Sally - Chapter One of Shattered Crowns

“Dreams come and go, but those that are forgotten are no less important.”

-Allitrius Margos, Patron Tyr of Dreams

Sally

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The singing of the drunkards drained out the whispers of the sober as the blue of morning prepared to overtake the black of night. Although the hour was late, or, rather, early, given the fact that it was well past midnight and closer still to the dawn, Sally Helms continued to stir, restless from what she had hoped to be calm hours of sleep.

In spite of her restless night, she was used to mornings such as this. Often times, she only received several hours of sleep. Despite the fact that she was paid handsomely for her position, the particular hours that we required for her post left her almost always exhausted. Despite that fact, she was most certainly glad to have been blessed with that position, and she wished that no other girl would replace her, or the responsibility in its entirety.

Young men continued to drink. Why? Sally did not understand. It was most certainly well past the drinking hour. As she was unable to sleep, Sally instead sat by herself in the kitchens, as the early rising servant girls, and the late to sleep guardsmen, frequented the lower levels of Castle Windstorm. Although she could do little to stop it, being a small girl, the late-to-sleep “gentlemen” made frequent, drunken attempts to grab her in such ways that she was sure a future groom of hers would not approve of in retrospect. She had no groom in mind, but Sally hoped that a man would soon rise to such an occasion.

At sixteen, Sally Helms was an attractive young woman, desired by many a bachelor among the lower classes of Castle Windstorm’s staff. While not one to indulge in the apparent desires of her suitors, she could not help but be flattered by the company. She herself enjoyed the friendship of the lads closer to her own age. One particular boy, a certain Marcus Finnigan, two years her senior, had attempted to propose to her just several months prior. Of course, Sally, who did not quite know what she desired at the particular point in her life that she considered herself to be in, declined, but, although Marcus was saddened by the refusal, they had become close in the platonic sense in the months thereafter.

But her relationships did not matter.

It was the time in which that she would normally rise, in order to carry out her regular duties. For Sally Helms was the wet nurse to Gregor Windstorm, third in line to the throne of Albion.

The bell rung, six strikes. Yawning, Sally rose from her from her stool and strode towards the door that led out of the kitchen. Coming to a narrow stairwell, Sally began to ascend, picking up her skirt as she did so. Once she reached the top, she found herself in one of the more decorated corridors. It was drafty, making it far colder than the lower kitchens, causing her to shiver. Her clothing was not particularly warm. She had on nothing but a skirt and a short, but pretty, blouse that was roughly a size too small. Occasionally staring out of the paned windows, she walked as quickly as she could towards the other end of the long hall. The snow fell steadily, a beautiful rhythm associating itself with the solemn rain of precipitation.

Once she took a right at the end of the hall, she walked through the door that led to the stairwells that led towards the apartments in which the royal family dwelled. On her way, she adjusted her hair, which was still frizzy.

She ascended the first, and second, and then third spiral staircase leading to the chambers of the young boy to whom she was blessed to watch. Upon reaching the top floor and taking the first right, she nearly collided with another individual who just so happened to be striding through the same hall. Her first reaction was to bow her head. “Sorry, Syr. Sorry.”

She felt a hand pat her on the shoulder. Clearing her throat, she tilted her head up to look at the man’s face. “It is I who should apologize, Ms. Helms,” the muscular man said with a bow of his own head. “I was not looking where I was going.”

Sally herself curtseyed. “Begin’ your pardon, Syr Walter, but I believe it was I who was not looking.”

The man smiled. “I suppose we are equally at fault, then.”

“It seems that way.” Sally grinned widely. Syr Walter Hammond, captain of the Royal Guard, was a large, muscular man. At first glance, he seemed rather intimidating, and Sally could imagine him making his foes run on the battlefield, but she knew that, in reality, he was a kind soul. She did not know him very well, but every time that Sally had encountered Syr Walter, he had been nothing but sweet to her – not in the sense that he had a desire to court her, although she would not be fully opposed to the prospect, but more out of a sheer desire to be friendly.

