Chapter Thirteen - The Wolf Knight
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Wolf Knight
BETWEEN ELSWYTH’S TRAINING and reviving the conservatory Rosamund was exhausted.
And yet, she was struggling to think of a time in recent years that she had felt better.
Finally she had a regular escape from Blackthorn Hall.
What was more, that escape was somewhere she actually wanted to go, with someone she actually wanted to speak too.
It may have been mentally exhausting memorising the increasingly ridiculous social rules, or the long lists of nobles she was expected to recognise on sight, but she loved her time with Elswyth.
The more she got to know the woman, the more she admired her.
She had a quiet strength and a gentle humour that put Rosamund at ease.
Though, this had also been dangerous. There had been a few occasions where she had been about to call on her power to liven up the flower arrangement they had been working on, but had caught herself just in time.
They had never spoken about the betrothal ceremony, much to Rosamund’s relief.
However, it was beginning to nag at her that she did not know what Elswyth had seen.
If she had seen the forget-me-not and understood what it meant, why she had not reported her.
Elswyth had been showing her such kindness, she did not want to ruin it, but still the irritation was there, and she worked harder to keep that side of her hidden.
She also tried not to think about what she had seen the night she left Tidehall.
Bastian and the woman in the street. She had agonised over whether she should tell Elswyth the next time she arrived for her lessons.
Elswyth had been pouring the tea when Rosamund had hazard a, “I saw Prince Bastian last-.”
“Yes, he’s often out of an evening,” said Elswyth, her grip tightening on the teapot, “worry not, he won’t bother us.”
Any attempt to broach the subject again was met with similar polite, but firm, shutdowns.
Eventually Rosamund got the point and let it drop.
She knew. How could she not? She remembered the way Lavinia had draped herself all over the prince at the betrothal feast. There was no way Elswyth had not seen it.
She felt a stab of hurt for her friend. She had seen a variety of different marks upon her friend in the two weeks since that first afternoon tea.
All of them with an accompanying excuse.
There had been one vicious looking cut on her forehead that she had attempted to hide under her fringe.
Rosamund had spotted it immediately as Elswyth was showing her one of the popular court dances.
“Overzealous with the hairbrush,” she had said quickly when she met Rosamund’s eyes.
“That’s your worse one yet,” Rosamund replied before she could stop herself, hating herself for Elswyth’s flinch, more softly she added, “is there no one we could tell?”
“Tell what?” said Elswyth as she corrected Rosamund’s posture, her lips a thin line.
“This can’t keep going on,” said Rosamund, trying desperately to keep the frustration from her voice.
“I shall speak to my hairdresser,” said Elswyth flippantly.
“Elswyth!”
“Rosamund,” Elswyth snapped in a tone that Rosamund had not heard from her before, “stop. There are some things you cannot fix, and some things you should not involve yourself in. Do you understand?”
Rosamund had nodded sadly, and muttered, “yes, sorry.”
Elswyth nodded and out the corner of her eye Rosamund saw her reach up to wipe at a tear, “good, the relationship between a lady and her hairdresser is sacrosanct, do not interfere.”
And that was the end of that.
She hated it. She knew Bastian was a killer.
He had killed her cousin. Who else had fallen prey to him?
That poor girl she had seen outside the brothel?
Some other lady that was quickly spirited away to the country?
Elswyth. How long before he took it too far.
She couldn’t do nothing, despite what Elswyth said.
What held her back? Her husband was beating her, that much was obvious.
Was it love? Did she still love him? Was it that no one would listen? Would no one care?
She cursed herself for her naivety. He was a prince. Whose word would they value more?
I’ll find a way. I’ll help her.
She had too. She had to find some way to repay this woman who had taken such a risk in helping her.
Elswyth had even agreed to Gnash accompanying them at their lessons, the little goblin having become more and more distressed at Rosamund leaving him alone.
Though he was a terror and a distraction most of the time, stealing biscuits, attempting to unsuccessfully copy their dancing and snoring loudly when he eventually tired himself out.
But he made Elswyth laugh which Rosamund was glad to hear, and she spoiled him with biscuits.
