So what say you, Tiadaria of the clans, last swordmage, and heroine of Dragonfell? Will you accept my handfasting?”
“I...” Tia faltered and looked away.
In that moment, Wynn felt like his world was going to implode. He had planned for so long to make everything perfect. From the ring, to the arrangements, to the guests. He hadn't overlooked a single detail and now she couldn't even look at him. He wanted to get up, wanted to run down the path to the cottage and just pretend that this moment had never happened, but he seemed to be rooted to the spot.
When she turned back to him, her eyes were filled with tears. They weren't the happy kind of tears, Wynn knew. He'd been stupid, thinking that she'd just be willing to accept his proposal. He should have warned her first. At least felt out her feelings on the matter. He had been so sure she'd want it as much as he did.
“Wynn...”
Her voice seemed to break the paralysis that gripped him and he was able to climb to his feet. It was awkward, but not nearly as awkward as what he'd just been through. He didn't trust himself to speak yet. The lump in his throat felt like a ship anchor and he wasn't sure he'd be able to get any words past it. Instead, he busied himself with tucking the ring back inside his robes and brushing the worst of the dirt from his knees.
“I'm sorry,” she said, sounding like a little girl. “Wynn--”
“It's okay.” Once he'd managed those two little words, he found that the worst of the shock was starting to ebb and he could think again. “There's nothing for you to be sorry for. I was stupid, I should have talked to you first.”
“No, Wynn, that's not...”
She trailed off as he started off down the trail back toward the cottage. Her rejection had stung bad enough. He wasn't going to let her see the tears that were welling in his eyes. The sun sparked a million rainbows in his wet eyes as he fled the hilltop. He knew it for a retreat and wouldn't embarrass himself by calling it otherwise.
When he reached the door to the cottage, he realized the full extent of his foolishness. The door was locked and Tiadaria carried the only key on a length of black ribbon around her neck. So he'd have to wait until she turned up to let him in, a fact that did nothing to assuage his sense of being the biggest idiot on all of Solendrea.
He turned and leaned back against the door, slowly sliding down until he was seated against it. Wynn propped his elbows on his knees and ran his fingers through his short brown hair. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
The gate at the end of the little path creaked and Wynn looked up, knowing that she'd be upset, or contrite, or both, or something else entirely. Maybe he didn't know her as well as he thought he did. He had been so sure she was going to say yes!
Tiadaria approached him slowly, as if he were some species of dangerous animal. As if she didn't know how he would react. Maybe she didn't. Maybe he had overestimated the strength of their bond in the four years they'd been together. If he'd been wrong in that, what else had he been wrong about?
“Wynn,” she said, her voice soft and steady. “I'm sorry.”
“It's okay--”
“No,” her voice was firm now. “Don't brush me off. Let me finish.”
Wynn looked at her. He assumed that his eyes were rimmed with as much red as hers were. He had hoped today would have been a day for celebration. So much for that idea. He nodded. She sat down cross-legged in the middle of the path, close enough to him that she could lay her hand on his knee, which she did.
“I really am sorry, Wynn. I'm just...” She trailed off, casting her eyes skyward as if an answer were floating there. “I just need some time. I love you. You know I do.”
“I thought I did.” The words came out of him in a rush and he sounded far more hard than he'd wanted. This time he wasn't the indecisive one. He knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it, but it had been denied him.
“I do,” she protested, new tears in her eyes. “I really do. It's just...how can I? The King makes his demands, and Faxon decides when and where I need to train, when do I get to decide what's right for me?”
“Seems to me like you already have.”
Tia shrank back at the bitterness in his tone. The tears that had threatened to spill over did so, streaming down her cheeks. She didn't sob, didn't make a sound. She just looked at him. Something seemed to snap deep within him and his breath left in a rush.
“I'm sorry,” he said at the end of the massive sigh. “I love you and I know you love me. I just...well, I just wanted to make it official.”
“I didn't say no,” she said, her voice small and far away.
“I know. I can be patient.” He laughed without much humor and shrugged when she raised her eyebrows at him. “Just as well you got that letter today. We were due in Dragonfell at the end of the week. At least now we have a reason that doesn't make me look like a fool.”
“The end of the week? But what about a ceremony? Our clothes? Our friends?”
“All were taken care of, love. I've been busy these last few months.”
Tia gave him a sharp look and poked him in the chest with a finger. “All that skulking around on 'Order business' that I couldn't know about?”
Wynn looked away. The lump had suddenly returned, making it hard to answer.
“Yeah.”
Tiadaria said nothing and Wynn was thankful for that. Her rejection had been hard enough. He really didn't want to spend the rest of the day hashing things out. They sat in silence for a long time. It was Tia who finally broke that long silence.
“I just want to know who I am before I promise to be everything you need me to be.”
He caught her eyes and held them.
“Tia, when have I ever needed you to be anything more than you are?”
She shook her head, her eyes sad and welling with more tears.
“You don't understand,” she said, this time she sounded as if she were teetering on the edge of control. “It's not about you needing more. I can't even dedicate time to myself. How can I dedicate time to you and be what you want me to be?”
