Look (first Shepherds of Haven fic) (Blade) (Patreon)

This is an example of the monthly fic Captains and above will have access to! The subject and theme of the fic will be voted on beforehand, and we can even include Apex Predators short stories if we can reach the goal!

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Look

Hinori tells her friends that she’s in love with the Commander, and they all laugh.

“You’ve never even spoken to him,” Alize tells her, with a cruel, brittle kind of smile. She shakes out her pale, beautiful hair—which Hinori has always envied—and adds, “Well. Not outside of him barking orders at you.”

The others laugh, but Hinori doesn’t. Since the day she was recruited to the Shepherds, she has felt tied to the Commander by fate. When she looks at him—at his dark eyes, at his fine-boned features, those broad shoulders—he seems to shimmer with a special kind of light that only she can see. A touch of destiny. And Hinori is a half-Mage, someone who knows the whiff of the divine when she catches it. She knows not to laugh at destiny. 

-

Hinori tells Alize, her bunkmate, that she’s planning to confess to the Commander soon. Alize does not give her the encouragement she wants: she looks up from darning the elbow of one of her uniform shirts and says, “How? By letter? You can barely make eye contact with him.”

Hinori takes the shirt away and begins darning it herself. Alize is the daughter of nobles, having followed Lady Lavinet to the Order in an act of defiance; she can barely do anything without Hinori’s help. Hinori wishes she’d show her gratitude as a friend ought to—by helping her confess her feelings to someone she loves—but Alize is not that kind of person. Every time the topic comes up, she turns hard and chilly and crystalline, like an icicle. 

Hinori says stiffly: “And so what if I write a letter? I think it’s romantic.”

Alize makes an incredulous noise. “Love by letter is something my grandmama did,” she answers. She watches Hinori’s hands make quick work of the hole in her sleeve; Hinori is the child of palace servants and has five younger siblings, all of whose clothes need patching. “It’s terribly old-fashioned. And besides, you know he won’t accept it.” When Hinori pins her with an uncharacteristic glare, she adds: “He’s too—noble. It’s fraternization with a subordinate. He wouldn’t allow it.”

He would for the right person, Hinori thinks. Still, the concept gives her pause. The next morning, she drafts her letter and keeps it tightly tucked in her pocket; but she tells herself that she will wait and watch until the right moment.

That same afternoon is reflex training for the new recruits. Vice-Commander Trouble is pacing the length of the room, lobbing water balloons at trainees to force them to duck on time. Commander Blade is standing off to the side, watching the proceedings with a critical eye: he rarely speaks in general, but to Hinori he seems distracted. She tells Alize, beside her, that he’s been under immense pressure from the Autarch lately; she hasn’t been happy with the Shepherds’ dealings with the Vice-Guard.

Alize snorts and answers, “I don’t think the Autarch is what’s distracting him.”

Hinori looks again. Captain Niriviel has just walked into the room, shrugging off her cloak as she prepares to help the Vice-Commander with training. Trouble makes a loud exclamation—everything he does is loud—and says, “Arainia! How was Ambryn?”

Captain Niriviel winks at him. “Terrible,” she says, taking a water balloon from him, “without all of you.” 

Hinori notices that she glances playfully across the room at Commander Blade when she says this—even though he couldn’t possibly hear what she’s saying. She notices too that the Commander’s attention has been captured by the Mage’s entrance—no, that he’s staring right at her—and she realizes, in fact, that he has been staring at the door this entire time, as if anticipating her arrival. A kind of stillness has fallen over him, and his face—usually so unreadable—looks strange: as if he’s been stricken, winded by the sight of her, like all the air has suddenly been sucked from his lungs. Hinori has never seen anyone look like that. 

Alize says sympathetically, “Sorry, Hinori.”

Hinori doesn’t get a chance to answer before a balloon explodes against her face. She tells herself that the sting comes from the blow, and the blow only. Nothing else. 

