Dispocalypse

by M. A. Rothman

  Willow stifled a groan as she imagined how sore her body was going to be after riding for three days straight.

  She’d never been this far west before, and as they entered the outskirts of the farmlands of New Town, the smell of freshly turned soil and manure resurrected memories of another life. With an odd melancholy, Willow mentally set aside those memories and focused on what was in front of her.

  Willow silently fought against her rising dread. Despite how nice Tristan was, she feared walking around in a place that his father called home.

  Looking ahead, she pasted a smile on her face. “I’m excited to see where you grew up.”

  “I know it must seem odd, but riding in these is supposed to be for safety purposes.” Tristan explained three days later.

  Willow sniffed deeply of the smell of flowers that perfumed the air within the closed carriage they were riding. It was almost as if they were floating over the road as a team of horses pulled them through the streets of the capitol, toward the Governor’s mansion. Willow sat next to Tristan in a luxuriously padded red velvet chair as she stared at the outside world through the clear glass window of the carriage. “I don’t understand. Why would you need extra safety in the capitol precinct?”

  With a deep sigh of contentment, Tristan adjusted the back of his chair to a reclining position and stretched his legs. “Very few people know it, but over the years, there have been assassination attempts against the Dominion’s leadership.” With a look of mild annoyance, Tristan rubbed at the stubble that had given his face a darker complexion. “Even though I’m not destined to really be any part of the Dominion leadership, the Steel Fist insists that I’m accorded leadership protection within the capitol.”

  Willow drummed her fingers on the armrest of her chair. Tristan’s life was so obviously different than anything she’d ever experienced. Having bodyguards watching over him everywhere he went seemed a bit much. She hadn’t noticed.... “Hey, when you went home with me on Winter Break, I didn’t see anyone following us. Did I just miss them or ...”

  Tristan turned to Willow with an amused-yet-guilty expression, almost like a child who’d been caught sneaking a taste of dessert before the meal was complete. “You didn’t miss them, but boy did I hear about it when we returned to the Academy. I’m supposed to notify the Steel Fist any time I go anywhere so they can arrange protection, kind of like the escort they gave us on the way here. Well ... I didn’t want you to constantly be reminded that I am who I am, so I sort of ‘forgot’ to tell them where I was going.”

  Willow couldn’t help but laugh as she imagined Tristan being chastised like a little boy by his giant guards.

  Tristan shrugged and swept his arm toward the window where a soldier wearing mirror-like metal armor was riding alongside the carriage. “It’s not like they’re going to let me forget who I am around here, so I don’t even try.”

  Willow reached over and gave Tristan’s forearm a gentle squeeze. “Tristan, I’d rather you be who you are, not anything else.”

  With a pensive expression, Tristan’s gaze seemed unfocused as he stared up at the red silk-lined ceiling of the carriage. “I’d rather be who I am as well....”

  Willow couldn’t help but cringe as the eyebrow pencil approached her eye.

  “Please, Miss Willow ... you really need to trust me.” Lilly, the thirteen-year-old dark-haired girl held the sharpened stick of black eyeliner steadily in her hand. “Our Lord Vanden-Plas mentioned that you’d be having luncheon in the house today. It would be improper if I let you eat, especially in the formal dining room, without looking your best.”

  When she’d arrived at Tristan’s house just over a week ago, Lilly had been assigned to her. At the time, Willow hadn’t realized exactly what that meant. She quickly learned. Lilly drew her baths, helped her get dressed, brushed her hair, and today was applying makeup for the first time. Anytime Lilly caught Willow trying to do any of the things that she felt was her job, Lilly’s chin would tremble with emotion and tears threatened to spill from her glistening blue eyes.

  Willow held her breath as Lilly expertly applied the slightest touches of eyeliner and then highlighted her cheekbones with a feather-light brush of powdered makeup. “Lilly, how long have you been working at the Governor’s house?”

