Broken Dove
Page 10
I had to turn my mind away from these thoughts and my future. No answers came from worrying and wondering. I’d learned that a long time ago. Answers came from seeing and doing.
I just had to wait.
I left the balcony and took a tour of the house, which was a long tour since it was a huge-ass house.
And the entirety of it was much like the room I slept in, elegant to almost cartoon-like extremes, but nevertheless strangely tasteful and absolutely gorgeous.
A maid found me (and not the English-speaking one, unfortunately) and guided me to a dining room decorated in yellows and blues. There, I got a light lunch of salad with flakes of tuna, quarters of hard-boiled egg, crisp bacon bits and olives in a light oil-based dressing flavored in lemon with a heavenly roll on the side, this served with wine, of which I partook a lot.
Which led me to going back to my room and taking a nap.
After I got up, worried the children might be there and not wanting them to see me, but still needing to speak to Apollo, I went in search of him. Surreptitiously I left my room, careful not to turn corners or enter rooms if I heard anyone.
I didn’t hear anyone but I did run into one of the maids who helped me that morning.
When I said, “Mr. Ulfr…here?” while pointing at the floor, she replied, shaking her head, “Monsieur Ulfr, non.”
I put my fingers to my mouth and arched them out, asking, “Does anyone here speak English?”
A head tilt and then, “Je suis désolée. Je ne comprends pas.”
I guessed at what that meant (or some of it) and nodded.
She smiled and took off.
I watched her go, wondering at her reaction to me, as in, she had none. She was friendly but that was it.
This made me wonder if Apollo had told them about me, if everyone knew about this parallel universe, or if they’d never met the other Ilsa.
I put that on my list of things to ask Apollo in the short time he’d told me I’d have to ask questions.
Though, I was hoping I could talk him into a longer session since I had a lot of questions, they were all important and it was difficult to prioritize them.
Dinner was as delicious as lunch, if far more heavy, and after it ended and time went on, dusk fell and he nor the children returned, I started to get antsy.
Then panicked.
I was in a different world, wearing different clothes I wasn’t used to (and I wasn’t letting my mind go to the possibility they were the other me’s), no shoes and I couldn’t communicate with anyone around me.
The only person I knew, I didn’t really know and he’d been weird with me that morning. The only other person I knew had disappeared.
I’d spent three years on the run and hiding. Being careful of every move I made, every person I met, keeping track of every lie I told, always looking over my shoulder, never letting my guard down.
Valentine told me I was safe here. And there were beautiful things, good food and great beauty here.
But having that hurried, borderline unfriendly chat with Apollo this morning and then nothing, I wasn’t feeling all that safe here.
On that thought, I heard what sounded like horse’s hooves beating on stone and my heart slid up into my throat.
This was for a variety of reasons.
One was there were horse’s hooves on stone. I was getting the sense that this universe was not as advanced as ours and all evidence was suggesting this was very true.
Two was this might herald Apollo being home which might mean Christophe and Élan were with him and I suddenly didn’t want to meet Christophe and Élan, not by mistake, not at all.
Not now.
Not ever.
I was sitting in a chair in the library, looking through a picture book that had pretty enough pictures but captions in another language when I heard boots coming down the hall.
Setting the book aside, I stood and faced the door, pulling in a deep breath, turning my head this way and that looking for escape.
There was one door and the boots were approaching it.
But my deep breathing didn’t work this time. My heart swelled in my throat, cutting off my breath.
I heard one set of boots but the children still might be with him.
His children.
His children with Ilsa.
His children that could have been mine.
He strode through the door, his dark brown cape flying behind him. He took six steps in and stopped, his cape swaying forward, enveloping him briefly as if it was a living thing giving him an embrace, before it settled.
His eyes roamed me top to toe swiftly then they locked on mine and he announced, “I’ve left the children at the house in Benies. Since they’re prepared to travel and you must wait for your garments to be completed, and”—he threw out a hand— “anything else you need to acquire, they will be away by ship tomorrow and I’ll be with them. I’ve men in Benies. They’re trained, talented, loyal and trustworthy. They will arrive in the morning and when you’re ready, they’ll take you through Fleuridia and the Vale, you’ll board a ship there and sail the rest of the way to Lunwyn under their guard.”
I would?
Alas, I thought this question. I did not ask it out loud nor did I say anything fast enough to get it in before he went on.
“Now, do you have any questions?” he asked.
Did I have any questions?
Was he insane?
“Well…yes,” I answered then all the questions I had crashed into my brain. There were a lot of them and I couldn’t get a lock on a single one so I quit talking.
The impatience hit his handsome face.
“Ilsa, I have little time. I wish to be back to Benies before the children go to bed and it’s an hour’s ride.”
I caught a thought and shared, “I…well, I have a slight problem. No one here understands me. I don’t speak the language.”
His head cocked sharply to the side. “You don’t speak Fleuridian?”
“Uh…no.”
He righted his head and declared, “Valentine speaks Fleuridian.”
She did?
It must be full on French then. Or she spent a lot of time here.
“Well, I don’t,” I replied.
His eyes flashed before he continued. “Ilsa’s father was from Fleuridia. She was fluent in both Fleuridian and the language of the Vale.”
I had no idea what he was talking about but I thought it important to cautiously and thoughtfully point something out.
So, gently, I said, “I’m not her.”
