The Manor
Break of Autumn, Week 3, Day 8
“She’s fine,” George Limrick repeated for the tenth time to a pacing Dame Arella.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” She growled, “She’s never fine. She’s like a feral cat. Skittish and distrusting of people. And perpetually wounded.”
“She’s just sleeping, Arella. Calm down,” George said, his voice weary. It was still early morning, it was honestly a shock Dame Arella was up to harass him. Neither Troya nor Dreya were in the sky. Even the tail end of Revel’s rings could be seen on the horizon.
With the death of Oberon, it was George who had to take over his role. And that meant writing up a report on the Captain’s death. He wouldn’t be omitting Nora’s involvement, he decided, but he’d definitely be downplaying it.
George wasn’t like Oberon. He hadn’t been sworn in directly under a Dawn, and he hadn’t thought that that would be something he would ever want. But as his eyes drifted to the door separating him and the girl he’d grown to care for, he thought maybe there was a Dawn he wouldn’t mind serving.
But that was for later. Now, he had work to do.
“If you keep pacing, you’re going to wake her up.” He said, going back to the makeshift desk he’d dragged outside Nora’s room.
Dame Arella immediately stopped pacing, turning her glare back to her new Captain.
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“Fine. Happy now?”
“Not even a little bit.”
It was an irritating two hours before Nora came out of her room, her hair already done in a new set of extravagant braids. Her black hair was moving on its own, much like the day before. But she wasn’t carrying her knit animals. Instead, the three woven things were trailing behind her. George and Dame Arella stared at the girl, who looked remarkably put together compared to the silent child she’d returned as.
But what they were really looking at was what Nora was wearing.
She had long black nails and black bangles that radiated mana. Her pants were simple but a purple so deep it was nearly black, and her shirt a lilac so pale it was nearly white with translucent sleeves. Around her shoulders, she wore a sweater so dark it could only be called void, with iridescent stars woven into the fabric.
George and Dame Arella knew the rules. They knew what a Child of the Dawn was supposed to wear. They knew green was tantamount to treason, but so were several other colors —Nora wasn’t supposed to wear bright orange or hot pink, for example.
They knew that this stretched the realm of acceptability to the max.
Actually, George grimly acknowledged, it flat-out broke the rules.
Neither George nor Dame Arella said anything about it.
Who were they to question a member of the Dawn? Especially one they actually liked being around.
Breakfast was quiet, with neither of the Ladies Perry present. This was the final day of blight eradication, but neither George nor Dame Arella would be leaving to help. Sir Neil and Dame Siobhan would handle it well enough.
George ran his hand over his face as he realized the remainder of this journey would have to be speedy and without stops in town. Their men needed to get to Fellan, and Oberon’s body would travel with them. They had weeks left. It would be hard riding and rough sleeping.
They’d do it anyway, he decided.