Author stuff cont'd.: I hate the weather and the fact that I have allergies. The temperatures keep fluctuating, which is messing with my body, and I've had headaches the past couple of days.

It's springtime here, which is bad enough as is. Like, can we not go between snow one day and "Oh, hey, I can wear shorts"? My body can't handle it.

Edit: Updated the word "sheriff" for the correct "vicomte," which was used during the historical time period for a man who served as sheriff in a town.

Chapitre six

Healing

Ten days came and went with no sign of Chat Noir, and her butt had long since grown numb from consistently sitting for the lack of being able to properly walk anywhere for more than a short distance. Getting down and up the stairs had been more than enough of an adventure.

The vicomte questioned her the second night. She acted like a shy and fluttery little rabbit, staring up at him with wide eyes that she hoped managed to convince him she hadn't been out in the woods when the guards had heard the noise. ("I was already at the old mill," she had said in a soft voice. "I heard some shouts, but I thought it was all part of a bad dream.") He believed her, of course. She had never been so terrified or exhilarated than after he'd left.

She hated liars and lying, but it was necessary. Her father's life was on the line.

Brother Fu was summoned to check on her ankle. He didn't charge much beyond some fresh bread and water in exchange for some herbs for teas to help with the pain. Marinette didn't look forward to his visits. He was kind and gentle, and he lifted her spirits. But he also seemed to know the truth – though he did not press the issue.

Nathaniel and Alya continued to assist her mother in the mornings, and Max or his father delivered the flour when they could. She hadn't heard or seen any of the children to know if they were getting any food – she hoped someone within the village was kind enough to take up the task while she was unable.

With all the time she sat around, she had plenty of time to think – most of the time it was spent worrying over her father, wondering if Chat Noir would help, and new cheese recipes. The second day she'd finished making a wheel with dandelion and roasted walnuts – brought to her by Alya, though when she had the time to gather them, Marinette hadn't the faintest.

She wasn't quite sure what to do with that particular wheel, but she thought that since she wasn't sure how much longer she had to stay off her foot, it was best to find an activity she could do sitting down. Like, sewing.

Marinette longed to feel soft fabric between her fingers while she stitched together something new for someone to wear – possibly herself. It'd been a long time since she made herself a new dress or smock.

And she knew the village's best tailor had the finest collection of fabrics – and a distinct fondness for cheeses.

It didn't take much to convince Nathaniel to help her to the tailor's and back again. He looked ready to fall over – making her feel bad for even asking – but he easily helped her along. He offered to carry the satchel with the cheese in it, but she declined.

"Have you heard anything?" she said. "About… well, you know?"

"Not a thing," he said. "I've been quite busy."

She flushed.

"Sorry about that. Look, you can go on home after we get there. I can always ask his wife or one of the apprentices to help me get back home."

"I'd hate to just abandon you there."

"I'll be fine. I'm in Rochers. What bad thing could happen to me here?"

He didn't say anything, which made her nervous. Bad things could and did happen within the bastide, but they were few and far in-between. He shouldn't worry, really. She'd be safe. She wouldn't be traipsing through the forests for quite a while.

The tailor's home was a cozy little place tucked between two taller buildings belonging to the shoemaker and the leather master. Inside, every flat surface was dripping with green plants – some still flowering – and ornately carved furniture.

The tailor's wife, a tall beauty named Tikki, greeted them in her renowned cheerful way.

"Oh, Damoiselle Marinette, Monsieur Nathaniel," she said, practically chirping. "Lovely to see you dears. Damoiselle Marinette, please sit down, won't you? You shouldn't be on that foot yet. It hasn't had the proper time to heal."

Tikki helped her over to a chair next to the fireplace – which was slowly dying out. She retrieved a quilt made of scraps of beautiful fabric and draped it across Marinette's lap. Nathaniel stood awkwardly by the door.

"Why don't you head on home, dear?" Tikki said, gently tucking the blanket down. "I'll make sure she gets home safely before it gets too dark."

