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Fantasy - Wildfire - [CLOSED]

Kyel’s eyes met hers as she explained he had a fever. A poor excuse, he thought. She leaned back on her elbows and her words only made him more furious. “It is not about my pride,” he nearly snapped at her. He took another deep breath and his eyes trailed over her yet again, this time sparing the look at her legs. “There are just as many people counting on you as there are me,” he informed her.

She was a fool. His well being was vital to their cause, but hers was more so. He thought himself more functional than she was with an injury anyway. Watching his own back was easier than being worried about hers, and now knowing her injuries might heal half as fast as they should have his eyes would be on her always. She was worth two of him, with her power and vitality. She had too much fire within her to be tamed, but if she was concerned with his safety over her own her fire would burn out.

Did he only care for her because of the gratification of small selfish desires? For the safety and freedom of his home land? No. Still, there was a silent compliance within him now. When he thought of her there was a feeling of comfort like returning to a warmth he had never known. Even looking at her, with a war looming, his chest longed to think of the prospect of victory and life instead of death. Still Kyel did not speak as he looked at her with a mild frown of curiosity.

He took a step towards her and his hand came to her legs, he moved them apart just slightly watching her reaction. He shook his head, “You won’t be comfortable on your feet for at least days, Kaira.” Kyel took another step forward, both his hands came to rest on the table beside her hips and he bent himself at the waist, his body leaning over hers and his eyes searched hers. His left hand came up to the small of her back and very gently pressed into the arch of her back, even over her clothing he knew she was tender, his hand loosened. “You are more important to this war than I am.” He whispered with his face close to hers.

Kyel’s left hand returned to rest on the table beside her waist, he leaned in a hair more, “If you wager my stake so high, then think of yours as double,” he leaned back up as he looked down at her. His arms crossed and he pressed three fingers to his lips, thinking over her. The frustrated thoughts from before make an unwelcome and vitriolic return. He should just ignore her and return to his own table. He looked down at his own fingers and sighed, “Thank you, for helping me.” He said to her his expression grave and the room stayed still and silent. His hands lifted to run both through his dark hair and he turned on his heel to move back towards his own table and he lifted his jacket beginning to fold the leather. His footsteps echoed off the wooden floor, and he neglected to fix the curtain as he moved to sit on his own table.
 
Kaira watched Kyel’s show of power with a canted head and narrowed eyes. She had come to learn his game of provocation, and although she remained cold to his touches, she could not help her mind from wandering to their first night together. Even wounded and tired, he was still as handsome as the first day she had seen him. It made her wonder if he saw her the same way, or if the pallor caused by her ailment and lack of proper sleep had taken a toll on her own beauty.

Once he pulled away, Kaira closed her thighs back together and fixated her gaze on the wall in front of her. “Without Ironstone, you do not have enough men to fight this war. We are equally important. You putting me on a pedestal will not make me more flexible about sleeping with you again.”

Right as she finished speaking, the healer returned with a large tray in her hands and leather bag tied around her middle. She stopped briefly at the sight of the pulled curtains. “Here we are,” she sighed as she placed the tray on the table by Kaira’s bed, then rushed to pull them back. “I hope you do not mind I will tend to the Lady’s first, Lord Skovgaard. Yours will be much more tedious.” As she spoke, her hands worked quickly to unfold the clean cloth she had brought and dipped it in a bowl that reeked of of a stifling fume Kaira recalled from her childhood. The scent was familiar, a concoction of dill, calendula and something sharp that stung the lining of her nostrils.

“This should have been stitched up,” the woman reproached as she started working on the gash. “No need anymore, though, it’s already started closing. But this will leave a nasty scar, I am telling you, my Lady.”

“I am not a Lady,” Kaira murmured to her.

“Mm,” the woman nodded absentmindedly. “They told me you are one of them… Volur. I will give you something to drink up for a few days, won’t taste too pretty but it is necessary.”

Kaira’s brows furrowed slightly, but she was thankful that the woman did not seem to be afraid of her. She allowed her to do her work, and she moved rather quickly, for within a few minutes she was all done with her thigh and already searching through her satchel for an ointment for her bruises. What she pulled out was packaged in a small wooden container that smelled minty and hot at the same time, which made Kaira wince and pull back slightly. “How often?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“At least twice a day, and certainly once before bed,” she said as she handed it to her, before slipping through the curtain and moving on to her next patient.
 
His chest heaved again as she commented on his status of her only having to do with his desire to sleep with her rather than her position within this war. For a woman who so desired to be treated as a warrior she seemed to throw his lust into his face more than the idea of battle. His mouth opened to speak rashly to her, but the healer returned and Kyel sat back on the table.

He nodded and the curtain was shut. He leaned back trying to listen to what Kaira and the healer were speaking of, they were both so quiet. Kaira was allowed to leave after she finished, a handmaid came to escort her away and the healer moved onto him. She removed his stitches and began pressing herbs and ointments over his wound. She said the scarring would be lighter than expected for such a wound.

*

The night was pleasant, peaceful really. Jon had not been within his own room for months now. He looked out the window at the garden below, the fall flowers beginning to wilt in the crisp and rainy air. The next morning before they sat for council, Eric had requested his presence. “Good morning Jonathan,” Eric smiled as his brother sat beside him at the council table.

“Eric,” Jon smiled back politely.

“Well first, did you invite your party to the Merchant’s festival?” Eric asked him simply, his brother’s eyes widening clued him that the younger Lord had forgotten. “Jon, it is the best festival in all of the final harvest season. You used to have quite a bit of fun at those if I recall correctly,” Eric added, offering a smile to his brother.

Jon was confused, Eric seemed far more civil and less condescending than his previous visits home. “We can invite them after the council meeting. Officially anyway. They are staying here during the festivities, they are to be a part of it anyway.” Jon nodded.

Eric nodded as well, “Good. I’ve asked you here for other reasons brother. I do wish to catch up and hear of your travels, although our time is pressed. I would like to request that you return to Riftmere after the war.” He told him carefully. “Regardless of the outcome,” he added. “You have grown Jonathan. Reports from the Greenwall council speak very highly of you. You were always meant to return, head my defenses. Act as my right hand. The world will change for us after this war. For better or for worse, either way I need your help.”

Jon’s brows furrowed, he needed his help. Eric had never spoken those words to him, never to anyone. “Are you commanding, or asking?” Jon asked him.

“I am hoping you will see your duty lay here Jonathan. Father is gone, and we are to lead Riftmere side by side. You are ready, and Greenwall can live without you until my heir is ready to take over. I know your hopes have shifted to join the Greenwall council one day yourself. And you will, after fulfilling your duties here at home.” Eric set his hand on the table, Jon knew the answer now his brother had not changed, nor was this proposal a question.

*

As the council chamber flooded with faces Kyel entered with Felix and sat beside Lord Jon Pelletier and on his other side was Kaira. He looked over beside Eric near the head of the table, Ser Beor, who was looking a bit better since he had gotten a night’s rest. Keyl hoped his head did not obtain any more damage than just a bloody wound and a bruise, they needed Ser Beor’s good judgement. The room filled and a couple unfamiliar faces joined them. His eyes met a tall, young woman whose mousey hair was plated back with elegant braiding. Beside her was a woman with darker hair mixed with greys. Her shoulders were a bit more broad than the younger woman’s, but they both were lithe and long. The mousey woman nodded to him as she sat across from him, and the older woman beside her.

“Welcome, everyone,” Eric stood and spoke with open arms. “My brother’s war effort proceeds him,” Eric joked casually, “I do wish to thank you all for coming. We are here to discuss very important matters, but first I would like to remind you of the Merchant’s festival coming in just a few days. Greenwall council, Lord Skovgaard, Lady Vanbrek, Miss Grimward, I do hope you will join us on the loveliest festival of our final harvest season. Remarkable, best food, shop and scenery the season has to offer. Dear Jonathan’s favorite.” Eric spoke slapping his hand over his brother’s shoulder. “In wake of the festival, some faces from surrounding Houses will be joining us over the next few days. The council from Farrest has arrived early, and they have sent some of their brightest minds to hear you out. We are all eager to hear of your plans, and I think once they hear what you have to say they will be eager to join the efforts much like myself.” Eric offered a smile.

“Dame Adrielle Sadelyn of Farrest,” Eric spoke and the mousy haired woman nodded, “And Dame Lenda Penrose of Farrest” now the older woman nodded.

“It is lovely to see you all again,” Lenda spoke professionally nodding to the Greenwall council and Lady Vannbrek. “Excellent to meet your acquaintance as well Lord Skovgaard, my last correspondence with the North was with your father, may he rest in peace.” She spoke easily and Kyel nodded a thank you to her with tight lips. “And it is an honor Miss Grimward, your reputation in Wendlyn is sparse. I look forward to knowing you.” Lenda offered a warm smile.

Kyel’s gaze shifted as Islea began to speak, she avoided eye contact with the council members from Farrest, instead she looked to Eric. “Thank you Lord Pelletier. I have some updates before we get into our request of you. Troops from Greenwall, Elvgard and Whitevale will begin to march to us. They will meet us here in Riftmere. I have written to Ser Gavriel Tokesten and Lord Rosewood, we need more Generals to man such large forces. Their help will be necessary and appreciated.” Islea paused her gaze shifting to the Farrest women before back to Lord Pelletier, “As you know, we march North. I cannot reveal our entire intentions,” Islea glanced to the women again quickly, back to Lord Pelletier, “We need your naval architects, Lord Pelletier, as well as troop support. You have traded plans for battle vessels with many, and all very successful ships.”

Lord Pelletier nodded, “Of course.” He spoke without hesitation. “I will send my best men with you. Rumors have led them to begin designing new boats already. Seems the excitement of freedom from King Alastair wages even on the tradesmen.” Eric revealed.

“Does the North not have ample ship designs?” It was the mousy hairs woman who spoke now, her voice soft but purposeful. Kyel’s gaze shifted to hers and now noticed her eyes directly upon him. Her eyes were striking, elegant even, such a light shade of brown they appeared almost golden.

“The North designs our ships for functionality. Mostly for commercial use, travel and defense.” Kyel responded easily to the woman. “The North does not conquer, we hold our own. Besides, the naval architects in Riftmere are the best in all of Valera. With Lord Pelletier’s support, we should want the best.”

