Intermissio II: The Boy in Man's Clothes

- O – O -

Every morning every night a female servant brought Lyndis a tray of food, along with a small cruet of wine and a basin of lukewarm water to wash herself. Lyn tallied the days on the wall, lightly so no one would see the scratches. The young servant came at almost precisely the same time every morning, and the same time each sundown. Each visit they shared a short pleasantry, but the young miss seemed determined not to meet her glances directly. Her dress was plain and speckled by white patches of flour, but, as Lyn noted glumly, she was still more appropriately dressed.

Lyn did what she could; the first thing she had done upon awakening had been to note where and when the sun and moon rose and fell over the walls of the castle's inner cloister.

Conveniently there sat two iron-barred windows on the western and eastern sides of her cylindrical tower prison. And there was no mistaking; though Lyn knew enough to say this wasn't a common criminal's gaol, it was far from a chamber of luxury.

Three days passed, and with them Lyndis's mood. In one hour she seethed with anger, cursing Lundgren's name, that one day he'd fall from his horse and onto his sword. In another she felt hopeful, convinced that one day she'd have her chance to slip past the castle gates and leave behind these empty walls forever. But in the end, with nightfall, she returned to despondency. She lay down on her side with hands beneath her head, allowing the room to blur and fade around her. Her bed was little comfort, nor was the unbroken silence of the evening.

If I had the chance to end this here...I would...

Lyndis clenched her fist, seeing before her a dagger, handle towards her hand. She felt its weight against her palm. The blade glittered menacingly in the dark; sharp as sunlight, cold as moonlight.

Father, mother, take this away from me, thought Lyn of the dagger in her mind. So I lose this nerve to end this all. Mother, where are you? Kent, Sain, grandfather...everyone I've ever known is dead. I—Father, please! Give me a reason why I'm still alive! Tell me what I've done so wrong!

The Caelin nights were cold, it seemed, with Lyn left little choice than to pull her thin blanket over her shoulders and soldier on. Sleep was difficult, but it came.

The next morning, a different servant came to serve Lyndis her food. She was a short and petite freckled lass, with short, curly russet-red hair and half-moon spectacles. She could not have been much older than Lyn herself, if at all. She pushed open the door to her room with some effort, and Lyndis left her bed to accept the tray. The maid lingered in her chambers afterwards, and spoke upon seeing Lyn's questioning glance.

"You're the girl from Sacae," she said, examining Lyn.

Still conscious of her silly white dress, Lyn fidgeted. "Yes."

"Very fair for a plainsfolk, are you?"

"What do you mean?"

The servant girl smiled, her gaze descending beneath her glasses. "I would think a woman of your kind would have far darker features."

"What are you trying to say?" Lyn asked, setting aside her porridge. Her heart began to beat louder as a warm shiver tore across her skin.

"Maybe you really are the blood daughter of 'Prodigal Madelyn' after all. You have the same eyes...that's the only thing that would explain away your civilized features."

"What—could you possibly know about my mother?"

"Everyone here knows the name of Madelyn, the disgraced runaway of Caelin," the maid explained. She twirled a set of brass door keys on a chain around her index finger; jingle, jingle, jingle. "She threw away her life in the castle and ran off with some plainsman to Sacae. Her father never forgave her for that, and neither did Marquess Lundgren. After the old marquess died, Marquess Lundgren had all of her portraits torn off the wall and burnt. An irony, it is, knowing how her daughter turned out to be!"

Lyn stood silent. She tried to think of anything she could retort with, anything to defend her mother's honor, but her words failed her and only her anger bled through.

"And, pray listen, as far as the little mice in the scullery tell it..." The servant girl chuckled, self-righteous and proud, as if to distance herself from the sordid gossip. "Well, your father was far from the only unwashed man she'd had dalliances with. The old marquess would have given her another chance if she hadn't thrown in his face the names of all the men she'd spread her legs for!"

"You. You're lying."

"And to think that after all that, you're the one Marquess Lundgren fancies!" She laughed but there was no humor there. "You, the daughter of a Lycian whore and a Sacaen sav—"

"Quiet," Lyn hissed.

"Huh?" Jingle, jingle.

"I said...Be. Quiet."

In an instant, the color drained from the servant girl's cheeks. The dangling keys around her finger jingle, jingled to a stop.

