Chapter Text
They found the page boy in the stables by the training arena. His grooming of one of the Lord's prized Shire stallions was absent-minded at best; most of the time, he was combing the Baroque leather saddle, not the mild-mannered equine. His attention belonged to a band of off-duty Knights carrying out their drills and engaging in mock-skirmishes.
"Go join them, Eustace!" Jules bellowed, startling the smaller man out of his trance. "We'll take over for you."
"L-Lady Rose!" Eustace recovered, dipping his torso as the pair came to stand before him. "And… you."
When he lifted his chin again, he had a glower reserved especially for the smelly new arrival. It was apparent that this deference did not extend to Jules.
"Me," Jules agreed, grinning down at him.
"I'm returning your assignment, Eustace." Rose's head angled with an air of expectancy. "Care to tell me how you two came to be parted?"
"You ought to ask that of the animal beside you, my Lady, for he was the one who took off out of nowhere—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't recall you going to great pains to chase after me, Eustace—"
"Please! As though I would willingly subject myself to being downwind of you?!"
"Quiet! You keep out of this," Rose instructed Jules. "I entrusted Jules to you personally, Eustace. I did so knowing you have proven yourself to be reliable and devoted to your tasks. Was I wrong to do so?"
"N-no! I mean yes! I mean t-that it is an honor to hear you speak such praise for me, Lady Rose, but— I can't—" When fumes no less pervasive than brimstone flooded their nostrils, they reflexively glanced at the stallion, whose coarse, swishing tail was adorned with flies. Then their gazes shifted to accuse another.
"Wasn't the horse," Jules confirmed. Rose and Eustace sighed simultaneously.
"Lady Rose, am I permitted to speak freely before you?"
"You may, though you'll look me in the eye while doing so," Rose informed the diminutive servant.
With difficulty, Eustace summoned the nerve to address her directly, though it was somehow easier to endure the beast's observable and undeserved arrogance than to be scrutinized by the hotheaded Lady Rose.
"I do not agree with keeping this thing in the castle," he timidly opined. "As it is your Father's decree, I must not question his thinking. However... I find it nothing short of insulting that I should be made to babysit it."
"For what reason?" Rose questioned, as though Eustace's distaste for this chore had never crossed her mind.
"For what reason?" Eustace exhausted a single joyless laugh. "Why, he is so foul, so crude—"
"Oh, do go on," Jules provoked.
"Be quiet. Eustace, I had no one else in mind for this task," Rose deliberately reiterated. "In a Court full of capable people, do you understand what that means?"
"I'm not sure I do. Am I being punished? If this is the case, I would much rather serve my sentence in another manner — dock my wages, triple my duties, but don't— do you mind?" He hissed at Jules. The fumes had been replenished with a vengeance.
"Not particularly," the rogue merrily replied.
"Ignore him — and that,” Rose said, fighting to resist protecting her nose from the savagery of his stench.
"It's nigh on impossib—"
"I know, but you must try, Eustace. No, you are not being punished. As you trust in Father, I know I can trust in you."
"But there are other page boys, Lady Rose, Maurice and Declan are bigger and stronger and—"
"But they're not you," Rose insisted. She smiled down at the puny aide. They had only been children when Eustace had been brought into the care of the Court, and in another lifetime, they may have frolicked and played together on the beach and in the forest. Her fondness was as persuasive as it was unexpected.
But — mystifyingly, especially to himself — Eustace stood his ground.
"I was employed to serve the Lord of Campion," he recited unyieldingly. "And he has not asked me to have anything to do with this beast."
Her genial gesture was immediately revoked. Eustace's regret was just as instant.
"In doing so, you pledged eternal loyalty to our family name — meaning you answer to his daughter just as readily," Rose snapped back. "Or is that not so, page boy?"
Jules' eagerly anticipated Eustace's next move — what a thing it was, to witness a man sprouting a backbone before his very eyes! The silence stretched. Eustace shivered in the cool of the morning and, remembering himself, exhaled slowly, his breath visible on the unsettingly still air.
"... yes. Yes, it is so, Lady Rose. I shall do whatever you wish of me..."