  “I was eight when the Lord Governor’s seneschal selected me as a member of the house staff. It was one of the best things that ever happened to me.” With a final swipe of her makeup brush Lilly leaned back, studied Willow’s face and gave a quick nod. “Perfect.”

  Willow stood in the gigantic bedroom she’d been assigned and gazed at the floor-to-ceiling mirror that stood in the corner. The gray dress she wore was perfectly fitted, thanks to Mel’s expert hand, the waist gathering nicely and hung comfortably showing off Willow’s hourglass figure. The tight weave of the cloth felt silky smooth against her skin, unlike the coarse weave of her everyday clothes.

  Lilly nodded in the reflection and smiled, looking pleased. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Willow, you’re not what I’d have expected from a frontier merchant lady. Are you sure you don’t have Dominion blood in you?”

  Willow cocked one of her eyebrows and stared at Lilly with a questioning expression. “What do you mean?”

  Lilly’s pale face reddened as she looked at her own feet, clearly embarrassed. “Well ... you’re not heavy like most of the merchant girls. You also don’t look like the walking bundle of sticks that most of the farmer girls look like. Especially when you’re wearing a nice dress, hair done just so–I think you’re very pretty. Like one of the Dominion girls.”

  Willow frowned and put her arm around the tiny girl’s shoulders. “Lilly, you need to stop judging people by what they look like. With the dimples on your face, your pretty blue eyes and curly brown hair, you look just as nice as any of them. It doesn’t change who we are inside.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Just try not to judge people until you’ve had a chance to get to know their insides. Some of the prettiest fruits can have a rotten core, while some of the homeliest fruits may be sweeter than honey.”

  Lilly stared up at Willow with an uncertain expression. “I think I understand.”

  Giving Lilly’s shoulders a friendly squeeze, Willow asked, “So how do I find the dining room in this place?”

  Lilly’s face brightened and she waved for Willow to follow. “Oh, that’s easy. Come with me.”

  Willow took one last look at herself and smiled wistfully at the image reflecting back at her.

  Not bad. Not bad at all.

  Wearing the standard black suit jacket, white shirt and red lapel flower that the governor’s male servants wore, a middle-aged servant helped Willow to her seat and she couldn’t help but stare. In the center of the wood-paneled dining room rested a tremendously long table that could easily seat thirty people. It was covered with a long red tablecloth that had gold thread weaving patterns throughout its length. There were small stone tables stationed along the edges of the large room, each of which held large silver vessels that Willow didn’t recognize. Maybe they were for soup? She sat next to Tristan at the end of the long table and even though they’d been at the house for a week, this was the first time for them to eat in the formal dining room. It wasn’t exactly what Willow had expected.

  Tristan leaned over with an amused expression. “I know ... I know. It’s weird eating in this place by ourselves. Why do you think I keep taking us out of the house most of the time? Even I think it’s weird to be here without more people around.”

  Before Willow could absorb what Tristan had said, she stared wide-eyed as one of the servants placed a porcelain dish in front of her. On it was a perfectly-roasted duck breast, a mound of fluffy white mashed potatoes with a pat of butter nestled on it along with a large hollowed tomato filled with what looked like a cheese and vegetable medley. “Tristan, it looks too pretty to eat.”

  Tristan laughed as he sliced into the crispy skin of his duck bre
ast to reveal a perfectly pink meat underneath. “If you want to just look at it, I suppose it’s your right. Personally, I hate to see good food go to waste.” He shoved a forkful of the duck into his mouth and closed his eyes as he chewed.

  She’d had duck before, but as she nibbled at the meat, it was as if her taste buds had suddenly come to life. Willow’s mouth filled with hints of garlic, thyme and an unfamiliar bright sweet flavor. “Oh, I need to know how this is made,” she groaned. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted.”

