Chapter Fifteen
Vonetta
To my complete surprise, Wren is standing at Chiron’s side today when we meet with the Mayor of Nerine.
He casts his eyes askance, visibly nervous at this very public and formal interaction.
But I am relieved by his presence. A sense of normalcy returning between us, I think, hopefulness settling into my chest.
I donned my woad gown this morning. Jessah had draped it across her long arms and brought it into the washroom.
She drew a bath for me early this morning.
Her face was hopeful, and I could not dismiss it.
She left my hair mostly down, making intricate swirls and waves with the pieces she braided and pinned at the back of my head.
They poke into my tender skull, but with a fine trick of the mirror, she shows me, and they are indeed the most elegant style I have ever worn.
She provided me with a pair of dainty silk slippers to match the gown. I do not tell her this, but I find them a very useless shoe, and I hope I never have to wear them again.
The mayor, Lord Janus Fronte, is a tall and lanky man of around fifty years.
He is reserved in his demeanor, but kind as he greets us and asks us about our stay here.
He takes my hand gently into both of his own and asks, “My lady, how have you found your time off the Isle? My late mother studied there as a young woman and always spoke very highly of it.” This is likely the first time anyone on our travels has mentioned the Isle to me in such a familiar way.
“Then we are kin, Lord Fronte. A sister of the Isle remains one no matter where she goes. I have indeed enjoyed Nerine and hope we will return as often as our duties allow.” I say to him.
His response is a pleased smile, and a gracious one.
He spends time asking the same questions of both Wren and Chiron.
Wren thanks the lord for the use of his fine library, words that turn the peace in my chest uneasy, but I try to ignore them.
Things feel better today. Not perfect; not back to normal, but better.
Chiron shares our plans to procure equipment for the sky trial with the mayor, and he gives advice on where to search out the things we need.
We set off in the smaller covered carriage.
Wren and Chiron have made a list of items we may want on our journey north.
I sit beside Chiron, and Wren is across from us.
His knees bounce as we roll over the cobbled streets, and he appears nervous.
I am leery of disturbing the truce we woke up to, so I do not question him.
Chiron is quiet too, studying Wren’s face with a hopeful gleam in his eyes.
We just want this to be okay again.
When we exit at the first shop to procure rope, Wren and Chiron both offer their hands to support my climb out of the carriage.
I take them both, the difference in each as contrasting as ever.
Wren’s hand is gentle, but clammy, though I’ve watched him pat it across his breeches several times in nervous habit.
Chirons’ is strong and sure, but not unkind. Warm, but thankfully dry.
Wren leads us into the small structure that serves as the storefront for the rope maker.
On the Isle, we spin our own threads from flax and wool by a small spindle.
After we are greeted, we are taken to the back of the building and shown a long spinning contraption that does great lengths of material with ease.
We are handed two sets of thick hemp rope; its fibers are rough, but the shopkeep assures us that there is no finer rope in all of Nerine.
I am fascinated by the process, and we linger for a demonstration of the rope making process.
It is a very different life to be on the other side of the making of things.
Surely, women of the court still spin? I’ll have to ask Jessah.
We choose to walk to the next place of business, taking up the walkway but greeting passersby as we do. No longer a grand spectacle to see us about the City, people smile and greet us, but we are permitted to keep about our business as the townsfolk do their own.
It is a great relief to be able to do so, but I know this does not last.
“Our attendant put in measurements and orders for gear suited to the mountains before we left for the lake, so we just need to stop in for a final adjustment at the tailor,” Chiron tells us as he holds open the grand door to the shop.
Inside, the familiar scent of the materials washes over us.
Perhaps when we were first visiting, I found this space overwhelming and foreign, but today I am excited to see what our staff has chosen for us.
I walk the perimeter of the large room and graze my fingers across the different materials, imagining all of the hands that went into their making.
Weaving is a beautiful craft, though one I have not often spent much time on.
As a girl, I found the craft tedious, and my hands were not at all adept at it.
