Dawn felt too soon and Khloe didn’t sleep all night. Her father hadn’t returned yet and the longer she waited, the worse she knew her punishment would be. She sat in her room staring out the window. After all the time she’d spent getting ready for the ball, the preparation and patience in waiting for her dress, the hope she’d get to meet Anise’s betrothed, all swept away in an instant. That damned Anaiah. She thought as a knock came to her door.
“Enter.” She sighed.
“Miss?” came her servant’s voice as she cracked the door. “I’ve brought you a coffee and a honey roll.” She nudged her way in careful with the tray in her hands.
“Thank you, Etta. I daresay I’ll have need of a last meal.” Khloe moaned. Etta’s somber smile met her as she placed the tray on her bedside table.
“I know it’s going to be rough, but your father still loves you. He’ll not want to put harm to you, miss.” Khloe stood from her place at the window and went for her coffee, a tendril of steam swirling off the top. “Mind yerself, miss. It’s hot.” Khloe sipped at it, not minding the piping bite.
“I could use some warmth too.” She said. She glanced at Etta, her heart heavy. “Etta, when did Anaiah get back last night? I didn’t see him on the road and I didn’t hear him come in this morning.” Etta shook her head, wisps of gray hair falling out of her bun.
“He’s not back yet, m’lady.” Khloe pursed her lips.
“He’s an utter fool if he’s not back before father gets here.” She grumbled, sipping at her coffee.
“I’ll go miss, and see if he’s on his way if it makes you feel better.” Etta offered. Khloe nodded.
“Only go as far as is reasonable, Etta. There’s no need for you to be out on the road all day.” Etta bowed and left the room. Khloe sank back to her seat at the window. “It’s all gone wrong, hasn’t it?” she asked her reflection. She hated this time to mull, to anticipate what her father would say. Every scenario she imagined worse than the last, she had the idea he’d pack her off to military service or find something humiliating for her to do. Of all the nights to have a row it had to be this night. She squirmed; the coffee didn’t comfort and instead soured her stomach. She went back to the tray and picked up the honey roll. She took a bite as her eyes wandered her room. Her cherry armoire hung open, the gleaming golden gown a reminder of the trouble she caused.
Khloe flopped onto her bed, autumn colored satin sheets unwrinkled from the night before since she’d been unable to find sleep. She lay over the blankets staring up at the ceiling. She recalled playing with her toys on the floor, days where her father would walk in and endure a faux tea party pretending to talk to dolls. Her eyes traced the hand painted stars dotting the crossbeams, some more dexterous and star shaped than others. She recalled her father setting her on his shoulders while she dotted a few before getting a ladder to paint it proper.
“We spent days on that project.” She mused, biting another chunk out of her honey roll, crumbs falling down her cheeks into her dark curls. The support beams in her room all decorated in a similar fashion with stars or flowers, things she never painted over or tried to hide. In the art existed the moments where she and her father existed in harmony.
She couldn’t pin down how it all changed or when. One day he adored her and she him, the next they’d become mortal enemies who could be civil when dodging one another and at no other time. How had it all gone to pot? Anaiah. She thought. Her father a changed man after Anaiah had gone missing once as a child. Khloe couldn’t remember much about the first hand details, but when Anaiah disappeared for two days without a trace, her home had fallen into chaos. She tried to reach back in her memory, but since she’d been eleven years old Etta whisked her away from the turmoil. The memory of her mother at the kitchen table sobbing and unable to reach out to her daughter, all she could summon. She recalled the day her father returned with Anaiah, it was the most disheveled she’d ever seen him, muck on his clothes, blood on his face, an unconscious Anaiah in his arms, and horror in his eyes he never explained. It wasn’t long after that they’d been informed Anaiah was a mage.
After his return lord DuPont’s emotional distance carried over to his entire family. What changed in you that day, I wonder. Her ears twitched at the familiar sound of their front door creaking open. Oh hell. She thought. She went rigid, ears listening for any hint, stomp of a boot, grunted voice, anything that would give her father away. The trudge light and careful accompanied with daintier footfalls Khloe recognized as Etta. Either she’d found Anaiah, or she’d found lord DuPont. The fainter footsteps falling louder as they shuffled up the stairs and a knock sounded at her door.
“Etta?” she hazarded, not moving from her place on the bed. Etta popped her head in.
