The festival is winding down its final days; the market is surprisingly quiet. A chill brushes its way down the wide, open street, bouncing against the coarse canvas sides of tents and stall covers. It trails its icy fingers down her spine, promising her winter and leaving Antiope with visions of the court blanketed with downy white snow.
There are a few equines gathering around the roaring bonfires, using both the flames and their own cheer to keep away the evening cold. She can’t help the warmth in her sapphire eyes as she watches them—strangers and friends alike—gathering to regale each other with stories; tipping mugs filled with mead to each other like they haven’t just met.
Soon, even most of the stragglers will be gone. They will return to their own courts and warm homes and hearths. She cannot blame them, of course. The festival has brought so many together in a time when it was desperately needed, and they will be able to look ahead to the frost without fear, with less sadness and grief. So she hopes… she hopes.
Antiope brushes shoulders with someone mistakenly on the street, turning down a corner toward the center market where her favorite bakery is. “My apologies,” the Regent says, turning her blade-holding shoulder away so as not to accidentally catch them with the edge of her axe. Her blue eyes are sharp and clear as a winter sea as they land upon the other equine, even in the fading light.
The Night Court was lit by a thousand flickering candles, their lights dancing in the slight breeze. A a melodious drone of voices arose from the markets, the festivities in full swing even as the season was winding down. The Hallowed period was always bittersweet for Castalla, her journey into an enchanted forest had reawakened feelings she long sought to bury. But with the grinning and chattering of others around her, it was difficult to be melancholic.
Mead gripped within the tendrils of her mind (her first and only cup mind you, the assassin always liked to keep a clear head), she wandered among the streets leisurely, slipping silently through the crowds. Until one brushed up against her accidentally, a voice permeating the harmonious chatter.
“No harm done,” she found herself automatically responding as she turned to face the mare, a friendly smile on her lips. Perhaps it was the mead, or the sense of happiness and warmth radiating from the smiling faces and joyful crowds, but Castalla did not find herself adopting her usual suspicion. Instead, her cerulean oculars now finding the form of a striped mare, the Wolf dipped her head graciously. Spying the glint of silver iron, the rogue swiftly examined the weapon strapped to the femme’s side. <“That’s a nice axe you’ve got there,” genuine appreciation painting her tones. Though Castalla preferred lighter weapons, she was trained to readily handle heavier hammers and axes and of course the warrior could recognise fine craftsmanship when she saw it. The lightness of her forearms, cold where her daggers were usually sheathed in leather bands, was all the more noticeable for a moment and she missed her trusted weapons. But they were safe where she buried them upon Novus shore, hidden from prying eyes and those that might assume the worst of her.
“The festivities are lovely.” She inclines her head gracefully, indicating the gathered crowds. The White Wolf did not miss a beat, though she had only been here several weeks, it had not taken her long to learn the names and faces of those ranked among the Court. This was Antiope, Regent of the Night Court and Castalla had to admit she was keen to get to know other warriors. Had the regent had a hoof in the organisation of the celebration?
Antiope is glad to see that she did not bump too hard into the other equine, so as not to make them spill the contents of their cup nor set them off balance. Their gracious smile brings one of her own about her lips, curling up the corners and setting a warm tone to her sapphire eyes, normally so sharp and watchful.
“Ah, thank you. It is one of my most trusted companions,” the Regent says, knowing as she turns slightly that the obsidian blade of the axe and the many etchings in its surface will catch the soft glow of the firelight around them. “You are familiar with weaponry?” She hasn’t met any other equines who carry a weapon on their person as she, and it would be nice to have something in common with this woman she has just met.
Antiope’s main weapon of choice is certainly her axe, but on the battlefield she had been known to grab at anything available if it would aid her fight. Now, she doesn’t use it to fight but for other purposes. It will always be a comfort to carry it at her side, just behind her shoulder, regardless of its use. The Regent’s eyes shift to streets around them, with the turn of conversation.
As quiet as they are she can see that just beyond the other woman where she had been headed is busier. “I hope you are enjoying yourself,” she says with sincerity. The festival had been quite the task to help set up. Hanging decorations, gathering supplies, but fortunately they had not been doing it alone. Many citizens had offered to step in and help; even some of their allies from other courts.
