The Princess and the Blade

[Emora Deen]

Tenara slipped away to the bedroom, closing the door just enough to give herself some privacy but also be able to hear if Elias came down the stairs.

She spread the clothes on the bed, frowning at them. Hajaran clothing consisted of far fewer layers, strings, and ties. But, it was also hot and dry there, where the air here chilled her to the bone.

She pulled the dead sorcerer's clothes from her and began to don the garb in the order in which she assumed it would go. She'd seen enough paintings in books to get the gist of it, and she had visited her grandmother in Ighten a few times to see women in similar clothes. She drew on the tightly woven black stockings, dragging them just over her knees up to her thigh, and then pulled the white chemise over her head.

"Tenara?"

Tenara bolted straight, grabbing the other parts of the garment. "One second..."

She layered the midnight blue underdress over the linen chemise, pulling her arms through the long wool sleeves. Over that went the black overdress, a short sleeved garment that had a corset cinching up the back. Both garments stretched down to her caves, which meant she was respectable but still able to work, ride, and travel. It was a servant's garb.

The dress was nice, and she felt comfortable in it. The only problem was overdress laced in the back, not the front, and no matter how much twisting and stretching she did, she couldn't reach all the laces to pull it tight.

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon waited silently outside her room. And waited. And waited. "Are seconds different too in this world?" he half-mused aloud.

[Emora Deen]

"No..." she said, pushing the door open. "I'm just..." She sat on the bed and dragged her boots on, tying them up before standing. There was no point in asking Havitharon for help with the lacing because he couldn't touch anything but the book.

"Another second," she said, and stepped past him to stand at the bottom of the stairs. "Was it purposeful, giving me a dress I can't even finish putting on myself?"

"Can't your ghost help you?" Elias called before he appeared above her.

Tenara did not want to admit Havitharon could only touch the book.

"It's against his religion," she said, smiling.

Elias arched a brow before sighing and clunking down the steps. "Turn around."

She hesitated, and then turned slowly so that her back was to him, drawing her hair over her shoulder. She felt his hands tug at the lacing, felt the fabric draw tighter around her chest and waist. He didn't pull it too tight, and she wasn't sure if it was because he couldn't or because he didn't want her uncomfortable in it.

"Laces are at the bottom, can you reach them?" he asked, and she felt behind her for them. "It seems I'll have to relearn to tie my own fucking boots now," he said, and turned angrily back up the stairs. She saw him wiggling the fingers of his injured hand as he went, and for a second she felt sorry for him.

Just a second.

"Okay," she said, stepping back towards the bedroom where she'd left the sword. She reached behind her and tied the strings, tucking them into the fabric at the small of her back. "Sorry. Did you find something?"

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon's hands tensed at his sides as the man approached Tenara's unarmed back. His nerves bristled at every small tug the man gave her bodice. The phantom released a slow breath when Elias finally finished and turned away. This was so, so unwise. He couldn't grasp how this woman had survived as long as she had. Not just with the prince; she was too trusting of him as well, though it did work in his favor.

"I was hoping to take a closer look at the sword," he said, hiding his consternation. He laid the book out on the table and gestured for her to look at the illustration. "It's not quite right, by this diagram." Now that the real article was in view, he could see clearly that there were several inlaid stones that were missing from the sword's bruised hilt. Even the seatings where the stones had been mounted were scratched up and marred from the fire and struggle. "I don't know how important these are. They look ornamental, but in such rituals, anything could serve a purpose."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara rubbed at her chest, remembering the sorcerer reaching into it. Everything was foggy in her mind, though. She remembered the word soul and stone but... "I think he used... souls to make this. What if each stone is a life..." Her fingers brushed along the hilt.

[Soran Nightblade]

He blinked. "Magical components made from souls aren't unheard of where I come from. But if something of such great magical importance were missing, the ritual shouldn't have been completed at all. Something of equivalent power would need to be added to the equation. Yet, he got through it somehow."

[Emora Deen]

She shook her head. "He tried to take mine, I think. But he didn't succeed. Obviously. That's when my magic went... when it got out of control and you showed up. The sword absorbed it, and you appeared. I think. Everything is fuzzy. The sword can't hurt me, either. I've tested it. I cut myself, and it heals. If I cut myself with another weapon, it doesn't. Maybe... maybe the sorcerer partly succeeded in binding..."

Tenara sat down. Maybe he partly succeeded in binding her soul to the sword. If that were true, did that mean she was also bound... to Thvoros?

[Soran Nightblade]

"It can't hurt you..." he muttered to himself. Something she'd just said had given him a very unpleasant thought. "There was a blue light, drawing me in. I was...disappearing, so I held onto it and followed it through." He glanced at her. "You guided me out, but I'm not sure that's what the spell was designed to do." He turned the page, to the illustration of a great horned being, shrouded in black. He frowned, and stopped. He really wasn't sure if he should finish his theory to her. He pointed to the jagged halo that surrounded the creature's head. "It wears the Tiyal. The crown of the dead. This drawing is of a phantom. Pure soul energy."

