Supper was an awkward affair.
I didn't expect it not to be, of course, given my lack of social skills and Gregorym's odd sense of humour; but I do believe an extensive amount of my brain power was wasted less listening to his out of place jokes, which failed to evoke even a chuckle from his colleague, and more attempting to figure out the various forks and knives that stood before me at the table, each representing a different reason why I would eventually feel out of place at the palace.
After our final course was over, and the men congregated once more at the library with glasses of wood-scented whiskey, I stepped in to grab a pocket book on etiquette and said my goodnights, forcing my tired body upstairs to a sleepless night.
I did try to sleep, in my defense, but the utter embarrassment of feeling the hawk-like eyes of the royal staff over me as I fumbled with a fork I could not decide whether it was made for the fish or the salad left me in a perpetual state of lucidity.
My next step was the etiquette book, which was also not a first edition and therefore unlikely to be missed, but I didn't last three pages before deciding that, as interesting as the meaningless rituals of the rich were, I could not focus my anxious brain on them at the moment.
So I pivoted to Between Two Worlds, where I stayed until the light of a new day started penetrating my windows, and finally I forced myself to close my eyes, hoping it was at least an hour until I was called for breakfast.
Luckily, it was nearly two hours of rest I managed to get, before one of the maids, I could not see her face but I assumed it was Grace, knocked me awake with her fist against my, or the royal family's, door.
I began to quickly set everything in order, double and triple checking that I had forgotten not even one item, including my newly acquired books.
Breakfast was, thankfully, much easier to live through. A generous spread of pastries, breads, jams and fresh perfumed meat adorned by expensive juices I had only seen once or twice in my previous travels, made from imported fruits. The butter, I would guess handmade by either one of the maids or a kitchen maid, was a pale yellow silky slice of heaven that melted perfectly into the freshly baked, and still warm, bread. How does one get used to such a glorious spread? Were the guards still as flabbergasted as I was at all the variety of abundance?
I am ashamed of how much I gorged myself during that breakfast.
-
The journey to inner-Caladia is longer than I expected. Being one of the biggest Sektur's, their outskirts are covered in greenery, but as we approach the proper city, the trees and wild game are substituted by more modest shrubbery here and there, and a strong scent of fish, freshly caught in the Safyre River that connects Dravia and Caladia, takes over the air.
It is early. The cobble streets bustling with street vendors, workers and civilians buying breakfast or lunch for their families or on their way to work. Caladia is, of course, quite commercial, and very food-focused, although I remember the prices being lower than those I spot in the windows; but the city is just as busy as it was last time, and bursting with colour and religious peoples coming to and from the local Hymns Abbey, the epicenter of Caladian, and Celestian, religion, as well as the other smaller local churches and prayer circles which seem to multiply every time I visit.
Eventually the carriage comes to a stop. I glance outside, taken aback by the sounds and scents in the air, and am confused to not see other, fancier, carriages belonging to the royal family. Instead, we stand in front of a shop built with colourful cobble stones, with a window which displays art supplies.
Gregorym enlightens me as he opens the door. "A treat from their royal highnesses, the princes have requested for you to buy your heart's desire in material for the remainder of the trip. There will be more, of course, once we arrive in Acradya, but you'll be more properly accompanied there." He jokes.
"Properly accompanied? By whom?"
"Your lady-in-waiting, or whatever they call her. A lady who will accompany you around to teach you how to behave in society and whatnot. What to wear, how to sit, that sort of thing. All the new female staff get one." He explains, as we exit the carriage and approach the shop.
The materials on display do not distract me from my impending future, even as we enter the shop and are immediately hit by the sweet smell of fresh paint and oil pastels.
A shop girl approaches us, a smile on her face as she scans the man in uniform next to me. "Good morrow, my name is Faith. How can I help you?"
"We have come in service of Their Royal Highnesses the King and Queen of House Oceana, I believe a Decree was brought to you this morning, before opening, with an account to be used for this day?" He questions, and the young girl blushes, shaking her head up and down.
