The Storm

Thunder rattles the glass in the windowpanes. Lightning bursts in wicked, twisted spears of light across the tempestuous rolling clouds. A howling wind buffets the Berkeley mansion, yowling in the chimneys to douse the fires in the fireplaces, rampaging at the walls and gates, penetrating through every crevice. I love this sort of weather and simply draw my cloak close around me and laugh as the maids squawk and flutter about affectedly. ’Tis no small storm, raging now between Zinaida, Dmitri, and Wesley. If their tempers run high enough to affect the weather like this, and after so seemingly small an issue as what Wesley walked in on earlier, I would hate to see them all truly angry. Mayhap Zinaida also rages about what happened last night. But so far no evidence of Dmitri’s rage has surfaced outside. It could be that he is better at self-control than his parents, or perhaps he has been sidelined, or perchance he is simply waiting for the best time to interrupt them.

No matter what the cause of the row or what goes on between them now, I am confined to my chamber, stuck doing embroidery--embroidery, of all things!--with half a dozen ladies, Malina among them, while a particularly snooty maid reads from the platitudes in an irritating nasal drone similar to the whine of a horsefly. I truly hate this pointless feminine pastime, the occupation of all women of noble birth since the Middle Ages. Of course I was taught to do it, once upon a time, but Grandmother did not insist that I spend much time at it, claiming (and rightfully so) that my other studies were of greater importance. As such, my proficiency is nothing compared to that of my companions, and some of the maids whom I exasperated during yesterday’s tasks of making me look like a proper lady or princess or whatever I’m meant to be have taken to taunting me about it. They can say whatever they want. They can hardly make me ashamed of not being excellent in such a meaningless, absurd pastime.

“What are they quarrelling about downstairs?” Malina asks me, voice low enough to go unnoticed beneath the reader’s obnoxious voice.

“Wesley found Dmitri in my bed this morning and automatically assumed that we--” I breathe, praying that no one else can hear me.

“But Juniper and others kept watch all night! You didn’t, did you?”

“No. We just slept. But Wesley was not inclined to believe us. At any rate, I think it too trivial a cause for the clash below. My only guess is that Zinaida is quite cross about last night and is squalling about that.”

“Squalling! I’ll say. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her winds so fierce.”

“Doubtless now that I know their secret, she sees no reason to control her temper.”

“A lucky thing neither of them bends water, else we’d be flooded out by now.”

“Dmitri’s down there. I fear a firestorm if it goes on much longer.”

“Don’t trouble your head about that. He’s a sensible lad, and more patient than either of his parents.”

“But ’twould take the patience of God Himself to endure too much more of their fight in person.”

“Ladies! Mind your stitchery and elevate your minds to the plain truths I read! Decorum better befits ladies than idle chatter,” the reader scolds.

“Oh, Sibyl, really, who can concentrate on higher things with such a row going on below and such a storm raging outside? Certainly not I, and you yourself instructed me in all things of virtue from my girlhood!” Malina argues. Other ladies around me murmur similar things. A startling crash and roar outside make me leap from my chair and fly to the nearest window, embroidery forgotten. As I’d feared, flames have begun swirling in the air, threatening the mansion and its gardens. This must stop! ALL of this must stop! Focus, Aerys. Find the water in the clouds. Use it. Acionna, guide my power. The other ladies have joined me at the window, staring in horror.

“What do we do?” one wonders, wringing her hands. Let it rain.

“A bucket brigade! To the kitchen and the wells, girls!” the reader screeches. Foolish and ineffectual. The flames grow larger and more ferocious outside. The window glass heats against my hands, pressed against it as I try to command the clouds. Acionna, lend your power. I fear mine will not suffice.

“Release your fear, child, and you’ll find more than power enough,” the goddess’s voice echoes in my head. I close my eyes and force all of my emotions into the clouds. Feeling myself empty, I release my hold on all of them suddenly. The maids collectively gasp and I hear the thunderous roar of the deluge I have unleashed and smile grimly with success.

