While Beauty Slept (29 page)

“Tell me what I must do,” I said.

Flora smiled, her face shining with relief, and I saw how beautiful she must have been once, when she was young and free of cares. She took my hand and patted it, her dry, papery fingers as fragile as onionskin.

“The only sure weapon against hatred is love,” Flora said. “You love deeply, Elise, and that is a more powerful protection than you know.”

Flora held off any further questions, saying we would speak of such matters in due course. After she had excused herself to rest, I paced the pathway for some time, until the confusion that had clouded my vision of the future cleared. When I emerged into the castle courtyard, bracing myself for what must come next, I found the area already swarming with people returned from the hanging, chattering and smiling as if they had just witnessed a tournament rather than an execution. They thought justice had been done, knowing nothing of the danger that still threatened us all, and I wanted to shout them out of their self-satisfied contentment.

At the front gate, I had to stand aside as a procession of carriages entered. Thinking the way clear as last, I stepped forward, only to cower in terror as a horse suddenly startled in front of me, its hooves pounding into the earth mere inches from my feet. The animal was skittish amid the crowd; it needed a strong, steady hand to keep it in line, and I shouted angrily at the driver.

It was Horick, slumped on his seat, the reins slack in his hands. “Watch yourself, missy,” he drawled.

“Watch your horse,” I snapped.

The carriage stopped, blocked by others ahead. I looked up at Horick’s sour face, and he mumbled something, rolling his eyes. Had it been anyone else, I would have turned my back and ignored him, but Horick’s disrespect enraged me.

“What did you say?” I demanded.

“I merely observed that I need no advice from the likes of you on how to handle a horse.”

As if to infuriate me further, he cracked his whip against the poor creature’s back, though it could only proceed a few paces.

“You watch your tongue!” I shouted. “The queen shall hear of your insolence!”

Heads turned as Horick regarded me with exaggerated dismay. My loss of control had given him the upper hand, and I walked away before the situation could degenerate further. My somber mood only worsened as I marched along the streets of St. Elsip. The town that had so impressed me a few short years before now appeared drab and provincial to my jaded eyes, a place where people were content to live in ignorance, celebrating the death of innocent men.

I pushed open the door to Hannolt’s shop and saw Marcus sitting at a simple wooden desk in the corner, a ledger before him. For a moment I could vividly picture him in middle age, sitting contentedly in this same room, jotting numbers at the same desk. He looked up in surprise, then his face brightened with pleasure.

“Elise! What brings you to town? The hanging?”

“No,” I said abruptly. “I came to talk to you.”

My tone appeared to take him aback, and he regarded me questioningly as he rose and tipped his head toward the door. I could hear the muffled voices of his parents from behind the curtain that closed off the shop’s living quarters. I followed Marcus outside. Throughout our courtship we had hardly ever been alone together, unobserved. Perhaps it was fitting that this life-altering conversation be held within hearing of dozens of townspeople making their way home.

He reached for my hands, but I resisted his touch, knowing that such affection would weaken my resolve. “Marcus, I cannot leave the queen.”

“I thought I made myself clear,” he said, more mystified than angry. “I am not meant for a life among the nobility.”

“How can you know if you have not tried?”

Marcus’s expression hardened. “Do you think I did not notice when your fellow attendants sneered at my clothes? When they addressed me as ‘the shoemaker’ rather than by name? I chose to ignore such insults because their approval did not matter. But it would if I were to live at the castle. I would be forced to seek favor from simpering courtiers who care for nothing but gossip and who sits at which table.”

“They are not all like that. . . .” I tried to explain, but Marcus ignored me.

“I see only too well where it would end, Elise. I have no talent for flattery and obsequiousness. I would never fit in, and you know it.”

I remembered the winter afternoons we had spent in the Lower Hall. Those gloomy hours when I first saw Marcus through my fellow servants’ eyes, when the perception of others had caused me to doubt my own feelings. Could I swear that I would not fall prey to such disloyalty again?

“You told me once you did not care what trade your future husband practiced, only that he be kind. Do you remember?” he asked.

