Fantasy - Wildfire - [CLOSED]

[peritwinkle]

The tune of music and loud chatter made Kaira wish she could be in her room instead of stuck at the table watching everyone else celebrate a birthday and an alliance they could not care any less about. She watched Kyel and Jon rise from their table and each pick up the hand of a Lady to dance with: Jon naturally went for the oldest of the Pyke daughters, while Kyel invited her mother, Lady Ravena, who seemed suprised and overly enthusiastic to dance with him, but almost as if to test the man who had so quickly upset her husband that morning. ‘Why would he not choose to dance with Elisif?' Kaira wondered as she watched them. The widow of Lord Vannbrek was standing alone, tapping the edge of a goblet with her slender, bejeweled fingers.

It did not take long until the guests around her started spreading around, and even Ser Beor went to chat with a man who looked like Lord Pyke’s commander, after their brief conversation about swords. She glanced towards the back of the room where the two Lords were still dancing, and her eyes immediately fell on Lady Elisif, who seemed to have appeared out of thin air at her table and was now pulling herself a seat. Kaira pursed her lips and lowered her head, pretending to smooth out the wrinkles in her black velvet dress.

“We need to talk,” the woman spoke quietly as she set her empty goblet on the table. Turning towards her, Elisif canted her head to force Kaira to look her in the eye. “Whatever you now, whatever you’ve heard… It is entirely taken out of context. You should have come to me instead of… secluding yourself here.”

“Lady Islea made for a very pleasant presence,” Kaira said sharply.

“Do not pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. Not only does this harm you, Kaira, but it bruises my honor as well, and I will not have that.”

Kaira finally turned towards her with narrowed eyes. Elisif straightened her back and relaxed her shoulders, as if readying herself for battle.

“This morning, after the council, Lord Skovgaard merely wanted my help to pick out his attire for the feast,” the woman explained. “I suppose you would understand that, since I did the same for you. And it is a pity you do not wear it with the pride and and joy it deserves.” She settled herself more comfortably in her chair. “I do not want you to believe I had any intention of trapping or humiliating you that evening in my chambers. I do wish to be your friend, Kaira, truly. There is no hidden intention or malice behind my actions regarding you.”

The girl watched Elisif in silence, without so much as a sliver of emotion on her face. Truthfully, she did not know what to believe or how to feel. It almost ached to admit that her disappointment was rooted in a jealousy she had never felt before against her. She was beautiful, intelligent, and lived under a title that made her features all the more desirable. Still, thinking on it now, a woman with her wits would not have risked being seen walking alone into another man’s room, widow or not, if she was not ready to defend her intentions. Kaira bit her tongue, her gaze analyzing the green eyes before her, which looked more and more similar to those in her dream.

“Why did you know my name?” she asked then. The questioned seemed to take Elisif aback; she had been expecting reproach, or perhaps forgiveness. “Grimward. You said it when we first met like it rang familiar to you.”

“I-” A servant approached to fill her empty glass of wine, but upon refusal, ran back into the crowd to the other table. Elisif exhaled softly. “I believe I knew your mother. Yrsa was her name. She saved my life when I was younger, the name has not left my mind since. I had been meaning to tell you, but upon learning of her terrible passing, I did not wish to stir any unpleasant memories for you.”

Kaira’s throat had clenched at the mention of her mother’s name, and she was heavily tempted to ask to know the full story then, before deciding it was not the time nor the place to speak of her. The music was loud, the trotting and laughter were overwhelming, and she felt like she would snap if she looked at Elisif any longer. After a moment of silence, she pushed herself up from her chair quietly and turned away, heading towards the corridor outside the dining hall.

*​

Marigold had been preparing herself for that evening for the past couple of days. She had heard the whispers of her handmaids whenever they left her room or helped her get fitted for a gown, of how it would be her moment of being freed into the world and allowed to find a husband. And albeit she thought of herself a woman already, she knew she would miss playing with her little sister around the court and playing chase through the long promenade cutting through the merchants’ market.

Everything until that moment had felt like a blur - donning her new dress of a pretty blue adorned with gold and yellow, being escorted into the dining hall and so soon being invited to dance with a Lord. And he was handsome indeed, yet still a stranger to her, which made her heart race and eyes avert to their steps under the folds of her dress. “Is there anything you don’t find lovely?” the girl asked with a timid smile. “I mean… Thank you, my Lord. You look quite handsome, yourself.”

The comment about her necklace and the way he stuttered ever so slightly with his words gave her the strength to finally look up. Lord Jonathan Pelletier had kind eyes, still young, still carrying a childish glow about him. “Do you truly like it here, or are you saying that out of pure politeness?” she asked sincerely. The castle had always seemed too dark and gloomy for her liking. It was only the garden that truly lifted up her spirits, and often times the market, at the break of spring during the Days of the Harvest.

 

[pointmango]

Kyel nodded periodically as the Lady of Whitevale spoke to him. She droned about the elegancies she admired in the North, and how he should come by more. Every so often his eyes would lift, searching for her, and he found them together. What could they be speaking of? And then she was gone, leaving Elisif to herself. Lady Pyke said something about Bailin missing his father. His grey eyes flashed to Ravena’s then, he pushed forward a small polite smile, “Yes,” he agreed. His father never respected Lord Pyke, but he enjoyed fine alcohols, even finer meat and expensive women to don over as he discussed his hatred of the Volur.

“Excuse me, Lady Revena,” he said as the song was ending. Kyel’s large steps first directed himself towards Elisif, intending to ask her what she was talking to Kaira about. Did she ask why she had not sat with them? Halfway to the pregnant woman, his eyes met hers and he stopped. His brows furrowed and he turned towards the doors of the great room, he would speak to her himself.

Kyel walked out of the dining hall and down the corridor, he turned the corner and found the girl in the black velvet dress he had been looking for. Only he had no plan, he had intentions of walking over to Elisif, questioning her on the topic. He was going against everything he stood for to even support the Volur, he wanted to demand to know what her problem was. “Hello,” was all he began with, he cleared his throat, his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed as he looked her over. “Are you alright? Your entrance was hardly friendly. And now you’ve left dinner,” he tried deeply to remove the accusatory tone from his voice.

He wondered if she wished to ignore him, he was so aware of her whereabouts at all times. Had she noticed? He was convinced she only deemed him respectable because of his relationship with the Greenwall council, especially Ser Beor. Maybe she preferred him out of sight. His fist gripped over his thumb trying to decipher if he was afraid of her, or her ability to imitate the horrors of the stories he was told as a boy. Was it even fear anymore? He admired her, respected her for her strength, that was all. The fears were such that belonged to a man who was so careful to maintain his supremacy. His fears were not his own, but his fathers, grandfathers and so on. And now, the only true fear he held was that she would not reveal to him the reason for her cold actions this evening.

*

Jon’s face reddened as she retorted back to him at his overuse of the word lovely. He enjoyed the quip from the young woman and hoped there was more to come. Her questions caused his brows to raise, and he smiled a bit more mischievously then. He found her question sincere, and despite the advice he was given, he wanted their conversation to flow how he felt it should. “Honestly?” he asked, he led her through a small spin, pulling her back close to him, “No.”

“It is a… lovely place,” he said, a small grin playing at the corner of his lips now, “Too lovely. So lovely I feel like I could break something at every turn.” He huffed then, wondering how harsh he should be, “A place so lavish, yet so dull at the same time. Too fragile to have any real fun,” he decided then. His eyes surveyed her features again, and he thought about what a childhood in this castle must’ve been like. Had he lived here he probably would have received lashings for the way he ran about his own home as a child.

“My own home is rather dull too,” He told her then, “Most of Riftmere’s fun is below the city, and along the river and the lake. I enjoyed being beside a body of water.” He recalled the lost feeling with a smile. “But Greenwall" he paused, grinning then, "Greenwall is amazing. It is humble, much like the council members who rule within its walls. But there are windows in every room, and some reach the ceiling. I could watch any day within those walls; sunlight, rain, snow. But I will admit I am more fond of the courtyard. There’s a beautiful archery range, flowers align the entire field, and the grass is kept short. It’s exceptional.”

