The Greyfield Chronicles

Aiela

Darkness.

A thin, green slit stared at her from the the murky blackness. It blinked open, then closed. Open, then closed. Faster than eyes normally did.

She hesitated to call this a dream, but she'd had this experience many times over for as long as she could remember. Just a thin, green slit blinking in and out of existence. It looked familiar somehow, and yet she couldn't figure out why that would be.

Bored, Aiela opened her eyes and wondered.

When would this dream end?

Nearly six years had passed in the blink of an eye. Venza would be fifteen soon, and Aiela wouldn't be far behind. She was about to go back to sleep when one of her Hidden watching the outside of the manor urged her to give it attention. She blinked once and suddenly she was seeing through its eyes, revealing the Heir of House Greyfield to be sneaking out of the manor.

With a sigh, Aiela crawled out of bed, willing the lights on with her magic.

A clean, empty basin sat atop her dresser. She looked at herself in the mirror. A pair of sky blue pajamas covered her slender frame. Her face had gotten a little rounder since she was a child, though that was a good thing. The manor's servants and the Greyfields themselves went out of their way to remind her to eat more for the past six years.

She'd grown, of course, though not as much as she would have liked. Certainly not as much as Venza. Between rigorous exercise, a diet enhanced by Aiela’s knowledge of nutrition and biology, and likely Venza’s own genes, the young heir had undergone a growth spurt and now stood nearly a full head on top of Aiela, though Aiela had grown in other ways.

With a flick of her wrist, she summoned water out of thin air to fill the basin. Her powers had more than doubled in six years, though that didn't say much, considering how little she could do when she and Venza had first met.

She washed her face and hair, preferring to take proper baths in the evenings before dinner. At her mental command, her Hidden quickly helped her out of her pajamas and opened her wardrobe. Almost every piece of clothing she owned was dyed black, with the exception of her pajamas, which had been gifts from Venza that came in a variety of bright colors ranging from pink to blue.

Today, she decided to don a simple black dress with long sleeves. A trio of buttons sealed up the front, though she could open them up if she wanted to show off cleavage. If she ever got any, of course.

She blamed Venza and their regular sparring bouts, but neither of them had really managed to grow bosoms society would call "womanly." Of course, aside from that, both of them very much fit what society would have considered “attractive.” Judging herself to be adequately dressed, she set off for Venza’s room to confirm a hunch.

Aiela frowned at seeing Venza’s empty room. She normally kept an eye on the hallway outside their rooms using a Hidden, but she couldn’t exactly do that while asleep. She didn’t need a lot of sleep, but she did need it.

A cursory glance of Venza’s things told her the young Heir of House Greyfield had left most of her things, taking only a small, discrete pouch she usually brought on her less-advertised excursions. Of course, even among those, there were the kind her parents wouldn’t be happy about, and there were the kinds they would be livid to learn of. This, Aiela knew from experience, was likely one of the latter.

She quickly turned in place, left the manor through a side door, gave the night guard a harsh glare because he’d let Venza out past midnight without telling her, then made her way to Verdeholm’s market where she fully expected to find her troublesome friend.

Venza

At night, the markets were closed. Goods were hidden away, most merchants slept, and the sturdiest stalls were rearranged to form a square wide enough for a carriage to fit inside. Venza was currently in this square, wearing a sleeveless tunic that showed off strong, toned arms built up by years of training and exercise. Her red hair was tied in a short ponytail as she held her body in a fighting stance.

Soft green lights illuminated the square from four corners: Posts with glowing, green liquid inside glass lanterns. It was a device of Aiela’s making that had slowly been spreading through the busier parts of Verdeholm. They didn’t quite line the streets, which was what Aiela eventually wanted, but they covered enough that the town was mostly visible at night.

Across from her, a man nearly twice her height stood, boasting to the gathered crowd about how he’d beat the crap out of her. Russell was large, strongly-built, to the extent there were rumors he was part Troll, but Aiela had dismissed that as ludicrous. By her estimation, a half-troll, half-human would have been even larger and bulkier. Aiela had said something about how it was a genetic disorder, which was right about the place in the explanation she’d lost Venza.

