Winged Knight
Still just a crazy man with a wolf on his head
- Location
- Texas
Hello again! I have recently self-published my second book, Bladedancer! You can follow that link to find it on Amazon, but if you'd prefer to buy it elsewhere I also have the book on DriveThruFiction and Google Books.
Adalia Lisbet has made a name for herself as a duelist after being forced from her home over ten years ago. She has even reached the title of Bladedancer, showing her mastery in the art of swordplay. But when her father, the man who banished her, calls her back to his house she is confronted with trials no sword can cut.
Back among a family she thought she would never see again, Adalia risks collapsing beneath the weight of memory. But alongside a history of grief are also moments of triumph. She has traveled across the land, testing herself against foes both mundane and fantastic. Will despair drag Adalia under, or will she rise above to grasp the possibility of hope?
Much like with the thread for Desolate Company, my first book, here is a teaser with Chapter 1. If you like adventure, swordplay, and family drama then I'm sure you'll enjoy it!
The sun was setting when Adalia Lisbet returned home.
She glowered up at the walls of the fortified manor, easily more than twice her height on horseback. It had not changed in the time she had been gone, still tall and imposing. Every wall was intersected by a tower, atop which were cannons ready to rain death upon ground carefully cleared. A guardhouse sat just within the open gate. The roads leading up to the manor were flat, and ivy was kept off the walls so they could not slowly tear at stone and mortar. Everything was in its place, just as the lord of the house preferred it to be.
Which begs the question, Adalia thought to herself, as she pressed her lips into a thin line. Where do I fit into that vision?
The sounds of the nearby town pulled to her, people preparing food and drink to go with a night's entertainment of music and dancing, enticing Adalia to put off this homecoming and perhaps come in the morning after she'd drunk herself into a stupor. Hardly anyone in the town would recognize her, not with the surname she'd chosen and over ten years of growth, so she could just allow herself to get lost in the revelry of a day's end. Then again, this wouldn't be any easier with a hangover and she had made certain promises…
A gust of wind blew with the touch of approaching autumn, bringing with it the crisp scent of falling leaves, and Adalia shivered against the chill. Her horse shook its head, one eye fixed upon her, and she sighed.
"All right, I get it," Adalia said, rubbing the beast's warm neck. "There's no use putting this off any longer."
Three men were at the gatehouse as she approached, shortswords at their belts, their halberds leaning against the wall. Each wore a gambeson with the heraldry of the house emblazoned on the left side just over the heart, a bear rearing upon its hind legs holding a spear. Two of the men were intensely focused on a game of checkers. The other read a book of poetry, the name on the cover bringing a smile to Adalia's lips before she could help herself.
None of the men looked up at her, but Adalia knew she was being watched. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement atop the closest tower. She had obviously drawn their notice on her way to the manor. Crossbows were almost certainly at the ready, perhaps even arquebuses if the master of the house had come into good fortune and trained his people in their use. It was not outside the realm of possibility here, barely more than a hundred miles from the border with Grasce.
"If you've business with the Baron then you'll need to come back tomorrow," the man with the book said, turning a page. "He's retired for the evening."
"Baron Gerhard will wish to see me."
"Really now?" the guard who seemed to be losing the checkers game asked, pushing the pieces toward the winner and tossing a silver coin on the table which the other man swiftly snatched. "And how do you figure that?"
Adalia pulled the letter from inside her coat and said, "Because he asked me to come."
The guard holding the book snapped it closed, tilting his head up to look Adalia in the eye. He was an older man, gray beginning to creep in at his temples and beard, but his gaze was sharp. His brow furrowed as he walked to where she still sat on her horse and held out his hand.
She gave the letter over, the cracked wax seal showing the same heraldry as that adorning the guard's armor. The same emblem was set at the bottom of the letter, as if to doubly confirm its authenticity, though in truth the signature would have been enough. Those who served here and were literate would know their master's hand.
"God preserve me," the man said, stroking his beard as he read quickly over the words on the page. He looked back up at her. "He really did call you back."