Sally was not accustomed to seeing the man out of uniform. Instead of the scarlet tunic, silvery armour, and plumed helmet that distinguished a man of the Albanese bloodcloaks, Syr Walter was wearing a tight leather vest over a linen shirt and brown belt buckled across his chest. As always though, he had a sword at his side.

“How are you faring this morning, Ms. Helms?”

Sally yawned again. “I cannot distinguish this day from that of the last. I’ve been awake all night.”

“I am sorry to hear that, particularly given the merit of your position, and its accompanying responsibilities.”

“Not as difficult as your own, I’m sure.”

He laughed. “Please, my dear, raising a child is the most difficult job of all.”

“I’m not really raising him. He has a mother.”

“A busy mother.”

“But a good woman.”

“Perhaps.” Syr Walter grinned. “Despite being a duchess in name, she has taken on multiple political responsibilities since the death of the king-consort, and, more recently, the rise of Prince Char’s regency.”

“I will say though, Lady Katrice had Gregor at her breast. I’ve only been his nurse for two years, before my ability to bear milk.”

“He says you treat him well.”

“I’d like to think so,” she said with a smirk, putting her right hand on her hip. “I give him my undivided attention.”

“From what I have heard from both he and the royal family, I figure that you will make a fine mother.”

Sally blushed. “You flatter me, Syr. It’s too early to tell though.”

“Well, your current career will be able to test your readiness.”

“As I’ve said, I have been very much blessed, but motherhood is a way’s off.”

Syr Walter nodded. “Have you yet found a man for yourself yet?”

“Not as of yet. I notice them well enough, yes, but I have other duties to occupy myself with.”

“I suggest that you begin considering your future, though. There may be a man out there just waiting for someone as lovely as you to come along.”

Sally giggled. “Why, Syr Walter. Do my ears deceive me, or are you professing an interest in me?”

“Oh no,” Syr Walter replied, waving his hands and shaking his head. “I do believe that my wife would very much disapprove.”

“I bet that she would, but I am still otherwise flattered.”

“I assume you are off to see Master Gregor?” Syr Walter inquired, changing the subject.

“Aye. Tis’ waking time already for the little master. Six strikes of the bell. He must be ready and dressed by eight. To break his fast. Won’t be a while until I break my own.”

“Aye. Off to work with me next as well.”

“While we are on this particular subject, what exactly are you doing in this wing, particularly at this time of day?”

Syr Walter rubbed a tired look from his eyes. He himself looked like he had not gotten that much sleep either. “Like you,” the captain replied, “I’ve been up all of the night.”

“How come?”

“To keep Master Gregor and his cousin safe.”

“If I may ask, is that on order?”

Syr Walter shook his head. “No. It is something I do voluntarily.”

“Why?”

“A feeling of obligation, I suppose. In my younger days, when I was not much older than yourself, I was assigned to watch over Prince Harold. Instinct, perhaps.”

“Do you do it often?”

“Only on restless nights. The last dozen hours have felt…off.”

“I feel the same way, if I am to tell the truth,” Sally agreed, “although I doubt those silly feelings of mine are anything more than irrational premonitions.”

“Is it silly when you and I are not all who do?”

“Well, I am sure that we aren’t the only ones.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s Gregor. I saw him earlier?”

“Stirring at night?” Sally asked, surprised.

“Aye. Just after four bells. I caught him wandering the hall.”

“That’s not like him at all.”

“And you would be the one to know.”

“Did he say why?”

“Nightmares, as he explained.”

“What about?”

Syr Walter shrugged. “He didn’t say, but he seemed disturbed. I walked him back to his room.” He scratched his beard and looked Sally directly in the eyes. “You’ll probably be able to find out more than I. I’m no good with the young ones. That’s my wife.”

Sally smiled. “I most certainly plan on it.”

“I apologize to cut this conversation off so short, Ms. Helms, but the ranks are to form within the hour, and then I will be needed on the walls.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” Sally said politely. “I myself should already be with Master Gregor.”

