Chapter Two: The Enigmatic Duke
Disclaimer: I own nothing so please don't sue.
Note: I apologize sincerely for not updating in such a long time but I am currently really busy. I had mountains of homework and multiple tests to study for. Then my computer totally screwed up and I lost all my documents – including my Chapter Two of this story – and then I had multiple tests and homework again. Oh yeah, I wrote this new quick story today out of pure inspiration and insanity so review it if you like okay? It's called A Conversation With the Flower – check it out! I apologize for the long wait – now here's the newly revised, newly rewritten Chapter Two. Enjoy and review!
The winter air at Athanarel is cool and crisp and scented lightly with the fragrance of delicate red roses. The rose gardens at Athanarel are truly magnifique – whatever his taste in queens, Tamara has to admit that Radare Calahanras was a superb mage – it is his spell that allows flowers to bloom even in early winter. The roses bloom ruby-red and white and a soft yellow in the neatly pruned green bushes. The ground is dusted thickly with soft white snow. Soft glowglobes radiate a warm and peachy golden light, illuminating the dark evening.
It is the first time that Tamara truly sees the beauty of Athanarel's gardens; the first time she truly appreciates the art that some many have wrought.
Standing in the midst of this beauty, Tamara pauses to gently pluck a white rose, inhaling its sweet fragrance. With her glossy black curls gleaming under her beautiful blue hat, her pale cheeks flushed from the cold, and her silk dress matching her blue eyes, Tamara looks truly beautiful by the pale moonlight.
Tamara pauses to hold a crystal glass of wine up to the moonlight, noting the deep plum color. Iced citsir is a rare delicacy and Tamara has never drunk it before. Tamara smiles slightly: the Marquise of Merindar pressed the glass into her hand in order to get her to stay at the immensely boring party, but Tamara has managed to slip politely away with the glass of wine. It is the first time that Tamara has done so, and she savors the triumph of being able to compliment the tyrant king by showing up, and by both complimenting the king again by slipping away after he left by suggesting that the party was dull without him and managing to communicate to the Marquise just what she thinks about their little chat the other day without openly saying it.
Holding the glass by its delicate stem, Tamara sips the cool yet burning liquid, letting it froth down her throat for the very first time. The wine is finely made, and Tamara savors the taste of iced citsir for the first time. Tamara pulls her cloak more tightly about her as she sets the glass down on a bench. The night is getting chill.
"May I say how beautiful you look tonight, my dear Lady Tamara Chamadis?" A soft, appealing, and intimate voice murmurs lightly into Tamara's ear. Tamara feels her eyes widen the briefest fraction; she then straightens and smiles in pleasure. He's back. Turning, Tamara sweeps the man standing in front of her a graceful curtsy. "You may indeed, Your Grace, and I feel that I must in turn compliment your appearance this evening." No man escapes her without a test of wits.
The Duke of Savona merely grins at this. Russav is very tall and quite powerfully built, with glossy and slightly wavy black hair, smooth and becomingly lightly-tanned skin, strong and handsome features, a straight nose, a charming grin that has melted the hearts of many a lady, and arched dark brows set over large and intelligent, sparkling navy-blue eyes. The Duke of Savona is graceful and athletic, wealthy and popular, and one of the only people who can really talk to Tamara.
Savona bows gracefully, taking Tamara's gloved hand and brushing it lightly with his lips. "A pleasure to see you again, Lady Tamara."
Tamara smiles at him, although her mind wonders why he is so formal. Perhaps it's just because the two have not seen each other for a month. Still, she is delighted that someone with a mind of his own who actually appreciates her is finally here – flirtation is very well and all, but Russav is the best kisser at Court, and Tamara of all people should know. It just takes too long to train men to kiss the way you want them to, and Russav is the only kisser who's actually halfway decent. Still, Russav can be oblique – Court smiles and polite faces do that to a person.
For the first time, Tamara wonders if polite smiles and gentle, emotionless voices are really such a good thing. Do they really keep you safe?
She dismisses the thought as she turns her mind back to the Duke. "I had forgotten that you enjoy taking walks in the evening moonlight, Russav," she states gently. "It is a most pleasant and welcome surprise. When did you get back to Athanarel from Savona, pray tell?"
Savona smiles and gestures in the mode denoting Pleased Agreement to her private invitation. "We have returned only this time-change, Tamara, and my servants are still unpacking my things, I daresay. I needed to get some fresh air, and what better way than taking a walk among all this beauty to set oneself at ease? It is only fortunate that we are alone here without the others."
