‘Then be quick to win the second, little sparrow,’ she said, giving a playful grin, before releasing her and starting to walk for the door. ‘Take it easy for now, though. I’ll see you at dinner.’
Syline watched her mother go with a barely restrained grin, before turning to inspect the hair pin in the mirror once more. She’d have to be sure to win the next as soon as possible.
Dinner that evening was served just as the sun began to set. Tonight, it was medium rare venison seasoned with rosemary and salt, along with mashed potatoes, drenched in perhaps a little too much gravy. There was grilled toast on the side that had butter practically oozing off it. The sight and smell of the meal were almost as good as the taste, the heady scents of butter, salt and still cooking fats filled Syline’s nose.
If Syline was thankful for one thing about all the exercise her mother forced them to do, it was that it certainly worked off the heavy meals the family enjoyed, otherwise she’d barely fit into her training leathers. Ever since their mother had ruled no magic, art or books at the table, Magdova and Syline had become quick eaters and needed to be dragged from their hobbies by their youngest sister, Kassandra Jr. All three arrived together and sat down as one, quickly falling into conversation.
Magdova was incredibly jealous when she caught sight of Syline’s new hair pin, but soon enough forgot about it as she spoke to the enraptured audience of her sisters, about her next painting. She spoke about how she and her teacher had been having disputes over the changing artistic styles in popularity, and to prove her case, she was doing a piece on one of the ancient bridges that linked this island with the next. Neither Syline nor Kassandra understood a lot of what she said, but their sister’s passion for it had them captivated.
Those bridges had always been of interest to Syline, who loved ancient mysteries and mythology. Large land masses were exceedingly rare, so the ancient bridges, linking the world’s numerous islands that made kingdoms and borders beyond those of a coast even a possibility. They had been around longer than any recorded history and their stone and woodwork did not decay with time. The Church of the Wanderer insisted that the Wanderer built them when he journeyed across the world at its conception. With few better explanations, even other religions accepted that as fact. Whenever the family went on trips outside the city, Syline always made sure to carry her own little iron talisman of the Wanderer, a gift from her father. It took the form of a disc, representing the world, with the arc of a bridge across its centre. She thumbed the talisman in her pocket, thinking of her lessons that night as Magdova finally trailed off, losing steam around when the maids were clearing away their empty plates.
After dinner came a dessert of caramelised figs served on vanilla ice cream, with maple syrup drizzled over the whole ordeal. Kat and their mother seemed ever so slightly put off by the dessert. Instead, the pair of them just had coffee as they talked about the duels of the day. Their mother would occasionally stop to drag Kassandra Jr from servants or Magdova, to force her to talk about politics and court for at least a little while. Eventually though, dinner came to an end, and while her sisters were happy to hang around and talk to one another until the end of time, Syline was eager to be away.
Once she was excused from the table, she practically sprinted to her room, gathered up her satchel, coin purse – in case she got hungry or wanted a coffee on her way home – her study journal, and spell-book, wrapped a scarf around her neck and put on her beloved witch’s hat: tall, with a crooked tip and a sash around the brim. She thought the hat, more than even the wand, made her look the part of a mage. She kept her plush toy sparrow in her pocket. She was seventeen now and, while her sisters occasionally teased her about him, she’d had Malir since she was little, and she wasn’t about to throw a gift from her parents away. Besides, she didn’t have a familiar yet, so, until she did, Malir would have to suffice as her arcane companion. She had always preferred to walk, even in poor weather, such as tonight. The snow had only grown heavier as the hours dragged on and looked fit to sit at the flurry it was now until the morning. Syline was making her way for the door and tightening her scarf when her mother called her back.
‘Syline, you’re forgetting your sword.’
Syline had a certain pride about being a young wizardess. Magdova’s passion might be for art, and Kat’s the blade, but Syline defined herself by the wand. Her mother thought differently and Syline turned to find her right behind her, the blade in hand.
It was a beautiful blade. Clean, unblemished steel with a golden crossguard detailed with a silver engraving of their house sigil. Well weighted for Syline’s hand too; she couldn’t have handled a larger or heavier sabre. Kassandra handed it to her as she gave her a one-armed hug.
‘No Petranski woman is complete without her blade,’ she told her, as she had dozens of times before. ‘Stay safe alright?’
‘I will, Mother.’
‘And have fun, little sparrow. I love you.’
Syline smiled up at her mother and gave her a brief squeeze.
‘I love you too, Mother.’
With those final parting words, Syline stepped out into the cold and pulled her scarf up over her mouth. She exited the manor’s gates and started up the main road towards the King’s palace and the attached great library where she would meet her tutor. Overhead, the weather broached upon a blizzard; it had never let up all day and it looked like a storm was brewing on the horizon, ready to break at any moment.
Chapter 2
In a world divided into fragmented islands and long archipelagos, the city of Russenholde had the privilege of being one far larger than most. Capital to the kingdom of the same name, though not the oldest or the most powerful militarily, Russenholde garnered plenty of respect. Many travellers wished to settle there, thanks in large part to its plentiful resources: iron, good farmland and a fish population that never seemed to fade. Its strong walls kept many safe from the dark wilds, and the streets within were cramped, winding and labyrinthine in all but the richest quarters, to cope with this. On top of having such a sprawling city, the island had room for a great many farms. It even extended northward into wild untamed forests and foothills tended to only by the nomadic tundra elves who laid claim to them.
