A/N: Nobody likes excuses, and I have many, sad though it is. It has been… I have no idea what, but an undeniably long time since my last update, but please don't remind me of that. What is, is, and I will aggravate you not with sickly explanations for my lateness. Simply forgive it, and all is well. However, I was kind enough to respond to your many reviews, and I beg pardon for the many errors in my last chapter, which was written basically on a fleeting whim.
P.S. – Please forgive the first part of the story with her being sleepless and with her getting the milk, as I know it's very chilling and haunted. It's 11 pm, I'm dead tired, and I've survived the past two hours listening to Evanescence. Must I elaborate?
a fan – Lol, I know I've failed you just as I've failed everyone else (it's been practically a month since my last update, waaaaah!) but I came up with the entire PLOT. All of it. ALL CHAPTERS. There are 34, by the way :D So I didn't completely waste my time.
Holly – Thank you, and have a good night! Hopefully a night better than the one Rozenta has at the beginning of the story!
Phillippa of the Phoenix – I love description, which is why I love narratives, so you can imagine how much I love that compliment And Elaine is infinitely cool… will always be cool… because her eyes are cool… ::nods::
Clargirl5 – Seems like you had to wait a long time ::chuckles weakly:: A lot has happened in my life lately, so sorry! Sorry! Ahh! You all must hate me now… blah.
fiery-star90 – You spelled Rozenta right, but it's Eszti, not Istza. I understand the error though, since I almost spelled it wrong several times. And I love humor and drama equally, so balancing them out is always infinitely important. Thanks for appreciating it! There are just too many fanfics in this world with too much humor and not enough plot significance, while there are always too many fanfics with too much drama and not enough life. Acknowledging that makes you a good critic :D
blueforest – Marcella won't be too important a character, mind, but significant enough to have a tiny subplot. I didn't think I'd make her this major, but I'm glad I did ('cause it got me 11 reviews, lmao).
Sugar-Pixie – There is nothing to forgive, as you seem to be correct. However, I already bluntly confirmed all of my errors without knowing it (and thus I kill myself… blah again), so allow me to ask for pardon instead. The irregularity will exist throughout the chapter, sadly enough, since I cannot take back everything that the other reviewers have already digested. Still, ignorance is bliss, so ignore it. I swear to be more careful from then on, now, and since I finished my plot outline, I'll read it seventy-seven times seven times to eliminate future mistakes.
the great and almighty po - Thanks, and I will finish! But I couldn't read the ro…hoo that you wrote (or understand it) so I can't really respond to that.
Arein – No I haven't read So You Want to be a Wizard, but yes I want to be a Wizard. My friend in class has the book though and is reading it in my face. I also would like to add that she enjoys my envy of her possession of the book and makes fake exclamations of excitement in my face (cruel she is, yes).
Sealednectar – Now you've all spoiled me… I hope I don't get a big head, lmao. Thanks all of you! The next chapters will have a LOT of action, believe it or not, and I'm still contemplating whether I should kill her Gypsy friends off or not. No, that was a joke, really, I was kidding. Mariutza's too cool to die young :-P
TrudiRose – Another error of mine… and I kill myself again ::dies:: But I found a loophole, so prepare for it… The fire used for those fire-eaters/fire-jugglers should be enchanted, or else they'd be dead. Yes, enchanted, and yes, I'm desperate. The smoke caused by such a fire would be toxin already – thick and damp and poisonous. Sadly, Leanne had inhaled too much and has met her untimely end. This is a desperate loophole, yes, but it's still a loophole! Still a loophole!
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Chapter 7: Dining with Evil
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It was the dead of night when I awoke, uneasy and a sickly pale. My neck prickled with a cold, creeping feeling and I, try as I might, could not find a sleep deep enough to last a refreshing amount of time. This sickened me, and I lay in bed, dreaming and meditating and wishing for sleep to rest my mind. But I remained restless, and to relieve myself of this excess energy, I slowly got up and hauled myself to the window. And at the sight of the sea of dark, speckled lightly by a scattered – yet neat – array of stars, I was comforted. My heart was too free to not be soothed by the simplicities of nature. I opened my window, and a blast of cold air swept in, healing me.
