by E. D. Walker
“What is it you want, Lady Violette? For yourself, and because you want it. Not because you think you’re supposed to want it?”
She squeezed her eyes closed, the pain from her head reaching a crescendo. Violette scoffed. “At this moment? A nap.”
Llewellyn actually burst out laughing. “Forgive me, my lady.” He paused. “May I speak to you about this again?”
She worried at her lip with her teeth. How sensible he made it all sound, how horrifyingly possible. A world where she could have magic and love and respect. Her heart ached just to think of it—a nice partner for her head. She let herself flop gracelessly against the pillows and buried her face in their soft lumps with a groan.
“My lady?”
She caught her breath a moment then forced the words out. “Yes. We will speak of this again. Later.”
“Fair enough. I’ll send a tray of food in a while.” She listened to him clank and neaten his healing supplies before his steps shuffled out the door, and she was alone again.
Violette puffed her breath out. For such a mild-mannered, soft-spoken sort of man, Master Llewellyn could pack quite a punch.
***
Despite what she’d said, Violette tried to read some of the books left about the shed. A treatise on healing herbs caught her eye but, as she tried to read it, the words began to swim, and her head flared in another painful flash. She slammed the covers closed and crawled back into the cot. Napping is all I’m good for, apparently. Master Llewellyn had warned her that reading wouldn’t be easy for the next few weeks, but she hadn’t wanted to believe him. If Ned were around, she could have continued his reading lessons, making him read aloud to her. The idea conjured a wistfulness in her chest, and she peeled back the covers on the bed, ready for her next nap of the day. She froze as she spotted old blood in the center of the mattress. Her head was still covered, and anyway she hadn’t been lying there—
“Oh…no.” With rising dread, Violette checked herself and discovered her monthly had made an early appearance. Her borrowed hose were badly stained, and the sheets would need a good scrubbing. Her cheeks heated as she stood staring at the soiled bed. This hadn’t happened in years. But the last few days had been so tumultuous, and she’d been feeling so awful anyway, she hadn’t noticed the signs of her monthly coming on. She cast around for something to use, but Master Llewellyn had taken away all her used bandages and left no convenient rags in their place.
Just then, with perfect timing, the door swung open, and Ned popped his head through.
Violette didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. Instead, some instinct sent her scurrying back into the bed and pulling the covers up to hide both the stained sheets and herself. “Go away, Ned.”
He flinched at her tone but still pushed his way into the room, carrying the dinner tray carefully ahead of him. “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I begged a book off Master Llewellyn. I thought maybe you could help me with my reading again?”
Emotion clogged her throat, but she pursed her lips and shook her head. She couldn’t have this conversation now. Not in her current condition. What if he should see? “I don’t want you. Send a servant back later with the food.”
But the wretched boy wouldn’t be deterred. No, instead he set his tray down and came to sit beside her on the bed. Her breathing quickened in alarm, and her cheeks burned hot enough to scald.
He hung his head, avoiding her gaze. “My lady, I was rude. I know it. It’s just—”
“Ned.” She gritted her teeth. “Leave. Right this instant.”
“Violette. My lady, you don’t understand—”
She couldn’t take it anymore, and she flung her hands skyward. “Idiot boy, I’m sitting here bleeding from my monthly. It’s stained the sheets and my pants, and I’m likely to die of embarrassment if you don’t leave right now.” Her voice broke at the end, and she buried her face in her hands. Merciful Goddess of Fate, please take me now. I’m ready to die.
Ned was very quiet for a very long moment. Then he simply said, “Oh.” The bedclothes rustled as he hopped to his feet. “Excuse me.” The door clicked quietly as he left the shed.
Violette collapsed forward onto the mattress with a groan. “Perfect.” What a mess her life was becoming. What a beautiful, glorious wreck she’d made of everything. She laughed morbidly then found it catching in her chest somewhere and turning into real laughter, real amusement. Lady Fate, how ridiculous she’d been. Hysterical. Unreasonable. She snorted into her hand, trying not to laugh too hard because of her head. But her stomach muscles still cramped, and she was still chuckling when Ned slid back into the room with a pouch tucked under one arm.
