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Chapter 20: A Time for Light

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"As if she were a shadow fading into night. And then all was black as coal. And silence reigned. This is absolutely lovely. A fan of the subjunctive mood, Lady Alana?"

"Yes, a bit. I enjoy the way it complicates the language."

"Ahh. And perhaps this is a study as well. Of yourself this time."

"Are you implying that I'm complicated?"

"Well, I have only just met you, my lady. But you already have me befuddled."

"My lady? Aren't we past the honorics yet, Julian? I've consented to dinner after all. Go on..."

Of course, apologies. Alana. It's a beautiful name. Would you like more wine?"

"All right, just a bit. Thank you. Either way, I reckon you're reading too deeply into it. This is no memoir."

"Right, of course I wouldn't like to presume. But could it be that your outlook on life itself is complicated, and this is reflected in your words? Every word you put down anchors your soul to the parchment. And this is no less evident in any fictional scenarios you craft. Stories are how we live through difficult moments after all."

"I rather think you're projecting."

"I may be at that. But really, this is wonderful."

"I'm glad you think so. But enough about my silly poems. You'll make me blush like some young farmgirl. This fish is amazing. Do you want a piece?"

"Hmmm. Yes, it's very good. The hint of lemon really is perfect. But your words are finer still."

"Tehlu, stop it already. You're a fine writer yourself, aren't you?

"That… is another thing that is somewhat complicated…"

I first spotted Julian about five span after I began frequenting The Guild. He was memorable, mostly because a glance at him was akin to looking in a mirror glass. He had been perched at the other edge of the bar, poring over a thick, ink-splattered notebook. I had been doing something similar, though my own notebook was mostly full of nonsensical scribbles rather than lines of inspiration. And I was quite secretive about its contents; mostly because they were nothing worth sharing. Fortunately the secrecy only added to my intrigue. The dark-haired man down the bar, however, did not appear to be putting on airs. The ink that flowed between his fingers was thick and endless, and clearly full of heart.

"Julian Panelion," Sela told me next day when I casually mentioned the writer at the bar. It was early afternoon, and we were standing together at the edge of the kitchen, carefully shaving black winter truffles into paper-thin strips. I had left Emrys, my suitor of the previous evening, in his lush bed to attend my nonexistent writing class, and was now diligently putting in the hours I had promised Aerin at The Guild.

"He's a proper lord, that one. Son of a sparathain." Her voice faded to a near whisper, and I had to lean in to hear the rest. "Bit of a skirt-chaser, though. I swear, he leaves with a different girl each night."

I managed an easy laugh. "Tehlu, Sela. What is he, some whore?"

"Of course not!" she said, scandalized. She glanced around the busy kitchen, but no one was standing within hearing distance and the acoustics of the space prevented our words from traveling too far. Between the chopping of food, the loud directives of the head cook, and the sizzle of the huge iron stove in the far corner, it was the best place in The Guild for a private conversation. Still, she lowered her voice further. "I'm just saying he's a little loose. But I wouldn't mind a romp with him behind the bar." She shot me a devious glance. "Why, are you interested?"

I shrugged.

"Aren't you seeing Emrys?"

"Emrys bores me. He talks of nothing but himself."

"Well that's how noble lords and ladies are. They—" She broke off abruptly and shot me a nervous glance, as if only just remembering that I was a lady. Not that I was actually a lady…

"It's all right," I said quickly, offering up a laugh to put her at ease. "It's perfectly true."

She glanced down at her truffle shavings, keeping her eyes on her work as she spoke. "You sure don't act like a lady, Alana. I didn't think most ladies knew their way round a kitchen. And you don't talk about yourself one bit."

"There's nothing to talk about. It's all the same dramatic family mess you've heard a hundred times, I'm sure. Go on, tell me about Julian. Is he a writer, too?"

"I've heard he dreams of being a poet." She sounded absolutely smitten. "But that his parents aren't pleased at all…"

She launched into a monologue then, detailing the finer points of Julian's hopes, dreams, and full family history. And an accounting of all the women he'd taken to bed from The Guild. There were many, and it appeared he didn't discriminate based on social standing. Perhaps the lower the status of the lady in whose company he spent the evening, the more of a rebellion he considered the encounter. And according to Sela, his entire life was currently a series of acts of rebellion, because he was to take up his father's title of sparathain one day, and did not want to. So, really, a romp behind the bar with a kitchen maid might not be such an impossibility. Were Sela inclined to try. Which, I knew, she wouldn't.

"So, will you abandon poor Emrys and set your sights on Julian instead?" she finally asked me with a wicked grin when she finished outlining all the intricacies of Julian's life in crystalline detail. I was certain at least an hour had passed.

"No. I reckon he sounds like an utter cad. I'll stick to Emrys. He's all yours."

Sela actually looked disappointed. And informed me that she was rather displeased, since she was used to living vicariously through me and my endless love affairs. To her, I was something of an anomaly. A lady who stood beside her in the kitchen. Something like a friend. Every other woman who worked in The Guild resented me for the arrangement I'd made with Aerin. They scoffed at my endless string of failed relationships and treated me with thinly veiled contempt. Whenever we spoke, I could feel the anger blazing beneath their words, even if they never said anything directly untoward. They didn't dare. Aerin had been perfectly clear with them all about my status, and how I was to be addressed. And how nothing would be said of it. But the questions in their eyes were clear as glass. I could hardly blame them. Perhaps they could see the truth — that I was an imposter. That I was no different from them. No lady at all.

Sela, though, was different. She had been the first to approach me, and to engage me in conversation all those span ago. She was the only one who spoke to me with no reservations and truly seemed to enjoy my company. She was a crass and honest girl with no care for the games nobility liked to play. Nor did she care for the bitter gossip of servants. I appreciated her more than I could ever say. And her words were almost enough to make me seek out Julian. Just because she'd asked. But if he was merely frequenting The Guild in search of fleeting company, he didn't seem worth pursuing. What could he offer me besides, perhaps, an enjoyable evening? I couldn't risk it. I already burned through men so fast that Gerald had made a point to comment on it the previous span. Albeit vaguely.

"Are you studying the male psyche? For your next work?"

My answer had been nearly as open-ended as the question. "I'm writing a ballad. And I shall like to know what love is."

"Love." He seemed to contemplate it. "The greatest question of the four corners, my lady. What will you do, should you discover it?"

"Sing of it from the roofs," I said, in my best mystically artistic voice. "And marry the fool, I suppose."

That had been the day after Emrys had first approached me and asked to spend an evening in my company. I had watched him for several days before that, of course. And then, finding him acceptable, I'd ensured I'd draw his interest.

So I smiled at Sela and shook my head and carried on with the truffle shavings. And thought the matter put to rest. But it wasn't. Because, despite all my reservations, I found my eyes drifting to Julian. Night after night. In all the quiet moments.

He was beautiful, really, with his dark and softly-curling locks of hair. With his eyes, as pale and warm as ice melting in the spring sun. And that title. Sparathain. To be, but still. He should have been the sort of man I'd pursue. But all those women. No. I was done with that — I wouldn't be drawn in for simply an evening. I wouldn't have sex with him and walk away with nothing. Not anymore.

He wasn't for me.

"So your father doesn't support your writing either." Julian put down his wineglass and studied me over its rim, his pale eyes boring into mine. "But you are doing it anyway. That is commendable." There was respect in his voice. "Does he know you still study it?"

"No." I let out an amused breath and reached for the platter of chocolate between us, contemplating my choices for a long moment before glancing at him again. "He has no idea, of course. Or he'd stop paying for the university and send me straight back home."

"And where is home?" He was still looking at me, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"Kershain," I said, giving the answer I had prepared a long time ago. A city far enough away to be safe. Unquestioned. I hoped. "In Modeg. Do you know it?" I finally selected a desirable piece of chocolate and bit down on it. Hints of cocoa and berry burst in my mouth. An unexpected tang.

