Chapter One

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is more to the man Sam Beital than meets the eye. More than his brief blip in our history books, and perhaps more than the strings that pulled him. He was as pivotal as any of the greats and as ridiculed as the childhood monsters we at last abandon under the bed.

 

Marcus Smith

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

“No.” The teacher flicked the wooden dowel lightly across the backs of Leah’s hands which she drew back too late. It stung a little, but Miss Wevir never hit very hard. “B natural, not B flat. I’ve told you that several times. Start at the beginning of the page.” She was already looking back at the black notes dotting the page in front of Leah like squat black pen mistakes.

She quelled a smile that she didn’t understand. It wasn’t funny, but it came anyways, like it so often did with her father. She played the song again, stumbling and hitting several more accidental notes, but carefully ensuring that she hit every B natural—including a few that should have been B flat.

Miss Wevir sighed through her nose—like a lady, but somehow Leah sensed her thoughts weren’t very ladylike at present.  

She didn’t feel especially bad.

There was a soft knock at the door before a finely dressed manservant opened it. “Miss Wevir, a letter has arrived.” He stepped forward to hand it over.

Leah shot like an arrow for the door. Just before she crossed the threshold she was snagged by her collar by the experienced manservant and dragged choking back into the music room.

“Let her go, Felix,” Miss Wevir said, not sparing another glance for her. “Don’t let your father catch you.”

She didn’t hesitate to give her another chance to rethink Leah’s previous track record with her father and fled through the hall and parlor into the city outside. Her feet pattered against the hard surface of the street as she ran back to her father’s estate or more specifically the grounds. Only then did she realize she’d left her shoes in Miss Wevir’s dance room, but Leah did not return. She had never outgrown a pair of shoes that she could remember.

“Sorry!” she called to a lady bedecked in so many skirts that Leah was surprised she had almost been able to knock her over. When she turned her head forward again, she was confronted with a split-second view of a large belly and plaid pants before she and the fat man hit the cobblestones. Knowing she would be in greater trouble if she stayed to apologize, she scrambled to her feet and took off again, accidentally kicking him in his over-large gut as she did so. There was shouting behind her, but it all disappeared in the air whooshing past her ears and the stinging of her elbows and knees. 

Her speed came to an abrupt and somewhat painful halt when a beefy forearm caught her around the middle. A hand on the collar soon followed, speaking of experience if not with Leah, then with other slippery children. Leah followed the hand and forearm up to the face of a clean-shaven, hawk-nosed old man with jowls that hung down like an old dog.

“Slow down there, you can’t just go bowling people over.”

“I’m in a hurry,” she said, displeased about being so soon caught, and by someone she didn’t even know, no less.

From her close proximity, she could feel the swell of a rumbling chuckle, though the noise barely broke through his throat. It seemed to exist mostly in his belly. This fascinated her, briefly anyways.

“I can see that. Come inside for a minute.” He turned back to his little cottage and she took off the other way without another thought. Not so experienced after all. That was the first time Leah met Silas and the last she saw or thought of him for four years.

~     ~     ~

Leah poked moodily at her food. Her father had given her a tongue-lashing after discovering she had skipped lessons again when Miss Wevir had sent Felix to report that she hadn’t shown up. To make matters worse, her father’s sister’s family was there with their incorrigible boy Rowan. He was utterly insufferable under Leah’s mature opinion. At fourteen he was two years older than she and liked to hold this and his “privilege” of being a boy over her. Their arguments had ranged from this to bees and wasps, with Leah accumulating over thirty stings at the age of ten as a result of attempting to prove that bees left their stingers in you. He had argued that they hadn’t, but Leah had personal experience to suggest otherwise. What they found was not one bee, but a nest, and not a nest of bees, but of wasps. They both learned what wasps were, and although Rowan still argued he’d been correct, just mistaken in insect, Leah thought she was technically right, and the winner of that particular argument. That was perhaps what was most frustrating about him. Even when Leah was right, he refused to acknowledge it. That particular thought soured even the trifle she had just started on, having succeeded in the most part at keeping respectably quiet. It was the only thing she could do to please her father, and, to be honest, she knew it was a good idea at present.

 Rowan gave her a smug half-smile as if sensing her thoughts and started what he knew was going to be a contentious topic as the adults’ conversation suddenly rose in volume from laughter.

“I heard you missed your little etiquette lesson earlier today. It’s a shame. Although I think it might be a waste of time to teach etiquette to an ape.”

“Is that why they finally let you graduate from your tutor? After all, if etiquette is beyond the grasp of an ape, then surely numbers must be even worse. Besides, I’m not sure you even reach the level of primate.”

Rowan’s lips turned up in a grimacing smile.

“It’s such a shame you’re all your father’s got,” he remarked, low enough the adults couldn’t hear even though their laughter had died down. “Better to have no children than you.”

It was true. Her father had expressed almost the exact sentiment not half an hour earlier. That was the real problem with Rowan. He told her the truth about her, and the truth was not kind. It was another thing she hated him for. Hated that he had the advantage of more useful lessons. That he would make more decisions in regard to his own life. That his parents...well that they didn’t hate him. She wouldn’t go so far as to want his parents’ love to be mirrored in her father. She didn’t need that. She didn’t need him. All she needed was to be left alone.

