Steelfated, p.34
Steelfated, page 34
“That’s not how that one is done.” She said, perhaps too pointedly. His eyes flicked up to her again. He reassembled the puzzle without looking at it. His eyebrow arched slightly and the corner of his mouth tugged upwards in that damnable Halstraad smirk he wore.
“It came apart and went back together, didn’t it?” He said.
“Yes, but that was the wrong way to do it. The smith who made it showed me the right one.” He offered the puzzle up to her. She took it and twisted the pieces around for a few moments, then it popped apart. “See?” she said. He held out his hand, and she dropped the puzzle back into it.
He reassembled it, then took it apart the way he had the first time. It took less than half the time that it had taken her. He did it again, copying her movements, then a third time, different from either way he had done it before, and one more time after that. He tilted his head and then set it in the smaller pile to his left.
“Why on all of Archenarium should there only be one way of solving that puzzle? There is never just one way to solve anything. The other ways might be far too difficult or the price too steep for following through with them, but there is always an alternative.” She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to choose her next words carefully, trying to decide if he was implying regret over their choice to move forward with their bonding. She couldn’t detect any of his true feelings on his face.
“Quit distracting me.” She finally huffed after a moment. “I’ve been trying to get one of these open without it exploding for months.” She turned back to her work.
She turned back to another cylinder and tried to open it as well.
There was a knock on the main door of their floor. She jumped and crossed the strands of magical knotwork that surrounded the artifact. Before she had time to wince, or curse, the cylinder exploded with a great puff of smoke and an orange flash. The remaining powder that was on the table caught fire. It knocked her backwards, and sent her careening to the floor, landing on her backside on one of the thick fur carpets, before rolling backwards and thumping her head against the earthen floor.
Morgain felt Radyn step past her as she was on the floor coughing.
He dropped a piece of parchment onto her lap, then smothered the small fire on her desk. She looked down at the parchment; the edges had smoke curling from them, and one corner was missing, but it was her notes, the bulk of them anyway. She could have kissed him for thinking of grabbing them.
She didn’t, but she could have.
A word of command cleared the air with a faint gust of wind, forcing the snow out through the hole in the ceiling that led to the floor above, then to the top of the Sidh itself. She winced as the wave of nausea rolled over her and glanced up at him apologetically.
Daeion’s magic had provided them with a lessening of their tangle- but not the immunity that their bonding would. He merely arched an eyebrow at her and extended his hand down to her. She took it with a slight flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
Then, as he pulled her gently to her feet, she waved her hand at him to open the door of the Sidh. His eyebrow arched further, and he walked the other way, reclaiming his seat and picking through the pile of blacksmith puzzles yet again.
Muttering and swearing under her breath about the man’s ability to irritate, infuriate, or inconvenience everyone around him, Morgain walked to the door and pulled it open.
She pointedly ignored his comment about her impressive alliteration.
Cynnamora stood on the landing, dressed in a tightly wrapped crimson and gold tunic and breeches. The wood toned skin of her arms was bare, as well as that of her legs below the knee and feet. She waited with a thoroughly “professional” look of patient importance on her face.
“Cynnamora, please, come in.” Morgain said after a barely concealed flash of jealous heat washed through her when she saw the dryad’s eyes wander over Radyn from head to toe where he sat, sorting through more of the bronze puzzles.
“Greetings Bandrui, Elf-kin. I bring a message to you and your friends. Tomorrow morning, as you well know, Behltai’ne begins. There is a grand celebration, which you are invited to as Daeion’s guests of honor. Your attendance is expected- though you need not stay the night through if you do not desire to. With that said, there is a secondary purpose to my visit as well.” She said, eyeing Radyn appreciatively again. His eyes flicked to her, though they gave nothing away. She stepped forward and released her hands from where they were clasped behind her back.
“Elf-kin- this pertains more directly to you than to the Bandrui- but it is good the both of you are present.” She took a deep breath while Radyn looked up at her more fully.
