There is a brief moment after we awaken. Our memories struggle to find us and our stresses lag behind us. Pain and worry exist, for some small while, only within our most distant dreams.
That is on a typical day, this was not one of those. This was a day without the bliss quiet of morning. A day upon which stress and memories were nothing in comparison to the blinding, straining pangs of pain which pervaded her whole being.
Her lips were chapped and dry; her eyes were heavy and her belly, torn into knots. The culprit, the one responsible for her pain, remained only in the scent of her breath. Berries and fruit and death.
A fine bottle of Aobanic vodka. Then three more.
She was not so terribly hungover as she had been on the day of the tournament, but she felt just as many aches and pains. The splintered training sword at her side revealed a flash of memory, but not one she was grateful for.
She saw an image of herself atop the dining room table in a mocking fencer's pose. Amell wobbled atop the far end, graceless and overdense. She could not remember the result of the bout, but she was sure she had suffered a jab to the ribs at some point.
Ash forced the damaged stick away from herself. It clattered against the stone floor with an unexpectedly loud ring.
"Stone?" Ash thought. Even her internal voice sounded drained, but it did raise a good point. Ash's floor was carpeted, not stone.
She peeled her eyes open again. It took a greater effort than she would like to admit, but she managed, and quickly focused her gaze out to the jade and marble columns that blocked out her vision.
She took a deep breath and focused her other senses. Warm and soggy, the sound of gentle waves and crackling flame. She reached a handout and found a puddle of perfectly warm water, then she realised it wasn't a puddle, but a bath. At some point during the night, she had decided to take a fully clothed bath and had failed to drag herself abed afterwards.
She made a sound like a groan, though it didn't come from her lips but from her belly. The last thing she remembered was the feast and yet she felt as ravenous as she had done beforehand.
"My lady, you are awake?" A meek, almost scared, voice called. Ash looked up to see an older woman in a maid's tunic, sitting upon a makeshift chair. She quickly rose and moved to help Ash to her feet.
"I- Yeah," Ash sighed. "How did I end up like this?"
"M-my apologies, my lady. Some of the male servants tried to carry you to your bed but they all fell asleep at your order." The woman took some measure of Ash's weight but seemed somewhat too scared of her to properly support her.
"Gods, I'm so sorry. Are they awake now?" Ash whimpered.
"Yes, my lady. All is well."
They carried on out of the bathhouse and the older woman set Ash down on a wooden dining chair for a moment.
The room was in devastation. Dishes were scattered across the floor; runes were scrawled along the walls and emanated some kind of magical light; cushions and platters managed to find themselves highly unlikely locations.
"I am so sorry," Ash cried. "I can't believe we went so far."
"It is not a worry, my lady. This is not your doing, but the doings of the party," the woman chuckled. "We all had a hand in the destruction, especially – and to the surprise of us all – Madame Mei."
"Truly?" Ash doubted. A flash of memory came again. She saw flowing black hair brush across the floor as the woman was, for some reason, demonstrating a backflip. It must have been impressive enough for Ash to mimic the action, and by the large dent in the floorboard where she recalled doing the flip, Amell must have tried – and failed – to follow suit.
"What about the runes?" Ash asked.
"Well, after you ordered all of the household staff to celebrate with you, a few of the young men encouraged Master Sujin to show them some enchantments," the old woman explained. She picked up a single apple that lay at her feet and threw it gently to the largest rune on the wall. Rather than bouncing off, the apple stayed in place. It was as if gravity faced the wall rather than Marash.
Ash delicately walked over and placed her hand on the sigil. It was as she had thought, a pull tried to force her hand against the wall but it was easy to resist. As she inspected more closely, her hair falling sideways into the wall, she noticed a set of boot prints higher up the wall.
"They were dancing on the walls?" Ash realised.
"They were," the woman confirmed. "Though the gods granted you the sense to keep your feet in the dirt, unlike your fair sister."
"She went up there?"
"She did. Though she walked somewhat too far afield. She must have left the area of the rune's effect."
"She fell? Is she okay?" Ash asked with a sudden urgency.
"She is fine, my lady. One of the young stable boys managed to catch her. I tell you, I've never seen a girl go so red," the woman cackled, clearly enjoying the tale-telling.
"Oh, I wish I could remember. What was his name? I'll have to tease her about it," Ash smirked.
"I don't quite recall... Fabian, maybe? A good-looking lad though, she's got taste."
"Ash, dear!" A booming voice interrupted. Ash twirled in place so quickly she might have snapped her own neck. When she came upon the burning orange eyes of Niamh Macau, a sense of shame filled her at the state of the room. A sense shared by the clearly startled maid.
"My, my... Quite the evening you've had. I do apologise for my tardiness; I intended to arrive by the dead sun, but it seems rather fortuitous that I had failed. How are you, dear? Keeping well?" Niamh beamed. She did not look at Ash, but the floor before her as she took each step, careful to not trod upon any detritus.
