by Cat Bruno
Pietro reached out and wrapped his robed arm, still crisp and strikingly white, around Talia’s tiny waist, whispering something into her ear that made her smile and cast her eyes down, a slight blush spreading across her full cheeks, the conversation forgotten. As the two talked in hushed giggles, Louissia edged closer to Kennet until she was standing at his side. She shyly smiled at him, and Kennet reddened all over again.
“Those two will be like that for the rest of the night, I think. Would you mind if I stepped outside for some air? This has been quite a long day for me.”
“Of course not. I mean, no I wouldn’t mind at all. Here, follow me, I am growing tired of being here too,” Kennet answered, hoping that his words were not as jumbled as the rest of him.
Louissia followed Kennet as he made his way across the crowded room and out into the cool night air. If Pietro had noticed the pair departing, he hadn’t tried to stop them, so Kennet figured he wouldn’t mind. Once they were out of the tavern and standing under a candle-lit lantern hanging from a tall post, silence spread with the soft light.
Finally, when the quietness became painful, he asked, “Are you staying here at The Gull House, or is there somewhere else that I could escort you to?”
Sharply, Louissia replied, “Are you trying to get rid of me already?”
When she noticed the frown on Kennet’s face, she added, “Talia and I share a room atop the inn, but I am not ready for sleep yet. We get few evenings off from serving drinks, and I would like to enjoy this night a bit longer. Would you mind walking a bit? I haven’t seen much of the town since I’ve been here.”
When Kennet nodded, the two slowly walked from the inn and toward the center of town. After consuming so much ale, Kennet’s step was clumsy and heavy, and he hoped the walk would clear his foggy eyes. Louissia chatted sweetly about her family, her decision to come to Litusia for a few moons, and her impression of Litusia. They came upon the central market square before she had finished speaking.
Once they reached the final shop, the two stopped, eyes staring at the tightly pebbled road under their feet. None of the shops had been open at the late hour, and there was nothing left to do, unless they wanted to enter another tavern. With his aching head, Kennet could think of little to do, so he turned and headed back the direction that they had come.
“Maybe we should check on Pietro and Talia,” he added, looking back to see Louissia following him.
The walk back was much quieter, and Kennet missed the sound of Louissia’s voice, although he was unsure what had caused her silence. When they were within steps of the inn, Kennet noticed Pietro lying on the ground, his robe dirty and twisted about his body.
Kennet rushed over to him and offered him a hand, which Pietro quickly grabbed, steadying himself before rising. As Pietro fixed his robe, Kennet looked around, hoping to find Louissia, but he was disappointed to realize that she must have slipped back into the tavern while he was tending to Pietro.
“Are you okay? How did you end up on the ground?”
Pietro laughed, and Kennet noticed a small slice on his forehead that was dripping blood. Before he could comment on it, Pietro had gotten a small, cottony square from a pocket and was pressing it to the cut.
“Didn’t you leave with Talia’s cousin? What in the hells are you doing back here? You didn’t come back for me, did you? Or are you finished already?”
“I only walked with her, Pietro. Nothing else. What happened to your head? Were you in some sort of fight?” Kennet asked, trying to veer the conversation away from Louissia.
“Wasn’t much of a fight, I suppose, seeing that I never got a punch in. Not that I really wanted to anyway. This little scratch is courtesy of Talia’s father, the innkeeper himself. I guess he wasn’t too happy with my spending time with his daughter, and he especially didn’t like that I was keeping her busy when she should have been serving ale. Oh well, at least I got a few kisses in before he threw me out. How bad does my head look, Kenny?”
“Oh it’s not so bad, I guess. Did he really throw you out?”
“He sort of walked me to the door, then gave me a big push. I think I tripped on the edge of a step, and that’s when I cracked my head on the ground. It was all worth it though, Kenny. Talia’s lips are like peaches, sweet and juicy and ready to be picked. I’ll let her old father cool off for a bit, but I’ll be back. He likes my money well enough that he won’t refuse me entrance. Looks like I am the only one that had much luck tonight, though. What happened with you and Louissia?”
Kennet shrugged, uncomfortable, yet wanting to ask Pietro for help interpreting the sudden change in her behavior.
“I think that I might have angered her, but I’m not sure why or how. Things had been going well enough and she seemed interested. Yet on our walk back to the inn, she grew silent.”
Standing up, Pietro asked, “Well, what did you say to her?”
“Nothing much. Just wished her a good evening and told her it was time to head back to the tavern.”
“You don’t know much about women. No books over in that big library of yours that teach how to win over a woman?”
Pietro was laughing at him now, teasing him openly, and Kennet grew annoyed.
“Not all of us are as naturally charming as you Pietro,” Kennet mumbled, “nor did we grow up at court.”
An idea occurred to Pietro, a plan that would benefit both Kennet and him, especially now.
“I could help you. Give you advice, teach you what to say, how to act with Louissia. What do you think? Care to meet me tomorrow night for a few drinks and get started?”
Kennet looked at Pietro intensely, trying to gauge if he was still teasing him or if there was a real chance to develop a friendship with the healer. He had disliked him for so long that it was hard to imagine feeling anything positive toward him, and he doubted whether he would ever be able to trust him. But, still, Kennet found himself interested in the idea, especially since Louissia was the first woman to show any interest in him, and he didn’t want to ruin any chance he had with her.
Pietro waited a few moments then added, “Before her father threw me out the door, Talia mentioned that her sister Luella will be serving the midday meal tomorrow. She also said that she had planned on showing Louissia around town a bit. As it is, I only have morning classes tomorrow, and I was planning on joining them and thought a trip to the beach might be nice. Would you like to take a few hours off from the library as well?”
Pietro watched as Kennet’s eyes, caught in the rays of light from a hanging lantern, sparked with interest.
“Perhaps I do need your help. I shall meet you tomorrow before midday outside the dining hall. But, before we leave, do you think you can tell me why Louissia seemed upset with me?”
“Oh, you fool! She was mad because she was expecting a kiss, and you never delivered one. But you will get another chance tomorrow. I am certain.”
Kennet did not know whether to believe Pietro, but at least he would get to see Louissia again, and maybe make amends for the poor way he had ended their evening. The thought brought a smile to his face, even as his head spun and his stomach churned.
Women were nothing like his books, the librarian was beginning to realize. Even Bronwen seemed odd of late.
“I should do nothing but read of tales of love, rather than try to live them,” he mumbled to himself as Pietro rushed off, half-glimmering and nearly as fine as marble statue.
20
The eyes that stared back at her were darker than night, colorless and terrifying, chilling Sheva to the bone, even as she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her arms to get rid of the gooseflesh there.
Sheva had never shown much interest in reading, only learning the basics to get by her early years in school, and she certainly couldn’t read the swirling text that accompanied the frightening image, although she doubted whether she even wanted to know what was written there. The figure of the god was like nothing she had ever seen before, veiled and
dangerous, yet beautiful.
She traced a shaking finger across the image, outlining the strong jaw before letting her finger settle on the god’s chest, pausing as if she might search for a pulsing heart. Then, Sheva, knowing how ridiculous she must look, quickly pulled her hand back, cradling it against her chest as if she had touched a burning cinder. As she continued to back away from the book, her gaze was trapped by the man on the page, enraptured, her heart racing. He seemed at peace with himself, perhaps long ago accepting the darkness that surrounded him. Sheva thought she sensed a smile on his lips, an odd gesture for one so feared, and she wondered, for a moment, if the god could see her and sense her fascination with him.
Abruptly, she stepped back up to the desk, dropped her hand from the comfort of her chest, and slammed the book closed, hiding the man once again, afraid to stare into his eyes any longer, uncertain if she would be able to escape.