Leah winked before she stood—her left knee cracking loudly as she did so. She pretended to buckle over because she hadn’t pushed her chair back far enough. Her father called her clumsy so often she thought it fairly believable. Her hands shot forward to catch herself, sending her cup flying so that a spray of burgundy dotted Rowan’s white shirt. Some of it accidentally stained her aunt’s dress as well, but it couldn’t be helped. She was a bitter old cow anyways.

She was so busy at first savoring the look of shocked indignation on his face that she almost forgot to look apologetic and gasp. She did so belatedly. 

For all the trouble she had caused, she had never been very good at deception. Maybe that was the real root of her problems.

It was quiet for a moment, stunned on the part of Rowan’s parents. The scrape of her father’s chair as he pushed it back was deafening in the weight of silence that followed. Her smugness snuffed out abruptly.

He walked around the edge of the table and hauled her along with a firm grip on her upper arm. It was so tight that Leah couldn’t help trying to pry it off as his fingers seemed to bite into her very bone. It was no use, it never was. Her father was a strong man. They went far enough through the hallways to be out of hearing distance before he slung her around to face him, his eyes glowing in the dim lighting from a torch with an anger and passion she didn’t usually witness in him. She knew then that he hadn’t been fooled for a second, or perhaps he didn’t care if it was an accident. Clumsiness or willful disruptions were both reprehensible. 

“You are a disgrace, a pitiful excuse for your station. That will be the end of skipping lessons, throwing juice at guests, or any like behavior or I will throw you out on your ungrateful behind so help me the judges. You will be a beggar in the streets, groveling for your food, subject to the basest form of life. I’ve had enough of your proud, resentful demeanor. You were born a noble, act like one. A temper like that isn’t tolerated among the well-bred.”

He released her abruptly and strode back in the direction of the gladan, his sharp footsteps echoing off the walls. And then they were gone, leaving her trembling in the shadowy recesses of the cold castle.

 She dashed angrily at the tears that were springing to her eyes. The blackness of the halls and doorways suddenly seemed so much darker and more foreign, full of shifting shapes and impressions. She began to walk, and then run to her bedroom, afraid of what lurked there. Her pulse continued to throb in her ears as she safely shut the door to her bedroom behind her, wishing for the bolt that had once locked it shut. Even her bathroom didn’t have a lock on it anymore.

 The tears began to fall in earnest, and the room in front of her blurred slightly as she approached her bed. Slowly, she sat on it, the mattress sinking under her weight. He was right. She was a failure. Even when she tried, she could never seem to do it right. She was an embarrassment to him, to herself really. It would have been better if she had been born a street urchin. Then at least she’d have an excuse to be stupid, ugly, and unmanageable. Leah laid back, looking at the dark swaths of the canopy curtains over her head.

A memory flitted across her mind. Of a library bathed in light, her father seated in a rich red armchair reading a book. It was one of her earliest. Leah couldn’t remember how old she had been. Anywhere from four to six maybe. But she remembered being well-dressed in a calico blue dress with short white socks and buckle shoes. She remembered vaguely that she had always been dressed neatly like that. With care. She had come to seek her father out and had climbed onto his lap with a sense of familiarity Leah couldn’t believe had ever existed. Her father had pulled her close, resting his hand on the back of her head, compressing the tight curls. She remembered how he’d looked down at her, his eyes almost completely green in the light. Like her own. His fingers curling through her hair.

“Your hair is getting so long little Leah.”

Leah remembered the feel of his prickly stubble as her small hands had passed over his cheeks, her belly against his chest.

“Your mother’s hair was like yours.”

Leah remembered the consternation of thought, not really concerned at the absence of a mother at that stage, but intensely curious.

“Where is she?” At that time, she had been unable to place his expression, and try as she might, she couldn’t recall it well enough to now either.

“I don’t know. She left. But she was very beautiful. You look like her. Sometimes you remind me of her, but I am glad I have you. I would rather have you any day. You are sweet to the center meiha.”

Leah couldn’t remember any more after that, and her next memories seemed to lose more and more of the sunlight from the library as she had grown older until all she knew of her father was the intense line of his mouth and the clouded brow.

~     ~     ~

Out of boredom, and some sheer stupidity, the next day Leah found herself watching Rowan and his instructor as they practiced his swordplay. Jealousy spawned yet more hatred towards him, and she sat and steamed about the unfairness of life and petty things. Her temperament improved somewhat when Rowan was chastised for not paying enough attention and sloppy defense. 

“Honestly,” the instructor said through a thick mustache and accent. “I think with your attitude your father is wasting his money and your time. Focus boy.”

Rowan’s cheeks heated to a bright red, and although he didn’t look over to where Leah sat, she sensed he knew she was smirking. She left him there, not wanting to give him a chance to redeem himself and sour the perfect memory. Perhaps in part, it was also because she knew if she stayed until he was finished, he would talk to her, and it wouldn’t end well. 

