Chapter Seventeen - Beyond the Veil #2
There was music, soft at first, but louder as she walked along the clean street.
Shopfronts lined the street as she followed the sounds.
They were an eclectic mix that sold anything from the thick mining leathers and kitchenware to fine art, books.
Thick awnings protruded from the shop fronts, covering the wares that the shopkeepers were starting to put out, the customers peering in the windows.
Foxgloves and roses sprouted from flower boxes and wisteria climbed and hung around shop doors and windows.
The floral scent mixed with the sweet smell of pastries from a nearby bakery.
Her stomach growled and she regretted having skipped breakfast. She looked longingly at the various rich fluffy pastries in the window, accompanied by the savoury smell of bacon and sausage.
There was already a long line of miners snaking out from the shop, chattering away to each other as they waited.
Gnash pulled on her hand to drag her closer to the shop, but she resisted.
She was hungry, but not for the pastries, not right now. She wanted to see more.
None of it had been as she expected. She had anticipated derelict houses, streets lined with filth, and a people on the cusp of death.
She had expected shambling hordes, not this.
Not life. The decay of Blackthorn Hall had led her to believe that it’s influence would infect the district as well.
The Prince of Death causing destruction wherever he went.
But this was far from the dying gardens of Blackthorn Hall.
Parts of Dorian’s home looked like it was barely held together, whereas this place with its wrought iron, thick oak beams and granite felt like it was built to last. It felt strong.
Life flowed through the people here. They were not the sallow creatures that she had expected.
The poor unfortunate souls that she had heard of.
The further she walked into the town the narrower the street became.
She wondered where Dorian’s carriage would have stopped as it did not seem big enough for the wide vehicle to pass.
The buildings loomed towards each other, balconies almost touching, sheltering those passing underneath from the rain.
Warm orange lanterns hung from the buildings, lighting the way towards a wide-open square with a large fountain in the middle.
Above her the rain bounced off a wide glass canopy that stretched across the square, causing a muffled pitter patter sound to echo around her.
Taverns and tea houses lined the square, chairs and tables stretching out under the purple and amber canopy, glowing lanterns and crystals dangling from the ironwork lighting the area.
In awe, she stepped out into the increasingly busy square and towards the fountain in the middle.
Rosamund recognised her instantly as the same woman in the gallery.
Dorian’s mother. Water flowed from her hands to the pool around her, lit with a soft lavender light.
Wisteria flowed from her brow, giving the impression she had along purple and green hair.
Her expression was softer than in the painting at Blackthorn Hall, the smooth marble giving her an ethereal look.
On the other side she saw a little girl dressed in a thick dark green coat rush up to the fountain and close her eyes tightly.
She whispered something to the coin in her hand and tossed it in.
Her harried father, already holding the hands of two other children, called her back, telling her they would be late for school.
Rosamund sunk down to sit on the edge of the fountain as Gnash climbed up beside her.
There were tears on her cheek. She reached up to wipe them away as she looked around at the beautiful courtyard.
For weeks she had been holed up in that lifeless palace, desperately trying to grow something, when just beyond those gates there was this.
Why had he kept her from this? Why had he kept everyone from it?
Because if they knew, they would want it.
She thought of the crisp shining streets of Sunspire, the sweltering forges of Ironward and the bright markets of the Velvet Tide.
They would claim it and in doing so would ruin this beautiful district.
It would become an extension of their own, not this perfect oasis, but a reflection of their own districts.
So he built his wall. He kept them out. Kept her out.
To protect his people, or protect himself?
Both.
The rumble of a stomach pulled her from her darkening thoughts. She turned to the goblin who looked at her sheepishly. She laughed, reaching up to clear away another tear and got to her feet, holding her hand out to him, “come on, let’s get you something to eat.”
Gnash did not need to be told twice. He jumped down from the fountain, taking her hand and led her towards the tea house with the largest selection of cakes. Before they had even reached the awning, a willowy woman with flowing white hair to her waist stepped out to greet them.
“Hello there,” she said in a thick Caldon accent, lilting and musical, “take a seat anywhere.”
