-The Mage-
The Royal Mage of Adrastos despised the walls of the Kallonian Palace. The Palace of the Empress. It was an ostentatious thing of gold and bleached white, with jutting spires, hanging balconies, and sprawling courtyards filled with pale blue iceland blossoms. Adeah’s chest often clamped upon stepping through the open iron portcullis. Her lungs often stung as she inhaled the crisp winter air of Kallon, drying the lands like a blistering hearth. There was a loathing in her for the Holy Country– for their religious fanatics and wide sprawling temples. She did well to hide this hatred from the Empress, of course. Should Adelina Rueves discover her Royal Mage to be in possession of blasphemous ideologies, Adeah would have her skin stripped from bone.
“Dala’s Blessings, Meredith.” Adeah chimed, stalking through the ornate Great Hall. Meredith, the Empress’ closest lady-in-waiting, silently bowed in answer, her auburn hair flushing in the candlelight.
“The Empress is in her Bedchambers, Lady Adeah.”
“And what of Denayra?” Adeah paused, eyeing the woman shuffling awkwardly on her feet before her. And from Meredith’s tousled hair and the frumpled front of her lavender skirts, Adeah knew just whom she had been with.
“Her highness is in the Royal Archives.” And with that, Meredith scurried off, her feet dragging along the black marble floor.
Sighing, Adeah took to the library, her steps short and clipped with impatience. Her pursuit of those wretched scholars through the woods had been futile. There were four of them, all on horseback– each adorning the pristine sapphire robes of the scholarly rank. Adeah had little knowledge of just how they had come to striking bargains with K’erdanians– or how the K’erdan guards had sailed so brazenly through Adrastoan wards.
“Ah, if it isn’t my favourite witch,” Denayra grinned as the Mage pushed open the heavy doors of the library, her sable cloak billowing after her. The eldest princess of Adrastos, though knowledgeable, had no care for manners. “Have you come to lecture me on acting like royalty, Adeah?”
“Not today. Though I should warn you against sleeping with your mother’s maids.” Adeah huffed, leaning against a pale pillar as she eyed the princess before her. Denayra chuckled, the silver of her hair akin to starfire in the moonlight filtering through the wide windows affixed to the back wall of the Royal Archives.
“Meredith has little entertainment in this boring palace,” The princess shrugged, pale skin flushing at the mention of her recent escapade. “As do most of the ladies here, Adeah. Is it not my duty as princess to ensure they feel welcome?”
“I’m certain the Empress would find that reasonable.”
“Oh, you do like to ruin my fun, witch.” Denayra Rueves stood from the broad mulberry tables, crossing her arms against the front of her violet embroidered tunic. “What is it you want this time?”
“There were K’erdan guards in Adrastos.” The Mage whispered, stalking to stand before the princess, watching as her icy eyes widened.
“Nonsense.” Disbelief lined Denayra’s pale skin, her broad shoulders tensing.
“They met with Adrastoan Scholars. They were handed crates of something– something valuable. I know not what. I don’t know how they managed to get past our wards either…”
“Does my mother know?” Denayra asked, brows furrowed. Adeah shook her head in silence, her heart thundering in her chest.
“I tried following the scholars, your highness. But they were on horseback. I lost them in the Inindanian Jungle.” Adeah’s breath hitched, voice cracking with worry. “I’ve sent the Captain of the Guard along with the Spymaster to tail the K’erdans. They must be halfway across the seas by now.”
“You did what?” Denayra snarled, fey fangs glittering.
“We were travelling to the Inindanian Palace to speak with Lady Indira,” The mage hissed, palms upraised. “We caught them conversing with our Scholars in a clearing in the woods. I didn’t have time to get orders from the Empress–”
“You were foolish.” The princess scowled, fists clenched as she eyed the mage with vexation.
“I didn’t know what to do.” But Denayra was turning already, running a calloused hand down the front of her face. Her slender eyes narrowed in thought as she paced down the long aisles of the library.
“Don’t tell my mother yet.” She whispered. “She’ll slit your throat if she learns of what you did.”
Adeah could only nod.
~
Dawn swept over the lands like a spread tablecloth, bleeding hues of gold, pink, and burgundy. Adeah had the sense to look mildly perturbed as she stalked through the towering ivory archway of the Scholarly district of Myetheda. The wide streets were bursting with throngs of people, bejewelled lanterns swaying languidly betwixt the cobblestone buildings.
Adeah could hardly breathe past the musk of sweat and heat, her shoulders shoving past scowling townsfolk. The Scholars of Myetheda were austere people, with upright backs and perpetual frowns weighing their countenance. A stark contrast from the foolish Kallonians, whose lives were spent murmuring prayers to ignorant gods.
Stepping into a smithery, the clouds of smoke and smouldering metals clawing up her nose, Adeah’s gold eyes searched for a familiar head of tousled sapphire curls. “My, my, if it isn’t the court witch,” An elderly voice crowed from behind a wooden work table affixed to the far wall. Mrs. Orson was a silver-haired crone with an impossibly hunched back. And, gods, much like the rest of Myetheda, she always spoke through the tilt of a scowl.
