Daylight sank below the hills, casting long golden shafts of light through the boughs of the jackpines and birches. The camp was quiet, lit by a merrily crackling fire. Reniel and their new companion, Sister Sevara, were already asleep in their bedrolls. Cyrus, ever ravenous, was across the clearing, quietly cursing at a thicket of blackberry bramble as he attempted to procure another meal from among its thorns. Bartholomew was engaged in restringing and tuning his lute, intermittently plucking a few notes and singing softly to himself. Lyra, who had volunteered for first watch, sat on a stump, idly poking at the fire; she glanced up as a shadow fell across her.
Purifier Ceonred stood above her; she'd doffed her forbidding armour and uniform of office, and was clad in the only other garb Lyra had seen her in, drab sackcloth that looked a little odd on someone so obviously of aristocratic bearing. The Purifier half-opened her mouth to speak, froze, closed it again, and furrowed her brow in consternation; after a moment, Lyra realized, with some amusement, that she was having a moment of awkwardness.
“Good evening, Purifier,” she said, doing her best not to grin.
“Lyra.” Ceonred spread her hands, an apologetic gesture. “May I speak with you for a moment?” Her mien was serious, but then it rarely was otherwise.
“Please.”
Ceonred sat on the packed earth in proximity to the fire’s glow; her gaze, usually baleful, wandered to the flames. “I wanted to… I… I am aware I am not… I know I lack a kindly manner. There was little warmth in the manor house where I was born, and the Officia Inquisitoria does not teach its aspirants to make friends. Quite the opposite, in fact. I… just wanted to say, difficult as such things may be for me: your valor and your skill with the bow, both, in the fight with the Bastiens, was the equal of any of the decorated knights of the Gladium Aëo. Given that this mission was a snare laid to bring me to ruin, I… am grateful to Aëo for having sent you to accompany me through it.”
She looked profoundly embarrassed for the briefest of moments, then quickly switched to a clearly more comfortable mode: questioning. “I have many questions. If you wish to answer, of course. You need not violate either oath or propriety, if you don't wish it.
“For one, I would suggest you consider joining the ranks of Aëo’s martial faithful, but I sense you are… not exactly in Cyrus's employ, but duty bound to him somehow; I know not how such matters go among the Circle, and I am curious, if you are able to discuss it.
“For another, how came you by such skill with the bow? It is not often that I encounter another…” She trailed off, but there was no need to name their shared burden.
Lyra took a moment to consider how to answer. “I am honored to have been able to be of use in ensuring Bastien's siblings deaths and your success in your mission. It angers me that the mission was a trap set out for you, but it was too simple to catch you.” Her mouth turned up with an approving grin.
“So as for your first question. I am from the forest outside Amstenherst. There’s a beautiful lake there. On a small island on the lake is a tower of the Circle of Thorns; Cyrus trained there. We had crossed paths many times before travelling together. He is a bit flashy at times, but talented. He needed someone to guide him to reconnect with his teacher, and as you have noticed, that is somewhat of a speciality of mine. I am his Custos, a guardian of sorts. So I was hired by the Circle to assist him. I took the job, though, because I can count on him as much as he can count on me. I will stay with the Circle of Thorns; they are good protection for those who possess unusual talents.” She took a slow breath before continuing. Her gaze lowered from Ceonred’s face to the fire before them. “I am grateful it was you and this group who found us in Blackhall… felt rather trapped back there.” Lyra shifted in her seat uncomfortably.
She tried to soften her face as she continued. “As for my skill comes from being able to change when needed, knowing what I sense and trusting myself above all else. To adapt is to survive. I learn from the world around me, animals I watch, and people I see, to sharpen my instincts I pay attention to it all. The bow is a tool to protect myself, one that has rarely let me down. Using it feels natural, like breathing.”
Their gazes met for a moment, and Ceonred nodded slowly, once. There was much Lyra was leaving unsaid, but Ceonred didn’t press further. A considerable gesture of trust and respect, it was, from one whose profession it was to suffer no secrets in her midst.
“We’re both running low on arrows,” Ceonred noted. “I’ve fine goose feathers, if you have need of them.”
“Ah, excellent.” Lyra gestured to the far end of the clearing. “There’s a goodly straight-grained ash over there. I’ll fetch some branches. I’ll plane them, if you can affix the fletchings.” She returned shortly with an armful, and they sat in companionable silence and worked, Lyra’s plane peeling pale spirals from the ash branches, Cei’s brow furrowing as she split feathers with a slim knife and bound them. Overhead, the last light of day faded, and the stars revealed themselves, one single point of light at a time.
