That moist, rattling sound was troubling Trosyn. She wiped Baldovo's brow, which was beaded with perspiration. He turned his head away and brought a trembling hand up to catch hers.
"Relax... you'll come through this..." Trosyn said in as soothing of a voice that she could muster. Baldovo's glassy eyes peeled open for a moment, before rolling up and shutting again.
"Why... waste your time..." came the hoarse whisper from Baldovo. Trosyn smiled, taking hold of his hand. Although roughened and callous, she had a gentle touch.
"At sea, no time is wasted. I'm driven forward no matter what I do on this ship..." Trosyn stroked Baldovo's hand comfortingly. He gave a weak squeeze and let out a few chortles before they morphed into sputtering coughs. Trosyn grabbed a clean handkerchief and passed it to him. When his fit subsided, both sat in silence for a while.
"Tell Colto..." Baldovo croaked between raspy breaths. Trosyn leaned forward.
"Don't speak, just rest," Trosyn admonished.
"...Mmm... tell Colto... tell him... I'm sorry..." Baldovo's eyes reopened languidly.
"You'll tell him yourself," Trosyn said with compassionate firmness. He cleared his throat, wincing from the pain of the raw air passage.
"I'm sorry..." he repeated, "...sorry he's had to... get stuck with Volente." Trosyn blinked a few times and the ailing man cracked a wide grin. His coughing returned, but despite the deep, lung-scraping noises he made, she could tell it was with laughter in his heart. Trosyn found herself laughing with him as she refreshed the cloth in a cool bowl of water.
"It's only temporary. You'll be fine and Volente can move back in. You'll be back to driving each other to distraction in no time," Trosyn said warmly. He smiled and relaxed as she reapplied the cloth to his burning forehead.
"You make... a good nurse..." Baldovo whispered.
"I know."
----------------------------------------
Trosyn once again sat herself on a stool in the corner of Colto's quarters, hand on her stomach. Her heart was racing, but it had been for some time now. Colto was silent as he lay back, hands behind his head, barely fitting in his cot. Trosyn rubbed her stomach, trying to hide the unease she felt. He looked over at her.
"Are you well?" Colto asked. Trosyn nodded her head quickly.
"Yes, I'm well, thank you." Colto stared at her a moment longer, looking over her critically. His small mouth, dwarfed by his wide chin, pressed into a thin line. Trosyn smiled at him in what she hoped would be reassurance. He went back to staring at the unused hammock above them. "Don't worry, Colto, I'm not sick. At least, not in a way that endangers anyone."
"Hmmm... be careful," Colto intoned. He turned away from her while they waited for Volente.
It wasn't long before Volente came in, his arms full of tubes and rolled up parchments. "Ah, sorry..." he said, walking over to a large leather case to which he began stashing the items. "I'll need these for reference later and... ah! Red you are here already!" Volente said, a smile perking up his face, as it always did when he saw her.
"Yes. Baldovo is still poorly, but he's more himself. I think he'll be alright," Trosyn said merrily. There was a chorus of relieved sighs from the other two men, albeit the relief was from varied sources. Colto was relieved because he might get his space back. Volente was relieved out of genuine concern for Baldovo, although the two disagreed often.
"Well, I'll have plenty to catch him up with," Volente said as he pulled out some fresh sheets of paper and wandered over to a small desk.
"That you will."
We were filthy when we returned from the falls. Yes, I am continuing straight from our last meeting. Before I had a chance to properly get myself cleaned, I had been summoned up to Benold's personal wing again. I was surprised and wondered if Benold had forgotten something. Dreading to be more roundly reprimanded for placing him in the debt of his enemies, I went apprehensively to him.
Benold stood in the hall outside his quarters. He gestured for me to follow him. To my surprise he brought me into his private bathing chambers. I see that look, Volente. Don't worry, I won't say anything tasteless. At least, I hope not. Our cultures may differ on what is and isn't acceptable. Benold told me, that although he was vexed about the decisions I made while he was unconscious, that he realised the cost at which I had made them. Extra money to the accounts he kept for me would not suit. Really, you needn't be nervous about where this is going.