“WHAT IN BLAZES IS THIS?!” Wesley’s distinctive bellow sounds from downstairs. I hear footsteps pounding and leave the room to meet them. No sense in the maids meeting with all the turmoil I’m sure will ensue. I follow the sounds of thundering feet and voices down two flights of stairs and nearly collide with my fiancé. Wesley and Zinaida are close behind him.

“I don’t suppose you, Aerys, have any idea what caused my firestorm to die down?” Dmitri asks me in a low voice.

“That all depends on whether I am to be punished for it or not. I cannot bear more platitudes and embroidery,” I reply in kind, only half joking. A frustrated frown mars Dmitri’s features and I turn my attention to his parents.

“Aerys de Poitiers. Or should you be so called? For I know none of your family with the sort of power just now displayed outside,” Wesley accuses.

“Perhaps another with sway over water is now present,” I answer coolly. “Whatever was all of the fuss outside about? I can only surmise that it stemmed from all of your respective powers, whipped into a frenzy from some dispute you’ve been having. If ’twas simply about this morning, well, I have to say I believe things have gotten quite out of hand.”

“Of course ’twas not simply about this morning! All that happened last night is more than enough cause for fury, would you not agree?” Zinaida exclaims with indignation.

“Of course, and of all of us I do believe I have the most right to be upset, given all that was revealed to me in one way or another. Pray tell, what exactly have you all been sparring about?”

“Well, what’s to be done, of course! You weren’t to find out until after the wedding, and especially in light of this morning’s circumstances I think it only right that the wedding should occur as soon as possible.”

“It’s a terrible idea, Mother. She’s not ready and will never submit. If ’twas her power that quelled the storm, you’ll be hard pressed to force her,” Dmitri warns.

“Well, I suppose that’s the first thing to determine. Aerys?” Wesley demands in a voice that requires acknowledgment.

“Aye, as far as I can tell, but not unaided by Acionna. Perhaps you’ve heard of her? She came to me in a dream last night, and it seems that one of my grandmother’s protégées under Acionna’s protection was actually my mother, and not the woman you met when you came to take me away,” I inform them as calmly as I can manage. The effect will be better this way, and indeed, it seems that both of Dmitri’s parents are utterly stunned by this intelligence. “Her guidance has greatly increased my skill with whatever magical talent I have inherited, it seems. A talent that was deemed necessary for me to marry into your family at all, hence my parentage differing from that of those I call my siblings.”

“But your father was a de Poitiers still?” Wesley questions, eyes sharp.

“As far as I know. Otherwise I suspect it would violate the agreement between yourselves and my grandmother.”

“Who told her the particulars of the agreement?!” Zinaida shrieks.

“No one,” Dmitri and I reply simultaneously.

“Really, it shouldn’t be so incredible that I can figure some things out for myself. You have no reason to believe that I am not intelligent enough, and information has not been difficult to stumble across, either,” I add petulantly. Zinaida turns exasperated eyes on her husband.

“Surely it’s not too late to ask Xenia for a replacement? Preferably a less intuitive sort? I cannot ever recall being so troublesome,” she grumbles. How insulting.

“You were born the daughter of strict Russian nobility in a court of intrigue and a culture that stifles inquisitiveness. I think you are mostly just jealous of her for her freer upbringing. And I will not have another,” Dmitri argues, fire leaping in his eyes. Please don’t start another firestorm. I don’t want to demonstrate my abilities again, though I am grateful, eternally grateful, Acionna, for my greatly increased control and strength.

“You are welcome, my child. It has always been within you. You simply needed a key powerful enough to unlock it,” Acionna replies immediately. I sense she will never be far from my thoughts henceforward, else she is particularly attuned to those thoughts I direct to her.

“Hold your tongue! I have certainly taught you to be more obedient and submissive.”

