defiance

Mann rolled his eyes, looking at the bowl of oats in front of him. Oats, after oats, after oats, he was sick of being served the same thing, twice a day when he could smell the suckling pig in the kitchens. Sometimes, he swore he dreamt of the pig, tasting it only for a moment before waking up with its smell all around him. Yet now as he turned to Jef, he felt like he could not even start on the sludge in front of him. “You have it,” He murmured, spooning it into his friends bowl and rolling his eyes. 

“R-really?”  Jef stuttered in his usual way, his eyes growing large at the idea of double oats. And he needed it. Sometimes Mann wondered how Jef managed to heave anything throughout their work in the manor stables during the day, the boy seemed to be the perfect definition of the ‘runt’ of the litter. His six older brothers were strong enough to work out in the fields, and yet all Jef had was greasy hair that seemed to fall into his face constantly. “Really,” Mann grunted a reply and stood up, knowing he would probably regret giving away his food later. He tossed his bowl into a pile of servant’s dishes at the end of the table, heading straight out the door to watch the winter daw breaking. It was just light enough to see without torches now, and he shivered, hoping it might warm up once day had broken.

He rubbed his hands together, crossing the yard to the stables. They had three young colts to try and break today, although he was not sure why. The orders were just orders this far down, the boys were supposed to follow them to the letter and not question them. He surveyed the largest, wondering if Jef would even manage to stay on. It was a beauty, strong and agile, much more so than the cart horses the boys were used to dealing with. Even in the dim light of morn he could see the mares beautiful coat, dappled with grey over the hind as to remind him of falling snow. He pushed his long golden hair off his face, trying to see it better as he felt something on his shoulder. Jef had tried to hit him, and as the thin lad stood there looking thoroughly pleased, Mann made a note to make sure he was thrown into the mud later. “You full now, or am I going to have to give you their feed too?” He gestured to the pen, giving Jef a hard shove towards it. “We’re one s-short,” Mann found it hard to work out if Jef was stammering as usual or if this was just the cold setting in. “One h-horse down I-I mean.” “Ho-?” But he had barely begin when Jef overlapped him. “L-lord left for Surd at f-f-first light. Took the b-b-bay with him.” Mann rolled his blue eyes, slumping slightly. Of course, he’d missed all the excitement. He was always in the wrong place, at the wrong time. “Right well, I hope his might Surden arse isn’t too heavy for it. We have work, unless you forgot that we can’t eat the morn away.” He prodded the thinner boy again, “You first. Bet you a copper cripen you can’t count to ten and stay on.”

She assumed when her father summoned her to the throne room it was about being found on the wall, and knew what was going to come of it. However, as she stood at the door, she heard their shouts echoing out into the wall from where the wooden door stood ajar.

“She’s just a girl! You can’t, I won’t let you!” “You signed the treaty; you know what is to come. She is the price we pay to keep the midlands, in the hopes he barbarians do not leave us without a purse to put our gold in.”

Why was Harin so angry? Who was he talking about? She made sure to stay out of sight as she approached the door, hoping to hear more. Maybe this was the reason he was sent away.

“She should be here, with us. She should always be here. You can’t sign her away like land or horses; surely she is worth more to you than that?! Why not send Fabia?! You have said yourself she is far more ambitious than a woman should be. Send her, let her thrive with them and keep Alba safe, keep her where she belongs.”

