ugly expression of contempt twisting the other woman’s face. “I still don’t believe you, but I’m too tired to deal with it right now,” she said. “You’d better get to your room, and stay there until morning. If I catch you sneaking around here again tonight, I’ll beat you senseless, and I promise you won’t have my silly brother to come to your rescue.”
Jelena’s body shook with helpless anger as she bent down to gather up the food and re-tie the apron corners securely. Thessalina turned and pushed open the heavy keep door. The flickering firelight from the hearth within briefly limned Thessalina’s form with a red glow, turning her shape into something demonic. As the door swung shut on her cousin, Jelena lifted her finger in an obscene gesture, knowing that she crouched just out of range of the slice of light spilling from the doorway, and thus was shielded from any consequences of her small act of defiance.
For as long as Jelena could remember, Thessalina’s animosity towards her had been consistent and unrelenting, and because of her lowly status, there had been little she could do to deflect it or protect herself from it. As she started off again towards the servants’ quarters, the food bundle hugged tight against her breasts, she swore that tonight would be the last time she would stand and take any kind of abuse from anyone.
Chapter 8
There was not much to pack. She had very few possessions-the ivory combs that had been her mother’s, her father’s ring, a small bone-handled knife, a finely made leather pouch that had been a gift from Magnes. Almost all of her meager wardrobe would be left behind, for Jelena fled Amsara this night disguised as a boy. Magnes had provided the tunic, jerkin, leggings, and boots. He’d also found her an old leather cap that she could wear, but only if she sheared off much of her mane beforehand.
Claudia sat on the edge of her bed, watching Jelena and weeping silently as the
Jelena clipped one last lock, then laid aside the shears and brushed the loose hair from her head. Critically, she examined her raggedly cropped coils in the tiny piece of mirror. She swallowed hard as the reflection of a stranger stared back at her, a young woman with almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and bluntly pointed ears. She felt like she was seeing herself-not looking at, but truly
“ All o’ yer beautiful hair, all over the floor!” Claudia sobbed, wringing her hands in grief.
Jelena smiled gently. “You have complained my whole life about how difficult my hair is to deal with. Well, now it’ll be much easier. See?” She pulled the cap over her head with a small flourish. “How do I look?”
“ Like my baby who’s about to leave me forever,” Claudia replied tearfully. Jelena sat beside her foster mother and allowed Claudia to enfold her against the ample cushion of her bosom. Neither of them spoke for many moments. There was just too much to say, and yet nothing to be said. Both of them knew that this was the way things had to be.
Finally, Claudia pushed Jelena away and dried her eyes on the sleeve of her chemise. “You’d better get goin’. Yer cousin’s waitin’ on ye.”
Jelena nodded silently, and rose to gather up her things.
“ Oh! I’d plumb fergot!” Claudia exclaimed. She reached into a fold of her apron and drew out the strand of blue Kara glass beads that Jelena had worn to the ill-fated Sansa feast. She pressed the necklace into Jelena’s hands.
“ Heartmother, I couldn’t possibly…These were a gift to you from the duchess!” Jelena protested.
She tried to return the necklace, but Claudia’s hands fluttered away like fat, featherless birds. “No, no, child. I want you t’ have ‘em. Besides, what’s an old woman like me goin’ t’do with such things, eh?”
“ I’ll treasure them, always,” Jelena whispered, her voice hoarse with tears. She tucked the necklace into her bag where it settled down amongst the few other small things that she could call her own.
Claudia went to the door and held it open.
“ I love you,” Jelena said.
“ I love you, too, child. Be happy.”
Jelena exited swiftly, not daring to look back, afraid that if she did, she would be unable to leave. The sound of the door shutting behind her seemed to boom and echo within the narrow confines of the stairwell, more like a great stone crashing into place, instead of a humble wood door closing on a small room in which an old woman sat alone, crying for her lost child.
Jelena’s heart was breaking as she made for the kitchen garden, half blinded by her own tears. When she reached its fragrant confines, redolent of rosemary, thyme, and jasmine, she dropped the bundled apron and leaned, weak-kneed, against the outer kitchen wall and gave free rein to her grief.
Magnes found her there, sobbing inconsolably beneath the stars that glittered like cold ice embedded in darkest velvet. “I don’t know why I feel so…so horrible!” she cried. “I should be delirious with happiness because I’m finally getting out of this awful place, but I’m not!” She buried her face in her cousin’s shoulder.
“ You have ample reason to grieve, Jelena. You are leaving behind the woman who raised you, who loved you and called you ‘daughter,’ and you may never lay eyes upon her again. Of course you should be sad. We are about to walk a road that is completely unknown to us, but whatever lies ahead, whether it be good or ill, we’ll face it together.” Magnes slipped his hand under Jelena’s chin and tilted her face upwards. “Courage, Cousin. We’d better get going. The night’s a’wasting, and we need to be well away before sun up.”
Jelena glanced up at the sky. “There’s someone else I need to say goodbye to before I leave, Cousin,” she murmured. She turned away from the garden and set out back across the castle grounds toward the keep. Wordlessly, Magnes followed, a comforting presence at her back. She knew that he understood.
The Preseren family crypt-Jelena’s destination-lay beneath the high altar of the castle chapel. The two cousins padded silently past the slumbering keep and entered the chapel through a side door set within its southern wall. Quickly, they slipped down the central aisle, past the large wooden altar carved with painted images of gods and saints, to the stairwell at the back that led down into the subterranean vaults. Magnes paused to grab a candle from the altar before leading the way into the crypt.
The air below ground was cool and still. The little flame from the candle cast a feeble glow, but Jelena would have known the way even in total darkness. She had been here often enough before. With unerring steps, she made her way to the very back of the crypt and paused before a plain stone sarcophagus. She knelt and laid her palms flat atop the chilly granite. “Mother,” she whispered, “I’ve come to say goodbye.”
Unlike the other caskets, which were fashioned of marble and crowned with detailed effigies of the occupant as he or she had appeared in life, this tomb was stark in its simplicity. No fine effigy adorned its top, only a plain stone lid that bore the inscription:
“ They put my mother at the very back, away from all of her kin. She was an outcast, even in death, all because she dared to love a man who wasn’t human.” Jelena began to weep. “Why are people so cruel, Magnes?”