Leah didn’t want to go back inside so she slipped through the woods towards the city. Her father’s guards mainly watched the castle as it was surrounded by dense forest that could be penetrated from any direction. He didn’t have many either, keeping it as minimalistic as the rest of the staff. Not many people visited the Baron of Twilfur, for political reasons or otherwise, and Leah could only remember the guards actually encountering someone hostile once. A young man had attempted to make it past the guards, screaming obscenities at her father for the punishment passed upon his sister. Her father was the justice for Twilfur and for the area surrounding it. He was little used though—people preferred to settle their own arguments rather than bring it to the nobility. Not much happened in Twilfur anyways, not that Leah paid much attention. It was the least of her worries. She doubted if she would make it to the age of inheritance, not without being disowned or something of the sort. Put away maybe. Or worse—married off to some rich...fool. Stronger words came to mind, but she wasn’t that fractious, at least not yet.

Leah stared up at Miss Wevir’s medium-sized city house, which she always did before she went in; it was an awe-inspiring edifice. Usually, governesses taught in the homes of their students, but Miss Wevir was an exception. In an impulsive decision, she pushed the door open without knocking and was pleased to see no one present. Even when she was early Felix was always there waiting. He would have made an excellent bodyguard, or perhaps she had simply honed his reflexes. Leah hesitated for a moment before she walked forward and began to ascend the grand staircase. None of her classes were upstairs so she had never been up it, and it beckoned to her as most forbidden things do to the feeble in common sense. Leah slid her hand on the polished wooden rail, the lights from overhead winking on the glossy red surface. The warm glow of her surroundings beckoned her up the last few steps where a painting of blacks, whites, and greys swirled ambiguously on the wall. Leah studied it for a moment, completely distracted by its abstractness.

 She tensed at a sudden creaking sound, listening for more, but the sound was isolated, and she attributed it to house noises. Leah looked down the left side of the hallway before starting down the right, which was longer. Her bare feet padded lightly on the floors that gleamed dully in the dimmer light upstairs. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to get caught or not yet. Miss Wevir might or might not tell her father, and in the case that Miss Wevir might, it was pretty foolish to be up here. Leah swallowed; her father had never been one for empty threats. She refused to dwell on that for long. She just wouldn’t get caught then.

The first door she skipped over since interesting things were not generally found behind the first door. She pulled down the handle of the second though, leaning through the gap to evaluate its potential. Inside was a cluttered mess of drawings and paintings, with brushes, easels, and blank canvases perched on spindly wooden legs brushing up against each other. She almost closed the door in search of more than half finished art but decided to peruse instead. Might be the most interesting thing in Miss Wevir’s old house.

Leah picked her way carefully through the space as she examined the creations. Some of them were idyllic and bright, like one of a mountain sheepherder in a meadow full of sheep, but most were darkly wistful. They made her insides squirm, but she found herself continuing to look, propelled by a burning curiosity.

A dark-haired woman with hair falling over her face stood half finished, her tears glinting through the strands. Miss Wevir seemed so proper. She seemed like someone who would paint the royal family and their dog rather than canvases swathed in blacks and browns. Not to mention some of the more, Leah didn’t know the word for those paintings yet. One, in particular, caught her eye. A young woman in the back of a ballroom with a crystal cup full of a dark liquid watched the centerpiece of the painting—an elegantly dressed man, with hair that fell just so over his face as he laughed with another woman. Another of a couple in a park grey from thick rain. Hair was plastered to the couple’s close faces. Leah found that it awoke a deep and uncomfortable hunger in her. She had never seen her father act that way. This was a world she had not known. Except she wasn’t sure it was a world that she wanted to know. Her discomfort began to fester at the blatant intimacy these fictional characters expressed, and she found herself stepping back. She was about to turn away for good when a penetrating dark brown eye caught her own. 

The painting was sitting askew behind a half-finished outline of a woman in a nightgown. It was a drawing of a young man with eyes that caught her own and seemed to pick her very mind. He had a brown mustache that curled up at the ends, his eyes were a dark, thoughtful brown, the background was a dark, splotchy brown, and the man was wearing brown. It felt warm, and... reminiscent. His dark woody eyes had little circles of reflected light that made them seem real—almost more than real. They were more expressive than any eyes she'd seen and looked deep and... empathetic. Like he knew how bad Leah was, and seemed to understand her guilt and remorse. But she hadn’t really done anything truly bad, well maybe her father thought so. She was just imagining things. Who was he? A figment of Miss Wevir’s imagination? He seemed too real for that. His round glasses and neatly parted brown hair, as well as his dark shirt and vest, were only about ten years out of date. A relative? A deceased husband? After studying it for half a minute, she made her way back to the exit. 

Before she left, she gave one more glance at the disparate collection and closed the door on the emotionally vivid room, finding that she wished she had skipped it. Maybe she should leave. She hadn’t been caught yet, and there were other things to do in the city. 

Except there wasn’t really. Twilfur was hardly a city. Leah hesitated in the hallway, fingertips still resting on the knob of the room she had just left. Indecision was the worst way to go though. Worse than either choice would be. Caught with no pleasure. Leah continued down the hallway.

