Clarika
Fog clings low to the deserted streets, swirling around my feet as I walk toward another store. The river flows calmly as ever, always within my ability's senses. It snakes through the city, the water lit in flaming red and orange of the rising dawn. No one is up this early into the day, except for a variety of shops and the rare sight of a boat with its fishing string plunged into the freezing water. Occasionally, another shopper or parader will carry through and nod in greeting.
What if?
The thought scratches the walls in my head, an annoying, almost painful itch. Normally, Norah would have accompanied me. She would have made for far more enjoyable company than Holland, and eased any of my worries of her finding more trouble. But she was gone before I woke, having said the night before that she invoked Gaia to give an introduction into being a common's person.
Such a waste of time.
My sister could be learning how to perfect the most lethal ice a frost mage can create. Ice that only the most powerful frost mages can wield and that freeze even the best magic wielder. Ice our father can barely control. A skill he abandoned teaching me because I couldn't control it long enough to do anything significant. Only through my own trial and error was I able to wield it two-and-a-half years later. And Norah has an opportunity that no dragon riders, nor anybody on this continent, can teach her. She, and all her tri-breed weirdness, has made an astronomical amount of progress in two days, surpassing what has taken me two years to learn, and if she would sit and train with me... I can only imagine the power she'd have and everything she could do with it.
But, no, she insists on learning to talk to trees.
It provides nothing in a fight or any advantages politically anyway.
But. The word doesn't sit well, even in the privacy of my own head. The mages don't want her. Dragon riders despise her. Perhaps the love-gushing, hand-holding, commoners will.
The shopper makes his usual greeting, his voice raspy from sleep, and Holland and I split our separate ways. He, to the opposite of the store, and me to search for food that will aid in replenishing a mage's stamina. Even working together, with Norah and I forcing out the cold and Adam heating the air and controlling the winds, the hours of work will be taxing and burn through our energy reserves.
In the silence, even with my mind focused, the itch returns. Like nails on a chalkboard now. I try to ignore it, to shove the thoughts down. When I start for the other side of the store, I tell myself it's because the idea of not knowing is infuriating rather than from me worrying.
It's easy to find Holland with his silver hair stark against his thick, dark jacket, pants and boots. He doesn't glance up from examining the rope with its metal hooks at the end, curling like claws, though he tenses.
Over the days spent traveling with the group I've noted what riles them and what soothes them. It's not hard to rile up the rider, though it's still carefully calculated. "Do you know how to throw those properly?"
Still, he refuses to look up, but I note the line forming between his brows. "I've been doing this for over seven-hundred years, Miss Crimson, I know what I'm doing."
It's almost too easy. I fold my arms. "Seven-hundred years, hm?" Regret settles over Holland's face and his shoulders lower in a sigh that I know he isn't exaggerating. At least, not by much. "Do all dragon riders live that long or is it just you?"
"What do you want, Clarika?"
At least there's no dancing around the question. "Do you think Norah will follow in those footsteps or live like us, or somewhere in between?"
By the way his brows unfurrow only to pinch again, I already know his answer. "I've never questioned it -- it never entered my mind until now."
Obviously. He doesn't need to know that I also assumed Norah was to be immortal until the necromancer mentioned Easton's dead relative. And by the way Dagen still aggressively twirls his daggers, glaring at nothing, I suspect those spirits are unrelenting with their singing.
I almost smile at that.
Holland hides his worry better than Easton would, but his invisible wound is bluntly obvious with everything he's done for Norah. "What if she wasn't immortal? What if her tri-breed status takes away from that?"I ask, gently pressing on that doubt and love for my sister. "What are you going to do?"
"Dragon riders are immortal because of the bond with their dragon," he says, carefully setting the grappling hook back on the shelf. We pay for our things and set back to the others. "And Norah is bonded to Rima."
Part of me hates that I let my sister walk into whatever trap or game this Gaia has for her. Most of my endless scenarios between the two end up with Norah wrapped in webs, her veins sucked dry. "She's also bonded to a salamander according to some stranger."
