Chapter 8

Alcina's lips part in surprise.

“The nomadic tribes, as it turns out, were more like a scattered - but numerous - group of companion settlements of horse-mounted warriors who were unnaturally skilled at the battle. In fact, many of our military’s leaders were killed in that conflict.”

Brendan gazes off to the side, in Lincoln's direction. “Commander Lincoln, a low-ranking officer at the time, came into a leadership position of his own regiment.”

“He won every single battle.”

Alcina's gaze, wide-eyed and disbelieving, joins Brendan's on Lincoln's figure where he stands at the head of the training. 

“At eighteen, he managed to single-handedly turn the tides of a losing battle. Every brawl, every charge he led his regiment into, he emerged victoriously.”

Brendan's lips twist into an amused little curve, as they come to a slow stop just a few feet behind Lincoln.

“Lincoln is not known to possess a Gift, no.” Brendan's eyes flit back to meet Alcina's gaze, holding it with something unfathomable glimmering in their depths. 

“But Commander Lincoln seems to hold the favor of the goddess of victory, each time he steps onto the battlefield" Brendan Pauses and looks back at Lincoln.

"I have seen him charge headfirst into what should have been a suicide mission, and return with the glorious banner of victory streaming at his back. I would not be surprised if his prowess in battle is more than just an ordinary man’s extraordinary luck.”

Brendan turns to Alcina and quirks a slender brow at her, appraising. “Who is to say that you do not have one such luck, yourself?”

Alcina's expression shutters and she looks away. “I can assure you, Lord Brendan, I am most definitely without a Gift.”

Brendan is silent for a moment, before - with more life in his dispirited voice than Alcina has ever heard in the past: “Gift is such a presumptuous term for it, would you not say?”

“What do you mean?”

Alcina feels as though she never quite understands, what Brendan is saying.

It’s frustrating.

“Is it really a gift, to be called to the battlefield, regardless of whether one returns victorious or not? Even a victorious war is a war, after all.” A pause. “I also wonder how many would be so eager as to have been ‘blessed’ with my ‘gift’.”

Brendan's voice is darkly amused, and Alcina jerks at the caustic tone. Her startled gaze meets Brendan's own, and she finds that she cannot find any words to speak, in the face of Brendan's grim and retiring and modest delight. 

“Would you like to possess my gift, Lady Alcina Clair?” Brendan asks lightly, smiling pleasantly.

Alcina spends most of her free time, in plenty, now - given that her parents have altogether stopped most of her societal duties and expectations - imagining any and every power she could have, and would have liked to, be born with. 

Anything at all.

No matter how inconsequential, ordinary, or useless the Gift is, she’d have given up her very soul if she could have it.

But would Alcina want a Gift such as Lord Brendan's, that wretched and fearsome dreadful scepter? As opposed to being damned for having no gifts, would she prefer to be damned with the most powerful but horrific gift of all? 

Brendan's smile turns dark.

He turns back as if to resume the rest of the small distance to Lincoln when Alcina speaks.

“I suppose,” Alcina murmurs softly.

“That regardless of the Gift one has - or does not - what matters is what the people make of it. Of themself.”

That seems to strike at Lord Brendan in some way, for it makes him stop in his tracks momentarily.

He glances back at Alcina, and Alcina tries not to squirm under the weight of his silent gaze.

“Wise words,” Brendan finally replies.

Alcina bites her lip. “A wise man once said them to me,” she shrugs.

This time, when Brendan smiles, the faintest hint of amusement finally reaches his eyes.

* * * * * * * * * *

Brendan provides nothing but the most cursory of introductions, leaving Alcina with Captain-Commander Lincoln in much the same abrupt fashion as the rest of his mannerisms. 

Commander Lincoln, at least, seems to be an effusively - almost comically - warm presence, in stark contrast. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Alcina,” he says, smiling widely.

“We are all very excited to have you join us here. Brendan, most of all.”

Alcina stares, having not missed the familiar way in which Lincoln addressed him as Brendan.

Lincoln seems to understand the confusion in her gaze, for which he throws back his head to let out a clamorous laugh that booms throughout the entire open space.

“So I see Brendan failed to inform you that we are childhood friends, despite the long and dramatic narrative he gave of how I came to hold my position.”

A shocked laugh startles out of Alcina, her cheeks pinking at the revelation that Lincoln had, indeed, been able to hear their conversation.

Lincoln winks, not at all offended. “I have good ears,” he jokes.

“Besides, Brendan was weaving such a heroic tale of my accomplishments, I can’t find anything to be upset with.”

Alcina laughs, drawn in by the contagious cheer that the commander exudes as a matter of character. “Are the stories not true, then?”

“Well, I don’t know about having the favor of the goddess of victory,” Lincoln sail in a teasingly mocking way.

“I’m simply a lucky, lucky man to still be hanging on to his hide.”

Alcina grins. 

She likes Lincoln. Oddly, his liveliness almost reminds her of Nordin.

“Did you say Lord Brendan is excited to have me here? You seem to be weaving some exaggerated tales of your own, sir Commander,” Alcina dares to joke.

Lincoln laughs another one of his loud, deep-bellied laughs. “There’s a reason he and I are friends,” he confesses.

“But it is true that he’s been livelier than usual in the weeks of preparation for your arrival - even if that just means he looks vaguely less dead when the sunlight hits him just right.”

At that, Alcina laughs so hard she tears up. She can’t help but marvel, that there exists a man who would make such a mockery of the Shadowed Beast, even if as a joke. 

“Have you enjoyed the books, then?” Lincoln asks, nodding at the one in Alcina's hand. Alcina realizes just then that she is still holding, leftover from her morning visit to the orchard.

She hadn’t realized.

“Oh!” She holds the book closer to her chest, then, coloring slightly. “Yes. They- they’re quite a well-assisted selection, I noticed.”

Whoever had been the servant in charge of furnishing her room, had possessed a surprisingly excellent taste in books.

Though Alcina has only had the time to start reading the one she’s holding, in her selection of it, she’d discovered that the books on the shelves were of a variety of genres, and each of them seemed incredibly interesting.

Lincoln smiles, a vague glint in his eyes that Alcina doesn’t understand. “Yes, our Lord Brendan is quite well-read,” he hums.

Alcina nearly drops her book in shock. “These- am I reading Lord Brendan's books-?”

Lincoln's smile widens. “Yes, but with permission, I’d reckon, given that he’s the one who put the books in your room in the first place.”

Alcina does drop the book in shock this time. She scrambles, flustered, to pick it back up, her mind racing in several directions with no answers. “I- I didn’t know, I didn’t- why would he…”

“We weren’t able to surmise much information about you before your arrival, my lady, but we did hear that you were partial to reading in the letter your brother sent.”

Did my brother send them a letter? Alcina's mind goes reeling from the stunning revelation.

She finds, she’s a little embarrassed to admit, her eyes growing misty with that tug in her stomach that longs for home. 

Before she has the chance to fully sink into her homesickness, Lincoln continues, “Lord Brendan thought it might be nice for you to have your own bookshelf in the room, so he had the servants move one in and furnished it with some of his books.”

Alcina finds herself speechless.

That the Shadowed Beast had lent her books like the two of them were in some everyday book club, is an idea far too stupefying - and oddly, terrifying, though in an entirely different way than usual - for her to comprehend.

“So, my Lady,” Lincoln continues brightly, oblivious to the fact that he’s just rendered Alcina's mind effectively useless for processing further thought.

“If I may, I will give you a short tour of the grounds and the armory, and then we can discuss the plans for your protection detail.”