by Bree Aguiar
“The gorgeous one? You know, the human with the dark hair and the wide smile?” She could see him racking his brain to place the girl; how he didn’t know who she was baffled her. “And what do you mean ‘so what?’” she continued, giving up further descriptions of the girl. “Isn’t all of this meant to be a secret?”
“I guess,” he said, his voice taking on a tone of boredom as he let go of her hand to lay prostrate back on the ground and look up at the stars. “But truthfully, I sort of assumed you’d told all your friends by now.”
She loomed her head over his, still lying back, a look of offense forming in her eyes. “Well I’d assumed that this was meant to remain a secret, and I usually don’t try to betray the confidences of those I care about.”
He sat up with a smirk, his hair taking on a perfectly rustled look that was just agonizing for her to take in. “You care about me then?”
This earned another eye roll and a shove back down to his prostrate position. “You know what I mean,” she responded, not allowing herself to tell him the truth. That of course she cared about it. That she did more than just care. That she was beginning to fall in love. “And that’s not the point anyway. The point is our secret might be out. I know she’s going to ask me about it tomorrow, and I don’t know what to tell her.”
He remained on the ground from her shove, putting his arms behind his head to get more comfortable and appearing rather aloof about the whole thing. “Just tell her the truth. Not the magic part,” he added quickly to her look of shock. “Just the part where I seduced you and you fell irrevocably to your knees for me. A puddle on the floor for my every whim.”
“I thought you said to tell her the truth,” she teased. “Maybe the seduction part, but I don’t remember ever acting like a desperate fool, willing to heed your every command.”
“Then kiss me,” he ordered. She knew he was testing her to try and prove that he did hold a sort of power over her. She wouldn’t let him, however, and she stayed where she was, hiding her lips behind a tight line so he wouldn’t even be tempted. He laughed at her stubbornness before continuing. “All joking aside, it wouldn’t be the first time a guest and a servant happened to get into a spot of…trouble shall we say? I’ve heard stories of your Ametrine that would make your innocent little toes curl.” He sat up with that statement, reaching over to her feet to pull on her toes. She squealed, reddening at his accusation of her innocence.
“Wait,” she exclaimed, realizing something he said. “I thought you said you didn’t know who she was!”
His smirk turned suspicious. “God, I had you going for so long. I can’t believe I let that one slip.” She pushed him away from her feet and back to the ground, and he pulled her down with him laughing. This led to more pushing and pulling and kissing, until she forced herself to sit up again, getting back to the situation at hand. “I really can tell her and Wind, and you won’t care?”
“Why would I care?” he asked, the indifference entering his voice again.
“Alright, then I will tell them,” she said, challenging him.
“Okay, good.” That was his only response.
“Good,” she said back, challenging him.
He looked at her from his spot on the ground, propped up on his forearms. “Is that really the question you wanted to ask? If you can tell her?”
“No,” Gwenyre answered, remembering the real purpose of her talk. She began to get nervous, fidgeting around in her seat on the ground. He watched her intently as she tried to find the confidence to ask. She normally didn’t get nervous, but the man was somehow still good at filling her stomach with butterflies even after all this time. “I was wondering if maybe… there was some way that… if it was a possibility…”
“Spit it out,” he commanded with a laugh.
“If maybe we could meet in some way outside of these lessons. You know, when I didn’t want to tear your hair out for being a horrid teacher and when we weren’t freezing our limbs off in the cold?” She silently held her breath waiting for his answer.
He seemed to contemplate for a long time, letting out a continuous murmur as he was thinking. Eventually, she had to let her breath out. The anticipation was killing her, and she finally spoke up. “Well, say something!”
He laughed. “Was that a serious question? Of course. As much as I’ve enjoyed our lessons, there’s only so much we can do out here in the snow. Not without leaving a clear path for any voyeur to see.” He continued laughing at the implication, which made her cheeks redden even more than they had from the cold. “I was just waiting for you to make the suggestion. It looks like I’ve finally corrupted you.”
