CHAPTER 24 - The Harvest Festival
???
The candle's flame faltered, and a breath of cold brushed the back of my neck.
I hadn't even heard the door open...
Was it an assassin? Did one of the Nightshades send someone?
"A?? ???? ??σ???" I whispered in Elvish, barely moving my lips.
"He is standing right behind you," Ryn replied.
I didn't hesitate. My fingers closed around Raincatcher, and I twisted, the blade slicing through candlelight as I aimed for the throat of whoever snuck up on me.
But a gloved hand caught my wrist mid-strike.
The force of the clash flung back the intruder's hood, revealing a familiar face — framed in tousled blond hair and lit by narrowed green eyes.
"Ser Cavriel!" I snapped. "You frightened me!"
He didn't let go.
Instead, he twisted my wrist just enough to send Raincatcher clattering to the stone floor, the steel ringing. I grit my teeth and struggled, but his grip was ironclad.
"Your awareness isn't as pitiful as I imagined," he said coolly. "But your skills are pathetic."
I hissed through clenched teeth, trying and failing at prying my hand free.
"How did you get in without a sound?" I demanded.
Cavriel rolled his eyes as he released my wrist. I flexed my fingers, sore and tingling. He bent to retrieve Raincatcher and set it on the table with care that bordered on mockery.
"Please," he muttered, straightening. "I wouldn't have lasted a day as a spy if I didn't at the very least know how to move around undetected. Besides, nobody beats Driftwoode when it comes to stealth. I've been deep-sea walking since I was a boy."
"Deep-sea walking?" I echoed, frowning. "What is that—?"
He cut me off with a sidelong glance.
"Forget that. How did you know I was here? A normal person shouldn't have heard me at all. And what language was that just now?" His gaze narrowed. "Were you casting some kind of curse on me?"
"I was just practicing High Elvish," I said evenly. "And I... Well, you're so big and oafish, of course I could sense you."
Ryn coughed from somewhere I couldn't see.
Cavriel's brow twitched, but he masked it with a scoff and crossed his burly arms.
"Tch. Doesn't matter," he said with a shrug. "Even if you sensed me, you'd still be dead if I were after your life."
My blood pressure spiked at his arrogance.
"You might find I'm not that easy to get rid of," I retorted, narrowing my eyes.
He huffed a laugh that held no mirth.
"You spun like a startled deer. Even your grip on the blade was off. I can tell you've had some combat training, but not from anyone worth a damn. Then again, I don't expect someone from Drakfjord to know anything. You're all cowards hiding on your little island."
I bristled.
He wasn't wrong, but that didn't mean he had to sound so smug about it.
It was true I had always left the bulk of combat to Claude. My elder sister was unmatched with a sword. My younger was our best rider. And foolish me had spent all my efforts on dancing.
Suddenly an idea arose within me.
"Then teach me," I said.
Cavriel blinked, clearly caught off guard.
"What?"
"If you think I'm so hopeless, teach me how to fight."
He stared at me like I'd lost my mind, then laughed outright — a short, gruff bark of disbelief.
"Not a chance. I'm not wasting time on something so pointless."
"Why not?" I demanded.
He turned away, running a hand through his curly hair.
"Because there's no use teaching a woman to fight," he said, as if it were obvious.
My fists bundled as I stared at the back of his thick head.
"Women can fight too!" I hissed, the words tasting like iron. "My sister Claude could knock a man twice your size flat on his back. She's the finest swordsman in Drakfjord."
Cavriel didn't even flinch. He leaned a hip against my desk, looking maddeningly unbothered.
"A woman can train all she wants," he said with a shrug, "but strength isn't fair. A man who barely lifts a blade will still overpower her when it counts."
His words struck something deep and raw in me.
Because somewhere in the hollow of my chest, I knew there was truth in it.
Even after dozens of lives, I had never bested Sylvos. Not in wits. And most certainly not in combat.
I had seen my own throat slit, my bones crushed, my body burned or broken before I could even lift my weapon. In every dream of the past, he always won. His training outmatched mine by years. Even if I had paid attention during my lessons at Drakfjord, I doubted I could even scratch him.
Frustrated by my own shortcomings, I snatched the letter from my desk and shoved it hard into Cavriel's chest.
"Deliver this to my sisters in Drakfjord," I snapped. "And when they reply, you bring it straight to me."
He took the parchment.
"I'll leave for escorting duties soon and look for someone that can deliver to your island after my job is done," he said. "Don't expect any news soon."
"So be it," I waved him off, eager to be rid of him already.
Cavriel turned and walked out without another word, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
As soon as he was gone, I let out a growl and hurled one of my pillows across the chamber. Then another. And another.
The vylnir blinked from its spot on the bed, watching me with those eerie blue eyes.
"You should've pressed him to teach you," Ryn said quietly from somewhere in the room.
I sent a glare at Raincatcher on my desk and began pacing.
"I can't possibly work with a man that dense," I scoffed. "He's insufferable. I don't need his training."
"You do," Ryn replied simply. "Sometimes you must swallow your pride if it will save your life. From what I saw, he's quite skilled for a mortal. His movement looked similar to some elven techniques. Almost completely silent."