"My wish is for you to remain together, as a pair," Rose requested evenly. The concealment of her satisfaction at coming out on top of this battle of wills was masterful; it had taken years to unlearn her natural desire to gloat. "Jules is to attend lessons with Sir Sagmore — these begin two sunsets from now. This will give you time to attend to other matters. I would like you to show him the rest of the castle today while Father and his men are out on the hunt. Help him to become acquainted with the various rooms and facilities, and make sure to show him the banquet hall, as he'll be invited to dine with us at some point—"
"What?!"
The stallion, spooked by its groom's plaintive cry, echoed it with a whinny. Jules' shoulders quivered with inaudible laughter, though his ongoing flatulence was anything but.
"F-Forgive me, Lady Rose," Eustace stammered breathlessly. "I'm unsure what came over me there."
"Quite," Rose muttered.
Jules laughed, disguised it with a cough, and then covered that with an unapologetic honk of brass from his overactive back-passage.
Eustace had been stroking the Shire's velvety flank to quell its nerves as well as his own. Now he sighed sharply. "Can't you at least try to control yourself?"
"This is me trying," Jules answered.
"Oh, I'm sure. I was better off smelling the horsedung!"
"Now, now, Eustace — our Lady wishes for us to play nice," Jules barbed. "Don't you, Lady Rose?"
"At the very least, stay together." She looked purposely at her Father's windy detainee. "No running off. No straying. You must promise me and Eustace, Jules. Remember what we discussed about respect?"
"Yes, yes, you earn only as much as you give." He pouted while he dourly considered Eustace. "I suppose one can only try..."
"And try you will," Rose said. "I have work to do, boys. I'll see you at lunch, Eustace. And Jules—"
In the new day's sun, cold but brilliant, he seemed almost… handsome. Not like the Knights — not chiselled and overly wide-chested, with glossy hair and lustrous beards, anything but it, actually... but this was not to his detriment.
Somehow.
Rose hastily returned an errant strand behind her ear and cleared her throat once it became plain that her response was unusually delayed. "F-Farewell."
"Farewell," Jules cheerfully returned, then raised his index finger, already inclining sideways, "One for the road, my la—"
"Not this time!" She cried over her shoulder, taking off smartly, her hooded cape swelling out behind her as she marched back toward the castle. Jules tracked her until she was out of sight. Eustace scowled at the emotion that had been drawn into the beast's face. It was worrisome to imagine it could be in the neighbourhood of desire.
"Your thoughts better be cleaner than the rest of you," he quipped.
"She is most impressive," Jules murmured. "What those Knights described in the carriages when we journeyed here… I knew they were wrong about her, Eustace. Men like that are frightened of women like Lady Rose."
"They have good cause to be," Eustace reluctantly agreed with him.
"Not frightened like how you're frightened. Frightened because of how capable she is, how daring she is — I never thought someone like her could be so..."
"Enough of that! She is none of your concern, beast," Eustace mocked. Now that they were alone, he mistakenly assumed the power dynamic swung in his favor. "You are lucky she is so tolerant and forgiving, as is my Lord. For the sake of my gorge, we'll start this tour outside, around the grounds. I might as well show you our woods, too. Maybe if I'm lucky, the wolves'll be hunting by day."
Jules clapped his hands once. "A grand idea! I've missed the outdoors something terrible. Tell me, young Eustace — is there a privvy on the way?"
"No." Eustace halted mid-stride, paled, and hesitantly turned to look back at Jules. "Don't tell me you still have the trots? Oh, Gods, is that why you smell especially ghastly this morn?"
"The jury's still out on that one — but you better grab a shovel, anyway, and be swift about it," Jules advised, patting the page boy on the shoulder as he overtook him at the exact moment an even fouler cloud descended upon the stable. Some free-roaming sheep lost interest in hoovering up forgotten-about oats and vacated the premises. Even the stallion turned its long face and gave them a contemptuous look.
"I'll spare these poor horses, but you won't be so lucky. Hurry along, Eustace! It won't get much better from here on!"
Eustace closed his eyes and issued a woeful moan. He called upon one of a selection of mantras; he felt he would work through his entire repertoire by the day's end.
