Chapter 15: The Mavi's Blade
A Legacy, Etched in Light
Jasmin was there when I woke. I knew she would be. We hadn't spent a sun apart in the almost seven moons we'd been together.
Why had I thought that?
There were two moons in Powell's Square. The journey to Blue Stone took three moons. Our cold season had been mild. And the trip to the first district was two moons. That made seven.
But we were still in Blue Stone. I was certain of that. We hadn't even considered making our way to the first district. Violet's Repose would have to wait for us. It wasn't time yet.
My mind kept turning those thoughts around. Bizarre, almost foreign. Meanwhile Jasmin slept in the same position she had in Powell's Square the sun we met.
I turned my head right, where the silverthorn still rested in its vase. To the left was the same bouquet, still fresh. The rose's thorn was gone. I felt a tear roll melancholic down my cheek.
This was indeed the same room in Blue Stone, and Jasmin was resting on me, the same look of worry she'd had every time something had gone wrong. Instinctively, I began to count her breaths, holding my own. My pulse beat like thunder in my ears as I watched.
One. Out. Two. Out. Three. Three. Three. Out. Almost sobbing in her sleep.
"Remember Afina," the words escaped me in a whisper, half recalled, half wished.
Aster was here. Not in this room, but in this house. Vanara appeared. Jasmin was there. There was something else. Silver and emeralds.
Salora. Rose.
Flashes of horrifying scenes passed like Rose's visions. A forest of metal and light. A grand hall, empty yet full. A corridor with walls of glass. A room bathed in a sickly yellow glow. A shadow, and a blade sunk deep into —
My arms seemed to burn, drawing me from the memory I couldn't face.
Deep sapphire fissures ran from my left shoulder to the wrist. The holes across my chest were the same. I could only imagine what the rest of me looked like.
Pulling my right hand from under the blanket, I felt for a muscle I only just learned existed. It was there. Pushing that feeling out, the hand glowed. First the fingertips at the nails, then working their way to my wrist, until the whole arm was consumed in the sickly silver light. It looked like death and felt like life.
Letting the cold-flame die, I moved to sit up. Somehow Jasmin still slept. As I gently moved her from my legs, she stirred. "Too ... bright ..." The words were distant, barely meant for the waking world. Her hand reached for mine, brushing against the fading warmth of my cold-flame.
I held her hand a moment, gently squeezing to reassure her. Once Jasmin had returned to rest, I stood by the bed to examine myself in a mirror that hadn't been there before. Or at least I didn't remember it being there.
The hair was wrong. I couldn't place it. The length was comparable to just after I cut it, telling me it hadn't been terribly long at all. The skin was as I worried: covered from forehead to toe tips in marks and lines and jagged tears all in sapphire. My eyes weren't just glowing silver. They were someone else's. But I knew them. They were mine, but not.
Changing positions must have done something to Jasmin's airway because she let out a long snore, the sound bringing a smile to my face.
I dressed and took the silverthorn from the vase. Something tickled at my awareness. I couldn't place it. A moment forgotten, dismissed. Repeated and further dismissed. It was impossible, after all.
Standing in the centre of the foyer, I produced a cold-flame with my right hand, holding the flower in my left. The whole room lit like the sun shone around me. Even after I let my flame go, the light persisted.
"That simple, hmm?" I laughed at myself, thinking how easy it must be for the people in the first district. Not even needing a cold-flame lamp because their whole home reacts to them. "No mind."
As I flexed that muscle toward my left, I felt the weight shift in my hand, just as it had so many times in the temple dream. Just as it had in the dream about the attack. It was exactly as I'd seen when she'd pushed me back.
The sabre was silver from tip to pommel. It was thin, almost a rapier if not for the razor edge and sturdy form of it. At the hilt, vines protruded in several directions and twisted around each other, thorned and deadly, rejoining just below where I assumed the tang ended. And below, a silverthorn flower, fully in bloom.
It was her sword. She'd left it with me. I simply didn't understand.
Moving my body through the motions Aster had drilled into me, everything felt light as air. It was a dance my muscles recalled even when my mind forgot. Each step deadly, each rest a perfect defence.
I sheathed the sword and looked about the foyer. It was different. Pristine. Not the dusty abandoned room I'd found on arriving in Blue Stone, but part of a home. On the wall were several portraits. They could've been the same woman.
One in particular caught my eye. Blue hair, cut like a warrior. Silver eyes. Scars of battle. The smile of one content in love. I knew her. How could I not. Below her proud posture was a golden placard.
My hand brushed across the placard as another tear fell, its impact with the floor a hurricane.
So this was my fate? Just like Salora? Just like the one who mourned her. I couldn't bring myself to read the name, even though it was etched on my spirit in silver and sapphire. If I read it, that was it. There was no escaping destiny. There was no saving her. No saving us.
It was simply impossible.
