To Tell a Tale

She could barely button up the back of her dress, her hands shook so badly, and she made sure to wear slippers, as she did not trust her unsteady feet to carry her safely on heels. She did not fully register anything on her way to the banquet: the carriage ride, the walk into the theater, the sounds of the other performers; Breacon’s last, encouraging pat on her shoulder, or the climb up the steps onto the stage.

Her eyes took in the audience, clearly visible in the sun’s rays slanting through the colored windows above, and felt the panic she had expected, the fear; a crowd of people sat before her, waiting, ready to judge and condemn, and she would be left with the horribly familiar feeling of utter humiliation. Her eyes sought and found Breacon, and he winked. It was enough, and she began her tale. The moment the first word dropped from her lips, the room, the audience, and the fear disappeared, and it was only herself and the words, alone in the comforting familiarity of imagination. She let the story flow, and her heart rejoiced at every word, for it was she, and no one else, who had crafted them. This story, this world, was her own; none could touch her here.

Breacon’s smile greeted her as she descended from the stage.

           “I am proud of you.”

           Adi glowed at his words. He offered her his arm, and they walked together to a small alcove to the side of the hall.

           “When I die,” said Breacon with a slight waver in his voice, “I will tell Vidri about you. She always wanted a daughter. One like you, I think.”

After a pause, he asked, his voice steadier, “How do you think your story turned out?”

           “Not quite the way I imagined it,” she admitted.

           “It never does, not quite,” Breacon returned gently. “But that is why we keep writing, keep creating stories, for we will never be able to recreate in words the world our imagination spins for us; that is not how magic works. We can only do our best, and do a little better each time.”

           Adi smiled, understanding. She looked over the crowd milling amongst themselves, waiting for the next performer. Many of them seemed to have enjoyed the story; others did not. Adi found, to her surprise, that their displeasure mattered very little to her and, even more to her surprise, that the pride she felt did not derive from any pleasure or admiration of her audience, but rather from a small flame of satisfaction that was lit from within.

                     Six months earlier               

Lord and Lady Halrren, for whom Adi worked, though far from poor, were not socially important enough to attract large numbers of visitors. Guests did come, however, and the lord and his wife made use of every opportunity to curry favor with whomever deigned to honor their humble abode. Lady Halrren, who managed the staff, was economical enough to delegate the task of table-waiting to servants she already employed, which meant that Adi and her fellow kitchen staff were also required to serve at honorary dinners.

The hall was as hot and stuffy as it always was during night-time feasts. The candles, the closed windows, and the fire kept the cold air out, but also made it difficult to breathe. Adi clutched her pitcher of wine tightly and fought with all her might to stay present, to concentrate, but a thousand dreams clamored for her attention. Just as her focus began to wander, a sharp elbow in her ribs brought Adi unwillingly back to the harsh light and thick smells of the dining hall. Sigrid wore her usual scowl of disapproval, and Adi shrank down in shame, her face burning, the familiar prickles of discomfort creeping up her spine. You just had to lose focus, didn’t you? She told herself angrily.

“Pay. Attention,” Sigrid hissed under her breath.

Adi nodded at the floor, longing for the safety of solitude.

“Give me your jug; mine’s empty and Lord Haddon wants his cup refilled.” Adi handed Sigrid her pitcher. Just before turning to go, Sigrid added quietly, “And stay away from Lord Breacon; I saw him watching you.”

Adi started. Attention from a lord or lady was never a good sign. She shrank down further and glanced furtively at the lord in question. He was of average height and had short, dark hair flecked with grey. He had distinctly foreign manners, but the more striking difference was his fondness for smiling, a rare quality in a noble. From what Adi had heard of him, he had developed a fondness for travel since his wife had died, so she supposed that he was merely passing through. She did catch his gaze wandering to the servants who lined the halls every so often, and more than once to herself, but he did not seem dangerous. Still, it always paid to be careful, so she did her best to keep away from his side of the table for the remainder of dinner.

As Adi lay in her bed that night, her imagination too afire to let her sleep, she was startled by a knock at her door. No one had ever visited her before, and, too surprised to be scared, she got up and opened it. Before her stood Lord Breacon, still in his dinner clothes.

She curtsied hastily. “Does Your Lordship require directions to a part of the castle?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Forgive me for the intrusion at so late an hour. I hope I did not wake you.”

Adi shook her head.

