Arun Armaan

  Months drift by like the little ducks in the pond near the courtyard. Truthfully, I’ve stopped keeping count of the exact number of days since I arrived at the palazzo. The calendar seems irrelevant here anyway.

  What matters here is light, sound, art and music.

  Knowledge.

  I’ve gathered with a few of the other boys in the music room today. The walls are lined with stringed instruments and flutes crafted from bone. The afternoon light in the music room looks simply divine.

  The teacher’s long fingers break the silence with a sharp chord.”

  “Again,” he says, slightly frustrated. “From the beginning.”

  We start to play, but it sounds… just downright awful. Matteo’s bow practically screams against the string and I’ve lost my place entirely. My mind is elsewhere. I’m thinking about the sound of laughter coming from outside the palazzo walls.

  “Armaan,” the teacher snaps. He’s not necessarily being unkind, but he’s using the same voice that someone would if they were talking to a lazy servant or something. “You are somewhere else again. Where?”

  I’m instantly flustered at his words.

  “I… I’m sorry. I just lost count.”

  “Lost count,” he repeats, rolling his eyes. “How fortunate then that music can forgive those who lose count.”

  I hear Luka and Meelo laugh softly and I stare down at my sheet of music. The notes are blurry on the page.

  We begin again and I try my best to focus. I really do, I swear. But the melody still feels rather lifeless. Master always tells me that beauty requires discipline, but I’m starting to wonder if really that’s just his way of saying that my joy and happiness should be quiet.

  “Stop.”

  The teacher lifts his hands, clearly annoyed.

  “Armaan, you are half a measure behind everyone. You are not listening.”

  “I am,” I insist. “It just doesn’t sound right.”

  He sighs.

  “Music demands all of you. Not whatever you have left after you’ve spent your thoughts elsewhere.”

  I hear more laughs and I glare at Meelo who smirks back. He looks perfectly smug behind his stupid little instrument.

  “Perhaps you should practice alone for a while,” the teacher says as he gathers his notes. “Until you remember what you’re doing here, yes?”

  I nod as tears burn my eyes.

  “Yes sir.”

  When the teacher finally leaves, the other boys run out into the courtyard. They are already whispering about a festival and the pretty lanterns will float across the canal. Luka even comments on how certain wines will be available if you know exactly who to ask.

  One of the other boys, Matteo, leans close as he passes me.

  “You should come. Maybe the crowd will help you find your rhythm.”

  I roll my eyes and scoff. I want to pretend not to care, but his words do hurt me a bit. I stay back in the music room and stare intently at the harpsichord keys.

  I press one key, then another. It’s soft, but still off-tempo. Outside, I hear more laughter from the courtyard and beyond the walls.

  I can’t help but feel the ache of it deep in my chest.

  --

  The sun went down hours ago and here I am still sitting in the music room trying to focus in hopes of not making a fool of myself tomorrow.

  Finally, I leave and make my way to the bedroom, but the entire time I’m walking back, all I can think is how the hallways feel entirely too long and how frustrated I am.

  I pause at the door, knock softly and push it open.

  Master is sitting by the window, turned away from the door and toward the moonlight. Usually he would be painting, but he isn’t. He’s not reading either. He’s just… sitting.

  “Master?”

  He doesn’t answer at first. His gaze stays on the moonlight beaming in through the open window. When he finally speaks, I can feel the disappointment pouring from his mouth.

  “Your teacher came to me.”

  That’s all. No greeting, no warmth. Just… that.

  My stomach immediately drops.

  “He… did he tell you about the lesson?”

  A small nod. He won’t turn and look at me.

  “I tried,” I say quickly. “I really did, I promise. I just got lost, I guess.”

  The silence that follows stretches and I can only take a step further.

  “You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”

  “No. Disappointed though? Perhaps.”

  His voice is as cool as the marbled floors. I can’t help but wince. I never want to disappoint him.

  “Please don’t be. I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll practice all night if you want me to.”

  Still silence. He just keeps looking out the window.

  “Please say something. Please.”

  “I believe I already did, Armaan.”

  “Not like that,” I plead. “Just… tell me what you want me to say.”

  To my surprise, he finally turns to me, but it’s like it costing him effort to do so.

  “Must I explain everything to you?”

  “I just…”

  “You are distracted,” he continues. “Your teacher said you seemed bored. Is he wrong, cherub?”

  “I’m not bored,” I whisper. “I just…”

  “Want something else, hmm? Something beyond these walls.”

