Gatehouse

by Bree Aguiar

  It was the old elf’s turn to be embarrassed; he was not expecting her embrace. He smiled gently at her; a look full of paternal pride. “Of course, little one. Now I think you should head to bed. Busy day for everyone tomorrow, I’m sure. I heard rumblings of a party for the Turning.” Gwenyre cursed; she’d forgotten that it was already time for the autumnal festival. Miz Kalina had informed them that many guests would be arriving tomorrow, and she was expected to arrive a full hour earlier than usual. She thanked Cyran for his reminder, bidding him a good night.

  “Just remember what I said,” he warned one last time as she headed off for the women’s dormitory. “You’re a special elf, Gwenyre. Magic or not. Don’t let anyone try to take that away from you.” With that, he turned away and left her alone as she pondered all that had happened that night.

  Everyone was sleeping when she snuck in, including Ametrine and Wyndemere. The two said they wanted to stay up, to hear all about her first lesson and her new teacher, but they had clearly not been able to. Gwenyre thanked the stars for this, as she wasn’t sure what she was able to (or wanted) to tell her friends. She quickly got into bed, thinking about what she’d tell them tomorrow as she fell into a deep sleep.

  17 THE TURNING

  The next morning, Wyndemere had to drag Aimee and Gwenyre out of bed to get to the House early per Miz Kalina’s request. Though she was exhausted and wished she could spend the whole day laying on her rough hay mattress, Gwen couldn’t hide the smile that crossed her face whenever she thought about the night before. Monday night, her next lesson with Sampson, felt like an eternity away. She couldn’t wait and decided to dive into her work to help pass the time.

  As soon as they were dressed and ready to walk to the House, Ametrine began pestering Gwen with questions about her evening. What the witch was like, what she learned, if she really was good at magic. The elf told her a bit, keeping most of the details to herself. For one, she had promised to keep Sampson’s secret. But she also felt as though telling them about her connection with the man would make it less real. For some reason, she knew that telling them would burst the bubble of happiness and vowed to keep quiet, at least for now. Instead, she explained the things she’d learned in their time together: the differences between power sources, her ability to call her magic from within, the force with which she had stripped the tree of its bark. That information was enough to keep Ametrine happy, begging the elf to demonstrate her newfound abilities. Wyndemere stayed relatively quiet the whole time, not asking many questions. There was a coldness there that Gwenyre could feel, but she ignored it as Ametrine continued her interrogation.

  “Do you think you’d be able to… I don’t know… heal someone? Or change their appearance? Can you do magic on other people, if it comes from within you, you think?” Gwenyre wasn’t sure, but she didn’t have time to speculate. As soon as they arrived at the House, they noticed it was bustling with activity. Servants were everywhere: preparing breakfast, tidying up, and avoiding the wrath of Miz Kalina who appeared to be on a rampage. As soon as they walked in the door, they were each given different assignments for the morning. Ametrine was to accompany Miz Norethebo to the Lumber Yard to pick up firewood for the guest rooms, which made the girl smile with glee. (“There’s a particularly fine fairy who works there that I haven’t seen in weeks,” she explained excitedly. “Maybe I’ll get my chance with them today.”) Wyndemere was to help prepare the morning pastries, leading to grumbling on her part. And Gwenyre was given a basketful of sheets for some of the guest rooms.

  The elf took the heavy basket with some excitement. Though House Service was not something she particularly enjoyed, she’d never been allowed in the upstairs guest rooms before. She assumed they were grand and was intrigued to finally see what they looked like as she lugged the heavy basket up the stairs.

  There were several rooms marked for her to prepare, which included the fun tasks of making the beds, dusting, and generally straightening up. Some luggage had already arrived before their owners had made their way to the House, allowing Gwenyre to infer that the expected visitors for the Festival comprised of nobles and other high-class folk. The guest rooms were as expected, large and furnished with enormous goose-feathered mattresses atop beautifully crafted gilded bedframes. What the elf wouldn’t do just to take a brief nap in one of those beds… but she wasn’t stupid. However, she did have enough nerve to take a quick seat on the mattress in the first room she went into, feeling the luxuriousness of the softness beneath her. After months of sleeping on a scratchy bale of hay, she knew spending more than a second on it would lead to an unexpected, blissful sleep; she forced herself to abandon that dream as she got back to her work.

