Eliza’s legs curled around the rope, leaving scratch-marks along her thigh. Her feet tightened around the rope.
Letting go of the windowpane, she lowered her hips off the wood. Her entire body was clinging to the rope, as she climbed herself down.
“Don’t look down, don’t—” Eliza’s eyes shot to the ground, and her heart skipped a beat. A wave of nausea came over her, forcing her eyes shut.
Her thighs loosened, lowering her down. Visions intruded her mind of falling to her death or being spotted. She could not agree which one was worse.
Her body was cautiously sent down, as the satchel bounced on her lap and her hood blew in the wind.
Forcing confidence, her movements speeded up, knowing that she could be caught any moment. Slipping down the rope, her muscles ached with how tightly they clung.
Eliza felt that she was choking on her own saliva, breathing in the fresh air.
Strands of hair blew past her face, and all she could see was the brick wall of the tower.
A dream-like, strange feeling hit her, as she realised how close she was. When her thighs were being torn by the rope, and her hands ached for a break, she was there.
There was a short distance between her and the grass. The rope had a few bare inches left, not enough to hold her.
Eliza took a risky breath and let go of the rope.
A surging swoosh ran through her stomach.
She let out a scream, realising she had let go with her hands instead of her legs. Flying, her own scrawny legs stuck out over her.
In a heap, Eliza impacted the grass with a thud. A surge of pain flooded through her, landing on her backside.
Her satchel flung through the air and whacked into her stomach.
“Why does everything have to end with me landing on my--” Eliza stopped herself, wobbling to her feet.
‘Remember what you’re here for.’.
She fixed her satchel onto her hip, checking the hood still hid her face. Her mind was set, without a second to turn back.
One foot ahead, she marched across the grass. Eliza stopped at the gardens, smiling at the flowers.
Each one was a rosemary, or honey-lemon. One flower had its head chopped off and was now a helpless stem. It was amongst a bed of flaking, frail roses.
Eliza noticed a rosemary flower lying at her feet and bent to pick it up. Twirling the stem between her fingers, she opened the pocket on her blouse. Eliza plopped it delicately inside.
‘Rosemary is for remembrance.’ She thought, ‘I read that somewhere’.
Covering the flower, Eliza journeyed on through the gardens. Not a soul was in sight, and she started to wonder if it was all a dream.
It was more likely to be a dream, than it was to be real.
She met the brick wall and ran her hand along it. The sharpness scratched her fingers, but she had learned not to notice.
Turning the corner, she strutted down the same alley she had with the maidens, past the bristling hedges and looming trees.
The town was in sight, and she peered around the brick wall. All she could see was the cross-hatched, crooked wood houses, and no more. No people were in the village at all. It was deserted, and empty.
A sigh of relief came from her, but it did not match the feeling in her chest. Her heart became alert, suspicions arising.
Eliza pressed her foot into the stone, slowly stepping out from her hiding. She crept across the village, eyes looking left to right.
‘It must be a holiday.’.
A metallic clank came from across the ground. Eliza went stone-cold, prepared to sprint. Peering to the sound, her heart relaxed with relief.
Edward stood against a castle wall, fidgeting with his armour. He cursed under his breath, guarding a large double door. With the gigantic size of the castle, she had to create a mental map to remember where he was guarding. The church.
‘Why would he be guarding the church?’.
Skipping across, she carefully approached him. Her advantage was that he knew about her previous plan, and might be willing to cover for her, with a bit of convincing.
His eyes shot alert, upon hearing her footsteps. Edward’s face had shadowy bags underneath the eyelids, looking sleep-deprived to the maximum.
“Eliza?” Edward said, as she reached his side.
Eliza faintly laughed. Edward’s dark hair was curling over his shadowed face, like it had not been fixed in weeks.
“I’m not escaping, if that is what you think.” Eliza murmured, a glint in her eye. “Not yet anyway.”.
His eyes continuously glanced between the church and her, nibbling on his lower lip. Eliza peered into the blurred church window.
He stepped into her view, covering the glass.
“A likely story.” He drawled out, with a hint of sarcasm, “Trouble follows you from sea to sky; I know from experience.”.
Edward slugged out his shoulder, showing it was wrapped in a brown-stained cloth. He awkwardly shifted it into place, eyes wincing from pain.
Eliza said nothing, nodding. Her face remained void, staring to the ground. He shuffled above her, adjusting his armour over the wounded shoulder.
‘If he knows what I’m here for, he’ll take me back in a heartbeat.’.
“Fine, you caught me.” Eliza scoffed, raising her hands above her head.
“I should hand you in, if I were spiteful enough,” Edward warned, gripping onto his sword hold.
Eliza stood on her toes to see into the church window. The glass was coloured and blurred, showing only the heads of people.
There were crowds, standing at the walls and the doors.
All were dressed in their Sunday best, and standing stiffly in the stuffed church.
Eliza ducked down to avoid being spotted, while watching the people.
