Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1) (24 page)

Her discomfort lessened and curiosity increased when this did not happen. No one stopped in front of Evandor's house.

She felt trapped, a bird in a gilded cage. She felt she could trust Evandor, had nothing to fear from him, but that was itself a type of horror. She thought of Orion, wondered who was his master now. She should have asked Evandor, seen if she could leave. But it felt so awkward. What could she in good conscience offer that he would accept? Whoever heard of masters giving their servants a holiday?

Cora told her on the first day Evandor had left for the family estate, an hour's ride by horse. Adara soon found Cora was not maid but housekeeper. When the master was gone she had the run of the place and, apart from the occasional help from her cousin down the street, managed very well. Well, there was the coachman too, but he didn't seem to count. Adara never even heard his name.

“Yes, Miss Cora,” she said once in answer to one of her questions.

“Mercy, what did you call me?” Adara tried to answer but Cora continued. “I'm just Cora, plain and simple, all-by-herself Cora.”

“But you call me Miss Adara, isn't that how I should address you?”

“Sit down, child. I'm the housekeeper. You're... guest, friend, cousin, I don't know...”

“Sister,” she said, her face aglow. She used to be Simon's Desdemona which really meant all-by-herself Desdemona but that was no more.

Cora looked at her strangely. “Well, I'll be. I never heard he had a sister. Leastways, I call you miss, and you call me Cora?”

Adara wondered how she'd heard of Orion and was slow to answer. “I will.”

“Besides, if you were a maid or someone of no account you'd call me Mrs. Cora.” She looked at Adara with another strange look.

“What?”

“You don't believe me? I was married, once. Well, officially so, but seeing as he didn't show up, it's neither here nor there. Mrs. Cora is a sort of joke my married gossips throw at me. But never mind me, Miss Adara, let's see to your wardrobe.”

“Please, if you wouldn't mind, I prefer just Adara.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “Consider it a private joke of my own.”

Cora smiled broadly. “Well, I'll be. Master won't like it: it's not proper.”

“You may call me miss when he is here, then.”

Cora dropped the miss, except for a few oversights, but didn't use her name. They were to go to the dressmakers that morning. Cora kept asking her what she liked. Adara found too much to decide. Finally the dressmaker stepped in and recommended some likely pieces of recent fashion and, after some hesitation that led to simpler styles being selected, Adara finally agreed. When she overheard Cora agreeing to the price she was shocked. She spoke no more until they were several storefronts away.

“For shame, Cora, why didn't you tell me the price?”

“Whatever for, miss?”

“It's repugnant. What use can I have for a third or fourth item to wear, much less eight or nine?”

Cora smiled. “No lady asks that in a great house. I hear that at court one must not wear the same thing twice.”

“Court? You mean the queen?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Have you seen her?”

“Yes, a time or two.”

“Really? How is court?”

“Bless you, miss, but I haven't seen her there! I've seen her carriage pass often enough and once was on the street when she lighted from it and got a good look. Though I'm not one to value looks, I do admit it made me proud to be of Avallonë to see her beauty. There's not many that could compare with her.”

“Cora, who am I here?”

She didn't answer.

“You speak of a great house and court and the queen but what does that mean? Who am I to be?”

“What? I thought you were a long lost sister.”

“Oh no!”

“Then what did you mean by saying so?”

Adara wondered why she had said it, what she had said. It was too jumbled. “I was talking of another.” She fell silent for a time. “Who am I, Cora?”

Cora put down the dress she had been holding. “A guest, a new friend of the master's, I guess.”

“Is it custom in Avallonë to bring guests in handcuffs, silver though they be?”

Cora's face whitened. “Stormclouds and furies! Is that so? I quit, I do. To think he should stoop to such a thing with an honest woman like myself in service!” She flashed a glance at Adara and stepped away. “Not another word, girl, or I shall... I shall...”

Adara blushed and fire entered her voice. “You take me for a loose woman.” She stared the maid down.

“You poor thing, of course! It makes sense now. No manners, no clothes, well, no need to speak on that anymore. Of course that's not the case. Let's get you home, Adara, and fix you up and you and I, we shall have a real chat.”

Adara wondered what it was they were already having. She soon found out. A few questions served to answer Cora's curiosity on her past at which point she handily took on full responsibility for the chat. If Adara had had an aunt or an overly attentive neighbor whose own daughters were grown and out of reach of her input she would have been better prepared for the grueling afternoon.

“What am I going to do with you?” Paris sat to a cold luncheon of meats and cheeses, holding up the last apple with one bite out of it. Orion couldn't guess. He'd spent the last ten minutes dodging flying apples with his hands bound behind him then was made to beg like a dog for his first food of the day, flying grapes.

His face stung and he was sure he must be missing a tooth. He felt like a herd of kardja had run over his back.

“Come, come, you must be more entertaining than that.” A quick wrist flip sent the apple flying his way. “You want to live, don't you?”

Orion sidestepped and turned. His foot came down on one of the half-smashed previous projectiles and slid. He arched his back, balance half lost, and put his face right back in the path of the apple en route. He fell hard.

Paris roared. “Much better!” He clapped three times then Orion heard the sound of plates and smacking as he went back to his meal.

Orion jerked like a fish, trying to remove his chin from the mushed apple. One foot hit the leg of the table. Dishes knocked against each other. His eyes caught sight of a tall goblet flipping stem over lip. With a tinkle of shattering crystal the blood red wine splashed on the floor.

The chair scraped back. Orion was on his knees now and wriggling away as fast as he could. “Country boor!” His nerves tingled. Something hard hit him in the back of the head and fell over. It fell right next to him.

