Fantasy - Wildfire - [CLOSED]

[pointmango]

Her words were difficult, how could he feel sorrow for her? Not so long ago he felt a force within himself to crush her, to defy her, even to run from her. Now he only found intrigue trying to speculate what lay behind that look of loneliness and desolation. There were a strong number of reasons why he should shrink away from her, getting into the routine of friendship would only make it so. Yet he wanted to apologize for all his wrong-doings. His opinions prior had merely been poressional, he did not know what he knew now.

Kyel’s eyes stayed on her carefully. Tall, calm and statuesque, his fingers reached for the cup which she offered, grateful for the warmth a simple sip provided in his chest. He divined something of what was in the girl's mind, her magic reinforced a certain anxiety already present in him. He wondered if she could tell his internal colloquy was not soothing. And here she was before him, opening herself to him, confessing her wish for trust which Kyel could barely place in Cadmus or Islea at times. And he wanted to. He told himself it was the moonlight, and the robe, no man could see this exquisite creature without feeling it possible to fall in love with her. And yet, all the fervor of his being was paired on the side of precaution.

No, he looked down into the cup, pressing his broad shoulders back and taking another long sip. He felt himself tragic, and his subconscious wanted to drag another with him to cry out against the gods. Merely a quick thought of the moment, nothing more and he was strong set against imitating it.

“Well then we shall work until I do not fear you.” He said more firmly now. He’d made up his mind, he would work with her until he wasn’t afraid. “And in work I hope you will find yourself as my equal, and not a weapon,” he added, this motion would not be just for his own sake. He whirled the liquid in the cup, he looked down at it’s contents, almost gone, “I will also work on my… warmth.” He said knowing that might be the hardest task of all the three.

 

[peritwinkle]

A subtle smile popped in the corner of Kaira’s lips at his resolve. She watched him nervously stir the contents of the cup, his eyes averted from her in either shame or defeat. It felt good being above someone - especially a man as strong and massive as he was - and feeling like with the mere snap of a finger she could stir a terror within him that he had never felt before, yet a part of her also wished for him to trust her, to see her as a partner and not a looming storm.

She indolently broke away from the bed pole and took a slow step towards him, bringing her hands behind her back. She let the silk of her dress wave as she moved and canted her head as if to analyse him. “I am sure you have plenty of warmth within you,” she whispered. “Deep inside, behind that thick armour of gallantry and anger that you so bravely shine before everyone. And I might not see it, but I did see the reflection of it in Elisif’s eyes this morning, and in Beor’s too as he looked at you the day of the council. You are not all you want me to believe you are.”

Her finger came to touch the rim of the cup and she gently pushed it down just enough so she could get closer to his lips. She could feel his heated breath against her skin and smell the scent of soap and cotton in his damp hair. “Vulnerability is not a weakness. You can always raise you sword back up if you feel threatened. You don’t despise me as much as you wish you did.” She narrowed her eyes, locking them on his. “You held my sword because you like the danger. You came in here, alone, unarmed, for the same reason. I could break your neck with so much as a blink. You know I wouldn’t, but you like the taste of bravery on your tongue imagining that I still could.”

It was what all men craved - to feel brave. Strong. Impenetrable. Her smile softened and she pushed away, letting out a soft sigh. “Sweet dreams, Lord Skovgaard,” she said. “Try not to lock the door behind you while you sleep, will you? I don’t particularly feel like biting tonight.”

 

[pointmango]

Her hands bound behind her as his eyes willed themselves to stay on her face. He could not help but to glance below at the loose garment draped over her feminine figure. And her whisper sent a chill down the center of his spine, wishing now to hear those lips whisper something else. Pushing the cup down she moved even closer to him, his eyes looking over hers, narrowing slightly, it was a game, it had to be. And then the words came which caused his jaw to clench; /// You don’t despise me as much as you wish you did./// she could see through him.

Perhaps she was right, the harsh beating within his chest wasn’t from her beauty or words at all. It was from the immense power within her fingertips. Still, he didn’t feel that bravery explained his desire to be closer to her. She pushed away and his expression remained hard, watching her every move. Maybe watching her because he thought there would be no chance he would see her like this again. “Goodnight, Miss Grimward,” he said in a tight tone, finally willing himself to move from her presence.

Kyel left her chambers filtering to his own. He felt oddly shaken with anger, but within his chest too, like his heart had crushed. Dressing for bed he locked himself within his chamber constantly reminding himself she was in no conspiracy against him. Perhaps tomorrow he would have to persuade her to work with him. Maybe she found a mistake in his intentions, would he have to explain? No, he had to think of the future, for himself and for the land. He would befriend the Volur as an ally and nothing more. He would put any nonsensical feelings aside and never speak of them.

*

“Do you think often of life and death?” Jonathan pressed Kyel and Cadmus as the three of them sat over dried eggs and jerky.

Kyel’s morning brain only allowed for a grunt to pass through his lips as he bit from the jerky, he probably thought of Jon’s death more than his life if that’s what the young Lord was asking. He wondered when they would send him back to his home.

“Fascinating really, life shows us the trees along the King’s road. Wakes us in the morning. The birds sing and the dew is white and cold. But when you think of death, and all the people we will reunite with once it has come, don’t you think it makes life seem lonely?” Jon mused.

“I do not know how you could ever feel lonely in a mind as active as your own, Pelleitier,” Kyel grumbled, his own mind was active that morning, although his thoughts pressed solely on the Volur.

 

[peritwinkle]

Elisif’s steps echoed against the castle walls as she neared the dining hall. Two servants parted the doors before her and she nearly stormed in, bold waves rippling behind her and her slender legs swiftly pushing through the thick green velvet of her dress. A mellow smile was plastered on her face, one which, thankfully, had not taken her too much effort to fabricate that morning. She held an envelope between her slim fingers and elegantly waved it in the air before placing it on the table between the three men.

“Good morning, my Lords,” she chimed as a servant pushed a chair back and she claimed the seat. “Forgive me for being late this morning, I happened to get a letter.” She held her breath for a moment, pursing her lips. “Sans the curse this time. From House Pyke in Whitevale.” A large cup of tea appeared on the table before her and she did not hesitate before taking a sip, eyeing them from behind the golden rim.

Something was missing. Two things, in fact, but Elisif was more interested in one of them than the other. “Is Dame Islea not joining us for breakfast this morning?” she asked inconspicuously. Truly, she wished to know why the Volur always seemed to be missing, and whether it had anything to do with the brooding expression on Kyel’s face when she had entered the hall a few moments earlier. “I do not mind, she must not worry. We will be holding a council after noon, regardless.”

With delicate movements, Elisif opened the envelope, unwrapped the letter and pushed it in the middle of the table. Lord Pyke’s handwriting was unmistakable, framed with silver flourishings at the corner of the page, similar to the ones on their banner. Despite their settlement closer to the border with the North, the Pykes adhered to classic elegance perhaps more than any other House in Wendlyn, and it was no secret that both the Lord and Lady had a preference for refinement. “They… expressed their sorrow for the death of my husband. I believe this is how they decided I needed their help. Or, perhaps they realised the same thing might happen to them if they keep sitting so peacefully in the comfort of their homes.”

The jab was harsh, but Elisif despised feeling weak. Even after Kaelan’s death, and as a pregnant woman, she did not regard herself as a jewel in need of protection. Still, she was in no position to deny help, and they would likely be all too happy to join their forces with Greenwall and the North. Especially if there was land and wealth in the talk.

“It is good news. Whitevale has good soldiers and builders. We only have one problem,” she said, as she crossed her arms on the table. “They are perhaps more opinionated against Volurs than your kind, Lord Skovgaard, and we happen to be relying on one at this very moment.”

*​

“Hit!” Tokesten shouted from the other side of the enclosure.

Kaira growled and propelled herself towards him. Their swords clashed with a loud clink and she lost her balance for a brief moment, slipping in the mud, before regaining it with her right foot. She was thankful for the soles of her boots that day; the rain was not kind when it came to sparring.

“Weak blow,” the man shook his head. Kaira let out a deep breath and flicked the rain off of her hands. Tokesten came towards her with his sword raised, but as he neared her, he lowered it towards her gut. Kaira shot back, then proceeded to bombard her with three hits of her own, which the man barely parried. “Good! Use your anger! Good!”

“Oh, you don’t want me to use my anger,” she boomed at him. Tokesten smiled and gestured for her to come again.

When she finally did, everything happened in a blur: her first blow was aimed at his neck. He parried it easily, supporting his blade with both hands, but took too long before he could shield himself from the next one. The blade sliced through his leather coat - not sharp enough to graze his skin - and she charged a second time in a circle above her head, ready to strike him from the left. He parried before she used the momentum of the charge to spin and land behind him, then clobbered him right behind his knee, sending him into the mud. She lifted her sword to deliver the final blow, but Tokesten shifted and grabbed her by the wrist and shook the weapon out of it. She smashed her boot into his leg again to break his grip, but it only caused her to fall down into the ground with him.

“No fucking way you win again,” Kaira growled, and as the man reached for his sword, a gush of wind thrusted him a few meters back. It gave her enough time to grab hers and dig its tip into his leather breastplate, pinning him to the ground. The man took the loss with a weak smile and he wiped the sweat and mud from his temple before releasing himself from under her hold.

