Without Starlight

Old Men Aren't Always Wise Men

~Chapter 4: Abagaila~

Abagaila was regretting her decision to cancel the tea party with the nobles and hold three balls instead. The preparation in the dresses alone, six hours of standing still, was starting to kill her feet, and she had to dance in these exact shoes tonight for several hours. Her attention was diverted from the seamstress reflected in the three-paneled mirror to the opening door reflected over her shoulder.

Rynn walked in holding a bite left of pastry in his hand. He nodded at her reflection before shoving it in his mouth. After chewing and swallowing, he walked to side off to the side. "That is a nice color on you, Your Highness."

She looked at the deep blue dress with silver flowers embroidered along the hems of the puffy skirt, swooping sleeves, and square neck line. "Can I please go in pants and shoes that won't kill me?"

The Head of her Guard crossed his arms, ignoring her question. "I met an interesting boy at the city walls this morning." He looked down into his arms, spotting crumbs, and brushing them off. "His baking skills rival that of the royal kitchens." There was something in his voice that made her wary of what she had to say next.

"I'm glad to see that you have a new source of pastries now that we are no longer being fed by Mrs. Flecun." Abagaila rubbed the back of her neck, even her back was starting to hurt.

"He smelled of darkness and death beneath the strawberry jam and butter." Rynn said suddenly, coldly. He looked back up at her, an unfriendly light in his eyes. "I have not smelled that since the war with the Tragoon."

Even the seamstress stopped breathing. Abagaila wished to shed her corset. The War with the Tragoon had been the deadliest war their country had ever seen. Dark creatures had tried to take over the country, leaving thousands of dead in their march. Rynn would have been little more than a child when it finally ended with the Tragoon's defeat.

"You shouldn't say such things." She whispered. She had heard the stories of blood running through the streets at the hands of the dark creatures. "Not in this era of peace."

"Your Highness, all peace comes to an end eventually." Rynn paced in front of the mirror, his sword reflection was shifting like a bad omen. "Two hundred years is more than long enough to rebuild...plot revenge."

"Rynn." Abagaila stepped off the stool the seamstress had placed her on. "What are you trying to say? That a Tragoon took on the face of a baker?" She had learned that a Tragoon could take on the face of one person, but it was not above their dark magic to steal others' faces.

He stopped pacing and stared her in the eyes. "The boy himself isn't aware of the smell that clings so him nor why he has it. I sensed that much when I shook his hand." Rynn placed his hand on his sword hilt. The action that he did so often now scared Abagaila.

"Rynn, what is going on?" The princess's knees shook as she stood before her friend.

"He was under a spell, unawares, but I... messed...with it. They should no longer have a hold over him and he will start to notice the spell now. If he is truly on our side, then he shouldn't smell of them for much longer."

"Does this boy have a name?" Abagaila placed her hand on Rynn's shoulder for support. The thought that the deadly Tragoon were within her country filled her with a sense of frightened urgency. "Is there any way that we can track him down and get answers?"

Rynn looked her dead in the eyes. "He is cloaked from even my tracking magic, but there are more conventional methods to find the boy called Nicholas."

"Then, that is what we will do." Abagaila pulled her skirts and walked towards the door. "We have to tell the King, set up an official search."

"Your Highness." Rynn rushed in front of her standing in front of the door. "Is it wise to cause such a stir so close to one of your balls?"