Medieval: Corvus Stories

[Avery]

A collab with Tiger, about everyone's favorite nobles: Cateline Accipiter and her first cousin, Basil Cressida! \o/ Along with a nine-year-old Leif, amongst others. 8D

A Family of Faith: Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

Cateline Accipiter was enormously grateful when the clay-brick towers of Ecliptus Castle finally came into view through the carriage window - she was more than ready to be done with the view inside the carriage, and the disappointment of what she had hoped would be a pleasantly conversational trip being anything but. She frowned slightly as she glanced across the carriage again at the primary reason that wasn’t the case; her nine-year-old son Leif did not look back at her. His attention was fixated on the window, no doubt hungrily searching the sky for birds. Cateline felt a prickle of now-familiar annoyance at the way he sat, feet pulled up onto the seat and pressing himself up to the wall - or more accurately, perhaps, pulling himself away from his brother. The boy might as well have been a prisoner being driven to the gallows for all his posturing.

As if he needed to do any more - he had spent the entirety of the carriage ride wincing at or moaning about or being irritable over everyone. Asking them not to talk “so loud” despite their perfectly appropriate voices, snapping at whoever sat next to him for crossing into his space, going so far as to find his raincloack in his luggage while they were stopped one night and trying to use it in the wagon proper - to block out the noises and sights, he’d said. Cateline still didn’t understand what noises he was talking about. She’d confiscated the raincloak and he’d huddled in his corner with a scowl and his arms tucked up over his ears.

Currently Leif was leaning as far as he could from Stefan, the second-eldest Accipiter child. The older boy, fifteen and surprisingly dark-haired, considering his parents’ hair shades (though with his sharp, hooked nose there was no doubt he was of Accipiter blood), was idly skimming through one of his course books regarding magic. He was at the age where he didn’t want much to do with his mother, though as far as Cateline was concerned, the desire hardly give him permission to act on it.

He could at least talk to Henry, she thought with exasperation. That was why Stefan was here, after all - to help keep Henry company. The trip had originally been planned just for Cateline and Leif - a visit to Castle Escalus so that Leif could meet his cousins and visit the nearby Church of the Hallowed Woo; it was rather early to settle on a church just yet - Leif had barely started his theology training - but a church in Ecliptus would be good for Leif. He would be near family, and certainly the city was religious enough that a priest would be held in high esteem here. Catline hoped that if she introduced Leif to the church early, it would grow on him.

Henry had asked to come along, however; the eighteen-year-old Accipiter heir was properly interested in visiting his relatives, and he’d wanted to see one of the cities with which he’d be doing business and handling political affairs when he became the Lord of House Accipiter. Cateline had thought bringing Stefan along would give Henry someone besides Leif to talk to - Leif wasn’t talkative by any stretching of the definition. However, Stefan was turning out to be just as antisocial as his younger brother, and Henry was the only one who looked to be having any fun. Even now, the Accipiter heir wore a small, pleasant smile - though he, too, had been worn into silence by the interminable ride. Cateline was more inclined to blame Leif and Stefan for that.

These annoyances fresh in her head, she addressed the boys with somewhat clipped tones. “We’re almost there.” In what she already knew would be a vain attempt to get Leif invested in the situation, she asked, “You can see the castle, right, Leif?”

Leif, not even glancing her way, nodded slightly. “There’s a crow on the gate,” he informed her. Of course there was.

“Yes, well - you need to pay more attention to the people and where you’re going than to the birds, Leif. Or to your books, Stefan,” Cateline added with a pointed look in Stefan’s direction. To the dark-haired boy’s credit, he actually seemed to have heard her and closed his book. It was more than she could say for Leif, whose attention was still focused outside and probably on the blackbird or crow or whatever bird it had been. “Leif - that includes paying attention to me.”

“I’m listening,” he said with a frown.

“Then you should be looking my way,” Cateline pointed out with a frown of her own. “We’re going to meet not only family, but very important lords and ladies of Corvus. I’ll not have you giving the impression we’ve raised you with the manners of smalltown peasants.”

“Of course, Mother,” Henry said reassuringly. “We’ll be on our best behavior - I think we could all use a stretch and a change of scenery from the same four walls of this carriage, is all.”

“Yes, I know it’s been a long trip. Leif, Stefan, we’ll have to discuss ways for you to help everyone pass the time more effectively.” She saw Leif tense a little at that, but decided to ignore it for the time being. She couldn't go after every infraction or she would be at him all day. “But I don’t care how long as trip it’s been - use your best manners, stand straight, participate in the conversation. Remember, we’re guests in a noble home, so we had best act like it.”

“Don’t worry, we will,” Stefan said, tucking away his book. “We’ve all taken our etiquette classes, we know how to behave.” He leaned forward a little to use the window of the carriage as a sort of mirror and fussed with his hair with the tips of his fingers. Leif, perhaps catching sight of this in the reflection in the glass of his window, wrinkled his nose in clear disdain.

“Leif - I won’t warn you again. Manners.” The boy finally looked over at her - just a surprised glance, a brief flicker of blue before his gaze dropped to the floor. Cateline frowned and went on, “And I don’t know what you’re sneering about; your hair could use attending to.”

Stefan scowled at his brother, but Henry just remarked, “He’s not old enough to understand wanting to look good for attractive ladies yet, Stefan - I’m sure you rolled your eyes at me when you were that age and I was taking extra care getting ready for a party.”

“There’s a difference,” Stefan said snippily, but he returned to his preening instead of starting an argument. It was as close to a victory as Cateline was going to get.

They arrived in the courtyard within a few minutes, and stepped out into the shadow of the large clay-brick castle. It was an extravagantly-shaped building; Cateline’s husband Richard had once made a comment - in private - that it was a castle in name and shape only. And no, it was not as impressive as somewhere like the Keep in Medieville, but she was inclined to think Richard might be a touch envious that his own holdings could not be called a castle by any means. Henry and Stefan certainly looked interested in the architecture. Leif kept glancing at a crow perched on one of the ramparts; it would have to do. At least Basil already had some idea what to expect from Leif.

As the Accipiters unloaded from the carriage, a middle-aged man strode out from the castle’s front entryway, trailed by a contingent of servants. He wore a monotone ensemble of dark, heathered grey, which only served to wash out his already-pale complexion. When he reached Cateline and the children, he gave a cursory bow followed by a smile, his light blue eyes glimmering like the waters of a clear lake.

“Cateline!” he called warmly, as he beckoned behind him for the servants to tend to the Accipiters’ horses. “How good it is to see you!” His eyes skimmed her sons. “And you as well, young lords. I do hope your travels were worry-free?”

“Basil, it’s been far too long!” Cateline said curtseying in turn. Finally, some of the weight from the trip lifted from her shoulders. And finally, someone displaying tact and affability!

Henry, of course, was quick to reply. “Thank you - the trip was quite pleasant, though I think we’re all glad to be here!”

Cateline waved a hand over the three boys. “I’m sure you can guess from what I’ve told you, but this is Henry, Stefan, and Leif.” She dared to glance at them as she introduced them; Henry and Stefan both bowed politely right on cue; Leif was a few seconds late and Cateline would have bet the entire Accipiter estate on the assumption that he didn’t make eye contact. More likely he was still trying to watch the crow.

“A pleasure to see you all,” Basil said, his eyes trailing from Henry to Stefan before finally they settled on Leif.

The elder two boys he’d met before, some years prior during a visit to Raylier, but Cate’s littlest he never had. From his cousin’s letters, the lord had not known quite what to expect of the boy. Something… more noticeable than this, perhaps. Some gaping slate around his neck that announced the ‘difficulties’ Cateline had long lamented about in her letters to the lord of Ecliptus. But save for the way the child steadfastly refused to meet Basil’s gaze, he could find little else telling. Leif looked ordinary enough; sullen, maybe, but then, many small boys would be after such a lengthy journey.

Basil frowned, before catching himself and continuing evenly, “So, little Leif. You’re the one all this fuss is about, hm? Picking out a church-- it must be pretty exciting.”

Leif glanced up at him for a fraction of a second, still avoiding eye contact. “...Yeah,” he said after a moment, not sounding very excited at all.

And so it begins Cateline thought resignedly. “Leif - is that really all you have to say about it? And aren’t you forgetting some manners?”

Her son’s brow furrowed. “...But I don’t know the church. I haven’t seen it yet. ...Is it loud?”

“Is it - it’s a church, of course it won’t be loud,” Cateline interjected. “But you’re excited to get to see it, right? And to visit Ecliptus?”

Shoulders raising a little as if the pointed tone was actually a spear being idly leveled in his direction, Leif said, “Yeah. Uh-huh.”

Fortunately for both Leif and for Cateline’s temper, Henry interceded. “He really is - Stefan and I are looking forward to this trip as well; I’ve never been to Ecliptus and it ought to be an interesting experience. Thank you for your hospitality - ‘Woo knows a guest bedroom in a castle is far more comfortable than a room in an inn!”

“It’s no problem at all; you’re family, Lord Henry.” Basil beamed at the eldest boy, before turning back toward the castle. “Well then, I won’t keep you out in this dreariness for any longer. You’ve had a tiring last few days, and I don’t want to keep you running about, so I’ve arranged to have some cheese and wine sent ahead to your rooms. Might I show you to them now?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Cateline said, herding the boys ahead of her - Henry and Stefan with light presses on the shoulder, Leif with a broad and distant gesture. He hesitated to obey her for a moment, taking a last look at the crow on the parapet before edging after his brothers. Catline held back an annoyed sigh; it was too early in the trip to let her temper run out.

Basil’s stride was quick and meaningful as he led his cousin and her children into the castle proper, the lord gesturing broadly at the various rooms they swept past before finally the party arrived to the guest suite the Accipiters would be occupying. It was lightly if tastefully decorated, with weathered wooden floors throughout, and two separate bedchambers jutted out from either side of the main parlour in front. True to the Cressida lord’s promise, an ample spread of wine and cheese was set out atop a gnarled oak coffee table, as well as several heels of bread and strips of dried meat.

“Help yourselves,” Basil said. “And I hope the accommodations are to your liking, Cateline. There’s one roomy bed per chamber, and so I thought that Stefan and Henry could share while you lodge with little Leif.” He considered reaching out a hand and setting it on the small boy’s shoulder before he remembered the way the child had gone to such measures to avoid his gaze in the courtyard and thought better of it. “If you need anything at all,” he went on smoothly, “merely give the servants a holler. They’ve been told you’re our most esteemed and honoured guests, and they’ll be happy to wait on you.”

“Thank you, Basil, this all looks very comfortable. And the lodging arrangements sound just fine - don’t you agree, boys?”

“Certainly,” Henry said readily, while Stefan nodded in agreement and headed for the food.

Leif said nothing, until he seemed to realize his mother was frowning at him. “Yessir,” he muttered, leaning away from his mother a touch.

Cateline sighed but turned back to Basil with an only slightly-apologetic smile. “We’ll get started cleaning up and settling in - I’m sure the children are eager to meet their cousins so it shouldn’t take long.”

“Take your time, Cateline,” Basil said, frowning as he watched Leif slink away from his mother’s side like a sullen brat. He’d have cuffed one of his own children for such a move, particularly in front of another member of the nobility. “We’ll be having supper at dusk,” he went on after a moment. “We can do all of the introductions then. I shall come by to personally escort you, dear cousin.”

“I would very much appreciate that.” Cateline followed her cousin’s gaze, not that it took a genius to guess what had made him frown. “Dinner ought to perk everyone up, and a good night’s sleep even more so - we ought to be much brighter for our visit to the church tomorrow.” If Leif caught his mother’s pointed tones, he gave no sign of it.

“Ah, yes, the church-- how exciting!” Basil beamed at Leif, received no acknowledgement, and promptly stiffened with an even deeper frown than he’d worn before. “Perhaps,” he suggested, “we might bring along one of my children to keep you company, young lord? My second littlest, Aileen, is right around your age.”

This got Leif’s attention; he glanced up sharply. “Uh - uhm - “

“Oh, come on, Leif,” Henry interjected. “It’ll be a chance to make a friend your own age. I’ll bet she’s very nice!”

“We’ll be glad to have her along,” Cateline said, before Leif could make any comments that would make it seem as though he’d been raised by completely classless peasants. In reality, she didn’t think this was a good idea, but Basil could be told that - and why - later. “Leif certainly could use some friends.” It might help if he was the least bit sociable, but as he is…

“Wonderful,” Basil said, turning toward the door. “I’ll be sure to introduce you two at dinner, then, little lord. And I hope you all rest up well in the meantime. It’s a pleasure to have you staying with us, and I hope this visit can be enjoyable for all.”

And with that, the lord of Ecliptus strode out into the hall, leaving the Accipiters to their wine and food.

“Leif,” Cateline said as soon as Basil’s footsteps had faded, “what did I say about manners?”

“...Use ‘em,” Leif said after a moment, with a gusty sigh.

“Don’t take that tone with me - yes, I said to use your manners; we are guests in a fellow noble’s home. You will be polite and sociable.”

“But - “

“There are no ‘buts’, Leif! You will be polite to Lord Basil and his family.”

Leif’s shoulders slumped, but he gave up arguing. Catline huffed and told him, “Go get cleaned up, there should be a place to do it in the bedroom. And when the luggage arrives, get your outfit for tomorrow ready; you’re going to bed right after dinner. Maybe some proper sleep will curtail this attitude.”

She knew it wouldn’t, but she had to try something to keep Leif from ruining this trip.

A Family of Faith: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

Like most of Ecliptus, the Church of the Hallowed Woo was nothing much to look at: an amorphous brown building nested amidst a sea of identical others, the only thing that set it apart from the rest of its neighbours the massive wooden woocifix that towered at its steeple. Nevertheless, Lord Basil seemed quite proud of the place, Cateline’s cousin openly beaming as he reached up a hand to help the woman out from the carriage.

“One of the oldest churches in Corvus,” he bragged, his silver-blonde locks catching beneath the pale morning sun. “Legend has it Saint Ovidius himself studied here in his youth!” There was no such rumor anywhere but in Basil’s own head, but that was beside the point, and certainly he couldn’t sell the church by admitting its history as a mediocre producer of mediocre priests who did very, very mediocre things.

“A Saint, Leif, now that’s nothing to sneeze at, is it?” Cateline said, accepting the offered hand as she exited the carriage. The church itself was rather plain, in Cateline’s estimate, but that hardly mattered when it came to a church. Just so long as the clergy itself was respectable, and of course there was the location close to family. Not that Leif seemed to be appreciating that.

Leif stepped carefully out of the carriage after his mother, scrutinizing the large wooden woocifix before his gaze drifted to the rest of the church. “It looks quiet,” he said hopefully.

Cateline felt her rather fixed smile tighten. “I suppose it does.”

The girl who tumbled out after the carriage after Leif, however, was anything but. Shielding her eyes from the sun as her father reached out to readjust the plain linen veil that covered her hair, Aileen Cressida smiled broadly. “They’ve singing here on sabbath!” she announced, taking a step toward the church steps; Basil reached out after her and sharply tugged the girl back. Undaunted, Aileen craned her neck toward Leif. “Do you like to sing?” she asked. “Papa’s got a lousy voice, but I’m pretty good at it--”

“Aileen,” Basil warned.

She wilted. “I just wanted to tell him about the church, Papa.”

“All in good time,” Cateline said, trying to school her voice into a gentler one than she felt. There was a momentary pause, and the Accipiter lady looked down at her son. “Well? Are you going to answer her?”

Leif frowned, his expression wary - but after another few seconds, he said, “I like singing okay. But I’m not good.”

It was something. At this rate, Cateline doubted the Woo himself arriving on Avani would get Leif out of this mood he’d picked up. “We’ll follow your lead, Basil.”

The interior of the church was no more impressive than its exterior, a dimly lit antechapel giving way to a large though dusty sanctuary beyond. The priest in charge, a red-haired man with skin like hardened clay, greeted the contingent of nobles with a warm smile and bow, but Basil waved him off, decreeing that he’d given the tour personally. This was, after all, his esteemed cousin and her child.

“What’s your favorite Book, Leif?” the lord of Ecliptus asked as he began into the chapel, his fingers threaded tightly through Aileen’s lest the exuberant child attempt to run off ahead again. “I know it can be hard to pick, but we’ve all got our preferences, no?”

“Uhm.” Leif frowned, his brows knitting in throught. Cateline mimicked his expression - what did he have to think about? Even she knew which Book was Leif’s favorite, surely he didn’t have to think too hard about it?

“Well...there’s a book in the library, it’s called A Catalogue of Avani Hawks. It’s got lots of pictures, and - “

“Leif!” Cateline would have gladly accepted a lightning strike immolating her on the spot. Never had she felt the blood drain out of her face the way she did in that moment - this boy was supposed to be a priest and he had just failed to answer a question about the holy texts!? “He meant the Books of Woo! Why would you think - are you paying any attention to where we are?”

Hunching his shoulders, Leif protested, “I didn’t know that’s what he meant!” Quickly, as if he might be able to jump back several seconds if he just spoke fast enough, Leif said, “I - I like the Book of Heart, the Woo turns into a whole flock of birds in it and there’s the Woomas story so I know why we can’t eat sugar before Feast Day.”

“All right, thank you - keep your voice down.” Cateline could barely bring herself to look at Basil; no doubt whatever expression he had would mirror one of her own emotions and she wasn’t so sure she could keep her composure if it was made too obvious that someone else felt exactly the same way.

Basil, for his part, gawped at Leif as if the child had just started screeching in tongues. Hawks? Cateline certainly had alluded to the boy’s unusual interest in birds-- and Basil hadn’t missed his intense staring at the crow on the parapet the afternoon before-- but there was a vast difference between that and, well, this.

“I, um-- well, that’s very nice.” He cleared his throat and turned toward the altar. “As you can see,” he prattled on, “we’ve a very large chapel here. It’s a full house on sabbath.” He glanced down at his daughter, still reeled in close at his side. “Don’t many nice people come, Aileen?” he prompted.

“Uh-huh.” Chewing on her lip, the girl cocked her head at Leif. “You read books about hawks? My brother’s got hawks.”

Basil winced. Woo knew he hardly needed Aileen to feed into the boy’s unhealthy obsession. “Yes, Wynn’s got hawks,” he agreed crisply. “Lovely creatures. Now. What shall we look at next, little lord? The vestry? The crypt? We’ve an extensive crypt! Some say it’s the biggest this side of Solis!” (It wasn’t.)

Leif had perked up a bit, but Cateline knew that at this point, that wasn’t a good sign. He at least had the sense to answer Basil first. “Uh, okay, the crypt’s good.” But the boy’s attention quickly turned back to Aileen. “What kinds of hawks does your brother got?”

“Have,” Cateline corrected, “What kinds of hawks does he have, and right now we are looking at the church, remember? I’m sorry, Basil - please, let’s see the crypt. It sounds impressive.”

The crypt was not impressive in any facet-- only a little dank, very narrow, and uncomfortably dark even with the lit torches that studded its walls. The group hadn’t made it more than ten steps inside before what was either a very large rat or a very small raccoon skittered by them, brushing against Aileen’s shoes before it disappeared around a bend in the corridor. The child let out a rather unladylike screech and tried to flee toward the twisting staircase that led back aboveground, which Basil cuffed her for, his hand thumping against the side of her veiled head as he blocked her path of escape.

“Do we scream in church, Aileen?” he scolded.

“It touched me,” she whimpered.

“Apologize to Lady Cateline and Lord Leif for your disrespectful behavior.”

“Sorry.” She sniffled. “I won’t scream again.” A beat. “Maybe we could try ‘n catch it for one of Wynn’s hawks. Do hawks like rats?”

Leif had cringed at the girl’s scream, but at the word ‘hawks’, he opened his eye cautiously again. “Y-yeah,” Leif confirmed. “Hawks - they love rats.”

And Cateline had thought she couldn’t be any more horrified. “Leif Accipiter, you are not discussing feeding hawks in a church! You certainly won’t be chasing around rats in a crypt!” For a moment, she and Basil had been even in terms of their children's’ misbehavior, but Leif just had to go the extra mile… At least chasing the rats hadn’t been Leif’s idea, though that wouldn’t have surprised Cateline. She was honestly a little astonished one of Basil’s children had suggested such a grisly, dirty, non-ladylike activity.

Of course, she couldn’t blame Basil for such a thing; not when her own son was behaving just as inappropriately, if not worse. Evidently the apple sometimes did fall far from the tree - so far that it wound up in an orchard of different fruit entirely.

“There will be no chasing,” Basil agreed thickly. “Anyhow. Shall we proceed? Word has it that Saint Adilet’s own rib bones are interred here!” Or wait, Basil realized much too late, did I already use a line on saints? Crap.

Nevertheless, the lord of Ecliptus forced a broad smile as he recommenced the tour of the dilapidated crypt, shooting Aileen a preemptive glare when another small, furry creature dashed before their path a few minutes later; this time, the girl flinched but didn’t dare scream out. Back aboveground, the party made quick work of the church’s other rooms: the vestry, the loft, the detached rectory out back where Leif would be living if indeed he chose the Church of the Hallowed Woo as his place of study. None of it was memorable, let alone remarkable. But as far as Basil sold it, he might as well have been giving Leif and Cateline a tour of the Woo’s own personal choice in sanctuary.

“Any questions, young lord?” Basil asked afterward, as the lot of them stepped back out into the breezy morning. “Or people with whom you’d like to speak? I’m sure any of the clergy would be glad to talk with you.”

Leif shook his head with an expression of absolute certainty - probably mostly in regard to Basil’s offer to speak to the clergy, Cateline assumed. Leif did everything in his power to avoid meeting new people.

“You’re sure, Leif?” Cateline pressed. “No questions?”

Leif glanced up at her, then back to the church, fiddling with the edges of his sleeve. “Uhm....” His gaze flicked to Basil briefly before he finally answered, “No.”

Cateline frowned. “Nothing? ...Did you at least like the church?”

The boy nodded, very slowly. When he seemed to realize Cateline was watching him with an expectant expression, he tentatively offered, “The big woocifix on the roof is pretty.”

“...The woocifix,” Cateline repeated flatly. “Yes. I suppose so.” And I also suppose we’re going to have to talk about your manners yet-again she thought with frustration. All that time and effort on Basil’s part, and the most Leif had plucked out of it was an external architectural feature. The boy could recite a whole slew of hawks’ colors, from beak to tail, from memory alone - but he couldn’t be bothered to hold onto details of a church for less than a minute after leaving it? “Basil took a great deal of his time to show us around, Leif. I think there’s something you ought to say to him.”

To her enormous relief, Leif actually seemed to catch her meaning within a few seconds. “Oh - uhm. Thank you, Lord Basil.”

“You’re welcome, Lord Leif,” Basil replied with a warm smile that he rather thought wasted on the boy, who wasn’t even looking his way. “Now, come along. We’ve a nice tea waiting for us back at the castle. And I’m sure your brothers are eager to hear all about your visit, no?”

“...They -”

Cateline didn’t know what Leif was going to say, but she heard just enough of a dubious tone to decide enough was enough and that she was done leaving things up to chance. “They’ll be very excited, I’m sure.” And ‘Woo help them if they weren’t.

A Family of Faith: Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

Stefan and Henry were, indeed, excited enough for Cateline’s tastes, and in what was either an act of indulgence or merely an effort to get the children out of the adults’ hair, all three Accipiter boys-- along with their similar-aged Cressida counterparts Wynn, Malenna, and Aileen-- were granted a parent-free exploratory trip into Ecliptus’s bustling marketplace early the next afternoon. It was hardly a solo venture inasmuch as they were to be accompanied by a pair of rather stern-looking Cressida knights, but this hardly stopped Basil from hemming and hawing before the group set out.

“Remember that the knights are there for your safety-- not to regulate your behavior,” the lord of Ecliptus warned as he, Cateline, and the children stood in the courtyard of Ecliptus Castle. “But,” he continued briskly, “that hardly means you’ve any leeway to misbehave. You must all be perfect representatives of both of our Houses.”

“Of course, Father.” Wynn Cressida, the lanky seventeen-year-old heir to his father’s House, flashed an insipid smile. “And I’m sure between Henry and myself, we can keep all the little ones in line. Right, cousin?”

“Absolutely,” Henry agreed, clapping a hand on Wynn’s shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about, Mother, Lord Basil - there won’t be any trouble.”

“There’d best not be,” Cateline said darkly, looking to the younger children. “Do as Henry and Wynn say, and don’t give them any trouble, understood?” Stefan nodded; Leif, whose gaze kept darting back toward the castle door, did the same a few moments later. At least in a city, he would be quieter.

“Mind your brother, Malenna,” Basil echoed, leveling a hard stare toward his second eldest, who at fifteen had well perfected the sullen teenaged scowl. “And you, too, Aileen.”

“Are we going to be able to buy things?” Aileen asked anxiously, fidgeting with the silver woocifix necklace she wore; Wynn reached over and batted her hand down, none too gently.

“Only if you’re good,” the Cressida heir said. “Father’s given me our money for safekeeping, but if you behave, perhaps I’ll get you a treat.”

“Reward or no, we expect to hear nothing but compliments about your behavior,” Cateline said. “And make sure you leave early enough to get back here on time; we’ll not have you late for supper.”

“Of course, Mother,” Henry said, motioning for the younger children to start moving. “We wouldn’t dream of it!”

Cateline and Basil’s iron stares ate into their children’s backs as the group started out the castle gates, trailed closely by the pair of knights. Once they were gone, and the gates swung back shut behind them, the lord of Ecliptus smiled and turned toward his cousin, offering her a gentlemanly hand.

“Shall we head back inside, Cate?” he asked. “Woo knows I could go for a stiff glass of wine right now. I can have the servants fetch us a bottle. And some fruit and cheese, as well, if you’d like. You certainly deserve a break after the ardour of your last few days.”

“Oh, ‘Woo yes - I think we could both use rest and wine.” She shook her head, straightening out a wrinkle in her skirt. “I knew Leif wasn’t going to make this an easy trip, but by the ‘Woo’s blessed feathers, he always finds a way to…surpass my expectations.” Cateline’s sour tone and pursed lips made it clear this was not meant in any sort of positive fashion.

“He’s certainly a… special… boy,” Basil agreed. “He’s in my prayers, dear cousin.”

With that, Basil led Cateline back inside and through a series of twisting corridors, until finally they reached a small sitting room with a view of the castle gardens. Basil beckoned for his cousin to sit and then ordered a servant to bring the pair a pitcher of wine, smiling as he took the seat across from his cousin.

“I wish my wife could have joined us for your visit,” he said. “It’s such a pity she’s off in the capital. Visiting the king and queen.” This was most definitely not a brag, and it was certainly most definitely not the dozenth time Basil had brought such a fact up over the past few days. “It really has been too long since we’ve been able to catch up, Cateline,” he went on. “You’re such a far ways away, up in Raylier! I do hope everything’s been well on the Accipiter estate?”

Cateline sat in the chair with a grateful sigh - a few days of the hard carriage seats had given her a fresh appreciation for comfortable furniture. “As well as can be expected. The twins started their lessons not too long ago - they’re about six now. Thankfully this will be the last time through the tutors. Our finances should be grateful as well. Our girls are making good progress in their studies, and we understand Markus is doing well in Araydian. Richard is…” Cateline shrugged. “The same as he’s always been. Maybe a little more strained from trying to keep up with the children, but which of us isn’t?” she asked with a tired smile.

“Which, indeed.” Basil returned the smile as a servant strode in with the wine and two goblets, and poured each of the nobles a glass. Taking a sip, he continued, “I do hope young Leif liked the church yesterday? He’s a very… difficult… boy to decipher. I must say, your letters didn’t quite do him justice.” The lord of Ecliptus still didn’t think that the boy had looked him in the eye once, although over breakfast this morning he had given a rather elaborate breakdown on the hunting habits of kestrel falcons.

Cateline sighed as she lowered her goblet from her lips. “I don’t think he disliked the church. When he’s very upset about something, he makes no effort to hide it, no matter whom he might be offending. But you’re right - he’s hard to read. Hard to describe as well. And to be honest, you’ve seen him nearly at his tamest; he hasn’t thrown one of his fits yet.” She hoped it would remain that way, but that was often a futile emotion with Leif. “I don’t understand it - Richard and I - even the other children - have done everything in our power to discourage this behavior. But it keeps getting worse, like he’s deliberately fighting us. I’m losing patience fast.” She paused to take another sip of wine.

“Willful children are a true test of faith from the Woo above,” Basil said. “But he only sends us challenges he knows we can face, dear cousin. And I think you’re doing the best that you can, circumstances considered.” He nodded sagely. “And at least Stefan and Henry seem to have shaped up into fine young men. Have you decided yet at which college Stefan’s going to study magic? I know it must be a difficult choice…”

Over the next hour, the conversation proceeded into a meandering exchange wherein Cateline and Basil alternately gloated about and disparaged their respective children as if they had to outdo each other in pride and misery both. They made slow but steady work of the pitcher of wine, and Basil was about to call for a replacement when rather hurried footsteps sounded outside the door. Basil’s eyes snapped toward it just as a knight paused in the doorway, bowing his head as he waited for permission to enter.

“Sir Quidel.” Basil’s heart chilled as he realized that this was one of the men whom he’d sent out with his and Cateline’s children. “Is everything quite alright?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Quidel, hesitantly. “That is to say, the children are fine. However, there was an… incident out in the market.”

“An incident?” Basil echoed, standing sharply. “Toward them or by them?”

“By them, my lord.” Quidel sighed. “There was a… spell. I’m not entirely sure who cast it, between Lady Malenna and Lord Stefan. Nor what they were attempting to do with it.”

“What do you know?” Basil demanded.

“It did not quite go as they planned,” Quidel said. “The spell arced wide. It hit a jeweler’s cart.” A mournful pause. “Or at least, what was a jeweler’s cart. Now, I think, it’s little more than a heaping pile of splinters and ash.”

“Oh - oh ’Woo,” Cateline choked, her hand rising to her mouth. “Was anyone hurt? And the jewels on the cart - were they damaged?” Her heart was racing with horror and anger - if they had hurt anyone - or if they’d damaged the merchant’s goods - ‘Woo above, a jeweler, it couldn’t have been a baker or a fish merchant or someone whose goods were equally easy to replace - “What in the world were they thinking?”

Remembering that the knight had already implied that he didn’t have the answer to the last question, at least, Cateline snapped, “Bring them here - all of them. We are getting to the bottom of this right now, and so help whichever of them cast that spell!”

“No one was hurt,” Quidel said. “But the jewels were… let’s just say damaged would be an understatement, my lady.” He turned. “I’ll fetch them for you now.”

Quidel disappeared back into the hallway, and the sitting room plunged in a terse silence as Basil and Cateline waited for his return. When he arrived back a few minutes later, the children he led rather looked as if they were participating in a funeral march. Wynn Cressida had his arms crossed and a scowl written on his face, while Aileen stood with her chin tucked against her chest, lacking the courage to meet her father’s seething glare. Malenna, meanwhile, was chewing on her lip as she alternately flitted her gaze between Basil and Stefan Accipiter-- the latter of whom she looked about ready to throttle. Stefan, for his part, was scowling at everyone and everything except his mother and Basil. Henry was close behind, arms crossed and expression uncharacteristically grim. The Accipiter heir glanced to his side, seemed surprised not to find anyone there, and looked around until he found Leif trying to hover near the door. With an agitated huff, he gestured broadly for Leif to come join them. The boy took about two steps closer; he was already cringing. If Leif had been allowed to carry a wand at his age, Cateline would have turned the interrogation on to him for that guilty look alone, but as it was - she fixed her glare on Stefan and Malenna.

“There is a destroyed jeweler’s cart and merchandise in the street. You destroyed no doubt hundreds of runestones worth of property.” Her voice shook with anger. “What in the ‘Pit were the two of you doing?”

“I tried to stop them,” Wynn insisted, bowing his head. “I--”

“Quiet,” Basil snapped over him. “Clearly we were wrong about trusting you and Lord Henry to properly mind the younger ones. We shan’t make that mistake again.” He looked behind Wynn, to Malenna, and pointed at the floor beneath him as though he were calling for a dog. “Come here, Malenna.”

The girl obliged, albeit hesitantly, still never daring to meet her father’s gaze as she shuffled to where he stood. Once she reached him, she could only wince as he shot out a hand and curled his fingers around her wrist, and with his other hand snatched her wand out from its holster.

“It wasn’t me, Father,” she murmured, knowing better than to attempt to snatch it back. “I was arguing with Stefan, and I apologize for that, but the spell, it wasn’t me--”

“It wasn’t you?” Stefan sneered. “Well, it certainly wasn’t me!”

Cateline’s glare flicked their way, and Henry said quickly, “Let her talk, Stefan; you’ll get a chance in a minute, I’m sure.” Stefan hmphed and crossed his arms.

Cateline hadn’t thought she could get any angrier - but now one of them was lying? “Henry - which of them did this?”

Henry bit his lip. “Ah...I - I don’t know, Mother. The two of them fell to the back of the group; I thought they were just talking. The next thing I knew, there was a merchant’s cart blowing apart, and Stefan and Malenna had disappeared somewhere.”

“Wynn?” Basil asked, reaching behind him to set Malenna’s wand down on the table. “Who’s lying?”

“I didn’t see who cast the spell, Father,” Wynn admitted, his voice the perfect measure of respect and neutrality. “However, I do know that Malenna is the first one who raised her voice.”

“Because he was being a cad!” Malenna hissed, grimacing as Basil’s fingers tightened around her wrist. “I argued with him-- that’s all. He was insisting that women can’t be as strong of mages as men can be, and that anything I could do would be pathetic compared to anything he could do, and--” She shook her head, a heated flush now stippling her cheeks. “I argued with him, and I apologize for that, but I didn’t cast the spell that hit the cart. That was Stefan. All Stefan.”

“The spell that hit the cart?” Basil snapped. “But you did cast a spell? And remember, Malenna, that I can check.” He patted his own wand, holstered at his belt. “All it will take is a simple prior incanto.”

“I did cast a spell,” she said, deflating. “But not the one that hit the cart. I was careful with mine. Unlike him.” Craning her neck, she shot an ill-advised glower back toward Stefan, which only earned her a pinched ear as Basil dragged her head back forward.

“No, mine was fine - yours is - “

“Stefan!” Cateline snapped. “Be quiet!” Her eyes snapped toward the youngest children. “Leif. Aileen. What did you see?”

Leif frowned and glanced up, though his gaze eventually fixed on something on the wall instead of any of the people around them. A phoenix painting - of course, it was always a bird, even in a situation as dire as this.

Before Cateline could insist he look her way, the boy actually answered her question. “Nothin’. But they were fighting. Regina would’ve punched you,” he informed Stefan, with a brief glance at his older brother’s shoulder.

“What’s Regina got to do with anything?” Stefan scoffed. “Besides, I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant - “

Henry nudged Stefan’s arm and gave him a pointed look. Stefan gritted his teeth but fell silent again; Cateline looked to Aileen expectantly. Please let this one be of some help.

No such luck. “I’unno,” Aileen murmured, her gaze still planted on the floor. “Leif was showing me a raven that was sitting on top of a roof. I didn’t even notice them arguing.” She dared brighten. “Did you know that ravens can recognize peoples’ faces?”

“So terribly relevant to the situation at hand, yes,” Basil drawled. “So. We have Malenna saying Stefan did it, Stefan saying Malenna did it, and no one who can definitively affirm or deny either of them, other than to say that Malenna started the initial argument. Lovely.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Father--” Malenna started.

But Basil cut her off. “Be silent.” He glanced toward Stefan. “Do you promise me, young man, that you did not cast that spell? In the end, after all, it’s a lord’s word that’s must be held as truth.”

Stefan’s brow furrowed a touch, but he nodded. “I wouldn’t be so sloppy with my spellcasting, or so reckless. It wasn’t me.”

Basil nodded shortly, dropping Malenna’s wrist. The girl let out an immediate sigh of relief, but such a move was premature: only a moment later, her father had raised his arm and backhanded her, hard, across the cheek. She let out a startled gasp and stumbled, just barely managing to keep from falling. Once she righted herself, for good measure Basil smacked her again.

From the corner of her eye Cateline saw Leif outright flinch, actually looking away from the phoenix painting. Henry’s expression was stern but otherwise blank and he glanced away; beside him, Stefan seemed startled, eyes going wide - but he, too, controlled himself, taking a quick breath and pressing his lips into a thin, stern line. Their surprise didn’t startle Cateline any; physical punishment was a rarity in the Accipiter household, almost unheard of.

They would need to get used to it. The way they’d grown up wasn’t the way everyone else had, and Cateline trusted that Basil knew what was best for his children. Certainly something had to be done about such irresponsible magic use.

“I expect better from you, Malenna,” Basil said. “Both in your initial behaviour and in that you lied to me after the fact. That is not becoming conduct for a noble lady. Do you think they’ll tolerate that sort of tomfoolery in House Jade?” The girl’s sixteenth birthday, and thus her nuptials to Roderick Jade, were less than a year away. “I never want to see such blatant disrespect and impropriety from you again. Ever. Is that understood?”

From the way Malenna’s jaw was clenched, and her light eyes smoldering with disbelief, it was clear that she wanted to argue more. Wanted to insist yet again that it hadn’t been her who’d cast the spell-- and that it was ridiculous for Basil to believe Stefan Accipiter, whom he hardly even knew, over his own daughter simply because Stefan was a male, and she wasn’t.

But the girl knew better. Her cheek already throbbed, and she had no intention of earning herself any additional smacks.

So instead of snarling, she simply lowered her head. “Yes, Father,” she murmured. “I understand. I apologize for arguing with Lord Stefan, and for casting that s-spell.”

“As for you, Stefan,” Cateline said, and to her grim satisfaction her second-eldest turned to her with a brief look of alarm. “Lady Malenna may have hit the cart, but you had no business casting a spell that destructive in a crowded city, either! You’re in line to take the position of House Mage, Stefan - are you really so eager to show everyone in Corvus that you have the responsibility of a child with all that power? What do you think your father would say?”

Stefan glowered down at his boots. “Not to misuse magic.”

“He’d say a lot more than that - and he will when we get back to Raylier and he’s told about this incident! Not to mention your appalling behavior - whether she started the argument or not, a gentleman does not continue an argument with a lady! You certainly don’t get into a dueling competition with one! If you had taken charge of the situation and calmed her down, or gotten Henry or Wynn involved, none of this would have happened!”

“Yes, Mother - you’re right. That’s what I should have done.” Stefan’s expression was not quite readable. He glanced around at the others, narrowing his eyes at Leif when he saw the younger boy scowling in his direction, but was quick to focus back on his mother once Leif’s gaze had darted away.

“Both of you will be coming with Lady Cateline and me to apologize to the jeweler whose wares you destroyed,” Basil said flatly. “And Malenna, I want a scroll from you by this evening, using verses from the Book of Woo, about the pratfalls of lying and disobedience. Until it’s done, you’ll receive no food or drink.”

“You as well, Stefan - your passages can be about self-control and the responsibilities of a mage, since you seem sorely lacking in both of those subjects,” Cateline snapped.

“You are all dismissed now,” Basil said. “And Woo help any of you who causes any more mischief today.”

“M-may I have my wand back, Father?” Malenna murmured, as Wynn and Aileen started toward the door, clearly eager to escape the unpleasant atmosphere as quickly as possible.

“You may not.” Basil’s voice was thin. “As I said, you are dismissed, Malenna. Go.”

Wordlessly, Malenna obliged, and with a glance at Cateline, who gave him a stiff nod, Henry motioned for the others to leave as well. Leif all but scampered to the door. Stefan started to go, but Cateline said, “Wait a moment, Stefan - your wand as well.” She held out her hand. “I trust I don’t need to explain why.” Stefan said absolutely nothing; after a moment, he turned around, handed her his wand, and then headed briskly for the door, shoving his hands into his pockets.

This delay put him, and Malenna reaching the door at the same time. Stefan paused and made a stiff motion for the girl to go first, glaring out into the hall the entire time.

“Why did you lie?” she hissed into his ear as she brushed past him. “You got me hit.”

“I didn’t know that,” Stefan growled back imperiously, glaring at her with obvious annoyance. He looked like he might have wanted to say more, but he glanced back at the adults and seemed to decide to restrain himself.

“Go to the ’Pit,” the girl snapped, before with a final glower she hurried her pace, soon catching up to her siblings and the other Accipiter boys.

Back in the sitting room, with the children gone, Basil let out a heavy sigh. “Woo,” he groused, turning toward Cateline, “what ever did we do to deserve such disobedient wretches?”

“I don’t know,” Cateline said tartly, “but whatever it is, I think we’ve paid our dues by now. ‘Woo above, how hard is it to go into a city and not cause trouble for a few hours?!”

“Malenna’s lucky she’s too old for me to tan her hide,” Basil huffed. “Although you wouldn’t know it from the way she acted today.” Frowning, the lord of Ecliptus dropped back down into his chair, his eye falling toward the nearly empty wine pitcher still set upon the table. “I think,” he said dourly, “that we deserve another carafe, no?”

“I think we need another,” Cateline agreed, rubbing her temples as she retook her seat. “And I thought Leif was going to be the only one giving me trouble. Aside from his spats with his sister, Stefan is usually much better-behaved.”

“Malenna, too,” Basil said. “And trying to lie to me? That’s something I expect from my three-year-old, not my fifteen-year-old. And Woo, even then, I think little Grace might already know better.” He rubbed his suddenly-throbbing temple. “I’m terrified to even learn how much it’ll cost to compensate that jeweler.”

“Why would they even think of aiming a spell at a jeweler’s cart?” Cateline bemoaned. “It’s lucky nobody was injured - can you imagine the cost of that as well?” She shook her head. “I’ll speak with Richard and see if an arrangement can’t be made for us to cover a portion of the cost as well - seeing as Stefan was moronic enough to cast the spell as well. I ought to have left him and Leif in Raylier; forget Leif seeing the church, I could have come here to take a preliminary look myself.”

“Don’t beat yourself up any, dear cousin,” Basil said soothingly. “We can hardly hold ourselves responsible for the misdeeds of our insolent children. How about I go fetch a servant and see about them refilling that wine? And with any fortune, we’ll have no more problems with any of our kids for the rest of your blessed stay.”

A Family of Faith: Epilogue

SPOILER: Click to show

The next morning, Basil and Cateline dragged two very dour-faced teenagers to Ecliptus’s central marketplace to apologize to the jeweler whose cart they’d destroyed, during which Basil also quietly compensated the man-- and then some-- for the loss of his wares. It was not exactly how Basil had wanted to spend his cousin’s last morning on his estate, but Malenna and Stefan’s actions had left him with little choice. The lord only felt lucky that the jeweler was an agreeable sort of fellow, who accepted the bulging sachet of runestones with a bow and a thin smile, and demanded no further justice be meted against the hooligans who’d obliterated his crafts.

A light lunch at Ecliptus Castle followed shortly thereafter, and then it was time to see Cateline and her children back off to Raylier. The castle’s grooms had spent that morning preparing the Accipiter horses, and the wooden carriage gleamed beneath the bright afternoon sun as it waited in the front courtyard, nearby to the gates.

“I wish you the safest of travels, cousin,” the Cressida lord said to Cateline, smiling warmly at her. “And I do hope we’ll be able to meet again soon. I’ve so enjoyed having this chance to catch up with you.”

“As did I,” Cateline said with a similar expression in return. “It had been far too long; we’ll have to find ways to see each other in person more often, especially now that the twins are old enough not to need me around constantly. I’m sure we’ll need to come see the church another time or two, at least, before Leif comes of age to start in the priesthood.”

“My home is always open to you, Cateline,” Basil replied, before sparing a glance toward his cousin’s three children, who stood at her flank. “It has been nice getting to know you boys better, as well. And if you’ve any questions about the church, Lord Leif, that occur to you after you’ve left, just send a letter my way, and I’ll be pleased to answer them for you.”

“Okay,” Leif muttered. “...Lord Basil,” he added quickly.

Henry, his smile starting off only a little tight, said, “It was good to get to meet you, Lord Basil. Thank you for extending your hospitality to us.”

He gave Stefan a pointed look, and the dark-haired Accipiter said, “And I’m sorry Malenna and I caused trouble in the city.” Leif made a noise like a snort, scuffing at the ground with his boot; Stefan’s fingers twitched but otherwise, he didn’t react.

“Yes, well, I’m sure that neither of you will ever make such a spectacular lapse in judgment again,” Basil said wryly. He looked back to Cateline. “Please, send me a pigeon when you’ve made it back to Raylier safe and sound. Just so I won’t worry any.”

“Of course, Basil,” Cateline said warmly. “And I’ll send you a letter as soon as I can regarding the financial situation.”

“You are most gracious, Cateline,” Basil returned, and with that he opened the carriage door, offering his hand to his cousin to help her inside. “Until we meet again,” he said.

“Until then. Give Astra my best.” Cateline accepted her cousin’s hand, and the Accipiter boys piled in after her. Cateline looked sadly out the window as the carriage started off, leaving her cousin and his castle to fade into the distance.

“Well,” Henry said, clearly trying to break the awkward silence, “now we’ve seen Ecliptus. Certain...incidents aside, what did you think?”

Stefan frowned, but said nothing. Surprisingly, it was Leif who spoke, even as he pulled his feet up onto the bench and scooted into the corner. “I wanted to see the hawks.”

“...The hawks?”

“Lord Basil said Wynn had hawks. I wanted to see the hawks,” Leif repeated.

Cateline had to resist the urge to rub her temples. Not even five minutes on the road and already, this again. “Leif, you’re too young to be around hawks.”

“I was just gonna look.”

“I can’t trust you not to sneak into the aviary,” Cateline pointed out. “Why would I trust you wouldn’t try to - to pet the hawks?”

“Hawks don’t like getting pet!”

Cateline gave up. “Fine. There wasn’t time to see the hawks. Maybe if you come back for another look at the church. What did you think of it, Leif?”

“Sounds like there’s a lot of people.”

“...Yes, that’s the idea - there are more people to give guidance in the way of the ‘Woo here.”

“But…”

Cateline sighed. ‘Woo above, it was going to be a very long trip home.

[Shinko]

A collab with Tiger, who wants some more Cailia? 8D In this episode Cai gets to visit Ophee in Nid'aigle, meet Sieg, and have lots of cutes. Enjoy!

Sweet As Honey: Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

“You know, it figures that the rain slacks off now that we’re finally almost there,” Ophelia remarked, glancing skywards with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. The road between Kolanth and Nid’aigle was a long one, but with borrowed elven horses she and her companion had been able to make the trip in relatively good time. Halfway into the ride the summer sky had opened up on them, pelting the travellers with rain. Fortunately they’d both lived in Corvus long enough to guess that might happen, and both were wearing oiled raincloaks.

Still, as the steady drizzle of water through the leaves overhead lessened to an occasional drip of lingering moisture, Ophelia couldn’t really be upset. This time last year the forest had been almost dead, everything from the grass up through the tops of the canopy parched and seared. Four years of drought did a lot to make a person more willing to tolerate the annoyance of a sudden rainshower.

Cai, who had spent around half of his life in a place dry enough to make the previous year’s drought uncomfortably familiar, was also not very bothered by the downpour. He briefly tipped his hood back to empty water from the wrinkles of the fabric, and remarked, “Well, perhaps it was better that it rained now instead of waiting until later; storms don’t make the best sightseeing accompaniment. ...Though I suppose the horses might have preferred it hold off.” He patted the neck of his mount, who snorted lightly. “How close is ‘almost there’, while we’re on the subject?” Cai asked.

“In another fifteen minutes you should start seeing the buildings,” she replied. “Or well, they’ll be in line of sight anyway- you won’t necessarily notice them since they’re covered in plants so they blend in with the forest. But I’ll point them out for you, I prom-”

She cut herself off abruptly, pulling back on her mount’s reins as a figure wearing leather armor over a hooded surcoat cleverly patterned to mimic the dappling of the forest canopy stepped out into their path. The newcomer’s face was hidden behind the visor of a helm over his hood, and they were far enough away to make it near impossible to discern any details about them.

“A sentry,” Ophelia muttered to Cai quickly, before addressing the newcomer in Elvish. Whatever she’d said didn’t seem to impress the sentry much, because they very slowly reached a hand towards the hilt of a sword on their belt.

Cai frowned, pulling his horse to a stop as well. He didn’t quite reach for his own weapon - the large knife used by fireknights, who were limited in the blade-lengths they could use by their mounts’ wingspan - as he suspected that would only made the situation worse, but Cai did take shift his horse’s reins to one hand just in case. “May I ask what is so troubling that it requires swords?” Though he knew from Ophelia that very few elves spoke Kythian, it was probably safer and certainly more polite to at least attempt to speak to the sentry directly.

The sentry jerked their head as if in dismissal. Then, speaking in an oddly low, gravelly voice, they replied, “Stranger. Don’t know you. Have pass?”

“Pass?” Ophelia repeated, quirking an eyebrow. “Since when do visitors need a pass?”

“New rule, last week,” the sentry retorted, though there was now an oddly strangled quality to his voice. Ophelia’s eyes widened, and she relaxed almost instantly, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, forgive me,” she said, smirking. “I must not have been keeping proper tabs on these things. Hm, whatever shall I do?”

Cai, at Ophelia’s tone, glanced her way. She seemed to be oddly casual about this whole thing - like it was a joke. But the sentry didn’t sound like he was joking, near as Cai could tell. Then again… “That rule seems to have come into effect oddly fast. Surely some notice ought to have been given to those currently outside the city?”

“You would think,” Ophelia remarked dryly.

Cai frowned; inefficient bureaucracy or not, if this was a new rule… He looked to Ophelia. “I don’t know - should I wait here and you go on ahead?”

“I think you’re fine, Cai,” she said, dismounting from her horse. “Give me just a moment, I’m sure I can convince our friend over there to see reason.”

She walked over to the sentry, who oddly made no move to defend himself or step away. As she drew closer, it became apparent that the armor clad figure was actually quite short- a full head shorter than Ophelia. Once she was close enough, Ophelia yanked his helmet off and gave the man a hard shove. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time, you blockhead?”

The sentry put up his hands over his head defensively, laughing as he pulled back his hood. The face that was revealed was one remarkably like Ophelia’s in shape, framed by near identical curly black locks. But where the half-elf woman had dark blue eyes, this man’s eyes were bright amber, and there were scars on his chin and across his neck.

“C’mon, Phee, sentry duty is dull and monotonous like you would not believe- and it was maddening I couldn’t have off so I could meet your guest when he arrived, so I figured this was the best compromise.”

Cai, who was not the most adept at handling surprises outside of combat or animal-related situations, had frozen for a moment when Ophelia went to confront the guard directly. He’d expected arguing, not her pulling off his helmet - and certainly not for the sentry to find it so amusing.

But logic and memory caught up to him within a decent amount of time, and Cai dismounted his horse as well to approach the two. “This is your brother, I presume, Ophelia?” Cai asked, noting the similarities in their hair, as well as the length and pointedness of their ears - Ophelia had told him that full-blooded elves had much longer ears even than she did, but Sieg’s were actually shorter.

