Upon Closer Inspection

[Adana Nausikaa]

“So Henry Nausikaa is your father?” Losden whispered in surprise.

There was little worry of being overheard today. Their chaperones on this particular mild winter afternoon were Lauren and Zen who were busy in games of their own. Lauren was pulling a string for Adana’s kitten to chase and Zen was mercilessly attacking a tree with a wooden sword. Each was completely engrossed in their play.

Adana rolled her eyes at Losden as she fell to a seat on a bench where she could keep an eye on both of her younger siblings. “How many times are you going to repeat that, Losden?”

“A couple more actually. Henry Nausikaa is your father?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure. I was born less than eight months after my mother married Lord Durante and it appears that my mother and Henry may have had some sort of relationship,” Adana replied while keeping her eyes on Lauren who was giggling in glee as the acrobatic cat somersaulted into an attack of the string.

Losden leaned his back against the back of the bench before turning his eyes on Adana’s profile. “You have to speak with your mother.”

Her gaze instantly moved from Lauren to Losden and she shook her head obstinately. “I most certainly cannot!”

“Why not, Adana? She is the one that has the answers.”

She shook her head once more and allowed her gaze to float between her brother and sister. Zen was busy taunting the tree he had pummeled. “My mother is finally doing better. For so long after Edwin died, she barely spoke. She has never spoken much of Henry since he died. I can’t imagine what may happen if I brought this up to her.”

Losden released a frustrated sigh before giving a shrug. “Well, I hate to encourage you ditching your guards like you did to find Ruke but there is one other person here in RhyDin who may be able to answer your questions.”

Adana tossed Losden a questioning look but as soon as she saw the grim look on his face, realization dawned. A smile gradually crawled across her lips and she gave a decided nod. “A fantastic idea,” she proclaimed.

[Arane Nausikaa]

Talsiny City, Talsiny
Fourteen years prior

Arane Nausikaa stared at her image in the full length gilded mirror while attendants bustled and giggled happily around her. Her petite frame was draped in a layer of fine white silk that was tailored to elongate her short stature and emphasize her tiny waist. Blonde curls were meticulously pinned in place to frame her heart shaped face. A dazzling sapphire and diamond drop necklace, a gift from the bridegroom, sparkled on her neck. Almost everything was as she planned. Everything was beautiful except her eyes. Her eyes were dead.

Marrying Lord Durante was the pinnacle of her success. The day had finally come when the deal would be sealed. She had nearly single-handedly made Nausikaa a social heavy weight. In that she could be pleased.

However, the pleasure was nothing in comparison to the pain. The note Henry have slipped to her last night was tucked into her dress against her heart. It seared its heartache into her flesh. She wanted that piece of him but she dare not pull it out in front of the crowd that had gathered to ready her. Not need the note in front of her to remember the words; they ran through her head as a constant reminder of the heart she was breaking.

Arane,

You do not have to do this.

I love you and, despite what you say, I know you love me too.

A knock interrupted the bustle of the woman preparing her for her fate. Her heart sank at the knock. She knew who would step through the door. Her fears were confirmed when one of the attendants told the knocker to enter and Henry stepped through the doorway. Her dark blue eyes caught his reflection in the mirror before her and immediately dropped her gaze to the floor.

Henry did not look at her. Instead, he flashed his disarming smile to the gathered women. “Do you ladies mind if I have a word with Arane in private?”

They tittered at his charm and filed out of the room, not even waiting to get out of ear shot before whispering of Henry’s good looks and manners. Arane shut her eyes tightly as if she could drown out their voices. Henry closed the door behind the last maiden and then turned to Arane. She swallowed back her pain before turning from the mirror to face him.

“Arane, I beg you to not do this.” His words spilled out of his mouth as he took the several steps to her position.

“Please do not make this any harder than it already is,” she whimpered.

He reached up to cup her cheek in a large calloused hand. She tilted her head towards the touch, sighing wistfully. His words began flowing rushed and frantic once again. “We will stop this right now. I will take you back to Atalaya—“

“Henry, I’m pregnant."

His hand fell from her cheek and his wide brown eyes leapt to her abdomen. Silence fell over the pair for a long moment and when his gaze were finally able to find Arane’s again she was brokenhearted to find him on the verge of tears. “This is my baby. The wedding has to be called off.”

She shook her head firmly. Her decision had been made and she would make him play along. “No. This has to be Lord Durante’s baby. Do you understand, Henry? You cannot be this baby’s father.”

He took a step back at the blow and his fight against the tears ended in disgrace. “You cannot ask me to ignore the fact that I have fathered a baby with the woman that I love.”

“I can,” she whispered in return as she reached up to brush the tears on his cheeks away.

“Everyone will understand. I am not your brother. Who cares what is best for Nausikaa?” His tone sounded of the desperation he felt.

Arane took a step forward to close the gap that he had created. Her hands reached out to take his. “We care about what is best for Nausikaa. And no, they will not understand. Edwin will not understand. Patrick will not understand. George will not understand. The twins will not understand. No one will understand.”

His arms swooped around her, drawing her into his chest as he pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “I cannot watch you marry that tyrant. I cannot watch him call my child his own,” he mumbled.

“You can and you will,” she whispered back into his chest.

[Charlie Nausikaa]

Charlie Nausikaa sat with her feet kicked up on the desk in her office of the House of Retribution, a private investigating firm she owned. Propped up in her lap sat an opened file folder stuffed with one of her investigator’s report on a band of local thugs extorting a business owner whom had asked for her help. The report was a good read and she had several more to make it through today (as well as solving the problems that each folder described) but her mind was pre-occupied and, thus, the only purpose the folder of paperwork was serving was a target upon which to tap her pencil.

The bell on the entrance of the building dinged lightly and was immediately followed by the sound of the voice of the secretary, Eleanor, in the lobby outside her closed office door. “Afternoon, Tareth,” Eleanor said warmly. “She’s in her office.”

She could nearly hear Eleanor swooning just in the tone of her voice. Charlie was sure he’d flash her that smile of his as he passed by her desk which would only heighten Eleanor’s pleasure. Charlie watched the same interaction between him and countless women a week. He had that untamed, serrated edge that so many women could not resist. Ironically enough, it was not the danger but the safety that he offered that originally drew Charlie to him – not only the physical safety but the safety to simply be herself without judgment.

Tareth’s presence was easy to explain away as his contract with CDR still dictated babysitting duties of Charlie. Thus, their secret relationship remained as hushed as was possible… or so Charlie liked to convince herself.

The door to her office swung open and his frame filled her doorway. Charlie shot him a wide grin as she dumped her sketch pad and pencil onto the desk and allowed her battered black boots to fall to the floor. “Where have you been?” she asked hungrily as she rose to her feet.

By her tone alone, Tareth knew it was best to close the office door. “So we’re in this type of mood, are we?” he asked teasingly at her approach.

Her moods were ever changing but intense while they lasted, especially this particular mood. She would hunt sex or a good fight with the same animalistic thrill in which a lioness brings down large game.

She pressed her hands against his chest and slowly slid them up to his shoulders beneath his opened coat. “Absolutely. Is that a problem for you?” Her hands continued their path over his shoulders, gradually pulling his coat off over his shoulders and then down his arms.

He smiled softly down at her and gave a slight shake of his head as she tossed his coat onto the back of a chair. “I think I can bear it,” he whispered in return. The bell on the door to the office dinged again lightly but Charlie was only mildly aware of it and muffled Eleanor’s greeting to the newcomer on the other side of the closed door as Tareth’s hands landed on her waist, drawing her in closer.

“I need to see my Aunt Charlie,” a muffled voice in the lobby announced to Eleanor just as she was pulling Tareth in for a heated kiss.

They both recognized the voice at the same time and instantly the moment was broken. Tareth pulled back from the embrace enough to get a good look at Charlie's face. Her features had become rigidly somber. His body hold on her tensed and the question in his expression could not be mistaken.

“I didn’t know she was coming,” Charlie responded to it in a whisper.

“Well, dear, I’m not sure if she is available but I will check,” the secretary responded hesitantly. It wasn’t everyday that a wealthy teenage girl walked in and claimed to be the niece of her employer.

“I will see my Aunt Charlie,” the voice responded insistently.

Charlie took a small step to round Tareth and reached a hand for the door knob. His hands slid off her body as she moved away. “She’s probably alone. Stay here. You’ll just scare her.”

“If you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m coming after you,” he stated gently. Anything resembling a challenge would instantly be met with resistence. Tareth had become quite adept at skirting her pride to tame her wildness.

Acknowledging his statement with a somber nod, she opened the door, and stepped out into the lobby. Eleanor flashed Charlie a confused glance which Charlie responded with a reassuring smile. “Why don’t you take off a bit early today, Eleanor?”

Eleanor’s gaze lingered on Charlie’s features for a long moment. The expression on her face clearly told Charlie that she was trying to decide whether or not leaving her employer was wise. Eventually, Eleanor gave a nod and collected her bag and coat. Secure in the knowledge that Tareth Thorn was still within earshot, Eleanor quickly left the office and disappeared into the always busy streets of the Old Market district.

Charlie swung her green eyes back to Adana. Adana’s posture remained rigid under the critical gaze. The dark blue eyes she had inherited from Arane never wavered from Charlie’s. She was not intimidated. Adana's petite form was covered in a shapeless cloak; the hood of which had been removed exposing her golden blonde curls. Despite the corse material and her unadorned fingers, there was no hiding the aristocratic streak that ran through her. Adana pert features were locked in prideful will in the face of one of Talsiny's most infamous murderers. In posture alone, she held herself as the Talsinian royalty that Nausikaa claimed her to be.

After a long moment of silence between the pair, Charlie heaved a hefty sigh and drew and hand through her hair. “You should not be here, Adana. It is not safe for either of us.”

“How could you not tell me?” Adana’s tone was mixed with sadness and accusation as if she did not know whether to be hurt or angry. The question caused Adana's arrogant, willful attitude to crash.

Charlie’s brows knit at the exposed quality in Adana’s question. She quickly responded to the question with another question. “What are you talking about?”

“How could you not tell me that Henry was my father?”

The question came as a literal blow to Charlie. The wind was taken from her lungs and she took a step back. Her gaze meticulously studied Adana anew. Although, she looked so much like Arane there were hints of Henry if one looked closely. When Adana’s thin lips broke into a smile, it took over her entire face just as Henry’s had. There was no denying it was there? The truth was there in the smile.

She eased her frame into a chair in the lobby to collect her thoughts, motioning for Adana to take one beside her. After a moment’s hesitation, Adana followed. “That was your mother’s place, not mine.”

“You knew she would not. You know she cannot even speak of him,” Adana replied hotly, leaning towards Charlie.

“Perhaps I did,” Charlie acknowledged with a slow nod. “But I had hoped that with time, with Cletus, with you children she would get over Henry’s death. I could not have told you before I died. You were still so young and I… well, I was selfishly wrapped up in my own mess.”

The hurt and anger eased at the statement. Adana pursed her pouty lips in contemplation. She wanted to be angry with someone. But how could she be angry with Charlie? Had Adana not only been nine at the time of Charlie’s death? Would she have been ready to hear such news? Of course she probably should be angry with her mother but some implacable part of her heart would not allow that. She only felt pity towards her mother for the role she had played.

“I want to know more,” Adana stated slowly. “All I know is that there was some relationship between my mother and Henry; that they had fallen in love. I want to know more. I want to know when. I want to know how.”

“Those are all questions for your mother. You need to confront her with what you have found out,” Charlie stated apologetically.

Adana sighed disappointedly and leaned back in her chair. “Is there nothing you will tell me?”

“There is one thing I want to tell you because your mother never will,” Charlie began slowly.

Her slow, careful tone immediately caught Adana’s attention. “What is it?”

