Page 18 of Aubade Rising

It only takes one weak link to get what I want.

Eventually, I found one ferryman willing to accept a bribe to take me into the city and away from the insufferable men in the palace after the captain didn’t show up to escort me.

I stomp down the main street of Pentargon, viciously kicking detritus from the late winter storms out of my path.

My hands and cheeks ache from the frozen salt hurled through the air by the churning ocean.

I manage to resubmit my request to visit Pentargon Library before it closes, the only positive in my day.

I had to amend it to include Howl and the long lists of texts that Haelyn and he wish to view.

My own list is somewhat shorter. Howl insists that he needs access if he is to find me the material that I need.

Hopefully, this time I’ve overcome the librarians’ relentless bureaucracy and will be permitted inside.

My hand is still cramping from filling in their endless paperwork.

I shake off the lingering irritation from the King’s lack of awareness this morning and the rude and mercurial captain.

Both are insufferable. I need chocolate.

My feet carry me further into the city, searching for the confectioner’s I used to visit when I was little.

On the eve of one of the three annual festivals that Aubades celebrate, my mother would entice me to shut my books with the promise of a sweet treat.

She would wrap Cedar and me up tightly, tucking our small hands into her coat pockets to brave the frigid air together before the journey to the little chocolate shop a few streets away.

The shop was always warmly lit, glittering with foil wrappers: green for peppermint, blue for sea salt caramels and red for creamy fudge, sweetened with berries.

We would huddle in the warmth, carefully selecting one or two treats each, depending on the money my parents could spare, waiting for my father.

I always made my decision quickly, loyal to those little crimson-wrapped sweets, but Cedar would take a while.

He could never commit to one variety and my mother used to tease him that he’d eat the whole shop empty if he could.

The shop is cold and closed. Flickering streetlights scatter off the marbled glass windows as I press my face close to look inside.

It must have been open until recently: the displays are empty but no dust has gathered.

Frowning, I wipe away the condensation on the glass, straining to get a better look.

“They closed. Not long after the attacks.” I turn, stumbling.

Cedar’s voice calls out to me from across the street.

He’s wearing overalls and leans against his street cleaning cart.

In the dark evening light, he looks like our father.

My throat tightens. I turn back towards the closed shop before the perched tears are tempted to fall.

“A lot of places did.” His voice softens and I feel him by my shoulder. We look into the empty shop. “It’s Mis Genver tonight.”

“I know.” After tonight, spring will come.

Mis Genver is held one month after the shortest day.

Aubades can feel a noticeable difference as the sunlight strengthens in preparation for the warmer months.

Traditionally, gatherings would be held to share out the remains of winter food stores, to bolster the village through the remaining hard days.

At least, that’s what our mother always told us.

It’s why I feel so unsettled: I’m full of winter blues and my magic and I are cranky.

“Fancy a drink?” Cedar offers as he packs up his cart, having reached the end of his shift. I nod sadly, glancing back towards the shuttered confectioners and follow him deeper into the city.

We sit in companionable silence over a pint of what is supposedly fruit cider, although the fruit used is of debatable origin, given the smell that erupted from the dusty cask.

Nevertheless, it tastes better than it looks and it’s potent enough to evaporate the winter chill from my bones as my fingers regain sensation.

I am surprised that the tavern is open – most of the city is in lockdown, still reeling from the rebels coming forward nearly a month ago but, as Cedar crudely points out, you can’t police alcohol and having a good time.

Shifting in his seat, I notice his pint is empty. He’s looking awkwardly over his shoulder as the tavern becomes more crowded.

“Got somewhere to be?” I tease, swirling the dregs at the bottom of my glass.

“Yes, actually.”

I purse my lips. Mis Genver night is meant to be spent with family. I appreciate we’re not close but I’m sure there are not many Aubades in the city who will be marking the occasion.

“I’ve promised to stop by a friend’s establishment. A group of us are planning to celebrate together. One of us is performing.”

“Aubades?” I question.

He sighs, disappointed. “Does it matter?”

I shrug. I guess not. He can associate with whomever he chooses, I suppose.

I’d rather be alone here in the tavern than in the palace.

“You can leave me here. I don’t need a babysitter.

” Immediately I regret the bitterness in my tone.

It’s not his fault I don’t have any friends in the city.

I made that choice when I picked studying over socialising and then left for a decade without keeping in touch.

Now I have no one to turn to when loneliness creeps in.

He pauses, studying me carefully over the rim of his empty glass. His eyes, so like mine, the palest grey, fix me with a stare that has me shifting in my seat.

“You can come, as long as you promise not to report back to the palace.” Cedar’s mouth is firm, tone authoritative. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him act like a bossy older brother before.

Intrigued, I smile sweetly and agree.

The establishment he takes me to next couldn’t be further from the tavern where we started our night.

This one is salubrious and polished. The tables, well-oiled and shiny, not pock-marked from wet glassware rims, are arranged around a central stage.

Golden light spills from painted glass lampshades, cloaking the room and leaving the bar at the back in shadows.

Despite the crush of bodies squeezed round the tables, there’s no foul-smelling body odour, but a heady mix of perfumes.

Cedar finds us two seats at the edge of one of the tables and abandons me with a drink as he greets his companions.

They greet me with looks of surprise before dismissing me entirely in favour of a hushed conversation with Cedar.

He’s relaxed though, even if they are not.

Soon, they settle next to us, ignoring me completely.

I decide to leave, uncomfortable with the unwanted stares and lack of conversation but the lights dim and a hush descends. The room becomes so dark, I have to strain to see the outline of our companions before a spotlight illuminates the stage and the curtains open.

Howl sits on a stool, eyes closed. I gasp loudly, causing a disapproving murmuring to ripple through the crowd. Suitably admonished, I remain silent but confused and then he starts to sing.

His voice is heady, intoxicating and everyone in the room is mesmerised.

He coaxes the melody out. When I hear it, the rest of the room disappears.

He sings of love, of loss, of the dangers of ambition and the temptation of power.

I find myself clenching my hands into fists as he reaches a crescendo of one song, only to be soothed by the lullaby that follows.

Each song is different. He sings the first thing that comes to mind but the crowd doesn’t care; all we want is for him to never stop singing.

Howl closes his set to a standing ovation, and I wipe my eyes as the lights flicker back on and the next performer takes over. I don’t notice him slide off the stool and make his way to our table until I hear him exclaim, “Sage? What are you doing here?”

“You know my sister?” Cedar interrupts, swaying away from him.

“Oh! What a coincidence.” Howl stumbles, coughing, and recovers himself, turning back to my brother.

He couldn’t be further from the confident polished Mordros I visited a few weeks ago.

“We’re vaguely acquainted.” He smiles weakly, as if he needs me to intervene but I don’t really know what else to add.

Cedar blanches, downing the rest of his drink, slamming the glass hard on the table. “Of course, you are. Absolutely bloody typical. Excuse me, I need some air.” He turns from the table, face flushed red.

“Cedar, wait!” Howl rushes after my brother’s shadow as he strides towards the exit.

I remain behind, a blush warms my cheeks at the scene I’ve inadvertently caused.

Mumblings and stares continue to be directed at me from the other tables after the pair leave to sort out their quarrel.

I glance round the room until my gaze locks on the hard, caramel eyes of Captain Devath.

He leans against the bar, his face stony.

Even across the room, I can sense the rigid fix of his muscles when our eyes meet. This is not good news.