Mael sat with one leg crossed over the other, resting her chin in her palm. She looked out over the backyard of the Claymore estate, enjoying the first signs of warmth that spring had started to offer.
A shiver ran down her spine as she reached for her teacup.
"Gods… it's a little too early for this still."
Words could hardly describe how much Mael loved summer, so when the first signs came she hadn't hesitated to brew a cup and sit down. It felt almost right, except for the thin layer of wet snow still covering the ground, with only faint traces of life beginning to push through.
She took a sip of the already cold drink, then set it down and fixed her hair, pulling it up into a bun.
The weeks since news broke of the coming clash between the two families had been hell. Claymore wanted to stay neutral at any cost, but what happened when the war came to them? Farkath was one of the few cities in the surrounding region they hadn't managed to place their banks inside, which meant that with Eireindaile marching on Velthoria, the Claymores had become something close to a literal gold mine.
When it came to wealth, Claymore stood no less than any of the smaller noble families.
Her father Elric had wanted Mael to handle the business side of things, to prepare her for when it would all fall to her and Darian. But this time, he had stepped in himself to ease the load. And still, the weight of decisions that needed to be made was enough to fill a mountain if anyone had ever thought to write them all down.
"Eughh…" She sighed.
Her thoughts drifted to Kael.
All the riches and comfortable upbringing had been absolutely delightful, but at times like these she couldn't help but envy him a little. They were so completely different from each other, and that difference had shifted something in how she saw things. She would carry on with Claymore's legacy, of course. She felt obligated to. But the idea of having nothing tying you down had its own quiet charm. Sometimes she liked imagined a world where she could walk toward any point of the compass with nothing and no one holding her back.
Mael smacked her forehead gently with her palm.
"Get it together, Mael." She said it to herself as she rose from the bench.
There was no time for daydreaming. The Eireindaile arrival was not set in stone. Things could still change.
She stretched toward the sky and froze.
The sun sat high, casting short shadows across the snow. Three of them.
Mael leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.
'I'm sure we haven't ordered any forestry work today.'
She traced back through recent conversations. No. She was certain. There should be no one out here at this hour. So why was there movement in the Claymore woods?
Wet snow splashed underfoot as she started toward the silhouettes, ready to confront them about the trespassing, when a sudden flash of light cut through the air.
An orange arc flew toward her, wide as the wingspan of a giant bird.
Snow tore from tree branches as it passed through them without slowing.
Mael's entire upper body whipped backward on instinct, her hand trailing the movement and pulling a thin silver thread through the air behind it.
Another flash erupted as the arc crashed into the line. The thread cut cleanly through it, splitting it in two. Both halves spiraled wildly, losing all stability, and one of them sliced the bench she had been sitting on cleanly in half.
Mael's hands dug into the snow as she let the momentum carry her into a back handspring, landing back on her feet. Her hands moved gracefully through the air, wrapping the thread securely around them as she sank into a low stance.
Snow erupted behind her as she launched herself forward, closing the distance in less than a heartbeat.
Before any of the men could react, a head hit the snow.
The momentum carried her forward until she landed against a tree, perching onto it like a cat. Her head snapped toward the remaining two.
She launched again, snapping the tree in half behind her.
For a moment everything blurred, then she was on top of him, one hand locked firmly around his neck.
"What do you wa—"
Her words died in her throat when his eyes began to glow.
A sharp crack rang out as she tightened her grip, crushing every vertebra his neck had to offer.
The last man's mind finally caught up. He paled and flung his arm toward her, throwing out another orange arc.
Mael snorted and flicked her fingers upward. A thread lifted from the ground, floating loosely like seaweed caught in a current. The arc flashed into it and tangled, unable to tear through, and instead lurched violently off course and drove into the ground, sending a wave of wet snow splashing toward her.
She dashed straight through it and pinned him against a tree.
"Are you from Eireindaile?"
"Fuc—"
She shoved four fingers into his lower chest before he could finish.
"Don't lie."
The man grabbed her wrist, grasping desperately for air.
"Well?" She began closing her fingers around the lower rib.
He froze from the pain.
Mael scoffed and pulled her hand free without bothering to open her fingers, taking a rib with her in the same motion. She drew back and drove her fist straight into the man's head, through him and through the tree behind, sending it toppling over and trapping her wrist beneath it.
She wrenched her hand free and shook it frantically.
"Shit," she said through clenched teeth.
Before the pain had fully settled, she flung her entire arm upward. Silver threads rose from the ground in every direction, forming something like a disfigured wheat field.
Crack after crack rang out as something closed in fast, snapping trees as though they were twigs.
A black javelin tore through the last tree and entered the threaded field. Thread after thread snapped around it, each one straining to slow it before giving way. Only after crossing a dozen steps did it finally grind to a stop.
Mael closed the distance and grabbed it. Muscles coiled as she twisted her entire body and hurled it back with everything she had.
The same trees met the same fate on the return.
Mael watched the man standing hundreds of steps away, perfectly still, black wings folded neatly behind his back. The javelin closed the distance quickly, faster than it had come.
The man watched in silence, unmoving.
Moments before it reached his chest the javelin dissolved, breaking apart into countless specks of gold.
"Weaver pathway?"
Mael ignored the question and straightened her back.
Her eyes settled on his shoulder. Carefully woven into the fabric rested an emblem of something that resembled a cross more than a sword, thorny vines coiling around it.
'Eireindaile…'
She adjusted her bun without taking her eyes off him.
"I'm not of Valthorne blood. I'm Claymore, mister Eireindaile." She crossed her arms.
"Then we are not enemies." The man dismissed his wings. "I'm here to ask about Kael."
Mael tilted her chin up slightly at the name. Kael? What business could this man possibly have with him.
"If it's money you're offering, I'm not interested," Mael said, her gaze hardening.
This man sat an entire rank above her, but that hardly mattered right now. She herself was well beyond the normal ceiling of a rank three, backed by the endless resources her family afforded her. And besides, her father was not even a thousand steps away. There was no chance he was unaware of what was happening.
A long silence stretched between them before the man broke it.
"What is your evaluation of Kael Sinclaire, Mael Claymore?" he said in a low tone.
Mael stilled.
"What?"
"My name is Torin." He said walking towards her "My job is to keep Syleena safe. You've spent a fair amount of time with Kael, so I need you to tell me what you know about him."
Mael raised an eyebrow, her expression flat.
"Who are you to ask something like that?" She started closing the distance herself.
"Wasn't really a question."
A humourless laugh escaped her lips.
"Sneaking suicide bombers into Velthoria, killing Valthorne children, and now walking onto Claymore grounds demanding answers. Who exactly does Eireindaile think they are?"
She ran a thread slowly between her fingers.
Sure, it would affect Claymore's business, but Mael had never truly cared who won the coming war. She didn't care about Vael, Taric, or whoever this Torin was. That didn't mean she would hand out information about people she knew. And the idea of someone believing rank alone entitled them to anything had always rubbed her the wrong way.
Torin's steps slowed to a stop. His gaze turned cold.
"You're all the same."
The moment the words left his lips, a pair of pitch black wings spread wide behind him.