Tamara blushes slightly, catching his hidden compliment and meaning. "Pray, what took you from Athanarel in such a hurry, Russav? There has been many a lady who have been without a partner in a dance or ball since you departed for Savona, Russav; many desolate ladies indeed."
"I have no doubt that you missed me not, Tamara, having so many swains clamoring for your attention," Russav returns with a smile. "However, as the sole object of a nobleman is to make his partner look wonderful, I must humbly apologize to the ladies of the Court, I am afraid. I must immediately host a ball – I fear that there have been too many quiet evenings since my departure for Savona."
Tamara's blue eyes sparkle. "You have been much missed indeed, Russav," she informs the Duke in a low voice. "There have been many quiet evenings without your presence. Much missed indeed…everyone finds Court as glamorous as ever but it lacks its major star…"
The Duke nods his acknowledgment at her subtle answer to his worried statement and her reply that all was going well and smiles at her quick dip into flirtation. "Major stars can be replaced easily if need be, my lady," he replies, "especially if need be."
Tamara responds to the double-edged comment with a quick smile and a gesture equivalent to a fencer's salute. "It's a beautiful night," she comments, changing the subject as she walks down the snow-covered path and down to a beautiful fountain of water. For the first time, Tamara dips her gloved hand into the scantily frozen ice, breaking it to touch the cold water. For the first time, she cares not that her glove is soaked and that it is a stupid thing to do. "Ice breaks so easily if it is brittle," she remarks to the Duke, who joins her at the fountain. "But it can also be so strong if made well and beautifully."
"Indeed," Russav agrees with a slight smile. Something flickers in his dark eyes. "But once the warm spring breeze whistles its tune, whatever ice, however hard, will melt. All ice turns to water eventually, no matter how brittle or how hard. It will be a day to look forward to, Tamara."
"Then we should hope for that day indeed, Russav," Tamara responds, hiding her alarm as her fan invites him subtly to close the little distance between them. It is the first time that Russav has spoken such, and so openly, and it frightens Tamara strangely. Tamara knows not what is so frightening, nor why she feels thus, but only that her fear is true.
Russav's dark eyes narrow slightly in amusement and his expression lightens. "But meanwhile, we can enjoy the beauty of the snow, that bathes everything it illuminates in loveliness." His fan acknowledges openly the change of subject.
"Some need not this snow," Tamara responds with a quick smile, strangely relieved that the subject is changed.
"You need not this snow," Russav replies with a slow smile.
Tamara smiles at the compliment, arching one dark brow suggestively as her fan invites him to close the distance between them. "We need not this snow," she corrects him. Russav moves closer, dark eyes narrow in mirth.
"Barbs are barbs, but one finds that one grows accustomed to, and even begins to feel affection for, them," Russav tells Tamara, informing her subtly that she has been much missed and that he is glad to be back with both his fan and his words.
"Barbs are voiced for different reasons, Russav," Tamara murmurs softly.
Captivating dark eyes meet enchanting blue eyes in one breathless moment in which both nobles forget to breathe. Then Tamara slowly lowers her curtain of dark lashes, closing her blue eyes as Savona moves gracefully, kissing her softly and gently on the lips without touching her in any other way.
Tamara feels warmth spread through her. Even after all these years, Russav is the only one who can actually kiss her well enough to make an impact; he certainly kisses much better than those simpering idiots. Still, Tamara is determined to remain free, not caught by the bonds of marriage like her fool of a mother. No man shall ever catch her, and if any man thinks that – if Russav thinks that – then he is a fool and not worth any attention whatsoever.
A flicker of doubt dashes across her mind, gone before Tamara can realize the emotion. For the first time, Tamara wonders, Will Russav even want to?
She dismisses the thought, but that first flicker of doubt remains buried in her heart even as Tamara puts her arms around Russav's neck and deepens the kiss between them, as Russav puts his arms around her slim body, fixed in her heart like an unknown burr.
When the two of them break the kiss, both are perfectly controlled, of course. It is, however, the first time that both of them feel more than slightly amused by the kiss.
Russav's mouth twitches slightly as he bows, hands gesturing in the mode denoting Superiority in Art. "You are my teacher in this, Lady Tamara," he concedes with a smile that adds sparkle to his enigmatic dark eyes.
"And I am honored to teach you, Russav," Tamara replies, barely controlling her laughter.
