Page 3 of The Shadow of Breninsol
“Calla. Do you want to catch the witch queen’s eye?” Iris hissed, casting a wary look at Eleanor. “You know there’s no queen in Solas.”
Eleanor’s stomach and jaw clenched. She didn’t need reminding why there had never been a queen in the Kingdom of Solas, especially while on her way to the king’s palace. The Solacian word,witch, still sounded odd to her, but that’s what she was. She’d not understood the word when she’d first heard mortals use it. It was a word that had been coined for thoseborn with magic, like her. She’d considered it fair, as a word for the magicless existed:mortals. However, it widened an already large divide between those with magic and the magicless of this world. Then, mortals turned the word against them all; they used it to incite further fear and hate, calling people, like her, evil because of their magic. But that magic died on the day the Witch Queen was murdered. Eleanor had long lost the bitterness she’d once had over the mockery of her magic that she’d barely held onto, but she was grateful for the meagre amount.
It was safer for everyone this way.
Eleanor kept her eyes focused on the outside of the carriage. They had departed the Barrow a while ago, as The Ladies Grace was situated on the edge of the poorest district in Breninsol. They were now in the midst of the Exchange, the merchant district, an area of clean cobbled streets and well-kept buildings. It was difficult to see exactly where they were. The oil lamps were trying their best to burn through the night’s mist. It was a weak attempt.
Jasmine scoffed. “Calla, the king has twelve Favours. Do you think you’d bethatgood in bed?”
“I could be,” Calla replied with confidence. “Or my beauty alone would be enough for him. If not the king, then any rich lord could fall in love with me. I’m all he’d want, and we’d be happily married.”
Eleanor had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at Calla’s whimsical fancy. She didn’t have the heart to tell the young woman that this was pure fantasy on her part, and she should stick to reading her romance novels.
Eleanor desired neither the role of a Favour, nor, Mother forbid, a wife. Although Calla’s ambitions weren’t that different from the other courtesans. If a courtesan got at least one lord attracted enough to bid on them during the Collection, then they’d become a lord’s Favour. They couldn’t reach a higherstatus in this life. The lord’s wife and his subsequent heirs, supposedly only provided by his wife, would always outrank the Favour in the lord’s household.
A lord could have as many Favours as he liked, provided he maintained a standard of living for his Favoured suitable to his title. All Favours lived with their lord, often with a room of their own, wearing beautiful silks and jewels, attending the court’s lavish parties, eating as much as they wanted, and, according to Jasmine, sleeping in as late as they wanted. If a courtesan didn’t have enough reason to aim for the role of a Favour, another rule was that no lord could touch them intimately without the lord’s permission, as a Favour belonging to a lord became his property.
The title should be a lord’s Pet rather than a lord’s Favour, but she kept that bitter comment to herself.
Following Iris’s advice was how she could get out of this—by passing through court as blandly as possible, doing the bare minimum, and not attracting any attention. Then she’d pass through the Collection with no aristo bidding on her and she could return to her mundane life in her grey room with a bottle of wine for company.
“If we’re not chosen during the Collection, I’ve heard some girls at the Moonlight House could get closer to paying off their contracts,” Jasmine said.
And that was all they were trying to do in this life, pay off their debt to live freely. If she kept her head down, maybe she’d eventually pay off Madam Grace. She had time, and then she’d sink back into obscurity.
Chapter Two
A Dance of a Different Kind
Eleanor tamped down that sinking sensation in her stomach, which churned as the carriage rolled past the monumental statue of the First King. The memorial was visible despite the murky night. The First King was depicted with his raised sword, as though he was defeating the witches anew. She’d long stopped seeing it as the challenge it claimed to be. She hated seeing it, it was a harsh reminder that she was the last of her kind. The First King may have beheaded the Witch Queen, and the successive kings did everything in their power to eradicate witches, but they’d missed one.
For more than a mortal’s lifetime, she had striven to make the king’s line pay. However, there was only so much defeat, loss, and pain she could endure before she felt like a shadow of her former self.
Leaving the streets of Breninsol behind, the churning in her stomach stayed with her as the carriage passed through the imposing golden palace gates.