She hadn’t noticed quite how far she had learned in her haste to hear everything, and lost her balance, landing on the floor of the throne room with a loud thud. She stood up as fast as possible, ignoring the slight pain in her side as she walked calmly down towards where her father and brother stood, trying to focus on how ladies walked and less on what she had just heard. She curtsied for her father, turning to Harin to do the same before noticing he had his back to her. He couldn’t look at her. “How much did you hear, child?” Her father narrowed his eyes from where he sat in his throne. “N-Nothing, your Majesty.” She stammered in return, hoping that she was convincing. “Well then, I shall leave it to your brother to give you his news from the barbarians. Since this is of his doing, he should be the one to tell you your fate.” Her father ran a hand through his thinning hair, his dark eyes focused on his eldest son. But Harin did not turn. His voice sounded strange as it bounced off the high ceiling of the throne room. “Alba,” He paused, and Alba felt as if she was going to be sick when he carried on. “Alba, the time has come for you to find a husband. I have told you that I went to speak with the Nords, to try and make a treaty with them to prevent harm coming to the midlanders. In order to make an alliance, he asked for a beautiful bride.” Finally, Harin faced her. She could see the strain he was under, as he struggled to meet her gaze. “He asked for your hand in marriage and I had no choice but to agree,” He shot a look to her father, full of venom and loathing but the old man did not see it. Instead, his eyes were concentrated on his daughter, and Alba did not know what to do. If anything, she wanted to run from the room, from the castle and hide. Maybe they could not make her go if they could not find her. Instead, she remembered her manners, and nodded to both the men before turning her back. She could hear the whispered remains of the argument carrying on as she sped up to reach the door, sniffling to herself and trying to keep he tears at bay long enough to at least leave the room.

Once she was outside, she let it go. She sat, in the hall, her body rocking with silent sobs as she combed through her thoughts, trying to remember exactly what her mother had told her about marriage. She had known it would come, most likely to a midland lord or his son but not...

His body ached from the ride down from Aquilen, his mind tired from thoughts of how to prevent his sister having to leave the life she knew. He knew this was some kind of twisted punishment his father was trying to place on him, but all it really did was hurt Alba, and that was the last thing he wanted. Harin cursed again, just like he had done constantly for the last season. He passed through the armory with only a nod to one of the guards, remembering the way to his mother’s chambers. Maybe she would know a way to put this right. If there was a way.

He was so lost in his own thoughts he did not see Fabia turn the corner to his left, and stormed into her with a force that knocked her off her feet. He reached a hand down to help her back up, but she simply ignored him, gathering her skirts with an emotionless face. Only when she was standing again did she say a word. “I see you have returned to us.” “And I see you are as cold as ever,” He muttered under his breath, before adding “Good day to you too sister, you are well, I hope?” So that she could actually hear. Shooting him a look, he could tell she was not in the mood for pleasantries. Instead, he asked “Have you seen mother?” “Throne room.” She retorted, curtseying too him hastily and leaving him alone in the hall. Harin sighed again, a new habit of his. He understood why his sister behaved with him the way she did, she believed that as she was older, the throne should be hers. And if  Harin had the chance, he would tell her to take it. He had no real desire to deal with matters of state, he would much rather pretend it all did not exist. If only it was that easy.

He carried on, heading down the spiral staircase to the Throne room in search of his answer. Pushing aside the great wooden doors, he could not see his mother. He could not see anyone, and as he walked towards the thrones themselves it seemed to be empty. “Ah,” The voice cut through the air like a knife, and he cured once again under his breath. “Your sister said I would find you here.”

The costal winds played across his face, finding their way through the thick furs and armour to make their chill course through his bones. They had been out since dawn, the hunting party forced to forage to find enough food to feed the hungry mouths waiting back at their camp. Winter had yet to wane; the first thaws of spring needed by the tribes had yet to be seen even in the lower lands. He urged his horse closer to that of Nilm, leader of Ailt and a blessed one. “We have seen nothing, not one hawk from here to Saic lands.” He spoke in the harsh Nordan tongue, pointing to the northern border of their claimed territory. He searched her for some sign of recognition, her ice cold eyes fixed over the cliff edge they stood on. Finally, she spoke. “We take what we have, order some to the Dian in hope the next moon brings spring with it.” She glanced at him fleetingly, before forcing her horse to turn towards camp and leaving her hunting party behind. Relaying his orders, the others followed at a distance, arriving later given that their horses were burdened with greens for the Ailt to eat.

