“No. It’s too far. I can only cut through space within a mile or so. And you cannot venture onto the grounds of the house. No one may see you. It would bring a great deal of shame onto the family. My brothers wouldn’t be
able to marry-”
“They are going to find out when you and I die, surely?”
“Such details can be hidden if they happen abroad, not if they happen at home.”
She did not like the sound of that. No one’s death should ever be buried from history. As a cadet at Fate’s, she had long been promised a worthy death in battle, but who would ever remember either of them now? They were not even dying for the sake of love. “Where are you going to hide me, then? A cow shed, perhaps? Or a hayloft in a barn? Maybe you could put me in a tree for safe-keeping.” “There’s a tavern in Kinhaeron the village next to Haeron. You can stay there, though you probably cannot afford it yourself.” He pushed her off so that she slid onto the cold, hard floor. “I’ll give you some coin to cover it, and then we will arrange to meet somewhere unseen.” Morghiad rose, completely unashamed of his nakedness, and went to her desk. He grabbed a sheaf of parchment and began drawing something upon it. “The roads can be confusing, and I have little confidence in your ability to read maps. Follow this, and you might get there
without becoming lost.”
Artemi hissed loudly enough for him to hear. She was very good at reading maps and finding her way to places. Few were as quick to understand the lie of the land as she. “I don’t have a horse.”
He paused amidst his scribbling. “I’ll get you your damn horse. You’d better make the expense worth my while, property.”
“If you make the journey worth mine.”
He ignored her comment and continued his drawings. From what she could see of them, they looked rather
unnecessarily arcane. “Come here,” he said finally.
Instead, Artemi began searching for her clothes, and made sure to put them on in as leisurely a manner as was possible. It was terribly amusing to see him growing more and more impatient with each moment she delayed adhering to his instruction. At length, she wandered over to his drawings and made sure to look down her nose at them. “This is a mess.”
“This,” he said through his teeth, “is Hestavos.” His finger pointed to an inky blob. “You will need to ride along the western road to the border, through
the mountains here and along the Iyenae valley. Don’t get distracted by the woods, though an ignorant desert rat like you will probably find them terribly novel. Go past the first forest and through a village called Tertinganel. Then...”
His instructions were terribly long and detailed, and Artemi barely had the heart to listen to them. It had come to this, of all things. Her life depended upon him. What a sad state of affairs.
True to his word, a fine horse arrived at the stables the following
morning, and it bore a note upon its neck that it was to be given to Artemi Fevtari. She was really very annoyed that it was quite so expensive as it appeared. Evidently Morghiad had not forgotten how ridiculous she would look upon it in her aged, patched clothing, or how others who saw the creature would assume that she had stolen it. Artemi tried to keep her head high, but it was very difficult to do when being looked upon with such suspicion.
She decided to name the mare Cloud, because the day of her arrival at the school had seen a single, rare puff
of white stuff in the sky, and because the animal’s patterning was a mixture of white and grey swirls.
Morghiad departed for Hirrah three days later, and Artemi made ready to set off four days after that. She had a sizeable bag of coins hidden under the rug she had packed to sleep under, and a few changes of clothes. Her sword and daggers were placed in just about every section of her clothing that would permit it, and she made sure to include a curious new item that Morghiad called a cloak. He said it was good for rain, which was something she had never experienced. Her father had
said the only time it had rained in Sunidara over the last hundred years had been around the time of her birth, though quite what significance he had attached to it she could never truly understand.
Hirrah was a different matter, however. Beyond the mountains, it was said to rain often there. That there could be enough water in the sky to fall from it at regular intervals seemed quite an odd concept. Artemi still had not quite adjusted her mind to it.
Morghiad’s map was simple enough to follow for the first half of the journey, through the western sands and into the red mountains. The second half, the part in the lands that were as green as his blazed eyes, was somewhat more confusing. If Artemi hadn’t known better, she would assume that he had made things intentionally more difficult for her to follow. Blazes alight, but these lands were so... alive! Things grew everywhere, and they weren’t shades of brown or washed-out yellows. They were rich, deep shades of jade, emerald and lime. Blossoms dangled from some of the trees in their pinks and violets, and a quick shake of the branches would provoke them into shedding their petals in a shower of colour.
Perhaps the lordling’s prediction had contained a small amount of truth. Artemi was content to admit that the woodlands and scrub looked like nothing else she had ever seen. And the smells... strong, pungent smells of perfume, musk and mould. They were rather distracting, but she was fast coming to the conclusion that she was glad to have finally seen them. Cloud certainly appreciated the plant life, anyway, for she seemed rather determined to eat every bit of it that she could.
After one or two incorrect turns
and a misread squiggle on Morghiad’s map, Artemi arrived at the small village of Kinhaeron in the early hours of the morning. It was a tidy place, far cleaner than Allintar had ever been, and the people looked well-dressed and healthy. Whatever vast wealth the Calyrish family had, the residents here appeared to do well out of it.
