Yellowfang has landed! Ah, I'm excited for this. Also, I got a few questions/comments about the canon divergence; there are two reasons for what I'm up to.
First, I need to give Samn more plot to carry because she's telling half the story, and second, I want to mix up a few elements, especially those that I feel that the books didn't do well!
Enjoy chapter 9!
Chapter 9 - Fiyr
"She's looking a bit angry today," Graie teases.
I suck air through my teeth. "A bit angry? Well, that's less angry than usual…"
"Ah, no, she's the angriest I've ever seen her," he clarifies, laughing as he runs a hand through his fluffy gray hair.
"Wish me luck," I groan.
"You'll bloody well need it," he snorts, then nudges me. "Well, don't worry. I know where we keep the frying pans; if things start to look bad, I'll whack her."
The mental image draws a giggle from me, but as the real prospect of tending to this irritable, potentially dangerous woman sinks in, I sober. "Ugh. I almost wish that Sir Cawle gave me a punishment instead. Blessed Starlaxi, this is a right mess. At least I won't have to train with Sir Cawle until I'm done with Yllowei Fennen. I'm not really looking forward to it."
"Forward to taking care of Lady Fennen or to training with Tigre Cawle?" Graie chuckles. "Well, don't worry too much about Sir Cawle, he's just… intimidating. I'm sure that once he warms up to you a little, he'll be as good a mentor as any."
The thought makes me smile hopefully. After the altercation over the state of the kingdoms by the Rivien border, I thought I'd made an enemy of potentially the scariest man I'd ever met. Winning his respect will be a challenge indeed, but I'll work hard.
"Come on, go help out Lady Fennen, she looks like she's getting angrier by the minute," Graie whispers, nudging me.
We've been sitting in the squire's wing's common room in full view of the throne room where Yllowei Fennen's sitting, scowling for the past five or so minutes.
"Yeesh, alright, get the frying pan ready," I joke, standing and putting the plate on the table that we'd been sitting at. "Bring my plate back for me?"
"Sure thing, I'm headed to the kitchen anyway," he replies with a wink.
My smile at that fades as I head over to Yllowei, who directs the full force of her scowl on me. I freeze, and she curls her lip.
"A god-toy, really? The best Thundria can do?"
"I'm just following the queen's orders," I tell her, trying to keep my tone level. I've heard worse from those whose opinions actually matter.
"But you are a god-toy, hmm?" There's a suspicious glint in her hazel eyes that I don't like.
"I used to work for gods, yes," I grind out, my hands drifting up to cross defensively in front of me.
"Your mother was a god-toy, and your father too?" she challenges.
"Yes, they were," I snap off defiantly, resisting the urge to step forwards and loom over her. "What about it? If you've got something to say, then say it."
"The blood of a god-toy couldn't compare to the blood of a true knight," Yllowei scoffs, her flattened nose flaring at she looks scornfully at me. "To think I'm being fussed over by such trash."
Something snaps inside me.
"You'd feel humiliated if I was courtborn!" I stab a finger toward her, so mad spittle flies from my mouth. "You'd feel humiliated if it was Queen Bluelianna Star herself, or a precious knight from your own damn kingdom, or a dragon that dragged you back to its cave! It's the fact that you have to rely on anyone else that you're so upset by! But you're just going to have to suck it up until you can take care of yourself, you tough old biscuit!"
My rant breaks off as I shout the last word in her face, then realize I'm breathing hard and my finger is jabbing at her chest. Face flushed, I straighten and take a step back and open my mouth to apologize.
Her cloak's hood falls right over her face and her shoulders shake as she convulses. She's bent over forwards and making a wheezing sound that makes me scared.
Blessed Starlaxi, I didn't give her a heart attack or something did I? Is she dying?! I wonder, starting to panic. Should I call for Spottalia?
"I—I'm sorry!" I exclaim, but I suddenly realize that it's not a heart attack.
She's choking on her own laughter, and as the hood drops back again I see that there are tears streaking down her lined face.
