The northern training grounds lay on the eastern edge of the Eryndale manor; an open stretch of hardened earth ringed with weapon racks, worn stone dummies, and frost-scarred posts that bore the marks of countless clashes. Even in summer, the air here carried a chill, sharpened by discipline and steel.
Tomas stepped onto the grounds first, rolling his shoulders as his boots sank slightly into the packed dirt. His hand rested on the hilt of his practice sword, fingers familiar with its weight. Aaron followed more cautiously, his robes muted and plain, eyes observant as he took in the layout of the field.
"This place is… well-maintained," Aaron muttered. "Too well-maintained."
"That's because it's used constantly," Tomas replied. "Northern knights don't grow soft it seems."
They had barely taken ten steps forward when the air shifted.
Boots crunched behind them—measured, deliberate. Tomas turned first.
Five knights stood between them and the center of the field. Their armor was not ceremonial; it was worn, scratched, practical. Each bore the crest of House Eryndale. At their front stood a broad-shouldered man with iron-grey hair tied back at the nape of his neck. His gaze was sharp, assessing, already dismissive.
"You walk too freely for an outsider," the knight said, voice clipped. "This ground is for Eryndale steel."
Tomas straightened. "We're here to train."
A knight to the side scoffed. "Did you hear that? Train."
Aaron felt the weight of several gazes settle on him, measuring, judging. "We mean no disrespect," Aaron said calmly. "We were told this was a shared facility."
The leader stepped forward, his boots stopping just short of Tomas's toes. Up close, his presence was oppressive, like a wall of cold iron.
"Told by whom?"
Tomas met his eyes without flinching. "That's not relevant."
That earned a low chuckle from the knights behind him.
The leader tilted his head. "Everything is relevant in the North. Especially strength." His gaze flicked briefly to Aaron. "And survival."
One of the younger knights crossed his arms. "You don't look like guards. And you certainly don't look like knights."
Tomas's grip tightened imperceptibly on his sword. "Appearances can be deceiving."
"Some maybe. But yours are not. Let me guess, young eastern boy didn't have any particular talents so chose to swing around a sword, pretending to be a knight."
"Ha maybe so." Tomas laughed, "And what could I tell by yours.. Let me see.. A Northern man who thinks all there is to a sword is its metal, training to build up muscle as if strength alone is enough to wield a sword."
"Strength alone got me here, boy. Not at the feet of some cursed witch." He sneered.
"Watch your tongue." Tomas said, his laugh disappearing, hand gripping the handle of his sword. "Or I might just cut it off."
The two lunged at eachother, but before they could reach, they stopped in their tracks. Mana stirred behind Tomas.
Aaron stepped forward, fingers already moving through precise, minimal sigils. The air twisted. Not violently, but deliberately. Invisible threads wrapped around the knights' wrists, their movements stuttering as if caught in unseen webs.
Puppet incantation.
The knights froze mid-step.
Aaron's expression was calm, almost detached. "I suggest you stop," he said evenly. "Both of you." His eyes moving to Tomas.
The leader raised a hand, silencing his men. "You want to use our grounds?" he said. "Earn it."
Aaron frowned. "And how exactly do you propose we do that?"
A slow, predatory smile crept onto the man's face.
"A spar."
Murmurs rippled through the knights.
"No offensive magic," the leader added, eyes locking onto Aaron. "And no killing blows. If you can stand your ground against us, even briefly, we'll consider allowing you access."
"And if we refuse?" Tomas asked.
"Then you leave," the leader said simply. "On your feet, if you're wise."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and taut.
Aaron exhaled slowly, then glanced at Tomas. "Well," he said dryly, "at least they're polite about it. In a northern sort of way."
Tomas rolled his neck once, loosening his muscles. "I was hoping for a warm-up."
The leader raised an eyebrow. "Confidence. I like that."
He stepped back and gestured to the field. "Choose your opponents."
Two knights stepped forward immediately; one lean and sharp-eyed, the other broad and solid, carrying a heavy practice blade that looked capable of breaking bones even without an edge.
Tomas stepped into the ring first.
The moment the signal was given, the lean knight lunged. Fast, precise. Tomas barely shifted, twisting his body just enough for the blade to skim past his ribs. He countered instantly, bringing his sword up in a tight arc that forced the knight to retreat.
The second knight charged.
