Countless times, Leandria had come here with the intention of tending to the garden herself, but each time she’d barely begun before she felt as if she were somehow trespassing. One thing her mother’s death had taught her was that, sometimes, the dead casted long shadows. Sometimes, their shadows were the longest of all.
It seemed to her as if, by taking the maintenance of the garden upon herself, she was somehow betraying her mother’s memory. And so it was that the gardens continued to grow wild, and the place was at once a place of solace and sadness for Leandria. Sometimes, it seemed to her that the garden—with grass choking and killing its flowers and vines covering much of the fountain’s beauty—mimicked that of her and her father’s lives.
Yet, despite that, she found that, on rare occasions, when she was sitting alone in the gardens, she felt close to her mother in a way she felt nowhere else. It was for this feeling that she so often came. “I miss her,” she said. A childish, foolish thing to say, of course. How could she miss someone she’d never known? Yet she did, missed her so much that she ached from it.
“As do I, Leandria. She would be proud of you. Of the woman you’ve become.”
Leandria smiled, wiping at eyes that were suddenly moist. She wanted to ask her father if he was alright, to somehow find the words that would lighten the terrible burden he so obviously carried. But even had she known the words—which she did not—she would not have been able to force them past the lump in her throat and so, for a time, they sat in silence, staring at the fountain, at the vines wrapping around it, threatening to swallow it whole.
Finally, her father spoke, “Do you want to tell me, now, what happened with Clause? Where you went?”
Leandria hesitated. She didn’t want to lie, but she dare not tell him of Quintin—he would be furious with her, and she couldn’t imagine what her overprotective father would do to the man who would sneak into the palace itself for a clandestine meeting with his daughter.
Noting her reluctance, her father sighed, “I’m sorry, Leandria. I know that sometimes life in the castle can be … difficult, and I know that I don’t always make things easier. Still, you’ll be happy to know that I declined the ambassador’s … suggestion.”
Leandria turned, surprised, “Oh, father, thank you!” She hugged him tightly, and he laughed.
“Divines, but you’re strong. I pity the gentleman who arouses your anger.” He smiled, but a thought seemed to strike him and the smile withered and died. “The Church will not be happy, Leandria. We must be very careful now. So very careful, do you understand?”
Something in his voice sent a tingle of fear running through her. “Father?” She asked, “Surely the Church wouldn’t … do anything. Would they?”
The king’s laugh was slow in coming, but he waved a dismissive hand. “No, daughter, of course not. We’re all on the same side, you know that. Don’t let an old man’s worries trouble you. The Church will not be pleased, but they rarely are and—in the end—the Etherstone is my responsibility, not theirs. They may not like it, but they can do nothing about it,” he said, though Leandria got the distinct impression he was trying to convince himself as much as her. “Anyway,” he said, “only the Parsinian line is able to work the Ether. No, they would do us no harm. Still, we must not give them any leverage. Do you understand?”
Leandria found herself thinking of Quintin and her clandestine meeting, felt her face heating with shame. Her father spent his days and nights working to keep the people of the city safe and secure, and she made his job harder by running around and acting like a child, having secret meetings and stealing kisses with a man she barely knew. “I understand, father. I’m sorry.”
He nodded, smiling, “So … no more running from your guards? No more sneaking?”
“Yes, father. No more running or sneaking. I promise,” she said, meaning it.
“Thank you, Leandria,” he said, grabbing one of her hands in both of his, “I promise, it will not always be so. One day, you will be free to do as you like and not be bothered by the worries of a tired, foolish old man.”
“Father,” Leandria said, “Please, don’t speak that way.”
He nodded, his eyes taking on the distracted look so common of late, “Of course, daughter. Anyway, I wish you a good night. I trust you’ve picked out a dress for the ball?”
Leandria forced a smile she didn’t feel, “Yes, father.”
He smiled. “I can’t wait to see it,” he said. He kissed her hand then rose. Leandria watched him leave, watched the shadows seem to reach up and swallow him with an almost hungry quality and at once there seemed some dark promise carried in them, some presentiment of doom that made her breath catch in her throat. Then, in another instant, it was gone, her father was gone, and she was alone.
***
Leandria awoke early and—as was her habit—dressed and made her way to the castle’s chapel. She often dreaded her visits to the small sanctum. The clergymen and priests were kind enough in their way, but they all seemed possessed of a certain arrogance, a knowing condescension, and it seemed to her that they spoke to her the way one might a particularly ignorant, particularly willful child. She believed in the Divines, of course, and was thankful for all that they had done not just for the kingdom, but her family in particular. Still, as she listened to the priest’s thinly-veiled lectures and commands with the humility expected of a princess, she was often reminded of the words of Pilatharus, the ancient philosopher. “In the mouths of men the truth spoils and wilts and in their hands all beauty turns to ash.”
