by M. L. Greye
Emry dipped her spoon into her thick potato soup and brought it to her lips. Glavs served a piping hot bowl of some sort of soup with every meal, even breakfast. The morning soups, as Glavs called them, were more like sweetened creamy wheat or a soupy oatmeal. Sometimes Emry liked them, and sometimes she only took one bite.
A knock sounded on the front door to Emry’s lodgings. She tossed a glance at the tall grandfather clock in the main room and smiled. Well, he was at least a punctual merchant.
This was why Emry hadn’t joined Fanny and the cook. She’d arranged for a merchant of priceless spices to visit her. He was rumored to have some all the way from Heerth. Instead of venturing into the cold, she’d sent for him to come to her, with the promise to make the trip through the snow worth his while.
Emry stood and cracked open the door. Even with it barely open, wind whistled past her, stinging and biting. “Yes?”
She recognized three of the figures to be her guards by the silver and black scarves they wore around their faces and necks. The fourth wore a red cloak, almost purple in color. She couldn’t see anything but their eyes because of the scarves they’d wrapped around their heads. One of her guards stepped forward, pulling down his scarf so it sat below his chin, revealing his mouth. “The merchant has come.”
“Have you searched him?” Emry forced a concerned edge to her voice.
He nodded. “He’s clean. No weapons.”
“Very well,” she said. “Remain out by the door in case I need you.”
“Of course, dearest princess.” He bowed at the waist and stepped back so the merchant could pass.
Emry opened the door a little wider, shivering in the blast of frigid wind, and the merchant slipped inside. She quickly shut it behind him, trying not to shiver.
The merchant began unraveling his scarf from his face and removed his hat, revealing a large, dark mustache with hints of gray at its edges. Emry had not been expecting the mustache. She had to force herself not to stare at it. Crows feet touched the corners of his teal eyes.
He dropped into a bow, his hat and scarf in his hands. “You sent for me, dearest princess?”
It’d taken Emry a week to discover this man before her. A week of eavesdropping as nothing more than shadow and mist. A week of listening around communal fires while bundled up so no one would recognize her. A week of feigning interest in goods at shops, dressed incognito, to snatch up rumors. A week of enduring dinner parties with Glav nobles who seemed only interested in discussing Cit’s upcoming Trials, trying to glean information from Emry – Trials Emry honestly knew next to nothing about.
“Greggin Thawk.” Emry tilted her head to the side. “I’m glad you’ve come.”
“Is there anything in particular you’re hoping to acquire?” He asked with a kind smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He pushed back his cloak, drawing out a leather satchel of dark brown and gold embroidery.
This was it. Emry took a steadying breath and dropped into her practiced Mistress pose. “I’ve heard you’ve been rallying Rioters against the Jewels.”
She’d honestly expected him to laugh – try to talk it up as nothing more than rumors. She had not expected him to run at her at Teal speed.
One moment he was in front of her, the next blink he was behind her – one arm wrapped around her neck, the other locking her wrists behind her back. Emry stared at the spot he’d been only a heartbeat before, wide-eyed.
“What you heard was right,” he hissed into her ear. “And it seems my bait I’ve left behind has worked to my advantage.”
Bait? “What bait?”
“Who do you think was feeding that cook of yours news of rare Heerth spices?” He replied smugly.
It took a second for Emry to realize what he meant. “Wait. You’ve been wanting me to summon you?”
He’d been trying to get her attention all the while she’d been searching out the head Rioter in Saginawt, Glavenryl’s largest township. It was almost comical. Although, she doubted his reasoning for searching her out was the same as her own. Not while he held her arms behind her back.
“Not very quick, are you?” He drawled.
Emry had half a mind to bite his arm, but she needed him as an ally. If she began a physical sort of fight with him, no matter how trained she was, once he tapped his speed, he’d have the advantage over her. Also, any sort of unusual noise would bring her guards snooping. She needed to keep quiet but also get him off of her so they could talk. Still, she was curious.
