Welcome to The Fic You Didn't Know Was Eating Fenella's Brain...
Tamora Pierce fic written for Piercefic08. This is Part I of quite possibly many. And mostly, this is to get me writing again... so there.
Postcards from New Hope
(or How to Grow a Woman from the Ground)
*
Part I
*
At the heart of the city is a circular courtyard. Cobble stone flooring leads inwards and wooden benches dot the perimeter, empty in the early morning light. The courtyard is framed in all direction by townhouses, also wood, impossibly tall and twisting smugly in defiance of gravity.
Here, southern architecture is animated by the spirit of the North. It’s the work of a team of academics and mages, come specifically to build and spell against fires. Fire, some years after the Scanran war, is more of a threat than raiding parties sent to attack. Magical theories have been developed and expanded upon over the long, isolated winters and the accompanying design process is flavoured with an edge of frost-bitten insanity.
Twelve arching tunnels - one for every hour of the day - lead away from the courtyard and down from the high ground where the guard house of Mindelan’s Bound once stood, when the settlement was still a refugee camp, and not yet a full fledged city.
The space is thick with quiet, almost sacred. And though the form is circular, with no obvious front or back, there is in the middle, being watched by the empty benches, what is undeniably an altar.
The likeness of a warhorse stands larger than life with sparrows perched in his mane, and a scruffy dog stares out from under the horse’s feet. To the side - or maybe it’s the front - with her shoulder-blade pressed against the gelding’s withers, arm slung across his back, head tilted back and a wistful expression beneath her helmet, is Sir Keladry of Mindelan, founding commander of the city.
At her feet, a roughly carved sign reads So Mote it Be.
*
“Whoops a daisy,” says the man that years from now, Hope will be told is Captain Masbolle. The bottom drops out of her stomach and she shrieks before he catches her, grinning.
The toddler, wide-eyed, stares at him for a few seconds, horrified, and there’s a sob forming at the bottom of her throat. Hope’s eyes prickle unhappily and she look up at the unfeeling, despicable man. Captain Masbolle’s crinkled eyes are as clear a blue as the sky on a warm summer’s day, and he has a short scruffy beard like Uncle Anders, Hope’s favourite person in the entire world.
Hope closes her mouth, open, and ready to scream, and settles for an indignant sniffle. In the end, it’s his nose, both awkward and familiar, that change her heart. Flinging chubby arms around the man’s neck, she cackles. “Again!”
Masbolle laughs, smoothes the hair back from her forehead and to her everlasting delight, throws Hope back into the air.
Ride a fine horse to Flyndan’s Pass
To see a proud lady upon a white horse
With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
She shall have music wherever she goes.
There are chuckles from the men gathered around the room and someone speaks, between noisy bites of an apple. “Did your Mama teach you that one, Captain?”
Turning to find the speaker, Hope sees the the largest man she’s ever seen. Across, he’s at least as wide as her mother is tall, and he doesn’t stand in the corner; he looms.
Hope gapes at the man and wonders, in awe, if he came through the doorway.
The man opens his mouth and when he speaks, it’s in a low, melodious rumble. “I could ask her tonight,” he says. “When we’re making sweet, sweet--”
“Corporal Emmett,” the Captain interrupts sharply, ignoring the man and looking Hope conspiratorially in the face, “Is only jealous that I’m the one with the prettiest little girl in all of New Hope on his knee. Isn’t that right, love?”
The big man turns a dull pink across the cheeks and lumbers towards the door. Hope’s head turns, tracking his progress to see if he fits, but there are a new group of men blocking her view, and Emmett from leaving the room. He shrugs and takes a seat.
Hope’s Mother’s guardhouse office seems to be a popular gathering place. The room fills with people who have come to stare down at her. They’re mostly loud and energetic men, and soon the room starts to smell like sweat.
“We’re on baby-sitting duty now?”
“Hey, lookit, she’s adorable! Like Kel... but smaller. Look at her itsy bitsy hands!” A curly-haired man holds up his own hands and stares at them, apparently bewildered by their huge size.