"Are you sure?" he said, looking between them.

"I'll be fine," Marinette said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

He nodded and ducked back out.

"There, comfy?" Tikki said.

"Yes, thank you."

"Good, good. Now what can I help you with?"

"I was hoping to speak to your husband, actually." She withdrew the cheese wheel and held it out. "I know it's not much, but I was hoping to trade some fabric for this?"

"What kind – Oo! Dandelion and… is that roasted walnut?" Tikki sniffed at the wheel, eyes twinkling. "It's been a while since Plagg has had any cheese from you. He'll be so happy. Yes. You said you wanted fabric? Anything particular in mind?"

Marinette opened her mouth. She actually didn't have anything in mind. Really, there was nothing she needed new clothes for except…

"Is there something I could possibly use to make a dress for the tournament that's worth that cheese?" she said, unsure.

"Let me go look," Tikki said, tapping her jaw. "Plagg hoards fabric like some people hoard old, broken toys. Wait here for a moment, alright?"

She waited in silence, tracing the edges of the quilt with her fingers. The remains of the fire snapped and popped. She could hear voices in another room, muffled by ornately embroidered curtains that blocked one of the doorways down a narrow hallway.

She could almost place the voices to the person. There was Rose – one of the tailor's apprentices – with her sweet, soft tones that could warm any cold soul. Juleka – the other apprentice – had a slightly deeper voice, a bit richer. She could hear the tailor, Plagg – his voice was higher than one would expect and a bit nasally. They all conversed with two others, ones she couldn't quite figure out.

That is, until they stepped into the main receiving area.

"...won't have it any other way," a woman said. She was young, about Marinette's age, and had red hair. She was trailed after by a blonde woman, whose hair was veiled under a fine linen kerchief.

Marinette knew the blonde well. Chloé Bourgeois had always held some sort of disdain for her, and she returned it with her own vigor. Whatever had passed between them was years ago. Marinette didn't even recall what it was anymore. It could just be that Chloé thought she was better than her, simply because she was the mayor's daughter.

Sabrina, the redhead, was the vicomte's daughter. They hadn't spoken much – if at all. All Marinette knew about her was that she thought of Chloé as her closest and dearest of friends.

Rose, Juleka, and Plagg followed them out. The young apprentices looked humble, while the tailor simply looked bored out of his mind – that, or he was completely fed up with their customers.

Chloé saw her and scoffed, marching towards the door. Her delicate nose was held high.

"Come along, Sabrina," she said. "We have things to do."

Sabrina glanced in Marinette's direction – wriggling her fingers in greeting when Chloé wasn't looking – before taking off after her companion.

When she was gone, Plagg said:

"Well, now that they're gone, thought I told you to be careful, damoiselle? I see you didn't listen."

His yellow-green eyes pierced straight through Marinette. She always found that he reminded her of a cat – more so than Chat Noir. His black hair was slicked back neatly, and his clothes looked freshly pressed. He carried himself well, with an air of arrogance.

"Here we go," Tikki said, coming out from the back with some fabric a lovely shade of light blue. The woman stopped when she saw the group at the end of the hall. She looked at them sheepishly. They said nothing as she slipped past them, however, and handed Marinette the fabric. "I believe this is just what you're looking for, damoiselle."

"Thank you," she said, brushing her fingers against the fabric. It was finely woven – better than most things she owned – and very soft. The cheese definitely wasn't worth this fine bundle, and if it was, certainly not the length she'd been given.

"We've had that in the back for years, couldn't figure out what to do with it. You'll do right by it, though. I know you will." She turned to her husband, her face falling into a glare. "And no complaining, Plagg. She brought you cheese."

He perked up at that.

"Cheese?" he said, half in awe and delight. "Where?"

Tikki pointed to the back. He scuttled off to parts unknown, disappearing behind one of the curtains.

