Chapter Fifteen - WytchFyre
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WytchFyre
THE AIR ON the balcony was no less hot due to the forges that burned through the night.
Though, it was at least breathable without the wood smoke, cinnamon and Umber.
The district sprawled out in front of her, the pinpricks of light like fireflies dancing around the buildings bathed in shadows.
The grey princess sat on a bench made of amber with a view of the forge district.
Her hands were clasped in her lap, each hand gripping the other tightly.
Rosamund cleared her throat and the young woman jumped like she had been shocked.
Her head snapped around and when she saw who it was her shoulders eased.
“I thought maybe you wouldn’t come,” said Marianne quietly.
“I got chatting to Emrys,” said Rosamund as she moved towards the bench to sit beside her.
Marianne looked down at her hands and smiled, “he’s easy to talk too.”
“Very easy,” agreed Rosamund as she looked back out at the view, “too easy.”
Marianne nodded emphatically, “but he’s kind. I know he has a sharp tongue but, well,” she trailed off, “he wouldn’t be with Princess Isolde and Prince Aurelian if he wasn’t.”
“Yes, he did mention he held a unique position in the family,” said Rosamund as casually as she could.
Marianne’s eyes snapped round to her, gleaming in that way her sisters used to when she had gossip to share.
Rosamund tried not to look too eager for it.
She had missed this. Emrys had given her a taste for it earlier, that easy back and forth she had shared with her siblings.
Elswyth had been more like their mother, kind and instructive, but she had missed the secret whisperings with her sister at night, when the ball was done and the guests had gone.
Or in their later days at Kilgavie, when they had passed the time gossiping about the various trysts of the servants, reliving old gossip from the balls they had briefly attended before their father was arrested.
The grey princess moved closer to Rosamund and whispered, “very unique. He is very close to Isolde and Aurelian. Like, intimately close, if you take my meaning.”
Marianne waggled her eyebrows, sending them both into quiet giggles. Rosamund understood, though she was not certain the princess had the right of it. Still, it was good to laugh with her. The young woman’s hands did not clasp together so tightly anymore.
“I’m surprised his majesty allows it,” said Rosamund once their laughter had subsided.
“Me too, but Aurelian was the only son that was allowed to choose his own wife,” said Marianne, turning a little on the bench to face her.
“How come?” asked Rosamund, matching her posture.
“The Summer Plains is the breadbasket for the rest of Valdyr,” she said excitedly, “Aurelian held the food wagons for Aurelmere until his father agreed!”
She had heard something about that; some story her father told her about a shortage in the city.
The nobility had paid increasingly higher prices for their food whilst the common folks bellies were filled for free.
The surplus food for the nobility was handed out in the poorer areas in every district, all except The Veil.
Her thoughts darkened as she thought of her betrothed’s district.
He would not even allow that kindness beyond his walls.
Though, there was something that did not seem right about it.
There were things that did not match up with the man she was starting to see.
Marianne pulled her from her thoughts as she continued to explain, “up until then, Aurelian was supposed to marry Lavinia, and everyone thought that’s who he would choose anyway.
But then he picks Isolde! At the time, she was just some girl from the country, like you! Though…uh…” she hesitated, “she uh…”
“Didn’t have a father executed for treason?” offered Rosamund bitterly, though not unkindly.
“Right, yes, that,” said Marianne, shifting uncomfortably on the bench, unable to meet her eyes, “sorry.”
Rosamund shook her head, “don’t be. And don’t worry, it’s not catching either.”
Marianne laughed and then immediately clasped a hand over her mouth, a worried expression on her face, but she relaxed when she saw Rosamund’s smile.
“So, Lavinia was supposed to marry Aurelian, but Lavinia ends up with Cedric?” Rosamund said, keen for Marianne to continue.
Elswyth had been wonderful at teaching her the history of the families, all the strange archaic rules of the court.
However, this is what she had really been missing.
She needed to understand these people, and in the last few minutes Marianne had told her more about them than she ever thought possible.
Marianne nodded her head slowly, “a bad match. They hate each other. Lavinia for having to marry one step further down the succession, and, well Cedric isn’t exactly the looker that Aurelian is,” the girl blushed a little, the golden prince was extremely handsome, Rosamund had to give him that, “and Cedric…well, you’ve met Lavinia.
They spend most of their time apart if they can help it.
