Who's to Blame

“<Who could it be, hmm?>” The blonde leaned on his broom. His hands rested on the tip. His chin settled there. Green eyes contemplated the plants, “<She doesn’t scare easily –at the very least.>” His eyes went to the sky: “<I don’t think she does.>” Speaking in Low German put him at ease.

Clove went on sweeping, “<What a mess.>” A dry sigh escaped him.

No one has disturbed her in her room as she had cried, cried and cried for what she was positive would be the last time in her life. Nothing would ever hurt as much as the realization that she would never be able to get the stars, not this way. It had hurt even worst knowing it was the only she way she wanted them.

But like everything, even the tears had come to an end, leaving her hollow - a feeling she subconsciously knew she would have to get used to as it was unlikely to go away. The witch had gotten out of bed, washed and changed and before leaving her rooms, had quickly slid the silver band off her finger, leaving it on the dressing table. Turning back form the doorway, she had rushed to the table once more and retrieved the ring, this time choosing to place it under the pillow. Irrational, but she was allowed one irrational thing was she not?

Once the ring was safely hidden, she mad her way out, keeping her head down and making sure not to look inviting. She had long since missed breakfast and most of the students would have left by now. She debated between the menagerie or the gardens but decided it would be more logical to go through the gardens first. His low voice reaching her ears confirmed she had made the right decision.

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she stepped out from behind the law gate, entering the small garden where the blonde stood, broom in hand. She would not cry, not now, not ever. Nat anymore.

"<What am I to do with you, Kay?>" His hand perched on his hip.

The blonde surveyed the area. He nodded his approval, "<Not bad.>"

An unexpected visitor inspired a beaming grin. "Lissette!" Forgetting about the broom, Clove went to envelop the French girl in a snug embrace. "Your timing is impeccable."

"Someone has threatened Kay's life," he confided. "She refuses to tell me who!" The foreigner frowned, recalling the nymphomaniac smiling. He found nothing about the matter humorous.

She almost broke her promise to herself of not crying as the blonde enveloped her in a warm hug. The brunette inhaled deeply, barely paying attention to his words. This would be the last time she would be able to breath in his scent.

"Someone has threatened Kay's life," he confided. "She refuses to tell me who!"

All the blood seemed to freeze in her veins as he admitted this. So that woman had told him. Did he suspect? Would he hate her if he knew?

Gently disentangling herself from him, the witch took a step back. Time to play the part. And don't you dare cry, the witch warns herself.

"That was... uh, that was me. But you can tell her she needn't worry about me anymore."

His head cocked to the right. He kicked himself for bring up Kay -that's the fastest way to end a hug. The blonde learned this too late.

"That was... uh, that was me."

"I think I need to sit down," Clove absent-mindedly felt for the retaining rock wall. His digits ran over the coarse surface. He took his time sitting. His gaze went from the source of last night's joy and this early morning's head ache.

Kay drank too much at some bar. She took to his bed. Things went downhill. Apollo graciously offered the gorgeous woman stay -wondering how his son hid this gem from him. His sire worked under the assumption they shared a bed -true, but not true. He still wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the implications of that.

The apprentice rubbed his face. He had false starts. "Wha-" he stopped. Clove looked at her, "Why?"

"Because I...." The same word that had stuck to her throat the night before did so again, and just in time too. Inspiration struck as she watched the blonde lean against the wall, trying not to look at his fingers. "On Lord Clement's business," she said as shortly as she could, not looking at him now.

"He couldn't trust anyone but his future good daughter to do the deed." There, two birds killed with one stone. And her heart, that must have died somewhere along the way.

"Lord Clement wanted a whore dead?" The blonde stared at Lissette. He moistened his lips. Clove brushed a stray bang behind his ear. It made no logical sense.

Kay annoyed, yes, but she is nothing more than a nuisance: an oversexed nuisance.

He slouched, "Tell me the man plans to adopt you."

Clove reached out, "Please."

His spirit sunk.

Her finger bore the mark of a ring once worn.

"He's lost his mind," his words stumbled in their hurry: "he plans to leave his wife for your Mum," his eyebrows came together in conflict: "Anything." The blonde pleaded for far flung fantasies.

Too late, the girl realized her linguistic error. In laws were referred to as "good families" to imply - and only imply - that they were as good as real flesh and blood. Cleanly he didn't know.