“Why did you come here?” She asked.
“For ransom,” he retorted. “To grab the attention of your father, so he and your precious Royals might finally take our complaints seriously.”
That certainly grabbed Emry’s attention. Honestly, it wasn’t a half bad idea. Sure, the execution was a little poorly done. Just one man coming to seize her out of her own compound. Unless there were others out there, perhaps just waiting for the signal to torch the place. Which would be a real shame as these huts had stood for over two hundred years, or so she’d been told.
She sighed. She knew what she had to do. “Well, that is a fascinating notion. We should circle back to this later.”
Before he had a chance to reply, she adjusted her eyes and reached out with that other ability. She grabbed hold of his light and tugged slightly.
Greggin sank to the floor, hands on his chest, feeling his life being drawn out of him. Emry, now free of his grasp, settled her face into a sneer and crouched down so that their eyes were level.
With his life flowing through her, he was frozen, unable to tap into his speed. He stared at her in horror. A part of her recoiled at that look. At causing fear. But Emry stamped it down. That was the princess part of her.
Right now she needed to be The Mistress. And The Mistress did what it took without regrets. Emry slipped on that persona like she would a dress. Easily. Comfortably. For Enlennd.
“You have a choice to make, Greggin,” she said smoothly. Evenly. “You can continue on with your attempted capture of Princess Emerald, or,” she paused and shifted her smile into something predatory. She drew out the black from her hair, turning it blonde, and in her Anexian accent, she said, “Or, you can swear your allegiance to me – The Mistress.”
His eyes bulged, and Emry knew her work the past week had been put to good use.
Not only had she been gathering information, she’d also been spreading rumors. News of who The Mistress was, what she’d done, and what she was aiming to accomplish. Because she’d wanted every Rioter in Saginawt to have heard of her.
Emry chuckled darkly at Greggin’s expression. Then, she released some of those shadows within her – allowed them to trickle out of her, encircling her. She walked to a stuffed chair and lowered herself into it, casually crossing her legs over one arm with her back to the other so that she could still face him.
Shadows twisted around her hand. She twirled them between her fingers as if she were merely running her hands through water.
“I invited you here, Greggin, because I’ve heard that you are a voice for Glav Rioters. A leader of sorts.” She tilted her head to the side again, regarding him for a moment, letting that sink in. Then, she said, “I have a plan for Enlennd. A Path. I wish us to be a united nation once more. To no longer be Rioters and Royals, but simply people of Enlennd.”
She stopped playing with her shadows and let her hands rest in her lap. She could feel the power his life offered, flaring through her. She could feel that dark piece of her rise up, wishing her to claim it as her own. To claim the power contained within his life.
Emry ignored it, knowing the life she now felt wouldn’t feel the same if she claimed it. Instead, she asked Greggin, “What sort of future do you wish for Enlennd? I’m heir to the throne. Now imagine if I were also the leader of the Rioters. The voice for the people. You say you want to be heard by the Jewels.” She threw her arms wide. “I’m sitting right here, and I want to work with you.”
Emry released
her grasp on his light, sending it back to him. Greggin gasped and fell forward onto his hands, panting. Emry kept her face neutral, but inside she was a compressed spring, ready to act if he darted for her or even towards a door. But he didn’t.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the baked clay tiled floor. He pushed himself upright and onto his feet. He stood watching her for a moment while his breathing steadied. Then, he said, “Enlennd is in need of a navy.”
She nodded. “Agreed.” Enlennd hadn’t had one in probably a hundred years.
He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the table that was set with her lunch. “Is the soup still hot?”
Emry grinned. “If it’s not, I’ll call in for more.”
“Good.” His gaze followed the twirling shadows throughout the room. “I feel we have much to discuss.”
Letting out a short laugh, Emry uncoiled to her feet. She crossed the distance between them and stuck out her hand. When Greggin clasped wrists with her, she smirked. “Like I said, I’m glad you’ve come.”
