Steeped In Honeyed Steel

I hadn't meant to come home changed. And the home I made my way to was draped in more than just sights. It wore the ground under my mare's hooves, and smelled like fresh grown barley in the surrounding hills we rode through.

The memories that flashed through my mind made my chest tighten in anticipation, the faces that would likely look upon me with different eyes from my return. But the farther we rode the more my thoughts shifted to my bed, and how the feathers of the mattress would feel under the weight of my body.

I shifted in my saddle, adjusting the weight to ease my aching thighs. The leather creaking made my dappled horse shake her head and snort, as if to say stay still. A couple hours' journey on horseback from the army camp was all it took to be back in BitterLeaf Row. That was if you continued at a languishing gait.

I could already feel the magic thicken in the air for the remaining time we had left. Like a silent pull, a call that welcomed me back to the town I had grown up in. Where my family had been for as long as time could remember.

I looked to my sister beside me on her chocolate gelding, her light brown hair waving behind her. Mischievous honey brown eyes glinting as she tried to extract more information out of me before we finally got within Brightwicks town limits.

“Oh come on, there wasn't one guy that got under your skin?” Wren purred coyly, giving me a wicked smirk. “All those soldiers, all summer and you didn't find one that made the cut?”

My cheeks heated as I chuckled, shaking my head. The truth was I had more than enjoyed my stay with the army, finding a few different distractions that made the “cut”. But it was more than that. It was the apprenticeship that had truly made my family legacy feel like a freedom, an honor, instead of just an obligation. Something I honed while under the watchful eye of my brother, Issac–who was a field healer, a Cathlian–and my senior alchemist mentor. But yes, one in particular had definitely expanded my horizons.

Stolen moments in the dead of night and by supply tents filled my mind, making my lips curve up slightly.

“There might have been one.” I quipped, looking towards the treeline ahead, I glanced over at her again when she dipped her chin, batting her eyes incredulously at me. “Or two.” I conceded, rolling my eyes with a smile.

She leaned over smacking my arm, “See, I knew there was a reason you joined that damn apprenticeship," she said brightly. “It couldn't have been just mixing elixirs and potions all day.”

Fresh wounded limbs and the smell of astringent filled my nose with the thought of my realities for the last five months. A shiver rolled through me as I pressed back the memory. “What's wrong with that? I thought you loved mixing up remedies and making new teas?”

Wren chortled, “I do, but there's far less eye candy on display at the shop.”

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as the late summer heat dulled under the canopy, entering the forest leading up the hill. The leaves rustled overhead on the well traveled path. I thanked the gods that my sister had the forethought of taking the trail off the main road with crowds being drawn into the main city so close to Brightwick. It was a nice reprieve to finally talk with Wren again uninterrupted, rather than reading her sparse letters that had come to the border.

“I thought Beckett was your eye candy,” I say, giving her a sly look, and she whipped her head back to me. She looked reluctant to speak, but after a moment she let out a resigned breath, “Beckett, didn't know when was enough. He started having…feelings.” she scoffed, like the word was an insult. “That man had abs for days and a cock that could put Whiskey here to shame,” she said, patting her horse's shoulder and I cringe at the visual. “But there was nothing between those eyes.” she sighs wistfully.

A surprised bark of laughter erupted out of me at her candor, but then again Wren never pulled any punches.

Poor sweet, albeit hot, Beckett. “But they were very pretty eyes.” I croon, making Wren gag and my responding laugh turns her to glare at me. “Not pretty enough to add any depth behind them.” she huffs.

Our cackles followed us down the trail as our horses meandered. The lazy sway and easy conversation feeling like a world away from the one I just left. My army issued deep tan leather jacket had long since been slung over the back of my saddle. Leaving me in just a crisp white shirt that curved snugly over the full swell of my breasts and hung loose over my stomach, with leather fitted pants and boots that matched.

Sweat trickles down my neck and into my shirt in my body's protest of the stifling heat in ill prepared traveling clothes.