“I am not corrupted!” she shot back.
“Well you’re not so innocent anymore,” he pointed out. “Asking to come to a man’s room alone? How scandalous! What would your lovely Lenora think?” Sampson knew all about their friendship, which he found strange but usually said nothing about except for the occasional quip like this.
“Lenora would probably be proud of me, to be honest,” Gwenyre explained. “She’s always telling me to expand my horizons. And the stories she’s told would make even your not-so-innocent toes curl.”
He laughed at her comeback, appreciating the jest. “How about you meet me in the Garden tomorrow night at our usual time?” he suggested. “Not to spend time there,” he added quickly at her pointed look of annoyance. “I was planning on spending the rest of the week here, anyway. Henrie is being quite a drag lately so I need to get out of the house. I’ll escort you to my rooms here. Secretly, of course.” He added the last part to make fun of her earlier news, but she reminded him that keeping quiet, at least from those outside of her friends, was probably best.
“No offense, but you’re not worth getting into trouble with Miz Kalina. She’d have my hide if she found out.”
“Well, she can’t have it. That hide is mine,” he joked, pulling her back down to continue their kissing. Though it was a warmer night, the snow on the ground seeped into her clothes quickly, making her shiver. Noticing, he dried her off with his magic and sent her home.
“Tomorrow,” he promised when she turned back for another look. She nodded, hiding her smile from him, and she went back to the Dwelling feeling warm despite the dropping temperatures of the night.
20 NOT ACCORDING TO PLAN
The next morning, Gwenyre woke up excited to finally tell her friends the truth. She decided to wait until lunch, even after Ametrine’s repeated questions about it when Wind was out of earshot. “I’ll tell you both everything,” she promised. “In the Mess Hall. Away from other prying eyes and ears.” The elf was referring to Miz Kalina, who appeared in an especially foul mood this morning and kept eyeing the girls whenever they appeared to not be busy. Though Aimee hated waiting, she agreed knowing her friend’s tale would be worth it.
As soon as they sat down at their usual table sans Cyran (Gwenyre was a little glad they couldn’t find him, she didn’t think she could bear to tell her stories of Sampson in front of him), Ametrine pestered her to spit it out. Wyndemere, who hadn’t caught their shared look yesterday or their hushed conversations, looked confused. “Spit what out?” she asked between bites of food.
“Gwenyre has been shacking up with none other than the esteemed Lord Sampson!” Ametrine’s voice turned into a squeal by the time she said his name and Wind’s eyes widened at the news.
“Oh, my stars! Tell us everything,” the nymph commanded.
Gwenyre rolled her eyes good-naturedly at the girls. “We are not ‘shacking up.’ We’re just… well, I don’t really know what you’d call it, but it involves a lot of talking and kissing.”
“Oh, my stars!” Wind repeated. “How? When? What? How did we not know?”
Gwenyre told them everything, apart from his true identity of course. How they met in the Stables, which Ametrine herself had witnessed. How they met again in the Study following her first horrible meeting with Sylvan. And how they continued to see each othe
r regularly. She said she’d been meeting him after her lessons of course, explaining why she didn’t disappear on other nights while still keeping his secret.
“Oh, my stars!” Wyndemere could not stop exclaiming, while Ametrine had a big smile on her face that just wouldn’t seem to go away. “More details, please! I’m dying!”
There wasn’t much else to say. Their relationship was no more than what she had said to this point – talking and kissing and just generally swooning in each other’s arms. Well, she had swooned. She sort of doubted Sampson was capable of that.
“So you haven’t…?” Ametrine asked, a waggle reaching her eyebrows.
A bit scandalized at the thought, Gwenyre gasped. “Of course not! Who do you think I am?”
“It’s not who we think you are,” the girl explained. “It’s who we think Sampson is. I doubt I would stop at just kissing if he ever looked my way.” Gwenyre blushed, not denying she hadn’t thought of it. But it still appalled her to think they would… she shivered with a mix of embarrassment, fear, and desire.
