I remember riding through this market for the first time. The people loved me, then. I was the talk of the town. Back when they whispered on about Eric and I, predicting us as soon to be betrothed. It was the good whispers. The kind we both pretended we never heard as we rode on.
I was the mysterious lady love that no one knew. And that was just the problem, wasn’t? Eventually people will stop accepting mystery, and start wanting answers.
Now I passed on foot. No carriage. No fanfare. Just a large man leading a tree in front of me and his daughter beside me, her supple hand in mine. I tugged on my head-linen every so often, doing my best to keep the red strands hidden.
The buildings of the village were built so purposefully around a fountain, framing a circle. Merchants set up tents, stands, and carts. Wherever there was space in this enormous circle, someone was selling something. Even in the dim archways did the stands continue. Old men and women sat by their goods: wood-woven cages holding pheasants, baskets holding fruits and herbs, pens gating swine. And these weren't without their lines and crowds. The hagglers were spare, but they were there. The market was fuming with the smell of dead fish that came from a good many stands. I am more immune to the smell than before. But if I could, I would try to convince the people away from seafood. However, I found that not many villagers would appreciate a seaweed diet.
The sea was more than part of these people's lives, it was the very foundation they and their children thrived on. It was their livelihoods, their history just as much as ours. Within these crowds, the rich man and the noble man, the poor man and the crook, they all mixed together. Working together. Breathing the same smelly air, and living in the same place. Protecting the same system as their fathers had. Like us merpeople. I could see that. Sadly, father never could.
We walked pass the open shops and further on through an archway. A little girl with dull brown hair came up to Clara. “Clara!”
“Ida!”
The two giggled, holding hands. The girl said with wide eyes, “I'm glad I caught you in time. Is it true? You are going to see the prince?”
Clara proudly answered, “Mm, hm. And I will get to sit at his table and eat on his pretty dishes, and I will be given a dress just like the princess, and—”
“Clara,” Arne admonished.
Clara's eyes switched to her father, then lowered dimly, “Well, maybe not the dress and all that.”
“Oh, but you will bring me back something, won't you?”
Clara raised her eyes enthusiastically at her father. He shook his head. Her eyes lowered again. “I don’t know about that, but I will tell you all about it when we're done.”
Arne nodded at that.
Ida just smiled, “Alright. Please do. My mor is waiting for me. Goodbye, Clara!”
“Goodbye!”
Arne took us up some steps. A velvety voice called out, “Arne, dear.” Arne, the most insouciant man I have ever met, immediately reacted to the sound. He spun himself around to see the older woman on the sitting on a rug against some church steps. She was legless.
He approached her and knelt. "Josefine."
"Where are you off to?" The woman said as she knitted away.
“Oh, nowhere.”
“We're going to the castle!” Clara blurted.
“The castle, you say? I figured it'd be somewhere important since you have a sappling this time.”
Arne's head faced down.
“Now, don't be so shy about it, Arne. Just the fact that you can walk from here to the next stand is something I envy and no pity can change that.”
Arne took off his tricorne hat and lowered his fair crown to her.
"Arne. Not in the street."
"Please, Josephine."
Josephine slowly appeased his wish and placed her rough hand on his head. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Where is the boy?”
“You know Aksel is working right now.”
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“You need someone to help you.”
“This does help, dear. I love to be outside and watch the new commotion on the street. I'd die being inside on my own.”
“Don’t speak of death, please.”
“Well, don’t you treat me like I'm dying, sir.”
“Fa, we have to go,” little Clara whined.
"Alright, Clara." He stood upright.
"Who is this beauty, Arne?" The woman looked at me.
Arne acted unwilling to answer. He came over to me and placed one rough hand on my shoulder. His other gestured toward me, “Hils Freja.”
“Nice to meet you, Freja. I am surprised to see Arne making a new friend.”
“She's Clara's new friend. All my friends are dead.”
"Now, Arne. Some things never die," she said, staring at me with a stare that had the same hidden charm as a wink.
Does she know? I thought. I tugged my linen just to make sure not a root was exposed. “Very swell meeting you, ma'am,” I said. “We should be going.”
Awkwardly, she did not speak or changed the way she looked at me. I eyed Arne.
“Yes. Come on,” he said.
The path to the end of the village was straight. I didn’t ask about the woman or what she was to him. Though, I'm sure she mattered to him in some way.
We walked through a vast field, our path lined with purple blooms of salvia. It brought us to the outer gatehouse of the castle.
“Stop, there!” A man in a spruce soldierly suit and smart heels was there. “Who are you, and what is your business here?” he urged. His voice, sonorous and guttural.
