Incognito

6

Relief washed over her when Kalliope rolled to her back as her previously missing daughter was scooped up by a handsome almost prince. He bounced the baby onto his hip while she played with his buttons. 

"I think Lyn may be hungry." Zacary smiled although the girl had just slobbered upon his shoulder.

Kalliope sat up and raise her eyebrows. "You think?" Zacary tried to hand her the baby but she waved him off as she stood. When she settled into a nursery rocker she bid for him to hand over the baby. "You really should not be traipsing off with girls," Kalliope mockingly chided him as she nursed her baby.

Zacary knew enough to smile at his friend's wife's teasing. 

"Just looking at the ways you handled Holden and now Avalyn, I know you will be a good big brother."

The comment was simple and innocent. Kalliope was ignorant of the hidden message behind it that clouded over Zacary's eyes. Kalliope looks up at Zacary's stormy glare as he growls, "She is never coming back."

He had to run. Away from Kalliope, out the door, up the stairs, Zacary flees. Images of his mother mist over his eyes and blur his vision. He slows at the first welcome door and cries quietly in a closet until a servant mistakenly stumbles upon him.

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Mia stumbles a little under her burden. She found moving her trunk filled with her only meager possessions too conspicuous to drag. It left a trail, it was difficult, it wore her patience to the core. She had so many excuses but mostly she wanted to feel the physical stress rather than the usual mental stress she felt. The ache of her muscles felt good. The mission made her feel productive. The load kept her away from the road.

She glances back. She knows she has to lie low after her last attempt. Yes, it brought her much earthly possession but it had ripped at her emotions and had alerted people to her presence. She sat down her trunk as she hears footfalls of a horse. Her life for the past year has relied on hearing those small noises. She rages war with herself. I must go. You cannot. They will have many provisions. Horses are harder to snatch from. On and on her excuses ramble. She runs a hand through her once long hair. It gives that fresh haircut tug on the bottom. It is thicker on the ends and she wishes she could find delight in it. She moans. It is too dangerous.

Will power and self-control are mustered and Mia shoulders her load, both physically and mentally. She is too young for so much weight.

Upon arriving at her new settlement, Mia smiles. This, by far, is her best and her favorite house she has made. It sat close enough to the river that she could see it glisten and far enough that no prying eyes would capture curiosity. The home itself nestled between two oddly branched trees. Both trees boughs stuck out in bizarre angles and had many study crevices. Logs lay perpendicular to the trees which held their weight and moss and vines camouflage the shelter. Pliable stalks and saplings stood up on the sides plastered together with caked and now-dried riverbed mud and sat in a trench in the ground. Grass and weeds with some leaves mixed in protruded from the mud layers. A single opening gave a door to the hollow hide-away. Mia kicks the trunk inside and lines it on the short side of the room. Hurriedly she remembers the little girl home alone and as fast as her legs could carry her she runs back for Prosper. The rain was beginning to fall and she had to secure the mud wall with twine. Lord, help her, she needed to get Prosper back and work on the new house before the heavens opened.

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The past: Zacary Holden

The chamberlain and another servant had helped Zacary into a fine suit. Zacary stared at his reflection as a maid combed and styled his hair. His locks looked darker, matching the mood in his eyes. His mother's words echoed in his head. His mother sat at a vanity and stared at her reflection. That yesterday memory seemed so long ago yet so fresh. He finds himself muttering along with her. Lady Jinelle stares, unblinking, unseeing, at him from the mirror.

"I am so vain."

But Zacary didn't feel vain. He felt guilty. He felt forgotten. He felt ordinary, not special, and especially not worth extravagance. He felt nothing like his brother. 

Zacary left his room and trailing down the hall. He knew he was dawdling. He knew he was late. Somehow he sensed it wouldn't matter. He was invisible.

Brooks Holden's birthday was celebrated near and a little farther. As he was now fifteen he would ride next to his father into any of the king's battles. As the second son, Zacary had no such privilege. Zacary just practiced swinging a sword and fighting the other boys who were training to be knights. He would just keep hitting the same targets over and over again with his arrow while Brooks left for any meager skirmish.

In honor of his age, Brooks was holding a fifteen-course feast followed by dancing. While Zacary did enjoy food, he scuffed his feet when it came to conversation and dancing.

Wasting as much time as he possibly could, Zacary turned onto a memorabilia hall. Canvases and weaving, flags and portraits, kings and heroes lined the hall. The garish overwhelmed Zacary. His fingers grazed the textured memorabilia and he rushes on to the end where a balcony lays.

Beyond the horizon lay the waters that took away his mother and the one person who understood him. Beneath him, lights spilled out along with cheers and laughter. Behind him lay a prison, a luxurious, spacious, prison. No one would miss him if he cowered here all night. His father may give him a thrashing, yes, but at least he would not have to endure the torture of listening to others praise Brooks for being born first.

He stood there for a good long time before realizing that this didn't help him forget. He felt all the pain here as much as he would at the party. The only difference was that the party would almost distract him. He would sleep better with no thoughts rather than every thought that drifted through his mind right then. He lifts his head and bravely stands tall. He straightens his shoulders and heads off to forget all the pain and sadness he can.