Word Count: 843

The gardens beyond Liesel's bedroom were barren, but for a few sad shoots of grass scattered among the beds of dead flowers (dust in the wind by now), and the dark, choking vines that climbed up the crumbling terrace.

But once it had been lovely. Once it'd been filled with bird song, warm and inviting beneath a golden sun so far from view, under blue skies that now seemed unnatural to Ganymede in the present gloom. Once the air had smelled of roses, and the flowerbeds had been bursting with color, while the center fountain babbled serenely, its continuous spray and fall of water catching the sunlight in a way that made the drops gleam like diamonds.

Among this scenery Ganymede saw Liesel again as he'd been as a boy, thin and slight, his hair a little longer than when he'd first arrived at the palace, pulled back and twisted through with a rope of black pearls. His narrow frame was dressed too formally for his age. With him was a woman that struck Ganymede as familiar from previous recollections, though Ganymede could not immediately place her. The woman had long dark hair beneath a feathered cap, and light eyes in a face that bore maturity and slowly fading youth.

“Hello, Liesel,” she said, and caught him by surprise.

Liesel gave a start and turned to stare up at her, his face alight with confusion and mild fear. He swallowed uncomfortably, his eyes quickly scanning her before shifting to look beyond her, but there was no one else in sight.

Only somewhat relieved, Liesel returned his gaze to the woman and watched her suspiciously.

“You know my name?” he asked.

Her smile was small and reserved, but her eyes looked upon him kindly. “Yes, I know your name,” she said. “You and I share a name, did you know that?”

Liesel looked her over again as if trying to place her, but he seemed never to have seen her before, for he soon asked, “Who are you?”

“I'm known elsewhere as Palatine.”

The name struck a chord in Ganymede, unsettled her nerves and left her stomach twisting.

Though Liesel's defenses were quickly lowering in the face of her kindness, a certain level of fear remained—like a child expecting trouble in the face of a broken rule.

“Why are you here?” he said.

“Lord Berengar sent for me,” Palatine said. “I've come to teach you.”

“I already have tutors.”

Palatine's smile widened in amusement. She stepped closer, and when Liesel made no move to back away she continued to cross the distance between them until she could have reached out to touch him if she'd wanted. It almost seemed as if she might. Instead one of her hands went to her hip, where she fingered the gleaming hilt of a rapier. On the opposite hip there jutted the hilt of a much shorter blade.

“I've not come to teach you history or music,” she said.

Liesel's eyes fastened on each of the weapons in turn, then scaled up her pink jacket to study the symbols scattered about her clothing, before finally raising to her face. He was nervous but at the same time seemed hopeful, and for a moment he stopped looking around as if he expected someone else would come berate him at any moment.

“Is your name Liesel, too?” he asked.

“No, not quite,” she said, and laughed softy. Then one of her hands reached out to gently finger a loose strand of his fair hair, tucking it behind his ear. “My name is Elisabeth. Yours is a different form of the same name.”

They stared at one another in silence for a long moment. Liesel's expression had taken on a look of confusion mixed with wonder, while Palatine's continued to warm. She fingered a few more strands of his hair, stroked his cheek, brushed his bangs off of his forehead, and Liesel responded to her tender ministrations as if he'd since been withheld from such affection.

“Would you like some tea before we begin?” Palatine asked.

Liesel's mouth twitched up to return her small smile. His eyes brightened, and he nodded his agreement.

The figures faded away as they turned together for the terrace, Palatine's arm snaking around Liesel's shoulders.

Before the scene dissipated entirely, Ganymede tilted her head back to stare up into the unnaturally blue sky, shielding her eyes from the brightness of the sun with one hand. How could it be there, she wondered, when it was so far away? And why could she not see it so clearly now?

“I wish you would be kinder to him, Albert,” Ganymede heard Palatine's admonishing voice from the distant past. “He's only a boy.”

“He is not just any boy,” a second voice said, familiar in its harshness—the voice of a man who never seemed pleased.

Ganymede closed her eyes to take one final breath of rose-perfumed air.

When she opened them again the sky was no longer blue, and the sun was just a distant speck among the stars.