There is a brief moment after we awaken. Our memories struggle to find us and our stresses lag behind us. Pain and worry exist, for some small while, only within our most distant dreams.
That is on a typical day, this was not one of those. This was a day without the bliss quiet of morning. A day upon which stress and memories were nothing in comparison to the blinding, straining pangs of pain which pervaded her whole being.
Her lips were chapped and dry; her eyes were heavy and her belly, torn into knots. The culprit, the one responsible for her pain, remained only in the scent of her breath. Berries and fruit and death.
A fine bottle of Aobanic vodka. Then three more.
She was not so terribly hungover as she had been on the day of the tournament, but she felt just as many aches and pains. The splintered training sword at her side revealed a flash of memory, but not one she was grateful for.
She saw an image of herself atop the dining room table in a mocking fencer’s pose. Amell wobbled atop the far end, graceless and overdense. She could not remember the result of the bout, but she was sure she had suffered a jab to the ribs at some point.
Ash forced the damaged stick away from herself. It clattered against the stone floor with an unexpectedly loud ring.
“Stone?” Ash thought. Even her internal voice sounded drained, but it did raise a good point. Ash’s floor was carpeted, not stone.
She peeled her eyes open again. It took a greater effort than she would like to admit, but she managed, and quickly focused her gaze out to the jade and marble columns that blocked out her vision.
She took a deep breath and focused her other senses. Warm and soggy, the sound of gentle waves and crackling flame. She reached a handout and found a puddle of perfectly warm water, then she realised it wasn’t a puddle, but a bath. At some point during the night, she had decided to take a fully clothed bath and had failed to drag herself abed afterwards.
She made a sound like a groan, though it didn’t come from her lips but from her belly. The last thing she remembered was the feast and yet she felt as ravenous as she had done beforehand.
“My lady, you are awake?” A meek, almost scared, voice called. Ash looked up to see an older woman in a maid’s tunic, sitting upon a makeshift chair. She quickly rose and moved to help Ash to her feet.
“I- Yeah,” Ash sighed. “How did I end up like this?”
“M-my apologies, my lady. Some of the male servants tried to carry you to your bed but they all fell asleep at your order.” The woman took some measure of Ash’s weight but seemed somewhat too scared of her to properly support her.
“Gods, I’m so sorry. Are they awake now?” Ash whimpered.
“Yes, my lady. All is well.”
They carried on out of the bathhouse and the older woman set Ash down on a wooden dining chair for a moment.
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The room was in devastation. Dishes were scattered across the floor; runes were scrawled along the walls and emanated some kind of magical light; cushions and platters managed to find themselves highly unlikely locations.
“I am so sorry,” Ash cried. “I can’t believe we went so far.”
“It is not a worry, my lady. This is not your doing, but the doings of the party,” the woman chuckled. “We all had a hand in the destruction, especially – and to the surprise of us all – Madame Mei.”
“Truly?” Ash doubted. A flash of memory came again. She saw flowing black hair brush across the floor as the woman was, for some reason, demonstrating a backflip. It must have been impressive enough for Ash to mimic the action, and by the large dent in the floorboard where she recalled doing the flip, Amell must have tried – and failed – to follow suit.
“What about the runes?” Ash asked.
“Well, after you ordered all of the household staff to celebrate with you, a few of the young men encouraged Master Sujin to show them some enchantments,” the old woman explained. She picked up a single apple that lay at her feet and threw it gently to the largest rune on the wall. Rather than bouncing off, the apple stayed in place. It was as if gravity faced the wall rather than Marash.
Ash delicately walked over and placed her hand on the sigil. It was as she had thought, a pull tried to force her hand against the wall but it was easy to resist. As she inspected more closely, her hair falling sideways into the wall, she noticed a set of boot prints higher up the wall.
“They were dancing on the walls?” Ash realised.
“They were,” the woman confirmed. “Though the gods granted you the sense to keep your feet in the dirt, unlike your fair sister.”
“She went up there?”
“She did. Though she walked somewhat too far afield. She must have left the area of the rune’s effect.”
“She fell? Is she okay?” Ash asked with a sudden urgency.
