Keeping time for the whole manor meant life in the church was also governed by a strict routine. On midday, young acolyte Jerald would normally be found trailing after Friar Tumney, recording his observations of the pea plants in his experimental plot.
Today, however, Jerald was on his own. Friar Tumney was hosting the visiting alchemist Tyberne inside the church. He was counting pea plants with pink flowers when the sound of retching interrupted the quiet afternoon.
Jerald straightened. The retching echoed from the back of the church. Being a monk armed with knowledge in medicine, Jerald hurried to see to the sick. He skidded to a halt at the sight of a fair-haired woman around his age, bent on all fours before a plot of herbs, coughing and sputtering. The hems of her Crosset Green tunic flowed onto the ground like mint paste, held down by a wicker basket strewn with plucked sprigs of basil and rosemary.
Once she had exhausted the contents of her stomach, the maiden sat up, dabbing at her mouth with her apron. She spun around, and Jerald recognized her as Tyberne's maidservant. At the sight of his priest habit, her brown eyes widened in fright. She snatched her basket and scrambled to her feet.
"Sir Acolyte." She gasped, her voice hoarse, bowing so low the tail of her braid caressed the soil, "Forgive me. I've retched all over your sacred herbs."
Jerald dismissed it with an absentminded wave, covering the remaining distance with brisk, gangly strides. He bent to the maiden's level, surveying her pallid, sweat-peppered countenance.
"Are you..." He hesitated whether to pry into a maiden's private affairs, but succumbed to the urge of his training, "by any chance...pregnant?"
The maid pointedly avoided his eyes, glaring down at her apron, now twisted in her hands. Jerald could guess her circumstances, and he knew better than to prolong her shame. Spatters of sick drooped from the leaves of their precious herbs, falling in dollops to the pool below. He snatched the watering can and washed them away.
"You'd better stay away from herbs. Even healers aren't certain what the aromas could do to you and your babe." He set the can on the barrel and turned to the maid with a disapproving frown, "And you definitely shouldn't be working in the labs, for that matter."
The maid hitched up a cool, mocking grin.
"That's swell, then." Her bright voice dripped with sarcasm, "I was hoping I could retch the thing out while I was at it. Turns out the uterus isn't connected to the gullet."
She spat bitterly then turned away, heaving a deep, sobbing sigh as she covered her face. Jerald dithered in silence as he watched her. Allowing the woman to rid of the life within her was against his teachings, but to force a reluctant woman to carry a babe to birth and raise it would be an affront to his mother.
The maid tugged on his sleeves, jolting him from his thoughts.
"Please don't tell." She begged in a tear-choked whisper, rattling his arms, "If they know, they'll make me keep it. And they'll kill me if I don't."
At the sight of her anguished brown eyes, Jerald's blood froze to ice then boiled with fury. He knew those eyes. He'd known that gleam of living pain since he could remember. To see it again in this woman's eyes. After all these years.
"He forced you, didn't he?"
He breathed through numb lips. The woman's bulging eyes grew even wider.
"How did you know?"
Jerald focused on the grass beneath his feet as dull pangs of pain throbbed in his heart.
"My mother has that look in her eyes whenever she looks at me."
Silence fell between them. The woman's grip on his arms slackened, yet he felt her eyes lingering on him.
"So, you're like my babe." She whispered as her hand traveled to caress her middle. Jerald's heart seized up at the sight. My babe, she'd said. She'd accepted the babe as her own. She moved closer, a sign of trust as well as curiosity, "Do you know your father?"
Jerald shook his head. He wasn't one to spill his family's secrets to every other soul on the road, but he felt compelled to. Her plight hit too close to home.
"My mother was never to reveal his name." He unfurled a wan grin as he settled on the shaded patch of grass along the church's wall. The maid cautiously followed suit. He felt the heat of her stare on his cheek, as he gazed ahead into sunshine and blue sky,
"He must have been powerful enough. Even my Lord Uncle didn't dare confront him. He forbade my mother from exposing his deeds, spread rumors that I was born from an affair. As soon as I weaned, I was whisked away to live out my days here in secrecy."
The maid paled as realization dawned on her.
"You're the bastard of Lady Arynea?" She gasped. Jerald bowed his head. The maid clutched at the bosom of her tunic as she edged back, gawking in fearful suspicion.
"Why have you told me all this? We barely know each other. Aren't you afraid your Lord Uncle will be angered?"
"My mother might be able to help you." Jerald willed every last dredge of sincerity he possessed into his eyes. The poor woman shook her head vigorously,
"No-one could help me! Not with the father being Lord Crosset!"
