The Point of A Dagger

Twelve

The day before an event is always strangely calm. There seem to be less servants roaming the halls, less guards stationed at every door. The castle is usually quiet, aside from the ballroom and kitchens. The upper levels, the ones that look over the gardens to the left of the castle, and the forest to the right, are almost empty. Odele and I are the only ones who roam them.

She stands far enough away for me to imagine I am alone as I sit on a window sill, one leg hanging out of the castle, one still inside. My pale blue dress falls softly over my legs. Even as I sit with a book in hand, I gaze out at the gardens.

Nearest to the castle, the land is paved over with white stone, weaving around plots of bushes and flowers, circling around a small fountain. Arches of vines provide shade for some areas of the labyrinth of paths, complete with sitting areas under them. Further, the stone path leads down a small slope, surrounded wholly by white roses, lining each side of the path, reaching the trees that boarded it too. Hidden to the eye from where I sit, at the end of the path is a lake of green water, surrounded by grasses and trees. There is a small wooden boat with two oars that will take you across the body of water to a white stone shelter.

I spent much time at that lake as a child, sneaking off with my father to go swimming, against the staff's wishes. They always worried the water was unclean. But it was always fine; the worst that would happen would be the sun kissing my shoulders and cheeks a little too much, making me out to be a rose. I never minded, though, when my mother would rub ointment on the burns, soothing it before bed. It was always gone the next morning.

I smile down at the book, running my fingertips over the hardcover, decorated in blues and silver. The book is a story from my childhood, one my mother used to read to me. It's about a rabbit, blue-bird, and a doe. The story begins with each of their pasts, telling how the rabbit's family was killed, it was the bird's time to leave the nest, and how the doe never knew its family. They found each other and became the best of friends, living inside a tree trunk. The rest of the pages contain stories of their adventures. When I was little, I only ever wanted Mother to read the third adventure, where the doe sets out to find their family. I always fell asleep before I found out if they had a happy ending.

"Adventures of the Wood," a voice says behind me, making me turn. Griffin stands, stone faced, looking at me, three guards now standing with Odele. I sigh, turning back to the garden. "I thought with such a library your literary tastes would be more developed." A smile tries to creep onto my face.

"I happen to like Adventures of the Wood," I reply curtly, holding the book to my chest, still looking at the gardens. I can feel the pull of him, begging me to turn around and get lost in his auburn eyes. I push those thoughts down, as I have been for the past days. His family is the reason mine is dead. We could never be anything more than acquaintances, let alone friends, even allies.

He stares at me, his stance casual, as well as his clothing: black trousers with a white buttoned-blouse, the top two neglected, tucked it, matched with black loafers. His usual rings decorate his fingers, and a silver-chain pendant hangs around his neck. And the corners of his mouth tug up the tiniest bit as he stares at me.

"What?" I ask, annoyed, but also heating under his gaze.

"Let me show you real literature," he says, extending his hand for me to take.

I stare for a moment, dumbfounded and contemplating before I take it, all the while mumbling, "I know what 'real' damn literature is." He only smiles, guiding me down the hall.

The smell of ink and parchment greets me when Griffin opens the library door, standing aside to let me pass. I motion for the guards to stay outside, receiving hesitant looks but compliance nonetheless.