by Beth Brower
“I believe so,” Aedon replied matter-of-factly.
“Miya said her gowns were finished a few days ago.”
Aedon gave Wil a tilted smile. “You’ve been reconnoitering with her maid?”
“For the sole reason,” Wil defended, “that for the last seven days, Eleanor has been as likely to singe my eyebrows off as to speak civilly with me. I’ve found that information at a distance serves just as well.”
“Eleanor? Singeing?” Aedon asked. “She’s never like that—at least, not for long.”
“Not with you maybe.”
Aedon laughed, loud enough that a few of the kitchen staff looked in their direction. “You do bring something out in her that no one else does,” Aedon admitted.
“Hmmm.” Wil chewed on his bread thoughtfully. “Do you have any idea why?” he asked. “Aside from all the major faults she sees in my character, of course.”
“Clearly,” Aedon conceded good-naturedly. Then his eyes rested on Wil, and his aspect turned thoughtful. “Would you honestly like me to answer that question?” What Wil saw behind Aedon’s composed face frightened him, and he backed away from that truth.
“No, I don’t,” he replied.
Aedon did not press.
“Eleanor said that she’d left Thayne’s jewelry in your safekeeping,” Wil said to Aedon, shifting the conversation.
Aedon nodded.
“Has she asked for them?” Wil asked.
“No, I don’t believe she intends to use the jewelry,” Aedon replied. “Does it really matter?”
Wil slumped back in his chair and pushed his empty plate away. “If there is one thing that I have learned as a son of Imirillia, Aedon, it is the art of intimidation. It may sound like a small thing, but I wish Eleanor would consider it.”
“Then, quit hiding behind her maid and tell Eleanor again, straight out, why you think it’s a good idea,” Aedon counseled. “Eleanor has never once let her temper trump her reason. She will think through your words, even if she finds you annoying in the process.”
Laughing, Wil gave Aedon a double take. “I don’t hide.”
“You don’t hide,” Aedon said thoughtfully, “except from Eleanor. She seems to have that effect on you. Something is said, and you disappear, distancing yourself for a few days.”
Wil almost responded by asking, Do you want to know why?
And Aedon, as if he could read the question in Wil’s face, shook his head. No, he did not.
“Come to my rooms in the morning,” Aedon said. “And you can take the jewelry to Eleanor yourself. If you feel it’s important enough to discuss again, you can trust she won’t take your head in the process,” Aedon added and stood. “Good night, Wil.”
Wil watched the councillor leave the kitchen and then grimaced, pressing his own fingers firmly against the table. It was not his head he was worried about losing.
***
The company rode out early, making their way west. In a few days, they would break journey at a royal hunting lodge in the forest near South Mountain fen. And then they would deal with Thistle Black. Eleanor, not as accustomed to the amount of noise and movement Calafort had provided, was, for now, relieved to find herself alone with her thoughts with two days’ ride stretched out before her. The council did well to give her space, and whenever they stopped, she would disappear, Second Scroll in hand, taking a few moments to read—and think.
Wil Traveler she ignored altogether. It was trying enough, to always have his voice inside her head, and alluring enough to seek him out in conversation, which nearly always turned to a frustrating challenge of differing opinion. So, she kept her own company and counsel. And, two days later, when they rode into the stable yard of the hunting lodge, she dismounted, informing Gaulter Alden and Aedon that they would leave for South Mountain fen come morning, and disappeared into the privacy of her rooms.
Eleanor slept early, and before dawn she awoke, making preparations for the ride into South Mountain fen. Miya braided Eleanor’s hair, causing it to fall down to the side of her neck, tucked in a graceful knot, before helping Eleanor step into the black dress of Marion velvet. It was elegant and full, more abundant than the gowns Eleanor usually wore. Calafort, being a port city, often kept abreast of the styles in Marion. As a result, changes in Calafort fashion moved faster than in the rest of Aemogen, and to Edythe’s dismay, that included Ainsley.
Miya pulled tight as she laced up the gown, grunting and asking Eleanor to breathe in.
