Never Enough

by Wendy T Lyoness

  Never Enough

  Wendy T. Lyoness

  Copyright © 2020 by Wendy T. Lyoness

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Another Quarrel

  Love ruled the citizens of Lho Allanar, her home city, and she didn’t know if she believed in it. If the priestesses learnt about Venviel’s doubts, they would try to free her heart, or worse, cast her out of society.

  “We have to cut our expenses on imports from Algora.” Thalia thumped the list she’d brought to the dinner table. “What kind of self-respecting elf buys human furniture for thousands of gold?” Thalia hadn’t lived more than three-hundred years, yet the pressure her work had put on her had already created wrinkles in her face and bags under her blue eyes.

  “Well, I don’t know.” Corym shrugged. “But those chairs and tables do sell, so if you want to cut expenses, we can stop importing spices from Xenthien. Easterners don’t understand food. It tastes like sand when they prepare it.”

  Corym contorted his face in an exaggerated expression of disgust, which was unfortunate, Venviel thought, since she knew her mother had used some of those spices to season their meal.

  Thalia emptied the contents of her wine glass by tossing it across the table at Corym. Venviel cut into the remainder of the veal on her plate, paired the meat with potatoes, and ate. She did not think it tasted like sand, but clearly her father disagreed, or he would not have dumped his food on the carpet after Thalia had ruined his shirt.

  “Tasteless ass!”

  “Old hag who’s possessed my wife!”

  Thalia gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. “Did you hear what he called me, Venviel? Did you?”

  Venviel sighed. She supposed she should be grateful her parents weren’t fighting in public again. Although, they ought to be quieter with the maid somewhere in the mansion. She suspected the maid had been sent by the temple to report suspicious activity, and she might get them all in trouble.

  “You always drag my daughter into your pettiness.” Corym wiped his face with a handkerchief and attended his bushy moustache some extra care. “She isn’t—“

  “Your daughter?” Thalia snorted. “She’s my daughter. I birthed her.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Thalia. Simply because she popped out of you doesn’t mean I didn’t contribute. She likes me over…” Corym ducked as Thalia tossed a plate at his head. The plate missed, he retaliated by throwing a spoon.

  Thalia laughed. “You have a perfectly good knife! Face me as a man, wimp.”

  And like most family dinners, these days, a pleasant meal devolved into a competition of who could break whatever the maid had set on the table by throwing it the hardest at the walls. Venviel had attempted to silence her parents in the past, to mixed results, but it seemed they would never get along.

  If they’d cared to listen to her, she might have suggested that they stop running their businesses as partners. If they hadn’t worked together, she imagined they would have argued less. They may not have adored each other, but they wouldn’t have had such an obvious reason to fight.

  Truthfully, Venviel had gotten so used to her parent’s bickering that she couldn’t muster the energy to address it. She finished her meal while they turned the dining hall into their battlefield, rose to her feet, and walked out of the room.

  One day, Thalia and Corym would be punished for filling their hearts with hatred. Venviel might have prayed to be far away by then, but she didn’t want to risk alerting the temple or the goddess of love to her family’s issues, so she stayed silent.

  Neither of her parents would allow her to move out before she turned a hundred anyway. By elven standards, Venviel counted as a young adult since she was only fifty-three. And somehow, her parents could agree on those decisions she should be allowed to make for herself.

  If she hadn’t been the daughter of two wealthy merchants, she would have packed her bags and run. As it was, someone would always be offered a high enough reward to track and retrieve her from the end of the world.

  Monster

  Hope could hear the muffled arguing downstairs from the armchair in the library, but she wouldn’t report it to high priestess Keerla. If she reported the Amicier couple, she would lose access to their cozy library. The temple would take possession of their home, their emporium, and Hope would have no havens left in Lho Allanar.

  She knew that Thalia and Corym would be condemned, but she didn’t want to be the one to swing the judge’s axe down on them. The Amiciers had shown her a kindness few extended to someone with her appearance.