However, pedantic priests or not, she found that she wanted to visit the chapel today. She had not forgotten the feeling from the night before, the way the shadows had seemed to reach for her father and a vague sense of unease had begun to grow in her heart. It was as if some darkness was gathering at the corner of her vision, but whenever she turned to see it, it was gone. But not gone, not really, only hiding. And coupled with this worry was her surety—she didn’t know how she was sure, only that she was—that her father had lied to her the night before. In this same way, she thought, no, she knew that the truth the lie concealed was also the truth that seemed to be aging her father a year for every day that passed. It was as if some invisible beast was taking bites out of him each day, so that each time she saw him he was a little more stooped, a little smaller. A little … less.
The chapel was nearly empty, hosting only two servants—castle workers were given time each day to commune with the Divines—and an elderly noblewoman whose name Leandria couldn’t remember. Each of these sat alone in their pews, their heads bent low in prayer as priests stood over them, whispering words too low for any but them to hear. And why was it that those old men in their robes made her uneasy, their smiles striking her as wooden, false, their murmured words grating on her ears like the hiss of some low serpent.
“Ah, good morning, princess.”
Leandria turned to see a familiar, gray-bearded man approach her, smiling widely and, unlike the other priests, his happiness always struck her as completely genuine.
“Good morning, Father Berilane,” She said, smiling in response as she glanced at his frayed robes. “I see that you have still not allowed Mistress Isla and her laundresses to attend your wardrobe.”
He put a hand on his large belly and boomed out a laugh that would have been more at home in a bar than a church as he glanced at his faded clothes, “Ah, and here I thought my skills were improving.”
Leandria laughed too and felt some of her worries and fears fade away as they so often did when speaking to the priest. “They had no choice but to improve, I’m afraid,” she said, “They certainly couldn’t have gotten any worse. Still, should you ever forego the priesthood, I would not recommend seeking out Isla for employment. Even were your skills better, I do not think she would take you, for revenge if nothing else. All of the other priests wear pristine robes while one of the greatest of their number walks around in … oh, how have I heard her put it? O
h yes, ‘the ragged adornments of a vagabond.’”
The priest let loose another bout of booming laughter, until tears leaked from his eyes onto his red, chubby cheeks. “Ah, yes, she does have a way with words, our fine Isla.” He leaned in then, his eyebrows rising in plea, “You will pray for me, won’t you? A fine woman, our Isla, but also … I must admit I find her a bit frightening.”
She grinned, “Oh, I suppose I might find the time. How does the morning find you, Father?”
“It finds me alive at any rate, princess,” he said, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, “now, how may the Church be of service to you today?”
“I wish to visit my family’s chapel.”
The old priest nodded, “Of course, please allow me to escort you.”
“That would please me greatly, father.”
He gave her a wink and began to lead her toward the personal chapel of the royal family. “And how is the king, princess, if I am not wrong to ask?”
“He is well, father, thank you for asking.”
They arrived at the chapel door, and he turned, a sad expression on his face. “I am glad to hear your father is well; I worry for him sometimes. It is no easy thing, being king, forced to make so many hard decisions. It would be enough to drive a man of less character than your father to madness.”
Leandria nodded, “My father seeks only to protect and serve his people as best as he may.”
He smiled, “Of course, princess. Though, forgive me, I must admit that I heard of his talk with Father Daven.”
“Priests, it seems, gossip as much as maids,” she said, smiling despite the feeling of unease that she felt rise in her heart. The Church was a tightly-knit organization, after all, and it should come as no surprise that Berilane had heard of her father’s conversation with the prefect.
The heavy set man nodded solemnly, “News travels quick and bad news, they say, travels quickest of all.”
Suddenly, Leandria didn’t want to be having this conversation. “Thank you, father, for escorting me.” She reached to open the door and the old man laid a hand upon her shoulder.
She turned, and he let out a sigh. “Princess, if I may. I know that your father only wants what’s best for his people—as do you. But … I wonder if he might not reconsider the change in the Drawing. I know, of course, that none of us want another Fulmination.”
Leandria had known the heavy priest since childhood, had always trusted him and confided in him her fears and worries, yet now she found herself growing angry. “My father knows well the state of the Ether. I’m sure that, should there be a problem, he will see it.”
The priest bowed his head in acquiescence, “Of course, princess. I apologize for meddling. I will leave you now, and pray that the Divines grant you peace and wisdom.”
With that, he turned and walked away. Leandria watched him go, wondering what his version of wisdom might be then took a deep, slow breath and walked into the chapel, letting out a sigh of relief when the door closed behind her. She walked to the single pew that took up the majority of the small room and sat. At the front of the chapel, a short distance away, stood a small altar above which hung an artist’s depiction of Animandus Parsinian, founder of the Harvesters and savior of the human race. Her ancestor. He stood proudly in the rendering, his back straight, his gaze sure and steady, his hands held out in front of him as if in offering.
The picture was meant to be symbolic of Animandus offering the knowledge and blessings of the Divines to his people. Here, the artist had taken more liberties than most, deviating from the usual image of Animandus and the Divines, the open hand, its palm facing skyward, and something about the painting always struck Leandria as odd. Somehow those hands—meant to portray generosity—always seemed a bit too grasping to her, the fingers slightly too-curled, the man himself leaned forward a fraction more than normal, the posture of a man not interested in giving but in taking.
