My feet enter into the carriage. Deep brown leather seats, and a tall ceiling. He closes the curtains on the side of the carriage and I obediently sit in the opposite chair. I try my best to shrink myself out of existence until my mother’s words course through my head. Prove your worth.
The rocking of the carriage keeps me from going insane. I sit still. The familiar scent of leather, the only consolation. Suddenly, it feels as though I’m in my father’s study, on the couch he never seems to sit in. The pitter-patter of the now pouring rain, like the tapping of his fingers when he is nervous.
Gone…. Gone. Just like that. A memory that will never repeat. A memory that only exists in my mind. A hallucination.
“You sure are silent for someone who witnessed the downfall of her family,” His highness Adelphus comments indolently.
The seeming disinterest calms me down. His eyes directed outwards, viewing the barely lit streets instead of my wretched expression. I follow his gaze, observing the arrays of trees, the onslaught of buildings, a clothing store still lit by a lantern hang on the walls, two customers trying out dresses despite the late hours. A popinae (tavern) frequented by coming travelers, barely a minute has passed, but two have already knocked on the door.
I am woken from my observation by a stare. So gentle. So distant. That undercurrent of hatred so far away from his eyes. Almost as though I had seen wrong earlier. He looks at me and I freeze, like an insect trapped in tree sap. Like I am buried 5 feet under snow.
I must say something.
“…My mother used to say, the fool digs his own grave, whilst the wiseman silently evades.” My voice comes out, a little mournful. It is never easy to suppress such strong emotions. The confusion. The sorrows. The nostalgia… the want to escape.
His highness Adelphus does not seem to care much about my fragility, an indifferent smile remaining still in his face. His face leans into the windows, the cold press of the glass, my eyes so focused I nearly miss his words.
“Some mothers would grieve a wise daughter that cuts her off. But, knowing your mother, she might be proud.” He comments, nearly giving the illusion of a chuckle, his head droops down to the window, then to his hands, those amber eyes sharpening like blades before the battle, “It makes me wonder…”
His right hand approaches me, I try my best to not guard my neck. Do not bare your fangs, when the enemy overpowers you. Stay still. My eyes, an undercurrent of trust. Stay still. Again. That obscure smile. His hand stills in the air, then tilts my chin upwards.
“Shall I fail and become your grave, would you cut me off too?”
It is chilling. His tone.
“What they perceive is up to your actions.”
And though my care for my mother is true, I still feel the urge to act out the facet of a caring daughter. I am messed up that way. Calculation. Strategy. Wit. The lessons dictated by my family, the lineage of warriors fighting on the frontlines and in court coursing through my veins. I am messed up that way. The daughter of a traitor. My sins, catching up to me and manifesting in my twistedness.
So, I ask, my own feelings, disgusting me for how much of a pretense everything feels like, “You know… my mother?”
It is so far away, so far away.
Home. Yesterday. Mother. I have just been separated from you earlier today. And yet, I can barely remember how we usually interact. My emotions. So obscure. This calculation. Too real.
He observes me, and I crack underneath. Don’t fall here. Imposter. Prove your worth. Imposter. Father… ah I am the real traitor. The hands tilting my chin upwards lets go, and my mind clears slightly. The slow tapping of rain on the ceilings of the carriage, a respite from the whispers in my mind.
Please don’t see. This me, within.
His eyes, a judge reading the records of crime embedded in me, weighing the benefits, weighing the risks. How much I can be of use to him.
“I did. Long before she became your
mother. Your father is a fool for marrying her, but a happy fool. And, to learn how to make a wise man like your father… is something I hope you can do.”
My thoughts crash. Too much information falling together at once. What does he mean- what can he possibly mean by that? My family, their marriage. What does it possibly-
“Maybe, I have outspoken. Forget it.” He redirects his attention to the streets outside.
No matter how I think, I cannot make sense of it. The disappearance of my mother in the prison cell. The way he calls my father a happy fool. The way… he tells me to be like her. It cannot be. A conspiracy theory poisons my mind. I bury it deep inside, knowing if it ever goes outside, I would shatter.
The carriage ride continues to be enveloped by silence, until the surrounding areas change from the city into a large estate surrounded by a garden of yellow and purple hues. The draping of the golden chain tree calms down my nerves . Even without daylight, the moonlight and the illumination of the tall lanterns, fill the cascading yellow petals with an air of mystery and warmth.
Up above, the moon shines, like paper burning on top of a candle. Burnt orange splotches corrupting the under layer of creamy yellow light. So beautiful. Unlike the sight of my father’s last words. These memories. Layered. Mud on mud. Skeleton on skeleton. My throat on a blade. Silence. Built on silence. Deafening and ear piercing. Like a scream straight to my cochleas. Like I had gone deaf.
Upon arrival, a row of servants greets us. Two lines, one on each side, each line consisting of five people. Their deep bow completely creeps me out, despite it being a usual scene in the estate. I suppose, there is an air of reverence, and air of respect not afforded to me by the servants at home. Like they are in fear.
“Welcome back, your highness, Adelphus, and Her highness Laelia.” The man I presume to be the Junior chamberlain, salutes, one hand in front of his chest, “I am glad to hear that your recurrent illness has finally been cured, after so long.”
… Laelia? I curiously glance over to the front, he does not give away any clues. The frigidity of his back withers my courage to even try. Her highness… is not something they would call me. Much less that foreign name, that sounds so much like an inversion of my own.
To avoid making a mistake, I respond briefly, a tiny nod, a gentle smile, keeping a lock on my mouth in case it speaks too much. In the end, all I manage to say is, “Indeed.”
Finally, done with his observation, his highness Adelphus intercedes, one insouciant stare to the all too jolly Junior chamberlain, “Enough, Titus. It has been a long journey.”
Then, without saying another word, he walks off into the building. In negligence, I have no other choice to follow. The orange pyrostegia vines cascading down the pillars remind me of the wisteria back at home. Will I ever be able to go back? My thoughts remain unanswered as I follow his highness Adelphus for another minute.
“…You’re not going to ask?” He prompts me with a question.
I return his question nonchalantly, maybe a bit too rudely, my mind still heavy from today’s events, “No… The results will still be the same. Less irritation leads to a better chance of survival.”
The wind sways the dangling pyrostegia vines to the side. A round of susurration sounding from colliding leaves. Somehow, the illumination from the dim lantern on the pyrostegia petals remind me of his eyes. Those eyes, staring me down.
The obscurity of it all.
He turns around so suddenly, I nearly collide into him. No readable expression on his face, the cast of the night lamp on his sand toned skin, makes him look warmer than he did outside the prison cage. The light flickers. An illusion. His eyes of amber fool me twice.
“From today on, you will call me, elder brother, Adelphus.”
Comments (0)
See all