NaNo WiP Chapter 1
Wanted to get some preliminary thoughts concerning the epic fantasy romance I've been working on for NaNo. So, for your reading pleasure, here is the very VERY VERY rough Chapter 1.
Chapter One
For once, books failed to hold Kaia’s attention. She stared through the words, through the pages, through the leather binding into a world she’d fled. All around her, the screech and clamor of swords sweeping against swords, javelins and arrows plunking off armor, the screams of the injured and chilling silence of the dead filled the tavern, reverberating off the knotted wood and off her fears.
Three years without battle had done nothing to settle her. In fact, it’d made her worse-more cautious, more irritable. She’d chosen to hone her skills as one of the elite in Lord Rafe MacAlister’s personal guard, and though the dangers she faced were laughable compared to what she’d left behind, she still felt the need to protect everyone in her life. Her sister most fervently.
And she’d failed.
Soren descended the stairwell first. Beautiful Soren. Alyndra’s Soren. He could have been hers. Perhaps he should have been in different life. But as always, Alyndra’s beauty overpowered every part of her she believed worthy.
Covered in a cloak with the hood pulled over his rust-colored hair and shading his golden wolfish eyes, Soren took a seat under scrutinizing gazes. “Any luck?” he asked, hopeful.
Kaia’s eyes shot to the barkeep. He’d worked half the night and most of the morning with a smile, his hand periodically brushing against his coin purse, which held a small fortune thanks to the information he’d provided. When he noticed her stare, he smiled and inclined his head. “They were here,” she replied. “He remembers her being unharmed.”
Soren released a breath. “Good.” He took Kaia’s hand and squeezed. “We’ll find her, won’t we?”
She nodded. We have no choice.
“Did you rest?”
“Couple hours. I did a little scouting last night.”
“Alone? Are you mad?”
“You forget who you’re speaking to, Soren. Aside, I found nothing but a roving wolf pack and a couple of harts.”
“I can’t lose you, too, Kaia.”
With a sigh, she closed her book on the Sev War. “We’ll find Alyndra. No one has lost anything.”
An awkward silence rose between them until Rafe joined their table. Son of Stonewood’s duke, Rafe knew little of rough travel and less of a sword, but he insisted on remaining with the captain of his guard, and Kaia wore his crest-the willow tree of her namesake, the goddess Ka'i-emblazoned on her breastplate with pride. “Any news?”
“She’s still unharmed. Still…safe, for now. But,” Kaia added, “I have no clue where they’re headed.”
“And you still think going to Hillard’s Keep is the best route to take?”
“Telling His Majesty about the Sevs will give us the manpower we’ll require to hunt them, thereby ensuring we find my sister more quickly.”
“And if he doesn’t believe us?” Soren’s voice was low, worried.
“We show him your scars from the attack. Magic scars burn blue.”
“But they didn’t…” Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Soren stared at his sister-in-law, the iron-willed Blade of the South. “You intend…”
“I’d do it to myself, but you were the one who saw the Sevs, battled them, would have been killed by them if they’d used magic.”
“Which begs the question…why didn’t they?” Rafe asked, green eyes fixed on Soren.
“Not now, Rafe.” Kaia shoved her book into a satchel and rose. She smoothed her hair over the jagged scar on her right cheek and adjusted the leather glove covering its mate on her right hand.
“I find it strange, Kaia. You don’t?”
“No, I don’t find it strange that three Sevs were unwilling to go head-to-head in a highly flammable forest with a healing sorceress nearby. Not elemental. Healing. She could’ve kept healing Soren all day, leaving the mages weak and powerless. You’ve seen what she can do.” A little too abruptly, Kaia rose. All eyes shot to her table again. She turned on her heel and left, eager for quiet and fresh air.
Behind her, she heard Soren say, “Let her go.”
The village of Florbrindt smelled of horses. During festival season, it smelled of horses and apple wine, Florbrindt’s specialty. Kaia debated a flagon before heading into the woods. Soren and Rafe could settle their differences while they caught up.