[Emora Deen]

"What does that mean?" she asked, looking up at him. "Are you not who he was trying to summon?"

[Soran Nightblade]

He hesitated again. "It's hard to tell through all the cryptic religious bullshit, but I think this isn't a ritual for summoning a warrior. It's a ritual to forge a sentient sword."

[Emora Deen]

"So... is there a way to reverse it or separate you from it?" She dragged the book closer to her and began to thumb through some of the pages. The illustrations were pretty lovely. Unfortunately, the power given to her to understand Havitharon had not past to the written word.

There was commotion above. A frustrated roar and the sound of someone banging something. "Am I to sail alone today, as well?" Tenara glanced up at the deck above them. She imagined he was having a hard time with being down a hand.

"I should probably help him..."

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon growled under his breath. "I should have taken more fingers."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara chuckled. "Then, he'd be even more useless than he already is," she whispered, almost patting his shoulder as she turned for the stairs.

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon watched her leave before turning his glare back to the book. He took it back up to the deck and settled in for a long sail.

[Emora Deen]

Tenara helped Elias sail to Arroes, despite her desire to avoid it completely. He insisted it was the best place to get a ship of the size they would need to cross the Ongore Sea towards Hajara. Elias was quiet, speaking to them mostly about what needed to be done and when. She suspected a lot of his animosity stemmed from the fact they had disabled him, permanently, by removing his fingers. She didn't think even her mother's gift could bring those back.

Elias fed them through his pack, ordering dinner as if they were at a tavern, and the pack would fill up with it and he would drag it out onto the table. Their last night on the boat, Elias ordered chicken and roasted vegetables, and a cluster of herbs to make tea.

"I'll drink it, and then you'll know it's safe," he said.

"What kind of tea is it?"

"Just a tea I like," he said, and grabbed the boiling pot from the small stove. He tipped it, carefully pouring the water into the tin mugs. 

They sat in silence while the tea steeped, and then cooled enough to drink. She flipped through Havitharon's book, looking at the illustrations.

Tenara watched Elias take his mug and drink. "See, no poison."

"I'll wait a minute," she said, turning another page and shifting a hair closer to Havitharon. She came across one that depicted a rather explicit sexual position and immediately closed the book, pushing it towards Havitharon.

Tenara dragged the mug to her, smelling the tea. It had a strong earthy scent, almost familiar to her but she couldn't quite place where. She took a long sip. She stopped drinking, spitting the liquid back into the mug and setting it down on the table. "Why would you make that?"

"You've had it before?"

"Why would you make that?!" she demanded, standing. 

"I..." He seemed bewildered. Concerned. "I... was hoping you would drink it and I wouldn't have to explain."

Her breath came quick, anger flaring in her eyes. "Explain what?"

He seemed suddenly afraid. Uncomfortable. "You were in the possession of... privateers. Smugglers. For several weeks. Alone on their ship. Unconscious... for most of it." He was tiptoeing around it. Her breath only came quicker. "They asked in what condition to deliver you, and Edan's only requirement was that you arrived alive. This is only a precaution. Nothing may have happened..."

"I need some air—"

"You should drink it before it gets cold. It tastes worse when it's cold." She glowered at him, her eyes misting with tears. "It's just a precaution. Wouldn't it be better to drink it and think nothing happened, than wait and find out the hard way?"

Her hand shook as it curled around the mug. She took it up, downing it messily. Chugging and letting threads of tea spill out of her mouth and over her chin. She slammed the mug down, dragged her hand across her mouth, and headed for the stairs, grabbing Edan's dried robe as she went. "I'm going to look for the shore."

Tenara stomped across the deck, ducking under the sails, to the bow of the ship, and plopped down in a pool of linen and wool. She pulled the sorcerer's robe over her head like a blanket, buried her face in the salt-stiff fabric, and cried.

—

Tenara fell asleep on the bow, and Elias did not risk incurring her wrath by waking her. The sound of bells roused her that morning. The port was thick with fog and she could barely see a few feet in front of their boat. Elias guided them slowly in, tugging ropes and adjusting the rigging as they went.

The palace loomed over the fog like a black spector, spindly towers reaching for the sky like hands coming down on them. It was a mile inland, but felt as if it were hovering over her. "Put that hood over your head," Elias called. "Not many people have your hair and you'll stick out. We don't want to draw attention. When we dock, we'll move quickly and find some cover."

Tenara dragged her arms through the sorcerer's robes and pulled the hood over her head. She stood, and remembered she didn't have the sword, so she hurried past him, down below.