V. Kalaven College

I had been expecting a committee of obscure family members to immediately rush upon me, flooding me with questions about where I had been and why I always insisted on worrying my poor aunt so when all she tried to do for me was provide me with a roof over my head and food in my mouth. I received none of that.

No butler opened the door for me. In fact, the house seemed still as death, save for the vague and distant thrum of a harp coming from the sitting room. Nervously, I crept through the corridor.

The warm light from the hearth spilled through the doorway that led into the sitting room, and as I cautiously peered around the edge, I could see two figures sitting patiently on a dais while Kathy softly strummed the strings of the harp. I could barely convince my legs to carry me into the sitting room—for there, sitting at my aunt’s side, was my severe uncle, Mortimer du Monte.

His martinet eyes snapped towards me, locking me in an icy staring contest. I lost almost immediately; looking into his eyes for too long caused my eyes to burn, and I looked away, tearing up. It was no use denying my presence any longer.

"Rocielle," came Aunt Jill’s stern, reproving voice from beside her husband. "Come in here, boy."

Boy. She only called me boy when she was supremely frustrated with me, or supremely angry. I assumed it was a little bit of the former and quite a bit of the latter, and with my heart in my throat and my stomach turning somersaults in my gut, I stepped quietly into the room.

She raised a hand to still Kathy’s harp playing, and my cousin stopped abruptly. I noticed Gwendolyn beside her suddenly; the two of them watched me uneasily.

"Sit." Mortimer’s voice broke through my stream of consciousness, harsh and cold and empty of apathy. I obeyed without hesitation, sitting down quickly on one of the stiff-backed chairs beside the door.

Had someone shined a bright torch in my eyes, it would have felt very much like an interrogation. Anxiously, I let my eyes rove the sitting room. Quite suddenly, everything appeared unyielding and overpowering. Even a small figurine of Stell perched lightly on the mantelpiece above the hearth made my heart skip a beat in my chest.

When Aunt Jill, her words were chilled. "There are two points that your uncle and I would like to bring up tonight. One is, of course, these late night excursions between the Stein heir and yourself. They must come to a stop, and promptly."

"Jillian and myself," Mortimer continued, "believe that it would be in your best interest as well as the best interest of Ulrich if the two of you ceased in seeing each other."

It would have been less painful if someone had punched me in the gut. "What!" I demanded in outrage before I could curb my tongue. "You can’t be serious—."

"Silence!" Mortimer said sternly, his dark eyes narrowing in on me. I cringed and looked away. "You will obey my command inside this household, Rocielle, or you will leave it."

"Which brings us to our second point," Aunt Jill said patiently. Her cold stare was unyielding. "Mortimer and I have decided to finance your education in Kalaven College in Kalaven City. This will give you the opportunity to further your skills and take what little schooling has been given to you and advance it further. It will also put some space between you and Ulrich. Perhaps that will put an end to the… odd relationship… the two of you are beginning to develop."

Despair burned in me like a scourge. To be separated from Ulrich now, when the nature of our relationship had reached its crux… I refused the tears that suddenly welled up in my eyes. I would not cry before my austere uncle and the woman I had for so long viewed as my second mother. I would not let my two cousins see my weakness.

In vain, I whispered feebly, "May I at least write to him? Please, Aunt Jill, you can’t keep me from having some way to keep in touch with—."

"That will be entirely up to the Stein family," Aunt Jill answered coldly. "And from what I’ve been able to perceive, Otto and Helena are not happy with you, Rocielle. You’ve made their son partake in activities that he otherwise wouldn’t have been exposed to, had he not met you."

The conversation became angry and heated, and when my temper caused Kathy and Gwen to cry and ask me why I was so angry, Mortimer and Aunt Jill sent me to bed without another word.

It was with much effort that I did not cry myself to sleep. My misery consumed me. As the minutes passed sluggishly by, all I could think of was Ulrich and how terrible it was of me to have put him in such a position. But had I not told him countless times how careless his affection with me was? Someone was bound to notice sooner or later, and had I really expected the bliss we shared to last longer than a month or so?

When one exists under the glass of a microscope, one can get away with only so much.

The plans were arranged swiftly and over my head so I had little clue as to what was going on. I spent my remaining week at the du Monte Manor with Ulrich, riding across the estate on Kio. Telling him that I had to leave was the most painful thing I had ever done.

But he had already been informed, it seemed. Otto had been in a rage when he turned up so late, and the two of them had argued until their entire household was awake. Unlike me, Ulrich did end up in tears, and his pain calmed some of his father’s temper.

The last day I had to spend with him, we did not go into Crystal City. We took Kio into the woods surrounding the estate and let him graze in a small thicket while we sat together under a tree in silence. He clasped my hand and held it close to his heart, his eyes closed and his lips pursed tightly shut.