He paused then, realizing he should have been asking about her, and her own home. “Tell me about Whitevale,” he said then, trying to save himself. “The best things about it.” He added gently.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kaira recognized Kyel’s footsteps by their weight against the stone floor and the scent of pine and warm musk that always seemed to linger about him. She stood before a tall window, with her hands pinned to the sill and her back arched tensely. A familiar yet muffled tune reverberated against the walls; it almost seemed too jolly to fit the elegant darkness of the scenery outside the castle. She had assumed he would come to her, but was unsure if she had hoped for it. Loneliness came to her easily, but it was not something she desired. Silence, tranquility, peace, yes, but she was alone and caught between a crossfire even more dangerous than in the King’s service.

“All that talk of trust,” she spoke rigidly, “all that hope that I would find a sort of… security here. It feels like I am a little girl once again, so blind and so childish to believe anything that was said or promised to me.”

She rested her eyes on the reflection of the moon against the polished stone of the window sill. It was full that night, which meant she would likely get no sleep, either. “I had a dream last night, before the council,” she murmured as she turned her head towards him, her gaze still lost on the ground. “I saw a pair of green eyes, and a sword slashed through my back. It felt so real that when I woke up, I could almost feel the blood trickle down my skin.” She had tasted the metal in her mouth and felt the pain of pierced bones. “The last time I had a dream so vivid was before my third trial… Of a woman I was supposed to execute in the name of the King.”

In that moment, the air seemed to grow colder and she felt the brisk current of the hallway slip beneath her dress and wrap its tendrils around her limbs. She recognized those dreams by the pure inability to distinguish them from reality. The only solace she had was that the last one had not been entirely accurate, but rather a metaphor of what would happen.

“I believe someone in this castle wants me dead,” she concluded, setting her jaw. “And whoever will do it, will likely make it spectacularly unexpected.” Eventually, she looked up at him with dark, troubled eyes. “I can take on anyone who wants to hurt me, with or without you. But I cannot take on what I cannot see.” If she were to be killed, it would either be overwhelmingly violent, or as subtle as a poisoned needle stuck between her sheets. She could not live the rest of her life plagued by paranoia.

*​

Marigold listened to Lord Pelletier with a growing simper on her lips and cheeks florid and glowing. He seemed honest and open, something so rare and frowned upon in Whitevale that it felt like a sip of fresh, cold spring water after a year of drought. It made her wish she could visit his home, where everything seemed much simpler, and the people much less theatrical than what she’d known.

“I have not traveled a great deal, but everyone around me, around my parents… They seem cold. Interested and enthusiastic, but so cold on the inside, you can see it in their eyes.” She enjoyed the presence of Ladies lower in ranks and, whenever she had the chance, she enjoyed talking to the farmers who were not too shaken by her presence to share a word. “I would love to see Greenwall one day. Riftmere too. They sound much less… Stiff. Well… Perhaps that is not the word I am looking for but you have spun me a great deal to shake those out of my head.”

She giggled as she spinned a few times more and allowed him to catch her in his arms. His question about Whitevale erased some of the joy from her features, but she answered his question just as sweetly. “I enjoy the gardens as much as you do. The air there is always so clear, it clears my mind too. I sit there when I read or paint… Do you have any hobbies, my Lord? You are not much older than me, you can’t have already started caring for administrative issues.”

 

[pointmango]

Kyel understood, although her answer was not verbatim, a soft generalization about the lack of trust she felt would suffice him for the time being. It was a rare moment of her beauty to indulge in, and yet Kyel had the chance to admire her skin beneath the moonlight for another night. His admiration of her figure noticed the delicate curves before him, yet every movement and feature was refined. She had a control of her body he’d never noticed, but it was combined with the freedom and accuracy of the magic he heard of as a child.

Turning to him she spoke of a dream, he willed himself another step forward with interest. Green eyes? Immediately his mind went to Elisif, but further explanation revealed no such sense. His own eyes darted to hers as she recalled the last time she had such a vivid dream. A draft filled the hall and he felt heat well within his chest again as she explained.

He turned his head, his lips closing more firmly. It was imperative she was protected, she was the strongest of them all. And the thought of her dead now…. He turned back and looked down on her. She was so beautiful, and even in her splendid attire he saw a pale aura of helplessness before him. He thought of her as innocent in all of this, she was plucked by the King to be made as a weapon, she did not deserve the grief of death. “Kaira, I speak now without reserve, without hatred. I will not let you die.” he was sure of that fact, for her to die he decided then, he would have to be dead himself.

A slight noise like a stifled sigh reached his ear. He turned his head and looked around, he saw no one else. But the sound was repeated distinctly enough to convince him of its reality. “Come, we should discuss this more privately,” he said leading her down the corridor and opening the door of the first room they came across. It was a small drawing room, perhaps an office as a desk nestled in the corner. Kyel looked down upon his wrist and began pacing up and down with an expression of anguish in his eyes. “Can you recount any more details of the dream?” he asked her carefully. “What about before? How true did the dream before your trial hold?”

*

Her words were honest, and Jon did not have the heart to tell her most Lords and Ladies were cold. He always enjoyed himself in the villages of Riftmere and even Greenwall for that fact alone. At least she shared the same sentiment it seemed. “Well I hope to show you them one day,” He replied easily. It was conceivable to him then, that the process of courting may not be as terrible as he once thought. She was intelligent, and beautiful, and there was a mystery about her he found charming.

“Well I would like to see a painting before I leave,” he informed her with a mischievous grin. The idea of a hobby that would be so mundane as to share with a Lady as elegance as Marigold Pyke proved difficult. He hated reading. As a man of Riftmere he should have adored fishing, but he didn’t have the patience. Even taking up a boat would have meant a particularly chaotic day for him to need that much relaxation. He enjoyed pretty sights over intelligent conversation, although that was not a hobby.

“I am an archer,” he told her. “Quite good, I’ve done it since I was a boy. I would like to boast I’m the best in all of Valera, but I have not participated in a true archery competition before with other experts.” He decided he would end any more talk of battle, his keen instinct on mixing explosive devices was probably too vulgar for a Lady. “I like chess,” he decided. “It’s strategy is intense, I will admit the silence is difficult for me though.” He shrugged. Another hobby which he then noted was more of a vice, was Liar’s Dice. The passion of gambling was exciting, people of all backgrounds gathered to tease and become absorbed in drink and play of all varieties. Every single player differed from every other, and yet when the dice were rolled beneath their cups every man held the same uniform expression of slight negativeness as a mask. “I like dice games,” he let a coy smile escape his lips.

 

[peritwinkle]

There was a fire within Kyel’s gaze that convinced Kaira of the genuinity of his words. The pallor of his skin, the way his muscles tensed and his lips pursed nervously - whether he cared for her wellbeing or the resolution of their plans, she could not tell, but knowing he would not let her so quickly was all the reassurance she needed in that moment.

She did not need to be asked twice to follow him away from the buzzing corridor. The room they entered was even colder, dark and clearly not a hospitable retreat for Lord Pyke’s guest, but she greatly preferred the silence and safety of it. The moon still found its way through a small window, just enough to highlight the expression of disquiet and torment written on Kyel’s face. Kaira slowly paced across the room, seeking to occupy her fingers with something as she contemplated the possibility of her death. She grazed the dusty surface of the desk pushed in the corner of the room and shook her head at Kyel’s question.

“No, that was all. But these dreams… If it is truly a vision and not a mere nightmare, they are not always meant to be taken literally.” She took a moment to recall the last one she had had. “Sometimes they are just… a metaphor, a hint for you to sieve and raise your guard. The last time, it was just the image and voice of a woman sobbing behind a back, translucent curtain. Leon told me later that the curtain must have symbolized death, and her crying, the inability to find peace in her end.”

The thought of it made her skin crawl. The woman had died for the smallest of guilt, and her death had only served to teach Kaira her final lesson in obeying the King, as a royal Volur should.