The other regular addition to their afternoon teas was Fabricio Secundus, a tailor from the Republic of Vesper who had travelled to Valdyr to make his fortune.
Like most foreigners travelling to Aurelmere he had ended up in the Velvet Tide, competing against many of his fellow merchants for the patronage of the Valdyr nobility.
He stayed afloat by offering his services to wealthy merchants, but his true passion was dressmaking.
None of the noble ladies would touch him after he had a run in with one of Lavinia’s closest friends.
He was a short, rotund, olive-skinned man with thinning black hair on top.
His almond eyes had peered at her through round spectacles as he circled her, his thick lips pursed as he tapped his measuring tape against them.
He was dressed in a voluminous white coat and breeches, both as puffed up as each other.
He had a quick staccato way of speaking, and a sharp tongue that delivered both compliments and insults in equal measure.
Rosamund had liked him immediately.
Soon enough her wardrobe had started to fill up, and she looked forward to her fittings with Fabricio just as much as her tea with Elswyth.
Despite that, her true sanctuary remained the conservatory and it’s renovation.
With the structure almost fully repaired, her attention had turned to nursing and caring for the various plants she wished to fill it with.
Each morning after breakfast she would retreat to the glass house to check on their progress, fill up their trays with water, and clear away any weeds.
With the ironwork complete, Tomas had returned to his usual duties around the stables, so it was often just her and Gnash that would spend the morning working away.
So she had been somewhat surprised when she had arrived that morning to find two people crouched down in front of the dried-out pond.
“I can’t figure out what’s blocking it,” said Dorian with unusual frustration.
“Could be something further down the plumbing,” said the sandy haired man beside him.
“I checked that,” said Dorian as he ran a gloved hand through his unkempt hair, “it’s clear.”
“Leave it with me,” said the other man as he rose to his feet, his hands on his hips, “I’ll get her up and running again.”
“Can I help you?” said Rosamund, folding her arms in front of her.
The two men spun round to look at her; Dorian cleared his throat and stared at the ground, whilst the sandy haired man broke out into a wide grin and bowed deeply, “Lady Rosamund, wonderful to see you again.”
Again, she thought as she looked him over, and a memory resurfaced.
The man that Dorian had spoken too at the feast. The man that had held her and turned her away from the execution.
The knight. Even devoid of his dark armour his shoulders were broad, and she recognised those thick arms that had held her in place.
He was as tall as Dorian, though where the dark-haired prince was clean shaven, the knight had a moustache and beard, only slightly darker than the floppy hair on his head.
He was dressed in the black and silver colours of the house, although she noted that his coat had a greenish tinge to it, and a different coat of arms on the breast.
A name came to mind.
“Sir Wulf,” she held out her hand to him as Elswyth had taught her, and he stepped forward to take it, “yes of course, we met at the ceremony.”
He smiled sheepishly, “we actually met before that.”
“We did?”
He nodded, “though you were quite young at the time and more enamoured with the horses than listening to your brothers friends.”
“You knew Edmund,” she said as the memory resurfaced.
One of the few times her father had taken them to the city.
Edmund and convinced their parents to let her come with him and his friends to a tourney that was taking place in Larkhill.
She remembered each of them trying outdo the other, her brother inevitably winning the day.
It was one of the memories she clung too in the darkest nights, a happier time.
“You look just like him, though, much prettier of course.”
She laughed and though he smiled, it was not without a little melancholy.
He had stopped her from intervening that day at her betrothal ceremony.
This man had probably saved her life in doing so.
He had taken her aunts away from her. Likewise, he had probably also saved their lives too.
They may be imprisoned like she was, but they would be safe.
She should hate this man, but she was struggling to commit to it.
For all that he had stopped her, he had saved her.
Her musings were shattered by the excited shriek behind her and something small barrelling past her to launch herself at the knight.
“BISCUIT!” shrieked Gnash as he clung to Wulf’s leg.
The man threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh, lifting the small goblin under the arms and holding him out in front of him, “who says I have any?”
Gnash narrowed his eyes and said, “lies, big boy has biscuits.”