Returning to the bedroom, I found Jasmin still laying in the position I'd left her. There was no way she was comfortable like that, so I lifted her gently and moved her to her side of the bed. A strand of hair worked its way loose in the motion. As I brushed it back behind her ear, Jasmin's lips curled slightly.
Contentment shouldn't make one's heart ache, and yet there I was.
After I undressed, I climbed back into the bed and held her close. I whispered the lullaby my father had taught me, singing for her until I fell into the deepest sleep. Something had changed. I was certain of it.
And that something was far greater than just a humble miscreant from the countryside. Much greater than a disgraced princess. Deeper than the love we shared.
Whispered Warnings
When at last I awoke to the sun's light shining through the windows of our bedroom, we had rolled over into our normal position, Jasmin's breath warming my neck, her arms wrapped tightly around me. Almost effortlessly I turned myself to face her. That smile was still there, peaceful.
I noticed the spot in her hair where it seemed to be greying. Did she know? Had she seen it?
"You're staring at me, dearest," Jasmin's voice rasped, as one who'd burned it out in fear. "Either kiss me or —" Her eyes flashed open. "When did I get here?"
"A few hours ago, I suppose," my whispered words caused a shift, her expression softening. "You looked uncomfortable. Thank you for looking after me."
Jasmin shot me a devilish grin. "I wish you'd stop making it necessary, dearest."
"In my defence," I shot back, "this one was Vaelis's fault. What happened to her anyway?"
Her face scrunched. "Vaelis?"
Something tightened in me. "You couldn't understand our conversation, could you? Vanara and me. They're something else."
"I kind of picked up on that when their hair went bloody and they nearly burned your arm off, Roisin." The statement was quick and almost spiteful, but her whole body tensed after she said it. "When you, well, collapsed," she said, not meeting my eyes, "Aster arrested Vanara. She took them to the town jail. Vanara didn't seem bothered by it."
"How long was I — How long has it been?" My turn to avoid her gaze.
"Two suns plus last night." Jasmin's hand found my face and turned me back to her. "This is not your fault, dearest. It's no one's fault."
"But —"
"I'll have no butts, save a view of yours."
The severity with which she tried to flirt made the moment almost too ridiculous. But it broke the spell. Neither of us could hold the laughter back long. The sound of it shattered some fear in both of us.
"Dearest one, you need breakfast," Jasmin said the words with a smile.
I gave her an exaggerated grimace. "Darling, please. I don't think one and a half singed eggs on a mangled slice of bread qualifies as breakfast."
"Who said I would be the one cooking?" She teased back, apparently properly past the stage of worrying over me. "Ingrid brought some soft tack and fruits by last evening, and Aster helped me smoke the silver-skipper you prepared before — Well, you know." Her pained smile almost broke my heart. "In any case, we simply need someone to cut and plate the food, which means even if I wanted to, you'd be the better choice!"
I conceded, and we dressed before making our way to the kitchen. As we passed through the foyer, the air seemed different somehow, though I couldn't place it. The fruit Ingrid had brought was a collection of things I'd only ever heard of with the exception of one.
"That's an ero fruit," I muttered at the sight of the brilliant red fruit with its shallow pockmarks.
Jasmin lit up, "It is! They grow wild here, and the growing season has been exceptionally mild, so they're plentiful!" She wrapped her arms around me tightly. "I'm so glad you remember."
"Hard to forget," I said before kissing her lightly. "Especially with how much you overpaid for them in Powell's Square. Now I know why they cost so much."
Breakfast was intimate and light. We simply enjoyed each other's company around food given us by friends. This was the life we were meant for. This was the joy I couldn't give up. Jasmin deserved all of this and more.
A thunderous knock on the main door of the house served the dual purpose of ending our meal and alerting us to company. I moved quickly from the dining hall to the foyer, Jasmin following close behind, my hand instinctively setting to the sabre worn at my side.
Without waiting for a welcome, Aster pushed the door open as she was quickly becoming accustomed. She staggered at the sight of me. "I had news for Mrs. Primrose," she nodded at Jasmin, "but I am glad to see you well, cousin."
"I've had worse," I chuckled, closing the space between us and greeting her as she'd shown me before.
"So your wife has told me. Down for a sevensun after a larabrin attack, and moving like you do." A wry smile settled on her lips. "You must have had an impressive nurse, Roisin."
"She did." Jasmin snapped the words out. "Now. Out with it, Captain."
"I've heard whispers," her voice was low, as though worried someone else would overhear, "that the change is coming early. With the cold season so mild, animals are confused and travelling haphazardly. Worse, the first sighting of slime pigeons is five moons early, which means —"
"The larabrins that were moving deimward are going to move phobward soon," I interrupted, too well-acquainted with the herd changes to not realise it quickly. My heart raced as I spoke. "Is the city safe, Aster?"
"For the most part," her grim expression worried me, "though we lost a few guards to the ninth moon herd changes, so we are a bit shorthanded."