Oh, don’t be foolish, she told herself, it’s only a painting. She was still trying to force the thought away when the door opened behind her.
She rose and spun in surprise—no one was meant to enter her family’s chapel except the royal family themselves—and saw a man wearing the gray robes of an apprentice priest standing in the doorway. His hood was up, shrouding his face, and he held a cleaning rag in his hand. As Leandria watched, he closed the door behind him and started toward her.
Her heart thumping in her chest, Leandria took a step back, “Excuse me,” she said, “no one is supposed to come here.”
The priest stopped, drawing back his hood, and Leandria gasped. “Quintin?”
He smiled, his dark eyes gleaming in the light of the hanging lantern, “Hello, princess. Divines, but it is good to see you.”
“Quintin,” she said, “What are you doing here? If anybody finds you—”
“They won’t,” he said simply. Then he stepped forward, taking her hand, “Besides, I had to see you. I meant to wait for the ball, truly, but I couldn’t. Better I get strung up and executed by your father’s men than spend another day without seeing your face.”
“Quintin, don’t be foolish,” she said, but her smile belied her scolding tone, “How did you even get here?”
A flash of what looked like irritation passed through his dark gaze and was gone in an instant, “Through much trouble, that’s how. And I must admit I would have thought you’d be happy to see me at least.”
“Oh,” she said, “forgive me. Of course, I’m happy to see you. It’s only … you shouldn’t have come here. My father’s guards … the priests—”
“Are a bunch of old men that can barely see the scrolls they spend their lives mooning over and as for the guards….” He frowned, “those men should be whipped for their incompetence. I would think your father would be able to find better men to protect his most prized possession. Unless ….” He shook his head, “no, never mind. I will not even think it.”
“What?” Leandria asked, “What is it?”
Quintin shook his head again, running a hand through his hair, “No, forget it. I won’t worry you with my foolishness.”
“No, Quintin, tell me what you mean.”
He glanced at her and sighed, “It’s nothing, princess, truly. I only wonder why your father doesn’t have better guards to protect you, that’s all.”
Leandria frowned, “Quintin, my father employees the very best guards and soldiers in the kingdom. There are many contests and tests to see who—”
“And yet,” he said, raising his hands to his sides, “here I am.”
She hesitated, frowning. How had he come into the chapel without being seen?
“Never mind that,” he said, waving it away, “I don’t want to squander what little time we have on such things. I came to see you, after all, to hear your beautiful voice. Tell me, you will save a dance for me at the ball, won’t you?”
Leandria felt her face flush and again found herself studying him. Divines, but the man was good looking. Like some hero knight out of the stories. And his eyes … they seemed to almost dance with an emotion nearly too powerful to contain. “Quintin … about the ball—”
“I told you already,” he said, patting her hand, “you need not worry. I will make it there fine, you’ll see. “ He drew close to her, so close that she could feel his breath on her face, it smelled vaguely of mint, “And then, perhaps, another kiss?”
Leandria found herself leaning forward, planning to kiss him right then, but she caught herself, suddenly ashamed. Her father had so many worries, had spoken to her not as a child but as an adult, had asked for her help. “Quintin … I’m sorry,” she said, then had to pause as a lump gathered in her throat, “But … I can’t see you anymore.”
He recoiled as if slapped, “What? What have I done? Surely, you don’t … you can’t—”
“It’s not you, Quintin,” she said, feeling tears gather in her eyes, “truly, it’s not. It’s only that I can’t be seen to do anything that might … cast doubt
on my family just now.”
He sneered, “Like passing your time with a commoner, is that it? And here I thought you were different.”
“No!” she said, “It’s not that. But if someone found out that I was sneaking around to spend time with a boy … my father has too much to deal with now. It wouldn’t be good to start a scandal now. The kingdom couldn’t afford it.”
“Damn the kingdom,” he hissed, a look of such anger crossing his features that she found herself taking a step back. “The kingdom can go to the Pit for all I care,” he said, “I don’t want the kingdom. I only want you.”
“Quintin,” she said, “you don’t mean that. You can’t.”
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Of course, you’re right, princess. I don’t. And you don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure that no one sees us. No one will know.“
Divines, why is he making this so hard? “No, Quintin, please. This is already hard for me. I can’t see you anymore, not now. My father needs me to—”
“Your father,” he spat. Then, abruptly, the anger vanished from his face, “Leandria, please,” he said, getting on one knee, “do you want me to beg? I will, if you ask it of me. Do not send me away.”
“Quintin,” she said, unnerved by the desperation in his voice, “please.”
He stared at her for several seconds then nodded once, sharply. “I see that I won’t change your mind, and I will abide by your wish. But … may I ask one favor?”
She took his hand, pulling him to his feet, “Of course, Quintin.”
“Will you give me some token to remember you by?” he said, leaning in, his voice almost frightening in its intensity, his eyes dancing with something like hunger, “Something that will remind me of you?”
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