Count On Me

by Abigail Graham

  “I’ll give you the room while you change. I’d put on some woolens today. This morning has a cold feel about it.”

  Yawning, I rise and stretch as he steps out. My back pops and I twist from side to side, wincing as it pops a little more. I slip out of my nightgown and leave it piled on the bed, and pull out fresh clothes. There are wool stockings and a kind of undershirt I have to lace up to my neck.

  I’m happy to have all that on under a blue dress. It’s chilly in the sitting room, even with the fire lit.

  I sit by the fire while Conrad dresses.

  I turn to crane my neck and sneak a peek through the door as it stands ajar. I catch a glimpse of him, long legged with a spectacularly muscled ass, as he pulls on his trousers, then turn away quickly so he won’t see me stealing a look as he puts on his shirt.

  He emerges without saying anything, so he didn’t see me.

  A serving girl brings lunch. It’s all cold cuts and fruit. I miss scrambled eggs dearly. Hell, even a hard-boiled one would do. I know there are chickens here.

  “Is there food at this harvest festival thing?”

  “Food,” he laughs, between bites. “Oh yes, there’s food.”

  “When is it?”

  “Soon. Another few days, when the villagers have all gathered. I’ll have to move my household down to the valley soon. All of us will go.”

  Us, he said. I smile in spite of myself.

  My day becomes routine. I say goodbye to Conrad, but only briefly. I spend the morning with Adrian and Nina in the library, and after a few hours Adrian leads us down for sword practice.

  I notice how many of the girls in the castle watch. Adrian is going to have plenty of dancing partners at this festival, I think. Conrad draws plenty of eyes, too, and I frown at that. Some of them see me frowning, and look away.

  Others frown at me, like I’m an intruder, and say nothing. Nina takes her turn when Adrian is winded, and finally sprawls on a bench, exhausted. Conrad points his wooden practice sword at me.

  “Your turn.”

  I scowl at him, but strut over and catch the sword he tosses me.

  “No fair making me do this in a dress,” I say.

  The wooden sword is heavy. It must have a metal core, or something. I let it turn in my hand. Conrad watches, a moment of confusion on his face. I bring it up, hold it like a baseball bat, and make a little circle with the tip.

  “Come on then, show me what you’ve got.”

  Conrad laughs, then attacks, a smile on his face the entire time.

  This is real, I try to remind myself. He trains for real to use a real sword. I’ve seen it.

  It feels like a game, though. He doesn’t use my mistakes, doesn’t hammer through my weaknesses or exploit my inexperience.

  “Are we playing or fighting?” I challenge.

  The look on his face tells me he’s going to enjoy teaching me a lesson. He darts in, I parry, sword clacking on sword, and his look changes from amusement to concentration.

  Even with my bandaged hand, I hold my own. How I hold my own, I’m not completely sure. It’s almost like I can feel his moves before they land. I just know what to do.

  Conrad is sweating profusely, studying me. I stumble a little, and he smirks.

  “Let’s see you fight in a dress,” I say.

  “If it’s such an impairment, take it off.”

  Behind me, a dozen girls hoot and holler. Adrian turns pink.

  Nina just looks confused.

  I charge with a war whoop and swing at him. He’s fast, blindingly so, but I keep up. Faster and faster we go, whirl, and then I’m on my butt in the dirt, my sword clattering away after I lost my grip for just a second.

  Conrad offers me a hand and pulls me easily to my feet. I almost bump into him, sweaty and panting myself. My arms ache and my legs are sore, but I don’t care. The heat of him is intoxicating.

  Softly he smirks, and lets go of my hand.

  The bandage falls away, and I gasp.

  Conrad looks concerned. Adrian is just confused. Nina doesn’t even notice.

  My palm has healed.

  10

  The Harvest

  Roxanne

  I rub the skin on my palm. Days go by, Rienni fills with people, and I rub the skin on my palm. Did I dream all of it, even the waking? No, it was real, my hand was burned. The doctor said so.