“For a land who holds their own, their Lord seems to be spending quite a bit of time South ensuring the building blocks of this plan are tended to smoothly.” Adrielle’s lips curved upward just slightly. “It is admirable Lord Skovgaard. Do not think I am insulting your integrity. This entire council room is willing to wager their comfort for the sake of our land's freedoms. We would be fools not to support this cause,” Adrelle turned to Lenda as she finished speaking.

Lenda nodded as well, “We will need to discuss the details with our own council of Farrest. Most should be joining us for the festival. But I believe Dame Sadelyn is correct, your ability to convince and turn the heads of the houses of Wendlyn are inspiring.”

Adrielle’s eyes looked around the table, finally coming back to land on Kyel’s across from her, “I have faith this council can overcome even the most menacing King Alastair has to offer.”
 
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Elisif was glowing in the candlelight that evening. Kaira watched as the woman traced her fingertips over one of the intricately sculpted poles holding up her canopy, while the other hand rested protectively over her belly.

“Perhaps after the council tomorrow, we will have some time to take a walk around the market,” she mused. “The festivities are not the only treasure the Last Harvest has to offer. I hear the merchants here come from overseas, and it is not often you find such rare silks. You will need a dress to wear for the feast itself, you cannot wear the other one again so soon.”

Kaira lifted her brows and let out a soft, amused huff. “Oh I am all too familiar with the merchant’s market. You would have to imagine Yllevad during this period… Brimming. A port city and the capital of Valera. Though I cannot say I am particularly enthusiastic about the party itself.”

“Hm?” Elisif’s brows furrowed, but as Kaira gestured to her back, she nodded quickly and came to sit next to her on the bed. She sighed then, and in her eyes Kaira could see a mixture of pity and curiosity. “I know it is not exactly my place to ask… Though I do know that you healed Lord Skovgaard that night. It will pass, of course… The weakness. I remember it in your mother, brief scenes that still come to mind, a blur… But your mother had a good reason for that. She knew the two of us would meet someday.”

Kaira lowered her eyes in thought. She knew Elisif was being honest, but frankly, she did not know what to say to her, because although she had not imposed a specific question, she knew what the woman wanted to hear. “Kyel is my ally,” she decided eventually. “His health is curcial to the positive outcome of… all of this. I would have done it for anyone, had it been you or Jonathan or Ser Beor. Only because I know that you are the pillar of this plan, and I do not want it to end badly. Everyone wants Alastair gone, even my own master.”

“Yet he once believed in him,” Elisif countered.

“Once, yes,” Kaira nodded. “He believed he could be swayed. That he would come to choose a different path. And maybe, had he been able to produce an heir, perhaps our circumstances would have differed. But he is a cold man, ruthless. Intelligent, but vile, and even Leon understands there is no way out now. The only thing he can do is try to ameliorate some of the consequences of his actions.”

Elisif nodded. She was now fiddling with a wrinkle in the sheets between the two of them. “Well then… We should take every second of relaxation we can before it all goes to hell, hm?” she smiled as she looked back up at her. “I will arrange for a tailor to come take your measurements tomorrow after the council. Then we can go fabric shopping together, forget about all those worries for a few moments. A moment for the two of us, what do you think?”

*​

The council room of Lord Eric’s home was not much different from that at Greenwall; the windows were high and would have allowed for quite a bit of light had the weather not been so gloomy. It was decorated in a rather simplistic manner, with a massive wooden table in the middle surrounded by comfortable chairs embedded with silky fabric in the colors of House Pelletier. Kaira was still getting used to the feeling of power she got from merely standing in such a chamber; she now had influence of her own, and her words weighed as well in the planning of their next moves. Back in Yllevad, she would only be told of the subjects discussed during the King’s meetings well afterwards, but it was always Leon who attended them as the royal Volur, and never the apprentice whose opinion could easily be swayed. Before being sworn to the King, while she could still betray him, it would be imprudent of him to let her know of the most sensitive information while the outcome of their plans was still malleable.

Soon, two new faces joined them that Kaira took a few moments to analyze as they claimed their seats. The first one she observed was a younger woman, likely a Lady around the same age as herself, with a spritely look in her eyes and a pretty, tight smile. The other looked old enough to be her mother, but she could not find a similarity in their features. She saw Kyel notice the younger one as well, and it made her wonder what went through his head right then. Leaning back in her chair, she tapped her fingers against the armrest and waited for Lord Pelletier formal introductions.

At the mention of a festivity, she caught Elisif’s gaze on her with a playful simper, and Kaira thought she could already tell what went through the woman’s head. She could only hope that her pain would diminish by the time she would be forced into a tight dress and made to dance the night away, or at the very least, that there would be good wine.

At the other side of the table, Ser Beor watched the exchanges silently. The man looked considerably better, and he had talked rather easily that morning before the council began. There was a strength and willingness to fight about that man which both perplexed and inspired Kaira; she wanted to be as resilient as him when she was older, if she lived long enough to reach his age. His gaze moved from Dame Adrielle to Dame Lenda, narrowed and sharp, ready to catch any slips, and one could not deny the two seemed quite sharp-minded, as well as quick with their observations. By the time she was done with her flattery towards Lord Skovgaard, Kaira’s expression had already turned sour.

“Excuse me, Dame... Farrest, but I do have to ask,” she started then, canting her head towards the woman. “What is it exactly that your families are willing to contribute with to our cause? I think you would understand our urgency, as only before we came here we had a misunderstanding regarding what House Pyke’s alliance would bring.” She had no intention of wasting time with small talk when it was not necessary; Dame Adrielle could easily exert her chatty disposition during lunch.
 
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The mousy haired woman poised a smile to Kaira, overly polite, “Dame Sadelyn,” She corrected Kaira easily. “Nothing to worry of Miss Grimward, I am only surprised of the shelter King Alastair clearly kept you within.” Adrielle cleared her throat quietly. “Farrest is the second largest in all of Wendlyn. Elvgard taking the win in that regard I suppose.” The golden eyes woman nodded to the woman with golden hair.

“We came to be when five small houses decided to join together. Thus our council of five. The familial line has since been weeded out. The only member of our council who still wains from royal blood is Dame Penrose.” She nodded then to her friend and fellow council member. “Our council is made of skilled strategists, Knights and scholars. Aside from our expansive knowledge, our army is one of the largest in all of Wendlyn, and well trained. And with a draft we should be supplying more than enough men to your cause.”

“It is unfortunate King Alastair and your master could not indulge you on the other properties within this Kingdom. To know the other lands and their houses is to know thy enemy.”

“That is why we all are working together.” Kyel spoke in a loud, but cool tone. His own light eyes meeting the woman’s golden gaze. He could not tell if she was attempting to assert dominance over the Volur, or simply explaining her upbringing and Farrest’s background. In either case Kyel felt it was unfair to assume such a thing about Kaira. “I knew little of Wendlyn and Windhold until I was able to travel myself. A book and teachings can only explain so much of a land. The best practice is to see for oneself. And Miss Grimward’s advantages lay in the fact that she knows Yllevad well.”
 
Kaira’s eyes narrowed at the woman’s correction as she brought the mistake to her attention. Yet as she continued with the explanation, Kaira could feel her blood begin to boil. Still, she remained unphased, with her gaze focused on her and her expression as stern and well composed as before. Lady Adrielle was sharp, without a doubt, but the charm of her intelligence was overshadowed by the excessive confidence which even verged on conceit. As Kyel jumped to her defense, Kaira let him speak, lowering her eyes for a moment before facing the young woman again.

“My sincere apologies, Dame Sadelyn,” she nodded slowly. “The exhaustion of my travels must have messed with my memory. Having studied both the Houses of Valera and the neighboring kingdoms, some names do get twisted on slower days.” She pursed her lips slightly and offered her a smile. “For instance, I would not dare to chide you on your lack of knowledge about my nature,” she shrugged. “When I joined your ranks, it was only Ser Beor who was familiar with our customs and the differences between myself and my master. If we were to apply the same judgment… Would this not be a form of familiarizing oneself with thy enemy?”

She watched her in a strategic silence as she settled herself better in her armchair. Kaira knew the young woman had not invested herself in learning about a Volur’s vow, weapons and weaknesses. All one truly needed to know was that they were deadly and she could not blame them for not having extensive knowledge. After all, she had been blessed with a mouth and tongue to teach them.

“But as Lord Skovgaard said… I am not here for the formalities,” she continued calmly. “I am your strongest weapon and perhaps your most important ally, nothing more, nothing less. I do not expect to stay by your side once this war is won, regardless, which means you may only count on my knowledge when it comes to intelligence regarding Yllevad or the King. However, I do respect you, Dame Sadelyn, so once again I apologize for the mistake.”
 
Adrielle’s lips tightened as the Volur was so ready to snap back at her. Still a smile played at the corner of her lips, her respect for the young woman grew as Adrielle appreciated a woman who could hold her own. She, however, did not feel the need to inform Kaira of the lack of knowledge on her rare breed, instead she nodded. “Thank you Miss Grimward, my respect is shared to you as well.” She replied simply.

“Well, as Miss Grimward has stated, we shall skip the formalities,” Eric piped in with a nod. “Ser Bastain, Ser Beor, will you please come with me, I shall introduce you to our head naval architect. “ Eric stood.

As the groups removed themselves from the council room, Kyel moved down the hallway in silence, until he felt a hand on his arm. “Lord Skovgaard,” an elegant voice spoke and he turned to meet with the golden eyes of Dame Sadelyn. Kyel nodded his head to her and she looked at him expectantly, still Kyel did not offer his arm, instead he motioned for her to step beside him and he called Felix to his other side.

“A walk?” She offered to him, “I would love to indulge that Northern mind of yours,” she asked him.

“A walk should do nicely,” Kyel’s gaze shifted over her. She stood well, the way she carried herself reminded him of Elisif. Yet her confidence made him wonder if she was aware of something he was not, and so Kyel treaded cautiously.

