Inkblots: A Tale of Magic, Adventure, and Romance

I. Heroes

Alia scrubbed diligently at the seams in the cobblestone floor before her, sudsy water pruning her fingers up and harsh stone bruising at her knees. Anyone else would have felt discomfort--even Alia herself would have until a few years ago. But now, she was so used to the task that her senses were inured, and the thought of what was going on only a few chambers away occupied her mind wholly.

She listened intently, imagining her ears widening and stretching, hoping to catch some sound of the goings-on, but there was nothing. Only the fluttering noise of the guttering candle flame and the rhythmic swishing of her brush filled the stone space.

Suddenly, approaching footsteps echoed down the corridor outside. Alia stared raptly toward the doorway, but scrubbed harder, making sure it looked like she was dutifully at work. The slap of shoes against cobblestones moved closer and closer with a measured tread, and Alia's heart pounded in excitement. Who was it? One of the adventurers? Even if it was merely a Scribe, perhaps she could glean some clue from his appearance.

The footsteps paused just outside and then a tired looking face peered in, topped with a messy bundle of brown hair that was streaked with gray.

"Li Li, there you are, darling," said her mother.

Alia sighed in disappointment at the familiar face, but pushed up from the cool floor with a smile. "Mami, how are the kitchens?" She let the slim older woman pull her into a short hug, savoring the yeasty smell of bread dough and sweet vanilla.

"Loud. Busy. The usual." Her mother chuckled and stepped back to take in Alia's appearance. "You look tired, little dove."

"Just the scrubbing," Alia said quickly.

"You've been sleeping, yes? We talked about this. You can only keep studying if you can balance it with work."

"Of course, Mami. Promise. You just know how I hate the scrubbing." Alia's blue-gray eyes flitted guiltily to the side, but the older woman in front of her was caught in a yawn and didn't notice.

Her mother nodded, smiling with pity and understanding and blinking exhaustion out of her own blue eyes. "I know. Here, before I forget." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief-wrapped bundle.

Alia opened it eagerly, everything but lunch forgotten. Inside, crumbly cheese and a piece of cold chicken were wrapped in a thick leafy green, next to a small round lump of dough. "Oh, Mami, apple puff??"

Her mother laughed at the eagerness in her voice. "Yes. But Alia--eat the rest first."

"Of course."

"I'll see you tomorrow, dearest."

"Goodbye, Mami." Alia kissed her on the cheek and dutifully bit into the meat wrap. Savory flavors filled her mouth, and she sighed in quiet satisfaction. By the time she'd let the last sweet bite of apple puff melt between her lips, her mouth was dry, and she ducked out of the chamber and toward a nearby fountain.

The cold water tingled against her lips, and after a long, thirst-quelling drink, Alia splashed a palmful across her warm face. Humming to herself and drying her hands on the serviceable brown apron that covered her dress, she turned back and darted toward the recently-vacated chamber. Surely the ceremony would be over soon, and if she could just finish here, Master Rubart would be waiting.

The tapestry-hung walls slid past her quicly as she slipped through the corridors towards her task. Still humming, she didn't even detect the presence of another person until she had rounded a corner and collided with him.

"Gods be damned," the man swore vehemently. He was clutching at his head, and Alia couldn't see more than a thatch of unruly golden hair and non-descript clothing. Well, at least he wasn't a Scribe.