  Tristan had begun shoveling food in his mouth and motioned toward one of the servants standing on the far end of the opulent dining room. The middle-aged man approached silently. “Leonard, can you please have the cook come, Miss Park has a question—”

  Willow shot him a look as if to say “What are you doing?” Before she could insist that it wasn’t necessary, Leonard scurried away. In what seemed like no time at all, a short woman wearing a white cook’s outfit entered the dining room with a worried expression.

  “Lord Vanden-Plas, is the meal not to your liking? I can immediately prepare something else if—”

  Tristan waved dismissively. “No, nothing like that.” He tilted his head toward Willow. “She wanted to ask you a question.”

  Willow’s cheeks heated with embarrassment as the cook gazed at her, all the while wringing her hands nervously.

  “Yes, Miss?”

  Pointing at the half-eaten dish in front of her, Willow tried to give the older woman a comforting smile. “This has to be the best duck I’ve ever had in my life. Sometime I’d love to know how it’s made.”

  The cook’s face brightened as a gap-toothed smile appeared. “Oh, young Miss. It’s ever so simple. Simply pluck the mature duck as normal, soak it for two hours in the salted juice of the orange tree along with crushed garlic and fresh sprigs of thyme.” The cook became animated as she replayed the steps and Willow noticed an amused expression on Tristan’s face. “Oh! And don’t forget, young miss, the trick is to steam the fatty bird for a good thirty minutes before the bake. It’s the only proper way to crisp up the skin and lessen the fatty mouth feel that duck can have.”

  Willow blinked as she tried to remember what the cook had said, wishing she had something to write with.

  Tristan reached over and patted the cook’s arm. “Thank you, Henrietta. Maybe sometime later you can write down the recipe and Leonard can get it to Miss Park.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, how silly.” Henrietta’s face turned beet red. “I’ll write it down right away.” Henrietta curtseyed and vanished from the room.

  He pointed to Willow’s half-eaten plate and winked. “Are you going to eat that?”

  Willow pushed her plate toward him and shook her head with an amused expression as he began devouring what she hadn’t finished.

  She’d spent the last week in the capitol precinct and even though she’d gotten somewhat used to the giant rooms of the Governor’s mansion and the glittering sights of the precinct, she found the food being served in the capitol to be quite rich and the servings were too much for her. Willow quickly learned that Tristan couldn’t bear to see things go to waste, so it had become a ritual that he ended up finishing whatever she couldn’t eat.

  As Willow replayed in her mind the recipe the cook had recited, she asked, “Tristan, what’s an orange?”

  Holding up his hand as he chewed and finally swallowed, he gave her a lopsided grin. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve probably never seen any kind of citrus fruit. They only grow in the greenhouses in the capitol precinct. It’s too cold everywhere else.” He wiped his mouth with a red cloth napkin and stood. “Why don’t I go show you first-hand. We’ve not yet gone to the farming district.”

  Willow stood, straightened the creases in her dress, and Tristan reached for her.

  He raised her hand and smiled as his gaze went from her face down the dress and back up. “Even though you look gorgeous, you might want to change. I wouldn’t want anything to get on your dress, and trust me, in the farmlands–there’s plenty of dirt and worse that can get splashed onto you. Besides, if we go there, we’re not far from ... well, let’s just say I’d like to show you a special place.”

  A Fevered Dream

  Willow stared at the white tombstone as Tristan kneeled before it. “Arianna D’Vanden-Plas” was etched across the stone with a fancy script. Tristan’s tears fell onto the mound of his mother’s grave. She’d never seen him get emotional and there was something about seeing the Governor’s son break down that made Tristan more real to her. Less like everything that she’d otherwise expect from a Vanden-Plas. His mother had obviously replaced her family name for the Governor’s, but upon seeing the D’ prefix, Willow immediately knew something about Tristan’s mother that she hadn’t known before. In fact, very little was known about the women in the Vanden-Plas household. Tristan’s mother must have never have married the Governor, but instead was one of the few acknowledged mistresses allowed to use the Governor’s name. It was considered a privilege, but it turned Willow’s stomach thinking about it.

