City of Karillon, the manor of Lord Saxon

A Chapter by Shadowsong

Celia, the middle daughter of the wealthy merchant Lord Saxon, would much rather spend her time writing songs and poetry instead of working for the family business, much to the dismay of her family.

Celia frowned down at the paper in front of her. That rhyme didn’t quite fit. She scratched out the last line of her song and tapped the quill against the worn wooden table.

“Celia!” A sharp voice startled her and she tried to hide the half-finished work. Her older sister stood in the doorway, hands on her ample hips. “That doesn’t look like the work Alcuin assigned you.” Francisca crossed the room and snatched the sheet out of her sister’s hand. She glanced at it and sighed. “Poetry again? You’re not even good at it.”

“I finished the work from Alcuin,” Celia protested. “I had spare time.”

“Then you should have moved on to useful tasks, not sat here and daydreamed over flowery words.” Francisca ripped the sheet she held in two, and Celia stifled a cry of dismay.

“Father needs the latest shipment of goods inventoried.” Francisca continued shredding the poem. “It’s in the east warehouse. You had better get it done before the evening meal if you don’t want him to hear that you’re writing again.”

Celia scowled, but did as her sister said. She remembered all too well the last time her father had been told. Not that her sister’s threats could stop her from doing what she loved. She picked her way down the smooth cobblestones made slippery from last night’s rain. She would just have to hide it better. The docks were busy at this time of day, but the familiar sight of Lord Saxon’s middle daughter with scroll in hand permitted Celia to navigate through easily.

“Good afternoon, my lady.” The harbormaster fell into step beside her. “Off to do your father’s bidding? What does he have you working on today?”

“Hello, Aldred. I’m to inventory the east warehouse.” Celia waved the scroll. “The shipment that the Searunner just delivered.”

“Ah, yes, the one just in from the Great Market of Delfi.” Aldred made a small notation on the list he held. “Very well. I shall leave you to it.” He bowed slightly to her and strode off.

Guards stood at the door of the warehouse, but Celia, whose black hair and green eyes matched her fathers, was easily recognizable. She entered the warehouse and after her eyes adjusted to the dim light, sighed. The boxes and crates bearing the double coin symbol of Delfi filled one entire corner of the large room. She opened the scroll she held, approached the first crate, and got to work.

An hour or so later, she wiped her damp forehead with her handkerchief. The warehouse had become stifling in the hot sun. She plopped down on an empty box and glanced over the scroll, then at the remainder of the crates. Halfway done. Surely no one would begrudge her a small break. From an inner pocket of her skirts, she pulled out a piece of parchment half-covered in writing. She had learned to make several copies of her songs and poems long ago, as her family frowned upon such ‘frivolous’ pursuits and destroyed anything they caught her working on. Celia smoothed the paper out and hummed through what she had written so far. She bit her lip in thought. That one note didn’t really sound right, what if she tried this one instead—yes, that worked much better. Absorbed in her work, she didn’t notice the passing of time or the entrance of her sister.

“Writing again?” Francisca accused.

Celia jumped. Guiltily, she tried to hide the parchment.

“Don’t even try,” her sister warned. She held out her hand, and Celia reluctantly gave the half-finished song to her.

“Shirking your duties to pen silly tunes again?” Francisca shook her head. “Father will be hearing about this. Perhaps he will beat the writing out of you. You’d deserve it. There’s no time to be playing when there’s work to be done, and goodness knows, we’ve enough of that to go around.”

Celia scowled, and Francisca’s lips tightened. “Don’t give me that look, girl. You’ve precious little time to finish this inventory before they ring the eventide bells, and mark my words; you will not get any food until it’s done.” She tossed her black curls over her shoulder and swept out of the warehouse.

As soon as her sister had gone, Celia kicked the nearest crate. She thinks she’s so smart, just because she married a rich merchant and they’re set to take over Father’s business when he dies. Well, Father isn’t dead, and won’t be for a while. Jaysin and Francisca aren’t in charge yet. Celia pried open the next crate and began counting the bolts of cloth therein. But of course, she thought, that doesn’t stop Francisca from acting like she’s already in charge of the biggest fleet of merchant ships in Karillon.

Celia had only a few items left in the last crate just as the eventide bells began to ring. She finished marking down numbers, then slipped the inventory scroll into a pocket and hurried out onto the streets. A bustling port town funded by wealthy merchants, Karillon had wide, brightly lit roadways manned by well-paid guardsmen. Even so, Celia kept a weather eye out as she rushed back up the street to her father’s manor. The guards at the gate to the house smiled when they saw her pelting up the hill.

“Your father had you working late tonight, young Lady Saxon,” Eras observed.

“I had to finish up the inventory before the evening meal,” Celia panted, clutching her side. She took a minute to catch her breath and straightened her skirts. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get inside.”

“Of course, of course.” Eras and Justus pulled open the gates, and Celia strode in. Once in the manor, she quickly made her way to the dining room. The meal had only just begun; Celia stepped around a servant carrying the bowl of wash water to the kitchen as she entered. She slid into her customary seat across from her younger sister Katharina and immediately received a glare and frown from Francisca.

“I certainly hope that inventory is complete.”

Celia sighed. “Yes, it’s done.”

Francisca arched her brows and turned to their father. “Celia is late because she decided writing silly little rhymes to be a far superior use of her time than inventorying the shipment from Delfi.”

Lord Saxon looked sharply at Celia.

