21 Dove #2
Maerryl’s normal scowl was back, but she nodded politely to Petra as we headed out the door and toward the stables.
Maerryl and I still hadn’t really figured out what we were to each other, so I hadn’t confided in my maid.
I knew she sensed something was different, though; we’d made no secret of the fact that we weren’t warring anymore.
Petra and Maerryl seemed like they needed time to adjust to each other, figure out what their relationship—and hopefully friendship—would be like in the manor. We all did.
And thankfully, now that my parents were staying in the city for a while, we’d all have a bit of time and space to breathe.
Sort things out. They’d sent a raven yesterday with word that the Tongs’ revel had been a triumph—both the event and their own reentrance back into society—and some friends had helped them find a nice, month-long furnished rental.
While happy for them, I mostly felt relieved that they’d be staying away for longer—despite the guilt that nagged at me from the thought.
I just prayed that they were sticking to their budget.
I’d already resolved to hold fast to my decision not to send any additional coin until next month.
The rental, though located in a fashionable neighborhood, was on the outskirts.
So that sounded promising. Mother made sure to note that it had three bedrooms, and that it wasn’t too late for me to come join them.
What I wanted to write back was fuck no.
But I sent, of course, a very measured, polite decline in my reply.
Though glad they seemed in higher spirits, I had no interest in going back there anytime soon.
Maybe never. That whole society set, my former friends and lovers, the cyclical life of shopping, chitchatting, attending balls and going to the “right” performances and restaurants—when I tried to imagine entering that life again, I felt nothing but a deep sense of weariness. And a touch of revulsion.
“So Dove,” Maerryl said, fingers fidgeting with a buckle on her leathers. “What exactly have you told Petra? About us, I mean?”
Pulled out of my thoughts, I paused for a moment before continuing on our walk to the stables. “Well… nothing.”
“Nothing?” Maerryl frowned.
“Not really, no.” If I had to guess, I’d almost say she seemed discomfited at this. A spark of amusement flared in me.
Rubbing the back of her neck, Maerryl said, “She’s one of your closest friends though, isn’t she?”
“The closest, I’d say. Apart from Choia, of course.”
“And I haven’t… I mean to say, we haven’t come up? With either of them?” She looked distinctly awkward now, as if she wished she hadn’t raised it at all.
“Um, not yet, I suppose,” I said. Oh goddess. Has Maerryl been thinking about this, and wondering what we are now? I wish I had something sorted out to tell her. She’s going to think I don’t care or something.
“And what happens,” she continued, “when your parents return?”
Slowly, I said, “I… I don’t know, exactly.” Seeing her face, I hurried to add, “But I think we should definitely—absolutely talk about this. And think about it more. There’s a lot to figure out.”
“That’s very true,” she said quietly.
“And—I have been so happy with you these past days. Very happy indeed.” Looping my arm through hers, I snuggled close as we walked, our steps falling into sync. She smiled down at me, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
As small as my life here in the manor probably looked to anyone from the world, I did feel increasingly content.
There were times, even, that I found myself wishing my parents would never return.
That they’d stay in Talon for good, leaving me the estate.
We’d see one another at holidays, perhaps, or if I took brief trips into the city for supplies and to visit them.
Everything just felt so much easier and, honestly, just better without them here.
As guilty as I felt thinking that sometimes.
No Mother harping on me, digging her criticisms into my mind like barbs.
No Father hiding in his rooms or his office, avoiding our company except at dinnertime.
He’d changed so much since we went bankrupt—quiet, rarely speaking.
We all knew that our family’s decline had been mainly his fault, though none of us would ever say it, of course.
And ever since, it felt as if Mother’s judgmental moods and need to control me—the norm ever since I could remember—ratcheted up a hundred-fold.
She couldn’t criticize her partner, so she directed it all toward me.
She couldn’t control how her life had turned out, everything horrible that had happened, so she controlled me instead.
And it only got worse when I discovered my gift.
Suddenly, I became the answer to our problems. Father was able to use an old merchant contact in Talon to sell the jewels I created, trading them across Kurriel and overseas so the market in our region in the Midlands wouldn’t get too saturated and suspicious.
In this, he had a regular job and a way to help our family.
I’d taken over running our finances and most of the estate—I’d put my foot down on this with my parents, and they’d conceded.
But it was as if every time that I stepped toward independence, Mother found a way to counteract it with a word, a look, a manipulation.
This issue with hiring a bodyguard and wanting me to stay on the estate was just the latest and most extreme example.
My magical ability kept our family and the estate afloat now.
Everything relied on me, and Mother seemed determined to keep her asset secure.
What could I do? My own life was so closely tied to theirs, in every way.
And despite it all, I did love them. What, was I going to run off and leave them to fall into financial ruin again without me?
Leave Choia, and this manor I loved, and everything I held dear?
Try to sell the jewels on my own in the city, likely getting robbed or outing my gift in the process? No.
Well. At least they both seemed in better spirits with this invitation from the Tongs, and I had to admit that I was much happier too, without them here.
I’d spent a little time reassessing our assets, and if I continued transfiguring my jewels like normal and mailing them regularly to my parents, that could work.
Potentially. If they lived within their means—which was a big if—they could save up and buy a modest place there.
Or perhaps, a part of me thought, we could sell off some of our land to pay for a city house and have enough left over for them to live off for years. Maybe they could be self-sufficient, with luck and some effort.
And I wouldn’t need to magic a jewel for them every day. I could stop. Not have this suspicion, this worry about someone discovering our secret or attacking me for my power. I wouldn’t be the thing keeping them from descending into poverty. I could just… be their daughter again.
I shook off these dreamy thoughts as Maerryl and I entered the stables and got our horses, teasing each other about our respective riding skills.
What I needed to focus on right now, here, should be the children.
My time at the priory, being a good art teacher, and helping the kids feel like kids again.
We mounted up, and I leaned close to Lightning’s ear, whispering. He surged forward, bounding down the lane away from the manor, and I threw a wild grin back at Maerryl as she gave chase.
“And that, class, is what happens when we mix all the colors together in a muddy old mess! Say it with me now—”
“brOWWWWNNN,” the children chorused together, cheerfully splashing their brushes into dirty water cups at the end of our day’s lesson.
Somehow, some way, this mad idea of the prioress’s was working.
Part of me thought I’d show up this morning, and the orphans wouldn’t be here, hidden away to avoid lessons with me.
But no—when I arrived in their quarters, each child was accounted for, waiting not so patiently for me to get here and begin with our painting again.
Or, as Susu yelled at me as I took too long removing my cloak and unpacking the supplies: “Let’s get this show on the road and paint, moneybags! ”