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“Mine is Adele.”
* * *
Minne was the young, pockmarked woman from before, and she had accurately predicted her mistress’s decision. When Asa reappeared in the main parlor, still bemused by his interview, she told him she had a bedchamber ready. It was smaller than many of the closets in his mother’s household, but he was grateful for the soft clean mattress and the window overlooking the city below. He also met Yvonne the cook and the two maids who did the cleaning and laundry.
At Minne’s urging he took a second breakfast, then spent the afternoon exploring the neighboring streets. All the houses here were built of red and brown brick, some tall and narrow, others irregular in shape. The streets wound and turned as they wished. Following them, Asa came across numerous tiny courtyards, small gardens, and once a square planted with flowering trees. Standing in their shade, he breathed in the rich scents and wondered what had brought Duhr here, to a place that seemed a hundred miles from Duenne’s Court.
The next morning, Minne woke him at sunrise.
“She wants you,” was all she said.
He struggled into his clothes, splashed water on his face, and gulped down a scalding cup of tea. Then he was jogging up the stairs to the garden, with only a hand against the wall to steady himself. As he stepped over the threshold this second time, a breeze washed his face, carrying the last echoes of the bells from the city below. It had rained overnight, and the air was damp with expectation.
She sat on the same bench as the previous day. This time her writing desk rested on her lap, and she held a pen in her left hand. A fresh sheet lay on top. He could not tell, but he thought there were more crumpled pages surrounding her than the previous day.
“Tell me what you dreamed last night,” Duhr said.
Asa stopped. “What?”
“You heard me, young man. What did you dream last night?”
She was mocking him. No, she meant it. He could tell by the deepening crease between her white brows.
I drea
med of you in the Emperor’s Court. I dreamed we loved each other.
He kept his gaze carefully averted from hers. Throughout the long journey, he had told himself he only wished to see Tanja Duhr face to face. Then perhaps his past would not haunt him so doggedly. Then, perhaps, he might find his own purpose in this life.
You hoped she would recognize you.
If I did, I knew that for a folly.
Just as it would be folly to declare himself. Too many years had passed since Adele had died.
He shook his head. “I had no dreams.”
“None?”
His mouth went dry under her scrutiny. “None worth telling, my lady.”
She regarded him steadily. “Well, perhaps it is too soon. You may go.”
And with that her attention vanished. Asa waited a moment. When she did not acknowledge him any longer, he silently retreated down the stairs and to the main parlor where Minne sat, writing notes in what appeared to be a ledger.
“You will want your breakfast,” was all she said. “I’ll send word to Yvonne.”
Over the next three weeks, Asa learned every turning in that stairwell. The walls were brick, dark red and fitted together without any mortar, a smooth facade that spiraled around and around in patterns of sunlight and shadow. There were six landings in all. The steps were massive slabs of blue-gray stone, the lips worn into curls, and the center sunken, as if a giant had pressed its thumb into the surface. Each time he came into her presence, he hoped she would ask him to linger, that she would speak of her poems, her life in Court, those years with Adele. Each time, he was disappointed.
“What did you dream?”
Within, I dreamed of you. I dreamed of twelve years together.
Out loud, “This and that. Nothing interesting. Just a dream about my old sword master.”
His words seemed to pique her interest, but instead of questioning him further, she merely shook her head. “Thank you, Asa. That is all.”
Once, she added, “Do not be afraid to tell me the truth. I promise I shall not laugh.”
