As his eyes cleared and he looked back at me, it was almost as if we shared the same, single thought.
“Naděžda.”
At that moment, I finally understood. He had known my mother, too. Amir had called out her name when he saw me for the first time, face to face. When he first saw me, he recognized her.
I stumbled a little and stooped for a moment to fix my shoe, struggling to think through everything.
Lady POW had mentioned that to Harshad, I recalled, thinking of the conversation Ben and I overheard before any of this began. Harshad called my mother “Dezda,” and Amir had met my mother. Clearly, he called her by her full middle name.
It was strange to think that my mother had been so much to so many people.
I was still stunned as we walked into the west parlor. Lady Penelope called out to me, and I was immensely grateful for the distraction. “Ah, there you are, Eleanora.”
“You sent your servant here to find me,” I said, pointing my thumb at Amir. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
Lady Penelope frowned. “I know better than most the complexities of sarcasm and wit, Eleanora. It is best to keep your good humor out of the former and concentrated on the latter. There is no need to insult anyone. You know Amir is not my servant. We are on the same side here.”
Yes, the side of espionage. How comforting.
“Thank you, Amir,” Lady Penelope said. “Please await us in on in the ballroom. We will be there shortly.”
“Ballroom? We?”
“Your gown for tonight’s ball is here,” Lady Penelope said. “We need to be sure that you can dance properly in it. As much as Karl Marcelin might have found your clumsy footwork attractive, I prefer we stir the pot with your exceptional skills.”
For a long moment, as she went on about social politics, I felt a new sense of weariness come over me. There was nothing that exceptional about me. Not really. If I had been smarter, I might have found a way to be free before Lady Penelope’s arrival. If I had been stronger, I might have found a way to stand up to Cecilia. If I had been more aware of the world surrounding me, I might have been able to find my place in it. And if I had been more faithful, maybe God would have erased all my doubt of who I was and what I was put in this world to do.
I was none of those things. I was a simple girl playing dress up, chasing after my mother’s shadow, longing to be free when I was not brave enough, strong enough, smart enough, or sure enough to face freedom’s cost.
“Come, Eleanora. You will be practicing with Amir.” Lady POW looked me squarely in the eye, demanding my full attention, before she put her hands on her hips. “And while you are practicing your dancing, you can also practice being a proper lady. That includes not insulting your dancing partner, and pretending to be civilized.”
I gritted my teeth angrily, saying nothing as Amelia, Marguerite, and Jaqueline began suiting me up inside my new gown.
It took longer than I expected, but at the end of their frittering, my hair was combed back, my feet were placed into small silk dancing slippers—I thanked God for his goodness that they were not heels—and I had the stays around my waist groaning as my figure was pulled in place.
“Eleanor, you look lovely,” Lady Penelope said as I twirled for her final inspection.
“Eleanora.”
“Yes. Apologies, once more.”
“Maybe would help if you called my mother ‘Dezda,’ like Harshad does,” I said. Or Naděžda, like Amir.
Her gaze softened, ever so slightly and ever so briefly, and I felt guilty, as though I had struck her. “I don’t like to call her that as much as he does,” Lady Penelope said quietly, before the hard, stoic mask came down again. “That was always his name for her when she was ... ”
Lady POW let her voice trail off, and before she could say anything else, I took her hand. I did not know if I was trying to comfort her or not.
“I’m sorry,” I said. It was part of who I was, to be curious, but I would not impose her with my questions if it pained her.
She seemed to understand as she nodded. “Yes. Of course.” Then she marched forward, as if our quiet moment had never happened. Soon we reached the ballroom, where Amir was waiting for us.
He was in the middle of the empty ballroom, standing tall and awkwardly straight. As I approached him, he held out his hand. “Will you do me the honor to dance with me?”
“I don’t know that I should give it to you.” I was aware of Lady POW’s standards, but I decided I did not have to be cheerful when I was forced to be polite. I gave Amir a gritty smile. “But my grandmother demands it of me, doesn’t she?”
