Threads

The mid-morning sun outside was mild, but the room was so dark without it that the light blared through the window as a star does in the ebony sky of midnight; brightly and beautifully. The result was an excessively lit bedroom; small and simple, with a tiny dusty mirror hanging on one of its four walls, and a small, thinly blanketed bed by the opposite wall. There was a chest of clothing pressed against the bed, and a screen in the corner next to the mirror. Though it was rather obvious that the bedroom hadn't been dusted in a fair amount of weeks, the room was otherwise kept in a reasonably good order. The bed was made, the mirror was hanging straight, and the chest of clothing was open so that the neat stack of sensible work dresses was visible.

The kitchen at the bottom of the spiral staircase was even more brightly lit by the numerous windows on the walls. It was much less modest throughout the rest of the house than it was in the tiny bedroom, with long decorated hallways, walls covered by expensive looking paintings, and ceilings dressed with crystal chandeliers. From the perspective of anyone outside the house, one wouldn't expect the extravagance that was beyond the opening doors. But, then, it was a well-known fact at this time that not all things are what they appear to be.

The kitchen was not empty. Seated at one of the chairs by the windows was a girl, and one glance at her could tell you that the girl was the unmistakable owner of the small, tidy bedroom on the second floor. She was young, no older than sixteen, and dressed in one of the simple servant's dresses that had been in the chest. She was clean and attractive, short of both beautiful and repulsive, with a slightly long oval face and soft light skin. Her mouth was pleasantly colored but surprisingly tiny, giving the impression of a girl who said all that she needed to say, without using too many words in the process. The cheekbones underneath her small, alert, short but darkly lashed crystal blue eyes were subtly sharp. But there were two things remarkable about her appearance. The first was her hair; the long, thick braid that brushed the floor's surface when she walked, with a color that would have been black had it not been for the odd dark red tinge to it. The second was her posture. It was much easier to see when she was walking than when she was sitting down at a chair, but her back was dead on straight, and gracefully so. Her shoulders were well set, not slumped forward or pushed too far back, giving her a natural poise that was noticeably perfect. Were she to stand from her chair and walk, her smooth step and lightness of foot would have been apparent also; she hardly made a sound when she moved.

She sat there, a pale, expensive looking fabric in her lap, and a sewing needle poking through it. She was sewing two of the fabric squares together when suddenly the door across from her chair burst open. She didn't shriek in shock, but simply jumped a bit in her chair as she looked up to see a panicked looking young man standing in the doorway, nearly out of breath.

The girl smiled a bit as she saw him, then turned her head back down to her work. It was hard to tell if the smile was a smirk or not. "Stop by again, Jack?" she said. The question was obviously a jest from her tone of voice, so the boy didn't waste the little breath he had in answering it. Instead, he shut the door quickly and leaned his back against it, panting from running.

The girl raised her eyebrows. "If they were close behind you, than you can leave now. The last thing I need is Roberta finding out that the king's men were here, or finding out that you were here again."

Jack glanced around the room, his eyes stopping at each of the doors. "Oh, so she's not here then?"

"Jack,"

Having regained more of his air, he laughed a bit. "Relax Elle, they were half a mile behind me," he said as he walked over to the table and took the chair across from her, leaning his head back in exhaustion.

He looked the age counterpart of Elle physically, but something about his expressions always gave him a slightly untamed, childishly defiant manner. She and he were clearly not on the same level of society; his clothing was very pricey looking and well suited to his averaged-muscled and slightly wiry structure. It wasn't entirely clean; his breeches were splattered with mud, most likely from the running, and there was a tear at the hem of the leg that looked very recently made. His eyes were a blend of green, gray and blue, and always seemed to shift endlessly in and out of the three colors. With tan, smooth skin that was his best feature, a semi-strong chin, and a perfect nose (that could have been considered a bit feminine), Jack could have passed for the prince that he was. But that naive defiance of his kept him from the level of the prince; because of it, he looked unfit for the extravagance of his attire, and much more fit for the torn hem of his breeches.

Elle shook her head and looked back down at her needle and thread. "So who, exactly, are you running from now?"

Jack reached for her water glass on the table and took a small sip before sighing and rolling his eyes. "Do you really have to ask me that? How many times have I told you not to ask me that?"

