Book 1 Chapter 7: Remorse

Vero quietly leaned against the wall. The final fitting had been completed a few days ago. The wedding was almost upon them. He sighed and closed his eyes. He reached over and knocked on the door next to him with the back of his hand.

“Mi lady, are you done in there?” he asked, getting a little impatient. There was no answer. He sighed, again.

“How is she?” Vero heard and he quickly looked towards the source of the sound.

“Bartemaus sir… she,” he let out a moanful sigh. “She’s… hiding.”

“Hiding?” Bartemaus repeated, surprised. Vero nodded, looking up at the older Yowlume. “Well, the painter isn’t going to be here forever.”

Vero stood there, trying to figure out his next course of action. Ylva loved to use him as target practice, especially when she was irritable. But that was most times, unless she was honing her skills. Of course, she never hit, but he wasn’t sure if she was trying to give his fur a cut with how close she was getting.

He decided it would be worse if old Bartemaus was the one to drag her out of her spot. She might accidentally hit him with those hidden weapons. He had once tried to have her remove them all, but she always seemed to have one or two hidden somewhere. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn she could summon them like some tale in the legends and stories of old.

“I’ll get her, just one moment,” Vero said, at length.

He turned and took one deep breath before rapping his knuckles on the door and then reaching for the door handle, opening it. He saw a silhouette in the window. Ylva stood quietly, only her ears, as they flicked, gave any indication that she realized he had come in.

“Mi Lady,” Vero said with a deep bow. She turned to regard him and he froze. Streaming down her face was a line of tears.

“What?” she asked gruffly and he looked down.

“The painter is awaiting your appearance. It’s been some time so I came to check on you. I would suggest you finish soon and,” he began.

“Come here Vero,” she said and this time his heart stopped. Not necessarily in fear but surprise. He obediently rose and walked over as she sat down, facing a mirror.

“Mi Lady?” he asked, waiting for her instructions. He heard her take a deep breath and then she wiped the tears away. She reached for a brush and then turned, holding it out to him. He looked at her, bewildered and he saw the slight tilt of her ears.

“Me?” he asked and she dropped the brush in his open hands. Without another word she looked back at the mirror and Vero inwardly let out a long breath.

“Yes Mi Lady,” he whispered as he began to comb out her white hair. Despite being a warrior, she had grown long hair, and had maintained it. He supposed there could be a reason, but any possibility eluded him. As he brushed, he ignored the tears that dripped down her face and into her lap. This quiet weeping was quite strange. He tried being gentle with the brushes, occasionally finding a small snag and gently teasing it out. Once it was all set, he sighed.

“Mi lady, is there a style you desire or will you let me choose one for you,” he offered. She gently shook her head. He reached for her hair, expecting her to flick him away, or snap. When she did neither, he quietly began to pull it back, separating out sections as he began to work on a few braids. He drew them back, framing her head as if a crown and quietly tucked a few loose strands in. Then he skillfully twisted a few other sections and framed the braids. After the styling was complete, he set the brush down.

“I won’t let him down,” She muttered and Vero sighed. She had an unwavering will. Perhaps this steely determination would serve her well. As he began to leave he saw her ear flick, asking him to stay.

“I’ll be waiting for you outside, Mi Lady,” Vero said with a bow. Ylva turned to face him and he ducked. No dagger this time, but that expression on her hastened his steps. He heard her yell his name and then before he closed the door behind him she growled out another name.

“Oh, Master. Why?” he heard her say. Who was this? It didn’t sound like she was asking for the Ulrika. He shivered. He knew his lady was weighed down by thoughts, but that she would recompose herself shortly. It was a trait she had mastered long before she had began her tutelage under him.

True to his impressions of her, she emerged after a few minutes and he directed her to the painter. She performed as needed, then quietly, silently retreated and undid her hair. Vero waited on her as she changed back to her usual attire.

After that, he noted that she no longer cried, but her demeanor was somber as she began to do her routine. Her training was eloquent, and to him, energizing to watch. Particularly when her daggers flew out and nearly shaved his fur.

The few words she chanted under her breath, while she trained, had peaked his interest.

A Master, far more reveared than he could imagine she gave anyone kept coming up. She seemed to have some complex relation with this person as she both cursed them and praised them. If Vero had to put his inquisitve mind to work, he guessed this master was the one who had trained her. And had also ordered her to marry the Ulrika.

If this was correct, it made sense why she would have agreed to the marriage, but could be so against it.

But wouldn’t this make this an arranged marriage? Why would the Master who she cherished, command her to do this? It didn’t make any sense. Vero could never see his Master order him to do something he despised. So what was he missing here. What hidden element, had he overlooked.

The more he paid attention, the more he found her situation confusing.

At long last she stopped the training and leaned against her sword. She looked skyword and Vero noticed a tear form in her eyes but never trail down her face.

“Where are you?” She asked no one inparticular.

Vero shivered at her tone. It was like the cry to a dear person, perhaps lost to time, or missing in general.

It was chilling. Heart wrenching even.