“She is fine, my lady. One of the young stable boys managed to catch her. I tell you, I’ve never seen a girl go so red,” the woman cackled, clearly enjoying the tale-telling.
“Oh, I wish I could remember. What was his name? I’ll have to tease her about it,” Ash smirked.
“I don’t quite recall... Fabian, maybe? A good-looking lad though, she’s got taste.”
“Ash, dear!” A booming voice interrupted. Ash twirled in place so quickly she might have snapped her own neck. When she came upon the burning orange eyes of Niamh Macau, a sense of shame filled her at the state of the room. A sense shared by the clearly startled maid.
“My, my... Quite the evening you’ve had. I do apologise for my tardiness; I intended to arrive by the dead sun, but it seems rather fortuitous that I had failed. How are you, dear? Keeping well?” Niamh beamed. She did not look at Ash, but the floor before her as she took each step, careful to not trod upon any detritus.
“I- Lady- Niamh, I’m sorry for the mess. We weren’t expecting things to get so-”
“-Fun?” Niamh interrupted. “I should hope not. If you had expected it, I’d be offended that I hadn’t received an invitation. Haven’t had a good orgy in months!”
“O-Orgy?” Ash choked.
“Of course! I get it, a couple of drinks, some strapping farmhands, we all get a little inadvisable. Don’t worry about it, darling! Just... try to avoid... ‘multiplying’, yes? It would future political marriages so much more complicated.”
“I- Multiply?” Ash stuttered, utterly abashed.
“Oh, lighten up dear! I’m teasing you,” Niamh smirked. “Now, we have business!” She clapped her hands together as she crossed the last little gap between them. Her gaze climbed from the floor to Ash, and then to the large rune sprawled across the wall behind her. “Oh, that boy is a menace,” she sighed, though her subdued simper seemed supremely satisfied by Sujin’s silly use of his tremendously sought-after skillset.
“Maid, what is your name?” Niamh asked warmly.
“Sister Hui, my lady,” the older woman bowed.
“Lovely,” Niamh said as her gaze wandered the room. “Might there be some... unbattled room in which my tailor might set himself up?”
“Yes, my lady, we have a dedicated tailor's room,” Hui offered.
“Marvelous! Be a lamb and lead him along, he’s just outside,” Niamh requested.
“Of course, my lady. Will you be needing attendance?”
“I will be fine, thank you, dear. I have brought my own girl. Now, Ashtik,” Niamh said, turning from the maid and dismissing her without a word. “I’m not going to ask why you are sopping wet, but I’ll assume it means you are bathed?”
Ash had forgotten for a moment that she had slept in a bath, though she doubted very much that the drunk version of herself had been so gracious as to wash. It didn’t matter, she had bathed before the dinner and doubted she needed to do so again with any haste.
“Well enough,” Ash timidly said.
Niamh looked her up and down with half a smirk and half a frown. “Quite, now let us discuss what comes next. Do you have a less... busy area we might talk?”
“I think there’s a library but I haven’t been in there yet,” Ash admitted.
“I see. That suits well enough, dear. Shall we?”
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She had hoped that the revelries hadn’t made it into the library. The big red rune painted over the door strained that hope well, but once she opened the door, she found a nearly spotless room and a woman tidying within.
“My lady,” the woman bowed. “Mistress Evara still rests, though you may wish to wake her. Her little nest is not an ideal sleeping post but she simply refused to part from her tomes.”
“Oh, she’s in here?” Ash realised. The woman, who Ash also realised must have been this ‘Sister Rosie’ that Ev had been talking about so often, pointed out to a wall of old books and tomes off in a dark corner beneath the overhanging upper-floor balcony.
“Ooh, the great Evara White-tongue,” Niamh grinned. “I imagine she will be far from prime condition, but I would oh-so love to meet her.”
“She’ll hate that this is how she meets you,” Ash awkwardly laughed. She crossed the room and lifted a couple of books from the top of her sister’s fortifications. “Evy, time to wake up,” she whispered, though she couldn’t see her yet. A little groan sounded out briefly.
“Morrow, Ash,” a tired voice eked out from within.