“...I admit, Sir, this is not how I expected to meet you.” Cai extended his hand to the half-elf, brushing aside worries that keeping Cai out of the city - and away from his sister - was not quite just a joke. That made no sense from what Cai had been told about him, and certainly Ophelia wouldn’t stand for it. “Cai Shahar.”

“Sieg Braham,” the man replied with good cheer, accepting the offered hand and shaking it. “And yes, unfortunately for the poor thing, I’m Ophee’s brother. Sorry about the prank, the opportunity was just too good to pass up. I hope you won’t be too sore at me, I’ve been looking forward to finally meeting you.”

“Serve you right if he was sore at you,” Ophelia retorted, swatting her brother on the back of his head.

“It’s all right,” Cai said, though a touch of tension went out of his posture. “So long as we don’t need to leap through any hoops just to get me through the gates, I’ll be content. And thank you, I’m glad to hear you’ve been looking forward to this as well. I hope I’ll satisfy any expectations you have of me.” He smiled lightly.

Sieg smiled. “As long as Ophee is happy, you and I will have no issues, I assure you.” He gave a dramatic flourish in the direction that Ophelia and Cai had been heading. “Much though I would love to chat and start getting to know you now, I am on duty so I’d best get back to my patrols. But I’ll catch you both later? Phee, you’re still planning to swing by the house for dinner, right?”

“Of course, so you’d best have the food ready when we get there,” she replied with mock severity.

“I will do endeavor not to disappoint,” Sieg said. “See you this evening… Sir Shahar? Cai? I’m not sure what you’d prefer.”

“Cai is fine - I’m not here on duty, after all, and ‘Sir Shahar’ is a bit of a mouthful over a dinner table. Thank you for the hospitality.” Now Cai felt rather foolish for his earlier worries. Well - better that than being proven right, he thought. The fireknight brushed those thoughts aside. “Whenever you’re ready, Ophelia.”

The half-elf woman nodded, returning to where they’d left their horses and remounting. Sieg gave them a cheerful salute, remarking, “Enjoy the city, Cai,” before melting almost seamlessly back into the forest, fading from sight.

“Sorry about him,” Ophelia said sheepishly. “He really meant no harm- teasing just sort of runs in my family.”

“That’s all right - I ought to have expected something of the sort, you do your fair share of teasing me,” Cai replied with a smile in Ophelia’s direction. “I’m relieved it was only a trick and not truly a last-minute change to how visitors enter the city. ...I hope I didn’t seem offended?”

“If you did, it’s only because that would be the most ridiculous change in the world to make, especially on such short notice. Don’t worry about it.” She sat up suddenly on her horse’s back, and pointed excitedly. “There, look, you can see the buildings!”

Cai followed the direction of her pointing, rising slightly in the saddle to see more clearly. It took him a long moment to find the buildings in question, and then only because he knew what he was looking for. “Oh! They are well-camouflaged - but they’re impressive! It must take a great deal of careful tending to keep the plants from compromising the structure, I imagine?”

She smiled. “It’s definitely a full time job. There are elf gardeners who have that responsibility, as well as tending to the shrubbery in the rest of the city. But it’s worth it, in my opinion. The naturalistic look is beautiful, and totally unlike anything you’ll see anywhere else. The city looks like it grew up out of the forest instead of being built around it.”

“It really does,” Cai said appreciatively, lowering back into the saddle for the horse’s sake. “It looks to have recovered quickly from the drought - I know I can’t compare from personal experience, but none of it looks weak or wilted at all.”

“During the drought, the buildings were almost bare,” Ophelia admitted. “That foliage had last priority for water. But the gardeners have been working like fiends all spring to get the city looking beautiful again. I have to hand it to them, they do good work. I imagine there might be a little magic involved in the speed of the recovery, but still… magic can only do so much with unfavorable conditions.”

She glanced sideways at Cai with a smile. “And this year is the first time in the past three where the bees in the orchards have been able to produce enough honey for… certain events.” She grinned. “Or did you think I insisted on this particular two weeks of time for you to come to the city at random?”

“...Oh - I thought it corresponded to a break in your schedule, actually. I suppose I stand corrected.” Cai tilted his head. “What events do you mean? I can’t think of anything specific involving honey off the top of my head…”

Ophelia’s smile widened. “In three days it will be June 21st. What happens on June 21st, Cai?”

“Er...the first day of summer, I believe?”

Ophelia laughed, nudging her horse closer so she could reach out and give Cai a one-armed hug. “It’s the summer solstice- midsummer’s day. You mean to tell me you’ve never gone to a solstice festival in Solis, Cai?”

“...Oh.” Cai reached up to set his hand on top of Ophelia’s. “I think I’ve been to one before, but I’m ordinarily not very partial to festivals - not without proper company, anyway.” He smiled at the half-elf. “But I take it an elven solstice festival will be different from a Solis one?”

“Very,” she replied cheerfully. “Our midsummer festival is a celebration of life and fertility. It revolves around honey- lots and lots of honey. I think I’ve mentioned elvish honey wine to you? There will be that, as well as honey rolls, honey cakes, vegetables boiled and drizzled with honey, meat that’s been marinated in or glazed with honey, even these little rock candies made of crystallized honey. You name it, it’ll be there, on a big buffet table for all the city to indulge.”

“It sounds like quite a feast. And I do remember you mentioning elvish honey wine. ...I believe in the context of needing to take care around it?”

“It doesn't take a lot of it to get a person very, very drunk,” she admitted with a crooked smile. “It’s delicious, but very strong. Though it will be flowing in plenty during the festival- midsummer is one of the few times during the year when the elves have a celebration that is meant to be fun and not somber. So… it’s very loose.” Glancing aside she added. “Since it’s a fertility celebration, a lot of it is geared towards… reinforcing romantic bonds. There’s lots of singing of love songs, and games for people to play as a couple, or to compete against a partner in.”

“Aah, I see.” So it was a romantic festival - and Ophelia had invited Cai, specifically, for this exact occasion? A very warm feeling swooped through him. “It sounds fun,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Certainly a festival where even the notoriously stoic elves enjoy themselves must be interesting, and given how much we enjoy non-couple-oriented festival together, I think one built around the idea of us doing things together ought to be very entertaining. ...I can’t promise I’ll sample the wine, but I suppose we’ll see.”

The half-elf brightened. “I had hoped you would like the idea, but I wanted to save it for a surprise when you got here. I… usually do drink a little, but if you’d prefer otherwise that’s fine.”

“Don’t let me stop you - I generally don’t enjoy being drunk, that’s the only reason I’m holding off. If having the wine is part of the fun of the festival for you, then please - partake and enjoy it.” Cai smiled in Ophelia’s direction.

Ophelia giggled. “If you’re sure. Though I daresay my being a bit tipsy will be fun for you too, so it’s a win-win.” She winked. “Now let’s get these horses put up and, and we can start the tour- where would you like to see first?”

“Well, I would like to see the eleven-bred animals at some point, but considering we have a dinner appointment to keep...perhaps the orchards? You said the bees were there; as long as we’re not in too much danger of being stung, it would be interesting to see where the festival’s honey is coming from. And parts of the orchard were being regrown after the fire last year, yes? I’m curious as to how that’s being done…”

***

Later that night, Ophelia brought Cai to the house where she and Sieg had grown up. Ophelia no longer lived there herself, but it had a good deal more space for cooking and having a decent sized dinner party, so it was a better choice for their arranged meeting with Sieg.

When Cai and Ophelia got there, Sieg had cleaned, changed into casual clothes, and put together a decent meal for the three of them. The meal consisted of some fried catfish, a loaf of rye bread with some wedges of cheese to put on it when it was sliced, and a mushroom soup. Sieg, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepishly smiled.

“Sorry, it’s not fancy. I’m not much of a cook- but ten years of bachelordom has taught me a few tricks. I hope it’ll be alright.”

“I’ve never had reason to complain at a dinner table,” Cai said, “and I certainly see no reason to start now; it looks delicious, Sieg.” He pulled a chair out for Ophelia, letting her sit, which she did with an amused smile, before taking a seat for himself. “How long did this take you? I imagine there wasn’t very much time between the end of your shift and now?”

Sieg waved a hand dismissively, sitting down himself. “The bread I picked up at the bakery on the way home, and the soup has been simmering over the fireplace since this morning when I left. All I really had to prepare when I got home was the fish. I actually just finished that and was putting it out when you knocked.”

“Speaking of your shift, anything exciting happen?” Ophelia asked. Sieg sighed, shaking his head mournfully.

“Not after you both left. Just lots of walking circles in the forest and staring at the same few trees and bushes,” he looked to Cai, tilting his head curiously. “I imagine a patrol circuit would be a bit more interesting if you were miles up into the sky on a pheonix?”

“Well, I would never call one boring,” Cai admitted. “Having to stay on a bird’s back takes some concentration. But you can grow accustomed to the view after a long enough time on the same route. And people tend to behave themselves when they see a phoenix, so even trouble can be a bit hard to come by. That’s for the best, of course, but it leaves interesting stories involving patrols few and far between.”

“That makes sense,” Sieg agreed. He took a bite of some of the fish, seeming to be groping mentally for something else to talk about. Noticing this, Ophelia leaned forwards, putting her chin in her hand.

“The phoenixes make up for boring patrols by being anything but boring when you get them back to their mews,” she remarked, with a crooked smile. “Cai did you ever work out exactly what was going on when Mirja and Tamir decided to shove us into one another?”

Cai blinked, pausing with a spoonful of soup hovering over his bowl. “Ah...well...I might have a theory? I asked around a little like I said I would, and... well, nobody said they’d seen it before, but they did seem rather amused by the situation. It occurred to me eventually that, well...phoenixes are good at reading people. Maybe they were able to read things we hadn’t even realized ourselves yet, and were just...ah, hurrying things along?” He smiled sheepishly. “Which I guess explains why they were so surprised when I acted as if they were being aggressive. ...I like to think everytime they see us, they give each other knowing, satisfied looks like the devious matchmakers they apparently are.”

Sieg choked on a laugh, and Ophelia blinked for a moment before laughing as well and covering her face. “Ah Woo, that would make sense wouldn’t it?” she admitted. “And come to think, you told me Tamir was rather stand-offish by phoenix standards, but he seemed to warm up to me pretty quickly considering that.”

“I suppose the birdy didn’t want to make his handler upset by being brusque with said handler’s girlfriend. Could’ve been worse, I suppose. They could’ve tried to get you two together by dumping raw meat into Cai’s lap and then shoving him at Ophee, since I understand a lot of birds use food as a means of courtship.”

“And phoenixes would be on that list,” Cai agreed. “I haven’t seen courting phoenixes myself, but supposedly that’s how you know a male’s taken an interest in one of the females; one lady phoenix suddenly starts gaining weight, and a male starts trying to hide the treats his rider gives him rather than eating them - presumably so he can take them to someone else’s stall later. Evidently laying an egg is hungry work.” After finally eating his spoonful of soup, Cai added, “And yes, Tamir did warm up to you much faster than I thought he would, Ophelia - Sieg could be right, he might have known you were going to be a very important friend to make.”

“Yes well I’m not going to be laying any eggs in the near future,” Ophelia remarked dryly. “So you don’t need to stuff me, I promise.”

“That is not a mental image I needed,” Sieg remarked with a crooked smile. The expression turned more sincere as he added, “though I’m glad your phoenix counts Phee an important friend. If he picked that up from you, clearly you care about Phee a lot, which she deserves.”

“She does,” Cai agreed. “And, awkward as it was at the time, I’m glad he - and Mirja, I wonder what got her in on it - acted on it.” Granted, it had led to their first fight - or the closest thing to it, anyway - but it had pushed Cai into letting down his walls a little, a thing their relationship had needed. Suspecting that would not make good dinner conversation, however, he merely said, “Let it never be said that phoenixes aren’t brave. Even on behalf of others who don’t necessarily realize they need to be.”

Ophelia smiled. “I am grateful to the phoenixes for helping us get together, even before we realized we wanted to. I was a little disappointed Tamir couldn’t come with you, but it makes sense, I suppose. We don’t really have the means to accommodate a phoenix here. I guess we can’t depend on them to hold our hands all the time, hm?”

“I’d say you’ve done pretty well even without the phoenixes, to keep a relationship like this going for two years when you’re so far apart,” Sieg remarked, taking a moment to eat more of his fish before adding, “I never see Ophee as excited as she is when she’s about to leave for Solis.”

“The distance certainly makes us appreciate the times when we are in the same place,” Cai said with a smile in Ophelia’s direction. “It’s not always easy, but it’s been more than worth it.” Looking back at Sieg, he added, “I am sorry to steal your sister away from you for such long periods of time; I know she misses you while she’s in Solis.”

Sieg smiled crookedly. “I just want her to be happy. If with you is how she finds happiness, I can cope with that. It would be awfully selfish of me to try and pin her down here.”

“Sieg…” Ophelia said softly, an odd expression on her face, but the shorter half-elf waved a hand dismissively.

“I mean that, Phee, don’t argue with me,” he said tartly. In a more gentle voice he added, “I see the look in your eyes when you get a letter from your gallant fireknight over there.” He winked at Cai. “I’ve never seen her so smitten. The little smile she gets is precious. I wonder if I’ll get to see you smile like that while you’re here? I hope she makes you as happy as you clearly make her.”

“She does,” Cai said instantly. Ophelia smitten with him...it was a very flattering thought. “...And likely, yes, you’ll probably get a chance to see something in my expressions as well. Apparently at some point the men in my wing learned how to tell when I’d gotten a letter from Ophelia, and would hold back on minor things they wanted to take up with me until after I’d had a chance to finish reading. With no small amount of teasing as recompense, of course.”

Ophelia giggled, leaning towards Cai and giving him a one-armed hug. “You’re welcome. Though I do apologize if I’ve instigated a breakdown of discipline in your subordinates.”


Sieg grinned broadly. “The army is like a big family, Phee. Everyone knows everyone else and they pick on each other mercilessly when there is ammunition.”

“Yes, very true,” Cai agreed, putting an arm around Ophelia’s shoulders in turn. “They’re used to me being too quiet to give them much material, so they are especially enjoying this, I think. But they’re still following orders on the battlefield, and so long as that discipline is in place, I’ll endure.” He smiled to make it clear his “endurance” wasn’t that much of an effort or annoyance.

Ophelia shook her head, bemused. “Well you can get revenge on them during training, so I suppose it all evens out.”

“Frankly I’d imagine you’re all glad to have liberty for jokes and teasing, given what last summer was like for you,” Sieg remarked, his expression growing more serious.

“It’s very much a relief,” Cai agreed. “There was not much humor to go around during the drought, and certainly not after our Lieutenant collapsed. There was a very noticeable shift in mood when the rain started to fall again - I imagine it could’ve been the same here? Your summer playing host to the Accipiters sounded anything but enjoyable.”

Sieg smiled again, but there was an odd light in his eyes as he did so. “It was nothing, really. Ophee had a harder time with them than I did, especially when Lord Henry started getting nosey.” An almost chirpy quality entered his voice as he added, “Besides, she had to deal with them all by herself after the fire, so really she deserves condolences and sympathy far more than I do.”

“Well…” Thrown off by the odd tone of Sieg’s voice, Cai glanced toward Ophelia. Her expression was not easy to read, but it was clearly not a happy one. “...I think you both deserve sympathy,” Cai said, looking back at Sieg. “You both had to deal with Lady Accipiter’s rudeness, and the fire sounds like it was especially stressful. Certainly not something you needed on top of everything else.” He spoke carefully, not certain how much he was supposed to know about Sieg’s fear of fire.

“Hm,” Sieg said noncommittally, his expression as placidly pleasant as ever. Seeming to shake off the strange mood he’d fallen into, he said, “Though I imagine that’s a stress you’d know fairly well, what with the sort of creature you ride into battle. Being surrounded on all sides by fire must… take getting used to.”

“It helps that the phoenixes have very precise control,” Ophelia put in. “I’ve watched Tamir light a single feather at a time, crawling up his wing at will.”

Cai, deciding to do as Ophelia did and let the conversation topic change course, nodded in agreement and added, “We also wear fire- and heat-resistant armor, which helps. Though yes, it did take...adjustment.” He didn’t add why; even leaving out his enslavement didn’t make recollections of his life at the refinery appropriate dinner conversation. “Of course,” he said instead, “there’s a lot to get used to besides that. Flying is certainly nothing we wingless people have any natural experience with.”

Sieg chuckled. “I’d imagine not- the closest I’ve ever been to flying is on a horse, and that’s exhilarating enough in it’s own way. I imagine you’ve ridden horses as part of your training, right? You still remember the first time you rode one at full gallop? That’s something else. I can only imagine riding a phoenix is like that, but even more surreal and heart pumping.”

Smiling as he cut a piece of fish, Cai said, “I couldn’t forget the first time I rode a horse if I tried. It was very exhilarating. Very freeing. Flying certainly has its similarities - though the physical acrobatics are less in the heart and more in the stomach, I find. That feeling of drop when you miss a stair where you expect there to be one? It becomes a very constant companion on phoenixback.” Tilting his head, he said, “Speaking of horses - Ophelia’s mentioned you have a warhorse. I know elven animals are supposed to be faster, stronger, smarter, and the like - so what is riding an elven horse like?”

The half-elf knight looked thoughtful. “Like riding a gust of wind, in a lot of ways. They almost seem to fly themselves when they hit top speed. Of course… that’s a gust of wind that is smart enough to make a real nuisance of herself when she wants to.”

Ophelia smirked. “At least Cai doesn’t have any scars on his elbows from when he was first breaking his mount in.”

Sieg groaned, looking amused and exasperated. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh dear - not friendly, is she?”

“Not at first no,” Sieg replied. “She’s… willful I guess is the best way to put it. She’s perfectly amicable now, just… frisky.”

“Maybe you should let Cai meet her for himself?” Ophelia suggested. “He wants to see some of the animals that elves breed- why not start with Freya?”

Sieg chewed a mouthful of soup, thinking it over, then swallowed and smiled. “Well he is trained as a knight, if a different sort of knight, so I’ve no objections to that if he doesn’t.”

“Thank you, I would be very honored to meet her. I’ll keep a respectful distance, for her comfort and my own.”

Sieg smiled. “That’s fair. And I’ll try to keep a firm grip on Freya, though she does have a mind of her own.”

Ophelia pointed an accusatory finger at her brother. “Sieg, if your horse lays a tooth or hoof on my boyfriend-”

“She won’t, relax,” Sieg retorted with amusement. “She doesn’t bite anybody anymore unless I tell her to. I promise, it’ll be perfectly fine.”

Sweet as Honey: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

Ophelia left later that night, but Cai remained at the old Braham house with Sieg. It was an arrangement they’d agreed upon before his arrival- the fireknight felt like it might have been unchivalrous in some way for him to spend the night at Ophelia’s house when no one else was around to chaperon. Sieg directed Cai to the room where he and Ophelia had slept as children, with two single-person beds that the fireknight could choose from. The room seemed spacious to Cai, who was rather accustomed to the tight bunks of the fireknight barracks and, worse still, the slave quarters at the Armels’ refinery. He was careful not to disturb any of the small trinkets around the room, though he did look at them curiously, wondering which were Sieg’s and which might be Ophelia’s.

The following morning, Sieg woke at his usual hour, around dawn. He had off most of the day, though he knew at some point he needed to get in some exercise, but he didn’t want to scarper off to train and leave poor Cai alone in the house. So instead he set about making some porridge in the cauldron over the fire, tossing cheese and mushrooms leftover from the night before into it to give the stuff more flavor.

Cai woke up not much later, similarly accustomed to rising at an early hour regardless of how much travel he had done the previous day. Hearing that Sieg was up, Cai dressed quickly and stepped into the main part of the house. “Good morning. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long?” Glancing at the cauldron, he offered, “If you can point me in the direction of flatware, I can set the table. I’d offer help with the cooking, but it’s entirely possible I’d just make a mess of it; I don’t have much in the way of cooking experience.”

“It’s in the cabinet by the window,” Sieg replied, pointing to the location in question. “And no worries, I just woke up not long ago. Breakfast is leftovers from last night in a porridge, hope you don’t mind. I wanted to use them up before they went bad. Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you,” Cai said as he went to the cabinet. “And that sounds like a perfectly good breakfast to me; it was a good meal last night, and I am anything but a picky eater.” He paused mid-reach for a bowl. “Do you think Ophelia will be joining us? She usually sleeps in some after a trip to Solis, so I would guess it would be a similar situation when she returns here...?”

“Well the road between Kolanth and Nid’aigle is a lot shorter than between Nid’aigle and Solis, but yeah chances are she’ll not be joining us,” Sieg agreed, stirring the contents of the cauldron and moving it off the fire. “Actually, if you like we could take our bowls outside? I don’t know if Ophee showed it to you since it was getting dark, but we’ve a dock behind the house that goes out over the river, and it’s a lovely place to watch the sunrise. It used to be our favorite spot when we were kids.”

“She didn’t get a chance to show me, but she’s mentioned the river quite a few times. I’ve been looking forward to seeing it and I’m sure a sunrise will only make it nicer.” Cai took two bowls and two spoons before carefully closing the cabinet again.

Sieg smiled, accepting the bowls from the fireknight and filling them both with porridge. He handed one back to Cai, then lead him out to the dock behind the Braham house. Stopping just long enough to take off his boots and roll his pants up to the knees, Sieg sat at the edge of the construct and dipped his feet into the water.

“So I suppose Ophee’s told you about the festival coming up?” He asked Cai.

“Yes, she did - it sounds like fun, although I admit I was surprised to find out Ophelia specifically planned for me to be here during it.” He smiled with bemusement, eating a spoonful of porridge. “She waited until after we’d run into you to tell me about it. She certainly enjoys springing surprises on people.”

The half-elf laughed. “That she does. She’s a mischievous minx, always has been. But if she has a foible, it’s not telling people when she wants or needs something. See, there’s a very special, very important part of the tradition of the festival she probably didn’t mention to you- does the phrase ‘La cloche de l'été’ sound at all familiar?”

“Er...no, I’m afraid not. ...Well, I can guess it means “the something of something”, but I would appreciate a more thorough translation.”

“Roughly translated, it means ‘the bell of summer,’” Sieg explained. “They’re a type of flower that’s only found in the forest around Nid’aigle, specifically cultivated by the elves. They have a number of useful properties- for example, the smell they give off is supposed to be a sovereign remedy for headaches and nausea, such as from a hangover. Also, they glow in the dark, just a little bit. But they flowers only bloom for the week before and after midsummer. Nothing anyone has tried can get them to bloom any other time. So they’ve come to be very closely associated with midsummer, and particularly with the festival.”

He stopped talking just long enough to eat some more of his porridge, before continuing. “So the tradition goes that during the festival, a fellow is to go out into the forest and find a patch of these flowers. He weaves them into a crown or a necklace, and then presents it to the object of his affections at midnight.” Sieg winked. “And if you know Ophelia as well as I suppose you probably do, you can guess why she’d not have mentioned any of this.”

Cai paused, his spoon going still in the porridge. “Aah. I imagine she wouldn’t have wanted it to seem like she was trying to nudge me into doing it for her. But I take it you’re telling me because it’s something she would like if I did it for her?” Cai wished Ophelia didn’t feel so unnecessarily guilty about telling him something that would make her happy...but at the same time, he could understand how it might come across merely as fulfilling an obligation. And the thought of surprising Ophelia with the gift did have a curious thrill to it.

“Ophelia likes to pretend otherwise, but she’s got a romantic heart,” Sieg said with a crooked smile. “When we were little, every year when the festival rolled around she would admire the necklaces Papa wove for Mama and enthuse about how one day she’d meet someone who would make one for her. But of course she wouldn’t want to make you feel obligated to do it, nor would it be quite as special if she felt like you were only doing it because she expected it of you.” The half-elf winked. “But I’ve told you now. She doesn’t know that you know and isn’t expecting anything. You can ignore what I’ve said and she’ll not know any different. Or…”

He made a vague gesture, grinning conspiratorially, before taking another bite of his porridge.

“Well, of course I’ll do it,” Cai said with a cheerful sort of certainty. “Now that I know the tradition exists. And that she’s been looking forward to it since she was young.” He pulled his spoon out of the porridge bowl, twirling it to wind up a tail of melted cheese. “I imagine there are rules as to how and when it’s all done?”

Sieg beamed. “I’d hoped you would say that. It’s fairly straightforward. The flowers are small and bell shaped, very bright pink close to the middle and yellow at the tips. Because they glow in the dark, it’s easier to find them after nightfall. On the night of midsummer’s eve- tomorrow night- the men of the city with wives or girlfriends- or who want to make someone their girlfriend- will go out into the forest to find a patch of the flowers. Once they’ve gathered them up, they’ll weave them into a crown or a necklace, then sit them in a bowl of water so they don’t wilt. On midsummer’s day the festival will take place, and at midnight you present the flowers to your loved one.”

Cai nodded. “All right - I can do that.” Looking at the forest contemplatively, he added after a moment’s thought, “I assume the sheer number of people will keep predators leery of getting too close, so I think that leaves losing my way as the most likely problem I’ll run into. Is there any chance I would be allowed to bring along a map and some sort of small light to see by, seeing as I’m not familiar with your woods?”

“There aren’t really maps of the forest, but I could come along, if you wanted,” Sieg offered. “I patrol these woods all the time so I know them like the back of my hand, even in the dark. Or if you prefer to go alone, or for me to distract Phee while you’re busy… well you could always take a cat with you.”

The half-elf grinned. “And no, you did not mishear me. Elven cats are very, very smart and a lot more cooperative with people than normal cats. I should know, I grew up with two of them, though our mother took them with her when she left after… y’know. Anyway, if we’re introducing you to some elven animals today anyway, it won’t arouse any suspicion in Ophee if you befriend one of the stray cats. They understand some spoken commands in Elvish, so all you’d have to do is ask it to ‘suivre-moi’ or ‘follow me’ and then when you’re ready to head back, say ‘accueil’ for ‘home.’”

“...Oh. I didn’t realize cats could be so intelligent. ...Or willing to follow commands. But if they are, then - that’s a good idea. I’d hate to leave Ophelia completely alone. And if you’re distracting her, that gives her less chance to realize what I’m up to,” he added with a smirk. “She will definitely not be suspicious of me befriending a cat; we’ve been joined by a stray cat or two on more than one walk somewhere through town.

“And thank you, Sieg, for telling me all of this. I truly appreciate it, and I know Ophelia will, too.”

“No problem,” the half-elf said cheerfully. “I’m glad to be of help. Ophee’s done more for me than I can every really repay, so of course I want her to be happy. And I certainly wouldn’t want you to feel like you’d missed something when all the flower ornaments turn up. The festival isn’t really geared to cater much to bachelors, but I can help you both to enjoy the festival a little more, that’ll be good enough for my midsummer.”

***

Ophelia leaned against the wooden fence of the paddock where the warhorses of the Nid’aigle company were exercised. Far off in the distance she could see the stables where those horses usually lived. Inside somewhere was her older brother, fetching his mare to introduce to Cai.

However, for the moment she and her boyfriend were alone, and Ophelia decided to take advantage. Leaning sideways towards Cai, the half-elf planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Sleep well?” she asked. “I hope my brother wasn’t too much of a brat.”

“He behaved very admirably,” Cai said, pushing himself up onto the fence so he could put an arm around Ophelia’s shoulders. “And yes, I slept well; I could hear the river flowing past the house when the rest of the noise was soft enough, it was very relaxing. You had a restful night, too, I hope?”

“Slept like a baby after yesterday’s excitement,” she agreed. “The only noises I hear outside my window are cicadas though- not nearly so pleasant. But you get used to it.” She grinned. “Could be worse- I could have loud, feathery alarm clocks in the adjacent building singing joyous carols to the dawn.”

“Well, you get used to that, too,” Cai said with a soft laugh. “I hear they’re far more pleasant than the horns the non-fireknight military bases use. And they’re certainly excited about the new day, which can be nice. ...Other times, less so.” Leaning his head on Ophelia’s shoulder - after kissing her neck - he asked, “Should we try and arrange all having breakfast together on the dock tomorrow? That should be a nice ambiance for everyone, I think.”

“Oh Woo, it’s been ages… I’d like that.” She rested her head on top of his, twining her fingers with Cai’s. “We used to all the time when I was a child, but I can’t honestly remember the last time I’ve sat out on the dock with a meal. I could stop at the bakery on my way there to pick up something for everyone, so Sieg isn’t stuck having to cook all the time?”

As if summoned by his name, in the distance the gate of the stables opened and a small figure astride a blue-black horse emerged.

“That would be nice,” Cai agreed. “I’ll come with you to pick it up, if you like? We ought to be together anyway so it should be easy to arrange.” Hearing the gate open, Cai turned toward the approaching knight and his mount, carefully lifting his legs to swing them over the other side of the fence. “Well, she is a fine horse,” he said appreciatively, leaning forward a little to study the animal as much as he could from the distance. “You called her Freya, right?”

“Yes,” Ophelia replied. “She’s what a horse breeder would call a blue roan. I did some asking around to find out for you exactly how elvish horses differ from normal ones. It’s all subtle, but…” she gestured to Freya as the horse drew closer. “If you look, she has a wider cranium than a normal horse- bigger brain, because she’s smarter. Her chest is more barrel shaped, because she has bigger lungs. And-”

“And she says good morning to you both too!” Sieg called. He seemed to have opted to forgo a saddle for this venture, and was instead riding Freya with nothing more than a rope halter and a saddle blanket.

“Good morning, then, Freya,” Cai said with a smile. “So, smarter because of the larger brain. Bigger lungs would mean more endurance? Or greater speed?”

“Both,” Sieg replied. “Though they are more for the endurance than the speed. One of the big tricks to elven horses crossing distances as fast as they do isn’t the speed itself- though they are very fast- it’s the endurance. While most horses can gallop for a few miles at a time, ours can keep up a gallop for hours without stopping.”

“I noticed that the trip from Kolanth on elvish horses took less time than I expected,” Cai agreed. “Though I would guess the warhorses are bred with even more focus on endurance and intelligence than the ones ridden by civilians?”

“Yes, thought that does come with drawbacks,” Sieg said. “The intelligence in the warhorses gives them a streak of independence and bad temper we’ve never quite been able to get rid of. It can be worked around with proper training, and if you get your horse to like you, but- woah!”

As he was speaking, Freya seemed to take an unexpected amount of interest in the two standing by the fence. Rounding, she trotted towards them, head high and tail flagging.

Cai frowned a little and tilted his head. She was only trotting, and there weren’t any signs he could see of her interest being territorial. Like the cats he had mentioned to Sieg just a few hours earlier, the horse only seemed curious.

All the same, Cai didn’t want to risk upsetting an animal who had just been described as having a bad temper. He remained on the fence, but willed his muscles to relax a little. Nobody needs to be tense here. “I see what you mean about that independent streak,” he remarked to Sieg.

“When she gets an idea in her head she tends to run with it- almost literally,” he agreed dryly. He said something to the horse in Elvish, but if she heard she gave no indication of it. Instead she slowed to a walk, ambling closer to Cai. Her nostrils flared, taking in his scent, and her nose lingered a moment in the air at the level of the fireknight’s belt. Then, she tossed her head and darted forwards, quick as a snake, grabbing something hooked to Cai’s belt and yanking it free before darting to the other side of the paddock. Sieg shouted in surprise and admonishment in Elvish, but the horse only turned, arching her neck proudly and letting the stolen object hang limp- a belt pouch.

Cai looked between the pouch in Freya’s teeth and the torn strap on his belt, his heart beating rapidly from the surprise of the sudden snatching. He’d thought for a second she was attempting to bite him. But no - and what had actually happened made much more sense.

“That’s the pouch I usually keep fruit for Tamir in - it must still smell like food to her,” Cai explained, lowering himself into the paddock. “I don’t suppose she’ll relinquish it on command?”

Ophelia sighed. “It looks like he’s trying to get her to drop it, but I don't think it’s working.” Raising her voice to carry over the distance she called, “Sieg, what’s she doing?”

“Playing keep-away,” he called back. Sure enough, he was trying to reach around the horse’s neck to grab the pouch, but she kept it just out of her rider’s reach. “I think she’s decided to have some fun at your expense, Cai.”

“Well...I can’t go back to Solis without Tamir’s treat-pouch. As long as her game of keep-away doesn’t involve trampling the opponent, I guess I have no choice but to indulge her.” He smiled lightly to keep any sting out of his words; even if the horse was technically causing trouble, it was the playful kind, and that was generally a good sign when it came to animals.

Still, it was with care that Cai approached the horse, his hands out and loose so Freya could see that he wasn’t carrying anything. “All right, Freya - I need that back, or I’m going to have a very sullen phoenix on my hands.” He didn’t expect anything to come of it, but as he started closing the final distance between himself and the warhorse, Cai held out his hand, palm-up.

Freya watched this, an amused twinkle in her eye. She stayed put as Cai drew closer and closer, but when no more than two yards separated horse and fireknight, she suddenly spun on her back legs and dashed away, whinnying playfully. Sieg, caught by surprise and without a proper saddle, had to fling his arms around her neck to keep his seat. He shouted several words in Elvish that prompted Ophelia to call out, “I’d prefer if my boyfriend learns our language, we not start in the gutter, Sieg!”

Cai let his hand fall, not surprised. “I hope she doesn’t expect me to outrun her. ...And that she doesn’t unseat Sieg.” He raised his voice to call, “Do we need to pause so you can get a saddle? ...Assuming she’ll let you, anyway?”

“I think I’ll just climb down,” the half-elf said wearily, quickly swinging off of his mare’s back. She stood still just long enough to let him, then turned and gave him a shove that sent him stumbling a few feet. He turned, yelling at her in Elvish again, but she only whickered with amusement before trotting again in Cai’s direction, waving the pouch like a flag.

“Ah, coming to taunt me directly, are you?” Cai asked holding out his hand again with just as little expectation as the time previous. “Do you do this to your enemies on the battlefield as well?”

“C’mon Cai, you can hypnotize other animals into doing your bidding, turn on the mojo!” Ophelia called jokingly. Freya stopped several yards away, then tossed her head up and flung the pouch into the air. She caught it again as it came down, dangling it from her teeth and arching her neck with a cocky twinkle in her eyes.

“It isn’t me who does anything,” Cai protested, cutting off the dart he’d made for the pouch when Freya had tossed it. “The animals just...do what they do.” He started toward the horse again, but Cai knew he was going to have to stop this sooner rather than later, or he was just going to encourage her to keep running back and forth. Suddenly those huge lungs and the greater endurance were showing that they had disadvantages, too.

Freya trotted closer, tilting her head at the fireknight inquisitively. Then, seeming to decide something, she turned her body so that her side was to Cai, and flicked her head towards the saddle blanket.

“Ah… I think she wants you to mount up,” Sieg said, sounding very surprised. “I’m not entirely sure where she’s going with this, though I can promise she doesn’t mean any harm. If she did she’d just bite you outright.”

Cai tilted his head again. “That’s...what it looks like,” he agreed. And the horse’s posture still didn’t seem aggressive. ...Well, it wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d gotten on a horse’s back with very little idea of what to expect.

Without stirrups, Cai wasn’t getting in the saddle of a warhorse; luckily he was able to encourage her to come closer to the fence, and from there he was actually able to get on the horse’s back. “All right,” he said, taking the rope halter in one hand and lightly stroking Freya’s neck with the other. “Now what did you have in mind?”

Freya nickered, turning her head towards him and flapping the pouch. Then, she took off at a canter, making a full circuit of the paddock before moving into a gallop. She sustained that gallop for long enough to make two more circuits of the paddock, before slowing back down to a canter, then a trot. Cai was wary at first, but once she broke into a gallop, his focus went more into staying balanced - not an unfamiliar task, and interestingly that made him feel more comfortable, and he was able to enjoy the speed and the motion of a running, rather than flying, animal.

Once she had come to a full stop, Freya again turned, this time leaving her head still with the pouch in reach. Sieg made a soft noise of surprise.

“I guess she just wanted to go for a run with you,” he remarked. “She’s not usually so jovial with strangers, you must really have a way with animals, Cai.”

“Told you,” Ophelia said with a smirk.

“Thank you,” Cai said to Freya, taking hold of the pouch with one hand - though making no attempt to pull it free, not that there would have been much point considering how strong a horse’s grip could be - and reaching to lightly stroke her nose with the other. To Sieg and Ophelia, he said bemusedly, “If it weren’t for the phoenixes, I’d say it must be something about how I smell. Failing that…” He shrugged. “Whatever it is, it has been extremely helpful; I can hardly complain about the cause being a mystery.”

Sieg chuckled, walking up to Freya and taking the horse’s halter in his fingers. Freya released Cai's pouch and allowed Sieg to pull her head away. “Well if her royal contrariness has had her fill of being a pest today, I think there were other elvish animals you wanted to be introduced to.”

The half-elven knight winked at Cai, even as across the field Ophelia made a noise of surprise. “What animals?” she asked.

“None specifically,” Cai said, his expression perfectly neutral. “I hadn’t made a list - but I know you’ve told me the elves breed falcons, and I’ve heard even the cats and dog are quite impressive. Though I expect we can see at least the later anywhere,” Cai added with a smile, “if the elven animals like me as much as the human-bred ones do.”

Ophelia laughed, “Well it seems the horses do anyway. Alright then- if you want we can visit the kennels and mews. Cats are usually handled by private breeders, but there are plenty of stray ones loose in the city so it shouldn’t take long to spot one if we just walk around. Or… my neighbors have a cat they usually just let come and go as he pleases. I leave a key for them to let him into my place while I’m visiting Solis in fact, so that mice don’t infest the place while I’m gone. If we hang around my yard for lunch we’ll probably get his attention and have him begging us for treats.”

Carefully dropping from Freya’s back, Cai said, “That all sounds good to me.” He wondered if plying the neighbor’s cat with treats would make it more likely to come into the forest with him...but then, the cat’s owners probably wouldn’t appreciate a stranger taking their cat on a midnight excursion into the forest. Maybe, if they did see it, Cai could enlist Sieg’s help in asking their permission first. “So cats are usually bred privately here?” he asked, hoping to divert Ophelia’s attention so she didn’t become suspicious. “I’m given to understand it’s the other way around with human-bred cats.”

“I don’t really know how human bred cats are handled,” Ophelia admitted, watching as Sieg led his horse back to the stables. “It’s not something I ever looked into, I’m afraid. But I can tell you that elvenbred cats sometimes have interesting magical abilities bred into them, depending on the breeder. Usually subtle things- I’ve seen some of them seem to be able to jump, and then jump a second time at the height of the jump. We used to own one that could turn himself invisible. It makes it interesting because you never know what someone might have decided to experiment with.”

Surprised by the idea of cats with such magical abilities - Ophelia might call them subtle, but turning invisible and jumping off of nothing but air were no small feats, as far as he was concerned - Cai blinked several times and said, “Well - I’m sure if humans could breed cats to do such interesting things, they would make it into a very expansive practice! It sounds fascinating - I wonder how they breed magic into cats?”

“Magic, I would expect,” she remarked teasingly. “Though seriously, I don’t know. It’s an art that takes a very, very long time to master. Fortunately elves live for a very, very long time. So, did you want to visit the mews before lunch? We can eat at my place to see if we can get the cat’s attention, then swing by the kennels when we’re done.”

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” Cai agreed. “And I’m sure the cats will appreciate it - I’ll bet they’d be quite interested in people who smell like birds and lunch.”

Sweet As Honey: Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

After an hour or so’s poking around the mews - where, thankfully, none of the falcons or hawks tried to steal Cai’s badge or one of his other belt pouches - the three headed for Ophelia’s house near the center of town. After a little investigating and cobbling-together of food from Ophelia’s pantry, they headed outside to eat and, in Cai’s case, see about attracting the neighbor’s cat.

He kept his main focus on the conversation, however; getting flowers for Ophelia’s necklace was important, but he was primarily here to spend time with her. And to learn about the place where she had grown up, the elven part of her heritage.

In that vein, he said, “You know, I haven’t seen any children around the city since we arrived. I figured there wouldn’t be many, given it’s an extremely long-lived population, but...are there really so few children here?”

Ophelia sighed, shaking her head as she swallowed a mouthful of chickpeas. “When Sieg and I were growing up, there was only us and… one other child? Who was a significant amount older. At this particular moment, I don’t actually think there are any children in the city.”

“Elf women have a very hard time getting pregnant,” Sieg put in. “It can take a long time of trying for one to have a child. Siblings are usually decades if not centuries removed in age, and it’s highly uncommon for elves to have more than three children in their lifetime.”

“That makes sense,” Cai said, nodding as he paused to chew. “I was thinking there would be more children than there are among phoenixes...but then, phoenixes do have...perhaps not a larger population, but more room around which to spread it. And as I understand, it’s not too difficult for a female phoenix to get pregnant - it’s just rare that both a male and a female have, ah, the motivation.” Clearing his throat, Cai added, “That would explain at least part of why the two of you are so close...and as I say that, I think I remember you telling me that about exactly, Ophelia. Something along the lines of you two being each others’ playmates. Though I presume the city wouldn’t be built with much in the way of entertainment for children - you must have made a lot of your own fun?”

“Generally that was the case,” Ophelia agreed with a grin. “We played outside a lot, or played make-believe.”

“Princess and the minstrel was one of Ophee and I’s favorite games,” Sieg put in. “I would sing requests for her, and she paid me in cookies. If she sang along, she got a cookie too.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Ophelia said with a grin, “Cai, has Sieg sang for you yet?”

“No,” Cai said with interest, “he has not. Would you mind indulging us, Sieg?”

The half-elf knight smiled, giving a bemused shrug. He seemed to think for a moment, and then he began to sing a soft, slow ballad in Elvish. While his voice was rather nondescript in speech, an ordinary sounding high-ish male voice, when he started to sing it sounded very much as if a completely different person had joined them at the table. His singing voice was lower in pitch, powerful, and carried superbly. Once he finally finished, he grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as Ophelia gave him a joking round of applause. “When I was younger, I really wanted to do that for a living- sing, be a minstrel.”

“No wonder, you sound very good,” Cai said, smiling. “It seems like a good hobby for a knight as well, you’ll always have a way to entertain yourself or the company - unless you’re supposed to be keeping quiet, that is.”

“It’s definitely been useful for that,” Sieg agreed. “And vocal training has other applications for a knight as well. For example, knowing how to pitch your voice over distance and the noise of a crowd can be used to great affect on a battlefield.”

“Could be a useful skill for you, Cai, flying at high speed with the wind in your ears,” Ophelia noted. “Fireknights mostly communicate with hand-signals, right?”

“Right.” Cai briefly demonstrated a few. “And there are a few whistles we can signal the phoenixes to make with certain taps at their neck, to get the attention of knights ahead of us. They have no trouble making themselves heard over the wind.”

Sieg watched the hand-signals Cai showed them with interest. “Sounds like a-”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by the sharp sound of a door further up the street opening, and then shutting rather forcefully. He glanced around, Ophelia following his gaze with a wary frown as an elf with pale brown hair emerged into the sunlight and began to make a beeline right for them.

“Tiery” Ophelia muttered, her voice low enough that only Cai sitting right next to her would hear it. “Woo, I thought he’d be out working this time of day…”

Cai was surprised to hear Ophelia suddenly speaking in Low Courdonian; though it technically didn’t matter if anyone overheard the language here, they generally only slipped into it during private moments. ...Or to avoid someone understanding them. Cai studied the elf approaching them, and was not reassured by his sharp strides.

“What is he so angry about?” Cai asked quietly, though he didn’t think Ophelia would have time to answer before Tiery reached them. He set his plate down, just in case.

Sure enough, the elf arrived at their table before Ophelia had the chance to reply. Though his stance was tense and his footfalls had been rather forceful, when he spoke his face and voice had all the pleasant neutrality of an experienced diplomat. He spoke in Elvish, first to give Ophelia and Sieg what sounded like a pleasant greeting, then once they’d returned it, he addressed Sieg directly. In spite of his pleasant demeanour, as he spoke Sieg’s face fell into that same, oddly distant smile he’d worn briefly the night before, and he answered Tiery in that same fixed tone of chirpy pleasantness. Cai frowned minutely, a foreboding feeling tightening in his stomach.

Then the elf turned his attention to Cai, and said something else. Ophelia coughed, hurriedly giving an answer. The elf gave a very slight hint of what might have been a frown, then said something which Ophelia translated, “He asked who you were and I explained you were my boyfriend visiting the city- he says he hopes your stay is pleasant.”

Cai nodded slightly, meeting Tiery’s eyes. His expression was deliberately neutral. “Please tell him that so far it has been, and I hope it stays that way.” He wondered if that was all the elf had said, but obviously this was not the time or place to ask.

Ophelia parroted this back in Elvish, and the man nodded. He traded another exchange with Sieg, one that stretched for a good several minutes and made Ophelia tense more and more at Cai’s side. Cai tried to guess what the elves might be saying, since it clearly wasn’t good, but he couldn’t interpret the intricacies of the conversations.

However, someone approached them from the opposite direction, calling out cheerfully and startling Tiery. The newcomer was a blonde elf woman, holding a black and white cat in her arms. She spoke briefly with both Ophelia and Tiery, and the male elf abruptly turn and left.

“Thank Woo,” Ophelia muttered softly. “Cai this is my neighbor, Brigitte. And that’s her cat, the one I told you about, Minuit. It’s Elvish for midnight.”

Hearing her name, the elf woman nodded to Cai politely, though her expression flickered to one of shock and horror at the scars on his face before she quickly clamped it down. Cai nodded back and smiled, pretending he hadn’t seen the expression at all; he was fairly used to seeing those kinds of looks by now. “Hello, Brigitte, and Minuit.”

Ophelia relayed his greeting, and introduced him to the woman. Then, with a sigh, she explained in an undertone, “Tiery’s sister was in the battle where our father was killed. Her leg had to be amputated. He already disliked us for being half-blood before, and he sort of… holds a grudge against Sieg, because Sieg survived more or less in one piece when his sister didn’t.”

“I can hardly blame him,” Sieg said with determined cheer. “I would be a bit resentful too, I’m sure. But it’s fine, he just wanted to ask us not to be so loud because he’s apparently trying to concentrate on some complex spellwork and my singing was a distraction.”

Cai frowned. “I’m sorry for his sister’s loss, but that’s hardly your fault, Sieg. Holding pointless grudges like that is hardly conduct befitting a knight.” He hesitated, but added, “And I don’t think anyone made it out of that battle unscathed.”

Sieg only shrugged. “Well he’s not the knight, so I can hardly hold him to our standards of conduct.” His voice taking on a more sincere happiness he added, “Besides, he’s gone now, and since Brigitte was kind enough to come out and shoo him off for us, I think she’s got someone you wanted to say hello to.” The half-elf turned to the elven woman, gesturing to Cai and saying something that made her smile and cover her mouth. She nodded, and Sieg turned back to Cai, “I explained you were an animal lover and wanted to meet some of the local elvenbred animals, and she says you can hold Minuit if you want to.”

Cai wanted to say that Tiery’s conduct hadn’t been proper for any station, really, but Sieg changed the topic before he got the chance. Resolving to correct his error about Tiery’s occupation later, Cai let his expression shift to a smile in Brigitte’s direction. “Thank you - I would very much enjoy getting to hold Minuit, if he’s agreeable to it.”

Ophelia relayed this, and Brigitte held out the cat for Cai to take. Minuit was mostly black, with white on his paws, chest, and muzzle. He looked at Cai with curiosity in his yellow-green eyes, mouth opening and nostrils flaring as he took in the fireknight’s scent.

“Hello there,” Cai said quietly, holding out his hand for the cat to sniff before taking him, letting Minuit’s paws drape over his arm. “He’s very soft,” Cai added, smiling as he scratched behind the cat’s ear. Minuit leaned into this touch, narrowing his eyes and purring. Ophelia chuckled.

“And there you go again. Are we absolutely sure you don’t have some sort of animal charming magic?” She teased. Brigitte said something, which Ophelia then translated to, “He likes it best when you scratch the side of his face, right near the corner of his mouth.”

“I’m starting to wonder,” Cai said with amusement, obligingly moving his hand to scratch where Brigitte had indicated. “This is the fearsome beast who keeps your home free of mice while you’re away, hm?”

“He is,” she agreed. “Brigitte has three cats, but Minuit is the only one allowed to wander the neighborhood freely. He actually started off as a stray, but she feeds him and lets him come inside to sleep so he’s more or less adopted her.”

Minuit, closed his eyes, pushing his face against Cai’s fingers as the fireknight scratched. Abruptly the cat sneezed, his face snapping away from Cai’s hand momentarily. Then he looked up, sniffing the underside of the fireknight’s chin where the splash burns where. A minute, sandpapery tongue rasped against his skin, and Sieg raised an amused eyebrow.

“Maybe he smells your lunch- didn’t dribble any down your face while we weren’t looking did you?”

“I didn’t think so,” Cai said, stroking the cat’s back instead, “but maybe. I’m sure he can at least smell it on my breath." Cai reached back for some of the meat on his plate, and tore a piece from it to offer to Minuit. "Here, maybe this will taste better than scars, hm?"

The cat greedily gobbled up the offering, purring loudly as he did so. Sieg snapped his fingers suddenly, as if something had just occurred to him, and looked at his sister. “Say Phee, I just remembered, while you were at the mews I picked up some cobbler for dessert for us and left it on the counter in the kitchen. Would you run in and get it so we can split? Maybe Brigitte can have some too.”

“Oh? And what’s stopping you from getting it, since apparently you’re now abusing that key I gave you to break into my house when I’m not around?” Ophelia retorted.

“You’re closer to the door?” Sieg said innocently. “Also I was patrolling all day yesterday, my feet hurt.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes, but rose without further comment. As soon as the door to the house had closed behind her, Sieg winked at Cai. “And now we have the cat’s owner to ourselves. Is there a question you wanted to ask that I should translate?”

"Yes, please - thank you." Cai shifted to face Brigitte. "Ma'am - I'm planning to go into the forest tomorrow night to pick the...bell of summer flowers - that's correct, right, Sieg? - for the festival. For Ophelia. But I don't know my way through the forest; Sieg suggested I could befriend a cat and ask it to lead me back to the city. Would you mind if I enlisted Minuit's assistance?"

As Sieg relayed this request, Brigitte’s crimson eyes lit with interest. She said something to Minuit directly in elvish, which the cat responded to by glancing her way, then bumping the side of his head against the front of Cai’s shoulder. She laughed and spoke, Sieg translating. “She says he seems to have taken a liking to you, and far be it for her to stop him making new friends. And she says Ophelia is a lucky woman, to have a man who’d go into an unfamiliar forest to make her happy.”

"She makes it more than worth it," Cai replied. "Thank you very much, ma'am - and thank you, Minuit," he added to the cat, scratching him just behind his whiskers. Minuit purred, leaning into Cai’s fingers. At that moment, Ophelia emerged again, the tin of cobbler in her hands.

“Cranberry and pear- you went all out, didn’t you, Sieg?” she remarked with a laugh. “I guess we’ll be eating like spoiled phoenixes. Hope you like fruit as much as Tamir, Cai!”

