What She Can Do

 

AGD 1223, Early Summer – Present
Baldo, Jeva River Valley

 

Nephrit pulled his horse to a stop at the crest of the hill. Below, the lively town of Baldo hugged the riverbank, separating him from the next rise – where Lady Aghata’s castle loomed in dignified solitude.

It was a breathtaking sight, even from here. But Nephrit wasn’t admiring the craftsmanship of ancient builders. His thoughts were elsewhere.

It had been ten years since his last visit here – if his counting was right. For them, time passed differently, though for reasons of their own. Aghata, being a witch, knew well how to keep her body young – with potions, or perhaps other, more secret arts. Nephrit had never asked; he simply accepted it. In him, it was elven blood that slowed his ageing, though one would hardly guess it by looking at him. His vivid green eyes stood in sharp contrast to his long black hair, tied at the nape of his neck and falling almost to his waist.

He and Aghata had often exchanged letters, even if they had not met in person. The events of recent years had kept him close to the King of the Sprouts, tending to the king’s business. As he was doing now. But this time, his plans required the help of an old friend. He hoped that, even after all these years, Aghata still thought of him as such.

He turned his gaze from the castle, guiding his horse down the slope and soon up the neighbouring hill. The castle itself had changed little over the years; the stones still radiated the same cold strength.

Nephrit knew the way well, but it felt wrong simply to walk in. As he neared the entrance, he reached out to the countess with his thoughts. 

“Aghata. It’s Nephrit. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“You couldn’t have chosen a worse time,” came her voice in his mind. He smiled at her bluntness. With Aghata, such honesty was a sign of respect – proof that they were still friends.

“Wait in the kitchen. Suesann will see that you’re fed.”

“Don’t tell me Sue’s the cook.” The memory of the old maid surfaced; he’d rather not meet her.

“Suesann. Not Sue. And don’t tease her – her heart wouldn’t take it.”

Nephrit chuckled inwardly as he swung lightly out of the saddle, his movement almost weightless. He stroked the horse’s neck, secured it in the stable, and slipped through the back door into the kitchen.

A woman stood at the centre table, the rasp of a blade telling him she was slicing something – though he couldn’t see what, for her backside was almost as broad as the table itself. Aghata’s warning flashed in his mind: Don’t tease her. The thought came so suddenly that he found himself smiling.

“Good day,” he said softly.

The woman squealed, spinning around with surprising speed for her size and age, brandishing a kitchen knife.

Nephrit stepped back instinctively but recovered quickly, hand pressed to his chest, his boyish smile as disarming as ever.

“Oh, don’t startle me like that, ma’am. I was only saying hello.”

“And you can keep your hellos out of my kitchen,” she scolded, wagging the knife at him before setting it down and wiping her hands on a cloth. “Especially sneaking up behind me like that. What brings you here?”

“Lady Aghata told me to wait here.”

“Then sit there,” she said firmly, pointing to a chair. “Where I can see you.”

Nephrit obeyed without argument, taking a seat. The woman bustled about, soon setting a plate before him piled with bread rolls, fruit, and cheese.

“Eat,” she ordered in a tone that allowed no refusal. “You’re all skin and bones – one good gust of wind and you’ll be blown straight into the river.”

He didn’t argue, though it was far from supper time.

He hadn’t been waiting long, and there was still food left on the plate when the door opened and a short man stepped in.

“Sir,” the man said with a slight bow, “Lady Aghata requests your presence in the blue parlour.”

Nephrit rose. He was tempted to say he didn’t need an escort, that he could find his own way – but he held his tongue. If Aghata had sent a guide, then he would be guided. This was her home, after all. Even if it was partly thanks to him that she had kept both the house and her title. But that was long ago – and he had already been well rewarded.

He followed the little man, who seemed even smaller beneath the towering arches of the corridor. Far too small. He could have been human, of course, but Nephrit suspected otherwise – at least in part. His elegant attire would not have looked out of place in the service of a king, had humans still had kings. But after the Great Desolation, not only had every monarch perished, but such bitterness towards royalty had festered that any man daring to call himself king would be found dead within a few days.