All the guards were looking at her now. One rested a hand gently on the hilt of his sword. The other narrowed his eyes, as if taking offense to Adalia's intrusion upon what had likely been a relatively uneventful day.
"Yes," Adalia said, dismounting and handing the reins of her horse over to the loser of the checkers game. He scowled, but took his hand from his weapon to grab them. "He did. Now, I've been traveling for a good few weeks and would greatly appreciate getting settled before he drags me into whatever nonsense he's gotten into his head he feels he needs me for. So may I assume I can enter without getting shot to death?"
"Watch your tongue," the winner of the game said, coming to stand next to the older man, who was clearly in charge of the gatehouse. He set his hands on his hips, scowling at Adalia. "He's been in an awful state the past few months, and I won't see you-"
"That's enough, Erwin," the older guard said, folding the letter and handing it back to Adalia. He waved a hand to the towers, and Adalia let out a quiet sigh of relief when the attention of the archers shifted away from her and back to the road. "It's the Baron's business, not ours. See her inside."
The guard named Erwin grumbled at that, but led Adalia inside what had once been her home. No one tried to relieve her of the saber at her belt or the kriegsmesser strapped across her back. She was granted this privilege by the largesse of the Baron, and by respect for the title she had earned through her own sweat and toil.
"Can't believe that little slip of a girl became a Bladedancer," the gatehouse commander muttered under his breath, but Adalia heard it all the same. "May the smoke of God's immutable fire carry my soul to heaven, but we live in strange times."
The smile that slashed Adalia's lips was bitter as Erwin opened the heavy door for her, equal parts pride and anger warring against each other as he led her into the hallway that opened into the foyer. The marble floor shone in the fading light from the small window above the door, their footsteps echoing as Erwin led her to the staircase carved with stylized bear heads at the railings, and Adalia realized she wasn't going to get a chance to ready herself before meeting the Baron.
She schooled her expression, keeping her face as impassive as she could as they passed by grand paintings of previous Barons and Baronesses dating back to when the Fae had left the world. Older, tattered wall hangings detailing events of the family from before they had held these lands replaced the paintings as they made their way to the Baron's study. These portrayed winged beasts and monsters of many limbs and eyes. The only things that stood between them and collections of thatched huts were brave men and women wielding all manner of weapons.
The playthings of the Fae left to run rampant. It strained credulity to think such creatures had once been real, but her own experiences and every surviving record confirmed their truth. She'd hidden behind those tapestries once, playing hide and seek with her older brother. But that had been so long ago now, and –
Erwin opened the study door and said, "My lord Baron, your guest has arrived."
The man who turned to face Adalia was and was not the man she remembered. He still showed firm strength, but his huge barrel chest had shrunk with age, and his stomach sagged into the beginning of a paunch. The wrinkles of his face had softened and droop as much as his stomach. But the biggest change was his hair.
"You've gone gray," Adalia said, stopping herself short with a barely audible hiss after the words escaped her lips. She stepped into the room and bowed. "As you have requested, Baron Gerhard, I have come."
Artur Gerhard set aside the book he had been reading and stood, coming to his full height. This, Adalia remembered well, for the man still loomed over her. But to find him here in the study was strange. She recalled this as more a place for her mother, the musty smell of paper and leather hiding the multitude of secrets held within creased pages. In her mind, the scent of lavender rested beneath, always carefully washed into her mother's hair by the maids as Adalia sat in her lap listening to stories of monsters and heroes.
"Is that really necessary, Adalia?" Artur Gerhard asked. "Will you not call me father?"
Adalia shook herself from old memories, straightening to look Artur in the eye. "I believe it was you, lord, who said I was not your daughter."
"Hey now!" Erwin scowled as he reached for Adalia's arm. "You had best show some respect, or–"
"That will be all, Erwin," the Baron said, holding up a hand. "You've done well in announcing my guest, so get yourself some refreshment before heading back to your post."