“How many soldiers does it take to watch one kid?”
“This is Mindelan’s kid.”
Even at a young age, Hope recognizes the reverent tone used on Mother’s name; it’s the same way that someone would talk about Alanna the Lioness, or their chosen deity.
“You say that as if she’s about to whip out a glaive, and make a break for the door.”
“It could happen!”
“We’re trained professionals. Get a hold of yourself, soldier.”
“None of us are married, or have children of our own...”
“At least not any legitimate ones - what’s your Gods’ forsaken point?”
The man that Captain Masbolle has called Corporal Emmett smacks the man beside him upside the head, a ferocious look on his face. “Penn, you fool!”
“Ow! What!?” Yelps the one called Penn, his hands flying up in self defense.
“Don’t swear in front of the baby!”
“I’m not a baby, I am two and a half years old!” A growl escapes from Hope’s throat.
Sometimes Mother likes to tell people that Hope learned to speak dog before learning Common. Hope can never understand why this is so strange; some people speak Scanran, or even Gallan before learning Common. Dogs just happen to speak a lot more sense than humans.
On the subject of not making sense, the same man, Penn, having somehow managed to escape the other’s death grip, slaps Emmett cheerfully on the back. “Good one Em. Now you’re going to have to move to Carthak and live under an assumed name. We’ll miss you sorely - actually, that’s debatable, and, uh, another conversation entirely - but this one, when she grows up, she’ll be able to break you with her pinky.”
Corporal Emmett winces when Hope laughs. She’s decided that these men are funny.
“Exactly!” Another soldier takes advantage of the lull in conversation as Captain Masbolle presents Hope with a beautiful wooden horse, and promptly becomes her new best friend. Hope smiles at him winningly. He grins back, and crosses his eyes.
“I’m just saying, I don’t want to be the one on baby duty when the Lady Knight’s little girl decides that wooden swords aren’t realistic enough.”
One soldier groans. It sounds like he’s in pain. Mother has told Hope that soldiers are tough, though, so maybe he’s just pretending. In any case, swords bore Hope. The strings on the Captain’s tunic are much more interesting.
When Hope pulls on one string, it gets longer, and the other one gets shorter. It makes a certain kind of sense, she decides after a moment, in the same way that if someone kicks you, you kick back.
Mother says you shouldn’t kick people, even if the other guy gives you a really good reason to do it, but Mother tends to have high expectations of people. And also, she kicks people all the time, so her argument doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.
“For the love of Blind Mary, nothing bad is going to happen! Fulcher here is an expert on ba-- two and a half year olds. He has eleven younger siblings.”
“Twelve, actually.” A nervous looking man who’s been staring at Hope miserably is the one to answer. “Leaving home was the only way to get away from the diapers.”
“See! He has twelve younger siblings!”
“I don’t know about you but I’m with Fulch, I didn’t sign up to look after babies...”
“Shut up, Moron. This isn’t just a baby, it’s Kel’s baby. How many times has she saved your scrawny ass?”
There’s a silence and then a bored sounding voice drawls, “Eight, which makes it twice as high as he can count. Watch your language, you under-educated savages, or find somewhere else to loiter.”
There’s some good-natured laughter, and Corporal Emmett pounces on Penn, putting him in a headlock. “I told you not to curse in front of the baby, you idiot.”
Penn squawks in a manner that surely does not befit a soldier of the Crown. His arms flail and he flops about like a fish on the Vassa River boardwalk. His face turns purple.
Masbolle quirks an eyebrow upwards, staring down at Hope.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, little one,” he says. “Uncle Lerant’s got your back.”
Strong hands remove Hope from Masbolle’s lap, and bring her face to face with this supposed Uncle. His expression changes from irritation to wonder as he stares into Hope’s face.
“You’re beautiful,” he tells her. “You look just like Keladry.”
