Sparrow

I signed the letter. Eris Aurora Lilliana Victorun. My full name, hardly touched since that fateful autumn. My mother’ name, unwillingly bestowed upon me. She could not help herself, had to force upon me her name, her selfish ambition, and shameless idiocy. She had married my father for his money, the poor man, and when he was killed she spared not a second to grieve. The only black she wore was the simple black pearl bracelet that I loathed. She wasted no time at all in gathering his fortunes around herself and wasting them on frivolous affairs, parties, clothes, jewels, and the attention of the ambitious merchant James Warden, who was set on gaining his wealth the easy way.

I handed the letter to the girl, and she slid it down the front of her dress. After curtseying, she exits the room quickly, shutting the door with a click behind her. I rise, and walk to the vanity, the dresser before it laid out with all sorts of riches, perfumes, jewels, brushes. I sigh, and pick up the simplest of the brushes, an ivory one with fine bristles, and brush out the lengths of ink black hair, smooth and straight as water. I walk to the window and gaze out across the dark landscape, the forest looking at the edge of the walls. The golden candle light reflects off the window, allowing me to glimpse my reflection. Fair skin, black hair, full lips, and clever dark green eyes. I sigh again, and walk slowly to the bed, sliding under the silken sheets. Tomorrow is another day, another torturous day of masks and lies and snakes. I fall into a restless sleep.

I am awoken by the gentle shaking of the slender hands of one of my maids. I slowly open my eyes, and see that it is not quite light out yet.

“My lady, if you wish to walk before you must prepare, then you had best get up.” Is all she says before leaving me to make the decision for myself. I pull myself from my bed, muscles stiff from the chill that has crept into my chamber. The maid didn’t even bother to light the fire. Wicked creature. I light it myself, and slowly get dressed in warm clothes. Woolen trousers and a thick shirt is thrown over my delicate undergarments, and I wrap a scarf around my neck. A heavy cloak is fastened around my shoulders, and I braid my hair. I tuck my knives into the tall boots that cover my feet, and open the window, a cold wind whistling through the room, but it does not harm me. I turn, and lift a foot over the edge of the window sill, shoving my boot into a well used crevice. I have the locations of all the footholds memorized in a mental map. I lift up a loose stone on the sill and remove a pair of thick leather gloves from under it. I slide them over my hands, and lower myself so I am only clinging to the stones with my feet and hands. A sudden gust of wind presses me against the cold rock, and my braid whips around.

I reach up over my head and close my window silently. I slowly begin my descent. Once I reach the ground, I take a moment to remove the gloves and stretch my cramping fingers and toes. The climb is really uncomfortable, but necessary. I take off at a steady jog towards the small gate in the courtyard leading to the forest beyond. I unlock the gate with the tiny silver key from the pocket of my cloak, and slip through. I lock it behind me. The forest is colder than the courtyard, but more colorful, the autumn leaves brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow. I do not walk far, for I know that I must be back before Mother is awake.

When I return to the manor, the sun is starting its climb into the sky, and I know that she will send a maid in any minute to wake me. I sprint across the courtyard, scaling the wall as quickly as I can, and stowing away the gloves before shutting the window, ripping off my clothes and throwing them in my closet. I pull the silk nightgown over my head and I have only just closed my eyes under my covers when there is a soft knock on my door.

“Darling, it is time to rise.” My Mother’s sickly sweet voice filters through the heavy wood. I mutter a curse under my breath. I was lucky this time. She opens the door, and gently shakes me. “Eris dear, you really must get up. There is much to do before the guests arrive, and James wishes you to eat with us this morning. And please, make an effort to look nice. I cannot believe you have slept with your hair in that crude plait.” She sighs in disgust, and leaves me to prepare.

I heave myself out from under the covers and walk to my closet. At least she is not observant, and did not notice the lit fire that is now roaring in the grate. I pick out a simple dress, and comb out my hair. There is a slight wave, but it will fall out within the hour. I make my way downstairs, and sit silently at the table, and am shortly joined by my mother and her husband, the handsome merchant James Warden. I loathe him, and he loathes me, only tolerates me because my mother forbids him throw me out. I’m not sure why, she has no apparent attachment to me either.

