The Lycan King's Puppet-Chapter 9: Aftermath

Chapter 9: Aftermath
The ride back was silent.
Uncle Jarren didn’t speak a word to her.
Yeren.
He had gotten her into trouble. She should have known better than to follow him out of the hall without a female escort.
And where was he now? Probably laughing at her wherever he is.
Her Uncle slid into the house without a word to her or his son.
For some reason, her blood ran cold. The carriage rider rode the carriage away. She watched him, wishing she was inside.
Arlan waited for her silently, refusing to meet her gaze.
They walked into the house together. Even the woods around them stood eeriely silent.
The moon smiled down at them, distant yet as close as the winds that caressed their skins.
It wasn’t Margaret that awaited her at the bottom of the stairs - it was another lady, one she hadn’t seen before.
A wisp of the woman’s hair slipped out of the cap at her forehead.
Brown. Her hair was brown.
The maid smiled at her - a thin and watery imitation of a smile, rather.
She followed the woman up the stairs.
"What of my sister?"
The woman didn’t stir. She kept walking up the stairs, her spine straight, skirts rustling.
The flame of her candle danced furiously, threatening to go out more than they could count.
"I believe I asked you a question." She said through gritted teeth.
The maid only kept walking, moving to a rhythm Claire couldn’t hear.
Then, she grabbed the woman’s shoulder and spun her around.
"I was speaking to you."
The woman only stared at her, her face expressionless.
Claire furrowed her brow, withdrawing her hand from the woman’s shoulder.
Couldn’t the woman hear her?
Drawn by impulse, she ripped the woman’s cap off her head.
A gasp tore from her already-trembling lips.
The woman’s ears were scalded inwards - probably by a hot metal. The entrances were sealed thoroughly.
The cap fell from her hands.
The scalding wasn’t fresh.
"You can’t hear me, can you?" She asked, mostly to herself.
The woman bent and picked up her cap, fitting it over her head with practised ease. Colour stained the woman’s neck, but no other reaction was visible.
She couldn’t help wondering, ’What had happened to Margaret?’
Claire paused at her sister’s room and knocked.
Her heart thawed against her ribs as silence met her enquiry.
"Aurora!"
She knocked again.
Still no response.
"Please..."
Her head rested on the door.
"You’re back already?"
Her head snapped to the direction of her sister’s voice.
Aurora was standing at the door of her own room, wearing a nightdress that covered her feet.
She didn’t respond.
Aurora ran to her, wrapping her arms about her waist.
"You look like you saw a ghost." The little girl said.
She had thought so too.
The maid watched quietly.
Claire rubbed her sister’s hair.
"I told you not to wait for me." She said in an attempt to liven the mood.
Aurora flipped her freshly-brushed hair.
"I couldn’t wait till the next day to hear everything that happened."
Claire patted her nose. Her sister would be terribly disappointed by the tales she had to tell.
The maid helped her out of her dress and brushed her hair in preparation for her bath.
"What’s with her? Doesn’t she talk?" Aurora leaned over to whisper.
Claire watched the woman. She was efficient, she noticed as the woman packed up her clothes and tidied the room.
"I’d have left those on the floor, if it were up to me. Zach tried to scold me for always being untidy." Aurora murmured.
Claire laughed.
"He didn’t succeed from the sound of it." She teased.
"Oh, he did. I learnt to fold my clothes myself. Though, it’s not very neat."
She chuckled.
When the woman finished her task, she stood by the door - probably waiting for the bath to arrive.
Claire turned to her sister.
"Fetch me a quill, some ink and a piece of parchment."
All the while, her eyes never left the detached woman at the other side of the room.
Aurora raised an eyebrow at her. "Whatever for?"
"Just do it."
Groaning, Aurora slid from the bed and went to fetch the items on the table by the window.
When she received it, she wrote, ’What is your name?’ on it boldly and held it up for the maid to see.
The woman glanced at the parchment briefly but said nothing.
"I don’t think she can read." Aurora whispered.
Claire saw the woman’s hands tighten into a fist. "I don’t think so. I think she doesn’t want to tell us."
Aurora fell back on the bed.
"So be it. Why do you want to know anyway?"
Claire’s throat tightened. She set the parchment aside.
"Because someone made me realize the importance of knowing people’s names."
Her sister’s eyes narrowed.
"Zach already knew your name - so you can’t be talking about him." She rose up. "Who?"
Claire shrugged.
"A man or a woman?"
A knock on the door heralded the bath.
Margaret wasn’t among them.
Claire slid from the bed, carrying the inkwell and quill to the table.
She knew two of the women from the previous night - the only one she didn’t know was Margaret’s replacement.
They drew the bath, emptying steaming pails of water into the tub.
She could feel the heat radiating from it from where she stood.
A cool breeze blew in from the window. She inhaled the scent of rain that accompanied it.
The maids averted their gazes as she pulled her chemise over her head and slipped into the steaming water.
Her eyes remained fixed on the door, half expecting it to bounce open to reveal Uncle Jarren.
He was handsome and well-built for his years, just like her father had been.
Aurora busied herself by fiddling with the loose threads on the quilt.
When they were done, they packed up and left.
Claire went to stand by the window.
"I still see that wolf in my dreams."
"What do you think it means?"
Claire looked over her shoulder.
"It could mean anything. I don’t know what to believe. If father was here, he would’ve told me."
Aurora wrapped her arms around herself.
"When you talk like that, you remind me that we’re all alone. There’s no Zach to turn to..." She trailed off.
Claire knew the rest.
"I thought you liked Arlan."
"That doesn’t make him family, Claire."
Claire folded her arms. "What made Zach family?"
Aurora ran a hand through her hair, tangling it.
"He didn’t have a reason to love us, but he did. We were his superiors when father was alive, but none of that seemed to matter."
Claire turned back to the window. "Father treated him like a son. We treated him like... a brother."
Aurora came up behind her.
"Not just him. We treated every other person the same way. Yet, after the fire, only he remained."
She touched a hand to her chest. She had never thought of it like that.
"You sound older than your age, Rory."
The girl chuckled. "You’re beginning to rub off on me."
Claire pulled her closer. Both girls stared out the window.
And, it would seem, society was beginning to rub off on her.