Author's Note: I am so sorry for not updating sooner! I was gone for about a month doing summer stuff and school started and I was loaded down with homework! Please forgive! Anyway, I wrote half of this before I did the summer stuff and I just finished writing the second half, so it might be a bit weird in the middle, lol! Anyway, thanks soooo much for the reviews! -huggles reviewers- Hope you enjoy the first real chapter!
Disclaimer: See Prolouge (Part One)Chapter One
Ebon Rih – Riada – Morning Weapons Practice
As he stretched and opened his wings to the cool, autumn air, Daemonar gazed over the students assembled before him. Technically, they weren't students, and most of them were his age or older, but since he knew more about the art of violence than they did, he was in charge, or at least he liked to think so. Only a few hundred yards away, his father was leading the morning practice routine for the men, and his mother was demonstrating to the women. Lucivar had told him to take the children through an easy practice routine until he could come over and help, and Daemonar was literally puffed out with pride. Normally, Hallevar would have worked with the young ones, but he was currently incapacitated, as Marian had said. What she had really meant was that he was too preoccupied with his new wife, Kalian, to show up for practice. Maybe he's just too sore from last night…he thought. At twelve, Daemonar now fully appreciated the meaning of sex, or at least he thought he did, and it gave him a bit of a worldly feeling.
"Everyone stand in a straight line!" He yelled in the general direction of the milling youngsters. A few glanced at him and rolled their eyes, but mostly, they just kept on talking and playing. Feeling perturbed and a bit disgruntled, he tried again. "EVERYONE IN A STRAIGHT LINE! NOW!" He was literally screaming, but it seemed to work. As lethargically as they could, the children assembled in a long, jagged line before him. Apparently, they didn't know the meaning of 'straight,' but as he was lucky they were even listening to him, he wasn't going to obsess over particulars.
After handing out the practice sticks, he demonstrated a basic attack and block exercise. As he went through the motions of blocking and thrusting, he cast a critical eye over those standing before him. Damn. Only a few were paying any bit of attention to him. Among those actually watching were the older males who were trying to learn as much about fighting as possible so they could oust their fathers and older brothers, Hanna, his cousin, who was most likely laughing at him under her breath, and Alanar, who was his playmate when he was younger and his friend now. Alanar's little sister, a harpy if you asked Daemonar, was absently twirling the practice stick in her hands as she watched two other girls play cradle with a makeshift deck of stones and scrap pieces of paper.
"Alright everyone! Find a partner and practice what I just showed you!" he yelled when he had finished the exercise. The children who hadn't been paying attention scrambled to their feet and looked around wildly for someone who had been watching to help them, and after about ten agonizingly loud and chaotic minutes in which many muttered explicit curses at Daemonar under their breathe, everyone had a partner and was stumbling through the exercise. At least, most people had partners. Someone was standing at the end of the line, practicing alone, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it was his friend's little sister.
Orian didn't exactly fit in with the rest of the Eyriens. For one thing, her curly black hair set her apart as a half-breed, someone in whose veins pure Eyrien blood did not run. It didn't matter that maybe one out of five hundred Eyriens was over three-quarters full blooded. Most Eyrien women did, however, have long, straight black hair. Curly was unheard of, and singled her out as a bastard child. And of course, Orian was the only one of the children who was a Queen, and she was the only one, besides for Alanar, of course, whose mother had been killed during the witchstorm. Actually, Dorian was the only one in all of Riada that had been damaged by the storm. It had been a mistake to take the woman and her family into Ebon Rih, and the whole Eyrien community knew it. So the other children kept away from Orian, and he usually did too. If her history and looks weren't enough to scare others away, her snappy personality was. Daemonar truly didn't know how Alanar had the patience to put up with her.
Reluctantly, he walked over to the younger girl and caught her stick with his hand as she was swinging it down in a practice blow. Angrily, she yanked it back out and almost pulled him off his feet. "What?" She snarled, glaring at him. For all that she was only ten, she acted like she owned the whole goddamn realm.
"I'm going to practice with you, since you obviously don't have a partner." He drawled, punctuating the last few words. The hurt in her eyes at once gratified him and made him ashamed of his words, but it was quickly concealed as she squared her shoulders and held her stick at the ready.
As they began to spar, Daemonar found himself having to actually concentrate to keep her from landing a blow. If she wasn't paying attention to him, then how did she know the exercise? Irritable chit. At least she payed attention when Hallevar was teaching. That was little comfort now, however, as today had been his day to lead, and she had completely ignored him. Since his birthright offering, the aggressive nature of a Warlord Prince had been sporadically intruding on his already volatile and competitive nature, and the gentle blows that he had been dealing Orian slowly became stronger and quicker. He thought she would drop back, but she met him blow for blow with an anger of her own. Apparently she didn't like being reminded of her status as an outsider. So, secure that she would continue sparring with him, he focused his entire attention on winning the mock fight. So focused was he that he didn't see many of the other children abandon their own practice sessions and wander over to gather around him and the girl. It was a delicate, precise dance, and one that he had only before witnessed with his father and his aunt. He had never fought like this before, with so much feeling behind him, and it exhilarated him.
His concentration was broken, however, when a loud, angry, and adult male voice, thundered in his ear. "THAT IS ENOUGH, DAEMONAR! Are you deaf?" Lucivar roared as he pulled the sparring stick from his hand. Orian, still intent on beating the shit out of Daemonar, dropped her own stick and lunged at him. Alanar, who was much taller than both Daemonar and Orian, stepped between them and pulled his sister away. Not to be deprived of the object of her rage so soon, Orian tried to bite her brother and return to the battleground, but Falonar scooped her up and placed her over his shoulder.
"Mother Night, Orian! Let it go!" The older Eyrien snarled at her. She shut her mouth and stopped struggling, but Daemonar could still see the hatred blazing from her eyes. Once more he felt slightly ashamed that he had cut into an already open wound, but he soon forgot his feelings when his father cuffed him, hard.
"We'll talk when we get home. Go clean up and wait with Hanna." Lucivar muttered as he pushed Daemonar away from the practice field. Hanna, who was seven, followed close behind. As the daughter of Witch, she had inherited her mother's keen perception, and she did not hesitate to focus it on her cousin.
"You weren't very nice," she said, hooking arms with him.
"Yeah, well, neither was she," he grumbled. Shoshanna, or Hanna as the family called her, usually lived at the Hall with her mother, Jeanelle, and her father, Daemon, but she was staying with her Eyrien uncle and aunt while her parents went to visit the kindred of Kaeleer. Even though Jeanelle was no longer the Queen of Ebon Askavi, she was still Witch, and she still had a connection with the kindred that no one was like to have again.
"Just because somebody's not nice doesn't mean you have to be mean back. At least, that's what Grandfather said." Hanna replied tersely.
"Did he? Well, Grandfather's an old… humbug," Daemonar answered, for lack of a better, seven-year-old appropriate word. For the rest of the short walk to the stack of clean towels and his waiting mother, he ignored Hanna's constant chatter and tried very hard not to let the feeling of shame that had been lurking at the bottom of his stomach grow into down right disgust at himself. He was the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih's son, and he should have behaved better. Actually, he should have waited until his father was gone and then had it out with the wavy-haired chit. He would remember that for next time. In the back of his mind, he knew he was actually ashamed for a very different reason, but he decided not to think about that, for it would make him feel much to lousy for comfort.
"Put me down, you arrogant bastard!" Orian squawked as she tried in vain to get out of Falonar's vice grip.
"Such language for a little girl," Falonar growled as he swung her over his shoulder and placed her on the ground. Turning to Alanar, he muttered, "Take her home and make sure she doesn't try to attack every male in sight." Her older brother nodded his understanding and took hold of her hand, which she immediately pulled out of his grasp.
"Orian…" he warned in a low voice, trying to steer her away from the practice field so they could take off and head for their eyrie, which was unfortunately very close to the Warlord Prince's abode. Alanar liked the arrangement fine, because he and Daemonar were friends and it was easy to go from one rocky home to another. Orian, however, had a different opinion about their living arrangements. While she liked Lucivar, who still called her Bright Eyes whenever he saw her, she got into so much trouble that the sight of either Lucivar or Falonar, Lucivar's second-in-command, with a scowl on their faces was enough to put her on the edge, and Lucivar's asshole of a son didn't help either.
When they reached the edge of the practice field, Orian spread her leathery wings and sprang from the ground. She was aware of Alanar a few feet behind her, but she put him out of her mind and let the feeling of the cool, crisp mountain air wash away the anger. She no longer felt any pain, or at least she liked to tell herself that, when someone made a snide remark about her heritage. Now, she only felt a burning anger. Actually, when she was fighting with Daemonar, she had felt an odd, gentle coldness creep through her, but she didn't really understand what that meant. Maybe it meant she was numb.
When they reached the eyrie, Endar, who had left the morning practice session much earlier than both Alanar and Orian, was standing outside the front door, waiting for them. He didn't enjoy the time he was forced to spend with the other Eyriens, for even though Lucivar warned them against it, they always found some way to remind him that his family's line was impure, but that his children had the bad blood of their mother, his now dead wife. In the few months that Dorian had lived in Riada, she had been a pain in everyone's side and a danger to her family.
The kindred wolves who lived in the area had often visited the temporary hut that the family had resided in, for Orian and Alanar, according to the alpha female, were "un-mothered pups." Dorian had been unable to accept that the kindred would do her no harm, so she chased them off with craft, and had actually managed to wound a few of the wolves. If she had shown any remorse for intentionally hurting the kindred, she would have been quickly forgiven, but the woman found that she liked the power wounding the animals gave her, and she became extremely violent whenever the kindred were near. This of course aroused the anger of both Jeanelle and Lucivar, which Dorian completely ignored. Dorian also took out her rage on her children in ways that still made them cringe. Lets just say that Orian and Alanar were lucky that they no longer had a mother.
"Hurry and wash up." Endar said as he ushered his children inside. "You have a lesson with Sarai today, remember?" he reminded Orian. Nodding, she hurried to her room and leapt into the shower, all the grievances of earlier forgotten. Orian lived for her weekly lessons with Sarai, a Healer who taught basic craft lessons for young girls. Orian had been taking lessons with her since she made the birthright offering and came away with the Opal. If she had been in Ebon Rih ten years earlier, she would have been taking lessons with Luthvian, Lucivar's mother. But, according to rumor, she had been killed just before the witchstorm was unleashed. Sarai had once been her student, and had now taken over her post. She wasn't Eyrien, and therefore didn't seem to notice the flaw in Orian's appearance, which delighted the young Queen to no end.
As an Eyrien male, Alanar was expected to pick up craft on his own. It was part of the warrior's training that he would receive. While she went to her craft lesson, he would go hunting with other youths his age. Orian had tried to join them once, but she had been rebuffed by the males, who were more than uncomfortable with having a female tag along with them on one of their excursions. This, or course, made her want to learn to hunt more, so she finally convinced Alanar to take her out once in a while and show her what he was learning. Needless to say, her brother didn't tell anyone else what they were doing.
When Orian was dressed and ready, she bolted out of the eyrie and flew pell mell towards Sarai's hut, which was in the center of Riada. She was going to be late, damn it! She landed gracelessly in front of the small wooden house and ran in to find the group of girls in her lesson already sitting in a semi-circle around Sarai as they watched her weave ribbons through wood. They all glanced up with annoyance as Orian entered and quickly went back to watching their teacher. Orian took her normal place at the end of the circle, a few feet away from the nearest girl, and took up the piece of wood and colorless ribbon that was sitting in front of her.
"Glad you could join us, Orian." Sarai said sarcastically. Orian just looked up and smiled at the older woman, who shook her head in mock disgust and continued to explain the process of moving one solid through another. Orian listened intently, and when it came time for the girls to put their knowledge to the test, she was the third one to figure out how to get the ribbon through the wood, even though she had come in late. Craft was comforting to Orian, because it was something she could control. It wasn't going to make fun of her, and it wasn't going to tell her she couldn't do something because she was a girl. When alone, she often experimented with what she learned, which sometimes caused a huge mess in her eyrie, but Endar usually forgave her. For all his anti-social tendencies, her father really tried, and she loved him for that.
The rest of the lesson was spent learning how to move various solids through each other. Orian let out a soft sigh of disappointment when Sarai announced that they wouldn't be transfering themselves through anything until the next time they met, which wasn't until seven days later. Apparently, she thought that it would be too dangerous to try anything of that sort until her students had had more time to practice the simple things at home. Orian disagreed. She was eager, perhaps overeager, to learn as much craft as she could, as fast as she could.
As soon Sarai announced that the girls could leave, Orian bolted out the door, intending to race back to her eyrie and try moving herself through its stone walls. She pulled up short, however, when someone called her name. Suprised and a bit irritated, she turned around, expecting to see someone scowling or holding up something she had forgotten. The sight of one of the girls from her lesson waving to her suprised her enough to leave her momentarily speechless. The girl, who was the only other Eyrien in the group, was tall and lanky, and had a face that men would kill for in a few more years. Orian thought her name was Havian, but she wasn't sure.
"I thought we could practice together, if you like," the girl said as a smile blossomed on her face. "I'm Javian, by the way, in case you didn't know."
Orian simply stared at her for a moment, letting the words sink in. Since she was seven, no Eyrien had ever tried to befriend her. She had a few acquaintences among the Blood of Riada, but none of them had wings, and none of them knew any better when they saw the curly hair that cascaded down her back. So she was a bit flummuxed when Javian came over to her and put her arm over her shoulders. She finally found her voice when the girl began to lead down one of the many crowded streets of the city.
"Surely you have better things to do," Orian said tartly as she ducked out from Javian's arm. As she turned away, the hurt look on the other girl's face made her cringe, but Orian was too flustered to stop. She hurriedly took flight and headed for her eyrie, where she could at least be in an illusion of solitude.
As Orian lay on her bed that night, trying vainly to let sleep overtake her, she kept replaying the fiasco from that morning over and over in her mind, and she kept seeing Javian's crushed expression as she walked away from her. Rudeness and apathy were walls she had built around herself, but if she made a friend, even an Eyrien one, she would know that someone didn't care what she looked like or who her mother was. And they could practice craft together, something that Orian longed to share with someone. Yes, maybe she should get to know this Javian better.