"Thank you." The Duke sketches a bow. "May I count on you to grace the Merindar ball on the morrow, Tamara?"
Tamara's eyes narrow slightly. If a man wants her company, then he shall have to win it! She is no simpering Ara, who latches herself onto the nearest good-looking man, or quiet Lisle, who shyly accepts any fool who asks. Tamara is much, much more than that! "That will depend on your definition of grace, Russav," she challenges, her fan waving briefly in the mode equivalent to the otherworldly phrase, En Garde.
Russav merely smiles. "My definition of grace is naught but that every man shall sigh with longing and envy as the loveliest of the lovely beautifies the entire evening for me," he offers, fan sweeping at the mode of Hopeful Invitation.
Tamara laughs out loud at this; a musical, sweet sound, her desire for verbal dueling quelled. Sweeping her fan at the angle of Glad Consent, she curtsies. "Until tomorrow then, Russav," she murmurs with a slight smile.
Russav bows and kisses her gloved hand. "I live in hope," he replies. He turns and walks swiftly away, his boots crunching the snow, then stops rather abruptly. His voice is hard as he adds, "I would not drink iced citsir if I were you, Tamara. It tends to give a pounding headache to even the most experienced of drinkers, as most raised at Court know. Goodnight, my lady."
Savona departs, leaving Tamara burning with sudden anger. How dare he? It is the first time that Russav has delivered such a stinging remark in a long time, and it burns. How dare Russav treat her as though she is an ignorant child who has never drunk anything stronger than cider before? Anger flames in Tamara as the double-edged comment Russav made races through her mind. How dare he imply that she was being foolish when she drank that thing; how dare he presume to advise her not to drink it in the future? Tamara is her own master! How dare that accursed Marquise attempt to get her drunk?
Tamara paces the snow-covered ground, her blue eyes flashing, her temper changed from happy to enraged in the flicker of an eyelid. How dare Russav presume?
The back of her mind acknowledges that Russav might have only been warning her, but Tamara ignores it in her anger. Russav has always been so infuriatingly helpful; treating her to a sort of affectionate care – as if Tamara needs it – by telling her what to do and what not to do, warning her, advising her – Tamara is no child, and Russav has better remember that! She doesn't need Russav to always advise her and warn her!
And indeed, he does.
Even as small and precocious Court children Duke Russav of Savona took care of Lady Tamara. In fact, Russav protected Tamara from harm on the very day that the two of them actually met. It was a cold and dismally cloudy day; rain beat down on the huge, floor-length windows of Athanarel's Great Hall. The bright golden light of the glowglobes glowed cheerfully in their holders. King Galdran blazed as well: his long red hair was thickly braided with gems, his clothing made of gold cloth embroidered with silver and tiny rubies and emeralds; the light bouncing of it made onlookers rather dizzy.
It was Tamara's very first time attending Court. Dressed in a lovely but quiet gown of navy blue with tiny diamonds along the neckline and sleeve-hems, Tamara radiated beauty. Her mother, of course, was not pleased.
"Stand up straighter, Tamara," the Countess of Turlee hissed impatiently, pinching Tamara viciously with her long, sharp fingernails. "For Hill Folk's sake, don't fidget quite so much, you little twerp." Soon, however, the Countess's face lit up as she greeted a rich, good-looking lord with a radiant smile. The Countess chatted and giggled and flirted pleasantly with the lord, but when he left, resumed berating Tamara.
It was the first time that Tamara realized that her mother's nature inclined her to hate anyone not of any use to her. It was the first time that Tamara realized that her mother only had time for wealthy, charming nobles who could advance her or offer her some sort of advantage. It was the first time that Tamara realized that she was of no use to the Countess of Turlee, and that was why she was treated so badly. It was simply in her mother's nature.
Tamara did not realize all of it, however. Tamara would never realize that while her mother had always been vain and haughty, she had quadrupled such ever since her husband died. Tamara never realized how much the Countess had loved her husband, how much the Countess hated herself for letting someone she loved die, how she had resolved never to love another again, to spare herself such pain. Tamara never realized that her mother hated Tamara because she was alive and her husband wasn't, how her mother hated her husband for dying sometimes. Tamara never knew that whenever she looked at her mother with her pure blue eyes, it reminded the Countess so much of her dead husband that it invoked both pain and anger that Tamara lived while the Count was dead, and pure hatred that the man she hated for dying lived on in Tamara.
