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Chapter 11: Running
The thought repeated in her head as she ran down the street. Her feet pounded noisily on the stone road as she lifted her skirts and dodged passersby’s. Her hair, loose again, whipped behind her, shorter strands stuck to her sweating face.
She didn’t know how long she had gone on like this, or where she was going. And she didn’t dare turn back to see if she was being followed.
Swinging around a corner onto what she thought may be the main street, the tip of her shoe caught on an unruly rock jutting from the ground. Her whole body flung forwards. Luckily her reflexes were good enough that her hands stretched out to break her fall.
Her wrists hurt on contact and her palms painfully scratched the street. Hastily standing up she gave the hint of blood on her hands a once over. That’s when she heard her name. Someone was calling it over the crowd.
Oh no, he’s found me, she thought fearfully.
Honestly she wasn’t sure why she was running from him in the first place. It could’ve just been shock – she was definitely shocked. But really, she should’ve expected it. Weren’t arranged marriages common for nobility, especially for royalty? Wait. It was an arranged marriage, right?
Possibly his confession triggered memories of her own past, ones that she had tucked away in the corners of her mind. That was part of it, but she knew the other reason. Regrettably.
She felt betrayed. This past week she had become friends with all of them, for the most part. Now this didn’t mean they would immediately start pouring out secrets but a certain amount of trust was expected. For example: Having the decency to tell her the reason for their evening escapades and their presence outside of the royal city!
Her name was called again, snapping her from her thoughts. She started forward away from the voice. A hand tugging at her arm stopped her.
It’s over.
“Emily, are you alright?” I saw you fall,” a voice she recognized as Josh asked. Instantly she was relieved and let out a breath before facing him.
“Oh, hey Josh,” she said ‘cheerfully’. “I’m fine, just lost my footing. Where’s Gill?” she question peering around him to look for the third companion. “I thought you two were heading to the tailors.”
“We just got done, actually. I think he mentioned something about looking for a better saddle strap before he took off. I was heading back to the inn when I saw you fall,” he explained. She nodded at his words.
“Did you and Tom split up?” he asked innocently.
“You could say that,” she murmured darkly. Josh caught her words.
“What happened?” he asked her, his tone changing into worry and anger laced behind that.
She sighed. Might as well get it out in the open. “Why didn’t you guys tell me he was engaged?”
“Oh.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Well with him it’s kind of complicated . . .” he trailed off uncertainly.
“How so?” she said harshly, though instantly regretting her tone. It wasn’t Josh she was angry with. Well, maybe only a little. But he lied too!
“Come on,” he said, looping his arm with hers and escorting her down the street. “There is a quieter place where we can discuss this.”
“So be it,” she agreed. “As long as the discussion happens.”
And so they began a slow journey through the nameless town. As they trudged down the street Emily was running onto she was surprised to see their inn halfway up the block. Despite her blind race she had still ended up where she started.
Josh led her past the inn and through the closing morning bread market. It was about an hour past noon and only a few women lingered in the streets. Other shops, however, were bustling with afternoon arrivals. A few horse and carriages rolled slowly down the streets as people reluctantly moved to the side. For the most part, though, people traveled by foot in the city.
Emily had trouble distinguishing differences between the roads they went down. It was very flat town, no hills and few streets had unique features. She would most definitely need help getting back to Treebird’s Palace.
No words were spoken the entire walk. They must’ve wandered the main roads for at least a half hour before Josh suddenly turned onto a narrower dirt road. A few turns later and they were coming up on what looked like a garden.
Upon closer inspection Emily saw that it was a courtyard, a secluded square in the back of some nicer houses. The ground was embedded with flat gray stones with patches missing for flowers. Red, yellow, purple, blue, orange, white, green, black, gold, indigo, emerald, pink, magenta, even silver. From roses to sunflowers to daffodils. In fact, she didn’t before believe such a wide assortment of plants existed, much less in the same season in the same garden. What was really marvelous about the courtyard, though, was the polished bronze fountain in the center.
It was small, the fountain, but its design and sculpture was of no compare. It stood about six feet high with three pools of water flowing down. The top bowl was small, the next a bit larger, and the bottom the largest. On top of it perched the statue of a bronze eagle spreading its wings and beak open; as if it was calling you to it, or singing a song. The water sprayed out at the eagle’s feet and traveled down like golden rain.