Russell was posturing, making a show of stretching his large body. He was certainly intimidating, even to her, especially without a tangible weapon in hand to bridge the gap in size and strength. His arms could hit her without her being in range to strike back.

“Bets are closing now for Venza versus Russell!” the man aptly named Booker, who ran the betting pool for these matches, said loudly over the cheers of the crowd.

She took a deep breath, let the noise of the crowd fade away, and waited for Booker to signal them to start.

“Begin!”

She held her place calmly, watching Russell roar and lunge at her with a haymaker. It was a clumsy move that reeked of his inexperience: Russell may have been large, but he was both a year younger and less-trained than she was.

She quickly ducked under his outstretched arm, twisting her body to deliver a hard hook into his stomach as she did so. She slipped past him as he stumbled, delivering a quick series of blows to his exposed back before retreating to a safe distance. She was strong for her size and age, but if he grappled her with his weight, it was over. She’d already learned that in Rentley when she was nine.

He turned back around, this time trying to land a hard straight aimed right at her head. No sense blocking such a large opponent if she could dodge instead. She tilted her head to the side, narrowly dodging the blow as her left arm came up to deliver an uppercut to his chin. Russell staggered back with a pained howl. She took advantage of his stunned state by driving her right hand into his stomach again. Then followed with the left, then the right again. Russell slowly lost ground, being forced back by her furious onslaught. And then suddenly he stopped. Her next punch landed solidly against his tensed abdomen, but just as she realized he hadn’t flinched back, she also realized it was too late.

Russell’s left jab sent her reeling, shock and pain momentarily confusing her. Luckily, on instinct, she’d hopped back, because he’d just barely missed landing a second, harder blow against her own body. Venza backed up all the way, until suddenly her back hit one of the wooden stalls, and she realized she had nowhere more to retreat.

“Hells, Russell,” she muttered, rubbing her cheek. She was sure it would bruise. “You really don’t hold back. That any way to treat a lady?”

“Heh, you’re one to talk, boss lady,” he answered.

A lot of the lads called her that. The ones that respected her, anyway. It had taken a lot of convincing for them to let her join their little fight club, but being their future boss helped a lot.

“Oh, I’m holding back plenty,” she assured him. Not that she expected him to believe that. They never did. Still, she appreciated that he treated her as another fighter instead of anything else.

Suddenly, a flicker caught her and everyone else’s attention. The lights had gone out for a fraction of a second. She frowned. The lights only came on in darkness and she’d never known them to dim, unless-

She spotted a familiar, brown-haired girl in the crowd. Aiela. Venza almost rolled her eyes. Time to go home, it seemed.

“Sorry, Russ,” Venza said. “My nanny’s here. Looks like I have to go home. You win, I guess.”

The crowd suddenly grew quiet to hear their conversation better. Then there was plenty of booing at her decision. In all likelihood, those were the people who’d bet on her winning. Or just people enthusiastic to see her fight, she supposed.

She moved to climb back out of the square over the stall, but Russell rudely grabbed her leg.

“Nuh uh,” Russell said. “Not good enough. We’re fighting until one of us goes down.”

Venza sighed, then looked once more where she’d spotted Aiela, unsurprised to find she was no longer there. Aiela did love her little disappearing acts. They fit in with her whole ‘witch’ narrative she liked to sell people on. Venza supposed she’d have to get out of this on her own, then.

“Fine, fine!” she exclaimed with a shrug. “Let me get back on my feet and we can get this over with.”

Russell did as asked, backing up to let her stand back inside the square.

“Booker, count us down, if you please!” she requested.

“No problem, Miss Greyfield!” he answered.

Three.

Two.

One.

She exploded into motion, going straight for his abdomen again. Russell seemed to catch on quickly, preparing himself to receive the blow like earlier, but that was his mistake: He was trying to anticipate the next move of someone who was thinking one step ahead. Venza was ahead by two.