  After working on a dozen rooms, Gwenyre was exhausted. Making the large beds was not easy for her, being so small, and took quite a bit of time. Thankfully, she only had one room left before it was time for lunch. She grabbed the basket, which was much lighter now, and headed off to one of the corner rooms.

  This room appeared to be even grander than the others. Her eyes ogled at the extra-large bed, which looked big enough to fit a troll of Sylvan’s size twice over, with plenty of room to spare. The guest staying here was clearly important and appeared to be a regular. Gwenyre heard that some of the more significant visitors would adorn their usual rooms with pictures and knick-knacks from home; this was a clear example, with portraits of noble and severe-looking trolls adorning the walls, vases filled with chrysanthemums placed on the various surfaces, and little personal trinkets scattered throughout. The guest’s luggage, a set of handsome leather bags and purses overflowing with very large dresses and petticoats, had already arrived awaiting their owner. Her stomach growling, Gwenyre hurried to dress the bed, which required a lot of jumping and pulling due to its sheer size. After what felt like an eternity, she straightened up some of the trinkets and made her way out of the room to get to lunch.

  When she opened the door, she was greeted by a familiar sight she did not expect: Edyweine. Gwenyre had seen him in passing during her time here, as Lenora visited Gatehouse quite frequently, but usually only from afar. She hadn’t spoken to him since her first days at the estate and smiled quickly at the familiarity of his face. “Edyweine! Long time no see,” she exclaimed. The other elf, still wearing a felt hat though this one was a bright orange to match the traditional Turning colors, grimaced at seeing her.

  “Hello, Gwenyre,” he said in a quiet, pinched voice. “I hope you are well.” It was clearly said only out of politeness, as the boy pushed past her without waiting for a response. He was holding a small leather bag to match the luggage already strewn about the room, meaning this must’ve been Lenora’s quarters. It made sense; the noble troll was a regular at Gatehouse and one of the more respected guests. Gwenyre frequently heard the Masters and Mizzus rushing about, ordering the workers to get her requests done quickly. There was always a level of adoration in their voice when they spoke of her, and such a grand room in the estate filled with rich artwork and a beautiful view of the grounds only made sense for someone of her status.

  Gwenyre knew that she should probably leave Edyweine alone. The elf truly did not like her, or perhaps he didn’t care enough but refused to be associated with someone of her status. Either way, it was easier to leave him alone. But her good mood from the night before would not vanish, and he had such an easy face to tease. “What bee is in your bonnet?’ she asked with a smirk.

  He sighed at her attempt to annoy him, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been very busy, I’ll have you know, and don’t have time for a casual chat.”

  “Not even with an old friend?” she teased further, waggling her eyebrows at him.

  He pushed past her to enter the room, dropping the bag he was holding near the other luggage. Turning back to her, he responded with a look of contempt. “Friend,” he scoffed. “I doubt that. Perhaps you should go back to the kitchens, where you belong.”

  Angered by his tone and suggestion that he was any better tha
n her, she stomped off without another word. She refused, however, to let it get to her for longer than a second. His words wouldn’t affect her; she would not allow it. If someone like Lord Sampson thought she was more than just a servant, then why did it matter what a lowly shamed elf like Edyweine thought? She tried to remember this as she made her way to lunch.

  The three girls ate together as usual, but the air was different. Gwenyre’s desire to tell them more about last night increased with every moment, but she forced herself to stay silent. Wyndemere was still being oddly cold, barely looking or speaking to Gwen directly. Ametrine, oblivious to it all, babbled on and on about her afternoon while the others stayed silent. They ate quickly before heading back to their duties, as there was much more to do as the guests began to arrive.

