Devrim's Discipline - Brianna Hale Page 0,5
know.”
I look up sharply at the reproach in my daughter’s voice. I’ll always be grateful for the bravery Moira showed when she visited me in prison during those early days. For a while, she was able to bribe the guards to let us be together. That we were able to conceive Aubrey, at all, is a miracle, and I was devastated to hear that she’d died of pneumonia only a few years later. “I know she did.”
“And did you love her?”
I pretend not to hear her.
“Daddy.” I look up and see that Aubrey’s gripping her knife angrily in her fist, and her cheeks are burning with two spots of color. “Why won’t you talk about her? Why won’t you talk about anything with me?”
I glance at the clock on the wall. “I thought you were riding this afternoon.”
“Stop changing the subject!”
I raise my voice, so it’s louder than hers. “There’s nothing to talk about. We have our duties to think of. The future of this country.”
“But I don’t understand anything that you—”
“You need to do as you’re told.” I know my shouting is scaring her, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I stand up and throw my napkin onto the table.
“You can’t treat me like one of your soldiers. Your past is my past, too. Why can’t I know what you and mother went through?”
It’s just a question, but panic seizes me. “The past is dead, Aubrey. Do you hear me? Dead.”
Aubrey jumps to her feet and runs from the room. She doesn’t understand how much I need the past to stay dead.
I watch her go, wishing I knew the first thing about having a daughter.
Chapter Four
Wraye
“Viscount Pieter Olad. Lord and Lady Romfott. Duke Constantine Mezaros. Duke and Duchess Balzac and their daughters, Sachelle and Tamsen.” Mama keeps up her constant whisper in my ear as people make their way up the ballroom to bow or curtsy to King Anson.
We’re standing off to one side with the debutantes and their mothers. It seems like every family in Paravel is paying homage to King Anson tonight.
“Are you listening to me?” Mother hisses, pinching me on the arm. My eyes water, but I keep the smile plastered on my face.
“Yes, Mama,” I whisper. I smooth my hands down the simple satin dress, aware that it’s one of the plainest in the room. Still, it’s the finest thing I’ve ever owned. My hair is curled and arranged on top of my head. I’m wearing real silk stockings and white satin gloves, up past my elbows. There’s a brush of mascara on my lashes and a hint of lipstick on my lips. For a slum girl, I don’t think I scrub up too badly.
Here and there, around the room, are men in regal scarlet uniforms. I nod to one and whisper to Mama, “Who are they?”
“The King’s Guard,” she replies under her breath. “They protect the King and run the Court. In the old days, they’d be standing behind the throne. I suppose King Anson didn’t want that.” She wrinkles her nose, as if she doesn’t approve of this change.
Finally, the debutantes are called forward, and we line up nervously. Our names are called by a herald, and Mama and I walk slowly up the room and curtsy to King Anson. He’s splendid in a blue uniform with silver braid and sash, and a large silver medallion on his broad chest. As I glance up at him, I see that his face is stiff and bored.
We lift ourselves out of our curtsies, step aside, and make our way back around the edge of the room.
Mama breathes a sigh of relief as we arrive back at our places. I wonder if she imagined someone was going to shout that we shouldn’t be there, that we’re dirty imposters, and throw us out.
Violin music swells, and it’s the signal that the presentations are over and the dancing is to begin. On the far side of the room, I see a debutante in a pink and white gown, dancing in the arms of a robust young man.
“Heaven preserve us,” Mama breathes, clutching my arm suddenly. “I’d forgotten how frightening he is. Curtsy, Wraye, quickly.”
A tall, imposing man, with thick, steel-gray hair, is coming our way. His hazel eyes are heavy-lidded and cold as he gazes around the ballroom, and his formal scarlet uniform buttoned up tightly at his throat. Medals gleam upon his chest and gold braid decorates his broad shoulders. He pauses for a moment, a