Erwin stopped short, thick fingers opening and closing helplessly just shy of Adalia's arm. She looked over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow. The man took a deep breath and closed his hand, bringing it over his chest to bow to the Baron before making his exit.
Adalia watched him leave, waiting until the doors were closed before saying, "There was a time you would have taken that man to task for speaking so boldly out of turn."
"Times change, Adalia."
"Do they?" she asked, acid pooling in her mouth to drip with every word. "And is the same true of people? Do you seek repentance for casting me out after my mother died?" She clenched her fists, lips curling into a sneer. "Am I to weep grateful tears and kiss your cheeks as I forgive your transgressions against a child who never understood why her father hated her? Is that why I am here, Baron Gerhard?"
Artur flinched as if struck, a full-body tremor that almost forced him back into the chair behind him. The muscles in his neck clenched as he ground his teeth, obviously taking a moment to compose himself before saying, "I see you've thought long about what you would say to me should we meet again."
"This isn't even half of it," Adalia said. She ran a hand through her long brown hair and sighed, forcing herself to relax. "But this isn't the time. I'm tired and my thoughts are wandering. I've been on the road too long and I need to rest before I'm going to be fit company, no matter my feelings."
"I was hoping you might join the family for dinner tonight."
"That isn't a good idea," Adalia replied. "Just… Give me the night to get myself together. I'll join everyone for breakfast in the morning, you and I will probably yell at each other a few hours after that, and then we'll get on with our lives without ever having to see one another again."
"I'd rather avoid that," Artur said, sitting back down. He frowned, twisting the wrinkles on his face into a somber expression. "But fine. I understand. You've the run of the manor. Refresh yourself as you wish. One of the servants will direct you to your rooms."
"Avoid? If you'd wanted to–" Adalia took a deep breath, stifling the words even as they pushed against her lips. She forced them down with effort, swallowing so they sank deep into her stomach rather than spill out into the air, and said, "Until then, Baron Gerhard."
Adalia turned and walked to the door, trying not to listen as the baron let out a sigh. She could see it in her mind, even as she walked out into the hallway: Artur's hand settling over his eyes with his face turned up toward the ceiling, his shoulders, so broad and strong even at this age, slumping with weariness.
She tried not to care as she walked down the hall under the watchful eyes of all those men and women who had come before, the weight of history judging her actions. She tried not to recognize the pit of ice in her stomach, the claws of guilt that clutched at her heart. Tried not to listen to the voice of the little girl inside her screaming silently that this was her father and that she was hurting him.
But he had hurt her first. He had abandoned her, left her to fend for herself with a pittance to her name. As if coin alone could make up for neglect, could bury confusion and grief for losing not one parent at her mother's deathbed, but two.
She leaned against the stairs, breathing in and out slowly. Minutes passed as she fought for control over the frantic beating of her heart and white-hot anger, against all the words she had left unsaid turning rancid in the back of her throat. One breath, and then another, before finally the heat inside of her faded to more manageable embers rather than the inferno her meeting with the Baron had stoked it to.
"Clean up, then sleep," she muttered. "And you'll be gone tomorrow."
A short time later found Adalia at the baths, the tiled floor cold against her naked feet as she stripped before one of three holes with copper pipes set at one end. The cramped room adorned with mosaics of nymphs and dragons was much as she remembered it. Adalia settled on the steps of one of the baths and pulled the cord that signaled for the water to come. There was a gurgling sound from the pipe as water was drawn from a large copper-bottomed tank with hot coals set beneath to warm it, and finally, with a burst of steam, the tub began to fill.
None of the baths were particularly large, but they did not need to be. Adalia sighed and leaned back against the rim as the water slowly came up her legs, then up to her waist. Closing her eyes to better luxuriate in the opportunity to just relax after so many days of riding. Reclining as she was, the water rose to her chest, granting further relief as heat chased away all the little hurts she had accumulated over years of hard living. The callouses on her hands and feet, the lingering tenderness where blades had kissed her flesh, and even just the aches in her spine from sleeping on lumpy beds or in the elements with only a blanket to cushion her from the ground.