“You cannot tell the others,” she eventually said as she turned to look at him. “I do not want them to believe that I fabricated a lie to further cut at their already loose arrangements with Whitevale. And regardless, I could be wrong. It might be someone else entirely, or nobody at all.” If it was found out that the Volur suspected a betrayal from House Pyke, they would end up in the same place they started, and Whitevale would remain open and waiting to be struck and conquered.

*​

A painting. Marigold flashed a nervous smile; she did not think she was nearly good enough to impress a Lord with her art, but perhaps he was just as clueless as the many others who had seen it and deemed it masteful. “Well if you want to have a laugh, I invite you anytime you wish,” she chuckled lightly. “Tomorrow, even. After lunch.” Her father had told her they would not be serving breakfast in the morning since half of the castle would still be under the weight of wine and excessive amounts of boar steak.

An archer. She took the opportunity of each twirl to analyse every word that came out of his mouth. She was very well aware he was controlling his just as much as she weighed hers. “Seems like Lords have way more fun than us, women of the court,” she commented. “I would like to have the chance to ride more. Hunt, maybe, but my father forbids it still. I cannot use a bow properly without bruising my arms with the cord with every shot. The last time I asked him for a teacher, he looked almost repulsed that his sweetest of dolls could ever be interested in such a thing.”

She kept a smile on her face as she spoke, but truly, recalling everything saddened her. She hoped that, in finding a husband, she would be allowed to do everything that was frowned upon in Whitevale, and if she was lucky enough and Lord Pelletier enjoyed her presence, love or not, he did not seem the type to hedge his partner in the fear of judgmental looks and irrelevant whispers.

Eventually, the music died down, and Marigold pulled away from the Lord with a small curtsy. “Thank you for your sincerity, Lord Pelletier,” she said, quiet enough so only he could hear her. “I hope I will see more of you in the following days.”

 

[pointmango]

Frustration only grew in his gaze as she spoke that they were often metaphors. Equally frustrating as that didn’t mean they always were. What if this was the chance of a case? Or was the dream simply to signify a betrayal. The eyes could have meant anything; an identifier, perhaps envy? He could not even focus on her small story of the last occurrence, his mind plagued with ideas of protection for the Volur. The fear of her dead was frustratingly mortifying to him, he wished to understand his own feelings for her safety.

His entire body turned to her, his eyes guarded in a slight blaze at her next request. “How am I to protect you if I cannot tell another?” He nearly snapped at her. He should have pulled rank, told her he had to tell another soul. It was for her protection. But he didn’t want to break any of the small trust he had built with her. And so now a new problem plagued his features as he tried to configure how he could protect her without telling another soul. No one would think her lie fabricated, the only who would think such was House Pyke. They needed house Pyke, their army and their resources, most importantly the support of Pyke’s smaller houses surrounding it’s land.

He huffed in frustration and his own feet began pacing, “Can you do something?” He asked carefully, “Cast some sort of spell so no one may enter your chambers?” He asked her, if he were to be the only one to know of this pressing secret he’d need reassurance of her safety at all times. He could watch her during the day, even if she insisted she was fine while she was awake. But his nerves grew helpless for the night. He remembered seeing her unconscious on the council table at Greenwall for the first time. Her features were so innocent in sleep, with the intention to slaughter no one would hesitate.

*

Jon’s chest lifted at the invitation to see her the next day. He thought then if things lifted off between the two he would take her on small adventures he had always taken for granted. He’d ride horses with her, take her along on a hunt, even teach her to shoot a bow.

He bowed as she curtsied, truly upset the song had died down. “Thank you for the lovely dance Lady Pyke,” he offered with a small smile letting himself watch her return to her place before the large crowd at the center table with her parents. He turned back towards his own spot at his table, now he only spotted Lady Elisif. His gaze darted around the room, Beor speaking in a jolly manner with a group of older men, Jon would have guessed old friends. He spotted Islea as well, she was speaking to a group of younger knights. There was always a small group of men who tried to flirt with the woman Jon noticed, but she never left with another soul. Married to her work and duty Jon justified. But there was no sign of Kaira or Lord Skovgaard.

He approached the green-eyed Lady and he plopped himself down beside her, “Courting might not be so bad,” he said with a smile. Then he paused, his attention on Elisif, “You were betrothed to Kaelan basically since you were born,” He mused in thought then, “Did you ever have to officially court with him?” Jon wondered. He should have known the process, betrothal or not, he’d been informed on it many times. Especially when he was younger and his brother went through the process. Jon had always found it difficult to listen to matters he wasn’t interested in. A trait Beor and Islea constantly corrected him for. At least Bastain would snap at him or hit his arm. Those matters of correction were much faster.

Beor wasn’t a man of too many words, but when he did speak it was intelligent and often filled with hidden messages of metaphors. It was maddening, Jon thought. And Islea was simply too thorough with her tactics. He loved them each like a parent, but their training of him handled more with etiquette than the strategy he had anticipated.

 

[peritwinkle]

Protect her. Kaira froze momentarily and looked at him in both disbelief and wonder. It was not any more than a week before that he was the least pleased with Ser Beor’s decision to keep her alive, and yet the anguish and worry in his mannerisms were undeniable. She wanted to tell him that she could protect herself. She wanted him to know that she was powerful, dangerous, and very much capable of watching her own back, but she was smart enough to recognize her stance. No matter her fighting capabilities, she could not fight an enemy unseen.

A sigh escaped her lips as she began to slowly pace around the room, analysing the pattern of the stone floor as if it held all the secrets to her worries. “I will have to think of a way,” she replied, “but even if I do, I cannot keep servants out of my room, and they are the quickest and safest to bribe into planting something while making my bed or bringing breakfast.” Refusing any of their services would raise questions, especially as a short term guest of House Pyke.

“Even if you tell the others, Kyel, what could they possibly do?” she asked as she eventually approached him. “I don’t even know why I told you, truly. Perhaps because I am afraid… I do not want to die. Certainly not before the matter with Alastair is settled, and you stand no chance without me.” Kaira’s neck tensed and she shook her head when she realised what she had implied. “I’m sorry. I think I am too sober to be talking right now.”

She could still hear the quiet humming of music from the dining hall, although muffled, like in a dream. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stopped by the window to rest her eyes on the full moon outside. “I do not want to go back there and endure the scrutinizing glares of everyone outside our circle. But I do not want to go to my room either and sulk like a wife waiting for her husband to return from war. I still hold on to my dignity too much to feel so pathetic and helpless.” She would have been the royal Volur. She should have been fearless, vigilant, untouchable. Instead, she could already feel the fangs of paranoia start to eat her alive.

*​

Elisif was happy for Jon’s success that night. Her face, however, did not reflect that in the least. Still, she forced a dry smile as she shuffled the juice in her glass, her gaze lost on a small crack on the edge of the table. “He never had to, but Kaelan had always been a romantic at heart,” Elisif spoke quietly, although her mind was wandering elsewhere. “He treated me like a jewel, ever since we were children. He brought me flowers every day and had my room filled with bouquets whenever I came to visit. He was raised by good people into a good, intelligent, talented man.” His meaningless death was the most maddening.

“You know, it seems like I had everything until now,” she mused. “But what I never had was friendship. Other Ladies hated me for being assigned such a good match. I only made friends with servants, truly. It seems like I am not suited at this now, either.”

 

[pointmango]

Kyel frowned at her refusal. How could she tell him such a thing and refuse his help? She seemed to be back tracking, questioning why she told him. He wanted nothing more than to grab her by the shoulders and yank her close so she would be forced to listen. To tell her formalities were foolish when her life was at stake. He wanted to command that two guards stand outside her door each night. That one always watch the servants in her room. That he stay beside her during the day. Kyel had since stopped pacing as she began, his fists were closed tight by his side as he willed himself not to yell commands in her direction.

He listened as she spoke by the window, she was reeling slightly, he felt like he could sense it. Maybe it was himself reeling and not her. Why did he sympathize so deeply with this woman, this woman who was not only that but a Volur as well. It had to be because he wished this war to be over so deeply. They’d been fighting slowly for years, but now with her he could taste freedom at their fingertips. He stepped away from the center of the dark room and moved to the deep colored wooden door, opening it. Lucky a steward was positioned down the hall. “You there,” he said and snapped him forward. Kyel kept the door mostly closed as he spoke to the man. He was sure the man would think he was in the room with a woman, or maybe even by himself. “Bring three pitchers of ale.” He requested.

