by Lucia Ashta
“I can understand that. But, Marcelo, I can’t look like this, if for nothing else than the fact that it will draw attention to us. I need clothes that at least look clean.”
Marcelo studied me some more. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Your appearance does raise questions. You’re clearly from a noble line, yet your clothing no longer matches that noblesse. I think I may be able to do something to hold you over until we reach our destination. Follow me to our rooms so we can have some privacy.”
As I followed Marcelo up creaky stairs, I wondered what he could do to repair my disheveled appearance. Even if I attempted to wash my dress, there wouldn’t be enough time for it to dry if we were to leave by morning.
Marcelo ushered me into my room. It was small and quaint, but the bed looked very inviting. I looked at it longingly.
I heard the click of the door locking, and I turned. I stood without moving, very aware of my steady breath as I watched him and waited.
He met my eyes only briefly, but his stare was intense when he did. I couldn’t tell what erupted in his gaze, but something did. I was sure of it.
He took two steps toward me and stopped. “Close your eyes.”
Instinctively, I took a small step away from him, farther toward the window. “Why do I need to close my eyes?”
Marcelo huffed. “Just close your eyes, Clara. I can’t do this with you watching me.”
I deliberated for longer than I probably should have but, finally, I closed my eyes.
Marcelo started right away. I couldn’t tell what exactly he was doing, but I knew he was doing something. The air around me had turned electric, and my skin tingled.
It continued for several minutes before I couldn’t resist any longer. I disobeyed his wishes, and I peeked my eyes open.
Luckily, his were closed. I forcibly suppressed my reaction so he wouldn’t notice I was now watching him. He was doing wonderful magic! Dirt specks floated in the air around me, and Marcelo continued to pull more from my dress. Already, the yellow fabric looked brighter.
Even though it was dirt that hung suspended in the air, it was beautiful. Sunlight streamed in through the window behind me to skip across the dirt motes, lighting them up. I felt as if I were within a snow globe. I only had one back at home in Norland, but it was one of my few treasures. It whisked me away to the places of dreams in an instant.
The dirt swirled around me in that same way, and concerns instantly melted away—they couldn’t exist within a charmed snow globe! I smiled. I lit up too, and it wasn’t because of the sunshine that set my hair ablaze.
I shifted my gaze back to Marcelo. For the first time, I noticed how beautiful he was. Maybe it was the magic, or maybe it was the snow globe effect. Whatever it was, he looked magnificent.
Dark, thick lashes spread against his cheeks, contrasting with a tanned complexion. Unruly hair tumbled across his forehead, softening the angular features of his face. A straight nose punctuated the curve in his upper lip.
Marcelo stood strong, with hands slightly out to the side, pointing toward me. He appeared unaware that I studied him. His dark coat hung open, and his clothes clung to him in enough places to show that the body beneath was muscular. It made me wonder what Marcelo had done with his life before I met him. I still knew only scant highlights of his history, and even then, only the tragic ones.
More grime floated and surrounded me, and I couldn’t help but feel contented with the pleasantness of the scene. Then Marcelo began to bring the dirt together, coalescing it into one form. Dirt specks hovered in the air, moving where he wanted them, until they merged.
I realized he might soon be finished, and I quickly closed my eyes, hoping that my venture into Marcelo’s private world of magic would remain secret.
But he took a few minutes longer. I squirmed, wondering if I would soon be able to open my eyes.
He cleared his throat. “You can open your eyes now, Clara.”
When I did, he wouldn’t meet them. He looked away, pretending to be distracted by the features of the bedroom. The room contained only a simple bed, a small table with a candelabrum and basin, and a plain chair. It was then that I realized he’d studied me just as I’d studied him.
I was surprised that it made him uncomfortable. He’d examined me many times before, with my eyes open.
I turned toward the window before I allowed my smile to come forth. My life had become much more interesting since Marcelo entered it.
Dinner was simple yet entirely satisfactory after our long journey. I could barely think of anything except sleep, but Marcelo had arranged a bath for me, and I was infinitely grateful for the hot water.
I lingered in the metal tub contentedly, blocked off from two other patrons by wooden screens. None of us said a word, and I was grateful for the silence and semblance of privacy. The innkeeper who led me into the bath said I could stay as long as I wanted, but I was afraid if I stayed too long, I would fall asleep. Already, my eyes were droopy.
In the water, I discovered that every part of me ached. The water brought my body’s soreness to the surface only to immediately work on pacifying it. I couldn’t remember the last time I was this comfortable.
That’s when I recalled my last bath experience. I was immersed in a tub much like this when the water burned me. I started to panic and immediately tried to put a stop to it. But it was difficult. I had this strong effect over the elements, and I didn’t know how to prevent injuring myself because of it.
My eyes flared wide as I struggled to prevail over my worry. I forced myself to look away from the candles in the room and to keep my mind from becoming distracted with abstract thoughts about the water. I might not have much control yet, but I could prevent replicating the exact conditions from my last bath.
My bathing experience wasn’t all that relaxing anymore. I sighed. I had to figure this out soon.
