Wordsmith Andi

SEEING DOUBLE

The burst of memories ended, but the sense of existing in a superimposed limbo persisted. Confused, I stared for a moment at the girl standing at the end of my bed. My heart kicked and thrashed. My knuckles ached with sudden pain; the blanket over my feet pulled tight in my panicked grip.  

“Ani?!”  

No, no, she can’t be here; this can’t be her! My mind teetered on the edge of hysteria. I closed my eyes, wrestling down sudden nausea, struggling for an inner balance that was too slippery to hold.  

The girl cleared her throat. “Miss, are you well?” Hesitant, lilting with a light brogue, the sound of the girl’s voice was so unlike what I expected that I jerked out of my panic. I opened my eyes. The superimposed images of Ani and this girl begrudgingly separated, identical features resolving into differences enough to mark and soothe.  

She looked like Ani, yes. They could have been twins, if not sisters. The similarities drove hot shards of grief deep into a wound only just beginning to scab. I relaxed my grip on the blanket, calming somewhat.  

“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m okay. For a minute there, I thought you were someone I knew.” Sitting up proved more of a challenge than expected. My limbs, even if fully under my control again, lacked the ready strength needed for such a normal feat. I managed – just – and flopped back against the headboard, winded.  

“My apologies, Miss. I did not mean to startle you. Chani—she was the older woman with Lady Genevieve—asked me to check on you, see if you would like a meal or a bath now that you’re awake.” Rounded vowels corralled by properly enunciated consonants rolled across my ears, mellifluous and bearing notes of an education missing in the older woman’s speech. Relief; she sounded nothing like Ani. Our eyes met but for a brief charged second before she dropped her gaze. Inside, a circuit closed and opened, an unexpected light blazing and extinguishing in half a breath. I reeled, disgusted by my reaction. Not here, not again!  

“I, um, think I’d like both if I could. I don’t remember the last time I had either.” My voice shook, betraying how tremulous I felt.  

 Head slightly bowed, eyes on the floor, her lips curved with the ghost of a private smile.

“Miss Chani and I have taken turns at feeding and bathing you since your arrival three weeks ago. The sea water ruined your clothing. We weren’t sure how to dress you since your attire was so different from ours,” she said, speaking slowly at first, then picking up speed as if every word brought her further from her first hesitancy. Making brief eye contact again, features flashing brightly with a burst of curiosity, “You wore a pair of trousers? Is that common attire for women where you come from?”  

The shape of her lips, the curve of her raised brows, the dazzling intensity in her gaze all imprinted on my vision. I had to look away. Somewhere far away, someone babbled a litany of insistent negations. Strangely, it sounded like my voice.  

“Um, I see. I, um, well, yeah, I guess so. Women wear pants all the time.” Presently aware of my nudity, I hugged the blanket to my chest and absorbed the information. For the last three weeks, two women I’d never met before had seen me at my most vulnerable. I flushed hotly.

“You mustn’t feel embarrassed, Miss. You have a beautiful body.” The compliment, delivered, floated between us. Her cheeks went pink, and she bobbed on her tiptoes, gone shy of a sudden. I swallowed; tongue dry in my mouth. What I would have given to hear Ani say such a thing to me!  

Clearing her throat in the awkward silence that ensued, the girl hastened to reach for the door latch. “I’ll have a tub and water brought for you to bathe, and clothing. Afterward, a meal. Is that satisfactory, Miss?” I pulled back from the precipice with a concerted effort. Damn it, I wasn’t going to break down in front of this girl!

“Err, yes, that’s fine. Your name is Gwyneth, right?” She nodded. “You can call me

Tristen instead of ‘Miss,’ okay? We’re not as formal where I come from.”

“Yes, Miss–I mean, Tristen. The tub and water will be along shortly.” Twisting the latch, Gwyneth paused, eyes flicking down, then rising quickly, blush returning. “You might wish to cover yourself, Miss, until I can find you a robe.” I followed the direction of her gaze and gasped. Choking out embarrassed thanks, I fumbled for the blanket that was again somehow pooled carelessly around my waist and pulled it up over my naked breasts. Sparing my dignity, she left without further comment.  

A few minutes later, a sharp knock rattled the door in its frame, the latch clicking after a respectful time. Two younger men entered, one carrying an over-sized wooden basin, a thick plush towel draped over his shoulder. The other supported a wooden pole across his broad shoulders, the ends weighted with huge buckets of steaming water. Both greeted me with a courteous smile in passing. The first man, tall and light-skinned with burnished gold curls topping his head, wordlessly deposited the basin in front of the hearth, laid the towel on the end of the bed and backed out of the room. 

The second, taller with cinnamon brown skin and brown, nearly black curls tumbling down into his equally dark eyes, brushed his gaze over me like a caress as he bent at the knees to put down the buckets. Muscles flexed under a thin blue rough spun shirt stretched tight across his shoulders and broad chest. Loose gray trousers draped his narrow hips and fell straight to his booted feet. The exotic figure he cut even with the simple movements of seizing each bucket and pouring them into the basin took my breath away. He was beautiful, this man. My body came alive at his proximity, the same places inside me awakened by David tingling as if my teenage lover stood in the room with me. The intensity of my reaction astounded and unnerved me.  