“No, we haven’t,” she reiterated. “But I am meeting him tomorrow night to at least try to spend more time together outside of the cold. There’s only so much time we can spend together outside before I die of hypothermia.”
Aimee and Wind let out mirrored screams at the thought, loud enough to have heads turn their way. “Sorry!” Aimee laugh-yelled out to those who were staring. “Just a bit of excitement over here, nothing to see!” She giggled as the others shook their heads and turned back to their own meals. The girl turned to address Gwen directly. “How very mature of you,” she said in her fake high-born accent. Gwenyre had to laugh at that but dismissed that she was planning anything less than proper.
“It’ll just be nice to see him not in a dark forest in the freezing cold, you know?”
“Of course,” Wind agreed. “In a nice room with a big fireplace. Where it gets hot enough to actually take off your breeches.” The three girls giggled at that, their faces turning red. The rest of lunch, they talked more about Sampson and Gwenyre, with Aimee giving some very unwanted advice that made Gwenyre’s head spin.
“You have to let us pretty you up,” Ametrine demanded as they stood up to get back to work. “I think we have a contraband dress somewhere, right Wind?” They devised their plan to turn Gwenyre into such an object of desire that even Sampson would find himself swooning despite his best efforts. Gwen laughed at the thought, secretly hoping it would come to fruition.
* * *
Once their lunch was over, Gwenyre dove right back into her work hoping the distraction would make the rest of the day pass by quickly. She made her normal trek up to Lenora at 5 o’clock, though their fireside chat was much shorter than usual. The troll had been feeling especially under the weather lately and woke up just long enough to drink her tea before falling back asleep. Gwenyre adjusted the woman’s blankets on her way out, silently sighing with sadness. She hated seeing Lenora like that, and the old troll appeared to be getting worse and worse. As soon as Lenora let out a loud snore, indicating she was truly asleep, Gwenyre snuck out with the tray in her hand and gently closed the door behind her.
Edyweine, who was mysteriously absent from his usual armchair in his mistress’s room, was found pacing outside in the hallway. He looked distressed as he paced back and forth. Their recent ceasefire had made Gwenyre feel a fondness for the boy, and she hated to see him looking so troubled. “She’s sleeping,” she told him, which led to a little sigh of relief from the boy.
“Thank the stars. She was up all night with that horrid cough again.” Gwenyre knew exactly what the elf was talking about; though Lenora tried to hide it, nothing could stop her coughing fits when they began. They shook her entire body and the room along with it and sounded like she was hacking up a lung. A few times, Gwenyre had seen spots of blood on the handkerchief the troll used to cover her mouth. (“Not to worry,” the troll would assure her and Edyweine. “Just a spot, really. I’ll be fine,” she’d say before quickly changing the subject.)
Gwenyre nodded her sympathies before getting ready to set off back down to the kitchens. She barely made it three steps before Edyweine called out. “Gwenyre?” The boy never really used her name, usually calling her “girl” or “you,” and the sullen voice in which he said it now hurt her heart. She turned around to face him, putting the tray down on a side table in the hall before rushing over.
“What is it?” she asked. She thought he’d probably have a request for her and though she usually hated taking orders from him, she would do anything to help Lenora. They both would.
“I just wanted…” He sighed deeply, as if trying to find words. “I just wanted to thank you. I know that, to you, Mistress Lenora is probably just another troll— “
“She’s not ‘just another troll’ Edyweine,” the girl interrupted. “I’ve come to care for her more than you know.” Edyweine put on a melancholy smile at those words before continuing.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve seen that. Truly. And she has too. Which is why I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?” Gwenyre asked, slightly amused by the boy’s attempts at genuine gratefulness.
“For helping her when she badly needs it. I’m not supposed to tell anyone but…” He lowered his voice, whispering to the girl. “Mistress Lenora is very sick. Nobody is really sure what’s wrong, but it’s not good.”
