Something That Is Nothing
As the sun began to sink, the forest darkened swiftly.
Leila gazed at the dead bird with unfocused eyes, and Matthias gazed at her. Silence had stretched for several minutes, yet Matthias felt no impatience. Leila was right before his eyes, and she would not be able to flee for some time yet.
“Just...”
At last Leila lifted her head. The eyes that met his held a fury the gathering dark could not quite conceal. Insolent and brazen as the look was, it was still far better than watching her avert her gaze.
“Please tell me yourself, Your Grace. What wrong I have done to you.”
“Wrong?”
“Yes. Tell me what crime I committed to deserve... this kind of terrible punishment.”
“I’ve never given you any punishment.”
Matthias answered with genuine seriousness.
“I simply do my work, and you do yours, Leila.”
That, too, was the truth as he saw it.
“A wrong. Well now.”
After a moment’s thought Matthias regarded her with quieted eyes.
“Why do you like birds so much?”
He posed the exact same question again, in a tone that had not shifted by so much as a breath from before.
Leila squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. She looked at the darkening sky, at the dead bird, and finally back at Matthias. Her shoulders trembled, yet her gaze remained fiercely bright. And Matthias still found that both amusing and, faintly, irritating.
“Because they always stay close.”
Leila Lewellin answered each word with careful clarity. It was meant to sound angry, yet it carried no real force.
“I wandered so many places as a child, but birds were always there, wherever I went. Nearby. Always. Even the ones that flew far away when the seasons changed would return if I waited. The birds came back.”
With every sentence her voice grew calmer. Soft of pronunciation, it sounded almost low and gentle.
“There was never a season without birds. Never a place without them either. Knowing that the most beautiful and free creatures in this world were always at my side... that made me happy.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Though I’m sure such facts mean nothing to Your Grace.”
She put on a brave face even as she looked ready to cry.
Matthias gave a low huff of laughter and rose. Dinner hour was drawing near.
“Surely you don’t mean to hunt like this again?”
Leila asked in a rush as he prepared to leave.
“If necessary.”
Matthias answered without a moment’s hesitation. The despair that flooded her eyes in that instant, the terror, the anger she still refused to abandon—all of it pleased him considerably.
“Leila.”
Changing his mind about simply brushing past her, Matthias turned to face her fully.
“I want everything in my world to stay in its proper place. Nothing hiding needlessly, nothing running away—exactly where it belongs.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Keep to your place.”
“I... I don’t understand what place Your Grace is speaking of.”
“Think it over carefully.”
“Your Grace.”
“Who knows? If you find the answer, I might treat you to a gentler hunt.”
Leaving a dazed Leila behind, Matthias turned without a shred of regret.
He did not particularly want anything from Leila Lewellin. She needed only to remain in Leila’s place. As the orphan who lived in his forest. As the curious schoolgirl. And when a little more time had passed, as the schoolteacher who would still, as always, occupy the exact spot where she belonged.
Mounted on his horse, Matthias glanced back toward the thicket. Leila was crouched small before the dead bird. The gleam on her cheek told him she was probably crying. Satisfaction settled in Matthias’s eyes at the sight of those tears.
He had been born into a world ruled by perfect order and would soon become its master. Under that order everything was simple and clear. Living up to the roles and expectations given him was never difficult—sometimes even a little dull. The proud heir to his grandmother and mother. The generous master to his servants. The excellent soldier on the battlefield. The capable businessman to his directors.
Matthias had always been someone’s something, and he had willingly performed the role that suited him. Those who dealt with him were no different. Within the fixed roles and attitudes, within proper bounds, refined emotions passed back and forth in orderly fashion. Those were the only feelings Matthias had ever seen, heard, or learned.
But for that lowly orphan who lived in his forest?
Matthias’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Leila.
Nothing at all.
That easy conclusion made him smile.
It was the first time he had ever possessed something that was nothing. Nowhere in the life of the Duke of Herhardt had there ever been room for an unnecessary existence to slip in.
The feeling of owning something that, being nothing, had no need to become anything for him was unfamiliar—yet not unpleasant. No. The emotions that woman showed, the ones that stepped outside every proper bound, often delighted him. Just as they had in the moment he brought down a flying bird with a single shot.
Above all, the tears. He liked Leila when she cried. She was a woman who wept prettily. Pretty enough that he wanted to make her cry, and then make her cry again.
With a far lighter heart, Matthias left the forest.
Back at the manor the usual routine resumed. A lively dinner. Hollow, meticulously polished conversation. Cold champagne and foam-light laughter.
