The only reason the duo were stopped in the first place was because Alycia had paused in her gait, pulling loose the clasped hands of the girls’ to point off through the huddled roofs, toward a sliver of what could only be the castle. In the darkness, one could hardly make out its vague shape, with no moon nor stars to guide the eye, and only a crisp sliver of highlight on the western wall to distinguish its blackness from the black sky beyond. Still, both girls paused, backs turned to the streets, and squinted and debated the possibility that it was truly the castle. After a quick debate, both settled that it could only be the castle, for there was nothing quite so giant so close, or else they would have noticed it in the earlier day.
In Terryn’s approach, he’d only see their silhouettes; a tall hill, and a short hill, any actual shape beyond that covered by the breadth of cloak. On closer inspection, Sara wore a dulled maroon, hued pink like the instead of a healthy mouth. Alycia, very typical to her usual dress, was cloaked in a light blue. As his hand dropped across the smaller girls shoulder, her immediate and only reaction, was to jolt into Sara, and turn with a gasp. Sara seemed far more livened by the intruder, a second hand to grip her sister above the elbow, and pulled on the girl like a overzealous game of tug-of-war, “Get off her!“ She shouted, a scream on-the-ready. But before she screamed, she recognized the old man, perhaps by voice, and her open mouth instead breathed a sigh of relief, rather than screamed bloody murder.
So relieved she was to find that it was
only Terryn-…though, opposed to the alternative, perhaps
only Terryn was a true relief- the girl couldn’t help by smile, a hand releasing her sister’s skinny bicep, and floating to the flat of her chest. The sudden rush of adrenaline had her breath drawing rapidly, but her gentle voice was soon to follow, realizing quickly that though Terryn was preferable to others, he’d be on the top of her list, alongside her father, on people she ought to avoid that night. But it was too late for avoidance, and so the girl kept her pretty smile, and hoped to The Monarch that he would deem the run-in too non-consequential to need Nikolas’ ears.
“We were just walking.” Sara answered innocently, Alycia surprisingly silent, perhaps still in a bit of shock. Her next words came sweetly, and it was a lie, but a lie they both knew- so more like a secret. “Boogeymen, here? Oh no, Mr. Hoffmann. I am sure this is the safest place in the city, I mean, with the Black Shields patrolling. We aren’t daft, we’d never wander too far. We must be perfectly safe!” She smiled all the same, and he’d know she was at least trying to be sincere. She was a sweet girl, a smart girl, smart enough to know better, but sweet all the same.
Alycia’s trance was broken soon after Sara’s words, and those bright blue eyes upturned to Terryn, framed by the red of her hair, “Boogeymans aren’t real, Mr. Hoffmann.” She stated in a no-nonsense fashion, shrugging her shoulders, and ducking like a pup held by the nap of its neck, “We’re in the city! All the
real beasts are out in tha’ forests!” How wrong she was, but the girl nodded along like she really knew something, like she was some sort of expert. He’d find that the girl was constantly staring at him, having no concept of shame or etiquette, and ever since she’d first met him, as a toddler hardly able to walk, she had been in complete muse of his face. It was more likely than not, she
really wanted to ask what happened to his eyes, or about the dots, or about any number of scars damaging his visage. Nikolas might have raised his daughters unorthodoxly, but he had not raised rude girls. Alycia’s staring could be considered rude, but she was a young, curious child, and most seemed to excuse her lingering eyes. But she knew better than to ask questions to a man so close to her father. Nameless soldiers were different things entirely, the chances of them ever interacting with her father to the point where they could reveal what personal questions his daughter had asked were astronomical. If her Papa ever found out she’d asked Terryn about his eyes, or dots, or scars, she’d be whooped. Nikolas was usually a forgiving man, especially to his daughters, but he was not a man who excused rudeness. Alycia knew that, and so she remained silent, wondering how Terryn had lost his eye, but never daring to ask.
