In the Chapter Three of Oath & Ember — Racing through punishing frontier winds, the Cloud Dancer strains under her sails, held aloft by the Kur-ahn, a tree spirit bound into her keel. At her helm, Wave Master Rembran watches over his crew and the ship’s precious cargo—an unconscious draoidh in need of safety. Two elementals share the quarterdeck: Andros, an Earth Elemental drawing strength from the land, and Arissa, Lady of the North Winds, whose fading power gives way to the return of Ixa, the ship’s bonded Air Elemental. Reunited with Rembran, Ixa takes command and learns of the Kur-ahn’s presence before hearing grim news: a monstrous “Mirror Hunger” destroyed the Saint Ang Monastery. Seeking answers, they visit the arcanists aboard, where Ixa witnesses the attack through the magical Evidence Orb—an event so swift and deadly it hints at multiple creatures. Realizing the danger could spread to other towns, Ixa insists they check on Rhyslin at once.
As the carriage made its way through the snow and icy streets, Rowena leaned toward Amelie, who blinked and leaned away from her. The tips of Amelie’s ears twitched as she stared at the mystic.
“Is she always this creepy?” the auburn-haired Ciad-Ghin asked as the smell of myrrh and frankincense started to overpower the fresh air from outside.
Ria softly snorted, the smell of dry roses contesting with the mystic’s scent, before surrendering to the inevitable. “You haven’t seen creepy yet,” she quipped, even as she patted Rowena’s wrist. “You should see her when Lady Despoina possesses her and starts crying because she can’t read Rhyslin’s future.”
Amelie’s floral perfume fell flat as she listened to Ria, she who had been queen, playfully mock Rowena, one of Despoina’s conduits. “Yes, I saw that, minus the crying, when she possessed Aelwyn.”
The mystic shrugged and leaned back against the cushions, “We can’t all be Chantico’s favorite.”
When Ria laughed, Amelie started wondering who she was traveling with but then remembered that Balgair was close his goddesses. The floral scent grew slightly acrid as she watched the two. “Before I bonded with Bear, I never imagined that nan diathan were so close to their followers.
Ria blinked, then fixed Amelie with a strange look. “Man lîn na i Bellain naer a ring[1]?”
Amalie froze like a rabbit at the foot of a wolf. Her perfume went flat again as she felt like a rabbit at the foot of a wolf. “Baw, Hiril nîn. Ae gohaannen le, gohenin.[2]”
Ria reached across the aisle and patted Amelie on the knee. “Nothing to forgive.” She grinned as if divulging a secret. “Grandmother calls all of us her daughters, nieces.”
Amelie had just started to relax, when Rowena asked, “Why do you call Balgair, ‘bear’?”
The auburn-haired bhanna blushed, cinnamon rising around her throat. “Umm. He’ hairy and growls like a bear when he’s mad about something.” A loving smile crossed her lips as she confided. “When he pretended to growl at Matthew, it was so cute.”
Rather than ask Amelie who Matthew was, Ria fell back to wondering what she would need for the mansion they were going to use. She wondered how big it was, how many people she’d need to hire, how he’d have to furnish it, and on top of all that --- the stress of hearing about what had happened to Rhyslin, drained the life out of her perfume, leaving her despondent. But she’d be damned if she let anyone see her break, or for Rhyslin to find out.
When only blowing snow remained, Rowena glanced over at Ria and leaned toward her. “It will be okay.” She tried to comfort Ria, but it wasn’t to be.
“I thought Despoina couldn’t see Rhyslin, either past or present.” Ria’s tone was flat and the mystic could tell that she was trying to keep up her brave act.
“She can’t,” the mystic scooted closer to her bond sister. “I can’t tell you how many times they brought Rhyslin home on his shield and he’s recovered.”
Ria’s voice almost broke as she whispered, “How did it make you feel?”
The raven-haired mystic slipped an arm around Ria. “Scared. That he’d die and I’d be sent away.” She admitted, the myrrh fading slightly.
“And now?”
The frankincense faltered as well. “More the same, but now I know that I won’t be left alone. You and Flur will be right beside me.”
Ria shook her head and softly snorted, “Yes, right up until the second I kick your useless butt out into the cold.”
The temperature in the carriage dropped, making Amelie shiver through her coat. Then, as quickly as it had fallen, it was back, and the mystic was giggling. “It doesn’t get that cold back at the Manse.”
A ghost of a smile tracked across Ria’s lips and she shook her head. “Who said, we’d kick you out near the manse?”
More giggling from Rowena. “Grandmother wouldn’t let you do that to me.”
