by D L Sims
Their sister’s fashion mirrored the other women in Oszerack--clean, simple dresses dyed natural colors--except it had been made by a seamstress in Rivland. Ralsair’s dress was linen and dyed soft pink. Her brown-black hair was plaited with ribbons; Mikhial had gotten good at braiding Ral’s hair after their mother was killed. Her sandals slapped against the cobbled street in a happy rhythm.
“I’m going to buy sweet dough!” Ralsair exclaimed. She was the youngest of the three Sinero siblings with almond shaped brown eyes. Ralsair held out her small hand, showing her brothers the two silver pieces in her palm. “Father gave me money!”
“Don’t flash your coin around, Ral,” Mikhial instructed. “You never know who might try and snatch it.” He swiped at her hand, pretending to steal the two silver pieces. Ralsair squealed and laughed, closing her fist over her money. Mikhial looked over at Grant. “What are you going to get with your money, Grantham?”
His brother had eyes and hair the color of tree bark like their father, and though he was only three years older than Grant, he acted as if he were older than his twenty-six years.
“I don’t know. Possibly a pint of ale from the tavern.” Grant answered, looping an arm over Ralsair’s shoulder as they walked.
Mikhial frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t waste your coin on drink, Grant.”
“And you plan to spend your coin at the Night House again, older brother?”
Mikhial blushed, and Ralsair giggled, jabbing Grant in the ribs with her elbow.
“I haven’t been to the Night House in ages,” he mumbled.
The Sinero siblings entered the main part of the market, where most of the sellers’ carts and tables were congregated. The merchants called out their products, trying to get people to spend money on their goods instead of the person’s next to them.
“Apples! Fresh picked apples!”
“Bread! Baked just this morning!”
“Daggers! Pottery! Jewels!”
“Wine! Only three gold pieces a bottle!”
The siblings wove their way through the crowded streets. Ralsair wanted to stop at each booth and look at everything, but Mikhial dragged her along as if he had a destination in mind. Grant trailed behind, not really looking at the booths, but at the people.
Lovers held onto each other as they looked through the goods on the carts and tables. Children ran through the streets, laughing and calling after one another while families huddled together, trying not to lose each other in the masses. Grantham watched a young mother with her two children. Her dress had a mysterious stain on the front and strands of hair were coming out of her braid. Her children were pulling her in different directions, all vying for her attention.
Grant thought of his own mother. She had been beautiful. Her hair had been a shade darker than his, but she had the same emerald colored eyes. As a child she would sing him to sleep, and had called him her ‘sweet one’. She had died seven years before, two months after Ralsair’s sixth birthday.
She had died at the hands of thieves on the Main Road on her way back from the Temple in Rivland. She had been a priestess, and visited the Temple often to commune with the other men and women in her profession. She had overseen the Temple in Oszerack, holding weekly sermons that inspired the Oszerackian people.
“Grant!” Ralsair’s voice brought him back to the present. “Look at this!”
He turned to see that Mikhial and Ralsair had stopped at a table full of jewelry and perfume oils. Ralsair held up a necklace with a stone butterfly pendant at the end. At first glance, Grant thought the pendant to be Opal Stone--the most expensive and most coveted natural material in Elthare--but then decided it was either pearl or ivory. Grant took the necklace from her and held it up.
“It is beautiful, sister. Is this what you want to spend your two silver on?”
“It’s six silver,” the seller said.
Grant ignored him. “I thought you wanted sweet dough.”
“I do,” she groaned, “but it’s so-o pretty.”
“You have to choose one or the other, Ral,” Mikhial interjected. “I can give you the rest of the coin for the necklace, but that means you won’t get any sweet dough.”
“But--”
“I’ll buy it for you, Ral,” Grant offered.
Mikhial frowned. Grantham spoiled Ralsair, partly to spite Mikhial, but also because he wanted to give Ral anything she had ever wanted.
“I’m trying to teach her the value of money, Grantham. Just because we’re rich doesn’t mean we have to spend our coin on everything we see.”
He chuckled and patted Mikhial on the shoulder. “Maybe I should buy you a pint of ale, Mik. You need it more than I.” Grant turned his attention back to his sister. “Would you like me to buy this for you, Ral?”
“Really?” Ralsair’s eyes grew big and a broad smile split her face. Grant laughed when her arms flew around his middle. “Oh, thank you. Thank you!”
He pulled back and looked down at her. “On one condition.”
Her face fell. “What?”
“Tell me I’m your favorite brother.”
Ralsair giggled. “You already made me tell you that this morning!”
“I want to hear it again.”
Mikhial’s frown had become so severe Grant worried his brother was doing permanent damage to his face.
She glanced at Mikhial before kissing Grant’s cheek and saying, “You’re my favorite brother.”
Smug, Grant smiled at his older brother.
Mikhial shook his head. “You’re a child, Grantham.”
“Smile, Mik. The day is young. I could still find something to buy for you.”
He turned away. Grant paid the seller for the necklace and handed it to Ralsair, who fastened it behind her neck before they followed Mikhial through the crowd. As they reached their eldest brother, he came to a stop and pinned Grantham with a look after telling Ral to go look at some books on a nearby table.
“You shouldn’t spoil her, Grant.”
“It’s harmless, Mik,” Grant countered. He bought a loaf of bread from the baker’s table they stood near. “Are you mad that I buy her whatever she wants or that I never buy you anything?”
He huffed and turned away, but didn’t answer the question. Grant wondered what his brother’s answer would have been, but didn’t press.
Mikhial was quiet as he began to move through the crowd again. He stopped at a vintner's table to buy a bottle of the famous Oszerakian wine and said something to the woman selling the wine that made her blush and giggle. Despite the fact that his brother had been courting the young woman for six months, Grantham had trouble remembering her name.
“Should we leave him here?” Grant asked his sister. “We can go on the hunt for sweet dough.”
“Aye. I think this could take a while.”
Grant followed her to a cart that sold sweet treats, including sweet dough, honey candy and a drink made from lemon, honey and cinnamon. The woman behind the cart smiled at them pleasantly, revealing a gap between her two front teeth.
“Lord Grantham, Lady Ralsair, what can I do for you today?”
“Sweet dough for my sister and a bag of honey candy,” Grant replied with a smile, pulling coins from the pouch at his hip.
Ralsair took the plate of sweet dough from the woman. “You hate honey candy.”
“It’s for Lonis.”
“I should have known,” she said with a knowing smile that had Grant rolling his eyes.
Grant took the candy from the woman and paid for everything, including Ralsair’s sweet dough. They turned and found their brother still talking to the vintner’s daughter. Ralsair made a face when Mikhial and the woman kissed.
“What do you say we go home?”
Ralsair nodded. “Can I take the candy to Lonis?”
Grant laughed. “You’re not going to sneak off with it, are you?”
“No! I promise.”
“Then you may take it to him.”
T
hey started their walk through the village. Ralsair hummed a song as she ate her treat, dirtying her hands with sticky syrup and fried dough.
“When did you meet Lonis, Grant? I don’t remember.”
“When we were four.”
“Would you say he’s your dearest friend?”
Grant stumbled slightly on the road. “I would,” he replied as he corrected his footing.
She was quiet as they turned the corner between two stores onto a smaller street. “Kal and I have been friends since we were five. Is he my dearest friend?”
“He could be. That’s your decision to make.”
She went quiet again. It had always amazed Grant how much she contemplated the smallest things, like how she wrote her name or what her favorite color was, or in this instance--trying to decide if Kal was truly her closest friend. Grant looked at her out of the corner of his eye, noticing the sweet dough syrup that stained the front of her dress. Her governess won’t be pleased.
Ralsair nodded in resolution. “He’s my dearest friend.”