  Gwenyre was kept busy the entire afternoon. It was a blessing, really, as she was kept far away from her friends. Less temptation to spill her secrets. Also, being in the House meant that she had a chance of spotting Sampson; he would likely be in attendance at the Turning Festival, which was supposed to be quite grand. Her hope of this came to fruition early in the evening, when he walked into the House as she was mopping the floor of the entry after a particularly muddy-footed dwarf accidentally trekked through without wiping their feet. Noticing him, she stood up from her work quickly and straightened her apron, smiling his way.

  He looked at her briefly, nodding. There was no other recognition as he walked through the entry and stalked upstairs, followed by a footman heavily laden with his bags. Gwenyre felt disappointment and frustration sweeping through her at his indifference. How could he just… nod? Not a smile or even a hello? Her good mood vanished completely, but she tried to hold in her mixed emotions. She didn’t want tears of anger or sadness forming, so she cleared her throat, shook it off, and focused on her work.

  She finished up and went off to Miz Kalina for her next task; she refused to dwell on what happened and would keep herself busy instead. It was the only way for her to keep her emotions in check. Kalina told her she could help set up outdoors – there was to be a gathering for all of the guests outside with food, wine, music, and possible debauchery in just a few hours’ time. It was already getting dark when she walked out with a set of fairy lights she was instructed to string through various shrubs and trees throughout the Garden.

  Setting up the lights alone was not easy. She couldn’t reach the branches and had never been a good climber. Cursing Kalina and wondering why she hadn’t tasked someone taller (or even with wings) to do this, Gwenyre worked tirelessly throwing the lights and pulling them down over and over again until their placement on the branches was just right. After an hour of that, she was barely halfway through and it had reached full dark. The Festival was not set to start until after the inmates’ dinner, so she had plenty of time, but she knew she would never get this done on her own. Just as she decided to give up and beg for help or another assignment, she heard the gate opening behind her and watched a figure making its way to her.

  Seeing his form should’ve upset her, but Gwenyre could only think about the prior night when she noticed it was Sampson. She tried her hardest to push down her smile, treating him with the same indifference she’d just received. She nodded at him before turning back to her lights, throwing the next set over a bare branch. She heard him chuckle lightly behind her and couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.

  “Did you forget you have magic?” he asked with a smirk she could clearly hear. Silently cursing herself, she realized she had forgot. Using her magic in a visible place was probably not such a good idea, but the Garden had been empty before he arrived and was far away from all the other workers setting up tables and chairs in the backyard. Instead of answering him, she responded by using her newfound abilities to reposition the lights she’d just chucked. It was awkward at first, as it had been with the stick yesterday, but she was able to place them exactly where they needed to be in much less time than before. She smiled, proud of herself, but still refused to address the man behind her.

  She moved on to the next trees, using a combination of manual throwing and magic to position the lights quickly. With each step she took, Sampson followed her silently, watching everything she did but making no comment. When she had finished with the lights, she picked up the box they had come in and started to make her way to the Garden gate without a word said to him.

  “Stop,” he commanded as she reached to open the gate’s latch. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice genuinely curious. With the lights up, Gwenyre could make out his features, his deep eyes staring at her with what appeared to be concern. She sighed, answering him with bitterness filling her voice.

  “Back to work. I’m just a servant, if you remember.” When she said it aloud, Gwenyre realized her anger, her emotions, were fueled by the fear that Cyran’s warnings had been right. To someone like Sampson (Lord Sampson, she thought to herself bitterly), she was nothing more than a servant. Who she was before meant nothing now; she was beneath him. She hoped this wasn’t true but after that demonstration in the House, the fear was getting more and more real.

  Her eyes looked directly into his, challenging him to say something. He was stubborn, like her, and wasn’t going to back down easily. “Stay,” he instructed. Nothing more. No words of encouragement, no explanation, no sympathy. Just the command.

