Lord and Servant: (Book I of the Elementals Series)

by Marisol Logan

  Veria spent a small amount of energy and time trying to argue that she didn't need an entirely new dress to go get her silly cape back, but she gave up quickly, knowing that once her mother had her mind on something, it happened regardless of the wishes of others.

  “Make it red,” Tanisca ordered the seamstress after the measurements were taken.

  “Mother! I hate red,” Veria said. “I shall look like...I shall look—”

  “Before you finish your ridiculous statement, I will remind you of the story of how I met your father, and how I was wearing a very tasteful crimson dress, that he found extremely alluring,” her mother snapped.

  “My thoughts precisely,” Veria said through her teeth.

  As she went through these motions of snaring an actual living person, a real man that she had really met, she felt different. When it was all just a 'someday' or a 'suitor', she never gave much thought to any of it. The dress fittings, the tips on seduction, the discussions of engagement and Regalship status. When she was younger, it was just part of playing her role as the Ladyship. Now that it was actually happening, she found herself thinking about all the things—those silly things you do in your childhood—she would never, ever do once she was Lady Veria Laurelgate-Longberme of Chadron and North Chadron. What does a Ladyship do? What am I supposed to do? she thought. Her mother took care of all of the duties of the Longberme Estate as it stood now, a courtesy she claimed she would give her daughter so she could find a husband.

  She was not ready to take on all the duties of being a Ladyship. She was not ready to be a real Lady or a wife, or a mother! She never got to do any of the things that normal people get to do before they are forced to grow up and move on. You have to be young at some point to become old! She had never felt like either, and upon realizing the static state of her maturity, Veria panicked and ran to the kitchen.

  The servants jumped as she plowed through the door. The cook dropped a spoon in the soup meant for dinner, and her small son scrambled under a table. Veria had thought she wanted to come talk to the servants like she had liked to do when she was a child, but then she realized that was a step in the wrong direction. That would be making her feel the one comfort of her childhood, when she should be embracing her advancement into adulthood.

  “Get out!” she screamed at the servants, and they quickly bustled out the back door.

  Veria huffed and puffed and fought back tears as she stomped aimlessly around the empty kitchen. Then a tantalizing smell invaded her temper, and broke her down. She ran to the stove and wafted the scent of the soup up to her nose.

  “Ah, you are smelling my Rosa soup,” the silken voice came from behind her.

  Veria turned around to catch the Esperan coming in from the back yard with an arm's load of firewood. “What is this dish?” she demanded, pointing back at the boiling soup.

  “Rosa,” he answered. “It is named for the famous Esperan spice by the same name—”

  “Yes, I know the spice,” Veria interrupted.

  “I apologize, my Lady,” he said. And he continued: “This is a soup that the Esperan commoners would serve to visitors, because it contains our highest worth ingredients. It includes ox meat, eggs, rosa spice, caros, and a dark meade broth. I added pearl onions to this batch, since I know your Ladyship is fond of them,” he added.

  Veria stared at him in complete bewilderment. Her heart raced, partially just from her outburst and panic, but also because she could now see the Esperan's face, and he was grinning a very confident grin, and his dark hair fell lightly over his observant eyes. She felt herself go rigid as a defense against how nonchalant he was. But the smell kept rising up to her, and she was so overtaken by the power of the Rosa spice, she thought she might pass out.

  The servant chuckled and dropped the firewood in the middle of the floor, then made his way to the boiling pot on the stove. He fished the spoon out of the soup, and dipped it into the thick, creamy, orange-colored liquid. Then he held the spoon up to Veria's face.

  “I have never had Esperan food before,” she said, and she was embarrassed to be confessing to him.

  “Then you,” he said softly, “are most certainly missing out on the finest cuisine in the world.”

  He placed his fingers under her chin as he raised the spoon to her lips. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth and before the food even touched her tongue, she knew it was the most flavorful dish she had ever tasted. Once her mouth adjusted to the near scalding temperature of the soup, she moved the ox meat and the broth around in it, savoring how it changed its body on different areas of her tongue. The spice itself was like nothing she had ever tasted before—a cross between the savory Beardclove her mother was so fond of, and the spicy Caro Seed the cook liked, but with a sweet aroma and aftertaste that she did not expect.

