Steelfated, page 55
“It-ah-it’s not-” Morgain swallowed, suddenly sure that she had never seen her mother so angry in her entire life. Her father’s temper was legendary if rare- while Lachlan’s was swift, frequent, and sudden, though it seldom lasted long, much like her own. Terrence and Ailla were much more prone to a slow, simmering anger. Elaine had always been the calmest one of the whole family. She had heard whispers from Gemma, though, that Elaine had hidden the steel at her core that almost never showed. Morgain drew a deep breath- that steel was showing now, and it was the sharp edge of a knife, not the steel rod she had expected.
“Well, girl?” Morgain could feel Radyn’s mild amusement through the bond. She didn’t think he could hear her mother’s hissed scolding, but he could certainly feel her own chagrin, and she clamped down on it. She stood taller, looking down at her mother, her own voice taking on a hardened edge.
“I ordered Gael not to tell father. We told him what we could, that it was not what it looked like, but he-” Elaine hissed sharply and growled slightly.
“Morgain, Gael’s solution to not shirking his duties as he sees them aside, I can see it in your eyes, the way you look at him, in the way you walk. You’ve been with him.” Morgain flushed suddenly, feeling like a child reaching for a sweet before dinner. She took a moment and straightened.
“Yes. I have. I’m dead- and so is he. What does it matter? I can count on one hand the number of women noble or not who have made it to their marriage bed… inexperienced… it’s not even expected in the Highlands. We aren’t some Chelsian aristocracy where virginity matters. And among the dead??? Not a single person who has been at Ironlake for more than a month remains so. And there is… Gael is… I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t tell him not to tell you where I was, but I assumed. What do you know, mother?”
“Nothing. Or next to nothing. Terrence told your father and I that you were out of Ironlake on orders from Jarred Harrolt himself, to research the Mistbourne. Your father was pleased by the idea, though he didn’t show it to anyone but me. Wherever you were, you were safe from the Mistbourne- you could continue your studying, and the time you served there still counted towards your decade.” Elaine said. “No one at all knew where Radyn Halstraad was until Gael’s letter. There have been reports he went south and had not returned. Obviously, those reports were false.”
“There was… an accident at Ironlake.” Morgain said after a moment. “Of a magical nature. I’m still not sure what happened. I was… Radyn, and I were at the core. We were… entangled… our threads in the tapestry tied in knots. Mother, we sought the Mistthorn circle first, and they couldn’t help. That only left the Academy at Kyrios, who would have used us for political fodder and spread our presence there across the face of Saerin, and the Fey Court, who could help. Long story short, Radyn and I are bound as Gwefri yn caomhnoir now.” Morgain said, smiling at her. Elaine looked confused at that, but her eyes narrowed again.
“He is your what now? I’m not familiar with that term.” she said after a moment.
“Gwefri yn caomnhoir. It’s something like the bond that Gifted Mages have with their Diathan wardens.” She said. “But different. It’s something that used to be relatively common among highlanders, but it’s a lot of work, and with the Mistbourne- it’s fallen out of fashion. Basically, we are tied together by magic. I’m the magical shield to protect him from magical threats, whilst he is the steel to protect me from physical ones.” Morgain said. Elaine nodded, perking up a bit as she grasped the concept, at least. She was familiar with how Diathan and Gifted mages worked.
“It was the only safe way to untangle us. Mother for over two months I was stuck, unable to go over fifty feet from the man. Yes, Gael saw us in Bhen Rhil, but we had not completed the bond yet we had orders… to follow there. I was… forced to go along, in part because of the tangle, in part because we had to uphold our bargain. Radyn could have done it on his own, perhaps, but not tangled to me the way we were. At least I didn’t have to go to Xandria with him two days after the equinox. That was on orders from the Lord Captain, though whatever it was couldn’t have had him busy for that long, he was back the night following his departure, and that was practically as soon as the brooches we were given to travel too and from the Fey court would let him travel back.” Elaine grimaced at that and gave Radyn a look that bordered on distaste.
“I know of only one set of orders that could have had him down there.” she said. “Those were… I’m glad you weren’t involved in… that is not something anyone should be involved in.” Elaine shook her head and sighed, which choked off with a cough a moment later. Morgain reached out and put her hand on her Mother’s shoulder. Elaine gave a weak smile and patted it.
“It’s good to see you, girl. Now that I am done scolding you, send that young man over here. I have words for him as well.” She said, far too sweetly. Morgain caught a faint twinkle of amusement in her mother’s eyes, despite the overly saccharine words, and gave her a warm hug.
