“I always knew you were spirited but I'm impressed, Thistle.”
Her gaze was fixed on the mortal and pestle as Avol pounded the ingredients into a fine dust. Specks of gold shimmered in the milky white powder. He tasted it with the tip of his little finger then brought it over to the hearth. The scent of roses filled the room as he poured it into the cauldron over the flames. Thistle could hear it bubbling as he stirred.
“She has come into her own these past few weeks,” Varin replied where he stood behind her chair, his hands crossed in front of him. “I- we are all very proud of what she has accomplished in her father's name.”
Thistle rested her hands on her cheeks as her face warmed. Varin rarely spoke praise of her, it gave her confidence to hear his veneration. She leaned forward on the table.
Unlike her mother and other mages. Avol was impeccably neat. The surfaces of his work shop were brushed clean, bottles and vials neatly arranged on shelves by the fire though none were labeled. Thistle assumed this was to keep them from nosy guests.
“I am sorry I missed the event, you removing Seran Wulfspine from her rightful place.” Avol snorted.
“Where are your companions?” Thistle spoke up, folding her hands on the table.
Avol glanced over at them with a sigh. "They are on a tour of the White Horn.”
“I should think after Bloodyhanded Gendall had stolen it they would know it well already," Varin replied, his tongue sharper than it was a moment earlier.
“Well, I wanted them out of the way on the chance you came to see me. I was going to wait to be summoned but I had a feeling you would seek me out first.” He left the fireside, his dark eyes honing in on Thistle. “You are concerned about the water supply.”
“How did you know about that?” Varin asked carefully.
Taking a seat in the chair across from her, Avol kept his gaze on her. “The elder of the Redeyed Clan mentioned it when he came to escort King Gendall's men.”
Thistle turned her attention on her hands. Though she wasn't sure if Miska's warning was necessary, the fact that he had brought such controversial guests made Thistle wary of Avol. “As I told you months ago on the battlefield, my grandmother said she believed my mother died because of an anonymous enchantment on the land. I believe it's chilling the earth, making the ice grow again in the north. Its too fast of a change to be natural. Meridun was unable to figure out who or what is doing it.”
“You believe our land is cursed?”
Thistle shrugged and glanced up. “It's possible. There is enough strife and conflict between the Clans and Gendall's Woodland Kingdom. A rogue mage might have cast something beyond his control for one side or the other before the battle.”
“That's very possible.” Avol agreed, resting his bearded chin on his hand. “But what can I do about it?”
“You were trusted by both my father and my mother. Your skills are very keen, Avol. Did you sense anything when you were among the Woodland men?”
Avol shook his head, “Nothing I can remember. Except I might be able to explore the notion a little further. But that depends.”
“Depends on what?” Varin asked.
Her breath hitching in her throat, Thistle waited to hear if Avol had a price as Miska said he would. She stared at him in silence, the cauldron fizzing behind them. Avol's eyes darted away and he exhaled heavily, running a hand over his face.
“I wanted to speak with you alone, Thistle. But I suppose it's best if Varin hears it as well. Our holdings in the Collach Highlands are secure but I was surprised by the King's men on my return. They took me to his forest halls and we spoke of the future of our Kingdoms. Our two people have known nothing but war between each other as long as our history has been recorded. Perhaps at one point we were one people. He is remorseful-”
Varin scoffed, “The bloodyhanded King remorseful? Avol, do you hear yourself?”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Avol held out his hands beseechingly, “But he is dying. The rumors are true. He has reached the place in his life where he wants peace between us. Everlasting peace for the good of the land. I think the desire comes mostly from his son.”
Thistle shifted in her seat, her hands tingling with cold. “And how does he want to establish this peace?”
“With marriage.”
Varin barked a rough laugh and strode a few steps back, perching his fists on his hips. “I can only guess who the bride will be.”
“Me?” Thistle's voice cracked.
Avol nodded solemnly, “I thought I would be speaking with both you and Seran Wulfspine on the matter. I am relieved that the choice is entirely yours now. Seran might have actually considered it.”
“So dying King Gendall wants to take a young bride half his age...” Varin ranted, pacing the room.
“Not to Gendall. Your marriage would be with his eldest son and heir, Conall.”
Thistle was silent. She wanted peace between the kingdoms. If she could see that through, she would feel as though she had honored her parents' memory, both of them. However, at the expense of yet another arranged marriage that left her no more powerful than a pawn. At least she had more control over this union than her first almost betrothal.
“He said he would be willing to discuss the matter with you, if you would travel to his kingdom once the thaw-”
“I'll consider the matter.” Thistle replied firmly.
Varin halted hard in his steps and Avol blinked at her in surprise.
“You can't be serious.” Varin boomed.
“I am.” Thistle answered staunchly, shooting him a glare.
An awkward silence fell on the too warm room. The fire roared in the corner. Avol stirred and walked over to the cauldron. Thistle continued to stare at her adviser, the man's face red in indignation. Varin marched towards her and gripped the back of her chair.
“You mean to say after all we have done, sacrficed, you are willing to- treat with that monster- he killed your father-” Varin sputtered as he lowered his face to hers.
“I know that, Varin. But I promised him I would continue to fight. If I can do that without shedding blood, then I will.” She hissed back, “You have no right to tell me what to do. I am the regent, a Blackhelm.”
“Yes and I am just your Bonetalon servant. But Thistle, your father could not have wanted anything so demeaning for you.”
His mossy eyes narrowed and mouth a thin, hard line. Thistle broke eye contact as Avol walked back to the table with a vial steaming with the potion he had been concocting. Varin pulled away, his silence oppressing Thistle. She wished she hadn't brought him with her.
“So these companions of yours are here as emissaries to bring news of my decision back to their King?” She asked.
The heady perfume of roses from the vial hung so thick in the air, silvery crimson ribbons could almost be seen trailing from the lips of the container. Avol swirled it in his steady hand with a nod, “They will leave as soon as they have an answer.”
“There will have to be a meeting with the Clan Elders before any decision is made.” Thistle commented.
“And any vote taken will have to be unanimos, yes. I already told them.”
Thistle rose to her feet, her head spinning with the news and the rose scent. “Tonight I have already ordered a feast for your arrival and to welcome the men from Gendall's court.”
Avol smiled, “Perfect. Such business is best discussed over a meal and mead. You are getting on with your position as regent, aren't you?”
“I do my best. I can only guess some would think over wise.” Thistle answered, glancing over at Varin. His face was blank, his eyes on the hearth.
“Then it seems I made this at the right time for you.” Avol rose to his feet and cradled her fingers around the green glass vial. It had cooled rapidly. Thistle peered down into it. Even Varin peeked over her shoulder.
“What is it for?” She asked warily.
“It will give a sense of awe to any you speak with tonight as though they were speaking with an ancient queen or goddess. I should think its similar to the feeling your grandmother Meridun gives others with her presence.” Avol explained.
A waft of the rich perfume washed over Thistle. Meridun would certainly know how to handle men from the Woodland kingdom. And Seran Wulfspine. As the elder of the Wulfspine Clan, Seran would certainly do all she could to counter any attempt of Thistle's to forge peace with Gendall.
“You aren't going to drink that, are you?” Varin scoffed.
Thistle peered over at him and lifted her chin. Without responding, she downed the vial in one long pull.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
