Then, behind her, the table filled itself with a meal for one. Candles illuminated a plate of chicken breast and roasted carrots with a slice of berry pie.
Her stomach rumbled at the smell. She sat down for a bite and stayed until the plate was clean. Not a second after the final bite, a bowl of thick stew appeared in its place.
“That is quite enough,” Keira said sternly.
The bowl slid closer to her.
Keira rolled her eyes and finished that too.
By the time the Domus was satisfied and the bowl disappeared, it was nearly dusk. Even so she went back to her work, carving warding runes into the tower’s foundation until late into the night. The ward would allow no one in but herself, and those she invited. It would also protect the tower from damages. When the spell was finished, Keira walked inside, utterly exhausted.
A fire sprang immediately to life in the fireplace. A hot mug of tea fostered a trail of steam on the table beside her chair. Keira sank into it, taking a sip of the tea. Chamomile. She emptied the cup, careful not to look at Ignatius’s empty chair. Instead, Keira allowed the warmth to fill her as she watched the flames lazily. Her mind was too tired now for worries or loneliness or anything at all besides deep, dreamless sleep.
Days Past
Caspian had never known a cold like the chill of Icespire Pass. It settled into the bones so deep that no cloak or fire could truly ease it. Even after days in the mountains, Caspian had not grown accustomed to the constant wintry ache. Worse, he could hardly complain. Every other soul in their company was feeling the same, including the prince himself. Not to mention that he was the first sword. The other twenty four swords in his unit had been put under his charge. It was his responsibility to relay orders from the commander, make sure their gear was in good repair, and in the absence of direction, they would look to his judgment on the battlefield. It was also his unspoken duty to keep their morale up, a task which had been simple when there was plentiful food and a warm bed, when the worst of their problems had been homesickness and sore feet.
Keeping spirits high had only gotten more difficult when they had passed beyond the reach of the post. No more letters from home. Military correspondence only. No more letters from Keira. It was hard to even picture her in a place like this, to remember the warmth of her skin. The way she’d smelled of ripe spring grasses or the depths of the forests, always of green and growing things. There was nothing here but the smell of smoke and the razor’s edge of winter cutting his senses.
“First Sword Caspian,” Commander Bexley’s voice pulled him out of his dismal thoughts.
He had been sitting around the fire, shoulder to shoulder with other members of his unit, trying to coax as much comfort out of the fire as possible as the meager sun drifted below the horizon. Caspian stood and saluted her reflexively. The others stood as well, following suit.
“The firsts are gathering in the prince’s tent.”
Caspian nodded.
Her eyes scanned over the other soldiers. “Stand down and warm yourselves.”
They nodded gratefully and huddled together once more as the general led him away from earshot.
“Is there anything your unit has need of?”
“Blankets, Commander,” Caspian said. “New boots if they can be spared.”
She nodded as if she had expected as much. “I will do my best. Tell them to line their boots with what they can.”
He nodded, and she left him.
Caspian cut a course through the camp. Though they had only stopped to rest here a few hours ago, the snow was already packed hard into the dirty ground. The prince’s tent was easily spotted, its canvas black against the wintry snow. The banner overhead heralded the golden rose of the royal house. Members of the king’s guard stood outside clad in their polished armor and capes of black with golden trim.
While the king’s guard was the prince’s official escort, thirty in number and many extended members of noble houses, Commander Bexley’s swords made up the majority of the company. Caspian was but one of her ten Firsts, bringing their total numbers to two hundred and fifty. Their duty was to escort the prince to the front, where the ogres were threatening the northern borders.
From what Caspian had heard, the effort was going well. Though the ogres were immense in size and strength, theirnumbers were nothing in comparison and had begun to dwindle over the long campaign. Their companies would revive the front lines as the prince led the final push to send the brutes back to their icy, inhospitable homelands. It was the only reason the heir to the throne had been allowed so close to the front. The war was practically over.
Caspian pushed open the entrance. Inside was blessedly warm. A fire was lit in the center, the smoke trailing through a hole in the top, but the thick canvas of the tent trapped the heat inside. At once his face began to thaw. His muscles, once tensed against the chill, relaxed.
The other firsts had already gathered. Caspian was familiar with many of them. Particularly Arthur who had gone through training beside him. He offered him a familiar nod as he entered. They had been promoted together, but he had seen little of him since then. Most of the others were more seasoned and afforded him no regard. Caspian fell in rank only moments before Commander Bexley entered with three members of the king’s guard followed by the prince himself.
Prince Gilbert was just about everything he’d imagined a prince to be, Caspian supposed. His long black hair was held back in an orderly bun, a thin golden crown decorating his brow. He wore a suit of armor that was clearly crafted for his body. A base of leather allowed for flexible movement. Overtop a layer of plate had been added for additional protection, decorated with the golden rose. Not only was the armor glamorous, but he had clearly been trained in how to wear it. He walked with a soldier’s bearing. A sword hung from his hip, but it was the magnificent bow strung over his back that always caught Caspian’s eye. Its wood was polished and reddish in hue, inlaid with what appeared to be natural veins of gold. It was called the Sovereign Bow, a weapon of legend, one of many that the royal family possessed, or so he had heard.
What had truly come as a surprise was the prince’s naturally friendly air. Caspian had seen his lips drawn in an easy smile from afar. Though now his expression was more serious, focused as he spoke with the Commander. When the prince’s eyes finally fell on them all, they straightened, Caspian as well.
“I’ve gathered you all to share good news, my friends,” Prince Gilbert said. “General Mallister has sent word of a resounding victory on the northern front. The ogre’s war bands are in full retreat.”
Caspian heard a few around him let out audible breaths of relief. Similar hope swelled in his chest. The idea of spending the next two years of his service somewhere safer, warmer even, sounded like a dream.
“We will still be joining with the bulk of General Mallister’s forces in a few day’s time,” Commander Bexley said, tempering their palpable excitement. “It will likely mean another few months in the mountains, maintaining the border from any rogue bands. We’ve seen their numbers become emboldened when smaller raiding parties have broken through to pillage south unchecked. We cannot allow this to happen.”