The buckets were empty, the tub now three-quarters full, the man tucked the pole away, now lighter without its burden, and sauntered to the door. At the last second before departing, his head turned and his eyes landed fully on me. A shiver traveled down my spine, goosebumps radiating in its wake. His pupils simmered like melted chocolate and offered all the joys of its consumption, save in reverse. In that ten second survey, I felt appraised and devoured, left wanting more. I reeled as he broke the gaze and eased out the door, gone and inexplicably having taken something vital with him.  

Alone again, I edged off the side of the bed and paused for a few seconds to get my footing on the brown runner carpet laid over a gray stone floor. My feet and legs were pale – too pale, and spindly in the flickering light coming from the gas lamp on the side table next to the bed. Bracing, I gathered myself and shoved, teetering on my feet. Once up, I wobbled and steadied. Upright and breathing hard, I took a tentative step toward the steaming basin. My

foot landed solid, legs remembering their purpose. Encouraged, I crossed the last few scant feet and climbed into the waiting water.  

A heady floral and spice scent rose to greet me. The basin was large enough to allow me to lie back against the sloped rear wall and extend my legs until my knees were just above the water. The aroma combined with the heat made me sleepy. With no one else to disturb me and my grief put on deliberate hold, I was content to lie there with the steam rising around me.  

Too soon for my liking, the water cooled, floral spices fading to nothing. Shivering, I reached for the towel and found it just out of reach.  

“Miss Tristen, ’tis Gwyneth. I’ve come with clothes for you. May I come in?” The wood absorbed her knock, muffled her voice.  

“Yes, just a moment.” The door opened just as my fingers brushed the material. Arms draped with shirts, skirts and other items of clothing I didn’t readily recognize, she bustled into the room. I hastily scooped up the towel and wrapped it around myself, appreciative of the barrier it put between us. The fact of its surprising softness came later. Did they have fabric softener here?

She hesitated just a second too long on the threshold, quick to take in even that brief glimpse. Recovering, she kicked the door shut and hastened to lay each armful of clothing on the end of the bed. “How was your bath?” she asked, focusing on her self-made task of sorting through the individual items.  

“Refreshing, thank you.” I huddled with my arms wrapped around my middle. Water dripped down my ankles to pool on the naked stone underfoot. My corn silk blonde hair hung damp around my shoulders, the ends sticking to my neck in places. Refreshing wasn’t the right word, but at least I smelled good and felt a little more in control of myself.  

“I hope you don’t mind, but I wasn’t sure of what colors you would like best.” She held up, then shook out something green with long sleeves and a hem, then disappeared below the edge of the bed. Recognizing it for a dress with lace embroidered on the sleeves and around the waist, it horrified me to watch her put it down and pick up another dress, this one dark blue, giving it a shake like the other. A third and fourth followed, yellow and forest green each. The colors didn’t matter. They were all dresses. The last time I’d willingly worn a dress was the fourth grade.  

“Wait, where are the pants?” It was a ridiculous concern given the stresses and fears of my world-hopping. All I wanted now was a measure of control over the simplest things. Blushing, she rummaged through the pile and pulled out a thin undershirt and shorts I took to be underwear.  

“Of course, I should have begun with those,” she demurred and held them out. Taking them, I shook my head.  

“Thanks, but I meant pants – trousers. Where are the trousers? I don’t wear dresses.” I wiggled about in my towel, trying to dry off without removing it. Gwyneth’s eyes went wide.  

“You want trousers?” She coughed slightly, nervously.  

“Yes. I thought that was why you asked about them.” I ducked my head and stuck it into the neck of the undershirt. Sliding my arms into the sleeves one at a time so that I could keep the towel in place, I found it fit too close to fit over my bosom and the towel. Reverting to a move I’d developed in the locker room afterswim class, I left the shirt bunched at my chest and slipped into the shorts under the towel’s cover. Nudity sufficiently covered, I dropped the towel and yanked the shirt down over my chest and belly.  

Dismay tinged her words. “I’m sorry, Miss, but the Rabani do not permit women to wear trousers without special dispensation.”

“Say what?”  

Gwyneth frowned, repeating herself.  

“You can’t be serious! Why? It’s just clothing, for Pete’s sake!” I glared at the pile of dresses.  

“I’m sorry, I do not know this, Pete. Is He the god of your world?”  The question, for all its absurdity, disarmed me.  

“No, it’s just an expression. I just meant that it’s clothing. It shouldn’t matter what I want to wear.” I hugged my arms around my middle, still feeling naked despite the thin layer I’d donned. Out from under the blanket, and out of the water, the air sported a chill that brought faint goosebumps to my skin.  

Gwyneth chewed her lower lip, pensive. Her gaze flicked from the pile of dresses to me and back.  

“Ost commands women to wear the frock and gown, to cover our mysteries and keep them safe from a man’s lusting eye. For He fashioned men to want women in all their minutes and hours so that they may bear fruit and multiply under His auspices,” she mumbled half to herself, then brought her gaze to mine with equal parts remorse and fear burning like coals. I groaned.

“Seriously? I don’t want to wear a dress. Isn’t there anything you can do?”   

The air went out of her and her shoulders sank. “You don’t know what you ask, Miss. The risk ….” She trailed off at my resolute scowl. Then, shaking her head as if to dislodge the trailing end of this utterance, she pulled in a deep breath and nodded.  

“I know where I can find something that would fit you.” Lower lip between her teeth again, she scooped up the dresses. I shrugged.  

“I have nothing but time. Find me pants to wear and we’ll call it good.”  

Gwyneth paused at the door to speak over her shoulder. “Trousers, miss. Pants are undergarments such as what you’ve got on right now.”

She was gone so long I wondered if she had abandoned the search and gone into hiding, afraid to return to whatever wrath she might imagine I could wreak upon her. I drowsed on the bed in her absence, the bath having restored a sense of cleanliness but little in the way of energy. I couldn’t understand why I was so tired and found the more I tried to figure it out, the less energy I had for the endeavor.  

Her return roused me from half-formed dreams lingering just over the sleep threshold. She dumped the double arm-load of clothing into the space on the mattress I’d occupied only moments before and hastened to shut the door behind her.  

“My apologies, Miss. There was but one person I knew who would help, and whose fit might closely match yours. I owe him quite the debt now, but no matter,” she babbled, breathless and trembling as if she’d just been chased and found safety on this side of the door. Her hands shook as she sorted through the pile, separating shirts from trousers, undershirts from vests, and underwear from stockings. Every garment looked well-worn but just as cared for. Rips and tears mended with patches and stitching. The faint aroma of horses rose from the pile, the smell not entirely unpleasant yet undeniably present. Given her state, I chose not to probe further into the source of this borrowed attire only to have her disclose it only seconds later. “I borrowed this clothing from my younger brother, Endecai. The Rabani will not care for the liberties we’re taking, but you are to be treated with the highest accord by the royal command of the Queen. We shall let our betters hash out the details, eh?” She picked out a light blue shirt and a pair of tan trousers. Setting them aside, she asked, “Will you need help to dress?”

The question once again caught me off guard. Was she offering because she genuinely thought I was incapable or did no one do anything for themselves here?  

“I think I can manage it myself, thanks.”

“Right then, I’m sure you’re hungry. I’ll go to the kitchens while you dress.” Smiling again, she disappeared once more out the door.  

Dressing proved easy. As unfamiliar as the garb was, Gwyneth’s guess at sizing proved correct. I sat back on the bed and waited for her to return.  

Several minutes later, there came a knock on the door. I was sure it was too soon for Gwyneth to return. They didn’t wait for an answer, opening the door only a second or two after knocking. A familiar dark head and shoulders slid into the door’s inward swing. Glancing left then right, his eyes found me, then widened, flashing bright and brown.  Without waiting for the invitation, he grinned and slid the rest of his body into the room.  

“Can I help you?” I asked.  

The weight and intensity of his gaze traveling from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes made my skin tingle. Silence hung over the room; my question unanswered.  

“I see you have clothes now.” His voice was smooth, carrying a light accent that reminded me of some tropical island nation. I crossed my arms over my chest, presently aware I wore no bra and my breasts hung loosely beneath the shirt. If he noticed that I wore men’s clothing, he made no remark upon it. Instead, noting the movement, the corners of his eyes crinkled. He stood straighter, composing himself. “I am Fahl, your manservant. They commanded me into your service. I trust you enjoyed your bath?” I nodded curtly. “I am pleased to hear this. I will come back later to get the tub. Is your maidservant returning soon?” His eyes sparkled in their sockets, full of humor not shared with me.  

“Yes, Gwyneth is bringing food,” I answered.

Fahl flashed a quick, rueful grin. “I will leave you to wait for her, then.” Once the door shut behind him, I shook my head in bewilderment. Was everyone as strange as he, or did he belong to a class all his own?  

A yawn of immense proportions cracked my jaw wide. Covering my mouth, I flopped back on the quilted mattress topping my wooden cot. Damn it, if I’d just spent the last three weeks asleep, why was I still so exhausted? I tipped my head back, resting my shoulders against the headboard. If Gwyneth didn’t arrive with sustenance soon, I was going to fall asleep. The sandbags tugging at my eyelids all but guaranteed it.  

Fortunately, Gwyneth arrived only a few minutes later laden with a tray full of fruits, cheeses, and cold meats. There was a large mug filled with a white liquid I thought might be milk. She set it down on a table tucked into the corner on my right and slid out a chair for me. Once seated, the smells of the food prompted a ravenous rumble from my stomach. Leaving me to my meal, Gwyneth busied herself with sorting through the clothing she had brought earlier and hung them in the slender wardrobe in the corner.  

Picking up a sliver of waxy yellow cheese, I sniffed at it and then nibbled a corner. Pleased with discovering cheese was cheese no matter the universe, I sampled the others. The cheeses were tangier than what I customarily ate, yet all had that same creamy texture unique to dairy products. The meat’s aroma was that of a mixture of beef and pork, sparking a larger rumble in my stomach. The fruits looked like nothing I’d seen before, being of varying sizes and colors. My appetite came roaring to life, and it didn’t matter what the rest tasted like; it all went into my stomach. Plate cleaned, I lifted the mug and sipped, getting the taste and texture of whole milk. I downed all of it and plopped the mug back on the tray while stifling a hearty belch.

“Thank you. I feel much better.” With the food came a welcome infusion of energy that beat back sleep’s insistent gravity. “You’re welcome, Miss.”

“Tristen, please,” I insisted. Being called Miss felt too formal.  

“Of course, Miss err… Tristen. Are you satisfied, or shall I bring another tray?” She hung the last of the shirts and closed the wardrobe doors. I shook my head, rubbing my full belly.

“No, thanks. That was filling.”  

“Good. How are you feeling? Chani said Lady Genevieve took many a week to recover from her journey once she awoke.”  

I sighed. “Tired. I almost fell asleep while you were gone. Now that I’ve eaten, though, I’m a little more awake.” I looked around the room again. To ask, or not to ask? “There was a boy–no, a man who came with the tub and water. He came back while you were gone, I guess, to check on me. He said his name is Fahl. Do you know him?”

Her expression shifted from jovial to pinched. “Aye, everyone knows Fahl. He is the King’s personal servant. Lady Genevieve has assigned him to serve you while the King occupies his war camp in Amontis.” She affected a dismissive shrug, although the tiny lines around her eyes belied an unspoken worry as she cut her gaze away. Her strange double demeanor piqued my curiosity.  

“Is he from somewhere else? He sounds different from you and um,” I fumbled for the name. “Chani.” She reached for the rumpled blankets on the bed and straightened them with rough, jerking movements.  

“Fahl is from the Uwate people who occupy the mountains in the south.” She finished straightening the bed, then came for the tray. “Was he a bother to you then, that you ask of him?”

 “No, not really. I’m just trying to get to know all of you now that I’m here and awake.” I flashed a smile that she didn’t see and just as well. She was still so much Ani’s doppelgänger that eye contact brought a hot flush to my belly. Still, as hungry as I was for knowledge of this new world, I was determined to press her for as many answers as I could get, even if they wouldn’t make sense right away.

“You mentioned it earlier. What is the Rabani?” I asked.   

“Not what, but who. The Rabani are Ost’s Chosen, His Teachers, translating His Wisdom and Laws to we mortals who are Ost’s Children upon this land,” she recited as if by rote, ending with a promise to return soon. Then she was gone again.   

It was disconcerting how no one here seemed to have enough time to be in one place for long. They came and went, dropping bits and pieces of information in the passage, all of it without context. My head spun, trying to process everything that had happened. Genevieve had called this place Abiniam, but beyond that, what else did I know about the world I’d seen in the box, and now occupied myself? The box had shown me only the briefest of scenes, a smattering of images to tantalize me with the promise of a new setting and future. I’d seen a tumbling sprawl of mountainous land that met a boundless ocean in a sheer-drop crumbling-edge cliff. A massive, labyrinthine complex of buildings, complete with blue and purple flags flapping in the breeze, topped this. Glimpsed after, a massive castle whose tower loomed gleaming white and sparkling in the sun, the land surrounding it at turns forested and open plains. Last, a tumble of mountains from whose rolling summits came the glint of steel weaponry, the reason for such violence uncertain. These had been enough of a prompt to inspire hope and a choice. Now that I was here, however, the quagmire of details I hadn’t stopped to consider before following the mystery of Genevieve’s disappearance shattered my hopes. All things considered, I didn’t know a damned thing about Abiniam or its people.  

~*~

As the minutes unfolded one by one post-Gwyneth’s departure, the enormity of what I’d done was so profound my chest ached for breath I couldn’t take in. Tears pricked, welling with hot precision.   

Damn it all.  

Wiping away the thin veneer of tears, the smile I meant to give Gwyneth on her return more of a grimace. She paused mid-step.

“Miss – er, Tristen? Are you well?”  

I waved her off, sniffled once and crammed my emotions down deep where they’d hopefully stay out of the way and give me a measure of peace.  

“I’m fine. Just having a moment, that’s all.”

“Are you certain?” An upward glance from my knotted knuckles caught the downward drift of her green eyes as they danced across my face, eyelashes dark and fluttering, drawing similarities to Ani’s coy sideways looks. My heart stuttered. Would it ever stop this constant comparison?  

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just … now that I’m awake, I can’t sit here alone in this room,” with my own thoughts as dangerous company, “when I know there’s an entire world out there – I saw it in the box.” The words flowed fast. I couldn’t take being in this tiny, sparsely decorated room any longer than necessary. I needed to get up, to get away – anything that would blot out the memories that hung heavy at the back of my mind. However, I stopped at the precipice of outright asking for her help. The words got stuck at the base of my throat as it tightened with emotion.  

“I know it must be hard not knowing anything about where you are. I am sorry for that,” Gwyneth unexpectedly said. “We must appear to be callous fools not being ready for when you awakened and all of us rushing around now that you are. It is not the usual. Chani sent word from the Queen. She commanded that they make an apartment in the Royal Tower ready for you. Now that the Lady knows whence you came,” she waved her hand into the open expanse of the room, “this room will no longer house you. I’m to take you to your new rooms as soon as I receive word from the servants that they are ready. Does this suit you?”

