A Snow of Silver III

A Snow of Silver III

Ippolyte gasped, staring at the jewel on the mans chest, her olive complexion paling by the heartbeat. Her eyes widened; the scar on her neck shifted with the tightening of her face. Shame! she howled, thrusting an accusing finger at the horseman. You wear shame upon you!

Another young man rode up on a black-coated horse. His blue eyes narrowed. Whats this, Haldrych?

Haldrych Ameldan rose in his saddle, drawing his horse back. A Vestulai. No surprise you recognize this. He pointed to the red jewel. I wear no shame. The triumph of my house hangs from my neck.

Ippolyte flashed from pale to red. A victory from dishonour! A butchers blood-price- She stepped forward.

Ippolyte! Thesiliea caught her arm in a tight grip. She bent to her spear-sister, hissing something in low tones. Whatever it was, they froze the words on Ippolytes lips.

The Vestulai warriors drew away.

Adelmar gave a snort of amusement and Haldrychs back straightened. He turned to the crowd of patrons, still snow-drenched.

A smile grew on his face. The scene was perfect for him to do something he had always dreamed of. Hail, denizens of Paradise! he called. I come bringing gifts and tidings!

He looked about. Their attention was his. Magnificent. With a grunt, he drew from Marctinus side a sack so heavy that he nearly bowed at its weight. He brought his steed forward with a tap of heel to flank.

If it is snow you wish to frolic in, then I shall grant you snow! He thrust his hand in the bag to a metallic jingle and brought forth a fistful of silver coins.

They gleamed between his fingers.

I gift you a snow of silver!

With a booming laugh, the poet cast the coins aloft.

They flew in a shimmering arc above the heads of the gathered, coming to earth akin to hail rather than snow. In a breath, a cheer erupted and folk began grabbing for the coins.

The Master of House Ameldan buys your drinks tonight! he laughed, moving Marctinus through the crowd and casting handfuls of coins in a silver snowfall. Adelmar grinned behind him, though not all shared his cheer.

The Vestulais glares burned and several of the patrons - mostly older ones - wore looks of distaste. Haldrych could only sneer at their hypocrisy: they came to drown in iniquity yet they found this disdainful?

Yet, he could not voice his derision, for among those regarding him harshly were the servants of Paradise. Julianas face was amongst them, with unconcealed disfavour in eyes as hard and cold as ice.

What was this?

To hear my performance, Haldrych added in his thoughts. And spread the word that my poetry is not uninspired.

His head held high, he turned Marctinus and trotted him back to Adelmar. He spared no look for Jeva or any other who might deign to judge him. Not Juliana. Not the Vestulai.

Yet, the hair on the back of his neck rose.

An eerie feeling crawled through his body. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder.

He stiffened.

Towering and lean as death, a dark-skinned man stood a little apart from all others. Some manner of inhumanity must have stained his blood, for his eyes were a deep crimson, darker than those of Vestulai kind.

His expression might have been carved from obsidian: a glare of barely stymied rage and a disgust as deep as the bowels of the earth. It pierced the young poet, forcing a fearful shudder to his core. For a held breath, he believed some denizen of the afterworld was before him. One that knew well just how he had come to his silver coin.

Then Haldrych stiffened in recognition. He knew the red-eyed man! He was one of three beneath the table when they had crafted their plot! Had he heard? Was that what filled his eyes with such terrible violence?

An unease shook the young poet, and he looked for the others from that night.

There.

The little one that nearly crashed into him. She was staring at him as well. And thered been another. The broad-shouldered womanthere she was. Her powerful arms were folded and her brows bent.

A terrible possibility froze him. With haste, he moved to Adelmar. We must speak, he whispered. He was keenly aware of the three gazes fixed on him as they left.

Yet, two things escaped his notice.

First, that the eyes of the little woman were upon the jewel on his chest, not him.

Second, that there were not three intent gazes that watched him leave.

There were four.

Another figure lay flat on a rooftop across the boulevard.

A figure who noted the wealth the young Ameldan spread.

And, that his house would be empty three days hence.