  She was not sure how long she stood there, enjoying her first bite of Esperan cuisine, but she finally opened her eyes and realized that the servant's hand was still touching her face, and he was watching her intently. She pulled herself away from him, and tried to resume her stiff facade.

  “Tell me your name,” she demanded, with no warmth in her tone.

  “Andon,” he answered. “My Lady,” he added, quickly.

  “And why did you make this dish, Andon?” Veria asked.

  “Because Her Ladyship was so quiet at lunch today,” he answered, looking straight at her. “I thought it might cheer her up.”

  “I am always quiet,” she snapped. “And you are not the cook. Clean it up before Madam Tanisca sees it. She hates Esperan food, and it is not allowed to be served in this house.”

  Veria could not bring herself to look at Andon's face before she left the kitchen in a quick and confident stride. When she reached her library, she sat back in a chair and tried to recreate the sensation of tasting the Rosa for the rest of the evening, until dinner was served, which was an overly beardclove-flavored ox flank with Caro Seed rice. She took two disappointing bites and went to her room.

  -III-

  The day arrived for Veria to go exchange capes at North Chadron Castle. She was nervous, mostly because she was certain she would expose herself. But she steeled her nerves, and practiced her alluring mysteriousness the whole coach ride there, waiting until the foggy areas of the Bermedge Forest to practice some seductive gazes and smirks.

  When she arrived, the indigo cape clutched in her sweaty hands, her heart pounded. Not because she was particularly excited, but because she had been dreading this meeting for a whole week, and really wanted to run the other way. She just could not bring herself to go in there and keep lying to Lord Rames. He seemed so sincere, and nobody deserved to be deceived, she thought.

  The doorman escorted her into the grand entry, and went to fetch His Lordship. A moment later, Lord Rames was trotting excitedly down the stairs.

  “Well, if it isn't Lady Veria, come to snatch her violet cape back,” he practically sang during his descent.

  Veria swallowed hard and her hands went ice cold. “I am sorry, what did you call me?”

  Lord Rames came face to face with her, then grabbed her free hand without asking and escorted her to the cloak room. “Oh, you thought I would not discover the truth?” he scoffed. “So you are a conniving witch and a naive one, too.”

  Veria's throat was so tight she could not have spoken even if she wanted to.

  “I know women like you,” Lord Rames said, and his shy and brooding demeanor from their first encounter had entirely vanished. “The Longberme scandal has left your estate completely worthless, but you are just like your mother. You will do whatever it takes to slither your way into a house of fortune, will you not?”

  Veria winced and backed into the wall of cloaks, where she had originally found Rames the week before, as he laughed at her and pointed in her face. “I am not so young and naive as you,” he said, and he grabbed her by her shoulders. “I know exactly what to do with your type.”

  He pushed himself against her and pressed his
lips into her collarbone, practically feeding on her neck as he roughly moved up to her chin. Veria pulled her face away as he tried to kiss her on the lips. Rames grabbed her by the waist and pushed her more forcefully against the wall. “What is your problem, Lady Jane?” he scoffed. “Is this not exactly what you came here to do?”

  Veria went rigid underneath his grip, and tried to push him off. He shoved her back against the wall and forcefully kissed her before backing away, his hair tousled, an immoral grin on his face. He pulled her violet cloak off the hook, snatched the indigo one away, and handed the former to her. She was so shaken, she could hardly reach out to grab it.

  “I apologize about the cloak,” Rames drawled. “It was quite honestly a total mistake, and my fiance will be so happy to have hers back, as well.”

  The words stung like a slap to her chest. Veria turned and ran out the door, making it the second time she failed to tell Lord Rames goodbye. This time, she did not want to speak another word to him, or anyone. She felt him watching her as she climbed into the coach, and she sank into the seat, with her throat on fire, as the coach pulled away from North Chadron Castle.