*
Thick wooden walls can no longer contain the city. Retired from a career of defense, the ramparts dissect city quarters and mark the beginning of a sloping urban sprawl down to the Vassa River. Faded into the landscape, they are white noise; a soft of reminder of New Hope and the city’s uneasy past.
*
“I’m glad you’re back,” says Merric.
Kel smiles and shakes her head. “I’m not back, merely passing through.”
The corners of Merric’s mouth tug upwards. “It’s been three weeks, you should really think about finding somewhere to stay.”
The wind is flying about in gusts, creating havoc for the fishermen. Their boats dot the dark blue water, pitching dangerously from one side to the other.
“I’m staying in the Guardhouse.” Kel looks at Merric, confusion written across her features. “Where I always do.”
She teases, “I know you’ve been eyeing my office, Merric, but really yours is just as big. Bigger, probably, once you take into account the boxes of paperwork stacked in mine.”
Merric leans on the boardwalk railing, staring out across the Vassa. He chooses his words carefully, and his face is serious. “True. It’s just that, well. Living in an office, it’s not exactly... proper.” The words sound thin.
The Lady Knight resists the urge to cuff Merric, like she would have done when they were younger, and raises her eyebrows instead. She takes a moment to respond.
“You sleep in your office,” Kel says eventually, seemingly calm.
“Yes, but...”
If Merric wants to have this conversation, she’s not going to make it easy for him.
“Yes, but?”
“Kel, your daughter is sleeping in a drawer.”
There’s a chilly silence in which Kel is all too aware of the sounds of the waterfront industry, underscored by the distant strike of metal on metal and rolling waves.
“It seems to me,” begins Kel. “That people asking for help shouldn’t criticize those who answer their call.”
Unflinching, Merric matches her stare for stare. That’s new, thinks Kel a little giddily.
“We’re worried," says Merric.
“We?” Kel feels sick at the thought of her friends gathered around to discuss her shortcomings.
“Yes. Myself, Owen and Tobe - why won’t you stay with Neal and Yuki?”
Kel sighs; she’s been through this a million times. “They’re both run off their feet.”
“Mithros, Kel,” says Merric. “Them, you, me and the rest of New Hope. In case you haven’t noticed, life isn’t exactly easy up here.”
She can feel herself staring incredulously. “You’re lecturing me now, Hollyrose?”
“I have no doubt that you can survive alone, Kel. But when you pretend like you can live a happy life, without ever taking help where it’s offered, even you know that you’re being ridiculous.”
Merric’s tone is both reasonable and confident and Kel, who hasn’t slept in what seems like months, can feel herself curling into the warmth.
“You and your daughter both deserve better.”
Kel turns around and stares back at New Hope; it’s as though the city is rising from the ground above her. The distant infirmary, where Neal is no doubt working himself into a state of exhaustion, seems to be suspended in mid-air, at the peak, caught on a wire between two neighbouring heights.
“Okay,” says Kel, deflated. “Okay, I’ll go talk to Yuki this afternoon.”
“Good,” says Merric, hugging her around the shoulders with one arm. “Now I can steal your office.”
Kel glares. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re just lucky, Keladry, that you listened to the voice of reason.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Merric, you’re not the voice of reason. But,” concedes Kel, “I didn’t build this city by myself, either.”
“That’s not what the stories say,” grins Merric.
Seeing Kel’s flush, Merric laughs. “You know, we were about to send a courier to Cavall, asking My Lord Wyldon to come talk some sense into your head.”
Kel groans, covering her face with her hands, embarrassed, and changes the subject;
“Tell me again about the disappearances.”
*
Hope has already learned, in the two short weeks that she has been living with Sir Will and Lady Jocelyn, that behind every plain townhome facade, is a vaulted ceiling and large hall dancing hall of unimaginable space. At least, that's the way it is in the Noble's Quarter of Mindelan's Bound.
It's almost inconceivable that, looking from the outside, such rooms fit inside. The first few days that Hope spends exploring the Jesslaw's home - her new home - is filled with disorienting discoveries of hidden staircases and salons with views that don't quite correspond to their location.