She opened the next door and peered in. The room was dim from heavy curtains pulled across the only window but the crack in them shed enough light to illuminate an old writing desk with papers strewn across the surface as well as dusty red carpet and two large armchairs. Leah slipped into the room and walked around to the back of the desk so she could better study the papers. Beautiful handwriting spilled across the off-white paper and several pens and pencils lay haphazardly across the desk.  Leah read several lines of a poem and paused in mild befuddlement. She looked down at the author: Micah Smith. She picked up another paper and dropped it in shock after reading several lines. She stole a look back at the bottom. John Percy Swan. Leah rifled through several more letters, but most of them seemed to continue in this vein. She stopped reading them because of the content, but her cheeks still burned slightly, and the room felt hotter than it had a few minutes before. Miss Wevir was very pretty, but wasn’t she sort of old? A sort of guilty sensation stole through her, and for once in her life, she found herself actually regretting her decision to cause trouble before she’d even been caught. She didn’t really want to know about Miss Wevir’s...her, whatever this was. 

Leah shuffled the papers to look somewhat like they did before but couldn’t really remember so just left them. She was just stepping around the desk when the door groaned open slowly, and Leah jumped at the horrible noise. She snapped her head up to see Miss Wevir standing there with her hip against the door frame and an eyebrow cocked.

“Early, are we?” Leah shifted uneasily, feeling the need to start running, or moving, or something. “And snooping I see.  I think you already know your father will be hearing about this, judging from that look on your face.”

“No, wait! I just...it just…” Leah could not think of a single excuse. She just what? She was bored, that was what, and that would only make Miss Wevir angrier.  “Please, he’s already so angry with me. Please, Miss Wevir. I really will be good. Anything, I’ll make it up to you.”

The woman made a tut-tut noise and pushed off the doorframe with her hip. “Leah, you’ve had so many chances. Years of chances. No other governess would have tolerated you as I have. They would have left five years ago. Now, go ahead and run along, like you always do. There is nothing that you can do about what you’ve already done.”

Leah’s blood beat in her ears. How could she have been this stupid? She hadn’t even made it a day; she would be out on the streets with nowhere to go and no one to help her. She had nothing. No friends, no family who cared, and no knowledge of how to survive. She was seized by a wild idea and she spoke without thought.

“I’ll rat you out if you tell my father. I’ll tell him about your letters. You know how my father is. He won’t like that.” Leah began to realize the value of the card she had as Miss Wevir’s mouth twitched downwards in an expression she usually reserved for the filthiest of creatures and sometimes Leah.

“My Leah, when did you become so shrewd? But who would believe you? A child’s witness against a prestigious governess. No less, a disgrace of a child, a disgrace to the name of nobility.” The statement hung in the air, but Leah sensed she was going to say more. Miss Wevir was right—but Leah had also never been much of a liar. Her father knew that. “However,” she continued, “There are always a few weak-minded vagrants that believe insipid rumors, so I’ll cut you a deal. I tire of you. Don’t you ever disgrace my threshold again. I don’t want to see your ugly little face if I don’t have to. Second, if you get found out and it’s your fault, don’t take me with you. That would be your favor to me and we both know you owe it to me. I have put up with your little tirades and attitude for years and have been more than fair. If you are caught, tell him I gave you a letter to give to him, but you tore it up instead. You didn’t want him to know the truth.” Leah blinked. Was this freedom, beckoning to her? “In return, I won’t tell your father, I wash my hands of you. Find someone to forge my reports to him, because I won’t. There, I even gave you some advice. You would never have remembered that, would you? I send them at the end of each month.”

There was a pregnant pause, and Leah realized Miss Wevir was waiting for a response. “Yes Miss Wevir,” she said and began to edge slowly around her and out the room. Miss Wevir sat languidly at her desk, looking down at the papers strewn across it with a vacant expression.

She took off towards the stairs and descended them with more spring in her step than she could ever remember having in that house.

“I’ll let myself out,” she said to Felix who, oddly, didn’t pursue her. Then again, she didn’t usually look like this when running away. 

She paused for a moment on the top step, intoxicated by the glorious freedom and escape from starvation in the streets, but not sure what to do next. Eventually, she wound up in the marketplace, the farthest part of the city from the castle. She threaded her way through the wealth of people, stopping at almost every stand that wasn’t produce to look at the unfamiliar merchandise. Her father provided everything Leah needed but not really anything more. She didn’t go shopping and he only had her measured for new dresses when she had outgrown the last ones—sometimes a little after she’d outgrown them. He disliked “frivolities”. She ran a colorful silk scarf across her palm wondering why this was a frivolity, whatever that meant. The fabric was vibrant but so thin that unless folded upon itself it looked almost entirely see-through, giving the world a colorful hue when she peered through it. How did they make it like that? A man with a sparse beard and baleful eyes gave her a look akin to that which he would have had if she’d just broken into his house.

“Are you going to buy it?” he asked. Leah considered answering maybe. But she had never handled money in her life, and she knew he wouldn’t believe it.

“No.”

“Then don’t touch it.”

Leah frowned but left the stand. He wouldn’t have said that if she was older. She wandered around the city again after her thorough inspection of the market until she judged enough time had passed that she should head back. To never have to stumble through Soldier’s March or sing Elizabeth’s Song again. It almost made her want to sing after all—something that she had come to loathe because of Miss Wevir’s criticism of her voice.  

“Haven’t changed much, though I see you’ve slowed down a bit.”

Leah stopped skipping, her cheeks fiery as she turned to see the old man she had run into years before. He hadn’t changed much either, his burly shoulders heavy and rounded under the worn white shirt rolled up to his elbows. His forearms were massive, toned, and hairy, and he wore a grungy dark yellow vest over his shirt. Leah noticed it wasn’t buttoned, and she wondered if it actually could. While he wasn’t fat really, his stomach wasn’t exactly flat either.