“Dala’s blessings, Mrs. Orson.” She greeted with a tight-lipped smile, stepping around overturned buckets, polished anvils, and an assortment of intriguing tools all scattered across the worn stone ground.
“Atlas isn’t here.” The beldam huffed, going back to beating at a block of metal with a chipped hammer. Adeah’s brows furrowed. “Where might he be, then?”
“I know not, lass.” The reply was short– clipped in a way that suggested she was displeased with her own son.
Just then, the squat wooden door swung open. Adeah turned to find Atlas, the soft panes of his face gilded by the firelight from the smoking furnaces. The man’s face was grim as he shed his poorly spun wool coat, his hooked nose scrunching as his lips twisted into a frown. Only when his mother cleared her throat did his azure gaze meet hers. “You.” He snarled, elven fangs coruscating in the afternoon light flooding past the open windows. His pale skin flushed, the colour of his cheeks darkening ever so slightly.
Adeah sighed, “I need your help.” But she watched as the scholar leered, lips pulling back as he snarled. The mage drank in the sight of him– from the arch of his full lips, the rigid set of his angular jaw, to the deep blue locks of hair brushing against his long, upturned ears. She hadn’t seen him since that wretched day at the palace. She hadn’t seen him since he had been on his knees, head bowed before the Empress’ feet as blood pooled beneath him. The three headed goddess of fate, Yuvleyn, had always been twisted. And yet, the way the man before her clenched his fists till his knuckles drained of colour– the way his mouth twisted with disgust as his gaze tripped over her– had her chest aching in shades of agony she hadn’t ever known before.
“Get out.” He murmured, the word honed and desperate– as though the very sight of her drove blades into his flesh. “I don’t want you here.”
“Atlas, please.” Adeah’s voice dipped, her umber skin flushing. A silence flooded the smithery as Mrs. Orson pushed back her chair, hobbling around the table to her son. The woman’s wrinkled face deepened as she stared him down. They looked so similar– son and mother. Yet, that’s where their similarities ended. Adeah had previously met the woman twice– once when she had come to visit her son at the Kallonian palace, and a second time when Atlas had taken Adeah to Myetheda. Times were certainly simpler then. “At least hear the wench out, son.” She croaked but Atlas stiffened, a glare silencing his own mother.
“Iktum aliare ithve gath.” The words were grave, barely above a whisper as he stepped around the older woman. Mrs. Orson, grumbling under her own breath, glowered at her son over a bony shoulder before staggering up the curving stone stairs to the right. Adeah knew enough Myethedian to know what he had said, though Atlas certainly was unaware that she had learned the language after he had been banished from the palace– ‘Don’t call her that.’
“What do you want?” He rolled back his shoulders, the corded muscles under his tunic flexing. The last time Adeah had seen him five years ago, he had been a scrawny young man with tired eyes and shorter hair. Now, his shoulders were broader, a slight stubble of midnight blue hair peppering his face. He even stood taller– straighter.
“I need you to come back to Kallon with me first.” But Atlas was already shaking his head, stalking to the smoking furnace and– with a flick of his wrist– rousing a small flame from the tips of his fingers to tease the logs within its mouth.
“I swore to myself I wouldn’t go back, Adeah,” He sighed, slamming the grate of the furnace shut. “I’m not setting foot into that wretched country again.”
“You don’t understand. I need a scholar–”
“I’m retired.” He snapped.
“I know,” She pleaded, trudging after him as he moved around the room, picking up rusted tools. “But I can’t trust anyone else.” His eyes flared at that and he whirled to face her.
“Tell me what you need my help for, Adeah.”
“Come with me to Kallon, Atlas.”
~
“When you said you had a place for me to say…” Atlas trailed off, grimacing at the sparse room furnished with nothing more than a bare bed, a low armoire, and a desk in front of a narrow window. “Perhaps it was foolish of me to assume you’d provide me with… at least somewhat decent accommodations.”
“Well, you’ll have to forgive me,” Adeah huffed, pulling her ebony braids into a knot at the nape of her neck. “I had to be discreet. You’re not exactly welcome here.”
On the short trek through the Darmuth village far south of Kallon, to the cluster of squat houses built by the forest treeline, Adeah had explained the incident in Inindane. Atlas, as per his curious nature, asked several questions. Most of which Adeah could not answer. And yet, it was his first question that stumped her the most– ‘Have you questioned Lady Indira of Inindane?’
“I’m assisting you in solving the mystery behind the Adrastoan wards– and how those K’erdanian guards managed to get past them.” He stepped to stare out the window, eyeing the midmorning sky with distaste. “I would like to feel slightly important. And you put in Darmuth of all places.”
“It’s only for a short while.”
“You think finding answers to this is going to take a ‘short while’?”
“No,” Adeah crossed her arms across her chest, leaning against the doorway. Behind her, the merry chortles of playing children echoed through the lonesome village. It had a little over twenty houses, each of which housed small families. No one would come looking for Atlas Orson in Darmuth. “You might have to stay here for longer than you or I intended.”
“Then fetch me all the scrolls on Adrastoan wards from the palace.” There was a firmness to his voice that had Adeah relaxing. She could trust him.
For now at least.