Gwenyre gave him a look of pity. “Oh Edy,” she sighed. “It’s not exactly a secret. Everyone can see that she is getting weaker. It breaks my heart. I love her, and I hate seeing her suffer like that.”
She watched as tears formed in the eyes of the other elf, and he cleared his throat in the hopes of getting rid of them. “It is pretty obvious, isn’t it?” he concurred. “And here I thought I’d been so great at hiding away her secrets.” This admission made him giggle slightly, out of the awkwardness and ridiculousness and grief of it all. Gwenyre joined in, knowing laughing about the situation was horribly wrong, but they couldn’t help themselves. Their personal anguish took over as their laughter turned into body-wrenching sobs over their shared connection.
Gwenyre walked over, pulling Edyweine into a hug. She expected the boy to back away quickly, but he did not. He lay his head down on her shoulder and they held each like that for a while, trying to silence their shared tears. Finally, Edyweine picked his head up. Still holding her in a hug, he looked to her face. The boy usually avoided eye contact with Gwenyre, sometimes out of frustration or pride, sometimes out of nervousness, but now he looked deeply into her eyes for the first time. She held onto the look, thinking about what it all meant – life and death, love and hatred. Even stark opposites such as these two could find deeps roots in their connection, and their shared look was silently saying just that. Though they may be different in nature, though they may despise one another, they would always share this. They would always be linked together by the kind-hearted troll who took them in when they needed her most.
The thoughts rushing through her head came to an abrupt halt when she heard a door slam in the hallway behind her. The two pulled apart from their hug quickly, Edyweine embarrassingly straightening his felt hat. “Good evening, Lord,” he said, bowing to the figure that had emerged from the slammed door.
Gwenyre turned around with her head down in a curtsy. “Good evening, sir. Is there anything I can do?” She looked up at the figure to see who it was: Sampson. Her heart raced slightly, as it always did when she came across his handsome face. But right now, his striking features were distorted. His lips were pursed, and his eyes flashed with bitterness and anger.
“No,” the man spat back. “Get back to work.” He walked quickly past them to the other end of the hall, his shoulder brutishly brushing hers. He didn’t look back as he disappeared into another corridor.
“Someone’s got a bee in his bonnet,” Edyweine observed, oblivious to the situation. “Every time I see that man, I swear the temperature drops t
wenty degrees. And did you see his scowl? It really lessens that whole good-looking thing he’s got going.”
Gwenyre nodded, barely taking in Edyweine’s words as she racked her brain to figure out what was wrong. He can’t have been angry at me, she assured herself. Not for hugging my friend. Sampson is not the jealous type. Something must’ve happened. She thought about going after him, asking him how she could help. She knew, however, that when he was in a tizzy, there was no talking or reasoning with the man. She’d give him some time to cool off and deal with whatever the situation was before asking about it tonight.
“Well, he was right,” Edyweine interrupted her thoughts. “You should probably get back to work. I’ve got some letters to write for the Mistress, so I’ll be in my room.” He stalked off to his own quarters, which was no more than a closet close enough to Lenora’s room that allowed him to go running whenever she called. Gwenyre shook off the whole interaction, including her grief and her confusion, and got back to work as instructed.
* * *
The rest of the evening before dinner, she continued running into Sampson in the various halls and rooms of the House. She would smile at him, usually giving an exaggerated curtsy in the hopes of making his eyes laugh, but he refused to look her way. He’d walk by without any regard, as if he didn’t even see her. After the third occurrence of this, she began to panic.
“What if I did something wrong?” she asked her friends at dinner.
Cyran was there, but upon the first mention of Sampson he turned his head to the men sitting at the other end of their table. “No offense,” he explained when Ametrine asked why he was being rude. “But I don’t care much for love stories. And I think Gwenyre would be more comfortable talking about it if I wasn’t listening.” Though she hated admitting it, Gwenyre knew he was right. So, the girls continued their conversation out of his earshot.