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The two moons adorned the star studded sky, one full and the other crescent, mirroring on the water beneath.
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The silence of the night was voiced by the gentle gushing of a stream over the cold stones that aligned its path. The wind brought along a subtle creaking of wood swaying and the reminder of the crickets' secrets resonating throughout the forest, indecipherable by all.
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Communication came much easier to nature, unlike the two cloaked figures navigating the forest with only the cracking of twigs beneath their heels to justify their presence.
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The taller one owed her height to the ornate black hat, adorned with black roses and a veil surrounding the woman's silhouette as it drags by the hem of her dress on the forest ground not collecting leaves or dirt, somehow, merely gliding above it all.
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The shorter person has her hand clasped to the hilt of her sword, eyes aglow with vigilance as she covers the veiled woman's front — as if her blood stained gloves would have been visible from a mile away, in the dark and beyond the veil.
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They move with haste yet the winds slow around them, hindered by their elegance. The bridge is within sight and beyond it lays the enormous castle walls frowning in displeasure at the escaped residents making their way back from a hidden entrance.
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The crickets must have shouted in warning but women would never know.
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The shorter of the two is about to step over the bridge when a whispered, "Stop!" makes her feet halt and blood curl. Goosebumps rise over her nape as she unsheathes her sword, waiting for her mistress' approval to attack.
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The crickets sigh to a silence for a human had done their work.
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The veiled woman turns her head just enough to spot a child crouched by the bank with an oversized jute basket hung by her shoulders and resting against her back. She was miniscule enough to have been missed by their vigilant eyes.
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"I wouldn't walk on it if I were you," the child whispers, staring at the shorter and more visible of the two women.
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The woman stares back, stunned by the ambiguous nature of the kid's words and tone.
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"I don't know why you're trying to sneak inside the castle but I know the secret to a peaceful life is to not be nosy," she announces with a small smile gracing her bony face. "And I am not trying to be nosy, please, I am just trying to help you."
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She extends a bony arm toward something under the bridge.
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"The Kingsmen brought their saws this afternoon and cut just enough to sabotage," she explains, pointing at the wooden pillars on which the bridge stands, "If you walk on it you'll end up breaking the bridge, fall in the river and get captured."
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"And you saw all of it?" The shorter of the women asks, eyes narrowing at the pillars under the bridge. There is something sincere about the girl's tone that she cannot help but trust, against her better judgement.
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"No," the girl replies and points at the other side of the stream, "the grass is badly crushed and the flowers have been trampled. But it's all good this side. And if you hear it, closely, there's a creaking noise in the air."
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The three of them stay as still as stone and gradually the subtle creaking of the wooden pillars is amplified by the winds. Nature is conspiring in their favour tonight.
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"Also, the stones are all messed up," she points at the opposite end of the bridge where the ground is devoid of pebbles and stones for at least two feet.
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"And why are you telling this to us?" The shorter woman asks, her suspicious nature getting the better of her.
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The girl holds out her hand and turns to face the veiled woman, making unbreaking eye-contact to where she thought her eyes might be.
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The veiled woman nods and a small pouch is dropped in the little girl's palm. She grins with her teeth on show and hastens to shove the pouch in her jute basket.
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"I'll show you the way," the girl skips over the wild undergrowth with a giggle. "It wouldn't be nice if you kill me halfway through so I will not tell you where it leads to," she informs.
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"Why should we trust you?" The shorter woman asks.
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"You don't have to. Take a chance on the bridge," the girl snickers.
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"One smart move and I'll have your head, kid," the armed woman scowls.
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"Still wouldn't bring you any good," the child presses her lips and walks forward.
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The veiled woman gives her companion a nod to follow the girl.
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"What is your name?" the short woman asks.
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"It's more polite to tell your name before asking someone else's," the kid shrugs, jumping over big stones along with her obnoxious jute basket thumping over her small back.
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"I am Matilda," the armed woman states.
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"I am Daisy," the girl replies without looking back. She hops from a smaller stone to a bigger stone and in the emanating silence, everyone in proximity knows that both of them lied.
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No suspicious person entering the Castle of Awryn under the cloak of night would be wise enough to introduce themselves with honesty. It goes against the rules of sneaking around because nosy or not, too much honesty always has consequences.
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The girl stops as she reaches an elevated ground with a dense overgrowth of marshes. She masterfully navigates her way through the rough roots as her eyes scan the surface. She squints to find the exact spot but to no avail.
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The night is dark enough and the marshes do not let in even the faintest glow of castle or moon lights. So, she runs over to a pick up a thick piece of wood and uses it to stab the fabric of her dress. She tears apart a good amount and wraps the fabric over the wood.