"Ah! So there is a little bit of fighting spirit in this god-toy after all," she crows, snapping her fingers triumphantly. "Well, don't just stand there boy, go find the little girl you call a healer and get some goldenrod and poppy seeds from her before I bust a lung!"
Still a little jarred from the odd encounter, I flee, relieved to have an excuse to visit the healer's wing.
"Good morning Fiyr," Spottalia Lief greets me the moment I walk in, looking up from her meticulous note-taking. The sound of her voice relaxes me immediately.
"Morning. I've come from Yllowei Fennen with a request for goldenrod and poppy seeds," I say.
She bobs her head and stands, her dress and apron swinging out as she hurries to the wall of the healer's wing with the herbs each labelled in carefully arranged jars. "Just wait a second, and take some marigold too."
Spottalia wraps them in a small wax paper bundle and carries them back over to me. "Tell Lady Fennen to go easy on the poppy seeds. I don't want her to dull the pain so much that I can't judge her condition."
"Sure. Thank you!" I give her an awkward little bow.
She smiles brightly, and turns to go back to her desk. I glance down at the wax paper in my hands for a moment and breathe out, peace washing over me. The healer's wing is really nice, softly lit and clean. Spottalia reminds me a bit of Prin, too, although less… aggressive. I snap myself out of it after a moment and turn on my heel to leave the wing.
As I cross the throne room, I catch Sir Cawle giving me an intense stare out of the corner of my eye. Yikes. Don't know what I did this time, but the Starlaxi willing, he won't come over and yell at me.
I make it to Yllowei without interruption and I pass her the herb packet.
"Spottalia says go easy on—"
"The poppy seeds, yes, yes, I know," she grumbles, standing up with a yelp of pain and leaning on my shoulder with dignity as she steers me to the kitchen to find a glass of water to wash down the herbs with. "Blessed Starlaxi, what a world where children presume their elders must be doddering old fools with no more wits than a rabbit."
She continues a semi-serious lecture to the Starlaxi-knows-who about the importance of respect for your superiors as we hobble to the kitchen together. I'm starting to think this punishment might not be entirely unbearable.
I hurry into the kitchen and get a glass of water from Mauzian Fyrra who gives me a pitying look.
"And not even taking into account that we have decades worth of—" Yllowei adds, then chews up the marigold and goldenrod at the same time and pops in the poppy seeds before downing the entire water glass in one go. She continues her rant without missing a beat, "—tradition despite their mother's milk being scarce out of them. Ridiculous, really. It's them being the foolish ones to make that kind of—"
"Is there anything else you need?" I interrupt, hoping there's a chance in the Blacklands that I might actually have a minute to myself today.
"I'll be in the healer's wing, bring me something to eat," she directs sourly. "Nothing that flies or has a face, mind you. I warrant you Thundrians rather enjoy flaunting your superiority over all other species that—"
I tune out the rest of her newest lecture as I turn to head back into the kitchens.
"A plate of today's lunch without the meat," I request, leaning over the counter and poking my head in to direct it at Mauzian.
"I should think so, the meat's not ready yet," she sniffs, and I lean back out to avoid any further tongue-lashings by the sharpest lady in the court. She's especially short-tempered on kitchen duty and I can imagine why. Lady Flourer and the other ladies might be content to sit in the nursery, but far as I can tell, Lady Fyrra has no interest in having children to fill her days.
I wonder if her parents didn't have a line to Old-Thundria. Mauzian is clearly drawn from 'mouse'; not exactly the most aggressive or flamboyant of names. Maybe her parents were just a little more reserved. She doesn't have mouse-summoning, I know that, so that wouldn't explain the name, either. Maybe it was a family name.
My perusings are cut short when a plate of meatless food is slammed down on the counter in front of me.
"Thank you!" Lady Fyrra has already ducked back into the kitchen as I say it and I'm pretty sure it's ignored. Shrugging, I grab the plate and snag a couple of utensils on my way out for Yllowei.
