Excerpt: Se Reveiller

Whenever Nell went to visit her mother, she took the road that went into the village, and then turned and followed it south, towards the farmlands that filled the middle of Caragale and fed the capital. Her mother worked on an estate approximately an hour away, and that hour was the farthest Nell had ever gone from home. Thus, it was with great deal of apprehension that she followed Cindy into the little uncovered wagon that old Noldy, longtime conveyor of goods, had hitched up to two of the more mediocre horses from the stables. She wasn’t even sure she had ever ridden in a wagon before.

Cindy, on the other hand, didn’t even seem to notice the momentous event taking place as the wagon turned and followed the road north to the capital. She asked Nell a hundred times if she looked all right (of course she did) and Noldy if the horses could go any faster (no, they couldn’t). Nell spent the journey watching the countryside go by with a half-smile on her face as Cindy babbled away, trying to hide her anxiety as the fields slowly turned into the outer limits of the capital, as the wide plains gave way to rows of buildings that rose high over their heads, blocking the view of the sky. And there were so many people, too, and other wagons that were much nicer and larger than theirs, and carriages, and men on horseback, all jostling for room in the narrow street, and so much noise, people yelling greetings at friends, curses at careless drivers, the names of their wares. A man on horseback carrying a large bag, apparently full of letters, winked at Nell as he went by; Nell shrank away from the edge of the wagon and sat herself firmly in the middle of the bench, staring straight ahead.

Cindy laughed. “Oh, Nell, it’s just the city.”

“I don’t think I like it very much,” Nell said, and concentrated on keeping her gaze forward and her breakfast in her stomach as the wagon bounced over the cobblestones. True, the road to the capital had been fairly bumpy itself, but at least then she didn’t have the claustrophobic feeling that if it bounced too hard she would go flying out of the wagon and careening into a building. She shuddered and gripped the seat.

“We’re here!” Cindy announced, as Noldy guided the wagon to a hitching post and hopped down with surprising agility to open the door for the girls. Cindy dismounted with the grace of years of practice (though when she had been practicing, Nell didn’t know), and then put her hands on her hips and shook her head as Nell cautiously descended, eying the ground nervously and keeping a death-like grip on Noldy’s weathered hand.

“Thank you, Noldy,” Cindy said, kissing him on the cheek as she took Nell’s hand and tucked it into her elbow (no wait never mind I’ll just get back in the wagon Nell thought in a panic). “We’ll meet you here at five o’clock, all right?”

“Yes, little lady,” Noldy said, hopping back up and clucking to the horses, who dutifully trotted off. Nell watched them go with something akin to despair, and then Cindy was tugging her away and she had to turn her concentration to her feet, to not stepping in something disgusting or on someone’s foot, on keeping the hem of her (admittedly plain, but sturdy) dress out of the puddles that tended to form wherever there was a dip in the cobblestones, until finally they were off the main road and on a smaller, less crowded side road, where the buildings weren’t quite so tall and the voices were much more inviting.

“Where are we?” she asked, when she could finally catch her breath, as Cindy had stopped dragging her along and was scanning the sidewalks anxiously.

“In the lower shops district,” Cindy answered distractedly, smoothing her skirt. Nell noticed, suddenly, that she was wearing her nice dress; all the servants had one nice dress (or suit, for the men) in case of some sort of important event that would require them wearing something other than the usual browns and once-white-now-grey dresses, although the only times Nell had ever had the occasion to wear hers was for funerals. Cindy’s was dark blue, made of homespun cotton but not quite as rough as the usual fabric. “It’s mostly servants down here, shopping like us. The nicer shops are father up the hill, towards the palace.” She gestured vaguely, standing on her tiptoes and trying to see over the heads of the passers-by. “Oh, this is too difficult! Nell, do you see a young man with dark hair, looking like he’s looking for someone?”

“I see a lot of young men with dark hair,” she said, doing her best to scan the road. “Anything else?”

“Um…tall? Wait, there he is!” Cindy immediately stopped straining to look and commenced smoothing her dress, affecting a calm, pleasant air. Nell went on looking, not seeing any particular young man who looked as though he was looking for someone in particular. “Over there, by the lace shop.”

“Lace shop?” There were shops for lace? “What do we do now?”

“We make our way towards him. Make sure you don’t lose sight of him!”

“I still don’t see him!” she said, but Cindy was already on the move, and she had no choice but to follow. They stopped outside a shop window that did, indeed, contain copious amounts of lace on display, and Nell started doing a slower scan of the sidewalk, which was fairly difficult, because there were too many things to look at, never mind the people.

“Miss Cynthia?” said a deep voice, and Nell turned to see Cindy smiling up at a young man who was, in fact, tall, with dark hair and severe blue eyes—dark blue—and a handsome, noble, well-defined face. In fact, he looked every inch a proper young lord—though the only young lord Nell had ever seen was Harthin, and Harthin had nothing on this young lord; she wasn’t quite sure how she came to this conclusion, but she thought it had something to do with the way the young man carried himself, a manner very similar to the manner Cindy fell back to, whenever she wanted to feel herself a lady. It meant she could see, immediately, without hearing another word, exactly why Cindy found him so attractive; it also meant she had absolutely no idea what to say.

Cindy, luckily, had no end to her well of words, and pulled Nell next to her and said, “Jason, may I present my good friend, Nell; Nell, this is Jason,” and Nell, surprised at the lack of title, stopped halfway through bobbing a wobbly curtsy. She didn’t find his expression particularly friendly, and felt very self-conscious, and resolved to stand back and let Cindy do all the talking. Happily, this seemed to be Cindy’s idea anyway; she explained that Nell would serve as their chaperone, which brought an amused glint to his eyes, and then he offered her his arm and they started off down the road. Nell, after waiting a moment for instructions, not really knowing what a chaperone was supposed to do, followed them. She couldn’t really hear their conversation—but she saw Cindy looking up at him, and occasionally saw him looking back at her, and thought she was seeing something far more sinister than a simple couple walking down the road.