His eyes swept me again before locking on mine, whereupon he stated roughly, “This, I know,” in a way that felt not-so-vaguely like an insult.
I just had to wait.
I left the balcony and took a tour of the house, which was a long tour since it was a huge-ass house.
And the entirety of it was much like the room I slept in, elegant to almost cartoon-like extremes, but nevertheless strangely tasteful and absolutely gorgeous.
A maid found me (and not the English-speaking one, unfortunately) and guided me to a dining room decorated in yellows and blues. There, I got a light lunch of salad with flakes of tuna, quarters of hard-boiled egg, crisp bacon bits and olives in a light oil-based dressing flavored in lemon with a heavenly roll on the side, this served with wine, of which I partook a lot.
Which led me to going back to my room and taking a nap.
After I got up, worried the children might be there and not wanting them to see me, but still needing to speak to Apollo, I went in search of him. Surreptitiously I left my room, careful not to turn corners or enter rooms if I heard anyone.
I didn’t hear anyone but I did run into one of the maids who helped me that morning.
When I said, “Mr. Ulfr…here?” while pointing at the floor, she replied, shaking her head, “Monsieur Ulfr, non.”
I put my fingers to my mouth and arched them out, asking, “Does anyone here speak English?”
A head tilt and then, “Je suis désolée. Je ne comprends pas.”
I guessed at what that meant (or some of it) and nodded.
She smiled and took off.
I watched her go, wondering at her reaction to me, as in, she had none. She was friendly but that was it.
This made me wonder if Apollo had told them about me, if everyone knew about this parallel universe, or if they’d never met the other Ilsa.
I put that on my list of things to ask Apollo in the short time he’d told me I’d have to ask questions.
Though, I was hoping I could talk him into a longer session since I had a lot of questions, they were all important and it was difficult to prioritize them.
Dinner was as delicious as lunch, if far more heavy, and after it ended and time went on, dusk fell and he nor the children returned, I started to get antsy.
Then panicked.
I was in a different world, wearing different clothes I wasn’t used to (and I wasn’t letting my mind go to the possibility they were the other me’s), no shoes and I couldn’t communicate with anyone around me.
The only person I knew, I didn’t really know and he’d been weird with me that morning. The only other person I knew had disappeared.
I’d spent three years on the run and hiding. Being careful of every move I made, every person I met, keeping track of every lie I told, always looking over my shoulder, never letting my guard down.
Valentine told me I was safe here. And there were beautiful things, good food and great beauty here.
But having that hurried, borderline unfriendly chat with Apollo this morning and then nothing, I wasn’t feeling all that safe here.
On that thought, I heard what sounded like horse’s hooves beating on stone and my heart slid up into my throat.
This was for a variety of reasons.
One was there were horse’s hooves on stone. I was getting the sense that this universe was not as advanced as ours and all evidence was suggesting this was very true.
Two was this might herald Apollo being home which might mean Christophe and Élan were with him and I suddenly didn’t want to meet Christophe and Élan, not by mistake, not at all.
Not now.
Not ever.
I was sitting in a chair in the library, looking through a picture book that had pretty enough pictures but captions in another language when I heard boots coming down the hall.
Setting the book aside, I stood and faced the door, pulling in a deep breath, turning my head this way and that looking for escape.
There was one door and the boots were approaching it.
But my deep breathing didn’t work this time. My heart swelled in my throat, cutting off my breath.
I heard one set of boots but the children still might be with him.
His children.
His children with Ilsa.
His children that could have been mine.
He strode through the door, his dark brown cape flying behind him. He took six steps in and stopped, his cape swaying forward, enveloping him briefly as if it was a living thing giving him an embrace, before it settled.
His eyes roamed me top to toe swiftly then they locked on mine and he announced, “I’ve left the children at the house in Benies. Since they’re prepared to travel and you must wait for your garments to be completed, and”—he threw out a hand— “anything else you need to acquire, they will be away by ship tomorrow and I’ll be with them. I’ve men in Benies. They’re trained, talented, loyal and trustworthy. They will arrive in the morning and when you’re ready, they’ll take you through Fleuridia and the Vale, you’ll board a ship there and sail the rest of the way to Lunwyn under their guard.”
I would?
Alas, I thought this question. I did not ask it out loud nor did I say anything fast enough to get it in before he went on.
“Now, do you have any questions?” he asked.
Did I have any questions?
Was he insane?
“Well…yes,” I answered then all the questions I had crashed into my brain. There were a lot of them and I couldn’t get a lock on a single one so I quit talking.
The impatience hit his handsome face.
“Ilsa, I have little time. I wish to be back to Benies before the children go to bed and it’s an hour’s ride.”
I caught a thought and shared, “I…well, I have a slight problem. No one here understands me. I don’t speak the language.”
His head cocked sharply to the side. “You don’t speak Fleuridian?”
“Uh…no.”
He righted his head and declared, “Valentine speaks Fleuridian.”
She did?
It must be full on French then. Or she spent a lot of time here.
“Well, I don’t,” I replied.
His eyes flashed before he continued. “Ilsa’s father was from Fleuridia. She was fluent in both Fleuridian and the language of the Vale.”
I had no idea what he was talking about but I thought it important to cautiously and thoughtfully point something out.
So, gently, I said, “I’m not her.”
His eyes swept me again before locking on mine, whereupon he stated roughly, “This, I know,” in a way that felt not-so-vaguely like an insult.