  I nod before I can stop myself. I know what he’s referring to.

  A few weeks ago, I slipped out of the palazzo with a few of the other boys to ride a gondola and explore the city. The moon made the canal look silver and it felt like the world outside the palazzo walls belonged to me.

  He found out, of course. He didn’t shout, but the look he gave me was enough. He looked disappointed and it felt like maybe I betrayed him.

  “The city again, hmm?”

  I bite my lip.

  “I only wanted to see it again. Master. I’ve been here for months and… I hate when you do this to me.”

  “Do what?”

  “You go quiet and ignore me,” I say as my voice breaks. “You act like I break things just by speaking sometimes.”

  “I find silence preferable to repetition.”

  “You’re being cruel.”

  He finally rises and adjusts the cuff of his sleeve.

  “No, Armaan. I am being rather patient with you.”

  I stare at him in an attempt to find something kind or anything like the man I first met, but there’s only that controlled smile of his.

  What has made him so cold now?

  “You know I always want to do well,” I whisper. “I want to do well for you.”

  He sighs softly, like my words are boring him.

  “Then perhaps next time, you will.”

  I raise my hands to cover my face so he can’t see me cry.

  “Please… don’t be angry at me.”

  “I have already told you that I am not angry,” he replies. “But I am tired… and you need sleep.”

  I want to protest against his words and to reach for him, but I can tell he’s not having it tonight.

  “Why won’t you even look at me?”

  He sighs again and it’s a humorless sound.

  “Because if I do, you will assume I have forgiven you. I have not decided whether I should.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. His answer hurts so much worse than I ever expected it to.

  I wipe my tears away and climb into bed. The sheets feel too clean and cold for my liking now. I listen to him move around the room quietly. I can hear a few papers shifting and a chair scraping across the floor. The outline of his silhouette dances against the curtains as the candles eventually die down.

  “Goodnight,” I whisper into the dark.

  He doesn’t say it back.

  Is the silence itself what he wants me to learn? Is obedience disguised as affection here?

  After what I’m assuming is a few hours, I hear him rise and put something down on the bedside table. Then the bed dips under his weight. I don’t move at first. I just lie there as my heart pounds against my chest. I wait until I’m sure he’s settled into bed before I turn toward him.

  “Master?”

  He still doesn’t answer.

  Against my better judgment, I reach out anyway just to rest my hand against his arm. My fingers barely graze when his voice cuts through.

  “No, Armaan.”

  I freeze.

  “I wasn’t…”

  “I know what you were doing,” he says quietly. “Rest.”

  Even though he’s right next to me, he is still so distant somehow.

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  “I only wanted to hold you,” I whisper.

  “I know. That is why I said no.”

  My hand falls back to my side and he turns away.

  After a while, I whisper, “What can I do to make things okay again?”

  He doesn’t reply. Maybe he’s asleep… or just pretending to.

  I stare into the dark until I start to doze off. The city may be alive with sound, but in here?

  It’s just him and me and the quiet.

  I’ve never felt so far away from the world.

  --

  A year has gone by since I first stepped into the palazzo. Things were fine at first, but… everything is off now.

  I don’t know what I did wrong.

  Did I ask too many questions?

  The hallways feel way too quiet tonight and this time it seems… awkward. So much has been left unsaid between the Master and me. As I look out the window in the bedroom, I can hear music, laughter and the distant sound of bells ringing.

  The other boys in the palazzo were whispering earlier about slipping out for the festival, noting that they would be back before dawn and the Master wouldn’t even notice. I told them I’d ask first.

  When I find the Master, he’s in the gallery. The room is lit up by dozens of candles that just never seem to go out. His quill moves across the paper and he doesn’t look up when I enter, but I know he knows I’m there.

  “Master,” I start softly.

  There’s a pause. Then…

  “Yes, Armaan?”

  All of a sudden, I get nervous.

  “There’s a festival tonight in the square by the canal. The others were going to go and I was just thinking that maybe I could go with them? I would just be gone for an hour.”

  He finally looks up at me, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

  “No.”

  “Why… why not?”

  He sighs heavily and places the quill aside before rubbing his temple like I’m interrupting something important.

  “Because I said no. Must there always be a reason?”

  His words are sharp and I take a step closer.

  “You always have a reason for everything. You are the one who says I should learn the city, right? Shouldn’t I understand the history of where I live?”

  “Yes,” he says. “But not by wandering the streets at night with a pack of foolish boys who think themselves untouchable.”

  “They’re not…”

  He cuts me off.

