by Jayne Castel
Her pounding heart leaped, and she struggled not to let the excitement show on her face. “I have some time off work in the afternoon.”
“Would you take a walk with me?”
Lilia nodded, forcing down a wild, irrational excitement. “I’d like that.”
He smiled down at her. “Goodnight then.”
Lilia watched him walk away, before she let herself into her room and shut the door behind her. She leaned back against it and inhaled deeply. Then, she raised a trembling hand to her lips. They still burned from his kiss.
Dain’s fist connected with his opponent’s jaw.
He hit him so hard that pain lanced across his hand, despite the leather bindings protecting his knuckles. The big man he’d just hit grunted and crumpled to the sawdust-strewn floor—knocked out.
It was the last of the four rounds; Dain had won. The surrounding crowd howled—some in glee for they’d bet on the underdog, others in fury for they’d been sure the hulking smithy would hammer the inn-keeper’s son into the floor. The din of the roaring mob was deafening.
Massaging his throbbing hand, Dain spat out a gob of blood on the floor and limped out of the ring. Ardan stood on the sidelines, waiting for him. Ignoring his friend, Dain began untying the leather knuckle guards.
“Gods, you made a mess of him,” his friend observed. “What was that about?”
Dain glanced up, frowning. “Nothing.” He ripped the bindings off and shoved them at Ardan. “I’m done for the night.”
7
The Gift
Lilia awoke later than usual the following morning. She only climbed from her pallet when the dawn light started to filter in through a gap in the shutters. Reluctantly, she rose from her warm nest of blankets, wincing at the chill in the air, and unlatched the shutters, throwing them open.
She gazed out, taking in the white-capped rooftops of Port Needle below. It had snowed heavily during the night, and an ermine crust carpeted the world. The sea looked like beaten iron, and the sky was the color of wood smoke.
A smile tugged at Lilia’s mouth. She liked the snow: its brightness and the way it blanketed everything. Plus she had a walk with Saul to look forward to later; she would make them some mulled cider afterward.
The damp crept into her chamber, and she hurriedly closed the shutters. Lilia chose her favorite jade-green skirt to wear today, with a matching tunic and a brown leather bodice. She took care with her appearance, brushing out her curls before twisting them up into an artfully arranged bun with a bone clasp.
Lilia had plenty to keep her busy that day, but she chafed at how the morning dragged. Once breakfast was out of the way, she started on her usual routine of preparing the noon meal. But her mind kept wandering. She kept reliving that kiss and the excitement it had provoked in her.
Careful, her mother’s voice needled her. He can never know.
Lilia gave an irritated huff and quashed her fears. For once she just wanted to follow her instincts.
Neasa came in to see her, enquiring about what Lilia had planned for the day’s meals, and Ailin greeted her as he went down to the cellar to bring up another barrel of ale. She didn’t see Dain until late morning when he brought a fresh bag of flour into the kitchen. Usually, he had a smile for her, but this morning his face was serious, his blue eyes shuttered.
“Where do you want this?” he asked, his tone aloof. “In the store or the pantry?”
“In the pantry, please … I’ve almost finished the bag in there,” she replied with a smile that he didn’t return. Lilia observed him do as asked, before he left the kitchen. Perplexed, she watched him go. She wondered if she’d offended him. Maybe he disapproved of her spending time with a customer.
Frowning, Lilia turned back to work. It’s none of his business.
Lilia and Saul walked together down Harbor Way, fresh snow crunching underfoot. It was a breezy afternoon, and the dank air stung Lilia’s cheeks and made her eyes water. Above, the sky had cleared although the watery sun gave out little heat. Lilia drew her fur mantle close and hoped her nose and cheeks hadn’t gone too red with cold.
She glanced at the tall, dark-haired man striding next to her, a thrill going through her at how handsome he was. His leather cloak billowed behind him, and for the first time she noted that he carried weapons. Knives—lots of them—adorned his athletic, leather-clad form. He had one strapped to each thigh, one on his right calf, and two at his waist. The sight of them added to his aura of danger, although the weapons also made Lilia feel a little nervous. What need did he have to be so heavily armed in Port Needle? Saul also carried a pack with him this afternoon.