Why didn't I change before leaving? Oh yeah, because I didn't want the looks the others would have given me. But with twenty miles between me and my former bubble, I'm starting to think of just trading out my leather pants for thin cotton ones before we reach the town.

“So how's Nona?” I ask, trying to wipe the sweat from my throat with my shirt collar. Flicking my braid back over my shoulder. A breeze flits in between the trees, catching on the fly away strands. I breathe in the temporary relief.

“Oh you know, the same.” Wren shrugs. “Old, bossy, always in everyone's business,” she says, casting me a wry smile. Something tugs at her expression before she looks ahead again and I catch it just as a predator would track the movement of prey. “You're not saying something.” I point out.

“It's nothing, well…not anything that you should worry about.”

“Then why don't you tell me if it's nothing?”

“Because you don't have to know everything, Bri. It's stupid and probably won't happen anyways,” she says shortly. I give her a knowing look. “If you're saying anything about it out loud then you think there's a possibility of something happening.” Her expression turns tight as she narrows her eyes at me.

I press on. “You're worried, don't give me that. Is it dad?”

Wren laughs dryly as she shakes her head. “No, dad is the same as he’ll ever be. Cooped up in his study, dead to the world as far as he cares.” Her eyes flick to me in reproach. “And quit reading me.” she adds.

My heart stutters for a moment at the mention of my fathers state. It's been three years since our mother died, and it still haunts me like it just happened yesterday. But for my dad, it's like the day she left this world is everyday. No matter how we try to console him. No matter how many remedies Nona made to ease the soul into transitioning without his soulmate, nothing ever seems to smooth the ripples of my mothers passing. Even though I know it's no fault of our own, it still feels like a failure on my part.

“He's just grieving the only way he knows how.” I mutter, even though we both know the truth. That we don't know if his shattered heart will ever mend enough to return to the living. “We’re all grieving,” Wren almost whispers.

I feel the frustration in her tone. The resentment that lingers and builds with each passing day, from when all of our fathers obligations got left to the rest of the family. It's a patch to a wound that needs to be cauterized. One I intend to take a torch to if I can accomplish it.

I swallow down the pain, deciding to leave the topic behind until a better time presents itself, merely saying in quiet acknowledgment, “I know.”

We ride in silence for a few minutes, hooves on packed down earth, the song of birds overhead and branches dancing around us the only sounds that bridge the distance between our shared space. As we start to descend the slow rolling hill, the sunlight glints off a stream of light in the distance and I feel a smile start to stretch over my face. A river of incandescence winds its way between the valley of steep hills, and on the other side, lies home. Little more than a patchwork of mossy stone and deep brown wood climbing into the forest from the view atop the adjoining knoll. We pause, taking in the sight of where our ancestors decided to settle and make their mark.

“This never gets old.” I murmur, looking out over the landscape, and the faint prickle of magic rolls under my skin.

My heart swells at the thought of seeing Nona again, our great aunt who never knew how to stay still, and the tea shop that she worked so hard to maintain. The customers that knew that there would always be a hot cup of tea or a potion to ease their aches. Whether it be physical or emotional.

My eyes catch on the main road leading into town, a steady stream of travelers from the country who lived within the province. Some walking while others rode in on horseback, a few carriages ambled down the wide dirt road from over the stone bridge of the Silverbend river.

My sister must have locked on to my interest, because I hear her call out, “Are you still thinking of competing in Highcross this year?”

My stomach does a small flip and I barely contain my lips twitching upwards. If she only knew what I had been planning, she probably would have thrown me into the river to sort my head out.

I glance at her, not trusting myself to look at her fully. Her waves flow down the side of her shoulder as she examines me with curiosity, her full pink lips thinning.

My sister looked similar to me, although my chestnut hair was a few shades darker than hers. Some said we could even pass for twins. But where she was a more slender build, I curved generously in all the places a woman was usually sought out for.