"Stand up straighter!" her mother hissed again.
Tamara stood straighter, ignoring the painful pinches and her mother's angry words. She stood and practiced the politely interested expression her Aunt was teaching her. Her eyes widened when the doors swung open, revealing a stocky man of middle height with graying pale brown hair, small hazel-brown eyes only slightly animated by an almost sickening excitement, and a long, thick mouth. It was the first time that she saw the King's cousin.
"Baron Nenthar Debregi!" a handsomely liveried servant announced haughtily.
Everyone sank into graceful curtsies or polite bows, Tamara just a beat behind them. The King rose and made a show of greeting his cousin with brotherly affection, but even Tamara could tell that it was only because no one dared to that the king hadn't been met with a suggestion to take much-needed lessons from players.
The Baron bowed and began droning officiously. Tamara found herself going a little drowsy – that would never do! – Until a few of the Baron's sentences caught her attention abruptly.
"So, Your Majesty, the army really does need the extra recruits and teachers. As at present we have absolutely no way of providing the much-needed money, I must request, as a humble subject, that Your Gracious Majesty condescend to help us."
The King examined his fingernails – they were dirty; obviously no one dared tell the King that he desperately needed lessons in personal cleanliness as well. "What do you suggest we do then, Debregi?" he asked in a bored voice. "Where am I to scrape up the money for the army?"
"More taxes would be a wonderful help, Your Majesty," the Baron suggested eagerly. "Perhaps…double the amount paid presently. That would support us greatly, and we would be everlastingly grateful." If the Baron fawned over the King anymore, he was going to tip over and fall into the King's lap, and the King certainly wouldn't appreciate that – he liked pretty ladies.
Tamara was struck with horror. She knew how strained finances were for some places, how poor some common-folk were, and for the first time in her life, blurted out exactly what she thought without thinking. "Oh no, Your Majesty, that would be terrible!"
The moment the words left her lips, Tamara's mother pinched her so viciously that she could have screamed, whispering harshly, "You, fool, are no daughter of mine." It hurt Tamara like a knife to the heart.
Instantly silence fell over the large Great Hall. Tamara could sense her mother surreptitiously moving away from her daughter, could see swift flicks of fans, could hear the soft rustle of skirts as nobles back away. The King rose slowly as he heaved his massive bulk from the throne, and Tamara felt scared, really scared, by the cruel deadliness in those pale, pale blue eyes. "What did you say, little Tamara of Turlee?" he inquired dangerously, in a voice impossible to discern if it was mocking or angry. "What did you say?"
Tamara dropped quickly into a curtsy. "Your Majesty, I-I simply…" her voice broke as her fear engulfed her. Never in her life had she been so frightened! The cruel enjoyment in his face was enough to turn anyone into jelly.
"Disagreeing with what your King approves of is as good as treason," King Galdran told a shaking Tamara. Tamara's face went whiter as fear gnawed away at her insides. What to do…what to do? How could she have been so foolish, so idiotic! What was going to happen to her? Would she end up dead? "And you know how we deal with traitors, don't you?" the King concluded, lovingly stroking his sword.
Then, just as Tamara was ready to break down completely, someone openly helped her for the first time in her life. "Your Majesty, the girl is not disagreeing with what you approve of," an amused but slightly bored voice drawled. Everyone turned their gazes from Tamara to the tall, slender, good-looking, dark-haired boy who was smiling easily at the King.
"What do you mean, Savona?" King Galdran asked, although some of the deadliness had faded from his nasal voice.
It was the first time that Tamara actually saw the Duke of Savona close up, saw his handsome profile and intelligent dark eyes, instead of from a distance at large parties.
"I mean that the girl was merely attempting to help her King, which is a rather nice gesture, even though it's a bit rough," the Duke explained with a laugh that positively invited everyone else to laugh as well. "I mean," he elaborated further, "she was probably just expressing her utter surprise at your need to collect taxes to strengthen your army when no man would ever dare challenge a man of your superior wit and strength." The Duke bowed elaborately. "And I must say that I agree with her."
"I agree as well," a tall, slender, and blond-haired boy volunteered, his gray eyes utterly polite in expression. "Who would dare challenge our mighty King Galdran? We do not even need an army to protect us – why the very mention of our beloved king's name is enough to make any fool of a warrior scamper off."