“I do have to be able to inhale, Miya, if I am to ride a horse for several hours. You do understand this?”
Her maid, who had apparently had enough of the battle run, pulled harder. As the form of the gown wrapped around her body, Eleanor stared at her reflection. The neck of the gown was cut square, lower than usual, with black lace trim around the bodice that ran up the neckline to her shoulders. The lace then turned, resting up the back of her neck, creating a high collar. Eleanor raised her fingers to touch it, feeling self-conscious. The sleeves came to her elbows, trimmed out in black lace and gold beads, as was the hemline. The velvet around Eleanor’s waist was pulled and wrapped towards her left hip, sewn into place and embellished with a gold broach. The skirt, made from yards of velvet, entertained many folds and full tucks. As Eleanor moved, the folds opened, revealing scatterings of gold beads and embroidery, cascading like fountains of stars when they caught the light. Her skin, set dramatically against the black, had never appeared fairer.
“Can you see yourself properly?” Miya asked, adjusting the large standing mirror.
“The opulence of this gown is rather embarrassing,” Eleanor replied. Her waist looked diminutive, compared to the voluminous skirts, and Eleanor felt she could not breathe, it having had been laced so tight. Miya kept wondering aloud about the fine material, the sewing, and the unusual detailing.
“It makes you look—” the maid tried to explain as Eleanor stared at the dress before the mirror. “You almost don’t look like yourself,” Miya faltered. “Like you are a woman I don’t know. In such a gown, you’re very compelling, but—”
“But what?” Eleanor asked, her cheeks turning pink.
“Oh, I don’t really know, Your Majesty,” Miya said. “It’s just different.”
They heard a knock, and Eleanor sent Miya to see who was there. As soon as she was alone, Eleanor pressed her palms against the waist of the dress, embarrassed, despite being alone. She moved her fingers to the lace neckline again. Her collarbones were exposed, the whiteness of her skin striking.
“You look very nice,” Wil said from the doorway. “With a few adjustments, it could be perfect. Would you mind stepping away from the mirror a moment?” When Eleanor spun around, challenge wreathing her expression, Wil paused before he added, “Please?”
“Since when have you been given the right to burst into my private rooms?” Eleanor said, indignant.
“Miya said I should come in,” Wil explained, pointing towards the outer chamber. “She’s speaking with Hastian, if you want to ask her.”
Eleanor knew that her cheeks were red with embarrassment, and she passed over his words, responding with her own foremost thought. “You accuse me of lacking formality, yet you break all rules of propriety,” she said, adding, “You are not welcome here.”
“I am here to help you finish your ensemble,” he said, quite serious. When her expression did not ease, he held up a small bag in his hand and attempted, what Eleanor supposed, was humor, “I come bearing gifts.”
Eleanor’s sense of privacy felt acutely invaded, but she forced herself to take as much of a slow breath as the gown would allow before she spoke. “Show me what you have and then get out.”
“Your new persona is working already,” Wil quipped bluntly as he walked toward her, discomfort finally appearing in his own expression. Eleanor itched under her self-consciousness as Wil gave a detached study of her dress. “They’ve done a beautiful job,” he finally said. “It’s an improvement on the curr
ent styles of the Marion court and a definite improvement on the dresses you have worn throughout the battle run.”
“Old Ainsley forbid I spend two months in comfortable clothing,” Eleanor shot back. Wil raised his hands against the attack, looking as aggravated as Eleanor felt.
“Truce!” he said. “I didn’t say that you haven’t looked nice.”
Eleanor wanted to throw him out on his ear. She wanted to be home. She wanted the immense pressure of the unknown to disappear, to evaporate. She wanted reassurance. With a stony expression, Eleanor faced Wil.
“I was not angling for a compliment,” she said.
“I didn’t think you were,” Wil said, lifting one of his hands in an effort to respond without escalating the conversation. “Now, I know it is a traditional stance in Aemogen to wear little jewelry,” he began. “But—and please consider what I tell you now—in a situation that could lead to treason, however small, it’s worth using every painstaking detail for leverage. Better wit and power, rather than violence. Isn’t that how you feel?” he asked. “So, while details like jewelry may seem unnecessary to you, a man like Thistle Black will take note and mark it as a symbol of power.”