It is an honor to serve my Lord, it is an honor to serve my Lord...
Work to do was an interesting turn of phrase. Rose's capacity for work was defined by how much her Father wished, or was allowed, to include her. His advisors had more tact than Aunt Ainsley when it came to her participation in the matters of the Court and the management of Campion, although Rose sometimes felt it was worse to be humored and mollified by old men than outright disapproved of by a resentful widow. At least, in that way only, Aunt Ainsley was honest.
She supposed being invited to sit in on the trade meeting was a step forward, something to be grateful for, given her relative youth and inexperience — but this did not satisfy her. That was the way things should be: the moment she abandoned her ambitions was the moment she abandoned her mother.
Enough of that.
Factually, with Father out hunting, it was Aunt Ainsley whom Campion must answer to. But she was in the habit of spending her days cooped up in her room like a sullen teenager; Rose was the one who was most visible throughout the working day, demanding regular reports from the servants and the Knights and offering feedback and guidance in turn, and generally overseeing the goings-on of the castle and Court. The only item of note from that morning was a burst pipe in the main kitchen. Rose delegated who was to mop up and who was to repair, and what was to be done in the meantime.
It wasn't much, but what did that matter in the grander scheme of things? Every display of competency would pay off someday. Campion would fall to their knees before her in no time. Rose had to believe that. No one else would for her.
It was from the kitchen that she took two sticks of cinnamon, and now, several storeys above and idling by one of the castle's most expansive windows, she was furiously trying to smell them. How could it be? She had smelled Jules as plain as the new day — his flatulence and body odor were unavoidable. She had been too distracted by the locket, now hanging around her neck for the first time in more moons than she would ever admit to, to take notice of the peony soap she used during her bath, or the honeycomb infused in her hair treatment. In hindsight, she knew she should have suspected something when Martha told her that Cosgrach, the castle chef, was baking his first maple syrup and brown butter cake of the season — her favorite. She hadn't discerned a single nutty waft. And when it came to the cinnamon, she might as well have been smelling an actual stick.
How was it possible that she could scent the rogue and nothing else? Perhaps Sir Sagmore may have an enlightening notion to share. She would pick her old tutor's brain, though she hoped that by the time he returned to Campion from his travels, her scent would have righted itself. It had been defunct for so long — like all things, it probably needed a little time to reach its full potential. And with Jules being so ridiculously offensive to all senses — perhaps barring the eyes, and the eyes alone — it made sense that she could smell him above anything else, for he overpowered all else. Even now, a shadow of him clung to her. Though she harbored some concern that she may be blamed for the pong, it made her feel less lonesome on the noiseless third floor.
She watched the two young men as they weaved through the courtyard, having finished exploring the surrounding grounds. Her servants dodged and swerved to avoid Jules. It was comical to her, and perhaps a mite sad, knowing that he really was so placid in nature, though their reactions were perfectly excusable; they knew nothing of him other than his origins and his digestive issues, both of which were solid reasons to steer clear.
And she wasn't that much better off herself. She knew far less than she should have known by now — less than she wanted to know, given her personal intrigue, and less than Father needed to know, given the doubt of his advisors in his 'project'. Father was counting on her to crack his shell. She hoped recruiting Eustace would prove fruitful. Only time would tell. Time... she had spent so much of her life sitting around, waiting for the minutes to pass, waiting for something to happen, to begin.
She halfheartedly sniffed the sticks as her dedicated gaze traced Jules' movements through the square.
"Master Winslow, p-perhaps a break to rest?"
"There's no time to rest! Up, up, up we go! Come on, lads, it's only a couple'a dozen staircases! Hop to it!"
The clinks of valuables stashed away in cloth bags were more frightening to Rose than the clash of shields and the drawing of swords. She had wandered onto this floor without thinking twice about who inhabited it. It was a dead-end, and if she were to turn back, she would walk squarely into them.
She stuffed the cinnamon sticks into her pocket and observed the courtyard with haughty purpose, hands behind her back, spine board-straight. She would play it cool — she would make herself known before they had time to notice. "Back from the market so soon, cousins?"
