The Orphan's Secret

by R. J. Francis

  “I bet you’re good at it. I’d love to taste something you’ve made.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. I brought a snack.” She pulled from her calfskin backpack a foil-wrapped hunk of pumpkin bread she had reheated on Alessa’s stove just before she left, and a metal tub of whipped ginger butter. She also brought out two white cloth napkins, and two silver knives. She unwrapped the bread, tore off a piece, and started to butter it.

  “When do you find time to spend with your friends?” he asked.

  “I really only have one friend.” She handed him a napkin and the buttered bread chunk. “Alessa.”

  “Ah, yes. Alessa.”

  “You think I should have more?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s all up to you, of course.”

  “I’ve never thought much about it.”

  “Mmmm…” Jaimin tasted the warm snack. “Ginger, right? You made this? Your parents must be proud.”

  “Sometimes I pretend they are,” she told him. “My parents died when I was a baby. The farmer—Lairen’s his name—he’s taken care of me since then.”

  “Do you remember your parents?”

  “No,” she replied, buttering another tuft for herself. “I don’t even know anything about them. Alessa knows plenty, I suspect, but she tells me nothing before I’m ready to hear it. I guess I’m still not ready for that story yet.”

  “You must have a great deal of patience. You’re…how old?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Wow.”

  “Why ‘wow’? How old do I look?”

  “I couldn’t say. The perfect age.”

  “Nice. How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Ah, the perfect age.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah.”

  He dwelled on this for a moment, then asked, “This farmer, has he been like a father to you?”

  “Well, what are fathers supposed to be like? Lairen’s a simple man. I suppose if there is such thing as ‘fatherly wisdom’ most of mine comes from Alessa.”

  “And your motherly wisdom, I take it?”

  “Yes. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without her.”

  “Then I owe her a great deal,” said Jaimin. “I’d like to meet her.”

  “I shall arrange it. I hope you don’t mind, but I described you to her. She says she knows who you are.”

  “She does?” Jaimin looked concerned. “I don’t recall meeting an Alessa. Did she say where she knew me from?”

  “She wouldn’t say. Don’t worry. She’s often hard to figure out. Maybe she’s seen you in the city. Do you work there, Jem?”

  “I’m still focusing on my studies,” he said.

  “What does your father do?”

  “Both my parents,” he said, “are in the service of the kingdom.” Elaina knew this could mean any one of a thousand things, but she didn’t ask him to elaborate.

  “And I’m sure you’ll forgive me for wondering how you ended up at my farm the other night. And why your horse was stuck with arrows. But I’m not in a hurry to know.”

  “It’s a complicated story,” he said. “Perhaps later. I assure you, though—my horse and I are innocent.”

  She accepted his answer with grace.

  Jaimin pressed her for details about all the delicacies she knew how to prepare, which led him to share what his favorite foods were.

  While they discussed his fondness of lamb stew—and her passion for butterscotch—they ate, and soon the bread was gone. Elaina folded the foil and shook the napkins out over the cliff. She neatly tucked everything back into her pack, turned to Jaimin, and smiled, waiting to see what he wanted to discuss next.

  “I have something for you.” Jaimin reached into his satchel and produced a blue silk pouch. From it, he lifted a fine necklace of tiny cobalt blue seashells, highly polished.

  Her smile widened. She breathed in slowly, taking some time to accept the necklace from his hand, then she held it up and examined it from all sides. It glittered in the moonlight. “Did you make it?”

  “My mother gave it to me when I was a boy. She told me it would bring me closer to the ocean. I never understood what she meant.”

  “It’s brought us close to the ocean tonight. It’s your favorite color.”

  “It is. How did you know that?”

  “Just a feeling. I seldom take the time to visit the ocean. To admire it properly. Thank you, Jem.” She undid the clasp and put the necklace on. He moved to help her fasten it, but she had it on before he got too close.

  “The farmer doesn’t mind you being out at night?” he asked.

