The next morning Ellanor was already up when Tara entered the room. The Madam of Skyward was sitting in a chair by the large windows, the middle two flung open to let the morning air in. A soft breeze flowed through the room, ruffling the fabric of a dress hanging by the room divider.

“The dress is for you,” Ellanor said by way of greeting.

Tara blinked, staring between the chair and the dress. “Ma’am?”

Ellanor turned, looking over a shoulder. “Go on, we leave soon.”

Tara unfroze and took the dress off it’s hanger, disappearing behind the divider in a hurry. A moment later her grey maid dress flung over the top. “May I ask why?”

“I was gifted that dress from Duchess Yvet of Redstone Castle for my eighteenth birthday,” Ellanor answered.

Tara paused. “Your aunt,” she said.

Ellanor scoffed. “She might be by blood, but not by heart. I doubt she even knows.” She added, “Besides, it fits me awfully, not at all made for curves. Not my colour either.”

The rustling of the dress continued, then the handmaid stepped out from behind the screen. “This is all too fancy for me, Madam.”

Ellanor got up from her seat to study the human girl. The dress was simple, made from a midnight blue fabric with butterfly sleeves and a bateau neckline. Silver lace covered the waist, where the layers of tulle that made up the skirt were attached.

“You look pretty,” Ellanor said. “Is the fit good? I had it taken in last night.”

Tara went to the wall mounted mirror and did a little spin, checking it out. She turned to Ellanor. “I– I cannot wear this, it’s not my place–”

“You will wear it. And it is your place, for I say so.”

Tara blushed – a rare sight that amused Ellanor. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Madam.”

Ellanor smiled, satisfied with the response. She stalked over to the windows, dragging them close and then headed for the doors. “If it makes you feel any better, I choose that dress for you to piss the Duchess off,” she drawled over a shoulder. The doors opened, Lukas and the other guard – Jane – standing ready to escort them to the carriage waiting outside.

Grabbing her satchel from the floor where she left it, Tara followed her Madam out the room. The guards closed the doors and fell into step behind the women, their leathery wings tucked in tight, eyes alert. The estate lay mostly empty, the few servants they met busy preparing for their Madam’s undefined abstens. Most of the avvir staff would go home to their families as they were not needed at the manor, leaving only a skeleton crew of guards and the human servants to keep the grounds – all under Mr. Waugh’s supervision.

The carriage was waiting for them on the driveway, pulled by two black horses. An avvir woman was seated by the reigns, a young avvir girl holding open the door for Ellanor and Tara to step inside. With a whistle and a snap of the reigns the horses came to life and began pulling the coach down the mountain road. Lukas and Jane kept close, either on foot or in the skies above.

Ellanor settled in for the two day journey with a book, undoing the laces on her traveling boots and toeing them off. Tara did what she always did whenever she came with her Madam outside Skyward’s grounds: face close to the window, gaze glued on the world passing by. From time to time Ellanor would steal looks of her, study the fall of her hair, how her expression remained unchanged despite the calculation and wonder in her eyes. Had the girl been avvir – had they been friends instead of Madam and servant – Ellanor would have asked what was going on in her mind. But that was not the case.

In the eyes of the law you are human like her, a part of her whispered. Maybe it is more appropriate than you think.

In a way the thought was right, but she pushed it away anyway. What the world does not know, could not hurt it. She had been raised avvir and she had no plans on giving that life up.

As the day came to a close and the horses tired, they rented rooms at an inn for the night, setting off early the next morning. The mountains they travelled turned from the familiar grey of home to the sunset red that earned Redstone Castle it’s name. Soon the castle came into view, a mighty building hewn from white marmor. It balanced on the edge of a cliff, it’s balconies hanging out over the drop, all lacking railings – a style choice that was common for the bewinged Avvyrians. Ellanor had always avoided the platforms, finding herself uncomfortable with heights.

The carriage came to a stop and the young avvir girl was at the door in an instant, swinging it open and placing a step on the ground. Ellanor, having already laced her boots back on, bundled up the skirts of her cream orange dress and stepped out, Tara at her heels. As Lukas and Jane landed by the sides of the carriage the tall gates to the castle swung open on soundless hinges.

Duke Tor Dalton and Duchess Yvet Dalton strode down the entrance stairs and Ellanor remembered how close to royalty the two of them were. Redstone Castle really belonged to the Grand Duchess Philipa Dalton – the oldest of the three siblings – who had inherited her Grand Knight title from their mother after her Flight. The younger Dalton siblings kept the castle for their sister while she worked for the Avvyrian Court as the Queen’s general – and lover if the rumours were to be believed. It was the only subject Duchess Yvet would not gossip about and Ellanor suspected it was more out of jealousy than respect.

Duke Dalton made it down to the driveway a step ahead of his sister and welcomed them with a smile. “Welcome to Redstone, Madam Skyward,” he said, bowing at the waist. “I hope your trip here was uneventful?”