“Would you care to join me for a treat…?” Antiope asks, her speech fading as the Regent realized she did not know her companion’s name. “I'm sorry, we were never properly introduced; however, I was just headed to my favorite baker in the market and it’s the least I could do for bumping into you.” Her favorite, and the best, if you ask her. Their goods always made her feel happy and satisfied after she finished one.
she is both a wild beast and a gracious lady
and you cannot have one without the other
As the weapon catches the soft glow of the many fires dancing around them, Castalla can make out from the corner of her eye the little whorls wrought into the metal. Intricate and elegant, she cannot help but trace them swiftly, wondering what they represent. Her own daggers had been reasonably plain, particularly for someone of her position. But if she flashed her wealth with expensive weaponry, inlaid with diamonds and jewels befitting a princess, any anonymity and stealth would be gone. “Somewhat, yes.” Her friendly smile remains, even if her answer is slightly vague. Castalla was far more than just familiar with weaponry- she was trained to use any kind of weapon, to turn anything into an armament. Hell, she was a living breathing weapon. But it did her no favours to reveal such lethality. “I had a pair of daggers that I left behind before travelling here, I feel almost naked without them now,” she admits with a confessional incline of her head. It was a weakness she would not usually admit- to imply that she felt vulnerable without her daggers- but the Wolf was beginning to trust those around her. And of course, she was just as dangerous without her daggers.
“I am, thank you. And the Night Court has been very kind in welcoming me into its midst.” From the moment Castalla had set foot on Novus’ shores she had been met with warm welcome. It was a drastic difference to her reception in Anvidian. With suspicion as integral as the air they breathed, Anvidian’s citizens rarely welcomed newcomers with open arms, especially when said newcomers could potentially be shapeshifters.
Her smile was genuine, if not filled with a little cheerful surprise as it plays merrily across her lips. It had been a long time since the Wolf had taken the chance to indulge in a tasty treat with anyone, much less a friendly stranger. Usually, if she were to meet anyone at all, it was an informant or a target and never did she go out for pastries with them!
“Please, call me Castalla. And you are Antiope, yes?” There was faint humour glittering in the oceanic depths of her eyes, enough she hoped to make it clear she meant no harm by already knowing the other mare’s name.
“And I would love to join you, thank you!” She inclines her head once more, turning in the same direction and waiting patiently for Antiope to lead on.
“A good weapon is like a good friend,” Antiope says with a measure of empathy, “Always by your side and never failing. I can understand your missing them.” It would be foolish of the Regent not to notice the many scars that littered the other woman’s body, which told her far more than her words may have. She is clearly no stranger to battle, and Antiope can appreciate the duality of a dagger which is useful in both close quarters combat, but also can be thrown if one has trained themselves to.
Although the woman doesn’t seem very forthcoming of her history with weapons, Antiope is admittedly curious and is certain they would have many tales to share with each other. She can respect the mare’s decision to remain vague, and doesn’t push the conversation. Perhaps in time, they might learn more about each other. The Regent isn’t proud of all the deeds she has done under the guidance of the gods she had once trusted, but her skills will never leave her and can always be put to better use in the future.
Antiope is pleased to hear that the woman is enjoying herself, and furthermore that Denocte’s citizens have been warm and gracious to her. The smile she wears at the Regent’s invitation seems genuine, and the striped mare returns the gesture gladly. “Castalla, then. It is a pleasure to meet you,” it doesn’t strike her much that Castalla has already learned her name. She imagines it isn’t difficult to learn the names of the Regime if only one asks. “Yes, I am Antiope.”
She is many things, in fact, but they are all combined into one thing with the name Antiope placed upon it.
“This bakery is my favorite in the market, and I happen to know they’ve been keeping longer hours with the festival so I thought I would stop by,” she explains as she begins to walk to again, new company in tow. The shop is not much further up the street, and the lights are indeed on inside when they reach its front. Antiope takes a moment to purchase two fresh rolls, still warm and steaming on the inside when pulled apart.