“What is this place?” Emily asked breathlessly. Josh led her over to the fountain and sat down at its edge, she followed suit.
“Oh just something I stumbled upon while looking for a sweet roll,” he explained offhandedly. She gave him a pointed look. “No, really. I have an awful sense of direction,” he elaborated and flashed a boyish grin.
“So it seems,” she muttered, eyes going over the scene again. Bees buzzed softly around the flowers along with a couple other visible insects. She half expected a family of bunnies and a doe to randomly prance across the clearing. It was that perfect.
Josh laughed lightly at her comment and replied, “I guess I’m just lucky.” She smiled as did he. This might have been considered a moment to most but she was in no state of mind to comprehend that.
“So . . .,” he trailed off again.
“Talk,” she commanded.
“’Bout what?”
“Josh,” she warned.
“You and Tom are both alike like that. You both use other people’s names against them,” he observed more thoughtfully than angrily.
“Please just tell me about the engagement,” she pleaded. “That’s why you guys are here, right? And not back home.”
“Yes,” he said hesitantly. “It is.”
“So,” she urged. “Why? To whom?”
“I really don’t think I should be the one telling you this,” he said, shifting in his position and twiddling his thumbs nervously.
“Josh.”
“There you go again,” he pointed and than sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’ll give you the nutshell version. The kings of Rodithia and Brenel decided they needed to improve relations. The result was pairing up the crowned prince of Brenel, Tom, with Rodithia’s eldest princess, Princess Cornelia. When Tom was told of the arrangement he visited Gill and I at night and we were gone the next morning.
“So you’ve been running from the Royal Guard because they want to bring Tom back to get married,” she said slowly, taking in the fresh information.
“Yeah,” he confirmed.
“But why’d he run?” she asked sadly. “He . . . betrayed his country.”
“I don’t know anymore, we don’t bring it up,” Josh said. Emily looked down at the smooth stones under her tattered shoes; she’d have to get fitted for her other clothes soon.
“Cheer up, Em,” Josh said, tilting her face up by placing tow fingers under her chin. “It’s not like you’re affected by it, don’t worry.”
This statement caused her to laugh sourly, it was better than tears. How wrong could he be? How could this not affect her? All of a sudden they were acting like she didn’t’ belong, didn’t count. She needed to count.
“So are we good?” he asked after a moment. She pushed a happy grin to her face.
“We’re good,” she falsely reassured.
“Alright, great, because I have to be back at the shoe shop in fifteen minuets,” he breathed hurriedly. She worked to keep the look of disappointment off her face. He had somewhere to be. Even he, the favorite, suddenly didn’t have time for her. But why should they? She was just a temporary companion for a few weeks, and for part of that time she was thought of as a slave. “Can you get back alright?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she told him easily even though she had no idea where to go. “Now go, I think your fifteen minuets just turned into thirteen.” He bid her a simple farewell before rushing out of the lonely courtyard.
Alone, the previously bright setting turned gray and blurry in her vision. She was disgusted – with herself. She had chosen this. She had let herself believe she belonged with them in their world. But this wasn’t their world, she had little idea what their real life was like.
And worst of all in her week of content-ness she hadn’t worked hard enough to track her brothers. Her real family. Sure she had dropped casual question but when nothing turned up she let it be. It was all her fault – everything.
A warm tear tolled down her hot cheek, and then another. She tried to stop them, wiping angrily at her face with the back of her hands. But they kept raining down and soon enough she was shaking with silent sobs. Alone by the fountain she cried – with no shoulder.
So for awhile now he had been maneuvering through the crowds searching for her. He stopped by the inn and she wasn’t there. He ran into Gill and he said he hadn’t seen her. He started to get the feeling that maybe she really left, for good.
No, he would let that happen. The last place he could think of that she might be was Erica’s Ensembles.
Finally he reached the corner store, his face scrunched up in obvious disentitlement and his eyes swimming in desperation. At first he didn’t see her, only Erica bumbling around with fabrics over her shoulder and a couple pins sticking out from her tight bun. His presence was notified by a silver bell above the door, ding, dingding, ding.