Benold explained that he loved nothing more than to have a relaxing bath after a trying time, and said he would draw one for me - this one time - and I could take all the time I liked. Understand, I'd been cleaning myself with old rags and a cold bucket of water in my room, with no fire to sit by to warm up. This was a properly heated bath, with oils and salts and fragrances. With soft fuller and clays to draw out impurities. In short, he wanted me to have a taste of luxury as a show of gratitude.
At first, I was inclined to refuse. While warm water would be nice, I did not find soaking and covering my body in unnatural fragrances soothing. It also did not occur to him that letting someone touch something out of their reach could be vastly unkind. To him, he was being generous. Magnanimous, even. Even if horribly misconstrued, it was kindly meant. So I agreed. He left me for the sake of decency and I won't deny that the warmth did ease the pain somewhat. But I knew I mustn't dawdle. There were things I needed to conceal, and staying there would likely have exposed me.
When I finished and changed, he seemed surprised that I had not spent longer. I explained I was feeling a bit light headed, and he apologised for making the bath too warm, citing his own ignorance in forgetting that I wasn't used to heated water. Even his apologies smacked of his entitlement. But to be honest, these things did not offend me. I found it quite amusing.
However, I realised my error in using light-headedness as an excuse, as it reminded him of his determination to call in a physician for a house call. This did not bode well for me, as a doctor may expose me. I again insisted that I was fine, but he would not brook any protestation from me. He insisted that as his prized possession, he needed to keep me in top form. Yes, he called me his possession. He often flip-flopped between distancing himself and reminding me of the hierarchy, and asking me to be frank and reminding me that I had a mind of my own. Such mixed signals could be frustrating, but I admit, I gave him plenty of mixed signals back. I could be coy one moment, then professional and cold the next. We both kept the other on an uneven keel.
"I can believe that," Colto mused. Trosyn and Volente looked over at Colto, who was still resting comfortably as he listened. His eyes were closed, and several times Trosyn had wondered if he'd fallen asleep. It was a surprise when he actually spoke.
"What do you mean by that?" Volente asked, somewhat testily in defence of Trosyn.
"You're inconsistent. You say much, but hide more," Colto remarked, not opening his eyes. Trosyn was silent for a moment, looking Colto over critically. Colto's quiet and often straightforward ways often left one forgetting he was an analytical and deep thinker. And while Baldovo tried to tease out the truth with verbal barbs, Colto merely observed. Volente frowned, ink dropping from his freshly dunked pen.
"True. I could say the same about Baldovo," Trosyn reflected.
"Exactly," Colto said, his tone underscoring a deeper meaning. Trosyn smirked and shifted her weight on the stool, a hand going to her lower back. The pain. No, she would be fine.
"Well, I never said I'd changed so very much since that time. It was more that I changed radically from my youth, when I was open and unguarded. My vulnerability was my shield. Until it worked against me," Trosyn admitted. Colto finally opened his eyes, drawing a half-lidded sideways glance at her. This exchange was making Volente increasingly agitated and uncomfortable as he blotted his pen with a bit too much force, nearly bending the tip.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"Well, what happened next?" Volente asked, trying to break through the tension he was sensing but could not understand.
In a few days, a physician came to see me. I was extremely anxious, as in the past, even when I was homeless, there was usually a wise woman I could see for herbs and tinctures. I only ever saw a man for bone setting. Even when I was in the Royalist Army, I was seen to by women medics. Yes, they served under a lead military surgeon who was a man, but he delegated to women to treat women. That is the way it ought to be. Or so I had been brought up to believe, by Benold himself. So when he brought a male physician to me, I was unsettled. He assured me that there were not any female practitioners of medicine at the colony, otherwise he would have sent for someone right and proper. He did offer to request the presence of one of his female staff, but there was not anyone working with him I trusted on that level. I had hoped that citing female delicacy I could convince him to send the physician away, but I had no such luck.
I was in a room alone with the physician, and I gathered this man was very used to handling slaves. He was not cruel per se, but I did not feel like a person in his eyes. He wanted to ensure I had good care, so far as it would please his employer. Which meant he grew impatient with any hesitation on my part to cooperate at any part during my examination. He was able to determine the source of my discomfort straight away, and I knew he'd tell Sir Benold. I was terrified. I had mentioned the curse our people would sometimes pass over people, even those who had not performed the rituals of appeasement. But it wasn't without a cost. And that cost was pain. He knew very well what my pain meant. That I could have children. And that made me a commodity.