His escort reached to open the parlour door, then closed it again behind Nephrit.

“Nephrit,” Aghata said, skipping any formal greeting. She sat in a comfortable armchair beside a low table, dressed in a dark green brocade gown. Her glossy black hair was pinned up in a loose bun, held in place with jewelled hairpins of green stone. Nephrit knew they were not merely decorative – in her hands, each one could become a deadly weapon.

“Countess.” He bowed his head, inclining his shoulders slightly before straightening with a smile. As he stepped closer, Aghata rose, and they embraced – though it was a gesture neither of them often offered.

“You’re as beautiful as ever,” Nephrit remarked, glancing at the floor. “Where are your admirers?”

“Don’t flatter me.”

“Why not? Doesn’t suit me?” he teased, grinning.

“You’ve not changed a bit.” The countess shook her head and motioned for him to sit. “I’m surprised you even remembered Sue.”

“I remember everyone,” he said. “Mostly so I know whom to avoid.”

Aghata was one of the few with whom he could be truly honest.

“Then you must be avoiding half the world,” she said with a faint smile. “I’m glad to be in the other half.”

“I’m not that old,” Nephrit protested, raising a brow.

“Not old. Just a skirt-chaser.”

“That’s not true,” he countered, though his grin quickly returned. “A woman in trousers can be just as attractive.”

“I’ve no doubt you’re here because of a woman,” Aghata said dryly.

Nephrit’s smile faded. He hadn’t wanted to dive straight into persuasion, but she could see through him. She knew he wasn’t here merely to visit.

“In a way,” he admitted with a nod. “I need someone for an important mission, and I thought of you.”

Aghata’s brows arched, though she didn’t interrupt, letting him continue.

“I have to go south. To the Wennless Mountains. But not alone.”

“And you thought of me? If you’d asked me for a stroll in the garden, I might have considered it.”

“And it’s far from a simple stroll…” He hesitated, unsure how much to tell her after such a blunt refusal. “There’s a great deal at stake. I can’t share the details, but lives may depend on it. You are the most refined, graceful woman I know.”

Aghata opened her mouth to stop him, but Nephrit raised a hand to silence her.

“Please, hear me out. This is a serious mission, and it requires a woman who can convincingly play the part of an elf at a moment’s notice. You set the terms.”

The countess’s eyes widened.

“And I’m the one you thought of? Me? I thought all elf women were fair-haired.”

“They are. But that’s easily changed—”

“Excuse me? My hair? You wouldn’t dare! Me, blonde? Honestly, I thought you knew me better.”

Nephrit bowed his head, his shoulders slumping under the weight of her firm refusal. He’d considered every possibility. He had no other plan. Without Aghata, there was nothing.

“You truly meant that?” the countess asked, her tone softening. He looked up at her.

“I weighed every other option.”

Aghata paused, thinking.

“Every one of them?” she echoed.

“Why? Do you have an idea?” he asked, a spark of hope in his voice.

“Take Aliarra.”

“Aliarra?”

“You remember Sue, but not her?”

“Of course I remember her.” How could he not? He had brought her here himself and left her in Aghata’s care. “But she’s still a child. I don’t need a girl – I need a trained witch.”

“And what do you think Aliarra’s been doing these past ten years? Playing with dolls?”

Nephrit stared at her, blank, not having given it a thought. Aghata sighed.

“First of all, she’s grown up. And yes, you guessed right – she’s proven to be gifted in our magic. I’ve taught her everything I know. She’s a skilled witch now, and what may interest you most: she’s fair-haired.”

Nephrit listened, jaw slightly slack. He hadn’t thought of the girl in years, confident she would be safe here – and that had been enough to set his mind at ease.

“Aliarra is a trained witch?” he echoed. “Can I speak to her?”

“When would you be leaving?”

“I’ve a few things to settle first. A week or two.”

“Then no, you may not speak to her.”

