Arc 2 – Chapter 2 – One Heliosa Morning / A Day All My Own

Chapter 2

One Heliosa Morning / A Day All My Own

            Heliosa mornings are sacred, figuratively speaking. 

            Given everything that has happened over the last year, I have become considerably more careful about using that word, but the point is, they are sacred to me.

             Six days every week I wake knowing that somewhere in Aberling, an instructor is waiting to educate me, correct me, or assign something to me.  Then there is the case of Catalina Breegar trying to turn my education into a blood sport she refuses to admit exists.

             Heliosa is different.  Heliosa means no classes.

             I lie beneath the blankets with my eyes closed, enjoying that thought for several long, wonderful seconds.

            No archery, literature, alchemy, history and geography, civics, magic theory, math, or the worst offender… etiquette.  Also, no light magic practice.  No homework I forgot about until the night before, nothing.  For one glorious day, my time belongs entirely to me.

            A knock sounds at the door.

            “My Lady?” a familiar voice calls.

            I open my eyes and stare at the canopy above my bed.

            “No,” I reply.

            “No, you are not awake, or no, I may not enter?” Mary asks after a moment’s pause.

            “Yes,” I answer. 

            Let her make of that what she will.

            I can practically hear Mary’s brain considering whether dealing with me is worth whatever she is paid, then the door opens.

            “Good morning, My Lady,” she chimes cheerily.

            I groan and pull the blanket over my head.

            “I specifically said no.”

            “You specifically said yes,” she replies.

            This is the song and dance we have performed repeatedly over the past year.  Clearly it is Michelle’s influence that is behind this.  I don't remember the original Beira ever behaving like this before most of my soul was stolen and my other half was put in its place.

             “That was clearly a no-shaped yes.”

             “I shall endeavor to remember the distinction, My Lady.”

              I peek out from beneath the blanket.

             Mary is crossing the room toward the windows, her maid uniform sharp, crisp, and immaculate as always.  As she reaches the curtains, she looks far too cheerful for someone committing such an egregious violation of my one morning of freedom.

            “Do you know what today is?” I ask.

            “Why, Lady Beira, it is Heliosa,” she replies smartly.

            “Exactly.”

            She draws open the curtains, flooding the room with morning sunlight.  I recoil beneath the blanket with a hiss.

            Mary glances over her shoulder.

            “Would you prefer I close them?” she asks me.

            “Yes.”

            She makes absolutely no attempt to do so.

            “Traitor,” I grumble.

            “I am devastated by your loss of confidence in me, My Lady.”

            “You don't sound devastated.”

            “I have had considerable practice hiding my emotions since coming into your employ,” she replies with a smile.

            That gets a laugh out of me despite my best efforts to maintain my grumbly airs.

            I throw the blanket back and push myself upright, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from my eyes.

            There was a time when mornings with Mary were considerably more complicated.  When I had first arrived as Michelle, I couldn't see at all and Mary had guided me through everything from finding the washbasin to getting dressed and to making sure I didn't walk face-first into furniture.

            Now our morning routine is so familiar that neither of us really has to think about it, though I wonder sometimes if she misses the girl I was before any of this happened.

            Mary disappears into my closet while I wash my face, emerging a few moments later with several dresses draped over her arms.

            “You selected those remarkably quickly,” I observe out loud.

            “I know your preferences.”

            “Then you know I'd happily wear the same three dresses every week if everyone would stop judging me for it.”

            “I have learned that quite well,” she says with a professional smile.

            I turn and stare at her and she continues to smile in return.

            “You're part of the problem,” I say, pointing accusingly.

            “I prefer to think of myself as part of the solution,” she replies coolly.

            I look over the dresses she has selected.  There is nothing especially formal, thank the gods.  One is pale green, another cream, and the last a soft blue.  After a moment, I point to the green one.

            Mary helps me into it before directing me toward the dressing table where my reflection waits for me.  Even after all this time, my hair has a way of catching my attention.  Pale blue on one side, gold on the other.  Ice and light.  Two affinities made visible in a way that would be considerably more interesting if I weren't the one who had to walk around with them attached to my head.

