Dawn of Fire

Chapter 3

Clover

“That's it. Focus on where you want to land. Pick a spot and stick to it. Slow your speed. Your wings are a part of you. Trust them to carry you. When you get close to the target thrust up like you're taking off and glide through to your landing.” Clover instructed.

The child she was working with was younger than the rest. Timid and scared. Reminded her of herself at that age. The child did as she asked and when she landed she looked up at Clover with a big toothy grin on her face!

“Excellent!” she praised and ruffled the child's golden ringlets.

They were in the open field right next to the school. The weather was perfect today. There was a light breeze, the sky was clear with not a cloud in sight. The temperature was optimal. It wasn't too hot and wasn't too chilly.

The scent of the wildflowers growing in the meadow drifted up to her nose and she took a deep breath in and sighed in ecstasy.

Clover loved nature. Loved everything about being connected to the plants around her.

“Talon, Talon! Did you see that? Did you see what I did?” the child asked as she ran up to him. He smiled and knelt down to her height.

“I did, young one. You'll be a warrior before you know it!”

Talon often accompanied her to the school yard, though Clover hated having a shadow hovering when she was working with the kids. It was something that Talon refused to compromise on. The kids adored him and loved the strength and stability he brought with him. No one knew he was a protector per say, just that he was a warrior. Several of the children had proposed to him throughout the years and it made Clover laugh. Talon would do anything to keep her laughing and smiling so he endured.

“Miss Clover. Can I touch your wings?” one of the children asked.

They always seemed to be fascinated with her wings. They were like any other Fae wings. A leathery texture, but hers were a lighter pale color and had a golden shimmer to them. When the sunlight hit them the right way, they sparkled like a diamond.

“Now kids, listen to me. I know we've talked about this before, but we'll go over it again. Wings are sensitive right?” she asked and she saw tiny heads nodding up and down.

“Well, touching another Faes' wings is something that should be left between mates. I'm sure your parents have told you all about mates right?” again they all nodded their heads.

“Just like our ears. They’re sensitive. The only person who should be touching your wings or ears is your mate. It's a special moment between mates and should be cherished. Do you understand?”

“How come your wings are golden?” a little boy asked. He was no older than 5 or 6. With children being so scarce there were only 10 from the town and surrounding towns here. He was a curious pupil and gravitated towards Talon much during the day.

Clover searched her brain for an answer that wouldn't give away her lineage. Surely since these were children, they posed no threat to her but what if they told their parents? What if word got out that the heir to the Daraminian Throne was hiding away in Tamarisk? What do people know of Daramond? Do people even know that Clover was ‘Missing’ or not in court?

The golden in her wings was a family trait of hers. Most people didn't know about the family traits of Daramonds Royal line but that didn't mean absolutely no one knew about it. Being in Tamarisk she hoped that the number of Fae who knew was slim to none.

“The gods wished for Clover to have golden wings, so she was born with golden wings.” Talon said, stepping forward. Clover nodded her thanks at him. His vague answer seemed plausible enough and seemed to pacify their question.

The children finished their studies and their lessons and soon enough their parents came and collected them. Talon had gone into the school to write a letter to his family and to the Daraminian Royal Guard for an update on how things were going there. See if he could get more information about the potential traitor without directly asking for it. Anyone could be the enemy. Without knowing who to trust, they had to be selective with their writings and their words.

Clover, however, decided to walk into town. She loved the hustle and bustle of the commoners. Loved visiting the stalls and seeing all they had to offer. She loved the smell of the spices, the scents of the flowers. She loved looking at all of the faces of the townsfolk and the love that shone in their eyes as they looked at their mates or their children. Loved the way that the town came together as a unit. Loved the beauty of the handmade trinkets and the hand-woven clothes. She loved the anonymity of being able to be in a crowd and no one knowing who she truly was. The way she was a faceless Fae in a crowd of others. This wouldn't be something she was able to do back home in Daramond. Her parents had loved her dearly and were overprotective, if anything. She had handmaidens go to the towns for her when she still lived in her homeland. She had servants who were paid very well for their tasks and tended to her every need and want. But what she wanted was to be normal. To not be a royal for one second, to experience life as a common Fae. She just didn't expect to get her wants and wishes the way she did.

One of the conditions for Clover to be able to go into town was she needed to carry her dagger on her. It was one that was made by Talon and sharpened to precision. Clover wasn't much of a fighter though. She was kind and graceful. Talon would often describe her as Timid in the 'Battlefield'. He took time to train her as much as he could. She wasn't particularly skilled with the blade, but she knew enough to help her in a time of dire need.

Clover hated violence and hated being the one to cause pain. She would prefer to heal and teach, but yet she knew that one day she may very well need to end a life if it ever was a choice between that life and the life of someone she loved and cared for or herself. She never thought of what would happen or become of her the moment she took her first life. It was bound to happen, but she did what she could to avoid it.

Killing a life changed a Fae. Poisoned their hearts unless they were strong of heart and will to keep themselves pure despite the evil they had done. Clover had already sworn to herself and everyone she knew, that if she ever took a life, they would deserve it. It wouldn't be done on a whim, it would be calculated and deserved.

Today in the markets, however, Clover felt off. Not in a bad way, but she felt her senses going haywire. She was overloaded with scents and sounds. Her delicately pointed ears twitched with every decibel that was near. She didn't feel as if what was causing this was negative though, so she ignored it.