Syr Walter bowed to her, as a gentleman should. “It was a pleasure, Ms. Helms.”

Sally curtseyed. “Likewise, Syr Walter.”

The knight walked down the hallway and towards the same stairwell that she had ascended earlier. She watched as he strode away before turning and heading down the hall in the opposite direction.

She passed by Gregor’s room and then took a right at the end of the corridor, intending to go in the direction of the washroom, where she would draw the water for his bath.

A humid heat overtook her almost immediately when she entered the washroom. The floor was littered with wooden tubs and robes lined the hangers in the corner. In the center of the room was a large pool, with fountains keeping the water in circulation. Despite this particular room being on the upper levels of the castle, a natural spring existed below the fortress’ foundation, and its architects had successfully managed to engineer some sort of irrigation system in the interior to keep the water both warm and flowing. Reaching for one of the tubs, Sally started towards the pool.

Sally was not alone in the room. Filling up another one of the tubs was Georgia Toombs, the wet nurse of Gregor’s “cousin”. Although not a prideful woman, Sally knew that Georgia was not as attractive as she was. Georgia was tall, with a crooked nose, black hair, and a pale face that still had traces of pimples from her youth. Both Sally and Georgia had been close, during their early years as nurses, but since then the latter had become more and more distant, and quite a bit more somber. It almost saddened the more optimistic Sally. Still putting a smile on her face, Sally greeted her. “Good morning, Georgia.”

Georgia did not turn around, still turned towards the fountain. “Sally,” she said, politely returning the acknowledgement.

“How are you this morning?”

She shrugged. “Alright, I suppose. Not my best night of rest.”

“Nor mine,” Sally replied, sliding the tub beneath one of the faucets so it could fill with warm water.

Georgia finally faced her and smiled. “In the kitchens again?”

“How did you know?”

The other girl pointed at her. “Your blouse is muffled.” Sally bowed her head and nodded quickly. “Those boorish drunks. Disrespectful, the lot of them. They haven’t hurt you, have they?”

“No. They’ve put their hands on me, but thankfully I’ve not suffered anything humiliating.”

“I’m glad,” retorted Georgia with a smirk. She had a pretty grin, despite not being exceptionally beautiful, Sally thought. “Those idiots are humiliating themselves more than they are you.”

Sally shrugged. “I suppose so. It is not as if I am searching for a husband at the present moment, but what they do is not how I wish to be ‘wooed’, as it were.”

“At least you have a sense of propriety,” Georgia said, as she lifted her now full tub of hot water and started towards the door. She then set it down. “That’s a rare trait these days, you know? Now, I will not claim to be a woman with worldly experience, but I have this strange inclination that society is somewhat depraved.”

“Oh, don’t talk like that,” Sally snapped as she quickly shook her head, refuting her friend’s comment. “I don’t think that it is as terrible as you, or anyone else has said.”

“Well, have you heard of southern politics?” Georgia put her hands on her hips and grimaced in Sally’s direction. “Sounds like nasty business. Manipulation, backstabbing, warmongering.”

“My knowledge on the subject is quite limited, but from what I understand that is how all politics are.”

“Yes, but the South is…something else, although I am simply basing my statement upon mere hearsay.”

“Then I shan’t take it at face value.”

“I suppose not.”

Georgia removed her hands from her hips and yawned as she rubbed her eyes. Sally figured that she too had had quite the sleepless night as well. The young woman seemed quite distressed as of late. As much as Sally wanted to know why, it was not like her to pry, although she still felt unsettled by what generally seemed to be a newfound cynical attitude in Georgia. “Why,” Sally began, “do you seem to care so much about politics all of a sudden, let alone the more sinister side of the subject.”

“Sally, I want to have a family one day, as I am sure you do, and if what people say is true and what we know is growing more depraved by the day, I do not want to experience it. The strength of Paletine spreads yet, and Caenterin is on the verge of complete and utter political unity. The South yet advances, and with it the cynicism that is associated with the Southern lifestyle.”

“Since when did you become so cynical?”

“I’m not being cynical. I’m being cautious.”

