Kitaryn

“It appears that way, sir.” Chaleth bats her pale lashes, abashed at Aodan’s fury. “As I said, that is her signature.”

I watch his wide jaw flex as he leans back from over the reception desk. Then his eyes flash toward me, fire gleaming in the amber there. 

I rush forward. “What happened?” 

His nostrils flare as he strains to hold back his bright fury. “That’s what I came to ask you,” he growls. “That Trom guy and the Everguard dragged away my mho-mattan and are ransacking my family’s house!”

“Ransacking?!” Anger flashes cold between my shoulders. Forget a matronage, I will get Trom fired if that’s true. “Have they destroyed any property?”

He squares his shoulders toward mine, broad and imposing. “Really? My mho-ma was dragged off and you are worried about property? Some revenge, Fyr-Cea–”

“Revenge?! Aodan, I don’t know what you mean!” I will not be intimidated. 

“For the other night!” he hisses.

I scoff. He thinks that I did this? Because he kissed me? “Don’t be absurd!” I would be right to be angry with him, but surely he knows I have more restraint than that. His grandmother had nothing to do with Aodan’s actions. “Now, are they truly damaging your property?” If Trom destroyed property, the Barleyblossoms will have grounds for a formal complaint, and whatever evidence Trom has uncovered will be nearly invalidated.

“Who?” 

“The Everguard.”

“If they are, they have a storm coming for them!” Aodan’s arms flex as he clenches his fists. I can see them bulge in his tunic.

In another context, I'd wish to see what he looks like without it—but I sharpen my focus. 

“Then they aren’t ransacking; they’re searching. She truly didn’t turn over the recipe?” I didn't foresee that from a proper woman like Erynas, even if she is willful. When Trom had come to me with news that the ingredients failed inspection, I had signed the warrant believing the Barleyblossoms would comply. I can't help but wonder if Trom didn't blow in like a summer gale and escalate the situation. It wouldn't be like him, but he is very upset. I don't wait for Aodan to answer. I snatch up my cloak and stride toward the stairs.

He follows at my heels, yapping like an upset puppy. “Who thought she would? She’s stubborn. Don’t pretend you didn’t know that. Hey, where are you going?”

I glare back at him. “To the Courts.”

“You’re going to just walk in there?”

“It is a public building.”

“And do what? Put me in holding, too? For gross misconduct?”He whispers his gibe.

I do not grace him with an answer as I rush down the steps. He clearly feels guilty about that kiss. That in itself is a worthy punishment, so I let that fester. Maybe it's mean. He's being unfair, accusing me as though I was the one to “drag” his mho-ma away. With how dramatic he is being, it was probably a gentle escort.

Aodan tails me across the courtyard, which has chilled in the overcast autumn, and his yap turns toward a whine. “Fyr-Ceann, wait. Look, I’m sorry. I’m probably making it worse, but please–can’t we talk for a second?” 

I don’t wait. I only slow to send my regards to Goldencrown the Great set in stone, passing the grand statue to enter the high arches of the Civic Center. My steps echo between scattered pillars, which stretch high overhead, taller than the trees of the forest. I blink in the dim light. Though high, the grand entry is not so deep, and I can see the main desk at the rear. Behind that is the Court, where all trials and counsels are held. To the right hides the Arsathyr’s quarters, and to the left, the cells. A prison lies underneath them, though it is mostly vacant. 

There are only a few laws that require holding. Mostly, offenders are either fined or banned from certain privileges. On rare occasions, they are banished from the city and sent to villages outside of Etnfrandia proper, where the magical barrier will no longer protect them from outsiders.

Aodan’s hand catches me by the arm as I pass between pillars. “Kitaryn, please.”

“What?” I snap. I will not be held up by his wounded feelings. I need to catch the Captain before she disperses to write her report. 

“Whatever I have to do to make this go away, I’ll do it. Whatever apology you want. Just please. Not my family.” His throat bobs with emotion. 

I send a disapproving scowl at his hand and then move my gaze to his handsome, pleading face. What he said implies that I have abused my power for a personal vendetta, and I will not allow it.

