Nehelon's strides, powerful and graceful, gave Gandrett the impression she was walking next to a force of nature. But however much it tugged on her nerves, she didn’t turn her head to take a real look at him. She wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction of seeing her curious or even intrigued—for even with all of the dust and grime from traveling distributed on his clothes, his hair, there was something fascinating about him simply because he had almost defeated her. She frowned.
“Doesn’t suit you, you know?” Gandrett felt Nehelon’s gaze as if someone was holding a torch close to her face. “Leaves wrinkles.”
Gandrett suppressed the urge to use the sword in her hand to get him to stop talking.
As if feeling her irritation, he fell silent and didn’t speak until they entered the citadel.
“This is as cold and unwelcoming as I remember it.”
At his unexpected statement, Gandrett’s head involuntarily turned, and she found him gazing at the torch-lit hallway with carvings of Neredyn’s history, the thundering of the waterfall a constant background melody.
“You’ve been here before.” Not a question.
Nehelon’s head turned, and he faced her for a moment, his eyes muddy-gray in the mixture of fading daylight and orange flames. He gave her a brief nod before he returned his focus on the walls again. “You could say so.”
“When?” Gandrett prompted.
A low chuckle was the only answer she got before they made it to the courtyard at the center of the citadel.
A breeze, unusual for the heart of Everrun, touched her face as she stepped outside, half an eye surveying Nehelon at her heels and the sword in her hand—appearing loosely and casually gripped to the untrained eye—ready to flick into the young man’s thigh should he turn out to not have good intentions—
“My friend!” The Meister threw his arms open, immediately rising from the stone dais.
How very unusual it was for the Meister to show emotions like this. The smile on his face, wide and welcoming, was as alien as the rush in his footsteps as he moved to meet Nehelon—who had picked up pace and was now walking in front of Gandrett, who was still deciding whether he was a threat or just the greatest fool in the world.
She watched the two men embrace between the blossoming greenery and again felt the urge to comment when the Meister caught her eye over Nehelon’s shoulder, his gaze saving her from embarrassing herself and, worse, from potential punishment had she not been able to hold her tongue. “Leave us, Gandrett,” he motioned with one hand as he clapped Nehelon’s back. “But stay close.” He slowly pulled out of the other man’s embrace, his eyes full of the dancing light of the band of fire lighting the courtyard from the edges of the gravel which enclosed the vegetation in the square space. “My friend and I have matters to talk through.”
With a low bow, Gandrett retreated back inside and paced the hallway for a minute, debating whether or not it was acceptable to spy on the head of the Order of Vala and his mysterious visitor, before she settled at the windowsill next to the door and peered inside through the stained glass.
The small clear segment that was low enough for her to see through opened the view on an animated discussion. Nehelon, expression so tight earlier, was smiling broadly and openly, an expression which turned his already handsome face into outright beautiful. Gandrett bit her lip and scowled.
Who was this man to simply be allowed to upturn the rules that were valid for everyone who traveled to Everrun? How could he attack one of the Order of Vala and yet be welcomed with a hug by the very same Meister who had set those rules in stone?
As she watched them, the Meister, his face so unusually bright, pulled Nehelon down by the arm as he sat on the edge of the dais, suddenly looking old. His back, normally straight and unyielding, his shoulders, now slumped. While beside him, Nehelon’s muscled body, forearms resting on his knees, dark hair falling in his face and hiding those piercing eyes behind a wavy curtain, displayed the epitome of strength and youth. And as they spoke, both faces slowly grew weary. What were they talking about?
Gandrett’s head grew heavy as the sky turned darker, and she played with the plain iron pommel of her sword, which she had laid down beside her on the windowsill. She was still in her sweaty clothes, dust and dirt making the sand color appear darker in places. Her stomach growled. On a normal day, she would sit across the table from Kaleb and next to Surel, digging into whatever stew they offered for the evening, quietly smiling at Kaleb’s grin’s and ignoring Surel’s jabs in her ribs at every one of them.
Life at the Order of Vala was easy, in a way. Every year at Vernal Equinox, the Fest of Blossoms—Vala’s holiday—four children joined the order. And four left to take on their duties wherever the Meister assigned them. The children were collected from the territories of Neredyn. One child from each human territory except for Sives, the north. Gandrett’s homeland. Sives usually sent two children: two symbolic, for each of the twin capitals—Ackwood in the west and Eedwood in the east. Gandrett shuddered and shoved the thought far down into the black depths of her memory.
Life at the order was obedience, training, worship. Obedience toward the Meister and his rules, training in swordsmanship or, for the gifted ones, magic. And worship of Vala. Every chore, every lap around the city, every sharpening of her blade, was in worship of Vala. That was the life she’d been sent into, and that was the life that had shaped her, sculpted her, inside and out.
Her calloused hand picked up the sword and weighed it while she watched reflections of flickering firelight dancing on the worn metal. Fancy swords were for nobles, not for members of the order who were destined to serve their entire life. Their lives a sacrifice on behalf of each ruler in Neredyn to Vala, the goddess of life and water. A glance at Nehelon’s sword at her hip told her enough to know that he came from a bloodline worthy of setting jewels into the hilt and pommel of their swords. She ran a finger over the crimson crystals and frowned.
Gandrett didn’t count the minutes the two of them spent conversing between the greenery, lost in her own thoughts, and pushed away from the windowsill only when the Meister called her name loudly enough to make it clear she’d been summoned.
“Get our guest to more suitable quarters for the night,” the Meister ordered, his face returned to normal, as Gandrett popped her head into the courtyard, ducking under the short palm tree at the side. “And give him his weapons back.”
Behind the calm posture of the Meister, Nehelon smirked at Gandrett, the look in his eyes letting her only guess that whatever their discussion had been, it had been to the young man’s satisfaction. It made Gandrett want to stick out her tongue, but she bit it instead, preventing herself from falling out of grace with someone who seemed to be favored by the head of the Order of Vala.
“Thank you, Meister.” He bowed low as the Meister glanced over his shoulder, a serene expression decorating his timeless face.
“We will talk tomorrow, my friend,” was all the Meister said before he nodded a silent dismissal.
Gandrett didn’t wait for Nehelon to join her at the threshold before she started out the door after a hurried bow. And even if her face was smooth and emotionless, she heard it in her own footsteps crunching on the stone floor, expressing how the tension was there, how she couldn’t stand to have him out of sight even if, for now, he was unarmed. It went against her nature to turn her back on an opponent—even if technically he wasn’t an enemy. Not if the Meister had welcomed him with open arms. She had never seen him do that in ten years.