Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

  “Ah, it is a remedy, but far more powerful than any tonic. It will dampen your headaches, take away pain, relax your body, open your mind…”

  “All those things?” She tightened her fingers around the pouch protectively.

  Saffra laughed. “Well, not all at once. Somehow Aegan knows what ails you most. When you consume it, it selects its target.”

  She grabbed a candle and held it close to the bag’s contents to have a better look. The petals were dried and looked like loose-leaf tea. Was she supposed to eat it straight?

  “No, no! Gods above!” Saffra laughed kindly. “Take a pinch, only a pinch,” she warned, “and grind it between your fingers. Then sprinkle it into your drink.” She rose and took Claire’s cup from the table, still full of water, and reached into the pouch doing just as she advised. Then she handed the cup over. The Aegan dust was glowing blue and small bits of blue bubbles rose to the surface creating snakes of smoke.

  “Why blue?” She’d seen blue like this before.

  “Why? Because blue is the color of magic, my dear Claire.”

  “I wish I could do magic,” she whispered. She looked back into the cup. “But it’s all gone now,” she cried. “All the pieces have disappeared.”

  “Of course they did.” Saffra was enjoying her shock. “The magic I embossed within the substance allows it to dissolve in any liquid. One of my finer touches I might add.”

  “Wow,” she breathed.

  “Just a small pouch of Aegan costs a fortune, ten gold dragons, sometimes more,” Saffra smugly added. “I make plenty of money in my position, but I also enjoy selling my wares when I can. Whatever profits I make, I donate to the orphanages.”

  “Could you be more perfect?” she muttered, wholly impressed as she swirled around the contents she was about to drink. She took a big gulp of the Aegan water, then another, and then she finished the whole cup. “It tastes like peppermint.” Her voice was dreamy as the magic took effect. “Like Christmas.”

  Saffra snickered. “It is wonderful, is it not?”

  Thanking her profusely, she ushered the Seer from her room. Before Saffra departed, she cautioned that Aegan should not be used in excess, and only when needed, for it could be addictive. Claire understood very well that this was Dragonwall’s form of a narcotic. She had no intention of abusing it.

  For the first time in weeks, her headache disappeared entirely. The next day, she attacked her duties with new fervor. Desaree noticed immediately. “I am overjoyed by this change in you, Claire! What has prompted your renewed vigor? The Verekblot, perhaps?”

  “The Verek-what?” It was a strange word, difficult to pronounce as it rolled off her tongue. She stopped her sweeping to look at Desaree.

  “The Verekblot!” Desaree exclaimed before her face fell. “Oh, you did not know,” she whispered, then nervously bit at the skin on her lower lip. “I am so sorry. Please do not be angry with me.”

  “Angry with you for what?” She set her broom down and plopped down upon a chair.

  “Well, you have been so indisposed as of late, that I forgot to tell you. Verekblot is taking place tonight.”

  She smiled at her dear friend. “Firstly, Desaree, I cannot be angry with you. I’m in too good of a mood. Besides, you’re the best thing that has happened to me in this place. Secondly, I don’t even know what Verekblot is.”

  “Oh, of course you don’t!” Desaree cried as if realizing for the first time that Claire was an outsider. “Verekblot is a feast to honor the god of blessings. It is a commoner’s celebration.” She waved her hand to dismiss the triviality of that statement. “We hope to earn favor with Verek so that the fortunes of those less fortunate might one day improve.”

  Eager to know more, she pestered Desaree for the rest of the day until she knew all there was to know about the god of blessing. It turned out that Verek was responsible for judging a person’s actions. If that person did well, they would be rewarded; if they acted poorly, they would be punished. Verek brought about changes in the lives of others, whether good or bad. While the nobles recognized and worshiped Verek, Verekblot wasn’t generally celebrated amongst their ranks. Those of higher birth were already plenty fortunate, what did they care for others beneath them?

  “Few besides commoners care for commoners,” Desaree added.