"I suppose we'll find out, with Tamir not here to guilt me into 'sharing'." Cai stood up and took the cat back to Brigitte. "Thank you very much for letting me borrow your cat." He risked a brief, conspiratorial smile. Things were falling into place for midsummer's eve.

***

Later that afternoon, once they’d finished at the kennels and Sieg left for the start of an overnight shift, Ophelia took Cai back to her home to relax for a bit.

“Well now,” She said as she flopped down on her sofa. “You’ve spent all day cuddling cute little animals. Can I have the benefit of some of that affection?”

“Of course,” Cai said, settling next to her and opening his arms in an invitation for Ophelia to lean against him. “Hopefully I don’t smell too much like an animal myself right now.”

She giggled, leaning sideways against the fireknight and wrapping her arms around him. “I think I’ll survive. As long as you enjoyed yourself- you did enjoy yourself I hope? Freya was a bit of a pest, but she gave an apology of sorts for that, and Tiery was… a short-lived problem.”

“I had a very good time,” Cai assured her, settling an arm around Ophelia’s shoulders. “Your home has a lot of amazing things, prank-playing warhorses included. Though Tiery...Tiery is not one of those things.” The fireknight sighed and asked, “What all was he saying to Sieg? To make him act...the way he did at dinner last night.”

Ophelia didn’t meet Cai’s eyes, silent for a time. Then finally she said, “Sieg… blames himself for the way Papa died. It eats at him, all the time. So anything that reminds him of the dragon, anything that upsets him, makes him act like that. He smiles to try and hide how upset he is. How… how broken he still is, under the day-to-day easygoing friendliness.”

Cai bit his lip for a moment, thinking. “But why is he so adamant about hiding it? I can understand hiding it from Tiery and I, I suppose, but...anytime he’s upset about it, he does that? Even when it’s just the two of you?”

Ophelia pushed her face into Cai’s shoulder. “Even with me. I just refuse to play along with it most of the time and hug and comfort him anyway. But even then he’ll smile and insist he’s fine. It drives me insane sometimes, because if he never admits something is wrong he’s never going to get any better! But he’s so bloody stubborn about it. I want to help him get better, I want him to be really happy again, to stop blaming himself for Papa’s death, but… but!”

Cai rubbed Ophelia’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I can absolutely see how that would drive you mad. And it’s not healthy for him, either, it’s like...like drinking poison but then refusing to throw it back up. ...I’ve never seen that kind of complete denial last for so long before.” He shook his head a little. “There’s only so much you can do if he won’t admit to anything being wrong...you can offer him a ladder or a rope, but he’s the one who has to take hold and start climbing. But it has to be infuriating standing at the top of that chasm while he’s denying one exists at all.” Hugging Ophelia a little more tightly, Cai said again, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Cai,” she muttered softly. “I… I’m the one who should be sorry. Part of the reason we have to live like this, only seeing each other in stolen snatches of time, is because of our responsibilities, but part of it is also because of this. Because I can’t in good conscience leave Sieg alone when he’s like this. But it’s not fair, especially not to you.” A stifled sob shook her.

Cai shook his head again, even though Ophelia couldn’t see it. “It’s not your fault, and not something you have to apologize for. I...I do wish we could see each other more often. But I know Sieg is important to you, too, and it would be cruel of me to ask you to leave him. He’s already had a bad breakdown recently, after that fire in the orchard...I don’t blame you for feeling like you need to be here for him.”

The half-elf clenched her fingers into his shirt. “Sometimes part of me is afraid. Afraid that Sieg will never get better. Afraid that you’ll get tired of waiting for me, and I’ll have to chose between you and him. And I wouldn’t blame you if you did, but…”

"I'll never ask you to do that, Ophelia. It would make you miserable - either way, I think - and I don't want that for you. And in theory," he added, stroking Ophelia's hair, “you could’ve asked me to choose between you and Tamir, and you haven’t done that. It would be beyond unfair of me to ask you to make that decision.”

“I… yes but…” she fell into silence, trying to figure out how to frame what she wanted to say. Finally, she sighed. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.”

“But what?” Cai encouraged. “Take your time to say if it you need to - I can certainly understand and be patient with that. But please don’t feel like you have to hide it and bottle it in, Ophelia. This is your relationship, too.”

She didn’t answer at first. Just kept her face pillowed on Cai’s shoulder and her arms around his neck. Finally, however, she spoke.

“I love you- I want to be with you. So much it hurts. And… and what if I do have an elf’s lifespan? What if I live on for hundreds of years? I don’t want to live with the regret of not having spent as much time with you as I feasibly could. But… but Sieg is my brother, I can’t just abandon him, but he drives me crazy sometimes because I try so hard to help him but he won’t bloody help himself!”

“Have you told Sieg any of this? The parts about him, anyway? Not to suggest one way or the other is necessarily right or wrong...it’s a complex situation, but…”

“He just insists he’s fine and I shouldn’t worry about him so much,” Ophelia muttered. “He’s so stubborn.” She laughed hollowly. “I guess he and I have that in common, hm?”

“There’s no doubt you’re related,” Cai said wryly. “And you would need to be stubborn, to keep at this for so long despite his persistance. ...I don’t suppose me offering him my opinion would help?”

Ophelia seemed to think on it, then sighed. “You… can try, I suppose. Can’t hurt anything- the worse he’d do is give you that fake smile and insist his perfectly fine. He isn’t really one to lash out or get offended.” Hurriedly she added, “But you don’t have to feel any sort of obligation. You’re here to enjoy yourself, not to try and fix my problems.”

“Well, if there’s no harm in trying, I’ll try - I suppose if nothing else it would be another person agreeing that he’s obviously hurt and saying it’s all right to express that.” Of course, Cai had only known Sieg for a few days; it seemed highly unlikely he would put much value on Cai’s opinion at this point. He wasn’t even the first bringing a knight’s viewpoint to the table - Ophelia had told Cai that Sieg’s knightmaster was already trying to combat the problem as well. “As for it being an obligation...it pins you here, so in a way, it is my problem as well. Even beyond the fact that we’ve always tried to help each other. At least now I can try something instead of just sending suggestions and feathers through the post.”

Ophelia chuckled, and pressed her lips against his. Cai’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise, but quickly closed as he returned the kiss. As Ophelia pulled away she murmured, “The feathers are lovely tokens though, I’ve got a nice collection going now- maybe in another year I’ll have enough for my own mini-Tamir right there in Nid’aigle.”

“A phoenix in Nid’aigle - that might impress even the local falconers. A pygmy variety especially,” Cai said with a soft laugh. “I notice they aren’t spilling out the door yet, so I hope you’re not holding back from telling me I’m sending you too many?”

“Nah, you’re good. I’ve some… plans. You’ll see at the festival.” She winked. “Seriously though Cai, thank you. I don’t know what I did to deserve a guy as great as you, but it’s a blessing I try to cherish every day.”

Cai touched his forehead to Ophelia’s. “It was very easy to fall in love with you. The work of gods and blessings wasn’t necessary for that.”

Ophelia grinned. “Flatterer. So, any notions what you want to do tomorrow?”

“Hmm...well, you had found some older maps in your translating work; perhaps we could visit the library and I could see them? if you think tomorrow would be a good day for that - I’m not sure if there are any festival preparations that would be interesting to watch or participate in. ...Possibly I ought to try and prepare for the festival; if there’s any particular standard of dress, or if you’re planning on dressing up, I might need to find the services of a tailor.”

“Well most of the preparation for the festival involves cooking- possibly not your purview,” Ophelia teased. “As for what to wear, in general most will wear white or other light-colored clothing; supposed to represent the warmth of the sun. Of course since it’s a big outdoor party you want to be sure you’re in clothes you also don’t mind getting ruined, so nothing exquisitely dressed up. You got anything like that onhand?”

“It’s probably best to keep me away from the cooking,” Cai agreed. “I have a few white shirts, so ruining one shouldn’t be much trouble. And my tan vest could break up the color a little, I’m not sure how appropriate dressing like a Corvid priest at Woomas would be.”

Ophelia giggled. “Perhaps, but it could be entertaining. Still, that sounds perfect. I have a white sleeveless dress I’ll be wearing, with a yellow cloak on the back. So if we’re both set for clothes, I guess that means we can poke around the library. And maybe afterwards, when the day’s at its hottest and Sieg’s woken up from after his sentry shift, we can actually jump off that dock, hm?”

“That would be very nice,” Cai agreed. “Especially after a day spent out in the heat. ...And that dress sounds like it will be very nice on you, too.”

The half-elf blushed, smiling. “Thank you- you’ll have to let me know what you think once I actually have it on. It’s not the most fancy thing, again I wanted to make sure it was something I didn’t mind if it got stained or torn, but I did try to get something flattering. That’s only fair to you after all.”

“‘Fair to me’?” Cai repeated. “Ophelia, as much as I love to see you in - well - in clothes you find flattering - I’m under no illusion that you’re obligated to wear things I find especially pretty on you. Not to say I don’t appreciate it when you do - but only if you’re wearing them because you want to.”

“And what if I like seeing your beautiful eyes light up when you see me in something flattering?” she asked teasingly. “What if I enjoy hearing you tell me I look pretty?”

Cai smiled, his face heating. “Oh - well - that would be a reason for you to want to wear them - so I think that would be fair to both of us.” Cai tucked some of Ophelia’s hair behind one of her slightly pointed ears. “And for the record, you always look pretty.”

Ophelia snuggled close to him. “Thank you.” Suddenly her eyes took on an impish glint, and she said, “If you didn’t have any plans for the evening, you think I could have a backrub? I bought some very nice smelling incense in town that could be nice to burn while you do, and I’ll return the favor when you’re done.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Cai agreed. “And with incense as well? This should be very interesting..."

Sweet as Honey: Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

It was far from the first time Cai had slipped out into the night hoping not to be seen, but he could easily say it was the most interesting - rather than simply terrifying - time he’d done so. Being caught by Ophelia would spoil the surprise, but considering the consequences a slave or an ambush-setting soldier would have to face if discovered, such a light danger was almost a relief.

“Best of luck,” Sieg said, winking cheerfully. “I’ll keep her preoccupied and tell her that you had a headache and decided to turn in early to sleep it off.”

“Thank you - I truly appreciate all of this, Sieg,” Cai told the knight.

He headed first for Brigitte’s home to pick up Minuit, a small wrapped fish in hand as a reward and a last-minute - and hopefully unneeded - bribe. Brigitte gave the fireknight a cheerful wink as she held out her cat, the small bundle of black fur jumping forwards to rest across Cai’s shoulder with his tail curled around the fireknight’s neck.

And then Cai was off, heading toward the forest. Occasionally the sound of footfalls in the brush indicated the presence of someone nearby, but it was always just an elven man, presumably also out looking for the bellflowers. After a time, Minuit suddenly pressed his chill, wet nose into Cai’s ear, tickling the side of the fireknight’s face with his whiskers.

Cai slowed to a stop, looking to the cat as best he could without turning his head. From other cats, he might have considered the little gesture nothing more than a friendly or curious one, but with Minuit being an elven cat, and one who had been curiously still and well-mannered for the walk so far… “What is it?” Cai asked quietly, trying to emphasize the inquisitive tone of his voice to compensate for the language barrier.

Minuit bumped his head affectionately against Cai’s cheek, then jumped down off of Cai’s shoulder and darted a little ways off, stopping and turning so that his white chest gleamed like a flag in the dark.

The cat, it turned out, was standing at the edge of a drop off, only about a foot high but scarcely visible in the darkness- and directly in the path that Cai had been walking.

“...Oh,” Cai said when he realized where he’d almost gone. The drop might not have been a long one, but caught completely by surprise, Cai didn’t doubt there would have been a strong chance of at least twisting an ankle, if not worse. “Thank you - I’m very glad your night-vision is better than mine.” He stooped to give the cat a scratch at the corner of his mouth, and held out his arm for Minuit to use to get back onto his shoulder. Assuming the cat didn’t decide he was better off on the ground than on the shoulder of someone who’d almost walked off an edge that was no doubt perfectly obvious to him.

Minuit however jumped back onto Cai’s shoulder, purring contentedly in the fireknight’s ear. As they set off again, skirting the edge of the drop, the moon climbed slowly higher in the night sky. Not much of it pierced the trees, however, leaving Cai moving at a slow pace to give himself and Minuit time to compensate for the fireknight’s lack of experience. It was necessary, but it occurred to Cai that the elves wouldn’t have such a handicap - they would doubtlessly find bellflowers first.

Don’t panic - there must be plenty of flowers. They have this celebration every year, and they would still need extras for curing hangovers. The worst I should expect - so long as I don’t bumble into or over anything dangerous - is having to go a little farther for Ophelia’s flowers. Hardly a catastrophe.

Minuit’s head suddenly shot up, his ears flicking and his mouth open to better let scent particles pass through his nose. Cai stopped again, much more quickly this time, and looked around for any sort of danger. No precipices, no rabbit burrows to get his foot stuck in, no clusters of thorny plants… Then a figure emerged from the trees, wearing the same sentry uniform Sieg had worn the other day. But this person was a good deal taller, more muscular, and instead of amber the eyes that glinted from behind his helm where bright gleaming yellow.

Cai saluted to the elf, almost an instinctive reaction on seeing the military garb. That was probably going to be confusing since Cai wasn’t wearing his own knightly attire. Though he knew the chance of the elf understanding him was minimal at best, Cai said politely, “Good evening, Sir.” He glanced sideways at Minuit to gauge the cat’s reaction. Minuit however, seemed to have relaxed again, purring in Cai’s ear as if to comfort him.

The elf almost automatically saluted back before letting the gesture fall. “Accipiter knight?” he asked, his accent very thick. “Lazuli knight?”

Cai blinked. Those were other minor Corvid houses - Accipiters with black and white phoenixes, Lazuli with copper and cream. “No, I’m a Jade knight,” Cai corrected. “Jade fireknight.” He rather doubted the somewhat obscure version of the occupation would have made it into a non-fluent Kythian vocabulary, but Cai didn’t feel quite right declaring himself a ground-based knight when the two groups’ skills were so different.

“Ah,” the other man nodded. “Feu chevalier.” He approached a little closer, pulling off his helm and lowering his hood. The man was blonde, his eyes and hair almost the same color, and he had a blonde beard across the bottom of his face and scars from deep lacerations over his nose and one eye. There was curiosity in his eyes as he looked down at Cai. “Accent. Courdon?”

Cai resisted flinching - the self-control was less conscious effort and more a suddenly-retriggered instinct to keep still, to let what was going to happen happen. Some Courdonian nobles liked seeing fear in their slaves, but with the occasional exception of Valerian, the Armels found it annoying.

He didn’t want to say yes. Admitting to being Courdonian...well, he’d done it before, he’d had to tell his superiors where he’d come from - but that was after some time to prepare, not an on-the-spot question like this. It felt so much more dangerous this way.

...But the elves weren’t going to sell Cai out to Courdon; they hated the slavelords, too. And lying to one of the military of this city when he was already handicapped by a language barrier...Cai could not afford to get into trouble tonight. If the elf knew enough to catch Cai’s accent, even with it tempered as much as Cai feasibly could, then he was not likely to buy any lie Cai told about its origin.

“...Yes. Low Courdonian,” Cai said at last, his voice barely a murmur in volume. It was still not a secret he wanted spread widely, elves or not.

The elf’s eyes took on an odd light, his expression not unkind. He came closer, kneeling in front of Cai, and pulled off the glove and wrist protection on his armor on the right side. After unhooking his shoulder plate from the cuirass over his chest, he rolled up the now freed sleeve. In the moonlight, stark and ugly red-pink against his pale skin, was a burn scar in the unmistakable shape of a mantling gryphon.

Despite the course of the conversation, it was not until the elf started rolling up his sleeve that Cai had suddenly understood - and after all, how else would an elf non-fluent in Kythian, the language of the humans nearest to him, recognize a Courdonian accent?

It was still not a pleasant sight, a Courdonian brand on the skin of a man who could feasibly have lived centuries under the Courdonians’ ownership had he not escaped. Perhaps that was where he had gotten those scars. And speaking of scars…

Cai didn’t really want to, but with the language barrier, it was the only way he could think to fully confirm that his Courdonian accent did not make him properly Courdonian. Minuit was already on Cai’s opposite shoulder, so all the fireknight needed to do was unlace the end of his right sleeve, and roll the fabric up as well. Smatterings of burn scars, most of them old, came into sight as he pulled back the sleeve, like the lead-up to some twisted grand finale.

The Armels’ brand was not nearly as intricate as the one seared into the elf’s skin; just a wide arrow-shape over a circle with a horizontal line through it, the line capped at either end by short vertical stalks. Most of the brands Cai had seen were like that - arrangements of simple shapes that didn’t really look like anything. He’d never seen a brand like this elf’s before. Of course, the gryphon brand could easily be one from hundreds of years ago, one that might not even be in use anywhere in Courdon anymore - that was a grimly satisfying thought.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the elf, nodding slightly toward the gryphon-shaped brand.

The elf looked at Cai’s brand, grunting softly as if it were something he’d expected. He gestured at Cai’s brand, saying, “Mes sympathies, frère.” He gestured around the forest, and his expression became one of determination. “Liberté”

Cai could only guess at what the elf was saying, but it was a little easier this time, with some of the words sounding like Kythian ones. My sympathies, he understood that much. “Thank you.”

Cai let his sleeve fall, considering how to interpret the final word and accompanying gesture, and the broader meaning that might accompany it. Something about there being freedom in the forest, or the city, perhaps?

The elf then rolled down his sleeve, and as he began to reattach his armor he tilted his head. “Connaissez-vous la Brahams? Sieg, Ophelia?”

“Sieg and Ophelia? ...Do I know them?” Cai guessed, then quickly nodded. “Yes, I know them. I’m Ophelia’s boyfriend.” Realizing he hadn’t yet introduced himself - and that, maybe, if this elf knew them as well, Ophelia might have mentioned Cai to him at some point, so maybe his name would be a way to bridge the language gap - the fireknight gestured toward himself and said, “Cai. You?” He gestured toward the elf and tilted his head to make his question more obvious.

Sure enough, the elf brightened somewhat at the name. He touched his own chest, and said, “Gavin. Sieg était mon écuyer. Mon...” He hesitated, visibly groping to find the word he wanted in Kythian. Finally, seeming to give up and try a different tack, he said, “Papa, Sieg et Ophelia, mon… friend?”

Cai was surprised to recognize the name - but he ought to have considered it immediately, since Ophelia had told him at one point that the elven knight had been branded by Courdonians. That could have been true of a fair number of elves in the city, considering their trouble with Courdonian raiders, of course, and if Cai had thought about it, he wouldn’t have placed the odds of running into Gavin at random like this very high.

Well, Cai had already knew that Gavin was a very important friend of the Braham family, and he’d intended to communicate that in his eventual meeting with the elven knight. Normally he would have said something along the lines of it being an honor to meet him - lacking a translator at the moment, however, Cai instead bowed as much as he could without unseating Minuit.

“Sieg’s your squire?” he said, aware that was the case but unsure if that was what Gavin had been trying to communicate. As for the second piece… “Sieg and Ophelia’s...Papa - he was your friend? Ah…” Trying to remember the bits of elvish he had picked up, he tried, “mon ami?”

Gavin nodded emphatically. “Oui.” The man’s eyes took on a glimmer of amusement, and the gestured at the forest. “La cloche de l'été? Ophelia?”

“Yes - or, oui,” Cai confirmed with a nod. He wondered if it broke some rule or tradition to ask where any of the flowers might be - maybe not, but Cai decided against it; at the very least, it robbed the task of some of its challenge, and he was getting quite a bit of help from Minuit anyway.

Realizing that it would probably not hurt the impression he made on Gavin if he explained just why he had said cat on his shoulder, Cai pointed in the cat’s direction and added, “This is Minuit. He’s helping. For...for eyes in the dark,” Cai tried, thinking that at least “eyes’ and “dark” might be words common enough to know even in an only partially-learned tongue.

“And you? …La cloche de l'été, too?” He was mildly proud of himself for not staggering too much on the elvish words; he’d been trying to practice the name of the flowers, alongside memorizing the commands for “follow” and “home” to give to his feline assistant.

“Non.” He said, shaking his head. “Working.” He held out his helm with one hand and grabbed the hilt of his sword with the other. As if this had reminded him he should get back to the task at hand, he gave Cai a salute and put back on his hood and helm. “Many luck. Au revoir.”

Cai saluted back. “Aye. Thank you, Sir.” He would have to ask Ophelia to teach him some conversational elvish, but hopefully they could meet and have a more intelligible conversation through one of the half-elves before Cai had to go back to Solis.

In the meantime, though - Cai had flowers to find. He headed in the direction Gavin had come from, guessing the terrain would be fairly traversable. Probably Gavin had not jumped down from a ledge.

...Though maybe higher ground wasn’t a bad idea. Cai paused again and looked around at the trees, gauging how easy they might be to climb. Hmm...I’m still not sure how far I’d be able to see, though - too many branches in the way and I doubt the flowers are that bright. But maybe if I can find a tree with fewer branches near the top... It would at least be worth a try.

Cai kept going, looking now for both glowing flowers and sparsely-branched trees. Just a few minutes from the place where Gavin had appeared, Cai found footprints - they were clustered around a patch of leaves with the plucked bodies of suspiciously flowerless stems. At least it was a sign he was on the right track.

Several more minutes later, however, the fireknight found something more promising - a mostly-branchless tree with sparse foliage. It looked like it was dying, so he’d need to be cautious about which branches he put his weight on...but otherwise, it was exactly what he needed.

Cai gently took Minuit off his shoulder and set him down on the crook of a branch. “Stay,” he said, making a sort of placating motion with his hands. “I’ll be right back down.” The cat leaned towards him, butting its head against his arm before setting about washing his paws.

It was not an easy climb, but again, clambering up trees in the darkness was not completely alien to Cai. He even had decent boots this time around, and of course he had a great deal more strength these days. He finally stopped near the tree’s crown, draping his arm over a branch and leaning forward a little to look around. The forest was beautiful from here; Cai wasn’t entirely above the canopy, so his view was a mix of treetops that looked like they’d been misted by a thick silver rain from the moonlight, and patches of shadow broken by the glow poking through holes in the thick upper layer of forest.

Plenty of light from above - but none from the ground, not that Cai could see, anyway. It was about what he’d expected, unfortunately. I’d better get back to ground and keep looking. But he lingered for a moment, reluctant to depart so quickly from a place with such a height advantage without getting something from it. Looking out over the trees again, Cai tried to mentally convert the lay of the land into a map...and he realized that the long, narrow gap between the trees would fit perfectly around the blue line of a river. Plants did like water - maybe that was where he ought to go.

Cai returned to the ground, retrieved Minuit from where he was thankfully still waiting, and set off in the direction of the gap. Sure enough, he came out of the trees and found a branch of the river, flowing quickly but quietly. Cai started upstream along the riverbank, spotting the prints of animals and elves both in the mud, though fewer as the water became rougher.

The fireknight also came across two more patches of stems stripped of their flowers. Another sign he was on the right track, just later getting there than everyone else had been. But there had to be more somewhere, and the further Cai went, the fewer the elves he would be competing with, so his chances were really only getting better…

And suddenly, a slight flickering caught Cai’s attention - he looked up, and saw that a gentle wind was blowing the leaves of a bush in and out of a soft golden light - the light coming from a small patch of very beautiful flowers. Oh, thank goodness!

Cai didn’t have much time to enjoy his relief and pride, however; the flowers were not in an easy-to-reach place. No, the bells of summer and the bush partially obscuring the glow were growing on a tiny patch of an island in the middle of the river. The water was flowing quite rapidly now; not so dangerous as some of the rough-water patches Cai had seen while flying over the Kingfisher river, but he would still need to watch his footing. Even when he made it to the island, he’d have to be careful; there was perhaps just enough room on the little crag for two people to stand if they pressed against one another, so he had best not stumble or need to catch his footing.

But he was not about to search for flowers in a safer location, and risk missing out on them all-together. And I can do this - I’ll need to be careful, but I can do it.

Cai glanced sideways at the cat on his shoulder. He probably shouldn’t bring Minuit across the river; if the fireknight slipped and Minuit fell off...the water was probably not going to carry Cai too far, but a cat would be in serious danger from the current. Likely Minuit’s magical ability, if he had one, was not transfiguring himself into a fish.

Of course, leaving a pet cat alone on the river bank didn’t seem like the best idea, either. Minuit would probably smell predators like wolves or wildcats before they arrived, but some predators - owls, for instance - were not so easy to sense coming. Cai wanted to think his presence nearby would make animals cautious enough to keep their distance, but he wasn’t so sure about that.

He did, however, know one animal that very, very few predators would dare to attack, and Cai happened to have some of his feathers with him. He crouched and held out his arm to let Minuit down, and quickly crafted a little necklace of sorts out of a bit of cording and one of Tamir’s feathers. Cai looped it around Minuit’s neck - admittedly with a little difficulty as the cat batted at the shiny gold and green “toy” - and settled the feather across his back. “There,” the fireknight said, scratching the cat under his chin. “Now any other animals will think twice before going after you. I just don’t think you want to go across the river with me. That water is probably a lot scarier to you than to me, aye?”

Minuit was distracted from his attempts to eat the cord around his neck by the scratches and purred, leaning against Cai’s hand. He bumped his head against the fireknight’s knee once, looking up at Cai with curious yellow-green eyes as if to ask what was going to happen next.

“Stay,” Cai told the cat again. “I’ll be back in just a minute.” He glanced at the water. “...Or two.”

After making sure his pant legs were still stuck into his boots, Cai approached the water’s edge. Carefully, he eased a foot into the current as one last test of its strength - then entered the river. The current of course grew stronger and the water deeper as the fireknight progressed, flowing up over his knees as the little island came within reach. It had to be fairly deep, Cai supposed, if it was preventing the much-taller elves from making their way across.

Just as he was reaching out to grab hold of some of the grass to pull himself onto the island, some of Cai’s luck ran out and he set his foot on a rock covered in something slippery. The treads of his boots didn’t even try for a grasp on the stone and Cai suddenly pitched forward. He was able to catch himself by blindly snatching for the edge of a stone and finding one under the water. Cai hauled himself upright, his heart pounding quickly, and this time managed to get hold of the grass and clamber onto the island.

He took a quick moment to look himself over; his sleeve was soaked and he’d managed to give himself a shallow cut on his palm, probably from snatching at the rock. Cai wrapped the wound in a bit of spare cloth from a pouch on his belt; he did not want to drip blood on the flowers now that he had finally found a patch.

Cai pushed the bush’s branches aside and squirmed in between it and the flowers. The glowing had been confirmation enough that these were the flowers Cai was looking for, but he also noted the pink centers Sieg had mentioned. Perfect.

The flowers themselves were really quite lovely; it was no wonder the elves had gotten the idea to give these as gifts to ladies they wanted to impress. Even aside from their glowing, the way the two colors blended so smoothly together yet remained vibrantly different was quite pretty. ...And then of course there was the glowing, a very gentle light that reminded Cai of fireflies, just without the flicker. They would look beautiful on Ophelia - but first, he had to get them back to the city proper. Cai drew a small knife and a little water-filled tin he had brought specifically for this purpose, and started carefully slicing the flowers near the base of the stems. He hoped a clean slice would make it easier for the plant to recover next season.

At last, he gathered the last blossom, carefully replaced the lid of the tin, and headed back to the riverbank. It was much easier going back into tamer water than the other way around. Wringing out water from his sleeve and the bottom of his shirt, Cai said, “Well, Minuit - I think that should be enough. And I don’t want to press our luck by trying to find more.”

Deciding he was as dry as he was going to get, and aware he only had so much time to get back to the city and get the flowers woven, Cai replaced the tin and told the cat, “Accueil.” Home.

Minuit tilted his head, but didn’t immediately head off into the forest. His nose was twitching, and he reared up on his hind legs, leaning the forelimbs against Cai’s leg and meowing up at the fireknight.

“Hmm?” Cai stooped onto one knee and held out a hand toward the cat. “What’s wrong?”

Minuit bumped the side of his face against the fireknight’s wrapped hand, licking the edge of the makeshift bandage with a raspy tongue. He looked up at Cai, giving a very demanding sounding yowl.

The cat’s tongue undid the seal on the wrap. “It’s okay,” Cai said, unwinding the bandage so he could re-tie it, and tilting his hand out so Minuit could see it. “Just a bandage over a cut.”

The cat leaned his head towards the laceration, lapping over it with his tongue and purring hard. As he did so, the vibrations of his purring seemed to spread to the fireknight’s palm, like a gentle massage of sound. The blood still pooling from the cut slowed, and then stopped, and the laceration thinned until it was only a very small mark on Cai’s skin, still visible but no longer bleeding. Then Minuit pulled away, and bumped his head against Cai’s cheek.

Cai blinked, staring down at the suddenly mostly-healed cut. He’d had wounds magically repaired before - his wing was one of the lucky ones that had its own mage - so he could get past his head’s instinctive insistence that the slice must not have been as bad as he’d imagined in the first place. But this was the first - and probably last - time he’d been healed by a cat.

“Thank you,” Cai said after a moment, stroking the cat’s head. “I owe you another fish when we get back, I think.”

Minuit leaned into Cai’s hand, purring harder. Then he turned, skipping a little ways into the forest before turning and flicking his tail at Cai. Guessing he was being summoned, Cai stuffed the slightly-bloody, now-unnecessary bandage into a pocket and followed the cat back into the trees.

Sweet As Honey: Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

“...Then once the feast is well underway and everyone has loosened up a bit from eating and drinking,” Sieg was saying as he lead Cai through the streets of Nid’aigle, now magically augmented so that the plants on the houses were in the full floral bloom of spring for the day, “that is when the games will start. It’s loads of fun. There isn’t much ceremony past that, it’s mostly doing what you want and going where you will until about half an hour before midnight. Then the ladies in the city are supposed to bathe in the river in this symbolic gesture, and that’s when you’ll come back to the house for the flowers.”

“So feast, games, wandering until eleven-thirty - then go get the flowers,” Cai repeated. His eyes were on the flowers covering the houses, but his focus was on the evening. It was almost frustrating that it would be so long before he could give Ophelia the necklace - but, if Cai knew anything about Ophelia, it was that she would find plenty of ways to distract him from his anxiety.

And in the meantime, he could always ask questions about the festival and the cultural significance behind it - that was certainly an interesting subject. “What is washing in the river symbolic of?”

“Uhhhh,” Sieg coughed. “Purity. Cleansing the body of all the bad things that make someone unhealthy. Nominally this is to allow the women to greet the exact midpoint of the year- midnight on Midsummer- fresh from the trials of winter and spring and ready for the coming summer. But more honestly?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s put it this way, there will be a lot of wine flowing tonight. And a lot of romantic atmosphere. After midnight things for those amongst the city who are lawfully married can get um… exciting.”

“I...oh.” Cai wasn’t entirely positive what that had to do with bathing in the river; though part of him was still curious...he decided it might be more decorous not to ask. Trying to ignore the heat rising in his face, Cai diverted the topic of conversation. “So - this wine really is as strong as everyone says, then? I haven’t been here for long, but most everyone’s been so formal and...well, stiff isn’t the right word. Maybe…composed? Everyone’s been very composed.”

Sieg laughed. “Let’s put it this way, the honey wine is the only alcohol made by the elves, for the elves. With the explicit intent to get those ‘composed’ folks as drunk as possible so that they can loosen up and have real fun. Yeah, it’s pretty strong. I’d advise you stay away from it, unless you’re actively looking to get at least tipsy.”

“I am not,” Cai said wryly. “Admittedly now would probably be a better time than others to get a little drunk, but I don’t know how well I’d be able to keep the flowers a secret in that state. What about you, will you be having any?”

“Nah,” Sieg replied, shaking his head. “I’ll be on duty tonight anyway, seeing as I’ve nobody to sweet on and someone needs to be making the rounds in the forest. But I don’t drink- I discovered when I was fifteen that alcohol makes me a blithering, weepy mess.”

“Oh - well, that would - “

Abruptly, Sieg stopped walking, his head snapping around so that he was looking directly in front of them instead of at Cai. Around the corner, Ophelia had finally appeared. As promised Ophelia was wearing a sleeveless white dress, loose and billowy, but surprisingly low in cut around her neck and bosom. A pale yellowish cape draped from her shoulders to just past her knees. Her hair was not confined in its usual braid, but instead had been styled so that part as hanging loose, and part had been done up in a braid that almost seemed to create a halo around her head. Worked into this braid were the unmistakable green and gold phoenix feathers Cai had been sending her for the past two years, forming a sort of iridescent crown around her head.

Cai’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he couldn’t quite get words to come together properly. “I - you’re - “ Finally, his eyes drifted up to the crown of phoenix feathers, and he smiled and laughed, a little more breathlessly than he would have predicted. “Ophelia - you’re beautiful. ...I’m glad to see you did find a use for those feathers after all.”

Ophelia flushed, smiling sheepishly. “Thank you. I really wanted to make this something special, so I worked hard to come up with it…” She coughed. “You look nice too.”

Sieg covered his mouth, hiding a smirk. “Looks like I get to see you excited and smitten after all, Cai. Welp, I suppose I should let you two alone then, eh? I have a job to do, and you have a festival to enjoy.”

“I - ah, yes, I suppose so. Thank you for the explanations, Sieg.”

With a wave of farewell to the knight, Cai covered the remaining distance between himself and Ophelia. “I believe you said attire for the festival wasn’t meant to be exquisite - if this is what you consider casual, I am very intrigued as to what you do consider fancy,” the fireknight said. He offered his hand for Ophelia to take. “Would you like to lead the way?”

Ophelia chuckled softly, watching as Sieg turned on his heel and headed back up the street. “Maybe someday you’ll get to see me all dolled up for a formal occasion. For now though, you get me with feathers in my hair and a dress that the priests in Solis would gasp in indignation at.”

She slipped her hand into his, giving the fireknight a wink. “I hope you’re hungry- there is an awful lot of eating that is supposed to happen at this thing.”

“I certainly hope so,” Cai said, threading his fingers through Ophelia’s and giving her hand a light squeeze.”I had only a little to eat this morning so I could sample as much as possible - and I’m definitely ready for widely-sampling.” Cai had a very good guess as to why he was so hungry; the energy for spending a night clambering up trees and wading through rivers had to come from somewhere, after all. “But in case I can’t fit a full course, is anything in particular you recommend I should try first?”

Ophelia grinned. “Hm… the ham is quite good, usually. Spiral cut, marinated in honey before cooking and then glazed with more honey after. There’s also this salad made with sliced onions, pears from the local orchards, and goat cheese with honey on it that’s a lot better than it sounds. Oh, and you can never go wrong with the caramelized pecan crisps” She giggled suddenly. “I’m getting hungrier just thinking about it.”

“So am I,” Cai agreed. And those were only Ophelia’s recommendations - there must be quite a lot of food at this feast. The fireknight was suddenly struck, as he sometimes was, by the vast difference between the life he had been expected to live in Courdon and the life he was actually living now. A feast - and he was trying to be selective about what he ate instead of deciding to take whatever was closest. Cai wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that - amused or victorious or guilty… It wasn’t entirely important, at least not right now, he decided, and set the emotions aside.

The sound of voices appeared at the edge of Cai’s hearing, and he tilted his head and looked up at Ophelia. “It sounds like we’re just about there. I apologize in advance for the questions I’m sure I’ll be pestering you with all day,” he added with a smile.

Ophelia giggled. “I did the same to you at the Restoration of the Walls, turnabout is only fair.”

They came around the corner of a building, and found themselves in an open square of sorts set on a wide lawn with only three or four pine trees in it. Several tables laden with food were set up on these tables, though there were no chairs and instead elves appeared to be taking plates buffet style and sitting down in the grass with them.

“We’ve not had the festival in almost three years,” Ophelia admitted. “It wasn’t seen as practical to do during the famine. But now things are finally looking up enough again to celebrate and live life a little.”

“It’s understandable they’d put it off, “ Cai agreed, “but I’m glad things have improved enough for some fun now and again. ...So is this the first time the festival’s been held since we met?” he asked. Cai wasn’t sure exactly what it was about it, but the idea of Ophelia having invited him to not only a couple-centric festival, but the first one she could was very exciting. “I suppose we’ll have to try and make up for those lost opportunities this year, then.”

She glanced sideways at him with a fond smile. “I suppose we will. You said you were hungry?”

The half-elf led Cai over to one of the buffet tables, and said, “There will be setups like this all over the city, so no one gets too crowded. There’s no limitation on how much one person can have so dig right in- probably there won’t be as much this year as usual since we’re still recovering somewhat from the famine, but I imagine there’s still plenty to go around or I’d have heard something about a rationing.”

“That sounds like a clever system,” Cai remarked. “Spreading the tables out, I mean. I imagine it cuts down on any waiting in line, too - that’s no way to spend a festival.”

Ophelia picked up a plate and began to load it down with food- no desserts yet, but plenty of vegetables and fruits marinated, basted and boiled in honey, as well as meats prepared similarly and a slice of ordinary bread. To top it off, as she’d warned Cai a few days before, she poured into a wooden goblet some of the thick, richly golden honey wine that seemed to be flowing in copious amounts even this early in the evening.

Cai, following along behind Ophelia and putting bits of anything that looked good or interesting - which was a lot of things; picky eating was not one of Cai’s faults - watched the liquid Ophelia poured into the cup. “It looks good,” he admitted, though he stuck to water himself. “I was imagining it being much more...syrupy. Though I suppose,” he added with a slightly self-conscious laugh, “that it would be difficult to drink if it were thick as raw honey.”

“Very,” Ophelia said with a laugh of her own, leading them both away from the table and towards an open spot of grass near an ornamental pond. “Although, if you’d like, there is usually some raw honeycomb at the dessert table. Seriously, the entire comb- did you know you can eat it? It’s pretty good, especially when warm.”

“Really? I didn’t know that - I wouldn’t have guessed that bees would build their honeycombs out of something edible…..I’ll try some when it comes time for dessert,” Cai decided. “I might not be risking the honey-wine, but it would be interesting to try something a little unusual while I’m here.”

“It’s always good to broaden your horizons,” Ophelia agreed. “And what point would there be in visiting a place with a different culture if you didn’t try your hand at sampling the local flavors?” She lifted her goblet as if in a toast, and then took a sip from it. Setting it down, she started to cut into a slice of ham. “I was sorry to hear about your headache last night, by the way- it’s rotten luck that you should get something like that when you’re here to enjoy yourself. Do you think maybe it might’ve been dehydration from swimming all afternoon?”

Cai looked up from slicing his own meat, just barely managing not to make the movement suspiciously sharp. “That could have been it, ironic as it would be to become dehydrated in a river,” he said. “I must not have been paying enough attention to how much I was drinking - or not drinking, rather - to how much activity we were doing.” Deciding he should curve the subject before he had to lie too much or Ophelia became suspicious, Cai went on, “I’m sorry I had to sit out on the evening. Hopefully you and Sieg still had a good time together?”

“Yeah, he and I watched the mages bring all the plants on the houses into bloom. It’ll all go back to the normal summer state by midday tomorrow but it’s generally agreed that a festival about honey should have flowers as decoration.” The young woman glanced aside for a moment, an odd emotion passing over her eyes before she covered her face by taking a sip of the wine and smiled again. “Let’s make sure we both drink plenty of water tonight though- you so that you don’t get another headache, and me so I don’t wake up hungover. Though I’m not planning to get much past tipsy, I promise.”

Cai nodded, having caught her momentary glance away at the mention of flowers and wondering if she was thinking about certain ceremonial flowers in particular. Part of him wanted to tell her now so that she wasn’t preemptively disappointed throughout the evening...but that was not the way it was supposed to be done. He wanted to do it properly.

If she starts to seem really upset, I’ll tell her, Cai decided. But I can try to keep her thinking about other things and enjoying herself instead.

He raised his glass in mimicry of Ophelia’s mock-toast earlier. “Aye, let’s avoid headaches and hangovers both, now that we have the water for it. I think tonight is going to be very special, and I have no intention of missing out on it.” After taking a drink, as if to prove his commitment to remaining properly hydrated, Cai set to work on some of the vegetables. “Speaking of tipsiness; Sieg admitted he was not a very cheery drunk, and that reminded me that I wasn’t sure what to expect from you. Care to share, or should it be a surprise?”

Ophelia, who’d been working on a mouthful of the ham, swallowed before replying. “I’m the kind of drunk that most people find just a little exasperating, but I’m hoping you won’t mind it overmuch.” She winked. “Ever heard of a ‘cuddly drunk’?”

“I - I have, yes. ...I should be able to handle it just fine.” Smiling, he added, “I’m certainly not the most reserved when it comes to touch, even sober.”

Ophelia grinned, bumping her shoulder against Cai’s. “Something I’d never have guessed when we first met. You were always so serious and reserved. And you kind of went stiff whenever I touched you, though in retrospect I imagine part of that might’ve been a developing infatuation warring with military discipline and chivalry, hm?”

“Very much so, yes. Though I don’t think it helped that I didn’t quite realize what my emotions even were. ...Or perhaps that would have made me more awkward, if that’s possible.” Cai shrugged lightly, leaning a little against Ophelia’s arm as he rested his back against the fountain’s basin. “Whichever way it went, I’m glad things are more comfortable between us now.”

Ophelia leaned against Cai with a smile, taking another sip of her wine before leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “As am I. You’re very good at cuddling, so I’d be remiss not to have that in my life.” She chuckled. “So once we’re done gorging ourselves, what would you like to do then? There will be games, contests…” her eyes sparkled. “Dancing.”

“Dancing?” Cai repeated. “Didn’t you say the elves...oh, wait - the honey wine. I suppose we don’t have to worry about breaking the custom of slow, ceremonial dancing tonight, then?”

“As I mentioned, this is one of the very few times that the elves cut loose and really have a little bit of fun. Most of their holidays and festivals are very ceremonial but this one is… at it’s most basic, a celebration of life. Of virility, birth, and love. So it’s a lot less regulated.” She grinned. “So no, you don’t have to worry about that tonight. And hey, since the elves don’t really study human informal dancing, you don’t even have to embarrass yourself by not knowing what to do- everyone will be making it up as they go along.”

“That’s a good point. I think we definitely ought to find somewhere to dance, then. It would be a shame not to hold up tradition, after all.” He paused to take and enjoy a bite of honey-broiled vegetables. “So - games before or after dancing? Or I suppose we could put it in the middle? ...Or maybe I’m overplanning - this is a festival, not a military operation. Sorry - I’ll try to keep that in check.”

Ophelia laughed, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Always on duty, eh Right Wedge? Don’t worry, we’ll get a chance to get to everything, just no promises as to the order.” She took a bite of some fruit, then washed it down with another sip of the wine. “Though if we’re discussing right after food, games might be the better bet- so we’re not trying to dance while so stuffed we’ll get sick.”

Cai nodded in agreement. “It would be quite a shame to lose a full belly of this food because of ill-timed dancing. Games sound just fine to me - I’ll follow your lead.”

***

Ophelia it seemed was being cautious with the notoriously strong honey wine, because by the time she and Cai had stuffed themselves silly with honey themed food, she was still nursing the same goblet of the stuff. She brought it along when they started to explore the rest of the festival. The first place where they found people engaging in non-food entertainment made her grin.

“See that, Cai?” she asked, pointing a finger at where a group of elves had gathered around a couple whose hands were tied together with numerous hanks of silk, hemp, and woolen cord. “I don’t think I’ve told you about this particular elven tradition- can you guess what it is?”

Cai tilted his head slightly, studying the ties for a moment. “Hmm. Well, the people tied together seem to be couples...it doesn’t look like they’re playing a game, so...I’d guess it’s symbolic of them being together?” It seemed a little ceremonial for something like that, though…

Ophelia giggled, kissing Cai’s cheek before taking another sip of the wine. “Silly. It’s called handfasting. It’s how the elves get married.” She made a vague gesture with one hand. “These aren’t real handfastings, just mock-ups for fun. But the tradition is that if one elf wants to marry another, he or she sends his or her beholden a piece of silk. If the marriage proposal is accepted, then the elf who received the silk ties it around their wrist and wears it like that at all times until the wedding.”

She took another sip of her drink, and having reached the bottom of the cup at last, set it down and put an arm around Cai’s shoulder. “At the wedding itself, the engagement silk, as well as a lot of other strings and cords, are tied around the couple’s joined hands. You’re supposed to tie the hands up so much that they can’t be pulled apart, a symbol of forming an unbreakable bond between them.”

“Ah - so like engagement and wedding rings, but with more focus on the connection?” Cai reached his hand up to touch Ophelia’s, only half-thinking about the movement. “That’s interesting...and very nice. What happens to the silk afterward?”

Ophelia shifted her hand to twine her fingers with Cai’s, leaning against him so that her forehead pressed against the side of his head. “Depends on the person. Most keep it somewhere safe, like a lockbox. Some frame it. Other people wear it, or have it stitched to the inside of a blanket or winter cloak where they can have it near them frequently but it isn’t obtrusive.” She glanced at the mock handfastings with a grin. “Looks like they’re having fun.”

Cai considered that; not wearing a sign of being married seemed a little strange, even to him; but this wasn’t quite like other Corvid cities, where there was constant movement in and out - everyone probably knew just about everyone else and whom they were married to without the visible sign. And being able to carry something like that in a cloak or under a blanket...that sounded nice. Of course, I imagine you’d want it enchanted to keep it from tearing or wearing down…

Ophelia’s comment pulled Cai out of his thoughts, and set his heart pounding immediately. “They do,” he agreed. It took him a few seconds to pull his next words together, and to make sure they were right. “Did you want to join in? Assuming...assuming anyone who wants can, that there aren’t any requirements?” So far the elves had been fairly neutral, as far as Cai could tell, about his species - but he hadn’t been trying to participate in elven wedding ceremonies, and he couldn’t talk himself out of the concern that it might somehow seem disrespectful.

The half-elf practically beamed at him. “Do you want to? I don’t think anyone will care if we join. I’d love to try it- could be fun.” Ophelia kissed his neck, running her nose along his chin. “But only if you want to.”

“I...uh…” Cai was distracted from what he’d been planning to say by the sudden affectionate gesture. Not that it felt bad, it didn’t, not at all - but it was...unusual, especially in the middle of a crowd. For a second, Cai started to wonder what could have brought it on - then he remembered the goblet Ophelia had just set aside. “I...well, I think your wine is kicking in, so, if - if you start feeling like you want to sit down, tell me, but...if you’re feeling up to it and want to do it, then...then yes, let’s join in.”

Even the idea of a mock wedding felt...monumentally big to Cai, like something he ought to have prepared for. But just a minute ago, he hadn’t even known elves had different wedding rituals than humans. If ever things...settled into a state where marriage was a possible option...well, all the options for that, elven and human, should be available, too. He’d have to start learning all of this somewhere, and as Ophelia had pointed out, there was too much wine flowing for there to be too much judging if Cai made a mistake, anyway.

“I think you’re right about the wine,” Ophelia said with a giggle. “Or maybe you’re just warm and snuggly.” She unwrapped her arm from around his shoulder and took both his wrists in her hands. “C’mon, let’s have some fun!”

Ophelia towed Cai towards the handfasting circle, walking backwards to keep her grip on him and half-stumbling as she tried to keep her balance like that with the wine in her system.

“I’m coming,” Cai assured her, picking up his pace a bit so he and Ophelia weren’t quite so far apart. He slipped one of his wrists free and instead took her hand. “But hold on a moment - let’s walk next to each other instead of backwards, so you don’t fall. You set the pace, and I’ll keep up. We ought to keep an eye on what’s in our path, anyway; there are going to be a lot of people more than tipsy on wine, and we ought to try not to run into them.”

“Spoilsport,” she teased, kissing him as he came up beside her but not resisting. “Fiiiine, we’ll be cautious.”

The reached the group conducting the mock handfastings just as the couple who’d been at it was finishing up. There didn’t seem to be a line- instead, the couple who’d just been going held up a bouquet of daisies, and seemed about to toss it in the air.

“Whoever catches gets to go next,” Ophelia explained excitedly.

“Oh - all right.” Glancing around the cluster of elves waiting for their turn, and then up at Ophelia, Cai said, “Maybe I ought to have brought Tamir after all - as it is, I think our chances of going anytime soon rest with you and your extra foot of height.”

Ophelia flashed the fireknight a grin, then turned her attention to the bouquet. As it was pitched into the air, she tensed, all her attention on the bundle of daisies. Then, as its downward arc brought it towards the elves, she jumped into the air, flinging an arm out wildly and curling her fingers around the stems.

“I got it!” she crowed, though she lost her balance almost immediately as she came back down and slipped backwards. Cai quickly reached out to steady her, grateful his military training had given him both fairly quick reflexes, and some strength to offset his lack of height.

“Careful - sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you ought to jump for it. ...But I suppose it’s our turn, then?”

“I suppose it is,” Ophelia replied with a gleeful grin, struggling back to her feet. She turned to the elf who was officiating, speaking to him in Elvish. The other elves turned towards her and Cai, some of them looking curious and others surprised- presumably by the presence of a human in their midst. A few of them looked even more startled when they got a good look at Cai’s face, but most were too collected and polite to betray any horror or surprise at the fireknight’s scars.

Once Ophelia had finished talking, the officiating elf nodded and made a beckoning gesture. The half-elf grinned, hooking her elbow with Cai’s. “You still game for this?”

“Of course,” Cai said, starting toward the elf in charge with Ophelia’s arm in his, purposely avoiding the surprised - though by all appearances only mildly so - expressions of the elves who’d caught sight of the burned human. The wine must have been working on their stiff demeanors already. Turning his mental attention away from them as well, Cai reminded Ophelia, “You’ll have to translate the instructions for me.”

Ophelia giggled, nuzzling him. “Can do. You’re in safe hands with me.” She giggled again. “Are you going to try to repeat the vows in Kythian or mimic them in Elvish?”

“Probably Kythian - I wouldn’t want to butcher the sound of it, or worse, wind up saying something completely different because of a technicality in pronunciation. I’ll have to ask you to teach me at least some basic phrases at some point, but I don’t think now is the best time,” he added with a smile.

Ophelia said something to the elf officiating the “ceremony,” who nodded. He directed the two to stand side by side, taking a small silken sash and tying it to Ophelia’s wrist. He proceeded to say a bit of a ritualistic speech, which Ophelia translated in an undertone. Finally, he made a beckoning gesture, and Ophelia explained, “He wants us to face each other. You take my right hand in your right hand, and my left hand in your left hand, so that our hands are crossed in the middle, and look directly into my eyes.”

“All right.” Cai did as instructed and looked up into Ophelia’s deep-blue, sparkling eyes. His heart was pounding rapidly, despite the fact that this was essentially just a game, only a mock elven engagement…

Ophelia gave him an encouraging smile, her own heartbeat fluttering with nervous excitement. The officiating elf took the silk sash and tied the dangling end around Cai’s opposite hand. Then, he spoke the vows, Ophelia repeating them in Kythian rather than Elvish for Cai’s sake.

“From this day forward, I promise you these things; I will laugh with you in times of joy, and comfort you in times of sorrow,” The half-elf said, grinning widely. She gave his hands a comforting squeeze, as if to back up the words- she could feel his heartbeat hammering in his thumbs.

