Chapter 9
"Sister Naevia," Sister Alethea whispered beside me, "I must make use of the bath house."
This day we ventured into town. Fun Camp begins in but two days, and Sister Alethea and I had volunteered to gather the last of the needed provisions.
"I shall wait for you at that stall," I said, pointing toward one that displayed a lovely array of items.
She nodded quickly and hurried off.
As I turned, I paused. Across the way, I caught sight of Nerissea. She was attempting to pass by two common men, yet each time she stepped aside, they mirrored her movement, blocking her path.
"What a lovely little slave," one of them said.
"How about a fuck with me?" the other laughed crudely.
I clenched my teeth. A hot swell of anger bloomed in my chest.
"May I please pass, good sirs?" Nerissea asked softly. Her voice was as gentle and courteous as ever.
"What a nice voice too," one stepped closer to her. Yet she did not flinch. Her gaze remained lowered.
My heart thundered and my limbs hesitated, but I moved quickly to her side. Every step mocked me with quiet panic. Nerissea glanced at me, offering no word, only silence.
I reached for her hand and clasped it in mine, willing myself to smile though my voice quivered. "There you are," I said sweetly. "Our prayer hour draws near. Did you find what you needed? Shall we return?" My hands trembled but I held firm as best I could.
"Oh shit, the nun is just as pretty," one of the men grinned.
At that, I instinctively drew nearer to Nerissea. My body moved in fear, I could not understand how she remained so composed in the face of such foulness.
She stepped neatly in front of me. "Dear sirs, I am on my way to the residence of Viscount Hadley Thornleigh. I am expected to attend to him this evening. If you will not move aside, perhaps you might be so good as to escort me there?"
At once, the two men paled, covered their faces, and fled down the street without another word.
"Nerissea… what do you mean?" I asked, quite stunned.
She offered me the faintest smile. "I was merely lying."
"But why would saying you were going to the Viscount cause them such fright?"
"They wore the Thornleigh crest at their necks," she explained calmly. "They are staff, most likely. Viscount Hadley is known for his possessiveness. Any man who so much as touches a woman he claims, unless they are of noble blood, seldom meets a pleasant end."
She gave a small bow. "Pardon me, Sister Naevia. I have an errand to complete. Please stay safe."
And with that, she departed, leaving me rooted in place. I had meant to save her. But she did not require saving. It was I who had needed it.
She left me in awe.
"Naevia?" Sister Alethea returned with a puzzled look. "Why are you still standing here?"
"I was lost in thought," I replied. "Let us go."
We spent the rest of the afternoon shopping until our arms ached from carrying packages. Then we hailed a carriage and returned to the temple.
---
All was in readiness at last. This day marked the beginning of Fun Camp. Before even the sun had graced the sky, dozens of carriages had already set out, fetching the little ones from the orphanages and the house-servants from nearby estates. I had spent the night tending to final matters, and when my body could endure no more, I surrendered to sleep within my tent.
When at last my mind stirred, the sound that greeted me was laughter. It wrapped around my heart like sunlight. Yes, this is what Fun Camp is meant to be. A haven where joy need not ask permission.
I sighed contentedly and opened my eyes. And there she was. Princess Yseldra.
She was seated leisurely within my small tent, sipping tea as she glanced over the papers in her hand.
My heart gave a soft flutter.
Her golden eyes lifted and met mine.
"Sleepy head," she said, setting down her teacup and documents.
I blushed as I sat upright.
"Your Highness, I did not know you intended to attend… I shall prepare a larger tent for you," I said, already shifting to rise.
But before I could, she leaned in and gave my bottom lip the faintest nip.
"I am most offended you did not invite me to Fun Camp."
"I… I thought you would not care for it…"
I would have turned my gaze away in bashfulness, yet she held my chin lightly.
"Not for the event," she murmured, pressing a quick, wicked kiss to my lips, "but most certainly for you."
I could only bury my face in my hands.
Sister Juliara's voice called out cheerfully, "Area Five is the turtle game!"
I leapt to my feet at once, alight with joy. "I made that game, Your Highness!" I exclaimed, unable to contain myself. Without waiting for her reply, I dashed from the tent, far too excited to behave with proper decorum.
When I reached Area Five, I found a lovely crowd of children and slaves gathered about, their laughter rising into the morning air as they watched the little turtle in the ring. The game was simple. Each opening bore a number, and whichever the turtle chose would determine the player's prize. Of course, we rotated the creatures and ensured they were well-fed and given their own time to rest.
The turtle crept through exit three. The young man beside me let out a strangled sound between a sob and a gasp. His prize was one gold coin.
Sister Mirelle, who tended to this game, beamed brightly. "Congratulations, sir," she said, placing the gold coin in his palm.
He slowly knelt to the earth and clutched it to his chest, weeping.
My heart squeezed.
A single gold coin was a rarity for a commoner and near unimaginable for a slave. I turned to Sister Mirelle's table, opened the drawer, and gathered a handful more. I could not watch him cry like that, not when I had something to give.
"Do not look," Her Highness whispered as she stepped beside me. She smoothed open my fingers, letting the coins tumble from my hand, then turned me away from the weeping man. "Naevia, you cannot help everyone."
I bit my lower lip, my heart aching with quiet protest.
Sister Mirelle overheard and let out a sigh. "Her Highness speaks truly, Sister Naevia."
"Come," Her Highness said with a smile. "Let us go find Nerissea. The children carried her off the moment we arrived. She has become quite the favorite."