“Do tell me how one man can rule over a land as vast and populous as the Great North?” She asked him, her eyes moving up over his dark features. The man was brutish, large, but quite handsome. Adrielle was shocked he had not taken a wife yet. Surely the man had to be concerned with continuing his line? As far as Adrielle knew there was no legitimate continuation of the Skovgaard bloodline and now he was going to wage a war against the King. How peculiar.

Kyel pushed forward a light laugh at her words, “You assume I do too much,” Kyel informed her. “There are other houses within the North. Just like how the Vanbrek’s have houses of Wendlyn despite the home being Elvgard. Surely you know the other houses within my reach act like a council. The only difference is that I have the final say.” He pointed out to her, “How do you decide? When no one agrees? Rather difficult when no one holds the sole power.” Kyel wondered back to her.

“A majority vote, always.” She replied simply.

“Seems like you are asking for a coup, or to be poisoned in your sleep.” Kyel shook his head. The Greenwall council was different, they always seemed to make a unanimous vote. There were only three of them and they all always seemed to know the best route as well. Greenwall was made of three very similar council members though, all Knights and strategists chosen from experience. Kyel could tell just from the difference between Dame Penrose and Dame Sadelyn that each of their council members were likely chosen for their difference of skill and expertise. “Powerful minds are difficult to control. Man and woman thirst for only more power once they have tasted it.” He raised his brow, wondering what she would make of that.

“You are correct Lord Skovgaard. But yet you claimed at this meeting the North does not conquer, it defends. But we all thirst to conquer something. For myself it is knowledge, for our lovely King Alastair it is power, the Greenwall council seems quite interested in restoring harmony within Wendlyn.” She shrugged as she could not be sure, “If not taking more land for the North, Lord Skovgaard, tell me, what do you wish to conquer?”

Kyel’s gaze hardened as he now looked away from Dame Sadelyn, recently his mind could only think of one thing in terms of a conquest. To think of such a notion as a conquest was inhumane, and disrespectful. Still, attempting to figure it out plagued his mind almost constantly, his thoughts would not dare leave him alone, even with mead in his belly. What he truly wished to conquer was himself, he did not know if it was his heart or his thoughts leading the forces. Perhaps it was neither and it was a different head entirely. Still, he wished to conquer whatever it was, and push those desires from his core. “I wish to conquer Alastair,” Kyel replied simply to her. “All I want is freedom for the North.”
 
When the council came to an end, Elisif instructed Kaira to follow her into her own chambers. The Lady seemed more excited about fitting Kaira with a new dress than ordering one for herself, but she supposed Elisif had had enough time to get used to such pleasures. It was no question that her room was considerably larger and better decorated than Kaira’s, but she could not complain; she was the Lady of Elvgard, after all, and frankly, she herself was more comfortable in tighter spaces.

Inside, a middle aged woman of a small frame waited for them with her arms crossed in front of them, holding a measurement ribbon between her slender fingers. Her cheeks blossomed with a florid hue at the sight of them, and she did a brief curtsy before gesturing towards the mirror. “Miss…”

“Grimward,” Kaira nodded as she walked up to where she was guided.

“She is a beautiful one, isn’t she, Lilian?” Elisif said excitedly as she took a seat on the edge of the bed and let out a sigh of relief. “Those chairs, oh… My back was not thankful. I am telling you, after living my life in Elvgard, everything else seems uncomfortable.”

Lilian offered Elisif a smile in the mirror as she began measuring Kaira’s waist and hips over her clothes. Kaira straightened her arms out to give the woman some access, but she quickly pulled them back down on either side to measure their length, as well. “So what do you have in mind?” she asked as she worked. “We were told it is for the feast, which is in a mere few days. We have so many to make, Lady Vannbrek, that I am not sure we could manage something too intricate… Jewels, embroidery… Oh, I am not quite so sure we can fit it all in just a few days.”

“There is no need for that, dear, the less fabric the better,” Elisif called out with a confident nod. Then, she pulled herself back up on her feet and walked up behind Kaira, placing her hands right above her hips. “Two cuts here,” she explained, then trailed a finger down her back, “and a deep V on either side. Should be tight enough to allow for dancing without… Oh well, you’d know.” She looked at Lilian, waiting for her approval, and when she saw how flustered the woman turned, she pouted slightly and shook her head. “No need for embroidery or jewels or any intricate details. I am certain you can manage a basic dress with some cuts here and there.”

Lilian’s lips shivered. “It is not the intricacy, my Lady, but are you quite sure that it would be-”

“Oh, it is proper,” Elisif said, looking at Kaira in the mirror. “She has a lot to show off, and she is blessed with no titles of her own, which means none of the posh Lords and Ladies at the feast will care to gossip about her attire. They only care about the ugly and the unmarried these days.”

*​

It had not taken long for Elisif to explain her vision to the tailor, and once the woman was done taking her measurements, she pulled Kaira out of the room and lead her through the doors of the castle and down the large path that lead into the market. It was only when it was all over that Kaira realised she had not had a say in what her own dress would look like, but frankly, she trusted Elisif enough to wear whatever the woman deemed fitting. Still, the thought that she would have her wear something provoking made her heart flutter and her thoughts storm with excitement. She could already picture herself entering the dining hall and seeing which eyes fell on her first. One pair in particular came to mind rather quickly.

Complaining about the pain in her back to a pregnant widow leading a war felt like a bad decision right then. Instead, Kaira gritted her teeth as they walked through the market, and she made a great effort to stand as straight and tall as she could. Dressed as she was, in one of Lady Vannbrek’s warmer dresses, she looked nothing like one would imagine a Volur to look, so she decided that the men who looked her up and down then did not do so out of fear. The people of Riftmere were not quite as posh as those in Yllevad or Whitevale, dressed rather modestly, but clean and put together despite the messy town. With the festivities for the Last Harvest, they were now hanging lights from one pole to the other and decorating every free corner they could find with pine branches and colorful ribbon. Even the merchants had set up their counters to look welcoming, with sparkly trinkets and glimmering wares ranging from intricately decorated daggers to the most appetizing of pastry.

It was one particular stand that Elisif dragged Kaira to, brimming with fabric laid out on two large tables and rolls of beaded thread and applicable jewels carefully organized in baskets. The woman behind the counter was of a darker skin, with a sunkissed aquiline nose and big, golden eyes beneath a pair of bushy brows. “May I help?” she offered, and her voice rung with a foreign accent Kaira recognized easily from the many fishermen and tradesmen that came in and out of the port at Yllevad. Elisif gave Kaira a look of expectancy and urged her forward to allow her to pick for herself this time.

The amount of color and textures was completely overwhelming to the eye, and without a price tag on either of the pieces, Kaira did not know how to avoid the more expensive ones. She ran her fingers over the ones displayed closest to her, feeling the soft skin against her calloused fingertips. “This one,” she said as she settled on a dark, withered blue that reminded her of the sky in winter.

“Hmm, yes,” the merchant smiled. “Flowy. Good for dancing. If it is for a dress, that is.”

“For a gown,” Elisif nodded. “You have good taste, Kaira. I would have picked out a blue for you, as well. I have been trying to convince Lord Skovgaard to wear blue for so long, but I am glad at least you are willing to show off your eyes.”

At the mention of his name, Kaira tensed slightly. She wondered where he was, but given the time, he was likely enjoying lunch with Dame Sadelyn. Her lips pursed at the thought of her witting lips moving to sway his mind, and for a moment, she caught herself wondering what the young woman would wear to the feast, as well. Certainly something more decent than what Elisif had decided for herself.

The sound of rustling and chatter was quickly overshadowed by that of galloping and whining steeds coming from the valley, which pulled Kaira’s eyes away from the pretty fabrics and towards what seemed to be a portion of their troops arriving from Greenwall. They held the banner up high, and the people in the street stepped away to make room for them. The group walked behind a tall man with a fur cape over his shoulders, and his hair rippling elegantly in the breeze. As he locked eyes with her, his expression turned from stern to radiant within a second and he offered her a silent greeting as he kept riding by.

“Lady Elisif, Miss Grimward, it is good to see you,” Tokesten called from his horse. “Much to catch up on!”

“Good to see you traveled well,” Kaira called back to him, but soon enough he disappeared uphill, leaving her with parted lips and a lingering gaze. Strangely enough, she had missed her sparring partner, or perhaps there was a need for a familiar face in a completely new place. It was a pity she was in no shape to be fighting, at the very least for the next few days, but perhaps she should now make better use of the stingy ointment the healer had given her for her back.
 
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“You are much quicker than you look, Lord Skovgaard,” Jon said as he picked himself up rubbing mud from the palms of his hands. He bent over to pick up his training sword that Kyel had just so brutishly knocked from his hands.

“It is unwise to assume a man’s strength and weakness solely because of his stature.” Kyel countered back. His breath had barely hitched while Jon heaved. Kyel had to admit, the young Lord hid his fatigue well. Kyle adjusted the dark leather at his forearms, guards, in case the dull steel of the training blades missed.

“Well you are certainly slower than me,” Jon pointed out to him, shrugging a bit. “So not completely untrue, therefore not completely unwise.” Jon added grinning.

“Do you wish to banter or spar brother!” It was Eric who called at him in the distance, approaching with Ser Tokesten. “Even an archer is meant to be quiet, calm even.” Eric teased.

Jon frowned just slightly, “Banter is excellent for the mind, keeps it sharp, quick, best way to learn!” Jon’s hands gripped his sword quickly and made a fast swing at Lord Skovgaard, Kyel blocked the blow easily and with a simple step forward was able to stifle Jon back.

“Less talking, more listening,” Kyel huffed and bent over one of of his hands, gripping Jon’s left leg holding it in place. “You are not weak, Pelletier.” Kyel stood back up as Jon’s feet were now planted, “ Don’t think light on your feet when in contact defense. Quickness is good for avoiding, or small blows with a small weapon. Push your weight into your attacks. And when I push back, keep your momentum forward.”

Kyel made sure he had Jon’s attention and he lifted his sword, making sure Jon was already lifting his sword to parry the blow. Kyel made a long and hard swing with his sword directly into Jon’s. This time the young Lord still faltered back slightly, but he caught himself much more quickly and was able to keep his sword up. “See?” Kyel said to him.