  “Not at all. He knows I can look after myself. He’s trained himself not to worry. This winter, if everything works out, I’ll leave the farm and take up work in the city.”

  “What will you do there?”

  “Help the curators at the Royal Museum. Alessa found out they need an assistant, and she’s been preparing me for the work.”

  “That’s quite a responsibility.”

  “I know it sounds ambitious, but Alessa believes it will be perfect for me. I thought for sure she’d have me in an engineering apprenticeship, but working with art and artifacts might be just as exciting.”

  They spoke for a while about the job, and then they discussed Lairen and Tran, market days, Elaina’s dear horse, and Alessa’s cozy house in the woods. Jaimin listened without once changing the topic. He seemed fascinated by Elaina’s stories, no matter how simple her ways.

  They had chatted for nearly two hours, when Jaimin looked up at the moon to gauge the time.

  “Oh, do you have to get back?” she asked.

  “I’d love to stay out here all night learning about you.”

  “I’ve been going on and on, haven’t I? I’m sure there’s so much more you want to tell me about yourself.”

  “There’s plenty to tell, but I should get back. Let’s meet again.”

  “Yes, let’s. And again after that,” she said.

  “Is there room in your busy life for me?”

  “Of course there is,” she said. “Does this mean I have another friend?”

  “Is a friend what you need?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she took his hand, slipped off his glove, and kissed his hand tenderly. He closed his eyes, interlaced his fingers with hers, and sighed deeply. His body began to tremble.

  She desired to calm him, and she felt her soul reaching out toward him, through his hand. His eyes opened; he looked surprised.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, afraid she’d been too bold and gotten herself in trouble yet again.

  “Please don’t be.” He leaned in slowly and kissed her forehead, then her left cheek, then her right cheek. He neared her lips but she stopped him, gently holding his face with both hands.

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “Can you make it here tomorrow?”

  “I can.” Jaimin stood. “Same time?”

  “Same time,” she said. They slowly rose to their feet, their eyes fixed on each other’s.

  “Good night, Elaina,” he said, bowing slightly.

  She curtseyed—again, in perfect form. “Good night.”

  Jaimin began his hike home. When he had disappeared into the brush, she sat back down on the cliff edge. She allowed herself a few minutes to calm down, then she thanked the ocean for its silent company, thanked Nightmare for her patience, and rode home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next day, the Royal Academy’s headmaster declared an early dismissal so students could attend Victor’s funeral. Students made their way to the funeral hall gates in groups. Nastasha looked unusually plain in a simple grey satin gown with black trim. Holding her hand, Sylvia, the blue-eyed daughter of the minister of trade, wore a dress of thick brown silk, elbow-length black velvet gloves, and an ornate wooden barrette set in her black hair. Kotaret, the tall, handsome son of the chief musician, walked alongside, dressed in black from head to toe. The three teens were display
ing three of the four official funeral colors: brown, black, and grey. The fourth color was violet.

  Brown symbolized flesh and soil. Many Arrans chose to have their remains composted and returned to the soil, instead of being sequestered forever in a container.

  Black represented the void that the person’s death left in the lives of those left behind, and the metaphoric veil that seemed to prevent the living from learning about the world of the dead.

  Grey, signifying the sorrow of the mourners, was worn by close family members and friends of the departed for thirty days following their loved one’s funeral, to remind others to be sensitive in their speech and actions.

  Violet was used as an accent color in funeral garb as a symbol of the Arrans’ strength, creative spirit, and past achievements. The warm, reddish aspect of violet represented the successes and joys of spring and summer, and the cool, blue-black aspect of violet recalled the accomplishments of the cooler seasons of autumn and winter.

  The guards at the gates nodded to acknowledge Nastasha and her friends. Music wafted up from below. The three descended the hundred steps of a wide arcing staircase in time to a somber version of a familiar patriotic tune.

