Floryana Franheska Blumawar stares at the empty tobacco tin on her desk—a tin that was supposed to last until to-morrow—then at the half-full rosewood cigarette box of Queen-designate Gekaryna; running her fingers into her shoulder-length black bob, and making a mess of it, she groans, swinging her legs beneath the desk—her mental schedule already thrown off, and the day only just begun; she begins to think aloud (she knows no one can hear her through the thick stone walls and wooden door of her room): “It is too early for this; it was supposed to be: roll the cigarettes, clean Sampson XIV’s old paludarium, get dressed, eat lunch, leave at 14:00 to avoid Osmund, go to Walth’s and get the mushrooms, then to Bwoukhon’s and pick up Sampson the XV, and finally back home to get things ready for to-morrow”; she pauses to take a deep breath before continuing, frizz her hair more as she tries to plot a new plan—“I simply have to just get up and go now: it is the only way—Osmund’s shift at the north gate starts at 12:00: it is 08:00 now. Walth’s is open from 08:00 to 17:00, the same as the Beastery. Sampson will be fine in the crate for a bit; if I leave now, I can be back before seeing Osmund,”; she stands up from her desk, and walks over to a walnut wardrobe; she had meticulously planned and organized its contents (choosing a core of fourteen unique outfits, plus two for Nyluhnkroux celebrations and five more for miscellaneous holidays or events, each numbered and worn once every two weeks in order, allowing for a consistent—but not consistent enough to appear lazy or slovenly—rotation of outfits) so she never needs to him-and-haw over an outfit—and to-day, it is proving itself to be a fantastic decision; so she opens the wardrobe to checks the calendar hung on the inside (the 16th of the 10th maiden), “Number two it is,” and she removes a black high-waisted pinafore dress of a cotton twill with a skirt that falls just above the mid-calf, a white poet shirt with a large lace-up open placket and a variety of thin black embroidered flowers and black lace around the hem of the sleeves and a white bow with cerulean accents that goes around the collar of the shirt, laying them across her bed, she shuts the wardrobe, before she changes out of her nightwear, once dressed she checks her bow in her mirror and tightens the placket, slipping on her socks and putting on her boots, she plucks her veiled pointed hat from the milliner’s stand atop the wardrobe, and moves to the door while grabbing her black leather frame bag hung from the side of her desk, as well as a silver ring and a pair of black leather gloves from her bedside table, she opens the door to her room, and ducks into Herst Castle’s female dormitory; her boots sink into the thick red carpet as she rushes off towards the 7th-floor stairs, as she repeats her new schedule to herself—”Walth’s, Bwoukhon’s, clean paludarium, finish rolling, prepare for to-morrow, Walth’s, Bwoukhon’s, clean paludarium, finish rolling, prepare for to-morrow”; she hears someone calling her name as she moves down the hallway, but ignores them (she has no time for small talk), making her way down the stairs and to the entrance hall stopping at the cloakroom, she knocks on the door, a servant answers, “my pattens please,” she watches him nods and disappears behind the shelves, returning a moment later with her pair of enclosed pattens, which she promptly puts on; not wanting to expose her shoes or the hem of her dress to the ordure of the city; she makes her way to the door, staring silently at the guard from behind her veil, he takes longer than usual to open the floor-to-ceiling oaken main door, and she to exit the castle and into the courtyard, promptly returning to her brisk pace; she enjoys the crisp autumn air and the trees’ rustling leaves, picking one and letting her eyes follow it as it falls to the cobbled pathway below: this is her favorite season; but the peace doesn’t last long, as she is spotted by Anwelyse Herst V, who is clad in an ornate black silk gown, accompanied by Floryana’s sister and another lady-in-waiting, who pushing Anwelyse V’s wheelchair.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
“Where are you going, Franheska?” shouts Anwelyse, vision obscured by her black lace veil; she is only able to distinguish Franheska by her silhouette.
“Anwelyse vela’Herst, please, you just woke up; there is no need for this.” says Madhelora Vyola Blumavar, trying to calm Anwelyse but to no avail.
“More tobacco? encouraging such a sweet young girl to smoke? You are simply no better than ?thalrykk.” Anwelyse continues, growing annoyed at the apothecary for ignoring her—ignoring the queen is a punishable offense.
Floryana pulls the ring from the breast pocket of her dress and slides it onto her index finger; the sounds of Anwelyse V’s nagging, fade away, and the outside world goes silent—just the way she likes it.
Leaving the Herst Castle Grounds [1] through the north gate and crossing the drawbridge, Floryana enters the Artisan District [2].
[1] Herst Castle sits on the central islet of the Crown Isles. The islet on which the castle and its grounds stand has a total area of 0.785 km2. Herst Castle itself has an interior floor area of approximately 280,000 m2 (including all buildings connected by what remains of the underground tunnels, as well as the tunnels themselves) and houses the monarch, their immediate family, guards, and a wide variety of servants.
[2] The north-by-northeast islet of the Crown Isles. It has officially become known as the Artisan District, as craftsmen from all over Ianya spend their lives refining their work in hopes of reaching a standard deemed worthy of approval to rent a building and open a shop there.
This islet also serves as the only overland connection point to The College of the Third Moon.
patreon.com/Ephemerae
