by Emily Deady
He took the needle. It felt alive, almost as though it was vibrating with the lightest hum.
“Do you feel it?” she asked.
“I . . . I think so.”
“I think it’s responding to the tapestry somehow.”
“How do you mean?”
She gently pushed his hand towards the tapestry. As it got closer, the hum felt stronger.
Her fingers were cold on the back of his hand. He set his other hand on top of hers. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head, shyly pulling her hand away. The rough calluses on her fingertips lightly scratched the back of his hand as she did so. He set the needle down and recaptured her hand in both of his own, flipping it over to examine it. Her hand was so small, like the rest of her. He ran his thumb around the palm of her hand. The area at the base of her fingers was rough and calloused, as were some of her fingertips. “You don’t belong here,” he said under his breath.
She quickly pulled her hand away. “Excuse me?” Hurt lined her face.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant. You don’t belong here as a servant. You deserve so much better than this.” He held out his hand, hoping she would place her own in it. “You are kind and skilled and intelligent, and yet you are scrubbing floors and polishing staircases. Why aren’t you a seamstress?”
“It’s not that simple, my Lord.” She was looking at the ground, her face hidden from him.
“Please.” His chest tightened with the emotion of all that he wanted for her. He reached out and touched the side of her face, ever so gently. “Please call me Onric.”
She tilted her face up towards him, her eyes soft and her mouth relaxed. He kept his fingers on her cheek, slowly wrapping an errant curl behind her ear.
Despite the slowness of his movement, his heart was pounding. He so desperately wanted her respect, not her deference. He wanted her to reach down and bring him up to her level. She was far too perfect. He wanted her to see him.
He kept his eyes glued to his hand on her cheek, suddenly too shy to look her directly in the eye. He was simply asking her to call him by his name, but it was the most personal thing he had ever asked of anyone. Perhaps, he realized, he knew she could already see him. But after seeing him, he wanted her to accept him. As he finished wrapping the hair behind her ear, he could think of no good reason to keep his hand on her face. So, he reluctantly dropped it to his side.
Finally, his eyes, with nothing else to focus on, returned to her face. She was looking at him in her quiet way, taking him in. Seeing him. She gazed into his left eye and then switched, looking into his right.
Her arched lips curled into a smile. “Onric.”
He let out a long breath that seemed to carry the tension out of his whole body. His hands found hers, and he held them tightly as he leaned his forehead down to touch hers. “Thank you,” he breathed.
He brought her hands up to his mouth and pressed his lips to them. She had closed her eyes, but the smile was still on her face. He wanted so badly to twist his head down and capture her lips with his own, but something held him back. Even if she responded favorably, he needed her to know that she was the one who held all the power. He may be a prince, but he held her in higher esteem than he would hold a queen.
Chapter 18
Ashlin breathed in his warm, ambrosial scent. She had never noticed how crisp he smelled, as though he had just come in from a walk through the forest. She inhaled again, eyes closed as his forehead rested against hers. She felt a giggle rise in her throat.
“What?” he asked.
“I was just realizing that I’ve always associated you with the smell of horse . . .”
“What?!”
“I’ve never been this close to you without Blossom before,” she explained.
She felt a responding laughter bubble up in his chest.
“Do you like it?” He chuckled.
“Do I like Blossom’s smell?” She tried to twist her head back to see his face, but he dropped her hands and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her in place.
“No,” he whispered. “Do you like being this close to me?”
She closed her eyes again, feeling the warmth of his body surround her. She nodded. “I think so.”
“I like it.” He grunted possessively and kissed the top of her head.
Her mind became fuzzy at the feeling of his soft lips and firm jaw against her head. The honest directness in his words melted her. “I want to stay right here forever,” she whispered. Her hands rested hesitantly on his chest, and she wondered what it would feel like to lift them around his shoulders instead, slip her hands around the back of his neck and gaze into his eyes. Maybe even stand on tiptoe to bring her face closer to his . . .
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she smiled. She did like being close to him. Just being near him made her calm the constant worries that flowed through her mind. She appreciated his gentle actions and comical words. His emotions were always clear and easy to understand. Even his expression was so open and honest that she never had to guess what he was thinking or feeling. She held her breath, wanting this moment to last forever.
“You went rigid. Is something wrong?” His question broke through her thoughts.
“I’m afraid that if I move, I’ll melt. Like butter,” she replied, her blushing face still buried in his chest.
“I won’t let you melt.” He leaned away just the slightest bit, positioning his head so he could see her better.
She leaned back to look up at him, keeping her arms around him. “I already have,” she whispered.
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips.
She opened them slightly, finding it difficult to breathe. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to kiss her?
The muscles in his jaw tensed. He released her from the hug and quickly moved his hands to hold her face, then dropped a quick kiss on her forehead before letting her go completely.
She swallowed, feeling lightheaded and a little disappointed. She did want to know what it would be like to kiss him.
