Once

by Elisabeth Grace Foley et al.

  He arrived on the first truly cold day of the year. Nella heard his horse coming, and went out onto the balcony. She leaned over, and her blonde braid waved in the wind. “You must be freezing!” she called out. She dropped a bundle of blankets over the side of the tower. “For your horse,” she explained. He nodded and tied his horse near the base of the tower where the overhanging balcony gave it shelter. It wasn’t snowing, but the air was brisk. She tied a sturdy rope over the side of the tower and waited for him to climb up.

  “I have a fire going in the library,” Nella said as he made his way over the railing. “You should come in and get warm.”

  “Thank you. Winter seems to have come early this year.” He rubbed his hands together for warmth as Nella led him inside and down to a lower level of the tower.

  Nella’s library was no mean collection. Like the contents of her room, Nella’s books had come from all over the world. Several books were out upon the table: Maimonides’ medical works, La Chanson de Roland, and Dante’s Inferno. She’d had ample time to teach herself German, Latin, and Arabic; she’d learned French in her childhood. One day she hoped to add English and Greek to her language repertoire, but had not yet acquired the right books to do so. She had few distractions in her life, and her isolation gave her more than enough time to master a plethora of skills. She knew Bellerminian law inside and out, and had studied everything from battle tactics and foreign policy to oil painting and musical notation. It had never occurred to her before now that her stores of knowledge were of no practical use, since she rarely had a chance to utilize them for any good.

  Ben picked up one of the volumes and examined it. “Did Cornelius bring you all of these?”

  “Yes. Most of it was Nonna’s doing. She wished for me to be an educated woman. But there is still much to learn, and I enjoy it, so Cornelius still brings me books when he can. He sells my wares, and brings me back supplies and whatever else I desire. Occasionally he insists I take money, but I find that needless. I don’t ever have occasion to use it.”

  “It’s good of him, though.”

  “Yes, it is. He’s one of the few trustworthy people that I know. He was the only friend we had who stood by us after… well, after we left the village. He helped us move in here, and kept our secret safe.”

  Ben placed the book back on the shelf. “My brother would enjoy your library. I do like reading, but he thrives on books of all kinds. Sometimes when he’s in the midst of a good book, I think he would forget to eat if our mother and Silvie didn’t remind him to now and then.

  “Silvie?”

  “His fiancée.”

  “Ah.” Nella was silent, but she glanced up at Benedict through her eyelashes, contemplating his family dynamic. She knew as well as anyone that Prince Orlando was unable to marry until Benedict did. It was an odd and constricting law, but had never caused difficulties before, as most of the royals had been promised in marriage—at least by proxy—before the age of twelve. Benedict had, too, but his childhood betrothals had never lasted long. Nella believed she remembered mention of Lady Silvana, too, the young ward of the king who had been orphaned a few years before Nella had moved to the tower.

  “And do you—that is, have you any betrothals currently?” she asked.

  He laughed. “I do seem to go through them at an alarming rate, don’t I?”

  “Well, you did when I was a child. I think there were five before I reached the age of twelve.”

  “Oh, probably at least eight or nine.” He grinned. “No, not currently. I seem to have a bit of bad luck with that.”

  Nella was horrified to find herself glad. Jealousy was a sign of attachment. Or worse. “Well, I wish you all the best in that, then.” She hated saying the words, and she hated that she hated it.

  Benedict seemed not to notice. “Do you ever hope of getting married?”

  Nella stiffened and jerked her head in his direction, but he was examining the titles on her shelf and didn’t seem concerned with whether or not the subject was suggestive coming from an unmarried man.

  “Do you really ask me that in seriousness?” she said with false wryness.

  He looked at her and grinned. “I suppose being tethered to a man for the rest of your life makes you shudder.”

  “Until the rest of his life,” she corrected, not able to restrain a smirk. She was back on familiar ground now.

  “I see.” He moved back towards the bookshelf. “Maybe we should keep the books on poisons out of your reach, then.”