His reticence was too much for me, at last, and I turned to him so that I faced his profile. I reached out with one hand and touched his cheek. "Don’t be so quiet," I pleaded hopelessly. "Don’t make this the worst day of my life, please Ulrich—."

"What do you expect of me, Rocielle?" he whispered with a feeble smile. "Happiness? How can you expect that? You will leave me soon, leave me here with this terrible burden… You do realize that my father has chosen a bride for me, don’t you?"

"I…" Words died on my lips. "I did not," I finished lamely and looked at our clasped hands. "I was unaware."

"Write to me every day," he begged me, "and send it to my uncle August in Haven. He will deliver them to me."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," he answered. "August understands me. He’s always understood me. And he would understand you as well, were he to meet you. I know you." He smiled, the vaguest hint of mirth in his eyes. "You would charm him immediately…"

"I’ll write as often as I can," I promised weakly, then did something that I had never done before. I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles.

He issued a choked sob and pulled me into a tight embrace, and it was not but a second later that I felt his lips against my cheeks, my nose, and finally my mouth, his despair-charged fervor making me dizzy and thoughtless.

It amazed me, then, that we had never kissed before. In fact, the only expressions of our attraction that we ever made evident were our gentle caresses, our intimate embraces, and the conversation we held in The Tom Cat the week before. Touching him made my heart pound furiously in my chest, caused my cheeks to flush with vibrant color… I wanted more of him than just his lips.

I felt his fingers in my hair, felt him move my head so that my lips brushed over the sensitive skin of his throat. "There," he told me breathlessly. "Leave a mark there, so that my father will know."

"You want him to know?" I asked in disbelief.

"Let him know that, at the very least, I was yours before I was hers." He spoke of his future bride with such anger and vehemence that it made me pause nervously, but only for an instant.

His skin tasted of the exotic scents he wore, of cinnamon and a distant, Torakibian herb that made my entire body quiver pleasantly. Tantalizing describes what he did to me perfectly, enticing me to try for more, just a little more than I already had. I left a red and bruising mark on his throat in clear view of any who might see it, then kissed his lips again until they became swollen.

Had the sun not been on the brink of setting, and was the chance of us being discovered not as large as it was, I would have done much more to him. I would have had him in the center of the forest, touching every inch of him and listening to the sound of his voice as he spoke my name so heatedly… And I know he would have allowed it. The proof of that was felt as my hand strayed precariously between his thighs. He sucked in a sharp breath of air and whispered an unintelligible stream of gibberish into my ear.

I’d never assumed him to be as sensitive as he was. And I did not feel slighted in that he did not touch me. I felt vindicated, almost, as if this were an expression not only of my deepest affection for Ulrich Stein, but of my complete and utter loathing and rebellion of my home and family. I loved Aunt Jill, of course, and I loved Miss Katherine and Uncle Otis and my little cousin Jacob, as well as my other odd family members. But my love for them would not be enough to squelch my anger at them in that they were willing to separate me from this truly amazing and wonderful person…

I realized it then, that I was in love with Ulrich Stein. And that he was in love with me.

We broke apart at the same moment to stare into each other’s eyes, breathless from the fury of our sexless passion. I saw tears in his eyes.

"I just realized—" he began in a whisper.

"I know," I answered and drew him close again. No words were exchanged after that, just the soft kisses and sensual caresses that had us on the edge of our passion before we were prepared. I felt him release with a shuddering sigh moments before I did, and I lay down beside him on the soft grass, kissed away the tears that I saw streaming down his cheeks.

He smiled at me weakly and raised his hand up to pet the unkempt strands of my hair. He pushed an unruly lock behind one of my ears. "Find someone to take care of you in Kalaven," he told me, and tried to laugh. "Stell above knows that you’re lost without someone holding your hand."

"Why do I need someone in Kalaven when I have someone here?" I asked, but despairing, I knew the answer. Ulrich didn’t have to say anything.

His fiancee would be arriving two days after my departure. Any relationship that we attempted to pursue would not only shame his name and his family’s name, but the name of his fiancee and her entire clan. And though he loathed her, and though I prayed for her untimely death, neither of us were willing to shame an entire rank of people simply to satisfy our own selfish needs.

Looking back on it, I recognize something pure and utterly unadulterated in the love that Ulrich and I shared. It was beautiful and forbidden and poetically tragic in that we were never given the opportunity to expand it beyond the reaches of simple, secretive love. And it was as powerful a thing as one could have experienced.

And it saddens me to say that he was never happy, for his gifts were many and his abilities, had they been nurtured, would have floored the people who surrounded him on a day to day basis. What love there was in me for him, and would always remain. But it ended as abruptly as it began.

