Winter's strength was fading, its grip on Dezmer becoming more and more tenuous by the day. And yet, snow had not fallen once.
Tracou and Mirthal enjoyed their days together. Sometimes circumstances (the village or Pendaer) forced them to part for a time, but never for long. At its core their relationship hadn't changed, but Mirthal, in particular, had become much more prone to place a hand on some part of Tracou whenever possible.
Regardless of the hardships he had gone through as a result of meeting the elves, Tracou now had Mirthal, his home, and his wand. What more could a person want?
Late one morning, Tracou went around his home, removing dust with magic in lieu of Serpouhi when he heard a knock on the door. No one had arranged a visit with him and the elves were still inside, which left only Serpouhi. Tracou opened the door, finding instead Stepan with his familiar standing beside him. He stood with his sea monster wand in hand, scratching at it with his thumbnail.
The audacity of one of his villagers to visit unannounced! Tracou frowned.
"Good morning, Stepan."
"Yes, good morning, Lord Vartanian. I need to speak with you."
"Go ahead."
Stepan nodded. "Listen, Lord Vartanian. We haven't had snow and winter's nearly over."
"That is true," Tracou sighed. If there was an emergency, he could understand why someone might show up at his doorstep. Anything otherwise was both rude and presumptuous.
"It's a bad omen. Something bad will happen."
"Why? No snow seems like a good thing to me."
"It's easy to think that, but what is winter without it? Something's wrong. Snow comes as a blanket to hide the death that winter brings before the rebirth. Without it, we can see death everywhere, out in the open... It's a sign, Lord Vartanian."
"We've had years with no snow before, Stepan."
"Yes!" Stepan's eyes widened, as though surprised Tracou had recognized the problem. "Yes, when the silent sickness hit!"
Tracou's jaw clenched. He had no argument against that.
A presence moved behind him, closing in. Tracou glanced back. Pendaer stood there, watching Stepan over Tracou's head.
"And what do you propose we do?" Tracou asked, ignoring Pendaer for the moment.
Stepan wilted. "I'm not sure. Maybe tell the villagers to stay in their homes as much as they can." He shifted his focus to Pendaer, giving a solitary 'heh'. "Serpouhi said this one's always angry and I think she might be right."
Relieved by the change in subject, Tracou turned to grin at Pendaer. "He likes being angry," he said in Dezmerian.
"What does an elf have to be upset about?"
"Everything. Mostly me." Tracou itched to say that Pendaer was especially mad because he had entered into a relationship with Mirthal, but held his tongue.
"He must have a lot of energy. Anyway, Lord Vartanian, I wanted to inform you. We can't prevent another sickness, but maybe we can lessen it... I'll ask around."
"All right. Good day, Stepan."
Stepan gave him a nod and trudged away from the manor, his seagull toddling after him. Tracou closed the door. Once he had, Pendaer left, returning to the kitchen where the elves had been eating breakfast. Tracou followed him, hearing Elvish before he even entered the room.
"You should ask him yourself," Mirthal said in Aodehsh as Tracou entered. Bread crumbs had gathered the corners of his mouth.
Unsurprisingly, the way Tracou and Mirthal's relationship had developed had infuriated Pendaer. Tracou had expected an explosion, of screams of insults that the entire village would hear. But Pendaer did no such thing. He took his frustrations out on Tracou the only way he could: with a pointed silence. Due to Mirthal's presence, mark, and Tracou's wand, he couldn't give him the beating he no doubt thought Tracou deserved and found himself able only to be annoying. He spoke nothing but Elvish, which frustrated Tracou to no end. But the less he had to do with Pendaer, the better, so overall he approved of this change. Mirthal translated the important bits, anyway.
Naturally, Mirthal's insistence that he use Aodehsh fell on deaf ears. Pendaer merely repeated his question in Elvish.
Mirthal shrugged his shoulders. "Tracou, he wants to know what, uh... the other dezmek said. What is his name again? The one with the fish house?"
"Stepan," Tracou said, taking a seat at the head of the time. "Anyway, it was just some nonsense about bad omens. And that Pendaer's always angry."
"He sure is."