When the steward returned he knocked earnestly, and Kyel cracked the door open, taking the pitchers and the cups the man had brought. “Thank you.” Kyel spoke with a quick nod and he shut the door again. He turned back to her then, she was still at the window. He poured two cups of ale but he left one at the table.

He watched her beside the window, he then moved forward to stand behind her, his gaze not on the moon or even the courtyard, he was looking down at her, his eyes began on her hair, the dark shade looking lighter in the moonlight. The tender skin peaking through of her neck and then her shoulders, down her back catching himself as the small where her figure sloped inward slightly. “If I tell the others they will help me protect you,” he spoke in a low tone, almost as if he were informing her he would be telling the others, and she had no say in the matter. He still was unsure, but he didn’t want her to know that, he wanted to gauge her reaction.

He reached around her slightly, offering the cup of ale, “We will stay here until you cannot bear it to do anything but sleep.” He said in a deep tone behind her still. “Tonight I will stay awake, I will make sure no one comes. But I want to get you guards. At the very least myself, Beor and Jon will shift.” He informed her. To Kyel it wasn’t up for discussion, they did need her and he wasn’t about to lose her over her pride.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kaira watched the short exchange between Kyel and the steward from behind her shoulder, with her body still turned away towards the window. His voice was stern, as though he were giving a strategic order rather than asking a servant for their service. She could barely hear the words he commanded to the young man, but soon enough her suspicions were confirmed by three pitchers brimming with a dark liquid which might just be the momentary solution to her problems.

As he drew closer and planted himself behind her, Kaira felt the skin on her back crawl and her muscles tense. He had an intoxicating scent about him, like amber and pepper, but still with a bite of cold pine - exactly what she imagined the North to smell like. His arm came around her, yet they did not touch, and she received the cup of ale reluctantly, her fingertips brushing over his ever so slightly. She was momentarily tempted to ask why he had called for three, but his observation about informing the others regarding her dream shook the question out of her mind. She brought her other hand to the cup and held it tightly, tapping her fingers against its side.

“We are guests to House Pyke,” she stated. “Requesting guards in a hospitable home would draw questions. And I will not have you watching me if you intend to finish that,” she added as she briefly peeked at his own cup.

Frankly, she doubted they would stay there long enough for anything of such nature to go down. Their alliance with the Pykes had already been shaken on, which meant that would not be their last brush with Lord Bailin or any of his kin. Knowing that King Alastair would probably try to avoid killing Kaira at any costs, framing an assassination as his doing was out of the question. The man was stubborn, but not stupid. If it was indeed him that was planning a strike, it would have to be done so subtly, so artfully, that it could not thin down his ties with the North and the rest of Wendlyn.

A sigh escaped Kaira’s lips as she wiped the thought out of her mind and decided to finally take a good sip of the ale. “I will speak to Elisif, ask her if she does not mind sharing a room until we leave.” None would question the loneliness of a newly widowed woman. “I can be cautious about water and food. Someone could be trying to observe my patterns, so it is best not to have any. Keep them on their toes.” Another couple of sips and she could already feel slightly lighter on her feet. “So long as I stay with you… The more indispensable I look to you - to the council - the less one would be inclined to strike at the very core. Which means,” she turned to face him then, “you will have to treat me as such. An ally. A friend, not a stranger. I am a weapon, but from this day on, you all wield me.”

His eyes glimmered in the moonlight, so pale they almost seemed to be reflections of it themselves. Despite his menacing frame, they held a warmth and kindness that were almost paradoxical. It was not so difficult to picture why Elisif had fallen for him as well as her husband - he was handsome, childishly brave and surprisingly intelligent. Briefly, she recalled the way he had bit at Lord Pyke that morning at the council; his voice had been sharp and determined, and his expression albeit vexed, still as respectful and professional as one would expect from the Lord of Ironstone. She envied him for that. All those years, she had learnt to maintain her silence, but her experssions always gave her away.

They likely did, in that very moment.

Blinking quickly, Kaira returned to her drink and leaned back against the window frame, resting one hand on the sill. “I suppose Jon could keep me company during the day,” she considered. “That, when he is not courting young Lady Pyke. In which case, I’m sure Islea would be more than happy to take his place. And when we return to Elvgard, I will be training with Tokesten most of the day, regardless,” she added as she peeked at him from behind the rim of her cup.

 

[pointmango]

His jaw tightened as he felt her fingers brush his to retrieve the ale. Once her hand was secure on the cup he slowly let go. Her reasons for not telling the others were foolish, he did not care about offending House Pyke. An unexpected attack on Kaira would be seen only as tragic if they left this a secret. Only Kyel would then know the blow was premeditated. He then glanced at his own cup and set the piece down at her request. If she wouldn’t tell anyone else then he would be watching her, and if that meant no ale then so be it. He nodded slightly, but confusion as well as frustration glazed over his eyes. He thought he was treating her as a friend? Was he not? He was trying. He’d never really been friends with any woman besides Elisif, but their friendship came with time and after some stolen touches and kisses. He didn’t think he could treat Elisif and Kaira the same way, he didn't want to either.

But how did he want to treat Kaira? She was a young and beautiful girl. Her hair was dark, but not as dark his his own, he enjoyed the lighter tones. He wondered had she not been brought to the cold mountains Alastair positioned his Kingdom in would her hair be lighter with the sunshine? Her skin perhaps less pale? There she stood leaning back against the window, her delicate fingers picking along the frame. She shared the beauty for which women are proverbial, but to him it was more. She was strong, in both stature and will. He knew those fingers which looked pale and delicate could emit fire from it’s very tips and burn him if she so desired.

His frustration only flared harder when her final words came. She wanted Jon to guard her? He might as well be as strong as a bird compared to a wolf. And Islea? His shoulders flexed backwards as he tried to come up for a suitable reason why not Islea. Saying she was a woman meant nothing. Islea held her own against Beor and Bastain often. And her strategy proved superior. In fact if Kaira refused him, he would suggest Islea over Jon. He shook his head, “I will train you,” Kyel said to her, it wasn’t an offer or a question. “And I will watch you, Jon and Islea can when I cannot, maybe shifts,” a compromise, yes that should be sufficient.

“Tonight,” he said, then taking a small step towards her as he picked up his cup of ale again, “I will have one drink. And I will make sure your room is secure and stay if I must. There is a comfortable chair in my room I can bring over if yours has none,” He informed her. He moved over to his cup of ale then and lifted it taking a generous sip. “I am wary of you sharing a room with Elisif,” he said quietly. His chest lifted and fell in one large heave of a breath as he tried to think, “What if whomever this is harms her too?” He wondered quietly. He would never forgive himself if she was harmed, if both were harmed, and the child. His eyes looked to her deep blue ones, his gut pushed him forward another step, “I’m telling the others, even if just Jon and Islea,” he decided then.

He paused slightly, “You and the younger Lord Pellietier are friendly,” he said to her. It had to be the night, the party, why did he have such an air of curiosity when it came to her? Kyel was overstepping his boundaries, and he knew he certainly wasn’t drunk enough to ask this question. Maybe she was warm enough from the fumes of the ale to answer and think little of it, “Do you prefer his presence over mine?” he asked her slowly.

 

[peritwinkle]

It was clear to Kaira then that Kyel had no intention of keeping the news to himself, and frankly, she could not blame him. The weight of her protection would otherwise fall entirely on his shoulders, even if she had not asked it of him. He was a good man, honourable and brave. His protectiveness reminded her of Leon, albeit the latter was more subtle about keeping Kaira under the safety of his wing. She listened to his words silently, the way he mused about Elisif and staying the night to watch over her himself.

Then, he shifted the subject onto her relationship with Jon and Kaira could not help but crack a smile. She could not tell whether it was a way of avoiding her protests or if he was truly invested in her interests. “Do you prefer Elisif’s presence over mine?” she countered quickly, canting her head. “I would not have thought your true motive for offering a drink would be interrogation.” She took one last gulp out of her ale and set the empty cup on the window sill.