He smiled again. “I am sure you have had a taxing day, so I will not keep you long from your rest. I merely came to ask if you might accompany me when I leave Lord Halrren’s estate. I mean to travel East to my home, but it is lonely, travelling so much by oneself. I would value your company.”

Adi felt her guard rise immediately; an offer so generous could only mean that a more sinister scheme lay hidden beneath. But at the same time, she felt a small drop of excitement at his words, and she did not quite manage to keep a hint of eagerness out of her voice as she replied, “I am not sure I would make very good company, my lord.”

“You are free to say no, of course, but consider how many other opportunities you will have to leave this place.”

Common sense told her to slam and bolt the door and wait for help to arrive; an invitation from a stranger, a man, no less, whom she knew little about could only spell danger. But Lord Breacon had a unique reputation for kindness and honor, and a sudden desire to escape Lord Halrren’s estate made her less cautious. Finally, she said, “Are you sure none of the other servants would be a better choice?”

“I am sure.”

Adi considered her options. On the one hand, she had no expectation, should she remain where she was, that she would find happiness at any point in her life, but there was no danger in remaining where she was, and she could not tell where her path would end if chose to follow this stranger. But she thought of her life in ten, twenty, fifty years, and she felt how the shame would build, of being ridiculed and outcast by her fellow servants and ignored or abused by the nobility, and she felt an uncontrollable urge to escape from what she had always only seen as a prison.

Breacon broke the silence. “So, what do you say?”

“If you are sure I would not be a nuisance, I will go.” The words slipped uncertainly from her mouth. The temptation for adventure, for anything that was not scuttling about smoky dining halls and dirty kitchens, groveling before lords and ladies who scarcely saw her, obscured the common sense that warned her of the obvious danger of his offer.

He smiled. “We leave in the morning.” He bowed slightly and closed the door, leaving Adi to her thoughts.

The carriage rolled along the bumpy road, but Adi hardly noticed the jolting. Her attention was consumed by the conflict of the questions that begged to leap from her mouth and the fear of irritating her companion.

Breacon seemed to sense both her shyness and her unasked questions, for he broke the silence, “We should get to know one another, for I’m afraid the roads are very long between our destinations, and we will spend all that time together.”

Adi nodded and tried to look eager.

Breacon smiled. “As you already know, my name is Semir Breacon. I am a noble of third rank, and my favorite thing to do on a rainy day is sit in my library and read.”

Adi remained silent, uncertain as to the best response, and Breacon smiled again. Adi had never known anyone who smiled as much as he did; it put her almost at ease. “I cannot believe that I have spent three years without a real companion, and when at last I find one, she turns out to be mute.”

His words were teasing, but kind, and Adi felt a smile of her own tug at the corners of her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Your turn. Introduce yourself.”

“My name is Adi Scullery Maid, from the House of Halrren.”

“No, no, no. You may return to Halrren whenever you wish, but while you remain under my care, you are Lady Adi Breacon. And you didn’t say what you like to do on rainy days.”

“Daydream.” The words slipped out before she could think better of them. Every nerve in her body cringed in alarm at having revealed this secret to Breacon; her imaginary world was the only thing she felt she really owned; it felt dangerous to have exposed it to another person. She expected him to mock her answer, to call her lazy, or to ignore it altogether. Instead, he looked reflective.

“Vidri – my wife – would have said the same thing. She was never so beautiful as when she was caught up in her imagination. It would show in little ways; a twitch of the hands, a slight movement of her eyebrows, always the slightest hint of the ideas that were churning just beneath the surface. I used to try to guess what she was imagining.” He smiled. “I only guessed right once.”

Adi wondered what a noble lady would dream about, and wondered too if it would be very different from her own daydreams.

Breacon interrupted her thoughts. “Well, that was a good start. I intend to find out your favorite flavor of jam as well before we reach our destination, but first, I should explain what exactly you’ll be doing with me.

“We’ll stop briefly to dress, and then tonight, we’ll be having dinner at Lord Sunam’s residence. It’s a rather large party – at least fifty guests, I believe. Tomorrow, we spend the day travelling home. Before we arrive at the dinner tonight, you should know that these kinds of parties are not just social gatherings. They are the battleground of business negotiations, the rooms in which trade alliances are decided, and times when each family attempts to gain just a little more leverage, a favor here and there, alliances formed and reinforced. It is how the balance between all noble families is preserved, and also how we make our living.”