But sleep wouldn't come, and the cold washing over me only wiped me of my remaining fatigue.
Closing my window with a resounding click, I flicked on the lantern that sat idly on my window sill, gathering dust. Illuminated by only the meek glow of the lantern fire, I felt a strange, chilling feeling in my chamber, in which sleep couldn't reach me.
So I found the thick, dark, velvety cloak that was given me, draped it tightly over my night robes, and stepped out of my room, eager for a drink of warm milk. There was always a pitcher kept heating downstairs in the guests' kitchens for those who couldn't sleep, like myself. Perhaps a drink of that would help me fall into a dreamless rest.
The guests' building was also headquarters to many of the castle's guests, especially near the kitchens. As I finished retrieving my glass of warm milk, I stepped through the other entrance of the kitchens on my way out, and a noise stopped me. It wasn't the soothing, constant crackling noise of the kitchen furnace, but it was a human voice. Crying. Startled, I stared wildly at a door in the hallway near me, at the only door with light emitting from it.
The wretched weeping continued. Curious, I approached it, and slowly pushed the wooden door open. No creak came to signal my presence, and through a vast gap between door and threshold, I saw a figure, kneeling pitifully on the ground, weeping.
The figure was small, and indefinitely a female. I saw not her face, for her back faced me, but I saw her cheeks from the side, wet. Long strands of brown, chestnut locks stuck to the damp sides of her face. Her body, hunched over as she knelt, racked with sobs, and the sobs were pitiful – and painful for one's heart to listen to.
She sniffled and turned around slowly to face her bed, for I looked into her chambers, evidently. And I suppressed a gasp; big, hazel eyes stared mournfully around her room. Her weeping ceased and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, crawling into bed.
But I was not calming as Marcella had done, though my sympathy grew. Once she was safe tucked within her blankets, I gently shut the door again and backed away. With the door closed, the hallway was once again as dark as sable. Restless yet suddenly weary, I hurried up to my chambers and careful as a seamstress, shut my door.
Thoughts harassed my mind, as I stood in my room, alone. My warm milk was forgotten, as I had suddenly lost the energy that kept me awake. But questions flew at me between thoughts, questions that couldn't be answered directly. So I sat on my bed, praying for sleep and trying forcefully to push away those maddening questions.
What future would find Marcella, now that she lost her only loving parent and had been sentenced to life as a servant by her other parent? Isn't she supposed to inherit the wealth of that merchant – her "father"? Where did that wealth go? And would Leanne's line recover from being so brutally disturbed, or was it truly blighted – and ended – with Marcella's illegitimacy?
The questions would always haunt my mind whenever I saw that brown-haired servant, but for now sleep washed them away.
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I didn't hear Eder come into my room, nor did the sunlight affect me when she threw my curtains aside to allow sunshine. I was still deep in sleep's clutches, still recovering from shock and from lack of rest. Still, Eder did not know that, and just as she did not know that, she did not hesitate in pulling my blanket off my bed and waving my blanket up and down to let cold air wake me. My legs shivered with the creeping feeling of cold and I startled myself awake with a loud cry of anger.
Eder laughed and threw my blanket over me again, smiling as I drew myself up. My groggy gaze cleared, but my eyelids still felt heavy. She helped me off of my bed and pinched me in order to have me angry – and when I was angry, energy filled me like nothing else could.
"It's so fun waking you in the mornings, Rozenta," she laughed, letting go of me to fold my blankets. "Your reactions are hilarious. Elaine wanted to come, but that wench Marguerite wouldn't leave her alone. Elaine did her hair in a bun, but Marguerite wanted a plait. So Elaine gave her a plait, but then Marguerite threw a tantrum and shrieked that the plait was so bad that she'd rather wear the bun."