Jon huffed, “Well how are you ever to learn? If you can so easily defeat anyone with your strength alone.” Jon countered lowering his sword.

“I learned the same way we all did as young Lords and Knights, practice and with mentors.” Kyel turned his gaze to look towards Tokesten and the older Pelletier. Eric Pelletier was stronger than his brother, but still was no match for Kyel, he’d sparred the man before, years ago. All in good faith, but he doubted the man’s arm had improved much. Kyel kept his gaze straight as he looked over Ser Tokesten. After his visit to Elvgard he learned of the man's friendship and training with Kaelan. Kyel was not fond of the man who looked at Kaira with such... hunger. But he knew Kaelan would never settle for a weak opponent and only the best to train him as well. “Ser Tokesten, shall we show the Pelletier Lords how a true sparring match is done?” Kyel asked, lifting his brow.
 
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Gavriel had been watching the sparring match between Skovgaard and the younger Pelletier brother from afar with a growing admiration for the former. The Lord of Ironstone was tall and broad of shoulders, and despite the wound down his back he had been told about, the man seemed too focused on his own movements to care for the stinging that likely perturbed him with each push and pull. On the other hand, the way Jonathan Pelletier moved reminded him quite a lot of Lord Kaelan - he was lithe, smart, but not quite as strong as his bigger opponents, which meant that in the light of a serious blow, his best move was escaping rather than attempting to parry.

As the two caught their breaths, Lord Skovgaard invited him for a match of their own, and Gavriel set his jaw. “You should not be giving your all, my Lord. I heard you got cut quite badly only a few days ago.” His eyes flickered from one Pelletier man to the other, and upon seeing the expressions of anticipation on their faces, he let out a huff and stepped into the dueling enclosure. “Fine, I suppose it would be fair since I have not had to time to rest from my travels today. Sword?” He waited with his hand stretched out for Jonathan to pass him his blunt weapon, and as soon as he did, he posed himself in a defensive stance.

There were two ways he could go about beating Kyel: the first one would be to play hard to catch, since he was slightly smaller than him in size, but the difference was not drastic enough to give him too great an advantage. His other option was to allow him to come with all his strength, parry as many blows as he could until his excessive confidence gave Gavriel some room to surprise him. He analysed Kyel from head to toe, for the first time close enough to truly see what made such a young man stand out as the most respected Lord in the North. His dog did not quite match his personality; he should have gotten a bear instead.

His first move was to jab at him then disappear to the side before Kyel could slice him. He moved quickly, and attempted to taunt him, but decided against making him run around with that wound on his back. He struck to his side, his gut, and a couple of times behind his knees, and Gavriel was surprised to see how quick Kyel was to parry. A smile played on his lips, he had not had a good opponent in quite a while. “As good as I imagined you to be, Lord Skovgaard!” he called out. “Perhaps you should be training our men for battle, not myself.”
 
“Only a scratch, Ser Tokesten,” Kyel’s brows remained lifted. He watched as Jon handed the man his sword and Kyel crouched just slightly. He’d seen Ser Tokensten fight Kaira, who was a smaller and quicker opponent. And he knew the man had trained Kaelan as well, a similar fighting style. Of course he also had to assume since he was sent here to train and help lead their army he had faced many opponents of all stature and difficulty.

Kyel defended against the Knights' move, but he also could sense the man was not using his full force. It was difficult to tell if he was being gentle over Kyel’s injury or taunting him. He struck over his center zone and would swipe after his legs, there was a couple times Kyel would nearly miss the parry. “You’re quick,” Kyel commented back and one blow caught him off balance and Kyel wobbled slightly. “I would gladly help you train men for battle, I’m sure you know half of Lord Kaelan’s experience entailed signing contracts and navigating politics.” Kyel’s lips turned up just slightly. Kyel swiped again, “I’d take clashing swords with another over that any day.”

Kyel regained his step as Tokesten darted to his left. He swept his sword down and swept at Tokensten’s body, his blade missing the shoulder. Kyel made another quick blow and the contact of their swords bashing together at just the right angle left a ripple of shock from the contact and the pain traveled all the way up his shoulder and he gritted his teeth, biting his tongue so he would not let any sound escape his lips at the pain over his back.

He turned his wrist at the contact trying to press Tokesten’s sword back towards him. The pain in his back was causing his entire body to tense. He saw the open shot at Tokesten’s wrist. If Kyel pulled one of his own hands he could easily punch the man’s grip and potentially knock the sword from him. Had it been Jon he might have been able to break the wrist. “You are lucky I do not have a dagger,” Kyel spoke close to the other man’s face. Kyel tightened the grip of his right hand and pulled his left away pretending to grab an item from his side and pretending to swipe across the other man’s abdomen. His hand returned back to his sword and he made numerous small jabs to try and push the man backwards.
 
In spite of his wounds, Kyel’s moves were quick and calculated. When their swords clashed, Gavriel could tell that the vibration of the steel had reverberated into his back, so he dropped his own blade sooner than normal, allowing himself a few moments to relax his muscles before the next attack.

Although he had not spent enough time with the man to come to a proper judgment, Gavriel already admired him; there was a resilience within his bosom and a bravery that he, himself, wished he could muster to such degree. A stitched gash down the back was no papercut; it heavily impacted one’s movements, but somehow, Lord Skovgaard made it look like it was nothing but a healed scar. He fought elegantly, despite his brutish appearance, and no shouts or roars came out of his mouth whenever he was ready to strike, which gave him the advantage of surprise. In a real setting, war cries were the easiest way to let your opponent know where the blow is coming from, not to mention the wasted energy of producing such howl.

The next time the beast of Ironstone got close enough to him, Gavriel knew that in a fair fight, he would have won it without question. He had left his abdomen too exposed, his focus only on parrying the blow closer to his throat. A smirk played at the corner of his lips at the realization, and when he pulled a way, he nodded at the man with respect. “It would be an honour to work with you, Lord Skovgaard. Our men will be unbeatable if they learn some of your tricks. All they know is how to parry and hold up a shield.”

It took a few more blows and close calls for Gavriel to finally catch on a pattern in Kyel’s maneuvers, but eventually, he caught right moment where his side was exposed as he lifted his arms to deliver an ample strike. Tokesten allowed him to believe he would try to parry it, but instead, rolled on the ground and popped back up behind him, at the right time to cut his hip from behind. “One and done,” the man said proudly as he brushed some of the dirt and mud from his clothes. “Unfair, I knew you couldn’t have twisted that way because of your back. If you had, you wouldn’t have let me get up when I rolled,” he quickly justified.

“Should we call it a day?” the man smiled as he dropped his sword and stretched out his hand to shake Kyel’s. “I want the both of us uninjured before the festivities, you would not want to miss the Night of the Gods because of an opened stitch.” He had attended it both in Elvgard and Riftmere a few times, and each had seemed like the first. The thought of it made him wonder if Kaira would be joining, as well.
 
Kyel was impressed with Gavriel’s skill. Every move he made seemed to be anticipating Kyel’s own as well as preparing for a blow, he was strategic and well thought. Kyel kept his blows forward but Tokesten caught on eventually. The man was quick, he delivered a strike, faked a parry and had rolled beside him on the ground. Kyel was too slow to move and the sword made an effort against the back of his hip. Kyel nodded at the man’s words, but he wondered if he would have been quick enough without his injury? Only time could answer that question.

“Good call Ser,” Kyel replied, stepping forward and taking the man’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Good match,” Kyel stepped back as Tokesten reminded him of the evening events. “Yes, I hear Wendlyn’s celebrations of this Night is brilliant.” Kyel commented and he nodded to Ser Tokesten again.

Two days later, Kyel headed first for the bathing chambers in the early afternoon, and then to get groomed before the festivities. When he returned to his room his clothes for the evening were laid out for him. Black, as he had requested, and upon the shoulders, cuffs and lapel was a beautiful silver embroidering. Just around the edges and accented upon the silver were very small layers of a deep blue color. It reminded him of her eyes. That color always reminded him of her eyes.

As Kyel finished dressing he moved over to a small box he had bought from the market the day before. His intention had been to explore the market before the festive evenings when they would be crowded with people. There was a small group of vendors from the North, the chance to travel south and sell Northern items for slightly more coin was likely too good of an opportunity to pass. He did not recognize any of them, but one jeweler seemed to recognize him and welcomed him with a bow. He thought of Kaira looking at the jewelry, and the meaning of the evening to come, it wouldn’t mean much if he indulged. It would be a parting gift for her protection and help. He had initially thought of a sapphire, but when he spotted the other necklace, a gemstone of a very similar color, he knew this was the correct piece. His mother had adored stones, especially those of the North, Kyel knew what many of them stood for, this one was perfect. He bought the necklace and stored it within his pocket until he got to his room the previous evening for safe keeping. Now he opened the box to look at it one last time before presenting it to her, it was a good choice, he was certain of that. He prayed she wouldn’t be difficult on reception. He slipped the necklace back into the box and back into his pocket.

He stepped forward to the desk where his mask laid, this time the mask had a silver base with harsh lines of a black moving across the brow and around the eyes. The wide and harshly angular mask accentuated his sharp square jaw. Flecks of gold accented the edges. Placing it upon his face and tying the strings behind his head he nodded to himself in the mirror. His mask was meant to represent the God of War and Death, Yther. The deep colors and jagged lines of his suit coat and mask represented it well. Kyel smiled at the thought of the displays in the North of this event. There were no masks, but performances were very common, it was a longer festival in the north. Six nights, one for each god, and a final night. He remembered his first festival in the North without his parents watch, he got sick nearly every night from the alcohol he indulged himself in.

He stepped out of his room and it appeared the younger Lord Pelletier was waiting for him. “I tried Lady Vannbrek and Miss Grimward first, they have either already left or are still getting ready.” Jon informed him, and at Kyel’s slight open mouth Jon held his hand out. “I just need someone to brag my good news to, and Islea, Beor and Bastain are sick of me,” Jon informed him.

“What is the news?” Kyel asked as the pair began walking down the hall.

“My brother has decided to light me shoot the arrow of fire into the boat this evening.” Jon beamed and pulled at the lapels of his deep emerald suit coat. His mask matched, his details heavily in the deep green and black colors.

