Book 3: Chapter 72: A Fracture in Friendship
Ivy squinted, rubbed her tired eyes, and stared down at the blurred writing of her notes of observations for the day, assessing each child’s level of learning. Most of the children couldn’t even write their names or count past two hands, much less identify half the letters of the alphabet regardless of age. She was reminded once more of the vast disparity in education between children of commoners and those of noble families.
‘How exactly are they meant to improve their lives when most of these children were sold into slavery by parents who couldn’t even read what they were signing?’
The young matron glanced at the small ornate clock that ticked quietly on the corner of her desk, then started upright when she realized dinner was only a few minutes away. Ivy quickly set aside the elegant white swan feather quill, closed the pretty ivy-green porcelain ink well, and hurriedly organized her papers before storing them in a desk drawer. She also made a mental note to start a file for Jesse, not that the boy had shown any interest in participating in the lessons so far.
‘That’s all right, we’ll take it one day at a time.’
Ivy checked her fingers for ink stains as she rose and then paused by the small decorative mirror hanging on the office wall to tidy her hair. She winced as she moved to re-pin a few loose strands, and the bandages tugged against the scabbed sores around her shoulder blades. The young matron’s determined smile faded as the constant reminder of her grim reality settled comfortably upon her shoulders.
‘Will I even be here in a few months? Let alone the time it will take to get these children caught up to the primary reading level?’
Ivy lowered her fingers to the silver chain of the obsidian wolf necklace as she met her reflection’s tired eyes, the shadows beneath them more visible by the day despite the numbness to pain offered by Hana’s tonic. ‘Perhaps I should look into some makeup powder to cover them up.’ She gritted her teeth and looked away, unnerved by the similarities between her eyes and those of the witch that had cursed her, and then jumped as a sharp rap came from the office door. “Yes?”
“It’s Sergeant Bryant, Lady Ivy. There are—visitors at the gate who wish to speak with you.”