I had hoped training beside Avendell’s army would taper the size of the enormity of my bottom, the breasts that seemed to have a mind of their own. And to the credit of rigorous workouts with Isaac, they did seem to stay in place more. Muscle packed beneath the softness. But what baffled me is the fact that while they were more shapely, it didn't affect the size. If anything my ass had gotten rounder, much to my dismay.

Binding my breasts tightly with a wrap only hurt, and made it harder to move or fight. So I had opted for cutting up shirts that were two sizes too small, and fitting the two mountains underneath. Was it sexy? No. But practicality won out. They didn't make lingerie that was meant to keep your boobs from flying in either direction.

What I had hoped for was less attention, less underestimation from my fellow students, and especially the soldiers that leered. Because all these assets got me at first was attention in all the wrong ways.

That was until I got in my first fight, making the low ranking asshole eat dirt for touching what wasn't his to touch, and then three things happened. I earned the respect or at least the hesitation to fuck with the girl who looked easily pluckable. Like a flower they thought could be easily trampled. Two, I earned a camp nickname, one that spoke to my capability rather than my looks. And three, I met my newfound friends and snagged the interest of a few soldiers with manners who not only helped me train during the day but helped me explore at night.

Another thing Wren would probably throw me in the river for, but not because she was a prude. But because the woman who came out of her apprenticeship was changed, not just in body but mind. She would most likely wonder who the hell had come out of that camp from the absolutely unseemly things I had done. In and out of the bedroom.

I adjust the strap of my crafty undergarment and give a one shouldered shrug, “Maybe.” I nudge my horse forward with my heels, leading her down the grassy slope toward the bridge and out of the lush forest. Wren follows close behind on the trail before she sidles up to me. “Whats that look for?”

“What's what look?”

She rolls her eyes. "The one where your big brown eyes get all fiery.” I flick my gaze to her and she points at me. “Yeah, that one. The first time you had that look you were dragging Finnegan into a mud puddle.”

I snort out a laugh, “He deserved it.”

“The last time…” she continues. “You were signing up for the field healer apprenticeship with the Cathlia after you got in a fight with Nona about expanding products,” she says flatly.

I feel my face scowl before I catch it. “Things change, that's all. I just wanted to…”

“Try to innovate and monetize. I know, I know, we've had that conversation. But why do you have that look now? When I asked you about Highcross.”

I blow out a breath, shifting forward in my saddle as we draw closer to converging with the main road. Thunder rolls softly in the distance and the smell of petrichor edges in on my senses.

She could read me too well, but that's why we were so close. I could read her just as easily.

“Why are you worried?” I shoot back with a challenging stare. Two could play this game. The look she gives me is nothing but sibling frustration as she deadpans. “That's what I thought.” I mutter, taking the people on the road, and she snickers.

My eyes follow the comings and goings, trying to find an open place in the rhythm of horses, oxen, carts and bodies leading up to Silverbend. The sound of livestock and creaking of wood, laughter and hushed conversation starts to become louder with each footfall. The slow rush of the river tinkles in the background as darkened clouds approach over the low hill across the bend.

As we slip between a carriage and a few foot travelers, we notice a couple of men on horseback that look like they've gotten beaten to a pulp. A hook nose man has a split lip and an eye blackened so bad it's a wonder his cheekbone isn't caved in, and a jovial gruff man with dirty blond hair is beside him feigning a launching motion as he howls with laughter.

Wren grimaces beside me as they pass, gripping her saddle horn tightly and then throws me a withering glare. “You better not do anything stupid.” she hisses quietly.

I cast her a saccharine smile. “Who me?

She just mutters under her breath, adjusting her flowy blue dress around her legs as we start to head over the bridge.

Honestly sometimes you would think that she's the older sister the way she fusses about.

The water was almost blinding as the sun rays glitter around us. Moss in colors of dark green and burnt orange covers the masonry of the old bridge, soaking up the dew from the river underneath. The magic becomes palpable for a moment as we reach the halfway point, passing through wards surrounding Brightwick. My body feels like it's pressing against an invisible shield before it dissipates and I sigh out a breath of both excitement and relief.