He had turned slightly to face the tapestry. She did the same while trying to steady her breath. They were standing side by side. The little patch of blue sky that she had started to sew in the midst of the destroyed panel was bright and clear. The large, black needle lay next to it where they had left it.
“It looks like we have found some magic.” His voice was calm and collected, as though he were stating an everyday fact. But while he spoke, he reached out and brushed the back of her hand.
She slipped her hand into his.
Chapter 19
Onric swung his sword at the wooden shield. The small round disc had been attached to a post in the inner courtyard of the palace. The shield shuddered under his attack, but it did not break or fall. He swung again. His steel blade made contact with the center of the shield, and the impact rattled in his bones. The shield shook on its foundation, wooden slabs straining against the iron bands that held it together.
“It’s a strong shield, but I’m not sure how many blows it can take,” Onric said, turning to face his audience in the courtyard. “The wood is already beginning to flex under the pressure.”
King Frederich, Lord Munney, and a number of the king’s other advisors were watching him closely.
“This is just a basic shield.” Lord Munney stepped forward, speaking to the whole group. “One that could be created at any smithy in Chendas or here in Iseldis, I’m sure. A number of blows such as you just saw from the young prince would indeed shatter the wood.”
Onric rested the tip of his sword on the ground to ease the weight on his shoulder. From where he was standing at the center of the activity, he could clearly see the faces of Iseldis’s advisors as they listened to Lord Munney. Most of these men were seasoned warriors who had spent their lives patrolling the borders of their kingdom before serving the king in a more passive capacity. Telling these particular men about the capabilities of a basic wooden shield was like t
elling an adult how to use a spoon. A few of the advisors had raised their eyebrows at Lord Munney’s explanation, but most of them were polite enough to listen attentively to the Council member from Chendas.
“Now, Your Highness,” Lord Munney continued, “if you would turn your attention to the second shield.”
An identical shield had been firmly attached to another post. Onric stepped towards it as the Council advisor continued to speak.
“This second shield, as I have already mentioned, arrived yesterday from the Council examiners. It has been spelled with an extra defense enchantment. This is the only one they have shared yet, and Iseldis is the only kingdom to receive one.”
Onric did not look back at the men in the courtyard to see their reactions. If Lord Munney was trying to flatter them all, he had chosen the wrong words. The eastern shores of Iseldis would be the first place the Majis would land upon. Everyone knew that Iseldis was the first line of defense. It would be folly for the examiners to send their first spelled item to western Etrar or northern Allyss. It would take more than flattery to impress the men on his father’s council. Onric himself had been trained by these men, sparring against them both as a child with a wooden sword and as a young man learning the intricacies of combat.
A small movement at the edge of the courtyard caught his attention. Ashlin was walking along the back wall, likely headed for the eastern tower to continue working on the tapestry. Her quiet movements had not been noticed by anyone else, and Onric was impressed that she could blend so well into the background. He caught her eye for a brief moment, and she smiled in response. Though at the same time, her raised eyebrows asked him what was going on. He gave her a small nod, encouraging her to stop and watch. As one of the only other people in the kingdom who had firsthand experience with a magical item, she had every right to be present at this particular event.
She seemed to have picked up on his meaning as she remained in the shadow of the door to the castle ruins, stopping to watch at his wordless invitation.
“Prince Onric, if you would?” Lord Munney had finally stopped talking and turned toward Onric.
Bringing his attention back to the matter at hand, Onric reached out and felt the spelled shield before he swung at it. It was firmly attached to the post behind it, and the smooth slabs of wood were compressed together tightly by three iron bands. He had told no one yet about the discovery of the needle working magic on the tapestry. He planned to tell his parents, but only once Ashlin had finished restoring at least one of the damaged panels. He knew his father would feel responsible for breaking one of the most important laws that united the five kingdoms, even though he had given his veiled permission for Onric to research the magic. So Onric was waiting to share their discovery until the needle had uncovered more valuable information.
But, having seen and felt the magic of the needle firsthand, he wanted to inspect the shield and see if he could sense the enchantment that had been placed upon it. His hand ran over the surface of the round disc. The wood was firmly dense, and the iron was icy cold. But that was no surprise, as it was mid-afternoon and the ground was still covered in a light layer of frost. Other than the expected sensations, he felt nothing else. He could not detect that hum of energy the needle had exhibited.
Even if he did not particularly care for Lord Munney, Onric wanted to believe this spelled shield would be a powerful tool for them. He reminded himself that the needle only hummed when it was in use, so his lack of sensing the magic did not necessarily mean that none was present.
He took half a step backward and raised his sword again, feeling the stable ground beneath his feet as he sank into his skeleton, his body firm and flexible as he had been trained. He was keenly aware that the very men who had taught him this were watching him now. He swung at the shield. Once again, his sword met the center of the small round disc in a resounding smack. He felt the impact resonate through his body from his hands on the hilt to his feet on the ground. The shield itself remained firmly in place.