Cai repeated the lines as well, smiling gratefully at Ophelia when she squeezed his hands. She had never seemed put off by the burn scars and the callouses there - it was far from the first time Cai had realized that, but considering they were currently tying the hands in question together, it felt somehow especially meaningful.

After Cai had spoken, the elf draped a chord over their joined hands. Then he spoke again, and Ophelia translated.

“I will share in your dreams, and support you as you strive to achieve your goals.” Cai nodded in emphasis as he repeated it.

The elf draped another chord. “I will accept you the way that you are, and will not try to reshape you in a different image.”

At this Ophelia blushed, and it was fairly obvious she was thinking hard about this particular one as she spoke it- small wonder, considering the way she often felt about herself, and the way that both of them had aspects of themselves and their past they were self-conscious about. Her appearance as a half-elf, her devotion to her brother, her independent and outgoing nature, these were all things Ophelia fretted about.

Cai, of course, had no small measure of things he could think of that a person could want improved; his scars, his stature, how rarely he spoke and how reserved and delayed it could be even when he did, the tangle of old slave habits and conditioning that still lingered in his head after all these years, certainly the so-far-dormant but ever-present right Courdon had to take him back if ever the wrong person found the brand on Cai’s shoulder…

Well - most of those things were things Cai was used to not being able to do anything about. Besides, he could hear the slight...worry, he wanted to call it, in Ophelia’s voice. Now it was Cai’s turn to give Ophelia’s hands a gentle squeeze of reassurance. What she saw as flaws or not, Cai couldn’t imagine the half-elf any other way, and didn’t particularly want to, either.

The elf draped another chord. “Whatever lies ahead, good or bad, we will face it together.” Another cord. “Distance may test us, and time may try us, but in each other a light to find the path again.” Another. Now, the elf changed tack, and it became evident that at this point he was improvising a little.

“One woman, elf and human, standing as arbitrator for both.” The elf took one of the cords draped over their wrists and tied it. “One man, human in whole, tried and tempered by harshness and flame.” Cai’s eyes flicked toward the officiator, but it wasn’t as if it was difficult to guess fire had played some part in Cai’s past.

The elf tied another cord, and spoke on. “Two hearts, bound by an invisible tie.” Another cord was wound. “Two people, bound in truth by silk and wool.” The fourth- only one more to go. “One life, one love, one soul- together forever, and after.” The final cord was tied, so that Ophelia and Cai’s hands couldn’t been seen under all the string, and they couldn’t have pulled apart if they tried.

Softly, Ophelia whispered, “This is the part where we kiss.”

Cai blinked. “Oh.” In retrospect, it did sound rather like a predecessor to such a thing. “I suppose we’d better, then.” Careful not to tug on the cords and mindful that Ophelia wasn’t entirely steady on her feet right now, Cai leaned forward and upward to take the initiative. Ophelia, beaming, leaned downwards towards him, and in spite of the slight awkwardness presented by their bound hands and the height difference, pressed her lips against Cai’s. The alcohol was clearly still working in her system even without the faint flavor of honey and bitter alcohol lingering on her lips, because it was a very enthusiastic kiss. Cai was surprised, but admittedly, not unpleasantly so.

“Is - ah - what’s next?” Cai asked when they had finished, a little short on breath. The officiating elf said something in Elvish, and Ophelia grinned.

“He says normally this would be the part of the ceremony where family would rise to give blessing to the newlyweds, but since this is just for fun,” the half-elf nuzzled her boyfriend. “All that’s left is to unbind our hands and toss the bouquet for the next couple to go. Do you want to have a go at it?”

“It looked like the couple before us did it together,” Cai said as the officiator began undoing the bindings. “I think we ought to try it that way, as best we can - it would combine your height and my sobriety, and that should get us interesting toss,” the fireknight suggested with a smile.

Ophelia laughed at that. “Good point. Alright then, remember to give it your best toss, Right Wedge!”

“Aye, Lieutenant Braham.”

The officiator handed the duo the bouquet. Ophelia held it in one hand holding it out so that Cai could take it in his opposite hand as well. Cai did so.

“On the count of three?” the fireknight suggested, drawing their arms back for a practice swing - he would need some idea when to let go since he couldn’t reach as high as Ophelia, after all. “One...two...three!”

The bouquet of daisies managed a good distance on a fairly even course - that course happened to be right toward one of the elves’ faces, but he managed to catch it before being hit. “Oops,” Cai murmured. “At least it was only flowers and not something really dangerous.” He threaded his fingers through Ophelia’s and started for the path in order to clear the way for the approaching elf couple. “That was a very interesting experience,” Cai said. “I hope you enjoyed it, too?”

“I did,” Ophelia replied cheerfully, leaning slightly against Cai’s arm. “It gave me butterflies even if it wasn’t a real marriage. Y’know not even my parents had a real handfasting of that sort. They did the hand tying thing, but they used traditional Wooist vows. To kind of smush together elf and human traditions.”

“That makes sense,” Cai said with a nod. “Did they have it here, or in your mother’s hometown?”

“Mama was born in the southernmost part of Lazuli territory, far south of here. It wouldn’t have been practical,” Ophelia explained, putting an arm around Cai’s shoulder. “They did it here. By then she’d learned to speak enough Elvish that she could understand the officiating elf without Papa having to translate.”

“That would certainly be a more comfortable way to do it, I’m sure,” Cai agreed. He hesitated a moment, but asked, “And - and when you get married? If you chose to? What sort of...what things did you want to have at your wedding?”

Ophelia looked thoughtful. “Well… I don’t really know. I think I’d prefer a nice, quiet sort of ceremony, just with close friends and family. Elves don’t do rings, but Mama and Papa had them and I think I’d like to as well. It’s… something solid, unobtrusive, that you can keep with you all the time to remind you of the person you care about. Doesn’t have to be excessively fancy really, just a band is fine.”

Cai nodded. “The durability would definitely be nice. If I were a married elf, I’d worry a lot about something happening to the silk from handfasting.” A small ceremony, friends and family, rings…

“Oh, and,” she stopped, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and leaning her cheek against his. “You. I’d like you there.”

Again, Cai was surprised, but again, not unpleasantly so. He returned the embrace, his stomach doing a number of impressive swoops and twists. “I’d - I’d like to be there, too,” he agreed. It took extra effort to keep his voice steady. Calm down - that doesn’t count as a proposal, you know, especially when honey-wine is involved. Even if it was... Well, there were reasons that couldn’t work right now. Be patient.

After a moment, Ophelia pulled away, beaming down at the fireknight. “Come on, there’s still an awful lot of festival to see! Let’s go have some fun!”

***

A few hours later, Cai returned to Sieg’s house by the river. He was far from done for the night, however, and didn’t even bother taking off his boots as he made a beeline for the bedroom he was staying in.

Tucked out of easy view from the door was a large bowl, and over that bowl was a slightly larger plate. Cai hadn’t been too concerned about anything in particular getting into the bowl’s contents; his worry was the glow seeping out and giving away the surprise.

He pulled out the necklace of flowers very, very carefully. The knots in the stems were all finally holding; he had spent too much time tying and retying the stems together not to appreciate that. Considering this was the first thing he had made out of flowers, it had really managed to come together nicely in the end.

But of course, it was Ophelia’s opinion on it that mattered most. Carefully gathering the delicate necklace in his hands, Cai hurried back out of the house and toward the place he’d be meeting Ophelia.

She, meanwhile, was emerging from the river after the ceremonial bath that was part of the festival. She might’ve forgone this part of the proceedings, not wanting to leave Cai alone, but he’d seemed insistent that he didn’t want her to skip part of the festival for his sake. By this point the wine in her system had mostly worn off, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit melancholy as she toweled herself off and changed from the ceremonial bathing gown back into her normal clothes. This was the part of the night where one of the most important parts of the festival took place, after all. Part that Cai had no way of knowing about because she hadn’t told him.

And I refuse to mope about it, she thought to herself waspishly. After all she had made the decision not to impart the knowledge of this part of the ceremony to Cai. She hadn’t wanted to guilt him into this. He was always quick to do things for her if she asked it of him, and oftentimes she felt bad about that. Like… like she was some sort of parasite leeching off of his good graces. The situation with Sieg the other day was just an underscore on that. Cai made so many sacrifices and exceptions for her… did she really deserve that?

She realized she was brooding again, and bit her tongue hard enough that it hurt. No. This was going to be a good night. It had been a good night, she’d enjoyed it thoroughly and she was pretty sure Cai had too. She wasn’t going to sink into melancholy over some flowers.

Even if I’ve wanted someone to give me those flowers since I was a kid…

Her hair was still dripping a little when finally she made it to the place she and Cai had agreed to reconvene- under a tree with low-growing branches in one of the quieter parts of town, where earlier they’d watched a romantic play being put on.

The half-elf’s back was to Cai as he approached; she wouldn’t have been expecting him from the direction of the houses. The fireknight’s steps were, from habit, quiet, and even though part of him wanted to shout out for her now, Cai forced himself to wait until he was close enough to see her and she him - and the flowers he was carrying - clearly. ‘Ophelia?”

She gave a start, turning towards the sound of his voice. The faint light from the flowers in his hands drew her gaze almost immediately, and she gasped. “C-Cai, you- how did you-? Who…”

“Sieg told me,” Cai explained, covering the last few steps between them. “As for how - Minuit helped me get through the forest to find them, and then back home again.” Very carefully, he held out the necklace. “I want you to have this.”

Ophelia swallowed hard, reaching out and taking the chain of flowers with a hand that shook. The faint, pleasant perfume that rose up from them, enveloped her as she put the necklace over her head. She’d smelled it before, when Belial made such necklaces or crowns and presented them to Morgaine at midsummer. But this was the first time anyone had made one for her. She hadn’t thought Sieg would intervene on her behalf. That he’d remember how much she’d always wanted one of these necklaces, that it would occur to him she wouldn’t tell Cai about it of her own accord…

The half-elf’s eyes began to sting, and she knelt down in front of the fireknight, pulling him into a hug. “Th-thank you… thank you.” Her voice was thick and choked, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to stop herself from crying. “You… you do so much for me, and I never give you anything back… I love you, I love you so much, I don’t deserve someone so wonderful as you…”

“That isn’t true,” Cai said quietly, wrapping his arms around Ophelia. “You give me so many things - someone to talk to, someone I enjoy being close to, your patience and your confidence...puzzles with secret notes hidden inside them…”

Ophelia laughed softly, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. “I wasn’t lying before. I… I really do want to share my life with you. But right now it’s just not possible, and I feel so selfish!”

Pressing aside mingled relief and elation - it hadn’t just been the alcohol talking, saying she wanted Cai at and presumably in her wedding - in order to speak calmly, Cai said, “I want that, too. Very much. You’re not selfish for staying here to do the things you need to do. If anything, it’s the opposite. At the very least, it’s no more selfish than me staying in Solis for Tamir and my duties as a knight. ...We’ll figure things out. You’re far too stubborn to let this go without a fight, and I know I’m not going anywhere.”

The half-elf squeezed Cai even tighter, her fingers gripping at the fabric of his shirt. Finally, she pulled away, tears in her eyes but a smile on her face. “You know me too well.” She lifted one of the blossoms from the necklace, holding it up to her nose and breathing deep. "I love how these smell. I can see why the scent is supposed to be good for hangovers- wait, is this why you were suddenly struck down with a ‘headache’ last night?”

“It is,” Cai admitted with an abashed smirk. “That’s also why Sieg sent you to fetch the cobbler at lunch yesterday - so I could ask your neighbor if I could bring Minuit along with me.” Cai considered mentioning that he had met Sir Gavin out in the forest as well...but considering their shared history with Courdonian slavers, Cai decided that could wait for another time. He didn’t want to think about being a runaway slave right now; he would much rather think about being the man Ophelia wanted to marry. Someday. When the time was right. “I’m sorry for the deception - but I thought that the surprise would be worth it. I hope I was right?”

“I love it,” she replied, her beaming smile making it clear she meant it in spite of the lingering wetness on her cheeks. Mischief flashed in her eyes, and she added, “Commendations are in order, Right Wedge Shahar. How shall I reward your actions above and beyond the call of duty?”

“Well...now that we aren’t obstructing a crowd of elves wanting their turn at handfasting, maybe we can pick up where we left off on that kiss?”

Ophelia didn’t require a second invitation. Putting one arm around Cai’s shoulder and the opposite hand behind his head, Ophelia leaned towards the fireknight and kissed him- a sober kiss this time, but no less passionate for that, and more pleasant with the scent of the bells of summer instead of alcohol to accompany it.

Sweet as Honey: Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

The day after the midsummer festival, Cai and Ophelia both slept fairly late. They’d been out most of the night, after all, and there wouldn’t be anything worth doing in the city open until at least midafternoon.

It wasn’t until the second day after the festival that Cai decided to follow through on his promise to speak to Sieg. As always, the half-elf was up early, fixing breakfast for both of them. When Cai walked into the room, Sieg had a mix of fruits, berries, and nuts that he was stacking up on a slab of sweet honeybread presumably leftover from the festival.

“Good morning,” Cai said, pulling out a chair at the table and turning it so he could still face Sieg. The fireknight had already decided that he was going to approach this talk slowly and carefully, and for the moment, he held off all-together. “That looks like some of the bread that was at the festival; the leftovers are distributed around, then?”

“Yes,” Sieg replied cheerfully. “There is always plenty of extra so it gets handed out around town. In particularly plentiful years some even gets put into wagons kept cold by magic and distributed to nearby human towns for the poor. But there still isn’t really enough after the famine for it to be worth the trip- at least not enough that would keep.”

He turned, setting one of the plates of fruit and bread in front of Cai and sitting down with one of his own. “I love this bread, because it’s tasty and you can put just about anything on top of it.”

“Even on its own it’s remarkably good bread,” Cai agreed. “Going back to meals at the barracks in Solis is going to be something of a readjustment, at this rate.” Cai carefully tore off a large chunk of bread, using the tips of his fingers to ensure he didn’t spill a single nut or berry onto the ground.

Sieg chuckled. “The elvish diet consists of a lot more sweet foods than most humans eat. A lot less starch and a lot more fruits and nuts. And they definitely don’t have as much meat as nobles eat. Elves don’t really do much herding of livestock like cows or goats. Actually, there are very few chicken coops here either- we get most of our eggs from ducks and geese.”

“Really? Do they taste different from chickens’ eggs, I wonder?” After taking and swallowing his bite of bread, Cai added, “We certainly eat our fair share of breads and starches in the barracks. Root vegetables as well, if it’s been dry enough not to drown them. Most of the meat goes to the phoenixes; they can eat bread and fruit and the like, but they’re quite clearly designed to be meat-eaters.”

“Duck eggs are bigger than chicken eggs and have bigger yolks, so the taste differs insomuch as you get a lot more yolky taste out of a duck egg,” Sieg replied after chewing through a mouthful of his own. “Also you don’t cook them for as long or they dry out. But I can certainly understand why you’d eat sparingly and austerely at the barracks for the fireknights. Keeping such large birds supplied in meat must not be cheap. And I understand that you are supposed to keep rather light so you don’t weigh the birds down?”

Cai nodded. “Yes, to both. That much meat is certainly expensive; we keep luxuries in very small supply to be able to afford it. But keeping light weights is easy enough - exercise is one thing we do get in abundance - so long as we don’t put on too much muscle mass. The balance is especially tricky for someone short as myself; I have less height to spread any extra weight over.”

Sieg laughed outright at this. “I feel you on that. I have to work out almost double as much as my comrades to have the same amount of strength because I’m so short. Papa was taller even that Ophelia when… when he was alive.”

This pause was only for a second, but it was a second that was very noticable, made more so by Sieg immediately applying himself to another mouthful of fruit.

Well, Cai wasn’t going to get a more on-the-nose opening than that. He set down the bit of bread he’d been about to eat. “I’m sorry. ...Ophelia’s told me some about your father, and I regret that I didn’t have the opportunity to meet him.”

Sieg swallowed the mouthful of food he’d taken, then gave a wan smile. “He’d have liked you. Papa was very sweet, compassionate, loved meeting new people… He’d be thrilled that Phee has a boyfriend who really cares about her.”

Cai was a little surprised not to have come up against denial yet - it was early in the conversation, yes, but Sieg had been very quick to put up his defences the last times the topic had come up. Maybe because Ophelia had been around? “I certainly got the impression he cared very much for the two of you. I am very sorry for your loss.” He considered saying more, perhaps something to steer the conversation...but on second thought, letting things go their natural route might be more productive. And certainly Cai wanted to be careful that he didn’t say something insensitive.

Sieg, however, shrugged absently, his only response a vague, “Thank you, but it’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

...Ah. There it was. Carefully, Cai said, “Well, time alone doesn’t necessarily make a loss easier to bear.”

“Maybe,” Sieg replied. Glancing sideways at Cai he asked, “You speaking from experience?”

“...I haven’t had family to lose. But I’m a knight as well; I’ve been on battlefields where good men who shouldn’t have died...didn’t come home.”

Sieg bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried. You must think me dreadfully insensitive.” He smiled, that same flat, doll like smile he’d given twice before. “It takes a great deal of strength to do what we do.”

Maybe I should have answered him directly, Cai thought with frustration. A little late for that now, however. “Indeed it does. …I wasn’t trying to imply that you were prying, or being insensitive - it just seemed like an improper time for me to bring up my ghosts. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to give the impression I’m offering condolences and my experience only to talk about my own losses.”

Sieg looked away. “I can see how you’d feel that way. Ophee’s the same. She’s always trying to get on me about being more honest with myself, but she’s really not one to talk. Still it’s hard, talking about things that are painful when you feel like you’re just a burden or being selfish.”

Cai nodded slightly, but added, “It’s not selfish to grieve for a loss. And I don’t think anyone worth listening to would say you’re a burden for doing so.”

“Maybe not usually,” Sieg replied, his voice very soft. “But what if you’re the one who caused that loss? Does a murderer have any right to grief?”

He stood suddenly, all smiles again. “I’m sorry, that was a very odd thing to say. Papa was given to philosophizing and I guess I’ve taken after him.”

Completely taken aback, Cai blinked and for a moment, couldn’t put his thoughts into words. “I - It was an accident - murder and someone’s sacrifice on the battlefield aren’t the same thing!”

Sieg didn’t respond right away. When he finally did, all he said was, “I know she’s staying here in the city for me. She really doesn’t have to; I’m fine. And I want my baby sister to be happy. So please- tell her to be happy.”

“I can’t just tell her how to feel, Sieg. And she already knows you’re not being honest.”

“She shouldn’t sacrifice herself for my sake. Papa already did that, and not a day goes by I wish he hadn’t. I don’t want her to do the same.” He shook his head. “I have to go to work. But I’ll see you later- you wanted to meet Master Gavin, right? Ophelia says she thinks you’d like him. I’ll pick you both up afterwards and we can go out for some cake.”

Sieg turned to leave. Cai called after him, but the only response was a final sad expression cast over Sieg’s shoulder before the half-elf walked out and shut the door behind him.

Cai sighed, leaning over the table and pressing his palms to his forehead. His hopes hadn’t been particularly high, considering he was essentially a stranger to Sieg - but he’d thought the conversation might last more than a bare minute. Maybe I should have told him more of what I’ve seen. Or about Sir Leighton. Or everyone I left in the refinery. Well - not the refinery. That would be difficult, if not impossible, to explain without also telling Sieg that he’d been born a slave. Cai figured he could trust Sieg with the information if he ever had to tell him - he’d been surprised Ophelia hadn’t shared it of her own accord - but it was not the sort of revelation one made when they were trying to console someone.

But anything else - anything else might at least have set the stage so that Sieg wasn’t the only one expressing some emotion, and might have assured him that Cai actually understood in some way what a loss like Sieg’s had been like. But it was too late now.

Cai sighed. I don’t know what to do - I clearly can’t fix it, but neither can Ophelia, or Sir Gavin...but who, then?

*******

The fireknight didn’t linger at the table for long; the silence felt oppressive. After cleaning up the kitchen, Cai headed for Ophelia’s house to reluctantly give her the disappointing news. He almost couldn’t help repeating the conversation in his head over and over, nitpicking at his words and wondering if he should have tried different directions… It was impossible to say whether they would have gone any differently, of course, but it didn’t stop him from wondering.

A few houses away from Ophelia’s, Cai spotted Minuit sunning himself on Brigitte’s porch. The cat looked up when Cai’s boot made some noise against the path, and with a friendly meow and after some rigorous stretching, the cat pranced over to Cai for some petting and attention. Cai obliged, scratching Minuit behind the whiskers and ears and letting him lick what must have been small, lingering crumbs of bread or droplets of berry juice from his fingertips. After a minute or so, Minuit’s ears pricked and he looked up and toward the house; Cai wasn’t sure what he’d heard, but suspected it was a more substantial breakfast, as the cat gave Cai’s fingers a final friendly lick before heading back for his house at an eager pace.

Feeling...not better, but perhaps at least bolstered, Cai covered the remaining distance between Brigitte’s and Ophelia’s houses, and knocked quietly on Ophelia’s door. A few minutes later, she opened it, looking out at him with a warm smile.

“Hello Cai, I… is something the matter?”

“...A little,” Cai decided at last. “Nobody’s hurt or anything like that. But - well, I told you I’d try to talk to Sieg about the way he’s not handling his grief. And I did, just a few minutes ago. ...I couldn’t get through to him, either. I’m sorry.”

Ophelia looked surprised by the bluntness, but she sighed and shook her head. “I was afraid that might happen,” she backed up, letting Cai come inside the house and closing the door before guiding him to the couch. “I suppose he gave you that awful smile then?”

“Yes,” Cai confirmed as he followed Ophelia. “Not the entire time, admittedly...which only makes it eerier when he does chose to use it. I don’t think he was very happy with me by the end of it, though.” Sitting on the couch with a soft sigh, Cai said, “I can’t blame him for that, I suppose; obviously he doesn’t like talking about it.” Which, of course, was precisely the problem…

“He’ll usually try to deflect the subject when people bring it up,” she said with a sigh, flopping down on the couch and putting her head in her hands. “And if you press him he just shuts down. I really don’t understand him. He can’t possibly like being miserable, but he insists on doing it anyway. He first started this,” the woman scowled a bit here, “Because our poor dear mother was grieving and he didn’t want to burden her, or so he said. But she’s long gone…”

Cai’s frown deepened a little at the hint of bitterness in Ophelia’s tone. This wasn’t the first hint he’d heard of something having happened between Ophelia and her mother years ago, but it never quite seemed like a good time to ask her about it further. And she had said anyway that she would tell Cai about it when she was ready.

“I don’t think it’s just to do with your mother. He…” Cai was silent a moment, but finally murmured, “He outright called himself a murderer, Ophelia. You said he blamed himself, but...I didn’t realize he felt it was on-par with deliberately killing someone.”

Ophelia stared at Cai, a dawning look of horror on her face. “Oh… Oh Woo. He said something like that a long time ago, right afterwards. That he killed Papa. But I thought that was the immediate grief talking, I didn’t know he still felt like that after all this time. Sieg, you idiot…”

She put her head down again, hunching her shoulders. “He’s going to kill himself at this rate- the stress, the way he won’t let healers fix him he gets hurt…”

Cai leaned so that he could put his arm over Ophelia’s shoulders. “I’m scared for him, too. ...And now I don’t know if telling him that would make things better or worse - if you haven’t told him that already. There has to be some way to get him to look at this rationally, but...” He trailed off in frustration. “You were right when you said he could be stubborn. I just wish he was stubborn in defending his mental health, not in attacking it.”

Ophelia leaned against the fireknight’s side. “So do I.” She gave Cai a wan smile. “Now do you see why I was so upset when you wouldn’t talk to me about the things that were upsetting you? I just… I hate feeling helpless to do anything for the people I care about when they’re suffering.”

“If my evasiveness was reminding you of the way Sieg acts, I certainly see why it made you so upset,” Cai said with a nod. “I’m sorry; that’s hardly a thing you needed to be dealing with from two people in your life. And I’m sorry I couldn’t get through to him - one would think a knight and a former slave should know exactly what to say, but...evidently not.”

Ophelia shook her head. “Don’t blame yourself Cai. It’s like you said- we can throw a ladder down into the pit, but he has to chose to climb it.” She sighed. “Did he say anything else?”

“Not very much; it was a short conversation. He did admit that he knew you were staying in the city for his sake, but that he didn’t want you stuck here sacrificing your time and your happiness for him. If I hadn’t been so blindsided by his other remark, I might have suggested that if that was how he felt, he ought to listen to you and actually let himself heal.”

“Oh, Sieg,” she muttered, rubbing her face. “He’s not an idiot, I’ll give him that. And he’s fairly observant and perceptive. But he’s just so stubborn!”

She was quiet for a moment, before shaking her head and giving Cai a hug. “Thank you for trying, Cai. And I’m sorry he upset you.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make any headway. And that you’re having to deal with this all the time.” Cai hugged her back. “You’re right, he isn’t stupid...eventually something someone tells him has to sink in.”

“Eventually,” Ophelia agreed. “This can’t go on forever- something has to give eventually.” She shook her head. “For now, I think we shouldn’t dwell on it. Just give him some space.”

The half-elf stood, offering Cai a hand up. “You wanted to meet Sir Gavin today, right? Think you’re still up for that? He has a way of cheering people up.”

“I did, yes, and I’d like to meet him.” Cai accepted the half-elf’s offered hand. “...Oh. I didn’t mention at the time, but I did run into Sir Gavin briefly while getting your flowers.” He managed a small smile. “I think that’s the last of the secrets I was keeping to keep that a surprise.”

Ophelia blinked, startled. “You- oh, in the forest, he was on patrol wasn’t he? That makes sense, they’d have assigned people to patrol who aren’t married and don’t have girlfriends so that those who do could hunt the flowers. Goodness me, you were busy that night, weren’t you?”

She helped him stand, leading the way out the door. “I imagine the conversation you had with him wasn’t terribly engaging though. He is fluent in Kythian, just… a four-hundred year old dialect of it.”

“We didn’t say much,” Cai admitted. “About all we managed was exchanging names and some basic details about how we knew you or Sieg. He guessed why I was out there, of course. ...And he recognized my accent, though we didn’t talk about that much.” Cai shrugged a little. “In any case, it will be nice to have a properly-translated conversation this time around.”

“I’ll be happy to facilitate that conversation,” Ophelia replied. “I’m sure you’ll like him- he’s a very nice guy.”

The two of them made their way through the city, until eventually they reached a place that looked more akin to a public stable than a home- a wide, open paddock was adjoined by a stable building, with a tiny cottage off to one side. Standing beside the paddock, feeding a carrot to a handsome dappled grey stallion, was the man Cai had met several nights before. Now out of his armor and in casual clothes, Gavin was still fairly intimidating with his wide, muscular frame and tremendous height. But when he turned towards the approaching duo, there was nothing but kindness and welcome in his eyes.

“Hello there,” he said, with Ophelia translating. “It’s good to see you again, Sir Cai.”

“You as well, Sir Gavin,” Cai replied with a smile. “I hope the rest of your shift the night of the festival was uneventful?”

“Relatively,” he replied with a dismissive hand wave. “I had to fish a poor sap making his first foray for the Bells out of a mud wallow but that was the most excitement.” The elf smiled, stroking the nose of the stallion. “I understand you like animals, Sir Cai? Would you like to say hello to Orangeux?”

“That’s Elvish for ‘Stormy’,” Ophelia added helpfully.

Cai nodded. “I’d like that very much.” As he approached the elf and his horse, watching the later with obvious interest and care, the fireknight added, “I take it Ophelia’s not only been telling me about you, but the other way around, then?”

“Some,” he replied, fishing in his pockets and offered Cai a bag that rattled with dried corn, wheat chunks, bran, alfalfa, and oats- some sort of sweet feed. “Though not everything- she mentioned nothing to me of your origins, for one thing. Not, I suppose, that it was any of my business to know unless you wanted me to.” He gave a sympathetic smile. “But all the same, I have heard a thing or two.”

“Including my accent, it seems,” Cai said, reaching into the bag and scooping out a small handful of the feed so the horse could see what he was doing. “I hope it didn’t come across as a sign of mistrust; Ophelia and Sieg both speak very highly of you, and I know the elves wouldn’t be in any rush to spread the information to certain interested parties - I simply prefer keeping the information on a tight leash” Cai held out his hand to show Orangeux what he had to share. “Though evidently I need to learn to camouflage my accent more; I appreciate finding that out from a friend rather than an enemy.”

“Well I have rather more knowledge of that particular accent than I’d like,” Gavin pointed out ruefully. “Even aside from my brief stint as a would-be slave, I’ve fought in a few wars against Courdon in the last few centuries.”

As he spoke, Orangeux sniffed at the sweet feed in Cai’s hand, reaching towards it and whickering eagerly. With delicacy that might’ve surprised anyone not knowledgeable about horses, the stallion ate the feed out of Cai’s hand.

The fireknight glanced up from the horse, briefly confused. “Wars with - oh. Right, I - sorry, it still takes me a moment to remember an elf may be exceptionally older than they look.” Cai smiled briefly, before turning his attention back to the horse, tucking the bag of feed under his arm so he could stroke its muzzle with the tips of his fingers. He was still addressing Gavin, however, when he said, “I owe you thanks for helping to keep the southern border secure, then, Sir.”

Gavin chuckled. “Of course. Though the last great conflict with Courdon was some hundred years ago. There was a bit of a dust-up a short-while back that almost escalated, but fortunately it was worked out without coming to war.” His lips curled with distaste. “Though as often as slavers ooze up into our lands, one would think there was no southern border. But you’re a fireknight, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you about that.”

“They’re generally smart enough to stay away from Solis, but we do have to send extra patrols south to assist from time to time, if the raiding is getting especially frequent. I’m generally not part of them, for obvious reasons.” Cai motioned toward his burn scars. “And I’ve heard no small number of stories about intercepted raids from the southern Houses’ fireknights when they come north for the Emberwing Championships. All the same, it would certainly be worse if Courdon’s king didn’t think Corvus could hold its border, so I’m grateful that isn’t the case.”

“We often wonder how the raiders manage to ooze this far north,” Gavin admitted. “There are three other territories between here and the border each with their own fireknights and ordinary garrisons. But I suppose determined enough mercenaries will find a way. After all, an elf captive is a massive windfall- worth any three human slaves, or so I’m told.” His dark expression lightened and he added, “Too bad the political powers that be won’t let us arrange for some phoenixes to be based out of Nid’aigle. We could use winged patrols around our lands, but we just have to make do with the odd Accipiter wing that drifts down here.”

“That is a pity.” Cai frowned. “You would think it would be worth the effort to put a base nearby to dissuade the slave-hunters...though I suppose there is the serious danger of the phoenixes eating you out of house and home. Sieg mentioned this morning that elves eat very little meat, and while I think they might be satisfied with the feast from the midsummer festival, I don’t think you all would feel that a reasonable compromise.”

“Such large predators would very quickly deplete our food supplies,” Gavin agreed. “We don’t keep large herds of livestock animals. There is also the issue of the language barrier. And some elves are just plain afraid to let Accipiter establish a military presence in or near the city. I don’t know how much Ophelia’s told you about them, but Accipiter can be… pushy.”

“She told me about their last visit here - ‘pushy’ is certainly one of their flaws. Arrogant and rude are others. I understand why the elves wouldn’t want knights bound to Accipiter orders nearby.” Belatedly realizing that Gavin had brought up the topic to lighten the mood, not further dim it, Cai added, “And it would probably make your warhorses jealous besides.”

The elf laughed at this, as did Ophelia. The half-elf explained, “They aren’t warhorses, at least not most of them. Gavin breeds riding horses, just as a hobby. The only warhorses he ever keeps are his own- he has two- and if he has a squire, theirs is housed here as well.”

“When you live as long as an elf does, you acquire passions for yourself,” Gavin agreed. “Mine is horsemanship. I even have a very comfortable apartment set up in the attic of the stables where I stay if a mare is about to birth a foal. Actually… I’ve a little cremello foal now that was just born two months ago. I can put Orangeux up and bring the little one and her mother out if you’d like to meet them.”

Cai’s eyes lit up. “If she’s old enough to be comfortable meeting strangers - certainly!”

Gavin smiled, and took Orangeux’s halter in one hand. He guided the stallion back into the stable, and as soon as he vanished into the building Ophelia winked. “Told you he was nice. He’s about the only person other than me who could get through to Sieg right after Papa died. He just… has a way of getting people to relax around him.”

“He’s very easy-going,” Cai agreed. “...Hmm. Now that I think of it, he did manage to get me talking a fair amount. Perhaps it’s him who has the latent charming magic, and not me.”

Ophelia chuckled, putting an arm around Cai’s shoulder. “It makes me happy to see you relaxed and enjoying yourself, Cai. I wish I could give you that more often.”

Cai, already putting an arm around Ophelia in turn, looked up at her in surprise. “What do you mean? I’m always feeling relaxed and happy with you.” Remembering their conversation about Sieg earlier, he amended, “Well, obviously there are times when something external takes priority, but at least when I’m with you in those situations, I know I’m not alone.”

She kissed the fireknight on the forehead. “I’m glad. I would hate it if you didn’t feel relaxed and happy with me, Cai.”

“So would I,” Cai said, leaning his head against Ophelia’s arm. “Or at least, I assume I would - luckily I don’t have to know for sure.”

At that moment, Gavin returned. He had a beautiful golden colored mare with white on her mane, tail, and up to her knees on a lead. Trotting after the mare was a filly in pure cream.

“You’ll want to make friends with the mother first, so she trusts you,” Gavin cautioned as he brought them closer. There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes at Cai and Ophelia’s pose, but he didn’t comment. “Her name is Aube,” -Ophelia added quickly that this was the word for dawn- “And the foal is Joli- that means pretty.”

“They’re lovely,” Cai said, his voice quiet to avoid spooking the foal. He opened the feed bag, offering its contents to Ophelia as well before taking his own handful and holding it out to Aube. “Hello, Aube - we’re going to be very nice to you and your little girl, I promise.”

Ophelia accepted a handful of sweet feed, waiting for Cai to make his move before doing so as well. Aube was a little more cautious than the dappled stallion had been, sniffing Cai warily for a moment before accepting the treat.

“If you blow in her nose, it’ll help you get acquainted,” Gavin advised. “It’s called sharing breath- horses do it to introduce each other and to bond.”

“Sounds rude to me,” Ophelia noted with amusement, holding out her handful of feed to the horse and giggling a little as the mare’s lips tickled her palm.

“Hmm - I would guess it helps them get a good scent of the person - or horse - they’re being introduced to?” Cai watched Aube carefully, drawing out another palmful of grains with which to get the mare’s attention when she had finished Ophelia’s handful. Once she had started eating, Cai tilted his head a little and blew a slow breath into Aube’s nose. The horse lifted her head from the grain, and blew a hot breath from her nostrils back into Cai’s face. As she did so, a small, cream colored head popped out from behind the mare’s flank, whickering greedily at Cai’s treat bag.

“I think the little one wants some food too,” Ophelia remarked with amusement. The filly moved to approach the fence, but her mother stamped a hoof and the foal backed up again, ears flat.

“Give it a few minutes, she’ll mellow,” Gavin advised. “In the meantime, is there anything else specific you wanted to know or ask about? I understand you’ve probably heard a decent bit about me.”

“I have,” Cai confirmed. “Where to start...well, I’ve been told you served in the Langean war? All the way up in Bern? What is it like that far north?”

“Hm,” Gavin folded his arms, looking thoughtful. “Very cold, for starters. Cold enough that it snows from November until March, and the rivers and lakes freeze over. The war all but stalled out the first winter we were there, because it simply wasn’t feasible to take any action in the snow and the cold.” With a grim smile he added, “The epidemic of flu that spread through the camp that January certainly didn’t help.”

Cai winced. “No, epidemics rarely do - the flu especially is quite nasty.”

The elf absently stroked Aube as he went on, “But it’s a beautiful land all the same. Mountains that reach high up to the clouds- you could never see very far into the distance because the mountains were in the way. Like rolling waves of green grass.”

“I’ve heard mountains are supposed to be pretty - I’ve seen a few pictures in books Ophelia’s shown me, too. The heights they’re supposed to reach...it’s difficult to picture. I hope you didn’t have to climb any for the campaign?”

Gavin shook his head. “No, we traveled through the valleys for the most part. What we did have to do was travel through the winter for a campaign- the second winter. His Grace the Grand Duke of House Stallion decided a surprise all out push during the heart of winter would catch the enemy off guard and end the war more quickly. But it was not an easy time, I can assure you of that.”

As they’d spoken, Joli had slowly edged around her mother, drawing closer to the fence and to Cai. Aube glanced the foal’s way, but this time didn’t seem to want to stop her. Joli sniffed in Cai’s direction, curious and eager.

Cai glanced toward the foal, and slowly crouched, drawing out another handful of feed to offer to the foal. His eyes on Gavin, the fireknight agreed, “I imagine it must not have been. Does it snow just about every night like it rains in Corvus? That must get cold fast. ...And snow...piles? Like dirt, I’ve heard, instead of like water?“

“I believe the word for the way snow piles up is that it forms drifts,” Gavin replied. “But I don’t think it snows every night, necessarily. It just never gets warm enough for the accumulated snow to melt is all. And the consistency isn’t so much like dirt as it is… like wet sand, I suppose. Or wet clay. Soft and giving, but you can pack it together. And as more and more piles, the layers underneath freeze hard.”

Joli came forward slowly, finally reaching out to take a greedy mouthful of feed from Cai’s hand.

“Not so fast,” Cai gently chided the foal. “You’ll make yourself sick that way.” He shook his hand a little to spread the remaining grain a little more thinly over his palm. “So - you essentially had to trudge through cold, wet clay that kept getting higher and higher every night it wasn’t warm enough to melt? Small wonder the northern armies generally stop during the winter. ...Food must not have been in great supply, either; if all the grass is trapped under the snow, how would the plant-eaters get to it?”

“Stored larder from summer,” Ophelia explained. “They have to set aside a share of the food they harvest and preserve it during winter. Wild animals like deer will eat things like tree bark to get by. There are also berries that are ripe in winter, and nuts. It’s not rich pickings, but they survive.” She grinned, “Or so I’ve read.”

“Oh. Well - I suppose that does make more sense than the entire animal population of Bern coming down to Corvus and Elacs.” He smiled with a touch of embarrassment at his lack of knowledge, but a glance back at the horses seemed to remind him of something and his expression became curious again. “Were you able to see any of the Bernians’ special horse breed? The silver one on their founding House’s emblem?”

“The Bernian Noblesse you mean?” Gavin asked. “Only one, and only from a distance- the one ridden by His Grace of House Stallion. They are supposed to be very rare, and only in the possession of the Stallion family.” The elf stroked Aube again, leaning slightly against her side. “The Noblesse are huge- easily the biggest horses I’ve ever seen in my life short of a draft animal. Far bigger than any of our breed, who favor speed and endurance much more than strength and size.”

Cai, who considered pretty much any horse a big animal, tried to imagine one so immense it would make an elf as tall and as familiar with horses as Gavin consider it huge. He had seen draft horses from time to time, if only in remote areas, and if they were around that size… “Bred for strength over speed or not, I still imagine I would hate to see one coming toward me on a battlefield,” Cai remarked. “If I wasn’t on Tamir’s back and ready to get into the air fast, anyway. ...Is it all right to give Joli more feed?” He held up his empty, slightly sticky palm.

“I wouldn’t- too much grain will give her a bellyache, she’s not completely ready yet for solids,” Gavin said. “But you can pet her if you like, and Aube can have as much as you’d like to stuff her with.” He smiled. “Warhorses are not to be trifled with so I don’t blame you for caution. But I understand you got to ride one the other day?”

Obligingly setting the feed bag aside, Cai wiped his hand on his trousers and held it out to the foal again, this time with his other hand ready to try petting her if she put her mouth into his palm in search of more grain. “I did,” he said in answer to Gavin. “I take it you already know it was Freya? It was as much as surprise to me as everyone else there, especially since she introduced herself by stealing one of my belt pouches.” He shook his head slightly, but with an indulgent smile.

Gavin chuckled. “I was actually the one who bought Freya for Sieg originally. I figured caring for a difficult mare would be a good distraction for him, and a point of personal pride if he could win her affection and obedience.” The knight sighed. “He is in desperate need of things in his life to be proud of.”

Cai nodded slightly, glancing at Ophelia, who gave him a wan smile in return. “Yes, I agree. Did it work? While she is...spirited, he mentioned something about her no longer biting people except at his orders - so evidently he succeeded at that task.”

“The two of them are definitely thick as thieves now,” Gavin replied with obvious amusement. “Though Freya still likes to keep him and everyone else she meets on their toes. Though given her theft of your belt pouch I doubt I need to tell you that.”

Whatever he said next earned a hot protest and a furious blush from Ophelia. She launched into him in annoyed, rapid-fire Elvish which he answered with an ever widening grin.

Cai blinked in surprise when Ophelia went red and the two elves launched into a rapid, untranslated conversation. What in the world…well, considering how red Ophelia is...

“I take it we’re being teased, Ophelia?” Cai asked. “First Lord Jade’s advisor, now Sir Gavin - I’m starting to notice a pattern in our longer interactions with elves.”

Ophelia sighed with exasperation. “Yes. Although Gavin actually knows me well enough on a personal level to have a distinctly unfair level of on-the-nose ammunition against me.” Looking at her boyfriend, she grumbled, “He said ‘I understand you’re something of a hand at gentling animals yourself. Is that how you got your spirited, temperamental lady to be so well behaved?’ Then when I told him I am not a horse, he said, ‘Of course not- he’s a fireknight, so that makes you a phoenix. Look, you’re even fluffing up your feathers in irritation!’”

“...Oh.” Frowning as he turned his gaze to Joli, Cai said, “I would never want to have tamed a person. Especially not Ophelia.” He gently stroked the foal’s muzzle, and attempted to add in a lighter tone, “Besides, I do nothing when it comes to the animals. They’re the ones who decide they like me.”

“You take me far too literally, Sir Shahar,” Gavin replied gently. “Besides, the word I used was ‘gentling’ not ‘taming.’ A lot of people assume it means the same thing, but it doesn’t really. When gentling a wild horse, you don’t break them to heel like if you were taming a lion. You earn their trust, slowly, and get them to come to you. Convince them that you are a friend, until they invite you into their herd. And elven horses are intelligent enough that if they do accept us, it is because they’ve chosen to, of their own free will. Would you call your phoenix a ‘tame’ creature?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Cai let out a breath slowly and quietly. This...was not his usual temperament, and normally he would never have let it show. Especially not in front of someone he was trying to get to know and make a good impression on. The stress and lingering frustration from talking to Sieg this morning must still be affecting him - but that wasn’t the fault of anyone here.

“...I apologize, Sir; you were only speaking in jest - if Ophelia isn’t truly offended, then I have no legitimate reason to be upset.” Cai doubted it was necessary to add why the idea of tamed humans was especially disturbing to him. “Please forgive me; there was a bit of an emotional incident this morning and my head evidently hasn’t gotten back into proper place.”

Gavin blinked in surprise, and his next statement had a distinct tone of tentative query about it. Ophelia responded instead of translating, and the elf gave a heavy sigh, resting his face in his hands. “Sieg, vous idiot…”

He looked up again, his expression bleak, and spoke again, Ophelia translating. “I can’t blame you for being in a dismal mood coming off of that, Sir Cai. It is… not easy. I’ve seen myself often enough just how unhealthy my former squire’s thoughts are. I’m sorry you had to play witness to him like that.”

“It’s all right - it was my decision to try talking to him about the issue, and I evidently didn’t prepare myself for how...unnerving it would be. I knew I wasn’t likely to change anything, but I suppose that can only protect a person so much. ...I have great respect for how hard you and Ophelia both work to help him. It cannot be - well, no - I know it isn’t easy.” Cai looked up from the horse again. “And I do apologize for taking your comment out of the tone it was meant - of course you wouldn’t imply…” He considered a moment, and finally settled for a gesture toward his right shoulder - his branded shoulder - and finishing, “anything so crude.”

Gavin smiled thinly. “No, of course not. But I don’t blame you for taking it the wrong way. You’ve endured a very great deal so I can’t imagine you take anything for granted.” Glancing at Ophelia, he added something that made the half-elf blush again, and her translation was somewhat stammering. “A-at least now Ophelia has someone to hold her accountable for her own wellbeing as well as Sieg’s. I used to worry about her as much as him.”

With a slight nod, Cai said, “I’ve seen why you would have. And it seems only fair someone should be there for Ophelia the way she’s been there for Sieg.” He gave Ophelia a warm smile. She smiled in reply, her blue eyes reflecting her embarrassment.

“I know I’m not always the easiest person to get along with either,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But I’m glad you put up with me all the same.”

“You’re no more difficult than I’ve been.” Cai set his hand - the one Joli had not been eating out of - on top of hers. “And you make it worth any effort.”

***

True to his word, Sieg arrived to meet Cai and Ophelia as they were leaving Gavin’s stable later that day. He had a covered dish in his arms, and was wearing a cheerful expression that was fortunately not quite so unnerving as the awful false smile he’d worn when last Cai saw him.

“Hey you two- did you meet Master’s new foal? She’s a cute one.”

Cai, who had already decided he would let Sieg direct the tone of this conversation, nodded and managed a slight smile. “He did bring her out for us. She’s very cute, and very fond of sweet-feed. ….Did your shift go well?”

“The forest was as quiet as a sleeping babe,” Sieg replied. “Though I am not sure if I’d have called it ‘good.’ Quiet gives me far too much liberty to think.” He shook his head, beaming a little too heartily. “But I did get that cake I promised- almond milk and fig, Ophee mentioned you might like it.”

“Thank you,” Cai said, surprised by the gesture. “You’re an incredibly generous host. ...I’m sorry your shift was...uncomfortable.” Guilt squirmed in Cai’s stomach.

Ophelia winced, hugging Cai around the shoulders. Sieg only shook his head.

“You don’t have to worry, really. I’m fine, honestly. I just want you both to be happy, so don’t worry about me, okay?” he turned, jerking his head in the direction of the house. “Come on, the sooner we get back with this the sooner we can eat it.”

“Sieg, if you’d rather be alone, you don’t have to feel obligated-” Ophelia started to say, but Sieg shook his head sharply.

“No, it’s okay, like I said it was too quiet. In the forest. I could use some company.”

Cai glanced at Ophelia to see how she reacting, then back to Sieg with a nod. “All right. Let us know if we overstay our welcome. But we’ll be happy to join you in the meantime.”

Ophelia had to stifle a sigh. Sieg was clearly still in a dismal mood from his conversation with Cai earlier in the day, and trying to hide it. But she looked down at the fireknight with a wan smile before addressing her brother. “Of course we will, Sieg. You know I’m always here for you if you need me.”

Sieg’s expression softened, and he slowed so that he was walking alongside his sister instead of ahead of her and Cai. After a moment he said, “I’m… sorry about this morning, Cai. It was rude of me to walk out like that.”

Cai considered his words very carefully. “It’s all right. It was a very personal subject, and...I should have approached it more appropriately.” He considered saying more - but he was so worried he would drive Sieg off again.

Sieg looked up at the canopy of trees overhead, for just a moment letting a flicker of sadness show in his expression. “It’s not your fault. I’m just weak.” He gave Cai another smile, glancing at Ophelia. “I don’t blame you for falling for my sister- she’s a strong person. Way stronger than I am.”

“Sieg, you’re stronger than you think,” Ophelia murmurred.

Nodding, Cai said, “You’ve made it this far and this long. ...And your burden isn’t the same as Ophelia’s. Sometimes things stack up so that the most you can do is fight tooth and nail to get through each day.” Remembering his earlier potential mistake of being guarded with his own experiences, Cai added, “There were...plenty of times where that was all I could manage, and I hope I wouldn’t be begrudged as weak for those limitations.”

Sieg looked at Cai in surprise, but shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m sorry, I should've realized.” He hesitated, before adding, “I don’t know what you've been through in the past. And I won’t ask- that’s your business. But I hope you’ve found happiness.”

Ophelia, her arm still around Cai’s shoulders, tensed a little, as if wondering how Cai would answer that. Cai glanced up at her, and briefly around, but wasn’t sure what had made her stiffen. Deciding now was not the moment to ask, he instead answered Sieg’s question. “I have. The life I have now...it’s beyond anything I could have predicted or thought to hope for. And I hope you find the same.”

Ophelia relaxed again, a slight smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. Sieg smiled as well, though the expression was a tired one. The male half-elf replied, “I’ll be happy as long as the people I love are.That’s all I want.”

Cai nodded slightly. “And those people want the same thing, you know - for everyone they love to be happy.”

Sieg sighed. “I know. But it’s not as simple as all that.”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it were,” Cai agreed. “But I - we - hope you’ll at least keep trying.”

Ophelia nodded emphatically, “Don’t give up on yourself Sieg. Please. You’re not just my brother, you’re my best friend. I want you to have a life as happy as any I could have. No matter how long it takes.”

Sieg smiled. “I love you too, Phee. I’ll… think about things. That fair?”

Cai nodded, thinking perhaps that was all they could really ask for. Whether it would be enough...he supposed they would see.

Sweet as Honey: Epilogue

SPOILER: Click to show

Several days later, Sieg went looking for his sister and her boyfriend. It was later in the afternoon, with the worst heat of the day fading. Overhead clouds were boiling, threatening an oncoming storm. But it was still a ways off, affording Sieg some time to track down the two.

He’d already looked at his own house and not found them. Ophelia’s place was also deserted. Poking around all the local animal hangouts had proved equally fruitless.

It was in the orchards that Sieg finally spotted them, sitting together under a huge cherry tree. When he called out to them there was no answer, drawing a slight frown from the Nid’aigle knight. He drew closer, and came around the side of the tree to discover Ophelia and Cai slumped, their breathing even and their eyes firmly closed. Ophelia was leaning backwards against Cai’s shoulder, his arms around her from behind and his head resting atop hers.

Sieg couldn’t help it- he chuckled, then he laughed.

Cai twitched awake at the sound, and was confused for a moment before realizing the few seconds he’d been intending to close his eyes had evidently lasted quite a bit longer. “Oh - ah - hello, Sieg.” Thank the gods he wouldn’t look as red as his face felt. “I - I hope we weren’t too hard to find, if you were looking for us? We didn’t intend to be out here this long...”

“It’s fine, far be it for me to begrudge you both a little relaxation,” Sieg replied cheerfully.

At the sound of the boys’ voices, Ophelia made a soft noise of confusion, blinking awake. Her blue eyes were still glazed and confused, and Sieg grinned at the sight of it before addressing Cai again in a slightly louder voice.

“Though I should hope that my sister isn’t so boring a girlfriend that she puts you to sleep.”

“I’m what?” Ophelia muttered dazedly

“Not boring,” Cai answered. “It was just very hot out, and we were...relaxed, and comfortable. And after two straight nights of being awake, I suppose I needed to catch up on sleep?”

“Sorry if my waking up at dawn to work out kept you from sleeping in and making up the deficit,” Sieg replied, sounding amused. Ophelia finally seemed to have woken up enough to realize what was going on, because she blushed.