Morgain went into the shop and motioned to him.
“Your presence has been requested by the lady, 904.”
His eyebrow twitched more openly than she had seen it do before, but he said nothing. He exited the building, going to stand in front of Elaine at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back. Elaine grabbed him by the arm and pulled him around the corner into the alley, much as she had Morgain.
Ten minutes later Elaine exited the alley, carrying the few things that she had dropped, and gave Morgain a small sly smile and a wink.
Radyn waited a moment, then stepped around the corner, arms folded, his face unreadable.
“She ripped your head off as well?” Morgain asked. Radyn shrugged slightly.
“No, though I doubt I fared much better than you did. The dragon is the sigil of your father’s house- but it suits your mother well. She’s certainly… fiery… enough when she feels the need.” Morgain snorted and fell into step beside him- heading towards the Halstraad quarter.
(32nd Night’s Grace, 675 3rd Era, by the Reckoning of Reysh’ar’ak, the Monitor of Times passing in Talys Rae)
The walls of Ironlake glowered down at her in the midmorning’s light.
As a group, Battalion five, or what was left of it, trotted through the gates when they swung open with the shriek of iron on iron.
The Battalion had close to the same number of people in it it had when she left, but a few key faces were gone.
Retz had been killed somewhere outside of Ironlake’s walls. They had only found an arm and his weapons. Marten had drunk himself into a stupor, and not woken up. It looked like half of unit ten was filled with faces she didn’t recognize. Isabien was now missing her right eye, that side of her face split by a vicious looking scar, still pink and puckered, with scabs near the edges. Olgraf appeared to be unharmed, and Fíthel was missing his right hand, though it didn’t really seem to bother him too much. Gandry Silversford had gone back to the Long City of his own volition. Such was his right, and no one could stop him from doing so.
It had apparently been a rough few months for the Steelfated, and the last week and a half, since her Bonding had been the worst in years.
There were also some rumors going around Ironlake about a group of the high nobility vanishing. Apparently, no one had seen Prince Edric, Elisia, any of the Halstraad siblings, Princess Mirelle, Lachlan, Felsi or Ruari Karthwyn, Hanlea Brinewood, or Robert Tarethman in more than a month. No one seemed overly nonplussed by this, including Radyn himself, but Morgain found it an odd coincidence. The timing, at least, might have explained why her father’s barge was on the Shimmerrill that day. If they’d taken a ship and sailed North, there was no telling where they might be.
There were also faint rumblings of problems far to the north near the Xandrian and Vallenhomian border, but those were mere curiosities to the Steelfated.
She and Radyn had to report to the Lord Captain and the Captain’s general before they could return to the barracks, but it was just a request for a summary of what they’d done with their time there. Radyn presented the book, and through the bond, she felt a slight tinge of apology, almost. Why would he feel sorry about turning the book over?
It occurred to her a few moments later that he likely thought he was going to get sent to Caldor, to the Dyn’nyr’filyn family, to find out more about the truth of the matter. Was his grandmother truly involved in the Fall? They’d have to give him that information, where they could turn practically anyone else away. She sent a soothing feeling of comfort and peace to him through the bond, and his apology seemed to fade. If they were to continue with their relationship, time apart would be unavoidable, at least whilst they were “dead” and orders were orders.
They released her to go back to the barracks, but kept him behind for further questions about something only the Mistwalkers were to know about.
It was good to be back, even if she had missed so much. Morgain was momentarily surprised by that realization- that she thought it was good to be back, but after a brief reflection on it, she realized she had formed bonds with these people. The bonds of blood spilled that were as tight and irrefutable as those of blood shared.
She smiled as she pushed open the doors to the barracks.
“Ye give that back, ye purple-titted shite weasel!” An angry shout washed over her as she entered the area beneath the sound shield. Fithel and Natalia were at it again.
“Purple-titted shite weasel? Ye’d best be coming up with better insults than that. Anyone who’s been to the baths can tell ye that none of me is purple!”
Her smile broadened.
Being dead was not nearly as bad as she had expected it to be.
44
Epilogue: Arbregard
(19th Storms Fall 690 3rd Era, by the Reckoning of Reysh’ar’ak, the Monitor of Times passing in Talys Rae)
The bard paused in his tale, reaching for the mug of mulled cider that had been placed on the table beside him some time ago. When it had been set there, it had been steaming- the steam had gone away, but it was likely still warm.
“But now, it is getting late.” the bard said. The twins groaned and looked at Caoimhe.
“It is getting late.” Caoimhe said to her children.
