Gatehouse (The Gwenyre Caryra Chronicles Book 1)

by Bree Aguiar

  “And make sure it looks spic and span,” she began addressing Gwenyre again. “No scuff marks, no water spots, and certainly no dullness. It should be shiny when you’re done! Ametrine will be accompanying you; she’s to set the table.” Gwenyre nodded, taking the bucket and mop, and looked around for Aimee. “Well, what’re you waiting for?” Norethebo yelled at her after a moment. “Go!” she commanded.

  Gwenyre scurried away, water sloshing over the sides of the bucket as she hurried to find the formal dining room that she had only seen briefly on her earlier tour. She thankfully located it pretty quickly, after twice accidentally entering the same sitting room occupied by a sleeping fairy surrounded by books. Ametrine was already there, finishing up the table by placing deftly folded silken napkins at each ornate setting meant for the guests. “Oh, hello!” Aimee greeted. “Didn’t see you at the Mess Hall, though I was running late. How’re you making out on your first day?”

  Gwenyre told her about her lunch with Cyran, her descriptions making him sound like an old friend. Though he sort of was in her mind. She’d known him only briefly, but everything in her life had changed so drastically in the last few days. He’d known her in that “before,” and had seen the various rushing emotions she’d gone through in the last few hours. Ametrine listened to her talk about Cyran with an admiring smile on her face.

  “He sounds like a fine elf; I’d love to meet him.”

  Gwenyre blushed, as she constantly seemed to around Aimee. “Of course!” she agreed.

  Realizing the time was getting ever closer to half past, Gwenyre rushed to begin her task. Mopping the floors proved to be harder than she’d have thought. Growing up in a well-off elven family meant that chores weren’t something she was used to. Plus, this being a troll-run estate, the pure size of the room was massive. After a half hour of sweating and swearing, she had barely been able to cover half of the fine hardwood floors. She couldn’t help but notice that Ametrine, who had finished setting the table a while ago, looked rather comfortable sitting in one of the fine mahogany chairs inspecting her nails. Gwenyre sighed, sitting up. Her back was in searing pain and she felt ready to collapse.

  “Do you need a glass of water or anything?” Aimee asked, looking up at the elf. “You look absolutely knackered!”

  Gwenyre shot her a dirty look until she remembered that Ametrine was probably just trying to help. “Yes, please,” she said in an exasperated voice. “If you wouldn’t mind,” she quickly added out of politeness.

  Ametrine jumped up from the rather large dining chair and hurried towards the door. “Of course! I’ll be back in a jiff. Hopefully Nora don’t see me… If she does, she’s bound to think I’m not doing nothing and put me back to work.” She shivered comically at the thought before heading out the door with a cheerful smile on her face.

  Gwenyre forced herself to pick the mop up and begin her work again, not understanding what the girl had to be so happy about. She liked Aimee’s persistent positivity, it was likely part of her charm, but it was not helpful when Gwenyre felt absolutely miserable. Her negative attitude brought feelings of guilt, especially seeing as how she’d only been here for less than a day. Ametrine had been here for quite some time, and had probably seen a lot worse than Gwenyre could even imagine. She resolved to remember this fact and to paste a smile (however feeble) on her face whenever the girl returned.

  After a few more backbreaking swings of the mop, the dining room door opened once again. It did not, however, announce the return of Ametrine. Instead, Gwenyre watched as a large troll woman in a fine silk day gown entered. She was followed by a short statured boy carrying the train of her dress, the large swaths of fabric almost burying him. “Edyweine!” she cried out in greeting without a second thought. The other elf blanched as his mistress looked back and forth between him and Gwenyre.

  Gwenyre, realizing her folly, quickly blushed while she bent her head down to curtsy with the proper respects. “My apologies, ma’am,” she said meekly, addressing the floor.

  Lenora appeared bemused by the situation, a slight smile forming on her trollish face. “Oh dear, don’t bow down for the likes of me. You know my page?”

  Edyweine, his face a pale white, stammered to answer before Gwenyre did. “She was one of the prisoners who travelled with us, mistress. I do not know her outside of that,” he explained quickly, clearly embarrassed that his mistress might associate him with a known criminal.

  “Ah!” Lenora exclaimed. “Of course, you do look familiar! How is Gatehouse treating you, girl?”