“Part of the Gwefri yn caomhnoir bonding- is that one of the pair be… for lack of more elegant terms in mortal languages… the sword and shield against which physical threats fall, whilst the other is the ward and will against which magical threats fall. As in all things in existence, there is a need for balance. There is a test in three parts, the Muster, the Crucible, and the Absolution, which the physical half of the pair must pass. Alternatively, for the magical part, there is the Tribulation, the Vexation, and the Ascendancy. Each test lasts a full day, and they are administered in parts. For example, the Muster is given to the physical guardian on a randomly chosen day between Behltaine and Lithael. Then one day after, the magical half of the pair is given the Tribulation, then there is some time off. The Crucible is administered the day before Lithael, and the Vexation is the day after Lithael. The Absolution will be administered somewhere between Luna’sadh and Mabion, the Ascendancy the following day. Except for the Crucible and the Vexation, they can be given at any time provided there is at least a week between tests. Then, you will have no responsibilities save those which you put on yourselves until the day before Mabion, upon which there is ‘a day and night of solace and introspection’ as you prepare for the bonding itself.”
Cynnamora stopped and looked at the pair of them. Morgain looked to Radyn, but as usual his face gave nothing away, and she kept her own thoughts hidden behind a mask of coy indifference. The silence stretched on for a few moments, becoming first mildly uncomfortable, then awkward, then poignant. Cynnamora wanted them to ask something, but Morgain knew better, and Radyn- well, he was Radyn.
After a moment, Cynnamora spoke again, her face and thoughts composed and professional.
“But- for the moment, none of that is over much important. It’s Behltai’ne after all. Attire has been provided for the pair of you, as well as your companions. The celebration starts at Dawn- as does Daeion’s true majority.” Cynnamora said with a sly smile. “Starting tomorrow, my role will be superseded by a member of a higher order than I am, and it will last until Luna’sadh, at which time I will return to my role. You are lucky your accident happened when it did. If you’d been… entangled… in the fall, you’d have fallen under Alystra’s shadow, and not Daeion’s. Though, keep in mind- that on the night of Lithael, from the time the last rays of the sun’s light disappear in the west, until the sky lightens in the east, Alystra’s power is practically unlimited. The same can be said for Daeion during the Daylight hours of Yeolha. It’s complicated… but like all other things, there is a balance.” She shrugged and gave a wan smile.
“Your kindness and promptness in fulfilling your duties has been exemplary, Cynnamora, and we ensure that Daeion is aware of the fact.” Morgain said smoothly after Cynnamora finished speaking. Radyn’s eyebrow twitched, and Cynnamora’s business like smile curled up slyly at the corners. “When next you have a day free of duties, please allow me to provide you with a beverage and meal of your choosing from Golfannon’s tavern.”
“As you will, Bandrui.” She said with a slight nod of her head. “If I can speak to you privately, and frankly for a moment, without risk of offending?” Morgain gave a small wave of acknowledgement to that. Radyn glanced over and arched an eyebrow, but he rose and left without a word. “You are quite good at this game, you know. Much better than your brother is, though he is perhaps the more… sapient of the pair.”
“A relevant observation, I’m sure.” Morgain said dryly. Radyn was not attempting to hide that damned Halstraad smirk a bit. “Terrence is too smart for his own good sometimes.” Cynnamora gave a musical laugh at this.
“Aye, while I believe he is the smarter of you, it is not by a large stretch.” She said with a faint smile. “You both have attributes that the other lacks, again it makes for balance. Your prospective gwefri yn Caomnhar is something else altogether.” Cynnamora gazed at her.
“He is… ah… yes, well… himself, certainly.” Morgain said ineffectively.
Cynnamora laughed again and shook her head.
“You had best get ready for the celebration. It will be one to remember- or if we’re lucky, one that we can’t remember.” She gave a slightly wicked grin. “I heard Daeion was bringing both the blue and the violet tonight, perhaps even a barrel of silver.”
Morgain glanced over at her, and Cynnamora’s grin widened again.
