Текст книги "The once and future queen"
Автор книги: Paula Laferty
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
“I was hoping you might call me Guinevere instead of Your Majesty,” Vera said.
Matilda pursed her lips. “It would be improper for me to address you so informally.”
“What if you just called me Guinevere in private?”
Matilda sighed a slow, deliberate breath. “I’ll try, Your Majesty, but it’s a rather big adjustment.” Vera smiled at the first lapse. “Your—Guinevere,” she said it stiffly, “your sense of propriety has been … relaxed since your return. And,” she shook her head as Vera refilled both cups, “you should not be serving me.”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed many things that are different,” Vera said. She’d been thinking about this since her first night when she couldn’t ask Matilda her most pressing questions, certainly during all their work together around the castle. After tonight, it was unavoidable. Vera needed more help. More importantly, though, she needed to be less alone. Maybe there was a good reason Matilda had been left in the dark about all that happened to Guinevere, but they clearly trusted her to care for Vera and to be around her so much. She must have noticed the books while tidying up, not to mention Vera’s undergarments.
“Matilda, I need to tell you something.”
Matilda set her cup down and leaned forward. “I think I may already know.”
Vera blinked. “You do?”
“You have memory loss, don’t you? From the accident?”
“I—” Why hadn’t she thought of that? Come to it, why hadn’t Merlin or Arthur thought to feed Matilda that story? “Yes. That’s it. I do.”
“I’m not sure why anyone thought that needed to be a secret from me.” Matilda smoothed her skirt, somehow conveying her irritation with the gesture. “Arthur knows, of course?”
“Yes,” Vera said, noticing how easily Matilda called Arthur by his name.
“He hasn’t been the same since it happened.”
“Did I do something before the accident?” Vera asked. “To make him so angry with me?”
Matilda frowned as she lay a comforting hand on Vera’s arm. “No,” she said. “I was with you nearly always, and in the times when I wasn’t …” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what you could have done.”
“Then why does he hate me?”
“He—” Matilda went silent, and Vera thought she might not answer at all. She leaned forward to straighten the flowers. “I don’t get these, you know.”
Vera laughed in stunned discomfort. She wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. “Who else comes in here?” Her eyes shot to the wardrobe where her bag of anachronisms was now carelessly tossed. Her photograph with her parents was on the bedside table, tucked into The Hobbit as a bookmark.
Matilda looked at Vera pointedly. Why wasn’t she answering? If there was someone other than Matilda and Arthur coming in the—oh.
They were the only ones who ever came into the room.
Matilda nodded as Vera’s eyes landed on her.
“Is that … has he …” She thought back on her chamber, on how everything had remained the same except the flowers, the only physical evidence in the room that time had passed these first few weeks.
“Every time?” Vera asked, her voice breathy.
“Every time.” Matilda finished straightening the flowers with a frown. “I don’t understand his behavior since you returned, but he has never, not once, hated you.”
Vera felt an irrational certainty that, the strange kindness of bouquets aside, something had happened to make Arthur treat her so poorly. And she knew who she really needed to ask. Based wholly on her experience so far, if there was something Guinevere had done, Lancelot would know—because it would have happened with him.
It was unseasonably warm when they set out in the early morning darkness. Lancelot didn’t mention Arthur’s behavior the previous evening, but he did watch Vera more closely. Like she was a tea kettle on the edge of boiling, one that would scream out any moment. She was used to their route now, but he turned right instead of left at the fork in the road, and Vera followed without question. It would be nice to have a diversion from the conversation she knew needed to come at the end of their run.
She enjoyed the new trail and could understand why he’d held off on it until he knew she was capable. While the other wove between and around hills, keeping the loop submissively flat, this trail was narrower and took them into the woods, where it climbed and fell frequently. But it was lovelier, even in the dark. The trees they ran through were rich with their autumn leaves, and Vera could hear flowing water nearby.
Twenty minutes in, Lancelot stopped. He’d not done that during their runs before.
“What’s wrong?” Vera asked.
He turned off the trail and held aside a bendy branch, beckoning Vera to follow. “Nothing,” he said. “Wanted to show you something.”
She followed him down a well-trodden game trail, the sound of rushing water growing in her ears until the branches thinned and gave way to a grove straight out of a fairytale. A pond lay before her with water so clear that she wasn’t sure where it began until a frog jumped in, and the widening ripples traced the outline of the shore. On the opposite side was a tree so vast and ancient that the trunk was the size of a small cottage. She turned to match the sound to a stream gurgling down the rocky hillside and falling into the pond from ten feet above, a narrow curtain of a waterfall.