  Even now I run my finger in circles and trace the lines on my hand. Palmistry was never my thing, any more than tarot or anything of that sort. I was never one to try to divine the future. I don’t know if I’d like what I see.

  I ride beside Conrad, atop my trusty steed, Gunpowder. The big shaggy horse plods along, and I look at my palm, the sky, or anything else I can find to distract myself from the sense of vertigo that comes from gazing straight down the mountain slope. It’s not far now; we’re halfway down the serpentine road, and will reach level land soon.

  Conrad keeps one eye on me at all times.

  I keep one eye on that thing on his back. He has the scabbard on a strap, like a sling, and wears the weapon as we descend. I’m sure he didn’t bring it because he’s afraid someone will steal it, if it bites the hand that tries to take it. It must be some other reason. Maybe a show of power.

  Adrian is getting older, surer with the blade. Conrad mentioned sparring with live steel yesterday. It makes me shiver, this talk of practice with real, live, lethal weapons. Why is it so important to Conrad that his son know how to wield the sword?

  Maybe it has something to do with controlling it.

  Part of me wonders if Conrad thinks they’ll have to fight someday, and he wants to make sure his son is better than he is.

  Adrian rides behind, Nina beside him on a pony. They make an adorable pair. Saska rides, too, though well back. I’m not sure what’s going on there, what her actual status is. She almost haunts the castle, drifting from place to place, watching but never joining.

  At long last we reach the ground. I feel a shudder of relief as it levels out, and Conrad turns to me.

  “Not so bad, is it?”

  I laugh it off, but scowl at him and take the reins of my horse. Riding is coming naturally to me. I can control Gunpowder, urge her forward. When I ride beside the count, I get looks.

  Today I’m dressed in a dark-green dress. It laces to my neck and covers my arms, and the skirt is divided in half, like big swishy pants, so I can straddle the horse without displaying my ass to all and sundry.

  Ahead of us, the village is bustling. Every chimney curls smoke into the air, and there are tents and pavilions reaching out into the newly harvested fields. The air smells like rich turned earth and sweat and people, even from a distance.

  As we approach, I see most of the villagers are working around a large tent, set up in the fields. The nearer we get, the stronger the smell of bread and sweets. My mouth starts to water.

  Conrad’s arrival is an event. The villagers pile out to look at us, and at me. Conrad makes a show of lifting me from the saddle to my feet, and I hide behind my hair in a self-conscious way, then behind him. He insisted I wear it down around my shoulders today.

  Conrad switches from German to the local language, and I pick up a bare few words in passing. We’re swept from the road through the village and into the big two-story building to the second floor.

  There we’re given an expansive bedroom with a rough hewn bed and furniture. It’s rustic and drafty, but a welcome change of pace. Conrad’s servants carry trunks and boxes inside, and a whole dresser.

  “Seems like a little much,” I say.

  “I know,” he says with a sigh. “I’d come with a change of clothes, but the common folk expect a show. Sometimes it pains us to have plenty when they struggle, but it’s often necessary. It’s the trappings of power.”

  I nod.

  Conrad shrugs out of the sling that binds the sword to his back and leans it against the wall.

  “No one will touch it,” he says, sensing my fear. “They kn
ow better.”

  He turns to the narrow small window and looks out. His face lights up.

  “I haven’t done this since I was a boy,” he says, grinning.

  I never thought I’d be one of those girls whose heart melts at the sight of a man smiling. My heart melts at the sight of him smiling. I grin like a goofball myself, and grab his arm.

  “Show me.”

  I didn’t know what I was expecting, but not this. There are thousands and thousands of people here, and everywhere I turn is something new, special.

  It’s like a carnival, without the rides. Conrad snatches a baked tart from a tray and takes a big bite, then hands it to me. Berries squish warm in my mouth, soft and sweet in a chewy, flaky crust, so warm.

  Pressing my chin between his fingers and thumb, Conrad swipes some syrupy tart filling from my cheek and pops it in his mouth. I giggle and press close to him.

  There are jugglers and music. A man in a leather vest plays a fiddle, and we stop to listen.

  “Where are the children?” I ask.

