Exile. Part 6

Robert bridled. "I'm not going until I am certain Her Highness is all right."

A fierce, almost animal-like growl exited from the man's throat. Then he turned and stalked around the table and all the way to the portrait at the front of the room. The red head tilted back as Robert waited for the next p.r.o.nouncement.

At last it came, the words directed to the soldiers. "Take him below," His Lords.h.i.+p ordered.

The ivy on the guest room tapestry invaded Aurelia's mind as she sat, still in her rags, on the hard wooden floor. Waiting. Her back was against the bed, her eyes tracing and retracing the deceptive heart-shaped leaves and long deathly vines that strangled everything they touched. Like love.

Her mother had not come.

At least three hours had pa.s.sed since the housekeeper had shown Aurelia here, offering her the room as a place of solitude. It had remained solitary-leaving Aurelia facing the empty dark cavity within herself, the sting of rejection. And futility. Her mind had detached from the present to traverse the wasteland of time. So few memories. A gentle embrace, the smell of lilacs, a beautiful laugh that could in no way be mistaken for that of her stepmother, Elise.

But it was Aurelia's mother who had abandoned her daughter. Fourteen years ago. Without a word. And still after all those years, like a naive child, Aurelia had thought her mother would come. And what? Apologize for the minutes, months, and years of not being present? That was never going to happen.

A faint rap came at the door.

"h.e.l.lo?" said a soft female voice. Too familiar. The door caught upon the latch. "It's me, Daria."

Emotion slipped. In the midst of all that had happened, Aurelia had failed to connect her arrival on this estate with the presence of her best friend. Of course Daria is here. Her husband is Lord Lester's courier. Aurelia scrambled up, tripping on the green bedding she had pulled down to the floor. She crossed in front of the hanging ivy, removed the lock-a measure of control enacted to deny she had none-and opened the door.

A figure in gold muslin stood in the hall, her once-thin cheeks filled out beneath upswept raven hair and her black eyes glittering with concern.

Is it that obvious I am damaged?

Then warm arms reached across the s.p.a.ce and wrapped Aurelia in a fierce hug.

Daria-who had rescued Aurelia from boredom during endless hours of etiquette training. Who had stood guard and made up stories to excuse her best friend's escapes from the palace. Who had laughed at the ancient royal suitors and dared Aurelia to find someone who moved her heart instead.

None of that mattered now.

"Is it true?" Aurelia murmured. "Is my mother actually here?"

The hug tightened, then released. "Yes."

Then you knew. The bitter thought replaced the warmth. How could one's closest friend harbor a secret like this?

Daria must have read the anguish in Aurelia's eyes, because explanation spilled forth. "I only found out when Thomas brought me here, upon my arrival. And I was sworn to secrecy. It's a condition for living on the estate."

A true friend would never take that oath.

"Of course, that is no excuse for not telling you."

The admission cut a rift in Aurelia's turmoil.

"But I did not dare write!" Daria declared. "I did not want your stepmother to intercept the message. Or your father."

Aurelia took a step back toward the barren hearth. There was so much her father had known and not told her. She had feared that her mother's location might be another fact he had chosen to withhold. "Then my father doesn't know my mother is here?"

Daria blinked, stretching out her fingers toward her friend. "No, of course not. Why do you think Lord Lester never returns to the palace? And why else would he hire this many men to defend his estate? It's all for your mother's protection."

Protection?

Daria's empty hand dropped, along with her gaze. "It's hard to know how your father would react. There might be ... well, there might be repercussions."

Aurelia staggered back, her side grazing the sharp corner of the mantel. It had never occurred to her that her mother might be in danger, having left the palace, or that she might have been in danger living there when her husband clearly preferred another woman.

But if the a.s.sa.s.sination plot had taught Aurelia anything, it was that the palace was unsafe. Even if her father had no intention of harming her mother, he could not be relied upon to protect her. Daria was right.

"She hasn't come," Aurelia said.

"Lady Margaret never comes."

Margaret? Her mother's name was Marguerite. "What?"

"She never leaves her quarters."