:::::
It took his shoulder two days to heal. If he’d still been in a tent he would have been forced to stay in the infirmary. Thankfully, he had a warm place to rest, so he was allowed to spend his nights in his own A-frame. The advantage of being a permanent. For two days, he got to stay out of the cold and have a Ruby check on him twice a day – morning and night.
It was the closest he’d ever come to happy since arriving in the camp. The downside was that it left him plenty of time to his own thoughts. It was the typical double-edged blade of an injury at the camp. Sure, it got him out of training, but it also provided ample time to dwell on past horrors.
To combat his own thoughts from consuming him, his mind often drifted to Emry. She was the easiest to picture. Not his parents or sisters – people he might never see again. Not anyone from the life he’d left behind – a life he could never return to even if he ever was freed. Not his friends he’d made in the camp – friends he could lose should any of their duels go wrong. No, Emry was safe to imagine.
She was safely far away.
He’d saved her. He’d done at least something with his life that was worthwhile, and he was glad Emry was out there somewhere living. Safe. As he hoped she’d always stay.
It was easy to recall her face, too. Well, the face his subconscious gave her. Emry the adult. He’d stopped dreaming of her with varying ages forever ago. Long before even coming here to Quirl.
His dream Emry was stunning. Ashy blonde hair. Large, bright silver eyes. High cheekbones. Full lips. Slender and fit. Declan could picture her in his head all day. Which was exactly what he’d been doing for the past two days.
The wind was howling again. Another blizzard off the mountains. Hopefully it’d blow over by morning, or he’d have to endure it tomorrow. The Ruby at the infirmary today had declared his shoulder well enough to return to his usual routine in the morning.
Just then, his door clattered open. Declan lurched upright, his shoulder straining. Rand strode in, slamming the door behind him – the snowflakes that had blown in falling around his feet. Rand swore and brushed the snow off his arms. His shoulder length hair had been tied back into a bun at the base of his neck with a leather strap.
“Horrendous night,” he muttered, “Be grateful you didn’t have to be out in it.”
Declan snorted and dropped back onto his cot, one hand behind his head. “I’ll be out there tomorrow.”
Rand moved to the stove and held his gloved hands above it. Gloves Declan didn’t own – had yet to win for himself. “Better already? Does your Teal speed also work with healing?”
Not that Declan was aware of. He twisted his head to see Rand. “Why were you out in the storm?” It’d been dark for hours. “Did Fiona turn down your invitation to keep her warm?” Declan knew Rand would never ask any such thing of the Blue. Ever.
Rand knew Declan knew it, too. It was why all he did was grunt. “I didn’t ask. I just did it anyway.”
He blinked. “What?”
The Gray grinned. “I’m employing one of my more useful abilities to keep the air in her tent warm. I didn’t tell her I’d do it.”
“I’m sure she realizes who’s doing it,” Declan replied. “It’s not like anyone else would dare the wrath of the Back Rubes.”
“No, I think you and I are the only ones stupid enough to try.” Rand lowered himself onto the floor beside the stove with a groan. “No one seemed to notice, by the way.”
“Your tent warming?” Declan raised an eyebrow.
“Well, yes, that, but I meant your…” He paused. “Your hesitation. During our duel.”
“I was wondering about that.” Declan pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of his cot. He scraped his scalp with his fingers. “I don’t know how anyone missed it, though.”
“Because you stopped moving for less than half a second,” he retorted. “I only caught it when I did because I’m used to tracking lightning, which moves, incredibly enough, even faster than you.”
Declan leaned forward over his knees, his forearms braced on his thighs. He focused on his hands. “I see it now – what you meant. Took me a while, but I think you’re right – one- on-one, ability to ability, I won’t lose.”
His friend was quiet for a moment. Then, “You’ve become the fastest man I’ve ever heard of.”
“Hopefully I never have to face the fastest one out there.” Declan let out a short laugh.
Rand snorted. “Let me rephrase – you’re the fastest man in history.”