I could just get it over with, clean up quickly and head back to my room. However, the stubborn streak in me refused. I deserved this time to myself for relaxation. I would do my best to keep from thinking of any element, but after that, it just would have to be whatever it was.
Until I learned to control my powers, I would do my best not to let them control me. I let my eyelids close all the way.
I lost track of time, only leaving the water once it had grown tepid. I walked on rubbery legs back to my room and opened the door straight into Marcelo.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I went out while you bathed and bought you a comb. As you said, you need one.”
“Oh, thank you!” I cleaned my hair in the bath, but I still couldn’t run my fingers through it. “I really appreciate it, Marcelo.”
He nodded. “I left it on the table, and I also filled your pitcher so you’ll have water for the morning.”
“Thank you.” My gratitude was heartfelt. So far away from the comforts of home, these little gestures made a big difference.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“I don’t think so. I can make do with what I have until we reach your teachers’ estate.”
“Get some rest. If we receive your father’s message early tomorrow as I hope, we’ll leave right away.”
“Very well. Good night, Marcelo,” I said as I closed and bolted the door behind him.
I walked straight to the table to find the comb. It was exquisite, silver decorated with mother of pearl, which must have cost Marcelo far more than our food and lodging. I skimmed my fingers across it.
Still, my tangled hair would have to wait until morning. Like a petulant child, exhaustion wouldn’t allow me to deny it restorative sleep any longer.
My stiff dress clung to my moist skin uncomfortably. In moments, I had stripped myself of it. My muscles were loose from the hot water and happy to be free of constraint.
Fatigue took over my mind, and my feet walked me over to the bed. I’d never before slept naked, but I would that night. My undergarments were soiled from travel. I pulled back
the covers, slid into the bed, and allowed sleep to have its way with me.
Coming and Going
I didn’t wake early the next morning as I usually did. The sun had fully risen when I heard knocking at the door.
My dream was vivid, and its semblance of reality gripped me. I clutched the covers and turned onto my side. My clever dream incorporated the knocking seamlessly, as if it had planned it all along. The bed was warm from my captured body heat, and its comfort nudged me back into a deep sleep.
But the knocking wouldn’t cease. After a few more times, my dream couldn’t accommodate the sound any longer, and the knocking lured me awake. The realization that I had to answer the door weaved its way through a foggy mind, and I stumbled out of bed and bumped into the table.
With a fascinating lack of grace, I made my way to the door. With my hand reaching for the handle, the knock came again. I couldn’t yet speak to tell the person on the other side that I was at the door. I turned the handle and pulled.
The door was locked.
I turned the bolt and pulled the door toward me again. I leaned into the open door, resting my head against its side. Through half open eyes, I found Marcelo on the other side of the threshold.
“Clara,” he said, barely above a whisper, “it’s time to wake.”
“Mmmm,” I mumbled while I stepped aside for him to come in.
Yet Marcelo didn’t come in.
He didn’t do or say anything at first.
He looked at me until his chest rose in a soft sigh.
Again speaking quietly, he said, “I’ll wait out here while you dress.”
I looked down at myself to discover waves of exposed flesh.
I looked back at him.
And then I shut the door on him without saying a single word.
It took more time to compose myself from the shock of opening the door to Marcelo while I was fully naked than it did to get dressed, even with all the elaborate steps that it entailed. After I pulled on undergarments, tunic, hose, dress, and collar, and struggled to tighten my bodice on my own, I was still embarrassed to see Marcelo. But I assumed he was waiting for me on the other side of the door, and I couldn’t just leave him there.
With a reminder that this man had already seen me naked when I was ill, I took in a deep, rallying breath, and opened the door again. Marcelo was there, leaning against the opposite wall with arms crossed, with a look that expressed the unlikely complements of amusement and impatience.
Without saying anything, I stepped aside, my arm gesturing inward. I had yet to comb my hair, but I couldn’t leave Marcelo out there any longer. I blushed with the memory of my nudity as Marcelo slipped by me.
“Your father’s messenger arrived in the night.”
I was immediately grateful that he continued on with our morning as if nothing unusual had occurred.
“It seems that you do know how your father thinks. He did as you predicted he would. For the time being, he wants me to take you somewhere safe so you can heal and recover from the shock of the confrontation with Winston. He understands that you’ll recover more rapidly if you feel secure and your nerves have the opportunity to settle. Interestingly, his missive said nothing about Winston’s behavior or the fact that he showed up to take you with a troop of armed men.”
This wasn’t surprising. I recognized Father’s priorities.
“As you predicted, he sent gold to compensate my efforts and to pay for your immediate needs. We can order you new dresses when we arrive at Albacus and Mordecai’s.”
I only nodded. A range of unexpected emotion was flurrying through me: familiar sadness and disappointment that my parents cared about me only because of what I could bring them, pangs of longing for Gertrude and her unconditional love for me, apprehension at what it would be like to meet Albacus and Mordecai, and intrigue and excitement at the prospect of learning about magic with Marcelo.
Some of this must have been apparent on my face, as Marcelo continued very gently. “It would be good for us to leave Dunladun right away. Will you be ready soon?”
