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I. morning: Adagio MAestoso
Dawn had broken the hallowed darkness around Castle Winterwood not an hour hence, and the shifting sunbeams from the sky were captured in a subdued kaleidoscope of lilac and lavender. The solstice was approaching, and light snowfall cast a hush about the air.
A sprinkling of frost fell from Aurin’s wings as she alighted on the inner courtyard, shaking out her gossamer pinions and folding them behind her into a relaxed position. She checked the filigree timepiece at her waist — a parting gift from Fiora.
Two minutes before the eighth bell. Perfect.
The night guards at the door saluted her as she approached.
“Dame Aurin; a pleasant morning to you. Our lady is reading in the study.”
She nodded. “You are relieved to patrol, then. I shall take over your watch.”
Her keen eyes did not miss the sidelong glance the guards exchanged between the slats of their silvered helms, before one awkwardly cleared his throat. “Shall we have a brazier brought up for you, m—?”
“I’ll survive,” Aurin said quickly, tipping her chin up to muster her poise. Certainly this meant that some of the guards had seen her shivering in the cold and resorting to huddling around the magicks of her sword for warmth on previous shifts. “Thank you for your concern. Be on your way now.”
“As you say, milady.”
Their footsteps receded down the hall, and Aurin immediately unfurled her two pairs of wings around herself again miserably, feeling the chill already settling in. She knew Tris would let her in if she just knocked, but it still felt improper to her to intrude on her lady’s hospitality…
It had been two seasons since Aurin, knight of the Spring Court, had come to serve as sworn sword to the lady Tris of the Winter Court. Having grown up amongst the royal knights, its was both an honor and an obligation to do as Fiora bid. But there was more to her departure than a kind gesture of faith — Fiora had reason to believe that the envoy from the Unseelie Court had something to do with her late mother’s demise, and with Katarina residing in Castle Winterwood, this presented Aurin and Tris with a unique opportunity to work with the other Court on the circumstance surrounding the former Faerie Queen’s demise.
Tris herself was, in Aurin’s not-so-humble opinion, everything a knight could hope for in a lord or lady. Kind but regal, imposing and commanding of respect, she led her domain with a grace that seemed to make the frost-coated flowers bloom even in the depths of the cold. Additionally, she was guardian to one of the royal princesses, a potential successor to the title of Faerie Queen — a young girl called Uri, whose joie de vivre overflowed from one day to the next. While Uri gave her protectors no end of grief with her daily mischief, Tris was ever-protective of her young charge, with what seemed to be an unending repository of patience for the girl.
“ACHOO!”
A sneeze set upon Aurin abruptly, before she even had a chance to think about stifling it. She snapped back into position, her wings ruffling together with the sound of a closing paper fan, her cheeks the same red as her rosy nose, and screwed her eyes shut in a cringe of anticipation.
Tris’s lips curled into a small smile at the sound through the door, and she set her blue satin bookmark between the pages of the tome she had been reading before rising from her comfortable chair by the fire. Silent on her padded feet, she opened the door a crack, and swished her large, feathered tail to announce her presence.
“What are you doing out here, like that?” She chided, not unkindly.
Aurin pivoted sharply, all pomp and poise she could muster. “Ahem. On guard, my lady. Good morning.”
“Oh, stop it,” Tris laughed. “I can see you shivering. You don’t have to act so brave – no one but yourself expects you to acclimate to our weather so quickly. I’ll have them put new torch sconces in today.” Seeing the other faerie opening her mouth to protest, Tris stuck her hand out to shush her, planting a finger on Aurin’s lips. “No arguing. Now, come in. Let me set a cup of tea brewing.”
Tris turned with a flutter, smiling again at the small sigh of defeat that came from her guard, and heard the clicking of Aurin’s boots on her polished marble floors as she entered the private chambers and shut the door behind her. Tris wasted no time setting a kettle on, and thoughtfully selected a mixture of tea leaves for the brew. Over the magically-enhanced fire, the water began boiling quickly.
“Really, we ought to make a habit of having morning tea together. Why haven’t we yet?”
“Lady Tris…” Aurin pursed her lips. “It would not be proper for me to…”
“Impose? You are not imposing. I am extending an invitation, to my friend. What is improper about that?"
“Hah…” Aurin smiled wryly. “You always know what I’m about to say before I say it. Were you peering into my mind?”
“You know I promised I would never do that without your permission, dear. Your mind – your thoughts, your emotions, are a sacred place. To me you pledge your loyalty, and in return I pledged to never ask more from you than what is fair. And,” Tris continued, as she began to pour the tea and the aroma filled the room. “I hope that the trust I have given you in return is… unburdensome?”
“Of course, my lady. You honor me with your friendship, truly.” Tris placed a cup of tea on a delicate silver-trimmed saucer in Aurin’s hands.
“And I shall always treasure yours.” She watched, pleased at the rare smile on Aurin’s face as she took a sniff of the tea.
“Smells like home.”
Blowing delicately at her own cup before taking a sip, Tris nodded. “It’s a blend of my favourite local herbs, and the flowers that the late Faerie Queen used to favor.”
Aurin tapped her cup with one finger and took a long draught, seemingly unbothered by the scalding temperature, sighing in appreciation. “Fiora always loathed tea parties. She’d complain to me about them all the time. Secretly, though, I always wondered what it would be like… to sit at the Queen’s table.”
“You shall always have a place by my hearth and at my table, though I am no Faerie Queen,” Tris chuckled. Aurin paused then, a sudden frown crossing her expression.
