DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Tamora Pierce. Je suis non (her) and I'm not French, either.
LOVE IS BLIND
Chapter Two
The End of the Beginning
Alanna trudged to her room slowly. Each step felt like miles. Her mind was buzzing, yet blank.
Her father was dead. How could it be? She closed her eyes, and willed herself to think. She tried to remember what her father looked like, but got nothing more than a bland, fuzzy sketch.
She wished she could cry. It would be a reaction. But she remained in her cold, numb, ethereal state.
It was painfully… excruciatingly… frustratingly…
She suddenly found herself in the practice courts, with a sword in her hand. Then, almost as if a time-jump had happened, she was swinging the sword. The next thing she knew, sweat was trickling down her face and back.
Her father was dead. Her father: her father by blood.
How could it have happened? How could it be?
Suddenly, she was in her room, and staring up at the blank ceiling. Her eyes were dry, and staring at Jon.
"You're an idiot," he whispered.
He was holding her hand. Her hand was bandaged, with cloth that had almost been soaked through with blood.
"My father's dead," she said to him, blindly.
"I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
She swallowed and closed her eyes. "So am I," she said, her voice low.
Trebond was a sturdy, stone fortress, built for defence, not to please aesthetically. Alanna found that she still knew her way around the twisting, cold corridors. Somehow, this knowledge relieved her.
The funeral was to occur in a week's time, but already, everyone was dressed in black, the colour of mourning.
She had barely been in Trebond for a day, but she was already wishing she was back in Corus.
Lord Alan had several other well-wishers: serious, studious, bookish men who all looked stiff and haughty - just like her father. However, there were attendees to the occasion that honestly couldn't have cared less about the man who lay in the casket.
Alanna was sickened at the thought of having to spend a week with them.
At dinner on the first night, Alanna found herself face-to-face with the biggest phoney of all: her Godmother, the illustrious, much-hated Lady Catherine. She was dressed elegantly in black, looking pale and austere. It was purely cosmetic.
"Oh Alanna, darling," she gushed. "It is a terrible pity about your father…" She was looking cautiously around her, as if she was afraid of something she couldn't quite see.
Despite the circumstances, Alanna stifled a laugh. Evidently, Lady Catherine had not forgotten the time when she and Thom had magically created illusions of ghosts so that Lady Catherine would not marry their father.
"Thank-you for your sympathy, Lady Catherine," she said, as-per-required.
At dinner, her suspicions about Lady Catherine's real state was confirmed. By some malicious twist of fate, they ended up side-by-side on the table. Lady Catherine had some atrocious perfume on. Even before the first course was served, Alanna was feeling sick.
"Alanna dearest, are you all right?" Lady Catherine asked, feigning concern.
Alanna coughed. "I'm fine," she choked.
"How is your mental state?" Lady Catherine asked. "You must be feeling dreadful, darling…"
Biting back a vicious retort, Alanna kept silent, shifting awkwardly about in her heavy, netted up, lacy skirts. Mithros, how could other girls her age put up with this all the time? Feeling Lady Catherine eye her with disapproval, Alanna bit her lip, smoothing out her skirts with shaking hands.
"Well, Alanna, I've been hearing the strangest rumours about you!" Lady Catherine exclaimed. "You are my God-daughter, dearest. And for that, I am greatly grieved. You never write me a single letter! How are you faring in the convent?"
Alanna remained silent, refusing to dignify a response.
Undeterred, the Lady pressed on. "I've been hearing the oddest things! They say you went to the palace to become a knight!" She laughed delicately. "I didn't believe a single word of it! After all, you're a sensible young girl, and my Goddaughter. You would never do anything shameful and silly like that, would you?"
Alanna shrugged.
Lady Catherine exhaled, gazing at her in horror. "Oh, Alanna! How could you? You know better than that! How will you ever get married?"
"I'm not," Alanna said simply, spooning up her stew.
Eying her as if she had sprouted green hair, Lady Catherine gave a slight cough. "You are so witty!" she exclaimed, her voice rising by several octaves. "You have such humour and wit, my dear Alanna! That is one of the most amusing things I have ever heard!" She mimicked Alanna, in an even higher, falsetto voice. "'I'm not going to marry!'"
Alanna tensed. She took a breath. "It would be a wonderful joke, indeed, if I intended it to be, but I am not joking. I don't intend on marriage. Ever."
