Perfect

Time passed differently for Nephrit. Perhaps that was what set him apart from all others. The elves were too slow for him, humans too fast. They made friends quickly, became enemies quickly. They wanted everything here and now. And, of course, they aged and died quickly.

The elves took their time, made decisions slowly, developed slowly, changed their opinions slowly. Too slowly. When he lived among humans, after a while he longed for calm and silence. Among elves, however, he soon grew bored and longed for a bit of liveliness. He always tried to fit in, but never truly felt at home anywhere, and could not call either race – not even in his thoughts – his own. Perhaps that was what hurt the most.

Nephrit had learned not to grow attached to anyone. He had a few friends, but only one he truly regarded as such. Aghata. Time passed differently for her, too. Being a witch, she knew well how to keep her body and her spirit young – with potions, or perhaps more secret arts. Nephrit did not know. He had never asked, simply accepted it.

He had not seen Aghata in years. But he needed her help now, and he hoped – after all this time – that she still called him a friend.

He stopped his horse before the castle. The building had not changed at all since his last visit. The stones still radiated the same cold strength. He knew the way, but did not feel it right to simply walk in. First, he reached out to the countess with his mind.

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

“You couldn’t have chosen a worse time,” her voice came in answer. 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.”

As he took a step, a new message reached him.

“And don’t try your charm on her – her heart wouldn’t take it.”

Nephrit chuckled inwardly as he made his way to the back door and slipped through 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 head, 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.

“Oh – please, don’t startle me like that.” His hand pressed to his chest, his boyish smile as disarming as ever. “I only wished you a good day.”

“Then wish it from the doorway next time,” she scolded, wagging the knife at him before setting it down and wiping her hands on a cloth. “Not from behind my back. What are you doing 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 hadn’t been waiting long 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 and followed him.

“Nephrit,” Aghata said, skipping any formal greeting as he entered. 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. Still, Aghata’s whole appearance was majestic.

“Countess.” He bowed his head, inclining his shoulders slightly, then straightened 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, his gaze flicking to 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 still worry about your cook.”

“I remember what you did with my first maid.”

“I remember too,” he said with a faint smile. “Nothing she didn’t enjoy. Unless she said something else?”

Aghata almost laughed at his honest curiosity.

“You’re quite the 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.

“In a way,” he admitted with a nod. “I’d like to see Aliarra.”

The countess’s eyes widened.

“You remember her?”

“Of course I remember her.”

How could he not? He had brought the foundling girl here himself and left her in Aghata’s care about ten years ago.

“How has she been?”

“She’s been well. And you were right – she’s proven gifted in our magic. So I’ve taught her everything I know. She’s a skilled witch now.”

“Can I speak to her?”

“You want to take her with you?”

“No, not yet. I need a skilled witch for a… a task. But I’ve a few things to settle first. I’ll be back for her in a week or two.”

“Then no, you may not speak to her.”

“Why not?” he asked, surprised.

Aghata leaned closer, her eyes serious.

“Because I will not see ten years of work undone. If you speak to her 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 whether she’s suitable without even seeing her?”

“Trust me,” Aghata said with a disarming smile.

“Can I at least look at her?”

“Only if you promise me that you won’t let her see you. I know you’re capable of that.”

“Alright, I promise.”

“She’s in the library.”

Nephrit didn’t understand the secrecy. Aghata had kept to herself how well she understood Aliarra’s hidden – and not-so-hidden – feelings. The girl had pushed herself in her studies, driven by nothing but the hope that one day Nephrit would come back for her – and 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, notes and old scrolls filled not only the towering two-storey shelves along the walls, but also 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 and halted his steps. Then he realised that 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. The hard oak floor did not so much as tremble beneath him. His gaze caught on the edges of certain volumes – the stitching, the painted titles, the symbols pressed into worn leather. He had been here before. He knew the first rows were almost a stage set: an impressive display meant to stop the curious.

He paused at every turn, listening – not only for voices, but for the subtle shifts of a house that slept lightly. Then he stepped forward again, unhurried, letting the shelves close around him.

Deeper in, the gilded lettering began to fade. The bindings grew plainer. Some spines bore no markings at all.

And yet, from some of those books he could feel the power they held – or the power they spoke of. Long ago, he had read them, learned from them. He halted again, allowing his senses to linger, to recognise what lay beyond the shelves.

The air was heavy with the scent of parchment, lavender, and tallow, laced with a faint floral note he couldn’t place.

He let the voice guide him, 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, until he saw her.

Aliarra was a spark of living warmth amidst the worn walls and ancient books. Her whole presence was starkly at odds with the library’s solemnity – as if she didn’t quite belong here. The oil 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 realised it at once and scolded himself for not being prepared. The warning of his old mentor echoed in his head now that his thoughts were clear again: Never read aloud from a book of magic. It’s dangerous.

Aliarra sat at a wide table, an old book laid open before her, loose pages strewn all about from her copying. She 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 listened to her soft, tender voice, studied her posture and 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.” Nephrit cast the silent order. 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 obey 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 own voice. Better 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. The unexpected thought flashed through his head. She’s perfect for the role she’ll have to play, he corrected himself.

His mind was well-protected now; he could focus on the task. And yet, of all the spells he had broken in his life, this charm refused to let go.

It had taken root deep within him, and with each of Aliarra’s tears and smiles, another link was forged in the chain between them.