“I’m not in a hurry,” she sniffed, trying to atone for the childishness of her skip.

“I can see that, come inside for a minute.”

Leah turned to look down the street but didn’t run. She couldn't dupe the old man twice.  And she still had time before she was supposed to be back.

The inside was tiny compared to what she was used to, although cozy might be a better word. A small kitchen area occupied one half with a narrow hallway in the farthest corner. An assortment of chairs and a table occupied the other half. A matronly woman with a faded red apron was cooking something in the kitchen, but looked up and smiled when they came in. Leah attempted to smile back but it pulled unnaturally at her mouth. Who were these people?

“Silas, who have you brought? Would you like some hot cocoa?” 

“Sure,” she said, unsure of what it was. Maybe it was alcoholic, her father never let her try anything with alcohol.

The old man sat heavily in a beat-up wooden chair and gestured for her to do likewise. She did, and as she did so she began to realize he might not have been as old as she’d originally thought. He had deep worry wrinkles in his forehead, but he also had prominent laughter lines around his eyes. Despite this, his skin looked younger than that of an old man. It was also much tanner now than the first time she’d seen him, and she wondered why. His hair was a mixture of greys from the dark steely tone of thunderclouds to the color of old ashes. It was his muscle tone though that convinced her he wasn’t really that old—old men didn’t have arms like that, or at least they shouldn’t.

“You’re the baron’s daughter, the little girl that causes so much trouble. Who throws things when she’s angry.”

Leah felt her face heat up yet again. “Only at rude people.”

“I’m surprised no one’s thrown things at you yet. Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere right now?”

“I was let off early,” she said a little sullenly.

“That explains the skipping then. How is the old castle? I used to be your grandfather's guardmaster though it’s been a little while since then.”

She snorted at that, mostly in annoyance that he referred to things like her whole lifespan as a little while. Also, though, that this old, fat man would claim to be anything more than a tired butcher.

“Careful, Ethel just wiped that down.”

Leah looked up from the knothole she had been studying and frowned at the rude man.

“I should throw something at you,” she said, regretting the childishness of the words as soon as they’d come out. 

He rolled his eyes which surprised her since it was a gesture she didn’t usually see from adults.

“Come on outside I want to show you something.”

He lumbered across the worn wooden floors and opened a small, paint-chipped back door which he would have had to stoop through to exit, only he didn’t. He stumbled backward and muttered some unintelligible words under his breath as he grasped his forehead. Leah didn’t quite repress the smile that crept up her face, but hastily tried to as Ethel glanced at her, her cheery eyes suddenly a lot less cheery.

“Silas,” she said sharply. “Better watch your tongue while we have a little lady.” Leah was still trying to make out what he’d said. Gr—Gi...It wasn’t either of the swear words she knew. Besides, she wasn’t a lady.

Silas grunted but didn’t turn around as he stooped and walked out. Leah got up reluctantly and moved to follow.

“Don’t forget to come back for your cocoa. It’s almost done now,” the woman said, smiling at Leah. Leah nodded and tried to assemble an appropriate expression. She wasn’t really sure what that would be for the situation though, so she just stumbled quickly after Silas.

Beyond the door, there was a path, an herb garden, a vegetable garden, several small trees, and a shed which Silas was opening. Leah followed. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting in the rickety building, not much of anything she supposed. Certainly not a room with weapons from the floor to the ceiling on three walls. It seemed like a lot of swords for one retired man.

 She stood carefully on the threshold that had several nails sticking up and gazed at the rows of dull metal skeptically. Was he trying to prove that he had indeed worked for her grandfather? He reached up and picked a large sword from the hooks it’d been sitting on.

“This is my favorite,” he said, holding it horizontally on his palms. “Ethel doesn’t like me to keep my little collection in the house. My name is Silas by the way, although I suppose my wife already mentioned it. You’re young little Leah. Not so little anymore, hitting a growth spurt I suppose.” When she said nothing he continued, “Well I wouldn’t want to take any more of your precious free time. Feel free to run along, but don’t forget to grab some cocoa before you go.”

Leah turned, feeling somewhat confused by the encounter, and followed the path back to the house. Ethel smiled again as she came back through the back door and offered her a cup of steaming brown liquid. Leah took it but drank it standing as she watched the woman sprinkle flour on a small counter before kneading what looked like a fat man’s belly on it. 

She judged that it was probably not alcoholic. The flavor was bitter and dark, but she thought it was chocolate flavored. Horrible chocolate. And a lot of it. The mug was large to begin with and had been filled to the brim. She preserved through large, burning, acrid swallows—drinking as fast as was humanly possible in order to end this excruciating experience.

“Like it that much? Let me fix you another. My boy Hyrum just loves it too. Can’t get enough.” She’d taken Leah’s mug and was already starting to refill it, causing Leah to nearly panic, but manners prevented her from interrupting. There was no way she was drinking another mug full of the vile liquid. “Always the first thing he wants when he gets back. Knew I saw a little bit of him in you.” She tried to put the cup back in Leah’s hands, but she backed up.

“I’m sorry, um, Ethel, but I really have to get going. I’m really sorry,” she added again, feeling guilty for the falseness.