“Quite,” Ellanor replied, curtsying. “I’m glad you invited me, the manor is… awfully quiet.”

Dalton’s smile faltered, but before he could respond Duchess Yvet spoke. “I am so sorry for your loss, miss Ellanor.” She grabs Ellanor’s hands in hers, white wings lowering slightly. “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like, we have plenty of room to spare.” The Duchess’ smile was genuine and Ellanor squeezed her hands in thanks. Yvet turned to Tara, started to say something else but then slammed her teeth shut in a surprised snarl. She looked the human up and down, no doubt noting the dress she once gifted to Ellanor. To her credit, Tara did not shy away from the Immortal’s judging gaze, standing her ground.

“Duchess, this is my handmaid Tara,” Elanor said, gesturing with a hand to the girl.

Dutchess Yvet did not bother to feign politeness, and instead turned back to Ellanor. “Please, call me Yvet,” she said, acting as if Tara was simply not there. “Why, no need to stand out here, let’s head inside! Dinner is just about ready.” She linked her elbow with Ellanor’s, pulling her up the stairs, Duke Dalton falling into step behind them.

Ellanor threw a glance over her shoulder, spotting Lukas taking the satchel from Tara with bow of the head and a whispered “miss”, making the Duchess stiffen ever so slightly. Tara curtsied, that blush once again shining on her cheeks and hurried up the steps after her Madam. Ellanor could not help but smile.

***

Duchess Yvet had filled the meal with babble and gossip, weaving from the latest scandals to “how dreadful the weather had been” during her latest visit to the City of Gods. She rarely opened up for someone else to speak, and when she did it was only to further her own monologue. When dessert had been served and eaten, the Duchess had insisted that they move into the gameroom to continue their conversation over some tea and a game of cards. Duke Dalton had been quick to excuse himself, claiming to have work to attend to, but not before pointing out that Ellanor had had a long day of travel and might appreciate an early night. Despite her mixed feelings towards the man, she had been grateful for his words. She had agreed to one game, during which the Duchess still had not stopped her chatter, before asking to be escorted to her rooms.

Tara was waiting for her in one of the chairs, though she got up as soon as Ellanor entered the room. It was the same set of rooms as she had shared with Lourelle on their visits here, and the familiarity made her relax slightly. The double doors from the hall opened up into a large sitting room with a luxurious sofa group, a tea table with two chairs, as well as a desk. Three doors lead from the room: the two on the right leading to bedrooms each with its own closet and bathing chamber; the one to the left being the entrance to a private dining room. A fireplace could be found in each room, providing much needed heat in the bitter mountain winters.

“I desperately need to get out of this dress,” Ellanor groaned and walked into the bedroom farthest away from the entrance, Tara following behind to assist. The handmaid helped undo the laces of the garment whilst Ellanor complained about her evening.

“I don’t understand how a person can have so much to say about so little,” she said, tossing away her underskirts. “Oh, how I envy you in this situation, Tara! I would do anything to avoid seeing her for the rest of our stay here, but I am terrible at excuses. On top of that I won’t be able to get a quiet moment with Duke Dalton, and we obviously cannot have her around.” She twirled a lock around her finger as she waited for Tara to return with her nightgown. Lost in thought, she ventured over to the figure mirror hanging beside the door, turning her back to it and glancing at it over a shoulder.

She had not looked at her scars in a while – why would she? It was not like they were going anywhere – sometimes she even forgot they were there. The slashes down her shoulder blades were pale against her dark skin, expert healing rendering them thin. She had noted as a child how they shifted in colour with the temperature and appeared more purple when she was cold, pink when she had just been running.

Tara’s footsteps interrupted her thoughts and Ellanor turned away from her reflection. The handmaid would have had a full view of her back in the mirror, this Ellanor knew, but Tara paid them no heed. She had seen them many times and never made a comment, not that it was her place.

Putting her nightgown on, Ellanor finally sank down into the chair by the dressing table and released a long sigh. Tara dutifully came up behind her and began preparing her hair for the night like it was second nature. As her handmaid was working Ellanor studied the two of them in the mirror. They were close to the same age, yet Tara had lived one fifth of her life already. Ellanor would have to reach one hundred to be at the same point in life, mathematically speaking. Yet she could not picture Tara aging, could not see her black hair greying or her skin getting loose. Even Immortals nearing the end of their fifth century did not look old the same way humans did – fragile and slumped. No, that kind of decay happened in the span of a month to a year if an avvir lived to see a natural death. Like what had happened to Lourelle.

Lost in her thoughts again, Ellanor had barely noticed when Tara bowed and left the room, already done with wrapping her Madam’s hair. On stiff legs Ellanor got up from the chair and moved to the bed where she snuggled down between the sheets. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, forgetting to blow out the candle on her nightstand.