by M. L. Greye
“I look forward to it.” Trezim replied, a husky cadence to his voice that had not been there earlier. He ran his eyes over her one last time, and, without so much as a nod or word to her father or Cit, he climbed onto his horse and trotted away from the palace.
:::::
Cit’s growl after her hundredth mistake while playing a song she’d previously boasted about knowing by heart brought Emry’s head up. They were in Citrine’s private music room. Emry was lounging in a stuffed chair, perusing through the various invitations for the week. Cit was at her pianoforte, evidently stumbling through an old favorite.
“Something vexes you?” Emry raised her eyebrows.
The candles in the room flickered, also for the hundredth time. They were lit by Cit. The flicker was caused by her irritation at whatever was bothering her, affecting her ability to keep the flames steady.
“I’m finding it difficult to concentrate,” she muttered, rubbing the corners of her eyes with her fingertips.
Emry went back to shuffling through the sealed invites. “Why? Did your lesson with Moira today not go well?”
“Not all of us just acquire abilities by breathing,” Cit retorted, still massaging her face.
She snorted in response. “There have only been maybe two abilities I didn’t have to work at. The rest took hours and hours of practice, as you’ve seen.”
When they were younger, their mother, before she’d died, had made both Emry and Cit work every night at lighting whichever room they were in. For months, Emry wasn’t permitted any candles – forced to craft her silvery balls of light – and Cit was only given five.
Orange-eyed fire burned in its raw form. Her mother forced Cit to learn how to control her flames so that they only produced light no heat, sparing the candles from melting. By the time their mother died, Cit had mastered lighting the same five candles without them losing even a single drip of wax. For Cit to be struggling to maintain the light in the room, she had to be truly agitated.
“What’s gotten you all aggravated?” Emry frowned.
Cit sighed. “Nothing.”
If that was the way she wanted to play … Emry drew out the shadows in the room to encircle the flames, blocking the light. “Don’t make me smother your fire.”
“Stop it, Emry,” she snarled. “Nothing has happened today to make me angry.”
Emry eased up on her grasp so that the shadows drifted down to the floor, covering it like a swirling black mist. “Then why are you so on edge? Keeping these lit should be easy for you.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m lighting more than just this room,” Cit snapped. “I’m keeping every single candle lit within the entire palace, and it’s requiring an immense amount of focus. Especially when people keep trying to put out some of them.”
“The entire palace?” Emry blurted as her sister’s words registered. “Every candle?”
The candles in their room flickered again, and Cit moaned. “Every. Single. One.”
“You have that kind of power?” Emry realized it was a rude question – to presume her sister had so much less than she did herself.
“Moira says I come from an impressive pedigree of powerful kings and should push myself to discover just how much strength I’ve inherited from my ancestors.” Cit winced and the room fell into darkness – probably the rest of the palace with it. Their servants and guards had to be thoroughly disturbed by now. “I quit.”
Emry laughed and formed an orb of light in one hand. She tossed it up to hover just below the ceiling, casting the room in silver rays. “How long have you been doing that for?”
Cit stood and crossed to a side table that had been set with drinking glasses and a round glass pitcher. It was filled with water and lemon slices from their greenhouse. She poured herself a tall glass of its contents. “Since sunset.”
“Two hours?” Emry stared at her sister. She wasn’t sure if she should be stunned or simply impressed.
“I guess.” Citrine shrugged and knocked back her entire glass in one gulp. She poured herself a second and guzzled that one down, too.
When she went for a third, Emry drawled, “Thirsty?”
“I don’t want to dehydrate myself,” Cit replied. “The trial of being an Orange.”
Three cups were apparently enough because Cit slumped onto a settee across from Emry in an exhausted heap. Her gaze landed on Emry’s shadows covering the floor. “You’ve gotten better at manipulating those.”
“For the first couple months in Heerth, I couldn’t go anywhere – not until I learned the language.” Emry offered her a wry smile. “All I had to do was wander the Zyntar palace grounds, read children’s books in Heerth, and play with the shadows.”
“No wonder you’ve become so good at it then,” Citrine chuckled.
“I’m glad you’re pushing yourself,” Emry said after a moment.
“Honestly, so am I,” her sister admitted. “I’m discovering I’m stronger than I thought I was.”
“Good. Keep at it.” Emry dropped her gaze to the invitations. “You might be surprised with just how far you can go.”
Her eyes landed on one invite in particular. It had just her name scrawled on the front in swooping letters. Most invites were penned to the entire royal family.
Emry broke the outer seal and ran her eyes over its content. It was from Lady Bella, from the Midlands, for an engagement party. Evidently, it had taken longer for Lord Everett to propose than everyone had guessed.
For Emry to be invited to an event for lower nobility was a political move – a grasping one. Lady Bella had always been polite toward Emry during her time in Pritchl, but she hadn’t really been friendly. Just surface conviviality. Emry lowered the thick sheet of paper, about to move on to the next invite, when her eyes snagged on the location of the party. She squawked and straightened in her chair.
Cit jumped. “What?”
“Lady Bella’s engagement party,” Emry blurted. She read it again, to double check she wasn’t just seeing things.
