Fantasy practice

just some casual fantasy writing I'm trying out. If you have any critiques, lmk!

Slow, hot air pulsed through the furnace vents, warming Lèonce’s hands. A quiet mew sounded beside her. She looked at the kitten, small and the color of night with white paws. It meowed again.

“Hungry?” She asked the little thing. It blinked at her, sharp gray eyes reflecting the flickering candles around them. The feline yawned and padded away. Lèonce focused back on her shivering hands. Hours of laboring outside had rendered them numb. Her knuckles especially ached from gripping an axe all day. It might have been a trick of the light, but when she first came home she could swear they were tinted blue. She flexed her fingers, trying to regain feeling in them.
A sigh escaped her. Sitting before the furnace was going to take too long, she'd be better off starting dinner and warming as she cooked. Lèonce rose from the floor, absorbing as much furnace heat as possible before stepping away into the frigid kitchen. On her way, she picked up a few logs to heat the stove with.

The kitchen was small, possessing only a wood oven, a few cupboards, and a washbasin. A satchel of carrots, potatoes, and leeks sat on the counter. The single knife she owned was used to slice them before they were put in a soup pot full of water. Dried herbs were thrown into the pot as well. A kettle was put on to boil. Lèonce coaxed the fire beneath the stove, adding a few shavings of wood as kindling. She walked back to the foyer.

The kitten reappeared and trodded alongside her. It brushed past her legs and climbed onto the woolen armchair by the furnace. It paced, stretched, laid down, and rolled over, revealing its underbelly. The same ivory color spread from its chin to its back legs, between which she identified female anatomy.

“Suppose I should name you,” Lèonce said, “Unless you already have a name.” The plane of white wasn’t uniform, the color undulated and curved along a sea of black. In one particularly unique patch, it formed tapered spears. The shape looked almost painted on the black fur. She squinted and counted the points. “Why do you have such a mark? A star with seven points.” She whispered, “Peculiar.”

The kitten leapt from the chair, swished its tail at her, and treaded away.

“I didn’t mean to judge you,” she said after it, “prude. Prude? Prudence? Prue?” She considered it, “Prue. That’s your name, isn’t it?” The kitten dashed out of sight, “It is now.” She whispered the name a few more times, imagined yelling for Prue to get off the counter or to eat her bit of dinner.

“Yes, Prue.” A smile graced her lips, “What a good name.”

         The whistle of her kettle cut through the quiet. Lèonce went back to the kitchen for her tea and waited for the soup to boil. While at her dining table, she glanced around the meek space. Herbs hung from the walls, one other saucepan and a smaller pot sat on the wood counter beside an imported acacia cutting board. Her father purchased it from Bhinja 12 years ago for her 15th birthday. Even with its age, the marbled slab of wood was near pristine. It was one of the few things she kept from her time in the capital, along with a set of crystal drinking glasses, her mother’s fur overcoat, and three swords.

The cutting board was given to her after learning how to cook. Much to her mother’s distaste, she spent years alongside the palace chefs and bakers. When she turned 15, she’d asked for an entire kitchens-worth of cookware from every country. Her spice cabinet had been dazzling, filled with everything for any cuisine. From the cinnamon and bergamot spiced cakes of Esparas, to the beetle-laden noodles of Stold, to vegetable platters with vinegar sauce for Goddess Paidou-Boungsangah. Back then, her greatest desire was to travel, to find and create something new. Time had not been kind to that dream, neither had her parents.

The crystalline glasses were a prized possession of hers, one of the few remaining gifts from her lover. One night, before the bell tower’s midnight toll, they rendezvoused in the palace garden. Their lips met under the Summer moon, teeth clacking and tongues dancing. That was one of her favorite kisses. When they’d come up for air she presented Lèonce with a box. It had the color and pattern of crushed basil leaves. She opened it and looked at those glasses, their facets glittering in the silver light. Her cheeks ached from smiling.

“We’ll drink together tomorrow,” her love said, “I have the sweetest honey wine for us.” Lèonce kissed her again and let her fingers tangle in the woman’s curls.

“I can’t wait.” She said, closing the box. A quiet profession of love left her mouth, and was swallowed in another kiss. They held each other until the bell tolled and guards swept over the garden again. Lèonce watched the woman disappear into the night, and quietly returned to her bedroom. She reveled in the sound of the glasses clinking softly together as she walked. That night, she dreamt of dark curls and equally dark eyes.

It was among her fondest memories. Everyday she missed that girl, and often couldn’t even look at the green box on the highest shelf. Losing Ayomide drove her out of Itia and to another continent. Here, in the plains of Kasha, she lived a small life, quieter than the capital Oiber.