  “I’m afraid it would be futile, Benedict. I have them all memorized.” She looked away dramatically, and he laughed.

  “Do you really have them memorized?”

  “Of course not! Even I don’t have that much time to waste.” She plucked the book from his hand and replaced it on the shelf. “Come. I have cider in the kitchen.”

  “You can’t escape the war forever, Benedict!”

  The sound of Orlando’s words haunted Benedict as he rode towards the forest near Ivly. The day before, Ruchartes had sent an ultimatum, demanding two towns along the Bellarminian border. It was an impossible request, and the strained and anxious air in the castle was one he was eager to escape. My presence will not matter one way or the other, he told himself. We already know what our answer is, and there’s nothing there that I can fix. At this point, he doubted if even Pope Alexander VI could have convinced Ruchartes to abandon its mad desire for the Bellarminian throne.

  At first Benedict’s visits to Nella had been once every week or two. But he’d grown to enjoy her company so much that the stretches of time in between visits had grown shorter, and the lengths of the visits longer. The more he saw her, the easier it was to forget Cornelius’s warnings.

  He could convince Nella to leave the tower. She deserved something better than such a solitary existence. She could come to the palace. She was more than talented; the court would love her.

  At least he hoped they would.

  Benedict saw Nella through the open door off of the balcony before she saw him. Her dress was undoubtedly of her own design, a deep brown that glinted purple in the sunlight. It was simple and unadorned, with lacings up the sides. The top half of her fair hair was contained in a braid while the rest of it hung loose down her back. Her only adornment was a golden pendant hung from a plain cord. These were not the trappings of a peasant, but not the attire of a lady, either. Rather, she seemed isolated into a category unto herself, something half sprite, half anchoress. She was beautiful, in an untouchable, ethereal way. She turned as she heard him climb over the balcony railing.

  “What,” she asked pointedly as he entered the tower, “is that?”

  “It’s a ladder!” Ben held it up for her to see. “I thought you might like to come down. We could take a walk.”

  “Oh, no,” she took a step back and went inside. “I don’t think so,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t leave the tower.”

  “Why not?” Benedict struggled to understand. Why did she hate the outside world so much?

  “I just don’t.”

  “Are you scared?” He asked curiously.

  “Of course not!” she snapped. “Why would I be?”

  “I don’t know. I just couldn’t think of another reason you wouldn’t want to leave.”

  “I don’t like people,” she said sourly. “I prefer solitude. The outside world is vexing, full of hypocritical and ignorant people.” She banged her wooden spoon against the bowl to shake off the rest of the lotion she had been concocting. It sounded angry, and he tried to cheer her.

  “I don’t think we’ll run into any of those in the middle of the forest, Nella. Except for me, of course.” He gave her a grin and sat down in a bench next to the door, letting the rope drop to the floor.

  Nella was unmoved. “No.” She answered firmly. “Why would I want to forsake my nice, warm tower for the cold, ungrateful world beyond? I have no desire to leave it,” she finished loftily.

  “You know,” Ben s
aid, sitting backward and hoping to goad her into trying it, “I bet you can’t go down there.” He folded his arms.

  “What?” she spun around.

  “Perhaps it’s a curse—yes, a curse, I think. If you leave the tower you’ll turn into a… a Corsican bulldog.”

  “That’s very specific.”

  He shrugged. “It was the first thing I thought of. Or perhaps you’d turn into something more fearsome—a lion, maybe. Or a wolf.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Of course, maybe you are simply too frightened.”

  He meant it as a joke—he knew that Nella was the type of person to do things because people told her that she couldn’t—so he was surprised when her voice said, more softly than he was expecting, “Perhaps.”

  “Oh.” All the jesting ran out of him. “In truth?”

  “I mean, I’m not really scared,” she quickly amended. “I just haven’t been out there in so long…” She laughed, but it did not ring quite true. “It’s a little daunting.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I would be with you the whole time. Nothing would happen.”

