Chapter 6
Morgaine might as well have told Elise she was in the habit of eating human flesh or had single-handedly destroyed an entire kingdom, for the girl entered such a state of frozen terror that Morgaine feared her soul had abandoned her slender body altogether.
She remained there watching Elise’s face contort as though her confession had sparked some irreconcilable conflict with the girl’s deepest beliefs.
The wind was beginning to bite at Morgaine’s skin, but she didn’t want to be the first one moving.
Even though she glanced up at the darkening sky and could tell a storm was on its way, she was more curious about Elise than worried about some passing rain.
Elise didn’t move for another couple of minutes. The benevolence she awakened in others was suspicious. One could tell just by her clothes that she was not an honorable member of the rabble like the rest of the procession.
Morgaine had seen how the fellows around her were already taking notice, eyeing Elise as if she were a steaming dish laid out for their consideration.
She felt the unpleasant instinct to intervene before some fool behaved in a manner that could only be answered with a slap…
or, should the situation demand it, a dagger.
Morgaine liked to think of herself as a deeply compassionate woman.
In most situations, she also liked to fancy herself a free soul, one who conducted her business with just enough propriety to avoid the dungeons.
She had her history with the king, but thankfully she had long been relieved of matters of the court and was content to live a life of low profile.
The peace of her recent days had only been clouded by the small imprudence of war. Ah, how she wished men did not like to play with their swords whenever someone failed to hold their tongue, though she knew women could be just as fickle in their aggressions.
The world had shown her enough for Morgaine to know this would not be the last conflict between Falaine and Bromheim. She had seen it all; she had lived it all. And with that extended experience came a fair share of perks and annoyances.
She preferred to dwell on the brighter, more pleasurable parts of her days. In recent years, that approach to life had given her an allure capable of captivating nearly any young man she crossed paths with, a type of attention she could not bring herself to discourage.
Only in a few sparse cases did mundane affairs pull her from her daily pleasures, and she was careful not to let any of them distract her for long.
Elise had been one of those moments, stirring a most merciful side of her and reminding her that there was, on occasion, some small pleasure in helping others.
The poor girl had Falaine written all over her, on her face, in her dress, in her softness, and most of all in her manners, all of it too eager to belong somewhere better than the stiff lands she came from.
Morgaine had long since learned that meddling in other people’s affairs rarely ended as she wished.
Even when done under the noble excuse of helping, people never took kindly to the gesture.
The story the girl had been spreading during the journey was, at best, a polite distortion of the truth.
Morgaine knew the families of both kingdoms well enough to figure she belonged to none.
She would keep an eye on this one. There was something in Elise that had caught her curiosity, and she was not in the habit of denying herself any impulse, though she would do it without inviting unnecessary trouble.
Not even a war was reason enough to disturb the comfortable life she had arranged for herself.
She would not live forever, after all. With luck and the right potions, another three hundred years of quiet contentment would do nicely.
The trip had been enough to piece together the situation between Bromheim and Falaine.
She had been a mere youngster when Noldrin belonged to Bromheim, but a few centuries of no one paying much mind, and people quickly forgot that small detail.
Now they behaved as if Falaine had managed Noldrin since the divine creation.
She would have liked to spread the true story to a few willing ears, but she knew better than to pretend people enjoy burdening themselves with facts rather than tales. Elise would be no exception. She was already frightened enough.
Morgaine decided to finally break the silence between them. “If you’re looking for a place to stay, I can accommodate you for a night or two.”
The girl’s gaze snapped to reality. She swallowed hard and looked at Morgaine as if the invitation to lodge in her house was less appealing than spending the night in the rain among the rubbish heaps. But Morgaine was no one to let pride cloud reason. After all, she was a giving soul.
“Come on, it’s freezing here.”
“I’m most thankful for your generosity,” the girl whispered, her head low. “But I’ll find an inn. I would not wish to trouble you more than I already have.”
Morgaine let out a heavy sigh. “Do as you wish.”
She turned toward the apothecary while Elise made her way south.
