by Bree Aguiar
“Well I don’t like your attitude. And I apologized.” She was getting tired of it all. The way he was able to push and pull her so easily, his high view of himself and his time, the way he was able to berate her in such a calm voice for something she couldn’t help. She crossed her arms in frustration, willing herself not to get too angry and worked up. Hoping that he would see that and relent his own negative emotions.
“Fine,” he shrugged it off with a wave of his hand. “Just don’t expect me to wait again.” She rolled her eyes at this, which seemed to amuse him. He smirked at her, making his same observation. “You really are quite a lot to handle.”
“You’ve mentioned it a few times.” She copied his sly smile, realizing that the tension was over. For now, at least. She walked over to him, putting her hands around his shoulders and looking up into his eyes. She was slightly appalled at her own forwardness, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Do you think you’ll be able to handle it?” she challenged. “Because if not, I won’t waste your precious time.”
He looked off when he laughed at that – a short, dark chuckle. “I can handle a lot more than you think. Trust me.” With that, he picked her up and began to kiss her, slowly at first. Gwenyre felt him push her up against the tree, out of the view of the party behind them as they continued. By the time they parted, her lips felt chapped and the drunken sound of revelry from the guests was dwindling fast. Gwenyre didn’t want to leave, she wanted more, but Sampson wouldn’t push it.
“You should go to bed, and I should get back before anyone notices I’ve been missing for quite some time. Plus, I have a feeling several of my friends might need me to drag them into their rooms before they get sick in the halls. You wouldn’t want to clean that up.”
Gwenyre agreed regretfully, though not without one more hurried, desperate kiss.
“Two days,” he reminded her before walking off, back to the party. She nodded, though more to herself. Two days didn’t sound far off, but she had a feeling it was going to feel like an eternity.
18 AN ONGOING INVITATION
The next day, Gwenyre was once again shaken awake by Wyndemere to report to the House early. The girl still was not smiling at her, but this time it was probably because she and Ametrine were more than likely hungover. When Gwen had returned last night at half past one, she expected her friends to be passed out. Instead the whole dormitory was still up, drinking their stolen bottles of liquor and dancing around in the dark room. Gwenyre tried to join them but wasn’t drunk enough to last more than a half hour. The girls were still up, laughing with reddened cheeks, when her head hit the pillow.
They trudged over to the House together, though their trek was much more quiet than usual. Even Ametrine couldn’t find the energy to babble on like she normally did; she was busy making plans to hide away for a closet nap as soon as Norethebo wasn’t looking. Gwen, feeling much better than the other girls aside from being tired, promised she’d pick up their slack.
Right before lunch as Gwenyre was busy mopping up the floors again (it turned out that Sampson carrying his friends hadn’t stopped them from getting sick in the halls), Edyweine turned a corner and walked right over to her. She thought he was going to accuse her of getting under his feet or something even more ridiculous, and didn’t have the energy to deal with it. She quickly moved her mop to make a path, pointing him through.
“What’re you doing?” he asked in his pinched voice.
“Hello to you too, Edyweine,” she said, her voice not able to hide her exhaustion. “If you need to get through, just walk this way. I’d rather not re-mop any more than I have to.”
The other elf rolled his eyes at her as he adjusted his regular felt cap. It was a dark blue today, to match his fine livery. Say what you would about the boy, but he had taste. Gwenyre couldn’t help but feel a small pang of jealousy at his clothes. She’d worn nothing but servants’ rags for months and missed the feel of silken dresses. If only Sampson could see me in that, she thought to herself glumly. Maybe one day.
“I don’t have to get through,” he explained in an annoyed voice. “I was looking for you.” He seemed less than pleased to admit that, and his next statement explained why. “Mistress Lenora would like for you to serve her special tea once a day. She’s already spoken to Miz Kalina about it, who agreed. She takes it at five o’clock each evening. She’ll see you then.” Without waiting for a response from the girl, Edyweine turned around to head back the way he came. Gwenyre watched as he walked over a wet patch on the floor and held back a chuckle as he slipped slightly. Catching himself before he could fall, the elf readjusted his fine clothes and sniffed loudly, walking away without so much as a look back at the girl.
