Chapter Eight
Cold Love
???
Avaldale, Vrethian.
Naal.
Human earthlings were unusual people, and not in an endearing or intriguing type of way. Pompous to the core, they regarded themselves with an acute superiority over all others in the realm.
Naal Westerra supposed it was not entirely their fault.
Such behaviour was a learned thing, an ancestral belief imposed by men who fancied themselves to be upon a similar pedestal as a monarch.
Of course, Vrethian had not been governed by royalty since the Void Ages, but the role of the governors had many of the same qualities, if not all the same qualities as a king or queen.
Naal sometimes felt that she was perhaps the only one in Droria who could see that particular truth with perfect clarity.
Too long had she been away from the earth continent. It was not of her own volition she had stayed away, but that of the female who owned her heart.
The same female she was mere minutes away from seeing again.
Naal ignored the flutters that began in her stomach at the thought. Winvara had not invited her to Vrethian out of a sudden desire to see her, but to save her estranged granddaughter from whatever fate those half-wit governors had resigned her to.
She had grown anxious these past couple of decades, awaiting the call from Winvara to finally alert her of Kyraena’s emerging power.
The time had finally arrived, without ease or simplicity, as all things tended to manifest where the Daeiros family was involved.
Naal did not know why she ever imagined Kyraena’s journey would be any different.
Invisible to all who looked her way, it was easy for Naal to avoid Avaldale’s townsfolk as she made her way from the harbour to the Upper States.
A simple spell of transparency, a power that belonged to the Air Warden alone, and one that she was immensely grateful for in times like these.
She had let herself be known on the ship from Nythanor’s icy shores, preferring to pay the fair price for the disgruntled captain to take her over the Valcier Gap, rather than stow away like a common thief.
However, her great grey wings were a sight not many in Vrethian had laid their eyes upon, except perhaps in paintings, and Naal preferred to go about her business without being gawked at by nosy Vrethans.
Before long, she found herself at the bottom of the long path that led to Daeiros Manor.
It had once belonged to Vesryn, Winvara’s father and former Governor of Avaldale, before he had abandoned it after the Great Earthling War.
His daughter had stayed, though Naal knew Win had only done so out of spite for the humans that drove them out.
In doing so, she ostracised herself from her own kin, raising her young daughter in the manor house on her own.
As far as Naal was aware, Eirinna’s father had been killed in battle, and though they’d been betrothed to one another, Winvara had never harboured any real love toward him.
Naal’s leaving had been more harrowing than his death, she knew this to be true.
Shaking the thought away, she took off at a run, her wings beating hard as they propelled her into the sky to glide above the gravelled road to the estate.
The years that had passed watched the estate wither from a structure of wonderful magnificence, to an overgrown, unkempt and ageing place of neglect.
A mere shadow of the grandeur it had once been, far too big for the family alone to upkeep. Naal supposed its downfall was not entirely based on negligence, but rather due to the impossible task of preserving an estate of this magnitude by only the small number of people that called it home.
She hoped the bleakness of the manor, made more so by the grey gloom of the day, was not a direct representation of the female who owned it.
Gracefully landing just before the steps to the front doors, Naal removed the illusion spell from her body and took a steadying breath for what was to come.
The last time she had been here, Win had near gauged her eyes out after explicitly ordering her not to come.
It was Eirinna, her unfathomably kind-hearted daughter who had thrown herself between them, her own infant child bundled in her arms. It took over half an hour to convince Winvara that the babe would not survive without Naal’s help, with Eirinna begging her mother to find some peace.
Shortly after, Naal had heavily warded Daeiros Manor, so that Kyraena would be protected and untraceable so long as she stayed inside the grounds.
Winvara had refused to say goodbye, and the last Naal had seen of her was the back of her head as she’d walked away.
A young, barely out of adolescence female sidled through the gap in the door, her expression heavy with distrust. ‘Naal Westerra?’ she asked, her deeper pitched voice not in keeping with the lithe femininity of her appearance.
‘Who is asking?’ Naal politely requested.
