by Aaron Crash
Now he understood the idea of homesickness. He would give anything to be back around the fire with his battle brothers as he repaired this ridiculous garment.
Memories flooded him. When Grandmother Rabbit demanded he learn how to sew, he had scoffed at her. At ten seasons old, he only saw worth in sharpening his mind and teaching his muscles to wield an ax. He tolerated archery, for hunting and such, though a real warrior killed his enemy with the stink of their fear in his nose.
Sewing? He’d find some woman to do it for him.
Then Grandfather Bear pulled him aside. “Do you like to ask for help?” the old man had asked.
“No, I like to do things myself,” Ymir had replied.
His grandfather didn’t say another word. Ymir had put it together himself. The more self-reliant he could be, the better. He never imagined a day, however, when he wouldn’t have the clan around him. Still, when other boys whined for help, he’d smile smugly and do it himself. He knew how to sew, to cook, and to do any number of repairs.
Losing his grandparents, one after the other, had darkened his heart like nothing else. Not even losing his sister was as bad, though his mother’s distance had come close. In the darkness of his rage, he picked meaningless fights with his battle brothers until the sun finally found him again. He kept memories of his grandparents close because no one was truly dead if their descendants remembered them. Every Sunday, he lit his candle and chanted the names of his dead ancestors.
He felt their spirit around him now. It lessened his diseased thinking a bit. Nonetheless, his heart still ached.
He tied off the final stitch and then stood, shaking out the robe. He liked how rough it looked, a good mixture of his people and this fucking school. He could feel himself being drawn into the magic of the place. He didn’t like it. He was a clansman, and sorcery was for demons, ghosts, and witches—everything bad in the world.
He put on the robe, and while the garment was still tight on his shoulders and his arms, the seams didn’t complain when he crossed his arms. He’d fix the sleeves eventually.
Hunger growled in his belly. He hoped Jennybelle Josen realized she wasn’t feeding a southerner. He’d need meat, a lot of it, to quiet his pangs. Before he left his cell, he threaded his belt through the sheath of his hand ax. He wasn’t about to enter the Swamp Coast witch’s apartment unarmed. He went next door and knocked on Lillee’s cell.
She cranked open the handle from inside and stepped out. She had showered and combed her platinum hair so it lay like a river of white gold on her gray robes.
“Any more mysterious parchment in your cell?” Lillee asked, smiling.
He shook his head.
They hiked up the thousand steps through the bustling Sea Stair Market. The inns thrummed with life, and the rich scholars filled the shops, buying this and that. He’d learned enough Ohlyrran to read the signs now. The inn was called the Unicorn’s Uht, and now he understood the placard and the horse-animal’s oversized phallus.
They turned left at the Flow courtyard. The covered walkway sparkling with Sunfire torches. The sides of the ceiling were open, showing the sky’s clouds, reddening with the sunset.
Ymir and Lillee turned left again and moved past other doors until they came to the end of the corridor. Ymir smacked the door three times.
Jenny opened it, smiling. Her dress had puffy red sleeves. The chest was black velvet, knifing down between her generous cleavage. Her black hair tumbled in curls down to her shoulders. Ymir took a minute to admire her collarbones and the valley of her breasts. He nodded at her. “No spells.”
“Whatever do you mean?” She grinned, blue eyes sparkling.
She moved past him and drew Lillee in. “Come in, come in. You know, girl, I would love to see you in something other than your tunic and those robes. And the cape—it’s jaunty, but in a good way? I’m not sure. Maybe you can try on some of my clothes while you’re here.”
Lillee let herself be dragged into the room. Ymir closed the door behind him.
The floors were pink marble covered by a shaggy white carpet. If he didn’t know better, it might be tundra bear fur, it looked so thick. To the right, through an archway, he saw the bedroom. A white comforter covered a white wooden bed, poles rising from the four corners. It could fit him, Lillee, and Jenny easily. Like in the living room, the bedroom was lit by real candles, not Sunfire magic. This girl was rich.
To his left, another arch, and a bathroom, including a shower and her own privy. The place had a fireplace near the vast glass doors at the front. It was part firepit, part cooking stove. A little structure to the left had a kettle boiling. A cheery fire crackled. Extra split wood lay in an alcove between the fireplace and the glass.
Cushioned white chairs and a divan clustered around a low table, covered with food. Her desk was a grand affair to the right of the glass doors. Outside was a balcony.
He had to see what lay below. He walked across the carpet, pushed open the door, and stepped outside. The chill hit him.
White waves lined the black water, rolling in to smash against the sea walls far below. A few sailboats, Sunfire lights twinkling, maneuvered through the surf, going around the tip of the cape before disappearing from sight.
Below were rooftops and chimneys leaking smoke. Laughter and music drifted up from the inns in the Sea Stair Market. The sun had set, spilling blood across the horizon. He smelled smoke, salt, and meat cooking in the taverns. That was where Jenny had probably gotten the food.
“Come in and close the door!” Jenny called to him. “I don’t want to catch a chill!”
Ymir strode back inside. He walked to the fire, put out his hands, and enjoyed the heat. This apartment was far too much for a single person, and yet, Jenny’s riches had provided it for her.
Lillee had taken off her cape and robes and hung them on hooks by the door. Ymir threw his altered robes to her so she could place it next to hers.
“I like your robes, Ymir,” Jenny said. “You did that yourself, didn’t you?” That came out as a tease.
He turned. “I did.”
The swamp witch nodded. “It looks better than I would’ve thought. I also have socks for you, since you have boots now.” She gestured to a low shelf that held gray wool socks.
Ymir made a mental note to grab them on the way out.
“Thanks for the gift. I take it they aren’t cursed?” He smiled at her surprise. “I read about the Swamp Coast queendoms. I know your customs. I will not marry your sister. No amount of magic will change my mind.”
“You read about the Lover’s Knot.” Jenny sat in a chair, a full plate on her lap. A glass of wine sat on small end table near her hand. “Believe me, the Lover’s Knot is the last thing I’d do to you.”
Lillee remained standing, her brow furrowed.
Jenny waved them over. “Come, get a plate, sit. All this food ain’t gonna eat itself. We’ll dine, we’ll talk, and then we’ll study this mysterious parchment. First, though, I can ease your troubled mind, clansman.”
That was laughable. He’d spent several hours missing home, missing his grandparents, and succumbing to his homesickness. “I doubt you can.”
He grabbed a plate made of some soft, white material. It wasn’t tin, and it wasn’t wood, but it seemed sturdy enough. He loaded up his plate with fried bird wings, a thick mash of some yellow grit, long buttery stems of an unknown vegetable, and a thick slice of marbled pink meat. There were forks, spoons, and knives, but he was too hungry for tools.
He sat across from Jenny, and Lillee sat in the chair next to him.
The blue-eyed witch took a big swallow of her wine and set it down next to her. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll poison you?”
“Your people do enjoy poison,” Ymir agreed. He chewed down the pink meat with a sweet crust on the sides. It was juicy and delicious. He gnawed on the fried wings before scooping up some of the mash, salty and good. “I brought my ax. If I feel odd, I’m going to bury it in your skull.”
/> Jenny pointed to his face. “Your eyes are blue. You’re not in a good mood, are you? Ready for battle, it seems. I assure you, we are eating here as friends.”
“A sister?” Lillee asked. “You wanted Ymir for your sister and not yourself.”
“Why, Lillee, don’t you know? I’m only second born. Everything is for my dear, darling sister, the Firstborn. Only she wasn’t. Not really. That is a long story that Ymir knows. He dreamed it or some shit.” Jenny’s voice slashed through the air with her cutting words. How much wine had she drunk?
Her pleasant mask had slipped to reveal an angry woman.
Ymir ate. He’d let the witch talk as much as she wanted.
“The only real reason I’m here,” Jenny continued, “is to find a husband for Arribelle. Good ol’ dim-witted, vicious Arri. It’s not like she wants to follow in Mama’s footsteps, but she ain’t got much of a choice. Neither do I. Auntie Jia made that clear.” The witch set her plate aside. She gripped her wine.
