In Which Lucien Hears a Different Sound

May 5, 1177

However shocked Vera might have been, Lucien doubted her surprise came close to his own. Her name had slipped effortlessly between his lips where all other words had failed even when coaxed. It had been so long he didn't recognize his own voice--deeper, hoarser, audibly dusty from lack of use. He tried to say something else, anything else, but it never came. Vera's breathing steadied somewhat; she must have been trying to compose herself. "You can talk?"

Now that she knew it, he doubted she'd take a nod for an answer, not if he knew her at all. He'd have to say something else--anything else. "I... I never said I couldn't..."

"Well, obviously. You never said anything." A tap rang as her slippered foot fell to the floor. Ashamed, Lucien felt around his cuffs for any loose threads in need of picking. "I don't understand."

And she wouldn't if he told her. She'd laugh and dismiss him as a silly goose--if he was lucky. Not that he would be lucky. She had a reason to be angry with him, after all. "I never told your secret, if that's what--"

"What does my stupid secret have to do with anything?" Lucien swallowed. He wasn't the best reader of people in any sense, but she didn't sound sarcastic. Did she have some other stake in this? "Don't you realize how much grief you could've saved yourself if you'd just spoken up? You could've told me when we met and I would've gotten you away from him. Hell, you could've told Lorn and Aldhein when you showed up here."

"I--" He what? He couldn't tell her anything, or at least nothing she'd stand to hear.

"At least let my father and stepmother know, all right?" She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and pulled him closer. He nearly stumbled at the shock of her touch. "They can't do much for you if you won't tell them how they can help."

"Vera--"

"...you." Her voice rang with a note of frustration. "What is your name, anyway?"

"It's Lucien. But Vera--"

"Don't." She raised his hand and pressed it to her face. His fingertips brushed her thick lashes and his thumb found a straight nose. Her lips were soft as he remembered them and the curve of her jawline betrayed a heart-like shape. He brushed his hand to the side, catching a lock of her hair. It felt smooth and silky and--though he wasn't sure how--jet black. "You never had anyone, did you?"

Did she mean...? "I don't--"

"Shh..." It was a sound his mother had often made, but hers had always been urgent, fearful. Vera's was warm and soothing. It was a strange thing how another tongue could make it a different sound entirely.

NEXT CHAPTER: