Chapter 41: Athereon Squirt
Cirn obediently followed her lord and master, Lord Prince Ranin, through the gates of Everwinter. The Keep here was smaller than any of the provinces closer to the Capital, the battlements worn and scarred from battles of centuries passed and yearly surges. There was a history of survival told by every gouged-out stone that drew her immediate respect for the fey here.
Inside was the same tightly packed type of town as any other forested region. Each house was practically pressed up to the next, usually building up instead of out with enough years between each extension that many of the buildings looked haphazard as a result, cobbled together by architects separated by centuries of time. Interestingly though, unlike many of the forested Keep towns she’d visited, the roadways were clean, clear, wide highways straight through the center of town.
As their battalion marched through the cobbled streets, the fey came out of their homes, their eyes brightened with curiosity. She resisted the urge to check the veil over her face, knowing it was as in place as it always was. Always.
They reached the entrance courtyard for the Keep where Lord Everwinter stood ready to greet them.
Many had been surprised that her lord and master had been granted the title of Commander while Bartos was granted Everwinter, and she couldn’t help the sneer in her heart, even if she kept her face blank. The dark-skinned man was as impeccably dressed as always, though his clothing was more practical in nature than the delicate silks popular in much of the Capital, something that she begrudgingly respected. They were in shades of greens and browns that perfectly balanced both against his skin and the bright blue of his tightly curled hair, and while she didn’t see the simpering members of his pack, he was clearly surrounded by admirers all the same.
The beloved prince no matter where he went.
Hiding her disgruntlement by dismounting, she did her best to bury her feelings. It wasn’t his fault that her equally capable lord and master had been facing challenges due to the titles assigned to him any more than it had been his fault that she had been born with her face as it was. It was the same story that had been played again and again since they had first met, that he would be beloved in a way her own lord would not, the golden child forever favored despite presenting the work of others as his own.
He, as ever, never reacted to her hostility, an unnatural calmness to him as he greeted Lord Prince Ranin with an eager, warm smile. Lord Prince Ranin was much the same in his enthusiasm for his long-time friend, a companionship between them that Cirn had never really understood.
She passed her reins off to a stable hand before taking her spot right behind Lord Prince Ranin on his left side, drawing Lord Everwinter’s attention from the lord prince.
“Lady Cirn, it’s good to see you well,” said Lord Everwinter, his dual brown and blue eyes warm with sincerity.
Her tone was as clipped and chilling as her breath, her veil stiffening slightly from frost. “Lord Everwinter.”
She swore his eyes twinkled, and she narrowed her own.
Turning his attention back to her lord, he gestured towards the halls. “Come. We’ll let you and your recruits rest today. Tomorrow we’ll start their training. Lady Evense?”
A burly ogress with large tusks and a silver tint to her skin nodded to the lord before she began barking out orders.
Her lord turned to her. “Go with them, Cirn. Keep the recruits in line for me.”
She bowed. As much as she hated to admit it, between the two of them, it was unlikely anyone in the entire province could take them down. Her role as his guard was extraneous.
Besides. That wasn’t why he brought her.
The next few days passed reasonably enough. The one instructor that had tried to get her to remove her veil had regretted it, and no one had bothered her since. Being neither a recruit nor an instructor, she joined on some drills and observed others, looking for signs of trouble while her lord was otherwise preoccupied.
And trouble was definitely brewing.
On the third night, she was summoned after dinner to Lord Everwinter’s office.
Though it irked her to appreciate anything about the man, she couldn’t deny that when she entered the office, the lack of gaudy décor made the office more comfortable than she had been expecting. A coffee table sat in the middle between two couches facing each other. Shelves with notable books and various knickknacks were decorated by delicately carved leaves so realistic, she could practically taste the dew on their leaves. The carpet was just as well-made and understated, the color scheme of the painted furniture matching the forest visible through the window just past the lord’s shoulder.
His desk, meanwhile, was a plain table that did not match the rest of the furniture.
She raised a brow. Supply problems?
He must have guessed her silent question, looking somewhat embarrassed as he gestured at the table. “The last one was… lost.”
More than anything else about him in the last three days, that drew her attention. It was polite phrasing meaning it had been destroyed, likely in a fit of fey rage.
