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It was not an uncommon occurrence to find Ella deep in thought as of late. As she hurried along the dirt road leading to Bellmare, the largest town in Codshire, her features were screwed tightly, in remembrance of her dream the night before.
See, it wasn't uncommon for Ella to have strange dreams either. Most of the time, she could hardly remember them in detail, only being left with a vague impression of uncertainty, scraps of colours and blurry images. But in recent months, that had slowly started to change. The strange dreams became more and more frequent, and more vivid. Lately, she could even remember tangible details.
Last night's dream featured a collage of images: Burning castles, curling fire coming from colossal spires, the tangible scent of smoke and something putrid, so pungent that her eyes and nostrils stung. A chase through the woods, the feeling of someone hot on her heels, the slapping of branches on her legs and arms, cutting her as she ran, snapping twigs under her feet. Overwhelmingly, the permeating sense of fear.
She'd woken sweat-drenched and shaking, with her heart leaping wildly beneath her ribs. What had not been a common occurrence were the lashes on her legs and arms—just like in her dream—slashed by gnarled branches as she fled. But by the time she bathed and dressed, they had practically faded, so it was easy to tell herself that she had probably scratched herself while she tossed and turned in bed.
Two male voices broke her from her reverie. Men clad in identical uniforms of blue-grey and brown, a burnt orange cap on their heads and heavy longswords at their hips.
Guards.
Ella resisted the urge to adjust the hood on her wool cloak, it was a gesture that might call their attention. Instead, she forced her posture into an unstructured stride, less poised than it actually was. She angled her face to the side, idly swinging a wicker basket on her arm with feigned casualness.
To the common eye, she was a nameless woman wearing standard, non-flashy clothes and a basket full of parsnips. A villager woman like the rest, on her way to sell her produce at the weekly market fair. She tensed as the guards walked past her, but they didn't acknowledge her. They never did. Although she'd never been caught, she was always invaded by the same adrenaline.
It would be a good time to mention why she was sneaking about, hiding from the guards. These were guards that flanked the great ancestral home of House Blackwell, home of Lord Harrion, Duke of Codshire and ruler of the lands.
And she was Ella Blackwell.
According to Harrion Blackwell, a proper Lady had absolutely no business in town, unless she was required to attend an inauguration event—perhaps the opening of a small library—where she may wave a glove clad hand and smile wanly as they cut blue ribbons and the villagers clapped. But the rest of the time, a Lady must always remain in the Estate. She may stroll through the parklands with little pastel parasols and show visiting Ladies the beautiful and carefully tended rose gardens by the East wing; she might even enjoy a book by the artificial swan pond, bird watch or paint on the terrace. But there was no reason for her to leave the grounds, lest it was to travel to other courts. These were words ingrained into Ella since tender childhood by stern governesses, instructing her on proper high society etiquette.
Said governess would have a fit if she knew what Ella was up to, what she did every day without fail. Old Miss Judith's face with her pinched nose and her permanent look of haughty disapproval. She'd be scandalized into collapsing into a conveniently placed divan, dazedly calling for her smelling salts. The mere image made Ella snicker as Bellmare came into view, and she made her way into the hustle and bustle of town.
Although it was early morning, the dirt streets were already beginning to fill. The weekly market was set up around the town's square and the two main streets. Vendors were finishing up their stands, stocked with rabbit meats, in-season vegetables, some clothing, baubles and the odd little bags of common spices. Spices were a luxury not often purchased, even the most common ones, as most were imported and thus extremely costly.
While Ella lived lavishly, she was not unaware that the people, her people, did not. That was evident in the dull, grey environment, the pot-holed dirt streets and the tatty clothes of most villagers. Duke Blackwell did not care about much other than the wealthy merchants, the bankers and the landed gentry. The rest were proverbial cash cows to be taxed to the high heavens and milked dry.
Knowing the consequences it presented, and against all rational and sensible thought, she kept going back to Bellmare. She liked to drift through the crowd, to observe and listen to bits of conversation; mostly, she like being completely unnoticed, anonymous. It was refreshing to hear actual friendly, natural dialogue rather than the stilted exchanges between courtiers, with their thin-lipped smiles and stiff politeness.
