Eubar and Miska Bonetalon lived with their three daughters down one of the many tunnels leading out from the White Horn. Being a part of the royal entourage, they were positioned close to the great hall so Miska could be at her mistress Seran Wulfspine's beck and call.
Miska made Thistle nervous. She wondered if the tall, golden haired handmaid whispered every little thing she did or said to her tyrannical grandmother. She was always on guard around the woman, even if Miska tried to coax conversation from her.
Wearing her dark blue gown from her first meeting with Seran, Thistle followed Varin down the twisting corridors towards the family's chambers.
Varin glanced over his shoulder at her, quirking a heavy eyebrow, “What are you thinking so hard about?”
Thistle blinked up at him, “I was just wondering if you were going to say anything?”
Varin scoffed, “About what?”
“About what Gundrak said-”
“Gundrak has gotten knocked off his horse too many times in battle, he's all funny in the head.” Varin waggled his thick fingers over his scalp with a scowl. “My niece is a quiet, mild mannered girl, much to her parents concern. Something like an affair with a well born member of a Highborn Clan wouldn't be like her. Don't concern yourself with Hesla.”
Thistle nodded, wondering if she had imagined the figure in the doorway of the sparring room. Varin halted before a broad set of doors. He knocked once and the door swung open. A man of equally impressive height and breadth burst out, embracing Varin with a rumbling laugh.
“We don't see enough of you, little brother.” He said, pulling away and squeezing Varin's shoulder.
Varin clapped his hand with a wide smile that rarely graced his serious countenance, “Well, you don't invite me often-”
“I have no time for excuses, especially with such an important guest at my table this evening.”
Eubar Bonetalon pushed past his brother towards her, his eyes as bold as Varin's though more golden hazel than green. His face was heavily lined with the years and a tattoo of a bear claw wound around his neck and up the side of his face. Thudding a fist to his heart, he bowed his head. Thistle's gaze flickered towards the doorway where Miska's familiar form loomed. She nodded her head with a quiet smile, as unreadable as ever.
“Thank you for the invitation-”
“I cannot tell you what an honor you do us. Please come in!” He gestured towards the door.
Miska's long hair was wound half up on her head, stray braids jingled with glass beads against the cream shoulders of her wool gown. Next to her stood the silent maidservant, Hesla. She didn't meet Thistle's eyes, her slender hands gripped in front of her black skirts. She was as dark as her mother was fair. Thistle had never put the two together as mother and daughter, they were so dissimilar in looks. In contrast, the two younger daughters were the spitting image of their mother. Barely out of childhood, they were as bold as their parents.
Two women were setting the meal on the round table at the center of the rectangular sitting room. Weapons of Eubar's fallen foes were mounted on the walls and Miska's loom was situated by the hearth.
“Is it true you lived in the forest?” The middle daughter Valtha asked as they were seated for their meal.
“And that your mother was a witch?” Nandri, the youngest, chirped, her face expecting a wondrous response.
Hesla swatted Nandri, the girl whining in response. She met Thistle's eyes for a moment, long enough for her to give Hesla a hesitant smile.
“It is true I lived in the forests of the east with my mother. My grandmother too.” Thistle replied as one of the attendants poured her a cup of honeyed mead.
“Was your grandmother a witch too?” Valtha asked as a plate of mustard eggs and oxtongue was brought out.
The men chuckled and Miska let out a audible sigh. She arched an eyebrow at her younger daughters. “Girls, our guest is going to think I have nothing better to do when I am home but gossip about Seran Wulfspine's granddaughter.”
Miska let a clandestine smirk simmer on her face as she glanced up at Thistle. Thistle looked down at her plate as rye bread and meat were piled on it.
Thankfully, the conversation turned to expectations for when Avol Redeyed would return. He would arrive with the majority of the goods and money that had been left behind in the Clans return to their homeland. Hopefully the man's golden tongue and quick witted spells would win him back the majority of their possessions.
After the meal, Varin and Eubar continued to drink heavily as they spoke of old battles. Thistle rarely heard her father's name mentioned. When it was, both men shied away from it like an old wound that still gave them pain and would drink more. The younger daughters were put to bed and Miska led her eldest daughter and Thistle to the loom.
Thistle had never worked her own mother's loom so she sat nearby as the two women wove in the warm firelight. Despite her hesitation around Miska, between the mead in her blood, the good meal and the fireside, Thistle was nearly comfortable enough to doze off.
“My lady, do I need to have my brother-in-law escort you back to your chambers?” Miska asked, running the shuttle through the silver strands.
