The first week of Alyssa and Olivia's visit came to a somber close. Guy de' Lusignan, Sybilla's husband of five years, was dead. Killed by a saracan warrior in battle.
-A King-
Baldwin walked into the gold covered chapel and took in the sight of his withered away sister. As always, she was well dressed, wearing a rich green gown and robe with many gold bangles and necklaces—however, her face was hard to look at, her watery green eyes had literally seemed to fade and were now the color of the inside of a grape. Her always wild raven curls were even more wild and unkempt then usual and her eyes were rimmed in red.
Baldwin had always known that she didn't love Guy; he was not the reason for her state. It was simply the impact of death—any death—that his poor sister could not contain. She was simply shocked that death had reared its ugly head so near to her private, luxurious world where all was right and perfect.
He walked till he was just behind her, breathing in the smell of fresh henna paste and jasmine. He rested his gloved hand on her fragile shoulder.
She gave a little squeak but relaxed as she realized it was only her brother and bestowed a sad smile upon her feet. Not knowing what to do, he patted her shoulder and made to leave when he heard a muffled thud and turned around. Sybilla was in a heap of gold and green shaking violently. He thought it best to leave and was out the door quickly, but not before a shrill wail escaped her lips.
-A Traveler-
Olivia paced her spacious chamber, thick skirts sweeping the stone floors. She did not know what to do—it was simply not acceptable, not one bit. No… it was just not proper. It was absolutely foolish. Not fathomable. Oh, goodness, Olivia… She stopped pacing and sat on her bed. You've gone and fallen in love with the king of Jerusalem.
-A Knight-
Balian awoke late in the day. He knew it was late because the sun beat heavily through the linen curtains that swept around his bed. He groaned and walked to his Cyprus table with the pitcher and saucer and splashed the cool water on his face. Hastily pulling on pants, a tunic, and boots, he walked from his room and into the open-air hall that led from his private chambers to the rest of the palace. He visited so often that he had his own chamber within the palace for his visits.
He could not stop thinking about Lady Alyssa. He had not seen her since the arrival dinner a week earlier. Suddenly he thought of his late wife, Ann. He turned as a servant with fresh bedding passed him and covered his mouth to muffle the sob that came out.
Balian, Sybilla, Baldwin, Reynald, Tyberius and countless other lords and ladies gathered in the main chapel of the city for the funeral. Lady Alyssa and Olivia among them. Despite the somber atmosphere of the room, Balian found himself looking to Alyssa. She was wearing a modest black dress; her hair was visible to just below the ear, then it was pulled together in a mass of black fabric. She stood by the great funeral pyre with Guy's body resting on a bed of dried flowers, wearing his finest battle garb. She was conversing with a lord unknown to Balian, looking down and speaking little.
At sunset the pyre was lighted and Balian watched without emotion as Guy's body went up in orange and blue flames.
-A Swan-
Sybilla watched as her late husband's body burst into flame, but really she was looking through the crackling flames to where Balian stood, rather close to the Lady Alyssa. A pang of something shot through Sybilla. She was not sure what it was… but it made her want to cry out or vomit. She suddenly felt dizzy as she walked from the chapel with the calmest and nonchalant manner she could manage.
-A Traveler-
Alyssa had much to think about as she wound her hair into a mass of cream colored fabric for modesty's sake. She chuckled as Rose's words ran through her head. "A lady only wears her hair in an extravagant fashion when there is an extravagant occasion."Perhaps meeting with a princess for a "walk" was an extravagant occasion, but Alyssa tucked stray tresses of ebony into the fabric after much fussing over styles. No "extravagant" hairstyle could live up to this princess's expectations anyway. The whole scene seemed ludicrousas Alyssa fumbled over the fresh memory, turning it over and over in her head.
Alyssa was in the palace's main courtyard, with the humble intentions of asking a servant when hot water for bathing could be expected in her chambers. Suddenly, Sybilla approached her. Cantankerously waving away hand-maids in matching brown frocks, she looped her arm through Alyssa's in a most unladylike fashion. Alyssa fumbled to find a polite "highness" or "your majesty," but all that come out was a sound resembling the squeak of a mouse cornered by a cat.
Sybilla laughed and said, "My dear Lady Alyssa, what startles you so? Are we not friends? I would so love for you to join me in an evening walk about the courtyards. Meet me in the atrium at dusk?" Waiting for neither reply nor hand-maid, Sybilla walked into a corridor and vanished from view.
Alyssa pulled on a dark blue gown and a cream robe that matched her headscarf with billowing sleeves embroidered with the same dark blue. Half satisfied with her reflection she walked to the atrium.
-A Swan-
Sybilla impatiently tapped her foot on the stone floor of the atrium. Someone oblivious to her station who happened to pass by would think her a madwoman. She had one hand on her chest and the other engulfed her mouth like a cage, and she laughed openly. She did not know why, but she thought it all rather funny. Making nice to the knight-stealing whore of the southern regions, Sybilla, honestly…
She laughed harder as she looked down and saw the state she would be presenting herself in: rumpled black gown with the too-high neckline, lace veil and tassel—she looked like the town hag, not a princess. She despised the mourning period with a passion for the church's fashion choices alone. Here we are, dear, old widow's garb, ready to learn all about our Lady Alyssa. Now she was keeled over with mirth Keep your enemies close dear, very close…
A/N: Well there you go. It's short, yes, but writer's block knocks once more upon the door to my inner sanctum of thoughts. (Had a smart moment there—won't happen again.) So anyway, reviews are a necessity, so humor me here, people. Bon giorno stella cetas!