I begged him not to tell my master. But he said it was out of his hands. If I were my own person, then he would keep his confidence. But I was not. I asked him if he could bend the truth a little. I could tell he was uncomfortable. I could see he was struggling with his duty versus his compassion. But in the end, I could not convince him to change his mind. Admittedly, I did not try my absolute hardest. If Sir Benold was going to find out, a part of me was relieved he would hear it from someone else. However, I was unsure what he would do with the information.
The doctor said he could recommend some poultices and herbal tinctures that would soothe my discomfort, as well as getting plenty of sunlight. He then went to speak to Benold. I was shaking with anxiety. Things for once were going well. And I felt this would pull everything, the boundaries that had been established, into jeopardy.
When the doctor was gone it was a while before Benold summoned me to his study. But I knew it would come. Meekly, and trying to stop myself from blushing, I went to speak with him. I remember how he stood, hands clasped behind his back, posture erect and proper, the sunlight framing him as he looked out at the setting sun. I announced my presence, but he did not move for some time. Thoughts were running through my mind. Was he angry I kept this secret from him? Was he going to allow greed to claim him, and sell me? Was he just too embarrassed about how to approach the information?
After a while he spoke. "I knew you'd been hiding something from me," he said, still gazing out the window. I hung my head. I don't remember what I said, or if I said anything at all. "But I don't blame you for keeping that a secret. I would, if I were in your situation. As a man, I can't imagine what it is to be... what you are. The way we are." he said. I may have muttered something, I'm not sure. I do remember him looking at me briefly over his shoulder, and his eyes, they looked... sad. I didn't understand. I thought for sure he'd be angry or contemptuous, but not sad. He looked back out the window. "It'd be selfish and a waste for me to keep you."
I thought my heart would plummet to the core of our world then and there. Sir Benold, at times, was vexing, but he was a fair master. He was my safe harbour, if you will excuse the nautical metaphor given our current surroundings. "So you will sell me?" I asked before I could silence myself.
Then he told me I was to be sent away to be studied. Studied! I wanted to fall to my knees and cry and beg him not to. But in his pride, I felt he would be disdainful if I forgot my own dignity. Yes, I was his slave, but I was once his pupil. I walked forward, unbidden, and stood behind him, staring out the same window. "But, Master, they will strip me naked and carve me up like a sow," I insisted.
Benold squinted. If I had pointed this out to him, he would have insisted it was because the sun had dropped to where it would get into his eyes. But I knew it was because this was not easy for him. Then he said, "Not necessarily. They've come a long way. But they need to know if there is a way around the spirit's curse. And you may be the key. There is a directive from our High Minister that any Wildflower discovered is to be sent to be studied. You are deemed property of the state. It is out of my hands."
I wanted to argue with him for my sake. I wanted to tell him he didn't have to. But in the past I had challenged him whenever he broke the law, whenever he took the side of his criminal associates. And to say something like "You were never bothered about breaking the law before," would not work in my favour. Because from that point on, if I ever was on equal enough terms with him to reprimand him, he could call me a hypocrite. And he'd be right. What was I to do but to meekly submit? I always advocated lawfulness. Sometimes to a fault. So I hung my head and said, "If it is the law, then it is the law."
I could tell this bothered him. He closed his eyes. No, he shut them tight, scrunched them, as if he were in pain. He looked down, and after a moment of stewing on whatever thoughts were circling through his mind, he turned on me, a vicious look on his face. "That's it? You just accept this!?"
This was confusing to me, as you can imagine. I stammered something like "But you said..."
I was interrupted by a verbal explosion from Sir Benold. I remember his words clearly. Yes. His voice sounded so intense as he said, "Why won't you fight for yourself? You were always telling me that I was doing wrong! But this law is wrong! These people oppress you! And you take it. Now they will do Spirits know what to you! They will violate you in the name of science, and still you accept it! Didn't I teach you better? To stick up for yourself?"