“Hell,” he panted, bending to catch his breath. “I don’t want to know what got you so riled up. When I said to use your anger, I did not thi-”

“I won,” Kaira breathed heavily and dropped her sparring sword. Her hair was dripping wet and matted with mud. “Just shut up… Please.”

 

[pointmango]

The groups attention was arrested by Lady Vannbrek as she entered the dining chambers. Another letter in her hand which visibly caused Kyel to tense. Her joke was whisked by the contents of the letter. House Pyke? What could they want? “Dame Islea eats breakfast alone when she studies,” Jon answered Elisif’s question almost automatically. Kyel could not blame the young man's clear infatuation. But his lack of tact on the matter obliged him to incur the nuisance of speaking too much. Kyel glanced to the letter in the center of the table, he never understood the flamboyant handwriting style of the West. Of course, Kyel thought the Pyke’s the most flamboyant of them all.

Kyle pursed his lips as he pulled the letter closer to him, reading it himself. It was not simply to offer their condolences, it was an invitation. Excellent, more traveling. Kyle had been to Whitevale countless times. Probably the most out of any location in the West. His father and Lord Pyke had an excellent friendship. Pyke still commented the North was too rough, but the pair did enjoy bonding over their hate of magic.

“If we praise him correctly I’m sure Lord Pyke will find it within himself to accept the help of a Volur.” Kyle noted quietly. Despite the invitation they would have to make it appear as they were asking Pyke for help.

*

After breakfast Kyel was escorting Lady Vannbrek on a walk. It was at his request, he felt when his body was moving his mind worked better. Her arm rested gently with his, and he thought of the days to come. “I know Whitevale is far closer than Greenwall, but should you really be traveling?” He asked her, although a light smile did toy at his lips as he glanced down to her belly.

“I remember the first Pyke party we attended,” he muttered moving down the hall with her. “I think it was the first time I was ever grateful to have been forced to learn to dance as a child.” He said thinking back on the frustrating memories. “You were impressed by it, my dancing, I could tell,” he nearly smirked now.

Their feet carried them down the corridor to a hall that had a long window looking to a yard. Kyel recognized her almost instantly, and he stopped them to watch. First he glanced to Elisif, wondering how she felt about the Volur in question. But Kyel's eyes quickly became distracted watching her lithe body move with her weapon. Her hair, her body was completely drenched from the rain, and mud clung against her clothes, face and hair too. Her blows were skilled even against this trained man. The fight was relatively fair, that was, until a large blow of wind pushed the man backward.

Something began to burn within him as he watched the two speak to one another while sparring. Perhaps it was his own need to pull his own sword and fight. Itching for his fingers to draw against her and prove he was not afraid. Perhaps it was the way the man was looking at her, or the determination in Kaira’s as she looked back. Such friendships like that easily became tender, and his need to protect the Volur from strong advancing wings was uncalled for. Why did she elicit such anxiety from him? It seemed only in her presence his mind held such erratic thoughts. “Who is that?” Kyel asked Elisif, unaware how sharp his tone was.

*

Jon's eyes darted around the ceiling as he sat at a large wooden table with Cadmus. He was supposed to be writing a letter to his brother telling him about his travels to Whitevale. Lord Pyke had a daughter, and there was always discussion of Jon’s future betrothal to many a Lord’s daughters within the West. He knew his potential marriage would alway be to benefit Riftmere, but he must pay respects accordingly upon a visit. He never struggled with romancing a woman, but there was something about the expectation that made it difficult. He far preferred the women in the villages surrounding Greenwall. They always perpetrated interest towards him, listened about his adventures, and insisted on accompanying him on some as well.

“Ser Beor?” Jon asked, pushing the bottle of ink before him with the quill. He pushed it left and right, over and over again in a small two inch distance. “Have you ever formally courted a woman?” He asked.

Jonathan knew very little about the oldest of his three mentors. He knew little of their personal endeavors, and thus nothing about their romantic endeavors. He’d have to ask similar questions to Bastain and Islea. A story of Islea being courted would be quite humorous, and Bastain carries himself as though he pulled many women in his time. Or could have anyway. But Jonathan was truly clueless when it came to the old Knight. “I suppose informally if not the other?” He added with a small smile, hoping the old man would bite. Out of the three of them, Beor answered his questions the least.

 

[peritwinkle]

Despite walking beside Kyel, Elisif could not help but think of the letter from the Lord of Whitevale. She knew all too well how the Pykes relebrated even the smallest of victories, and given the man’s birthday was approaching, she expected nothing less than an extravagant feast to encapsulate both the event and their future alliance. The thought of dancing, drinking and celebrating after Kaelan’s death sickened her, but she did not wish for it to go fade into history unavenged. If she played her role well and attracted Whitevale to their cause, they had a much greater chance of sending Alastair into the ground.

She forced a faint smile on her face as he mentioned the dancing. She did miss it - that was no secret - but it pained her to think of a time when she felt so happy, so powerful, courted by one man and loved by two. Lord Skovgaard’s charm had not faded, even after so many years apart. “I was young, and truly enamored by you,” Elisif nodded. “It feels so… simple to admit it now. Everything you did, even the way you looked at me, it just made my heart flutter.” She remembered feeling so torn when Kaelan’s touch did the very same. “But in regards to your dancing… I do believe love is blind, my Lord,” she poked his hand.

He was a good dancer. One of the best she had seen, in spite of his size and build. Even as she leaned against his arm then, she could feel tenderness of his hold. It was unusual for soldiers - warriors - to dabble in dancing and courtesy, particularly with a genuine respect behind such actions, but Kyel had been brought up by good, matronly people, who cherished tradition and duty.

His slowness in movement and the tension in his muscles urged Elisif to lift her eyes from the ground and direct them out the window, towards the courtyard. She saw two dark shadows bending and twirling in the mud, both holding two glistening blades only salvaged by the pouring rain. She recognized Tokesten’s stance, waiting for a strike from the Volur, who almost seemed to be fighting a real battle out there. A smirk popped on her lips at Kyel’s tone, this time almost slipping a chuckle. “That is Ser Tokesten,” she answered sweetly. “He was my husband’s sparring partner. He trains new squires around the court. He is a good man, very patient. An exquisite huntsman as well, he hunted the boar we will be enjoying for dinner tonight. He must have seen Miss Grimward training alone and decided to hop in. He’s always had a bit of a calling for danger.”

And she was a danger indeed. Elisif watched her movements attentively - she was sharp, dominant, but predictable. Yet, she seemed to know how to make up for it with her gift. “She looks like she might even get you on your knees too,” she raised her brows. “Ser Tokesten looks like he is in a great deal of pain.”

*​

“I think that’s enough for today,” Tokesten panted as he shook some of the mud from his trousers. “It’s pouring, this is not any good for a fight.”

“You say that like it could not possibly rain during a real battle,” Kaira sighed, removing her leather armor. It was far too cold for merely a coat, but she was intending on taking a long, hot bath as soon as she set foot inside the castle.

The man lifted his brows and nodded in agreement. He stopped for a moment, looking her up and down, and straightened his shoulders with a slight smirk. “I didn’t know they actually trained you to fight in Yllevad,” he said. “I’ve always lived with the impression that they were merely relying on your… sorcery… hoodoo thing,” he wobbled his fingers jokingly.

Kaira exhaled sharply as she began walking away from the training rink. “If magic were that almighty, there would be no point in battles with soldiers at all.” She glanced towards him once in a silent gesture of gratitude before heading towards the castle. The rain had seeped down through her clothes and to her skin already, sending chills down her spine with every gush of wind. She hoped she had not been missed too greatly at breakfast; she had not intention of stepping out of that bath anytime soon.

*​

For perhaps the hundredth time that week, Beor looked down at Jonathan as if he was a baby asking if he could trade his wooden sword for a real one. He raised his brows, leaning back in his chair with a loud exhalation. “Boy, do I have to teach you how to talk to a woman without taking your prick out?” He knew all too well that was all that the Greenwall village girls were all about, but when it came to a lady of the court, he could not think of a greater insult than letting Jonathan speak.

The old man tapped his fingers against the table, rubbing his chin. “I have, like any other man,” he admitted. “But I thought I could never curse a poor woman with the life of waiting for her husband to come back from war alive. I did love woman, as any man would… Good women. Smart and… spirited. Yet when it comes to charming a Lady - which is what you should be preoccupied with at your age now - it is much different.”

The fact that the Pykes had two unmarried daughters was not a secret, but only one of them was old enough to be sent off to her Lord, and Cadmus knew all too well that they would never accept a marriage for love. They sought fortune and titles more than happiness, and they regarded love as something that came with time, but was not particularly necessary. It was the other reason he, himself, had not taken a wife - one could not love from a great distance or from the depths of the grave.

“For you… I would say, pretend you are your older brother for a day,” he said. “That should do the trick for any decent woman, and then pray she does not leave running when you start babbling about your stories to her like you do.”

 

[pointmango]

He is a good man. A patient man, too. A Knight as well. The anger flared within his chest all over again now as this man was quite attainable to Kaira in her freedom now. One who called for danger as well. Seemed like a man who could handle her stubborn flare. He could not shake the frustration he felt that if love won her consent to marry a man, she might be happy with this one. His thoughts were quick, insane and jaded, and yet he couldn’t help but decide Ser Tokestens' limbs seemed more breakable than other peoples to him.