"Maybe Squirm is immortal too." He shrugs. "Or has become immortal. No one knows the full weight of Rima's bond and what it can do. I doubt Norah or Rima know either."
What a ridiculous name for an animal.
Holland studies me with those sharp, icy-blue eyes, the same color as mine and my father's. I try not to bristle. He says, "Are you worried of aging without her, that she hasn't thought about this, or that she'll be watching you age?"
All of it.
"Neither," I scoff, forcing my voice to sound dismissive. His gaze only intensifies. "I just need to know how to plan my will." I give him a once over, square my shoulders and change the subject. "It must be nice knowing you're going to live forever and you'll have lifetimes to fulfill any goals."
"I don't know, sometimes it feels harder on those of us who are left behind," he says, mistaking my tension for skepticism. He shrugs. "I had two brothers and a sister that weren't dragon riders and had to watch them die, knowing there wasn't anything I could do because you can't stop time."
"I'm just making sure my sister has people that will tolerate her." Annoyance caresses down my spine and I tense, the conversation turning too personal, too emotional.
"We'll always be there for Norah," Holland tells me. My mind goes to his wife and her happy smiles, to the emotions she wears so blatantly. "Even if we'll never meet the standards you set. And you never know, maybe she'll end up enjoying living with us."
My jaw clenches, and for once I hold back my glare because it would show how infuriated that makes me. "Just make sure you do take care of her because she will have an awful long time to find a replacement for you."
"I'll keep that in mind," he says as we step off paved streets and onto foggy grasslands where all of the dragons except Galeur sleep. Since being in the city, Rima had never uncloaked herself and now isn't any different. Still, I haven't stopped trying to find her. To look for the crumbled grass or shake of a bush when the other dragons or her rider are nearby but it's impossible to ever find her.
Abraxis curls around Easton and Adam, the latter slumped against the orange dragon's side with a book. The pureblood gives us a glance before slowly, heaving himself onto his feet and walking over with droopy eyes.
I don't know why I ask him, and it infuriates me for doing it. "Should we go see Norah?" I question before the pureblood is within audible range.
Holland doesn't hesitate with a yes and rounds everyone up with a brief explanation on where to go to the tavern to eat and make sure Norah hasn't become spider food. Though if that had happened, we would have heard her shriek from here.
Holland looks around with a frown. "Where's Dragon Bait?"
"I'm right here."
My heart jumps, frost racing down my fingers.
Easton and Adam whirl to the necromancer standing behind them like a black cloud.
Adam gasps. "Where did you come from?"
"A womb."
Holland sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Fine, whatever. We're going to--"
"I heard," Dagen says. "Let's go."
But Adam isn't done, he gapes at him. "What do you mean you heard? You disappeared two hours ago, where have you been?"
By the time Holland manages to herd them onto the street, I'm already gone, having enjoyed the few minutes of silence while it lasted.
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White rays of sun slant through the tavern windows, onto tables and streaked across the panel floors. Heat caress my face as the light reflects into my eyes until I lean away and into my seat. For so early into the day, the tavern is open and bustling with waiters and families. Though with this place seemingly to be the only good tavern, I suppose it's not so surprising. Familiars of all shapes and sizes keep at people's feet, their ears twitching at the conversations and echoing laughter.
The host who guided us to our table reminded me too much of Celest with her dark, ebony skin and short, curly hair. Though, she was nowhere near as beautiful. As I glance around the tavern looking for my sister, who was nowhere to be seen outside, I wonder what the skin healer might be doing now and how bad her worry has become.
"I always thought that being a pureblood meant you didn't need to practice, that it all--" Adam waves a hand absentmindedly-- "came naturally."
Dagen stops twirling the silver knife he stole from another table to raise an incredulous brow at him.
"The abilities come naturally," I say, back straight and hands folded neatly in my lap. "But the proficiency doesn't."
Adam hums and slouches in his chair. "I still think it's unfair."
