story - part 6 - summons - 858 words

At the end of the day, when I am finally allowed to slip away to my rooms again, when I finally have the chance to breathe again, I am so weary that I would like nothing more than to collapse into bed. It is more than merely a physical exhaustion, the result of wandering down long and cold hallways, around the palace with him. It is an emotional exhaustion, my heart aching and my temples throbbing, idle aches and pains settling into the pit of my stomach. We have shared too much, it is hard to stay professional.

I am not allowed the luxury of rest. I have barely entered my room and begun to shed restrictive clothing, settling down into the worn chair in the corner, before a knock comes on the door. A cloak is thrown on, I jerk the door open to stare down at a rather baffled looking young girl who holds a sheet of crisply folded paper in her hands. She treats it with awe and reverence, barely holding it by the corners. This is an expensive kind of paper, thick and sturdy, scented faintly with flowers. I pluck it from her fingers to read:

Physician Raven: You promised to come to my rooms. I do not intend to keep you for very long, but I do want you here. Now.

The poor messenger winces, and I realize it must be at the expression on my face. My jaw has set into a tight line, it is beginning to give me a headache, and the paper is twisted in my hand. That bubbling emotion is back, somewhere between hatred and terror. I do not know how to react to her, I do not know what her desire to have me around means, I do not understand how she knows about me.

I should find out, though. No matter how much I want to send the servant off to inform Lady Calidris that I am unwell and cannot come to her rooms this evening, I let my head bob in the tiniest of nods, handing the note back to the girl and beginning to pull back into my rooms.

"Let me dress more appropriately."

I could probably work my way back on my own, but it is more appropriate to follow the girl. She is something of a twitchy creature, and she keeps staring curiously back over her shoulder at me. Something meaningful in the way she arches her eyebrow, a hint of a question about those flickering glances and the way her mouth shifts. She wants to ask what it is her Lady wants with me, but does not quite dare. I have a way of making people double-think themselves.

Finally, I am delivered to the door, left to my own devices with one last lingering glance. I suspect that, tomorrow, there will be rumors spreading like wildfire. And I bet the Lady will enjoy them, will cherish them and use them.

A sharp, rapping knock on her door. I want to stand rigid and glare down at her as she cracks it up, I want to meet her smile with a dark frown, I want to look annoyed and interrupted, but I cannot gather the energy. Instead I settle against the doorframe and blink wearily down at her, head inclining in something like a bow.

With a beckoning finger, she draws me inward. The door clicks closed behind me with a sense of finality, something solid and real. She settles down into a comfortable chair, but I am not offered a place to sit - I do not really expect one. She is a noble, and like Tumaire, she does not understand the needs of the people. I doubt she understands anything besides her own wants, her own pain, her own hungers and her own boredom.

"There is really no point to that cloak anymore, Raven. You do not need to lie to me." Said with a slow roll of her hand, the implication that I should sweep it off and hand it over to her. After a moment of hesitation, I obey the silent order. I have been well trained.

"Why am I here?" Without my cloak, with twisted black feathers on display, I feel naked. Hands shift nervously at my sides, searching for some kind of distraction. My eyes turn down and away, so that I do not have to meet her steady, amused and fascinated stare, so that I can watch her sideways.

Her expression shifts toward something coy, teasing, and for a moment I expect her to make me guess. She seems like the type who would enjoy a twisted game, here or there, and who enjoys having power over people. Instead, she drags her lower lip between her teeth and shakes her head, slowly falling back in her chair. Head rolls to one side, to watch me through long lashes, and red curls tumble wildly down over her shoulder. She has perfected the languid drape, the bored posture of a noble.

"I want to know who you are. I want you to tell me about your wings."