"I have visited. Wait… are you Modegan, Alana? You do not have the slightest accent. I wouldn't have—"

"Oh no, I'm not Modegan at all," I said quickly. "I was born in Severen, but we have lived in Kershain for a while. My father works in the courts there, for the High King. He'd like me to join him when I finish at the university, then marry me off to some high lord. I won't have it, though."

"You are brave." His voice was soft now, as if these words warranted more consideration than any others tonight. "Are you not afraid of what he will do if he finds out you're not studying mathematics at all?"

"A little." I met his eyes. "What of you? Are you not afraid of what life will become if you trade your wishes for those of your father?"

"A little," he echoed, and his eyes seemed to jump somewhere very far away. "It would be filthy rich. But… empty." He breathed out an empty laugh. "So I postpone it."

"By bedding every woman at The Guild?" I asked pointedly.

He gave me a curious glance.

"I will admit, your reputation precedes you, Julian."

"And what have you heard?"

I shrugged. "Oh, this and that. Mainly that you'll sleep with anything if it lies still long enough."

He burst out laughing, with feeling this time. "Now, that isn't true at all, my lady. First of all, I prefer if they didn't lie still at all…"

"Tehlu, that's crass," I said innocently. "What's a proper lady to think?"

"That she's incredibly lucky to find such an experienced suitor?" His amused gaze held mine.

"And who said you're experienced?"

"Of course, perhaps you are more experienced than me." He shot me a devious glance. "I have seen you on the arms of several gentleman as well. Could it be that you are postponing something yourself?"

"And what would I be postponing?"

"Responsibility?" He considered me. "A job in the courts? No, you would not… Ah, marriage."

I offered him a wicked grin. "You're projecting again."

"Then what is it you're searching for?"

"Love." The word slipped out so effortlessly, I wasn't even sure whether I meant to say it. But I held his gaze, my own unblinking. Alana was all brazen confidence and heart. And I was wearing her mask like armour. I would not back down now.

He said nothing for a long moment, his eyes on mine. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "And if you find it… will you give up searching?"

"For what?" I breathed, though I knew perfectly well. He wasn't asking about my writing aspirations. The question lodged somewhere deep inside me, deeper than the scarred edges of where Alana ended and I began. For a moment, it was simply me sitting there. No mask, no armour. Just all my hurts trailing behind me and an uncertain future laid out ahead. I closed my eyes, and hoped there was love in it. And then I pulled the mask back on and blinked Julian's face into focus, and just like that the moment was gone.

"Will I settle on a man, you mean?" I added lightly, and I thanked Tehlu for my steady voice.

He nodded.

"Will you?"

"Settle on a man?" he repeated with a grin.

I rolled my eyes. "Get married and work with your father."

"I suppose. If a proper lady agrees to the arrangement." His eyes held mine."Though I have it on good authority that most proper ladies consider me quite the cad. Or at least their mothers do."

The blush that spread across my cheeks seemed only fitting for Alana. "Well, I am not most ladies."

Within another span, my courtship with Emrys had drawn to its mutual conclusion. It was a relief. I pawned the bracelet he had given me for three quarter bits and tucked the matching necklace safely among my things. The money was enough to bring my remiss account with Frames up to date and ensure I would not be kicked out of my tiny room.

A span later, I was seeing a young sculptor named Finnian. And after that, I spent several evenings with Stelan, a nobleman in the king's service. Neither relationship lasted very long, and perhaps that was because no matter what we got up to at The Guild, my eyes would inadvertently drift to the corner I had dubbed as Julian's. And I would watch him sitting there, writing, or drinking, or chatting to a woman which would undoubtedly leave on his arm later that evening.

Nothing good would come of it. He was useless to me. To my plans. To the semblance of a life I had carved out for myself at The Guild. I was looking for a courtship, and he was very nearly a whore. Not that he would ever be called such a word — he was a man, after all. The son of a sparathain.

But still, inadvertently, without my urging, my eyes sought him out.

