Sylvia whisper's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

By first light Sylvia stood in the menagerie yard with a bucket of apple cores and no reason to be anywhere else. The prince would walk the gravel path along the inner hedge in less than an hour. The path ran past the aviary, then past a small stone cottage the old keeper had used for tea, then out through the rose gate. Sylvia had no errand along that path. If a guard found her standing in the hedge, she would be dismissed by breakfast. She needed a task that put her on the gravel at dawn, and she needed it today. The rabbit was waiting on the cottage step, watch swinging. "You are thinking too small," it said. "Do not stand in his path. Work in it." It pointed a paw at the cold fire pit beside the cottage, a stone ring with two curved benches. "The old keeper laid a fire here every morning so the prince could warm his hands halfway through the walk. No one has lit it in a week. Lay one now. If anyone asks, you are doing your job." Sylvia looked at the ash in the ring and understood. A fire was a reason. A fire was furniture the prince already expected. She would not be loitering. She would be tending. She carried kindling from the woodshed and split two logs badly and cut her thumb on the axe. She laid the sticks the way her mother had taught her and struck the flint six times before a spark caught. The smoke rose thin and gray above the cottage roof. She sat on one of the curved benches and pressed her cut thumb into her apron and waited. Boots crunched on the gravel. She did not look up until the steps stopped in front of her. A tall man in a plain gray coat stood at the edge of the ring, holding his gloves in one hand. He looked at the fire, not at her. "He kept it hotter," the prince said. "But thank you." He held his palms to the flames for the count of ten. Then he walked on. Sylvia stayed on the bench until the gravel went quiet. He had spoken to her. He had not seen her face. It did not matter. Tomorrow the fire would be hotter, and the day after that she would have something ready for him to sit down for. She wiped her thumb and went to fetch more wood. On the cottage step, the rabbit clicked its watch shut. "Good," it said. "Now the harder part. He thanked the fire. He has to thank you."