by Janeal Falor
I haul myself into a sitting position and try to reacquaint myself with the stillness of the world. Cynthia moves, but I can't tell what she's doing. Probably trying to clean. When the footman finally opens the door, I'm a bit less peaked, though more than ready to be done with the carriage for a lifetime.
The light of dawn pours in. Not how I wanted to greet morning. Cynthia waits for me to exit the carriage, though I imagine she's almost as eager as I am to leave it. Maybe even more so. The crisp air hits me as I step onto the cobblestone, rushing life back in me. I take several deep breaths of earthy fragrance. Beside me, Cynthia gasps.
“What?” I look at her then at where she's staring.
I gasp as well.
It can't be the proper place. We must have made a wrong turn. But the footman is speaking to a servant at the base of the mansion. The servant nods to whatever he's saying and faces us. Still, once I catch my breath I call out, “Is this Chancellor Jacob's?”
“It is,” the servant replies. More servants, both tarnished and lower class, make their way outside. More than I've seen gathered in one place before. Are they all for this place?
I look back at the manor. They must be. If there were any fewer, cleaning would never be done. Four stories of stone stacked upon one another and more windows than I could ever hope for. There's a turret at each corner of the manor, rising two stories above the rest of the house. I count the stories again. At least four.
I've never been above the first floor of Father's house. Is it safe? Council meetings were always held on the second floor, so it must be. Yet I can't imagine how a person doesn't fall through. How are the upper floors able to stay up and not come crashing down?
“How much of this land do you think belongs with the manor?” Cynthia asks.
For the first time I glance around. Lush grass all around and a forest off in the distance. To one side of the house there looks to be the edge of a lake, though I'd have to circle around the house to know for sure. In front of the manor are hedges and flowers. Blues, purples, pinks, yellows, oranges.
“I've never imagined anything so grand,” I say.
The Envadi dismounts, looming over us. I didn't realize he rode here as well. My astonishment at the house dampens. I thought he decided to stay, well, wherever it was he was staying, but clearly he didn't. At least with a house this vast, I'll be able to secret myself within, even if I'm restricted to the first floor.
“Your things from Thomas's will be by sometime later this morning,” he says. “The rest of your things will be gathered from your house and sent over. You both can have whatever room you like.”
I can do nothing but stare at him as he heads to the servants. Several listen to him. A tarnished, with a chiseled face, replies. One of the other servants, a lower class girl only a few years older than me, steps out of line and comes to us.
“When you're ready, I'll give you a tour and you can pick out lodgings most to your liking.”
Cynthia's eyes are as wide and confused as mine feel. Once I'm finally able to speak, I say, “Are you sure we're to choose our own rooms?”
“Yes, if you wish.” She studies us for a moment. “I can pick instead, if you like.”
Cynthia and I exchange a look. She's smiling. I've never before seen such a smile from her. All remaining tiredness and sickness flee.
“The tour would be perfect.”
“Very well. If you'll come with me please.”
As we follow her into the house, we pass the Envadi. I clench my shaking hands and risk a peek back. His gaze meets mine, though he's still speaking to a servant. I trip and hurry to right myself, this time sure to watch where I'm going. Though I don't look again, I feel his gaze still on me. What is he planning to do to me?
***
By the time I plop down on the window bench in the turret, I don't think I will ever stand, and certainly never walk, again. It's the last room of the tour. We haven't even seen the grounds yet, but I could care less. Cynthia slumps beside me.
“I didn't think this day could get any more exhausting,” she says. “Two days now, I guess.”
“Can I do anything to help?” the servant asks.
I look around the room for the first time. The walls are curved all around as they were in the other turrets, except for a little flat portion hiding a water closet. Next to which is a privacy screen and I assume there is a bathing basin behind it like others we've seen. This room is a full circle, the only access is a door at the top of stairs, leading back where we came from. I can't possibly climb them right now. It's a wonder I even made it up here. Though the floors seem to be holding our weight just fine, which eases some of my worries.
There's plenty more furniture than I need, chairs and sofas and tables, but I only have eyes for the bed. Not as massive as the one at Thomas's, but just big enough for me. My choice is the only choice I'm really allowed given my current state. Did the Envadi plan it this way?
“I think this will be my room. If it's acceptable.”
She nods. “I'll let you know if there's a problem.”
“Perhaps I'll take the one at the bottom of the stairs,” Cynthia says. “That way we'll be close.”
“Would you rather have this room? You can if you would like.”
“Oh, no. If it wasn't for you we wouldn't be here anyway. Besides, you'll enjoy all these windows more than I will.”
Things like this remind me how wonderful she can be. “That's true.”
“Can I bring some breakfast?” the servant asks. “Or would you prefer I draw a bath?”
I'm sticky from traveling, but also have an empty stomach. I don't remember the last time I ate. “Breakfast, I think.”
“Yes, food would be most welcome,” Cynthia says.
The servant nods. “I'll get two trays and your things sent up.” She leaves.
I try to pay more attention to my new room. My very own. Not just for a week, but for good. Or at least until I marry. I don't suppose he'll let me stay here. Mother's room was always close to Father's. I shiver and chase the thought away, replacing it with ones of furniture.
