"Did you fill these coloring books?"
"... They're a spellcasting exercise."
My stay in Vercari Private Hospital hadn’t been long— the staff needed to extract payment from me, before running a couple more tests, but overall, they had given me some medication to take, a firm order to come back if my injuries— whether they were mental or physical— flared up again, my cleaned and folded clothes, and sent me off with a clean bill of health.
Despite the whirlwind that my life had become, almost as fast as it’d begun, my stay at the hospital had petered out to an end. One way or another, the personnel had been able to contact Stephen, who had been waiting for me out front. Who was, I immediately noticed as I stepped out into the cold, acting strangely.
He held the door open for me— both the ones to the hospital and the carriage, an action I raised my eyebrow at, to which he responded with a positively unnerving serene smile— before offering to help me into the carriage. I frowned further, pausing when I spied a pillow and a blanket resting in the compartment.
Beside me, the coachman chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Thas’ Essy’s idea— she’s been runnin’ ‘round all frantic like when we ‘eard.”
“I…” I found myself conflicted. On one hand, I had expressed little need for gestures like this, but on another, I knew my aches would appreciate them. I, I decided, have no energy to deal with this. Let’s just take it in stride.
“Ah can get rid of ‘em, if you’d like.”
“I— oh, no. That won’t be necessary— thank you, Stephen.”
“O’ course.” He smiled, helping me up into the carriage.
When I arrived at my house, Javier proved to be no better. He, alongside Esmerelda, stood stock-still in their suits on the steps leading up the door, the two of them ramrod straight with their hands clasped behind them. My eyes squinted as I met Javier’s placid gaze. I couldn’t make out his exact expression as I neared, but I could tell he was amused.
“She’s got you wrapped up into this as well?” I bemoaned.
Javier raised an eyebrow. “And I see she was correct to call us all to standing.”
When I narrowed my eyes, he rubbed at his beard with a cough and a sly smile. “It seems whatever affair you’d been caught up in left you significantly worse for wear.”
“What a pleasant way to tell me I look horrid.” I mock-frowned.
“You look brilliant as always, Lady Estelle,” he complimented. I squinted, unable to make out much more of his expression. I turned my gaze back to Esmerelda who continued standing stock-still in the cold.
“And how long have you been waiting for me?” I asked.
“Ah…” Esmerelda had the sense to look sheepish, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry— I know you don’t like it— but, I just—“
I held up a hand, immediately regretting the sentence I’d chosen to open with. It made it sound like I was about to scold her— which was certainly not my intention. I cleared my throat, turning away as I strode past her to open the door. “It’s fine. Thank you, you three.”
Esemerelda’s voice was light and hopeful. “We can continue?”
“… Do as you will.”
That night, perched naked on a stool and looking into a mirror, I understood where Esmerelda came from. Bruises I’d expected around my neck and collarbone hadn’t been there. My nails were clean; unblemished and picked clean of anything that could’ve formed under them. My skin was unmarked— the same pale smoothness that I’d grown up with. No odd bumps like improperly set bones or splatter of bruise-forming rust red. There was no blood around my face, no sign that I’d had my life threatened at least eight times within the span of half a day.
Except for this.
I frowned, stretching the skin around my eye, moving it back so I could peak closer at the crimson that had splattered outwards like a spiderweb, painting half of my eye a concerning red.
There’s no way I can cover this up.
I frowned, blinking a couple times. It didn’t hurt, which I took to be a good sign, and presumably wasn’t detrimental to my health if none of the healers or doctors that checked in on me raised any alarms. I turned my attention away from my concerning eye.
While my time at the hospital had saw me mostly back to my feet— it was only just that: back to my feet. While the healers they had employed had done a better job at healing me than I could ever do myself— they only focused their efforts on what they could see. I could see it in the way I moved when I stretched in the mirror— a stiffness accompanying my arm raising, the jerky shake of my legs as I slowly rose to my feet, the way I walked— like someone had stuck a bunch of rocks into my shoes.
Not only could I see it— I could feel it— a million bruises having formed beneath my skin, sucking at the connection between bone and flesh, aching with each movement I made. My mind felt sluggish— tired in a way that couldn’t be explained for simple exhaustion. My throat still felt made of sandpaper at some times, but the rasp had vanished after some time.
It felt more than a little eerie— how after fighting for my life all I had to show for it was the same symptoms as a sleepless pair of nights.
At least, I comforted myself, no one can really tell why you went to the hospital.
Though, it still showed more than I would’ve preferred.
Thankfully, none of them— neither the staff nor my own servants— had asked questions. A part of me wondered if Arthur or Clara let them know— but it didn’t seem likely.
