Mask Of The Nobleman

PROLOGUE He is gone. I can breathe a bit as this castle loosens its limbs in his absence. We are all glad he has left for an overnight hunt. For an evening, we do not have to tiptoe around his temper. When he is here, we are all haunted by the ghost of rage. The pressure is suffocating. Sometimes, when he has found some small victory, he is still so kind, so loving. But when the turn comes, we can barely pause. How has he turned me into this? How have I become a simpering, frightened fool? How has he turned me, me, into a coward afraid for my skin? How could he make me question my worth? I’m making my plans to leave, but I cannot just yet. I love my son too much to go, even though every minute I spend with him puts him closer to danger. My hope is that the danger that creeps, even more violent and terrifying than his own father, will pass by. That the nightmare of my past will stay hidden from my child now. Like clockwork, my little love comes to me as I sit at the windowsill, looking at the night-blanketed landscape. He tugs at my skirt, and I look down to see those blue eyes, my blue eyes, staring back. It shocks me. I hope that the one I fear does not see those eyes and know to whom they belong. “Mommy! Look what Master Tochtem made me!” His bright little face is illuminated by his wild blonde hair framing his perfect cherubic cheeks. He’ll need a haircut soon, I think, brushing a stray strand from his forehead. Then I drag my eyes from his smile to his outstretched hands. “Oh! A little bird!” “It’s a woodpecker! I saw one today and I told Master Tochtem and he said they were his favorite! He made it with some spare block in no-time!” I take the little sculpture from him to look closer. It’s a simple thing, with a few lines to delineate feathers, but it is beautiful in its minimalism. It strikes me how much I like this little carving, but then again, I have always had a weakness for pretty things. My son has also inherited that. “It’s lovely! Where should we put it? It would look lovely in the library, don’t you think?” I pick him up and put him on my lap. He’s perfectly fitted to me, and I am surprised at how much I can love a child again. His face darkens. “No, I don’t want to put it in the library. I showed Marcus, and he said woodpeckers are stupid. I don’t think he gets to look at it then!” A wanton chuckle escapes my lips as I stroke back his hair. “Ok, then, we can put it in my room? Or would you like it in your room?” He turns over the little bird in his hands, pensive. I think of how much he has grown in these few short years, and how much he will grow without me in the days to come. Where I am going, he cannot come with me. The thought grips my heart as if his small palm has enclosed about it. I hold him closer. “My room, I think. We can put it on the shelf near my bed,” he says finally. “Alright, then. Very good idea, my little bear. We’ll put it there.” I rub his cheek with my thumb, a gesture I’ve picked up from one of the washerwomen here. “Speaking of which, it is quite late, let’s put you to bed.” He nods and yawns in understanding. I lift him up into my arms, eager to keep my son a babe for a little longer. I love and have loved all my children, but as my youngest, I want him to stay this way forever. “So, my little bear, what story should I tell you tonight?” He curls his head into my shoulder as I carry him to his room down the hall. The maid smiles and mutters a soft, motherly goodnight. The people here are too kind to live in constant anxiety as they do. One of Jors’ hands takes a strand of my long red hair and wraps it in his perfect little fingers. When we reach the door of his room, he looks up at me, ready to break my heart, and says, “Mommy, can you tell me about the ‘Polodians’ again?” I tell him everything I remember.