The bed has its headboard curving along the wall. Night tables on each side are also curving. By the window where we're seated are a small table and three chairs. There's also a vanity curving like the others. A small mirror rests on it. More like the one at home than at Thomas's, but easy to see in to. Above it is another window. A third window lies between the stairs and the bed.
“It's rather large,” I say. “Less cramped than our house full of girls.”
“Yes,” Cynthia replies, but with a wistful note. “Certainly quieter.”
She always did spend more time with our sisters than I did. I suppose I spent too much time trying to hide from Father or taking their places for punishments. I still miss them. Perhaps not the same way that brings longing to Cynthia's eyes.
A short while later the servant returns with two trays. She stands off to the side as we settle at the table. Biscuits and chocolate. I devour them, not even taking the time to dunk the thin, sweet wafer in my thick drink. Once my appetite settles, I slow and eat some fruit as well.
I peek at the servant often throughout the meal. As it comes to a close, I work up enough courage to ask, “Do you know in what room Chancellor Zade is staying?”
“I believe he's chosen the back turret on the west side of the house.”
Can I really be that fortunate? All the way on the other side of the house?
“You should easily be able to hide from him if that's the case,” Cynthia whispers.
The servant's face remains impassive.
I respond, “At least until the wedding.”
Chapter Nine
The freedom I gain from being in a new house is odd. All chores are done by the servants. No sisters to keep an eye on and shield from Father. Only Cynthia, but even my relationship with her is changing. There's no need for me to cover for her. It's brought such a relief, more than I thought would happen.<
br />
We spend several days staying mostly in one of our rooms. Because of it, I find it easier and easier to wear less face paint, something I've always wanted. Though I do put on a bit more when we attend dinner with the Envadi. Those affairs are more quiet than at home. The Envadi never speaks as Father would. Not to yell or punish, yet no babbling on about other warlocks either.
But this morning, something changed. When a servant was clearing my room, which is strange enough to get used to, she said we didn't have to stay here all the time. We're free to explore the house and the grounds at will.
I don't know if she has the authority to give permission, but I can't help but want it to be true. The rooms, despite their size, have grown confining in the last few days. Cynthia doesn't seem to mind the confinement and chooses to stay in her room, but I'm not wasting an opportunity to get out.
“Are you sure you won't join me?”
She doesn't look up from her embroidery. “I can't believe you're going. The Envadi is probably setting some sort of trap.”
“I'm tired of these rooms. We didn't have a lot of space at Father's, but at least we could go outside and to class. Never thought I would miss class.” I shake my head. I don't really miss learning how I'm never going to be up to the standards a woman should, but this monotony is overbearing. “If something bad happens, it won't be any different than before.”
“Before you avoided trouble instead of racing headlong into it.”
Except for the times I said too much or took on my sisters punishments, which was all the time. “I'll be cautious.”
“I'll be here when you need a shoulder to cry on.”
“I don't cry.”
“Just the same, I'll be here.”
I pick at my gloves hoping she's wrong and exit the room. The house is lovely. Lovelier than I remember, though I suppose being well rested, fed, and not having the shock of my intended being killed and replaced by a barbarian before looking it over, helps.
Rugs cover the length of the halls, cushioning my steps. Pictures, mostly nature scenes, cover the walls. A few women with their large, rounded bellies, and several with warlocks are scattered among them. Tables sit every few feet with vases of fresh flowers, filling the air with their subtle and sweet fragrance. Though I enjoy their scent, keeping so many fresh flowers with a house of only three occupants and their servants is a lot of extra work.
I randomly pick doors to open and peek in, though I avoid the area by the Envadi's turret. There are so many rooms, all with such varying styles and colors. Nothing sticks out. I wander through halls and stairways until I open a door to reveal something different.
This one is as big as one floor of Father's house, smelling of old paper. Shelves cover the walls, floor to ceiling, books filling them. I never knew so many books existed. Father has some, but those wouldn't fill one bookshelf here. What other words could they contain? If they're all like Woman's Canon, I've no use for them. Still, the idea they might have more tugs at me until it pulls me further into the room. I'm not supposed to touch them. What if someone caught me just being in here with them? I focus on other things, while the books linger in my mind.
Curtains hang from the ceiling to the floor in several places. When I pull one open, there's a window taller than me looking over the front of the manor. The others open to reveal more of the front and lake side of the manor. The lake is bigger than I thought it would be, swelling across the land. On the side closest to the manor is a little dock with a boat bobbing beside it.
After letting the curtain fall back into place, I try to continue ignoring the call of the surrounding books. I focus on all the chairs, sofas, and tables. The council meeting was off limits, but I imagine something like this would suit their needs. Lots of places for warlocks to sit and do whatever it is they do. Memories of being confined to my room on those days are hot, sticky, and unpleasant. I push them away.
Several minutes pass and nobody has wandered in. The books are still calling. What if they aren't all like the Woman's Canon? They can't all be, can they? I move closer to them. Most are thinner than the only book I'm allowed, a few are fatter.
