Alomina or The Book of Many Journeys Ch. 6

Chapter Six: A Different Point Of View... Or Two When they got back, Aunt Cynnia spoke to them of the ball, and what a time it had been. She mostly stated the obvious, absent-mindedly asked light and very usual questions about their time, as well as explaining most haphazardly the reasons she did not get a chance to greet them at the ball of mention. "I do hope that both of you enjoyed yourselves?", she queried lightly in her usual gay but inattentive manner. Percy and Alomina made but little response, for their minds were indeed elsewhere. Dricynnia seemed not to yet notice. She only continued and made little remark aside from those many often-said and absent-minded ones concerning the ball. It was often that Aunt Cynnia really only talked to converse and only spoke of the obvious and most recent, as she really didn't pay attention enough to start any brilliant, deep, or complicated conversations. Not from lack of intelligence, but just from flighty and short attention spans. "I am sorry I didn't see either of you at the ball, dears, it seems by accident, I got carried away, and absently lost track of the time", she continued flightily. At the words 'accident', and 'carried away', Percy smiled, looking off into the distance, and Alomina blushed happily. Cynnia looked at them both strangely, and seeing attempts at conversation were pointless, departed from the room. Alomina and Percy, both of them only thinking of whom they had met at the ball, then thought in sudden synchronization of how they had always told each other everything up to now. Why should now be an exception in any way? And so they both began to awkwardly attempt to convey the information of their times at the ball: "I have something I must tell you", they both said at exactly the same time. They looked at each other inquiringly for moment, and then, when just on the brink of saying something to each other, they were called by Dricynnia. Both of them went, but neither of them got another chance that night to talk to each other alone. And so that night when both of them were in their beds, they slept but little. Both of them were still wondering what the other had to say. And each of them were also wondering whether it had anything to do with what they themselves had to tell. Would either of them end up being able to tell their tale? What did the other have to tell? Alomina lay in her huge four-posted bed, and thought much about the Count, and she wished she knew how to tell Percy of the odd incident. She would tell him eventually, though...somehow. Percy likewise laid in his dark-wooden bed, sleepless for his consuming thoughts, wondering what on earth was about with Mina. But even with all his contemplation and wondering, he had very little idea of how complicated it really was, or how so very much more complicated it was soon going to become. * * * * * * Meanwhile, Celeise sat holding a sleeping baby Alfonso at the palace, she thinking too of what had occurred at the ball with confused effects. She ordinarily would probably have been angered by such a person as that Lord de Blyrwen, and such a happening such as that event at the ball. She was a bit angered by it, but anger was one of the lesser of her many confused and distraught feelings, such as frustration at why she was feeling such things, happiness at something or other, surprise that she didn't slap him for his insolence, (which, she almost did hit him at first, but somehow her hand was stayed) and puzzlement at what could possibly be different about this rogue from any other rogue that sought her attention. What was so different? Perhaps something was off with this Lord de Blyrwen? Perhaps he was a bad influence, making her think in such a muddled and improper manner? No. Why should he be a bad influence? She only met him once, danced out of courtesy, and had no intention of ever seeing him again or trying to ever see him again. What?! Never see him again?! For some reason, this set off a sort-of battle-cry inside of her, as though enemies were attacking from all sides. Alright, so maybe someday--if it was someone else's doing--I might just maybe see him again, she thought, trying to calm the raging rebellion inside her mind. She thought she actually might perhaps like to see him again, perhaps at the next ball? Or invite him to the palace? Wait, wait, wait, what?! Where did that thought come from? Invite him to the palace?! Why on all the earth would she do that? She had just met him once at the ball (or more like it, they just 'bumped' into each other). Why would she invite some rascally, (and most likely throne-seeking) foolish nobleman to her palace? Besides, she had better things to do then summon some silly Lord de Blyrwen. Wait! Lord de Blyrwen?! She sat upright in surprised realization, but then quickly un-tensed so Alfonso didn't wake. She continued in her mind, plotting and connecting the name with what she knew. One of her mother's closest friends was the late Lord de Blyrwen's sister, a Madame de Blyrwen! All she would have to do was invite the Madame, and then he would no doubt come as well! Yes, it was absolutely perfect! It would work and then she could talk to this Lord de Blyrwen once more. Wait, wait, wait! she was acting very odd indeed. Why did she want to see him? She wasn't herself, that was it. She just needed some sleep, that was all. In the morning she would wake, and re-think things over. And invite the de Blyrwens over to a banquet, she could not helping thinking. She was so intensely wrapped in her thoughts that she didn't say a thing when the nurse-maid came in and took Alfonso. No, no, no. She was going to tell him off for his ridiculous and rude behavior at the ball if he ever saw him again, that's what she was going to do. Yes, that's it! She only wanted to see him again so she could reprimand him for his lack of respect or courtesy to his princess and future queen, that was all. Yes, she would definitely turn a cold staff to him when she saw him again! If, if I ever see him again, she corrected herself. When, dear, when, she re-corrected herself as she went off to her bedroom. * * * * * * In a far different place, Count Charles Montefore was thinking deeply, thinking somewhat angrily about what had happened at the ball that night. A royal of a different country, whom the Count had before had dealings of a type with, had been at that ball, and the Count had only attended to meet him. But as the Count went to go and find him, he had happened upon someone quite different..... Oh, why did he have to keep thinking of that?! It was just some irrelevant meeting, (just some irrelevant meeting that had interrupted his meeting with that royal, and was now interrupting his thoughts) and yet somehow, every time he thought of how he must see that man, or what job he must do, his thoughts had to lead up to that odd, awkward, and accidental meeting! Blast the ridiculous girl, the pointless dance, and the waste of time! He absolutely had to focus! And yet, as he continued to think of what could possibly need done this time, he merely ended up in riddles. He hated riddles. So he would turn his thoughts away from riddle-solving, (which he was getting nowhere in) and figure out what he really needed to do. Suddenly a page opened the doors and came into the inn room where the Count sat. He put a letter in front of the Count, bowed plainly, and then exited just as abruptly and inconspicuously as he had entered. The Count opened and read over the letter. It was a summons, a summons to a castle in Matruna known to few. Though the letter was not signed, it was indeed apparent who had sent it. Apparent from the fact that it was not signed, the fact of who owned the particular mostly-abandoned castle in question, and the fact that there was only one person who ever dared to order or summon Count Charles Montefore so, it from was that royal, the Vellethian man the Count didn't meet at the ball. A partial countryman of the Count's and a schemer that never did anything himself. Count Charles crumbled the paper up and began to get his satchel ready. Doing anything that required contact with that royal made the Count sick with fury and hate. Well, to despise him wasn't going to change anything, the Count would still go of course. This sentiment made the Count even angrier. But, all the same, the Count knew he must do something besides just think, get ready, and get angry about it. So, he would soon set off, despite the late hour. And a few moments later, off into the night the Count rode, for the road that led only to Fate.