Two weeks had crawled by, each day a brutal lesson in endurance. Vera – for she was Vera now, in every aching muscle and calloused palm – had fallen into a rhythm dictated by necessity. Mornings began before dawn, down by the frigid river with Martha, the endless piles of laundry from the inn waiting. Her hands, once soft, were now perpetually raw, the harsh lye soap a constant torment.
"Faster, Vera, child," Martha would urge gently, though her own movements were slow with fatigue. "The innkeeper expects these linens back by midday if we're to get our coppers."
Only after the back-breaking laundry was done, and a meager portion of whatever food they had was consumed, could Vera venture out. Each afternoon, with a weary sigh that spoke of dwindling hope, she would gather the few wildflowers she could find from sparse patches beyond the city's grime. Clutching them tightly, she would then head towards the busier thoroughfares, a silent prayer on her lips that today, someone might offer more than a dismissive glance. Each day she hoped to bring back enough coppers to make a difference.
"Is that all the grain we have left, Mother?" Vera asked one evening, her voice thin, peering into the near-empty sack after returning from her flower-selling attempts. She emptied the few coins she'd earned – a pitifully small pile – onto the rough table.
Martha sighed, her face etched with worry lines that hadn't been there a month ago. She added her own meager earnings from the laundry to Vera's. "Aye, child. Your coins will help, bless you for trying. But even together, it's just enough for tonight, perhaps a little for the morrow. Between the King's new taxes and the pittance we earn… it leaves nothing for us common folk."
This stark reality fueled Vera's persistence. The next day, after another grueling morning at the river and a sparse midday meal, Vera set out once more, her small collection of wildflowers clutched in her hand. She headed towards the more frequented thoroughfares, hoping the fading light might soften a few hearts.
"Flowers, kind lady? Just a copper for a pretty bloom?" she would call out, her voice already hoarse from the previous evening. More often than not, people hurried past, their own faces pinched with scarcity.
The city, under Ainsworth's rapidly tightening fist, was a place of fear. Vera heard it in the hushed, desperate whispers at the water pumps while she waited her turn after laundry: "Another royal edict today... they say the tax on bread will rise again."
It was during one such sweltering evening, as the familiar pangs of hunger gnawed at her stomach and the discouragement of another fruitless day settled in, that Vera stood near a busy street corner. A portly nobleman, resplendent in silks, strode past, his nose in the air. He misjudged his step, bumping heavily into Vera and sending her few remaining flowers scattering into the street dust.
Instead of an apology, his face contorted with disdain. "Watch where you place yourself, street filth!" he spat, glaring down at her. "You've soiled my boots! And look at this!" He gestured furiously at a barely perceptible smudge on his velvet cloak. "My clothes are ruined by your peasant grime! Do you have any idea what this costs? You couldn't afford to replace a single thread of it if you worked your entire miserable life!"
Vera, stunned and humiliated, stammered, "I… I beg your pardon, My Lord. It was an accident."
"Accident?" he sneered, his jowls quivering. "The only accident here is your continued existence!" He raised a jeweled hand, preparing to strike her.
Vera flinched, bracing for the blow, but suddenly, another figure moved swiftly, placing herself between Vera and the irate noble.
"My Lord, please," a calm, steady voice interjected. "The girl meant no harm. Allow me to offer recompense for any perceived damage. She seems truly sorry."
The nobleman, momentarily taken aback by the intervention of a lady, even if her attire suggested minor nobility rather than high court, paused. Vera peeked from behind her unexpected protector. The woman was neatly dressed, her brown hair secured with a simple pin, her face kind but etched with a certain weariness. There was an air of quiet dignity about her.
The portly noble huffed. "This… street urchin should be flogged for her carelessness, Lady Annelise."
Lady Annelise inclined her head slightly. "Perhaps another time, My Lord. But for now, a moment of clumsiness hardly warrants such… severity. Here." She pressed a few coins into his hand. "For the cleaning of your cloak, and perhaps a sweetmeat for your trouble."
Mollified by the coin and the address from a lady, however minor, the man grumbled but eventually stalked off, muttering, "The city is overrun with these vagrants. One can barely walk without being accosted."
Once he was out of earshot, Lady Annelise turned to Vera, her expression softening with pity as she truly took in the girl's appearance. Vera was painfully thin, her ragged clothes hanging off a gaunt frame, and the haunted look in her eyes made her seem even younger than her twenty years. "Poor child," Lady Annelise thought, "she looks half-starved and barely more than a girl."
"Are you alright, child?" she asked aloud, her voice gentle and kind. "What is your name?"
Vera could only nod at first, her throat tight with a mixture of unshed tears, relief, and lingering humiliation. "Vera, My Lady," she managed, her voice barely a whisper.
"He had no right to treat you so," Lady Annelise said, her gaze sweeping over Vera's frail form and the scattered flowers.
"My name is Lady Annelise. It is a hard thing, trying to earn an honest coin in these times, especially when injustice is so quick to strike down the vulnerable." A shadow of sadness touched her eyes. "And so many children go hungry. I know how hard it is to earn money, and how often those with power forget compassion. I run a small orphanage for girls near the old weaver's district – the one with the slightly crooked blue door, perhaps you know it?"
Vera shook her head, still a little dazed by the encounter.
"Well," Lady Annelise continued with a gentle smile, her gaze softening further as she looked at Vera's skinny frame, thinking perhaps this child could use a steady meal as much as steady work. "We are always in need of an extra pair of hands, especially now, with so many children left… without families due to these harsh times. It wouldn't be much, but there would be a warm meal each day, and perhaps more stable than selling flowers, and certainly safer. Would you be interested in helping us?"
An orphanage? A steady, if meager, wage and a promised meal? The offer felt like a small ray of light in an overwhelmingly dark world. "Yes, My Lady," Vera managed, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. "I would be… very grateful. Selling flowers earns so little, and the streets are not always kind."
That night, Vera relayed the encounter and Lady Annelise's proposal to Martha and Jon.
"Lady Annelise offered you work?" Martha exclaimed, her eyes wide. "The one who runs the girls' orphanage? She is a good woman, they say, kind to the children despite her own limited means. An orphanage… it would be steady work, Vera. And perhaps a little extra for the pot, and a good meal for you, child. You're still so thin. Better than risking trouble on those streets."
Jon nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "Aye. It is more than you get for those wilting weeds. And a lady's roof is safer than a street corner. But you'll still help your mother with the inn's laundry first. That is our main bread, however thin the slices get. The orphanage work can be after that."
"Of course, Father," Vera readily agreed. The laundry was a penance she would gladly pay.
As she lay on her straw pallet that night, the sounds of the city a distant murmur, Vera's mind raced. This is an opportunity, she thought, a familiar ache of shame for her past ignorance and a new, fierce resolve coiling within her.
I need to know. I need to understand every facet of their lives, the injustices they face daily, the small cruelties and the crushing burdens. As Queen, I saw the reports, the grand strategies, the 'big picture' of the country. But did I ever truly see the individual faces, feel the weight of their struggles?
This is my chance, perhaps my only chance, to learn what I overlooked. This new path, however humble, felt like another, perhaps more crucial, part of her harsh education. It was a step away from the despair of the streets, and a step towards understanding the true heart of Eldoria.