"How many times have I told you that I'm not going to listen when you ask me that? You don't have to do everything everyone at that palace says."

"Well, they're led by my father. What am I supposed to do?"

"Tell him no."

"He's my father."

Elle put down her work and stared at him straight on. "By that, do you mean that he's your father or that he's the king?"

Jack slammed his drinking glass down on the table, unsure whether to be more frustrated than guilty, or in reverse. But these types of conversations with Elle were becoming quite frequent, so naturally, he chose frustration. "Elle, if you keep doing this, than you're going to have to come up with different arguments. This is about the fourth time you've asked me that."

One side of Elle's mouth turned up a bit, making her mouth seem substantially larger than it was when she frowned. "Actually Jack, it's the fifth time I have asked you that, and the fifth time that you've denied me an answer. So, if you don't answer it soon, the next time you come around here from a knight's chase, I will have to ask it a sixth time."

Jack stared at her quizzically, but Elle didn't miss the sudden flash of panic in his eyes. Jack had always hated being under her scrutiny. As much as he cared about her, he wished that she was less observant when it came to people that she knew as well as him. "I gave you an answer the first time you asked!"

"If I remember correctly you stared at me open-mouthed for a second or two, and then mumbled something under your breath about being hungry, and then went to get a slice of ham."

Jack groaned, very near to anger now. "Damnit, do you have to remember everything?"

"When it comes to you, yes. You'd be dead by now if I didn't. Now answer my question."

She stared long and hard at him, and he began to stare long and hard at the table. She observed him carefully, and was surprised to see that something was wrong with him. He was thinking about the question, tough. It was hurting him, but Elle knew Jack well enough to know that he had thought about it previously. He drummed his fingers on the table softly, and realized that there was no way around answering his best friend.

Slowly, without taking his eyes off the table, he began to speak with a dark, inward undertone that suddenly made Elle almost sorry she had ever asked. "I guess it is because he's my king, and my blood. I'm not so sure now if 'father' is the word I would use to describe him."

Elle's small blue eyes widened, and she immediately turned them down so he could not see them. She hadn't completely been expecting this. There was a pause as she tried to cover this up and turn her head back to Jack, but her voice came out timid and quiet.

"What did he make you do?" she asked him cautiously, almost afraid to know. "Was it...that bad?" Her fear was needless, because Jack wasn't going to tell her.

"You know Elle, I really hate it when you do this." he said shortly, making her feel even more unsettled. He got up abruptly and walked over to the window, putting his hands on the sill and looking out at the considerably brighter sun.

Elle once again tried to steady herself. "Jack..." she tried to go on, but he wouldn't let her.

"Elle, you of all people know how things are when it comes to your flesh and blood!" he shouted, almost desperate for her to understand, while still being furious with her. "Roberta hates you, you know that, and yet you let her order you around as if she owns you! How can you badger me about forgetting that father isn't only my king, when you treat Roberta as if she is your queen! What are you sewing now? Because something tells me that that fabric is a bit too expensive to be coming out of your collection of scraps." he stopped and inhaled breath to calm himself down. "Elle, you're stronger than that. I've known you my whole life, I know that. But you and I; we're in the same boat here. Even though she's only your stepmother, you still can't disobey her. And even though he doesn't feel like a father," he paused, looking at her straight in the eye, begging her to understand. "-he is my family."

Elle was silent. Throughout Jack's whole speech, it was clear to him that she had been stung by the first part. She wasn't looking at him anymore, but down at her lap. But her posture was still as steady as ever, and her face was forced into a calmer stage. Her eyes were glazed over with the thinnest layer of water, but this was the only obvious sign of hurt. Elle had always been better with self-control than Jack.

"You're wrong, Jack," she said suddenly, her voice barely trembling. "We're not in the same boat," she looked back up at him, the layer of water making her unmoving eyes bright. For a moment, Jack was afraid he had made her cry. But he had never seen Elle cry, and he wasn't going to any time soon.

"You have two flaws, Jack, I have one, and we both share mine." she continued, staring at him head on and losing her voice's slight shake. "I obey the rules that are given to me, and you run from them before you do."

