The Northern Gate: Two Worlds

II. - The Duchess

She has never felt more alive than she has ever before. The tonic Lady Mathilde has given her worked wonders. It was an amber-colored liquid contained in a sealed glass vial. The solution tasted like lemongrass, raspberries, and something wild and musky. It tasted familiar yet foreign at once, she couldn't quite place the exact taste and smell, but she didn't mind. What mattered was that it worked almost instantly.

The moment she was done drinking the last drop from the vial, the pain that antagonized the wholeness of her flesh dissipated in a quick wave. Her bruises lightened and faded away as if they were never there at all. Her heartbeat returned to its normal pace, her breathing was deeper and smoother, and her head didn't feel heavy anymore. She felt so awake that she could almost hear her ecstatic blood flow through her veins. It didn't feel like it was too much. It just felt like she was more 'present.'

It was already midday when they had transferred from the room she woke up in into her actual room. They had to climb a long flight of winding stairs to get to the Duchess's chambers. She was both surprised and relieved when she was told that the Duke had a separate room. Mathilde had also informed her that the room she was in earlier was one of two infirmaries in the Castle. There was a separate one with rows of beds for the Dukesguard and the court servants near the Castle's entrance on the lowest floor. The chamber they were in now was considerably larger, more aesthetic, and was situated on the highest floor of the Gustav Castle.

A four-poster bed made out of a gleaming black wood sat right in the middle of the spacious floor, and beneath it was a purple rag with patterns that looked like constellations. The bed's thick mattress was covered in rich, white fabric embroidered with gold. On either side of the bed were tables stacked with flasks, books, and containers filled with what seemed to her were oils and fragrances. There were high-backed wooden chairs around one of the tables. On one side of the room was another table with drawers and shelves on the bottom, and on the other side was a double-door inlaid to the wall. The room had a huge glass window that stretched from the black stone floor to the spired ceiling. The window faced the city, it would have given Amy the full view of Saphira, but the purple curtains were drawn shut, allowing what little afternoon sunlight through the gaps between the drapes. Despite not having lightbulbs or lamps-- there was no power supply here, she figured that much -- it wasn't dark. The stone walls seemed to contain a subtle bluish-white glow. 'Magic,' Mathilde had told her, lighted the castle. Houses of mage families had light emanating from the enchanted walls throughout the night. The stonewalls of the castle glowed brighter the stronger the mage family. The brightest one, Mathilde had said, was Luxdale, the Castle of the King of Noira. It was so bright the roads leading to it were lit as if it was day. On the other hand, magicless families depended on oil to fuel their lamps and torches.

"I told you it was wonderful," said Mathilde. "This tonic recipe was passed down to me by my mother and to her by my grandmother. It's our heritage," she added. She grinned proudly, beaming ear to ear. Now that Amy wasn't half-dead and drowning in confusion, she found Lady Mathilde's face more endearing. Mathilde had a rounded face with stuffy cheeks and a broad nose. Her eyebrows were thick but looked drawn on using a pasty ink. Her eyes were a light shade of brown, which stood out against her dark skin. She didn't look old at all to Amy. There were a few lines and wrinkles on her face, especially around the eyes, but it suited her well. The only clue to her age was her graying hair which fell into small curls just above her neck.

"Yes," Amy replied. "It was fantastic! Thank you, Lady Mathilde, for letting me have it. I would still feel like a bag of potatoes if not for you and your tonic." She was sitting on one of the black wooden chairs beside the bed, her back to Mathilde. The head courtier was combing her hair with a fine bristled brush made of the same gleaming black wood.

At that, Mathilde seemed to blush. "Oh! Your Grace," she squeaked. "Don't worry about it. I would have given you anything to make you feel like yourself again," she paused and smiled. "And please, Your Grace, just call me Mathilde. I am no royalty. It was His Grace's idea to have the other courtiers call me Lady."

"I think it is well deserved. But, if you insist, Mathilde," she answered.

"Splendid! That sounds better, Your Grace," Mathilde giggled as she gestured for Amy to stand up and follow her. Amy complied and was escorted to the double doors she saw earlier at the room's far end. Mathilde opened it and revealed a cavernous walk-in wardrobe. The same glowing walls lined up its sides. There were rows upon rows of clothes hanging on pegs and stacked on racks and even more rows of clothes and shoes at the back.

"Wow..." Amy remarked in awe. "Are these... mine?" she asked, stepping in. She thought of the days when she passed by the Gap, H&M, and Zara shops in New York. Amy rarely ever went inside unless she needed to buy replacement clothes. She brushed her fingers through the soft fabrics of the gowns, dresses, and robes. She took a long white tunic from one of the pegs and raised it at eye level. "Can I?" she asked, to which Mathilde just nodded and smiled. She has never owned so many clothes in her life, much less a tunic. Amy never needed to buy so many articles of clothing as her wardrobe back home was limited to suits, pants, jeans, and shirts. She draped it on top of her, just above her chest, and flattened it to her body.

