Broken Dove Page 4

  So I asked, “Where’s Valentine?”

  “I do not know. She disappeared in the night, as is her wont.”

  Disappeared?

  Why?

  Shit!

  “Uh…I think she left a lot out last night,” I informed him.

  “I’m late being away to the children’s school. You and I will talk later. But I’ll warn you now, I’ll have little time. There’s much to be done before we embark on our journey, so think on your questions and use that time wisely,” he stated and turned to leave.

  Wait.

  Hang on a second.

  Who was this guy? And where was the guy who was all affectionate and kind and concerned and fierce?

  “Wait!” I called when he’d almost made the door.

  He turned back to me, definitely impatient now. “Ilsa, as I said, I’m late being away. I should have left half an hour ago.”

  “I…” I hesitated and tipped my head to the side. “Are you okay?”

  His impatience fled, the blank mask slid over his face and he answered, “I will be, if you leave me to go collect my children.”

  “Right,” I said softly. “Of course.”

  He didn’t acknowledge that. Not with a nod of his head, a lift of his chin or anything.

  He just turned and walked out the door, and without pause, the troop of women rushed forward and descended on me.

  * * * * *

  It was late evening.

  After Apollo took off, I’d been measured for clothing and then led to a room down the hall, which fortunately had a screen painted with a lovely landscape with people picnicking on it, behind which, unfortunately, there was a chamber pot.

  I wasn’t fired up about the chamber pot business but it was something that didn’t include me tiptoeing through the tulips (or whatever) to answer nature’s call, so I used it.

  The room also had a fabulous porcelain bath with silver claw feet and high sides.

  It was safe to say, I was fired up about that.

  The girls left and I was allowed to take a bath alone but I noted there was no plumbing, although there was a drain. Still, the water was warm, the shampoo smelled of citrus, the soap of lavender, and the washcloth was slightly rough in a loofah kind of way.

  When I got out, I grabbed the towel they left me on a dainty stool by the bath. It wasn’t terrycloth but it was soft and absorbent and a fabulous shade of blue.

  They’d also left a robe. It was silk, there was a fair bit of delicate lace and it was butter yellow.

  Okay, it was safe to say I was getting fired up more and more.

  The women came back (three of them) and brushed my hair until it was almost dry then arranged it in a soft ponytail at my nape. They gave me light makeup, taking care with my bruised cheek (the room with the tub also had an oval mirror with scalloped edges on the wall; I looked in it and saw my cheek was not good but still, as bad as it hurt, I’d had worse).

  They also gave me undies (no bra, just a pair of white lace panties and they were like panties in my world except a whole lot better).

  Then they helped me put on a dress that didn’t fit, it was a hint too big, but it was lovely all the same. A gossamer fabric over a phenomenal crêpe de chine, both the color of a bruised peach. It had a scoop neck that showed some serious cleavage, a gathered bodice that led to an empire waist, and the skirts swept down to my feet, the back of it ending in a small kickass train.

  After I got the dress on, they gave me four different pairs of slippers that I tried (they were all beautiful, two embroidered, one with a flat bow at the toe and one just plain satin). But none of them fit, (three too small, one too big) so I went barefoot.

  And last, they brought me breakfast which was croissants, jam, fruit and, thankfully, coffee.

  Then they left.

  I tried talking to them but they spoke what sounded like French and I might know what tout de suite and chérie meant, but I took Spanish in high school so the rest of it was lost on me.

  Since Apollo had spoken to one of them in English, which I would assume he’d know she’d understand, I tried to ask for her to come back as she’d disappeared with the women with the measuring tape.

  This got me smiles, head tilts, brows drawing and shrugs, so I was thinking they were in the same boat as me and had no clue.

  So I gave up.

  After I ate, I wandered to the French doors and pulled a set open.

  Then I took a step back and winced.

  I didn’t wince from pain.

  I winced because the rolling countryside was a green so green, a green so extraordinarily beautiful, it was difficult to witness.

  In fact, it was so beautiful, it appeared unnatural.

  I blinked several times and cautiously moved out onto the balcony.

  The view was a unlike any other I’d seen and I’d traveled with Pol, broadly.

  But I’d never seen anything like what I was seeing then. That verdant green. The winding, creamy lane that was flanked on both sides by a riot of wildflowers so bright, their stark juxtaposition against that green was unreal.

  And that green seemed to go on and on, cut only by steeple topping a church made of mellow rust stone, and opposite that some ways away, a large patch of bushy rows of what appeared to be lavender.

  But in the distance, the green darkened in what appeared to be a forest that climbed partly up some jagged topped mountains, their stone a severe gray which was lightened by deep grooves that scored nearly down to the tree line, the grooves filled with snow.

  It was phenomenal. Amazing.

  Otherworldly.

  “My God,” I breathed, finally believing without a doubt I was in a parallel universe.

  There was nothing like this in my world and I couldn’t make this up in a dream. No one could make this up in a dream, it was just that phenomenal.

