From Ashes and Dust (Book One)

Chapter 8.1

Year: 1393 CE

Location: Paris, France

The carriage rattled over the street, bumping and jolting its occupants. Outside, stone buildings with grand archways surrounded them on all sides. Lights flickered from torches, staving away the shadows at every turn.

People milled about their business in the dwindling light of day. A few curious gazes stopped to marvel at the extravagant carriage, peering inside to see which lord or lady might have been passing through their town. The two, grey horses pulling the carriage continued on without falter to the crowds bustling about. Their shod hooves tapped over the cobbled street; a hollowed sound that bounced between the structures.

Vatra leaned forward, peeling back the edge of the curtain shielding them from prying eyes. She used the reflection of the glass to adjust the circlet of flowers tucked into the braid wrapped tightly around her head.

"How do I look?" Vatra asked, dropping the fabric away from her hands. "Fit for a party?"

Spyro seemed unamused across from her. His dark blue tunic hugged his torso, and he fought to adjust the tight fabric around his chest. "You appear more comfortable than I," he replied. "I do not understand the fashion in France."

"The short and less modest tunics are in," Vatra said with a tight frown. "You didn't answer me, either. How do I look?"

The man across from her leaned back in his seat. He cast a look up and down Vatra, but his expression never changed. "What is the look you are going for, exactly?"

"Expensive lady for hire," Vatra replied. She flattened out the front of her green cotehardie and regretted wearing such a fitted chemise underneath it. Inhaling sharply, Vatra plucked at the edges of the gown.

"Do you mean prostitute?" Spyro raised a brow.

"Expensive prostitute," Vatra corrected.

Spyro shook his head, the thick curls donning his head bouncing around from the movement. "I do not think this party will have prostitutes. They are ladies. But, I do believe you have achieved the look you were hoping for. I do not know much about fashion, though."

"Perfect. Then I'll fit right in," Vatra beamed.

The carriage rolled to a halt.

"Remember, we're here to stop Enyalius from whatever plan he has. My source says there's talks of a god intervening at this party, and it only makes sense that it's him. Enyalius has been around the king too often. I don't know why else he would be so interested if not to cause trouble," Vatra said.

"We have not seen Enyalius involved in a war, or so much as a fight for many centuries. Are you sure we can trust this source? I do believe he may just be attracted to the king's madness," Spyro suggested.

Vatra narrowed her eyes. "Enyalius is always up to something, directly or not," she muttered.

The door to the carriage opened, revealing the Hôtel Saint-Pol in all its grandeur. Stonework and archways had not been wasted in its construction. To its far side, the river that cut through Paris lapped at the bank. Vatra could smell the water, filled with everything the people of the city left for the rain to wash out. She held back a grimace as she stepped down to the pathway leading up to the building.

Guests lingered outside, talking amongst themselves as they were directed where to go. A few appeared to not care about the event inside, and were more interested in their conversations. Vatra was not one of those people.

Spyro was close to her side. The two of them walked past glances that appeared to question who they were, and what they were doing there.

The benefit of living so long, I know someone important almost anywhere, Vatra thought amusingly. She tried to keep her smug look from drawing any further attention.