Queen of Jastain (12 page)

“Lord Ventium is gone. He went to the vineyards to prepare for the harvest. He won’t be back until after the festival.”

It suddenly occurred to her that not only had she understood Helean completely, she'd spoken in Jastainian. She could speak Jastainian?

The revelation of Helean's words registered in her mind. The festival was in three days and she wouldn’t see Avant until then. She leaned over and threw up.

* * * *

Abby lay alone on the sofa for most of the day, watching the sunlight glide slowly across the floor. She hadn't even been in this world a week, and already it felt like a lifetime. Maybe Avant's memory caused the effect. Everything was all at once foreign and strangely familiar.

Avant had left her there, passed out on the sofa after she was doing everything in her power to help him. What was up with that? An awful aching gripped her heart in a steely bear trap. Home seemed impossibly far.

The events from earlier in the morning were hazy at best. She could barely remember having breakfast and then talking with Avant. So much seemed like a dream where her memories lurked on the edge of consciousness. Memories she wasn't sure she wanted to surface.

As the sun set, she gathered herself and trudged up to her room for the evening. She slept in fits all through the night. Frenzied dreams of fighting and death, an evil king, and a beautiful woman with brown hair and doe eyes infiltrated her mind.

Early the next morning, Helean woke her for breakfast and work. “Come, my dear, you can’t sleep the day away again. It's time to rise up and meet your new life.”

Abby moaned and covered her head.
Is everyone an effin’ Socrates around here?

“The Land Master has requested your presence for breakfast and has a task for you this morning.” Helean bustled in with the washbasin and a pitcher of water.

At the mention of Petra, she sat up in bed. “Helean, what do you know about Master Petra?”

The brown-haired woman turned to survey her. “Oh, as much as any, I suppose. Lord Ventium made him bailiff a few years ago. Master Petra is charmed, they say. The fief has more than doubled in yield under his leadership. He has a way with the animals, and he's a good boy. I expect he'll find a wife very soon. He has his pick of any maid in the village.” Helean sighed. “But he is too much like Lord Ventium—waiting for something.”

Helean would be a valuable resource in the house, and Abby loved harmless gossip. “Thank you. I’ll be down in a minute.”

She dragged herself out of bed in the early morning for the second day in a freakin' row. Didn’t these people need sleep? At least she didn’t feel dizzy anymore. She washed and dressed herself in the clothes from the previous day and pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail.

Padding downstairs, she went to meet with Petra, who waited at the kitchen table for her.

“Good morning.” Petra stood awkwardly as she walked in. “I'm glad you're feeling better. We've a few things to do before the festival tomorrow.”

God, he looked like Chad. She smiled in greeting, and his cheeks flushed. “What would you like me to do?”

“Avant wants you to help prepare for the festival while he's away, and tomorrow you can ride with me to the celebration.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned playfully, showing beautiful white teeth and a hint of a dimple in his cheek.

“The party's going to be in the main square tomorrow night?” Abby sat in front of the small bowl of oatmeal and an apple.

He nodded. “There's much to be done before then. Please eat, then I'll show you your task. We’ll have you at the grinding stone today, and Avant specifically requested you tend the chickens.”

She felt all the blood drain from her face. “Chickens...oh, I don’t know. I'm not good with live animals.” Or dead ones for that matter. She never cared for animals, and didn’t have any pets back home.

“You’ll do fine, my lady.” His eyes twinkled with encouragement.

He was adorable and exuded much more personality than Chad. The familiarity of his face gave her a measure of comfort even if it did remind her of the rat bastard that screwed her over. It was still something from home.

She finished eating, and Petra led her to the chicken coop. He explained all she had to do, handed her a small basket, and left her to the task.

After almost an hour and several attempts to enter the disgusting lair of the demon fowl, she gathered one egg. One. She scowled as she handed it to Helean, who seemed wise enough not to ask.

This was ridiculous. She hadn't come to this place to be Avant's servant girl. He could kiss her ass, because she wasn't doing any more of his menial labor. Wasn’t she the revered Chosen One? Never having actually worked a day in her life, she never thought her first occupation would involve a chicken coop.
Damn it.

