Griffin's Daughter

'Jelena! Jelena, wake up, girl. You’ve gone an’ overslept!” Jelena groaned and scrubbed her sleep-heavy eyes with closed fists. Blinking like a hapless mole torn from its burrow, she reluctantly crawled from her warm nest of blankets and groped under the bed for the chamber pot. Claudia stood in the center of the small room, fully clothed, hands on hips.

“ Must ‘ave been quite a time y’had at the feast. Too much wine, I reckon,” she said, a little smile playing about her lips.

Jelena shook her head. “No,” she replied, and her stomach knotted up with the pain of remembering. “I left early, actually.” She set the chamber pot by the door so she’d remember to empty it later, then went to her chest. She moved aside Thessalina’s gown, lifted the lid, and began pulling out her work clothes. No time for a wash, she thought ruefully.

“ Why, whatever didya leave early for? You looked so pretty in that gown… Surely you wanted t’ show off a bit?” Claudia’s surprise seemed to come from a genuine belief that, because she saw beauty in her foster daughter, others would as well.

Jelena laughed sharply. “No matter how fancy my gown or how pretty you think I look, I’ll never be accepted here, Heartmother. I could hardly wait to get away from all of them. Especially him.” Her hands began to shake.

“ Who d’you mean?” Claudia probed.

“ No one. I…I…uhhhhh!” She fumbled with the strings of her apron, unable to tie them properly. The terrible emotions of last night crowded in close around her, pawing and scratching. She suddenly felt like bony hands had fastened around her throat, cutting off her breath. The barrier she had erected to keep the pain at bay abruptly gave way and she collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

Wordlessly, Claudia gathered her up and held her until the flood of tears subsided. Jelena clung to her, snug against that same soft bosom that had sheltered and comforted her as a child. Now, as then, she felt safe while enveloped in that great haven of motherly flesh, secure in the knowledge that there would be no more torment as long as she stayed within.

As much as she desired to, she couldn’t stay. Eventually, she always had to leave.

Claudia mopped at Jelena’s tear-streaked cheeks with the hem of her apron. Gently, she lifted her foster daughter to her feet and tied up the recalcitrant apron strings. Jelena felt comforted, knowing that Claudia needed no details, and that her foster mother understood the pain of her ordeal, an extension of the larger ordeal of her life as an outcast.

“ Now, you go on,” Claudia said. “Don’t fret about the dress. I’ll take it back to Fania m’self.”

“ My mother’s circlet…” Jelena started, but Claudia interrupted.

“ You can give the circlet back to yer uncle later, durin’ yer break time. Hurry, now, child. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

As Jelena hurried off to the kitchen, the image of Duke Sebastianus sprang, unbidden, into her mind and filled her with foreboding.

~~~

“ Jelena!” Cook bellowed. Jelena jumped, nicking her thumb with the small blade she had been using to slice carrots for the staff’s midday meal. She stuck the wounded digit into her mouth and turned to see Cook beckoning to her from across the room.

Gods, what have I done now, she thought.

Dropping the knife amidst the partially sectioned vegetables, thumb still firmly between her lips, she hurried over to receive her scolding.

“ Git yer thumb out of yer mouth, girl,” Cook growled.

Jelena obeyed immediately. “I cut myself, ma’am,” she explained, wrapping a corner of her apron hem around the oozing wound. She braced herself for the verbal barrage. To her surprise, Cook had a message for her.

“ His lordship wants to see you.”

“ Now?” Jelena asked meekly.

“ Yes, now!” Cook replied sharply, her jowls quivering in annoyance. “Gods only know when you’ll be back. Who’s goin’ t’ cut all of them carrots, eh?”

Jelena resisted the urge to answer with “Cut them yourself.” That would only get her a cuff on the head from one of Cook’s ham-sized fists. Instead, she remained silent, eyes lowered.

“ Go on, then! Don’t keep His Lordship waitin’!” Cook waved her hand in dismissal, and Jelena hastily departed.

The yard lay quiet, bathed in watery, midmorning sunshine. The castle gates stood open and through them, Jelena could see a pair of guards lounging just beyond the raised portcullis, leaning on the butts of their spears. Pigeons fluttered and cooed in the eaves of the outbuildings. A pair of cats snoozed contentedly atop a hay bale.

I’d better go get the circlet. Now’s as good a time as any to return it, Jelena thought. She hurried back to her room and retrieved the circlet from her chest. As she descended back down into the yard and made her way toward the keep, she couldn’t help but feel that monumental changes were in store for her. Her life had come to a crossroads; she felt certain that her uncle intended to tell her which path he had chosen for her.

She thought about the blue fire and wondered again where it had come from and how she had summoned it. Why had it not appeared last night, during the Sansa feast? Surely, if strong emotions were the trigger, it should have manifested then, yet it had not.

Jelena knew the answers to her questions lay elsewhere. Only by seeking out her father’s people could she ever learn the true meaning of the magic that had awakened briefly within her, with such startling results. Only the elves could teach her how to control it.

I’ve made up my mind. No matter the price, I must walk my own path. I’ve got to find out who I really am.

“ Come!” Jelena heard her uncle’s voice command through the thick wood of his study door. Quickly, she obeyed.

Duke Teodorus was not alone. Brennes, Amsara’s steward-a lanky scarecrow of a man-was there as well. He sat on a stool beside the duke’s writing table, diligently scribbling in a big, leather-bound book resting on his lap.

“ I believe we’re finished here, Your Grace,” Brennes said, slamming the ledger shut, and briskly rising to his feet. To Jelena, he looked like one of the herons she often saw out in the flooded spring fields, wading about on thin, bony legs in search of crayfish hidden in the black mud.

“ I’ll coordinate with Lord Magnes on those matters we discussed,” the steward said as he tucked his quill behind one ear and started for the door.

“ Yes, thank you,” the duke replied. Brennes brushed past Jelena, pausing just long enough to rake her with a disdainful glance down his great beak of a nose before exiting and closing the door softly behind him.

“ Good morning, Uncle,” Jelena said politely. “Here is my mother’s circlet. Thank you for allowing me to wear it.” She proffered the circlet to the duke, who took it without comment and set it down on his desk. He folded his hands before him and fixed Jelena with a hard-eyed stare.

“ Why’d you leave the feast like that? Were you deliberately trying to embarrass me in front of my guests?”

“ No, Uncle, of course not. It’s just that I…”

“ That you what?” Duke Teodorus interrupted, clearly irritated. He shook his head and took a deep breath as if to calm a rising tide of anger. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. No harm done, thank the gods.”

“ I’m sorry, Uncle,” Jelena replied. An ache in her hands drew her eyes downward. She was clutching her apron hem so tightly, her knuckles stood out like white knobs. She forced herself to relax her grip and remain steady.