Pendaer sat in the furthest chair away from Tracou he could and eyed his food. With Serpouhi gone, Tracou mostly cooked, which gave Pendaer something else to complain about—to Mirthal, anyway. Today Tracou had set a simple breakfast of bread and mulberry jam in front of them. Mirthal inhaled it, as he did, but Pendaer had taken a single bite and left the rest. If he wanted to starve to death, Tracou would not stop him.
Without looking at either of them, Pendaer spoke again, the end of his sentence trailing upward. Another question.
Mirthal blinked at him before slowly leaning back in his chair, his mouth shut.
"What did he say to you?" Tracou asked.
Pendaer repeated himself, volume climbing.
Shaking his head, Mirthal said a few harsh words in Elvish. This gave Pendaer pause for mere seconds before he stood up, his heavy chair screeching against the stone floor.
"A bad omen, dezmek?" he spat in Aodehsh.
Stunned, Tracou said nothing.
"Does that not remind you of anything? Perhaps something that might coat your fields instead of snow?"
Winlea.
Tracou winced, biting the inside of his cheek. A bad omen. Winlea. Stepan's stupid focus on reading into natural events to try to understand a future that could not be understood didn't mean anything. Glaring at Pendaer, he took in a breath to say exactly that, but Pendaer bashed his fist on the table before he could. The noise made both Tracou and Mirthal jump.
"What have you done about Winlea? You told that dying crone in Terel and then?"
To think that Pendaer, of all people, was scolding him about this. Tracou sank in his seat. Inside, an empty white surrounded his organs, dragging them downward.
"I couldn't say anything," he murmured. "Serpouhi was getting married..."
"That was more than a week ago! What have you done since then? Aside from forcing the Prince to engage in debauchery."
"Pendaer, I keep telling you that he didn't force me into anything."
Pendaer huffed, otherwise ignoring Mirthal. "What have you done, dezmek?"
Just who did Pendaer think he was, interrogating him like this? He had no right! Tracou stood up, rising to his meager full height. Unbeknownst to him, his limbs trembled.
"What do you expect me to do, Pendaer? Tell everyone and cause a panic? It's winter! Imagine if some of them had fled—they might have frozen to death, even if there hasn't been any snow!"
"It's your job to figure that out! You're their lord, aren't you? You collect taxes from them? You should do something! Maybe a panic would be better—maybe leaving and possibly freezing to death is better than sitting on a serving tray. You told their ruler about Ergakan. You told him about the nearby port and you even pointed it out for him on a map! Don't forget that I heard all of that. You think he won't attack here first? Not only does he know where it is, but it would be a perfect foothold!"
Each word Pendaer spat at him made Tracou shrink just a bit smaller.
"But what can we do?" he asked, voice cracking on the last word. "How can we prepare? With swords? Bows? What good are they? We can't fight like you do."
"You're content to roll over and die, then."
"Of course I'm not! How dare you say that to me!"
"All right, okay, both of you sit back down," Mirthal said, the only one with any semblance of calm in the room.
Pendaer slammed down in his chair while Tracou drifted into his, the white in his guts turning icy.
Moments turned into minutes as Mirthal waited, his face neutral. Tracou slumped. First a scolding from Pendaer and now silence from Mirthal until they calmed down.
"Tracou, you... you told the Royal Scholar about Ergakan?" Mirthal asked.
Hot, painful tears assailed his eyes. He pursed his lips in an attempt to tense something enough to make the wet retreat, but achieved nothing.
"I was trying to help you!" he blurted. "He told Pendaer and Ina to leave and it was just me in there. How was I supposed to know? I had to buy time!"
"You should have made something up!" Pendaer barked.
"Shut up, Pendaer! You're the one with castle experience, not me. If you had played your part better, I wouldn't have been left alone!"
"I understand," Mirthal said in an even, but loud, tone. "I'm not trying to blame you, Tracou, but I didn't know that. It changes things..."
Tracou winced. Maybe he had doomed them all. Blood would be on his hands, blood he could have prevented.