Lèonce possessed her mother’s coat by theft. The day she left Itia, she donned the Whipple bear fur, sprayed it with her mom’s perfume, and set sail east. The scent had long since faded, but on the loneliest evenings, she laid the coat over her body and drifted to sleep.

In that same way, the three swords were stolen from her father's study. Though their cool steel blades hung heavier from her side that day.

         During the Kyama-Ghi War of the 1100s, Kyama was invading the Empire Ghi on its third crusade. A woman that came six generations before Lèonce on her father’s side, demanded that Kyama’s ruler gather the militias of three other countries to fight alongside them. These countries were the predominant empires of each of the three continents.

         From Serhass, they called the Kingdom of Samaxtia.

         From Idura, Sunwau and the Sunwau Kingdom Islands.

         From Daj, Tsaim.

         With some convincing, mostly on the fact of Empire Ghi’s genocide of the neighboring Tei’Gra, the countries sent millions of soldiers each to conquer the empire. Ghi was eventually brought to its knees, along with its emperor Sanzeh Kweh. However, Tei’Gra never recovered, and to this day is uninhabited. After the war and the uniting of Kyama and Ghi as one nation, Tsaim, Samaxtia, and Sunwau gathered the primary weapons of their militia, and put them on display as a symbol of alliance. After several decades of moving around, they had ended up in Itia, a sliver of land in between Tsaim and Iseido that was a result of a disagreement on territory. Jikhaes Massier, the king of Itia and Lèonce’s father, held them in his study and occasionally displayed them during balls or intercontinental meetings.

The sound of breaking glass roused her father from sleep. In his study he found his daughter with three heavy swords hanging from her hip, standing before a shattered display case and an open window. Lèonce could still hear the sound of her father's sabre clattering to the floor.

“Were you going to flay whoever you found here?” She asked, her voice taut.

         “Lèonce, what are you doing?” The tension in his shoulders released.

         “I’m leaving.” She said.

         “For what?”

         “You know.” She spat.

         Silence stretched for a moment.

         “You can’t mean…”

         “Yes.”

         “Not for that foolish girl, Lèonce? Child, you’re better than that.” A string of disgust threaded his words.

         “For her and your victims. You don’t deserve to have these swords after that. These symbols of peace and unity, these representations of the people who fought, you don’t deserve them.”

Jikhaes did not speak.

“I’m leaving. If I ever come back, if I ever see you again, your blood will spill.” She leapt from the window into the night.

         Though Jikahes did not see, hot tears welled in her eyes. She watched the palace disappear into the distance as the boat drew farther and farther from all she’d ever known.

         The hissing noise of water boiling over tore her from her brooding. Lèonce scrambled to move the pot from the burner. Having forgotten to get a towel before she grabbed its handles she earned a light burn, but successfully got the pot on a trivet. She fished a carrot out with a spoon and bit it.

Too firm. It didn’t seem to matter, so she ladled the bland soup into a bowl. As she drew the spoonful to her mouth, a knock sounded at the door.

Chapter 2

She glanced at the night sky outside the window and furrowed her brows.

Trudging to the foyer again, she peeked through the curtains to see a soldier's uniform. She cracked the door.

“Is this the residence of Madame Lèonce Massier?” Said the soldier. The whistle on his S’s and his slow way of speaking identified him as a Samaxtian.

“Rather late for a visit, isn’t it?” She said,

“Is this the residence of Madame Lèonce Massier?” He repeated.

“No, I’ve never heard that name before.”

The soldier lifted his chin. His eyes, previously hidden beneath his hat, should have caught the light. Lèonce’s grip tightened on the door. It was as if his pupils dilated to take up his entire iris, and were so deep as to absorb the lantern’s glow. His eyes looked as if they knew she was lying.

“Yes, my apologies Madame. Good evening.” He spoke, though he did not turn away.

“Good evening.”

Lèonce locked the door. Heart thudding against her ribs, she peeked out the window again. The soldier's thick legs stood firmly planted on her front step. Her teeth caught her quivering bottom lip as she turned to her bedroom.

She opened the trunk at the foot of her bed. From it she pulled a package bound in silk. Her shaking hands unwound the binding and released the Sunwauan blade. She took hold of the leather grip and felt the weapon’s weight. The slender steel blade was half the length of her body and curved upward, able to swing almost entirely unresisted through the air. If tonight a life was to be taken, this sword would make quick work of it.

Lèonce treaded back to the front door, releasing steady breaths. A few slow glides of the blade reminded her of how to move with it.

Another look confirmed the man with dark eyes still stood outside.