Iridescent

Chapter 9

Lyall narrowed his eyes at the chess board, rolling his fingers along the side of his tea cup as he grunted, "I know." His bow tie hung loose and untied, gloves and other tacky uniform materials tossed at the other end of the room. Slivers of grey had become more apparent in his hair—he claimed that I was at fault, but I knew that he just threw that line at me for a grin or two. The lines in his face were partially formed from going cross-eyed at the chest board and grouchily rolling his eyes at newly hired maids. They had been scrambling at the heels of June all morning, undeniably overwhelmed. Lyall had been making notes on the napkin beside him of how long each one of them would last.

"I thought turns were timed," I slumped my chin on the heel of my hand and let my gaze linger towards the entrance of the kitchen. The nearing footsteps made my chest rise, as I hoped to find Meredith coming.

June gave me a small smile as she whisked by with a basket of bread. Marie, the stumbling brunette behind her, dropped a few muffins as she tried to keep up. Lyall reached for his pen, momentarily, and made a note beside her name—one week—and then turned to the chess board again.

A tricky smile tuned his lips and he glanced up at me, "Your turns are, remember?"

"Ah," I raised my eyebrows, recalling, "Don't you want to keep your strategy fined-tuned as well?"

He moved a piece, but I kept my eyes on him, admiring how his face would pull upwards so warmly as he would chuckle. With a wave of the hand, he shook his head, "Stasia, when you're my age, there is not much you could do to fine tune things—they are what they are." I looked down at the pieces, feeling as if my dark pallet had started to melt together—combining with Lyall's cream colored pieces.

"But," I blinked, "Don't you like to win?" His tea cup met his lips and then he slowly set it down. He furrowed his eye brows at me and the look he gave made me ask, "What?"

A chuckle surprised his own lips and he noted, "I despise chess, actually."

"You do?" My mouth dropped a little.

He could have told me that eight years ago.

He nodded, and took another sip of his tea, and twisted the Queen around for a moment. The morning sun started to seep into the window that flanked us some more and people started to swarm the kitchen with the leftovers of breakfast.

"When you were younger," he started, getting that twinkly look in his eyes with, "You came running in here, determined to master it. We don't know where it came from, but I was the only one who could tell the difference between the Queen and the Rook—so I was put in charge."

I laughed, a little astounded, but more humored by it, "Lyall, I'm so sorry. Why didn't you tell me?"

He shook his head, "I don't play chess to play chess. I play chess to spend time with you."

"Well, it's still appreciated," I looked down at the board, recalling one of our first games together. I decided that rules were something to disregard rather than tolerate and Lyall had a wonderful time adjusting my moves and patiently trying to tell me that each piece had its own set of rules that followed.

A saint, he still is.

He waved his hand again and I saw something touch his eyes as he paused, "I think you should talk to Meredith."

"Tell me something I don't know," I moved a piece. Meredith remained missing from my bedroom this morning, leaving Irina to dress me. It was quiet, and she trembled as she tied my corset. Thankfully, her hands were gentle, and she strung it loosely—giving me more breath to work with than usual. I appreciated the help that Irina offered, but she was no Meredith. Looking at him again, a grim smile pulled at that serious, persisting look and I hung my head, whispering, "She doesn't want to talk to me."

"She does."

My head raised again, and I frowned at him, "I haven't seen her since yesterday morning—and that was when she locked me out of the room."

"You aren't the only one weighed down around here, Stasia," he looked down at the chess board and his eyes traveled over the kitchen for a moment. He reached for his tea and sipped it before continuing, "Meredith was bluer than blue if you ask me."

I crossed my arms over my chess and wondered, "Why doesn't she just come to me?"

"You're asking the wrong person."

I threw him another question, "What is bothering her so much, Lyall?" Surely, he would know. Him and Meredith had been here bickering like a married couple long before I was born.

"It's not my place," He refused.

So, he did know.

I stood up, "Lyall, now is not the time to be a gentleman. I'm doing this out of pure intentions. I just want to know what is going on."

He didn't bother to look up at me as he shrugged and moved a piece on his side of the board, "It is just not my place, Stasia. Ask Meredith."

"She won't let me ask her!" I raised my arms, completely fed up with this circle.

His voice never skipped a beat as he said, "If it were simple and easy, everyone would know and understand."

"I love her, Lyall," The words spilled from my mouth and I threw my hands into my hair, pacing the creaky wood panels, "I don't care if it is not simple or completely insane. I just want her in my life—she doesn't need to hide from me." I spun on my heel to face him and his smile hid behind the rim of his cup. "What?"

His shoulders raised for a moment, and he offered, "Perhaps, you should tell Meredith this."

"I know."

With a sigh, he raised his eye brows with, "Then what are you still doing here?"

If Meredith was continuously doing everything in her power to keep me out of a twenty-foot radius of her, who says that I can change that? What if she really didn't want to speak with me?

What if I did something wrong?

"We have to finish our game," I forced the words. It was an excuse. He knew it. I knew it.

His flat look didn't falter as he purposely knocked his tea cup over the chess board, spilling it over the pieces, and knocking them out of their place. With no particular drama in his voice, he looked at me, saying, "Pardon me, Stasia. There's been an unfortunate turn of events. We will just have to continue at a later time."

I couldn't stop the smile that raised my cheeks and I shook my head, "You are so—"

He interrupted me, "Intelligent, diligent, and right? I know." He picked up his cup and walked it over to the sink with, "Meredith is making beds in the west wing." He stood and made his way over to his satin gloves and muttered, "I have to figure out a way to ruin these ridiculous satin gloves without witness, anyways."

Before I darted out, I made my way over to him and pecked his cheek, making him smile a little as I mentioned, "You forgot 'undeniably handsome'."