The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [64]
Clay pushed his chair back and walked towards the stage. He stumbled on the way up. This would be his last gig. He was heading home tomorrow, as soon as Sally was through with him and the hangover eased.
He’d sent a message back to Treeon earlier in the day via Clawdia, the Sword Master’s peregrine falcon. It unnerved him to call in the bird, but he swallowed hard, donned the red cap and walked out to the very end of the jetty to wait. The smell of fish and salt air had filled his lungs and the constant barking of sea lions had drowned out all other sounds. He’d pulled on the leather glove, stretched out his arm and closed his eyes until wind had swept across his face.
When he’d opened them, the falcon was back-winging onto his wrist. The huge talons, seemingly out of proportion to her delicate frame, wrapped around the leather gauntlet. They pinched through the glove and into his flesh. He shivered.
‘Welcome, beauty. We’re friends, remember?’ He found it hard to breathe. ‘It looks like you’ll be home long before me after all.’
The blue-black head tilted at Clay’s words. She blinked her eye once, as if to say, Of course.
‘Can I give you a message for An’ Lawrence?’
At the sound of the Sword Master’s name, Clawdia whistled loudly. She fanned the air, extending her wings to reveal creamy-white underparts.
Clay cringed, holding the message in the palm of his hand, a note tucked into a small leather scroll case. She rolled it over, her razor sharp beak surprisingly gentle against his skin. When she had it just right, she grabbed it with her talons, looking him straight in the eye.
‘Okay, gorgeous one. Go home!’ He launched her with a sudden lift of his arm and watched as she disappeared up into the clouds.
One more night’s work and he would follow her, back to Treeon and his mysterious girl Rosette.
The pastel hues of daybreak washed over Rosette. She sat sipping jasmine-flower tea and stirring a small pot of porridge. She ate in silence. Drayco’s whiskers twitched softly in his sleep where he lay curled like a living pillow in the middle of her bed, his black fur a stark contrast to the red velvet spread. She smiled, catching the dream image of a dusky she-lion giving him a nose touch in the night.
Dressing in dark leggings, sword-belt and leather bodice, she gazed into the mirror, braiding her hair. She skipped the silver bell charms, weaving in a strand of thin red leather instead. Her thoughts were on the challenge ahead. If she impressed the Sword Master straight up, she would have a better chance of gaining an apprenticeship. He chose only a handful of initiates each year and there had to be over fifty students clamouring for the position. They’d been practising formally all summer, which Rosette had not. The odds weren’t good, though she kept her spirits up, her intention clear.
I’m going to get this. I’m really happy I’m going to get this!
She took a moment to feel what it would be like to have the apprenticeship with An’ Lawrence and grinned. She looked forward to the physical exercise. It would be a welcome change from quiet meditations, extensive astral research and endless rituals. She put on a necklace of obsidian, for containment, secured her multiple braids in a high horse tail at the back of her head, and kissed