Page 13 of To Touch A Silent Fury
He offered me his hand, and I took it, feeling his heart pounding beneath the thin skin of his wrist and the layers of fear beneath that. “Was that Skirmtold?”
I didn’t share his terror. I was alarmed, yes, but beyond that, there was only interest. Maybe all my time in the library over the last season had twisted my mind, until all I had left was curiosity.
“No,” I said. I would remember Skirmtold’s near-black hulking wings anywhere, spreading across the clouds. This dragon was younger by far, with glittering ruby scales. “I think it was Chaethor.”
Seth looked at me with even more terror, and through our touch I felt his fear spike, but something else flickered along with it. Worry. Guilt, even. Then it was gone as quickly as it arose.
He knew what Chaethor meant. Everyone knew who rode that red dragon.
The Dragon Prince had come to Eavenfold.
4
Tani
Iwaited, stood entirely still, in the antechamber of the South Wing as dawn broke on the first day of Ergreen.
Today marked twenty years since my birth. All of my Brothers were born on the first day of a season, at midnight when the moon was at its fullest. There was no equality over which land might be given the touch of the moon that night, and not all welcomed its children. The less spoken of the Soundlander practice of leaving the infants out in the snow, the better. Some years the Brotherhood brought all five Moontouched to Eavenfold; some years, none.
I scratched my nose, fidgeting with the beaded veil covering half my face. It was unexpected, finding the beads lying on my bed last night, not least because it required someone to remember I existed. There was a small note to accompany it, which simply read:For Propriety.
Though I did not recognise the penmanship, I recognised the garment from illustrations of the women of Droundhaven.If I had any uncertainty about the identity of Eavenfold’s new guest, this rid me of it. It was a custom in the Sightlands that unmarried women covered their faces in public from their first bleed until their wedding day. The first glimpse of a woman’s face was reserved for the wedding and was a sacred rite for those brought up with the Sightlander customs.
It wasn’t usually expected of visitors. Clearly, the Threads were overcompensating in their diligence to their esteemed patrons. I put it on nonetheless, the beads hanging down from the bridge of my nose, covering everything below my white eyes.
The Ergreen dawn bells ended their twinkling refrain, and someone pulled the doors open from the inside. My heart fluttered as I saw the five Threads sat behind a grand wooden bench in various states of alertness. Light came through pocked glass windows behind them, and the wooden floor had been recently swabbed.
Unless chosen to serve a Thread, this was the one and only time I would be invited into this hall.
My hands shook as I stepped inside, my steps echoing in the silence. I walked straight to the centre of the hall, as Seth had advised me, and stopped before the carved wooden plinth. I ducked my head in deference, which gave me the perfect excuse to study the carved floor under the plinth. Five thin lines engraved in its base in a V shape, like geese. Each path was only the width of my thumb; a metal tube cut lengthways and set into the floor, reaching from the plinth to the edge of the Threads’ bench, ready to carry my blood in their tracks.
I heard a chair shift from behind me and fought the urge to turn and look. No one had said anything about there being anyone else in the hall, every account I’d heard only mentioned the Threads. I put it to the back of my mind. I couldn’t afford the distraction.
I glanced up at them through my lowered eyes as Thread Isillim stood from the middle position. He was the youngest of the five, not yet eight spans to his name. From his strong brow, I supposed he could be considered handsome. But the sternness of his birdlike features coupled with his scattered white Mark covering a third of his face made him unnerving to behold. I hoped whatever Mark the Fates bestowed when I made my Fate was less… off-putting. His was a forked lightning bolt, starting at his right hairline and splaying heavily across his cheek, but the irregularity of it against his pale Sightlander skin always reminded me more of a painful scarring burn, and not a powerful weather storm.
He cleared his throat. “Tanidwen Treleftir, unbound Brother, you are welcomed on the first day of your fourth span to be bound to your Fate.”
Brother. I had wondered if today might be the day they called me sister, but it seemed they were determined to change none of the words.
I scanned the other Threads, catching the white eyes of both Groulin and Rasturnin, both watching me with a rare curiosity. That pair had taught me and my fellow Brothers until my third span. Whilst many of the boys stayed in class right up until their Ceremony, I had been permitted to transition to independent studies with minimal oversight for the last five years. I liked to believe it was due to their faith in my work ethic and intellect, but I knew it was far more to do with not having to deal with a girl in the class. Say what you like about Braxthorn, but he had chosen well on the Threads, since none of them had even the remotest interest in spending time around women.
“Open the top of the wooden box before you,” Thread Isillim commanded.
I looked down at the plinth then, the simply carved rectangular prism extending to my waist. On its top, lay a smaller woodenbox. I opened it, the stiff hinge reminding me of Sollie’s music box. But there was no dusty dancer inside, only a thick needle, its sharp end pointed straight up.
“You come here to be measured and bound. From your words and your blood, your path will be determined. Pierce your wrist upon the needle.”
I swallowed, my fingers shaking a little as I lifted my hand. I was so consumed with not making a noise, or crying out, that I forgot to breathe. I inhaled twice and then lanced the needle into my right wrist.
The pain was sharp but bearable, with a cold itchiness I wanted to move away from. Instead, I forced myself to look at the Thread of Death. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see my blood start to pool in the lines below, I’d heard of boys fainting from that sight alone. The quicker I answered my questions, the quicker I could remove my wrist.
“Will you accept the Fate you are given later today?” Isillim asked.
“I will,” I said, proud my voice did not crack.
“And will you endeavour to answer all questions to the best of your ability?”
“I will,” I lied.