“Arane will go to the grave allowing everyone to whisper behind her back that she killed her own husband but Arane did not kill Lord Durante,” Charlie began.

[Charlie Nausikaa]

Talsiny City, Talsiny
Fourteen years prior

In those days Charlie Nausikaa Jericho was still Charlotte Ann Varro, an orphan of a fisherman whom had stumbled into Nausikaa’s protection. In exchange for odd errands and deliveries, she had been granted safe haven beneath the roof of Henry Nausikaa’s three-story stone town home in Talsiny City. Henry rarely spent time at Atalaya Manor after Arane’s marriage. When he did, his depression was palpable and his temper was short.

Charlotte had settled into life within the Nausikaa fold easily and the rabble-rousing band of orphan brothers accepted her immediately into their hearts. It had taken Arane a bit longer to warm to her but even the cool, somber woman had allowed hints of smiles Charlotte’s way from time to time.

The night in which Lord Durante died, Charlotte had awoken in the middle of the night with an old enemy of a nightmare that had plagued her sleep for years. The focus of the nightmare had been the ghastly events of a day years prior before her father had died that had become seared into her mind.

The late summer afternoon had been humid, and the air off the ocean was sticky and sweet. A great storm had ravaged the coast of Port Martha the night prior. She and her soft-hearted cousin, Mary, had been searching the sandy shore during low tide for whatever baubles that the storm might have swept in.

Instead of a worn shark’s tooth or shiny coin off an ancient shipwreck, they had stumbled upon the decomposing body of a man clad in tattered rags on his back in the debris- littered sand. What had been left of his face had been frozen in an unearthly scream and his hollow, lifeless eyes had stared up at the little girls. In the dream, Charlotte could feel little Mary’s fingers dig into the flesh of her arm as they stared in unspoken horror at the sight. Mary had wretched violently and ran for home to alert others.

Charlotte, on the other hand, had been oddly fascinated by it. She had sat on a piece of driftwood near the body waiting for Mary to bring back her father and uncle. Although the corpse was stomach churning, she could not get over the fact that a soul had at one time occupied the body. Yet, now it was as hollow as any seashell washed up onshore.

The nightmare would suddenly turn and flip on its head as dreams have that tendency of doing. She would no longer be looking down at the face of a stranger but the face of her own father. Her voice would lift in a reverberating scream which seemed to be echoed by the roaring waves. Some nights when she dragged herself free of the dream and bolted upright in bed, she would still be screaming.

Tonight had not been one of those nights. Instead she awoke tangled in snow white sheets and covered in a layer of sweat with tears warming her cheeks. “Father,” she whispered urgently as her green eyes fluttered open. The pain of his death and the sour taste of abandonment hit her anew.

Charlotte sniffled back her tears and peeled the sheets off her body. The silence of the house was oppressive. Stillness roared in her ears, drowning out her other senses. Desperation for company and an escape from the loneliness drove her from bed. The Nausikaan guard on duty would scold her for being up but would also allow her to sit beside him through the long, quiet night. The cold stone under foot caused a chill to run up her spine. Yet she remained barefooted, unwilling to give into the chilly late fall night, as she left the small room.

Her feet slapped lightly against the stone and hand-woven carpets as she padded down the halls. She closed her eyes tightly to eliminate the aid of the moonlight shining in through the windows in order to test her ability to traverse through the house in the dark. Patrick Nausikaa always advised of the importance of knowing every exit, every nook of your home.

As she stepped into the main sitting room, her body drew up in tension at some unknown cause. The air in the room felt different, unsafe. She paused in the doorway with a feeling of unease. She wrote it off to lingering anxiety from her nightmare and slowly took a step forward. Instead of the slap of stone or the whisper of her foot hitting a rug, an odd splash resonated in her ears.

Her sharp eyes shot open immediately as she realized suddenly she had stepped in a warm, thick liquid. In the eerie moonlight, the grotesque scene was clear. One of her favorites among the Nausikaa guards, a lanky young man in his late teens, was lying broken on the floor. His skull was split in two and the blood had pooled on the cold stones. A gasp escaped her throat as she stumbled back several steps.

