The Isle of Orin
The snow fell, drifting down from the dark sky in large, silent flakes. They settled on Lilia’s fur mantle and hair, frosting her eye-lashes as she crunched along the ermine-crusted quay.
Around her, the celebrations of Winter Blood were in full-swing. The chill weather hadn’t kept folk indoors. Children darted about, dressed as black-clad sprites, throwing snowballs at each other, their squeals lifting high into the raw, smoke scented air. Men and women hurried by, bundled up in furs, their cheeks ruddy with cold.
Rows of glowing orange lanterns illuminated the docks this evening, and the rhythmic tattoo of drums mingled with the laughter and cries of revelers up ahead in Port Square.
Lilia smiled; to think that this night had once frightened her. This evening, she was in good spirits, and looking forward to a cup of spiced wine while she watched the dancers. She passed The Barnacle. Icicles hung from the eaves outside the tavern, and indoors she could hear cheering and laughter. She and Dain sometimes visited the tavern for a meal, but Dain no longer spent his evenings fighting for coin there—he now worked in the Port Guard.
Many things had changed since their return to Port Needle. They hadn’t gone back to live at The Grey Anchor, nor had Lilia taken up her old job as cook there. These days, they shared a tiny home above the bakery at the eastern end of the pier, where Lilia worked in the mornings, helping to bake pies for the market. Unlike her job at The Grey Anchor, this one gave her afternoons off, giving her time to go for walks and to enjoy the day.
Dain’s parents—his mother especially—hadn’t been pleased by their decision. Yet there had been little she could do to prevent it. Her son was a grown man, and had a right to choose his own path.
Lilia reached the crowd thronging Port Square. The snow was now falling thick and fast, floating down like ash after a great bonfire. Two men dressed as Nightgengas lurched past, half-naked and shivering in their loin-clothes and wigs. Lilia suppressed a laugh at the sight of them. It was a far cry from her reaction the year before. At that time, the sight of someone parodying one of the shadow creatures brought back frightening memories of her past, of when those boys had tied her to a tree outside Shingle Ford, and offered her up to the darkness.
The pounding of drums echoed across the square. Like the year before, men dressed in wolf costumes sat beating upon drums, while folk dressed as imps, sprites and ghouls, danced around the Altar of Umbra.
Lilia stopped, her gaze settling upon the great, black obelisk. Her buoyant mood ebbed.
Someone should tear that down.
“There you are.” Lilia turned to see Dain striding toward her across the snow. Dressed in his Port Guard uniform, black leather armor and a jade-green cloak, he cut a striking figure. Lilia noticed two girls dressed as brownies eyeing him appreciatively. He’d cut his hair since joining the guard; it no longer flopped boyishly over one eye but was now cut close to his scalp. It made him look older, harder … until he smiled.
Dain was smiling now. He carried two steaming wooden cups. Behind him, at the southern edge of the square, a woman was ladling out spiced wine. The perfume of cloves and stewed plums drifted through the dank air.
Lilia smiled back. “We finished later than usual; I had to help Maeve bake extra Moon Cakes for this eve.”
Dain stopped before her and handed Lilia a cup of wine. Their fingers brushed and Lilia felt a familiar frisson of heat. It surprised her, for she’d heard that the attraction between couples usually waned once the initial excitement passed. Yet ever since returning home, the passion between them had grown. Perhaps it was because they were no longer focused on survival, or because they’d both grown and changed in their time away—whatever the reason, Lilia had never been happier. The best part of her day was each evening, when Dain walked in the door.
She raised the cup to her lips, but the wine was scalding hot so she refrained from taking a sip. “Good day?”
He nodded and linked his arm through hers. Together, they began a slow circuit around the edge of Port Square, weaving amongst the crowds of revelers. “A new company of lads just arrived from Waybrook and Green Vale, so I’ve started hand-to-hand combat training with them.”
Lilia glanced at him. “Does the Guard need more men?”
“No, but King Nathan has sent a request for Orin to join him against Anthor—it appears the Prefect and Elder Council have agreed. They’re going to send a company to Rithmar in two months’ time.”
Lilia’s belly twisted at this news—it was proof that you couldn’t hide from trouble. Even here upon this misty, green isle, the outside world intruded. She stopped, her gaze meeting Dain’s. “Will you join them?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you want to?”
Dain glanced away, raking his hand through his short, light-brown hair. “I’m not sure I do.” He looked back at her, smiling. “Once, I would have jumped at the chance, but now that I’ve seen war I’m in no hurry to put my hand up.” His smile faded. “However, if it comes to it, I will have to fight … you realize that, don’t you, Lily?”