Surprised, I chuckled. “Well, I guess so. I wasn’t really expecting a permanent change of rooms, but it’s a start.”

“Mayhap you’d like a small tour of the castle in the meantime? Only if you are up to it, of course,” she hastened to amend.  

 I perked up. “I’d like that, but I need shoes.” I swiveled out from under the table and wiggled my stocking clad toes. Gwyneth flushed pink again.  

“Of course. Of course, I didn’t think of shoes.” She huffed to herself and bit the corner of her lower lip, looking hopelessly, if not temporarily, distressed by her lack of forethought. My heart skipped an entire series of beats on this display. She shook it off in the next moment. “I will send word to Chani to arrange footwear. In the meantime, they keep the corridors clean enough to eat on, and in the summer the stones are always warm even without stockings. Will you be alright to go without shoes for now?”  

I refrained from scoffing; a tour in sock feet? No shoes on top of having to borrow clothing? I supposed it fit right in with everything else I’d experienced. Hell, I was lucky I was even alive, let alone able to wear clothes.  

“Sure.”

Leaving the room on Gwyneth’s heels, I was content to follow her through one gray stone-walled passage after another, passing a motley of other servants who kept their heads down as they continued on to their destinations. Her footsteps never faltered as we turned left and right, scaling a set of stairs or two, greeting those few who did make eye contact along the way. At last, we mounted a final set of stairs and passed through an arched opening that led outdoors onto a walkway roughly ten feet wide, running along the top of a crenelated wall. Stopping there, Gwyneth turned to me, her face slightly flushed from the walk. I was sure I was probably twice as red and winded as she was. My chest and legs felt the worse for the wear even as a cool breeze wafted across my heated face. I sucked in a deep draught of it and marveled at the quality and taste of air that had never carried even a hint of chemicals or vehicle exhaust fumes.   

“Forgive me, Miss, but I thought you might like some fresh air. I’ve brought you out onto the lower battlements where there’s a pretty view of the countryside to the south.” She beamed proudly. Recovering, I stood straighter next to her and looked out at the promised landscape. Years of reading fantasy novels provided architectural knowledge. Where we stood, the battlement was at least ten feet wide, the crenelated wall reaching elbow height, easily another two feet thick. Curved merlons formed narrow alcoves pierced by archer’s slits every five feet, the embrasures in between bearing empty brackets bolted into the wall. Wanting a better view of what lay behind, I moved to the nearest crenel and peered over it.  

A hundred feet away stood another shorter, thinner wall made of the same seamless gray stone. In the space between fifty feet directly below, stagnant gray-green water filled a deep trench whose edges reached from wall to wall. Beyond this outermost wall, open fields of wild heather sprawled for a half mile or more across the open flats unobstructed by any vegetation taller than a diminutive child until reaching a flourishing, intensely green deciduous forest on the horizon. Twin tracks appeared in the far distance to my left and curved around the furthest corner as they approached, turning swiftly out into the fields the closer they came to the walls. Closer scrutiny showed these tracks formed a well-traveled road of hardpan rock and dirt that bisected the fields and led toward the distant forest.  

The air was ambient, full of the soft warmth of summer. Brilliant green grass patched with lighter green, yellow, and white heather framed each side of the road. I tracked it to where it disappeared beneath the dark canopy of the forest. A small globe hung high in the sky just above the line of the horizon, the only evidence of bearing light a thin corona no thicker than a wedding band around it. Even higher in the sky, off to the right, three times as large, the life-giving and sustaining ball of yellow fire. Curious, I motioned to the smaller orb in the heavens.  

“What’s that – your moon?”

She shook her head, showing unfamiliarity with the word, or concept, or both. “That is Ost’s Eye. It hangs above us night and day, ever watchful, ensuring all of His Children follow His Laws. The Rabani say its glow is Ost’s Constant Love shining down on us in ceaseless supply.” She angled toward me then, speaking in reassurance as if such news was supposed to have curdled my spirits. “It is a small light, but so long as it shines, Ost’s Eye always bears good portents. Its glow has been brighter these last weeks.” A sideways half-smile touched her lips at the finishing. Goosebumps pimpled my skin.   

Shivering, I took another look at what I guessed might be a second smaller, non-light giving sun. What kind of world had I dropped into that they assigned such primitive religious importance to such a non-terrestrial body? With such an empty, expansive sky above equally empty and expansive fields, there was, without being able to put my finger on it, something sad about the scene before me. No one came or went on the road. The countryside was beautiful.

I turned from the wall to survey the long stretch of walkway that receded into the distance behind her. Remaining a ten-foot expanse down its visible length, the wall extended away from us to stop about fifteen hundred feet away at a formidable yet squat stone tower. I slowly spun to the right and saw an identical stone tower looming another hundred feet behind me, its interior dark and vacant. Continuing my spin, I glanced up and then gasped. Three additional terraced, crenelated levels of gray stone gave way to a hundred feet of a richer, finer white stone. A massive tower built of a brilliant white stone marbled by intertwined streaks of purple and blue gems loomed at the pinnacle.  