“She demands it of both of us, I’m sure,” Amir replied, and I was close enough I could hear the bitterness he was hiding in his voice.
At his tone, I knew Lady POW was watching us intently, waiting for me to accept Amir’s hand. I could already hear her voice in my head, reminding me of The Ladies’ Guide to Excellence and Etiquette, telling me it was not polite to refuse when a gentleman asked for a dance.
It did nothing for me that I did not consider Amir a gentleman, no matter how much he had insisted before that he was not a mongrel.
Reaching out, I settled my hand into Amir’s.
An old memory of my father came to the forefront of my mind. He would dance with me when I was younger, before he died. Táta loved to indulge me with his kindness and his kisses, and as Amir’s hand swallowed mine, I could not help but feel sad and nostalgic for those days.
“Just follow me,” Amir said as he stepped closer to me.
I had practiced the waltz with Karl at the Hohenwart Ball, so I was not surprised by the steps that followed. But I was grateful the speed had slowed as I relearned how to anticipate direction and center my balance. Amir led me around the room in slow, lulling steps, and his gentleness never faltered.
I was more surprised that all the details of the room disappeared as Amir guided me through the slides and twirls of different dances. As I shifted my gaze from my feet to Amir’s eyes—a glittering brown, with speckles of gold peeking out near the edge of his irises—I felt an unusual rush of compassion and warmth, and I did not like it.
“What is it?” I asked him, noticing that he was staring back at me.
“It seems you have remembered your dancing quite well,” he said, and I shook my head at once, keeping my forced smile steady as we passed by Lady POW.
“The practice helps,” I replied neutrally. “And it did help that Karl was a good dancer last night. Some of the others I danced with were not as good, but fortunately they blamed it on their own poor performance.”
“They were likely distracted by your beauty.”
“You don’t have to talk to me like that.” I rolled my eyes. “Besides, you might distract me now with your false flattery.”
“Flattery is always false, mademoiselle. I was speaking truth.” Amir smiled. “You may have that problem in the future, when other men are dancing with you.”
“I can learn to handle it later, then.”
“You can also learn it now. There is nothing efficient about wasting time, after all.”
“I’d rather not, thank you very much. There is no need for you to continue talking to me.” My tone was frosty and bitter, every part a perfect complement to the kindness in his eyes. “Unless, of course, you’d like to tell me why you stole my father’s book from me when we unfortunately met?”
“I would not say it was unfortunate.”
“What would you say it was, then?”
Amir’s mustache curled around the corners of his mouth. “God’s humor at work.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, frustrated and infuriated. “Are you insulting me?”
“Never, mademoiselle.”
Before I could accuse him of lying in addition to insulting me, or before I could “accidentally” begin stepping on his toes, Lady POW began calling out instructions, making me feel even more insulted and infuriated—and even worse,
isolated, and unable to do anything to escape.
“Hands up, Eleanora,” she called. “Yes, take a step closer. Now, remember to smile. Watch your timing; men are supposed to lead. And show your interest. Pretend you are dancing with a prince!”
Between Amir’s dancing and Lady Penelope’s snappy judgements, I felt trapped in a world of soft tyranny. It was a world where the truth was too impolite to be spoken, and even if it had to be, it had to be dressed up in clothes as strange and as ornate as the ones I was wearing, and it was likely as unrecognizable as I was in the end.
I certainly felt nothing like my usual self.
The others did not seem to believe it was me, either.
Amir held me at a polite distance as we danced, but I was still close enough I could see the pained delight in his eyes as he watched me, and recalling Lady POW’s earlier mistake of calling me by my mother’s name, I suddenly wondered if he was thinking of her, too.
The last note of the waltz rang out, and we finally slowed to a stop.
“Why did you take my father’s book?” This time, my question was quiet but harsh against the growing silence. Amir seemed surprised, but he did not refrain from responding.
“It was not your father’s book, mademoiselle.”
I slowly dropped my hands from his.