He had to stop troubling himself with these foolish and endless probabilities regarding the Volur. He found himself going inwardly through the scene of last night, the first discovery of any inclination towards her, even if just lustful. How could he create a personal feeling of warmth for her? He could come to no result, but that the position in itself was peculiar. Why did he wish to save an unhappy Volur from drowning herself? To discover her so rare a creature, one so exceptional which will bring exceptional consequences as well.

Kyel turned his attention to her upon her remark of him on his knees. He saw the look on her face, he knew it well. He pushed a smile to his lips despite the instant rush of annoyance from the comment initially. “If anyone could disarm a Volur, it would be a Northern swordsman,” he countered playfully. “I have yet to learn how to deflect the magic though.”

His eyes followed her as she moved inside, and Kyel began to lead Elisif away again, leaving one last look for the rain beyond the silver clasps of the window. He kept their walk leisurely, “Well I will be saving a dance for you, and if your feet will allow it, more.” He told her with a grin. “We all will have to make quite a few dances,” He mused. He would have to offer his hand to Lady Pyke. And Lord Pyke would offer his hand to Elisif. “I will see you at the council meeting this afternoon,” Kyel told her, he wanted to catch Kaira before the baths, knowing that’s exactly where she would be headed. Kyel bowed his head slightly, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, “Until then, Lady Vannbrek,” he spoke sweetly.

*

Kyel picked up his speed as he walked towards the bath hall, he saw her approaching the door and he jogged, “Kaira!” he called. He slowed himself as he came towards the end of the hall. Up close she was damp, and her clothes hung tightly against her hips, his eyes darting downward.

“Miss Grimward,” he said nodding his head to her, realizing calling her name before was informal. “I caught the end of your sparring session.” He said, in her state he figured it might have been better if she got out of those wet clothes, he opened the door for her to the hot bath. “You could do with a few new tricks, your style is predictable. I would have thought the Royal Volur in training would have received better training than a common soldier.” A smile toyed at the corner of his lips.

“Council meeting this afternoon,” he spoke on a more serious note. The steam in the room caused him to sweat some. Had he been planning to walk through the baths he would have worn something lighter. “We’ve been invited to a feast,” He said, “House Pyke, in Whitevale. Only half a day's ride from here. They are very extravagant, and your presence was specially requested. Lord Pyke has intense distaste for magic. More than some others you might know had.”

*

Jon couldn’t help but smirk as Beor teased him. Then he explained his noble reasoning for never becoming serious with a woman. What a sad way for a man to live. Iit was noble, but hardly fair. He scoffed when he said for him to pretend to be his brother, “Well now you sound like him and my father,” Jon edged. “I also do not know what you are talking about, women love my stories,” He said despite knowing Beor had a point. Women who had no taste of a noble life enjoyed his stories. A Lady wouldn’t enjoy anything vulgar, adventure maybe though. Perhaps he could take a note from Eric’s book. He was full of compliments when he and his wife were courting. Long walks, with pleasant conversation. Perhaps Beor had it all right. The idea of being pawned off like game in the market was simply boring.

“Women, you say?” He asked with a small smile now, he leaned back in his chair a bit, “Can’t I get at least one story?” He prodded now, he was certain Beor had a good time in his day, he traveled all over this land. “Good women. Smart women.. no , no, I think I want a story about a spirited woman.” He grinned. “One story, and then I will plot whatever boring conversation I will to contain myself around the Pyke girl.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Elisif knew Kyel enough to know that his ego had been slightly bruised by her comment. Still, that only made the gears in her mind twist quicker. The Volur was an exquisite girl, beautiful and, from what she had seen of her, certainly not dim-witted. Yet she and her were so different, such polar opposites, that it urged Elisif to wonder what had changed about the Lord in those years apart, or if she had known him at all.

She smiled sweetly at his comment about dancing and nodded in compliance. “As many dances as you wish, my Lord,” she said. “I might be withchild, but I am still early in those stages. I can hold myself on my feet just as well as I used to when we danced for the first time.” Perhaps even better now, after having practiced so much with Kaelan over the years, not only with the occasion of balls and feasts, but under the moon within the comfort of their chamber, more times than she could remember.

“Do not be late, Lord Skovgaard!” she called out with a smile after their touch broke, and she placed her hand on her belly. “There is plenty we shall talk about and a warm dinner to look forward to.”

*​

Kaira froze before the door of the bathing room as her name echoed across the hallway. She turned her head to see Lord Skovgaard - the same Lord who had stormed out of her chamber the other night, pressed by her scourging sincerity. She raised her brow as he began to speak and stepped inside the room, proceeding to undo the belt around her coat. Even in leisure, she did not seem to be able to escape his scrutinizing eyes, and she felt her jaw clench at the comment about her sparring. She recalled the way Leon fought, how easily such movements came to him, and how he did not need a sliver of magic to demobilize his opponent.

“Well, thank the Gods I am not a common soldier and have other means of compensating for my shortages,” she said dryly as she threw the now undone belt to the ground and began untying her boots. “Ser Tokesten will be teaching me a few disarming techniques tomorrow.” That, if she did not come down with a cold after that day’s training. She hoped the bath and oils would help soothe any pains or looming fever.

As he mentioned the council and the invitation from House Pyke, Kaira stopped for a moment with her fingers tangled between her boot straps. “Then I think the two of you should have a competition,” she suggested as she finally shook her foot out and began working on the other boot. “Whoever has the most creative idea of how to kill me.” She turned her head to look at him after she finished and placed her hands on her hips. “Well, are you going to chaperone me while I bathe or should you be on your merry way to write to Lord Pyke about your common interests?”

Frankly, a part of her did not want him to leave. The absence of clinking steel and rain left an emptiness in her ears now, which she wished would be filled by someone’s talking, but she knew better than to fall into his trap again. He did not wish to learn about her, or let her learn about him. He was merely there to remind her that, if he wished, he could take her down in a fair fight, and she had no intention of giving him the pleasure of acknowledging it.

*​

Beor shook his head at Jon’s continuous bombardment with questions and he could barely smother the smile that was creeping at the corner of his lips. His childish curiosity was exactly the reason why a young Lady might think of him as less than a mature man, but truly, he was envious of his youth and energy. He had lived a long time - and a good one - but still craved the time when he was able to walk or ride for miles without running out of breath, or challenge any man that came across his path. It was long gone now, and he was left but with the sweet memories of it all, which Jon was now demanding to know.

“Well, then,” he sighed, crossing his arms. “There was one, I met her at an inn close to Whitevale, can’t remember the name of that dirty old village… Mirri was her name. A young, spunky girl with this bush of blond hair and a pretty jade bracelet, I remember.” She was eighteen, and he was twenty-four at the time - a flower that had just bloomed, and looked even prettier than some of the Ladies and Dames he had seen in his lifetime. “She came to me one night while I was readying my horse, wanted to spar.” He chuckled sharply. “She had this wooden sword she had stolen from her brother and said that if I won, she would let me kiss her.”

The Lord closed his eyes for a brief moment, before turning his gaze to Jon. “We sparred and, naturally, I would have let her win, but I could not take the price of the loss this time. And you may imagine what kind of sparring emerged in the night then. One of my best, I’d say.” He pushed himself up on his feet and pulled the chair behind him to make himself room to turn towards the door. “Go, now, boy. There is a council we should attend soon, and I hope you won’t be attending with that stained old shirt of yours.”

 

[pointmango]

He should have kept them outside the bathing room. She had thrown off her belt, and bent in an admirable pose, to untie her boots. His will his attention to remain on her face again, this time growing distracted by the deep colored hair she had, covered with light brown streams of drying mud. When she stood again, his eyes glanced over the owner's slim waist.

And then it was difficult for him to speak, shaken with a small anger at the mention of her spending her time with Ser Tokesten. He frowned a moment at her comment on the Pykes. “An unfair competition really, you’ll see, as extravagant as House Pyke is, creative and original are not words I would use to describe his Lord,” Kyle chided back, he’d play her game, even if her comments felt insulting.

Kyle wanted to step himself forward, to ask her if she enjoyed sauntering this issue between them over his head. Why was she so much worse to him than other men? Was he not trying? And why had she not come to him for help with his swordsmanship experience and talent? What made this Ser Tokesten so special? “Enjoy your bath,” Kyel spoke, his pale eyes moving over her one last time before turning and walking heavily from the bathing rooms.

The hours had gone by, there was eating to be done. Kyel could not will himself to leave his room, staring down at the spell tomes which he brought along from Greenwall. All mechanisms of his life seemed to have gone through some sort of dreary constraint. It had to be the rain, yes. It could not be the fact that he felt off put by the domestic quarrels he felt with the Volur.

*

Jon’s attention stayed on Beor as his demeanor and words let him in on the fact he would be sharing this story with him. And what an excellent story it was, the beginning innocent sounding, but Jon knew it was hardly anything but. Spunky indeed, this girl seemed to know what she had been doing at the time, and it was clear so did Beor. Jon would have liked to know him then. He would have liked to know all of them before life stole away the smile he saw now on Beor’s lips.

And just as the story came, as it was finished, Jon was to be dismissed. He would find out more of the knight's old life. Beor couldn’t dodge his questions forever, and tonight showed him what a success could bring. Jon smiled to Beor and he nodded, “Maybe I should save all my nicer garb for Whitevale,” he commented on his way out.