When the brief summer night had passed and morning came again, Matthias thought it might not be so bad to grant her a gentler hunt next time. Outside the window, Leila was in the rose garden. Helping the gardener with quiet diligence, looking no different from any other day.
See?
Matthias smiled as he turned from the window.
It’s easy, Leila.
“Thank you, Leila.”
Claudine greeted her kindly. The friend seated beside her offered a small smile of thanks as well, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly.
“It was nothing, Miss.”
Leila bowed her head politely. Faint green stains from the stems still lingered on the tips of the white hands she had clasped together. A few wounds, beaded with blood where rose thorns had pricked her, remained as well.
“I should be going now—”
“Could you cut those red roses for me as well? A single bouquet should be enough.”
Claudine’s gentle question cut across Leila’s words.
Leila turned to look where Claudine’s fingertip pointed—the central bed of the garden, blazing with red roses in full bloom.
“Yes, Miss.”
Leila accepted the command with her usual quiet obedience.
Claudine watched in silence for a long while as Leila’s retreating figure, basket and shears gathered up once more, grew smaller in the distance.
She had spotted Leila while strolling the gardens with the friend who was visiting Arvis. After a stretch of absence the girl had reappeared today, diligently helping the gardener.
Abandoning their plan for tea, Claudine had suggested flower arranging instead. Emilia had accepted with delight, and before long the tools for two young ladies had been set out beneath the pergola heavy with climbing roses.
And then Leila.
Claudine had sent a maid to summon her as a matter of course. It had always been this way since childhood. Whenever Claudine settled beneath this pergola to enjoy her flower arranging, the task of cutting the needed roses fell to Leila Lewellin.
She had never been remotely suitable as a playmate, yet she handled errands well enough. On days when the boredom became unbearable, calling the child over for a few words of conversation had never been entirely unpleasant either.
“That girl is so perfectly polite, yet somehow it still comes across as insolent.”
Emilia pouted as she watched Leila.
“I’m not sure whether she knows her place too well, or not well enough.”
“Don’t, Emilia. Leila is a pitiful child.”
Claudine gave a light frown. Between the blades of the shears she held, the stem of a rose Leila had just brought was severed with a soft snick.
“Of course I’m aware she has that particular flaw, but let us show a little charity all the same.”
At Claudine’s added words, Emilia smiled.
“Anyway. You’re far too generous with the servants.”
“Servants who faithfully perform their duties deserve respect.”
Claudine’s voice grew even lower and softer. One by one the blue-tinted porcelain vase filled with the blooms she had trimmed.
Before long Leila returned with a bouquet of red roses. Once again she set them on the table with flawless, impeccable courtesy.
Claudine paused and looked at her. Emilia’s assessment of Leila Lewellin had been accurate. Claudine’s own judgment, after watching the girl for so many years, agreed.
She thought she could almost glimpse the reason.
Perhaps that meek manner of Leila Lewellin’s sprang from thorough indifference. Even when Claudine von Brandt—whom noble young ladies of the highest houses desperately sought as a friend—personally offered her company, Leila never grew excited or pleased. There was scarcely any effort to win favor, any coquetry to be found.
Only that quiet attitude of enduring and bearing it all.
Claudine was unaccustomed to such indifference. The fact that the one who stirred this unfamiliar feeling was none other than the orphan Leila herself also left her with a faint sense of humiliation.
“Well done, Leila.”
Claudine smiled brightly.
After bowing deeply, Leila withdrew, and a maid who had been waiting a few steps away approached. This was the moment Claudine most looked forward to: pressing a gold coin into the hand of the orphan who carried herself with a princess’s pride, the moment when real emotion finally entered Leila Lewellin’s eyes.
Even after all these years Leila still could not remain detached in this particular instant. When her fingers trembled faintly around the coin as though she had been handed a hot potato, Claudine always felt a deep satisfaction. Today an extra gift accompanied it—an invitation to a party that would grant the pitiful child a beautiful memory.
“You’re giving this to me?”
Leila’s eyes widened as she took the invitation the maid had handed over along with the gold coin. She looked thoroughly flustered.
“Yes. I requested it, and both ladies of the house have given their permission.”
“But Miss—”
“I truly hope you’ll come, Leila.”
Claudine cut her off in a voice laced with laughter. The paler Leila’s face grew, the more radiant Claudine’s smile became.
“I trust you won’t refuse my invitation.”
With those warm, intimate words, as though speaking to an old friend, Claudine finally withdrew her gaze from Leila.
I must properly break that stiff little thing before I become mistress of Arvis.
Quietly reminding herself of her duty, Claudine began trimming the red roses once more.
The vase Claudine arranged with her skilled hands was perfectly beautiful.