Vera turned back to Lancelot, her joy at this place on her lips, just in time to see him taking off his shirt.
“What are you doing?” she asked, aghast but laughing.
“Going swimming,” he said, as if it were the most obvious answer to the silliest of questions. “Can’t imagine we’ll get a day warmer than this before spring. And I have a rule that I follow fastidiously: when you come upon a beautiful body of water, always go swimming. Always.”
He took off his shoes and dropped them in a pile with his shirt, leaving him only in his trousers. He tossed the orb light underhanded in a high arc over the pond, but rather than falling after reaching its highest point, it stopped and hung there, a miniature moon that only answered to the tide of the sacred grove.
Lancelot scrambled up the rock next to him and unwrapped a rope from the tree branch above. He held tight just above a hefty knot at the end, swung from the side, and dropped, his body in a tight cannonball, right into the middle of the pond. An impressive splash exploded in all directions around him.
He resurfaced moments later, positively howling and gasping the specific sound humans make when shocked by cold water.
“Catch the rope, Guinna!” he called between gasps.
Vera, obligingly, did as it swung back toward the shore. Lancelot laughed loudly into the night, especially when he saw her disbelief.
“It is rather cold, Your Majesty,” he said. “Not suited for a lady’s disposition.” He ducked his head underwater and swam away without giving her time to retort.
“Dammit,” Vera muttered. He had her number. There was no way she was staying on dry land now. She climbed up on the rock and secured the rope before taking off her trainers and socks. She hesitated with her hands over the buttons of her trousers. She could stay fully clothed but then would have to finish the run dripping wet. Or she could undress as fast as possible and get in before Lancelot caught a glimpse of her mostly naked body.
He was still underwater. She heard the splash of his kicks as he swam away from her and saw the ripples extending in his wake. Vera sighed. She fumbled with the buttons at her waist and wiggled her trousers off. She flung her shirt over her head and tossed her garments into a pile, save for her sports bra and underwear, before grabbing the rope. Vera held tight with both hands and swung. Her drop into the water was less coordinated cannonball and more indelicate flailing.
She hit the surface with a slap and a splash, and the cold surged over her, waking up every inch of her body. Vera came back up, gasping and shouting gibberish as Lancelot flung both fists into the air.
“Yes!” he shouted, bobbing up and down as his legs treaded water beneath the surface. He left one open hand raised and stared at Vera expectantly. She shrugged while doing a breaststroke in place to keep afloat.
“I know I’m new to this, but I’d say that’s a high five–worthy action,” Lancelot said.
“Oh!” Vera laughed. She swam over to him and clapped her hand to his. She deliberately kept her eyes above his chin, away from his bare chest. A week ago, she wouldn’t have had a second thought about seeing a man shirtless, but context was everything. Vera was surprised by many aspects of seventh-century life, yet she felt confident that this was dangerous territory.
Lancelot swam toward the waterfall, and despite her misgivings, Vera followed. With each stroke, the water became more bearable. By the time they reached the far side, she was almost of the mind that it was pleasant. He waited for her outside the curtain of water until she drew even with him.
“Can I show you something on the other side?” he asked her.
Vera nodded.
“It’s a bit dodgy here. Stick with me,” he said. Beneath the water’s surface, Vera felt him take her hand. They took a deep breath together and plunged under. She immediately knew what he meant. Beneath the waterfall, the water churned in a way that could have easily disoriented Vera and tossed her upside down without the tether of Lancelot pulling her forward. It didn’t require swimming far to pass beyond into the calm shallows. She found the rocky ground beneath her feet and stood up, her neck and shoulders breaking the surface as Lancelot dropped her hand.
It was very dark. The light that he’d suspended over the pond didn’t reach back here. Vera could barely make out his form, scurrying ahead of her.
“Just a moment,” he called.
Vera blinked as a new orb glowed to life. It took her a second to make sense of what she was seeing. First, it was merely the orb. Then, she realized that Lancelot was holding it and smiling—and he was standing on the dry rock ahead of her, but they weren’t outdoors. They were in a cavern with smooth rock walls. The only discernable opening was the way they’d come in, under the waterfall. Vera half walked, half swam, and clambered onto the shore. Lancelot was already rummaging in a box at the base of the wall.
