Now, here is a sight; the lady whose provenance could well be from one of the texts that shaped me-were it not for the fact that I know she appears in none of the works in my uncle's collection-apparently flavouring her baking with sorrow.
It is a taste I am familiar with, and one I cannot say I find distasteful. "What is that you're doing?" I say, almost sweet, almost kind.
I looked up from whipping cream with a whisk, and gave the young woman a passable half-smile. "Trying not to salt the cream," I said wryly. "I hope you're hungry, Miss Maud, for I've not the will to eat all this even if my stomach could handle it." And truly, I welcomed her company, for the girl's odd temperament made her someone I did not feel I had to force cheer in front of.
"Why prepare food you are in no mood for?" I ask, taking a place upon a bench and lacing my gloved hands together, watching her over the top of them. "Is this more inexplicable charity?"
My mouth twisted again, and I shook my head. "Not charity. Call it keeping busy. The ways I would have busied myself were I at home are not readily available to me, and I do not think I would have an easy time sitting still at the moment." Not without falling into an embarrassing state of sobbing, I was sure.
Though he liked the relatively novel autonomy of treehouse living, Cuthbert had spent most of his childhood sleeping in the 'prentice bunkhouse and was a social creature by nature. He missed the Compound for all of its comforts, not least of all the hot showers, but also the opportunity to immediately pester someone into company upon waking. It was more difficult in the Hamlet; Bert was ever an early riser and had to actually go out of his way for a bit of palaver.
This morning found him taking advantage of his favorite modern commodity, and when he'd dried off and dressed found that his mood was mysteriously plummeting. Cuthbert consulted Rook. Breakfast was in order, and since he was in the Compound, it could be something other than fruit off the vine.
He turned the corner into the kitchen. "Well, good morning to you! I dare say I've never been so pleased to see you," Cuthbert ventured, eyes going immediately to the poached eggs. "Breakfast and a beautiful lady- I think I've used up my luck for a fortnight." Bert raised his eyes
( ... )
I saw his expression turn worried, and hastened to dismiss it. "Do not trouble yourself," I said, essaying a smile, and a bombastic manner borrowed from my ever-cheerful friend Quintilius Rousse. "Breakfast and a beautiful lady is indeed the order of the morning, and I can think of few who might appreciate the combination more. There's coffee, but if you prefer tea there's some cooling in the icebox."
"Oh no no, coffee shall complete the scene," he said, watching her, but his manner slightly subdued . He pulled up a stool and rested his chin in the cup of his palm, watching her work. "Where'd you learn to cook?"
I laughed, short but genuine. "Here," I said honestly. "A lady named Vianne-- she was the first here to speak my own tongue to me, and as we became friends she taught me to enjoy the kitchen where before I'd shunned it. I was not very good to begin with," I said truthfully. "But she was a good teacher." Privately I thought I could hardly be blamed for ignoring the kitchen; it was hardly the provenance of courtesans. Aside from the Cockerel, I doubted I'd seen the inside of a kitchen other than Montreve's or my own in my townhouse until coming here.
After some weeks of residing there alone, it was quite pleasant to have so many now living at the Boarding House. The company was certainly nice to have, but while having several gentlemen nearby did cause her to feel safer (though from what, she wasn't certain), betimes Ysandre wished for female company.
She was always pleased to see Phedre, particularly there on the island, where a meeting with her near-cousin wasn't apt to include talk of yet another treacherous act by Melisande Shahrizai. She smiled warmly, a greeting on her lips, when Phedre turned and Ysandre was afforded a glimpse of her expression.
She frowned slightly, careful out of habit to avoid an expression which would encourage wrinkles, and went to Phedre's side, knowing immediately that something was amiss. "Phedre?" she said simply, gently, covering one hand with her own.
There were some in front of whom I would most certainly have dissembled, and few in front of whom I had no chance of doing so. Ysandre was one of the latter, and at the concern in her voice I felt the sorrow well up in my throat and set my lips to trembling with keeping back tears. "Good day," I said, ruefully smiling though I knew my expression must be miserable. "Though it is not a good day at all-- Ysandre-- he-- Hyacinthe, is gone." I sat in a chair, feeling sure my legs would not support me long, and tried to take a steadying breath.
"Oh, Elua," Ysandre breathed, fetching a chair to sit by Phedre and taking her hands. "I am so sorry, my dear." They all knew that such a thing was possible, had known it to happen to anyone, and it was yet a shock when it was a person known and beloved.
"I don't know what I will do, now, without him," I said, my voice near breaking. "I have loved him my whole life, Ysandre, and it finally seemed there might be a way for he and Joscelin to live at peace knowing I loved them both... and when I woke this morning in the temple he was gone and I knew, I knew he would not have left me there alone.." And I began to cry in earnest, dropping my head into my hands, embarrassed to be in such a state before my Queen, but knowing as my friend she would understand.
Bill was always chuffed to see Phedre, wherever he happed to run into her. He occasionally wondered what might have happened between them if her bloke Joscelin hadn't shown up, but she was a bloody good friend, and for the most part he didn't care to think on what might have been.
"Now who's the one making enough for an army?" he teased as he walked into the kitchen, but his smile vanished when he saw her face. He had to push down the anger that immediately threatened to flare up inside him, wanting to hurt whomever had hurt her, though he knew it was likely the fault of the island. Instead, he went to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.
"Who?" he asked simply, having gone through this enough times to know the look.
I looked up with a pathetic attempt at a smile on my face, having to press down the grief that welled up in my chest at the protective anger on Bill's face. "My friend," I said, "my oldest friend-- my lover, too, I don't-- Hyacinthe," I said, and with his name, once a word I'd taken pride in refraining from saying, the tears flooded my eyes and I could not keep them in. Turning in my chair, I pressed my face unabashedly against Bill's chest, needing comfort now more than I could remember ever needing it since Imriel had gone.
