The girl, the old man and I lingered at the well for a few minutes longer. Because children love to invariably chase one another in open fields like hare, Cosette and I played a sporadic game of tag, one I lost quite easily. She might have been as thin as a rail, but that red head was a rabbit and I was a yearling who went skidding over the dewy clover at ever turn .
“Are you sure you don’t want to be going home, Cosette?” Gaston said when he came back from his enormous house, somehow covered in more soot than when he had left.
She came to a stop in front of him and I nearly careened into them both trying to catch her.
“I’m sure your Papa will be missing you.”
Cosette’s quivering iris snapped to the ground and she shook her red curls adamantly.
“Alright then, play a while longer.” Gaston sighed and returned to whatever work he was doing in the small garden left of the house.
Cosette bounced and then tucked into a roll. Together we flopped onto our bellies, our middles becoming damp. Cosette gathered her vase and the single white rose she had brought with her and placed it between us.
The timid girl snuck glances at me from behind the bloom, knotting her legs together as they kicked the air. "Grandpapa doesn’t often talk with strangers, but he seems to like you."
"I couldn't tell," I muttered unenthusiastically. Something sour still stained the back of my throat after his grand speech about magic. “He’s a cranky old man, isn’t he?”
"You needn't call me 'old man', girl. Gaston will do well enough."
I squeaked with fright and Cosette looked crossly at Gaston as he took a firm stance by the well.
"Acel is family now,” she pursed her pink lips until they were ashen and spoke low like the voice of the field with its the stalks of grass rustling in unison. “You let me call you Grandpapa.”
Gaston muffled a chuckle and the enormous man shied away from the girl’s glare. "Very well, since you're going to be staying here for a long while, there's no sense in us being strangers. You can call me Grandpapa if yah like."
My head canted to the side, an incredulous look of surprise parting my lips. "That's alright. I think Gaston sort of suits you."
Cosette was astounded, but Gaston grinned curiously from behind his white beard as it tucked against his chin in a nod. "That'll suit me just fine, Acel."
He offered me a bent hand that was as tough as leather and hoisted me to my feet in one swing. Cosette rose from her pooled skirts, careful not to spill a drop of the water in her vase.
"The sun is nearly up. I suggest we head back before anyone misses you two."
Cosette bit her lip, staining it white, and shuffled unwillingly after the old man. He led us around the field of sunflowers just as people were opening their windows.
We were walking down the street when a deep voice shouted from behind us.
“Cosette!”
The little girl quickly donned her hood, pushing the free red curls back underneath as we all turned around. The whites of her eyes gleamed underneath her cloak as she stared at the cobblestones.
They quickly returned to normal when our assailants glided smoothly to our left. They were only three young men with bows and arrows on their backs.
“Salute, Yvain. You’re up awfully early.” One of Gaston’s fuzzy white eyebrows jumped up skeptically.
The young man Gaston had addressed had brownish-gold hair tied back at the neck which contrasted greatly with his darker skin. He was incredibly tall and muscular, much like Gaston, but with a sleek figure made for admiring rather than working. He was also dressed in something only a very rich man in Beaulieu could afford.
“We’re out for a lovely hunt,” the young man answered and grinned at Cosette. “What on earth are you doing out so early, Settie?”
Her left hand picking nervously at the cloak twined around her neck.“I was with a friend,” she muttered.
The young man’s eyes barely grazed my face before they were disinterested once more and he rolled his muscular shoulders back.
“Well... then you best be careful going through the woods. I hear it’s going to be an excellent hunting season.” He addressed Gaston with a tuck of his chin. The young man stretched his arms and the bow string resting against his bicep twanged. “My father has doubled the reward for the bea-”
Faster than most old men could have struck, Gaston clipped his palm against the back of the young man’s head. A scowl creased his weather-beaten brow as the other massaged the back of his scalp.
We were crossing the town square when Régine and Belle exited one of the shops.
The former called when she spotted me in the street. “There you are." She sighed, the rolls of fabric going slack in her arms, although she always kept her smile. "We worried you had gotten yourself in trouble.”
Her eyes sparkled in a motherly way when she saw my hand attached to Cosette’s.
However, all of this changed when the brazen man who had stopped us in the street, trotted forward.
"Eh– mademoiselle!" the young man that Gaston had just smacked came striding forward, recovering remarkably quickly.
"Eh?" Régine gasped, her eyes narrowing as she gave him a dangerous frown that made even me uneasy. "Were you not taught manners, Monsieur?"