Perhaps a normal child might have screamed, might have even recklessly fled the scene. However, even then, Charlotte Varro was no ordinary girl. Her mind was once again filled with Patrick Nausikaa’s lessons that had been pounded into her for just this type of situation. Living in Henry Nausikaa’s household meant a life of potential danger and Patrick had made sure she was well prepared.

She slunk back into the shadows, pressing her back against the wall. The guard’s attacker could still be close. Silently, she crept through the hall to the servants’ staircase and made her way up the stairs, gingerly avoiding the stairs she knew would creak. She must get to Henry.

As she reached the landing, the hair on the back of her neck rose on end, giving her pause. She waited in place to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. A hulking form stood in the doorway of Henry’s sitting room that led to his bedroom. Charlotte swept immediately back into the shadows but her green eyes studied the form, trying to determine who it was lingering outside of her hero’s room.

The sinister phantom took a noiseless step into the solar, and Charlotte crept along the outer wall of the hall to get a better look into the room herself. The door leading from the foreroom into the sleeping chamber was swung open. The hulking form remained in the darkness of the sitting room creeping ever closer to the opened door. Charlotte followed slowly, making an effort to step on the balls of her feet to keep her footfalls silent.

Moonlight shone in through the bedroom windows, illuminating the silhouette of Henry Nausikaa. His back was towards the skulking stalker as he stood in front of the elegant windows that framed his large sleigh bed. One of his hands reached out to draw back the sheer curtain to stare out onto the street below.

Before Charlotte could raise her voice to alert Henry to the intruder, her gaze as well as the gaze of the trespasser was drawn to the bed as movement under the sheets drew their attention. A shaft of moonlight sneaking through the now opened curtains revealed the sleeping form of Arane Nausikaa Durante. Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat in shock. The figure in the doorway tensed at the sight of those blonde locks sprawled across Henry Nausikaa’s pillow with bare shoulders disappearing beneath the down blanket.

Suddenly a flash of silver in the man’s hand caught the pale light. Instantly, she knew how this was about to unfold. Charlotte broke into an abrupt run at the man. He heard her footsteps a second too late to avoid the collision. She crashed into his much larger form, sending them both sprawling onto the sofa in the solar. The man growled angrily as he was tackled. He drew the sword up and swept at Charlotte’s arm, tearing through the flimsy fabric of the nightgown and into the flesh of her upper arm.

A shocked gasp escaped her throat as she tucked and rolled away from his grasp. She landed hard on the floor. Torn from his meditation by the commotion, Henry’s towering form appeared above her. Shock registered on his features as he swept past Charlotte to turn his gaze on the shadow. The shadow snarled back and leapt for Henry with the blade outstretched.

Henry instinctively swung his body away from the sword. A hand reached out and grabbed Charlotte roughly by the shoulder, pulling her to her feet and back out of the fray. Charlotte spun around to find herself face-to-face with Arane. Disheveled pale blonde hair hung at her shoulders and her undersized frame was now clad in a robe. Confusion and fright had drawn Arane’s sharp features tightly together.

The man went barreling past Henry and his momentum took him into the wall. Henry spun as the attacker turned on his heels towards the women. Arane pulled Charlotte behind her body protectively, backing them both away until Henry grabbed the man by the arm and swung him back around. In the sweeping movement, Henry had pulled the blade free of the man’s hand.

The shadow hit hard against the wall, causing a large watercolor that Charlotte had done for Henry to come crashing to the floor. “I will not let you treat me as a fool! That whore locks her door to me while she sneaks out to spend her nights here!” The man roared like an enraged mountain lion before shoving his body at Henry.

The voice caused Arane to take a sharp intake of breath and she turned from the scene, fumbling to light the oil lantern beside the bed but Charlotte was rooted in place. Her gaze remained riveted as the man impaled himself upon his own short sword in Henry’s hand.