“Congratulations,” Kyel told him simply.

Jon huffed, “This is why I sought out the women.” he pointed out with another grin directed at the older Lord.

“Perhaps my excitement will grow once I see the boat aflame.” Kyel informed him, “I must tell you though, after your display on the battlefield I would hardly mark you striking an arrow of fire onto an oil filled ship as impressive.” Kyel let out the smallest of a smirk to the young Lord. “Now, what I do expect of you is to direct me instantly to the best food before it is all gone.” Kyel continued as the two men walked. By Jonathan's mask he could easily tell which goddess he had claimed for the night, "Do let me guess Lord Pelletier, Nephys?" he asked noting the embroidery on Jon's suit appeared to fade into a pattern that looked like wheat plants. Kyel laughed when Jon nodded.
 
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The reflection Kaira saw in the mirror looked nothing like herself. It felt so strange seeing a desirable, beautiful woman instead of the feared oddity the world had painted her as; was this what Kyel had seen when he had looked down at her on that day they had slept together? That night had been fueled by alcohol for the most part, but in her eyes, at the very least he did not look any less good even sober.

On such a short notice, the tailor had decided to modify one of their older designs to fit her, with a few additions here and there to make it resemble something the Goddess of Fate and Wisdom would wear: the dress was entirely symmetrical, off the shoulder and with a thick band rimming the top, middle and bottom. Behind, she had attached a cape of the same red velvet material that draped slightly over the back of her arms as well, for added warmth. She had been told that despite the festivities taking place under the clear sky, the streets warmed up quite a bit from the continuous bustling of the large crowds roaming them. Elisif had picked out a pretty silver mask with a sun in the middle and two moon etchings on either side, and thankfully, unlike hers, this was one that could be tied in the back to allow for free movement of her arms without having to hold up a stick.

In the mirror, she could see the Lady of Elvgard admire her with a soft smile painted on her lips. “You look beautiful,” she said, and Kaira believed her. She had good taste in clothes, and although this had not been made particularly for her, the tailor had made it fit like a glove. “When we have the time we will order some proper outfits for you. Practical ones too, for your days off. You might not be a royal Volur, but you are not just any Volur; your attire should showcase your strong allegiance.”

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” Kaira raised her brows.

“Oh, don’t imagine you would walk around donning the banner of each House of Wendlyn,” she giggled. “I was thinking more of… small details embroidered in the rims. A wolf for Ironstone, a rose for Elvgard…”

“And who would pay for such intricate embroidery?”

“You are a woman of the court now, Kaira,” Elisif replied as she took a few steps closer to her and placed her hand on her shoulder. “All you have, and all you ask for, will be paid as such. You are no longer a guest. With your last battle, you have proven herself more than worthy of being considered a member of our council.”


Once the both of them were ready, Elisif called for their guards and they were escorted out of the castle and into the city of Riftmere. The sky was growing dark and, along with it, the city was lighting up lantern by lantern, candle by candle, moreso than she had ever seen it before. From pole to pole, the streets had been decorated with ribbon in five colours representing each one of the Gods, and every here and there vendors had placed baskets full of wildflowers to cheer up the gloominess of Riftmere. People were starting to gather, most of the men crawling into pubs and inns now vibrating with music, while the women and children were walking up and down the market, admiring or purchasing the goods displayed before them only once every year.

The scene reminded her so much of Yllevad; she could smell the salty, humid breeze of the sea as she walked down the market there, and the trinkets displayed were much more diverse and exotic, or even eccentric, at the very least for the blandness of Valera. Most of all, she admired the people that, for once in a year, were to preoccupied with everything around them to avoid her, and she could have a good look at each of their faces, one more interesting than the other. When she was little, she had used to try and guess their stories from just reading their eyes; at the time, she would be brought to the market by Leon and a few guards, and were not allowed to stay past midnight, when the true partying began, only to carry out into the early morning despite the scourging cold.

Yet the people of Riftmere had taken on the tradition to wear masks, some made out of gold and silver - always women and men of the court, who could afford such accessories - and some made of scrap fabric, wood, plants, leaves or anything that the common people could spare. It was hard to tell them apart, and even from the numerous figures in more expensive garments, Kaira had a hard time telling whether one of them was Kyel, Jon or perhaps Gavriel.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Elisif leaned in closer to Kaira’s ear. “You can blend in so easily… Tonight, nobody will bat an eye. I am starting to think this is not truly about the Gods and, in fact, about the people.”
 
Kyel adjusted his mask after finishing a bit of squirrel from a stick while enjoying the banter of Jon Pelletier and a few of the local men he associated with. However, when Jon stepped away and Kyel was able a moment to himself to look over the water,. The neatly decorated boat shone while bails of fire were anchored in the water around it to illuminate the great vessel. He was glad to have a few moments of peace.

He was about to turn his attention back to the festivities when a woman with mousy hair came to stand beside him. Kyel’s head turned, his eyes meeting hers and his suspicion of Dame Sadelyn was confirmed with the glowing golden eyes. She had an undeniable presence that called Kyel to look to her in the most basic of manners. He looked over her dress, her mask, the wave like features gave her away. Kyel willed his gaze from hers, as tempting as it was to continue looking her over, it was impolite, “Why Enos?” He asked her simply, doing without a greeting.

“He is the god I prayed to when I was a girl. Still do sometimes. My speciality is knowledge, Lord Skovgaard, one of the best ways to gain such is through travel.” She explained simply as his warm masculine voice washed over her ears.

Kyel let the slightest of smiles peak through his lips, “The act of traveling is horrid. I enjoy new sights and new knowledge too, but often I still pray to Enos to make the trip shorter,” He teased. He watched as Adrielle took a sip of her drink, he could not specify what she drank from the tall thin glass, but by the tense in her neck it must have tickled her throat on the way down.

“You are far too cynical for such an evening Lord Skovgaard, if I didn’t see your hint of a smile I would assume you wish me to go away.” Adrielle taunted at him.

Kyel turned towards her completely now, she was beautiful, and she spoke well. Her banter was a fraction of Jon Pelletier’s which is all he could ask for in any sort of companion, and yet, even with those golden eyes, they were not the ones he so desired. Still, to entertain the thought might sway some minds from noticing his gazes over a certain Volur. So he would indulge Dame Sadelyn. “I do not wish for you to go away.” He replied simply.

“Well then, perhaps a proper hello would do?” She asked him.

Kyel nodded, he took her hand, her skin kissed gently by the sun. His hand engulfed hers, and hers were soft. She likely did not lift much other than charcoal or a quill. Kyel bent himself slightly, with the pain in his back his hand lifted her knuckles to his lips, pressing a warm and soft kiss over the skin as his eyes lifted to meet hers. “It is a pleasure to see you this fine evening Dame Sadelyn.” He said.


*

Jon felt illuminated, the buzz from people congregating all around filled him with excitement. He adored the festivities Riftmere had to offer, he truly enjoyed any party there ever was to offer. He had forgotten how much he adored the Night of the Gods. Tonight everyone wore masks, and it was difficult to recognize even those he knew, which was the fun, the mysteriousness added to the excitement. He plucked a pint of ale from one of the nearby tavern tables and took a fortifying sip as he looked around the market square. Off to his left he noticed two women who he was almost certain he knew the identity of. He waltzed over to the pair, “My, my, if you are not the lovely Lady Vannbrek and the beautiful Miss Grimward, then I must ask of your true names,” He said with a slow theatrical bow.

Jon noted the lack of alcohol in the women's hands and he handed his pint to Kaira, “Drink up,” he told her, “And we shall gather you some wine soon as well Lady Vannbrek,” Jon said to her with a nod. Jon’s eyes then trailed Kaira slightly as she wore a gorgeous red dress. His eyes grew distracted as two dancers spun around them before moving through the crowd again. His attention waned to some children tossing rings for a coin to win a peacock feather.

The young Lord let his eyes smile over Elisif’s getup, “Mhmmm, let me guess,” He spoke looking over her with false criticism. “How poetic - Meira,” Jon said with ease, but as his attention looked over Kaira he shook his head, “Nope, I need help on this one.” He decided, then he moved to stand between the two women, offering each of his arms. “Come now, we must get you each a proper drink.” He decided, moving towards one of the closer pubs.

In the distance he saw a tall man with a few others who Jon could only guess the identity of. “Is that Ser Tokesten?” Jon asked Elisif, “Looks like him, good man.” Jon commented, “You both missed it, the other day he and Lord Skovgaard sparred, Kyel may be injured, but the Knight won with an elegant roll and strike to the back of Skovgaard’s hip.” Jon realized perhaps he had said too much, both women seemed oddy protective over Lord Skovgaard, and he was not supposed to be doing any sort of physical excursion with his injuries. “We should say hello,” Jon added quickly.
 
It was not too difficult to tell Jon apart from the rest of the crowd; he had a way of walking- striding, in fact - and he stood tall and proud, a well built, slender figure that most women seemed to admire. As soon as he parted his lips, a smile came onto her own at the sound of his voice; somehow, it was oddly comforting, and although she often painted an expression of annoyance whenever he boasted excessively, deep inside, Kaira associated him with her first step out in the right direction following the King’s defeat - and by extension, her own - at Greenwall.

Upon being offered alcohol, she took it without questioning what was inside. The pain in her back and thigh had subsided substantially, but it still liked to pop back into existence whenever she dared at a wider step or tried to straighten her back more than usual. Elisif, on the other side, took the offer with a frown and an offended huff, which she played so well, one might think she genuinely cared enough to be upset.

“Do pregnant women in Riftmere drink alcohol?” she asked. “My Lords, no wonder you came out like that. Well anyway, should I ask for some eggnog? I heard they make it quite nicely at one of the pubs here… Though I can’t precisely remember which one.”

Kaira almost choked on her ale at Elisif’s words and struggled to withhold a smile. In a way, she pitied the woman for having to push through a war without any sort of alcohol, but at the very least she had every excuse to eat all the food she desired without worrying about gossip, like the other women at court. As Jon propped himself between the two of them, Kaira took his left arm, holding the ale in the other; she was no longer cold, now warmed up from each side, and she had drank a large enough gulp to expect the alcohol to heat her up from the inside, as well.