  “Armaan.”

  The way he says my name sounds absolutely final.

  “Please. Just this one. I promise I’ll be careful you can send someone with me.”

  “No. My answer is final.”

  Something in his tone makes me angry.

  “You can’t keep me here forever,” I say under my breath. “You don’t have to be this way. You could at least pretend to care about me and how I’m bored out of my mind all the time now.”

  He sighs deeply again and points toward the balcony.

  “If you are so desperate for excitement, stand there and simply listen.”

  “You’re being cruel.”

  “Am I now?” he asks, tilting his head at me. “Or are you not getting your way, Armaan?”

  That makes me shut up. The music from the square passes through an open window and I do really want to hate him in this moment, but I can’t. Eventually, he goes back to writing. I should really just stop talking and walk away, but the question leaves my lips before I can stop it.

  “Why can’t I ever leave, Master? You used to let me explore the city during the day.”

  He doesn’t look up at me anymore.

  “You do leave, cherub. The gardens, the courtyard, the galleries… there is no shortage of beauty here, am I wrong?”

  “You know that’s not what I mean,” I say quickly. “You never let me see anything beyond the window anymore. The other boys get to and even the staff get to go to the market. I can’t. Why?”

  His quill continues moving across the paper.

  “Because you ask too many questions when you do.”

  Well, that stings.

  “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you look at the world as though it owes you something now.”

  I boldly take a step closer and my heart races in my chest like a drum.

  “I am not asking for the world though. I am only asking for one night. Just one. You act like you care about me, but you don’t even trust me to walk outside alone. Why are you keeping me here, Master?”

  The quill stills and the only sound I can hear now is a few crackles from the nearest candles.

  “Because I must… and because I can.”

  I take a step back.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “No… it is not, I suppose.”

  I want to scream at him, but it won’t come out. I just stand there dumbfounded at his response. It’s a simple request. Why is he acting like this now?

  “I hate this,” I whisper.

  “You will survive,” he replies. “You always do.”

  His calm dismissive tone hurts worse than any shouting from him ever could. I back away slowly until I’m standing in the doorway. I’m trying my best not to cry and he doesn’t even turn or try to comfort me.

  I’m starting to realize that maybe this… palazzo isn’t really a home at all. I think it’s becoming some kind of beautiful prison and my Master is the one locking me in.

  --

  Weeks later, an art gallery is being held in the palazzo. The beautiful chandeliers drip gold down the walls and the Master’s guests float through the gallery with their lace cuffs and jeweled gowns.

  I keep out of the way, choosing to stay by the far wall and pretending to study one of the paintings. It’s much easier than watching Master too closely or that I’m even watching at all.

  He stands poised and unbothered near the center of the room. He draws everyone’s eyes to him without even trying. His voice is as smooth as wine and I just know it’s charming the patrons who are hanging on to his every word. I see his hand gesture to a new art piece on the wall.

  “My students are gifted beyond their years,” he says, but I notice he isn’t looking in my direction at all when he says it.

  Things haven’t been right between us for… I don’t even know how long at this point. It feels like forever almost. Even the other boys are pointing it out to me. I hear them whispering about how I’d “fallen out of favor” with our Master and that his “little pet” has probably been replaced.

  I sip my wine and stare at the back of his dumb head instead of the paintings now. The candlelight seeps through his blond hair and I think about the first time he brought me here. He had such a kind smile. He said I’d be safe here.

  Now he doesn’t even meet my eyes.

  A countess by the name of Brynna leans close to him, laughing softly at something he said. He tips his head in that elegant way of his and I scoff.

  I shouldn’t care.

  I don’t.

  When he finally looks my way, it’s more of an acknowledgement than anything else, but I know I see the regret in his face.

  The bards’ music shifts and someone announces the next piece. I don’t care to listen anymore. I want to be outside. I wish I was laying on a bridge on the canal looking up at the stars. but of course the palazzo is its own world and I am only what he allows me to be within it now.

  After a few moments, I hear him say my name across the room.

  I feel like every head in the room has turned to me, but that’s not true in reality. I place my wine glass down on the table and cross the marble floor with whatever elegance I’ve picked up here. When I reach his side, I keep my eyes lowered.

  He passes me his discarded robe for me to carry and gestures toward one of the canvases behind him. The brushstrokes are so delicate that they seem to move when the light from one of the chandeliers falls on it.

  “This was one of my later pieces. I wanted to capture that moment just before dawn.”

  Brienne sighs dreamily, never letting her focus leave him.

  “It’s extraordinary. You’ve made the light itself seem… alive.”

  He smiles and bows slightly.

  “You have always been rather generous when it comes to my skills, my sweetheart.”

  Ugh.

  But of course, I can’t help but say something too.

  “It really is,” I whisper. “The way the reflections are done makes it feel like they might actually tremble.”

  Everyone in the small circle of guests gathered around Master goes silent. They glance at me curiously. Master’s hand stills mid-gesture. He turns just enough to look at me and I see the slightest narrow of his eyes.

  I drop my eyes back down to the floor instantly. I wasn’t supposed to speak, not here at least. Not unless Master speaks to me.

  He recovers smoothly and turns back to his guests.

  “The boy notices detail even I overlook sometimes” he says lightly. “He has a good eye, I must admit.”

  Gentle laughter sweeps through the group and I stand beside him feeling smaller than ever.

  When they move over to the next painting, he leans down towards me.

  “You get lost in the moment too easily, cherub. We will speak about this later, do you understand?”

  I nod as tears fill my eyes.

  “Yes, Master.”

  His tone doesn’t really sound cruel, but it doesn’t keep my stomach from sinking further. He turns back to the crowd and I stand behind him like I’m just another frame on the wall.

  --

  The palazzo empties slowly and one carriage after another disappears down the drive. The staff moves through the hall collecting glasses and brushing away crumbs. I stay by the door long after the very last guest leaves. I know the Master retired to our bedroom hours ago.

  Later, I make my way upstairs slowly. The windows are open just enough for the breeze to brush through, bringing sea air with it. I count my steps down the hallway out of habit.

  When I reach the bedroom, I try the handle. It doesn’t move.

  “Master?” I whisper. “It’s me. I…”

  I press my palms to the wood.

  “Please,” I say softly. “You said we would talk later. I waited just like you asked.”

  There’s nothing. I knock once, wait a few moments, and then knock again but much harder.

  “Master, please. I won’t say anything else, I promise. I didn’t mean to speak tonight.”

  Still nothing. I press my forehead against the cold door. Maybe he’s not inside. He could be in the courtyard, perhaps?

  I keep trying anyway, just in case.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m just proud of you. I thought you’d want me to say it. I only wanted to sound like someone you could be proud of too. Like you used to be.”

  The words shake as they leave me. I sink to my knees and begin to sob.

  “Please open the door if you’re in there. I’ll be quiet, I promise. I’ll even stay by the window if you want. You don’t have to look at me again. Just… please don’t leave me in the hall.”

  I wait. One minute goes by.

  Two more minutes.

  Five more minutes now.

  “You said I was safe here,” I cry.

  After a while, I sit with my back against the door with my knees pulled to my chest. It’s so quiet that I’m pretty sure he’s gone to bed or worse…

  He’s listening and simply doesn’t care.

  …

  “Go sleep where the others sleep, Armaan.”

  I gasp. For a moment, I don’t even move. Did I imagine his voice?

  “Master?” I ask, my voice cracking as I speak. “Please… please, I don’t want to sleep there. I can stay quiet. You won’t even notice me. I’ll just… I’ll just lie beside you and won’t say a single word.”

  “Armaan. Do as you have been told. Now.”

  The air leaves my lungs.

  “Please, no. I didn’t mean to…”

  “Enough.”

  I shake my head, tears stinging as they run down my cheek. I can only hear the soft rustle of fabric and a clink of something placed on a table.

  “Go to bed now, Armaan,” he says. “It is late.”

  I press my hand to the door one last time, like maybe he’ll feel it and change his mind.

  “I just wanted to tell you you’re brilliant,” I whisper sadly. “That’s all.”

  There’s no more replies from him.

  When I finally stand up, my knees almost give out. I stay by the door listening for any sign he might decide to let me in, but there’s nothing at all.

  Eventually, I stumble back downstairs with a broken heart. I’m still shaking and trying not to let the sobs escape too loud in case the other boys can hear me.

  --

  To my surprise, this incident doesn’t just happen once. After that night, it becomes almost a pattern.

  The door closes.

  The lock slides into place.

  My cries try to break through the door.

  Sometimes he speaks through it, but mostly not at all. One the nights when he doesn’t speak, I imagine him sitting near the hearth with a book, pretending he can’t even hear my desperate pleas.

  At first, I beg every single time. I practically cry until my voice gives out and I’m sure he’ll open it out of pity alone, but he never does.

