Chapter 8: Suspicious Minds
A/N: Hey guys! Again thanks for soo many reviews. We didn't make it to twenty, but we were only one away so do you think we could make it to 23? Only four reviews guys, so please make a young authors dream come true!
And about the title yes it is why is he my father, but how she comes to appreciate it you will find out at the end.
"What are you doing?" I heard the queen's voice. Perfect timing your majesty, perfect timing.
"Oh, nothing." I shrugged her suspicious look away and got up from the floor. What I had exactly been doing was much more then nothing.
I had heard a voice. Coming from one single place, but seeming to be everywhere. The slightly high pitched voice of a man reverberating off the walls of my rather large bedroom. It was as though his words were trying to force their way into my head, make me believe them. I had no reason not to believe them, but what fourteen year old wants to believe that Love makes you sick, and had killed more then any disease?
Not me.
Even though my only parental figure I had ever had was the lady now poised perfectly in my desk chair, I still had hope that one of my parents knew and loved me. With the thought fresh in my mind I decided to ask the queen about it.
"Who were my parents?" I sat down on my bed, almost directly across from her.
"Your father was a farmer, I think, who was away fighting in the ogres wars."
"And my mother?"
"She couldn't afford to keep you. From the looks of it she was pregnant with another child when she gave you up."
"How old was I when my mother gave me to you?"
"I'm not sure at least a year old. She told me your birthday, but not how old you were, she seemed quite glad to be rid of you."
"Why didn't you ever give me back?"
"They were extremely poor, by the time your father came back, the other child was born and not only were you comfortable here with me, they couldn't have cared for you and another child. It seemed best if I kept you." I waited a minute. Let her words sink in, then asked the question that both frightened, and intrigued me.
"Are they dead?"
"You mother left your father when she found out about what a coward he was during battle, and that was the last I heard about that particular family." She was lying and I could tell.
"What about my brother, or sister."
"A boy, I think."
"Is that all you know?"
"Yes." She leaned back in the chair. She thought this conversation was over, but it was far from it.
I reached into the chest at the end of my bed, digging through all the blankets until I reached one that was faded, torn and thin.
"Why did you never show me this?" She stared at the ragged piece of cloth, then regaining her calm, spoke.
"Where did you get that?"
"I found it, at the bottom of my wardrobe; it has a name stitched into it, 'Baeltiasi' whose name is that?"
I knew, but I wanted to hear it from her. "It is the name your father gave you. At least it was decided among your parents that should the baby be a girl that is what they would name you. He left for the war before you were born."
"So why do you not call me that?" I folded the blanket neatly, just so you could see the name sewn with black thread.
"Kathleen is a refined name, something you would expect for someone do close to the queen, Baeltiasi is a commoner name."
"It means boots." I pointed out, my toes curling in the black boots I wore everyday.
"Really? I never knew; guess we both learned something today." She chuckled, but stopped when she saw I was not even smiling. "What is it?"
"I want to know who my father is." From the look on her face I could tell that she knew that I knew that she knew who my father was.
"I told you, I don't know."
"Suuure you don't. Just like you didn't know about the blanket, and my name, and my brother." She kept smiling, but it was obvious that her smile was fake. Just as fake as my life.
"No."
"Why not I see no harm in knowing who my real family is." I put emphasis on the word real.
"But I do, and I say no."
"Give me a good reason, and then I'll stop bothering you!" I stood up, she matched my stance.
"Your father is dangerous. He has killed many over silly trinkets, he has created curses that are beyond your most terrifying nightmares, he is incapable of love, there is your reason. Now I will hear no more nonsense about your family again, do you hear me?"
"Ya." I became robotic, merely agreeing to lead her off my scent. I would not stop looking until I found this man, my father. I mean he must have some kind of reputation, if he has killed. Even the smallest of reputations is a reputation after all.
A/N: Who laughed at the last part? Again please review!