The elder girl’s face flushed with excitement, very glad Terryn had asked, “My father is allowing me to go.” It was obvious in the way she spoke, with an eagerness becoming of girls her age, that Sara was delighted by the very idea of the feast. It had her young mind entrapped, transfixed on the stories she had read and heard and only wished to be true. If only she knew how different the occasion would be compared to those stories, far less magical, far less charming, perhaps a bit boring. Who could fault a girl, a girl of fifteen years and with still so much to learn about the world, for expecting something grand? Romance was in her blood, for Sara herself was a very romantic character, with her books and paintings, all very lost in a world of beauty and pretend. It served, however, as a very sturdy shield against bitterness. She may not have been on the front lines, lying down her life, but Sara had encountered horrors all the same. For eight years, she'd followed the campaign trail, and she’d seen men die stomach curdling deaths, the sort of deaths that ought to have left the girl in tears, her impressionable mind mangled so young with the weight of mortality. To survive, seemingly no different than any other girl her age, Sara
needed to be disillusioned, she
needed to believe in those stories of fancy balls, and noble Princes, because if she did not, there was nothing for the girl to believe in at all besides the ever-looming knowledge that one day she would die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She was lucky for the stories, able to smile toward Terryn, the wonderstruck look on her face enough to express how thoroughly enchanted she was without saying a word.
“She made Papa let her.” Alycia chimed up to Terryn, grinning ear to ear, “He said no, but she cried, and so he said yes!” It was all very funny to her, the idea that her father caved so easily to her sisters demands.
Sara shot the little girl an annoyed expression, preferring to keep her bout of tears a secret because, frankly, she was ashamed of crying. It would seem more like a ploy to get what she wanted, something twisted and manipulative, when in all reality, Sara had not cried intentionally. It wasn’t her fault that crying had been the trick to change her father’s mind, she had not cried to change his mind-…though she was not oblivious that crying may have that effect, she had cried because she felt overwhelmingly cheated by him saying no. Sara didn’t dwell long on his original ‘no’, preferring not to think about it, instead she looked back toward Terryn, and slipped a hand beneath her hair, rubbing the back of her neck in reluctant admission, “I hardly-…made him. I did not force him, I did not trick him. I think he came to realize I’m not a child any longer- I‘m not Alycia,” The little redhead frowned up at her sister, soft lips drawing into a pout, “and so, he decided to allow me. I suppose this means you will be there, Mr. Hoffmann?” Her voice quirked in a question, though she hardly waited for an answer, “My father is not going, I am sure he’ll be eased to know a friend will be present. I daresay he may rub his palms raw in anxiety. He acts as if I am going to war.” A small, ‘hm’, akin to a short laugh, followed her words, listening again as Terryn warned her of the brothel.
Under his hand, Alycia winced again, her head tilted up at an almost comedic angle to regard him, looking off then in the way he gestured, and then back to him. “I know what a whorehouse is!” She asserted proudly. The worst part was it was likely the girl wasn’t lying, she lived amongst men who visited the whorehouse more than their own mother’s, and surely their exciting tales of sexual prowess surely had not escaped her sharp ear. Alycia loved all things taboo: swear words, dirty stories, and every bit of smut that flowed an ever constant river from young boys’ and men’s’ mouths. No matter how hard Nikolas tried, he could not protect the girl from it, there was too much profanity all around. So, instead, he hoped to teach her against use of such language, and how evil and ungodly the actions around her were. Still, she was an impressionable little girl, and so when she knew her father’s ear was deaf, Alycia liked to swear like a sailor, even if she had no clue what many of the words meant, or how to use them.
“Then what is it?” Sara asked suspiciously, curious of what, hopefully, misconstrued definition she’d been told.
“It’s the same thing as a brothel.”
“What’s a brothel?”
The younger girls eyes narrowed, but she shrugged, “I’unno, it’s a place.”
Giving Terryn a relieved smile, Sara looped her arm around her sisters shoulders, and rescued her from under his hand, “Yes, of course Mr. Hoffmann. Thank you for warning us. We were just walking, I hope we didn’t cause any trouble. We’ll head back right now.” Pulling her little sister close, Sara gave the man a smile, and Alycia beamed from below as well.
“Thank you, Mista’ Hoffmann. Please don’t tell my Papa.” She spoke exactly what Sara was thinking, and the girl chastised her with a quick ‘Alycia!’, before leading Alycia around, and praying that she hadn’t just given Terryn that very idea. He didn’t seem the man who would care so much that he’d seek out their father, but he might, especially if they had annoyed him. He didn’t seem annoyed-…or any more annoyed than usual, and so Sara bid him a quick goodbye, and dragged the child back toward their tent, unsure how she should feel about the encounter, though part of her knew not to worry. They hadn’t done anything to upset Terryn with them, so why would he go out of his way to upset their father with them? It didn’t seem like his motivation, so Sara was able to find sleep easily, the brief encounter enough to exhaust her, and let her find rest.
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