Jill Bearup

           Takes place immediately after 'It's Ten of the Clock'.                 There was a light in the chapel. Leo had been stopped three times by the household guard on his excursion to find Rosamund. They had all been anxious when they saw who it was (‘So sorry, my Lord,’) but he had shaken his head, and reassured each of them that he would rather they were over-cautious than lax. The side door of the chapel was thick, dark wood, but it swung quietly on its hinges, and he entered the nave. Half a dozen candles were burning in an elaborate stand on the high table. A figure in black was kneeling on the floor in front of them, and Leo relaxed a little.  She was here. She was safe. Granted, he wasn’t thrilled that she had come to the outer ward alone, even after the gates had been locked, but he didn’t need to bother her. He could just— ‘Good evening, my Lord.’  Ah. She’d heard him come in. Leo gave her a shallow bow. Rosamund looked up at him from the kneeling pad

(Have another Fantasy Heroine snippet, because Robin brings me joy, and the scene that comes right after this is currently doing my head in. This one takes place on the evening of the Feast of Remembrance.) ‘It’s ten of the clock, do you know where your wife is?’ Robin demanded, and Leo jumped. Leo was used to Robin appearing in unexpected places, but he had entered the Rose Room’s solar with uncanny stealth. Leo, who had been absorbed in one of the accounting ledgers that lined the bottom of the bookshelf, hadn’t even heard him. Leo shrugged. Robin crossed the room and glowered down at Leo, who waited to see if anything else was forthcoming. Robin said nothing further, so Leo returned to the ledger. ‘Why don’t you know where she is?’ ‘Why would I know where she is?’ Leo countered, turning a page. The ledger was flipped shut with a decisive thump . Leo looked up. ‘Because you won ,’ Robin said, exasperated. ‘The pair of you, with a little help from yours truly, of course,’ he added wi

 Apparently Spreadshop thinks this Grand Theft Equine logo is too reminiscent of some other property or other. Tch. Well, by the kind permission of the person who made it for me, here are some images for you to do with as you like!

 For your general enjoyment, Currently Chapter Seven But Who Knows Where it Will End Up in the Final Draft. Aka Rosamund meets Hugo. Nineteen-year-old Rosamund Page pushed the heavy velvet aside, cursing wide-skirted ballgowns as she tried to flatten herself against the wall behind the draped fabric, safely out of sight. There was a solid obstacle in the way.  ‘Oof’ said the obstacle, and Rosamund jumped, the curtain falling from her hands. There was not a lot of space behind it, and most of it was being taken up by a dark-haired man in his early twenties who looked both aggrieved and somewhat panicked. ‘Are you all right?’ Rosamund whispered in Bevorian, conscious of the sound of approaching voices.  He grimaced. ‘Madam, I am hiding behind a curtain. What do you think?’ At least she’d guessed the right language in which to address him. ‘It seemed safe to assume that your evening wasn’t going well,’ said Rosamund, ‘but perhaps you just really wanted some peace and quiet?’ The man gave

Takes place both some months after and  many years before the events of the series/book. ‘I have a question.’  Charlotte completed her practice strike (Leo rated it a 6 out of 10, the angle was a bit off, but a solid start for a new technique) and looked up at him. ‘Mmm?’ ‘Why do the caladrius like you so much?’ Charlotte grinned, and swung at him again (better, solidly 7 out of 10). ‘At least four reasons. They prefer women, possibly because they prefer shorter people in general, they don’t like sudden movement, they like quiet people but not silence, and I smell like lavender.’ ‘Lavender?’ Rosamund always smelled of it too, now that he thought of it. The oil she put in her hair was perfumed with lavender, there were bags of lavender in all the dressers and closets...he probably smelled of lavender himself at this point, given how ubiquitous its use was in the house. ‘They build lavender into their nests. They’re also absolutely obsessive about lavender cheese.’ He held up his sword b