  Gwenyre, still looking down, was quietly shocked at the question. She expected Lenora was just asking out of politeness; but the troll had no reason to be polite to Gwen, a criminal elf far beneath her stature both physically and socially. She answered her quickly, assuming the troll had no reason to want her to elaborate.

  “Fine, ma’am. They are treating me well.”

  Lenora laughed at that. “I assure you, they are not,” she said, though not unkindly. “I’ve heard horror stories of intake days for many prisoners, but I promise it will get better. I am familiar with many of the long-timers and regulars here, being a frequent visitor. Most come to love it. Or at least tolerate it with a smile on their face.”

  Gwenyre grinned at that, sensing that Lenora was actually trying to be friendly. This wasn’t something she had expected from the large troll, who seemed brusque in her first encounter with Alzim. Edyweine, however, still appeared to be his normal self, taking on a scandalized and disgusted look clearly directed towards Gwen.

  “Well,” he said, addressing her directly. “Aren’t you going to offer to get my mistress a chair and a refreshment?”

  Now it was Gwenyre’s turn to blanche, but Lenora saved her from further embarrassment. “Now, now Edyweine,” she lightly scolded. “It’s her first day; no need to harass her. She probably doesn’t even know where the mint tea is kept.” Lenora was right; Gwenyre didn’t even know they had mint tea, never mind where she could find a glass. Meanwhile, she still had to finish mopping the floors. If Norethebo found out she let herself be interrupted, she might be in a lot of trouble.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Ametrine, who returned holding two glasses. “A water for you, Miz Gwen!” she announced, oblivious to the company that had joined them “Oh,” she said, realizing they were not alone. “Miz Lenora, glad to see you here and looking so healthy.” She addressed Lenora in her fake, high-born accent, a bright glimmer in her eyes while she curtsied awkwardly in an attempt to not spill the water on Gwenyre’s newly cleaned floors.

  Lenora nodded back at the girl, showing a level of kindness and respect. “You are too kind. How are you, Aimee?”

  “I am well, Miz. Thank you.” Continuing with her posh accent, she looked toward Gwenyre. “Have you met our newest addition Gwen?” she asked the troll.

  Lenora nodded while walking over to find a seat near the head of the table. “We have become acquainted,” she explained briefly. “You will promise to take good care of her, I hope? Show her the in’s and out’s? Who to avoid and who to give extra assistance to in their travels here?” She raised her eyebrows at that last remark, clearly referencing herself. Ametrine laughed at this, nodding her assent.

  “Of course, Miz.” She walked over to Gwenyre, handing her one of the glasses. “This is for you,” she said. “The other was for myself, but I am more than happy to be the sacrificial lamb and give it to you instead, Miz Lenora.”

  This earned another chuckle from the troll, who shook her head at the offer. “No, thank you my dear.” She turned to address her page. “Edyweine, could you please see if you can find another maiden to fetch a glass of mint tea? Extra cold, if you will. It’s getting to be quite hot, even this early in the season.” Edyweine harrumphed, though quietly enough for Lenora not to hear, and headed to the door.

  When he was gone, Lenora pointed at two chairs across the table from where she sat, inviting the girls to sit down. “I know it’s not proper,” s
he explained to Gwenyre’s shocked face. “But I’m not exactly the most proper of trolls. I only get away with it because of my family.” The troll giggled slightly at that, though Gwenyre didn’t really understand the joke. The elf sat down quickly, taking her cue from Ametrine.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Lenora said to Gwenyre’s concerned look towards the unfinished mopping. “The guests won’t even notice; they’re probably already drunk from the Cycle Day celebrations.” Gwenyre looked at her with gratefulness. “Take a load off and relax,” the troll continued. “You won’t get too much of that here, but you look overwhelmed. And while we’re relaxing, Aimee can tell us one of her frightfully teasing little stories. Won’t you, Aimee?”

  Ametrine smiled at that. “Of course, Miz.” She had dropped back into her low-born accent, clearly comfortable around Lenora. “Shall I tell the one about the elf and the bear, or the harpy and the merman?”