“Here.” He held a blanket out behind him without turning to face her. He kept his eyes on the wall until Vera had it wrapped around her, holding it closed beneath her chin. He procured a second blanket and did the same for himself, both of them like children playing dress up in makeshift capes. Lancelot sat on the ground, using one corner of his blanket to dry his hair. Vera sat next to him and raised her eyebrows, bemused. She was not the first person he’d brought here.
If he noticed her reaction, he ignored it. He beamed at her. “What do you think?”
“This is … amazing. How did you find it?”
“A mixture of good luck and mischief, I suppose.” Lancelot absently ran his hand over the smooth pebbles at his feet, picked one up, and began tracing his thumb over it. “Come to think of it, that’s how I’ve found damn near every good thing.”
Vera fished through the pebbles, too, until her fingers found a small, flat rock. She picked it up and skipped it across the water. It zipped along the surface until the pebble took its final skip and disappeared into the waterfall. He gave an appreciative hum and nudged his shoulder against hers. That was it. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
“There’s something important I need to ask you about,” Vera said, nerves adding a quiver to her voice.
Lancelot sat up straighter. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She took a deep breath and felt her heart begin to quicken. “Before the accident, did we … do something? You’re the one person who has felt familiar since I got here. And I really like you.”
“I really like you, too,” he said quietly.
It urged Vera on. “Well, I wondered if that meant … did something inappropriate happen between us?”
Lancelot blinked, stunned as he took her meaning. “You think we had an affair.”
“I—well, I don’t know.” Shame rolled through Vera before she made up her mind and said firmly, “Yes, actually, I do. In the legends about you lot from my time, Guinevere and Lancelot had an affair … one that rather wrecked the kingdom, I think. And this feels so strong. Based on what we’re doing right now … Lancelot, we’re sitting together with barely any clothing on in a cavern where you have obviously brought women before—and don’t try to deny it. You have an entire box of blankets, a light at the ready, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you have some wine tucked away somewhere, too.”
He’d opened his mouth to argue but closed it as he chuckled and stared down at the rock that he turned in his fingers.
“I can’t help but wonder if you’ve brought me here before. And it also might explain why Arthur can’t stand to look at me, much less speak to me.” Now, her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“You haven’t been here before, and we did not have an affair of any kind,” he said. He was silent for a moment before he fully turned, repositioning his body to face Vera. She turned, too. They each sat cross-legged, knee-to-knee. “Guinna, this does feel strong now. You’re right. And this is going to sound mad, but I hardly knew you before. Of course, I knew you. But you and I never had more than a five-minute conversation between the two of us.”
“We didn’t?” Vera asked, utterly flabbergasted. “But this is so easy. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this comfortable with anyone. And if we didn’t even talk before, why were you waiting for me in Glastonbury when I came back?”
“I didn’t want you to be alone.” His jaw stiffened, and he stared down at his feet.
She could feel it; he was holding back. “What do you know that you aren’t telling me? Please,” she urged at his silence. “How am I supposed to do this if I don’t know anything?”
Vera groaned when he didn’t answer.
Lancelot shook his head. “Guinevere was—you were sad before the attack. And I knew Arthur was struggling after, and Merlin is … Merlin,” he said offhandedly with a half-smile. Then, he grew serious. “I didn’t want you to be alone without anyone who knew what happened. Without anyone who could be your friend. I’d have never guessed it would be like this, though. This is different.”
His face shone with unbridled adoration. She understood what he meant. Vera would have called this sort of friendship magic before she even knew magic existed. But the way he’d corrected himself when he referred to Guinevere as another person needled at her mind.
“I think I’m only a container for her memories,” Vera said. “I’m not really her.”
He cocked his head and met her eyes, searching her. “Maybe not. The way you move and talk, even your expressions are the same. But Guinevere often seemed like she was walking through a dream, and you’re …” He exhaled a laugh before he finished, “Not that. I can’t imagine her stripping down to her undergarments and swinging into a pond, but there were glimpses. Like when she came up with the battle strategy. She was rather fearless. That part feels like you.”
Vera laughed. He wasn’t seeing her clearly. Perhaps it felt harsh to him to face the truth: the only part of her that was important was Guinevere’s memory. “That’s kind,” she said, “but I’m far from fearless, and I certainly shouldn’t be anywhere near commanding anyone. I still have Matilda address the kitchen staff for me”
“I’d follow you into battle,” he said. “And I mean that.”