Lady Catherine spat out her spoon full of stew. It went all over Alanna's dress - not to mention in Alanna's soup. Alanna wrinkled her nose slightly as Lady Catherine proceeded to hack and gack as if she had choked on something.
Instantly, offers of manly assistance came flooding through. However, Lady Catherine soon recovered, and declined them delicately. "I'm all right," she said wiping her mouth deftly and offering a wane smile. "Truly I am. Thank you for your concern, kind sirs." Her voice was sickeningly syrupy.
When the men were back at their own side of the table, the Lady turned on Alanna at once, slipping out of her motherly charade. "You are not planning to marry? Are you ludicrous?"
"I'm not," Alanna said shortly. "And I'm not insane, either."
Lady Catherine merely sniffed, raising a delicate brow. "If you say so, Alanna," she said, her tone speaking volumes.
Much to Alanna's relief, Lady Catherine refused to speak to her again throughout the entire dinner.
After the meal, Alanna went into the Trebond morgue. A servant accompanied her, twittering about the circumstances about her father's death.
"It was a heart attack, milady," the servant said nervously. "It came on suddenly, just when he was having lunch. There was no physician nearby… he died almost instantly… it would not have been too painful…"
Alanna nodded curtly, striding into the dimness of the morgue. She was instantly overwhelmed by the stench of death. It was everywhere, lingering on the sterile walls, tables…
The servant, terrified by the expression on her face, backed away.
The body lay on a stone slab. Alanna took one look, and felt bile rise to her throat.
The face was garishly made-up, almost as if a mask had been placed on his face. The face was smiling. Its lips were red. Its cheeks were red.
Alanna realised her cheeks were damp with tears.
She tucked her hands into her pockets, unable to stop herself from shivering. "Father?" she whispered. Her voice echoed through the cold, dark room. "I… don't know what to say… I… this… I…" She shook her head wordlessly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry… I'm sorry."
She had nothing to say. She could say nothing. She backed out of the room, and fled.
Thom arrived the following day. Alanna had not seen him in years. He was greatly changed. An aura of dislikeable confidence hung around him, like a cloak. He held himself, with the assurance of a man who believed utterly and completely of his own supremacy.
But, he was her brother first. She greeted him warmly.
"Alanna!" He hugged her. "How are you, Lady Squire?"
Alanna made a face. "Gossip sure travels fast," she said dryly.
When she pulled away, something in her brother's face made her heart ache painfully. She could see her father in Thom now. There was an air of haughty confidence, self-assurance and smugness in Thom that had not existed before. She grieved the death of the Thom she had known. She grieved of her ignorance, borne from time too quickly past.
Thom did not visit the morgue. Instead, he went straight to the Library. It was something that her father would have done, Alanna realised with a pang.
Lord Alan had died in his own office. Alanna thought it was fitting to clear the scene of his death. According to the servant, nothing had been touched, and this proved to be true. The office was cluttered, in an orderly way, suggesting that only its owner had known navigational skills required to comprehend.
For a moment, Alanna stood back surveyed the room. Books littered the table. There were pages dog-eared. Scrolls with vivid headings were scattered all around the room with headings such as "DURNA'S THEORY" or "SCANRAN WARS".
Taking light steps around the room, Alanna saw little notes that were pasted on the ledges, reminding the reader of things such as 'lunch is at 12' or 'Dantia Draconic scrolls in left shelf, 5th row down'. It was when she shifted a scroll, reading 'ARTIFACTS OF OLDE UNA' that she saw the flash of familiar, creamy parchment that was the royal stationary.
It was a letter, from the Palace. The red seal was broken.
With a feeling of growing dread, Alanna picked up the letter, and opened it. The sides were slightly scrunched, as if it had been crumpled, or held in clenched (angered?) hands.
It was from Duke Gareth.
She scanned through it. Her breathing growing shallower, as she understood the contents.
Dated the week she and Jon had defeated the Ysandir, it was concerning the uncovery of Alanna's true identity.
A/N:
Thanks to those lovely reviewers from long ago: pastlemouth, HuntressDiana, Chopstix, queenofdiamonds, Lady Arianna, Forget-me-not, TamoraFan, Reaya, Les Yeux Violets, White-wolf, arcander.