Chapter 3:
A Member of the Party
I’m led through the outer castle wall, still tethered to Trevus with his arm on my shoulder. High above us hangs the large, crisscrossed metal gate that’s shut every night. My sleeves are tied at my elbows again, reassuring Trevus that I pose no threat.
We tread down the town’s main road. I twist my head around to look at the castle tower, eventually finding my thin little window. It’s so small from down here, so unexceptional and easy to miss, but it used to be my whole world. Every day I would look out that window, watching the town and its people. Hundreds of men and women traversed this wide dirt road, each with a purpose and a place to be. I wished that I was one of them, that I had something to do and somewhere to be, and now after all these years, I finally am.
Trevus pays no attention to me. His right arm simply directs my frame as he desires.
A prick in my foot makes me wince. Every step must be intentionally placed to avoid the small, pointed rocks. Being barefoot wasn’t a problem on the smooth stone floors of the castle, but out here it’s different. Hopefully the ground will soften once we’re beyond Antiock.
Merchants and stores are packed on either side of the wide road. This is the bazaar, where the whole of Antiock gathers to trade their goods. At the end of the road is the city gate, close to the market so the farmers outside the walls don’t walk far to sell their produce. Some of the sellers have their own shops with four walls and a door, while others have just a table, chair and a tarp for shade. The sound of fifty people all bartering and haggling with one another blends into a loud drone. Fruit and vegetables are laid out for customers to browse. I can’t help but eye the baked snacks made from flour.
The castle guards would never risk taking me to such a crowded place. I would ask when I was younger, but they were too concerned that they’d lose me, or that I’d touch someone with my hands. Trevus, on the other hand, doesn’t seem worried at all. I walk beside him, and he’s confident that he has full control over me with just one arm. He saw what I could do, so he isn’t naive to my connection.
I glance down at the long sword on his right hip. He must prefer to wield it in his left hand. It was a deliberate choice to lead me with his right. Perhaps he’s an excellent duelist, a single soldier that’s worth three. Underestimating him would be a mistake. I know very little about this man’s capabilities.
Trevus leads me to a shop. I recognize the large glass window with a crisscrossed wooden frame. I would watch people pass through this building every day from the tower window. A sign above the door mantle says ‘Tailor Jenia’ in curvy purple script. It was always obvious that this was a tailor from the new outfits that the customers would leave with, but now I can finally put a name to the black-haired middle-aged owner.
Trevus relieves my shoulders from his heavy arm, and we step into the dim building. The atmosphere is completely different inside. The loud noise of bargaining merchants is reduced to a soft muffle, and the sunlight is tinted butter yellow as it passes through the blocky glass window. The shop is stacked with coats, shirts, pants and dresses. The clothes form a maze which I’m quickly drawn into.
My hands brush over the garments as I walk, though I can’t feel the material through the sleeve. I taught myself to sew in the tower. The maroon garment I wear now would have long since disintegrated had I not maintained it. It’s something that I’ve always had a knack for. One day, I won’t be known as Jade the witch, but Jade the tailor.
“I wish to purchase an oban to fit her.” Trevus’s voice flows through the room, though he’s obscured by the racks of outfits.
At the back of the maze of clothes, I find a staircase that leads to the second floor. That must be where tailor Jenia lives. I remember the upper floor windows were the last to go dark each night – probably right before she went to sleep. When I’m free, I’ll have a place just like this, stuffed with hundreds of outfits of my own making.
“Convict,” Trevus calls. I hate that word.
I find both Trevus and Jenia by the opaque window at the front of the shop.
Jenia stands up from behind her desk, which is covered in spools of thread, scraps of material and a set of colorful porcelain figurines, each dressed in their own cloth outfit. “Hello, dear,” she says.
Her warm greeting throws me off balance. Every introduction I’ve had for the longest time has been to a hostile guard or official, and my typical strategy was to ignore or insult them. This woman is neither of those things. She was a part of my life for years as I watched the city from the tower window, and she’s only just learned of my existence.
“I hear that we are to fit an oban to you today,” she says.
I’ve deduced that an oban is some kind of outfit, but that’s all I know. I just nod. Trevus’s buying me new clothes, and I’m pleased that I won’t have to wear this coarse robe anymore.
“I need only record your measurements.” She approaches me with a leather tape and wraps it around my hips. I pay careful attention to everything she does, trying to pick up on her technique.
“Raise your arms, dear.” I do as she instructs, and she measures my middle, my chest, my legs and my shoulders.
“Splendid. I possess an oban near her size. It shall take only a short time to make the adjustments.” Jenia disappears into the maze of clothes.
Trevus leans against the wooden wall with his hands out of sight behind his back. His eyes settle on me, and they don’t move. It feels like he’s judging my disheveled appearance, and his hidden hands obscure his intentions, drawing further suspicion from me. The back of my mind wonders if he’s holding a hidden weapon.
“Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s rude to stare?” I whisper.
He grabs my arm, jerking me close to him. “Speak poorly of my mother a second time, and I shall place you back where I found you, convict.”
I pull my arm out of his grip and give him a sharp look. “My
name
is Jade.”
Though Trevus may be different from the other soldiers in many ways, it’s clear that their animosity didn’t pass him over.
Jenia returns with a black outfit and lays it out on her sewing desk. “It shall be suitable after these adjustments,” she says.
Not wanting to be beside Trevus anymore, I grab a chair and sit on the opposite side of Jenia’s desk. The needle moves so fast that I can’t follow the thread pattern. “You’re quick,” I say.
Her face turns sour. “You do not speak like a Versillian.”
Even though I’ve been trapped here for years, my voice still carries a Mephian cadence. I had hoped that I had learned to hide it by now, to avoid the contempt that it draws out of Versillians.
Jenia stitches the garment without looking at me again. After half an hour, she finishes her adjustments and holds it up.
The outfit is in clear view for the first time. I turn to Trevus, confused. It’s the same black uniform that he wears, minus the crimson stripe across the shoulders. “You want me dressed like a soldier?”
“You are one of my party, and you shall be clad as such,” Trevus says.
I’m a member of his party? I shouldn’t be happy to look like a soldier, but deep down, I’m elated at the thought of being included in a team.
“Take it,” Trevus says.
I reach for the black uniform. Jenia drops it the moment my hands near her, but my fingers fail to grip it through the linen sleeves. I quickly hug the fine garment against my chest before it hits the floor.
A crash at my feet makes me yelp. I freeze. Shards of white porcelain lies shattered around me. My eyes grow wide at the realization of what’s happened. My new outfit caught two of the figurines on Jenia’s desk, and now they lie destroyed on the floor.
Jenia gasps. “You foolish girl! Do you not have any comprehension of their value?”
I can’t pay her back. I don’t have any money. I have nothing to my name. Have I squandered my chance of freedom before even making it out of the city? My stomach twists at the thought of being thrown back into that tower for another ten years.
Trevus’s footsteps approach from behind. My body goes stiff. Soldiers don’t let mistakes like that go unaccounted for. I slowly raise my gaze up to meet his, but he’s looking at Jenia. She’s trying to fit two of the larger porcelain pieces back together.
Trevus places a gold coin on her desk. Jenia’s attention snaps to the coin. I didn’t know that there were coins that weren’t made of silver.
“This should subsidize the oban, the damage and your silence on the matter,” Trevus says.
At the sight of gold, Jenia’s whole attitude shifts. She takes the coin. “That is very generous of you, sir.” Her annoyance evaporated as quickly as it appeared.
Trevus takes the pair of boots from the table with one hand and holds my bicep with the other. “Be mindful where you lay your feet,” he says.
He’s worried about my feet? Watching the floor, I carefully step around the sharp pieces of porcelain as he leads me out of the store.
Trevus takes me further along the street. His grip on my arm is firm, but not so tight that it hurts. He hasn’t berated me for costing him that gold piece. Studying his features, he doesn’t even appear agitated. The whole incident already seems forgotten. Should I apologize? My trepidation keeps me silent. There’s no knowing how he would react to an admission of guilt.
We pass by a grand stone structure supported by two dozen wide columns. On occasion the castle guards would speak of visiting Nomier’s temple for good fortune. It’s much more impressive up close than from the tower.
We stop at a tan building. Wisps of smoke waft from the arched entrance. A warm layer of mist coats my face as we enter. This place isn’t smoking – it’s steaming. Metal bathtubs and stone pools are arranged in rows, and nearly every one is occupied by a naked man. My eyes drop to my feet, and my cheeks redden. This is a men’s bathhouse.
Trevus places a pouch of silver coins on the front table. “A room,” he says.
Behind the table stands a thin, older man. After inspecting the coins, he hands Trevus a thick iron key. “Number seven,” the man says.
With the key and boots in one hand and the other hand back on my shoulder, Trevus leads me past the tubs. I keep my eyes down, not wanting to see any more than necessary. We proceed down a hallway, and Trevus unlocks a door with the key.
A bare room with a tall domed ceiling awaits us. A silver tub is seated in the center, and a single skylight drapes the tub in sunlight. Where the only ones in here. I approach the steaming tub, curious to feel the water on my fingers.
“Jade,” Trevus says.
I turn back to him. He’s still standing at the room’s threshold.
“You are granted ten minutes. Wash thoroughly and re-dress in your oban.” He closes the door, leaving me alone in the room.
With the door sealed, the noises of the bathhouse disappear. The only sound left is the soft whisper of flowing water.
I place my new uniform on the cleanest spot on the floor and dip my hand in the tub. The hot water quickly soaks my sleeves, warming my skin. The last time I had a warm bath was when I was still small enough to fit inside a cooking pot.