The water flowing from the pipe ceased, but steam lingered as the heat clashed with the coolness of the oncoming evening. Tight muscles, bound over her bones like rope and honed through years of swordplay, loosened as Adalia allowed herself to finally relax. As her skin flushed red, soaking in warmth and wet, pale lines grew more apparent over her body as they resisted the change in pallor. Adalia grunted and scratched at a few of them as they itched, reminding her that some aches would not fade away so easily.
"You have a lot of scars."
Still lounging against the tiled steps of the bath, Adalia opened one eye and looked toward the voice. A young girl, perhaps a bit more than ten years old, was squatting nearby with her elbows on her knees, resting her chin in her palms. Her dress was a pale yellow, growing damp in the steam, and its fine make along with her wide face revealed her parentage as easily as a proclamation. Only her eyes and hair did not resemble the Baron's, gray and brown respectively like Adalia's own.
It was almost like looking in a mirror, if that mirror revealed the past, although Adalia's face was sharper. But this child had not yet grown into her fullness, and life would whittle away at the tenderness of youth. Once more Adalia's heart began to beat faster, pushing against the relaxation brought on by the baths. Adalia had never seen this girl before, but knew who she was even if she didn't know her name. After all, she had come into the world the same day Adalia's own had ended. She had survived where their mother had not.
That was not the child's fault. Adalia knew this, but could not help a venomous whisper of envy twisting its way up her stomach to clash against the desire to hold this little girl close. She forced it down like she did the lump gathering in her throat, looking at the girl who was so much like herself before everything went wrong.
"You're not surprised?" The girl pouted. "I was hoping I might sneak up on you."
"You did a good job covering your entrance with all the noise from the pipes," Adalia said, lips curving into a smile as she did her best not to let her feeling show on her face. "But the air shifted when you opened the door, letting in a draft."
"Oh, damn." The girl stood and stamped her foot. "I didn't think of that."
"Most people wouldn't," Adalia said, sitting up and stretching her arms out over her head. Her joints let out satisfying pops before she settled back into the water, and the physical relief helped settle some of the confusion boiling away inside. "It's always the little things that give one away."
"I'll remember that in the future," the girl said. "My name is Franka and I've been told we're sisters."
"You've been told correctly," Adalia said. "We have the same mother."
Franka frowned. "Just the same mother?"
Deciding it wasn't a subject she cared to discuss, Adalia lifted an arm, showing off toned muscle that flexed with her every movement. "You were curious about my scars. I'll admit I've gathered quite a few of them over the years. It comes with being a duelist."
"But you're more than a duelist, right?" Franka asked, squatting down once more. "I heard you came in with two swords, that you're a Bladedancer."
"Indeed I am," Adalia said, lowering her arm. "Though I'll admit I sometimes wonder if that just means I have a bit more leeway in determining what kind of scars I get."
"What about that scar?" Franka asked, motioning to Adalia's stomach. "That one looks dreadful."
Adalia looked down at the gash, an ugly pale thing that resembled roots branching off from the base of a tree. Those roots started just beneath her ribs, reaching out and down as if grasping at her flesh.
She rested a hand over the scar. "That is what remains of a lesson I learned the hard way."
Franka's eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light as she leaned closer. "What was the lesson?"
"Never mistake cruelty for being clever."
The little girl blinked, then puffed up her cheeks in irritation. "You're hiding behind twisty words! I hate it when adults do that! It always means they think I'm too young to understand what's going on. I'm almost thirteen, I'll have you know, so don't think I'll just let you get away with avoiding proper answers!"
