Exile. Part 7

Lester's red beard twitched at an odd angle, then actually broke into a grin. "I've heard the gossip. It bears no credence."

That was good, because Robert had not heard the gossip and did not care to defend himself against any rumors that were flying around, though he had an uncomfortable feeling he knew what they might be.

The grin faded, and Lord Lester continued, "But my wife is upstairs, speaking with her daughter for the first time in fourteen years." He paused as though struggling with deep emotion. "And for my wife ... that is everything. I will not allow it to end in carnage."

For his wife? She was the one who had abandoned her daughter. If someone had the right to fear emotional carnage, it was Aurelia.

"I know about the a.s.sa.s.sination plot," Lord Lester went on, "and I am fully aware that His Majesty did not release adequate details. So I'm telling you I not only want details, I need them. If I am going to house both the former queen and the crown princess under my roof, I need to know the truth to avoid bloodshed."

Bloodshed. Then the carnage this man spoke of was literal. And he might well be correct. If the king found this place-if he sent his men hunting for his daughter and discovered, in the process, an entire army, as well as the woman who had humiliated him-the meeting might well end in slaughter.

Robert closed his eyes. Was there nowhere he could take Aurelia? Nowhere she could be safe from the threats that kept piling, one upon the other, like bodies from a ma.s.sacre?

But this man had kept someone safe for over a decade. And he was offering to protect Aurelia as well.

Robert told him the unvarnished truth. "The guards a.s.signed to the expedition tried to kill her."

There was no response from His Lords.h.i.+p.

"We escaped with our lives. But I did not dare take her back to the road, in case the guards might ambush us. They could have staked out any town between Sterling and-"

"Transcontina," Lord Lester finished for him. The city at the northern edge of the Asyan. "That's less than three days' ride. I'll send several men to investigate. If palace guards have been in the city, there are those who will know."

"And if the guards are there now?" Robert had no desire to see conflict erupt.

"Then my men will watch them and send word when they head back toward the capital. You are to remain here until we receive that confirmation."

I'm under Her Highness's authority. Not yours.

But Robert did not dispute the order.

His Lords.h.i.+p nodded brusquely and turned, then at the doorway came to a sudden halt. "I've spoken with my courier." He cleared his throat. "He and his wife have agreed to offer you more suitable lodging."

He walked out.

Robert felt his jaw clench. The meaning behind the message stung. He was not of the correct cla.s.s. He had no power, no t.i.tle, no status. No right to even share a roof with Aurelia. No right to think of her as anything more than his future monarch.

But that could not alter the truth that had plunged into him when she had stormed down the center of the hall, her chin upraised, eyes flas.h.i.+ng, voice confident. Recklessly risking her life to defend him. Slaying all threats that stood in her way.

He loved her.

And there was nothing he, or anyone else, could do to change that.

Her mother would not touch her.

Not on that first visit. Or the next. Or the next.

Each morning when Aurelia came to the Blue Room, Lady Margaret-as she was now called-sat alone at her window in her solitary wicker chair, where she could avoid meeting her daughter's eyes by staring at the flower gardens below.

She was like a set of porcelain shards pieced together. Anything Aurelia said might cause her to crack. No topic was safe: the palace, the king, the politics of Tyralt. At every reference the former queen's hands clutched her windowsill with such force that her knuckles went white. And after a brief mention of the Vantauge family caused a powerful silence, Aurelia dared not even talk about Robert. Or the expedition, a choice which-she tried to convince herself-had nothing to do with her own reluctance to think about the future.

The past could not be broached, not without any foundation or common ground. Even minor topics felt like chasms for her to plunge into. Her attempts to speak to her mother's interests only revealed Aurelia's ignorance. She knew next to nothing about gardens, embroidery, or painting. Every broken conversation served as evidence of her own inadequacy.

She longed to quit. To forego the awkward silences and the frightening reflection of her own weakness. But if she gave up, the cavity within her would claim dominion.

Desperate for something to break the silence, she forced herself past the final image of Bianca and dared the topic of horses. Surely here, at least, the former queen was not the expert.

But Lady Margaret's skin turned as pale as Daria's. The hands again clutched the windowsill. And the silence thrust Aurelia away.

The next day the blue door was locked.

Aurelia wanted to scream, to pound down the door and destroy forever any hope of reconciling with the stranger on the other side. But something would not allow her to do it-the stark hollow terror within her. And that illogical inner thread that still craved her mother's love.

Stupidity. She should run down to the Soliers' cottage right now and forget the woman in the Blue Room. But if Aurelia arrived at the cottage this early, her best friend would not allow her to forget. Daria would ask questions. As she had about the a.s.sa.s.sination plot. Questions that seemed to chase Robert away to his new job at the stables. And questions Aurelia did not want to answer.