“Ned.” Her mouth fell open in pure, stupid shock. “You came back.”
His face was the reddest she’d ever seen. Bright, bright red like a beet, and he couldn’t meet her gaze. His breath was coming fast and shallow like he was panicking almost.
What on earth…
He handed her the pouch with shaking hands then retreated to the doorway and leaned against the wall there with his hands tucked under his armpits.
Slowly, worried what she might find, Violette opened the pouch. It was only a rag bag, much like the one she used each month, with clean, fresh rags stuffed in it. She set it on the bed in front of her and stared. “How do you know about these? Where did you even get this?” Her husband hadn’t even known what she’d done for her monthlies. Granted, they hadn’t been married for very long before his death, but he’d had a first wife as a young man and still had not a clue. In her experience, most men didn’t know—didn’t want to know—what women did about their inconvenient bleeding.
Ned shifted in the corner, catching her attention. She gazed at him, unable to look away. She didn’t know what it was, something about the way he moved just then, the tremble in his chin, the smoothness of his jaw. But realization clicked then like a sword sliding home into its scabbard. “Oh. Ned. This is yours, isn’t it?”
Chapter Fifteen
“Ned, I…” Violette could only stare at Ned with her mouth agape. “How? Why?”
He made a little restless motion of his shoulders, still not looking at her, and scuffed one toe over the straw floor of the hut.
“Wh—what should I call you?” she asked. “What’s your real name?”
He looked up at her sharply, eyes flashing. “Ned, same as always. My name is Ned.”
She crossed her arms then uncrossed them then recrossed them again. She didn’t know where to look, what to say. “All right.”
“I left something out when I told you about my family.”
Violette bit back a sharp retort and settled for, “Yes, I think you must have.”
Ned crouched on the floor, gripping his hands together. He looked like some cornered, scared animal, and it made her heart hurt. “I was different from the beginning. I knew who I was even if no one else believed me. Although, I finally learned not to…tell most folks. Still, I drove my mother mad running after my father and my brothers. She died when I was about five or so, and my father kept me close after that.”
His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. “When I was seven, my older brother Alan died. It was wrong of me, but I went to my father and said, ‘Can I take his place, papa? Can I be your son?’” Ned swallowed, tears tracking silently down his cheeks. “He just hugged me close and said, ‘Love, I think you always have been. Fate made you different, but the Kind Lady never made you wrong.’ He let me pick my own name after that, and we burned all my dresses together. He was lord of the castle, so the other folk did what he asked. Mostly they didn’t care. They were loyal and loved him. And me too, for all my quirks. There was gossip, of course, but they didn’t spread it beyond our little manor. I was lucky to be the child of a lord. It shielded me from many attacks about my…differences.”
Many. But not all. Violette guessed there was untold pain in that small word choice.
Ned raked his hands over his face, wiping the tear tracks away
, rubbing them into his skin. “Then there was the fire when I was ten, and everyone I ever knew was gone. When I went to the next manor to beg for help, the lord there just…took me at face value. Believed me that I was one of Lord Berowne’s sons. He made me a page in his household, and he took me with him to the capitol to try and catch the king’s attention. And then the king chose me for his page, took me in.” Ned shuddered and hugged himself tight. “I’ve been so frightened, so deeply terrified all this time that someone would find out and tell King Thomas. For years.”
Violette had to wet her lips before she could speak. “Am I the only one who knows?”
“Master Llewellyn knows.”
She blinked at that. “Truly? But he’s the king’s second in command.”
Ned flashed her a quick, wry smile. “Master Llewellyn and the king’s late brother were in love once upon a time. He knows how to keep secrets.” Ned smoothed his palms over his knees, his hands suddenly restless. His pale cheeks flamed briefly red again. “There was a girl at court a few winters ago. We were…friends, but she left for an arranged marriage. There was another page who knew and helped me. But he was killed in our first battle when we arrived here. I still miss him.” He shook his head. “Do you know, I’ve never tallied everyone up like that. It seems so many now that I say them all aloud.” He smiled then and finally looked her full in the face, his eyes shining with tears. “I’m guess I’m not very good at keeping my secrets.”