Without Jon’s observation, Kaira doubted she would have spotted Ser Tokesten in the crowd. A duel. The thought of Kyel fighting Tokesten with that wound down his back made her uneasy. Of course the knight would win; he was all well, and had merely been tired from his travels, as opposed to beaten up like a dog which more or less described Kyel’s state. Judging by how she knew Gavriel Tokesten, the man had likely tried to talk him out of the sparring, without success. He was not stupid enough to believe fighting a wounded man would be fair.

She saw Elisif part her lips to protest the news, when Gavriel spotted them and immediately came to bow before the two ladies and kiss each of their hands. “Lady Elisif,” he greeted first. “I recognized you by your beautiful hair. You are glowing, pregnancy suits you well.”

“Mmm, I know,” Elisif agreed. “Thank you, I hope it will not fade once I bring Kaelan’s offspring into the world.”

“We will still find you just as beautiful then, I am sure,” he said. Then, his gaze shifted to Jon, greeting him from a nod of his head. “Lord Pelletier. I have had the pleasure to speak to your brother a few times these days, he has quite a few interesting things to say. I believe you take that from him, the talent of storytelling.” He paused for a moment, and when his eyes rested on Kaira, she got a feeling that he had intentionally saved her for last. “The Black Storm. Forgive me. I only now recognized you in this dress.”

Kaira’s neck tensed at his observation; was it a compliment or a hidden censure? She could not see much of him, but his eyes seemed playful, so she at least decided against the latter. “Ser Tokesten. I would have assumed you would pick Yther.”

“Mm,” Gavriel lowered his gaze. “I take pride in my family, Miss Grimward. I believe Nephys means a greater deal to me than my daily duty. War comes and goes… One will always return to his hearth until the Gods decide to take him away.”

A good answer. Too good. Poetic even. Kaira did not understand how the man could be so perfectly spoken. Just as Elisif had said once, he was perhaps everything that a woman could want from a man, besides the title. He was not a Lord, but a Knight, which although was not too far off, he could not have quite as much wealth as the former. Still, Ser Tokesten had a large piece of land somewhere in the East, closer to Elisif’s home at King’s Glen. He had horses, farmers and was the commander of the troops in Elvgard. All of it now explained why Kyel had likely been adamant about fighting him.

“So, you chose The Goddess of Fate and Wisdom,” he raised his brows at her. “What would that represent for you?”

“I, uh… I have visions from time to time. I supposed it would make for a morbid joke.”

“Oh.”

“Well then!” Elisif chimed in with a bright smile. “We should all see if maybe we can find the rest. I have not yet seen any of the Greenwall council, and Lord Skovgaard I might not even try to find. Gods, every man in here is dressed in black, we might as well let him come to us, then.”
 
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Kyel pulled from her hand and let his gaze return back to the boat in the center of the lake. He wondered what the gods made of such a night, he often questioned their existence, but there was something peaceful thinking about them watching the mortals of Valera mingle with one another. He turned around and offered Dame Sadelyn his arm. His position with her was formal, it was meant to put her at ease, she rested her arm on his own as he led her into the crowd. As she began talking Kyel reminded himself to pay close attention to her rather than looking for another.

“What do you make of this looming war?” She asked him carefully.

Kyel let out a scoff with his laugh, “You call me a cynic and you bring up war?” He countered back.

“I find the amount of heroism fascinating in war. To live in such a time is as amusing as it is frightening.” Her hand tightened on his forearm.

“Well, war breeds heroes.” Kyel said, but such a remark felt foolish to him. “The larger proportion of them perish uncelebrated though.” He pointed out.

Adrielle seemed unphased by his bluntness. He wondered if she had just spent so much time studying the subject it had become obtuse to her. His eyes trailed her fine dress before moving back forward looking upon a performer dancing with a group of children.

“Something amuses you?” Adriella asked him, her eyes were watching his gaze on the performer and the children.

“Just a memory.”

Adrielle looked at him expectantly and shook her head when he did not reveal the memory. “Many women speak of the allure of your mystery Lord Skovgaard, still I did not think it would be this difficult to figure you out.” She revealed.

As they reached the edge of a line of buildings a pub was the closest to them. Kyel got himself a large drink, it did not feel so small in his oversized hands like her small drinkware would have. He sipped generously. There was a hard burn to it, a good strong pine brandy. It reminded him of the alcohol in the North. But this item was very fine, aged perfectly as well.

“That is some drink,” Adrielle commented looking over the cup within his hand, “If I were to drink it, I would not wake for a week.” The woman laughed. “Does it make you feel like one of us?” She taunted again. At Kyel’s cocked brow she clarified, “You are Lord of the Great North, your mask may hide that tonight, but your shoulders bear more weight than the rest of ours. Even more than the Greenwall council.” She pointed out to him.

“I am one of you,” he said simply, Kyel even tried his hardest to believe the false statement he just spoke. “Is it not our humanity that binds us together in the first place? Do the gods not see us all equally?” Kyel gestured to the night.

“You forget you are as much an asset in peace as in war, Kyel.” She stepped toward him, her hand moving over his own on a high table outside of the pub.

Kyel’s gaze parted from hers, across the way he spotted Jon with two women, one with dark hair he knew well and another with blonde again, a head he knew. Kyel turned his hand to hold hers, and he squeezed it gently. “I must see some other friends. I bid you enjoy the rest of the evening,” he told her. “Perhaps we will meet again at some point. Until then Adrielle.” He said and released her hand from his own, turning away from her.

Kyel dipped his head slightly and made his way through the crowd. He was courteous enough to move across the square with purpose. He thought of even turning and heading for solitude, but his eyes shifted from the man in the deep green attire to the woman in red. He continued forward and when he arrived before he could open for a greeting Jon smacked his back. Kyel’s jaw tensed harshly and his head very slowly turned to the younger Lord.

Jon’s face completely fell as he realized his friendly gesture had caused Lord Skovgaard an immense amount of pain. “I am sorry-” Jon began quickly.

Kyel shook his head, “No worries Lord Pelletier,” Kyel breathed out, “Your enjoyment is inspiring as it is painful.” He joked to the group. But then his own hand clapped Jon on the shoulder rather aggressively, he pointed to the sun pushing below the horizon. “Do not forget your duty tonight, perhaps it is time you find your station.” Kyel reminded Jon as he would be igniting the boat which would happen as soon as the sky turned dark. Right now the evening was already decently dimmed, but the blushing light just at the edge of the horizon signaled it was almost time.

When Jon moved away from the group Kyel took Elisif’s hand first, and then Kaira’s. He immediately was able to tell which Goddess was chosen. The weight of the item in his pocket felt heavier then, only adding to the poetry of the stone within. He felt his heart rate quicken and he nodded to both of them. “Beautiful.” He told them both, but his eyes filtered over Kaira longer. Then he turned to the man to his side, he recognized the man he spared only the other day. Kyel extended his hand, “Ser Tokesten.” He offered a smile and looked over his clothing and mask, “Nephys, good man.” Kyel said.
 
As the sky was growing darker, Elisif was burning with anticipation for the rite that followed right as soon as the sun set. She had been told Jonathan, as the younger Pelletier Lord newly welcomed back into his home, would host it in his family’s name, and the mere thought of him mustering the strength to display at least a touch of solemnity amused her. She had not yet seen Kyel, nor the Greenwall council, or the Ladies of Farrest, but she did not suppose they would appear before they gathered around the lake. Everyone was enjoying themselves, either warming up with a drink or checking out the trinkets brought to the market, and she could not blame them; she was planning on doing so herself as soon as the festivity was over. Most importantly, that promised eggnog would not leave her mind.

From around the corner popped a large figure donning black and the mask of Yther, who could be nobody else but Lord Skovgaard himself. Her eyes immediately flickered to Kaira, but her expression said nothing. Her eyes were ever focused and her lips relaxed, leaving one wondering what was on her mind without the hope of reading her. It was Jon that seemed the most excited to see him, and the slap on the back definitely showcased that, but it was thankfully quite well received. Elisif squirmed slightly at the sight; she knew it likely caused a lot of pain, but it was not within Kyel’s character to let his weakness be seen.

Elisif allowed Kyel to take her hand, and she saw Kaira do the same, but her touch lingered for a second longer. Had he been with Lady Adrielle? Elisif narrowed her eyes as she watched him. He was tense, oddly quiet, and not a fruit of his usual coldness. “We have been looking for you, my Lord,” she said. “The others too, have you seen them? We should be getting ready for the burning of the boat.”

“The knights of Greenwall should be by the lake already,” Tokesten suggested. He looked Kyel up and down for a moment, smirking. “You have recovered quite well. And quickly too. From what I’ve been told, it was a miracle. From this day on I no longer doubt what they say about Northern blood.”

“Mm,” Elisif pursed her lips. Then, she took Kaira’s hand and allowed the men to lead them forward towards the lake right outside the city gates.

“How do you do this?” she heard Kaira whisper closer to her as they walked. “How you stay so strong… Happy. I admire you, I truly do, but to me you are an equation that does not quite tally in this regard.”

It took a few moments for Elisif to realise what she was talking about, and when she did, her chest felt heavier and her hand tightened around hers. In a sense, it felt good to hear people did perceive her as intended, but she knew all too well that Kaira was smart enough to read behind the lines. Had she been more obvious about her need for a friend, a soul, a voice to keep her occupied during the day, she would have perhaps verged on patheticness. And although she was not one to dwell on the Gods, but rather herself, she could not help but wonder if it was them that had sent Kyel back to her, and Yrsa’s daughter along with him.

Lady Vannbrek bit her lip thoughtfully, then turned to look at Kaira with a smile. “I did take my time to mourn,” she explained, “but weeping any longer will not bring my husband back. The pain of his unfair and untimely death… That will never subside. It is a frustration that will live with me forever. But Kaelan would have wanted me strong and happy, not a wretched widow.”

Kaira looked down to her feet. Elisif knew the girl had been through quite a lot from a young age and had lost her family so early, she could barely remember their faces. Still, her way of coping was different; she was strong, resilient, but quiet and cold, much like Kyel in that regard, and a part of her hoped something would happen between the two of them once, after the war ended. After it was safe to sway the then hopeful minds of people into accepting a Volur by their Lord’s side. Yet the looming rise of Lady Adrielle - quite pretty and intelligent herself - kept Elisif on her toes for the time being.
 