“Who?” Her sister blinked.
“It’s in Pragge!” Emry exclaimed. “Of all the territories for her family to own land, it’s Pragge.”
“Pragge?” Cit scrunched up her forehead. “Isn’t that place barely more than a village? Is this lady a lower noble?”
“She’s the daughter of a Baroness.” Emry sank back into the chair cushions and glanced up at the ceiling.
Here it was – her excuse to visit Pragge. To find that Lord Smith. To see if he could make her some shadow blades, or if he knew someone who could. Even though Bella’s invite had most likely been a desperate shot at getting some Jewel recognition, Emry would use it to her advantage. Her father wouldn’t question her attendance to an engagement party for someone she’d met during her travels. Not even those controlling advisors of his would object.
“A friend you made in the Midlands?”
“No, not really.” Emry shook her head against the back of the chair.
“You’re not thinking of saying yes, are you?” Cit grimaced. “You know why she invited you – she just wants attention.”
Emry twisted her head so she could see her sister. “I have a lead on someone who might be able to craft me some shadow blades in Pragge.”
“What’s wrong with the ones you already have?” She frowned.
“They weren’t made for my hands,” Emry explained. “If I had some made just for me, I could move quicker, strike more efficiently.”
“So, for a new sword, you’re going to endure some sycophant’s engagement party?” Cit raised an eyebrow.
“These aren’t just any swords,” Emry rolled her eyes, “and yes, I will go at the chance to get my hands on a new set of shadow blades.”
“When’s the party?”
Emry glanced down at the date and blinked. “It’s next week.”
“Lovely.” Cit grunted. “Not only are you a political move, but you’re an afterthought.”
It wasn’t great. B
ut if this trip produced a dark new set of shadow blades, then it would be worth it. Or rather, Emry would endure it for the weapons.
:::::
Pragge was substantially larger than Emry had expected. Seeing a tiny speck on a map was nothing like seeing it in person. Pragge was more than a village, but less than a city. It was big enough to host four general goods stores, a dress shop, a teahouse, six pubs, five public bathing houses, several stables and inns, and seven forges. Seven. Emry had anticipated one, maybe two. Not seven!
Somehow during her two-night stay for Bella and Everett’s party, she was going to have to find a way to visit each forge without drawing attention to herself. She really didn’t want news of her snooping through smithies reaching her father. She’d barely managed to get him to agree to let her come to Pragge. He would never approve of her crafting herself some shadow blades.
Another problem would be avoiding the ever-present set of guards her father had sent along. He’d given her the usual retinue of fifteen guards – the same number she’d traveled around Enlennd with a couple months ago. Also, just as before, at least three of them trailed her wherever she went. Down every hall of Lady Bella’s family home. From the moment she stepped out of her bedroom’s door to when she crossed its threshold again.
She’d arrived in Pragge yesterday afternoon. The banquet was to be held tonight. Then the actual engagement ball the following day. The festivities for that would last long into the night. This morning was Emry’s one shot at finding Lord Smith. She was going to have to somehow sneak past her guards. Even though they wouldn’t stop her from exploring the town, they’d report back to Onyx. As she didn’t want her father knowing she wished for some new swords, she was going to need to evade them.
This was a good thing. Good practice for her. Or so she told herself. She had yet to sneak out of the palace to the Ranga Pit without Trezim, but she really needed to keep up her routine back home in order to stay active and grow stronger – so as to stop her from being put into another situation where she couldn’t protect herself. Thus, figuring out how to slip past her guards unnoticed would be good for her.
She decided to have her breakfast in her room. Or rather, she had it sent to her room, made sure her guards saw her accept her tray, before shutting herself inside. She didn’t touch it, though.
No, the moment the servant who had brought her the food was out, Emry threw off her satin robe that had been covering the plainest traveling gown she possessed – a brown muslin dress with sleeves that went to her elbows and a deep green ribbon at her waist, except she chose to forgo the ribbon to make the dress even more plain. When Fanny had done the buttons up her back, Emry had waited for her maid to comment on her choice. Fortunately, Fanny hadn’t so much as blinked at the dress.
Tossing a glance at herself in the mirror beside her bed, she drew out the black from her hair – making herself blonde. It’d been a while since she’d used that particular ability. Yet, she didn’t have time to stare at herself.
Before the servant could have taken five steps from her room, Emry shifted into shadow and slithered out beneath her door through the crack. She stayed low, stretching herself along the bottom of the wall where it met the floor.
The problem with transforming herself into shadow during the day was that it took a large amount of it to make up her body. She wasn’t just one tiny little tendril of darkness. She was more like a small cloud, which made it tricky to stay hidden. While the sun was out, it was usually better to find a darkened corner or a heavily shaded area to draw the existing shadows around her as cover. To slither about in the sunshine as shadows was just asking for someone to notice.
Luckily, Bella’s hallways were unfashionably dim. Hardly any windows. The only light came from sporadically placed candelabras.
Emry slid behind the ankles of two of her guards. A third one was on the opposite side of her door. Hopefully he wasn’t looking down. She just needed to round the corner – the corner that was about ten feet from her door. Once she rounded it, she’d be out of sight of her guards. It was much easier to sneak by servants than guards looking for suspicious behavior.