“Ned—”
The door rattled, making them both jump about a foot in the air. “Children, what are you doing? Open this door.”
Violette gasped at the familiar voice. “Yonca?”
“Yes, now open this door.”
Ned hurried to obey, fumbling at the door with clumsy hands and rubbing his wet eyes against his sleeve. Violette took a broken breath in and blinked her own eyes to keep tears from falling.
Yonca bustled into the room. “Oh, hello, Squire Ned.”
He bowed but said nothing.
Violette could only shake her head as she watched Yonca drop several bags on the floor and set about rearranging Master Llewellyn’s workshop to suit herself. “Yonca, what are you doing here?”
Yonca put her hands on her hips and laughed. “Things were very chaotic after the ball, and Lord Guillaume has been hovering like a vulture. But of course I’m here, child. The princess sent me to be your chaperone.”
“Oh.” It was like a little arrow to her heart, a straight shot of feeling that almost rocked Violette back on her heels. The princess remembered her, the princess cared still about Violette’s safety, her reputation. But even as warmth spread through her at those thoughts, she couldn’t quite fight back a wash of dismay as she looked at Ned. She had so much she wanted to say to him and no way to say it with Yonca hovering.
Ned grimaced an unfelt smile at Violette and gave a stiff bow. “My lady.” Then, without another word, he eased out the door and gently pulled it closed behind him.
Violette felt cold all of a sudden and very near tears again. She gathered the blankets close around her body.
Yonca tsked. “It’ll be all right, child. Let’s get some food in you.”
***
Violette had been tempted to lie to Yonca about her condition, to test whether she could do more training with her magic, but the woman must have already spoken with Llewellyn, for she didn’t allow Violette to exert herself at all. Certainly not with magic.
Truly, it was nice to be fussed over for the next few days. Yonca combed out the braids left over from the ball and washed Violette’s hair for her. Yonca’s expert fingers combing through Violette’s hair was instantly soothing. To her eternal mortification, Violette fell asleep with her head in Yonca’s lap.
When Violette woke up, she flushed with embarrassment. “Apologies.”
Yonca clicked her tongue. “Eh, it’s all right.” She tapped Violette’s cheek. “Another world, we might have been sisters, no?”
Violette swallowed. Even a few weeks ago, that suggestion probably would’ve offended her. She and a servant, sisters? But now more than ever, trapped in her little shed, isolated, the social constructs of the world seemed false, arbitrary. Yonca’s skin was only a few shades darker, her hair carrying only a slightly thicker curl. She was skilled at magic, kind, witty. What besides an accident of birth made Violette her “better”?
Men of good breeding, “gentlemen,” had thrown rocks at Violette’s head. She couldn’t reconcile it to herself that they were more important than Yonca, more worthy of anything but contempt.
What was what anymore? What was true? What the world said or what she felt in her heart? Ned’s face flashed through her mind, and she stifled a sigh. He hadn’t been back to see her yet.
Days passed. Llewellyn continued daily check-ins. She almost introduced Yonca to him as a fellow magic user but bit her tongue in time. Like Ned’s secret, Yonca’s magic abilities were not hers to divulge. She didn’t think Master Llewellyn would do anything ill if he did know, but it wasn’t her choice to make.
Little by little, Violette’s headaches got better, and she found herself capable of more. Longer walks. Longer periods of reading aloud while Yonca listened patiently. And slowly, tentatively, Violette’s magic came back. She got a dreadful headache the first time she tried a warming spell on some broth. But each day, it hurt less, and she could hold her spells for longer. Complex spells that required concentration still caused headaches, though.
About two weeks after the ball, Llewellyn scratched at her door and stuck his head in without waiting for a reply. Most out of character. “Lady Violette, I beg your pardon, but we have need for haste right now. Can you and Yonca pack and be ready to go in a few minutes?”
