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

by Marisol Logan

  “I found it all quite pleasing,” Veria stated casually.

  “I am sure you did,” Tanisca growled. “Just the sort of thing you would find pleasing lately. Something that is completely beneath your position in life. Now you mark my words: I have left well enough alone until now, but I am completely capable of making things go my way. That old Mager you spoke to was right, whether he is skilled or not. You must stop this nonsense before you completely endanger everything we have worked for.”

  “You! You have worked for!” Veria argued, raising her voice and pointing at her mother.

  “It doesn't matter who worked for it—this is your life!” Tanisca shouted. “I know a thing or two about fire, Via, and you are not just playing with a flame. You are about to jump in the whole flaming pit,” she warned in serious tones.

  The memory of standing, naked and cold, in front of the fireplace only two nights before entered her mind. She remembered wanting to get closer and closer. She remembered wanting to jump in, just so she could feel it. Feel the heat on her frostbitten insides, as well as the outside. Just to feel something, whether it was heat, or pain, or ecstasy, or danger. That night she had not cared.

  Tanisca sighed, watching as her daughter’s head dropped to stare at her lap, deep in thought.

  “I have never meant to come across as hard on you,” she said to her daughter, attempting to muster something in her voice that resembled affection, but to Veria it sounded more like self-defense. “And once you secure the standing of your estate, of your future, you can do whatever you want. You can sleep with every lowborn, rough-cut Esperan man in the country for all I care.” Veria cringed, and restrained an outburst by pursing her lips together tightly. “Power first. Power first, Via. Then you can have whatever your foolish heart desires,” Tanisca concluded.

  Choose the right option, you will end up having both in the end. The old Mager's voice echoed in her head. Power or love. Until this point she never thought she wanted either. Until this point she never thought she would have to choose. Her mother's voice cut into her thoughts.

  “I would be careful with the Lacrem, though,” she said with a snide grin. “You will get fat.”

  Upon more reflection, Veria decided she had never experienced love. So how could she choose it? Sure, she had experienced the type of love one feels for family. She had loved her father, and in a very strange way, she loved her mother. As much as Veria spent her time cursing her mother, the woman had always been affectionate, though strict, when she was younger, and Veria knew that she would be extremely saddened should anything unfortunate ever befall Tanisca.

  But as far as falling in love with someone, she was certain she was unfledged. Her mother seemed to think she might have deeper feelings for Andon. Maybe deeper than Veria herself acknowledged. Or perhaps not. She knew she enjoyed his company, she knew she had a lust for him, and she knew she found him attractive. That was not love, though. Not as she would expect it. She imagined it felt like you always thought of that person first, no matter the consequence to you. And that she had never had. Not even for herself, until recently.

  Regardless of what she did or did not feel for him, Veria had felt a very strong urge to visit the kitchen after dinner and apologize for the earlier spat, and pay compliments for the incredible food. But, when she actually took leave from the dining room, she walked right past the kitchen door and went straight up the stairs to her room.

  A maid had prepared a candle and a nightgown for her, filled a basin with fresh water to wash her face, and turned down the bed. Veria changed and crawled into the cold sheets, with the strong sentiment that if she did not speak to anyone in days, or even weeks, she would be perfectly content.

  Much to her dismay, Veria was awoken by a heavy knock on the door, much before she would have preferred to rise that morning. She pulled a dressing gown over her thin nightgown and trudged reluctantly to answer the knock.

  “Why is it that as soon as I want something,” she groaned aloud as she opened the door, “I am forced to do the exact opposite?”

  The maid who had been knocking looked terrified and shook her head in bafflement. Veria waited for the young girl to speak, but the maid just stared at her, looking as though she might be sick.

  “Oh, honestly,” Veria sighed. “What!?”

  “You—my Lady,” the girl stammered, “I am sorry, but, Her Ladyship will be visited by Lord Rames for lunch, my Lady.”

  Veria chuckled, an icy, hoarse laugh that sounded foreign to her own ears. “Yes, that does sound quite unfortunate. I can see why you are sorry. I am sorry for me, as well. Is that all?”