"How's your ankle?" Rose said, walking over. "It's not aching is it? I'd feel awful if you came all the way here and your ankle was hurting."

"I'm fine," Marinette said. Really, her ankle wasn't bothering her at the moment. It felt almost normal. "It really wasn't that bad. I just tripped, is all."

"You're lucky you didn't break anything," Juleka said. She had always been a little standoffish when it was just her and another person. With Rose nearby, however, she seemed more willing to participate in conversations. "I broke my leg when we were younger. It was awful."

"Oh, I remember that. It was during the summer, too. You couldn't really come swimming with us."

"Girls," Tikki said, "why don't you help Damoiselle Marinette home? Her mother must be missing her by now."

The two easily helped Marinette to her feet, carefully maneuvering so as not to hurt her ankle any more than it already was. Rose quickly decided to carry the length of fabric while Juleka helped Marinette hobble home. The trek home was less uncomfortable with them than it had been with Nathaniel.

"Have you heard?" Rose said when they were halfway there.

"Heard what?" Marinette said.

"The duke's long lost son will be in Rochers any day now. I heard from Kim, who heard it from Max, who talked to a bard, who saw him on the road. Said he was stopping off at one of the other abbeys before returning here. Poor thing. He must be so homesick, having been away for so long. I wonder where he'll stop first when he gets back."

"Probably the cemetery," Juleka said. "He needs to pay his respects to his family."

Marinette winced at the thought. She still remembered waking up to the smell of smoke and the ringing of bells in the middle of winter the year prior.

"I wonder what he'll be like," Rose said, sighing.

"Hopefully better than the mayor," Marinette said, quietly, so as not to be heard by passersby. The other two nodded.

The following morning, Marinette was able to do most of the work she used to before her injury – the only exception was gathering the flour from the mill. She hadn't thought of a pattern for the dress quite yet, but she had an idea for some embroidery for the trim.

The morning rush hadn't been too bad, just long. The majority had waited patiently and thanked her with what she was sure was partial sincerity.

It was just past noon when a carriage stopped in front of their open gate. Marinette looked at her mother, eyebrows raised. Neither of them were expecting anyone, and the carriage looked too fine to be an ordinary customer.

A tall man stepped out and looked around. His eyes stopped on them. They were flat, cold, unfeeling – a steely grey not unlike a sword or sharpened axe blade.

A fine, courtly woman followed him, albeit a little disgruntled from the lack of his help down. Her hair was done up in some fashion – perhaps the latest from the cities. She, too, looked about. She scoffed and said something quietly.

Her companion said something back to her in the same tone. He seemed annoyed by her, and he looked relieved when he walked away.

He strode toward them with an easy confidence. His fine clothes looked a little rumpled from the journey, but they were otherwise unmarred by the dust from the road.

Marinette and Sabine both curtsied to him.

"Is this the Rochers's boulangerie?" he said. Really, it was quite obvious that it was, but the uncertainty in his tone made him more human.

"Yes," Sabine said. "Is there anything we can help you with?"

"My… fiancée and I are on our way up to the Camp Vert Manor and, from what I remember of my childhood here, this boulangerie has always had the best bread around."

Sabine smiled.

"Ah, you're the eldest Agreste son. It is good to have you back, my lord. Of course, some bread for you and your lovely lady."

Sabine nodded to Marinette, and the young woman retrieved some of the bread that was still warm. She placed it in a basket and brought it over.

The man dug into his coin purse to pay for the bread, but Sabine stopped him.

"There's no need, my lord," she said. "Think of it as a welcome home present from us."

He said nothing else, accepting the basket from Marinette and walking away. His fiancée looked bored, fanning herself with a lovely fan by the carriage. When she saw him returning, she got back into the carriage and waited.

The man saluted them after he'd gotten back in the carriage. At his word, the driver took off, and they lurched toward the manor.

Felix Agreste had returned to Ville sur les Rochers.

Author stuff cont'd.: Felix has returned!