Her voice broke and she pelted down the cobblestones, through the gate, and down the wide lane that ran in front of the cottage.
“I just need you to be you,” Wynn said to himself.
#
The Community Hall in Dragonfell had once been the common room of a brothel that had held a certain black renown when Faxon was a boy. Perhaps it was for that reason that he seemed to laugh every time he entered the space. It made him happy and if he was happy here, he knew that Tia and Wynn would be.
Once the decorations were in order and the trestles and chairs set up, it would be the perfect place to hold the festivities. There was a small lectern at the front of the long room where Faxon would say the ancient and traditional words that would bind two of his closest friends together for eternity.
“Where do you want these?” The sharp tone intruded on his ruminations, dragging him forcefully back to the present from the near future.
“There is fine, Tionne,” Faxon said. He pointed to a corner of the room where other crates and boxes had already been stacked.
The elder quintessentialist wasn't sure what her problem was, or when it had grown so out of control. She was one of the most disagreeable and taciturn acolytes he had ever known and being involved with the education of so many students in the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences, he had known many. He had hoped that age would help her grow out of her shrewish temper, but so far, he had been disappointed.
“I don't understand the need for all this fluff anyway,” she groused as she dropped the crate she had been carrying. “How does it change anything?”
Faxon peered at her. The girl he had known from a youngster had grown into a young woman. A young woman who would have been pretty if she didn't insist on drawing her hair back in such a severe braid. Her emerald green eyes sparkled, but not with the merriment of most girls her age. Instead, they danced with a quiet, cold malice that bothered Faxon far more than he le
t on.
“It's not supposed to change anything, Tionne. It is supposed to be pretty and pleasing to look at. It is meant to be inviting and welcoming and to make people feel good on a special day.”
Tionne nudged an open crate with the tip of her boot. She insisted on wearing boots under her robes, eschewing the traditional slippers that mages normally wore. Faxon raised his eyebrow at her. A sardonic smile twisted the corner of her mouth.
“I wouldn't let your guests get too near the garland, Faxon.” She tipped the crate toward him so he could see the contents. “Witchweed will strangle whatever it can reach.”
“It's been cured, Tionne,” he said, his patience wearing thin. “It isn't a threat to anyone, which is more than I can say for myself, if you keep pushing.”
“So sorry, Master,” she replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Get out,” he snapped, pointing toward the door. When she didn't move fast enough to appease his annoyance, he flicked his fingers in her direction, striking her in the back with a bolt of lightning just powerful enough to sting in the hindquarters, but not strong enough to do any real damage.
He heard her swear from the hallway, then all was quiet. She'd no doubt find no end of trouble to get into in the city, but he could deal with that later. In the interim, he'd have a few hours of peace and quiet and maybe that would serve to sooth the thundering headache she'd left him with.
#
Tionne rubbed her bottom where the bolt had hit her. The skin still tingled there, but he hadn’t burned her. It wasn't the first time that she'd goaded Faxon into using his power against her, but she was usually more adept at avoiding the repercussions.
One day she'd return the favor. If he thought he could sling spells at her with impunity, he had another thing coming. She might not be able to do it soon, but when she was ready to pay him back, she'd do a good enough job of it that he'd never forget. Or dare to attack her again.
The sun was low in the western sky, gilding the city streets in gold and casting long, dark shadows. A smile crept across Tionne's face. Any big city changed after sunset and Dragonfell was no exception. Once the last rays of the sun had died away, the things that shied away from the light would come out to play, scurrying out of their daytime dens.
Tionne was one of them. Ever since she was small, she had found comfort in the darkness. It was the dark that had saved her from the savage monsters that destroyed her village. The black, hot confines of the water barrel she had been shoved in had kept her safe with only her own breath in her ears to keep her company. There was a comfort in the dark that forever eluded her in the light.
Now that the sun had slipped below the city wall, she felt better. Cradled in the night, she was more herself. She walked down the emptying street. The reputable citizens were closing their shops and sitting down for dinner with their families. Soon the night would belong to her kind. She smiled.
With sudden clarity, Tionne knew exactly where she wanted to go. She ducked down an alley and weaved her way through the city, away from the palace caverns and toward the fringes near the walls. The darkest places in a city were always those that fell under the shadow of the city walls. The places where the touch of sun only lasted for an hour or two every day.
The Turgid Eel was just such a place. A motley combination of inn, tavern, and brothel, the Turgid Eel catered to the disreputable elements of the city. Tionne loved it there. The people were interesting and the barmaid didn't care who she served as long as they had good coin to pay with.
Aluka, the barmaid, was one of the only friends Tionne had. She was always glad to see Tionne and twice as glad if there were crowns being pushed across the bar. Ale wasn't a fondness for her, but the young quintessentialist had taken to honey mead from the first time it had crossed her tongue. A frosty glass of mead would be just the thing to take her mind off Faxon and his forceful reprimand.
By the time she reached the halfway house, twilight had deepened almost into total night. Tionne crossed the rough wood planks that made up the wide porch that surrounded the building, her boots rapping a sharp staccato pattern on the boards. She pushed through the batwing doors and surveyed the room with arch superiority.
