Winter Heart, page 15
They continued walking toward the castle again, ducking in to one of the side entrances while Maewyn continued talking. Fane had never been to Corseils; that was his brother's arena as the eldest prince to do all the traveling. But he'd read about it in many of the history books he'd taken to reading the last few years.
"We used to have these biiiig parties with lots of fruit and vegetables and fresh fish. We would stay up all night sometimes. And there was lots of wine. So much wine." She said with a laugh. "They don't really eat fish here, do they?" Maewyn scarcely paused for an answer. "I don't really mind all the deer they eat in Eira but it does get kind of old after a while. It all tastes the same." She stuck her tongue out for emphasis.
Although the girl beside him didn't interrupt her constant stream of information, it was knowledge that he welcomed from her, for a change. Fane was always interested in knowing more about other places that he had never seen.
"Maire and I, we grew up together. Even though we’re cousins, she's more like my older sister. Always telling me what to do."
Fane could relate.
"Back home, we didn't have to wear so many clothes since it was so hot. All the ladies wore softer colors and lots of white." She sighed wistfully, "I miss wearing my old things."
Fane nodded dutifully, even while he scanned the halls looking for an excuse to leave this conversation. Maewyn still occasionally tried to hang on to his arm, though he would shift it out of the way or find some railing to grab while they walked. She was entirely undeterred.
"I didn't really get to wear any nice things until I was older, but now I'm attached and I can't go back. Someday I would love to go to Aridia. They have the most money of all the countries, did you know that?"
Fane did know that.
"They are so wealthy that their gold thread has actual gold in it. Can you imagine what it must be like to actually wear money?"
Fane didn't have to imagine. Many of his vests were finely embroidered with the same thread that she coveted. Color rose to his ears with understanding how privileged he'd been.
"Maire and I stopped by there on the way here, but it wasn't nearly long enough. All I got to see was the gardens in the castle. She wouldn't let me go anywhere else." Maewyn puffed her cheeks in annoyance. Fane had no recollection of this happening. It must have been a brief visit, indeed.
He maneuvered toward the Library, all the while looking for some unsuspecting soul to distract Maewyn long enough to make his escape.
At last, his salvation appeared on the horizon. The giant looming doors were right in front of them, if only he could get Maewyn to stop talking long enough to say goodbye.
He vaguely heard her say something about being hungry again. How much can she eat? He thought with dismay.
"Uhm, Maewyn, I know the cook sometimes keeps soup on the stove for any of the servants that might want a snack." Fane said, driving a sudden wedge in the middle of her sentence. This was not a lie: The cook did often keep extra food available. And he knew this from many of his nights returning from being out and finding his stomach growling from the exercise.
This perked her interest.
"You could go see if she's got any left, if you're hungry."
"Are you coming too?"
"I just have to stop in here for something." He said, gesturing to the Library doors. He didn’t think she’d be much inclined to study, considering her lessons with Hael were only a short time before. He was right. Maewyn shrugged and trotted back down the wide set of stairs they had just come up.
Fane ducked into the safety of the Library doors, hearing Maewyn continue to chatter to herself all the way down the stairs. He indulged a sigh of relief.
Maire
A TREE LOOMED ABOVE her. Its branches stretched over the vaulted ceiling of the large, cavernous space, blocking any of the stone to be seen. It gave a light of its own, casting the entire space in a bright golden light. Her delicate white hand reached out to its bark, feeling the thrum of ancient magic pulsing within it.
The sap dripped over her hand as she brought it to her mouth, drinking its lifeblood and feeling its power thrill through her own veins. It was intoxicating. She drank more. And kept drinking, until the light faded and all went dark.
Maire found herself staring at her own reflection in the mirror at her dressing table as she ran a brush through her long hair. Maewyn helped her magically maintain its beauty, so she didn’t even need to brush it at all. Even so, it was a comforting and familiar ritual that she relished in. At the very least, it gave her something to do other than talk to the man currently sitting behind her on the bed.
The king sat on the edge of the mattress in a state of undress that only she was allowed to be privy to. His white shirt hung open, exposing the strong lines of his chest. He wore fitted black trousers ending in bare feet. His long black hair was unbound, falling over his broad shoulders.
She sat in her fine dressing gown. It fell to the floor and pooled around the legs of the stool she sat on.
“Maire.” Airem’s voice was questioning, as if he'd just finished saying something that she'd not responded to. Maire realized after a moment that was exactly the case.
“I’m sorry, your Highness, please repeat that.”
“I’ve told you before that you don’t have to address me with such formality. We are husband and wife, my dear, and I don’t expect any courtly manners in our own bedroom.” Airem gently chided her.
He rose from the bed and came to stand behind her. Maire made no move to acknowledge his presence. His hand twitched, as if he was refraining from reaching out to touch her shoulder. “I was simply going over today’s events.” He finished, smiling kindly at her through the mirror. “What kind of queenly duties did my wife perform today?”