  The feast was set to begin later than their usual evening meal. This would allow the servants time to dress up. “We always wear our finest garments for Verekblot,” Desaree said. “You can borrow one of my gowns. The one Tess gave you is deplorable.” Desaree crinkled her nose in disgust then whispered, “Do not tell Tess I said that.”

  The cooks were busier than usual. They were preparing special dishes not meant for the nobles. “I thought we would have leftovers for dinner like we always do,” she mentioned to Desaree, dishing gravy from a pot.

  “No, indeed! That is another thing I forgot to tell you.” Desaree’s eyes were wide with delight. “We get a feast of our own during Verekblot.”

  “You mean all this is—is ours?” She eyed succulent dishes sitting off to the side of the cookery. Carved turkey and ham dripping in juices, tureens of mashed potatoes sprinkled with fresh rosemary, honey glazed carrots with thyme in delicate slices, and giant loaves of brown oat bread with bowls of fresh honey, all sat steaming over little fires.

  “Of course, it is! All ours!”

  “But, how? Who paid for all this?” It was a fortune’s worth of food.

  “Why, the king of course!”

  Her jaw dropped. “The king?”

  Desaree smiled. “The king always pulls from his private coffers for Verekblot, just as he does for the other commoner celebrations. He does it so that we servants might dine in splendor. Is he not generous? Wait until you see how he has decorated our dining room.”

  She refused to believe it. The king—decorating? “Don’t you mean he sent servants to decorate for him?”

  Desaree smiled, shaking her head. “No. I saw him in the servants’ dining room not but three hours past, with Lord Reyr and a few others. Oh, wait until you see it! But that is for later. Come!” Desaree grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the cookery. She still didn’t believe Desaree, but she left without protesting. Their duties were finished for the evening, and Desaree was eager to prepare. She too was brimming with anticipation.

  After Desaree finished with herself, she stopped by Claire’s to help her get ready. Claire couldn’t stop looking at her. Desaree’s thick chocolaty hair was done in a fancy braid down her back with little white flowers woven into the strands. It was positively divine. Her gown was pretty too, a pleasant lavender color with a corset that accentuated her breasts. It was such a difference to how she usually looked.

  “You’re beautiful, Desaree,” she sighed. Desaree smiled brightly before handing her a gown.

  This one was varying shades of crimson and gold, with little pink flowers embroidered across the corset. It was simple like Desaree’s, nothing like the gowns noble women wore, but so much better than the unshapely kirtles.

  Better still, the gown was adjustable. Ties were hidden everywhere to remove the sleeves, separate the skirts, and hold the petticoats beneath. “You pull the ties here and here,” Desaree explained, “if you want it tighter. And these ties will adjust the length—and these the arms.” It was quite genius, allowing women of different sizes to fit within the same dress.

  After dressing, Desaree offered to do her hair, pinning it back with gold pins until most of it was trussed atop her head. Little wisps hung about her face. “Look how stunning you are!” Desaree cried, picking up a small polished looking glass.

  She was nearly unrecognizable. There were her green eyes staring back—those she knew. But her face was leaner than before, accentuating her cheekbones. It was her hair that truly stole the show. “I don’t think I’ve felt this pretty in a long time,” she sighed, happy with Desaree’s job. “Have you always been good with hair?”

  Desaree blushed. �
��My mother taught me because we had hoped…Well, never mind. We are already late.”

  They raced through the corridors, hand in hand, giggling from exertion while their slippers pattered on the stone and their skirts swished about their ankles. Too suddenly, a shadowed figure appeared at the end of the corridor. Desaree reacted first, pulling her to an abrupt stop. Her skin began to crawl. Coming towards them with long hurried strides was the king of Dragonwall, unaccompanied.

  Hatred manifested as anger, heat spread to her cheeks, fists clenched together until nails bit into her skin. What did he want? This was the servants’ wing, where kings did not go, a place where she could feel safe from him. Instead, he intruded.

  Desaree, being all properness, fell to one knee muttering, “Your Grace,” with a downturned face. She herself stood frozen, unable to move from both the shock and the fearful clawing sensation on her insides.

  Take control of yourself before your emotions take control of you!

