Post by Felicien Clermont-Montmorency on Jul 15, 2011 8:57:51 GMT -5
Hearing footsteps approaching my room, I quickly shoved the text I was reading – a treatise from La Serissisima on the divine right of kings, written in Caerdicci - under the bed. I disposed myself languidly upon the chaise, letting my gaze travel absently to the view out the window, as if I had not a single thought in my head. In actual fact, I was thinking quickly, for it was rare that I was allowed visitors. It was all I could do to conceal my shock when the key turned in the lock, and one of my father's servants stood aside to let Marcel enter.
He had grown into his height since I had last seen him. Gone was the gangly boy, all limbs and awkwardness. This was a man, strong like the horses he tended. My heart gave a painful twist, as I remembered the sunlit days of our childhoods, the ease and simplicity of our friendship. I would never again soothe a horse while he shoed it. He would not teach me how to wrestle, and I would not teach him how to fence. We would never steal watered cider from the inn, drink ourselves silly on it, and talk about the girls we liked. My heart squirmed again like a worm in a rose. Ann.
Marcel had no need for concealment though, and the look on his face as beheld me was almost comical. “Fel, what are you wearing?”
I gestured with a limp, lily-pale hand. “Oh, this old thing?”
“It looks like a rainbow threw up on you.”
“Why, thank you, dear boy, thank you.”
“What's the matter with you? Why are you talking like that? What did you do?”
“I'm not doing anything. I'm thinking whether I would prefer a turquoise waistcoat or a pink one, what do you think?”
“I don't give a fuck about your waistcoat. Fel, I came to tell you …”
I gave him a vacant look. But there was something in his voice that made the breath catch in my throat and choke me.
“Look,” he said, after a moment. “Ann's, well, Ann's dead.”
The room reeled, and I quickly hid my hands so that he would not see them trembling.
“Quel domage,” I said, lightly.
“Quel domage?!” he repeated, scathingly. “Is that all you can say?”
I blinked at him. “What do you expect me to say?”
“Something. Anything. To show that you care.”
“But I don't care. My dear boy, peasants die all the time. You should have thought about that before becoming peasants.”
He strode across the room and hit me across the face so hard that it almost me knocked me backwards off the chair. Stars exploded in my eyes and my mouth filled up with the bitter taste of blood.
“You said you loved her,” he said, his voice oddly soft and hesitant after the sudden violence. “She loved you.”
“I once that said spangled waistcoats would never come back into fashion and look how that turned out.”
“For fuck's sake. You fucking aristos. You're all the same.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
“Marc.” I couldn't quite stop myself from calling out to him.
He half-turned in my direction.
“Was … was she happy?”
“What do you care.” He left the room, slamming the door.
I never saw him again.
Not long after, I was honoured by my second visit of the day. My father. He stood in the doorway arms folded, scrutinising me for any hint of weakness. I was, however, occupied with removing a piece of lint from the lace at my cuffs. When I was done, I eyed him blandly.
“Well?” he said.
“Well what?”
“It's over.”
“What's over?”
“Your nonsense!”
“My nonsense?”
“Stop repeating everything I say! You're like one of those birds your mother has.”
“The nightingales?”
“No, you fool, the ones that repeat everything you say.”
“Which ones are they?”
“Blessed Elua, shut up. I didn't come here to talk about birds.”
“Then why did you start talking about birds?”
“I didn't.”
“Yes you did. Just now. If you hadn't started talking about birds, we wouldn't be talking about birds, would we? Makes perfect sense to me.”
The Marquis looked like he wanted to hit something. Probably me. I should have been enjoying myself, but I wasn't. Not right now.
“All I want to hear is that your foolishness is done, and you will shame this family no further.”
“My foolishness?” I made my eyes wide. “Oh, you mean those yellow silk pantaloons. Yes, they were a terrible mistake. And so last season. I promise you, I would rather die than be seen in those again.”
At that, he left the room – the door slamming in a dark echo of Marcel.
When I was sure I was alone I put my head in my hands. I did not weep. I couldn't.
He had grown into his height since I had last seen him. Gone was the gangly boy, all limbs and awkwardness. This was a man, strong like the horses he tended. My heart gave a painful twist, as I remembered the sunlit days of our childhoods, the ease and simplicity of our friendship. I would never again soothe a horse while he shoed it. He would not teach me how to wrestle, and I would not teach him how to fence. We would never steal watered cider from the inn, drink ourselves silly on it, and talk about the girls we liked. My heart squirmed again like a worm in a rose. Ann.
Marcel had no need for concealment though, and the look on his face as beheld me was almost comical. “Fel, what are you wearing?”
I gestured with a limp, lily-pale hand. “Oh, this old thing?”
“It looks like a rainbow threw up on you.”
“Why, thank you, dear boy, thank you.”
“What's the matter with you? Why are you talking like that? What did you do?”
“I'm not doing anything. I'm thinking whether I would prefer a turquoise waistcoat or a pink one, what do you think?”
“I don't give a fuck about your waistcoat. Fel, I came to tell you …”
I gave him a vacant look. But there was something in his voice that made the breath catch in my throat and choke me.
“Look,” he said, after a moment. “Ann's, well, Ann's dead.”
The room reeled, and I quickly hid my hands so that he would not see them trembling.
“Quel domage,” I said, lightly.
“Quel domage?!” he repeated, scathingly. “Is that all you can say?”
I blinked at him. “What do you expect me to say?”
“Something. Anything. To show that you care.”
“But I don't care. My dear boy, peasants die all the time. You should have thought about that before becoming peasants.”
He strode across the room and hit me across the face so hard that it almost me knocked me backwards off the chair. Stars exploded in my eyes and my mouth filled up with the bitter taste of blood.
“You said you loved her,” he said, his voice oddly soft and hesitant after the sudden violence. “She loved you.”
“I once that said spangled waistcoats would never come back into fashion and look how that turned out.”
“For fuck's sake. You fucking aristos. You're all the same.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
“Marc.” I couldn't quite stop myself from calling out to him.
He half-turned in my direction.
“Was … was she happy?”
“What do you care.” He left the room, slamming the door.
I never saw him again.
Not long after, I was honoured by my second visit of the day. My father. He stood in the doorway arms folded, scrutinising me for any hint of weakness. I was, however, occupied with removing a piece of lint from the lace at my cuffs. When I was done, I eyed him blandly.
“Well?” he said.
“Well what?”
“It's over.”
“What's over?”
“Your nonsense!”
“My nonsense?”
“Stop repeating everything I say! You're like one of those birds your mother has.”
“The nightingales?”
“No, you fool, the ones that repeat everything you say.”
“Which ones are they?”
“Blessed Elua, shut up. I didn't come here to talk about birds.”
“Then why did you start talking about birds?”
“I didn't.”
“Yes you did. Just now. If you hadn't started talking about birds, we wouldn't be talking about birds, would we? Makes perfect sense to me.”
The Marquis looked like he wanted to hit something. Probably me. I should have been enjoying myself, but I wasn't. Not right now.
“All I want to hear is that your foolishness is done, and you will shame this family no further.”
“My foolishness?” I made my eyes wide. “Oh, you mean those yellow silk pantaloons. Yes, they were a terrible mistake. And so last season. I promise you, I would rather die than be seen in those again.”
At that, he left the room – the door slamming in a dark echo of Marcel.
When I was sure I was alone I put my head in my hands. I did not weep. I couldn't.