Page 43 of Blackthorn

“As long as you don’t come near Luis.”

Marechal smiled at the beast, genuine affection lighting up his face, and he patted the man on the arm. “I’m fine. We’re fine.”

The beast huffed, placated.

Draven rubbed the center of his chest. There was no reason in the world for this spark of jealousy to lodge itself in his chest, yet there it was. “Hurry then,” he said, frowning. “I want to be far away before we make camp for the night.”

Charlotte

The Aerie

The Greenhouse

The next day arrived with a pleasant surprise that she was not locked in her rooms. Still, she kept Stringer’s gift close, hidden in her skirt pocket. The hiding spot was not ideal but she had the feeling the key was the kind of thing Madame Lemoine would confiscate when spotted, so Charlotte kept it close.

Lord Draven did not send for her that night. Or the following night.

A week passed. Charlotte drew the obvious conclusion that she had somehow displeased Draven and he ignored her as punishment. Why else would he vanish? They spent one night together. Not even an entire night. She felt they had a connection, and she thought he felt the same, but his disappearance said otherwise.

The more she thought about the situation, the angrier she grew. She traveled all this way, went through a farce of a wedding ceremony, to be used and cast aside like an old plaything…

She tried not to think about it.

In Draven’s absence, Charlotte acquired a permanent guard, Orianne from the chapel. She was decent enough company, entertaining Charlotte’s questions even if her answers were less than forthright.

The abandonment of her vampiric husband notwithstanding, Charlotte used the time to explore the Aerie with Orianne trailing behind. If Miles were held captive, she would find him. She started by retreading the corridors that Lemoine showed her in the initial tour, then branching out into areas not highlighted on the tour. She never got a closer look at the door with the electronic lock, though. Orianne blocked all her efforts, turning her around before they came too near.

Charlotte felt certain there was something beyond that locked door. Only a handful of people had the code. She’d need to get close enough to study the code being entered, and she’d rather fixate on that problem than Draven’s absence.

She needed to lose Orianne. Somehow. There were only so many times she could send the guard off to fetch forgotten items and become “lost” while on her own before her freedom of movement was curtailed.

Perhaps if she behaved badly enough, Draven would lock her in the same dungeon as Miles.

Well, that was a dire plan which would be her last resort.

Until then, she had the entirety of the Aerie to familiarize herself with. She spoke with Madame Lemoine to determine any duties she had as the Aerie’s new mistress and was informed that she should not trouble herself.

She took her meals in the mess hall with everyone else. Yes, an uncomfortable silence fell the first time she entered, but conversation eventually resumed. Other than Orianne, no one dined with her or spoke to her. While Orianne was an amiable enough companion, Charlotte felt the cut.

The more she saw of the Aerie, the more she realized it did not make sense. Perhaps she was explaining it poorly. As she explored, taking the seldom-used corridors and smaller staircases, Charlotte understood that Madame Lemoine had given her a very selective tour. She took Charlotte down the corridors with fresh whitewash and functioning lights. Their tour happened at the end of a shift, so the corridors filled with people, giving the illusion that the Aerie had a larger population than it did. That dining hall that served two hundred souls? Well, as it happens, only about two hundred people lived in the Aerie; Charlotte had been given the impression that there were far more.

Now that she knew, she saw the signs everywhere.

The less-frequented corridors were in a sorry state of repair. Grime marred the whitewash paint, turning it dingy. The light panels did not work and probably had not worked for years, if Charlotte had to judge from the candle soot along the ceiling. Water seeped in through the stones, collecting in puddles and making the floor a slippery hazard. The air was stale and frigid.

Charlotte found a wing of deserted barracks. Neglected furniture collected dust in the unused rooms. The rooms were damp and uninviting. At least there were no rodents. The Aerie’s cat population kept that in check.

The Aerie had been built to host more people, Charlotte could see that, but now it was divided into areas fit for habitation and areas that were abandoned. Even the sections currently used were worn and in need of maintenance. Charlotte got the impression that there just weren’t enough people to keep the massive place running in top form.

Workshops were busy, of course. Lemoine showed Charlotte how the Aerie kept itself armed. She had no doubt that Draven had plenty of soldiers, but a fortress needed more than pistols and swords. It required food, clothing, blankets, shoes, soap, razors, paper, pencils, and a hundred other small things she had never thought twice about sourcing because her village market had plenty.

There was a tailor. Just one. For two hundred people. Yes, most people wore the same set of bluish-gray garments. They were a far cry from fashionable, but they were functional. Simple, much like the food served at mealtimes. Still, even if the tailor only made the same basic items, two hundred was a lot for one person to keep outfitted. One would expect to see wear on the clothing, patches to make do, but there were none. Orianne’s uniform was pristine, but Charlotte did not consider her a good measurement. Her escort was most likely outfitted to impress. However, all the other people Charlotte encountered wore garments in good condition. It didn’t make sense.

The same problem applied to the cobbler and shoes. Everyone wore the same basic boot. While every pair of boots she saw did not look new, none looked to be tattered.

Soap? It came from the storerooms, which Madame Lemoine controlled. Cloth, candles, matchsticks, paper, ink, even needle and thread were under her control.

Fair enough, Charlotte thought. Resources were limited. They had to be rationed to get through the long winter months. Perhaps traveling merchants came in the summer months, but that did not explain how everyone wore the same pair of leather gloves. Leather gloves that all matched the pair Draven made her take in Sweetwater Point. No one would discuss the magical storerooms with her, much like they would not discuss what was in the lower levels beyond the locked electronic door.

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