  Inside the hall, the torches and lamps burned white, their flames colored chemically to ensure that the four official colors wouldn’t be washed out with a red cast. The simple mahogany pews stood in one block, with no central aisle, symbolizing the notion that there should be no division in the court, especially in times of sadness. Only the orchestra sat separately, on a balcony in the back.

  Nastasha and her friends filed in and found seats. The melancholy melody dragged on. Woodwinds shaped like giant tusks produced sonorous low-pitched tones and ghostly harmonics which resonated throughout the chamber, vibrating the pews.

  Before everyone, on a raised platform framed by walls lined with river rock, sprawled a wooden sculpture of a leafless tree. Hundreds of thick wooden roots radiated out from the trunk’s base—a lovely representation of a natural structure, but a hindrance for anyone trying to walk across the platform.

  In front of the base of the tree, a sealed wooden casket rested on a stand, its broad side to the audience. The casket’s lid was fitted with a thick metal eyelet, to which was tied a rope, originating in a hole in the ceiling. As per the custom, the casket would not be moved until the surviving family members felt the intensity of their mourning diminish, at which time they would re-enter the funeral hall and sever the rope with a ceremonial short sword. The rope would retract into the ceiling, and the casket would sink into a shaft, where attendants on the level below would prepare the body for entombment or accelerated decomposition, according to the family’s instructions.

  After the guests were seated, Victor’s family was shown to the back by ushers from the Ministry of Charity. Orderlies wheeled in Cory’s bed through another entrance. Cory’s mother and sister set up seats at his bedside.

  The orchestra struck up the royal family’s anthem, using the piece’s minor-key variation. The audience stood.

  Two royal guards entered from a door up front, taking up positions on either side of the doorway. From between them stepped King Julian. Over a simple officer’s uniform of brown cotton, the king had on his finest robe: a three-hundred-year-old garment of sable-lined black velvet, trimmed down the back with wide stripes of violet satin and secured by four golden chains to a stag emblem over his breastbone.

  Following him was Alethea, with Jaimin on her right arm and Princess Tori on her left arm. The queen had on a violet robe over her lace-trimmed grey velvet dress. Jaimin wore brown military garb like that of his father, with a thin golden crown buried in his inky curls. Tori’s solemn outfit was a light grey dress with ruffled leggings and accents of pure white lace. Diaphanous white sleeves puffed out over her little elbows, and then disappeared beneath grey velvet gloves. A diamond-encrusted half-crown marked her status. She concentrated on walking in time with her mother.

  The royals ascended stairs onto the platform, and sat down in unison on thrones set up for them there. Behind each royal’s throne stood a banner depicting his or her official animal. Julian’s animal was a stag, Alethea’s a resplendent tern; Jaimin’s was a bear, and Tori’s was a dove.

  Next, the minister of charity ascended to the platform to commence the ceremony.

  Royal funerals lasted over three hours, and they included an address by the king, eulogies from the family and friends of the deceased, orchestral selections, and contemplative readings. All this ceremony served to remind the community how precious each human life was.

  After the funeral, Jaimin visited Cory at the back of the hall, and found Raquel standing beside the bed. He expected she would leave, but she stayed, acknowledging him with a nod. Cory began to shake, and squeaked as if he were trying to speak.

  “He can’t talk that loud,” said Raquel. “Come see him.”

  “He’s shaking. Should we get the nurse?”

  “No, silly, he’s fine! Come closer.” She grasped Jaimin’s hand.

  Crunch! Jaimin’s neck muscles instantly stiffened, yanking his spine upward.

  He knew instantly what this was. She had him! Raquel had him. She’d inherited that vile ability from her father, Devon.

  She beamed with excitement and self-satisfaction. “Oops,” she said, “mustn’t take too long.” Before Jaimin could even wonder what she wanted with him, she bored into his mind, and excruciating pain flared up in his neck, radiating into his head and down his back.

  Cory understood exactly what was going on. He squeaked and shuddered the best he could to call attention.