  It was rare for Cyrus to scold her with such a tone, but his biting remark was needed. Smoothing the scowl from her face, she put on a blank expression and gave a subtle but graceful curtsey, thanks to Desaree’s training. “Your Grace,” she said, greeting him with an overly sweet voice. Meanwhile, Desaree had not yet risen because she had not been invited to. That was the correct way servitors were to greet their king. But Talon was not her king.

  “Good evening, Claire, Desaree.” He spoke, nodding at each of them. His voice was very controlled, very professional. She was taken aback that he knew Desaree’s name. He eyed them curiously, taking in their appearances, looking mostly at her gown as he waited for her to speak. While he waited, he stood with ease, one hand placed upon the hilt of his sword, the other at his side. He held something in his fist, but she couldn’t tell what.

  She ground her teeth together, trying to hide her emotions, but her uncontrollable tongue never missed an opportunity. “To what do we owe the singular pleasure of your appearance, Your Grace? Surely you must be lost. This is the servants’ wing, but we will happily point you in the correct direction.”

  “I know exactly where I am,” he drawled. Her words successfully broke through his impassive expression, earning a glare. “I thought you would be resting.”

  “Resting? Whatever for?”

  “For your headaches.” Her cattish manner of speaking was not lost on him. “And why is it that no one told me of these episodes before?”

  “Oh dear,” she professed sarcastically, feigning surprise over his concern. She never used the word dear. Then again she never talked old fashioned, either. But she was playing a game, the game of revenge, the game of hatred. In this game, politeness was her shield. “I suppose I ought to take better care of myself. I can hardly bear the thought of worrying you, Your Grace. But you see, tonight is the Verekblot. I am a servant, so it is well within my rights to celebrate, and I intend to.” Then she paused for emphasis. “I do however thank you for your concern.”

  His expression darkened further. “Fine. If you insist on go—”

  “Have you something for me?” she asked all too nicely, looking down at the pouch clenched in his fist. “And Desaree!” she whispered insistently. “For God’s sake, stand up!”

  The king wasn’t used to being interrupted. He ignored her aside to Desaree as the poor woman stood, instead taking a moment to recover. “I—yes. I brought this for your headaches. It is difficult to come by.” He held it out to her, but she made no move to take it. How dare he show concern for her after what he put her through. He had no right!

  “How very kind of you, Your Grace. What is it?” She eyed it suspiciously, already guessing the contents. He dropped his arm.

  “It is a medicine called Aegan. Lady Saffra makes it better than anyone.”

  “Oh! Aegan! Thank you, Your Grace. But I already have plenty.”

  His eyebrows knitted together. He was clearly peeved and perplexed. How could she have Aegan when it was so rare? She could see him turning the question over in his mind. “Did Reyr give it to you?” he asked at last.

  “No, no. The kind Lady Saffra herself.” She regretted her words immediately, hoping the king would not be suspicious of their acquaintance.

  “Lady—Lady Saffra?” His muscles tightened perceptively as he clenched his arms against his body. “How is it that you know her, pray tell?”

  “Oh, I do not.” She waved a hand nonchalantly. “She merely heard of my ailments and kindly stopped by the other night to tend to me.”

  “Gods above! Does everyone know of your suffering before I? I had to hear about it from Reyr a short while ago, and it seems even he was late in divulging the information.”

  She feigned a gasp. “How unfortunate.”

  “Indeed. Well, clearly you have no need of me.” He pocketed the pouch, affronted. What didn’t make sense was his sudden interest in her health. It was both unexpected and unnecessary, not to mention weird. “And next time, Claire, tell me if you suffer. I do not appreciate being left out.”

  Instead of rolling her eyes, she clenched her fist. “Of course, Your Grace. I will surely inform you. Now, I do not wish to take any more of your time. It is too precious. We are late as it is, so we must be going.”

  “Of course, do enjoy yourselves.” He stepped aside, letting them pass. Grabbing Desaree’s hand, she rushed away. Neither of them said a word until they were good and far from the corridor. Then they burst into a fit of laughter.