"Yes, of course!" She smiles somehow wider than before. "The account is ready and will be debited directly to the Royal Treasury. Please, feel free to shop around and let me know if you need anything." She reclines in a small curtsy, which seems to me exaggerated and leaves me slightly uncomfortable.
It doesn't seem to have the same effect on Greg, however. He just smiles and thanks her. "It never gets easier seeing people bow to us like that. They have no idea who we are, they just do it on the off chance we're important. They don't want to be disrespectful." His posture changes a bit once the girl leaves, but I can still feel her eyes on us, watching our every move. He's more comfortable now, relaxed. He moves around picking things up and dropping them in place. "I have no idea what any of this is for, I'm guessing you do?"
I offer a small smile, nodding. "The shop is divided by sections, you're in Sculpting. A beautiful art form that requires a lot more patience than I ever had, and my father's hobby." I explain. "See? These are shaping knives, as well as ball clay for beginners or those who choose not to use an oven. Fire clay, on the other hand, requires an oven to bake before using, and here you have all different colours to decorate the pieces."
We walk around the shop together, as I think about the upcoming trip and the necessary items to accompany us. The thought of using the Royal Treasury is entirely too tempting, given it isn't my money, but I can't help but think it is someone else's. Taxes, commerce, agriculture… someone's hard work which I'm using to pay for supplies.
All those thoughts evaporate when I'm face to face with the paper-based section. Gorgeous sketchbooks, leather-bound and hand-painted, await me there; next to them, a world of oils, paints, pastels and high-quality brushes. I feel my eyes about to water. "See something that catches your eye?" Greg asks, a playful smile on his lips.
"Give me a limit, I'm begging you. I'll feel awful after spending so much money if I don't have a limit." I ask.
He seems amused by my request, but as I explain the thought behind it, his once cheeky smile softens into one of understanding. He gives me a figure, about twice as big as I would have expected. "Don't worry, she spends 10x that on shoes every two weeks. They won't even notice."
I force myself to accept this answer as I shop around, choosing to only take mediums I am used to working with. A canvas set, of different sizes; canvas gesso; linseed oil; oil paint; acrylic paint; watercolours; two new sets of brushes; two new sketchbooks; oil pastels and a pencil sketching set. I do the math as we go, then double check with the shop attendant, she tells me the total, and although my heart almost explodes out of my chest, I nod as I notice we came under budget. "Have you ever wanted to learn an art-related skill? Even as a hobby?" I ask Greg.
He seems pensive for a long-time, but finally nods slowly. "I suppose I was curious about a mural I saw long ago, about three months into joining the Guard. It was all black with shadows serving as the white and grey, and when I touched it my hand got all dirty with this dry black powder."
"Charcoal. It's very hard to do a mural with it, the artist must've been good." I pick up another sketchbook and a set of charcoal pencils of different sizes. "I'll teach you. I'm sure you'll like it, it's a good self-expression medium."
"I warn you I am not a faithful and applied student." He states, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm not a faithful and applied teacher either, but it'll be nice to have something of your own, something that isn't work related. Who knows, maybe you'll be teaching Crowyn in no time." I joke.
The kind shop attendant smiles and gives us yet another curtsy as we're leaving the shop, and I make sure to get her tip from my own pocket money, instead of the treasury. Gregorym seems confused, and he inquires about it as we're loading the supplies into the carriage. "I had cash, if you needed it. You have a daily allowance, by the way."
"It's not about that, I worked for that money, it felt better than giving her someone else's. Maybe it was even her money, and I was just giving it back to her. That wouldn't feel right." I explain.
He's quiet for a second, but nods before closing the carriage door. "We'll be there in about 20 minutes, the Family won't arrive until an hour after that, at least. So feel free to walk around and spend a bit of money, if you so desire." He throws me a velvet purple bag, filled with the earnings of three shows, at least. I place it in my backpack, keeping my own money at closer reach.
Greg is correct, it's a short way to the city park, though I do not count so I'm not certain it is 20 minutes, but what I do realise is only a short sketch later, we're there.
The Caladian main square is gorgeous, and I have fond memories of playing at a harvesting festival not even a year ago, one of the beautiful traditions kept from before the Five Queens, when the Old Divine was still practiced on these streets.