That made no sense. Surely Daria was exaggerating, trying to defend her best friend from reality. Aurelia had no interest in excuses. "Of course she does."

"No." Daria shook her head. "Lady Margaret has a single s.p.a.ce at the end of the hall on the third floor, one flight up, her own private residence known as the Blue Room." Private. Meaning no one is allowed to enter without permission. "She never leaves. Ever."

Aurelia struggled to take in the implications. But how could she? If the past three hours had proven anything, it was that she knew nothing about the woman upstairs. "She has not sent for me."

Daria's voice wavered. "It must have been a shock. Your arrival. I do not really know her ... but I know she has been like a talisman to the people here. They would defend her with their lives."

The people have always loved my mother. But she has never loved me. Aurelia backed away until the hollow of her spine hit the edge of a gla.s.s table along the wall. Her elbow jostled a vase of dead flowers.

Porcelain tumbled, and white shards sprayed across gray stones.

Daria pulled her friend away from the shattered pieces. "I know it's not fair, but if you wish to see her, then you must go to her."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Because I am a coward. Because I'm not who I was before the forest. Or maybe I am. Maybe that dark cavity inside me was always there. "She left me, Daria. Not just my father-me. And I don't ... I don't understand why."

Her friend's voice remained calm. "Then why don't you ask her?"

As if it were that simple.

Aurelia sank down and buried her head in her hands, reaching for the strength within herself. But there was none there. She had been avoiding the thought of her mother for so long, nothing had ever filled the gap. Perhaps that was the weakness, the flaw in her own design, that had allowed Aurelia to lose herself in the forest.

All this time-her entire life-she had blamed her mother for leaving. And for much more. For the failure to be there, to teach her daughter how to become queen, and to answer her questions. Yet now, when Aurelia had the chance to alter that reality, she had chosen to lock the door.

Hiding was her father's technique. And her mother's.

I cannot-I will not be my parents, she thought.

She gathered the threads in her soul, pulling them tight. If the cavity within herself was due to her mother, then confronting her was the only way out of the mental vines and tangles that had clutched at Aurelia ever since the morning after the fire.

Slowly her body unfurled, and she stepped toward the door. Her chest contracted, and her breath ran shallow. Her friend's hand threaded through her fingers, but she shook it off. This was not something Daria could do for her. Nor Robert. Nor anyone else in the length and breadth of the kingdom. It is my task.

Without looking back, Aurelia forced herself beyond the threshold and down the corridor. The rising circular staircase swallowed her whole. Antler horns sprouted out from the walls above her, their sharp points threatening like spears. The wood-grain wall ran from reds to blacks, and the steps, though perfectly constructed, seemed to narrow as she climbed.

Toward her greatest fear. She could not help but feel that ignorance would be easier. Then there could be no misunderstandings. Or brutal truths. Was the chasm in her heart not better than her mother's open hatred? Were fragile memories not better than broken ones? And was it not all better-the hurt, the emptiness, the anger-than the agonizing flutter of hope?

At the top of the stair, she saw only the blue door, a bright unavoidable color that pulled her all the way to the end of the hall. Her hand reached for the latch, fingers refusing to curl into a polite knock. To do so would permit refusal or allow time for retreat. This is my choice. I must make it.

The barrier swung at her touch.

Sky blue walls opened around her. Ocean-colored fabric graced pillows and cus.h.i.+ons. Robin's egg curtains fluttered at an open window. And dozens and dozens of fresh bluebells filled the room. A woman, her back to the door, was arranging a handful in a vase on the windowsill.

There could be no doubt about her ident.i.ty. Dark brown wisps drifted down her neck, and her brown skin mirrored her daughter's. But the woman did not turn.

"Mother?" Aurelia whispered to the only person who had ever held that t.i.tle in her heart.

The woman froze, shoulders stiffening like a statue's, thin arms with bent elbows pressing tightly into her sides, fingers strangling the flowers in her hand. Her face, profile, gaze-withheld.

As they had been forever.

Doubt a.s.sailed, a deluge of emotion sweeping through Aurelia. She was again a three-year-old child without strategy or defense. Everything she had built up, every verbal and logical weapon, fell useless, sucked into the swirling whirlpool of the carpet. And she could do nothing but stammer the truth. "I ... I know you do not wish to speak to me, but ..."

