away tears but your back! And that's what counts, no? Yes!
Mwahahaha! Hello LindyLou78! I'll call you Lindy. Yes, yes, still hanging...Abby is dead...isn't dead....unconscious, perhaps? Who knows? Not me! I know, odd, huh? but I haven't decided what to do about her yet...maybe Count John DeBracey won't find out Lady Abby in time...hmmm.
Malista...I resent that comment. Finally, indeed! Hmmf! Okok....I see your point. I apologise. Bah.
Thanks to all who confirmed that neither of my darlings are Mary Sues....makes me feel better...ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, kay, Chris....ummm, a mary sue's a bad thing....I'll have to change something.
Loving-Life- I'll call you L-L, kay? Good. I'm glad we're agreed. Did you know that that's the first glimmer of indignation I've got about the Green Coterie's Treatment of Keosha? I know...shocking, isn't it?...about Lord Antony...I do know that....but you're not supposed to. Have you seen the film version with Jane Seymour and Anthony Andrews? I love that one! And Armand is incredibly hot...pity he's really old now...no? Hehehehehe.
I realised that both Sophia's father and Marcus's father is named John and is a Count....they are NOT the same person...I didn't mean to confuse anyone....it just happened. I'm sorry, but by now you all know me, and I won't disappoint you....I'm not gonna fix it....so live with it.
Oh. I'm stupid. I've figured out how to indent and bold and italicise! Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggg! It's been under my nose the whole frickin' time! Damn it. Ok...calming down now.
Sir Marcus DeBracey slept fitfully in his cozy bedchamber. Two faces revolved in his mind; One a sweet-tempered blonde with alluring yet soft brown eyes. The other with dark chocolate hair and eyes of ever-changing hues.
In his dreams, the blonde sat on a stone bench, in a garden, surrounded by hedges and small bedding plants. The other stood under a white trellis with roses growing through the white-painted wooden slats.
Where the blonde sat, a gate parted the hedges, giving him easy access to the beauty within.
The maid under the roses was veiled by a wall of thorns and Marcus strained to make her out between the prickles and leaves.
In his mind's eye, the young man watched as the blonde stood, a welcoming smile on her face. She walked gracefully towards him, holding in her arms a basket of pansies. When she was but a foot away and the man could make out the gold flecks in her eyes, she lifted her basket up to the blue sky and the sun. Suddenly the pansies seemed to be caught in a fierce wind; the pansies had truly been butterflies. They flew around the two in a flurry and Marcus saw the young woman hesitate, her smile faltering. He held out his arms in his own welcome and her smile grew, throwing the two into what seemed a dazzling sunlight.
As they embraced, the woman lifted her head, and Marcus's gaze fell upon her sweet face. A perfect nose with thin, graceful eyebrows, and a wide mouth, waiting. He leaned down to kiss her, and suddenly he was standing on the opposite side of the veil of thorns again, searching for a way in.
He tore at the thorns bare-handed, but they only drew his blood. He peered again into the rose garden, to find that the woman walked slowly and deliberately towards him. Her dark hair moved in a soft breeze that he could not feel. When she stood only a few inches away from the thorn veil, she look up at him through the tangle.
Marcus staring into the depths of her grey eyes and saw a look of expectation in them. She reached a small hand up to thorns, mirroring where his face would be. The young man watched as her hand penetrated the thorns and emerged, scratched on his side. She cupped his face in her hand and stroked his cheek with her thumb.
The young man was filled with an urgent need to hold her, to do away with the veil separating them. He began tearing at the veil again, only to bloody his hand more. Marcus looked down helplessly at her and she shook her head. She reached out her hands and penetrated the thorns again, making more scratched on her otherwise flawless hands. He watched as she grasped his arms and pulled him into the veil of thorns.
He cried out as the sharp thorns scratched his uncovered face and she winced with him, as if feeling his pain. When he was fully through the thorns, he collapsed, suddenly tired beyond belief. She knelt beside him, steadying him as he fell.
She placed his head in her soft lap and touched the stinging scratches on his handsome face. He looked up into her face to find her lovely eyes filling with tears. Don't cry! He wanted to say, but his mouth refused to form the words. Somehow, she saw his distress and she placed a finger on his lips as if to stop his efforts. The young woman smiled tenderly yet sadly. A few tears fell on from her cheeks to his face and she brushed the liquid over his scratches. Suddenly the stinging sensation was gone and he felt refreshed.
