jane
Jane was not necessarily supposed to leave the bosom of the Day Court, but it wasn’t exactly like anyone missed her. Her cousin was in the process of switching to Night, and the thought was that she may well join him. As it was, she took her time and watched the proceedings. It was times like this where she stood in total anonymity. Everyone knew who she was in theory- knew her name when they passed her in the hallway.
Rumours, like sand, spread themselves everywhere. She heard them on the edges of conversation- she was an escaped mother, a libertine’s daughter. None of these were true, of course, and when she was older perhaps she would laugh at the wildness of the accusations, but for now each point had the same driving force: she was a foreigner. She belonged to no one, and with Sebastien gone that point was driven even deeper. For now she stayed with his parents, haunted their halls and ate their food while feeling like an outsider. The closest occasion she could look forward to was the coronation of Adonai. She looked forward to it eagerly. If she could get into his inner circle- If she could drink his drink and eat his food, then maybe, maybe this could all be worth it.
The truth was that Jane had no idea what she was doing. She had come here on business, yes, was to be a scribe, but who knew what that meant. The longer she stayed here, the more she realised how unlikely it was that she would ever go back home. And she missed it.
Yes, Jane missed it. She missed the particular scent of grass, she missed the mountains that surrounded the plateau of her herd. She missed the slight codependence of her mother’s company and her affectionate, if reward-based, words. Of course, that thought now brought with it the sheer anger and disappointment in her mother’s brow on that fateful Spring evening.
You will be leaving for an education, Catradine had said, but underneath it all laid, Your education shall not be here.
Jane tried not to think about that night. She barely remembered Castor now, he was never someone she was supposed to remember. She did remember what he’d said though, as he came in with the garrison of colts that belonged to the herd.
He was a magnificent specimen. A buckskin stallion with brindling on his legs, and a blaze dashing across his face.
Here is the thing: It is one thing to remember the details of how someone looked. To say they were brunette, or tall, or fat. But when the eyes evade you- if you can say they were blue-eyed, but never see the eyes, is that really remembering them?
Mademoiselle, he had said that night. She had been out on the edge of the pasture, wandering as she did when she couldn’t sleep. He had been on watch that night. I believe your name is Jane.
Yes. She was three months past her Third year. Autumn had brought the men back from their practices on the coast, and the whole herd was on guard. Fathers kept their eyes on their fillies. But Jane, respected and esteemed Jane, chosen filly to Her Majesty, was allowed to wander. A mistake, of course.
Captain Guillford was one of the most esteemed gentlemen, if you could call him that. He came from a gentry family, both of his parents having worked with the army. He had followed in their path with a rigour that was more encouraged by fantasies than ideals. Fillies watched him, mooned over him.
So when he talked to Jane, and knew who she was, it meant something.
It meant she was alive. It meant she existed beyond the quarters of the queen.
They had never done anything, but he had flirted and made her feel special. And then when her mother had found her in the fields, yelled until Jane nearly went deaf- what was the point of it? What was the point of any of it?
The Night Court reminded her a little of home in the way it felt. The energy of the place. Sometimes she closed her eyes and felt it around her.
There was something moving. She looked up and saw the form of a mare- a mare unlike any she had ever seen before, almost batlike in appearance. Normally, Jane wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but her heart clenched and she stepped back a bit. “My apologies, Madame,” she stammered, “I hope I didn’t walk up on you?”
@[Salome] / speaks / notes