“So, Ymir, do you like dim-witted girls? If so, Arri would be perfect for you.” She laughed with a bitterness Ymir hadn’t expected.
“Telling me this won’t help your cause,” he said.
Jenny shrugged. “You read up on me. Gotta say, I didn’t see that coming. You would put two and two together eventually. Might as well lay my cards on the table. You see, you need to know your options. I’ll tell you what—if you did go and marry my sister, you’d be a king. And Arri wouldn’t mind if you stepped out on her, every so often, as long as you didn’t do it with family, and you were discreet.”
There were a lot of words there. Ymir picked one. “Cards? What cards?”
“Cards? The river deck?” Jenny laughed. “You barbarians gamble, don’t you?”
“We do.” Ymir stuck a buttery green in his mouth and chewed. He liked the butter and bite of it. He thought about the games he saw the fishermen play at Summertown. The cards had been little waxy rectangles with images on them. Ymir’s father had warned him that wiser clans than the Black Wolf had lost a whole season of hunting pelts to the treacherous gaming house at Summertown. King Ymok made it clear that you gambled only with your own people because then you knew the rules.
Ymir nodded. “I know about cards, but the clans have our own game of stone, stick, moss, and mud. I could show you sometime.” If he could learn the games they played with this river deck, and if he could win, it might solve several of his current problems.
“What about you being king?” Jenny waved her hand around. “You could afford places like this, and you could go anywhere you wanted. Queens, even the iffy ones, have to rule. The kings just have to fuck and look pretty. And may the seven devils damn my soul, you are pretty.” She gave him a feral grin. “And you know it.”
“Not so pretty. My eyes change color.” He grunted laughter at his own joke. He grabbed his wine and drained it.
Jenny was there to fill it back up.
Lillee ate slowly, her green eyes bright with interest.
The Josentown princess shrugged. “You don’t have to decide now. But if you are interested, I could send a sand letter. Arribelle and Auntie Jia could make the trip up here to meet you.”
“No spells,” he growled at her. “No Lover’s Knot.”
“It would only work if you had a true dusza. But you wanna get rid of that, right? It’s why you’re here.” Jenny snapped her fingers. “So, let me read this parchment while you two finish eating.”
Ymir leaned forward, filled his plate again, and then sat back.
Lillee finished her meal. She gave Jenny the parchment before sitting down next to her. The swamp coast woman twisted her hair around her finger while she read. She probably didn’t even know she was doing it.
The fire popped happily. That fire might be the happiest thing in the room, it and the Sullied elf. The swamp woman, half drunk, certainly wasn’t. And Ymir’s homesickness ate at him.
He couldn’t go home. Even if he destroyed his dusza, his people wouldn’t trust him. Becoming a king on the Swamp Coast would have advantages. There would be chains, however—the chains of marriage, the chains of strange customs—and he would be bound.
Gharam Ssornap had told him to choose his chains carefully, and in spite of the orc’s troublesome words, Ymir trusted him most, after Lillee.
While she read, Jenny made several faces, and several more sounds. A bark of laughter. A sigh. And then an expression of, “Well, isn’t that some shit on your shoe?”
Jenny had the parchment on her lap. She sat back, fingers in her hair. She realized what she was doing and stopped herself. “This is some next-level stuff, my friends. And it’s taken from a book, that’s clear, and at some point, we’ll need the book. Betcha a shipful of shecks it’s up in the Illuminates Spire. Getting there would be damn near impossible.”
Ymir wiped his hands with a silken napkin. “Keep talking. Tell me what I want to know.”
“Did you understand all the words?” Lillee asked the swamp woman in a quiet voice.
Jenny tsked. “No one at this school, except for maybe the Princept, would know all those words. The vocabulary is positively ancient. I’d guess it was before the Age of Withering, even before Old Ironbound had a single book in its Librarium.” She exhaled loudly. “Here’s the thing, there are eight Akkiric Rings, but this page only talks about the first one, the Black Ice Ring, which is Flow magic. It’s like a Focus ring. You know, like what the faculty wear.”
“We get our Focus rings at the end of our imprudens year,” Lillee explained.