“It is not fitting for a man to be so obedient and submissive, even if you are his mother,” Wesley intervenes as Dmitri’s face hardens, no doubt saving us all a messy scene. “Let us return to the greatest problem of the moment: When should this marriage take place?”

“Why not tonight, if you’re so eager? All the family are still here, are they not? I’m sure they’ve greatly enjoyed the show you’ve put on,” Dmitri suggests scathingly, his eyes hot with the flames practically leaping from them. I place a hand on his arm, hoping to calm him. I’ll not be dousing another firestorm, not if I can prevent it from occurring. Calm yourself.

“Were you not the one just arguing in favor of postponing a wedding, to accommodate the unreadiness of your bride?” Wesley counters rhetorically.

“I believe her willfulness has been her forfeit of any influence over this decision,” Zinaida cuts in sharply. I think she has had more than enough of me. A pity I have no pity for her. Life with my foster mother quite cured me of that.

“You are easily as willful as I am, begging your pardon, Your Ladyship,” I point out, slightly dry in my use of her title. “Perhaps your influence, too, should be curtailed, under that line of reasoning.”

“What balderdash!” Zinaida blurts, unable to come up with anything more profound, while her husband and son both indulge in snickers at her expense.

“A compromise can surely be reached,” Dmitri reasons, suppressing his snickers in the hopes of gaining ground in our struggle while his mother searches for words scalding enough to punish one such as myself (which she’ll have a time of doing, for I cannot think of anything she could say effectively to that purpose). “You, Mother, wish for it to be as soon as possible; Father, I thought you were more or less convinced that haste makes waste and it would be more prudent to proceed in planning the wedding at an ordinary pace. Aerys and I, though fond of each other, feel it better to wait, also. So perhaps a date four or five months in advance is agreeable to everyone present?” Four or five months? Admittedly, that cuts down the time I had hoped for to prepare myself by at least half. But I can sense that I will get no better offer from the Berkeleys, and so I brace myself to fight for it now and resign myself to it later.

“I find your suggestion agreeable,” I murmur in my most proper and ladylike tone, head bowed and eyes lowered so as to make this behavior almost satirical in its excess.

“Then I see no reason not to take it. We have certainly had conflict enough, and nothing will undo her already knowing, Zina, my dear. Better for us to accept this deviation from our plans with grace and create new plans as soon as possible,” Wesley responds immediately.

“As you wish. We proceed with your plan at your peril. What other forbidden knowledge might she have discovered?” Zinaida submits scornfully.

“Perhaps, if this became an open and honest house, there would be no need for such concerns and you could rest easy. I do worry for your health, since you seem to be so stressed about what things I do and do not know,” I propose with feigned concern. Zinaida has been grating on my nerves since the first mention of the wedding this morning, even though she was not present at the time, and I am too out of sorts from everything that has transpired in the past twenty-four hours to be truly sympathetic towards anyone, except possibly my fiancé.

“She speaks sense, beloved. You truly do worry too much about such things,” Wesley agrees.

“Then you and I shall confer in private and determine what is and is not suitable to disclose, in light of recent developments. We should also select the actual wedding date. Everything will be discussed over supper. Until then, you are dismissed. But no time together behind closed doors,” Zinaida decrees. I curtsey my agreement before turning to return to my chambers and release the maids from their tiresome stitchery and platitudes.

“Come riding with me,” Dmitri commands.

“After I release my maids from their current endeavors, perhaps. I should like a nap, personally. This morning has been entirely too stressful, as if last night were not enough.”

“I should like to keep you company, if you are so bent, but I would dearly prefer that it be out of doors.”

“I have thoroughly drenched all the gardens, in putting out your firestorm.”

“You know as well as I that I can dry whatever you wish and as such that is no excuse.”

“Let me dismiss my maids to other activities, and I shall meet you in the stables.”

“Good lass. I’ll see you there, then, and the sooner the better.”***~O~***