“Holy shit!” I blurted. Awe blunted the profanity, yet the words still drew Gwyneth’s raised eyebrow.  

 I craned my neck to catch sight of the top of this monstrously beautiful tower and swooned, stepping backward to catch myself. The move brought me bumping into something firm yet yielding. Her hands came up to steady me, answering the question of what.   

“Are you well, Miss?” There it was that question again. Concerned for me, but how much of it was genuine? I’d believed Ani’s warmth, her concern, her caring.  

“Yes, fine,” I lied. I brought my gaze back down to bear on the passage we’d just left. My vision swam even as my neck muscles groaned in protest at such abuse. Heat flashed behind my ribs as her hands trailed across my shoulders and dropped away. Damn it. Not here, not her!

Breathing hard,I deliberately moved away from her.

“Would you like to continue our walk further down the wall, or would you prefer to see if your new rooms are ready?”  

The space between my ears spun and turned over on itself, delivering unwelcome pressure. An accompanying ache spread out along the top of my head and down into the top of my spine. Closing my eyes against the painful sensations, I ground my back teeth together and took a deep breath of the freshest air I’d ever tasted.  

“I think the fresh air has given me energy,” I lied again, without understanding why I felt the need to hide this sudden weakness from her. “Is it a long walk to the new rooms?” Gwyneth shook her head. I stepped back toward the arch leading to the stairs. An errant gusting breeze stirred her hair, raising the alluring scents of warm flowers and sunshine. Damn it, did she have to smell good, too?   

“No. Well, longer to the tower than to your old room.” She extended a slender, pale finger and pointed. I sucked in a breath.  

“Let’s climb that tower, then.”  

Gwyneth hesitated, eying me critically. “Are you certain? You’ve gone pale these last minutes.” Her cheeks blossomed color as if this question was too bold for someone of her station to have asked. Irritation serrated my answer.  

“Yes, I’m sure. Please, just take me to my rooms!” The fresh color in her cheeks disappeared.

“Of course, Miss,” she murmured, leading the way back. Halfway down the stairs, unexpected whispering voices came drifting up to us from the corridor. Footsteps heading toward us joined the mix. Gwyneth stiffened and drew us to a halt, indecision making her movements jerky as she waffled between continuing on and taking us back up the stairs.  

“What’s wrong?” I whispered, annoyance and headache growing. Wide green eyes blinked up at me, bringing our height difference into sharp acknowledgment. The muddled whispers grew clearer.  

“It’s been over two years, Milord. The king yet swears on the Enchiridion about his servant’s consecration. Yet how can it be so? Ohjion delivered word just yesterday; yet another mulatto child was delivered to one of the ladies-in-waiting. The Lady would have Ohjion take the child away to be raised in secret somewhere, and her precious protégé spared the attention and shaming such a delivery would bring to the girl’s House.”  

“Silence, Seamus! You would dare speak of such things openly?” Even hushed, authority rang with every word delivered in a deep, rumbling voice. The footsteps stopped a distance from the bottom of the stairs. Gwyneth trembled next to me.  

“My Lord, who is to hear? We are alone,” came a tired protestation. The other man snorted.  

“Have you forgotten where we are? Think we are still at Castle Dasir where one can be safe from eavesdroppers? Castle Westphalia has ears on every wall, you fool! Let us take this conversation out into the air. The tower is empty at this hour; we are safe.”

“Of course, Milord, as you wish.”  

The footsteps picked up again, this time clearly having mounted the bottom-most stairs. The sound broke Gwyneth’s frozen pose; she grabbed my hand and tugged me back up the stairs.  

“We must not let them catch us, Miss. They’ll know we’ve overheard something; there can be no denying it if they come upon us on the stair!” She hissed; visage stricken with panic. Having heard the same as she, I let her drag me back out onto the wall and ran with her into the nearest tower. Diving into its shadowy interior, I leaned against the cool stone and fought to stay upright when everything in me was desperate to lie down and rest.  

Scant seconds later, the footsteps delivered the two men onto the wall. Despite how I felt, I crept to the arched opening to peek out. To my surprise, instead of moving further away from the tower where we hid, the two men stood in silence only twenty feet away, both of them for the moment staring out over the vista I’d just imbibed. The closer of the two was the first to speak, turning his shorter ginger head from side to side as if to guarantee their privacy.  

“If we can prove the King has lied and is still lying to the Master Rabani-.”

“No, Seamus. We must not interfere on this count. I have assurances such things are of little import,” returned the other, who stood a full head taller than his companion. Thick coal-black hair grew from his scalp, shorn close so that newly formed curls lightly dusted his ears and brow. Broad of shoulder with a barrel chest, narrow waist and sturdy yet bowed legs, he wore a fine dark blue shirt beneath a black doublet vest that matched the hue of his hose. His skin bore a healthy tan that turned him golden brown wherever the sunlight touched him, save for his upper lip, cheeks and squared chin, where he sported the black stubble of a goatee.  