  A thunk on the window startled Hope. The red mess sliding down the glass made it clear that the boys outside had thrown a tomato, and she sank deeper into the armchair, like it would make her invisible.

  She’d thought she’d been sneaky enough to avoid detection this grey morning, but apparently, no, she’d been mistaken. Her tormentors would wait for her until she exited the Amiciers’ mansion. They would not be satisfied unless they got to drench her plain dress in tomatoes or eggs.

  Hope preferred tomatoes, by now, if only because their remains were easier to clean off than yolks. If she hurried, she might even have a chance to wash her dress before she returned to the temple. And then the high priestess would not scold her as harshly, because she wouldn’t notice.

  At times, she’d listened to Keerla’s lessons and thought the goddess of love a hypocrite. If the goddess wanted everyone to treat each other with loving kindness, why did she tolerate bullies? Why didn’t she descend from the heavens to punish everyone who’d pursued Hope since she’d been a young, homeless orphan?

  During her worst lapses in faith, Hope believed those who said she looked like she did because her parents must have hated each other. That she’d been conceived through rape. It would explain why she’d never known her mother or father. They’d despised each other as much as they’d despised her.

  Hope clutched the thick tome in her arms. Without books to read, she would have had nothing to lean on. Every hour of her life would have been a constant reminder of how she resembled a horrible monster torn out of elves’ nightmares. She would have been lost to loneliness, succumbed to her darkest thoughts.

  Still, not all books were equal. Some were worse than others due to the simple fact that they tried to scare children by describing creatures that looked like her. On the other hand, she’d discovered her favourite author through the Amiciers’ library and been surprised to find that they were an elf of some repute.

  Syvis va Sharel wrote incredible stories about heroes who never fit into their society, and strangely, all doted on their decrepit mothers. Hope’s favourite story, The Blood Rose, featured a courageous vigilante who rebelled against convention to win the heart of the man she admired. It was such a romantic tale.

  Hope might have loved to meet Syvis in person, but she worried she would frighten the talented author with her appearance. If they did meet, Syvis might start writing scary stories about repulsive women that should be killed to spare others the sight.

  She ran her fingers across the worn pages of the tome. No, she did not want to destroy her only pleasure in life by meeting someone she admired. Everyone else already regretted how they had to interact with her. She preferred if The Blood Rose remained a book she could read without unwelcome, intrusive memories to distract from the enjoyment.

  If she had to overlook the Amiciers’ transgressions against their shared faith to have access to a library, it seemed a small price to pay. She only prayed the high priestess would show her mercy, if the temple learnt the truth.

  Forlorn

  The shy maid reminded Venviel of a
wild animal in its natural habitat. As long as no one spooked Hope when she sat in the cramped, unused library, she moved with a rare elegance. Twin tails poked out from under her brown dress, thumped the floorboards while she read, and picked up their pace whenever she got scared by the tomatoes pelting the windows.

  The light that fell on Hope made her look otherworldly, frightening, and her sharp horns did nothing to lessen the impression. Venviel did fear the maid, but only because of her suspicions. If she ignored them for a moment, she could see how Hope hugged the particular book in her arms like it was the most precious item in her world. She could hear a faint squeal after each tomato.

  She became a hunter in her own home, a thief stealing glances at a forest spirit.

  “Maid. Eh, I mean…” Venviel barged into the library, crossed her arms, and did her best to act like she’d just showed up.

  Hope stopped moving and reading, yet she retained enough sense to lay the tome on the small table next to the armchair. If she feared for her life, she valued the book more.

  “Hope, right?” Venviel blew her black bangs out of her face.

  “Maid is adequate.” Hope rose, curtsied, and looked at her feet.

  Or at least Venviel thought the maid looked at her feet. Hope’s crystalline cyan eyes lacked pupils and irises that might indicate where her gaze landed. In a real sense, they were what scared Venviel the most about her, and she imagined those eyes were off-putting for others too. Although, she doubted anyone would agree on why.

