Zvan arrived before his stepfamily's coach did, he passed it on the way and almost turned to laugh. He was positive he had not been seen, nothing else noticed him as he ran. Even rabbits stayed where they were by the side of the road, so he felt sure. He again arrived at the wide steps toward the castle, made sure the box was in his sash, and that his hair was acceptably still braided. Not a hair out of place, and he sauntered inside.
The place was as brightly lit as before, but in a kind of yellowish theme, more sunset than midday. There were markedly fewer people here this time, Zvan noticed. But since he had arrived before his step father and brothers, he would situate himself comfortably and not worry about them. He had barely spoken a word in the last two weeks, even less in the time during his sewing, so if they recognized his voice it would be highly unlikely. Besides, he realized, he'd adopted a more rich, louder tone here at this party than he'd ever used before.
His voice had changed from a youngling's to an adult's years before, but he'd so rarely spoken more than a few sentances at a time he didn't realize the tone of his own voice. He struck up a conversation with one of the ladies at the banquet table, and she even commented (to her daughter) how charming he was.
He was charming. And apparently, rather attractive too. The way young women and particularly felines would look him over was gratifying.
Zvan noticed that few of the bigger species that had been at the first ball were here. Apparently, Dvrinne had pared down the list based on physical compatibility before all else. Zvan could hardly blame her - he could not imagine the girl with anyone bigger than himself, and even he would be pushing it if anything because of their slight but noticable age difference.
There were a few hooved folk, slender of limb and delicate in face. They looked noble - in fact, Zvan considered that a large portion of the re-invited people here were of higher-class than the broadly invited mass who had come before. There were, he estimated later in the evening when most had arrived, perhaps three hundred rather than more than a thousand. Still an admirable party!
The costumery on most was gaudy, bright, even some which towered above in improbable wickerwork from supported headgear. Zvan was positive that he saw Dvrinne giggle at them. He caught her eye early, but there were already a dozen suitors badgering her to dance, which she at this point felt obliged to do. She would surely be dead on her feet later, so Zvan did manage to cut in on one slightly-too-old man while they danced.
Dvrinne eagerly took his hand, and they spun around as though she hadn't started dancing an hour before. She was wearing a dark blue shawl, a corset in deep grey, and a skirt that fell to the floor in waves of red - they complimented one another almost eerily. The women in waiting, framing the Queen's corner as she watched from a dining table, spoke to one another in praising terms.
"I have something to give you, later," Zvan said, as they parted and another dance began. She nodded, and grinned at him, looking over the shoulder of her current dance partner.
"She's a catch worth having," said Jlean from beside Zvan - making him stiffen. But Jlean's hungry grey-green eyes were feasting upon Dvrinne, occasionally switching to the Queen herself. "It is a pity that the Queen has decided to remain a widow dowager."
"We are all honored to be here, they are indeed generous," Zvan said without looking at his stepfather. He was positive that he hadn't been discovered, but that worry plagued him the whole night. But not even a sniff from the older man and his body language said he couldn't possibly have noticed.
Plus, something quite odd: Zvan was taller by half a foot, than Jlean. When had that happened? Was he always like this? Or was it the magic that grew him out to his full height? Zvan knew that his growth had been a bit stunted in the last few years, and he always looked upward toward Jlean, not down on him. Still it was frightening to have spoken anonymously to the man. And he saw suddenly that Jlean was a predator of a different sort indeed: he would conquer a woman and move on. He would whore until the morning light but no one ever saw hair nor whisker of these women. Even his sons occasionaly verbalized that they wondered where she'd got to in the morning.
Something gnawed at Zvan, because of that. Something inside him started to darken. He had a strange feeling he knew what was in the chambers where he and his brothers were never allowed. He'd started to connect things, given that item on the list of his duties - the midden pit - it was just no coincidence...
But that all paled and faded when Dvrinne approached around the banquet table, herself munching on a rolled piece of lettuce and meat. "I got away, it's so exhausting in there."
"I see, and yes it is, it's a wonder you haven't collapsed yet!" Zvan said. "Is there somewhere we could talk? Or just sit? I do not know what your mother expects of you tonight, whether she wants to keep you in her eyes or if you'll be allowed to have a private moment."