Kaia wanted to pretend she was the reason for their mutual disdain, but it was a pointless fantasy. No matter how she doted on Rafe, how many times she personally drove bandits from Stonewood, she would never earn his favor. That belonged to the great healer of Stonewood. Never the Blade.
There had been a point when Kaia worked alone. Though she had a commander to report to, her missions left her to her own devices. Sometimes, Cael wanted the target alive; more often than not, Kaia was allowed to dispatch death in whatever form she chose.
She didn’t enjoy killing, but it allowed her more intimacy than her dealings with the living. A wondrous thing, how close one person can feel to another while witnessing those precious last moments…
Kaia had wandered for miles before the boys, as she lovingly referred to them in her mind, caught up with her. She ignored them while she picked herbs for poultices. Their supply was too low for her taste. When they camped later, she’d set to work. Soon, they’d be in Hillard’s Keep, in the court of handsome King Isandor and beautiful Queen Lyra. Her Highness had just borne a son a few months back, a beautiful ruddy boy. She’d gone to the young prince’s coronation after His Majesty took his oaths to become king. Only days after the Old King’s death.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Rafe, thankful he’d traded his usual finery for a pair of tanned trousers and a tunic. Rough chain mail was the only armor he’d found on short notice, but it worked. She could protect him. She’d succeed with Rafe where she’d failed with Alyndra, at least until suspicion became fact.
He kept strange company. Known murderers, thieves, men who walked the fine line between illegal and immoral. Kaia had been present for more meetings between Rafe and a shady man known as the Wolf, and her gut told her the Wolf was nothing but trouble. A few lower lordlings had lost their lives or their land since the Wolf entered the picture.
And yet she’d allowed Rafe to accompany them. Easier to keep an eye on him, at least, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of danger that seemed to follow Rafe no matter where he went. She kept her eyes on the forest for movement, listened for crunching leaves and twigs, searched for traps. An assassin used every sense, and she wouldn’t be bested by a rogue group of poorly-trained hired killers.
As night fell, she and Soren made camp. Rafe couldn’t even pitch a tent. He watched while she unfurled the bedrolls and gathered stones for the fire pit. Soren swiftly put together the tents.
“Rafe, could you gather some firewood?” Soren asked. Kaia waited for Rafe to scoff at her brother-in-law, but he smiled and nodded. A small alarm sounded in Kaia’s mind. She waited for her lord to disappear into the shadows before she crept after him. “What are you doing?”
“Do you think it’s a good idea for him to go alone? He might bring back foxglove or some other poisonous plant and kill us all.”
“Good point.”
Kaia stayed a few lengths behind Rafe. She couldn’t let him see her. Her suspicions warred with her loyalty. Rumors said the old King Ilya had died from heart trouble, but his death came only weeks after Rafe started meeting with the Wolf. Coincidences never settled with her. Her stomach twisted every time she thought about the Wolf. Rafe had no idea what he was dealing with.
Up ahead, Rafe stopped. He looked around for a few minutes before making a strange whistling sound, almost like a high-pitched raven’s call. She blended into the trees. A few moments later, a man in a heavy fur-lined black cloak stepped into view.
In her time, Rafe’s family held the throne. All of the history books she’d read never mentioned King Isandor’s line, and his crest-the great golden falcon-had disappeared from the records. Surely her suspicions of him were wrong. She served him loyally. She loved him. He couldn’t be responsible for King Ilya’s death.
When the Wolf spoke, her illusions shattered. “You owe me, Stonewood,” he said, his voice gruff from too much whiskey. “The old bird is dead. His body is long since decayed. Where is my money?”
“In due time, Wolf. The nest hasn’t been cleared just yet.”
Kaia sensed the Wolf’s disappointment. He grunted. “You want me to kill the entire family? There’s not enough gold in the kingdom for that.”
“I paid you to secure the throne,” Rafe hissed. “You have killed an old man. His son still lives, and his son as well. You will kill them. Or I will kill you.”