“Please, Atamos, you cannot be so foolhardy as to trust this upstart-.”

The man called Atamos scowled down at Seamus, whose ginger hair was long and tied back into a knot at the base of his skull. Garbed in a somber green shirt over plain brown trousers and worn leather boots, all of lesser quality than his companion’s, he was slight of frame to the point of willowy sinew.  

“You would do well to remember your station. A shared boyhood does not make you my equal,” Atamos growled, heavy brows furrowed over fathomless dark blue eyes. Seamus sighed.  

“My apologies, Milord. I do not mean to overstep. I am only concerned about your success in this venture.”

Fabric rustling at my elbow pulled my attention away from the men. It was Gwyneth edging around me to see. I shifted aside, letting her squeeze in next to me yet still stay out of sight. Floral notes from her hair scented the scant air between us, reminding me momentarily of the myriad times Ani and I had hung our heads together over textbooks spread out over my bed. It took an effort to banish the comparison and quell the leaping of my heart.  

Upon seeing the men, Gwyneth’s body went rigid. The whites of her eyes glowed gray in the low light as she faced me.  

“Who are they?” I whispered. She nervously chewed her bottom lip as her delicate nostrils flared.

“The Duke of Dasir and Galywen. That is his chamberlain, Seamus. The duke leads the Council in the King’s stead.” She pivoted her gaze back to them without further expounding. I absorbed the knowledge, all of it without a proper context for commenting. Instead, I went back to listening, wondering all the while why they needed privacy the likes of which they believed they’d taken. I hadn’t heard anything that I could consider whisper-worthy, but what did I know?

“Report back to Ohjion and thank him for this news. The Lady is right in her sentiments. The child should be sent away, the mother too. Such an abomination would only bring shame upon her House at best, Purification of mother and child both, at worst.” The Duke grimaced like his words tasted putrid. Seamus shifted his weight from foot to booted foot, looking as discomfited as the man he served.  

“And when you have taken the throne, milord? Will you punish or reward the heathen?” He broke these questions upon his Duke’s severe countenance and received a stern cuff to his ear, the force of which sent him stumbling a step or two to the side. Atamos cranked his head back and forth, side to side, frantically searching for interlopers. I shrank back, even though I was sure he couldn’t see us. Beside me, Gwyneth uttered a muffled gasp. Alternately, my brow furrowed in confusion. Once the Duke took the throne? Was that why they’d come all the way out here to talk? Could that be the sour note I’d sensed earlier in looking out over such a beautiful, yet strangely empty landscape?

“Your tongue wags too freely, Seamus. Never let me hear you speak thusly again, whether we are alone or otherwise. Would you have your Duke bent and broken upon a Purification pyre, punished for the crime of treason?” Atamos clasped Seamus’ upper arm and jerked him close, thrusting his face down into the other man’s. The ginger quailed and went limp.  

“Of course not, Milord. I only meant to ask-.”  

Atamos shook him harshly, making Seamus’ head bobble on his shoulders. “You do not ask me anything!” he growled. “How often must you forget? I am your Duke now, not your childhood friend! The moment for such familiarities between us died with my father, the Duke before me!” He released the man, who tumbled to his knees with a moaning sob. Atamos aimed a kick at him. “Get you to your feet, and to Ohjion. Once you have delivered my orders, find a Hareshen and tell him your Duke orders a whipping to help you remember that you are but dirt beneath my boot, if I so wish it!”  

Cowed, Seamus simpered up at him. “Please, milord, I have not forgotten. Do not make me do this thing! The Hareshen – have you no care for me at all? I will be of no use to you after I am whipped. The Hareshen will see to it.” He trembled, kneeling there. I smelled his fear from where I stood. The duke’s visage betrayed a moment of affection. This was quickly stamped out, his face going as still and cold as the stone wall. He snorted and spit on the ground between Seamus’ splayed hands.  

“When the Hareshen binds you to the whipping post, be sure to tell him your Duke commands stripes upon your back, one for each time you forgot who you are and dared question your Duke’s orders. I will want to count them when I return to our quarters this evening. If too few, I will send you back until you have no inch of unbloodied skin upon your body. Now get you gone from my sight!”  

Head hung low over hunched shoulders, Seamus scrambled to his feet, rubbed his wrenched arm, and loped away down the stairs. Alone now, the Duke bent his attention outward into the empty fields beyond the walls. Minutes passed as he surveyed in brooding silence. The ache in my head and neck crept down into my shoulders and pounded in my temples. My knees trembled in the effort it took to hold myself propped against the wall. The strength in them leeched out as time moved on, the Duke’s presence keeping us unwitting prisoner in the tower’s base.  

Finally, my legs could take no more and my knees buckled. Suppressing a groan, I slid down the wall, butt hitting the floor. Once there, I pressed my hands to my head and tried not to whimper with the pain. Alarmed, Gwyneth kneeled down next to me.  

“Miss? Are you well?” she whispered, bringing her mouth so close to my ear the humid warmth of her breath tickled in passing. I scarcely heard her through the roar of pain and shook my head as gently as possible.  

