Ronilda's News
“I’m pregnant.”
Eve’s pencil stopped on the paper. She lifted her head to stare at Ronilda, a close friend and reliable employee. She straightened her back.
“Oh. Congratulations.”
Ronilda blushed and giggled, rubbing the back of her neck. “It honestly came out of nowhere! I was being very careful but here I am. Turoc is thrilled of course. We’ve been talking about a family; it’s just come around a little earlier than we expected.”
“I was going to say. You’ve been quite boastful about being strong and independent. Your children will grow up just as stubborn as you, I suspect.”
Ronilda shrugged as she leaned against the counter, looking at the necklace Eve was sketching. “I’m sorry it’s such short notice. I just got the news from the physician.”
“Well, these things happen,” Eve smiled. “I can adjust. I just don’t think I could find someone as strong as you to collect ore and jewels for me.”
“Well, why not hire a group then have a bodyguard for them?” Ronilda suggested. “It happens a lot. I just prefer being by myself so I can focus on my work. Most of the adventurers are either at the Bloody Axe or the Humble Griffin.”
Eve balked. Neither haunt was appeasing to her.
For one, the Bloody Axe was the cheaper of the establishments. More often than not a fight would break out between drunken adventurers and Eve had seen more than once a broken window whenever she passed by in the morning. She would rather avoid having to go near the place.
The other, the Humble Griffin, was owned by her debtor. Grem was like a lion, watching her every move whenever she arrived every month to pay a little more of her debt. She hated how his eyes lingered on her, even as she walked out.
But then again, perhaps it would be better to go to his tavern. His patrons were often more civilized, and it was a quieter setting. It was the best place to conduct business, as long as she ignored Grem as best she could.
After getting an adventurer as a bodyguard, it would be a case of taking him to the Golden Pick, where the miners would hang out. Most of them would work in the mines but Eve knew the best spots to gather ore and jewels was out in the desert. Unfortunately, not a lot of miners would risk facing the creatures that lurked out there, or even knew where to go.
Hopefully it would only be a case of Eve marking a spot on the map and letting the adventurer guide the miners to the location safely.
Whilst fiddling with her pencil, she smiled at Ronilda.
“I’ll think about it. I should have enough savings to shell out for a reliable mining team. Congratulations again.”
Ronilda smiled back. “I’m really sorry again. I was ready to head out but I just felt so sick…”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“No, not yet.” The miner sighed. “Lettie will be excited, won’t she?”
“Don’t forget Anne. She will be happy for you too.”
Ronilda frowned. “Anne doesn’t seem the kind of person who would be excited about this sort of thing. Like you.”
Eve’s jaw dropped as she slammed her pencil down. “Ronilda, I am very happy for you! You just walked into my shop and deadpanned your news like announcing what you had for breakfast. Forgive me if I don’t squeal and clap like Lettie.”
Ronilda sighed as she brushed a wisp of hair out of her face. “One day you’ll find someone you’ll want to settle with and understand the excitement.”
Her mother’s words of warning about men rung in the goldsmith’s mind as she looked at the sketch of the necklace. “Maybe.”
“Eve, you work yourself to death these days. You need to have fun, take a break.”
“But I’m really close to paying off my debts, Ronilda. I can’t stop now.”
Ronilda reached to take her hand and turned her palm up to look at the scarred fingertips. “Really now? Look at how badly you’ve hurt your hands! Grem can wait for your money, surely?”
Eve snatched her hand back. “You’ve not met Beric.” She squeezed her fist. “It’s fine, Ronilda. I just need a few more months and then I’m free.”
Ronilda smiled sympathetically, placing a hand over her fist. “Just don’t push yourself too hard. It’s been a while since you’ve smiled.”
Eve scoffed. “I’ve smiled before!”
“Not genuinely.” Ronilda squeezed her wrist then pulled away. “I’ll keep visiting you. You’re not free of me just yet.”
Eve sighed as she waved her away. “Of course. I’ll see you later.”
Blue Bullet
Aster breathed heavily as she pressed her hand firmly against her stomach, glaring at the blue glow emanating from between her grimy fingers. When a pebble flew across the cave room and landed by her foot, she smothered her mouth with her other hand and pressed her back flush against the stalagmite, the rocky spire barely thick enough to hide her trembling body.
“Aster!” Her target’s voice sounded heavy, tired and frustrated.
How long had she been stumbling in these dark caverns to hunt this…this thing down? Was it still light outside?
“Just surrender, little star,” it groaned, dragging its feet across the gravelly ground. “I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.”
She bit into her finger as two cylindrical objects manifested in her hand and lay against her aching stomach, while a bead of sweat rolled down her grubbily scratched face.
Only two?
The glow faded and her heart sank as she lifted her hand, revealing the turquoise bullets. A wave of dizziness swept over her and she pushed back into the stalagmite, a tear mixing with sweat and blood as she listened to the shuffling footsteps that paced the room.