Then again, Lady Jocelyn is an actress.
“You look just like your Mother,” says yet another aging Lord, at yet another one of Lady Jocelyn's soirees, his comment punctuated by an upward push of his spectacles, his eyes squinting down into her face.
Hope smiles politely and nods obligingly. She’s heard this half a thousand times.
“You find Mindelan’s Bound to be a nice place, then, eh?” Asks another, slightly younger Lord, leering.
“Mm,” says Hope. “Everyone is so... friendly.”
Lord 'Join Me In My Boudoir' (Hope has begun nicknaming the Lords to keep them all separate in her mind) smiles encouragingly and Hope tries really hard not to wince.
“Excuse me,” she says, turns, and almost collides with Lord Always Hovering.
Lord Always Hovering, who is in actuality Chief Healer Queenscove, is thin and slightly stooped with age. His green eyes twinkle mischievously, lighting up his face, as he smiles at Hope.
“You do, you know,” he says, “Look like Keladry.”
Hope sighs. “So I’ve been told.”
“You should understand,” says Lord Queenscove kindly. “It’s a bit of a shock, seeing a young likeness of your mother walking around this city, of all places.”
“I do understand,” returns Hope, with such a combination of self-sacrifice and weariness that can only be achieved by a fifteen year old girl.
“It will pass,” Lord Queenscove tells Hope, patting her shoulder awkwardly.
A lump forms in Hope’s throat and she is unsure how to articulate her feelings. As much as it irritates her to hear the patronizing comments, when it stops, that will be another piece of her mother, gone.
*
In the 492nd year of the Human Era, the City in the North known as New Hope was renamed Mindelan's Bound by the Crown, in honour of it's founding Knight Commander, the Lady Knight Sir Keladry of Mindelan (deceased), faithful servant of the Tortallan throne, Protector of the Small.
Bound, noun:
The external or limiting line, either real or imaginary, of any object or space; that which limits or restrains, or within which something is limited or restrained; limit; confine; extent; boundary.
*
Part Two Part Three
Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven
Postcards from New Hope
(or How to Grow a Woman from the Ground)
*
Part I
*
At the heart of the city is a circular courtyard. Cobble stone flooring leads inwards and wooden benches dot the perimeter, empty in the early morning light. The courtyard is framed in all direction by townhouses, also wood, impossibly tall and twisting smugly in defiance of gravity.
Here, southern architecture is animated by the spirit of the North. It’s the work of a team of academics and mages, come specifically to build and spell against fires. Fire, some years after the Scanran war, is more of a threat than raiding parties sent to attack. Magical theories have been developed and expanded upon over the long, isolated winters and the accompanying design process is flavoured with an edge of frost-bitten insanity.
Twelve arching tunnels - one for every hour of the day - lead away from the courtyard and down from the high ground where the guard house of Mindelan’s Bound once stood, when the settlement was still a refugee camp, and not yet a full fledged city.
The space is thick with quiet, almost sacred. And though the form is circular, with no obvious front or back, there is in the middle, being watched by the empty benches, what is undeniably an altar.
The likeness of a warhorse stands larger than life with sparrows perched in his mane, and a scruffy dog stares out from under the horse’s feet. To the side - or maybe it’s the front - with her shoulder-blade pressed against the gelding’s withers, arm slung across his back, head tilted back and a wistful expression beneath her helmet, is Sir Keladry of Mindelan, founding commander of the city.
At her feet, a roughly carved sign reads So Mote it Be.
*
“Whoops a daisy,” says the man that years from now, Hope will be told is Captain Masbolle. The bottom drops out of her stomach and she shrieks before he catches her, grinning.
The toddler, wide-eyed, stares at him for a few seconds, horrified, and there’s a sob forming at the bottom of her throat. Hope’s eyes prickle unhappily and she look up at the unfeeling, despicable man. Captain Masbolle’s crinkled eyes are as clear a blue as the sky on a warm summer’s day, and he has a short scruffy beard like Uncle Anders, Hope’s favourite person in the entire world.
