@TryToDoItWrite Here is my answer to your prompt! And omg this was so much harder than I thought it was going to be. I think that this is the general skeleton that I want to use, I still not satisfied with it. Have at it guys :)!
Strisen -
An almighty thunk jarred me out of my thoughts. A muffled yelp and a groan followed soon afterwards – one from the front and one from the back. I fell sideways as the carriage swerved. I almost called out to Jakion, but something held me back. Usually a bump in the night would not warrant any response, but somehow knew that this was cause for concern. The carriage sped up and I could feel every rut in the road.
Trying not to panic, I yanked at the door handle only to find it jammed. Cursing softly, I fumbled under my vest for my knife. My heart beat in my ears and my legs tensed up. I filled my lungs with as much air as possible and then there was another much lighter sound. Three. Three of them. Gods, I wish I had my bow with me.
There was a small clink and I caught the glint of a blade peak through the leather where the canopy latch connected with the roof. I scrambled for the corner and tried to steady my still erratic breathing. The sunroof door swung open and a thin figure dropped down into the carriage, landing with hardly a sound.
I leapt forward and tacked the intruder, pinning him to the ground with my body. My knife was at his throat when we passed by a street lamp and the yellow glow peaked through the curtains. There was no Adam’s apple. They sent a woman to kill me. How could I defend myself from a woman?
“Who are you?” I hissed, “What do you want from me?”
“I am here to save your royal rear end,” she said and I recognized her voice from somewhere. “If you do not mind, I do not care for knifes so close to my throat.” We passed another lamp and its light illuminated her face.
I immediately withdrew from her. “You are the girl from the courthouse!” I could just make out the flash of her teeth in the dimming light.
“Indeed I am, although, you are not Kraiotan.” We went over a particularly large rut and both of us bounced into the air. Our faces were so close that I could detect the fain scent of vanilla and something fresh, not quite like grass but close. Embarrassed, I scrambled off her and was eternally grateful that the darkness was here to hide my burning cheeks.
“H-How did you get here?” I stammered.
“I will answer all of your questions, but first let us deal with your kidnappers.” Again light seeped into the carriage and I could see that her hair was pulled back and she was clad entirely in black. The most astonishing thing, however, was that she was wearing trousers. So many questions flooded my brain. “Two armed men jumped onto your carriage and knocked off the footman and driver. Last I saw, they were both alive.” She got up and took two blades out of sheaths strapped to her thighs. There was also a bullwhip attached to her belt. “Which one do you want?”
I snapped back into reality. “Uh, what?”
“Do you want to take the driver or the footman?” She sounded like she was rolling her eyes. “Or I guess more importantly, how are you with horses?”
“Terrible. I’ll take the footman,” I decided.
She nodded, grabbed the lip of the sunroof, and pulled herself up. Who in the three hells was this woman? I jumped up and had to kick at the air to get myself through the opening. When I finally got up, I peeked down at the footman and found him with his back to me, watching the surroundings with a hand on his sword pommel. I turned to her and she mouthed at me: three, two, one.
I jumped off the roof and landed square in the middle of the thug’s back. With all of the force I could muster, I pushed off of him. With a startled grunt, he tipped forward and tried unsuccessfully to catch air with his arms. His hands managed to connect with the ground first, but his forehead slammed into the cobblestones and he did not get back up. There was groan and a second later, I saw the driver on the ground as we flew past, clutching his arm. It looked dislocated.
The carriage gradually slowed to a stop next to an old limestone building. I jumped off the back and immediately she came to my side and put a hand on my elbow. “Come with me, we can talk on the roof.” We slipped inside and it was like walking into an embrace. An intricate rug covered the floor and a fire roared in the massive fireplace. There were velvet couches scattered about, bookshelves lined all of the walls, and the faint scent of vanilla floated through the air. She guided me up the staircase.
Three floors later, we came to a door and found ourselves on an equally cozy roof. It was clearly meant for entertaining; there was a roaring fire in a pit, chaise lounges scattered about, and a fully stocked drink cart. “Are you going to tell me what in Sivula’s name is going on?” I ran a hand through my hair.
“I would not expect you to curse,” she said as she hovered the drinks. “Can I get you anything?”
“Water. Now stop stalling. How did you get into my carriage? Who were those thugs?” I suppose I should have been more appreciative, but my patience was beginning to wear thin.
She put a glass of cool water into my hand and strode to the roof’s railing. I took a grateful gulp and followed her. She took a sip of red wine as she looked at the street below. The carriage was still there but two footmen were leading the horses out of their harnesses to what I assumed was the stables. “First answer: I jumped. Second –”
“You what?” I cut her off.
“I was walking on the second story roads and I saw those ruffians attack your men. So, I ran and jumped onto your carriage as it passed under a bridge,” she said as if it was a stroll in the park. She took another sip and flicked an undetectable spec off her sleeve.
“Who are you?” I took her in fully now. She had a pretty face, with a small button nose and full lips, just as I had remembered it. But, most stunning of all were her eyes. They reminded me of the Strician Ocean – deep and penetrating, you could get lost in them, just drown in their splendor. I made a conscious effort to look just at her face, even just thinking about her trousers made my ears warm with impropriety.
“Oh,” she shook her head “Where are my manners?” She put her drink on the ((I’m looking for the top flat part of a roof railing, you know like the little wall that keeps you from walking straight off of a roof but still lets you see outside? Not bannisters, (not quite) railing, idk help pls)) and she offered me her hand. “Call me Natiselle.”
How odd. Usually this is where I would bow and kiss her hand, but she was offering it as a man would – with an open palm. I followed her lead, gripped her hand firmly, and we shook as equals. Her hand was unlike any I had ever held. It was tough and covered in callouses. “Strisen.”
Her eyes grew wide as she pulled away and her hand fluttered to her heart. “I remember!” she gasped. “I remember where I have seen you before!”
My heart sank. “We met almost two weeks ago in the court house.” Was I truly that forgettable? “You confused me with someone else.”
Her eyes shone as she swatted my arm with an astonishing familiarity. “No silly, I remember it now! You were getting out of a carriage, and you dropped something.”
There were threads of a memory coming back to me.
A carriage ride.
A nanny.
A cloudy day.
A beam of sunlight.
A little black haired girl who picked up my puzzle box.
As the thoughts came, I began to pace. “That was you? I remember now. Gods, I was what? Six?”
She tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
“You gave this back to me.” I pulled the little box out of my pocket and showed it to her. The panic I felt all those years ago came flooding back, I could almost see it bouncing down the steps and onto the busy sidewalk. “And for that I will always be in your debt. I can see it so clearly. I was going to thank you but the sun was in my eyes and then you were gone.”
“Why would you be in my debt? I just returned it to its’ rightful owner,” she said and I suddenly could not meet her eyes.
I rejoined her at the ledge (again the word?) “My mother had this made for me.” What was I doing? I had not talked about her in years, especially never to a perfect stranger.”
Her voice was so soft, almost a breath. “What happened to her?”
“She died in childbirth.” I tried to sound matter of fact. It was a long time ago. I had never met her, I should not be this affected by her absence.
She put a comforting hand on my arm. “I am sorry.” Her expression was kind but otherwise unreadable.