"Try it on, Your Grace," Mathilde suggested. Amy muffled a giggle as she thought of sales personnel in shops prodding her to fit clothes she had in her shopping cart, except that they wouldn't call her 'Your Grace.' "I'll help you in it," the head courtier added.

She gave the tunic to Mathilde, which the latter carefully lifted out of its hanger, undoing the pearl buttons on the front as she did. Amy stepped out of the purple nightgown she was in, thankful that she had worn a new set of undies that day. Mathilde draped the dress up and over Amy's head, and she slid her into the dress. Mathilde worked on the fabric expertly as if she had done this her whole life, which Amy thought she probably did. "One second, Your Grace," Mathilde said as she scrambled away to the back of the closet. She returned, dragging a huge, full-body mirror framed in wood atop silver legs. The elderly woman turned it to face Amy.

"Oh," Amy gasped. She has never worn anything this elegant before. Though a simple white dress, the tunic was made out of a delicate fabric that fell naturally against her body. To her surprise, she had curves. She never really bothered about how she looked before. Every morning after her quick showers, she would just slide into formal work pants, put on her suit, tie her hair, dab her lipstick, and go with her day. But now, looking at her reflection, she noticed her long auburn hair fell in gracious curls against her fair skin. Her freckles stood out like stars across her cheek, highlighting her green eyes. Her collarbones showed as the tunic had a deep neckline. Her chest didn't look as flat as she thought they were. The white dress was made tight along the waist by a wide golden belt that showed the curve of her hips. There were long slits from the hem to the knees on either side of the dress.

"Splendid!" adored Mathilde. "As always, anything looks good on you, Your Grace."

"Thank you," replied Amy. She could feel a blush warm her cheeks. "Do I," she gestured to all the clothes inside the wardrobe, "wear all of these?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Mathilde nodded. "Others you wear more often, others less. You were never fond of the gowns. 'Restricts your body movements,' you used to say." At that, Mathilde laughed a little. "However, this one that you are wearing-- this tunic is your favorite. I'm delighted to see your memory serves."

Random luck, she thought but did not say. "Yes, I think I remember," she lied. It just happened that she remembered at one point that Mathilde had told her that the Duchess liked the color white and it was the nearest item to her, so she picked it. She tried to memorize all the things Mathilde had said about 'her.' In fact, the head courtier told her many things. Mathilde told her about her name and history - that she was Amithiel Lorendell of Gladesdale before she was Duchess of Castle Gustav. Amithiel was a warrior and a captain at the Kingsguard before meeting the Duke. She was as fierce as she was kind, Mathilde had described her. Her weapon of choice was a lance, and she wielded it in utmost perfection. Amithiel sounded brave and adventurous to Amy.

Recently, the Duchess had been fond of spontaneous expeditions and the last time she went missing was three months-- the longest the Duchess was out-- before Amy arrived at Noira. The city was used to her disappearing for weeks on end, and coming back with new discoveries from far away lands, so seeing her dressed in a suit and broken heels was nothing strange. Amy thought that she was a scared, wet kitten compared to the roaring lioness that was Amithiel. She pitied the people of the City of Saphira for having her as a replacement. Amy didn't wish that the real Amithiel had died in her quests and would no longer return and just hoped that she would be able to get back home before the real Duchess came back. She thought for a moment that if Amithiel came home while she was still here, she'd be done for. The real Duchess would impale her with her lance and brand her as an impostor. She shivered at the thought.

"Do you like it, Your Grace?" Mathilde asked, seeing Amy's face frown in deep thought.

"No! I mean, Y-yes. Yes, I like it," reassured Amy. "I love it! Very much," she said, trying her best to sound genuine. She did love the dress. She was just too preoccupied with the thought of her plans failing, for it would mean her death. "Do I have an armor or something like that?"

"Oh, of course, Your Grace, let me just put this away, " Mathilde replied with a grunt and dragged the mirror away. She emerged from the closet, brushing the dust away from her clothes. "That reminds me, I haven't seen your lance amongst your things, Your Grace. Just your strange-looking 'souvenirs.' You never went anywhere without it," she said, her head titled a little to the side.

At that, Amy's blood seemed to have frozen again. "I- I," she swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth. "I lost it, I think," she added. "Unfortunately, I can't remember when or how. As I had told you, I could not recall anything before the night that the hairball clubbed me." The weight of Mathilde's gaze drilled on her as if the head courtier knew something was wrong.

"Oh, forgive me," she replied after a second of silence. "I seem to be forgetful this past few weeks, Your Grace. Ah, the coming of years, unforgiving, unforgiving," she smiled. "Still, I'm sorry you lost your weapon. You were really fond of that lance." Mathilde sounded genuine, though Amy couldn't shake a lingering feeling of suspicion.

"It's alright, Mathilde," Amy exhaled. She was holding her breath for what seemed like a lifetime, suddenly nervous that the elderly courtier might discover she was lying and just stab her with the comb on the spot. "Can I see where I keep my armor, you know, uhm, just in case?" It's better to be prepared, she thought.

"Oh, of course, it is here, Your Grace. Come with me," she walked back into the wardrobe and gestured for her to follow. "I'll show it to you, come."