Page 7 of The Noldrin Witch

The woman turned to her with a warm grin. “It’s either that, or he’s a goblin. Either way, it comes to the same. Troublesome creatures.”

Elise’s mouth parted slightly. She did not know if the woman was serious. She had heard the many rumors of pagan rites and strange practices in the lands of Bromheim but had always taken them for tales meant for children and nothing more.

“What’s your name, my darling?” the woman asked, a glint in her eye.

Elise inclined her head. “I’m Elise. Elise de Varenne.”

“A pleasure,” the stranger murmured, already turning as if to change the course of her walk.

“And your name?” Elise asked.

The woman met her gaze with a piercing look. The stare was so powerful that Elise felt a few of her sins uncovered all at once.

“I’m Morgaine,” she finally said.

Elise’s attention lingered on her. The woman eventually looked away and, just before disappearing into the crowd, turned back to add lightly, “There are De Varennes in Bromheim. They are not well regarded. You may wish to think of another name.”

Elise did not dare follow her. A bold woman, that one. Bromheimers had a reputation for being feisty, but this went beyond it.

How did she know? Elise thought she was surely toying with her. Perhaps it was wise to find another borrowed surname before they reached their destination.

She tried to forget the strange woman but remained cautious as she walked, feeling the uneasy sense of eyes upon her.

The day passed without major disturbance, and after a few hours, nightfall caught up with the procession. Word passed from the front that they would take lodging in an abbey a league ahead. Elise was weary from another day’s walking, the blisters on her feet demanding an immediate end to the trek.

At least the journey had helped clear her mind. Here, she could almost forget Edward and Lady Patrice. The road, with all its inconveniences, had done her the small favor of distracting her thoughts, and the need to keep a careful watch behind her helped her hold to that resolve.

In a couple of days, she would reach a proper settlement again, where food and shelter would no longer come freely. She would have to find a protector quickly, before more uninvited proposals found their way to her.

Elise had only needed to let go of everything she knew to discover she had a talent for surviving disappointment. It was a small talent, though a valuable one, particularly in times when change was the only certainty and rarely an improvement.

*****

Elise had heard the procession was headed to the very capital of Bromheim, Metz. She knew the city was a great metropolis, one of the finest in the known lands. She had also heard less favorable stories of what took place in cities of such size, but when one has little to lose, even danger can begin to look exciting.

The procession had stopped for the night, taking shelter in a large monastery along the road. From afar, Elise had mistaken it for a fortress. The tall stone walls, broken only by a few narrow windows, looked about as welcoming as a well-defended prison.

Elise made sure to keep herself among a group of women. She and her bickering company were soon led inside, where a small space beside the main altar awaited them. There were no thin mattresses, nor any sign of blankets or other comforts. Only straw lay spread across the stone floor.

There were no fewer than twenty women to share it with, and Elise made her way between a few who were well-rounded in both figure and gossip.

She had purposely chosen the more spirited ones, figuring that if any wandering hand grew unwise in the night, there would be no shortage of outrage to defend her.

The candlelight began to dim after a watery porridge was served to Elise and the others. There was bread as well, though it was reserved for the men leading the procession. Elise was hungry enough not to argue the matter. Instead, she slipped behind the table, crouched, and made herself the rightful owner of a hard piece of rye, the finest bread for a long night of rest on straw.

Well informed as Elise liked to keep herself, she moved about, careful to listen for more about the state of the land she had chosen for her new home.

“They say we’re one kingdom now,” a man muttered, giving his bowl a few contemptuous slurps.

“Aye. Until the war’s done,” another replied.

“Those Falaine pompous fools,” a woman joined in. “It’s all because of them.”

Elise gasped and moved away at once. She had already heard similar comments from the good people of Bromheim. It seemed that they had taken the royal dispute and applied it generously to every soul from the Falaine lands. Still, she had hopes that she could find a way to blend once in the city.

Elise made her way outside the monastery, hoping the night air might bring some calm. She considered a few solutions should matters in Metz take an ill turn. Returning to Noldrin was one of them, perhaps by finding another procession headed in the opposite direction. Or, once separated from those she had recently met, she could begin an entirely new story altogether. This time she might claim to be from a place no one could question.

She shook her head. Instead of dwelling on her worries, she busied herself with the tangles in her hair. The once lush strands were now dry and stiff with the dust of the road. How she needed a bath. She had been wearing the same dress for a week, and she felt as if her body was beginning to take root in it.