Chapter 6—A Rose In The Wild

I had to find out exactly what Dylana's mother had done.

And I had to do it all before Lord Eloroan arrived in Kamiir Garden, house of Lord Aspertin.

A wrought iron gate with gilded stags along its ridges was opened by two sentries to let the carriage pass. The white gravel path cut through the centre of an enormous expanse of lush, emerald green lawn.

With the clomp of horse hooves, we jostled along. I plastered my face to the window to have a better look at the grand house before I remembered that a lady wouldn't behave in such a way.

Kamiir Garden looked smaller than I remembered. The central building was comprised of a round hub that rose up to a tall tower and two wings angled like a pair of arms reaching out to embrace newcomers.

Amidst the blushing orange exterior, rows of large rectangular pedimented windows sparkled in the morning sunlight. The white marble tympanums showed relief sculptures of more stags, squeezed under frilly gables.

A long time ago, I used to accompany papà to Kamiir Garden to deliver wine. I remember thinking then that the house, with all its white stone dressing, strongly resembled a frosted wedding cake.

Papà wanted me to meet Gyran Pyke, the head of Aspertin's household who personally dealt with the wine. Pyke was a middling, bearded man with a deep scar cutting across the tip of his flat nose. His wide-set brown eyes missed nothing. I always got the sense that he was watching me even when his back was turned.

That was back when I was meant to inherit the vineyard and all I saw in my future were vines, grapes, oak barrels and a husband who would fill my belly with babies.

It was before I ran away from home with a purse of dels and begged the mask-maker to take me.

Before I betrayed Marin and gave her the fate I hadn't wanted for myself.

"I'm the only one who won't pretend that you leaving didn't kill us."

I almost shuddered at the memory of the last words Marin had spat at me before storming out of the house. Her eyes had been filled with such loathing, it was like knives stabbing into my flesh.

That was when it happened. They came and took her.

And her words became literal.

The carriage jolted to a stop, its wooden door creaking open from the outside. A footman in a green tunic embroidered with the Aspertin stag placed a step for us to use while a group of grooms untied the horses.

I lifted my skirt as I stepped out after Afali. Green-clad servants stood in welcome, the men on the left of the portico above the main door, the women on the right, and in the centre stood Gyran Pyke, as stout, grey-bearded and scrutinising as I remembered him, with his usual bottle green silk mask embroidered with enough gold thread to seem like a noble's mask.

He looked directly at me and for one dreadful moment my blood ran cold at the way he inclined his head in my direction. He couldn't possibly have recognised me. When I came here last, I was only a child. But the part of me that had been subjected to his inquisitive gaze in the past wasn't convinced.

Afali saw nothing of Pyke's expression. She wasn't raised to take into account what a servant's face did. "Is everything ready?" Afali asked.

Pyke bowed his head. "Indeed, my lady." He nodded towards the line of servants. Two guards I hadn't noticed before stepped forward. They wore vests of ornamental chain mail that was woven with jagged gold plates and their heavy iron masks gleamed in the sunlight, shining as brightly as silver-backed mirrors. They were both outrageously tall, with shoulders so broad they would've made a hefty mantelpiece.

They stood before me like statues, expressionless.

Afali sighed. "Let me guess, my father's orders?" The way she asked the question, with an easy lilt as if she had rehearsed this before, was clearly contrived.

Another intimidation tactic.

"I'm afraid so, my lady," Pyke recited in reply. "His lordship requested that she be searched and—"

"Searched?" Afali sounded genuinely surprised.

I began sweating, not because of the heat of the morning or the size of those guards. There was a knife and a coin purse in my pocket, neither of which I knew how to explain away.

And the blood stains on the collar of my dress hidden by the natural dark hues of the fabric and the veil of my hair—no matter what story I constructed, there was no way that wouldn't raise suspicion.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Pyke," Afali said in a haughty voice and I wondered if I underestimated her ability to act or that having me searched was genuinely not part of her plan. "Lady Dylana is of high blood, a daughter of a Vynam noble family. My father would never order some lowly soldier to search her as if she were a common whore."

"He didn't specify—"

"Mr. Pyke, the law specifies who is permitted to carry out such a task."

"The law?"

"Only a knight of the nine orders who adheres to the Falberry Code can physically search a highborn lady."

"We have no Falberry knights in residence," Pyke said, and it was then that I realised that underestimating Afali would be the stupidest thing I could do.

I stayed as still as I could. While I was sure that Dylana would feel relieved about being spared the embarrassment of being searched, I chose to remain stoic and not show my relief. Too much relief would mean I had something to hide. Only Pyke was watching me, but he was enough of an audience.

I chose what I hoped was a confused expression as I looked from the two guards to Pyke.

"I'm sure my father meant that only her belongings are to be searched," Afali said, and while I knew nothing about the secrets that Dylana might have, I still maintained an expression of wary confusion when I regarded her. I didn't want to give her even the smallest reason to suspect me.

She was smiling venomously. "Father and I will be delighted to have you with us for lunch. I've already gone to the trouble of providing you with suitable attire until your dresses will be available. I'm afraid we've had to dismiss the members of your entourage, particularly that squire of yours and that horrid lady in waiting. They were not up to our standard."

At this, I allowed myself a change of expression. My lips parted and a shiver ran through my body. Afali didn't realise the size of the favour she had done for me. There would be no one in this house who could possibly accuse me of not being who everyone thought I was. "But—" I began, confident that Afali would cut me off.

"Lady Dylana," she said in the voice of one struggling to be patient. "There are. . .certain ways. . .that we go about things here in the north. I'm afraid that your former staff was ill-trained and ill-informed on matters and procedures we, of the civilised north, require of our servants. We cannot even allow a momentary slip in our standards. It is how life is lived in house Cervi. Do you follow, lady Dylana?"

"Yes, Lady Afali," I said quietly. Doubtless, the turmoil Dylana would feel now was worthy of an eruption, but at the same time she would surrender to her fate.

Afali offered me a single nod of approval, and then inclined her head at Pyke. "Kindly escort the lady to her rooms, Mr. Pyke."

"Yes, my lady."

The two burly guards stepped forward, each one more expressionless than the other. I trembled. They wouldn't dare oppose Lady Afali—as long as she needed Dylana's help with the matter of Lord Eloroan of the Fel. But they still scared me. Ordinary men—even those hungry for a girl's touch—never frightened me. I had power too, I was capable of violence.

But not against trained fighters.

"You have nothing to fear, Dylana." Afali placed her hand on the small of my back, a gesture that was too intrusive and intimate and could have brought attention to the blood on my dress. I moved away at once, towards the guards.

I took note of the servants' sliding gazes as I stepped carefully on the stone-paved path that led to the front door. Afali stood back, watching as one guard took the lead and the other walked behind me.

It was like moving between two walking pillars. For the first time in my life, I passed through the high double doors of Kamiir Garden. The doors themselves were thrown open, latched to each side of the doorway by a link chain. The gold-painted wood was carved with a riot of wild game, though naturally a stag dominated the centre of each door, their large round heads and branching antlers stood out over the surface of the relief, presenting any visitors with a vicious snarl.

The entrance hall occupied the entire base of the round central hub of the house with two wide staircases leading off to each wing. I could scarcely detect the hidden doors that led to the servant passages, carefully camouflaged by woven silk tapestries and gigantic oil paintings displaying dramatic battle scenes from a historical period predating the civil war.

The floor was a mosaic of different woods, arranged in the form of a magnificent rose that somehow glowed pink amidst the different hues of brown.

But a rose wasn't a symbol of the Cervi family. Roses were the sigils of house Rosace—the house that was almost equal in terms of power and wealth to the Fel family.

Afali, who was walking at arm's reach again, noticed my momentarily pause as I puzzled over the mosaic. "It was a wedding gift for my aunt who married Lord Vonis Acavia," she explained. "The bond between us and Rosace is not as strong now that my aunt is dead and Lady Leah, my cousin, was removed from her inheritance."

She left it at that. I didn't need the details drawn out for me. There were strict rules about intermarriages among the noble houses. If Afali was a niece of Acavia, the leading branch of the Rosace family, then in terms of marrying up, she had only the option of the Fel.

I could even understand why up was the only direction she could go. Like Lady Leah Acavia, by being a woman, Afali inheritance was not secure.

If I remembered correctly, when I was seven or eight, after his wife died, Lord Aspertin had married Lady Golia Ulumie and soon after she had given him a son.

The rumours were that this son was sickly and was kept out of sight. But when he grew to be an adult, he had the right to petition Lord Aspertin to name him heir instead of Afali.

A lord could never have what is his taken from him, but a lady, if she wasn't powerful enough, could.

***

"Leave me."

My feet sunk into the thick milky carpet of the bedroom that would be mine. The three servant girls remained standing where they were even at my command for them to leave.

I turned to them with blazing eyes. Two were young, around my own age, but the third had grey hair pulled back into a severe chignon, the gold buttons of her green dress fastened closed all the way up to her throat. She held her hands clasped over her crisp white apron and regarded me cooly.

So this was to be Afali's trusted spy. I would have to somehow get rid of her.

I looked right at her when next I spoke. I summoned the privilege and entitlement which I now pretended to posses. "She has taken everything from me. I have nothing but the clothes on my back. I know no one here. All I ask is a moment of privacy."

"Lady Afali has instructed us not to heed your commands, Lady Dylana..." the servant began, her words deliberate and slow.

"I, ask, for a moment of privacy," I repeated loudly.

"I cannot grant your wish, my lady."

"Lady Afali needs something of me. If she wants it, she will have to learn to respect at least my need for some privacy after all I have been through."

"My lady, I cannot—"

I crossed my arms over my stomach and sat on the foot of the bed. For a moment, I almost lost my balance at the springiness of the mattress—I was only used to mattresses made of heather or straw.

"I'll wait. If it suits you, perhaps you could convey a message to Lady Afali. I will not comply with her request unless she gives me a semblance of human dignity."

"My lady, Lady Afali has explicitly instructed—"

"I'm waiting," I said. "Do as you please, oh high and noble servant, but I daresay, you may find Lady Afali quite displeased if my request isn't respected."

Briefly, I wondered, if I was overplaying my part. I had only minimal encounters with the disdain of ladies and lords. My mistress, the mask maker, had some business only with minor Lords who could not afford the handiwork of the greatest mask-makers of Vynam.

I waited in silence, and the three maid-servants continued to stand where they had been. I knew they would later draw me a bath and prepare me for lunch with the Lord, but it was still early, and it was their time I was wasting, not my own.

"My lady..." the servant began, but I wouldn't even look at her.

A whispered conversation occurred shortly after. At the soft sound of feet shuffling over the carpet, I looked up. One of the younger maids was being sent off. "Wait just a moment," I said. The servant girl froze.

I pointed at the elder servant. "Please tell Afali that I refuse to see this woman's face in my presence ever again."

She bowed her head to show me that she heard, and was gone.

***

Afali didn't retaliate. It was obvious to both of us that she desperately needed her plan to work. When two other maidservants returned with the first and the elder one dismissed, I was finally left alone.

The door of the adjacent maids' room was closed. I let the silence descend, my eyes scanning the walls around me. On either side, the wooden wall panes were covered by thick green and gold silk tapestries, displaying the repeated motif of the screaming stag as it sped through a forest, free and wild.

I listened to the creak of the floorboards as the maids in their room moved about. Then I heard a slight tap on the wall, and silence.

I began to amble slowly towards the tapestry that covered the wall I shared with the maids' room. I found what I was searching for quickly. In the black hoof of the stag, the smallest circle had been cut out. I continued past it without looking at it directly, pretending to pace back and forth.

From their visage point, the maid watching me had a blind spot to the corner of the room where a washbasin was erected behind a thick emerald curtain.

I walked to the wash basin, splashing my fingers into the water, loud enough to be heard. At present, there were three things that could incriminate me—the purse, the knife and the bloodstains on my dress. The first two, I may need later. I had to find a place to hide them, so that they would be easily retrieved, but won't be found by anyone but myself.

While my hand still splashed in the basin, I scanned the floorboards under my feet. They sat tightly together, all perfectly levelled. I could try to pry them up using the knife, but I didn't know how I would get the knife back from hiding if I needed it again.

My gaze settled on the mattress. The maid watching me would see me hiding my things and besides, in the morning, when they cleaned my room and turned the mattress, my hidden treasures would be found. The same went for the wardrobe. A lady isn't expected to tend to her own clothes. Whatever I hid in the dresses and shoes would be discovered by whoever had to dress me.

I absently ran my fingers over the thick curtain by the washbasin as I thought. Maybe the floorboards were my only option. I couldn't toss the knife and purse in broad daylight out the window. Even if no one was watching my window—unlikely—the treasures would be found, and the mystery wouldn't be hard to solve.

For a short instant, I was distracted by the feel of the cloth in my hand. Fine textile always sent excitement through me. I wondered about the thread-count of this marvellous curtain, how much it must cost and what beautiful masks I could make out of it. The kind that would be as soft as a breeze over one's face.

I examined the curtain more closely, crouching down to look at the thick hem on the bottom. Apparently, the cloth had been far too long for this corner, and as such, it had been adjusted with a generous hem.

I used the knife to gently pry away the golden thread on the corner of the hem. I could later find a sewing kit to better my secret. My finger slid over the smooth inside pocket of the hem—perfect. Properly folded, I could have concealed a whole dress in here, if I needed.

I slipped the knife in, and then one coin at a time, careful not to create any bulge along the hem. Finally, the empty velvet purse, I folded carefully and pushed inside over the coins, locking them in place so they wouldn't jingle.

I stood, letting the curtain fall to the side, examining my work. My things were effectively concealed.

Now for the dress.

I unbuttoned only the first button as I began to amble back to the centre of the room, visible again under the maidservants' watchful eyes. Then I ripped it open, buttons clattering to the floor and ricocheting over the posts holding up the bed's hangings.

With a cry, a dreadful cry, one that rose from my gut, I tore it from my body. The blood—the murder I committed—was still there, visible to me as a darkness on the back of the dark dress. I clutched two handfuls of the fabric and ripped, the sound making the tears surge from my eyes.

"Draw me a bath," I bellowed when the door of the maids' room was opened and they found me there, naked and weeping. "And burn this. Burn it. BURN IT."

Perhaps they thought I was grieving my imprisonment, or that I was just plain mad.

Whatever it was, they chose to obey.