Winter Heart, page 7
“You would look so handsome in this!” Maewyn said with a wink. A look he'd seen so often in his life, it had no effect on him anymore. Niamh exhaled in annoyance next to him.
“You should definitely buy this one! It’s so suited to you.” Maewyn added.
Niamh pawed at the garment to grab the price tag. Her eyes widened. “Maewyn, this is one thousand mynt! That’s far too much to spend on one thing. We have to find something more frugal.”
The more he listened to people talking around him, and the more often he witnessed the exchange of money, the more his education on Eira’s culture came flooding back to him. He was quick to associate that word- mynt- with the money that changed hands in front of him.
“Here.” Niamh said, moving to a handsome coat hanging nearby. “This is a much better use of money. Fane, what do you think of this?” Niamh held it out for his inspection. It was a practical coat - Made of light brown woolen material, brown fur at the collar, and no extra decoration save for small leaves embroidered into the cuffs in a dark brown thread. It looked to be a bit oversized, but Fane didn’t mind at that point.
“It’s the same price as the jerkin, but I think this will suit you much more.” Niamh added.
“I think you’re right.” Fane said, handing the money to the merchant. Niamh took the coat off of the stall and handed it over to him. As soon as Fane put it on, his core warmed almost immediately. It was far thicker than it looked. Fane was pleased with his first purchase.
Niamh wandered ahead, despite Maewyn’s protests and subsequent distraction by an orange dress at the same stall. Niamh walked to the next stall, followed closely by a curious Maewyn, and Fane did his best to follow. He passed by a small covered stall selling flaky-looking pastries. His mouth watered, and he was sorely tempted to use one of his mynt on it. When he looked up again from his pastry-induced stupor, he found that Niamh and Maewyn had moved several stalls down. He set off after them, still thinking of that pastry.
Now that he wasn’t shivering, Fane could wander through the market as his leisure. He inhaled the pleasant savory spices wafting through the cold air, mingling and creating a pleasant warmth in his head. Fane smiled for the first time in a few days, savoring the bright colors and equally bright voices around him. He was so focused on looking around for blond heads, that he completely lost track of the auburn and white ones that he was supposed to be following. Fane looked around once more, and realized he was alone in the crowd.
He drifted through the churning people, slowly taking in the atmosphere and keeping a watchful eye out for his newfound companions. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but surely they couldn’t have wandered too far away.
Just as soon as he’d lulled himself into a sense of security, he saw another fair haired head bobbing only a few patrons ahead. The woman turned, and he saw at once that it was someone he knew. The daughter of a duchess of one of the outlying territories surrounding Trajhem. He’d only met her a few times, and she was about his age. Fane couldn’t even remember her name, but he always remembered faces. He paid no attention to the others surrounding him as he ducked inside one of the nearby bakeries. Fane felt the shop owner’s eyes on him as he nervously pretended to admire the breads inside the display case, all the while keeping his eye outside. As soon as the Aridian girl had passed, Fane scurried out to the street again. He realized with a start that he was in the worst possible place to be running into people he knew. If Fane were to have any hope of remaining undiscovered, he would need to get somewhere else. Anywhere else, really. He slipped into one of the thin alleys along the street, disappearing into the shade and emerging on the other side. Fane continued walking, hoping he would find the right direction back to the castle soon enough.
Less and less people filled the streets as the light dimmed. The buildings gradually grew older, shorter, and more room between each one as he walked. The cobblestone streets sloped downward, away from the center of the city. Soon, the roar of rushing water reverberated off the walls.
Mists rose and flowed over the cobblestones, creating a thin layer of ice that covered every surface. It was a challenge just to remain upright in his boots of soft leather. He thought back to the sturdy treads on Niamh's boots. She was right. Now he wished he’d listened sooner.
