The Black Unicorn, Part 1

Alys’s breath hissed through her teeth, and she jerked the needle out of her left thumb. As she examined the bead of crimson oozing from her skin, her embroidery hoop slipped down her brown, wool skirt, and she fumbled to catch it, painting a thin, ugly stripe of blood over the pathetic little mountain scene she’d spent the entire morning on. Tears pooling in her eyes, she threw the hoop at the wall before dropping her face into her hands. This was pointless! She’d never get it right. Mother had made embroidery look so easy, sitting in her big chair with the cloth on her lap and humming a cheerful tune while her hands practically flew across the fabric. But then, Mother was all grace and poise, a lady in word and deed if not in birthright. That, it seemed, was not a hereditary trait.

Alys’s chest grew tight. She missed Mother, missed her laughter and stories, the way she would sing Alys to sleep and refused to let her leave their room in Lord Leofrick’s keep until she could “pass for a duchess.” That was before the Fever, though, before Mother was reduced to moaning, vomiting shadow of herself. Alys gritted her teeth and walked to the window. She refused to dwell on such unpleasantness.

Outside, the cloudless sky was a brilliant baby blue. Cheerful birds sang to the people of Delade as they rushed about, preparing the town square for the festival tonight. The first day of spring was a time to celebrate. Winter was over; they had survived.

Uncle Borin’s house, Alys’ new home, sat on the eastern edge of the lower town, where most of the peasants lived. It had one of the best views of the town square and market, where the festival would be held that evening. Men strung banners across the square, and hucksters and artisans had foregone their traditional carts and tables for more decorative booths. The thumping of hammer against nail and wood echoed with the screeches of playing children, the laughter of women, and the shouts of men.

Aunt Adelaide was out there on the other side of town helping the cantankerous old seamstress finish up the last of the festival clothing she’d been commissioned to make. And probably continuing to negotiate Alys’s apprenticeship. She wanted her husband’s niece out of the house as soon as possible. While she hadn’t actually said this outright, she had informed Alys the second day in their home that if everything went according to plan, she’d begin apprenticing under the seamstress as soon as she turned sixteen.

Alys sighed. What she wouldn’t give to be outside right now! It was a perfect day. The wind still had a slight winter bite to it, but the sun bathed her skin in warmth, chasing the chill away. New grass painted the barren earth green. Teasing and laughter tickled her ears, and the sharp, spicy aroma of freshly baked sweets rode the wind to curl in her nose. The neighbor’s toddler chased a prancing puppy while his mother chatted with a friend nearby.

Alys grew alarmed as the toddler and puppy neared a few panels of wood leaning precariously against a half-built booth. She tried to gain the mother’s attention, but her calls of “Madam!” went unheard. When the puppy bumped the wood and it wobbled, Alys knew she had to act. She ran to the door and tore out of the house towards the child, who was bending to crawl beneath the teetering panels. Just as she reached the toddler, the panels fell, and she jerked the boy away from them, wincing when one board slammed into her elbow. The poor thing screeched and cried, squirming in her arms, but by then, his mother had arrived, face pale and eyes wide. She took the toddler in her arms and hugged him tightly. Then she stepped up to Alys and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Oh, thank you, Miss! You saved my boy!”

By this point, a small crowd had gathered around them, and a chorus of voices joined the mother’s in praising Alys. Heavy hands thumped against her shoulders and back and others pumped her arm with hearty handshakes, jostling her to and fro. Her elbow throbbed.

Unaccustomed to such attention, Alys hunched in on herself. The mass of people around her felt like walls hemming her in on all sides. Her body shook with the crushing need to escape. Feeling overwhelmed, she thought she just might cry when a large, rough hand closed around her bicep above her sore elbow and someone began pulling her through the crowd.

“Let us through, please! Give the poor girl some air.”

Alys started at the voice of the stranger leading her out of the crowd. Rather than the coarse, halting speech of her fellow peasants, this man spoke with the smooth, lyrical accent of the nobility. It was like a balm to her soul to hear it again.

Once free of the crowd, the man—a tall, brawny man maybe a few years her senior with shaggy brown hair, a well-trimmed beard, and a kind smile—released her arm.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Alys nodded with a small curtsy.

“I am, sir. Thank you for your assistance.”

He blinked at her a moment before his face split into an easy grin.

“How well-spoken! Are you the daughter of a nobleman? Or a powerful merchant, perhaps?”

Alys shook her head. “My mother was the head seamstress for Lord Leofrick of Fykete, four days’ ride from here by the sea. Her Ladyship, the Lord’s wife, insisted the staff be well-spoken.”

“What is a girl from Fykete doing in Delade?”

Alys pursed her lips, her gaze falling away from the handsome face. “I came to live with my uncle. The Fever…”

A thickness in her throat choked off her words, but the man didn’t seem to need any more explanation. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and then lifted her arm.

“You are injured!” He gestured to her elbow, which was bright red and slowly weeping blood from a nasty scrape. “Please, if you would come with me, I’ll treat that for you.”

Alys hesitated only a moment and glanced back at her uncle’s little house. Now that she had to start her embroidery over, she would never finish it before nightfall. She might as well just enjoy herself for a little while. Besides, she was already outside.

Jogging to catch up, Alys followed her rescuer—Tybalt, she learned his name was—along the edge of the market. “Are you a healer?”

His lips quirked upward. “I work with the king’s horses, and they can be a bit moody. You get pretty good at tending injuries fairly quickly.”

Tybalt led her into the Breeding Stable, and Alys took a huge gulp of air. There was nothing like the smell of horses. Equestrian faces, both light and dark, peered over stall doors at her, ears flicked her way. When she stopped at the first stall to run her hand down the long neck of a large-bellied, black mare, Tybalt chuckled where he stood a few paces from her.

“If I promise you a tour when we’re done, will you please come let me tend to your elbow?”

Alys felt her face grow hot and hurried to his side. He led her into a little room off to the side and pulling out a brown jar and some bandages, treated and wrapped her elbow. Then he gave her the promised tour. At each stall, Tybalt launched into a description of the mares’ traits and the stallion she’d been bred with, explaining just what kind of foal they were hoping for. Alys listened closely, petting faces and necks, scratching at shoulders and chests. She’d had no idea that there was so much to know about horses, and she eagerly absorbed the information Tybalt seemed keen to impart.

When the stable hands started tossing hay into the stalls, Alys and her guide became aware of just how late it was. Sunset, which came early hear because of the forest surrounding the town, was only a couple hours away. With a curtsy and thank you, Alys bid Tybalt goodbye and made her way to her uncle’s home. When she neared the market, where the Spring Festival was just beginning, a woman stopped her.

“Oi, girl, ain’t you the one that saved that tot earlier?”

That got the attention of a few people loitering nearby and they began to approach her. Alys’ hands grew clammy, and her heart thumped wildly in her chest when she remembered the crowd that had squeezed her earlier that afternoon.

“Begging your pardon, madam. My aunt will be expecting me home.” Then she rushed away from the crowd, to the alleyways and side streets that twisted along the edge of town. It would take her longer to get back, but if it meant she wouldn’t find herself in the middle of a strangling crowd, that was fine with her.

 

 

A/N: I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted, and to my faithful readers, I offer my deepest apology. I’m trying something a bit new here. This will be a four-part series, with one part posted each week. I have written the entire story so, don’t worry, you will get the whole thing!! Feedback on this experiment is very welcome!! Do you like this? Hate it? Let me know!!