  Hope intimidated Venviel because a part of her could stare into the windows of her soul until she drowned. Eye contact with Hope mesmerized her unlike anything in the world. She might transform into a moth that couldn’t stop bumping into a lantern, if she gawked into Hope’s soul too long.

  “Um, I apologize, Miss Amicier, did you require my assistance?” Hope hid her hands behind her back, the twin tails thumped against the side of the armchair.

  Venviel had stepped into the library so she wouldn’t sneak peeks at Hope from the corridor, but she couldn’t admit that. It would give a weird impression. They were nothing alike. She would never dare befriend the shy girl, lest she tell the temple her secrets. Hope probably needed a friend, but it wasn’t Venviel’s problem. She did her best to be kind to her, and that had to suffice. If Hope wanted them to be friends, she could prove that she’d volunteered to work for her parents out of the love in her heart first, not because of their status in society.

  “Y-you’re very quiet, Miss Amicier,” Hope said. “Do you want me to leave the library? Does my presence offend you? I know I wouldn’t…” Hope bit her tongue, the tails thumped harder while she shuffled back and forth. “I’m sorry.”

  “Your presence does not offend me, Hope. And I’m not quiet!” Venviel raised her voice to prove a point. “I… I like the company of women!”

  Hope took a couple of steps backward until she stood behind the armchair. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind, Miss. I’m sure you would prefer another cute elf over whatever I am.”

  Venviel blushed when she realized how Hope had taken her statement, and the blush only deepened when she questioned if Hope had called her cute, or if she’d misheard. She hated to admit it to herself, but she did stand and stare more than she’d planned to do when she’d stepped into the library.

  What had she meant to accomplish? Why hadn’t she walked to her own room and left the maid to read in peace? Hope was a snake in the grass, sent by the priestesses. No more. Never more.

  “I-if you don’t require my assistance, Miss Amicier,” Hope said. “Can I excuse myself? I’m sure your mother or father have chores for me. Sounds like they’ve stopped arguing.”

  Venviel narrowed her eyes at Hope and listened for the muffled sounds of arguing coming from the dining hall on the first floor. They’d stopped, but she didn’t like how the maid spoke so casually about her parents’ fight.

  “You can leave.”

  Hope hesitated, then she crossed the room, walked over to Venviel, and glanced up from the floor. The maid waited for some kind of acknowledgement, but Venviel did not think she needed to give her permission twice.

  Besides, she found her tongue stuck in her throat when Hope stood this close. For the first time since they’d met, she smelled vanilla on the maid. Usually, the maid smelled like eggs, but not today. Vanilla tickled Venviel’s nose like it’d detected something desirable, something sweet. It suited Hope.

  “Would you mind stepping aside?” Hope smiled politely.

  Venviel could hear her own heart beating in her chest before she realized it was Hope’s tails striking the floorboards. She took a step to the left but forgot to move out of the doorway, so in the end, she forced Hope to push past. She swore she’d not intended for them to get closer, or touch, yet they did when Hope slipped out of the library. Lavender skin brushed against Venviel’s arm.

  The maid didn’t dawdle after their awkward encounter. She rushed down the corridor.

  “Snake,” Venviel muttered to herself when she was certain Hope couldn’t hear. “She’s a snake. A snake, not a…” She waved her hand around like she expected to grab the correct word out of the air. “Poisonous.”

  Hope would get her parents in trouble if she told anyone else than Venviel about how they’d fought. She intended to punish her if she did. They could not be friends, even if Hope asked.

  In Their Place

  Hope contributed Miss Amicier’s peculiarities to her mother and father. If Thalia and Corym hadn’t fought all the time, their daughter would behave like an ordinary, well-adjusted citizen. She would not accost Hope in the library. She’d stare, spit in her direction, and avoid her altogether. She didn’t know what Miss Amicier wanted, but she might prefer she lost her interest. Nothing healthy or beneficial could arise between them.

