Chapter 30

Time starts again and Leander slaps Aaliyah as he drops his hand. The sound echoes through the high ceilings and reverberates off of the pillars. His face immediately goes from tan to pale as Aaliyah levels a glare of annoyance on him. He starts to slowly back away, but aaliyah is quicker as she slaps him back and scowls, grabbing him by the shoulder and whispering something into his ear.

Draven, again, just looks stoic and stiff, exactly as he has been all morning.

My mood is significantly brightened as Gislee Vaugrenard comes up the steps to greet us. I know that she's struggling up the steps, but her pride doesn't allow her to ask for help or show that her knees are getting weaker as she ages. No, I suspect that she'll be up and moving until the day she dies.

When she finally hobbles up to the top of the black and white marble steps, she hugs me, pats my cheek, kisses the other and looks me over. I feel bare as her eyes take me in, raking over my slender figure, noting the scars that I've always hidden in a glamour. She's long since memorized their placement as she's seen them a thousand times. Her eyes don't linger and her energy doesn't drop, she's just making sure that I'm whole and alright.

When Gislee is satisfied with her assessment, she moves onto Draven, hugging his unmoving, locked up body. He doesn't greet her, only moves to push her away only to realise that he can't.

No one pushes Gislee Vaugrenard away.

She proceeds to go to Leander and Aaliyah, pulling them apart from their bickering and greeting them at the same time. She has a talent for this kind of multitasking. I can't count how many of my fights she's broken up over the years, how many wounds she's bandaged and mental scars she's helped heal.

There was a time when I was just angry with the world and had lashed out at everything and everyone. I was littler then, though. It was a different time and I played by a different set of rules. I wasn't queen and the only weight on my shoulders was the fear of Aries and fear for my sister's safety.

She turns to me, simultaneously pecking Aaliyah's cheek, "These three are part of your secret harem, yes?" She doesn't give me a chance to say anything in defense before she squeals, her older features scrunching up in unadulterated joy, as she says, "I knew it. Just knew it. When is the wedding," in that gravely, yet unmistakably feminine voice that she carries so well.

Draven brushes the arm of his three piece suit off, as if Gislee were a disease, "there will most certainly not be a wedding. I happen to be married." The last word is spit with disgust and I can't help but feel bad for him.

I don't recognize the look that passes over Leander's face, but something is there and his attention is no longer focused on Aaliyah. I'll have to evaluate it later in between my upcoming death, a few meetings and a stack of paperwork that's likely to be better off in Valerie's hands.

Gislee pays him no heed as she walks to me quickly and checks me over again, this time far more brief and for show, "I'll get Karina to make your dress, she was a seamstress a little while back, and Merrin and I will have to make the cake. You like lemon right?"

I try not to think of the implications of her words. I have no plans to ever marry again. That sort of attachment can only hurt. The very thought of being married to Aaliyah after she was presumably with my mother is an awful thought and Draven and Leander just aren't my type.

I can appreciate the three's beauty without having relations with them. I let her comments go as I make formal introductions between the four of them.

"Elder Vaugrenard, this is General Leander Night, General Aaliyah Keita and Consul Draven Atkinsons." I say, motioning to each as I say their name, completely used to Gislee's antics. I've learned to brush these kinds of ideas away. She's never been known for her tact. I'm still sure that it was her influence on Jezebel that's made Jezebel the way she is.

She looks away from me and I already know that I don't want to hear what's about to come out of her mouth, "ignore her. Evelyn is a sweetheart, she can be so stiff sometimes. Call me Gislee."

I swear I die of embarrassment right then and there. I see myself falling to the floor in shame or hiding my face somehow because Gislee did not just call me a sweetheart in front of my allies. She did not tell them to ignore me because I am harmless.

I absolutely must be dreaming.

Draven stiffens, his face carefully blank, his hands curling into fists at his sides, "She's not quite as innocent as she looks, I suspect."

