“Splendid.” The carriage dips and bounces back up. “Rough road. How are you faring?”
My stomach churns. I'm hot and sweaty and uncomfortable. “Rather well, considering. Would you keep talking though?”
“Of course.”
Cynthia talks and talks of all sorts of things. Stories from when were children. Of the sisters we left behind. Of mother and the unborn babe. She stops only to help when the ride makes me ill. If she had accompanied me on more trips, I wouldn't have despised the carriage quite as much.
The journey is long. Longer than it takes to get to Thomas's from Father's house. Part way through I realize I have no idea what to expect. We could be headed toward a run down cottage. Though since Father and Thomas seemed pleased with the new property, it can't be too awful. But something about it has me nervous.
As time passes, Cynthia's chatter becomes more stilted, and my retching into a pot more frequent. From the aching tiredness of my body, I can only assume night deepens. I'm beginning to think I've made a mistake in choosing Chancellor Jacob's house. No wonder the Envadi let me choose, he wanted to see what type of torture I prefer. Chancellor Jacob must have stayed in the tents instead of traveling everyday like Thomas. Father often stays overnight when there is to be a council meeting and Chancellor Jacob must have done the same. I can't imagine doing this route regularly.
When the carriage finally stops, I've long since lost any sense of dignity. I groan. I can't help it. Cynthia reaches over and squeezes my hand. The stench from my troubles is so foul, I want to rush from the carriage. Of course I haven't the energy for it nor am I so reckless as to open the door on my own. That rule was hexed into me long ago.
I haul myself into a sitting position and try to reacquaint myself with the stillness of the world. Cynthia moves, but I can't tell what she's doing. Probably trying to clean. When the footman finally opens the door, I'm a bit less peaked, though more than ready to be done with the carriage for a lifetime.
The light of dawn pours in. Not how I wanted to greet morning. Cynthia waits for me to exit the carriage, though I imagine she's almost as eager as I am to leave it. Maybe even more so. The crisp air hits me as I step onto the cobblestone, rushing life back in me. I take several deep breaths of earthy fragrance. Beside me, Cynthia gasps.
“What?” I look at her then at where she's staring.
I gasp as well.
It can't be the proper place. We must have made a wrong turn. But the footman is speaking to a servant at the base of the mansion. The servant nods to whatever he's saying and faces us. Still, once I catch my breath I call out, “Is this Chancellor Jacob's?”
“It is,” the servant replies. More servants, both tarnished and lower class, make their way outside. More than I've seen gathered in one place before. Are they all for this place?
I look back at the manor. They must be. If there were any fewer, cleaning would never be done. Four stories of stone stacked upon one another and more windows than I could ever hope for. There's a turret at each corner of the manor, rising two stories above the rest of the house. I count the stories again. At least four.
I've never been above the first floor of Father's house. Is it safe? Council meetings were always held on the second floor, so it must be. Yet I can't imagine how a person doesn't fall through. How are the upper floors able to stay up and not come crashing down?
“How much of this land do you think belongs with the manor?” Cynthia asks.
For the first time I glance around. Lush grass all around and a forest off in the distance. To one side of the house there looks to be the edge of a lake, though I'd have to circle around the house to know for sure. In front of the manor are hedges and flowers. Blues, purples, pinks, yellows, oranges.
“I've never imagined anything so grand,” I say.
The Envadi dismounts, looming over us. I didn't realize he rode here as well. My astonishment at the house dampens. I thought he decided to stay, well, wherever it was he was staying, but clearly he didn't. At least with a house this vast, I'll be able to secret myself within, even if I'm restricted to the first floor.
“Your things from Thomas's will be by sometime later this morning,” he says. “The rest of your things will be gathered from your house and sent over. You both can have whatever room you like.”
I can do nothing but stare at him as he heads to the servants. Several listen to him. A tarnished, with a chiseled face, replies. One of the other servants, a lower class girl only a few years older than me, steps out of line and comes to us.
“When you're ready, I'll give you a tour and you can pick out lodgings most to your liking.”
Cynthia's eyes are as wide and confused as mine feel. Once I'm finally able to speak, I say, “Are you sure we're to choose our own rooms?”