Those assembled in the courtyard remained silent as they watched. A single blow, no matter how well delivered, would not destroy even the regular shield. Onric took a moment to recollect his breath and relax the muscles in his arm and shoulder as he prepared to raise the sword for a second strike.
He raised the sword again, gauged his attack, and struck the shield. It held firm.
This second blow brought a light murmur from the advisors. Onric glanced quickly at Ashlin, who smiled at him. The ache in his arm disappeared.
“As you can see,” Lord Munney said, not wasting a moment to make the appropriate impression, “this spelled shield is already stronger than its counterpart. Take another strike, Your Highness.”
Before Onric could reset his stance, the courtyard door opened again, this time banging loudly as his brother Ian strolled confidently through. He was still wearing his dark traveling clothes, and he pulled his leather riding gloves from his hand. Having likely just returned from the countryside training, he stopped short at the unusual gathering in the courtyard.
Onric grinned his welcome as the rest of the men turned to see who had entered.
“Ian, welcome back,” King Frederich said with a warm smile. “Anything to report?”
“No, Father. The training went quite as planned. You can be proud of our men,” Ian responded. “But what is going on here?”
Lord Munney bowed, seemingly eager to explain the arrival of the spelled shield for the third time that morning. “Prince Ian, I received a most welcome messenger from the Council in Chendas yesterday, and he brought with him a . . .”
“Wait,” King Frederich cut in, “let Ian take a swing at both shields and see if he can discern which is spelled.”
“Spelled?” Ian glanced at Onric, concern and accusation in his eyes.
“The examiners have sent us an enchanted shield,” Onric explained defensively. The last time he and Ian had spoken of a spelled item was when they had argued over the needle.
“Let’s give it a go, then,” one of Iseldis’s advisors called out. “See if this shield is as protective as we hope.”
“Give it a swing, Ian,” King Frederich encouraged.
Ian stepped forward, pulling his sword from the scabbard at his waist. It was not an item he usually carried on his person, but he obviously had not had a chance to change since arriving back at the palace.
Onric stepped aside to give his brother room in front of the two shields.
In a single smooth motion, Ian lifted his sword and swung at the normal shield. The wood split, breaking into multiple sections and sliding free of the iron ring that held it together.
The assembled men nodded, as though they had expected that, but they did not say anything.
“I surely hope that shield was not the spelled one,” Ian said, taking a step closer to the second shield.
Onric noted with jealousy how his older brother did not pause when he lifted his sword to take aim. His feet remained rooted to the ground, and he made the motion with ease. Ian had always bested him when they had scuffled as boys. Onric had once hoped that when they were both the same size, he would be able to beat his older brother, but Ian had always remained the stronger of the two.
Ian swung at the spelled shield. His sword hit it with a staggering force that echoed throughout the courtyard.
The spelled shield split down the center and fell apart, exactly as the regular shield had.
A collective gasp of shock went through the assembly.
Ian turned back to face them. “I take it that was the spelled shield, then?” He sheathed his sword.
Onric glanced at Ashlin. Her brows were knitted, concern etched on her face.
“It should have withstood that force,” Lord Munney sputtered, his face growing red. “They have been working on this enchantment for years, and they said it was ready! You must be exceptionally strong, Prince Ian, to have shattered it so quickly.”
At any other time, Onric would h
ave laughed at the councilor’s continued attempts to flatter the crown prince. But at the moment, he could not stop thinking about the fact that he, Onric, had struck both shields multiple times before Ian had taken a swing. That type of compact wooden shield was not meant to withstand constant attack. If he had taken another swing at either shield, they likely would have still shattered. But Ian had stepped in and was now getting all the attention.
Onric glanced back towards the side door. Ashlin was still watching, and for the first time, he was frustrated that she was there. It was bad enough that Ian had to outdo him in front of their father and the most important men in the kingdom, but now Ashlin too had seen Ian hailed as the better of the two.
“Exceptionally strong, indeed,” Lord Munney was still speaking.
“Did they explain how their enchantment worked?” Onric cut in. “What did they do to the shield and how was it supposed to be better?”
“Ah, yes.” Still stammering, Lord Munney turned back to Onric. “They sent along a detailed explanation with the messenger, but it is quite shocking.” He glanced around, ensuring that he had everyone’s attention before he continued. “The source of their power comes from the seeds of chaos. It requires a dark gathering of the precursor of evil. The magic can only be accessed and channeled in the wake of pain, or it can be preempted by inflicting pain unjustly upon someone in order to create the proper environment for discord.”
“What are you getting at?” Onric asked.
“It is most probable that this experiment failed because they inflicted pain upon someone, likely a prisoner, but their victim did not appropriately take that pain and sow it into chaos. Hence the efficacy of the magic on this particular shield did not take full effect.”
Onric’s stomach turned at the thought that the examiners were torturing prisoners in order to create the magic. While he had expected nothing less from the stories he’d heard of the Majis, it was still sobering to hear. Onric tried to apply this nebulous information to a practical scenario. “So, it would be more appropriate to stop any magical attacks by uniting in harmony, person to person.”