Already, I knew what he was going to say.
“When I saw you, it was like falling into a portal to the past, twenty-six years ago. I saw the book, and I knew it could only belong to my Naděžda.”
“You knew my mother.” The words were chunky and foreign to me as they came out of my mouth. I knew I had no reason to accuse him of something I already knew to be true.
“Yes. She was my dearest friend for many years before ... ” Amir said quietly. I saw his gaze lower to the scar on his right hand. “And when she ... left ... I was angry.”
It plagued me, knowing that Lady POW was not the only one who seemed to prefer my mother to me.
“When she left the Order, you mean?”
“She did not leave the Order,” Amir whispered. “She left me.”
It took me a long moment to process everything. Amir and I were still standing in the middle of the room. Somewhere, a thousand moments and a million miles away, Lady POW clapped and praised us, telling us I was already much better at the waltz than before. She was calling for another song, but I barely heard any of it, as I watched while Amir’s eyes swam over with memories and emotion.
There was suddenly no denying the full truth of the matter.
Amir had been in love with my mother.
As his eyes cleared and his mind returned to the present moment, I did the only thing I could think to do.
I reached out and slapped him.
The smack of my palm on his cheek echoed through the now-quiet room. My hand seemed to fall against his face with much more force than I had meant, but it was over all too quickly just the same.
He just stood there, looking at me. And when he looked at me, he saw her—and his own heartbreak.
“Eleanora!” Lady Penelope gaped at me in shock.
I fumed as Lady POW stepped forward. I was too angry and confused and frustrated to care. I ignored her and stood my ground in front of Amir, who did not say anything as he only gave me a wounded look.
“Stop,” I hissed at Amir. “I am not my mother, and you had no right to steal what I did have of her away from me.”
Before Amir could say anything, I already knew there was nothing I wanted to hear from him.
So I ran away.
I brushed past Lady POW without any regard, throwing her off balance by my sudden and ardent desperation to escape.
“Eleanora!”
I struggled not to show my regret and confused rage; I did not want to show Lady Penelope my own weakness any more than I wanted to admit it to myself.
So I ran away.
I ran away from her, I ran away from Amir, and I ran away from the truth, as another one of my childhood illusions was stripped away from me.
“Eleanora, get back here at once, young lady!” Lady Penelope called. She was no longer surprised, but now she was angry. I heard her start to run after me, but Amir called after her.
“Let her go, Lady Penelope,” I heard Amir say. “Please. I made her uncomfortable.”
“We have to be ready for tonight. This is no time for her to be fighting with you over trivial matters.”
There is nothing trivial about this. I stopped for a quick moment, leaning against the wall outside the door. My breath came quick and shallow while I forced myself to hold in my tears as I listened to Amir’s response.
“I fear that is not all she found offensive,” Amir replied. “You must forgive her, as I do, Madame.”
Lady Penelope huffed. “But you did nothing wrong.”
“Even so, my lady, I am not without my shortcomings.”
At his insufferable forgiveness, I took off once more, hoping that his little speech would be enough to keep Lady POW from breathing hellfire and damnation down my neck the next time she saw me.
For now, I decided, it was enough just to run away and be free from them, even if it was for only a few moments.
Even if it was ultimately futile in the end.
I could not run from the truth.
My mother and Amir had been friends—and he had been in love with her. Had she been in love with him, too? And if so, why did she leave him? Did she even care for my father at all? I was surrounded with more and more questions, and everything I had grown up never questioning seemed to fall apart as I made my way to my room.
Outside the window, a strange midday fog rolled in. The outline of Prague and its proud castle had become more mysterious and ethereal, and I wondered if it was really real, too. Before, everything about the city had a celestial touch to it, as if I could walk down a street and suddenly find myself in Heaven. In that moment, I could not say that; paradise was suddenly full of poison, and I had to wonder what parts of my life it had touched.
I entered my room, confronted with the terrible sadness of this reality. I flopped onto my bed, burying myself into the covers, letting my eyes swell over with tears.