  I determined to take a walk and see it close up but decided to do that the next day (if we weren’t “away” by then). After the activity of the morning, my ribs were killing me, my face didn’t feel all that great, and I didn’t speak French (or whatever) so I couldn’t ask the girls if they had ibuprofen or aspirin.

  Instead, I drank in the view until it dissolved in front of me as two names laid siege to my brain.

  Christophe and Élan.

  I closed my eyes tight and sucked in a deep breath, the kind I’d practiced over and over again the last eleven years Pol had been in my life. And in pulling in that breath, as I’d learned to do and do it well, I controlled the emotion I couldn’t allow myself to feel.

  I opened my eyes, and having it under control, I allowed my mind to go there.

  Christophe and Élan.

  I would never name my kids those names.

  But Pol would. He’d totally name our kids names like that. And Pol, being Pol, even if I’d picked out my own names, would name them whatever the hell he wanted.

  Unfortunately, he’d lost his mind about something I no longer remembered— but when he did that, the reasons were never really important—and beat the crap out of me when I was seven months pregnant and thus I lost our boy.

  And I’d miscarried in my sixth month and lost our girl.

  These had bought me the only long blocks of time with Pol that hadn’t included him losing it frequently. Being the biggest asshole I’d ever met in my life, even he wasn’t that big of an asshole to blame me for losing our son after he’d beat the crap out of me and I’d eventually hit the ground and rolled down the six brick stairs that led to our fabulous pool.

  So he’d treated me like crystal for months after that.

  Until he’d stopped doing it.

  And even Pol had loved me enough in his way to revert right back to that tender care when we found out I was pregnant again, giving me the first hint since he showed me the true Pol four months after we were married that maybe he could change and we could make a go of it.

  Further, he knew I was crushed when I got so far along with our baby girl and lo
st her, so he kept doing it.

  Until he’d stopped doing it again, forever shattering any illusion that he could change and we could make a go of it.

  A year after that, carefully timed, carefully planned, I’d escaped.

  Now I was here.

  My eyes were open but I didn’t see the view to beat all views.

  I saw nothing but heard the Apollo of this world saying he would be preparing his children to meet me, something that would be difficult for me to do.

  For if he was Pol of this world, and I was his Ilsa, then his children…

  I shook my head and took another deep, steadying breath.

  Letting it out, I decided that couldn’t be. There had to be differences between the worlds and obviously there were. For the Apollo and Ilsa of this world had kids, and Pol and I did not.

  His kids were not what our kids would have been.

  No way.

  I’d paid a very heavy price for my self-indulgence, materialism and avarice. No God in any universe would make me pay that kind of price.

  I turned my mind from that and started to wonder when Apollo’s children’s mother died—if they were young and didn’t remember her or if they did.

  And if they did, I didn’t think it was that hot of an idea for them to meet me.

  In fact, it would be cruel. He’d been blank and impatient that morning and the night before he’d more than once been seriously scary, so I was guessing he had it in him to be cruel. But I couldn’t find it in me to believe the man I’d met the night before would be cruel to his own children.

  I had to turn my mind away from these thoughts and my future. No answers came from worrying and wondering. I’d learned that a long time ago. Answers came from seeing and doing.

  I just had to wait.

  I left the balcony and took a tour of the house, which was a long tour since it was a huge-ass house.

  And the entirety of it was much like the room I slept in, elegant to almost cartoon-like extremes, but nevertheless strangely tasteful and absolutely gorgeous.

  A maid found me (and not the English-speaking one, unfortunately) and guided me to a dining room decorated in yellows and blues. There, I got a light lunch of salad with flakes of tuna, quarters of hard-boiled egg, crisp bacon bits and olives in a light oil-based dressing flavored in lemon with a heavenly roll on the side, this served with wine, of which I partook a lot.

  Which led me to going back to my room and taking a nap.

  After I got up, worried the children might be there and not wanting them to see me, but still needing to speak to Apollo, I went in search of him. Surreptitiously I left my room, careful not to turn corners or enter rooms if I heard anyone.

  I didn’t hear anyone but I did run into one of the maids who helped me that morning.

  When I said, “Mr. Ulfr…here?” while pointing at the floor, she replied, shaking her head, “Monsieur Ulfr, non.”

  I put my fingers to my mouth and arched them out, asking, “Does anyone here speak English?”

  A head tilt and then, “Je suis désolée. Je ne comprends pas.”

  I guessed at what that meant (or some of it) and nodded.

  She smiled and took off.

  I watched her go, wondering at her reaction to me, as in, she had none. She was friendly but that was it.

  This made me wonder if Apollo had told them about me, if everyone knew about this parallel universe, or if they’d never met the other Ilsa.

  I put that on my list of things to ask Apollo in the short time he’d told me I’d have to ask questions.

  Though, I was hoping I could talk him into a longer session since I had a lot of questions, they were all important and it was difficult to prioritize them.

  Dinner was as delicious as lunch, if far more heavy, and after it ended and time went on, dusk fell and he nor the children returned, I started to get antsy.

  Then panicked.

  I was in a different world, wearing different clothes I wasn’t used to (and I wasn’t letting my mind go to the possibility they were the other me’s), no shoes and I couldn’t communicate with anyone around me.