She nodded, her throat closing as she fought a welling sense of panic. “If you leave here, I’m coming with you.”
He shook his head, and opened his mouth to disagree but she cut him off. “Don’t even try telling me I’ll be safer here. I won’t stay behind.”
Dain’s gaze narrowed before his mouth quirked. “Stubborn wench.”
Lilia bit back a smile of her own. “It’s what you love about me, isn’t it?”
“One of the many things,” he replied, his voice taking on a husky edge. His gaze widened then, his mood shifting. “I almost forgot. A goshawk brought this for you this afternoon.” He reached inside his leather jerkin and withdrew a slender scroll, fastened with wax.
“Really?” Lilia passed him her cup of wine and took the scroll, peering down at it. The seal hadn’t been broken and her name was written in tiny letters. “Who’s it from?”
“The wax bears the Rithmar royal seal, so it must be from the capital.”
“From Ryana or Asher?”
“Open it and see.”
They moved away from the crowd and stood under one of the lanterns burning around the perimeter. The lantern cast a warm, orange hue over them, but it was bright enough to read by. Lilia broke the wax seal and unfurled the parchment, peering at the tiny writing inside. A smile broke over her face. “It’s from Ryana.”
“Really—what does she say?”
Lilia held the parchment close, narrowing her gaze so she could read properly. Then she began to read the letter aloud:
Dear Lilia,
I hope this letter finds you and Dain both well. The time has flown since you left the capital, and I fear the situation here is worsening with each passing month.
There are times I wish that I’d returned to Orin with you. Folk are afraid of the unrest to the south and fear that Anthor will soon attack. The king is working to rebuild his armies, while Asher and I are scouring the kingdom in search of young men and women who show signs of the Light or Dark. After a slow start, we’ve managed to find ten new apprentices.
Irana now leads the Order. She was voted in by the High Council, which was a surprise since everyone believed Asher was a clear favorite. I thought he would be disappointed to miss out, but he hardly seems to care.
For myself, despite my wanderlust I am pleased to be here. After my pardon, I can now live freely in Rithmar, and Irana (reluctantly) allowed me to rejoin the Order. I head the Enchanters of the Dark, and the Hall of Charms, and am enjoying training the new apprentices. I like keeping busy—my mind is best kept occupied.
I miss you and our conversations, and hope you’ve managed to settle back into your old life. It can sometimes be difficult going home.
Love to you and Dain both. I hope to visit Port Needle in late spring.
Ryana.
Lilia lowered the parchment, her eyes misting over. “I miss her,” she murmured, glancing up at Dain. “Do you think she’s happy?”
Dain smiled. “Ryana’s too fierce, complex and troubled to find contentment easily.”
“Not as troubled as Saul.” Lilia’s buoyant mood ebbed slightly. “I wish he’d made it.”
“I know you do.” Dain’s smile turned wistful. “He wasn’t that bad in the end.”
He passed Lilia back her cup of wine. It had cooled so she was able to drink it without burning her tongue. She took a sip, sighing as the hot liquid slid down her throat and warmed her belly. Then, she tucked the parchment away in her cloak and linked her arm around Dain’s once more.
They continued their circuit around Port Square, each lost in their own thoughts.
A short while later, it was Dain who broke the silence between them. “Do you ever wish you could make one moment last forever?”
Lilia inclined her head to him, and saw that his expression was wistful, his gaze clouded. It was unusual to see him so pensive. “Sometimes,” she replied. “Why?”
“If I could, I’d freeze this moment.”
They stopped and Dain turned to her, reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand. “You look so beautiful this eve, wrapped in fur, your hair tumbling over your shoulders, your cheeks flushed with cold.”
She grinned at him. “And wine—”
“I’m being serious, Lily.” His fingers slid down her jaw, and he cupped her chin before leaning in for a kiss. The snow fluttered down, and revelers howled and danced around them, paying the lovers no mind. When Lilia pulled back from his embrace, her pulse was racing and her lips tingled. If they’d been alone, she would have thrown herself at him, but since they stood in the midst of a crowd she restrained herself.
“I’m a happy man at this moment,” he murmured, still staring into her eyes, “and that’s how I wish to keep it. Remember, whatever may come, that I love you.”
Lilia’s vision blurred. She didn’t want him to talk of the future, for they lived in an uncertain world. Like him, she wished their life to remain as it was, for their happiness to last. “And I love you, Dain, son of Ailin,” she whispered back. She took hold of his hand and squeezed it, drawing him with her as she turned them toward the edge of the crowd, away from the revelry. She met his eye and smiled. “Come with me, and I’ll show you just how much.”
The End