  Help! Over here! Jaimin had only his thoughts with which to beg for help from the mourners milling around. Raquel made her work quick. On her way out of the prince’s mind she clouded his memory of the intrusion. Then, as Jaimin staggered away, she ensured Cory wouldn’t recall the incident either.

  “Jaimin,” said Queen Alethea, catching him by the arm.

  “Yes, mother?”

  “What just happened? Are you all right?”

  “I think I’m getting a headache.”

  “Where were you just now?”

  “Visiting Cory.” The queen looked over to where Cory was resting. Cory was all by himself.

  Jaimin couldn’t figure out why his mother was acting so alarmed. “Go see Isabel immediately,” she said.

  “Yes, mother.”

  Jaimin arranged to meet Nastasha in the library afterward. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked, taking a seat beside him.

  “I’m trying to shake a headache. Isabel gave me a remedy for it.”

  “I hope it works. If not, I shall make you something else.”

  “Thanks. My mother gave me some news this morning about the attack on our hunting party.”

  “Please, tell me! With my father away, I’m not getting news.”

  “Well, our men found clothing and shoes stashed in the forest near where Cory and Victor were attacked, and the science staff worked with Devon’s crew to examine the stuff. They believe tiny splinters in some of the shoes actually came from the castle’s drawbridge.”

  “The strangers were inside the castle?”

  “It’s a good possibility,” said the prince.

  “Awful. That’s awful.”

  “Yeah. So I guess it doesn’t matter whether I stay in the castle or sneak out. I could be in just as much danger in my own room.”

  “You just need to be watchful wherever you are,” she said. “How did it go last night?”

  Jaimin just smiled.

  Nastasha’s heart fell heavy, although she hid it well. “She must be quite a girl.”

  “You’ll appreciate that she’s highly educated,” he said.

  “I know of a few farm kids in the public track, but none named Elaina.”

  “She studies with a tutor named Alessa. And they’re using the Royal Academy’s curriculum.”

  “That’s impossible. The curriculum isn’t allowed to be used outs
ide the court.”

  “But it is being used. They’re on year fourteen.”

  “Fourteen?”

  “And there’s more… she’s a mender.”

  “Are you making this up?”

  “Of course not.”

  “She’s a mender?”

  “She has no idea she is, but I felt it when she touched my hand. I’m not going to bring it up yet. I don’t want to frighten her.”

  “Who are her parents?”

  “They died when she was little. She never knew them.”

  “You haven’t told her you’re the prince, have you?” she asked.

  “Not yet. I was planning to tell her tonight.”

  “I’m worried for you, Jaimin. I must find out more about this girl—and her tutor.”

  “Should I wait to tell her I’m the prince?”

  Nastasha thought for a moment. “No. She deserves to know.”

  Alessa and Elaina relaxed in the hot pool before dinner. Alessa had got a late start preparing the meal, and the meat was still in the oven.

  “He said his father doesn’t let him out much these days,” Elaina explained.

  Alessa laughed. She was eating a persimmon.

  “What are you laughing about?”

  “Your boyfriend sounds like a clever character. Sneaking out of the house, I mean. One of these days he might get caught.”

  “I sure hope not,” Elaina said, skimming the water playfully with her hands. Something attracted her attention. “Huh? Did you see that?” She was looking down at the water.

  “See what?”

  Elaina waved her hand over the water’s surface, and a dozen drops of water jumped up to meet it. Alessa had been biting into her persimmon. She stopped mid-bite. “Watch, I’ll do it again,” said Elaina, twirling around in a circle. More droplets leapt to her hand like iron filings to a magnet. She glared at Alessa, expecting an explanation. After all, it was her pool.

  Alessa finished chewing. “Well done, Elaina.”

  “How’m I doing that?” Elaina asked, spinning around again, this time with her hand higher off the water. Fewer droplets detached off the surface of the water, but there were some.