"You know nothing about how strong our ties are. We of the plains are bound to our families, bound to the sky and earth. My mother would die long before she would leave Father's side! She is not yours to scorn with your poisoned tongue. My father was a thousand times the man Lundgren is, and mother is—is a greater woman than you'll ever be!"

Where Lyn stood tall, puffing out her chest to speak with pride, the young servant turned inward, shoulders shrunk, arms crossed almost to the point of cowering. "You...you don't hon-honestly think that Marquess Lundgren cares about all that after...every...thing...your 'wonderful' little mother did to him, do you?"

"What?"

"A-aye! It's—it's true, it is!" The servant chuckled nervously. Her keychain shook in fits and starts. Jingle, jingle. "The marquess offered Madelyn his hand in marriage in private, and she refused him! And then, in witness of the old marquess and the entire court, she accused him of f-forcing himself on her! That's why he wanted to punish her."

"W-That's..."

"And that's the only reason he would ever want you. To slake the thirst he had for a runaway whore nineteen years ago!"

Lyndis moved before she had time to think. She couldn't have stopped herself even if she'd wanted to. Snarling, Lyn lunged at the servant, who shrieked and turned her cheek, shielding her face with her arms. She could not have known that it wasn't her that Lyn was aiming for. She dug her nails into the servant's trembling hand and snatched the keychain from her grip. Without hesitation she darted to the still-ajar door and out before the hapless servant could regain her bearings.

I have to hurry. If I take the guard by surprise, I might be able to escape without a fight.

Outside her door was a long stone stair that wound around and around the far edge of the tower, walled in closely on both sides, barely wide enough for one man to fit. Lyndis clenched her fists, praying that no one else would come ascending the stair as she was descending. If they did, she would be ready.

As it turned out, no one came up the stairs, and the path to the base of the tower was clear, where sat a large door not unlike that which barred her room.

I knew it.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the key-ring for the fitting key. She could barely hear herself over the pounding of her heart and the shallow rasping of her breath. After a few moments of struggle she found the proper key, turned the lock, and pushed open the wrought-iron door.

The courtyard of Castle Caelin lay out before her. Stone pathways led past rows of neatly-trimmed shrubbery and flower patches with new blossoms of many colors neatly arranged along the walks. Lyn glanced furtively around, sneaking along the outer circumference of the tower. Her "suite" was not the only one in the courtyard. In fact, there were four such prison towers arranged in a square, and in the center a stone water fountain let loose cascades of crystal blue water. Alone in the gardens, Lyn walked towards the fountain beside herself and knelt, cupping a handful of water in her hands. When she let her fingers part, the water cascaded through, spilling back into the reservoir to be drawn up and let fall again.

Mother... Her eyes began to cloud over. The quiet, constant sound of the water calmed her, brought peace to her scattered thoughts. I won't forget you, or how much you sacrificed for my sake.

Lyn rose, hands now steady. The sound of footsteps came on the wind from the northern hall, so Lyn turned south and raced to the edge of the cloister and pulled at the centermost door. A stone overhang cast a long shadow against the wall, leaving her partially in darkness to fumble at the door's brass handle. There were many such doors among that wall, no doubt leading to different rooms and halls intersecting, as Lycian castles seemed to do, or so she'd noticed. When the door refused to yield, Lyn went to her keychain again, filtering one by one through the selection of keys.

I have to hurry...if the guard finds me now and sounds an alarm—

She wouldn't have to wait long. From behind, a hand fell firmly on her shoulder and she went pale. Lyndis turned around, keys clutched in her right hand and her left prepared to lash out at whomever tried to detain her. The man behind her was nothing as she had expected.

Why a man of Sacae would ever serve in the castle guard of Lundgren's Caelin, Lyn couldn't say, but here he was, a man of Sacae, tall and lean, wearing a white cloak with the seal of Caelin over a many-colored shawl and a coat of leather armor. His green hair was short, neat and worn in a small tail behind his head—her own hair in microcosm, Lyn noted with dry amusement. His eyes were a darker shade of blue than she had ever seen, and his gaze was gentle but as firm as the mountains. All this Lyn noticed and gave her pause.

Those colors...have I seen them before? Is he...Kutolah? Or...