Slowly, she looked up at him, her brown eyes hard as unforgiving stone - or the closest she could make them as the hollow feeling inside her threatened to swallow up the entire universe in hopes of being filled. "I belong to Thomas Clement - have now for quite some time." It took physical effort to not turn away, to watch the effects her words were going to have on him. But it felt reassuring to know she was going to be feeling much worse.

Silenced by the sudden revelation, Clove stared into those dark eyes. They dared not blink. His forest-green ones misted over. Confident he could control his voice, he weakly asked: "What does that make me?"

"A mistake?" The young man's voice became raw: "A youthful indiscretion?"

It makes me a whore, she waned to scream. It makes my mother right about everything but I wouldn't have it any other way. But instead of all this, the words out of her mouth were emotionless, almost cruel in their indifference.

"It matters little, don't you think?" Monsieur Aedan always said someone's eyes look the most unforgiving when trying to control unshed tears. The sheer attempt to keep them at bay makes the eyes look closed off to the rest of the world. Lissette now know this to be true as her amber orbs hardened to dark brown chunks of dried mud.

In shock, the blonde blinked. Half-formed tears prematurely left his eyes. He broke their gaze. Those eyes looked to the ground. A single finger wiped those not quite ready tears. Clove observed the salty liquid -confused. "It matters," his gaze rose to meet hers. "It matters because knowing this hasn't changed my feelings."

His voice nearly trailed off, "My promises."

He snorted, shaking his head: "She was right." Clove posed the question, "I really must be some fool, huh?" A bittersweet humor overcame him. Only a fool would love someone who never was his to begin with, the man knew he never had a chance.

Viridian eyes left the French girl in favor of taking in the beautiful weather. A still small voice came out. "I'm in love with Thomas Clement's soon to be wife." It felt real.

He wondered how mother would react. Billie began with yelling, perhaps a smarting blow, and a pearl of her wisdom: a married man or woman is a dead one. Then another blow would be delivered to ensure the lesson sunk in. Because if it doesn't hurt, it isn't love -oh mother, he missed those bone crushing hugs.

After enough time passed. The blonde told her what she wanted to hear: "Don't worry," he glanced at her, "I won't tell a soul."

He used that word again, the one she could never bring herself to say. The one she was convinced she did not know until recently. Love was unimportant, her mother had always said. Perhaps she had been right - in the great scheme of things, it was. But for something so unimportant, it sure hurt a lot. Just looking at his face was painful, knowing that she was hurting him, that she would probably never see him again - she had wanted the stars, ventured too close to the sun to get them and how pat, she got burnt.

"Don't worry," he glanced at her, "I won't tell a soul."

She didn't doubt it, and he would know better than to do such a thing. Sometimes she forgot he belonged to a noble house too. No one was looking to make an enemy to Lord Clement, not willingly. Unbidden, an absurd thought circled her head. No houses, no politics, no duties. Just the two of them somewhere far away. She banished the thought - its departure leaving more pain behind. She would learn to get used to it.

She turned to leave, there was nothing more to say.

"Please take care of yourself..." Or so she thought. The other Lissette, his Lissette, was still trying to break out.

The good doctor nodded. Sarah, Apollo, -hell- even Kay held their own vested interest in the blonde stranger. He would be well taken care of.

It was a beautiful day, he mused. Clove frowned -a hot one.

He cleared his throat, "You never said that I could leave."

Bound down by three promises, the blonde watched her back. A nearly ripe star ready to be given as a gift: a wedding gift, it would seem. Until the words uttered from her lips, he remained in France. The most painful one of all -the man wished to forget.

Rage lit a fire within his heart. The fault fell with him. Clove had been a fool -he always had been. He raised his hopes. He thought he could have a home, a family -not with anyone either.

Mother knew. Apollo would come to learn of his inadequacies, as they said: it was written. Maktub the men of Khorassan province taught him the Arabic idiom. It meant that everything that comes to past is already known by Allah -God.

This was his destiny.

Life moved on after this moment.

No wind blew by to act as his guide. It died six seasons ago, a year and a half, back in the Menagerie house.