“Thank you,” Vera said, blushing under his gaze and the compliment. “What do you have there?” She reached out to steady his busy fingers on the stone.
He grinned as he handed it to her, aware that she was asking solely to change the subject. “It’s a nice shape, isn’t it?”
Vera turned the stone in her hands and smiled. “It’s a heart.”
And so it was, a smooth black river stone in the shape of a heart that fit comfortably in her palm.
“A heart?” He leaned closer for a better look. “I’ve seen a heart. That is not what it looks like.”
Vera laughed. “Well, in my time, this is the shape that’s used to represent a heart or love. People draw them, make jewelry with them … My mum actually finds heart-shaped rocks everywhere she goes. She has a whole vase full at home.” As Allison’s face came to mind, the sting of it was instant. Vera held the stone back out to Lancelot.
“You should keep it. To remind you of her,” he said.
“I don’t want to be reminded of her,” Vera said, sharper than she meant to. If she thought of her parents, if she thought of her own life at all, she’d think of Vincent. So much for being fearless. All Vera could do to make the painful things bearable was hide from them.
“All right. I’ll keep it.” With one hand, Lancelot took the rock and put it in his pocket. With the other, he took Vera’s hand and gently squeezed it.
His gaze drifted from their entwined fingers up Vera’s blanket-wrapped body to her face, and it was as if their proximity occurred to him for the first time. He pulled his hand back.
“You know I didn’t bring you here to seduce you, right? I don’t have any interest in … I have no physical desire for you,” he said. Then, hastily, as if that might have offended her, “You’re a beautiful woman, but it’s not like that.”
“I know.” And as Vera said it out loud, the knot in her stomach undid itself because she knew it was irrevocably true. “Do you worry, though, that our friendship is suspicious to others? I mean, I questioned if we’d been together.”
He considered it only briefly. “I don’t know how it was in your time, but it’s rather scandalous for a woman to be alone with a man who’s not her husband or father. But you and I have some fortunate latitude. I’ve been named your escort. I’m trusted with you because of my station in the kingdom and my friendship with Arthur. Granted,” he surveyed the cave and the nest of blankets surrounding them and squinted guiltily, “this might be pushing the boundary.”
“Pushing the boundary or absolutely trampling it?”
“It could be worse,” Lancelot said, his lips turning up at the corners. “I usually swim naked.”
Vera made a choice. Since her efforts to get closer to Arthur had only ever backfired, she decided to stop trying, and the freedom that followed was a marked relief.
She reassured herself with Merlin’s promise that they’d begin magical intervention when he got back. And he had encouraged Vera to reacclimate. Since Arthur removed himself as a point of connection, she took that as the go-ahead to spend her idle time precisely as she pleased. She had no delusions that she could be more than the conduit for lost memories—but she could at least try to enjoy herself along the way.
Over the next two weeks, she started seeking out nooks of delight. The first was the chapel Vera had noticed in the courtyard on her first night here. The inside was beautiful. Light shone through the stained glass in corridors of color, especially lovely when it bathed the many statues in its beams.
The sculptures with their draped clothing carved onto precisely chiseled musculature reminded Vera of the Roman statues she’d seen on display in the British Museum. But one statue, the one closest to the front on the left side, was a very pregnant woman whom Vera associated with Glastonbury’s imagery for Gaia, Mother Earth. It was something about how she stood, one foot slightly in front of the other as if walking. Her shoulders were back and chest up with her stare trained straight ahead, an expression of strength and wisdom forever fixed on her face. She had one hand below and one above the globe of her pregnant belly, pointedly framing it.
Vera had never seen the mother of Jesus sculpted with this aura of power before, but she was positive that the woman frozen in marble was intended to be Mary. She loved the chapel the second she saw it, and she had plenty of time to admire it when she’d attended Sunday services with a stalwart and silent Arthur at her side.
She’d been failing to resist the urge to look back at the chapel door every time it opened.
“He isn’t coming,” Arthur’s low voice had rumbled near her ear. He faced forward, his face impassive, but he’d inclined his head ever so slightly toward Vera.
“Who isn’t?” she’d replied instinctively.
“Lancelot,” he said, correctly guessing who she was expecting. “He follows the old faith.”
