Through Flame

Part 4

Faveenia left the study quickly once she and her brother decided that her course would be to accompany the Druids to stem the attack of Nefelyn. She could feel her heart racing, its beating tight against the restricting bodice she wore. She could feel the energy and excitement in her beating heart, a chance to test her mettle against a foe at last; but another emotion ran parallel with her excitement—fear. Fear of what the Nefelyn were capable of, and what she was truly riding off to face. Ralquar had been safe from the raiding Nefelyn for years, so long that most Dashar’s had forgotten what the monsters even looked like. Now, they were not only on Ralquar soil, but they were marching further inland, leaving destruction in their wake.

            Faveenia reached her room quickly and sent a maid servant to summon Sickle as quickly as possible. She waited for the maid to exit before she went to a small table in front of the fire that blazed in her room and poured a large cup of honeyed mead. Her father, king Moloch, ordered the honeyed mead from Fehrune, a small kingdom south of Ralquar. Ordering the mead in special was one of the few kindnesses Faveenia’s fathers showed to her alone, most other Dashar’s preferred the white wines of the Ralquar fruit trees. She gulped down the drink, feeling the heat from the alcohol warm her stomach and throat; it helped to clear her head from the buzzing that had begun in the study with her brother and had been a constant noise since.

            Faveenia walked to her large wardrobe and opened the wooden doors. Her eyes were assaulted with the vibrant and bright colored fabrics of her many dresses. Faveenia batted the dresses away from her face in annoyance as she tried to get deeper into the wardrobe,  looking for her prized possessions. She had never liked to wear the finery of the Dashar nobility; most of the dresses were uncomfortable and unwieldy. Behind the gaudy dresses and beneath the plethora of hat boxes that lined the top and bottom of the dresser, Faveenia pulled up a brown, unadorned sackcloth bag. The bag was tied at the opening with rough twine, and she could see that the bag had begun to tear at the seams. She cradled the bad almost like a child, feeling the rough fabric on her hands and she opened the bag and pulled the contents out one by one and onto her bed. By the time she had emptied the bag, Sickle was at her chamber door.

            “You sent for me, child?” Sickle spoke as he entered her room. In public, Sickle would address her as formally as expected, but behind closed doors, his familiarity with Faveenia often had him speaking to her as he once did when she was a child. Faveenia found his fatherly care soothing, and preferred it when he spoke to her without the need to use titles. Before she could respond, Sickle saw the garments on her bed and nodded in understanding. “Ah, I see. Your brother has invited you out again.” Sickle sighed in resignation as he picked up the cloak from the bed. It was a cloak of white, but with the shifting of fabric, grey hues danced in the folds of the cloth, making the cloak appear to be like liquid shadows. Only the Druidic order, the highest, most elite class of warriors in Ralquar, could wear the cloaks, and it was Faveenia’s prized possession. Her brother along with the Druids in Evindale castle had gifted her the cloak just recently.

            “Did my brother tell you what we ride to face?” Faveenia probed her friend. As she spoke, she began to unclasp the numerous buttons and lacings on her bodice that held her into her ornate dress.

            “He told me very little, dear,” Sickle spoke, placing the cloak back on the bed with the same care and reverence that Faveenia had when she placed it there. He went to her side and began to assist her in removing her clothes. “He asked of you when I saw him last, asked if I would vouch for you.” Sickle took the dress in his hands, feeling the heft of the fabric as it sent pain through his misshapen back.

            “As a Druid?” Faveenia asked as she pulled her white chemise over her head leaving her top half exposed.  Sickle turned back to face Faveenia after depositing the dress on a leather covered chair. Faveenia stood bare chested, arms outstretched and completely unabashed at her nakedness. Sickle grabbed a roll of cloth from the bed, it had been stored with the Druidic cloak and went to Faveenia’s side. He wrapped the cloth around Faveenia’s chest, binding her breasts tight. Faveenia’s figure did not have the normal curves of a woman; her hips were narrower than desirable for child bearing, her torso and face were not as plump as a noble woman’s should be. Her lean arms and legs revealed ropelike muscles when they flexed and her breasts, while they could appear inviting if propped up in a gown, were small and easily bound to her chest with the linen Sickle wrapped about her. The ache that spread around her chest and into her back was familiar with the wrap, and was unpleasant, regardless of the size of her breasts.