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The veiled woman raises a brow as this alleged Daisy rummages through her jute basket only to pull out a can in which she dips the fabric wrapped log ever so slightly.
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"Hold it, will you?" She looks up from the ground with expectations in her eyes.
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Matilda sheaths her sword and steps forward to help.
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The girl rummages through her bag again and the veiled woman notices that Daisy is as big as the basket she carries. She is small, bony and invisible enough to see all and never be noticed — the scariest of people to have as one's enemy.
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A spark distracts the woman's line of thought and before she knows it Daisy has made a torch.
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"Keep holding it, please and come closer," Daisy asks Matilda before climbing higher on the surface. Matilda's flame lights up her line of sight as she crouches to the ground again, in the very midst of the marshes, and small hands feel over the leaves until her scrunched eyes and biting lips relax into a wide smile.
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She uses both of her hands to pull something open and Matilda almost gasps out loud because they were now standing at the head of a tunnel.
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"I'll go in first so it'll be easier for you to follow along. Close it on your way in, please," Daisy clarifies, taking the torch in her hand and stepping inside the underground tunnel.
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It irks the veiled woman's heart to see a little girl holding up a torch as big as her torso and braving the darkness — unknowing of the true nature of her company.
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Kids could be so innocent some days.
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"Ma'am," Matilda holds out a hand for her companion to take. The woman holds out her gloved hand instead and Matilda grabs it and pulls her by the wrist.
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The kid waits at the foot of the steps, patiently, as she and Matilda make their way down the ladder. The maid closes the iron cover behind her and Daisy's torch proves to be highly useful in the fogging darkness of the underground.
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"I'd recommend you pick up your hems," the kid grins as the stench around them begins to make more sense. From what little they could see and hear, the concrete tunnel had a drain flowing in the very middle with pavements on either side.
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"Your brought us to the underground sewer system?!" Matilda gasps in realisation, quite appalled as she gathers her gown in her arms.
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"Better safe and stinky than captured and stinky later," Daisy giggles, quite proud of the way she used her words. "If you keep walking straight, you'll end up wherever you want to," she points at the unending path in front. "Take it," she offers the torch to Matilda, "For I need to go this way," she points at a further left turn.
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"Won't you be afraid in the dark?"
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"The dark has no monsters, it's the humans who are scary," she shakes her head as if Matilda uttered something beyond her stature and expectations. Absolutely disappointing.
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Matilda scoffs in return.
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"But where does it lead to?" She asks again, whilst taking the torch in her hand.
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The kid stares at the older woman and holds out an expectant hand. Matilda rolls her eyes and flips a pouch in her palms. The girl grins and rummages through her bag only to take out two small vials.
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"It'll help with the smell," she throws them in the air and Matilda catches them on instinct. Consequently, the ruffles of her gown drop to the pavement and she internally groans in disgust.
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The red liquid of the vial glistens under the flaming torch but the women are distracted by a loud splash.
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Daisy jumps into the dirty drains with her jute basket held over her head. As she reaches the other side, she places the basket over the pavement before climbing up.
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"Have a good one," she calls from the other side before placing the jute basket back on her head and rounding the corner.
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"What an encounter," Matilda sighs, eyes still stuck on the girl's retreating back.
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The yellowing fabric of her once white dress is stuck to her back and a grey-green mark is visible through it.
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"She's a kitchen slave," the veiled woman remarks, "She's hiding her mark with that bag. The maids have quite a system going on."
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"Everyone needs to strive for themselves."
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"And so must we," the older woman takes off her gloves and holds them out. Matilda lends them fire and as the blood stained fabric cripples under the heat, the woman fings it in the drains.
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After skipping several curious turns the duo arrive at their suggested end. Matilda climbs the ladder and pushes open the iron cover to climb out whilst the other woman shoves the torch in the drain.
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As the log along with the charred fabric splashes and floats she holds Matilda's hand to be pulled out. While Matilda pushes the cover back in its place, the woman scoffs at their surroundings.
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"I never knew the Founder's grave was so shallow...yet so deep."
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"One of the many wonders of our lives," Matilda smiles as they stand peacefully atop the stone grave under which the older woman's ancestor should have been currently buried. They let the cold wind blow the stench away, amused by the irony of the Founder's grave leading into a sewer system.
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The gravestone reads : Romerius Quill, an adventurer, an explorer and a father to all but one.
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The spared one being his wife, of course.
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Matilda pops open the vial and a strong scent of fresh roses engulfs them. She sprinkles its contents over her companion's dress whilst the taller woman wonders — How'd a slave child get her hands on perfume? The most precious imported good on land.
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"The kid must be a regular at it."