“How’s the hangover?”
“Hangover?” Ev repeated curiously. “I... Don’t have one? Huh? Why don’t I have a hangover? I can still taste the vodka, and I definitely blacked out... but I feel fine.”
“Really?”
Evara fumbled within her nest. A couple of books slipped as she climbed over the waist-high wall behind her, but she seemed otherwise graceful and balanced in her movements, almost more so than usual.
She presented herself in surprisingly good condition. The dress she had worn in the night previous seemed a little worse for wear; her hair was certainly matted and tangled, but otherwise, she seemed fine. Her makeup was still immaculate, though it couldn’t have been good for her to sleep in. Her eyes were focused and bright and her natural smirk quickly shifted to a gentle and elegant smile once she noticed that she and Ash weren’t alone.
“Forgive me, my lady. I am Evara,” she said with a curtsy. “I regret that I am so unprepared for a guest.”
“Nonsense, darling. You’ve just woken up after a feast, I shan’t expect much more than a yawn and a gag from you. But I am Niamh, lady of House Macau.”
“Ducissa of the Forgelands and inventor of the hairpin. Charmed, my lady,” Ev said, leaving her bow.
“Oh, I knew I’d like you,” Niamh smiled. “I am glad to see your reputation precedes you.”
“I have a reputation?” Ev snorted gently.
“Indeed, a fresh one, I gather?”
“Oh, do tell. I’m ever so curious what people say of me.”
“A terrible habit, dear, but not one I am unsympathetic towards. Let us say, they call you Evara White-tongue, the bard of Black.”
“The bard of Black,” Ev beamed, clearly fighting back a cackle. “I could get used to that. But you are not here to discuss me, my Lady. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Are you really not hungover?” Ash interrupted, her jaw nearly slack as she made no attempt to hide her appraisal of her sister.
“I- Ash,” Ev grunted, nodding towards the more pressing matters at hand. It took no time for Ev to realise that Ash wasn’t going to stop focusing on the matter until she addressed it, so Ev begrudgingly said, “Yeah, I’m really not hungover. Don’t ask how; I don’t know.”
“My, I wish that kind of mystery would attack me every now and then,” Niamh joked.
“No doubt it has something to do with my soul magic, my lady. It is not a mystery that requires much thought,” Ev insisted, clearly hoping the conversation would move on.
“Right,” Ash said slowly. She didn’t cease in her silent appraisal of her offensively unaffected sister but did permit the conversation to continue, saying, “Why are you here, Niamh?”
“Ash,” Ev scolded. “What she means to say is, how can we help you, my Lady?”
“Don’t worry darling, your sister’s curtness might be something of an advantage in the coming days.” Niamh stroked a hand over a loose hair on Evara’s head. “Pretty little rabbit, aren’t you?”
“I- Thank you, my lady,” Ev said, trying not to blush.
“Hmm,” Niamh sighed, clearly deep in thought, as she continued to brush a hand through Evara’s hair.
“Tell me, dear,” she finally began. “Would you call yourself... politically minded?”
“I would hope to, my lady, but I am somewhat inexperienced.”
“That is what I’m here for, darling. Now, how do you feel about... schemes?” She asked as though offering some naughty treat to a child.
“Schemes?” Ev dumbly repeated.
“Indeed. Plots and subterfuge.”
“Well, I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Ev awkwardly said.
“Nobody does, that's why we scheme, to avoid the bloodshed. Tell me, what do you know of house Donaleaf?”
“It's... the royal House. Scion'd by the king, Asmond Vietress Donaleaf and his wife, Queen Tiber; formerly of House Umik, the grain lords of the southern duchy.” She took a breath as to continue but Niamh placed a finger over the girl's lips.
“Excellent, I see you’ve read up on your targets,” Niamh smirked.
“Targets?” Ev repeated, clearly taking umbrage at the word.
“Indeed. Everyone who has something you need is a target, that makes the king a target.”
“But I said I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” Ev insisted with quiet confidence.
