Myra clung to the window frame in the carriage door. To any passerby's it looked as if she was simply enjoying the scenery, but that'd be mad. There was nothing to see out here but dirt, trees, dirty trees, and a vast ocean of sky. She was hanging onto the window in the hopes that the second the carriage stopped she could bolt free from it. But no, her father sent one of his more stricter guards to drive the thing. Even Myra's best offer of all the licorice she could get her hands on couldn't sway the woman.
Groaning, she collapsed back onto the hard bench and tried to not glare at nothing. It took her parents over a month to arrange this, taking so long she began to hope that maybe they forgot. Maybe they really believed her magic would simply go away. But no. When departure day arrived, Myra barely had any time to say goodbye to her friends. They'd all flocked around the carriage, impressed with the gilt and trappings while Myra stared forlornly down at her puny luggage. So many promised to write but would they even care or remember her if she'd been gone for over a year?
She was so mad about it all, Myra refused to let her mother come. At first, Reiss was adamant, but if anyone knew how to push the right buttons to piss her off it was her teenager. Her dad tried to calm her mother down, but there was nothing doing when Myra mocked how she was only going because she couldn't hack the beat. That angered her mom so much she nearly refused to hug her enraging daughter goodbye. In the end, Dad tugged them both together in his greater arms, placing kisses in their hair and swearing she'd best be safe on the trip out.
Her mother only swore she'd better be on her best behavior. Because if she got kicked out of the Rutherford's place it was unlikely anyone else would take her. By the time Myra got into the carriage, she was glad to be leaving them all behind. Maybe there wasn't anyone who cared what she wanted outside the Denerim gates, but there wasn't anyone inside either.
She kept feeling happy to be without her mother for the first few days, but as the carriage wheels rolled onward, it struck Myra that she was being led by a guard with strict orders to never turn back, to leave her with people she didn't know. What if they didn't like her? What if they hated her? What if they made her their life long slave? Mages could do that, she read about it in the second book. Something about the blood. Her dad would try to protect her from such vile and evil things, but her mom. She'd burn the entire place to the ground for anyone that dared to harm a hair on her head.
And you stupidly left her behind.
Because she was pissing me off.
I want to go home.
The carriage took a sharp turn, the horses whinnying and Myra rolling with the force. "Sorry about that, Miss," the guard called back, "nearly missed that turn."
She should probably be cross, but it was the most excitement she felt on the entire trip. Maybe if they did a few more of those the carriage would tip over and they couldn't continue on. Then you'd be stuck in someone's back fields with a royal guard. Was that any better?
The flat farmland gave way to trees, an imposing forest pushing inward towards the road. It hugged so tight, branches snapped off against the roof. Hm, at least that could be interesting. Myra had never really climbed a tree before. Not like these. This place felt ancient, as if...as if she could reach out and hear the trees talk.
Shaking off the silly thought, she peered out the window down the road and spotted a building. White stone, it rose like a bone protruding from broken flesh out of the green forest. A short wall circled it, nothing like the ones back home. Myra could easily scale it with only needing one foothold. That thought calmed her, at least she wouldn't be easy to pen in.
As the carriage rattled its last into the courtyard, Myra nudged her nose against the bottom of the window so only the top of her head was visible. She peered around to find what looked like stables to the right side, a few horses stamping around the bed, and the definite sound of goats or sheep bleating in the air. Myra'd been to a few farms but more as a state visit, never to stay. Would they expect her to milk things? How did that work?
Tiny doors led into the open walkway on the second floor, a few people shuffling between them. She couldn't spot anyone who looked like the supposed Hero of Ferelden, but from her angle all she could make out were their torsos in shadow. Myra was about to risk rising enough to stare at the ground floor, when the door behind her opened.
Spinning in place, she spotted the guard standing patiently, "Ma'am, if you please." The woman waved towards the exit. Myra knew that there was a good chance if she refused she could be dragged kicking and screaming out of the carriage. Her dignity wouldn't allow that and even as her limbs turned to jelly, she eased out of the seat to plop into mud. Red mud. It was so vibrant, Myra tried to vainly search for blood that mixed into it but there didn't seem to be any bodies. Her next thought was to take her shoes off and dig her toes into it.