No. It couldn’t be. Him? The absurdly calm, never-losing-his-temper commander?
She didn’t comment on it no matter how badly she wanted to.
Instead, she turned to her lord and master, bowing to him first in greeting, then Lord Everwinter.
“Cirn, report. Any issues so far?”
She bowed again before answering in a formal tone. “Overall, the cohesion is well enough. However, there is some barrier between the Guard here and those we have brought. I am unclear whether this is related to northern hospitality—” where northerners often tended to be mistrustful of outsiders in general, “—or if there is some deeper reason for the hidden suspicions between the groups.”
Lord Prince Ranin let a sharp breath out his nose while Lord Everwinter simply nodded solemnly and said, “I suspected as much. That will be resolved tomorrow. Anything else?”
Her eyes slowly flickered between the knowingness in Lord Everwinter’s eyes and the intrigued gleam in her lord’s smirk. Carefully, she answered, “I have concerns of impending violence between the two factions—”
Lord Everwinter dismissed her concerns. “That will be taken care of tomorrow. Anything else? Does everyone have the supplies they need?”
She huffed, the veil fluttering in her annoyance. “The so-called dragon you have as a quartermaster has made her standards clear.”
Lord Everwinter smirked as Lord Prince Ranin chortled. He gave his friend a sidelong glance, saying smugly, “Told you.”
Lord Prince Ranin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. What can I say, she’s found her place here. She’s always been so prickly.”
“It helps that the supplies here are smaller and she has no need of assistants.”
“Yeah. Has she warmed to anyone?”
His lips quirked. “She has.”
The lord prince gave him a hard stare. “… no. Really?”
The smugness rolling off Lord Everwinter was enough to make Cirn gag. Her eyes narrowed and she said tersely, “I have yet to be introduced to this Athereon.”
“All in good time. There’s a treebed to the south—you can stay a few extra days, right, Ranin?”
Lord Prince Ranin’s eyes unfocused as they did whenever he used his bond to speak to his mates. Several minutes went by before he nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I can stay. But not much longer.”
“It would be good for Cirn to see Athereon in her element.”
Exhaling sharply, Cirn managed to trap the scoff before it escaped.
The great Athereon had been the talk of the Capital for weeks now. Several patents for weapons rumored to change the course of the war granted to a nameless, faceless fey without a single Scholar’s Mark. Cirn, meanwhile, was almost certain that the “great Athereon” couldn’t possibly live up to the rumors of a talented and powerful mage. But anyone who knew of Athereon had been unnaturally tightlipped, making it one of the greatest mysteries of their age.
She bowed politely to both men. “Very well. Then I will return to the barracks with the other soldiers. I pray tomorrow goes well.” She turned and muttered as she left, “For all our sakes.”
Her lord had never steered her wrong before, but she doubted Lord Everwinter’s claim that tomorrow would magically solve the issue.
Something had to be in the air. Perhaps a surge was coming. Perhaps her fears were about to be realized. Either way, many of the Guard and even most of the knights were on edge today. They would greet the new Capital recruits with stiff nods and suspicious eyes, and twice, she found herself having to break up a fight.
Then Lord Everwinter and Lord Prince Ranin both came out to the courtyard to observe the proceedings, which only heightened the tensions even if no more fights broke out. Everyone was trying to perform their best, to impress the two highest fey in the entire territory.
She took her position just behind and to her lord’s left as he murmured, “Tense today, isn’t it?”
“Hm,” was Lord Everwinter’s only reply.
The instructors switched to one-on-one bouts spread out across the yard when one of Lord Everwinter’s packmates showed up, followed by a second.
And suddenly the tension skyrocketed.
Cirn kept her eyes scanning the knights and guards in front of her, one hand on her sword’s hilt and ready for anything.
“You call—”
She startled. Her. Startled.
The woman who had spoken stiffened and all movement in the courtyard came to a sudden stop. Utterly baffled, she barely clocked the greenling servant, her wary eyes on the soldiers instead.
When she reset her stance forward, no longer facing the greenling, she could have sworn the tension eased slightly.
Lord Prince Ranin, stern as ever, merely studied the servant before saying, “You’re the one who surprised Brock.”
That got Cirn’s attention again. Brock? Surprised?
By a greenling?