He smiled up at her and moved to get up. As they sat beside one another, she brushed back a lock of wavy hair from his face.
Marcus studied her face. A sweet, narrow nose, her arched, dark brows over a pair of light-coloured eyes. She smiled, drawing his gaze to her small, pink mouth. He leaned in, praying she wouldn't disappear like the other woman.
Despite his prayers, the vision faded and the two faces revolved again. Suddenly, a figure appeared, a long, sharp sword in hand. The man stood in between the two women. He raised the sword and though Marcus struggled, he could not go to them. The man with the sword placed the blade first on the blonde's neck, then on the brunette's. His meaning was clear, which shall I kill? Who do you choose? The man pushed the women together and then to their knees, into the execution position. Standing behind them, he raised the glittering blade high over their head, prepared to strike.
Marcus tried to lunge towards the trio, but though he struggled mightily, he could not move! The swordsman's blade raced downward, and Marcus watched, helpless. The nobleman finally found his ability to move and speak, and as he hurtled towards them, he cried out,
"NO!"
The Earl followed the Count's manservant through the corridors of the castle. The noble's sharp eyes caught the fraying tapestries on the wall, hung to cover the mossy stones, the slightly dingy windows did not escape his notice, either. The formerly lush and cosy carpets on the stone floors were matted and had small holes due to an obvious rodent problem.
' It is amazing that the Court is still in existence, if this is that the King treats them to,' the Earl thought, put off by the obvious lack of staff. His thoughts drifted towards the conversation that he and his former friend had just had. ' John was never one to mince his words.' The Earl tightened his grip on the papers in his pocket, papers concerning his daughter's marriage prospects, as he thought malevolently of the reference to his own time at Court. ' It was different then. There wasn't a fool on the throne. The castle was kept in order...the servants were many, and proper.' He smirked at the thought of the unattractive maidservants who cleaned in the hall. Such women would not have been seen twenty years ago.
He quickened his speed slighting, subtly pressuring Gorison to do likewise.
When they reached the Earl's rooms, the Count's manservant opened the door and bowed slightly, admitting the noble ahead of him. The Earl was slightly surprised at the man's behaviour. The Count, his former friend, had always been familiar with his servants...as a result, the Earl had assumed that their manners towards their superiors would be lacking, if only slightly, in respect.
Brushing aside this small but unexpected revelation, the Earl surveyed his room with a cold, calculating eye. The room to which he had been assigned had a theme of the sea; deep blues, greys with silver trimmings. Small, but pointed jibes at both the confrontation of the silver mines and the fact that, little known to most people, the Earl was prone to sea illness.
Though the Count knew full well that the illness was only slight and that the paintings of galleons and armadas on the rolling sea would not induce the Earl to misery, but it was the thought that counted.
The Earl glanced over the bed. It was overly large for a single gentleman, but as the Count well knew, the Earl never had trouble finding a bedfellow. The Earl smirked inwardly, knowing that the Count would have given him a smaller bed, but the Count knew that the Earl would have asked for a different room, and the Count most likely liked the sea- themed room too well to move him.
Without turning to the servant waiting quietly at the door to be dismissed, the noble said smoothly,
"Tell your master that the rooms are satisfactory and that his point was taken." The Earl's voice became curt, " Leave."
"As you wish." The man left the Earl alone, closing the door behind him.
Upon closer inspection, the Earl was impressed to realised that his clothes were already in the wardrobe and that the trucks stacked discreetly in the corner were empty. 'At least the servants are efficient, if not attractive.'
The Earl of Mattensworth observed the bed. Did he want company tonight? 'No,' he decided. It wasn't that his trip had tired him (the very idea that a mere trip could tire him that much was laughable), but that he needed to plan his strategy for his time at Court. Searching for a willing wench, agreeing on the terms, and the actual act would take too much of the time he could be using to both plan or to sleep.
He slipped between the satin sheets, hardly noticing the feeling of the material on his bare skin. Before he let sleep carry him off, the man thought briefly of his daughter.
' The girl can wait a few days. My letter explained enough.'
The Earl settled down to sleep, looking for all the world like any other noble.
The old, tall oak growing outside the Earl's window supported Yona with ease. The slight awareness that Yona felt radiated from each plant that the person past was a magical residue from the time spent with the Gypsies.