Lights of glass and flame flickered to life in the deepening gloom. The sounds of merry voices faded away, leaving only the rushing water and the faint sounds of tavern noises and the occasional brawl drifting into the street. Fane stopped, taking a look around. The castle, its shining towers of ice, was nowhere in sight. With no small amount of panic growing in his throat as icy as the air around him, Fane tucked his parcels under his arm lamely. A prince never carried his own groceries, much less found himself in the slums of his own city. Then again, this wasn't his city.
Fane realized, with much chagrin, that he was unarmed. However, just as he'd done in the forest, he kept moving, willing his feet to carry him through the labyrinth of city streets.
Fane made his way to the edge of the street, looking over the wooden railing to see the origin of the sounds of water. Three great rivers crisscrossed underneath tall, multi-leveled docks that built on each other. This section of the city seemed to be built on stilts, to make up for the slope of the mountain underneath. Ships of varying sizes sat moored against the current of the rivers, and Fane could see loads being moved from their decks to the great warehouses below. Fane found himself forgetting his earlier panic in the midst of his fascination with Eiran trade.
A shout rose behind him.
He turned in time to see a man in black, masked with only his eyes revealed, sprinting toward him. The man was thumbing a weapon into his hand as he ran.
Fane stepped to the side, letting him speed past him. He soon saw that he wasn't running toward him at all, but instead running away from someone else. Right on his heels, another man gave chase. Hooded and cloaked in a deep moss green, he carried two axes on his back by way of a sturdy leather sheath.
Fane stood still. His instincts told him to ignore them, to keep walking toward the safety of the castle that he couldn’t see. To forget all about it.
He ignored all of these thoughts and ran after them.
The ice-misty air was somehow worse as he ran, it pushed itself deep into his lungs and creeped under his shirt, chilling him to the bone. Though he almost lost the man in the cloak several times, he always found him again by some tug of instinct that drove him. Finally, the man in black was overtaken by his pursuer and they crashed to the ground. Fane stood back, watching them pummel each other, rolling around on the slick cobblestones.
Neither of them noticed his presence.
The cloaked pursuer grasped the man's collar, his large fists nearly the size of his face. He gained the upper hand and sat atop him, pinning his arms to his sides and growling ferally.
Fane could barely hear anything over the roar of the rivers below, but the words "sickness" and "fade" came from the man in black, followed by the wet sound of a punch being landed.
Fane winced despite himself. Rarely ever was he exposed to such raw violence. The nobility of his court preferred to settle matters with early-morning fencing matches, or silent assassinations in the dead of night.
As the cloaked man arose, hauling the unconscious criminal with him, he finally caught sight of Fane standing there staring at him dumbly.
A hiss. "What do you want?"
Fane was taken aback, though he shouldn't have been the least surprised at the tone he took. "Why are you taking that man in? What did he do?"
The man in green was silent for a moment, his eyes glowering from under his hood. "That's none of your concern."
Fane pushed forward, "Are you hunting him? Are there more of him?" He honestly didn't know why he was bothering to ask, considering the demeanor of this vigilante.
Another pause. "Yes. There are more." His voice was flat, and he brushed past Fane, dragging the man behind him.
Fane followed. "And you're hunting them alone?"
Giving an exasperated huff, the man hiked the criminal to his shoulders. "Yes. Now go away."
Fane stopped, watching him walk away, seemingly unaffected by the hulking weight on his back. Fane resumed walking after him, hoping that maybe he would be led to some more reputable parts of town. He followed, silently as possible, from a distance away. When he noticed that the taller man stopped again, he stopped in turn.
"I told you to leave."
Fane stared at him blankly. "I'm trying. But I am also new to this place and I can't seem to find my way back to the castle."
"The castle, huh? No wonder you're so weak and thin looking."
The prince bristled, feeling self-conscious of the parcels tucked under his arm.
"I could tell that you were some preening nobleman from a mile away." The deep voice rumbled with some amusement. Fane chose not to respond, knowing full well when to press and when to withdraw. A skill he learned from years of determining his brother's changing moods.
The taller man remained standing, not looking his way. Until finally, "Continue up this walkway until you get to the kirk in the center of town. From there, you can find your way back."