Sensing her gaze upon him, Saul glanced across at her and smiled. “I like a woman with freckles—they’re not common where I’m from.”
Lilia returned his smile. “Really? Many folk here have them.” Truthfully, she’d always wished for different coloring. She envied Ryana her mane of blonde hair and imagined the women of Anthor, with their raven locks and almond-shaped eyes, were great beauties.
The cry of gulls circling the docks below reached them then—as the sea birds followed the fishing boats into port. Lilia watched Saul’s gaze shift down to the harbor and saw his mood change. The smile on his face faded, his gaze hooded, and he slowed his pace. Lilia’s attention was also drawn to a great ship that had anchored at the harbor entrance.
Surrounded by glittering water, the towering vessel with three tall masts piercing the pale sky made Lilia draw in a sharp breath. “Is that a galleon?”
He nodded curtly, slowing to a halt.
Lilia glanced back at the port, at where four wooden row-boats had moored. Cloaked figures were clambering out onto the quay.
She opened her mouth to comment on the fact that they didn’t look like merchants, when Saul reached for her arm. He pulled her with him, and together they left Harbor Way and entered one of the narrow lanes that ran along the town’s East Terraces. Tall stone houses, their shutters bolted against the cold, loomed overhead, casting the lane into shadow.
A few feet in, Saul released her arm and turned to her. Lilia stared up into his face but could not read his expression. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry, Lilia … but I have to go.”
Disappointment flooded through her. “What … right now?”
“I was hoping to have more time here, but my ship has arrived earlier than expected.”
Lilia’s breathing stilled. “That galleon … it’s yours?”
Saul gave her a rakish smile. “It belongs to the King of Anthor, but yes … it’s mine to command.”
“Can’t they wait for you?”
Saul shook his head. “We travel north on king’s business. Reoul won’t be pleased if he finds out I lingered on this isle … for pleasure.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. She trembled under his touch. “I will return, lovely Lilia,” he said gently. “I promise you.”
Glancing around the street, to make sure they weren’t being watched, he reached into a pocket in his cloak and deftly withdrew a small iron box. It was rusted and pitted with age. “I’ll leave something with you … as proof of my word.”
He opened the box and withdrew a pale grey stone. It was oval-shaped and had a hole at one end, through which was threaded a silver chain.
“This means a lot to me,” he said firmly. “You must keep it while I am gone.”
Lilia took the pendant from him. “It looks like a hag stone,” she observed.
“It is … a special one.”
Lilia held the pendant on her palm and peered at it in the dim light. It looked different to the hag stones she had seen. Her parents had one, hanging over the entrance to their home. The charms warded off spirits of the dead, curses, sickness, and nightmares. Folk also believed they kept shadow creatures at bay. Lilia kept a small one hanging over her window in her bed chamber.
The stone was cool and up close she saw that it was not just one color, but multi-hued in shades of silver, white, and gr
ey. Unlike traditional hag stones, which were usually irregular in shape, with a rough surface, this was smooth and a perfect oval. Yet it flared out slightly at the bottom, where the surface was rough, as if part of it had been snapped off.
“It’s broken.”
“Yes, it’s missing its bottom half.”
“I’ve never seen a stone like it.”
“It was made by the Order of Light and Darkness,” he replied, smiling.
Lilia stifled a gasp and nearly dropped the pendant. She’d never touched anything created by an enchanter. However, he reached out and folded her fingers over it. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you. It’s a charm stone, nothing more.”
“But you said it’s precious to you?”
“My father gave it to me.”
Lilia frowned, confused. “Then, why leave it with me?”
“Because you think I’m never coming back.”
Lilia looked away. She suddenly felt out of her depth. “We only just met,” she said in a small voice. “You don’t need to promise me anything.”