Lips tightly pressed, Eleanor ordered her interior frustrations be silent and thought about his words before responding. “The advantage offered would be so slight—”
Wil took a step towards her. “Slight advantages are what win contests, Eleanor.”
She creased her eyebrows together. It was the first time he had used her name. Wil must have had the same thought, for a flush spread up from his neck.
“Will you please try them on?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Right,” Wil said as he stepped away, opening the bag onto the top of a nearby bureau. He picked something up between his fingers and turned back towards Eleanor. A small unripe apple was in his hand. “I don’t think you are going to like this very much. Miya?” he called out, looking away from Eleanor’s questioning eyes as the maid entered the room.
“Are the awls heated in the fire?” he asked.
“Yes,” Miya said, looking from Eleanor to Wil and back to Eleanor again. She looked terrified.
“Awls?” Eleanor’s mouth dropped open, and she grabbed her earlobes. “Are you mad?”
“It’s hard to wear earrings with no holes in your ears,” Wil reasoned.
“You are mad,” she said. “I’m not doing that.”
Wil groaned and clenched his left fist to his eyes, muttering something. But, Eleanor was distracted by the motion. For, under his sleeve, the band he’d kept so meticulously bound about his forearm was coming loose. And there was a mark on his skin. He dropped his hand to his side as he continued to speak, and it disappeared beneath his sleeve.
“—I have not come to kill you,” Wil was saying as Eleanor’s focus returned to his words. Then Hastian came running into the chamber, a look of alarm on his face.
“My queen?” he said.
“It’s all right Hastian,” Eleanor said, her mind on what she’d seen. “Miya and Wil have conspired against me, but I’ve not let them impale me yet.” The soldier, seeming cautious, looked at Wil before stepping back. He did not withdraw from the chamber.
“The earrings are the finest pieces in the set,” Wil said.
In a motion, one of the earrings was dangling between his fingers. Eleanor’s mouth formed a line. It was a tear-shaped diamond, perhaps the most beautiful gem she had ever seen.
“Thayne sent these earrings from his personal collection,” Wil explained. “Aedon said they had belonged to his late wife, who was the granddaughter of a king. They were a gift from him to her. I wasn’t expecting him to have sent anything of this caliber,” Wil admitted, as he wrapped his fingers around the diamond, and set it back down. “Now, I understand if you don’t want to do this, but, just to satisfy my curiosity,” he put his hand on his chest, “do you have some philosophical or religious objection to the act of piercing your ears?”
“No,” Eleanor said. “Edythe wears earrings.”
“Then, consider it a happy surprise for her wedding,” he suggested. “Now, do we proceed?”
Eleanor looked back to Wil’s arm, willing to leverage pain for knowledge. “Under one condition,” she said.
Uncertain whether it was wise, Eleanor sent both the maid and her guard out of the room. Hastian’s mouth twitched, but he reluctantly followed Miya, pulling the door shut behind him.
“Your left arm,” Eleanor said when they were alone. “I want to see why you keep it wrapped.”
Wil shook his head. “No.”
“I’ve sent them out,” Eleanor stated, gesturing towards the door. “You can trust in my discretion.”
Wil stepped away from her and leaned against the bureau, setting the apple down before he folded his arms across his chest. Eleanor couldn’t read his thoughts, but her hope was that he was considering her offer. He didn’t look away from her face, but Eleanor knew that his mind was weighing the risks of her condition, and he wasn’t really seeing her.
“Why is this important to you?” Wil asked at length.
“Because it is obviously of value to you,” Eleanor said.
“Why do you care what I value?” Wil gave a slight lift of his chin, and his eyes caught her face in sharp focus. The palms of Eleanor’s hands felt warm, and her mouth went dry as she looked at a vein pulsing in Wil’s neck.
“Are we not friends?” she asked.
“Are we?” he said.
“Are we?” she asked him in return.
