by Sam Farren
“You'll have to excuse me. I haven't practised Canthian in far too long to be anything but rusty,” Claire said. There was nothing wrong with her choice of words, though they were very carefully picked, each one deliberated over. “... we're going to confuse ourselves if we keep switching languages.”
Agreeing with her, I decided my mouth ought to be full of food, not words, and cut off a chunk of chicken, smearing it in the sauce it had been cooked in. I took my first bite and couldn't help but let out an appreciative hum. Claire raised her brow as if to say I told you so, and for a few minutes, I was content to smile around forkfuls of food while she ate at her own pace.
“Is there anything else to drink?” I asked, already halfway through a tepid glass of water.
She shook her head, and focused on cutting her chicken into smaller pieces.
“Really? The Marshal doesn't even get any wine?” I asked.
“There's nothing,” Claire snapped, and frowned at her dinner. Her knife slid across the plate, poorly anchored between her finger and thumb, and I didn't know if I ought to look away as she clicked her tongue in frustration. “... I don't have any wine. I apologise.”
“It's fine,” I rushed to explain. “I'm fine. I was only wondering.”
Claire nodded her head, and went back to her meal. A little ashamed, perhaps, though I couldn't say why. I busied myself with eating, atmosphere not as warm as it'd been moments ago, and I had a horrible, unsettling feeling that I'd finish up my dinner and leave, all without saying anything more to her.
At least there was an absurd amount of food. I paced myself, eating as slowly as I could without stopping, hoping I'd find my voice, and noticed that Claire wasn't eating so much as she was cutting her food into smaller and smaller pieces and moving them around her plate. She stared at it, caught somewhere between disinterest and contempt, and looked up when she felt my eyes on her.
I ducked my head and went back to eating, but she placed her cutlery on the side of her plate and cleared her throat.
“I'd like to hear about Canth,” she said. “If you wouldn't mind telling me.”
“Oh,” I said, setting my cutlery down. “Well... what do you want to know?”
“Anything. Where you lived, who you stayed with. How you filled your days, what you learnt; anything you're comfortable with telling me.”
It took a few words from Claire to make me forget the past two years of my life. Too many things came to mind at once, each flash of a memory blinding the last, until there was nothing but a cluttered blur for me to focus on. She said she wanted to hear anything, but I didn't want to bore her. Didn't want to confuse her.
“We lived with Reis. Kouris was always talking about them, back when we were travelling to Isin, so I know you already know a little about them. Turns out they run a place called Port Mahon. It's a sort of... pirate town, made by women, but there are lots of other people there, too. Not many men, though no one had a problem with Atthis,” I explained. “And I worked on the fishing boats a lot. I liked it. More than farming, I think. And, um. I guess I helped Reis with the accounts, when I could, or went to the tavern, out to market...”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, shoulders rising as I reached for my cutlery.
Claire stopped me, reaching out to cover my hand with her own.
“Rowan. I want to hear everything you have to say. We've all evening. Don't feel as though you ought to rush, or skip details. I'm listening,” she told me.
I moved my hand so that I could cling to hers, squeezing it as it hit me, once again, that Claire was alive, and that I was sitting down to dinner with her.
“Okay. But you're not going to believe half of it,” I said, mouth slanting into a smile. Rising to a challenge she hadn't set, I went about proving my point by saying, “I mean, I met Kondo-Kana, and that's not even the weirdest thing that happened.”
Claire spent a moment studying my expression, hand still wrapped in my fingers, as though trying to discern whether or not I was being serious.
“You met Kondo-Kana. The Kondo-Kana of legend, or a woman who happened to be called Kondo-Kana?” she asked, just to make certain.
