A Court of Fear and Faith

Chapter Two

When Lily finally passed through the gates the guards laughed at her heavy, exhausted breathing.

"Scared of the big, bad wolf, Lil?"

"What, did you fall into too many Fae traps today?"

When she looked back at them they were all sat around a small wooden table with flagons of ale attached to their grotesquely fat hands. As they laughed their faces pinched into ugly, pained expressions. To think she was just in the presence of such beauty and decorum; it felt like a ridiculous daydream. Maybe that's just what it was, another wandering of her desperate, lonely mind. No, he had to be real, tomorrow was Sunday and she would go and find him again. She had to know he was real.

When they caught her staring their amusement dropped into something more wicked. Lily's palms turned clammy in anticipation of their approach but luckily they stayed in their seats. On other days they would stalk up to her, circling with outstretched hands, throwing disgusting slurs and touching her hair and arms until she fled. Today was a mercy.

"What, are we too good for you, high-born bastard?" One jeered from the left. Quickly Lily turned and scurried into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

Bastard. The word made her blood turn cold and her lungs fill with hate until she felt like she might be drowning. With her back propped up against the kitchen door, she let her legs give way and slide her down to sit on the floor.

Her mother never liked to talk about her father. Lily always assumed it hurt too much, love does strange things to people and her mother hasn't stopped loving her father. He had stopped loving her. Lily was left to her mother and grandmother in poverty and servitude, but she was never unhappy. You can't miss what you never knew. That didn't stop the whispers, the gossip of who her father was and why he had left. Some thought it was because he was a Lord in another town and her mother his lowly mistress. That would account for her mother's aptitude in literacy and thus Lily's but what they failed to consider was that her grandmother could also read and write. None of it mattered anyway. She ignored it and smiled through the taunts and yet something deep down inside of her was always hurt. Always bruised.

It was utterly silent in the kitchen, the only sound was her own breathing echoing off the opposing walls. She placed the nettles on the ground beside her and let her free hand trace lazy designs in the dust beside her.

Azriel.

If she concentrated hard enough she could still feel his hands on hers as he stared into her eyes. Those rough hands and those soft eyes, knowing them both was like a dagger covered in honey plunging straight to her heart. When she looked down she saw wings carved into the dust. Slowly she leant down and blew to scatter the pattern before dragging herself up on aching legs to walk to the basin and wash her hands, face and neck. Before dinner service, she would have to scrub the floors, clean out the fire pit and polish the cutlery. Once she'd dried her hands, she began her work.

*

In the morning, Lily woke with a start as she heard the approach of the night patrol's horses. Dawn was just breaking across her windowsill and she jumped to her feet to wash her face, and dress.

Today, she would find him again.

Even if he was a daydream, even if she wandered the forest fruitlessly for hours. She would try and find him again. She tugged on her boots again and grabbed a basket from the highest shelf before leaving to the kitchen. Sunday meant freedom, a whole day just to wander around the grounds or embroider a new cushion. It meant, for once, she could do whatever she wanted without question or quarrel. From the pantry, she grabbed a small chunk of bread, two apples, a jar of strawberry jam and a small pot of the nettle soup she had prepared last night. She made sure to wrap two butter knives in cloth before nestling them beside the food and placing a tea-towel over the top.