Nanowrimo 2023 Word Count and Best Bit - Day 11 and 12 (Patreon)

This weekend I manged to write a combined 4,547 words, bringing my total word count to 21,250! Almost halfway there!

Tired, periwinkle eyes stared back at Ayden from the mirror. White lashes fluttered like snow flurries with every blink, stark against the dark shadows under her eyes. It had been so long since she’d been allowed a mirror. Had her face always been so pale and sallow? Had her cheeks always been so hollow?

She sighed and turned away from the reflection before her. It was almost no wonder why the nobles feared her so much. It was easy to be frightened of a face so similar to that of a skull’s. A knock came at her chamber door. She pulled the silken amber robe tighter about her to hide the sleep clothes that had been lent to her.

“Come in,” she called, reaching for her cane. She would have to stand if the matriarch of the house entered the room. It was only polite. She was asking a great deal of the Jasper house already. It was only right she should show the lady the due respect.

Instead, it was Percival that opened the door, a small tray in one hand. He chuckled lightly at her surprise. “Adelaide thought it would be easier to bring your meal up here, rather than make you dine in the main hall with the rest of us. Given what happened at the gorge, that is. I volunteered. Wasn’t very hungry anyway.”

He brought the tray to the vanity, revealing the hearty soup and warm bread that the House of Jasper provided them. On a smaller plate lay a crystalized peach slice atop a soft cake, drizzled with honey or some other sweet glaze.

“It’s not much,” he admitted. “She offered to have a lamb brought in for us, but Laurent convinced her to wait until we return victorious from the Oracles.” He chuckled a little, and it was an awkward sound. “Can’t say I’m not grateful. I’ve never been overly fond of lamb…”

“Thank you,” Ayden murmured. “I’m not sure I could eat anything much richer than this anyway. I don’t tend to eat much.”

A pained look crossed Percival’s face. Something akin to anger, but sadder. His hands clenched at his side as he turned his attention away from her face, away from her words. “Do you mean to sleep in your ribbon?”

Ayden blinked owlishly, surprised by the chosen subject. “No. I thought to remove it before you came in.” She ducked her head, her brows furrowing in embarrassment. “Though…I will admit to not being very good with knots. And Addie ties them terribly well.”

“May I, then?” he offered, perhaps too eagerly. He seemed to realize this, his cheeks turning a rosy hue. “Forgive me. I overstepped.”

“No,” Ayden assured gently. “I would be happy for the help.” She flashed him a small, wry smile. “It will save me the effort of calling Addie in later.”

Her breath caught as warm hands came up, arms clothed in burgundy fabric framing her face. Her vision was filled with Percival’s chest as he stepped close, the scent of him filling her nose. Familiar smells like that of the pages of old books and oak, but also something strange and acrid. Something burning. Some strange odor lingering on his clothes from his weapon, perhaps?

Unsure fingers tugged at Adelaide’s fine knotwork, almost distressingly gentle in their efforts. But Ayden could be patient, especially for a clumsy kindness such as this.

Then, she felt her hair loosen, the corners of her vision shifting from burgundy to white as her hair fell around her face. And then he was pulling away from her, ribbon in his hands. His eyes were unreadable as he let the delicate fabric settle around her shoulders, on end still grasped by trembling fingertips.

“Lord di Vermillion?”

She watched, breath caught in her throat, as the young lord brought the end of her ribbon up to his lips, kissing it as he would her hand. Carmine eyes bore into her soul, and at once Ayden knew what was meant when they spoke of Red’s burning gaze.

“Percival,” he whispered, his voice on the edge of pleading. “Please.”

“Percival,” she repeated, exhaling the name like a sigh.

He let her ribbon drop, the fabric brushing against her neck like a kiss. She’d done as he’d asked, and yet, he still looked pained. “Thank you.”

Ayden allowed herself a smile. “I hope you will return the favor in kind and call me by my own name.”

Percival’s chest and shoulders twitched as if he laughed without a sound. “Of course…Ayden.”

The clicked shut behind him, leaving Ayden in the suddenly oppressive silence. She turned to her food.

The peach was sweet on her tongue.

The halls were dark and quiet, the sound of Ayden’s heavy, dragging footsteps haunted her as she wandered aimlessly, sleeplessly. Her bed was too soft, the blankets too comfortable, the sheets too luxurious. In her younger years she would have called such luxuries passable at best compared to the royal suites, but now she was unused to such things. She couldn’t trust them.

