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 …

“There’s nothing for it. You’re going to have to cheat.” Kytto scowled at her, as if his idea was her fault. Geneve picked up a breastplate from the floor, walking it to a pile. Her Trial was next month. She was out of time. “I don’t want to cheat.” “Do you want to die?” “No.” “Then you need to cheat.” “How?” Geneve dropped the breastplate with a clatter. The Smithsteel never scratched, no matter how indelicate she was with it. “How do I beat fifty Novices who can use the Storm without it at my side?” “That’s not the hard part,” Kytto said. “It feels hard!” “The hard part is the rest of the Trial, because we don’t know what it is. There could be tigers.” “You’re not helping.” “Sorry.” Kytto hid a grin. “They’ve never used tigers.” “This isn’t Read More …

The world swayed, a gentle rolling insistence that kept her mind at peace. Geneve saw light, then dark, followed by more light. Her body hurt, but her soul felt at peace, like she’d given away the piece of herself she didn’t want or need. She didn’t remember her failure commanding the Storm, how she let Israel and Vertiline down, or why she traveled with a sinner. If she’d died in this state she’d have thought, it’s enough. The gentle rolling led to discomfort. Light became heat, and the dark cold, until Geneve was reminded of having someplace to be, and something to do there. Her eyes were dry, and when she tried to rub them, her fingers found cloth. She pawed at her face and pulled away old, rough fabric that smelled of a beggar man who should be king. Her Read More …

Meriwether’s teeth hurt, and that was the good part. He’d grabbed the discs, hoping to give Geneve a rest from burning pieces of her life to ash to help everyone but herself, and that’s when the hurting started. It hurt a lot, and everywhere at once. It felt like a hot wire was pushed through his skin, into his bones, but all over his body. When he hit the floor, his mind drifted. He felt like a leech had sucked something out of him. A component without a name. While his hands were on the discs, he’d felt his life play before him. Not the ridiculous term flashing before your eyes, but a blow-by-blow recap of everything he’d done. It wasn’t the events that were important, but who he’d been with, and what he’d done to them, or for them. The Read More …

Geneve’s own Trial was a thing she grew to fear. The years marched on, relentless, and still the Storm evaded her. On her fourteenth birthday, it was announced her Trial would be next year. Kytto said it was ‘bullshit.’ No one forced a Novice to Trial, but he wanted to help her pass. The Smith never held the Storm, but he eyed her form, and swore it was the best he’d seen from any Novice. Perfection even Chevaliers couldn’t manage. Israel and Vertiline sparred with her. Blades of wood, not glass or steel, but even with a stick Israel could conjure the Storm. Clerics were brought to assess. Lucent Eleni feared illness, and wise heads nodded in agreement. It was a sickness, but one of the mind. She need only remember what happened before her fifth birthday. Seal the rift Read More …