The words slammed into Jerald like blows of a battering ram. Even after what had happened to Jerald's mother—his little sister—his Lord Uncle took this woman by force. How dastardly. How heartless. How selfish.
"You're Lord Uncle's mistress?" Jerald dipped his head in shame. The mistress whipped around, her delicate hands clenched into trembling fists.
"Don't call me that." Her voice struck like a clap of lightning, jolting Jerald out of his misery. She straightened, her nose high, her eyes flashing with determination,
"I'm an alchemist." At Jerald's unwitting stare of bewilderment, she blushed and turned sharply away, adding hastily, "Someday. Hopefully. I'm more than a broodmare for your uncle's demon-spawn."
Only after a beat did she realize the harm of the words she had let slip in her anguish. Jerald closed his eyes, pursing his lips against grief. The maid scurried back to his side,
"Oh, Freda. I—I'm so sorry, sir." The warmth from her hesitant hand hovered over his elbow. "I didn't mean to. After all, you seem a decent man..."
She trailed away into a torturous silence. Jerald shook his head, pushing the pain back inside his heart so it wouldn't leak onto his face.
"I understand. My mother probably feels the same way about me. Only sometimes, hopefully." He chuckled bitterly. The woman stared unblinking at him, studying him. Whatever she gleaned paralyzed her with terror.
"So, your mother still can't love you?" Jerald turned around. Somehow, the heartbreak on her face was a warm balm mending the wounds on his heart. Her eyes swept him from head to toe, welling with disbelief and pity,
"After all this time? Even as you grew into such a fine man?"
Jerald didn't know the answer. And he'd rather it remained that way for the rest of his days. The woman seemingly took his silence for a nod. She heaved a sigh of despair, muttering bitterly,
"I knew it. The babe would be better off not being born. And I should do it soon, before Freda bestows it a soul."
Jerald shook his head, as again warmth enveloped his heart,
"Don't trouble yourself unduly. I can see you already care for your babe."
As the woman gawked, he met her gaze with a wan smile.
"You're so afraid you won't be able to adore your babe, you're willing to risk your life to end her suffering before it began. Should you choose to become her mother, I'm sure you would be loving and responsible. At the least, you would try your best, like my mother did."
He cocked his head, reminiscing the moments he shared with his mother, the love weaved into her interactions with him, even as his presence was a constant reminder of her trauma.
"I mean no offense, but seeing you fret for your babe comforts me."
The woman blinked, then looked down and cradled her level belly. Jerald continued,
"To keep your babe or not is your choice." The woman relaxed, smiling in relief and gratitude. Jerald returned her smile,
"But, if I may, I beg you at least to meet my mother. Lord Uncle is fond of her. He allows her some freedom when it comes to me. She might be able to help you in some way."
The woman held his gaze for a moment, then her eyes wandered, her hand smoothing the creases of her tunic over her belly. At last, she returned with a question soft as the summer breeze tickling the young grass,
"What should I call you, Sir Acolyte?"
"My name is Jerald."
The woman nodded, her cold, hard eyes growing gentle for the first time.
"Mine is Erina." She smiled, then added with the same boldness Jerald would come to know, and love, for the rest of his life,
"Thank you, Sir Jerald. I hope my babe would grow up to be as kind and just as you."
⏳
The muffled shouting from the other side of the door subsided into murmurs, then gave way to the still night. The women in the conjoined bedroom breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Out of the gloom, a triangle of brownish orange light blossomed from the opening door, backlighting the silhouette of a young woman with glowing green eyes suspended in thin air.
Noticing all the glinting eyes now upon her, Meya froze, sighing as she closed the door softly behind her.
"You all heard that ruckus?" The girls nodded.
"What were they fighting about?" asked Heloise timidly. Meya shook her head.
"Just had a heartfelt talk." She grumbled. Seeing no other empty spots, she gathered her nightdress and settled on the mat before the door. Fione edged to the foot of her hay mattress, blankets bundled around her,
"Are you sure? That sounded pretty explosive." She said, a hint of a grin in her voice. Meya shrugged,
"Take it or leave it, milady." She retorted flatly, her eerie, glowing eyes narrowed at Fione, "I'm not recounting their every word to you. Not tonight. Maybe ever."
Muttering sullenly, Meya shifted sideways and glared out the window. Agnes turned her worried gaze to Arinel. At her determined nod, Agnes rose to her knees and treaded her way to Meya, taking her hands.
"Meya, I know it's a shameless request, but—" Meya glanced around then turned sharply away, "Please. Forgive Lord Coris. Just once more."