"Well, I want some privacy, so let's find somewhere." Dvrinne pulled him along (he was still holding a plate with food, and he kept it from spilling expertly, and noticed that Dvrinne had grabbed two tall glasses of wine in the process of passing the tables) until he was well lost in the castle.
Slightly out of breath, more because they were scampering around avoiding detection than because they'd run far or long, Dvrinne and Zvan arrived at a higher balcony which was more toward the side of the castle than the front where the one they'd stood upon before rested. They could still hear the music clearly, and the light from the party below illuminated everything from underneath. They sat at a small round table, one which wasn't fully frilly and decorated, it just was someone's breakfast table at the castle.
They shared the wine and the last of Zvan's meal from his plate, chatting about costumes and silly hairstyles, and then Zvan patted his waist cloth. "Here, I have this for you, I hope you like it."
The box was hardly two inches across, but it was enough to widen her eyes. "It smells delicious!" She said.
"That's what I hoped you would say," Zvan said quietly. He watched her open it, it was a small truffle-like pastry which had a pair of scents - chocolate and coffee. She bit into it with her front teeth and closed her eyes in an expression of pure culinary delight. She offered to share it, but Zvan waved it off saying that it was hers, now, she countered with 'if it is because I've slobbered all over it, I'm still the princess shouldn't you want princess slobber?' and they began laughing quite hard at one another.
Maybe it was the wine, too.
Zvan leaned back a bit and tilted his head, and asked, "forgive my ignorance, but I do not know what species you and your mother are. You are no greyhound, they don't have such fringe on their ears."
"Saluki," she said simply, "they use four-footed saluki to hunt in grass, like your four-legged kin the cheetah. We're... we're a good match, both runners, right?"
Zvan had to admit, a swift canine with the same build as he and an appreciation for silliness ...
He gulped, and said quite frankly, "Princess, I do not deserve you. I'm not at all what I appear."
"Oh I think you are, Izzy," Dvrinne said, "and my mother thinks so too. She couldn't stop talking about you all week."
He gulped again, "really?" It came out as a squeek, and Dvrinne giggled at him. Nodding, she assured him that he was well-liked at the party. He held himself properly, didn't drink too much and become boorish, didn't eat instead of paying attention to the guests, and danced politely with other people instead of waiting like a vulture for the Queen or Dvrinne to dance with them.
Zvan had never, in his life, been so praised. He looked down, his dark nails polished again by magic and his gift procured from who knew where. "Then... I thank you and she for your kindness. I've ... I have lived a harder life than you know, Princess. I am not used to this," he waved his hand. Laughter from below erupted, someone might have done something silly or accidental. "My family ... is here, but ..."
"Shh," Dvrinne said. "You're not comfortable with it, you don't need to talk about it. Talk about me instead!" She said, brightly, and he obliged because it made both of them feel better.
The night progressed, they did have to come back to the ball room. Dvrinne was summoned by a frantic servant, and Zvan followed after her more slowly. In the darkness near a corner beyond which was the ball room, he saw the Queen's distinct and noble outline.
He bowed low as he had before, "my Queen, thank you for allowing us some time alone. Your daughter is precious, this choice she must make is being made easier by your accomodation of her desires."
He felt a cool paw on his chin, and lifted his head when she held it up. "You speak with such sedate words," she said. "Do you love her yet?"
Zvan blinked, again blinked, and then nodded quietly.
"I have not seen any other cheetah here," she said a moment later, "yet I know you are local. I will not ask any questions, that will be left for the masked ball next time. Do not worry. You will be invited. I do hope you've got a true costume - we both appreciate your simple garments here, because Dvrinne and myself both hate the others," she glanced around the curtain into the ballroom where the wicker-headed mongoose had tripped and gotten entwined with one of the draperies in the wall. "But the last ball will be quite formal. You'll do your best, but I feel there is something more to you, I do hope to find out what it is."
With that, the Queen turned into the ballroom and took the hand of an elderly elk, to dance and distract everyone from the poor mongoose man.
It was getting hard for Zvan to resist blurting out, "Jlean is my stepfather!" He did not, of course. Jharn was at the drinks again, but his brother was making him water them with juice, wisely. He was too busy himself to ask for any dances, and Jharn hadn't bothered to try. They were having too good a time with everything else, to worry about it.