The ground cracked beneath Tomas's feet as he burst forward, not with brute force, but speed. His movements were clean, efficient, honed by years of discipline. Steel met steel in a sharp, ringing clash.
Aaron, meanwhile, remained still at the edge of the field.
A knight approached him cautiously. "You're the mage, aren't you?"
Aaron smiled faintly. "Something like that."
The knight lunged.
Aaron moved—not backward, but sideways, just enough. His hand lifted, fingers subtly weaving mana into invisible threads. The knight stumbled mid-step, balance thrown off as if his limbs no longer obeyed him.
"What—"
Alden was somewhat of a prodigy, even amongst puppet magic users. Instead of impatiently moving onto the next magic level (something Aveline had done), he spent longer on each level, mastering it before deciding when to start learning the next level. And so, his magic was far stronger than any normal mage using the same type. Something the knights weren't used to.
Aaron didn't strike. He redirected.
The knight's own momentum carried him forward, sending him crashing to the dirt in an undignified sprawl.
A hush fell over the training ground.
Back in the ring, Tomas disarmed his opponent with a sharp twist of the wrist, sending the practice sword spinning away. He stopped short of the finishing blow, blade hovering at the knight's throat.
The leader raised his hand again.
"That's enough."
Both fights ceased instantly.
The leader studied them anew, no longer dismissive, but wary. Calculating.
"…You're not common sellswords," he said.
"Never really said we were," Tomas replied evenly.
The leader nodded once. "You've earned the right."
He turned to his men. "They may use the grounds. Spread the word."
As the knights dispersed, the leader paused and added quietly, "But know this. Strength earns respect here. Nothing else."
Tomas inclined his head. "Stop right there. Strength may earn respect, but it does not forgo decency. I demand an apology."
"An apology?" The leader questioned.
"That man" Tomas pointed his sword at the knight he was arguing with earlier. "Said something about a witch. Now I do not want to presume that he was talking about my lady, because if he was, I will cut off his head right here." He spoke, fist tightening around the hilt. Beside him, Aaron had a fierce look in his eyes, mana fluctuating and ready to act, as if he agreed with Tomas.
"However, If it was a simple faux pas, then an apology and we can carry on."
The leader looked at the two of them. Not for their honor or ego. Not for their rights to train. But rather for their lady. Why would two talented individuals care so much about a cursed child?
"Jefferson! Apologize now for your …. faux par"
The knight stepped forward, "I apologize for any offense I have caused." He said, not arguing with his leader. Aaron and Tomas shared a look before nodding. It appears the knights of the North do not care about useless egos.
As the knights left, Aaron let out a slow breath. "Well," he said, brushing dirt from his sleeve, "that went better than expected."
Tomas sheathed his sword. "For the North? That was practically a greeting."
And somewhere in the cold air of Eryndale, eyes continued to watch them, no longer with contempt, but with interest.
****************************
The corridors of Eryndale Manor were always hushed, but the silence that followed Lina felt different.
It trailed behind her in murmurs, soft voices that paused when she passed, glances that lingered just a moment too long. Lina noticed them all. She always did.
"She's so young…"
"What a pity, being assigned there of all places."
"At least she seems sweet. Poor thing."
Lina kept her head bowed as she carried fresh linens through the northern wing, her steps light, practiced. She had learned quickly that the staff spoke more freely when they thought they were unheard.
They believed her unfortunate.
A girl barely into her late teens, assigned as personal maid to the so-called cursed bride of Eryndale. To them, it was a quiet tragedy. An innocent caught in the shadow of misfortune.
Lina let them believe it.
When one of the older maids pressed a hand to her shoulder in sympathy and whispered, "If she treats you poorly, you can come to us," Lina only smiled and thanked her.
"She doesn't," Lina replied softly. "My lady is… kind."
The woman looked unconvinced, pity deepening in her eyes. "Still," she said, lowering her voice, "working so close to someone like that can't be easy."
Lina said nothing more.
Correcting them would only invite questions. Questions led to scrutiny. And scrutiny was the last thing Aveline needed.
Within Aveline's chambers, the air was different.
Calmer. Warmer.
Lina moved efficiently, arranging garments, preparing tea, adjusting the heavy curtains to let in just enough light. She knew the rhythms of the room now, the subtle cues of when her lady needed silence and when she welcomed conversation.
Aveline never raised her voice. Never demanded. Never treated Lina as lesser.
Which made the whispers outside feel hollow.
As Lina brushed dust from a folded cloak, her gaze flicked briefly toward the closed door. Beyond it lay a manor that did not welcome her lady. A household that saw Aveline as a symbol rather than a person.
Let them think Lina pitied her.
It was easier that way.
In the evenings, when Lina returned to the servants' quarters, the other maids often beckoned her over.
"Are you holding up alright?" one asked gently.
Lina nodded. "Yes."
"You're brave," another said. "I don't know how you manage."
Lina smiled again, the same soft expression she always wore. "It's just work."
But in her heart, she knew the truth.
She was not enduring misfortune.
She was guarding it.
And if being pitied allowed her to move freely through the manor, if it kept eyes from looking too closely, ears from listening too carefully, then Lina would accept their kindness and their misunderstanding alike.
For the sake of her lady, she would wear that mask without complaint.
***********************
Aveline called for the three of them one day to ask how things have been, wanting to make sure her people weren't suffering because of her.
They stood within the small, unused chamber she had claimed as her temporary study, far from prying ears, far from the careful politeness of the manor. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long shadows against the stone walls.
Tomas stood straight, hands clasped behind his back. Aaron leaned slightly against the table, arms folded, eyes sharp despite his casual posture. Lina stood closest to Aveline, her hands folded neatly in front of her apron.
They told her everything.
About the training grounds.
About the knights who had barred their path, the looks of contempt thinly veiled behind courtesy. About the spar that followed, the challenge disguised as permission. Tomas spoke of measured strikes and restrained force, of how he'd matched speed with speed without ever crossing the line into provocation.
Aaron spoke next, quieter but no less firm. He told her how the knights had watched him afterward, wary now, cautious. How they no longer dismissed him as merely a servant in fine clothes.
"They did apologize," Tomas finished. "And they won't stop us again."
Aveline nodded once.
Then she turned to Lina.
"And you?" she asked.
Lina hesitated, then spoke honestly. Of the whispers. Of the pity. Of how the other maids spoke of Aveline when they thought she wasn't listening. There was no need to sugar coat the words. Aveline was not so soft as to need it and Lina knew.
"They think I'm unfortunate," Lina said calmly. "That I'm trapped serving a cursed bride."
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then Aveline exhaled a slow, steady breath and laughed softly. Not bitter. Not sharp.
"Good," she said.
All three looked at her.
"Pity is safer than suspicion," Aveline continued. "Let them underestimate us. It makes things easier."
She stepped closer, her gaze steady as it passed from one to the next.
"You handled yourselves well," she said. "All of you."
Tomas straightened unconsciously. Aaron's lips twitched, just slightly. Lina's shoulders relaxed, tension she hadn't realized she carried easing at the words.
"You adapted," Aveline went on. "You observed, endured, and chose the right moments to act. That matters more than strength."
Her eyes lingered on Tomas. "You showed restraint."
On Aaron. "You showed control."
On Lina. "And you showed wisdom."
She paused, then added quietly, "I'm proud of you. All of you"
The words settled into the room like warmth.
Aaron looked away first, clearing his throat. "We just did what you taught us."
Tomas nodded once. "Guess my lady did a good job teaching us."
Lina shook her head gently. "You don't need to thank us, my lady."
Aveline smiled—small, genuine.
"I will anyway," she said. "Because you didn't have to follow me here. This place is cold. Suspicious. Unkind."
She looked toward the shuttered window, where snow gathered against stone.
"But it's not our enemy." She said, looking back at the three. "The people here aren't evil. They are set in their ways. And they are wary. They have every right to be."
"You do not have to shut yourself off to them, or be wary of them too. Treat them how you would anyone else."
"You're right my lady." Aaron spoke and smiled, "Tomas even made a friend."
Tomas gwaked. "I did not! What friend?"
"The red haired fella, Zeke?" he smirked.
"He isn't a friend, my lady." Tomas rolled his eyes. "He just comes up to me to get tips on fighting and we sometimes train together."
Aveline laugh. "You don't have to be so guarded, Tomas. It's a good thing to have made a friend here. I hope all of you make friends here." She smiled.
Their lives in the North had just begun and they had no idea when it would be over. A few friends might make it a bit easier on them.
Outside, Eryndale Manor remained unchanged, cold, watchful, unmoved by her presence. For now.