“And I will teach you to get what you need without spilling a drop of blood. A woman’s way of waging war, little rabbit. Do not threat, target may be a dire word, but you are not an archer and you needn’t loose any arrows.” She placed her hands on Evara’s shoulders and forced her gaze. Her burning orange eyes seemed to glow in the dawnlight as the cresting sun diffused against her flawless ebony skin.
Ash chuckled to herself. If Evara was anything back in the village, she was an archer. Though she tended to be too frail for any bow of great draw, she would always hit her targets truer than any other of her fellow townsfolk.
“Your sister needs to rise. To do that, Donaleaf will need to be an ally... or a corpse,” Niamh coldly stated.
“But you said it would be bloodless?”
“Yes, that is your job, to ensure that he is an ally. When battle is inevitable it is always the fault of the diplomats. You will make him an ally or Ash will make him a corpse.”
“Niamh-” Ash tried to protest.
“-What do you need from me?” Ev coldly asked.
“Fabulous. The Queen, Tiber, has no daughters of her own but oh-so yearns for one. You will fill that hole. You will be the pretty, polite little princess she has always dreamt of,” Niamh explained with a strange focus in her eyes.
“Why?”
“Donaleaf is a warrior, a crafter and a general, but he is not a ruler. That responsibility, he delegates to his bride. She is a competent and sturdy queen and will be hard to crack, but if you place yourself as her adoptive daughter, she will tear her kingdom apart for you. She will ensure Donaleaf remains loyal and steadfast in any alliances with Ashtik. She will also act as a rather vital tutor in matters of courtly politics. Just ensure you remember where your true loyalties lie, yes?”
“With Ash,” Ev whispered, deep in thought.
“Indeed.”
“Ev, are you okay with this?” Ash asked.
“If it saves bloodshed, I have to be, don’t I?”
“No, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Ash insisted.
“But I do! We both do, unless you want to wage a war?”
“Of course I don’t want to wage a war, but I’m the Champion, I don’t have a choice. You do.”
“Then I choose to save lives,” Ev sniffed. “No matter how wrong the methods may be.”
“We’ll make an archon of you yet, dear,” Niamh smirked.
Archon. The word swallowed her like a fallen sky. Archon. He had said that. Hevestiel, goden of the forge. “Thy shall hold a name for each star you darken; when the Champion of Black is made the greatest archon,” she recalled. Her heart skipped a beat, then two and three more. Did it mean something beyond what was said? Was there a reason Niamh had used such an obscure and yet meaningful word?
The conversation had moved far past the word by the time she had shed the feeling. They had spoken of the queen and her habits, the king and his desires, the war and its consequences. She heard none of it. The words passed through the meat she had left in the room while her spirit still resided within the place where dangerous thoughts bury themselves.
She clawed her way back out into the grim light of this scheming study. The first she could parse came from Evara. She asked, with a hopeful smile, “Will you be joining us, my lady?”
“For a time, rabbit. I fear my duties yet remain within my city. I couldn’t rightly allow the dukes to rule alone overlong; I might not have a home by the time I return. I will assure the king that you have my, and my city’s, utmost confidence. After that, I shall leave you to make your own way, though I am never more than a messenger away.”
The two had sat around Evara’s table and Ash had unknowingly joined them, though she sat at a noted distance.
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“Do you have any other advice or wisdom for us?” Ev asked.
“Well, your sister seemed displeased with my last tips. I shall say that at the tables they will hand you a goblet of wine and a skin of water. Mix them.”
“Mix them?”
“Quite, it will make you appear more... lady-like,” she explained. “The wine there isn’t as strong as the spirits of your homeland, but it is a mark stronger than most. It is common for the men to drink it raw as a show of might, don’t do that... Even if you can handle your drink better than them, you don’t want to appear overly,” Niamh paused to find a civil word.
“Rowdy?” Ev suggested.
“Exactly. This is not the forest; a lady must be seen to act properly. Fun is measured and joy is tempered lest you be titled a... roysterer. That will close a great deal of doors, I’m afraid.”
“So, I shouldn’t look like I’m having fun?” Ev tried to understand.
“Not at all, then you will be titled as a prude and excluded from vital social events. You should look as though you are ready to leave the revelries at the drop of a hat, yet you are more than happy to continue the festivities far into the night.”
“So, I should look happy to be there... while looking like I want to leave?”
“Exactly!” Niamh exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she sighed.
“It does not, and yet it is what is expected. Trust me, that is the simplest of paradoxes involved in the courts.”
“But... how am I supposed to know how to act like that?”
“The same way you master any skill, rabbit. Practise. Now for instance; sit up straight, wear a half smile and flutter your eyelashes when you blink. You never know when a nobleman is watching, but you always want him to fall in love at first sight.”
“Why would I want him to fall in love?”
“A man in love is a blade out of its sheath. Wield him well and you can carve a path to the throne, just remember... we might oil our blades, but we don’t stick them in ourselves.”
“There will be no oiling and certainly no sticking involved,” Ash spat, finally offended enough to speak.
“I think I agree,” Ev eked with a far-from-comforted grimace on her face.
“Of course not,” Niamh choked, visibly appalled by the idea. “But the suggestion of it... Rabbit, I’m not telling you to charm a grey old man, but find some boy of your own age and learn to influence him with your words. You’ll find there is little they won’t do for a pretty face like yours.”
“Ev, I really don’t want you doing any of that,” Ash insisted.
“Then don’t,” Niamh sighed. “Learn how to navigate the court with your arms tied behind your back. You are a common-born girl, Ashtik, Champion or no. They will distrust you; they will despise you. I only want what’s best. But this is a matter for Evara to think on, not the reason I am here today.”
“Then why are you here?” Ash asked coldly.
“The greatest reason there can be! To try on clothes!” Niamh beamed. “Let us make a ‘girls night’ of it!”
“I- I already have a dress for the meeting, my lady,” Ev timidly said.
“Ah, marvellous! Bring it to my tailor. We shall have it fit for a moonbeam of an angel. Go on now, your sister and I shall catch up soon.”
“Very well, my lady,” Ev bowed as she rose from her chair. She offered Ash a final affirming glace before taking her leave of the duo.
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The tone suffered a terrible blow as the door shuddered shut. The beaming firelight eyes of the ever-gracious lady seemed to burn through Ash, but her half smile didn’t waver in the assault. She let slip a single deep sigh and seemed to crumble into herself. The air of majesty, innate in her appearance, notably dulled as she slouched over and rubbed a delicate hand over her still-smirking lips.
“Ash,” she finally said, though it was said in a newly tired way. “Forgive me. I hope you won’t hold it against me if I am a little curt with you.”
“I think I’d prefer it,” Ash answered, her hands dancing across her lap.
“Thank you.” Niamh stood and stretched out her arms as a little yawn slipped her. She did not return to her seat but sat atop the table much nearer to Ash. “You need to give your sister space in court.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, she is a fantastically courtly lady, or at least she will be. But she is deferential to you. You are too... motherly.”
“You make it sound like that's a bad thing.”
“Then my words have been chosen well,” Niamh sharply said.
“How can it be a bad thing that I take care of my baby sister?”
“She is not a baby anymore; she is a keen-minded woman.”
“My father once told me that anyone who calls a teenage girl a woman is trying to hurt her,” Ash grimly whispered. “I saw that painting of your family, Niamh. I saw your mother, she did not look... motherly. I know what that's like. I won’t have Evara know it too.”
For a moment, Niamh struggled to mask some writhing expression. Offence, maybe, but twinged with something more than that. Her lips curled to a frown but her eyes sparkled and threatened to choke out the flame within.
“Okay,” Niamh quietly said. “She is not a woman, no. I should not seek to place the burden of adulthood on her so soon. My words were ill. My point is, she is growing up. She needs room to become herself; become Evara White-tongue, not Evara sister of Ashtik.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“A condition of your alliance. When you meet with the king, tell him that you wish Evara to be taken in as his ward. She will live as a princess while you wage your wars. She will ingratiate herself with the court and learn to talk her way into the hearts and minds of kings and emperors.” Niamh slid herself further along the table and placed her hand against Ash’s shoulder.
They locked eyes wordlessly for a moment before Ash finally, and coldly, asked, “Will she be safe?”
“She will be all but the daughter of a king. She will have soldiers dogging her every step. She will have maids seeing to her every need. Yes, she will be safe.”
“Then... Okay,” Ash Lamented. “It’s not like I can take her with me when I go off fighting wars.”
“Good, I am glad,” Niamh crowed warmly. Her hand lingered for a moment on Ash’s shoulder before the Lady pressed her weight into her. She slid from the table and steadied herself on Ash. “There is one more thing before we dress you...”
She beckoned for Ash to stand, which she did slowly. Ash had thought her taller in their last meeting, but couldn’t help but notice that she stood nearly a head taller than her now.
“You cannot call Donaleaf ‘my king’ under any circumstances, understand?”
“Why not?”
“Because he is not your king. If you call him your king, you will not be able to form an alliance as equals. He will only be able to offer you vassalhood.”
“But... we aren’t equals? He’s a king, how can I form an equal alliance with him?”
“You are the Champion of Black, that is greater than any king.”
“And he is the Champion of Iron. His goden may not be a member of the trinity, but he is no less important.”
“Do you know of a Champion’s claims?” Niamh asked.
“Aye, the other Champions have a claim over a piece of land. The Iron Champion has a claim to the Forgelands, the Steel Champion has a claim to the Bloodlands... But there is no claim for the Champion of Black,” Ash pointed out.
“Correct, indeed!” Niamh clapped. “No claim is known for the Champion of Black, but many prophesies refer to you as a monarch all the same! We can very easily use that to argue any claim we wish, especially if it is in service of saving the world. That means you are a threat to the Donaleaf throne.”
“A threat?” Ash repeated.
“You might have an incontestable claim towards any throne you wish, even his own. That is a power he will need on his side. With that ability, he might be able to hold a de jure claim over the Bloodlands themselves. The nobility of that land will have no legal course for rebellion if you subjugate them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“With you on his side, Asmond can finally defeat the Bloodlands. With you against him, the Forgelands could possibly hang in the balance. I’ll be sure to remind him of such.”
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Silken strands of azure lace that must have cost more than her entire suit of armour, twisted around her arms and legs. Not a gown, but a dress. Shouldered and corseted. Tight to the breast and belly with more than enough room at the legs to walk, run, dance. Be it the tailor’s talents or some trick of the mirror, but Ashtik the huntress – for the first time in her life – felt... beautiful. Not that her clothes hadn’t been beautiful before, but that she was beautiful in this moment.
The harsh edges of her newly muscled form seemed as elegant and – dare she think – pretty as any little waif could hope to be. A slit along the side of the skirt allowed a view of her long, scarred legs. A sleeve of golden netting lay along her right arm, beneath the azure lace, and wrapped into a single black glove.
The garbs did not try to hide any part of the huntress that might have been “uncivilised.” The red chains around her arms and shoulders were worn as proudly as her mane of freshly cut hair. The assorted scars and battle scratches were allowed to sit on her flesh unadorned and unashamed. Beneath her corset, which was shockingly breathable and supportive, the black velvet of her dress wrapped around her form and hugged her shoulders with a loving embrace. A window at her chest, small enough to remain tasteful yet alluring, exposed a blue gemstone set into a golden necklace that rested delicately over her tan skin.
Ashtik was not a woman for pretty things, but this... she could understand the enjoyment here.
“Absolutely not!” Niamh shrieked as she entered the tailor booth.
“She looks amazing,” Ev protested.
“I am well aware of that, rabbit,” Niamh fretted. “But you are the Champion of War, did you listen to nothing I have said?”
“I thought you wanted me to look, ‘single and ready for politically convenient marriages’,” Ash absentmindedly quipped while she continued to admire the dress – and the woman within – in the mirror.
“Ev, do you think I look different?” She asked, paying little mind to Niamh.
“I- Yeah, you do,” Ev hesitantly answered, her eyes darting between the scowling Ducissa and the thoughtful heretic.
“How so?”
“Well, you’re taller, right? You used to be like, a forehead taller than me. Now, you’re like... a head? Plus, I mean... You’ve certainly toned yourself up.”
“That’s weird, right? It will be my twentieth in a few weeks, I shouldn’t be having... growth spurts, right?”
“Maybe?” Ev awkwardly chuckled, still aware of the appalled lady at her side.
“Is it a Champion thing? Is he making me taller and stronger so I’ll make for a better soldier, or is it just a... I don’t know, late bloom?”
“I really don’t think you’re ‘blooming’, Ash. Maybe you aren’t taller, you just look it because you’re more toned now. It’s no surprise you look more toned, asides. All the training and fighting you’ve been up to and how little you’ve been eating. Maybe ask Amell, he’s seen it all a hundred times.”
“Yes, yes, very interesting. Darlings we haven’t the hours in a day. Ashtik, you look stunning, but you are not trying to lay the king; you’re trying to put him in awe. You need him to believe that you – and you alone – stand in the way of the apocalypse. That means steel, not velvet. That means breastplates, not breast... windows. Look ravishing on some far morrow, today you need to look villainous.” Niamh paced along the tailor’s floor. She pulled her man aside and whispered quickly into his ear.
“Very well, my Lady,” the tailor bowed. He turned to the doorway and called, “Amadel! Enough cavorting with Sujin, I need you to fetch the Champion’s armour.”
“Of course, master tailor!” A breathless voice called through the open doorway, clearly suppressing a laugh.
“As for you, rabbit,” Niamh said in a quietly resonating voice. “White and gold will not do. A gown will be fashioned. Violet and crimson... hmm, no. Violet, indeed, and something red though rather more suppressed. A mahogany or a sangria. Something subtle to draw the eye up to your pretty face. Those eyes as well... A dark smoky shadow to bring out just how striking and bright they truly are. Near black with a hint of dark eminence. Get started Jari.” She clapped her hands, though more so out of a masked excitement rather than a sense of impolite urgency.
“What’s wrong with her white dress? I think it looks really good,” Ash sniffed.
“Good clothes warm the body; great clothes warm the soul. She must be striking and different from you, else she will be lost in your shadow, but she cannot deny that she is your blood. She shall wear dark colours so that she might stand at your side without clashing. Violet hues, that all shall know her purple-eyed sister watches over her at all times. It shall be a statement that says, ‘I may be the blood of Black and yet that does not detract from the fact that I am uniquely Evara’.”
“I am not ashamed to be Ash’s sister, my Lady. I choose not to stand in the shadow of a giant, but upon her shoulder,” Evara whispered as she stroked a hand over a neat pile of folded materials. “But I see the wisdom in your words. I will wear what is made.”
“My lady,” a meek voice called from the doorway. Amadel toed the threshold but came no further until Niamh turned to her. Ash couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t have her armour with her.
“Amadel, where is the armour girl?” Niamh gently asked.
“It seems that the armoury is... occupied,” Amadel struggled to say. The girl must have been deep into her twenties, yet she clung to the rim of her dress like a nervous child might.
“Occupied?” Niamh repeated.
“Yes, ma’am. A knight, Ser Colin of... somewhere and a... lady friend. I could not enter in an appropriate manner.”
“A lady friend,” Ash chuckled. “I’ll go get it then.”
“Very well. Amadel, give her a hand.”
“Yes, my lady.”
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Ash knocked about as loudly as she could. She held no desire to enter unexpected and stumble upon anything... additionally unexpected. After a short moment of wordless rustling within, Ash decided the time had come to open the door.
Amell sat on the floor and hurriedly attempted to clothe himself. He combed a hand through his hair and cooly greeted Ash with a strained smile. She ignored him, instead searching for his apparent ‘lady friend’, though she was nowhere to be seen.
“Morrow, Spinny,” Amell said, his voice hoarse and gravelled after a night of shouting and laughing. “It is the morrow, aye?”
“For a little while yet,” Ash smirked. “Lazy kids, always sleeping in.”
“Funny,” he grunted. “Can I help you or are you just inspecting the household weapons?”
“I didn’t even know we had household weapons, let alone an armoury. I guess Mei just wasn’t a very good guide,” Ash smirked, raising her voice at the name.
“Not so loud, kid,” Amell whined. “Be sure to let her know whenever you see her next.” He rolled back into a large clean square clean patch in the dust.
