1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of Air: Book #5, Chronicles of Marsdenfel

Year 232 of the Bynding - The Realm of Salles, around Summer Solstice - post 8

Considering the hall where I've been housed is intended to hide the women who are preferred unseen, I should've expected the hooded cloaks Lallie matter-of-factly pulls from the mule chest by the two metal-plated guards at the end of the hall. She hands me one that's close enough to my size to avoid looking particularly odd, and dons one, herself, then shuts the chest and hands the key back to one of the two guards.

My cloak remains in my hands as Lallie tucks her dark blond hair into the hood that fits her frighteningly well.

Lallie lifts her face enough for me to see and gives a self-conscious smile and glance at the nearby guards. "Even prostis can have babies."

"And some women are child-sized," one of the guards joins in.

Judging from Lallie's quick jerk back sidestep away, it's unusual for the full-suited guards to speak.

"Take the middle passage," the guard says. "It'll be clear. Rotation's off it for cleaning, and the maids are running behind."

"The maids are always running behind," Lallie mutters.

The loquacious guard—who is sounds male, but I seem to recall that human guards can be female—shrugs. "Not exactly surprising, considering whose bed the head matron hangs out in."

The still-silent guard turns his—maybe her, but I'll assume—head toward his partner, looks a moment at him, at Lallie, then shakes his head.

"What? She's a Nonsire. I'm sure she's heard worse."

I cut in, myself, and seek to end the discussion: "Such speech about your employers is still considered uncouth, in some circles."

"King Jarvis isn't the one who pays me, and his son doesn't give a care what people say about his father's proclivities, so long as it's true. Now, if I were lying? Then we'd have issues."

Is this kind of gossip normal among human guards? Or is it more a tendency of this particular person? "Is there a point to this particular line of conversation?"

The guard pauses, then takes off his helmet, revealing the unmistakeable features of a Plainskin of indeterminate age, with skin and hair kissed by sun and sand. Plainskin aren't mercenaries in the traditional sense, because their codes of honor value truth over oathkeeping. More than one despot has fallen at the hand of their own guards, after proving themselves the villain.

My mother always said that was why Barnett refused to hire Plainskin, and Darnell's far worse than my father ever was.

"You answer to Prince Aldrik," I state outright, since he didn't.

His partner shakes their still-armored head—but in the manner of someone rueful or disbelieving of what is being done, rather than in a denial.

"Some people are monsters," the unmasked one says, "to force women or children into their beds, but Aldrik doesn't stand for that. It's why he hires us." He glances at his partner, then shrugs. "Would you like an escort?"

Lallie's staring at him with the wariness that reminds me uncomfortably of Onlé.

When I turn from her back to the guard, his expression says he sees it, too, and he rocks back on his feet in an instinctual giving of space.

"I appreciate your offer," I answer quietly, "but I would rather you not risk yourself for my sake."

His smile is polite, but it's too self-assured to be humble. He nonetheless bows...and the way he looks at Lallie makes me think he knows full well what she is. "I'm not unfamiliar with risks, Your Majesty."

I don the cloak, and Lallie helps me get it in order. She edges past the guards to lead me out and onward.

At the door, I pause. "What is your name?" If I speak to Aldrik again, I can at least alert him of the guard's loose tongue.

His smile broadens, and for a moment I fear he's read too much into my question.

But then he says, "Jaromír," and his tone says he didn't put more value in that than was ought.

"Jaromír-san," I respond, with the Plainskin title appropriate for someone my age, because he doesn't even look as old as Aldrik.

He nods his head and puts his helmet back on and returns to his post.

And as I exit and shut the door behind me, his magic wells up—air magic, like mine, but...

I freeze—in motion and temperature.

He's Bridged far enough that my calling him –san was an insult.

"H'ness?" Lallie asks nervously, her attention all on me.

I study her, but she seems unaware of the outright elemental in the next room, even though her magic feels stable enough for her to sense it. "You don't know how to use your magic, do you?"

She stiffens.

I force myself to step forward, to continue walking, at a leisurely pace. "Magic can be useful. Elfin magic is not the same as human, but I do have human magic from my father. Would you like to learn?"

She shakes her head, but the wistfulness on her face gives her away. She wants to learn but fears to.

As we head out of the castle into the largest city I've ever even seen, to seek refuge with strangers I've never met but who are for whatever reason willing to risk themselves to help me...I distract myself by dwelling on the girl's juxtaposed desire and fear, and by considering how I'm going to teach her despite that. Jaromír can't be the only elemental about, and it wouldn't do for her to accidentally insult one of them because she doesn't realize they've read her magic.

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Author's Note:

Sorry for the long silence, y'all. I'm adapting to some new-to-me allergens, among other things, so...

How're you all doing?