“Oh.” No one seemed to mind that the kingdom’s general followed the “old faith” as Arthur had called it. In fact, Vera learned that Camelot’s population was nearly an even split between Christians and pagans—and, evidently, they weren’t yet at a point in history when that had become contentious. Vera wasn’t sure whether this peaceful, seventh-century cohabitation was recorded in the schoolbooks collecting dust on her shelf back in Glastonbury.
Matilda was perhaps the most delightful surprise. Initially, her sense of propriety had her holding Vera at arm’s length, stiffly guarded in her presence. Vera tried including her in after-dinner banter with Lancelot, but she merely gave them the smile of a mother patiently indulging her children’s uninteresting stories.
She cracked the code of Matilda quite by accident the next week, as the young stable hand she’d met her first night (who she learned was called Grady) gave his weekly update. Grady’s father, the stable master, left him in charge while he was out training their newest horses. The boy was all of fourteen and took his role very seriously. He wore his father’s too-large boots and had slathered some sort of oil through his unruly dark curls that only partially smoothed them. Grady must have been told how sweet his dimply smile was all his life, for he hardly showed it during Vera and Matilda’s visit. Like all young boys, he wanted to be seen and treated as a man. Yet he was the least intimidating of all the castle staff, so Matilda encouraged Vera to resume her duties here first.
“Our feed schedule is right on target.” Grady pitched his voice lower than was natural as he led them through the stables. “And father tells me the new lot are training up exceptionally well. There is one small matter.” He paused, looking at Vera with concern. “With Calimorfis.”
It took Vera a beat longer than it should have to remember that was her horse’s name, as she’d not ridden since the night of her arrival. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing is wrong,” he said as he led them both into Calimorfis’s stall. She was pristinely groomed, and she whinnied, tilting her silky neck toward Grady. He forgot not to smile as he stroked her head. “Since your return, she hasn’t been ridden much, and she’s getting antsy.”
“Oh.” Vera was ashamed she hadn’t thought a thing about that. “Who rode her while I was away?”
“Mostly the king, Your Majesty. Occasionally, he’d ask me to. She’s an incredible horse. It was my honor.” Grady chuckled as the horse leaned her head into his shoulder. He nuzzled her back. “Any time you wish to ride, I will gladly ready her; just say the word. I can do it in minutes,” he said with pride. “And in between, if you’d like, I can ask one of the knights to ride her.” He sounded mournful at the idea of it.
“Would you mind riding her for me?” Vera asked.
His eyes lit up. “Me?” His low-pitched voice had vanished and was replaced with squeaky excitement.
“Certainly. But only if it isn’t an imposition—”
“Your Majesty, I’d be honored!” In his glee, he hadn’t even realized that he’d interrupted her.
“Thank you, Grady,” she said, grinning broadly as Calimorfis continued to lean into him. “She clearly adores you. I think I’ve lost her favor.”
“She’s easily won with only a bit of love. The king showed me,” Grady said. “Give her one good brushing, and you’ll be back in her graces. I could get a brush and show you?” He was so hopeful that Vera found herself nodding enthusiastically.
Grady tore out of the stall and ran down the stable row.
“He’s always fancied you,” Matilda said. “And now he’ll love you forever.”
Vera blushed and buried her face in her hands. They were both laughing, so they didn’t hear the ruckus immediately.
Grady must have been returning with the brush, but the moment’s peace was upended by angry shouting and the slam of a fist against wood.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?”
Vera didn’t recognize the voice. Whoever it was shouted so loudly that she was sure it could be heard all the way to the entrance hall.
“My horse! My horse should have been ready an hour before my departure. You stupid fuck, what are you staring at?”
“I—my lord, I—” Grady stammered. “I was not informed of your departure.”
Vera helplessly looked to Matilda. She wanted to intervene in defense of Grady but was worried she might humiliate him by preemptively coming to his rescue in a situation he could handle on his own.
“Oh, like bloody hell you weren’t. Do it now, boy. Now!” The man sounded more furious by the second.
Grady, admirably, maintained his composure. “My lord, I will be there in a moment. I’m with the—”
Heavy footfalls stomped closer to the stall. Closer to Grady. “I don’t care, you insolent shit!” There was the distinct sound of a fist on flesh, the whimper and grunt of a boy, and Vera was in motion in half a heartbeat. She rounded the door. Grady was on the floor, his arms up defensively above his head, a pitchfork in one hand and a brush in the other.