  “Bless the Gods, Claire. You are too brave! Never in my life…” Desaree gasped, trying to breathe. “The way you spoke to him. Gods! He is riled indeed and will not soon forget!” They both burst into more fits of giggles.

  They arrived at the dining room just in time. Others were filing in ahead of them, everyone dressed better than she would have guessed. When it was their turn to enter, she sucked in a deep breath of astonishment. The room was transformed, gloriously transformed. “It’s unrecognizable,” she gasped.

  The tables were there, but everything else was different. All along the whitewashed celling, garlands were draped and hung, dangling down over the tables, attaching to the walls. It reminded her of the Gable Forest. Fresh flowers were woven through the leaves, and little glowing lights twinkled within the depths of the thick strands. Petals of different colors covered the tables and floor. It smelled divine.

  “Glows,” Desaree whispered, pointing at the little lights. “It takes magic to create them, lots of magic. I bet the king did them himself,” she supposed. Claire did not want to think about the king, or that he could do anything nice for anyone besides himself. She pushed the thoughts from her mind, intent on having a good time.

  Dinner was exuberant. The great platters she’d seen earlier were brought forth and passed around. It was delicious beyond imagining. She went back for thirds before reaching a near catatonic state.

  “Save some room for dessert!” Desaree warned.

  “Dessert? Desaree, I need you to loosen my corset,” she breathed, feeling a little faint. She reached for the hidden strings on her skirt to free her waistband.

  “I will not loosen anything! You will get fat if I allow you to eat yourself silly. Besides, you can dance it off shortly to make room! They will serve the sweets after we get started.” She’d forgotten about the dancing. How did people in Dragonwall dance?

  As if on cue, several musicians entered the room. They were dressed well, better than the servants who wore their finest attire. “The king’s own minstrels,” Desaree all but squealed, clapping her hands together. She and Sarah jumped to their feet along with everyone else. The musicians set up on the far side of the dining room, pulling out their instruments. She noticed they weren’t so different than what she might expect. Old fashioned to be sure, but they sounded lovely as a tune was struck.

  The buzzing voices magnified along with the commotion as tables and benches were pushed aside. People began lining up to face each other in two long lines.

  “Desaree,” she g
asped, grabbing the woman’s hand. “I don’t know how to dance!” Well, she knew how to dance, but not how to dance the way they might in Dragonwall, which she suspected wouldn’t be the same.

  “Oh, you will catch on fine!” Desaree laughed, leading her to a spot. “Here, be my partner for the first round. Follow my lead.”

  Seeing that they were assembled, the musicians fell quiet for a moment. A drum was struck, beating out a tune before the other instruments joined in. At the same moment, the room turned to an excited frenzy as everyone began the dance. She couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, doing her best to copy Desaree’s moves. Others laughed too, smiling with exhilaration.

  The dance was similar to a line dance, with lots of skipping and hopping. They often switched places until she grew dizzy. Many in the crowded room shouted and whooped in unison when this happened, excited to place themselves in front of new partners. It was loud and rambunctious. When the song ended, she had to double over to breathe.

  Desaree and Sarah were clinging to each other in fits of laughter, their faces glowing with happiness. Everyone clapped loudly, shouting out requests for the next dance songs of choice. She cleared off to the side of the room, hoping to regain her breath.

  Just as she did, Thomas the baker came over and requested a dance. “It would be a true honor, miss Claire. The ladies say I’m a fine partner!”

  How could she refuse the little old man? She eagerly grabbed his hand as he led her to the floor again. The next song was much like the last, with lots of drum beating and hornpipes. She remembered the sound of the hornpipes from the time she visited the Flying Pig. There was a bagpipe too; she loved bagpipes.

  As promised, Thomas was a good partner. For being so old, he never missed a step. His lightness of foot was unexpected, but that only made the dance more fun.

  After a few, each with different partners, her face hurt from smiling. She expected the dances to be more like those in ballrooms, waltzes and such. But they were far from it, making the affair a rowdy one. She mentioned this to Desaree.