The woman, tiny even for a pixie, bowed politely but did not speak. Cirn almost tuned out the rest of the conversation as she focused on the tension radiating out from those in front of her until she noticed their attention was not on the lords, but on the greenling.
And when she turned her head back to study the tiny servant, her hand still on her hilt, the tension ramped up again.
Lord Everwinter’s voice cut through the silence. “Lady Cirn, I ask that you relax and remove your hand from your weapon. There is no danger to your lord here.”
She gave him a long stare before she obeyed, bitterly intoning, “As you wish.”
This time she didn’t imagine it. With her hand removed from her hilt as she studied the greenling, the tension in the courtyard eased somewhat.
The woman kept her plain face bent down in supplication to the lords, every inch of her perfectly subservient and following all due decorum. There was a hood up over the shortly cropped green hair on her head, a patterned pelt over her shoulders as a cloak, and… wait. Quiver? Arrows? Blades?
Live blades?
What kind of a servant was she?
Her jaw dropped at Lord Everwinter’s next words. “Athereon, work into the rotations at Instructor Hawke’s discretion.”
She almost burst out laughing. Athereon. A great and powerful mage, indeed.
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Others didn’t have her self-control. The recruits had been aware of the animosity and mistrust from the Everwinter soldiers, and while many were still newly trained, they had enough awareness to see the pixie every other person in the courtyard was focused on.
Snickers broke out amongst the recruits they brought as the instructors barked out orders, rearranging the groups and pairings.
The greenling stashed away her quiver and unstrung bow in a dimensional pouch at her hip and tenderly untied a sling from around her neck wrapped around some bundle. After a moment of hesitation, she passed the sling with an anxious look at the package to one of the lord’s packmates, then pulled out a practice short sword while putting the live blade away.
Instructor Hawke, a silver haired fey with a bushy beard and scar over one eye, called the greenling over with easy familiarity. “Over here, lass.”
Scanning the crowd, Cirn was startled to realize that while the pairings had originally been mixed, there was now a clear delineation between the groups. As the greenling pixie trotted out to join the instructor, it finally hit her.
Gods.
They were protecting her.
The Everwinter soldiers purposely put themselves as a barrier between her and the Capital recruits, glaring daggers at them.
“Begin!” sounded the command. The tiny pixie had been paired with a large shifter, a determined glint in her eyes and a scowl on her face, her teeth bared in a grimace as she dodged, ducked, rolled and attacked her opponent with a tenacity Cirn had not expected. She lost the bout, but it was closer than it should have been.
Lord Prince Ranin leaned closer to Lord Everwinter and murmured, “Proud of yourself?”
“Sir Calst there was one of her staunchest opponents not three weeks ago.”
Her lord snorted then fell silent as they watched. Unlike the other pixies, who used their wings for superior maneuverability and an aerial advantage, the great Athereon didn’t bother. A stupid decision that was going to get her killed. There were several points that Cirn found herself fighting a growl, wondering why the damn woman didn’t dodge like a normal pixie. Instead, she got hit.
Despite the weird tension in the air, not a single one of her opponents held back. None of them tried to hurt her, but none of them pulled their punches, either.
The drills continued, the pairs rotating until, finally, one of the Capital recruits was paired with the greenling.
More than one of the Everwinter soldiers tried to switch with her, only for the instructors to bark out orders to keep their place.
Xaan, a fox shifter from the Capital, grinned tauntingly down at her. “Don’t worry, sweetcheeks, I’ll go easy on you.”
It was a phrase Cirn had often heard in her life, and it boiled her blood.
The greenling’s eyes hardened and her jaw tightened. Cirn only noticed because she found she couldn’t look away.
Xaan, overconfident, stood straight and lazily held his blade out with just one hand at the tiny woman. “Come on, I’ll even give you first shot.”
Several of the Everwinter shifters growled, and when her eyes flickered to one of Bartos’s packmates, a sweet-faced male named Tobias carefully cradling the bundle from the sling, she was startled to realize he was one of them.
And then she spotted Lord Everwinter.
His eyes had shifted.
No. It couldn’t be. Could it? She was adopted by their pack?
“Begin!” sounded the command, and the greenling smashed her blade down on the fox shifter’s sword hand, making him drop his blade before shifting just slightly and slamming the blunt edge into the man’s stomach, a move that would have gutted him with live blades. He pitched forward as she nimbly leapt back, her sword finding his neck.