I was stunned. He'd remained so calm all this time, other than that unfortunate drunken incident. I glanced around, expecting to see an empty wine glass, but there was no such sign. "You only taught me to stick up for myself against anyone but you, and your comrades."
There was another heavy silence after I said that. His eyes went wide, and I think I remember him going pale, though that may be just my own fanciful recollection. I could tell the cogs were turning. He had to face the dissonance and the double-standards I'd endured under his tutelage. I think, at that moment, a lot of truths were starting to come out of hiding. He looked overwhelmed and he turned away from me. I felt there was nothing left to say, and I turned to leave, despite not having been given permission to do so. It wasn't until I was turning the handle that he told me to wait.
"I don't want to send you away, Trosyn," he said to me. He had rarely used my name since he purchased me. "I miss your frankness and honesty. I know I chide you for forgetting your place... but I... you know how appearances and rank are important to me." I did know. I didn't like it, but I understood where he was coming from. These emblems of his past before the civil war were fragments of a happier time for him. So he held on to his pomp and circumstance. It was the glue that held him together.
"I do." I was feeling very cold towards him, though I was trying not to. If our roles were reversed, I would do my duties and send him away. And it would break my heart. Surely, his was breaking as well. And maybe he thought showing his reluctance would soften what had to be done. But it actually made it harder on me. Because I had my own pain and fear to deal with, I didn't want to also feel his as well. And I felt it. "May I take my leave, sir?" I said as frostily as I could.
He stared at me, looking as though I had pierced his heart with an icicle. Although, stabbing a person with an icicle is not easy, you can't get a good grip on it because it's melting and slipping in your hands. I know. I'm deflecting because my feelings from this are wearisome. But it's an important part of my tale nonetheless, and I need to purge it so I can move on.
Anyway, Sir Benold looked away, nodding. I turned to leave and he clearly changed his mind as he told me again to wait. He strode over to me with purpose. And before I could ask him what else he wanted, he grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. He didn't touch me often, preferring to be a distant lord, so this threw me off guard. Before I could process what was going on, his hands were on my cheeks, and Sir Benold was kissing me.
.... Yes, it had come to that. I'd had my suspicions. I'm sure all of you were certain this was where it was headed. As for my response? I did not kiss him back. I was confused, and even angry. We had a complicated relationship, with so much we had yet to reconcile. The timing was all wrong. Maybe there were other times I would have welcomed such an overture, but not then. Not at that moment. As soon as I could, I broke away from him and I ran. I did not look back to see if he was surprised, angry, or sad. I didn't want to know what my rejection would look like on him. I just wanted to get away.
There really wasn't anywhere I could go. I knew he had guards all over his estate, and none of them would think twice about dragging me back if I tried to escape. My room seemed the most obvious place to go, so I did not want to go there either. Instead I sneaked into the attic where off season clothing and decorations were kept, and just curled up and had myself a much needed cry.
Volente had stopped writing, dark smudges on his fingers and chin. He set his fountain pen down, eyebrows tilted up sadly. Colto remained as calm and neutral as ever, though the flare of his broad nostrils was a sign he was holding something back, although it was difficult to tell if it was contempt or pity.
"What happened when he found you? Was he very angry?" Volente asked. Trosyn drew in a deep, shaky breath, one of her thumbs massaging the palm of her other hand. She gave a shake of her head.
"I think that is enough for now," she said with a wry smile, creases deepening on her forehead and at the edges of her mouth.
Volente looked clearly disappointed, and he idly rolled his pen along the desk. "I understand," he finally said. "I'm sorry this is hard on you."
"Don't be. It's hard, but in a good way," Trosyn said, smiling warmly to Volente. He straightened up and adjusted his glasses. Trosyn looked at him, and then rubbed her nose. "You have a smudge, right there, on your face," Trosyn said. His eyes widened, mortified, even though such smudges were commonplace when writing. He grabbed for his trademark handkerchief and licked it, trying to rub off the offending smudge, ignoring the blackness of his fingertips. Trosyn laughed at his antics as she got to her feet.
"Ah, so you are leaving?" Volente said, gripping his handkerchief tight.
"Yes. Have a good night, both of you," Trosyn bid as she whisked out of the room. Volente went back to rubbing his face and Colto just sighed, shaking his head.