The feeling was not unpleasant, but still, the feel of a foreign magic was unsettling. Yona brushed aside the feeling even as the spy brushed the water pooling on the black oiled cloak that concealed them.
So the Earl had arrived. And he slept alone tonight. How uncharacteristic of him. Yona shrugged, not too concerned with that fact. Many people slept alone, that was not what Yona's employer was concerned about.
Yona had met with the man who was paying to have the doings of the castle folk marked. The man had indeed been angry at the spy's avoidance the day before.
Remembering the confrontation, the spy smiled.
"Few people would dare to stand me up! And none of the people who would dare to are those in my employ! I have a notion to discontinue your services. You are no use to me if you do not report!" The man had paused before continuing, sounding sure of himself despite a still angry tone, " In fact, it is more of a notion, it is my decision. Your pay will be in the agreed upon account at the National Arulanthian Bank by this afternoon. I will not be recommending you to anyone!" The man had made to march out of the small, rundown cottage. Yona's cool voice stopped him.
"Ah, but as you well know, I am the highest recommended spy and sleuth in all the Known Lands. Few actually know of me, and that is because I only accept offers that intrigue me. Offers that pay well. And few people are willing to pay what I would consider my services true worth." The spy snorted in amusement, " Your 'threat' of not recommending me to anyone is empty. I have no need of your recommendations." The man swivelled around on his heel to face the dark corner where Yona stood, leaning against the thick wall.
He narrowed his lips and eyes as he tried to discern the spy from the shadows. Failing, the man said loudly and angrily,
"You are fired, I do not need your services any longer! You may be the highest priced and the highest praised spy in all the Known Lands, but there are others who would willingly do what I need. You have too high an opinion of yourself, Darkspy. I will find another who will give me what I need, you are no longer needed." The noble turned, only to be stopped again by the other's calm, yet mocking voice.
"Ah, but other spies are not quite as adept as I." The nobleman took another step before Yona continued in a lazy, unconcerned tone, "Besides. Others know not the information that I have already gleaned." Seeing the man's shoulder's stiffen slightly, the black-clothed figure continued, "Connecting the Earl of Mattensworth...the young lord DeBracey's betrothed...and, lastly for now, the personal maidservant of Her Majesty the Queen of Arulanthu." The man turned yet again, and glimpsed the white flash of Yona's grin in the shadows.
' The spy knows me all too well,' the spy's employer thought. ' My interest in the Earl was far too evident.' Aloud, Yona's employer said,
"I suppose that before you even bothered investigating your assignment, you looked into my own history. You wanted to know what I would gain from such information. You wanted leverage in case such a confrontation as this happened. So you could blackmail me into keeping you in my service."
"You are a shrewd man...sort of. But I cannot render my ways to your doubtful knowledge. I can only say that you may draw your own conclusions. As it is, I assume that I am still in your 'service'." It was not a question, nevertheless, the man nodded,
"Yes, you sly child of impudence. But know that I shall never speak of you or think of you in happiness. You are a person of low morals, and I shall never tell others that you are pleasant to be in patronage with."
A harsh laugh escaped the Darkspy's throat, "I am not ever pleasant to work with. No one recommends me, my reputation makes it's own way."
"A pity it made it's way to me!"
"Yes, I suppose, but then, you wouldn't know what the Earl's connection with the Queen is, now would you?"
"The Queen?!" The man face registered shock.
"Oh, did I let that slip? So sorry. I had meant to wait. But, as you know a bit I might as well tell you, hadn't I....?"
Yona grinned. 'And the fool fell for the bait, so like a noble! So I am still watching those nobles. How very, very tedious.'
A woman with a dark, but clear complection glanced down at the jewels beneath her fingers. She was well aware that any one piece could feed her family's entire neighbourhood for a year.
Such thoughts were few and far between when you had been serving the Queen as long as Natalia Jameson had. Ten years of faithful service had earned her the honoured position of the Queen's Personal Handmaiden.
During those years, Queen Moraine had become more a friend than either an employer or monarch. Natalia, unlike her more prudent cousin, could laugh with royalty one hour and be filching off a merchant's stall's with her thieving friends the next. Her acquaintances were the noblest of nobles and the commonest and the lowest of peasants.