Even with the book closed and the image buried between the thick pages, Sheva grew worried. What has Bronwen gotten herself into, she wondered, vowing to talk to Bronwen soon. Worried anew, Sheva gingerly stepped across the room and out into the dusky night, and questioned where Bronwen was spending her evening.
*****
Bronwen closed her eyes, struggling against her quickening life pulse. Not now, she thought, as her tears started dripping onto the thick pillow that lay underneath her head.
Wanting so much to forget the man, to forget the pain he had caused her, and, for a few hours, she had been able to, and had forgotten he ever existed, as she spoke with Willem. But now, lying in a strange bed, under a fine cotton damask, her memories were strangling her, and not even the man beside her could help, unless he had more wine to help dull the pain and dim her thoughts.
She wondered if he was sleeping, as he lay unmoving and quiet next to her, and she could feel the rise and fall of his chest as it pressed up against her back. Already the memory of the last few hours was fading, and Bronwen struggled to hold on to all that they had discussed, before the drugged wine had put them both to sleep, in the same large bed, Bronwen realized, blushing deeply.
Outside the open window, Bronwen could make out the inner courtyard, covered in the darkness before dawn, the same one that she and Willem had walked through hours earlier before entering the room they now occupied. She assumed it was his sleeping quarters, as it was elaborately decorated and the bed was the largest bed she had ever seen, low to the ground with thick, luxurious, down-filled pallets piled on top of one another. Nearly all of the light in the room had vanished, and the sun had not yet risen for the day. The candles had long since burned out, and the flowering trees in the courtyard blocked the moonlight from entering. As she listened to the sounds of the night birds singing, a cool rush of air blew her hair across her face, drying any tears that had escaped to run down her cheeks.
Bronwen shivered and rose to close the window, silently crossing the room until she stood looking out at the lush enclosure. The bright pink flowers of the Plumeria tree fragranced the cool night air with a sultry, sweet smell, and Bronwen stood for a moment enjoying the perfumed breeze as it washed over her. She placed her hands on the frame of the window and leaned out until her upper body was halfway out of the room, then breathed deeply to taste the honeyed scent that the courtyard produced. After a few moments, her solitude was interrupted by Willem rustling about in the large bed.
He called out in a hoarse voice, “Bronwen, if you would like to leave, you need only ask where the door is.”
Willem’s voice trembled through her, the depth and tone disguising an emotion that Bronwen couldn’t identify.
“I wasn’t trying to leave, just enjoying the night air. I’m sorry if I disturbed your sleep. Perhaps I should be leaving soon though.”
She looked around the room for her dress, suddenly aware that she was standing at the window fully unclothed, wondering also, now that her mind was clear, why he had not shown her to one of the guest suites. Her nakedness suddenly struck her, and she froze, with her back turned toward him.
Willem noticed her discomfort and allowed a small smile to cross his lips, yet he knew the moment was temporary, and a sight he would never see again. The smile disappeared before he answered.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Bronwen, just like that.”
Bronwen quickly grew embarrassed, unaccustomed to such attention, and his words separated the fog that still laid at the edges of her mind. As she tried to figure out what to do next, Bronwen realized that her dress was nowhere to be found. Then, she suddenly remembered her neck and, shocked that she could forget so easily what she had spent days huddled in her rooms trying to conceal, Bronwen immediately raised her hands to her throat, trying to cover what, no doubt, Willem had already noticed.
“Yes, Bronwen, we must talk about those bruises, and much more as well. Won’t you lie back in bed before we get started? The night is still upon us. Perhaps we should have some more wine.”
Remembering what the wine had done to her caused some hesitation, but she accepted the offered glass, sipping at it slowly. When she realized that a new bottle had been opened, Bronwen drank with abandon, and hoped that Willem would forget his questions. She made her way back to the edge of the bed, not understanding why she was so willing to follow Willem’s requests, but caring little for the answer.