“Sorry Cai, did I pin you? I didn’t mean to doze off.”

“He was just as asleep as you were, baby sister, don’t worry,” Sieg said. “All that fluffy hair apparently makes for a great pillow.”

“He’s right,” Cai agreed. “...I might have fallen asleep first, actually.” Glancing down at his arms, still around Ophelia, he added, “And I might have pinned you, by the looks of it. Sorry.”

“Looks to me like the pinning was mutual,” Sieg mused. “I had something to tell you both but if you’d rather snooze in the sun I can leave you two lovebirds alone. Although-” he gestured up at the grey clouds boiling in the sky overhead. “Perhaps moving it somewhere more sheltered might be wise.”

Cai glanced up. “Oh - you’re right. That would have been a very unpleasant way to wake up. Napping or not, we probably ought to get inside.” He shifted so Ophelia could get to her feet. “I take it since you had time to laugh at catching us...like that, the news isn’t anything too terrible?”

As his sister stood, Sieg gave a soft sigh. “Nothing cataclysmic no, but it’s not great news. Apparently House Andesine is having some issues with wyverns and we’ve been asked to provide support since a lot of the elves in my squad have fought wyverns before. I’ll be riding out at dawn.”

Ophelia looked slightly dismayed at this, but as she reached down a hand to help Cai stand up her only remark was, “It never ends.”

“Evidently not,” Cai said, frowning as he took Ophelia’s hand and got to his feet. “How difficult is fighting wyverns?”

“It’s not too bad,” Sieg replied. “They’re semi-nocturnal and photophobic so if you flash a light at them it’ll stun them briefly. The tricky thing with fighting them is how fast they are and the fact that they travel in packs. It’s never just one, it’s usually at least five. And they’re fairly smart too, they communicate in screeches and growls and attack as a team. We don’t want to kill them if we don’t have to, mind- just drive them back into the swamp.”

“That’s good, at least - that you can stun them and won’t be fighting them to the death, that is. I imagine it would be easier to urge them off than to try and get into close-quarters combat. ...Hopefully if they’re that smart, they’ll realize that’s the easier option, too.”

“So you’ve come to say goodbye to Cai then?” Ophelia asked. “Since he’s leaving the day after tomorrow.”

Sieg nodded, “That was my intent yeah.” With a wink he added, “Didn’t want to scarper off without a proper farewell and make your boyfriend think I didn’t like him.”

Cai smiled. “I appreciate that - I would be disappointed if I wasn’t able to give you a proper farewell, too, and thank you again for the hospitality, and for telling me about the flowers.” He tilted his head. “Do you have to start preparing for the trip now, or do we get to enjoy your company a little longer?”

“Unfortunately I do need to get ready,” Sieg admitted regretfully. “But if neither of you had any plans I should be free tonight if you want to have dinner together one more time before I have to go.”

“I certainly have no objections to that if Cai doesn’t,” Ophelia remarked. Glancing sideways at her boyfriend with a smile she added, “always provided he doesn’t come down with a mysterious headache.”

“I should be fine, I think.” Cai smiled. “That sounds like a good plan to me, Sieg; we’ll be there.”

“I’ll look forward to it then,” Sieg said with a grin. “I better get back now- get inside before it starts raining!”

He took off at a light trot, leaving Ophelia and Cai standing under the trees in the orchard. Thunder rumbled overhead, as if to back up his statement, and Ophelia groaned.

“I guess we’d better get back to my place before the sky unloads on us,” she said. “Sorry about Sieg, I was hoping he’d be able to stick around while you were here.”

“That’s all right.” Cai took Ophelia’s hand and motioned for her to lead the way toward her home. “I wish he could have stayed as well, but there was always a risk he’d be called to active duty. ...He’s not understating how dangerous fighting wyverns is, is he?”

Ophelia snorted softly as she started walking back towards her house, Cai’s hand in hers. “Because I have fought so many of those, clearly I am an expert on the subject,” she teased.

“A fair point,” Cai admitted. “I suppose we’ll have to take him at his word, then. And if multiple members of his squad have fought them and come back, it sounds like it ought to be manageable. ...I suppose, then, we’ll have a full day all to ourselves tomorrow.”

The half-elf smirked. “I suppose we will. Oh however will we spend the time? Hopefully not sleeping, I don’t want to have our last day together be one I don’t remember later.”

“Me neither. Hmm...well, supposing it doesn’t rain and we’re careful to get enough sleep so we don’t repeat today’s incident; I know a nice spot in the forest near the river now; perhaps a nice walk together and lunch by the water?”

The half-elf brightened. “That sounds lovely.” She kissed Cai on the cheek. “Consider it a date.”

[Shinko]

A collab between myself, Avery, and Tiger. Let's jump waaaaay down the rabbithole of time into the year 1175! Our tour guide for the evening will be your good old buddy Belial Braham, much younger and less experienced then when Morgaine meets him, and finding himself involved in a rather complicated political tangle...

A Rose Among Weeds: Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

Belial Braham hadn’t been called upon to parlay with the Corvid nobles in quite some time. For an elf he was something of a commodity, being fluent in Kythian where most of his kind was not, but generally he simply played translator for his commanding officers. It wasn’t often he was directly delegated to deal with an issue.

But such was the case now. Belial had been in the territory of House Lazuli dealing with a triviality that had happened to be closer to Nid’aigle than to Scorzen, when a desperate call had gone out from House Cressida of Ecliptus for the services of an Elvish translator. Commander Alphonse had sent a pigeon to Belial asking him to look into it, since he was closest.

He finally pulled his paint stallion to a halt at the gates of Ecliptus Castle, the impressive clay-brick structure casting shadows against the formidable wall that surrounded it. Although not particularly large, the castle was clearly well-built, with its exterior impeccably maintained so that the tawny bricks almost gleamed; no detail missed, even the steel gates were shined to a polish. Beneath the beating April sun the metal caught slightly, winking like a jewel.

Belial tilted back his kettle helm so that his face was more readily visible. The knight at 220 was still youngish by elf standards, but old enough to have a wealth more experience than any human. However, he didn’t at all look it. To see the man, blonde haired and amber eyed, one might assume him to be in his early twenties. He gave a polite nod to the pair of guards who stood sentry behind the castle gate, and in a heavily accented voice addressed him.

“Greetings; I am Sir Belial Braham of the Nid’aigle Company. I have been sent by my commander to answer the plea of Lord Cressida for an Elvish translator. Could I trouble you gentlemen to let him know that I have arrived?”

“At once, Sir Braham,” replied one of the guards, disappearing swiftly into the courtyard that sprawled behind him. Once he was gone, his companion stared at the elf with pursed lips and inscrutable eyes, saying nothing until his comrade returned some five minutes later-- now with a second man in tow.

The newcomer was clearly a member of the nobility, not merely a guardsman, wearing a finely tailored tunic of a stark dove grey and breeches in a shade of pastel peach. Although he couldn’t have been more than thirty-five, his long, ash blonde hair was already striped with bands of silver; it swished in a neat ponytail as he strode toward that gate, his sharp, almost hurried pace making it quite clear that he was not here to make nice, but to conduct business.

“Sir Braham, I’ve been told?” the man said, gesturing sharply for his sentinels to open the gate. “I’m Brook Cressida, the lord of Ecliptus estate. It’s nice to meet you-- I’m quite relieved that you’ve arrived.”

“It is a pleasure, Lord Cressida,” Belial replied, dipping his head politely. He swung out of the saddle, and walked through the now open gates, leading his horse by the bridle. As he drew closer, it became clear he was at least two or three inches taller than the nobleman. “I came as quickly as I could manage. Is it a matter of urgency then?”

“You could say that,” Brook said shortly, beckoning for Belial to follow him as he started back through the courtyard. “Come, Sir Braham. My men can take your horse, and I can explain as we two walk. And I thank you for making due haste to get here. I understand you came by way of Lazuli lands? I wasn’t expecting you until the morrow, at least.”

Belial followed the man, smiling slightly at this remark. “The elves breed their own horses. They are a good deal faster and more intelligent than the commonplace sorts. Though there is a bit of a trade-off in that the higher intelligence makes for a streak of independence and bad temper, especially in our warhorses. Pros and cons.”

As they entered the castle and began threading through the labyrinthine hallways, the elf went on, “But you did not summon me to hear of Elvish breeding accomplishments- what can I help you with, my lord?”

“To be honest, I’m not quite sure,” Brook said. “Other than I don’t like it one bit.” The lord let out a gusty sigh. “A week ago, my men found two persons squatting in a meadow but a few miles across the border.” Ecliptus proper was only a few hours north itself. “A man and a young girl of about ten or eleven, the former bearing a slave brand marking him as the property of House Junius in the Northlands. Usually, we would, ah… how to put this-- pretend we hadn’t seen, shall we say? Escaped slave slipping through our lands…” He shrugged, as if it such a thing were no more uncommon than a thunderstorm brewing in the heat of a Corvus summer. “But this was too… strange… to simply ignore. The girl, you see, was not branded, and was wearing fairly pricy jewelry, to boot.” The man paused for a moment as they started up a sweeping wooden staircase. “And the man? He’s an elf.”

Belial frowned deeply. “It is not uncommon for elves to be taken to Courdon as slaves. We are considered of particular value even, because our long lives means a worker who does not grow old, die, and need replacing by another who must then be ‘trained.’ But the girl is odd… correct me if I am mistaken, but are not Courdonians quite protective and possessive of their womenfolk?”

“They are,” Brook agreed. “But frankly, that she’s a girlchild is nearly the least puzzling thing about her. Or them, really. She has a Courdonian accent, but she refuses to speak the tongue-- either high or low.” He swallowed hard. “And… that’s the other thing. The elf. He has no tongue. And I do mean, a physical tongue. He can’t speak at all; they communicate with each other in some kind of sign language, and then she relays what he says to me in Kythian-- which he clearly doesn’t speak, because when I try to speak to him in it, she has to translate it to him in signs. And, all of that aside, it’s not like they’ve said overmuch helpful to me in the first place. They’ve been here a week, as I said, and I don’t even have their names.”

Belial shuddered a bit at the revelation that the elf had been forcibly muted. But he nodded at the nobleman’s words all the same. “So you hoped another elf might be sufficient to drop their guard somewhat, then?”

“I wouldn’t have even thought of it.” Brook shrugged. “But three days ago, the girl stopped talking to me outright. After I tried to separate them-- hoping I’d get more information from the little one that way, and she threw a fit, and he…” The lord shook his head and let out another exasperated sigh. “Anyway, they clammed up after that. Other than for the girl to tell me that he’d only talk to another elf.”

“Ah- so he asked for one. I’ll see what I can discern then. There are only two elvish cities remaining in Kyth, but provided he is not hiding something exorbitantly outrageous that would require him to be detained, he may go to whichever of them he prefers and we will try to help him recover. But there is your little mystery to solve first.”

Brook only nodded, both men falling silent as they continued to wend through the warren of Ecliptus Castle’s hallways. Finally they drew to a halt outside a plain wood door, different from the many others they passed only in the knight who stood before it, clad in the grey-and-peach Cressida livery.

“A precaution, Sir Braham,” Brook said, as if to ward off any comments. He waved away the guard. “In case the guests were to get cold feet.” He knocked once, but it was merely a formality, as the lord did not wait for a response before pushing open the door. “I have a guest,” he announced then, stepping inside and motioning for Belial to follow. “Your elf, in fact. Just as requested.”

Belial came into the room, pulling off his kettle helm as he did so. The two runaways were being kept in what appeared to be a small guest room, with two beds and a few chairs, but little else of note. The elf, an immensely tall man who looked to be well over six feet in height, had long brown hair trailing just below his shoulders, and deeply sunken crimson eyes. What skin could be seen on him was peppered with old scars, the most prominent of which being the raised reddish-pink welt of a Courdonian slave brand. He didn’t look very closely at Belial, his gaze flicking to the knight’s long ears briefly before shifting to fix firmly down on his leather boots. He approached his companion, who was sitting on the bed with a stoop-shouldered posture and her own eyes fixed only on her lap beneath. Everything in the elf’s demeanor screamed of fearful submission, but when he put a hand on the girl’s slender shoulder there could be no mistaking the protectiveness of the gesture.

“C-could you leave, Lord Brook?” the girl asked without looking at either him or Belial. Although she spoke in Kythian, her accent was anything but-- nor did she look Kythian at all, with ebony-black hair on a sandy bronze complexion. The dark features only acted to make her marbled blue-green eyes all the more striking, like emeralds and sapphires set amidst a field of coal. “We’d like to talk to the elf alone.”

As she spoke, it was impossible to miss the quick flickering of her wrists and fingers, as she hurried to translate her words into what could only be the mysterious hand signals Lord Brook had indicated. At once, it was clear that this was much more intricate than a simple game of pantomime-- that these signs were not just crude gesturing, but a language all their own, just as were Kythian or Courdonian.

Belial could definitely see why this duo had perplexed the nobleman so much. There was clearly something between them, but what? And who was this child? For that matter, who was the elf with her? There was a nagging sense of recognition when Belial looked at him, but it was distant and not at all helped by the persistently downward fixation of his face. Belial looked to Lord Cressida to see how he would respond to the request.

Still hovering near the doorway, Brook only smiled, but it hardly met his lips, let alone the rest of his strained expression. “This is my home, little one,” he said by way of answer. “You are the guests, not me.”

The child faltered, but only for a moment, her hands working quickly as a flurry of signals passed between her and companion. Then, finally dredging her eyes up, she let her gaze fall to Belial. “Elvish,” she said softly. “He wants you to speak only Elvish, sir. And then I’ll translate what he signs back to you in Kythian.”

“If that is what you both want,” Belial replied, transitioning into his native language smoothly. “My name is Belial- Sir Belial Braham” He gestured at himself as he said it, for the benefit of the young girl who presumably did not understand Elvish.

At this, the former slave’s brow furrowed, a look of confusion coming across his face. His scarlet eyes flicked upwards to Belial, and there was a look of concentration on his face. After a moment he sighed and shrugged, signing through the girl, “I am Crim. That is what my masters called me anyway. The girl’s name is unimportant.”

“Crim?” Brook quirked a brow. “What an unusual name.”

The girl scowled, her hands still as she snapped back what were clearly her own words: “It’s not like he picked it out.” At this, Crim gently tapped her wrist, as if asking her to translate, but she just shook her head. “No,” she said sullenly-- in Kythian, but no matter what language one spoke, the meaning was clear.

“Do you really want us to address you with the name the enkis gave you?” Belial asked, opting not to remark on the strangeness of the elf’s slave name. Crim shrugged.

“The days when I lived among elves and had another name are distant. I no longer remember what I used to be called,” He frowned, glancing upwards at Belial’s face. “You are from… there is no sign for the proper name and I doubt my friend would be able to pronounce it in any event, but it translates as Eagle’s Nest.”

“Nid’aigle,” Brook supplied, no longer bothering to feign a smile. Then, as he seemed to realize the implications of Crim’s statement, he spun to face Belial. “Do you know him?” the lord demanded.

“Perhaps,” Belial replied. “His face is familiar to me but it is as one might remember a childhood acquaintance.” He glanced towards Brook with a quirked eyebrow. “Certainly you do not recall every person you’ve ever met, do you? It is the same for elves. Memories get hazy as the passage of time gives them distance.”

“I was merely asking,” Brook huffed. “No need to get defensive with me, Sir Braham.”

Belial opted not to dignify that remark with a rebuttal, merely sighing internally and turning his attention back to Crim. “Yes. I’m from Nid’aigle. You are too, then? I thought I recognized you. What did you do there, before you were taken?”

“I was a gardener. I tended to the landscaping of the city,” Crim replied. Belial nodded- Nid’aigle was well known for being quite unlike human cities in that the forest and undergrowth had not been leveled to make space for the houses. Instead, the city had been built around the wilderness, with minimal damage done to the native plant life. On top of that, all of the buildings in the city were constructed so that they would gradually grow over with vines and creepers, looking from a distance like leafy hills more than houses. Keeping this forested state healthy and natural while not allowing it to destabilize the structures or impede the normal operation of the city was the task of a small army of gardeners and landscapers.

“How old are you?” the knight pressed.

“I don’t… know.” He made a quick gesture, this one seeming directed at the girl instead of Belial, and she signed quickly back to him, sighing as she did. He nodded. “If it is 1175, I was born in 952, so that would put me at… 223?”

Belial’s mouth fell open, and he gaped at the other elf in open shock. As he did, the young girl furrowed her dark brow, her head cocked. Leaning closer against Crim, as if to seek comfort from the feel of his familiar form, she said to Belial, “What’s wrong?”

“Ah,” Belial coughed. “You see, elves live so long we do not generally have many children. In our entire city there are usually no more than four children at any one time, if that. It is even rarer for children to be born close in age- you usually end up with a group where one is fifteen, one eight, one two, that sort of scenario. When I was a child, however, there was an elf who was only three years older than I was, and I knew him because it was so strange.” He turned his attention back to the escaped slave. “Your name. It’s Rollo, isn’t it? Rollo Jaubert.”

The runaway looked stricken. He didn’t reply at first, but his entire body started trembling, and the child needed but one brief glance at his fallen face before her hands seared into overdrive, gesticulating rapidly. He returned the signs, the two of the communicating in a terse silence for several moments more, before the girl let out something close to a whimper and glanced back over her shoulder toward Brook and Belial.

“C-can you leave, please?” she asked the Cressida lord. Her voice pitching, she repeated before the man could even reply: “Please?”

“I--” Brook started, sounding affronted, but when he noticed the tears pricking in the girl’s seafoam eyes, he hesitated. “What is it that you need to speak about in private, young lady? That’s so sensitive my ears cannot stand it at all, even less so than this fractured half-conversation I’ve already been puzzling through?”

Crim, taking a shuddering breath to collect himself, knelt slightly and gave her shoulder a squeeze, signing with his free hand. She snuffled, wiping at her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet Brook’s intent stare as she stammered her response to him.

“It’s just private,” she choked out. “That’s all.”

“Again, young miss, this is my castle--”

“And you’ve been keeping us prisoner here,” the child hissed. “We’re not guests. We’ve never been guests. And we want to talk to Sir Braham alone.”

“Lord Cressida,” Belial put in softly, “Please be assured, I’ll tell you of anything that presents a threat to your estate or Kyth as a whole. Is that not why you asked me here? But it is understandable that a man who’s endured… if you’ll forgive the irony of the term, a dehumanizing treatment for so long that he has forgotten his true identity, should wish for a bit of privacy while he comes to grips with being a free man again. I don’t think the girl is trying to hide anything dangerous- she’s just upset because her companion is.”

“Fine.” But Brook sounded far from happy about it. “I shall be just down the hall. Come speak with me once you’re done, Sir Braham.”

And with that he stalked toward the door and swung it shut behind him. As it caught with an echoing thunk, the girl flinched openly on the bed, swallowing hard. She rested a cheek against the rumpled linen of Crim’s threadbare tunic, choosing then not to use her hands to sign, but rather to lace her slim fingers through his broad ones. Their palms met. She blinked sharply.

Belial felt his heart twist. “It is you, isn’t it? Rollo. The boy I knew growing up.”

Crim- Rollo- nodded once, though he did not elaborate with his sign language, seeming to be focused on comforting the girl. Belial swallowed hard, switching to Kythian. “I’m sorry, young Miss. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay,” she murmured, letting go of Rollo’s hand. Signing quickly to him, she sighed when he replied. “H-he says I can tell you my name. If you want. And if you w-won’t tell Lord Brook.”

“Alright,” Belial replied. “If that’s really what you want. I have no reason to tell him anything that is not a danger to us.”

“Tamar.” The girl bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m Tamar.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Tamar,” Belial replied, using the honorific for an unmarried woman in the Elvish language in the absence of knowing the girl’s rank. Tilting his head, he said coaxingly, “You two seem quite close.”

“Of all the men and women I knew in Courdon, Tamar is the only one who has ever seen me as a person and not an object,” Rollo replied through the girl, who was still translating for him in their gestural language. “She is all that I have. The human noble will not take her from me.”

Belial looked down at Tamar, then back at Rollo. It was clear there was more going on here than just a lonely slave desperately imprinting on a child who’d shown him sympathy. Tamar instinctively turned to Rollo for comfort in a way that suggested she trusted him utterly, and that sign language between them was clearly quite elaborate- something that had taken years to invent. In spite of the fearful submission in his body language, Rollo was protective of his young charge and clearly willing to fight with everything in him to protect her.

In other words…

“Rollo’s your father, isn’t he?” Belial asked the girl. “Or, at least, he acts the part for you.”

Tamar shrugged limply, translating Belial’s question for Rollo as she did. “He said he could be my papa now,” she whispered. “Once we got away from…” She shook her head, and her hands fell still as she told Belial only: “He doesn’t hurt me. Not like my r-real papa.”

Oh Woo… Now Belial understood. Courdon was notorious for its harsh, domineering culture. Mostly this was manifest in the treatment of the slaves, but Courdonians had an over the top- by Kythian standards- attitude towards discipline in general. Occasionally this translated into families with outright abusive patriarchs. Though Belial was not fool enough to think all Courdonians were like this, it was a sad fact that the bad cases made far more noise than the good ones, and nasty rumors were constantly oozing up over the border.

“I see,” he said softly. “So that’s why he escaped with you? Not to free himself, but to protect you?”

Rollo, a slight frown on his face now, gave Tamar’s wrist a tap, the same signal he’d used before to ask her to translate what was being said for him. But the girl, half-looking as though she regretted bringing up her true father, quailed, looking away from Belial and Rollo both. It was only when Rollo rapped her wrist again, more insistently this time, and made a vague but demanding sort of noise, that the girl timidly signed back the heretofore unsaid parts of her and Belial’s exchange.

Rollo sighed, rubbing his face wearily with a pained expression. Belial looked towards the ex-slave, addressing him directly. “If you took the girl in, the only way you’d have the liberty to do that would be if she belonged to your master, wouldn’t it? And elves are so expensive in Courdon that your master could only have been an enki.”

The brown haired elf tensed, his expression flashing with panic. “Tell the humans nothing, Belial. If ever there was friendship between us a century ago, please do not betray us to the noble.”

Tamar’s voice trembled as she translated, and once she was done relaying Rollo’s words, she flicked a desperate look first to him, and then to Belial. Her hands once more freezing, she asked tremulously: “Tell them what? W-what’d Crim tell you? What--”

“I asked him if your father was an enki, Tamar,” Belial replied, his voice very soft.

“He’s… he’s not,” Tamar choked out, but there was not a scrap of conviction to be found in the child’s words. Fingers still motionless, she sputtered on, “He’s just a… baker. He makes bread. And… and…”

The former slave made a frustrated noise akin to a moan, and tapped Tamar’s wrist. Sloppily, she signed back at him, not looking at the elf as she did.

“Rollo, one more question for now,” Belial said softly. “The child, Tamar- did she come with you willingly? Knowing what you planned and the implications? Or did you take her without explaining what all she was getting into, against her will?”

Rollo’s crimson eyes narrowed, but when he signed to Tamar it was apparent he wasn’t replying directly. Instead, once he’d finished, it was the child who looked up at Belial.

“I wanted to go,” she said. “And I knew what it meant. That it was dangerous. Crim explained everything to me. He made sure I wanted to come.” She clenched her jaw. “A-and that I knew what might happen if stuff went wrong.”

Belial took a long, deep breath, then exhaled it. “Tell Rollo- ah, Crim I suppose- tell him this. I have oaths to keep, and I can’t lie to the nobles of Corvus about something that could put them in danger. But despite what a lot of elves think, the human nobility isn’t unsympathetic. They let escaped slaves find shelter over the border all the time, even if they’re supposed to return them. At this stage, you both stand a far better chance of making your escape stick if you’re honest about who you are and why you’ve run. If the nobles know the truth and they’re sympathetic, they will try to protect you. If we lie to them, then they will believe whatever lie Courdon cooks up and act against you out of self-preservation.” He swallowed hard. “I want to help you, both of you. But you have to trust me.”

Tamar’s hands trembled as she relayed the message back to Rollo, and her voice was low as she murmured, “What if Lord Brook sends me back? T-to my papa?”

“He won’t,” Belial said, far more firmly than he really felt. “I’ll talk to him. Try to convince him that the right thing to do is to let you both find sanctuary here in Kyth.”

“I don’t trust nobles,” Rollo signed, his displeasure plain. “But I see we’ve no choice in this. We don’t exactly have ground to talk you out of it, and the human isn’t going to release us if we don’t give him some sort of answers.”

He hugged the little girl, and she melted into his hold like ice beneath the hot sun, sniffling as she did. Then through her he said, “Belial, do you swear you will do everything you can to plead our case? I don’t trust the human noble, but… if you’re at all the man I remember, I do trust you.”

“I promise. You have my word, upon my honor as a knight. I won’t let Lord Cressida take you back to Courdon.”

“What’s he saying, Crim?” Tamar whispered aloud. The former slave signed a translation for her, then added for her to repeat, “If you can convince the noble to let us free, I want to go home. To Nid’aigle-” as predicted the girl stumbled over the pronunciation. “Myself and Tamar. Will you bring us back with you?”

“Of course, Rollo,” Belial replied, smiling. “You know, I think your mother is still alive in the city. She’ll be glad to have you home.”

The former slave’s mouth fell open, and he seemed at a loss for how to reply to that. Tamar seemed equally as surprised, finally daring to verge into her native tongue, Courdonian, as she breathed to Rollo: “Your mother?”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, seeming to be trying to sign something but trembling so that his fingers wouldn’t entirely cooperate. Finally giving up, he very slowly, deliberately mouthed “Thank you.”

Belial smiled, nodding once, and turned back towards the door. “Good luck, both of you. I’ll see you in a while.”

Once Belial had closed the door behind himself and the sound of his footfalls receded, Rollo let himself flop down onto the bed behind Tamar, his body still trembling and his expression dazed. Her lips pressed tightly together, she set a tentative hand on the elf’s back, her own fingers shaking slightly.

“D-do you trust him?” she said out loud, in Courdonian.

Rollo rolled over, gently pressing a finger to her lips. He signed quickly, “Tap me if you need my attention, but don’t talk. The nobles will find out what your origins are soon enough, but I’d rather they learned it from Belial in a way he thinks will win their sympathy than from them snooping.” There was a soft huff of a sigh. “I suppose we must trust him. If he is the person I knew when I was young, then he is trustworthy. But I don’t know for certain. A very long time has passed. I was in Courdon for… nearly a hundred and seventy years if my math is right.”

“I think I turn eleven this week,” Tamar signed back. “If I’ve been counting right since we left home.” She sighed. “Which I might not have been. It’s been hard to keep track.”

“Well if Belial can get us released, I’ll see about finding some way to get you a late, early or on-time birthday cake, if I can,” Rollo replied with a slight smile. “It might not be the best or biggest but I’ll do what I can.”

A grin ticked at the corners of Tamar’s lips, and her aqua eyes finally glimmered with an emotion that wasn’t fear. “Whatever it is, it’ll be better than the scraps we’ve been eating on the road. And the broth and marrow Lord Brook’s been passing as stew.”

“No questions there,” Rollo agreed, opting not to point out to the young anki that his own rations as a slave had usually been fairly meager as well. Or that his ability to eat and swallow anything, even his own saliva, was heavily impaired without a tongue. No point in making her feel guilty about something that wasn’t her fault. “But Tamar, listen- when we’re talking to people who are speaking Kythian, you can’t just stop translating like you were doing. I need to know what people are saying.”

She averted her gaze from his, not looking down at her hands as she signed: “But it’s hard to translate everything. And sometimes I say things I shouldn’t, and--”

The elf sat up, and put a hand over hers in the nonverbal signal for her to stop “talking.” Gently taking her chin with his hand, he turned her face back towards him so she could see his hands. “I know it’s hard, Duckling. I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you. But I can’t exactly make myself understood by anyone else.”

She pursed her lips at the old pet name, borne of a long ago comment he’d made once, when he’d found her sitting alone in one of the courtyards of House Junius’s manor and asked her if she’d lost her flock. Then, she’d only shaken her head. Whispered that her older siblings didn’t like to play with her much, anyway. The memory sent a lump rising in her throat, but Tamar resolutely swallowed it away.

“I’ll translate,” she signed to him. “But if we’re going to Nid’aigle, I’ll be able to learn Elvish, right? So I can understand what everyone’s saying.”

“Hopefully,” he replied. “It might not come to you right away, but I’m sure you’ll pick it up given time.” With a tired smile he added, “I’ll be the one translating for you in the meantime.”

“But first,” she said, her hand motions dour and leaden, “Lord Brook has to let us go.”

He nodded, letting his hands fall into his lap. After a moment, he reached towards the young girl and drew her close to his chest, and started to hum a gentle tune. Relaxing slightly, she scooted forward so that she was propped in his lap, her dark curls brushing against her cheeks as she tucked her forehead against him.

“W-we’re going to be okay, right?” she signed at her side. His head settling so that it was resting on top of hers, Rollo nodded. He had to believe they would be. For his sake and for Tamar’s.

A Rose Among Weeds: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

Early the next morning, Lord Brook Cressida stood in the courtyard of Ecliptus Castle with a saccharine smile between his lips-- one that no one in his right mind could have ever mistaken for genuine. The weak dawn sunlight bringing out the silver patches in his hair, he flicked his gaze between Belial, Tamar, and the elf who’d once been Crim, as if he couldn’t decide which of them he liked the least.

“Remember,” he said finally, in heavily accented Courdonian, so that Rollo could understand him directly, “I grant you your leave only with the caveat that you remove yourself and the child from my lands as expediently as possible, Master Jaubert. No dawdling. No lazily meandering north. If the elves wish to host the runaway daughter of an enki in Nid’aigle, then so be it. But I shan’t like to be involved any further than I have been already. I think I grant you a great mercy by not notifying House Junius about the child’s presence at all.” His light eyes falling to Tamar, he added pointedly, “You are underaged, after all, Lady Tamar. No matter the reasons you had for running, I can’t think that your family is happy you’re gone.”

“B-but you’re not going to tell them, right, Lord Brook?” Tamar returned, leaning against Rollo with her hand gripped in his.

“No,” Brook agreed. “I will tell House Accipiter, since Nid’aigle is nested in their lands. But Courdon? If for some reason I am asked directly about you, it would be a sin for me to lie to them. But if no one asks…” He shrugged, and then looked back to Rollo. “Expedience,” he repeated. “Understood?”

The elf ducked his head with a flinch, hand-signing, “I understand. We will go, Lord Cressida.”

“Good.” Brook turned next to Belial, switching to Kythian as he said, “Thank you for your assistance, Sir Braham. I understand that you will be accompanying them as they journey north off my lands?”

“I will, Lord Cressida,” the knight replied with a bow. He was immensely relieved that the nobleman had agreed to turn a blind eye to the duo. Belial was many things, but a politician was not one of them, and sending either Rollo or Tamar back to Courdon would have wrenched the elf with guilt. “I have sent word ahead to my superiors and to the Council of Elders in Nid’aigle, and with hope by the time we arrive they will have prepared suitable accommodations.”

“May the Woo bless you with safe travels,” Brook said, and with that, he gestured for his guards to open the castle gates. Leading his horse by the reins, Belial turned away from the castle, gesturing for Rollo and Tamar to follow.

“Once we’re on the road, I’ll try to teach you some basic Elvish,” Belial told the girl. “But for now I’ll confine myself to Kythian, if you would be kind enough to translate it for Rollo.” He looked pensive. “Though getting on the road will be tricky. There are places situated in most major Corvid cities where one may rent a horse, but I lack the money on hand to afford such. Usually I could send to Nid’aigle for it, but Lord Cressida wants us out of his city as quickly as we can manage…”

Tamar stifled a yawn, her worn leather shoes scuffing at the ground beneath as she sleepily shuffled along in between the two elves, who towered over her. “Can’t we just walk?” she said, simultaneously signing the translation for Rollo. “Lord Brook can hardly get mad at us because we don’t have magical speed.”

Rollo’s hands gestured empathically. “You would be surprised. He wants us gone so that if the Courdonians,” the elf’s hands suddenly stilled and he frowned- Tamar was “listening” to him, but making no effort to pass on his words. He tapped her wrists, and she pursed her lips, signing back at him for a moment before she translated what he’d said aloud for Belial. As Rollo continued on, Tamar voiced on his behalf: “As I was saying, if the Courdonians come looking for us we aren’t on his territory and his problem to deal with anymore. We’ve been on the run for weeks- neither of us is precisely healthy so it would take far more time than he would approve of for us to make it out of his territory on foot.”

“Besides, mounted it would take us a little less than a week to reach Nid’aigle,” Belial added. “On foot it might take two, even three depending on road conditions.”

“But we can’t afford a horse, anyway,” Tamar said. “And it’s not like we want to steal one. Then Lord Brook will be even madder, won’t he? So we don’t have a choice but to walk.”

Rollo rubbed his face. He could understand why the girl was sullen, but she didn’t quite seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. “He is letting us go on the terms we move quickly. He’ll expect us to come up with something.”

He hesitated for a moment, then gestured again. “You’re not going to like this, but…”

“But what?” Tamar signed without voicing, narrowing her eyes.

The elf sighed, looking conflicted. “We don’t have any money, but well… your bracelet is gold, with opals set in it, and-”

“No.” Tamar’s gesture was sharp, and the squaring of her jaw made it clear that she was not pleased even to a person who didn't share her and Rollo’s private language. Clearly having dispatched with the notion of translating for Belial’s sake, she went on, “You said I could bring it from home! Because it didn’t have any sigils or marks on it to tie it to my House. You told me I could keep it--”

He closed his hands over hers, then started gesturing again. “You’ll still have your mother’s necklace. And the jet ring. I’m sorry, you know I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important.” More emphatically he added, “You trust me, don’t you? You know I wouldn’t ask you to do something against your wishes unless it was absolutely necessary. I know what that is, Duckling, to have your own will countermanded.”

Blinking sharply, Tamar unclasped the slim gold bracelet, wrenched it off her wrist, and pressed it into his hands. “Fine,” she signed, not looking at him. “Do what you want with it.”

Rollo looked hurt and sad at the obvious anger in the girl’s demeanor. Belial, who’d been watching the two sign at each other silently for a full minute now, made a tentative noise. “Is everything alright? What’s wrong?”

The former slave only shook his head with a noise akin to a whimper. With his free hand he tilted Tamar’s chin, and then gestured again. “Please trust me.”

Her bottom lip trembled. “You said I could keep it,” she repeated. Then: “I’m sorry. I love you.”

He smiled gently. “I love you too, Duckling. Now let Sir Belial know what’s going on, please? I imagine he’s confused.”

Once the knight had been brought up to speed, he agreed tentatively to the idea to pawn the bracelet. Soon enough they’d done so, getting enough money not only to rent a horse, but also to buy a plain but decent quality shirt with long sleeves for Rollo- Belial had noticed people on the street staring at the slave brand on the brown haired elf’s arm.

Once they’d settled everything they needed to, Belial suggested that since Rollo was not an experienced rider- in point of fact he’d never been on a horse before- it might be better for safety if Tamar rode with the knight on his stallion. The girl, however, immediately balked, rapidly shaking her head as she translated Belial’s suggestion for Rollo.

“I can ride,” she said to Belial. “I’ve had lessons.” She glanced at the letted horse, which was a massive if gentle dapple mare. “Not on anything as big as her, and I’ve never ridden astride, really, but--”

“All due respect, Mademoiselle, we’re going to be riding a lot longer and harder than you’ve ever ridden before,” Belial interrupted gently. “For several days, for hours every day. You’ll be sore by the end of today, nevermind the end of the week. You need someone with experience to keep you mounted.”

Tamar shrugged. “It’s up to Crim,” she said, after a moment amending this to: “Um, Rollo.”

“Call me whatever is most comfortable for you, Tamar,” the elf signed with a smile. After tapping her hand, he went on, “But I do think Belial has a point. I wish I could say I’ll be able to keep you on the horse, but I’ll likely be as sore as you by the end of the day, and struggling to keep myself mounted.”

Tamar only sighed, turning to face Belial’s horse. “What’s his name?” the girl asked.

Belial smiled. “It’s Tache.” The elf ran a hand along the paint stallion’s white smudged brown fur, adding, “That’s Elvish for ‘spot’ or ‘smudge.’ And he’ll carry you to the end of the world if you ask him to- fortunately we just need him to get as far as Nid’aigle.” Glancing up at Rollo he added, “Home.”

The elvish slave gave a tired, haunted, but sincere smile of his own in reply.

***

It was about six days later that Belial led Rollo and Tamar into the thick forest that was the home of the elves. For the elf slave it was like stepping into the memory of a dream- everything felt familiar in a distant, nostalgic way that he knew he ought to recognize it, but didn’t quite.

“The forest has changed a lot, admittedly,” Belial pointed out when Rollo expressed this. “Just because we never age, that doesn’t mean the trees and plants don’t.”

Eventually, however, they passed the thickest part of the tree line and into the city itself. As Rollo had indicated, the place was heavily overgrown with plant life, but in a way that was clearly deliberate, and carefully cultivated so that it looked not messy, but naturalistic. The narrow roads and paths between the scattered buildings were kept clear, and there were a scant few public lawns where the undergrowth had been cleared away- though not the trees- but for the most part the buildings looked quite as if they’d grown up out of the ground themselves. As they passed deeper into elf capital, the wide, burbling expanse of the Silver River came into view. High bridges passed over it, and canoes were floating up and down its length, as if the river were itself yet another road through the city.

And everywhere, were the elves. Pale, tall, with eyes that sparkled in the sun like gemstones, they cast curious glances towards the travellers, some seeming surprised by the presence of the human child; wary even, though thankfully not hostile.

Still riding double on Belial’s stallion, Tamar visibly shrunk down as she noticed the gazes that swept her. Meanwhile, she flicked her own eyes rapidly about the luscious landscape, her focus flitting to and fro like a pollen-drunk honeybee, the child clearly unable to decide what most warranted her attention. Her nose tickling as they trotted by a small house that looked as though it were practically clothed in fragrant flowers-- Tamar could not even make out the material of the walls beneath-- the girl bit down on her lip.

“We’re going to live here?” she signed to Rollo, incredulous.

“Do you not like it?” He asked, his brow furrowing with concern. “If you don’t like it maybe we can go somewhere else later on, but the elves stand the best chance of protecting us until things cool off.”

“It’s pretty,” she replied. “I like the flowers.” But unable to miss the way an elvish woman’s eyes lingered on her as the horses cantered past, Tamar leaned back further against Belial, as if she sought to make herself as small as possible. “I don’t think the people here like me much,” she whispered, signing the sentiment for Rollo.

Rollo glanced around with a frown, and Belial sighed. “I’m sorry, little one. The problem is that humans- Kythian and Courdonian alike- have been pushing the elves out of their homes for centuries. A lot of the people in the city are refugees from abandoned or destroyed elvish cities. The elves have very long memories and some of them are wary and distrustful towards humans. But elves also like little children a lot, and I’m sure they’ll warm up to you if you give it some time.”

“I don’t know.” Tamar put her head down, so that her dark locks hung like a curtain before her face. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Hey, chin up,” Belial said. “Nothing worth having comes easily. But you’ll appreciate the good things a lot more for having strived a little to achieve them.”

He pulled up in front of a building slightly larger than the rest, gesturing to it. “This is the Council Hall, where the Council of Elders meets to arbitrate important matters. You won’t be seeing the full council, but at least one member has asked to speak to you briefly, as a condition for letting you stay in the city.”

Rollo made a soft noise to get Tamar’s attention, and quickly signed, “The council is made up of about ten elves, at least 650 years old, who are considered the wisest in the city.”

She gaped at him, her marbled eyes going wide. “I thought we were going to your mother’s house,” she signed back rapidly.

“That’s where we’ll be staying,” he agreed. “But I guess since the Council is agreeing to protect us- you in particular, given the fuss your father might kick up- they want to know who it is they’re protecting.” His jaw tightening he added, “I won’t let them do anything to you, Tamar. I promise.”

Tamar said nothing, only slumped down yet again as Belial and Rollo began to dismount. Belial helped her to climb down from Tache’s back, then led both of them through the entrance of the building. After speaking briefly with a woman who could only have been some sort of secretary or assistant, he was directed to take them into a small meeting chamber with several comfortable cushioned chairs. Belial sat in one of them, but Rollo hesitated instinctively, long habituated against sitting around authority figures. Tamar, however, wordlessly reached out a hand and gingerly laced her fingers through his, pulling him down alongside her as she sat. Afterward, the child did not let go of him, rather letting her hand rest in his lap as she leaned her head against his muscled arm. He returned the gesture, leaning his cheek against the top of her head.

A few moments later, the door opened and an elven woman swept into the room, a man coming in behind her. She examined the occupants with clear green eyes, silvery blonde hair tied back in a tail behind her head.

“Greetings,” she said, giving each of the guests a polite nod. Though she spoke in Elvish, the man who’d come with repeated her words instantly in Kythian- evidently a translator of some kind. “I am Councilor Charbonnier. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

Belial bowed his head politely. No doubt the councilor would have already been given the names of her guests, but Elvish etiquette demanded a formal introduction in any case. Speaking in Kythian for Tamar’s sake, knowing that the translator would handle that, the knight replied, “Well met. I am Sir Belial Braham- my companions are Monsieur Rollo Jaubert and Lady Tamar Junius.”

Rollo had ducked his head instinctively with the woman came into the room, but forced himself to look up again. This wasn’t a noble, Courdonian or otherwise. It was an elf, and he didn’t need to kowtow to her. Or so he told himself. Instincts pounded in over seventeen decades were difficult to fight. As Rollo made himself look at Councilor Charbonnier, Tamar scooted even closer to him, the girl practically spilling over the edge of her own chair.

Subtly, so that the elvish woman and the translator would not see, she signed into Rollo’s lap: “I don’t want to talk to her. Please, don’t make me talk to her.”

The former slave bit his lip. Covering his hand with the opposite shirt sleeve and signing so only Tamar could see, he replied, “I have no authority here. I won’t let her hurt you, but I can’t stop her from talking to you.”

Turning to the duo, and cutting off any more opportunity for illicit conversations, Charbonnier smiled politely. “Well met, Monsieur Jaubert, Lady Junius.” To Rollo she added, “And welcome back- it is not often that a child of Nid’aigle finds his or her way home from bondage, especially after so much time has passed. We grieve deeply for the way you have suffered, and hope that time can help undo the damage that has been wrought upon you.”

Rollo made a soft noise of assent, though his hands were still- even if he couldn’t stop the elf talking to Tamar, he could at least refrain from asking her to speak on his behalf. When the elf councilor raised an eyebrow at him, he sighed and opened his mouth, revealing the empty space there where his tongue should have been.

“I was informed,” the woman remarked, though not without a slight shift in her expression that might have been anything from a wince to a muscle spasm. “But it was my understanding you could speak through your companion?”

Rollo glanced down at Tamar and gave a shrug; the girl’s eyes fell down to her lap, and her voice was fragile as spider’s silk as she whispered, “I can talk for h-him if you need me to, Councilor.”

The elf pondered this for a moment, then shook her head. “It is mostly you I wish to speak with, little one. I have been informed that you are the child of an enki out of Courdon? The enki under whom Monsier Jaubert served when he was a slave?”

Tamar nodded meekly. “Yes,” she said, her pulse racing like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. “H-he’s got an estate in the Northlands. W-west of Eveque.”

“Likely he’ll be searching for you. And if his search brings him to Kyth, there will be trouble. We’ve heard Monsieur Jaubert’s perspective, but I want your answer. Why should we give you shelter, against all our laws and treaties?”

“I… I…” Tamar faltered, her throat trembling. She dared for a moment meet the councilor’s gaze, but at the expectant, almost sharp look she found lurking there, the girl quickly looked away. “I d-don’t know,” she stammered, tears welling in her eyes. “I… I’m s-sorry, I don’t know--”

Rollo made a noise that was something akin to a growl, deliberately reaching around Tamar’s shoulders and pulling her to his chest. The expression he leveled at the councilor could only be described as venomous. Belial coughed, “Ma’am, no disrespect meant but Mademoiselle Junius is very young and very frightened. Perhaps, if you could be a bit gentler with her?”

The woman blinked, seeming surprised. Then she sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. This is an unusual situation, and I had only wanted to be expedient.” Turning back to Tamar she said, “Understand- I mean you no harm, and I have no intention of turning you away. But I want to know your side of this. The truth is, the elves are as scared of your family as you are of me.”

“I-I’m scared of them, too,” Tamar murmured into Rollo’s chest. “That’s why I w-wanted to leave. My papa… he…” The girl whimpered. “My papa doesn’t love me. But R-Rollo does. E-even when he’s gotten in trouble for it. Even w-when my papa hurt him for it, and told him he wasn’t allowed. Rollo never cared. H-he still was there for me, anyway.”

The woman was silent for a moment, then she nodded. “It seems we have much in common then, Lady Junius. Very well then- from this day forward we offer you sanctuary in the elven city of Nid’aigle. We will hide you from your hunters, and if your presence is betrayed we will defend you.” Nodding her head politely she added, “And you have our thanks, for helping Monsieur Jaubert to find his way home.”

Rollo relaxed a fraction at this, though he continued to hold Tamar, stroking her hair soothingly. The child sniffled, in the wash of emotions assuaging her no longer able to hold back the still-threatening tears.

“Y-you’re welcome,” she just barely managed to force out, her words muffled by the fabric of Rollo’s tunic and her tears dampening the stiff cloth like raindrops soaking into parched dirt. He continued to hold her, making soft shushing noises as he stroked her head and back.

“You may stay here as long as you wish,” the woman said diplomatically. “Once you are ready, I trust Sir Braham will show you out. I apologize if your welcome left a little to be desired, but I do hope you will not find Nid’aigle a disagreeable place to live.”

With that the woman bowed, and she and her translator left. Once they were gone, Belial sighed.

“Sorry, I didn’t know they were going to be that… that. I don’t think she was being aggressive on purpose, just blunt.” His tone coaxing, he asked, “Are you alright, Tamar?”

“Uh-huh,” she snuffled, hiccupping once as she slowly brought her face away from the safety of Rollo’s shirt. But she didn’t meet the knight’s eyes as she added, “I-I’m okay, Sir Braham.”

“Do you need to sit with me a while?” Rollo signed to her, his eyes full of concern.

She shook her head, her long, dark curls sticking to her cheeks from the moisture of the tears. “I wish I wasn’t a Junius,” she signed back. “That he wasn’t my papa.”

The elf kissed her forehead gently. “You don’t have to stay one, if you don’t want. You can change your name now, here. I have my last name again, if you want to use that.” As with most proper names, he spelled it out with the signs for Courdonian letters in their private language. “J-A-U-B-E-R-T.”

“Are you sure?” Tamar asked, her motions ginger as she confirmed the spelling back to him.

“Yes,” he replied with a smile. “I said I would be your Papa, right? And papas give their last name to their children. You don’t have to decide right away, but if you want to, I would be very happy.”

Belial, who’d allowed the two to carry on their silent conversation mostly without comment, cleared his throat. “If you two are ready, I think there’s someone who’s waiting to see us.”

“His mama?” Tamar said aloud. The word was the same in both Kythian and Courdonian. At this, Rollo looked up as well, his face a mixture of disbelief and excitement. Belial smiled and nodded.

“That’s right. Come on- you two are a hundred and seventy years overdue a reunion.”

A Rose Among Weeds: Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

The house where Rollo’s mother lived- the house he had, by his own admission, grown up in as a child- was near the edge of the city, close to the orchards that served as Nid’aigle’s primary industry. Rollo had explained that his mother worked in those orchards, helping tend to them. His father had too, but the man had died of illness at some point while Rollo was in Courdon.

As they drew nearer to the place, the unmistakable perfume of flowers seemed to permeate everything. The smell was a nostalgic one for Tamar’s guardian. The smell of simpler times, of his long gone childhood innocence. Some of the lines that Courdon seemed to have added to his face eased a little, and there could be no mistaking the excitement in his eyes. The child, meanwhile, just barely refrained a sneeze as the scent grew stronger, still surveying the vivid, breathing landscape with rapt if fleeting attention. How different it was than her father’s arid estate in the Northlands. Or the swamps and starved plains she and Rollo had battled through as they’d slowly wended their way toward Kyth. Tamar didn’t think she’d ever seen anything nearly so lovely in her life.

“Can you swim?” she asked Rollo as the road curved, and she remembered the river they’d passed on their way in. “When it’s warm outside?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I used to all the time when I was younger. You have to go a little ways out to the edge of the city, or you risk being in the way of the boats, but people swim in the river here all the time.”

She smiled softly. “You’ll take me?”

He returned the smile. “I’ve not been swimming in some time, so I may be rusty. But yes, I’ll take you.”

“We’re almost there,” Belial said, interrupting the nonverbal conversation. “Rollo, do you recognize this place yet?”

He looked up, his eyes dancing around. Gesturing to Tamar to translate, he said, “I think so… yes. That water oak is a lot bigger than I remember, and some of the shrubs have moved, but I think...”

He broke off as they came to a split in the path where someone had built up a privacy fence of sorts out of a tall bush. As they passed the bush, a violent shudder passed over his body. Almost instantly, Tamar straightened, her blue-green eyes narrowed into anxious slits and her hands flying as she demanded to know what was wrong.

“This is… my mother’s house,” he signed to her. “I never thought I’d see it again…”

“You grew up here?” She cocked her head as Belial dismounted behind her and started toward the wooden gate, which was painted the same green as the hedge. “With your parents?”

Rollo nodded. He slowly climbed down from his own horse, and reached up to help Tamar down as Belial passed through the gate and knocked on the door. A moment later, as Rollo was setting Tamar down in on the ground, an elven woman opened the door, an expression on her face of frantic desperation. The resemblance was striking; she had hair the exact same shade of brown, the same cast to her jaw, and the same set to her cheekbones as the former slave. Her eyes were yellow, not red like Rollo’s, but there could be no doubt as to the woman’s identity.

She didn’t even look at Belial, her gaze sweeping over his shoulder. As she caught sight of Rollo, a strangled cry escaped her. The knight prudently stepped out of her way as she bolted towards her son, sobbing, “Rollo! Rollo, you’re home, you’re home!”

The former slave’s mouth fell open, emitting a hoarse, inarticulate noise of shock. Though he visibly winced and whimpered when his mother threw her arms around his neck, his muscles spasming at the touch, he didn’t pull away. Instead, after a moment’s hesitation he returned the gesture, his shoulders shaking as he pressed his face into his mother’s shoulder and moaned.

A few steps behind Rollo and his mother, Tamar watched the reunion with a lump in her throat. She knew instantly, and without a doubt, that never in her life had she seen the elf so happy; she did not dare speak, lest she interfere and ruin the moment.

For several minutes more the two of them stood like that, the elven woman muttering to her son in Elvish. He gave no reply, only hugged the woman more tightly, as if afraid if he let her go she’d vanish into mist. Belial came to stand beside Tamar, giving the girl a smile as they both waited for mother and son to remember the rest of the world around them.