By now, the King was smiling and everyone (not counting Baron Debregi) was laughing softly, appreciatively. Tamara breathed a quick sigh of relief, as she sealed off all of her other, overpowering emotions, sending the dark-haired boy a grateful look. It was the first time that anyone had helped her so readily, and Tamara was overwhelmed with gratitude and relieved. The boy grinned at her, and winked. For the first time in her life, Tamara blushed because of a boy.
"Is that what you thought, girl?" the King demanded in a jovial voice.
Tamara curtsied. "Indeed, Your Majesty, although I could never express words fluently, for which I sincerely apologize. Would that any could have Your Majesty's gift at oratory!" Tamara smiled shakily at the King. "I do beg your forgiveness, Highness."
The King laughed. "It is given."
As soon as she could, Tamara slipped away and outside. She did not care if it was raining buckets and buckets. In the rain it was cold, but safe. There, all of Tamara's emotions flooded back to her; the paralyzing fear that Galdran had invoked her; her terror; her rage at her own stupidity; her anguish at her mother's hatred for her; emotions of every sort and kind flooded into her heart and she began to cry. Why had her mother not defended her? How could she have been so stupid? What was wrong with her?
"You catch cold if you stay out here in the rain," a gentle voice reproved.
It was the first time anyone had reprimanded her out of kindness.
Tamara looked up into the Duke of Savona's dark eyes. The Duke smiled and bowed gracefully. "The Duke of Savona," he told her gallantly, "It is a wonderful pleasure to meet you, Lady Tamara Chamadis. But, as I said, you will catch cold here in the rain." It was the first time any had acted genuinely friendly to Tamara.
"Th-thank you for rescuing me, Y-your Grace," Tamara stammered, tears still clinging to her long dark lashes. "I am indebted to you."
The Duke merely smiled. "It was nothing," he assured her warmly. Taking in her pale cheeks, her bloodless lips, and overfilling eyes, he moved forward and gently put his arms around her. It was the first time that anyone embraced her, save her father. "Poor girl," he murmured. "Your mother never told you about the King, did she?"
"S-she did," Tamara protested, tears now sliding down her cheeks. "It's just me. I'm too stupid to learn, too stupid to keep my mouth shut. I-I am such a fool, such an idiot!" Tamara's last nerve broke and she began to sob. "Why am I so stupid? I am so stupid that my own mother hates me!"
The Duke of Savona stroked her thick dark curls gently. It was the first time anyone touched her out affection. "Poor Tamara," he murmured softly. "You are not stupid or idiotic – everyone began with no Court experience at all; you gather experience as you grow up." He held her gently as she cried into his shoulder. "You'll grow up to be lovely, intelligent person, I know it."
"Why are you so kind?" Tamara asked in bewilderment, looking up at him, tears still streaking down her cheeks. "Why did you help me? What have I done for you?"
"That's not how it works," the Duke replied wryly. A shadow passed over his face. "When my parents died when I was very young, I might have also – that is to say, I might have wasted away from grief, but my aunt and uncle Renselaeus saved me, they comforted me when no one else did. Since then, I have tried to do the same for anyone that I can."
"Thank you. Thank you so much," Tamara whispered, crying again.
"It's nothing." The two of them stood together like that for a long time, one crying from fear and sadness, the other recalling distant memories of childhood past, the rain drenching them both soaking wet. For the first time, someone absorbed some of Tamara's pain.
The sweet chime of bells rang out, and Russav gently moved away. "Forgive me, Tamara, but I have to go now. I promised Aunt Elestra that I would take my meal with her today at this bell, and I must go now. Aunt Elestra will be waiting, and my cousin Vidanric is very cranky when he is hungry."
"But of course," Tamara replied with a weak smile."I'm sorry for keeping you so long, and I do thank you for your kindness. Thank you very, very much, for rescuing me during Court and for...for comforting me. Thank you so much."
"It is nothing. I was glad to help," Savona replied with a smile.
"Oh! Won't you need to change before you eat? I'm sorry for making you late!" Tamara apologized.
The Duke laughed out loud. "No," he answered merrily. "It is quite alright. My aunt will be beyond glad that I am not soaked to the bone from mud! The rain does have its purposes!" He laughed merrily again, making Tamara a courtly bow. "I'll see you again soon," he promised the girl.
Tamara smiled, a genuine smile, and curtsied. "I will be honored, Your Grace."
The Duke took Tamara's hand and kissed it very softly. "Please," he invited, "call me Russav."
For the first time in her life, Tamara Chamadis felt truly happy; she had, for the first time in her life, a friend.