"Milady. Forgive me; I must relieve you of your freedom again."

Lyn's lips parted as he spoke, eyes wide with confusion. His strong, confident frame belied the pitch of a adolescent boy's voice. He was at least as old as she and likely older, as Lyn reckoned, but he spoke lightly and softly like he wanted none but the wind to hear. Of course Lyndis could hear him as clear as the wind. Even in that brief moment, she felt an understanding between them.

"On orders of Marquess Lundgren," he continued, "I must bring you back." He placed his hand on the hilt of the sword at his belt and held out his other hand. It took a few seconds for Lyn to realize it was the keys he'd wanted, and she reluctantly handed them over.

I guess I have no choice. I was so close to my freedom, and now...

From the northern chambers emerged two soldiers, short swords dangling on their belts.

"Temur! What, now! Why is the girl out of her room? Why do you have her?"

The man called Temur nodded his head. "Calm, calm. Lady Lyndis wanted a breath of fresh air, so I escorted her to the courtyard. I will make sure she does not escape."

The second soldier raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Awful charitable of you. Maybe you'dn't do that if the 'guest' wasn't from the plains, eh? If I didn't know a'better, I might say you were helpin' her escape."

Temur smiled. His hand never once released its grasp on Lyn's shoulder. "But you do know better, Bryan. Good day."

The man of Sacae gave Lyn a small push and she walked back towards her tower, him closely at her back. The soldier called Bryan gave him a long cold glare before continuing along with his partner down the walk. For the entirety of their walk up the spiraling staircase the two were silent. Questions circulated in Lyn's mind about the identity of her fellow Sacaen, but she remained quiet until they reached the door to her room and pushed their way through. To Lyn's surprise, the young maid servant was still there, sitting against the wall, arms around her knees.

"I shall tend to our guest," Temur said gently to the girl, who nodded and very deliberately rose to her feet. "Sorry for the trouble, Dina."

"Um...miss?"

Lyndis turned and glared at the servant, whose downward gaze bore little of its earlier malice.

"F-Forgive me, milady. For what I said before, you know? I know what it's like to be...scared and alone."

After Dina had scurried away, Lyn sat on her bed and again she and the Sacaen gentleman shared another long silence. She was painfully aware of the Sacaen way of showing many things through silence, but after a time she'd had enough of waiting in suspense.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Temur," he replied. "I am a mercenary in Lord Lundgren's employ."

A mercenary for a Lycian lord. Just like Rath.

"I am Lyn, of the Lorca clan. A thousand blessings on our meeting, Temur."

Temur laughed pleasantly. His smile had a soothing quality to it, constant like the sound of flowing water. "And a thousand blessings more, Lady Lyndis."

'Please, just call me Lyn," she said. "Only my mother and her family knew me as 'Lyndis.' And—I never spent time in Caelin as a child. To my brothers and sisters of the Lorca, I was only 'Lyn'. You must know how it is, Temur."

"I'm afraid I do not. Still—'Lyn' it shall be."

Lyn smiled. She was surprised how quickly he acquiesced to her demand, and it brought to her mind the first time she'd met the two knights who had set her destiny into motion. "Thank you."

"Please, for your own sake," Temur said, "don't try to escape again. If you were to test Lundgren's patience much, you—for your own sake, Lyn, please. I will do what I can to make your stay here hospitable as well as I can."

Temur bowed and made to leave when Lyn called to him.

"Wait! Temur, wait a minute."

"Yes?"

Lyn regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?"

"Why did you tell those guards that you'd let me out yourself? Why would you try to make my stay 'hospitable'?"

Temur tilted his head to one side and watched her. When he had no reply, Lyn continued.

"It wasn't only that I was from Sacae, was it? Is that the only reason? Because I—I've no need for anyone's pity. You said yourself, you can't give me back my freedom. So why give me anything at all?"

Lyn surprised herself with her sudden burst of anger, but it appeared to come as little surprise to Temur. If he was shocked, he did not show it.

"There is so much evil in this world," Temur said presently, softer even than before, "that sometimes all that's left is to do good. But, no, it is as you said: I could not turn a blind eye to a fellow Sacaen. Nothing more or less than that, milady. A thousand blessings," he added, and before Lyn could stop him again, he had gone.