As I make it into the healer's wing, Spottalia Lief glances back up from her work to give me a shy smile. I catch a glimpse of the papers on the desk in front of her, and 'Fiyr' is written a couple times over. I stare at it for a second, then look away, dismissing it as nothing. Probably just noting down that I took herbs today for Lady Fennen. Probably.
I bring the plate to Yllowei Fennen who is lounging on one of the cots like she owns the wing and trying to pick out the snarls in her mane of silvery-gray hair with what I'm pretty sure is a knife.
"Please take longer next time," she says, dry enough to make the entire Rivien sea evaporate. "I don't think my bones have had a chance to fossilize yet."
"Oh, for the Starlaxi's sake stop whining and eat," I tell her, taking on a sharp tone of my own.
She gets a raspy laugh out of that. "Bon appetit."
"Huh?"
"Old Shodawes saying," she says, waving her hand to dismiss me as she starts wolfing down the food like it's the last meal she'll have for a week. A chunk of boiled potato splats on the floor as she devours it. Great. It'll probably be me cleaning that up. "Leave me now, I don't think I'll erode if you go off and take some time for yourself for a minute."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and dip into an awkward bow before scurrying away. Thank the Starlaxi!
…
Nearly a week into my Yllowei-caretaking punishment, I'm heading into the squire's wing to pull open the curtains of two squire's nooks. Duss and Samn have gone out for early morning patrol and I was sent by Sir Strommer and Sir Hartef to wake up Graie and Ravne.
I pull Ravne's heavy muslin curtain aside first and scan his living space instinctively. He has a little rock collection on the same bedside table that's in every squire's nook and it looks like he's partway through a wood carving of a bird. A hunting knife rests beside it. Feeling like I'm intruding, I pass the bedside table and lean over his bed and reach to shake him awake.
The second my hand makes contact with his shoulder, he starts writhing like an eel, and his arm shoots out to scramble around on his bedside table for a long hunting knife that rests on it.
"Relax, relax!" I exclaim, jumping away to avoid untimely death. "It's Fiyr! The knights sent me to wake you up."
Ravne's breathing hard, his silky black hair rumpled and sticking out and his blue eyes wide and scared. "Oh. Oh, okay."
Shaking my head, I head for Graie's nook, next to mine, hoping he's not also going to try to stab me. What's with that guy? So jumpy all the time.
"Graie! Morning!" I shout to announce my arrival as I yank the curtain aside.
"Mreeeagheaermgh," an unholy groan rises from the lump of sheets that ostensibly hide Thundria's ash-elementalist squire. "Don't wanna. Sleep more."
"Don't go back to sleep!" I shout, stepping into his nook, but the lump rolls onto the other side of the bed defiantly.
"Mghrh."
Aaaaand he's asleep again.
"Hey! Up you get! Time for training," I say, reaching for the lump.
It seems to sense my approach and rolls further away.
Unfortunately, the small single beds of Thundria's squires are not large enough to accommodate Graie's urgent need to escape my reach and with a thunk, Graie rolls off the bed in his sheet cocoon and is deposited onto the thin rug of his nook.
"Ouch."
"Just get up, Lady Faise made another pot of coffee," I coax.
"Donwancoffee," he groans.
I roll my eyes. "Come on, it's time to go. Sir Hartef's gonna fillet you if you're late to training again."
"Iz my birthday tomorrow," Graie volunteers, his voice muffled. Is he sleep-talking?
"If you want to be alive to celebrate it, I suggest getting your butt down to the throne room," I say sweetly, picking up a heavy book of 'Old Thundria's Landmarks and Notable Villages'—I don't think I could come up with a more sleep-inducing title if I tried—from his bedside table and drop it onto the stone floor with a resounding crack!
Graie yelps.
I turn on my heel and leave the squire's wing, confident that my intrusion has sufficiently awoken Graie, much to his displeasure.