Meya's moonlit silhouette wavered. Agnes squeezed her hands,
"The laudanum, it destroys our reason. Changes our very selves. Binds us to it, body and mind." She shuddered in fearful remembrance, eyes fixed on her lap. Meya glanced at her, eyes wide in alarm. "I'm sure he hadn't wanted to lie to you. He might have even tried to wean himself off it, but the craving was too strong."
Agnes resurfaced, but Meya had turned away. Agnes shook her hands, desperate,
"He'll need you as he fights the withdrawal, more than ever. Please. Take pity on him, at the least."
The impatient silence washed back in the instant her words died. Meya's face, half-lit by moonlight, was plagued by sorrow and indecision.
"Of course I won't abandon him now, Haselle." She sighed. Taking Agnes' hands in turn, she leaned against the door. Her weary eyes staring into space, she shrugged feebly,
"But, once he recovers—I dunno. Might've already been one lie too many. Lady Jaise's right. He's a Hadrian. He'll always have his duty, his priorities, his circumstances. They dun include me."
"I've known from that first night. I should've been prepared to lose him at any time, but I'm not. Tonight proved just how much."
Meya shivered, probably seeing her piteous state tonight flashing before her eyes,
"I've never lost control like that before. I'm not ready to go through it again." She shook her head, her voice trembling from staunched tears, "I need to think. Please dun pester me about this right now."
Her words was undercut with such finality, the girls of noble birth made no move to protest, save for a large serving of fidgeting and shared looks. As if to quell the brewing dissent, Meya turned to Arinel,
"You still owe me an answer, Lady Arinel."
Arinel avoided her eyes, even as she knew in her fluttering heart escape was futile,
"To what question?"
"I asked what was wrong with you. You've looked dreadful all day."
Arinel forced out a scoff, shaking her head with a patronizing smirk,
"Don't try shifting pressure onto me. I'm perfectly fine."
"Very well. If the Lady insists on playing the fool, I'll tell you myself."
Arinel spun around in horror. Gretella had sat upright, shifting against the pillows supporting her curving back. She surveyed the wide-eyed girls one-by-one, her brown eyes reflecting the splash of moonlight on her face.
"My daughter Erina was murdered by the alchemist Dineira Sameri."
Gasps echoed from around the room. Arinel hid her face in shame as Gretella ruthlessly soldiered on,
"She put Erina and Tyberne to sleep, stole their treatise then set the lab on fire."
Through the gaps between her fingers, Arinel saw Meya's questioning eyes, asking for proof.
"The Lady found the treatise hidden in her lab." Gretella cocked her head at Arinel. She hastily closed her finger-blinds and cowered lower. If only she had two more fingers, so she could plug her earholes, "But the Lady doesn't want to expose her. She doesn't want to interrupt Dineira's work on dragons."
Silence fell. Arinel peered fearfully through her fingers. Gretella was locking eyes with the dumbstruck Meya, and she steeled herself for the fallout.
She could guess Meya's reaction. She wouldn't begrudge her friend putting the living dragonkind over some dead lab maid who happened to be Arinel's mother. So why was she silently praying she'd be wrong?
Meya turned to her. Arinel expected hesitance, an excuse, perhaps an apology, but all Meya had for her was disbelief bordering on exasperation.
"So that's why you were in me room? You wanted me permission to avenge your mother?" She asked shrilly. Arinel looked away. Meya swore with a curse so obscene Agnes and Heloise cringed in unison, "Why in the three lands—You act as if nobody else in Latakia can study dragons!"
"I said as much." Gretella sniffed. Shaking her head in annoyance, Meya sprang to her feet and marched towards the bed,
"I swear to Freda, you and Coris would make a great pair." Meya's misshapen toes bumped into hers, "Listen, milady. I won't hack through Zier's guts to free the dragons. And I won't bargain for it with justice for your mother, neither!"
"She's not my mother!" Arinel exploded. The sheer force of her outburst threw Meya a half-step back. Meya frowned, puzzled. Arinel turned away, taking calming breaths,
"You won't understand. Your parents married for love. Your mother loves children." Arinel fell weak with burning envy of the peasant girl, her shoulders sagging as another sigh left her,
"My mother's different. She didn't want to be a mother, she was forced to be. She'd loath to think of herself as my mother—I'm the spawn of the man who raped her."
"How do you know that?" Gretella challenged. Arinel turned to her. Her lined face was stricken with reproach and sorrow. Of course, Gretella wouldn't understand. No-one would understand. It was wisest to keep these thoughts to herself. Arinel shook her head with another sigh,
"Isn't it obvious, Grandmother?"
Gretella's eyes narrowed on her stony face,
"In my sixty years, I've never met two mothers who are alike. It's not obvious, Arinel!"
Gretella hissed so viciously, it petrified even Meya and Fione. They hadn't expected the fawning, reverent Gretella would ever snap at her darling little Lady.