“Ahh, you’ve not been introduced to feywine yet- take some advice, stick to the red or the orange- they are closest to what you mortals would consider wine- or if you must risk it, the yellow, but be wary of it. The blue and violet are… potent. The silver is something else entirely.” She said with a shrug. Morgain gave a small laugh.
* * *
Morgain had actually stolen a couple of hours of sleep, though they had not been restful. A trio of pixies, and Cynnamora, who brough her dress, awoke her four hours before dawn, and helped her prepare for Behltai’ne.
She glanced at herself in the polished silver mirror in her room.
The dress was beautiful, made of emerald green velvet, with silver trim, silver buttons, silver pins. It had a short cape, just marginally too long to be called a stole, made of cloth of silver with a feyglass brooch set with an emerald. The dress, she was told, was hers to keep if she wished, but the brooch, and the matching emerald necklace, earrings, and circlet of woven silvery leaves were to be returned to Daeion when the celebration was over. A faint knock came at her door and she opened it, expecting Gwen, but when she opened the door, her breath caught.
Radyn stood in front of her, dressed all in black, his finery as nice as her own. Her eyes started at the top and trailed down. His black hair, normally tousled lazily, and loose, was oiled and smoothed. And, she noted with surprise, that it was long enough to be pulled back into a short tail, and a thin braided leather band tied his hair back. He’d trimmed his beard. For the first time since they’d been to the Fey court, it was now little more than a thin, close cut line that highlighted the angle of his jaw and his chin. His neck was bare, as were his arms, which revealed several scars and his tattoos. The vest fit tight, and was tucked in to fitted black trousers that were tucked into black boots that were so highly polished she could see her reflection in them.
“I… ah… you… ah… black looks good on you.” she managed lamely after a moment. His eyebrow twitched slightly and one corner of his mouth quirked upward.
“Black is a Muirdoch color. I think our traded color scheme is Daeion’s idea of a joke, but your dress and jewelry nearly match your eyes for their beauty.” She flushed, but kept her equilibrium.
“Is the gilded tongue that you and your brother share a Halstraad trait, or do you get that from your mother’s side of the family?”
“Oh, Thoran’s tongue is gilded doubtless, and if mine looks silver, it’s just highly polished and sharpened steel, more like to cut than flatter.” he said dryly. “But, you’ve met my father. He’s a good and honorable man, but has about as much social finesse as a loaf of bread. My mother, well…” he gave a slight shrug. Morgain shook her head.
“What brings you to my door this fine… is it late enough to be called morning yet?” she asked. Her voice rose in pitch slightly. “Are you here to ask to be my escort to Behltai’ne?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She had intended the question to sound as if it had a hint of excited flattery behind it. Only, in her excitement, her voice had cracked, and jumped almost another octave, and it had come across as mocking.
If he noticed, he gave little to no visual reaction. His smirk was still there, though.
“Why would I constrain myself to one woman’s company this evening, however beautiful she may be, when I have three of them who are here with me as guests of honor?” She kept the wince from her face, but the words cut.
“Now you sound like your brother.” She snipped hotly. “But you aren’t nearly as pretty.” His eyebrow twitched slightly, and his smirk widened a bit.
“No, I’d say not. Too many things in my life seem to use my face as target practice, or a punching bag.”
“Would that be women whom you have slighted by sharing your attention with two others or jealous husbands, I wonder?” She sniffed. He gave a bark of laughter, and genuine amusement danced in his eyes. His smirk became a smile, and she felt herself soften slightly.
“No, not spurned women or jealous husbands. You should know I’m too paranoid to allow your every day, run of the mill jealous husbands get that close to me, and the few that could, are not likely to. No, my face is just a victim of my trade.” He quipped.
“True, you are certainly paranoid.”
“It’s healthy.”
“How do you figure?” He glanced at her and made a single motion with his left arm.
How he conveyed “Here I am in fine physical health,”, “What kind of stupid question that,”, “Well duh,”, “I’m disappointed that you needed to ask,” and “Ironlake will never let you live that question down,” in a single wave of his arm, she wasn’t really sure, but he did. And all the statements were loud, crystalline, and succinct.