  “Ah, Hope. Right on time,” Corym said as she entered the dining hall. “Apologies about the mess. We’ll clean it up.”

  “It’ll do us good to work together.” Thalia smiled. “For once.”

  “We only do it a couple of times a month, after all.” Corym stroked his wife’s back.

  Thalia took his hand in hers. “I don’t mind small arguments, as long as they’re with you.”

  “The same, darling. The same.”

  The mess did not shock Hope. The dining hall looked like it always did after a family dinner in the Amicier mansion. Venviel had placed her plate and utensils in a neat pile, while Thalia and Corym had shattered a number of glasses and plates against the paneled wooden walls. Three of the six chairs around the long table had been knocked over. Meat and potatoes stained the thick, green carpet.

  Normally, she would have listened to Corym and returned to the library, but Venviel probably occupied it now that she didn’t have to share. Hope may not get to read more pages out of The Blood Rose until later in the week.

  “If you wish, I can bring the dishes into the kitchen and clean them.” Hope curtsied.

  “Wouldn’t you prefer to go upstairs?” Thalia bent over and collected shards of different plates. “You don’t have to treat us like your masters. We can handle our own household.”

  “That is not to say that we don’t appreciate you cooking and cleaning for us.” Corym walked around the table, picked up spoons, knifes, and forks. “You’re an excellent cook, Hope. You’ll make a perfect wife for someone one day. Better than—“

  “Don’t you start!” Thalia stuck her tongue out. “Or you’ll be throwing those spoons around the room without hitting anyone again.”

  “I do my best to not hit that which is precious to me.” Corym smirked.

  “It’s my duty to serve!” Hope exclaimed. “I’ll do whatever task you need done!”

  “Well, you could always clean Venviel’s room.” Corym shrugged. “I meant it when I said you do an excellent job around the mansion, Hope, yet it seems that particular room goes by neglected—“

  “I’m so sorry.” She bowed deeply. “I should—“

&
nbsp; “Let me finish, girl. Let me finish.” Corym chuckled, waved away her excessive manners like he hadn’t meant to reprimand her, and sighed. “I’m sure it’s Venviel’s fault. Goddess knows she doesn’t do what she ought to. She takes you for granted, and it’s a shame.”

  “Indeed, it seems our daughter can’t find a good companion, even when we welcome a potential friend for her into the household.” Thalia lifted one of the chairs from the floor and slid it in under the table.

  “Well, if…” Corym exchanged a meaningful glance with his wife. “If you want us to assign you a task, Hope, you could perhaps spend time with our daughter? Part of the reason we did accept your offer, when you first made it, was because we thought you’d make a good friend for Venviel. You’re intelligent and polite. Something she…”

  “Qualities she has, but could develop further.” Thalia shook her head at him.

  “True.” Corym dropped the utensils he’d gathered on top of the table. “Venviel takes after her father too much, I’m afraid.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?”

  “I…” Hope hadn’t planned to socialize with Miss Amicier. If she could choose, she would rather spend time with her parents. They treated her nicer. Venviel made her feel out of place and weird. She preferred to forget how she was always both of those, regardless of where she went.

  “What do you say, Hope? Wouldn’t you like to take a week off from cleaning and cooking?” Thalia asked. “You can still visit every day, if you spend the time with our daughter.”

  “I-I’ll do my best!” Hope curtsied, turned around, and left the dining hall.

  She might have preferred to return to the temple, and forget about the Amiciers, but she didn’t want to lose access to their library and its books. She didn’t want to disappoint Corym and Thalia, who showed her such kindness, either.

  In her wildest fantasies, those which would never come true, she would have liked to grow up with parents like Venviel’s. In spite of the high priestess’s teachings, she figured it would have been nice to have Thalia and Corym as her mother and father.