No one is around, what harm could it do to look?
I peruse the bookshelves, searching for something worth the risk. Something that will show me a world outside the Woman's Canon. My search stops on one titled The Light of Day. I rest my hand upon it. Supple and bumpy. Still, no one comes.
With a tug, I remove it from the shelf. It's tiny in my hands compared to what I'm used to. Easier to hide. I run a finger on the edge of its spine. It's softer than the Woman's Canon.
With a silent hope I'm not bringing trouble on myself, I open it. The smell of old paper grows stronger. I flip a few pages, then hear footsteps thumping down the hall. Hugging the book to me, I lunge to a nearby couch and hunker behind it.
The hinges of the door squeak as it opens. A slight pause, then the footsteps enter the room. I quiet my breathing. Oh, how Cynthia was right! I'll be punished for this. The extra space the house provides can't hide me if another comes in the same room as me. I shouldn't have given in to my desires on the word of a servant. Warlocks have the final say, always.
My legs burn from keeping huddled. It's been too long since I've used my muscles for such a purpose. It's silent for several minutes. The pang in my legs increases to a stab. If I continue like this, I'll give myself away. I peek my head up. The Envadi!
I duck my head down and hold my breathe. He's staring at a nearby bookshelf. Just staring. My lungs start to burn from lack of oxygen. I resume breathing, but it's too loud. I hold it again.
My muscles throb. Gradually, I lower myself to the ground. My dress rustles. I bite my lower lip. The footsteps move closer. He's at the bookshelf just a few steps from me. Of all the shelves in this room, why did he have to pick that one? If he turns his head he'll see me. I close my eyes.
My hands tighten around the book. The book. I shouldn't even have this. How much worse will my punishment be if I'm caught with it? Can I shove it under the couch? Maybe, but it might make noise and catch his attention. Blast.
After a few moments, the footsteps return, but this time leading away from me. I let out my breath as quietly as I can. The door squeaks open and closes. Did he leave?
I wait another few moments in silence. I hear nothing. Did he really leave then? I peek around the room again. Empty. I sigh and rub my sore legs with my free hand. Once they feel a bit better, I grab the back of the couch and hoist myself up. My hands are shaking.
Wasting no time, I head for the door until I realize the book is still in my hands. Do I take it with or put it away? It almost got me caught. Almost brought punishment. But it didn't and I want to know what it says. The brief glimpse I got seemed different than the Woman's Canon. More than ever, I want something new. Can I compound the rule I've already broken by taking it with?
Cynthia says I'm reckless. Reckless I'll be. Book in hand, I move to the door. I twist the handle and ease it open a crack. No one appears to be in the hall. I ease it open further and stick my head out so I can see deeper into the passage. Empty.
I slip from the room and close the door until the latch gives a faint click. I head for my own room. In my panic, it takes me a moment to orient myself as to where I am and where I need to go. Remembering the lay of the land outside the book room window, I head toward the direction my room should lie in. Things soon look familiar.
I finish climbing to my room. Once there, I do another thing I have never before attempted. I lock my door. Just to be safe, I curl up in my bed so I can hide the book under my pillow if need be and claim I was resting.
I open the book again and let its scent fill me. The words quickly consume me. It's nothing like the Woman's Canon. Almost being caught was worth it. As long as it doesn't bring trouble and punishments my way, I think I'm going to like it.
Chapter Ten
Besides the terrifying book incident, the only time I've seen the Envadi is at dinner.
I've never tried to contact him in any way, nor has he tried to contact me. Until now.
I stare at the note he sent, not sure if the contact brings good or bad news. Mother's coming to dinner. Tonight.
The servant girl finishes tugging my hair into a knot and reaches for a paint pot.
I steel my resolve. “Not tonight. That will be all.”
“But you have to,” Cynthia says from the window seat.
“Not tonight.” I turn to the servant. “You're dismissed.”
“Thank you.” The servant departs.
“I'll never get used to having someone else do so much for me,” I say.
“Oh good.” Cynthia stands and walks over to me. “When you said that, I thought you meant you were going to dinner without your face paint. It's odd having them do everything all the time.”
“It is odd, but I didn't mean that I intended to do my own face paint. I'll go to dinner without.”
Her eyes widen. “You mustn't. The Woman's Canon—”
“It doesn't demand that we wear face paint, only that we look our best.” Besides, the book I stole has a girl in it that only mentions face paint once and how she never wears it. If I had known it was a choice sooner, I would have done the same.
“Mother always said we must wear face paint when we turned twelve.”
I give her my full attention. “You said you weren't going to take mother's place.”
“I'm just worried for you.”
I stand and hand her the note. “Don't worry. Mother will be here to scold me herself.”
“She's coming? Then you really must put some on.”
Purposely ignoring her, I stride to the door. “I believe it's time to go. Mother will be here soon, if she isn't already.”
As we walk to the dining room, my face feels naked. I never realized how much I draw on the face paint to mask feelings. I fight to keep my nerves from showing and quicken my pace. I've been away from mother almost two weeks, I'm not sure if I'm excited to see her, or dreading it.