Children of the Blood (14 page)

Darin took a deep breath. “No, lord.”

Lord Darclan’s stare grew more intent.

Darin could not look away, although he wanted to. He had no idea why he had answered the way he had—but he knew, suddenly, that it was true. It frightened him.

“Why not? Because she is weak? She
will
be well soon. And she is high born.”

Darin’s face grew thoughtful as fear momentarily gave way to a dangerous introspection. After a few minutes, he said, “It isn’t because she’s weak. It’s—she’s—” He turned a winter shade of white, remembering too late who his audience was.

To his surprise, the lord withdrew his hand. As if to himself, he said, “I see that I have chosen well. Go.”

Darin did not hesitate. With as much dignity as he could muster, he sprang across the room and out of the partially opened door.

When he had gone, the lord rose from his chair and walked with restless grace to his bookshelf. There he picked out an ancient, leather-bound volume. He opened it, running his fingers along its edge.

“You always did like children. Perhaps, now, you will have the chance to enjoy them.”

He wondered, at length, what she would be like upon waking.

 

She woke at dawn. The curtains had been pulled to allow the first tentative overtures of daylight to brush across her face. She sat up in bed and stretched her arms upward, ignoring the ache of—
how long has it been?—
days of inactivity. She could barely remember the time that had passed; blurred images of drifting half-awake returned slowly, and with it a sense of isolation and darkness.

She sat up abruptly, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

A small cough came from the doorway, and she swiveled her head at the sound.

“Hello.” Her word was soft with warmth and relief. Loneliness retreated with the last thread of sleep.

A boy hesitated in the doorway, a large, unwieldy tray in his hands. At the sight of her smile, he seemed to freeze for a moment, suddenly unsure of where he was going.

“Your breakfast, lady,” he said, trying for all the world to be the perfect picture of diligent, sober obedience. And it would have worked, were it not for the unusually heavy tray that set his arms trembling.

She laughed then, grateful that she could, and the last of the darkness fell away. Her smile spread across her face, across the room to touch the boy. It was a warm, new laugh, full of a life that demanded an answering warmth.

Darin bowed his head. He had thought, maybe, that she would laugh like that. And now he didn’t know what to do.

Mistaking him, the lady said, “I wasn’t laughing at you, child.

“Well, maybe I was at that. But only a little. Here. I’m sorry. Won’t you come in and set that heavy thing down? They really should have sent someone else.” She started to rise, almost too
eagerly. This child, this boy, was familiar somehow, and she didn’t want him to leave. Not yet.

At this, Darin did look up. He was torn between fear and disappointment. The fear was obvious: If the lady found his service unsatisfactory, it could well mean his death.

But the disappointment was more dangerous. He realized that somehow, watching over her sleep and waking, feeding her and giving her the water that kept her alive, had become important. It shouldn’t have mattered who served the lady—in fact he knew well that it would certainly be safer to do almost anything else in the castle. But he
had
watched her; he’d nursed her to health, and he’d discovered perhaps the one noble in all of Veriloth who might just be human.

Maybe it was the stones, so clean and gray beneath the rising sun of the quarter, that had given rise to his ridiculous hope. He didn’t know. He only knew that he didn’t want to give it up.

With determined authority, he brought the tray to her bedside table and, with no small effort, lifted it and placed it down.

With a tentative, nervous smile, she said, “I’m really making a mess of things, aren’t I? It must be the morning. I feel as if I haven’t seen one in centuries, and it’s making me a bit thoughtless. Please forgive me. Yours is the only face I remember. I don’t even know what mine looks like.” She lifted her hands and ran them along her cheeks.

Darin watched as her fingers continued to play along the contours of her face. He wondered what she was doing, until she looked up and grinned.

“No scars.”

He heard the words as if from a distance, and almost leaned over to catch them.

He could clearly see, for the first time in years, the wrinkled face of the Grandmother that the shadow had obscured. The Grandmother, with her age-honed tongue, and the eyes that saw everything so clearly. The dull ache that had companioned him for nearly five years became a sharp pain and a sharper fear.

No. Grandmother
...

The lady’s face grew quiet as she saw the inexplicable change in his. She caught his chin before he could lower it, the tip of her finger a gentle restraint.
Child, what is it? What’s wrong
?

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t be teasing you.

Thank you for bringing breakfast to such an impossible patient.”

Darin didn’t know what to say.
Is this a game? Are you playing at something I can’t see
? He looked up, met the wide, serious green of her eyes, and looked away.

He was awkward. He reminded her so much of—of ... she tried to capture the image and felt it flitting away. She looked at the boy’s bowed head, knowing that he expected her to recognize all of this.

Maybe
, she thought as she straightened her back,
he’s only troubled because I don’t. Maybe he’s just worried about me.
Sighing, she forced a smile to her lips for his sake.

He didn’t look up.

“Have you eaten yet?”

At this, Darin did look up. The question was unusual—it was something she should have known well enough.

“No, lady.”

“Oh. Well, then, as I’ve no company, would you care to join me?”

Darin’s face turned blank. This type of trick, apparent and obvious, had trapped him once or twice before. He was not about to step into it now; not even for her.

And she caught the change again.

He’s afraid of me.
She didn’t know why, but she knew it was true. Her face darkened—she couldn’t remember whether or not she deserved his fear.

“I’ve done it again. I’m sorry. I don’t understand what it is you expect of me—I wasn’t joking when I told you I don’t even know what I look like. Tell me. Tell me what I should be doing.”