He stared at her in surprise but soon regained his composure and came to a stop in front of my sister.
"Forgive me. I noticed you were new here and I thought you might appreciate a gentleman giving you a tour.” He grinned widely, eyes alight as they surveyed her face, somehow beguiled by her clipped tone and crossed arms.
Régine’s face went bright red while the young man was busy handing off his bow to his companions.
“You are hardly a gentleman." Régine refuted, pulling away with one blunt tug that fell on the last syllable of her slight. "And I don't need help with this."
In my sister’s defence all she had was a wafer-thin cloak and three roles of fabric in her hands.
"Then let me at least change your mind by carrying your things. You clearly have too much for your arms, and I would never deny a pretty Mademoiselle help." The young man puffed his broad chest against the blue threads of his vest and offered his arms.
"Your offer rings of disingenuousness, Monsieur." Régine’s mouth twisted and her shoulders flattened with bored disinterest. "And I don't enjoy being teased by disingenuous men."
Although my sister was well acquainted with denying the advances of the men at court, that rebuff didn't dissuade this one, and the young man's chocolate brown eyes gleamed with amusement.
"Ah, so you do enjoy being teased by some men, then?" he asked.
Régine’s face turned pink and her mouth fell open, yet the most astounding thing was that no words came out. Instead, she dragged me away from Cosette who waved a timid goodbye with the sudden departure.
I caught Gaston snickering as he clapped the back of the young man that had attempted to woo my sister and steered him towards the street.
As we approached the store my sisters had exited, I spotted a few of the dresses on display in the window. The door opened and a boulder of a man exited the store front with a metallic clank.
“Carry some of these, won’t you, Acel? Since you decided to go off running this morning.” Régine snapped at me under her breath and dumped the rolls of fabric without needing an actual response.
I grumbled under my breath and maneuvered the cylinders under my woefully short limbs.
The man fast approaching us was short and too burly to be a dressmaker of any kind, but he was indeed holding a long needle and thread. An old pair of leather boots were pinched between his side and his thick bicep. He had a dark red beard which was greying slightly, and a receding V-shaped hairline.
Régine flattened out her prickled mane which disagreed with the mountain air and put on a friendly smile that did not speak of the harrowing ordeal she had just endured.
“Ah, Frau Régine! You forgot this-”
He handed her a spool of thread which looked comically small pinched between his stubby fingertips.
"Thank you for all your help, Monsieur," my eldest sister said as a blush fluttered like butterfly wings along her cheek.
He smiled a toothy grin partly covered by the whiskers of his moustache and spoke in a very impressive voice.
'The classic voice of a storyteller,’ I was inclined to believe.
“It was a pleasure to have you in my store, Frau Giena. It has been some time since I’ve had the pleasure of hearing my mother tongue.”
"Danke," she indulged him, mimicking his accent perfectly. "Acel, this is... Oh! Monsieur-" Régine exclaimed in surprise, laying a hand on one of his burly arms, "I am so sorry, I did not ask for your name."
The man grinned. "No need to be sorry. I am Herr Leopold, or Eilert if you prefer."
Régine smiled brightly and tilted her head. She struck up a casual conversation with the tailor and curled a piece of hair behind her ear while doing so.
"You certainly have a lot of dresses," Belle interrupted as she strode in front of the door, flashing a cordial smile at the gowns.
"You think that is many, Fräulein?" The tailor chuckled. "A good dress takes at least a month and the littlest one from house Lalumiere comes every Sunday to pick out a new one. I hardly have enough time to make them and the practical clothes of their workers, not to mention the wears I sell in Libor."
"That is... good business I suppose-" Régine laughed, forgetting her troubles from a moment ago. "The Lalumieres must be frighteningly rich."
"True. The eldest, Herr Yvain Lalumiere has near inherited all his father's business— You might have heard some of that."
My arms tightened on the rolls of fabric and without moving a muscle, my eyes strayed up to Régine's face.
She held her arms crossed bashfully over her midsection and shook her head. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting any Yvain Lalumiere yet," she replied sweetly. "Although I do believe hearing from Gerard that the Picouxs and the Lalumieres frequently do business.”
Régine curtsied and began to turn down the street, her hand upon my back.
Herr Leopold seemed to be astonished, but he nodded graciously.
"I only mention it as he and you were talking before you entered my shop."
Comments (4)
See all