Look Beyond What You See

Yellow Roses

 Malina was right about going outside. The fresh air cannot repair the damage that's been done to my heart, but it makes my body feel better, and it helps not being in the same building as that Russian strumpet and him whom I would have married. The necklace that symbolises our relationship hangs heavy around my neck, as though it is trying to drag me into the ground. Probably part of the enchantment on it, but I could care less at the moment. I just want it to be gone, to be free from all of this. I don't know where I would go or what I would do, but at least I wouldn't be tied to a man who lacks the courage and sense of dignity to rid himself of a whore who hopes to supplant his fiancée.

I have not, ere now, spent much time in this rose garden. I believe it is Zinaida's favourite, which is probably why I have avoided it. Mostly I have not gone into gardens, save for the roof garden, without Dmitri taking me on horseback, and we have not had overmuch time for such things of late.

Damn this war, for coming in and screwing everything up. Were it not for the war, Giacomo and Yekaterina never would have come here, never would have caused these problems.

But perhaps it is for the best, as Malina said not too long ago. Problems would have arisen between us eventually. Better to know now, before we are married, what we are truly dealing with.

I cannot believe him. I cannot believe what I saw, what I heard. And she.... Well, she should be thankful that I chose to leave instead of drowning her or crushing her with fog or tearing her to shreds with my own hands.

A tear slips down my cheek again and I dab it away with a handkerchief. I do not want anyone inside who might be looking out at this garden to see me crying, especially that blonde harlot or Zinaida.

Perhaps I should practise. Anything to take my mind off of this. Maybe I'll wake up and all of this will have been a dream. I've had a relapse, somehow, and I'll wake up in bed with my head pounding and Dmitri holding my hand, whispering my name and assuring me that I'm the only one he wants.

I should be so lucky.

I half-heartedly walk over to a birdbath set in a clump of rosebushes and peer into it as I had into the bottom of Acionna's boat. Nothing happens for the longest time. Put your heart into it. What heart? It's shattered into pieces and shows no signs of being repaired anytime soon. Still, I tighten my focus. Eventually the cyan glow comes, followed by the swirling Celtic patterns, and then the window opens on the dark study that crackles with electricity. Wesley sits in his imposing leather chair, pointing emphatically at spots on a map and drawing lines and circles and arrows with a pencil and then rubbing them out. His eyes crackle, and the electricity in the tubes all around follows suit. I snap my fingers, and suddenly the crackling electricity and Wesley's exclamations about possible campaigns and supply routes and military maneuvres fill my ears.

Dmitri fidgets anxiously in his chair. His face suggests that he is absolutely distraught. The flames in his eyes have never looked like this: the dull red of a fire that might soon go out, the struggling of embers that have been partially exposed to rain.

"Father, I can't do this right now!" he exclaims abruptly, leaping up from his seat and moving towards the door. Wesley is suddenly in front of him.

"And why not? This is your duty. I'm sure Aerys is fine--" Wesley argues.

"You don't understand. Before you ran into us, she'd come to the library, and Yekaterina--"

"So the blonde wench has gotten you into trouble with your fiancée, then. It was only a matter of time, you know."

Dmitri groans in frustration. "I really tried to get her to leave me alone, Father--"

"Not in a way that would make her take you seriously, if the rumours have had any merit. There is never a good reason to let a woman who is not your fiancée sit on your lap."