Instead, she left the Fortress for the village interwoven among the shadowy canopy of dense trees. She sought distraction, but found herself swept up in genuine curiosity. Here, beyond the knowledge of the king, the people had just as many plans as those in Tyralt City. They were building a school. And over a dozen houses were in construction amid the foliage. She met butchers and builders, seamstresses and weavers, teachers and leaders, all of whom spoke well of Lady Margaret, though none had actually met her.

How could these people feel a connection to the woman her own daughter did not understand? Every morning that week, before returning to the village, Aurelia silently tested the blue door, and every morning it remained locked.

At last, after seven days of being exiled from her mother's residence, she gathered enough humility to approach the one person who might be able to help. She braved the cacophony of the great hall at suppertime.

"Your Highness." The red-bearded man who was technically her stepfather offered up a knowing grin and pulled out a vacant chair at his right.

She could not help but feel as though he were mocking her. But she bit her tongue and did her best to remain civil as he introduced her to the soldiers at his side, all hired in defiance of her father. The task was not as hard as she had expected. The conversation, to her surprise, centered more on the welfare of the village people than on hunting or training techniques. And she regretted the moment when at last Lord Lester dismissed the other partic.i.p.ants from the table, though she had come to complete a mission.

"Your Lords.h.i.+p." She used his t.i.tle, not as a means to mock him, but as a boundary. She already had a father, and she could not quite forgive this man for his dreadful treatment of Robert upon their arrival. But no one else could provide her with the insight she needed. "I wish to ask your advice."

"Patience," he replied, tilting a bottle of red wine over his gla.s.s and raising his arm so that the crimson stream stretched higher and higher.

She silenced herself, thinking he was telling her to wait before she spoke.

He chuckled. "My advice, with regards to your mother, is always patience. I courted her for ten years under this very roof before she agreed to marry me. And believe me when I say I've been locked out of that room for far longer than you are ever likely to be." The bottle thudded down.

Aurelia blinked. This man, whom she had a.s.sessed as rude and brash, had waited ten years for her mother to marry him? And according to the locals, he had felled half an acre of forest for the gardens so that she might have fresh blossoms in her room. And he had raised an entire army to protect her. Perhaps he did not, entirely, deserve Aurelia's disdain. "I think I upset her when I mentioned horses."

"Ah." Lord Lester tilted the wine in her direction.

The scent twisted her insides and darkened her thoughts. She tried not to inhale, pus.h.i.+ng the bottle away.

He corralled it in the crook of his arm, then stated, "Your mother has never recovered from your brother's death. Horses remind her of the accident."

Was her entire family always to remain captive to that moment fourteen years ago, when Aurelia's brother had been trampled by her father's mount? Nothing could undo that slicing imprint. And she well knew, based on her experience with the king, that she could never measure up to her brother's place in her parents' eyes. "I see." Aurelia rose to go.

"She isn't punis.h.i.+ng you."

Of course she is.

"She's only afraid."

Of what? The former queen had not once tried to initiate conversation-had taken no risks at all. "She's made no attempt to get to know me."

"She has let no one else into that room without my presence in fourteen years."

Could that be true? Had her mother taken a risk simply by allowing her daughter over the threshold? And what folly to learn that now!

Aurelia took a half dozen steps away, then paused. It was not this man's fault her mother was scarred. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome."

The next day the door was unlocked. Aurelia hovered on the threshold.

Her mother was sitting in her chair beside a large basket of delphiniums, gazing out the window.

"I'm sorry I'm late," whispered Aurelia, as if she had not been barred from this azure refuge for the past seven days. "I was a.s.sisting a family that is moving into their new home in the village." The words tumbled over one another. "They have ten children, and I was helping the little ones find their way."

Her mother turned so that the midmorning sunlight shone on half of her face. "The Rienthur family."

Aurelia was astonished to hear the name from the former queen's lips. She had come to think her mother's interests were restricted to the minutiae of her surroundings: the paintings on the wall, the fabric, the flowers.

Lady Margaret's slender fingers reached down to the overflowing basket and removed one of the long stalks of cobalt blossoms. On a small table at her side lay a pair of shears and a ball of twine. For drying flowers.

Again her mother spoke. "A great many families have come to the estate this year. That is why the new school is so important."

"You know of the school?" Aurelia edged into the room.

"I sponsored it." Her mother clipped the stem.

Aurelia caught herself at the curved end of the bedpost, startled. The idea made sense. The former queen had been well known for her pa.s.sion for education, but that had been ... before.

Lady Margaret tied the twine around the severed stem and retrieved another strand of blossoms. Then the shears wavered in the air, and her voice faltered. "Did ... did you like the room?"

"What?" asked Aurelia, unable to follow the sudden s.h.i.+ft in the conversation.

"The room that the Rienthurs vacated."

Until today, the family Aurelia had helped move had been living in a large corner room on the second floor of the Fortress. An open, airy s.p.a.ce with b.u.t.tercup walls and yellow coverlets, the aura far superior to her own dark, vine-covered quarters. "Y-yes." She furrowed her brow, uncertain why her mother had changed the conversation.