  The maid curtsied and scurried quickly away from the door.

  “I guess that was all,” Veria muttered to herself.

  Not putting much real thought or effort into her appearance, Veria pulled on a blue dress, put a bit of color on her lips and eyes, then made her way out of her room to find a servant, or her mother, to braid and pin her hair. As she stepped into the hallway, she came close to running into Andon.

  “What are you doing up here?” she asked.

  “So nice to see you, also, my Lady,” he replied, sardonically. “Your mother has called me to her quarters.”

  Veria's stomach lurched. “What! Why?”

  “I have not the tiniest clue why, and it is not my place to ask,” Andon answered sharply. “I am a workman, so something is probably broken. I do not see what concern it is to you since you 'do not care what happens between us',” he quoted her.

  “Why is everybody feeling the need to use my own words against me all of the sudden?!” Veria cried in frustration. She grabbed two fists full of her own wavy hair and pulled.

  Andon walked to her, grabbed her hands out of her hair and held them together in front of her. Squeezing her two fists in his, he moved in very close to her face, but it was not sensual or lustful. It was angry and earnest. “Because the things you say matter, Veria!” he growled, and shivers shot up her spine. “It matters,” he repeated, shoving her hands into her own chest and releasing them. She stumbled back a half step and her arms fell to her side. She was too shocked at his expression and his tone to point out that he had forgotten to address her by her title again.

  Andon swallowed hard and glared at her until she could not look at him anymore, and turned her head from him and looked out over the balustrade into the great room. He sighed and stood up rigid and straight. “And then, when you should speak, you do not have anything to say,” he muttered.

  Shaking his head, he walked away from her, and into her mother's bedroom.

  “I have a lot to say,” she muttered to herself when he was gone. “I just do not want to speak to anyone enough to say it,” she sighed.

  The maid that normally did her hair, unbeknownst to Veria, had married and moved off to some other village in Londess. The little maid from that morning was her previous maid's replacement, and she could not be found. All of this information was relayed to her by the cook, who suggested that Andon braid her hair for her.

  “I would rather be stricken with frog poisoning,” she said sharply, recalling how sore he was with her that morning. “And I highly doubt he knows how to braid. What makes you think he can braid?”

  “Have you never seen him work outside? He always braids his hair up,” Cook explained.

  Now that she thought of it, she had never paid attention to him at work, outside, during the day. But that would explain why it always looked a bit wavy at night when he let it down, she thought.

  “Well, that sounds plausible enough, but I highly doubt he would do my hair,” Veria stated.

  “You and your highly doubtin', my Lady,” Cook said, clucking her tongue. “Why do you not ask him yourself? He is right there.” She pointed to the threshold, and Veria spun around to face him.

  “I am. Right here,” he stated, his voice lacking its normal smooth enthusiasm. “Does Her Ladyship need something?”

  Veria was just about to say 'no' and leave
when Cook chimed in. “She needs her hair braided for this highfalutin Lord comin' over. I canno' do it,” she added. “Got to go fetch eggs for the tarts.” And she grabbed a basket and left the kitchen.

  “The infamous Lord Rames is paying a visit today?” Andon said, looking slightly amused. “What could he possibly want, I wonder?”

  “Look, if you do not want to do the braids, I understand. I can just pin it myself,” she said, and she started to leave through the doorway that Andon occupied. “I would understand if you do not want to touch me.”

  He shot his arm out across the doorway, blocking her from exiting. “Oh, I want to touch you,” he said seriously. Her stomach fluttered, but she held her composure. “I hate it, but I always want to touch you.”

  He led her by the shoulder to an empty chair and pushed her down into the seat, then walked around to the back of her and went straight to work. She was used to her mother, or her maid, doing this, and they were gentle and precise. Andon was grabbing sections of her hair and yanking them back quickly and tugging them into place. He was not attempting to be affectionate or tender with her, which she took as a sign that he was still angry with her.