Maire ran through the list, careful not to reveal anything more than what was essential. This was her role, her career, and she would perform it to the perfection that was expected of such a high position. It only took a few moments to relay the information, and when she was finished, she set the silver hairbrush back down on her dressing table. Airem neither looked satisfied nor dissatisfied with her report, merely listening with careful attention.
“Were you able to rest today, or take some time to do something enjoyable?” He asked after a long moment, watching her face with a worried expression.
“I live to serve my king and country, your Highness, and that is enjoyable enough.” She answered. This only seemed to deepen the lines between his furrowed brows. He gave her what looked like a saddened smile.
“I see.”
A strained and uncomfortable silence passed between them. Neither of them moved to break it, simply watching each other in the mirror.
Airem moved first, stepping directly behind her. “Would you like me to braid your hair for you?” He asked quietly. Carefully. Maire kept her expression neutral.
“That’s what a lady’s maid is for. I will call her-”
“I would like to be the one to serve you tonight, my queen.” Airem said, his voice low and full of meaning. He did not touch her hair, nor make any indication that he would, until she consented.
Against everything that told her otherwise, Maire nodded slightly. “Whatever you wish, your Highness.”
Despite the cold, distant words, her husband smiled softly and ran strong, scarred hands over the length of her hair. Reverently, he set to work weaving the thick strands in and around each other, creating a loose but sturdy plait that ran down her back and to the floor. Neither of them spoke as he did this, the silence stretching over several minutes.
When he'd finished, Maire rose from the stool. Her dressing gown trailed behind her, the ruffles brushing Airem’s bare feet as she swept passed him. The king followed her, making his way to the large bed taking up most of the bedroom. It was so vast, it was large enough for four adults to sleep comfortably with room to spare.
So different was the casual luxury of the castle than the beds she'd spent most of her childhood seeking out. The thought of the hovels of her youth left a bitter tang in her mind. She pushed the thought away.
Maire delicately slipped under the generous covers on the right side of the bed. The bed shifted as Airem took up the other side. They had been married for nearly a month, and the unspoken expectation still hung between them. An expectation that Maire refused to fulfill, and one which Airem had refrained from mentioning after the first two weeks of their union. Any excuses Maire had leaned on had been spent, and she made an effort to avoid sleeping in the same room as him most nights.
Tonight, however, she was too exhausted to seek out her separate bower and settled uncomfortably into the bed that she knew she should have been occupying for some time.
She faced away from him in the semi-darkness, staring at the fine printed wallpaper, following the swirling lines with her eyes. Airem said nothing, but his breathing didn't slow to the pattern of sleep as she'd hoped. After what seemed like hours, though would have only been a few minutes, his deep voice whispered to her across the expanse between them .
“Would you join me for tea in the garden tomorrow?”
“If you wish it, your Highness.” An obligatory answer. A queen’s duty to her king.
Airem sighed and said nothing else. After several more minutes, his breathing did indeed level and lengthen. Hearing this confirmation that she was alone once again, Maire allowed herself to sleep, knowing full well what would await her in her dreams. The same visions as she'd been seeing since she arrived in Eira.
Sometimes it was the image of the mighty golden tree, its sap dripping over her hands as she drank. Other times, there were flashes of a bright palace, overflowing with greenery that was slowly rotting. No one else seemed to notice its decay but her.
22
THE EVENING STARTED much as the last few had: strolling into one of the seedier taverns at the edge of the city and running up a tab. With tankards of foul-smelling ale in hand, the two men would wait. Wait for their prey to show themselves.
Members of the Fade would usually be wearing black or sometimes dark gray tones, and they rarely wore any sort of fur or similar warm covering. This is what made them stand out against the rugged woodsmen and travelers from other parts of Eira.
From what little information Whitestar had gathered, he’d said that the Fade's choice of attire could be connected to their status within the organization. Fane knew nothing of fanatical cults, as they were unheard of in Aridia, but that sounded like something he thought cult members might do.
Once their prey was in sight, Whitestar would make the first move by sidling up to the member's side and leaning over the bar casually offering a mug of ale. Fane couldn't help but notice how Whitestar would actively avoid drinking his own ale, even as he would buy tankard after tankard for the particularly greedy members he would make conversation with.
After the first night seeing him do this, Fane followed suit. Better to keep a clear head so one didn't go careening into corners or flying into walls out of drunkenness.
They never saw another man so young as the tailor’s son, but his face never left Fane’s mind.
After waiting for the better part of an hour, one such opportunity presented itself. A tall, slender man wandered in to the golden haze of the tavern, and took a seat at the long wooden bar at the back of the room.
He was hunched over, as if his body couldn’t sustain his stature and was used to ducking under doorways. The woodsman shot Fane a look under rusted eyebrows and pushed himself up from where he was leaning against the bar. They approached the man together, Whitestar taking the right side and Fane taking the left.
"Evening, stranger." Whitestar began, pushing the extra tankard of ale he’d previously ordered toward the man. The Fade member looked up, surprise immediately turning to suspicion.
"Evening." He replied, taking a cautious sip of alcohol. Fane made a motion of taking a drink himself, though he closed his lips tightly as the warm liquid touched them. He swallowed for effect. The Fade member barely looked his way.