Pausing on my way across the throne room, I redirect my steps towards the dining hall. I might take Graie's cup of coffee instead… I don't exactly like the bitter taste per se, but I saw Sir Cawle drinking it and I'm trying to win his favour, so drinking the stuff he likes too might be the way to go. Hey, it's not the worst idea I've ever had.
I'm sure Sir Hartef and Sir Strommer don't need me to tell them exactly when their squires will make it out of their nooks, and I really should check on Yllowei, so I direct my steps toward the healer's wing.
The route to the healer's wing is next to the dining hall, which is bad news for me because jerks one and two are lounging at a table, finishing their breakfasts. Great. Back from patrol. Awesome. I try to scoot by the entrance without them spotting me. Unfortunately...
"No breakfast today?" Duss jeers. How does he make such an inconspicuous comment sound rude? Truly a talent. I stop in the doorway of the dining hall and stare them down.
"I ate earlier," I say levelly. They'll let it go if I just ignore them.
"And yet you weren't training with us…" Samn observes, apparently entranced by swirling his fork around his runny egg remains.
"I guess Queen Bluelianna thinks god-toys are better off tending to old, sick people," Duss says, shrugging with a smirk.
Don't give them a reaction. They'll get sick of it eventually. But I'm starting to wonder how true that is. They've kept it up for years now, showing no sign of boredom…
Shaking it off and shooting the two of them a last dirty look, I duck into the healer's wing, smelling the familiar herbal scents, and find Yllowei Fennen sitting up in her cot, scowling as usual.
"Good morning."
"I hate mornings," she snaps.
Truly a shock, I think dryly. "I'll get you some breakfast. Eggs and sausage!"
Yllowei curls her lip. "I don't eat eggs or sausages. Go into a village and get me some actual food."
"Uh… anything specific?"
"Bread, peanut butter, some fruit preserves," she rattles off, looking sour but very silly wrapped in her blanket-burrito.
Alright, no problem, you're welcome. I swear, any other day we'd have bread and peanut butter...
When I walk back into the dining hall, Graie and Ravne have made it in. I suppress a snort when I see that Graie's wrapped up in his sheet still.
"Graie, you can't take the bed with you," Ravne teases, sitting beside him and digging into his own breakfast.
"Watch me," he grumbles, stuffing a whole breakfast sausage into his mouth. Grease runs down his chin. I make a face.
"What're you guys doing today?" I ask, delaying my errand-running for Yllowei.
"Wilderness survival," Graie groans. "Also known as jumping around trees and trying not to break my Starlaxi-damned neck."
"Had that last week," Ravne supplies through a mouthful of egg. "I'm studying Old Thundrian—mátame ahora."
Graie laughs. Giving the short chuckle of a person who isn't in on the joke, I quickly turn to Samn and Duss.
"Battle training," Samn says, looking like he's suppressing a smirk. He doesn't look at Duss, but just announcing it provokes the reaction he was obviously looking for.
"Battle losing," Duss snaps in way of a clever retort.
"Yes, you are," Samn agrees without missing a beat, picking up his mugful of black coffee and downing it in one go.
"Bloody ambidex," he mutters, throwing in a few more choice expletives at his plate.
Ignoring their banter, I turn back to Graie hopefully. "Are you going to be near any towns? I've gotta run an errand for Yllowei."
Graie blinks. "Oh, nice, I'm going to the Southeast Cirrus encampment for a supply run after wilderness, you can come too!"
"Great." More work, whoopee. But it'll be better if I go with Graie at least. I wasn't looking forward to a half-hour horse ride alone.
Much to my stomach's displeasure, we ride into the territory right after breakfast with Liyon Hartef.
"So Fiyr," the knight begins. "How's Yllowei Fennen doing?"
It's a loaded question that I've been asked a lot recently. Knights usually are more interested in knowing if they're going to have to hunt her down in the middle of the night or publically execute her for treason to her adopted kingdom.
"No worse," I reply automatically.
The blond man cocks an eyebrow without glancing away from the road ahead. "I see. She seems to have made herself… comfortable."
