Fledglings

Prologue: Desertion

"Don't tell me you're doing this again, Marty," sighed Benjih as he came to join his younger sister leaning on the railing of the front porch and gazing in the direction of the winding lane that led into the city.

"Fine, I won't tell you," Martya replied, a lacklustre irritation bristling at her. She knew Benjih thought her foolish, but she found herself less and less concerned with his approval nowadays. Or more specifically, since the day she had first met Calver.

The hot sun beat down over them, the lush green pastures that surrounded the house wilted into fields of crackling straw. The sheep had taken to clustering around the bases of the trees for shade, lying on their sides in the heat, freshly shorn coats snagging the withered remains of the undergrowth. Beyond the pasture, the valley was patchworked with squares of bright orange. Huge stretches of land designated to row after row of jurda crop, the blossoms now in full bloom at the beginning of summer. During the last week, several had been stripped bare.

"I mean, you do know how ridiculous you're being, right?" Benjih continued.

"I'm well aware, Ben, thank you." Martya nodded, keeping her eyes fixed ahead.

"Yitvost may be a merchant, but he's an idiotic one. Lazy too."

"How do you figure that?" Martya frowned.

Ben glanced down at his hands, fingers twitching restlessly. He occupied them with pulling at the loose threads on his shorts. "He makes our farmhands and his men do all the work, loading up the cart, tending to the horses."

Martya shook her head. "You just don't understand how good business dealings work. He doesn't need to make the journey all the way up to the farm, does he? He could have us cart the bolts down to the docks and load it onto his cargo ships, but instead, he comes to us for dinner and stays overnight in the house, cultivating ties with his business partners like a proper gentleman. It's how these things work, Ben."

Benjih scowled. "Really? Because I was wondering whether the reason he camps out in the spare room might be more to do with some decidedly non-business-related dealings."

Martya flushed. "And if it was?"

"You're seventeen, Marty."

"I'm old enough to know my own heart."

"Da would go spare if he knew."

"He's not going to find out."

"No?" Benjih shot her a challenging look.

"No." Repeated Matya. "Not until the time is right anyway."

"And when is that exactly?"

"Well..." Martya couldn't hide her sly grin. "Martya Yitvost does rather roll off the tongue, doesn't it?"

Despite the heat, Benjih was positive his insides had frozen, such was the sensation of cold dread that swept through him. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could so much as swear in surprise, a black dot appeared on the horizon. Martya let out a shriek,

"That's him!" She squealed. "I'll go tell Da!"

And with that, she scurried off into the house, leaving Benjih by himself on the porch.

* * *

There was no getting around the fact that Calver Yitvost was damningly handsome. He had a finely cut square jaw, smooth alabaster skin, a straight nose and deep set brown eyes. His hair was typically combed back and neatly styled, but as the evening wore on, a few honey-coloured strands started to escape and curled around his ears, glinting in the evening twilight like a threaded golden halo. When he smiled he showed impeccable, dazzling white teeth. When he removed his black leather gloves he flexed long pale fingers. His face was intelligent, and always just the right amount of keenness to provide a good audience. Perhaps it was inevitable that she would fall for him.