“You two are different,” she replied with a sigh. “Jon is warm and joyful, lifts the spirits. And to be honest with you, he was the first person I thought of telling about my dream this morning, but after seeing you at the council, hearing what you said…” Choosing her words seemed to be difficult, and Kaira could not tell if it was the alcohol or simply his pressure. Kyel did not intimidate her. Nobody did, but Leon and Alastair, and yet she feared saying the wrong things. “You sacrificed everything for this war, for people who do not even bow to you as their Lord. The way you countered Lord Pyke make me think that if there is one person who would not let this whole plan go to hell for an alliance with him, it is you.”

It was not difficult for Kaira to admit that she was the essential element to their possible success. They did not have the numbers that Alastair did, nor the ships, but one Volur could change the odds and weigh much more in battle than a thousand swords. If they lost her, their only chance of winning was gathering the entirety of Wendlyn to fight alongside them, and a good number of Houses were vehemently keen on remaining neutral.

Pulling away from the wall, Kaira went around Kyel and grabbed the spare cup of ale, bringing it to her lips thoughtfully. “And you do not need to sleep on a chair,” she added. “I am not a prude. Unless you’re afraid I will bite you in my sleep, for which I can’t promise anything. I seem to be having quite wild nights lately.” A few sips later, and half the cup was already gone. Kaira could feel her body heat up, stirring her awake from her sulking. "I am sure nobody would care as much to spead the rumour of us together as they did about you and Elisif."

 

[pointmango]

Her lack of answer and flipping the question back to him caused his brows to raise, what was she getting at? Next his brows furrowed and transitioned to a frown as she described his difference to Jon, and that he lifted others. Kyel could lift others, he supposed in a more threatening and persuasive way like for battle- he could be jovial if he so desired, she had no idea what she was talking about. He especially felt a cross heat rise within his chest when she said she thought of telling him first. He was curious what had turned her to Kyel. At the council he was calling Lord Pyke out, he felt he had some sort of higher seat because his old alliship with Kyel’s father meant the North wouldn’t press him. Kyel thought Lord Pyke was a lazy swine who would be described as such if he didn’t have such lavish things surrounding his being.

She was right then too though, this war was more than silly politics of Wendlyn and the North. Windhold wouldn’t falter unless everyone was pushing all of their resources forward, and Kyel would be damned if he was to spend his life as the Northern Lord of Ironstone answering to King Alastair.

She came forward and passed him reaching for another cup of ale. Her words were so suggestive, and Kyel felt little pride in holding back then. He turned his body to hers and stepped forward slowly, his eyes locking hers, trying to read the deep blue iris’ he’d been so hellbent on trying to forget. “I loved Elisif when I was a child,” he spoke in a low tone, his voice was calm then. “The idea of love was new and exciting then, and as we grew, her love for her husband did as well. And my love for her grew into comfort, her and Kaelan were my safe haven. It is not love, and maybe it never was. A deep friendship can be valuable, but it doesn’t provide the way passion can,” he stepped forward again.

Kyel’s form was standing right before hers, and his hand pressed against the low center of her belly then and slowly pressed her backwards as he followed until her back hit the wall. His hand trailed then to the side of her waist feeling the curve of her side as he leaned down slightly, his eyes still holding her gaze. “I prefer your presence over anyone’s,” He spoke very clearly. He knew the girls first thought would be of lust, and his own mind pressed there too. He wasn’t too worried about the complications in the moment, spending the evening with her didn’t have to mean anything.

His other hand lifted to just beneath her jaw and his thumb filtered from the edge of her mouth dragging along her lips to the center. Very slowly he dragged his thumb downward pulling just slightly over her lower lip and then his hand fell back to his own side. “Perhaps it is time for bed,” he whispered.

 

[peritwinkle]

There was a fire in Kyel’s voice that Kaira had never heard before, a depth in his tone that matched the darkness in his eyes. She had never seen that look in anyone, but somehow knew exactly what it meant. She allowed him to move her, calmly, a perfect contrast with his turbulence. Had it been the talk of his young love, the ale or the privacy? Before her she saw a famished wolf rather than the composed Lord he had painted himself as at the council that morning.

As she pressed her back against the wall and felt his fingers trace along her bottom lip, a flame burst in her chest and her gut twisted almost painfully. Her eyes were locked on his, narrowed, cold, as if immune to his words that were yet sending shivers down her spine. She gently wrapped her fingers around his wrist, beneath his sleeve, and detached it from her waist, bringing it up close to her face. Her skin heated, but she held onto him tightly and kept her gaze on his.

“I will give you the benefit of the doubt and say that you brought me here and tried to piece me apart without a hidden motive,” her voice pearled, but quiet, close to a whisper. The heat only grew, yet not enough to harm, and as it did, she held onto him tighter. “I will say it is lust, because I do want you. Perhaps because I am deprived of this feeling. But I will not become your doll to play with and throw away. Especially not a frail one.”

Her stomach turned. It was hard to look at him then and trust that he was not there simply because he wanted her. She had felt the same pain earlier that day with Elisif, only this time, there was a part of her that did not care, that still craved what he craved, as well.

She had never had a man look at her for more than a moment. They knew who she was - what she was - by the black shroud and the sword she carried at her hip. The whole of Yllevad recognized her, and even outsiders quickly learned to stay away. Those at court spoke to her, but for a brief exchange of essential words. She knew all too well not to crave, not to fall, not to love. A royal Volur would never marry or bear children of their own, there was no reason to put herself through the pain of dreaming.

Eventually, she let go of his arm and relaxed slightly against the wall. “I respect you. And I want to believe you respect me enough not to make me think of you as anything more than my ally.”

 

[pointmango]

Her eyes narrowed and she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and lifted it from her side, his eyes widening slightly as her hand began to warm, even as the heat intensified, his shock was gone then. Was this a reminder? Was she reminding him she could hurt him at any moment? His jaw tensed slightly at her accusation, but her admission to craving such a feeling only caused him to lean into her closer.

Her words cut, mostly because there was truth in the feeling they seemed to share. Kyel’s fear needed to subside, and he was certain what he wanted from her in that moment. He didn’t want something frail to toss around as he so pleased. He wanted a woman with her own desires, whose desires chose him and who sought passion as intensely as his own. Someone who wanted him to pleasure them, and they to him. Someone who would speak his name on her lips and mean it. His mind wandered, he had always wanted someone strong beside him. Someone who can stand her own against a council and share the strong willed nature of the North. His jaw tensed more harshly as he commanded himself to stop picturing her as the Lady of the North, and perceive her only as a woman then who craved the same touch he did.

“I brought you here to speak privately over the serious matter of your safety,” his tone was deep and serious. “You are my ally and nothing more,” he added, his tone was pressing again, trying to convince not just her, but himself as well then. His eyes very quickly glanced to her hand, “You are not frail, nor are you a doll to play with,” His other hand pressed to her waist again, and his hand that hers was around moved to the back of her neck, tilting her head to look up at him as his thumb pressing along her pulse point. “You are beautiful, strong and you are here, it is for those reasons alone I want you tonight Kaira.”

Kyel’s face leaned in closer to hers. “I vow to protect you because you are the only way we can win this war, I will not stand to watch Alastair ruin my land with taxes and unfair trades and his men assaulting and abusing my people. I will protect you with my life because I protect Ironstone with my life. To protect Ironstone, to protect the entire North, I need you alive and at your strongest, unafraid and unbending.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Kaira watched as words dripped from his lips with even more fire, unstirred by her magic, yet instead answering to her threat with another touch. She felt her heart beat against her chest so fervently, it almost overshadowed the sound of his voice. It was all lust, nothing more. All a craving that that they both needed to quench and blame on the alcohol the next morning. Claim it, then forget it. The thought captivated her and she found her mind beginning to wander.

