Elaine of Artharia

The rain painted the sidewalk like teardrops from the eyes of heaven. Small feet pounded the pavement, a river dance, a smooth unspoken rhythm mixing in time with the downpour. The green of summer was hinged by the kiss of autumn, leaves melting from emerald to ember as the night took hold of the world. A warm breeze sent raindrops towards the shadowed figure. The umbrella could only do so much against the water. Pausing on the path, the sound of laughter echoed like a distant melody as bundled figures joined her on the white-bricked road. Thunder crashed overhead, a reminder of how small a person truly was in the scheme of things.

Rain had always been a rarity for Elaine growing up. The ebony-haired girl had seen little more than an occasional winter rain or summer drizzle. She supposed that’s what she got for being born in a desert. The lightning flashed through the sky like a slash of a sword from the hands of a god. Looking up for a moment, she moved the umbrella out of the way, droplets touching the ivory of her skin. The figures of the other students passed by her a moment later, laughter still on their lips but fading for a moment upon noticing her. The young lady's eyes flashed from the screaming sky back down to them, distant but daring. The students hurried along in a shadowed silence. Believing to be out of earshot, they continued in their annoying whispers. The imbeciles scurried down the path, their words dancing through the thunder back to the girl beneath the umbrella.

The willow tree beside Elaine raised its head towards the sky, a canopy of crying leaves swaying in the lavender-tinted breeze. Reaching to the timepiece around her neck, she opened it, staring at the harsh black hands as they ticked past the eight. It appeared Andrew was late, again. The young lady shut the gold watch with an impatient click. Hearing footsteps, she turned on her heels. Andrew’s blonde locks poked beneath his black hood. The light from the street lamps caught his hair in a way that reminded Elaine of a tale her mother had read her many years ago, one of straw being turned to golden thread. “You are late, Andrew.” There was a heat to her words, as if they were dipped in the lamp's kerosene and set ablaze.

“Or you are impeccably early.” The boy replied.

Elaine ignored the tall knight and started down the pale cobblestones that jutted out at the end of the brick path. The umbrella could be used as a weapon; her patience was lacking, and his head was taking the shape of one of the academy's practice dummies. Elaine could hear Andrew’s footsteps fall in time with hers as he caught up to her; it only took a few long strides.

When they first entered the academy, they had been practically the same height, but it had been a lifetime since the scrawny strangers had first dueled. Andrew was taller and seemingly stronger, but Elaine still had her unceasing strength of will, quick wit, and skill in combat. They were the best at the Artharian Royal Academy, the single most important school in the entire kingdom of Artharia- at least to all who went there. Unlike what many may initially assume, the school was not for the children of the nobility, but, instead, it was the place in which their protectors were reared and trained.

Children with natural gifts, skills, heart, or even the rare touch of magic were brought from all over the land to the hallowed halls. Elaine had entered upon a spirit and a secret skill that was hidden from the entire student body; only her trusted teacher and the school magistrate knew what it was. Well, almost the entire student body didn’t know. Andrew had discovered it during the early days of their first year. The boy who had gotten in on his strength, natural skill in combat, and sheer dedication to being a knight, had been sworn to secrecy. Ultimately, Elaine was stuck being his friend as well; if she could call what they had friendship, it was more of an alliance in her opinion.

The grinning boy grabbed the umbrella smoothly from her grasp. “Don’t mind sharing, do ya, Ellie? Don’t want to be soaked for our super secret mission.”

Elaine glared up at Andrew but continued walking. His arm snaked around her shoulders, and she nearly slammed an elbow into his gut. Andrew's words cut her off, however, “Play along, don’t want to attract any attention.”

The boy’s words seemed to fall in the direction of a figure that was walking their way. They had made it out of the confines of the academy, and now they were facing the silent, but deadly, streets of Norta, Artharia’s capital city.

Grinning up at him, her eyes were daggers against the late summer night. The words were smooth: “I am half tempted to break your arm, Andrew Lancashire.”

The boy’s arm tightened around her as if she had whispered a sweet nothing into his ear. He had learned how to push the lady's buttons, and unlike the rest of the academy, she didn’t scare him. The cloaked figure passed close to Andrew’s side, her gaze peeking past the boy, watching the possible foe. The knight kept his gaze on her, waiting to see if the stranger meant them harm. It was far easier to believe Andrew’s part of the act; his gaze was always annoyingly honest, even if he was pretending there was a type of goodness about him. He didn’t scare people like Elaine did; he wasn’t unapproachable or doused in rumors; he was there for all to see, and people respected him for it.

The figure continued down the road, and Elaine’s hand released her hidden hold on the cool metal object in the pocket of her cloak. It was the dagger she always had on her, a gift from Benjamin, the man who had found her frail and alone on the streets of Tria in the North of Artharia. It had been Benjamin who had rescued her from the fate of being an orphan, Benjamin who had discovered her curse turned gift, and Benjamin who had brought her to the greatest school on earth and blessed her with his dagger.

“We are close,” Elaine spoke through the moment of silence as the pair rounded the corner. The alley poked out in front of them, carrying the stench of trash, rats, and all things undesirable. It was a painfully familiar smell, and the girl’s peculiarly silver gaze scanned the shadows.

“Well, isn’t that lucky?” Andrew breathed. His hands smelled of ink, and his words were far to soft for palms so coarse.

“Now is not the time for jokes, Lancashire,” Elaine snapped back, short and curt. It had always been this way, since the day he had discovered the truth. The knight wasn’t sure when she’d finally have enough, when she would use Benjamin's dagger to simply shut him up.

“Elaine I wasn’t trying to..” The words fell away as she didn’t bother to give him another glance.