And with that, the man was gone, running down the darkest alley to his left. Fane took his advice and continued forward, until he reached where he had indicated. Sure enough, the white and blue spires of ice peaked above him, stretching to the stars.
It took him several more minutes of jogging through empty city streets, but he at last came upon the castle gates again.
10
NIAMH HAD BEEN SO SWEPT up in the crowds and trying to keep Maewyn from buying everything at the market, that she realized after several minutes Fane was nowhere to be seen. She'd shrugged it off at the time, but several hours had gone by and he was still missing. She and Maewyn had already made their way home with packages bursting from their arms, and Niamh felt the pinprick of concern at the back of her mind.
Ahealarth isn't that big, she comforted herself, and the castle is clearly visible from most areas of town. He’ll find his way back. Niamh nodded definitively. It wasn't worth worrying about yet. Maewyn had run to her room to put away all of her spoils some time before, so Niamh took advantage of the quiet to clean some of her own things. With the last of her underdresses hung neatly in a row drying by the fireplace, Niamh ventured out of her room with what was left over from the mynt that her master had given her. She didn't have to search long before she found him.
His red hair glowed in the late afternoon light streaming in from the ice dome above the entrance hall. He turned to watch her walk down the main stairway toward him.
"Here's the money that you gave me, master." Niamh dropped the few coins that were left into his waiting hand. "Though I don't know where Fane went."
"He'll turn up, I'm sure." Hael said, not without some measure of irony in his tone.
Just as she was about to leave him alone again, the new queen joined them in the hall.
The Queen Maire, with Maewyn in tow, strolled up to them. Their matching green eyes couldn't have had more different expressions; Maewyn's bright, curious. Maire's blank and unimpressed with anything around her. Now that the wedding was over, Maewyn was wearing more practical everyday clothing, though still revealing her lithe figure. Maire remained ever fashionable, her long gray dress sweeping around her in layers of gossamer. Both master and apprentice bowed.
"I've heard so many great things about the unmatched power of the famous Phoenix Mage." Maire's silky voice drifted from her blood-red lips, her Corseilian accent smooth. "But..." She cast her eyes to Niamh, looking over her nose. "Nothing about his diminutive apprentice."
Niamh straightened, "Oh, that could be because I only just became his apprentice a year ago and-"
"How can you be sure that she's so deserving of the title, master Hael?" The queen continued, talking over Niamh as if she hadn't said anything. Niamh withdrew, giving Hael a pleading look.
"I can guarantee that she is deserving, your majesty. Her power is great, and her skills as a healer even greater." Hael replied, not looking at Niamh.
The corner of the queen's mouth lifted slightly in a smirk. "We shall see about that, won't we?"
It was then that Maewyn piped up, "How about a duel, Niamh?" Her bright eyes sparkled with excitement. “I think it would be much more fun than the ingredients test that you made. No offense intended.”
Niamh highly doubted that. She hesitated, "I don't often duel-"
"You're saying you're not powerful enough, then?" Maire interjected, gazing at her fingernails absentmindedly.
Niamh's eyes flitted to Hael briefly, looking to her master for some form of support. He offered none. Instead, nodding slightly and petting his red beard. “This would be a better substitute for the entrance trial.” He mused. “It would be over much more quickly.”
Maewyn offered a hand, "Come on. It will be fun." She offered, smiling sweetly.
You and I have a very different idea of fun. She thought, but finally conceded, taking Maewyn's gloved hand in her own. She noticed, however, that there was no embroidery of magical threads sewn into it. "Alright. I accept."
She caught a glimpse of Hael's smirk, a silent challenge between the Head Magician and the queen.
A short time later, the two women took their places across from one another. The reflective walls of the space Hael had made for such a purpose cast the light of the floating lanterns in the air, creating a swirling pattern of color across the floor. Niamh finished braiding her hair into a crown around her head, and laced her boots tighter. Their overcoats hung neatly by the entrance, and any extra outerwear was discarded. They both kept their gloves. Maewyn looked confident, unruffled. She paced slowly, fixing Niamh with focus in her green eyes. Niamh held her gaze, refusing to show any sign of intimidation.