Gwenyre didn’t know what to make of it, but she was elated. Her talk with the troll last night had been wonderful. Regardless of their differences, there was a shared connection between the two. She had privately regarded Lenora like an aunt she’d never had but always wanted, and knew this request meant the troll felt a similar connection. Her elation remained throughout the morning, as she finished up her ever-growing tasks and headed to the Mess Hall for lunch.
Surprisingly, Cyran was once again present and the girls joined him at the table packed with his loud-mouthed Smithy friends. The other girls were starting to recover from their morning hangovers, happily reminiscing about the prior night with the old elf while chastising Gwenyre for not being there. “Where were you anyway?” Ametrine asked curiously.
Not wanting to outright lie, Gwenyre decided to tell them about her dinner with Lenora. She also mentioned that the troll had requested her for daily tea service, conveniently leaving out any talk of her time with Sampson in the Garden. Cyran, who had no way of knowing the truth, still looked at her with suspicion. She remembered his empathic abilities, and quickly forced herself to think of anything other than the handsome witch so he couldn’t read the infatuation underlying her thoughts.
Ametrine and Wyndemere emphatically approved of her connection with the noble troll; they both knew her reputation well and had seen her kind soul and heard her colorful stories. “And maybe…” Wind began to suggest. “Maybe she can help with your case. I’m sure if she likes you enough, she can get you out of here.”
“But not if I can’t first,” Ametrine butted in. “I think our little investigation into Sylvan may turn up more than we think.”
“You can’t know that yet,” Cyran said, gently scolding the girl. “We said we wouldn’t get her hopes up, not until we know.”
“My hopes up about what?” Gwenyre asked excitedly. Could this be a way out? Though she held a lofty optimism about eventually leaving Gatehouse despite her life sentence, she hadn’t seriously thought about how that would come about. She had no plan, letting herself get too distracted by thoughts of friends and magic and Sampson. These distractions, however, were exactly the reason she needed to get out now. To live her new life with these wonderful changes, not wearing servants’ garb but her own silken attire that donned the closets at home.
Ametrine looked at Cyran, who was eying her with caution, before she turned back to Gwen. “It’s just a thought. Nothing about Sylvan’s interest in you is lining up with what you did to get here. And what you did to get here isn’t exactly the worst offense. I know the court has inconsistencies, but it’s just not adding up. We were thinking maybe, just maybe, they might be related. And maybe we can use it to get you out.”
Gwenyre opened her mouth to share her sentiments and express gratitude, but Cyran interrupted. “Like Ametrine said, it’s just a maybe. A possibility. We can’t promise anything, but we’ll try.” He reached out to gently touch her palm, with Ametrine watching intently. One didn’t need to be an empath to notice the misplaced jealousy and sadness in Ametrine’s face; Gwen and Cyran pulled their hands away quickly to show the girl it was not what she thought – nothing more than a paternal kindness on Cyran’s part.
“Well, I appreciate it nonetheless,” Gwenyre said gently
, breaking the silent tension that had formed at the table. “Have you been able to dig anything up?”
It was Wind’s turn to answer. “Not exactly. We’ve just barely made a plan, but I think we have some things in the works.”
“But don’t bother asking about it,” Ametrine said, her usual smile returning to her face. “We’ll let you know anything important that turns up, but we’ve agreed that you have to be able to plead innocence if anything goes south.”
“Not that it will!” Wyndemere assured the little elf, noticing the concern on her face. “We’ll be careful, we swear it.”
Gwenyre was more apt to believe Wind’s promises about being cautious and agreed to let them continue their investigation unheeded. In the meantime, she promised to continue her magic lessons in case they would come in handy.