After she was seated, Willem stared at Bronwen’s back, admiring the paleness against the dark sheet she had pulled up to her chest. Her tousled hair was long, full of waves as it spilled out behind her, the colors of the setting sun. Conri was unworthy of her, Willem thought, and he longed to free Bronwen from his hold.
Sipping on the wine, he felt a slight amount of guilt for drugging Bronwen, but he had thought it might be the only way for the two of them to confide in each other. However, so much had remained unsaid. And, Willem realized, he had little time left to get her to understand.
Yet, he was nervous; he, a man of many moon years, a man of the Rexterran Court, now a Master Healer, was nervous, nearly unable to talk to the woman beside him. Willem gulped his wine and refilled his glass from the bottle that sat on the small, gilded table beside him, reddening slightly as he remembered the way his body had responded to hers, and the struggle he had fought to keep his impulses under control, knowing that Bronwen would suffer far more for his love than he himself would.
Shaking free from the memory, he took a deep breath and whispered, “Bronwen, tell me about Conri.”
21
Rova de Tarrado considered himself to be a man of compassion, especially having spent nearly fifty moon years as a healer. He had come to the Academy as a child, and, unlike most of the students and healers, Rova was a Tretorian by birth, having been born very near to the Academy itself. His mother had had a long, difficult pregnancy full of complications, and many believed she would not survive the birth. Several weeks before his mother expected him to arrive, Rova had entered the world, squalling and purple. Had they been anywhere else, both mother and babe would not have lived, but their proximity to the Academy and its well-trained healers saved both of their lives. He would be the only child born to his mother, and she treasured him, always reminding him how near death he had been, how near death they both had been.
So it was only natural that when he was old enough to read, he had enrolled in the Academy, pleasing his mother and completing the circle that had opened at his birth. Master Rova was not as naturally talented as some of the other healers he encountered throughout his schooling, yet he excelled where others did not, mostly through his unwavering commitment and his great passion for healing.
Having spent so much time at the Academy and on its grounds, gardens, and buildings, Rova sensed that something was amiss soon before he had found the black-ice. Oftentimes, Rova would walk the campus, inspecting the herb garden, meditating beside one of the many marble fountains that had been gifts from King Lisander of Rexterra many, many moon years before Rova had even entered the Academy. S
o it was no surprise that on the previous night, when Master Rova stopped to inspect the first-years’ weeding of the main garden, something had sent a chill up his spine, shaking him aware and out of his thoughts.
As he had combed through the rows of herbs, vegetables, and fruit bushes, he stumbled toward the end of the garden, spying something glowing at the edge. Foolishly, he reached for the object, burning his fingers the first time he tried to grab it. Next, he had kneeled down upon the dirt, getting as close as possible to the shining rock, peering at it from all angles, even smelling it. Within moments, Master Rova had known what it was.
He knew it glowed as a warning and knew that it was an ancient defense used by the Mage-Guild. And he remembered a discussion he had with his old mentor, Master Lucasto, regarding the employment of the black-ice throughout the Academy. In the form that Rova had found it, the black-ice would have made a poor weapon, as it had not been honed or cut for that purpose. What he had found was pure atraglacia in its native structure. As such, it still was quite powerful and useful. And puzzling, which troubled him deeply.
What he could remember was mostly from tales, the rock having been naturally created in the Faelan Mountains, as a gift from the gods Ardoro and Cymba, to be used against their brother Nox. In the Mage Wars, black-ice was used against the Tribe, the only effective weapon against them. So effective that the Tribe eventually agreed to an uneven truce with the Mage-Guild, a truce that still existed today despite its shakiness.
As he lay on his small cot that was no bigger than a first-year healer’s, Master Rova struggled to understand why the Tribe would visit the Academy. There was little that an ordinary healer could do for one such as them. Yet, there was little doubt as to why the black-ice shined, although who had caused it to do so still remained unknown. For hours, he had tried to answer his own questions, yet no answers came.