It was much later when he found her, sitting in her tent, knelt beneath the statues of the gods and whispering lightly. A breeze drifted with each word she spoke, and Sax stood in the entrance, not wanting to disturb her. He had known the Ailt clan leader since she was a girl, they had always been close. They had made wicker versions of the gods, the Dian, together as youths. They had learned to ride together, fight together and he had even witnessed the first time she had been blessed. She had lost her temper with her father, and had not even noticed the gale she had caused by her anger. She could do with the wind as she pleased, with training. But he had been there at her worst moments too, when she had seen her father slaughtered by Surd invaders on the beaches below the towering cliffs they had rode along today. He had seen her grieve, reach out to the Dian and pray for the wisdom to guide her clan to victory and to make her brave as to hide her pain. And now, as she knelt in her tent and asked for guidance again he hoped she would find it.

A twig cracked beneath the matt he stood on, breaking the chain of her murmurs as she span to see him standing there, her face easing at the sight of him. “Did you see that the greens were stored?” “I did,” He replied, trying not to stare too deeply into those ice cold eyes. “Most was stored, hopefully we shall find more on the next sunrise. I think I overheard Wikan saying he knew a place close to the Peric border where enough birds roost to feed at least the young ones.” “Good,” She nodded. He could tell she had only taken in half of what he had said. Her mind was elsewhere. She leaned back down to fetch a bowl of war paint from under the bench, crossing the tent to where her shield lay. Even in the dim light of the tent, Sax could see himself in the metal of it. He took a step closer to her, watching her spread the paint in motions across her face that would please the gods. “Nilm, does something trouble you?”

She carried on, ignoring him until her paint was done, In the reflection, he followed her gaze, recognizing that look. It was the look she seemed to give him most sunrises now; she was trying to figure out how much he should know. As her second in command, he was important to her. Sax knew that much. And yet she kept herself guarded. Leaning to dip her hands in a wooden bowl of water, she began. “I have had a hawk from the Peric lands. Astar, their leader, has taken a mate.” Now Sax understood. The Peric clan were strong, and had the most land out of the four Nordan tribes. If he had taken a mate, he was one step closer to an heir, leaving the Ailt people in danger of attack. But Nilm was not done, “He has taken a Surden bride, of their people.” “He’s married outside of his clan?” Sax blinked furiously, trying to register her words. If indeed the man had taken a mate outside of his clan, he was defying the laws of the gods, and risked much more than Sax could imagine. “He has made a pact with the Surds.” Nilm carried on as if he hadn’t spoken, spitting her words out as she shook her hands dry, the temperature in the tent defiantly dropping. She was messing with the wind again, her anger showing. “They have given him land, and horses as well as the girl.” She sighed, Sax feeling the chill in his bones the wind had caused yet again as she breathed in. “I must ride,” She muttered, more to herself than him this time, “I need to figure out what the Dian want of me.”

The ship was being tossed from side to side with the waves, churning, swirling, pulling at the hull and almost breaking through the thick wood that kept them afloat. Wet strands of hair clung to Fiorre’s face and she pulled with the wheel, struggling to hold her steady. She was alone, no crew or helmsmen aboard to hold the man the sails. Always so alone.

Waking with a start, Fiorre sat up and tossed coins onto the whore’s bed, feeling the weight of her gold purse in her other hand, before leaning in to press a kiss to the girls’  pale lips. “I should make you one of my regulars,” Laughed the girl, pulling the sheets up to her neck as Fiorre searched for her boots. She winced slightly at the thought of it, trying to work out how it would feel to be regular in any sense. Since leaving her home, nothing in her life had been as it should. Although as she perched on the corner of Alia’s bed, she could hardly say their relationship was usual. She had visited the whorehouse on her first night on the Red Isle, leaving the ship and crew she had used to flee her home, and making sure the captain’s purse was much lighter than before. She had been shown the girls room, and told to have her way as long as she could pay for it. And she had, she’d spent the night in the arms of the woman who called herself ‘Alias’, with her thick accent that Fiorre could not figure out, those tumbling blonde curls that fell far beyond her waist and eyes that reminded her of the oceans that now felt like home. At first, she came for the company, yet now, she came to soothe the nightmares. It was only with Alias next to her that she could sleep for an hour or so, rest her head so that she might think straight again. She reached for her coat, raising an eyebrow as she glanced back to the bed. “Do so. It seems I may be needing you still for a while yet.” She took longer to attach her belt than usual, watching Alias stand up from the bed and pull on her thin dress, so slight you could almost see her naked self through it. Almost. Alias moved closer, pressing one soft, lasting kiss to Fiorre’s lips before pushing her away, out of the curtained room. Fiorre’s time was clearly up.