He snarled in rage as he said, “You trumped up toff—”
All hell broke loose.
Those from Everwinter lost their minds with rage, the murderous intent saturating the air before the lord himself stepped forward, rage making ice crawl up his body, his breath coming out in a puff of ice crystals. “Kneel,” he commanded.
The pixie practically threw herself at the ground, while those beholden to Everwinter’s name fell at their lord’s command. The Capital recruits had not yet given their allegiance to the lord and were the only ones in the courtyard not kneeling.
The pixie was the only one in the lowest bow, her flat hands pressed on either side of her head, her forehead touching the dirt.
He took a moment to collect himself, scanning over the group before saying quietly, “Rise, Athereon.”
Those who hadn’t heard the name the first time he spoke it quickly stared at each other in awe.
Trembling a little, the tiny woman stood, her shoulders hunched and looking for all the world like she was about to dive back to the dirt. But when her eyes lifted, it wasn’t terror in her bright green eyes, but anger.
Lord Everwinter addressed those still standing. “Let this be a lesson to you all. Athereon has earned her place here. To ask for her subservience is something I will not forgive. You will be dishonorably dismissed from my Guard. I am not the only one that owes her their life.”
A bright red blush bloomed on the woman’s face as she shifted from foot to foot, looking distinctly uncomfortable and halfway between the anger of before and flustered embarrassment. She scowled down at the ground, and Cirn noted that the expression, normally one intimidating or at the very least off-putting, wrinkled her button nose and dusting of freckles until it was adorable petulance.
A kindred spirit. Cirn found herself somewhat moved by the woman, knowing how frustrating earning respect separate from one’s appearance could be. Perhaps that was why she found herself stepping forward, away from her lord and master, and instead approaching the greenling woman.
Lord Everwinter watched but did not stop her. Instead, he reined his temper back in, back to the calm, dual-colored eyes. Their eyes met, and he gave her a barely perceptible nod.
Trusting her.
No, entrusting her.
She glared and slid her eyes back to the pixie. “Come. I will be your opponent.”
A couple of the recruits quietly shared looks of amusement. They knew her skills already. If the pixie was as good as she seemed, she would make it known to them, as well.
The pixie shifted, her eyes flickering quickly around the yard. Assessing her options. Then to Cirn as she studied her, her eyes full of wary mistrust even as she bowed compliantly.
Cirn let out a sharp breath. “That blade is not one you are comfortable with yet.”
The pixie stiffened but did not speak, and it took Cirn a confused moment to figure out why.
She tried again. “What weapon are you most comfortable with?”
“Daggers, my lady.”
She nodded. It seemed the greenling followed the ancient laws governing interactions. She would have to remember that. “Very well. Find some practice ones and let us have a training bout.”
Her tone was flat as she responded blandly, “As you wish,” then turned to face the silver haired Instructor Hawke, still on his knees. He nodded towards the barrels off to the side, and she trotted away.
Cirn frowned at the man. Then at the rest of the yard.
All of the beholden fey were still kneeling. His lordship had not released his command of them. But there had been no magic lacing his voice when he’d asked her to stand.
No. It couldn’t be.
Could it?
This much loyalty to her, and she wasn’t even tied to Everwinter?
The lord met her wide eyes and gave a single, solemn nod. Then he inclined his head to an open patch of ground. “Conduct your test there. I will hold my people in place.”
She gave him a hard stare that she only broke as the pixie returned holding two large daggers that looked almost like short swords in her diminutive hands.
Cirn unsheathed her blade, murmuring the bluntness spell around it as flurries of frost and snow spun around the blade. If she hit, the greenling’s skin would freeze temporarily as proof of the hit, a thin barrier of air cushioning the blade.
The two women stood opposite of each other as the Capital recruits gathered around in a loose circle, chortling and chuckling to each other.
Some of them were, anyway. Some of the others were more wary. Mostly the ones she had already clocked as talents worth cultivating.
They squared off, the greenling bouncing on her toes and holding the blades loosely. Cirn moved to her ready stance, holding her blade in place and studying her opponent carefully. Unlike many of the recruits, some of them quite good fighters with years of experience and only suffering a lack of formal training, she had no openings.