Michael, my ever devoted and ever faithful brother and supportive shoulder, accompanied me past the gates of Crystal City on the date of my departure. We were both of somber countenance and few words were exchanged between the two of us. When, at last, it was time for him to turn back and me to continue onward, he reigned in his horse and watched me in silence.

I halted Kio and returned the stare. "Michael…?" I asked feebly, confused.

His face was broken and miserable. "I’ll miss you, Rocielle," he told me softly. Then, he smiled wryly. "Maybe not as much as Ulrich will… but I’ll damn sure miss you. You’re the only brother I’ve got."

My heart ached in my chest. "I’ll write you," I promised him. "As often as I write Ulrich, I’ll write to you too. And during the holidays I’ll come home, and we can go riding again. I swear it."

I think we both knew that my return would not merit a charitable response in either Aunt Jill or Mortimer. It would be better if I simply… disappeared. Perhaps if I faked my own death, it would give my shamed family some sort of closure, and me the opportunity to travel wherever my heart led me.

We hugged tightly and kissed as brothers do, on each cheek, and then I rode off, leaving him behind before the tears came. I did not look back, but I knew what I would see—my lonely brother with his sad eyes and his lost face.

How I felt as if I had abandoned him to a world in which he could never understand.

Herein I continued to bear the name Rocielle du Monte, but I was something of a carefully hidden family secret after that. I was the untouchable relative that no one wanted to speak of, a taint in the bloodline that would, hopefully, be annihilated by my inevitable demise. And so, upon arriving in Kalaven City once again, I introduced myself as Rocielle Black once again.

The city had cleaned itself up, much to my surprise. The old Trinity Quarter was still in shameful conditions, but there were at least glass in the windows and locks on the doors, and a decent physician made rounds to each dilapidated house once a week. The rich nobility still resided in their hilltop houses, peering down their narrow noses at the bustling masses, and the looming image of Kalaven College dominated the entire city.

I was accustomed to the finery of Crystal City. I was what one might call a "Gem," which is what the natives of the city were referred to. I stuck out like a sore thumb, nervous in the cluster of people around me. Kio fidgeted.

I guided myself to the entrance gates of the college by memory. I had often drawn with chalk on the pavement in front of the college as a boy, before the constable chased me off with his truncheon. I rode above the constable now, still garbed in my du Monte finery, the snoozing lioness still emblazoned on my crimson tunic. I recognized other noble emblems as well; a large silver eye, a crooked arrow, a hawk’s claw, they all launched themselves at me with new significance. Would these names be relevant to me once I was enrolled in the college? Would they be my classmates? Would I compete against them?

My intellect was not something I had ever questioned. I knew myself to be intelligent and I knew that there was very little that could be put before me that I could not master. But competition would be fierce. I would have to hone the skills I had let become dull.

The security guard at the entrance gate stopped me, and only let me pass after I had given him significant proof of my identification. There was another guard on horseback ready to accompany to the main entrance where "someone of significance" awaited me to get me settled in. As we rode, I couldn’t help but observe the beauty of the campus.

It was an orderly metropolis behind the iron black gates, walking paths interweaving between the tall towers of the college. Kerosene light fixtures illuminated otherwise opaque and uninviting pathways, the hedges meticulously kept. Students milled about in various robes of different colors. They fascinated me with their obvious studiousness, evident in the way they carried their books and in the snippets of conversation I overheard. I received a few puzzling glances, but for the most part they were unaware of my presence.

And for the first time, I glimpsed a Fellahin.

She stood at the pinnacle of the grand staircase leading to the open doors of the lobby, her thick and glossy red hair spilling down her spine in voluptuous ringlets that accented her oval face. In her arms was a pine martin, a chilling sentiency in its eyes that reminded me all too much of a human. It was her Nemawyre companion, I realized.

As the guard and I approached, still on horseback, she descended the staircase, her rose-tinted robes billowing around her shapely figure. A young man followed her, a servant I assumed, and at her beckoning, he took the reins of both our horses.

I dismounted and watched uneasily as both my Kio and the guard’s horse were led away. The woman Fellahin smiled at me pleasantly, noting my dismay. "Don’t worry," she assured me with an accept that was most obviously Myrisvermian in origin. "Your horse will be properly taken care of." Then, still beaming at me, she offered out one of her slender hands. "Bessera Caul of the Biology department," she introduced herself. "You must be the du Monte lad."

"I am, Madame," I answered as politely as I could. I bent at the waist and kissed her hand, as I had been instructed in my childhood. "Rocielle du Monte."

"How charming!" she laughed, delighted by my seemingly archaic behavior. She blushed a pretty shade of red to compliment her rose robes. "Come then, Rocielle," she said, "and let us get you settled in."