Declan’s head snapped up. “You’re delusional.”
“No, that would be you,” Rand shot back. “Before coming here, I had a very thorough education in many topics. Not once did I read about a Teal being able to run up a mountain seven times in thirty seconds.”
“I can’t do that, either.” He could only do it six times in thirty seconds.
Apparently, Rand didn’t merit that worthy of a response because he asked, “So, what will you do with your speed? Go on a killing spree? Escape? Topple kingdoms?”
Declan laughed bleakly. “If only.”
The Gray was silent for so long that Declan straightened and stretched his tight, injured shoulder. But then, Rand said quietly, “I think you could do it.”
“Do what?”
“Escape,” Rand breathed the word like it was sacred. “Out of all of us, I think you’d be the one actually capable of doing it.”
Declan almost denied it. But then, he thought of Naria’s ruined face. Of how easy it would have been to rip out Rand’s arms from his chest. And part of him believed Rand.
If he plotted and planned and held back just enough, as Fiona had advised, he really could possibly escape. But as he held Rand’s gaze, he realized he wouldn’t do it.
He wouldn’t leave Rand behind. Or Fiona. He couldn’t. At least not until they all could go.
He’d have to think more on how to accomplish that, though, so to Rand, Declan merely shrugged and repeated, “If only.”
:::::
Emry was sparring with Greggin in his main living area. Structurally, it looked almost identical to her own living area in her Glav hut. As for the decor, Greggin had a much more lavish style – or perhaps the right word for it was gaudy. Thick rugs and tapestries of red and purple were everywhere. Large pieces of furniture with rounded edges and dyed in rich, dark shades filled up almost every inch of open space. In order to spar, she and Greggin had had to move everything up against one wall so they’d have the space to move.
Levric was observing them from his spot in a stuffed chair that nearly swallowed him – Levric who was not a small man. Greggin definitely had a unique taste. One wall alone was filled with seven clocks. Seven. Who needed seven clocks?
While Emry and Greggin practiced swords, Levric had been discussing Greggin’s idea to negotiate over a ransom. He seemed to think it a good idea to implement in their own schemes, suggesting they actually do “capture�
�� her by bringing her to Anexia.
“We could use Cit,” Emry suggested, darting to the side of Greggin. “We could select a Challenger to send to her Trials then have him kidnap me. Bring me to Anexia.”
Her father would begin negotiations over her. He’d never leave her to die – not after losing Ewan.
“We’d have to make sure my fledgling little Committee is able to meet me there in Anexia,” Emry added. “So that when my father comes, I’ll have a following to prove the Rioters can no longer be ignored.”
“The problem, though, is that your father and the Royals won’t see your kidnapping as something done by the Rioters,” Levric pointed out. “They don’t see the Rioters as just one group with a purpose. Your father may still find you brash and naïve.”
She winced. “How might I change that?”
“I doubt he or anyone in that Court understands why the Rioters began in the first place.” Greggin grunted, stepping back to avoid Emry’s blade to his stomach. “Honestly, most of Enlennd is ignorant of it.”
Levric scratched his bearded chin with one hand. “We could inform the public on The Feud. If our history was common knowledge, perhaps the king would assume his daughter was aware of the situation as well.”
Emry let out a short laugh. “A lovely sentiment. Easier said than done.”
Greggin lowered his blades, turning to Levric. “It’d be fairly easy to spread the word through a pamphlet.”
“Interesting,” Levric mused.
“Pamphlet?” Emry frowned, dropping her arms to her side. She was panting, but of course Greggin the Teal hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“I doubt you’ve seen any in your circles,” Greggin retorted.
She frowned at him, and Levric explained, “Trifolds are commonly found in pubs, taverns, and inns. They’re editorials on whichever political topic is popular at the moment. In the past, various Rioter factions have used them to gain favor with the locals.”
“So, a trifold would already be familiar with our followers,” Emry said slowly, between breaths. “What about the nobility?”