“Hurts,” I hissed through a clenched jaw and rubbed vigorously at my temples. She made a sound of concerned frustration and drew away. Her dress rustled softly as she shifted position, and then her voice was back in my ear.  

“We cannot leave until the duke moves. I am sorry,” she whispered. The pain was so strong I was nauseous. Everything I’d eaten the hour before threatened revolt. If something didn’t change soon, there was no way I could keep silent while vomiting. I sucked in air while struggling not to scream.  

Soft hands covered mine, moving my fingers away to massage the knots and aches in my temple and neck. Her fingers were blessedly cool, kneading with just the right amount of pressure. The relief was immediate and so potent I almost moaned with it. Instead, I went limp under her touch, felt her cradle my head in her hands. Then, a gentle yet firm tug on my shoulder. I slid down under her guidance. The back of my head touched down in a nest of warm fabric. Her fingers picked up where they’d left off in massaging my temples, thumbs focusing there while the rest danced along the tendons and muscles at the base of my skull. The tension eased under her rhythmic motions; discomfort faded, taking with it stomach-churning nausea. I relaxed without being wholly aware of doing so, relief making me forgetful of circumstance.

Lulled, I drifted into that strange, soft limbo between waking and sleeping where thoughts have no tracks to follow or rules binding them into coherency. The details of Gwyneth’s face above me blurred into obscurity. An inexplicable peace settled over me, a blanket whose weight and warmth invites total surrender. I gave myself to it without question and dove into its silent embrace. “Miss – Tristen? Tristen?”  

The voice stirred my fugue as a spoon stirs cream into black coffee, drawing light down to the bottom and swirling spreads it upward until all uniformly changes to a lighter hue. I came to consciousness with the same slow, fluid homogenizing. A pale moon in a night-darkened sky clarified into a pale face framed by waves of dark hair hovering overhead, mere inches away. A sleepy smile stole control of my lips. I didn’t remember it happening, but somehow, I’d fallen asleep in Ani’s lap. Now that I was here, I was determined to savor the moment and draw it out as long as possible.  

Except for one detail that lingered at the back of my mind, niggling to the point of distraction. Why had Ani just called me miss?  

My vision jarred as timid taps first on my left, and then the right cheek jostled my head. Ani suddenly brought her face down even closer, and my heart took a wild leap. Was this it? Had Ani finally seen through my disguise? I sobbed in relief and reached for her, pulling her down until my lips touched the tip of her nose, then quested lower for her mouth. She gasped, eyes widening until they were luminous green moons in a starry sky, and jerked back.  

“Miss – Tristen, what are you doing?” Ani hissed and shook me. Tears of horror welled in my eyes as I hurtled up into full awareness.

Ah God, not again!  

Desperate to hide from that confused, accusing stare, I sat bolt upright and spun away, expecting to tumble from my childhood bed onto a carpeted floor. Instead, my knees and elbows crashed into cold, hard stone. The sensation brought me up short, gasping, and sent my dream-memory tumbling away into the ether. I shook my head to clear it and came back to the dimly lit interior of the tower where Gwyneth and I had taken refuge from the duke and his chamberlain. Horrified by what I’d just done, I shot a glance at Gwyneth, who sat huddled against the wall next to the door. I couldn’t decipher her expression as she gazed back at me. I took the light in her eyes for disgust and hid my face, ashamed.  

Several seconds passed. The expected barrage of disgusted hatred never came. Surprised, I dared raise my eyes and found Gwyneth climbing to her feet. She extended a hand to me without comment, just a soft look of invitation that only confused and embarrassed me even more. I couldn’t bring myself to take it and took my time standing. Upright, I froze in alarm.  

“He’s gone on, Miss. I woke you as soon as he left.” Faint color touched her cheeks. “Are you well enough to resume the tour?”  

I brought my head up sharply in disbelief. “Continue the tour? After what I just, er, what we just heard? Are you crazy?”

Her head swiveled as she checked to make sure we were alone, the wall still empty. “You must forget what we saw and heard, Miss. No good will come of speaking about it.” Her eyes echoed the sentiment with a sad resolve.  

I gaped at her. “You can’t be serious. Those men were talking about-.”

She shook her head, interrupting. “It does not matter what those men said. They believe themselves to have spoken privately and so they should continue to believe. There is nothing to do in revealing we overheard them – not for them, and especially not for us.” Fear etched tight lines around her eyes and mouth.  

Ignoring it, I asked, “What? Are you covering for them?” Gwyneth sighed.  

“There is much you do not know about this world, Tristen. Please trust me when I say it is safer for both you and me to forget everything that happened here this afternoon.” She approached, stood imploringly less than a foot away. The gravity she exuded was palpable, heavy against my skin. Shivering, I nodded agreement. She was right. More than her fear of the repercussions of meddling in affairs I knew nothing about, a mutual forgetting about my fumbling attempt to kiss her was in both our best interests.  

“Alright,” I said, rubbing dusty palms on the seat of my trousers. “How far is it to the tower?”  

Gwyneth’s shoulders dropped with her relief. “‘Tis a much longer walk to the tower than back to your current room. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to return there and rest until the morrow?” I leveled a determined eye at her.  

“I need to leave today behind me. Take me to the tower.”