"I- Lady- Niamh, I'm sorry for the mess. We weren't expecting things to get so-"
"-Fun?" Niamh interrupted. "I should hope not. If you had expected it, I'd be offended that I hadn't received an invitation. Haven't had a good orgy in months!"
"O-Orgy?" Ash choked.
"Of course! I get it, a couple of drinks, some strapping farmhands, we all get a little inadvisable. Don't worry about it, darling! Just... try to avoid... 'multiplying', yes? It would make future political marriages so much more complicated."
"I- Multiply?" Ash stuttered, utterly abashed.
"Oh, lighten up dear! I'm teasing you," Niamh smirked. "Now, we have business!" She clapped her hands together as she crossed the last little gap between them. Her gaze climbed from the floor to Ash, and then to the large rune sprawled across the wall behind her. "Oh, that boy is a menace," she sighed, though her subdued simper seemed supremely satisfied by Sujin's silly use of his tremendously sought-after skillset.
"Maid, what is your name?" Niamh asked warmly.
"Sister Hui, my lady," the older woman bowed.
"Lovely," Niamh said as her gaze wandered the room. "Might there be some... unbattled room in which my tailor might set himself up?"
"Yes, my lady, we have a dedicated tailor's room," Hui offered.
"Marvelous! Be a lamb and lead him along, he's just outside," Niamh requested.
"Of course, my lady. Will you be needing attendance?"
"I will be fine, thank you, dear. I have brought my own girl. Now, Ashtik," Niamh said, turning from the maid and dismissing her without a word. "I'm not going to ask why you are sopping wet, but I'll assume it means you are bathed?"
Ash had forgotten for a moment that she had slept in a bath, though she doubted very much that the drunk version of herself had been so gracious as to wash. It didn't matter, she had bathed before the dinner and doubted she needed to do so again with any haste.
"Well enough," Ash timidly said.
Niamh looked her up and down with half a smirk and half a frown. "Quite, now let us discuss what comes next. Do you have a less... busy area we might talk?"
"I think there's a library but I haven't been in there yet," Ash admitted.
"I see. That suits well enough, dear. Shall we?"
She had hoped that the revelries hadn't made it into the library. The big red rune painted over the door strained that hope well, but once she opened the door, she found a nearly spotless room and a woman tidying within.
"My lady," the woman bowed. "Mistress Evara still rests, though you may wish to wake her. Her little nest is not an ideal sleeping post but she simply refused to part from her tomes."
"Oh, she's in here?" Ash realised. The woman, who Ash also realised must have been this 'Sister Rosie' that Ev had been talking about so often, pointed out to a wall of old books and tomes off in a dark corner beneath the overhanging upper-floor balcony.
"Ooh, the great Evara White-tongue," Niamh grinned. "I imagine she will be far from prime condition, but I would oh-so love to meet her."
"She'll hate that this is how she meets you," Ash awkwardly laughed. She crossed the room and lifted a couple of books from the top of her sister's fortifications. "Evy, time to wake up," she whispered, though she couldn't see her yet. A little groan sounded out briefly.
"Morrow, Ash," a tired voice eked out from within.
"How's the hangover?"
"Hangover?" Ev repeated curiously. "I... Don't have one? Huh? Why don't I have a hangover? I can still taste the vodka, and I definitely blacked out... but I feel fine."
"Really?"
Evara fumbled within her nest. A couple of books slipped as she climbed over the waist-high wall behind her, but she seemed otherwise graceful and balanced in her movements, almost more so than usual.
She presented herself in surprisingly good condition. The dress she had worn in the night previous seemed a little worse for wear; her hair was certainly matted and tangled, but otherwise, she seemed fine. Her makeup was still immaculate, though it couldn't have been good for her to sleep in. Her eyes were focused and bright and her natural smirk quickly shifted to a gentle and elegant smile once she noticed that she and Ash weren't alone.
"Forgive me, my lady. I am Evara," she said with a curtsy. "I regret that I am so unprepared for a guest."
"Nonsense, darling. You've just woken up after a feast, I shan't expect much more than a yawn and a gag from you. But I am Niamh, lady of House Macau."
"Ducissa of the Forgelands and inventor of the hairpin. Charmed, my lady," Ev said, leaving her bow.
"Oh, I knew I'd like you," Niamh smiled. "I am glad to see your reputation precedes you."
"I have a reputation?" Ev snorted gently.
"Indeed, a fresh one, I gather?"
"Oh, do tell. I'm ever so curious what people say of me."
"A terrible habit, dear, but not one I am unsympathetic towards. Let us say, they call you Evara White-tongue, the bard of Black."
