Page 16 of The Tsarina's Favorite
“What choice have I?”
“You could be completely pathetic and nonsensical,” Drook suggested.
“Or worse,” Klessa offered, “a weeping blithering whiner who does nothing but wallow in self-pity.”
“Do not hold any false assumptions about me, lady.I have done a significant amount of wallowing.”
“But you’re not lost to it,” Klessa said as she stepped aside from the sitting area and gestured for me and Drook to find seats.“Although you are a mess.”She stopped me before I passed her.“Are those spit stains?”
“I have not been afforded a change of costume yet,” I said, trying not to begin a diatribe on how shamefully the tsarina treated me.“Just additions.”
“And is that blood on your face?”Klessa threw her hands up in the air.“Drook, I’m holding you personally responsible for his dreadful state.”
“I keep telling you,” Drook said, “if the tsarina is paying attention and thinks we do too much for him, she’s going to find a way to make him suffer for that too.She’s been watching too closely before now.”
“It’s true,” I agreed, coming to Drook’s defense.“I was a new toy for her before.But now, so long as I am in costume and ready with her kvass, she pays little attention to me.”
“Don’t defend my husband,” Klessa scolded me.“He should have checked on you weeks ago.”
“I was waiting until she got a new baboon or something for her menagerie,” Drook said.
“If only,” I agreed.
Klessa finally released me and pointed to a chair.In a tone that brooked no disagreement, she instructed, “Sit, and take off your hood and beak.”
“I’m not supposed to be in the company of anyone without them,” I explained as I sat.
“We aren’t anyone,” Drook said.
“No one,” I rephrased, avoiding Drook’s semantics, “is supposed to see me without them.”
“Perfect,” Klessa announced, “because we are no one!Now, take them off.”
I debated, glancing to the doorway and weighing the likelihood that anyone but the residents already here might come through.Eventually I relented, pulling back the hood and unfastening the straps to the mask.
“My wife lies,” Drook said while I was busy with the beak.“Klessa is a gentleman’s daughter.”
“Doesn’t matter though,” she said with a scoff.“The moment they saw that I had my father’s condition, the king gave me away as a present.I too am one step above the menagerie, and therefore, no one.”
I dropped the beak into my lap and looked up at the woman with the remarkably hairy face.“I’m so sorry.”
“Those are some nasty wounds.”She took my chin in her hand, also extensively covered with hair, and twisted my face about so that she could get a full view.“And you have skin breakdown.”She released my chin and picked up the beak mask from my lap.She examined it and ran her finger over the unfinished edges of the leather.She tossed it at Drook.“See what you can do about that.I need to address his wounds.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” I offered, uncomfortable with the concern.
“You,” she redirected her attention to me.“I don’t want to hear any protest.You need to wash your hair and face.I’ll show you to the basin.”
Klessa started off towards another set of rooms.
I rose to follow and hurried to catch up with her.
“Thank you,” I said, grateful to have anyone concerned about me at all.“But truly, it is better if the tsarina — if everyone, really — sees something awful when they see me.If anyone should look at me with anything other than disdain —”
“Drook might think he’s excessively clever by waiting for the right moment, but your wounds need to be tended before they get infected.Now hush up and wash.Use mine.”She pointed to a basin and ewer set out on the taller of the two marble-topped washstands.
I hushed and followed her instruction, removing my gloves.I leaned over the basin and began pouring the cool water over my head.I scrubbed my scalp and shook out the curls, having to untangle and unmat many of them.I washed my face too.At the end of the exercise, I patted my face and hair down to free them from excess water and stood, feeling almost like a new person.Or almost like my old self anew.
I caught my reflection in the mirror hanging above the washstand and stopped toweling off.Any illusion of feeling like my old self shattered.I barely recognized the gaunt, hollow-eyed man gazing back at me.A ring of livid flesh left by the beak encircled his nose and mouth, three primary areas deeply crusted with blood and lymph.Wirey hairs on his cheeks and jawline, my cheeks and jawline, stuck out at odd angles where I had missed them in shaving.Several healing cuts from the same activity blazed red against the sickly skin.I looked less like a man of two-and-forty and more like one of double my years.