I raised my eyebrows at the word 'wench' – for it was too rude a word – but laughed at the news of Marguerite's crankiness. Suddenly, I pitied Elaine. Marguerite was insatiable, and Elaine was practically born to please. I expected her to throw a frosty rant towards Marguerite in the afternoon.
"And oh!" Eder cried, her eyebrows raising to an absurd height and her mouth forming a little O. "Today is the day of Marguerite's luncheon! And you've woken so late, Rozenta… it's ten! The luncheon is at eleven!"
I froze in the action of walking to my wardrobe. In all my surprise, however, I still mentally wondered why a luncheon would be at eleven. Wouldn't they be at two o'clock? But these were nobles, and their words were law.
"An hour to dress? Well, don't worry, Eder," I laughed, regaining my humor and pulling a random gown from my wardrobe. "I'll be ready in ten minutes."
Disbelief spread out on her face, and then mischief unfolded. "Well, we'll just see about that. Only time can truly tell." She plopped down onto my now tidy bed and watched me with a critical, calculating look.
I grinned, merriment sweeping the remainder of my fatigue away. Looking down at the silken dress in my arms, I scrutinized it, noted its colors and its features. It was a silk dress with a neckline that went across my shoulders, leaving them bare. The material was wine-red, deep and classy, and was hemmed with white velvet at all seams. The thing I loved best about this gown was the band of tiny white roses and red roses stitched at the neck hemline.
An evil smile spread across my face. This gown, just like everything else in my wardrobe, was fit for a queen – handpicked by Clement as they were (so said Elaine). To see me dressed so richly would kill Marguerite. The idea was perfect. Besides, I reasoned, if she was to be queen, couldn't I allow myself the least amount of indulgence? My eyes fell on the gown again, and I could already see her reddening face.
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The heavy, gold-gilded doors slid open with an echoing series of creaks, and I was allowed a peek at the golden light of the dining room. The palace dining room was quiet, though not empty. Eder trailed behind me, looking feverishly around for Elaine, whom we both presumed to be here. We proceeded silently and carefully into the dining hall, preparing for the worst. This was evil we were dining with, after all, and nothing good could possibly come out of it.
Marguerite and Clement sat at the far end of the main dinner table, conversing in quiet voices. Or rather, Marguerite gossiping happily away and Clement watching the light reflect on the walls in his boredom. They did not acknowledge the arrival of Eder and myself, and we preferred it that way. But sadly enough, Eder was not invited and had to leave right after finding Elaine, who was looking like a fatal winter blizzard come to an end.
The leather soles of my silky slippers gently padded against the marble floor and I swiftly swept into a chair two seats away from the nobles. The thick underskirts of the wine-colored dress, I had discovered, was tough and prickly and when pressed against my calves, it itched terribly. A deep breath helped me bite the aggravated cry on my tongue.
Clement, taking his eyes off the radiant walls, turned to me as I sat, ignoring the look Marguerite gave him when he cut her off.
"Why, hello, Lady Rozenta," he said in a would-be polite way, his half-grin starting. I briefly gave him a mocking grin in return and shifted my legs' position. The itch was still there, and I was ready to cry from the irritation.
"Oh, yes," Marguerite snapped icily in my direction, sitting straighter. "Welcome, Rozenta dear. The luncheon is in the gardens' courtyard, by the way, and we'll be heading there in a few minutes. That gown," she added, her glacial blue gaze giving my dress a bitter look. "looks divine on you, dear. Simply charming."
Her eyes screamed loathing, for me and my gown alike. Inside, my satisfied smile was wide. The way she scrutinized my gown made me want to laugh in triumph. I hadn't misinterpreted her reaction at all.
While on the subject of gowns, my attention was turned to her. Now that she sat straighter, I could see what she wore clearly – and I suppose that's the reason she sat up straight in the first place. It was a pastel yellow gown of lace frills at every hem and cuff and open seam. The neckline reached the middle of her neck and was covered in thick white frills, which I imagined to be most hot, choking, and uncomfortable. Her waist was that of an hourglass's for she clearly wore a corset, and I chuckled inwardly at her pain.