"The bard of Black," Ev beamed, clearly fighting back a cackle. "I could get used to that. But you are not here to discuss me, my Lady. Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Are you really not hungover?" Ash interrupted, her jaw nearly slack as she made no attempt to hide her appraisal of her sister.
"I- Ash," Ev grunted, nodding towards the more pressing matters at hand. It took no time for Ev to realise that Ash wasn't going to stop focusing on the matter until she addressed it, so Ev begrudgingly said, "Yeah, I'm really not hungover. Don't ask how; I don't know."
"My, I wish that kind of mystery would attack me every now and then," Niamh joked.
"No doubt it has something to do with my soul magic, my lady. It is not a mystery that requires much thought," Ev insisted, clearly hoping the conversation would move on.
"Right," Ash said slowly. She didn't cease in her silent appraisal of her offensively unaffected sister but did permit the conversation to continue, saying, "Why are you here, Niamh?"
"Ash," Ev scolded. "What she means to say is, how can we help you, my Lady?"
"Don't worry darling, your sister's curtness might be something of an advantage in the coming days." Niamh stroked a hand over a loose hair on Evara's head. "Pretty little rabbit, aren't you?"
"I- Thank you, my lady," Ev said, trying not to blush.
"Hmm," Niamh sighed, clearly deep in thought, as she continued to brush a hand through Evara's hair.
"Tell me, dear," she finally began. "Would you call yourself... politically minded?"
"I would hope to, my lady, but I am somewhat inexperienced."
"That is what I'm here for, darling. Now, how do you feel about... schemes?" She asked as though offering some naughty treat to a child.
"Schemes?" Ev dumbly repeated.
"Indeed. Plots and subterfuge."
"Well, I don't want to hurt anyone," Ev awkwardly said.
"Nobody does, that's why we scheme, to avoid the bloodshed. Tell me, what do you know of house Donaleaf?"
"It's... the royal House. Scion'd by the king, Asmond Vietress Donaleaf and his wife, Queen Tiber; formerly of House Umik, the grain lords of the southern duchy." She took a breath as to continue but Niamh placed a finger over the girl's lips.
"Excellent, I see you've read up on your targets," Niamh smirked.
"Targets?" Ev repeated, clearly taking umbrage at the word.
"Indeed. Everyone who has something you need is a target, that makes the king a target."
"But I said I didn't want to hurt anyone," Ev insisted with quiet confidence.
"And I will teach you to get what you need without spilling a drop of blood. A woman's way of waging war, little rabbit. Do not threat, target may be a dire word, but you are not an archer and you needn't loose any arrows." She placed her hands on Evara's shoulders and forced her gaze. Her burning orange eyes seemed to glow in the dawnlight as the cresting sun diffused against her flawless ebony skin.
Ash chuckled to herself. If Evara was anything back in the village, she was an archer. Though she tended to be too frail for any bow of great draw, she would always hit her targets truer than any other of her fellow townsfolk.
"Your sister needs to rise. To do that, Donaleaf will need to be an ally... or a corpse," Niamh coldly stated.
"But you said it would be bloodless?"
"Yes, that is your job, to ensure that he is an ally. When battle is inevitable it is always the fault of the diplomats. You will make him an ally or Ash will make him a corpse."
"Niamh-" Ash tried to protest.
"-What do you need from me?" Ev coldly asked.
"Fabulous. The Queen, Tiber, has no daughters of her own but oh-so yearns for one. You will fill that hole. You will be the pretty, polite little princess she has always dreamt of," Niamh explained with a strange focus in her eyes.
"Why?"
"Donaleaf is a warrior, a crafter and a general, but he is not a ruler. That responsibility, he delegates to his bride. She is a competent and sturdy queen and will be hard to crack, but if you place yourself as her adoptive daughter, she will tear her kingdom apart for you. She will ensure Donaleaf remains loyal and steadfast in any alliances with Ashtik. She will also act as a rather vital tutor in matters of courtly politics. Just ensure you remember where your true loyalties lie, yes?"
"With Ash," Ev whispered, deep in thought.
"Indeed."
"Ev, are you okay with this?" Ash asked.
"If it saves bloodshed, I have to be, don't I?"
"No, you don't have to do anything you don't want to," Ash insisted.
"But I do! We both do, unless you want to wage a war?"
"Of course I don't want to wage a war, but I'm the Champion, I don't have a choice. You do."
"Then I choose to save lives," Ev sniffed. "No matter how wrong the methods may be."
"We'll make an archon of you yet, dear," Niamh smirked.
Archon. The word swallowed her like a fallen sky. Archon. He had said that. Hevestiel, goden of the forge. "Thy shall hold a name for each star you darken; when the Champion of Black is made the greatest archon," she recalled. Her heart skipped a beat, then two and three more. Did it mean something beyond what was said? Was there a reason Niamh had used such an obscure and yet meaningful word?