I stopped in place. My jaw clenched.
The elf was right, but I didn't want to admit it.
"Regardless," I said, "for now, I'll focus on my practice for the Harvest Festival. I can worry about combat another time."
"You're just avoiding it," Ryn chuckled, seeing right through my act.
I was tempted to hurl him out the window.
???
Cavriel, true to his word, had departed to escort military supplies — an absence I welcomed like warmth in winter.
The emperor, too, remained seen in my nightmares alone.
Whispers around the fortress claimed he had set off on a voyage to secure a new bride, now that only ninety-nine remained.
Though I knew nothing of the woman he planned on bringing in, I knew Sylvos only traveled for a bride if she was important.
In the meanwhile, Virella and I continued to rehearse for the Harvest Festival. The courtyard often sat empty save for us, the drizzle and cold keeping curious eyes away.
As autumn neared, the trees around Daisy Castle faded to brittle shades of brown and red. On the day before the festival, we decided to reward ourselves with something better than stale bread and bland vegetables.
With the vylnir following as usual, we made our way down the winding mountain path near Daisy Castle. The willow forest below was always dark, its crooked limbs tangled in mist and clawing at the pale morning light.
Virella and I reached our usual clearing, a secluded space where moss-covered rocks caught a rare sliver of sunlight piercing the dense canopy.
"Dσ ?σ? ?υι? ??? ??α?," I said, waving the vylnir off.
It grinned, an unsettling show of fangs, before folding in on itself, reshaping into its sleek wolfish-fox form. As quick as a shadow, Vyvy vanished into the undergrowth to hunt.
"I do love when our dinner gets fetched for us," Virella sighed contentedly, leaning back and soaking in the light. "My hands were getting rough from setting all those traps in Clover."
"The food's been better since you two arrived," came a lilting voice.
We both startled, spinning toward the sound. There, hanging upside down from a nearby tree like some talon-toed fox, was none other than Lady Sireen. Her too-wide smile stretched thin across her face.
"Hellooo," she sang.
Virella grasped my hand, pressing it to her arm.
"Feel that?" she muttered. "Goosebumps. Every time she talks. Goosebumps."
I chuckled at my friend's dramatics.
It was true Lady Sireen's presence could be quite unsettling, but I'd grown used to her strange behaviors by now.
Virella sighed and turned her attention to picking at her nails.
"Tomorrow's the Harvest Festival," she said. "Your dress is ready, right?"
"Of course."
I suppressed a grin at the memory of Virella nearly reducing the poor tailor to tears with her demands.
"I must admit..." Virella mused. "I think your dancing might actually be worthy of my vielle."
I laughed.
"Don't flatter yourself. You forgot how to play after watching me the first time. And don't get me started on the look you had when I showed you the magic Raincatcher offered."
She huffed, tossing her golden curls.
"I was simply... surprised. I haven't seen anything like it before. I thought only cursed swords carried such magic."
"Their magic is unmatched," I admitted, plucking a dried plum from my pouch and offering her one. "Compared to them, Raincatcher is little more than a parlor trick. But many weapons with names bear magic."
Drakfjord had at least a dozen storm-forged daggers — some more impressive than others.
"Ah, I'm excited for promotion," Virella said, nibbling on the plum. "Tomorrow's performance will secure it. I'm certain. I wonder if Peony Castle will be any better than the haunted halls here at Daisy," she added, sparing a glance at Sireen, who seemed oblivious.
I thought of Peony. From my memory, it was better staffed, yes, but luxury only really started to show once you reached Lavender.
"Oh, speaking of which, I heard the new concubine will be arriving soon," Virella said, brushing a stray curl from her face. "Her ship anchored in Meadowwyn this morning. The journey to Dornhold should take only a few weeks from there."
I blinked.
All anyone could talk about these days was the new bride. The concubines speculated endlessly, convinced she was to be a key alliance in Sylvos' impending war with Driftwoode.
"I'm curious to see who she is," I admitted.
"My cousin."
Virella and I both turned sharply.
Lady Sireen leapt from her perch in the tree, landing with a feline grace.
"I heard Sylvos traveled to Vrostvale," she hummed, strolling over to us as though she walked to the tune of a song. "My family is ashamed of my station here. No doubt they offered him my cousin — a brighter bauble for his collection."
When she reached us, her gaze drifted to my bag. I offered her a dried plum without a word. She plucked it delicately, turning it over in her fingers as if it fascinated her.
"Vrostvale..." I murmured. "That's your homeland?"
Sireen nodded, her lips curling into a faint smile as she twisted a strand of her pale tipped hair around her fingers.
"The white gives it away, doesn't it? A mark of my kin. Our hair turns frost-kissed as we age, like branches in the heart of winter."
I nodded slowly, but unease prickled at the back of my neck.
Vrostvale.
The name carried little weight in my memories. It was an expansive island south of Fayndor that kept to itself mostly. They never played a part in my first life.
But now...
If they truly were sending a bride that would aid in Sylvos' war, it could mean nothing but trouble for me.
I sighed.
Let's handle one matter at a time...
???
