What She Can Do

The River Jeva was slowly flowing past the lively little town on its banks, embracing the low hill behind, on which Lady Aghata's castle stood, withdrawn in dignified solitude. Its walls were built of dark grey stone, and the lace-like towers shimmered golden brown in the afternoon sunlight. Low bushes lined the castle grounds, forming a green fence around it.

Light rarely shone from its countless windows. Few lived behind its closed gates, and even fewer visited the town. People sometimes saw the burgundy-black heraldic carriage pass along the main road, but despite their efforts, they could never peer behind the thick curtains. All they knew was that the Lady had lived in the castle for as long as they could remember. Some believed she was centuries old, while others just laughed at such rumours, and the wiser ones said nothing at all. They never saw any visitors go to the castle, although only one road led to the hill, passing through the town, and still, no one knew about tonight's guest.

In the vast dining hall of the castle, candles burned in tall, wrought-iron chandeliers 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 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.

She had just grown out of childhood. At least that was evident from her round baby face, her thin, fragile frame, and her bright azure eyes. 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 disappeared 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 had 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 had listened to the song.

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

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

They had 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 left her. She had 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 had promised. Now, as she wiped the tears away upon entering her room, she realised she had to go. No matter how many years she had waited, Nephrit had not come for her. She still didn't know where she was going. How would he ever find her if he did come looking?

The soft light of the candles by the bed filled the room. She stepped toward the bed, lifted the worn-haired doll that the singer had 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 spoke 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 for 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 had always played this game when she was younger, every time the girl had 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 had seen 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 had been 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 had learned them. This is 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 please, 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 had already claimed the victory for herself; she had 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 had brushed against his neck.

Nephrit closed the door behind him. "This will cause trouble," he whispered to the empty hallway, leaning briefly against the cold stone wall to calm his soul, then hurried off through the half-darkness and 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.”

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