“You want me because you fear me,” she whispered close to his lips. “Because I’m different. Exciting. Elisif must have been exciting too… Stealing a kiss or two from a promised woman.” She knew it hurt. She wanted it to hurt. He was the Lord of the North and she was a Volur. It could never be more than a playful adventure fueled by one two many cups of ale.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Kaira removed herself from the wall and, pressing her free hand to the side of his neck, she locked her lips against his fervently. His scent overwhelmed her, the warmth of his skin and the way he towered over her, yet still allowed for her to have the upper hand. Her own skin heated again, this time more a promise than a threat - it was her choice, not his, and he could only have her because she wanted to have him, as well, even if it was only for that night.

Breaking away briefly, Kaira grabbed his other hand and placed it on the small of her back, against her skin, where the fabric of her dress cut in a deep décolletage. She took the chance to look at him again, analyse the depth of his eyes and the softness in his features for the first time. She had never been so close to a man before, even the hurried kiss had her heart racing and fingers shaking. She could not tell whether it was right, but it did not matter. It would all be as good as a dream the next morning.

 

[pointmango]

Faint morning light peaked through the silk curtains of the room she had been given. Kyel laid in her bed thinking about the night before. He had kissed her so angrily then, he had been pissed off at first, her comparison to his desire to the fact that it was taboo. She kept her hot hands against him reminding him of her abilities. And his own hands felt hot against her bare back as they left and he led her back to her room.

Now his own head turned to look at her, her face relaxed as she slept, it reminded him of her on the table, except she was clean now. But she looked so innocent and harmless. There was no anger or worry on her features, no stress of anyone coming to harm her. Her lips still looked slightly red and plump from kissing her. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted her again. Her arm was draped over his chest and he had such a strange desire to lean in and kiss her bare shoulder. He refrained and stood up quickly to remove himself from the situation. “Wake up,” He spoke loudly then, he didn’t want to leave without her being awake, as if his sudden movement from beneath her wasn’t enough. He moved to stand by her side of the bed as he was trying the strings of his pants, his hand reached down then to her jaw and he turned her head from one side to the other looking over her neck. He had been good, no marks. “I will see you at the council meeting,” he told her.

Kyel returned to his own room glad he was up early enough not to catch anyone in the halls as he dressed for their early meeting. After situating himself he headed out of his room and down the hall only to see a small convoy from an overhead look as he headed for the stairs. The confusion and only slightly satisfied feelings of the previous night washed away and a smile plagued his lips. He jogged down the stairs then and headed outside into the cold air, his canine running to him and Kyel knelt down letting Felix lick his face. “Fun journey?” Kyel asked him and then he stood, commanding Felix to wait and sit as he held his hand out to greet Bastain. “Hope your journey went well,” He said, “and thank you,” he said looking down and patting Felix’s head then. “We now have a bright and strong ally with the Pykes,” Kyel said with a quick lift of his brows, he was aware Ser Bastain knew how Lord Pyke could be.

When Kyel moved into the council room, Felix trailed behind him and Jon, who looked like he was still half asleep. smirked slightly knowing Lord Pyke would not be fond of a hound within his council room. Kyel let the corner of his lips turn upward just slightly as the discomfort he saw in Lord Pyke at Kyel’s large dog’s presence. He seated himself beside Islea, and she gave Kyel a small knowing look and let herself pet the back of Felix’s ears before the dog laid at Kyel’s feet quickly closing it’s eyes from the long journey.

“You shouldn’t have brought him in here,” Islea spoke to him under her breath, words just for Kyel.

“He’s had a long journey, just as Ser Bastain, he deserves a warm room too.”

 

[peritwinkle]

The sharp sound of Kyel’s voice stirred Kaira awake to a bright room soaked in a stifling scent of heat and linen. It took moments for her to adjust to reality, yet as soon as her eyes fell on him, memories washed over her like ice. She recalled the way he had kissed her everywhere, the way he had touched her so mercilessly, as if for that night, she had belonged entirely to him. She recalled the way his chest felt pressed against hers and the soft sound of his breaths, all now a sweet dream he seemed to have already forgotten.

His touch made her jolt and she pulled back, wrapping the sheets over her chest and curling up in the middle of the bed. Their promise from the last before still rung in her head, but she could not understand how he could forget it so easily. As he left the room, the current from the shutting door rippled through her messy hair. She felt empty, devoid of happiness or pain. Everything she had felt the night before had burnt down, leaving her numb, muddled. She would have to look him in the eye at the council and pretend they had slept in different rooms, away from one another. That their night together had only ever happened in her dreams.

*​

Bastian was eased to see Kyel first when he stepped into the quiet castle. He regretted having missed the feast, but he did enjoy the silence it left behind. He was there for discussing business, and thankfully, half of the work had already been taken care of for him - they had Whitevale, and soon, other small Houses would follow their example. It was only a matter of time until they found themselves with a substantial growth in numbers within their ranks. And with a Volur on their side, he could not help but see the future in gold.

“I did try to get here as quick as possible,” he said with a smile. “I have news. Well… Not exactly new for me, but I did realize something that might help us. Although I am unsure Lord Bailin will be too pleased with what I have to say.” The man liked having things done the right way - formally, with as little bloodshed and as few casualties as possible, and when it came to a war like that, fairness was not particularly their priority. They needed all the advantages they could get, moral or not.

He followed Kyel into the council room without complaining about the lack of rest. He was exhausted from the road, but his mind was as awake as it could be; he could enjoy all the warm baths and hearty stews once everything was taken care of.

“Lord Pyke,” Bastian said as soon as he stepped over the threshold, and offered the man a bright smile. His eyes then landed on Elisif and Jon, then Beor and Islea, sitting close to eachother, to whom he offered a nod; he had missed the pair, even for such a short time. Not being completely up to date with every strategy and discussion made him uneasy, and it was always the two of them he consulted regarding any matter even before holding a formal council, so they could all fall on the same page. It was different then - he was the one bringing the information, and they would be the ones to judge. He could only hope he was making the right choice.

The door opened once again behind him, this time the slender and sullen figure of Kaira Grimward, dressed tastefully in a pretty violet gown with a deep neckline, something he supposed belonged to Lady Elisif. She walked past him, greeted him quietlu, and took a seat at the table opposite form the others, straightening herself against the backrest. Bastian claimed the seat next to her, his eyes resting on Kyel’s hound. They all overshadowed Lord Pyke not only in number, but in attitude as well - particularly Lord Skovgaard and Lady Vannbrek - and he had a feeling he was quite uneasy about the Volur, as well.

Clearing his throat, Bastian spread his palm on the table and lifted his gaze to cover the entirety of the room. “The main reason I wanted to speak to you in person is a piece of information which I do not think would be fit as a written letter,” he started. “I greatly regret having missed your birthday, Lord Bailin,” he thought to add, before his face turned stern again. “Whether or not Riftmere can aid us in gathering our own number of ships, I believe our best advantage is still trying to strip our enemy of his. As we all know, Windhold is too rocky a land to provide for proper produce and farming, and the King needs more supplies than ever if he is to feed the entirety of his army to lead a war. This leads me to believe that the worst blow would be losing his imported goods, which would at the very least slow his progress and give us enough time to strike.”

 

[pointmango]

The door opened once more and this time Kaira walked into the room. Kyel’s eyes immediately drew to her plunging neckline and recalling what was underneath and his jaw tensed as he redirected his gaze elsewhere. As Bastain began though, everyone’s attention moved to him. Kyel watched as Lord Bailin simply nodded to the older Knights regret at missing his birthday. At Bastains remark of the next strategy Kyel nodded in agreement to the words. He didn’t need to speak, the North could suffice without the profits of importing to Windhold. The North had been self sufficient before, Kyel would soon make sure it was again, he would need to write to his advisors. “Good, we will cut off exports,” Kyel decided to voice then.

He noticed Jon perk up at the mention of Riftmere. He wondered if the young Lord would speak up about his home. Everyone knew Riftmere would join their cause, but Jon’s place in speaking for his home had always been a difficult subject. Kyel had not witnessed the two Lords of Riftmere together since they were children and he knew the Pellietiers' access to one another was limited. Would Jon speak more confidently in his own home? Or less?

“No,” Lord Bailin spoke seriously then. The fury within his eyes was clear and it was something everyone seemed to be waiting for. “Absolutely not, I do not supply food to Windhold, I supply luxuries, speciality weapons and armor, nothing that would support an army.” His voice was booming in his own council hall despite his lack of support at the table. “Most of our profits come from Windhold, you expect my people to suffer?”