“I’ll continue the tale tomorrow evening.” The bard promised. “That was only the beginning. To tell it properly it will take a few more nights at least.” he flashed that brilliant grin around the room, then looked back at Caoimhe with that faintly familiar smirk on his face. “I am sure that your children will not let you miss the rest of the tale, ma’am.” he said slyly. Caitriona turned to her mother, who was holding the bard’s gaze, her face unreadable.
“Of course we will. I-” She trailed off, then her smile widened slightly, then her grin stretched wider, and turned almost sly. Caitriona tilted her head slightly, almost in confusion.
The door to the Marisol swung open, and a blast of cold air came through. Caitriona’s grin widened, and she knew before she looked what she would see. She wasn’t sure how it was that knew, but it sometimes seemed as if her mother knew her father was nearby without ever being able to see him. She turned her head nonetheless, along with most of the rest of the room, to see her elder brother- her half brother- Haldyn, who was sixteen, walked in the door, brushing snowflakes from his coat, followed by her father.
Gael looked around the room, and his eyebrow arced sharply when he saw the bard, then he turned to Caoimhe and smiled. He walked over to her and scooted Caitriona down.
“We have a bard at the Marisol tonight?” He said warmly as he sat. “I hope I didn’t interrupt his tale. Forgive me, master bard, if our arrival interrupted the flow of your story.”
“No, need my good man. I was at a good place to stop for the evening. It seems your children seconded a request for the Tale of the Raptor and the Dragon. I was just finished with the beginning- leaving off with Lord Captain Jarred Harrolt’s true death.” he said smiling. He looked thoughtfully at Gael for a moment. “That scar on your face, my good man, is rather prominent. How did a simple Farisian woodcutter end up with a scar like that- did you fight in the war?” the bard asked. Gael’s face went flat and emotionless.
“There are other ways to get scars- bard, but yes. I fought in a battle or two. I was younger, then, and-” Don and Ed turned to their father excitedly and started babbling almost incoherently in their excitement. Their voices cut off abruptly as Gael cuffed them both lightly on the side of the head. The movement was startlingly quick, so quick that she didn’t really see him move. Her brother’s surprised yelps were the only evidence of the move, and he had done it without looking. Caitriona had always wondered about her father’s ability to move like that. It didn’t make sense that a woodcutter should be able to move the way he did. Nor did it make sense to her that a simple woodcutter should be able to so completely disappear into his surroundings, or to draw every eye in the room, at his choice, to him. As if he knew she was looking at him and thinking such things, Gael’s eyes flicked to her and he gave a wink, and one corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
“You can hear my stories later. It’s not often we get a bard here. Let him tell his tales.” The bard nodded appreciatively and his lips curled in that familiar looking smirk again. “Please, continue master-ah I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name?”
“Please call me Chulainn. I am but a humble bard from the cold, harsh southlands.” Gael nodded slowly. “But I was finished for the evening. It’s getting late, and I would not want to keep the good people of Arbregard from finishing their day-to-day tasks tomorrow. I will resume tomorrow after dinner. I hear that the Good-lady Rosa’s stew is fabulous, and she told me that she was putting on an extra two pots of it to be ready on the morrow for the tale- so come one, come all to the Marisol Inn tomorrow night for dinner and the continuation of my tale!”
About the Author
A West Virginia native(no, NOT from near Richmond) he has been held in the grips of one of the most bizarre curses imaginable since his birth in late 1993. He has an incredible amount of good luck- coupled with incredibly bad timing. But, since even a broken clock is right twice a day, occasionally, the timing and luck line up. He is married to his best friend Hollie, whom shares his desire to never have to move again, he numbers among the relatively small portion of younger millenials who have been lucky enough to have purchased a house and a bit of land prior to all of the current state of stupidity that the world has fallen into, however due to the somewhat unorthodox nature of this accrual did not qualify for any of the mortgage relief programs offered at the beginning of the pandemic.(See, exceptionally good luck coupled with extremely Bad timing.) This house and land are shared by numerous old cars(Sorry, Hollie) Three dogs, two cats, two of the neighbor’s dogs who just hang out there all the time, and at some point in the not to distant future, (perhaps even next Sunday AD) a couple of pigs, and some chickens.
He is an an avid reader, who has entirely too many projects going on at any given time to effectively complete any of them- and for his day job is an upper mid-level manager(or perhaps lower-upper level manager) in the retail business. So in short-please buy this book, and any subsequent ones, and If you don’t enjoy the book, please don’t tell him not to quit his day job.
T.A. Spencer, Steelfated