"Life isn't fair," Easton says with a yawn. He stares out the window, the sun turning his tawny hair into liquid streams of brown that makes his green eyes stand out. "But," he muses. "Some purebloods are just naturally talented."
Holland snorts. "Careful, you might hurt your shoulder patting yourself on the back."
"But you admit, I was pretty good." His brows arch.
"Your ego needed -- still needs -- work."
"I don't know how people have put up with you for so long," I say. "How has your dragon not swallowed you whole?"
Easton straightens. "Believe it or not, Ice Queen, some people enjoy my company."
My snort makes his lips press into a fine line. "Really? Who?"
He opens his mouth and I see the answer in his eyes. But he thinks better of mentioning Norah. "Dagen, how are you?"
The necromancer narrows his eyes at him. "Why?"
"I think he's making conversation," Adam guesses before beaming at him. Dagen slowly grimaces at it like you would a baby vomiting. "I have questions you haven't answered. How's being a necromancer?"
"How's being an air mage," he retorts, the knife glinting in the light. It blinds me and I turn with a hiss and scan the tavern again. The two go back and forth with questions and retorts until Dagen says the first thing he ever resurrected was a cockroach that he made dance.
Somewhere in their conversation, I find Gaia's gigantic spider balancing four trays on its arms as it crawls to a crowded table. Everyone splits for it, those black eyes blinking at the passers as if in greeting or thanks. Gaia was close by but Norah was nowhere to be seen, until the kitchen doors swung open and she strode out holding her own tray of food.
She saunters from table to table in a green sweater -- the same dark color of Galeur's scales -- tucked into black jeans. She adds a sway to her hips that men lean around their booths to stare at, only to be scolded by their wives. When tables give her money for laughing at their God's awful jokes, she tucks the cash and coin into her apron's pocket and walks away with a tiny knowing smile.
I'm not sure what I feel first. The anger, shock, or disgust that my sister with a good education and title, and amazing talent for ice would lower herself to be a waitress. Or that Gaia somehow managed to manipulate my sister into working for her.
A crawl of ice curls off my nail. I drag it down my glass of water to keep from storming to Norah and dragging her outside.
"I'd hate to be at the end of that glare." My gaze snaps to Dagen and deepens. A lazy smile blooms across his lips and I think about freezing it off him. He tosses the knife vertically, never sparing a glance as he catches it handle first and continues spinning.
"Aren't the ghosts taunting you?" I ask shortly.
"Always."
Adam nods wisely at me. "That is a very intense look."
My eyes slide to Holland who looks anything but shocked by my glare. "It's official. She's lost her mind." I nod toward Norah. It doesn't take the others long to find my sister and when they do, Adam gapes with a smile, not sure whether to risk laughing and endure the punishment for it. Easton clamps a hand to his mouth.
Holland sighs. "Obviously, I'm not giving her enough work."
Dagen raises his glass, singing, "Waitress!"
Easton slams a fist down on the table, rattling the water glasses. His laughter drowning out the taverns chatter.
Norah freezes in the middle of the room, and at a pace that could put a snail to shame, her eyes slide to us. Her shoulders slump, the wisps of dark hair fluttering with her sigh. Her gaze flicks to Dagen shaking his half-empty glass before she's spinning on her heels and walking away.
"I don't think she liked that, Dagen," Adam says.
But she doesn't get very far before screeching to a stop. I crane my head around her form to see Gaia behind the bar, fluttering her fingers beneath her chin and giving an exaggerated smile to her.
After a long moment, she's walking over with pressed lips. "I'm not your maid." She says by way of greeting, pursing her lips at Dagen.
He smiles at her, tilting his head to look at her, and dangles the cup again. "But you are the waitress. And the customer is always right."
"Customers are idiots and take years to decide what they want," she says, taking Dagen's glass and freezing it to the middle of the table. Dagen rolls his eyes. "I don't know how servers do this for hours," she says.
"Damn, this trainer's good," Holland grumbles, "If I had known I could get you to do my work for me as 'training' I would have done so a long time ago."
