Midnight Soul (14 page)

Therefore looking forward to such discourse
was farcical.

But it could not be denied I did.

“My lady, is there aught else?” Josette
called, and I started, losing track of our conversation and even
forgetting she was there.

“I’m so sorry, Josette. My mind wandered. No,
thank you. Nothing else.”

She did not move.

All she did was blink.

I found that odd until I realized what had
come out of my mouth.

Dear goddess, I’d
apologized
.

And…

I peered closer at my maid, squinting my eyes
across the distance…

It appeared she was on the verge of
tears!

Bloody hell.

I wasn’t an ogre but she’d been with me for
five years.

Five years with someone who was distant,
respectful, but not kind.

Not to mention, the very idea of living a
life at the beck and call of anyone was revolting.

Further, as my parents had taught me—that
servants were beneath my notice—living a life not once considering
that dreadful fact was even
more
revolting.

Which meant
I
was revolting!

You’re learning
, mon ange, Antoine
said in my head.

Bloody bleeding
hell
.

Bugger off
, I snapped.

“I…you’re…I…” Josette cut into my demented
thoughts and this time she visibly gulped, “I’ll check in on you
later, milady.”

I decided to keep my mouth shut and simply
lift my chin.

She finally vanished behind the door.

I watched this and did not beat back my sigh
of relief.

I then found the ribbon in my book and opened
it to the next chapter I should be reading.

However, I knew this was a wasted effort, for
regardless of the copious time I’d had to
rest
and
mend
, that time had been broken repeatedly, mostly by
Josette, but also with irritating frequency by Noc and even by a
solicitous Frey and an openly pleasant and sociable Finnie.

And just that morning, the first I’d been out
of my bed, she’d brought Circe and Cora (Madeleine was now
celebrating wedded bliss with Apollo, on their way to one of his
houses by some lake somewhere, this I knew due to the
chitter-chatter of the two princesses and queen who’d attended me,
all of whom gabbed like scullery maids).

I had found that ignoring Noc or giving him
monosyllabic answers did not deter him in his friendliness. In
fact, he found it amusing and did not hesitate not only to
demonstrate this by smiling, chuckling or out and out laughing, but
also sharing this with me verbally. As if not only could I read he
found this so by his smiling, chuckling and laughing, but also he
wished to assure me of the veracity of these acts like this was the
most sought after attribute.

I also found that one did not have to be
sociable and forthcoming around sociable and forthcoming people.
One could be virtually silent and even sullen and they just carried
on being social and forthcoming.

It was grating on my nerves.

I’d even pulled the real Franka out, saying
something cutting to Finnie right in front of Aurora (although Frey
had left my room—I was frustrated, not foolish), and if it could be
credited, Finnie had just smiled at me and declared, “Franka, I
swear, you’re a stitch.”

Yes.

That was precisely what she said.

I’d never forget it.

And now, as I should be averting my mind to a
book, I was not. Instead, I was on tenterhooks awaiting who might
come through the door.

I would not admit that I wished it to be Noc
even as I did know that, with the frequency of his visits, he was
the most likely candidate.

Indeed, I would not admit I wished it to be
anyone
, because, damnably, sociability and outgoingness was
nauseatingly pleasing to be around.

I turned my attention from my book to the
window and asked it, “If I looked in the mirror, would I even
recognize me?”

This is who you’ve always been, love
,
Antoine answered.

I’m quite pleased you’re dead
, I lied
irritably.

I know this is not true. Though, this being
what you think, you’d be free to explore the feelings you have
growing toward Noc.

At these words in my head, my back shot
straight so fast a swell of pain rose that was so fierce I had to
bite my lip in an effort not to moan.

During this effort, I heard a sharp rap on
the door, and heralding Noc’s arrival (as this was always the
case), before I bid entry (or denied it, this effort always
unheeded), the door opened and he sauntered through.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted.

I did not greet back.

I glowered.

This was because he was wearing those
trousers again. It seemed he had a number of pairs, all the same
fabric but all different shades of blue, all of them an
impossibility to decide which pair suited him the best.