            Mary begins brushing my hair.

            “What would you like me to do with it today?” she asks.

            “Leave it down,” I reply.

            “You intend to remain inside all day?” she inquires, her expression neutral.

            I meet her eyes in the mirror.

            “If at all possible, yes,” I tell her.

            Mary's expression doesn't change and I narrow my eyes in response.

            “What is it?” I ask.

            “Nothing, My Lady,” she replies, her eyes widening slightly as if offended I would even ask before going back to neutral.

            “Mary.”

            “My Lady.”

            “What do you know about today?” I ask.

            “It is Heliosa,” she replies, playing ignorant.  She is enjoying this, I can tell.

            “Tell me something I don’t know.”

            “Then I am afraid I do not understand the question,” she says, blinking.

            “Fine.  Please just leave it down,” I say, sighing in resignation.

            Mary gathers part of the blue and gold hair near my temples.

            “Perhaps just enough to keep it from your face?” she asks.

            “Fine.”

            “The silver clasp?” she inquires.

            “Fine,” I say with another sigh.

            “Excellent,” she says with way too much satisfaction.

            By the time Mary finishes, the upper portion of my hair has been drawn back and secured behind my head while the rest falls freely down my back.  The style has the advantage of displaying both colors equally.

            “All done,” she announces.

             I stand and inspect myself in the nearby full-length mirror.

            “Acceptable?” Mary asks innocently.

            I roll my eyes and look at her.

            “You know it is.”

            “I had hoped, My Lady.”

            “No, you didn't.”

            The amusement in her smile gives her away.

***

            Mother is already seated when I enter the breakfast room, that is never a good sign.  To be fair, Mother being awake before me isn't unusual.  I have come to suspect Duchess Ilsa Braemar considers sleep an unfortunate biological requirement that interferes with proper scheduling.  What concerns me is the stack of papers beside her plate.

            She looks up as I enter.

            “Good morning, Beira,” she says with a slight nod.

            “Good morning, Mother.”

            I take my seat across from her.

            Breakfast has already been laid out. Fresh bread, eggs, sliced fruit, some sort of sausage, and tea.  I reach immediately for the tea while my mother watches me.

            Neither of us speaks.

            I take a sip, appreciating the citrus undertones.

            She takes a sip, as if in response.

            I glance at the papers and she notices before I look away.

            “Did you sleep well?” she asks.

            “Yes, Mother,” I say with a slight nod to match her earlier nod.

            “Good.”

             I take another sip, watching her.

             This is a trap, I know this is a trap, the problem is that I don't know what kind of trap it is.

             “So,” I say cautiously, “what are your plans today?”

            Mother raises one eyebrow.

            “My plans?”

            I nod.

            “I have several matters concerning the estate accounts requiring my attention this morning, followed by correspondence from your father that I need to write a reply to this afternoon,” she says before taking another sip of her tea.

            “That sounds busy,” I comment.

            “It will be.”

            “Very busy?” I ask.

            “Moderately.”

            “Probably take all day?”

            “No,” she states.

            Damn.

            I butter a piece of bread, thinking idly that buttered bread seems to be a staple of my diet these days.

            Mother takes another sip of tea.

            “You appear unusually interested in my schedule,” she observes.

            “I'm just making conversation,” I say, then I stuff the bread in my mouth.

            “You hate making conversation at breakfast.”

             I can tell she absolutely does not believe me as she calmly returns her cup to its saucer.

            “Angus will be arriving later this morning,” she states.

            I stop chewing.  That wasn't what I expected.  I quickly swallow, almost choking and earning myself a glare of annoyance from her.

            “He is?” I ask.

            “He sent word yesterday.”

            “Oh,” I say as I attempt to keep my reaction appropriately dignified.  The smile threatening to spread across my face has other ideas.

            Mother notices, Mother notices everything.

            “He requested permission to accompany you into the city,” she says. 

