Rogue Legacy by Jeffrey L. Kohanek (snow like ashes .txt) 📕

Lyra crested the rise, getting her first view of what lay to the west. She stopped at the top, holding her hand up to shade her eyes from the mid-day sun.

A long field stretched before her, filled with tall grass bounded by a forest to the north and far to the south. Miles to the west, the white walls of a city rose above the fields, with squat cylindrical towers jutting above them. Beyond the city, the Sea of Fates stretched across the horizon, its blue waters rippling and shimmering in the hazy mist that hovered over the bay.

Turning around to get a view of what lay behind her, she found fields stretching into the distance, encircled by trees. Squinting, she could just make out the walls of Mystic Manor nestled along the tree line. Her gaze shifted beyond, and she spotted a herd of cattle many miles to the east, which reminded her of Gar and their conversation, just hours earlier.

“If you never returned to him, what of it? He doesn’t know where you are, who you are,” Gar protested.

“I promised, Gar. I cannot…” She shook her head as she recalled her father just before his murder, remembering what his broken promise had rendered, the last promise he would ever make.

Lyra doubted Cal would kill her, but it would be wrong to break her vow. Besides, she wanted more information about The Hand. She owed her father that much.

“I’ll not break my promise. He held up his end of the bargain, and I will do the same.”

Gar stepped closer and wrapped his arms about her. Lyra found her heart racing as she gazed into his dark eyes. He pressed up against her, the warmth of his body making her breath quicken.

“You’re special, Tali,” Gar whispered. “I want you to stay.”

Their lips met, and Lyra’s eyes widened, flicking side-to-side before drifting closed. His lips were soft, dynamically opposed to his firm body. She somehow swam her way through the pleasure of the kiss until she found the surface and was able to push him away. He looked at her with confusion on his face as she reclaimed her breath.

“I’m…only fifteen summers, Gar. I’m…too young for you.”

“Nonsense.” Gar shook his head. “I’ll not deny a five-year gap seems significant now, but when I’m thirty summers and you’re twenty-five, you will think it as natural as rain.”

Lyra gazed into his dark eyes, the brown pools that consumed her very soul. It took everything she had to resist him, to turn and open the door to the wagon. She stepped outside and pulled her floating pack through before turning back to face him.

“I must do this, Gar. Once my promise is fulfilled, I will return.” Lyra nodded to herself. “We can resume this conversation at that time.”

When she turned to leave, he followed, closing the door behind him.

“We Tantarri leave this place in three months, heading north for the summer.” His voice took on a pleading quality. “Please, Tali. Please return to us before we are gone.”

Lyra stopped and stared down at her boots, finding them dusty from the dry gravel of the campsite.

“I’ll be finished with my commitment in three months. I will join you then.”

The pain of the bittersweet farewell returned. Lyra closed her eyes and found herself sighing as she refocused on the present.

She turned back to face west and began walking downhill, toward the city.

Lost in her own thoughts – thoughts mostly of Gar and her time with the Tantarri – the distance to the city closed without notice. She looked up to find the white walls suddenly looming over her.

Lyra stared at her surroundings in wonder as she passed through the open gates of Sol Polis, each step of her boots clicking on the stone-paved streets, busy with foot traffic. Men in black cloaks strode past Lyra while women in various dress colors purchased bread, meat, and produce from bakers, butchers, and farmers’ carts. Clay-tiled roofs capped the pale buildings along the thoroughfare that lead toward the heart of the city. Lyra slowed as she approached a white building that towered over the narrow street, finding herself enthralled and almost losing grip of the floating pack. In awe, she stared at the gilded carvings beside the stained-glass window above the entrance. The engraved message within the alabaster plaque beside the double-doors read Temple of Issal, Established in 1102.

A passer-by collided with Lyra, knocking her forward and breaking her from her reverie.

“Watch where you’re going,” Lyra snapped.

The man stopped, his brow furrowed as his gaze swept over her. “A girl?” He appeared aghast. “Why are you dressed like a boy?”

As he turned and continued down the street, Lyra frowned and pulled Cal’s list from the side pocket of the floating pack. She read the first item again and continued down the street. Upon reaching the next corner, the view opened to a massive square occupied by a castle surrounded by pale brick walls.

Three squat towers hovered above the walls, while a fourth appeared in mid-construction. A structure of wooden poles and platforms encircled the tower, with men stationed at the top of the scaffolding. Distant pulleys squeaked as ropes hauled heavy stone blocks to the top, where men disconnected the blocks before securing them to the wall in a bed of mortar. Lyra watched the stonemasons for a few minutes before breaking from her trance. Recalling the list of errands Cal had assigned to her, she set off to find a tailor.