“Oh, good, both of you are back now! Your girlfriend is changing in the back room. Why don’t you just sit down and wait for a minuet and we’ll do you next,” she blurted out in two breaths. Following her orders he sat himself down on a wooden bench. Masking his obvious relief at the information he set his face to a blank expression and tried to figure out how to act next.
He wanted to be angry, stay angry, he was angry. But then again, he was hurt. Why would she run like that? It shouldn’t have hurt her, it hurt him. He didn’t want to be that guy, the weak, vulnerable, sensitive guy. He needed to be angry.
So as he sat in the dim lit shop, waiting, his face scrunched up and flushed, his eyes narrowing by the moment. Where was she? Was she just playing innocent before, I don’t need much, you don’t have to get me anything, and now she was taking at least twenty plus minuets to put on a few simple dresses?
At last, the back door opened revealing a shy Emily. She was wearing a blood red gown, short sleeved with a modest neckline. A thick black ribbon tied at the waist defining the flowing skirt that dropped to the ground, complete with a slit only visible when she walked. Perfect for riding.
“You look wonderful!” Erica exclaimed before anyone else got a word in. “I knew that color would do wonders for you. Now, now should we get you in the next one?”
“Um,” Emily started unsurely. “Do you, um, not to be a bother, but, um . . .”
“Spit it out,” Tom snapped harshly. Her head snapped in his direction, noticing his presence for the first time. He took little delight in her paling face and sent her a glare, urging her to continue.
“I want the hemline shortened an inch or two, so I don’t trip over my feet,” she said clearly to Erica.
“Oh, of course!” the women agreed eagerly. “That’s no problem. Let me pin it and you can tell me what’s right.” Another ten minuets and both ladies were content, he patiently remained silent.
The second dress was light pink, also short sleeved with a low neckline. The shirt was made of a clingy fabric and a visible violet undershirt peeked up from the top. The lace that lined the purple drew attention to the bodice. Again the slightly darker skirt had a slit for riding.
Emily was visibly hesitant about the second ensemble. After she stood in front of the mirror for three minuets, silently, Tom decided to interject. “What?” he breathed cruelly. “Its fine, get it, now let’s go.” She frowned at his impatience but complied nonetheless.
“Fine,” she murmured under her breath. “Be a jerk about it.” Yeah, he heard it.
“Care to say that again,” he smirked, leaning back in mock comfort. His grin only widened when she spun around angrily.
“What’s your problem?”
“Excuse me,” he raised an eyebrow. “Get your stupid dresses, we’re leaving.”
“But I’m not done, you’re not done!” she reasoned, her voice rising.
“Now, now,” Erica interjected nervously. “We only have the pant outfit you requested. And then yours, sir.”
“Wrap them all,” he ordered, carelessly throwing a bag of silver on one of the tables. “Here’s your money.”
“No,” Emily said firmly. “I still need the adjustment on that first dress.”
“I think you’ll live, princess,” he sneered.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow and pick it up,” she explained to Erica. By this time Tom had stood up and towered over Emily. “Thank you so much for the trouble,” she said sincerely. Without letting the poor woman utter a word he latched onto her arm and pulled her out of the shop, barely giving her time to take the handful of packages. Three of which belonged to him.
Moments after they stepped onto the street Emily stopped, forcing him to face her. “What was that all about?” she asked, eyes still narrowed in anger.
“Where the hell were you?” he questioned, ignoring hers all together.
Her face switched to confusion for a moment before his words sunk in. “Around,” she said blankly, side stepping around him and continuing down the street. No, she couldn’t just walk away from him. He reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her around and causing her to drop the packages.
“Stop running,” he commanded. “Why’d you run? Couldn’t handle that I belong to another women.”
‘Stop it, you’re hurting me,” she said coolly, looking him straight in the eye. He immediately released his grip, privately horrified at himself for causing her pain again. But another darker part of his mind told him she deserved it. She deserved even more pain for deserting him.
“Thank you for the clothes,” she said evenly. “I really appreciate everything you have done for me. But now I understand my place, I’m sorry I crossed the line. I’ll be back at the inn. If you need anything, come find me. Good day.”