Jack had no answer to that.

So he sighed in surrender, and asked Elle for some ale.

She nodded. "Help yourself. I think Angela snuck a bottle past her mother, it's probably in the back of the cupboard."

"Thanks." he said, opening the cupboard. "So, where is Roberta anyway?"

"She's out at the marketplace with Lisabeth and Angela. Could you pour me a glass?"

"Oh, sure," he said as he slammed the bottle on the table. "What are they buying?"

Elle shrugged and rolled her eyes slightly as she continued with her needle. "I believe the original intention was for new shoes, but they'll end up getting lost in the gowns and cheek coloring and will come back with two men behind them, dragging and carrying everything they bought."

Jack turned raised an eyebrow, a trick that Elle had never bothered to learn. "Just two men?" he said, laughing. "Nah, more like four."

Elle suddenly raised her own two eyebrows challengingly, and turned one corner of her mouth up. "You want to put a wager on that?"

Jack stood straight up. "How much?" he asked excitedly, almost in the fashion of an eight-year-old rascal.

"Five breielles."

"Done." He slammed her glass of ale in front of her. Jack had a tendency to slam whatever he set down.

They rose their glasses, clinked, and drank. Elle watched her best friend in silence, thanking the Gods that everything was now back to the usual.

Jack licked the ale off his lips. "So, how is the step-monster?"

Elle gave him a sharp glance for calling Roberta that, but didn't bother to chide him. "She's just fine, I suppose. Angela's the same as usual also-" (Jack snorted at this, knowing very well how Angela usually was) "-but Lisabeth, she's been acting rather odd lately."

"Lisabeth?" Jack chuckled. "Odd? She's probably the closest thing to normal living in this house."

Elle rolled her eyes at Jack's comment, but continued on. "Oh, she's been acting odd, alright. I've seen her sneaking food up to her bedroom, and she always seems to be watching me, suspicious and nervous. I think she's hiding something."

"What in hellfire could that girl possibly want to hide? And from you, of all people?" he asked. When he realized that Elle was in her own thought, and wasn't going to answer him, he shrugged and took another sip of ale.

After the two were comfortably quiet for a while, Jack seemed to remember one more member of the family whom he hadn't previously asked about. "And what about Cinderash? Is she here?"

Before Elle could scold him for the nickname, a reply to the question came from a third mouth. "Actually, she is, and even within earshot of you."

The two of them spun around in their chairs to see Celene Glasswen through the open door to the dining room walking over to them. She was filthy with soot, and carrying a basket of clothing, undoubtedly laundry. When she reached the doorway, she gave Jack a sour stare.

"I suggest you be a little nicer, Jack," she said coolly and grouchily. "If you don't want me to tell Roberta that you were here."

Celene's threat would have scared the prince a bit, had he not heard it at least nine times before in the past two months alone. Instead, he nodded politely at her. "Pleasure to see you, Celene." he said, trying and failing to keep the laughter out of his voice. This didn't go unnoticed by Celene, who stopped walking and glared at him ferociously.

"Don't you dare tell her about this, Celene." Elle said, with a suddenly sharp and commanding tone in her voice

Celene snorted (somehow managing not to sound at all masculine), but it was obvious to both Jack and her sister that she faltered slightly. Elle was the older sister, if only by a minute, and Celene had never truly defied up to her. "Oh, if I had a zouhlad for every time I heard that." she muttered as she dropped the basket of clothing next to Elle. "There's the mending." she said.

It was obvious, if not apparent, that the Glasswen girls were related. They both had the same crystalline blue eyes and pleasantly colored lips, but, while Elle's features were more sharp and memorably distinct than her sister's, Celene's features were a maximized version of Elle's. Her lips were full and beautiful, making the grumpy pout that Celene presently wore look amazingly attractive. While her cheekbones were high, like Elle's, they were pushed farther back, giving her face more of a heart shape rather than one similar to Elle's oval. The eyes were much wider and longer lashed (though Elle's lashes were still darker), with a high arched brow. The curls that hung past her shoulders were golden and sunlit. The nose was delicate, and the figure was curved and full, with subtly muscled arms, feminine legs, and surprisingly tiny, delicate feet.