The twins and Winslow were damp from a light shower that had misted the rolling hills as the morning proceeded, but this had not quashed their good spirits. A shopping spree guaranteed the closest thing to a good mood. The servants hauling their bags were soaked, though mostly with sweat in their cases, particularly the two men who were in charge of transporting a brass statue of a gryphon for Winslow.
"We might have stayed longer if Mother wasn't so concerned about us leaving the castle with that thing skulking around," Celeste complained. She was trying to fix her eyeliner; her younger-by-seven-minutes sister, Luna, held the mirror for her.
"Yes, that thing," Luna echoed.
"Splendid merchants this week, Rosie!" Winslow mussed her hair which she had toiled to control after her bath, then effortlessly avoided Rose's swiping hand. "There was even a stylist from the grasslands territory who could've made you look good! Albeit for a kingdom's worth of riches..."
"How have you spent the morning? Being a little spy for Daddy?" Celeste teased.
"I hope she's not been snooping in our quarters," Luna suggested forebodingly. She snapped her fingers at one of the guards. "Oi! You'd better be doing your job properly, Luther!"
"Without a doubt, Miss Luna," was his emotionless reply. He was one of the oldest Knights, well-trained in the Once Ways; despite his proximity, he was appropriately remote from their conversation.
"I've been keeping watch in Father's absence," Rose told them. Don't do it, don't say it, don't... Her tongue tingled perilously. "While your mother lounges like a stupored lizard." At least she'd dropped the constipated part.
"And she still does a grand job better than your Father when he's here and wide awake!" Winslow shattered what might have been a tense silence. "Well, don't just stand there gathering dust! Put everything in my quarters!" He roared at the servants.
While he dictated where his purchases were to be laid and assembled, Celeste and Luna flanked Rose.
"Is he still out there?" Celeste asked worriedly.
"Yes, he is," Rose mumbled. Eustace was pointing out the various figures carved into the stone — the Lords of Old, of Once Before. Jules was picking his nose. How she wished she were out there with them! What had convinced her that she was above a task as menial as a tour? At least she'd be in better company, even if it was pungent.
"That's the first good look—"
"And smell—" Luna added grimly, pinching her nostrils shut. "Phew!"
"We've had of him," Celeste finished. "Stars above, is he ugly. That hair!"
"And those spots!" Luna contributed.
"All chopped up like that — and so oily!"
"He's almost as spotty as you, Spots!"
"Makes Eustace look a hell of a lot better, I tell you what," Winslow remarked; he had changed into his smoking jacket, and from what Rose could see, was breaking in a brand new pipe that looked to be made of tanzanite. "Of course, you would have to be part-troll to make Eustace look better, the weasly little runt."
"Jules isn't part anything," Rose said authoritatively. "He's Common-born."
"Yes, that's what he's told you, Rose — he'll tell you anything he thinks you want to hear," Celeste scoffed. "Don't be so naive!"
"The little lambie has always been naive," Winslow joined in. Rose could feel his dark eyes — like two gungy stains — boring into her, awaiting her reaction to the use of her mother's cherished pet name for her. She was outwardly unmoved, though the cinnamon sticks were feeling the brunt of the increasing pressure of her fidgeting fingers.
"So naive," Luna pointlessly echoed. That was Luna summed up; a pointless, seven-minutes-too-late echo.
"But he doesn't look like a troll, does he?" Rose asked the group.
"It's for the medicine man to decide what he is," Winslow said. "Whatever he is, I want no part of it. I don't understand why you're trying to make a friend out of him, Rose."
"Because she hasn't got any others," Celeste muttered. She and her twin exchanged looks and secret, sardonic smiles.
Something panged below Rose's ribs. It did not show in her voice, as profound as it was. "We'll learn nothing by being hostile. We want him to trust us."
"We want to learn nothing! We don't care! We don't want anything to do with trolls!" Luna exclaimed.
"You wonder how such a thing can be allowed to happen." Celeste voiced what all of Aunt Ainsley's offspring were thinking as the quartet watched the not-troll and the page boy make their way back toward the castle.
