The Brush Tiger of Derven Ch. 06-11

CHAPTER 6: THE LOGGERS

Thoroughly touched by Laren's comment, Namora uses her wrapped wrist as an excuse to let her inner pain show in her face. Though she omitted the fact that Irron was with her upon her injury, she doubts that her father believes the tale. Tonight the usual party of both Kings, both Advisors and Namora is joined by a few of the well-to-do families of Derven. Ignorant to the abhorrent situation, they gush over Irron and he is happy enough to oblige them with tales of Alumenia, though he constantly looks over to Namora.

Keeping her eyes down, she avoids questions with quick one or two word answers. She picks at the food that is placed before her, eating but not tasting a few bites of the squash soup, nibbling on some of the fresh beans but not the meat. When the meal draws to a close and all rise to go to the drawing room for after dinner refreshments, she plays again on her injury as a way to part companies.

"I am terribly sorry, my dear guests but I am not feeling very well tonight. You'll have to excuse me, but I am off to rest."

Before Irron can insist that he walk her to her room, Laren asks one of the attendants to do so. Namora provides a quaint "Good night," to her future husband before disappearing out the door with some help.

Though she is deposited in her room, Namora doesn't stay there. She knows it will be the first place that Irron looks for her tonight but the last place will inevitably be the exact spot of their previous encounter, so that is where she sneaks off to.

When she sits down, she wishes she had taken the time to change out of the hideous gold dress and corset. However after few moments, when the tears begin to burn her eyes, she is thankful because the restriction around her chest prevents her from a full on sob. Crying quietly, alone in the darkness, she lets the sadness seep out of her bones.

This time, she hears the footsteps. But this time, by the unevenness of the gait, Namora knows it is her father.

When he sits down next to her, she wipes the tears from her eyes and puts on the blank face of a princess that her tutors taught her. Together they sit in silence for a while, both wanting to say what is on their minds but neither wanting to do it first. Finally, her father rests his hand on Namora's shoulder, "My child, I am sorry for the way things have turned out."

"There is nothing to be sorry for Father. I have chosen my path and I will follow it with grace and dignity to the end," after pretending to be in love with Irron, Namora finds it easier to keep her voice steady and devoid of emotion.

He sighs, squeezing her shoulder tight, "I have been dishonest with you. The path that lies ahead is not what you think. There is something that is yet to be done, before any of us can rest peacefully. I cannot tell you what you will need to do just yet but you have to trust that I would never let my only beloved daughter be stuck in grasp of such a despicable person."

Namora turns to her father in shock. Being the King of Derven, she had never heard him talk unkindly of another creature in her life. To him each creature, even the disliked brush tiger, serves a purpose in the only way it knows how; it is up to the ruling family to realize that and to respond with patience and tolerance. Tonight, however, he wears the ugliness of anger on his face, something she has never seen.

Looking upon a man she doesn't know it takes her a long time to draw her eyes away. When she does, she discovers that he clutches in his other hand a box that belonged to her mother. Even when she was a child and tried to steal that box and open it, her patient father didn't get angry.

Namora had never known her mother for the Queen died when she was too young to recall. Many of the attendants in the castle—the head chef, Laren, the elderly handmaidens—had always told her how much she resembled the Queen. There must have been something about Namora, something she couldn't see that reminded them of her mother because even though she had spent countless hours staring at her mother's portrait in the throne room, she couldn't see what they saw.

Her mother had a strong, pointed face, beautiful dark hair and deep green eyes. Namora has a feminine rounded face accompanied by the pale brown hair and plain brown eyes of father. She resembled the rest of her kinsmen, almost all of Derven having brown hair and brown eyes. She isn't sure if it is the proportion of her features or the arch of her nose or even the shape of her lips that made everyone else think Namora is beautiful; to her, every quality of her face looks plain and dull when compared to her mother's, as the Queen didn't resemble any of the Dervens. Namora couldn't help but imagine that the Queen must have stuck out like a rose in a field of grass.

