From Ashes and Snow

Guests

Chapter Two: Guests.

I woke that morning before the others. The winter's chill had seeped into the room, sinking her cold fingers into exposed flesh. The magic that had been expelled into the room had abated as we slept. Six female Elves shared this room with me, and Vanya was curled tight under her furs, her nose buried into the arm curled under her face.

Quickly and quietly I dressed, slipping on thick, lined leggings and boots to wade through the night's freshly fallen snow. Our room was long and narrow, with a single curved window of glass sitting at the end. Frost had crept over it, obscuring the view of the wilderness beyond Dratlan.

Coloured throws knitted by our own hands covered each bed. I had knitted my own, but Gilda had taken one look at the patchy mess of dyed yellows and greens and within a week, her own perfected version of it had been draped over my blankets. As a thanks, I brought her back a bouquet of wild flowers after my next hunt.

Arma murmured in her sleep as I padded towards silently towards the door, and I froze like a deer hearing a predator's step. The grace and elegance of the Elves was always thrown out in this room when they were woken unnecessarily. Her eyes darted behind her lids, and she murmured again.

A dream then.

I continued out of the room. The corridor was cold and quiet. Every door along it was an entrance into another bedroom where more of my kin lay sleeping. Opposite the doors were long, top curved windows. Panes of glass stretched over them – glass had always fascinated me. It was so brittle and yet it could keep out the wind. It looked like a mirror, and yet I could only see the shadow of my face if I stepped close enough.

As a child I had slept by the hearth of the fire on a sparse scattering of strew with my brothers and at night or during storms, our windows were boarded because we barely had enough money for food, never mind glass, or even shutters.

Blowing into my gloves, I moved silently along the halls while taking in the sights of Dratlan that I had seen hundreds of times over. It was these slivers of Dratlan – the quiet hum of morning before anyone rose and the night-time where it was utterly quiet and peaceful, and the stars shone so beautifully that I loved.

The quiet broke when I reached the kitchens. Tora stood amongst the organised madness, her sable bound into a tight bun that loosened over her pointed ears. When she spotted me slipping inside, she smiled. "Aviana, good morning my dear."

It didn't even need to be said or asked. She motioned to a platter of meats that I would struggle to lift to the stables. She had been key to helping me raise the hounds - when I returned with them when they were fragile little pups, she had given me milk and herbs to help them grow strong. For that, I had given her my 'secret' recipe for how I kept the tips of my ears so smooth against the winds harshness.

"Tell your hound not to tackle bears again, Aviana." She advised.

"Arno is a stubborn hound." If I looked at her right, I would see the silvery scar that had been carved down the column of her throat in a maddened attempt to kill her. She had been beautiful – she was beautiful – and some jealous Elf had looked at this peasant, a serving girl who no one would miss. And they struck.

Tora was a reminder that Elves could be just as cruel. A Mentor, travelling through the small town at the time had come across her discarded body and felt the sliver of life. Mentor Branluin was a master at healing and had managed to save her, but infection had forever ruined her skin.

Tora watched me with kind eyes as I hefted the tray onto my shoulder. "He must take after his mistress then."

I threw her a smile when I left, making my way towards the stables. It had taken the burden of the Paladin's horses easily. I knew Kelin had spent the night in here, singing and talking with the horses who would have listened to the Elvish hum of his words with an understanding that only animals had. Kendon bet Vanya that he also checked for signs of abuse, but I disagreed. Paladins relied on their mounts – they wouldn't do anything to damage them.