Kyel’s chest lifted and fell slowly, he would say nothing he reminded himself. His fist clenched beneath the table though, if Pyke was serious he would recall he would be drafting some of his citizens, their exports to Windhold would suffer regardless. And did he forget that in this time their alliship meant the other houses would provide for him where it lacked as best they could. Besides, it wasn’t like they didn’t already have enough in this gluttonous city to ration for a while anyway. Instead Kyel waited for Bastain or Beor to correct the man, biting his tongue. He wouldn’t be able to dispute Bailin with the same class as Beor or Bastain could.

 

[peritwinkle]

“It is not that which concerns us, Lord Bailin,” Bastian answered, albeit his response was meant for everyone’s ears. “Wars are not won with silks and bejeweled daggers. However,” he pressed against the lacquered surface of the table, “it would be wise to cut exports to show you are no longer in a neutral ground. You may redirect them to the rest of Wendlyn for the time being, perhaps even the neighboring Kingdoms if you have any ties with their Lords. It is but a temporary necessity.”

The Knight knew Bailin would not like it. He treasured his wealth more than the possible positive outcome of this war. The fact that he had felt the need to counter it made him wonder what the rest had gone through while convincing him to join forces. Had he agreed to giving them any men at all? Had he only offered financial support?

“What I was meaning to point at were the imports from outside of Valera,” he continued. “Those only come by ship, given Windhold is cornered against the sea by Wendlyn, the North, and the Kingdom of Saegard which, given their lack of cordialities, I doubt supplies anything to House Dareon currently. If we manage to get to those ships and sabotage even a quarter of his supplies, he will be forced to cease any advances for a while.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Beor chimed in sarcastically. “How are we to get past Windhold and even get a look at those ships?”

Bastian’s face lightened up with a clever smile. “Through the North,” he replied and raised his brows at Kyel before leaning back against his chair. “A long time ago, I knew a man that went by The Rat, down South of Wendlyn, in Maid’s Haven. He had a group of bandits that dealt with small heists, break-ins and the sort. A smart man, nobody suspected anything in that old port town. I recently learned that he was last spotted in Skellig, did not think much of it at the time. But if there is one person who could breach the port of Yllevad and take care of this, for a fair price, it is him.”

“A mercenary?” Elisif’s voice raised softly. “You mean to rely the entirety of our plan on a man that could be bought for money?”

“Do you have a better idea, my Lady?” Bastian canted his head. “This man is not any mercenary. He chooses his alliances wisely. I can only assume he moved up North because Maid’s Haven was right by the border of Windhold with Saegard. Borders mean patrol, and if the other courts close their eyes on such things sometimes, Yllevad does not.” All it likely took was a clean pass from both the North and Riftmere to continue his business in peace, but he could not speak in the man’s name. They would have to see it for themselves.

“It came to my attention that we are travelling to Riftmere soon,” Kaira frowned slightly. “If we could take a few ships up the river, we could sail up to Skellig.” Going upstream against the wind seemed counterproductive, but they could not take chances with sailing down into Saegard, so close to the border with Windhold. They would likely be riding there, make plans before the ships arrived. Wasting time aboard was of no use.

 

[pointmango]

Kyel could see Lord Pyke practically seething in his seat, he kept his own face straight, but on the inside he was smugly nodding in approval as Bastain laid him in his place. As Bastain explained further Kyel understood, essentially starving them into submission. Beor’s comment caused a small smile from Kyel, but he nodded with Bastain. He had already assumed as the plan was unfolding, they’d be able to push access from the North, still a very difficult task, but it was the best vantage point. Kyel would happily house everyone, his eyes flickering to Kaira a moment. His attention moved back to Bastain, the Northern houses would do so as well, he maintained good relationships with all of his surrounding Lords.

Jon’s own interest was piqued when the idea of a mercenary came into play. Ever since he was a boy he was fascinated with men like that. Working by codes and for pay only. Choosing loyalties as they please, and when they crossed another or lied it was all part of the game. Honor played too much of a role for Lord and Lady’s. Jon leaned in as Bastain spoke, but he frowned when Kaira brought up Riftmere. “I will write to my brother, make sure we have stronger ships for the upstream journey,” he said simply.

Islea cleared her throat slightly, her own hands pressed to the table. Her fingers were strong and calloused, even then she made sure to press the table delicately, “Well that settles it, we go to Riftmere. Settle our proposals with Lord Pellietier. Sail up to Skellig and meet with ‘The Rat’.” She nodded. As the rest of the council left Islea stayed back with Beor and Bastain. Lord Pyke seemed reluctant to leave them alone in his own council room, but he did. Islea’s intense gaze rested on Bastain “We should leave for Riftmere soon, Lord Pellietier won’t be difficult, though I am intrigued about your contact Bastain,” she spoke to her good friend.

*

Kyel whistled to Felix as he exited the council chamber, he moved down the hall speaking small commands at the eager dog. “Miss Grimward,” Kyel spoke in a deep tone as Lord Pyke had turned in the opposite direction of the hall they were in. “I'm going to practice my swordplay. Join me.” He said not making it a question. “I will meet you outside at the end of the hour.” He left for his own room to go and change.

At the end of the hour he was outside, a small drizzle of rain had begun and he was in his leather armor, much lighter than his true battle gear. He strapped his wrist guard tighter as he swung his sword at a pleasant haystack positioned in the back courtyard. When she came out he tried not to look at her too much, afraid his eyes would wander again. But he did notice a loose strap and so he sheathed his sword and moved over to her. “Your strap is undone,” he said and clamped a hand over her waists, lifting his other hand to tighten the strap in one swift motion. His eyes met hers for a moment and he stepped back. “We practice fair… for now anyway... no gusts of your magic wind.” He told her and he stepped back.

He unsheathed his sword again, and raised it in a slightly defensive stance. Kyel wondered what approach she would take, he was a towering figure and clearly his stance was sturdy. He assumed she would try to be fast, he was faster than he looked but certain he wasn’t as fast as her, he took his first swing heading straight for her center.

 

[peritwinkle]

Bastian watched as the others left the room and relaxed in his chair with a victorious simper. He assumed Islea and Beor would have questions, but he had thought it would be harder to convince them to make use of a mercenary than it actually had been. They trusted him, and for a good reason. Yet, to be frank, such work did not depend entirely on his virtue, but moreso on his persuasion abilities.

“I do not know much of him,” the man admitted, “not even his real name. I just know that he will not back off from any heist so long as there is money or a good deal in the game. I thought that, given our alliance with Bailin, we might be able to land a deal that would benefit both of them. The Rat and his people get valuable wares to add to their smuggling empire, and Bailin fills up some of the holes in his pockets after he ceases all trade with Windhold.”

*

Ever since stepping out of her room that morning, Kaira had been meaning to go out and train after the council, although the thought of practising with Kyel turned her insides. Still, she had no intention of denying the proposal; he needed to see she was strong, relentless and steady. That he could not shift her thoughts as he pleased. Despite that night’s activities, she had had a good sleep, which meant she was more than fit to take him on for a duel.

She got ready rather slowly, taking the time to carefully braid her hair away from her face and choose her attire fit for the unforgiving weather. It was a mindless process, her head empty and her hands doing the work without much attention. Once she was done, she walked out of her chamber and headed for the training grounds with the brief guidance from one of the guards standing outside the main door. The court was silent, some likely still sleeping, while others were enjoying breakfast and discussing the events from Lord Pyke’s birthday feast.

Upon stepping out under the sky, Kaira was met by a sharp wind and a shroud of cold drizzle and mist, which assured her that she would be walking out of that day’s practice covered in mud and damp from head to toe.

She said nothing when she saw him, and he looked like he had no intentions for cordialities either, had it not been for the loose strap around her waist. His hands came to clasp it back into place, and as he leaned it, she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek and feel the same intoxicating scent that had drained all the sense out of her mind the previous evening. “Thank you,” she murmured coldly as he stepped away, and she grabbed one of the blunt training swords propped against a fence, before preparing her stance. She despised the way it felt in her hand, far too light compared to a normal sword, which rendered her movements less precise. Still, against him, right then, it was not precision that she needed, but speed.