            The smile that I had been fighting quickly falls away.

            “Into the city?” I ask.

            She nods.

            There it is, the trap.

            “I don't remember making plans to go into the city,” I say slowly.

            “You didn't,” she states clearly.

            I stare at her as she calmly cuts a piece of sausage.

            “Mother.”

            “Beira.”

            “It's Heliosa,” I emphasize.

            “I am aware,” she states.

            “My only day without classes,” I gesture as if it will help.

            “I am also aware of that,” she confirms.

            “And yet somehow I have plans I don't remember making,” I say.

            “You have responsibilities,” she says, picking up her napkin and dabbing the corners of her mouth unconcernedly.

            I slump slightly in my chair which earns me a glare.

            “Posture, Beira.”

            “I liked it better when you said Angus was coming,” I tell her.

            “He is still coming.”

            “Then, can we go somewhere that doesn't involve responsibilities?” I ask hopefully, knowing it is in vain.

            “No.”

            “Can I pretend you said yes?”

             She sighs, then stares at me flatly.

            “You may.  It will not alter the day's itinerary,” she says.

            I knew it.  I knew the moment Mary made that face.  I struggle to keep my face emotionless.

            “What am I doing?” I ask dryly.

            Mother finally sets down her fork.

            “There are several shops I require you to visit,” she replies flatly.

            “Actually, that doesn't sound terrible,” I say, surprise creeping into my voice.

            “No. I imagine you'll survive the ordeal.”

            I narrow my eyes and she takes another bite.

            “What shops?” I ask cautiously.

            “A seamstress first. There are several alterations waiting for you,” she says, then takes another sip of tea.

            I look down and examine myself.

            “Didn't I just get new dresses?” I ask after finding no new flaws that I can see.

            “You have grown,” she says plainly.

            “I thought I was done doing that,” I grumble.  “Girls are supposed to mature faster than boys.”

            Mother sighs and looks at me.

            “Beira, you are sixteen.”

            “Exactly.  I should be done growing,” I reply.

            “That is not how growing works.”

            “It should be,” I state matter of factly, then take another sip of tea.

            “I will be certain to forward your complaint to whichever god is responsible for teenage development in girls,” she says dryly.

            I almost choke on my tea.

            Mother's expression remains perfectly composed.  These are moments when I am reminded exactly where some of my personality came from, and I am increasingly uncertain whether that should concern me.

            “And after the seamstress?” I ask, already feeling weary from the intrusion upon my day.

            “There are a few household purchases I would prefer you make personally, since they concern your rooms,” she answers.  “After that, the remainder of the afternoon is yours.”

            I arch an eyebrow in disbelief.

            “Really?” I ask.  “No social engagement you conveniently forgot to mention?”

            Mother gives me a look of mild irritation.  She must have known this line of questioning was coming.

            “I do not conveniently forget things,” she states with a look that tells me to back off.  Her answer is painfully true.

            “So, Angus and I can do whatever we want afterward?” I ask hopefully.

            “Within reason.”

            I already know the answer, but ask anyway.

            “Your definition or mine?”

            “Mine.”

            “Of course,” I say with a slight huff, then slouch slightly.

            “Posture, Beira,” Mother reminds me again and I straighten.

            I reach for some of the cut fruit on the table, feeling considerably better about the day than I had a few minutes earlier.  A morning of errands isn't exactly how I wanted to spend Heliosa, but Angus will be there, and afterward we'll have the afternoon together.  Considering how little time we have left before he begins his service, I can live with that.

            Mother returns her attention to her breakfast and I do the same.  For several seconds, the room is quiet.  Then she says, almost casually, “I would recommend taking more than your usual escort.”

            My fork stops halfway to my mouth and I look up.

            Mother is still looking at her plate.

            “Why?” I ask slowly.

            “Because you will be in public,” she answers as if that explains everything.

            “That generally happens when someone goes into a city,” I point out.

            “Beira.”

            Something in her voice wipes away my attempt at humor and I lower my fork.

            “What happened?” I ask.