Thistle glanced over at Varin. He was smiling widely again at Eubar, his teeth bright as snow. It was good to see him so at ease. It was a rare condition.
“No, thank you. The brothers seem to be enjoying themselves.”
“They often do when they are together,” Miska replied with a sigh. “Tell me, what is your relationship to my brother-in-law?”
Thistle sat up straight in the chair. “Well, my father asked him-”
“Yes, yes. We all know that tale. All of White Horn knows his oath to the late King. But that was their relationship. What is it like between you and Varin?” Miska glanced over at her.
Thistle shrugged, studying her hands in her lap. “He is my friend.”
“Are you...intimate?”
“No!” Thistle's response was so loud it briefly drew the attention of the men. She brought her voice down with a grimace. “No, no, of course not.”
“It would not be frowned upon among the Clans if you took him for a lover. Many ladies of Highborn Clans take their best warriors as lovers. Now as husbands, that's another matter. But to keep your bed warm while you are still unwed-”
“Mistress Bonetalon, I promise you. There is nothing of that nature between Varin and I. And I don't foresee anything happening in the future.”
Miska set down the shuttle and came out from behind the loom. Hesla still worked with her back to Thistle. “Foresee? Then what is it you divine from your future? Do you wish to wed Gundrak Wulfspine as your grandmother hopes, it would be a rich match for certain.”
As Gundrak was mentioned, the pause and waver of Hesla's hands was not lost to Thistle.
“Truthfully, I don't know what I foresee for myself.”
“You are saying you have no direction?”
Thistle nodded. Miska pursed her lips in thought. She tapped Hesla on her shoulder and motioned her away. “Daughter, it is time you were in bed.”
Without argument, Hesla obeyed and scurried away towards the bedchambers. Miska shook her head as she gazed after her. Thistle sat forward in her seat, unable to hold in her curiosity.
“Your eldest daughter, she is very different from you, isn't she?”
"She is not my daughter by birth, I merely raised her.”
Thistle blinked at the news but found she wasn't surprised by it. “Who was her mother?”
“A slave that died in childbirth. My husband's lover before he and I were wed." Miska turned her attention back towards Thistle and held out her hands, “Enough of that. Come here, I may have something to help you in your path.”
Thistle hesitated but once again, curiosity got the best of her. Miska brought her to the fireside. She retrieved her fitchet from the folds of her skirt and opened the draw string. She held it towards Thistle. “Now pick one.”
Reaching out tentatively, Thistle dug into the purse. She chose one of the jagged cut stones from inside and pulled it out. It was a common piece of coal like any other mined from inside the mountain below them. She quirked an eyebrow at Miska.
“Breathe on it then throw it into the flames.” She instructed with a small smile.
Thistle eyed the coal, hoping the woman wasn't casting a spell of ill intent on her. Taking the chance, she blew on it and dropped it into the hearth. The rock was immersed in a pronounced flame, only strong enough for the two of them to see. The color of the flame hummed with energy, sparking as it changed shades. Forest green, blood red and yellow, in that order. The spell died and it became a common lump of coal once more.
“What does it mean?” Thistle whispered hotly, heart thudding.
Miska nodded, perching her chin on her knuckles. “There were three phases, the first representing your present, the second your future. And the third is how you should perceive that possible future. The tricky thing about your colors, the shades themselves were too solid. A color can have two meanings, but I can't decipher which is which-”
“Just tell me your best guess.” Thistle interrupted.
“My, my, there is the strong willed Clannish woman I've been trying to get out of you,” Miska crowed with a laugh, “From what I can see, the green is for new beginnings. That is certainly apparent in your life. In your future, red can mean two things. Passion or danger.”
The prophecy made Thistle shiver. Perhaps it was supposed to mean both at the same time. She didn't voice the thought.
“And the third color, yellow. What does that mean?”
“It means hope or it means caution.” Miska held Thistle's gaze captive, the air around them hot and still. “From what I can read, I believe you will keep your self safe by guarding your heart at all cost. Perhaps it is best if you don't take Varin to your bed.”
Thistle's face flamed at the statement and she couldn't blame it on her closeness to the hearth. She recalled how she had admired the power in Varin's body as he had fought Gundrak that afternoon, the wildness in his eyes as he bound the blade of his opponent. And yet how gentle he had been with her ankle when he had thought her wounded. She couldn't deny the man's magnetism.
“Well, Mistress Blackhelm, I do believe I should see you back to your chambers.” Varin's voice boomed behind her as he strode towards them.
Thistle nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound. “Th-thank you for the evening, Miska. Its been most ...enlightening.”
Miska flashed her enigmatic smile and bowed her head. “I live to serve, Mistress.”
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