But what was even more eye-catching than Celene's beauty was the fact that she did not look in any sort of state to be beautiful. For one thing, it was very unusual for any young woman's legs to be showing in Fifth Age Vaillere, but Celene's servant's gown was so worn and filthy that the hem was torn in many places, revealing her attractive calves and almost her entire knee. The gown was also too small for her, making it stick much closer to her skin than was proper for a servant. Her tanned skin was dusted all over with soot from the fireplace, but it somehow made her seem all the prettier, as if the colors of her lip and eye were more visible when set in black ash. In total, there was just something about Celene's apparent inconveniences that was altogether...too convenient. As if she had planned out this entire scheme of imperfections to really enhance her own effect. An observant outsider could easily catch all of this, and then, when that outsider would look into the eyes of Celene Glasswen, they would see that dangerous spark of ambition that was glaring out through them. Because Celene was ambitious, and while her actions did have boundaries, her imagination didn't. Something about the way she presented herself as cleverly as she did made it apparent that she didn't intend to be living in a cellar for too long. She had the ability to use all that she had, in any way she could.

Elle looked down at the basket and nodded. "Thanks, Cele." she was thanking her for more than just the laundry, but for her silence as well. When Celene realized this, she flushed and turned her head toward the floor.

"If you need me, I'll be in the cellar." she said, obviously a bit uncomfortable. She started towards the door, but turned back. "When's Roberta going to be back?" she asked cautiously.

Elle saw the spark in her twin's eye and smirked inwardly, wondering whether she should tell her the truth. "In about an hour." It was a lie.

Celene's eyes widened, and that spark became more and more prominent inside them. "Alright." she said, obviously pleased. She gave Jack a little glare as she left the kitchen, tripping slightly over those miniscule feet when she closed the door. She lacked her twin's grace.

The second the door slammed shut, Jack burst out laughing the laugh that he had been holding back for quite a while now. Elle gave him one of her looks, but she couldn't resist shaking her head at her sister. It was difficult to tell if the little smile tugging at her mouth was one that was fond, sad, or a smirk.

When Jack had finished laughing, he took a sip of his ale and glanced at the door Celene had gone through. "So, who's she going to have down there?" Elle didn't answer him, only stared at the door expressionlessly. "Anyone I would know?" he asked with a smirk.

Elle shook her head again and let her smile widen a bit more as she glanced down to her work again. "Probably one of the young nobles up the hill. They're the ones that usually pay her."

"What about those farm boys? Have there been any of them recently?"

"Two this month so far."

"Damn, and I had thought she only went for stuck up aristocrats."

"As many of those as there are, she will take a farm boy occasionally."

"But only the stuck up farm boys."

"Sadly yes, and never anyone that isn't devastatingly handsome."

"By whose standards?" Jack asked in obvious jest, raising an eyebrow at her. "Yours or hers?"

Elle only smiled at him mysteriously. "Depends on the man."

Jack laughed and continued the previous conversation. "How much do they pay her usually?"

"Not as much as those noble brats do, but they actually pay quite a similar price."

"Have you checked her stock lately?"

Elle nodded, almost gravely. "Just yesterday. She's nearly got fifteen hundred zouhlads saved down there." Giving her perfect posture a rest, she leaned her back against her chair as she looked down at the table, deep in thought. "What she's saving it for...that I have no idea."

Jack raised an eyebrow at his best friend. "I still don't get how you can't see it; it's ration money. She wants to run away."

But Elle shook her head. "I've told you Jack, she wouldn't do that. She'd be eaten alive out there, she knows it. Besides, where would she run? A whore house is probably the only place she could get a steady income, and if that's the case, there's no point in leaving." she stared at him then, straight in the eye, showing him that she meant what she said. "She wouldn't do that Jack. I trust her." that being said, she grabbed a dress from the basket on the floor and began to sew.

Jack sighed and leaned back in his chair, circling the rim of his glass with a tanned finger. He wasn't sure if Elle was right to trust Celene. It kind of unsettled him that his best friend had so much faith in her twin, mostly because of the fact that he had known Celene ever since they were four years old, and lately, he felt as if he didn't really know her at all. The girl spent nearly all her time down by the fireplace cellar, either reading or writing or scheming or dreaming or having sex with the men she brought to her little cot by the fire. In fact, the only attractive young man who had been in close proximity to the house that Celene hadn't landed was Jack.