"All right, all right," Adalia said, laughter in her voice as she raised her hands to fend off Franka's ire before the girl could properly build herself up to a full tantrum. "Big sister will tell you the story of what happened. It's the least I can do for teasing you, and you've likely never spent much time away from the manor or the town. Now listen closely, because I'm only going to say this once, or I'll get all pruny from sitting in this bath too long. It all started in a town by the Blauwyrm called Heimstade. Let me tell you about it…"
Adalia Lisbet has made a name for herself as a duelist after being forced from her home over ten years ago. She has even reached the title of Bladedancer, showing her mastery in the art of swordplay. But when her father, the man who banished her, calls her back to his house she is confronted with trials no sword can cut.
Back among a family she thought she would never see again, Adalia risks collapsing beneath the weight of memory. But alongside a history of grief are also moments of triumph. She has traveled across the land, testing herself against foes both mundane and fantastic. Will despair drag Adalia under, or will she rise above to grasp the possibility of hope?
Much like with the thread for Desolate Company, my first book, here is a teaser with Chapter 1. If you like adventure, swordplay, and family drama then I'm sure you'll enjoy it!
The sun was setting when Adalia Lisbet returned home.
She glowered up at the walls of the fortified manor, easily more than twice her height on horseback. It had not changed in the time she had been gone, still tall and imposing. Every wall was intersected by a tower, atop which were cannons ready to rain death upon ground carefully cleared. A guardhouse sat just within the open gate. The roads leading up to the manor were flat, and ivy was kept off the walls so they could not slowly tear at stone and mortar. Everything was in its place, just as the lord of the house preferred it to be.
Which begs the question, Adalia thought to herself, as she pressed her lips into a thin line. Where do I fit into that vision?
The sounds of the nearby town pulled to her, people preparing food and drink to go with a night's entertainment of music and dancing, enticing Adalia to put off this homecoming and perhaps come in the morning after she'd drunk herself into a stupor. Hardly anyone in the town would recognize her, not with the surname she'd chosen and over ten years of growth, so she could just allow herself to get lost in the revelry of a day's end. Then again, this wouldn't be any easier with a hangover and she had made certain promises…
A gust of wind blew with the touch of approaching autumn, bringing with it the crisp scent of falling leaves, and Adalia shivered against the chill. Her horse shook its head, one eye fixed upon her, and she sighed.
"All right, I get it," Adalia said, rubbing the beast's warm neck. "There's no use putting this off any longer."
Three men were at the gatehouse as she approached, shortswords at their belts, their halberds leaning against the wall. Each wore a gambeson with the heraldry of the house emblazoned on the left side just over the heart, a bear rearing upon its hind legs holding a spear. Two of the men were intensely focused on a game of checkers. The other read a book of poetry, the name on the cover bringing a smile to Adalia's lips before she could help herself.
None of the men looked up at her, but Adalia knew she was being watched. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement atop the closest tower. She had obviously drawn their notice on her way to the manor. Crossbows were almost certainly at the ready, perhaps even arquebuses if the master of the house had come into good fortune and trained his people in their use. It was not outside the realm of possibility here, barely more than a hundred miles from the border with Grasce.
"If you've business with the Baron then you'll need to come back tomorrow," the man with the book said, turning a page. "He's retired for the evening."
"Baron Gerhard will wish to see me."
"Really now?" the guard who seemed to be losing the checkers game asked, pushing the pieces toward the winner and tossing a silver coin on the table which the other man swiftly snatched. "And how do you figure that?"
Adalia pulled the letter from inside her coat and said, "Because he asked me to come."
The guard holding the book snapped it closed, tilting his head up to look Adalia in the eye. He was an older man, gray beginning to creep in at his temples and beard, but his gaze was sharp. His brow furrowed as he walked to where she still sat on her horse and held out his hand.
She gave the letter over, the cracked wax seal showing the same heraldry as that adorning the guard's armor. The same emblem was set at the bottom of the letter, as if to doubly confirm its authenticity, though in truth the signature would have been enough. Those who served here and were literate would know their master's hand.
"God preserve me," the man said, stroking his beard as he read quickly over the words on the page. He looked back up at her. "He really did call you back."
