Still, as always, any suggestions would be much appreciated.
Also, I've created a website dedicated to the novel series. It explains in detail everything a curious mind will need to know about the mysterious world of Antheria! The link can be found on my profile.
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Legends
Book One: Casting the Crown
Chapter One
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Eona parried the blow that had been destined for her right leg with ease, smirking playfully as she circled the man before her.
He watched her carefully, hard green eyes locked evenly with her own, but he could not keep his own smirk from spreading thickly across chapped lips. "It's rude to toy with your prey, you know," he jeered, rolling his broad, armored shoulders back and straightening his stance as he allowed his grip on the heavy broadsword to relax some.
This elicited a laugh from the younger redhead, her soft green eyes crinkling in delight as she flexed her gloved grasp on the leather-bound hilt in hand. "Well I ought to have my fun, dear Daveth, for you are hardly playing fair!"
The man, Daveth, scoffed at her rebuttal, twirling the broadsword around in his hand with little effort, his unadorned chain mail catching the glare of the midday sun with a dull twinkle. "Sword fights are never fair, milady," he stated, flicking thick tresses of wavy blond hair out of his eyes with a slight twitch of his head. "Lesson number one."
Laughing, Eona rushed at him again and they exchanged a few more blows, each one parrying expertly as the other swung. The shouts of steel upon steel resonated loudly throughout the stone courtyard.
"I thought the first lesson was to keep a vigilant eye about you?"
Clang!
Daveth smirked as her blow, a swift upward arc aimed for his head, was deflected by the steel of his sword. "Vigilance is lesson number two, milady," Daveth declared as he lashed out with a free hand to grab the wrist of her sword arm, holding her in close proximity. Her free hand instinctively grabbed his arm, the movement drawing the two even closer.
As they both lowered their arms to chest level, swords still crossed in combat, Eona studied the man whose face was mere inches from her own.
She would be lying if she denied that he was handsome. A thin layer of blond stubble was growing around his firm jaw and his bronzed complexion, though glistening with tiny beads of sweat, was nearly perfect. The faintest of scars sliced jaggedly across his left brow, slithering around his eye before trailing off midway down his cheek, and the bridge of his nose was crooked slightly in the middle—the only indicator that it had once been broken. Her eyes flicked down to his lips, thin and chapped, before meeting his gaze again.
"Your skill has improved remarkably," Daveth admitted, giving her a playful wink with his right eye. "Enough to rival that of even our most inexperienced trainees!"
Eona gave a soft snort, a mischievous grin washing over her moist, full lips as she matched his stare, the hem of her pale blue dress rustling quietly in the sudden breeze. Though Sternhelm was known to be a city plagued by constant winds, the high walls of the stone keep were enough to protect even the open courtyard from the worst of it, much to Eona's delight; she had to practice her secret training somewhere.
"If I didn't know you as well as I ought to," she started, the thick red locks that framed her face dancing along with the wind, "then I would be most disheartened to discover that you have been holding back on me."
"Then give thanks to the Firstborn that you know me well enough."
"Aye, Sir Daveth," she began, impish grin never faltering, "I do know you better!"
Before he could react, Eona reached up with a booted foot and kicked him away, breaking his grip on her wrist and causing him to stumble backwards a few short paces.
Daveth shook his head as Eona struggled to balance both her sword and her stature, laughter pealing animatedly from her lips; it was a pleasant sound, almost like the chorus of ringing church bells, and Daveth could not help but smile at her mirth.
"You are a shrewd fighter, milady," he teased, adjusting his own sword in hand. "I will have to be quick with you."
Eona shook her head, chuckling. "So you do admit to keeping soft with me!"
Daveth shrugged, rolling his shoulders back and pointing the tip of his sword forward as he took on a fighting stance. Eona did the same, her free hand hiking up the bulk of her dress slightly, preventing the hem from sweeping along the courtyard pavestones. The worn tips of sleek, heeled leather boots peeked out from beneath the dress.