“Since when did you become so cautious?”

Georgia shrugged. “The more and more I hear about the political state of our part of the world, the more and more worried I have become. It was not like this ten years ago.”

“That’s because we were girls ten years ago!”

“And too young to realize the dangers that we’ll be facing in the coming years. Have you heard of Espis’ corruption? Albus’ latest act of warmongering? The coups in the Blackwood? The surge in refugees in Grecador?”

“Well, I-”

“I’m telling you Sally,” Georgia said, shaking her head, “it’s already starting here. Char’s next in line for the throne, and dammit if I’ll live under his rule!

“Then tell me, Georgia – what do you plan on doing about it?”

She shrugged. “Move north, I suppose.”

“Where? Gaeland?” Georgia shook her head. “Copenisle?”

“And risk living in the middle of a former warzone?” Georgia laughed in clear disgust of the prospect. “Everyone wants to rule that bloody island.”

“Boraelgrasp?”

“Farther north.”

“Farther north?!” Sally exclaimed in shock. “Unless you mean the jewels on the Spine, that’s all a bunch of wasteland!”

“And out of reach of the Caenterian warmongers.”

“But what about little Bas?”

“Ha! You think I’m going to be doing this for the rest of my life? No. As soon as I find myself a man, I’m prepared to exit this profession altogether.”

“And what if you do not find a man willing to run away with you?”

“Oh trust me, I will, Sally. I will make sure I find one who does.”

Georgia had a serious look on her face – one of stern conviction. Prophet, Sally thought, she’s not jesting. This actually unsettled Sally a great deal, although she made an attempt to disguise her worry, and instead smiled. “Well, if that is your dream in life, I wish you all of the best.”

“Thank you, Sally. I appreciate it.” Georgia stretched and then leaned down to pick up the heavy tub of water. As Sally herself stood there pensively for a moment, the other girl turned around and started out of the door.

Sally snapped back to reality. “Georgia!” she said loudly, as her friend strode out of the door.

“Yes?” she replied without turning around.

“We’ll talk later?”

Georgia shrugged her shoulders, and without looking back said, “I guess.” Without another word, she strode away, the doors slamming shut behind her. It was a better answer than what Sally had anticipated.

Sally tried not to think about what Georgia had said as she finished filling the tub, instead focusing on remembering the day’s itinerary. With an exception of an afternoon in the kitchen, helping clean dishes and dealing with those bloody boors, she would spend most of the day with Gregor, monitoring whatever activities he was to partake in. Hopefully the day would be uneventful and she would find time to catch some winks of sleep later on, but she could only hope.

Once she had filled up the tub, she struggled to pick it up. The thing was quite heavy, and when she carried it her back was often strained. Years of heavy lifting had made her strong though, stronger than most girls her own age. Although she still struggled in carrying it, she did as best she could, stumbling towards the doors that led back into the corridor. After about five minutes of lugging the tub down the hall, she finally reached the door to Gregor’s room. She had had to set the tub down several times as she walked, in order to stretch her muscles, and she did, as usual, spill some of the water as she walked, but now relieved to be at her destination, she stretched for a brief moment, and then knocked twice.

Sally calmly allowed herself in, and there, sitting in bed and looking out the window, was Gregor. Smiling, she said, “Good morning, little syr.”

Greg turned around and smiled himself. He strode over to her, and the two of them embraced. Although most certainly biased, Sally thought the boy to be among the sweetest she knew, far better-behaved than her own younger brother. He was rather short, even for a five-year-old, but that did not mean that he did not seem rather dignified for his age. Although not stodgy, Greg knew when to be polite and courteous. As a prince, he had to be, although, given his age, such a behavior was somewhat unusual. He had not been conditioned. He seemed to behave that way on his own. She let go of him and smiled in a sly fashion. “Are you ready for your bath, love?” Greg nodded. He used to hate baths, and Sally once had a difficult time trying to wash him. She had decided that the best way was to bribe the prince with sweets. That worked to her own advantage until he began to tolerate being washed.

