The Half Light

[4.0] Books and Herbs

4
~ Books and Herbs ~

The year 2034 post bellum
Ten weeks till Moonset Equinox

Aryial inspected the herbs, picking them up delicately with her fingers and smelling them. A herb with bright pink tinging the green leaves emitted a particularly strong fragrance. She scrunched up her nose as the smell attacked her sinuses. Aryial gagged and immediately put it down.

The small wooden house did not have any artificial sources of light. Lazy slithers of the sun filtered through the cracks between the wood boards of the walls, and dust swirled around the many medicine bottles and jars of plants. Aryial blew in the air and waved her hand to air the dust away.

"Are you sure these would do the trick?" Her wariness was evident and caused Ivan to chuckle softly. The washed-out wooden table groaned in protest as he leaned against it, a smile gracing his lips.

"How would you know? Have you ever been seriously sick in your entire life?" Ivan teased. His hand covered his mouth as he gave a couple of sarcastic, graceful coughs to emphasis. Aryial rolled her eyes.

"It would do you well to know that I had contracted a nasty fever once-" She was interrupted by the unrefined chuckle that came out of Ivan's mouth. He disguised it as a cough, and it was such a difference to his usual grace that Aryial lost her bearing for a second.

She huffed. "Pig."

"Lord," he corrected.

"Brat."

"Sire."

"Whatever." Aryial turned her attention back to the herbs, raising one inquisitive eyebrow at Ivan.

He straightened as he gave a nod and started heading outside, leaving Aryial to gather up the medicine and pay the herbalist quickly.

The afternoon sun was a harsh, white sun that bore down on both of them as they began to walk through the market.

The servant held an umbrella that ruffled slightly in the weak wind, stopping the worst of the sun's rays from reaching Ivan, though Aryial doubted the sun could've affected Ivan's already tan skin.

The roads of the town were as busy as always, horses and carriages caused dust to fly and float around the feet of the regular market-goers and the hubbub of conversations filled the lively space. Yet, all creatures stayed clear of Ivan's path.

It was no coincidence. It would take great difficulty to hide the power that surged through his veins. As a son of a High Lord, he automatically inherited the power, and the title of 'Lord'.

There were four High Lords in Ithivia. One for every season, each High Lord ruling during their respective season.

The Winter Court ruled during winter, the Spring Court ruled during spring and so on. If any of the High Lords did anything out of line, Charmaine, the Archangel of Ithivia, would intervene.

"You know, you could wait for me every so often. Or even help sometimes," Aryial said jokingly as she stumbled out of the cottage with the wrapped parcels in hand.

Ivan blinked.

He opened his mouth, then closed it when no words came out. His eyes darted guiltily to the parcels in Aryial's hands and started forward. Aryial shook her head with a teasing smile.

"I was pulling your leg," she said, expertly balancing the parcels in her arms. "Nice to know that you still care though, sire."

Ivan simply gave her a small smile and turned to continue walking.