Morgaine, an expert in all the places where one might find a bed for activities that rarely involved resting, already suspected the girl would come to trouble if she wandered into the less reputable inns of that part of the city.
“Go north, dear,” Morgaine called, seeing Elise was already far enough to spare politeness. “There’s only work for harlots that way. Real whores!”
Elise blushed and hurried on, before the attention of those around her began to suggest anything further.
“Ha,” Morgaine laughed as she watched Elise disappear.
In that moment, something sparked Morgaine’s imagination. As Elise ran, her dark hair trailing in the wind, Morgaine found a strange resemblance to herself. At the right distance, and with a forgiving lack of light, one might easily mistake one for the other.
Lucky girl.
*****
Morgaine forgot about the girl the moment she stepped into the apothecary.
The delicious smell of roots and incense quickly lifted her spirits.
This was one of her most frequent stops in the city, and the familiar face of the owner, along with his well-considered charms, gave her more than enough reason to return on an almost monthly basis.
“Morgaine, is that you, wicked woman? I could have sworn a respectable client had just entered.”
“Ah, don’t try to butter me up, you goose,” Morgaine said with a smile.
The name of Morgaine’s friend was Henrik, and in spite of being longer in the tooth than the men she preferred these days, he was still handsome enough to catch the eye.
At forty-two springs, the man had never burdened himself with wedlock, and much like Morgaine, valued his freedom more than the warmer comforts of responsibility, outside of tending to his business.
He was a stallion by any measure, tall, broad, and with an angular face that might have passed for an ancient god’s sculpture.
Henrik dusted his hands and, holding a wide smile, made his way around the counter. Morgaine waited for the usual warm welcome he always reserved for her.
“You’ve lost a few pounds, I can tell,” he said as he lifted Morgaine, only to let her slip down his chest as her feet touched the floor again.
Morgaine, not wishing to appear ungrateful for the greeting, proceeded to massage the hardened muscles of Henrik’s arms.
“You never fail to make me feel at home,” she whispered close to his ear as she decided on giving him an additional gesture of her gratitude.
“Ah.” Henrik recoiled, then laughed. “I can close the store, if you want.”
Morgaine shook her head. “I don’t want to inconvenience you. I came only for more Sardon roots. You won’t believe how many people are in need of a good lice potion during a war.”
“Are you giving your usual discounts?” Henrik asked, looking at her with knowing eyes.
Morgaine shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a generous soul.”
The considerations Morgaine more often than not extended were, quite coincidentally, reserved for young and attractive fellows who, being short on coin, somehow found their way into her good heart.
She always reminded herself that she was more noble than she gave herself credit for, and that, being a woman in the middle of her years, she still had plenty of generosity to spread.
“Fortunate souls the ones who find their way to you, dear Morgaine,” Henrik said as he opened a wooden box that contained the blessed roots.
With the dexterity Morgaine had witnessed many times in private, Henrik wrapped the roots in thick paper and handed a generous bunch to her. His strong hands took the parcel with such ease that, added to the earlier warmth of his reception, Morgaine quickly reconsidered Henrik’s proposition.
“How much do I owe you, love?” she said.
“It’s on the house, beautiful.”
Morgaine gave a small shake of her head. “That’s not a good bargain, and I like to pay fair.”
Henrik chuckled and with parted lips, waited for Morgaine to join him on the other side of the counter, where, if both bent low enough, more private business could be conducted.
The exchange was brief, but it left both Morgaine and Henrik with smiles so wide one could believe they had visited heaven for a moment. It was a wonder how wrapping herbs, bones, and bugs all day could lend the hands of a man the skills of an artist of the human shape, a sculptor no less.
As a man of deep reciprocity, Henrik ended up giving Morgaine so many tokens of his appreciation in the form of herbs, flowers, and other ingredients he knew she used often that he finally handed her a basket to carry the provisions home.
Morgaine at times feared she might bankrupt her friend, but she trusted in his good judgment.
After the much-needed respite from the long journey, and having paid a visit to the butcher and baker as well, Morgaine was ready for a night of rest. By then, the rain had already claimed the cobblestones, and mud was beginning to gather at every corner she took.