            “Nothing happened, yet,” she says, still not looking up.

            “That's not very reassuring, Mother.”

            She sighs softly.

            “There have been more gatherings,” she says after a moment.

            I place my fork beside my plate and lean back in my chair.

            “How many?” I ask.

            “Enough that I would prefer additional guards accompany you today,” she says finally looking up at me.

            “Angus will be with me,” I point out.

            “Angus being present does not make a crowd cease being a crowd.”

            “They haven't actually done anything, have they?” I inquire.

            “No.”

            “Then why the extra guards?”

             “Because I would prefer to keep it that way,” she says, her tone warning me that I am pushing her limits.

            I sigh and poke at my eggs.

            This isn't new and that's probably the worst part of this whole... thing.  It started small after Izzy’s ball.  People stared longer than usual when they recognized me.  A few whispered prayers.  Occasionally someone bowed far deeper than my station warranted.  Then someone started calling me Damian's Herald.

            I still don't know who.

            Over the months, the stories spread faster than I could correct them.  A whispered prayer became someone asking me for a blessing.  A deep bow became someone kneeling, and eventually people started waiting near places they knew I would be, hoping to catch a glimpse of me.

            None of it happened all at once, it has instead grown slowly.  Slowly enough that every new bit of absurdity seemed only slightly worse than the last.  Then, a few months ago, toward the end of the last term, Mother started adding guards to the errands she gave me on Heliosa.

            Religion has never played a particularly large role in my family.  We aren't unusual in that regard, either.  Plenty of noble families pay the gods whatever respect they feel is appropriate without arranging their lives around temples and sermons… others are considerably more devout.

            Among the common people, faith tends to run much deeper.  Before, none of that had anything to do with me… then Damian appeared at Izzy’s birthday ball.

            The people present that didn’t die in the attack proceding his appearance got to see a god in the flesh.  More importantly, they saw what happened afterward.

            Apparently, watching a girl come within a hair's breadth of dying only for a god to show up suddenly is the sort of thing people develop opinions about.  Strong opinions.

            Some have decided I'm blessed; others have gone considerably further with their fervent views.

            Once, when I managed to get him to respond, I complained to Damian about the Herald thing personally.

            His response?

            I never told them that.

            Yes, that was completely true.  It was also completely useless and, unfortunately, getting the chance to complain directly to Damian has become considerably more difficult over the last year.

            He talks to me... occasionally, but not nearly as often as he once did, and when he does, he rarely says much.  Whenever I ask what has him so busy, I get some variation of things you don't need to worry about.  Which is exactly the sort of answer guaranteed to make me worry about it, and he knows it.

            “And the others?” I ask.

            Mother knows exactly who I mean.

            “The skeptics?”

            I nod.

            “They have become more vocal as well.”

            “Great…”

            “Most simply don't believe the stories being told about you by the faithful.”

            “I don't blame them,” I say dryly.

            Mother's eyebrow rises.

            “I was there, and some of it still sounds ridiculous,” I say, popping a piece of fruit in my mouth.

            That earns the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

            “So,” I continue, “one group thinks I'm some sort of divinely chosen messenger, another thinks the first group is insane, and somewhere in the middle are all the sensible people who would really like everyone else to stop shouting.”

            “That is somewhat close to the truth,” she confirms.

            “I aspire to accuracy,” I say with a hint of smugness I normally would avoid around my mother.

            I take another sip of tea.

            “At least Angus will be there,” I point out.

            Mother's expression changes slightly, very slightly, but enough that I see it.

            “He will.”

            The reminder of why Angus has been trying to spend as much time with me as possible hangs unspoken between us.  His eighteenth birthday has passed, his academy training is finished, and soon, he won't simply be a carriage ride away.

            I push that thought aside.

            Not today, today is Heliosa.  I have no classes, Angus is coming, and I have an entire afternoon ahead of me.  If the people of Aberling can manage not to either worship me or shout at me for a few hours, it might even be relaxing.

            Somehow, I suspect that is asking too much.