It was Rollo’s mother who seemed to come back to herself first, glancing over her son’s shoulder at Tamar and Belial. Her eyes fixed on the little girl, and she offered a wan smile, though there was something off about the expression- a wariness in her eyes that made Belial tense slightly. Beside the knight, the girl froze, her mind flashing back to the gazes that had lingered too long for comfort on her as they’d wended through the city. Smiling, the knight put a hand on Tamar’s shoulder.

“Hey, I think these two have a lot of lost time to catch up on,” he said softly. “What do you say we give them some space? I can take you to a pond not to far from here- it’s a little past the orchards into the woods.”

Tamar snapped her eyes from Rollo’s mother to Belial, and she took a timid step closer to the familiar man. “Okay. If it’s alright with Rollo,” she murmured. But her legs aching at the thought of mounting the horse again, she added after a moment, “Could we walk, though?”

“Sure,” he agreed. “Just let me tie the horses to the fence.”

Once he’d done so, and explained to Rollo and his mother where they were going, the knight and the girl set off. The place he’d described was quiet and secluded, a pond full of cypress trees and lilypads. Across the water a heron could be seen, pacing in the shallows in search of a fish to snatch. Belial sat at the water’s edge, patting the grass beside him invitingly, and silently Tamar dropped down beside him, squinting her eyes against the pale sun overhead as she watched the heron pluck and swallow a writhing silver fish in one fell swoop.

“He’s fast,” the girl said softly. “Fish didn’t have a chance.”

Belial chuckled. “That’s why most of them stay to the center of the pond, where the water is too deep for the heron. But they have to come closer to the top to eat, and to lay their eggs. That’s when the birds get them.” The knight leaned forwards, resting his forearms on his knees. “Stay here long enough and you’ll see lots of animals. Deer for example- they come right into the city to eat the plants.”

“As long as there aren’t any cougars.” The girl shuddered. “Me and Rollo heard one making noises one night. In Emryn, I think. We walked mostly after dark, when there less people on the roads, and we couldn’t see it but I swear it must’ve tracked us for hours.” Tamar bit her lip at the memory. “At least, I thought it was tracking us. But Rollo told me the wind just carries sounds. I think he was lying, though. So I wouldn’t be as scared.”

Belial tilted his head. “They don’t usually come this far north. They like it wetter.” He smiled. “And hey, the cougar didn’t get you, right? You made it over the border. You’re safe with someone who really cares about you, and Rollo is home again after over a hundred years.”

“He seemed so happy,” Tamar said. “And his mother, too. I’ve never seen somebody so happy they cried before.”

“They didn’t think they’d get to see each other again,” Belial replied with a wistful smile. “Of course they’re happy.” A thought seemed to occur to him, and he turned to the girl. “Tamar, if this question is too personal you don’t have to answer it, but… where is your mother? You’ve mentioned your Papa but…”

“Dead,” Tamar said, so plainly that she might have been discussing what she wanted to eat for supper. “When I wasn’t even two. My papa wouldn’t ever talk about it, but my brother told me she died giving birth to a baby.” The girl paused, twining a finger through her dark hair. “The baby died, too. My brother said he got… stuck, I guess. And then my mother just kept bleeding.”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Belial replied, glancing away. It was clear the loss of her mother didn’t really bother the girl much- no surprise if she’d really been so young- but it still felt like the right thing to say. “So I guess Rollo has been like mother and father to you, in a way.”

She nodded. “He’s the only one who’s ever been nice to me. Except for one of my nurses. But Papa sold her when I was five. Because I messed up and called her ‘mama’.” Tamar’s voice grew smaller, thinner. “He said she wasn’t my mama. That I was to never call anyone that. And I wasn’t allowed to have nurses anymore after that.”

Belial sighed sadly. “It sounds like he missed her. Your mother. But he shouldn’t have taken that out on you or your nurse. Every little child deserves to be loved, to have someone who’ll take care of them and make them feel special.”

“Papa was nice to my brothers most of the time,” Tamar said softly. “He only punished them when they were actually bad. Just… with me… he...” She watched as the heron gulped another fish from the shallows, then stretched his grey-white wings and took off into flight. “But Rollo loves me,” the child finished as the waterbird disappeared into the distance. “So I guess that’s what matters. Now.”

“That’s a good way to look at it,” Belial said with a smile. “How long has he been looking after you? I guess he’s probably been working for your family for a long time.”

“I think I was three or four when it first… started,” Tamar replied. “He found me alone in one of the castle courtyards. And he asked me if I was okay. I-I was crying, and he just sat with me. ‘Til my nurse found me and took me away.”

“Asked you?” Belial repeated. “So… was he still able to talk then?”

At this, Tamar tensed. “Uh-huh,” the girl said.

If that wasn’t a nerve, Belial didn’t know what was. And he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to press the issue. The knight wondered what sort of story was lurking there. Up until this point he’d assumed that Rollo’s masters had cut out his tongue when they first bought him, perhaps to keep him from revealing some secret or another. But if it had happened more recently…

The knight shook off the question. It wasn’t his business.

“So…” he said, opting to change the subject. “What do you want to do now? You’ll be staying with Rollo’s mother for a while, I imagine, at least until he gets a job and enough money to move into his own place if he wants to. Have you thought about what you want to do?”

“I dunno.” Tamar seemed very relieved at the shift of topic. “We’ve been so busy just trying to get away that I haven’t really thought much about after.” She inclined her head. “N-no one here speaks much Kythian, do they? Not even the councilor did.”

“Not really,” Belial admitted. “We have translators and envoys who deal with the nobles, and a few of the commanders of our knights also speak it.” He gave a self deprecating grin. “And then there are crazies like me who learn it just for fun because they like hanging around humans more than other elves.”

The elf sighed. “But unfortunately, most don’t spend enough time talking to humans to bother. See, something you may not know about languages is that they change over time. New words are created for new ideas or inventions, nicknames and slang terms become normal proper words, foreign words are used and adapted… so I could, for example, talk to you in the Kythian that existed when I was a teenager, and you would think it was really weird sounding. Go back another few hundred years, and it sounds like a different language entirely. To keep up with the language like I do, you have to spend a lot of time with humans, and most elves just have no motivation to do that.”

“I’m not going to be able to understand anybody,” Tamar said. “Except for Rollo.” She turned her head toward Belial. “And you.”

“No, I guess not,” Belial replied. “We’ll teach you Elvish of course. But I imagine it’ll take a while before you fully master it.”

“W-will you come to see me?” Tamar asked. “Until then. So I have someone to talk to besides Rollo.” Hurriedly, she added, “I mean, only if you want to. I-if you’re too busy, that’s okay. I understand.”

Belial was caught off guard by that request. Up until now at best he’d assumed Tamar tolerated his presence because he was necessary for her and Rollo to reach Nid’aigle. After a moment, he smiled. “Sometimes I’ll be called away for my work,” he cautioned. “Being a knight means I get sent around places a lot, to help people who are in trouble. But when I’m in the city, I’ll certainly come to visit, if you want me to. I understand being lonely.”

Tamar smiled. “I’d like that,” she said. “T-thank you.” Tentatively, the girl reached out and set a light hand on Belial’s knee. “And thanks for c-coming with us. On the trip here. And for saying w-whatever you said to Lord Brook back in Ecliptus to convince him to let us go. I-I was so scared the whole time we were in the castle. That after… after getting all the way to Kyth, everything would still fall apart, and I’d have to go back to m-my father. And Rollo…” Tamar shut her eyes, as if overwhelmed by the very thought.

The elf put his hand over the girl’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I understand. That must’ve been terrifying. But you’re free now. And we’re going to do everything in our power to keep it so. I swear it.”

A Rose Among Weeds: Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

Rollo and Tamar quickly settled into life in Nid’aigle. Rollo was clearly glad to be back home, in the city where he had grown up and lived before his captivity and among his own kind. Courdon had badly damaged him in ways that even he hadn’t fully realized until he was trying to live a normal life again- an instinctive automatic submission to authority, near-phobic fear of anyone but his mother or Tamar touching him, an abysmal self-esteem , and more. But gradually he was finding his footing again, remembering how to be an individual, make decisions, and function at least mostly normally.

Tamar, for her part, seemed to adjust more slowly, the girl timid and reserved as she adapted to life away from the only home she’d ever known. It didn’t take her long to start to pick up Elvish, but almost painfully shy around everybody but Rollo and Belial, she rarely found herself using it: with the former she stuck to the familiarity and safety of their private sign language, and with Belial she mostly spoke Kythian.

To Rollo’s mother, Giselle, Tamar hardly spoke at all. They lived beneath the same roof but otherwise might as well have been strangers. While things were not strained between them, not precisely, there was also little genuine warmth there. Only cordial smiles over breakfast, and brushed shoulders in the hall, and no matter how many times Rollo reassured Tamar that his mother merely needed time to open up to her-- and vice versa-- the girl could not miss the way Giselle sometimes looked at her. Sparing her that same scrutinizing, wary stare that-- even now, after she’d spent nearly two months in residence in Nid’aigle-- Tamar often attracted from the other elves of the city when Rollo or Belial took her out.

Belial did his best for both of them whenever he was in the city, but long known for being an eccentric human-lover, his opinion had little sway. The best he could generally do was give the girl what she’d asked for that first day in the city- someone else to talk to besides Rollo. Initially it was almost Rollo who was more desperate to be able to talk to someone besides his young charge- or rather, without needing to have Tamar privy to each and every one of his conversations. But fortunately, both Belial and Giselle started to pick up on enough of Rollo’s sign language to be able to puzzle out what he wanted to say in commonplace situations. Neither of them was at all proficient at mimicking it themselves, but since there was nothing wrong with Rollo’s ears and he could understand them speaking to him in Elvish just fine, this was no hindrance.

Without a doubt the brightest thing for both Tamar and Rollo was that, as spring segued into summer, they had not heard again from House Cressida-- meaning that Tamar’s father still had not learned where she or the elf were. And so although the girl was guarded around everybody in Nid’aigle but Rollo and Belial, she did not seem to regard the cityscape itself with such reluctance. Rather, once her immediate worries of her father finding her faded, she took to the gorgeous carpet of flora and fauna like a parched man to a desert oasis, choosing to spend as much of her time as possible outside, buried in a field of lilies or relaxing beneath the shade of a cypress tree. She was not supposed to go further than the end of the lane without accompaniment, but sometimes on the loveliest days Tamar would find herself drifting anyway: drawn by a particularly pretty tree, or the smell of fragrant far-off flowers, or the trail of a hummingbird darting through the humid breeze.

Perhaps it was only the beauty; or perhaps it was the strange but wondrous feel of being able to have such freedom at all. Of not always nursing a pit of fear in the bottom of her stomach. Of not being terrified to face the people who waited back at home, as she’d had to do back in Courdon, when after a morning spent hiding in one House Junius’s courtyards or disused rooms she would return to her father’s mercy. If she was lucky, the lord of Indira wouldn’t have noticed his daughter gone. And if she wasn’t?

Tamar didn’t like to dwell on what had happened if she wasn’t.

But these frequent disappearances started to exasperate Rollo. While he did not begrudge the girl her freedom, and certainly wouldn’t have minded her exploring the city or forest if she did so in the company of a trusted adult, he absolutely did not want her out and about alone.

Yet no matter how many times he reminded the girl to stay within their lane, the message did not seem to wholly sink in. She would promise to stay within the bounds-- and two days later he’d find her nestled up in a meadow far outside of them, oblivious to the world around, hardly seeming to have noticed that she’d wandered outside the limits at all.

The issue finally came to a head about two months after they’d settled in Nid’aigle, when Rollo realized he’d not heard from Tamar in over an hour and a cursory search of the house found her to have vanished- again. Quickly enlisting his mother’s help, Rollo started hunting up and down the street, but before they’d gotten far Giselle caught sight of a trail of broken vines and creepers along the road. She called out to her son, and the two of them followed the shredded shrubbery -- and after about a minute of wending through the brambles, practically tripped over Tamar, the young girl sitting cross-legged with her back pressed against a willow tree, the branches of which dipped so low that they brushed against the crown of her head.

“Oh, thank the gods,” she signed as her eyes dance up toward Rollo and Giselle. “I heard the branches snapping and thought it was some kind of animal.”

“And what if it had been?” Rollo signed back, his hand motions sharp and his expression livid. “You could be hurt, or worse! How many times have I told you to stop wandering off by yourself, Tamar? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Her face fell. “No,” she signed quickly. “Of course not.” She looked for a moment at Giselle, who was watching on inscrutably, before flicking her focus back to Rollo. “This is just off the lane,” the girl continued. “I thought it would be okay.”

“I want you where I can see you!” he retorted. “Where you’re visible from the street if something happens and I don’t spend potentially fatal minutes trying to track you down if something happens! If you want to go somewhere secluded, at the very least you need to tell somebody! If something goes wrong we need to know where you are. This isn’t a walled of manor where only the slaves will see you if you wander, this is a forest! There are wolves, bears, and-”

He broke off as Giselle put a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head as if to tell him not to bother. But he made a frustrated, “Let me handle this!” gesture and yanked his shoulder away, glowering down at Tamar. The girl shrunk down beneath the glare like a rose under beating rain, as she chewed on her lip as if it were candy but said nothing.

“Come on,” he gestured. “We’re going back to the house. Since you can’t keep your feet from carrying you outside the boundaries I’ve marked for you, they’ll be staying in your room where they aren’t tempted for the rest of the day. And you’re staying in the house for the rest of the week, unless Mother or I are with you.”

Her shoulders drawn in, Tamar obeyed, her eyes cast deferentially to the mossy ground beneath. “I’m sorry,” she said aloud, in heavily accented Elvish. “I… will… will not--” Frustrated, she segued back to the sign language as she finished: “I won’t do it again. I promise. I didn’t know how much it upset you.”

He huffed softly, the anger seeming to drain out of him somewhat. “I don’t tell you not to do things because I like to be cruel, Tamar. I just want to keep you safe.”

Behind him, Giselle watched this exchange with wide eyes, her mouth falling open slightly. As Tamar brought her gaze back up toward the adults, and noticed the woman’s expression, the girl’s eyebrows knit with worry. This was not the ordinary cordial but wary air Giselle usually exuded toward her, but something else altogether. Something new.

The little girl’s stomach flipped. “I-- did not-- I… I am sorry if I made you…” She swallowed hard as she scrabbled for the proper Elvish words. “Angry,” she finished finally. “Sorry if I made you angry, madam.”

The elf woman blinked, then coughed slightly. “It is alright. Just mind Rollo from now on, okay?”

Tamar nodded quickly. “I will,” she said. “And I will mind you, too, madam.”

Giselle didn’t seem sure what to say to that, but she nodded all the same. The trio marched back to the house, Tamar darting for her bedroom as she’d been ordered. Giselle caught Rollo’s hand before he could wander off, however, and gave him a look of profound confusion.

“She listens to you,” the woman said, something like wonder in her face. “The enki’s daughter actually listens to you? And she says she’ll listen to me?”

“Of course,” He signed back, slowly so his mother could catch all the gestures more clearly. Words she had not learned the translation for yet he spelled out, though it meant that communication took much longer. “My master was not Tamar’s father. At best he was her sire.”

“I know, you told me that you brought her with you because she was being mistreated,” Giselle replied. “But I had not thought she would return your pity with obedience, is all. Is she not still a Courdonian? A noble?”

Rollo bristled. After a moment of fumbling to find the signs for what he wanted to say that Giselle knew and failing, he snatched up a quill, ink, and a sheaf of paper. “It was not pity! I love her, Mother! As my own daughter! I have practically raised her since she was five years old after her nurse was sold and her father could not see fit to properly care for her. Before we left Courdon she asked me if I could be her Papa when we got here, and I fully intend to do just that. Of course she listens to me!”

He practically shoved the paper towards Giselle, who took it with clumsy fingers. After reading over it, she gaped up at her son. “Her father? She thinks you her father? I… Rollo I’m sorry, I didn’t think… I’ve been worried what a spoiled noble child might do, once she got over being afraid in a new surrounding…”

“I love her,” he signed emphatically. “She loves me. She will not hurt anyone. Give her a chance, Mother. Please? She’s frightened of you.”

Giselle looked down at the hastily scrawled note in her hands, the writing sloppy from years of not practicing while the elf was a slave in Courdon. Years that Giselle had not seen her son, that she’d assumed him to be worse than dead. Now she had him back, because of his love for this girlchild. Did she not owe Tamar at least the chance to prove herself?

The woman sighed. “Alright. Later tonight I’ll… I’ll talk to her.”

Later that day, a little bit before dusk, Tamar called softly out to bid Giselle entry when the woman knocked on the girl’s bedroom door. Inside the small but orderly room, the child was sitting atop the narrow bed, mindlessly rotating the blocks of a handheld, ash-wood puzzle toy that Rollo had bought her from Nid’aigle’s market the week before. More complicated than it looked, Tamar had yet to solve it, despite many hours of manipulating the sanded pieces.

“Madam,” she murmured, sparing a timid smile for the elf. “I-is everything…” She paused to find the right word. “Good? Is everything good?”

“You want ‘alright’,” Giselle said. “And yes, I just wanted to talk, if you’re alright with that? May I sit?”

Tamar nodded, scooting over on the bed to make room and setting the puzzle aside. “Of course. Yes.” But the slight tremor to her tone did not match the certainty of her words.

Giselle sat down on the bed, giving the girl a tremulous smile. “Rollo slept here, you know. When he was small. A lot of the toys here were his once.” She gestured to some of the older, more worn wooden and clay fired toys- dolls and such had worn threadbare in the intervening century and been discarded, of course, but after her son had vanished Giselle had never quite been able to bring herself to get rid of what little she had left of him.

“I like them,” Tamar said softly. She pointed to a painted wooden horse that sat upon a sparsely filled bookshelf across the room, its legs made poseable by deftly crafted ball joints. “That’s my… good… uhm-- I like it the most. It’s pretty.”

“Favorite,” Giselle supplied. “And I’m happy you like them.” After a moment’s hesitation she said, “I am… sorry. I have not been kind.”

Tamar furrowed her dark brow, looking truly taken aback. “Not kind?” she echoed. The girl shook her head. “You have been… good. L-letting me be here. In your house.”

“But I have not talked to you much,” the woman elaborated. “Or… tried to be friends.” She bit her lip. “Rollo says you are his daughter.”

Tamar cracked a genuine smile at this last part. “Uh-huh,” she said. “He is… he’s my papa now.”

Giselle could not doubt that the girl was sincerely happy about that statement. The elf woman smiled back. “And you don’t mind? That he’s an elf?”

“Mind?” Tamar said. “W-why would I mind? He loves me. And I love him. That’s what I care about.” She hesitated, then added, “When I am bad, he makes me go to my room. He does not do… other things. He is kind. To me. To everyone.”

The implication of the girl’s comment about being sent to her room could not be missed, and the elf woman felt a pang of sympathy for her. “I’m sorry. About before, in Courdon. I’m glad you’re here instead, where Rollo can take care of you.” She looked at her hands in her lap. “He came home, because of you. You gave me my son back. Thank you.”

***

Over the next several weeks, Giselle made much more of an effort to legitimately bond with her son’s young charge. She engaged Tamar in conversations- short at first, but longer as the two got to know each other better and Tamar learned more Elvish. Once it became clear that Rollo’s mother was genuinely opening up to her, the girl began to emerge from her own shell, and soon there came a time when she looked forward to sharing a quiet tea with Giselle in the cottage’s vibrant garden, or shopping with her in Nid’aigle’s humming marketplace.

When the other elves in the city started seeing Tamar out with Rollo’s mother, instead of just the escapee himself or Belial, their general attitude towards her started to shift. Though there were some who would never like her, or any human, gradually the general air of wariness softened. The covert staring stopped, and occasionally someone would stop to give elf and girl a polite nod as they passed. Giselle tried to encourage the girl to talk to her friends in the market, or to make orders when they stopped at merchant stalls, if only to get the girl to work on her Elvish. Still shy at first, Tamar-- eager to please Giselle the closer they grew-- nevertheless obliged, always wearing a soft but hesitant smile as she used her growing grasp of the elf’s tongue to bid a cheesemonger hello, or ask the price of a loaf of bread.

Rollo was immensely relieved to see his daughter being accepted in his homeland. Every time she went out on one of these trips with his mother he would make a point to ask her if she’d enjoyed herself, and increasingly, the girl’s answer was yes.

“The baker gave me an extra biscuit,” she would say to him, often using Elvish as her skills in the language continued to bloom.

Or: “Madam Michaud told me my headband was pretty. She asked if I made it myself. And I told her I’d make her one, too. Red, though, not yellow. To match her eyes.”

Rollo would smile after these accounts, ruffle the girl’s hair, and tell her he was glad she had fun. Seeing the once cowed, terrified, abused child starting to bloom and come into her own made Rollo’s heart soar. Though up until this point he hadn’t been working- in part to keep an eye on Tamar and in part because he was still damaged from Courdon in ways even he didn’t fully comprehend- once the girl started to settle, Rollo started to look for a job so he could help his mother support them. Though he considered returning to his work as a gardener, it had been so long that the elf didn’t really think he would remember enough to be any good at it. But all he’d really done in Courdon was cleaning and hard labor. And whatever job he did, his inability to talk would pose a hindrance. Eventually, at Belial’s suggestion, he was able to get a position with his mother in the orchards, doing basic work like clearing parasitic vines and undergrowth, picking up branches knocked down during storms, and picking caterpillars and other bugs off of the plants.

Once he’d saved up some of the extra money from his work, one of the first things he did was to make good on his promise to Tamar to buy her a birthday cake. It was several months late by that point, but the elf had wanted to do it himself- not with money borrowed from his mother. When he presented the cake to Tamar, white with creamy icing that was stuffed with sliced strawberries, a grin blossomed between the girl’s lip, dazzlingly bright.

“For my birthday?” She spun toward him and pulled the elf into a hug. “Thank you! I knew you didn’t forget, Papa.”

And then, as she realized what she’d just said, Tamar froze. Her arms fell away. Papa.

Although Rollo had told her since before they’d even left Courdon that he would serve the role as father now, still Tamar had never yet dared breach this invisible line in the sand. Playing the part was one thing. But using that word-- calling him that… what if it was still a step too far? While he was without a doubt her caregiver, at the end of the day it was not his blood that filled her veins. And when he looked into her eyes, it was not his own looking back at him, but those of her natural father. Rollo’s master. The one who’d made his life so miserable. Who’d had him beaten countless times over the years. Who’d stood by leering as the slavemaster cleaved off the elf’s tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Tamar whispered, taking a sharp step back. “I didn’t mean to.”

But Rollo, though taken very much off guard, only knelt down and pulled the girl back towards him. He hugged her tightly, letting go with one arm only to sign to her, “It’s alright.” With tears in his eyes he added, “Thank you.”

She tentatively leaned her cheek against his shoulder, her neck craned to focus down on his hands. “It’s okay?” she managed. “T-to call you that?”

“Yes,” he replied. “It makes me very happy.”

“Even though…” She sniffled. “Even though I’m his?”

He gave the girl a gentle kiss on the forehead. “You may have been born of him, but you are not his. He gave up the right to call you his daughter when he hurt you like he did. I told you once you can take my name if you want- I think of you as my child, not Lord Junius’.”

“O-okay,” Tamar said, pausing for a moment before she cracked a small, wavering smile and amended this to: “Okay, Papa.”

The sweltering heat of the summer slipped into fall, and the orchards swelled with fruit and nuts. Not long after Tamar started calling Rollo “Papa” Giselle invited the child to address her as “Grandma.”; the girl, grinning broadly, obliged, now feeling more like a proper Jaubert than she ever had a Junius.

Though Belial was often called away for work, he made a point to visit the family when he was in town, and was happy to see Tamar adjusting to her new life in the elf city, contented and happy. The girl was a far cry from the skittish, quiet waif Rollo and Belial had arrived with back in April. And sometimes, when she spent a lazy day swimming in the river with Rollo, or baking in the cottage’s cozy kitchen as Giselle and her son worked in the orchards, it was easy for the girl to forget what she’d come from. What she’d escaped from, alongside the elf with a figure eight-shaped brand on his arm.

Then one day in mid October, as Tamar was kneading dough in the kitchen for the pot pies she planned to make for supper, a messenger knocked on the cottage door, asking for Rollo and Tamar to come to the Council Hall. Though the girl had grown comfortable, even friendly, with many other elves in the city, at hearing this order-- and, based on the man’s firm tone, it was clearly an order, not a request-- the girl’s stomach twisted. The Council Hall. She hadn’t been there since that first day back in the spring, when Councilor Charbonnier’s pointed question had sent her trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind.

“D-do we have to go, Papa?” she asked Rollo, her fingers frozen in the elastic dough.

“I… I think we do,” he signed back to her. The elf was deeply troubled. Ordinary citizens were seldom called before the council, so the fact that they were being summoned now boded very ill. “Wash your hands, Duckling, and change into something that isn’t all over dough. I think we should be prompt- maybe we can get this over with quickly.”

“W-what if Grandma comes home when we’re gone?” Although Rollo had the day off, Giselle was away at work. “She’ll wonder where we are. And… and…”

“We can leave her a note,” Rollo pointed out. He sighed. “Tamar, I know you’re scared. But we can’t tell the council no. This is probably important.”

The girl pursed her lips, deliberately segueing into the sign language so that the waiting courier would not understand as she replied: “I don’t want to go. I’ll stay here.”

“No you won’t,” he signed back, frowning. “The councilor asked for both of us. Besides, you know full well that Belial and Mother are both working and no one else can understand me. I can write but that takes too long for a long conversation.”

Tamar said nothing for a moment, the child studying Rollo’s hard expression. Then, she wiped the flour off on her apron and, sweeping past both elves to make her way toward her bedroom to change as requested, muttered aloud in Elvish: “Fine.”

Following her, he signed emphatically, “And I expect your attitude to be in check by the time we get there!”

Eventually they did arrive at the council hall, and were immediately taken to one of the meeting rooms. This time it was a male elf with a long, braided beard who met with them, his expression grim. Tamar, wearing a fresh dress and her hands washed, needed but one look at the man’s face before she shrunk down in the offered seat like a cornered animal, looking very much as if she wished she’d put a bigger fight about accompanying Rollo to the Council Hall.

“I’ve called you both here because I received unfortunate news,” the elf said. “Next week we’ll be receiving a guest from House Accipiter to explain the situation in detail but the long and the short of it is that Lady Junius’ father has tracked her to Nid’aigle. He’s demanding her return.”

Fidgeting in the chair, Tamar’s tan skin went white as milk. For a split second she froze, as if she’d been slapped, before the child bolted up to her feet, as if she was going to make a run for the door (and as though this might do anything to change what the elf had just told her and Rollo). The former slave, however, immediately reached up and grabbed her arms, unable to sign anything to her while holding her back but making frantic, garbled noises as if he was trying to calm her verbally.

The girl could take no comfort. “I-I’m not going,” she burbled, her entirely body trembling. As if she could no longer support her own weight, she collapsed forward into Rollo’s lap, her voice strangled as she repeated: “I-I’m not going-- I-- I can’t go, I--”

“Young lady,” the councilor interrupted, “Rest assured we have no intention of just handing you over. The Lord Accipiter is coming here to speak with you so that he may learn the full scope of the situation, and hopefully help us to protect you. Please, don’t panic.”

Rollo said nothing, just held the girl close to his chest and stroked her head and back. Hardly seeming to have heard the councilor’s words, Tamar whimpered, clinging to Rollo as if he were a single handhold on an otherwise sheer and deadly cliff.

“He’s going to take me,” she whispered, her voice no more substantial than a summer mist. “He’s not going to give up, he’s going to take me--”

“Nuuh,” Rollo grunted, shaking his head. He hugged the girl tightly, kissing the top of her head, and after another moment, she lifted her head, her blue-green eyes pooling with tears as she glanced down at his hands. He signed quickly. “I’ll never let him have you, Tamar. If I have to carry you with me to the ends of the earth I won’t give you back. But we’re going to fight him, here and now, because this is our home. You trusted me to help you run away. Do you still trust me?”

Snuffling, Tamar nodded. “Uh-huh,” she said. “He’s just… he-- you...” Letting go of the elf so that she could sign, she finished dourly: “You know how he is.”

“Considering I’ve known him since he was just a baby, I’d say so,” the elf replied. “But however stubborn and grasping he is, even he has limits. You’ve seen for yourself now how big the world is, and how small his slice of it really is. He may rule his domain with an iron fist, but out here he has to play by Kyth’s rules. Have faith, Duckling. We’ll get through this.”

A Rose Among Weeds: Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

Six days later, when a courier knocked on the cottage door not long after sunrise and informed Rollo that the delegation from House Accipiter had arrived to Nid’aigle, Tamar-- who was sitting at the kitchen table drowsily nursing a cup of tea-- sat bolt upright as the girl seriously considered making a dash for the back door. She might have tried it had not Giselle, who was seated across from her, put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and shook her head sharply. Rollo’s mouth formed a thin line, and he slowly stood up.

“Looks like it’s time, Duckling,” he signed. “Let’s go.”

Tamar froze, impertinent. “No.” Her abrupt gesture might have been the signing equivalent of a hiss. “I don’t want to.”

“That was not a request, Tamar,” he signed back, his brows snapping together. “And acting like a spoiled brat and refusing to see the noble is only going to make our case worse. It’ll look like I’m keeping you from him because I have something to hide. You think I want to do this? After over a hundred years of abuse from the nobles? I certainly do not. But I’m dealing with it, and so will you.”

The girl darted her gaze briefly to the waiting messenger, then back to Rollo. Giselle’s hand was still clamped over her shoulder, and with a hard swallow, the girl shrugged out of the woman’s grip and stood. Her posture rigid, she drew in her arms, her hands tucked near her chest as she signed in response:

“This isn’t fair.”

“I know,” he replied, before turning and nodding to the courier to lead the way. As they left, Giselle called out a wish for luck.

When they arrived at the Council Hall, this time they were directed not to a smaller meeting room, but to a larger formal chamber. Standing there, alongside two of the elvish councilors, were two rather sharp-nosed men with light hair and predominantly black-and-white clothing. The younger of the two, the one with very pale-blond hair, stood even with the councilors; the older and slightly golder-haired man kept back about half a pace, watching the situation closely. The shapes of their faces were too similar to be coincidence; they were obviously relatives.

The older Accipiter smiled lightly at the two as they entered; the younger one did not. He was, however, the first to speak. “Good morning,” he said in Elvish. “I’m Lord Freyr Accipiter, and this,” he nodded toward the man behind him, “is my father, Lord Arnor. I’m sorry we have to meet over this...unpleasant topic.” Unpleasant wasn’t precisely the word Freyr wanted to use, but it would do for now. Appearing to be angry or even just annoyed from the start would not be a good way to start off this discussion - especially with the elves, who very much valued self-control.

Tamar, pressed so closely against Rollo’s side that she might have been a leech, said nothing, only dared the briefest of glances toward the Accipiter lords before averting her gaze, her blue-green eyes flicking about the room as might agitated hornets.

As all parties sat-- Tamar having to silently coax Rollo into doing so with a raised brow and expectant gaze, as the elf at first hesitated-- Rollo looked down at the girl, signing, “If I address them, can I count on you to translate for me?”

“Yes,” she signed back sullenly.

Nodding, the elf addressed the Accipiters, signing as Tamar translated out loud. “Hello, Lords Accipiter. I am Rollo Jaubert, though in his contact Lord Junius probably referred to me as Crim, if he used a name at all. This is Tamar Jaubert, formerly Junius. Born to the enki, she fled with me and I have since adopted her.”

“Well-met,” Freyr said. “And it’s always good to see one of our people make it back from Courdon.” He looked to the girl and restrained a sigh; there wasn’t very long he could stall with pleasantries, or what passed for them when discussing Corvus’ southern neighbors. He could feel his father watching him carefully - almost sixty and the man still couldn’t quite hand off the reins. “I suppose we should get to the point and settle the matter instead of letting it sit unaddressed. I have one account from the Cressidas about why Miss Jaubert came north with you, and one account from Lord Junius. For the purposes of having as much information possible,” he said carefully, “I would like to hear what happened directly from you.”

“W-what’s he saying?” Tamar blurted. A distant part of the girl knew that she ought not address a lord like this; gods, if the Lord Junius in question could hear her right now, he’d have his hands laced around her throat. But still the child could not help herself, her voice trembling as she added shrilly, “M-my father-- what’s he saying about why I came north?”

Freyr looked at her for a moment, uncertain but trying not to show it. He didn’t want to frighten her more, or make any of the elves think she needed to be hidden from an oncoming mandate for her return - ‘Woo above, that was the last thing he needed, for her to suddenly disappear…

His father leaned forward, his expression calm. “Lord Junius seems to think you didn’t come north of your own free will. Specifically, he thinks you were kidnapped - but, as I’m sure you both know, Courdonian lords have a very flexible definition of kidnapping, and we’re very much aware of that.”

“And since they’ll be settling it with us directly,” Freyr added, “he’ll need to satisfy the Kythian definition.” It wasn’t quite that simple, of course; Junius could very well try going over his head. However, Freyr had no intention of his first international affair ending with sending a little girl back to an abusive father.

"If my only objective was my own freedom, what purpose would be served by my kidnapping the enki's daughter?" Rollo asked, his outrage at the fabrication plain. "I brought Tamar with me out of Courdon because I love her, as my daughter, and I could not stand by any longer and watch her be mutilated worse than most slaves- and remember I have watched no less than five or six generations of slaves pass through the halls of House Junius' manor!"

He flinched into himself suddenly, realizing how impertinent that must have sounded. "I... I am sorry, please, I forget-"

Tamar frowned, the girl cutting her translation off abruptly as the elf finished this statement with ‘my place’. I am sorry, please, I forget my place. Her brow furrowed, Tamar signed rapidly at Rollo: “I’m not going to say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he returned duly, then shook his head. “Sorry Tamar, I thought I was getting over this, I really did.”

The child shrugged. “It’s nothing to be sorry over,” she signed. “But I’m not saying it to the lords. I won’t.”

Freyr waited, an eyebrow slightly raised, as the two signed rapidly back and forth. When they paused briefly, he cut in, “That was a point we’d considered as well; a stolen child wouldn’t make a good companion for someone trying to make it to the border unnoticed. Not to mention how impractical it would be to keep her here against her will once you’d made it to safety.”

Rollo turned his attention back to the nobles, though there was a clear deflation of his demeanor, an old fear and wariness back in his crimson eyes. “So what is it you need from us, exactly? I have no physical evidence I can supply that Tamar came willingly, only her and my word. Although if you need proof I’m not lying about her father…” He looked at the girl, signing to her alone, “Show them your back?”

Tamar’s eyes went wide as a startled cat’s. “No,” she signed back, sharply. “I don’t want to, I don’t know them, I--” She gritted her teeth and forced a deep breath, as if in some attempt to calm herself. Then, after a moment more, she murmured aloud: “Do you think it would help?”

Rollo rubbed his face before signing back. “I don’t know. But I presume they’ll want some evidence that we’re telling the truth, so that they’re not going into this debate on a pure ‘he said, she said’ basis.”

The child squared her jaw, shutting her eyes briefly before she made herself open them again. Shakily, she stood, training her gaze on the Accipiter lords as she did, and with fumbling hands Tamar reached behind her neck. Her fingers trembled as she undid the hook-and-loop closures that secured her dress and, turning away from Freyr and his father, shrugged off one of her sleeves. The girl’s cheeks blazed red as a swath of her bared back was exposed to the nobles-- tan and freckled, although it was hard to notice either of these things against what else was there: scars. Dozens of them, if not more, slashed across her flesh in a warren of jagged, puckered stripes. Rollo’s mouth tightened at the sight of the marks, though of course it was hardly the first time he’d seen them. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, hoping to convey wordlessly how sorry he was to have to put her through this, and after an initial flinch at the elf’s touch, Tamar’s posture relaxed, if only by a hair; still, however, she did not dare look toward the Accipiters, as if she were afraid of how they’d react, embarrassed by the scars, or both.

Freyr actually felt his jaw clenching in his effort not to wince. He had never seen so many scars on a person, much less such vicious ones, and he had certainly not imagined he would ever see such violence on a child. He couldn’t even say for certain what kind of scars they were, though, knowing Courdonians, he didn’t like to imagine it. Rollo’s comment about Tamar being abused more so than several generations of slaves suddenly had a very horrific weight.

Arnor said quietly, “Thank you - that will do. Freyr…” he turned in his seat, and gave a pointed look to his son. “Let’s give her a moment of privacy, yes?”

Freyr nodded in agreement, obligingly turning his head. Any irritation with his father having insisted he come along had instantly evaporated. In Kythian, he muttered, “That’s years’ worth of violence - if they only ran a few months ago -”

“Then most - all, more likely - had to happen under Junius’ roof, yes.”

As Tamar slipped her sleeve back on and refastened the dress, she realized that Freyr and Arnor did not seem to realize that she could understand Kythian, and the child was glad that she was facing away from them so that they could not see the look of relief that flooded her face at their observation. They believed her and Rollo, then-- that her father had been the one to commit such violence against her. Which meant-- or at least, Tamar hoped it meant-- that they wouldn’t merely hand her back over to him as if she were but a dog of his who’d wandered off.

Not, of course, that this entailed that her father wouldn’t still try to fight for her afterward. If he’d been searching for her all this time… if he’d not given up even after more than six months…

The feeling of relief vanished, and Tamar gulped heavily as she sat back down. “They know that he did it,” she signed to Rollo, translating before he could ask. Then, to the Accipiters, the girl whispered: “They’re from a strap. A leather strap.”

Rollo, who legitimately didn’t understand Kythian, was profoundly relieved to hear that they nobles believed them. He gave the girl’s shoulder another squeeze, then put his arm around her and pulled her into a sideways hug. “I’m sorry, Duckling. I know that was hard.”

Arnor frowned. “Even for a leather strap, those are heavy scars. And far too many.”

Freyr nodded slightly, steepling his fingers and resting them in front of his chin. “I take it that’s the reason you chose to leave Courdon, Miss Jaubert?”

Tamar hesitated. “Uh-huh,” she said after a moment. “R-Rollo said he was s-scared for me. After… after…” The girl’s voice trailed off.

“Let’s just say it escalated,” Rollo supplied. “Badly. Lord Junius has a drinking problem. He acts out violently when he’s drunk, generally towards Tamar.”

“I see.” Freyr wondered if he ought to press for details on what exactly constituted escalation, but before he could make up his mind, his father spoke, leaning forward a little.

“So we’re dealing with a violent drunk who beats a member of his own family worse than his slaves.” Looking toward Rollo, the older Accipiter asked, “I take it that isn’t common knowledge, at least not among the other lords?”

“I can’t say for certain, he doesn’t usually confide the gossip of enkis with slaves” Rollo replied. “But I would guess not. Courdonians do not look kindly upon the mistreatment of dependents.”

“Indeed they do not,” Arnor agreed with a humorless half-smile.

“M-my father says that discipline is a family matter,” Tamar added softly. “Only my brothers know. T-that’s all.”

“Well,” Arnor said, “It’s not a family matter anymore.”

He glanced at Freyr, who took this as his cue to speak. “No, it isn’t. I think we’ve heard enough to know where we stand on this, and it is not with Lord Junius.” Looking between the two, he added, “We’ll need to know more details so we can fully argue your case, but that can be handled later.” Which reminded him that he hadn’t quite shared a particular bit of what he needed from the elf and his adopted daughter just yet. “Unfortunately, given the situation...I’m going to need to ask that Tamar, at least, comes to Raylier when we need to handle Lord Junius. To prove we have talked to you, and that we aren’t involved in some imagined conspiracy to hide you away.”

Tamar was on her feet instantaneously. Tears flooded her eyes, like floodwaters breaching a levee, and her chest rose and fell in rapid heaves. Clenching her hands into quavering fists, she leaned forward over the table, the expression on her bronze face rapidly dancing back and forth between fury and fear.

“No,” she sputtered starkly. “I’m not going anywhere near him. I won’t. I won’t, I can’t--” Her voice fell away as the river of tears segued into wracking sobs.

Rollo looked equally horrorstruck, though with Tamar as distraught as she was he knew there was no point in adding his own objections- the girl was wildly unlikely to translate them. Instead he stood as well, putting protective arms around his young charge and glaring at the Accipiters, his posture screaming of objection even as his body was tremoring at the thought of putting Tamar back in reach of her father.

Freyr was not surprised by this reaction, but that didn’t make it much less frustrating - he needed them there, or any point he made was likely to be ignored in the face of wild speculation that he was keeping the girl hidden on purpose - senseless though that would be if he didn’t have good reason...

Freyr forced back the feelings of frustration and worry; they were not going to be much help right now, and after all, both Jauberts had very good reason to be upset about this. “I understand it’s the last thing you want to do,” he said. “And I’m sorry I have to ask it of you. I wouldn’t if there wasn’t need of it - but we do need your presence and your word. If he isn’t convinced, he’ll keep trying to get her back.”

Arnor leaned forward again and added, “And he won’t get near enough to touch you. Either of you. We have room and guards enough that we can keep Lord Junius far from where you’ll be staying, and if it comes to it…” He reached for his waist, and drew a light-colored wand from a holster on his belt, setting it on the table. “We have mages who can mount a very good defense.”

Rollo looked away, touching the shoulder where his slave brand was with one hand. He’d trusted the forces of Kyth to protect him from Courdon once before- they hadn’t saved him from over a century of bondage.

“Will you speak for me?” he asked Tamar, who was still visibly shaken; the girl, using her sleeve to wipe at her eyes, nodded mutely. Once she was looking at him again, he signed, “I do not like this. Not at all. But if it must be so, I would rather it were I staring down… Lord Junius than Tamar. Once her presence has been confirmed, can her direct involvement in the proceedings be kept to a minimum? I do not like to ask her to translate my defiance for me in the face of a man she has good reason to fear. Sir Braham, a knight of the Nid’aigle company, understands my sign language and can translate for me so she is not obligate.”

Freyr considered, and nodded. “If Sir Braham can be persuaded to come, that seems like a reasonable compromise. And of course we’ll be aiming to have him out of the country as quickly as possible.”

Rollo said nothing in reply to that, only nodding and giving Tamar an even tighter hug, leaning over so that his forehead was pressed against her coal black hair. She sniffled, nestling against him, looking rather as if she were a prisoner who’d just been handed a death sentence.

“W-when do we have to go to Raylier?” she whispered.

Arnor and Freyr traded a glance, and Freyr said, “We’re returning to the city in a day or two; we think it would be ideal if you came to Raylier with us. I don’t think Lord Junius is going to wait very long for his audience, and it would be better if he didn’t take this over our heads out of sheer impatience.”

“A d-day or two?” Tamar echoed. “But… that’s…” She let out a raspy whimper.

“Soon, I know,” Arnor said sympathetically.

“He didn’t give us much notice, either,” Freyr said, “or we would have come sooner.” Maybe that was part of the Courdonian’s plan, to give everyone as little time as possible to prepare - or maybe it was just impatient rage that drove the man. Considering his temper while drunk…

Rollo could feel Tamar bristling in his arms and he quickly shook his head, making a low noise of warning. He turned to the Accipiters, and mimed packing a bag as best he could with Tamar in his arms, before jerking his thumb towards the door. As he did, the young girl’s lips fell open, as though to retort the nobles’ order, but before she could speak, Rollo made the noise more insistently, putting a finger over her mouth and shaking his head. The child went silent, the words dying unspoken on her tongue.

Nodding in reply to Rollo’s miming, Freyr said, “Thank you. We’ll speak to Sir Braham about joining us, and send a messenger when we have his answer.” And then, Freyr thought, Father and I have a lot of strategizing to do…

A Rose Among Weeds: Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

Lord Cassander Junius, of the Northlands, Courdon, seemed to regard the situation at hand with the same sort of awe and reverence that one might usually direct toward a splash of mud on his favourite breeches.

Seated behind a worn but polished oak table in one of Accipiter Manor’s premier meeting rooms ten days later, and condescending himself to the company of Lord Arnor as he waited for the man’s son to arrive shortly with Tamar, Rollo, and Rollo’s designated translator, Belial, the Courdonian wore an expression that could have been nothing other than disgust. Drumming his fingers rhythmically against the blank sheaf of parchment in front of him-- as if he planned on taking diligent notes during the exchange that was to soon commence-- Lord Junius shot a furtive glance first toward Arnor, and then to his own son, Lucan, who was seated directly to his father’s right.

“Everything alright, Father?” the black-haired boy asked, smiling nervously. He couldn’t have been a day older than sixteen, and dressed to the nines in lustrous silks and weighted down with heavy jewelry, he rather looked like a child playing dress-up with his father’s things. “I’m sure Lord Freyr will bring Tamar to us soon,” he went on quickly. “And… I’m sure she’s just fine, and--”

“Be quiet,” Cassander huffed in response, his expression of repulsion transforming into a scowl. “If you are required to speak, then I’ll let you know, Lucan. Otherwise…” The enki shook his head, before adding pointedly to Arnor in Kythian: “They will be arriving soon, though, I do hope? That thing has had my daughter for over six months-- and I swear to the gods, if it’s harmed a hair on her head--”

“They’ll be here momentarily,” Arnor said calmly, the hardness of his gray eyes not quite matching his placid smile or the casual way his hands were placed over one another. “And she’s been quite all right in Master Jaubert’s care, or we would have removed her from his custody ourselves.”

“Master Jaubert?” Cassander raised a dark brow, puzzled, before it seemed to occur to him that Arnor was referencing Crim-- at which point the enki glowered. “That creature is master of nothing. And last I checked, I’d granted it no surname--”

“Father.” Lucan’s voice cracked as a frozen, terrified smile cemented itself between the boy’s lips. “I-I think it would be wise to remain calm for the moment being. W-we would not wish to start things off on the wrong foot, would we?”

“I didn’t say that you could speak,” the lord snarled.

But by what must have been the grace of every god in existence, Lord Junius himself fell silent then, merely deigning to glare at the door as if he thought such an act would speed up his daughter’s arrival. It didn’t, and Cassander stiffened when the doorknob finally rattled several minutes later, the lord shooting Lucan what looked like a warning glance.

“Remember,” he hissed to the teenager, barely loud enough for Arnor to hear him, “I do the talking, Lucan. Not you.”

“Yes, Father,” the boy murmured, the anxiety that flickered in his blue-green eyes-- mirrors of Tamar’s-- a stark contrast to the near-predatory look that simmered in Cassander’s.

“I mean it,” Cassander said, before-- like a candlewick catching suddenly alight-- he replaced the shroud of anger he wore with a beaming smile, the lord rising to his feet as the door yawned inward, and Lord Freyr led Tamar, Rollo, and Belial into the meeting room.

Belial was in the elaborate blue and silver velvet of his formal military uniform, his knight's badge polished until it glowed on his breast. Though not really much protection in a fight, it was designed to be easy to maneuver in should an elf find themselves forced into combat during a formal event. However, the sword at his belt was not the ornamented dress sword he would normally have worn with the uniform, but his normal combat weapon. In truth Belial wasn't much for swords- spears and javelins were more his preference. But it would have looked far too threatening to carry one into this meeting, and even if the sword was not Belial's best weapon it still afforded Rollo and Tamar a measure of comfort. He was nominally here as Rollo's translator, but if need be he was willing to defend the elf and child with his life. In spite of the unease roiling in his gut, the knight kept his face schooled in an impassive military mask.

The same could not be said for Rollo. His terror was plain to see for anyone that glanced his way. In the presence of his old master the elf was shaking violently, his head ducked and eyes fixed firmly on the ground. Cassander Junius had been terrorizing Rollo literally since the enki was old enough to walk, taking out juvenile temper tantrums on a convenient meaty punching bag that was too cowed to fight back.

But those were not the memories that so thoroughly backslid Rollo into his old conditioning. No, it was the memory of Cassander standing by impassively as, with no anesthetic or painkillers, Rollo's tongue had been cleaved from his mouth.

Though the elf was holding Tamar's hand to comfort her, he was as much in need of the comfort as his young charge. It took everything in him not to go to his knees, and the young girl was not faring much better. The moment she stepped into the room, she froze in place, her eyes briefly sweeping over her brother’s nervous form before they hooked with her father’s expectant stare.

“Sweetheart.” Cassander’s saccharine smile curved into something close to a leer. “It’s so good to see you.” When this meted no response from his daughter, the Junius lord needled on: “Come here, honey. I’ve missed you. Give Papa a hug.”

Tamar, however, made no move for her father, instead tightening her grip over Rollo’s hand. She made a small noise, as though she were trying to speak, but after several attempts could produce no coherent syllables, let alone complete words. The elf tensed, returning the squeeze, but didn’t comment. It was Belial who finally spoke, folding his arms. “With all due respect, enki, I don’t think she wants a hug from you.” He glanced towards the Accipiters, his expression and voice perfectly neutral. “Perhaps it is best if we get to business?”

“With all due respect, elf,” Cassander snapped before either Accipiter could reply, “she is my daughter. Not yours.” He crooked his fingers at Tamar, as if he were calling for a dog. “Come here,” he said. “Away from those things.”

“N-no.” It clearly took every scrap of courage in the girl to verbally respond. “I-I don’t w-want to.”

“Tamar.” The enki glowered. “That was not a request--”

“Enough,” Freyr said firmly. “She said no. And before you protest that she’s your daughter, not mine - we are in my manor. There are things we will be discussing first.” The Accipiter lord brushed at his sleeve, and added, “And while you are a guest in my region, my city, and my house - I would strongly suggest addressing Sir Belial and Master Jaubert with some respect.” He met the Courdonian’s eyes squarely, expression impassive.

“I give respect to those who earn it,” Cassander huffed, but he did not press the issue further, rather glaring poisonously at the two elves who flanked his daughter as he plunked back down into his chair.

When the others proceeded to sit-- and Tamar deliberately seemed to select the seat that was as far away from her father as possible-- the enki continued to glower, particularly when Rollo gave the young girl’s shoulder a comforting squeeze and signed a quick reassurance to her. It was when Tamar signed back that the lord’s expression shifted, from seething to incredulous, as he spied what was winking up from her pointer finger: a dull but substantial jet ring, its band inlaid with small, cloudy gems.

“Lovely,” the Courdonian sneered. “Didn’t just steal my daughter, but made off with House jewelry as well, I see.” He glanced next toward the simple gold chain that hung around the girl’s neck-- a piece she’d inherited from her mother. “Gold, obsidian-- why, you’re a proper thief, aren’t you, Master Jaubert?”

As Belial quietly translated her father’s words into Elvish for Rollo, Tamar froze for a moment, cowed yet again. She blinked once, sharply, as if warding back tears, before with a fluid movement she yanked the ring off and slapped it down onto the table; with another swift pull, the necklace followed.

“Take them back, then,” she said, her voice at once furious and terrified. “I don’t want them. They’re all yours.”

Cassander narrowed his brow. “Put them back on, Tamar,” he ordered stiffly. “You can wear them on our way back home.”

“No.” The girl pushed the ring and necklace forward across the table. “I’m not going home w-with you. So take them.”

“Yes, to that point…” Arnor delicately nudged the jewelry a little farther down the table, closer to Cassander. “Perhaps we should get to the business at hand, rather than being distracted by minutiae? This is about your daughter, after all, not House jewels. It isn’t as if they were sold for profit and we need to retrieve them, after all,” he added in a tone almost too light for the situation.