Hidden behind her veil, she found herself smiling.
“Begin!” called someone. It didn’t matter who. Everything else faded away.
She launched herself at the pixie who dodged nimbly, avoiding the blow.
Her grin grew.
Turning on a dime, she sliced horizontally, expecting her to go up—
Instead, the pixie deflected the blade and jumped back before darting in close. Cirn almost laughed with joy as she pivoted to dodge the strike, the pixie tumbling forward in a roll before launching herself aggressively at Cirn.
Impressed by the sheer ferocity of the tiny pixie, Cirn let her push forward, keeping Cirn on her back foot as she parried, deflected, and dodged.
Having a satisfactory understanding of her style, Cirn slightly shifted the hold on her blade. The pixie’s eyes went wide as she launched herself back, tumbling backwards to land on her feet, her blades raised defensively.
Incredible instincts. The tiniest bit of murderous intent, and the pixie caught on.
The rest of the training yard held its collective breath.
She couldn’t help it. Cirn started laughing, exhilarated by the fight.
The recruits paled, newfound respect in their eyes for the tiny woman, at the sound of Cirn’s laughter. The better the fight, the happier she was, and not one of them had made her do more than smile.
With a manic laugh, she launched herself at the pixie, hitting her with a flurry of blows that the woman deflected or dodged, only picking up one or two hits, not one of them decisive. In her battle eagerness, Cirn’s magic started pumping into her limbs, helping her move faster, faster, faster—
She kicked the pixie in the gut with a devastating blow that launched her halfway across the yard with a resounding crack. The woman grunted, rolling on impact until she landed on her feet.
Shifter growls resounded in the yard, but none were as bright as Cirn’s joyous laughter, the frost solidifying her hair and creeping up her clothes. Launching into a quickstep and landing behind the greenling, she launched an attack to decapitate—
“Stop.”
The one, easily spoken word from her lord, without even a trace of his magic to command her, made her freeze in place. The ice shards around her steamed in the warm summer air, the pixie’s blades held up and her eyes full of fear. Then relief as she slumped on the ground, gasping for air and choking on it.
Coming back to herself, Cirn’s smile slowly fell to a more familiar guilt.
Gods. Had she really gone all out against a greenling?
She’d… she’d gone all out against a greenling.
Sheathing her own blade, Cirn studied the tiny woman clutching the frost on her ribs. Wordlessly, she called the frost back.
But her hand remained on the ribs.
Awkwardly, Cirn shifted. She wouldn’t be surprised if the pixie never looked at her without fear again—
Instead, she stood, teetering a little on her feet, sweat beading her brow. Fury lit up the forest green of her eyes as she stopped holding her ribs, took two steps back, and took up a fighting stance, glaring at Cirn in challenge.
Lord Everwinter and Lord Prince Ranin shared a look before the former approached, placing a hand on the top of the pixie’s head. “Let us see to those ribs, Athereon.”
With a stubborn jut of her chin, she muttered, “I can continue, my lord.”
“Then the healer will clear you and you may go back to practice.”
The woman dropped her eyes but none of the tension left her body as she bit out, “They’re just bruised, my lord.”
“Then take a healing potion or be done, Athereon.”
A furious grimace had the woman baring her teeth to the ground and letting out the most adorable growl Cirn had ever heard.
Without another word, Cirn reached into her own pouch and pulled out a healing potion to offer the pixie.
The pixie gave it a reproachful look, glaring at it like it was offensive to her very existence. Then her eyes turned wary as she slowly lifted them to study Cirn, completely unafraid.
Awkwardly, Cirn cleared her throat and said, “It is only polite.” It wasn’t about politeness, of course, she just didn’t want the tiny woman to be afraid to play again.
A knowingness made the pixie’s eyes narrow in suspicion, but she didn’t say anything.
Cirn cocked her head, unsure why she wasn’t responding. The lord had not asked her questions, yet she had responded to him. Teetering herself as she cursed her own awkwardness, she asked, “Why won’t you take it?”
Her eyes dropped back down as she glared at the potion in fury before she answered in a tight voice, “I don’t want to owe you anything, my lady.”
Utterly baffled, Cirn almost pulled the potion back before holding it out again. “This is my consequence.”