Jon thought of his mentors, he wondered if Beor was as serious then as he was no. There was no way, people grew more serious with age, and Beor was aged better than many wines he drank. Hard to imagine them the same age as Lord Skovgaard and not wearing the same furrow on their brow. Perhaps that was a Northern trait though, the only time he saw Kyel smiling was around lady Elisif, and sometimes the Volur. But half the other time with the Volur his looks could kill, that must’ve been difficult to read from her standpoint, Jon mused.

She was quite serious as well, Kaira. Hopefully the ale and wine at the Pyke party would loosen everyone. He would have described each and every one of them as more uptight than his brother, and swore his own brothers rear end was so tight Riftmere would be more rich switching their commodity from Fish to diamonds made from his brothers arse.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kaira’s neck tensed at Kyel’s comment. Was he not in the very least hurt? Why was he trying to make peace with her so easily? She could not shake the feeling that he was trying to obtain something from her, or perhaps he had truly slept on the thought of reciprocated trust. She lowered her gaze, unsure how to respond, for in spite of his relaxed words, he was still as tight as a rock around her, and his eyes glimmered with unease.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she muttered and left her gaze lingering on him as he walked away for a few moments. She had not been around enough men in her lifetime to know how to read them, especially one with such a dual nature. She recalled their conversation last night, the way his eyes had ran over her body, weighing her from every angle, as if trying to anticipate her movements, and then the way he had suddenly become so rigid, untouchable. It was the very reason it felt so antonymous for him to return to her as though it had been but a bad dream.

*​

“Miss Grimward!”

A sharp voice called from behind the door of her chamber and Kaira jolted from her bed, pulling her night robe over her form. “Yes?” she replied in a shaky voice as her fingers worked to tie the ribbon cord around her middle.

“Lady Elisif called for you, Miss,” she said. “In her own chambers, now, if you may. She said I should not wake you if you are sleeping.”

“Well now I am clearly not.”

She quickly skidded into her slippers and went to open the door, revealing the small and stocky figure of a servant with her hands nervously fidgeting behind her back. The woman nodded quickly and turned on her heels and Kaira followed without another question. It was late, well into the evening, and the castle was silent and empty, with the exception of a small number of guards pacing around the hallways. When they arrived at Lady Vannbrek’s door, the servant knocked quickly and bent forward.

“My Lady, Miss Grimward.”

“Let her in!” a soft voice called from the other side. The two guards posted at her door opened it wide and, as soon as she stepped in, closed it behind with a loud thump.

Lady Elisif’s room was three times as big as her own. The walls were painted pale green and embellished with gold where they met the ceiling. She had a large canopy bed, decorated with pink and green pillows and a large fur blanket thrown over one of the corners in a fashionable rush. A large mirror overlooked the bed, with a table for powdering and a pink velvet chair over which she had draped what seemed to be one of her night robes. The air was warm and smelled of fresh roses and incense, a scent that she had noticed lingered about the woman, as well.

“Do forgive me if I disturbed you at this late hour, but I could not decide,” Elisif said as she rushed to the wardrobe and pulled out two dresses, one a bright emerald and another a deep red, both velvet and with an almost indecently low neckline. She held them up to her, smiling from between them like an excited girl. “Well? What do you think? Which one should I wear for the Pyke feast?”

“Oh…” Kaira froze as she looked at her. It felt impossible to understand how the woman could muster the energy to smile so brightly right then, yet a part of her knew that there was a much darker weight hiding behind her eyes. She gulped, her gaze flicking from one gown to the other, before finally coming to a logical conclusion. “The green one would suit you, my Lady,” she said.

“Oh yes, a fine choice. Green is always a good choice.” She placed the red one back in the wardrobe and drapped the winner over the edge of the bed. “And please, call me Elisif. If we are to work together, we should be friends, shouldn’t we? Women stick together. We ought to, during these uncertain times.” She took a seat next to the dress and began scouring the seams of one of the sleeves for loose threads or rips in the fabric. “Do sit down,” she finally looked up at her with the same sweet simper.

Did she have the option to refuse? It would pain her to see Elisif disappointed. Kaira took a seat on the other side of the dress and grazed the fabric with her fingers.

“Tell me, Kaira,” the woman started calmly, the smile slowly fading from her lips. “Have you ever thought you wanted to bed Lord Skovgaard?”

The Volur’s heart clenched and her stomach dropped. “I’m sorry?” was all she could muster in that moment as she slowly retreated her fingers into her lap.

“Have I been too direct?” Elisif lifted her brows at her. “I’m sorry, I thought you were… well… the kind to speak more openly.”

“I…”

“It is not a trick question, Kaira,” the woman breathed out softly and canted her head. “I merely wish to know if there is something between the two of you. One could only wonder, given… Well… You know, a woman can only observe and notice some things. “

Kaira swallowed and clenched her fingers. “Hatred, I suppose,” she mumured. “You must have certainly observed Lord Skovgaard has no love for my kind. And I know the two of you…”

“The two of us were mere children and have since walked different paths,” Elisif explained. “I have since loved and lost my now late husband. But I have no regret of marrying him nor did I wish to marry someone else instead. I do not know in what sort of cave they kept you in Yllevad, dear, but love and men are not like they write in poems and plays. They are complicated beings, often conceited and haughty in an attempt to tower over us, but that is within their nature and not as much their will.” She leaned over and placed her hand on hers. “What you need to remember, Kaira, is that you will always be a threat to them. Because above a Volur and a warrior, you are first a woman.”

When she broke away, Kaira was left watching her as if she were a specter. The Lady stood up and walked towards the wardrobe to put her emerald dress back and took two others out, one of a faded violet and another deep black, embedded with jewels and embroidery. “Are this to your liking?” she asked as her words from mere seconds before had been nothing. “I saw that you prefer darker colours. You will need a couple of dresses for our visit to Whitevale and these are not quite as flattering on myself.”

“There is no need-”

“Oh, but there is. I will not have you wearing you riding gear to forge an alliance with some of the most pompous people you will have ever met. You are a Volur, but you are on our side. You have to look the part.”

 

[pointmango]

Jonathan had a steward wake him early with a light so he could begin to pack. He worked diligently, making sure his feast attire was packed last and pressed well in the right places. Through all the while he though of the scenes that might take place later in the evening. It was before seven o’clock and Jon was completely equipped in his grey coated traveling garb.

Thankfully the journey was not as long as theirs to Elvegard. He sat upon his horse and could see the rising towers of Whitevale in the distance. His eyes pondered back over the shrubs along the King’s road covered in hoar-frost, and the sun sent the occasional gleam through the trees. He glanced behind him on the road where the wagons and carriages moved, struggling at the slight elevation. The horses were straining their muscles and the driver cracked his whip fearing a swerve.

“You’ve been unusually silent. I may regret my words, do speak to me,” Kyel spoke to Jonathan.

“I am practicing,” Jon joked to the older Lord, “Apparently I must build an air of maturity about myself. I’ve been told if I can feign my curiosity for the next few days I may bait the potential of a wife.” He shook his head.

Kyel laughed now, a sound truly foreign to Jonathan. “I think you will fare fine, true, keep the intensity at bay. But you listen well, they like that.” Kyel informed him now, but any hint of his previous smile left his lips as he looked into the distance at the looming castle.

“You can change your mind, you know,” Jon spoke quietly.

Kyel’s attention turned to Lord Pelleitier, he did want to ask for clarification. He had a strong idea what this issue he was speaking of was. It was the same issue they would have to try and change Lord Pyke’s mind on.

*

“Well, well, well!” Lord Pyke greeted his guests with open arms as they approached the castle through the gates. The rain of the previous evening had gradually subsided, but clouds lingered throughout the entire day, allowing gleams of sunlight through when they parted. The scene before him had always been a part of his home, greeting guests was a common occurrence for the Pykes, and he did so with a dignified ease which had been a matter of course in his life.

Lord Bailin Pyke knew a great deal of what it was to be a gracious host by inheritance. To delight with no splendor was difficult in the eyes of House Pyke, and he had never known a nobleman to run away from an invitation from an elaborate party. Their arrival was unmistakable proof that there was something about this rebellion, this war that was changing. Before Lord Pyke shrank from the prospect, war was dirty, and there was little hope of them winning. Before he had preferred ignorance, but since the death of Lord Vannbrek, he could no longer ignore the wicked King’s ways.

His thoughts had been cut days prior when he learned of the North’s involvement in an alliance that depended strongly on a Volur. There was a time, he would have rather felt crushed limbs than to even reckon the thought of siding with a Volur. But Lord Pyke fancied, as many Lords did, his own home, and his own safety. It was vital to him that if they could successfully rid the land of King Alastair and Whitevale be left alone. But that incident would become a matter of discussion in later days, tonight there was a feast! “Come, come, off your horses, inside, out of the cold!” He greeted Lady Elisif first, “My condolences,” He spoke in a serious tone. When he saw Kyel he beamed, hugging the man. “Lord Skovgaard, strapping as always,” Onto Lord Pelletier, again, more serious as he knew what this visit was for him, “You’ve grown, good lad,” he nodded. To Islea he greeted the woman with a hug, and Beor a very firm handshake, “Ser,” finally his gaze rested on who he could only assume was the Volur. His eyes were dark now, “Evening, Grimward?” He questioned her name, it was all he could muster, he could not even remark a welcome to his territory.