By my eighth span at The Guild, I could no longer ignore my intrigue with Julian. It was as if we were alike in ways no two people had been alike before. I knew little of him. Only what I'd seen and heard, but still the outline of him in my mind was detailed with colors of my own design. Perhaps it was the writing — his real, and mine not. Or the way in which we both breathed through partners. The way his face shifted upon meeting each one. Just slightly. The curving of his lips. I was never close enough to really see his eyes, but even from far away they were as clear as mirror glass. The smile in their depths as filtered as the one I'd always known. And I knew what I wanted, at least on the outside. But why did he reach for others as if they were as essential as air? As if the light of each would last for only an evening. Was it the darkness he was running from?

The questions swirled over me. Constantly. Endlessly. And when I picked up my notebook in those evenings, the scribbles that burned incessantly through my inkwells formed into words. She lives in the broken patches. They weren't good words. The cobblestones splinter and give out, and on and on she walks. It wasn't poetry. It wasn't anything, really. I was no writer, despite the spiderweb of lies Alana wove. In the shadows of the city she's once known. The darker shadows and the lighter shadows, but shadows still. But they were true. Real. She is shadow. Fading.

And I was.

And when my final courtship fell apart, I knew there was nothing for it. Even if it only lasted a night, it would still be half a loaf — enough to still the curious storm that swirled within me. Understanding him somehow seemed nearly as vital as understanding myself.

But still, if I could intrigue him enough to make it last longer… Time was a precious commodity. And with spring on the horizon, I didn't have endless amounts of it. Anilin loomed in the distance, a barely discernible dream; the journey still very much out of reach. I needed money. More than I could scrape together even with my courtships. My time with him needed to be longer. To be spent better.

I needed to know him better. And more than that, I needed him to want me.

And so I watched. And I wrote. And I waited.

Our first dinner ended in a swirl of expectation. We left the restaurant, the chilly air greeting us as we stepped out onto the smooth cobblestones. It was colder than it had been earlier, and the night hung heavily. We walked aimlessly for a while, exchanging easy banter. His arm on my shoulders. His grip was firm, but I didn't mind.

When the air grew too frigid to carry on, Julian steered us carefully down familiar streets, until we found ourselves outside of Frames. I glanced up at its narrow facade before meeting Julian's eyes once again. He smiled.

"This is where I shall leave you, my lady." He stepped back, offering me the most ridiculous courtly bow. I looked on in amusement.

"Really?"

"Yes, at the gates of your palace, now that I have ensured your safe return."

"Palace?" I laughed. "Perhaps in Yll…"

"It's lovely, truly. Quaint."

"Yes, it's quite nice. The facade doesn't do it justice."

"I will have to take your word for it tonight."

"I'm shocked," I said with perfect honesty. "I would have thought you'd like to check out the firmness of the mattress. Or some such."

He smiled in that devious way I had come to appreciate. "I would not be opposed, I assure you. But another time. I have decided that I should like to learn what it is… to wait."

"Oh?" I felt something catch in my chest. To wait… "When did you decide that?"

"Tonight." His eyes grew uncharacteristically serious. "My lady. Alana. I have met so many women—"

"I know," I cut in drily, unable to help myself.

He ignored me. "I have. And not one of them has intrigued me so much as you."

I said nothing. It was what I'd been hoping for all this time. And when he said the words, I felt them lodge in my chest, almost painfully. And the whole world around me seemed to shift. Relief. Just a bit of pride. I had done it, somehow. I had managed what none of the women he'd wanted had been able to do before. I felt the thrum of excitement well up within me, threatening to burst, and smiled.

"So perhaps the bed will have to wait until tomorrow night," he finished.

"It shall have to wait longer than that," I said with all of Alana's confidence. "I'm worth waiting for."

"I do believe you are."

And then he leaned forward and touched his lips to mine. Softly. Lightly. For only the space of a breath. A warmness in the cool night. And then he was gone, stepping back and turning away. His smile fading into darkness. His shape blending into the night. My lips still lingering with the warmth of his memory.

I stood outside Frames for a long time, alone in the darkness, wondering what in the four corners I had just done.

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A/N: I can't quite believe it, but we're 2/3 of the way through D's story! I hope you guys are enjoying this somewhat lighter turn of events, and thank you so, so much for reading and sticking with D! And thank you to whoever has faved, or followed, or reviewed. It means the world.