The Royal Thief

Extra Story: Promises

This is the short story requested by @HazelGraceWaters as part of her prize! The prompt was little Morane and little Nemia, so here you go, it's short but I hope you like it!

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"Head's up!" Morie shouted, sprinting towards the lake.

"Wait no--"

Splash!

Too late.

She'd thrown herself into the water with one more yell and a bout of laughter that dissipated into gurgling splashes, her hair swirling around her head in the whirlpool she'd created. Nemia jumped up from her seat on the grassy bank but it was too late. "Morie," she groaned, knowing her friend couldn't hear her under the water. Sometimes she thought Morie getting older simply wasn't as good of an idea as the universe seemed to think it was. Ten-year-old Morie was worse than nine-year-old Morie, and eight-year-old Morie was beginning to become a faded memory of someone who didn't go around jumping into things like she was invincible.

Invincible. The word seemed to leave a metallic, almost bloody taste in her mouth, like when she'd gotten a tooth knocked out by her wooden sword. She'd learned it from her weapons instructor, when she was explaining what "Assassin" meant. Nemia tried very hard not to think about either of those words, but it was hard to when so much of Mistress's vocabulary seemed to apply to Morie.

The other girl's head broke the surface and she shook the water off her face with a grin, wet hair stuck to her cheeks. "Nemia! You..." She paused, treading water, but Nemia wasn't interested in her observation anyway. She leaned forward and dangled her book over Morie's head.

"Soaked," she accused her.

"Your hair is short!"

"You got my book wet!"

She made a face and reached up to poke one soggy page. "It's just water."

"It's a book," she said huffily.

"I know it's a book, I mean the water is just water!"

"I know you meant the water was water, I meant the book was a book!" She drew back, trying to figure out what she'd been trying to get across, and ended up scowling and reverting to her original point instead. "You got my book wet!"

Used to her friend's circular conversation, Morie knew better than to continue on the same path. "Why'd you cut your hair?"

"I didn't." She was looking at the book miserably. "It's all wet..."

"So why's it short?"

"Mistress said long hair gets in the way of fighting."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe she thought I'd trip on it."

"It wasn't that long."

"I said I didn't know!"

"Maybe she thought it would get caught on stuff."

Nemia didn't really care what the reason was. She missed the comforting weight and feel of loose hair down her back, and hated the way it wouldn't stay tucked behind her ears now. It flopped around when she turned her head and fell in eyes.

"Sometimes when the older kids fight they pull each other's hair. Maybe it's so people can't do that to you. Hey, you know only the nobles who are knights have short hair, all the other ones have long hair! I bet that's--"

"I don't care. Now I can't braid it like Cabrel said he'd teach me."

Personally Morie thought it was a very interesting thing to consider, but there were more important things at the moment. She pulled herself up the bank so she could plop down next to Nemia. "You can braid mine."

"It's too short."

"I'll grow it for you."

"Really?"

Even at ten years old Morie knew no one should seem so suspicious at being offered a favor. "As long as your hair has to be short, I'll keep mine long."

"For a year?" Nemia liked to set out clear parameters of an agreement.

"For however long yours is short." Morie liked to make promises for the sake of keeping them.

"My book is still wet."

"We'll find someplace to dry it."