Norah shifts onto a hip, swinging her tray onto her shoulder. Easton's still battling for breath. "That doesn't sound very honorable," she says. "Besides, I don't like being indebted to people, and I've learned a lot from Gaia-"
Adam glances up from the menu, musing but also quite serious. "Did you learn this morning's special?"
Norah holds up her arm, her sleeve cuffing at the elbow. She squints at the cursive on her arm. "Carrot soup." She continues before anyone can interrupt her. "It felt wrong to just train and leave. And," she adds with a proud smile. "I'm making tips."
"How much have you made for far?" Dagen asks.
She flicks his temple. "Thief."
"An outrageously handsome one at that," he responds, grimacing at Easton who wipes the tears from his cheeks, his face a new shade of red.
"Did you at least learn anything about your Commoner abilities?" I ask, my words sharp.
Norah shrugs. "Gaia tried to teach me how to... become attuned to the earth, but apparently I'm not in touch with my feelings enough for that to happen. So I have to keep working on that."
"What a shocker," says Holland, his brows a flat line.
"Who cares what the flowers are thinking?" I question sharply, undoing my sister's frost so we're not exposed again.
"Wouldn't you like to be able to go to the Headmaster or to some noble and know if he's being deceitful?" Norah says, flicking her wrist. "And, if I learn how to tree-talk, or whatever its called, they can tell me when opponents are coming or sense whether something evil or good has passed through. And you know what's pretty evil? The Darkening." She pins me with a knowing look, lips pursed before shrugging. "You're always the one telling me to use everything at my disposal and if tree-talking isn't good enough, well, I have to keep up my reputation of being the disappointment in our family."
Dagen tips his glass to that as his other hand slips toward Norah's back pocket with another note. My blood boils and I ready my frost as his hand gets closer to the back pocket of her apron when a spider web slams his hand to the table.
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After eating, the others went back to camp to rest--Adam said something about wanting to explore the city and Dagen begrudgingly following at Holland's orders--but I stayed behind for Norah to finish her waitressing.
Gaia was unnervingly kind, the type that set my hairs on edge and senses pricking to find her motive. But she didn't linger to talk and said I was welcomed to play the piano while I waited. It took me thirty minutes of sitting at the bar to get up and sit at the bench and start playing.
The time passed, the crowd moving in small waves to herds of people that had the waiters bustling until later in the evening, families moved in.
I didn't look up when Norah sat beside me, but say, "You have a good education, and the best training a mage could have." She sighs and starts to rebraid her hair. "You don't need to be waiting tables."
"Being indebted is dangerous," she says, "and besides, I like people-watching. It gives me an insight into their cultures, how they do things and talk to each other. They're much nicer here."
"It's Common City," I mutter, fingers dancing over the black and ivory keys in a slow classical melody. Though my fingers stumble from lack of practice. "What have you learned?"
"Mansiah is a week-long celebration," she starts and I fight a glare. "The actual day of celebration happens in six days, and common's people celebrate it because the 'thinning of realms' brings them closer to the earth."
"I meant your training."
"I mean, I already know I'm closed off to emotions." Her eyes narrow on my fingers. "But apparently it's a big part of using any commoner abilities-"
"What can they do?" I ask.
"Well, they talk to trees, and their familiars are kind of like dragons but instead of talking telepathically they talk through images." She bends over to pick up Squirm who wiggles until she sets him in her lap and watches my fingers. "I've never gotten any pictures from him. But Gaia does this thing where she runs her hands over the trees. She says she likes to know what they're thinking and that it creates a direct link between her and them. Apparently it's the easiest thing to learn."
"And you can't do that."
"No."
"I think it's a waste of time," I tell her.
Her gaze hardens. "You think that about a lot of things," she says before schooling her features into blankness. "I don't know, I kinda want to know what the trees are gossiping about. Imagine talking to the ones who have lived through wars or watched cities rise and fall. Gaia says they have a strong sense for good and evil and I think that'll come in handy someday." She swats me away. "Move, you're missing keys."