After that, without fuss, I ate everything Esmerelda wanted me to eat, let Javier handle all the affairs he wanted to, watched from a window as both Esmerelda and Stephen messed around with the horses in the courtyard, and did no real work other than rereading my journals sprawled with notes while curled up beside a fire.
But despite all my indulgences and distractions, I couldn’t fully evade my original subject of anxiety. The Vitrine crystals always sat within arms reach, laying unopened and just barely at the edge of my sight. For several days, I hadn’t once reopened the box. I knew what I’d find: seven ice-blue crystals nestled together like scales, with one of them being a dead-coral gray.
Ever since I’d left the hospital, I’d been uncertain about what to do with them, their question lingering in the back of my mind like my own Shade: What now? What will you do?
I’d decided they were an opportunity— that was the reason I’d originally taken them— the opportunity that I could fuel my Dimensionalism research with them. But I hadn’t entertained it anymore than that. Now, after all was said and done, I wasn’t certain where to go now.
The official end to my recovery ended several days after I’d come home, when I’d woke up to incessant tapping on the window of my bedroom and a caw like gravel. Bleary-eyed and scowling, I carefully picked my way across my book-strewn floor, shoving on my glasses as I peeked past a crack in the curtains. My scowl only grew, fueled by early morning exhaustion and by what greeted me on the other side of the glass.
Inside my house, at least for the duration of my recovery, I had existed in a sort-of isolated bubble, cut off from the rest of the world while my servants busied themselves around me. I hadn’t read any newspapers, and nestled in contemplative silence beside a window or a fire or a coloring book while hoping that the Keepers or Scabs wouldn’t show up at my door. I’d hadn’t been visited by Arthur, nor by Clara— a particular fact I found strangely annoying.
My knocker-upper preened herself, turned away from me.
I flexed my fingers, breathed deeply, and searched for any leftover aches or pains. I sighed, unable to find any, and swallowed my complaints. I no longer have a valid excuse to put off work. I pulled the curtain back.
Dancing on my windowsill, occasionally pecking at the lattice frame, was a large, gray heron. The heron— named, “Ime,”— was the Familiar of Jaime Heron— the department head for Dimensionalism at Belfaust, and the only other person competent enough to understand the research I did— not because everyone else was incompetent, but because there a stark lack of people in the Dimensionalism department that it made every year a coin toss of whether it’s existence would be cut or not.
My work has quite literally come knocking on my window, a part of me noted, dry. Fun.
Ime stopped pacing the length of my windowsill when she saw me. She paused, craned and tilted her head down as if to give me a side eye. She croaked once, deep and deeply unfitting of the noble bird, then tilted her head again. I swore her yellow eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“What?” I frowned. “Something on my face?”
Ime raised her wings, before stepping back and forth and making a movement that looked like the bird equivalent of an eye roll. My frown deepened. Then, she tilted her head back, gave a call that sounded eerily like a cackle and skipped off my windowsill and down the tiles of my awning. I watched, half too exhausted to properly care and half offended at the notion that I just got sassed by a bird.
At least the message was clear: I did, in fact, look horrible, and I was to meet her at the door when I was more presentable.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
My eye twitched, before I sighed, combing a hand through my hair and letting the curtain fall back into place. Glancing around, I picked my way across my room towards my wardrobe, picking out a crisp white blouse, a warmth charm fashioned like a bolo tie, and a long, dark skirt.
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I smoothed down my skirt once more, briefly catching my appearance in a reflection again. The same, ice-blue eyes stared back at me, slightly widened as if on edge, or haunted. I breathed in deeply, consciously and slowly relaxed my shoulders, before narrowing my eyes and letting the corners of my mouth fall. I huffed out a breath, as if it was far too early to deal with what awaited on the other side of the courtyard door. In a way, it was true.
After another heartbeat, I undid the button on my collar, shoving away the unpleasant memory that bubbled up besides it. I loosened my warmth charm, as my outfits lack of formality was intentional and not a byproduct of less pleasant memories. My hands found the comforting weight of he small box within my pocket. With another breath, I stepped out into my courtyard.
My courtyard had been a grand balance of nature and architecture, once. When I had been younger, the Laurent Courtyard had been an elegant practice in equilibrium between nature and art. The miniature statues of the Angels guarded the stone path like a retinue of knights, vines twined between their hands like the product of miracles, meticulously trimmed bushes sat between them like makeshift railings, keeping you on the path. It led up to a grand stone fountain topped with a circle of thorns with a bird in the center.
But that was then, when I’d been a child, when my mother had still deigned to pretend I wasn’t a disappointment.
Now, moss clambered up the podiums the statues sat on, once weaving between their clasped hands in artful display, now winding up and around their wrists, like a blanket of leafy shackles. Dry roots had cracked the stones, rending them apart and leaving the path barren, snow had settled and nestled like a frozen corpse. The fountain no longer spouted water, dry and pockmarked, the thorn-circle and the bird having long been destroyed— blasted off its podium by an angrier, younger hand.