  Tristan stood, wiping tears from his face, and gazed at a nearby hill. He held out his hand and gave Willow a weak smile. “Sorry, I didn’t think it would hit me quite like this. Want to see where I really grew up?”

  Willow took his hand and nodded silently. As they walked up the steep incline of the grassy hill, she wasn’t sure what to say. Clearly his mother had meant a lot to him, and something about that that made her feel warm inside. It was good to know that Tristan could be moved in that way. He was still a caring and attentive son, even though his mother had been dead for years.

  They crested the hill and Tristan pointed at an abandoned-looking wooden building. “My mother’s workshop and where I grew up.”

  Willow stared at the dilapidated building and wondered aloud, “Really?”

  Chuckling, Tristan remarked, “Not exactly what you expected, eh?” Still holding her hand, he led Willow straight for the building. “Come on, let me give you a tour.”

  Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the musty-smelling and gloomy building, Willow thought, “Its even smaller than my house.” The only light entering the room came from a broken window on the far end of the main living area. The central fireplace was cold, likely not having been used in years. “How long ago did you live here?”

  Tristan sat cross-legged across from her, leaned back on his arms as his gaze wandered toward the roof. “I was four when she died. I don’t remember a lot of things from back then, but I have a strong memory of being happy here. Mom and I sat here and played a game with stones on the floor....”

  Willow looked in front of her and noticed the hints of a familiar grid pattern scratched onto the floor. She counted out a grid of nineteen by nineteen lines and laughed. “Baduk! I played that with my parents and brothers all the time.”

  Tristan looked at the faded lines and shrugged. “I just remember that I played something with black and white stones. I don’t remember much else about it.”

  Willow sensed a shroud of sadness hanging over Tristan and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  With a deep sigh, Tristan put his hand on his chest. “It’s just this place. I remember so many happy feelings, but my memories are so vague ... it’s almost like I should remember more than I do.”

  “But you were only four, you can’t expect to remember much from so long ago.”

  “I know, but ... it’s just that my mom’s death hit me harder than you can imagine. I was so utterly devastated that I couldn’t speak for a year after she died. I don’t remember much about that year, but I do remember being mad at everyone. I remember dwelling on her death and how pointless it seemed.” Tristan’s face scrunched up in thought. “I remember being told that she’d died when a horse kicked her in the head while shopping in the metal trader’s market. I remember not believing it, thinking that Mom wouldn’t be within ten feet of a horse. She hated and was terrified of horses. Oddly enough, when my Dad
gave me Charger as a gift–he’s what brought me out of my shell. I remember everyone making a big deal of it when I began talking to Charger and I thought they were all crazy.”

  Willow reached forward and gave Tristan’s hands a comforting squeeze. She could relate to the loss of parents, but she had practically been an adult when they died. As it was, she wasn’t sure she could talk about them without getting emotional, and not for a second could she forget why they were dead. She gulped. No, she couldn’t talk about this with Tristan. Yet, she could imagine what it must have been like for him. Being taken from the only home he’d known and suddenly living in that house. The Governor’s mansion. “What did your mother do?”

  “She was a jeweler ... one of the best at making silver and gold items in the entire precinct.” Tristan gave her a sheepish grin. “Or at least, that’s what I’d been told.”

  Willow spied what looked like the rusted remains of fine metal tools near the fireplace. Probably the remnants of jeweler’s instruments.

  Tristan touched his chest and glanced at Willow. “I only have one thing left from her.” He withdrew the medallion with the red and green Dominion symbol emblazoned on it. The red “V” intertwined with a green “P” gleamed even in the gloomy half-light of the abandoned building.

  Willow remembered the stunned look on the wood merchant when Tristan had pulled out the gold medallion. Possibly enhanced by the darkness of the room, Willow noticed an odd glow coming from the back of the medallion as Tristan cupped it in his hands. She scooted in for a closer look and asked, “May I hold it for a second? I swear I’ll be careful.”