Dream of Me/Believe in Me

Dreadful Daria is tearing about, moaning about demons and all manner of nonsense. The more she spouts it, the less anyone believes.”
    So because the people of Hawkforte knew her, and because they both knew and despised Daria, Krysta was rendered innocent. Even as she marveled at that, Aelfgyth went on. “It's only natural to be nervous about marrying, or so I'm told. And of course you don't want to go to your husband without a dowry, what woman would? But it will all sort itself out, as Lord Hawk said.”
    For a brief moment, Krysta thought of confiding the truth—that the story might not be false, that there was more to the “real” world than Aelfgyth wanted to believe, that it might be fundamentally wrong for her to marry Lord Hawk for reasons that had nothing to do with the missing dowry. But she kept silent, unwilling to burden the young woman and to expose so deep and painful a part of herself.
    Aelfgyth went away a short time later, trailing behind her reminders to eat, to rest, and not to worry. She would be back in just a few hours, she could stay with Krysta if she was lonely and wanted company, she could bring more amusements. When the door finally closed behind her, Krysta breathed a small sigh of relief. Much as she appreciated Aelfgyth's concern, the strain of concealing her true fears was difficult to bear. Alone, she did not have to conceal anything, including how touched she was that Hawk had sent the books.
    She did not open them at once but sat at the table, running her fingers over the leather covers. Without the books, the long hours would quickly grow torturous. But with them … For the first time in her life, she had nothing to do but read. No people to care for, no responsibilities to carry out, no duties to fulfill. How very odd that she should find such freedom only in captivity.
    Through all that day and the next, Krysta read. Given her choice, she would have stopped only when her sight grew so blurred and her head so heavy that she had no alternative but to sleep. But Aelfgyth came with food, spotted an untouched tray, and sternly stood over Krysta until she was satisfied her mistress had eaten. She came again with hot water, the effort of heating and carrying it up the stairs being more than Krysta could ignore. The bath was welcome and she felt the better for it, but she sped back to the books as soon as she was dry. She read the psalms, delighting in the beauty of their poetry, savoring the stories they revealed, wondering at the men who had first written them. She plowed through Augustine, struggling to understand him, going back over and over to dwell on passages that eluded her. And Boethius—Hawk had even sent the book he himself had been reading. In it were notes carefully written in the margins giving Alfred's thoughts on the work he had translated. On and on she read as the second day blended into the third. Morning had turned to afternoon when she heard through the open windows the peal of a signal horn announcing the arrival of noble guests. Carefully setting down her book, she went to see who they might be. Her tower perch was too high for her to do more than make out the royal insignia waving from the banners carried by the equerries. But that was enough to shatter the strange peace of the last several days and remind her that the problems of the world were never to be denied for very long.
    Day had fled when Hawk came. She heard his step outside the tower door before the iron lock opened. He stood for a moment at the threshold, garbed in black shot through with gold, gold again at his neck and on the powerful muscles of his upper arms, gold in the glint of his hair shining in the light of the braziers. Krysta sat curled on the bed, wearing only a shift for she had expected no visitor save faithful Aelfgyth. She started when she saw him but resisted the urge to reach for a cover.
    He turned, closed the door behind him, turned again to face her. She heard him clear his throat. “You are well?”
    Despite the books, she had braced herself for some admonishment. His concern surprised her. “Fine, thank you, and thank you also for the books. That was very kind.”
    He looked a little embarrassed. “You are not accustomed to doing nothing. I thought it best if you had some activity.”
    “It is true, the days would be very long without diversion.”
    He nodded, standing with his hands tucked behind his back. Silence drew out between them. Before it became unbearable,