As soon as we hit the path that winds up the hill to the forest, the back end of town finally shows its face. A large stone archway looms ahead, the name of the town engraved elegantly into the stonework as twin torches wrapped in glass keep it company on the surrounding wall. Magic forever fueling the flames that invited travelers from around the continent to see the finest work that craftsmen had to offer.

Avendell might be the ruling city that kept Brightwick in its borders, but the town and its people had been here long before a ruling monarch took its place beside it and absorbed it into its stretching fingers. Nona always liked to say that her mother had thrown rotten cabbages at the city guard when they first enacted taxes. Which told me that Nona, not only lied about her age but she was way older than she wanted us to believe.

The carriage in front of us hurries ahead as we approach the mouth of the arch, pale slate grey stone buildings within the wall jut upwards in dispersed intervals lining the cobblestone road like jagged teeth. Sometimes three to four stories high topped with carved wood shingles. The shops sometimes occupied different sides of buildings as the roads twisted and turned to another nook or cranny of wonder. It wasn't the sort of place for neat and orderly, it was charming chaos in its very best form.

Glee rose up in my throat, the swarming energy drawing me in like the embrace of an old friend. To enter the flower district and not be filled with hope on the scent of peonies and lilac, was like fighting an oncoming tide. Every balcony that we passed that overflowed with ivy was a siren song. A coveted space that could chase away anyones notion that darkness would rule the day.

Vendors in front of shop carts that were filled with every color of bloom you could imagine, rang out in the throng as we passed the two guards stationed at the entry. Doors painted teal, yellow and pink lead into florists front facing windows displaying their vased gardens. Thunder rolled over the overlapping sounds of our clopping hooves and the town bustle as we made our way towards our district towards the center of town.

The street that curved upwards at the end turned into a smaller circular square, a fountain in the middle of a flat pavilion where pedestrians could sit and admire the small garden that encompassed it. Maroon colored flags with a white filigree cross hung over the roads. It wasn't a symbol of faith, it was a declaration to all civilians that the Highcross Tournament was upon us. With equal length lines intersecting, the cross stood as a reminder that a crossroads stood before us in life. In this case winners or losers.

Cobblers and weaver shops lined the inside of the space, with the occasional food cart. More than the usual amount, no doubt here for the festivities. Roasted lamb and braised beef kabobs drenched in spices wafted up to greet us and my stomach grumbled so loudly Wren smirked. She rode over to a cart, exchanged a few coins and brought over a bouquet of meat with vegetables, handing me half of them.

“Welcome home Brielle.” she said, and I immediately stuffed my face with a bite as she chuckled.

I let out a moan and my eyes nearly rolled back in my head at the flavor, savory cardamom and curry burst across my taste buds. “So good,” I muttered through a mouth full of food, staring at the kababs like they were a novelty.

Wren cackled. “Army food treated you well huh?”

I shook my head as I licked my fingers and examined the flags above us. “Nothing like this.” I murmured as we continued to head around the rotunda and into another street. A dull roar could be heard coming from ahead of us, echoing off the granite walls before it ended in clapping.

Wren cast a look at me as we traveled further into Brightwick, passing a few men who looked like they had just scrapped. They were all scuffed cheeks and bruised knuckles. Though their swords hung at their belts still. I frowned, usually when you lost in this competition you yielded the weapon you chose to fight with. But I supposed that Highcross hadn't officially started yet, and that's why these men had not lost theirs. Although maybe they had won, it was hard to tell with all the blood.

As we entered the scribe quarter that led to the center of town, the cheering voices got louder. Stores filled with paper and the finest pens and rare books passed by. The wooden signs that hung just above our heads were old and weathered and turned almost sinister as the full clouds blotted out the sun.

Wren finally piped up as more shouts went up. “Every man with a dick has been fighting every day by the loading docks. The Ashford brothers have been the ringleaders of course,” she sneered. I couldn't help the slow grin that stretched across my lips as I chewed, and the gleam that I'm guessing entered my eyes.