All the guards were looking at her now. One rested a hand gently on the hilt of his sword. The other narrowed his eyes, as if taking offense to Adalia's intrusion upon what had likely been a relatively uneventful day.
"Yes," Adalia said, dismounting and handing the reins of her horse over to the loser of the checkers game. He scowled, but took his hand from his weapon to grab them. "He did. Now, I've been traveling for a good few weeks and would greatly appreciate getting settled before he drags me into whatever nonsense he's gotten into his head he feels he needs me for. So may I assume I can enter without getting shot to death?"
"Watch your tongue," the winner of the game said, coming to stand next to the older man, who was clearly in charge of the gatehouse. He set his hands on his hips, scowling at Adalia. "He's been in an awful state the past few months, and I won't see you-"
"That's enough, Erwin," the older guard said, folding the letter and handing it back to Adalia. He waved a hand to the towers, and Adalia let out a quiet sigh of relief when the attention of the archers shifted away from her and back to the road. "It's the Baron's business, not ours. See her inside."
The guard named Erwin grumbled at that, but led Adalia inside what had once been her home. No one tried to relieve her of the saber at her belt or the kriegsmesser strapped across her back. She was granted this privilege by the largesse of the Baron, and by respect for the title she had earned through her own sweat and toil.
"Can't believe that little slip of a girl became a Bladedancer," the gatehouse commander muttered under his breath, but Adalia heard it all the same. "May the smoke of God's immutable fire carry my soul to heaven, but we live in strange times."
The smile that slashed Adalia's lips was bitter as Erwin opened the heavy door for her, equal parts pride and anger warring against each other as he led her into the hallway that opened into the foyer. The marble floor shone in the fading light from the small window above the door, their footsteps echoing as Erwin led her to the staircase carved with stylized bear heads at the railings, and Adalia realized she wasn't going to get a chance to ready herself before meeting the Baron.
She schooled her expression, keeping her face as impassive as she could as they passed by grand paintings of previous Barons and Baronesses dating back to when the Fae had left the world. Older, tattered wall hangings detailing events of the family from before they had held these lands replaced the paintings as they made their way to the Baron's study. These portrayed winged beasts and monsters of many limbs and eyes. The only things that stood between them and collections of thatched huts were brave men and women wielding all manner of weapons.
The playthings of the Fae left to run rampant. It strained credulity to think such creatures had once been real, but her own experiences and every surviving record confirmed their truth. She'd hidden behind those tapestries once, playing hide and seek with her older brother. But that had been so long ago now, and –
Erwin opened the study door and said, "My lord Baron, your guest has arrived."
The man who turned to face Adalia was and was not the man she remembered. He still showed firm strength, but his huge barrel chest had shrunk with age, and his stomach sagged into the beginning of a paunch. The wrinkles of his face had softened and droop as much as his stomach. But the biggest change was his hair.
"You've gone gray," Adalia said, stopping herself short with a barely audible hiss after the words escaped her lips. She stepped into the room and bowed. "As you have requested, Baron Gerhard, I have come."
Artur Gerhard set aside the book he had been reading and stood, coming to his full height. This, Adalia remembered well, for the man still loomed over her. But to find him here in the study was strange. She recalled this as more a place for her mother, the musty smell of paper and leather hiding the multitude of secrets held within creased pages. In her mind, the scent of lavender rested beneath, always carefully washed into her mother's hair by the maids as Adalia sat in her lap listening to stories of monsters and heroes.
"Is that really necessary, Adalia?" Artur Gerhard asked. "Will you not call me father?"
Adalia shook herself from old memories, straightening to look Artur in the eye. "I believe it was you, lord, who said I was not your daughter."
"Hey now!" Erwin scowled as he reached for Adalia's arm. "You had best show some respect, or–"
"That will be all, Erwin," the Baron said, holding up a hand. "You've done well in announcing my guest, so get yourself some refreshment before heading back to your post."
Erwin stopped short, thick fingers opening and closing helplessly just shy of Adalia's arm. She looked over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow. The man took a deep breath and closed his hand, bringing it over his chest to bow to the Baron before making his exit.