 

[peritwinkle]

The road to Whitevale was not quite as long as the first, yet despite nearing the hills and silver creeks from where the city had taken its name, Kaira thought she did not wish for it to come to an end. Knowing what awaited her on the other side of those glorious walls, the thought of attending a council and a noble party made her gut wrench. She assumed it would not be quite as easy to earn amicable words from Lord Pyke as it had been from Lord Skovgaard.

As she glanced to him, he was riding with pride atop his horse. His blue eyes appeared crystal clear in the bright light of the afternoon, and as the faint breeze blew through the fur rimming his cloak, she could almost feel its softness between her fingers. And it was no so much of a want as it was mere envy; while he encapsulated the look of honor, virtue and warmth, her own aura was dark, sullen, unapproachable. Perhaps his reticence towards her was true to an extent - if he did come too close, her own gloom might overshadow his glow.

Kaira stood behind as they eventually approached the castle walls. Lady Elisif was the first to walk up to Lord Pyke in order to receive his overzealous welcome with a faint smile plastered on her lips at his sympathy, an ability which Kaira had now come to admire. She was followed closely by the others, and Lord Beor last, who shook his had with an almost amusing firmness. When his eyes fell on her, she straightened her back and lowered her head. “Lord Pyke,” she replied dryly. No title. No welcome. The bitter taste on her tongue was only growing more vivid by the second.

She assumed it was common knowledge how Greenwall had come to form an alliance with a Volur by then. Letters were often sent to all the great Houses following a battle, painting the big picture, but Kaira was convinced that Lord Pyke’s confusion was, truly, a masked disinterest. He knew her name all too well. He knew where she came from, who taught her all she knew. And he would probably hint at her involvement with the death of Lord Kaelan at some point, when Elisif was so unfortunate as to bend her ear to him.

“Well, I think some food and rest would be in order first, Bailin?” Beor addressed the younger man. “Of course, unless you wish to get on with the meeting to discuss our alliance first.”

“Nonsense,” Elisif smiled brightly as she walked before Beor. “I am sure Lord Pyke would want us to go into such discussions with a fresh mind.”

Beor nodded and pursed his lips. Elisif had her own way of persuasion and he admired it with a fervor. As they began walking towards the castle, Beor set a hand on Bailin and bent closer to him. “I will have you know I wrote to Greenwall last night and summoned Ser Bastian Osmund to Whitevale. I do believe we cannot deprive him of forming his own judgement any longer.” He would not make it to the council, nor the feast, but his mind was just as useful later rather than never.

 

[pointmango]

Lord Pyke nodded as Lady Elisif spoke, “Of course, some food and rest first,” He agreed. He would have offered his own arm to the pregnant noble woman, but the young Lord Pelleitier did so before he could offer. As they began walking towards the castle, Beor leaned in closer to Bailin, “Excellent,” Lord Pyke spoke. Whether he truly felt such was up for debate, the council of Greenwall, the Lord of the North, the Lady of the West and another Lord from Riftmere, were they trying to outnumber him?

Neglecting the discussion of military maneuvers and agreements appealed to Lord Pyke for the time being. He would have preferred to wait until the third day of their visit, wishing everybody to relax and look well. Lord Pyke knew his power, his strength in structures and builders, but his lack of armed men. That and he was fully aware having only an heiress made his appeal externally rather ridiculous. Thankfully his daughters were well-grown and well-featured, they grew with kind and gentle voices, rather than the harsh or husky ones more women of this area typically held.

*

Inside the elegant castle of Whitevale, Jon noted how close all of their rooms were. All right beside one another, and Jon knew more visitors would come throughout the day tomorrow as well. People from all over the West came for the Lord’s feast. As the steward spoke his last sentence, which wasn’t much more than a loud whisper, Jon let his chin sink on his breast a moment and his eyelids fell. The hall was quiet as they all moved within their rooms. The quiet tenacity of his new demeanor differed greatly from his usual self. It would be a difficult next few days, to only engage himself in softer, private talks. Especially as he had recently felt himself an agent in a revolution beginning.

But the dawn of fulfillment brought his hope, despite never seeing either of Pyke’s daughters. Maybe a successful romance wouldn’t bring love, but something more than the impassioned conviction to be damned without it. He learned of Lords and Ladies who grew to admire one another. Lord and Lady Vannbrek was the best example he knew, for that was love. He supposed his brother cared for his wife, but she was young and beautiful and had yet to produce an heir, he wondered how much his brother would admire her once she brought him children.

Now there had come a thankful wonder as he contemplated his life journey. He still had time, the beginnings of a courtship was unlikely to move so quickly unless Whitevale was desperate for boats and fish, which was unlikely. He was also thankful for the lack of excitement upon their arrival, he didn’t need to ebb his impulse to be as active, leaving himself more aloof. They had come together to hear the blow of Lord Pyke himself, and they had nothing to do now but disperse until the council meeting. Jon decided he would not disturb anyone’s needful rest, but he waited, hoping for a spontaneous movement from another.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kaira spent the rest of that day in her room, alone, watching the court of Whitevale from her window and skimming through the books one of the servants had brought to her at her request. When she woke up in the morning, she felt her shoulders and neck sore, likely from the tension while riding, and a thick history novel lay parted on by her side. She had had a torturous night of dreams so vivid that played in her mind as she returned to reality - flashes of green eyes, scrutinizing her from above, loud whispers in her ears threatening a gruesome death, and finally, a silver sword driven through her heart, which hitched her awake and gasping for air.

“Miss Grimward?” a servant called from the other side of the door, but did not wait before opening it to bring in a tray of warm buttered toast, ham and frothy milk. “Forgive me Miss, it is late. Lord Pyke demanded that the council gathers at once so he could… Well.. Lady Pyke is pressing him about the preparations for tonight, so you might understand the haste.” The woman was perhaps in her thirties, with a bubbly face and florid cheeks, and judging by the shape and cut of her attire, heavily withchild. She pulled out a small jar of honey from one of the many pockets of her apron and began stirring it into the milk.

“It is alright, I can do it,” Kaira said as she gently took the teaspoon from her hands and began stirring herself. The way the woman breathed made her wonder what was in Lord Pyke’s head to allow her to work in such state, but then she thought he might not be aware of it at all. Back at Fort Dahnmar, no woman - not even newly withchild - was allowed to work, by the order of Lady Ismara, and understandably so. She prayed so much for a child every single morning and night, that it empathy would only come naturally to her.

After eating, Kaira cleaned herself and donned the violet dress Lady Elisif had picked out for her. She had two others apart from the party gown, which she had found already placed in her luggage the morning before they left for Whitevale, and a couple of sleeping robes rolled and stuffed around the sides. She quickly brushed her hair and headed for the council room, as guided by the two guards waiting just outside her chamber. Upon entering, the Lords were all seated at the table and her stomach sank at the thought that she was the last one to arrive, before Lady Elisif appeared right behind her and gently gave her a push to find a seat.

“Now that we’re all gathered,” Beor was the first one to speak as Kaira pulled her chair closer to the long table before them. “I believe it is time to share what we know and what we wish to achieve, for now, following the pursuit of this alliance.” He looked towards Lord Pyke. “Bailin, I am sure you are very much aware of how we came into the… possession of Alastair’s trainee Volur. They are no longer peaceful, and with Lord Vannbrek’s assassinatio, may the Gods rest him, House Dareon has declared war.”

Kaira peeked at Elisif, who had lowered her head and clenched her fingers around the armrests. It was not uncommon for nobles not to bring their wives into political discussion, but she felt it was odd, then, and on the verge of insensitive for Lady Vannbrek. ‘Women stick together. We ought to, during these uncertain times.’

“I believe we should first have a web of defense and communication between the great Houses of Wendlyn and the North,” Elisif spoke this time as she lifted her head. “My family, House Clare of Belfort, will not need much convincing. But we are yet to reach the Northern families. We will need ships.” The North was the only part of Valera, with the exception of Windhold, that touched the sea.

“We have to know how many men you are willing to spare for this cause, Bailin,” Beor pressed. “Depending on our numbers… We might even be able to start attacking the outskirts of Windhold and gain ground.”

 

[pointmango]

Kyel disliked the large ceiling of the council chamber. It made the fires at either end of the room pointless with all the heat above them. The chairs and table were old, but they were well kept. He knew any furniture within the Pyke castle was refurbished the moment a blemish came. Here their markets and merchants were exquisite, some of the most skilled craftsmen in all of Valera made their goods here. He thought a moment of accompanying the Volur to the streets of Whitevale during their visit, Kyel enjoyed a walk himself, even in his preference of minimal eccentricity, he could never help but look at the beautiful commodities.

Kaira and Elisif entered, and Kyel stood for their presence, seating himself once again when they both were seated as. Beor led the discussion, which Kyel was always grateful for. Even within his own home he preferred to listen, and provide his opinions once all parties had spoken.

Lord Pyke’s previous jovial nature was completely gone as he listened to the older man speak. He nodded, knowing the story already, but he let the old knight continue his theatrics. House Dareon had declared war, and it was within the rest of the Kingdom’s best interest to pick a side. Remaining neutral would fare poorly in the long run.

Pyke frowned as Ser Beor pressed him, they wanted numbers and commitment. Lord Pyke did not wish to give up what they so desired. “Whitevale intends to support your cause fully,” his lips could not help but to tighten on the last word, his eyes glancing to the Volur with disgust. “We have the best builders in all of Valera, we will send them to where these ships are being built, no doubt Lord Skovgaard is providing more than enough lumer and oar.”

