Of Blood and Bone (Legends of Fammori #1)

Overton House

"Enya," Hester's little voice was stern as she clamped her hands together as if in prayer, "I don't want to wear a dress." At four, she already bore a striking resemblance to her father in both her appearance and mannerisms. She was built lean like her mother, long legs and straight back. Her face was plump and wide, small lips and eyes offset by a heavy brow and sharp cheekbones.

"It is proper," snapped the plump older woman. Enya was short and stout, her blonde hair half-tied at the back of her head. She, like her mother and her mother's mother before her, was a long-standing member of the Overton Household. They had all faithfully served their Lord and his family and been well-rewarded for it. "You are expected to dress like a Lady at supper."

The little girl wrapped her arms around herself in her white shift. "Enya," an exasperated sigh, "I will just grow out of it."

The maid groaned inwardly, this child was too spoiled by the soft parenting of her father and grandmother.  The only people who established any sense of propriety and standards for the girl were Enya and the Lady of the House. 

Enya sighed, holding back the sharpness of her tone at the child's clenched jaw, "Your mother expects-"

A knock.

"Safe to enter?"

The sea-soaked accent of Pasha, the Bloodsworn, was muffled from the other side of the heavy wooden door. At Enya's behest, he entered, mustache first as he poked his head around the redwood.

"Pasha!" Hester's little voice raised in desperation, beckoning the old man in. She pointed her small finger at the maidservant who gave an exasperated sigh. "Tell her I don't have-"

"'Do not.'" Came the admonishment, "Contractions are for the lazy." Pasha's white moustache and silver hair were well-groomed and laid elegantly upon his wrinkled head. Tattoos peeked above the high collar of his coat and below the cuffs. His dark skin was lined with age, though to both child and maid, he seemed ancient - impossibly old.

"I do not have to wear a dress," the little girl huffed impatiently, "tell her."
A smile played on the edge of the old man's lips.  He shrugged at Enya's stern look, setting down the package on the bed.  "Your father sent this for you."

Hester paused, "Is he here?"

"Open it," the old sailor answered with a sideways glance at the maid.

A giggle of glee as Hester carefully undid the knot, revealing the treasure inside: a set of blue cloth trousers and a white blouse.  The blouse was in the style of the bodice of the very dress Hester refused to wear, but cropped to just past her waist.

"You are to meet him in the courtyard before dinner. He will be returning soon."

"Pasha..." Enya gestured from the package to the girl's dress she clutched in her plump hands.

The old man shrugged, a silent answer to an unspoken question. He wiggled his eyebrows at the little girl as she hopped from one foot to the other, closing the door with a snap behind him.

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"Enya..." Ilyana's eyes widened in horror, fingers raised to her temples as Hester trod proudly out the front door. She reached for the child's head only to stop herself and look back at the red-faced Enya, "Take her back upstairs and put her in something appropriate!"

"My Lady-"

Ilyana Overton stood a head taller than the average woman and was eye-to-eye with the gangly Pasha. The gold tones of brown hair delicately complimented her caramel skin. Brown eyes were heavily lidded and peered lazily through thick lashes.

"No excuses, Enya-" Ilyana gestured at her own clothing: long, fitted gown and clasped vest.

Lined with evergreen trees and moss gardens, the Lane was a beautiful red stone against the tan landscape. That same stone formed the house behind them. It was something of a cross between mansion and small castle with a great front door offset by two towers. Three stories, topped with a parapet and widows walk.
Hester peeked over her left shoulder, catching the eye of the stableboy as he led a roan mare into her stall. The pale, half-elf raised his hand in greeting before Hester's attention was drawn back to her mother and the situation at hand.

"Forgive me, my lady, it was a gift from his lordship. I had instructions to give it to her when he was to return," Pasha bowed so slightly from his waist.

Ilyana looked up to the end of the lane at the approaching forms, "It is far too late, now." She straightened and motioned the party to their positions: Lady at the front with child beside, maidservant behind; and Pasha to their right, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Hester fidgeted as the figures drew closer, stilled by her mother's 'tsk.' Mimicking her mother's stance almost perfectly; Hester clasped her hands in front of her, head slightly bowed as she watched the riders draw near. Ceremony was not her preference - something that was done 'because.'  Things that made sense were easier to remember like washing before dinner or memorizing maps. Not forks and bows and positions.

The ceremony was more vital in these precarious times.  were too easily insulted, bonds more quickly broken - so traditions long held lax were being recalled into daily life.

"Ah, look you, little warrior," Julian swung down from his horse too lightly for his height and weight, the flash of elven boots gleamed in the sunlight. Dropping the reigns of his horse, he scooped up the little girl and spun with her as she giggled.  At Lady Overton's stern look, he set the girl down, "Let us take a look at you." Kneeling to eye level with the child, he nodded at his companion, "What do you think, Alistair? Freckled Warrior?"

The disapproving look fell from Ilyana's face at Alistair's lack of response. The other man merely stood at attention, his gaze glazed over.

"Father!" Hester threw her arms about his neck.

"Freckles!" Lord Overton's eyes widened, matching the child's energy. He relaxed his features and patted her head, "Run inside and help Enya set the table. I need to speak with your mother."

"Julian," Ilyana stepped forward, her arms extended.

"Ilyana."

The embrace was brief.

Offering his arm, Julian started to the house, "Forgive me the lateness of our arrival. We had some difficulty at our border."

"Not-?"

"They are not so close, yet."

"Julian, your mother...."

Steps halted, green eyes piercing, "We returned early for... is she?"

"She is not long. You should see her before... she has not had the strength to sit with us for several weeks."

Julian nodded, releasing his wife's arm, "Alistair and I will.... be in shortly. We will meet with Gregory for a full report of what transpired while I was away."

"My Lord, if you would allow me to meet with Gregory-"

"Yes," Lord Overton waved off the rest of Alistair's words, "Nothing is too trivial." Absentmindedly, Julian's feet carried him to the house.

"How is she, really?"

Lady Overton shook her head, her face twisted in grief. "I do not know what I will do without her."

"You grew up without a mother, Ilyana, I am certain you will persevere. We will all find a way."

"But, Hester... she has never-"

"Lost someone? She has to learn sometime. That her grandmother lived this long is impressive. Not many children have that privilege."