"You'd know better than me." Another diplomatic answer for those higher-ranking than me, which is almost everyone. When Duss or Samn get too nosy, I just ignore them.
For whatever reason, Sir Hartef gets a laugh out of this. "We should have you deliver reports at the Gatherings. A born politician if I've ever seen one."
"Thank you, sir?" Not really sure what to say to that. I'm pretty sure it's a compliment.
The rest of the ride proceeds in comfortable silence. I take Graie's supply list and head into Cirrus while Sir Hartef and Graie start training.
An hour of running around shop and explaining who I am and what I want later, Blitz is saddled with several bags of general goods—new clothes, steel and leather, a few panes of glass, and lots of food, plus Yllowei's precious fruit preserves. The townspeople have a tone of disinterested respect as they address me but I'll take it over the scorn a few of the members of the court any day. I ride back to where Sir Hartef and Graie left me.
"Let's head back," Sir Hartef suggests, eyeing his profusely sweating squire.
I awkwardly hand a couple of bags over to the two of them, trying not to breathe through my nose next to Graie, and we ride back to the castle. He has a giant streak of mud on his back, but I ignore it as best I can.
Graie and I deliver the bags to Brindellia Faise in the kitchen and I set about making Yllowei's toast.
When I bring the plate to the healer's wing, Yllowei Fennen is nowhere to be found. Spottalia Lief looks up from her work and smiles at me.
"She went to sit in the garden," she answers despite me not having asked it yet.
"Okay, thank you!" I return the smile.
"It's very kind of you to cater to her needs that way." Spottalia nods at the plate. "I don't know how long I could handle her."
I laugh. "Well, it is a punishment. But she seems like she's been through a lot and I respect her, you know? Don't let her hear me say it, though."
Spottalia smiles and puts a finger to her lips.
I hurry out the front doors of the castle and out onto the stone plaza where beds of flowers grow with wild abandon. Yllowei's sitting on a marble bench that's cracking with small green sprigs protruding from it, looking lost in thought. A couple of kids are playing with sticks across from her, and from the sounds of their shouts, it's some kind of pretend-invasion.
"At last," she grunts, coming back from whatever reverie she was in and glaring at me, before snatching the plate out of my hands. "My belly's been rumbling terribly."
"Enjoy, I guess," I mutter, my nose flaring at her abject ungratefulness.
Half the sandwich is already crammed in her mouth.
I stand awkwardly, waiting as she consumes the food with startling speed. Eventually, as she wipes the last smear of peanut butter from her mouth, she looks back up at me with an expression of surprise.
"Well, don't just stand there, help me change the bandages on my leg!"
"Bu—you—uh—" My frustrated stammering is cut off at her raised eyebrow. "Okay, put it up on the bench, I'll help you."
She snorts and lifts her bandaged leg up comically slowly. The queen gave her some spare travel clothing, appropriately, a heavy black cloak and loose trousers. Her intimidating appearance looks wildly out of place on the peaceful plaza set against the backdrop of the bright blue sky with its fluffy white clouds.
As I'm helping her tighten the clean bandages, the children's shouts and cries get closer as two chase each other over to us. One tries to hide behind the bench where Yllowei's seated.
I feel the muscles in her legs tense abruptly, like she's getting ready to run, and her head snaps around to face the child.
"Get away from me!" she spits, baring her disgusting teeth.
The little girl jumps up and runs away, eyes wide.
"Well that was uncalled for!" I reprimand, looking over at the kid she scared and giving her a reassuring smile, then turn back to Yllowei with a frown. "What in the Starlaxi's name was that for?"
"She shouldn't have been so close," Yllowei snaps.
I frown. "All kids play. You could've been nicer about it."
"Just keep them away from me," she hisses and looks back at her plate, breathing strangely heavily for some reason.
I cock my head, suddenly realizing a possibility. "Did you have kids? You were a knight before you were a healer, right?"
Her knuckles go white on the edge of the bench. "No. I have no children."
"Oookay, just asking," I mutter, irritated by how outraged she gets when I ask simple questions.
"Bad things happen to them when I'm around them," she mutters, and I stare out across the plaza.
What does she mean?
"Go get more bandages, boy," she snaps suddenly, looking ferociously protective of whatever secrets I was nearly privy to.
"Alright, alright, no need to shout," I grumble, standing up with my hands up defensively.
"Just hurry," she mutters, looking out across the trees with a pained expression that I very much doubt is a product of her injured leg.
Sighing, I head back into the castle and announce myself as I knock.
"Enter," Speikell Tiall says gruffly through the door and I push it open warily. She sheathes her sword. I glance around the throne room, a little surprised by all the activity. It's usually fairly quiet during the day, most knights out patrolling.
"Preparing for an attack," Speikell mutters in answer to my questioning glance, taking her post at the door back. "These days, nobody's gonna trust Shodawa not to try somethin' sneaky."
From my limited encounters with the shadow-kingdom, sneaky is the only way they do things, but I choose not to engage with Speikell about the various facts and stereotypes of the kingdoms.
Sir Cawle's standing by the massive array of weaponry that's been transported into the throne room for a reason that quickly becomes obvious when he raises a dagger.
I'm transfixed as a soft amber glow emanates from his spread palm and the dagger suddenly glints brighter, almost imperceptibly.
The knight drops it carefully and moves to the next weapon, taking a deep breath. Willowamina picks up the same dagger and waves her own hand over it. A pale gray wisp of what almost looks like smoke drifts across it and the steel surface smoothes, chips and notches lifting right out of it, looking as shiny as the day it was forged.
Everyone's using their various skills, life-force based or otherwise, preparing for battle.
A little shaken by everyone's conviction that bloody warfare is days away, I hurry into the healer's wing to find Spottalia Lief seated on the stone floor, with hundreds of jars of salves and leaves spread around her.
She's locked in what appears to be either prayer or meditation, or possibly a combination, and electric green magic is radiating off her in misty waves. The force of it nearly pushes me back. It looks like the gods' tapestry of the aurora borealis of the snowlands. She's so strong. Is this what healers can achieve?
Her breathing is slow, and out of curiosity, I slide into the fifth dimension to observe her. In the murky Trace, the herbs and salves spread out before her are flashing intermittently with green light, lit from within somehow. She blinks an eye open and the flashing of the medicine slows slightly as she points to a shelf where rolls of bandages are stacked. Next to it is a little pot of off-white cream.
Continuing her meditation, she suddenly begins to speak, but speaking so directly to me that I feel her voice more than I hear it. Is this what a voice sounds like in the Trace? Or is she doing some kind of life-force trick? I'm frozen as I listen to her words.
Apply it carefully; Lady Fennen knows not to touch it. You must wash your hands meticulously in a clean stream afterward, unsullied by metal or human interference.
Startled, I nod and pick up a roll of bandage and the pot of cream, and hurry out of the healer's wing. Unconsciously slipping out of the fifth dimension, I glance backwards to see that Spottalia's still peacefully seated, arms semi-extended in front of her with palms upturned in offering.
Thoroughly creeped out, I hurry back out of the castle.
After Yllowei Fennen's snap, the children have been playing more quietly and further across the plaza. Lady Fennen herself is dozing on the bench, awkwardly hunched in the sunlight.
"I brought you more bandages," I announce loudly to awaken her from a safe distance away.
As predicted, one hand flies out to try to bat away whoever interrupted her impromptu nap. I don't even bother backing up.
"Gah, bring them over here, then," she grunts.
Suppressing a snort of amusement, I kneel in front of her and start unwrapping the old bandages that are slightly damp with some kind of bodily fluid that I'm emphatically not interested in studying any closer than necessary.
Once I'm done, I hold up the pot of cream that Spottalia's… voice? told me to bring to Yllowei.