Jules had unintentionally scared a maid carrying a bushel of apples; Father's oldest and stiffest of hounds, spared from the strains of the hunt, tried to see how many they could fit in their slobbering maws. Notably, they did not ambush Jules like they did to Eustace. His was not a derriere worth the risk.
"Lord Muchty was right to want him killed; trolls are less than animals, and animals don't care what happens to each other," she went on. "They can't be missing him, whatever he was to them. A slave, or a plaything. One bladestroke across his throat. That would've been the end of it. If only..."
"He couldn't have been more to them than food," Winslow proposed. "Perhaps they were raising him like we do with pigs — maybe what they were feeding him makes him so foul."
"All these 'perhaps' and 'maybes'," Luna carped. "Who cares what he is? To them or to us!"
"You don't find it the least bit interesting?" Rose asked her. "Who else in history has ever had a story like his? And we don't even know the half of it yet."
"It would be interesting if it were happening to Lord Tober's family, not ours," Celeste protested. "Then we could be spectators, rather than living with this monster!"
"All the embarrassing things happen to us," Luna bemoaned. "If only your Father wasn't so—"
Winslow wisely shushed her. The back of Rose's neck prickled.
"Winnie's right, Luna. You'll make Spots angry, and when Spots get angry, her spots look ready to burst," Celeste snickered. "I don't want to get splashed by all that pus!"
Winslow gagged as heartily as Eustace currently was in Jules' presence. Rose's fingers and thumb curled into a fist, grinding the cinnamon into splinters.
"My Father was right to do what he did," she said firmly.
They gawked at her wordlessly.
"This could be important. Not only an accident. This could mean something. And if Jules trusts us enough to tell us what he knows, what we could learn about the trolls could change how we live beside them. It could change everything."
"I agree," said Winslow, baffling his younger sisters. "It's like what the Knights were saying in the carriage today. His condition could be a new kind of sickness, brewed in the mountains. It could be the evidence that these cave-trolls are not to be mixed with, the proof we need to hunt them to extinction — just like we did with the rest of that filthy lot."
"What? That's nonsense," Rose countered. "Wherever did the Knights get that idea?"
"Nonsense? Have you heard what he did to his privvy? They're going to have to pull the whole thing out and build it afresh; it's so befouled!" Luna cried. Celeste swayed dangerously.
"Say no more, please," she begged.
"Wait and see what the doctor says tomorrow," Winslow said with finality. "He'll be able to tell us if it's catching. In which case—"
"Off with his head!" Luna said, slashing a finger across her jugular.
"We're all doomed if it is catching," Celeste said, causing the others to fall silent. Her pretty face was grave. "It might be too late for us."
"We already are doomed if Rose is interested in him." Winslow grinned and elbowed her enough to wind her. "Just how interested are you in the freak, little lambie?"
"Oh, don't even joke about that!" Luna shrieked.
"If anyone's going to fall for a pig like him, it would be Rose!" Celeste howled.
Rose's complexion had seared scarlet to the point of feverishness, undeterred by her best efforts to restrain her anger. "I never once said I was—" But then the lunch bell tolled, and she was old news to the trio, who pushed and shoved one another in their effort to be the first to the staircase.
Both sticks crumbled into dust in her pocket.
It had been useless trying to reason with them. She wasn't irritated at their ignorance and stupidity, which she could always count on. She was frustrated with herself for taking the bait. It was behaviour she could have pardoned when she was a child, when there was less expected of her, when she had fewer responsibilities and obligations and concerns regarding her image and her impact on Father's legacy. When she had a mother who knew the right words to say to dispel any problem.
Not now. She knew better now; she had to know better. She loved her Father, and her faith in him was ultimately unwavering, but she could not expect him to handle her issues and Campion's the way her mother had.
The rain Martha had wished for had moved in from the west to settle above their castle. The winds of an approaching storm whipped the sea, churning teal waves.
Its patter upon the windowpane drew her eyes back to the square. She hoped to see the pair — surely Jules would be up to something that would promote good spirits in her, maybe even tease a smile onto her wounded face — but they were gone.