The King’s palace was either spectacular or hideous, depending on who you spoke to. The line of kings liked marble and the whole palace was constructed from it. The king’s grandfather, King Iacobus, the Hunter King, had designed the royal residence. He’d begun building the marble monstrosity but left his son, King Caradoc the Second, to finish the palace after the Hunter King’s death. It took most of Caradoc’s life to complete the building and his son, the current king, King Cerdric, was the first of the king’s line to live and party in the finished palace. Renowned as the largest palace in the kingdom, it also held the title of the biggest in the history of mortals.
Before tonight, the closest Eleanor had ever been to the king’s palace was from the twisting streets of Breninsol; it was the largest and the only pure white building in the capital. On a bright sunny day, the sun’s rays reflected on the brilliant white of the palace, illuminating its surroundings. She could recall how the palace was visible from miles outside the capital, and how, at the time, she’d believed the sun made it warmer and acted as a beacon for its people. Now that Eleanor had lived within Breninsol’s streets, she was all too aware of how the palace glared down onto its citizens. It captivated them with its bright light only as a constant reminder of who ruled over them.
As the carriage passed through the second golden gate, that broke up the marble wall surrounding the shining white palace, the unsettled feeling within her only intensified and she brushed her fingers over the outline of her hidden Attarician dagger.
The small group of carriages reached a side entrance and halted before a set of open double golden doors, where stewards dressed in the king’s colours stood to await the Season’s courtesans.
Eleanor let the Petals leave the carriage first, taking a moment to ensure only the tiniest crack of her magic could eke out for her scars and marks to be hidden beneath a gossamer veil of magic. It was as instinctual as a final weapons check before heading out onto a battlefield. While wielding her magic was as natural as breathing, tonight presented a significant challenge; she was entering the king’s palace. The descendant of the man who ruthlessly hunted down anyone even remotely suspected of magic, regardless of whether they actually possessed any.
As Eleanor stepped from the carriage, she made a conscious effort to concentrate on her surroundings, pushing aside any distracting thoughts. This close to the monstrous building, Eleanor had thought she’d feel its pulsing heat, but she only felt the oppressive weight of its still coldness. It didn’t feel like any kind of monster that was alive anymore. The walls glistened under the torches, illuminating the palace for her to marvel at. The white behemoth bore down on her, as its massive wings stretched off into the night.
They entered through a golden doorway, upheld by bleached white bones that had once belonged to something which had ceased existing long ago in the realm, Eleanor and the Petals joined a larger collection of women, more than just those from The Ladies Grace. As they glanced around, a few women appeared as if their heads could detach while attempting to absorb the great expanse of their surroundings.
The vestibule was at least three storeys tall, with wide glass windows and white columns resting between each window. White and black chequered marble squares covered the floor, and golden sconces illuminated the white walls, reflecting lightthroughout the space. This first room they entered, if it could be called a “room,” left Eleanor utterly unprepared for the sheer magnitude of what had been forced upon her. The king’s weaselly man’s meticulous selection of prostitutes for an entire week made it no surprise that all the women who’d been chosen were beautiful. It was a veritable feast for the eyes, skin and hair tones ranging from the deepest part of the ocean to the fairest cloud in the sky.
Iris subtly acknowledged a group of women standing in the room’s centre with a slight nod. They were all wearing a variation of plain, sheer dresses, but in a mixture of blues signifying that they were from Madam Grace’s competitor: the Moonlight House. Their dominant position in the room, and the constant seductive smirk playing on their lips as they preened, suggested they anticipated the king’s arrival, eager to be the first to catch his eye. The air was thick with the unspoken expectation, but Eleanor barely kept her scoff silent. As if the king himself would deign to personally greet them.
The smaller groups of women from the less popular pleasure houses stood at a distance from one another. Some appeared too young to be here, while others appeared older than her. Their expressions varied, some full of dreamlike wonder, while others were etched with mistrust revealing those were the women vying for the coveted position of a Favour.
However, whatever her aspirations, none of the women could resist the urge to rub her arms, appreciating the palace’s interior warmth in contrast to the cold outside. The sheer scale of the building meant that fires burned relentlessly, a continuous inferno consuming it both during the day and throughout the night.
Echoing footsteps ceased any frantically whispered conversations, creating a hush that held everyone’s attention on the open doors.