She found the inn on the main thoroughfare, and was unsurprised to discover that it looked like the sort of place a noblewoman would stay at. If noblewomen ever stayed at taverns, that was. There could be no doubt that this would offer yet more humiliation
for Artemi the moment she stepped inside. She could see the situation unfolding already. They would think her a brigand or thief, demand to see evidence of her ability to pay their bills, and then treat her with suspicion and derision for the rest of her stay. She would have been perfectly happy in a cheap public house full of drunken reprobates, but Morghiad did like to make things difficult.
Artemi compressed her lips together in thought, but caught sight of a clothing shop across the road. She did not look like a noblewoman now... but would anyone here know the manners
of a Sunidaran aristocrat? A grin worked its way across her features. Before the hour was complete, she was dressed head-to-toe in a gown of ivory silk and possessed two spare for her outings during the rest of the week. They had cost an eye-watering amount, but little enough to leave her with some spare monies for her accommodation. A quick brush through her hair made her more respectable, and she was ready to present herself before the judging eyes of the inn’s proprietors. To her surprise, they fell for her new identity immediately, and made themselves run about with all
haste to prepare her rooms.
Artemi bathed and slept through midday, enjoying her new life of leisure. Upon waking, she sat before the mirror and wove part of her hair into a braid that crossed her forehead, and then stopped when she realised that a serving girl ought to do such things. One was duly provided at her request, and the transformation was completed. It was a Hirrahan style she now wore, but it had the advantage of serving to irritate Morghiad more.
She was not due to meet him until that evening, and so she ventured down to the lounge area in search of
food. A tall, dark-haired man was there when she arrived, talking to the landlord.
“...So what is this I hear about a lady arriving in the vil-?” He turned to look at her, and broke off his sentence. Artemi’s breath caught i
n her throat. He was... beautiful. His hair had been woven into long, thick braids that hung halfway down his back, and many shiny metal symbols glittered in amongst them. A coat of deep-red silk hugged his body, which hardly seemed to have any flaws that she could detect. His face was handsome without being too feminine or too rough-cut. His
smile was very warm indeed. “It seems I have found her,” he said.
Artemi blushed furiously. There was nothing she could do to prevent it. And she could feel herself grinning like an idiot.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” the man said, stooping to kiss her fingertips.
She giggled. Blazes, what was she doing giggling? Artemi Fevtari did not giggle! Vainly, she struggled to regain some composure. “Likewise. My name is Edilea.”
“Qeneris,” he said with another broad smile. “Where are you from,
Edilea? And what has brought you here?”
She thought quickly. “My family is from Kharafar, in Sunidara. I am just travelling, seeing the wider world.”
“Hmm,” he tilted his head, “I don’t know the name, but I can hear Sunidara in your accent. Are you hungry? Can I order you something to eat - with me?”
Artemi could think of lots of things she would have liked to eat off him. She smiled and nodded. While they dined together, she did her best to imitate the peculiar way she had seen Morghiad eat in the mess hall, and
made the best use she could of the implements she was given. Under Qenaris’ steady gaze, however, she felt as if everything she did was incorrect. If she had made mistakes, he did not show any recognition that they had occurred. It was total fantasy that anything could ever happen between them, of course, though Artemi was content to forget it for an afternoon.
Once they had finished eating, he placed his hand over hers. “I know this area better than most, Edilea. Why don’t I give you a tour?”
She was about to agree, but rapidly became aware of a shadow that had passed between the lamplight and their table. It stayed there, looming over them. Qeneris was the first to meet eyes with the shadow’s owner. “Hail, brother. I thought you were out at the hunting range today.”
Brother? Morghiad towered over them with arms folded and eyes filled with an emotion that did not look positive at all. Blazes, Qeneris was another Calyrish! Artemi glanced back at the older one. She could see something of a resemblance, now that she studied them together.
“No,” Morghiad said curtly. “What are you doing with this
woman?”
Qeneris’ hand withdrew from hers, and his eyebrows drew together. “Show her some respect.” He sighed in annoyance. “Edilea, this is my younger brother, Mor. What he lacks in manners, he makes up for in... well, I don’t know if he does make up for it. Brother, this is Edilea of Kharafar. She is Sunidaran.”
“Is she?” he said with forced surprise.
Artemi smiled thinly.
Again, frustration blossomed upon Qeneris’ perfect brow. “Blazes, Mor! Kiss her hand before I die of
shame!”
“That is not how Sunidaran noblewomen are greeted.”
Morghiad’s elder brother rolled his eyes. “I forget. My sibling considers himself an expert on your culture since he has spent some years training to wave a sword there. Tell me, what is the correct protocol in your country?”
It was difficult to keep her grins in check. “A man usually bows before a lady, but your approach is quite satisfactory.”
