Season notes: violence, death, attempted murder, accusation of sexual assault
It had been three months since their return from Court. The bright green of the trees blanketing the mountains gave way to grass and wildflowers, bright splashes of color surrounding the manor. The manor seemed to glow with the reflected sparks of the strengthening sun. From the kennel came the squeaks and yips of the year’s pups, exploring outside for the first time. Mattin stole a few moments on his way back from the stables to enjoy the beauty of his home. For two months, the disasters—major and minor—had left little time for even simple pleasures.
Once again, he had carried a message to Jaffrey, telling him the mistress had to cancel their time in the glamourhame. A week ago, Joth had shown up at her office, asking to speak with her, and she turned him away.
Mattin worried about Jahlene. The toys weren’t the only ones suffering from neglect. The mistress was tense and on edge, and Mattin didn’t think the ongoing problems were the only reason. Cook said the glamour was a hunger. What happened when a fae didn’t feed it?
The day no longer seemed so bright.
He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it before, but what Jahlene was doing wasn’t healthy. He couldn’t say anything to her, not without disobeying. Someone had to.
The mistress had told him to get some lunch after he delivered her message. He decided to see if Brit was in his office.
“Sir?” Brit sat at his desk, hair in utter disarray and head cradled in his hands as he read a report. Mattin prayed it was something routine, and not another problem.
“Mattin? Mare shat it, what’s the disaster this time?” Brit threw his pen across the room. It hit the wall, leaving a spatter of ink. Housekeeper would not be pleased.
“I’m hoping there isn’t one,” Mattin replied.
“But you’re worried enough to come down here.” Brit stretched, cracking his knuckles in a vaguely menacing way. “Spit it out.”
“I’m worried about… the lady. I think she’s hurting herself by not… not doing glamourhai.”
Brit sighed and relaxed. “It’s probably nothing. Fae can feed their glamour any time. It’s the difference between snacking all day and having a big feast. But why don’t you tell me what happened.”
Mattin did; he told Brit about the tension and strain he saw, the way she flinched away from her toys, and numerous other small things he had seen over the past several weeks.
Brit listened without interrupting. When Mattin finished, he asked, “How long since she’s taken any of them to the glamourhame?”
“Nearly a month.”
Brit froze. “A month?”
Mattin nodded. “She’s scheduled times but keeps needing to cancel them.”
“That is… not good. I’ll try and talk with her later.”
Mattin nodded and turned to go.
As he got to the door, Brit said, “You don’t seem as twitchy on the subject.”
Mattin felt himself blush but nodded. “I… learned a lot at Court. Still not comfortable with the whole thing. But most of the time… I kind of envy them.”
After Mattin left, Brit pumped his fist in the air. A small victory, but it might lead to bigger things. That was, if they survived these constant problems.
The fight this time wasn’t a rumor. And it didn’t end with someone dumping water over their heads and telling them to stop being stupid. No, it ended with both Joth and Crait in the hands of Housekeeper, bruised and bloody. Jahlene had finally cleared a bit of time to spend in the glamourhame and asked Crait to join her—leaving aside issues of glamour, she wanted to hit something. According to Housekeeper’s report, her deciding to spend the time with Crait sparked the fight.
The report came in while Brit was trying to convince Jahlene to make more time for glamourhai. “No.” The word snapped out, belying her attempts to appear calm and firm. “No more. My toys are fighting over the time I am able to spend with them,” she tossed Housekeeper’s report to the desk, scattering papers. “I have a new crisis landing on my desk every day. I will not play when I’m upset—that’s a good way to make a mistake and hurt someone. I’m not going to risk my toys by playing when they are already wrought up. I will not take anyone into the glamourhame until we get these disasters under control!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Mattin’s wince. She was too wrought up herself to get a good taste of his feelings, but, at the moment, she didn’t care. He had nothing to say on glamourhai that she wanted to hear.
“Mistress,” Brit said, “I think maybe you’d be better doing the opposite. You need time to relax. You need to feed your glamour. You aren’t going to stop being upset and off balance until you do. And their problems are from not getting enough time. Do you really think ending that time entirely will help?”
Jahlene glared at him, “Enough.”
Mattin bit his tongue and kept silent. He thought Brit was probably, right. He was certain that saying anything right now would be a disaster. Another one.
Brit had just taken Housekeeper’s report on the seasonal linen count and was in a foul mood. It had been a month since Jahlene renounced glamourhai, and the whole manor walked on edge. Brit, himself, still had the faint remains of a black eye from his last go-round with Cook.