Adalia watched him leave, waiting until the doors were closed before saying, "There was a time you would have taken that man to task for speaking so boldly out of turn."
"Times change, Adalia."
"Do they?" she asked, acid pooling in her mouth to drip with every word. "And is the same true of people? Do you seek repentance for casting me out after my mother died?" She clenched her fists, lips curling into a sneer. "Am I to weep grateful tears and kiss your cheeks as I forgive your transgressions against a child who never understood why her father hated her? Is that why I am here, Baron Gerhard?"
Artur flinched as if struck, a full-body tremor that almost forced him back into the chair behind him. The muscles in his neck clenched as he ground his teeth, obviously taking a moment to compose himself before saying, "I see you've thought long about what you would say to me should we meet again."
"This isn't even half of it," Adalia said. She ran a hand through her long brown hair and sighed, forcing herself to relax. "But this isn't the time. I'm tired and my thoughts are wandering. I've been on the road too long and I need to rest before I'm going to be fit company, no matter my feelings."
"I was hoping you might join the family for dinner tonight."
"That isn't a good idea," Adalia replied. "Just… Give me the night to get myself together. I'll join everyone for breakfast in the morning, you and I will probably yell at each other a few hours after that, and then we'll get on with our lives without ever having to see one another again."
"I'd rather avoid that," Artur said, sitting back down. He frowned, twisting the wrinkles on his face into a somber expression. "But fine. I understand. You've the run of the manor. Refresh yourself as you wish. One of the servants will direct you to your rooms."
"Avoid? If you'd wanted to–" Adalia took a deep breath, stifling the words even as they pushed against her lips. She forced them down with effort, swallowing so they sank deep into her stomach rather than spill out into the air, and said, "Until then, Baron Gerhard."
Adalia turned and walked to the door, trying not to listen as the baron let out a sigh. She could see it in her mind, even as she walked out into the hallway: Artur's hand settling over his eyes with his face turned up toward the ceiling, his shoulders, so broad and strong even at this age, slumping with weariness.
She tried not to care as she walked down the hall under the watchful eyes of all those men and women who had come before, the weight of history judging her actions. She tried not to recognize the pit of ice in her stomach, the claws of guilt that clutched at her heart. Tried not to listen to the voice of the little girl inside her screaming silently that this was her father and that she was hurting him.
But he had hurt her first. He had abandoned her, left her to fend for herself with a pittance to her name. As if coin alone could make up for neglect, could bury confusion and grief for losing not one parent at her mother's deathbed, but two.
She leaned against the stairs, breathing in and out slowly. Minutes passed as she fought for control over the frantic beating of her heart and white-hot anger, against all the words she had left unsaid turning rancid in the back of her throat. One breath, and then another, before finally the heat inside of her faded to more manageable embers rather than the inferno her meeting with the Baron had stoked it to.
"Clean up, then sleep," she muttered. "And you'll be gone tomorrow."
A short time later found Adalia at the baths, the tiled floor cold against her naked feet as she stripped before one of three holes with copper pipes set at one end. The cramped room adorned with mosaics of nymphs and dragons was much as she remembered it. Adalia settled on the steps of one of the baths and pulled the cord that signaled for the water to come. There was a gurgling sound from the pipe as water was drawn from a large copper-bottomed tank with hot coals set beneath to warm it, and finally, with a burst of steam, the tub began to fill.
None of the baths were particularly large, but they did not need to be. Adalia sighed and leaned back against the rim as the water slowly came up her legs, then up to her waist. Closing her eyes to better luxuriate in the opportunity to just relax after so many days of riding. Reclining as she was, the water rose to her chest, granting further relief as heat chased away all the little hurts she had accumulated over years of hard living. The callouses on her hands and feet, the lingering tenderness where blades had kissed her flesh, and even just the aches in her spine from sleeping on lumpy beds or in the elements with only a blanket to cushion her from the ground.