In Bellmare, old men complained about their lazy mules and the bad drizzle, squealing children played blind men's bluff and adolescent girls tittered about the young men they liked and whether they'd be asked to dance at the autumn festivals. Certainly, it was a change of scene from hearing about the latest scandalous divorce or which viscount was rumoured to be secretly destitute and living above his means.
Ella examined the stall full of fresh produce, racking her memory to see if she'd bought from the dark-haired woman behind the stand recently. Buying too often from the same vendors raised suspicion; as she made scant public appearances, it wasn't likely anyone would recognize her from appearance alone, but she wasn't a good enough actress to blend in with the villagers for long periods. Anyone with a moderate keen eye would realize rather quickly that she was a noblewoman, and it didn't take a genius to tie two and two together. She shuddered to think of the punishment such disobedience would warrant for her. Pushing morose thoughts aside, she concentrated on the produce in front of her; she'd seen two young boys roaming about, all knobby knees and large, hungry eyes. The eldest was no older than her own younger sister.
Her ruminations were interrupted by two heavy hands landing on her shoulders.
"Miss, you can't be here."
With a barely contained squeal, she whirled around, coming face to face with a burly man clothed in a bluish-grey attire. Another guard.
Instead of blanching or trying to bolt, Ella pointed an accusing finger into his shoulder. "Very funny," she jabbed her finger again. "You almost made me hit you!"
"I'm positively shaking in my boots,'' he said, making a show of holding his hands up. "That was the girliest shriek ever, Ella."
"I am a girl."
"I keep forgetting," he dodged her pinching fingers. "Come on, we've got practice. We have to work on your reflexes, you're jumpier than a cat on hot bricks." This time, he did get pinched for his troubles.
The man was no other than Cedric Hart, son of the Commander and her dear childhood friend with an unparalleled talent for annoying her. Her only friend, really, but those were details.
With a high charge in the troops as second in command and a well-deserved reputation as a highly skilled soldier, Cedric was in line to eventually take his father's place. As such, he'd received rigorous military training since he was no more than a child.
Being the nosey and petulant girl she was, Ella had demanded—whined and huffed and stomped her foot—that he teach her as well, going as far as to bribe him with her plate of dessert for a month's worth of grand parties and events. And because Cedric was a self-proclaimed magnanimousand generous friend, he'd accepted, only after enjoying her threats, bargaining and finally, grovelling. He was the only person who found her demanding attitude humorous rather than annoying or menacing; that was likely the reason they'd been best friends for the past twelve years, since she was seven and he was nine.
Through a brutal training that mirrored the one he received from his own father, Cedric had thoroughly taught her the fine art of swordsmanship. He never once cared that Ella was a woman or a daughter of a ruler at that. He had no qualms about putting her through gruelling, hours-long practices and expecting high results. And high results she delivered. After many years of near-obsessive dedication, Ella had become just as sharp and dexterous as any soldier under Lord Hart's command.
That was the position they found themselves in at the moment, in the midst of a swording match. Cedric bore down on Ella with his sword raised. Ella circled and deftly sidestepped his movements, occasionally using her own sword to relocate his blows with seamless ease brought on by many matches perfecting that movement.
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"Keep up old fellow, you're starting to go weak here!" she said between pants. Her lungs burned and her legs ached. This was her element.
"Keep mouthing off, Blackwell, we'll see where that gets you. Shoulders back!" he barked as he lunged again, making her retreat and almost lose balance.
She managed to crouch and regain stance, using the opportunity to swipe at Cedric's legs, lunge to the side and stand up. He jumped but couldn't manage to avoid the blunt practice sword, losing his stance and a point against her. Seizing her opportunity, Ella sent him tumbling with a solid kick, she twisted her arms above her head and plunged, aiming towards his chest. Doing so, she exposed her abdomen and Cedric thrust the tip of his own sword towards her stomach.
A tie, given that he'd scored a point on her earlier during the match. They stood there panting, with their swords still aimed at each other.
"I told you to quit being so cocky, those big, fancy manoeuvres leave you exposed if you aren't careful." He lifted himself off the ground with ease.
"Oh, hush. You're jealous because I manage to look graceful while you look like a sweaty swine," Ella said, stretching her sore calves. She plopped down on a nearby haystack with a groan.
