Sorceress of the Second Sphere

16. The Handmaiden - Chrys

Her poise, her position, her posture, everything about Nimue screamed of sophistication unseen by the noble women of the courts of Lionmane. She may have been a concubine by reputation but as she sat upright and proud as her portrait was being painted, she treated herself like a queen.

The artist flicked his wrist, his brush bristles enriched by a bright blue. His eyes flitted around, studying both the canvas and the subject. His focus was apparent as he attempted to embody her magnificence on the previously empty sheet.

Nimue's breathing was steady and precise, her movements minimal but as her ladies-in-waiting discussed trivial gossip, Chrys could see the glint in her eye. The canvas was feeding her narcissism, Nimue was currently in a state of ecstasy.

"Lady Farfwright-Comfret was seen leaving Lord Hedwyn's estate again, late at night too," one of the handmaidens remarked as they all sat awaiting their mistress' next instructions.

"That's the third time this week, there must be something going on."

Chrys studied her peers as they continued to weave fantasies about the affairs of Lady Farfwright-Comfret whose husband was waging war on the borders of Ruvia. She watched as they took great pleasure in their web of lies and gossip before switching her attention toward the lady in the centre of the room whose frustration was starting to become apparent. She could see as the eyes of the blue-haired woman became angrier with each word, how her lips started to quiver in exasperation.

"Hasn't Lady Farfwright-Comfret lived half as many winters as Lord Hedwyn? I mean he's as grey as a dire wolf," one of the handmaidens commented.

"And how would you know?" Nimue blurted out, "I can't imagine a simpleton such as yourself would have encountered a dire wolf before."

The handmaiden immediately felt uneasy as the cold stare of Nimue's crystal blue eyes descended upon her, instantly aware that one wrong word could end her life, "Apologies milady."

"Apologies milady," Nimue mimicked, mocking the young woman who was nervous by the exchange. "My lady, my lady, not milady, when will you simpleton's learn?"

There was a grunt from the artist as Nimue frowned ferociously at her handmaidens. Clearly, Nimue had strayed from the artist's desired pose.

"You girl," Nimue spoke abruptly, staring at Chrys before returning her gaze to the artist's desired point.

Chrys tried not to sigh as Nimue's continued attempt to degrade her was becoming tiresome.

"What do you have to say about Lady Farfwright-Comfrey and her out-of-hours clandestine meetings with the ancient Lord Hedwyn, apart from Farfwright-Comfrey is an incredibly terrible title to have to continuously repeat?"

What was Chrys to say? That the Lady Farfwright-Comfrey had originally set out to perform oral satisfaction on the elderly, but rich, Lord Hedwyn as her husband refused to provide her with the finances to maintain their estate. Only to find out that Lord Hedwyn's sword failed to stay erect ever since his beloved wife departed this gods-forsaken world. Should Chrys then explain that Lady Farfwright-Comfrey spends her time singing to him so that Lord Hedwyn can battle his terminal insomnia and that he treats her as the daughter he never had?

Was Chrys to tell them, that instead of the hurtful, distasteful gossip that the handmaidens were determined to fan into flame was so far from the truth that a beautiful friendship had formed out of desperation?

Perhaps while she was telling them that, she could explain that the Lady Farfwright-Comfrey gets her sexual gratification from her stablehand instead, and for breakfast most mornings, she has strawberries with honey covered in goat's milk.