She notices for the first time just how old her father looks; the color that should be in his face, the redness of his lips, the brown hue of his eyes all seem to be faded, washed out. She doesn't know what to say to her father, so she doesn't say anything at all, knowing that no words could convince either of them at this moment.

He squeezes her shoulder firmly again before his hand falls back into his lap and curls around the box. He can't look at her anymore, she suspects he will cry if he does, "Please, Namora, just be strong for a little while longer. Be vigilant, be alert and keep an open mind and an open heart. I know that they are not one in the same and that the pair often lead us in opposite directions but I trust you to know when it is appropriate to follow one and shun the other." He stands, pausing before he leaves, "I love you, daughter."

. . . . .

It isn't long before Namora finds herself bareback on Greystar, trotting toward the lone tree in her meadow. She didn't change her clothes and is forced to hike the dress up to her knees in order to straddle the beast. Though she wanted to, part of her-her heart-was worried that she would run into Irron once inside the castle; the other part-her mind-told her that she might as well get used to wearing a corset and dinner dress, because she will be doing so for the rest of her life.

Once under the tree, she is unable to slouch back against her horse's chest; Namora simply lies down on her back and stares up at the moonless sky. Though most citizens fear the night on account of the brush tigers becoming active, Namora has always had a fondness for it. As the normal life drifts off to sleep, the night brings with it new mystery, excitement and beauty. She has always wondered what secrets it holds, what creatures sneak around in the shadows.

She looks over to the woods every few moments for her brush tiger but he does not come tonight. While she should be glad, she finds that it only makes her feel even more alone. Her eyes are tired and dry from all of the tears; she closes them to extinguish the burn. Soon, she drifts off to sleep.

. . . . .

Namora pushes the fruit around on her plate before looking up to see Irron across the table from her. He waits patiently. It takes her a moment to realize that he asked her a question.

"I'm sorry, King Irron, what was that?" She doesn't remember waking up, coming back to the castle or how she ended up in the breakfast room.

"Are you feeling better, Princess? I was thinking perhaps we could go for a ride after breakfast. I would like to see how the trees are processed; I was hoping we could spend a little more time together, since I will be heading back to Alumenia tonight, after the feast." Her days have blurred together. Though Irron has only been in Derven for a week, for her it seems like a life time. While he tries to feign interest in others, it didn't take her long to discover that he was a very pompous, self centered individual. She knew that very few Alumenians and even fewer citizens of other countries had ever set eyes upon him because he chose to remain segregated from his people. However, after getting to know him better, she is only able to fain a smile towards him at the thought that perhaps he wasn't able to be in the company of others because few could stand him.

"Oh. I feel a little better but still weak. I think that would be wonderful but would it be possible for us to get back early enough that I could rest a little before the feast tonight?"

"Of course, my love," his smile doesn't reach his eyes, "I would like you to be well rested for tonight. You did, after all, promise me a dance."

She keeps the smile painted on her face, "I haven't forgotten."

. . . . .

It is obvious to her that Greystar does not like King Irron. The huge beast fidgets and paws at the ground while she waits for Irron to mount his horse. A few lengths behind them, Captain Franklin sits on his old brown mare, serving as chaperone today. Namora knows Franklin well and though she is quite fond of the Captain she wishes he wouldn't be here.

Franklin is Amyee's older brother. They have lived together since their parents died about ten years ago. Namora grew up sneaking over to their house at night; he always pretended he didn't know but Namora suspected he did. He isn't much older than her and is in his prime. He has the rugged look of all Derven men—no matter how often he shaves, he always appears to have a shadow growing on his face. His skin is tanned dark from long hours working outside and his muscles show his effort. Many women have swooned over him but his growly attitude scares them all away. Namora often thought that when she was ready to marry, she would choose Franklin. Despite his attractiveness, Namora's heart never jumped when he looked at her but she always felt comfortable around him and to her that meant a lot. Even though he had a knack for complaining about everything, it didn't take her long to discover that he only truly complained about what he liked.