Kaia felt like she’d been punched. Why did she have to be right? Quietly, she returned to camp. Perhaps when they arrived in Hillard’s Keep, she could steal a moment with the King and Queen and warn them against Rafe’s idiotic plan.
“Well, I see no foxglove, mandrake…” Soren’s grin faded when he saw the harsh lines marking Kaia’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s…it’s nothing. We’ll discuss it soon.”
“What, was Rafe having naughty liaisons in the forest?”
The look Kaia shot him could have killed him on the spot had she put power behind it. Soren cleared his throat and returned to sharpening his sword. Without another word, Kaia removed the herbs from her bag and stripped the leaves from the stems, then put the leaves in a spare pot. Using her gift, she pulled water from the ground to fill the pot, then drew fire from Soren to heat it. She sensed Soren’s eyes on her. Her magic had always troubled him-even Aly’s had troubled him-but he never spoke of it. Instead, he watched in silence and made his judgments in silence as well.
The smell of the leaves boiling set her at ease. Adira’s Rose wasn’t actually a flower, but the leaves were a vibrant red and silky like rose petals. Legends said that hundreds of years ago the Lady Adira had saved an entire village with the leaves of this plant, and once it was renamed for her, its true name was forgotten. Herbalists had been using it for healing potions ever since.
Once the leaves had turned a translucent white, Kaia released the heat from her hand. She sat the pot down and grabbed a few more supplies from her pack-a skimmer, two more herb bunches, a small cloth, and several empty glass bottles. She skimmed the leaves from the now-crimson water and gently placed them aside on the cloth. After the leaves dried, their fragrance would still be potent. She would save them for Aly. She had to keep faith.
Rafe returned after Kaia placed the briarwood branches in the pot to steep. He carried a minimal amount of firewood, but it would be enough to get them midway through the night. She’d be able to supplement the rest with her abilities. He was uncharacteristically silent, though. He dumped the firewood at Soren’s feet and disappeared into one of the tents. The Sev looked at Kaia, who shrugged her shoulders and continued working on her potions. She would wait to make her accusations.
Chapter One
For once, books failed to hold Kaia’s attention. She stared through the words, through the pages, through the leather binding into a world she’d fled. All around her, the screech and clamor of swords sweeping against swords, javelins and arrows plunking off armor, the screams of the injured and chilling silence of the dead filled the tavern, reverberating off the knotted wood and off her fears.
Three years without battle had done nothing to settle her. In fact, it’d made her worse-more cautious, more irritable. She’d chosen to hone her skills as one of the elite in Lord Rafe MacAlister’s personal guard, and though the dangers she faced were laughable compared to what she’d left behind, she still felt the need to protect everyone in her life. Her sister most fervently.
And she’d failed.
Soren descended the stairwell first. Beautiful Soren. Alyndra’s Soren. He could have been hers. Perhaps he should have been in different life. But as always, Alyndra’s beauty overpowered every part of her she believed worthy.
Covered in a cloak with the hood pulled over his rust-colored hair and shading his golden wolfish eyes, Soren took a seat under scrutinizing gazes. “Any luck?” he asked, hopeful.
Kaia’s eyes shot to the barkeep. He’d worked half the night and most of the morning with a smile, his hand periodically brushing against his coin purse, which held a small fortune thanks to the information he’d provided. When he noticed her stare, he smiled and inclined his head. “They were here,” she replied. “He remembers her being unharmed.”
Soren released a breath. “Good.” He took Kaia’s hand and squeezed. “We’ll find her, won’t we?”
She nodded. We have no choice.
“Did you rest?”
“Couple hours. I did a little scouting last night.”
“Alone? Are you mad?”
“You forget who you’re speaking to, Soren. Aside, I found nothing but a roving wolf pack and a couple of harts.”
“I can’t lose you, too, Kaia.”
With a sigh, she closed her book on the Sev War. “We’ll find Alyndra. No one has lost anything.”