Though, the frown that came to my face wasn’t from my decrepit garden— no— it was the sight of Esmerelda kneeling as Ime ate cuts of fish from a bowl in her hand. As I walked out, Esmerelda stiffened and stood, quickly sketching a bow and stammering out a hasty, “Lady Estelle,” before adopting a worried look. Ime had the nerve to look smug, cocking her head as if daring me to say something.
After a heartbeat, I sighed, motioning for her to ease up as I dropped into a chair. “You’re spoiling her, you know.”
“I can’t help it— isn’t Ime so cute every time you see her?” Esmerelda cooed, sounding happy in a way I found hard to deny. I opened my mouth, only to see as the smug bird in question tilted her head at me over the maid’s shoulder. Esmerelda made a sound of surprise, “Oh— you want a hug?”
Where or how Heron was able to find a Familiar like Ime— I had no idea. All I knew was that I wanted very little to do with the answer.
I sighed, rubbing at my eyes. It’s too early for me to deal with this. This is no longer a problem for present me. Have fun future me! With that, I officially offloaded the present concern and turned my focus towards the actual reason Ime had shown up.
“Ime,” I said, “Professor Heron has a letter for me, I presume?”
The gray bird perked up, as if remembering the reason she was here, before reluctantly untangling herself from Esmerelda, who sighed. She stalked over to me, before beginning to wretch. I scowled, still as perturbed by the performance every time I bore witness to it. Ime wretched again, a horribly guttural choking sound that made me worry for the poor bird. She hacked one more time, before coughing out a small crumpled wad of paper smelling faintly of fish onto my lap like some feathered cat. She walked back over to Esmerelda who looked just as horrified as I distantly felt.
Hesitantly, I picked it up, ignoring the vague wave of disgust that rose in my gut. Must she spit it up like some kind of disgruntled cat every single damned time? The paper uncrumpled in my hand— uncompressing as it’s creases uncreased and unfolded into a letter much larger than the initial wad should’ve allowed.
And he casually abuses compression principles for letters, I silently grumbled. Penned in a scrawly hand, the letter read:
Dear Estelle, your recent paper intrigues me greatly! As does your recent inquiry into Hureim’s Circular Compression Theory! To answer the question you posed— simply, I’m afraid we’re unable to perform any meaningful experimentation regarding it due to funding restraints— though I’d love to discuss the topic more in-person. Please, write back if you’re available, and please let me know of your recent studies— if anything’s changed. I know you’re always up to something or another.
On further note, I will be available tomorrow at ten if you’d like to speak then. I will be in my office.
I reread the last lines again. I know you’re always up to something or another.
Guiltily, my mind leapt to the coloring books stacked at my bedside, then to my multitudes of journals, that I’d left collecting dust in my library over the last couple days. I really shouldn’t have acquiesced to Esmerelda’s insistence, but in the end I entertained her, if only so that the maid could take leniency on me at a later date— but what was done, was done.
Just then, the sound of the door opening and closing caused me to perk up. Esmerelda snapped out of her deep expression of conflict regarding Ime, who squawked. Javier stepped into view, a pleasant smile on his lips as he bowed.
“Lady Estelle,” he said, shooting a brief, indecipherable glance at Ime. “Letters have arrived for you.”
“Well— hand them here.”
The butler handed me a letter opener, along with a thicker sheaf of letters. A frown came to my face as I leafed through them. Two seals of the four letters were unrecognizable, one an emblem of a scale set on gray wax, and the other a stamped red flower. The other two were of a coin stamped in gold wax— Juispe Auctioning Group— and the other of an emerald tower— the Sutherland’s emblem.
I sighed, opening the Sutherland’s letter first. While their son was immensely annoying, and odds were that the letter was from that very idiotic son— I couldn’t very well ignore the chance that it was an actual letter of rapport. I skipped straight to the end, reading the sender, before tossing it to Javier, who deftly caught it.
“Let me know if he actually says anything worth my time.” I went to Juispe’s letter next, finding it to be a catalog of the upcoming auction, and tucked it away for later perusal. Then, the letter with a stamped red flower— which turned out to be a Dreamspinning request for one ‘Penelope Oliver’. My eyes widened as I read. She was an old Keeper from before the coup, and had been struggling with the aftermath, which, in short, meant she might’ve had information on the coup.
Penelope Oliver might know my father.
“Esmerelda,” I said, tucking the letter away.
“Oh— yes, Lady Estelle?” The dark-haired woman perked up, leaving Ime quietly croaking in protest as she being fed.