Still the shears wavered. "I thought ... you might prefer it."

"Oh! Yes! It's ... beautiful!"

A faint, but genuine smile appeared on her mother's lips. "Of course, we would have given you the room earlier, but His Lords.h.i.+p did not wish to displace an entire family."

Bolstered by the smile, Aurelia allowed herself to approach the overflowing basket, crouch down, and inhale the delicate, sweet scent.

Her mother edged away, compelling her daughter to retreat back to the bedpost.

"The ... the Fortress is entirely full, isn't it?" Aurelia queried.

"I believe so," said Lady Margaret, then reached hesitantly for the twine. "The room you have occupied was the only one available upon your arrival, except for the bas.e.m.e.nt, which is not fit for guests, as the rooms have no hearths. His Lords.h.i.+p offers every s.p.a.ce he can to newcomers to the estate, those who do not yet have the means to provide for their own lodging."

"But where do all these people come from? And how can there be so many who even know about this place? Enough to keep this entire Fortress full as they wait for new homes to be built?"

The knot Lady Margaret was trying to tie came apart. "Many are family to those already here."

But that was only half an answer. "Why do they come in the first place?"

There was a long pause. And for a moment Aurelia feared they had reached another unknown precipice. Again the knot came undone, and her mother's hands shook as they wrestled with the twine. "His Lords.h.i.+p ... forgives all debts ... all former crimes. He asks only for loyalty and service.... None of the young are bound to pay for their parents' failures. ..." Lady Margaret looked up, gazing once more out the window. "All are welcome, and all have the chance to stay if they respect His Lords.h.i.+p's wishes."

And if they do not? Aurelia suspected Lord Lester's justice was swift and final. But clearly the man's offer to forgive past wrongs held appeal.

"All these people are fugitives or family members of those who have broken the law?"

Another long pause. Lady Margaret lowered her head, and her response came in a soft whisper. "The king's law."

And only then did Aurelia realize her mother had included herself in her daughter's a.s.sessment. That perhaps she, as Lord Lester had implied, had spent the past weeks dreading her visitor's judgment. "Then this place-the entire village-is ..." Aurelia thought about all the people she had met: the townspeople, the Rienthur family, even the soldiers at His Lords.h.i.+p's table. "A sanctuary."

Her mother's eyes fluttered up, meeting her daughter's gaze, their brown depths filled with ... relief.

Lord Lester's offer to provide Aurelia with a place at the Fortress haunted Robert for five weeks. Like a gray blanket that gave off the impression of solace and then split in half and twisted itself into a rope to strangle him.

Because he knew he would have to leave her.

She was safe here. Safe. Her stepfather's contacts in Transcontina had sent word that a group of His Majesty's guards were, in fact, in the city. Lying in wait. But here she was shrouded in secrecy. Surrounded by armed men who were free from her stepsister's influence. And she had her mother. A figure who had reigned just below the highest position of Tyralian power and foremost in the hearts of the kingdom's people but had, somehow, forgone that love. And the love of her own daughter. Robert knew it would be good for Aurelia if she could find it in her heart to forgive that betrayal and heal its damage.

Though it hurt to know he would lose her to this shadow of a queen.

In truth, the loss had already begun. Initially, after he had been transferred from the Fortress to Daria and Thomas's modest cottage, Aurelia had visited often, but he had not known how to talk to her-to tell her, first, that he loved her, and second, that he had informed her stepfather about her situation.

What could Robert say? That despite what he felt for her, which had somehow strengthened in the midst of all the arguments, trauma, and danger they had been through, his feelings did not matter? Because in the end, there remained three facts: She was a princess, her life was in danger, and he could not protect her.

Instead, he hid behind Daria, pretending his silence might allow the two friends time to talk. But Daria had too many questions, and the visits from Aurelia had grown more rare. At one point, he had gone to see her and had been informed, by a Fortress guard, that he needed an appointment. An appointment!

It had become an excuse. A reason to keep himself from seeing her. Because doing so hurt too much. It was easier to bury himself in work, down by the stables or helping Thomas, than to witness her dark brown eyes struggling with his silence, and to know that any day, any minute, he might receive word from Transcontina that the guards had vacated the city, leaving Robert free to return to the frontier and a future he could not envision. In which he would never see her again.

He knew the Fortress's sanctuary could not be his own. He could not bear to stay here, isolated from his country. And from her. Watching her from a distance.

Though he would never be free of her eyes. They haunted him, even as he bent low in the dimness of the estate's stables to inspect the health of Horizon's hooves.

"What are you doing?" Thomas Solier appeared over the rim of the stall.

Robert jumped, though he knew by now that Daria's husband tended to move like smoke, silent and subtle.

The stallion gave a swift kick, and Robert dodged into a corner. "Risking my life, I suppose, checking Horizon's hooves."

"Why?"

After more than a month under this man's roof, Robert knew better than to obfuscate and receive a second why. "For when I need to leave."