It was a book. It lay open, the binding torn and several pages loose. An elegant typeface filled it with row upon row of letters, enough to make Orion's head spin. He flipped to the front, seeking a title. He didn't find one but a fine scrawl caught his eye, finely written in golden ink.

“For my daughter Astra...”

Raw emotion coursed through Orion's veins. His body stiffened, as if fearing Paris's interference, and he snatched at the words eagerly. He heard Paris walking over and fell over the book.

“Give it here. Now!”

Orion froze. Paris stooped and shoved him aside. “You want this, beggar?” He looked suspicious.

Orion started sweating. He stared at the book in Paris's hand. Where it hung open a full page print of a man in full armor stood next to a white horse. “I want the picture of the horse.”

Paris tore the page out and stared at it. “This?” His brow darkened. “This isn't a horse. You know what this is? A distraction. What the boys did who weren't outside learning to fight. That's right, they colored these.” He flipped through the book. He showed Orion another. “See here? This is inscribed 'Queen Greta.' Looks nice, doesn't she? Very beautiful, so fitting for a queen of the pearl of all cities! Wrong!” his voice crashed down. “My father met her. She was as ugly as a worm and twice as fat. The picture's a lie, same as your 'horse.'”

He threw the book into the fire. “No!” Orion cried out.

“Shut up. You know, I had half a mind to tell you something. But I won't. Leave me.”

There was no resisting that glare. Hands still meekly at his chest he walked out, eyes open, into the room that held him when Paris was not amused at his presence. The steward laughed coldly and locked the door behind him.

Orion breathed a sigh of relief and, from under his cloak, drew out the dozen or so pages he'd torn from the volume.

Cora's talk with Adara was pleasant enough. “Miss” did not appear in the conversation once, unless it were a verb, and all formality was lost. Adara's only annoyance was how she misunderstood Orion entirely: “of course he said that, what young lads come up to tickle a pretty girl's fancy.” Adara challenged this, saying she didn't think that was the case. Cora took her to be denying her own beauty and the conversation diverted and left all things Adara's heart longed to have answered.

Cora showed her every mirror in the house, then had her wear the red dress—“what a shame Evandor has the carriage, else we wouldn't have to wait for that lazy shop boy to bring your new clothes”—and look at them all a second time, and more that had missed the first look.

“You may be right to keep silent as to your beauties, my dear,” for such had the familiarity become in a few short hours, “for they speak for themselves. Also, not all mirrors tell the truth.”

Upon such remembrance, nothing would stop her until she had filled her cooking pot with water—“no one would enchant such a thing, not a bit of silver in it”—and soaked Adara's hair in water in her attempts to find the perfect angle for her reflection in the water. Of course it was hard, her hair splashing it so often, but Cora was determined.

In one of the back rooms she grabbed a silver necklace and set it on Adara's neck. Adara, bored at seeing herself once again, was watching the maid fiddle with it behind her. Cora looked into the mirror and her mouth sprung open but no sound came out. A look of shock crossed her face.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Her eyes teared up. She just looked at Adara, or rather her reflection, and sighed.

Adara couldn't make out her expression. She was about to ask when bells chimed in the background.

In an instant Cora was off to the kitchen, loudly blaming the sun for having sped through the day faster than it should and keeping her from finishing her duties. Adara heard sniffles not fully hidden by the exclamations. Her eyes flicked back to the mirror. Her concerned half-smile amused her for a moment then she felt icy chills go down her back.

She spun around to look behind her but all looked the same. She looked back in the mirror. The necklace caught her eye. It was merely a linked chain of silver, a little tarnished. A horrible suspicion likened the workmanship to the silver handcuffs she'd worn yesterday morn. She reached her hands back to unclasp it but her fingers couldn't manage the delicate catch.

Oh well, Cora can take it off later. It was too short to pull past her jaw. She wandered through the room seeing much to interest in the moment but not much worth remembering. She went on to the next. It was delightful to wander in the cool half-light. She no longer heard Cora and Evandor was not even in the city. She entered the next room, and the next, slowly making her way back.

It was in the fifth room when she realized she had not entered any hallways and was entering directly from one room to another, some sitting, some bedrooms. Something felt strange about the room. It was familiar, yet not. She walked around it, looking intently. Yes, she'd seen the chest of drawers before. And the chair. And the rich tapestry of bursts of yellow.

She went into the next. She recognized all the pieces and began to get a headache. Walking faster she tried the next room. The same thing. Three rooms later she was back in front of the yellow tapestry but it now hung behind the chest of drawers which was now on the opposite wall.

She pressed her fingers to her temple and sat on the floor. She couldn't bring herself to touch any of the furniture. What kind of house was this? Did it burrow all the way back through the city?

She got up quickly and, after a moment's hesitation, returned the way she came. Four rooms later she had entered the first, as she thought, room with the yellow-tapestry. Now there was no chair: a day bed, not seen before, looked up at her mockingly. She screamed for Cora. She ran on and passed through the same rooms. She screamed again.

Minutes passed and there was no answer. She sank to the carpeted floor and cried.

Twenty

My dear Astra,

It is, at present, the fashion among the great to make a habit of keeping an empty book by them and therein writing matters of the moment. They so create a treasure trove of experience in surety for the ever-fickle brain, even those as smart as you, my daughter.

I once began this but soon gave it up. And for that I would have much regret except for my volume of Cities, rescued from my tutor. Its failing in his eyes—that of leaving out half the facts and reporting the rest in a sensational manner—was the sum total of its initial wonder to me.

The heroes in this book—many of them our forebears, names well known to you—have been my lifelong friends. They have counseled me in distress, celebrated with me in victory, and with me endured long nights far from home.

I wish for you to know them, as I have known them.

Your loving father,