Chapter 5
In just two more days of travel, Elise and the procession reached the gates of Metz. The stone walls surrounding the city kept whatever lay within in absolute mystery. Guards questioned every soul who wished to take refuge inside, and the line moved at the speed of a melting candle.
It had already been three hours of waiting in line, and Elise was growing suspicious of the whole affair. She moved about, listening for anything that might explain why some people entered like lords to their manor, while others were left to enjoy the dry bushes and the smell of manure.
“Name,” the guard asked a man clutching a bundle of cloth.
“Gaspard Meunier,” the man said, his voice trembling so much the guard might as well have asked him to hand over all his coin under the gentleness of a dagger.
Elise recognized the family name, a Falaine countryman, no doubt. The guard seemed to reach the same conclusion; his expression soured at once. Still, as if allowing for the smallest chance of error, he went on.
“Place of origin.”
This time the poor fellow hesitated. He glanced around, as though hoping someone might leap in with a better answer on his behalf. No such miracle presented itself, and he was left with nothing but the truth, which quickly turned out to be the worst of his options.
“I come from Clairmont, goodman,” the old fellow said in a shaky voice. “I travel with the procession to pay my devotions to the saint of Metz, Saint Earl. I bring holy bread. It was prayed over for a whole week.”
The old chap might as well have promised a basket of rotten fish. The guard was plainly a man of duty, unmoved by such delicate gestures of faith.
“Move,” the guard said, gesturing toward the cluster by the stone wall.
“But, sire,” the old man pleaded. “My wife was from here. I am only a passing traveler, come to honor her wish to tend to the saint of her land. She died last harvest...the hunger took her...and she kept this bread as her final offering to the Lord. I told her the Lord might manage without it, but she was a stubborn woman.”
By the time the man had finished his rather grim account, the guard had already turned to question the next peasant, letting some pass when they managed the right words to open the gates.
Elise stayed where she was, watching as a dozen people confessed they were from Falaine, only to be sent to join the old man by the wall and its withered bushes. Even the horses were admitted with more pomp and haste. It soon became clear she would not rely on the same luck when her turn came.
If only she could find someone who vouched for her and take her as a servant, or even better, a long-lost relative.
She moved a little away from the gate. Summoning what courage she could, she began asking a few women to take her in as a ward.
The first prospects were a couple of robust ladies.
Elise was so hungry that she figured they enjoyed plenty of substance to keep their girth in such admirable condition.
It was almost certain she would not have to worry about hearty meals with them, and that even the scraps would do well to keep her healthy.
Despite Elise’s efforts and well-mannered requests, however, she managed to convince none of the blessed people waiting outside the gate.
She resorted to offering all her talents to anyone who would listen: from scrubbing floors to a shine, spinning, sewing, cooking, baking, cleaning clothes, and even assisting in bookkeeping, which she had picked up from her talks with Edward.
She made her list of achievements sound worthy of an entire royal staff, but still, no one showed the slightest interest in putting her talents to use.
One woman had the sensibility to ask if she knew how to dispatch pigs, a task Elise had not the faintest idea about. Nonetheless, she pretended she was an expert as well. In the end, it turned out the woman had only been testing her in an attempt to refuse her with less remorse.
Elise even considered the oaf who had made an advance on her, but thankfully he was nowhere to be seen.
Her enthusiasm dipped slightly, but as it seemed a difficult thing for anyone to watch the beautiful Elise in misery, a woman stepped quickly in with a solution to her predicament.
“You are so pretty, my darling, why don’t you say you are one of the actors come to entertain in the town square,” the woman said, with a smile so wide and a satisfaction so plain that Elise thought the kind lady felt her contribution was no less noble than the invention of the wheel or some other great advancement of mankind.
Still lamenting the stench of Noldrin, Elise decided the woman’s idea was not entirely unreasonable, and waited in line, ready to try her luck. She was prepared to pass for a foreign entertainer, ready to say anything but the truth of her origin.
Elise was skilled at learning and moving through difficult situations with ease, but lying was far from her usual practice.
A slight tremor betrayed her as she neared the gate and the grumbling guards, who looked more tired of their thankless chore than concerned with the truth.
It was almost her turn for questioning when she felt a presence behind her, her instincts stirring as they did at the promise of bad weather. She turned and discovered to her surprise who had decided to keep her company.
“Morgaine,” she gasped.
Morgaine stared at Elise with a small smile. Elise was not one to judge anyone harshly for their chosen trade, but she preferred not to be mistaken for part of it. She gave a polite nod and turned to wait in silence.
Elise looked about and focused on the people from Falaine left waiting by the wall. It was a foretaste of what awaited her should her plans fail. The man who had brought bread as an offering now sat sobbing, taking small bites of it.
Before long, Elise found herself facing the two guards. The strong men softened at her presence, and she felt a small relief that lent her confidence in her speech.
“Name,” one of them asked.
“Elise de Varenne,” she said solemnly.
“Aghh,” Morgaine groaned from behind.
The man seemed unsettled and suddenly appeared suspicious.
“Where are you coming from?” the guard continued.
Elise swallowed hard as she prepared to deliver her story. Unfortunately, her hands betrayed her, and before she could utter a single word, they began to tremble like a rattle.
“Forgive this child,” Morgaine cut in. “She has a wicked stammer. It has troubled her since she was a youngster. She comes with me.”
Elise’s eyes widened at the unexpected intrusion. The woman she had taken for a lady of negotiable affections was now vouching for her, and seeing her options were slim, Elise leaned on gratitude rather than pride.