The regulars were just starting to trickle in. There was a table toward the back of the room where a group of sailors were playing dice. Most of them were stripped to the waist, their arms well muscled and their fingers and torsos scarred with the ravages of salt, sea, and line. Just beyond the table of seamen, there was an open spiral staircase that snaked its way up to the rented rooms. Tionne had never been up there, but she had heard enough stories that piqued her curiosity in the most devilishly sensual ways.
A long bar ran the length of the room on the left and that was where the young mage made her way now. There was a lanky blond behind the counter. Her butter yellow hair was pulled back in a long braid that hung to her waist. Deep grey eyes, the color of witchmetal, flicked over the bar and the patrons, as if tallying up the number of crowns that would be in the till at the end of the night. Those eyes caught Tionne's and held them for a moment, the corner of the barmaid's mouth lifting in a smile.
Tionne's stomach did a little flip when Aluka smiled at her like that. She didn't know if it was because she found the older girl so pretty, or just because she relished the singular attention that Aluka lavished on her when she was nearby, but Tionne knew that she had never felt that way about anyone else. If the rough company was enough to make her shy away from the Turgid Eel, Aluka's smile was always a stronger reason to come back.
“Hey beautiful,” Aluka said to her in low voice as Tionne sat down at the bar. She produced a thick, well-frosted glass filled with deep amber liquid and slid it front of the mage. “Honey for my honey?”
Her milky pale skin did nothing to hide the blush that crept up Tionne's neck and spread all the way up to her ears. She felt as if her entire face was burning. Aluka smiled at her again and then drifted down the bar, her attention caught by a figure in a thick traveling cloak.
Tionne watched the newcomer out of the corner of her eye. Surreptitious investigations came as naturally to her as breathing. Her guile and subterfuge had kept her one step ahead of officious Masters and conniving fellow students alike. She prided herself on her knowledge of things that were thought well guarded secrets and only divulged that knowledge when it would profit her to do so.
Aluka was drawing a drink for the stranger in the cloak. The mysterious figure kept its head low, letting the voluminous folds hide its features and grant it anonymity. They must be roasting under all that cloth, Tionne thought. It was still warm outside and even though the windows were open, the air inside was thick and hot. The barmaid passed the ale to the stranger and took a coin in return. During that brief exchange, Tionne noticed that the stranger was wearing thick leather gloves.
She leaned back in her chair to get a look at the feet. It was an inadvisable action, as it called attention to her, which was something one usually didn't want in a place like the Eel. Still, her curiosity got the better of her and she gave the stranger a closer look. Not that it helped all that much. The cloak ran almost to the floor. Only a pair of black leather boots peeked out. The boots were unremarkable, save for the brilliant shine of the silver hardware. If nothing else, it was obvious that the footwear was well cared for.
Shaking her head, as if to clear the curiosity, she took a long pull on the mead and shivered as the alcohol sparked a fire in her belly. The warmth was a welcome visitor and she nursed it along with small sips throughout the evening. Aluka would stop by and chat when she wasn't busy with others, scampering off only when drinks were shouted for or when she caught the master of the house giving her the evil eye.
It was during one of these absences that Tionne realized that the stranger in the traveling cloak had ended up on the stool next to hers. The newcomer was accompanied by a strange, but not unpleasant, musk. Like the smell of freshly turned earth. Tionne couldn't recall the stranger moving. It
felt as if they had been further down the bar one moment, and very nearby the next. As they sat there side by side, Tionne's sidelong gaze was drawn to the hood again and again, as if through force of will she could see past the veil of darkness.
“You're a bit too tipsy for that to be an option,” the stranger said. The voice was definitely feminine, but it had a strange, deep burr to it.
Tionne went rigid. She was tipsy enough that command of the Quintessential Sphere would have been difficult, but normally she was more on guard. She hadn't felt the stranger touch her thoughts and her lapse in self-defense was as disturbing as the violation itself.
“I apologize,” the stranger said softly, still not turning to face Tionne, though the girl had now swiveled on her stool to face the interloper. “That was rude of me. Still, we had to know that you were one of us.”
Tionne's eyes narrowed. There were few things she distrusted more than inclusion in a group. She had learned those lessons painfully from the other students in the Academy. Groups were good only for excluding others…usually for excluding Tionne.
“One of who?” she demanded, all pretense of patience gone in a flash. “You don't know me. How do you know what I am or who I belong with.”
With surprising speed, the stranger's hand snapped out and caught her wrist. Tionne tried to pull away, but found the grip more than enough to hold her hostage. She could feel the fingers inside the glove, they were thin and delicate, but strong. The stranger turned to face her now, still just a dark expanse of black under the hood.
The stranger's other hand pushed up the sleeve of Tionne's robe, exposing a line of old scars just below the elbow, as neat and tidy as a farmer's furrows. The stranger traced these with a gloved fingertip and Tionne felt a strange longing spread through her. It was similar to what she felt when she looked at Aluka, but much more intense.
“Stop,” Tionne said, pulling her arm away. This time the stranger released her and Tionne pulled the sleeve down, covering the old scars. The touch had unnerved her. Her reaction to it, doubly so.
The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 03 - The Pegasus's Lament Page 3
