Incognito

22

Prosper woke in a fit of coughs early in the morning. Mia hated this part of being a mother. She could stay up all night but once morning came she wanted to sleep. Blearily eyed the mia tried everything she could but Prosper coughed and cried and burned with fever. When dawn beckoned at the earth, mia gave up. She stood and walked the river. Dipping her hand in, she let the ice-cold water numb her.

She looked up as purple and pink broke through the stormy clouds promising snow. She cried and cried out.

"Lord, let her live. Make her well. Please, please I cannot listen to her cry and cough anymore. She is so loud, oh Jesus, what if someone hears her? God, what if they find us? They will cast her to the streets and she will be all alone. They will kill me. Please Lord, keep us safe. Place your angels around us, give us protection."

Mia had to stop crying or her face would freeze over in tears. The only thing the mia could think to do was visit Rita. But Prosper could not stop making horrid sounds and the mia could neither take her or leave her safely.

So she took the little girl to Leeland praying that today all would sleep soundly still, that no one could hear the baby and that Rita had a cure.

The mia banged for what felt like hours before an alert. Ryley opened the door and for once he wore not his brown robes. He wore simple trousers and muddy boots. He looked like a simple man and that is what scared the mia.

"Please," she uttered and he held wide the door. As she settled with the coughing, fire-warm baby beside the hearth, Ryley fetched his slumbering wife.

The mia kissed her daughter's hot forehead and smooth a few dark hairs off her toasty colored skin.

"Stay with me," she begged.

Rita slid into the kitchen and pulled out herbs, spices, and honey. She set a pot to boil. But the mia never deterred. Ryley watched death age the young lady ten years. He knew of death; he had once stared inside death's door. It hurt much when it was you, but when someone you love is in death's grisly grasp it is excruciating. Ryley eyed the mia's silent battle as she pried her child out of death's arms and to her own chest. The old man had seen much in his secret life, so much that even his love did not know. He had lost a war with death once and surrendered to death's deception twice. He would not allow death a victory, not tonight.

The mia allowed him to scoop Prosper from her arm. She knelt quietly while a father worked his charm. He swathed the baby's head with a damp cloth. He fed her the concoction his wife served. He never once complained. The circles under the mia's eyes seemed to grow darker until finally, she passed out. Ever faithful Ryley was and Rita ever so patient. She never once let her eyes flutter. She stayed until the fever began to drop and the baby was exhausted from coughing and fell asleep.

She awoke the mia and saw her off before she aroused her own sleeping child. It was Sunday and now that they had slept in late they would rise and attend church.

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Zac let his hand fall twice before nervously threading his fingers through his hair. His father's voice beckoned him in and he timidly opens the door to his father's office.

"Ah, Zacary, come in. I was drawing up plans for your party. I would like to add a masquerade ball at the end and invite the kind and his daughters. The heir as well, I suppose."

Zacary crept into the interior, which might as well be dark and dingy. As a child, Zac was always terrified of coming in this room where everything was ginormous and light cast odd shadows. Back then his father had been large and imposing. Now, the gray-haired man seated at the wooden desk was smaller than he was and yet he had fear stirring inside at the sight of the duke.

"Father, I don't understand," Zacary peered at him.

The duke gesticulated toward a chair but Zacary felt power in height.

"How could you welcome me back after I spent half of your riches?"

His father's pen scratched and word before he dipped it. 

Zac swept into the chair like he was a little boy once more and waited for his father to recognize him.

After a flourish, the duke set down his pen folded his hands and looked at his son. A long while later he spoke with clammy, warbled croaks.

"You look so much like your mother. You have her eyes, her skin, her hair, and her nose."

Zac gave him a steady look.

"Son," a tear slipped by unnoticed. "I love you. You could do anything and I would forgive you. I am so joyous at your return that the actions and words could not contain the affection flowing from my heart."

Zac stiffened. He did not realize his father's great love for him. He was still in the prison of his childhood. He remembered the rejection and invisibility of being the spare, not the heir.

The duke rounded the table and surrounded his son in an embrace. The man was slighter shorter than Zac and his arms pinned Zac's own down, making the hug very awkward.

When all the manly love was done Zac began this hard pressure request.

"Father, on the way home, I was beaten and robbed and left to die shortly before it snowed. I would like to repay my rescuer for saving me and nursing me back to health."

The duke nodded. "Yes, I will give a generous reward to the man who saved my son. Who is this man and where can I find him?"

"Well, she may be hard to find." Zac sat at his father's desk.

A guffaw sounded as the duke dropped to his seat. "I will send out my men at your disposal." He waved the thought away like a man who had the power to anything and commission anyone. "Who is he?"

Zac braced his elbows on his knees. "It is a woman, Father. And she is known as the mia."