"I confess to nothing, milady," Daveth started, spreading his arms wide as if to surrender. "Only that you are shrewd, and I take no credit for that." He gave a small wink to show that his words were meant in jest.
"Come now, Daveth," Eona demanded, narrowing her eyes in a mock-serious manner. "Hold nothing against me this time."
Before the brawny man could respond, the echo of hurried feet broke through the afternoon air.
"Lady Trinity!"
Eona turned at the mention of her surname, eyes searching the stone path behind her for the source of the outburst.
Doubled over just outside the heavy wooden doors, both spread wide open to reveal the luxurious comforts of the inner keep, with a face as red as a ripe apple and hands grasping his shaking kneecaps as he struggled for breath, was a young courier.
"Yes?" Eona queried casually, brushing back the stray tresses around her face with an absentminded sweep of the hand. The lightweight sword dangled limply in her inattentive grasp, silver steel glistening brightly against the blue of her dress. "Have you a message, boy?"
The boy—he could not have been more than thirteen, Eona reasoned with an astute once-over—straightened his posture, though his face was still remarkably flushed. "Aye, milady," he sputtered, chest still heaving from his apparent run.
Eona did not have to turn and look to know that Daveth had moved to stand beside her; she felt his armored shoulder bump hers ever so slightly as he sheathed his weapon before reaching down for the sword in her hand, and she allowed the smallest grin to curl her lips as she relinquished the weapon.
Upon seeing the taller man standing next to her, the young herald dipped his head in a courteous bow. "The message is for Captain von Casvian, as well, milady," he informed, his head bobbing lower at the mention of Lady Eona's title.
Daveth raised an inquisitive brow and shared a quick, curious glance with Eona before turning his attention back to the boy before them. "What matter concerns the captain of the royal guard?"
The boy lifted his head, but kept his eyes trained on the cobblestones at Daveth's booted feet. "Lord Azir wishes for the attendance of his trusted commander at the arena today, sir." His nervous hands plucked at the sides of his pallid green tunic, the traditional color of a House Trinity pageboy, as he shifted his gaze to Eona, making certain that his eyes never met her own. "He wishes the same of his daughter, as well, milady."
Eona rolled her eyes, her lips twisting into a rather displeased frown as she shook her head in dismay. So this is what her father deemed so urgent?
She felt more than heard Daveth shake his own head at this 'pressing' news, chain mail clanking softly as he shifted his posture, and her lips fluttered ever so slightly.
Turning her focus back to the anxious courier, Eona considered declining her father's request for a fleeting moment. "Tell his Lordship," she started, and had to repress the smirk that threatened to prickle her lips at the boy's alarmed expression. Undoubtedly, he feared that she would refuse, as well.
'Afraid of the consequences he would face, more or less,' Eona huffed, flicking aside a loose strand of unruly hair that dangled before her eyes. The boy's fear of any imminent punishment coupled with the thought that it would be her doing did little to phase her. After all, he was only a mere pageboy.
For a moment she glanced up at Daveth, hoping to find a look of approval in his eyes, but he simply shrugged. 'We both know this is no request,' he seemed to tell her, and she all but agreed. Her father never requested anything in life, only demanded.
With a disgruntled nod of her head, Eona looked back at the pageboy and sighed. "Tell his Lordship that Lady Eona will grace his side at the match today, as requested." She did not bother to hide the disappointment in her voice, but the boy seemed oblivious to her woes.
His groan of relief nearly audible, the young herald nodded his understanding. "And of Master von Casvian?" He inquired, bowing his head as he addressed the captain of the guard. "Shall I relay that he will be joining his Lordship in the splendors of today's match, as well?"
"No."
Eona quirked an eyebrow and lifted her gaze, curious. "No?"
Daveth scoffed at the pageboy's frightened demeanor, offering little comfort when he confirmed the statement with a shake of his head. "Your Ladyship heard correctly. No."
"No, sir?" The boy parroted, but his question seemed to fall on deaf ears.
