Forged in Frost

Charm

Evelyn wakes in the middle of the night. Ilvara is gone. She sits up stiffly and stares at the candle burning low on the desk. Ilvara knows she doesn't like complete darkness. When she had fits more often, Ilvara kept her by the sunlit window or the fireplace so she'd always be near the light.

What would I do without her? Evelyn hopes she never has to find out. Ilvara has saved her life so many times. And all I've ever done is beat rugs and polish planters. What could I do to repay her?

As Evelyn pulls back the blanket for a proper sleep, the thought of volunteering in the war strikes again, along with questions that oppose the idea. Could she truly leave the life she's known the past six years, to start a new, completely different one? Truly, the only thing she is attached to in all of Lockmire is Countess Ilvara. This castle, her duties, the people she interacts with each day—they're all connected to her by nothing but familiarity.

It's been difficult, being different than all the rest. She hears the whispers about her from the other maids. She's heard their funny nicknames. Patchwork. Stitches. Once Grogar had caught onto these, they were his favourite way to address her.

The only real question here is her own physical strength to kill. Directly after Ilvara rescued her, Evelyn would not even touch weapons. But slowly, Ilvara encouraged her to try. After a while, she no longer flung them away in horror. Back then, she helped little when hunting and even less against aggressive enemies. Then, when Ilvara met and married Count Hadrian, there was no use keeping weapons. Evelyn was just a simple maid, which was Count Hadrian's decision and completely against Ilvara's wishes. It didn't matter much to Evelyn what position she held though, as long as she could be near the woman who rescued her.

She would be trained, wouldn't she? Perhaps she doesn't know how to efficiently kill someone now, but she could learn, like she learned everything else. After training, who is to say she can't succeed?

As she settles down enough to sleep, she wonders how this could change her life. It will, undoubtedly. For the first time, she won't be a victim. She lies in bed, eyes open, staring at the wall in the darkness. Her own body heat radiates beneath the blanket. Her chest rises and falls slowly as she adjusts her breathing for sleep.

There it is, gleaming before her like golden letters across the plaster of her wall. Her purpose. The answer to her longings.

Evelyn dreams of the bandit with the scarred scalp. Of shiny, steel weapons soaked in blood. For the first time ever, she is not afraid.

✽✽✽

The next day dawns, and Evelyn is up before her usual time. She braids her hair, dons one of her two dresses, a faded violet thing with a tied sash around the waist, and slips on her shoes. She leaves her room and makes for the dining room where the count and countess will be breaking their fast. They've been eating earlier lately to allow for more tasks to be completed throughout the day.

Evelyn greets them with a slight bow. "Countess Ilvara, I'd like to speak privately with you. It is a matter of some importance."

"Of course." Ilvara wipes her mouth with a cloth. "Excuse me, Hadrian." She follows Evelyn from the room. "How are you feeling, my dear? Hadrian pulled me out of your room some time after you fell asleep. I wish I could have stayed."

"Nonsense. I'm fine. I just have a—well, let me just tell you. My lady, you know that I very much enjoy staying near you and working for you, but my heart is calling me elsewhere. I wish to be released of my duties."

There. It's out. No turning back now.

The countess takes a few moments to digest this. "Oh... This is a surprise. Was it the bandit? I took care of him. He'll never again return to Lockmire."