  Yet, even knowing he was upset, every touch of his fingertips to her scalp, his hands through her hair, made her skin tingle and her stomach flutter. She felt her neck relax as arousal began to consume her with its radiating warmth. Thoughts of him grabbing her as powerfully as he handled her hair and pushing her down on the work table flashed through her mind and she let her eyes close to better visualize it. Fragments of a fantasy whirled through the forefront of her thoughts, with every stroke of his fingers through her tresses: pulling of her hair, arching of her spine, lips and teeth on her neck, moans and cries of pain and pleasure, clothes ripping, grabs her thigh, drinks her mouth, heels in his backside, burning, twisting, roaring, pulsating ecstasy—

  Her head dropped back with one of his more forceful jerks, breaking her from her trance. Andon sighed in frustration and impatiently repositioned her to look straight ahead again. Obviously, Veria thought, he was not thinking the same things she was.

  “Done,” he said, as he twisted the end of the braid up toward the top of her head and placed several pins in it. Without a moment's hesitation, he made to leave the room.

  “Wait,” she said.

  “What?” he sighed. “Do you need a flower in it?”

  She was taken aback by the cruel tone in his voice, and sat with her mouth agape for a few seconds before speaking. “I—I just...I know I should have something grand and meaningful to say, but I do not. I just know that I cannot handle this.”

  “Handle what, exactly, my Lady?” he asked.

  “You. You not speaking to me,” she said.

  “I am speaking to you right now,” he replied. “We spoke this morning—”

  “Well, how you are treating me then,” she corrected.

  “How else am I supposed to treat you, Lady Veria?” he said, losing his calm demeanor. “I am your servant, and you are a member of status in the Regalship. So you tell me how I am not treating you to your liking. What can I do to better my service to Her Ladyship?”

  “I don't know!” she snapped. “Why can we not be friends?”

  “I believe you made it very clear you did not want to be friends, my Lady,” he replied.

  “Oh, my sakes! Then what are we supposed to be?!” she yelled. “How are we supposed to treat each other?!”

  “I am going to be a man,” Andon replied, softly. “And, you—you are going to be a woman. And where I come from, any relationship that we had with each other would be treated with respect. From strangers to lovers, from friends to enemies. Enjoy your lunch with His Lordship.”

  “I shall not enjoy one second of it,” she said to him as he walked out of the kitchen. But he did not respond.

  -VII-

  By the time Lord Rames arrived, Veria was emotionally and socially exhausted from her morning encounters with Andon. Madam Tanisca and Lady Veria greeted Lord Rames elaborately and warmly at the door, and took a quick starter course and pre-luncheon meade in Tanisca's den.

  Veria enviously realized that her mother's den was covered in fresh cut flowers. It seemed almost every available surface had an elaborate arrangement upon it. No wonder the gardens had been so unusually green and bare the past few weeks. On one of her day-dreaming hideout days under the bushes, Veria recalled having noted that by this time of the year, they normally had floppy, amber blooms hanging off their branches.

  But no, the flora bush's blossoms were all scattered about her mother's den, in fancy urns and vases, dropping heavily over the sides of the arrangements while the tall and imperial irea flowers provided contrast in the center, and fire-red Dragon-tongue filled the gaps in between. Veria was not sure how long she had been lost in admiring the flowers, but Lord Rames and Madam Tanisca were deep in conversation about the future of the Guyler Regalship, with the untimely passing of the whole family from disease contracted in Tal'lea while on excursion there.

  “I do not understand these upper-standing people who just take off to foreign nations for fun,” Tanisca observed with distaste in her tone and a dismissing wave of her hand.

  The meade was sweet and chilled, but it burned Veria's throat when she took large gulps of it, as she was at that moment. She walked to her mother's desk and refilled her cup from the jug of meade, and quickly downed that serving, as well. Just as she was about to be caught in her consumption, Cook rang a small bell, and the three shuffled from the den, through the drafty great room, and into the dining hall, where they seated themselves.

