Onyx Blood [True North series book 2/3]
Chapter 33 - the Token

Ilowyn took me to one of the towers I had never been to. “This is my atelier,” she said, before opening the door.

We stepped into a room full of large rolls of the most decadent looking fabrics I had ever seen. There were rolls of shiny silks embroidered with silver and gold threads, rolls of intricate lace, and colorful woven wool that reminded me of the clothing Morai and the Queen usually wore.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, brushing my fingertips over one of the rolls of lace.

Ilowyn smiled at me, and gestured to a table in the back of the chamber. We each took a seat, and Ilowyn handed me a box. I opened it carefully, peaking inside. Feathers. Feathers of different sizes, and various colors. I looked up in surprise.

“These are ceremonial tokens,” Ilowyn explained, “it’s an Aerial Ardanian custom, to pick one of them, and keep it on you —or at the very least near you— during the mating ritual. The female picks the feather, by which one she feels drawn to most, and it’s said to symbolize the relationship between her and her mate.”

“These feathers in particular, are royal feathers. They all have some sort of royal significance, they may have belonged to a Royal Ardanian’s beast form, or their most trusted animal for example.”

I looked at the box, and back up at Ilowyn. She bobbed her head encouragingly. “Pick one,” she coaxed.

I looked at the box, and back at Ilowyn. “Can I take them out?” I asked.

Ilowyn took the box from me, and dumped all the feathers onto the table. “Which one speaks to you?” she asked.

I sifted through the feathers. They were beautiful — some had multiple colors, some seemed to glitter in the candle light, and some seemed to glow. One feather in particular caught my eye though — a black one. It was so black, it seemed to absorb any light that came near it, but the edges — the edges of the feather caught me off guard. They seemed to be smoldering, as if they had once been set on fire, and were still flickering with the dying flames. I couldn’t help but pick it up.

“That’s the one?” Ilowyn asked me, and I couldn’t help but notice the undertone of surprise in her voice.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly, “what is this? How can it smolder like that, but not set anything else on fire?”

Ilowyn tilted her head to the side. “Magic,” Ilowyn replied plainly, “Eldrim magic.”

I quickly put the feather down. “Eldrim?” I repeated, “like the witch? Is this hers?”

Ilowyn nodded, and leaned in closer to inspect the feather. “They tried to burn it,” she said as she admired the scorched edges, “but it didn’t work. It’s been in this box forever, nobody’s ever even dared touch it before. I usually scoop it back into the box using the other feathers as a protective barrier. What made you choose it?”

I shrugged. “It just stood out to me,” I mumbled, and then flicked my eyes up to meet Ilowyn’s.

“Do you think it’s bad luck? Picking this feather? Maybe I should pick another…”

“No,” Ilowyn said adamantly, “your initial decision is final. That’s your feather, Serin.”

I hesitantly rolled the feather between my fingers. “Does it feel hot to the touch?”

Ilowyn asked curiously. I shook my head. “It just feels like a regular feather,” I said, and lightly brushed the smoldering edge against the back of my hand. “It’s pretty soft.”

I straightened my back and turned around to look at the rolls of fabric behind me.

“Now that I’m here,” I began, and put the feather down on the table, “I was wondering if you could make me a dress. A wedding gown, to be specific.”

Ilowyn perked up. “What’s a wedding?” she asked excitedly, and began scooping the remaining feathers back into the box.

“The human equivalent of a mating ceremony,” I explained, “I need a white dress for it.”

Ilowyn jumped up and grabbed a tape measure from a desk behind her. “I’d love to!” she squealed, “stand up.”

I stood up, and allowed Ilowyn to pose me like a doll while she took my measurements. “What’s on your back?” she asked, as she measured my shoulders.

I glanced back at my shoulder to see what she was talking about. “Oh, a port-wine stain,” I said, “it’s a birthmark. It’s harmless, don’t worry.”

“Like camouflage?” Ilowyn asked curiously.

“No,” I laughed, “humans don’t have camouflage. It’s just a skin discoloration, I was born with it.”

Ilowyn pulled back the fabric of my top slightly and peeked at the rest of it. “Let’s do a low back,” she cooed, “put it on display! It’s marvelous.”

I shook my head. “No thanks,” I said, “it’s not really something I like to focus extra attention on.”

Ilowyn shrugged. “If you’re sure,” she mumbled, “let’s go pick a fabric.”

We looked through the rolls of fabric, and eventually settled on one of the embroidered silks, and an intricate lace. Then, Ilowyn sketched me up a few designs, and I finally began getting a little excited.

“I miss you,” I mindlessly said to Thoridor through our mind-link, not even necessarily trying to reach him.

“Serin,” he replied.

My heart jumped. “Are you okay?!” I yelled back.

“It’s bad,” he replied, “I’m fine, but it’s bad.”

My stomach sank. “What do you need?” I asked, “what can I do? Please let me help.”

“Just stay safe,” Thoridor replied, “knowing you’re safe, and waiting for me is what’s going to get me through.”

My heart yearned for him. “I shouldn’t have hold off the mating bond,” I wept internally, “I’m so sorry for making you more vulnerable than necessary. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Don’t worry about me, love,” Thoridor replied, “I’m not in any danger. It’s not my physical state I’m worried about, it’s just… it’s a massacre. I don’t like having to take so many lives.”

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