“It’s Anaiah, miss. Found him on my way back.” She said with a pleasant smile. “Would you like me to fetch him for you?” Khloe shook her head, exhaling a long sigh.
“No, that’s alright. Thank you, Etta.” Etta bowed and left the room. Khloe rolled over onto her side, trembling. Now the real waiting game could begin.
Anaiah snuck upstairs to his room as quick as he could, unable to spare a look for Etta who accompanied him home. He hoped his mother didn’t mention his little episode, although it would be hard to deny since he’d rattled the glass from his father’s carriage. He went straight to his door, a few paces down the hallway from Khloe’s room and let himself in as quiet as he could muster. He struggled out of his dress tunic and into a cloth white one and a pair of black trousers. He pulled back his braids, collecting them all into a thick ponytail to attempt a clean visage.
“Here’s hoping it appears I’ve been home.” He glanced in an oval mirror hanging on his wall next to his bookcase. With his hair out of his face, his haggardness showed. Bags under his red cried out eyes belied his lack of sleep and the worry lines in his forehead aged his face.
A timid knock sounded from his door and he jumped.
“Wh-who’s there?” he sputtered. Someone fumbled with the latch and his heightened anxiety subsided. He went to the door and opened it from his side.
“G’morning Nai!” Adalie’s impish chirp sounded through the door. He opened it further and his little sister trotted in. Her wild hair tamed into two buns on her head and her yellow sun dress already had jam stains down the front.
“Morning, Addie.” He replied, kneeling to her level and holding out his arms. At least to his five year old sister he could still be someone to look up to. Stuffed orange rabbit in one arm, she reached out the other and ran into his, giving him a tight hug. He returned the embrace.
“What’s the matter, Nai? You crying?” he blinked.
“Yeah.” He said. A knot formed in his throat.
“What happened?” she asked him dark eyes wide with concern.
“I’m sad.” He said. She lifted her bunny up to his face and pressed it to his cheek, making a kiss sound with her lips.
“There, Lopsy makes it better.” Anaiah smiled. The stitches in Lopsy’s left ear half unraveled, he borrowed the rabbit from his little sister.
“How about we make Lopsy better?” he said. He lifted up his free hand and pointed at the unwoven seam. The threads twisted and repaired themselves, the ear synched back to the rabbit’s head like new.
“Oooh! Thank you, Nai!” she planted a kiss on his cheek and squeezed Lopsy tight. The heavy swing of a wooden door and its manor shaking slam shattered the moment. The cold sweat returned to his skin and Anaiah went still, a prey animal listening for a predator.
“A-Adalie, go find Etta.”
“But-”
“Go now, it’s important.” Adalie patted him on the head and stuffed her toy rabbit in his large trouser pocket.
“Lopsy takes care of you.” She said before she tottered out the door.
“Bring my children to the garden. Now.” Lord DuPont’s angry voice echoed through every stone. Anaiah couldn’t stop his rapid heart and the shakes that accompanied it. A maidservant knocked on Khloe’s door to summon her. When she turned down the hallway and approached Anaiah’s open room the servant gave him a sorrowful look. Anaiah got up from the floor and made the trek downstairs following close behind his sister. Similar to his garment of choice she wore a cotton shirt and trousers, the clothes of a courtier girl who expected the worst.
“Did the accused get a last meal?” she asked over her shoulder to Anaiah.
“The day before yesterday.” Anaiah said. The quiver in his heart made his legs weak as he followed her through the back door, terrified that at any second his guts could drop out.
Beneath the cherry tree in the garden’s center their parents stood side by side. Anaiah’s mouth went dry and he ducked his head. Khloe, no hint of fear, straightened her back and squared her shoulders as they approached. The garden bloomed with green and the begonias bright on the morning dew, their blue petals framed more the scene of a party than a funeral. Light pink petals drifted down from the cherry tree behind their parents and mixed with the gravel in the walk way.
Lord DuPont white-knuckled his sword hilt in a state of controlled anger, today he was a general, eyes glaring daggers through his children. A few feet away he motioned them to stop. Anaiah wrung his hands, eyes darting to his mother who kept her face stoic but he could tell her spirits remained low. Anaiah saw gravel bits and petals flittering away from where he stood before his father. His magic aglow with panic required the bulk of his concentration not to turn the back yard into a rocky petal decked dust devil.
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