Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (39 page)

His face was stern, but not unkind, and he wore the gold crown, the black mantle, and the violet robes of state. His left hand was raised, but Adria could never tell if this was in benediction, warning, or command. It had always seemed to change along with her opinion of him, year after year, mood after mood.

His eyes seemed to look elsewhere, even, away from whatever enemy or ally had caused the need for the ambiguous motion. He seemed distant and yet solid, real. A king yet of flesh, and not quite of legend.

Not so very long ago did he seem so commanding
, Adria thought. 
But it seems a lifetime. He is... no king now, and not even legend. Perhaps he has become that stranger in the distance he seems to beckon toward...

Still, Adria smiled to think of him still in such vitality, with such presence. The artist had made several portraits of him, and one each of Adria and Hafgrim, though Adria did not know where these were kept, and did not well remember them.

A portrait of Hafgrim did sit beside the one of their father, though this one had been painted by Adria herself when they were still rather young. It by no means bore any mark of real talent, and Adria had never presumed such, but it nonetheless captured something of him — or, at least, something of what she felt for him.

He had consented to sit for it, his pride and boredom fighting for dominance, and she had done her best in what time he allowed. He wore a silver crown, which Father had allowed them for the occasion, and which had made them both more committed to the task than they might otherwise have been.

His hair had been long at the time, but freshly cut at the base of his chin, the same golden blond which Adria and their father shared. His eyes did not match each other, for Adria’s sense of proportion was off, but their angle was right — narrow, with wide sockets, and arched eyebrows. The nose and chin were thin enough, as well, and she had always felt she had matched the violet of his mantle perfectly — though the texture, sadly, not so well.

I wonder how well he matches this depiction today?
Adria wondered.
Or will I fail to know him, as I did Twyla?

Perhaps the greatest marvel of the room was set in the wall itself, beside the hearth... a spigot and winch which released fresh water from ducts that ran through the walls. These were fed by large cisterns on the roof, between the battlements of the towers of the keep.

This was an innovation, Adria felt, that even the Aesidhe would admire. The water served for drinking and for cooking, for washing and cleaning, and to remove all manner of waste from the citadel. Even in periods of drought, water could be transported from the wells or from upriver to fill the cisterns, though Adria remembered there being only once when this had been needed, and the great number of men required for the feat.

Twyla’s footsteps approached from beyond the door, Adria could hear. 
Alone... and carrying something with some weight or care.

Twyla entered with a tray of food and took it directly to the table, then began chatting aimlessly as she placed their settings, as if neither time nor circumstances had ever separated them.

The information itself was not that useful to Adria, something about the current kitchen staff, but the tone helped Adria relax a little more in the presence of Twyla, who seemed reasonably comfortable in her position, confident of her knowledge, and far less anxious about Adria’s return than might have been expected.

If there is some grand plot against me, Twyla does not seem to be a part of it,
Adria thought, as they sat together for the meal.

“I am very pleased to see you’ve maintained your place here,” Adria smiled, after Twyla seemed to have finished her initial banter. Then she regretted the words, for Adria knew she had left the girl completely to make her own way, since her entire employ had been caring for Adria. Still, Twyla seemed to take the phrase in the intended spirit.

“None would easily dismiss someone who had served a member of the royal family,” Twyla nodded. “And I am still titled a maid-in-waiting, but in duty I’m really just a chambermaid. Since the household was reduced, they’ve become mostly one and the same, and not just for me. Of course, there’s rather less call for companionship these days, and more for simple serving — and not overmuch, even, of that.”

“There aren’t many maids left?”

“There aren’t many of anyone left, at least inside the keep. The courtiers are almost entirely gone. Those few who reside are necessary merely to maintain the citadel, or to attend the few occasional visitors the Sisterhood entertain.” Twyla shook her head, a little sadly. “No, the keep itself is mostly in disuse, and much of it locked tight. The High Temple still has a full staff, but of course the Sisterhood’s initiates perform all of those duties.”

“And Falk is in charge?”

“Of the keep’s day-to-day matters, yes,” Twyla nodded. “And he’s a decent enough sort, though… I find his father...”