Kyel nodded to Tokesten at his remarks, but as they turned to begin walking towards the lake Kyel’s eyes filtered to the real reason he was able to recover so quickly. He wondered how her injuries were fairing tonight. They shuffled to the front of the lake’s edge. Kyel had seen Beor and Bastain’s tall satire and pointed Tokesten in that direction. Now as they stood at the water’s edge just behind a small stone wall about the height of Kyel’s shin, he positioned himself beside Ser Tokesten and on the other side of him Kaira, who stood by Elisif.

After shaking hands in hello to Beor and Bastain, his gaze shifted to the women as he heard Ser Tokesten begin to shift his conversation towards Bastain. “I would place a bet on Lord Pelletier choking in all his excitement and nerves,” he said to them both, “But I think the lad could make the shot blindfolded. Only seen better form with you Elisif,” Kyel said to his old friend. His eyes flickered to the woman beside him, “Do they burn boats like this in Yllevad?” Kyel asked Kaira then curiously, in the chaos of the night, and the neat line they were all positioned in the crowd Kyel let his fingertips brush hers as he posed his question.

*

“You have been ignoring me,” Dame Lenda spoke as she approached a familiar figure. While most were beginning to crowd by the water’s edge Islea had taken the moment of peace to admire the architecture of the pubs as she donned a fresh pint of mead with some of the other drunks nearby who were already too far gone to both with watching the igniting of the boat.

“Ignoring would imply you called on me.” Islea spoke not looking away from the rooftops.

“It’s been a long time Islea, but no matter how time has passed we always catch up rather quickly whenever we meet.” Lenda pointed out quietly to her old...friend.

“I made it very clear I did not wish to see you again the last time we spoke.” Islea replied simply as she sipped her mead again.

This earned a huff from Lenda and she moved her hand to Islea’s forearm, squeezing the flesh, “I understand you do not support my politics. That was clear the last time,” Lenda said, jerking Islea’s arm slightly so she would have to look at her. “But to stop our fun because of a small disagreement… would be a shame.”

“I cannot look past it.”

“Then you are an ignorant fool. I saw it in your eyes when I told you Islea. It was meant in confidence, not as a Council member of Farrest to a Council member of Greenwall,” Lenda reminded her, “I was telling a friend. And you thought it made sense. A democracy would improve the unity and loyalty within Wendlyn. A group of senators and perhaps even a supreme leader would help make decisions for the land as a whole. The houses can still have their Lords and Ladies.”

“Your ideas are asking for unrest while we are already in the midst of a war.” Islea reminded Lenda.

“I would not broach the topic until after a war. You cannot deny that some of the Lords and Lady’s of Wendyln are selfish. Greenwall and Farrest are the best within Wendyln, we have councils. Elvgard is perhaps the only location better off, but I fear what could happen without Kaelan’s fair mind and kind heart.”

“We pray Lady Vannbrek gives birth to a son.” Islea spoke sadly.

“Why do we need to leave our future in the hopes and dreams of the gods, Islea?” Lenda asked her proudly, “Dispersed power, fair and true would be the best method.”

“I disagree.” Islea told her.

“And I respect your opinion,” Lenda decided, “Now, can we move on?” Lenda stepped forward, “To scour the streets for others like us is difficult, I would rather spend the night with you anyway.”

*

Jon stood on a large platform away from the crowd and away from the boat. A large bowl of fire was positioned before him, his arrow laced with cloth and oil, ready to be dipped within the fire and shot for the act of the rite. One smaller platform beneath him he heard a man count out loud and men began to chant. After the third chant, drums sounded. The noise of the crowd fell and the attention was turned to him upon his platform.

Jon lifted his bow and arrow to the sky, bending then in a deep bow as he began to hear drunk men chanting from within the crowd now. When he lifted his torso he kept his face straight and set the tip of his arrow into the fire. Lifting the weapon he pulled it back, his face illuminated in the darkness as he pulled the bow back, his fingers laced at the arrows edge by his cheek. The sound of the chants drowned out and he took three easy breaths and then he released the arrow letting it fly.

The crowd watched as a line of fire streaked down towards the boat setting the center aflame when it hit. The boat covered in oil and other flammable substances exploded in a blossom of orange and yellow flame and the deep crackle and whistle of burning objects and wood filled the air as the crowds night illuminated from the center of the lake.
 
Had it not been for the greyed hair, the two knights of the Greenwall council could have fooled anyone into thinking they were much younger. Kaira thought the two of them looked quite handsome, and she could see that Ser Beor had recovered well. They all had, thankfully, just in time to enjoy the festivities. Ser Beor was wearing a mask representing the God of the Sea, while Bastian’s seemed to hint at the God of War, as well. Still, despite the beautiful attires, the pretty lights, the distracting chatter and the beautiful music, Kaira’s mind was still plagued by the battle. It felt so strange celebrating after they had all almost died, and two of their guards had been killed by Alastair’s men. Had that been the backstabbing of her own prophecy? Was there more to come? In a crowd so large and overwhelming, Kaira knew it was helpless to even make at attempt at staying alert.

“It is good for Jon to finally boast to people and have them appreciate him for it,” Bastian chuckled at Kyel’s bet. “We have been chastising him for too long.”

“And all that effort for nothing, wasted breaths,” Beor said, but it was clear that he did not truly mean it. The man loved Jon, not quite as much as he loved Kyel, but he still cared for him and wished him well. Despite his irritating tick of speaking in the worst of moments, Kaira found Jon the most pleasant company of all of them, sometimes even Elisif. Her positivity was often overwhelming, and she knew it was mostly insincere, and while she liked the woman, Jon had a way of assuming it so shamelessly, it was impossible to blame him.

His next question addressed her, and she felt his fingers brush over her own, sending cold tendrils down her back. Kaira’s fingers instinctively moved towards him, and their tips almost braided for a moment before she shook herself back to reality and brought both of her arms in front of her, crossing them at her chest. “You would think in the largest port of Valera they would, but I’ve never seen it happen. The sailors protested it,” she shrugged. “They thought a missed arrow might set their own boats on fire. So we just stuck to partying and toasting to the Gods instead.”

Their chatter was cut short once they noticed what looked like Jon’s form up on the platform overlooking the lake and the boat filled with food and other goods House Pelletier had prepared for the offering. It was easy to spot the people who were already having a good time - most of them were shouting and singing, more excited about the rite than one should be. The others, mostly women, were watching silently, some praying in silence while others whispered about masks, dresses and other fresh subjects of gossip. Kaira was more than thankful for the distraction; Kyel’s attitude that evening did not match the little gesture from moments before, which left her wondering if it was, once again, a cheap act. With a clenched jaw, she leaned against the leg farther from him and watched as the burning arrow pierced the air, arched and landed right in the middle of the boat, sending crimson sparks into the night. The crowd applauded excitedly, many shouting ‘Pelletier!’ or singing their songs even louder, likely feeding even more into Jon’s ego.

“Fame suits him,” Elisif leaned in to whisper into Kaira’s ear.

“Everything suits him,” Kaira decided. He was a Lord, a warrior and an icon that the people of Riftmere looked up to just as much as his older brother.

She wished it had been Kyel to lean in then and speak to her. He had looked past her for the last few days, as though she only existed when there was nothing better to entertain him. Her neck tensed. In the crowd, she found herself scouring for Lady Adrielle, wondering which God she had picked for herself. No question it was Vealdria, she was certain. The woman took too much pride in her witty comebacks to choose something as common as Meira.
 
Kyel felt her fingers move closer to his, the pads bending just slightly upon his own before she pulled away completely crossing her arms in front of her chest. It was hard to focus upon her words when his mind was plagued with trying to decipher her movements. Jon ignited his arrow, shooting the arrow into the boat igniting that. With the flames engulfing the boat on the water people yelled and cheered. The drums ended and different music overtook the square, full of fiddles and sharper sounds. Some men clanked pint glasses together while some grabbed a woman to dance.

Kyel saw Jon climb down from the platform, but he was lost within the crowd and Kyel let his gaze return to the heat and the light of the boat on the water. The response from the crowd was instant but the flames still flickered higher and more furiously. The nature of the orange light leaping and dancing matched the attitude of that within the square. A cloud of smoke rose tall over the fire, and Kyel imagined the little shrieks of the crowd came from there instead.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” He asked Kaira quietly. The only other time he recalled seeing a fire of such stature and size was when he witnessed a village in the north that had been burnt to the ground. Raiders plagued the city, and they destroyed everything. This fire was not sad, but full of hopes and prayers and most of all Kyel was grateful for the warmth it pressed towards them at the edge of the water.

When their group of Knights began to sip on their drinks to the offering and Elisif’s attention was elsewhere as she stepped towards the Knights, Kyel offered his arm to Kaira. “A short walk?” He offered to her. “We should be back in time to congratulate Lord Pelletier when he had finally made it over. I’m sure it will take some time.” Kyel led her away from the group following the stone wall touching the water’s edge. Further down the walk there were games spread along the buildings, children laughed and the sounds of singing from the back of pubs and drunken men mixed with the warm atmosphere from the night.

They were quite far from their group, Kyel made certain they were far enough, he could not see any hint of Bastain’s head in the distance. As far as Kyel was concerned even with the eyes of others around, in their masks they were alone. His arm fell slightly and his hand slipped around hers for a moment as he pulled her to sit on the stone wall. He offered some of his drink to her before glancing back at the ship in flames. The shadow was harsh on the right side of her face, but her left was illuminated in the light. He’d never seen such light exposed to her deep blue eyes, even with the mask it reminded him of their first time in bed together when he could explore the intricacies of her iris with their closeness.

“Vealdria is the perfect choice for you,” he commented feeling the weight within his pocket only grow heavier as he spoke. He shifted to face her slightly, his face growing more serious. “I wanted to apologize for the other day. I scolded you for helping me. I should have thanked you.” he told her, “Do not do it again,” he added quickly, his lip turning up just slightly at that remark, “But thank you.” he repeated.