“Ok that looks just scary,” she said, eyeing me. “Yeah, yeah, I know coals for eyes.” I drawled swallowing down the succulent meat that was now at least half gone. My stomach rumbled appreciatively and I felt some strength returning to my limbs.

“No, this ones more…feral. If I had to put a name to it.”

I laughed, and did my best impression of a growl and it got caught in my throat. She cringed as I hacked. “Never do that again,” she said turning back to where we came up on another roundabout that branched off into three narrow streets where people filtered out of. I gave her my best evil look and doubled down, but as I filled my lungs with air and pushed it through my rumbling throat, it came out as more of a soft low battle roar.

Not bad, if I was being honest. Isaac would have been proud of it.

Some people stopped to turn and look at me atop my grey and white horse, and the look on my sister's face was worth it. “You need help.” she muttered, her cheeks tinged with pink as she avoided looking at me. I couldn't stop the bubbling laughter that came out of me.

I had missed this. Home. The people. The smells. And embarrassing my sister was a favorite pastime. How could I pass up such a ripe opportunity?

Although I wished that maybe I hadn't been quite as loud as a few ladies dressed in finery gave me reproachful looks. I flashed them my best grin and they tittered, rushing past us.

As we rounded the small fountain to ride through Tanners Row to make it to the highest point of Brightwick, clapping and hoots hollered from our left. I paused, my back straightening, and looked down the narrow street towards the sound as the sconces on buildings flared to life under the approaching storm. Warm white fire flickering under the glass as magic brought it forth. Wren stopped on the other side of the fountain and looked back to me as a harsh breeze sent leaves scattering through the streets. “Bri–” she called like a warning. Like she could already tell where my mind was headed.

I tilted my head towards the noise and smiled innocently at her. “Comon’ I just want to watch for a minute,” I said, throwing my leg over the saddle and hopping to the worn cobblestones. I didn't look back at her as I headed down the more non descript street, the sound of her cursing colorfully followed. I led my mare by the reins, my thick soled leather boots gripping the ground underneath.

A tiny speck of water dropped from the sky onto my nose and I flinched looking up as thunder boomed reverberating through the walls. The grey wisps of cloud cover that hung low almost matched the building around us. My horse shifted on her feet nervously, braying.

“Shhh, Ghost. Settle down pretty girl,” I whispered as I ran a hand along her neck under her long mane. I looked back where the cheering faded and then came back to life. Fiddling with the end of my braid my nerves rose for a moment. Letting out a slow breath I continued down the lane that only had doors with a few windows between them. This section was for traders and lawyers who had no need for a shop front. The only tell was the plaques on the doors with a few signs.

Ghost walked beside me before we got to the slight curve and a small crowd of people clamoring came into view at the end. Men of every size watch on as what could only be described as a small impromptu fighting arena. I can barely make out the center of the square through the backs and heads circled around the action in the middle. What I can make out is the sounds of grunts, the tell tale signs of metal ringing out and thuds of flesh against flesh. I note the coins being passed between hands as I enter the area and find a hitching rail, looping the reins twice over.

The atmosphere is bloodthirsty and full of testosterone. The yelling, cheering and curses are so loud I feel like my ears are going to pop. It wasn't anything I wasn't used to by now, but the hair on the nape of my neck still rose. Crossing my arms I glance around at the mix of people, most of whom looked like vendors taking a break or farmers from nearby. A few guards lounged at the edges, leaning on the walls or sitting on bare crates, not a care in the world as they probably placed bets of their own.

It was a usual occurrence for fighting rings to sprout up around Highcross. Competition was in the air, ambitions were high and bloodlust was at a peak. Nona had warned us from watching the unofficial fights, and Wren and I had mostly listened–until we didn't. We usually found a balcony to perch on, picking out the handsomest fighters, betting on who knocked out who first for an exchange of chore duties. But other years when we couldn't find high ground and we felt the stares of men a little too hard and decided to stick to the main parts of town.

Brightwick wasn't a seedy place, most of its quarters, rows and districts were managed without scrutiny, but that didn't mean that there weren't still dangers for women by themselves.

