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With gentle fingers, Spin took the cup from trembling hands and set it aside. The woman turned to face her. Spin saw Zhi looking back at her.
This was the woman from the portrait. The one with the brightest look of love in her eyes. That light had gone out, probably long ago.
Blood trickled down the side of the duchess’ head, threatening to spill into the corner of her eyes. Spin unwrapped her head scarf. It was freshly laundered, so she didn’t worry about any contamination. She was meticulous about her care for the few items she did possess. Folding the scrap of cloth, Spin pressed it to the duchess’ cheek.
“No, my dear, don't." Her voice was like feathers floating down from a clear, blue sky. “Please don’t ruin your things for a scratch.”
It wasn’t a scratch. It would likely need stitches. Spin was certain the staff and her son would have to fight the duchess to seek care outside the home. So, she would have to use underhanded tactics to press an insignificant bandana to the woman’s head.
“You have such beautiful eyes,” Spin said. “Just like your son’s.”
The shame retreated from her beautiful face at the compliment that referenced her son. But not entirely. The duchess’ smile was tentative. But it provided a momentary distraction. The han
d she’d raised in protest lowered, allowing Spin to press the cloth to the trickle of red on her temple.
"I saw the painting of you and your family in the hall," said Spin. “I stopped in my tracks when I saw how beautiful your smile was.”
“You’re very kind to say so.” The duchess winced, and then closed her eyes and gave over to Spin’s care.
Spin knew the drill. If she addressed the issue of the moment, the woman would retreat inside herself. Just like her mother would've done.
With the blood cleared from her wound, Spin saw that it wasn’t as bad as it looked. It wouldn’t need stitches after all. Just some antiseptic and a Band-Aid.
The duchess’ eyes were still closed as she allowed Spin to mend her wound. A solitary tear formed at the corner of her eye. Before it could drop, she swept her tear away. Spin had the overwhelming urge to open her arms and hug the woman to her.
"Thank you, my dear," said the duchess. Her voice was so soft, like broken china. She took the bloodied bandana out of her hand. “I’ll have this laundered for you."
"Muqin?"
The duchess lifted her head to her son. "I'm okay, darling. It was just an accident. I slipped as I was serving tea. I’m such a clumsy woman.”
Zhi’s jaw tensed. His eyes glazed over. It was as though his eyelids closed. But they hadn’t. He was staring with them wide open. Spin had her own pair of shuttered lenses that turned the dark world a fake rosy gold.
He came over and offered his mom a hand. As she rose, Spin had to stop herself from reaching out to help the older woman up. Somehow, she looked even smaller as she rose.
Zhi made to steer her out the door, but his mother circumvented his efforts. She went instead to the bed. Her husband recoiled as she leaned over him. He hadn’t needed to.
Spin looked away as the duchess leaned over to plant a kiss on the man's forehead. His eyes closed as she did. They remained closed as she rose.
When the duchess joined Spin and Zhi at the door, she was all regal smiles. "You both get cleaned up while I see to dinner."
Zhi kept his strong jaw closed. His gaze still glazed.
"Yes, ma'am," said Spin. "I'm sorry, I mean yes, Your Grace.”
She tried another curtsy. A real one this time. But she’d never been any good at it, and so it looked as though she were squatting before a personal trainer, and doing a bad job of it.
“Sorry,” she said after the poor display. “I was raised in America."
“You did just fine,” said the duchess. “And you may call me Nian, my dear. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Spin and Zhi stood silently as they watched Nian walk away. Spin turned to Zhi, but he was still in his rose-gold state of denial. When she was younger, she resented being pulled from that place before she was ready, so she turned on her heel to leave him be.
"I'll go find Lark,” she said.
Before she took a step, his hand halted her. His fingers were gentle on her bare skin, but their heat seared her. She was certain he’d leave a mark.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