Jasmin spoke up, using her noblewoman voice. "Which is why you wanted to chat with me. My wife told you I'm confident with a sword, and you want me to support the effort when the time comes."
"Just so," Aster nodded. "But my main concern is that you protect the Lady Thornleaf at all costs."
"I would have, Aster, even if you paid me not to."
Blades Before Beauty
My training with Aster continued through the next several suns, using not for the silverthorn blade but her training sabre, which hung heavy in my hand, awkward and new every time.
By the seventh sun, Aster had me in the training leathers she'd brought to teach me to compensate for armour. The extra bulk interfered with my movements, amplifying every struggle. Where I had been making progress getting her barks to soften, the leathers brought them back like a larabrin's roaring growl.
Jasmin had begun working directly with the guard, teaching them her own style of fighting. Apparently fighting swarms or gangs was essential to the training of noblewomen in 'diplomacy'. The way Jasmin said the word made me shudder.
I found myself deeply amused when Jasmin was asked to take two suns away from her task after the third sun of training because, in Aster's words, "If you keep beating them all senseless, we won't have enough guards to hold the gates, let alone protect the city."
Every sun working with the training sabre felt like an awkward beginning. No matter how well I did when evening fell and I lit the foyer – Aster was pleased at the change, even if the silver cold-flame bothered her sensibilities – I couldn't manage Aster's instructions the next session.
After running me sweatless for several hours, Aster had a rotating schedule of townsfolk lined up to stop by and have supper with the Lady Thornleaf, even though I dressed more like a Lord. After supper, either she or Ingrid would take over direct instruction, teaching me history or etiquette or some other noblewoman's survival skills.
I noticed a spark between the two of them at one point, and I hoped they knew how they felt about each other.
Two sevensuns into my training, Aster's frustration reached a head. I continued being unable to perform at the level she demanded. And she was worried I wouldn't be able to be the person she needed of me.
"Drop the sabre, little cousin," she said, barely looking at me. "This is pointless."
I stood as tall as I could and held firm. "Nothing is pointless until I give up."
"Fine. You think so? Take up a proper weapon and spar with me."
"May I choose the weapon?"
She scoffed at my question, but eventually bowed deeply. "As you wish, my Lady."
I left for the bedroom where the silverthorn awaited me. My mother's dagger sat on the table next to it. Something told me to take both, so I listened. I had never been one to ignore that voice.
My hand welcomed the flower, as it always seemed to do. Aster openly laughed when she saw me step back into the foyer, dagger at my side, flower in my hand, no longer burdened with her leathers.
"Do you plan to woo me into submission, Omela?" Her eyes went wide when she said my mother's name. "You truly are her daughter, Roisin."
"You said I could choose the weapon." I smiled as I lifted the flower and inhaled the scent that was my love. "I've chosen."
We took positions at a distance she defined, and she drew her blade. "You understand, little cousin, that the leathers are to protect you. Please, try to stay on your feet." She shot me a devilish grin. "And try not to bleed too much. Your wife might be angry with me."
Several breaths passed, Aster holding her sabre at the ready, and me holding the flower. I barely saw the move, but my body was already reacting, something pulling me out of the way before Aster's sabre made contact.
"Good, but you're wide open," she growled before curving the failed stab into a chained slash.
My left hand held the flower, but my right raced to the dagger and deflected Aster's blade just before it contacted my shirt. Her recovery was instantaneous, and attacks came in rapid succession as I barely managed to get the dagger into place or lean out of the way.
"You can't simply defend, cousin," Aster was frustrated, but her focus was unwavering, and the assault continued.
I did all I could to keep myself going, nearly tripping over my feet every few steps. My continued effort was valiant until at the last I was cornered. The flower in my hand pulsed, begging for me to release it, and I knew I could wait no longer.
Aster's sabre was moving for the winning strike right as that forgotten muscle flexed, sending just a bit of me into the silverthorn. The weight shift was subtle but instantaneous, and the thorns gripped my wrist, pulling itself into a parry.
Her eyes went wide. She was off guard for the first time in the match.
First breath, a quick slash. Low to force Aster to parry or dodge. She dodged. Second breath, a step and a lunge. Parrying was her only choice to stay on balance. Her blade pushed mine into motion. Third breath, I was in her space, shoulder in her gut, taking her to the floor.
Before she could blink, the silverthorn blade was at her throat.
Aster's defiant gaze met mine, not dazzled but proud. "Again."
From that point forward, Aster made me train with the sabre and dagger together. We returned to the training sabre, but her frustrations were finally at rest. Her argument was that the weight of it would make me stronger, allowing me to put more power behind my skills.
The routine of it all was enough to give me a false sense of security. False not because Blue Stone was unsafe, but because I allowed myself to forget Aster's worries.
Even so, when the attack happened, it wasn't simply larabrins as we worried.