Returning to the door, Sally dragged the bathtub across the floor and towards the corner of Greg’s room. She put a finger in the water. By now, it was nearly lukewarm, but she urged the little boy to get in anyway. He stripped down and stepped inside, before sitting down and nearly submerging himself in the water.

She let him wet himself first, and then grabbed a bar of soap from the pouch she carried around her waist. Lathering up her hands, she began washing Greg. The boy himself seemed tired as well, and Sally could empathize. Syr Walter mentioned something about his alleged night terrors. Sally planned on addressing those at a later time. As she washed him, Sally began singing an old tune, one that her own mother sang to her and her brothers when they were young.

Darkness comes,

The light goes dark,

Shadows loom,

World falls apart,

And days grim

Time claims the earth,

All seems lost

When the end doth start,

Gregor closed his eyes. It appeared to be soothing to him, the tune. It always put Sally to sleep when she was a girl. The tune itself reminded her of Mother, whom she had not seen in months. She did miss her family very much, but she too made many close friends while employed at Castle Windstorm. She even viewed Greg as such, even nearly family himself. She continued singing the tune as best as she could remember. “Shattered Crowns” was ancient, but not forgotten, sung by bards throughout Caenterin. She felt as if its meaning was illusive at times, but she seemed to understand its message of undying hope. This once more reminded her of Georgia and what she had said earlier. Sally brushed all thought of their interaction off, and focused back to Greg, washing him and continuing to sing the tune.

After several minutes had passed Sally decided that Greg was most likely clean enough. She urged him to climb out of the tub, and she proceeded to hand him a towel and his robe. She went over to the boy’s wardrobe and looked for an appropriate-looking tunic, ultimately deciding on one of crimson, which she deemed well suited for the morning occasion. Sally took it over to Greg and helped him dress. As she assisted him in buckling his belt, the boy asked her a rather peculiar question. “What is ‘infidelity’?”

Sally was taken aback. She had no clue as to where Greg would have heard that word. It was not the type of question that one of his age would generally ask, nor was it something that he should necessarily be permitted to understand. “Where did you hear that word, Master Gregor?”

“Father said Grandfather shared it once.”

Sally scrunched her nose and moved her eyes back and forth. “Well, you see, I do not believe that it is something that one ‘shares’.”

Gregor looked confused. “But Grandfather shared it with his lady once.”

Sally was befuddled. She did not believe that it was entirely appropriate of her to answer Greg’s query, but part of her felt obligated. He was clearly confused. “Tis’ not infidelity if it be with one’s lady.”

“Oh.” Sally turned Greg around and began to lace up the back of his tunic. The lad paused for a moment, almost seeming to hesitate. “Sally?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever shared it before?”

The question somewhat unsettled Sally, but she could not help but smile. “No, and it is not something that I particularly intend on ‘sharing’.”

“Why not?”

Sally turned Greg around and addressed him, looking into his blue eyes. “Because I intend to remain faithful to the man that I marry. If I were to seek out another on the side, what, exactly, would be the point in me even marrying at all?”

“But I thought sharing was good.”

Don’t confuse the lad, Sally, she thought to herself. She wanted to be as concise as possible. “It is, but it is not truly something that you share. It is unbecoming of a good and moral person, as I strive to be.”

“So are you saying that Grandfather is not a good person?” a look of disappointment clouded over his face.

A golden lock fell over Sally’s eye, and she blew it away. “No, I suppose that I do not mean to call the prince a bad man. Everybody does things that they regret. I have, he has, and you most certainly will. If we did not make mistakes and learn from them, we would not be good people.”

“What would we be?”

“Bitter. Shattered to the core.”

Greg nodded his head, but squinted his eyes. He looked perplexed. He was always so inquisitive. “Shattered?”

“Yes. Broken. On the inside and out. Humans make mistakes, and we were made to make mistakes. We learn once we make them. The Architect intends for us to grow as we learn.”

Greg nodded and reached in to hug Sally. Smiling warmly to herself, she embraced him as well. “Sally?” he asked as he let go of her. “I have a question.”

