There was Music

Part 1: Prison-2

“It is not only about preventing a man from claiming your body,” Mother replied, avoiding my gaze in the mirror. “No matter how hard we work to protect ourselves, we do not always have control over our circumstances. So it is more about protecting our hearts, such as from becoming unwittingly bound to another’s rule. Be wary of physical attraction, charming words, and enticing gestures alone; they can be used to manipulate our trust and remove safeguards. Do not take your current freedom for granted.”

“But are all men as you suggest?”

“No.”

I wondered if something had happened to her when she was young, but I did not know how to ask—or whether I should. Instead, I asked, “Do you love Father?”

After a moment of silence: “Yes.”

“How did he gain your trust?”

“You know how we met.” Finished with my hair, she handed me the brush to put away.

“I know that you met here in Hamath,” I said, putting the brush into a drawer, “and that you were sick.”

“It was more fatigue than sickness,” she corrected.

“Well, I do not remember why you were fatigued,” I pressed. “How did you get here, or what happened exactly?”

“Why do you want to know?”

I wanted to know her better, but saying that seemed strange to me. So I tried to engage her practical sensibility. “How else am I to learn to distinguish between real and false love?”

Mother appeared to consider this.

“Very well,” she said after a while. “Your father and brothers will soon return from their morning chores. We can talk further while preparing breakfast. Come along.”

I followed her out of my room to our kitchen, which smelled of herbs and wood smoke. With the cooking fire crackling in the large kitchen hearth, the space felt warm and inviting. Outside the window, the landscape radiated with the soft light of an amber dawn.

As we worked together, Mother spoke. “I did not grow up in a peaceful household, in Yanweri.” With the knuckle of her thumb, she carefully rubbed her temple near the bridge of her nose and then sighed. “I became fed up with it and left when I was twenty-one.” She passed me a jar of flour, for I usually made our bread. “I was unmarried and uninterested in the men of our clan,” she continued, “and anyway I wanted to explore more of Rodaním.”

“You traveled alone?” I asked, while mixing ingredients into a bowl.

“Yes,” she replied. “That did not bother me in the least. I was well equipped to navigate the wild and defend myself. Remember, I come from a family of warriors.”

I remembered, though Mother rarely spoke about her family in any detail. I only knew that my grandparents had met while serving together in an armed contingent at the Gate of Zün in eastern Rodaním, and that eventually my grandfather lost the ability to walk, which became a matter of contention between him and my grandmother.

“I mainly followed backcountry paths,” Mother continued, “and befriended a few other explorers and hunters. For the next five years or so, I made many trips, eventually going beyond the borders of Rodaním. Once, I joined a caravan of traders who let me earn my way as we journeyed north into Nemenelor, to Anaríl.”

“You went to the eastern capital of the Alöweans?” I exclaimed. Why had she not mentioned this before?

“Yes,” she replied. “But that is another story.”

My questions were mounting, but I stored them away for another time. Mother did not like too many questions at once, so I tried to control myself.

“From Anaríl,” mother continued, “I bartered passage on a boat, which went west down the Illüväter River to Mirror Lake.”

I glanced at Mother’s small framed map of Illirium, which hung on the wall overlooking our dining area. Father had given it to her as an anniversary gift years earlier. I liked to study the map sometimes. Yet aside from the few landmarks labeled around Hamath, the rest of Illirium was little more than a collection of names to me. A significant space separated Hamath from Anaríl, with Mirror Lake in between, or even Hamath from Mother’s hometown of Yanweri. To me, they were intangible spaces; yet for Mother much must have been tangible and linked to memory. I envied her. I wanted to know everything she knew. I was determined to be more assertive in asking her questions about her travels, to learn all I could.

“Focus,” Mother said, pointing to the dough I had stopped kneading. “That should have been in the oven already.”

“Sorry,” I replied, resuming my work.

“This is not a good time to tell you all this.”

“Please,” I said, more abruptly than intended. “I will be better focused. I want to hear more.”

Mother tended to strips of sizzling meat on a frying pan.

“Very well,” she conceded. “After Mirror Lake, I returned home for a while because I missed my sister.”

“Aunt Corine?”

