by Rae Brooks
“I am,” she said. “Any new books?” This was her way of asking him if he had anything that she would be unable to find in Upper Town because if the book could be found in Upper Town, then Aela had almost surely read it.
The man looked disappointed, though. “Unfortunately not, my dear. I’ve gotten a few memoirs, but I’m sure that none of them would interest y—” Then he lit up at once and held up a finger. “Oh wait, I believe I might have something you would be interested in after all.”
Aela grinned fiendishly. She needed a book to escape to; somewhere she could pretend she lived for a while. She could be some daring hero and not some poor girl too cowardly to follow the one person she missed most dearly.
Rummaging through some of the older stacks, the ones that weren’t on immediate display, the man turned his back to her. She listened to him hum, as he always did when he looked through his books. The man’s name was Graan. He had been a friend of Taeru’s, though most of Lower Town had been a friend of Taeru’s in some way or another.
As she looked around, she thought back to walking the streets at her brother’s side. Almost everyone waved a greeting to him, and as time passed, they had come to know her as well. While some of them still greeted her on this journey, most of them took her prolonged absences as a sign that she was outgrowing her need to witness the plights of the less fortunate. She wished they could understand that was not the case.
Then again, maybe they understood that she was missing her brother—and they all felt a might too awkward to bother saying hello to her, for fear that they would worsen her pain. Always one to think the good in others, she decided to go with that theory. Just as one of the women across the street gave her a wave, Graan resurfaced. “Ah, here it is!” he said cheerfully. “Was afraid I’d lost it there for a moment.”
Aela returned the woman’s wave and then glanced back to the bookkeeper. The book in his hand was black leather bound, with golden letter imprinted on its surface. The title read A Hero’s Peace. That certainly sounded like a tale that she could get absorbed in. She hadn’t doubted it when Graan had said he had something she would like, for he knew her tastes very well. “Lovely!” she said. “Thank you, Graan. I could use the distraction.”
She took the book in her hand and felt the cool binding of leather. She never grew tired of holding a new book, and this one was particularly thick, which meant she would be entertained for a while. She reached into her pocket and pulled out three gold coins, which she laid on his stall. “There you are, Graan. That should cover it, I think.”
The old man looked surprised at her large payment. The book could probably have been sold for a silver, but she didn’t have any desire to be greedy. Not as though she was hurting for any Cathalar coin. “So what is it about?” she asked. “Have you read it?”
He grinned and she could see where two of his teeth were missing near the back of his mouth. That had been the result of a rather unfortunate collision with a cart. Graan was the pinnacle of the people who lived in Lower Town. He was not entirely ugly, just worn from hard labor. His hair was black speckled with gray and his beard was thick and untamed. He had begun to stand with a slouch in recent years. His hair had begun to fall out as well, so though it was long—it was very thin. “I read all the books I sell,” he chided. “It was a fascinating tale. It was about two warring lands and a hero who made a deal with the gods that he could unite them. And if he could not do it, then they could have his life—and also destroy both lands.”
Aela blinked. That sounded hauntingly familiar, but as there didn’t seem to be any heroes available, she just smiled. “Sounds perfect.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a few of these coins back, Mademoiselle?” he asked, turning his attention back to the gracious payment.
“Now, now, Graan, with an attitude like that—you will never make a profit! You are supposed to be a salesman!” she reprimanded. The man just smiled at her and nodded at her indisputable point. With a quick farewell, she waved to him and took her book.
There was one other place she wanted to stop before she headed back for dinner. Veyron was lenient, but he hated for either of his children to miss meals—or be late to them, or Magisters forbid she didn’t wash properly.
However, she had time to kill, so she made sure to stop at some of the stalls were she knew the owner and exchanged small talk. All of them seemed more than happy to see her, though there was that strange distance in their nature that meant they weren’t sure whether they should mention Taeru. No one had heard from or of him, so there was nothing to say. She wished people wouldn’t think about him so much, but she was just as guilty of that.
As dinnertime drew near, she hurried to her last stop. She had left the market area of Lower Town and now the buildings were actual shops. One of them was a black building with a whetstone, a forge, and a workbench outside of it. Aela smiled when she thought of the man inside the building. She didn’t bother knocking on the door and walked in.
The man was bent over a table. He was a large man with short black hair and dark skin. “Arthal?” she asked sweetly.
He leapt up at the sound of her voice and whirled. In a few strides, he had approached her and captured her in one of his rather famous bear hugs. She smiled as he released her and pushed her hood out of her face. “Aela, my dear! Where have you been?”
“Oh, having court, every single sun…” she moaned. Surely, Arthal was aware of that. She had been to see him much less recently. The man just nodded his understanding and there was a flash of sympathy before he smiled.
For a moment, Aela just glanced around the blacksmith’s shop with a smile on her face. The smell of the place reminded her of Taeru, but here—she was all right with it. It was almost as if her brother was here with her, swinging his sword and laughing at her pathetic attempts to spar with him. “I do hope your blades haven’t rusted in your absence,” he chided.
She laughed. If she did nothing else, Aela made very sure to keep up her sword arm. The ordeal of learning to wield a weapon had been so complex that she did not intend to give up that skill without a fight. Veyron still was unaware of her abilities with any such weapon. He was firmly opposed to any woman having to wield a weapon—let alone his daughter! “I have been training daily, Arthal, rest assured.”
“You look well, at any rate,” he said. To Arthal, Aela was no princess, and that meant that she was nothing more than a friend—and he could resume his work. In Lower Town, losing any moment of work cost time, and time cost money. Arthal hammered out the sword with a smile.
She stepped forward to get a glimpse of the long sword that he was beating out. The metal was still burning and rigid. “As do you,” she said. Arthal was middle aged, with his black hair and large muscular frame. Taeru had always said he was a very good man—and Arthal had been more of a father to Taeru than Veyron had been able to. Though it wasn’t from Veyron’s lack of trying, there just seemed to be no connection between the two of them. Taeru had done his best to please his father, and he had done so, but there was a continued disconnect. “How is business this season?” she asked after a moment.
“Well enough,” he said. “Without the imports from Telandus, or with them getting even rarer with the coming war—more and more people have wanted to buy my wares. I’m hoping that they’ll realize that mine were better from the start. Bloody Tellanders wouldn’t know a sword if it stabbed them through the chest—not a real one anyway.”
Aela smiled. Arthal had always had a problem with Telandus’s blacksmiths creating swords that the villagers preferred. While he favored large, heavier swords that required two hands to use, the people of Telandus tended to make short swords, fit for quick wielding. Oh, how angry Arthal had been when Taeru had started wielding those. Arthal had still agreed to show him some techniques though.
For once, even the memory in Arthal’s presence hurt. She missed Taeru more than she could ever understand, and despite that she didn’t think about it as frequently
—she was sure that her pain remained steadfast, and would never leave her. Why had Taeru left her? Why had he felt so compelled to leave that he had abandoned everything? And why had he not just taken Aela with him?
“How is Ryo?” Arthal asked. He most likely assumed that Aela was thinking of Taeru, and was doing his best not to address the subject directly. After all, there was not a damn thing that Arthal could say to ease Aela’s pain or make this any better. It had been five years, and she wasn’t better.
She thought about the question for a moment. Ryo was well enough. He was working to keep his father calm as Lavus tended to use every moment to bring the man closer to rage that would kindle the final straw of the war. Ryo’s influence reminded Veyron that this was precisely what Lavus wanted, and anything Lavus wanted, Veyron didn’t.
“He is well enough. Just doing his best to keep father calm. Lavus seems to want a war more than any man should ever want a war,” Aela said warily. “The sooner he is out of the picture, the better off all of Elyst will be.”
