For You, for Me (2)
Cherry blossom petals loosened from the tips of the branches and drifted through the air. They fluttered this way and that on the breeze, following unpredictable paths that drew the eye.
“Beautiful…”
Linea knelt on a picnic mat beneath the tree, its blossoms still in full bloom. Her neatly pressed maid's uniform looked a little out of place there.
Cherry blossoms in autumn…
Even in the Great Forest, such a sight was rare. The flowers were a small miracle made possible by human beings who wished beauty could last forever.
Watching the pink petals scatter, Linea blinked her red eyes and looked down at the picnic basket beside her. The sandwiches she had worked so hard to prepare were stacked carefully inside.
We should eat them before they go bad.
She was thinking of that when she heard footsteps from a distance. Her pointed ears rose at the familiar, hurried sound. She turned toward the corridor with an eager smile.
Theorad had appeared.
He came into the courtyard adjusting his brooch and wiping sweat from his forehead, still trying to catch his breath.
“Sorry. Have I kept you waiting?”
Five minutes and thirty seconds.
That was how late he was. Linea had counted, of course, but she could hardly complain. He had found time to meet her amid the last frantic preparations for tomorrow's wedding. From his damp brow and ragged breathing, he must have run here to avoid keeping her waiting any longer.
“It's all right. I haven't been waiting long.”
“I'm glad. May I sit beside you?”
“Ah, yes. Of course.”
At her invitation, Theorad settled down next to her, leaning back against the flowering cherry tree. As his breathing slowed, he suddenly began to chuckle.
Linea tilted her head.
“…What's so funny?”
His light-brown eyes held a teasing glint as he turned to her.
“Something happened during the rehearsal at the chapel. You should have seen Beynon. He turned up in a suit that didn't fit at all. Watching him try to walk around in it was ridiculous.”
“Beynon was wearing a suit?”
“He can't very well wear armor to the wedding. The chief chamberlain has gone out in a carriage to buy him proper clothes. Thank goodness we held a rehearsal. Imagine what would have happened if he'd appeared like that in front of everyone tomorrow.”
Theorad looked delighted merely telling her about it. Linea hadn't found the incident quite so hilarious herself, but seeing his pleasure made her happy.
If only we could go on spending time like this.
She leaned toward him before she realized what she was doing.
“Did anything else happen?”
“Hmm. Other than Beynon's suit, nothing unusual. Everyone has been getting on with their work.”
“I see…”
It was good news that the preparations were going smoothly. Yet her voice fell, and she could feel her smile growing crooked. She caught herself leaning too close and hastily sat straight again.
What am I doing? He might misunderstand.
“Linea?”
Theorad looked concerned. To escape his gaze, she lifted the picnic basket into her lap as if that had been her intention all along.
He noticed what was inside.
“Oh, sandwiches!”
“I made them,” she said, suddenly bashful.
“Really? All by yourself? The cook didn't help?”
“No. Do they look all right?”
Theorad took one out and studied it.
“All right? They're wonderful.”
He wasn't saying it merely to flatter her. Making a sandwich was simple enough in principle: place fresh ingredients between two pieces of bread. But Linea had done considerably more than that. The layers were bright with color, with a homemade sauce spread carefully between them.
Even the bread seemed freshly baked, without the dry, crumbly texture of a loaf that had sat out too long.
How much work must have gone into this? She had likely been preparing everything since early morning. Theorad could almost picture her in the kitchen, wiping sweat from her forehead as she worked.
Grateful for the effort, he took a bite.
Crunch.
The bread was soft, the vegetables crisp. Well-grilled bacon and her homemade sauce brought the flavors together beautifully. She hadn't simply packed the sandwich with expensive ingredients; she had considered how each one would taste alongside the others.
It's delicious.
Linea watched him chew. His obvious enjoyment warmed her, but the longer she waited, the more anxious she became.
“…Is it good?”
She had worked to make something he would enjoy. If he didn't like it, all that effort would feel wasted. At last he swallowed and smiled brightly at her.
“I'm serious. It's delicious. In fact, I'll tell you a secret…”
He glanced around the courtyard, then leaned close enough that only she could hear.
“Your cooking is better than the cook's.”
The praise, murmured directly into her ear, made Linea flush. She wished he would stop charming her so effortlessly. It was difficult to dislike him for it when the words made her so happy.
“Ah, if you'd like, I could…”
“Go on?”
Theorad knew perfectly well what she'd meant. His mischievous question was only making it harder to collect herself.
Linea brushed off her skirt and stood.
“I'll fetch some tea. I left it in the drawing room.”
“Oh, then I can—”
Before he could offer to go instead, she was already making her way out of the courtyard. Theorad let her go, chuckling quietly, and leaned against the tree to take another bite.
Linea returned from the drawing room carrying a teapot and a cup for the black tea. But when she reached the courtyard, she stopped.
Theorad had risen from the mat. He was speaking with a servant, and the conversation had turned serious. Uneasy, Linea slipped behind a corridor pillar and listened.
“…Take the Mantran family, for instance. After the wedding, they sent away their sex slaves.”
“That example proves nothing,” Theorad answered. “And the Deharem family does not cast out one of its own unless that person has committed a serious wrong.”
“I understand, but if this causes a scandal, perhaps it would be better to send her—”
“Airan! What do you know about Linea to say such a thing?”
Theorad almost never raised his voice that way. The servant hurriedly lowered his head, realizing how far he'd overstepped.
“M-my lord, forgive me. I don't know what came over me…”
Theorad sighed at the sight of Airan cowering and sweating. He didn't believe the man had spoken out of malice, and that made him reluctant to continue berating him.
“…Linea has suffered more than you can imagine. She's more wounded and pitiable than she appears. Never suggest throwing her out of this house again. I won't overlook it a second time. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord. I'll remember.”
“Then go.”
Airan bowed again and hurried out of the courtyard.
His footsteps faded. Linea remained behind the pillar, unable to move. Her heart was shaking so badly that the teapot trembled in her hands.
Am I…?
Was she becoming a burden to Theorad? Perhaps even her wish to remain beside him was selfish.
She stood there a while longer, then forced herself to shake off the thought. When at last she stepped into view, she wore the gentle smile of someone who had heard nothing at all.
“I brought the tea, Theorad.”
She wouldn't ruin this rare, happy time together.
That evening, Linea returned to her attic room. She removed her hairband, changed out of her maid's uniform and stockings, and crawled into bed.
With the blanket pulled to her chest and her head resting on the pillow, she gazed out at the night sky. Starlight filtered through the window into the dark room.
Usually, she would have ended the day admiring the stars. Tonight she could think only of the exchange she had overheard.
After the Mantran family’s wedding, they sent away their sex slaves.
At the time, the servant's argument had sounded absurd. Now she understood it. House Deharem was an old and distinguished family, proud of its history. Allowing someone once kept as a sex slave to remain under its roof after its master married could damage that reputation.
Even so, Theorad had chosen to keep her close.
She was grateful. That only made her guilt worse.
Linea sighed and closed her eyes. Theorad's defense of her came back with painful clarity.
Linea has suffered more than you can imagine. She's more wounded and pitiable than she appears.
Wounded. Pitiable.
He had spoken to protect her, but something in those words hurt. Was pity all he felt for her? Was compassion the only reason he wanted her there?
Theorad…
She opened her eyes again. Her face had crumpled before she even noticed the tears. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and curled onto her side, hoping the tight little refuge of the blanket would calm her.
It didn't. Once the question had taken root, it kept returning, darkening every memory she held of him.