  She wanted to. She wanted so badly to just melt to her knees and do what he asked. To run to his arms. To let her lust and desires take over. But she was smarter than that. Stronger than that. She was not some weak damsel and would not let him control her like that. “No.” Like him, that was all she said. Nothing more.

  She turned on her heels, making to leave, when she felt a force stop her. She looked up, but there was nothing there. She tried to push forward but couldn’t take another step. She reached her hand out in hopes of touching the gate, but only felt an invisible barrier blocking her way. She turned back to him, her inevitable rage rising quickly.

  “Let me go,” she ordered.

  Any sign of his usual smirk was gone from his face. He squinted his eyes at her, as if trying to understand. “You were the one who told me not to regret yesterday, yet here you are acting like this. Why?”

  He seemed as if he truly didn’t understand, which frustrated her even more than his magic forcing her to remain here against her will. Frustrated with his ignorance, she raised her voice at him. “Acting like what?” she spat back with contempt. “Like you don’t exist? Like I’m too good for you? No, I think that’s you.”

  His eyes widened at this, and she thought she had hurt him with her words. Good, she thought. He deserves it. She watched as his shoulders started to shake and was astounded that he was actually crying. She stayed back, forcing herself not to rush forward to comfort him, when she realized he wasn’t shaking with sobs. He was shaking with laughter. At her.

  If she was mad before, she was in even more of a rage now. Before she could open her mouth to berate him, however, he spoke up. “Is this because this afternoon?” he asked. She nodded, angry that she even had to answer such an idiotic question. Of course, it was because of earlier, his heartbreaking indifference. If he had only just said hello!

  “Well, I hope you’re not too upset,” he said as a way of apology as he continued laughing. “I don’t know what you expected, but I was a little busy. And you were cleaning the floors. What was I supposed to do? Sweep you off your feet and let everyone know about last night? What a way for all of my secrets to get out.”

  She was fuming at him but thought for a moment. He was right in a way. Their meeting was a secret and needed to remain that way. And she doubted that relationships between high esteemed guests and prisoners was encouraged. Ametrine may have flirted her way through the visitor logs, but even she admitted she’d never done anything more than that. She wasn’t sure of the punishment, if there even was one, but hadn’t wanted to find out. Gwenyre wasn’t sure she wanted to either, especially with Sylvan’s
watchful eye on her.

  Still, Sampson could have been polite. She wasn’t expecting an admission of love after all. Just a hello. Hell, even a stupid little wave would’ve worked. She told him just that, though her voice became much meeker than before.

  He stopped laughing, his face turning serious as he looked at her. “I really do regret it if you were offended. From now on, I’ll say hello. Ask how you are. Be polite. It’s against my normal nature, but I’ll try it for you.” He walked close to her, putting one arm on her shoulder and using the other to pick her chin up gently. “Is that fine with you?”

  Subdued and melting in his eyes, though against her better judgement, she accepted his apology and agreed. He smiled at that, happy to have won the argument. They stood there, looking at each other for a while. Eventually, he broke off the gaze to look around. Seeing no one, he leaned close and kissed her. It was different than last night, not as gentle but not as hungry either. Comfortable. Familiar.

  After a bit, she pulled away. “I really need to get back to work,” she explained with regret. He nodded, understanding, but made her promise to return.

  “Meet me behind the old oak tree at the edge of the Garden, right outside the fence. Midnight. Please,” he added at the end. There was a hint of desperation in his voice that made her swoon. She forced her head to clear, to not fall completely and madly, but agreed. With one more long, passionate kiss they separated. He returned to the House, a jaunt in his step, and she made her way to the backyard where the other workers were putting the finishing touches on the festival decorations.

  When she arrived, she saw Ametrine and Wyndemere with reddened cheeks, laughing and dancing. She suspected they had dipped into the refreshments, which were off-limits. They weren’t the only ones, however. All of the others appeared a bit tipsy and having a grand old time. When Ametrine noticed Gwenyre, she squealed with excitement and pulled her into a circle with Wind. Wind stopped laughing when she saw Gwen, though the merriment in her eyes remained.