Jahlene had said nothing about the very visible bruise, which disturbed Brit more than all the rest of the problems put together. All it would take—all it would take—was one tiny thing. One wrong word said, one wrong feeling, and Jahlene would erupt. A few months ago, Brit would have bet on Mattin setting off the explosion, but the boy found his feet, and the two of them had—Blessed Mare—sorted their problems. Right now, Mattin’s near-constant presence was the only thing keeping Jahlene together.
Which left Brit to keep the rest of the manor from erupting.
And explained why he nearly punched a wall when he found Marta weeping in a corner of a back hall. The girl hid her face in her hands moment she saw him, so at least she hadn’t seen his momentary loss of control.
Brit had been uncomfortable with Marta from the day she arrived. She confused him. Rebuilding the household after Lady Trilla’s death, he’d dealt with what he thought was every imaginable reaction to a fae’s abuse. And if he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn she’d never been a slave to such as Oeloff.
Still, she had managed to become best friend or bosom companion to at least half the women of the manor and no few of the men. She was the one person no one was upset or feuding with, the one person everyone liked. If Marta was hurt, the eruption he’d been holding off had become unavoidable.
With a sigh, Brit crouched down beside her. “What’s the trouble, girl?”
She jerked her head up like a startled deer… “I—I’m sorry, sir. I just wanted… to be alone for a while. No one ever comes here. Or—”
Brit grimaced. That was true enough. He hadn’t known the girl had even been aware of this corridor. If this had been going on for a while, and the girl had been taking herself off to hide her weeps… perhaps she had more care for the way folk would react than he’d have thought. But if it wasn’t the first time, why hadn’t he run across her before? “Well, I’m here, so why don’t you tell me about it. Old problems or new?”
She looked down and away, hunching in on herself. “New.” He barely heard the word.
“Then I think you need to tell me about it.”
It took some prodding, but she opened up. “It was Cook…” she stopped and glanced at Brit before continuing. “He… he used glamour to make me…”
Brit swallowed a growl, and she looked at him again before flinching away. “It’s alright, girl; not you I’m angry with. You need to tell me more. You need to tell me everything. Then I’m going to take care of this once and for all.”
For a bare instant, he saw something—something smug and satisfied in her eyes. But no, it was terror that filled her eyes as she told him the rest, told him things that couldn’t have enraged him more if they’d been planned for the purpose.
He managed, somehow, to say the right things. He sent her to her bed and told her she could have her friends sit with her for a time, and promised to deal with Cook and check on her later.
Then he shook himself off and headed for the kitchen. He was halfway there when he realized what was bothering him — Marta had been helping Housekeeper count the linens. The seasonal linen count was an all day affair, starting before dawn and running well into evening. Housekeeper had released her team not even half an hour before. So when had Marta had time to go to the kitchen?
Mattin left the mistress’ dinner on her desk a few minutes early and bowed himself out. She didn’t notice, focusing on a plan for addressing the latest crisis.
The last month had been a new and different kind of hell. He’d thought knowing what Marta endured hundreds of miles away and being unable to do anything was torment. The past month, watching the mistress fall apart before his very eyes…
He no longer spent early mornings in the kitchen. He stayed with Jahlene practically from the moment she woke until she fell asleep. He didn’t know why she chose him to rely on or how he knew she was getting dangerously fragile. Maybe it was the randomness of her reactions to things. Or the way Brit watched Jahlene like he expected her to break at any moment. Or the way she no longer interacted with the household, instead relying on Brit, Parlen, and Mattin himself to do so for her.
He couldn’t stand back any longer, and if Brit was right about how much the mistress needed the time in the glamourhame…
A week ago, he’d had an idea, but he had been afraid to try, afraid he would only make things worse. At this point, if something didn’t change… he didn’t like to think about it. He had to try to help. He only prayed she would let him.
But first, he needed to talk with someone. He made a mistake when he ran away to rescue Marta. Not in trying to save her, but he didn’t stop to think about Pop, and the way trying to help Marta would hurt him. Mattin wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Which was why, before he spoke with the mistress, he needed to talk with Jaffrey.
Author note: One of the hazards of revising and re-releasing a story over a decade old is the things you can’t change. If I were writing this story for the first time now, I’d have handled Marta’s arc differently. As it is, I have done what I can to make it better within the limits of the existing story. There remain many very valid critiques of how I’ve handled this.
Jess Mahler
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