“Yes, Master Greg?”

“Are you going to be married soon?”

The young woman shrugged. “I do not know. I suppose that I have not yet found someone whom I fancy.”

“May I come to your wedding?”

“Of course!” she answered with a laugh. “You shall be my guest of honor.”

“Thank you, Sally.”

Sally patted him on the back. “Are you ready to go? I am sure that your family is prepared to break their fasts.”

“Yes,” he replied with a nod. “I am hungry.”

“Then we shall go.”

Greg walked over to the stand by his bed and took a sip of water, and then proceeded to relieve himself in the chamber pot in the corner. After doing so, Sally led him out into the corridor, which was now illuminated by what daylight had made its way through the clouded skies. It was quiet and empty, save for a faint humming sound coming from up ahead.

It grew louder as Sally and Greg neared the stairwell. Once there, the source of the humming became apparent. Already beginning the descent was Bas, Greg’s cousin, accompanied by Georgia. For a moment, the other boy stopped and turned around. “Hi, Greg,” the boy greeted, giving a quick and awkward wave.

“Good morning, Bas,” Greg said, returning the cordial greeting. “How was your sleep?”

“Good.”

“Mine to,” the prince replied. Sally smiled from behind. She had always adored children. Georgia did too, Sally supposed, or else she would have accepted her assignment to watch over Bas. Georgia herself turned her head to the side and gave Sally a polite nod. She did the same.

Although never specifically told, Sally figured how Greg and Bas were related. They were not first cousins, although the royal family seemed to treat the relationship as such. Prince Harold, the brother of Greg’s father, had no children of his own, and Princess Katrice’s sister was barely of marriage age, being barely that much older than Sally herself. Not to mention that she and Greg’s mother did not even reside in Lordium. The only other option was fairly apparent. His birth was illegitimate, either by Prince Char’s younger brother or deceased sister. Sally had never bothered inquiring. It was not her place. Still though, despite the enigmatic familial relationship, Greg treated Bas as if he were a brother.

It took about ten minutes to reach the central palace, where, on the third floor, Prince Char’s personal residence was located. Upon arriving, Sally tried hard to avoid the various cooks and servants rushing and scrambling about. Once the hall became too congested, she grabbed a hold of Greg’s hand and guided him safely through the noisy traffic. Georgia did the same with Bas. The central castle was almost always busy

The four of them finally reached a set of double doors. Above it, a coat of arms hung, depicting the Crest of Westvale, the symbol of the crowned prince of Albion. They went through the doors, entering the parlour of one of the various suites belonging to the prince. Comfortable chairs lay throughout the room, and just beyond the entrance was another set of doors, leading into the small, private dining room. In a sense, the parlour was less a living room and more an antechamber to the small banquet hall itself

Almost immediately, Georgia cut Bas loose without a single word. Sally herself got to her knees as to look Greg in the eye. “I’ll have to be going now, little syr,” she said before kissing him on the brow. “I’ll come and fetch you when you are through.”

The young prince nodded.

She saw Greg took a seat, dangling his legs off the edge as he turned his head to the window. Quickly, Sally herself exited the room.

The morning sun was already partially in the sky by the time Sally had arrived at the main level of the castle. There, fewer and fewer men and women who often sported garments of finery were present. Such was a relief to Sally. While she appreciated, even loved, her service to the royal family, they, along with other nobles, unsettled Sally quite a bit. The Occident was but one single culture, yet it almost seemed as if the culture observed by those of noble birth was something entirely different. Why were the aristocrats of Albion – of Caenterin – the way they were? It was an age-old question. People of noble birth could be quite confusing, elusive even. Perhaps, the more and more time she spent at Castle Windstorm, with Greg, she would finally be able to understand the working of those who belonged to the culture of the society that those belonging to the higher echelons of civilization belonged to. While not educated, she understood that she was intelligent, yet she felt that the nobility understood things that she could not, and it seemed rather common on their part to do so. Perhaps she would one day, that is, if she did not shatter herself to the core.