by C. M. Lind
But that little jealous voice told him that it wouldn’t hurt to ask, and he turned back to the two guardsmen.
“Did a woman leave on your watch?” he asked, acting nonchalant.
“No, Sir. Nobody has left or entered during our watch,” said the first guard.
“And the two that were here before us said the same, Sir,” the other guard said, seamlessly finishing the first’s sentence.
It could hurt to ask after all. Randolph turned back to the hallway and began to bit his lower lip. It was true. It wasn’t unfounded jealously that filled him with ridiculous suspicions—Ety did want her! She stayed the night with him! In his mind, he saw Ety escorting her down the hall the night before. He offered her his arm too eagerly, and, perhaps, she accepted it too eagerly as well. They no doubt spent the night in his quarters drinking and laughing before heading to his oversized, luxurious, dumb bed! Of course it all made sense. Ety was rich, educated, courteous, rich, handsome, and very, very rich.
He staggered down the hall, arms crossed. Curse him, he thought. Ety never had women over, and he could have anyone he wanted! Why couldn’t Ety just leave Soli for Randolph? He needed to sit down. No, he told himself, he needed a drink.
Before that moment, he was so sure Soli had such standards. That she had too much pride. That she surely was not a woman interested in money. He turned to the parlor where he left wine earlier, and he hoped that no other guards had seen the bottles earlier in the night and stolen them away. He was going to drain what was left in about a minute, he reckoned.
He entered the parlor, and his eyes locked onto the bottles on the table. There were two bottles of sweet misery reducing elixir waiting just for him. He should have kissed her, he suddenly declared in his head. Right in front of Ety, he should have just kissed her.
He walked over to the bottles, imagining how he would have won her over with one grand, romantic, passionate kiss—but then he saw Soli sleeping on the couch they sat at earlier. She was cuddled into a ball, her knees at her chest, and her head awkwardly to the side.
He took a step back, and smacked himself on the head. How could he have thought such things about her? Stupid Randolph, he thought, stupid, stupid, stupid. He knuckled his forehead with each reprimand. He stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do. Now that she was there in front of him, looking heavenly he insisted, all of the things he wanted to say to her, or do with her, slipped his mind.
After he had a few moments to chastise himself, he instantly wanted to wake her up. But, he decided, he couldn’t appear to be intentionally waking her up. He also couldn’t sit and wait for her to wake up on her own. Randolph didn’t know much about the female psyche, but he was certain a lady didn’t like to be watched while she slept. He never tested this assumption, but he was sure he was right.
He delicately backtracked out of the room, even breathing quietly as he made his way back into the hallway. He stood to the side of the door, out of sight in case she awoke, and then gently knocked on the wall a few times. Tap, tap, tap.
She didn’t stir from the couch. He thinned his lips, and furrowed his brow while he conjured what to do next. He smiled, and then cleared his throat loudly. A hack and few hems later and still there was no noise or movement from within the parlor.
He furrowed his brow again and let out a few large, blasting coughs, enough he thought, to startle the guards down the hall. The guards, he thought, stopping his coughing fit halfway through.
Randolph hurriedly paced back to the two young guards at the door and motioned for one to follow him. The boy did as he was told, but asked if anything was wrong. Randolph shushed him with his finger, but he calmed the boys fear with his grin. He led the boy back to the parlor, where there still was no noise or movement. Soli slept like the dead, thought Randolph, or his grandpa.
He grabbed the boy by the shoulders and turned him around, facing him away from himself. The boy complied but was clearly confused. Randolph struck him in the back of the knee with one stomping motion, and the boy collapsed. Randolph pushed him into the wall, and the boy crashed against it, unable to gain a footing. The paneling on the wall cracked, and a nearby painting fell from its place.
Randolph boomed, “Watch your step, kiddo! Took a nasty spill, huh? Well, no worries! Back to your post with you.” He grabbed the boy by his tabard and hauled him back up.
The boy was frightened, and he took off down the hall before Randolph could even pat him on the shoulder in a fatherly, sincere, familiar manner.
Inside the room, Randolph heard Soli stir. He saw her arms pop over the couch as she stretched; her fingers splayed out as far as they could. Her feet poked over the edge of the couch, and he heard her bones crack as she stretched her whole body.
“That can’t be,” he said into the room. “Is that you, Soli?”
He heard a sleepy, precious mmmhmmm.
He walked into the room and to the couch. He looked over the back of it and saw her drawn out, hands over one end dangling, her feet over the other. She was wearing what she wore the night before, and her clothes were wrinkled and askew from sleeping on the couch. Her eyes peeked open, and she looked at him with half closed lids. Her grey green eyes looked like fresh moss on stone, after a light, morning rain. Her hair was disheveled, bits broke free in loose wild strands, but overall it still held the classic side braid shape that she always wore, hiding half of her beautiful face.
He wanted nothing more than to kiss her good morning. Oh gods, he cursed himself again, why didn’t he kiss her last night? A good morning kiss would have been perfectly acceptable if he would have before. But, he assumed, women would not like to be greeted with kisses after they slept by men they’ve never kissed before. Once again, he never had tested this theory, but he thought it was valid and without the need for trial and error.