Still, Arinel couldn't bring herself to believe. Alchemists operated on proof, and there was no proof. Just biased opinions and vague guesses. The uncertainty brought a wave of loneliness so freezing cold, she curled inwards and hugged herself for comfort, trying with all her might to strangle the cry of longing, of need that threatened to burst out of her.
Gretella turned to the other girls, her voice streaked with pride,
"My Erina was one unruly lass. Even more so than you, I'd say." Meya raised her eyebrow skeptically.
"Get this. I'm her mother, and I wasn't first to know she was pregnant. Curst lass thought I'd go straight to tell Lord Crosset! By Freda, I'd have spanked her buttocks raw had she not been nineteen and pregnant. What in the three lands did she make of her own mother? Like mother, like daughter, I say!" She sniped at Arinel, who jolted, "Sir Bayne was the first to find out. And even that was by accident."
The focus in the room was so intense, the air seemed to be holding its breath.
"Sir Bayne was a child of rape himself." A round of gasps from the girls interrupted, "He didn't try to persuade or punish Erina, even when she made no secret what she planned to do. He just brought her to see his mother, Lady Arynea."
"All Erina feared was she wouldn't love the babe, but she talked with Lady Arynea, then she decided to keep the babe. The Lady persuaded Lord Crosset to let her continue practicing alchemy safely."
Arinel's heart seemed to slow. It was unbelievable, yet she craved to believe. Gretella heaved a deep sigh, her distant eyes brimming with guilt,
"Bishop Tyberne never once complained. He did everything he could to make sure Erina was safe. All these years, I blamed him, when I should've known she could never have died because of his carelessness."
The old lady broke off, sobbing into her hands. Arinel peeled them gently from her tearstained face, warming them between hers. Gretella pulled out a hand and clasped it over hers. A puddle of her tears formed on it.
"Erina told me she'd name you in honor of Lady Arynea if you were a girl, Bishop Tyberne if you were a boy."
Arinel's eyes widened. Her name. Why had she never noticed? It was so similar to her aunt's. Derived from the same rune of light, arinn. Just as the Lady had been a light for her mother in her darkest time, Arinel was also her light.
The truth filled her, a warm, spreading mass of light, driving away her lonesomeness. She heard Gretella's voice as if from faraway.
"She chose the names herself. I found the entry in her diary. She wrote it just a week before that day."
Gretella reached for the bedside cabinet. From the drawer, she extracted a small, nondescript book, then rested it on Arinel's trembling hands.
"Had I known you've always carried this doubt within you, I would've given this to you sooner."
Arinel leafed through the pages. Her hands shook so hard, she could barely make out the words on white linen in the faint moonlight.
Dates and margin scribbles. Alchemic formulas and hidden love letters. There were even drawings. Erina meticulously documented changes in her body throughout her pregnancy.
She noted how some music she had been treated to by the castle minstrels elicited a flutter, or a flurry of sickening kicks from baby Arinel, how Arinel had stirred to her voice as she went about her day.
Arinel blushed as she read her grumbling entries of how her swelling belly hindered her spells of pleasure with Sir Bayne, and her unabashed, borderline blasphemous fantasies that she hoped would enhance their performance.
Grandmother was right. Mother was worse than Meya, but it made Arinel more fiercely proud of her.
She was unafraid, unapologetic, ever curious. And despite it all, she ultimately loved Arinel. The more she read, the more she ached to know, the more she burned with resentment for the woman who had taken her wonderful mother from this world, from her, so soon.
"Erina had never blamed you." Gretella tugged up the frilly collar of her nightdress and dabbed at her eyes, "She was selfless...fearless...tireless. Freda punished her with such a fate, but she believed neither a lord nor a god would stop her from learning the sacred truths, so why would you ever let doubt stop you?"
"Grandma—"
Gretella's arms received Arinel as she fell into her embrace, trembling shoulders soaking up her spilling tears. Through her nightdress, the callouses on Meya's hand chafed on her back. Agnes's smooth palm slid down her hair.
All her life, she had kept her fears to herself. She wasn't brave enough to reveal her wounds even to her family or the boy she loved, so they could help treat them.
Like a shell, she had lived as they festered and scabbed within her. Without a mother to assure her she was loved and worthy of life, she wasn't wrong for being born, she sought closure by living to please others, putting their wishes above her own.
That in itself was not an evil, of course, but one could only give so much before one would be left empty and bone dry.
For once, Arinel decided to take, to let their shared tears fill her husk of a self into a living soul. For once, her wishes would take priority. One must stand for at least something, no matter at what cost, if one were to truly be alive. One of those things was honoring her mother's legacy.
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