"Ah, so the healer-child actually seems to have picked up something from old Fiythar Vhiskar then…" Yllowei Fennen muses with a croaky laugh. "Interesting. Well, you'll be applying it, boy. I'm in no position to go hunting for a stream."
"Is it corrosive?" I ask, studying the salve curiously and a little warily.
She gets another laugh out of that. "It's to clear dead skin. It won't… hurt you… but how attached are you to your fingernails?"
I raise a single eyebrow.
"Just hurry up and put it on; you have a good hour afterward to find a place to wash your hands before it'll actually do any damage," she says with a snort.
Grimacing, I dip a finger in and start gingerly spreading it on her wound.
With a yelp, she slaps my hand away.
"What?!" I demand, yanking my hand away.
"On the bandage, foolish boy!" Yllowei says incredulously. "Have you got goose feathers for brains?
Clearing my throat with as much dignity as I can muster, I choose not to answer that last comment and start spreading it on the bandages. Once she's satisfied with my work, she shoos me. "I can put the bandages on myself. I'm old, not dead. Go save your precious fingernails."
Pursing my lips, I hold my hand out a safe distance from the rest of my body and pick up her dirty bandages to throw out at the castle.
I'm pushing open the castle doors again when Heff Tyle nearly crashes into me. The one-armed elder reels back, and I put a hand on his stumpy shoulder to steady him.
"Oof!" he gasps, his hand going to his stomach as he regains his breath. "Careful there, Fiyr, no need to hurry."
"My fingernails," I explain. Heff Tyle's eyebrows raise. "Uh, I mean, I only have an hour to save my fingernails."
He opens and then closes his mouth. "Well, if you get a chance, you might hunt a little while you're out."
"Yessir," I agree, hurrying past him to throw out the used bandages before I accidentally start more rumours about the crazy ex-god-toy of Thundria.
...
I've only made it about five minutes out of the castle's ground before I suddenly instinctively switch to the Trace and sense Ravne and Graie close by. Following their trail, I soon come upon them setting up hunting traps in a clearing. At the sound of footsteps both of them whirl around, swords drawn.
"Hey, hey, relax, it's me," I exclaim, hands out in front of me.
"G—g—give a guy a heart attack, why don't you," Ravne mutters, turning back to the traps.
"Waiting for an ambush, are you?" I cock my head.
"Nothing's out of the question," Graie mutters, uncharacteristically somber. "Can't put anything past those Shodawes rats."
"Rough times," I mumble, more to myself than anyone else, but Ravne hums in agreement, clicking what I recognize as a rabbit trap into place.
Still searching the Trace, I find a stream nearby by the sound of running water and save my poor fingernails while Ravne and Graie set up the last of their traps.
"Want to help us bring it all back?" Graie asks hopefully, then smirks. "You can take partial credit, c'mon…"
"Alright," I snicker. "You've convinced me."
Ravne gives me a bright smile that are rarer and rarer these days. What's been biting at him in the last few months, I haven't a clue, but whatever it is has made his smiles few and far between.
We head back along the trail that Graie and Ravne have mapped out, hitting each checkpoint in the form of rabbit snares along the way.
"Hey, why don't you head back with what we have so far, and we'll collect the rest?" Graie suggests.
"Sure," I agree, shrugging. "You sure you can handle it?"
Graie looks pointedly at my enormous haul in the form of a pile of dead rabbits caught in traps all lashed together to make carrying them slightly easier. "You sure you can handle it?"
I laugh and flex, my pitiful twig-arms stringy, but up to the task. Graie snorts. "Yeah, a real hunk of muscle you are."
This sets off Ravne as well, a little loudly. I join in, then give them a joking salute. "Alright, I'm out. Good luck with the rest."
On the trek back to the castle, it registers that Graie was obviously trying to get rid of me, no matter how smoothly he did it. Damn, he's good. I wonder what they were talking about before I showed up.
Whatever. They can have their private moment. Not my business. Probably. I mean, they're not talking about me. Obviously. Well, probably. I mean, anything's possible. But like… probably not.