  Lenora thought for a moment before choosing the latter. “The first may be a bit shocking for our present company,” she explained with a warm look to Gwenyre. “Don’t want to offend or scare off the newbie.” Upon the troll’s insistence, Ametrine began a long-winded story that involved a harpy, a merman, and several interesting uses of a silver net. The effect of the tale was scandalous; Gwenyre had never heard such crass things coming out of the mouth of such a pretty girl. She didn’t even want to imagine what the other more shocking story could’ve involved. Lenora, however, loved it and laughed throughout the whole thing, asking Ametrine to expand on the more appalling bits and pieces. She was wiping tears out of her eyes when the tale came to a conclusion as Edyweine returned.

  Seeing the two inmates sitting down chummily with his mistress gave him pause. Gwenyre could sense the tips of his shaven ears heating up beneath his felt cap. “A servant should be along shortly, mistress. Will you be needing anything else?”

  “No, my dear. These wonderful ladies were just entertaining me in your absence. The others should be arriving soon however,” she said, turning to the girls. “I advise you take leave quickly and have a wonderful day. I am sure I will see you around plenty.” She winked straight at Gwenyre, who giggled softly. The two got up and curtsied their goodbyes, leaving Edyweine to fawn over his troll boss.

  “He’s a strange one, ain’t he?” Ametrine asked when they were well out of earshot of the dining room.

  “Edyweine?” Gwenyre thought about it. He was strange – probably the strangest elf she had ever met. He could also be quite frustrating, with his holier-than-thou attitude. But for some reason she felt a soft spot for the boy and his sad mix of arrogance and shame. “I think he’s sweet under all that mistress-this and mistress-that stuff. A good elf.” She was surprised at herself for that last addition. Edyweine would probably hate to be called a good elf, but she knew he really was one underneath it all.

  “Yeah, I suppose,” Ametrine replied in a bored voice, clearly done with the topic. “C’mon, maybe I have enough time to show you where they keep the extra food they won’t miss. It isn’t technically stealing if they don’t notice it’s gone, right? At least not in my mind. But what do I know? I’m a thief!” She laughed at her deprecating joke, whisking Gwenyre off to the pantries.

  8 A SURPRISING HURT

  Shortly before two o’clock, Gwenyre realized she was due for the first of her daily Thrashings with Gurney. Insisting she could find her way, the little elf left Ametrine in search of that barren, cold room once again. She could still feel the cuts and bruises from just that morning, aggravated by her hard labor, and was dreading further corporal punishment that held no apparent purpose other than to shame her.

  When she arrived at the top of the hour, Gurney was already waiting. He was a mid-size troll, quite smaller than Sylvan, and was actually much skinnier than she expected. His stony face was expressionless as she walked over and curtsied in a quiet introduction.

  “Gwenyre Caryra?” he asked; he was the first of the trolls to pronounce her family name wrong – “Car-YAR-uh” instead of the elven “CUH-ray-uh.” She wasn’t sure why this was such a relief to her, but she let out a relaxed sigh all the same. She nodded her assent as he beckoned her into the small, dark room.

  Nothing had changed since the morning hours, but the little room already appeared much darker to her. Spiritless. She turned around to face him, awaiting further instruction. “I am Gurney,” he began while pulling out his whip to test its pliability. His voice, like his face, remained blank, betraying no emotion. “I will be your Thrasher. You will continue to show up to this room at the same time each day, until otherwise instructed. I have one other appointment before yours, so you may arrive early some days. The sooner you arrive, the sooner it’ll be over.”

  Gwenyre nodded, silently appalled at his ease. He spoke as if these daily beatings of poor creatures were just boring meetings in his calendar; she realized, however, that they probably were for him. He was desensitized to it all. She quietly wondered whether it was because he had done it so many times, or if it was just a part of his trollish nature.

  He continued his speech, ignoring the girl’s dark thoughts. “You have been ordered twenty-five lashes for each appointment, though that may change depending on circumstances. Please place your hands on the side wall, with your back to me. And remove your apron.”

  She slowly untied the apron and pulled it over her head. When she turned around to face the wall, she heard a slight gasp come from the troll behind her. She turned quickly back to find an odd look on his face. “What is it?” she asked quickly. She silently scolded herself for her lack of respect, not yet used her station around the troll masters.

  “Did you have a Thrashing during your intake?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Yes,” she said quietly, trying not to relive the pain and humiliation of just a few hours ago.