He came towards her without hesitation, and the next few seconds flashed in a blur: Kaira parried the blow and twirled beneath the swords, dashing away from his line of fire. Straightening her back again, she prepared to hit him and aimed at his neck, but quickly deviated her movement to his middle. Kyel was considerably slower than her, but she was not stupid enough to underestimate his knowledge of possible tricks. Kaira knew that the only way she could ever win the duel was through magic.

Another blow, another parry. The Volur moved quickly on her feet, breathing heavily as the rain soaked her hair and dripped down her lips. It was not enough to impar her vision, but the cold got her moving. She waited for him to come at her again, and she held up her sword, blocking his blade with her own right at the level of her chin. Her eyes locked on his, close as they were, and she let out a shout, kicking him away as hard as she could with one leg to gain distance.

‘Fight me,’ Kaira thought. ‘Come to me with all you have, and I’ll show you what I can do.’

 

[pointmango]

Islea’s lips pursed, she knew she could easily trust Bastain. She knew her peer would only provide the best he could suffice for them. Still if Bastain didn’t know much, it was risky. Risk is what would win this war though, and it was beginning to settle in how much risk they would need to rely on. “Bailin will be hard to sell, as always, but if the rest agree he will too,” Islea said about the falsely stubborn man. He was stubborn about his own land and especially his money, but if there was a majority to be found, Bailin would happily stand in the middle of it.

*

Her block against his first rough blow was good. It felt like she kept her force in the sword to block his strong strikes while she could move quickly with the weapon. He was aware she would use deceit tactics, so his own hands made sure to keep loose against the wrapped stained leather of the hilt. She switched to aim from his neck to his middle, she was fast, his own sword only blocking her at the tip as he heard the high pitched clink from the position she had hit his own sword. Any slower and she would have pinned him easily which caused a frown to cross Kyel’s face.

The heaviness of the rain picked up, and Kyel brushed his brow quickly moving his hands back to the hilt of his sword. He came down on her again and this time she blocked tight to her figure, his own blade positioned upwards of hers. If this had been a real battle Kyel would have been able to shift his weight quickly swinging in the opposite direction and in this case it would have clipped the top of Kaira’s head. It would be an intense enough injury to stifle, perhaps more, but it would have allowed him to make a harsh final blow.

Instead he paused, his eyes looking down into those deep blue iris’. Distraction flooded his mind remembering looking into them last evening. His eyes looked down her face slightly and he remembers his fingers touching the soft skin and gentle slope of her cheekbone to her jaw. His eyes then filtered just slightly over her lips, but before he could admire a hard blow hit him in the center of the chest causing him to stumble back.

After regaining his step Kyel’s jaw tensed. He could play hard if she wanted to. He drifted around her for a moment, he wanted to see if she would make another first move. He let the tip of his sword dance from side to side hypnotically. Now he was taking his time, trying to mentally assess her armament, he needed to find a weak spot. Kyel let his mind flow into the mindset he adopted in battle. He stopped being aware of breathing as his mind unconsciously focused on the subtle changes in her posture and position. The rain beat down harder, and Kyel could feel the wetness seeping down the inside of his arms. He completed a circuit around with her and then he settled into a low stance, one more chance Volur, then he would strike.

Kyel leaped forward, his sword lashing out at Kaira’s side then. It was a well delivered blow, a less experienced fighter would have expected him to slash at the shoulder or center. He then slammed the pommel of his sword against her chest in the closeness. He folded his elbow to make a blunt object and he let his momentum carry himself forward as his elbow hit the base of her ribcage.

 

[peritwinkle]

He delivered his blow true, sound and blunt. The strength of it was enough to force the air out of her lungs, and Kaira bent in pain, her knees buckling as she stepped away from his reach. She felt her ribcage and sternum throbbing against her skin, but the cold air numbed it quickly, and she lifted her sword again, reclaiming her stance. Kaira shouted again and went for him, and this time the wind held her, thrusting her forward; her sword clinked once again against his, but she bent underneath and resurfaced behind him, quick enough to slash behind his knees.

Before he could regain his balance, she came at him again, her eyes ablaze and damp from the pain, but artfully masked by the pouring rain. She knew she was not supposed to use magic, but he wanted a real battle. If he could use his brute strength against her, she could use some of her own. With every breath, her side and chest pulsated where he had hit, and she hoped her own blow had delivered at least half of that pain.

“Is that all you got?” she asked breathlessly. A thunder pearled in the distance, brightening the sky behind her.

She was well aware he would come at her harder, so she grounded herself, the tip of the blade aimed at him and her eyes focused on his figure. Before he could reach her again, she dashed to the side and redressed her form quickly, before coming to strike to his side, mirroring his own move against her from only moments before. So close to his elbow, she already knew what would happen, but she could only hope he would be too invested in turning to disarm her to use blunt force again.

 

[pointmango]

Kyel paused as she regained herself, he wondered if his hit had been too hard. No, she needed to learn. Then she yelled again and her movements were quick, and calculated, but they weren’t fair. Kyel felt his own knees buckle at the slash and he fell forward, quickly pushing himself back up onto the defense. He wasn’t sturdy though, and she came again, her voice rang in his ears and he watched as her blade aimed at him.

The sky illuminated behind her, and for a moment his brain wondered if she could manipulate weather to her advantage. He’d heard stories when he was a child, but he quickly pulled himself back. She moved to strike his side. She got him just a bit, but his own sword caught her edge and he pressed back. He paused where he was, assessing quickly, there were three moves he could make. He could go in for her neck with one harsh swipe. In a real battle against a real enemy that was the move. He was appalled she allowed such to happen. Did she really rely on her magic this much? He could elbow her again in the exact same spot, and judging from her reaction before it’d cause considerable damage. “I thought I said no magic,” he huffed.

Instead he slashed his blade across the gap between their arms and his hilt knocked hers hard and the sword fell. He didn’t wait around to let her assess her next move, with his sword arm he jabbed his forearm up into Kaira’s left armpit and hooked his arm under her body lifting her slightly to take away her balance, letting his sword rest behind the back of her neck. His other hand moved then to grip her other hand by the wrist tightly as he stood so close to her. “How would you get out of this situation?” He asked her in a low voice his jaw tight as he looked down at her.

 

[peritwinkle]

His next movement was quick and calculated. She could see it in his eyes, in the second right before he slashed the sword out of her hand. Instinctively, Kaira attempted to dash to the side to retrieve it, but he was faster, gripping her from underneath her arm and locking her against him. She could feel her ribs ache against the pressure, where he had hit her, and now disarmed, she could feel the adrenaline drain out of her veins. In a real battle, she might have been dead. In a real battle, he would have ripped through her throat without a second thought.

But it was not a real battle, and he was not a real enemy; in that moment, he wanted him to kiss her, to feel his warm lips against the cold rain and feel his breath against her neck. She found herself hoping that he had locked her for that purpose, but she knew better than that. She had promised herself she would not think of the night before again, yet snapping out of it felt impossible. To him, it seemed natural. Easy. He had likely had enough practice to not think twice about a night of pleasure. She meant nothing to him but an exciting adventure. Temporary.

Kaira’s gaze rested on his blue orbs, narrowed and attentive. “I would use magic,” she replied breathlessly, and placing her free fingers around his throat, she let his limbs turn numb and his skin cold, enough to release herself from his grip. Away from him, Kaira shook rain out of her hair and bent down to reclaim her sword. She knew the momentary numbness would have likely terrified him. “You are stronger than me. That is not fair, either.”

It had not been much, but enough to weaken her and exacerbate her pain. The sword in her hand felt heavier and the rain felt colder on her skin. In a real battle, adrenaline would have kept her heart pumping, but the sense of safety she had around him allowed her to soften. She craved a bath, a warm blanket and a cup of ale more than a victory against him. “I suppose we could call it a tie,” she said eventually. “You might be stronger than me, but I still have the upper hand.”