I'm back! I'm sorry for such a, uhm, pause, I've been fighting through my exams but I'm finally free!

I still haven't figured out the proportions between Fiora and Fabiola's POVs, so I sincerely apologize. If all of a sudden you see two chapters from one POV in a row, this means that yeah, I miscalculated and I'm trying to get timing better.

Next Fiora chapter will be up until weekend!

Meanwhile, here we go!

Chapter 6. The Courtesan (Fabiola)

I don't know how long I've slept. The events of the last days are still heavy on my shoulders. Escape. Running. Almost being harassed by a guard on a street. Witnessing a murder. And, finally, breaking free.

I stir in my sleep and try to shield my eyes against the rays of the sun. The window in Mirela's shelter is small, but, with my luck, I ended up lying so that sunshine falls right on my eyes.

I roll aside and slowly wake up. My vision is blurred, so I blink a couple of times to see clearer. A piece of fabric I got to cover myself is somewhere under my feet. It must have been quite hot at night.

I look up, but Mirela is nowhere to be found. I guess that's how life on streets is: if you want to survive yet another day, you get up early and make yourself useful. Well, you definitely don't sleep until midday, like I did.

My neck hurts a little bit of lying in an uncomfortable position. I massage it, slowly try to turn my head left, right, up and down, and suddenly I realize something's missing.

All the gold I've been wearing – bracelets, necklace, rings – are missing and I frown. Well, Mireala kept her words. No one did any harm to me. But no one promised that my belongings, however small they are, were safe.

But I guess you have to pay for everything. And I value my life and freedom more that I value some pieces of yellow metal.

I get up and go out on street. The sun is high already, so it's really about midday. I look around and spot Mirela sitting in the shadow of a tree and examining something. I have a vague idea what it can be.

'Oh, woke up finally', says Mirela, nevel looking away from the golden pieces of jewelry. 'Morning, sleeping beauty. I hope you don't mind me getting a hold of these shiny things. After all, I – we – need money, and there are just that many people I can fool by predicting their fortune. And that many people I can steal from'.

'You're, uhm, welcome', I reply, eyeing my – former – belongings.

The Romani girl smirks and hides all the gold in a small bag and fixes it on her belt.

'So, Fa…', she suddenly stops. Coughing, she continues, 'You know, I strongly advise that you cover your head'.

What? Again?

I start to say 'I refuse', but she interrupts me again.

'I don't want you to get heat illness. You have dark hair, so that's quite a danger'. At this moment I notice that she's wearing a bandana herself. 'Once it's sunset or dark, you're free to do whatever the hell you want, but now – please. And maybe you'd better to find something else to dress. I'd be surprised if they're not seeking for you yet'.

Before I can utter a word she grabs me by forearm and leads me to her shelter. Mirela dives into a huge chest, muttering to herself, seeking something. I can only stand beside.

'Ah-ha! Found it!' She reappears in front of me, holding something blue. 'I just hope your body proportions are somewhat close to mine. Try it on!'

These blue pieces of fabric appear to be clothes, a shirt and a skirt. I wait for her to leave, so I can redress, but she stays.

'Come on! What I haven't seen!'

I blush a little bit and, still feeling uncomfortable, take the shapeless dress off. The skirt fits just fine, covering my legs. Mirela helps me with the shirt, tying it under my breasts, but it still seems like it's a size too large for me. I frown, crossing my hands.

'Well, not bad', she smiles, examining me. 'At least before you can get something else'.

'Thanks', I reply, tying a light blue bandana and my hair. 'No, really, thank you. I don't even know why…'

'Maybe I'll call the debt one day', she smirks. 'But as of yet, you have a story to tell us'.

I don't even know why I am ready to tell her everything about my life, about my home, about my sister, whom I lost many years ago. But I don't object.

We find a place beneath a huge tree, so that sun is not burning us – well, me, actually, I am the one pale despite half a life spent in Constantinople. I can see the Romani people watching us with interest and some of them approach and join us. Then others. And so on, until it seems like everyone is around me.

That's when I hesitate. Would it be clever to tell them about me? On the one hand, spilling everything out doesn't seem like a wise idea. On the other hand, they could kill me already, had they wanted. So I start my story, which you already know.

And difficulties start right there. I don't have the best Turkish, and I don't understand the language the Romani speak at all. So I start speaking in Italian, waiting while Mirela translates my every word.

And here's the problem. You know like the language reflects the lifestyle. I've heard – from my husband – that Northern people have many words to describe snow, because snow is a part of their life. Here I meet another problem. It's not that I don't know what word to choose, oh, no.

On my very first phrase, about my mother being a courtesan, Mirela stumbles. You see, there are absolutely different morals in Constantinople, and there's no such word as 'a courtesan' in local language. The idea itself is an insult. There's a rude 'whore', an insult 'prostitute', but not what we assume when speaking about courtesans. Mirela sighs and starts explaining, and I secretly admire her knowledge of Italian language and culture.

I can see the girl with red braids trying to pronounce the new difficult word 'cortigiana', and she succeeds with fifth attempt. Others try too. It's fun to watch, really.

When silence falls again, I speak again. When I mention my life as a wife, I see girls gasping in disgust, I see male Romani frowning and I am surprised that the idea of a woman being nothing but a man's possession makes them sick. But I appreciate it and somewhere deep inside I'm happy. That means I'm really safe here.

They nod approvingly when I describe my escape, and that's when I can see Mirela stiffen and looking away. My gaze follows her and I see two knights standing nearby. One of them is in a dark armor, holding a helmet under his arm. I see that his hair is dark, but I cannot define his eye color. The other one, in light silver armor, is blond, he stands straight, while the brunette seems more relaxed.

Mirela stands up and goes to them and I don't know why, but I follow her, causing my listeners to whisper annoyingly. They wanted entertainment, they got it, and now it's taken away from them. But Mirela dismisses them waving her hand and goes towards these knights, her back straight, her head up. It takes maybe a minute for everyone to return to whatever they've been doing.

When I come closer, I can hear worry in Mirela's tone. I do everything I can to look small, not to catch attention.

'What the hell are you doing here?'

The Dark Knight – oh, here I am, already giving them names – delivers the news. And though I don't quite understand, I feel like there's nothing but big, big problems.

'Sorry to bother you, Djuric, but we've got problems. We've just lost Galata district'.

And when Mirela's eyes widen in horror and she gasps, I understand that 'problem' is a huge underestimation.

'Call on the gathering', she orders, trying to make her voice even, but being unable to hide the trembling. 'This is war'.