Without another word she picked up the packages and walked away and his anger depleted. Replaced only by loneliness.
No.
Everyone kept saving her, for her entire life she had been saved. And she had a feeling this time wouldn’t be any different. She just needed a new savior.
The first thing she did when she got back to the inn was find Josh and inform him that they would not be leaving tonight. He didn’t question her. No matter what she had to get her dress tomorrow and for a change his highness would wait. He could hide behind the door this time, instead of run straight through it. Hell, in a way she might be helping them.
So now she was in the common room, in her new pink/purple corset dress. It was too tight by the way. That’s what she wanted to say before he had snapped at her. She wore it tonight though for that very reason. She wanted attention from the room; she wanted the men and gamblers to talk to her. Tonight she would find out about her brothers.
The room was overly crowed tonight, enough dice games in play and barmaids serving drinks. The overwhelming smell of alcohol and mixed with bread and body odor floated around in the air, suffocating her the moment she stepped down the stairs. She had already mentally prepared herself for what she was about to do. Cool and confident. This wasn’t the time or place for her innocent uneasiness and shy demeanor.
For the next hour or so she hovered over card games, and flirted shamelessly with any gambler willing to give her notice. She even got a few offers which she politely declined. As time passed her subtle hints lost the ‘subtle’ and became flat out questions about the Fire Pup Brothers. Absolutely no one had heard of them. Gathering they hadn’t passed through this inn, much less this town she started to give up. After that one night they probably had gone in a totally separate direction. Hopeless.
A darker night drifted over the room and the conversation slurred more and more and an occasional glass shattered on the wooden planks. Laughs echoed over all else and she felt lost in the jumble. Sober, sad, and suddenly desperate for an escape, she spotted a familiar face.
Pushing through to the bar she slumped down on a bar stool and turned to Gill, probably on his fourth drink by now. He looked over at her but turned his attention back to his recently refilled cup.
“Wha’ are you doing ‘ere?” he slurred lazily, not as bitter as it should’ve sounded.
“Does it help?” she asked, motioning to his latest alcoholic beverage. “Does it kill the pain?”
“Nah,” he said. “But you might forge’ about it, though I’ve yet to ‘speriance tha’ miracle. Want one?” She nodded. He called for another round and before she knew it she was downing whiskey.
Glass after glass and soon enough she found she could prove Gill wrong. She didn’t forget anything. And it hurt so much that even this escapade was useless. But the room was spinning and laughter was louder, voices were louder. Everyone seemed so happy, drinking. She was jealous. Why couldn’t she have that uncontrollable bliss, cloud floating happiness? Instead her heart got heavier as she viewed everything she couldn’t, and probably would never have.
Dammit.
Her last thought before passing out on the counter. Head banging against wood in an awkward thump.
Frank Delula had spent his life in this place. As a boy he was fascinated by his grandfather’s hobby of shoemaking. He used to watch for hours and quickly learned the trade. When he was fourteen his grandfather passed away. But he left behind the entire business to Frank.
His mother wanted him to do better; apparently being a shoemaker wasn’t notable for merit. And his father had died in the war when he was young. But true to his grandfather’s wishes he carried on the old shoe shop, creating shoes for the young and elderly. Each one made with expertise and care.
He fell in love and married at twenty- one, to a peasant girl a couple years his junior. Pricilla. Together they built a castle – just getting by – but living.
Two children and twenty pairs of shoes, and plenty of sorrowful goodbyes. They both left and lived their lives. He loved them but hadn’t seen either of them in ten years. His wife died a month ago and he was hell bent on following.
These shoes, the ones in his fragile hands, were for her. They looked more like slippers, with no heel. The top was open enough to show the very bottom of the wearer’s toes. The color was – magnificent – of no other. A swirl of silver, pearl, and crystal. Like glass.
His shaking hand pulled the needle away from his final masterpiece. Milk and golden thread was carefully embroidered into the delicate fabric. Patters of dreams and hope and magic, if you believe in such things.
Perfection for Pricilla, her glass slippers, one size for the right girl. He set the shoes on his dusty table. Said a prayer. And closed his eyes, ready to sail to their castle.