Offering one of the rolls to Castalla, Antiope gestures that they continue to walk. “These are their signature rolls; a simple white bread recipe with a touch of sweetness,” she explains. She doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so the more sugary desserts are best left for Moira, who would delight in them all day if she could. Antiope enjoys these rolls, with just a hint of something extra in them. As they walk, she pulls a small piece off the roll and pops it into her mouth. “How do you like Denocte so far?” she asks when she’s finished the bite, “Is there anything you wish to know?”
Like good friends, good weapons were hard to come by, though the Wolf kept that thought to herself. Of course she could easily acquire an another weapon- she’d been trained to wield anything as expertly as one can. But she’d trained with her daggers for decades, she knew their feel, their weight by memory. The whistle as they arched through the air was a sound that made her heart sing. Like an additional pair of legs, the shortswords were but an extension of her body. They had been a gift from her parents on the day of her Immortalis. Though understated with their simple, hand-stitched hilts, there were forged from the rarest metal in Alanaris. Diamondsteel- light and strong and said to be the remnants of shooting stars. She would dig them up again soon, when she felt the horses of Novus considered her one of their own enough that wandering around with daggers at her shoulder wouldn’t attract unwanted attention.
Antiope didn’t press, and since that was what Castalla intended, she was glad. But secretly she hoped that perhaps one day, one day, she’d have someone to share war stories with. Someone with whom to lament past wrongs, to compare scars. But long had passed the time of such innocence and pleasure- when tails of war were romantic and fantastical. When her history was not stained with failure and loss and the demons that plagued her nightmares.
“It is a pleasure to meet you too Antiope, I’ve heard great things.”
Their conversation dwindled into comfortable quiet for a few moments as they meandered through the crowds. Castalla took the chance to admire each of the shopfronts- many still open due to the festivities. Much like the candles that lamps that lined the streets, each window was awash with an orange glow, wondering scents drifting from each. When they reached the bakery the tantalising aroma of fresh bread and delicious cakes wafted on the night breeze. Castalla’s wolf stirred, her heightened senses making the food smell all the sweeter, but she quelled it with a thought.
“It certainly smells lovely, thank you,” the femme commented appreciatively as Antiope bought two rolls. Gratefully she took the bread, the air shimmering a subtle blue around it. “Here,” she pulled coin from a purse tied to her mane, offering it to the striped warrior. Castalla had traded jewellery and coin from her own land, easily earning enough to cover supplies and housing before she considered permanent residence. She wasn’t the kind of person to take things for free when she knew she could afford them- not when she had been one of the richest inhabitants of Alanaris.
Despite being born a princess, the shifter rarely indulged in the pleasure of food. Fighting and training took precedence over tea parties and social gatherings. And even when feasts were thrown and other kingdoms visited, Castalla ate only to blend in, her entire focus being on whatever mission she’d accepted. “They are delicious,” she said with a small smile and a soft huff through her nostrils.
“Denocte is beautiful,” indeed, the night city sung to her much like the moon, “everyone has been so welcoming.” So much more welcoming than she deserved. It would not be long before the call of death weaved violence into her blood once more. Adrian was right when he said she could not deny her nature. She only hoped to use her skill in aid of the Night Court, or at least in aid of justice. The rogue had already gleaned much of what she needed to know- being an accomplished spy had its benefits. “I’ve learnt a lot already, but I suppose my only question is; is the Night Court in need of my services?” The White Wolf did not doubt Antiope had spied her scars- they were hard to miss- and coupled with her clear familiarity with weaponry it wouldn’t be difficult to figure out her services involved fighting.
Antiope takes the offered money from Castalla without argument, but a simple nod of her head. Although she had intended the good to be her treat, she would never question someone’s values and if this woman wished to pay her part, then the Regent would allow her to.
It had been strange, getting used to court life, when Antiope had first come to Novus. She had been so accustomed to jungle living, in the wooden homes that were built among the trees. They had grown or gathered much of their food, and rather than drinking elaborate teas and coffees from fine china they had muddled herbs and fruits into water. It had been simpler, certainly, but no less enjoyable.