Eager to get in, I reach for my robe but pause before pulling it off. My gaze returns to the door. Trevus must be right outside. Even with the risk of me trying to escape, he has gifted me the privacy reserved for noble women – at least for ten minutes.
My maroon robe falls to my bare feet, and I climb into the tub. The warm water hugs my body, and my muscles feel truly relaxed for the first time today. This is
nice
.
Steam rises around me. Do the free people of Versillian come here often? When I’m free, maybe I could enjoy luxury like this too.
Why did Trevus, a Versillian soldier, spend a pouch of silver coins for me to have a private bath? If he wanted me clean, he could have just dumped a pail of cold water on my head. The guards certainly had no reservations about that.
He must be trying to win my favor in hopes that I’ll cooperate. Soldiers aren’t kind for no reason.
I close my eyes and sink chin-deep into the water. Trevus called me by my name just now. He made the effort to remember it. I think back to the way he said it, absent of annoyance or spite. With the guards, I was always witch, prisoner, Mephian or other slurs I wish to forget. The castle servants would call me by name on the occasions when I was brought down to the dining room as a spectacle, but to the soldiers, I was so far beneath them that it wasn’t worth their time to learn it.
There’s a knock on the door. “One minute,” Trevus says from the other side. That went by in a flash.
With one final stretch, I climb out of the tub. I shake my arms up and down in my best attempt to dry my soaking sleeves. After they’ve stopped dripping, I put on the brand-new black uniform.
My
oban
outfit consists of a tight pair of long black leggings and a matching button up short sleeve shirt. The pants and belt are on with some difficulty, but the buttons on the shirt are impossible with my hands wrapped up in these linen sleeves.
I opt to hold the shirt in place and call Trevus back. “I’m ready,” I say.
He opens the door, and his eyes look me up and down. His expression conveys he’s unimpressed with my half-dressed state.
“I can’t button it up with my hands like this,” I say.
He leans down and begins buttoning up my shirt from bottom to top. I’m acutely aware of his hands rising closer and closer to my face. My outfit is the same color and design as his with just two exceptions. A regular black strip that blends in with the shirt crosses my shoulders, whereas his crimson stripe is prominent. My shirt has short sleeves with an open V-neck collar, while he has long sleeves with a closed collar that doesn’t go below the base of his neck.
Even though the outfit indicates that I’m his subordinate, the strip across my shoulders and militaristic design make it feel like formalwear. It stands as a statement to those around me, blaring the false notion that I’m an accomplished individual who lives a life to be proud of.
After finishing with my buttons, he pulls my shirt collar straight with his fingers. The gesture is reminiscent of what a mother would do for a dependent child. I’m glad that there was no one to witness it. If it weren’t for these restraints on my hands, I’d be perfectly capable of dressing myself.
Trevus places the gray pair of boots on the ground. I step into them, and he ties both sets of laces, again leaving me feeling like a child.
We leave the bath house. My old maroon robe is left abandoned, and I don’t look back.
I love how he dresses her even though it would have been nicer for him to take the sleeves off for her – she must still be wary of people in her personal space.
@_ilovenoodles_ Right?!
Right?!
Oh my – I liked that way more than I should have 😂 he called her Jade!! ✨
Again, I just love the wording.
@Lovetoread201482 Me neither 😳
What a pity – the lady changed so fast. It doesn’t cost to be kind and polite and it would have meant everything in this moment. Here is someone admiring what you do and this is how you act… what a pity.
@rileysing amazing detail! Well done!
It’s amazing that she still has something to dream after all this time – it’s great.
Jade the Tailor – cute! 😂
@rileysing hiii❤️
oop hit a nerve
same
omg i hadnt even thought of this!!!
Do u not have any comprehension of manners?
hjsghjgfdhj he said our namee
nah i thought jenny was nice
bro why’d you hand it over the desk
@rileysing oh thats interesting, I wonder where the difference came from.
So he’s not really suppose to be taking Jade from the tower?
Whats the difference in how she speaks compared to them?
Or Jade the surgeon since she can knock people out and essentially sedate them. Though I guess there is some skill overlap between the two when you think about it.
But really the reason surgery was so dangerous in the past was that unlike with modern medicine there was no way to control breathing, heartrate or blood pressure. All you could do was try and get the amputation (pretty much only surgery done) completed as quickly as possible to limit blood loss.
Love this story
@rileysing nice
Thanks!
How is Antiock pronounced?
He’s already written the whole thing 😄 just in the editing phase now
Lol, we had to make pajama pants. Thank goodness my best friend was in that class with me or there’s no way I would’ve passed lol
Omgg i loveee it so far and the writing is impeccable.
Whats the update schedule Mr author
You have such a way with words I love all of your stories
Oh I’m excited to read more!
So proud of you and how far your writing has come 🥰
Can’t wait to read more
He’s actually quite nice.
YES
What a flex. I could never sew, I got left behind in home survival class when I was in 8th grade.