“Congratulations!” he exclaimed, clapping and laughing. “Would you like me to make you a cake?”
Ralsair rolled her eyes in such a spectacular fashion, he was surprised they remained in her head. “You don’t know how to bake.”
“For you, my dear sister, I could learn.”
Ralsair laughed loudly and with her whole heart, bringing a grin to Grant’s face.
The Sinero estate, a stone manor at the end of the main village, stood at the end of the road. The gates were closed, and a guard stood sentry in front of them. Flowers bloomed in the pristine lawn and along a wall topped with iron rails. The guard watched as Ralsair and Grantham approached, his eyes scanning the area behind them
“At ease,” Grant teased the older man. “It’s only us.”
He didn’t laugh or move a muscle, except to open the gate to let them through. Grant and Ralsair continued up the pathway and climbed the stairs to let themselves into the manor. The light stone walls were lined with torches and silver framed portraits of past Sineros, dating back hundreds and hundreds of years. Lush cobalt blue rugs covered the floors, and servants bustled through the rooms, completing their daily tasks. Guards stood at their posts, armed and protected by swords and breastplates made of Opal Stone, a white stone that glittered when the sun caught it, was sharper than steel, and unbreakable.
“Where do you think Lonis is?” Ralsair asked.
“The armory. That’s where he always is.”
Ralsair followed behind her brother as he led her through the halls and down the stone steps to where the servants’ quarters and the armory were in the underbelly of the estate.
The door to the armory was ajar, a scraping sound coming from within. Grant pushed the door open, revealing the swords, arrows, and daggers that lined the walls. The steel of each weapon reflected light from the dim oil lamps around the room. Lonis didn’t look up as the siblings entered. He sat on the stone floor, dressed in a simple Oszerakian tunic and vest, the color faded from navy to a light blue. One of his legs pulled up, and his elbow rested on the brown fabric of his trousers as he worked a blade over the whetstone.
“Is that my dagger?” Grant asked, walking towards him. He slid to the floor in front of Lonis, watching his friend’s long fingers work the steel blade of his grandfather’s dagger over the stone.
His father had given it to him after his mother’s death, along with a letter she had written only weeks before she passed. Grant held both items close. He usually kept the letter tucked into a pocket and the dagger at his belt. He had left the dagger that morning out of fear that someone would nab it in the busy market.
He had missed the dagger’s weight at his hip, but had taken the letter in his pocket. He had read it so many times over the years the parchment had yellow and frayed. He had memorized the words and repeated them to himself whenever he needed to feel close to his mother.
My sweet one,
In all my years I had not known what love was until I laid eyes upon you, Mik and Ral. You had been a difficult birth--nearly killed me as you clawed your way out into the world, but I would have died happily knowing that you survived. Keep that tenacious spirit, my sweet one, it is the only thing that is going to get you through this life.
Never forget who you are and where you come from. You are a Sinero. Our family motto is Strong will. Strong mind. Strong heart. Follow the Sinero motto, and you will survive anything.
All my love,
Ma
“Don’t you have anything better to do than hang out in here? You turned down my invitation to come with us to the market for this,” Grant huffed. “You’re becoming a recluse, Lonnie.”
“I went to the sparring field.” Lonis had eyes the color of honey candy and a bump on his nose from when he had broken it four years prior. His inky black hair curled away from his angular face, showcasing his sharp cheekbones. His warm tawny skin was darker than usual since he spent most of his days training in the summer sun. He smiled at Grant, revealing a row of slightly crooked teeth. “You’ve been letting it get dull, Sin.”
Grantham smiled, as he always did, at the old nickname Lonis had given to him when they were children.
“We got you honey candy!” Ralsair exclaimed, pulling the bag from her brother’s hands and thrusting it at Lonis.
Lonis withdrew his intense gaze from Grant and turned towards her. He dropped the stone and dagger to his lap, took the bag from Ralsair and popped a large piece of candy into his mouth. “Mmm. Thank you, Ral.”