  The food, a polite dish of greens in cream dressing with roasted caros and fresh citra, with biscuits and ram yogurt, was promptly served. Veria, while not excited about the taste of the meal, was glad for the greens, since they were harder to masticate and therefore, she could engage in less talking.

  Utensils clinked against plates, the fire behind them crackled, and Lord Rames happily moaned about a biscuit.

  “Who does your biscuits, Lady Veria?” he questioned excitedly. “They are delectable! Do I detect spices? Rosa, perhaps?”

  Tanisca gasped and choked on a bite of biscuit, and Veria smirked and restrained a laugh.

  “We have recently added an Esperan to our house staff,” Tanisca explained cordially, glaring at Veria from the corner of her eye as she did. “I believe he likes to lend a hand to Cook, from time to time.”

  “Oh, how excellent for you!” Lord Rames elated. “I used to find it brazenly spiced and lacking in quality, but I have come to find I am actually quite fond of Esperan cuisine. Its simplicity has become a comfort to me. Especially with all the dreary weather at North Chadron. I daresay we must get twice the amount of rain as the southern estates.” With the mention of rain, Lord Rames amorously caught Veria's gaze.

  Why the Fire is everyone looking at me? she thought. She cleared her throat, knowing full well that both of them expected her to join the conversation.

  “I believe you know Ambassador Willis Villicrey,” Veria said, finally. Tanisca's eyes went wide.

  “Why, yes! Great man,” Lord Rames nodded.

  “Master Villicrey is his father,” Veria said.

  “Whose father?” Lord Rames asked.

  “The Esperan,” Veria answered.

  “Oh, yes, of course, the Esperan,” Lord Rames said, still nodding. “But, why is Ambassador Villicrey's son an Esperan servant?”

  “I would assume that Master Villicrey never claimed him,” Veria answered. “And he seemed to prefer living with his mother, in Esperan.”

  “To each their own,” Lord Rames shrugged. “But I cannot say I am not impressed. Even the servants at Longberme are interesting,” he added with a smirk.

  Veria did not know if that was meant to be a flattery to her personal level of mystery, or a jibe at the amount of story that came along with her estate and her family. She threw a glance to her mother, who seemed to be thinking the same thought,
her eyes full of self-conscious doubt—a sight Veria had rarely seen. Lord Rames went about slabbing yogurt on his last biscuit, clueless to the effect of his statement.

  Words matter...Veria thought.

  The tarts were brought out after they were all finished with lunch, and Veria kept mostly silent, and requested another glass of meade. Her mother and Lord Rames chatted excitedly about the cakes and tarts his mother had decided on for the wedding. Madam Tanisca recounted the selection of food from her wedding to Lord Gordon, and Lord Rames admitted he vaguely remembered attending that ceremony as a small child.

  When the desserts were finished, Madam Tanisca rose, “Well, this has certainly been a pleasure,” she sighed. “I can call for tea, if you and Lady Veria have business to discuss?”

  “No, thank you Madam,” Lord Rames said, also standing. “I feel after the wonderful food, I shall need a stroll, and was quite hoping that Lady Veria might give me a tour of the gardens.” He gave her a sly side smile.

  “I regret to inform you that the gardens will be rather disappointing today,” Veria said in a somber tone. “All of the flowers are in Madam Tanisca's den.”

  Her mother shot her an icy stare, then recovered from the possible embarrassment with a hearty, almost hysterical, giggle. “You become quite the joker when you have had too much meade,” she jibed. “I will leave you two with your afternoon, then.” She curtsied to Lord Rames, and he nodded in acknowledgment, and she left the dining hall in a graceful swoop.

  Veria stood with an aggravated sigh.

  “You seem out of sorts, today, my Lady?” Lord Rames asked as he gently took her elbow and led her toward the main entry.

  “I am distracted,” she answered, in as few words as possible.

  “And I, as well,” he said.

  As soon as they reached the gardens, he rounded on her, placing both of his large hands on her shoulders. She braced herself for what she thought was to come, but he just looked at her nervously.