I nodded. I remembered everything about that night in the garden, when one kiss from Marcus could provoke shivers of delight.

“Was it a lie? Would you be content as a shoemaker’s wife?”

After all Marcus had given me, I owed him the truth. “Not if it means renouncing my duty to the king’s family.”

Marcus looked down, away from me, but not before I saw he was close to tears. His shoulders caved forward, and he clenched his arms across his stomach, as if protecting himself from further blows.

“Please reconsider the queen’s offer,” I begged. “You could accustom yourself to court life, given time.”

“Ah, but I couldn’t, Elise,” he said bitterly. “Not as you have.”

“I would never ask it of you if I had any other choice,” I said. “Rose, the queen, Lady Flora—they depend upon me.” In all the time I had known Marcus, I’d been reluctant to speak of Millicent and the danger that kept me tied to the castle; intensely practical, he had no patience for superstition or tales of enchantment. Even then I might have told him everything, but when he snorted in disgust, I knew he would not believe me.

“Yes, it is quite clear that the fine ladies of the court have a hold on you,” he said. “So I must ask you, one last time: Will you marry me, Elise? As I am?”

“I love you,” I said softly. It seemed very important he know that at least.

“But not enough.” His breath came out in an anguished sigh. “I would make any sacrifice for you, do you know that? I would give up everything my father has worked for. But I will not marry a woman who thinks me beneath her.”

“I never said any such thing—” I began, hoping to delay the final reckoning, but he stopped me with a mournful shake of his head.

“Do not lie to me. Not now.”

Strengthened by his quiet dignity, I looked at Marcus head-on. Here were the dark eyes that had regarded me with such tenderness, the mouth that had met mine with passionate hunger, the tousled hair I had clutched when he ran his hands over the curves of my body. That man I knew so well was slipping away, hiding himself behind a stern, protective shell. I had not understood until that moment how very precious a gift he had offered me. A man such as Marcus feels deeply and truly, and such a love, once offered, does not waver. My chest ached from the burden of carrying his heartbreak as well as my own.

“Perhaps there is still a way,” I begged. “If you could wait a year or two, until the princess is a little older—”

“No, Elise. I will not be your second choice.”

There was no last touch, no final embrace. Marcus turned from me and walked back into the shop, shutting the door behind him. Bereft, I stumbled away from the man I loved. How I made it back to the castle remains a mystery, for I was blinded by tears the whole way.

When I returned to the royal apartments, Lady Wintermale told me Queen Lenore was in the chapel, praying for the souls of the executed soldiers, but Mrs. Tewkes had asked to see me. I had hoped to nurse my sorrow in private, but perhaps it was best to be pulled back into the routines of castle life. I had been raised to believe that hard work was a virtue. Only the lazy and foolish had time to fret over a love affair gone wrong.

When I knocked on Mrs. Tewkes’s door, she bade me come in with a more subdued expression than usual. For a moment I was convinced she knew what had befallen me. It was impossible, of course, but Mrs. Tewkes had an uncanny ability to follow all the twists and turns of the servants’ personal lives. It would not have surprised me if she confessed the power to read minds.

“We have not spoken for some time, have we?” she asked with a concerned smile. “You are well?”

Such a simple question, and yet so difficult to answer. I nodded.

“An incident has been brought to my attention. A minor matter, concerning you, and I wish to set my mind at ease by determining the true state of affairs. Mr. Gungen spoke to me a few hours ago, on behalf of one of the grooms.”

“Horick,” I guessed.

“Yes. So you know of what I speak? Mr. Gungen told me Horick is in a rage, going on about your manner toward him earlier today.”

“The disrespect was on his part, I assure you.”

“I am sure it was,” Mrs. Tewkes agreed. “He’s a most unpleasant man, and slow in his work to boot. I made it clear to Mr. Gungen that your wishes are to be respected as those of the queen, and that’s the end of it. Though I would suggest you avoid Horick for a few days at least.”

“Consider it done.” I rose from my chair, but Mrs. Tewkes waved me back down.