Her scowl deepened, her fists clenched on the practice blades still in her hands, her whole body vibrating with tension.
Lost and confused as to whether she had offended the woman, she cast her eyes around only to land on the smug expression of Lord Everwinter. Her eyes narrowed. That man was always playing some kind of plot. Some kind of manipulative game. And that smile meant he’d won whatever game he’d played with her as his pawn.
The expression softened as he gazed warmly down at the tiny pixie whose head was dwarfed by his hand. “Athereon, either take hers or one of mine.”
This only increased the anger in the tiny pixie until she muttered out, “As you wish,” and snatched the potion from Cirn’s hand. With one hand she uncorked it, downed it, and handed the vial back to Cirn with two hands as was polite.
Cirn had never seen anything like it. Absolute deference to even the lowest of the Capital recruits and a biting tone at her own lord.
But… not her lord. Right. Not her lord.
The lord chuckled, turning to the rest of the training group and waving a casual hand to dismiss his order. Slowly all of those around the courtyard that had been stuck in a kneel rose to their feet, many of them glaring daggers at the disbelieving and awed recruits.
Cirn wasn’t sure she felt much different from the recruits herself, to be honest.
Lord Everwinter then said with more than a bit of mirth, “I think that is enough for today, Athereon. Come, join us in my office. It’s time for some proper introductions.”
She grumbled wordlessly under her breath.
“Oh, and I had Ranin bring some sweets from the Capital.”
The woman stiffened. Her shoulders curled. She muttered under her breath wordlessly. Then her shoulders slumped with a defeated and tart, “As you wish.” She bowed politely to the lord and her before trotting back to the packmate Tobias, who was still cradling that bundle. She took it back with a tender touch at odds with the anger in every line of her body, cradling it in her own arms and passing the wolf the practice blades.
He beamed down at her. “So proud of you, Braveheart.”
“Fuck off.”
“But you both gave up the egg and went a full round with the Ice Queen.”
Cirn waited for the fear to her moniker, but the pixie only said dryly, “Yeah, because I was following orders.”
“There were no orders to give me the egg—”
“Shut up and fuck off,” she muttered as she trotted back to the lord, her eyes down in automatic deference and a scowl on her face that softened at the bundle in her arms. When she was standing beside Lord Everwinter, he addressed the crowd one last time.
“New recruits, in two days we will be headed south to tackle a treebed. You will all be paired with one of the Everwinter’s Guards. I suggest you ask for what to expect. The expedition will be led by Athereon, our acting Chief Huntress.”
The pixie scowled harder, a blush on her cheeks as she shifted slightly closer to Bartos, and he shifted to hide her in his cloak.
“Those who do well will remain. Those who do poorly will return as rejects.”
With that announcement and a flourish of his cape that more deliberately shielded her from their eyes, they walked side-by-side back into the keep.
Lord Prince Ranin’s voice startled Cirn out of her daze as he said quietly, “I thought you would understand her best, based on what Brock has said of her. It seems I was right.”
Cirn bowed, having no words that could speak the gratitude in her heart for his faith.
“Come. Let us follow and speak business.”
She obeyed.
The Skyian Herald’s proclamation
Week one of summer
Hear ye, hear ye!Prince Feldan has been returned safe and sound to the illustrious Skyian Kingdom due to the unexpected bravery of the barbaric Q’vet tribe. In a strange show of unity, they sent their own princess over the mountains to retrieve the kidnapped prince. It is unknown if this is at the behest of the connection made by the late Prince Henrrel or not.
Investigations by Prince Foliran have indicated that the kidnapping may not have been at the hands of the Fer’ich, though he reminds all citizens that the rich can afford kindnesses. Despite their hospitality to our beloved prince, they have continued to cruelly deny trade during this year’s severe drought and refuse to share their bounties over the mountains. His majesty the king is working tirelessly to resolve these political issues and bring the wealth of the fertile Wylds to Skye once more.
In the meantime, Prince Feldan has already begun visiting all of the palaces across the Isles of Skye to bolster the growth of fertile crops just in time for summer. He brings with him the Festivals of Growth. Please check your local guildhalls to know when your local festival is planned.
More traitors to the king have been found amongst the populace. All citizens are encouraged to bring any suspicions to their local guard station for proper investigation.