  The only person I knew, I didn’t really know and he’d been weird with me that morning. The only other person I knew had disappeared.

  I’d spent three years on the run and hiding. Being careful of every move I made, every person I met, keeping track of every lie I told, always looking over my shoulder, never letting my guard down.

  Valentine told me I was safe here. And there were beautiful things, good food and great beauty here.

  But having that hurried, borderline unfriendly chat with Apollo this morning and then nothing, I wasn’t feeling all that safe here.

  On that thought, I heard what sounded like horse’s hooves beating on stone and my heart slid up into my throat.

  This was for a variety of reasons.

  One was there were horse’s hooves on stone. I was getting the sense that this universe was not as advanced as ours and all evidence was suggesting this was very true.

  Two was this might herald Apollo being home which might mean Christophe and Élan were with him and I suddenly didn’t want to meet Christophe and Élan, not by mistake, not at all.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  I was sitting in a chair in the library, looking through a picture book that had pretty enough pictures but captions in another language when I heard boots coming down the hall.

  Setting the book aside, I stood and faced the door, pulling in a deep breath, turning my head this way and that looking for escape.

  There was one door and the boots were approaching it.

  But my deep breathing didn’t work this time. My heart swelled in my throat, cutting off my breath.

  I heard one set of boots but the children still might be with him.

  His children.

  His children with Ilsa.

  His children that could have been mine.

  He strode through the door, his dark brown cape flying behind him. He took six steps in and stopped, his cape swaying forward, enveloping him briefly as if it was a living thing giving him an embrace, before it settled.

  His eyes roamed me top to toe swiftly then they locked on mine and he announced, “I’ve left the children at the house in Benies. Since they’re prepared to travel and you must wait for your garments to be completed, and”—he threw out a hand— “anything else you need to acquire, they will be away by ship tomorrow and I’ll be with them. I’ve men in Benies. They’re trained, talented, loyal and trustworthy. They will arrive in the morning and when you’re ready, they’ll take you through Fleuridia and the Vale, you’ll board a ship there and sail the rest of the way to Lunwyn under their guard.”

  I would?

  Alas, I thought this question. I did not ask it out loud nor did I say anything fast enough to get it in before he went on.

  “Now, do you have any questions?” he asked.

  Did I have any questions?

  Was he insane?

  “Well…yes,” I answered then all the questions I had crashed into my brain. There were a lot of them and I couldn’t get a lock on a single one so I quit talking.

  The impatience hit his handsome face.

  “Ilsa, I have little time. I wish to be back to Benies before the children go to bed and it’s an hour’s ride.”

  I caught a thought and shared, “I…well, I have a slight problem. No one here understands me. I don’t speak the language.”

  His head cocked sharply to the side. “You don’t speak Fleuridian?”

  “Uh…no.”

  He righted his head and declared, “Valentine speaks Fleuridian.”

  She did?

  It must be full on French then. Or she spent a lot of time here.

  “Well, I don’t,” I replied.

  His eyes flashed before he continued. “Ilsa’s father was from Fleuridia. She was fluent in both Fleuridian and the language of the Vale.”

  I had no idea what he was t
alking about but I thought it important to cautiously and thoughtfully point something out.

  So, gently, I said, “I’m not her.”

  His eyes swept me again before locking on mine, whereupon he stated roughly, “This, I know,” in a way that felt not-so-vaguely like an insult.

  It was so not-so-vaguely that in delivering that line, it felt like he’d delivered a blow.

  A blow that made my head twitch but he either didn’t catch it or decided to ignore it and he kept talking.

  “This matters not. My men speak the language of the Vale which is spoken throughout the Northlands, except in Fleuridia.”

  “Oh…well, okay,” I murmured.

  “You have other questions?” he prompted, raising a dark, thick eyebrow, every line of his body indicating he wanted to be anywhere but there.

  “About a million of them,” I told him and he pulled in a sharp, annoyed breath through his nostrils.

  “I don’t have time for a million questions, Ilsa,” he stated.

  I took a step toward him and stopped, but lifted a hand. “Apollo, I’m kind of at a loss here. Your world is not like my world, like, in any way. Sure, we have tuna and you have tuna—”

  Another sharp cock of the head accompanied by his brows snapping together and he cut me off to ask, “Tuna?”

  Right, they didn’t call it tuna.

  Moving on.

  I lifted my hand higher and circled it, “It doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is, things are very different here and I’ve been thrown in the deep end—”

  Another brow draw but this one was ominous.

  “You’d have me send my children on a journey such as this without me accompanying them?”

  “No,” I replied quickly. “But just pointing out, I don’t know what kind of journey that is seeing as I don’t know anything.”

  He jerked up his chin and said, “I will talk with my men. They’ll explain things to you.”

  “But—”

  “You’ll be safe with them.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “And I’ll have time to explain things to the children, prepare them for your arrival.”

  “And that would be—”

  “Now, if there’s nothing more,” he stated, his body moving as if he was preparing to leave.

  Yes.

  He was barely letting me get a word in edgewise and preparing to leave!