I stepped into the lit dining hall, easily willing each foot to move forward. It was a grand spectacle, and I was late to the festivities. Music blared from a corner in which several castle women plucked at their instruments grimly. Men danced, whipping their women partners to and fro. Other men sat around, eating and drinking, their arms wrapped tightly around one or two women. Castle women moved about, serving more food and wine. None of the women had food or drink. No woman had a smile on her face. There wasn’t a man without one.
Except for the lord. He sat without his hat before the fireplace in a chair I recognized immediately. It was the chair in which he dined with me, although I had seen it only once, after the curtain fell, when so much of the color would be drained from the man who sat there now. Three women sat on the ground beside him, looking away. He cradled his cheek with his hand and tapped on the armrest impatiently.
There was no way to blend into the crowd, not with my late entrance, not with the rose in my shorn hair, and not with my exposed ears. Man after man turned from his women and companions to look upon me. The lord had not taken his eyes from the doorway the entire time; his gaze had been locked there before my entrance, as if he had been waiting for me.
He stood, not noticing or caring that he stepped on one of the women’s hands as he did. The music stopped abruptly.
“Well, if it is not Olivière, the mutilated woman whose name I must use to address her. You made it to the celebration at last.”
The men looked at one another and laughed. The lord held a palm out toward me.
Fighting the urge to flee or vomit, I pushed myself forward and let him take my hand. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it. A cold, dry kiss.
He cocked his head slightly. “What did you do to your hair? Short hair to match short ears?”
“What are we celebrating?” I asked, ignoring the question.
Men around the room whispered. A flicker of delight spread across the lord’s face as he pulled my hand outward to the side, wrapping his other hand tightly around my waist. His golden bangle clashed against my wrist like a block of ice. I put my free hand on his shoulder.
“Why, your arrival, Olivière,” he said. “And the end to all of my boredom.”
He swept us both to the center of the room, and the music struck up again. Other men followed suit, dragging their partners to join us. I didn’t let the lord drag me. Instead, I matched each of his steps with an echo, allowing us to dance as two, active and reactive partners.
It didn’t go unnoticed. The lord leered at me, first concerned and then delighted. “You dance like no other, Olivière.”
“You’ll find I’m like no other,” I said.
“That I can see. It is a wonder I did not notice you earlier.” He freed his hand from my waist to run the coarse leather over the rounded edge of my left ear. “But perhaps it took your mutilation for me to notice your beauty.” He gripped my waist again.
It would be mutilation that attracted your interest. I smiled sweetly, my gaze falling toward the lord’s abdomen, where Elgar was sheathed. “The blade becomes you.”
He laughed. “And yet I feel it drawn more to you—a woman, of all things. Would you care to delight me with the tale of how you procured it?”
“I’m afraid it’s not much of a tale to tell. I was born to wield that blade against a heartless monster, and so it found its way to me.”
The delight fell out of the lord’s face, and we stopped dancing. “They say that each lord of this village finds a woman with whom he could not bear to part,” he said. “I always thought it a weakness. I am not sure my mind is altered.”
I made my best attempt at a grin. “But surely you, of all people, would delight in a change from the usual tedium?” I stopped myself from mentioning he would be less bored if he picked up a tool and worked once in a while.
The lord cocked his head. “I am no longer sure. What do you propose?”
His words shot through me like a kick to the stomach. Whatever he had in mind, I couldn’t bear to give it, no matter what opportunities it might afford me. Besides, Elgar wasn’t yet safely back within my grasp, and I felt that I couldn’t properly confront a monster without it.
“The garden,” I said, suddenly thinking of my old sanctuary.
***
Were it not for the red roses that grew in place of the white ones, and the lack of a statue on the fountain, I would have thought I was back within my version of the garden. I could have sat down at the bench and table and awaited specters to bring me playthings and food. Perhaps some paper and ink. A block of wood. Or a game of chess.
The lord pulled me into his arms the moment we stepped onto the garden cobblestones, running his fingers through my hair, his lips over my face. I shuddered and convulsed and wanted to let him continue and also to scream and rip his eyes out all at the same time.
Instead, I put my palms gently on his chest and tried to push some space between us. “Do you enjoy chess, Your Lordship?”
The look of shock and anger on the lord’s face at my gentle shoving was equal only to the joy that appeared now. He let me go and laughed, running a hand through his hair.
“Chess?” he said. “You bring me to the garden to play chess?”
I nodded. The lord’s smile fell a moment, and he cradled his chin with his thumb and index finger.