They were easily distracted. Jlean on the other hand was not. He was dancing with Dvrinne when Zvan entered the ballroom again, and Dvrinne clearly wanted to be elsewhere. But she politely danced, until the song ended, and all but bolted into Zvan's arms again for the next. The glaring look that Jlean gave them was almost enough to melt through the magical 'disguise' that Zvan believed he had. But instead, standing a head above Dvrinne as they danced to an elegant and slow march, Zvan found Jlean's eyes and glared right back. It was the first time in eight years that he'd met Jlean's eyes and not been beaten for it.
This would be a challenge, this would be a warning. It was clear that only certain men would be asked back to the final ball - and it was to be a masked event? What would Zvan be forced to make this time? Those things echoed in the back of his mind, but for the moment, he was happy to escort Dvrinne back to her mother's table in the corner, and bid them a good night.
This time, he went home only after securing himself what amounted to a sack full of food from the banquet table. It would doubtless come in handy later in the week, when he would be too busy to even try getting table scraps for himself. He sped home, tucked the food away, and waited for sleep to come.
***
He had a nightmare, one which he'd had before. The memories of having to clean the cess pit below the house when he was younger... He had to do it twice before, and each time not only was he terribly sick afterwards from having to slosh about in the dung and mess, but he had found things in the waste that hadn't quite dissolved yet. He had thought once that he'd imagined a hoof, a tail, a spine. But now he knew. He just knew. It wasn't his imagination, it wasn't just the smell and sickness doing things to his young mind.
They had been body parts. Real, actual, parts rendered from people. His dream held him bound above the pit, unable to move, practically unable to breathe, as dead people rose from the slime and waste. They caressed him, touched him with their smelly hands, whispered hoarsely into his ears words which he didn't understand. Why was it in his dreams, he hardly understood words when they were important? Did he think the words of the dead were important? But by the end of the dream it wasn't so much a nightmare as a learning experience. Zvan wanted to hear what they had to say - he found himself wanting to touch back, wanting to hold on to them. They were dead women, a dozen or more of them, weren't they?
As the winged creature had told him the first time, Zvan didn't need to worry about getting up early, though he was faintly awake by dawn as he often was. He heard his doppleganger in the kitchen making breakfast, and later cleaning up. Eventually he got out of his bed, sore and achy from the lumps. It wasn't a proper bed after all, never had been, it was just piled dirt and rags, some spare hay. It was no fitting place for anyone to sleep. Not even stable hands had to sleep in their stables all their lives.
Today was the day Jlean expected - or maybe didn't - to have venison for dinner. And venison he was going to get. He saw the slaughtered deer carcass hanging in the kitchen when Zvan was begining to stoke the fire, and Zvan saw the man's eyes narrow. It was not in recognition, it was in anger.
"I do not know how you did it, boy," he growled. "This ... bothers me."
"I hunted, I am sorry it is not good enough, sir, I'll try harder next time." Zvan said, well aware that he had his hand on a butcher knife and could in fact take it to his master's body.
"... The house is in perfect working order," Jlean announced, "and for that I will not beat you. This time. But I will be watching you closely, boy. I do not think you alone fixed everything on my lists."
Zvan nodded, not looking up. When he knew Jlean wasn't in the kitchen any longer, as the door swung shut, he glanced toward it and slammed the butcher knife down onto the deer's neck, hard, in a bit of anger.
Why didn't he fight back when hit? Why did that little creature ask such things? Zvan was beaten, he had known only this life for so long, he had never had the strength or the will to do so.
But now? Now? He had successfully impressed the Queen and her daughter - along with a good number of ladies and lords if their pleasant smiles at the parties were any indication. Jlean had charmed his way into their company, but he wondered for how long? The man was not royalty, he merely thought of himself as such.
The disdain that grew in Zvan's heart for the man blossomed as he thought about it. But he was not about to give away his hatred, he was certainly not in a position to do much about any of this. He had a strange, magical benefactor - he believed now there was some deeper reason and rhyme to it all. The image on the seal, the mask on the creature, they matched. But why? To what end was this all?
