Leslie Moore - Griffin's Daughter

“ Ah, let me take that from you, my lady, before you spill it.” The pleasant baritone of Duke Sebastianus’s voice so close to her ear startled Jelena. Before she realized it, he had the cup and her hand firmly in his grasp and was gazing intently into her face, as if to memorize every detail of its topography. His dark eyes seized upon hers and held them, relentlessly, burning straight through into her innermost core. She felt trapped like a mouse under a cat’s paw.

The duke gently pried Jelena’s fingers from around the goblet and set it back on the table. “You had better eat something, or I fear the wine will go to your head,” he said. “What may I serve you?”

“ Some of the cold fish, and a little of the rabbit pie, Your Grace,” Jelena replied, finding her voice at last. She watched silently as the duke served her plate with his own hand, acutely aware that many others were watching as well. She thanked him and began eating, taking the smallest of bites, afraid that, if she tried eating any more, she would choke.

“ Your uncle described you to me in great detail, Jelena. I must say, though, that his description did not do you justice.”

Jelena kept her eyes lowered, studiously avoiding the duke’s gaze. “I was not aware that my uncle cared enough about me to describe me to anyone, let alone to a person of your high station, my lord,” she replied softly.

“ Your uncle has sent me several correspondences concerning you, Jelena. It has been almost a year since my wife died. I’ve lived the monastic life for long enough and now it’s time to move forward.”

Jelena felt awash in confusion. Why would Duke Teodorus write to one of his noble peers about her, his half-breed bastard niece whom he barely acknowledged? It just didn’t make any sense. “I…I don’t understand, Your Grace. I count for little or nothing in my uncle’s eyes. Why would he wish to bring me to your attention?”

“ You really have no idea why I’ve come to Amsara, do you?” Duke Sebastianus asked, his voice more thoughtful than puzzled.

Why do I feel like I’m walking through quicksand, and any moment, I’ll be swallowed up whole? Jelena wondered.

“ The Sansa Feast, of course. Other than that, I know of no other reason you might have to come here, my lord.”

The duke leaned back in his chair, silently stroking his close-cropped, gray-shot beard. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but at that exact moment, the Sansa Cake arrived, to a tumultuous response.

Cheers, clapping, and raucous shouts accompanied the magnificent confection as it made its way up the center aisle, borne on a pallet hoisted upon the burly shoulders of four male kitchen drudges. It wasn’t so much a cake as an edible sculpture. It was molded to look like a large basket filled up with fruits, nuts and grains-a promise of the harvest to come, if the goddess San bestowed her blessings on the spring plantings. Sheathed in gold leaf, the cake gleamed softly in the lamplight. Common folk jammed the door of the great hall, pushing and shoving each other in an effort to catch a glimpse of the beautiful creation.

Duke Teodorus stood up from his chair as the drudges set the cake down at the center of the high table. The room fell silent in anticipation of the duke’s invocation. Even the common folk in the door quieted down to listen.

“ Gentle San, goddess of renewal, new life, new beginnings, bestow your blessings upon us, your children. We ask that you quicken our fields, orchards, our livestock, and our women, so that the cycle of life may continue. Amen.”

The muted response rippled through the crowd, followed by loud shouts for more beer and wine.

“ Happy Sansa, Cousin,” Magnes said brightly, but the melancholia Jelena could sense in him belied the cheerful smile on his lips.

Several tables were moved aside to clear an area for dancing. The musicians struck up a high-spirited country tune, and the floor filled with happy revelers, skipping and spinning to the melodic notes of harp, lute, and recorder. The Sansa cake would sit for a while on display before being cut and served. The festivities were only just beginning.

This was the time, in years past, when Claudia brought out a little Sansa cake for Jelena and her to share. They would find a corner somewhere, either in the kitchen or the pantry, and eagerly gobble down the special treat. It was not the cake that mattered to Jelena, although she certainly looked forward to it. It was the special quiet time she’d shared with Claudia, a time when they could just be mother and daughter, sharing a cake together in perfect love and trust.

How I wish I were with you now, Heartmother, Jelena thought. She dared to sneak a look at Duke Sebastianus. He sat watching the dancing with hooded eyes, his face unreadable. Abruptly, she had had enough.

She pushed back her chair and stood up. Magnes, who had been having a rather tense, but muted, conversation with his father, turned in his chair and looked up at her. “You’re not leaving already, are you, Jelena?” he asked. His eyes seemed to beg her to stay. “The cake hasn’t even been cut yet. You’ll miss out on the best part of the feast.”

“ Yes, Jelena, do stay awhile longer,” Duke Sebastianus drawled. The hunger in his eyes now was unmistakable, and it had nothing to do with food.

“ Perhaps she’s tired of trying to fit in where she doesn’t belong,” the blonde girl said. “Someone should have told her that dress is all wrong.”

“ Jelena, don’t listen to her. Please stay,” Magnes pleaded. The girl shot him a venomous look.

“ I’m sorry. I suddenly don’t feel well. I must go.” She dropped a short curtsy to the duke. As she turned to leave, he reached out and grabbed her hand. She could feel the calluses on his fingertips and palm-put there, no doubt, by many hours of sword practice.

“ We will see each other again, my lady,” he said, his voice full of unfathomable implications.

Jelena pulled her hand free and bolted.

“ Where is she going? Tell her to get back here this instant!”

Her uncle’s angry voice carried well over the noise of the reveling, but Jelena had no intention of returning. She had to get as far away as she could from Duke Sebastianus and his dark, hungry eyes. She pushed her way through the dancers, curses and insults following in her wake. The last thing she heard as she fled through the open doorway into the yard was the throaty, arrogant laughter of Thessalina.

Jelena fled into the shadows at the fringes of the yard, running until she reached the wall of the keep, where she stopped to catch her breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and the clammy sweat of fear soaked the armpits of Thessalina’s castoff gown. She crouched in the darkness, breathing deeply to calm herself. The public feast was still going strong, and watching the revelers had a soothing effect on her panicky brain.

I’ll just go back to the room and go to bed, she thought, suddenly very weary. Rising to her feet, she began heading slowly towards the servants’ hall. A cool breeze stirred the hair at the nape of her neck. She reached up and wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand.

As she approached the door to the servants’ quarters, she heard noises coming from behind a nearby tool shed. It sounded like a girl crying. Thinking that someone might be hurt, she started towards the shed to investigate, then hesitated. Why should she care what happened to anyone here at the castle, other than Claudia or Magnes? When she had been hurt or crying, not a one among them had ever reached out to her, other than to further her pain.

Stop it, Jelena. Do you wish to sink to their level? Someone may need help.

She hurried toward the shed, but the two people she found behind the small wooden structure were in no need of her, or anyone else’s, help.