A bag landed near her feet and Myra practically jumped out of her shoes. Catching her breath, she picked up her only luggage. There wasn't a lot to her name, but her mother let her pack only half of her clothes. Was that a sign she'd be back home soon or...?
"Could you step back, ma'am?" the guard asked and good little girl Myra, her luggage clutched in her fingers, shifted out of the way. Without so much as a bye or leave, the woman swung back up into the driver's seat, turned the carriage around, and drove the damn thing back to the road.
Her jaw dropped, Myra frozen as her only connection back to the real world bounced and jangled its empty way to return to her home without her. "Wait..." she began, but by the time her voice returned it was too late. Even running at her top speed wouldn't help her, the horses having reached a gallop to freedom.
Nervously, she worried her fingers tighter to her luggage's handle, staring around at this strange place. What if it was wrong? What if the owners didn't know who she was? What if they kicked her out and she had to find a way to get back home by herself? She had a bit of coin but how much did it cost to travel cross-country? Could she even find her way back home if...?
"Myra?"
Her head whipped around to find the voice and a small woman stepped out of a room on the second floor. A puff of purple smoke followed, which she quickly shut away behind the door. Gripping tight to a cane, the woman slowly eased herself towards the staircase while Myra remained rooted in the spot. Should she climb the stairs to greet her? Was that the polite thing to do? It didn't matter because her bones were fully boiled to soup by now. Taking a step would end in her face down in the mud.
"Forgive me," the woman continued, "I thought I heard a carriage but I was in the middle of a...it's not important." She smiled wide, her teeth so white against her dark brown skin it reminded Myra of the moon. At first Myra chalked it up to the shadows, but as the woman limped to the ground floor and into the sun, her skin only lightened a shade. "Maker's breath," the woman tipped her head back, unable to reach Myra's eyes, "when did you get so tall? Alistair never mentioned you reaching his height."
"I'm not as tall as..." Myra began before her eyes cinched up and she shook her head, "Excuse me, who are you?"
"Ah, sorry. I'm Lana, Lana Rutherford if you need the whole spiel. Well, that's not quite all of it," she dug her cane in and reached a hand out. It hung a moment until Myra thought to release her tight grip upon the luggage and shake it.
"You're..." Myra blinked, unprepared for this. Sure, she knew what the Hero of Ferelden looked like. She was a seven foot tall statue made out of onyx with a death date that her dad called more of a guideline than a rule. This woman was so tiny Myra feared she might step on her. She was supposed to believe this woman with smiling wrinkles and grey hair who barely skirted to her chest stopped a blight? Was the greatest mage in thedas?
"Let me have a look at you," the woman ordered. Myra expected her to do the usual once over so many of the Queen's sisters and relatives did. Spin around, show your teeth and eyes. They in particular honed in on her ears, but this one didn't seem to care. Instead she drew her fingers together, then yanked them apart, and
tiny, blue glowing threads appeared between them. It looked like a ball of yarn that exploded but made out of light.
"Touch this please," she asked. Slowly, Myra's trembling finger slipped into the light strands and, as it glanced upon one, the entire mass lit up bright white and began to hum. Myra yanked her hand back afraid she started an explosion but the woman only smiled.
"Hm, your father doesn't know the half of your power."
"Can...?" Myra's eyes lit up, sad when the mage brought her hands back together to cut off the glow, "can you teach me how to do that?"
"Of course, it's nothing too spectacular. Looks rather impressive I suppose, but it's a simple veil testing spell. Though I do put my own spin on it."
This was her. The great mage, the one everyone else thought was dead. "Lady Rutherford," Myra began, but the woman frowned.
"That's a bit too formal for my tastes, Lana will do."
"Uh..." Myra staggered, her tongue locking in her jaw.
Lady Rutherford's head tilted to the side, confusion increasing when she seemed to suddenly figure it out, "Let me guess, your mother. Or Alistair pulling one of his jokes."
"It's my mom, like you guessed," Myra raced to protect her dad, but she needn't have bothered.
The woman smiled brighter, her face so inviting -- like a pancake breakfast during a snow day when the syrup sat warming on the stove. "It seemed a bit too sophisticated for him. If Lana's out, how about teacher?"
Nodding, Myra smiled, "Okay teach."
"You seem to travel light," she tipped her eyes down at the luggage and Myra shrugged.