“Well take some cookies with you then,” Ethel said brushing her hands on her apron after setting the mug on the counter and digging a jar out of a cupboard. 

“Ah, that’s all right…” Leah trailed off as Ethel held the jar out to her. She took one.

“Have a few.”

She took another.

“You’ll want more than that.” she shook the jar, making the cookies rattle slightly.

She took another. She could just throw them to the birds if they were as hard as they sounded.

“Do you want any for your friends?”

Friends? Leah shook her head. “That should be good, thanks.”

“Well if you ever get hungry, just stop on by. I’m home most of the time.”

Leah nodded as she struggled with the door with one hand, even more eager to be gone, but took one last look back as she finally wrested it open. Ethel smiled fondly at her, completely oblivious to Leah’s obvious shortcomings.

 She decided Ethel had a very nice smile.

 

 

Chapter Two

 

Rowan was still angry about the previous day, but Leah found her own anger had simmered away after the strange turn of events that day and was not interested enough in him to take his bait again at dinner. He talked to her only once for the remainder of his stay, just before his family was about to depart. Leah was standing off to the side of where his mother and two younger sisters were climbing into the carriage, glad to see them gone. Her aunt Lyla found as much fault in her as her father did but was much more vocal about it. Rowan’s older sister was impeccable in nearly every way and insufferable for it, while his younger sister was just a plain simpleton at this stage of development. Leah didn’t really hate her, but she was plenty annoying.

Rowan mounted his horse and guided it over to where she stood on the short-clipped lawn. His dark brown hair lifted lightly in the breeze, and he cut a striking figure despite his youth. He would probably be really handsome when he was older, she acknowledged to herself. He pulled up on the reins when he had cut in front of her, blocking her view of the carriage. He leaned slightly over, his face dark against the bright contrast of the sun behind him.

“You are worthless, you know that?” his voice was quiet enough his mother couldn’t hear, although Leah had full confidence the woman would have turned a deaf ear anyways. “Your father is going to try to marry you off as soon as he can, but nobody will want you. You have a temper, you don’t act like a lady, and you’re not even pretty.”

“Come up with that all by yourself? I didn’t know you knew how to put two thoughts together,” she said, trying to look defiant, and turned back to the crumbling castle. It was a paltry insult to the biting truth in his words, but she had nothing else. Her tongue seemed to have lost its sharp edge, and she started walking back so as not to give it another chance to fail her.

He said nothing in return, and by the time Leah had reached the castle, the carriage carrying his mother and sisters was turning the last visible bend in the trees. Rowan’s dark horse must have pulled ahead of them because she could no longer see it. 

Since she had little else to do with no pretend lessons that day, she mounted the stairs to her bedroom, resigned to boredom. It was either that or trouble, and for once Leah was trying to adhere to her flimsy committal to be more pleasing to her father.

She pushed open her door and flopped on the bed, mind wandering to Rowan’s words. Her father was not really preparing her to inherit. Leah didn’t know what his plans were. She hadn’t been educated in the slightest in the machinations of nobility and estates. Perhaps he intended for his son-in-law to govern this place. Probably figured there wasn’t anyone worse than Leah for the job.

It wasn’t her fault he didn’t even try. Voice and etiquette lessons were hardly important in the makings of a good judge. She was not being prepared to inherit, she was being prepared to be married, to be polished. Rough edges knocked off and made smooth. The idea seemed to shovel a pit into her stomach because she wasn’t sure if there would be much left afterwards.

~     ~     ~

The market colors and noises swirled around Leah, but they were starting to hold less and less appeal. There was only so many times she could finger the carvings of a friendlier vendor or stand on the fountain edge and watch large women emerge from the cloth and ribbon shop loaded with parcels. It must take that much fabric to cover themselves, she thought, ignoring the small squirm of guilt at the thought.  

She wandered the streets, studying the houses and occasional shop or smithy. Eventually, she found herself in front of the little cottage once more. Were they busy? Would they be annoyed if she just showed up? He was the one always holding her up. 

She knocked a little too loudly and was relieved when Silas opened the rough wooden door instead of Ethel.

“Back so soon?” 

Leah was beginning to understand the lines around his eyes, but the origins of the deep crevices on his forehead remained a mystery to her. She rocked back and forth on her feet with her hands clasped behind her back.

“You didn’t tell me why it was your favorite,” she said hesitantly, not having planned this far ahead.

He moved aside to allow her in, and she scooted a chair out for herself to sit on.  He, however, bypassed the chairs and went out the back way. Leah abandoned her seat and followed.

“Ethel’s not home, she’s at the market,” he said as he walked. Leah studied his worn boots with thick soles. What did he do all day? She’d never really contemplated the lives of old people. She vaguely assumed they just sat in a chair by the fire until they kicked the bucket.

He pushed open the door to the shed and took the sword down again before handing it to her. The unexpected weight nearly made her drop it, her arms dipping dangerously before she managed to heft it higher. The handle’s grooves were worn down in places, but that was the only show of time on the weapon. It gleamed dully in the sunlight that filtered through the cracks between the slats. Silas’s face was expressive as he stared at the long object in her hands.

