Chapter 33
For Anice, life in Mayhaven could be as still as a cloudless sky. Though the city was lively and unique, not much changed in the way that people regarded her. Sure, they were polite on the surface, but she knew what was said behind her back. In public, she didn’t miss the voices that were a tad too loud to be considered whispers, knew that their owners hadn’t cared to make the adjustment. Every time she wandered through the streets, she would catch glimpses of judgemental frowns and was used to glancing eyes and hushed conversations.
To the nobles, she was an example for their children on how not to behave, the rash and boisterous Silverkin girl that lacked all restraint. She cared not if she dirtied her clothes, no matter how expensive they might be, and said anything that came to mind regardless of where she was or who was around to hear it. She was aware that people didn’t like her, since she was supposed to set an example for the other children, being the count’s daughter and all. But why should she do that? She’d rather have fun than act a certain way just because everybody wanted her to. Besides, she hated those adults that looked down on her, hated their dainty daughters that lived the most boring of lifestyles. Sewing and drinking tea, and crying at every wrinkle that formed in their gowns. What did she owe them?
Compared to the cities that her uncles ruled over, Mayhaven was relatively small. People liked to talk about her, and word travelled fast in such an out-of-the-way place. Lately, people had been talking about the fact that she was an only child, as if that was somehow her fault. If her father didn’t sire a male heir, then his titles and lands would pass on to one of her many cousins, likely one of the second sons. She didn’t get along with her cousins, who tended to bully her whenever they came to visit.
To most commoners she was a pest, a thin sheet of ice to tread lightly upon, a fire waiting to consume their children should they make the mistake of allowing them to keep her company. That was why all of the other children avoided her, because their parents had forbidden them from associating with her.
This was especially true for the commoners. Whose words would the lord believe when a fight broke out in the market square, those of the cobbler’s boy or his own daughter’s? This was why everybody was so false in front of her, and also why she didn’t care for their opinions. Just because she always forgot to don her oval and skipped out on the occasional Sunday mass, because she avoided those uptight fools of similar pedigree and hung around a bunch of bastards, why did they have to look down upon her and keep her at arm’s length like some sick dog?
At least she had her friends. They didn’t care who her father was, never gave thought to her social status. They didn’t fuss over what she wore, or what she said. Around them, she could curse all she wanted, and most importantly, she could be wrong. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to see them as often as she would have liked to. She wasn’t allowed away the manor house on her own, and on the rare occasion that she was, it wasn’t for long. She worked her way around these constraints by claiming to set off for Lessa’s whenever she wanted to leave, whom she would meet halfway at predetermined times. Her friend would have told her parents that she was off to visit Anice at Caedmon’s estate, something that they coordinated with one another whenever they planned to meet up with the others. All they had to do was shake off their escorts and they would be free to spend the afternoons as they saw fit, though they couldn’t do it often since it usually got them into trouble.
As things were, she only got to see the gang around once a week. Because of this, life in Mayhaven had grown stagnant. She could only play the same games so many times, and alone, at that, before they lost their fun. As fate would have it, things changed one day with the arrival of a rugged, bandaged, smelly boy who looked to be around her age.
Mister Alder, her father’s best friend and most trusted confidant, had come home with an unexpected souvenir from a neighbouring kingdom after finishing up with a business trip that her father had sent him on. He’d brought along a young boy, covered in blood and unconscious, that he’d claimed to have found by the roadside on his way through the Tall Mountains. Since when was Alder one to bring peasants back to the mansion? She had been shocked, but the boy’s condition had been so horrendous that she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Something about the structure of his face looked inexplicably familiar, as if she’d seen him regularly but only in passing, though she was positive that she had never laid eyes on him before that day.