He cooked, finished cleaning what little needed to be done from the night before, and Zvan's step family gloated about their conquests not just at the party (which had been few) but at the inn afterwards (which had been several). When evening came and the dinner meal was served up, Jlean was actually able to belch out that he had enjoyed this meal and was impressed at the luck which must have helped catch the fawn. It was as roundabout as a compliment as Zvan was ever going to get, from Jlean.
The brothers were more impressed, Ohrn in particular. "Did you really hunt that deer yourself?"
"I did," Zvan said, not looking at the blond haired puma. Ohrn had darker eyes than his brother or father, approaching a more teal colored green than grey like theirs. "You believe me don't you?"
"I have no reason not to," Ohrn said. "Father's not going to be happy - even though... you've done a good job. We might seem like we don't care, but ... if you weren't here, we'd have to do all this work. Before you came, we did."
Zvan wanted to ask about their mother, but then thought the better of it. He nodded and wordlessly thanked Ohrn, it was strange. Coming from him, this sort of compliment... He wondered if it was a trick of some kind to get him to say how he'd done it. It was not exactly true but in a way, when Jlean snidely commented to his sons that their servant had managed to do something neither of them ever tried before, it brought out a strong competitive streak in both the older brothers.
It was halfway amusing to Zvan to be suddenly compared favorably to Jlean's sons. Not that he even mentioned Zvan's name - merely 'the servant'. But still. For two more good meals they had venison and would smoke the rest for later. Zvan seriously considered just telling them it was in the smoke house, and eating it himself. They wouldn't find out until later anyway. And suddenly, for the first time in his life, 'later' no longer had a feeling of pure dread associated with it.
Another few days went by and Jlean seemed more and more on edge. He knew that his sons had failed to do much more than glance at the Princess, and it was known in point of fact that the girl herself would be choosing who went to the third and final ball. So if not them, he could only hope for himself to be the one...
It never seemed to occur to the puma man that Zvan would be called upon, he hadn't been at the balls, he had been here at home working himself to death.
Or perhaps he hadn't. Zvan could hear, late into the night a week after the ball, Jlean stomping around in his suite. Jlean was an early riser, he rarely stayed up this late unless it was with a woman, and even then the activities didn't often bring him into the hall or downstairs. From a secret nook that was barely big enough for even Zvan's slender form to snuggle into, the cheetah watched unseen through a hole in an archway by the hall. Jlean held a book in one hand, open, and a candle in the other as he walked around the house. He paused at several places, and suddenly Zvan realized that they were where his benefactor's little glowing sprites had fixed ceilings or done chores for him. Zvan couldn't make out the title of the book that Jlean held but why in the world would he be pacing around like this, in the dark, with a tome?
Perhaps he'd lost his mind at last, Zvan thought. When Jlean exhausted the possibilities of his search and went back upstairs to his chambers, Zvan did the same and huddled on his small cold pile of rags.
Some day, perhaps soon, he thought, he would get to sleep upon a soft bed. It would be made of the finest satins, soft to the touch, filled with down and fitted with fine cloth sheets. Blankets would adorn it, draped to the floor, lace and embroidery in perfect condition...
Zvan was roused roughly from his sleep in the very early morning by hard hands, Jlean's.
"You! Up!" The puma demanded, his eyes wild and bloodshot - Zvan trembled at their appearance: Jlean had been up all night!
The cheetah scrambled out of bed, holding his hands over his head protectively and submissively. But that hardly helped, it merely gave Jlean something to grab onto and drag him into the kitchen. He roughly threw Zvan down, it was barely even dawn yet but it looked as though Jlean had more energy now than he had the prior night. He was large in muscles, his frame built for strength. Not at all like Zvan's lithe and long-boned speedy form. In a contest of build, Zvan would lose and quickly.
So he waited, crouched on the floor waiting for whatever was to come. But this time he waited with anger in his heart, bile rising in his throat until it burned. He did not deserve whatever was--
"You have used magic to do this work," Jlean exclaimed, harsh, "you have been in my chambers, my library, you used forbidden magics! Ones even I would not touch!"
Zvan was confused, Jlean ... knew magic? Believed in it? Since when?