I think.
Shaking my head at myself, I hurry up and reach the castle even quicker than when my fingernails were at stake.
"Fiyr!" I call out to announce myself. "I bring meat!"
Speikell ushers me in, frowning at the various corpses I have slung over my shoulder and back. "Get those to the kitchen quickly, you're dripping on the floor. And next time use the back entrance."
"Well done!" Sir Hartef exclaims as I head to the kitchens. "That's an impressive haul!"
"It was really Graie and Ravne," I admit with the most shrug-like gesture I can manage under the weight of rabbits. "I'm just the pack-mule."
"Credits to the pack-mule, then," the knight says, undeterred, and going to clap me on the shoulder then obviously thinking better of it.
I snort but smile and stagger my way to the kitchens where Samn, with a usual scowl, helps me unload the kills. He seems undeterred by the jarringly wrong angle that the necks of some of the trapped animals' hang at, whereas the mere sight makes my stomach turn.
"Ravne and Graie's?" he asks without pausing stripping the corpses off me.
"Yeah," I mutter grudgingly.
"Figures; god-toy wouldn't catch this much."
"You knew I was tending to Lady Fennen and not hunting, don't pretend your superior knight intuition figured it out," I snap, at my patience's end with this pretentious jerk.
"Yeah, I did," he concedes with a little laugh. "Good job on your superior walking skills in bringing it back to the castle though, don't know what Thundria would do without you."
"You've just got twisted trousers because you heard Sir Liyon praise me," I counter.
"Yeah." He laughs again. I frown.
He's being weirdly friendly, if you could call it that. Catches me off guard a little, but I'll take anything other than outright hostility, especially from him. The conversation falters.
"Well, uh, I'll just… go then," I mutter, excusing myself. Supremely smooth, the king of elocution coming right down the castle's hallways at this very moment.
I glance back at Samn through the kitchens' doorway and squint. Yeah, he's smiling to himself just a little. Well, that was weird.
...
I'm sitting in the throne room, sharpening my hunting knife give a lump of flint when Graie and Ravne walk out of the kitchens, looking smug as cats, uniforms streaked in blood.
I look up, surprised. "Didn't even see you come in!"
"We had to go in the back with all of our catches," Graie brags subtly. "Sir Strommer and Sir Cawle needed to help us unload all of it."
"There was a lot," Ravne says, looking as close to gloating as I've ever seen him.
"Squeeze a compliment out of ol' Tiggy," Graie snorts, elbowing Ravne companionably, who promptly blushes.
"Well…"
My jaw drops. If Ravne didn't immediately deny it, then it must be true. "What did you do, sprout wings and fly?"
"I can't trait yet," Ravne says shrugging.
Almost unconsciously, after it being drilled into me from my early training days, the definition rattles off in my mind. Traiting; the process of using one's life-force to take on physical characteristics or aspects of one's life-force.
And since Ravne has raven life-force, if he trains enough he will actually be able to sprout wings and fly. I giggle, then try to cover my mouth and, failing, begin laughing harder. When I compose myself, I explain through chuckles it was hyperbole. Ravne and Graie are tragically less amused.
"But tell me, what did you actually do?" I inquire, leaning forwards with my hands folded under my chin.
"W—w—well, I've been working on the design for a new technique of trap-setting where the—" Ravne's proud explanation is cut off by Graie.
"A bear."
"Sorry, come again?"
"I—I caught a bear," Ravne admits, blushing and fiddling with his necklace, the feather twirling between his fingers.
"Blessed Starlaxi, you're going to have to show me how to set that kind of trap!" I exclaim, but before Ravne can turn a more interesting shade of tomato, Yllowei Fennen's now-familiar raspy yell echoes through the dining hall where we've seated ourselves.
"Fiyr, so help me, bring me some food or I'll knock you into next week!"
"Duty calls."
Graie mimes swinging a frying pan.
Thanks for reading chapter 9! Please follow and favourite this story and leave me a review with what you think!
~Akila
