Chapter 31 - Proper Introductions

Magrath, Vanstead Dukedom of Augustein Year 995

They went to bed soon after that, Isolde moving to put out the fireplace while Amara lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. It took her a long time to fall asleep, remaining awake long after Isolde’s breathing had shifted away from a carefully steady rise and fall into the sounds of true slumber. Amara had left a crack open in the curtain, and a single silver line of light cut across the bed, dividing her head from her covered lower body.

She stared at that line, her eyes tracing the way it bent and dipped around the sharp edges of the furniture. She stayed like that for a long time, still in the cool darkness, her body instinctively kept so still that it could easily be mistaken for a corpse.

—

Around noon, a knock sounded on their room door. Three evenly spaced knocks, loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to not disturb anyone around them. Isolde rose from the table to answer, and Amara watched from where she sat finishing off some sort of tea with a pale amber color that Isolde had recommended. She couldn’t comment on the flavor, but she did enjoy the warmth of the liquid.

When the door swung open, it revealed a familiar tattooed man standing in the hallway. Amara sat up a little straighter. The man was once again wearing a dark servant’s uniform and, she noted, a pair of grey gloves that day. His expression was perfectly placid, and he didn’t give the room a second glance, simply bowing stiffly and straightening again.

“Good afternoon. I’m here on Lord Alardice’s orders to escort the two of you to the mines,” he said plainly.

Isolde raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t give the man a direct response, simply turning around to face Amara. “Are you ready to leave?” she asked.

Amara stood and saluted, swinging her bag over her shoulder and, after a second of consideration, she grabbed her axe as well. The blade was once again covered by a bound cloth, and the handle was still a little loose, but it hadn’t fallen apart yet. That was more than enough for her.

The man gave no acknowledgement of the very obvious weapon, remaining perfectly still by the doorway while he waited for them to exit. Once the door had clicked shut, he turned and began to stride down the hallway without another word, not even looking back to check if the two of them were following. Amara watched his back for a few seconds, then turned to Isolde.

“So, what kind of ore’re we trying to get?”

The other woman hummed, nodding politely at the receptionist as they passed by the desk. It wasn’t until they stepped outside the inn and onto the streets that she responded.

“A bit of every type, but I’d personally like more motion magic ore.” As opposed to the night before, Isolde seemed not at all concerned about the servant overhearing the two of them. “Actually, I was going to ask you if you had any preferences.”

Amara hummed. “Well, I guess training with energy magic’s probably the smartest, right? Since it’s a major affinity and all.”

Isolde nodded. “I agree. Of course, we’ll have to see what’s available first. Energy magic ore is fairly common, however, so I do believe there will be some.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The two continued walking, the tattooed man remaining a few feet ahead of them the whole time. He never glanced back once, and as they entered the more crowded sections of the street, Amara noted the glances cast in their direction—specifically at the man. She adjusted her gloves absentmindedly. It was almost nostalgic, the way passersby would instinctively step aside as they walked past or would attempt to watch them while pretending not to. It was odd not being the source of the stares and whispers for once.

When they passed by the square, Amara saw that watchmen were still working on clearing the rubble. The worst of the broken pieces had been cleared, but many storefronts were still windowless, and the island of flowers in the center of the square was completely destroyed. There weren’t many guards around, Amara noted. It seems they’d left the job mostly to the watchmen. She turned away, continuing along the road.

The path beneath their feet soon grew looser, and as the trees became more plentiful, the familiar dry sensation of dust increasingly permeated the air. Amara could hear the distant sounds of clanging metal and shifting stone, a few yells and flashes of magic lighting up the uneven terrain.

The tattooed servant turned off the road, stepping into the dusty hills and easily navigating through the winding trails without any hesitation. The further they walked, the more it became clear just how expansive the mines were. Amara’s head turned every which way, instinctively making note of every entrance that she could see. Many were blocked with large stones firmly sealing off the entrances, but a few were open, various workers moving in and out of them with wagons of stones and, she assumed, ore.

The group didn’t stop until they reached the edge of the mines, where more of the forest could be seen poking out from behind a sharp, rocky hill face. It was quieter here, the trees and other hills blocking out the distant sounds of labor, and there were only a few workers lingering around.

Standing in front of the entrance, a woman in dirt streaked overalls who was speaking to an older man turned around as they approached, pausing mid conversation. Her beady eyes darted between the three of them, soon landing on the tattooed man.

“...I thought inspections weren’t ‘til tomorrow,” she said slowly.

“They are.” The man’s expression didn’t change, and he simply gestured to Amara and Isolde. “I’m escorting the two of them into the mines. Orders from Lord Alardice.”

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The woman hummed thoughtfully, but the man she’d been speaking to didn’t look as convinced. He narrowed his eyes, frowning beneath a thick beard dotted with dust. He took a step closer, and despite being about the same height as the servant, his heavier build made him seem many times larger.

“You got a permit?” His voice was gruff, but the tattooed man didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned. He remained in place with a bored expression, neither flinching nor deigning to give the man a response at all. The bearded man scowled, opening his mouth to speak again.

“Save it,” the woman interrupted before he could. She jerked her head at the servant. “If anyone knows not to try stealing from Lord Alardice, it’s that one.”

The other miner grunted and crossed his arms, clearly displeased, but he didn’t protest when the woman stepped aside and gestured for them to enter.

Without another word, the man continued into the mines, Isolde following a few feet behind. Amara waved at the miners as she passed, but both of them had already turned back to their conversation, ignoring her entirely. She shrugged and kept walking.

The mines of Magrath were significantly more well lit than Penrith’s abandoned ones had been. Amara’s shoulders relaxed as they were hit with warm torchlight lining the walls, which were themselves surprisingly wide and spacious. They didn’t feel oppressive at all. She could get used to a place like this, Amara thought.

The man led them down a series of side paths, many dug into the walls and easily missed at a glance. Amara kept a close eye on their route through the maze of tunnels, and she could see Isolde doing the same up ahead.

Finally, they reached a small circular clearing surrounded on all sides by torches. A few empty wagons were pushed against the walls, which had been well smoothed. From the area, a single path up ahead sloped sharply downwards, but where it led was blocked by a plain, round panel sealing it off. The man finally stopped walking.

“Freshly mined ore is stored up ahead for inspection before it’s transported,” he said in that same constant, monotone voice. Finally, for the first time since he’d appeared that day, the man appeared to hesitate slightly. His eyes darted between the two of them. “It will require motion magic to move the panel.” He pursed his lips. “I was told one of you had proficiency with it.”

Isolde sighed and stepped forward. “Of course he’d force us to use magic for this,” she muttered. One of her gloved hands reached down into her bag, where she pulled out a small ore that looked both rougher and duller than her earrings had. Isolde rolled the stone around a few times in her palm, then pressed a hand against the door and closed her eyes. A few seconds passed before a familiar icy blue glow emanated from the ore. That light wrapped around the stone panel, and its surface began to shake as it slowly but surely was pulled backwards.

Amara’s gaze shifted over to the tattooed man, eyes sharp. As Isolde used her magic, she noted the way his body tensed barely perceptibly, how his already rigid posture further froze and his fingers twitched, jerking abruptly in an instinctive, aborted motion. It wasn’t until the glow of magic had died down, the panel pulled away to the side, that his muscles relaxed again and he returned to his usual expressionless, disinterested posture.

“Amara?”

Blinking, she turned to see Isolde watching her from the newly revealed entrance. One of her eyebrows was raised, but she recognized the scrutinizing sharpness in her eyes. “Would you like to come along?”

“Nah, you go ahead.” Amara waved dismissively. “I don’t know the first thing about ore quality anyway. I’ll wait up here.”

Isolde stared between her and the servant, who remained where he was, so quiet that he nearly blended into the background. Finally, after a moment of pause, Isolde nodded, and her usual serene smile returned to her face.

“Alright, I won’t be long.” Dark hair trailing behind her, she turned and descended further into the mines, soon disappearing from view and leaving the two of them behind.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke, the light crackling of the torches and the distant, muffled sounds of clanging metal picks and stones the only source of sound. The longer Amara stared at the man, the more and more he reminded her of James, at least when it came to the complete stillness of their postures. She hadn’t known James well enough to know more about his personality beyond his quietness. His death, perhaps ironically, was far more familiar to her.

She cocked her head to the side, thinking back to that brief moment in the shop when his expression had shifted into something far closer to Edith than to James. It was almost hard to believe they were the same person.

“Not gonna follow her down?”

Amara decided to break the silence, not hesitating to speak at full volume. Her voice echoed within the space, and the man waited until the echoes died down before responding.

“Lord Alardice simply ordered me to escort you here. That’s all,” he said bluntly. Amara snorted.

“Fair enough.” She turned around to face him fully, though the servant seemed resolute in not meeting her eyes. She took a few steps closer. “Speaking of which, I never really introduced myself, huh? I’m Amara, and the pretty woman who just went down is Isolde.”

“I know.”

Amara raised an eyebrow. “Really? Didn’t think Lord Alardice would bother remembering our names. Figured he just called us ‘those two fuckers’ in his head or something.”

She thought she detected a twitch at the corner of the man’s mouth, but it was too small to be sure. Still, he turned slightly, which Amara counted as a win.

“Glenn mentioned you,” he said simply.

“Ah, that makes sense.” Amara hummed. “He seems like a good guy. He’s Lord Alardice’s younger half brother, right?”

This time the man didn’t bother to hide his frown. “That’s none of your business,” he said tersely. Amara held up her hands in a placating gesture.

“Relax, I just heard some rumors. Well, more like Isolde heard them and told me about it. She knows a lot more than I do.” The man didn’t respond, and Amara continued. “Anyway, I got sidetracked. So what’s your name?”

This time the flash of surprise was undeniable. His expression flattened again and he turned away.

“That’s not important.”

“Well, I just gave you my name, so it’d be rude not to respond.” Amara strode forward, ducking her head into the man’s vision, who blinked and took a step back on instinct. Grinning, Amara straightened and held out a gloved hand.

“Let’s try this again, unless you want me to keep calling you ‘tattoo guy’ in my head.” The man’s eyes narrowed at that, and her grin widened.

“I’m Amara,” she said, speaking extra loudly. “And you are?”

The man stared at her outstretched hand, then back up at her, frowning. Finally, after taking a second to glance around the empty clearing, he finally released a sigh and shook her hand with one of his grey-gloved ones.

“Levent,” he muttered, shaking her hand after a brief pause. The action was hesitant, a bit jerking, but his grip was firm.