Just a couple more feet to go. Emry’s heart was racing. She wasn’t exactly sure where her heart sat within her cloud of shadows, but she could feel it thumping. She still had yet to figure out the logistics of her body parts when she transformed.
But she was to the corner and around it just a short breath later. She didn’t pause to make sure her guards hadn’t followed her. Across the hall were a darker line of shadows, away from the candles. Emry flung herself at them, hiding within them, and urged her body forward at a much faster pace.
Getting out of Bella’s estate turned out to be fairly painless. Good. A small relief. Although, once she was outside she didn’t fear discovery.
Bella’s ancestors had either built her home in the middle of a small forest, or planted all the trees afterwards. Either way, there was plenty of shade for Emry to hide in – so much so that she solidified and only pulled the shadows beneath the trees around her. It was far less tiring to do than keep herself in shadow form. She was going to need to practice moving about as swirling black mist more often. She was sweating from just getting out of the estate. If she ever wanted to get out of her palace to the Ranga Pit unnoticed, she needed to build her stamina.
Emry walked the two miles into town. She knew the way from the day before – she’d paid attention on the ride through it. By the time she got to the center of Pragge, she was most definitely sweating despite the cooler day. She would have preferred to wear a pair of leggings, but women in the Midlands rarely wore them. In this case, they’d bring her unwanted attention.
She arrived in Pragge around midmorning. She didn’t release her shadows, until she reached its center, keeping herself unseen in the alleys. Then, acting as if she belonged – a habit she’d picked up from Sabine in Heerth – she stepped into the light of the street and headed for one of the busier pubs. She kept her head high, but swiveled it back and forth, taking in the shops and various clusters of people milling about. Emry wanted to look like she had a purpose but was still a visitor in need of information.
Children, men, and women meandered about. Some went off to the bakery, others to one dress shop or another, some drawing circles on the ground with chalk to hop between. Pragge wasn’t necessarily bustling, but it was clearly active enough.
Outside of the particular pub she’d chosen as her destination, a few women – two young and one bordering on elderly – tittered with a middle-aged man. Clearly a gentleman, if not quite a noble. His clothes were finely cut and fashionable – his crisp, white cravat tied smartly around his neck.
As Emry passed by the group, she felt his eyes trail after her, but she refused to meet his gaze. He might be important enough to attend the engagement party, and Emry didn’t want anyone recognizing her later. She knew better than to assume changing her hair to blonde would be enough to throw anyone off.
She ascended the three steps, holding her skirts with one hand, and opened the door with her free hand.
The pub was average – not large or small, not exceptionally dirty or clean, not too dim or too bright. Square tables with four dark stained chairs at each made up the majority of the front room. A host stand sat at the front for seating. This was more in the style of Enn – a style she’d only recently discovered was even a thing thanks to Trez’s inability to give her proper instructions in finding the Ranga Pit. She’d wasted her time in more pubs in Breccan during her search than she’d like to admit.
At the back of the room of tables, there was a swinging door for servers – wearing pale gray aprons – to carry trays back and forth from. Trays of steaming food, used plates and glasses, drinks, and bread. Each table had a small black iron lantern on top of it with an orb of light floating inside. That surprised Emry. The pub was successful enough to have an Orange employed. The room had beadboard along the bottom half of its walls, painted a dark gray. The t
op half of the walls were papered in a pattern of gold and green ivy leaves that had seen better days and was peeling in some corners.
One of the servers, upon seeing her enter, headed towards her, wiping her hands on her apron. “Fine morning to you,” the woman greeted.
She had brown hair in a loose braid down one side of her head, draping in front of her shoulder. She wasn’t skinny or round, plain or particularity striking, old or young. Average nose, average chin, average face. She was much like the pub in that she somehow blended into everything.
Then Emry glimpsed her eyes. Brown. That made sense. She practically embodied this place.
“Fine morning to yourself,” Emry intoned with a smile.
“Brunch for one?” The woman asked.
Emry nodded. “Yes, please.”
“Follow me,” she said with a jerk of her head – not particularity polite, but not quite rude either.
As she twined Emry through the dining room, Emry couldn’t stop her own curiosity. “Are you the owner?”
The woman glanced over her shoulder in surprise. “In a way, this place belongs to my family.”
It certainly looked like a place run by a bunch of brown-eyed. Everything was meant to merge into the other. It was almost like they were trying not to stand out – to not bring in business. Yet, the room was almost full. What drew them in?
As Emry had expected, and was another Enn custom, she was seated in the empty chair of a table that already had people in two of the other chairs. Most likely other parties of one or friends placed together. It was the way Enn pubs served more people at a time. Communal seating.
Emry wasn’t usually fond of it, but today she hoped it’d be to her benefit in extracting information.
While Emry settled in, the woman rattled off a list of options for her to choose from. No menu – another Enn habit. Emry went with sweet bread and some egg and spinach dish. The woman left, and Emry turned her attention to her new companions. They weren’t friends – too silent and seldom lifted their eyes from their plates. They both in polite Mid fashion offered her a smile by way of greeting then contented themselves with ignoring her while they ate.