It started with a witch. It always starts with a witch.
The Witchslayer
From the Publication of Spiderweb
September 2nd, 1422
Bastard Lord To Return To Court
It appears that Lord Albrecht has been invited to Princess Aria’s birthday festivities. How he secured an invitation is a mystery. Queen Rose certainly didn’t send the invite, but maybe the princess took pity on her poor cousin. Who could forget the infamous night Lord Albrecht was caught drunkenly screaming for all to hear? The rumors still swirl about his involvement with widow Lady Irina, whose husband is still missing, presumed dead.
Lord Albrecht’s return to court will ensure more broken hearts, and even more scandals. This birthday celebration will be sure to be the talk of every town the princess visits, especially with her cousin beside her.
Sincerely,
The Spider
From the Publication of Pillowtalk Publications
September 4th, 1422
This Bluebird would like to remind the Spider that continuing to fuel the rumor mill surrounding Lord Albrecht only results in making him popular. Should we all be reminded of our own mistakes, I am sure we would all be blushing. Lord Albrecht is coming as an honored guest of the court. Lord Albrecht remains a respected cousin of the princess, and is still second in line to the throne.
Yours,
The Bluebird
Hazyl lifted herself from the water, scales glimmering as dawn crept across the edge of the woods. Rain dripped through the bare branches overhead. Foliage of every color littered the earth. The nymph shivered, grabbing her cloak from a gnarled branch. She wrapped it around her scaled form and tugged on a leather pair of boots. The early morning light illuminated the hard spikes protruding from the sides of her scaled hands.
Her small feet roamed over stones and twigs on the well-beaten path towards her home. The convenient mile that lay between her home and the pool was strewn with damp leaves, flower petals, and slippery rocks. The rain was doing a thorough job of soaking everything, including her. Her hands were numb by the time she reached her front door. Hazyl fumbled with the handle, cursing her thin cloak and the dismal weather.
She entered to the sounds of fire crackling and grabbed a lit candle from the table. Hazyl threw her cloak on the back of a chair, and climbed up into her own room in the attic. A line of water marked her path. Grabbing a towel from the washstand, she dried off her scaled legs and chest with one webbed hand. With the other, she lit more candles. As her skin dried, her scales disappeared under her skin.
Hazyl shivered into an olive smock and cotton pants. By the time she was finished, her webbed feet and hands had receded into human-like appendages, the ridge of scales on her back remaining. Hazyl combed through her damp hair, brushing through tangled knots. Hazyl heard Tristan entering the kitchen from his room downstairs. The sun was just making its appearance in her window. Tristan called out her name.
The nymph followed her brother's voice into the kitchen and glanced curiously at the parchment he was scribbling on. He smiled up at her. “Have a nice swim last night?” She nodded as Tristan continued writing. “You should be more careful. I heard from Freya that there have been reports of witches.” She nodded her head again and took an apple from the bowl on the table.
Hazyl held her hand over the round curves of an apple, then let it fall from her hands back into the bowl. “Can you blame them? People still fear them, even though most are just trying to survive.”
Tristan looked at her in shock. “A witch killed King Lorcan.”
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Hazyl sighed. “Yes, and many elves kill each other all the time.” Hazyl shifted her weight to her other side.
Tristan didn’t comment further as he shifted through some papers on a nearby desk. When the post arrived, Tristan glanced at a flier reminding them of the coming autumn festival. Hazyl read over his shoulder about the dates and events. Her body ached with fatigue, her eyes threatening to close. She let out a huge yawn.
“Hazyl, would you go into town for me? I would go myself but the festival preparations are a beast. Henry and I agreed to meet early with the Captain of the Palace Rangers to start checking security measures. The dinner for the ball is going to cost Council a fortune.” Tristan sighed and ran a hand down his face. He pulled his blonde hair to one side. "I've asked Freya to accompany you.” He handed her a short list, and a sealed letter. “Give Freya the letter, please. It’s for Henry regarding Council matters.”
"Of course," she said. Hazyl put her cloak back on and left the house. She smiled at her friend waiting for her at the garden gate. Hazyl filled her pockets with more apples from an overflowing tree, then tossed one to Freya.
Freya ran her fingers through her dark curls. The rain had stopped. Hazyl could hear residual drops splashing down through the leaves. She handed Freya the letter. “For your husband, from my brother.” Hazyl linked arms with Freya. “According to Tristan, we need milk, candles, and parchment. I see my brother has been kind enough to give me extra money for two honey cakes," she mused, counting out the coins.
Freya smiled as she took the letter and stuffed it in the pocket of her gray cloak. “The baby kept me up last night. I left her with Henry.”
“I can't wait for the festival to start," Hazyl said, carefully stepping over a tree root.
“Have you heard there was a witch uprising in Thalassa?”
“You sound like my brother," Hazyl grumbled.
“Hazyl, it’s dangerous going out in the middle of the night.”
“I’ve been training with swords since I was ten. The witch covens have never posed threat to us here in Dest.”
Freya sighed. They were emerging from the forest where the path went on beyond the shadow of the trees. The first houses were appearing from outside the confines of the woods. “I’m sorry. I am just saying you ought to be careful.”
Hazyl smiled at her. “Come, let’s not worry about it now. Help me get the supplies so we can get back home. Can you go grab the milk? We can split up and meet back at the cake stand.”
Hazyl stood at the cake stand ten minutes later, her arms full of parchment and candles. She brushed stray strands of dark red hair out of her face. She sat down on a bench at the other side of the lane and searched the growing crowd for Freya. She spotted her at the end of the market talking to the local herbalist. They seemed to be in deep discussion, and she saw that Freya held several bundles of different herbs. Hazyl had just turned her head to gaze back across the market to see how she could amuse herself when a new stand caught her eye.
The vendor was tall for an elf, but the elven build remained in the rest of his features. Deep blue eyes contrasted with dark layers of hair that lay around his thin face. Muscular arms crossed in front of his chest against the frosty wind. His black leather jacket was fastened with silver clasps. Paintings of various sizes lay out for sale. Hazyl gathered up her belongings, and ventured over to look at the paintings.
When the vendor caught her approaching, he laid out more works of art. She gave him a smile which he returned. A sign proclaiming that he drew portraits for a small fee piqued her interest. Catching her looking at the sign, he asked, “Would you like your portrait drawn?”
The stranger had come around from the other side of the table. He gestured to a small stool. An easel was set up with a broad spectrum of colors next to it. Hazyl saw that Freya was finished talking, and was heading towards the cake stand. “I’m just leaving. They are very lovely though. I love your use of colors in this one.” She pointed to a scene depicting a small fairy sleeping inside a huge rose.
“Well, I’m glad that you like them. I am Zane.” More fairies, elves, dragons, mermaids, and nymphs were shown in each picture. Hazyl admired a small water dragon portrait, stroking the fine lines that created the swirling water beneath the small creature. "I have come for the festival. I intend to give Princess Aria one of these paintings as a present.
"How lucky the princess is. I am Hazyl of Dest," she smiled.
“It’s probably just as well that you are engaged elsewhere today. I don’t think I have enough colors or skill to capture the unique color of your eyes.” Hazyl blushed at his boldness while the elf smiled to himself. Freya was now beside her, her eyes narrowing in scrutiny. Hazyl swallowed, and recovered herself before answering Freya's questioning glance.
"Freya, this is Zane. He has come in for the festival." Freya shifted the cartons of milk and herb bundles. A flush crept up her neck.
Zane went behind the counter again, emerging with a small basket. "Here, take this for your purchases." Freya took the basket, her amber eyes darting to the ground.
Hazyl looked at her friend with a brow raised. She smiled at Zane. “How kind of you.”
Zane nodded to them. "I hope to see you at the festival." The elf dismissed them with a respectful nod, moving on to another customer.
Hazyl handed Freya her honey cake, biting into her own. Crumbs littered the front of their gowns and they laughed at each other.
"Oh my gods," Freya hissed. "Don't you know who that was?"
Hazyl laughed at Freya's shocked expression. "No. I don’t see memories like you do."
"Well, let me tell you. I got quite enough memories to last a lifetime.” Freya fanned herself. “Hazyl, that's the princess's cousin, Lord Albrecht."
Hazyl looked at her and her eyes rose. "That explains why he was so bold. He said it was a pity I couldn't stay because he wanted to paint me."
"In the nude, in his bed," Freya muttered.
Hazyl rolled her eyes. "You can't believe everything The Pillowtalk prints."
"You can when it comes to Lord Albrect. I have heard he…well never mind." Freya went quiet as they passed a family walking with their young children. "Let's just say, Lord Albrecht is what makes up half of The Pillowtalk's stories. From what I saw, I know most of them to be true.” Freya and Hazyl continued down the lane as they continued discussing the encounter.
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