Meriwether and Sight of Day made good speed for about ten minutes until they hit a snag. The snag was about two meters tall, clothed in shabby robes. The Vhemin High Priest stood in the middle of the road, wearing a scowl that shifted to a mad-tinged grin when he caught sight of Meriwether. “You!” “Ah.” Meriwether offered a small bow, then darted down an alley to the left. Sight of Day, initially on his heels, paced past him almost effortlessly. The Feybrind vaulted onto a fence to the left, spun, and held his hand out to Meriwether. Scrambling over, they tumbled to land in a pile of rotten vegetables on the other side. “Marvelous,” Meriwether said. The cat clicked his fingers in front of Meriwether’s face to get his attention. {The High Priest can unmake me. I feel it in Read More …

The day of Geneve’s Trial dawned like any other. Perhaps a little more sun, a little more fear. She made her preparations, then went into the mess to eat. Breakfast was big and hearty. A scrap of folded paper was delivered to her by a Postulant while she ate. She felt her belly grow cold as she opened it. TRESWARD’S TRIAL OF NOVICE GENEVE THE CHARGE OF FREEZING THE CHARGE OF BEASTS THE CHARGE OF FIFTY THE CHARGE OF THE TREE That was it. Two tests other than the expected fights and killing of her tree. A single day’s Trial. She wondered if Israel had asked Justiciars to be lenient. Whether Vertiline spoke in their hallowed presence, demanding balance. If they remembered Wincuf and his terror. She crumpled the paper, tossing it to the table. Pushing her bowl aside, Geneve Read More …

Geneve marched with Israel and Vertiline to the Brook District. It had been a sleepy enough settlement within Ravenswall. Not too wealthy, not too poor. Artisans made it their home. Nothing was tactically significant about it, except for one thing. It was right in Nicolette’s path. Meri’s plan made sense: head to the Brook District and meet Nicolette head on. Aside from the warm comfort of her old friends Iz and Tilly, she had the bulwark of Armitage’s presence. Nicolette nearly bested two Knights, but an Adept plus a very large Vhemin might make all the difference. Geneve doubted it. She figured the secret weapon of Meri’s plan a better idea. He’d said, Your job is to draw Nicolette’s eye. Be in her face. Be angry. The seen thing. Hide the idea of wizards from her until it’s too late. His eyes Read More …

It wasn’t thunder. It was the Storm, held by a Champion’s leash. Nicolette marched on Queensfane Village. The Witch Knight held an army of the dead on a tether of lost souls, burning a choking, corrupted path through the belly of Ravenswall. And she really, really wanted Meriwether. Screams made faint by distance carried on the wind. They may as well have been the cries of gulls. Lightning lashed the sky, cracking the Three’s whip as Nicolette came to finish them. The dragon hadn’t managed to kill Nicolette. Israel hadn’t bested her, even with Vertiline’s help. She wanted Meriwether, or at least the knowledge he carried. When she got it she would tear the righteous from the Tresward, corrupting it into a force for evil. Which means she’ll write names in the damn book, including Geneve’s. Meriwether clenched his fists. Read More …

Geneve ‘borrowed’ good silver regals from Vertiline before heading for the apothecary. The Chevalier said she was going to ‘get drunk’ and ambled off, leaving their wagon in the care of a stable boy who looked struck dumb by her pale beauty. It made Geneve grumpy, because no one looked at her that way. Her amber skin and red hair were not a thing people seemed to want. No Novice at the Tresward paid her attention. Boys and girls snuck off, but none took her hand. I must be plain. She shook her head, locks lashing in anger. I’ll never be pretty like Vertiline. The apothecary’s door banged open as she barged in. The little bell atop the frame jingled in panic. An old man harrumphed from the back of the shop. “What? Who’s there?” She stormed forward. The old man Read More …

Geneve felt the throne room was too hot. Too many eyes on her, with far, far too many people watching. She waited, unsure of what to do with her hands. Queen Morgan sat on her throne, her Coven arrayed about the room, with her honor guard front and center. She’d said to Armitage, Please hide, and he’d said, Fuck off, but she’d held his hands and he’d nodded, hulking back to the antechamber. Sight of Day went with him, tail lashing, gold eyes hard like metal. The Feybrind said nothing, but his eyes reminded her of her duty. Duty to her Tresward, and to her heart. It felt like she was splitting in half. She felt someone by her side and turned to find Meri there. His hand found hers, gentle fingers inside her metal gauntlet. “I’m here. Whatever comes, we’ll do it together.” Read More …

The path to the throne room wasn’t direct. Queen Morgan didn’t provide a convenient route from the front door to her throat. Near as Meriwether could tell, she closeted herself behind six sets of vaulted doors, each with six guards. Thirty-six fellows and a lot of wood and steel. It spoke to a learned sense of caution. The guards were what you’d expect: steely-eyed, hard-faced, and holding weapons in a way that said, I know how to use this, and I mean to. Naturally, they had an escort. The largest man Meriwether had ever seen held the rear. He made Israel look like a dwarf rabbit, but couldn’t match Armitage’s bulk. The guard kept puffing out his chest and other nonsense if the Vhemin looked his way, as if claiming a piece of him should the action start. Armitage paid him Read More …

“You want to go to an apothecary?” Vertiline drove the wagon, reins loose in easy hands. “What’s this got to do with a kiss?” “You love Israel,” blurted Geneve. Vertiline snorted. “You’re fifteen. You know nothing of love.” “Fourteen.” “Exactly my point.” The Chevalier’s pale cheeks held no hint of flush. “Out of curiosity, and merely to pass the long, wearying journey, why would you say that?” “Israel and Kytto don’t like each other.” Geneve counted on her fingers. “But they work together to help me.” “So?” “Because you need them to.” Geneve looked at the floorboards beneath her feet.  “Oh, wise fourteen-year-old, why would I love Israel if I tried to kiss Kytto?” “It was twenty years ago.” “Are you going to make my points for me the whole journey?” Geneve smirked. “You wanted Israel’s attention. The Smith is Read More …

Queensfane Village lay at the core of Ravenswall’s crescent design. Geneve kept her eyes open and her mouth shut as they entered the city. They needed to pass three more walls to get to the hub of the city. Almost fifty thousand souls called this place home, and many would sell out a fallen Knight for a single silver regal. Her helmet drew the odd passing eye, but not so much as Armitage’s bear, Beck. People looked on in awe or scurried away in fear as their personal stock of courage allowed. Children followed in their wake, wide-eyed at first, then with laughter. Geneve felt her shoulder blades tense until it felt like they’d meet in the middle.  “Relax,” Meriwether suggested from where he strode by Tristan’s neck. His shiny boots walked the cobbles easy enough; she’d never have guessed Read More …

They set no guard. Exhausted as they were, they dropped off where they lay at the fireside. The night approached, cold and hard, waking Meriwether from a dream where he drowned in a sea made of doubts and fears. The night was alive with the sound of small insects singing for a mate, or whatever it was insects did at the border of a blasted desert wasteland.  He got up, eyed the stars, and decided it was about two o’clock. Too early for tea, and too late to return to sleep. Meriwether pottered about the camp, trying to move quietly. He rescued a blanket from their packs before finding Geneve. She slept, head back, one arm over her face, the other cast out as if warding off demons. Meriwether lay the blanket over her, then thought about going for a Read More …