Hope closes her mouth, open, and ready to scream, and settles for an indignant sniffle. In the end, it’s his nose, both awkward and familiar, that change her heart. Flinging chubby arms around the man’s neck, she cackles. “Again!”
Masbolle laughs, smoothes the hair back from her forehead and to her everlasting delight, throws Hope back into the air.
Ride a fine horse to Flyndan’s Pass
To see a proud lady upon a white horse
With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
She shall have music wherever she goes.
There are chuckles from the men gathered around the room and someone speaks, between noisy bites of an apple. “Did your Mama teach you that one, Captain?”
Turning to find the speaker, Hope sees the the largest man she’s ever seen. Across, he’s at least as wide as her mother is tall, and he doesn’t stand in the corner; he looms.
Hope gapes at the man and wonders, in awe, if he came through the doorway.
The man opens his mouth and when he speaks, it’s in a low, melodious rumble. “I could ask her tonight,” he says. “When we’re making sweet, sweet--”
“Corporal Emmett,” the Captain interrupts sharply, ignoring the man and looking Hope conspiratorially in the face, “Is only jealous that I’m the one with the prettiest little girl in all of New Hope on his knee. Isn’t that right, love?”
The big man turns a dull pink across the cheeks and lumbers towards the door. Hope’s head turns, tracking his progress to see if he fits, but there are a new group of men blocking her view, and Emmett from leaving the room. He shrugs and takes a seat.
Hope’s Mother’s guardhouse office seems to be a popular gathering place. The room fills with people who have come to stare down at her. They’re mostly loud and energetic men, and soon the room starts to smell like sweat.
“We’re on baby-sitting duty now?”
“Hey, lookit, she’s adorable! Like Kel... but smaller. Look at her itsy bitsy hands!” A curly-haired man holds up his own hands and stares at them, apparently bewildered by their huge size.
“How many soldiers does it take to watch one kid?”
“This is Mindelan’s kid.”
Even at a young age, Hope recognizes the reverent tone used on Mother’s name; it’s the same way that someone would talk about Alanna the Lioness, or their chosen deity.
“You say that as if she’s about to whip out a glaive, and make a break for the door.”
“It could happen!”
“We’re trained professionals. Get a hold of yourself, soldier.”
“None of us are married, or have children of our own...”
“At least not any legitimate ones - what’s your Gods’ forsaken point?”
The man that Captain Masbolle has called Corporal Emmett smacks the man beside him upside the head, a ferocious look on his face. “Penn, you fool!”
“Ow! What!?” Yelps the one called Penn, his hands flying up in self defense.
“Don’t swear in front of the baby!”
“I’m not a baby, I am two and a half years old!” A growl escapes from Hope’s throat.
Sometimes Mother likes to tell people that Hope learned to speak dog before learning Common. Hope can never understand why this is so strange; some people speak Scanran, or even Gallan before learning Common. Dogs just happen to speak a lot more sense than humans.
On the subject of not making sense, the same man, Penn, having somehow managed to escape the other’s death grip, slaps Emmett cheerfully on the back. “Good one Em. Now you’re going to have to move to Carthak and live under an assumed name. We’ll miss you sorely - actually, that’s debatable, and, uh, another conversation entirely - but this one, when she grows up, she’ll be able to break you with her pinky.”
Corporal Emmett winces when Hope laughs. She’s decided that these men are funny.
“Exactly!” Another soldier takes advantage of the lull in conversation as Captain Masbolle presents Hope with a beautiful wooden horse, and promptly becomes her new best friend. Hope smiles at him winningly. He grins back, and crosses his eyes.
“I’m just saying, I don’t want to be the one on baby duty when the Lady Knight’s little girl decides that wooden swords aren’t realistic enough.”
One soldier groans. It sounds like he’s in pain. Mother has told Hope that soldiers are tough, though, so maybe he’s just pretending. In any case, swords bore Hope. The strings on the Captain’s tunic are much more interesting.