“Speaking of…” Cyran began. Gwenyre, afraid he was going to mention something about what he saw the other night, instantly reddened. Thankfully, the old elf was subtler than that. “I believe you’re safe in the hands of that witch.” His emphasis revealed his own less than polite thoughts about Sampson, but Aimee and Wind thankfully didn’t appear to pick up on that. “I won’t be silently accompanying you anymore, unless you want me to.” Gwenyre truly did not and assured him that she would be fine. “Good,” he said, though he did sound less than pleased. “Just remember to guard yourself. You’re a smart girl, and I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
Gwenyre for sure thought that Ametrine and Wyndemere would find that statement suspicious, but they somehow didn’t; they were apparently in their own world, chatting more about the raucous happenings of last night. Gwen listened to some of their stories, laughing non-stop at their debauchery before heading back to work.
* * *
The rest of the afternoon passed by as it normally did. Feeling much better, the other girls were able to get some of their duties out of the way quicker than they thought. Gwenyre was relaxing in the pantry, chatting with her friends while hiding from Miz Kalina, when she realized the time. She rushed off to make tea for Lenora and brought it straight up to her room at five o’clock sharp.
Edyweine, who had assumed the girl was going to be late, was waiting impatiently outside. “She’s just resting,” he explained. “But she told you to head in and wake her up.” Gwenyre nodded, entering the room while Edyweine watched from outside.
Though she was lying in bed, the troll wasn’t asleep. Sitting up with a book in her hand, she turned when Gwenyre came in. “My dear,” she exclaimed as loudly as her weakened voice would allow. “How nice to see you! I trust Edyweine has told you about our little arrangement?” Hearing his name, Edyweine straightened with pride.
“Of course,” Gwenyre said, setting up the tray on the side table as Lenora set her book down.
“And I also trust that you’re agreeable with this arrangement? I rather enjoyed our talk last night and want to learn more about you. But I won’t be offended if you’d rather not. I can always get one of the more boring servants to help of course.” Gwenyre laughed gently at this, assuring the troll that she was more than happy to oblige.
“Truly,” she explained. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
“Good. Because I feel you’re a kindred spirit, my dear, and I want to be sure to teach you what I can while I have the time.” Gwenyre didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she was honored by the troll’s words. At Lenora’s instance, she sat down on the side of the bed and began to talk with the woman again.
Lenora asked Gwen questions about her past life: her interests, her friends, her lovers. Gwenyre turned red at that last part, embarrassed to admit that she’d never held the attention of another man before Sampson. Not for any reason other than her parents’ isolation, but it still made her feel a little behind her peers. She explained this to Lenora, who told her not to worry.
“I was a late bloomer too,” she reassured the elf. “Though once I did bloom, I didn’t stop! Not until I met my husband of course… Well, not until I married him. It was touch and go there for a while.” She laughed loudly at the memories, which soon turned into a hacking cough. Edyweine rushed in the room to help his mistress, a handkerchief in his hand. She obliged him by taking it before quickly waving him off. “Really, Edy, you are too concerned with me! I appreciate it, but you need to live your own life. Why don’t you go for a walk?” Though he didn’t want to abandon her, Edyweine would not disobey a direct order from his mistress. He walked away glumly, promising to return within the hour to accompany her to dinner.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Lenora bent close to the girl. “He’s a sweet boy, but I worry about him. He needs to find someone else to coo over other than his old mistress. Someone dashing. Perhaps there’s another page or lady’s maid who wouldn’t mind his company. Do you know of anyone?” Gwenyre laughed, but denied being able to help. Ametrine would easily devour the boy, and Wind appeared to have no interest in romance while at Gatehouse. Plus, she wouldn’t want to foist the boy onto her friends; he was a bit too haughty for them and would probably get a slap in the face sooner than a kiss.
They continued to chat non-stop until Edyweine returned, insisting upon bringing his boss down to dinner. Lenora agreed, but not before telling the girl she appreciated her company. “I’ll see you tomorrow, if I haven’t scared you off yet.”