  “I know!” she said quickly. “I’m just… not ready. That’s all.”

  Benedict nodded as he tried not to show how disappointed he was. He had turned her world sideways so much already. Anything more would be too much to hope for.

  Orlando tapped his fingers on the table as he stared out the window, thinking.

  Silvana entered the room and, putting her arms around his neck, rested her chin on the top of his head. Orlando absent-mindedly patted her hand.

  “Has Ben not yet returned?” she asked.

  Orlando sighed. “I don’t understand what he could be doing! Adventure seeking is one matter, but now he’s being secretive and evasive—”

  “It’s a woman.” Silvana said with assurance. “It has to be.”

  “I hope not!” Orlando sprung up, loosening Silvana’s hold. “The only reason he’d be secretive about it would be if he was planning to marry her and she was unsuitable! What if she’s some ignorant, barefoot peasant girl?”

  “Orlando!” Silvana scolded him. “You know that Benedict has good judgment in such matters. He’d never choose anyone for his bride who was anything less than lady, in heart and manner if not in title. And he was never one for ill-advised love affairs.”

  “I know, I know. But something must be wrong with her if he’s keeping it secret.”

  “Not necessarily. Maybe he’s just embarrassed to speak of it. You know Benedict doesn’t like to be seen as… maudlin.”

  “Yes, but he’s never been in love before. There was nothing for him to be maudlin about. But there’s always been a romantic strain in the family,” Orlando sighed. “My grandfather married the woman he’d met at a ball designed to help him pick his future bride. I doubt his parents expected him to foolishly choose one of the serving girls.”

  Now Silvana was annoyed. “I can’t believe you’d refer to your grandfather’s wife as foolish! Everyone loved your grandmother, and she was always kind to me as a little girl, even if I was homely and orphaned.”

  “You were never homely, Silvie.”

  “Not to you,” Silvana said fondly, her anger at her intended slightly abated.

  “But I speak in seriousness, Silvie. What if it is a peasant girl? Or a gypsy? He’s going to be king. He needs a woman who understands what that responsibility entails. A woman who understands politics and duty and court life. She needs to be refined and intelligent.”

  “You make it all sound so dull and business-like, even if your words are true.”

  “I know. I don’t blame Benedict for putting off marriage. I was blessed with you.” He kissed her hand. “I never had to be burdened with the responsibility of choosing a queen for a nation. I could choose you for love and affection—and both of our positions in life made that possible. Benedict doesn’t have that choice.”

  “I don’t see why he shouldn’t,” Silvana persisted. “There are many lovely and suitable young women who he could come to love. They are not all Lady Céciles.”

  “Lady Céciles are not always so apparent upon first glance. I fear more that his chivalry may end in binding him to a woman of ill worth. You know I love Ben. But he’s impulsive and reckless. Sometimes I worry.”

  “He’s passionate and adventurous,” she said. Then she rolled her eyes and admitted, “And yes, impulsive and reckless. But he has a good heart and a good brother who keeps him grounded.”

  “But I can’t keep him grounded if he won’t share his life with me! What if it’s not a woman? What if it’s something else, and he’s in danger? We just discovered a plot to murder him, for heaven’s sake!” He looked at Silvie in dismay. “And he is neglecting his responsibilities, even more so than usual. The Ruchartan threat is still upon us, and yet he still persists in gallivanting off on his wild escapades.”

  “He only wants to help people, Orlando. He can take care of himself.”

  “I know he can take care of himself, Silvie. But what I begin to wonder is if he can take care of the country.”

  V.

  Nella had grown fond of Benedict’s calls. But a small niggling fear and unease had remained—a fear that one day, he would ask her to leave. You knew it would come to this. You knew he would wonder. Who could not? She paced the floor of her room, watching the fire and wishing that her life had never taken the turn that it had all those years ago.