I quietly help myself to a crepe, and take a small spoonful of peaches and cream to spread over it. Someone clears their throat to my left, and I close my eyes, bracing myself for the ensuing argument.

“I wanted some of that for my porridge.” James says. I slowly look up to him, and set the spoon back in the dish. I feel all the servants in the room hold their breath, and my mother looks anxious.

“I’m sorry, is it all unfit to eat, now that I have touched the spoon with which it is to be served?” I ask him, my voice flat and mocking. He sneers.

“Anything touched by a changeling is unfit. Go and get more from the kitchen.” He commands me. I stare straight into him.

“Just because my father was of noble blood and you are not does not make me a changeling. And I am not your slave, I shan’t get you something that is only an arms length away, or that you could get yourself.” I say cooly. His face reddens.

“You shall do as I say, or there will be consequences, girl.” He struggles to keep the passion out of his voice. I return my attention to my breakfast, angering him further that I hold him to little importance.

“Are you threatening me?” I ask quietly. The whole room seems to freeze as I speak the words. A young serving girl in the corner starts to shiver.

“If I am, what are you going to do about it? Lock yourself in your room and starve until your mother begs me to apologize to you like an infant?” He growls. I do not answer. “Look at me when I am speaking to you, wretch!” He shouts. My mother jumps.

“James, please. Not this early.” She says quietly, but is cut off when he slams his palm on the table, setting the porcelain dishes shaking.

“ANSWER ME!” He roars down the table. I stand, my temper finally getting the best of me.

“I have no obligation to speak with the pigs in the stables, therefore I have no obligation to respond to your beastly slander! You are no better than a common pig, and have no right to anything you have ever been given in life, you mangy bastard!” I hiss at him.

“Enough!” My mother says, her voice cutting through whatever the devil was about to say like a blade. “I have heard enough of you two bickering! Eris, return to your chambers and do not come out until you are ready and it is time for the dinner.” She commands me. I pick up the skirts of my dress, and storm past her, muttering curses under my breath. She hears me, and inhales sharply at my crudeness. I storm up the stairs, and slam my door. I take out a journal from the drawer of my desk, and begin writing furiously, the quill scratching harshly on the paper. When I am finished, I have cooled down, and go to my closet to see what I will wear tonight. I call for a bath, and soak in the hot water, steam filling the bathing chamber.

When I am finished, I dry myself, comb out my own hair, and call for someone to take out the water. I look at the clock and am shocked to see the time. I have only a few hours to get ready. I hurry to dress, and pin up my now dry hair in the most elegant way I have time for. I put on the jewels, and inspect myself in the mirror. The dark wine colored dress makes me looks paler, my hair darker. Mother will be pleased with the miniscule size of my waist, thanks to the corset. I take a deep breath, or as deep a breath as I am able, and turn to walk down the stairs. I arrive downstairs in the foyer to greet the first guests.

My mother looks resplendent in a dress of dark purple, her hair and complexion the same as mine. James is matching her, however his jacket is so dark a purple that it seems almost black. I do not return her amazed and proud smile when she beholds me. She greets the guests in the doorway, ushers them into the dining hall, then turns and grabs me by the shoulders.

“My dear!” She exclaims. “When I see you like this I wonder how it is that you are twenty and still not betrothed.” She sighs.

“It is because of her unpleasant disposition and uselessness.”James offers his opinion, glaring down his nose at me. I offer him nothing other than cold indifference. He sneers. “It appears she has learned her lesson.” He observes. I struggle to hold my tongue.

The guests pour through the main doors like a steady stream of water, until Mother is sure that everyone is present. However, they both have turned to enter the dining hall when I see a final carriage arrive, and the owner steps down and strides for the door.

“Mother.” I say, and she turns, her face going slightly pale at the sight of our newest arrival.