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"The founder's grave is the least guarded of all checkpoints. I wonder where the rest of the paths led to," the woman sighs.
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"I didn't even know we had a sewer system," Matilda tsks.
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The night inside the castle walls is way different from the one outside. There is no silence or the nature conspiring for them. Instead, there is a hustle and bustle as humans conspired against eachother.
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Their heels click over the bricked path as they make their way to—
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Suddenly, they are surrounded. In front of the Queen Dowager's castle, Kingsmen circle around the two women with their sowrdpoints shining against instant kill spots.
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"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?! LOWER YOUR SWORDS IN FRONT OF YOUR QUEEN!" Matilda roars, her neck straining, but the soldiers did not budge.
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Her mistress holds up a hand to pacify her maid, lest she'd start taking on people beyond her calibre.
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"Where have you been?" A cold, deep, voice questions. Amidst the stiff silhouettes of the armoured soldiers emerges the vast muscled torso of the King of Awryn. His frame overshadows those who stand to protect him and his sapphire eyes reflect on every sword's blade, just glaring at the Queen Dowager, harsher with every step he takes in her pursuit.
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Surrounding her by all means.
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"I see the sun is shining at my castle, past its daylight hours," the Queen Dowager comments with an unsurpassed calm and grace unbeknownst to a person who walked through the castle's sewer system to get here.
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"The sun is shining indeed but don't make it burn too much for its moon is missing," the King utters through gritted teeth, haste and unhindered by eloquent pauses.
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"Then it's shining at the wrong place—"
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"—Mother."
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The Queen Dowager snaps her mouth shut because the King has closed the distance between them and stands right in front of her now, with an unsheathed dagger pressing against her gut.
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"My Queen is missing, do not let me repeat my concerns," he all but spat in a whisper. His thick brows wrestle eachother in a frown as his gaze holds hers captive.
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"Your queen is none of my concerns and so are yours," she replies with an annoying layer of calmness. Her face an embodiment of 'unbothered.'
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"Where have you been?"
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"I find it no—"
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"Speak." He growls in her ear, pressing the knife harder against her.
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"I was mourning the late king."
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"All day long?" The new king lets out a breathy laugh. His big silhouette engulfing all of her with shadows.
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"In the rose garden," the Queen adds. Still an image of serenity and maturity.
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"I surely do hope so. I'd hate to kill you, mother," he spits out the last word, "if there's even a hint of connection between you and my wife's disappearance."
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"You're acting pathetic in front of your subjects," The Queen tsks, her eyes rounding up the still faces of the soldiers. "Your father would be so disappointed," she emphasizes, voice low yet so burdening.
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"Sleep with one eye open, you witch," the king growls and takes a step back, hiding the knife inside his ornate sleeves, again.
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"Threatening me will only bring you more losses," the Queen shrugs and gestures Matilda to follow her as they make their way out of the armed circle.
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The King stares on with gritted teeth and clenched fists.
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The inside of the Queen Dowager's castle is a dreary mess of isolation and lack of priorities. Darkness engulfs the high ceilings, homing insects which spy the royalty's movements but also communicate in a buzz of accompaniment.
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One could never be too lonely.
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The foyer leads to a long flight of stairs and upon entering her main chamber, the Queen Dowager is greeted by a sight that reflects the grimness of her surroundings. Her room is vast, its high ceilings reaching towards the heavens like skeletal fingers clawing at the darkness above. The meager light filtering through the narrow windows casts long, haunting shadows across the cold stone floor.
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In one corner of the chamber stands a small kitchenette, its rusted pots and pans bearing witness of neglect and disuse. On the opposite end sits a bathtub, its polished surface raising suspicion towards its use and the budgetary constraints of the castle.
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Matilda reaches for the Queen's hat and veil, taking it off to reveal blonde curls clustered up in a neat bun. They step behind the ornate dressing screen and Matilda loosens the ties of the Queen's dress. It slips to the ground, revealing a bronze suit of armour pressed snug against her body.
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Matilda's hands move to unclasp it —only to be stopped by the Queen.
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"Leave the armour," she all but chokes out a whisper, "Leave yours on as well."
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Matilda walks around to stand in front of her mistress and the Queen wraps her arms around her maid's small frame. Her big frame bends down to a crumble and her flushed face finds solace in the crook of her friend's neck.
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"Did it hurt?" Matilda asks, running a soothing hand over her Queen's armoured back.
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She sniffles, chokes, coughs and cries, nodding furiously in the crook of her neck.
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"It's okay, we'll hurt him more."
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"Cassie, ca-ssie, i-if only Elliot was here..." The Queen drags her words through breathy gasps, "He— us, we could live. We could make it w-work."
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"We will, my Queen, we will."
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