A Lady's Delights

Chapter 8

The terrace was silent, save for the occasional rustle of trees brushing against themselves, or against the walls of the manor. Yet, Cassandra thought, the noise of her heart beating, of her teeth grinding down on one another, was deafening.

Lady Asima bint Azhar was Estelle! She screamed inside of her head. No, that couldn't possibly be right! She was simply imagining things, imagining the similarities, seeing her servant's expression in this woman's eyes and lips, in the way she held her head, the way she sat, perfectly posed. It was all a product of the stress of her circumstances, of the embarrassment of being pressed into service like this. She couldn't possibly be her Estelle. It couldn't be right!

"I beg your pardon?" said Lady Asima. Her brow furrowed into a scowl, her hands nonetheless laid neatly over one another in your lap. Her voice, though severe, was level and steady as she spoke. "What name did you call me by?"

"I... I'm sorry..." Cassandra said, and tried to will her hands to steady themselves. She reached for the glass on her tray-- thankfully, she hadn't managed to drop or break anything when she lost her grip!-- and set it out in front of her mistress. The silver kettle's lid clattered against the rest of the pot as she lifted it up, pouring hot tea into the woman's glass. "You... you looked like someone I knew before. It's nothing... I don't mean to be impolite."

Lady Asima broke her stare and turned her attention back to the glass, watching as Cassandra filled it. "Nonetheless, you were," she said. Cassandra spooned sugar out of a bowl, stirring it into the drink, then added a few mint leaves using the tongs laying against the dish the cool herb was kept on. "Be mindful that it doesn't happen again. As I imagine that Shamsi is not your native tongue, 'My Lady' will suffice from here on." She lifted her head, looking back at Cassandra, who struggled for the moment to keep her spoon from striking against the sides of the woman's glass. "Is that understood?"

Cassandra swallowed, and gave a slow nod. "Yes, My Lady."

Lady Asima lifted the crystal to her lips, sipping quietly at the warm drink within, and smiled in satisfaction as she set the glass down. "Properly prepared," she said as she opened her book to the page she'd left off at. "Sayidah Salima coached you well enough that even your nervousness didn't ruin it."

Cassandra smiled, though her lips still trembled. Her hands gripped one another at her waist, trying to hide how they shook. "I'm glad, My Lady."

Her mistress' attention turned back to her book. Cassandra tried to follow the print, thankful that it was, at least, not written in the curling script of the Shamsi, but in more familiar Latian print. It was Galian though, she realized with dismay. Despite her mother's best efforts to tutor her in the language, she never could make sense of it. A word or two, here and there, stood out on the page, but not enough to grasp the meaning of what occupied the other woman's mental energies.

Should she say something? Her lips parted, ready for words she considered speaking. As engrossed as Lady Asima was in her book, though, it seemed rude to interrupt her, and she'd managed to be rude enough. The scent of the tea in her glass, at least, was soothing. The mix of heat and mint started to fill her head, subduing the quake in her hands until her body was finally, at last, still.

"Do you have a name?"

Cassandra blinked, her mistress' question startling her out of her calm. Breathe, she reminded herself. Breathe, and speak softly. "Kasi," she said, the name's sound abrupt on her tongue, carved out of her given name, its initial consonant harder, clumsy as she struggled not to simply spit it out. "My name is Kasi."

"Kasi, then." Lady Asima's gave remained fixed on her book. Her gaze scanned from line to line, her attention, it seemed, easily shared between the text and Cassandra's replies. "Are you educated at all?"