Most of the time, Talon would tell her to never ignore her instincts. That 9 times out of 10, they were right. But she didn't feel like she was in danger. She felt like she was right where she was supposed to be. She felt the pull of Destiny leading her on the path she was on.

She went to several stalls and bought many of the items they were running low on in the cottage. Most of them being spices, or textiles like cotton, silk, and yarn. Aisling often made clothes for her and Talon.

She cherished the items made with dedication and love for her. She even picked up more parchments and ink, remembering the letters they wanted to write to her parents and the letters Talon wanted to write to his trusted Generals to find whichever Traitor her mother spoke of in her last communication.

She walked a little further along the main street in the shopping district and spotted a blacksmith's tent. The sounds of metal striking metal and the scent of burning coals floated around her. Her nose twitched and she smiled.

She approached the blacksmith's area with curiosity. She had never been to this stall. Never had the time or the need to see their merchandise. That was Talon's job. But perhaps she could take a peek.

She made her way inside and started browsing. The heat in the tent assaulted her and she started to sweat. She wiped her hands on her trousers and blew out a breath. She was tempted to take off her cloak, but she didn't want to risk showing her wings. The wings were an identifiable trait of her family. She could get away with it in the village, but the markets were loaded with travelers, not just the townsfolk.

She didn't know what she was doing in there, but when she spotted the case of daggers she was immediately drawn to it.

Talon was always spoiling her, but he never allowed her to gift him anything. He would always say that her being alive was a gift enough. It was odd that they never felt romantically with each other. Their bond was more familial and caring than anything. He would die for her, and she would kill for him.

The craftsmanship on the blades was beautiful. She had a hard time choosing something for her dearest friend. Several people were at the stall browsing the blacksmith's wares. Clover thought about asking someone for advice, but she didn't want to seem foolish. Most of the time, if you were going into this tent, you already knew what it is you wanted.

It was then that something caught her eye. It was as if it was singing to her.

“Come to me, Choose me.” She could have sworn she heard the whispers in the wind. Which was silly because it was metal. A dagger without a life. Ah, but magic, that could certainly sing to her.

"What magic do you possess," she whispered so quietly, that no face would be able to hear despite the advantages their bodies allowed.

The dagger was long. Not quite a sword, but longer than the average blade. It was about the length of her forearm and the metal was as black as onyx stone. It shined in the light, proving how glossy the texture was. There were designs etched into the blade that looked similar to the tribal designs tattooed onto Talon. Perhaps the inscriptions were a spell or a means of harboring the magic she felt when she approached. The handle was made of bone and wrapped in thick leather.

She caressed the cold metal and smiled. This would do perfectly for Talon.

As she reached out to grab the dagger, her hand collided with another. She jolted back and when she looked up, she froze.

Standing next to her was a tall Fae wearing a dark cloak. His hood was pulled up and covered his face. She could only see his jaw and what she could see was mysterious. His jaw was strong and covered in a light dusting of black-haired stubble. Handsome, she thought, but he had an air of lethality about him.

His skin was a golden honey color, as if he had spent nothing but all of his days in the sun. His jaw clenched and she backed up, fearing she had somehow done something wrong. She had thought. She hadn't sensed his presence, so absorbed in the weapon's beauty. Talon would have chastised her for not taking in her surroundings better.

Her nostrils flared trying to take in his scent, but with the hot coals from the blacksmith and the other fae around, she was having a hard time identifying him. That or she had never met him before. What she could pick up were hints of wood and oak. He smelled like a smokey whiskey that Talon favored. It was intoxicating.

She wanted to step closer and run her nose along his neck and bask in his scent. She hadn't felt that way before, but she shrugged off the feelings.

“I'm sorry.” she offered, and he didn't speak. He raised his head just a bit, but not enough for her to see his eyes. She saw a large scar running down his cheek and onto his neck. It disappeared beneath his shirt and cloak and she had a feeling it covered a great deal of his skin. He had a handsome face though. From what she could see, he had defined cheekbones and a strong and straight nose. His eyes were what she desperately wanted to see. Were they warm and bright? Were they cold and harsh? Or were they dark and mysterious?

Clover twiddled her thumbs, unsure of what to do. If it was a child she would have no problem making conversation, but that's because she spent the majority of her days teaching the children.

Clover rarely spent time with adult Faes, let alone without Talon or Aisling. Her interactions were when making purchases or watching from a distance.

The stranger was tall about a foot taller than she was. She couldn't see the muscles under his clothes but, based on his build, she had no doubt that he had a great deal of strength. His shoulders were broad and his arms were rather large. His chest rose and fell with each breath he took and when he seemed to scent her he froze. His body locked tight. Whether he was in pain or not was hard to say.

“You should take it. It is a beautiful blade.” Clover offered, though her heart sank. She wanted it. She felt like she needed it, but she also felt drawn to this male. She had the urge to please him, placate him. She wanted to make him happy and if it was the dagger this stranger wanted, she'd give it up. She wanted him to remove his hood. She wanted to see his whole face. She bit her lip and felt her fang pierce the soft pink skin there.

His nostrils flared this time as if scenting her blood. He took a step forward. Though he was a huge male, he moved with grace and speed.

He approached her and picked up the dagger. He felt the weight of it in his hands and twisted it around. He grabbed her hand and heat spread from his fingertips up her skin.

She gasped a bit but pinched her brows together when he placed the weapon in her open palm.

“What is your name?” he asked. His voice was low and dark. It sent chills up her spine and made her nearly float in the air. She liked the sound of his voice. If anything, she wanted to hear it all day.

“Clover, my name is Clover.”