He stepped closer still, his dark eyes gleaming. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he began, his voice low. “I don’t want to leave.”
Lilia stared at him, heat welling inside her. She’d always dreamed of hearing those words. She wanted to believe him, but a part of her knew she shouldn’t.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “I won’t think any less of you if you don’t come back.”
He reached out and pulled her to him. It was unexpected, and she gasped. However, Saul smothered her protest with his mouth. He pulled her hard against him and kissed her deeply. One hand splayed out and pressed against the small of her back, while the other lifted and released her hair from its bun. Her curls tumbled free, and she felt his fingers tangle within them. This kiss was different to the one he’d given her the night before—it was fiercer, more possessive. When they broke apart, her lips felt swollen and heat pulsed low in her belly. She ached for him to do that again, but he didn’t.
“I promise I shall return,” he said softly. “Do you believe me now?”
Lilia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her tongue felt cloven to the roof of her mouth.
Saul gave her a slow smile. “Here, let me put the charm about your neck.”
Wordlessly, Lilia passed him the pendant and waited as he lifted it over her head. He then quickly tucked it under her mantle.
“Keep it safe, and I will return to claim you both.”
He stepped back from her, removing the heat of his body and the scent of spice, leather, and musk. Lilia clenched her hands at her side, to stop herself from reaching for him.
She watched Saul stride out of the lane and into the wintry sunlight of Harbor Way. He then turned left and disappeared from sight without a backward glance. Senses reeling, Lilia stared after him, before she attempted to tidy her unbound hair. A short time later she emerged onto Harbor Way, her gaze traveling down the long crescent toward the quay.
She’d expected to see Saul striding ahead, on his way down to the docks—but he was nowhere in sight.
8
Daffodils
A vicious winter settled in shortly after Saul’s departure. The coldest folk remembered in many years, the temperatures sank so low that water in the wells throughout Port Needle froze solid for days on end. Even the salt water of the harbor froze, preventing ferries and merchant barges from entering port.
The season dragged on and the chill started to wear upon Lilia. Her job had quickly lost any sense of newness. Despite her resolve to make a fresh start in Port Needle, she began to wonder at her decision to leave Shingle Ford. She may have felt stifled in her village, but her life there, working the patchwork of fields behind her family home with her parents, had given her some free time at least.
The drudgery of her job wasn’t the only thing that bothered Lilia.
Meeting Saul had also unsettled her. She wore the hag stone close to her breast, under her clothes. She never took it off; she even slept with it. The charm gave her a certain comfort—a reminder that meeting him had been real. She had not dreamed him up.
Yet the charm stone weighed upon her thoughts strangely.
During the day, she found herself checking that it still hung around her neck. When no one was looking, she would draw it out and gaze upon the odd, multi-hued surface. It was plain, and yet oddly beautiful.
The cold weather drew out, holding the Isle of Orin in its cruel grip. And then, suddenly, the first signs of spring arrived. Snowdrops and Bluebells pushed up from the rocky sides of the cliffs, their bright green stalks and delicate white and blue bonnets stark against the patches of frozen snow. Shortly after, the first crocuses and daffodils appeared, and the chill started to subside.
One afternoon Lilia went for a walk down to the quay.
It felt good to be outdoors with the sea breeze in her face. Lilia inhaled the pungent odor of smoking herrings as she walked along the wooden quay. It was also a relief to be away from that stuffy kitchen.
Upon the quayside there was plenty to distract Lilia. Men wearing salt-encrusted oilskins pulled nets full of wriggling sardines onto the pier, while others stood over crates of oysters, cockles, and mussels, hailing passersby to sample their wares.
A few women mingled with the crowd on the quayside: girls with their hair unbound, cheeks rouged, and lips stained red. They dressed lightly for the weather, bodices partially unlaced and arms bare. The women moved at a leisurely pace, boldly making eye contact with men and stopping to flirt.