As Irron mounts his horse, Namora looks past him to Franklin. She regrets her thoughts of choosing him for a husband because now she wishes it could be. Her life with him would have been comfortable and perhaps her heart could have even grown to love him. But now, she must spend all afternoon pretending to be in love with Irron, while Franklin watches over them. She feels somewhat guilty—while pretending with Irron was one thing because he knew, doing it in front of someone she has known for years seems like a complete lie.

The area they go to isn't very far from Franklin and Amyee's house. The loggers on sight are clearing a field for a new farm plot. Namora stops a little distance away and dismounts; Irron following suit.

"Shall we get a little closer, dear?" he questions, confused as to why they aren't with the loggers.

"You can if you wish but I wouldn't recommend it. While these Derven men are extremely skilled in their craft, a living tree still has a will of its own and may chose to fall somewhere other than what is wished."

Irron nods slowly as if he didn't consider that option. Tucked under a twisted old oak tree, Irron spreads out a blanket for them to sit upon to watch the logging. She finds it odd that he does so as she would have been just as content sitting on the grass, until she realizes that he is too classy to do so himself. After tying his horse to a tree, he sits down next to Namora, though a little too close for her comfort.

"How is your wrist, my love? Is it broken?" He lifts her left hand up in his, tenderly stroking her bandages.

She wants to show him how exactly how not broken her wrist is by slapping him but she refrains, "Laren thinks there could be a small break. I am to be very careful not to...fall...again..." she cannot look at him but instead lets her eyes wander over to the men chopping down a tall pine with an axe.

Irron sets her wrist back in her lap. There is a slight hint of annoyance in his voice, "I am truly sorry for that, my love. It will be better by the end of next week, won't it? For our...wedding?"

It will never be well enough for a...wedding...she thinks, but doesn't say. Without answering him, she diverts his attention to the loggers, "They are chopping through the base of that trunk. If you cut downward at an angle before you cut a pie shaped piece out of it, the tree will fall away, instead of towards you."

Irron watches carefully, focused on what the loggers are doing. With their skill, it only takes a few swift chops before the tree begins to lean. Slowly, with a loud crack, it tips over and crashes down to the ground.

Namora turns back to him to discover excitement in his eyes. She isn't sure if he enjoys the new experience or watching something living come to a crashing death.

"How...intriguing..." he comments, just as excited.

Disgusted but thankful that something else has caught his attention for once, Namora joins Irron in watching the loggers process the tree. First, they strip it of its branches. The bigger branches get stripped of the smaller ones, before being put in a pile. The rubbish goes in a large wooden cart which will most likely be hauled to the castle to dry outside before being put into the piles for the fire places. The trunk of the tree gets measured off in steps and cut accordingly. It takes several men, but they are able to load the cut logs onto another horse drawn cart, where they will be taken either to someone to be processed into furniture or to someone else to process it into planks for building. Once the tree is cleaned up and hauled off, the process begins again. After a few trees, Namora gets up and pulls a pack from Greystar, containing some dried meat, fresh corn, a few peaches and other treats.

Together they eat in silence, watching the loggers repeat the practice over and over again. She can't figure out why he is so enthralled by the destruction but other than asking her a few poignant questions, he leaves her be for the duration of the trip. When it is mid afternoon, they finally set off back to the castle. To her surprise, Irron bids her farewell at the steps instead of attempting to walk her back to her room; he seems to be in a hurry to return to his camp.

As she walks up the stairs, Namora begins to feel lightheaded. Her body waivers a little but she is quickly steadied by Franklin.

"Is something the matter, Princess?" He asks, clearly concerned at her unexpected feebleness.

She pauses a moment, breathing deeply, she herself confused but she thinks it is due to her late nights, lack of sleep and loss of appetite. "I am fine, Captain, thank you."

But when she lets go, her knees begin to shake again. This time when Franklin grabs a hold of her, he tucks her arm under his so that it doesn't appear that he is holding her up, simply escorting her somewhere.

"Non-sense, Mora. Let me take you back to your room." His voice comes out quieter, somewhat agitated. That, in combination with his grumbling, makes her heart ache as he truly cares for her.

"Fine, have it your way," she playfully huffs, though she knows that she doesn't have a choice.

As they slowly make their way through the halls, Franklin pushes their conversation further, "I am sorry that he isn't...what you deserve."