She gestured rudely at him, and his smirk returned.
* * *
The Fey Court was alive with sound and music when the four Steelfated approached. Fey fire, bright gold and deep crimson, providing light, but no heat, danced about the limbs of the trees that lined the court proper. A large square of freshly tilled and repacked black loam stood prominently in the center of the rich deep grass, and upon it the Fey were dancing. Morgain glanced over at Gwen, whose dress was ivory with black slashes around the cuffs and hem, and at Natalia, dressed in grey satin with pearls. Of all things, she wore a thin black mask that covered her eyes, and the left half of her face, as if she were at a Thyrian masquerade.
Radyn stood with them, his face as unreadable as a stone, though she thought maybe he had hesitated, almost imperceptibly, as they approached the court.
The crier announced them, and Daeion, who was standing close to a knot of Fey nobility with Alystra at his side, turned to look over at them, the wide, warm smile splitting his craggy face.
“Ahh, my ragtag group of dead mortals.” He said. The three women all gave a small respectful curtsy, acknowledging his rank and showing respect, and a slight deference to his wishes, without showing abject loyalty. Radyn bent at the waist slightly, but it was more a bow of acknowledgement of their presence than of their positions- though it was just barely deep enough to not be insulting. Daeion gave no reaction to this, not even a tightening around the eyes, but Alystra’s eyes grew icier than they were normally. Daeion continued his speech after their bows.
“The guests of honor. I tell you three times welcome to our Behltai’ne celebration, and the court once again. I tell you three times that the next day and night are a celebration, and that any behavior is acceptable, save the spilling of blood. So, please by all means- eat, drink, argue, gamble, dance, or mate at your own discretion-no insults shall be taken nor grudges held as of the end of the celebration!” He said. The fey gave a raucous cheer, and the music picked back up.
Morgain watched Radyn as his eyes scanned the crowd and thought she detected a faint hint of consternation. She walked to the table with the Fey wine on it, the crystalline Feyglass chalices that held it sparkled vibrantly. The wines held within were the full spectrum of colors, from red to Violet, electric in their intensity and all glowing faintly from within. Off to one end of the table, on a small dais, sat a single large decanter with what could have been quicksilver in it, though the liquid was much thinner.
She grabbed a glass of the yellow, deciding to risk it somewhat, but to maintain some sense of propriety.
The starburst citrus flavor of the liquid that hit her tongue nearly made her eyes cross in confusion, ecstasy, and the nearly inescapable urge to cough.
The Feywine was one of the best things she’d ever tasted. Like honeyed lemon cakes, and candied persimmons, though it burned like that damned gnomish spirit Radyn had taken with them to hunt Maurelle.
She felt someone move behind her and turned to see him standing there.
“Careful, lass. We could still be in some danger here tonight.” She waved him off as he grabbed a glass of the green Feywine. “And Feywine is likely to have a stronger effect on you than it does on myself or Natalia. Enjoy yourself, but it would be in your best interest to drink slowly.” he took a sip of the wine in his hand.
“Daeion said that no blood could be spilled tonight.”
“There are ways of killing someone without spilling blood, Morgain.” Radyn said coolly. She shivered slightly, but acknowledged his warning.
“You are right. I’ll be careful.” She whispered. He nodded and turned to walk away, but she had a brief flash of courage that surprised her. “Would you care to dance with me?” He took another sip of his wine before answering, a faint smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. He gave a flourishing bow to her, with all the grace, dignity, and complexity of one that might be given to the Thyrian monarchs. There was a faint hiccup in the murmur of voices as he did so.
“Of course, my lady. It would be my pleasure.” He held out his hand in an offering to her. She took it, feeling her pulse quicken. The pair of them glided across the ground to the dance floor, and the music smoothed and slowed, changing keys becoming the legato of a tender ballad, much different from the staccato of the jig and reel that had been playing before they approached the floor. Morgain’s eyes darted around, looking for Gwen, who was busy talking to one of the Glass guardsmen. Then they found Natalia, whose grin stretched from ear to ear, standing in a spot by the musicians.