“As if she would stop me,” Ria countered, shooting a wink in Amelie’s direction. The auburn-haired bhanna had been watching in shock as the two women sniped at each other. When Ria’s floral scent sharpened, Amelie realized that the elder Ciad-Ghin had been teasing her bond sister.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, each sinking into their own thoughts. The unnatural cold seemed to press more insistently into the carriage the farther they traveled, settling into seams and sleeves like a presence rather than weather. Prana in the air felt dulled, as though the storm had soaked it in sorrow.
Ria found herself shivering as another gust slipped through the carriage’s frame and needled along her ribs. She rubbed her arms, scent twisting bitter with unease. From what she had been told, it should already be spring—fresh blossoms, thawed rivers—but the air here clung like winter's ghost, and the gods’ silence unnerved her.
To distract herself, she turned her eyes to the street beyond the fogged window. Buildings passed in quiet procession, framed by glints of frost and washed stone. From what little she could see, she was impressed with the general cleanliness, no sagging gutters, no trash blown into corners. It couldn’t have been more different than the capital, where filth clung to the corners like political secrets.
The carriage slowed with a muffled groan. Ria leaned forward just as Balgair dropped from the driver’s box with a jangle and scrape—the iron band at the bottom of his armored coat grinding against worn leather boots. He landed with solid authority, sending a ripple of grounded prana out across the snow-draped street like a warning to the cold itself.
He glanced up, lifting each of the three maids down in turn. The soft murmur of thanks, the flutter of skirts, the warmth of their trust—all wrapped around him like sunlight through shuttered glass. Then he turned and approached the carriage door.
His prana moved first, sliding through the seams like warm smoke—leather, steel, pine, the smell of old oaths. It reached the women a moment before he did, giving them time to compose themselves, to adjust.
He took a half-step up and opened the door, then stepped back, waiting on the ladies inside. The first to exit was Amelie, already reaching for his hand. Her floral scent unfurled as she moved, carried on a breath of wind, softening the winter-chilled air around them. As he helped her down, he embraced her gently—just enough to steady her, not enough to claim.
“What do you think?” he inquired.
“They are different than when we last met them,” Amelie whispered. Her voice held memory and marvel, and her scent shimmered briefly with affection. “They are more at home with each other. It’s almost like it was six months after we met Nell.”
Balgair nodded, though his gaze was already lifting again. He reached up to help Rowena next. She gave him a mock smile as her boots met the ground and pushed gently away to make room for Ria. Her scent carried faint mirth and challenge, a ribbon of spice in the cold.
“Thank you, sir.”
Balgair reached up for a third time, hand steady, and Ria placed hers into his without hesitation. Her skin was cool through the glove, and her scent was pulled tight around her like a cloak. Once on firm ground, she stomped her boots, shaking the snow drift loose.
“Thank you, Sheriff Balgair.”
She turned; eyes drawn immediately to the structure looming ahead. The mansion’s two stories stood stark and angular: its red-brick façade dulled by frost. The windows—dark and unblinking—stared down like judges, void of spirit.
“Is this the place?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Balgair drawled, gesturing toward it. “You can call me Balgair, if you wish.”
Ria’s scent turned sharp—ozone and bitterroot. Balgair furrowed a brow, adjusting his stance slightly.
“How about Sheriff Moeldr? That is my last name, after all.”
Ria shivered again, her dress catching the wind, sleeves rustling like leaves torn free from frostbitten branches. She rubbed at her arms as if she could stir warmth by will alone.
“As you wish, Sheriff Moeldr. May we go inside before we freeze to death?”
The Sheriff nodded, stepping forward. “By all means, Lady Ria.”
Each bootfall broke ice with slow, deliberate pressure, cracking the sheen of neglect off the walkway. His prana pressed downward with him, parting frozen snow like a territorial beast. He cleared the porch with care, then opened the heavy door, releasing a draft of stale, wax-laden air from within.
“If you find something that you don’t like, just set it aside.” He said, taking a step to the side and letting Ria step inside. “What you don’t use, we’ll sell to provide an advocate for Willems.”
Ria nodded and moved forward, footsteps echoing lightly down the hall from the foyer. The air inside the house was wrong—too still, too thick. Her gaze fell immediately on a lewdly sculpted statue resting in the entry to the next room. It gleamed a burnt-orange shade, posed with indecent pride, and reeked of tasteless dominance.
“Oh, the first thing that’s going is this,” she said, staring at it with open disgust. “If this is any indication of his taste, there’ll be more.”
Kenna stood transfixed beside the thing, a slow blush crawling up her cheeks. Her tail swished with indecisive rhythm, half question, half embarrassment. The other maids bit their lips, stifling giggles, while Rowena covered her mouth, failing to hide the laughter building in her chest.
“By nan Diathan, that’s stomach turning.”
Ria sighed, her scent flaring acrid before fading again to brittle calm. “As I said, it’s going.”
She turned to Amelie, who had just stepped inside behind Balgair. “Aníron cenin naegor hain i dadad dîn ú-vanim.[3]”
Amelie nodded once. “Istannen min a tâd i anno naegor na hen[4].” she replied, voice low, trying not to blush at the display.
Balgair was studiously avoiding eye contact with the statue, posture rigid with quiet distaste.
“Um, yes. I’ll get some men and be back to remove this trash.”
__________________________
K’Tek and Torval waited until everyone had gone inside before climbing down from the back bench seat and unloading the luggage. The desert-borne Caid-Ghin silently followed the big Infernal as he walked down the hallway.
“Where would you like me to put the luggage?” K’Tek rumbled as he set down one of the bags and came face to face with the rather lewd statue. “Oh, wow ..” He tried to look away from the statue. “Where would you like your bags?” He asked Ria, still mesmerized by the grotesque statue.
Ria shook her head, “Upstairs, please K’Tek.” She glanced at Kenna, who was still staring at the statue as well. “Kenna, go with him.”
The cat-girl’s ears swiveled toward Ria and her tail circled in surprise. “Yes, Mistress.” She turned, wrapping her tail around the Infernal’s wrist. “Come on, KTek, let’s see what disgusting things are on the next floor.”
As the cat-girl and the infernal went to explore the upper level, Ria looked over at Rowena and sighed. From the way her scent fell flat, Rowena could tell that she was worried about something. “What’s wrong?”
“I was just wondering how such a horrid man got elected Mayor of an important frontier town.” With a shudder of disgust, she entered the next room and paused, as she saw an even more lewd painting on the wall. She put her head in her hands and bit her bottom lip.
Rowena followed her, also pausing as she saw the painting. That of a group of women chained to a wall with various implements arrayed around their bodies. “This one too?”
Ria mutely nodded,” This one too.” When she raised her head, she had a green tinge on her skin.
By the time Balgair returned, two deputies and four prisoners in tow, Ria had retreated to the backyard and was resting against one of the old darach trees. Her acute hearing allowed her to hear the sheriff asking after her and Lina telling him that she was outside.
“M'Lady.” The gravel in his voice sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes, wishing that they didn’t have to be here.
“I’m over here, Sheriff Moelr.”
Hearing the distress in her voice, Balgair made his way through the weeds and vines, until he caught sight of her under a stately darach. He took a minute to watch her. The green tinge as well as the smell of crushed mint sent him shaking his head. He coughed as he approached her.
“Should we throw everything out?’ The amusement in his voice was lost on her as she simply stared at him.
Ria took a deep breath. “I’d rather burn it down.” She looked up at him, her eyes haunted. “How did such a vile person become mayor?”
Balgair shrugged, taking a step closer. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. He was already in power before I got here.” There was a sense of disappointment about him, and from his scent, Ria could tell that he was just as disappointed in himself and the town, as well with the man in his jail. “If he hadn’t left town, I would have never known.” He badly wanted to smoke his pipe and clear the moldy smell out of his nose.
“It’s not your fault, Sheriff Moeldr.” Rowena said, catching him by surprise as she walked out from behind him and made her way to Ria. “We’ve marked everything that needs to go.” When Ria nodded, not trusting herself to speak, Rowena commented, “We’ll need to go shopping and get the basics.” The raven-hared mystic joined Ria and offered her silent comfort.
Ria nodded, her stomach unclenching as she slowly relaxed. “We might as well get to it.” The green pallor to her skin faded as she looked up at Balgair. “When you get that ruthag vaer stored away, can you find us? We have to make this place livable before Rhyslin gets here.”
Balgair was at a loss. He had no idea where he’d even begin to look. Luckily, Amelie stepped out, her scent wrapping itself loosely around him.
“I’ll take them to Sunder’s General Store, then to Grace’s place.” The red-haired ciad-ghin said as she placed her hand on his elbow. “After that, we’ll probably be at Samar’s.”
“Of course,” Balgair stated, offering Ria an apologetic look. “I’m sorry that you were subjected to that ruthag vaer.” He commented, watching as Ria blinked.
“I didn’t know that you spoke Sinarin.”
Balgair grinned. “I speak very little Sinarin. Mostly military terms and swear words.”
Ria shared a look with Amelie, who shrugged, and then looked back at Balgair. “It’s not your fault that such a vile man lived here. I’m more worried about what it says about the people of this town.”
It was Balgair’s turn to shrug.
[1] Would you rather the gods be cold and distant?
[2] No, my lady. If I have given offense. I apologize.
[3] Please tell me there are places to shop that provide better things than this.
[4] I do know of one or two that provide better than this.