Where has my fire gone? Fia wondered to herself with a heavy sigh as she walked along the cobblestone streets of Calemoor. Gods, I used to feel so alive like every breath meant something. Now …now I am just existing, a shadow of who I was.
Fia and her family had been in the capital for over a year now. She hated it just as much as she had when she first stepped through the gates - perhaps even more. She would never forget her first sight of the castle looming in the distance, a beacon of destruction. Destruction of magic, her dreams, Vayla and her family.
Destruction of everything.
Her father had taken the job as the Royal Smith with Silas as his apprentice and was slowly forging a name for himself. Until the accident changed everything.
Several months after their arrival, her father was casting metal for a King’s Guard breastplate when a single misstep sent molten liquid splashing across his right hand. The liquid seared flesh and nerves and the burns left permanent scarring and robbed him of full mobility. At times, it was hard to watch him even try and eat. Gowan had become quite unpleasant and resentful ever since. Silas had continued to be the apprentice for the replacement and at times Fia could sense the bitterness was turning toward her brother.
Calemoor.
A city full of people trying to survive as of late. Fia often felt like she was drowning among them. Not that her family was ever in need of a hot meal. No, she was drowning in the soulless mundane existence that everyone seemed to fester in. Fia sneered at the coincidence of feeling like she was drowning while contemplating the hollowness in her chest where fire used to dwell.
Fia walked along the crowded city streets leaving behind the Merchants Quarter where her family lived in a small, modest townhouse near the Guilds section. Fia tightened her cloak around the front of her body to block out the crisp, early spring winds that blew in the scents of the market. The market, in the capital’s center, bustled with crowds, scents of rich spices, and the lure of the softest velvet. And of course, her family’s stand, run by her father, overflowing with textiles and blankets that Fia and her mother weaved.
Fia passed a tavern where there were two king’s guards, who must have been off duty, seated under the blue tapestry awning. She slowed her pace when she heard one of them say ‘blackened veins.’
“…he told me it was the strangest thing he’d ever seen. It looked like spider webs crawling up his neck,” the brown-haired guard said as he leaned over his bowl.
“I don’t know. I remember rumors about that when I was stationed at the Crown’s Watch near Harborfell last winter. Besides, Edwin is always talking nonsense, don’t mind it,” the other guard countered shaking his head.
“Well, those rumors are now close to Calemoor. You might believe him when we start to see it here in the city.”
Fia quickened her pace, sensing her eavesdropping might take notice. Black veins? It can’t be. She had only heard about this odd death once before - aside from the misfortunate baker in Kilcara.
It had been on her family’s journey of moving to Calemoor when they had stopped at an inn in Harborfell. She had overheard locals muttering about someone who had recently died and had mentioned ‘death lines’ on his neck and face.
If its what I think it is, I swear it feels like its following me. Fia again, pulled her cloak tighter around her when a shiver went down her spine.
Fia let out a forced exhale and shoved down the unease she was feeling along with the yearning of her old friend.
The market was crowded more than usual, given the slightly warmer days. Fia spotted her father at their stand and danced through the people.
She also noted a new tradesman a few stands down from her family’s. At this point, she was familiar with most of the merchants and artisans who permanently held tables at the market. But this was new.
Fia stepped closer to the table where foreign-looking blades of different shapes and sizes, lay splayed across black velvet. A small, crescent-shaped dagger caught the mid-morning sun, steel glistening. She could have sworn something in her chest burned with excitement.
“Oh, green-eyed beauty likes the beautiful blades, I see.”
Fia was startled, realizing a foreign merchant was watching her with the darkest eyes she had ever seen.
“I…well, they are beautiful,” she said touching the soft velvet, her fingers just a breath away from the shining crescent blade.
“Ah, you like this one.” The merchant plucked the dagger from the table with a knowing smile, twirling it effortlessly with his hand. With each turn, the blade shimmered in the sun as it danced in circles. “This one is from the southern continent. I was able to cross and travel there last summer. Here, you try.”
He extended the blade toward her and her freckled arm reached over to further admire the beautiful bit of steel. She gripped the handle and the simple motion of tightening her grip felt old -familiar. Something she had been missing.
“Fia, what are you doing?” her father’s voice cut through the marketplace just a few tables over.
She flinched, turned toward him, and saw his brows furrowed with concern. “Sorry, I have to go,” she said handing the foreign blade back to the merchant.
“Young woman in Calemoor can’t touch such things,” the merchant said as shook his head and grabbed the blade. “Ah, strange place this is.”
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“Strange place, indeed,” Fia said with raised brows and walked toward her father.
Fia reached the table and set down a large basket of more textiles and blankets to stock up the display. She knew a lecture was coming and offered her father the reprieve of getting it started first. “I know. Young ladies should not touch weapons, people know our family, we don’t want to ruin our social standing or jeopardize any chance of Silas moving up.” She paused and with raised brows added, “Did I miss anything?”
“No, Fia. I think you read my mind quite well.” Gowan stared at his daughter, his mouth in a tight line. With his good hand, he unpacked the stock from the basket. “Did you bring that green blanket your mother was working on— that one with the embroidery?”
“Yes, she finished it this morning. That's why I am a little late.”
“Good. Thank you.” Gowan pulled out a blanket of the richest green, its texture exquisitely soft. He had bartered another merchant for a roll of soft alpaca wool the month before, the effort worth it. The golden-threaded embroidery stood out with interwoven loops that appeared to have no beginning or end. “Gods, your mother is talented. This will go for a nice price indeed,” Gowan marveled, running his hand over the design.
“She is talented and enjoys it.” Fia herself marveled at the fine threadwork. “At least someone enjoys weaving,” she muttered under her breath.
“I heard that,” Gowan said pulling one side of his mouth tight. “Thank you for bringing these, Fia. I will be home later this evening, these market days are starting to grow longer with the warmer weather - tell your mother for me.” He handed the basket back to her.
“Of course. I can stop by later and bring you a midday meal after I visit the Royal Smithy,” Fia offered taking the basket under her arm.
“Don’t go bothering your brother, “Gowan warned, his expression stern. “He told me the other night that they’ve doubled his workload lately, and you shouldn’t be anywhere near the palace, Fia.”
“You know the military quarters are outside the main gate. You sound as if I will be walking the halls of the throne room,” Fia countered.
“Fia.” Gowan exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his temple.
“You might be surprised to know that my purpose in life is not to bring this family to ruin, Father,” Fia retorted. Before he could have the opportunity to continue the argument, Fia started walking back toward the merchant’s quarter of the city.
She pushed down her temper and words left unsaid as she breathed in the familiar scents of burnt leather, charcoal, and metallic tang, that told her Forged Row was nearby.
Forged Row was filled with rhythmic sounds of the guild industries, the sharp clang of hammers against hot steel, and low growls of bellows feeding forges. There were even the occasional shouted orders and curses from smiths directed at their apprentices.
Fia lived for this symphony. Although for her, it was the kind of song that left her soul with yearning.
Forged Row, a bustling section of the Merchants Quarter, housed the city's guilds, where workshops lined cobblestones streets and residences towered above.
Beyond it lay the Military District, enclosed within the palace gates. Just past the stonemasons shop, Fia could glimpse through the iron bars and have a clear view of the King's Guard training grounds.
Whenever Fia heard the clang of metal swords, she would pause by the gate, drawn to the sight of guards training.
She had an uncanny memory for such things, instinctively predicting the defending opponent's next move— or perhaps she watched more than she realized. As she found herself doing now, tucked behind the small maple tree she used as coverage.
Oh, good. He's here. Fia noticed the particular King's Guard who caught her eye weeks ago.
It wasn't just the way his russet-brown hair complemented his tan skin or how his muscles shaped under his training attire. No, Fia could admire those qualities in any man, even if her inexperience on such subjects only extended to an appreciation of a man's form.
This guard, was ruthless— at least on the training ground from what she observed. He could attack and counter moves with a superior finesse that set him apart from the other guards. Fia had seen him put people on their asses more often than not. Yet each brutal takedown would be followed with a helping hand and a sense of camaraderie.
Today, the poor soul who was now standing and would soon be bottom up was a beautiful young man with longer dark hair that looked as if he should be studying books in the Royal library than training with a sword. He didn’t appear to be a King’s guard but was training with them nonetheless.
Fia watched as the two men circled one another, waiting for the other to go on the offensive. The two of them wore wicked smiles making it appear as if they knew each other well and were initiating some playful banter. Fia suddenly had a flashback of her and Silas doing the same thing as these two men training - a lifetime ago.
Suddenly, the King’s guard launched the attack, and sent the scholarly looking man stumbling back, as he attempted to counter each move that came his way. Fia focused on their footing, the dance that would decide who would gain the upper hand. The King’s guard arced his sword from above, and slashed forward. To Fia’s surprise, the young man parried but was met with another blow that sent him stumbling back over his feet. He left that right side open, he should have —
Her thoughts were interrupted when a familiar voice called her name. Evie made her way toward Fia, waving enthusiastically with a handful of leather strips in her arms. Evie helped her mother, a leatherworker, and her father worked as a local blacksmith in Forged Row. Fia grew to love her and valued their friendship but was often jealous of the freedom that Evie had that Fia herself yearned for.
Not only was Evie’s family not under the weighted pressure of the Kingdom but her parents were from Rynmark which held vastly different social views from Calemyra, especially in regards to the rights of women.
“I see you are admiring the views of the training grounds,” Evie said with a flirtatious smile, her hazel eyes gleaming. “Those tall Maples, are gorgeous this time of year.”
“Ah, yes, the Maple trees. Too bad those good looking King’s guards are in the way.”
“Right. Learn anymore maneuvers from today’s practice?” Evie said knowing full well the reason why Fia couldn’t help herself from watching.
“Yes, a few. Anyways, do you need help carrying those?” Fia offered watching her friend struggle with the large mound of straps in her arms.
“No, I’ll be fine. I’m heading to the shop right now, just wanted to say hello and ask if you are still planning on coming over for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Yes, I will be there. Tell your parents thank you for the invitation,” Fia said as Evie started walking toward her family’s leather shop. “See you tomorrow.”
Fia turned back to the training grounds and sure enough the dark haired one was being hoisted up by a helping hand from the King’s guard and met with a clap on the shoulder. The King’s guard friendly smile suggested that they must have been friends and not just comrades training together.
The King’s guard must have felt the sensation of his performance being watched because he suddenly glanced behind him, eyes immediately settling upon Fia. With a startled embarrassment she immediately spun around and ended up tripping over a root of the Maple tree and fell to the ground, her basket rolling onto the street.
She quickly got to her feet, brushed off her gown and dared a glance behind her to see the two men gaping at her. With her face and ears burning, absolutely mortified, she quickly grabbed her basket and strode off.
A tree root. Taken down by a tree root. Gods. Fia continued to mutter under breath and replayed the moment as she walked toward home.