“Lord Nolan. I had not expected you. What a pleasant surprise!” She breathes. The man turns toward the light, and I struggle to hide my gasp. He is beautiful, the most handsome man I have ever seen. His skin is golden and his eyes are a dark blue. Cunning, clever eyes. His hair was blonde, and he wore a rich crimson coat. He smiles pleasantly to Mother and then turns his attention to me. If Mother was telling the truth, this was Lord Luther Nolan. The tenant for the King, while he and the Prince chase after riches and glory in the Wars. I am taken by surprise that he would bother to come to our small and politically meaningless affair, regardless of what my Mother thought it was.

“It is a pleasure being here. I assume this is your daughter?” He asks. My mother beams with pride, and nods her head.

“Yes, this is my daughter, Eris Aurora Lilliana Victorun. Isn’t she lovely?” She simpers, watching closely for any reaction from the Lord. His eyes do not leave my face, and he smiles slightly. I do not return the sentiment. He chuckles.

“I see she is not amused with all this formality and games of the court. May I sit by you at the table?” He asks me. My mother stares at me intently, trying to burn an answer into my forehead. I look up at the handsome man, he is a good three inches taller than me.

“If I tell you no, I have no doubt that you will do so regardless.” I say quietly. Mother gasps in horror, but I watch as a grin spreads across the face of Lord Nolan. Mother begins to ramble off apologies for my abominable manners, tittering on about my tendency to take after my father’s sharp tongue, but he silences her with a hand.

“I ask your permission, and if you shall not grant it, I shall indeed be disappointed, but I will honor your wishes. So I ask again, may I sit by you at the table?” He seems sincere, but I do not let down my guard walls. Mother wants me to say yes so desperately, she does not bother hiding her anxious intentions. I see James out of the corner of my eye, watching quietly from the doorway leading to the dining hall. His face is pale. He is afraid of the consequences of what I will say, rather it be yes or no.

“I consent. But do not be boring company, or I shall leave.” I threaten. Mother laughs faintly, and bustles ahead of us to the table. Lord Nolan pulls out my chair for me as every other man in the room watches. He pushes it in under me. He then seats himself.

“You needn’t make such a show about your claim.” I say quietly under my breath as James says the blessing in his drawling accent from the end of the table. I sit at the opposite end. Lord Nolan raises his head slightly in question.

“I’m sorry?”

“What I mean is half of them have already tried their hand at courting me, and failed. The other half have heard enough stories from the original half to not try at all.” I explain. The blessing is finished, and everyone digs into their food. We continue our conversation, not meeting eyes, heads bent over our plates.

“You sound as though you are not the slightest bit remorseful.” He observes.

“I am not. Most of them are cowardly fools who would hardly talk to me at all, and sent any form of communication through their pages or footmen. Also, I would never leave my father’s manor to those two imbeciles.” I tell him. He chokes on a piece of steak.

“You are referring to your parents?” He manages to squeeze past the hunk of meat lodged in his throat. A few people look over at us, slightly concerned, my mother among them.

“I am not related in any shape, way, or form to that prick sitting at the head of the table.” I hiss. “And I also regret any relation I have to my mother. It has done nothing for me other than tag me with a hideous reputation of her life before her marriage to my father. Although I suppose I have her to thank for my looks.” I say, calming slightly. He smiles.

“I see you have your father’s sharp and vicious tongue.” He tells me. I whip my eyes up to meet his.

“You knew my father?” I ask sharply.

“Ah, she finally gives her full attention to me. Now that I have it, I must ask a question. How old are you? Please pardon my manners but I didn’t think it would irk you too much.”

He says charmingly. I let his comment about my father slide under my radar, not taking the bait as he wishes me to.

“I am twenty. I must ask your age now sir.” I fire back at him, quick as the falcon swooping in on its prey. He enjoys my games, different from those at the court, yet so similar.

“I am twenty three. Not yet married and I am the tenant for the Prince and the King.” He tells me.

“So eager for me to know that you have no wife. Am I to assume that you are extending an offer?” I retort, matching his clever speech, never letting him step ahead.