Arthal just nodded his agreement and frowned. “Pathetic that a man like him is allowed to rule,” he growled. “Better yet, he had spawn!” he spat.
Aela just let out a soft breath. Once again, she was reminded that not all of the problems in Elyst had to do with Lavus. Surely, it was easy to blame him for them, but the unrest between Telandus and Cathalar had been building for generations. Surely, Lavus’s sons would handle the situation no differently than he was. “Yes, he did,” she said weakly.
“Are you alright, my dear? You seem very distant. More distant than usual,” Arthal finally stopped what he was doing. This told Aela that she ought to leave before she kept him from too much of his work.
Instead of addressing the question directly, Aela just smiled. “Don’t be lazy on my account, Arthal. You need to finish all the swords you can. You already said they were in high demand this year. Imagine how angry the customers would be if you let them down!” she coaxed. He frowned at her, but glanced back to his unfinished weapon.
“Aela, you are avoiding my question,” he said. As if she hadn’t been aware of this obvious fact.
But she had nothing to say. Sure, she was distant, but talking about it would only make things worse. She would feel awkward for bringing Arthal into her problems. However, she seemed to be doing as much just being there. “I’m alright,” she finally answered warily. “Just thinking. I bought a book from Graan so I won’t do as much of that.”
Arthal glanced down at the book in her hands and then smiled. “Better not let your father see that, girl.”
“I never do,” she answered.
“You ought to come by for some sparring. Now that is a real way to get your mind off things. You know when…” Arthal stopped himself immediately. Arthal couldn’t help talking about Taeru any more than Aela could.
Aela just smiled warmly at him. “I know. But Taeru just used every excuse he could think of to swing a sword around. I prefer to read. Did you ever see my brother try to read a book? He shifted and twitched about like some sort of infant. It really was quite comical.” Aela remembered trying to get him to read the book he’d worked so hard to get for her. Taeru had been quite miserable.
Arthal smiled, but there was sadness in it. Aela wished she could escape it—the sadness. If only Taeru hadn’t left, then everything would have been fine. The war would never have mattered to her if her brother were still here. Nothing would have. “Yes,” Arthal finally agreed, “I suppose Taeru was a little less inclined to read.”
Unable to say too many words for fear of losing her composure, Aela just nodded and offered a tight smile. “No, he didn’t,” she said. The words were hollow, and felt as though they should never have occurred.
“Perhaps in his solitude he picked up reading,” Arthal offered. “When you see him again, you ought to ask if he understands your hobby any better. I’ve heard age can help with that sort of thing in young boys.” She smiled at the idea of seeing Taeru again, but both of them knew the likelihood of it was naught.
She just nodded though. No sense bringing that sort of line of thought into the conversation. They both knew Arthal only spoke to try to cheer Aela up, and they both knew that Aela could not be cheered up. “Aye, I might just do that. I ought to be heading back though, Arthal. Father will have a fit if I am late for dinner—and you know how he is about the wash.”
“Indeed. Off with you, then. Take care of yourself, Aela. And come back and see me soon, don’t go driving yourself mad in that castle.”
“Out of dark of the moon, there was a hero. A man who promised to renew peace throughout the lands, begging for the land’s perseverance.”
-A Hero’s Peace, v.i
Chapter vi
Calis Tsrali
The celebrations throughout sun up had been nothing short of annoying. Calis was exhausted by the time the sun was beginning to dwindle and darkness was offering the residents of Telandus a little reprieve from the ceaseless heat. Calis hadn’t realized how spoiled he had gotten in the constantly tempered weather of Dokak. Along the coast, he was certain that no sun had brought anything worse than a heavy rain.
Heat like this had been nonexistent, and Telandus felt even more stifling than usual. Not to say that Dokak was any more of a happy time for Calis. He had been bored, and if Lee hadn’t been there, he may well have stabbed a dagger through his chest. Now that they were back in Telandus, however, he wasn’t ruling out the possibility of doing so. He did not want to attend any sort of ball.