Kyel frowned, Whitevale had access to materials from all over, how else would they craft such things within their walls. “The lumber here is softer, it will help too,” Kyel pushed his thoughts on the older Lord, a bit upset that all he could offer were his builders.

“Of course,” Pyke’s eyes flared towards Kyel now, “I will gather inventory and spare what lumber we can.” He could see the Northern Lord’s body tense at his wording, it was not the best but it was the truth. “Troops will be difficult. They are trained strictly in defense of Whitevale,” he explained. “Until further allies are found, I can only send an eighth.” He said tightly.

Kyel’s hand gripped the table, “An eighth?” He nearly growled, “Lord Pyke,” he spoke trying to contain himself, “Surely you can spare more, I myself have pledged half my soldiers just for defense of the West. Many will stay to protect Ironstone as well, but I will be sending more when the ships are readied.” he explained, hoping this fact would persuade the man to spare more.

“Lord Skovgaard, my home is much closer to Windhold than your own. And only half a day's travel, Lord Vannbrek was murdered. I need protection here. Besides, you speak of this Volur as a trainee, going against a true Volur and a King’s army who trained her?” He questioned, almost scoffing. “You do not have the upper hand.”

“We do not,” Kyel agreed, “but this is the highest hand we have ever wagered. Miss Grimward is training, and she will be ready when the time comes. And we need troops worthy of a King’s army to back her.” Kyel would make sure she was ready, even if to just shove Lord Pyke’s face into the soil of their win.

 

[peritwinkle]

Beor watched the exchange in a calculated silence, rubbing his beard between two fingers. His eyes were locked on Kyel, admiring the newly unveiled fervor and valor that came so easily to him in regards to defending what he knew was right. And it was true. Now Lord of Ironstone, he had left a great gap in his own defense when called upon, to protect the rest of Wendlyn, whilst Lord Pyke seemed to only be interested in an alliance for the sole purpose of earning protection and reaping the winnings whilst sparing as little as he possibly could.

“Let us not pretend you do not have the means to do both, Lord Bailin,” Elisif chimed in, looking at him from beneath her fine brows. “Elvgard suffered a blow with the entirety of our troops there, protecting my husband. We cannot wait and see whatever plan the King devises, with or without the help of sorcery. We have to hit back, not simply allow him to keep taking from us.”

Kaira’s eyes flickered to Lord Pyke as he brought her into the conversation. She could almost taste the bitterness in the air about him, but urged herself to remain poised. “I assure you it is within the King’s interest, as well as his Volur, to keep me unharmed.” She remembered the vivid dream from the night before. If it had been a warning, making sure the Pykes knew she was protected and needed would only solidify the walls around her. “And regarding whoever has the upper hand… You should know that the potency of a Volur does not entirely depend on their training. My master is a calculated and well seasoned man, but he is best suited for defense, while my nature has me more fit for devastation.” She looked at Kyel for a brief moment, before returning to the other Lord. “With proper training, which I am already receiving, you need not worry about my efficiency.”

Elisif cocked a brow and smothered a smirk. She cleared her throat before turning to look at Lord Pyke with an air of subtle superiority. “You will either give us half of your men, Lord Pyke, or this agreement will be annulled. Situation which I am sure you would like to avoid given the circumstances we find ourselves in.” In Alastair’s eyes, Whitevale was still an enemy, whether they fought alongside the rest of Wendlyn and the North or not.

“We have other means of gaining lumber, Bailin,” Beor said as he pressed his palm to the lacquered surface of the table. “We need force in order to start attacking. Your best option is to join us and, by extension, fall under our protection. Piece by piece, family by family, we can surround Windhold, corner them, and force the King to abdicate or die trying to fight us.”

 

[pointmango]

Anger built within Bailin over this matter of argument. His soul clung to disagree with the Volur, and now his old friends sided with her. Scorn willed his tone, “You do not know my means, Lady Vannbrek,” he argued. And the sound of the Volurs' voice summoned the agitation all over again. He felt no sympathy for their cause when she spoke of it.

Lady Vannbrek spoke again, her request higher, and certain. His eyes stared into hers, and no longer understood the appeal of her eyes and her voice. His mind was continually sliding towards inward fits of anger and repulsion against the group before him. He hated to admit, but Lord Vannbrek’s wife held a strangely impressive persuasion with her words. He could not say no. “Fine.” His tone is almost lifeless, upset by his quick acceptance to their proposal. “I will have my advisor write up the contract.” He said. “I will need assurance that my home and family will be protected.” He said with irritation reined in by propriety.

“We will sign once the contract is drawn and ready. Now, forgive me, but I must help my wife tend to the party.” He rose to leave the table, bowing his head to the group of them, his eyes narrowing over them compassed in a superficial survey. Lord Pyke was indignant in his turn to the door, even more so as he shut it harshly behind himself.

Kyel watched the tantrum shown by the Lord whose home they all stood within. His jaw clenched and he wished he had spoken his next words in front of Lord Pyke, “What a coward,” Kyel burst very bluntly.

“He agreed, we needn’t resort to names,” Islea chimed in, but the distaste was clear upon even her features.

“He would never stretch his tolerance. He’d rather rot in silk than chance liberation for his people.” Kyel was upset, he knew many Lords were selfish, but Lord Pyke could not even pretend. “We could promise him more riches in his next life with the gods, and even then he would debate how he just did.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Elisif leaned in her seat with a look of contentment plastered on her face. “He is all talk,” she said, mostly in an attempt to soothe their nerves. “His little scheme did not work as planned, so now he is cornered and has to do as he is told. I would consider that a win.” She turned her eyes to Kaira then, and offered her a sweet smile. “I am glad you decided to wear the dress I gave you, it looks wonderful on you.”

“Unfortunately, not wonderful enough for a man such as him to tolerate me,” Kaira sighed.

Elisif scoffed playfully, touching her and and drawing in closer. “You do not need him to tolerate you. You simply need him to stay loyal, and that is not earned through pretty dresses and fierce words. One day we will go into battle, and that is your time to seed fear into him.”

Fear. It was a great deal apart from loyalty, but she supposed it would do. She did not care for earning the love of House Pyke, or any other House for that matter. She would not marry a Lord or mingle with any royal after they won, but simply be on her way, find a purpose for her existence. Start a family if she was deemed lovable by anyone, or live her life alone. All she knew is that she would be as far away from such people as her feet could take her.

She watched the group leave one by one, still seated and with her nails dug deep into the soft wood of the armchair. When Jon rose from his own, she stood up and leaned with one hand against the table. “Jon,” she called, and immediately realized she had dropped his title and half of his name with it, yet she doubted he would mind. He had been awfully silent throughout the council, so much so that she wondered if he was afraid of upsetting the man for any reason. Leaving arguments to the rest of them would not leave so much of a stain on his own name.

“I…” she began, her neck tensing. She wanted to tell him about her dream, to ask him if he thought it might mean anything of importance. “Do you think he is right? About not having the upper hand.” She had chickened out, but perhaps it was better for his impression of her. There was enough tension within that room by itself. “Greenwall was the first battle I ever participated in, and it was a disaster. I know what I can do, but…” Frankly, it seldom came to her when she needed it. Still, when it did, it was more disastrous than three sorcerers at once could ever summon.

 

[pointmango]

Kyel offered his arm to Lady Elisif as they left the council chambers. “I need your help,” he told her calmly. He watched as Beor and Islea continued down the hall before them. Once they were an appropriate distance away Kyel led Elisif back towards the hall with all the chambers they were staying in. Instead of walking her to her own, he stopped at his own, and opened the door for her, letting his old friend inside.

Once inside the room, the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. “Well, what should I wear?” he asked her as he walked over to the bed where the three outfits he had chosen laid on the bed. The most formal of the bunch was an all black styled garb, simple, elegant, and truthfully Kyel’s favorite. The next another black styled garb, this one with silver and red accents at the color and cuffs, the colors of the North. And the third was deep navy garb, he knew it was made for him because of his eye color, but he truthfully hoped Elisif would overlook this one.

-

Jon lifted his head when Kaira spoke his name, a light smile played across his lips as she called him by the name he preferred. She seemed distraught over something, as though her mind was plagued with something intense. And yet her question came about Lord Pyke. “I don’t know,” he told her honestly, his eyes meeting hers. “Both sides are well suited to their strengths, as you said, you are better to initiate power. I think our armies and tactics will do well to attack with force. However, Leon, the King, even the position of Windhold is much better suited for defense.” There was a slight truth to Lord Pyke’s statement, but Lord Skovgaard was right, this was the best chance they had ever had.

He smiled at the mention of the Greenwall battle, “Well, the only reason it was a disaster is because of my skilled technique with the dangerous element of wildfire.” He boasted, “I should have been awarded an honor, my tacts took down a Volur.” he pointed out, thinking about the situation. He realized he was being a little too much of his old self, besides, she clearly wanted to talk seriously.

“Kaira,” he began, “You’re strong. Beor, Islea, Bastain, they wouldn’t put this much faith in you if you could not do it. A little bird told me even Lord Skovgaard has been reading spell tomes in hopes to help. Your success is important, yes, but everyone here is willing to help to make the success possible.” Jon said easily, “We’ll get the numbers, and we’ll figure out how to unleash that power you have, King won’t know what hit him.” Jon offered standing now.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was difficult for Kaira to believe what Jon said was entirely true. It reminded her of the times Leon found her struggling, miserable, and always found a way to lift her back up. Opening herself up while sober was an entirely strange concept to her, and for a moment, vulnerability felt strangely good. Still, that was not the true source of her worries right then, and she wished she could tell Jon about the dream without risking the suspicion that she was attempting to ruin the alliance they had argued so fervently over only minutes before.