“Yes.” Mother removed the frying pan from over the fire. “I asked her to join me, but she would not leave Yanweri. So I set out on my own once again, this time westward across the Elentari River. Travel was liberating to me. I had heard tales of a thirteenth Illiri clan dwelling somewhere in Marshwood, so I made my way north along the western shore of Mirror Lake. I did not get far into Marshwood, foolishly thinking I could find my way alone through that swampland. I was lucky I only got sick. I could have gotten myself trapped in a bog or worse. While I managed to recover somewhat from the sickness, it left me weary. The summer was very wet that year. I needed to find a dry place to rest, and the closest town was Hamath.”

The kitchen door swung open. Father wiped his boots outside and then stepped in. “It smells good in here,” he commented with a smile. Having replaced his work boots for his indoor shoes, he came over and kissed me on the check. “How are you, my flower?”

“Mother is telling me about how you both met,” I replied.

“Oh, is she?” He looked at his wife with affection. “Well, do not let me interrupt then.”

“You could tell it better than me,” Mother said, focusing on her task, looking at neither of us.

“What did you first like about her?” I asked him.

“Her spirit,” he replied. After sitting down at the dining table, he gazed at his wife. “Even in her tired state, she held herself up with dignity. There are few stronger than her in all Hamath.”

“Is that the fresh milk?” Mother turned to look at the container Father was holding. He nodded and offered it to her.

Silence followed, interrupted by the light clatter of Mother’s kitchen work. Her back was to us. I did not understand her suddenly reserved attitude. Having placed the ready dough in our stone oven, I glanced at Father. He caught my eyes.

“You know,” he said, as if reading my thoughts, “I forgot to wash up. I will be back shortly.” He winked at me, slipped back into his work boots, and stepped outside.

“Set the table,” Mother said softly.

“You have not answered my question,” I commented, doing as she asked.

“Which question?”

“How Father gained your trust.”

“Oh . . . that.” Mother sliced some apples. “Very well. I met your father at the eastern border of this ranch. He greeted me amiably, we talked about my predicament, and he offered me a place to stay—in what is now your room, actually. His grandmother, your great grandmother, was still alive then. She tended to me, made me feel safe and cared for. All the while she spoke highly of your father; how since his father died, he had worked hard to keep the ranch going to support his family.

“Once I felt recovered, I spent most of my time with him. He taught me about managing a ranch, and some tricks to horse training I did not know. In short, I came to admire his work ethic. I also felt a harmony in his home, which was unlike anything I had ever known.” She put the knife down. Her posture relaxed somewhat, and her expression was pensive. “While your father and I shared a passion for horses and working with our hands, what drew me most to him was his calm, kind manner. No matter what the circumstance, that did not change. It still does not.”

Slowly, she inhaled then exhaled. With the back of her hand, she moved a lose strand of blonde hair from her face before resuming her work with the knife. “Eventually, we professed our love for one another and were married—after I first returned to Yanweri for a time.”

“Are you still attracted to him?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Are you happy?”

“I do not think about my life in terms of happiness,” she replied. “I am as happy as I could hope to be. That is as much as anyone could want.”

I recalled some of Mother’s earlier warnings to me. “Did Father profess his love first, or was it you?”

“He did.” Mother looked at me for a while, but then her eyes wandered down. “I thought it before he said it. He is unlike any man I have known. Though he is no warrior, he makes me feel safe, or more so at peace. I have never known such peace.” Her eyes returned to mine. “Does that answer your question?”

Before I could respond, my brothers burst through the kitchen door, arguing noisily. Father followed close behind them, quiet but attentive to their conversation. An amused expression lined his eyes.

It was not my mother who made me most conscious of my appearance, but my friend, Jed. He and I grew up together in Hamath. Outside my family, he was my best friend. Jed was closer to Sindor’s age, but got along with me better. Our romance did not begin with appearances, but the happy adventures of childhood. I trusted him, more than my brothers in a way.

Jed was fourteen years old when he visited Hamath after his first year of training in the north—in Pernor, the so-called pinnacle of the Alöwean Empire. Though the Alöwean Empire was ruled by a king in the east, Jed said the twelve Alöweans comprising the Council of Pernor had the true power. His opportunity to serve there was possible because the man with bronze-colored eyes was opening doors between the Illiri and Alöweans.

From my perspective as a thirteen-year-old girl, Jed no longer looked like a boy. He acted more aware and in control of his body, less awkward and hasty. His gaze was more focused on his surroundings. The lines of his profile were firmer. He still could not grow a beard, which I was glad for. For without it, he retained a glimpse of the boy I knew—though that boy now dressed like a man. He wore a maroon tunic over leather armor. The color complemented his brown eyes.