Darin looked at her as she held out her hands, palms up. They were shaking. If she meant it, he could tell her anything, anything at all, and she’d believe it. He bit his lip, avoiding the way her eyes suddenly closed.

“Please,” she said, her voice even softer than normal.

She meant it. She really meant it. He didn’t know what to do. Of all the things he expected, being
asked
for help by a noble was not one.

No
, he thought, as he took a deep breath.
No, I can’t chance this. I can’t
. But he couldn’t leave, either, until she dismissed him.

So he stood, pinned by the helpless expression that transformed her whole body. Stood silent, waiting for the order.

Fifteen minutes passed, and she still would not give it. He felt odd; his face was hot.
What am I supposed to do? Bright Heart, what
?

“Lady, would you like me to bring you a mirror?”

She started, as if the sound of his voice surprised her, and he wondered what she had been thinking. But she smiled, her nod pronounced.

With great relief, he fled the room in search of polished silver. He would have to go back, and soon—but he needed the time to think.

 

The lady looked down at her hands; they were white; they were shaking.

She stood, belted the soft robe she wore, and began to pace across the plushness of golden carpet.

The window was a source of light. She walked over to it, turning her face to the sky as if it held answers.

 

Who is she?
Darin rubbed his tunic yet again over the surface of the silver mirror. He held it up, squinted at his slightly distorted image, and began to polish it anew. Not that any more dirt was likely to be taken from it, but it would explain his absence.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps, but it was only Jen, off across the hall to continue his cleaning duties.

The sun was near half-up; soon it would be time for lunch. He’d have to arrange to get it to her and to clear the old food away.

The growl of his stomach reminded him that he’d not yet had the chance to eat either. Sighing, he stood. He’d been sent for a mirror, and he’d have to get this over with sometime.

 

The door opened.

The lady looked up. Her hands gripped the edge of a large chair tightly for a moment before relaxing. She smiled, but the smile itself was shadowed and false.

“You came back! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

“No, lady.” Darin bowed low and took the opportunity to control the sudden flutter of his stomach. “There aren’t many silver mirrors, and I wanted to find you the best.”

She held out a hand without waiting for him to finish, and he walked over to where she sat, placing the cold frame of the mirror into her icy hand.

She didn’t look at it.

Instead, she looked up at him.

“You’re afraid of me,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Darin was surprised again. He wondered then if anything the lady said would not surprise him. The lord’s face flickered between them, with the echo of a similar question.

“No, lady,” he said, speaking half to her and half to the man who claimed his ownership. And saying it for a second time, he found that he did believe it, as much as any slave could.

It frightened him, which was good: fear had kept him alive in House Damion. He needed it to keep him alive here. He turned and walked over to the breakfast dishes.

To his dismay, none of the food had been touched. Eggs, sausages, ham, bread—all of these things were cold and undisturbed.

He was not afraid of the lady.

He was too smart not to be afraid of the lord.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, his voice quiet and small.

She shook her head. The mirror still wavered in her hand. “Are you?”

He closed his eyes and nodded.

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.” She rose, setting the mirror down carefully.

“If you don’t mind cold food, do you think you could join me?”

She had offered, again. Darin looked at her pale face, noticing for the first time how gaunt she looked, and noticing, as well, the way she watched him.

“If—if you don’t mind.”

The tension seemed to ebb out of her, and she stumbled as if it had been the only thing that kept her standing.

Without thinking about it, Darin was already at her side, his arm under her arms, his feet firmly planted in the wool of the carpet.

“Lady,” he said, as he helped her back to her bed, “you haven’t been awake very long. You must be careful.”

“I’ll try,” she said softly.

“Do you want me to get warmer food? This has gone cold.”

She shook her head. “I don’t see any reason to waste it just because I didn’t eat it when it was first brought.”

He nodded automatically as he tried to pull the covers back. She had to help a little; he was not big enough to hold her and pull them as well.

He dragged the heavy bedside table over.

“There’s only one set of cutlery,” she said quietly.

Darin nodded.

“Could you get more, do you think?”

He nodded again.
You only have to order it
.

“We could share these?”

He shook his head. “I’ll get—I’ll get more.”

He found the comfort of the quiet halls again.

 

This time he returned promptly. His chest was still heaving; he had to run to and from the kitchen without even pausing to answer any of the cook’s questions.

She still had not touched her food.

As the door opened she smiled, but the smile was hesitant.

“I waited for you,” she said.

“Thank you,” he replied. It was all very strange. But he felt no fear as she moved to make room for him; felt no fear as she began to divide, rather unevenly, the meal that he had brought earlier; and still felt none as he began to eat it.

He wasn’t sure why.

Darin experienced a moment of panic, no more, when she asked him to stay. Then he nodded, left the room, and returned with cutlery and a small plate.

The meal after that, dinner, was easier still.

The following morning, when he brought the breakfast tray, he took the liberty of bringing his dishes with it. She asked few questions, and those that she did ask he could answer, questions about the size of the castle, the number of people it housed, the size of the gardens, and even about the weather.

Two more days passed like this; two days in which her smile grew stronger and less shadowed. For some reason, it made him happy.

 

“... and I knew I shouldn’t keep them; they burrow, after all, and the cows and horses break their legs in the holes.” She sighed, her lips turning down in a delicate, self-deprecating smile. “I wasn’t old. How was I supposed to know they were male and female? I thought they were, well, best friends or something.”