At first, Wil seemed far away, an observer of the conversation rather than a participant. But, as Eleanor watched, something about Wil’s stance, some attitude of his bearing, shifted, like a flag changing colors, and behind his eyes, she saw a trace of something he had previously withheld: trust.
“Yes, we are friends,” he conceded.
“Yes.” Eleanor lifted the corners of her mouth, feeling grateful, willing to accept this unspoken gift he offered. “Now, don’t tell me that I should let you impale me twice without anything in return.”
Wil pushed himself forward and stood before Eleanor. He looked her in the eye as he rolled up his left sleeve and undid the knots with this right hand. Eleanor held his stare, not looking until the fabric had fallen away. Then Wil held out his arm.
“It is the symbol of where I belong in the Imirillian army.” Wil cleared his throat, “More or less.”
Eleanor took his arm in her hands, and because Wil’s skin was lighter where the fabric had covered it for months, the mark almost seemed to jump off his skin. It was in the shape of a shield and beautifully done, deep blood red in color, almost black. Inside the shield, a bird of prey rose elegantly, surrounded by intricate patterns and symbols. She had never seen such artistry, and she had never seen such a thing set in the skin before.
Eleanor moved her fingers across the mark. It was smooth and large enough that her hand could not cover it completely. When she tried, he breathed in, jerking his arm ever so slightly and clenching his fingers. Eleanor knew she had trespassed somehow, and pulled her fingers back.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Wil withdrew his arm from her hands, carefully wrapping the black fabric over the strange mark again, fumbling with the knot and then pulling it tight with his teeth. Then he rolled his sleeve down.
“Shall we proceed?” he asked.
As Eleanor called Miya back into the room, Hastian’s footsteps could be heard pacing in the audience chamber.
Wil took the awl from Miya and handed her the two earrings. Then he picked the apple up off the bureau and came back, standing close, directly in front of Eleanor. Lifting the apple behind Eleanor’s earlobe, he placed the awl against her skin—the pin-sized tip was still warm from the fire—and leaned in closer, careful and focused.
“Keep the earring ready, Miya,” Wil said. “We’ll slide it in immediately after I remove the awl.”
Eleanor’s stomach began t
o protest. She tilted her head, lifting her chin, watching Wil’s hands nervously from the corner of her eye. She was extremely aware of his knuckles brushing against her skin.
“Now,” Wil said quietly, “You will hardly feel—”
Eleanor bit her lip as the awl went through her ear and into the apple. Wil pulled it out and moved so that Miya could slide the earring into the bleeding hole. But, Miya was clumsy and almost missed, sending the earring hook into Eleanor’s ear rather than through it—the pain was acute. Eleanor bit her tongue, tears coming to her eyes. Miya corrected the hook’s direction and slid it through the hole, her hands shaking.
Eleanor’s eyes watered, but she made no sound, despite the heaviness of the earring.
“Now, let’s finish the other,” Wil said, sounding apologetic. He lifted his hand to her chin, tilting her face to the side.
“Why did we not do this sooner?” Eleanor asked, readying herself as Wil positioned the awl on her second earlobe. “Riding a horse just now will be miserable. It’ll rip out of my ears.”
“You wouldn’t have done it sooner,” Wil speculated, giving most of his attention to the second hole he was about to pierce. “It won’t be unbearable. I’ve an oil that will make it so you can’t feel a thing. And,” he added, “you can take all your anger out on Thistle Black.”
The awl flashed through her earlobe, and Eleanor bit her cheek against the rush of pain. Wil grabbed the earring from the unprepared Miya, slipping it into place.
“Done,” he said.
Miya handed him a clean cloth, and he placed it over Eleanor’s bleeding ear. Tilting her head back, Eleanor cursed herself for agreeing to such a foolish vanity.
“I am not sure we are friends any longer,” Eleanor said stiffly. “This feels awful.”
Wil laughed—genuinely laughed—and stepped back. In that moment, the atmosphere began to thaw between them.
“This will help,” he said, picking up a small vial from the top of the bureau. After dabbing it on the cloth in his hand, Wil handed it to Miya. “Wipe this on both of her ears carefully.”