“Fine.” Cassander squared his jaw. “Let’s proceed into this business, then.” He flicked his gaze between Tamar and the Accipiter lords. “My child was abducted,” the Courdonian said. “She is eleven-years-old-- ten at the time she was taken-- and thus severely underage in Kyth and Courdon both. Irrespective of whatever deluded ideas the elf may have installed in her brain, she does not belong with him, but at home with her family. And although I wish to keep this situation as uncomplicated as possible, if she is not returned to me at the conclusion of this meeting, then I will have no choice but to escalate it. I cannot imagine the Courdonian crown, for instance, would look favourably upon a Kythian lord sheltering the individual who stole a Courdonian noble child-- and worse than that, is now baldly refusing to return that child to her rightful guardian.”

Rollo finally forced himself to look up, and though his entire body was shaking visibly, he signed a retort that Belial translated. “He says, I didn’t abduct her. She came with me freely, of her own volition, because she and I both were afraid for her safety. I gain nothing by abducting my former master’s child. She, however, gains everything by my helping her to somewhere safe.”

“She is underage,” Cassander said again, as if someone could have missed this fact the first time around; beside him, Lucan fidgeted quietly, the teenager looking as uncomfortable as a cat in a bathtub. “Her volition does not matter here. Children often make foolish choices; that hardly means we condone such decisions. I am her father. She is eleven. I did not give her permission to leave my manor, let alone come to live in Kyth. That’s the only thing that ought to matter in this scenario. Anything else is irrelevant.” Sniffing, he added, “I merely think myself merciful that I’m not ordering the elf brought up on charges of kidnapping.”

“Normally, I would agree; certainly children don’t always make intelligent choices.” Freyr tilted his head slightly, and perhaps from a trick of the angle, his gaze appeared sharper. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t ever have good reason for the decisions they make. A child might run away for any number of reasons. Perhaps because they feel threatened or unsafe.” He put the tips of his fingers together. “Lord Junius, I can’t help but notice that you never replied to Master Jaubert’s evaluation of Tamar’s safety in your home. Would you like to elaborate on that? Surely you understand, as a father, that I need to make sure I’m sending Tamar somewhere safe.”

“Children will always lament over being disciplined,” Cassander said by way of answer. “But it’s called discipline, not fun. That Tamar might brood over the punishments I give her when she misbehaves hardly means one should be concerned for her general safety.” The lord of House Junius smiled thinly. “Surely, Lord Freyr, you are not suggesting that a child is warranted to run away to live in a foreign country because her father corrects her disobedience?”

Rollo gritted his teeth, making a slashing motion with his hand and signing quickly. “Perhaps if she had done anything wrong when you ‘disciplined’ her. Perhaps if the retaliation had been in any way proportional. Perhaps if it was not merely you looking for a target to lash out at in your rages. I watched many of your ancestors and I know how Courdonian discipline of their children works. When you cuff a child for sassing, that is discipline. When you whip her bloody for no reason save your own foul mood and her availability, that is not discipline.”

Cassander’s face had gone very red, his blue eyes flashing with toxic rage. “You speak out of turn,” he hissed to Rollo, before training his gaze on his daughter. “Is that what you did, Tamar?” he demanded. “Ran once my back was turned to sulk about your punishments to an inhuman creature? Told him all about private family matters, all about--” The lord cut himself off, quite nearly shaking from the fury, as he looked again to Freyr and Arnor. “This is a travesty,” he growled. “Bringing me in here to banter with a tongueless elf, treating me like I’m a criminal when he is the one who ran off with my godsdamned daughter!”

“F-Father.” Lucan’s voice was very, very small. “P-perhaps we should stay calm--”

“Quiet, Lucan,” the lord snarled. Then, to the Accipiters: “I’ve had enough of this. Clearly you are not reasonable men. I wanted to keep this a matter between lords of equal station, but you’ve made it abundantly obvious that I’d be better off negotiating with a brick wall. We shall merely have to see if you’re so obstinate and inappropriate when it’s the Courdonian crown come knocking at your city gates.”

Freyr raised an eyebrow. “You want to bring the crown into this, do you? That’s an...interesting choice, given...well, quite a few pieces of this situation. For instance - ” He motioned to Rollo. “We have proof Master Jaubert was born in the city of Nid’aigle, which is quite firmly located in Kyth. Kidnapping the people of Kyth - and yes, the elves count as our people - is a breach of the treaty. The one preventing war between our countries,” he added, as if this might be something Cassander had forgotten or was unaware of. “I’m sure the king will be very pleased to learn one of his lords has continued on a very grand tradition of violating the treaty he has been fighting so hard to keep.”

“Is that why you didn’t bring other lords, Cassander?” Arnor asked from his side of the table. “If it were me after my daughter, I’d likely try to get Lord Jade involved from the start.”

“And lest you decide to object to the legitimacy of Master Jaubert’s Kythian birth,” Belial put in, “I should like to note that his mother, with whom he and Lady Tamar have been living, can be summoned here in a matter of a day to corroborate the claim. To say nothing of the fact that he was a childhood friend of mine, back when he was known as Rollo Jaubert and not… Crim I believe is the name forced upon him in Courdon?”

“I hardly had anything to do with whatever events led to the elf coming to Courdon,” Cassander rejoindered, although finally here there was a hitch to his tone-- a layer of hesitancy underscoring the lord’s blistering rage. “And… I did not get anyone else involved in this because-- foolishly, it seems-- I believed it would be a simple matter to resolve. That no respectable noble of any kingdom would think to withhold an underage girlchild from her rightful guardian. But it seems I was mistaken. And do believe me, when I come back to your city with King Jourdain at my heel, you will sorely regret the choices you made here today--”

“You’re lying.”

All eyes in the room wrenched toward Tamar, as the young girl suddenly straightened in her seat. Her blue-green eyes smoldering with a sudden rage all of their own, she propped her elbows up on the table and leaned forward, her focus latched onto her father. It were as if the smothering hand of fear had lifted from her, replaced instead by a sense of disgust, of indignation, of fury. Eleven years of built-up resentment suddenly unfurling in her like a butterfly’s wings as it emerges from the chrysalis, lovely and fresh and vibrant.

“You’re lying,” the girl repeated after a moment, when Cassander gave no reaction to her initial outburst other than to gape on in surprise. “Y-you won’t bring the king in. Or even Lord Pipp.”

“Oh?” The enki quirked a brow, looking more amused than incensed. “What, sweetheart-- have the Kythians told you that I’ll give up? That I’ll just quietly slink away after this, my tail tucked like a kicked dog’s?”

The child shook her head. “No. I just know that y-you’re lying. Bluffing. You’re not going to bring anyone else in.”

“And why’s that?” Cassander asked.

Tamar said nothing for a moment, her movements slow but deliberate as she brought a ginger finger up toward her face and tapped once at the curvature of her jaw. “Because,” the girl said then, “I’ll tell them. L-Lord Pipp or King Jourdain or-- or-- whoever it is. I’ll tell them why I left. And then you’ll be the one in trouble, Papa. Not me. N-not the Accipiters. Just you. Only you.”

Rollo narrowed his eyes, a dark smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Clearly he knew exactly what Tamar was talking about. He gave a small, encouraging gesture to the girl.

Freyr glanced at the two, his brow briefly, minutely, furrowing - but he was quick to turn back to Cassander. He might not know what Tamar was indicating, but there was plenty of ammunition to hold against the enki already. “You can bring King Jourdain into this if you like. He seems to be a reasonable man, and I think any reasonable man - any ‘respectable noble’, to use your term - would be rightfully horrified by how you’ve treated your daughter.” Freyr crossed his arms. “Or should we stop dancing around with delicate terminology and call your drunken rages what they are?”

All traces of humor faded from Cassander’s face. “You make baseless accusations, Lord Freyr.”

“But they’re not baseless.” This was Tamar again, the girl’s voice growing steadier still. “It’s true, Papa. All of it’s true. And the king--”

“-- won’t believe a word you say, anyway,” the enki snapped over her. “You’re a petulant child, Tamar. A runaway child. Do you think that King Jourdain will find any value in your words? Do you truly think that he’ll trust the claims of a spoiled girlchild and an embittered elf--”

Rollo gave voice to a very loud, “Oy!” to cut the enki off, before signing rapidly as Belial translated. “Tamar’s word is not the only evidence, enki. All she has to do is bare her back for him. I seriously doubt any of your peers, much less your king, would approve of your daughter’s back looking nearly as mutilated as mine.” Giving voice to a snarl, Rollo added several gestures that made Belial voice a sharp noise of shock and revulsion, and when he spoke again the knight’s voice was shaking. “I imagine when he sees that, Tamar’s story of how you flew into a drunken rage, beat her to a bloody pulp, and broke her thrice-cursed jaw will seem a good deal more believable!”

Freyr turned his head sharply, his whole body tensing before he regained some of his composure and glowered back at Cassander. Arnor’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing and so Freyr broke the silence in a low, cold voice. “I’ve seen what you’ve done with a strap; I have no trouble imagining you’re just as brutal when using your fists. And neither will the rest of Courdon, if you really want to play this game, Cassander.”

“Are you… are you threatening me?” Cassander’s face and voice had both gone hard as iron.

Belial lifted an eyebrow. “Threatening? Hardly. I think Lord Accipiter was simply making sure that all the facts that need to be presented to your king are properly on the table.” He smiled cheerfully. “We wouldn’t want there to be any oversights, after all.”

“Certainly not,” Arnor agreed. “Especially when dealing with the welfare of a child; the Courdonian lords I’ve met would hardly thank us for hiding that detail and thus sending one of their young nobleladies somewhere she would be hurt.”

“Perhaps it was the elf,” Cassander snapped in response, the enki clearly grasping for straws now. “He was obviously cavorting illicitly with my child for years-- who knows what he’s capable of--”

“Then I guess when King Jourdain looks at Lucan’s back, or H-Hilaire’s-- or-- or any of ours, it was Rollo who beat them, too?” Though soft in volume, Tamar’s voice was as sharp as a sword-tip.

At this, Lucan, heretofore so meek and quiet, slunk down into his seat as though he wished he could disappear clear into it. “Tam, please,” the boy murmured, in Courdonian. “D-don’t bring me into this.”

“Shut up, Lucan, for all the gods’ sake!” Cassander, as far as gone as a rabid dog, was no longer even feigning now at composure. “Or so help me--”

“Leave the boy out of this,” Arnor said, loudly but evenly. “It isn’t his raging that’s led to all of this, is it? Perhaps you ought to invest in learning to control your temper; it would cost you fewer children.”

“And at the rate you’re going,” Freyr interjected, “You’re going to get Lord Pipp’s attention all on your own.”

“Lucan will be showing his back to nobody,” Cassander hissed, before shifting his focus solely toward Tamar. For a few long, tense moments, nobody spoke, father and daughter merely studying each other across the table. Tamar, her fear clearly swallowed, refused to be the one to first break the gaze, nor did she flinch when Cassander finally said to her: “You have no idea what you’re doing, Tamar. What sort of life you’re selecting for yourself. Living with elves? As a commoner? In a godsdamned heathen kingdom with--”

“No.” Tamar swallowed hard. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Papa. And… and I’m not changing my mind. I’m not going back with you.”

“Do you think I’m joking right now, Tam? Do you?” Cassander laughed-- a miserable, strangled laugh. “This isn’t going to simply rest-- I’ll… I’ll have the elf reported to King Jourdain for kidnapping, he will pay for this, for all of it--”

“No,” Tamar said simply. “You won’t. And he won’t. I’m not afraid of you anymore, Papa. I don’t care what you threaten. Or say.”

Rollo put a hand on Tamar’s shoulder. He signed with his other hand, his expression determined. “You tried to break us five years ago, when you found me comforting Tamar after one of your outbursts with an Elvish lullaby and had my tongue cut out for it. But what is between her and I is stronger than any fear. Of you, of the king of Courdon, or of anyone else. That is something you could never understand.”

Literally vibrating with fury, Cassander abruptly stood, the lord lashing out a sharp hand and curling it around Lucan’s bicep to haul the boy up to his feet alongside him. “I think we’re done here,” the lord of House Junius growled. Eyes falling to the jet ring and gold chain, still laid upon the table like offerings at a shrine, the man hesitated for a moment before snatching them up and stuffing them into the chest pocket of his silk tunic. “These are not yours anymore,” the man said. “And you are not a member of my House anymore, Tamar. You’ve made your fate. I do hope you don’t regret it, little one.”

When Tamar said nothing, Freyr rose to his feet. “Thank you for your time - I think you’re right, we are done here.” With a glance at Lucan, he added, “You ought to consider my father’s suggestion about your temper. The ‘Woo, or whatever gods look over you, only grant a man so many children and so many chances.”

“You’ve already blessed the theft of one of my children,” Cassander hissed, dragging Lucan toward the door. “I’ll thank you not to interfere with another.”

And with that, the lord of House Junius was gone, his and Lucan’s footsteps soon disappearing down the hall. Once he was gone, Tamar sat very still for several moments, her eyes still trained on the place where her father had sat moments ago. Then, softly, the girl sighed. Her posture relaxed. Flicking her gaze up toward Rollo, she dared a thin, wavering smile.

“It’s over?” she murmured to him, in Elvish.

The elf hugged her, giving the young girl a kiss on the top of her head. “It’s over. You’re free, Duckling.” Turning to the Accipiters, he signed, with Belial offering a translation, “Thank you. Long decades in Courdon have made it very hard for me to trust nobles, but without your help we could not have stopped Lord Junius. My daughter and I are in your debt.”

Freyr dipped his head briefly. “You’re welcome. I’m glad we were able to intervene and keep him from taking her.”

“And of course,” Arnor added, “we couldn’t have convinced him to back off without your testimony, so thank you. And you should be proud, both of you; I cannot imagine that was easy, staring him down again. That should at least be the last time you have to do so, ‘Woo willing.”

Tamar nodded, but there was a sudden stroke of misery to her tone as she murmured, “He’s going to hurt Lucan.”

“He might,” Arnor agreed. “But maybe Lucan will learn from what happened here and make his own escape.”

Belial nodded. "You have made an example of yourself, Tamar. It is entirely possible that Lucan will talk of this with your other siblings, and gradually they will realize that they do not have to suffer in silence. They can flee, or they can appeal to Lord Pipp for help. They have the means now; it is up to them to decide to grab that lifeline."

"Whatever happens, I don't want you beating yourself up over it," Rollo signed. He hugged her tightly, letting go only to add, "The noble is right you know. You showed more courage today than I've seen in my entire life. I couldn't be prouder of you."

She swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered. “And… y-you were brave, too, Papa. For facing him. A-and not letting him scare you so much you didn’t stand up for me.” Tamar bit her lip. “For us.”

Arnor smiled, glancing at Freyr, who gave him a small, brief one in return before rising to his feet. “We’ll leave you to your celebration; I’m going to see that Lord Junius does indeed make it out of the city. Someone will be sent to your quarters later to make arrangements for your trip back to Nid’iagle. Are there any other concerns we should address?”

Belial shook his head. “I don’t think so… unless perhaps it were possible, now that her father has surrendered her, to have Tamar formally adopted into Rollo’s family so that she may be naturalized as a Kythian citizen? To give her full legal protection under Kythian law and prevent any future grievances.”

Freyr considered, and nodded. “That would be a wise course of action - I can have my scribe prepare a writ of custody - essentially an immediate adoption of Miss Jaubert into your family. If we move quickly, we can probably get Lord Cassander’s signature on it before leaves the city.”

“With some coaxing, perhaps,” Arnor mused.

“I can have the writ brought to you tonight to sign, Master Jaubert. My father and I will sign it as well, and we can have it filed with the magistrate before you leave the city. Anything that needs to be handled in Nid’aigle will of course need to be handled there - my scribe ought to be able to prepare anything needed from us, if that’s necessary.” He looked around again, asked, “Is there anything else?” and when nothing came forward, nodded and said, “We’ll leave you be, then.” The two Accipiters departed the room, shutting the door quietly behind them.

Belial stood, smiling at Rollo and Tamar. “I’ll send a pigeon to Nid’aigle to let the Council know what’s been decided. Congratulations you two.”

“Thank you for coming with, Sir Braham.” Tamar smiled sheepishly. “And… you’ll still come and visit us whenever you’re in Nid’aigle, right? I can make those honey cakes you like. Grandmother’s taught me the recipe, and I think I’ve gotten it mostly memorized.”

The knight chuckled. “Of course- I look forward to it.”

A Rose Among Weeds: Epilogue

SPOILER: Click to show

It was a blistering hot day in August, and the fiery afternoon sun beat into the young teenager’s back as she waltzed down the cobbled lane. With a skip to her step and a soft smile between her lips, she seemed not to have a care in the world, her obsidian-black hair catching in the sunlight as she paused before the gate of a small stone cottage, and with a flourish pushed it open.

Rather than make a beeline for the front door, the girl banked instead to the left, plodding through the tall, tickling grass as she cut a broad arc around the house. As she neared its rear yard, the scent of lilacs and lilies tickled her nose, fragrant and sweet; she just barely stifled a sneeze.

“Are you back here?” she called her out, her voice singsong. “I thought I’d check first, before I bothered knocking!”

There was a soft chiming noise, like two pieces of metal clinking against each other. As the young girl rounded the side of the cottage, she caught sight of a familiar brown haired, red eyed elf, squatting in front of a patch of flowers. He had a trowel in one hand, and a hand rake in the other, and had been tapping them together to signal his presence. Once he was within line of sight, his eyebrows snapped together and he set down the trowel to hand signal, “Have you been wandering by yourself again? How many times have I told you that you need to ask permission before you go frollicking about?”

The girl drew to a halt, the smile not fading as she signed rapidly back: “You sound just like Mum and Dad. But you all worry too much. I’m thirteen now, you know. And I know the city inside and out. Cascabel’s hardly Copperhead, Uncle Rollo.” She practically smirked. “Although did you hear Lord Jason’s installing a new reeve? Hopefully this one doesn’t bring any venomous species with him. I still think Mum’s not over the time the last reeve’s sidewinder escaped, and our neighbour found it in his bedroom.”

The elf rolled his eyes. “I can’t say I blame her. He was not very intelligent about how he handled his serpents. At least he lost his license to keep venomous breeds, so that’s something anyway.” He set down his hand shovel next to the trowel and stood, his pale elven complexion making the pinkish red scars that criss-crossed his bare arms stand out starkly. “So to what do I owe the pleasure? I know you don’t love me nearly enough to flounce all this way in the heat just to say hi.” The twinkle in his crimson eyes made it clear he was teasing.

She beamed, her own dark brown eyes glimmering mischievously. “Why, of course not,” she replied. “That would be silly.” Stepping into a sliver of shade cast by a nearby oak tree, the girl switched back to spoken speech as she went on, “I just heard Dad talking today. With one of his shippers. Did you know they signed a treaty, Uncle Rollo? Down in Courdon?”

He gave a slow smirk. “Would I be dressed as I am if I had not?”

He tapped his shoulder meaningfully. The mark of House Junius was still there, a hundred and seventy-one years after his escape from Courdon. In spite of the fact that Cassander had given up on his erstwhile elf, Rollo had made a point to keep the mark hidden, lest future generations of slave hunters see it without understanding the weighty story behind it. But now, at last, he didn’t have to hide anymore.

“It was very vindicating to hear,” he went on. “Within a few generations, only elves like myself will still have these marks, and no one will remember anymore who they are even supposed to mark the property of. Your distant cousins in the Northlands will see me and never know I once belonged to their ancestors.”

The girl listened with pursed lips as Rollo spoke, her dark eyes trained on the brand. She’d seen it occasionally in the past, but always in privacy-- behind closed doors, and with only those the elf trusted completely around. Never before had she glimpsed it beneath the full glare of the sun, so clearly drawn it could have been placed but months ago, not nearly two-hundred years.

“It’s weird to think about,” she said, reaching out a ginger hand and tracing her fingers along the reddened shape. “That you’ve been around that long.” She bit her lip. “And that my ancestors… owned you. Like you were…” The girl shook her head. “W-were they all bad? My… Courdonian great-great-great-grandparents, or whatever they are.”

Rollo laughed softly- one of the few verbalizations that Courdon had stolen from him that he’d managed to get back. He knelt down and hugged the girl, then he pulled away and signed, “No. There was one sweet, brave little Duckling who stood up to her father’s cruelty. Who loved me as a person and not an object, and who helped both of us to find our freedom. You’d have liked her, Luce.”

The girl, Luce, smiled again. She’d heard this story before-- or at least, how it ended. “And then she moved here?” Luce said. “To Elacs. After she met my… however-many-great-grandfather. And you let her go at first, and stayed behind in Nid’aigle, but then you missed her. And she missed you. So you followed her here, to Cascabel.” Luce reached out and gently touched Rollo’s hand. “Did you really not speak Kythian then?”

“No, I didn’t,” he replied. “I understood Elvish of course, and Courdonian from my time as a slave, and mine and Tamar’s secret sign language. But she had to teach me Kythian. She used to aggravate me so much, because when I wanted her to translate for me she would edit what she or the other people were saying if she didn’t want me to know.”

The elf’s eyes stung, and he blinked sharply; Luce, noticing this, wrapped an arm around the elf’s side, tucking her cheek against his ribs. Next to his towering frame, the girl looked tiny, like a dandelion in a field of elegant roses. Rollo smiled at the girl, and put his arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze in return. “Not a day goes by I don’t miss them,” he admitted. “Tamar, her children, their children…”

“It must be hard,” Luce said softly. “But… I’m glad you stay here anyway, Uncle Rollo. With us. Even if you do lecture my ear off when I come to visit you without an adult walking me here despite the fact that I am definitely old enough.” The girl pursed her lips, thoughtful. “Although I guess thirteen must not seem that old. When you’re…”

He winked. “Three hundred and ninety four.”

Luce gawped. “No way.” Brushing a strand of black hair out of her eyes, the girl added, “That’s not a fair standard, then. You probably wouldn’t want me walking around the city alone until I’m one-hundred!”

“Oh come on, I’m not that unreasonable,” he retorted with a smirk. “We can talk about it when you’re fifty.”

She batted his arm in mock horror. “Oh no. I’ve got to go talk to Dad, then! Tell him he’s not allowed out alone.” Luce grinned. “You wanna come with me back to my house, Uncle Rollo? Mum’s making lamb stew for supper. And my brother and sister picked blueberries yesterday, so we’ve got a cake in the oven.” She wrinkled her nose. “Hopefully this time Tegan didn’t forget to put sugar in the batter. I swear, the next time she ruins a recipe, Mum’s going to exile her to only peeling potatoes. Forever.”

Rollo grinned. “That sounds lovely, if you don’t think your parents would mind I’d love to. If you’d like some entertainment, I can bring a bottle of Nid’aigle honey-wine my mother sent me last month. Your dad never seems to learn his lesson with that stuff.”

“They won’t mind,” Luce said, brightening further. “And yes, definitely bring the honey wine.” Her eyes hooked on his, she added sweetly, “Although… could you tell them we just… I don’t know, ran into each other by the house? You know, on a street where I’m allowed to go alone. You wouldn’t want me to get in trouble, Uncle Rollo, would you?”

He gently rapped her on the head with his right knuckle, signing with his left hand, “Nice try. You underestimate how many of your ancestors have tried to sweet-talk me into not ratting on them when they misbehaved. I am immune to your wiles, young lady.”

“Aw.” Luce pouted her lips. “No fair.” She poked his arm. “At least tell me a good story on the walk over?” the girl asked. “About… hmm…” She cocked her head. “Let’s try… my great-great-great-grandfather. What was his name? And did he, too, turn into a dancing idiot when he drank honey wine?”

The elf snorted, hooking her arm with his and starting back around the cottage. “His name was Dominic. And no, when he drank he just got… very flirty. I suspect at least half of his children owe their existence to some festival or another where he had too much to drink.”

As they began through the tall grass toward the gate, Luce quirked a brow. “Oooh. So Dad likes honey wine so much because it’s literally in his blood!” She paused. “And what about Dominic’s brothers and sisters?”

“They would be Harland, Isidore, Valerie, Amber, and Chancery. Chance and Amber both ended up joining the clergy- Chance as a priest and Amber as a nun- so no drunken debauchery from them. Harland and Isidore were both lightweights. Generally fell asleep pretty quickly. Val now…” The elf sniggered.

“Six siblings!” Luce marveled, pushing through the gate. “Woo, and I thought two was annoying.” The girl shook her head. “So, what about this Val?”

Rollo pulled the girl closer, hugging her around the shoulders. “Well she only ever got drunk once- but it was very entertaining. Let’s just say your many times great grandfather lost his first kiss that night; Tamar was quite old by then but she was still a force to be reckoned with, and gave Valerie a good, stern smack.”

“That’s mad!” Luce gasped, as they turned to start down the lane. “By Woo, I can’t believe that, Uncle Rollo!”

He laughed. “If you think that’s crazy, maybe I should tell you about your great-great-uncle Malachi. See when he was about seventeen…”

[Shinko]

Another fun collab with Avery. It has a Wynn =D So y'know. Fun things are bound to happen.

Seeds of a Better Life: Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

The city of Ecliptus had certainly seen better days. It was the first time in a long time that Filipe Escalus had been to the Cressida capital- for at least the past long while, his brother Dimitri and Dimitri’s wife Grace had generally been the ones to come out here, or else Lord Wynn had come to Heleos. But it seemed that it had been awhile since the roads through the city had seen much maintenance, and even from a ways off Filipe could see that Ecliptus Castle was heavily overgrown with vines and creepers.

Just what are you spending your tax money on exactly, Wynn? he thought tiredly. It was not entirely a surprise to him that things should be in this state. Nothing he had seen so far of Wynn Cressida had impressed Filipe much. So when the lord of Ecliptus had invited him to his castle, it was only with great reservation that Filipe had accepted.

Granted, the reason he was coming here was one that was incredibly important to the lord of Heleos, but… he honestly didn’t think he was going to leave Ecliptus with what he was coming here for. Because what he was here for was to find a husband for his daughter and heir, Catia. Catia needed a husband who would support her without overshadowing her, who would be willing to accept her as the ruler over Heleos without causing problems, but who would also be strong enough to support the girl if she needed it.

In short, she needed a husband who was nothing like the sorts of men that the hyper-conservative House Cressida had a habit of producing. Women born in Ecliptus were required to wear veils over their hair, and were very much seen and not heard. Wynn had really only jumped on Filipe’s call for a husband because he had alienated no few of his neighbors with his temper, and was desperate to establish positive relations with at least someone. That and the fact that he had three younger sons he had no idea what to do with.

So Filipe had temporized. He agreed to talk to the boys, to determine if they were of the appropriate temperament to be Catia’s husband. But as he and his small entourage of knights arrived in Ecliptus, his hopes were not high.

Finally, the gates of the small Ecliptus Castle came into view. They swung open with a loud, metallic creaking, as if they’d not been oiled in far too long.

The lord of the estate stood in the center of the narrow front courtyard, his hands clasped stiffly at his back. On one side of him stood his wife, Asa, sweating through her heavy clothes in the dreary May heat, and on his other side fidgeted Jacob, Wynn’s eldest son and heir. As the gates yawned open, and the seven horses carrying the Escalus party came to a halt on the other side, Wynn forced a large if saccharine smile and took a broad step forward.

“Welcome, Lord Filipe!” he called, inclining his head into a cordial bow. “We’re so pleased that you’ve made it safely.”

“You are most gracious, Lord Wynn,” Filipe replied with a polite smile, swinging himself sideways off of his horse and bowing his head in reply. Turning his attention to the others he added, “And it is lovely to see you, Lady Asa and… Lord Jacob, if I’m not mistaken?”

The pale-haired man at Wynn’s heel nodded shortly, echoing his father’s bow. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Filipe,” he said, the pleasant look on his face far less artificial than was his father’s. “I do hope your journey here was uneventful?”

“It was nothing to speak of,” Filipe replied. “Rainy, but summer is nearly upon us so that’s only to be expected. The road crews will have to be out in force soon to keep the streets from washing out. I hope all is well here in Ecliptus?”

“Same as it always is.” Wynn shrugged before glancing back toward the castle that rose behind him, moss-crept and battered. “I’ve refreshments set out in the banquet hall, if you’d like?” Nodding toward the servants who hovered at the edge of the courtyard, clearly awaiting a command, the lord added, “The grooms can take your horses and show your knights to their quarters.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Filipe agreed. He waved a hand to the knights, who set about dismounting from their horses, and nodded to Wynn. “I am at your disposal.”

Wynn kept a cool smile on his face as he turned and started inside, his wife, son, and Filipe trailing behind him. If one had perhaps hoped the exterior of the castle was merely an inauspicious contrast to a well-kept and gleaming interior, such illusions were immediately shattered: the curving halls were musty and dark, the ceilings were specked with water-stains, and the banquet hall the group eventually arrived to looked closer to the lobby a middling inn than the receiving room of a lord. The food spread out at the table, at least, was palatable enough-- a mix of fruit, cheese, and dried meat, along with several pitchers of wine.

“From Raylier,” Wynn said, gesturing to the decanters. “Help yourself and take a seat.”

“Thank you,” Filipe replied. If he had any opinions about the state of the castle, he kept them to himself. Instead he walked up to the table, pouring a glass of wine and getting together a plate of sausage and a few orange wedges before sitting.

“So,” he said amiably, “I recall from when you brought him to Heleos nine years ago that your boy Linden is about Catia’s same age- so he’d be what, fifteen or sixteen now? What about the other boys. Bay and… Artemis I believe?”

Fixing himself a haphazard plate of his own, and pouring a generous serving of wine, Wynn sat and nodded. “Linden’s sixteenth birthday is in July,” he said, barely sparing a thin smile for his wife as she sat beside him. “Bay is three years older. And Artemis turns fifteen next month.”

“Linden and Bay are mages,” Jacob added, taking a seat across from his parents beside the Escalus lord. “Artemis is not.”

An old shadow crossed Filipe’s face, but it cleared a split second later. “Well I won’t turn away a non-mage if he is best suited to the position, but I’ll certainly keep that in mind. Thank you again for affording me this opportunity to talk to the boys- I feel that I will be able to get a much clearer idea of their temperaments this way. It will take a… very particular sort of person to be a good match for Catia. I presume that as I asked, you’ve not informed the boys as to why I want to talk to them?”

“I have not,” Wynn agreed. “As far as they’re concerned, you’re here to discuss vague, unspecified political business.” He paused, considering. “Are you certain you wish to speak with them all, Lord Filipe? If I might offer my own opinion as their father, I do believe there is a certain… best candidate, among the three.”

“But Father,” Jacob replied smoothly, “has Lord Filipe not come here precisely so that he may reach his own conclusions, rather than merely settle on your own?”

“As a father, I’m certain you know your children well,” Filipe replied smoothly. “But the needs of Ecliptus are not necessarily in accord with the needs of Heleos. Thank you, Lord Wynn, but I do believe it is important I speak to all three of the boys. Unless perhaps one of them has taken ill?”

“Not ill, no.” Wynn took a hearty sip of his wine. “They’ll all be ready to speak to you at your leisure, Lord Filipe.”

**

Filipe spoke to the youngest boy first, Artemis, and quickly dismissed him as a candidate. He seemed polite enough, and was soft spoken in a way that implied he might have done alright, but his youth showed very plainly. He was broody and sullen as teenage boys often were, and while given time he’d probably mature, it wasn’t time Filipe really had available to him. In order to secure his daughter’s rather controversial position as heir, he had to get her a viable husband as soon as possible.

So after Artemis had left, the next to come into the room was the oldest of the three boys- Wynn’s second son, Bay. Filipe was taking a sip from a freshly brewed cup of tea when the door creaked open, and he set down his cup to stand and greet the boy.

A tall, well-built man of eighteen, Bay bowed formally to the Escalus lord, his voice cordial if cool as he said, “Lord Filipe. My father says you wish to speak with me?”

Filipe bowed his head in reply, a friendly smile on his face. “Indeed I do- please sit down, Lord Bay. There is tea and wine enough for both of us.”

Filipe sat back down himself, watching the boy with a measured gaze. “I understand from your father that you are perhaps considering attending the Iphicles Institute?”

Bay nodded, taking a seat. “I’ve always been interested in war magic,” he said as he poured himself a cup of wine. “Particularly close combat. I know it’s ultimately up to my father whether or not I undertake a formal study at the Institute, but I’m hopeful on such accounts.”

“Well we’d certainly be glad to have you, if that’s what Lord Wynn decides,” Filipe replied. “Though I’m sure a strapping young nobleman like yourself is not lacking for prospects besides just war magic.”

Bay shrugged. “Whether or not the Institute works out, I do believe my father plans to use me as a House mage of sorts,” the man replied. “There’s been a distant cousin serving in the role for some time, but he’s getting older.” Bay took a sip of his wine, his storm grey eyes still settled pleasantly on Filipe. “Though certainly you didn’t wish to speak to me, Lord Filipe, merely to puzzle over my vague aspirations for the future?”

Filipe raised an eyebrow at the boy’s forwardness, but the Escalus lord only nodded. “You’re right. I’m here because there are some political issues of tremendous importance that I need to collaborate with your father on. I had hoped to discern if his heirs could be of help to us.”

“And he’s sent you me?” Bay quirked a sandy blonde brow. “I mean not to sound dismissive, of course, but I would think Jacob would be better suited to such matters, no?”

“You never know when something might happen,” Filipe replied with a shrug. “When I am incapacitated or away, my younger brother Dimitri helps to handle house affairs in my absence. Perhaps your father thought it could be good practice for you in the event Lord Jacob needs a stand-in.”

Finally, Bay’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing into something near suspicion. “That does not sound like an idea of my father’s.”

“I don’t pretend to know Lord Wynn’s mind,” Filipe said with a shrug. “But again, it was only a suggestion. If you are disinclined to help, I certainly won’t force the issue. This is important, but also a matter that requires very careful, close cooperation.” He took a sip of his tea, trying not to show how irksome the young man’s attitude was. “I suppose we’re finished here, Lord Bay. You may be about your business.”

“I…” Hesitantly, Bay stood, for the first time it seeming to occur to the young man that he might have done something wrong. “I apologize for wasting your time, Lord Filipe,” he said reluctantly. An underlayer of fear crept into his voice as he added, “I, ah-- I hope you shan’t feel the need to report too dourly on me to my father?”

“Of course not,” Filipe replied dismissively, though he felt a threading of unease at the desperation in the boy’s request. The Escalus lord remembered all too well how rough Wynn had been with Linden nine years before, and the angry bruise on Grace’s arm where Wynn had grabbed her. Bay had been rude, but that was no reason to unleash his father’s disproportionate wrath upon him. “I’ll simply tell him that we’ll have to explore other options. Go on, now.”

“Thank you,” Bay said softly, before he turned on his heel and nearly lobbed himself out the door, clearly regretting his behaviour during the exchange.

A few minutes passed in silence then, with Filipe sitting alone in the room, before the third-- and last-- of Wynn’s youngest sons passed through the door that his brother had, in his haste to leave, forgotten to close. Linden made no such oversight, gently shutting it behind him before he dipped into a bow.

“Lord Filipe,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Filipe stood, nodding in reply and examining the boy with interest. Last he’d seen Linden, he’d been seven years old and chronically exhausted from both archmage testing and an oppressive heat wave that had settled over southern Corvus. These factors had conspired to see the boy extremely cranky throughout his stay in Heleos, so Filipe hadn’t been able to get a very clear idea of his demeanor aside from a supposed shyness that he had more heard about from Wynn than actually seen.

“Hello, Lord Linden,” he said, the friendly smile back on his face again. He was still feeling moderately aggravated after his conversation with Bay, but he’d long ago learned to school his emotions away from his face and voice. “It’s been quite some time; I don’t suppose you remember me?”

“A bit,” Linden said. “That whole visit to Heleos is, admittedly, a bit of a blur for me.” A beat. “I hope you’ve been doing well, though? And Aunt Grace and Uncle Dimitri, as well.”

“I’ve been quite well, thank you,” Filipe replied genially. “Your uncle has recently had to fight off a bout of the flu, but fortunately he’s on the mend, and it didn’t spread around the manor. Poor Grace was fretting herself to pieces though.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s recovered,” Liden said, before glancing to the table behind him and the Escalus lord. “Did you want to sit, Lord Filipe? I’d hardly want you standing on my account.” Looking at the pitchers of tea and wine, each half-drained after the consecutive meetings with Artemis and Bay, the boy added, “And I can send for more to drink, if you’d like.”

“Yes, by all means, please sit,” Filipe replied. “As to the drinks, feel free to ask for more of whatever you’d like- I’ll stick with the tea, I certainly have no desire to drink myself under the table. You hear plenty of stories about folks who underestimate Raylish brews, neh?”

“I think I’d rather stick with tea, as well.” Linden let a grin slip, before he seemed to catch himself and forced a neutral expression over onto his face. Wordlessly, then, the boy sat, drawing the pitcher of iced tea toward himself.

“So Lord Linden,” Filipe said. “I am here in Ecliptus because I need to address a political matter of utmost importance and delicacy. It will require a good deal of collaboration, so I wanted to personally speak to each of your father’s heirs to determine if they might be able to help me.”

“Oh?” Linden snapped his gaze up from the tea, brow raised. “Well… I can’t pretend I have much experience in politics, but…” He swallowed hard before finishing, “But if you think I can help, I’m glad to at least try, Lord Filipe.”

“I appreciate your honesty in the matter, but I think you’ll find yourself surprised what you’re capable of when given liberty to try,” Filipe replied. “But there are a few niceties that I have to run by you first. As I said, this will require our houses to work together very intimately. If you agree to it, you’ll not only be working with myself, my wife and your aunt and uncle, but also with my heir Catia.” The lord of Escalus took a casual sip of his tea. “She is young yet, but she does have training and experience with politics. If you were willing to follow her lead, she could take on the brunt of the dramatics- mostly she, and we, would need help in the background, advice and support.”

“As… an adviser?” Linden asked, cocking his head. “I… I’m flattered that you would… think of me for such a position, sir, I…” Taking a deep breath, he composed himself. “I remember Catia from when I visited during my archmage testing,” the boy said. “I think I played with her alongside Grace and Dimitri’s daughter Rhea? She was a very bright and courteous girl.”

That response definitely surprised Filipe, but not in a bad way. At best he’d been expecting Linden to agree reluctantly, without much enthusiasm for deferring to a girl. That he not only remembered Catia, but acknowledged her as capable and willingly agreed to the idea with no evidence of resentment…

“I’m pleased she made a favorable impression,” Filipe replied warmly. “As I recall you spent the majority of that visit not in the best of moods, so I’m glad that Caty and Rhea were able to give you at least something positive to remember about it.” He nodded to the boy, feeling his mood significantly buoyed. Linden was polite, seemed to have at least a flicker of a sense of humor, and he was willing to show the female Escalus heir respect and difference. Against all odds, Filipe thought that he might just be marrying his daughter to a Cressida after all.

“I shall have to speak to your father in more depth before I can finalize the details,” he said crisply. “But thank you for your cooperation, Lord Linden. I think we can look forward to good things from our future affiliations.”

Understanding the dismissal, Linden nodded and stood. “Of course, Lord Filipe,” he said. “I, um-- thank you. I mean, I know you’ve just said it’s not final, but I…” The boy had to force back an outright grin. “I’m just honoured that you would consider me at all, really. For a position like that.”

Filipe chuckled softly. “I’m glad you think it so. I’ll see you later, Lord Linden- at dinner, I expect.”

As the boy left, Filipe looked down into his cup of tea thoughtfully. Artemis had seemed a good enough boy, but he was sullen and immature- certainly not ready for the commitment of marriage, let alone to an estate’s heir. Bay was strong willed, but brash and impatient, nowhere near the right demeanor for any sort of diplomat and certainly not as a husband for Catia. But Linden… Linden showed promise. The boy was polite, personable, eager to help, and showed no evidence of resentment at the idea of deferring to a girl. If he vaguely remembered Catia from his last trip to Heleos and had a positive impression of her, so much the better.

And given everything they’d seen of how the boy was being brought up by Wynn nine years ago, Filipe was fairly certain that Dimitri and Grace would be more than eager to get their nephew out of his father’s household.

Filipe drained the last of the tea and stood briskly. He had some things to discuss with Wynn Cressida.

***

“You… wanted to see me, Father?” Linden asked two days later, as he stepped into Wynn Cressida’s office. Glancing toward Filipe, who sat opposite his father at the lord of Ecliptus’s weathered wooden desk, the boy added, “Lord Filipe. It’s good to see you again.”

“Sit, Linden,” Wynn said in reply, foregoing any niceties. As his son obliged, the man leaned heavily back in his chair, his expression hovering some strange middle ground between pleased and disapproving as he went, “We’ve news to share with you.” He looked to Filipe. “If you will, Lord Filipe?”

The Escalus lord turned to Linden with an encouraging smile, his hands clasped in his lap. “Your father and I have discussed in depth, and we have agreed on a solution to the matter I indicated to you during our conversation. Lord Linden- how should you like to marry my daughter Catia, and come to live in Heleos with House Escalus?”

Linden looked as if he’d been slapped, his gaze flicking rapidly between his father and Filipe and then back again. For a good long moment, he didn’t speak, as though the boy couldn’t find his voice, and once he did scrabble his wits back together, his entire demeanour was noticeably shaky as he said, “... Married? You… you want me to get married? To Lady Catia?”

Across the desk, Wynn pursed his lips. “Do you have a problem with that, Linden?”

“No,” Linden said quickly. “I… not a problem, I just…” He shook his head before it seemed to dawn on him how indecorous he was acting. “I… forgive me, Lord Filipe,” he forced out. “I forget my manners. I’m sorry.”

“It’s perfectly alright, I know this is very sudden,” Filipe said amiably. “There are a number of considerations you’ll have to bear in mind though- this will not be a normal sort of noble marriage. As I indicated, you would come to Heleos to live with my House rather than the other way around. You would also take the Escalus surname rather than Catia taking the Cressida name, for reasons I imagine are obvious. Finally, you have to bear in mind that it is Catia, not yourself, who is the heir to Escalus and will be the foremost decision maker in House affairs when she succeeds me. Of course you will work closely with her as an advisor and confidante, should things work out well, but you have to understand that she may be female but she will be in charge.”

“Of course,” Linden agreed readily. “I mean, that is what an heir does, and so I’d hardly want to supplant her, and so it all makes a lot of sense, and…” Swallowing hard, he let his gaze settle on his father. “You’ve… agreed to this?” he asked. “You’re letting me go?”

A brief flash of fire burst in his Wynn’s pale eyes before the lord of Ecliptus sharply blinked it back. “It’s an advantageous match for both of our Houses,” Wynn said. “The wedding will take place after your birthday, sometime in July or August.”

“In the meantime,” Filipe added. “I’ll leave some historical documents to help you better familiarize yourself with our House and the lands it governs.” He put a hand on Linden’s shoulder. “You seem a bright young man, and I’m certain you will work well with my daughter. I look forward to welcoming you into House Escalus, Lord Linden.”

Seeds of a Better Life: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

As promised, in late July a party from House Cressida arrived in Heleos to see Linden married to Filipe’s daughter and heir, Catia. While her father looked every bit the southern Corvid border lord with his Courdon-bronze skin, bright blue eyes and pale brown hair, Catia had taken enough genes from her Kinean peasant mother to look rather different than most of her compatriots. She had wavy auburn hair in a dull, rich red-brown, and brown eyes to match.

The two were married in a ceremony that, while festive, was marginally undercut by the presence of Wynn the entire time, seeming to cast a judging stare upon just about everybody and at Linden in particular. It was difficult for anyone to really relax or get to know each other while he was around. But in due time he left, leaving Linden with the Escaluses and his older son, Bay, in the dormitories of the Iphicles Institute to spend the next three years training to become the house warmage.

Once Wynn was gone, on the second day after the wedding, Filipe announced that he would be taking his daughter and his new son-in-law on a trip around the lands that he Escaluses controlled, to help better familiarize him with his new home and give the newlyweds a chance to get to know each other without the other Escaluses underfoot.

As the walls were shrinking behind them, Catia seemed to steel herself, and nudged her horse closer to Linden’s.

“I hope we can… get on well,” she said. “Everything was so tense during the wedding, but I’d like it if we could maybe… not be that all the time from here on?”

Gripping lightly to the reins of his own horse, Linden nodded. “It should be better without our families breathing over our shoulders.” In truth, he mostly meant his family-- or, in particular, Wynn-- but he hardly wanted to start his relationship with Catia off by bad-mouthing his own father. Glancing up toward Filipe, whose horse had settled into a clip several paces ahead of his daughter and Linden but who still, Linden realized with a start, was likely in earshot, the boy added, “Um. Not that there’s anything… wrong with families. Or your father. Or…”

Filipe glanced around, giving the boy a casually dismissive wave. “If you think I don’t know exactly who you are talking about, you vastly underestimate how much grief I’ve had to deal with for the past decade or so. Don’t worry, Linden, I took no offense.”

Catia’s mouth quirked at the corner into what might have been a smile, but her face smoothed a second later. “I do agree though. It’s hard to have a proper conversation with loads of people around.”

“I’ll not pry into your discussion, don’t worry,” Filipe said, flashing them both a grin. “Just pretend I’m another of the accompanying knights riding ahead instead of at rear, and speak as if I’m not here. I can even cast a muffling charm if it’ll make you both more comfortable.”

“That’s… there’s no need, sir,” Linden said, his cheeks flushing blaze red. Looking back to Catia, he went on, “So um-- do you travel often? Around the estate?”

She shook her head. “Not terribly a lot, no. I only just recently started helping out with real issues of diplomacy, and so far only minor ones. But I might make these trips more often as I take on more responsibilities as heir.” She sighed, looking pensive. “I only started training when I was ten, because up until then Dad was still trying for a male heir. So I’m a bit behind the curve compared to other heirs my age.”

“You seem like you’re doing well enough to me.” Linden smiled softly at her. “I swear, my brother Jacob couldn’t lace his boots straight until he was twelve-years-old, and he’s still doing quite alright as my father’s heir.”

Catia looked startled, but then she smiled. “Thank you. It’s not often I hear a vote of confidence, at least not outside of my immediate relatives. I certainly do my best, but you know how it is; this is Corvus, the land of tradition, and there is no place in tradition for a woman being the heir to an estate.” She fiddled absently with a lock of her hair, adding, “I was nervous about getting married, since I was afraid I’d end up with someone who would want to dominate me. But… I’d be happy if we could work as allies. I need all the allies I can get.”

“Well, I’m your husband now, aren’t I? So I guess that makes me about as immediate to you as one could get.” He kept his gaze trained on her. “It’s my honour to be your ally, Catia.”

The young woman glanced at him, seeming even more caught off guard. A faintly pink flush appeared across her cheeks, and she laughed. “I guess you’ve got a point. Thanks, Linden.”

She took a deep breath, seeming to steel herself, and then met Linden’s blue eyes with her brown again. “So… aside from being a flatterer, what do you like to do with your time? Got any hobbies?”

Linden considered for a moment, as though the answer to her question was not nearly so simple as it ought to be, and there was a sudden reluctant quality to his tone as he replied, “I spend a lot of time studying magic. Reading, mostly. Certain kinds of books.”

“Oh? What kinds of books?” Catia asked curiously. “I suppose perhaps I should put more emphasis on studying magic, but I don’t so much care for it as a hobby. It’s more an extension of my job as heir. When I’m bored…”

She turned, reaching into one of the saddlebags, and pulled out a chunk of wood, offering it to Linden. Though half of it was just a formless block, the other half was an incomplete carving of fox, which when it was eventually finished would have fit comfortably in the palm of the young nobleman’s hand.

“Did you make this?” he wondered aloud, dropping one of the reins to accept it gingerly in hand. “You must have very nimble hands. My brother Bay likes to whack at wood dummies with his sword when he’s cross, but that’s hardly a hobby so fruitful.” He passed the carving back to her. “You’ll have to show me how you do it, sometime.” A pause. “... I mean, if you wanted to, of course. If not, that’s okay, too.”

“I’d be happy to show you,” she replied. “I brought the fox along to work on it when we stop at inns for the night, and there’s no reason you can’t watch. My governesses used to chide Mom for teaching me how to whittle, since they said it was an unladylike hobby and more befitting a lowborn shepherd boy than a noble. But I enjoy it- it’s relaxing, and I find having something to do with my hands helps me concentrate when I’m trying to think. Bugger all if it’s unladylike or not befitting a noble.”

“Well, then I suppose we can share in our illicit hobbies,” Linden said lightly. “My father would be most horrified that I’m sharing with you the perversions of my station, but…” Grinning darkly, he leaned in toward her, his voice falling into a stage whisper as he said, “Don’t tell Lord Filipe, Catia, but I may like plants.”

Catia smiled, quirking an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with that? You’re a mage right? There are all sorts of herbs, roots, and other plant materials used in potion making. There are courses at the Institute that are all about field triage, identifying wild plants that can be used as medicine, potion brewing, and et cetera.” She gave a bemused shrug. “If you wanted, we could set aside a plot in the garden for you. There’s already one for the on-call healer so it’s hardly unprecedented.”

“My father prefers… other… parts of magic,” Linden said vaguely, before pausing as he digested his wife’s offer. “I… thank you,” he went on. “That’s very kind. But… I wouldn’t want to take space away from the manor’s healers, and…” Woo, why did he always find himself so tongue-tied? As he forced a deep breath, the boy could feel the ghost of his father’s hand smacking against his cheek and Wynn’s disapproving voice slithering into his ears. “I am a mage, yes,” he said, veering the topic away to far more neutral grounds. “As are you, right? Are you… planning on studying at the Institute at all, or…?”

Catia’s expression took on a ghost of concern at the sudden shift in Linden’s mood. “I didn’t mean taking from the healers, I just meant it as a precedent to set up something elsewhere for you specifically. But as to the Institute… well I’m more or less obligated too. It’s tradition for the heirs of House Escalus to be war mages, since our house provides most of the magical military strength to Corvus. I’m already such a break in tradition in so many other ways, I have to show that I’m willing to adhere to some things and not completely upend everything that the house has stood for all these centuries. Personally I’m sort of ambivalent to the whole thing. It’s not my idea of a fun time, but I know why it’s necessary both practically and politically, so I’ll do what I have to.”

“I’ll practice with you,” he offered, his palms still sweating. “I mean, if you want. War magic isn’t exactly my favourite, either, but if it helped make it more tolerable for you…” He sighed, sparing a glance up toward Filipe before he lowered his voice, as though hoping it would escape the House patriarch’s ears. “It still feels kind of surreal, doesn’t it?” he asked. “That we’re married?”

The Escalus heir nibbled on her lower lip. In a hushed voice she replied, “Yeah… I mean we’re both just barely sixteen. I knew that Dad was looking for someone to marry me to, but there’s knowing and… and having it be real, with the ceremony and the ring and everything. I mean until last week we’d only met once, nine years ago, and I honestly barely remember that.”