The female squared her shoulders slightly as she said, ‘Dovella Daeiros, second granddaughter to Winvara Daeiros and heir to this estate.’
‘Of course you are,’ Naal said with a smile, for the likeness between them was uncanny. The arched eyebrows, the slightly tilted brown eyes set on a heart-shaped face. A youthful Winvara stared back at her.
Dovella eyed her up and down before saying, ‘She’s expecting you.’
‘She is.’
‘She never mentioned you until now.’
‘I don’t suppose she had any reason to. May I come inside, Dovella?’
Dovella hesitated for a second, then stepped aside to allow Naal over the threshold.
Much like the exterior of the manor, the interior was derelict, despite the souls that still resided within.
Thick dust covered the grand paintings on the walls, and the carpet that ran through the middle of the wide mahogany staircase was stained with frayed edges.
‘This way,’ Dovella said as she glided up the stairs, the small train of her silk, no doubt hand-made gown trailing elegantly behind her. Even with the dilapidation around her, she held herself with a regality to rival a monarch.
Movement on the landing caught Naal’s eye as they rounded to the west wing, and she looked over to see a girl younger than Dovella by a few years peeking her head out from behind a door.
For a moment, Naal was lost in time, staring at Eirinna as a child.
Rounder and kinder-faced than her sister, the girl’s eyes widened as Naal caught her gaze and smiled.
Tentatively, she returned it without any of the wariness Dovella had demonstrated.
After following Dovella through an infinite amount of hallways, they finally halted outside a door much like the others, though this one was decorated with a bronze knocker.
Dovella used it, the clinking sound bouncing through the empty hallway.
A couple of long seconds passed before a voice sounded from within, a voice that Naal still heard in her deepest dreams: ‘Enter.’
Dovella twisted the round handle and swung the door open.
Nothing could have prepared Naal for the rush of emotion that swept through her in that moment, as she looked upon Winvara for the first time in twenty-four years.
Win had always been, and would always be, the most beautiful thing Naal’s eyes had ever had the privilege to see.
Brown skin as rich as fertile earth; long dark hair streaked with silver and piled neatly on the top of her head; piercing, light mahogany eyes that saw everything; dark features that only smiled when truly happy.
It had once been Naal’s ambition to get that scarce smile blossoming as frequently as possible on Win’s lovely face.
That ambition had long since been lost.
Win was sitting at her desk, a mess of parchment covering its surface as her quill scrawled across a large book of blank pages. She didn’t so much as look at her. Instead, she turned her attention to her granddaughter. ‘Thank you, Dove. Please close the door on your way out.’
Dovella’s eyes narrowed at being dismissed so quickly, but she nodded once and departed, the door clicking shut behind her.
A tense silence ensued, and Naal watched as the quill continued to whizz across the page. ‘You can sit,’ Win said bluntly without looking up.
Naal slid into the chair opposite, slightly lengthening her wings out so they did not get caught on the back of it. ‘Your family has grown,’ she commented, breaking the silence that had again settled between them.
Winvara didn’t respond.
‘I was not aware you had more than one granddaughter,’ Naal continued, trying not to sound accusatory for Win’s lack of communication.
She appeared not to care. Brusquely, she said, ‘I have three.’
Naal whipped a quick breeze around the manor. ‘I sense only two are here. Where are the others?’
The writing hand became more agitated. ‘You know where Kyraena is, for that is the point of your being here. Recent events would reveal my grandson also resides in the city.’
‘And Eirinna? Where is she? I would like to see her, if you’ll permit it.’
Win promptly stopped writing. She slowly placed the quill down, then her bitter eyes finally met Naal’s. ‘Eirinna is dead.’
A weight dropped into Naal’s stomach, heavy and ice-cold. Her heart shattered at the deep and profound grief in Winvara’s eyes. Hidden and buried to all but Naal. Through a constricted throat, she managed to ask, ‘How long?’
‘Twelve years.’
Naal whispered, ‘How?’
Win’s glassy gaze did not waver. ‘Murdered. She and Falthor. Naturally, the Union did nothing to find the killers.’
‘Falthor… he was Eirinna’s-?’