“The Kondo-Kana,” I clarified, and said so much so quickly that I couldn't have been making it up. “I met her by accident, actually. Tizo – a captain in Mahon, one of the newer ones – bought a map from me, so that she could take a crew on a treasure hunt. Only you don't call them treasure hunts in Mahon, apparently it's bad luck. So I went on an expedition with Tizo, and Akela came along, because everyone always wanted Akela on their ship. Anyway, we ended up at an ancient temple in the middle of a jungle, and all of the golden phoenixes were still there. Everyone worked on getting those back to the ship, but I decided to take a look inside and, well.
“It was strange, but it wasn't strange. Kondo-Kana was there, looking at what remained of the temple, and I felt as though... as though I knew her. And not because of all the stories about her. I suppose it's because we're both necromancers! But she had these eyes like... like mine were, but the light wasn't trailing up. It was just trapped there, in her eyes. Like stars, or the moon, or... Anyway, I didn't know who she was then. Didn't see her for a few months after that, until I got an invitation from the capital. I thought it was from Queen Nasrin – kind of embarrassed myself a bit, actually – but Kondo-Kana was living in the palace, working in the temple.”
Claire threaded her fingers with mine, and I worried that my heart was pounding so loudly in my ears that I wouldn't be able to hear anything she said.
“As a child – foolish though I was taught it was – I believed that Kondo-Kana hadn't met her end in the ocean,” she said, leaning forward to confide in me. “Something about the stories didn't sit well with me. And now I know why.”
With her thumb brushing against my palm, the stories flowed out of me. I told her about the problems in Canth, about the attacks the port suffered in my time there, and I told her about the other expeditions I'd been on, and what became of those who challenged Reis' authority. She listened as though my voice was the only sound in the world as I told her about the temples, flooded with people on a daily basis, the murals painted across Mahon, along with all the people I'd met.
For the first time since returning to Asar, I understood how far Canth was behind me, how much I missed it; and had a ship been waiting for me, I still wouldn't have chosen to be anywhere else.
Claire hadn't taken her eyes off me the entire time, and I let it make me brave.
“I have something for you. I have something that's yours, that is. I know I should've given it to you before this, but I just worried that you'd be angry...” I said, smiling weakly.
I pulled my hand free of Claire's and reached for the bag between my feet. I moved my plate to the side, dinner long-since cold, and Claire took it upon herself to stack her plate atop mine, food barely touched, and placed them both on the floor.
“What is it?” she asked, doing what she could not to let curiosity get the better of her.
“I went to Praxis. To the place where you kept your things,” I explained, fingers hovering over the straps of the bag. “I know they were your things and I shouldn't have gone through them, but I thought... you know what I thought. I hadn't planned on going there. That's not why I kept the key. Having something of yours, it just... I'm sorry. Here.”
I pushed the bag over to her, but she didn't take it. Not right away. She brought a hand up to the collar of her shirt, fingers dipping beneath the fabric, and fished out her necklace, phoenix wing pendant swaying on the chain.
“I understand,” she said, and I blinked hard, every memory of the Phoenix Festival claiming me at once.
She let the necklace rest over her shirt and carefully opened the bag, taking the knife out first. She turned it in her hand, ran her thumb over the carvings, and smiled at the memories it brought with it. Placing it on the table, Claire smiled briefly up at me, and eased the box out of the bag.
It clipped against the table, and Clair
e placed her hands on her knees as she stared down at the top of it. The corners of her mouth twitched and she said, “A gift from Queen Aren. I take it you've seen the contents. It once belonged to a noble family who claimed the phoenix for their sigil. They fell on hard times and out of memory some centuries ago, but this was amongst the possessions used to repay their debts to the Royal Family.”
“Do you think they're real?” I asked, unable to contain myself. “They look real. They're just like the pictures in the book.”
Claire ran her fingertips across the edge of the box, laughing softly to herself.
“I was absolutely convinced, when I first received them—the day I was knighted,” she said. “If I didn't have the slightest amount of faith in their authenticity, I likely would've left them behind.”
She couldn't resist opening the box a fraction of an inch and peering inside. From the way Claire's eyes fixed on the bones, I could tell she had more faith in them than she let on, and I knew that I'd done the right thing in bringing her possessions to her.
