Dragon Rose(63)

“Some food, I think…and a bath before I retire this evening. What time is it?”

A quick, uncertain glance at the window, where the familiar grey snow light showed beyond the diamond-shaped panes. “Just past the third hour of the afternoon.”

Too late for luncheon, and early for supper, but my stomach had turned into a ravenous beast, awake now that I had roused myself. I could not bend to convention. “Something solid, I think. No soup. And bread. I would like some bread.”

“Of course, my lady.”

I moved toward the casement and observed the familiar contours of the garden, all blanketed in snow. Then again, what had I expected to see? The snow seemed to have stopped for the moment, but the skies were so low it appeared they touched the tops of the towers, and I guessed snowflakes would begin to fall within the hour. “And what is the day?”

Her hesitation was obvious this time. “The second of Decevre, my lady.”

Perhaps my sudden faintness could have been attributed to my hunger, as I had not eaten for longer than I could recall. I doubted it, though. The second of Decevre? Had I really spent the greater part of a fortnight drifting in and out of darkness, noting little of the world around me, eating and drinking only enough to keep myself from fading entirely away?

I had thought my gown felt a little loose, but so many of the gowns in my wardrobe did not fit me precisely, hand-me-downs that they were, that I hadn’t thought anything of it. But if I had eaten little for the past two weeks, then it only stood to reason the dress would have enough slack in it that I would have to pull the laces so tight they almost overlapped.

Somehow I managed to gather myself and remark lightly, “No wonder I feel so ravenous I could eat a boar!”

“Then let me see to that at once, my lady. His lord—that is, there was smoked pheasant last night, and there is a goodly portion left over. I’ll bring it up directly.”

I thanked her and she left, clearly relieved to be given the errand. For myself, I still had a hard time believing her words, though of course she had no reason to give me anything but the truth. Two weeks? A fortnight gone, slipped by while I had drifted in and out of darkness, knowing nothing of the world.

A sudden impulse made me rush to the portrait and retrieve it from its hiding place. I touched the surface gingerly; it felt dry enough, with none of the tackiness of freshly laid pigments. Clearly I had not set paintbrush to the thing for quite some time.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I murmured, though why I felt it necessary to apologize to the portrait, I couldn’t say. Perhaps he had begun to appear a little too real to me, as if he deserved some sort of explanation for being neglected for so long. Certainly such a rationalization seemed no less illogical to me than anything else I had experienced lately. “I’ll return to you this evening, just as soon as I’ve had something to eat.” And I ran a finger along one edge of the canvas, as if in a caress, before I set it back in its hidey hole.

Sar appeared soon after, bearing a tray positively brimming with food. Not just the pheasant she’d promised, but whipped turnips with butter and cunning little rolls studded with currants, and spiced apple compote, and peas covered in more butter.

How I would ever eat it all, even in my current deprived state, I couldn’t have begun to guess. It seemed a feast fit for Midwinter. When I sat down to eat, though, I found I was able to devour an alarming portion of the meal, so much so that all I left behind was a bit of the turnips and half a roll.

“Good,” Sar said, and it appeared she was somewhat relieved to witness my ravenous appetite. “And you will sleep again now?” She sounded dubious, as if she did not want me to curl up in bed again so soon but knew she would be overstepping her role as my subordinate if she advised against it.

“I think not, actually.” I dabbed my mouth with a napkin and set it down. “A bath, I believe, and then I plan to read by the fire.” This was only a partial lie; I did desire a bath very much, but after that I planned to return to the painting. I could not make up for two weeks of neglect, of course. Still, a good evening’s work would make me feel better about the whole situation.

“I’ll have a bath sent up directly.” And with that she gathered up the denuded plates and stacked them on the tray before whisking them away.

Knowing her efficiency, I guessed it would not be long before the bath arrived. They would not even have to pump water, but could gather fresh snow from the courtyard and melt that instead. So I did not return to the portrait, but instead drew a chair up to the window and gazed outside, considering.

Two weeks. What had happened during that time? All here at Black’s Keep seemed very much as it always had been. Then again, it was a place cut off from the world, keeping much to itself. The weather only served to increase its isolation. Sar had not mentioned the Dragon Lord, and I had not asked. We’d parted on such bad terms, and yet I know it was his voice I had heard through the darkness. No one else had a voice like that, one which seemed to caress every syllable as it was spoken. So obviously he had cared enough to check on me, even if he had not come in to visit my bedside.

I wished I had the courage to go to him, although even if I had possessed such fortitude, I would have waited until the promised bath arrived and I was fit for company once again. But I found myself quailing at the thought of seeing him again, knowing I did not have the words to put right what was between us.