Marguerite's golden, polished-lemon curls were bound up with a silver pin on each side, both binds meeting and entwining in the middle. The design was intricate and oh-so-complex, and my heart went out to Elaine. It must've taken hours to do such a hairstyle, and with Marguerite as the one being fashioned, it must've taken at least three hours more.
"So," Clement began with a great smile, breaking the tension between Marguerite and myself. "Now that our final guest has arrived, are we to set off to the courtyard or not?"
"Wait," I interrupted, bemused and anticipating a satisfying answer. "Shouldn't there be more guests arriving? This is a luncheon, after all."
Blue ice chips glared at me like nothing else could. They weren't as eerie as Elaine's frosty orbs, but there were ten-times colder.
"They couldn't make it, the poor darlings," Marguerite hurriedly explained, rising neatly from her seat. "Had important others matters to attend to, and I would be horrified to be the one to stop them from getting their jobs done! Duty over delight, as you know. Now come, the menservants shall wait no more and the maids are pestering me."
Clement and I exchanged looks; although we were practically sworn rivals, Clement and I were, are, and would always be on the same side when it came to Marguerite. Whereas her possibilities to becoming queen… the idea was mostly depending on Clement's opinion, abiding by the Merilian customs, and he wasn't likely to marry her anytime soon.
As we rose and conversed on our way out, two maids and a serving man rushed into the dining hall, faces irritable and excited with the day's bustle. The serving man was short but thin, thus giving the impression that he was rather small. The serving maid, however, was short and stout, thus giving off the impression that she was rather squat in size. However, the other serving maid was short and rather thin, but instead of simply looking small from birth, her size gave off the idea that she was unhealthy.
I could've gasped, for her story was one that I had thought of more than once in the past twenty-four hours. And to have her serve for us would be an uncomfortable moment indeed.
"Marcella," Marguerite happily twittered, gesturing to the short, unhealthy child among the servants. "The new serving maid. She's rather small, the poor thing, but quite obedient and a keen worker, I've heard. It took so long for Cook Brinya relent when I asked her for Marcella, but she did so, and so gracefully too. Why, Marcella, show Lady Rozenta to the courtyard please. Maid Geslynn, pick up the lunch trays and set them on my desired table, please. Hedrick, please supervisor our workers," Marguerite added dismissively to the other two servants. They did not bow, but went straight to their duties.
I watched Marcella sympathetically out of the corner of my eye, but I still managed to notice Clement shifting uneasily in the back. I turned and gave him a puzzled look, but he refused to respond to it – in gestures and words alike – and simply ignored my questioning gaze. Marcella, oblivious to the uneasiness of Clement and myself, led the way rather gloomily, walking hurriedly and without a care. I saw only the back of her chestnut head, and I could practically imagine Leanne, with her hazel ringlets the exact same way. The image of her dead, however, also lingered in my mind, and less pleasantly.
We sat at a large rectangular table in the gardens under a shaded area of the courtyard. A pitcher of wine, crystal goblets, lace placemats, linen napkins, porcelain plates, gleaming silverware, and an ivory vase of vibrant lilies and roses adorned the spacious table surface. We sat down and began conversing, and the maid called Geslynn arrived with a tray of biscuits, a hot kettle of tea, and a serving bowl of Merilian's megnigna.
Marcella sat at a small white table not far from ours, waiting miserably for the next order. My seat was in the direction facing hers, and every now and then I would watch her with anxious eyes. Marguerite, even with a biscuit in her mouth, chattered on endlessly and soon bored Clement and myself to death. The last time I had glanced at Clement, he was idly examining the chiseled features of his crystal goblet.
"Pardon me," I broke in politely, my gaze once again wandering to the small, chestnut-haired girl sitting at a table not far from us. "But shouldn't you dismiss Marcella for the moment, for she has nothing to do. Ask Geslynn to call her back later on if you must, but she seems completely bored to death."