“The rest of your things are at my house. We can pick them up once the territories are back in order,” I said, and she met my gaze, smiling.
“I never did get to see inside, last time.”
Claire thumbed through the pages of The Sky Beneath The Sun, skimming over passages and reacquainting herself with the images, and I told her about the copy Atthis had bought for me, how I'd studied it over and over again on the ship, fascinated by every diagram. Both of us were surprised by the sound of the tower doors unlocking below, and when Sen made her way up to the room, Claire's first question was, “What time is it?”
“M-midnight, Marshal,” she said. “I thought you'd be done by now. Shall I come back later...?”
“Don't. I should probably be going! I didn't realise it was so late,” I said, getting to my feet before she could argue. “Thanks for having me over, Claire. And thanks for dinner, Sen. It tasted even better than it looked.”
Sen smiled bashfully and knelt down to pick up the plates. Claire didn't rise to see me off and I understood why well enough, but I'd gathered courage enough to duck down and kiss her on the cheek. She didn't flinch. Her fingers brushed against my wrist, and she smiled more than she realised she was, saying, “Should you ever care to come over for dinner, I always eat at the same time, and Sen always makes far too much. You won't have to give prior notice; there'll be plenty here for you.”
I left with the biggest grin on my face, in no rush to get back to the cabin. I walked with my hands in my pockets, enjoying the warm, still night air. I was far from the only one outside. Most of the candles within cabins had been snuffed out, but the taverns were still serving those who'd only just finished work, and soldiers patrolled the streets. I smiled at those I passed and they nodded politely, bidding me a goodnight.
Goblin and Ghost's cabin was in sight when I walked into someone who wasn't wearing mismatched-armour. I could've sworn he'd come to a halt outside the cabin, but at the sight of me, he carried on down the road. I stepped to the side as he approached but he stopped and stared down at me.
I was in too good of a mood to be intimidated.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked.
“... you Rowan?” he asked, curling his upper lip.
I nodded, hands slipping into fists, but that was all he wanted. He hummed, shoved his hands into his pockets, and kept on walking. I stared at his back as I went, certain I didn't recognise him. Then again, I'd met a lot of people today. He could've been someone from the farm, or perhaps he'd been working at the stables when I was there the day before.
Either way, I put it out of my mind, tiptoed through the cabin, and stepped back over a sleeping Akela.
Over the next week, I had dinner with Claire three times. I didn't wish to make a nuisance of myself by never giving her an evening free of me, but I found it increasingly difficult to stay away when I knew how close she was; when the alternative was eating alone in mine and Akela's room, in order to avoid any run-ins with Ghost. Claire and I didn't talk as much as we had that first night, but even when we had nothing to say to one another, it was nice to be able to spend time together. I moved from telling her about Canth to talking about work down on the farm, though I couldn't help but notice the way she never said anything of the past two years.
I didn't push her. I knew there was little good to speak of, and the resistance's problems were ever at the forefront of her mind. Still, I think she was glad of my company, for it meant getting to focus on something other than Prince Rylan's next move or the whispered Agadian threat for a short while.
Akela, as she'd predicted, had managed to move up through the army's ranks, and had convinced one of the smiths to craft an axe to her exact specifications. I spent my days down on the farm, working until my back ached pleasantly, muscles soon smoothing themselves over. In the evenings, the first thing I did was check for word of Kouris, aware that she couldn't be far off. I focused on her imminent arrival, rather than Atthis and Katja's.
If Akela was around, I made dinner with her, though increasingly often, she was busy helping Sen out after her shifts. It wasn't until my ninth day in Orinhal that the sense of safety I'd built up in the beginnings of a routine was torn from me.
I headed out at dawn, as I always did, and greeted the other farmers with a sleepy wave. I was too busy stretching my arms above my head to pay much heed to the lack of good mornings I received, but once I was done scrubbing my eyes, I couldn't miss the way they were looking at me.