I wondered if the man was blind to not see the tree we brought all this way. But Arne slipped out a scroll from his pocket bearing the red (royal) seal. He didn’t say a word, just handed it over to the guard.
The guard inspected the letter. His eyes drew up at Arne again. With a more accommodating attitude he said, “Right this way.”
He pushed open the gate and let us through. A second guard came to show us around. We made our way past the outer court. Which is nothing but a large area with no nature to be found, where gentlemen practiced on their horses for some war that was sure to never come.
We were taken to the next gate. Behind it: the inner court. Enclosed by smooth, stone walls, collums, and stairs draped in vines. Plants in terracotta pots were arranged against the walls. The balcony at the top was where Eric and I would have tea. But when he wasn't there, I would sit and read a new book from the library. Whatever would interest me at the time. I had no issue with human words since I was taught to read by... There is no use remembering such things!
An old man in clean, more humble garments approached us. “How are you, my good sir?”
Arne shook his hand, “Well, sir.” He gestured proudly at his catch. “I have you the best—”
“The best indeed,” the gardener cut him off. “And you shall receive a worthy exchange. But first,” he bent to little Clara, “would the ladies like a tour?” His eyes raised to me. I stiffened as he gave a mild squint. I knew him. And there was no doubt he found me familiar.
“Yes, yes!” Clara said, jumping and clapping her hands. “Please, Fa?”
Arne nodded, “As long as you behave. And listen to Freja.”
“I will.”
The hefty maid with dark hair came to greet us; Carlotta. I turned my face just slightly.
“Visitors, welcome! My name is Carlotta.” She always had a pleasant disposition that was quite contagious. “And what are your names?”
“Clara, miss.”
“Clara. Pretty.”
“Thank you. It's my mors name.”
“Wonderful. And what about you?”
My gaze slowly met hers. I prayed she wouldn't recognize me. Please don't recognize me. “Freja. Miss.” Nothing changed in the way she looked at me. Good.
The woman smiled. “Pleasure to meet you, Freja. Now, follow me.”
The farthest she took us was where the laundressess worked. The smell of damp clothes was in the air with the sound of sheets being beaten. Carlotta showed Clara the trough with actual running water. They used it to fill the wooden tub over the fire. Hot steam, catching the fabric hanging on the line. The laundress moved a long stick around in the water, wet clothes turning.
I hadn't been down here before. Only seen the better parts of the castle. I recognized the sheets. Made of the best linens. An 'E' embroidered on the pillowcase. E for Eric.
The maid let Clara turn the stick, and took me aside. I went uncomfortably with her to the other side of the room. Her heavy hand, guiding me. She leaned her face to mine. “That’s a lovely girl you've got.”
“Oh, yes. Though she isn't mine.”
“Oh. Forgive me. I thought you—”
“I mean. Not by blood,” I saved.
“I see. Well, she is charming nonetheless. And obedient. I believe she would like to work here if you don’t mind.”
“Um...”
“I believe it would solve many issues, prin— uh, Freja.”
My eyes widened. “What was that?”
“What?”
“You— you almost called me princess.”
The woman moved from me. “No I didn't. I said Freja.”
At this point, I felt silly. Was I that obvious? Poor Carlotta seemed to be pretending on my behalf. I touched her shoulder. “Carlotta, please. Just tell me you know.”
She hesitantly regarded me. “You shouldn't be here. The prince, he has announced you dead.”
“Shhh,” I said.
“I don’t know how you are not, but I am too smart to believe in such things as mermaids gaining legs. Still, you should be gone.”
“Trust me. I will be once we are done here.”
Carlotta's forhead folded. “That man out there. Are you truly his wife.”
“Who? Arne? Oh, Carlotta, I don't move that fast,” I chuckled. Then I frowned. “There is only one man whom I claim. How is he?”
“Not well, princess. He hasn't eaten anything, he's had a horrible fit, and...” She stepped into my space to not be heard, “I hear Grimsby is trying hard to speed his grief so that His Highness can focus on plans of war.”
“Plans of wa— what?” It cannot be so. I blow out my cheeks. “Where is Sir Grimsby?”
“I wouldn’t advise you look for him, princess. You must remain hidden.”
“But, what do you mean by war? War against who?”
“Why, those below us, of course.”
Those below us. What a clever euphemism. I could imagine it taught to children: “Your enemies— the merpeople— they are below you. Beneath you. They are not fit to live.” It nearly broke my heart to hear even sweet Carlotta spouting such divisive nonsense.
I felt like saying something to that, knowing carefully how I cannot. My eyes took in the area around me, and I noticed something amiss. “Where is Clara?”