The water flowing from the pipe ceased, but steam lingered as the heat clashed with the coolness of the oncoming evening. Tight muscles, bound over her bones like rope and honed through years of swordplay, loosened as Adalia allowed herself to finally relax. As her skin flushed red, soaking in warmth and wet, pale lines grew more apparent over her body as they resisted the change in pallor. Adalia grunted and scratched at a few of them as they itched, reminding her that some aches would not fade away so easily.
"You have a lot of scars."
Still lounging against the tiled steps of the bath, Adalia opened one eye and looked toward the voice. A young girl, perhaps a bit more than ten years old, was squatting nearby with her elbows on her knees, resting her chin in her palms. Her dress was a pale yellow, growing damp in the steam, and its fine make along with her wide face revealed her parentage as easily as a proclamation. Only her eyes and hair did not resemble the Baron's, gray and brown respectively like Adalia's own.
It was almost like looking in a mirror, if that mirror revealed the past, although Adalia's face was sharper. But this child had not yet grown into her fullness, and life would whittle away at the tenderness of youth. Once more Adalia's heart began to beat faster, pushing against the relaxation brought on by the baths. Adalia had never seen this girl before, but knew who she was even if she didn't know her name. After all, she had come into the world the same day Adalia's own had ended. She had survived where their mother had not.
That was not the child's fault. Adalia knew this, but could not help a venomous whisper of envy twisting its way up her stomach to clash against the desire to hold this little girl close. She forced it down like she did the lump gathering in her throat, looking at the girl who was so much like herself before everything went wrong.
"You're not surprised?" The girl pouted. "I was hoping I might sneak up on you."
"You did a good job covering your entrance with all the noise from the pipes," Adalia said, lips curving into a smile as she did her best not to let her feeling show on her face. "But the air shifted when you opened the door, letting in a draft."
"Oh, damn." The girl stood and stamped her foot. "I didn't think of that."
"Most people wouldn't," Adalia said, sitting up and stretching her arms out over her head. Her joints let out satisfying pops before she settled back into the water, and the physical relief helped settle some of the confusion boiling away inside. "It's always the little things that give one away."
"I'll remember that in the future," the girl said. "My name is Franka and I've been told we're sisters."
"You've been told correctly," Adalia said. "We have the same mother."
Franka frowned. "Just the same mother?"
Deciding it wasn't a subject she cared to discuss, Adalia lifted an arm, showing off toned muscle that flexed with her every movement. "You were curious about my scars. I'll admit I've gathered quite a few of them over the years. It comes with being a duelist."
"But you're more than a duelist, right?" Franka asked, squatting down once more. "I heard you came in with two swords, that you're a Bladedancer."
"Indeed I am," Adalia said, lowering her arm. "Though I'll admit I sometimes wonder if that just means I have a bit more leeway in determining what kind of scars I get."
"What about that scar?" Franka asked, motioning to Adalia's stomach. "That one looks dreadful."
Adalia looked down at the gash, an ugly pale thing that resembled roots branching off from the base of a tree. Those roots started just beneath her ribs, reaching out and down as if grasping at her flesh.
She rested a hand over the scar. "That is what remains of a lesson I learned the hard way."
Franka's eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light as she leaned closer. "What was the lesson?"
"Never mistake cruelty for being clever."
The little girl blinked, then puffed up her cheeks in irritation. "You're hiding behind twisty words! I hate it when adults do that! It always means they think I'm too young to understand what's going on. I'm almost thirteen, I'll have you know, so don't think I'll just let you get away with avoiding proper answers!"
"All right, all right," Adalia said, laughter in her voice as she raised her hands to fend off Franka's ire before the girl could properly build herself up to a full tantrum. "Big sister will tell you the story of what happened. It's the least I can do for teasing you, and you've likely never spent much time away from the manor or the town. Now listen closely, because I'm only going to say this once, or I'll get all pruny from sitting in this bath too long. It all started in a town by the Blauwyrm called Heimstade. Let me tell you about it…"