In Love and War

Chapter 1 - The Swan's Feather

A young woman caped in black slipped through the streets of the capital city of Altrys, head down, the hood over her hair blocking the sides of her vision. The moon highlighted the roofs of rickety houses and glinted off serene puddles born from morning rain. She pulled her cloak tighter against the chill of Altrysian spring and turned down another alley.

She stopped in front of a tavern. The words "The Swan's Feather" hung from a rickety wood sign just above the door. She pressed a hand against the battered door and stepped into the dark room, letting it shut quietly behind her.

The reek of unwashed bodies and beer washed over her. The low-lit tavern was packed full of people, drunk, laughing, brooding. But she knew very well that most weren't there for the cheap wine or the shitty beer. It was a popular meeting place for thugs and streetrats, mercenaries and assassins, and had been for longer than the woman could remember. It was well known that The Swan's Feather was neutral ground, protected by Nightshade herself, perfect for shady deals between dangerous and powerful men without the risk of ambush. Head down, the woman made her way to the back, pushing past brutes twice her size.

She passed the Arena, the pit that assassins and mercenaries fought in, scrambling for the money, the fame, the glory that would come with becoming the reigning champion. Too bad they so rarely made it out with their bones intact. Her eyes skipped past familiar bloodstains on the walls, and she turned away.

A man stepped in her way. Drunk, brawny, and likely missing a brain, he leered down at her. Stumps of broken teeth from battles lost jutted out from his gums. "Lost, darling?"

The woman stopped and tilted her head back just enough to let the low firelight touch her eyes. Gray eyes as cold as ice flashed at him. Slowly, she bared her teeth. A warning clearer than any words to let him know that she had no qualms about gutting him.

He scowled and took a step back. "Bitch. No man'll want a bloody cold bitch like you," he slurred.

Her face didn't move, didn't show a single thought, just icy cold. Under her cape, the woman closed her hand, spinning a jeweled ring around her finger, mind slipping back to when she'd thought the same as him. She stood stock still as he sneered at her and melted back into the crowd of bodies.
"Good to see you haven't lost your infamous glare." A low, melodic female voice spoke from behind her. The woman in black turned, capes swishing around her boots. In the shadows, watching unnoticed, leaned a woman.

She had always been most comfortable in the shadows, and the shadows always seemed most comfortable on her. The shadowed woman was slim and short, but she seemed to take up more space in the world than her body showed. Ethereal hair swished almost to her feet, studded with shimmering beads that were intricately knotted into the pitch black strands. Her face was pretty, with wide, feline eyes accented by a line of kohl across her top eyelids and rosebud lips painted in blood red. Her skin was rich and dark, but the shadows obscured its true color, slipping lazily across her skin. She would have been beautiful, except her face showed no sign of age. She could have been sixteen years of age, she could have been forty. No one knew. And it was terrifying to look at. Inhuman.

This was Nightshade, the owner of The Swan's Feather.

She was feared among the thieves and lowbloods of the streets, and rightfully so. No one had ever seen her angry and no one wanted to. Something about her wasn't quite right, wasn't quite human. She knew things no mortal should know: when a blight might come, who a new stranger to the tavern was, when someone was about to get into a brawl. The woman knew why though. Nightshade could listen to the shadows.

"Good to see you haven't lost your sense of fashion," the woman threw back, nodding at Nightshade's low-cut, figure-hugging corset that barely covered anything at all. It covered everything important, the woman supposed, but left not much else to the imagination.

"I'm comfortable in my body. Though you're one to talk." Nightshade ran her eyes down the woman's silky black cape.

The woman in the cape cracked a small smile - the first one since she'd arrived. "We need to talk, Nightshade."

Nightshade nodded and angled her chin at a booth enveloped mostly in shadow. "You know the price, girl."

The woman reached into her cape and drew out three shimmering white swan feathers. Nightshade took them gently and tucked them into her skirt before following the woman into the booth.

As Nightshade slid onto the hardwood seat, she appraised the woman. "So, Arya, what brings you back here?" She rested her hands on the table and shadows seemed to writhe around them.

Arya, the cloaked woman, sat with her back straight as a sword. "War."

Nightshade leaned back, glinting hair settling across her chest. She cocked her head to the side, eyes glittering. "What do you mean war, girl?"

"Preparations. Precautions."

Nightshade frowned.

Arya was still. "How many people can this place hold?"

"Enough to..." Nightshade went still as well, nostrils flaring delicately. "You mean for me to protect as many people in here as possible, should war break out."

"Yes."

Nightshade looked out at the people in her tavern, laughing, drinking. "And what will I receive in return?"

Arya ran her tongue across her teeth. She was playing a dangerous game. "What do you want?"

Nightshade was silent for a moment, then: "A favor. To be called in when I deem fit."

A favor. The currency of gods and monsters, of magic and death, not of mortals. From what Arya knew of favors, from what she'd been told, they rarely ended well for the human. She looked out at the people in the infamous tavern. The dangerous underbelly of the once glorious city, crown jewel of Altrys. But that was a long time ago. Now Altrys was fading, and her enemies knew it, snapping for scraps of her land like dogs.

Arya had no choice; she knew Nightshade well enough to know she would settle for nothing less. "Deal."

Nightshade's lips drew up into a feline grin. "Lovely."

Something hot and wild settled into Arya's bones, like electric claws sinking into her flesh and she started. "What is that?"

Nightshade stood, brushing a bead from her face. "The bargain."

Arya wanted to ask more. What in the gods' teeth did that mean, how did it work, would the strange feeling ever leave, but Nightshade was drawing the shadows around her, disappearing into the shadows of the corner of the room until there was nothing left of her other than a glint of light off the beads in her hair.

Arya turned, gaze sweeping across the people in the tavern. Her responsibility.

"Wait."

She turned back, wary.

Nightshade's dark eyes were the only things visible from the shadows. Her usually melodic voice was rough, and Arya could feel powerful magic, the same as what now clung to her bones from their bargain, stir its mighty head. "Your Royal Majesty." Nightshade used her full title, her voice melodic and full of magic. "Be careful. I've never heard the shadows so excited. Whatever is going to happen... it's going to change the very fabric of this world."

Arya opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't know what to say.

"Run back to lover boy, Arya." Nightshade's eyes went out of focus, and the magic shifted again. "While you still can."

Then Nightshade disappeared into the shadows.

And so the caped High Queen of Altrys turned, her daggers warm against her thighs, and returned to her husband and her castle.

* * * * *

So, how do you like the start of In Love and War? As you'll see later on in the book, it's mostly based around Celtic mythology (although I'm going to take some creative liberties, because this is fantasy, and come on, I like writing fantasy because it means I can do whatever the heck I want).

If you liked this chapter, please vote for it! It makes me smile.

Have a lovely day!