Masked

Chapter 8 (8 Months Later) HER

Travelers, merchants, items I've never seen. It's all part of the summer festival. Every year the event is something I look forward to. But, over the last few months, I have been dreading this day. Well, in all honesty, it's not this day in particular, but what this day represents—summer.

Every summer, knights from the King's Schild travel to Faygrene. They speak to the young men about joining the schild, enticing them with descriptions of our kingdom's capital, Synereal—its spiraled streets and bustling market, the tall, ivory castle nestled amongst the trees, the glistening lake so clear they say it seems to be a painting of the sky. All of this is very enticing, the catch though is that most men who join the schild stay in it for the rest of their lives, never seeing their families again, never being able to marry or have children of their own. This reality holds many back. It's not that King Theoderic forces them to stay—he gives them the freedom to leave at any time—but most don't choose this. They settle into their life in Synereal and enjoy the honor that comes with being a member of the schild. They strive for knighthood and finish off their days protecting the kingdom, ready to defend her at a moment's notice.

Last summer, the knights came and spoke with Gregory. Gregory wanted to join the schild then, but he was worried about leaving us, and especially about leaving Mary. He thought about it for several months, but I knew he was going to join. He has wanted to become a guardsmen of the schild since we were children. We both dreamt of it. And now he had a chance to turn his childhood game into real life.

Of course I was right, and by winter, Gregory was certain he would join. He ended things with Mary, and told me that, although he loved her, he couldn't ask her to wait for him.

Then, under the blanket of snow, summer still seemed far away, a precipice lingering in the future. Now it's here, and he'll be leaving with the knights in a little over a month.

The thought of his leaving devastates me, but I placate myself with the hope that he'll eventually choose to return home, or that I'll somehow have the chance to visit him in Synereal. Besides, I can't be angry with him for following his dreams. If I were able to, I know I would, but being a woman comes with its own set of rules. I can't leave on adventures, I can't join the schild. I wonder if Lady Berrenger had dreams of adventure. Maybe that's why she left this past fall, never to return to the life she once knew.

I put on my black riding boots and turn toward the window. Under the heavy branches of the tree I see Gregory and Drake. I should have known they would be waiting for me. Over the last several months, my brother and Drake have become overly protective of me. I blame this on the fact that I have officially "come of age." And, although there have been no courtships between myself and another, there have been more conversations and more noticeable interest directed toward me. This has caused both of them to trail close behind. They always happen to be going where I am and, on the rare occasion that they actually leave my side, they seem to keep me in their line of sight. This drives me completely mad. Their constant vigilance is suffocating and insulting. I'm seventeen years old! I'm capable of taking care of myself!

I glare at them through my open window. They're similarly dressed, both of them wearing white, long-sleeved undershirts with fitted, black leather tunics on top. Both have a leather belt with a sword in sheath on their hips, as well as black knee-length riding boots over their breeches. But it's their similar visages of agitation that makes me laugh.

They won't stay out there all morning. They'll eventually give up and go into the market, and that's when I'll leave.

"Addalynne!" Elizabeth calls, running into my chambers, her body a blur of red and green as she darts in front of me and lands gracefully on my bed. She sits on the edge with her legs dangling in front of her, a hopeful smile spread across her innocent face. The top of her curly red hair is loosely pulled back with a star-shaped, emerald pin, leaving the bottom half falling around her shoulders in long, perfect spirals. I lift my hand up and play with the tips of my own dark hair. It's usually straight and untamable, but last night Elizabeth convinced me to let her roll my hair in fabric. Now I have delicate curls blanketing me as well. They're beautiful, but unlike hers, they won't last.