“Elise, I must confess, I was quite surprised to hear of such behavior from you. Horick is an oaf, but I did not think him capable of enraging you so. Has he provoked you in other ways? If he has made your life difficult, you must tell me so I can put a stop to it.”

I shook my head and began to say there was no bad blood between Horick and me. Yet under Mrs. Tewkes’s watchful gaze, I found the truth slipping out.

“I cannot abide him,” I said.

“I agree he is surly and disagreeable, but hardly enough to warrant such hatred. There must be more. Come, my dear, what has he done?”

His was the ultimate betrayal, I thought. He denied me an honorable birth and my mother an honorable life. I had told no one of my past and did not think I ever would. I glanced at Mrs. Tewkes, then away. She sat unmoving, waiting. Like me, she understood that silence often provokes others to speak freely.

“I suppose you know why my mother left the castle,” I began. Mrs. Tewkes nodded. “Though she never told me who seduced and abandoned her, I came to find out it was Horick. I will always hate him for what he did to her.”

Mrs. Tewkes raised her eyebrows. “Horick? He told you this?”

“No. My aunt said my mother was pledged to him, and I guessed the truth.”

“Then you have misunderstood your aunt, for poor Horick is quite blameless,” said Mrs. Tewkes.

“Horick is not my father?”

“Oh, no.” Mrs. Tewkes frowned dismissively. “You could not be more wrong.”

Stunned, I stared at her dumbly. All along she’d known who had fathered me. Why had I not thought to ask her before? Mrs. Tewkes and my mother had been friends, close enough for her name to be on my mother’s lips at her death. In whom else would my mother have confided?

“But my aunt—she said Horick was Mother’s sweetheart.”

“So they were. Mayren was fond of him, though he was far more besotted with her. That’s what turned him, you see. Knowing that the woman he loved had been with another man.”

“Who?” I asked, but Mrs. Tewkes continued as if she had not heard me.

“There was no formal engagement, you see. Horick was still a stableboy, with hardly a penny to his name. Once he became a groomsman, there was an understanding that he would ask for Mayren’s hand. She said she would wait. But then a certain nobleman took notice of her. She had Horick to thank for that, strange as it sounds. His love gave her a self-assurance she had lacked before. She went from avoiding attention to courting it. When this man began to pursue her, Mayren simply lost her senses. As soon as she found herself with child, he abandoned her, just as I suspected he would.

“He could have paid her off and set her up in town under a new name, posing as a widow. Many a noble mistress has lived quite well in that sort of arrangement. But his family kept him on a tight leash when it came to money, so he cast her aside and ensured she would be banished from court forever. And of course Horick wanted nothing to do with her after that. Her betrayal was his undoing, and he only grew more bitter as the years passed. Poor girl, how she cried! I did my best to help her, but I could not risk my own future by taking her part in public. I had no choice.”

“We do what we must,” I said, knowing all too well the sacrifices that a life at court demanded.

Mrs. Tewkes took her time, mulling over what she should say next, as my stomach churned. “If I tell you the name of your true father, you must promise you will do nothing with the knowledge,” she said at last. “This man spared no pity for your mother—he will hardly welcome a reunion with his bastard.”

The word stung, and it was meant to. Mrs. Tewkes had often cautioned the staff to remember their station, at all times and in all matters. Whatever my father’s rank, the circumstances of my birth meant I would never be more than a servant.

“It was Prince Bowen.”

Speechless with shock, I stared at Mrs. Tewkes, half expecting her to shake her head and laugh in jest. I could not imagine my sensible, clear-eyed mother falling victim to Prince Bowen’s wiles. With a wave of disgust, I remembered his hands—my father’s hands—groping at my body, enjoying my powerlessness. And yet the dissolute man I knew had once been devastatingly handsome. My mother would have been flattered by his attention, even welcomed it. I thought of Petra smiling at Dorian across the Great Hall and remembered how quickly my friend had succumbed to his advances. I, too, had weakened under Marcus’s touch. With my own heartbreak so fresh, I felt the pain of my mother’s all the more deeply.