"Sir I don't-"
"Silence!" Jlean bellowed, striking Zvan across the back of the head with something, probably the book he'd been pacing around with the prior night. "This is unacceptable, in my home, you have broken my rules! You need to be broken!"
Zvan knew that to utter even one word would be instant death. He suffered before, he would live through this... He swore to himself he would. And where was his little masked benefactor now? Now that he needed help most?
Zvan felt a hard, cold rod land on his shoulder, the one which had barely begun truly healing. Jlean was using whatever was at hand, and that happened to be a cooking ladle. It broke on the third hard smash against the boy's back, so he went for another object, a heavy pan. By this time with the yelling (he had not stopped yelling, it was a constant punctuation of his actions) his sons timidly came downstairs to see what was going on. When Jlean was about to move to a cast-iron skillet Ohrn moved in.
"Father, stop this now." He said, and though his tone held a strong warning, it was still shaking. He was terrified of his father, but knew - or at least hoped - that he would never become the object of Jlean's wrath. Ohrn reached up, holding on to Jlean's arm before he could swing the heavy black skillet down onto Zvan's already bleeding form.
"You dare!" Jlean yelled, and Ohrn stared him down.
"I do dare, father this is madness. You've no reason to kill the boy, he's our only servant. He may have disobeyed but you said yourself the house is in perfect order. I say - keep it that way. I've no urge to learn to sew." With his other hand he took the skillet away, tossing it with a clatter onto the floor.
His anger was hardly spent, but Jlean somehow detected that he would possibly lose any argument he would have with his son. Ohrn was by far the smartest in the family, if not the stronger of the pair. Jlean turned his storm-green eyes on Zvan.
"Get up." He said. Ohrn protested but saw, amazed, that Zvan was able to stand. "Upstairs. To my chambers. Now."
"Father," Ohrn warned, but Jlean growled so fiercely that Ohrn backed away.
"You wanted to use magic, then you can use it in there, all you like. If you dare." Jlean said, shoving Zvan into the hallway and hurrying him into the stairs. Zvan had to crawl part of the way up, he had long bloody streaks on his dirty shirt, and blood ran from his scalp and from one long gash in his ear. But his legs worked well enough, he stood at the top of the stairs and continued on his own. He never looked back, never tried to look down.
He would have to thank Ohrn for saving his life, though. Two weeks ago that might have galled Zvan. But today it seemed that even the despicable offspring could grow a conscience.
Up to the third floor they went, Zvan was halfway aware that Ohrn and Jharn followed their father with urgent worry on their breath. Zvan had balked at entering the man's chambers before, when the little flitter tried to show him his reflection. But now the door was open, he had to step in or be beaten yet again.
Jlean's den was at the end of the hall, his bed chamber nearer the stairs, and his library across from the bedroom. They went to the den, where Zvan had smelled bad things - and now he ...
"Enter, you'll be there until I decide to let you out. Make yourself comfortable." Jlean said. He shoved Zvan into the dark room, pulled the heavy door shut and locked it from the outside. Zvan had never noticed: the door did lock from the outside. Meant to keep things... in?
It was dark, there were no windows in this room, and had an odd smell. The scent drove a hard shudder up Zvan's spine, but he could not place it.
Though he had slept for several hours, the only thing that Zvan wanted to do was collapse. He fumbled around near the floor until he felt a couch - a real couch, and he climbed into it. It smelled of his step-father, but he didn't care. Zvan slept again, not knowing how long he was unconscious. When he woke there was light at the crack under the door, he became aware that there was a shadow upon it.
"Zvan?" Ohrn hissed, quiet but urgently. He tapped the door once, not daring to make a true knock.
"I am here," Zvan said, listlessly.
"Father has gone into town." He paused, "I'm sorry for-"
"Why are you sorry?" Zvan said, trying to sit up. "You saved my life. I will never forget that, Ohrn. Thank you."
There was a little chuckle, and then, "is it true? Did you use magic?"
"I did not use any magic," Zvan said, "magic was here, though. It was. I think it's gone now. It can't help me."
Clearly, Ohrn thought perhaps his step-brother had been injured a bit much, to say such odd things. But he shrugged it off, and then left Zvan alone.
Zvan did not feel alone. He wasn't sure why - and he was not certain it was a good feeling. He got no comfort from this feeling...