“Give the Sullied a tart.” Jenny laughed. “A tart for the tart.”
Lillee’s face went stone.
The swamp princess leaned over and patted her arm. “I’m sorry. I won’t tease. Not until we’re better friends.”
“Even then, you won’t tease her if she doesn’t ask you to,” Ymir warned. “Tell me more about the Black Ice Ring.”
Jenny nodded. “Speaking of tarts, under that cloth on the edge there’s a bowl of cherry tarts. You should have one. I ate two before you got here.” She sat back, holding her wine. “The Black Ice Ring is a powerful Focus ring. It’s so powerful it can freeze your dusza. Actually, it says it can make it so brittle that there have been those who cracked their souls into pieces. And they ain’t had magic ever after.” She raised eyebrows at Ymir. “And that, my friend, is how you can get your fucking heart’s desire.”
Ymir shivered as winter breathed up his back. He brushed a hand up his neck and into his hair to smooth away the feeling. This was exactly what he wanted. It seemed too good to be true. “I don’t fuck with my heart.”
“That is incorrect,” Lillee said quietly. “You do. I’ve felt your spirit when we are together. I’ve seen the love in your face when you look at me.”
Jenny guffawed. “Well, isn’t that just darling? When he kissed me, I didn’t feel much at all.”
“Why were you breathing so hard?” Ymir laughed away her answer. “Back to the Black Ice Ring. Where do we find it?”
“We make it.” Jenny had her eyes on Lillee. Her gaze didn’t waver. “When you got the mark of the Sullied, was it just with some elf man? Or did you fully give in to your lust?”
“I was a part of the Cult of Chaos and Desire.” Lillee couldn’t match the blue-eyed stare of the witch. The elf dropped her gaze.
“I’ve heard of that. I thought it was just horny human women fantasizing about elves fucking. But it’s real? A cult? Well, now, you’ve become an interesting little girl. And you gave yourself to Ymir. You have to take off the essess for that, though, right?”
“I do.” Lillee lifted her eyes. “I’m not an interesting little girl. I’m a woman. And if you want me, you better be nicer to me and to Ymir.”
The two sat turned in their chairs, facing each other, lost in each other’s eyes.
Normally, Ymir might’ve enjoyed heaving chests and blushing cheeks. But his future was on the line, and he needed more information.
&
nbsp; “How do we make the ring?” he asked.
Jenny addressed him without looking. “We take sacred ice, bathe it in special flames, then sprinkle gold dust on it. That’s all pretty straight forward. The next part, though, gets a bit more complicated.” She lifted the parchment off her lap to reread it. “It says we need the night winds, the breath of the full moons, at their zenith in the night sky.”
“Fine,” Ymir said. “Both the Axman and the Shieldmaiden will both be full in another six weeks.”
“After the First Exam,” Lillee murmured. “Then both full moons will share the sky.”
Jenny frowned. “No, we need the three moons, I think.”
Ymir’s heart fell. “The Wolf moon won’t appear for another three years and as many months.”
The elf girl frowned as well. “You don’t sound like you’re certain about this, Jenny. Is that correct?”
“I’m not sure,” Jenny gave the parchment back to Lillee. “There’s a word I don’t know...aszeculum. I think it means sky, but if my translation is wrong, it changes the meaning of the sentence. Two moons might work to create the ring. Then you could freeze your dusza, get it brittle, and shatter it through force of will.”
Ymir cursed both his luck and the heavens. Another three years of this school? “What else could aszeculum mean?” he asked.
“Reflection, maybe, or mirror.” Jenny gave Lillee a little smile. “But I really think it’s sky. Where else would the moons be but the sky? Even if I’m not translating it right, you can’t do it for another month and a half. In the meantime, you can study up on that mystery word.”
More icy fingers sped up Ymir’s spine. “Will you help us make the ring?”
The swamp princess finally turned to look at him. “Marry my sister and I will.”
Ymir spat out a disgusted breath as an answer.
Lillee slid her essess off her left arm and put it on the table. “Perhaps we three can come up with another solution.”
Chapter Twenty-Two