Having been so well treated already, she found herself in a generous mood, and thinking of Elise, Morgaine decided to walk the inns in the northern part of the city.
She knew that if the owners of those wicked places figured that the girl was from Falaine, they would likely raise their fees to an outrageous sum in hopes of deterring any foreigner from staying in Metz for long.
“That dress,” Morgaine sighed. “She’s going to fool no one with that.”
The fashion of the Falaine lands was a serious affair.
In Bromheim, women tended to display a bit more of what God had given them: low necklines, laced bodices, and heavy practical fabrics that only made the softness beneath more appealing.
The Falaine people, by contrast, wore their restraint as plainly as their clothes: more layers, ruffles, ribbons, and even coverings for the hair.
The colors differed as well. Where Falaine favored brighter shades, the people of Bromheim leaned toward muted tones, simple colors meant to draw attention to the person rather than the clothing.
Everything was more honest in these beautiful lands.
Even the men hid nothing from the eye, strutting about in those tight leggings Morgaine liked so much.
One wasted no time following false leads, though she had to admit that even in the most straightforward of places, some still found ways to improve upon what nature had seen fit to provide.
Anyhow, Morgaine figured Elise had already found her way into trouble. The people of Metz could smell a foreigner from a league away. Elise was neither accustomed to the local lore nor to the more sincere dealings of the people here, and Morgaine suspected the dress alone had done the rest.
The city of Metz was much like any other in Bromheim, a place of stone and trade. People of Falaine liked to look down on the famous Bromheim gossip, but Falaine could rival the entire kingdom in the same art.
Even at night, the city showed itself plainly. The streets were narrow, the houses leaned, and everything carried a faint air of better mind your own business.
Here, war had not yet extended its courtesies. It would be only a matter of time. Morgaine guessed that by now places like Noldrin were already in disarray, taken by the Bromheim army and with little hope of regaining their freedom.
After walking what felt like half the city, Morgaine was considering ending her search for Elise and finally returning to her own dwelling. That was, until the sight of a bright blue dress beneath the rain caught her eye.
“There you are,” Morgaine said.
Elise lifted her head with a grimace.
She drew closer. “What happened?”
“The fares in the inns are too high.”
Morgaine shook her head, not surprised that the merchants of the city preferred their coin local and their foreigners far away.
“How much?” Morgaine asked out of curiosity.
“Two silvers a night?”
Morgaine gasped. They were charging thrice their usual fares to people from the enemy kingdom. It was as she had suspected; Elise’s pretty face had earned her no exception.
She was impressed to see Elise so poised even with her wet clothes and the mud clinging to her skirt.
It reminded her of her own stubborn self.
She admired people who in the midst of adversity and humiliation could still hold their heads high.
It showed her the girl had enough venom to survive the city.
Elise was eyeing the basket in Morgaine’s arm with a look of longing one might reserve for a lover’s letter.
“I have meat for four people and bread that could go hard if not eaten in time,” Morgaine whispered.
Elise hesitated, quickly breaking the devoted gaze she had set on the edibles.
“Why do you want to help me? Are you planning on…” Elise waited as if it was up to Morgaine to finish her question.
“What kind of witch do you take me for?” Morgaine laughed, though she stopped herself as she remembered having heard of a few of her kind who kept their cupboards bare and their meat cuts...questionable.
“You are in more danger among thieves and scoundrels here than in a poor woman’s house,” Morgaine added. Unaccustomed to the habit of begging, she was beginning to tire of having her thoughtfulness met with suspicion.
She was ready to turn and leave Elise to the fate of her choice when the girl stood up as if she had suddenly made up her mind about the comforts of the streets of Metz.
“It would be just one night,” Elise said. “I would look for employment tomorrow.”
Morgaine didn’t disagree. She herself was starting to eye the contents of her basket with far more interest. It had been a long trip, and with all the activity involving Henrik and the others, she found herself needing to calm another sort of appetite.
“Come along, then.”