Bill crouched down immediately, gathering Phedre in his arms. "Shit, I'm so sorry, Phedre," he murmured into her hair. He knew all too well what it was like, having someone you loved disappear from the island, and it was never fucking fair.
For a few moments I let myself be held, letting the flood of my weeping spend itself, before making an effort to pull myself together. Sitting up, I took a breath to steady myself, and brushed my hair away from my damp face. "You're going to need a clean shirt," I said ruefully, trying to smile though tears were still running slowly down my cheeks. Another wave of sorrow washed over me, and I fought not to sob, making myself talk instead. "I just don't know what I'm going to do without him," I said softly, wrapping my hands tight around the back of the chair. "He's been my friend for fifteen years."
When I rise, Phedre is not there. This is not wholly unusual, though I find myself trying not to think of the reasons why she is not home, particularly at such an early hour. I have spent too long letting old fears sour me, and I cannot afford to continue to think as such.
My morning passes the same way it always does, telling the hours in a clearing, pushing myself, not allowing myself to become complacent in this place. When I have finished, I make my way to the compound in search of food before I go about the rest of my day.
I am met with the sight of Phedre, cooking in the kitchen. "Good morning, love," I say as I step into the room, before I've fully looked at her, before I see that look that she couldn't hide from me no matter how hard she tried. "What is it?" I ask in hushed tones, reaching out for her.
I looked up into his face, unable to close the distance between us, knowing that if I did the sorrow would consume me and I would be useless for anything but weeping for a length of time. He read somewhat in my expression, I know not what, for I could not even tell what my own face was doing with its features, so removed was I from myself.
When I felt steady enough, sure enough that saying it aloud would not break me, I said it, flat and falsely light. "He is gone." His eyes asked the further question, and I answered it too. "Just this morning. When I woke he was gone."
I didn't need to know of whom it was she spoke; it was fairly plain to see, really. I could think of no one else on this island whose disappearance could rock her so hard.
In some cases when people leave, we can imagine them to be in better places than the island. I comforted myself with Imriel's disappearance so long ago knowing that eventually, though he had much to travel and see still, that he would settle into a happy life with Phedre and myself. With Hyacinthe, we can have no such hope; he was doomed to live many more years bound to his rock until Phedre freed him, and I hated to think of him being stuck there for any longer.
"Ah, love," I say quietly, taking a hesitant step forward towards her. There is not much to say, and I only wish to comfort her, but I fear somehow making it worse.
I could read the reluctance in his posture, and was sure I knew what lay behind it. Wordlessly I held out my arms, and he closed the distance between us in two steps, wrapping his arms around me. I let myself be enveloped, felt the tears begin to squeeze from beneath my closed eyelids, and gave a shaky sigh, taking two handfuls of his tunic and pressing my face to his chest. Though I felt safer by far, more comforted than I had a moment before, the tears only flowed harder with each moment that passed, until I was fairly sobbing into his shirt.
Comments 59
It is a taste I am familiar with, and one I cannot say I find distasteful. "What is that you're doing?" I say, almost sweet, almost kind.
Almost, almost, almost.
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This morning found him taking advantage of his favorite modern commodity, and when he'd dried off and dressed found that his mood was mysteriously plummeting. Cuthbert consulted Rook. Breakfast was in order, and since he was in the Compound, it could be something other than fruit off the vine.
He turned the corner into the kitchen. "Well, good morning to you! I dare say I've never been so pleased to see you," Cuthbert ventured, eyes going immediately to the poached eggs. "Breakfast and a beautiful lady- I think I've used up my luck for a fortnight." Bert raised his eyes ( ... )
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She was always pleased to see Phedre, particularly there on the island, where a meeting with her near-cousin wasn't apt to include talk of yet another treacherous act by Melisande Shahrizai. She smiled warmly, a greeting on her lips, when Phedre turned and Ysandre was afforded a glimpse of her expression.
She frowned slightly, careful out of habit to avoid an expression which would encourage wrinkles, and went to Phedre's side, knowing immediately that something was amiss. "Phedre?" she said simply, gently, covering one hand with her own.
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"Now who's the one making enough for an army?" he teased as he walked into the kitchen, but his smile vanished when he saw her face. He had to push down the anger that immediately threatened to flare up inside him, wanting to hurt whomever had hurt her, though he knew it was likely the fault of the island. Instead, he went to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.
"Who?" he asked simply, having gone through this enough times to know the look.
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My morning passes the same way it always does, telling the hours in a clearing, pushing myself, not allowing myself to become complacent in this place. When I have finished, I make my way to the compound in search of food before I go about the rest of my day.
I am met with the sight of Phedre, cooking in the kitchen. "Good morning, love," I say as I step into the room, before I've fully looked at her, before I see that look that she couldn't hide from me no matter how hard she tried. "What is it?" I ask in hushed tones, reaching out for her.
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When I felt steady enough, sure enough that saying it aloud would not break me, I said it, flat and falsely light. "He is gone." His eyes asked the further question, and I answered it too. "Just this morning. When I woke he was gone."
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In some cases when people leave, we can imagine them to be in better places than the island. I comforted myself with Imriel's disappearance so long ago knowing that eventually, though he had much to travel and see still, that he would settle into a happy life with Phedre and myself. With Hyacinthe, we can have no such hope; he was doomed to live many more years bound to his rock until Phedre freed him, and I hated to think of him being stuck there for any longer.
"Ah, love," I say quietly, taking a hesitant step forward towards her. There is not much to say, and I only wish to comfort her, but I fear somehow making it worse.
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