“Why not?”

Aghata leaned closer, her eyes serious.

“Because I will not see ten years of work undone. If you speak to her now, and then vanish again for another ten years – or forever…” She shook her head slowly. “No. You may only speak to her if you’re not planning to leave without her. Until then, I’ll say nothing to her.”

“How am I supposed to decide without even seeing her?”

“Do you trust me?”

“More than anyone else.”

Aghata’s faint smile held at least the comfort that he hadn’t lied outright.

“Then trust me when I say she could take your place in such a task.”

“Can I at least look at her?”

“Only if you’re certain she won’t see you. I know you’re capable of that. She’s in the library.”

Nephrit didn’t understand all the secrecy. Aghata had kept to herself how well she knew Aliarra’s hidden and not-so-hidden feelings. That the girl had pushed herself in her studies, driven by nothing but the hope that one day Nephrit would come for her, would take her with him. Anywhere – even to the world’s edge.

Nephrit rose without another word and made his way towards the library. The double doors stood open. He allowed himself only a brief glance at first.

Aghata’s library was the largest he had ever seen. Books filled not only the towering two-storey shelves along the walls, but wound through narrow aisles between slender, arched columns. Careful hands had ordered them so that the deeper one ventured into the maze of shelves, the deeper one waded into knowledge.

A soft female voice carried through the air.

She’s not alone? The thought flickered through his mind, halting his steps. Then he realised the words were foreign, flowing with too much rhythm to be natural conversation. She was reading aloud.

His steps made no sound as he moved through the rows. From some of the books he could feel the power they held, or the power they spoke of. The air was heavy with the scent of parchment, lavender, and tallow, laced with a faint floral fragrance he couldn’t place. He followed the voice, slipping glances through gaps in the shelves, until at last he climbed up with the agility of a cat. The heavy shelving didn’t so much as creak beneath his weight. He moved silently from one to the next, working his way in until he saw her.

Aliarra sat at a wide table, a thick book open before her, a few loose pages spread about as she copied passages. An oil lamp lit the pages and her face, her whole presence starkly at odds with the library’s solemnity – as if she didn’t quite belong here.

Amidst the worn walls and ancient books, she was a spark of living warmth. The lamp’s glow wove a halo through her hair, which poured in golden waves down her back like molten sunlight. For a moment Nephrit was spellbound, watching her from his perch. Then she suddenly stopped reading, shaking her head so that her curls tumbled around her shoulders.

“No, that’s no good,” she muttered, crumpling the sheet she had been scribbling on.

The strange vision dissolved before Nephrit’s eyes. He gave his head a sharp shake to clear it. Witchcraft. It wasn’t mere illusion but a charm. He scolded himself for not being prepared, the warning of his old mentor echoing in his mind now that his thoughts were working again: Never read aloud from a book of magic. It’s dangerous.

Aliarra pulled out a fresh sheet and began writing again. Nephrit drew every ward and shield around his mind to block the spell’s influence. Now she appeared as she truly was. He studied her posture, her movements, and could finally see the details – the delicate features, the curious blue eyes. They reminded him of the girl he had brought here years ago, but nothing else about her did. She was grown.

"Stand up. Let me see you move."

Aliarra’s head jerked up, suspicion flickering across her face. She put her pen down and rose.
“Is someone here?”

Fool. She’s a witch, he chided himself again. She didn’t just sense the command – she heard it.

He stayed still as stone while she checked behind a few shelves.
“Brilliant. Now I’m hearing voices,” she muttered. “I think I’ve overdone it for today.” She tried to break the library’s oppressive silence with her voice. Just now it had felt as though someone was speaking to her. Best to take a walk.

She tidied up her notes and left. Nephrit’s eyes followed her every movement, noting her gait – even in haste, it was light and elegant.

Perfect. She’s perfect for the role she’ll have to play, he corrected himself.