She led me through the gigantic lobby towards a spiraling staircase that disappeared into one of the many towers that composed Kalaven College. "Your lodging will be in this tower," she informed me pleasantly, "in the uppermost portion. It will be quite a long walk down in the mornings for breakfast, I’m afraid, but the view from the windows will make it worth the endeavor, I assure you. Here now, follow me."

Her spunk amazed me, but I followed without hesitation. The stairs were stone and slippery, but as I struggled to maintain my footing she seemed to have little or no difficulty. The martin chanced a glance around her shoulder to watch me.

"Not very talkative, are you?" it said, and I stopped walking, dumfounded.

"Benivier!" Bessera chided him, then smiled at me. "Oh don’t worry," she said gently, as if she were speaking to a child. "He didn’t mean it hurtfully."

"I… It’s not that, I just…"

"Come on, we’ve got quite the walk ahead of us!" she urged me and turned around, trotting up the stairs again. Still stammering, I followed.

The stairs seemed a unending torture to me, and when I thought my legs were going to give out beneath me, they came to an abrupt end. I looked at Bessera dizzily and found her smiling face awaiting me patiently. She gestured down a long stone corridor with one arm; the western wall was dappled with large, arching, glassless windows that allowed me to see all of Kalaven City below us, its glimmering kerosene lamps illuminating shops and people and the wind bringing the scents of the city to my nose. I stared in awe, the pain in my legs momentarily forgotten.

"Down this corridor," she said pleasantly, "is a room that will belong to you." Then, in a confidential tone accompanied by a mischievous wink, she told me, "We don’t normally rent this room out to students, but your aunt and uncle refused to have you put in anything less… And so you get an entire room to yourself! Won’t your classmates be jealous…"

I felt an unexplainable explosion of anger for Aunt Jill suddenly. To humiliate me in front of my two younger cousins, and then to isolate me from other men just because they feared I might become "stranger" than I already was… It hardly seemed fair! They had had no right to separate me from Ulrich in the first place, and I would be damned before they would smother my chances at some form of affection when the space between us was so large. My face contorted in a mask of rage, the color rising to my cheeks and turning them a deep red. Bessera stopped talking and regarded me somewhat worriedly.

"Rocielle?" she asked in concern. "Dear boy, are you all right? You look as if you’re going to be ill!"

"I am," I answered tensely, but schooled my face back into an expression of calm. I smiled as best I could. "Thank you for everything. I think I should like very much to lie down for a little while, before dinner that is."

"Well, all right," she said uncertainly, but she made no move to say otherwise. "Your things have already been set up for you, as your aunt and uncle sent them ahead of time. I hope you are most comfortable here."

I couldn’t say anything in response. I couldn’t utter a thank you, a good-bye, or even a slanderous word. My rage rendered my voice completely useless. I stalked past her towards my room, and when I saw the cherry wood door before me, I wanted to kick it off of its hinges and shout at the top of my lungs. How very overpowering was my anger! Nothing could have soothed me, save perhaps the gentle touch of Ulrich’s hands, or his soft words.

When I barged through the door into my room, tears were already pouring from my eyes, and all was a blur. There was sadness in me, and frustration at my inability to keep close to me those I loved. I felt a sudden rush of homicidal impulses, and in vain I sought out my Uncle Mortimer’s throat. Had he been near me, I would have killed him. Instead I settled for punching nearly through the fine oak wood of my cabinet. It splintered around my fist and pain shot a cold arrow up my arm, jolting my shoulder.

When my anger cooled and I sat sullenly on my bed nursing my arm, only then did I take in my surroundings.

It was as if I was back in my room at the du Monte Manor.

My bookshelves and books were against the far wall with my reading chair underneath my kerosene lamp. A portrait of Rose hung over my bed, beside it one of Loran. Next to the window was a sketch I had done of Michael atop his horse, and beside him Jeff, smiling merrily at me.

There was a stuffed toy on my bed, a gift from Jacob when I was twelve. The quilt it sat upon was knitted for me by Miss Katherine, the date of its completion under my name embroidered at the very bottom. And sitting on my bedside table, I glimpsed my little wooden box of smaller personal items. These included my many letters to Ulrich that we had sent back and forth to each other, and sketches that I had drawn of him during our younger years.

Atop the box was a note.

Still sulking, I rose from my bed and crossed the room in two slow paces. I snatched up the note and was completely in favor of throwing it out of my window—but something stopped me. The front of it read:

Hesitantly, I unfolded it.

I set the note down atop my box of personal items again, then sank to my knees on the floor. Tears ran unchecked down my cheeks. All the anger and bitter resentment that I had fueled and built up on the ride from Crystal City was extinguished, leaving me drained and miserable. I did not hate Aunt Jill. I loved her as I loved Michael, and I could not begrudge her for doing what she did. It was, in essence, the best thing to be done under the circumstances.

And, as she said, I was easier to make disappear than Ulrich. I was not as important.