In Her Element

Frederick sank to the floor and covered his face with his hand. He had ruined it all; Almyra should not have found out like that. She had not heard the full story and Frederick knew he had hurt her in making it sound like he was just using her.

The alarm he has seen in Almyra’s eyes pierced him still as his thoughts kept returning to the instant he had opened the door; as he watched how her eyes glazed over and begin to fill, which only added to his certainty that she was wounded. His own eyes tore up a bit as he clearly recalled the look she gave before she turned away and fled; a look of pain, disappointment…and betrayal.

He banged his head back against the wall again and again, cursing his carelessness.

And Matthew stood there, watching, waiting.

Rupert peeled himself away from the walls, where he had observed as the scene unfolded. It was peculiar how his heart clenched when he thought of all that Almyra was going through, even though he could not have planned this any better. He wondered how she would react if (when—if he wanted to be realistic) she found out about his part in all this; he hoped to spare her the anguish, especially after this.

He followed her quietly and waited at her door. He was not all that surprised when she came out wrapped in her cloak and wearing thin, leather gloves with a single, small amethyst on each—her favorite pair. She brushed past him and loped down the stairs, knowing he would follow, which he did. He swallowed a laugh when she practically rammed into her mother, who had just returned from whatever high-society party she had just attended in hopes of denying her daughter’s defiance.

“Almyra!” Her mother stared at her, a bit concerned, for Almyra’s distress was obvious. But mostly she was appalled at her daughter’s lack of composure. “A young lady does not—“

“I know, Mother,” Almyra snapped. “I am going out.”

“At this time of night?” Mrs. Carlton asked, and though she sputtered at being cut off by her daughter, she managed a small sneer at Almyra’s foolishness.

“What? Oh,” Almyra sighed as she walked to the nearest window and saw the inky darkness outside. Her face fell.

“Serves you right for being so discourteous to your mother,” Mrs. Carlton sniffed daintily, now ignoring how upset Almyra looked. The lady was a product of society and could not deal with the drama of an upcoming debutante’s life. “You may, however, go tomorrow after-noon—if you apologize to me for your insolence.” Her mother glared at her, waiting expectantly.

“I apologize, Mother,” Almyra said stiffly, “good night.”

She went up the stairs, this time going slowly, dejected. Rupert followed her with his eyes. He listened for a closing door, and when he heard it, he turned to the matron of the manor. She looked forlorn, her eyes down as though she were trying to shutter her emotions. When she looked up, her eyes looked sad, and Rupert was not all that certain that it was a trick of the candlelight that illuminated the great hall, as he wanted to think it was.

He turned to follow Almyra’s lead and retire for the night, but Mrs. Carlton’s sharp voice cut through the air to him. “It is understood that you are to go with her, am I correct?”

It was rhetorical, and he did not bother to give a response if she was not expecting it. He knew that she was exceptionally overprotective of her daughter, especially after her husband’s life had been taken, and she worked hard to hide behind all her frivolity and harshness. What she said next was also anticipated.

“And Miss Lisle shall be accompanying her as well. Now that she is entering society imminently, she is in need of an older female companion and chaperone on all her outings.”

Rupert nodded solemnly. He gallantly offered her his elbow, and she took it with elegance only she could pull off. He led her up the stairs, and he bowed to her at the entrance to her bedroom and bid her a good night.

Rupert scrawled his signature, playing with the ends of the parchment as he reread the words, checking for any mistakes, or any information that might be a bit too revealing. Satisfied by its near-perfection, he rolled it up tightly and tied a string around to keep it shut.

He went to the window and pushed it wide open. He peered out, looking in all directions, checking that no one was out there. Content that all was silent and empty, he let out a series of trills and whistles. There was the sound of fluttering wings, and a small black blob bulleted out of the distant trees, slowing as it reached him. Rupert held out his arm, and the raven dropped onto it, claws clutching it firmly. He winced slightly and scolded himself for forgetting to put on his glove first. He carried the bird inside to his table, where he tied the letter to its leg, inspecting it to be sure that it was secure before taking the bird back to the window and letting it go.

He stood there, looking after it as it soared back into the night. Tomorrow he would meet with the lad from the coven—as he thought of it—and let him know about this.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Almyra knowing about the prophecy would most definitely change things. Obviously, she would have been told eventually, but it would have been at the Master’s convenience and in a way that would make her know she had to….

Rupert cursed Frederick in his mind. The boy was a little incompetent. It was a good thing he did not know everything, or who knows what else Almyra might have heard. Then she might never agree to it all.

This was taking a lot of effort. He knew it was probable, but still…. He sighed again, and grimaced when he remembered what his mother had always said. “Don’t sigh so, my puppy. It is the crying of the heart over regrets as it grows older.”

He always thought that sighing was done when overburdened. Although, come to think of it, regret was a burden. But he had nothing to regret with this, right? It was necessary, and ultimately Almyra would be safe, which is what he had made sure of since he was first hired after her father’s disappearance, years ago.

He pulled off his shirt absently and washed himself with a cloth that had been placed alongside the water basin. He hummed tunelessly as he rinsed himself from top to bottom, and then picked up another towel to dry himself.

He shivered, noticing how chilly it was, the weather signifying the end of the summer, when the nights were always colder. He pulled a short nightshirt from his dresser and over his head, adjusting it so it was a little more comfortable, as he usually slept in just a pair of loose knickers and no shirt.

He walked around his room, blowing out the candles as he went, leaving only the one on his bedside table to flicker and cast shadows. He then sat down on the center of his bed—crossed-legged—resuming his low, steady humming as he meditated, clearing all his thoughts. Finally, he laid back and reached out a hand to pinch the remaining flame, throwing the room into complete darkness, save for a tiny sliver of light that shone through the curtains by the waning moon.