He releases his grip. “Please.”

“I’m going to do my job, Aodan. That’s all I’ve been doing. And it’ll go much smoother if you stay out of my way.”

I stride on and veer left, ignoring the primary reception in favor of a smaller consulting desk. I lift a necklace from within my dress, holding up my family sigil of a white willow set in crystal for the clerk. “Hello. Where is Erynas Barleyblossom being held?”

“Cell five, third on the left.” The clerk notates who inquires, glancing over Aodan also, easily spotting the barley sigil bared by the deep V in his tunic.

“Frosts, I wouldn’t even have known who to ask for her.” Aodan grumbles. “I hate to imagine why you know your way around.”

I press my lips closed. I hate to imagine what you’re implying. I agreed to do my duty, and right now that means ensuring this family receives fair treatment. Thus, I must ensure that the holding and searching were only as necessary, like I signed for.

An Everguard stands by the door in polished armor. “Is your Captain here?” I ask him. 

“Fyr-Ceann, yes. The Captain and Master Clerk Dewglint have been questioning the perpetrator. The Master just departed to deliver his statement to the House of Tradition, but Captain Gesria remains. Is your sigil with you?”

I lift my necklace once more. “Yes. Nice work, soldier.”

He bows and opens the door for us. It is a standard, bare cell with no windows or decor: an ill fit for an elderly elf. Aodan follows me in, his trudging stomps echoing hollow behind us.

I refrain from marching straight across the room to Gesria and demanding a full report. Instead, I nod to both the ladies, offering the Sun’s greeting. 

“The sun doesn’t reach here, girl. What do you want?” Erynas Barleyblossom snaps.

I don't flinch. The family blames me for this, but the truth about me doesn't matter, only about them. “I apologize, elftress. I believe my partner has overstepped his bounds. If you don’t mind, I will have a word with the Captain.”

Aodan shoulders past me, crouching beside his mho-mattan, who sits cross-legged on a floor cushion–something not provided by the prison. Her family. A spot of pained warmth glows in my chest. I turn from it. “Report, Captain. And don’t leave anything out.”

Gesria nods. “Master Tromchusec collected us for a possible search and arrest, claiming he was not optimistic for their cooperation. He instructed us to stay outside the door unless he called. He knocked, was not asked in but stepped forward all the same, revealing the warrant and demanding the recipe. They refused to give it.”

My instincts tell me that “revealing the warrant” hadn't been enough to inform these particular Cultivators of the situation; their family records listed little to no crime. “What did he say, exactly, when he stepped in?”

“Good day, I’ve come to collect your recipe.’ To which Erynas replied, ‘over my dead body!’ Then our Master Clerk replied, ‘I’d rather not, madam, for the charges aren’t severe enough for that. Hand it over willingly, now, or I will call in the Everguard to take it.”

Kitaryn put a hand to her forehead. “He threatened Erynas?”

“I saw how it could be interpreted that way, which is why, when she grabbed a broom, I didn’t move against her.”

I would’ve smiled at the picture of the elderly elf grabbing a broom like a battle staff if the situation was less serious. “Did he even hand them the warrant?”

“Not until the older son took it from him.”

Aodan. And he’d marched straight to see me, the signer. Smart. “Then they probably didn’t know what it was prior to that.” I rub between my brows, soothing the headache forming there. “And he didn’t mention at all why it was being seized?”

“I would not know if they’d seen a warrant before, but I know he did not explain the charge. But that older son read the warrant aloud. Or, part of it.”

I nod. Trom’s actions are just legal enough to not ruin the evidence, but rough enough to be cause for complaint. “When you go to report this, Captain, don’t leave anything out. Not to my Ceann, or to yours. It will likely be relevant at the trial.”

“Of course.” The captain bows. “If that is all, I will start the report while everything is fresh.”

“Please,” I bob my head. “That would be good of you.”

Once she departs, I turn at last to Aodan and his mho-mattan. The House of Tradition owes them an apology.