  It was dark by the time Veria returned to Longberme. She stormed through the back door, not waiting for anyone to open it for her. Once again, she screamed in rage at the servants to leave the kitchen, and they did. Except Andon.

  “My Lady,” his voice should have soothed her, but it infuriated her more for how calm it was at a time when she was so furious. “What is wrong?”

  “I will tell you what is wrong!” Veria screamed. “It's this disgusting, evil red dress!”

  She began to untie the front-laced closure, but the ribbons were knotted up and her hands were shaking terribly.

  “This horrible, Fire-stricken red dress!” she continued screaming as she began to rip furiously at the back closure on her brand new gown. “It is this vile dress's fault! She knew what was going to happen. She knew it, and I have to get this thing off!”

  Veria had never been in such a rage in her life that she could remember, and she drew massive amounts of satisfaction from hearing each and every seam in the dress rip and break until it lost its shape and fell from her body.

  “I had to get it off,” she said, panting, standing in her lacy under-slip and stockings.

  Andon stared at her in silence.

  As the full scope of the day's events consumed her, Veria collapsed to the floor and sobbed.

  “No,” Andon said. “No, no, you must not do that.”

  “Why not?” she snapped. “This is my life! That ridiculous red dress—that is me!”

  “How are you a red dress, my Lady?” Andon asked, sounding slightly amused.

  “I am never going to get to lead my own life!” she answered in desperate sobs. “I am destined to follow the same path as my mother. Never getting my own experiences or decisions. Just being backed into a wall with no other options.” The phrase reminded her of Lord Rames's advances, and she shivered.

  “Pardon my saying, Lady Veria, but you are not your mother.”

  “I appreciate you saying that, but everyone thinks I am, so why should I not be?” she sniffed and hung her head.

  “I think you are a beautiful person the way you are,” Andon said, sitting down next to her.

  “Yes, well, Andon,” Veria said, looking him straight in the eyes, “the way I am has not gotten me very far. And I don't think there is all that much that will be missed.”

  She stood, grabbed the red dress off the floor and flung it in the crackling fire. She sat back down next to the servant and suddenly realized she was mostly naked in front of a man, a servant, she hardly knew. He was doing a decent job of not acting strangely about it, unless he actually did not care. Then Rames's words echoed in her head, about the cape being an honest mistake, and not a ploy to see her again. Maybe it was, and he was never really attracted to her to begin with. As cold as she felt on the inside, it pained her deeply to think that, for all her beauty, no one would ever love her. She looked at Andon.

  “Andon,” she said quietly, and he met her gaze. “You think I am beautiful?”

  “I said I think you are a beautiful person, my Lady,” he answered. “That is more important in Esperan.”

  “You do not know me,” she whispered, leaning toward him and shaking her head.

  “I could,” he whispered, and touched her cheek.

  With a lust she had never felt before, she leaned in closer to him, and he pulled her face into his and kissed her softly. They kissed and embraced each other for what felt to her like hours, then he held her until she drifted to sleep. She awoke at first light in his quarters under a heavy woven blanket, alone.

  All throughout that day, Veria could not tell if she wanted to see Andon, or if she wanted to avoid him. She was incredibly nervous either way. And she had yet to tell her mother about the incident at North Chadron. She did not particularly want to, either. Quite honestly, she figured her mother already knew. Whether she had guessed at the situation her daughter was in, or had felt her rage the night before, her mother was notorious for figuring things out before they figured themselves out. Part of the skills of the Mager, or being a plotting, conniving woman, perhaps.

  When she finally did see her mother, at tea in her library, all she could think to say was “I apologize, but I ruined the new dress.”

  Madam Tanisca responded with: “Do not worry yourself. I trust you will figure this all out.”

  She knew.

