In Which Aspen Can't Do Much

January 5, 1177

"There you are!" Rona placed her hands on the arms of her chair and propelled herself to her feet, a wide grin on her face. She must not have heard; regardless, it was a little heartening to still be in someone's good books, especially those of the person who mattered most. "I haven't seen you since this morning. Where have you been?"

Aspen swallowed. It was hard to hurt someone with such a smile. It was equally tough to lie to such eyes. But knowing her luck, it was either one or the other. "Your brother just fired me."

Rona blinked in recoil as if stunned by a sudden slap to the face--tawny eyes wide, pouty bottom lip falling agape. "He didn't."

What could she say to her? He had--and as much as she wished otherwise, it wasn't as if she could argue. He was a duke, after all. "I'm sorry."

Shaking her head, Rona scuttled forward, golden curls bouncing about as they always did, though the effect was not what it was on happier days. A pang of guilt shot through Aspen's gut. Whatever had occurred to her when she'd done what she did, this had somehow never crossed her mind--Rona getting hurt. She supposed it would have been vain to think she might, but now it seemed insensitive to assume otherwise. Not that such musings were worth much now. "There must have been some mistake. Maybe he--"

"He didn't do anything. I did something stupid and I have to face the consequences."

You have to face the consequences. It was the same line her father had given her every time she'd needed to be punished. Builds discipline, he'd claimed. That's an important thing, discipline. It's what turns boys into men. I don't know much about girls, but I'm sure it's what turns them into women too, at least a part of it. You can't expect to get far in this world without it. Can't do much for yourself or your loved ones if you never grow up. If only he could see her now--his only child, stripped of a post she'd held for years on account of a juvenile outburst. For his sake, she hoped the dead had no window to the living.

"What did you do?"

Aspen shook her head. It was selfish and she knew it--and pointless, as someone was bound to tell her soon--but she didn't think she could bear to leave if she didn't at least have Rona's respect. "It doesn't matter now."

"But it can't have been anything too bad!" Rona rocked forward, her hands clasped together and a glimmer of hope in her eyes. If nothing else, Aspen supposed she could appreciate the faith. "I know--I'll talk to my mother. She can talk some sense into Lorn, I'm sure of it. If she could make him--"

"Rona, I don't know if your mother will take my side in this." The sparks of hope flickered. Aspen couldn't decide if it was crueler to snuff them or let them burn out on their own. "I wouldn't blame her if she didn't, really. I already told you I deserve it."

Hurt, Rona turned away. She took a few steps toward the hearth, a sigh inaudible yet evident in the shrug of her shoulders. "You can't go.

"I always thought that if Lorn sent me away, at least I'd have you with me."

Aspen stared down at the floor and shuffled after her. What to say? She couldn't tell her it was all a misunderstanding. She couldn't promise that Lorn wouldn't send Rona away. She couldn't do much of anything--not anything that could help. "I'm sorry."

"You'll at least visit, right?" Rona turned back and pulled Aspen into a tight hug, the curve of her chin digging into the base of Aspen's neck. "Once everything blows over, I mean. Promise me?"

She didn't know if she could even do that. She wasn't sure where she'd go once she'd packed her bags, how long she'd be, if she'd even last the month. But it was important enough that--if nothing else--it at least merited a try. "I promise."

NEXT CHAPTER: