Rhey nodded in response, glad to hear it. Vincent Vasili, Duke of Norda, Baron of Wellyem, and Prince of the realm, wasn’t known for speaking in riddles at least. He’d explain what had occurred plainly, simply.
The fair, hulking man entered the Council room, his long hair plaited on one side, and let loose on the other - he was a figure commandeering attention wherever he went; a family trait.
“Cousin,” Vincent said, one hand over his heart as he bent to greet the king first.
Rhey returned the greeting.
“I hear you bear ill news.”
“That I do. I was patrolling with two of my men, and five guards last night. They’re here if you’d like to hear their account of it. A light appeared in the distance close to dusk - such a strange light. Definitely made of magics. I’d told Kross to fly over and check it, when a wave of energy emanated from it. Something shimmery, yet dark. I’ve never seen anything of the sort before. It hit our walls and the ground itself shook at the impact. While the physical wall is still in place, the shields keeping uninvited forces out was destroyed at the impact.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
“Any thoughts?” he asked, turning to the Elders, who were exchanging wary glances.
He didn’t think anyone would answer at first, which was both frustrating and expected. Elders weren’t obliged to share their knowledge with the King, and they rarely chose to.
Yet, Nathos said one word - one word that didn’t make sense, although it chilled his bones.
“Shadow.”
The morning dew lay on Xandrie’s cloak like an avalanche of pearls. Her face was buried in her tiger-cub’s thick, spotted fur and for a moment it was as though the world was perfect and her worries nothing more than fancies. Then she remembered the morning chores surely awaiting her.
Groaning, Xandrie sprang up, threw her arms around the animal’s neck, and sprinted through the forest, before scaling the stone wall that surrounded her hometown.
Xandrie was halfway home when she froze, uncomfortable. She felt someone there, lurking in the shadows, watching. Recalling all sorts of evil shadowy things, she spun, her hand already reaching for her bow, but as it turned out, it was just a relatively harmless low life.
Darsen stepped forward, his enormous muscle-bound frame blocking her way. “A pleasure, Xandrie.”
Ugh. Him.
Her fingers grabbed her bow a little tighter for an instant, and she contemplated shooting an arrow, but they regretfully released their hold. Xandrie knew better than to put the weapon away, though. She’d seen how the poorest women - the servants, the beggars - looked at him; with fear and disgust. Xandrie’s birth made her a step above them, as far as their standing went - she was mage born, after all, so she didn’t believe he’d harm her, but there was no harm in being cautious with men like him.
Darsen grimaced in greeting; in any case, his lip curled and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Xandrie bit back the urge to tell him he hadn’t got “smiling” down right. He had all the component parts – his mouth moved, the cast of his eyes sort-of changed, and all the required muscles in his chiseled face moved – but it added up to a serious case of gross and off-putting.
How she would have loved to just tell him to fuck the hell off, and jump off a cliff while he was at it, but she knew how that would be received when it reached her parents’ ears, so she mumbled a “G’day,” bowed, and slid around him, scraping her elbow on the rough, stone wall as she went. The scuff didn’t matter if it meant she didn’t have to touch him.
She dodged through alleyways and thoroughfares and was home just as her mother made it down for her morning brew.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Get the dining room cleaned up by lunch if you want any food.”
Xandrie rolled her eyes, not bothering to point out that as she was the one who prepared lunches on normal days when no chef was hired. She could always eat in the kitchen - in fact, she preferred it.
Her sisters followed, then her father. No one asked where she’d been, or what she’d been doing. Her father remarked, “You’re dirty,” which was particularly observant of him – usually he didn’t look at her long enough to notice.
Talia, however, looked concerned as she said, “Your elbow is bleeding.”
Her little sister rested her soft hand over her forearm and whispered soft spells. Warmth spread through her core and the scratch was quick to disappear.
“Look how easily our daughter performed that healing spell, Lars!” her mother exclaimed fondly, singing her younger sister’s praises, and not taking the time to ask how her middle child had gotten herself wounded in the first place.
Good thing, too - she wouldn’t have liked the answer.
Xandrie stoked the fire, set the table, and threw together breakfast. Wonder what they’d do if I just up and quit? She knew the answer. They wouldn’t notice if it weren’t for the missed meals and ever-mounting piles of laundry. They’d sigh, shake their heads, then hire a maid. Probably pay her something, too. Not quite true. Talia would miss her, at least a little. She was so busy with her craft and magics and healing, she barely had time for herself, let alone Xandrie, but she knew her younger sister loved her.
Xandrie set about scouring the pots and pans and plates left over from the night before. She could imagine that asshole Darsen, spearing a hunk of dripping venison with his knife and devouring it in four gulps. He was classy like that. Her parents would have spent the night fawning over him, telling him how wonderful he was, how delighted they were that he favored Xandrie, how they looked forward to the “happy day.”
“Gag me with a dishrag,” she muttered disgustedly.
The dirty dishwater slopped over the side of the sink, soaking her shoes. Xandrie untied her apron, scanned the kitchen to make sure it was in decent enough shape, then high-tailed it back towards the wall and the place she felt most at home: the wild.
Though she’d only been gone a few hours, Claws greeted her with a deep, resonant purr that only deepened when she pulled a branch from the ground and took the stance her brother had taught her. “Strength comes from the inside,” Damion always said. “You see the strike, you become the strike.”
She didn’t know why, but she practiced when she could - perhaps she felt a little closer to her brother that way.
The tiger knew what was expected of him. Tail beating the air, Claws reared up and lunged at Xandrie, eager to train. Neither of them held back or played it safe. If she was to improve, she needed all sixty pounds of white tiger cub coming at her at full strength. They lunged and swiped, jabbed and spun, rolled and kicked and ran dizzying rings around the clearing they called home.