Maewyn had flown through the initial stages of Hael’s entrance trials. What had taken Niamh two or three weeks had only taken Maewyn two or three days. Niamh hadn't seen Maewyn use magic at all in that time for herself, and from the looks of her bare gloves, she had no idea how Maewyn was even able to wield it at all.
“Mages.” Hael began, his voice filling the space and reverberating off the walls. “Take your positions.”
Niamh slid her feet into a defensive stance, setting herself as tall as she could. Maewyn bent at the waist, her hands becoming clawed.
A pause.
“Begin.”
Before Niamh could react, Maewyn used those clawed hands to send a stream of fire toward her, bringing the scent of peaches and ocean breezes with it. The effect was quite disconcerting. Niamh jumped out of the way, throwing up a shield of water in the process. The fire dissolved into a thick steam. How is she able to use fire magic? Niamh thought indignantly. There were no red threads anywhere on Maewyn’s clothing. Channeling her raw magic through the blue threads in her gloves, Niamh kept the wall of water up for the next attack. Maewyn’s fire was blue and hotter than ever. Where on earth was Maewyn getting these types of magic? Niamh hadn’t even learned how to make blue fire yet. It crackled and sizzled over the surface of the shield, but she remained upright.
Niamh allowed the water she held to crash down again, surrounding Maewyn in a tight stream, holding her arms in place. The room was filled with the scent of rosemary and nutmeg. Maewyn’s responding glare didn't sway her as she dug in tighter.
The water split apart with a crack as Maewyn sent a bolt of magic shocking up Niamh’s arms. She cried out, and backed up toward the wall, pooling her magic in her gloves for another defensive maneuver.
Maewyn’s white hair flowed outward as she gathered her power, bringing more fire to her fingertips. Wherever she was hiding those threads, Niamh guessed that she only had fire. Though, to make it as hot as it was, she must have possessed a huge well of magic. The only way to test this was to keep pushing her opponent. Before Maewyn could attack again, Niamh channeled her magic through her rarely-used air thread, wrapping Maewyn’s hands in a suffocating ball of swirling wind. The fire died, inciting another dirty look from its owner.
Hael stood near the door, his hand on his chin and a shield of his magic surrounding him. It neither shivered nor waivered at the impact of every ripple of magic that came against it.
Maewyn, frustration growing on her face, tried again, her magic flying from her arms like birds of heat and flame. Niamh responded with her own wall of fire, absorbing them on impact.
It continued like that for several minutes, Niamh wordlessly responding to each of Maewyn’s attacks with a shield or defense or incapacitation. When Maewyn attacked with fire Niamh met her with water. Niamh countering every attack that came her way eventually led to Maewyn’s cries of annoyance and frustration.
They stood apart, Maewyn panting and beginning to sweat, while Niamh stood as serenely as possible. She would not give her the satisfaction. Maewyn glowered at her, Niamh watching as thoughts went through her mind one by one. She took a moment to collect herself, straightening. Niamh waited.
Neither of them spoke a word, both women growing still. Without warning, Maewyn rallied her magic and threw more daggers of fire toward Niamh. Niamh threw up a shield of water, again, but not until seeing that Maewyn immediately followed up with a mixture of fire, white hot and blazing. Niamh panicked inwardly, dropping her water and shifting to a wall of fire, but Maewyn’s magic was too much for Niamh’s to contain. The resulting inferno sent her slamming into the wall behind. Hael waved his hand out of the corner of her eye, and all the fire dissipated.
Alright. That’s it! Niamh stood, her patience at an end, stalking toward Maewyn with a look in her eyes the younger mage hadn't seen before. Maewyn was briefly alarmed as Niamh touched her first two fingers to her opponent’s forehead.
Any defense Maewyn had stirring in her hands fell to the ground and her body became rigid, her eyes staring straight ahead.