She picked through the jewellery, pursing her rather thin lips together. Natalia called across the room to the Queen, her familiar language earning glares of disapproval from the stuffy elderly handmaidens and glares of jealousy from the younger ones.
"You'd look bettah with the sa-fies and puh-els set in silvah, in that dress at least, Your Highness. It's the set I mean," The Queen, used to the familiar tones and language replied with a slight shrug of her shoulders. She studied her reflection in her mirror before saying in her cultured voice,
"You think so, Natalia? I thought more the sapphires in gold would be fitting. Richer, yes, richer." She turned back to the mirror and looked in. The woman in the looking-glass gazed back at her.
'Twenty years as Queen have made a difference.' There were wrinkles beside the wide, unfaded eyes of gold, and though the cheeks still held colour, her jaw was not so defined. The fact that she was aging did not
surprise the woman in the least. Never a famed beauty, the Queen was rather known for her ability to mollify her husband's quick temper and her charm, then any striking handsomeness.
But the court knew that behind the driving power of their illustrious king, there was a stronger power. A sweeter, gentler power. The Queen, the King's soul. The King's love. Any rash or unwise action of the King was quickly worked around, not by the King's Council in a dreary room of the Royal Castle, but when the King and his wife talked late at night in their bedchamber. For the Monarchs of Arulanthu had a tradition strange to the Known Lands.
When a royal chose their spouse, politics stepped away. The royals of Arulanthu married for love only. Thus, separate bedchambers where not needed...not even thought of. Their nobles, however, even after centuries of said tradition, had not yet taken to abolishing the separate bedchamber business. The amount of unhappy unions in Arulanthu due to political meddling was just as high as in other Kingdoms.
The woman infront of the mirror smiled at her reflection. She had been lucky to fall in love with the King. Even luckier to stay in love with him...twenty-five years! A quarter century of love and joy.
The small unhappiness in their personal lives was due to the fact that their only children and heirs to the thrones had never been conceived. The Queen was not barren, she had been pregnant twice, and the child had died within hours of their birth. The thought of her children still sent a sharp jab of pain through her heart...her last miscarriage had followed just after her second completed pregnancy and birth...and death. The miscarriage had been painful and she had almost left the mortal realms. She thought she had even, though briefly, glimpsed the faces of the Two themselves. Kind, warm welcoming. A feeling of peace. Then a surge of pain and black.
But Moraine still held to her that she would be welcomed by the Two when she finally did pass on.
"Majesty?" The Queen shook her head for a second as she realised with a start that Natalia had been talking to her.
"Yes, Natalia, what is it? Forgive me, I was, thinking." The maidservant looked at her Queen, obviously concerned,
"I was asking if it was al'ight if you woe the silva' one, Mo'aine, Majesty." The Queen glanced at the set of earrings, necklace, ring and bracelet made of pearl, sapphire and set in silver and nodded. She looked up at the face of her most trusted friend,
"Yes, that will go well with my midnight blue dress, won't it?" At the woman's slow nod, the Queen smiled reassuringly and said, "I'm fine, I was simply thinking. Thank you for your concern." The Queen changed the subject, "How is Bram?" At the other woman's flushed face, the Queen laughed and whispered, "I'll not pursue it..." Natalia turned away, but not before she heard the Queen add one more word, "...yet."
Shaking her head with a smile, the maidservant placed the set in a separate, empty drawer and headed for the door, saying,
"Your Majesty will look ma'velous at the ball! 'Tis only two weeks away, and there's much still to do, eh, Majesty?" Her Queen nodded and told her,
"I am currently looking into the minstrals. I don't quite like the trumpets, though in their own right, I don't mind them, but I think we shall focus on the flutes. What do you think, then, Natalia?" When her maidservant and friend nodded in agreement, the Queen continued, "I'll give the head cook leave to employ as many people as he needs. Our Twenty-fifth Wedding Anniversary will be a night to remember! I still haven't sent out the formal invitations to those residing in the castle, however. Please remind me to do so tonight." Natalia nodded and changed the topic,
"I've hea'd my cousin of the outer p'ovences is in the castle. I'm off to see if she's left me note at all. I'll be back soon." She slipped out, ignoring the sniffs from the other ladies, indignant that she hadn't even asked permission.
Alrighty then, I'm sorry that I didn't write anything on Abby's situation...don't kill me. Anyway, please review!
