The People Of Lasadonia

The third guard flinched his chin, studiously staring at his cards as he repeated the exact. His cheeks had pinkened, something I found rather lovely.

The guards who worked the Rise went through brutal training, becoming competent in all manner of weaponry and hand-to-hand combat.

None who survived their first undertaking outside the Rise came back without shedding blood and beholding death.

And however, this man blushed.

I cleared my throat, wanting to ask more about who Nathan was, whether he was a guard from the Rise or a Huntsman, a division of the army that transferred communication between the cities and escorted travellers and goods.

They spent half the year outside the safety of the Rise. It was by far one of the most dangerous of all livelihoods, so they never travelled alone. Some never returned.

Unfortunately, a few didn't come back the same. They returned with rampantly circulating death snapping at their heels.

Cursed.

Sensing that Thomas would hush any further conversation, I didn't air any of the questions dancing on the tip of my tongue.

If others had been with him and had been injured by what most likely had killed Nathan, I would find out one way or another.

I just hoped it wasn't through cries of affliction.

The people of Lasadonia had no actual idea just how many returned from outside the Rise cursed. They only saw a few here and there, and not the reality.

If they did, panic and fear were sure to provoke a populace who truly had no notion of the horror outside the Rise.

Not like my brother Ian and I did.

This was why when the topic at the table shifted to more ordinary things, I endeavoured to will the ice coating my insides to thaw.

Countless lives were given and taken by the endeavour to keep those inside the Rise protected, but it was failing—had been failing—not just here, but throughout the Kingdom of Brok.

Death….

Death always found a way in.

Stop, I instructed myself as the general feeling of unease threatened to expand. Tonight wasn't about all the kinds of stuff I was conscious of that I probably shouldn't be.

Tonight was about living, about…not being up all night, unable to snooze, alone and feeling like…like I had no discretion, no…no idea of who I was other than what I was.

Another poor hand was dealt, and I'd played enough cards with Ian to know there was no recovering from the ones I held. When I declared that I was out, the guards nodded as I rose, each bidding me a good evening.

Moving between the tables, I grabbed the flute of champagne offered by a server with a gloved hand and tried to recapture the feelings of excitement that had flown through my veins as I'd hurried through the streets earlier that evening.

I minded my business as I surveyed the room, keeping my senses to myself. Even outside of those who managed to project their anguish into the atmosphere around them, I didn't need to touch someone to know if they were hurting.

I simply needed to see someone and focus. What they looked like didn't alter if they were suffering some sort of pain, and their appearance didn't change when I concentrated on them. I simply felt their sorrow.

Physical pain was almost always hot, but the kind that couldn't be seen? It was virtually always cold.

Bawdy screams and whistles snapped me out of my mind. A woman in red sat on the verge of the table second to the one I had left.

She wore a gown made of scraps of red satin and gauze that scarcely covered her thighs. One of the men grabbed a fistful of the fine little skirt.

Slapping his hand away with a saucy grin, she lay back, her body forming a seductive curve. Her thick, blonde curls fell across forgotten coins and chips.

"Who wants to win me tonight?" Her voice was intense and smoky as she slid her hands along the waist of the frilly corset.

"I can assure you boys, I will last longer than any pot of gold will."

"And what if it's a tie?" one of the men inquired, the excellent cut of his coat suggesting that he was a well-to-do merchant or businessman of some sort.

"Then it will be a far more entertaining night for me," she said, drawing one hand down her stomach, sliding even lower to between her cheeks heating, I quickly looked away as I took a sip of the bubbly champagne.

My gaze found its way to the sparkling glow of a rose-gold chandelier.

The Red Pearl must be doing well, and the possessors well related. Electricity was costly and heavily regulated by the Royal Court. It made me wonder who some of their clientele was for the luxury to be available.

Under the chandelier, another card game was in progress. There were women there similarly, their hair curled in detailed updos adorned with crystals, and their outfits far less daring than the women who served here.

Their dresses were vibrant shades of purple and yellow and pastel colourings of blue and lilac.

I was only permitted to wear white, whether I was in my room or in public, which wasn't frequent. So, I was intrigued with how the various colours complimented the wearer's skin or hair.

I thought I looked like a ghost most days, wandering the halls of Castle Walter in white.

These women also wore domino veils that covered half their faces, protecting their identities. I wondered who some of them were.

Daring wives left lonely one too many times? Young women, who hadn't wedded or were probably widowed?

Housekeepers or women who worked in the city, out for the evening? Were Ladies and Lords in Wait among the masked females at the table and the crowd? Did they come here with the same intentions I did?

Boredom?

Curiosity?

Loneliness?