“Aster? My little star? Where are you?”
Silence. Such deafening silence.
Aster didn’t dare breathe.
Her teeth sunk deeper into her finger and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Drip.
Something cold landed on her head and her body tensed in response. She began to shake again, praying to any deity or any higher power that nothing will give her away. She flinched at the sound of a weary sigh.
“My starshine…” it began singing as the shuffled footsteps moved away. “My lovely starshine… Come home to me, oh come home to me…”
She listened to the footsteps fading deeper into the cavern system, waiting several seconds more when they’d faded, and the room was silent.
Then, with a shaky gasp, she scrabbled for her bullets and pistols.
“Hell…” she whimpered as the bullets slipped in her fingers. “Hell.”
John and Elora
"Have you ever been to Graehea?" Elora asked John.
"Nah, never. Marc told me about it recently since he's had miners come from there to ask to be smuggled to the north for mining. I didn't really pay much attention but I made sure to brush up on my research last night. You gotta know these things before going to somewhere new. Learnt that from my Uncle Pete, he always got into trouble since he always seemed to offend at least one culture in three words."
Elora giggled. "How is your uncle nowadays?"
"Six feet under, I'm afraid to say. Bar fight and too old to be drinking."
Elora bowed her head and John shrugged dismissively.
"Don't beat yourself over it. Death happens and honestly, we were surprised it didn't happen to him earlier."
Elora yawned again.
"Honestly, 'Lora, take a nap. It's going to be a long journey until we stop for lunch."
"It's fine, really," Elora yawned a third time and rubbed her eyes. "It would be rude of me to sleep whilst you do all the work."
"Hey, it's nothing. Really. I got a good breakfast in, I can keep going until the cows come home."
Elora sighed as she sat back, stretching her legs out before her.
"...Thank you for helping me," she murmured. "You could have always left me alone..."
"Hey, what kind of man would I be if I left a damsel in distress suffering? You look like you'd been through hell, lass. Only a coward would have left you."
Elora smiled as she reached up to rub her neck. Her throat felt a little sore but maybe it was because she had been talking so much for the past couple of days. She was so used to being ignored, to being quiet and only expressing her intentions through actions. Yet despite the discomfort, it was nice to talk to someone and be listened to, as if she wasn't a cursed existence.
"Could you...tell me more about your family?" John glanced over his shoulder with a surprised look. "I want to know more about you. I...I haven't really spoke this much to anyone."
John smiled and nodded.
"Well, I'm the youngest of three," he said. "Two older sisters but the eldest eloped with some bloke and we haven't heard of her since. At least that's what my old man always told us. Our ma, now she always avoided the topic since it broke her heart and all. Gods rest her soul, she was one hell of a woman..."
Elora's eyes drooped as she listened John talk on and on about his family, eventually dropping off to sleep.
Mikael
There are people who would do anything to hide their scars from the world. Perhaps they do it because they perceive them to be ugly. That these hideous marks need to be covered to conceal their shame from the world.
There are other people who wear their scars with pride. Boasting about how they acquired them, retelling every story in all its gory details. Pointing to each mark and spending half an hour describing the events that gave them their glory.
Like this woman sitting on the bar, a few feet away from Mikael.
From his seat, he could identify what had given her such mighty battle scars. He could tell which tooth had sunk into her skin to leave a dent in her body.
A dragon had bitten her arms and nearly amputated her?
Hardly.
The healer could easily say she had tussled with lizardmen. Albeit, the toothmarks were big for lizardmen, so perhaps she had run into a hybrid or he was just mistaken. All he knew was that those scars were too small to have been inflicted by a dragon.
As the warrior chugged down another pint of ale, Mikael lifted his left hand to look at the neat scar across the back of it.
His parents had high expectations of him since he was an infant. Being born into a noble family that served the royals for generations already came with pressure on his shoulders.
Yes, his parents wanted the best for him. Sent him to the oldest and most prestigious schools that the crowned prince had already attended. Had him learn the most advanced healing spells before the rest of the class. It was imperative that he got into the royal academy so he could qualify to be the Royal Healer like his ancestors before him.
So, when he didn’t do very well in his exams, his mother had the biggest meltdown the Chavalieu family had ever witnessed.
His father needed to keep a grip on the situation, promising Mikael extra tuition so he could retake all the exams and ensure his place as Royal Healer. He reassured him that he could do it.
Well. Of course, Mikael could easily become the Royal Healer.
It’s just that the way he cast his spells were different to regular mages. Therefore, with little to nothing to mark, the examiners gave him low scores. It wasn’t the result that mattered, but the technique.
The scar on Mikael’s hand was proof on exactly what he was capable of.
His parents didn’t realise it but to practice his healing spells, he harmed himself. He had nary a scar other than the one on his hand right now.
He could get rid of it whenever he wanted. But for now, he will keep it. Prove to himself that he is capable of more than just healing spells.