To tell the truth, these rolls reminded her greatly of the breads and other baked goods they often shared in back then. They would gather at a huge table on the forest floor and eat all meals they managed to catch together. They were good memories, among long stretches of weeks and months out on the battlefield where the had scarce little to enjoy at all.
“I’m glad to hear Denocte and her people have been kind to you,” Antiope says, with sincerity. When she had first arrived, the other passengers on the ship had been wary of her but nobody in the court itself has ever looked twice at her, regardless of the exoticness, the otherness, about her, nor the axe she constantly wears strapped to her shoulder. Once nothing more than a stranger, now she is their Regent, a leader, a protector. How quickly the tides do shift.
It is curious, how much her thoughts echo the moment at hand, for their conversation quickly turns from simply pleasantries to much more. Antiope’s sapphire eyes sharpen keenly, meeting Castalla’s own—chips of ice, with a swirling ocean underneath. “The Night Court has finally found peace, after the man that threatened the life of our Queen has died,” she says, as if to dismiss the woman’s suggestion.
But she is not a fool, and knows there will always be another Raum. There will always be more gods stepping down from their pedestals to show mere mortals how much stronger they are. Antiope turns her head, glancing at the few equines that pass them on the street. These are her people now, just as the horses in the jungle had once been.
It is her duty to ensure they will always be safe. “But,” if there is a sharpness to her smile, like a tiger prowling through the underbrush, perhaps it is just a trick of the fading light, “there is a place for everyone in the court of midnight and stars, if you choose to stay with us.” A suggestion, or a promise of the future? Her eyes give away little. Antiope may have vowed to lay down her weapons, but she would still do whatever it takes to keep her court safe.
Castalla wonders about the other woman’s life before Novus (perhaps she had been born here though?). Antiope took the money without hesitation, maybe silent respect for whatever values Castalla held- a clear understanding of the myriad of values that shaped each culture and each land. She carried herself with assuredly and the weapon by her side sung of battle and bloodshed. Yet the striped mare spoke of peace with such ease. Perhaps she had not lost what Castalla had lost. Perhaps peace was a shelter not a cage. Or perhaps she had. The Wolf carried her own pain silently, hiding it beneath sharp smiles and mischievous eyes. Only when all eyes were closed, when her only company were the shadows of the night, did the scarred femme allow the cracks to show. She was not the only one with such high walls, such solid shields.
Genuinely she is pleased for peace these people had found, the Court deserved. She would not wish war, hunger and terror on anyone. Yet there is a twinge in her gut, one she cannot pin point, or ignore.
“I was born over a century ago into a world torn by chaos; in all my life I have never known peace. I wonder how long it will take me to get used to it.” In truth, peace was all Castalla ever wanted for her people; some semblance of safety, where their children could be raised knowing only happiness and acceptance. But in trying to achieve that peace, the Wolf had sacrificed any chance she had at finding her own amity. Could she ever get used to it? To living a mundane life knowing that she could never have what everyone else had. Only time would tell.
But peace is never immortal. In time all things fall and strife always had a way of worming its way through the cracks. There would surely be a time when the Wolf’s skill set would be necessary. When her blood could once more thrum with the thrill of a fight. Until then she would just have to find something else to. No society was perfect, she’d surely be able to find herself something fun to do in the meantime.
“I think I will stay.” And her wolf grin answered that tiger smile, a promise that should it ever be required, she would be ready. Her soul was tarnished, stained from decades of battle and bloodshed. She’d been a champion, a soldier, a rebel and an assassin and she could do it again if it meant keeping good people safe.
“Have you always lived in Novus?” A perfectly harmless question, one that could allow difficult issues to be dodged, but Castalla was curious to know more and possibly desperate to find kinship with someone in this new land.
Antiope had never known peace, even before her creation—her birth. In that dark nothingness time before life was breathed into her and she awoke from the statue that the gods had carved her, she had known nothing. It was not peace, it was fathomless and empty.
Then, she had woke and been thrust into a world of war. She had fought, and killed and defeated and been defeated. She had rejoiced, and died, once, and loved twice. But she had still never felt peace, she had felt hunger like a lion and later anger.