Surely being crucified alive wouldn't feel as bad as this, the brunette reasoned in her head as the curious detached feeling came over senses, one she would get very well acquainted with over the next few years and learn to use to her advantage. In years to come, people would theorize that the mind detaches itself from the body when physical pain gets too intense.but the girl would pay little attention to these ponderings, only knowing that she could always pose a cool front because her sun was no longer in her life, and neither was any warmth as a result.

The scene was wrong somehow, for so much pain, surely she had to be at the very least bleeding to death. But she hadn't bled, not that morning and certainly not the night before which was good all things considered. But she could not ask him to leave, not in the words he wanted. There were some things she could no longer do and this was one of them.

"You must do as you please, monsieur." Go if you want, and take my heart with you - its of little use to me now.

"We both know," he looked to the garden: "that's no longer an option for me."

Clove sighed: how melodramatic. It sounded differently in his mind.

This spot, the professor proposed that the foreigner become his apprentice. The native spoke to himself as he conjured up a piece of paper and a quill -writing a list of things he would: a uniform, supplies, and underlined that the boy should get himself a hair cut.

He smiled despite himself.

Excess moisture translated into tears. The traveler blinked.

Clove inwardly cursed his own weakness. He brusquely wiped away the evidence.

"I'll stay," his gaze met the back of her head, "until you can find it in your heart to release me." Clove wondered what went through Lissette's mind. She became Lemon's fiancee, who knows when. The girl never told him what that made him.

His leader taught him to be a man. A man kept his word. "Until then, you know where to find me."

Somehow, Clove never thought for a moment that time wasn't on his side.

"I'll stay," his gaze met the back of her head, "until you can find it in your heart to release me."

Odd how the very same words would not have been out of place from her own lips. Or maybe not odd at all. A distance of few feet and a million invisible lines separated them on this sunny, warm day. A very beautiful day to herald the end of the world - her world anyway.

The brunette turned slowly, meeting but not quite meeting his gaze. "I wish you luck."

Clove pressed his lips.

The young man enjoyed his fill of luck: both good and bad. When affiliated with the Cats -he knew not hunger nor want. His recent visit to England earned him fifty lashes due to its draconian law. The officials of that land deported him here. In nearly two years, Clove commenced his apprenticeship and a new chapter in his life. Friendships blossomed. Life looked up for the most part. Then Clove met Kay. He had enough luck to last him a lifetime.

"I wish you good health." Gingerly, the blonde added: "and happiness."

Underneath the layers of self loathing and hurt, he still wished for her to be happy. It hurt something awful that it meant that she could find that without him. The masochist rose. Clove wanted to say something more, but decided against it. He bowed, "Lady Loisel."

The formal address stung, it cut deep but not as deep as she was going to cut herself. A lady's courtesy is her armor, her septa had said and now that was all she could summon to mask the hurt. "Monsieur Rosario." the brunette replied, looking away, her tone polite and devoid of any emotion. She did not curtsey in return, afraid the shift in balance would crush her at the final hour of this farce.

Baffled for a moment, he glanced around looking for Apollo. Clove belatedly realized: he was a Rosario. The Engel name died somewhere along the way. The blonde frowned. His mother's surname meant Angel -he would miss that. Apollo's signified for Our Lady of the Rosary or something. Kay explained it belonged to Roman Catholicism.

The minor lord silently stared into those eyes. He contemplated the change France had brought on. Clove's lips remained set sternly in a neutral line. "Good day to you," the trapped traveler snatched his broom -eager to leave to meet the professor.

He anticipated a series of events: a weary greeting, staring at one another, François slowly forming a grin as he reached for a pair of scissors, and their game would end in a good hearted scuffle. Both on the ground, master and apprentice laughed. They dusted themselves off and moved on. The two picked up the next day with the same routine.

For the first time, Clove looked forwards to this routine. He took one last look at the girl before walking past her to François's office.

She watched him go, walk out of her life even though he had promised. But he hadn't broken any promises, it was her words that were false, or rather, her unspoken glances and promises. It hurt to realize that after all she had done, she couldn't even be technically called a liar. For how does one tell untruths without saying anything at all?

Automatically her feet moved to the spot he had just vacated, trying to adjust themselves in the same way his frame had. The brunette sunk to her knees on the ground, imagining that his warmth still lingered in the spot he had occupied a minute ago and that bar his presence, it was the next best thing. She inhaled deeply, trying to steal the last lingering scents from the air around her, just enough to last her for the rest of her life.

But she did not cry.