“Thank you, Jon,” she murmured plainly. She ran her fingertips over the surface of the table and looked down to her feet. “I have quite the weight on my shoulders to make sure I do not disappoint.” Finally, she looked back up to him, briefly plastering a soft simper over her lips. “I hope to see you at the feast tonight,” she said, before making her way around the table and out the doors of the council room.

*​

Elisif furrowed her brow as she saw herself being dragged into Lord Skovgaard’s room, but she did not oppose the pulling. She allowed him to close the door behind them and, as soon as she lay eyes on the garments laid out on the bed, she knew exactly why she had been brought there before he could even start to mutter it. A smile washed over her features and she took a step forward to analyze each of them more closely.

“Well, this feels familiar,” she sighed as she ran her fingers over the fabric of each coat, recalling her evening with Kaira before heading off to Whitevale. And oddly enough, it seemed two of them would match the dress she had given her down to the finest detail. “I would say blue in a heartbeat, but knowing you…” She lingered a moment over the two black ones, before picking up the one in the middle with the silver and red details. “A little bit of color would not hurt, either, don’t you think?”

She drew a step closer and placed the coat over his chest, eyeing him up and down. “You look charming, more than usual. It is a pity up North you do not indulge in such fashions. This enhances your… form very nicely.” Then, she placed the coat back on the bed next to the others and returned to him, squeezing his forearm. “Looking this good, you should be careful not to catch the eyes of young Lady Pyke. Though, I suppose you need not worry as much about that given your small argument with her father.”

*​

The bath that had been readied for her that afternoon had been unusually warm, and upon stepping out of the tub, she felt her blood rush to her head and cloud her sight. Leaning against the nearest wall, Kaira began slowly squeezing her damp locks into a towel and tapping her skin dry. The perfumed oils she had dropped into the bath water had scented her skin pleasantly, just enough to enchothe her in a faint aura of iris and spice and linger in her hair.

“You did hear though…” a quiet voice giggled from the hallway by the bathing room.

“Oh, do not tell me, if Lady Pyke-”

“No, no! Lady Elisif was seen just after breakfast going into the Northern Lord’s room.”

“Lord Skovgaard?”

“Yes, yes… Handsome one, but she’s a widow, Lilia! And is with Lord Vannbrek’s child-”

“Gods forgive him.”

“Yes, Gods forgive him.”

The voices faded as the two servants rushed to the end of the corridor, likely tending to some of the empty rooms. Kaira’s eyes lingered upon the steam, her arms wrapped around her middle, holding on to the now wet towel. ‘It is not a trick question, Kaira.’ Elisif’s voice echoed in her ear, no longer sweet and innocent, but now ringing with an unquestionable malice. There was a pang in her chest, which she could only explain with Lady Vannbrek’s venomous betrayal.

‘So much for womanly friendship,’ Kaira mused. The thought of her trust for the woman, and how easily she had given it to her. To everyone until then, it seemed, but it was only then that she realized she was and will continue to be a stranger. A blunt weapon. There was no point in trust beyond common interest of survival and victory, and they knew all to well how to steal it out of her.

 

[pointmango]

Jon could hear the roll of muffled music as he watched the lacing on the bodice of the lady standing before him. He craned his neck slightly as he came to the room in which the feast would be held. Stepping inside he could see Lord Skovgaard accompanied by Beor and Islea towards the front of the extravagantly large chambers. There was plenty of room in between the tables that lined the edges of the room for dancing, and even the tables along the walls looked to have expensive drapes and silver cutlery. It looked more like a masque than a real event. Jon moved towards the platform that held the main table in the back center of the room, knowing he would get the pleasure to watch the Pyke family enter last, a custom in Whitevale.

As Jon approached the dining table just before the platform to the left, a steward led him to where he would be seated. He had been running a small introduction of himself through his head throughout the entire day. He thought it was better suited for the close intimacy of a dance, hoping formal introductions would be overlooked until the time to dance came.

Kyel came to him in front of the table and stepped forward to lean in slightly towards Jon, “Do not sit yet, Lord Pelleitier,” Kyel said to him, an almost childish look in his eye. It’d been a while, he had forgotten what a true feasts atmosphere felt like, he had missed them. “How embarrassing would it be if Lady Pyke should enter early to find you seated?” He teased slightly.

“You are looking smug,” Jon spoke as he stood up then.

“Not smug. Feeling helpful maybe,” Kyle could not help but toy with Jon, his nerves were naive, and Kyel remembered the nerves he would get at events like this before he and Elisif became accustomed to one another. “There is no room for mistakes at the Whitevale court,” Kyel then pushed a cup of ale towards Jon, “So relax.”

“And you?” Jon wondered, looking over the Lord before him. His garb was much more simple than Jon’s which was a deep emerald green color with silver accents. The colors of Greenwall rather than his own blue and gold of Riftmere.

“What do you mean?’ Kyel asked him, his gaze growing more serious against the younger man.

Jon sipped his ale, at the door he perceived a figure, it looked as though they were waiting to enter. Jon, however, was not unobserved, and so he had to let at least one inquiry flow from his lips, “Is there not a young woman you are intending to speak with this evening?” Jon raised his cup towards Kyel, not needing an answer this time, and so he pushed by the older Lord, moving to greet others.

Kyel watched after the young Lord, his small interview resurfaced the unending torture seized upon his heart. His eyes narrowed, sipping his own ale deeply. The realization he would sacrifice his own ambitions just to be near her, the thoughts he had would have him immolated on the altar of his father’s grave in the North. And yet, that sensation within his bosom rose again and filled him with vague apprehensions. The desire to hear her sweet voice made his ears already begin to plea for mercy. He turned to find a steward to refill his cup of ale.

 

[peritwinkle]

Upon entering the dining hall, Lady Elisif seemed to glow much brighter than the past days. She held her hand gently over her belly, displaying golden rings that matched the details of her pale green dress. She had pulled her hair back and braided it loosely with a golden string, but left some strands to frame her flushed cheekbones and elegantly arched brows. Her eyes fell on the table where Kyel and Jon seemed to be holding a conversation and walked towards him with a mesmerizing elegance, the crowd parting in her way, leaving a trail of whispers.

“My Lords,” she said softly. “You look ravishing. Could I possibly have a seat by your side, or are they all already taken?” She assumed Jonathan would wish to sit next to young Lady Pyke at some point, though for the time being, the girl would be sitting at her parents’ table. Kyel looked nervous, with his nose already buried in a cup of ale. “That is one way to start the evening,” she chuckled as she took a seat opposite to him. “You should at least have a bite of food first, the appetizers here are quite nice.”

It felt like everyone had gathered but the hosts and the famous Volur. Elisif leaned back in her chair and extended her cup to one of the servants, who filled it with a rose coloured juice that smelled sweet and fruity. She parted her lips to make a playful comment about Kyel’s attire, when the room seemed to grow a tone quieter, and upon turning her eyes to the door, she saw the lithe, dark frame of Kaira, her shoulders pinned back and a look of pure dejection hidden behind a mask of poise. The low cut of the dress fit her form so well, it was almost a pity to see her in such a state, with the front strands of her hair merely pulled back in a clear nonchalance.

“Oh, dear,” she swallowed, then turned to the two of them with pursed lips. “Whatever have you said to her this time?”

*​

The dining hall was loud and brimming with Lords, Ladies, nobles and servants scurrying about to bring food and drinks to those ready to be served. The pale stone walls of the castle had been brightened up with diamond chandeliers and banners in the colors of House Pyke - white and grey - which matched the towels carefully organized beneath each plate and set of silverware. Kaira could not deny the sight was quite beautiful, albeit it reminded her ever so slightly of Fort Dahnmar.

The lodestar that indicated the location of her side of the party was the golden hair of Lady Elisif. She sat by Jon’s side, with her head averted towards a cup of rose wine. Then, towards the middle of the long table, she saw Lady Islea sitting next to Lord Beor, talking fervently about something that seemingly involved daggers or some sort of weapon. It was where she headed like an arrow, cutting through the murmuring crowd and a small group of giggling servant girls, likely new to the job. One could tell the older ones apart by how much of their happiness and energy had been sucked out of them throughout the course of their service.

“Ah! What an oddly pleasant sight,” Ser Beor smiled, his fingers tapping the side of a goblet which he seemed to have already emptied.

“Could I sit?” she asked sharply. The man lifted his brows and gestured towards the empty seat next to Lady Islea.

“I would have thought you would choose to sit with the younglings.”

“I… noticed you were talking about weapons. Or, it seemed like it,” she looked towards Lady Islea, then back to the old man. “I… simply wanted to thank you for returning my sword to me. It was replaceable, but I did appreciate your… trust.”

Beor nodded as he leaned to take a sip out of his goblet, before quickly discovering it was empty. “I have been meaning to ask you about it, the etchings on the blade itself, they seemed to be in the old tongue. Do forgive me for keeping it, but I was curious about their meaning.” He leaned over the table, took the pitcher and poured her some wine, then himself. “I noticed it was not made of silver. Why would the King refuse to send you into battle without such an advantage?”

