Dawn was streaming in through the room's tiny window when I finished everything. The dress hung against the wall, gleaming in the sunlight. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Pride had so often been called a sin, yet that was what I felt when I stared at the dress. I had done this. My finest creation. Was it shallow that what I created was merely a dress? It couldn't be. That moment in adolescence when I discovered there was nothing wrong with a beautiful dress had also been a moment of, going against everything I had once held dear, opportunity. Dresses could be dreams. And then there were the shoes. I had never thought a pair of shoes could be exciting. I even tried them on—they were meant for Christine's dainty feet, but still changed for me. Immediately I felt silly and took them off. Who was I to be wearing dancing slippers? I had never cared for balls.
I couldn't even remember the shoes I was supposed to wear at the engagement ball. Had it been so long ago? Funny, how some little details were so vital and others disappeared just as one might expect a small detail to do.
I did not try on the dress. Everyone was right. I did look horrible in yellow. But I could see Christine in it.
Would she enjoy the ball? The glamour, the society, the press of the crowd made of everyone Wyatt and Ethan had insisted come? Somehow I thought she would. She sought the passion of the courtly life, the excitement. I realized that now. Not as an escape, but true enjoyment. She should have been the one born as a princess. In another life, maybe, she would have possessed the confidence and the grace necessary for nobility, even royalty. Not exist as the awkward little no-account thing that she was. Would she behave at the ball? That was a fair question. I had seen her. Truly Grace and Amelia were more suited to the court. I had been more suited toward it, after years of training. I could almost see Christine there, pick-pocketing, flirting. Well, I supposed flirtation was an appropriate ball behavior.
Yes, I could see that now. Christine was not meant for the court, but she was born for it. No wonder her father had worked so hard for her. She deserved it. Somehow, as infinitely imperfect as she was, she deserved it.
A sudden wave of hate for her flowed through me. My angelic nature recoiled in horror, that I who had seen Heaven, wandered in and out of it, would dare experience hate. I fought back, insisting it was situational hate. Which it was. Ah, to have settled on a perfect description. Though that logic did nothing to prevent the desire I had to take my hard work and destroy it, letting the magic fall like starlight to the floor.
I didn't hate Christine. I had already said as much. No, I didn't hate her at all. In fact, I loved her. Loved her as the little sister that never was.
The angelic nature much preferred that feeling.
Yet I slipped to the floor, crying. Never had two such emotions combined themselves against me. What was wrong with me? I had left Bernard, swearing to myself I would never think of the pain he had caused me. I was supposed to forgive. God had commanded such. Yes, God had commanded forgiveness and all I had seen since my death had proven as much even as I hated what was so often in the world. Was that my problem? Conflicting emotions of Bernard with his daughter who had never caused me any harm save for capturing the attention of the man I loved? No, I realized. At, least I didn't think so. Realization suddenly meant nothing.
Before I could stop myself I had a hand on one shoe. I flung it against the wall, only half-willing it to shatter. That half-will saved me, and it clattered unharmed to the floor. I stared at it, shaking. Glass. It looked like glass. But I wouldn't break it like glass.
Bernard. I wanted to scream his name and demand he appear. Here I was, following my orders and he was to help me. But I didn't want to see him ever again.
Did I forgive him? Could I forgive him? Had I already forgiven him now or even some point years ago before I had even known what he had done to me? I didn't know what forgiveness of such a situation as mine felt like.
Carefully, almost fearfully, I picked up the shoe and placed it with its mate. Then I closed my eyes and willed myself to the palace.
I heard the sounds of talking before I opened my eyes. I was not Angel the messenger. I was myself, invisible, there to observe. Observe what, I didn't know.
I could hear Ethan and Wyatt. My own dear, dear Wyatt. I smiled, and could almost feel his arms around me. Is that what Christine imagined? Had she ever felt his arms around her? I did not want to know the answer, but somehow I expected it was to happen very soon. Did she even love him? How could she love someone she had only met days before? Yet there were the last words she had to me, that he was not hers.
She did love him.
And her name came up in the conversation around me.
"I barely remembered Lady Melissa had a stepdaughter," Ethan was saying. "I remember the wedding she had to the historian. I had never cared much for either of them, though the historian was wise where she was not. The little girl was lovely, though. Christine. That was my mother's name, you know."
I opened my eyes. I was in the library. Wyatt and Ethan sat at a table. No books were open, just them sitting and talking.
"She's beautiful," Wyatt said.
Ethan smirked and tapped his long fingers on the tabletop. "There are many beautiful women out there, Wyatt. Plenty of noble birth. I don't know what your father expects in a Queen, though."
"I'll be King. It won't matter."
"You barely know her."
Wyatt looked down, and I nearly gasped. He was laughing, his expression highly amused, almost embarrassed, like he were hiding some great joke. "Did I say I would propose to her the night of the ball, Ethan? I don't think I did."
"You brought up matters of marriage."
"I'm afraid that is what you did, Ethan."
"Only because I can read your face. Tell me more about the girl."
Wyatt lifted his head, face more solemn, but the joy was still there. I recognized the joy. He always wore those expressions on his face. "She's very smart. A reader. You know I like readers. Fawn was a reader, you know. She was smart. So is Christine."
Ethan's smile was widening.
"I admit, I care for her. We've spoken often." He sighed and leaned forward on the table, arms crossed. "I almost want to rescue her. Does that sound awful? But I don't think she's happy in that house."
"You can't marry her to rescue her. That never has solved a problem."
"You're exactly right. I know that. That's not what I mean. If I had felt sorry for her living with Lady Melissa I would simply offer her a position at the court. But I don't know if she would accept it. That's what intrigues me about her. She's stubborn. She does what she wants. And yes, I find that attractive. I don't know what I mean, but I feel that way but I don't feel like offering her a job. I suppose if she wanted one, we could give her one. But it doesn't seem right for her. It's like she's holding secrets."
"So what is she, then? A pretty girl you'd like to consider courting or a charity case?"
"Ethan, I'm afraid it's the former."
Ethan laughed. "It's good to see you excited over a woman."
"Just wait until you meet her. I really do believe Fawn would have liked her."
As they spoke, I found a piece of paper. I summoned ink and quill from my hand and wrote. "A connection between Gavin Grey and Bernard Davrel."
Then I let it slip to the floor. And I faded out.
This time I walked. Right through the courtyard, right into the city, and finally out into the country. The day was beautiful, no sign of any rain. This was the way the country was supposed to look on its most beautiful day. I loved it.
But despite the day's beauty my heart was spinning from the conversation. I did like Christine. Of course Wyatt would know me enough to know that I would have found Christine fascinating. That I did like her. But he would never know that. Well, he would, but it was information that would never come from me.
And he cared for Christine. Of course he did. I had seen them together. The way they spoke, the way their bodies leaned into each other. Bernard's wish and my own heavenly purpose, bringing those tears together.
What would have happened if Bernard had not had me killed? What would have become of Christine? Would she still have been slaving away in that household?
But I knew it didn't do to dwell on such things.
I was almost to the house when I stopped, surprised.
There was Christine, on horseback, pack at her side. Her long blonde hair streamed back in the wind, and her face was one of exhilaration. She urged the horse into a run, and laughed.
"Christine?" I called.
She laughed again and brought the horse to a stop. "Hello, Fawn. I am glad to find you. I wanted to apologize for last night. I was horrible. I know you don't hate me. And I love you for not hating me. I wanted to thank you for everything you've done."
"I accept. Christine, what are you doing?"
"What I should have done a long time ago. I'm running away."