An awkward silence rose between them until Rafe joined their table. Son of Stonewood’s duke, Rafe knew little of rough travel and less of a sword, but he insisted on remaining with the captain of his guard, and Kaia wore his crest-the willow tree of her namesake, the goddess Ka'i-emblazoned on her breastplate with pride. “Any news?”
“She’s still unharmed. Still…safe, for now. But,” Kaia added, “I have no clue where they’re headed.”
“And you still think going to Hillard’s Keep is the best route to take?”
“Telling His Majesty about the Sevs will give us the manpower we’ll require to hunt them, thereby ensuring we find my sister more quickly.”
“And if he doesn’t believe us?” Soren’s voice was low, worried.
“We show him your scars from the attack. Magic scars burn blue.”
“But they didn’t…” Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Soren stared at his sister-in-law, the iron-willed Blade of the South. “You intend…”
“I’d do it to myself, but you were the one who saw the Sevs, battled them, would have been killed by them if they’d used magic.”
“Which begs the question…why didn’t they?” Rafe asked, green eyes fixed on Soren.
“Not now, Rafe.” Kaia shoved her book into a satchel and rose. She smoothed her hair over the jagged scar on her right cheek and adjusted the leather glove covering its mate on her right hand.
“I find it strange, Kaia. You don’t?”
“No, I don’t find it strange that three Sevs were unwilling to go head-to-head in a highly flammable forest with a healing sorceress nearby. Not elemental. Healing. She could’ve kept healing Soren all day, leaving the mages weak and powerless. You’ve seen what she can do.” A little too abruptly, Kaia rose. All eyes shot to her table again. She turned on her heel and left, eager for quiet and fresh air.
Behind her, she heard Soren say, “Let her go.”
The village of Florbrindt smelled of horses. During festival season, it smelled of horses and apple wine, Florbrindt’s specialty. Kaia debated a flagon before heading into the woods. Soren and Rafe could settle their differences while they caught up.
Kaia wanted to pretend she was the reason for their mutual disdain, but it was a pointless fantasy. No matter how she doted on Rafe, how many times she personally drove bandits from Stonewood, she would never earn his favor. That belonged to the great healer of Stonewood. Never the Blade.
There had been a point when Kaia worked alone. Though she had a commander to report to, her missions left her to her own devices. Sometimes, Cael wanted the target alive; more often than not, Kaia was allowed to dispatch death in whatever form she chose.
She didn’t enjoy killing, but it allowed her more intimacy than her dealings with the living. A wondrous thing, how close one person can feel to another while witnessing those precious last moments…
Kaia had wandered for miles before the boys, as she lovingly referred to them in her mind, caught up with her. She ignored them while she picked herbs for poultices. Their supply was too low for her taste. When they camped later, she’d set to work. Soon, they’d be in Hillard’s Keep, in the court of handsome King Isandor and beautiful Queen Lyra. Her Highness had just borne a son a few months back, a beautiful ruddy boy. She’d gone to the young prince’s coronation after His Majesty took his oaths to become king. Only days after the Old King’s death.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Rafe, thankful he’d traded his usual finery for a pair of tanned trousers and a tunic. Rough chain mail was the only armor he’d found on short notice, but it worked. She could protect him. She’d succeed with Rafe where she’d failed with Alyndra, at least until suspicion became fact.
He kept strange company. Known murderers, thieves, men who walked the fine line between illegal and immoral. Kaia had been present for more meetings between Rafe and a shady man known as the Wolf, and her gut told her the Wolf was nothing but trouble. A few lower lordlings had lost their lives or their land since the Wolf entered the picture.
And yet she’d allowed Rafe to accompany them. Easier to keep an eye on him, at least, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of danger that seemed to follow Rafe no matter where he went. She kept her eyes on the forest for movement, listened for crunching leaves and twigs, searched for traps. An assassin used every sense, and she wouldn’t be bested by a rogue group of poorly-trained hired killers.