"I almost don't want to compliment you, you big-headed moron. But nice parry. " Cedric lightly tossed her a flask, which she caught midair. "Though you should work on that horrible footwork of yours."
A flat out lie, they both knew one of her best skill sets was her footwork, something he'd particularly trained her on, given the fact that it was his own area of expertise. In fact, it was not lost on either of them that often, she was a bit better at it than he was.
During training, he was a strict instructor and a fiercely competitive sparring partner. Afterwards, he went back to being her obnoxious best friend.
"Thank you, I learned from the best," said Ella with a teasing smile, between deep gulps of water that soothed her throat. Cedric gave her a light shove, and sprawled out next to her, pushing back his dark brown hair from his sweaty brow and tying it up into a small top bun. It was getting long. She made a note to tease him after she regained her breath.
They were on the grounds of his farmhouse in the outskirts of town, laying on haystacks under the shade of a big apple tree. It had been their meeting spot for many years, as they could easily train and talk without gossiping ears.
In their society, it would have been positively vulgar for an unmarried woman to be seen alone with a man. The rumour mill would have dissolved into a riot. No matter that they were friends since childhood, once Ella became older, they had to limit their public interactions to polite etiquette mandated distance and keep their actual meetings secret. Of course, everyone speculated, given how close they were, but if they'd been found together unaccompanied, it would have confirmed the rumours. A high society scandal, the Duke's salacious daughter and the Commander's rakehell of a son, one for the books no doubt.
"Are you coming back to town with me?" She picked at the apple tree's rough bark, considering if getting up to pick one from the heavy branches was worth leaving her comfortable spot in the sun.
It was a mild day and though it was the first of September, a cool breeze ruffled their hot skin as the midday sun beat down brightly.
"I'll walk you back, but I can't stay. We've got a meeting with the other Generals and seconds in command," he frowned, chewing on a piece of hay. "We're supposed to meet in Pendergold borders, it's the middle point for all of us."
"Pendergold? Lord Barnabas is dining with us today. You remember, the party." It was difficult to keep the disappointment from her tone. This wasn't going to be an easy day for her and she'd hoped he'd be there to help lighten her sour mood.
"I'm sorry, Ella," he twisted his mouth to the side, his blue eyes guilt-filled. "They've called for the commanders and a good portion of the armies of all the lands to meet, it was an urgent, last moment notice so we didn't really have time to—"
Searing pain in her palm made her yelp, cutting off his sentence. Hissing through her teeth, she snatched up her wounded hand. A sore marred her palm, caused by a black nail embedded into the tree, with its dark head poking out gruesomely.
"What was that?" she said, frowning and staring at the ugly welt on her hand.
"Rusty nails, I put them in recently. The tree wasn't bearing apples and an old woman in town suggested putting in the nails, she said it helped trees grow fruit better," Cedric took her palm and examined the ugly blister already forming. "It must have heated up with the sun and burned you."
"I thought you knew better than to buy into those old wive's tales, Hart," she sniffed, despite the tree being heavy with fruit. Cedric had the decency to look sheepish.
"Go on then," she impatiently motioned with her hands. "I want to hear about this meeting."
A military reunion? That was interesting. What could possibly lead the entire Kingdom's generals to meet up so hastily?
Cedric shifted and leaned his back on the tree, careful to avoid any nails from his botanical experiment. His face scrunched up in apprehension and he scratched at the slight stubble on his chin. "There's been talk about disruption in the forest line. There have been faerie sightings. More and more as of late." This made Ella perk up, eyes alert.
Faerie sightings.
Like all humans, she was endlessly curious about any tales involving the Fair Folk. The difference was that while almost everyone was afraid or disgusted, she was deeply fascinated. This wasn't something she would have dared to say out loud. In the best of cases, she would have been regarded as one of those nutters besotted with tales of magic, willing to risk crossing the border for a taste of mythical treasures. More likely, Harrion would have had her head for showing even mild interest in the subject.
Cedric continued, "There have also been farmers complaining of scorched crops, dead livestock and earth that stopped being fertile," he paused as if contemplating his words. "There's been missing children as well. We don't know if these events are all related, but they're definitely strange occurrences worth discussing."
