House of Ash and Gold

Chapter 14: The Starlet’s Spark

Frost still clung to the stones when Cael woke before dawn.

His body ached, not the raw ache of overuse but something more dull and satisfying. He dressed quietly, pulling his heavier tunic over his head and lacing his boots.

The Veil still hovered at the edge of his mind, as it had every night since showing him the shimmer in the yard. No longer just a curiosity, it was part of him now. But this morning, he didn't go to the yard.

Instead, he cut through the narrow servants' walk, past the kitchens where the scent of baking bread hung thick in the air. His boots scraped faintly against the flagstones as he passed under the arch toward the stables.

Jorlan would still be asleep. Good.

Better to keep his brother from noticing where he spent these odd morning hours.

The stable smelled of hay, dung, and damp leather. Horses shuffled in their stalls, snorting clouds into the cold.

And there he was.

The boy.

Thin, all narrow shoulders and awkward limbs, hair the color of dirty straw. He was crouched with his back to Cael, spreading fresh straw under a gray mare's hooves. His shirt hung off him in loose folds; he wore no coat despite the cold.

Cael stopped just inside the doorway and watched him work.

It had been three mornings now. And each time Cael passed through the stables, the Veil sparked faintly when his eyes landed on the boy, like gold dust hanging just above his skin, faint but undeniably there.

The first time Cael thought it was just the light.

The second, a trick of exhaustion.

But this time… the shimmer curled distinctly around the boy's shoulders and spine, faint threads of possibility weaving outward like tiny veins.

The same way he'd seen it, faint and dim, on squires or servants who sometimes, months or years later rose to command respect.

Only now... The glow was closer and within reach.

He stepped forward deliberately, letting his boots scuff the dirt so he wouldn't startle him.

The boy flinched anyway, head snapping up. He froze in place, one hand still half-buried in straw. His eyes met Cael's and darted away again.

"M'lord," he muttered, lowering his head and shuffling sideways toward another stall.

Cael stopped at the nearest beam and leaned against it.

"I don't bite," he said dryly.

The boy gave a nervous laugh and kept working.

"What's your name?" Cael asked.

The boy hesitated, then mumbled, "Tarren, m'lord."

"Tarren," Cael repeated, tasting the name. "How long've you been here?"

"Few months. Since summer."

"Didn't see you during harvest."

"Was down in the south pens back then," Tarren said, still not meeting his eyes. "Only moved up here after... after they sold my sister."

That made Cael pause.

He caught the boy's tone, the faint shimmer on his skin flared ever so slightly as he spoke.

"They sold her?"

"Yes, m'lord. Because of a debt, Lethvanns came and took her."

Cael narrowed his eyes. The Lethvanns were a merchant family out of Rivemarch, one of the richest in the southern reaches. They made their fortune buying up land and lives with equal ease.

So peasants were still being treated like livestock then. No surprise. But still… he filed that fact away in the back of his mind.

He pushed off the beam and took a few steps closer, noting how Tarren stiffened as he approached.

"You don't like it here," Cael said, more a statement than a question.

Tarren didn't answer right away. He just kept his head down and spread straw with too much force.

"Don't have much choice, do I?" the boy muttered finally.

Cael crouched slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.

"Look at me."

Tarren hesitated, then glanced up.

The shimmer was more distinct now.

Potential. That was the only word for it.

The same faint threads Cael had noticed over the years in others. A certain steward's apprentice who later rose to become a respected captain; a maid who caught Edric's favor and became his chamber secretary.

Always faint, always beyond Cael's reach...

Until Tarren.

The Veil shimmered in him like a spark waiting to catch.

A quiet thrill curled through Cael.

He straightened, still watching the boy.

"Do you know what you're worth?"

Tarren blinked at him confused. "hun?"

"Your worth," Cael said, tilting his head slightly. "Do you know it?"

Tarren shook his head, confused.

"Didn't think so."

The boy looked away quickly, as though embarrassed.

Cael let a small, dry smile touch his lips.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen someone like this, someone overlooked, pressed down, kept in the shadows. But it was the first time he'd seen one close enough to reach out and take hold of.

And this time, he wasn't going to let it slip away.

"Ever held a blade?" Cael asked.

Tarren swallowed and shook his head.

"Ever want to?"

The boy's fingers tightened faintly in the straw, and for the first time, Cael saw his mouth twitch like he wanted to answer differently than what he finally said.

"No, m'lord. That's not for the likes of me."

Cael chuckled quietly.

"That's exactly what they want you to believe," he said, almost under his breath.

The boy's eyes flicked back to his face at that.