The Regent hadn’t discovered peace until she’d come to Novus, until she’d laid down her weapons and put a blood red sunset behind her. So when she looks at Castalla and speaks, there are years of not-knowing in her sapphire eyes. “I hope you get all the time it takes,” because even though she doesn’t know this mare she knows that everyone deserves that feeling.
She wants nothing more than for her court and her people to know and feel peace, to be seated in it, to revel in it. Antiope hopes they will get that, too. With every lion beating of her warrior’s heart, she continues to hope, even though she knows such things do not last.
They only need last long enough.
“I am glad to hear it,” Antiope responds, though there is a warmer touch to the curl of her lips then. If there ever comes a time for the pale woman’s particular abilities, she is pleased to know she will find her here on these streets. She is glad to know that even after darkness they can continue to grow, that they will continue to grow. It seems there are new faces more often these days.
Castalla’s question doesn’t catch the Regent off guard but her eyes flicker, like a wave at sea crashing in on itself. She’s not used to being asked personal questions—knowing her name and her status is different than so quickly asking something about her, “No, I haven’t.”
But the question is innocent enough, and the tiger-striped woman will eventually need to get used to such attention. Equines will want to know who she is, this woman who is meant to guide and protect them. “It has been almost a year since I came to Novus and Denocte. In fact, I arrived in the midst of a festival being held just like this one,” she glances sidelong at the woman.
She remembers the leaf lanterns that had guided her to the court, and the ice castle where Antiope had first met Isra not know who she was or who she would become. Thinking back, it’s difficult to imagine that it’s scarcely been a year yet. Somehow, it feels like she has been here much longer.
At some point, Denocte had become home, without her truly realizing it. The Regent wonders what moment it was, or whether it was a gradual thing, and one day she just stopped feeling like she was a newcomer.
Castalla’s father had always said that peace looked different to each and every soul. To some there was peace in a field of crops, working the land and feeding the many, to others peace might be halls of gold or rooms of books. To Castalla, peace was but a ghost, an echo, out of reach but perhaps not for ever. Though for now peace seemed indeterminately unachievable she knew in her heart that nothing lasted for ever. Perhaps one day, many decades or centuries from now, she might find her peace living in a small cottage in the middle of nowhere or maybe among the cavernous halls of Nightfall, ruling her people and making peace for them. Sometimes Castalla wondered what peace was to those around her, to the majority who’d never known the pain and sacrifice that the Wolf had been dragged through from a young age. Sometimes she envied them, envied their innocence and happiness- even if she understood that everyone went through their own kinds of pain. But she was born to protect people like that, raised to be the one that suffered in order to bring about that kind of ease of mind for others. Whether she would have wanted that or not, it could not be changed and she knew nothing else.
Antiope’s voice broke her reverie, half her attention wandering with her thoughts, but she focused once more, a small smile on her lips as she simply dipped her head elegantly in gratitude. If there was anything Castalla had, it was time.
Trained to read others, to see the quick tell-tale signs hidden behind words and smiles, Castalla does not miss the flash in the mare’s piercing blue gaze- whatever it means. But it is not her place to wonder or consider so she dismisses the curiosity in her mind and listens with her head tilted just slightly, regarding Antiope with a side glance.
Learning that the striped woman was also not a native of Novus surprised the Wolf a little, but she felt a sudden kinship and understanding with this woman of war and peace. “I suppose a festival is a great time to arrive,” she snorts softly, a rueful smile on her lips. She wants to ask the woman how long it took her to feel at home, how long before the nostalgia and loneliness dissipated like breath on the wind, but she didn’t allow herself the amenity of such vulnerability. Instead she casts her gaze to the sky quickly before realising how late it was. “It has been a pleasure to meet you Antiope, but it is late and there is someone I must meet.” She had been steadily building contacts to get a better understanding of the land but the kinds of horses she talked to preferred the cover of night. “I hope we meet again.” With a respectful dip of her head she offers a smile before melting into the crowds.
“Speaking.”
What does war leave but scars across our innocence?
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