“I thought we had put an end to this nonsense.” A servant set a plate of meat in front of the lord of the manor, but he paid the man no heed. His green eyes remained fixed on his daughter.

Celia shifted in her seat. “I had finished all my work from Alcuin when Francisca caught me the first time, and I had only just sat down to take a bit of a break the second time.”

“You shirked your duties twice?”

Immediately, Celia realized her mistake, but too late. Her father’s face flushed, and he slammed a hand on the table, making everyone jump.

“Idle hands are not tolerated in this house. You think I was born into wealth? No! I worked hard to get where I am now. I slaved away to get the luxuries you take for granted. There is still a lot of work to be done, even at the top, and, by the gods, you will do your part.” His breath came fast and he clutched the edges of the table.

“Geoff, really.” Celia’s mother, Blanche, touched her husband’s arm tentatively.

“No!” He shook her off, and leaned towards Celia, his eyes cold and his voice steely. “In this family, we do not enjoy our wealth until we have worked for it, and you will learn that if it’s the last thing I do.” He sat back and speared a piece of meat with more force than necessary. An uneasy silence fell. Celia stared stonily at her plate for a minute, and then threw down her napkin. The sound of her chair scraping over the marble floor was loud in the quiet. She stormed from the room, her meal untouched.

Once in her own bedroom, Celia shut the door firmly and went straight to a large oaken chest. She unlocked it with a key from her pocket, and then dug through the neatly folded clothes until she uncovered an oddly-shaped cloth wrapped object at the bottom. She lifted this out gently, tenderly cradling it in one arm. She pulled out a very battered leather bag with a long strap, and slid the bundled object into this. Slinging the bag over her back, she opened her door. Cautiously, she peered into the hallway. No one in sight.

She crept out of the manor, taking care to avoid the servants as they went about their duties. Her family still sat around the dinner table. Celia escaped into the night air with a small sigh of relief. She hurried toward a small building set farther back on the manor grounds. A spot for relaxing in nice weather, the little gazebo sported cushioned benches inside. Celia sank down on one of these and pulled off her bag. Reaching inside, she removed the bundle and unwrapped it. A scratched and battered lute revealed itself, and Celia caressed the old wood lovingly. She had bought it secondhand from a trader near the docks one day and kept it hidden from her family. Begging brief lessons from street minstrels had taught her the basics of how to play, and she had improved on her own, sneaking out to the gazebo at night to practice. Celia found music the best way to relieve stress and relax, and best of all, the stream that gurgled and rushed by the gazebo covered the sound of her playing so it went unheard in the manor. Still tense with anger, her fingers fumbled on the strings at first. But gradually, her shoulders relaxed, and she became absorbed in the music.

A while later, the ache of her empty stomach brought her out of her music-induced reverie. She shook her cramped fingers and stepped out of the gazebo to check the stars. Nearly midnight. She carefully packed her lute away again and headed back to the manor.

Most of the candles on the first floor of the manor had been extinguished as the family went to bed, leaving Celia in a murky gloom. She made her way through the familiar halls to the kitchen, which was still ablaze with light despite the late hour. The family’s cook, Theo, smiled upon seeing Celia enter.

“I thought ye might be by, milady. Ye left yer supper nigh untouched this eve.”

“I had an argument with my father,” Celia explained. “Do you have anything left over?”

“Of course.” Theo bustled around the kitchen, deftly maneuvering his large bulk around flour covered tables and tall barrels of dried food. He set a pewter platter piled high with food before Celia and beamed at her. “There ye go, milady. Eat up.”

Celia finished the food quickly, being hungrier than she had originally thought. She thanked Theo and made her way out of the kitchen, headed for the stairs. Celia paused as she neared her father’s study, hearing raised voices.

“I’m telling you, Blanche, this is the best way to get some sense into that girl.”

“Sending her away? Cutting her off from the family funds? You’re abandoning her, Geoff.”

“I’m not just sending her to the middle of nowhere, woman! The University of Scholars is a well-renowned institution. She’ll learn the business, and I’ll pay for her studies, but no more. If she wants extra spending money, she’ll earn it herself.”

“But-”

“I won’t hear any more about it. She’s going, and that’s my final word on the matter. I intend to send a message to the Scholar’s Guild tomorrow.”

Celia backed away from the door, having heard enough. As quickly and quietly as she could, she fled up the stairs to her room. The University of the Scholars! That was in the capital city, Medoma, almost four days’ travel away. And to live there by herself, all alone? Celia paced her small room. But wait— She stopped abruptly. If I remember right, she thought slowly, the University is in Academics Square, along with the schools run by other Guilds. She closed her eyes, trying to bring to mind the map of Medoma she had studied in her lessons from Alcuin. Academics Square had four main schools. The University of the Scholars, the School of Sorcery, the College of Healers and – Celia’s eyes flew open. The Academy of the Arts! Of course, how could she forget? The Poet’s Guild, Theatre Guild, and Music Guild all shared one big building, with different wings for each discipline. And if she had to go to the University, and get a job to earn money, who could blame her if she took a job at the Academy? Perhaps this exile wouldn’t be so bad after all. Of course, she held no hopes of being a student at the Academy- her family had told her often enough how horrible her poetry and music really were- but she could at least enjoy the work of the other students and Masters. Her father never needed to know. Celia dressed for bed in a much better mood, and fell asleep with haunting music echoing in her head.