Leslie Moore - Griffin's Daughter

“ You did tell her about the blue fire?” Magnes asked carefully.

“ Yes, and she seemed totally unsurprised, as if she knew about it all along…I wonder,” Jelena mused, tugging at a stray coil of hair that had escaped an ivory comb.

“ Perhaps she did…Or at least suspected,” Magnes replied. “Anyway, you’re lucky to have had her to raise you. I just wish I could remember my mother a little more clearly. I have so few real memories of her. They are more like barely recalled dreams.”

Jelena had no memory at all of Magnes’s dead mother. All she knew of Duchess Julia was what she had been told by Claudia. According to Claudia, the duchess had been everything the duke was not, and her death had been an occasion of great sorrow for the staff. All of the castle’s residents were in agreement that Magnes had inherited his looks from his father, but insofar as his soul was concerned, he was definitely his mother’s son.

“ All the staff loved your mother, Magnes, just as they love you. You will be sorely missed.” Jelena paused. “Are you absolutely sure…”

“ Yes!” Magnes cried, throwing his hands up in the air in mock exasperation. “I’m beginning to think you don’t want me along, and I have to say that my feelings are hurt.” He clutched at his heart dramatically and made a tragicomic face. Jelena laughed loudly, but she recognized Magnes’s intent. By deflecting her concerns with humor, he hoped to hide from her just how difficult the decision to leave Amsara was for him.

“ I’d better get going, then. Cook’ll be wanting to start the evening meal soon, and I really don’t feel like getting yelled at for being late,” Jelena said, a rueful smile playing about her lips.

“ Rejoice, Cousin. Your days of servitude are coming to an end,” Magnes replied, slipping his arm around Jelena’s shoulder as they headed along the wall walk towards the stairwell.

Perhaps so, Jelena thought, but am I trading an unhappy situation for something better, or worse?

This is the last time I’ll ever work as a drudge in some lord’s kitchen, thought Jelena as she wiped up the last of the staff crockery. No matter what challenges she would face in the coming days, she felt sure of one thing. From now on, she would choose her own path.

The kitchen was quiet now. The rest of the staff had departed, their work finished. Only the kitchen boys remained. There were three of them, orphans all, and they earned their keep by turning the spits, tending the fires, and running errands. They made their beds by the main hearth, huddling together like puppies in winter, sprawling out on the stones in the loose-limbed way of young boys during the hot summer nights.

At present, they were hunkered down beneath the big chopping block in the center of the room, whispering and giggling. They ignored Jelena completely, as they usually did, unless she had a reason to speak to them, which was seldom. Their total absorption with each other would allow Jelena to pilfer the needed supplies much more easily.

She put the last bowl in its place and wiped her hands on her apron. She then made a show of going around and extinguishing the few remaining lamps, leaving the kitchen shrouded in gloom, only the red glow from the banked fire in the great hearth providing any illumination. Keeping a watchful eye on the chopping block, she went over to the door leading out into the yard. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she pushed the door open then shut it, dropping immediately into a squatting position close to the floor.

She held her breath and listened.

The giggling and whispering went on, uninterrupted. Cautiously, Jelena crept toward the pantry, keeping low and holding her skirts up to minimize the risk that she might trip and alert the boys that she remained in the kitchen. She made it to the pantry without being discovered and immediately set about the task at hand. Her apron would serve as a handy carry-bag. She removed it and spread it out on the floor, then proceeded to gather together a supply of small, easily carried food items-cheese, bread, apples, sausages, several slabs of salted and dried fish, a little bag of shelled hazelnuts. Her hand hovered over a pot of preserved sweet cherries-a treat she dearly loved-but she thought better of it and left it on the shelf. Too big to carry, anyway, she thought.

Piling the loot into the center of the apron, Jelena folded up the corners and tied them securely in a knot. She then crept to the pantry door to listen. The main room had fallen silent. She could just make out three shadowy mounds by the hearth: the boys, bedded down for the night. Just as she pushed at the door, one of them whimpered and sat up. Jelena froze, then waited anxiously until the boy lay down and flopped onto his stomach. After what seemed like hours to her fretting mind, the sound of snoring signaled that she could now escape.

Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, Jelena made her way to the outer door. Slowly, she pushed it open, wincing at the soft squeal of old hinges, and slipped out into the cool of the night. An owl hooted directly overhead, momentarily startling her and further fraying her already shredded nerves. She lingered a moment more, ears straining to pick up any sounds from within, but the three boys slept on, oblivious.

Clutching the bundled apron to her chest, Jelena hurried off toward the servants’ quarters, hugging the shadows cast by walls and buildings. The sounds of late evening drifted on the air-the laughter of off-duty guards playing at dice, the sweet notes of a lute floating from the half-open door of the great hall, the far-off squall of a fussy baby. Her nose caught the scent of night-blooming jasmine mingled with the odor of the stables. Of their own will, her feet slowed their nervous rush to a walk, then rooted themselves to the earth beside the closed keep door. Abruptly, a stark realization struck her like a hard slap across the face.

I’m really leaving.

These were the sights, the sounds, the smells of home. A home in which she was an outcast-despised by many, barely acknowledged by any of her kin, save one-but a home nonetheless. At Amsara, at least she knew where she stood, how she fit in to things. She had learned over the years how to cope with her lowly status, and had made, if not a good life, at least a tolerable one for herself. Now, she stood poised at the edge of abandonment of everything she knew for an uncertain future.

Jelena felt herself wavering and was shocked at the unexpected feelings of loss she had begun to experience. Why am I feeling this way, she thought. Why do I suddenly not want to leave?

She dashed tears from her eyes in irritation. She didn’t want to leave Claudia…that was the problem. She couldn’t possibly have any regrets about putting Amsara far behind her. Besides, if she didn’t run, in two days time, her freedom would be taken from her, and she would lose the chance to determine her own destiny forever.

There’s the magic as well. Don’t forget that! She drew in a deep breath to steady herself, gripped the bundle of supplies more securely, and rounded the corner of the keep…

… to collide headlong with a very hard shadow.

“ Gods! What the…Who is that! Speak up, right now!”

A wave of dismay, followed closely by fear, hit Jelena at the sound of Thessalina’s imperious command. The collision had knocked Jelena back several steps, and the bundled apron now lay in the dirt at her feet. She had to think fast. “It’s me, Cousin! Jelena. I…”

Thessalina cut her off before she could speak any further. “What the hell are you doing sneaking around at this hour, girl, and what’s that you’re carrying?” Thessalina stepped forward menacingly. She stood at least two inches taller than Jelena and possessed a warrior’s physique.