  From there, I just whisper to myself. I whisper about the way he used to talk when he first took me in. I whisper about the garden and that stupid fox that trots through the courtyard at night sometimes. I think about how much I miss painting beside him.

  I keep talking and whispering night after night because I’m terrified of what the total silence might do to me if I just… stop.

  The other boys almost avoid me now. I know they whisper about me when they think I’m not listening. I can feel it every time I walk past them.

  It keeps going for weeks. My days blue into the same stupid routine.

  Breakfast. Music lessons. Lunch. Art. Supper.

  And the same locked door waiting at night.

  Every night, I pray to the gods it will be different and that he’ll open it this time, but he never does.

  Tonight though?

  Something inside me cracks.

  The ugly sobs start before I even realize it and I claw at the door like it’s alive.

  “Please!” I scream. “I can’t do this anymore! I don’t want to sleep down there. I can’t! I hate it, I HATE it!”

  I slam my fists violently against the wood over and over until my small hands ache.

  “I love you!” I gasp. “Can you hear me? I love you and I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet. Just let me IN! Now!”

  There’s not even a footstep from inside the room and I slide down the door shaking so hard that I can barely breathe.

  I stop crying. I think I’ve run out of tears now.

  I suddenly decide this will be the night I stop knocking.

  I stare at the door through swollen eyes and inhale deeply. I’m not allowed to use magic in the house, but I don’t care tonight.

  I press my palm to the lock and the wood vibrates under my touch as it becomes warm. A thread of gold light pours from my fingers and seeps into the keyhole. With a sharp crack, the lock breaks and the door bursts inwards.

  The Master rises from his chair by the hearth and I see the anger hit him immediately.

  “What have you done, Armaan?”

  He slams his book down and steps toward me. I step back automatically, absolutely trembling now.

  “You wouldn’t answer!” I choke out.

  “So you destroy my door like a barbarian?”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt anything! I just wanted…”

  “You wanted,” he repeats, voice sharp as a whip. “You wanted… and so you took.”

  I flinch.

  “I just wanted you to listen!”

  For a brief moment, I see exhaustion in his face before the mask is right back in place.

  He sighs and shakes his head.

  “You left me out there for weeks,” I whimper. “I begged and you didn’t care.”

  He closes his eyes briefly then turns away, hands gripping the back of the chair.

  “You think I am cruel, do you not? This is simply protection, Armaan.”

  “From what?” I demand.

  And to no surprise at all, he doesn’t answer.

  “If you wanted to protect me, you wouldn’t have locked me out. You wouldn’t have made me feel like I was nothing. I don’t want to mean nothing to you. I love you, Master. Do you understand that?”

  He turns to me quickly and for a second, I see regret in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can even act on it.

  “Go back downstairs,” he says coldly. “Now.”

  I shake my head.

  “No.”

  “Armaan.”

  “I’m not leaving again.”

  I see the last thread of his restraint and exhaustion snap between us. He moves before I can even think. His hand catches the collar of my robe and suddenly…

  I’m airborne.

  The next thing I know, my back hits the bed and it knocks the breath out of me. For a moment, I can only just… stare at him, completely stunned.

  He shouldn’t have been able to do that. Not the elegant man who paints like Mystra herself bends the Weave to watch him work. I’ve never seen another human, elf, dwarf, gnome, whatever move with that kind of speed or that kind of strength to throw me from the doorway all the way to the bed in such a large room.

  He walks over to stand over me. His jaw is so tight that it’s causing him to tremble. His eyes burn now and I see an unnatural shine in them that I’ve never seen before.

  Ever.

  “You will not use magic in my house again,” he says. “Do you understand me, Armaan?”

  I manage to nod, but I can barely even think or breathe at this point. He turns away sharply and heads to the open door, the tail of his red robe whipping as the air violently flows through it.

  “Wait!” I yell. “Where are you going?”

  He stops immediately with his back to me.

  “I am going to sleep somewhere else tonight,” he answers quietly. “You will stay here. You will not follow me.”

  I push myself up on my elbows.

  “Master, please…”

  “No.” His answer cuts through me like a poisoned dagger. “You have done enough for one night.”

  Shockingly, he doesn’t slam the door. He closes it gently and for a long time, I can’t even move. I just sit there listening to my pulse pound in my ears. The sheets smell like him and it makes everything worse.

  I look down at my hands where the magic seeped out of my fingertips. They are still trembling.

  He shouldn’t have been able to do that.

  I… think I feel afraid of him.

  Not because of his anger, but of what he really is.