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Chapter 7: The Heroine (Part 1 of 2)

The first weeks of autumn came and passed, and still there was no sign, no word, of Drake. In Steersberg Manor, servants busied about as usual, seemingly accustomed to their lord's prolonged absence. Even with Amelia's deliberate resistance, life in Steersberg quickly settled into a rhythm.

In a deep blue wool cape that tailor-master Gilios made for her just the day before, Amelia danced through the manor's quiet hallways, letting the cape flutter behind her like a gentle wave. Once she finally came to grips with Drake's departure, the ridiculous wigs and dresses were cast aside, stashed back into the trunks she brought from home. There was no point inflicting pain upon oneself knowing it was for naught. Not only did she regain lightness in her steps and copious wasted time in the day, the glances she received from men, women and children alike were now filled with more admiration than distanced reverence.

"Good morn, m'lady!" the groundskeepers greeted cheerfully as she appeared in the courtyard and skipped down the stone steps.

"Good morn, Anton, Leon." Amelia smiled to the men who paused in their grass-trimming to wave their hats at her. "How is your daughter, Tomas?" she enquired of the silver-haired groundskeeper whose young daughter was born with weak lungs.

As Amelia came to a brief halt before Tomas, he bowed deeply, an arm clasped over his heart in a show of respect. "She is well, m'lady. My wife and I cannot begin to express our gratitude to you."

A few sennights ago, she'd overheard Tomas' desperate request to William for advance wages to afford medicine for his daughter, whose condition had worsened with the onset of the cool autumn season. Though William had approved the request, she grabbed two handfuls of mullein and dried viola flowers from Sven's stash (despite his weak protest against the 'theft') and stuffed them into Tomas' arms. Tomas had, quite rightly, been rather perplexed until she told him to brew the herbs into a tea for his daughter.

"There's no need for this, Tomas," she said with a wave of her hand. "You should bring her here sometime so I can see she is well."

"Will do, m'lady." He bowed again as Amelia walked by joyously with a bounce in her footsteps and a tuneless hum.

She had kept herself occupied with work, for when her limbs were busy it was easier for her mind to dwell on things other than her fruitless plans to return home. Now that most of the fruits and vegetables were preserved, and the herbs of Sven's garden dried and ground to powder, she immersed herself in the exploration of Steersberg—or rather, the Steersberg markets.

Unlike the markets of Lyons and Port Caynns, where the smell of freshly baked pastries battled daily with the perpetual stench of faeces, the Steersberg marketplace was always filled with exotic scents she could not name. And thus each day was a discovery of foreign fragrances, incenses, fruits and herbs from all parts of the Northern Lands and yonder. 

Much of Amelia's time at the markets was spent in the Elen Lane, a wide street that housed all the fabric and apparel stalls, including the famous Rohan Silk House. Embarrassed by the 'accident' she once caused at the silk house in order to irritate Drake, she did her best to avoid returning to that large establishment that took up almost a third of the street.

Instead, she befriended Mistress Perryn of Emerald Boutique, which specialises in wool. To all who asked out of interest, the story was that wool was more befitting for a Southern lady who had not yet adapted to the colder climate. In truth, however, frequenting her husband's rival enterprise somewhat soothed her aggravation with his unexplained departure.

It was the first day of Steersberg's week-long mid-autumn festivities. Though a small festival compared to the Spring Harvest, the annual event nonetheless attracted traders from all over the kingdom. While few Serrasi traders travelled so far south to Lyons each year, there would be hundreds in Steersberg this week to sell a rich variety of exotic goods, or so she'd heard. Mistress Perryn had promised her ornate cloths and wool caps scented with tiger vine, horned lilac and edraci (whatever they were), apparently so high in demand stock never lasted past the first day of festivities.

Needless to say, Amelia was excited, eager, and absolutely determined to be free from her fussy old maid today, who always insisted on towing along a small army of guards and maids to every market visit. But such concerns for her safety came with the unfortunate side effect of hindering her exploration efforts. 'Twas why she had risen at the first light of dawn, intending to slip out of the manor before Marge could rally the troops for the day.

Still humming softly, she turned a corner and... froze.

"Bitch!" A man slammed his fist into a young woman's cheek. She slumped to the ground, blood sputtering from her nostrils. Before she could even let out a whimper, the man stamped a foot down on her back. She squirmed weakly and cried out in pain. He pressed his foot harder.

Rage swirled within Amelia, curling her fingers into tight fists as she stomped forth.

The man bent over to pull the woman's head back by her hair. "Shut ya hole, bitch!" he spat into her face. "Ye know t' rules."

She shook her head and murmured incoherently, the simple action enough to send the man into a frenzy again and he lifted his fist—

"Stop!" Amelia demanded, her anger lending her the courage to reach forward and grab the man by his wrist.

His initial surprise dissolved into a sneer as he turned his bloodshot eyes to the young lady before him. "And who might ya be?" he drawled.

Amelia eyed him warily, noting his greasy unkempt hair and thick beard. "I should be the one asking you," she gritted through her teeth. "I am the Emira and I demand—"

"Emira my sodden arse!" His gaze narrowed in suspicion and raked up and down her form before he twisted his wrist to grip hers and pulled her into him. "Din't know this lil whore had such fine friendsss." His thin lips curled into a twisted smile, revealing a mouthful of stained, crooked teeth.

She immediately reeled back from the odour of stale sweat and cheap ale that assaulted her nostrils and shook off his grip angrily. "How dare y—"

The man took a drunken step towards Amelia and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Let go!" Unable to struggle free from his tight clutch, she raised her knee into his stomach, sending him stumbling backwards and tripping over the beaten woman to fall sideways to the ground.

Amelia faltered but quickly turned her attention to the half-conscious woman. Carefully, she helped her into a sitting position against the wall and brushed the bloodied strands of hair out of her face. Behind a swollen face, the woman peered at her through one good eye, the other closed and heavily bruised. It was one of the manor's maidservants.

She cringed and stifled a sob at the sight. She wanted to embrace the poor woman and tell her she was going to be fine, but... Taking a glance over her shoulder at the unconscious bastard of a man, she knew now was not the time for reassurances just yet. "Can you walk?" At the woman's hesitant nod, Amelia slid her arms under hers to help her to her feet.

She was so focused on seeing that the woman was steady on her feet that she missed her sharp intake of breath. "B-B-Behind..." the woman tried to warn with a shaky finger, too late.

Amelia was yanked back by an arm hooked around her neck and suddenly her feet no longer touched the floor. "Two bloodeh whores, eh?" he screamed down her ear. She clawed at his arm, which did nothing but encourage him to clamp all that much tighter around her throat. "'Tis aight, I know em who likes ye fiery ones. Ye'll sell fer a good price."

She kicked her legs and tried to cry for help, but only gagged more as the man lugged her towards the manor's back gates. From the corner of her vision she saw the other woman crawl weakly towards them, attempting to grab the man's legs, only to be kicked away. No, no!

"Shoulda killed ya when yer still in t' whore's belly," she heard the man mumble, but her mind no longer registered what he was saying. His words mattered little, for she could feel the air being sucked out of her lungs, could almost see her life draining away and the tears on her father's face... No...

A flash of silver entered her blurring vision, and she felt her body float... then collapse.

M'lady! M'lady!

Her world turned to black.