  And what was there to figure out? Either become Lord Chadron's red-dressed mistress and bear his illegitimate child, hoping that at some point he would marry her to legitimize his heir, or watch as Longberme crumbled into obscurity, along with its Lady. Veria spent a large part of the gray, cloudy day laying in the cold, dewy grass under some bushes in the garden, trying to come to grips with what she must do next. Her experience with Andon the night before had somewhat prepared her for what her upcoming plans.

  Finally, she became hungry. All she wanted was Rosa, but she did not dare speak to Andon long enough to ask him to make it. Recounting her actions of the night before made her feel embarrassed, a feeling she was trying to ignore on the whole, so she could toughen herself to any rumors or name-calling involved in the mistress business. But as she entered the kitchen to sneak leftovers of the tea breads, she ran into him. Why was he always in the kitchen? she thought in frustration.

  “Oh! My Lady, excuse me,” Andon said. “I apologize.”

  He seemed nervous, as well. She certainly liked him better when he was smooth and confident. Although she felt her breathe catch in her chest when he spoke, regardless.

  “You are having a good day, I take it?” he asked, warmly.

  “It is fine,” she answered, trying to maintain distance. “And you? You must be tired. It seems you wake very early to begin your chores.”

  “Yes, Lady Veria, I—I awake well before the sun rises, every day. But if this bothers my Lady, I can sleep later, in the future,” Andon said, looking her intently in the eyes with his deep brown ones. He took a step toward her.

  She stepped back. “I do not think I should care when you arise to begin your chores, do you?”

  Andon's head dropped. “No, my Lady,” he answered.

  Veria knew she should leave the kitchen at that point. But she wanted to lean in to him, she wanted to sleep under the rough woven blanket again. She wanted him to cook Rosa, and feed her a whole bowl with his hand on her face. Her heart pounded in her chest, but not as it had at North Chadron Castle, when she wanted to leave, and should have. It pounded and turned and flamed just being near Andon. And she would feel like the world's biggest idiot if his heart were not doing the same. A thought that seemed suddenly ridiculous to her. A member of the Regalship, worrying about how a servant from Esperan felt when he was around her. She took a sharp inhale and strode out of the

  room, and could hear him go back to his work.

  She realized as soon as she made it b
ack to her library that she was extremely hungry, but no food sounded appetizing anymore.

  -IIIV-

  The next week passed in a blur of day-dreaming and seclusion. Veria found comfort in her library, or the flora bushes at the outer edge of the garden, and she avoided speaking to anyone.

  Her mind often wandered to waking up in Andon's quarters, the rough blanket scratching her soft skin, and the places where he had held and kissed her while she was half-asleep still tingling. Then she would actively shove those memories to the back of her mind and begin her ritual of mental preparation again. She had made up her mind to give herself to Lord Rames as a mistress, and she knew her next encounter with him would be nerve wracking.

  Veria had no intention of having any discussion on the matter with her mother. She was embarrassed, somewhat disgusted with herself, but she knew her mother was right, and this was her only option. There was not one available Lordship left in the kingdom that had not refused her as a prospect or found a suitable bride. Advancing to an age at which most women are settled and starting a family, she had not received a single proposal, nor inquiry, not even letters of condolences about her father, and the very rare invitation to dine or dance.

  This disillusionment of her life left her cold on the inside. Where most girls might cry over a stack of parchment that contained no invitations or letters of interest, she found no lump in her throat at the thought of the lack of suitors. That was never something she really recalled wanting for herself. Others wanted it for her, but she never recalled wanting it for herself.

  On the coldest, dreariest, grayest day of the week, she decided to pay Lord Rames his visit. She was not going to waste a beautiful day on him.

  Wearing the amethyst dress she had worn on their first meeting, and a simple flower in her braided hair, and a small hat to protect the braids from the weather, she approached North Chadron Castle with relatively little nervousness compared to the initial anxiety she had felt about seeing Lord Rames again. The rain pounded down on her small black cap, and ran down her face as she stood on the front landing and waited for the doorman to open the door. Lord Rames was already waiting, but instead of inviting her inside out of the rain, he came out onto the stone steps with her and ordered the doorman to go inside.