I jump at the touch on my shoulder and turn to see Chiron’s wide and cheeky smile. This is something that’s been absent from his face these last few days—at least earnest ones such as this.
He leans in, hot breath ghosting across my cheek when he says, “Planning more pretty dresses for me to blanket our floors with when we get to Ilyora?” I gasp at his salacious tongue, but I also laugh from deep within me. I turn toward him, but I back away too.
“Prince, you do think highly of your skills. I leave my gowns where and when I choose.” I say, with a saccharine smile to match my teasing. His chuckle is rich, and his eyes crinkle at the sides the way I so enjoy watching.
“Do I ever know it…” He says, advancing toward me.
He drops a kiss onto my forehead, lingering before turning back to Wren.
His quietly amused eyes are on us both. “And you, Wren, here for some frocks of your own?” Chiron teases.
Wren shakes his head, turning to hide the smile he cannot help.
Chiron’s mood is light and playful, and when the seamstress comes for us, we all go back and take stock of our orders.
As I have come to rely on, they have made perfect choices for our journey.
Thick breeches and tunics, all composed of thick, sturdy wool, for each of us.
Among the commissioned pieces are three sheepskin and fur cloaks, as well as hats and gloves for each.
I’m unaccustomed to truly frigid weather, so I find myself trying to imagine a climate where these items are a necessity.
We are instructed to leave a linen layer underneath each item as we take our place behind the screen to be fitted.
Everything is sized well for me, though Chiron and Wren’s men may have misjudged some.
I suppress a snort when Wren appears from behind the screen in breeches that are capable of holding one more of him.
His wild eyes and red cheeks blaze as Chiron jokes next to him while donning his own set.
Chiron’s breeches are tight but fitted, stretching over his calves and thighs in a pleasing way. He raises an eyebrow at me, and my cheeks heat like I’d sat too long in the sun.
Wren is quiet for the rest of our time with the seamstress.
When we return to our carriage, the guards are waiting to store our new belongings.
It strikes me as so strange to have once been a woman who owned nothing but a few simple dress tunics and work clothes to being a lady with gowns, a veritable wardrobe of different kinds of attire.
When our things are safely packed away in the compartments of the carriage, Chiron turns to us and says, “I’m starved, shall we visit a market for our lunch?” Wren nods his agreement.
“Let’s eat outside, I’m not ready to return to the inn yet.
” I put my hand through Chiron’s arm, and the three of us walk closely together.
The market street is teeming with activity at midday.
People sell their wares from small stalls and carts lining the cobbled road.
Children play around the legs of their mothers, who are waiting to make their purchases.
The colorful variety of fruits and vegetables spills from baskets and barrels.
We purchase apples from a stall and hard cheese at another. Chiron leads us to a small bakery just outside the market to procure a loaf of bread. The smell of the bakery is divine, and the small cakes on stands are artfully displayed. I’d never seen such an abundance of food until coming to Nerine.
We make our way to the outskirts of the town and find a large tree to settle under. Chiron rests his back against its gnarled trunk and begins peeling and slicing the apples while Wren and I lay out our feast.
The sun is still high in the sky, and it is warmer than it has been in many days.
The gentle breeze keeps us cool, as does the shade of our great tree.
Chiron removed a kerchief from his suede jacket and places it in the grass.
He spreads out the paired fruit and cheese, and I pick a few slices to put on the bread.
The slices crunch between my teeth, and the flavor is sweet, but matched by the tang of the cheese.
I enjoy the dueling flavors; I enjoy this quiet reprieve from our public day.
Chiron eats too, head resting back on the tree, eyes lazy and relaxed.
His long legs are stretched out in front of him, and he looks like he could fall asleep beneath the boughs of our tree.
My eyes follow the path from his gentle and rested face down to his boots.
Wren sits close, his legs crossed and feet tucked under his thighs.
His hands tear at the bread, but he does not bring it to his mouth.
His head is hung forward slightly, and his sandy hair hangs in front of his eyes.
The silence between us is no longer one of peace, but one heavy with my concern.
Wren looks up at me, his features tensed.