Her eyes were on the sea, watching from the dark stone walls that guarded the Meriden coast as a voice drifted towards her on the breeze. “You should not be up here.”

Turning, she searched to find an excuse, yet at the sight of her older brother she simply life her skirts and ran towards him, wrapping her arms tight around his middle. He gripped her tight, lifting her off the ground for a moment before letting her go. His smile grew even larger as he carried on, Alba taking a step back to take the sight of him in again. “Imagine if father or Fabia caught you here,” “Neither of them walk the walls anymore, you should know that.” She replied with a smirk. Her oldest sister had longed deemed walking along the castle defences as ‘unladylike’ and she could not remember when she had last seen her father here. Or out of his chambers at all. “How was the Midlands?” Harin simply sighed. She knew he was supposedly sent Nord for diplomatic reasons; the tribes had become worse over the last few years from what Alba had overheard her father saying every now and again. Yet he had left so suddenly and was gone for so long, it could not be just a treaty that he was sent away to sign. Looking him over again, Harin looked tired and heavy. She had not seen him like this in years, and it unnerved her. With most of her siblings she could not be at ease as she was with Harin, their bond much closer than the rest of the Cicern family. She had great pride in him, knowing one day he would be ruler of the Surd and Midlands. His hand rested on his brow before he finally found the reply he had been searching for. “I need you to listen to me,” His tone was far more serious than before, something she rarely heard from him, “You are going to receive some news, news you will not want to hear. It will come in time so please do not ask me to tell you now, but know I did my best to stop this.” Her stomach lurched, his face softening again. “How was it here?” “Fabia keeps to her room, Marcius and Marine bicker constantly, mother tries to make peace and yet all father does is cause problems.” Alba’s mind was only half on the current conversation as she carried on. With her older brother gone for the past season, her family had become yet more difficult. All the titles and gold in Surd clearly did not mean happiness, whatever the people may say otherwise. “Do they know you are here again?” “No, I have not seen them as yet. Word has most likely been sent to father the moment I left the Nords, although I doubt he is keen on searching for me.” Again with the heavy sigh and dark look, something was playing across his mind that left him plagued by his thoughts. “Harin, if there was something amiss, something that-“ “I would tell you.” He interrupted, probably trying to put her mind at ease and yet somehow achieving the opposite. “I would always  tell you.” “Make sure to see mother first,” Alba leaned up to place a kiss against his cheek, “She will not want to wait for you to deal with his Majesty before she can see you are well.” He held her hand tight for a moment, before leaving towards the steps down the wall to the armoury.

She looked over the walls once more, glancing to the sea, to the horizon on which if the god was good you could see the Red Isles in the distance. It seemed to churn and surge beneath them; hitting the base of the wall with such a force she could not imagine a man strong enough to survive it. She’d heard a tale from her nursemaid of the Nords, of the gods they worshiped and how to them, they would be sent to the sea if they betrayed their clans. She had thought it nonsense, fifteen years ago when she had sat with her sisters and listened to tales of how some of them were magic, how they could move water and fire to fight with it. The wind tossed her hair like it tossed the sea, and she leaned closer to the edge of the wall, wanting to see more of what lay beyond the horizon.