Lilia observed the harlots. She wondered at what had made them choose such a life—or if it had been a choice at all. Even if the quay could be seedy, she enjoyed her visits here; it was full of life.
A few yards away, the ferry that traveled four times a day from Port Needle across The Wash to Idriss had just docked, disgorging a tide of passengers. The Seahorse showed her years. Her oaken hull was encrusted with barnacles, and her once whitewashed boards were cracked and dry from the sea-air.
Lilia paused a moment, enjoying the feel of the spring sun on her skin. How she’d like to get on that ferry and sail away. There had to be more to life than toiling over a hot stove from dawn till dusk.
Somewhere, across the water, was Saul. Months had passed since his departure, and she was beginning to accept that he wasn’t coming back. She still wore his charm but had long since stopped dreaming about his return—she’d been a fool to believe him.
Her gaze shifted from the bobbing ferry back to the quay. She stood before the shabby façade of the dockside tavern. The Barnacle—she recognized the name before remembering that Dain had mentioned it. This was where he came to fight.
The thought of Dain made Lilia frown. Turning away from the tavern, she continued her path down the pier. He barely spoke to her these days, his teasing and boyish charm had disappeared, replaced with aloof politeness. He hadn’t been the same since Saul’s visit. She’d clearly offended him in some way. Although Lilia hadn’t welcomed Dain’s interest, she’d enjoyed his banter and his cheerful greetings whenever he entered the kitchen. Apart from Ryana—who’d not returned since her visit at Winter Blood—he’d been the only friend she’d made here.
Never had Lilia felt so isolated.
She reached the end of the peer, lost in thought. Here, an elderly scribe sat upon a stool, a board on his knee and a basket of parchment scrolls at his feet. Next to him, a row of goshawks perched on a stand, their feathers ruffling in the sea breeze. Goshawks were the preferred means of transporting urgent messages throughout The Four Kingdoms.
The old man glanced up and caught Lilia’s eye, his expression hopeful. However, she answered with an apologetic smile—what need did she have of a scribe?
A few yards away from the scribe, a girl clutched a huge wicker basket of spring flowers: daffodils, crocuses, and jonquils. The lass spotted Lilia eyeing her wares and grinned. “Spring flowers for you, miss!”
Lilia
found herself smiling back. The daffodils were lovely—willowy green stems with creamy yellow trumpets. She bought a bunch to cheer herself up and inhaled the sweet scent. However, she’d lingered on her walk long enough. An afternoon of work awaited her at The Grey Anchor.
She turned and began her journey home, leaving the quayside behind and starting the steep climb up Harbor Way toward the inn.
Halfway up the hill she spotted a pie cart. The aroma of mutton pies drifted down the wide street, carried by a brisk breeze. Lilia was around ten yards from the cart when a lad approached it. Sallow-faced and sharp featured, he grabbed a pie and walked off with it.
“Hey … you need to pay for that!” the old woman selling the pies cried out.
The youth turned, returned to the cart, and grabbed three more pies. “I’ll take what a want, crone!” he leered at her.
He then turned and started to walk away.
Fury rose within Lilia in a red haze. If there was one thing she despised—it was injustice.
The youth had gone only a few feet when Lilia tackled him. They tumbled onto the cobbled street. Not caring about her crushed daffodils, Lilia fisted her right hand and punched the lad in the mouth.
“Thieving turd!”
Shocked, the young man stared up at her. Dropping the pies he reached up, his hands covering his bleeding mouth.
Lilia snarled at him, picked herself up, and retrieved the now squashed pies.
Anger pulsed through her. She dared him to get up and try to take them from her. However, shocked by her audacity, the youth merely scrambled to his feet and ran off down the street.
Lilia carried the pies back to the old woman. “I’m sorry … they’re not much use to you now,” she panted.
“Thank you, dear,” the pie-seller beamed at her. “What a fierce wee thing you are.” The woman broke off here, her smile fading. “Are you well, dear? You’re very flushed.”
Lilia knew she wasn’t well at all.