She veered sharply to his left, knowing it was his less-used hand, letting the momentum of her body carry her forward, quickly landing a harsh blow on his left flank with her right hand. Her left fist went straight for his chin, causing him to recoil in surprise and pain. She used that opening to get behind him. As he rotated his body left to catch up to her, she was already almost on his right side, her left elbow smashing sharply into his meaty flank. Weight difference or no, one didn’t simply take an elbow to the side and shrug it off.

He staggered to the left, giving her the chance to hook his right leg with her left, sending him toppling to the ground with a heavy thud. She quickly pressed her advantage, placing the heel of her boot on his chest.

“There. Are we good?” she asked.

Russell looked up at her, dazed, but nodded. She was lucky Russell was more fat than muscle.

The crowd watched her silently.

“What the blazes was that?” someone in the crowd asked.

“Years of training!” Venza answered back with a grin. “Booker?” she asked.

“Uh, yes!” Booker quickly recovered. “The winner is Venza Greyfield! Winners, please claim your payouts. Or don’t! I won’t mind!”

As she exited the square of boxes and stalls, a throng of people surrounded her, all either congratulating her on her win or trying to ask how the blazes she took Russell out so quickly. She thanked her well-wishers, a massive grin creeping on her face as she basked in their adoration. It was an entire ten minutes before she could get through the crowd, and it was there, under one of the green-glowing lamp posts, that she saw Aiela.

The young mage had grown tall, though she was still shorter than Venza by about a head. Aiela had worn a frown on her face as Venza approached, but her sourness couldn’t dampen Venza’s mood. “Enjoy the show? You could’ve helped, you know. I would’ve finished faster.”

“What for?” Aiela asked. “Didn’t seem like the sort of trouble that would leave any permanent damage.”

Aiela quickly reached for her face, faster than Venza could react. The part where Russell had smacked her still stung, and Venza recoiled in discomfort. “What the fuck, Aiela?”

“Hold still,” Aiela said, clasping her face again. A soft, green light pulsed from her hand, and Venza knew from experience Aiela was healing her bruise before it became a proper bruise.

“You could be more gentle about it,” Venza complained.

“And you could stop sneaking out at night,” Aiela answered before letting go. “There, all done.”

“Thank you,” Venza said, feeling her face with her hand. “I’m mostly safe, anyway. A lot of the people here are recruits for the Grey Gua-”

Venza noticed Aiela’s gaze look past her and onto the crowd. A second match had started between two young men and for some reason, Aiela seemed interested.

“Did you want to watch or-” Venza began, but Aiela cut her off.

“I was simply wondering why the heir of the great and noble house of Greyfield would spend her nights here,” Aiela said, shrugging. “But I didn’t need to wonder long.”

Venza winced at that. It was true. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this. But-

“I know,” Aiela said, as if reading her thoughts. “You’ve grown so much as a warrior and yet your father still refuses to acknowledge you.”

It was true. Here she felt loved. Adored. Celebrated. Even more than whenever the two of them went out and did work for the town.

“Are you sure you want to be Lord Marshall?” Aiela asked. “Because it kind of looks like you’d be fine being a prize fighter in the Imperial Arena.”

“Me? In the Imperial Arena?” Venza chuckled. “Father would have a panic attack.”

“At least you remembered this time,” Aiela said, holding up a pouch of money.

“Yeah, I bet on me in your name,” Venza said. “More funds for the war effort.”

The ‘war effort’ of course, being what they jokingly called Venza’s campaign to succeed her father as Lord Marshall one day. They’d gathered a decent amount doing odd jobs or using Aiela’s concoctions and devices to solve problems. Mother kept a tight leash on her spending the House’s funds, after all, refusing to spend any of it on 'Venza's nonsense.'

“Shall we go home, then?” Aiela asked. “And pretend this didn’t happen?”

“Right. Homeward, then,” Venza declared, a soft smile on her lips.