He watched Elle as she sewed, and yawned loudly. "If you're going to ignore me and waste your time working, than I'm not so sure I should give you your gift."

Jack watched in satisfaction as his best friend raised her head from her work and looked at him curiously. "What gift?"

He smirked as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a drawstring back. Dipping his hand into the back, he revealed what appeared to be a block of brown, solid substance. Its appearance was simple, but that didn't stop Elle's eyes from widening.

"You've been sitting here sipping at our old ale when all this time you had chocolate in your pocket?" she asked with an incredulous voice and smile.

Jack laughed and shrugged guiltily. "I forgot I had brought it." Elle reached to grab the semi-melted brick and took a bite. The sweet, unusual taste of the chocolate wrapped itself around her tongue as she savored every second of the bite. If only she could savor every second of life, the way she did with chocolate. The way Angela did. The way her father did.

She was about to take her second bite when the brick was snatched out of her hand. She glared at Jack with indignity. He smiled vaguely and laughed.

"Now, now, we mustn't get grabby now, must we?" he said mockingly, speaking to her as a governess speaks to a six year old child. "The rest of this is for gambling."

Elle raised her eyebrows. "Gambling on what?" she asked, knowing very well the answer.

Jack's eyes began to widen and grow excited, as if he had switched from being the governess to the child that he genuinely was. "Frostros."

Elle smiled fondly with the tiniest hint of a smirk and laughed, but she did agree to play. She took the cards out from the hidden cupboard inside the wine cabinet, and began to deal them out.

Frostros was a game that she and Jack had been playing ever since they were children. It was a silly card game, involving the constant rotation of cards and the guessing of which card was being bet on. It was the type of strategy that children would use, because the game was made for children.

And that's all that Jack wanted to be. A child. The best times of his life all happened in his childhood, when Glasswen twin's parents were alive, when Celene preferred the sunlight to the firelight, when Jack's father was almost always away at the war, when Angela and Lisabeth were merely two playmates instead of the twins' stepsisters, when Elle had no reason to obey Roberta. When none of them had a care in the world. Jack didn't want to face the reality that was life; he didn't want to accept the fact that he had to grow up.

So he held onto one of the only bits of childhood that was still in existence; Frostros. Even at his age of sixteen, Frostros never ceased to excite him and endear itself to him. Elle was not stupid or cruel; she knew how much Jack loved the game. She would never refuse to play with him, partly because she cared about him, and partly because there was a piece of her that wanted to hold onto her own childlike innocence, despite the fact that hers had faded away long ago.

Roberta turned out to be gone for much longer than an hour, so Elle and Jack talked and played Frostros until somewhere around midday. Though it was made for children, it was a rather continuous game. Finally, they came to the last round and put the chocolate in the center. As they laid down their cards, it was very apparent who had won.

"Hand over the chocolate, Jack." Elle said triumphantly, holding out her hand. She could have easily reached the brick herself, but she couldn't resist making him suffer. Grudgingly, he gave it to her and pouted at she took small bites out of it, enjoying each one. Try as he may to keep the disappointed look on his face, he couldn't resist laughing at the ridiculous sounds Elle purposely made as she ate the chocolate. Soon they had both burst into hysterical laughter, at absolutely nothing. There had always been something about a laugh; it was contagious.

When they had finished laughing, Jack looked at Elle with mock authority. Elle merely smiled and rolled her eyes at him.

"Elle, you have already received your reward for winning the game." He said, turning his voice down a pitch and imitating the stiff-backed command of a chancellor. "But that was one of the best played games of Frostros that I have seen in my time." Elle watched him with obvious amusement. "And for that," he said, reverting back to his own voice and manner. "-you shall receive another reward."

The drawstring back from which the chocolate had come from was lying on the table. Jack picked it up and pulled another smaller bag from it, and handed it to Elle with a mysterious smile on his face. She opened it and glanced inside, her mouth and eyes widening with shock.