But, then again, perhaps if he would have kissed her before, she would have spent the night with him in his cot and not on the couch. He clenched his eyes for a moment and reprimanded himself for such fantastic fantasies—but it was hard to silence an overly creative and very enthusiastic mind. He opened his eyes again and looked into hers, pretending that he didn’t have the naked image of her in bed with him burned into his mind.
“What?” She looked about as if she was still half asleep. “What time is it?”
“It’ll be dawn soon. Now that you’re here, I was wondering if maybe we could—“
She bolted right up on the couch. “I have to go!” She stood up and ran out the door.
“Talk about last night?” he quietly asked the empty couch. “No? Maybe some other time, then?” He turned to the door and followed after her.
Randolph heard the front door open, and his jog turned into a run. The two young guards were just closing the door when he signaled them to open it again. They did so without hesitation, and Randolph was on the front stone steps close behind Soli.
“Wait!” he shouted, imploring her to stop with his large, calloused hands.
She turned her head back to him but was still walking towards the gate. “I have to be back for breakfast! I need to get all my things!” She pointed at the gate.
“Wait!” he shouted again as he jogged over to her. “Please, just a minute?”
She turned to face him. Her arms were crossed. “What is it, Mr. Randolph?”
He winced. There was still the Mr. in there. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s Etienne,” she said as her shoulders slumped. “He bought out all my other contracts. I work solely for him now, and he is insisting I move into the estate so that I am at his beck and call whenever he pleases!” She eyed the estate. Her voice was fast and a bit louder than she intended. She looked around, but no one else had heard her heated words. “I don’t really have a say in it. He has requested I join him for breakfast. I was supposed to already be moved in. It would be incredibly disrespectful if he knew I hadn’t even packed yet.”
All Randolph kept hearing was that Soli was moving in
. She was moving into where he lived. She would be nearby all the time. He would surely have another shot at an evening like last night.
She stared at him, waiting for a response.
“That bastard,” he said slowly with forced sympathy. “How dare he do that?”
“I know! Who is he to go behind my back and do such a thing!” Her words were heated again. “Then he presumes I want to live in that place!” She gestured to the manor. “My favorite part of the day is walking back home at night! Now he has deprived me of that!”
“Well, I insist you let me help you move.” He put his arm around her waist and turned her back to the gate.
She opened her mouth and put up her hands as if to argue, but then she lowered her hands. “Thank you, Mr. Randolph.”
“Just Randolph,” he quipped. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Think nothing of it.” He began to walk with her, trying to keep her at his side. For a brief moment she put her head against his shoulder, and he could feel her soft hair on his cheek.
They exited the gate. The streets were practically empty at such an hour. The only thing that caught Randolph’s eye was a familiar poster. It was similar to the one he had seen with Saemund, and it was plastered across the way from them, onto the outer wall of an opposite estate. The poster was larger than the one he had saw before, and it covered countless lesser warrants and declarations beneath it. The woman’s eyes glared at him through the hazy light of the breaking sun, and, for a second, it disturbed him, as if the eyes were real in the recesses of his mind.
He dug into his thoughts, trying to find the lurking phantom that hid within him, when Soli pulled away from him.
She took a deep breath. Her eyes were on his chest, and they never ventured near his own while she spoke. “There is one thing I must say now, or I am afraid of what you will think if I do not.” She was serious, yet there was a queasy look on her face “It is your behavior.” She cleared her throat. “It is unprofessional to become involved,” she whispered the word as if it was a curse, “with anyone I work for. I am not a prostitute. Even though I do not work for you, you are part of the Reinout household. No more can you call me what you do, or touch me the way you do. Now that we will be under the same roof, I must be sterner than before.”
“Of course!” Randolph blurted it out before he could even realize what he was saying, as if a primordial, defensive part of his brain had taken control of his mouth. He scoffed. “I know that!” He sucked his cheeks in and took a step back from her. “I’m being polite, Soli. It’s what Avelinian men do!”
She looked down. “Of course you were.” She swallowed hard, as if gravel was lodged in her throat. “I am sorry, please forgive me. I am not used to Avelinian men, and I misunderstood your—or rather our—it doesn’t matter.” She turned south on the street. “My apartment is this way.” There was no more warmth to her words as she walked away.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Randolph thought again for the second time that morning. Idiot. Moron. Stupid. He didn’t know how he was going to fix what he just said. He chewed on his bottom lip. He didn’t even know why he had even said it. It had all happened so fast. It was if he was had watched some horrible disaster from far away, but no one could hear his cries to stop!
He tried to strike up a conversation a few more times with her as they walked, but her answers were curt. They never ventured beyond a series of noises resembling hmmm and uh-huh.
She led him through an efficient path, cutting through alleyways, and going through side streets that even Randolph would have probably avoided. It was the quickest way, no doubt, but Randolph still worried about Soli. He reprimanded himself for all the occasions he didn’t make time to walk her home. They passed countless buildings on their path, though they were mostly tenements. A few buildings Randolph guessed were gambling dens or underground bars from their sounds. The buildings crowded each other, and their windows looked out onto other tenements. All sorts of fresh scents wafted from the windows of the tall buildings and the garbage that packed the alleys.
