Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

A creak from the inner door alerted him, but he did not glance quickly; he just shifted his eyes until he saw them approach from the doorway. Both were cloaked in the manner of the Druidecht, but he recognized the stiff, proud walk of the girl. Their heads were bent low in conversation. As they approached, Paedrin gave them a benign, incurious look, and nodded once. Their bleary eyes revealed that neither had slept that night.

Master Shivu was still abed, but he and Paedrin had traded quips and insults the night before. He nearly smirked at some of the more memorable ones, like the jest about using snails to train the other Bhikhu while Paedrin was away, as they would need something to fill in for his absence. But he dared not smile. Yet.

The footfalls approached, and the amber-haired Druidecht met his gaze. His skin was weathered by the sun, but he had a youthful look. Paedrin estimated that he could leave the Druidecht writhing on the ground in about the same amount of time it took to blink.

“Good morning. My name is Annon.”

Paedrin gave him a respectful nod. “I am honored to join you.” He looked at the girl. Her eyes were disdainful. He was expecting that. “It is nice to see you again.” He stared at her, cocking his head slightly, waiting for her to speak.

She looked at him and said nothing.

“My name is Paedrin,” he said to the Druidecht. He gave the girl a short glance.

Still nothing.

He almost smiled. She was a green nut, unwilling to open even a bit.

Annon noticed the exchange and stepped forward. “Have you been to Havenrook by chance, Paedrin?”

Paedrin’s ears started to tingle with heat at her rejection, but he kept his composure. Before he could answer, she did.

“He’s never left the temple, Annon.” Her eyebrow arched at Paedrin. “He knows nothing beyond these walls. I know the way to Havenrook. And I can handle a blade as well as any man.”

There it was. The barb, the derision—the withering contempt. It was just as he had expected. He had provoked her the day before, and she was holding a grudge.

He gave her an inconsequential shrug, a slight twitch to his left shoulder. “I have no doubts about your killing ability. The poison in your tongue alone would be suitable if we required talking someone to death.”

Annon raised his eyebrows, and a smile broadened his face.

Paedrin wasn’t finished. “But should we face something particularly lethal, I am certain your looks would stop it dead in its tracks. I feel so much safer being with you.”

There it was in response, just as he suspected. She was sensitive about her looks. Best to poke there first. She could not control the sudden blush of heat in her cheeks, though her expression did not change. He had insulted her. How would she respond?

“The Vaettir I have known have always been gentlemen,” she replied in a silky voice. “But you share only a portion of their blood, by the look of you. Perhaps you are more Aeduan than me?”

Paedrin kept his face impassive. She fought to draw blood; that much was certain. He attacked her beauty. She attacked his heritage. Not easily flustered. Good. It was more fun that way.

“I did not know the Romani were welcome in Silvandom,” he answered. “Where else could you have met enough Vaettir to form such an opinion?”

“Indeed,” she replied cryptically. She looked at Annon crossly. “We are wasting daylight. This journey should take a fortnight.”

Annon looked amused. “I will not be sorry to leave Kenatos behind. I never liked it here. To Havenrook then.”

Paedrin nodded, his eyes never leaving Hettie’s. There were daggers in those eyes.

By the end of the day, they had crossed leagues of abandoned farmland and reached the fringe of the mountain forests of Alkire. Hawks swooped and soared overhead, and Paedrin longed to join them. He was tempted to suck in his breath and float upward, but he was saving that grace to impress Annon and Hettie later. His sandals dangled from the fabric belt. Walking the cobblestone streets of Kenatos had raised calluses on his feet, and the soft earth and prairie grasses were velvety in comparison. He was amazed at the various forms of life throughout the land—dazzling butterflies zigzagging in the air, curious rodents peeping from holes and gawking at them, and the buzz and drone of bees in their hives. Each was a fascination to Paedrin. The air was crisp and fresh, so different than the soot-filled skies over Kenatos. It was also so very quiet compared to Kenatos—unnervingly so. The huff of their breath as they walked, the chuff of Annon’s and Hettie’s boots. The constant murmur and roar of the city was long gone. Its absence was noticeable.