The Arkanist

The Moon's Daughter

The Moon's Daughter

Jakn stood alone before the curling wrought-iron gates of the Grove when he saw the radiance of Vena’s silver hair gleam through the swirling snow. His heart danced beneath his wool and fur cloak. Not often had it done such, but now he felt different, as if someone actually cared about him. It was a nice feeling.

         She approached gracefully on feet of stardust. She wore a tight moleskin cloak, black as night, with white fur around her neck and a heavy wool tunic underneath. Slung over her back was a fine lute with seven strings and at her hip was a small dirk, sheathed in leather.

         Jakn stood still as stone they looked each other over.

         “How was it?” Jakn asked, breaking the silence.

         “I got out fine,” Vena replied. “My patron didn’t see me, I don’t think. He’s a hard sleeper anyway. Just in case though, I left a pillow under the blankets. Hopefully that works for now.”

         “It may buy us some time, but not much,” replied Jakn. “Sooner or later they’ll be after us.”

         Vena nodded and surveyed Jakn.

         “What’s the sword for?” she asked, incredulous.

         Jakn motioned to draw it out. “Just in case we run into some highwaymen. There’s a good many out there, so I just wanted to be safe, you know. It might come in handy, it might not.” He shrugged. “Better to have too much than not enough, right.” He leaned close. “Just between us, I stole it last night form the smithy down the road. Just thought I’d mention it so its not a mystery between us.”

         “You stole it!” said Vena, eyes green like jade.

         “Along with a good deal else,” Jakn admitted. “My uncle taught me, you see. I can pickpocket, lockpick, sneak through the dark, the like. Very useful if you need a quick getaway, and not to mention of you’re running short of coin.” He shouldered his large travelsack. “I packed some extra blankets, cloaks, a tent, kindle for the fire, salt, ale and wine that I stole from the cellar below the Hardbottle before I left, a map, some rune stones to show us our heading, a large coin purse I took from the ransom Ekin received after we handed in Prince Harion’s killer, and some other stuff. I guess it doesn’t really matter now. First camp we make we can create and inventory.”

         Jakn nodded his head, trying to remember something else he meant to do before they left. “Blessed Avar!” he swore, delving into one of his many cloak pockets. He whipped out a flower white with frost, the petals icy and white and pale as the moon. “Here,” he said, blushing, handing over the flower. “It’s a luna. I thought it looked like your hair, so I picked for you. I thought you’d like it,” he said as he watched Vena take it. “Did you know its one of the only remaining flowers in the Seven Provinces. They say its roots drink the snow and its petals are immune to the frigid temperatures.”

         Vena was beaming. “It’s brilliant. I remember Larian handing one to Iyra before he died.” She began to sing the lines.

“In his hand the frozen flower died,

And his and her soul were tied.”

        

Her sweet voice cut through the cold like a thin black of steel, smooth as glass and sharp.

         Jakn smiled. “You really do have a beautiful voice.”