Gwenyre assured her that she hadn’t and left the troll to get ready for dinner. As she headed downstairs to continue her workday, the elf couldn’t help but think about their growing relationship. Gwenyre hadn’t known any trolls before her arrival at Newbridge, and her few encounters thus far had been very negative. She assumed that all trolls were like Sylvan: miserable, cruel, and out to get her. But Lenora had proved to be an exception to that. She wondered, then, if perhaps there was more to the creatures than she thought. She smiled to herself as she realized that was definitely the case. Lenora had proven that anyone, no matter who they were, could be cruel or kind. That anyone could form lasting relationships. While Gatehouse wasn’t exactly a paradise, she was learning a lot from the place. She knew she wouldn’t regret her time here… if she was able to get out, of course.
* * *
The next few days passed by torturously slow. Though Gwenyre was enjoying her time with Lenora, each evening ending in laughter and growing confidences, her anticipation for her next lesson with Sampson was making her antsy. When the evening of her next lesson finally arrived, Gwenyre took the time to ready herself after dinner before heading down to the Clearing in an attempt to look at least a little more presentable.
When she arrived, it was full dark. Sampson was already there, wearing another dark cloak, though this time the hood was not up to hide his face. He was leaning against a tree with a bored look on his face when she approached. “Hi,” she greeted with a smile.
He said not a word. Instead, he took an object he was holding in his hand and threw it at her. It hit her square in the chest – not hard enough to do any damage, but it still hurt, nonetheless.
“What the hell was that for?!” she chastised him, rubbing the spot where it hit.
“You need to learn to think with your magic,” he explained expressionless. “You forget it exists, don’t you?”
He was right; the idea of her magic, her unknown, powerful abilities anyway, was new to her. She didn’t have an instinct to use it, and it was something she should probably learn. However, she wasn’t exactly happy with the way he had demonstrated that. Or that he was right either; something about his smarmy attitude when she was proven wrong was rather frustrating. She expressed that sentiment aloud and he laughed, much to her chagrin.
“You’ll find I’m usually right, so you better get used to it. Now come on, I didn’t gather all these rocks for nothing.” She spent the next hour trying to stop his projectiles from hitting her. He threw them from all different directions, both manually and with his magic, to throw her off and prepare her for the unknown. She got hit a fair share; each time the pain, though m
inor, was enough to make her grit her teeth and swear she would get back at him in some way. Finally, when she was able to stop three rocks speeding from different directions without thinking, he let her stop.
She was sweating with the effort and was glad to collapse on the ground as he commended her effort. “You look disgusting,” he said with a smirk on his face, sitting down on the grass next to her. Not even thinking, she used her magic to throw one of the rocks that had landed by her feet at his chest. “Ouch!” She was sure it hadn’t actually hurt the man, but he feigned offense on his face. “Now why would you hit the one person who is trying to help?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve got plenty of friends, thanks.”
“Oh, I know.” He looked at her intently, that familiar leer in his eyes. She was, unfortunately, getting used to it. “I just don’t want you thinking they’re more important than me.”
“High view you got of yourself, my Lord.” He laughed at her sarcastic use of his title before pulling her in for a kiss; their lesson might have been over, but their meeting only just beginning.
19 A SHORT WINTER
After a time, Gwenyre found herself entering a blissful schedule in her life at Gatehouse. Months passed, and the weather got colder. Lenora had become a permanent fixture at the estate, never leaving the House except for the occasional walk on the grounds accompanied by a smarmy Edyweine and sometimes one of the more apple-polishing lesser nobles. Gwenyre guessed her residence here was because the troll has become too weak to travel, her never-mentioned sickness continuing to affect her. Lenora, however, claimed it was because she wanted to punish her husband who was too busy at work to even visit; and anyhow she required more enticing entertainment than her grumpy old man could provide. Gwenyre continued to bring the troll her daily tea, staying for conversations each time. Their talks gradually shifted from fireside chats about life into lessons on how to be a strong, independent woman. Anytime Gwenyre would say anything remotely damsel-like, such as mentioning how she was coming to depend on her budding relationship with Sampson (though his identity of course remained a secret, one Lenora respected fully), she could be sure to get her ears boxed. “What do I tell you time and time again?” Lenora asked her with a good-natured exasperation.