And there wasnt a woman in sight as I surveyed the fray. Typical.

I felt a tense shoulder brush mine and looked over at Wren gritting her teeth next to me as she peered between two broad backs.

I lean into her. “Go head up to BitterLeaf Row if you want,” I murmur low in her ear. She shook her head giving me a hard look, “I want to be here to strangle you if you do anything…unwise,” she said. I snort like she's the one that needs help now, and I look on as the bodies part to let us get a full view.

Two men were sparring with shortswords, bare from the torso up and glistening with blood and sweat. I recognize one immediately, tall, broad shoulders, dirty blond hair and a smirk that would make panties drop. It was the mischievous smile that I had known since I was a child, and spent many days laughing with as we played. Finnegan. I smiled as he laughed and twirled his sword circling an older man packed with muscle. And then cringe when they clash swords and the man pivots, elbowing Finn straight in the nose.

Red trickled down over his lips as he clutched the bridge of his nose and he points his sword at the surly mountain. “That ones free,” he says baring his teeth. The huge man only rumbles setting up stance again, the salt and pepper of his short beard flexing beneath the jaw muscle. Finnegan smiled again and brought his sword up with a feral gleam in his eyes.

That one was definitely not free.

I'm proved right when the mountain lunges for him again and Finnegan blocks him, hooks the hilt and brings both of their sword tips crashing down to the ground. And then proceeds to headbutt the man square between the eyes so hard I feel like I see the stars. Sending the hulking brutes head snapping back. His eyes fog over before gravity pulls him down to the ground, his body making a loud smack. It takes all of eight seconds and my eyebrows raise, slightly impressed. I'll have to hand it to him; he'd gotten better since the last time I'd seen him.

Jubilated yelling and disappointed boos echo on the stone walls as we watch Finn kick the man's sword away and wipe his nose panting. The muscles flex on his golden tan stomach with the effort. “That was kinda sexy.” Wren mutters beside me and I bark out a laugh.

The moment Finn's eyes flick up to lock onto mine, a flicker of surprise goes through them. He looks to Wren before looking me over curiously, like he can't quite figure something out and then they snag on my leather pants and boots. A wicked smile comes over his face, a realization I figure, his straight white teeth gleaming before he takes a step towards us.

“Hello ladies! Have you found what you were looking for?” he yells above the shouting, raising his arms, the sparse sunlight gleaming off his sword. Internally I cringe as the men in front of us turn their heads to look behind them. Straight at us.

Ah, he was always the crowd pleaser.

“Hey Mud Pie,” I say playfully, glaring at him. Wren scoffs and taps under her nose. “You got a little something right there, Ashford.”

Finn wipes his nose with the back of his hand as low chuckles from the crowd sound. And as the onlookers part in front of us I see his older brother sitting casually on the back wall. My skin practically hums as I feel those hazel green eyes peer at me curiously from a distance. I make out his long dark hair and darker complexion before Finn drags my attention back to him.

“Did you come to play? Or are you just looking?” he drawls with a glint in his eye. “Because you know I'm always happy to help with both.”

I raise an eyebrow the same time I feel Wren shift beside me. All eyes are on us and Finn and they look restless. I meet the eye of a few of the men, making bold eye contact. Let them look and see, I'm not prey, and neither is my sister.

“I think we've gotten our fill of seeing you get your ass kicked,” I say dipping my chin and gripping Wrens arm as I turn to leave.

Laughter filters through the men, I catch a few snide words about ‘women’, and Wren tries to mutter something to me but all I can hear is Finn shout.

“Brielle! Ladies and gentlemen. Back from the border ready to kick ass!” I turn to stare at him as he slowly backs up into the middle of the square.

“Our very own Cathlian Highcross contender.” He smirks, his eyes turning dark.

What an ass.

My eyes snap to Wrens. “How does he know?” I almost growled at her under my breath. Her mouth opens as she searches for an answer but no sounds come out.

Oh I'm going to kill her.