Eventually, they arrived at her apartment. The place was known for its austere and practical units. It was made for people who paid on time and kept their noise to a minimum. Somehow the building suited her. It was well-built, formal, professional, and to the point.
She brought him up to her unit, and he couldn’t help but lament the fact that he should have been happy to be there. More than a couple of his dreams involved her inviting him over. Fat chance anything like what happened in his dreams would happen after what he had said to her. He silently cursed his stupid, fat mouth again.
The place looked empty, as if she had just moved in or was preparing to move out. The place had neither warmth nor personality; there was nothing about it that cried “Soli’s home.” He could learn nothing about her from trinkets on the mantel or sketches on the wall, but, then again, perhaps he learned what he needed to from the absence of such things.
She walked to the bed, and he followed her over. Once again a recollection from a recent dream cropped into his mind: tasting her sweat on her skin, biting her soft neck, the noises he imagined he could invoke from her. He banished the thoughts immediately, lest he found himself in need of an emergency cold bath.
Her things were already packed: two bags stuffed full.
She opened them up, and he saw her rummage through them. Randolph suddenly was hit with the realization that she hadn’t looked at him once since their conversation at the gate. He turned away, and he left her to her rummaging. There was a crunch under his foot, and Randolph pulled it back. Broken glass was scattered across the floor, and small chunks and dust-like bit of it were under his boot.
He looked up and saw a window. A pane was missing, and some pieces of it were piled in the windowsill. Other bits were strewn across the floor. At first he thought perhaps someone had broken it from the outside, but he quickly realized there wasn’t enough glass on the inside to warrant that theory. He moved over to the window, a few more fragments of glass crunched under his boot, and he looked out. Below he found the bulk of the glass spread across the street. No one had bothered to clean it up, and Randolph wasn’t surprised. On one edge of the broken pane still hanging onto the window was a line of dried, brown blood.
He turned back to Soli, who had finished her rummaging and was tying her bag back up. His eyes went to her hand, and, within a second, he knew where she had received the wound. “Must have been some bird.”
Her head turned towards him as reflex. “What?”
He pointed to the window. “Must have been some bird to take out a whole pane of glass.” He smiled at her.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Grab a bag and let’s go.”
Randolph walked over, a frown visible on his face. He grabbed the larger of the two bags, and it was heavier than he expected it to be. He slung it over his shoulders before he turned to leave the room.
The two walked in silence down the three flights of wooden steps. Only one creak on the bottom step broke that tense silence.
Soli was the first out the door, and she held it open for Randolph, who walked through it.
“It was,” she said.
He turned his head towards her. She faintly smiled. “It was a big, fat, angry thing, but it’s better now.”
The two continued to walk, and he smiled back at her. “I have no doubts about that.”
She turned, and the two headed back the way they had came. They were neither quick nor slow; they strode at a purposeful pace. The morning sun was up, and the warm light felt good on Randolph’s skin. The only sounds that he heard around them were their steps and the songbirds that were chirping and calling, singing their odes to the sun. Rarely was he up so early, and an unexpected morning walk with Soli seemed like heaven, but he wished that she was not mad at him, and that he himself was not exhausted from his restless night.
They walked in silence for many minutes, back through the questionable alleys they traversed before. Randolph thought of wha
t to say to undo his blunder from earlier. He ran a hundred lines through his head, but each seemed lacking or all out embarrassing. Then, when all hope seemed lost, he remembered what his mother taught him to say.
“I’m sorry,” he repented, with a boyish demeanor.
She stepped in front of him to stop his pace, and put her hand on his shoulder. “No. You do not need to say that. It is I who am sorry. I still misunderstand the people here, and you have been kind. I didn’t want to admit it, but I’m lonely now that Roed is gone. I didn’t want to believe he was dead. I couldn’t accept it. But now I know he is never returning, and there is this piece of me that is gone, and I ache for its return. You were kind, and I read too much into it. I am only embarrassed at my words from earlier.” There was a touch of scarlet to her cheeks. “Please, let all this pass and we can be friends.”
“Yeah? Yeah! Friends!” he smirked. Being friends was a start. “But I was hoping—“
She squeezed his shoulder, the best she could through the leather and chain, and her words cut him off. “No, Randolph, no more on the subject. It is forgotten. My head seems to be in a different place lately, and with the news of my new living arrangements….being that I will be seeing so much more of you so often now, I suppose I wanted to clearly define our relationship—and you have.”
Damn you, mom, he thought. That didn’t work at all. His mother had always told him that apologizing could fix almost any problem.
“I was mean before!” he blurted out, refusing to let the conversation die.
Soli tittered, squeezing his shoulder again. “No, you have been very kind to me. And very respectful compared to the others that are in this city.” Her other hand grabbed his. Her skin was smooth, and he suddenly become very self-conscious of the stony callouses on his palms. “Thank you.”
A faint frown overtook Randolph’s face. The words he wanted to say fled him, and a jumble of thoughts left him speechless.
“Looks like the bitch has got herself a boyfriend after all.”