“Shall we revert to a normal conversation? What is it like to personally talk with the lord of the land?” He asks, a mask of cool confidence sliding over his features. I slide a similar one over my own.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never spoken to the King. Or even the Prince.” I bait him, slowly taking a sip from my wine glass. Inwardly, I am disgusted with myself for the way I am acting, no better than my mother. But still, it is fun, a distraction. Something to take my mind off of everything else. Besides, what could it possibly hurt?

We pass the evening in pleasant conversation. By the end of it, I have learned that he has three brothers and one sister, a twin. They live in the kingdom, but on the very border, well over a week’s journey from the palace. He doesn’t visit them much. His three brothers are married, but his sister is not. He has many nieces and nephews distributed throughout the countryside in various manors and villas. He lives alone in the palace, other than the Princess Na'vi, who the Prince had brought home from the last war. Nolan tells me that she is very quiet, barely talks, and is quite intriguing, though he hardly ever sees her.

The guests are leaving, walking out the door, cheeks rosy from the chill and the drink. Nolan pulls me aside, taking me by the hand and leading me around the corner of a hall that winds up stairs from the foyer.

The low light casts shadows across his handsome face, hollowing out his cheeks and highlighting the gleam in his eyes. I smile, and he returns the sentiment. He bows low, lifting my hand to his lips, and kisses it. He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and lets his lips hover just over the skin on back of my hand.

“Until next time, Lady Victorun. Or perhaps, I may write?” He teases, his breath brushing my skin. I arch an eyebrow, teasing back.

“Perhaps you may.” I respond. He rises, and swiftly strides out into the dark night, right past an awestruck James, and Mother with her lips fit to bursting with questions. Before she can attack me with an onslaught of questions, I flee up the stairs as fast as I can manage in my high heeled shoes. I lock the door behind me, just as I hear her huffing steps coming up the stairs. I ignore her indignant shouts of protest, and throw myself under the covers to get warm before the roaring fire goes out in the hearth, leaving me in the early fall chill.

The next morning I wake myself, and perform my daily ritual of scaling the walls and braving the forest, the leaves ablaze in color. I feel uneasy today, like I am being trailed. But when I look behind, I see no one. I rush through my practice, and quickly return to the manor, my limbs tingling with the brisk activity. I return to my rooms, and am just shutting the window when Mother unlocks my door and opens it wide, revealing me in my nightgown and my skin red from the cold and wind. She stands in the doorway for a moment, staring blankly at me. Then she suddenly shrieks, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Goodness, child, what are you doing with the window open?! And no fire? You’ll catch your death of cold!” She exclaims, and rushes over, pushing me out of the way and closes the window. I let loose a breath of relief that my mother is an imbecile, and believes that I would open the window to let in the chill air.

“There is a letter for you, Eris. I won’t pretend that I’m not curious to see what it says.” She tells me as she hands me an envelope of rich cream paper. It is sealed with crimson wax pressed with the royal seal. The fact that he has access to the royal seal hits me like a blow to the head. I walk to my desk, and open it using my letter opener, a gift from James for my birthday a few years ago. Before he truly began to hate me.

The letter is nothing elaborate. A short paragraph.

"Dear Lady Victorun,

I did so enjoy our evening together last night. As I had suggested, I intend to write you, and would like to invite you to the palace today for tea around noon. I am eagerly awaiting your response. Please send it with the messenger that I sent this letter with.

Deepest Regards,

Lord Luther Endor Nolan

Tenant to the King"

Tucking the letter away from my mother’s prying eyes, and pick up a quill to write my response.

"Dear Lord Nolan,

I would like to accept your kind offer for tea, and will be at the palace promptly at noon. Thank you for your discreet methods of communications, and I look forward to your company.

Lady Eris Aurora Lilliana Victorun"

I seal the letter using my father’s signet ring from a chain around my neck, and carry the letter downstairs after putting on a dressing robe over my nightgown. The messenger is at the door as promised, and I hand the letter to him, promptly shutting the door after him, and turning to find my mother’s mouth wide open on the stairs.

“It was Lord Nolan, wasn’t it!” My mother breathes. I say nothing in response, as James has poked his head out of the dining room. I brush past her silently back to my bedroom.