With an eye roll, I scooch over. Norah flexes and re-flexes her fingers, hands hovering over the keys as she tries to remember the lessons that have surely died once she left for the Floating Islands. But then she starts to play a soft melody, her calloused tips agile with years of handling a bow and arrow.
"Are you off?" I question.
She shakes her head. "I'm on a break," she says. "Gaia wants me to train with her again in a few hours, on her break. She wants me to get as much commoner basics into me for when we leave." Norah pauses, eyes roving over the high, wooden ceilings. "Holland says we'll be coming back here after Aros and Gaia's offered me one of the rooms upstairs, saying she'd be happy to let me stay for several weeks."
My heart drops, my voice dropping to a hiss. "You've just met this woman. Do you know where she grew up? What qualifies her to teach you such a thing? Norah you need to think before you act." I shake my head, palms slick and cheeks hot. "A school would supply you with a far deeper education than whatever this barmaid could ever teach you."
"Um." I twist around to the table a few feet away where two men and three women sit. They both give us awkward smiles because they know they were eavesdropping. "Gaia is one of the most powerful commoners here."
The woman with dark red hair laughs and points to her table-sized spider. "You have seen her familiar, I mean the bigger they are the more powerful they're person is. And tarantulas are big but never that big."
My face feels hot despite the ice I push into my veins. "Her?"
The man with slick black hair and dark blue eyes nods. "People hound her for training-"
"-but she never trains anyone," finishes the other.
Their eyes land on Norah and I feel myself leaning toward her, glaring at them. And by the curiosity in their eyes, I know they see whatever that barmaid saw in her. Mage-commoner, she had said. "You're a very lucky girl if she's training you."
"Why would she want to train her?" I ask carefully, eyes darting between the shrugging four.
"Only she would know," answers the red-head with a smile.
Norah thanks them and we turn back around, dropping our voices out of ears reach. She says, "she also comes from one of the best schools on this continent. She got a full scholarship and they asked her to go there. And you've just heard that she is a very powerful commoner where people want her to train them."
My jaw clenches, eyes sharpening into one of Dagen's daggers. "I suppose she told you all of this?"
She shakes her head. "I'm not an idiot Clarika. I asked around while I was waiting tables and then asked her. She told me the same thing I heard. But I understand your point, I did just meet her and she could use her spider to kill people and put them into stew. Though, I didn't see any limbs laying around in the back."
"Did you actually look?" I dig my nails into my palms to keep from freezing the room. "Or-"
"I looked and found nothing." She glares at me. "I don't even know if I want to do it, Clarika, I was just telling you."
I lean in, my words sharp, heart racing. "It sounds like you want to." If Norah chose to stay she could handle herself, and Crimsons are used to being alone from one another. But if something happened to her it would take weeks for me to learn about it, for a message to cross the sea. And a deep, selfish part of me wants her to always be near. Near enough for soup and arguing and training.
She clenches her jaw. "I don't know. It would depend on what happens in Aros. Holland wouldn't like it, he wants me to stay on the islands with him and Riveta. And I would miss them but I wouldn't miss Khalier or the mages there."
What about me? But I hold my tongue because this worry is better kept inside.
I straighten and huff, my anger reaching its peak. "I'm done arguing. Tell me something else."
Her brown eyes burn but she snorts at my short temperateness. But I would assume she'd rather have this than a true Crimson argument, the ones where yelling seeps through the walls and outside. The memory jogs something else. Norah rarely argued when it came to our parents, just sat there and endured until they were satisfied and left. Then she'd go back to reading or come to me and rant in my room.
"Holland's always telling me to trust people, him at least," she says.
"Holland doesn't come from a faction that abuses trust like kids inhale candy."
She huffs, her fingers moving up the keyboard. "Well, do you want to talk about carrot soup?"
I snort, and watch her side-long. "The carrot soup."
"Yes, it's to die for and we should have another soup date."
I stare at her, chin inclined and brows raised, but I wave for the waiter when he passes and order soup. By the time I'm walking back to the group with Norah staying behind to train, any remnants of our argument are gone for the time being, and we've both had our fair share of laughs.