As night fell, she and Soren made camp. Rafe couldn’t even pitch a tent. He watched while she unfurled the bedrolls and gathered stones for the fire pit. Soren swiftly put together the tents.
“Rafe, could you gather some firewood?” Soren asked. Kaia waited for Rafe to scoff at her brother-in-law, but he smiled and nodded. A small alarm sounded in Kaia’s mind. She waited for her lord to disappear into the shadows before she crept after him. “What are you doing?”
“Do you think it’s a good idea for him to go alone? He might bring back foxglove or some other poisonous plant and kill us all.”
“Good point.”
Kaia stayed a few lengths behind Rafe. She couldn’t let him see her. Her suspicions warred with her loyalty. Rumors said the old King Ilya had died from heart trouble, but his death came only weeks after Rafe started meeting with the Wolf. Coincidences never settled with her. Her stomach twisted every time she thought about the Wolf. Rafe had no idea what he was dealing with.
Up ahead, Rafe stopped. He looked around for a few minutes before making a strange whistling sound, almost like a high-pitched raven’s call. She blended into the trees. A few moments later, a man in a heavy fur-lined black cloak stepped into view.
In her time, Rafe’s family held the throne. All of the history books she’d read never mentioned King Isandor’s line, and his crest-the great golden falcon-had disappeared from the records. Surely her suspicions of him were wrong. She served him loyally. She loved him. He couldn’t be responsible for King Ilya’s death.
When the Wolf spoke, her illusions shattered. “You owe me, Stonewood,” he said, his voice gruff from too much whiskey. “The old bird is dead. His body is long since decayed. Where is my money?”
“In due time, Wolf. The nest hasn’t been cleared just yet.”
Kaia sensed the Wolf’s disappointment. He grunted. “You want me to kill the entire family? There’s not enough gold in the kingdom for that.”
“I paid you to secure the throne,” Rafe hissed. “You have killed an old man. His son still lives, and his son as well. You will kill them. Or I will kill you.”
Kaia felt like she’d been punched. Why did she have to be right? Quietly, she returned to camp. Perhaps when they arrived in Hillard’s Keep, she could steal a moment with the King and Queen and warn them against Rafe’s idiotic plan.
“Well, I see no foxglove, mandrake…” Soren’s grin faded when he saw the harsh lines marking Kaia’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s…it’s nothing. We’ll discuss it soon.”
“What, was Rafe having naughty liaisons in the forest?”
The look Kaia shot him could have killed him on the spot had she put power behind it. Soren cleared his throat and returned to sharpening his sword. Without another word, Kaia removed the herbs from her bag and stripped the leaves from the stems, then put the leaves in a spare pot. Using her gift, she pulled water from the ground to fill the pot, then drew fire from Soren to heat it. She sensed Soren’s eyes on her. Her magic had always troubled him-even Aly’s had troubled him-but he never spoke of it. Instead, he watched in silence and made his judgments in silence as well.
The smell of the leaves boiling set her at ease. Adira’s Rose wasn’t actually a flower, but the leaves were a vibrant red and silky like rose petals. Legends said that hundreds of years ago the Lady Adira had saved an entire village with the leaves of this plant, and once it was renamed for her, its true name was forgotten. Herbalists had been using it for healing potions ever since.
Once the leaves had turned a translucent white, Kaia released the heat from her hand. She sat the pot down and grabbed a few more supplies from her pack-a skimmer, two more herb bunches, a small cloth, and several empty glass bottles. She skimmed the leaves from the now-crimson water and gently placed them aside on the cloth. After the leaves dried, their fragrance would still be potent. She would save them for Aly. She had to keep faith.
Rafe returned after Kaia placed the briarwood branches in the pot to steep. He carried a minimal amount of firewood, but it would be enough to get them midway through the night. She’d be able to supplement the rest with her abilities. He was uncharacteristically silent, though. He dumped the firewood at Soren’s feet and disappeared into one of the tents. The Sev looked at Kaia, who shrugged her shoulders and continued working on her potions. She would wait to make her accusations.