He had managed to avoid Lady Avyon all through this sun’s festivities, and not without great effort and assistance from Lee. Of course, at the ball, he would be forced to interact with her—and most certainly dance with her. She would giggle at things that were not funny, and her smile would make him feel as though he had to smile. He stared at himself in the mirror. His coat felt too big, and in the heat, it felt even bulkier. Every effort to comb his hair was in vain, as it still stood in a tousled mess. His long blue coat fell over his shoulders, laced with gold and white. His black boots hurt his feet, and the white pants were even getting to him.
All he wanted was for this ball to be over, or better yet, for this ball to never happen. “You look cheerful,” Lee spoke from behind him. When he looked into the mirror, he could see his advisor leaning against the wall at the back of the room.
Lee was dressed for the occasion as well, with a red coat similar to Calis’s and black pants. They looked as pompous as they possibly could, and Calis hated it. Lee looked uncomfortable, but he had contented himself with taking amusement in how much Calis did not want to attend this ball. Some friend. “I cannot understand the need to wear these jackets in such weather. What possible practicality is there in this?” Calis growled.
Lee laughed. “What practicality is there in any of noble workings? I have yet to find one, and I have been looking for quite some time.”
The idea was a fair one. Every noble seemed so caught up in appearances and earning favor so that they could be even more concerned with appearances that no one ever paused to think about the logic in what they were doing. Lee, on the other hand, clung to logic like a sort of failsafe. Whereas some people may have let emotions lead them entirely, Lee relied on logic to do that for him. That was why he and Calis agreed on disagreeing with the nobles.
Calis put his gloves on, to complete the obnoxious outfit. “I bet, were there ever a celebration in Dark District, it would be much more practical—and might even be enjoyable,” he said flatly. Though, he doubted people of Dark District ever had time for a ball. He rarely went there during the shifts of the moon, though, so he wouldn’t know.
Lee laughed. “Funny you mention that,” he said. “One of my sources, who was rather excited to see that I was back, told me that Dark District is having some sort of a ball. Did you know that you were popular down there? I never would have guessed.” The teasing in his voice was almost endearing, but Calis moved his hand up to smack Lee in the
back of the head.
Still though, the idea of a festival in Dark District was piquing his curiosity in ways that he hadn’t expected. What did they wear? What did they do? Did they dance the same silly steps that the nobles did? Surely not! He chewed on his lip and considered disappearing. No, this ball was for him, and he would be missed more than usual. He didn’t want to earn his father’s wrath too quickly after he’d returned.
“Your sources in Dark District wouldn’t know anything about our mysterious Phantom Blade, would they?” Calis asked, remembering the boy from the sun before. He hadn’t stopped wondering. But he had found himself occupied by other events—none of them pleasant.
Lee seemed amused, as though he had been waiting for this question all sun. “Plenty. Though, he genuinely has done a good job of concealing his identity. No one knows who he is, but they all love him. He apparently manages to outwit almost anyone, and he’s rather handy with a sword.”
Calis was a little surprised. He blinked a few times. He knew some of Dark District citizens were able to wield a sword, but none should have been able to combat noblemen. Then again, the boy had made a fool of Tareth with his sword, so he guessed the revelation shouldn’t be a surprise. “What an interesting person. And here I thought most of the people in Dark District were as selfish as nobles,” Calis mused.
The two of them exchanged a glance, probably both wondering separate things. Calis doubted Lee was as curious about the person, and more curious about the reasons for this person’s interference. There was no doubt that if this Phantom Blade was caught, he would be hanged quicker than anyone before him. Especially concerning Tareth.
“Impressive how quickly he was able to get up after being thrown into the wall. He hit pretty hard from what I can gather,” Lee mused.
So, that meant Calis’s conclusion was true. Lee was thinking of something entirely different, though he raised a good point. “I’m sure he’s used to being roughed up,” Calis answered. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to find out who he is.”