In Which Aydelle States Whose Business It Is

January 5, 1177

A servant's discretion forgotten, Aydelle charged through the door the duke's study and fixed her gaze on the couch's occupant. She'd heard from the duchess's seamstress, who'd heard from some girl in the kitchens, who'd heard from some guard she was fucking, who'd heard from... well, it didn't matter. Everybody had 'heard', but not all hearsay was reliable. Something about spitting, shoving, a well-placed left hook, whatever. Maybe it was everything and maybe it was nothing. Aydelle needed the truth. "What were you thinking?"

Out of some secret sympathetic hope she waited for Aspen's protest. It never came. "I wasn't."

It wasn't human nature to confess to a crime uncommitted, nor was it like Aspen to lie about much at all. If she hadn't plead innocence, then there was little doubt. But what exactly had she done? "I see. Did you actually hit him, or...?"

"No." Aspen tugged at the hem of her skirt with the heel of her shoe. She'd probably end up tearing the damn thing, but given how careless she was with her clothing at the best of times, Aydelle doubted she'd notice now. "I spat on his boot."

Sighing, Aydelle eased herself onto the couch and shook her head. "Maybe it's not a punch, but still--spitting on a nobleman? Honey, you could lose your job for that."

"I already told you I wasn't thinking." Head inclining, she caught a stray thread on her sleeve between her nails and pulled. "Not about that, at least."

"About her, then." Aspen said nothing. Aydelle reached for the girl's shoulder and gave it a quick rub. "Not much occupies the mind quite like a pretty face. One of the more troubling things about girls."

As always, Aspen shot her a defensive glare. This was so predictable by now that all she could do was smile and shrug. "Not girls--a girl. One girl."

"Yes, but how many boys have there been to cancel out this 'one girl' of yours?"

Silence.

"I thought so. Honey, take it from someone who never gave a rat's ass about what was between anybody's legs and who's too bitter to notice besides--just come to terms with it. Figure out what you like, figure out what you want, and just remember that it's nobody else's goddamned business."

Aspen swallowed, the tips of her fingers drumming across her leg. She was no longer looking at Aydelle and nor were her eyes focused anywhere else. She was transfixed by something within her own mind. "I don't care about me anymore. I just want her to be happy."

Aydelle pursed her lips. "Well, I care about you--so for your sake, I hope she can be."

The minutes dragged on, neither of them speaking another word. What was the point? What else was there to say? All they could do was wait--for the verdict, the punishment, Lady Rona's fate, everything. It was an uncomfortable place, but worse still was the attempt to leave unaided.

Finally, the duke stepped through the door--oft-friendly eyes wary, oft-smiling mouth grim. The air fled the study as if the adjoining corridor were a vacuum. Aydelle flared her nostrils. It was all she could do to keep breathing.

"Mistress Ildaras." Not sure what else she could do, she met the duke's eye. She'd hoped to catch sight of some kind spark, some trace of mercy, but if there was any to be seen then her eyes were too dim. "Would you kindly step outside for a moment? I think I'd best speak with Mistress Torgleid alone."

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