To the Stars | Throne of Glass

15

'Celaena! Wake up!' Gentle hands shook her elbow, and Celaena spluttered awake, pushing her hair out of her eyes. A concerned Ben peered down at her. Then he looked at the dagger in her hand. 'I wasn't going to attack you. Come on, get changed into nicer clothes. I took some food up to your room because you missed lunch. And your music lesson starts soon.'

Celaena gazed blearily at her now-crumpled dress. 'Okay.'

Ben hoisted her up and practically carried her to her room, winked, and shut the door with a small click.

Celaena pushed off the stiff gown. At least she didn't get drool on it. But she'd still have to take it down the the laundress.

~

Lady Marion was her name. The laundress whom her mother had befriended.

Lady Marion had been a laundress in the palace from her childhood. But when Evalin Ashryver - Rhoe Galathynius's new wife - arrived, she and Marion became friends, mostly because the princess had stained her new husband's favorite shirt with ink and wanted to get it cleaned before he noticed. Evalin soon made Marion her lady-in-waiting.

Soon afterwards, Cal Lochan, the Lord of Perranth, returned to the palace from a rotation on the southern border. Cal developed feelings for Lady Marion, and began frequently visiting the laundry room to supposedly ask her for help in getting stains out of his clothes. He began giving her gifts, the first of which was an ivory comb. Eventually he proposed to her, and Marion became his wife and Lady of Perranth. She had Elide Lochan two years later. 

~

She blinked as a suddenly wave of undiluted, heart-wrenching sorrow swept through her, so hard she staggered into a wall. Lady Marion had died - died for her. Though it seemed eons ago, she missed her so, so much.

But Celaena refused to let the grief overwhelm her. She thumbed the tip of a pin in her hair, the sharp pain sending her crashing back into the present.

Dress. Celaena put on a simple, fresh gown. Hair. She slid the pins out, and shook her hair loose, freeing it from the tight half-up half-down bun. Eat. True to his word, Ben had left a plate of roast meat and potatoes on the shelf. She dropped the pins into a drawer in the dresser, kicked off her moccasins, and dug in.

When she was finished, she chugged a glass of water, and rubbed her face before leaving the room in her slippers.

An elderly man was waiting by the pianoforte in the music room. Celaena had never seen him before, so either he had no idea he currently stood in a house of Assassins, or he was paid or threatened to keep his mouth shut. Probably the latter. Celaena gave her warmest smile, and the man patted the stool. 'Sit down,' he urged, 'You're not going to learn anything by standing there all day.'

Celaena frowned, but took a seat. 'Are you just going to stand there?'

The man chuckled. 'No; budge up.' Celaena did. 'Now, Dianna, we'll start with the basics.'

Dianna. That name again. What was his name? He placed his hands over the keys, palm curved into an elegant dome. 'White notes are neutral. Now, you see this note here?' The man gestured to the black note in the centre of a cluster of three. 'This black note is either a sharp to this note,' he said, pressing the white key to the left, 'or the flat to this key,' he finished, touching a wrinkled finger to the key to the left of the black note. Celaena nodded. 'Now this,' the man rambled, 'is called an octave.' He stretched his fingers, and surprisingly, they managed to reach between eight notes.

Celaena tapped a few black notes. The man winced, as if the noise was the equivalent of nails being dragged down the windowpane. 'Oh, dear. No, no. Let me show you.' The man's forehead creased, and he gently, but firmly, pushed Celaena's hand off the instrument. Then he placed his own onto the notes, and, slowly, played a tune.

It could have been seconds or minutes or hours that Celaena was sat at the piano with her teacher. Finally, he stopped. 'Dear, it's getting late now. I shall leave you here. It has been a pleasure teaching you, Dianna.' He bowed, and exited the room. Celaena paused from her exercise, and called, 'Wait - will I see you again next week?'

The old man's eyes crinkled as he smiled. 'I hope so. Goodbye.' Celaena waved, and promptly resumed her fingering practice.

It was only hours after, when she was in bed, did she realise she never asked for his name.