The Harvest Festival heralded the arrival of autumn, and Thornmont came alive in its signature colors of black, green, and silver. Banners draped from every rooftop and stretched across the streets, swaying in the crisp breeze, while the hum of lively cheer filled the air.
For this single bright day, the inner court was permitted to venture beyond the suffocating walls of Dornhold Fortress, spilling into the city at the foot of the mountain.
Of course, no concubine roamed freely. A contingent of guards shadowed every move, and each rank was assigned a Briarbound Knight as well.
Daisy's escort, regrettably, was Ser Cavriel — an unfortunate alignment likely caused by the man himself.
As soon as I first spotted him, I wanted to immediately ask about my letter but feared anyone overhearing so I kept it to myself.
"Don't wander too far. Stay in my line of sight. I've got my eye on you, girl," he sneered.
I glowered as I tolerated his presence beside me. Even Virella, ever composed, groaned audibly at her brother's endless droning.
"How do you expect us to gain the people's favor when you glare at anyone who so much as glances our way?" I grumbled at him.
We had taken a carriage from the fortress to the city, cloaked in deep blue over our gowns. Around us, concubines and their handmaidens darted eagerly between the stalls while children raced through the crowds and performers wove illusions and tricks.
"There's no need for a promotion," Cavriel dismissed. "Just stay put where you are."
I rolled my eyes while Virella yawned loudly beside me.
"Raine, ignore him. Men like him are for the eyes, not the ears."
"It appears so."
As we wandered, a glint of silver caught my eye, pulling me toward a small vendor displaying necklaces.
"Look here!" I urged, tugging Virella along.
Cavriel trailed reluctantly, muttering under his breath.
Among the trinkets, a silver locket with a delicate moon engraving gleamed in the sunlight. I traced its intricate design with my finger.
"I've always wanted one of these," I sighed. "My sisters and I never wore necklaces. They'd whip around too much while we rode our—"
I stopped abruptly.
"...our horses," I finished with a forced smile. "Look, here's a matching one with a star design."
"Bronze doesn't suit me at all," Virella lamented, examining the display.
"Here, this one's gold," I pointed out.
Identical to the silver and bronze lockets, this one featured a sun instead.
Her eyes sparkled as soon as she saw it.
"Let's take them," she decided.
I paid the vendor and fastened the silver locket around my neck while Virella donned hers. The matching pieces felt oddly comforting, reminding me of my sisters.
But with that reminder, came guilt.
I hope my letter explains everything to Skye... And I hope my sister doesn't hate me too much... Even though I deserve it.
As we continued our walk, I couldn't help but glance at Cavriel. His sharp gaze swept the crowd, his every movement coiled with barely restrained tension.
It didn't seem like anyone was paying attention to us...
I cleared my throat and fell into step beside him.
"So, have you heard any news?" I asked quietly
Cavriel's glare snapped at me.
"What news?"
"My letters," I clarified, keeping my tone neutral. "Do you know if they were received well?"
His scowl deepened, and he cast a quick glance around us.
"Don't talk so openly," he scolded, before lowering his voice to a whisper. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find someone willing to deliver to Drakfjord? Pigeons can't make the flight through those stormy seas."
My chest tightened at his words.
"But... you did find someone, right?" I asked.
He sighed.
"Of course. I found someone who can deliver letters with petrels. Your sisters should receive your message soon."
A weight eased from my shoulders.
"Thank you..."
When we reached the town square, the bustling energy of the Harvest Festival wrapped around us. Virella and I paused to assess the situation. The square, an open space with merchants and stalls at the edges, was the perfect stage for our performance.
This was why concubines were allowed into the city on this day: to win the people's favor.
Women who garnered enough attention might earn ivy wreaths, tokens of public admiration.
If word reached the emperor, a promotion could follow.
Some flaunted their beauty, while others spent coin lavishly to curry favor with merchants.
But Virella and I had something else in mind.
She stepped confidently to the center of the square, retrieving her vielle from its case. I followed, unfastening Raincatcher from my hip, its silver hilt glinting in the sun.
"You ready?" she asked, a spark of mischief in her grin.
"Of course," I replied, smiling back.
We shrugged off our cloaks, handing them to Cavriel. He froze, staring as though the very sight of us had robbed him of speech.
"Cav, you look like a damned carp. Move," Virella snapped.
He stepped back quickly, finding a place to watch while staying out of the way.
I smirked and glanced at Raincatcher's polished blade. Ryn was there with me — grinning like he too would be dancing today. My eyes lowered to my gown.
Virella and I had chosen matching fabrics, a shade of blue so ethereal it seemed spun from waterfall mist. Her dress was sharp and elegant, with long sleeves and a plunging neckline, while mine bore the traditional puffy, off-the-shoulder design of a dagger dancer's attire.
My full skirt swirled like a storm cloud as I stepped forward, raising Raincatcher high.
A murmur rippled through the crowd as a few curious eyes turned our way.
Then, Virella plucked the first string.
Her mastery of the vielle was undeniable, the notes cascading through the air like a spell. Heads turned. Feet stilled. The square began to quiet as the melody commanded their attention.
Then I began my dance.
And as I did, the clouds gathered.
???