Chapter Eleven – Tressa
Chapter Eleven
Tressa
I sit with a blank page in front of me and a pen in my hand. The words don’t come easily. Because I don’t know how to explain what I’m about to do. Alana deserves the truth, but I’m not sure I understand it myself.
I start writing, telling her that I’ve changed my mind and I won’t be coming home after all. The pen glides across the page as I explain that the monster who bought me at the bride market is Altair Aurellion, the boy who got Brandon killed.
I try to justify my decision to go with him, to explain why I accepted his obscene bid when I should’ve refused no matter what. The money helped her and her family, helped my father, and that has to count for something. But even as I write it, I know it sounds hollow.
The hardest part is explaining why I’m staying now that he’s given me permission to leave. My pen hovers over the page. I close my eyes, thinking about last night, when I saw him curled up on the floor with his back torn open. I can’t tell Alana about it. I can’t put it into words.
Instead, I write the only thing that makes sense.
“I don’t know what will happen, and I don’t know whether I am making a mistake or not, but I feel like I need to find out what is wrong with him, at least. I know it is not my responsibility, but I feel like I should help him if I can.”
I sign the letter, fold it, and slide it into an envelope. My hands shake as I seal it, because I know that once I send this, there’s no taking it back.
I exit my chambers and walk to the kitchen.
What I’m doing is strange, and maybe even foolish, but it makes sense in a way I can’t fully explain.
I’m simply not the kind of person who can witness what I witnessed last night and walk away and pretend I never saw it.
Whatever is broken in Altair, whatever drives him to hurt himself like that, I need to understand it.
I drop the envelope into the basket near the kitchen entrance, where all the outgoing letters are collected. As I turn to leave, I spot Greta down the corridor polishing a large vase. She hasn’t seen me yet, and I take a deep breath, gathering my courage before I approach her.
“Greta.”
She glances at me, her expression closed off. She returns her attention to the vase and continues polishing.
“Please,” I say, hating the desperate edge in my voice. “I need to talk to you.”
“I have work to do,” she replies without looking at me.
“Just a moment of your time. Please.”
She sets down her polishing cloth with an irritated sigh and turns to face me with her arms crossed over her chest.
“What is it?”
“Can you tell me what’s going on? Why did Altair change his mind about me?”
She shakes her head. “It’s not my business to get between you and Lord Aurellion. Whatever is happening between the two of you is your concern, not mine.”
She starts to walk away.
“Wait, please!” I reach out and grab her arm, then immediately let go when she turns back to glare at me.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever I did wrong, for making everyone here hate me.
I’ll apologize to all the servants, if that’s what it takes.
I’ll apologize to everyone who works at the palace. I can’t stand this anymore.”
Greta’s expression shifts, and for the first time since I arrived, I see something that looks like compassion in her eyes. She sighs deeply. Her shoulders drop.
“If you want to apologize to the servants, you can do it,” she says. “But things are not what you think they are.”
She turns and starts walking toward the kitchen.
I follow behind her with my heart pounding against my ribs.
When we enter, the room falls silent. There are at least twenty people gathered around the large wooden tables, sitting down for their lunch.
They were talking and laughing before we walked in, but now they stare at me as if I’m unwelcome.
I straighten my back and lift my head, trying to look more confident than I feel. My voice wants to shake, but I force it to remain steady and controlled.
“I know you all hate me,” I begin, and several of them shift uncomfortably in their seats.
“I wanted to come here and apologize for anything I’ve done wrong.
I need you to understand that I was never privileged.
Lord Aurellion treats me differently, yes, but differently in the way that I have a worse time than anyone working here. ”
A few of them exchange glances.
“But that doesn’t matter, because I’m not here to complain,” I continue. “I’m here to simply tell you the truth and ask for your forgiveness if I’ve offended any of you.”
For a long moment, no one speaks. Then the cook stands up. He looks at me with an expression that’s difficult to read.
“The reason we don’t like you has nothing to do with privilege or because you eat at Lord Aurellion’s table,” he says flatly. “We all know that he bought you to be his bride, not his servant.”
I blink in surprise.
A young girl who looks about eighteen stands up next. Her eyes are sad when she looks at me.
“No one likes you because instead of making Lord Altair’s life easier, instead of making him happy the way you should, you’ve only made him feel worse and more miserable.”
The words hit me so hard that I take a step back. I stare at them in absolute shock. They’re angry with me not because they think I’m receiving special treatment, but because they think I’m failing in my duty to make Altair happy.
I wonder if they’re even aware that Altair cannot be made happy. I don’t think I’d achieve it even if I tried.
“You don’t understand,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I was actually born at the palace. I was raised here. My mother and my father worked here just like you, and I had an older brother named Brandon who was Altair’s best friend.”
Gasps rise among the servants, and even Greta looks affected by my words. Several of them lean forward and stare at me with new eyes, as if they’re seeing me for the first time.
An old woman stands up from the back of the room.
“I remember Brandon,” she says. “I remember your parents, too. You were very little back then, maybe five or six years old.”
Another man speaks up.
“We didn’t recognize you. You were so little, and such a beautiful and patient child. We remember your brother and what happened to him, and we are deeply sorry about it.”
A few more servants murmur their condolences, and I feel tears burning behind my eyes. I blink them back and manage a small smile.
“It’s alright,” I say. “I’m just grateful to hear that those of you who worked here fourteen years ago still remember my parents and my brother.”
