The Partnership (an ill advised Lightlark Fanfic)

The Partnership

Cleo watched impassively as the gloomy brute Grim grabbed up little Isla. Seconds after he wrapped his ridiculously armored biceps around the soft girl's flesh, they were gone. Cleo didn't much care where.

Learning that Isla had no powers came only as a mild surprise. After all, the girl had been reticent to show them off, to the point where she'd thrown a dagger at the king rather than demonstrating her abilities. The Moonling leader had assumed Isla wanted to play her powers close to the vest, being so new and all, but this made far more sense.

Then again, someone had broken into her library, and Cleo had assumed it was Isla. The girl seemed to be everywhere, snooping into everyone's castles and business. But how could someone with no powers, someone so young, have a chance of breaking into the Moonling stronghold? Even during the full moon?

Clue smirked, folding her arms across her narrow chest. She had the lean muscle of a female warrior, and her delicate, spiderweb dresses hid the lattice of scars she'd gained from her years of battle practice, not to mention actual combat, back in the day when they did that sort of thing.

These days no one was interested in the murderous portion of the Centennial. Why would they be? Nothing ever seemed to come of it but new scars.

She locked eyes with Oro. Her silver to his golden. He was upset, she could tell by the stubborn set of his jaw. The delicate lines of his brow.

She exhaled sharply and turned on her heel, waving a hand over her shoulder to the other leaders. A dismissal. They could dislike her attitude all they liked, could complain about her secret armies or cold demeanor, but she had far greater things to worry about. The sea was steadily eroding her island away and if this wasn't the final Centennial she wasn't certain she'd be around for the next. Not if things remained as they were. "I'll meet you at my bridge tonight, Sun King."

"Of course." Oro's answer was flat, but she knew it rankled him when she reminded him of what he had lost. Of the sunlight he could never walk in again.

She made good time to her castle, fashioning herself a pair of skates, and a path of pure ice spreading ahead of her and melting in her wake. The people of Lightlark's village watched her pass with a mixture of admiration and apprehension. Word had gotten around that some of her nobles had been brutally murdered; a message left in their blood. "Try Harder." She didn't know what it meant, but it didn't matter. She hadn't time to investigate murders. When all this was over she would hunt down their killers with prejudice, but for now she could only stew.

She crossed her bridge, eyeing the water below. It was still, quiet, but even so she didn't dare swim these days. Even during a new moon. It was humiliating, a queen of water who wouldn't swim.

Her people needed her, and they needed her whole and powerful. Besides, she set a good example, avoiding the waves, no matter how they called to her to relive her glory days. She could swim as gracefully as a shark, or run on the top of the whitecaps if it suited her. Once she had danced with the moonbeams on the silver crests.

I will dance again.

Her soldiers greeted her with stiff nods as she passed, walking now rather than skating, though a little trail of frost followed in her wake, just as plants and petals should have followed that pretender Isla. Now that it had been brought to her attention, of course that little chit had no powers. How had that happened? Were the bloodlines really so weak?

Cleo retired to her rooms, setting aside her gauzy gown and selecting a blue traveling tunic with dire-wolf fur trim, and white, insolated leggings with dark stitching. She pulled on her sealskin boots, soft as a cloud with their rabbit fur lining, then she braided her curls, holding the tie in her mouth and pacing to the window to look out over her lands. Her rapidly vanishing lands.