He was also wearing a shirt that looked of
the same material, except more lightweight and almost completely
faded, only a nuance of blue was left. And this shirt managed to do
remarkable things not only to his chest, but also his narrow waist,
his broad shoulders and his extraordinary eyes.

Yes, if I hadn’t already come to that
conclusion, the last three days it had been made clear the gods had
utterly forsaken me.

I looked to the window attempting to call up
the vision of Antoine. His lanky frame. His refined features. The
thickness of his dark-blond hair. The vividness of his green
eyes.

But all I could see was Noc in his
trousers.

And all I could hear was Noc dragging a chair
over to mine.

“You good?” he asked.

“I am,” I answered the window.

“Should you be sitting up?” he asked.

“The physician seemed to think so,
considering it was his suggestion.”

“Is that pillow you got behind you fluffy
enough?” Noc pressed.

Proof.

Friendliness and sociability, not to mention
kindness, were frustrating.

And nauseating.

(I told myself).

Slowly, I turned my eyes to him. “No, it’s
hard and chafing. But considering I’ve just ordered Josette to
bring me a hair shirt so I can continue my self-flagellation at
higher levels of discomfort, I think it will suffice.”

Noc flashed me a smile. “You’re bein’ funny
so I see you’re good.”

Somehow, I continued to give myself away.

I sighed heavily and turned my attention back
to the window, announcing, “I had intended to read.”

“Then read.”

I looked back at him. “
Alone
.”

“Then read alone. I’ll run down to the
library, find a book, come up and do it with you.”

I tipped my head to the side. “You do have
the word
alone
in your world, do you not?”

“Sure we do,” he replied amiably. “But
figure, you got your head in a book, you’re always alone, even if
someone’s with you.”

If one did indeed have their head in a book,
he was quite right.

I shifted my gaze back to the window.

“Your book’s not out the window,
Frannie.”

Gods, that
name
.

“The green witch has disappeared,” I stated,
my curiosity at said disappearance getting the better of me for I
knew I should say nothing that might strike up discourse. Even
though I needed to say nothing to strike up discourse, Noc was
adept at doing that all on his own.

“She has. According to the others, this is
her way. She comes and goes as she pleases.”

I did not turn away from the window when I
asked, “With the troubles over, is she gone for good?”

“According to Lavinia, she reckons Valentine
will be back. When? That’s anybody’s guess.”

I said nothing for a long time, struggling
with my thoughts that I found the green witch fascinating, and of
all my visitors these last days, she was the one I’d actually wish
to have.

I became cognizant of my reflection in the
window, the chill coming off the glass, cooling my shoulder.

I needed my shawl.

I needed peace and quiet.

I needed my own company.

I needed…

“I can’t picture him,” I declared for reasons
unknown, likely because taking in all this sociability and
outgoingness was making me daft.

“Say again?” Noc asked.

“I can’t picture him,” I shared insanely.
“Antoine. It’s difficult to call him up. I might focus in on a
feature, but it’s elusive. The rest, hazy.”

“Right, see you might not be good,” he
muttered.

He was correct.

I fought my shoulders slumping, and not
simply because that minute movement might cause pain, but of what
it would betray to Noc. A physical habit, this subterfuge, for even
as I fought it, my mouth kept giving him what was in my head.

“I should have hired a portrait artist,” I
said faintly to the window. “Twenty of them. Hundreds of them. I
don’t have a single image of him and my mind is failing too soon.”
My voice fell to a whisper. “Too, too soon.”

I was startled when Noc took my hand. I
looked down to it and up to him to see he’d drawn his chair even
closer, we were but inches away, and he was holding my hand in a
warm, firm grip.

“He wasn’t what he looked like, baby,” he
said gently. “He was always only what he made you feel. And I bet
that isn’t failing.”

Looking into his startling blue eyes, eyes I
knew instinctively I’d never forget, not for a moment, I feared he
was wrong.