"Here's what I think, Tracou. Getting ready for war takes time. The Royal Scholar wasn't the king when we left, but he might be now. And that shift also takes time. He won't begin his reign with a war—he has to sift through what the previous king left him and change things around. I doubt Winlea is ready to launch any kind of attack. Remember those men from the waterfall? There were only five of them and we haven't seen any since. So he needs time, which gives you a chance to prepare. I would think you have at least a few months before you have to worry."
These extremely welcome words from Mirthal lessened the frigid, dragging feeling in his innards. He gave Mirthal a small smile.
Time. If Yash needed it, then Tracou had it as well. They could come up with something.
"You're being naive, your highness," Pendaer said, disgust thick in his words. "Winlea should strike as soon as possible if they want to win. Doubtless they expected us to come to Dezmer and they knew we would spread the word, even if we've done a pitiful job on that front. Better to invade now."
"Either way, there's no point in yelling at him about something he can't change. What would you have him do, Pendaer? You're so angry about it; surely you have an idea."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Pendaer closed his eyes and said nothing for quite a while.
"Traps. Build traps all through the village."
Mirthal leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "What kind?"
"Pits with bamboo stakes at the bottom."
"What's bamboo?" Tracou asked.
"Ugh, just use wood."
A hole in the ground with sharpened pieces of wood lining the bottom. That would kill anyone who fell into it, no doubt.
"In the village? What if a child fell in by accident?"
Pendaer scoffed. "Tell them to avoid it."
"If the hole is obvious enough that people can avoid it, then it's useless. And besides, once some Winleans fall into a pit, the rest will be more careful!"
"Fine. Don't do anything and die."
Gritting his teeth, Tracou considered grabbing Pendaer with magic and smashing his head against the table. He might not be able to if Winlea invaded, after all.
"Pendaer," Mirthal said, letting out a long breath. "If you aren't going to be helpful—"
Shoving his chair away from the table, Pendaer stood, uttering what sounded like a string of Elvish curses.
"I'll go out there and dig myself!"
"With what? We dezmek don't use shovels."
"I'll think of something, unlike you."
With that, he left, tromping out of the manor.
Tracou let out a groan and leaned down against the table, cradling his head in his arms.
Winlea. Did they have time? Would they die tomorrow? In a week? In a year? How could they avoid a massacre?
A hand settled on his shoulder. Tracou looked up, finding Mirthal standing next to him.
"Are you okay?"
"Of course not."
Mirthal nodded.
"What would you do, Mirthal? You're a prince, so..."
"Me?" Mirthal tilted his head, his eyes drifting to the left. "I would ask other people what I should do."
"Like Pendaer?"
"Well, maybe in some cases. But I would have a few advisers who could help me."
"Advisers..."
In the end, he only had one course of action. He had to tell Serpouhi and maybe Ardit as well. Even Stepan or Elira might be able to help him, though they would doubtless spread the word about Winlea.
"All right. I'll go and see my adviser."
"Serpouhi?"
"Yes." Tracou stood up. "You're okay with me going to visit Serpouhi?" he asked with a grin.
Mirthal blinked a few times, his expression stiff. "O-Of course. She's married."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm fine."
"If you say so." He paused. Though he liked knowing that Mirthal's distaste toward Serpouhi had actually been jealousy, teasing him about it felt lopsided when Mirthal had no idea about how beside himself with envy he had been just knowing Mirthal had been spending time with that Sakshi woman.
"You know, Mirthal... When we went to find you in Dorssur, we heard that you had come into the city with a woman. I... I hated hearing that."
"Oh?" Mirthal eyed Tracou for some time, as if that would answer his unspoken question.
"I thought she was your lover..."
"Lover! Sakshi!"
"I didn't know anything about her," Tracou said, pouting.
"I don't fall for every person that saves me from something, Tracou." Struggling to keep his face neutral, the corner of Mirthal's lips twitched upward a few times.
"No? Seems like it helps."
Now smirking openly, Mirthal reached out and cupped Tracou's cheek.
"No. It helped you. Only you."
Blood rushed to his face. How had he not seen that coming? Tracou smiled up at Mirthal, quite a bit more pleased with this over Mirthal's usual tripping.
"Keep it that way," Tracou huffed.
Mirthal laughed.