“Speaking of… a place at your table. Isn’t the princess usually here for breakfast by now?” Tris sighed and waved her hand. “She’s overslept again, probably. I had sent someone for her earlier, but they haven’t returned.”
Aurin downed the rest of her cup. “Allow me to fetch her for you, then.”
Three sharp raps on the door heralded the stern-faced faerie’s arrival. The two handmaidens that had been sitting on the futon, slouched in defeat, rose to their feet with such abruptness that they bumped shoulders awkwardly.
“D-dame Aurin! We—”
“Draw water for the princess to wash her face and prepare her dress for the day. Let me deal with her.”
“Yes, milady. At once.”
Uri wiggled further under the covers, but pricked up her ears, her keen hearing picking up the servants scuttling off to follow Aurin’s orders, followed by the running of water and the click-clack of fast-approaching boots. As the curtains on her bedframe were drawn, Uri popped out of her sheets dramatically, hands clasped over her chest, and cried out,
“Lo! What angel wakes me from mine flow’ry bed? The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, the plain-song cuckoo gray; whose note fullman—”
Aurin, quickly recovering from having practically jumped out of her wings, put one hand over Uri’s face. “Princess, it is far too early in the morning for that.” Her eyes shifted suspiciously to Uri’s pillow. “Is that a book?”
Deftly Uri spun around and KICKED one clawed foot out, sending the leather-bound tome spiralling across her messy room to land in a pile of other miscellany in the far corner. She grinned. “No, I can’t read.”
“You are a terrible liar, princess.”
“Not as terrible as you!” Uri stuck out her tongue, ears flattening against her head mischievously. She pretended to shiver, chattering her teeth for effect as she imitated Aurin’s voice. “U-uh-uh, I’m not c-c-c-cold, Lady Tris, I s-s-s-s-s-swear!”
Aurin’s scowl deepened even further. “Alright. Enough. We’re going now.”
Uri let out a shriek of joy as Aurin darted in and scooped the princess out of her bed, throwing her over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes and toted her over to the bath chambers. ​
“!!! Diff oumf ay Nir imfh comfhign fomghh??”
Tris reached over and covered Uri’s mouth with a napkin. “Don’t speak with your mouth full, darling.”
Chewing the bite of pie quickly and gulping it down, Uri tried again. “Did you say Nir is coming tonight??”
“It’s about time the Autumn envoys make a better contribution to our investigations,” Aurin hmph’ed, staring scornfully at her plate of cookies. “I still don’t trust them. They’re Kalista’s people, after all. Aren’t they all just in Karma’s pocket?”
“Peace, dear,” Tris soothed. “We have no reason to distrust them. The swordsmen of the autumn court have our best interests in mind – and they are free agents. They’re only as beholden to the Faerie Queen as we are; so let’s just focus on our work here in the Winter Court, yes?” Grumbling and crumbling an innocent chocolate biscuit between her fingers, Aurin nodded in agreement.
Uri wiggled her brows at the way Tris’s voice quavered slightly on the word swordsmen. She narrowed her eyes cheekily, knowing exactly who it was on her guardian’s mind at that fleeting moment… but chose to not make a comment at the time. Aurin seemed cranky enough as it was, and as much as Uri loved to antagonize, there was a genuine conflict of interest: while she, Aurin, and a certain Autumn court swordsman had a deep and unshakeable fondness for the lady of Castle Winterwood, things could get complicated very easily.
But that’s none of MY business!
Uri flopped her ears, all her tension evaporating as she popped a cookie from Aurin’s plate into her mouth. Aurin rolled her eyes, and pushed the remaining biscuits over to the princess. She turned her thoughts instead to Nir, a toothy grin dropping cookie crumbs all over her dress. How calm and collected he’d been, a proper paragon of knightly vows and virtues… until he’d laid eyes on her. And once she’d gotten her claws in him, “virtue” was certainly–
“Princess?”
A cold, silken voice broke her from her thoughts. At the door stood a white-haired woman, her scarred eye a blue diamond amidst ink-black sclera. She smiled a perfect cupid’s bow smile at Uri, one hand on her hip, where her blades swung in their sheaths. “Still eating? Time for your dancing lessons, darling.”
“Our apologies, Lady Katarina,” Tris stood, pulling Uri’s chair out and ushering her up. “We were a bit late in starting our meal today.”
“I don’t wanna practise dancing,” Uri pouted, digging in her heels.
“The solstice ball is in less than a fortnight,” Tris tried to tug at Uri’s sleeve.” You are the gem of the Winter Court, my dear, and must perform your best.”
“I hate balls! I hate dancing!” Uri whined.
“But you don’t hate... cool knife tricks, right?” The singing of cold steel rang through the air for a moment before a dagger buried itself in the dead centre of Uri’s now-empty cookie plate. Aurin stood from her seat, bristling and jostling the china.
“Watch it!” She hissed. “You could have–”
“Please,” Katarina scoffed. “I never miss.”
Uri’s eyes sparkled with interest, and she pulled the dagger – larger than her head – out of the table, running over to Katarina with it. “Okay, if we do our dancing lessons really quick, will you show me cool knife tricks?”
The Unseelie faerie tucked her hair behind one ear and winked, looping her pinky with Uri’s. “It’s a deal.”
“Take some extra guards with you,” Aurin said gruffly. “In case of… an emergency.” She jerked her chin at the door guards. “You two will do. Go on, then.”
Wiping the last of the cookie crumbs off of her mouth with the sleeve of her dress, Uri handed the dagger back to Katarina. Retinue in tow, the pair headed off to the ballroom.
To be continued...
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