I slipped my hand from his grip, placed the
ribbon back into the book, shut it smartly and again turned to the
window.

“Am I right?” Noc pushed.

“He deserves more,” I replied, not looking at
him. “He deserves to have every memory held precious.”

“Memories are what they made you feel too,
sweetheart. But Franka,” not attempting to grab my hand again, he
curled his long fingers around my knee, “if you hold on too tight,
you won’t let go. You don’t let go, you don’t move on. You gotta
hold on to what you can have, the good you got from him, how that
made you feel, but hold on loose, baby, so you don’t miss out on
what might be in store.”

I felt a tinge of pain in my back as my
attention jerked again to Noc.

“And you assume I wish to move on?”

“Not now, maybe,” he said. “It’s too fresh.
But someday, yes.”

“Well, you’d be wrong,” I snapped.

“And what would Antoine think of that?”

I shut my mouth and yet again diverted my
gaze to the window, for I knew exactly what Antoine would think of
that.

And it wasn’t much.

He lived life to its fullest. He loved life.
He taught me to do the same (when I was with him).

He’d be disappointed if I did not continue on
in that vein, now even more so without the threat of my parents
clouding my every move.

Noc gave my knee a squeeze. “This shit, it’s
not for now, Frannie. This shit, you think on in the future. They
say there’re five stages of grief. Wasn’t around you to know if you
hit the first, which is denial. But I know you worked through anger
with the revenge you played out on those witches. Maybe you did the
bargaining but it seems to me you’re in the depression stage now
and you just gotta feel it. Don’t fight it. It’s gonna suck. But
then you’ll get through that, get to the last stage, and accept
it.”

I turned back to Noc, declaring, “That’s
utterly preposterous.”

“Tell me you haven’t touched on all of those,
babe. Say it right to my face,” he dared.

“I haven’t,” I retorted.

His lips quirked. “Think on it and repeat
that.”

“This is a ridiculous exercise, Noc,” I
announced instead of “thinking on it.”

This earned me a half smile and a muttered,
“Right, maybe you’re still in the anger stage.”

“Weren’t you going to go to the library and
get a book?” I reminded him.

His brows went up. “Is that an invitation to
come back and read with you?”

“Absolutely not. However, Frey had the rail
taken out of the door so I can’t bar it against you, so you, and
everyone else in the palace, are free to come and go as you wish,
something you, and everyone else in the palace, feel free to do.
What
I
wish is that you’d go, and if it’s simply to find a
book, this would not be unwelcome.”

He released my knee and sat back. “Don’t be
pissed at Frey for that, sugarlips. I asked him to do that so you
wouldn’t get up to anything stupid.”

“I’ve never been stupid a single day in my
life,” I rejoined.

“I bet that’s true,” he whispered, his eyes
never leaving mine.

I drew in breath through my nose then stated,
“As you seem determined to spend time in my presence, and you and
Frey seem to have a good deal of accord, it would be prudent on my
part to make you useful. Thus, prior to my brother arriving at the
Winter Palace, I’d like you to request of Frey that I’m allowed to
see my parents in jail.”

He did an odd blink where he closed his eyes,
lifted his brows keeping his eyes closed, then opened his eyes only
to share his were filled with disbelief.

“Say what?” he queried just as oddly as the
elongated blink.

“I’d like you to request of Frey that I’m
allowed to see my parents in jail, doing this prior to Kristian and
his family arriving here,” I repeated.

“I heard you, babe, I’m just wondering if
you’ve lost your mind in the last two minutes.”

I found this offensive and foolishly
straightened my back, controlled the wince that move should have
caused and pierced him with a glare.

“I fail to see how desiring a visit with my
parents is losing my mind.”

“Frannie, you never have to see them
again.”

I carefully straightened my shoulders as I
felt my mouth purse.

Then through it, I declared, “A barter, kind
sir, my entire chest of Hawkvale gold if you never call me Frannie
again. And while I’m mentioning that, my entire chest of Korwahkian
jewels
and
the furs if you never call me sugarlips
again.”