“Stop that,” Edward scolded, shoving her away from the window. His fingers poked into her chest. “I told you that you cannot be here, you need to go back to the tower.”.
Eliza’s eyes turned to him, cautiously watching his moves.
“Go back there?” Eliza scoffed, “I’d rather execute myself.”.
Edward’s hand swiftly reached for his sword. She gave an affronted look.
“It is not safe here, especially for you.” Edward mumbled, glancing into the church. “Trust me, I know.”.
“Why?”.
Edward gripped her shoulders and pulled her to his chest, pressing a finger over her mouth. A roar of commotion echoed from the church, the sound of cheering.
Eliza’s face lent into the glass, her breath marking the colour-tinted windows. She could see the formally suited-and-booted attendees of the service, and the walls lined with blazing fires for light.
The pews were wooden and chipped, bending under the weight of the villagers. Brick walls caved the people in, and golden ornaments were placed across the crimson room.
Her eyes scanned the place, watching the scene through blurred glass. It was rare that the people crowded together for occasions, even on a feast day.
Gazing to the altar, her questions were answered.
Richard and Lucie stood there, clutching one another’s hands. The King was dressed in the finest white robes, lined with sparkling gold. His hair was slicked back, and beard trimmed, while the crown shimmered on his flat head.
Lucie, undeniably beautiful, had her hair in a low bun. Her face glowed in the candlelight, and a veil ran down from her head to her toe.
Her dress was a white gown, with puffed sleeves and a low front. The maiden was not smiling, her face was firm, as she stared into her to-be-husband’s face.
Eliza stepped away, her eyes falling to the floor. She saw it coming. Still, it hit her like a ton of bricks.
“They are to be married, today?” She whispered, turning to Edward.
He solemnly nodded, giving a sympathetic look. He stared into her eyes, watching her slowly lose it, slowly fall apart.
“Yes, and none of us have had any sleep, with your friend
and her demands.” Edward scoffed, glaring into the tinted window. “We told her it was impossible for the marriage to be arranged in a week, but she made it possible, by depriving us of sleep and social life.”.
Eliza shook her head, following his gaze.
“We aren’t friends.”.
Edward nodded. Eliza stared up at him, watching as his eyes widened in alarm. Fear struck him, slowly creeping on his face.
He gripped onto her arm and swung her across the ground. Eliza stumbled with a yell, being tugged behind his back.
Her face collided with the metal of his armour sending a striking chill into her cheek.
Staring into the window, she saw all the crowds of people stood to their feet. The well-dressed villagers’ dumbfounded faces stared at her, pointing fingers in alarm.
“They spotted you.” Edward gasped, pushing his arm out ahead of her. She froze on the spot, gazing all around for a way out.
The commotion from the church could be heard for miles, and the creaking of the open doors echoed through the air.
“Follow me!” Edward yelled, tugging on her arm. He made a jumpstart onto his feet, tightly gripping her. Eliza felt her feet run faster than ever before, as they both ran from the scene.
All she could see was Edward’s arm yanking her forward, his legs bolting across the stone ground.
Eliza screamed as she dodged the rows of houses surrounding them, leaning in unnatural bends.
She could hear the roars of the villagers, her feet pounding off the ground. Many times, she had to duck to avoid signs, and barrels in their way.
Her shoes scratched off the coarse brick, as she threw down her neck to avoid a dangerously placed sign. Her sight ferociously went from left to right, whipping back and forth with her hair.
The ground spun beneath her, as the scent of rough ale filled her lungs. The far-off screaming of the people and Edward’s feet filled her ears, like a hammer striking a board.
Her eyes landed on the sight ahead of her, noticing that he had lead her the opposite direction of the castle.
They were headed for the far left of the city, as the cobblestone streets got shorter.
She gasped for air, sprinting as her skirt flew up and her satchel hit her hip. Eliza noticed the barrier ahead, a plank of wood fence that separated the city and the training grounds.
The separation had been created by King Rupert, who insisted on having space to train his knights and store war-equipment.
“Duck!” Edward yelled, tugging her arm to the floor. Instinctively, she half-ducked, crouching her knees. Edward did the same, running half-crouched as he forced her under the fence, the wood grazing her hair.
Eliza had no time to breathe as she was pulled on. Mud splattered from the ground to her skirt, staining her bare ankles.
Edward ignored it and continued running. The commotion of the people was no longer heard, as they ran through the outskirts of town.
She was brought to a hasty halt, as Edward let her go. He gasped for air, clutching his injured shoulder.
“T-That way.” He coughed, nodding to a small hut. They were surrounded by fields and muck.
The training area had sheds, barrels full of fencing swords, stools for spectators and barns for horses.
Eliza stood on her toes, gazing over to the hut. It was tiny and confined, splattered with dried muck. Her eyes noticed crude markings made in the wood, by immature specimen.
“I cannot leave you here,” Eliza replied, groaning as she did, “You’d freeze to death.”.
Edward shot her an exhausted look, before mumbling below his breath. She reached her arm under his arm, heaving him to his feet.