She gestured to the seats arrayed outside the shop. Rosamund reached up to lower her hood and then thought better of it. The woman smiled, “oh don’t worry hen, Dorian fixed the leak last week.”
Dorian? Her eyes widened at not just the familiarity, but the idea that he would fix a leak?
She smiled nervously at the woman and lowered her hood, pulling her long dark braid out from underneath it.
Gnash had attempted to take a seat closest to the edge of the square, but Rosamund navigated him to a table further back, closer to the shop, in a corner out of the way.
The woman followed them to the table, grabbing a couple of menus on the way.
“I’ll let you take a look and come back for your order,” she said cheerily.
Which is when Rosamund’s stomach dropped out from under her.
With despair she realised that in her haste to leave Blackthorn Hall she had not stopped to request a coin purse.
It would have been too suspicious in any case and Corvin would have asked for a reason for the withdrawal to write in his dusty ledger.
She rose to her feet quickly, “I’m so sorry, I, I’ve left without my purse. ”
Gnash looked up at her mournfully, clutching at his belly as she tried to usher him off the curved wooden chair. The woman smiled kindly and waved a hand, “no bother hen. Just arrived?”
“Uh, yes,” said Rosamund as she attempted to lift the stubborn goblin who had wrapped his stubby fingers around the seat of the chair, “Gnash, come on.”
“No,” he said grumpily, and the woman laughed.
“You’re fine hen,” said the woman waving a hand for Rosamund to stop, “leave him be. I’ll get you a tea.”
“But…I can’t pay,” said Rosamund as a flush rose to her cheeks.
“Don’t you worry, I’ll mention it to Dorian next time I see him, he’ll sort it,” said the woman and at the colour draining from Rosamund’s face she stepped forward and gently added, “we get new folks all the time. There’s no shame in it.
Takes some folks time to land on their feet after what they’ve been through.
And you can’t do that on an empty belly. So Dorian covers it until you can.”
“The prince,” said Rosamund in disbelief, “he pays for it?”
The woman nodded, “and don’t think about paying him back. He’ll have none of it.”
Rosamund sat back down in disbelief, her eyes slowly turning to the chalk menu in front of her, the words swimming.
“Didn’t your guide tell you this?” she gestured to Gnash.
Rosamund shook her head as Gnash pressed his nose to the slate of the menu. The woman hurried off into the shop, shouting instructions in Caldonish to the cook.
The prince paid for the food of new arrivals.
He fixed leaks. He allowed the people to call him Dorian?
She let her head fall into her hands as her elbows rested on the table.
A small hand patted her back. This was too much.
The people, this place, none of it made any sense when she thought back to the man she had first met at the Temple.
The man in Blackthorn Hall that had kept her prisoner. The man that had…
She turned to Gnash who was watching her closely with an unnaturally serious expression, “why didn’t you tell me about this?”
Gnash looked at her sadly, “would Lady believe Gnash?”
Rosamund thought about it and then slowly shook her head.
The goblin nodded, “Lady had to see. When Lady was ready.”
She smiled gratefully at him, there was something familiar in those large brown eyes.
It tugged at her mind, but the white-haired woman returned with a steaming pot of tea and two teacups.
She placed them carefully on the table and then removed a glowing amber stone which she placed in the middle.
At once Rosamund felt the heat from it warming her face and slowly drying her cloak.
“There we are, some pomegranate tea will warm you right up. Anything to eat?”
Drawing her gaze away from the gemstone, she and Gnash rhymed off their orders, Gnash’s longer than her own.
The woman nodded with a pleased smile and was about to turn back to the shop when the harried father Rosamund had seen earlier called out, “Margot, have you got any apple juice? I left the house without it, and she won’t take the medicine without it. ”
“Again?” said Margot over the screams of the small child he had balanced on his hip, “that’s the third time this week Hugo. Anders is going to flip his lid when he finds out.”
“If he finds out,” pleaded Hugo as the young girl continued to cry, “please don’t tell him. He’ll never let me take a turn again.”
Margot rolled her eyes but leaned in to coo at the crying child. She patted his shoulder, “Sit down son, I’ll get the apple juice, and I bet you forgot to feed yourself this morning as well?”