"Amyee said something, did she?" she swallows hard, feeling extremely unlike herself.

Arriving at her bedroom door, Franklin pushes open and continues to help her inside, "She didn't have to," he says quietly. After settling her down on her bed, he shifts awkwardly, "Can I say something and you not get upset with me?"

Namora leans over as best as she can and begins to untie her boots, "I don't think I could ever be upset with you, Franklin."

"All of us, the men I mean, wish we would have proposed. To you."

She looks up, crushed, but keeps her blank face steady, "I don't understand what you are trying to say, Franklin."

He huffs and shrugs, "There isn't a man in this country who doesn't love you but there also isn't a man in this country who is worthy of you. I would have tried to woo you-but-Amyee..." he shifts uncomfortably, "Well she would have killed me if it didn't work out. You never seemed interested in anyone. You're like a sister to me but I would have done anything to make you happy, anything to keep you away from that man. Ah hell now I'm just screwing this up," he growls.

"Franklin," Namora stands; she carefully cups his cheek in her hand. Though she is on the verge of tears, she keeps her face calm and her eyes dry, "That is a very sweet thing for you to say. Thank you-but I accepted Irron's hand, no one forced me into it. I chose my path and I will see it through to the end." She offers him a smile, pathetic as it might be, "Now if you'll excuse me, dear friend, I should probably get some sleep before the dance tonight."

He stares at her, his eyes sad. He reaches up and takes her hand into his, kissing it on the palm, "You're as Derven as they come, Princess," he says disapprovingly, before he turns and leaves her.

She flops limply on her bed. She feels like crying but her eyes are bone dry. Her heart feels heavy and cold, like a rock at the bottom of a frozen lake. It offers her no more hope, no more guidance so she follows her mind, and what her mind is telling her right now is to go to sleep, so she does.

CHAPTER 7: PARTING

The sound of her door being pushed open wakes her up. It is Eunice. She comes with a deep purple dress in her arms. The two begin the process of changing, brushing and styling hair. When they finish, Eunice turns to leave, "Your crown was being cleaned today so I will have to go to the jewelers to get it. It will take me a bit, Princess."

She nods, staring at her tired face in the mirror, "All right, Eunice."

While the door shuts she begins to examine herself. Though she slept all afternoon, there are dark circles under her eyes and the color has leeched out of her skin. She shuffles through her drawers and finally finds face powder and some rouge. Namora doesn't really care what she looks like and she doesn't care what Irron thinks of her but she doesn't want everyone else to know just exactly how tired and depressed she truly is.

After powdering under her eyes to soften the darkness, she begins to rub the rouge into her cheeks and lips, almost instantly reviving life back into her face. She hears the door scrape open.

"Back so soon?" Namora dabs at her lips, expecting Eunice to say that someone already got her crown from the jewelers.

"Soon? My afternoon away from you has seemed like an eternity, my love," Irron's voice wafts over to her.

Namora, though thoroughly unnerved that he is in her room, pretends to be nonchalant, "Oh, Irron, I was expecting my handmaiden back. I am almost ready for the dance," she hopes that will deter the man from trying anything, though she doubts it. She continues to dab the rouge into her lips, even though it is already rubbed in.

She can now see Irron standing behind her in the mirror, his eyes hungry. "I brought you some flowers, my love. I know how much you like them. I picked them myself."

She smiles at him, turning around slowly. In his hands she sees a bouquet of bright red, vibrant, large flowers. Not only does the color slightly jar her but also the fact that they are extremely poisonous. For a brief moment, she thinks about doing nothing but her mind quickly chastises her into doing the right thing.

"How wonderful," she says pleasantly. From her vanity drawer she pulls a handkerchief, which she quickly throws over the flowers before removing them from his hands. She chucks them safely into a wastebasket and grabs Irron by the wrists, quickly looking at his palms for the bright green poisonous sap before leading him over to a wash basin. "Do you feel light headed? Nauseous? Does your stomach ache?"

The look of offence at her throwing away his flowers changes to confusion, "Well, no. Do you not like them?"