The russet of autumn encroached steadily, slowly staining the trees a husky orange. Warm, stifling air swept arcs of crisp detritus along its path. Every morning, Cedric went behind the cottage to contemplate the oak, whose rich green foliage reddened incrementally by the day.
Cedric and Alvir, who now required a blindfold in the daytime, gathered supplies for the long journey while Jana embarked on one last hunt, despite the thin prospects.
With her absence, Cedric finally convinced Alvir to allow him to purchase supplies from town. As their departure was imminent, he reasoned that any sightings of him were unlikely to do any harm. Alvir conceded, with great reluctance.
On the afternoon that Cedric was to run his errand, Grace came to call with another delivery of eggs--this time four.
She grinned genially as he showed her inside, her round cheeks rosy and vibrant. "Have you been well, Cedric?"
"I've missed you," Cedric said. He'd be truly sorry to say goodbye to her.
She flushed deeply. "I--I've enjoyed your company as well." She looked around the cottage. "Is Alvir away?"
"He's resting upstairs," Cedric said.
"Well, I wouldn't wish to disturb him." Grace offered the eggs to Cedric. "I'm sorry there aren't more. Our fortunes have not yet turned about."
Cedric gave her two small coins of quartz from the sheepskin pouch hanging beside the fireplace. Not long ago Alvir had introduced him to the concept of money, as well as the particulars of the kingdom's official currency: opaque marks, cloudy splendens, large and beautifully clear nobilis--all engraved with intricate, angular sigils.
A giddy, uncertain silence befell them.
Grace twisted her delicate fingers together. "Well, I suppose I should--"
"I'm going into town," Cedric blurted. "I have supplies to purchase."
Grace's eyes lit up. "Oh, I see. Would you like for me to--"
"Yes," he said, then immediately regretted interrupting. Uncouth, as Alvir would call such behavior.
But Grace only smiled. "Come, I'll show you where to go."
*
Cedric and Grace approached the establishment run by Finn's father, a small shop near the town square not far from Caleb's bakery. Finn himself manned a display outside, leaning easily against the back legs of his wooden stool beneath a tattered old awning.
He greeted Cedric with a wave.
"Haven't seen you about lately," he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. His cheeks bloomed and his forehead glimmered with a thin sheen of sweat, but his breezy manner remained fully intact. "What brings you to our humble establishment? May I interest you in a set of wooden spoons? Finest craftsmanship you'll ever find. Perhaps a pair of lambskin shoes?"
"There's no need for the salesman act with us," Grace said with a snort.
Finn looked at Cedric. "Jests aside, what do you need?"
Cedric rattled off the list he'd dutifully memorized. Finn grinned. "The greater sanctum will have what you seek," he said, and gestured them toward the store's entrance.
Inside was cramped and claustrophobic, with an endless variety of wares littering the floor, stacked along the walls, even hanging from the ceiling.
Finn's father was a stocky man who sported a round, substantial belly. Cedric easily found traces of Finn's features across the face of his progenitor: a wide, crooked mouth, a strong nose, and curly dark hair, though the latter was somewhat thinning at the top. He grinned at them with a flawless salesman's manner that his son clearly sought to emulate.
Within ten minutes, Cedric had gotten everything on Alvir's list: travelling cloaks, a sturdy pair of shoes, a small iron pot, flint, blankets, and several other supplies of that sort. Finn's father raised his eyebrows as Cedric easily hefted the lot of it over his back in a large canvas sling.
"You're certainly a well-fed lad, eh?"
Cedric reached into the pouch at his hip. Five splendens later, he and Grace left the shop amid boisterous farewells and requests to come again soon.
"Are you truly fine carrying all that?" Grace eventually asked. They'd left the town square behind and taken the path that would lead them back to Alvir's cottage. A warm autumn breeze caressed their faces.
"Of course," Cedric said, nonplussed. The load slung across his back felt perfectly manageable. "Should I not be?"
He never heard her response. A blinding crack of pain and light shattered upon his brow, lurching the world onto its axis. After a moment of peculiar, dazed weightlessness, the bursting sack of wares drove harshly into his back. Cedric tasted dust and iron on his lips.
"Henry!" Grace's sharp voice pierced through his fog of pain and disorientation. She knelt beside him, turning toward someone beyond his field of vision. Even from this angle, he saw her furrowed brow and furious scowl.
Somewhere, a man was laughing with gleeful cruelty. Like the guard. His laughter had sounded like--
Cedric forced away the encroaching memories before their dark talons sank into him. They already held free reign at night; they did not deserve to usurp his waking hours too.
"My deepest contrition, Grace. I was aiming for a bird," drawled someone ahead of them.
Her cool hand rested gently on Cedric's throbbing forehead, but even that light touch set his newly-tender flesh flaring. He clumsily propped himself up on his elbows to appraise the unfriendly stranger.
Henry Avidus was stocky and large for his age, as he was unlikely to be older than Cedric. Dirty blond hair framed his fleshy but strong-jawed face, dotted unevenly by pockmarks and whispers of dark stubble. But most notable were his clean, well-fitted garments.
Finn had spoken contemptuously of this boy who toyed with Grace and greedily took from Caleb. Anger ignited in Cedric's belly.
Grace rose, fists clenched, but her voice was calm and even. "Is that all you wished to impart, Lord Avidus? You'll be on your way, now?"
Henry smirked and stepped closer, towering a whole head above her. Cedric shakily rose to his feet and straightened the unwieldy load on his back. He made to move forward, but Grace briefly glanced at him and shook her head. Cedric stopped in his tracks, puzzled.
Henry reached out and lightly caressed an auburn lock. Grace's jaw set, and she tensed as if frozen.
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"You're as lovely as ever, milady," Henry said. There was an oily sheen to his speech that nullified all charm in the words. He flicked a glance over at Cedric. "I spied this stranger trailing you into town some days ago, and wished to ensure your wellbeing this time around."
Grace did not respond, but merely fixed her stony gaze at a distant point beyond his left shoulder.
"Where are your manners?" he demanded. "Are you not going to thank me?"
His hand, which had been gently twirling a lock of her hair, suddenly grabbed her jaw in a cruel, hard grip. Grace gasped and finally met his eyes; hers now betrayed a glimmer of fear.
The next thing Henry knew, the force of a rampaging bull had slammed into his midriff, driving him hard into the ground. He wheezed, clutching his winded stomach and curling in on himself like a distressed infant.
Cedric watched the boy struggle for breath with no small amount of satisfaction, and his right fist buzzed with warmth. He looked to Grace with a proud half-smile that quickly withered upon sight of her expression.
"Cedric," she said in quiet horror. "Why did you…? Do you know what you've done?"
"He hurt you," he objected, the initial triumph quickly soured.
"He's the Lord Enforcer's son!"
"I know that. But Enforcers uphold order, right? Why--"
Grace took his arm and marched him forcefully down the path, leaving the gasping Henry behind them.
"It's fortunate you're leaving tomorrow," she said, seemingly blind to how those words stung him. "Once the Lord Enforcer hears of this…"
"Sorry for causing you such trouble," Cedric said coldly.
She glanced at him. "Your forehead is swelling."
Cedric had completely forgotten about it. He prodded the flesh between his brows, which immediately flared anew. Compared to the ordeals of his past, this minor injury was hardly worth consideration.
"Don't worry," Grace said. "I'm sure Alvir will have something for--"
Cedric grunted. She lowered her head and said no more.
They parted company on curt, prickly terms at the foot of the cottage hill. Only when Cedric had unloaded the supplies did bitter waves of chagrin start to set in amidst his cooling temper.
Grace was the first friend he'd ever made, yet he hadn't hesitated to direct his anger at her. What if she never wanted to see him again? He could never bear that; his throat constricted with dread.
Had Cedric had the slightest inkling of where she lived, he would have gone to rectify the situation at once. Would her feelings fester and worsen before he could make amends?
He would find her in town tomorrow, before they left for Borne. Tomorrow, he would make everything right.
*
Henry's gut flared with every step of his heavy trudge home, though the wound to his pride dug far deeper. After all, his was the blood of the Avidus lineage, the divinely-appointed overseers of Methodosia ever since its inception. How dare that common boy lay hands on him? Henry clamped his teeth together until they hurt.
We are Apostles, his father always said. To uphold the brilliance of the Divine Heirs is our sacred duty. The common folk could not even conceive of a standing such as ours.
Grace was one of the few townsfolk that Henry had taken notice of. Though she was no beauty, something about her vitality and bright manner had enticed the depths of his secret hunger. He'd taken to watching her from afar, fixating greedily upon her easy ringing laugh, her rich auburn locks, her honey-colored freckles. The more he watched, the greater his desire had grown.
She was his for the taking if he so wished. After all, the common folk of Methodosia knew to allow him his samplings of their wares or his roughhousing with the town boys. Why would this be any different? His father certainly wouldn't mind if his son amused himself with the local offerings.
But upon each of his attempts at courtship, Grace had spared him nothing but uneasy glances and downcast eyes. Her smile only emerged upon a direct command, and was always forced and sullen, nothing like her usual manner around everyone but him.
And then the stranger had come, a boy who'd captured Grace's affection and laughter with effortless ease. They'd been walking with another commoner boy in the town square, blissfully entrenched in their private little world. Anger had flowed through his veins like liquid fire. Did she even comprehend the incredible fortune of an Apostle's notice? Surely not, for her to squander it so readily.
The stranger had then attacked him, either oblivious or uncaring of his proper place. None had dared raise a finger against Henry in all of his life in Methodosia. Not until now.
And thus it was Henry's sworn duty, as a member of the Apostle Order, to stamp out this aberrance. He'd have the boy strung up in the town square, his flowing hair shorn away, his pretty dark eyes pecked out by birds. Perhaps Grace wouldn't understand at first, but she'd thank him one day for sparing her of this heretic's poisonous influence. Henry was certain of it.
He found himself grinning in anticipation, and quickened his steps so as to reach his home, and his father, in greater haste.
*
By the time Henry arrived at the handsome stone residence near the center of town, supper had been laid on the table. The serving girl stole a quick glance at Henry before scuttling away. She was a plain, mousey sort, indentured to them by a farming family with dwindling means. Henry had cornered her in the storeroom once, but her pitiful, incessant little cries had quickly bored him.
"My boy!" exclaimed Lord Eudon Avidus, who'd begun helping himself to roast pheasant and herb-crusted quail. "I was beginning to worry."
The Enforcer of Methodosia patted his ample stomach. "The plum sauce is particularly exquisite."
"Father, I have something urgent I must discuss with you," Henry said, striding toward the table and then freezing in surprise. A nondescript man was also seated there, gazing coolly at him above a loaded plate of untouched food. He was so still and quiet that Henry had completely overlooked him.
"Son, this is Sir Kestrin, the Ice Blade himself, come to visit our humble village," Lord Avidus said through a mouthful of bird. A rivulet of golden grease ran from the corner of his mouth, and he dabbed it away more hastily than he usually would.
The Ice Blade. Every man, woman, and child in Iridesca had heard of the deadly warrior who'd slain his opponents in King Asha's tournament without sustaining a single scratch, whose silent movements were akin to silken shadows.
"Sir, this is an honor indeed," Henry stammered. He quickly took the seat across from his father before his unsteady legs could betray him.
"Call me Kestrin," he replied in a mild, toneless voice. "I dislike formality." His features and clothes were entirely unremarkable. Had Henry not known better, he would have sworn that this man was merely another peasant. Of course, he'd been exactly that before King Asha had personally ascended him to the prestigious ranks of the Crimson Blade.
He suddenly found himself bursting with questions, but he clamped down on them with large bites of quail and bread.
"Was your journey difficult?" Lord Avidus asked Kestrin. "I hear worrying tales of increased banditry along the kingdom's main roads. There is no end to the barbarity the common folk would stoop to."
"The paltry harvests this year have not been kind to them. For myself, the journey was not difficult. I dispatched of any prospective troublemakers."
Henry could imagine what the Ice Blade's "dispatching" involved, and he allowed himself a small grin. Those poor wretches had no doubt gotten far more than they bargained for, but nonetheless--
"No more than they deserved," Lord Avidus declared. "The rightful place for such scoundrels is deep below ground."
Indeed. Those who dared to flout the divine laws of Iridesca deserved punishment, without exception. And the Ice Blade himself would now be witness to Henry's upholding of that sacred tenet.
"Father," Henry said, pushing aside his half-eaten supper. "I have something of great importance to tell you."
"Aye, you'd mentioned something of the sort," Lord Avidus said. "But would it be prudent to burden our guest?"
"This is a matter of divine principle. A stranger has come into the village. A boy."
Had Henry been the observant sort, he would have seen Kestrin lean forward a single degree upon hearing this.
"I witnessed him consorting with a village girl, seducing her to his unruly ways. I sought to free her from his poisonous influence." Henry laid a hand on his tender midriff. "The boy then attacked me without the slightest hesitation."
Lord Avidus' eyes bulged as he slammed a fist on the table. "A commoner dared lay hands on you? We must--"
Kestrin held up a hand, which struck him dumb as effectively as a slap. It was the Ice Blade's left, upon which the mark of the Sixth Caste had been inked. Henry and his father bore their own, a different symbol that represented the Fifth.
"I believe I'd already inquired of any strange occurrences or notable individuals in Methodosia," Kestrin said quietly to Lord Avidus. The pleasant atmosphere of their warmly-lit dining hall had chilled by several degrees.
He flushed from his typical ruddy red to a deep scarlet. "If I recall correctly, sir, you'd inquired of any unusually tall women by the name of Hael. I spoke truthfully in that I possessed no knowledge of such a person."
"You made no mention of a strange boy, either. Surely you keep abreast of the comings and goings of your divinely-appointed charges," Kestrin's tone had not changed, but he no longer resembled a nondescript peasant. His eyes had sharpened to twin points of flint.
"Certainly, of course," Lord Avidus stammered, taking a massive draught of wine from his silver goblet and spilling a substantial amount on his silk tunic. "But Methodosia is hardly the smallest settlement in the kingdom. You couldn't possibly expect an Enforcer to know everything of everyone in his territory!"
Kestrin rose from the table and turned his piercing gaze to Henry, who froze. "Would you mind serving as my guide to this strange boy's residence?"
Henry nodded, half eager and half afraid. "As you wish, sir--er, Kestrin."
The Ice Blade rose and swept past him to the residence's main doors.