Once upon a time, faeries, magical creatures and men lived side by side. Those had been dark ages, as men had little means to defend themselves other than iron and Rowan arrows, and often feared for their lives, having to ward off enormous creatures capable of destroying entire villages. It hadn't been easy, but with bloody battle and tough negotiations, a treaty was forged with the High Faerie Kings, the rulers of the Fae Realm.
The essence of the treaty was simple. To put a halt to the bloodshed, the human King and noblemen made negotiations with the High Faerie nobility that ensured each of their courts and the rest of the magical creatures would not harm men. In return, the land was divided into two; Fae Kingdoms and the magical creatures kept the northern half and the southern part of the continent had been given to the humans –Rhothomir– separated into eight smaller territories ruled by a single King. It was considerably smaller, but it was a small price to pay for security.
Serving as a barrier between two lands, there was an expansive, dense forest. The Fae Kings were tasked with keeping their lands in check and assuring that the creatures didn't invade Rhothomir, keeping guard at this border.
There had been casualties, as there were cases of rogue fae and other creatures wandering in and killing livestock or people, and sometimes a foolish human would willingly venture too deep into the woodlands and met a bloody fate. But despite some minor hiccups over the centuries, the treaty had been smooth and simple, though men were still wary of magical creatures for the most part.
Lately, that had started to change. Ella had heard rumours and snippets of conversation whispered by courtiers, speaking of the rising tension concerning the Fae. In the millennia since the peace negotiations, it was the first time there was a serious threat to the truce, enough to warrant this last moment reunion of the militia of the Kingdom.
It was no wonder Cedric had been tense as of late. They all had, everyone was on edge, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.
"Oh, alright," she said, deflating. "When you come back, I expect a good rundown of everything and excellent stories in exchange for missing the party."
Cedric's smile was half-amused, half concerned. He knew better than to express worry; it made her exceptionally sour to feel pitied. "It'll be over soon enough. It's just a stupid, boring party, like all of them. You can sneak out after midnight and come over, I'll probably be here soon enough. We'll play piquet and gossip and drink wine until we're stupid. It'll get your mind off things, we'll have fun."
It wasn't just a stupid, boring party. Not for Ella at least. They both knew that, but there was no use in wallowing in despair and having long drawn out conversations about inevitable matters. Cedric offered distractions instead, knowing it was the only form of sympathy she'd accept.
"Make it the good wine. That nice vintage you've got stuffed behind your bookshelf," she said, grinning at his fond eye roll. "And chocolate. Lots of chocolate."
"Only the best for you, my lady." He stood and made a ridiculous little curtsy, pretending to hold out the sides of an invisible dress. She laughed and kicked his knee halfheartedly.
"It's a pity you'll be missing out on this marvellous event," she deadpanned. "Woe is you, missing out on yet another round of drunk lords ranting about their racehorses, losing your chance to dance ten consecutive minuets and quadrilles. However shall you cope?"
"I'll make an effort, but I'm horribly upset," he said, touching his chest with a rueful expression. Then, "You'll go, terrorize the well-to-do partygoers and come back here with loads of scathing comments on the stupid things they did all night. We'll have fun mocking them, that always gets you in a good mood," he said, offering her a hand. She took it and stood, stretching like a cat. "And if you're still feeling down..." he waggled his eyebrows and she slapped him on the back of the neck for his troubles, though they were both laughing.
"Come on, Blackwell. I'll walk you back." He slung an arm around her shoulders and tugged on her braid. "It'll be over soon enough, you're going to be alright," he said more gently. Ella nodded, though she wasn't feeling all too positive.
The only thing that cheered her was managing to buy the two bags of produce and leaving them nearby, where the two small boys were still milling about, kicking a rock. They'd been nervous at first, but they'd eventually caved in and taken the bags. Their looks of eagerness and relief were enough to chip away at her foul temper.
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Notes:
Courtiers are members of a royal court, prominent society figures. Usually, they're nobles, but not always. In history, they're the equivalent of politicians, since the more important they were, the more influence they had.
Piquet is an old trick-taking card game.
Minuet and quadrille are old dances from the 18th century.
Blind man's bluff is a historic children's game, blindfolded tag.