Claiming The Remnant

Chapter 79

[ Ethyn ]

Why did I take the tea? Mon foudre had asked me. Now she was looking at me with expectation. Those huge lapis eyes were looking even bigger now, expanded by me making all her dreams come true. Ok, Ethyn, calm down. I needed to stop stokeing my own ego.

But then again this beautiful, exquisite woman had just brought me down a peg with her question about the tea. What had I expected? ‘Thank you for the orgasm, Your Highness’. Ha, I’d heard that one before. No. This was perfect. She was the sun peeking over the horizon, looking at the world, asking her questions.

The scent of her was up my nose. The taste of her was on my lips, my tongue. It was like a drug. Stronger than the best Elbranis. Esther was still looking at me expectantly. Ah, yes the tea question. I’d mixed the scent of the lavender tea into her flesh with my ministrations.

“To make my mouth nice and toasty for you.” I breathed, lounging in the chair. Her already flushed face blushed a little harder.

“Oh.” She looked away. The atmosphere changed. A storm brewed on the horizon as she kept her thoughts to herself.

“Mon foudre?” I spoke carefully after she had continued to keep her gaze averted. “Are you ok?” Once again, Ethyn, you’ve blown it. Too soon. You pushed your luck. Argh, I could kick myself.

“Yes…” Esther whispered to the table. “Ethyn, I -,” she hesitated, “I wouldn’t know how to um,”

“What?” Sitting up straighter, I looked at her with worry tapping away on my heart.

“You know, to err,” She gestured, but I shook my head, not understanding. “I don’t know how to write…”

With furrowed eyebrows I was trying to understand the scenario. She didn’t know how to write? My brain was going in circles. I knew she had difficulty reading, it wasn’t a stretch that writing was also a difficulty. The two went hand in hand but why was she bringing it up right now?

“Poetry, Ethyn. I don’t know how to write poetry.” Esther blurted.

“Well…” I started, desperately trying to be smooth and suave instead of displaying my relief at the light she had shed on my lack of understanding, “not everyone can be a poet. And if one wishes to be a poet I think it is best to be audience to as much poetry as possible, you know, to develop one’s understanding of the craft, before even considering a performance.”

Esther looked relieved and disappointed at the same time. Ye Gods, it would be phenomenal to have her slip beneath the table, her small mouth parting over my not so - Ethyn stop it.

“As much poetry as possible?” A teasing smile graced her lips. “That sounds delightful.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I licked my lips, enhancing the lingering taste of her. “Thirsty work, listening to poetry.” Her smile grew as I passed her a fresh cup of tea.

“Very. Thank you, My Prince.” The flutter of her eyes told me she was thankful for much more than the tea.

A comfortable atmosphere resumed as we chatted, enjoying each other's company. She barely ate, which worried me but I refrained from commenting. The questions nagged at me relentlessly. Was she just too nervous to eat? Were these foods not to her liking? What if I had made her uncomfortable and now she didn’t want to eat? On and on they span but I ignored them. Instead I focused on the light in her eyes and the steady, confident smile that occupied her face until it quelled the tide of concerns within me.

“Would you like to tour the rest of the gallery now?” It appeared she was done picking at her plate.

“Of course! You haven’t shown me your favourite painting yet.” Esther was rising to her feet as she spoke, genuinely excited to walk with me.

At each painting we paused. I told her a little about every one but my favourite part was the way her face would light up at the value. Normally such interest in value was off putting but that little bit of context regarding Esther’s past made it endearing. I wished I could ask her about it. While the life of a criminal was likely not as encompassing of the idea of adventure that I was imagining, it seemed to me that there had to be some element of excitement to it. Her eyes said as much.

“Esther?”

Her shoulders were back, neck stretched as she craned it to take in the huge painting. With a trembling hand she touched her cheek, her eye, her hairline. Unshed tears reflected the subject of her gaze. It looked like the ocean was on fire with how the colours blazed in her brilliantly blue eyes.