Abby rolled her eyes and stormed up to her room. She threw herself across the bed and sulked. Her mind buzzed. He expected her to be his
servant
. Well, screw him. She wasn't taking another step inside that coop.

A groan escaped her lips. The idea that she might disappoint him made her heart sink. His blue eyes pierced her thoughts. He might as well get used to the fact she wasn't who he believed.
Never would be.

Abby stood and paced to the window. Outside, laborers hustled around with plenty of work to be accomplished in a short time. The windmill stood empty. That was where she was supposed to be. At least, that was where Petra told her to go. Nowhere in this whole place was where she
was supposed
to be. She was
supposed
to be at Macy's buying new school clothes. Still, she had promised to help. Blowing out a long sigh, she headed downstairs to do what she could.

Making the best of the situation became easier since she could speak the language, and so far, everyone was friendly. Although unasked questions remained in their glances, their smiles seemed sincere and welcoming. She worked hard all day until Petra came and got her for dinner. She trudged after him to the house, ate, and then went back to work until well after midnight. After finishing, she lugged her weary ass to bed and slept like a stone all night long.

The next morning before the sun rose, Helean scurried around her room. “Get up, my dear. The day will start without you. You must get up, up, up.”

Abby curled her lips into a snarl. She liked Helean, but if something other than her pillow had been within reach, she would've thrown it at the perky little wench. Her arms were made of lead, and her neck rebelled against the task of holding her head up. “Can’t I sleep for a couple more hours? I worked until after midnight.”

“My dear, everyone worked until after midnight, and we’re up already. This is what you do during the harvest. There is much still to be done before tonight, and I promise to let you have a bath and dress this afternoon. Come, come.”

Shit.

Practically everyone in the fief and the village spent the last two days in the vineyards picking grapes for the new wine. That night they would celebrate the harvest.

Based on the limited memories that had appeared in her mind, the party would be filled with eating, drinking, and dancing. Hopefully, she wouldn't fall asleep.

Abby wasn’t exactly clear on all the traditions, but since Avant's Implanting, his memories began to fill in the holes. It was a strange phenomenon.

When she met someone new, their name would come to her mind along with all of Avant's thoughts and feelings about them. His memories told her he loved Petra and thought highly of his land master's Gift and work ethic but found him to be a bit of a clutter bug. Helean he respected and admired for her organizational skills, but knew she was prone to gossip. He'd caught one of the field hands in the barn with a milkmaid and planned on insisting they marry.

Avant knew the people who worked for him, and he used this knowledge to draw the most and best from them. His strategy was ingenious, but the most striking thing was his motives. He genuinely cared for his people and wanted them to be the best for themselves. She could've never imagined all that went on in his head. As of yet, no memories or thoughts of her had surfaced. Not that she really wanted them to.

Blowing out a haggard breath, she dragged her reluctant butt out of bed and plodded downstairs. At least someone else had gathered the eggs.

She helped in the kitchens most of the morning and cleaned up after the cooks who came in from the village.

After taking a quick break, Abby headed back to the kitchen, but stopped short outside the threshold when she heard the chattering women discussing her.

“…I don’t know where she came from, but the dress she had on was not…decent. She was wearing strange underpants and no corset,” Helean whispered.

“No! Well, is she the Lord’s mistress?” asked the plain-faced woman from the village she met earlier.

“It seems likely, but I can't tell. He may have brought her here for the Landmaster. They seem to be about the same age. And the young Master is quite taken with her,” Helean said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Surely, Lord Ventium wouldn't have brought her here to marry. Although, he is still a bachelor and needs to be settled, if you ask me. He as good as gave his blessing for my Saundra to wed Master Petra. I can’t imagine he would have brought the girl here for someone other than himself,” said a little round woman whom Abby knew to be the baker’s wife.

She cleared her throat and walked into the room. All the ladies looked up and smiled. Yep. It was the same everywhere. Old crows were gonna gossip.

Helean clapped her floured hands together causing dust to billow. “My dear, are you ready for your bath? We must prepare you, and I have already drawn your water on strict instructions.”