An impeccably dressed nobleman who was short but more than twice the size of Grady owing to height and girth stood above him, poised to take a kick at the boy’s face.
“Stop!” she shouted. Vera could feel the blood surging through her, her face blazing hot with rage. She didn’t remember how she closed the distance between where she’d been and where she now stood, close enough to grab the wrist of the man in front of her.
He had a puffy face that looked extremely ugly with a scowl fixed upon it and a smear of something stinking and brown across the bottom half of his left cheek. It must have flung off the pitchfork as Grady was thrown to the floor. The nobleman’s hair was inky black, and he wore the sort of long velvet tunic and tights that Vera had imagined Arthur and Lancelot would wear before she met them. He paused and tore his glare from Grady, his lips curled with cruelty, ready to aim his vitriol at Vera until he saw her clearly, and recognition softened his features.
“Your Majesty.” He stumbled backward a step. “I did not realize you were—”
“How dare you disrespect a member of this castle?” Vera snarled.
“Disrespect?” the man blustered. “I have been disrespected. I have a four-hour ride ahead of me, and this stupid—”
“Don’t.” Vera’s voice was pure ice. “Not another word.”
He stared angrily at her but remained silent.
“Grady,” she said, continuing to glare at the man, “please ready his horse. It is best if he leaves sooner than later.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Grady’s voice was quiet behind her.
“Sir, you will wait there.” She pointed to a bench halfway down the stable. “And you will not speak to this young man again except to apologize.”
Vera suspected he’d rather slap her than listen. “Do you know who I am?” the man said in a dangerous whisper.
“No,” said Vera, and she turned her back on him.
Grady’s face was covered in dirt with streaks cut through it by his silent tears. He scrambled to his feet, pitchfork and brush still in hand. Vera wished there was something that she could say to him, anything that would make him feel less small at this moment. When she heard the man grumble away to the seat where Vera had relegated him, she reached out to take the brush from Grady’s hand. “I’ll be with Calimorfis.”
He fixed his tearful gaze on the floor.
“Grady.” Vera put her hand on his shoulder and waited until he reluctantly met her eyes. “He is thrice your age and not half the man you are now.”
He was on the brink of tears, his chin quivering mightily.
“Fuck him,” Vera added.
Grady let out a bark of a surprised laugh. He nodded and set his chin before he set off to work.
“Well said, Guinevere,” Matilda said. She stood in the stall door, keeping her eyes fixed on the nobleman as Vera began brushing Calimorfis. Tears burned at her eyes as if they’d passed from Grady to her like a potent virus.
“I don’t care if I have to brush this horse twelve times. We aren’t leaving this stable until that man is gone,” Vera said.
“I quite agree.”
Thankfully, Grady’s work was quick. When Vera heard the man stirring outside the stall, she feigned taking the brush back to the tool shelf to hover near him. Grady walked the man’s horse out, his face set as he passed the reins to him.
“I’m sorry, boy,” the man growled, not at all sounding as if he meant it. Grady bowed his head respectfully before hurrying to busy himself with ropes and tack at the farthest end of the stable.
Vera crossed her arms on her chest, watching the man mount his horse.
“I’d consider finding a new stable boy,” he said as he tugged his riding gloves on, unable to resist vying for the final word. “This stable smells far worse than any I’ve ever visited. It needs a good cleaning. It’s shameful that this is our king’s stable.”
Vera wordlessly crossed to the stack of cleaning cloths, snatched one, and marched back to the man. She held it out to him as his eyes darted from Vera to the cloth and back in bewilderment.
“You have horse shit on your face.”
She was satisfied that the man looked rather like his head might explode.
“When I return,” he said, face crimson with fury, “I will take this up with the king.”
“Oh, please do,” Vera said, and the man road away in a huff.
Matilda had put forth quite the effort to keep the corners of her mouth from turning upward, and from that day on, her guard dropped. Her laugh came readily, and even the time spent helping Vera dress became more punctuated with conversation. In short, the two became friends. She barely protested when Vera insisted on serving her during their evening visits.
“Do I have more blankets?” Vera asked her one chilly evening. Matilda had just gotten a fire roaring in the hearth and settled back into her cozy pouf.
“Yes, in that chest.” She gestured to a trunk behind Vera and started to get up, but Vera waved her off.
