Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Forty-Four: Emilia

These engagements at court had long since begun to bore Cara. She endured them for the sake of appearance, but yawned inwardly at the thought of yet another meeting with unrefined provincial aristocrats sporting last year's fashions. Of course, imperial courtiers had to maintain links with their country cousins. After all, they donated much to the Emperor's coffers, guaranteeing the lavish lifestyle that the Colvé elite now enjoyed. Yet somehow, these outlanders cheapened the place with their talk of tithes, of farming and worse of all, of trade.

There were, however, always a few gems scattered about the dunghill. And she believed she had just spotted two of them. An overly-protective mother and her daughter ─ a charming study in youthful innocence ─ were now heading cautiously in her direction. Both bore the tanned complexions of the lower-ranking nobility, but the elegant simplicity of their gowns and their modish way of letting down their hair indicated a more refined taste and above all, money.

She smiled politely as the mother introduced her daughter ‒ such a docile girl with her light brown wavy locks and soulful blue eyes.

"It is Emila's first visit to the imperial court," the mother explained proudly. "And we are expecting a great deal from her."

Cara assumed an expression of polite condescension, inclining her head to one side as she gave the impression of listening intently. The girl was indeed endearing as she stood beside her mother, no doubt awe-struck at meeting such a famed personality of the court. Necessary to be careful, Cara told herself. She had learned, from bitter experience, which young men and women it was safe to take under her wing ‒ and eventually into her bed. The threat of blackmail had sometimes dogged her steps after such affairs. But a quiet, pretty ingénue? A girl whose family would no doubt pull any number of strings if it meant arranging a profitable marriage in the future? That was a different matter.

The mother droned on. Cara latched on to snippets of information which sounded as if they might be exploited later. "Estates in the West," "money from timber and quarrying," "very distant relatives of the Emperor." And then, finally, the request. She knew that it would come eventually.

"It would really be an honour for her to be instructed by someone of such knowledge and influence as yourself. Emila is a bright young girl but untutored in the ways of the court." The mother's eyes were pleading ever so slightly. She couldn't be so old, Cara thought. Her greying hair belied a face still fresh, eyes which shone with vigour. Must be all that clean country living.

The flattery, the insinuation, the fawning: it was all so unnecessary, had but the mother known. Cara would have made the offer herself, she thought, her eyes tracing the outline of Emila's svelte young body.

"My dear woman," she patted the mother's arm, her body language intentionally patronising. "You need trouble yourself no further. I can see that Emila presents the most perfect specimen of a future courtier I have yet to meet. I would be delighted to advise her. We may begin tomorrow."

"Oh, thank you, Lady Cara. Do you hear, Emila? We'll make a lady of you yet."

Emila offered them both her doe-like, innocent smile. "My thanks, Lady Cara. I am impatient to begin."

***

"You'd better get up." Magda was shaking Hal roughly. "Garth's awake, and he's got a hangover."

Hal groaned as she picked herself up from the cold floor of the kitchen. Her head felt foggy and unclear, her eyes sore with tiredness. The scullery maid handed her a piece of stale bread and a cup of water to wash it down. "Best get working," she warned.

Under Magda's direction, the duellist began the day's chores: lighting the fire in the grate, fetching water from the well in the courtyard, unpacking trays of fruit and vegetables which had been brought down to the kitchen. This, she decided, must be the most hellish existence imaginable. She tried to imagine how Magda must feel, with the prospect of such a life stretching out over days, months, years. To wake, to work, eventually to snatch a few hours' sleep or a crust of bread, and then to work again. If it were possible, she decided, she would persuade the girl to come with her when she left.