The statue did not turn.

She forced herself to continue. "I need to know why." There, the words were out. And now-bother! The tears were coming, stripping her of her dignity. There was no winning in this situation, no stopping the sick hollow feeling in her stomach.

The woman remained frozen.

"Why?" Aurelia demanded. She wiped the salty smear from her face. "Why won't you look at me? Or talk to me? Why don't you want to know me?"

The statue began to tremble. Its entire frame, though the same height as Aurelia, seemed as slight as a child's. The shoulders came down. The flowers dripped from shaking fingers. Only now did her mother turn, tears flowing freely down her face. The beautiful dusky skin was thin and blotchy, and the matching dark eyes were red and ringed in shadows. "Because," came the ragged whisper, "I didn't know if I could survive ever having to say good-bye."

Then her mother had never wished to leave? At least had never wished to leave her? Could that be possible? Could it be enough?

The anger that had propelled Aurelia through so many confrontations deserted her as she struggled to reconcile the emptiness in her head with the shaking, desperate figure before her now. Her mother was so thin-the bones in her arms and face protruding more than they had in the portrait in the hall. Intricate lace graced her throat. And embroidery with the same pattern trailed down the folds of her skirt to the hem.

What must this lady think of the bedraggled figure now claiming to be her daughter?

The thin woman gave no insight into such questions. Instead, she retreated to the fallen bluebells and the empty vase.

At this, Aurelia swept forward to retrieve the flowers, then offered them up. To her mother.

But the stranger moved to the other side of the vase.

Chapter Seven.

SANCTUARY.

"DON'T WORRY, I WON'T KILL HIM," SAID A WRY, masculine voice.

Robert woke to those auspicious words and the bleak view of a gray-stone bas.e.m.e.nt room. No windows. No hearth. No curtains, cus.h.i.+ons, or tapestries. Only the bed, a side table, and a solitary wooden chair upon the bare stone floor. After a month of struggling to survive in the Asyan-of waking at every snap and crack in the forest in order to protect Aurelia-he had fallen asleep. In the traitor's lair.

Robert could not even summon the energy for regret. At least here, no one but himself would pay for his lapse in vigilance.

A female voice, not Aurelia's, responded to the earlier comment. "But Your Lords.h.i.+p-"

"I am the head of this estate, am I not, Mrs. Solier?"

Solier? Robert had heard that name before. He lifted his chest. "Daria?"

The black-haired girl he had rescued from swarming bees when he and she were both seven hurried toward him. Her hair was still dark, and her eyes still glittered; but despite the fact that he had seen her less than two months ago, she looked somehow older and more complete.

Her gaze dropped at once to his shoulder.

Too late he realized the scar was showing through his loosened s.h.i.+rt. Immediately he tied the laces at his neckline.

"Chris's sword?" she whispered.

Robert winced. His cousin had been her friend as well.

"It's not a safe occupation, is it?" she murmured. "To protect a princess."

He had never managed to protect Aurelia.

And he could not discuss this with Daria.

Especially not with Lord Lester's bulky chest blocking the doorframe, his large arms crossed over the hilt of the confiscated Vantauge sword.

"Where is she?" Robert could not help asking.

There was no hesitation in Daria's response. "Upstairs with her mother."

"In truth?" He knew Aurelia's feelings toward her mother were far from warm.

"Indeed." Lord Lester uncrossed his arms and drew closer, then slowly propped the naked weapon against the wall. "You may wait outside, Mrs. Solier," he stated in a clear command, his gaze scanning Robert with deliberation. The lord's musclebound arms furled again.

Robert did not have the mental stamina for political cat and mouse. "What is it you want to know?"

His Lords.h.i.+p's green eyes narrowed. "It's a matter of need, not want. I need to know what the two of you were doing in the forest. Alone."

Was this man accusing Robert of running off with the crown princess? "You should ask her. It's not my place to answer for Her Royal Highness." The t.i.tle flew off his tongue like a weapon.