Page 78 of The Shadow of Breninsol
No.
Nofuckingway.
“Pack. Leave. Now. The carriage is waiting.” Madam Grace’s clipped orders returned Eleanor to the moment. Before Eleanor could object, Madam Grace left the tiny room as swiftly as she’d entered, her haste to meticulously count every crown that she’d earned in selling one of her ladies. Permanently.
Eleanor felt a profound emptiness, a void in her stomach that felt as large and desolate as a deserted lake.
Someone…some prick had bought her like…like an object.
What the fuck?
Eleanor had thought she’d done everything in her power to toe that line between being a courtesan that Madam Grace liked and one that didn’t encourage a particular lord. She had given none of those aristos any reason to think that she’d happily be theirs. Although none of them would care for her happiness.
What did that matter anymore? Do you really care if you’re happy or not?
“Now. Eleanor,” Madam Grace’s bark rung through the thin walls.
Eleanor jumped at the unearthly loud noise at this hour in the wake of the pleasure house’s morning silence.
She sighed deeply, letting the thin sheet fall to the floor in favour of rubbing her sore head, and looked around the drab, cramped room. Taking in the rickety single wooden bed with its threadbare sheet and thin mattress, her eyes landed on the wardrobe.
She debated whether to leave her things in the wall. She could slip back in later tonight to gather her belongings, but that was assuming she was staying in Breninsol. Right now, they could take her anywhere. That made the decision for her.
Eleanor teased open the wardrobe’s back panel and removed the stone quickly and quietly. She emptied the hole of the bundled up old fighting leathers, holey boots, and the few weapons she couldn’t hide in the room. Eleanor meticulously replaced the stone and panel, erasing any sign of disturbance.
She retrieved a small, sack-like canvas bag from the wardrobe’s bottom. She scoffed at Madam Grace lying through her teeth about a trunk. No one here had sufficient belongings to fill afuckingtrunk. Eleanor wrapped her leathers and theslim roll of herbs and empty small vials in the old green dress that she’d salvaged and the holey dressing gown. It will have to suffice for now. She felt uneasy about the easy discovery of these items in her bag, but lacking her leathers or weapons was a worse alternative.
Eleanor wore her grey dress, as it was the only dress that Madam Grace had given her. Adding the battered book to her bag at the last minute, she wrapped her thin cloak around her. She wasn’t particularly attached to the book, but she didn’t know where she was going. She might need some entertainment or a distraction of some sort.
Eleanor had hoped to speak to the others in The Ladies Grace who she’d become used to seeing every day. Milk and Cookie’s good-natured ribbing would have been nice. Even a dry comment from Jasmine, or unwarranted advice from Iris at least, but as she walked with her bag to the pleasure house’s main door, she realised no one was awake.
How early was it?
A massive man waited for her in the Red Room. He cocked his brow and gave her a withering look when she appeared. Eleanor took a steady breath and pushed her shoulders back. She may beslightlyhungover, may smell from not bathing in a while, may have a few holes in her cloak, but she’d be damned if she’d let this man make her cower.
“Eleanor, I presume?” he asked with a deep, bored tone that she might have mistaken for a courtier’s boredom if she wasn’t observing him and the obvious signs that he wasn’t a noble. She quietly scoffed to herself that it was his lack of hat that gave him away.
She stopped a few paces away from him, so she only needed to incline her head to look him in the eye.
“You’ve presumed correctly,” she replied with as much disdain as she could muster.
Whoever this man was, he wasn’t her new owner, just the lackey, or judging by his size, an overgrown grunt. He was remarkably wide, and two heads taller than her. His plain navy jacket stretched over his well-built chest and arms.
Eleanor brushed her fingers against her thigh and smiled, remembering that her knives were a constant comfort.
He held out a plate-sized hand to take her bag, but she kept a firm hold of it. She didn’t know him, and what few possessions she had, she’d keep close to her. He shrugged and led her to the waiting carriage in the street.
The black carriage bore no crest that gave her any indication of who it belonged to. Eleanor had long stopped keeping track of horses and their distinguishing features, as they could be bought, sold, and borrowed on a whim. Although, these horses looked suspiciously like they were from Attarician stock. They were well-groomed and expensive, which didn’t surprise her considering thebastardhad to have been rich enough to pay a Favour’s price.
The driver remained seated with his hat pulled low, leaving the large man to open the carriage door and gestured for her to get in with a cock of his head, while darting his keen eyes around the quiet street and its surrounding windows.
Eleanor entered the plush carriage using the second step but kept a hand near her blade strapped to her thigh, and her eyeswere on him the whole time she moved past him. The carriage’s interior, like its exterior, offered no clues to her buyer’s identity.
She sat stiffly on the soft cushions, her shoulders tensing when she realised that even the inside lacked a crest or seal embroidered in the rich fabrics. There was nothing at all to suggest who had bought her or where she was heading.
The man clambered in, and the moment the door snapped shut, the carriage lurched forward. Her head thumped unhappily at the sudden movement so early in the day.
Eleanor tried to keep her eyes fixed to the cobbled streets as they passed, but she couldn’t help studying the man sitting opposite her. He’d somehow folded his big body into the carriage, filling up half the seating. He was young, judging from the lack of lines on his face, possibly because of his unsmiling demeanour. His skin was a deep tan, and it was not only the result of spending a life outdoors. He had shaved his dark brown hair short on the sides but left it longer on top, revealing wavy hair that would form tight curls if he grew it long in the current fashion.
