a/n: hey, thanks for checking out Starry Veins! This is the novel I
wrote for Round V of LMS, and it's still a first draft! While I don't
discourage any feedback, I prefer not to receive feedback on grammar!
I'm not polishing this draft up yet, so I'm not as concerned about
editing. I am, of course, open to all feedback, but I ask that you keep
this in consideration! Thanks <3
*
[Mishal]
It
had been a week since Mishal had been the target of one of Cassius’
pranks. Ember had just finished history lessons with
Cassius.
Which
was all that say that the pouch attached to the belt at her hip was
highly suspect.
Ember’s
hair was pulled firmly back into a ponytail that did not even reach
her neck, her curls so tight and wild they scrunched into a ball of
frizzed auburn hair. Several curls were too short to be secured and
fell above her eyes and over her ears. She was carrying one of the
standard, blunt training swords. It was loose in her fingers; she
wasn’t gripping it right.
She
hated training with swords, but it was good for her to practise.
As
she stepped into the sandy dust-ring—difficult terrain practise
made fighting on steady ground much easier—Mishal sunk the tip of
his own blunt sword into the ground and crossed his arms over his
chest.
“What’s
in the pouch?” he asked.
To
Ember’s credit, she met his gaze with determination and raised an
eyebrow. If there was an expression that was the opposite of
suspicious, she wore it. “Gears. Laska gave ‘em to me to fiddle
with. Why?”
He
glanced behind her. Alanna was only partially watching, kicking at
pebbles with her boot-encased feet, her black hair pulled back in a
braided bun that Isadora had probably done for her. If she knew
anything about the pouch or its contents, she would have said
something.
“If
it’s gears, you won’t mind me looking in it then, right?” he
asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
She
stared at him with sharp amber eyes as if she’d issued some kind of
challenge, but she said nothing as he approached her and removed the
pouch from her belt. Her cheek twitched.
He
sighed before he’d even opened the pouch. She’d been lying. If he
hadn’t been thinking about the meeting that Guildmaster Margaretta
had pulled him and Isadora aside for, and Cassius sneaking out of the
Guildmaster’s study, he might not have noticed.
The
pouch was full of a shimmering, dusty substance. Whether it was spell
dust that was bound with something mischievous, or it was just
glitter. He wasn’t sure which was more unpleasant.
“Tell
Cassius to stop interfering with training,” Mishal said. He tried
not to think of the last incident, with the hollowed sword that he
couldn’t balance or fight with. Or the incident with the tracking
hounds. “And you should know better.”
Ember
shrugged. “Should I? I’m thirteen.”
He
glanced over to the crab apple tree nearby. Rowan was sitting in its
branches, scribbling in a leather-bound journal elegantly. There was
a clock that chimed every hour on the front cover and engraving
around the edge. Rowan offered no back up for Mishal, though whether
they were ignoring him or hadn’t noticed was anyone’s guess.
They
were wearing a ridiculous hat. Looked like the roof of a tower with a
sweeping brim. They, as usual, did not look ridiculous, but the hat
did. Mishal didn’t know how they had gotten into the tree without
losing the hat or tripping on their flowing robes.
“That’s
not an excuse,” he told Ember. “And I’ve told you that before.”
“It’s
a double not-excuse!” Alanna chimed in, finally raising her head
from her perch on a wooden stool. “Or Mishal won’t train you
anymore!”
He
opened his mouth to correct her on her delivery, but then shut it. He
hadn’t slept well enough for this.
“If
I don’t have to train with a sword anymore, I’ll make sure he
skips his tailoring lesson with Belle to come himself,” Ember
muttered.
“They’re
learning embroidery. It’d have to be a good payoff to convince
him,” Rowan said, staring skyward at nothing in particular. Their
expression was contemplative.
Mishal
gave Ember a look. “It’s good for you. It makes you versatile.
Swords are more common than hammers or flails, it may be your only
option in a situation where you need to defend yourself.”
“Untrue,”
Ember said, although she did raise her sword and practise swinging
it. She was badly off-balanced and could be disarmed with little
effort. “I’m gonna be a blacksmith. I’ll have hammers all
around me. I’ll make lots of flails to have around.”
“You
won’t always be in a smithy,” he said. Then he picked up his own
sword and pointed at her feet. “Start with position. I know that
you know that. Quit trying to pretend you’re standing on a wobbling
board.”
She
corrected her position, somewhat, but still held her sword as though
it were covered in thorns. He brought his own sword up and, with a
flick of his wrist, knocked it from her hands.
“Eugenia.”
She
glared. “Don’t call me that.”
By
the time he’d managed to get Ember focused on the training session,
Rowan’s journal had chimed sweetly, and Alanna was attempting form
the pebbles outside the dust-ring into some kind of picture. Isadora
always told her to bring books or at least come to tailoring practise
with her and Cassius while Ember was training, but Alanna refused.
The
patience of a ten-year-old was not long lived, however. Mishal tried
to practise with her and Ember together when he had the chance, but
Ember’s stubbornness since they’d begun swordplay was hindering
the usual routine.
He
was attempting some defensive parrying, when Ember said, “Heard you
and Belle are leaving.”
Mishal
put his weight too heavily on his left foot. With a similar wrist
motion as he had done earlier but with more of a swirl, Ember twisted
the training sword from his hand and it clattered uselessly into the
sand. She stepped forward and tapped her sword to his chest, tilting
her neck back slightly to look up at him.
He
swatted it away. The air around them had grown still—as still as
could be with other training sessions in the background—and he was
now aware of both Alanna and Rowan’s gazes directed at him. “Where
did you hear that?”
There
was a tight set to Ember’s jaw as she looked up at him, brow stiff.
“Raz told me.”
Of
course. Cassius must not have snuck off far when the Guildmaster had
told him and Isadora about the expedition to the ruins.
Alanna
scrambled to her feet, icy eyes wide as she stared between them. “But
it’s not true, is it?” She hugged her arms around herself. “It
isn’t,
right?”
The
sound thud of a book shutting made him instinctively turn to look
right. Rowan had shut their book and was swinging nimbly down for the
tree. Their thick, dark hair swung over their shoulders in a loose
braid. They set their journal and mechanical pen on the ground and
watched with silent curiosity.
He
bent to retrieve his sword. He hadn’t been instructed to keep the
expedition silent, but surely if the Guildmaster had wanted them to
know, she would have told them? Or had their parents tell them?
Especially
Alanna.
word count:
1,173
Points: 0
Reviews: 311
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