  Maybe it won’t happen this time, she thought. It’s been so long since I tried… She licked her lips and realized how dry they were. She’d known, in the back of her mind, that letting Benedict into her life meant that one day she’d have to face the outside. At least, she knew that eventually he would want her to try. He doesn’t know why you won’t leave, she thought. You lied to him about it. “No I didn’t,” she mumbled in annoyance. “I didn’t lie. I’m not scared.”

  And now you’re lying to yourself. But Benedict wanted her to leave. Benedict—she clenched her jaw and took out her paints, feeling the need to splatter something repeatedly. At the moment, the walls would do.

  The next time Benedict came for a visit she brought up the topic casually. “I’ve been thinking that I do want to leave the tower for a bit. Maybe we could go for a walk.”

  Benedict raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course!” She said it lightly, hiding the way her insides clattered at the thought.

  “All right, then. Let’s go.” Ben grinned, and Nella tried to do the same. He grabbed the ladder he had brought all those weeks ago and fastened it to the side of the balcony. Nella took a deep breath.

  “Come on.” Benedict held out a hand and then led her down the ladder. Nella’s heart beat hard. How could she have decided to do this? Maybe it will be different this time. I have a reason to leave. Maybe it won’t happen like before. When her foot touched the grass below, she felt a twinge go through her entire body.

  “See.” She swallowed and threw her hair behind her. “I told you I could do it.” She breathed out. After all these years, she was outside and she felt—fine.

  She took a few shaky steps. When her eyes caught sight of a crude wooden cross underneath a grove of leafless trees, she stopped.

  “Nella, are you all right?” Ben leaned down, trying to get a good look at her face.

  She had frozen, her eyes glued to the grave.

  “Nella? Nella, look at me. You’re shaking!”

  A million emotions hit Nella. They didn’t divide themselves into individual thoughts or feelings; instead she felt the panic, sorrow, fear, and terror smothering her at once. She was paralyzed, frozen in place.

  “Nella! Nella!” Benedict was saying her name over and over, but she didn’t hear him. She didn’t know what her body was doing. Her legs felt numb and the world faded into a blur as she was completely overwhelmed by the largeness of the outside. Images flashed across her mind—flames—dirt—chirping birds—an angry mob—


  With a shuddering break, she sank to her knees. A dry sob escaped her. “Take me back, take me back, take me back…” was all she was able to mumble, over and over. Benedict tried to lift her to her feet, but gave up and scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the tower.

  “Nella, look at me,” he whispered, turning her face up at him. “You’re at the tower. But I can’t carry you up. You have to climb up slowly. Can you do that for me?” His voice was so gentle that it soothed Nella slightly.

  Nella gulped down a sob and nodded her head. She was already feeling herself calm. He slowly released her and she tentatively placed one foot on the lowest rung of the ladder. Already the panic was dissipating. With Ben close behind, she climbed to the top and flung herself over the balcony rail. Benedict leapt over the rail himself and the led Nella back inside where she collapsed onto the couch, her head in her hands. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have—I’m so sorry, Nella.”

  Fearing she was about to dissolve into tears again, she let Benedict sit beside her and take her hands in his. They sat in silence until Nella’s breathing returned to normal and she let out one last, shuddering breath.

  “Tell me,” he said gently. “Why are you so afraid?”

  “I don’t really know. Nonna and I moved here when I was twelve. They—the townspeople—burned down our cottage. They said Nonna was a witch. But she wasn’t.” Nella turned frantic eyes toward Benedict’s. A small fraction of her panic reemerged. “She wasn’t! She—”

  “I believe you, Nell, of course. Go on.”

  Nella took a breath. “We stayed here for years. Cornelius brought us everything we needed, and we didn’t leave because it was too dangerous. But four years ago, Nonna—” she wiped away tears—”Nonna died. Cornelius and his family helped me bury her. That was, they buried her. Because when I left the tower…” she looked up at him. “I fell apart. The outside world was so big and dangerous. I couldn’t control anything. Anything could happen, anything at all! And all I’d be able to do was watch helplessly, like when they burned us out…”