“This is the largest painting in the collection.” Unsure what she needed right now, I continued with my tour guide duties as if nothing were happening. “It is entitled ‘Ebalina & Darcel: The Heart’s Curse’, oil, by Gersain. Took over five years to paint. It was Mother’s favourite tale, Father had it commissioned for her.”

“Tale? It’s not real?” Sadness mixed with hope flowed through her questions.

“No, it is a story. Have you not heard of Ebalina & Darcel?” Her silent no shook a tear loose. Like a dew drop it slid down her face. “The story tells of a love so deep that it had no boundaries. Ebalina was from the snowy north, Velexarin. Blessed with many Fae features and white magic she was desired by many. Every hair was white and her skin glowed like the moon. They came from all across the land to court her. Greedy for her Shade and ethereal beauty, suitors lavished her with gifts in a desperate attempt to catch her eye but Ebalina was as cold in her heart as in her Shade, or so it seemed. She entwined herself with a young man, not for love, but for his riches. He held a large estate, had much wealth and could offer Ebalina a life of comfort and luxury. Being a man of great wealth, they lived in a huge manor overlooking the Crystal Lake. It was beautiful but the harsh weather meant many imbuements were needed so the rich man would pay many people to maintain the manor. This is how Ebalina met Darcel. Darcel was like Ebalina in many ways, she was the embodiment of her orange shade and Fae blood. Her hair was bright orange, her skin ran hot and her eyes glowed like the last embers. They fell in love but not just any love -”

“Mates, they were Mates, weren’t they?”

“Yes. In private they spoke to the rich man seeking to come to an agreement. Ebalina didn’t want to break their vows, she respected the Earth and Sky.”

“Does the rich man not have a name?”

“He does, but I don't recall.” A little, amused frown creased my brow. “The rich man saw Darcel’s beauty and was more than willing for her to join their entwinement but he had a secret to reveal. He had been involved with another behind Ebalina’s back, a servant in the manor with synthesis. Ebalina was enraged. While she didn’t love the rich man she had upheld her vows, abstaining from the carnal outside of their blessed union. For his deception, with what she considered a lowly red shade, Ebalina told him she was leaving with Darcel. The rich man saw Ebalina as his prize and he wouldn’t abide his pride and reputation being stung by the unravelling of their vows so he killed her. Made it look like an accident but Darcel knew the truth.”

Esther gasped, her hand over her mouth. There were more tears gathered in those lapis eyes of hers.

“Darcel was heartbroken, she razed the manor to the ground, expending every drop of her well. The manor, along with all its inhabitants, was burned to ash. That is what this painting depicts.” I turned from Esther to take in the painting; a manor in the Velexarin style. The 3 storey log building was impressive in it’s grandeur even as the flames burst from the windows and the roof collapsed in on itself. People were running, flames licking at their bodies as Darcel stood front and centre, back to the viewer. One arm was stretched towards the building heaping more punishment with her shade. The other was at her side a white piece of cloth gripped in a tightly closed fist. A scarf or perhaps a handkerchief but either way it was a clear representation of Ebalina. “The fire burned so bright, and so deep that there was nothing left. To this day the ground where the manor stood, next to the Crystal Lake is still bare. No snow, no ice, no plants - the ground is still warm to the touch. I have seen it.”

“I’m confused.” Esther rubbed her arm, as if comforting herself. “Firstly, why was this your Mother’s favourite tale? It’s … horrid. Secondly, if it’s not real how have you seen it?”

“Well, Mother was from Velexarin. A beautiful woman with a smart mouth, sharp mind and pale orange hair, she wanted a love so deep that she would understand how Darcel could be driven to burn that bright, and she found that love in my Father. Hence the painting. Not that Mother could actually create any fire. The paleness of her Shade meant she could only manipulate and not manifest.” My memories of her were fond, warm, happy memories but the grief was still a pit despite all the years that had passed. “While the tale is just that, it rose from a kernel of … not truth but reality. I have just returned from Velexarin. My sister and I spent much of our time in the main city of Jkyln but there were tours of villages, historical sights and places of natural beauty. My sister Colette, is not keen on any of those things but she does like to hunt. Prince Jolin of Velexarin took her fishing on the Crystal Lake. While fishing doesn’t interest me, seeing the place from which this story was born did. Colette caught a Snow Koi larger than any man and I got to see an empty piece of land where the falling snow wouldn’t settle.”