-

A few days later, it’s the Festival of Flames—an annual holiday at the height of summer where civilians are allowed to indulge in their most carnal pleasures. Commander Blade gives the recruits the day off, if only to help boost morale, and Lady Lavinet and her loud cousin insist on throwing an elaborate celebration of their own.

The canteen is transformed into a confectionary display, a hall of fairy lights and streamers dyed a deep romantic red. There is a dance floor, and tables heaped high with steaming plates—we must have a caterer, I won’t be eating mess hall swill, Lady Prihine insists—and most importantly, there is music.

Getting ready in the third-floor bathroom, Hinori puts on her prettiest dress: a loan from Alize, a gorgeous wrap of lavender with sprays of taffeta all over. Her letter to Commander Blade is folded in the dress’s waistband. Alize, brushing her hair as they both gaze into the mirror, says, “You look beautiful.” Then, after a pause: “More beautiful than her, even.”

Hinori’s mouth twists, despite herself. They repeat the circuitous conversation they’ve been having since reflex training: who is Captain Niriviel, anyway? Why is she so closely-knit into the Shepherds’ inner circle, despite having been recruited not much earlier than Hinori and Alize? What makes her so special?

“So what if she saved those kids?” Alize demands. “Or solved that thing in Capra, the Reach? It doesn’t mean she should get special attention, least of all from the Commander—”

“Maybe we were mistaken,” Hinori suggests. “Maybe he wasn’t looking at her at all.”

Alize pauses again. “Yes,” she says finally. “Maybe you’re right.”

The door of the bathroom swings open then, causing Hinori to nearly jump out of her skin—and who else but Captain Niriviel walks in? The One-God has to be punishing her for their mutinous talk. 

Hinori and Alize both scramble to their feet and begin to salute. Hinori’s heart is thumping hard in her throat, and her mouth has a sour note of fear. Did the bright-eyed Mage hear what they were talking about?

But Captain Niriviel waves them off and says, “No need to salute: you’re off-duty. And I’m never one for formalities, anyway.”

Commander Blade is, Hinori thinks, without quite knowing why. Captain Niriviel glances at her, as if hearing her thought, then beams and says brightly, “You look very pretty! Hoping to catch someone’s eye tonight?”

Alize saves Hinori from having to give a mortifying answer. “She always wants to look her best. What about you? Whose eye do you want to catch?” When Captain Niriviel pauses, caught off-guard by her presumption, she amends hastily, “What are you going to wear?”

Captain Niriviel—no, Arainia, Hinori thinks, she’s not better than me—glances down at herself: she’s wearing only her dark battered Shepherd uniform, with a slim necklace in place of her sun medallion. She answers ruefully: “This. My civilian clothes were torn to shreds some time ago, and… the corsets on Lavinet’s dresses are lethal!”

Hinori’s heart lifts a little at that, as if it’s been tugged by a string. She tells herself she has a chance, if Arainia is going to the party looking like that. 

Alize is clearly thinking the same thing; Hinori can see her barely-concealed smirk. After the dark-haired Mage leaves with her hairbrush, she turns back to Hinori and says gravely, “If you’re ever going to give him that letter, you’d better do it tonight.” 

So Hinori summons up her courage and throws back a few glasses of honey-wine with the other freshly-minted recruits. Her heart further swells at the fact that Commander Blade—also in his unadorned uniform—doesn’t seem to go near Arainia once that evening. He stands near the wall, gazing out at the dancers with a look of discomfort, then veiled irritation. Once in a while the thief-master, Chase, or the slurring Vice-Commander Trouble come over to ply him with drinks; but other than that he remains alone. 

When the clock strikes midnight, Hinori begins to sidle up to him, letter clutched in her dampening hand. As she approaches, Chase also materializes at his side, causing Hinori to swivel a little, looking up at the ceiling as if there’s something terribly interesting up there. She hears the thief-master talking under the swells of the music, his voice perfectly sober: “It’s not too late, you know.” Another swell drowns him out. “…accept if you asked her now. I don’t know how you can lop off a thousand heads but not summon the courage to ask a girl to dance.”

Commander Blade’s voice raps out like a bullet. “I don’t know how to.”

“Why didn’t you just say so, then? Instead of brutally rejecting her like that—”

“I don’t believe I asked for your advice, Trinaeste.” 

There’s a dangerous undertone to this that makes Chase walk away, blowing out an exasperated huff. Blade stares off into the middle distance, looking deeply annoyed. Hinori thinks to herself, This is not the time to approach him. But her feet drag her forward anyway, guided by a force she can’t control.

When she draws up to his elbow, Blade glances at her sidelong and inclines his head in greeting. His face is schooled back into its usual impassive expression. “Norrell.”

Hinori’s pulse is rabbiting, so fast she can barely feel it. “Commander,” she says in a very small voice. “Is this… a bad time?”

Blade flicks her a sidelong glance that would have been nonplussed in any other person. “No.”

That’s all it takes: a simple monosyllable to mollify her. Alize would definitely roll her eyes. Hinori smiles to herself and allows her to edge a little closer.

For a moment the two of them stand in silence, gazing out across the dance floor. Captain Tallys drags a protesting Shery out onto the floor to dance; Riel and Halek play card games by the fire. Archmage Red is dancing with Lady Lavinet, and beside them, Lady Prihine shrieks when Trouble steps on her foot. Ayla and Caine are having an eating contest by one of the buffets. Hinori wonders where Blade would rather be—or if he would enjoy a walk in the cool silence of the courtyard. She begins to open her mouth to ask him this when Blade says, a little hoarsely, “Why aren’t you dancing?”

Hinori’s mouth clamps shut again. Her heart picks up its pace—it feels like someone is pounding on her ribcage like a door—and she thinks about shoving the letter in his hands and running away. But then Alize would be disappointed in her, and she can’t disappoint Alize, so what should she say instead of running? Maybe Blade is obliquely suggesting she should ask him to dance, but he wouldn’t do that, the Commander is never anything but direct—

“I don’t know,” she says, feeling like an idiot. “No one I want to dance with, I suppose.”

Blade winces slightly, but he says nothing. It’s only then that Hinori realizes he might be a little drunk, hence his talkativeness: he’s clutching an ice-tinkling drink in one hand so tightly that his knuckles turn white. His features have suddenly gone tight and angry again. “You’re not to be blamed. It’s a rather worthless thing to do, in my opinion.”

Hinori stares, trying to think of the right thing to say. “I agree.”

“Why is it so important, anyway?” Blade’s eyes are a little unfocused. “Aren’t other—gestures—more significant? Are you worthless as a person if you can’t dance?”

“I suppose it depends on the person,” Hinori says slowly. 

Blade isn’t looking at her anymore. “Yes,” he says, distracted. “On the person.”

For a moment, Hinori feels a flash of annoyance: Commander Blade is never distracted. His focus—the intensity of his gaze, as if he’s constantly alert and attentive—is one of the things that drew her to him, when they first met. It’s as if, when he looks at her, he really sees her—she who has gone unnoticed her entire life—but now his attention is elsewhere. And that’s annoying. 

“Are you talking about someone in particular?” she asks, a little louder now. 

Blade doesn’t appear to hear her; he’s lost in his thoughts. She tells herself not to look at what he’s glaring at—tells herself that it can do no good—but then, of course, she looks. Arainia is out there, pink-cheeked and laughing and dancing with some man—another recruit, Hinori thinks: his name might be Samson—and for a moment Hinori feels the loosening sense of… relief. The two of them are close, touching easily—Samson twirls her playfully, as if the two are old friends—and it must mean Arainia has no interest in Commander Blade, if she’s dancing with someone else. And that means Hinori has a chance. Nothing is set in stone yet. She should give him the letter now, before it’s too late. Before Officer Niriviel decides to dig her claws into him after all. 

Then she looks back at Blade, at his stiff face and the annoyed twitch of his eyebrow—at the way he looks away from the couple, then back again, a pained expression flashing across his countenance as if it wounds him—and she suddenly realizes that how Arainia feels doesn’t matter. Or it does, but in a way that only serves to torment Blade. The claws are already in—they may have been in before Hinori even got there—and the poor fool just stands there clenching his fists like he wants to go out onto the floor and whisk her away, growling his possession like a caveman. It’s caught him before he realized it, rendered him helpless. She can tell that he’s afraid of it, afraid of himself and the feelings being churned out from long-cold and hidden depths. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

For a moment Hinori almost feels pity for her commander. The most painful thing in the world, she knows, is being in love with somebody who doesn’t love you back. 

-

She burns her letter the next morning. She does it in the fireplace of the great hall, converted by magic back into their canteen, in the vain hope that someone—maybe even Blade himself—will ask her what it is. 

She imagines saying it in a noble, tragic way, with her back very straight and her face beautiful and dignified: I’m burning away the remnants of my first love.

Alize stares at the disintegrating paper and says, “I take it the night didn’t go so well, then.” She turns away slightly, as if Hinori can’t see the tiny smile on her face.

Hinori feels too tired to be annoyed. “No, it didn’t,” she says. The two of them sit at one of the long tables laid out for breakfast and help themselves to eggs and toast. Nearby, Tallys pours an herbal tea for hungover Shepherds. Chase’s legs stick out from under a table, where he’s still asleep.

Arainia comes to sit down at the same table, bright-eyed and wearing a borrowed shirt. Hinori scrutinizes her closely for signs of dalliance (mussed hair, swollen lips) but discovers nothing.

“Good morning,” Arainia says, helping herself to some fruit from the center platter. Hinori nods to her—her toast has turned to paper in her mouth—and Alize says, “You look chipper.”

“Mages don’t drink,” Arainia says with a wink as she bites into the purple spiral of her larkon fruit. Hinori’s cheeks burn. Half-Mages do. At least the ones with no discernible powers to speak of. Meanwhile, perfect, powerful Arainia is feared by the Autarchy for destroying its greatest church and who-knows-what-else. Hinori wonders what her life was like before all this: what did the woman do to earn such good fortune?

Her sour thoughts are interrupted by Blade, entering the hall and looking slightly haggard—as if he hasn’t slept. She watches him hesitate for a moment before making his way over to their table. Her blood thumps in her fingertips, but she quells the feeling. She tells herself this is nothing to get excited about. 

Blade sits down next to Hinori without greeting and piles some food onto his plate. Alize and Hinori both duck their heads in silent deference; Hinori can feel her neck getting hot at his proximity. Arainia glances over at him, casually, and remarks without rancor: “Good morning, Blade. There’s tea if you have a hangover.”

Hinori is close enough to hear the hitch in Blade’s breath, sharply stifled, before he turns his head Arainia’s way. “Good morning,” he says flatly. And Hinori knows he’s looking at the Mage in exactly the same manner Hinori did: assessing where she might have gone last night. Then he turns his gaze back to his meal.

Alize nudges Hinori meaningfully, communicating: He’s acting cold to her. This is good!

Hinori nudges her back. Please shut up.

Their nudging is interrupted by Samson’s sudden arrival to the table. Ignoring Hinori, Alize, and even Blade, he plops down next to Arainia and exclaims, “You disappeared last night, bright eyes!”

Arainia laughs easily. “Shery had too much to drink,” she answers. “Tallys and I were taking care of her until dawn. This is hers.” She indicates her blouse, which Hinori only just now notices is pink and frilled.

Samson smiles too. He’s handsome, in his own rough-hewn way—not like Blade, Hinori thinks, but good-looking enough—with chestnut-colored hair falling in a fringe over his mirthful eyes. He says, far too smoothly to be normal: “You were a good friend for helping her. Care to be rewarded?”

Arainia cocks her head, still smiling. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“I was thinking I could take you out on a date.”

Hinori watches as Blade’s fist clenches on the tabletop. When she dares to glance at him, she sees that he has a look of thunder on his face: his eyes seem to snap dark lightning, and he looks at Samson as if he wishes he could pummel him into the ground. Arainia’s smile doesn’t slip, and she says lightly, “Can I think about it?”

There’s a sudden screech as Blade abruptly pushes back his chair and stands up. Everyone in the canteen looks—Chase pops up from under the table—but he doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s on his feet. Anger radiates from him in chilly waves: Hinori catches a little of his thoughts, her only transient power. How dare he! How dare—I’ll kill—

“Fraternization between officers is not permitted,” Blade grounds out, his voice gravelly and his eyes blazing with a strange light.

Arainia and Samson are both watching him, wide-eyed. Somewhere, Tallys says calmly, “Since when?”

Blade wheels abruptly and storms out of the canteen. Hinori feels the breath loosen in her chest when he vanishes through the door. In the ensuing silence, Arainia turns to Samson and says matter-of-factly, “That’s that, then.”

Samson looks bewildered. “What’s climbed up his puckered arsehole?”

Hinori wants to hit him, but Arainia takes care of that herself.

-

“He’s definitely in love with her,” Alize comments days later. “The grimaces. The failing, flickering eye contact. It’s all the stuff you do.”

Hinori sighs, staring up at the ceiling from her bunk. The ache in her chest has waned to a dull, occasional throb: mostly she just feels empty now, resigned. “I know. I’ve been trying to take my mind off it.”

Alize pops up to rest her chin on Hinori’s blanket. “You know, if there wasn’t that rule about fraternization…”

Hinori turns her head. “What?”

Her bunkmate smiles, suddenly impish. “I could make you forget all about it.”

“How?”

Alize rolls her eyes heavenward. “Never mind.”  

There’s a sudden knock on their door, and Alize’s head swivels like an owl’s. Caine Tavadon, Shery’s apprentice, pokes his head in and says, “Have either of you seen Arainia?”

Alize shrugs. “Not since she’d laid Samson out in the canteen.”

Caine looks briefly dreamy. “Wasn’t that great?” Then he shakes his head and says, “Er, I meant—I’m supposed to give her a message, but… there’s this stray cat outside…”

Alize rolls her eyes. “I’m not being paid to do your job, kid. Find the time to play with animals later.”

Hinori sits up and says, “What’s the message?”

She wants to get to know Arainia better, she thinks as she trots down the hall moments later. Ground her understanding of this Mage. After replaying the scene over and over in head, Hinori thinks that Arainia feels much more than she lets on: that her easy smiles hide her true thoughts, that she never wanted to ‘two’ with Samson in the first place. Otherwise she wouldn’t have punched him in the face like that. 

But is that the quality that made Blade fall for her? Because Hinori would have done it too, if only Arainia hadn’t done it first. Is that all it is—a trick of time, of getting there faster?

She’s heard that they made up, after the punching incident—she’s heard that Commander Blade walked around for days looking dazed, and happy and unhappy: the look of a man in love, Officer Chase said wisely as he spread the rumor to anyone who would listen. 

Until their next mission together, that is—when the dark-haired Mage was badly hurt in a dogfight with some Inquisitors. Saving Trouble’s life, Hinori is told. Of course their Healer got to her right away and repaired the worst of the injuries… but Hinori hears that Blade became sullen and withdrawn after that.

She’s lost in these thoughts when she almost collides forehead-first into someone’s shoulder. Hinori looks up to find Mimir’s veiled face looking down at her, her eyes silvery and half-seeing. Hinori straightens her back and sputters, “I’m sorry, miss!”

For a moment the Seer doesn’t respond, as if she hasn’t noticed her. Then Mimir’s head tilts, as if she’s listening to some faraway, forgotten song, and she reaches out a pale hand to rest it on Hinori’s shoulder. She says, as if surprised by the revelation, “Hinori Norrell.”

Hinori clears her throat uneasily. “Yes?”

The Seer pauses for a moment. “You’re looking for Arainia Niriviel.”

Hinori flushes. “Yes.”

Mimir withdraws her hand after a moment, expressionless again. “She’s in the training courtyard,” she says, and Hinori is about to dart away when she holds up a hand. “But I caution you, Hinori, servant-daughter, rabbit-chased-by-pale-fox: if you seek her out, you will find only suffering.”

Hinori’s mouth falls open: hastily, she closes it, unsure if Mimir can see her expression. Stammering a little, she says, “But I have a message for her.”

Mimir tilts her head further. “You won’t deliver it either way.”

With that, she departs, gliding down the cold stone hallway in her bare feet, and Hinori is left to contemplate her own private prophecy. What does that mean? She won’t deliver her message whether or not she goes to Arainia? She’ll find only suffering? Does that mean the other woman is going to, what, fight her?

And even though they share a specialization, how reliable are Mimir’s predictions, anyway? Hinori never hears about them coming true when they’re given to other Shepherds. Maybe knowing about them changes the future they predict?

Confused, she decides to go back to Alize, to ask her for her advice—or to catch Caine and make him deliver the message himself. It’s on her way back to her quarters that she happens to glance out the second-story window, which has been left cracked slightly open: the glowing stub of a charch butt in a precariously-balanced dish tells her that someone was recently smoking. And as she glances, she sees a familiar figure, darkly-cloaked even in the brutal sunlight. Blade, looking severe and taut. Towering over—Arainia.

Hinori ducks slightly, the blood beating hotly in her ears: she is well-aware of her Commander’s keen (almost supernatural) senses. But when she peeks through the window again, wrinkling her nose at the smell of cherries coming from the fizzing charch, she realizes that he’s too distracted to even notice her. From the sounds of the voices filtering through the crack in the window, he’s arguing with Arainia in low, vicious tones.

“You haven’t recovered yet,” he hisses, looking like he’s going to pick up the smaller woman and sling her over his shoulder. “You need to be in the infirmary.”

“I’m fine,” Arainia insists, balling her hands. “Even Trouble says so—”

“Trouble is an idiot. He’s also not Commander. He doesn’t clear people for missions: I do.”

“Yes, but this mission didn’t come from you. It’s out of your jurisdiction. The Autarch asked for me herself.”

“Exactly why I’m worried,” Blade snaps, running a hand through his dark hair. The line of his shoulders is agitated, and he looks disheveled, even from Hinori’s perspective a floor above. 

Arainia stares at him. “Why are you so worried?” she demands, leaning up to glare into his eyes. “You don’t hound anyone else when they’re called to the Sun Court. You don’t argue with them, or hound after them, worrying and fretting. Why me? You think I’m weak?”

There’s a sudden silence that twists a knife in Hinori’s gut as she watches; it’s so brimming with meaning and held breath that she finds she has to turn away, sinking under the window with her back to the wall, as if she’s the one who forgot to breathe. She has a faint and strange sense of déjà vu.

“You don’t know?” Blade asks now, his voice quiet and intense. He sounds as if his chest is tight: as if some hand has grabbed hold of his heart, squeezing and bruising it into a new and awkward shape. “You really don’t know?”

Arainia sounds bewildered. “Know what?”

Hinori doesn’t have to look to know that he’s grabbed her by the shoulders, that they’re kissing—first sweetly, then fiercely. She doesn’t have to think too hard on it to know that this was the sight she would have walked in on had she gone to the courtyard herself. 

She feels a queasy, swaying feeling in her head, as if she’s been on a ship for a long time and has suddenly, shockingly found herself on land. She’s so stupid, she tells herself miserably, hugging her knees. She’s always felt that Commander Blade carried with him a touch of destiny, the whisper of a grand and breath-taking fate. 

She’d just been too blind to realize it had never been hers.