Startled, Violette swung her legs to the floor. “Of course, but what’s happening?”
Llewellyn’s face lit in a brilliant smile. “A ship. At last. The winter storms are lessening, and we’ve found a captain willing to take us out, but the tide may turn at any moment. We need to get to the harbor now.”
“What about the princess? Lady Noémi?”
“They will disguise themselves and meet us there.” He bounced on his feet. “I’m sorry. There really isn’t time for talking, Lady Violette.”
“Of course, of course.” She bustled about the room, grabbing at her clothing and books and passing them to Yonca to stuff in her bag.
Llewellyn stood there a moment longer. “Home. At last.” He gave a fidgety rap on the door with his knuckles then hurried away.
Home. Just the word kindled an ache in her heart, like a breath of cold air seeping under the door.
But when Llewellyn said “home,” he didn’t mean Jerdun. He wasn’t thinking of the warm sun baking into golden stone walls. He wasn’t thinking of red tile roofs and a fresh breeze blowing the smell of wildflowers into the air. Lyond was a colder country from what she’d heard. Dark, wet with rain and fog. And full of Lyondi who would hate her on sight because she was Jerdic.
She pushed away those gloomy thoughts. Out of this city, out of the south were all enough for now. She could figure out the rest later.
She and Yonca finished packing the few things she had. Yonca hesitated then, drawing the strings of the bag through her fingers. “Shall I accompany you to the port?”
Violette froze. Yonca was from Aratum. There was no reason she would join the rest of their party on a journey back to the north. Unless… “Yonca, would you come North with us?”
Yonca set her hands on her waist and raised one eyebrow. “Dear child, and do what?”
“Teach me? I have so much more to learn of magic, and I’d love to learn it from you.” She couldn’t meet Yonca’s eyes. Violette wanted this more than she could say, so much she hadn’t even thought to ask for it. Her privilege showing again: assuming Yonca was hers to order where she pleased. “Will you come? Please?”
Yonca frowned, pondering this, and Violette chafed at the time constraints. If she’d realized she might
have to leave Yonca behind, she would have spent the last several days convincing Yonca to go with them, not reading Llewellyn’s books on herb lore.
“Lady Violette?” Llewellyn called softly.
Yonca grabbed the bags they’d packed and started toward the door. “You must not keep Master Llewellyn waiting.”
You, not we. Violette’s chest ached. “You won’t come then?”
Yonca froze in the doorway, her body silhouetted by the sunset, casting her face in shadow. “I can’t. Come along, child, I’ll see you safe to the ship. If you’ll let me?”
“I’d like that. Thank you.” Heart heavy, feet dragging, Violette followed her outside.
***
At the last minute before leaving the house, Llewellyn stopped Violette and Yonca and asked them to dress as men. “I’m sorry, but I think two women in the midst of so many men would draw attention.”
So Violette found herself skinning into more borrowed clothes from Ned. He still hadn’t come to see her. She’d caught glimpses of him when she went on her daily walks around the villa, but he always quickly left any room as soon as she entered it. It made her sorrier than she could say that learning his secret had apparently driven them apart. She’d looked within herself, examined her own feelings, and found them unchanged. She wanted Ned. The revelation about himself didn’t change that for her. There were things to figure out between them, but she was still excited at the prospect of a love affair with Ned. If only the damn stubborn boy would talk to her.
Yonca had to borrow the clothes of a stocky knight to accommodate her rather fuller figure. She didn’t make a very convincing man, but it was dark outside, and they were unlikely to be much scrutinized. King Thomas, Violette discovered, was also in disguise. He wore a threadbare tunic and hose, and he’d let his usually neatly trimmed beard grow longer and unkempt. It didn’t fool her when she looked closely, but she had to look twice to make sure it was him.
They had some two dozen people to sneak out of the house—although the knights and men at arms had been leaving in pairs and small groups all afternoon. Another set of them left by the main gate as Ned appeared to lead her own party out by the hidden crack in the garden wall.