“Could you go fetch Stephen? I need the carriage to be readied.”
“Of course, Lady Estelle.” Esmerelda gave a crisp bow, before giving an apologetic smile to Ime. The bird turned, looking baleful.
“Stop that. You can leave in a moment. Javier, pen?”
The older gentleman handed me a pen, and I scrawled a quick reply on the back of Heron’s initial letter, before crumpling it back up and handed it over to Ime. I turned away as guttural gagging and croaking filled the air, shortly followed by a burst of wings as the Familiar returned back to her master. I handed Javier back his pen, before dismissing him too. He gave a nod and a curt bow, before leaving me to myself.
Then, came the last letter. Without fanfare, I opened it and began reading.
To Arthur Bell and Estelle Laurent,
I hope this letter finds the two of you in good health. To Laurent, good work in the night before. I take back what I said. You were capable of carrying your own weight when it came down to it. I hope your recovery is going well.
Moving on, to Arthur, you’ll be pleased to know that after the discussion we had in the hospital, I made a report to my superior. After having a lengthy discussion about your and yours involvement, the Warden is willing to meet you and Laurent. Congratulations. She expects great things from you. Don’t disappoint, or it’ll be on my head for even recommending you in the first place.
Sincerely, and hoping you both a swift recovery, Clara Eigenlicht.
I blinked, sighing as I stared down at the letter. Somehow, despite the numerous ‘hope you get well’ lines she threw in, it still felt insincere. More concerning, was the fact that I couldn’t follow anything in the letter. I read the letter again.
Discussion? Warden? I scowled, rubbing at my brow. I don’t understand. What happened? What has Clara gotten us into?
A memory of my short stay at the hospital resurfaced; Shortly after my emotional loss of control, I’d stared down at the city from the window. On the street below me, Clara, beside Arthur, saying something I couldn’t make out, her taking his hands, before they separated. Arthur looked troubled as he plodded away and out of view, Clara stood with a tired, resigned expression, unmoving until Arthur had rounded the corner.
My eyes caught on the wording again— after the discussion we had. I never conversed with Clara during my stay at the hospital, nor did I with Arthur. I had the staff turn away any and all visitors for the duration of my stay.
I need to speak to Arthur.
The terrace door opened again, this time, Esmerelda came back, looking worried. Behind her, I saw a crop of mousy mahogany hair and rust-red, grinning eyes.
Arthur stepped past, his expression flickering sheepishly as he saw mine. “Uh— bad time?”
“Ah,” I deadpanned. “Just the person I needed to speak to.”
“I— uh— huh?” His expression grew concerned, and Esmerelda quickly spoke up.
“Lady Estelle, would you still like the carriage prepared?”
I gave Arthur another glance. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“By your leave.” The maid bowed, retreating out of sight. Arthur shifted, still confused, still concerned.
“I—“ Arthur began, tone a verbal tiptoe. “Can I ask what’s… wrong?”
“It gladdens me you’re concerned for my health.”
Arthur frowned. “I sense a ‘but’.”
“But I am fine.”
“If— I— uh, okay… If you say so…” It was evident he didn’t really believe me, but knew better than to press the issue.
“So?” I changed the subject. “Did you just drop by to check in?”
“Oh!” His expression brightened briefly. “Uhm— actually. Mom wanted to ask if you wanted to have dinner with us in a bit.”
“I…” I considered the option. “That sounds fine, yes. We can discuss on our way over.”
“Uh— huh? D— discuss?”
I mimicked his vaguely confused tone, standing up as I shoved the letter into my pocket. “Uhh— Yuhh. Uh-huh. Discuss.”
As I stood, another slip of paper fell from Clara’s letter, tucked into a fold I had first missed. After a heartbeat, I picked it up, frowning.
The card was a simple, elegant sepia, with a simplistic gold trim that ran along the edges. I frowned further when I saw the heraldry— an embossed golden chain that looped into the shape of a circle. After a heartbeat, I turned the card over.
The Gilded Cage cordially invites Arthur Bell and Lady Estelle Laurent to discuss the terms of their employment. Guests are expected to arrive at The Angel’s River, at precisely eighteen hundred hours on the thirteenth day of the tenth month, 1647 I.C.
I stilled, rereading the line again. Silently, with the swiftness of a crumbling glacier, I connected the dots. For a moment— it felt as if I was falling through that static-black sky again, my blood freezing over, faced with a problem I had no idea how to solve. A part of me mirthlessly wondered if I should’ve started praying again.
The Gilded Cage— Larissa Fleming, Esteemed Warden. Clara spoke of a Warden, and a meeting.
My gaze slowly trailed up, meeting Arthur’s confused and increasingly concerned gaze an arms distance away.
I had an appointment with Larissa Fleming.