“Mhmm,” Ash mumbled, entering the room and glancing around. “Amadel, could you do me a favour?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“We wouldn’t want anyone sneaking in – or out - of the armoury, would you keep an eye on the door?”
“Very well, my lady.”
“Thank you ever so much,” Ash gloated.
“Who’s going to sneak in?” Amell groaned.
“Well, anyone could. Wouldn’t want a miscreant getting in and... sneaking away without me finding her first.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Where is she?” Ash mockingly asked.
“Who?”
“Your lady friend.”
“I have many a friend, some of them are ladies. I am afraid you will have to be specific.”
“You don’t have friends,” Ash cackled.
She glanced around for any sign of a hiding woman. She found a single set of footprints painted into the dust. “Too small to be Amell,” Ash decided. She followed them along to a set of lapis blue curtains. She moved the left part aside to check behind, then she scoured the crates around it.
“What are you doing?” Amell groaned, his head buried in his hands.
“What happened to your cloak?” Ash asked.
“My- Oh, I don’t really remember. It was a long night; I must have taken it off someplace.”
“Mhmm,” Ash doubted. “So, you slept on the stone and dust all night?”
“I must have. Drunkards tend to sleep where they lie.” He finally crawled to his feet, his shifting eyes refusing to look in the direction the footprints led to.
“And you seem to lie where you stand. You are telling me that’s not your cloak?” Ash smirked, pointing to the slowly billowing lapis curtain.
“That’s a curtain, Spinny,” he chuckled.
“Mhmm, so you won’t mind if I...” Ash moved over to the curtain and gripped it, ready to tear it down.
“Please don’t,” the curtain whispered shamefully.
“Morrow, Mei,” Ash said, pleased with her victory.
“Morrow, my lady. Please don’t pull the curtain down,” the curtain said, a little louder.
“I won’t, I hope you had a fun night,” Ash giggled.
“Somewhat.”
“I’m just gonna go ahead and grab my armour. I’ll leave you... crazy kids alone now,” Ash said, barely masking a wicked grin as she passed by Amell.
“Not a word of this,” Amell begged in an attempt at a threatening tone.
“We’ll see,” Ash smirked.
As she came upon the door, a rustling sounded out behind her. Mei poked her head out of the cloak she had wrapped herself in as she slowly climbed down from the iron curtain pole. Once she arrived on the ground, it became fairly obvious that the prim and proper madame wore nothing beneath the cloak but shame and a clear blush. She hid herself behind an armour stand until Ash finally left the room.
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Evara stood upon the podium. A patchwork dress gown of temporary pieces and hashed-together materials held loosely to her form. A beige mock-up of her true attire. A half-vacant expression faded as Ash walked in. A smirk beamed in the silver mirror as her gaze traced Ash’s steps.
“So...” she urged. “Who was the lady friend?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Ash snickered.
“Ugh, such a bore,” Niamh laughed. “But is that your armour? Marvellous!”
Niamh stroked a finger over the ridges and curves of her breastplate. She let the sharp tip of her golden nail clink against the cold black steel. “A cloak, single-shouldered. A little sparrow on it. Maybe some fur lining around the neck,” she muttered to herself. “And a gemstone. Something...” she hesitated for a moment before glancing over to Evara. “Something steel and sanguine. A bright chain with a deep stone.”
“I don’t think a gem would do me much good in a battle,” Ash said.
“No, but it will do wonders in a meeting. It will shed some of that... common born inelegance they do so fear.” She turned to Amadel, who stood with her head bowed beside the doorway. “Ami, would you get started on the cloak? Something closer to a prince’s raiment rather than a battle-ready garb.”
“I will fetch some silk and thread, my lady,” Amadel bowed.
“No, something fuller than silk.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Anything else you need?” Ash asked.
“Not at all. The dukes will visit on the morrow, and we will begin on our way soon thereafter. For now, go rest. I will disturb you no longer.”
“Thank you, Niamh,” Ash quietly said. “For everything you have done.”
“I’ve done nothing yet. Thank me when you wear your first crown, darling.”