"Ma'am, um, teacher, how long do you think this will take?"
"I cannot say for certain, learning spells requires time, study, but I think we can make real progress for the next few summers."
Myra blinked at that, "Summers?"
"Your father didn't tell you? Maker's blighted sake, I told Alistair a dozen times over I..." she waved her hand through the air and Myra was even more bowled over. No one treated her dad like the bumbling fool he could be because they were all worried about the king part. No one except for her mother, anyway. "We can only take time out during the summer for teaching you. Well, I. My husband is around here somewhere, I imagine you got the briefing."
"Don't call him Commander," Myra repeated.
She snorted at that, "More or less. There's a special area set up for you to practice in. Protected from any spray off, and to allow you to fully let loose. I imagine you're itching to see how high that fire of yours goes."
That drew a smile to her face and she tipped her head down. "I am, ma'am. Uh, teach." It was strange to have someone who wanted her to use her magic, to encourage it.
"But," Lana patted her arm, "that can wait until tomorrow. First things first are getting you settled, oh and Maker's sake you must talk to your parents."
"My..." Myra stuttered, glancing around as if she expected to find them hiding behind one of the doors. "My parents?"
"Alistair's been calling through the sending crystal every day. As the week grew on, it became every hour. Your mother too. They're very worried about you. If you..." the woman paused and she folded her hands together. An aloofness wrapped around the inviting mage like she was trying to protect herself from something. Weary eyes, the kind that looked as if they were staring back at themselves in a mirror, turned to Myra, "If you need me to do it because you're not in the mood to speak to them, I can for you."
"Uh," Myra gasped to find a strangely shared sentiment between a woman so much older than her. The woman her father and mother were in cahoots with. "No, that's okay. I can do it."
"Good," she smiled, but the sting didn't vanish. Was she one of them? One of those people the neighbors turned into the templars? Or a kid? Did her parents send her to a circle knowing they'd never see her again? Myra ached to ask her, but it seemed impolite to call out on the first meeting. Maybe later, maybe in a few days time she could bring it up and ask her about the old ways of the mages.
Lady Rutherford glanced up towards a door and groaned, "Ah, blighted void, your room's not quite finished yet. Alice!" She waved to a woman passing in and out of the narrow doors. "Grab some fresh linens and meet me in 5." Turning back to Myra she added, "Give us a few minutes and you can settle in properly."
Unable to offer anything, Myra nodded limply as the woman took the grueling steps up to what would be her room for the summer. Slowly, Myra spun around the courtyard, trying to take in this new home. At least the Hero seemed nice, nice enough. Her tone would probably change after having to deal with Myra for more than a few days. A few younger adults continued to shuffle around, eyes darting towards her, but most too dedicated to whatever they were doing behind the doors. Something told Myra it wasn't anything interesting. What could be out here?
Aside from learning magic and having to fill out her studies for back home when she had free time, the abbey stank of boredom. People were quiet, holding their breath and softening their words while they passed in and out of passageways. Even the doors barely squeaked. Back home she'd have already heard a good five curse words through the walls before getting out of the door. Her ears itched from the silence. What was she going to do here all summer?
The pervading silence was broken out of nowhere by the sound of someone smashing into a low bar and then cursing. When Myra turned around, she spotted a boy rubbing his curly head. A book lay open in his hands; no doubt he was so engrossed with it he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. After checking himself for any serious damage, he glanced around to see who spotted him. Over the left shoulder was safe, but when he turned to the right, breathtaking amber eyes landed right upon Myra.
A blush rampaged up his brown skin a shade or two lighter than the Hero. Who, she just realized, was probably his mother. He awkwardly glanced down at the book, stuffing the pages higher to try and hide his defined chin and thick lips struggling through a horrified smile. Still, those amber eyes remained focused on Myra, peering over the top of the book as he attempted to slide backwards to get away from his humiliation.
"Gavin!" a man's voice echoed from a lean-to set up on the side. The boy whipped his head over to the taller man in the shadows and he gulped.
"Yes father," Gavin called, racing to vanish inside with whatever work he was needed for.
Myra smiled to herself, the amber eyes clinging to the back of her eyes like a vision. Maybe there were a few things interesting here after all.
THE END
Love's Blush Page 138