Eliza hoisted him along, stumbling over to the hut. She was unsure why she chose to help him, but it was an act of courtesy, after he saved her from the scrawny hands of the village folk.
If she went back to the village, she would be killed, or worse.
“We can rest in the shed, for now,” Edward groaned, tugging on her cloak. “’Till we work out what to do.”.
Gripping onto the shed door, she pushed Edward along, who was doubled over behind her. Kicking the door open, it swung with a creak.
Edward ran into the hut, immediately shoving past her. Eliza slammed the door, leaning against it with a long breath.
From across the room, she could hear Edward grumbling, clutching a bucket.
“Captain?” She mumbled. “Are you alive over there?”.
Edward threw his head into the wood-barrel bucket, spluttering on his knees. Thick, lumpy vomit spilled from his mouth, as his choking filled the room.
“Yuck,” Eliza cringed, earning a glare from the knight. “You shouldn’t have left bed this morning, you look terrible.”.
The wooden shed had makeshift red banners lining the walls, made of carpet. Barrels of ale were balanced at the back, and an unstable-looking table sat in the centre, dirtied with stain and carvings.
“I’ll manage, I always do.” Edward grumbled, gesturing to a dusty stool. “Sit.”.
Stools without legs were slugged against the wall, and a spiteful portrait of a monarch was hanging loosely from a nail, with the quote, ‘Vivat Rex’, carved onto the frame.
Eliza sighed, arching herself from the door and to the stool. She slugged herself onto it, sighing heavily to the air.
“On a little executionary date, are we?” A voice called.
Her head shot to the shadowed corner of the room, noticing the legs of a figure relaxed onto a shelf.
Edward’s face raised from the barrel, sickly-yellow vomit dripping from his chin. The corners of his face curled up in annoyance, as he marched over to the corner.
Swinging it out, his fist disappeared into the shadows. The voice let out a childish scream, their feet dangling like a ragdoll.
“You scoundrel, why are you here?” Edward roared, his face stretched and tight. The figure was raised into view, helplessly flaying in the air.
Thomas squirmed in Edward’s grip, wincing away from the knight. His cheeks were a flushed red, coming into the light.
“I-It’s my right to be here! I am as much of a knight as you are,” Thomas cried. “…Captain.”.
Edward laughed, letting go of Thomas’ collar. The young knight squealed, falling onto the floor.
Eliza smirked, as Edward shoved past. The Captain plopped himself down onto a stool, resting his legs on the table.
He reached with his good arm for a goblet standing on its head, twirling it amongst his fingers.
“Since you’re so adamant to live up to knightly duties, get me a drink.” Edward smirked, nodding his cup toward the knight. “That’s an order from your captain.”.
“Make it two.” Thomas grumbled, slugging across the room. His face was pale and deprived, covered with spots.
Eliza sat with her cheek against her fist, eyeing both knights with disinterest.
The stuffy shed quickly got on her nerves, its tight walls curling in around her.
Thomas filled two goblets to the brim with ale, raising them to his eyes and measuring their amounts. He slid one over to Edward and stomached his own in one gulp.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Edward mumbled, swirling his drink. “Why are you here? All knights are on duty.”.
Thomas sunk onto a stool, spreading his legs out wide. He murmured a response, shrugging.
“You think The King would care? He’s preoccupied with his bride-to-be.” Thomas scoffed, rolling his head back against the wall.
A smirk formed on Edward’s face, lightly chuckling in response. He gave Eliza an all-knowing look, narrowing his eyes towards the knight.
“Unless you are planning to run down and object the wedding, be a man and get over it.” Edward said, drops of ale dripping from his cup.
For a moment, Thomas’ eyes lit up. Opening his mouth to speak, his hand clutched the goblet.
“I cannot get over it, I never will.” Thomas dreamily sighed, staring into the ceiling. “Being h
er second option is enough for me, with the chance that I could be her first.”.
“Bold of you to assume you’re her second option.” Eliza mumbled, earning an irritated look. The talk of Lucie brought back memories she would rather forget, and she subtly averted her eyes.
Edward laughed, swinging his feet down from the table. He stood up against Thomas, reaching for his arm.
“Kid, she would have sold you for a penny and two figs,” Edward reasoned, “She was not interested, in the slightest.”.
Thomas’ eyes fell, and he shrugged his arm out of Edward’s grasp. Sinking back onto the stool, he downed another disheartened drink.
“You’ll see, one day,” Thomas mumbled to himself, “I’ll prove you wrong, all of you.”.
“I’m not one to speak, but she hates your guts.” Eliza scoffed.
Edward rolled his eyes, his back turned to the sulking knight. Eliza gazed up at him, crossing her arms.
“If you agree to comply with me, I have a plan to get you out of here.” Edward said. His hand reached out, open for her to take. Her hand leant out, hesitant. It was inches away from his, from sealing the deal.
“I agreed to a plan before, worst mistake I ever made.”.
Edward smiled, clenching his fingers into a fist. The two met face-to-face.
Bewitched Page 22