I'm excited to begin my journey as I walk around the park, named after Cotyne Oceania, younger sister of Sabine the Wise. It is said Cotyne chose Caladia as the perfect place to host her wedding ceremony because of her piousness and faith in the Pure One and her love for the Hymns Abbey. Her faith is also rumoured to have helped her sister establish the universities and educational reform which now make up Dravia, and it is that faith which led her to choose to remain childless after the passing of her older sister, then Queen Sabine the Wise, choosing instead to raise her niece to become the strong, great Queen Galynwyth.
All this wonderful story is perfectly represented in the Elder Tree murals, the tree being perfectly centralised in the Square, and protected by wooden and wire murals depicting Cotyne and Galynwyth's lives. It was the main thing I noticed when I first visited Caladia, and it is still the most beautiful art piece I have seen in my life.
This being a Caladian festival, of course, it couldn't possibly miss the fantastic perfume of fried food, my favourite thing about the Sektur.
I follow the scent to an improvised fish market bursting with people from all walks of life. Young and old, rich and poor, men and women, were all gathered there to partake in good food, wine and maybe get a glimpse of the royal family.
In one of the booths, a young girl, perhaps 5 years my junior, is selling deep fried battered fish figs, sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. The scent reminds me of my brothers, and I cannot resist buying one. After serving me the figs hot and golden in a paper cup, the girl sizes me up as I pay and thank her. "You're not from around here, are ya, miss?"
"I'm afraid not. I'm… an artist; from Dravia. I'm following the Royal Tour for some inspiration." I explain.
"Don't know how you can get much inspiration from those fools. The little piglet woman seems fatter every new sketch I see in the papers, and the cuckcoo with a crown on his head doesn't seem too bright either." She laughs, her nose making a snorting sound. I'm taken aback by her comments, and look around me to see if I spot Gregorym or Crowyn, who said they'd keep an eye on me. When I notice she's not in any danger of having been heard, I ask her what she means by her words. "Oh, I'm sorry if I offended, miss. You see, I'm not much of a royalist myself, although my mamma is. I'd never say any of that in front of her, but she can't really afford to be telling me off since my fish cakes are paying for her medicine." She smiles, shaking her head. "I have an awful temper, I've been told, and I get hot quite quickly. I apologise again."
"Please, no need to apologise, I don't need you to censor yourself in front of me. I'm just surprised, you see. I thought Caladia was a place of faith and loyalty, I was unaware there were people who felt so strongly about the Family." I explain.
"I ain't the only one, miss, I promise you that. All of us younger folk, especially those of us who weren't fortunate enough to get into the Higher Teachings, feel this way. They've been raising taxes and everything is more expensive now; my mamma can't afford to pay for her medicine and most of my friends will never be lucky enough to buy a property of their own, or a piece of land to farm or even a little boat for fishing. 'Tis frustrating, is all." She shakes her head. "But you're right, we Caladians keep our head up towards the sky and hope the Pure One will advocate for us, that's how those folks get away with the things they do, we're so busy looking up we hardly see what's going on around us."
My eyes water as I feel for her, and I leave an extra tip for the delicious food she's prepared for me, mostly out of sadness for her story, but in part out of shame that I am now connected to such a scheme. Perhaps mother was right all this time, and I should tuck my tail between my legs and run back to Dravia to apologise.
But at the end of the day, I'm just trying to give my family a better living, much like this young girl.
I ask her how old she is, and sigh in sadness when I hear she's just turned 17 a few days ago. From my backpack, I retrieve my copy of Between Two Worlds and place it in her hands. "It isn't much," I say. "But it's a break from the mundane, and I think a bright girl like you would like it." If anything, I think, she could sell it. It might not be a first edition, but it's up there in value, certainly.
She seems genuinely moved for a second, but quickly places the book in a duffelbag when more clients start chiming in behind me. I bid her goodbye, and leave back to the square.
I hope with all my heart a life of wonder will follow for her. And that her beautiful brain isn't squished by the need to eat and feed, but blown up by all the beauty around her.
But I, as a woman, know myself to hope in vain.