Gislee, previously giving the three a wide berth, turns all of her razor sharp focus and attention onto Draven, "That tongue will get you into a great deal of trouble, boy."

I am desperate to take all of her scrutiny away from Draven. I understand that he most likely thinks that I have something to do with the disappearance of his wife and I don't blame him.

I truly am sympathetic despite his suspicion of me. I know what it's like to wait for someone that you know is never coming home. The way one tends to imagine and play out every awful possibility in one's head is simply terrible.

For all the world, I smile like the sun is about to burst from me, I will not be the one to bring him down further, so I ignore him, "how is the bakery? Andre?"

She turns away from him with reluctance, facing me. Her eyes still narrow at Draven from the corners, though and I know she's not going to let that comment slide when she gets him alone.

"My husband is neurotic and has an obsessive personality disorder. He's managing, but with Alexandre gone, it's been more difficult. He bugs me constantly for him." She perks up, moving on, "And the bakery is wonderful. I make Pear tarts now. You simply must have to try one later."

I raise my eyebrow in question, "last time you made pear tarts for guests, the visitors were gone before they were here. Flame knows what you've put in them this time."

She waves me off, her eyes crinkling up in amusement as she finally takes her concentration away from Draven's direction, "I've never done anything of the sort."

I scoff playfully, my bros lifting and my skin stretching with the gesture, "Please, Gislee, I distinctly remember a cured Alfajor that I ate. It left itchy splotches on my face for three weeks."

Gislee turns from me once more, gesturing to me as she speaks in Leander and Aaliyah's direction, completely ignoring Dravens existence, "People should start calling her the Queen of drama and drop the whole cruel queen thing. It's much more fitting. Don't you think?"

Leanders laughs as Aajiyah swats his hand away from her, Aaliyah shifting uncomfortably. "I've been waiting for someone who can take her ego down a few pegs." Leander says in a joking manner. Gislee's face twists up into delight as she gazes at Leader, taking in his eyes, clothing, stance.

"Are you married, boy?"

"I can't say that I am."

Gislee narrows her amber brown orbs, "are you having relations with Evelyn?"

It's his turn to shift and squirm under her sharp gaze, "Um-err- no."

"Why?"

He shrugs, trying to avoid her eyes, looking up, then down. To the sides. Left then right. Right then left. He doesn't respond.

Gislee, still staring at Leadner throws a question at me over her shoulder, "When is the wedding with this one? I approve whole heartedly."

"There is no wedding Gislee."

She huffs, spins on a heel as fast as a person of her age can, and stalks off, expecting that we follow. The Elder of the fourth sector is on a warpath. She doesn't like to be turned down, but this is a little foolish, even for her.

I motion for the others to follow me as I catch up with Gislee, their steps a herd of hoofs behind me, "I'm sure I'll get married someday, but not now and certainly not under these conditions. You can make the cake when the day comes, I don't begrudge you that."
"I better." She says, somewhat placated. We take a few more turns down medieval styled buildings, but with running water and working lights, of course. Each one is unique and I can't help but marvel.

No matter how many times you see it, it never gets old. It stuns you and amazes time and time again. We pass through the street where visiting Elders come to stay, a few townhouses lining the drives. They are made of grey, large, stones and wood, only about six windows on each, for privacy, no doubt.

The streets we walk down are just plain old brick that's a little torn up and damaged in places, but ultimately looking rather nice.
I enjoy the silence of the walk, the calm in the air, until my stomach lerchs again and I have the all consuming urge to find a bucket and bring up the small snack that's left in me. Black, gooey, bile rises up my throat and I swallow it.

It's foul, but I push it down and manage to keep it down as we arrive at a place that's similarly fashioned to the townhouses, but this building is taller and not nearly as wide.
Gislee pulls out her key, twisting it in the lock. We hear a click as the door opens. Gislee turns to us briefly before entering, "Welcome to Vaugrenard Dough."

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