“It’s the best I have. Had it since I turned twenty-five. It’s been through the thick and thin. They’re starting to make them lighter and stronger, but I prefer the older ones. There is something to be said in a good, honest piece of workmanship.” He lifted it with care out of her hands and set it in its rightful place. He looked down at her. “Have you ever wanted to learn how to use one?”

His eyes were a murky sort of tawny brown, like a puddle that had been stirred up by the feet of children. They had an expression she had difficulty reading, an expression she hadn’t seen in her father’s eyes. Leah nodded, unsure why he would ask. That was something she would never have. Not that she wanted to learn particularly badly, just now that he mentioned it, the idea had taken hold. It would dim and fade, however. She was beginning to learn that that was how life was, at least hers anyways.

“Well, are you going to ask me?”

“What?”

“To teach you.”

It became apparent only then what he was getting at. She grinned. 

“Okay. Teach me.”

His mouth twitched upwards. “All right, but I need your word on several accounts or you will find yourself in front of a very angry father.” He saw the expression on her face. “It’s for your own benefit. I get the feeling you shouldn’t have this many days off. Ethel sees you at the market you know.”

Leah’s face went pink. The moment dragged out as he waited. She considered making it a contest but relented.

“I persuaded my governess not to give me any more lessons,” she muttered. Silas’s bushy brows pushed the wrinkles in his forehead together. 

“And how did you do that?”

“Blackmail,” Leah said at last. She was staring at his feet so she couldn’t see his expression anymore.

“I’m surprised it’s that way and not the other way around. I’m also surprised you know what that means.” Leah glanced up, slightly offended. Of course she knew what it meant. She was twelve, not a child. “First things first, your father probably won’t be too thrilled about this, and you need to be prepared for the consequences of his finding out. If the consequences aren’t worth it, then I’d advise you not to take the risk. Is it worth it?” Leah nodded a little more vigorously than the question warranted. She could think about that later. Right now she just needed to persuade him. “Second, if you don’t want to get caught, I suggest you get better at staying low. Learn not to rub your father’s fur the wrong way. If you never get better at any of the things you’re supposed to be learning he’ll get suspicious. Do your studies and practicing at home, or Ethel’n I can help you a little here. That’s the deal.”

Leah frowned. The whole point of this was to get out of lessons. Then again, they wouldn’t be so bad on her own, and she really liked the idea of being a swordsman...swordswoman? Maybe she would do her other lessons, maybe she wouldn’t. They’d see. And, obviously, she wouldn’t let her father catch her.

She extended her hand and they shook on it, his rough, large hand engulfing hers.

He closed the door to the shed and started by showing her some basic steps and how she should hold the sword or rather the shaft of wood. They didn’t spar, but Silas taught her several parries and how to riposte from them.

Her arm tired quickly. Silas must have noticed because they stopped not too long after that. He left her with practice instructions and put one of the wooden practice swords into a bag for her to take home. Leah vaguely recalled excessive admonitions about when and where she should practice, but after she realized he was just telling her she wasn’t supposed to get caught she stopped listening.

By the time they went back into the house Ethel was back from the market and doing something in the kitchen again. Leah wasn’t quite ready to go yet so she sat at the table and watched as Ethel worked. Silas paused near the door, scratched at his stubble, and went back the way he’d come. Leah wanted to follow but wanted even less to become his shadow.

“What are you making?” she asked Ethel instead.

“I’m trying out a new soup recipe I got from Lydia, my neighbor. She swears it’s quite good, but it doesn’t smell that way. Too much garlic I think.”

It smelled fine to Leah, actually quite good. What was garlic anyways? A spice?

Leah sat quietly for a moment and traced her fingers around the increasingly familiar knot in the wood. “Do you have any children?”

“Hyrum, he left just last year to go study in Lucas. I always wanted to have lots of children, but we weren’t able to.” She tasted the soup with her stirring spoon and then continued to stir. Leah could feel her eyes bug. They had better not be doing that in her kitchen. Ethel came and sat across from her. Immediately she became uncomfortable.

“Are you going to stay for dinner?” she asked.

Hades no. “No... thank you. I’d better be going actually.” Better boredom than this.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then," Ethel replied and got up to open the door for Leah.

“Thanks," Leah muttered nearly inaudibly.

Ethel said goodbye one more time and closed the door. Leah felt the tension drain from her shoulders as it shut behind her.

Her right arm felt like dead-weight as she began to run back to the castle. She really didn’t ever have to do things like that. She just sat and listened to Miss Wevir—or at least pretended to listen when she was feeling cooperative. They only had one kid when they’d wanted lots. Was that why they didn’t mind having her over? Because they liked kids and had never had a daughter? Leah didn’t really like that thought. They’d better not get too attached.

Instead of using the main entrance like she usually did, she sneaked around to the kitchen door. It was a bit farther than the main entrance, but she was less likely to run into her father. She opened it and went through the mudroom to the main kitchen hub.

Instead of the usual clanging and shouting, there was only the sounds of quiet chopping and sizzling food. Her father must have downsized the staff again. There was only the cook and his two assistants, all of which looked up when she came in before quickly glancing back down.

The head cook was a thin man with a curly mustache and sideburns that stuck out from his face due to their bushiness. Both of the assistants were women. One was middle-aged and the thinnest person she had ever seen, but the other was a normal, younger woman with hair that was falling out of her bun. Leah tried to judge whose hair she had found in her meat pirae the other night and settled for hoping it hadn’t been from the man’s sideburns. They were lucky she’d been too angry with her father to speak to him. Then again, he probably wouldn’t have done anything.