When Hope pulls on one string, it gets longer, and the other one gets shorter. It makes a certain kind of sense, she decides after a moment, in the same way that if someone kicks you, you kick back.
Mother says you shouldn’t kick people, even if the other guy gives you a really good reason to do it, but Mother tends to have high expectations of people. And also, she kicks people all the time, so her argument doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.
“For the love of Blind Mary, nothing bad is going to happen! Fulcher here is an expert on ba-- two and a half year olds. He has eleven younger siblings.”
“Twelve, actually.” A nervous looking man who’s been staring at Hope miserably is the one to answer. “Leaving home was the only way to get away from the diapers.”
“See! He has twelve younger siblings!”
“I don’t know about you but I’m with Fulch, I didn’t sign up to look after babies...”
“Shut up, Moron. This isn’t just a baby, it’s Kel’s baby. How many times has she saved your scrawny ass?”
There’s a silence and then a bored sounding voice drawls, “Eight, which makes it twice as high as he can count. Watch your language, you under-educated savages, or find somewhere else to loiter.”
There’s some good-natured laughter, and Corporal Emmett pounces on Penn, putting him in a headlock. “I told you not to curse in front of the baby, you idiot.”
Penn squawks in a manner that surely does not befit a soldier of the Crown. His arms flail and he flops about like a fish on the Vassa River boardwalk. His face turns purple.
Masbolle quirks an eyebrow upwards, staring down at Hope.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, little one,” he says. “Uncle Lerant’s got your back.”
Strong hands remove Hope from Masbolle’s lap, and bring her face to face with this supposed Uncle. His expression changes from irritation to wonder as he stares into Hope’s face.
“You’re beautiful,” he tells her. “You look just like Keladry.”
*
Thick wooden walls can no longer contain the city. Retired from a career of defense, the ramparts dissect city quarters and mark the beginning of a sloping urban sprawl down to the Vassa River. Faded into the landscape, they are white noise; a soft of reminder of New Hope and the city’s uneasy past.
*
“I’m glad you’re back,” says Merric.
Kel smiles and shakes her head. “I’m not back, merely passing through.”
The corners of Merric’s mouth tug upwards. “It’s been three weeks, you should really think about finding somewhere to stay.”
The wind is flying about in gusts, creating havoc for the fishermen. Their boats dot the dark blue water, pitching dangerously from one side to the other.
“I’m staying in the Guardhouse.” Kel looks at Merric, confusion written across her features. “Where I always do.”
She teases, “I know you’ve been eyeing my office, Merric, but really yours is just as big. Bigger, probably, once you take into account the boxes of paperwork stacked in mine.”
Merric leans on the boardwalk railing, staring out across the Vassa. He chooses his words carefully, and his face is serious. “True. It’s just that, well. Living in an office, it’s not exactly... proper.” The words sound thin.
The Lady Knight resists the urge to cuff Merric, like she would have done when they were younger, and raises her eyebrows instead. She takes a moment to respond.
“You sleep in your office,” Kel says eventually, seemingly calm.
“Yes, but...”
If Merric wants to have this conversation, she’s not going to make it easy for him.
“Yes, but?”
“Kel, your daughter is sleeping in a drawer.”
There’s a chilly silence in which Kel is all too aware of the sounds of the waterfront industry, underscored by the distant strike of metal on metal and rolling waves.
“It seems to me,” begins Kel. “That people asking for help shouldn’t criticize those who answer their call.”
Unflinching, Merric matches her stare for stare. That’s new, thinks Kel a little giddily.
“We’re worried," says Merric.
“We?” Kel feels sick at the thought of her friends gathered around to discuss her shortcomings.
“Yes. Myself, Owen and Tobe - why won’t you stay with Neal and Yuki?”
Kel sighs; she’s been through this a million times. “They’re both run off their feet.”
