Just a single chapter today.
Chapter 5
Silence
took our breaths away and kept them, so that not even my chest, rising and
falling faster than a jig, made a noise.
I felt my heart hammer, but dimly, as though it was pounding in someone
else’s chest. Mama could not be—she had
not just—
Suzanne’s
scream cut through the quiet like a crack spreads through ice; instantly there,
but it reminds you all the more of the cold you feel. Then there were footfalls, and I was aware
that Sarah was running past me, dropping to her knees so loudly I was sure they
must be broken. Suzanne continued to
scream, frozen in place, not even drawing breath it seemed. Then Henri was at my side, a hand on my
shoulder, and then he had sprinted past.
The colors around me whirled into a blur as Henri’s voice called for a
physician. I heard Antony gasping, there
was blood on the floor, and vaguely I was aware of vomiting on the tiles. The silence was still there, it had been
interrupted, punctured, but it hung and stretched like a net, surrounding all
of us.
Then.
“She
lives! As does Master Antony!” the physician was shouting, I was running,
pushing people aside in my hurry to reach Mama.
Suzanne arrived at the same moment I did. I was sobbing, tears and face paint dripping
onto Mama’s dress, and Antony forced a smile at me, and then the physician was
ordering us away. I couldn’t move,
wouldn’t leave Mama, so finally Henri gathered me up in his arms, pulling me
away, holding my face into his chest as I cried.
My
memory of the next few weeks is cloudy, as though someone poured wax over
it. I don’t remember leaving the ball at
all, but Suzanne tells me that we all tried to follow the carriage that Mama
and Antony had been gently lifted into on foot.
Henri was the one who took us home, carrying me to my bedchamber when I
fell asleep on Mama’s floor, underfoot of the Royal Physician.
I
do remember Henri. He was there for the
next few days, keeping the staff running, seeing that my sisters and I ate,
receiving updates from the physician and relaying them to us. His father sent him a message, demanding that
he come home, but Henri refused, claiming that we needed him then more than a
peaceful Fresnia did. Finally, after
three days, the King prevailed, and Henri left us, looking like a defeated
puppy, but he came to visit Mama and Antony—and Sarah and Suzanne and me—every
day.
I
remember, too, with crystal clarity, the day Antony woke up properly for the
first time. The physician had said that
he had broken several ribs and perhaps damaged some of his internal organs.
“I
have never seen a case like this,” he told my sisters and me solemnly. “God must want that young man alive for some
purpose, because his survival is surely a miracle.” Then finally he said what I’d been waiting to
hear: “He’s well enough to see you, and is asking for you.”
I
didn’t even thank the physician, I just started running toward Antony’s room as
soon as he finished speaking. Sarah was
on my heels, although Suzanne stopped long enough to do our duty and express
our gratitude.
I
slipped and nearly fell, trying to stop as I flew into Antony’s room. He was lying down in bed, but he smiled when
he saw his sisters arrive—two out of breath with anxiety, one bouncing on her
toes—in his bedchamber. We were all
silent for a moment, staring at one another the way we had, so many years ago,
when we’d first met. Finally Sarah
spoke, a sob catching at her words.
“Antony—you
were so brave—we’ve been so worried!” Then she was kneeling beside him,
embracing him as gently as she could.
Suzanne and I followed, each clasping one of Antony’s hands. All four of us cried quietly together—so
grateful that Antony was safe, so worried about Mama as we were.
For the first time since the Accident, I felt
as though time were moving at its normal pace—until then it had felt as though
everything were happening in slow motion.
Yet here we were, a family, and though Mama was, perhaps, still in
danger for her life, I felt for the first time that things would be alright.
I spent a lot of my time in a servant’s uniform
during those terrifying weeks where Mama’s fate was uncertain. Cook seemed to understand; she never even
asked me how Mama was doing. I was
grateful, because a lump rose in my throat every time I so much as thought
about Mama—I doubt I could have spoken about her if I tried. Instead, Cook let me scrub away my fears with
the grime of the house, let me burn my terror in the oven with the bread.
When I wasn’t working alongside Cook, I was
with Henri. He understood innately,
somehow, that I couldn’t bear to be in the manor sometimes—it was too big and
empty without Mama’s constant humming, her brisk, calming presence. The first time the pressing silence became
too much to bear, I didn’t even tell my sisters I was leaving—just had Pierre
saddle my horse and took off riding. I
rode for two straight hours before I found myself dismounting in the palace
stables. I didn’t feel like I was there
entirely—rather, that something else was making my body move and I was simply a
spectator.
When I approached the palace gate, it opened before
me without so much as a word from me.
The guards knew me and assumed I was there to see Henri. When I passed through the door, it was evident
that word had spread of my presence—there was Henri, sitting at the bottom of a
long flight of stairs, slicing a pear with his knife. He stood when he saw me.
“Ell,” he said, as though I were expected
instead of turning up unannounced.
“Welcome.” I said nothing—the
emptiness of home still filled my heart, and I was afraid that if I spoke,
nothing would be left in me. Henri
seemed to understand this somehow, because he simply offered me his arm. No empty words of consolation, nothing to
make me feel unwanted. Just, “would you
care for a walk?”
We strolled in silence for about an hour that
day. The poison inside me seemed to seep
out, drop by drop, until I felt like a kitchen rag that someone had squeezed
all of the soapy water out of. Henri sat
me down on a bench.
“The roses are lovely,” he commented, staring
straight ahead.
“Roses are Mama’s favorite,” I answered. I was startled to hear how low my voice
sounded, how dead. I sighed.
I don’t know how long we might have sat there
in silence, staring at the royal rose garden, if Henri’s servant hadn’t
appeared then.
“Your
Highness,” he said in a gasping way that suggested he’d been hunting for the
Prince for quite some time. “We’ve found
you at last! You were needed an hour ago
for a meeting with the ambassador of Saliz, the royal Tailor is looking to fit
you for a new suit for autumn, and Her Majesty wishes a private audience with
you. Where have you been?” The servant said this all very fast, then
paused for Henri’s response. Finally,
Henri sighed and turned to me.
“I apologize, Ell, it seems that I am needed,”
he said. I only nodded; I was
embarrassed, if grateful, that the Prince of Fresnia had ignored his day’s
duties for me. Henri smiled at me,
stood, and spoke to the servant. “See
that Lady Ell has whatever she desires,” he said, then turned toward me. “It was my pleasure to spend time with you
today, milady,” he said, and kissed my hand.
I smiled then, and stood—after all, he was the Prince.
“The pleasure was mine,” I said automatically. “I thank you for your attentions, your
Highness.” I dropped to a full
curtsy. Then, unable to stop myself, I
continued, “thank you, Henri. You are
quite the hero.” I stood on my toes and
kissed his cheek. Even more embarrassed,
I turned and fled the garden.
That evening I went into Mama’s bedchambers to
read to her, as I did most nights. I
wasn’t sure she could hear me through her prolonged sleep, but it helped to
think that she could. I stopped, halfway
to my chair, and stared. Next to the bed
was a clear glass vase full of garden roses.
I smiled.
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