For a moment she couldn't speak. When she did, her voice was breathless with thanks, disbelief, and reluctance. "Jack..."

He stopped her before she could protest. "It's yours. Take it. And that is an order from the prince."

Elle reached into the bag and pulled out a ball of silvery white thread. It was soft as a feather, delicate as a robin's egg, and beautiful as an eagle. Though the thread was thin and flexible, it almost appeared to be transparent, as if it were glass. Elle had never seen such a beautiful thread in all her life.

"Myingren silk," she whispered. "But...but Jack, it's so rare...I can't-"

"Elle, when you're a prince of a kingdom like Vaillere, very little is truly priceless." he said, with a quality in his voice that was somewhere in between bitterness and pride. "They just brought in loads of the stuff to the palace, snatching some of it was easy." he smiled softly at her as she looked up, completely speechless. "Now, don't waste it. Use it one something special." he advised, reverting back to the lecturing governess. Elle laughed a little at it, and then stood up serenely.

"Thank you, Jack." she said quietly, a quality in her eyes that had not been present before. She began to step slowly closer to him, and Jack couldn't resist letting his eyes trail over her figure. Finally Elle closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around his neck, loosely and seductively. She began to brush her lips against his, laughing quietly as she saw that childish thrill in his eyes that she had seen so many times before.

"You planned this, didn't you?" she asked in a low voice.

Jack turned up one corner of his mouth in a soft smile. "I might have." And then he kissed her.

They lied next to each other, unclothed in Elle's bed, staring at the ceiling in comfortable silence. Jack was deep in thought, when suddenly he spoke. "Father's holding another ball for me."

Elle stiffened the tiniest bit, and then lay still, for a while silent. "Mmhm?" she finally said.

He didn't answer at first. "He's serious this time. I have to choose a bride."

Elle uncomfortably braced herself. "I see." she said slowly. The pause after her words was brief but strained, until it was broken by Jack.

"Marry me, Elle!" he burst out suddenly, his voice raising a desperate octave higher. She winced at the sound of his begging. "Elle, I can't choose a wife out of those aristocratic pigs of women! I care more about you than I ever have about anyone, and I need you with me there!" He watched her waiting for a response. When he did not get one, he continued in a softer voice. "Nothing would change, Elle," he pleaded. "I wouldn't treat you any differently, we would still be the same-"

"Nothing would change?" Elle interrupted with sharp incredulity. "Jack, I would have to live in a palace, we would have to live together, people would see me as a princess, Celene would be left alone with Roberta, and you say that nothing would change? I'm a servant, meant for dusty tables and hallways, not for chandeliers and fine jewelry, nor for the running of a kingdom."

"Your mother was royalty," Jack challenged.

"I'm not exactly my mother. And I can't leave Celene here, not on her own." She looked away from him and got a distant look in her eyes. "I'm all that's kept her from her from slicing off Roberta's hair in the night and then running off to one of her pleasure men for shelter."

Jack shook her head. "Your sister might be a whore, but she's tough. She can handle herself." his eyes began to widen, like a homeless child on the streets, imploring pedestrians for a crust of bread. "Please, Elle."

It pained Elle to see the look in his eyes, but ever since childhood, she had been a professional with self-control. Jack was no exception. "We've been over this Jack." she said softly, decisively. "We can't marry."

Defeated finally, Jack slammed his head down on the pillow with a groan. "Why?" he moaned in despair, unsure if he was asking Elle, himself, or the gods above.

There was a momentary pause before the faintest wan smile appeared on Elle's lips. "I don't love you, Jack, anymore than you love me. We've both seen what lack of love in marriage can do to people."

Jack was silent before groaning once again, hating Elle for being right.

But before either of them could say anything else, they heard the slam of the door, and a woman's call that did not belong to Celene. "ELLE!"

Jack jumped slightly in the bed, but Elle simply stood from the bed, unfazed. "Get dressed." she ordered quietly, as she did the same. "You can go out the back door, she won't see you."

Like an obedient little boy, Jack rushed to get his clothes on, and watched a fully dressed Elle walk smoothly out the door, calling out "I'm coming, Roberta."

Staring after her in disbelief, he slung his jacket over his shoulders, and sped down the second staircase as quietly as he could.