In the winter however, the island’s farms became little more than frozen plains and the farmers took to the greenhouses, controlled by the court wizards, making the streets more cramped than ever in the colder months. Workmen and labourers bumped shoulders with displaced farmhands and livestock.
Through those age-old winding streets, Syline made her way for her nightly lessons, negotiating between those same displaced farm workers. The streets were still busy this early in the evening, light seeping from windows, lanterns hanging from tent stalls that would be open an hour or so longer, and cold vendors nodding to Syline as she passed, all working together to give the city an air of life amidst the gathering dark and chill. She occasionally had to sidle between stalls to make way for a carriage or politely push her way through a group of townsfolk or merchants heading one way or another. Syline moved faster than most city goers. After all, her lessons with her magic teacher – an ex-court mage himself – were the part of the day she looked forward to the most.
Not even the biting snow whipping against her robes could smother the embers of excitement building up in her chest for the rest of the evening. She did, however, take the time to wrap her scarf about her face to stop it freezing her lungs, for the snowfall had only grown harder since she’d departed. The wind whistled and wailed around the elven “onion-tipped” towers, which reached for the sky in the richer areas. The brightly coloured architectural style had become more and more popular of late, pushing in amongst the high sloped roofs of the city.
Seeing an amassing crowd of workmen leaving for home, Syline cut down a side alley to avoid getting caught up in the flow of foot traffic. These side-streets made up much of Russenholde and one could find all manner of impromptu stores, taverns and seedier establishments hidden within them – if one knew where to look. During the day, the sheer amount of foot traffic made these side-alleys safe for just about anyone to venture through, but as the sun was setting, Syline’s heart started to race. She felt eyes on her from windows up above. She could hear howls of laughter and far more canine growls from a hidden tavern. Dog fighting, she guessed. She was convincing herself away from looking in the window when she heard him.
‘Hey missy, come ’ere a second,’ a voice drawled from behind her.
Syline whipped around and found a man, stumbling towards her from yet another hard-to-find tavern, tipsy, but brawny. To the frightened Syline, it seemed like he was practically twice her size, his biceps as thick as her hips. He looked like a lumberjack, or maybe a blacksmith or ice fisher. Fear rushed through her.
‘I’m afraid I’m quite busy. I’m sorry, sir,’ she managed, backing away from him. Quite proud of herself for keeping a stammer out of her voice.
‘Aw now, don’t be like that, pretty girl like you.’ He took a few steps closer to her and Syline saw his hand come to rest on a long knife on his belt.
She acted first. She had to. She could see other thugs like him emerging from the same tavern, watching with amusement. She feared this could turn ugly at any moment if she didn’t get away. Syline drew out her long duelling sabre and held it in a forward guard intended for fending off someone taller than her, like Kat. She hoped it would work well enough on a brute like this.
‘My name is Syline Petranski, daughter of Peter Petranski, the King’s foremost general! I-if you don’t want his wrath raining down upon you, leave me alone, sir!’
The man took a halting step back, eyes widening in alarm and hands coming up in submission. Whether it was the volume of her voice drawing attention, the content of her words, or perhaps the blade in her hand, he seemed put off his course. The man gave a great shrug of his shoulders.
‘Ah’m sorry, ma’am, didna realise you was a noble.’ He took a few more steps back then turned away and scampered into the other brutes, who began to jostle their fellow. Laughing at him, taunting him for backing down so easily.
‘You shouldn’t threaten a girl no matter who she is, you big brute,’ Syline muttered at his back, keeping her eyes on him as he cursed out his friends, eyeing her over his shoulder until she hit the next main street over, where she finally sheathed her blade and quick-stepped away from that alley and the men within.
With them out of sight, she began moving quickly along the main thoroughfare, still heavy with the traffic of tradesmen and women, quick enough that she’d have been told it was unseemly by other noblewomen, and cowardly by her far more warrior-like mother. She made for the perceived safe-haven of a cafe she frequented at this end of the main road that led to the library some five minutes away. It was always open late for court wizards departing the archives and King’s palace late in the evening, and with such a clientele, she didn’t think anyone would be foolish enough to follow her in there.
Stepping into the café, she found it a refreshingly warm reprieve from the chill evening air. The smell of coffee grounds permeated the place and the tinkle of the bell above the door was a balm to her nerves, familiarity easing the tension coiling her heart. Gustaf, the owner, a dwarf from far to the west, was a bald man with cherry red cheeks and teeth stained by a long habit of chewing a mix of tobacco and coffee grounds. He turned to beam at her as she shook snow from her shoulders.
‘Lady Petraska!’ His voice boomed, his accent foreign.
‘Petranski, Gustaf.’
‘Petranski, Petranski, right. I’ll remember this time!’ He said, giving her a cheeky grin. He did that every time she entered the place. It was somewhere between endearing and annoying, but she could never quite settle on which. ‘What will be?’
‘The honeyed smile, please. I’ll take it to go. I’m headed for the library.’