 

[pointmango]

Jon nodded to Lady Elisif, he would enjoy her sitting beside him for the time being. Once so nervous around the older women, her ease and stability seemed like a godsend from the unknown of Lady Pyke. “You look beautiful,” Jonathan commented, leaning forward to kiss her hand at the greeting. His gaze still fluttered about the room though.

Kyel could hardly laugh at Elisif’s tease, he wished his own nerves, so strange and sudden, would calm. The room grew quieter, and Kyel turned expecting the Pyke family to be trudging down the center of the hall. Instead he saw her. She was elegant, the most beautiful he had ever seen her, his eyes darting from her poised face to her exquisite figure. Kyel stood as she walked into the room, but she made a beeline for Beor and Islea rather than him and his chest tightened. Elisif’s comment caused his nostrils to flare, “I have said nothing.” He nearly snapped.

Jon’s eyebrows lifted at the Lord’s quet outburst, “Maybe that’s it then,” Jon mused. “I’ve been given difficult advice, they do not like when you speak too much, nor too little. Then again, Kaira is not a Lady,” Jon was falling back to himself in his nerves, he corrected his stance, straightening his shoulders.

Kyel decided he had not readily given up this fight yet. He had turned many great men before to learn their will and influence them. Surely the matter was not as serious as it seemed and nothing more could be done. His hands were equally restless and uneasy gripping for his drink again. He had to remind himself to slow down, the Pykes would enter the chamber shortly, and drowning himself in alcohol would leave him alone and jealous.

*

Islea smiled, even more so when Beor went to drink and discovered his goblet empty. A light chuckle left the woman’s lips as she sipped upin her own wine. “A weapon as this hardly seems replaceable,” Islea commented, she was unsure if the sword was made directly for the girl, but no doubt it was still a lovely weapon, silver or not.

“When we retrieved you in the field, Beor had to warn Jon not to touch the blade directly,” Islea added to the story, “Keen eyesight for such an old soul,” the woman joked lightly, “It was fascinating though, to look upon a limp weapon and still fear its powers.”

Before more could be said, the chambers quieted down once again. A man stepped forth with an actual horn, blowing upon it, causing Islea to shoot Beor a look of amusement. After all this time she had forgotten the theatrics of the Pykes. “I now present to you, Lord and Lady Pyke, and their two daughters of the Whitevale.” The voice said as the group walked down the center of the chambers with tolerable ease. Lord Pyke held himself the most erect, a grin on his lips as he entered the feasting chambers.

Lord Pyke walked down the aisle, his hand with his wife’s, and his daughters right behind him. He made his way up the platform, extending his own hand to each of the ladies. Once they all were standing he motioned for his wife and two daughters to sit. He glanced around the room in a quest for some faces and outfits to marvel upon. He felt as though nothing before him was more than a common view. Lord Pyke lifted his goblet, “Come, I am anxious to let all of you taste the treasures of Whitevale. Let the feast begin!” he shouted, and upon his shout the music began playing an upbeat tune, and the rest of the room lifted their goblets to his before everyone was seated, commotion quickly filling the large quarters.

 

[peritwinkle]

Elisif looked at Kyel in disbelief, biting her lip. How could he be so enamored with a girl that refused to even greet him upon entering the room? She recalled Kaira’s answer to her inquiry as to whether there was something bubbling up between the two of them. The poor girl believed he resented her, and yet, looking upon him then, at the softness of his eyes and the way his chest had heaved at the sight of her, she could tell he had grown to care for her.

It was not long until the Pykes made their grand entrance as well, which lacked to impressed Elisif after so many years. The Lady’s eyes wandered around the room, before landing on a small group of giggling girls wearing servants’ attire. She pressed her lips, then turned back to the two men next to her. “Why don’t you go introduce yourself to the two Pyke roses, hmm?” she almost urged Jonathan. “And you,” she looked at Kyel then, “you would benefit from a dance or two. Lady Pyke is eyeing you quite insistently I see.”

And indeed, at the shorter table in the back of the room, Lady Ravena Pyke was getting her glass filled while locking her eyes on Lord Skovgaard as if he were the main appetizer of the party. She was a respectable woman, quite beautiful as well, but not quite intelligent or interested in anything other than silk, diamonds, and marrying her two daughters of into families with more silk and diamonds.

Standing up, Elisif emptied her glass of wine into Jon’s cup and walked away from the table, towards the three servants in the corner of the room. “You will have to excuse my interruption,” she started with a forcefully posh tone, “but there is no more wine at my table! Could you believe that, those noblemen! They leave not even a droplet for the ladies who… like to have fun.” She giggled and watched them curtsy and scurry off towards the door, but was quick enough to stop one in her path and placed her hand on her chest. The girl was young, barely bloomed, and now the smile had faded completely from her perfect features.

“You will tell me what it is you were giggling about, or I will let Lord Pyke know you spilled wine on my dress,” she said plainly and offered a dry smile.

The servant tensed and parted her lips as if to say something, then quickly closed them back up, before opening her mouth again. “I- my Lady. Forgive me, I swear I was just listening-”

“Speak already.”

“They… They said they saw you with Lord S-Skovgaard. They say… But I don’t believe it. No, you… I… I know you are a respectable wife - uh… widow. My condolences, my Lady, I-”

Elisif removed her hand from the girl’s chest and remained still. Her eyes displayed nothing but ice. “Nothing but rumours,” she said coldly. “The Lord and I merely wished to discuss this morning’s council in private, and you will tell this to your friends, and say you know it from… whoever saw me with Lord Skovgaard.”

“Yes, my Lady!”

“Go, now.”

The girl disappeared into the crowd and Elisif remained to contemplate, with her fingers wrapped tightly around her empty cup, now wishing it was brimming. Her gaze fell on Kyel. It was not him Kaira was upset with, but her, and she could only hope that Kaira would understand it had all been a mistake. A wrong interpretation. The girl needed more than allies - she needed friends, and empathizing with her came easily for Elisif, for she knew all too well what betrayal felt like.

 

[pointmango]

Elisif’s suggestion sent a lurch within Jonathan’s stomach, but he nodded with a nervous smile. “Good idea,” He decided. When she then suggested the same to Lord Skovgaard, Jon was grateful to have a companion with him to approach the bench. He noted Kyel’s own gaze to Lady Vannbrek was not as kind.

Kyel looked to the Lady of the house, and he stood, motioning Jonathan to follow him. “Boast, but not too much. They enjoy worldly successes,” Kyel tipped to Jon as he walked forward and right past the acquaintance of Lord Pyke. He was unsure if that decision was to do with their disagreement earlier, or simply due to his anger in the evening at the Volur. “Lady Pyke,” he spoke smoothly, gracing his lips with a charming smile. “Shall we christen the dancefloor with our presence?” He offered to the women, extending his arm.

Kyel's request of the Lady was smooth, despite its disrespect to the Lord. Jonathan looked upon Lord Pyke, making sure to hold a serious assurance across his features. He hoped Lord Pyke had enough observation of him tonight, courtship or not, this is what the council had been preparing him for. All of his daily work, special cases and investigations would hopefully prove his representation of his home enough to the idea of leading another. Or at least enough of a demonstration to prove when he did return to Riftmere he would take the duties there and adopt a professional role within his brother's court. Still he could not rid himself of the temptations to the luxuries of Whitevale. If he were to return to Greenwall with some fine souvenirs, he could make elegant spending money, or provide the good to someone who needed it, like a pretty girl at a pub. “Lord Pyke, an excellent party.” He commented. “May I be so humble as to request a dance with your daughter?” He asked.

Lord Pyke overlooked Kyel’s lack of respect, he thought the notion childish and did little to prove his point. Besides, would he have spoken the same words earlier had his father been present? The late Northern Lord would have never stood for such an alliance with a Volur. He then smiled gently to Lord Pelleitier, a handsome young lad, still finding his bearings it seemed, but he was becoming the proper age to begin looking for a wife. “Yes, Marigold,” Lord Pyke motioned his eldest daughter to rise and Jon walked forward offering first a bow, taking her hand and kissing her knuckle, then he offered his arm. “My Lady,” he spoke gently to her.

As Jon pulled the young women to dance he realized how young she was. Just eighteen, maybe even younger? He checked back to the table making sure she was the older of the two, she was. He offered her a smile, his mind blanking on his introduction as another song began and he led her into a dance. “Your home is lovely.” He said, his gaze moved over her features, she was beautiful. Striking really, her hair was dark and contrasted her pale skin drastically. Her eyes too, just as dark as her hair it seemed. “You are lovely as well,” He added. “Your necklace is lovely,” he said, he could not place the stone though, he would have guessed opal. “I sto- gifted one just like it to-” he had given it to one of the maids who tended to the Greenwall castle, “To my mother,” he spoke smiling.

Kyel took the Lady’s hand and led her to dance, he wasted little time pulling her towards him, taking the first step of an eastern style of dance he knew was well practiced in Whitevale. “Your gaze is sharp, Lady Pyke,” Kyel commented, his own eyes remaining on the woman in subject for the most part, but as they moved he found himself keeping an eye on his own party, particularly the Volur and Elisif. Lady Pyke was perfect for Whitevale. He remembered his first recollection of the woman from when he was young, even then her beauty was striking. Age had treated her kindly, although she was hardly old even with daughters on the edge of womanhood. No doubt Lord Pyke was proud of his wife and his daughters, vanity seemed to be the token of Whitevale.