The lantern flared to life and Arane spun in the direction of the two men. Shock froze Henry’s face and posture. His eyes were captivated on the face of the shadow. However, the shadow was no longer that. In the light of the lit lantern, Charlie could make out his features and dread settled into her stomach as the attacker was revealed.

His thick features were spread in the wide terror of the corpse she had seen all those years ago on the beach of Port Martha. He stumbled back several steps with the sword still embedded in his chest. His accusing black eyes never left Henry’s pallid blue gaze. His back struck the wall and he wordlessly sank down. With one final gargled gasp for air, life fled his stare and Lord Raffaele Pompeo Durante died on the floor of Henry Nausikaa’s sitting room.

“Oh my God,” Henry murmured as he stumbled away from the body.

Arane set the lantern down on top of a bookshelf before falling to her knees at her husband’s side. Henry continued to back away until the back of his knees hit the sofa. He sank onto it, shaking his head as Arane traced a finger along Durante’s jaw in disbelief.

“Arane, I am so sorry,” Henry whispered. Charlotte remained rooted in place. While the fright of witnessing the man’s death had been great indeed, it was nothing compared to the desperation in Henry’s tone. Having been well familiar with the Nausikaa reputation, there was no way this was the first man who had died by Henry Nausikaa’s hands. To hear him so despondent increased the level of her fear two-fold.

She immediately turned from her husband’s body to Henry at the sound of his voice, sinking down on the sofa beside him. “Shh, it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay,” she reassured.

“Everything’s going to be okay? Everything’s going to be okay? I just killed a member of the gentry, Arane! Your husband, even! We cannot just make that go away,” Henry raised his voice in return.

“Listen to me,” Arane started sternly, dropping to her knees before him. Her hands landed on his cheeks to lock his gaze. “You did not know it was him.”

“I did.” A sob was choked back in Henry’s throat. “God help me, I did. I could not let you go home to him. I could not let that monster hurt you again. I could not let him hurt our daughter.”

She froze in place for a long moment before slowly rising to her feet, brushing her lips against his forehead. “I am going to take care of it. This is all over.” Her voice was calm, soothing. Yet, Henry merely shook his head again and then buried his face into his palms.

Arane then turned towards Charlotte. Her lips turned upward in a practiced reassuring smile as she reached out to brush away startled tears that Charlotte had not even realized she had shed. “George Pearson is dead downstairs,” Charlotte stated hesitantly.

Arane’s hands fell to either one of Charlotte’s arms and her dark blue eyes found Charlotte’s. “I need you to run to Patrick’s house. Tell Patrick that he needs to get rid of this body and we shall make up a story about how Gregory Pearson valiantly fought off a burglar.”

Charlotte felt herself nod but could not connect herself to the action. This was all spinning out of control. Her mind grasped onto the sense of normalcy that Arane was offering, shutting out Henry’s slumped stature sitting on the bed.

Arane’s hold on Charlotte’s arms tightened suddenly and her voice became lower and even more sober. “Charlotte, you cannot tell anyone what happened here. You cannot even tell Patrick I was here. This has to be a secret – a secret between you, Henry, and I, okay?”

Her dark blue eyes fell to the blood darkening Charlotte’s nightgown. It certainly was not life-threatening but would leave a dreadful scar that for the next decade to come would remind Charlotte of the night. Arane gathered up her own dark cloak from where she had left it on the chaise and swung it around the young girl. “Run now, Charlotte, as fast as you can. I will be gone before you are back, and we shall never speak of this night again.”

She pulled the hood up over her head and spun towards the doorway all too eager to leave this behind. She cautiously stepped around the corpse, keeping her eyes averted, and only paused once in the doorway to glance back over her shoulder. Arane had sunk down beside Henry once more and was reassuringly whispering her goodbyes.

Releasing a heavy exhale that she had been unconsciously holding, Charlotte fled the room to race for Patrick Nausikaa’s home several blocks away. So much had been revealed and seen in those short minutes that it would take the young girl months to process all of the information. Yet, she kept it a secret as she had promised and she gained a greater understanding of the leaders of the family she would shortly pledge her life to defend.