She beamed and ran from the room, calling, “You’re welcome!” as she went.
Grant laughed and shuffled to settle in next to Lonis with his back against the stone wall. “I think my sister is sweet on you.”
Lonis rolled his eyes at his friend’s statement and went back to sharpening Grant’s blade. “Are you going to the festival in Palamar tomorrow?”
“I am. I’m taking the train at eleven. And I’m disappointed you’re not coming with me,” Grant added, nudging Lonis with his elbow. “The festivals are fun, Lonnie. There will be dancing and singing. Food--you love food.” Grant sighed wistfully. He had a soft spot for the colorful city.
“Your disappointment is noted,” Lonis replied with a small smile. “I have to train.”
“You’re always training lately. You never have time to have fun with me anymore. When is the last time you left the armory or the sparring field?”
Lonis made a noise in his throat, but otherwise ignored Grant’s whining.
Grant leaned his head against the wall and sighed as they sat in companionable silence. The sound of Lonis working the dagger over the stone lulled him to a near sleep.
“Your father got a letter today.” The shift in Lonis' mood was as swift as a rushing river. The room felt heavy and sticky against Grant’s skin with tension when moments before it had been light as air.
“And? My father gets a lot of letters.”
“The King is dead.” His voice did nothing to ripple the silence of the room.
“Hm,” Grant replied and looked over at him. He had met the King once. He had been kind, but had not made a lasting impression on Grant. He supposed he should be sadder about the death of his king, but despite the pang in his gut about the upcoming invitations to the Trials, Grant felt nothing more than a small sadness for a life lost.
“Are you going to enter the Trials?” Lonis asked, his voice smaller than before, just a breath above a whisper.
“I don’t know. I have never really thought about it.”
Lonis' returning silence drove Grant mad. Lonis was reticent by nature, but Grant couldn’t handle his friend’s tense brooding. He itched to bring a smile to Lonis' face.
“Do you want me to enter?”
Lonis shrugged.
“Well, you’re a lot of help.” Grant leaned back again, and they fell into silence again.
“Your birthday is coming soon.” Lonis shifted beside him,
his arm brushing against Grant’s. “You’re going to be twenty-three.”
“And you’ll be twenty-four three weeks later. So what?” Grant was still annoyed they were talking about such heavy topics. He cracked an eyelid to look at his friend, seeing nothing but Lonis' profile, his raven hair falling in his eyes.
“It’s different,” he said carefully. Grant shifted against the wall and cleared his throat. Lonis wouldn’t look him in the eye as he continued, “When you are in your twenties you are expected to have a wife--”
“I don’t want a wife.”
Lonis ignored him. “--but you haven’t been with anyone since Milden.” Grant frowned at the mention of his former lover. “Your father is already grooming you to take over as Lord, or possibly king if you decide to enter the Trials. I’m supposed to join the Guard under my father’s command. I’m going to become a soldier.”
Grant’s heart stopped. He had always known that this was expected of them, but the deep emotion in Lonis' voice filled Grant with dread. “You’re saying this like it’s going to be the end of our lives, Lonnie.”
“It could be, and I--” He shook his head. “Things are going to change, Sin.”
Grant blew out a breath that did nothing to release his tension. “You remember when we were children and nothing was expected of us?”
Lonis' chuckle held no humor. “I remember.”
“I want to go back to that.”
Ikar’s boots slapped against the snow eroded stones of the Alithane streets. He tucked his face into the shoulder of his heavy cloak to keep his cheeks from blistering due to the evening winds. A lantern swung from his gloved hand, bathing the near dark stones in yellow light. At least it’s not winter. In the colder months the sun rarely shone on Alithane, and the wind pricked against the skin, icy and sharp, like shards of glass.
Someone shouted his name from somewhere to the left. He raised his hand in a half-hearted wave as the wind blew too strong to greet anyone properly, and even if it didn’t, the person would have still gotten the same greeting.