They were gathered close together, shoulder to shoulder, each one of them fixing their eyes on me, waiting for someone braver to say the words burnt into their minds and branded on their tongues. But they didn't need to say anything. I'd seen this before; I'd been here before. My village had gathered together in the very same way, silently passing their judgement, passing a sentence I'd never get the chance to defend myself again.
“What's wrong?” I asked in spite of all I knew to be true, desperate to believe I was wrong.
It couldn't be happening again.
“We were just thinking,” one of the men started, gripping a shovel between his hands. “Maybe it'd be best if you weren't working here. Around the food. Around children.”
It couldn't, it couldn't.
The small group nodded in agreement, hardly daring to blink.
“What? Why?” I said, stepping forward.
The crowd flinched, moving two steps back for the one I'd taken.
“You are Rowan Northwood, aren't you? From Felheim?” an elderly woman asked, protectively clutching the shoulders of the boy I often shared my lunch with.
“I am, but...”
But what? I wasn't the one they'd been warned about?
“We don't want any trouble here,” the woman went on to say. “Go on. It'd be best for everyone if you left the work to us.”
Again, they nodded in unison, as though the same thoughts ran through all of their minds. They weren't just angry; they were frightened. Frightened of what they imagined I could do and what they didn't yet know I was capable of, frightened of all that I'd surely subjected them to in the time they'd spent around me. And how could I argue my case without scaring them further; how could I explain that I'd used my powers to kill, but only because I'd convinced myself it was my only choice?
I backed off.
I took wide strides out of the farm, fighting not to sprint. Everything behind me faded into nothing, torn from my hands the moment I had it. Stolen from me, as everything eventually was. It was all I could do to keep the light within me.
I marched back to the cabin, not crying – not giving them that satisfaction, not like I had back in the village – and shouldered my way through the front door. I didn't care if I ran straight into Ghost; I wanted to confront him, to know why he'd done this. What he'd said to who. There was noise coming from the kitchen and I stomped into the room, hands still balled into fists.
Goblin was sat at the t
able, hands wrapped around a mug of tea, and I walked right up to Ghost at the counter, before he could greet me.
“Did you say something about me?” I asked, and Ghost stared down at me, blinking. “Everyone at the farm knows, which means everyone in the city's going to know soon, if they don't already.”
“Slow down,” he said, raising his hands defensively. “I didn't say anything. Why would I?”
“Because... because you clearly hate me, you've made that much obvious enough.”
Goblin rose to his feet, about to interject, but Ghost closed the gap between us, more offended by the suggestion that he'd been responsible for spreading rumours than in acknowledging the fact he'd gone out of his way to make me as unwelcome as he possible could.
“Rowan. I'm hardly the only one acquainted with your... condition, and what's more, letting people know wouldn't be in my best interest,” he said bluntly. “I'd only have to explain how I came to know of it.”
There were dozens of ways I should've defended myself, but my thoughts were swirling within my head, forcing the room to spin along with them. I gripped my hair, unable to make myself say that I'd brought him back to life, that it wasn't some dark secret he ought to be holding onto, but in the end, all I could do was escape the kitchen and throw myself onto my bed.
I'd lost it all. It didn't matter that Claire and Akela knew what I was and didn't care; it'd spread through town faster than dragon's breath, then I'd be on my own again, locked in my room, trapped in my head. Goblin and Ghost were arguing in the kitchen, but I didn't want to hear it. I wrapped my pillow around my head, determined not to cry.
It didn't matter how far I'd come, what I'd been through. Two and a half years on and there I was again, terrified of the people who made me out to be a monster.
I had to go to Claire, had to tell her what was happening. This was her city and she needed to know if there were going to be yet more problems. I was determined to leave the room, but it grew dark around me and my stomach growled, to no avail. It took me hours to bring myself to stand, and I didn't know how I was supposed to march to Claire and tell her I'd made another mistake.