Were they Petra’s instructions or Avant’s? Either way, she could use a bath.

“Thanks. I'm ready.”

“Now, dear, your clothes for the festival are already upstairs. You can wear the robe from the bath to your room and leave your work clothes for the laundry.”

“There are special clothes for the festival?”

“Yes, dear. For you, there are.”

“I didn’t realize….” Great. One more thing for them to gossip about.
The Lord’s Mistress
. Hardly. Then a memory of Avant’s wife surfaced in her mind. They apparently had no idea about Sentieve. What kind of name was that anyway?
Sentieve
. Abby curled her lip and wrinkled her nose.

“That’s all right. Run along. Busy. Busy. It would not do for you not to be up to specifications.”

Abby rolled her eyes. She went into the little adjacent room, undressed and soaked in the steamy tub. The warm water soothed her, and her eyes drooped. She scrubbed her dirty face with a cloth. The sound echoed in the quiet room.

Why had Avant left her without so much as a good-bye? The murmur of voices outside amplified her loneliness.

And what of his wife? She hadn't remembered Sentieve until now. An unfounded hatred for the woman filled her. He'd waited twenty years for that woman. She shook her head. As far as she was concerned, the mousy doe-eyed twit could wait another twenty before she found out he was alive. The harshness of her thoughts shocked her. Why did she even care? Had something happened during the Implanting? Is that why Avant left?

Struggling with her thoughts and her work-weary limbs, she finished her bath and headed to her room. 

A shimmering teal-green dress lay across her bed, greeting her as she came through the door. Next to it laid a choker in rose gold, intricately designed in a leaf pattern and set with sparkling green stones.

She ran to the bed and picked up the long silk gown, twirling in a circle. It was hard to believe that a man could've picked these things. In her experience, guys didn’t know clothes, but these were perfectly matched to her size, shape and coloring. Whoever had chosen them for her had a keen eye.

She missed Avant. Now that he Implanted into her and she was a full-fledged member of his world, would he treat her differently? She would know in a few hours.

Her heart fluttered at the thought she would see him soon. She rushed to get ready.

Using her new comb, Abby French braided her hair and tied it back. Even without a full-length mirror, she felt sure the dress flattered her. If she'd handpicked the gown herself, she couldn’t have done a better job. The necklace added a perfect touch, but she needed color on her lips. She pulled out her bag and unzipped it. Finding the beaded clutch, she searched for her favorite lip-gloss. Out fell the little black box.

Abby picked it up and opened it, smiling sadly.

Jonathan Randall had been a dentist by trade, but, in his heart, he was a philosopher. In demand all over the world for training sessions and speaking engagements, her dad was the most brilliant man she knew, except for Chad.

He'd called a few weeks before her birthday, as he always did, to ask what she wanted for her present. She never got what she really wanted, just to see him, but she always got whatever she requested.

His schedule wouldn’t permit him to come home, but he said that to turn twenty years old was a
milestone birthday, and she would soon embark on a new season of her life, learning things about herself she couldn’t have imagined.
Could he have known what would happen to her? He always said shit like that, though.

She'd told him she wanted diamond stud earrings.

“Diamonds? When you accept diamonds, Abigail, there's always a commitment of sacrifice, but if there's love then the sacrifice is worth taking.”

He'd made it sound like a life or death choice. With her dad, nothing was ever straightforward or easy.

A week and a half later he'd died of a heart attack on his way home. The first time he'd been home to see her in over a year. The earrings were given to her, along with all of his personal effects, when she claimed his body at the hospital two days before her twentieth birthday. She remembered thinking he'd made it home for the occasion after all.

Looking down at the icy sparkle of the three-carat stones, she drew in a heavy breath. Most people would never wear even one diamond the size and quality of her pair. But she saw them as she saw her father, with admiration and longing, and she would trade them in a heartbeat for someone who loved her and a place where she belonged. Tears dripped onto the velvet. Maybe that was what he meant by sacrifice. She had all these beautiful things in her life, but without the love he'd spoken of, they weren't worth anything.