Luminous

123 - Baroness Graye (2/2)

By the time the Dragon's Crossing came into view halfway down the street, stalls had lined the wayside and shops were busy with their first wave of customers.

Women waved as they rushed to join their similarly-dressed friends grouped under streetlamps and signposts, giggling behind their hands as they cast their eyes surreptitiously to the object of gossip.

Did some of them freeze and eye her carriage as it sailed past, then fell into hushed, solemn discussions?

Meya's cheeks burned. Her trembling hands clenched into fists as she reached for the curtains, but if she slammed them shut, wouldn't that give them scolds free rein? Wouldn't word spread faster of the new Baroness Graye?

Wouldn't you want that?

Her head challenged, snide, brazen. Her heart seethed, but then the wheels slowed to a stop and the door swung open. Meya roused herself, took Icari's hand and descended.

Three handsome carriages were out on the courtyard. Whips prepped their horses as servants loaded chests onto the back and tied them tight. Maids streamed after a noble lady through the inn's double doors. A plump, gold-encrusted merchant stood consulting his books beside his ride. At the sound of her boot clapping onto stone, they glanced around, then away too quickly to have been disinterest.

Meya surveyed the scene, pausing at each of them, but all that did was prompt them to plunge with fervor deeper into whatever they were doing. As if they knew something she didn't, like someone had died and she had stumbled in wearing blazing Hadrian Red.

She glared at Icari, but he'd scrambled onto his seat. He slashed his whip and the horses trotted off, leaving Meya alone in the ray of sunlight, as shadows scurried and whispered around her.

Mum. Dad.

Meya shook herself back to focus. She marched through the thick silence, up the stone steps, onto the landing. Something on the white marble seized her feet.

A smudge of brownish-red. A puddle of blood, trampled dry in the chaos.

Whose?

She bulled through the doors and up the stairs. The hallway echoed her footsteps back to her. She raised her fist to knock, then realized she hadn't thought of a word to say. What had Graye told them? How had they reacted? Such that everyone knew her just from the gray carriage rolling in a second time, that much was certain. Did that blood had anything to do with her? Was it Mum? or Dad? How in these three rotten lands would she know what to do with it if she didn't know what 'it' was?

Her pulse pounding in her head, her fevered breaths burning her nostrils, Meya squeezed her eyes shut and rapped on the wood. A pause, then a familiar voice answered,

"Come in."

Jason?

Why didn't Mum or Dad answer themselves? Why can't they?

She entered. Dad sat by the bed, back to her. Behind him, a sliver of copper hair, and a pair of blanketed legs. He pressed a white cloth to her forehead, then wrung it in a basin of water. It was soaked red.

Mum?

Jason sat across from Dad, his bald patch reflecting the sunlight. His eyes widened, then he shot a look at Dad. Dad didn't seem to notice. He rinsed the cloth and dabbed Mum's forehead again.

How hard did she hit her head against that marble? How many times?

Horror chilled her blood to ice. Yet the teardrop burned as it sped down her cheek. Just tell them you're fine. Everyone will be fine. She wetted her lips.