Adi nodded, fear beginning to bubble in her stomach. Why had she agreed to this? She was being launched into the very thing she dreaded most: meeting strangers and being exposed to their judgement. Hot prickles crept up her neck in anticipation of the shame she knew would come at some point that evening.

Every move she made, even the way she breathed, made Adi feel out of place. The other nobles moved and talked with ease in their formal attire. Adi felt her dress chafe uncomfortably at her wrists and wished nothing more than to escape from the table to the relative familiarity of the servants’ places.

After the seemingly interminable period of mingling and countless introductions, dinner was announced, and the guests made their way over to the food-laden table.

Seats were assigned, a tactic meant to provide a political advantage to the hosts, who could situate themselves strategically while surrounding their nemeses with unimportant guests. To Adi, it meant the ordeal of finding her name card. Breacon patted her arm and left for his seat, unaware of the fear raging inside his ward.

Adi had never learned how to read; no one had cared enough to teach her, and there had seemed little point to it from her position in life, so she circled the table awkwardly, trying to avoid notice.

A woman whom Adi recognized as the Duchess Brucha approached her and said kindly, “It is time for dinner, child. You should sit down. Are you having trouble finding your seat?”

Before she could answer, a young man hovering at the Duchess’ shoulder interjected, “Is it true Breacon picked you up from some rubbish noble’s house? That you were some sort of servant there?”

Adi’s blush answered for her.

He smiled maliciously. “And how does it feel, pretending to be one of us? Do you feel like a fraud, or just a fool?” Adi wilted under his gaze and stared at a pattern on the floor. She willed her mind to bear her away to the safety of the unreal, but for once, her imagination was frozen.

He grinned again, sensing easy sport. “There must be a lot to adjust to. How is keeping up with the conversation here? Is it difficult, what with people using words longer than two syllables?”

“I – I have been enjoying the conversation,” Adi stammered awkwardly.

“I don’t suppose you can you even read your own name, can you?” Her tormenter continued gleefully. Again, Adi’s blush answered his question. By now, half the room was aware of and listening to the conversation.

Duchess Brucha interrupted sternly. “It is no fault of hers if she has had no one to teach her. Go bother someone else with your prattle, Marvin.”

Marvin paid her no attention. He laughed loudly. “Perhaps one of the servants could read the menu to her, or perhaps he should simply choose her dish; it would spare her the embarrassment of asking what each word meant.”

There was some tittering at this, and Adi felt the full force of nearly fifty stares of contempt. Tears stung behind her eyes, but she clenched her fists, refusing to let them fall. It was as humiliating as she had feared, and she felt the pain of it twice as much for Breacon’s presence. Her stomach twisted and she wished with all her heart to be somewhere, anywhere, that was not this hall. She did not trust herself to look at Breacon but turned and fled.

She ran blindly, flying past carriages, down steps, and across lawns until she found herself at a dead end in the gardens. She sank to the ground and hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face in them, as if she could become so small that she would disappear and escape from yet another place where she did not belong. She let the tension and misery that had built over the course of the night tumble from her body in tears that soaked and ruined her dress. She could not make herself care, even while the sensible part of her brain reminded her of the weeks she would have to work to pay for it.

She did not know how long she hid and wept before she felt a soft hand on her shoulder. She turned, frightened, to see Breacon sitting on the ground beside her.

Wordlessly, he put his arms around her, and for the first time in her life, Adi found herself comforted by the presence of another person. She let herself cry her shame into his shoulder until she merely shook silently in his arms, too exhausted to cry any more.

Finally, Breacon broke the silence. “Would you like to visit my library when we arrive at my home tomorrow? It is high time someone taught you to read. You have a quick mind, and it is not so difficult if you are taught well and you study. It will be our project.”

To her surprise, the shame she had expected at such an offer did not come; instead, she felt an unexpected rush of excitement at the idea, and his words lessened the lingering sting of the night’s humiliation. “I would like that very much,” she said softly.

He smiled. It seemed that he had an infinite number of smiles to give, each full of equal warmth and kindness, and Adi wished she knew where he found them all.

“I feel certain you will enjoy it, and I would love to read the stories that come out of that imagination of yours.”

Adi sat in silence, letting her mind and heart absorb the compliment and store it away safely, that she might never forget the feeling of someone finding worth in her mind, in her.

She blushed, but for the first time in her life, it was not one of shame.