Clement gave a vigorous start and watched me with sleepy eyes. Marguerite, thrown off her track of conversation for the second time today, considered me with her icy, calculating eyes, and then stared over at Marcella. The small girl was oblivious to the eyes on her and was staring at her feet.
My vision was not perfect, but I could've sworn I saw tears start in her watering eyes.
"Well, let's give her an order then," Marguerite answered before calling Marcella over with a wave of her gloved hand. Marcella looked up, saw Marguerite's gesture, and walked over, looking ready for another order.
"Carry this back to the kitchens, and ask Cook Brinya to get it washed," Marguerite ordered briskly, shoving her crystal goblet – which was slightly less than half full of wine – into Marcella's possession. She took it without expression or emotion and was turning away before she swiftly stumble and sent the glass tumbling into Marguerite's lap. Unfortunately, the glass landed on its side on Marguerite's lap and in a few seconds' time, a great pool of burgundy developed on Marguerite's precious summer gown.
A shriek escaped Marguerite as she stood, kicking her chair behind her, rubbing her stained gown as thoroughly as she could. When all seemed lost, she glowered at Marcella with a look of pure fury, her pretty face contorted nastily with rage.
"You brat! You stubborn, goose-footed brat! See what you've done! Go! Get away from me!" Marguerite screeched, shoving Marcella a good three foot away from her. Marcella gasped, stumbled and nearly hit the floor, and straightening, she rushed away with tears pouring down her cheeks in a straight stream.
I watched all this, befuddled. Confusion filled me for a moment, and then anger took over. The noblewoman's mask that possessed me for the day vanished utterly and I rose, glaring daggers at Marguerite. The blonde did not notice and whimpered pathetically, rubbing the linen napkin hard against her dress, which was hopelessly stained. She also did not look up until a yell escaped me, choking with mingled fury and disbelief.
"How could you?" I cried, striding away hurriedly from the table. I saw Clement stare around at Marguerite and myself in extreme confusion, his brow furrowing while he tried to comprehend the situation. I, however, had lost my temper and had had enough. The way they treated Marcella, the way they pretended that she had no reason to cry every night… it made me want to shout.
In a fury, I had seized my linen napkin and flung it at her face. She screamed as though I had just thrown a heavy weight in her direction, and clawed like a witch at the napkin. Unsatisfied with this reaction, I threw down my glass goblet for the effect and stomped off.
My pace matched my heartbeat. I spared a single glance back at Marguerite's luncheon, and suddenly remembered the absence of a crashing sound. The glass goblet that I had flung at the floor lay there pristine and perfect, lacking the slightest trace of damage.
I spared a second of wonder at the magical glass, but stomped off after that second. I heard Clement call for me several times, but I did not turn back.
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The doors burst open to the hall and I stormed in, my face thunder. The little red ribbon in my hair had popped out as I shrieked, and I had no idea where it was. But I cared little of it, and instead focused on finding Marcella. I had heard her heart-piercing sobs as she ran from the luncheon, and I followed them. But they led me here, and upon entering the dining room, I could hear those series of sobs no more.
Fatigue caught up with me, and I collapsed unceremoniously into a seat at the dining table. I took a deep breath, and released it. Straining my hearing for those sobs once again, I sighed when I knew they were entirely gone.
I had been sitting and meditating for a full ten minutes before the door opened once again.
I gasped when I saw the enterers. Lady Miorelle – a noble guest from the land of Buennté, a neighboring land – strode into the room in her gracious, alluring way, escorted arm in arm by a tall dark-haired, dark-eyed, and dark-complexioned figure in rich clothes. He was grinning behind his thick mustache – an indulging smile, as a matter of fact. A familiar indulging smile…
The man was so familiar… like someone who left our camp about a year ago…
And it struck me. I gasped.
The man shifted his head, and something pearly on his ear shimmered. It was a white-gold earring, a small studded thing – one that indicated a Gypsy man blessed with riches.
And my suspicions were confirmed.
A/N: I have nothing to say but review, review, and review! And that the entire plot has been laid out, chapter to chapter, and that is indeed good news.
