Chatter filled the yard, people moved and milled, expectant and glancing towards the main gates. Talwyn stood to the side with her parents, the other families lingering nearby. The subtle shuffling to get to the best view without blocking traffic was pressing the Derrington lot perilously close to Brangwen. Though every time one of their tow headed children came within arm’s distance a sharp, pointed look had them scuttling back to their mother like a restless chick to a hen.

Talwyn’s mother pulled a dark green shawl closer around her dark hair that almost matched the circles beneath her eyes. The King’s Warder did not work too often in times of peace, but when she did she was put through her paces. The stern, handsome features that made her an intimidating presence softed as her husband kissed at the back of her knuckles and held her hand. Not long now.

If she hadn’t been wedged between her father’s arm and the side of the stables Talwyn was quite sure she would have floated away already. She had hurriedly dressed in breathless haste, feeling like she didn’t need air anyway. The fine leather trews and embroidered belt she’d bought during the winter kept her ribs together. She was certain that they were going to escape the dark hollow of her flesh otherwise, her chest had a weightless, feather-like feeling to it.

The thunder of hooves, rattling wheels and dry crack of the banners entered past the gates with hoots and yells of welcome. The caravans slowly wheeled around into the horseshoe bend of the yard, revealing those that had accompanied them behind on their own steeds.

Thomas’ dark hair and pale skin stuck out from a fair distance, and when he caught sight of his mother he straightened in the saddle. Back upright until he drew close with the others and dismounted with a grunt.

“Thomas!” Brangwen embraced her son, patting gently at his back then noticing the length of his hair, thin curls of it stuck to the back of his neck. “You haven’t cut your hair?”

“Haha, no mother. I haven’t had the time.” Thomas said, pausing to turn and thank the groom who took his horse’s reins from his hands. “Hello father. Where’s Tal?”

A hot wave of shame and embarrassment shot through Talwyn as she clutched to her father’s arm. Who was this man who stood before her now? A full head taller than her! Impossible. Whatever delicate softness to his cheeks that had remained of his childhood had been finally wicked away. He looked so much like their mother, though Talwyn could see the gently drooping eyelids that they both shared. A small consolation.

She was sure she couldn’t speak to him. Almost upset to even look at this person that was now her brother she dug her fingers into her father’s sleeve.

“Ah she’s here.” Alcrid tried to lift his arm to reveal her but she tugged it back down with a pathetic noise. “Well…perhaps not?”

“Ah…” Thomas rubbed a gloved hand against his neck, feeling the sweat and dust grind against his skin. “Are you still angry with me? I’m back now. Nothing to be angry about.”

Talwyn pressed her face into her father’s back, wishing she could have this conversation in private. Every emotion was bristling against her, scrabbling at the inside of her skull to be free and to reach Thomas.

“Talwyn, come now.” Brangwen reached around and gently pulled her forwards to stand before her brother.

Talwyn felt a hot spike of pleasure drive down to her belly as she watched Thomas’ brows raise for a moment. The briefest flush to his neck that she could see through the gap in his jacket was gratifying. It hadn’t occurred to her that in a year she had also grown. She wondered what it was that he was finding so appealing. Perhaps the flare of her hips or the line of her jaw? She wasn’t too sure what Thomas would like about her. Whatever people complimented about her person she found faintly baffling, but she received enough of them to know that she wasn’t merely being praised for the sake of it.

“Yes, I’m still angry.” Talwyn managed to bite out. Thomas’ reaction having given her some more familiar footing.

“Glad to see not much has changed then. Come here.”

Thomas pulled her into a hug, the flat smell of earth and tired horses hit her and made her grunt in disgust. It didn’t cover the smell of sweat entirely, the familiar warmth scent that told her that this young man was indeed her brother. The aftermath of a fire and honeyed bread.

The hug lasted for a moment until Talwyn slapped at Thomas’ side impatiently. “You smell like a day old foal! Let me go!”

“What? No I don’t. You exaggerate.” Thomas grinned, snorting a laugh into the top of her head and peering over her to others nearby. Talwyn struggled in false protest, slapping at his side and feeling the solid presence of him there even through his clothes. Curiosity bubbled up in her mind, wanting to see more, knowing that she would have to wait.

“In a woman’s arms already Clearwaters? You’re a canny one.” An older man’s voice laughed with good humour. Duke Sharpe had the others from the caravan in tow, and had caught up to the Clearwaters. His greying temples matched his grey wool tunic, built handsomely and fully aware of it. He enjoyed the attention and thanks that he was receiving for escorting the caravan home.

Talwyn was finally freed from the embrace, pale hair askew and cheeks flushed. She gave Thomas another smack on the side for good measure as another young man laughed. Talwyn recognised Lucas Derrington. Whatever haystack that had borne him had done so roughly and with poor taste, in Talwyn’s opinion.

The gaggle of returning folk from the atelier followed along after Duke Sharpe as he clapped a hand on Thomas’ shoulder.

“She’s my sister, your grace.” said Thomas with a nod in her direction.

“I know lad, it was just a jest.” Duke Sharpe reassured Thomas, then turned his attention to Brangwen, “You’re looking hale, Warder.”

“You’re full of jests today.” Brangwen’s flat affect was only enhanced by her rejection of Duke Sharpe’s outstretched hand. “Get on with you, his majesty will be waiting.”

A small flicker of something ugly shifted over the Duke’s features, gone like a passing breeze as he inclined his head and carried on to the Derringtons. Shaking hands and receiving praise for a job well done. Talwyn watched her brother as his gloved fingers twitched. Some discomfort shifting him from within.

“Thomas! Thomas, you must introduce me. I’ve not met your family before.” Lucas had extracted himself from his fawning parents and excitable siblings to jog his elbow against Thomas’ side. Lucas peered keenly at them all, excited to make a good impression. The introductions were brief, Brangwen nodding and Alcrid shook the young man’s hand.

“You must be Talwyn. Thomas has spoken often of you, though he failed to mention your striking eyes. Never seen the like.” Lucas spoke quickly, as if expecting to be interrupted. “Is it a sickness of some sort? Are you quickened too?”

The muscles in Thomas’ neck jumped, his jaw tensing for a moment to suppress a cringe of sympathetic embarrassment. Talwyn supposed that someone that hadn’t lived in the palace or hadn’t been afforded the King’s favour until now wouldn’t have seen her before, nor really had the chance to ask. Lucas was clearly the first mage of the Derringtons. She could hear the slightly manic strain in his voice to win favour, though she wasn’t sure what was flattering about what he’d just said to her.

“Thomas took all my colour when we were in mother’s belly.” Talwyn repeated the phrase that her father had told her when they were younger. When questions were in their hundreds.

“What a brute.” Lucas’ reply was quick, pleased with himself.

“I am not quickened, otherwise I would have come with Thomas. Though nothing was stopping him from remaining here and training with mother.” said Talwyn with an almost expectant air.

The smile Talwyn gave Thomas as he glanced at her felt like a knife against his flesh. The blade of it pressed flat against his skin in quiet threat. The distinct sensation of unease that crept up his spine was oddly comforting. A twist in his gut that was exciting and harrowing in one swift motion.

“Got to leave the nest sometime eh?” Lucas gallantly tried to keep the conversation going, only retreating when his father’s braying called him away. “Lovely to meet you all. I’m sure we’ll talk more later!”

Lucas bowed swiftly to Brangwen and trotted off to be with the rest of the Derrington flock as they were herded into the palace proper. Talwyn got the distinct impression that they would not be staying long. The return from the atelier was a good excuse to have a feast, to gather some entertainments. Lucas’ loose tongue would be among them.

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