"What brings you here?" Whitestar pretended to drink from his own mug, feigning disinterest. "Kind of a cold night to be out and about." He gave the man a once-over with a critical eye, his usual expression. "And especially without anything to keep one so thin as yourself from freezing to death."
Fane nodded in distant agreement. It was truly one of the coldest evenings he'd experienced so far. The doorknobs were nearly frozen over on the outside, and people's breath came in foggy clouds even inside the building. The tavern owners made an effort to lessen the chill with several roaring fires on either side of the open room.
Many patrons avoided the window seats and gathered near the fireplaces instead. Those that were not so fortunate as to been granted one of those coveted spots still wore their outer layers of fur and heavy wool. This included Fane and his grumpy companion.
"That's none of your concern." The Fade member answered gruffly, despite downing his gifted ale with gusto. Just as soon as he'd finished, Whitestar slid another over to him.
"Oh, I think it is." He answered, smiling as pleasantly as his face would allow.
"What my companion means to say is that perhaps you’re in need of better clothing?" Fane knew Whitestar's attempts at diplomacy usually didn't go as well as the woodsman seemed to think. The criminal finally seemed to notice Fane's presence and jumped slightly. "Or perhaps you might let us help you?" Fane added carefully.
There was a pause. The suspicious man accepted the second mug of ale, albeit begrudgingly, and took another swig. He seemed to consider whether or not he should be forthcoming to these strangers that were clearly buttering him up.
"There's nothing I need from you." The criminal answered finally, but he took a hesitant look over his shoulder. "Maybe it's you that needs something from me." He whispered, angling his body in Fane's direction; being the more amiable of his two options.
Out of the corner of his eye, Fane saw Whitestar's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. This was new. Rarely ever were suspected Fade members offering their help. The ale must have worked this time.
As if in answer to Fane's thought, the man took another long drink of alcohol. "There's a power, dark and dangerous stuff, that keeps those of us that submit to it warm and healthy as we would ever want." He took another cautious glance around. Another drink. "There's a sickness coming, worse than anything that has ever been, and I joined so that I wouldn't get it. We don't need coats, we don't need food or drink, unless we want it. Our leader even promises that we may never die if we are in it long enough, like our needs fade away."
The man downed the last of his ale, and looked disappointed at the bottom of the mug. Whitestar slid another in front of him.
Fane was beginning to wonder if the woodsman was ever going to pay his tab. He never actually remembered seeing Whitestar pay any sort of currency to the tavern owner on any of their evenings together.
He pushed the distracting thought from his mind as the criminal leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially. Whitestar seemed to lean with him on instinct. Fane made a show of being entranced, interested in whatever the man was clearly holding out on saying.
"The sky darkens..."
Fane nearly panicked. he'd heard this phrase before, growled into the ground just before Whitestar had knocked the last criminal unconscious. The first time had been one of the first nights he was out with Whitestar, and the woodsman had given the wrong answer.
Wrong answers meant that Fane would be spending his evening running at full tilt over icy streets and gaining more bruises along the way. He didn't like when Whitestar gave the wrong answer.
Their needs will fade... He scrambled through the few thoughts he had at that moment. The Fade.
The criminal looked at him expectantly. Fane's hesitation was clearly making him more nervous by the second. Either that or the red flush over the man's face meant he was more drunk than when he'd sat down a few moments earlier.
The sky darkens...
"And all will fade." Fane finally answered, doing his best to pretend that he'd hesitated for dramatic effect.
From his spot behind the man, Whitestar looked begrudgingly impressed and perhaps offended that Fane had cracked some code he'd been working on for weeks.
Fane couldn't help a smirk of satisfaction. One point for him.
The man nodded, a messy and slow movement. A bit of liquid dribbled down his chin and wet his black garment as he threw his head back for another drink.
“I got someone else into it. Just last night. Gave the black stuff to his wife and that convinced him.” The criminal said, hiccuping.
From the increasingly vacant expression in his eyes, Fane guessed he might have forgotten where this conversation was supposed to be going next. Fane and Whitestar shared a look over the man’s head. “Black stuff”? Fane thought. What does that mean?
Whitestar took the liberty of throwing one of his arms, so large it completely enveloped the man's slim shoulders, around the criminal in mock friendliness.
"Why don't we find you somewhere to sleep off your alcohol, friend." Fane couldn't help but notice the way he growled the last word. He knew exactly where this would be going. Right out to the alley, out to the cold, so they couldn't be overheard further. Fane stifled a groan. Why the woodsman chose to do business out in the elements, he would never know.
As expected, Whitestar led the stumbling man out the back door to the tavern, smiling stiffly the entire way. Fane followed with heavy footsteps. Why do we keep doing this? He wondered, irritated. he'd hoped, in vain apparently, that his diplomacy would allow him to remain inside.
As soon as the frigid air hit the three of them, and the back door had slammed closed, Whitestar was shoving the man against the ice-covered wall. As per usual, he began with his questioning and intimidation. "Who leads you?" Because that worked so well last time. Fane thought bitterly.