  “Who did it?”

  Now it was her turn to be suspicious. “Sylvan?” she said slowly, phrasing it as a question. Was this some sort of trick or test? Why would he ask me that? Her thoughts went unanswered as the troll shook his head in disdain.

  “Put your apron back on and get back to work. Consider asking the Rogue Mizzus for a new shift; that one is badly damaged. I will see you tomorrow.” He left the room quickly, shutting the door behind him before she had a chance to voice any questions

  What was that about? And what did he mean, damaged? She felt her head filling up, confusion bubbling over. There was a mercy there, a kindness, she noted. For what purpose? Her last question summed up all of her thoughts thus far in the day: What sort of place was Gatehouse, anyway?

  Not able to find the answers, the girl shook her head free of any thought and re-donned her apron. She quickly left the room before Gurney could change his mind and found Norethebo in the hallway waiting for her.

  “Ah, that was quick! Good, time to get back to work. I need some items brought to the Stables. They aren’t too heavy, mind you, but I need your fast elven feet.” Before Norethebo could hasten her to pick up the boxes (that turned out to be quite heavy, despite the half-troll’s assessment), Gwenyre told her what Gurney had said.

  “He told me to ask you for a new shift,” she explained in a quiet voice, trying to hide her confusion. Norethebo rolled her large eyes and mumbled under her breath. Of course, between her elven ears and Norethebo’s horridly loud murmurs, Gwenyre heard everything.

  “A new shift! Who does he think he is, telling me what to do with my wards? As if we have fancy clothes for every inmate just lying around, waiting for them to try it on for a fashion show?! That troll…” She then turned to address Gwenyre directly. “Why would you need a new shift?” she asked, her voice mixed with suspicion and contempt.

  “I’m not sure,” she said meekly, twisting her hands in nervousness. “He said it was damaged?” Her voice raised towards the end, making the statement a question.

  “Damaged?!” Norethebo exclaimed, forcing the little elf to take a panicked step back. “How could you have damage
d it already, girl?” Gwenyre stammered to explain that she hadn’t, at least not intentionally, but she wasn’t able to get any words out before Norethebo commanded her to take off her apron. Gwenyre submitted, once again untying the thing to pull it over her head. She held the discarded apron awkwardly in her hand as Norethebo examined her closely, looking up and down her torso.

  “It looks just fine to me!” she declared. The Miz was getting agitated, continuing to mumble about how Gurney was apt to waste her precious time. “Or maybe she’s making it up,” she added under her breath. “No point in that, unless she was lazy or a troublemaker. And if she’s either, I’ll be sure to beat that out of her!” The agitated annoyance showing on her face, Norethebo commanded Gwenyre to turn around.

  Seeing the look in the half-troll’s eyes, Gwenyre hesitated. Sylvan may have thought she was not strong, but Gwenyre knew that Norethebo would definitely be able to pack a punch. Maybe this was a test, the elf thought to herself. There is no mercy; Gurney just didn’t want to do the deed himself. Instead, he wanted to turn the one person I need as an ally against me. God, I hate this place. She couldn’t linger with her thoughts for long, however, before she was forced to concede. She turned around, bracing herself for the ham-hocked fists of the Miz.

  Instead, she heard a dismayed squeal utter out of Norethebo’s grey lips. “Oh dear,” she said in a quiet voice. “Forget the delivery and go to the Dwelling. With haste. I will send someone with a new shift.” Gwenyre, who once again felt saved from a painful fate, did not question the Miz. She started off quickly when she heard Norethebo called out to her again. “But put your apron on first, girl. We don’t need anyone to see that.” Gwenyre threw the apron back over her head and ran off, a million and one questions running through her brain.

  * * *

  When she arrived back at the Dwelling, she found it empty. She was out of breath from running fast, her whole body sore from the activity of the day. She found the bed she’d claimed last night with her bundle and old clothes waiting underneath the frame. She sat down, trying to catch her breath as she waited. Waited and thought. Why did she have to change her shift, and what had left Norethebo and Gurney shocked? Those two, with their brutish blankness, did not seem like anything could faze them. That fact that whatever had happened did affect them scared her, but she tried not to dwell on it as she continued to wait.