1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of ... (#6)

Pardys Isles

winter: Year 535, New Calendar

The reek of sweat and gunpowder hit her nose as soon as Wight enters, catching her off-guard, at first. She hadn't sensed any air magic at work, and that's the only way she knows of to block scent like that.

Still, this place has been full of things Wight hasn't seen before, and Owen gave good directions. She soon finds herself at the edge of a wide-open area, where myriad people are engaged in various forms of combat practice.

This side has nooks for targets and shooting, everything from arrows to bullets.

The overflowing cart by Aldrik Jarvim looks as if he walked through the armory with an attitude of "One of each."

He wears earmuffs now, and he pauses just before firing the revolver in his hand. He sets it down, keeping it angled away from everyone, so he has some awareness of how to use that sort of weapon safely.

Wight can't use weapons, due to her status as a slave, so she's never seen the point in learning more than how to handle them safely. Her lord utilizes his magic, when he must, and the children default to following suit. Malor returned from Marsdenfel with a desire for a crossbow, from a specific region, which is apparently quite expensive and he'll also have to learn to use...

Maybe he could learn that while he's here. If the armory has all that, it might even have what he's wanting.

"Little sister?" Jarvim asks, drawing her attention.

She winces. "I suppose that's a good place to start."

He waits for her to continue.

How to broach this topic? "Your son thinks you're dead."

"Probably," he agrees. "The royal magic leaving me would give that impres-- Ah. I see. You know this because he told you?"

That was faster than she expected him to catch on. "Yes."

He grimaces. "I'm sorry. I expected... Well, no, that was a poor assumption of mine, now wasn't it?"

Wight considers the implications of his tact and steps in the nook, shuts the door for a little privacy. "Why me?"

Jarvim sighs. "Creator knows. It seems to prefer people already involved in governing, so perhaps it's followed your influence in Saf? I don't know that it's sentient, but it certainly seems to have a sense of humor. My wife Mataine was one of the Three, while she lived."

That means bloodline isn't a necessary factor, which makes her wonder who the third young man in the vision was. Prince Aidan had known him, and they'd spoken as if they had both been there before. She could ask... "What's this Cave of Ascension your son spoke of?"

That isn't what she meant to ask. She sighs at herself.

He checks his magic for eavesdroppers, so that wasn't as innocuous of a question as she'd thought. "It's a magic-bound cave system in the southernmost tip of Salles, deep in the territory of communities who find magic anathema. I don't recommend taking your husband."

"Lord," she corrected. "He's my lord and master. I'm his slave, not his wife."

"Concubines still legally qualify as spouses, in much of the world. Just a lower or lesser type, with fewer prerequisites and protections. And usually more responsibilities, which is bunk."

Wight raises her eyebrows at him. "Slave."

"'Slave concubine' is a status that-- Ah. You mean the reduced rights and increased responsibility is to be expected. I see. Not all concubines are slaves, though. Sometimes it just means the wife is of lower financial or social standing."