“Snow Koi?” Esther appeared to be looking for a change of topic. Her thoughts seemed guarded as they churned behind her eyes.

“Oh no, no - Colette will regale us with the story of her catch, repeatedly. I assure you. That is if she can stop talking about Prince Jolin for long enough.” My tone was intentionally light as I tried to lift the darkness that this painting had brought to mon foudre. “My sister will be delighted to be asked questions about her fish so you can save those for her.” I could hear the conversation in my head already. The fish became larger with each retelling. Would it even still be a fish next time? Perhaps it will become a whale or some mystery deep sea creature. Although Jolin had promised to have her catch salted to preserve it so there was a good chance Colette would be whipping out dried fish for us to all chew on. Eww.

“Ethyn?” Esther called me, a wisp of something desperate hiding in her voice.

“Yes, mon foudre?”

“What if I am like Ebalina and Darcel?” Panic pulled at all her features.

“What do you mean?” The need to comfort her was overwhelming. My hand found her cheek.

“What if - I’m not real?” With wide eyes Esther gaze at me. Sinking into that beautiful blue I let the world around me disappear.

“How could you not be real?” I whispered. “I feel your heart beating,” my hand went boldly to her chest, “I tasted you, I see you.” She blushed beautifully.

“But…” Her head snapped round, checking for the presence of another before she spoke. “Ethyn - there is something wrong.”

“Mon foudre,” I held her chin softly, “you look frightened.”

“I am. I am frightened, Ethyn.” She looked back at the painting, pulling her chin from my light grasp. “There are things, things that don’t add up and I, I know you said I don’t have to be honest but I want to. I don’t want secrets between us.”

Her words made me squirm inside. Esther didn’t want secrets.

“What secrets do you have that are burdening you so?” I asked, swallowing down my own desire to confess. “Last night, you told me so much about yourself… what more could there be to possibly tell? And if there is, you certainly don’t have to feel as though you must confess. We have time.” I tried to soothe, to calm her, to ease the pinch in my heart. Truly it had seemed like she had told me everything. From her first memory of waking in the dungeon to a confession of fear, fear that she would outstay her welcome and be destitute on the streets.

“Mm-nuh.” Esther shook her head in protest of my words. Emotion welled on her face. Mixed fear, desperation and anger. “I have to tell you now, I need to or, or I… I don’t know but, but…”

Mon foudre began to sob. Ye Gods unravel me, I needed to stop making my precious love cry.

"Esther. Exquisite, exceptional, Esther, please, if it pains you so, share this burden with me." With a huge breath she stilled her crying and I stole a tear from her cheek with my thumb.

"I don't know who I am. I don't know the things a Lady should know. There were calluses on my hands when I first arrived. I see someone else when I look in the mirror and there are voices in my head." She chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes not quite meeting mine. "It seems to me that I must be going insane or… or…"

"Or what?" Dread lined my insides.

"I can't, I can't. It's bad." Squeezing her eyes shut she bowed her head.

"Whatever it is you can tell me. I promise. I'm here for you mon foudre." I could barely breathe. My heart was erratic, leaping with fear.

"It makes me sound even crazier but I think everyone might be lying to me…" Ye Gods help me. What should I do? "What if I am this 'Taiya'?" Her question came with eyes that pinned me to the spot. I should have answered her fish questions, perhaps this could have been avoided or at least delayed.

Esther looked at me as though I held all the answers. In a way, I did. Father had been right, telling me that I needed to know her story as she knew it but still I knew too much that wasn't through her eyes. Or perhaps I knew just enough.

If I had known nothing I would have been deciding if my Father was deceiving the love of my life or if the love of my life had become deranged. Sky and Earth Bless me, I was walking a dangerous line.

"Here me out." I placed a finger on her trembling lips. "Does it matter?"