"Is there some fleeting appointment you must attend then, Sir Daveth, which denies me your company at the arena?"
Daveth met Eona's gaze, grinning as he winked down at her in good humor. Then, centering his attention back to the pageboy, who had since taken on a rather unhealthy pallor in his cheeks, he nodded. "Aye, lad, no."
The boy looked about ready to faint. Eona could not blame him, though; her father was known for his quick temper when things did not meet his demands. 'Things like me,' she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
Before the young courier could part his quivering lips in protest, however, Daveth stepped forward and grinned. "I must first stop by the armory to relieve myself of this blade," he started, holding up the training sword that he had taken from Eona moments ago. "You will tell his Lordship that Captain von Casvian will honor his request then."
Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, a breath Eona suspected he had been holding in during his exchange with Daveth, the pageboy nodded in understanding. Then, bowing his respect twice on account of the both of them being present, he turned on his toggled heels and darted quickly through the open doors behind him.
Once the young courier was out of sight, Eona slipped off the weighted gloves that adorned her hands and turned to look at the man standing beside her. "Well then, Sir Daveth," she started, handing him the gloves. Daveth accepted them without question, raising a brow to signal for her to continue. "I suppose that this is the last of our lessons for today?"
Daveth nodded, noting the hint of disapproval that seethed from her tongue but not bothering to mention it. "Aye, milady. It seems that your private instruction has been delayed on account of the lord's favorite gambling event."
"It seems to be everyone's favorite gambling event, Daveth," Eona interjected, turning to cross the paved courtyard as she made her way towards the open doors. Daveth followed wordlessly behind her, the clank of his armor and the heavy thud of booted feet the only indicators that he was near her at all. As they passed through the doors, Eona was vaguely aware of the two armored guardsmen standing on either side, visors raised and eyes trained to the highest point on the wall before them.
"Such a barbaric thing, these bouts," she stated as they rounded a stone corner, their steps muted by the lush red carpet beneath their feet. The faint sound of the heavy wooden doors slamming shut whispered after them. "I honestly can't see why anyone would enjoy them."
Daveth tucked the blade of Eona's training sword beneath his mailed arm, taking care to avoid any soft spots in the armor he bore. "It is a mystifying conundrum, milady."
Eona lifted her gaze and spared a glance at the man strolling next to her. Broad shoulders thrown back, powerful chest thrust forward, square chin jutting up and out in a commanding manner, and towering above her by a good two heads, it was not hard to see why Daveth von Casvian was feared among the guardsmen of the keep. It was also no mystery, Eona pondered with a small grin, that the imposing captain of Sternhelm's royal guard strongly detested the sadistic treatment of the arena participants, as well as the brutality of the events, themselves.
'That makes two of us, dear Daveth,' Eona thought sourly as they came to a split in the corridor. One way, Eona knew, would lead her past the servants' quarters, the kitchen, and eventually to the entrance of the northernmost box that overlooked the grounds of the arena. The other path snaked by the historical archives, the infirmary, and ended at the doors of the keep's armory.
Daveth and Eona exchanged glances, green eyes locked together in an unwillingness to part ways.
'You should not keep his Lordship waiting,' her conscience probed, reminding her of the last time she had been tardy for one of her father's requests. A defeated sigh whistling from her lips, Eona shook her head, red curls bouncing back and forth from the motion as Daveth offered her a comforting grin.
"Come now, fair lady," he began, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. The heavy gauntlet added more weight than Eona would have liked, but she did not mind the contact, brief as it was. "I will join you in equal despair at these heathen games before you can so much as bat an eyelash." With those last words echoing in the empty corridor, Daveth bowed his head before turning down the left passageway.
Eona watched his retreating figure, the torchlight that illuminated the stone hall twinkling off of his dull armor, until he rounded a corner and disappeared from view. Then, giving an exasperated groan in anticipation of what was to come, idly brushed off the front of her dress before turning right and following the red carpet to the madness that awaited her.
