Slumber by Samantha Young Page A

closing in on Ryl, the second largest city in Raphizya, famous for being the only city in Phaedra that wasn’t a capital, and also for its factories. Almost as large as Peza, it was home to factories that mass-produced textiles, paintings, pottery and lots of other knick-knacks, designed by the artisans of Peza. The factories sustained much of Raphizya, supplying employment and a large exportation income.
    Knowing the plan was to stay with Matai’s cousins, Mr Zanst and his wife and their two smal children, I wasn’t surprised when Wolfe led us through the outskirts of the city towards the Factory District. Ironicaly, the Factory District wasn’t in fact where the factories were. The Factory District was home to the mansions and large townhouses of the owners of the factories. Mr Zanst owned a large textile factory and was said to be wealthier than his Vikomt cousin, Matai. I had met Mr Zanst and his wife at court before, two of the few people outside the titled nobility who were invited to stay at the palace during the spring and autumn Seasons of Sabithia. They were a nice couple, friendly and open, and a refreshing diversion from the titled nobility and al their manners and ‘do’s’ and ‘don’t’s’.
    When we arrived Mrs Zanst was there to greet us, her husband not yet returned from his office at the factory. Attractive and young, I hid a smile as some of the Guard tried not to stare at Mrs Zanst. They had been deprived of female companionship for longer than some of them were used to and she was a lovely sight. Sighing, I dismounted with Chaeron’s aid and was immediately enveloped in a friendly hug by Mrs Zanst.
    “It’s such a pleasure to see you again, Lady Rogan.” She smiled widely at me as she stood back to take in my appearance. “I must say you’re looking very wel for a young lady who’s been traveling. And without a carriage no less.” She frowned, looking over the Guard.
    I shrugged inelegantly, happy to be around someone who didn’t care if I shrugged inelegantly. “I thought a carriage would be more of a hindrance than a help.” Mrs Zanst didn’t seem to agree but she said no more, clasping my hand in hers as we walked inside, leaving the Guard to their organisation. It would seem there wasn’t enough room in the stables or the mansion for al of them so some would have to venture into the city for accommodation. I roled my eyes as many eagerly volunteered, knowing that the excitement was due more to finding a bed partner than an actual bed.
    “Oh,” I gasped as we stepped into the entrance hal. “Your home is lovely, Mrs Zanst.” And I meant it. Her expression brightened, a little flush of pride cresting her cheeks as we took it in together.
    “Thank you, Lady Rogan. I do try.”
    In al of the homes of the wealthy I had ventured into, the floors of the entrance hal, halways in general, were always white and black marble; or, as at the palace, pure white marble with crystaline sparkling under foot. But Mr and Mrs Zanst had forgone the cold marble aesthetic of the wealthy, and instead had beautiful, wide slatted, light wooden polished floors that reflected the light from the stunning but simplistic chandelier that spiraled down from the ceiling in one trim arm. I stared a moment at it, surprised by its originality. It was like a piece of modern art in itself. Careful not to encumber the light, airy quality they had created, there were no drab oil paintings to be found or heavy tapestries, only pale buttercream wals, one of which was adorned with artwork – an actual mural, depicting a briliantly blurry forest with gorgeous wood nymphs and other charmingly rustic creatures. A few silver mirrors were dotted here and there, wal sconces in the same vein as the chandelier, and flowers of the softest pastels.
    “It’s like a fairytale,” I whispered. “Haydyn would love this.”
    Mrs Zanst blushed even harder. “Do you realy think so?”
    I nodded sincerely, giving her arm a