Page 19 of Aubade Rising
“You requested an escort today, did you not? You have essential business in the city, I’m told.” He leans casually against the palace doorway, his huge frame blocking my way in.
Security has been much stricter since the rebels claimed responsibility for the attacks and I am surprised my request was even granted.
“Yes, but not until later. I wasn’t expecting it to be you though.” This day is not going my way; I’ve had my fill of irritating men.
“I’m a palace guard.”
“You’re the Captain of the Guards, the King’s Verax.” I don’t buy his excuse for a second. “Well, I have to change. You can wait for me here.” I try to shake some of the dirt off my clothes as I walk past him but I don’t even make a difference. The salt spray coming off the distant ocean acts like glue and the rain pelting at my back isn’t helping either.
“You don’t look any different from normal to me,” he retorts,looking pleased with his comeback.
I roll my eyes at his obvious attempt to rile me. I’m not going to rise to it today.
Not the reaction he was hoping for evidently and he continues to block my path. “Does the offer to see your laboratory stand?”
I cross my arms and wait for an apology from him for running off last time and ignoring me for so long afterwards. It’s been three weeks now. I see him pacing round the palace, glowering. He still makes time over dinner to socialise with different women and is all smiles then, but this is the first time he’s acknowledged my offer. Haelyn hasn’t mentioned any library trysts, not that I’ve asked of course, but something or someone has been occupying his time. Although an apology is unlikely, some explanation would be nice.
He is nonplussed and evidently is going to need it spelled out for him.
“You ran off last time without so much as an apology or goodbye. Then you’ve been avoiding me ever since.”
“You want an apology?” His tone is surprisingly cold and my heart beats faster when faced with his unexpected anger. Clearly, I shouldn’t have assumed he’d got his bad mood out of his system.
“Preferably; an explanation would be nice too.” I’m not giving in on this one. Common courtesy or even communicating like an adult is surely not too much to ask. We must look ridiculous though, arguing by the entrance to the palace, neither willing to concede in the pouring rain.
“You’re being absurd.” He throws his hands up in disgust and walks back into the palace grounds.
I leave him to his fuming. If he wants to skulk around in the rain, then good for him. Hopefully, at some point, he’ll calm enough to see my point of view.
Chapter 18
It only takes one weak link to get what I want. Eventually, I found one ferryman willing to accept a bribe to take me into the city and away from the insufferable men in the palace after the captain didn’t show up to escort me. I stomp down the main street of Pentargon, viciously kicking detritus from the late winter storms out of my path. My hands and cheeks ache from the frozen salt hurled through the air by the churning ocean.
I manage to resubmit my request to visit Pentargon Library before it closes, the only positive in my day. I had to amend it to include Howl and the long lists of texts that Haelyn and he wish to view. My own list is somewhat shorter. Howl insists that he needs access if he is to find me the material that I need. Hopefully, this time I’ve overcome the librarians’ relentless bureaucracy and will be permitted inside. My hand is still cramping from filling in their endless paperwork. I shake off the lingering irritation from the King’s lack of awareness this morning and the rude and mercurial captain. Both are insufferable. I need chocolate.
My feet carry me further into the city, searching for the confectioner’s I used to visit when I was little. On the eve of one of the three annual festivals that Aubades celebrate, my mother would entice me to shut my books with the promise of a sweet treat. She would wrap Cedar and me up tightly, tucking our small hands into her coat pockets to brave the frigid air together before the journey to the little chocolate shop a few streets away. The shop was always warmly lit, glittering with foil wrappers: green for peppermint, blue for sea salt caramels and red for creamy fudge, sweetened with berries. We would huddle in thewarmth, carefully selecting one or two treats each, depending on the money my parents could spare, waiting for my father. I always made my decision quickly, loyal to those little crimson-wrapped sweets, but Cedar would take a while. He could never commit to one variety and my mother used to tease him that he’d eat the whole shop empty if he could.
The shop is cold and closed. Flickering streetlights scatter off the marbled glass windows as I press my face close to look inside. It must have been open until recently: the displays are empty but no dust has gathered. Frowning, I wipe away the condensation on the glass, straining to get a better look.
“They closed. Not long after the attacks.” I turn, stumbling. Cedar’s voice calls out to me from across the street. He’s wearing overalls and leans against his street cleaning cart. In the dark evening light, he looks like our father. My throat tightens. I turn back towards the closed shop before the perched tears are tempted to fall.
“A lot of places did.” His voice softens and I feel him by my shoulder. We look into the empty shop. “It’s Mis Genver tonight.”
“I know.” After tonight, spring will come. Mis Genver is held one month after the shortest day. Aubades can feel a noticeable difference as the sunlight strengthens in preparation for the warmer months. Traditionally, gatherings would be held to share out the remains of winter food stores, to bolster the village through the remaining hard days. At least, that’s what our mother always told us. It’s why I feel so unsettled: I’m full of winter blues and my magic and I are cranky.
“Fancy a drink?” Cedar offers as he packs up his cart, having reached the end of his shift. I nod sadly, glancing back towards the shuttered confectioners and follow him deeper into the city.
We sit in companionable silence over a pint of what is supposedly fruit cider, although the fruit used is of debatable origin, given the smell that erupted from the dusty cask. Nevertheless, it tastes better than it looks and it’s potent enough to evaporate the winter chill from my bones as my fingers regain sensation. I am surprised that the tavern is open – most of the city is in lockdown, still reeling from the rebels coming forward nearly a month ago but, as Cedar crudely points out, you can’t police alcohol and having a good time.
Shifting in his seat, I notice his pint is empty. He’s looking awkwardly over his shoulder as the tavern becomes more crowded.
“Got somewhere to be?” I tease, swirling the dregs at the bottom of my glass.
“Yes, actually.”
I purse my lips. Mis Genver night is meant to be spent with family. I appreciate we’re not close but I’m sure there are not many Aubades in the city who will be marking the occasion.
“I’ve promised to stop by a friend’s establishment. A group of us are planning to celebrate together. One of us is performing.”
