Wystwood

20. Deep and dreamless slumber

There was a faint creaking from downstairs, and the lull of drowsy conversation rose through the floorboards and clung to the rafters. Ada stretched, her head filled with an aching fog despite the sunshine she could feel washing waves across her neck.

Jack and Marie often bickered over breakfast, but they must have been eating uncommonly early to have woken Ada from such a heavy slumber. She clutched for her blankets. Vivid nightmares had plagued her dreams and, in the very least, she deserved a few more minutes in bed. With a fitful sigh, Ada rolled onto her side, burying her head into her pillow and taking in a slow breath. She expected to smell buttered crumpets and burnt out logs, but instead, the thick scent of rosemary invaded her nose.

Ada flinched upright and was quickly overcome by a surge of nausea. A thousand thoughts came rushing into her mind at once, like a rope trying to pass through the eye of a needle. She pressed her palms against her eyes, attempting to focus on a single image: a man and his daughter. No: Florentin and Min, with their caravan swaying side to side as it clattered down the cobblestones and sent bunches of lemongrass tumbling to the floor.

But there was no lumpy couch beneath her now. Ada's fingers fell back to the blanket, which was stiff and starchy as if sewn from potatoe sacks, and she finally opened her eyes.

She was curled up on a lone mattress that was thinly stuffed with wool. The room it had been thrown in was equally as sparse, containing only a threadbare rug, a single wooden chair, and a small window without frame or curtains. Ada clutched at her misty memories, but couldn't remember arriving in the room, let alone falling asleep wrapped in stiff and stained sheets.

There was something though, a distant thought before a dark river had swept her mind to sea. Ada remembered the looming shadow of a man, and a soft wailing echoed around her skull.

She sprung to her feet, sunshine filtering through a dust layered windowpane and drenching Ada's bare arms in golden streams of light. Her fingers darted to her collar, but she no longer wore her grandmother's cloak. Fresh panic flooded her blood as she spun in a frantic circle, fighting off a new swell of lethargy.

The navy velvet was easy to spot in the room's otherwise dull and washed out colours. It lay at the very end of the faded mattress in a rumpled pile that may once have been a vague attempt at folding. Ada gathered it up, swiftly patting her hands down the fabric before flapping it open in the narrow room. The pockets were empty.

She had possessed the ebony blade for hardly any time at all, but without it settled against her chest, Ada felt exposed and unprotected. The city of Wysthaven had not attempted to mask the dangers that lurked within its winding streets, and Ada was suddenly aware that she now had little way of defending herself in her bid to escape it.

Escape, that is, if she ever got the chance to. Drawing the cloak around her shoulders, Ada stumbled first to the door. Locked, of course, but more terrifying still, without an inside handle. Next, the window. Though she was still wearing her boots, the laces had come untied and she tripped into the glass. The pane was firm and unyielding against her weary body. Ada's fingers shook as she felt around the glass for a latch, but the window was securely set into the wall without a way of opening it. 

Although she had been standing for little more than five minutes, Ada felt herself already growing weak. She tried to remember when she had last eaten, and her stomach churned out a gurgle in response.

Casting the thought away, Ada glared around the room. She could feel dread's steady steps creeping across her bones as she crouched to the floor and tugged desperately at the rug, but found that she couldn't muster the strength to pull it from beneath the mattress. Instead, she settled for the blankets and stuffed them into the crack beneath the door. It would do little to muffle the noise, but it may make it harder for anyone to enter the room.

Then, Ada turned to the chair. Steeling herself, she tried to regain as much power as possible in her limbs, before grasping its wooden spindles. As she lifted it from the ground, her head began to whirl and her stomach gave a terrible lurch. Her legs quivered as she swung the chair blindly towards the window, but it sailed through the air, a few inches short.

Planting her feet apart, she took aim again. This time, her vision found focus and her mind began to settle. Ada's body may have been sapped of energy and muddled by magic, but that didn't mean she wouldn't fight tooth and claw for her freedom. She hefted the chair in a wide arc towards the glass.

There was a rattle, a click, and the shuffling of feet. Ada lost her grip on the chair and it flew from her grasp into the plaster wall. Someone let out a muffled curse from outside of the room as they attempted to push open the door. The starched blankets caught upon splinters, but with a shove, the sheets swept across the floorboards.

"Stars above, this bloody place was built already rotted," grumbled a woman to herself, while a foot clad in a thick woollen sock thrust the door open.

Swirling through the entrance were various cottons of assorted colours, which had been hastily stitched together into a dress now draped across the form of a middle-aged woman. In her hands, she carried a steaming bowl of broth, and Ada's stomach gave another groan as the scent of stewed fish skimmed her nostrils.

The woman's eyes grew large as she took in the state of the room. Blankets and bed sheets lay crumpled by the skirting board, and the wooden chair was now missing one leg. For a moment, the pair were silent, before the woman let out a booming laugh.

"Good to know you've still got a kick in your boots, but I bet you're hungry, eh?" she finally managed to say, holding out the bowl to Ada. "Come now, no need to be shy."

But temporarily, Ada forgot the starving claws that stabbed into her stomach. As she stared at the woman, she realised she had seen her once before. Without her gaudy clothing, she may not have been quite so recognisable, but Ada was certain that this was the fae who had smuggled Min the Fair Powder. Armestrong, she had called her, though Ada also remembered Min mentioning something about veiling her from the woman's sight. If she had questioned its meaning before, it was now clear that Min had hidden Ada from the woman's senses completely, for Armestrong was currently staring at her with little more than puzzled interest.

"Quick, quick. Before it gets cold," Armestrong continued, watching as Ada reached out a cautious hand. "It's not poisoned, I can promise you that."

It certainly smelt appetising enough, and after hesitating for only a brief few seconds, Ada tipped back her head and began to drink, not bothering to ask for a spoon. Before even finishing she could feel the warm stew unhook the famished claws from her insides. "Thank you."

Ada glanced at Armestrong over her bowl, and seeing the woman's face so closely, was surprised to find she didn't look so different from the washerwomen in Little Crestbury. Her cheeks were round and ruddy, and her lips were full and curved softly from years of laughter. Her figure, too, was not as lithe nor nimble as many of the fae in Wysthaven, but sturdy and strong. It was only the ears that made it clear she wasn't from Ada's world, for their tips tapered into subtle points that stuck out beneath her hurried braids.

"Figured you'd be half starved after sleeping for so long. Powdered burdock root, was it? Nasty spellcraft that, though you must be quite the fugitive for Raeph to've even considered using agrestal magic on you."

"What—" Ada's question was cut short by the door slamming against plaster. Speckled grime fell from the ceiling beams as the man with dark hair and darker eyes stormed into the room, and when he ripped the black mask of fabric from his face, Ada saw that he was furious.