Cael straightened fully, brushing the dust from his hands.

"All right, Tarren. Keep at your work. But tomorrow before dawn, meet me in the yard and don't bother saying you're too busy. I'll see to it."

Tarren gawked at him.

"M'lord?"

"You heard me," Cael said, his tone flat, final.

Then he turned on his heel and walked back out into the pale morning light before the boy could think of a reason to argue.

The rest of the day passed with grinding slowness.

Jorlan was in rare form, his laughter sharp and cruel as ever during drills. The squires were worse, emboldened by their captain's mood, and Cael let their jibes roll off him as he worked through the forms.

But his mind kept drifting back to his new starlet, that's what he'd decided to call him.

Because he gleamed faintly in the dark like something waiting to be cut and polished. That suited Cael just fine. He'd already decided to keep him... to shape him into something useful.

The boy didn't know it yet, but Cael had already marked him as his first investment.

Potential.

That was what the Veil showed him.

It was more than possibility, the threads it revealed in people were different than the movements and strikes it showed in combat. These threads felt… delicate, waiting. Like veins of ore hidden in stone, needing only to be struck.

He'd noticed it years ago but never dared dwell on it. What good was seeing potential in others when he himself was just a frail boy who could barely lift a blade?

But now…

Now, standing a little straighter in the yard, hands no longer trembling, he could feel the shift inside him.

He was no longer just watching.

He could do something.

By the time dusk fell, he'd decided.

That night, he crept back to the yard after supper.

The broken blade lay under the fence where he'd left it, and he plucked a new one from the rack, testing its weight.

Block. Step. Strike. Reset.

The shimmer came sooner now, surer, brighter. Each motion carved cleaner through the air.

But his thoughts kept circling Tarren.

His first ally.

A chance to prove to himself and maybe even to Edric, that he could shape something, someone, into more than they were allowed to be.

Maybe even into more than he himself could yet be.

The thought was dangerous but it lodged in his mind and refused be shaken loose.

When he finally slipped back to his room, the faint ache in his arms felt less like fatigue and more like purpose.

He lay awake long after the moon passed its peak, staring at the faint glow of threads still dancing at the edge of his vision.

...

The next day. Tarren was already waiting in the yard when Cael arrived just before dawn.

The boy stood awkwardly at the edge of the circle.

Cael crossed to the rack and pulled down two practice blades, tossing one toward him.

Tarren flinched as he caught it.

"Relax," Cael said. "We're not here to impress anyone."

Tarren swallowed hard and nodded.

The boy's grip was clumsy, his feet wrong but the shimmer was still there, and Cael felt a quiet satisfaction knowing no one else could see it.

"First lesson," Cael said. "You're going to get hit. That's fine, just don't let it stop you."

Tarren shot him a wary glance.

"Second lesson," Cael continued, stepping into the circle. "Stop looking at the ground. Look at me."

The boy obeyed, reluctantly.

Good.

Cael adjusted his own stance, noting how the faint threads of light coiled around Tarren's shoulders and spine, a promise of strength that hadn't yet surfaced.

That shimmer was brighter here in the yard than it had been in the stable.

Cael muttered under his breath, almost to himself. "Same way it always starts."

The Veil's threads always began faint, almost timid. Then when pushed they sharpened, solidified and then burst into something undeniable.

And he would see it happen.

Not to a distant steward or squire.

But here. With his own hands.

He raised his blade and motioned for Tarren to do the same.

The boy hesitated—then lifted it clumsily.

"That's it," Cael said quietly, almost to himself. "…Every gem starts buried."

Tarren blinked at him, confused.

"Don't worry about it," Cael added dryly. "Just keep your feet steady."

He swung the first slow strike toward him.

Tarren parried—badly—but he didn't drop the blade.

The faint shimmer brightened, just enough for Cael to catch it and smile faintly.

Yes.

Here it was.

The spark.

As the sun crept higher and the sounds of the waking keep began to rise beyond the yard, Cael found himself smiling more than he'd expected to.

Tarren stumbled and cursed, his face flushed from exertion, but his grip stayed firm.

And every time he caught his breath and raised the blade again, that faint golden shimmer deepened.

Yes.

He had found his first starlet.

And this time, he wasn't going to let him slip through his fingers.

Not now. Not ever.

Cael leaned on his blade, watching the boy struggle to his feet again, and felt that quiet thrill coil through him again.

Perhaps he was no master yet.

But already, he was learning what others had forgotten:

Somewhere in the shadows of this keep, greatness waited to be woken.

And he would be the one to wake it.