His mind was well-protected now, but it still stored away the image the spell had cast upon him.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆  ☽⟡ A few weeks later ⟡☾  ⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

In the vast dining hall of the castle, candles burned in tall, wrought-iron candelabras along the walls, their light spilling over the oak dining table, around which twenty people could easily have sat. But tonight, just as on every evening for many years, only two women quietly dined, sitting at the far ends of the great table. 

One of them appeared to be a few years older than her companion. Her long black silk gown clung to her slender body. Her posture and her entire presence exuded dignity and strength. Her hands moved mechanically as she cut small bites and raised the fork to her lips. It was clear that her thoughts were elsewhere. She didn't even notice the girl sitting at the other end of the table – elbows on the surface. 

The younger of the two was barely a woman – her round baby face, slender yet feminine frame, and lively, bright azure eyes made that clear. Her colourful, patterned dress was a vibrant splash of colour amidst the sombre walls. She fidgeted in her seat like a flower disturbed by a gentle breeze. Her thin fingers were buried into her thick, wavy blonde hair as she leaned forward, picking at her plate. Her eyes occasionally darted to the woman with the black hair, almost as if expecting a reprimand for her improper behaviour. 

Yet, she still flinched when the woman spoke, her deep voice breaking the silence.

“Aliarra,” the fork clinked softly as she set it down on the plate. 

The blonde girl immediately straightened, trying to mimic the other’s posture. But at the sound of the following words, her shoulders slumped and her mouth fell open. 

“Tomorrow, you leave the house. I hope you will remember everything I taught you along the way, for it will serve you well. I haven’t spent all these years on you just to send out the ignorant maid I took in long ago. When you finish your dinner, go to your room and pack. You’ll need only two changes of light clothing and the jars from the green chest. You leave at dawn.”

“As you wish, Lady Aghata,” she replied, gathering herself and her voice, nodding slightly. “Where am I going? If I understand correctly, you will not come with me. Will I have a companion? Who will it be? Ghustav? And when will I return?” 

She asked all her questions in a single breath before the other could cut her off.

“You will know everything when the time comes. Now go pack.”

Without a word, the girl stood and made her way to her room, her mind racing.

An ignorant maid, indeed?! She’d been just a child then. It had taken months for Lady Aghata to wean her off the “yes, ma’am” and constant bowing. Though sometimes, she still felt a twitch in her spine when the Lady spoke to her with a little more force. But to call her a maid was an exaggeration. 

Forgotten childhood memories rushed at her. Borka, the cow, and the farmer’s belt, when the heavy milk pail spilled fresh milk by accident. The winter cold of the attic, with the wind whistling through the rafters. Another melody mixed in, the sound of a lute and a man’s velvet voice. She remembered how that voice had lured her down from the attic. Crouching by the kitchen curtains, she listened to the song. 

Songs of distant lands, mountains, wars, bloody rivers, warriors, princesses, and love. As a little girl, she didn’t understand that the song stirred something within her. The song cleansed her soul like a purifying fire, and all she knew was that she wanted to be there – where these things happened.

She spent that night in the wandering bard’s wagon. She found blankets, and it wasn’t much colder than the musty attic. The bard left before dawn, and it wasn’t until noon that he heard the faint groan after a bumpy jolt. Aliarra remembered how she’d begged the young man with the sad face not to take her back, not to hand her over to the soldiers. Looking back, she’d convinced him to abduct her.

They wandered together for months. Aliarra learned how to hide from prying eyes. How to disappear in the blink of an eye, whether in a crowd or an empty room. But one cool, stormy morning, they arrived at the castle, and the bard left her here. He abandoned her. She waited for him to return, but he never did. His last words still echoed in her ears: “Promise me you’ll listen to Lady Aghata. Do what she says as though it were me telling you.” And with tears-streaked cheeks, her voice breaking, she promised. Now, as she wiped the tears away upon entering her room, she realised she had to go. No matter how many years she’d been waiting, Nephrit never came for her. She still didn’t know where she was going. How would he ever find her if he came looking?

The soft light of the candles by the bed filled the room. She stepped towards the bed, lifted the worn-haired doll that the singer bought her at one of the markets. She hugged it close and, sniffling quietly, turned towards the wardrobe. She didn’t hear the faint click of the door behind her, just as the wardrobe’s handle struck the wood.

“Do you really love being here so much?” a soft voice came behind her. 

Her whole body froze, her movement cut off mid-way. But a moment later, she turned around with the agility of a panther and threw herself onto the man. She buried her face in his shoulder, holding him tightly. She would recognise this voice among a thousand others, the one that had sung to her about life and wonders.

“Alright, alright, enough now,” he said cheerfully, smiling as he gently tried to loosen her arms from around him. But she didn’t let go – hiding her tears in the embrace. Finally, the man gave in and simply stroked Aliarra’s golden hair, until her grip began to soften.

“Well...” he murmured, slipping out of the clinging arms, “the old folks were right – brains over brawn. It would’ve been a great shame if I couldn’t handle you and you strangled me out of joy”

Aliarra glanced up just in time to catch his wink. The man was much taller than her, his hand reached under her chin, tilting her head slightly. The candlelight fell on her face. The flicker shone in the tears, and in her azure eyes.

Aliarra smiled as the man’s chin dropped. He’d always played this game when she was younger, every time the girl washed up.

“Well, I’ll be damned! I never knew what a treasure I was hiding.” His smile widened, and he finished the old sentence differently, “If I’d seen you earlier, I wouldn’t have thought about peeling myself off. Can we try again?”

At this, she blushed so deeply that he burst out laughing.

“Don’t have to take me seriously all the time, little seed. I thought you still remember,” he said, sitting down on the bed and leaning back slightly, supporting himself on his hands. 

The movement – and the fact that he was sitting on her bed, and that it was him – only made Aliarra more embarrassed. He seemed to have grown tired of the game and leaned forward. His face turned sombre, though the spark of mischief still lingered in his eyes.

“Tomorrow, you’re coming with me. Just pack calmly – I didn’t mean to disturb you, only popped in. And by the way, no need to keep pretending you’re mute. I heard you speak at the end of dinner.”

“No... I’m not mute,” she finally found her voice. “I just have nothing to say. I stayed because you told me to. I’ll go because you tell me to.” 

Her movements grew more decisive, more angrily stuffing the clothes into a sack.

“Aliarra…” His voice was so gentle, she had to stop – she had to look at him.

She found herself gazing into his sparkling eyes, those eyes she could never decide the colour of. Sometimes they gleamed silver, sometimes they shimmered with the greenish light of sunlight filtering through leaves, but she saw them deep and dark, like an endless well within that gentle face. How many times had she dreamed of this face, those eyes?

Aliarra now realised that the man hadn’t changed at all since their last meeting. His long black hair was still tied at the back of his neck, just as it was then. There was no trace of a beard or stubble on his chin. His light white shirt had the top two buttons undone – “Brings luck,” he always said. “Five is a good number, short, concise, easy to say, easy to write. Intelligent creatures have five fingers, five nails. So why not five buttons on a shirt?” She remembered the explanation as she glanced at his chest, revealed just enough by the missing buttons.

Lady Aghata’s teachings flashed in her mind too. “If you show a part of the whole they desire, even castle gates will open for you.” And suddenly, as if looking into a mirror, everything clicked. After all, these movements, these accents, these looks – she learned them. This was a test – she realised. She couldn’t fail now. Maybe she wouldn’t go tomorrow, after all. In her mind, she took a deep breath – I’ll show you who’s seducing whom!

The man, as if sensing the change in her, smiled faintly and nodded. He accepted the challenge.

“Did you not hear what I just said?”

“Forgive me, my mind's full of the journey. It’s been a while since I last set out, and back then, I didn’t even have anything to pack. What did you say?” 

With that, she turned back to her slowly growing sack. 

He sighed and started the sentence again.

“I'm not commanding you, just asking you to come with me. But I can’t even ask that. The world is dangerous, not a place for young ladies. If you decide to stay here, I understand. Lady Aghata is pleasant company, her house is safe, her bed is soft. I wouldn’t ask you to leave all this behind for the dust of the road, the hard stone beds, swords, and fire.”

“Then don’t ask!” She was carefully selecting jars, wrapping them with such delicate movements that Lady Aghata would have envied her. “I’ve already made my decision. I’m going with you. Not for the stone, not for the fire, not for the danger.” Her shimmering eyes meeting his. 

For a moment, he lost his composure, swallowing hard.

“Then why?” he asked, his throat drying.

“For your songs,” she said, laughing softly. 

She already claimed the victory for herself; she succeeded in making him flustered.

He stood up from the bed. Thanks to years of practice, his movement didn’t look like he was fleeing.

“Thank you. Sleep well.” He was already opening the door when she spoke again.

“What is your name now?” she asked, stepping closer to the door. “I can't keep calling you ‘sir.’ What will I say if someone asks, 'Who is your master?' What should I answer?” 

She took another step forward – still not touching him, but close enough that he could feel her scent.

“That it’s none of their business. But to you, I’ll always be Nephrit.”

“Good night, Nephrit!” she whispered, gazing into his smiling eyes, certain that her breath brushed against his neck.

Nephrit pulled the door shut behind him. “This will cause trouble,” he whispered in the empty hallway. He leaned briefly against the cold stone wall to steady his soul, then strode off in the dimness, between the crimson drapes.

Aghata was waiting in the dining room. She handed a crystal goblet filled with wine to the troubled man, who drank it in one gulp and immediately refilled it.

“What have you raised for me, Aghata? A fury?” 

The lady arched an eyebrow. “Did she attack you?”

“She did indeed! Only, her claws weren’t aimed at my skin, but straight at my heart.”

Lady Aghata let out a bright laugh, gently placing her hand on Nephrit’s shoulder.

“Oh, dear. You asked me to teach her. I trained her, and I'm proud of her. I’ve already seen what she’s capable of. And now – you’ve seen it with your own eyes.”

Though I haven’t yet seen what she can do when she’s truly in love, she added silently.

She poured herself some wine and sat down.

“And you were right,” she went on. “She’s sensitive to magic – teaching her that part was easy. The rest… not so much. Teaching her that she’s not weak, just to pretend she is, when it serves her – that was the real challenge. Because true witchcraft isn’t when you cast a spell – it’s when a man kneels of his own will, and believes it was his idea. Turning a child into a woman – that was hard. And I’m not sure I’ve finished. Perhaps I never will. From now on, it’s your task.”

She took a sip, watching him. Nephrit gave a small nod—nothing grand, just enough to say he understood. Aghata caught it, and went on.

“She can act decisive. Or frightened. Whatever you’ll need. She could have been an actress, you know. She understands healing, reads emotions, and knows how to guide them, gently.”

“I noticed that,” Nephrit muttered.

Aghata shook her head with a small smile.

“No, she didn’t do anything yet. If she had, you wouldn’t be this confused. Look at you – are you frightened by a girl?”

“I’m not frightened,” he said stiffly. “It’s not about me. I need someone – for a particular role, a particular task. And now… I don’t know if she’s ready for it.”

“She lost hope that you’d ever come back. But you did. That alone will make her take it seriously. She’ll want to prove herself. Just promise me one thing. Take care of her.”

“That’s part of the plan. I won’t lie – it won’t be safe. But I will watch over her.”

“Good. I’ve grown quite fond of her. I’ll miss her.”

“Well, well. You’re getting sentimental,” Nephrit teased with a grin. “I’ll bring her back to you.”

“Only if she wants to come. Don’t destroy what took ten years to build. She’s not a possession. She’s not mine – and not yours, either.”

“I’ll remember that,” Nephrit promised.

Aghata’s gaze drifted toward the window. “Perhaps it’s time I take on a new apprentice.”

Then, more softly, “She may take one herself soon. She’s ready enough.”

“Aghata…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” he said softly.

☽⟡⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⟡☾