“Mithros, Kel,” says Merric. “Them, you, me and the rest of New Hope. In case you haven’t noticed, life isn’t exactly easy up here.”
She can feel herself staring incredulously. “You’re lecturing me now, Hollyrose?”
“I have no doubt that you can survive alone, Kel. But when you pretend like you can live a happy life, without ever taking help where it’s offered, even you know that you’re being ridiculous.”
Merric’s tone is both reasonable and confident and Kel, who hasn’t slept in what seems like months, can feel herself curling into the warmth.
“You and your daughter both deserve better.”
Kel turns around and stares back at New Hope; it’s as though the city is rising from the ground above her. The distant infirmary, where Neal is no doubt working himself into a state of exhaustion, seems to be suspended in mid-air, at the peak, caught on a wire between two neighbouring heights.
“Okay,” says Kel, deflated. “Okay, I’ll go talk to Yuki this afternoon.”
“Good,” says Merric, hugging her around the shoulders with one arm. “Now I can steal your office.”
Kel glares. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re just lucky, Keladry, that you listened to the voice of reason.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Merric, you’re not the voice of reason. But,” concedes Kel, “I didn’t build this city by myself, either.”
“That’s not what the stories say,” grins Merric.
Seeing Kel’s flush, Merric laughs. “You know, we were about to send a courier to Cavall, asking My Lord Wyldon to come talk some sense into your head.”
Kel groans, covering her face with her hands, embarrassed, and changes the subject;
“Tell me again about the disappearances.”
*
Hope has already learned, in the two short weeks that she has been living with Sir Will and Lady Jocelyn, that behind every plain townhome facade, is a vaulted ceiling and large hall dancing hall of unimaginable space. At least, that's the way it is in the Noble's Quarter of Mindelan's Bound.
It's almost inconceivable that, looking from the outside, such rooms fit inside. The first few days that Hope spends exploring the Jesslaw's home - her new home - is filled with disorienting discoveries of hidden staircases and salons with views that don't quite correspond to their location.
Then again, Lady Jocelyn is an actress.
“You look just like your Mother,” says yet another aging Lord, at yet another one of Lady Jocelyn's soirees, his comment punctuated by an upward push of his spectacles, his eyes squinting down into her face.
Hope smiles politely and nods obligingly. She’s heard this half a thousand times.
“You find Mindelan’s Bound to be a nice place, then, eh?” Asks another, slightly younger Lord, leering.
“Mm,” says Hope. “Everyone is so... friendly.”
Lord 'Join Me In My Boudoir' (Hope has begun nicknaming the Lords to keep them all separate in her mind) smiles encouragingly and Hope tries really hard not to wince.
“Excuse me,” she says, turns, and almost collides with Lord Always Hovering.
Lord Always Hovering, who is in actuality Chief Healer Queenscove, is thin and slightly stooped with age. His green eyes twinkle mischievously, lighting up his face, as he smiles at Hope.
“You do, you know,” he says, “Look like Keladry.”
Hope sighs. “So I’ve been told.”
“You should understand,” says Lord Queenscove kindly. “It’s a bit of a shock, seeing a young likeness of your mother walking around this city, of all places.”
“I do understand,” returns Hope, with such a combination of self-sacrifice and weariness that can only be achieved by a fifteen year old girl.
“It will pass,” Lord Queenscove tells Hope, patting her shoulder awkwardly.
A lump forms in Hope’s throat and she is unsure how to articulate her feelings. As much as it irritates her to hear the patronizing comments, when it stops, that will be another piece of her mother, gone.
*
In the 492nd year of the Human Era, the City in the North known as New Hope was renamed Mindelan's Bound by the Crown, in honour of it's founding Knight Commander, the Lady Knight Sir Keladry of Mindelan (deceased), faithful servant of the Tortallan throne, Protector of the Small.
Bound, noun:
The external or limiting line, either real or imaginary, of any object or space; that which limits or restrains, or within which something is limited or restrained; limit; confine; extent; boundary.
*
Part Two Part Three
Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven