I shook my head. “We’re too high up.”
She chuckled. “Be adventurous, Rogan.”
Frowning I took a step closer to the edge, the drop at least fifty feet, probably more. “It’ll kill us.”
“Not today.” Haydyn shook her head. “Trust me.”
Heart pounding at the thought, I gripped her hand tighter. “Together? On three?”
She laughed, exhilarated. “One. Two. Three!”
“Miss Rogan!”
And then I was falling.
Blissfully falling.
***
I didn’t want to peel my eyelids open. Everything ached; that sore, yucky - even my muscles were tired - kind of achy exhaustion. I felt strange and disorientated. Where was I? I slowly opened my eyes and found myself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. It was dark, night time. Only a few candles around the room lit it enough for my heart to start pounding at its strangeness. Where the hell was I?
“Ah, Miss Rogan, you’re awake.”
Calming instantly at Lieutenant Chaeron’s voice, I turned my head on the soft pillow and found him sitting in a chair by my bedside. His brow creased with worry as he leaned over me, offering me a glass of water. He helped me sip it and then settled back in the chair.
“What happened?” I asked hoarsely. “Where are we?”
He made a clucking sound with his tongue, a little disapproval marring his usually friendly expression. “You should have told us how exhausted you were. You could have been killed.”
Alright, now I was very confused. All I could remember was talking to Wolfe earlier outside Grof Krill’s mansion. “What happened?”
“You fell asleep on your horse.” He sighed like a wearied parent. “If I had jumped off my horse one second later you would have landed on the ground, possibly have been trampled.”
I swore softly at the thought, chastising myself for my stupid pride and hell bent determination to get to Alvernia in record time. “You caught me?”
He nodded and patted the hand I reached out to him. “We’ve stopped at a nearby farm. We’ve all been resting. We’re going to stay here through the night. Captain is not at all pleased with me or you.”
I groaned. “I’ve slowed us down.”
Chaeron patted my hand again. “That’s not why he’s angry. He wishes you had told him you’d had no sleep. He takes your safety very seriously. We all do.”
I nodded vaguely, annoyed somewhere inside, but too tired to find it. Feeling my lids start to flutter again, I mumbled, “He needs to find himself a hobby.”
Distantly I heard the Lieutenant chuckle, and then he whispered, “Sleep well, Miss Rogan.”
Chapter Ten
Not a big fan of guilt, I smothered the feeling with anger… directed at Wolfe. The next morning he barely acknowledged me. He was cold, distant with me, and it irritated me more than it should have because generally I liked his indifference. But his annoyance with me only compounded how stupidly I had behaved, making me feel like the simpering debutante I was so adamant I wasn’t. Lieutenant Chaeron threw me a few bolstering looks and as usual tried to keep up a pleasant conversation with me as we rode through Raphizya. Wolfe was taking things deliberately slower and it smacked of condescension. I huffed in the saddle, wanting to speed up, and poor Midnight faltered a little at my mixed signals. I leaned over to stroke her face, apologising quietly in her ear for taking my impatience out on her. I forced myself to relax in my seat and ignored Chaeron’s knowing grin.
With my renewed energy it didn’t feel like such a long ride that day. Before I knew it we were crossing the stone bridge across the River Kral, called so because it was the longest in Phaedra, passing through not only Raphizya but Vasterya as well. We were closing in on Ryl, the second largest city in Raphizya, famous for being the only city in Phaedra that wasn’t a capital, and also for its factories. Almost as large as Peza, it was home to factories that mass-produced textiles, paintings, pottery and lots of other knick-knacks, designed by the artisans of Peza. The factories sustained much of Raphizya, supplying employment and a large exportation income.
Knowing the plan was to stay with Matai’s cousins, Mr Zanst and his wife and their two small children, I wasn’t surprised when Wolfe led us through the outskirts of the city towards the Factory District. Ironically, the Factory District wasn’t in fact where the factories were. The Factory District was home to the mansions and large townhouses of the owners of the factories. Mr Zanst owned a large textile factory and was said to be wealthier than his Vikomt cousin, Matai. I had met Mr Zanst and his wife at court before, two of the few people outside the titled nobility who were invited to stay at the palace during the spring and autumn Seasons of Sabithia. They were a nice couple, friendly and open, and a refreshing diversion from the titled nobility and all their manners and ‘do’s’ and ‘don’t’s’.
When we arrived Mrs Zanst was there to greet us, her husband not yet returned from his office at the factory. Attractive and young, I hid a smile as some of the Guard tried not to stare at Mrs Zanst. They had been deprived of female companionship for longer than some of them were used to and she was a lovely sight. Sighing, I dismounted with Chaeron’s aid and was immediately enveloped in a friendly hug by Mrs Zanst.
“It’s such a pleasure to see you again, Lady Rogan.” She smiled widely at me as she stood back to take in my appearance. “I must say you’re looking very well for a young lady who’s been travelling. And without a carriage no less.” She frowned, looking over the Guard.
I shrugged inelegantly, happy to be around someone who didn’t care if I shrugged inelegantly. “I thought a carriage would be more of a hindrance than a help.”
Mrs Zanst didn’t seem to agree but she said no more, clasping my hand in hers as we walked inside, leaving the Guard to their organisation. It would seem there wasn’t enough room in the stables or the mansion for all of them so some would have to venture into the city for accommodation. I rolled my eyes as many eagerly volunteered, knowing that the excitement was due more to finding a bed partner than an actual bed.
“Oh,” I gasped as we stepped into the entrance hall. “Your home is lovely, Mrs Zanst.” And I meant it. Her expression brightened, a little flush of pride cresting her cheeks as we took it in together.
“Thank you, Lady Rogan. I do try.”
In all of the homes of the wealthy I had ventured into, the floors of the entrance hall, hallways in general, were always white and black marble; or, as at the palace, pure white marble with crystalline sparkling under foot. But Mr and Mrs Zanst had forgone the cold marble aesthetic of the wealthy, and instead had beautiful, wide slatted, light wooden polished floors that reflected the light from the stunning but simplistic chandelier that spiralled down from the ceiling in one trim arm. I stared a moment at it, surprised by its originality. It was like a piece of modern art in itself. Careful not to encumber the light, airy quality they had created, there were no drab oil paintings to be found or heavy tapestries, only pale buttercream walls, one of which was adorned with artwork – an actual mural, depicting a brilliantly blurry forest with gorgeous wood nymphs and other charmingly rustic creatures. A few silver mirrors were dotted here and there, wall sconces in the same vein as the chandelier, and flowers of the softest pastels.
“It’s like a fairytale,” I whispered. “Haydyn would love this.”
Mrs Zanst blushed even harder. “Do you really think so?”
I nodded sincerely, giving her arm a friendly squeeze. “You, Mrs Zanst, have a gift for interior design.”
“Oh, I’m pleased you think so. Many of the women here,” her voice dropped to a murmur, “Think my taste unfashionable.”
“To the contrary, your taste is a fashion setter. Wait until we get you back at the palace to decorate Haydyn’s private parlour, Mrs Zanst, then all the ladies will be after you to design their homes for them.”
Wide-eyed, she pulled me into her equally quaint and beautiful parlour. “Do you really think so?”
***
Having inadvertently received a friend for life in the charming Mrs Zanst I felt bad when I tricked her. Desperate for some time alone, to be away from the Guard and the Factory District, which was buzzing with the news of our arrival, I knew I had to make my escape before the neighbours started calling on Mrs Zanst to meet me. Having faked a headache and fatigue from the journey, I was shown to a spectacular guest suite with wonderful views of Ryl. There I hastily wrote a note to Mrs Zanst telling her where I’d gone so she wouldn’t worry, and then threw on a dark cloak, creeping out of the room. I had to hide twice - once in another bedroom and then in the music room on the second floor. I halted at the sound of children squealing and realised the nursery must not be far off. Afraid of being found by an impish child I scurried down the next flight of stairs and then cursed under my breath when I came face to face with the butler.
“May I help you, my Lady?” She bowed, gracefully, the tallest female butler I had ever encountered.
I gulped, thinking fast. “I’m going for a walk. Mrs Zanst suggested I follow the Factory District out to the right to get to the city…”
She frowned, shaking her head. “That can’t be right, my Lady. Mrs Zanst must have meant for you to take a right and then a left once you reach the entrance to Factory District.”
I smiled inwardly. “And that just takes me straight into the city?”
“You can’t miss it, my Lady.”
“Thank you.”
And as easily as that I was out the door. I held my breath, almost skipping as I shot out the driveway and through the gates. As I hurried along, I peered towards the back of the house and saw some of the Guard still organising themselves at the stables. Afraid to be spotted, I took off at a run, no longer caring which of the neighbours saw.
As the wind rushed into my face, tearing my eyes, my skirts fluttering a hindrance around of my legs, I grinned and pushed harder. It felt wonderful, so freeing.
Skidding to a stop at the end of the Factory District, I peered over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I couldn’t see anyone. I smoothed my skirts down and straightened my cloak and began walking sedately towards the city which called to me with its noise and smell. There were still a few hours until night fall, plenty of time to have a look around.
Quite suddenly I found myself in the hubbub of the city, lots of people rushing around as if they had somewhere important to be. In fact, as I gazed around at the rather drab appearance of the city, with its industrial towering factories in the distance and the squab little shops, I realised how different it was to Peza, considering the wares that were created here.
Or so I thought.
Like stepping into an oil painting I found myself gobsmacked when I walked through an arched alleyway. I found myself lambasted by colour as I entered the market square. Everywhere were people and stalls in a multitude of hues, where quiet sellers stood patiently offering help and information. Never before had I seen such serious, hushed sellers. But as I walked around the stalls, my eyes widening every now and then, I realised why. Their products were beautiful, no matter if they were mass-produced – products that sold themselves. I stopped suddenly, drawn to a stall with beaded jewellery. The jewellery I owned was of the finest precious metals and stones, nothing like this. But I fingered a bracelet made with pleated leather; three beautifully painted beads in emerald, aquamarine and rose decorated the end near the clasp. A little bird of silver metal hung between the beads.