His eyes met hers again and his jaw tensed slightly, beneath his mask his brow lifted in an attempt to try and read her. She was so difficult for him to understand. Finally he sat up a bit straighter and he pulled a small black box from his pocket. “It is tradition in the North to present someone a gift on one of the festival nights. In Ironstone our Festival lasts for six days.” He told her, he decided to omit the part where the ‘someone’ the gift was for was usually a ‘special’ someone. “I saw this in the market the other day, and I thought of you,” He opened the box to reveal a polished blue stone encased in a silver pendant with a silver chain. The stone was a deep blue color with an intricate depth to it’s design. “It is Kyanite,” He told her, his eyes lifting to meet hers before returning to the stone. “My mother adored gemstones, this one in particular comes from mines in a village nearby Ironstone. The name comes from the old tongue, kyanos, which means deep blue.” He shifted one of his hands to hers, lifting her palm up and open as he removed the necklace from the box to set the silver pendant in her hand.

His thumb lingered in her palm a moment, “It enables communication and energy transfer. In its most particular form,” his forefinger brushed the stone, “From mind to mind, between the conscious and the dreaming mind. It is supposed to help connect the physical body with the astral body,” he said the slightest smirk playing at the edge of his lips recalling when he used to laugh at his mother as she spoke this fact to him. Then his eyes lifted to hers, “I’ve seen you dream Kaira, I think you could use some help to decipher and connect your minds.” He closed her hand over the necklace, his hand over hers.
 
Despite the chatter and clamor, Kyel’s voice still reverberated so clearly in her ear, the familiar sound making her knees soften, and although they were surrounded by people, listening to him speak felt strangely intimate. As he offered his hand, her eyes flickered down to it, then back to his face in an attempt to decipher if there was, perhaps, a hidden reason behind his wish to lead her away. Why had he not sought her earlier, before the ceremony? It would have been easier to get lost in the crowd if he wanted to discuss something confidential. Had he been busy with someone else? The thoughts that played in her mind were childish and foundationless, but she could not simply shut them away so easily. It was like a tune, stuck in her head for days, lingering in the background of her conscience ever since the council.

Kaira wrapped her arm around Kyel and allowed him to lead her away from the cluster of people and down the pathway circling the lake. The sky had darkened entirely, some stars already peering through the crowds, but their light was overshadowed by that of the blooming fire. Once he decided they were far enough, he invited her to sit on the stone ledge, and she took advantage of the sense of anonymity the mask gave her to sit slightly closer to him. In that light, or lack thereof, he looked much taller and more imposing, and his eyes glimmered so pale and blue behind his mask. They reminded her of the night at the feast in Whitevale, when he had kissed her under the moonlight, and the shadow of a smile played on her lips before she regained her composure.

An apology. Kaira was surprised to see Kyel this way, softer and softer whenever he was around her, and cold as ice when others were present. She thought that at least she was, at least often times, rather consistent with her behaviour, but there was a hard shell that Kyel seemed to cling to in order to, maybe, protect himself, or keep any whispers away from his person. As she tried to decipher him, she saw his hand move to take a small box out of his pocket, and her eyes quickly fell on the delicate velvet coating the outside. Her neck tensed and she felt her stomach twist. A gift. Was he that sorry for shouting at her the other day? Did it have an entirely different purpose? She watched him open the box and her chest fell even more.

“I… I don’t know how to repay you,” she said honestly after she allowed his hand to guide hers and she felt the cold silver fall into her palm. It was the most beautiful shade of blue she had seen, perhaps only similar to the sea on a sunny summer day, and the gift itself was all the more meaningful knowing he had picked it with intent. “Thank you,” she muttered, and lifted her eyes to look at him. “It is beautiful. You should not have wasted your money on me.” The only other piece of jewelry she owned was a ring Leon had gifted her, encasing a ‘protection’ spell as he called it, that she was yet to find the use of.

Turning his back to him, she lifted the necklace to her neck and held out the ends for him to take and tie together. As his hands came up to it, her fingertips lingered for a moment over his, before dropping to press the stone against her chest. It was cold and heavy, but oddly comforting. It reminded her of him. “Since you’ve seen me dream…” she mused as he worked behind her, “have you also seen me snore?” She pursed her lips to hide a smile, fidgeting with the pendant. “You sleep very peacefully. I have watched you a few times. If I didn’t know better, I would assume you’re dead.”
 
Her comments were so… humble. “You need not repay me,” he spoke lightly, her thank you was quick, but meaningful and he was glad she enjoyed the elegant necklace now upon her neck. His large fingers struggled a moment to clasp the delicate object, but he gently placed the small chain down once it was properly made at her chest. He pulled his hands from her neck slowly, letting the corner of his lips turn upward at her words. When she looked to face him he shook his head.

“Is that why you cried out that evening after your dream?” he recalled her thinking he was dead in response to a dream. He wondered if the dream then held some truth in it. Only a few days later did he have a similar wound to the one described within her dream. But perhaps he was just on her mind that night being beside her, and so his presence only clouded her. “You seemed to think I was dead then too. I thought an intruder had come to strike you, all I had to defend us was one of Lord Pyke’s expensive flower vases.” He shook his head.

“You do not snore,” he told her, “You do this little deep breath,” he paused and straightened his back and his eyes closed trying to mimic the sound as he let out a little dramatic huff. “It is like that,” he informed her. Then his hand reached forward, and his fingertips pressed to the center of her eyebrows. “Your brows are furrowed even in your sleep,” he revealed, he wondered if she knew this fact. “Such worry is not good for the soul, Miss Grimward,” he smiled a bit, calling her by her surname. His hand drifted from her brow to her cheek, and now his thumb traced at the soft flesh of her cheekbone. No one here knew their identity, here sitting close beside her, he could touch her like this and not worry of the stigma. His eyes shifted from her eyes down to her lips, soft and illuminated by the light of the fire, he sucked in another breath and his jaw tensed slightly. “Tell me what you are thinking?” He asked her quietly.
 
Kaira let out a quiet trill of laughter as he mimicked her and she turned to face him fully, her hand still resting on the stone. She wondered if he was telling her the truth, or keeping the secret of her snoring to himself so as to not embarrass her. Back at Yllevad, she had an entire room and a long corridor with a bath for herself, all so large and cold that not even the guards were close enough to hear her at night. She doubted that, if something were to happen, they would even hear her cry for help. Kyel’s presence in those nights had filled a hole in her soul left by the loneliness of the castle by the sea whenever Leon was not there to keep her mind occupied.

As his hand came to her face, Kaira closed her eyes for a moment and let out a breath. It felt as though their surroundings had quieted down, the songs and chatter now muffled as she focused her attention on him. “Every night I dream of what I’ve seen, of what I’ve done,” she confessed. “Rarely I dream of sleeping… Or not dream at all. I cherish those nights over anything. But that night, when I had that vision of you, I cried out because it felt so real, palpable, that I was convinced I had seen it.”

She opened her eyes to look at him then. He wanted to know what she was thinking and, frankly, she wished she could put it into words, as well. Kaira pursed her lips for a moment and brought her hand up to rest over his on her cheek. “I am thinking of you,” she said. “Of how you act around everyone else, how cold and untouchable you are, and when you’re with me, alone, I wonder if this is all yet another act.” Her hand dropped and she straightened her back. “You used to hate me. I want to know what changed.”

His words still rung so clearly in her mind, from the night they had slept together: she was only an ally, nothing more, and he allowed himself close to her for pure entertainment. Then, she recalled the other night, when he had admitted to caring for her like he would for any ally. The thought of him confessing that so sweetly to someone like Jon amused her, but imagining him with Lady Adrielle one day felt like a jab in the ribs. She was an ally too - a strong one as well, and a much more diplomatic and delicate woman than she was. Why was he choosing to play her instead, when he could have both the North and Farrest at his fingertips by the end of the war?
 
Her giggle elicited a warmth within the pit of his chest he did not know he could produce. He wished to hear the sound again, but her words continued about the thoughts of sleep and her eyes closed. With her eyes shut his own eyes could look upon her face without shame. He listened intently to her as his gaze traced every contour and slope admiring every feature. Her eyes opened again and his own fell back onto hers. Her hand lifted to his hand, he could feel the small calluses over the inside of her palm. They were gentle and he wondered if they were new, had he never noticed before?

Her answer was truthful, he felt his face grow hot and the skin around his eyes felt intensely warm. He was grateful for the dim light even in the glow of the fire. He could recall at least three moments where she questioned his motives, and here she was again, doing the same. He couldn’t blame her thoughts, his own wondered the same. Still her question only caused his chest to burn, he could not tell if it was rage or another emotion entirely.

What changed? She had changed him. While he promised to protect her, she had protected him. Her worry for him in bed, her need to watch his back in battle rather than her own. She healed him when she knew it would weaken herself. Every notion was justifiable, and each he could argue she would do for Elisif or Jon too. Still Kyel could not help but to wonder was it only for him? He could not explain his own need to be around her. How any dark shade of blue reminded him of her eyes. That the old stories he heard as a boy of magic that had frightened him so much now intrigued him. When had it changed? When she spoke up at that council meeting, and asserted herself among the others? Was it being with her that night in Whitevale, protecting her and knowing she had only been his? The next day in Whitevale when her hand had come to his neck and she stunned his ability to move, and he still trusted her no matter the magnitude of fear within him? He did not know. All he knew was that being with her in any way, even now just sitting beside her felt right.

“My hate was placed in ignorance.” Kyel shifted closer to her, his other hand moving to the small of her back very gently knowing the location was likely still very tender. ‘You are my friend Kaira.” He spoke slowly, his hand resting beneath her jaw, tilting her head to look up at him slightly. “I admire your valor. And when I first met you I assumed the stories I heard as a child were true and that your intentions lay with Alastair’s. Now I know your morals align with my own. In fact, some appear more graceful than my own.”

Kyel’s eyes met hers, and his thumb brushed below her chin, “Strong and decisive,” his tone was in a whisper as his face moved closer to hers, his thumb lifted to her lower lips dragging the flesh down just slightly as his other fingers stayed poised at her jawline. Beautiful, he wished to say next, but instead his eyes closed and his lips pressed against hers.
 
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