“Well then?” Qeneris looked expectantly at his brother, whose eyes were now burning with fury.
Morghiad bit his lip and gave the shallowest of bows. It was a wonderful thing to see.
“I suppose that will have to do. I hope you’re not offended by him.” Qeneris rose from his seat, which prompted Artemi to do the same. “Why don’t we go for a ride around Haeron? The orchard is really very pretty this time of year.”
“I would like that.” Morghiad would not. He had expressly forbidden her from venturing onto his precious estate. Oh, this was turning out to be a fun trip!
His glowers did not lessen while
she went to fetch her horse, and he approached her as she readied herself to mount it. Blazes, how was a girl to mount a horse in a silk dress?
“Tem,” he said under his breath, “ladies do not mount their horses unaided!”
“Maybe Sunidaran ones do.”
“No. They do not. I advise you to back out of this now, before you embarrass us both!”
She regarded him levelly, and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Will you not help me onto my mount, Lord Calyrish?”
The man looked ready to chew
rocks. But he knelt and held out his hands for her to step on. Thankfully, Hirrahan women favoured dresses that were designed for riding astride, and Artemi was able to arrange herself in a manner that looked dignified, or at least she hoped it did.
They rode out along the village lane, and then into another forest populated with trees so tall that Artemi had to strain her eyes to see the tops of them. Never in her life could she have imagined anything could grow so tall – and the sounds – those trees had songs of their own. They whispered and cooed and hummed about the air
around them. It was a wonderful place to have grown up in, and it made no sense that such an embittered, cold character as Morghiad could ever have been born of this place.
He glared at her whenever his brother was not looking, but Artemi did not even bother to glare back. Ladies were above such reactions.
The trees thinned out after a time, giving way to a vast sea of white and pink. At first it was not obvious what she was looking at, until she recognised that she was standing above a hollow, and that hollow was filled with a thousand blossoming trees. The
smell was incredible: sweet and so strong it was almost overpowering.
“They do not have orchards in Sunidara?” Qeneris asked with a grin. His blue roan pawed at the ground beneath him, and was almost as handsome as his rider.
“Not like this.”
“I see. Mor, why don’t you lead our guest to the path down to the trees?”
Morghiad grunted, and wheeled his horse about. The reason for his brother’s instruction soon became evident, for the entrance to the path was completely obscured by a rocky
outcrop. But the world beneath the canopy of blossom was something out of a mythical tale. Whole flocks of tiny birds flitted about, mayflies danced upon the currents of warm air, the floor was an impossible carpet of green, and smooth shafts of light weaved about the whole scene. After the barren emptiness of the desert, this was enough to give anyone a headache. A wonderful headache.
Artemi nudged Cloud forward to see more.
“Hello.” A man rode out from among the trees in front of her. He was also tall, dark-haired and appallingly
handsome. His eyes were browner than the green and hazel of the other two, but his features bore the same, masculine lines. She had no doubt that this was another Calyrish.
More blushing grins escaped from her as she struggled to answer his greeting.
“Feyan-” Qeneris trotted up beside her. “This is Edilea of Kharafar. She has come all the way from Sunidara. Edilea, this is Feyan, my other, slightly better-behaved brother.”
Feyan immediately rode to her side and kissed her fingertips as his brother had. His touch lingered longer,
however, and his eyes sparkled with something that she suspected was not terribly noble. “You are a great beauty, Edilea of Kharafar. It is an honour, and a rarity, to have someone who throws this place into the shade.”
That was it. Her face had surely grown bright, iridescent red from their compliments. Her embarrassment had peaked to levels she could not easily clamber down from. Blood of her feet, how was she to respond to that?! She managed to mumble that it was a pleasure to be there, but much more than that was not forthcoming.
The group ambled through the
orchard for a while, discussing the history of the estate and ho
w it had once been the seat of kings. Artemi could well believe it. She was forced several times to come up with explanations for her own family’s wealth, and settled upon a Sunidaran staple: water control. Her estates rested upon a vast underground water store, she said. Qeneris and Feyan seemed to find it terribly amusing that something so plentiful in their own country could command a premium elsewhere, and she teased them for their wastefulness of it.
When they had walked the entire length of the orchard, which must have been the best part of a mile, they emerged in a large, open field. At one end was stacked a pile of wooden shafts, at the other was a row of targets. Qeneris caught her line of sight almost immediately. “Have you ever fired a Hirrahan longbow before, my lady?”
“No, I don’t believe I have.” But she had heard of them. As a boy, Morghiad had talked and talked of how superior Hirrahans were in their archery.
“Well, then, perhaps it is time you learned.” The two elder brothers
dismounted amidst their grins, and Artemi was about to do the same before she realised that one of them was approaching to help her with the task. Feyan caught hold of her hips as she descended, which she was not sure was altogether proper, even amongst commoners. “That is a most unusual manner of dismounting, Lady Edilea,” he remarked.
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