Adria read her tone and expression. “Yes, I think I understand. They feel a certain… entitlement. Their titles were born of ambition, and I have little doubt that Falk harbors even more. Such qualities can find use in good or evil purposes.”

Twyla smiled wryly. “You pried much out of the lad on one short walk, didn’t you?”

Adria shrugged good-naturedly. “He was not too reluctant.”

“He seems to know his place for now,” Twyla nodded. “He, at least, would not deny a royal her due. He even made certain I readied your rooms for your return.”

“Yes... my arrival did not seem to be too great a surprise,” Adria ventured, hoping mere suggestions would elicit full responses.

“It was expected you would return any day, though the exact day was not known, or at least not made known to me. Taber seems to know everything,” Twyla answered gamely, with a mixture of awe and something else.

Anxiety... perhaps a little contempt?
 Adria wondered, but saw no reason to voice it aloud.
Perhaps Twyla knew more than she let on.

Twyla sighed thoughtfully. “I have wondered if the sole reason I remain here is to give the presumption that you would return, that all was normal… expected.”

This gave Adria more questions, but she did not wish to press her too quickly, and focused for the moment on her meal. She found herself continuing to be more selective than she had been before leaving. The preparation of the meats and the cheese — how long since she had eaten cheese? — proved rich for her stomach, much as it had at the Marbury Estate, but she nonetheless enjoyed it as much as she could have.

The wine, in particular, revived her enough that she could enjoy her friend much as she once had. This, of course, she paced carefully along with the food, so as not to dull her senses.

“It is clear that Matron Taber has made Windberth more her own,” Adria rejoined. “I was uncertain how welcome I would be, how welcome I am. The Sisters who greeted me first seemed less than respectful of my reappearance.”

“As you well know, the Sisters are not always able to speak with the Matriarch’s voice, to know her mind,” Twyla said, then grinned. “Did they try to turn you away? That should be rich.”

“Nothing so bold,” Adria smiled. “They ignored my title, and tried to refuse me an audience with Taber.”

“Ah,” Twyla nodded. “Then you spoke with her?”

Adria nodded. “Briefly.”

Twyla poured a bit more wine for them both, looking as if she wished to frame a next question.

Adria continued instead. “She was not unwelcoming. She… still has a way of disarming me. But she did not stand in my way. Did not prevent me from seeing…”

She hesitated, and Twyla leaned in and nodded sadly. “You’ve seen your father, then, as well.”

Adria nodded, her eyes down, still unnerved and saddened from the moments she had shared with him.

As they attended their separate thoughts and food, Adria and Twyla shared a silence themselves. Without asking, Twyla traded some of the items on her plate for some of Adria’s, adjusting to Adria’s new preferences.

“Taber knows that I have been among the Aesidhe. This much is obvious.” Adria judged Twyla’s reaction, nodding, “You knew this as well, or you would have remarked on my clothing.”

Twyla nodded.

“Is it common knowledge?”

Twyla shook her head. “I think only within the Sisterhood, and perhaps the Knights. Otherwise, there is only speculation this way and that.”

This piqued Adria’s curiosity. “Where is it said that I’ve gone?”

“Just what you would expect,” Twyla shrugged. “It was often said that you continued your education at a foreign court. Some have said the Northlands, others Somana.”

“A good explanation,” Adria nodded. “The distance would have made return travel less likely. And with the reduction of court, and Father’s...” She hesitated, then abandoned the thought. “Did anyone suspect the truth, beyond the Sisterhood?”

“If not the truth, many suspected the foreign court story to be a lie. Understand, your father was always secretive about you, about your family, so no one wonders that there was no confirmation. The nobility, at least, have seemed none the wiser, mostly. Those with sons are jealous that you seemed likely to stay abroad.”

Adria blinked a moment before understanding. “Yes... one might assume a foreign education as segue to a foreign marriage.”

“Your brother had his own ideas, of course,” Twyla said. “But these were not allowed to flourish. In the end, he was able somehow to learn the truth.”

“And this is how you discovered it?” Adria asked.

“If I remember… I think it was how I confirmed.” Twyla smiled. “Forgive me, Highness, but... one’s servants know most everything, and often share such information with each other.”

Adria ignored the sudden formality. “And yet it went unshared beyond the citadel?”

“Absolutely,” Twyla insisted. “There is not a gaggle of geese in the way you might think. It’s… more pragmatic a concern. An informed staff is better able to serve the house. But... how would it serve for such information to make its way beyond the confines of the house? If servants revealed the goings on of royals and nobles, the world would wander between scandal and war endlessly.”

Adria frowned. “And does a young maid never share such secrets with a lover, and can she not be tempted by the coin of a rival house?”

“I won’t claim there are no such occurrences, but what lover would have the wealth and influence to give a serving maid a life of her own in trade? How much coin would it take to be worth the risk of treachery? Do you think those who serve you are so simple as to risk their lives for a palmful of silver from some rake in a tavern, some foreign princess with a revolving gaggle of mistresses? For all you may wish to say of the Sisterhood, they teach us better than this, to say nothing of my mother.”

“I did not mean…” Adria raised her hands in mock surrender. “I have had no one serve me in three years, Twyla. I honestly have forgotten my place as well as yours. Forgive my foolishness. I accuse you of nothing. I am only weary and anxious, and see traitors in the barest of corners.”

Twyla smirked. “And obviously, I’ve been more among the servants and not so much in service...”

“Have you lived in my apartments?” Adria wondered. “They have been tended.”

“I did at first, when I wasn’t certain what you had done, and believed you’d return in a few hours… or days. I did not… I did not know what to do.”

Adria nodded. “I am sorry.”

Twyla shrugged. “I understood. I knew your heart, Highness. And I was not helpless, even then.”

“No,” Adria rejoined hastily. “Of course not. But I could have left you better kept.”

“With all your wisdom of fourteen winters?“ Twyla smiled. “I was welcomed by the other servants in the lower keep. And honestly, my new accommodations are much warmer than the floor of your tall tower.”

“I should have taken you with me,” Adria smiled, nodding. “The Aesidhe would have welcomed you as an equal. You would never have served anyone again.”

“This is my home.” Twyla blinked, a look between curiosity and skepticism on her face. But she shrugged them both away. “You think of a servant’s life as a lesser destiny. It is a universal presumption, but… I think perhaps you know a little differently now. No matter how we played as children, I would never have traded my life for the loneliness of your station.”

Adria was still nodding, a little speechless at Twyla’s admission, then laughed. “Anyway, I could have left a few coin to pay for the clothing I stole when I left, and I must confess that I have likewise neglected to return them.”

“Hadn’t we planned for you to use them to sneak about, anyway?” Twyla laughed. “In truth, Adria, it comforted me, somehow, to know that even if I could not, perhaps my clothing might help you make your way alone in the world.”

“I wasn’t alone for long,” Adria nodded. “Fortunately.”

Twyla nodded, a little nervously. “You found your uncle.”

Adria hesitated, again surprised with Twyla’s knowledge.

“I must confess now, if that is even the word,” Twyla set down her own spoon and knife. “I’ve learned more than what another servant may know.”

Adria nodded slowly.

Twyla stared for a moment past Adria, perhaps at the hearth. Her hands were still on the edge of the table. Finally, she nodded solidly and swallowed, and smiled sadly as her eyes met Adria’s again.

“It is true I was taken in by the other servants after you left, as I said, but…”

Adria nodded encouragingly. “If it helps, Twyla, had I been you, I would have gone to the Matriarch.”

Twyla blinked slowly, gratefully. “She summoned me first.”

“I see.”

“Understand, it was…” Twyla hesitated. “It was a slowly building lie I was telling. Or… at least a truth I was not telling. I…”

Adria reached over and placed her hands on Twyla’s.

“I kept on as if nothing were amiss. I sent your clothes to the laundry. Brought your food and took the plates away half-empty… chatted to others about you as if… made excuses to your brother, to Brother Rodham, to Sister Avaline. You had… made such an impression of yourself in the months before that I was believed far longer than I should have been.”