 Leah hurried through the kitchen, trying not to show how uncomfortable she was. They watched her out of the corners of their eyes, probably wondering why she was coming through this way. No, they weren’t wondering about that, they were wondering what she had done this time, and whether they needed to prepare her portion of dinner or not. She climbed the narrow stairway hastily, still trying to get rid of the feeling of ants crawling around inside her shirt.

She hesitated at the top before turning right for the first time in several months. This portion of the castle was a bit newer. It had been built in her grandfather’s day, beginning as a simple repair, and then turning into a whole new wing. It was not as dark as the rest of the castle, and she hurried along, aware there were fewer hiding places here. She quietly slipped into the music room at the end of the hallway and blinked at the bright light coming in from the wall of windows on the West side. A huge dark brown piano with perfect ivory keys, except for one chip on the second to last A was the centerpiece of the room. Her father didn’t know about that, not yet anyways. Just last year it had been tuned by an old man from Drewton. At the time Leah hadn’t really realized how bad it sounded, just that her songs sounded a little worse at home than they did at Miss Wevir’s house. Her father had been the one apt enough to observe that it was in need of a tuning. She had been surprised by this; surprised that he had paid enough attention to realize this. Unless she was particularly obnoxious or wild, their paths rarely crossed, except at mealtimes where they ate in comfortable silence. It was him speaking that worried her the most. It was never for nothing.

 She slid onto the graceful bench of the piano where her books still sat and opened the easiest one before setting it back on the grooved edge. It was the same book she’d been working out of for over a year now because she hadn’t really improved any. She plucked painfully through the first song counting spaces and lines for almost every note before closing it and sliding back off the bench. That was about as much as she could take. Her father probably wouldn’t notice if she never got better, it’s not like she had been. 

~     ~     ~

Leah’s lessons with Silas proved more difficult than she had anticipated. She found herself losing interest in the rigorous training and expectations he had for her. He wasn’t like Miss Wevir. It was harder to disappoint him and even harder to accomplish all the things that he expected of her. But he was always patient and persistent, and she found on the days she intended to skip that somehow she tended to wind up at their little house anyways after half a day of guilty avoidance.

He never said anything, and the words Leah had spent hours cultivating faded from her tongue. She didn’t know how to quit this. She didn’t know how to disappoint someone she really didn’t want to. Maybe this was how she’d felt about her father in the beginning, but she couldn’t really remember the exact moment it started going downhill.

Every day she told herself that this would be the last day she’d show up, but a month later, she found herself in the hot, enclosed area behind his house one more time, shoulder burning and sweatier than she’d ever thought she’d be in her life. Silas was trying to teach her a basic parry and riposte, but it was so similar to the other ones she’d learned last week that Leah was just trying to do it well enough that he’d move on. She didn’t really need this one anyways—the last four she’d learned were just as effective. Leah let her arm slump next to her side as Silas paused to wipe his brow and think. She peered up into his sagging face trying to recall the words she’d practiced and muster the nerve to say them. Come on, come on, just say it. She opened and closed her mouth several times.

“S-silas, I don’t really think I want to learn this anymore. I’m a girl. It’s not going to help me.”

Silas looked surprised and studied her for a moment. She looked away.

“Why did you want to learn?”

Leah reacted defensively, even though the question had not been accusatory.

“I dunno. I wanted to at first, but it’s really not as good as it’s made out to be. It’s hardly any better than piano lessons. Just sort of useless,” she said, the worst insult that she could think of.

Silas smiled and ground his sword tip into the grass. 

“What would you rather do?”

“I don’t know,” Leah said, confused. Whatever she did it wouldn’t be with these old people.

“Can I tell you a story little Leah?”

Leah shrugged and waited. But he continued to wait. “Yeah,” she said at last.

“I heard this from a Davian soldier when we were last at war. It’s a parable, do you know what that is?”

Leah shook her head though she was loathe to do so.

“It’s a story that didn’t actually happen but is meant to instruct.”

“Wait, you’re giving me a lesson?” Leah asked incredulously.

Silas shook his head wearily. “Do you still want me to tell it?” His eyes twinkled only dully amidst the folds of his skin and Leah sensed that his desire to humor her was dwindling. Something ached inside her.

“If you want to.”

Silas smiled at her ungracious answer and continued. “There once was a young man who was the youngest of twelve boys. His father apprenticed all but his eldest out to blacksmiths, tailors, glassblowers, tinkers or anyone who would was willing to train them. At last, he had only his youngest and eldest at home, the eldest running the farm. He soon discovered that his youngest son had never really worked the farm, relying on his brothers instead to make up for the work he would not do. His father attempted to teach the young man how to perform the labor, but the young man insisted that he was not suited to this kind of work, and that he needed something that would not be so rough on his hands.”

Leah didn’t like the way this story was going. She supposed she was the lazy youngest son with soft hands. She stared at a tuft of grass growing up, eyes wide to keep them from watering. She had thought that Silas saw her differently than her father did. Silas went on though, and she focused to distract herself enough to suppress the tears.

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.12.2020
ISBN: 978-3-7487-6849-4

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