Lavinia in her salons and Cedric either at the barracks or at the forge. ”
Rosamund thought back to that feast. The way Lavinia had draped herself over Bastian and Cedric had ignored it.
The two of them living their separate lives.
Lavinia shackled to the man she did not want, and Cedric tied to a woman that would continue to flaunt her infidelity to punish him for something he had no control over.
She found that she had some well of pity for them, which surprised her.
“Why did Lavinia even agree to it? Was she so desperate to be a part of the royal family,” asked Rosamund with a frown.
Marianne leaned in closer, “because she was already in another royal bed.”
When Rosamund looked at her confused Marianne mouthed ‘the king’ to her. Her eyes widened at that, and she could not help but say it out loud, “The king?!”
“Shhhhh,” said Marianne with a hysterical giggle, reaching forward to place a hand over Rosamund’s mouth.
The girl nodded and slowly removed her hand.
“Not anymore, but back when they first wed,” said Marianne and left the rest unsaid.
It sounded lonely. Lavinia was cruel and bitter, but had she always been that way?
Or had this vicious court made her that way?
Was she once hopeful? The girl who would marry the golden prince, only to be discarded and married off to a man that despised her.
All so the king could have her in his bed, where she was discarded again.
Yes, Rosamund could see why a cruel streak would develop after that.
Another mask, another way of defending herself. She looked to Marianne.
“So, when did she take you under her wing?” asked Rosamund gently.
Marianne’s shoulders sagged, “before I was married. It’s the custom for an older wife to mentor the younger,” she looked up at Rosamund confused, “did they not tell you that?”
Rosamund shook her head and said, “They didn’t tell me anything. I was…my sister was supposed to marry Dorian but, she took unwell.”
Marianne nodded and reached out to awkwardly pat her hand in sympathy, “I…I did wonder why you were so unprepared for the salon. I felt so bad for you.”
Rosamund laughed, “well, it wasn’t all to do with that,” she leaned into Marianne, “I’m also fairly stubborn.”
“If it helps, my introduction didn’t go so well either,” she fidgeted with the skirts of her dress, unable to look up at Rosamund, “I couldn’t get a word out.
Celeste and Seraphine were asking all their questions and I just froze.
Everything went black, and I fainted. It was a month before Lavinia got in touch saying she would help me,” she gestured to the room, “and you can see how well that has gone.”
“Didn’t any of the others reach out?” Rosamund asked softly, a frown creasing her forehead.
Marianne shook her head, “I found out later there had been a bidding war. Isolde had wanted to mentor me, but Lavinia, who loves taking anything she can away from Isolde, ran to the king to claim me. And I’ve been her dogsbody ever since.”
“Surely not now,” said Rosamund, “you’re married.”
“And she has precedence,” said Marianne with a sigh, “the only one she can lord it over,” she looked to Rosamund, “well, one of two, now.”
Rosamund groaned and rolled her eyes, “well, at least we can have each other’s backs.”
Marianne smiled, but it melted away just as quickly, “why?”
“Why?” echoed Rosamund.
“I…I didn’t help you either,” said Marianne, fidgeting with her skirt, “I could have…but I, I was…terrified of them turning on me. I could have reached out, but I didn’t. But” she looked up at Rosamund, “you helped me in there. You didn’t need too, but you did.”
Why did she help her?
Because you reminded me of my sister, she thought.
What she said was, “because it was the right thing to do. Because I knew you were scared, and I knew I could do something about it.”
Marianne slumped forwards, wrapping her arms around herself, “I could never have done that. I couldn’t. I…” tears welled up in her eyes.
“Hey, hey it’s okay,” said Rosamund gently, placing a hand on the girls back and rubbing small circles, “those women are terrifying, trust me, I understand.”
The girl wiped at her eyes and sat up, turning to look at her, “but you did it.”
Rosamund smiled and gestured to herself, “stubborn? Remember?”
Marianne let out a watery laugh as Rosamund produced a silk hanky from one of the many pockets she had Fabricio sew into the dress. She held it out for the girl who took it gratefully.
“Never let them see you cry, right?” said Marianne as she dabbed at her eyes.
“That’s what Elswyth tells me.”
“She seems nice,” said Marianne as she handed back the handkerchief, “I don’t know how she puts up with Bastian.”
The bruise. The cut. The screaming woman.
“Neither do I,” said Rosamund quietly, “can’t say I have a high opinion of the man.”