  Conrad gives me a warm look. “They’ll be fine. Adrian and Saska have Nina.”

  It doesn’t take me long to spot them. Adrian has a trail of girls orbiting him, some younger, some almost my age. He gives me a pained look, as if seeking rescue.

  There are games. Conrad leads me to a circle of people tossing iron weights at a bar. Whoever gets closest without hitting the bar planted in the ground wins. After I toss a few, my hands are caked with mud. Conrad deliberately tosses his wide, then finds a rag to wipe down our hands.

  “What do you think so far?”

  “It’s fun,” I say, smiling. “I’m enjoying this.”

  We circulate through the throng of people. Everywhere the count goes, people incline their heads and offer their goods. By late afternoon we’re sitting around the fiddler eating soft cheese and warm, crusty bread. Stews bubble in pots and a whole cow, at least I think it’s a cow, turns on a spit above a huge cook pit full of hot coals. The heat alone almost knocks me back. It feels like if I get too close, my eyebrows will singe off.

  “It’s time for the show,” Conrad announces, offering me a hand as he stands.

  He guides me toward the big tent. I almost feel like I’m going to a circus. As we head inside, I grin.

  This is so different from anything I’ve ever experienced. There’s a stage, but it’s too small for people. I burst out laughing as puppets appear, snapping up from below to fill the space.

  I have no idea what they’re saying, but I can follow along well enough. It seems like everyone who will fit has crowded into the tent to watch. Conrad laughs at the antics of a puppet in an antlered helmet with a red-painted sword.

  I watch uneasily, glancing at him. The show is innocent enough. The Conrad-puppet drops his little puppet trousers a few times, baring a painted puppet ass. He’s in good humor about it.

  I take a seat with him on a bench. Adrian brings Nina to sit with us, but I don’t see Saska anywhere.

  “Where’s your sister?” I ask, turning to him.

  “Gone off somewhere. A suitor,” Adrian says, hefting a mug.

  Conrad gives him a wary look then takes a pair of mugs off a passing tray for the two of us. He pushes one into my hands and I look at my reflection, as in a beer darkly. Thick black beer so strong that when I drink it, almost burns, it’s so boozy. I pound it down anyway, prompting a laugh from Conrad as I knock it back.

  “Let’s see if you’re so brave when the real drinking starts,” he laughs.

  The tent goes quiet. The puppets disappear and new ones appear in their place. Intricate ones, half as tall as a person. Again, I have no idea what anyone is saying, so I do my best to follow along.

  “Do you know this story?” Conrad says.

  I shake my head.

  The first puppet is astonishing, a true work of art. She’s three feet tall, delicately painted, with slightly cartoony proportions but so finely made she almost looks real. Her clothes are all sewn, real cloth, yellowed with age but very skilled in their making. I’m not even sure how her fine white hair was made.

  “That’s the elven princess,” Conrad says. “The legend says she was wandering in the woods not far from here when the prince found here. There he is.”

  The prince-puppet appears, and suddenly the elven princess puppet is yanked away and replaced by a hunched old woman.

  I eye Conrad.

  “She takes an uncomely form to test him,” Conrad says, watching.

  The puppets banter at each other, someone below the stage providing voices.

  “The prince is rude to her,” he says.

  “I think I know this story. The prince is cursed, right?”

  I was right. There’s a flash and the prince puppet disappears, replaced by a hulking, beastly puppet with rough corn-silk fur, a pinched, wicked face, and horns.

  I work my hand across the bench, brushing Conrad’s leg. His hand drops down and rests on mine, our fingers lacing together.

  The puppets play out Beauty and the Beast while we watch. The story has a few local variations, but it’s basically the same. At the end the prince puppet is restored and runs off with his beauty puppet and makes puppet babies, I suppose.

  Everyone claps and I join in.

  Conrad rises.

  It’s dusk now. As we step outside, I can’t help but look up.

  My head spins and I stumble. Conrad catches me. He says something, but it’s like my head is a fishbowl. I can barely hear him.