It makes sense they wouldn’t remember me. I’ve changed so much since then.
Greta moves closer to me and touches my arm, squeezing it gently.
“Lord Altair never forgave himself for what happened to Brandon,” she says.
“He has been punishing himself ever since. He is in pain, he is suffering, and all of us were so confused when you showed up. We thought that, finally, Lord Altair would have a bride, someone on his side, who would listen to him and support him. Instead, it turned out completely differently, and we were all so confused by the dynamic between the two of you this past month.”
She pauses and nods to herself.
“But now I understand. It couldn’t have been easy for you, and it couldn’t have been easy for him either.”
I nod as well, because I don’t trust my voice right now.
A few of the servants come forward and hug me or squeeze my shoulders in encouragement, and I feel something tight in my chest begin to loosen.
“Thank you,” I manage to say. “Thank you for listening to me.”
Greta touches my elbow and says, “Come.”
I follow her out of the kitchen and through the palace corridors. We walk in silence until we reach the north wing. Greta stops in front of a heavy door and knocks twice.
The door opens to reveal an old woman with dull scales visible on her hands and neck. She’s a dragon. Her face lights up when she sees me.
“This is Klara,” Greta says.
“Oh, the young bride!” Klara beams at me and gestures for me to enter. “Come in, come in. My lady has been wondering when you’d visit.”
I’m surprised by the warm welcome. Klara leads me through a small entrance hall and into a sitting room.
The room is beautiful in a faded sort of way, with high ceilings and tall windows that let in the afternoon light.
There are books everywhere, stacked on tables and shelves, and an embroidery frame sits near one of the windows.
A woman sits there with her back to me, working on a piece of fabric stretched across the frame.
When she hears us enter, she sets down her needle and turns. My breath catches. I recognize her, even though she looks different from my childhood memories. Lady Helena is smaller somehow, as if she’s shrunk within herself over the years. She’s still beautiful, but in a softer, more fragile way.
She comes toward me with her hands outstretched. When she reaches me, she takes both of my hands in hers and squeezes them warmly.
“My dear child,” she says with genuine pleasure in her voice. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. Congratulations to you and my son on your match. I want you to know that I’m happy for both of you, and I’m not bothered in the least that you’re human.”
I stare at her in confusion.
“Don’t you recognize me?” I ask.
She tilts her head and studies my face with a slight frown.
“Should I, my dear?”
“I’m Brandon’s sister,” I tell her, watching her face carefully. “I’m the daughter of the servants who used to work here fourteen years ago. Does that bother you now, knowing that I come from such a poor family?”
Her reaction is different from what I expected. She takes several steps back and presses one hand to her chest. A tear rolls down her cheek as she stares at me with wide eyes.
“Brandon,” she whispers. “Oh gods, I remember him. And now I remember you too, his little sister. I’m so very sorry for what happened back then. I’m so sorry that I didn’t intervene when my husband acted out. I should have done more to protect you and your family.”
Her words are sincere. I don’t know what to say, so I just stand there and watch her cry.
“My husband is a difficult man,” she continues after a moment, wiping at her tears. “And my son is a complicated man, too. You’ll need to be patient with him. But I believe you two are a good match. He’s always liked you, even when he was little.”
“Sorry?”
“Oh yes.” She smiles. “He was ten years old and you were six, and he’d talk about you all the time. He’d watch you play, even though he never had the courage to approach you. He’d ask Brandon so many questions about you.”
I’m stunned by this revelation. I always thought Altair didn’t even know I existed.
“Would you like to see his father?” she asks.
My stomach twists at the suggestion. I don’t believe that I would, but I look at this woman in front of me, who’d just cried over my brother’s death and apologized for things that weren’t her fault. I can’t refuse her.
“Sure,” I say.
She leads me out of the sitting room and down a short hallway to another door.
When she opens it, I’m hit by the smell of sickness and medicine.
The bedroom is opulent, with expensive tapestries on the walls and a massive bed in the center, but none of that matters when I see the figure lying in it.
Varrick Aurellion is not the man I remember. He’s shriveled and pale, barely more than a skeleton covered in loose skin. I remember him as tall, broad, and imposing, a lord who commanded fear and respect with just his presence. This man is barely alive, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
I approach the bed, and he must’ve sensed me, because he opens his eyes. They’re unfocused at first, but then they land on me.
“Go away!” he shouts, his voice cracking. “Go away! Get away from me! Don’t you dare!”
Altair’s mother quickly pulls me back and guides me out of the room. She closes the door behind us. I can still hear him shouting inside.
“What’s going on with him?” I ask, my heart pounding.
“Varrick hasn’t been well for many years now,” she says sadly. “I’m sorry about the way he reacted.”
“Did he recognize me?”
“No, but he knows that you’re human. He’s an old man with old beliefs, but things are changing. We are the old generation, and we are dying out, and that’s all right. That’s how things are supposed to be.”
I never thought Altair’s mother was such a decent and sensible person. I feel sad that I never knew her properly, and I only saw her as the wife of the monster who destroyed my family.
“I’m feeling tired,” she says gently, “but thank you for visiting me. Please give Altair a chance, even though he’s probably more difficult than he should be.”
I nod, and she calls for Klara to show me out. When I step back into the corridor, Greta is waiting for me. We walk together in silence, until we’re far enough from the north wing that I feel like I can breathe again.
“Thank you for everything you did for me today,” I tell her.
She gives me a smile.
“I need to think,” I say, more to myself than to her.