Chapter11

Daelia found herself at the top of a narrow set of dark steps. With one hand on the wall, she carefully made her way to the bottom, where she discovered another door; but she hesitated a moment before opening it. She wished she had a candle; the darkness made her nervous, and she didn’t want to meet with any surprises when she opened the door. The sense of being on the edge of a discovery was too great, however, and she pushed open the door before she could think about it any longer. The space beyond the door was much lighter than the stair well.

What lay before her was what must have at one time been a chapel. Six wooden benches faced the alter; everything was covered in layers of dust. High stained-glass windows, though layered with decades of dirt and grime, still cast colorful streams of light over the faded alter cloth whose tattered ends spoke of neglect and mice rather than hard use. Six matching tapestries had hung on the walls, each portraying human figures and words; but now two of them lay forgotten on the stone floor covered in dust where they had fallen from their places.

The tower was cold and eerie; Daelia hugged herself as she looked up towards the ceiling. There must have been a hole somewhere in the wall or roof, for a sparrow flapped from rafter to rafter.

Then, for the second time that day, a voice nearly frightened her out of her skin.

“Who’s there?” it said loudly.

Daelia spun towards the voice, but her throat closed against a scream and only a strangled noise escaped.

“Serina? Answer me!”

A man’s figure stood in the shadows, away from the windows. Daelia backed quickly towards the door which she had come in through, only to trip on one of the benches and fall down hard, narrowly avoiding slamming her head against the cold stones.

The figure started forward at the sound, “I command you to tell me who you are!”

He had stepped out of the shadow and now Daelia could see him clearly as she got back on her feet. What she saw quelled her fear somewhat, though her heart still pounded furiously.

He could have been young; it was difficult to tell under the long, unkempt hair and beard. His clothing was of a good make, but old and worn, and he supported himself with a crutch under one arm. He wasn’t looking at her, but several feet to the left of where she stood.

“I—I just—“She managed to say.

The man’s gaze swung sharply towards her, but still didn’t quite meet hers. The piercing dark eyes seemed to look past her strangely, further adding to her discomfort.

“What is your name and why are you here?” he demanded.

He wasn’t looking her in the eye, but at another part of her face. “I’m sorry, sir, I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Pray, do not make me ask again. Now, who are you?”

“A servant, sir; my name is Daelia—I…I’ll just go now.” She started once more for the door, but the man’s voice stopped her.

“Stop! Don’t go yet. I apologize if I frightened you; I knew not the intent of your intrusion.”

Leaning the crutch against a bench, he took several slow steps in her direction, with one hand on the wall as if to guide him.

Then she realized. He didn’t look her in the eye and he hadn’t seen that she was a servant. As he drew nearer, the sharp, but sightless eyes confirmed her theory. He was blind.

For a moment she pitied him, until another thought came to her: “Who are you? Are you hiding here?”

“No, I am not hiding.”

“Then why are you here? Does Master Vitalus know you are in his chapel?”

“He knows, though he may have forgotten.” His voice was calm, resigned. “My name is Rouen, and I live in this chapel.”

She asked him why, but he said nothing.

Instead, he turned away, felt his way to one of the benches, and sat down. Daelia warily followed his lead, perching herself on the opposite end of the wooden bench.

They sat in silence for a moment. The man named Rouen kept his eyes on the floor when he finally spoke.

“How long have you worked in this house?” Daelia watched as he rubbed his leg, the one that caused him to limp. His hand and arm looked strong, a contrast from his crippled condition.

“Eight months. I am a kitchen maid.”

“The North Hall is far from the kitchens. Why did you come here?”

Daelia flushed, realizing what this could mean for her position. “I was sent to lay herbs in one of the chambers, but…I saw the door and…well…” she blurted, “I wanted to see a different part of the castle. Sometimes I grow weary of seeing nothing but the Cook’s Hall.” You stupid girl! Now you WILL be sent to the stocks for complaining if the master finds out!

Much to her surprise, Rouen smiled, “Yes, I understand. Sometimes I would give anything to step foot outside these walls once more.”

Daelia was confused, “But why can’t you?”

Instead of answering, Rouen shook his dark head and said, “I must be keeping you from your duties. Forgive me; I have not spoken with anyone but Serina in a very long time.”

His eyes looked towards her face again, and he held out his hand. Daelia took it cautiously, looking closely at his face. Yes, he was young; she could see that his face was smooth under the beard that showed no hint of graying. His expression was solemn, almost sad.

“Perhaps I might return sometime,” she offered, “so you will have someone else to talk to.”

“I wouldn’t advise it; you could lose your position. It was dangerous for you to come here even today.”

“Why?”

He then seemed to change his mind, “Well, perhaps you might come when there is no one about; but be careful. Now go before they come looking for you here.”

She hurried out the door, up the stairs, and through the North Hall, and across the courtyard, almost running into Briden as she rounded a corner.

“Where have you been? Cook sent me to find you; she has more work for you to do.”

Breathing a sigh of relief that she had left the chapel when she did, Daelia followed Briden back to the hot kitchen. For the rest of the day, she could think of nothing else but the man in the chapel. Well, she would go back as soon as she could and learn more. If only the feast was not two days away.