  The mountain slopes are heavy with snow drifts higher than the tallest man in places, bare rock in others. The castle is a demolished ruin, leeringly drunkenly back against the rock like a corpse propped up in a chair.

  I blink and regain my balance, thumping against Conrad. He pulls me close.

  “What happened?”

  “I just had a little too much beer too fast,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you see something?”

  I eye him.

  “Ice. Snow. Castle ruins.”

  He looks grim for a moment. “What do you see now?”

  The castle as I saw it the first time, gleaming black stone turning red and orange in the setting sun. I shrug.

  Conrad motions me forward.

  “There’s so much more,” he says.

  There’s a band, for one thing. A stage has been thrown up in the center of town, in front of the high house with the bell tower. I’ve lost track of Adrian and Nina, but I’m sure they’re alright.

  I don’t know this song, but that doesn’t matter. It’s a jaunty, quick tune, and before I know it Conrad has me around the waist, holding me close as he grabs my other hand and pulls me into a wild dance that almost lifts my feet from the ground.

  He dances like a madman. No, he dances like someone short on time. He dances like I’m going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight.

  His kiss is just as intense, feverish, almost desperate but in a way that makes my toes curl. His lips are on mine before I even realize it and I give in to him, tasting him. Sweet tarts and beer and him, gentle and ferocious, tender and possessive. It’s a one-in-a-million kiss.

  He pulls back and I burp up some beer gas into his face.

  “I’m sorry!” I shout. “I didn’t mean it!”

  He laughs and kisses me again. The music changes; so does out dance. It’s wild, as wild as everyone else’s. Skirts swirl and Conrad teaches me a kind of line dance where I slap my heels and wriggle my hips, grab my dress and swirl it around.

  I spot some of the ways the village women and girls approach their men and do the same thing, awkwardly, laughing the entire time. Some of them laugh at me but I don’t care. It’s happy, joyful laughter, not mocking. I’m not used to people laughing with me, as opposed to laughing at me.

  Conrad spins me around so much I can hardly stand, so I grab on to him to hold me up. He obliges, happily. The booze flows, and I end up gulping down very strong, very sweet wine. Conrad knocks it back li
ke mad, laughing the entire time.

  He’s so…loose. Happy. Free. Something. I laugh and giggle and playfully struggle when he picks me up and spins me around.

  “Where’s my boy?” he bellows.

  Adrian blushes pink when Conrad pulls him into the middle of the ongoing dance and all but shoves him into the arms of a pretty village girl his own age.

  As they dance wildly, Adrian loosens up, imitates his father. He even steals a kiss…before another girl has him, and he gets passed around in circles. Conrad absolutely roars with laughter.

  Something is bothering me, but I don’t know what.

  Saska isn’t here. Maybe she’s off with some boy of her own. She’s a little older and might be enjoying some private time. I would have jumped at the chance when I was her age, so who am I to judge?

  Conrad bellows in the native tongue, laughing. The song changes, slower now. He pulls me into a true slow dance, until we’re all but swaying in place, any pretense of an actual dance forgotten.

  I lean on him and look around.

  These people are so happy. They look happy, anyway. There is something magical in the air.

  How can he ever think I’d want to leave this?

  Conrad kisses me on the forehead.

  “Why don’t we retire for the evening,” he says.

  “Sure,” I say, “wait, what?”

  “To bed.”

  “Isn’t it a little early…oh.”

  My heart slams into my ribs like a baseball then beats so fast it feels like it’ll shake my teeth loose. He wants to take me. Upstairs. Take me upstairs.

  I hope for some grand gesture like picking me up and carrying me off. He takes my hand and that’s grand enough.

  Inside, we can’t get upstairs fast enough. Conrad follows me into the bedroom, hot on my heels, and kicks the door shut.

  He pulls me into a deep, loving kiss, bending me back a little as he leans over me. His hands squeeze my ass through my dress and I shiver, running mine all over him. He still tastes like tarts. I nip and kiss at his neck as he unlaces my dress.

  I press gently on his chest with my hands.

  “I still owe you one,” I tell him, undoing his belt.