“And who are you?” the guard asked Morgaine.
“I’m your dream come true,” she replied with the ease of a seasoned professional.
The guards exchanged a look and chuckled. Elise admired her boldness regardless of her trade. She figured that Morgaine was never at lack of clientele.
Despite this most timely opportunity to join a profitable line of work, Elise was silently horrified to let the guards believe she had that sort of training.
She calmed herself with the obvious notion that this was merely a means of entering the city.
After that, she would thank Morgaine and do her best to forget any association with it.
“Where are you visiting us from?” the guard continued asking Morgaine, who by now stood at Elise’s side.
“From nowhere and everywhere, my love.”
This time the guards were less amused and asked without much politeness for Morgaine to step closer for inspection. As one of the men began to grope Morgaine’s leg with the tenderness of kneading bread, Elise stepped back, hoping to avoid the same attention.
“There are people who charge for this type of thing, you know?” Morgaine said lightly.
The guard laughed and stopped his inspection.
“I’m from here,” Morgaine said.
The man chuckled. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
“And miss a free service?” Morgaine smiled back.
“Where is the girl from?”
“She was born here, but her mother took her to Falaine. She’s to be under my ward after the passing of her family.”
“Falaine, ah.” The guard tensed a look at Elise.
Elise cursed lightly. She hoped Morgaine had a good idea of what she was doing.
The guard kept her gaze on her, but before he could say anything, the sound of a horse spared her the trouble.
A man in fine clothes approached the gate.
Elise was taken aback for a moment. She felt time slow as her gaze swept over the fine gentleman.
Accustomed only to modestly attractive men, she could not help but think the heavens had been unusually generous in his case.
This was not the typical handsome fellow from Noldrin; this one made Edward look like a defective specimen.
His strong frame and perfectly chiseled face, crowned by light brown hair, made his blue eyes feel as though they could look straight through a person’s soul.
Elise could tell the man was tall even when seated high upon his black horse.
He was strong indeed, much in the style of his countrymen.
He was handsome enough to draw a few sighs from the women around and polite enough to pretend he was unaware.
There was something in the way he held himself in the saddle that spoke of power.
He didn’t say a word, yet Elise felt something in his stare.
He looked at her without apology or restraint.
She felt immediately overwhelmed by the attention. Then she remembered the state of her own appearance—her dirty dress, her dust-covered hair—and any suspicion of admiration from a gentleman like this vanished faster than dust in the air.
She broke the comely man’s gaze and lowered her head as she felt her cheeks grow warm.
The women around, still marveling at the sight, began to murmur, and soon the name of the striking stranger touched their lips.
“The Duke of Dornheim,” a woman whispered, just loud enough for Elise’s sharpened senses to catch.
Elise lifted her gaze again, only to be shaken once more. The man was still looking at her, while the guards rushed to open the gates without question or delay.
“Is there a problem here?” the duke asked, only then breaking his steady study of Elise.
“These fine gentlemen were just about to let us in,” Morgaine said as she stepped to Elise’s side again, shooting a defiant look at the guards.
The handsome stranger glanced at Elise, this time with some worry in his dark blue eyes. “Are you faring well?”
Elise glanced to either side, wondering if the question had been meant for someone else. The man waited, his lips parting as he did.
She gathered some resolve and spoke calmly, “I’m just trying to enter the city, my lord.”
The duke did not need to be told twice. As sharp in wit as he was in looks, he immediately ordered the guards to let them pass. The guards obeyed at once, and soon Elise and Morgaine were stepping onto cobblestone instead of soil.
He followed just behind them, as though escorting them. Elise could feel his eyes on her as Morgaine seemed utterly entertained by the situation. Once they had crossed the gate, Elise’s gaze met his for a brief moment before he dipped his head and went his own way.
It was one of those moments when Elise wondered why fate allowed the most handsome man she had ever seen to witness her at her worst. She was, therefore, grateful no introductions were made. As for Morgaine, Elise was ready to take her leave when the woman spoke.
“Quite an impression you made on one of the king’s most favored gentlemen,” Morgaine said. “If you had planned it, it could not have gone better.”
“I see,” Elise murmured, unable to erase the memory of the handsome stranger.
Perhaps her thoughts were too plain, for Morgaine added, “Careful with him, dear. You might be pretty, but that one is the king’s best man, and those rare few are not meant to mingle with foreigners, especially someone from Falaine. ”
Elise felt her gut sink. She would have preferred to hear that he was a simple man of commerce, or at least of a lower station, but it was as it was; he was a duke in any case.
She was not about to let a brief, traitorous beat in her chest dull the excitement of finally being in a new city far from the gossip of Noldrin.
“I must go to the apothecary for a few things, darling,” Morgaine said. “Would you care to come? I could show you a bit of the city.”
Elise paused. Kind as Morgaine seemed, she was convinced the woman was no respectable acquaintance. Still, she could not help but wonder why a woman of that sort would need an apothecary. She had, after all, seen her give a vial to that man the night she found them in such…circumstances.
In the interest of fairness, Elise ventured, “What did you say is your trade, good woman?”
Morgaine smiled. “The oldest profession, my child.”
Elise swallowed.
Regrettable, though not unexpected.
Out of curiosity, and before parting, Elise whispered, “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your fare?”
She had never met a lady of the night. It seemed a missed opportunity not to inquire. Elise’s imagination began to run wild, picturing the sort of services natural to that line of work.
Morgaine seemed puzzled for a moment, but her eyes quickly lit with understanding.
The woman laughed. “I’m not a whore. I’m a witch, dear.”