“Yes, I’d just like to comb my hair first please.”
“Of course. I’m all set. Is it all right if I wait here with you?”
I smiled shyly. “Yes, it is. Take a seat,” I said while pointing to the lone chair. I picked up the comb and sat on the bed. There was no looking glass in the room, so it didn’t matter where I sat.
I began the arduous work of untangling knots that had begun to mat. It took quite some time, but finally, I was able to brush the comb from my roots all the way down to the ends at my waist. Then I braided my hair quickly, twisted it up, and secured it the best I could with the comb. My hairdo didn’t possess the elegance of Maggie’s fine skill, but I hoped it would keep it from tangling all over again on the day’s ride.
Relieved to be finished with the task, I looked over at Marcelo and discovered him following my every move.
“You remind me of Clarissa,” he said, as if that explained it all—and I suppose that it did. I understood the love and longing for a sister.
“You look nothing like her; she was dark complexioned like me. But your ways remind me of her. I watched her comb her hair many times. She had long, curly hair like yours, though it was black of course. She moved like you when she combed her hair, as if she were in a dream and someplace else all together.”
“I’m sorry you lost her. You must miss her very much.”
“I do.”
And then the moment was over.
“We’re getting a later start than I wanted, but I think it would still be wise to break our fast here before beginning our trek. Are you ready to eat?”
“Yes, food sounds good.”
Even as I answered he was looking around the room to see if I was leaving anything behind, but I had nothing extraneous to leave. Quickly, I poured water from the pitcher into the basin and splashed my face with it. And while I patted my face dry with a linen, he grabbed my coat for me. When I joined him, he ushered me out the door and down the stairs.
A few treads down, I discovered I had to say something. “You know, I don’t usually sleep naked.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself, Clara.”
Yet I felt that I did.
“I’d actually never slept naked before, but my under clothes didn’t feel fresh after my bath. That’s why I forgot that I was naked when I opened the door to you. I was half asleep.”
I blushed at the memory as I continued down the stairs.
“It’s all right, Clara, really. I didn’t mind at all. Your body is beautiful.”
I was grateful then that Marcelo was behind me and couldn’t see my face. I flushed even more.
By the time we reached the ground floor, I was already working hard to push our conversation out of my mind. When Marcelo ordered our breakfast and turned his attention to the day of travel ahead, I was deeply relieved and, like him, I turned my thoughts away from the past to what we would find ahead.
By the time we left Dunladun, the entire town was awake. I was again struck by how loud the city was when we exited the inn onto the street, where an attendant waited for us with our horses.
The clopping of horses and the cries of adults and children surrounded us. Like the previous day when we first arrived, I couldn’t seem to focus on any one place.
“Will that be all, Mister?” the boy asked Marcelo.
“Yes, that’ll be all.”
The boy waited for Marcelo to tip him and then ran off.
Marcelo approached to help me mount my horse. I accepted his help even though I again rode in the saddle like a man. I already knew how weary the journey would be. I fully intended to make it as easy for myself as possible.
I looked at my yellow dress. Marcelo’s magic made it look less dingy than it had been since we left Lake Creston. I lamented that the day’s travels would probably leave it in no better shape than it had been the previous night.
“Do you think we might be
able to purchase a hat for me before we leave Dunladun? It would be nice to have something to shield me from the beating sun all day.”
Marcelo looked hesitant.
“It needn’t be an expensive one.”
“It’s not that. Your father sent sufficient funds to meet your needs.” He looked toward the sun. It was still relatively low in the sky. “I suppose we can make time for a quick stop.”
He tied one of the runaway horses to mine and one to his. Then we set off. I’d intended to ask Marcelo all about where we were going and how far away it was when two men burst out of a tavern a block up the street. Immediately, it became obvious they’d been up drinking all night. They fell into each other, trying to punch and hold all at once. Within seconds, half the tavern tumbled outside to watch the fight.
Marcelo didn’t seem surprised by the drunkards that poured out of the tavern at early morning, but I’d never seen anything like it before, let alone right after breakfast.
He nudged the horses forward despite the conflict. He didn’t slow our pace when we drew near but continued looking forward.
I couldn’t help myself.
The fight was as ungainly as it was disturbing. Slovenly men lashed out at each other with drunken clumsiness, and those who watched screamed at them with blood thirst.
One of the onlookers caught me watching as we passed. He gave me a hateful look and spit on the ground while holding my gaze.
Mesmerized by the disgust I found in the man’s eyes, my own paused on him, but once I snapped them away, I didn’t look back. Like Marcelo, I held my head high and my line of sight ahead. I tried to ignore the shiver that ran through my body; I knew the man stared at my back as we rode away.
I was tempted to ponder what I’d just witnessed, but there were too many distractions. Doors slammed shut, horses neighed, hammers and mallets clanged, church bells rang, children ran by us, and neighbors called to each other across the street. The cacophony prevented any thought.
And then there were the smells: bread baking, animals, and human waste. It was an unpleasant mélange. The bakeries lured my nose toward thoughts of pleasantness, only for the other more pungent odors to overwhelm them.