We began to walk, yet I could not ignore the sight that surrounded us. All about us, slaves clutched their prizes and wept openly. My vision blurred, and my lips began to tremble.
"Back to the tent with you," Her Highness said, her hand guiding mine.
Once within the tent, I sank upon my little mattress, weary and heartsore. She followed and seated herself beside me.
"I wished for laughter… for joy," I murmured. "But they are all crying…"
She took my hands in hers. "But they are joyful tears, Naevia. You have given them something they have never known."
"Your Highness," came a man's voice from just beyond the tent flap, "your attention is requested at the residence."
"I was under the impression I had cleared my day," she answered, irritation thinly veiled.
"Duchess Rowena has arrived. Without announcement," the man replied.
"For fuck's sake, does that meddlesome sow have nothing better to do?" she muttered to herself then her eyes returned to me.
"I shall make time to visit later," she said, her tone softening as she leaned in. "But do try and harden that tender little heart of yours. Cease fretting over weeping slaves and start thinking instead of the new obscene tales I have come into possession of. One of them has a woman getting split by a dragon's cock," she whispered, filth and laughter woven into her voice. "I shall read them to you, slowly, while you squirm like a sweet little virgin aching to be ruined."
My lips pressed together tightly as my face burned with shame. She gathered her papers, flashed me a smug smile, and swept from the tent.
I hastily reached for the nearest cup to cool my face. Only once I had finished drinking did I realize, with a fresh flush of mortification, that I had taken Princess Yseldra's teacup. The very one she had been sipping from moments before.
The warmth in my face deepened unbearably.
I remained in my tent a while longer, willing my heart to settle. When at last I felt composed, I gathered my strength. Her Highness and Sister Mirelle had spoken truly. I am but one soul. I cannot aid them all, no matter how I long to.
With that thought steadying me, I stepped out into the sun, intending to find Sister Alethea and observe how her activities were faring. But before I could take many steps, I saw the same young slave who had wept upon receiving a single gold coin. His eyes were still red.
I smiled and placed my hand atop his head. "May Ombrithar bless you, sir."
"Thank you, Sister," he replied, his smile small but warm. "I saw what you meant to do earlier. I came to thank you for your kindness."
He glanced about, left and right, as though ensuring no one watched. Then, without warning, he took my hand and pressed something into it.
"Put it in your pocket," he whispered urgently.
I obeyed, still uncertain, and felt the shape of it between my fingers.
"It is a ring," he whispered again. "I found it while working the fields, and I have kept it hidden for years. That ring is one of three belonging to the royal house of Dunverra."
My eyes widened. It was no common trinket he had given me.
The tale of the Dunverran rings was known to all. It had been passed down through countless tongues, whispered in kitchens and courts alike. Long ago, in an age blurred by time, there lived a man of wisdom and compassion, who led an army that protected village after village from ruthless bandits. The people were moved by his virtue and crowned him their king.
Thus the kingdom of Dunverra was born.
He fell in love with a woman, and she with him. But sorrow found them. She was falsely accused of murdering the Queen Dowager, and in his rage, the king sentenced her to death by poison. He came to learn the truth in time that she was innocent, but by then, it was far too late.
Overcome with grief, the king lost his senses. No one truly knew what passed through his heart, but he commissioned three sacred rings, each bearing within the engraving of his own initial joined with that of his beloved. He scattered them across the kingdom and decreed that whosoever should find one might offer it to a member of the royal family in exchange for life and freedom, if they be condemned to death.
Many versions of the tale exist, but that promise has never been altered. To this day, every royal child, upon coming of age, must stand before Ombrithar and the people, and solemnly swear to honor the first king's vow should any bearer of the rings come forth.
"Why are you giving it to me?" I whispered, reaching back into my pocket to return it.
"No, no… keep it, I beg you," he said, stopping my hand.
"But what if one day you are sentenced to death? You could offer the ring and be spared."
"I do not fear death," he replied with a soft smile. "Please, Sister… accept it as a token of my gratitude."
I opened my mouth to protest, but before a single word could leave my lips, Sister Alethea came dashing toward me with joy.
I closed my mouth at once, and he vanished into the crowd.
Hundreds of souls filled this place. How could I possibly find him now?
"Sister Naevia! Come join my activity!" Sister Alethea chirped, seizing my arm with enthusiasm.
"W-wait," I stammered, glancing toward my tent. Then a thought came to me. I quickly turned to her and said, "Stand in front of my tent. Do not let anyone enter. Not even you."
She blinked in surprise. "Why?"
"My right stocking… the garter clip has come undone," I lied. "And I must fix it."
Without waiting for her response, I slipped into the tent and drew the flap shut behind me.
"I have seen you bare countless times. Why are you behaving so strangely?"
"Sister Alethea, I must beg you not to question further," I replied quickly, heart fluttering with quiet panic as I lifted my habit and slipped off my right shoe.
I had to hide the ring. Truly hide it. If any soul caught sight of it, they would surely try to seize it, and I would lose all hope of ever returning it to the man who gave it so selflessly.
With trembling hands, I pulled down my drawers and unfastened the garter clip that held my right stocking. Once the silk was removed, I took up the golden ring and slid it upon my big toe. A touch loose, yet it shall have to suffice.
I drew my stocking back on, secured the clip, pulled up my drawers, and let my habit fall into place. Every motion felt like a thunderclap in my chest. This was utterly nerve-racking.