So now she wandered the halls of an unknown manor, a ghost the inhabitants did not summon.

She hoped to make her way to the library. At least the books would give her something to do until she could no longer keep her eyes awake. It was strange to have this kind of freedom again, the freedom to wander a place as you pleased rather than pace a room like an animal in a cage. It almost made her feel vulnerable.

She could not tell how long it took her to eventually find the library, but it surprised her that no servants had been awoken by her meandering. No one attempted to herd her off to bed or anticipate some unspoken need. Considering the amount of freedom Fionna seemed to have, perhaps that was just the way things were in the House of Jasper.

She pushed open the door, jumping when the person already occupying the room immediately turned at the sound of the hinges creaking.

Laurent sat on one of the many couches, terracotta dressing robe draped around his shoulders. His chartreuse eyes went wide at the sight of her, and she felt the need to pull her own robe tighter around her as if it would hide her.

“Lord Pine,” she greeted, finding herself unable to look at him.

He let out a chuckle, more of a rumbling deep in his chest than anything else. It reminded Ayden of the deep purring of the wild cats that wandered the forests back home, far larger than their more domesticated cousins that prowled in barns and city streets for mice and other rodents.

“Now, it does seem entirely unreasonable for you to be so formal with me when you ask for such familiarity,” Laurent said, his tone teasing once more. It had been strange to hear him be so serious, so angry, earlier in the day. First, during their encounter with the beast at the gorge and then in his argument with Percival over Fionna’s fate. This was the tone she’d gotten used to in their travels from the Blue capital to the border. This tone was far more natural.

She inhaled sharply through the nose before trying again. “Laurent.”

He smiled, pleased with her efforts. “Ayden.” He glanced at the grandfather clock; its face barely illuminated by the much smaller fire. “You’re up awfully late.”

“I could say the same to you,” she retorted mildly.

“I never sleep well the first night in a new place,” he said, his eyes wandering over the space. “I don’t know all the nooks and crannies yet.” He paused, his gaze settling back on Ayden. “And you?”

“The bed is too nice,” she admitted plainly. “I can’t get comfortable.”

His brows rose curiously. “Seems like a rather contradictory problem.”

Ayden shrugged.

Laurent frowned, contemplating something. Then, decision seemingly made, he repositioned himself on the couch so that he wasn’t sitting in the middle anymore.

“Come here,” he said, patting the seat beside him. “Out of all of us, you’re the one who needs the most rest.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Ayden said, deflecting even as she stepped away from the door.

“You fought off that beast at the border,” Laurent pointed out. “I’m not sure how you managed it, but you did.”

“And then I collapsed,” Ayden reminded him.

He shot her a look. “You’re just proving my point for me. Sit.”

Ayden sat. She shot him a look as if to ask ‘now what.”

“Get comfortable,” Laurent ordered, waving his hand at her. “Curl up against the arm or something.”

“And then what?” Ayden asked teasingly.

Laurent stood up, wandering over to some space in the shadows. Ayden tried to watch him, squinting into the semidarkness. He eventually emerged with a quilt, tossing it over her haphazardly. She sputtered as the fabric hit her face, and it took her a moment of struggling before she was able to emerge, glaring at Laurent’s smug face.

“Then, you close your eyes,” he said flatly. “And eventually you’ll sleep.”

Ayden fought the urge to roll her eyes. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” Laurent admitted, collapsing on the other side of the couch. “But nothing worth doing ever is.”

Ayden didn’t bother resisting the urge to roll her eyes that time. “It’s just sleep.”

“It’s not just sleep,” Laurent corrected, flicking her knee through the quilt. “It’s your health. You may not care much about it, but I’d rather the horse I’m tethering my wagon to be able to pull it.” He leveled her with a serious stare. “We’ve tied our fates to yours, oh future Empress of White. If you fail, we’re all doomed to the gallows. How do you expect to lead an army to conquer the kingdoms if you’re so exhausted you fall ill?”

Ayden frowned, though to Laurent it probably looked more like a pout. “You sound like Addie.”

Laurent smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Ayden smiled, snuggling back into the plush arm of the couch. “Good. Because it was.”

In the flickering firelight, Ayden swore she saw Laurent’s ears turn red.