It was only then that I allowed myself to admit the deepest part of my pain.
“Máma,” I whispered into the silken sheets. “I miss you.”
While I missed her because I loved her, I missed her more for the questions I had, the ones I knew could never be fully answered.
I missed her, and I had missed her whole life. How would things be different had she lived? Would I have known Lady POW sooner? Would Amir still be a strange man on the streets, thieving books, or would he be a friendly visitor of sorts?
Would anyone look at me and just see me? Would I be able to find my mother and not lose myself in the process?
“Máma.” I curled up in the bed, feeling small and alone and silly.
I missed her, but I could never be her. I did not have her strength, and the strength I did have was only there because of all the pain I had endured without her.
*14*
◊
I gradually fell asleep in my bed. No one came to bother me, and later I would wonder if Amir had interfered, since Lady POW apparently canceled our evening entertainments. I slept so deeply that nothing woke me up until the earliest hours of the morning.
It was the rain that woke me up, long after the night had saturated itself in gloominess. I awoke feeling rested, more rested than I had felt since Lady Penelope’s arrival. Sleep had renewed me, and my questions as well. I sat up in bed, curling my legs under my chin as my thoughts, as varied and complicated and deliberating as they were, kept me preoccupied.
I glanced at my door. I did not have to open it to know there was a heavy silence about the manor.
I felt surrounded in darkness in more ways than one.
I wondered, briefly, if Lady POW would be upset with me when she woke up, or if she would be relieved we were not out on the town while it was rain
ing. We lived on the city outskirts, close enough to see the city skyline, but she would be upset if her coach was stuck in the muddy lanes that surrounded my family’s farmland.
I rubbed my face, wincing at the scratchy tearstains. They were rough patches on my skin, hinting at the previous, ongoing pain in my heart.
I knew very little of Máma’s life before Ben and I had come along, and from what Lady Penelope told me about her time with the Order of the Crystal Daggers, the little I did know was likely a cover of sorts.
My mind settled on another memory of Máma. I saw her wearing the locket she had worn each Sunday to church. She would brush my hair, and I would tug at it. She would open it and show me the miniatures of Ben and me, and the one of my father on the opposite side.
I thought about the locket as Ben’s earlier comment came back to me. “You really don’t have a lot of practice at reconnaissance. Maybe you should practice some.”
That was what I should do, I thought. I should go and retrieve it from under the pantry floor.
Giving myself a task, even as it was nothing that would put me back in Lady Penelope’s good graces—if indeed, such a thing was possible—helped me immensely.
I slipped out of my sheets and put on the breeches I’d pilfered from the previous night. If I was going to sneak off to meet with Ferdy, I had to prepare myself. Retrieving my mother’s locket and my father’s pocket watch was a secondary pleasure to my ultimate purpose.
Thinking of Ferdy energized me, even if I knew I would be risking Lady Penelope’s temper once more. I began to undress as I pushed that concern out of my mind, reaching for memories of Máma and Ferdy instead. I stuffed my chemise into the pants and bundled up, pulling the coat tightly across my body to hide any slits of white that might be visible. Pulling on the men’s shoes, I felt free again, in a new way.
Women did not have as much power as Queen Victoria made it appear. Even in Prague, where there were artists and inventors and people of all backgrounds, the ways of London and Paris led us to be slaves to fashion, and fashion did not stop with our constraining clothes.
I made my way through the halls of my home, working my way to the end of the west wing with ease, trying not to feel a sense of despair. I had tumbled throughout the manor before my mother’s death, reigning free as a queen in training and a princess in my own place. I was free because of my security, in my parents’ love and our titles and income. Once Cecilia moved in and Táta died, I found a new sort of freedom, hiding in the shadows of the servants’ quarters and their assigned hallways. Now, even though Lady POW had freed me and Ben from Cecilia’s charge, I knew my freedom was limited.
Kingdom of Ash and Soot Page 18