Her voice dropping still further, she whispered, “Did… did they force you? Our fathers? I know noble marriages are usually carried off without consent from either of those involved, but…”

“No,” Linden murmured, shaking his head sharply. “They didn’t force me.” A pause as a slow creep of horror hit him. “Did they… did they force you…?”

“Only insofar as I didn’t get any input while they were doing up the agreement,” she replied. “But I knew this was necessary and I wanted it, because I wanted to uphold my obligations as House heir. But… part of me was sort of afraid of what sort of person I’d end up with. That I’d be shackled to somebody I’d constantly have to fight tooth and nail against to keep my authority and my freedom.”

“Oh.” It was, he knew, a silly response to such a moment of frankness, but at first he could think of nothing else better. A lump knotted in his throat as he mulled for a moment before adding, “You… don’t have to worry about that with me, Catia. I promise you. I’d… never do something like that. Not to anyone, let alone my wife, who I’m supposed to cherish and honour.”

The young woman flushed, a shy smile on her face. “Ah… thank you, Linden. I believe you- you seem to be a very kind, caring person. Dad spoke very highly of you when he explained things to me, and I’m starting to see why.”

The blaze of his cheeks fully matching that of hers, Linden finally averted his gaze from her. “I just hope I don’t disappoint you, Catia,” he said. “I… sort of have a habit of doing that, sometimes. Not living up to expectations.”

“We can only try, right?” she insisted. “You never know what you can be if you don’t take the chance. You’re here now, not Ecliptus. No one knows you here, except for from a one-week incident almost a decade ago. It’s a chance to start over fresh.”

“That’s… true,” he admitted, sighing. “I suppose it just feels weird, is all. But for a few trips here and there, I’ve spent practically my whole life behind those castle walls. With my father, well…” He wanted to say tormenting me, but Linden quickly cast this line away. Even if it was true, he hardly wanted to speak in such a way around this woman who he barely knew-- and her father who still rode only feet ahead, playing as though he couldn’t hear his daughter and son-in-law’s conversation. “I just hope I can live up to what you want from me,” Linden said finally.

Catia was silent for a time, then finally she sighed as well. “We’ll have to see. And hey- at least this trip will be a chance for you to get out into the world beyond Ecliptus Castle, right? Experience some new things. And maybe we’ll get some real time to talk, without my Dad having to play deaf through the entire conversation.”

“That would be nice,” Linden agreed. “I think I should like to have time to talk to my wife without her father playing spectator, after all.” He couldn’t help, then, but smile softly at her again.

The expression on his face made something in Catia’s gut squirm, and she felt heat rising in her face again- though it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. She smiled back at him nervously, before clearing her throat and calling out to her father. “So, what’s our first destination, Dad?”

He turned to face them, finally giving up his charade of not being able to hear. “The trade town Raydusx, north along the Ash Road- it’s a fairly important waypoint on trade routes from Southern Kine and Courdon heading north towards Solis. We should get there sometime tomorrow afternoon, then we’ll spend a few days there. And don’t worry, I’ll see to it you two get plenty of time alone together- though obviously you’ll be taking at least one knight if you go out into the city.”

“Yes Dad,” Catia said, rolling her eyes.

***

As Filipe had promised, the Escalus party arrived in Raydusx early in the afternoon the next day. Once they’d made arrangements with one of the bigger inns, the Escalus lord took Catia and Linden around the town, giving them a general idea of the layout of the place. The following morning he took them out again, this time introducing them first to the town’s reeve, then to some of the more important trade guilds that operated out of the city. Filipe explained how each was important, and how they worked together to contribute to the overall economy of the Escalus estate.

Their second morning in the town, Filipe had some business to attend with the reeve, but he set Linden and Catia at liberty.

“Feel free to poke around the market, take in the sights, go out for tea- or just stay here if you’d prefer,” he said amiably as he stood to leave the table in the common room where they’d been sharing breakfast. “If you leave the inn, Sir Barak has orders to accompany you. I’ll be back about an hour past noon, and meet you back here. Enjoy yourselves.”

He turned and headed out then, and Catia looked towards her husband. “So… what do you want to do? Any preferences?”

“To be completely honest, I’ve… never spent much time out in cities at all,” Linden said, eyes planted almost desolately on his half-eaten plate of orange slices and bread. “So you might have a better idea as to what’s worth our time than I do.”

She folded her arms, seeming to think it over, then she snapped her fingers. “I know- you said that you like plants, right? Yesterday we passed a caravan of traders that were bringing in medicinal plants in little pots from Mzia and Cerrin. I seriously doubt we could realistically afford any of them on a whim but it can’t hurt to have a look.”

For a moment, Linden said nothing, unable to fully shake off a feeling of surprise over the fact that not only did she apparently not disapprove of what he’d told her a few days prior about liking plants, she also seemed willing-- eager, almost-- to support him in it. After a lifetime of his father treating his interest in herbs and healing as though it was abomination, Catia’s ready acceptance felt… strange. Not unwelcome, but new and different nonetheless, like the first day of sunshine after months-- years, a lifetime-- of a miserable, lashing rain.

“I… if you wouldn’t be bored to death,” he replied finally, drawing his eyes up from his plate. “I’d love to, but I wouldn’t want you to be tearing your hair out.”

“Hey, I’m a mage too,” she pointed out, patting the wand holster at her belt. “I wouldn’t mind learning some things about healing and apothecary arts. Most I’ve got right now is ‘episky’ which is, y’know, about as basic as healing spells get. Dad didn’t want to teach me the more advanced ones because they’re taught at the Institute, but with different, more complex rune-chains to minimize how much magic they drain for field triage purposes. You know, didn’t want me to learn something then have to unlearn it again.”

She stretched, arms reaching towards the ceiling. “Just let me know when you’re done eating and we can pick up our escort.”

Popping one last orange slice into his mouth, Linden nodded and stood; he hardly wanted to keep Catia waiting on his account. “After you,” he said.

She stood as well, gesturing for Linden to follow her. Sir Barak, a black haired, dark skinned man in Escalus livery, bowed to them when they emerged from the inn, quickly falling into step behind them as they headed into town.

“So I’ve heard a lot of very valuable medicines grow best in arid climates?” she said, glancing towards her husband. “Incense and such things?”

“Yes,” Linden said. “It’s a bugger growing much of what I think would be most useful in my potions in the Corvid humidity. Sort of like trying to make snow fall in August: it just won’t work. I’ve done a lot of research trying to figure out substitutions, but it’s all a lot of guesswork. Things you thought would work nicely together curdling the second you mix them-- or just being plain ineffective, or--” Abruptly, Linden cut himself off, as he realized that he was, as Wynn would put it, running his mouth like a blithering idiot. Swallowing hard, he bit his lip and stared down at the road beneath, hoping he’d not put off his new bride overmuch.

Catia hadn’t seemed put off, however. If anything her brow only seemed to knit with concern after Linden stopped talking. He kept doing that, cutting himself off like he was deathly afraid of staying on this topic for too long. But he said he liked plants…

“Have you thought of maybe using some imported Courdonian sand in a planter by the window somewhere?” she suggested. “Then it would be inside out of the worst humidity, and you’d have something closer to the right soil quality. I know that sort of thing is important- during the drought a lot of medicinal plants local to Corvus died because it was too dry, my father lost his firstborn during the malaria outbreak of 1310 because of that.”

“I’ve considered such things,” Linden said, his voice considerably softer now. Warier, as though he was now on careful edge to keep himself from rambling again. “But expense has always been an issue. And… permission.”

“...Your folks really did think that gardening was beneath your station, didn’t they?” she asked softly. “And from what I’ve heard from Aunt Gracie about things the Cressidas don’t approve of… Linden, you know I don’t care about that sort of thing, right? My mother was born a peasant in Kine. You can have whatever hobbies you want as long as they don’t hurt anybody or break any laws.”

“I just… I don’t want to cause any issues for you,” Linden said. “I mean, when our fathers told us about the marriage, I… I hardly even believed it at first. Of all my brothers, I’ve always thought I was the least likely to have any opportunity like this. That I was the last one my father would ever send off to become someone else’s...” He struggled for a few moments, tongue-tied, before he murmured, “Well, their problem. And so I… I just want to things as easy for you as possible. With me. I don’t want to cause any waves, or hiccups, or… or anything.”

“Linden, I’m not sure how aware you are of this, but… House Cressida is about the most conservative place to be in all of Kyth. They’re conservative by Corvid standards, and Corvus has a reputation for being backwater bible thumping anti-liberal swamp rats. Just because something was anathema for you back in Ecliptus, that doesn’t mean it’s going to bother anybody here.” She gestured at her head. “I’m not wearing a veil, am I? Nor were any of my female relatives. You saw how short Aunt Gracie wore her hair. We’ve all got short sleeves because it’s too bleeding hot for long sleeves. I promise, nobody is going to think you liking plants and gardening is problem.”

“If… you’re sure.” Woo, she seemed almost angry, and although the logical voice in Linden’s head assured him that such frustration wasn’t direct towards him, his stomach couldn’t help but twist. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment’s pause. “I… tend to say things that upset people, and I… I don’t mean it, I promise, I just…” Great, he thought. I’m rambling again.

She stopped, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Linden, I’m not upset. You don’t have to apologize. And you don’t have to keep cutting yourself off. Whatever it is you mean to say, you can say it. I… I don’t want a husband who’ll try to dominate me, but I also don’t want my husband afraid of me.”

At her touch, Linden had to fight back a flinch. Woo, he was not used to people reaching out toward him in that sort of way, but he hardly wanted her to think he didn’t like her being close. “I’m… not afraid of you,” he said. “Please, don’t think I’m afraid of you. I just… well. We met once before, didn’t we? When I was little, and came to Heleos for archmage testing? I… I… do you know why my father brought me for those? What spurred him to make that choice?”

She frowned. “Not really. Honestly most of my memory of him from that visit was that he was extremely abrasive with everyone- which I found out later was over Odin and Juliet’s legitimacy. I don’t think anyone told me why you were coming to have archmage testing.”

“Yes, I’ve… heard him grumble about the twins,” Linden admitted, his throat dry. “But why he brought me… well, it’s because I’ve always been like I am right now: I say the wrong things, I never know when someone’s bored of listening to me, I get flustered and tongue-tied and stupid. In my father’s view, those might have been blocks. Woo, I think he hoped they were blocks. Because at least that way, maybe they could be fixed, instead of him just being stuck with a son like me.”

Catia looked stricken. “What… because you’re shy? I… alright. I guess I’m just used to my mother and cousins, who are all way too forthright about speaking their minds. If you need some space, I can give you some space. But… I hope you don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of. If Uncle Dems is to be believed, my father was skittish as a mouse when he was young. I don’t feel ‘stuck’ with you.” She smiled. “Come on, we were going to see those plants, right?”

Linden nodded numbly, he and Catia falling into silence as they walked the rest of the way to the trade caravan, which was set up at the edge of town. The wares were assorted and numerous, but the boy’s eyes fell at once toward the cart hawking medicinal plants. Still potted in small clay jars, he could smell the loamy scent of the herbs even from this distance, and although part of him wanted to at once approach to get a closer look, he hesitated. It occurred to him suddenly and viscerally that he’d never quite been shopping before, not like this; back in Ecliptus, he’d seldom been allowed out into the city proper, and on the rare occasion he had accompanied his father or Jacob out on some errand or another, it had been with firm instructions that he was to be seen, not heard, and Woo help him if he didn’t keep his hands to himself.

Catia glanced over at him as he hung back, and offered him a smile. “C’mon, I’m sure the merchants won’t mind you getting a closer look so long as you don’t rip off any leaves or smash the pots,” she said cheerfully. As if by example, she took a few steps forwards, leaning down to examine a plant with dusty, grey-green leaves. A small tag hanging from one stem identified it as “white licorice” and she raised her brows with interest. “Licorice? Like the candy? I didn’t know it could be used as medicine.”

“Most things can be used in potions in some capacity or another,” Linden replied, sparing a brief, polite smile at the merchant who owned the cart. “The trick is knowing how to use each part. And figuring out how different plants react to different magic incantations.” Turning from the licorice to the jar beside it, which housed in it only the tiniest sprig of lilac, he added, “Healing is a lot more complicated than it looks on the surface. As much about innovation and experimentation as it is sticking with the tried and true.”

“Are you a healer, my lord?” the merchant asked lightly, pausing to straighten the tangle of pots and jars. “I’ve some very rare strains of mandrake that might be of interest to you, if so?”

“Mandrake?” The merchant might as well have punched him; he’d never seen mandrake anyplace but in the pages of his books before, the herb only growing in very few far-flung, scattered places about the continent. “You’ve got mandrake? Where from?”

“Northern Cerrin. It’s been on quite a journey to make it this far north.”

“I’m afraid we’re just here to look today, sir,” Catia said cheerfully to the merchant. “We haven’t enough money on us to make a purchase of such priceless wares. Though if you’ve anything available for a little less than a kingdom’s ransom, I might be convinced to consider a gift for my new husband.”

“You… don’t have to, Catia,” Linden said. “I wouldn’t want you wasting money on plants that might wilt by the time we get back to Heleos.”

“Heleos?” The merchant, still fiddling with his wares, smiled pleasantly. “Much of my family lives there, and I did, too, when I was a boy. Travel the continent as I might, we all must call someplace home.” He considered. “I take it you’re from House Escalus, then, my lord, my lady?”

Catia chuckled softly. “Linden if you want to keep looking around, I’ll talk to this gentleman.” She turned to the merchant, her brown eyes flashing. “I am; Lady Catia Escalus. Lord Filipe is my father.”

“No, I’m… I’m alright,” Linden replied, his eyes still flitting from jar to jar like a honeybee veering from flower to flower. “I’ve just never even seen any of these herbs before-- let alone all in one place--”

“I only sell the best, my lord,” the merchant said, bowing his head briefly. “And for members of House Escalus, I would be most honoured to offer a discount.” A beat. “Even on the mandrake, though Woo knows if I held on to it, I could sell it to someone else further north for a mint.”

“I shouldn’t like to devoid you of that windfall, sirrah,” Catia said with good humor. To Linden she asked, “Let me know if you see anything you like, that seems to be on a lower price rung. Much though I’d love to get you something rare, we only have so much money on us and I think my mother would be most unamused if I did my lowborn Kinean heritage an injustice by overspending the first time Father left me to my own devices.”

“I… suppose yarrow is fairly hardy,” Linden said, picking up a container of it and delicately tracing his finger along the cool, earthen clay. “And hard to get your hands on, to boot. Do you know how long we’ll be on the road, Catia? I can’t decide if it would survive the trip home or not.” Home. Woo, how strange it still felt, that it was Heleos, not Ecliptus, that he called home.

“I imagine we’ll be out at least a week or two more, but we can pay to have it sent back to Heleos ahead of us,” Catia replied. “That’s only a day and a half trip. So is that the one you want?”

“Yes, I… thank you.” His cheeks blazed. “I… I wish I could buy you something, though, but I… don’t have any money of my own and…”

The young woman smiled. “No problem- there’s always Woomas right?” she gave him a teasing grin. “Seriously though- I want to make Heleos feel more like a home for you. If giving you something you enjoy doing will help, then I don’t mind at all.”

She leaned towards Linden so she could glance at the price tag hanging from the plant, her shoulder brushing against his. He stilled, his breath caught in his throat, as she turned the tag over. “Seventy runestones?” She turned to the merchant and folded her arms. “How about fifty?”

“Oh, my lady, I’m always pleased to serve a member of your House, but I do have a belly to keep full.” He smiled thinly. “What if we do sixty-five and call it a day? I can even throw in an extra jar, in case your ah… husband?... has anything else he’s been looking to plant.”

“That’s a very generous offer, but for now I think we’ll stick to just the yarrow,” she said. “How about fifty-five?”

The merchant raised a brow. “You drive a hard bargain, my lady. But for anything beneath sixty-two, I might as well keep it.” Almost too brightly, he added, “I should hardly like to be unable to send money back to my poor dear sister in Heleos this month because I’ve let my wares go so cheap, after all. Much as I’d like to oblige you.”

Catia folded her arms. “That would be a shame, wouldn’t it? Perhaps I ought to let you keep your yarrow then, so you can sell it at a higher price for that poor dear sister.” She paused, looking to the side as if in deep thought. “Tell you what- how about fifty-nine? I shouldn’t like to deprive your sister, so I can always find something elsewhere if that price is too low to meet her needs.”

“Oh, but with fifty-nine, we end up with baubles and change.” The merchant waved a hand. “How’s sixty?” He looked toward Linden, his lips suddenly pursed. “Is that acceptable to you, my lord?”

Catia’s eyes narrowed. “My husband has only recently married into the family and this is my gift to him. I think that I am adequately able to decide how much of the house’s money to spend on luxury items.” She turned sharply. “Come on Linden- if a Heleos native does not know his own lord’s heir, perhaps we should take our business to one who keeps up with the tides of power better.”

The merchant paled suddenly and severely, dipping his head into an almost sharp bow. “I did not mean to offend you, my lady,” he backtracked. “I merely thought… I-- well, I made an error, and I apologize greatly for any insult I’ve levied. Fifty-nine runestones should be perfectly adequate.”

For a moment, Linden didn’t react, merely studying the pot of yarrow in his hand. Then, abruptly, he set it back down, turning away from the merchant. “Let’s go, Catia,” he said, taking a pointed step. “I don’t think I much want it, anyway.”

Catia was caught by surprise by Linden’s reaction, but she felt warmed by his show of support for her. Still- she’d not come this far to walk away empty handed. “Fifty-nine runestones was the agreement,” she said. “And I will take the yarrow for fifty-nine runestones.” The young woman turned to the merchant as she counted out the money while the merchant watched. “You’ve been gone a long time, I’m sure. Oversights happen when you’re away from home. But I strongly suggest that when you’re away for a while you take care to stop by the local trade guild for news- it will help prevent further such misunderstandings.” She put the last of the runestones on the counter and picked up the yarrow pot that Linden had set down. “I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

The merchant faltered, a smile that could have been borne of nothing but fear frozen on his face. “And you as well, my lady,” he said. With a glance to Linden, he added, “My lord.”

Catia nodded her head to the man, and yarrow in hand strode away. She only slowed to a stop once they were out of sight and earshot of the plant salesman. Behind the two nobles, Barak made a noise of distaste. Catia only smiled thinly.

“And that’s why I was nervous about getting married,” she said softly. “A lot of men would’ve taken the invitation to countermand me in a heartbeat.” The young woman gave a much warmer smile to Linden. “But thank you for backing me up, Linden.”

He shrugged meekly. “You’re welcome. I just… I didn’t like his tone. Him… undermining you.” His eyes fell to the pot of yarrow in his wife’s hands. “You didn’t have to buy it for me, Catia. I wasn’t just bluffing; I would have walked away happily. I don’t like padding the pockets of someone who’d act like that toward you.”

“You give the carrot and the stick, Linden. He’ll remember this, and I seriously doubt he’ll make that mistake again. If he really is a native to Heleos, better he spread rumors that I’m stern but fair than that I’m an arrogant misandrist tyrant.” She held out the yarrow to him. “Besides, I saw how excited you got about the mandrake. I do legitimately feel bad that we can’t get it, but I wanted to give you something to help you feel more at home and happy.”

Linden smiled, accepting the yarrow into his hand. “Honestly, Catia, this feels… a whole lot better than home ever did. You can sure bet my father would have never brought me to see the caravan at all, let alone have bought me something from it. Particularly if the merchant had insulted him to his face.” Impulsively, he leaned forward and set his free hand on her shoulder. “Thank you. I… I really appreciate it. A lot.”

Catia’s cheeks warmed at that smile, and his touch. Linden was skittish and nervous much of the time, but when he did give a sincere smile it lit his coppery face in a way that did strange things to Catia’s stomach. “You’re very welcome. Now let’s take this yarrow back to the inn where it’ll be safe. There’s still a while yet before father is expecting us, so we’ve plenty of time still to poke around.”

Seeds of a Better Life: Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

Over the next week, the Escalus party made several more stops around the territory of their house, introducing Linden and Catia to the lands they would one day rule. About ten days after Catia had bought her husband the yarrow, they arrived at a formal, utilitarian looking building that was set by itself, away from any towns or other settlement. And bizarrely, the road just beyond the building went from tilled flat and well maintained to rutted, rocky, and washed out in places.

“This is a very important spot you both need to know and be familiar with,” Filipe said to the newlyweds. “This is the southernmost guard outpost of our knights. And just over there, where the road changes? That is the Courdonian border.”

Linden, a hand cupped above his brow as a makeshift visor against the beating sun, gazed south at the boundary. “That’s House Enok’s lands beyond, then?” he asked, referring to one of the minor Houses of Emryn province, Courdon. “I know their lands border partly with yours, and then partly with my father’s, but I can never remember quite where it turns over from their territory to House Thierry’s.”

“You’re right,” Filipe agreed, sounding surprised. “You certainly know the Courdonian border lords well- ah, yes, your mother is Lord Pallas’ sister, unless I misremember?”

“Pallas as in Pallas Peregrine?” Catia asked curiously, glancing sideways at her husband.

Linden nodded. “Pallas Peregrine is my maternal uncle,” he confirmed. “And my sister, Beth, is married to the enki of House Thierry.” After a short pause, he added almost grimly, “Not that it’s done much to stop the raiders on our lands. Annoys the living hell out of my father, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well of course it doesn’t,” Catia said dryly, as the Escalus party turned their horses on the side road that led down to the guard station. “After all, dear Lord Peregrine is innocent as a newborn lamb. He would never send slave raiders into Kyth, I mean what evidence do we have otherwise?”

Linden couldn’t help quirk a small, dark grin. “You should hear my mother. So insistent that of course her brother wouldn’t do such a thing, how dare my father makes such baseless accusations?” He shook his head. “Have you ever met Lord Pallas? He’s an… interesting person, that’s for sure.”

“No, I haven’t,” Catia said. “Father?”

“No, I mostly treat with the minor lords,” Filipe replied. “Your mutual uncle’s met Lord Victor Pipp though.”

“Oh?” Linden asked. “And how’d that go?”

Filipe gave a smile as dark as the one Linden had been wearing a moment before. “Considering the first of said meetings occurred in June 1314 at Princess Destiney Ascension’s coronation, I think you can work out the answer to that for yourself. At least Grace and your grandmother Astra are his direct relatives through your great-aunt Luna, or Dimitri, Grace and Astra all likely would’ve died that day.”

“That’s… um…” Linden paled as though he’d been slapped. “I’m… sorry for asking-- I didn’t know I--” He cut himself off and forced a deep breath. “I’m related to too bloody many of them, if you ask me. Even the lovely Courdonian king isn’t too distant of a cousin.” He swallowed hard. “I think I rather prefer my Kythian relatives. They may not be perfect, but at least they’re...”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much, Linden,” Filipe said gently. “My paternal grandmother was from House Nacre, just south of Thierry’s territory, and Lord Alric Erling, high lord of Ruom, is my first cousin through my father’s sister. That sort of thing goes with being a border lord.”

“I imagine it’s why we came here,” Catia put in. “Because the border politics are so… convoluted and delicate. It’ll be an important facet of what we do when we’re in charge of Heleos.”

“How often have you been getting raiders lately, anyhow?” Linden asked. “I know my father’s been having a bugger of a time since winter. Worse than usual. He’s about to start piking their heads on the city walls as a warning.”

Catia winced at this, blanching. Filipe looked unsurprised, if rather aggrieved.

“Has he?” the Escalus lord asked with a frown. “I can’t say I’ve noticed more than the general run- I’d not have come down here with you two if the border here was that hot. I wonder if Andesine has been helping Wynn, since he mentioned nothing of this to me when I was there and I’d have been happy to lend him some support from our warmages and fireknights.”

“Andesine has,” Linden agreed. “They’ve been having issues, too. It’s mostly been in the eastern part of our estate and the western part of theirs. My father and Lord Andesine haven’t yet entirely gleaned who’s sending them. All the Courdonian Houses deny it, of course, but certainly the money trail has to lead back somewhere, and they’re all playing dumb, and…” He shrugged.

“Sounds like the usual run of things,” came a new voice. The nobles looked up to see that a man in the uniform of a guard officer had come out to meet them. He bowed low as they approached. “Greetings, your lordships- Colonel Lukas Tamid at your service.”

“Hello Colonel,” Filipe said amiably. “Might I introduce my daughter and heir, Lady Catia, and her new husband, Lord Linden?”

“A pleasure,” Catia said crisply, nodding her head in acknowledgment.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Linden said, smiling politely.

“There’s some food prepared for you, and rooms,” Tamid went on. “Will you rest now, or…?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Filipe said. The colonel barked a few orders, and soon the Escalus knights and horses had been lead away and they were settled into guest rooms at the guardhouse.

“You know,” Catia remarked as they sat down to eat, “Looking at the road on the other end of the border I have to wonder- why in the world do they let it get like that? Maybe they ought to spend a little less money on slave raiders and a little more maintaining their lands.”

“The roads are particularly bad at the border,” Linden said, tearing apart a heel of bread. “They’re better closer to Temos. Not as good as the Ash Road, but respectable at least.”

“Been there recently, have you?” Filipe asked curiously.

“My grandmother’s funeral last year,” Linden replied. “My father didn’t want to go, but he let Mum take Art, Bay, and me with her. Bay’s horse threw him when he was palling around Temos with one of our cousins, and he broke his darned collarbone and whacked his head pretty hard. We ended up stuck there for weeks.”

Catia hissed in sympathy. “Even if the healers could fix his collarbone, a concussion from a fall like that would have him laid out for a while. That must’ve been frustrating.”

“At least he seems to have recovered well,” Filipe replied with a neutral smile. “And with his confidence none too damaged by the incident.”

Linden smirked. “Part of me wants to be an invisible eye on the wall the first time he gets his guts handed to him in the training yards at the Institute. Not that I want him hurt, of course, but…” He took a bite of the bread. “It still feels weird that he’ll be there,” he went on after chewing and swallowing. “I mean, it feels weird enough that I’ll be in Heleos. The idea of him around, too…”

“It will take some getting used to I don’t doubt,” Filipe said. “It took a while for your aunt to adjust as well, and she didn’t have a relative just a small ways away at the Institute. But I can’t say I blame you for wanting that- there is a certain level of satisfaction to seeing someone with a lot of pride getting taken down a few pegs.”

“You mean like when you handed Wynn’s trash to him in the duel nine years ago,” Catia remarked with a smirk, grinning sideways at Linden.

“The duel?” Linden raised a curious brow. “What duel?”

“Oh, so he didn’t tell you?” Catia asked, grinning impishly. Filipe gave a crooked smile.

“Do you remember how on your last day of archmage testing Dimitri came to pick you up instead of your father? And you didn’t seen Wynn for the rest of the day?”

“Vaguely,” Linden said. “As I told you when we met in Ecliptus, that entire visit is something of a haze to me. And all I remember about Lord Dimitri picking me up is that I was very glad it wasn’t my father, because at least then…” The boy bit his lip. “He dueled you? An actual duel? But why?”

Filipe sighed, an aggrieved expression on his face, “Do you want the short version or the honest one?”

“I… wouldn’t want to pry, my lord,” Linden said unsteadily. “So only whatever you’re comfortable telling me.”

Filipe shrugged, “It’s more a matter of what you’re comfortable hearing. I don’t mind being honest with you, but some people don’t like hearing unpleasant truths about family.” He folded his arms. “It started when Grace and Dimitri introduced Wynn to his niece and nephew, the twins- then only a year old. He took one look at Juliet’s red hair and became incensed, thinking she was illegitimate. He ended up bruising Grace on the arm grabbing her when he confronted her about it. I only didn’t take issue then and there because Grace begged me not to. But only a few days later we were discussing the then pregnancy of my wife Annabelle at dinner, and the subject of her knowing how to fight with a sword came up. Wynn became very openly scathing, asking Grace if she partook in such an ‘uncouth hobby’ as he put it.”

He sighed, his mouth twisting. “From there he started insulting her honor, implying her in adultery, and calling her a liar when she denied it- at the dinner table, if you please. I asked him to stop and he implied I was an idiot who couldn’t keep track of my housemates, bringing up my sister Heather’s deeds from the year before. I told him to be silent, and that I would not tolerate abuses against my housemates. He took offense to the word ‘abuse’ and challenged me to a duel.” Filipe gave a dark smirk. “Yes- all that and he extended the challenge, not me.”

For a moment, Linden didn’t say anything, his blue eyes wide and lips slightly agape. Finally, though, he stammered in response, “That’s… I wish I were more surprised by it than I am. But… based on what else I do remember of that week… how he treated me throughout…” The boy sighed. “At least Catia said you won? Serves him bloody well right.”

“I did,” Filipe agreed. “That’s why he didn’t come and get you that day. He was at the healer’s. Took a Dwoofindo to each leg and still refused to yield until seconds before he passed out from the blood loss.” He sighed. “I took no pleasure in it. But at least he’s never dared to be so blatantly disrespectful towards me again.”

“If you look close, you can see a very slight notch in Dad’s left ear,” Catia added, shifting closer to her father and indicating it. “That’s from the duel- your father aimed a Dwoofindo at Dad’s face.”

“Bay’s not as bad as our father, at least,” Linden murmured, suddenly fidgeting in his seat. “We don’t always get along but he’s not so… so… much.” He considered for a few moments before adding, “I know that a son ought not speak poorly of his father. And I wouldn’t wish to seem disrespectful, my lord. I just… I don’t know to what extent you noticed in Ecliptus, or during the wedding, but… we don’t always see eye to eye on things, my father and me. I love him, as a son must, but beyond that...”

“I understand, Linden,” Filipe said quietly, meeting the boy’s gaze sadly. “Better than you probably realize. I wasn’t blind to how he handled you eight years ago, and Wynn is not the sort of person who changes or learns from mistakes. But rest assured that such will never happen here. I promise you that.”

Catia frowned, looking between her father and Linden. “What are you talking about?”

“I…” Linden faltered, his gaze suddenly planted on the bread and dried meat on the plate beneath him as though his bland meal was the most interesting thing in the world. Glossing over Catia’s question, he said instead to Filipe, “How… much do you know? About how he, as you said, handled me that week?”

“How much do I know for sure? What he let me see. How much do I guess he didn’t let me see? I wish I could say I sincerely believed the surface was all there was, but I’d be lying.”

Catia frowned, clearly unhappy about this cryptic exchange. Linden, daring to lift his eyes again from his plate, caught the look and spared a tense smile at his wife, but instead of clarifying for her, he instead addressed Filipe again with a murmured: “I see. Well… then, I suppose I should thank you, my lord. For… not letting how my father acted stand in the way of your allowing me to marry your daughter. If I were you, I don’t know if I’d have even considered either of my brothers or me.”

“I will admit I had reservations,” Filipe said. “But I know from experience that how one’s father acts and treats people isn’t necessarily reflective on their children. I went to Ecliptus to meet each of you for myself and judge you on your own merits. Linden, you were polite, open-minded, and eager to be of help even when I hadn’t explained what help I required. Never doubt you deserve to be here, and to have this chance to live according to your own merits and free from fear.”

“Thank you, Lord Filipe,” Linden said softly. “I… I just hope I can live up to any expectations you may have of me.” He hesitated before, with a brief look toward Catia, adding, “And… I would never do anything like… he does. I promise you that. I promise.”

“What are you two talking about?” Catia demanded. “The cryptic circular conversation is starting to get on my nerves!”

Filipe reached towards his daughter and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find out in time- but for now it’s better not to pry. Some things are too personal to comfortably discuss in the open with someone who, until just a short while ago, was a perfect stranger.” To Linden he said, “Thank you. I don’t doubt you Linden. I’m sure given room to grow, you’ll be a fine husband for Catia.”

“I’ll certainly do my best,” Linden said. Then, to Catia: “I promise you that, Catia.”

Catia seemed caught by surprise at this, but then she nodded. “Thanks. And I’ll try to be a good wife for you too. I’m not exactly the model of a demure Cressida lady, but I hope I can be someone you aren’t ashamed to stand beside all the same.”

At this, a genuine smile finally crept between Linden’s lips. “Ashamed of you?” he said. “Never. Another promise I’ll gladly make.”

***

Filipe, Catia and Linden were reaching the end of their trip. They arrived at a small town on the shore of the vast lake west of Heleos- in fact Heleos was just visible opposite the lake if one squinted- but it would have taken half a day to circumvent it and night was rapidly approaching. Instead, Filipe decided that they would stay the night at a small cottage owned by House Escalus on the outskirts of the village.

It wasn’t huge by noble standards- only three bedrooms, a sitting room, and a dining area. The building was set up on stilts about six feet off the ground in the event the lake flooded, it had a ground level deck that, while devoid of furniture while uninhabited, had a table and several cozy cushioned chairs arrayed around it. Filipe explained that he’d sent a pigeon home to Dimitri two days before they arrived, so that servants could make the place ready for them to stay.

After a nice, quiet meal on the deck, Filipe announced that he was going to take a nap inside. Once he was gone, Catia stood with a stretch.

“I fancy a swim,” she announced cheerfully. “It’s nice and warm, and the weather is lovely, so it’s the perfect time for it.”

“A swim?” Linden quirked a brow, glancing out toward the glistening lake. “But… it’s so open, Catia. Anyone could come by.”

“And?” she retorted. “It’s not like I intend to go in stark naked, and besides there are knights keeping watch. It’ll be perfectly fine.”

Making good on this, she started to unlace and pull of the outermost layers of her gown, which only caused Linden to tense. For a moment the young lord glanced between his wife and the water, seeming to deliberate with himself, the reluctance written across his face painfully obvious.

Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t know, Catia. It seems… imprudent.”

She frowned, turning to him as she was about to start unlacing her corset. “My family goes swimming at this lake all the time, Linden. Why do you think we have the cottage here? And the opposite shore closer to Heleos, we swim there even more often. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve come out with Aunt Gracie and Uncle Dimitri, or with Mother.”

“But… what if someone were to see?” Linden asked. “It’s… it’s…” He let his gaze fall to the table beneath. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I’m… sorry, I’m just…” The young man sighed heavily.

Catia sighed, setting her corset aside and sitting back down at the table. “Women aren’t allowed to swim in Ecliptus, are they?”

“No,” Linden admitted, swallowing hard. “Not unless we’re in… a very, very cloistered place. There’s… one lake outside the city, all the way out in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around for miles. And.. sometimes we’ll go out there, and the women can swim, but otherwise…” He brought a hand to his forehead, his cheeks suddenly red. “I’m sorry, Catia. I’m trying. I am. It’s just… hard, right now. Everything’s different, and… I don’t know. I guess it’s like my father’s always said: I never know the right thing to say. Ever.”

Catia sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. “I… I understand. Of course it would be… difficult.” With a slightly bitter edge to her voice she added, “If proper societal expectations were being observed, after all, I’d have gone to Ecliptus to be your wife. I’d wear a veil and long sleeves, and father would name Uncle Dimitri his heir and the inheritance would pass eventually to Odin. Because I’m a girl.”

“Odin,” Linden said softly, as he a reached reluctant hand across the table toward Catia, as if inviting her to take a hold. “That wouldn’t have been the little imp who got into a tankard honey wine at the wedding, would it have? And then cried as Uncle Dimitri hauled him off by his ear?” He dared let himself smile. “I… I don’t think you should have anything to worry about, Catia. It doesn’t matter what others think. Or… what society might say. And anyone who says that boy would be a better heir than you are can drown his words in… in…” His smile grew. “Well, in a tankard of honey wine.”

The young woman snorted softly, but after a moment she shook her head. “Even so, there will always be things I can’t do, or am told I should do, because of my gender. And it isn’t like I’m asking to wear men’s breeches like Aunt Gracie does sometimes, or to ride into the frontlines of combat as a knight. I’ll be trained in swordsmanship at the Institute out of obligation but I don’t even like that. But just… little things. And no one has ever been able to give me a proper explanation for why I can’t or shouldn't do them except for ‘because women aren’t allowed.’”

“I’m sorry, Catia,” Linden murmured. With a brief look back at the lake, he added, “And I’m… I’m sorry if I’m just… adding to that. I’m not trying to. I promise, I’m not.” Abruptly, the lord stood, gulping as he did. “Let’s go,” he said. “Swim. The water will feel nice, won’t it?”

She watched him push himself up, startled. “Are you certain? You don’t have to force yourself if you’re uncomfortable, Linden, we could just… uh, walk in the shallows, or something.”

“No.” Linden was already hiking off his tunic, revealing a skinny but muscular frame beneath. “I’m sure. I… I don’t ever want to be a person who adds to your feeling self-conscious, Catia. Who makes you doubt yourself, or… anything like that.” He took a step toward the edge of the deck, reach down for her hand as he did. “Shall we, Lady Escalus?”

The heir of House Escalus gave a crooked smile and accepted his hand. “Alright. Though fair warning, if you think my hair is a bushy mat now, wait until after it dries later. It’s a sight to see, especially if I don’t very meticulously brush it while it’s still wet.”

Linden returned a grin of his own, his cheeks blazing now with something beyond his earlier embarrassment. “Well, I would most likely die of mortification if you ever shared this with anyone, but I’m actually quite skilled in the art of wrangling hair. When I was little, my older sister thought I had the loveliest hair-- her words, not mine-- and would play with it when my father wasn’t paying attention. And so of course, in my genius child mind, I decided that fair was only fair, and well…” He shook his head, leading his wife down the steps toward the water. “At least it should come in handy if we ever have daughters, eh? Perhaps my six-year-old self was on to something.”

Catia grinned broadly as their feet hit the lapping wavelets at the edge of the lake. “Far be it for me to deny someone else a go at taming my darling rat’s nest. We’ll just have to see what you can do, eh?”

***

The gates of Escalus manor creaked closed behind them as Filipe, Catia, and Linden arrived back the next afternoon. One of their knight escorts took the horses from the nobles, and Filipe led the way into the manor.

“It’s good to be back,” Catia remarked. “As ah… educational as that was, I rather missed home.”

Filipe chuckled. “Perfectly understandable, it was a while before I got used to making such trips and it’s still a relief getting back to the manor afterwards.”

He lead them around the corner into the family’s private wing, and was greeted in the hallway by a startled look from none other than his brother, blonde haired blue eyed Dimitri Escalus.

“Fill? You’re finally back? Why didn’t the knights at the city gates ride ahead?” he asked, clasping his brother’s hand. Filipe chuckled, gripping his younger brother’s wrist warmly.

“Didn’t think we needed to go through all the fuss, after all it’s just us. Where is everyone?”

“Most of the older kids are in lessons. Gracie, Bella, the twins and I were having some juice and cheese in the sitting room,” he replied with a smile. “Would you like to join us? Although… you might be in for a bit of a-”

“Uncle Fill!” A small, chestnut-haired boy, his blue eyes glimmering with excitement, bounded around the corner, a wedge of half-gnawed cheese in hand. “You’re home!” He looked beyond Filipe, to Catia and Linden. “Hi Caty!” the child chirped. “And Lord Linden. Did you have fun on your trip?”

“Hey Odin,” Catia said, grinning at her young cousin. “We had a pretty good time. You didn’t break anything while we were out did you?”

“Nuh-uh,” Odin replied, finishing off the cheese with a final bite before he grinned and rolled up the sleeve to his tunic. A large blue-black bruise, about the size of an egg, marked his bicep, and the boy’s voice took on a note of pride as he said, “I got it in fighting practice. Mum wanted me to go to the healer’s, but I think it’s cool.” He beamed at Filipe. “Isn’t it cool, Uncle Filipe?”

“Looks like it hurts to me,” Filipe replied with an indulgent quirk of his eyebrow. “But to each their own. You’ll be quite the young swordsman one day, won’t you, Odin?”

“I imagine he will,” Dimitri replied with a chuckle. “But for now the young swordsman is blocking the hallway. How about we let Uncle Fill and Caty and Linden sit down after being ahorse on the road for so long, hm?”

“Okay!” Tugging his sleeve back down, Odin turned and scampered back toward the sitting room.

Once he was gone, Linden-- previously silent-- raised a blond brow. “He likes getting walloped in practice? Woo, he’d get along with my brother Bay.”

“Well Bay’s in town for the next few years, so we’ll have plenty of time to see the truth of that, won’t we?” Dimitri remarked with a smile turning and leading them into the sitting room. “Certainly if Bay’s anything like I recall from years ago, they have similar levels of boisterous energy.”

“That’s all we need,” Catia said with a laugh. “Two Odins.”

“I do hope he wasn’t, ah-- too negatively affected by the honey wine he filched at the reception?” Linden asked, trailing behind his uncle. As they reached the sitting room, and passed through the doors that led within, he added, “I know that stuff can knock out even bears of men if they’re not careful.”

“He slept like a rock, and was miserable the next morning, but other-”

Dimitri was cut off but a sharp intake a breath from Filipe. “Juliet, what happened to your hair?” he demanded, staring at Odin’s twin sister in shock.

The young girl, perched on a settee in the far corner of the room with a cup of juice in hand, went pale as a sheet; still hovering in the doorway, Linden froze, cocking his head. He recognized the girl, Juliet, from the wedding reception, but even hardly knowing her, Linden could tell at once that there was a vast difference between the girl who’d been at the wedding, and the one who sat here now: her hair. The rusty red locks, which only a week and a half ago had hung in loose waves down to her midback, had been hacked so short that they scarcely reached the bottoms of her ears. If it hadn’t been for the dark blue dress she wore, Linden might have mistaken his cousin for a boy.

“I… cut it,” the girl practically squeaked. “I-I wanted it short.”

Dimitri sighed. “Yeah this is… what I was trying to warn you about. Before Odin interrupted.”

Bella, or Annabelle as she was more properly known, pursed her lips. “She cut it with a fliched kitchen knife. I found her with blood pouring out of a cut on her scalp.”

“Bells, simmer down,” Dimitri said, putting up a hand placatingly. The Lady of Heleos looked unmoved by her brother-in-law’s words.

“And would you like to know why she did it, Filipe?” The woman went on. “It was because that drunken lout Wy-”

Dimitri cleared his throat very loudly, his eyes flicking towards Linden pointedly, as seated on a plush sofa across from Juliet and next to Bella, Dimitri’s wife Grace sighed heavily. Forcing a thin smile, Linden’s paternal aunt set down her own cup of juice and raked a hand through her pale brown hair.

“I don’t think this is a discussion we all need to hear, no?” she said. “Poor Linden’s just arrived here, and we’re squabbling already.”

“I-it’s okay, Aunt Grace,” Linden stammered, unable to tear his eyes off Juliet’s crudely shorn locks-- and his stomach lurching over whatever Dimitri had stopped Annabelle from saying. Even if the young man was not certain of the end to her statement, he had a very good-- and very dour-- guess. “It… it looks nice, Lady Juliet,” he added awkwardly. “It’s, ah-- very… unique.”

“She looks like a little page boy, that’s what Mummy said!” Odin announced brightly, palming another heel of cheese from the table. “And it looked even worse at first, before Daddy got a barber to even it up, and--”

“Odin, hush,” Dimitri said sternly, glowering at his son. After a moment he rubbed his face. “Look there… are far too many strong personalities in this room for us to have this conversation civilly. Bella, why don’t you talk to Fill in another room while Grace and I explain to Linden and Caty.”

“You can’t just dismiss me, Dimitri-” Bella started to say irritably, but Filipe cut in sharply.

“I think my brother has a point,” he said. “You are a dear friend to me, Bella but you have a temper. Let’s talk about this where you won’t be taking that temper out on anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Filipe’s wife looked like she wanted to protest again, but after a moment she scowled, stood, and strode out of the room. Filipe paused long enough to gently beckon to his niece to follow, and after a moment’s hesitation, a stern glance from Grace sent the girl sullenly shuffling after the lord and lady of Heleos, her arms crossed at her chest and her eyes cast toward the floor.

Once they were out of the room, Catia sighed and sat in one of the now unoccupied chairs. “What in the world happened while we were away?”

“Eh, nothing much,” Grace said wryly, pulling Odin-- who was still riffling through the cheese platter-- down onto the sofa beside her. Planting a kiss on the crown of his head as he squirmed, she went on, “Beyond Juliet’s ah, incident, it’s actually been rather quiet.” She looked to Linden, who was still standing. “You’re welcome to a seat, Linden. This is your home, too, now. No need to be uncomfortable.”

“Yes, Aunt Grace,” Linden said with a demure smile, taking the chair beside Catia. “Ah, thank you.”

Catia, however, frowned deeply. “Aunt Gracie, you’re avoiding the question. Mum wouldn’t have gotten so irate that quickly if it was nothing.”

Dimitri sat down beside his wife, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll come out eventually, may as well tell them now.”

Grace sighed, swatting Odin’s hand as, downing the pilfered cheese in one gulp, he immediately reached out to grab another slice. “Enough, Odin,” she said. Then, to Catia: “At the wedding reception, as you may have well noticed from the way he was staggering about like a wino by the end, my brother got a little… intoxicated. And he made a bit of a… pointed comment. About Juliet, and well--” The woman shook her head. “It’s an old matter, and usually he knows better than to prod at it. Unfortunately, I think the honey wine washed away his mental filter.”

“Aunt Asa told Jules that her hair looked pretty with all the ribbons and stuff she had in it,” Odin supplied solemnly. “And Uncle Wynn muttered that it wasn’t pretty, that it just showed she was just a-- a--” He paused. “Um… what’s the word…”

“It doesn’t matter, Odin,” Grace said firmly. “It was a rude comment, and I won’t repeat it here.”

“But apparently a rude comment that Juliet took very much personally,” Dimitri said, sounding very tired and sad. “Can’t say I blame her, it’s hardly the first time she’s heard it, but…”

In his armchair, Linden outright winced. “I’m… sorry,” he said. “My father, he…”

His voice trailing off, the young lord let out a frustrated hiss, remembering the story Filipe had told him on the road about the long-ago duel between himself and Wynn. The duel that had come to be over Linden’s father making belligerent comments about the twins’ paternity, and which had been rooted in the fact that unlike either of her parents, Juliet sported locks as red as flame.

“Sometimes I just think that he’s miserable, and so he wants everyone else to be miserable, too,” Linden finished finally. “I’m so sorry that Juliet got hurt over that. She’s… she’s so young, she shouldn’t have to deal with my father’s drunken rantings.”

“It’s alright, Linden,” Grace said softly. “You don’t need to apologize for how Wynn acts any more than I would. He’s my brother, and he’s your father, but neither of us controls the untrue vitriol that drips from his mouth.”

“Woo.” Catia rubbed her face. “Poor Juliet. I thought she wouldn’t have to hear that anymore after Father fired the maidservant who kept tittering at her.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Dimitri muttered. “Mine and Filipe’s mother was reddish-blonde, it’s not like there isn’t red in our lines.” Tweaking Odin’s nose he added, “And it might be a father’s bias but I personally think both the twins favor me a great deal.”

“At least none of us will have to put up with him again anytime soon,” Grace said. She smiled at Linden. “Including you, honey. I’m sure that must feel nice.”

“It does,” Linden admitted. “But also… strange.” He bit his lip. “Sometimes I still wake up in the morning and think for a moment that it’s all just some… dream. That any second now I’ll blink and find myself back in my room in Ecliptus, with Art snoring two feet over.”

“Caty snores!” Odin announced. Once more reaching for another wedge of cheese-- and barely flinching when Grace slapped his hand away, again-- the boy informed Linden, “She sounds like a goat. It’s funny.”

Catia blushed, scowling. “Thank you for that proclamation, Odin, we very much needed that.”

Dimitri’s mouth quirked a little, but he evidently decided to spare his niece's dignity. Addressing Linden, he said, “It can be hard to process it when your life changes in a very dramatic way. Just ask your aunt- it took her a fair long while to fully adjust to Heleos.” He smirked suddenly. “Though once she did, she had a bit of a fling with wild abandon when she realized I had no qualms about her cutting her hair, or riding astride, or wearing men’s breeches, or getting both of us wildly drunk off of the queen’s-”

“What a vivid explanation, you should be a poet, Dimitri.” Grace leveled a warning look at her husband.

“Mummy and Daddy got drunk?” Odin pursed his lips. “Then why’d you get so mad when I had the honey wine?”

“I never said it was a good decision, Odin,” Dimitri retorted. “We were young and admittedly not all that clever. I’m trying to stop you from making the same mistakes.” Ruffling his son’s hair, he added, “Also I was twenty-four, your mum was nineteen, and you’re nine. A bit of a difference, I’d say.”

At this, Linden finally let a smile slip. “And juice tastes better anyway, Odin, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” the boy agreed. “I guess. And it doesn’t make me sick.”

“And,” Grace added, slinging an arm around his shoulder, “if you ever touch honey wine again before you’re grown, Odin, Mummy and Daddy will be very cross. So I’d say juice is better all around.”

Catia chuckled. “Speaking of, I think I’ll have some of that.” She reached for the pitcher and an empty glass, pouring herself a bit of the juice on the table. Leaning back, she took a sip of it before smiling at her husband. “It’s nice to be home, hm?”

Home. Still, the idea of Heleos being his home felt strange to Linden. But that hardly meant it wasn’t also good. “It is nice,” he agreed, softly but firmly. “Being here. With you.” He glanced at his aunt, uncle, and cousin. “With all of you.”

“And we’re glad to have you, Linden,” Grace said. “Lord Linden Escalus-- it has a nice ring to it, eh?”

[Avery]

A collab with Shinko. Takes place in early 1340. Also known as: the middle of the Courdonian civil war. A fun time to be on the border, like House Escalus! =D

Reversal of Fortune

SPOILER: Click to show

Lieutenant Miles Hunter of the second wing of the Escalus fireknights was exhausted. Three years into the start of the slave rebellion in Courdon, and things were escalating badly. News from over the border was sporadic and piecemeal- an attack here, a raid there, towns being surrendered or burned to the ground, but no one could completely confirm where or when. So far the tensions had not yet crossed the border into Kyth, but there remained the ever-present threat of the rebels growing desperate for supplies or safe ground and falling back on Kyth as an easier nut to crack than the enki ruled territories.

If that’s what they think, they’re in for a surprise, Lieutenant Hunter thought grimly.

Normally Hunter would have been leading a wing of ten. However, given the tensions, all wings assigned to border patrol had been split in two, one half led by the Lieutenant and the other by his Right Wedge, or second in command. This made for smaller forces, but allowed them to cover more ground at once without unduly exhausting themselves or their phoenixes.

One of the other phoenixes in the wing gave the call for “attention,” making Hunter’s head snap around. The rider who’d asked his phoenix to signal made a pair of hand signals- one that meant “storm” and a second for “east.” Hunter turned and sure enough, boiling out of the eastern sky was a thick grey thunderhead. Phoenixes could fly in the rain just fine- in fact catching lightning bolts allowed them to make the flames on their wings and tails even more intensely hot and large than normal- but they didn’t care much for it. Nor did their riders.

Canaan, Hunter’s phoenix, spotted the distant clouds and made a noise like a cross between an out of tune flute and an owl’s hiss. The Lieutenant patted the orange feathers on the bird’s neck consolingly. “Sorry Canaan, I don’t like it either. But we have to work. The rebels are desperate enough I doubt a storm would stop them if they decided to cross the border.”

The phoenix hissed again, but turned his eyes back towards the patrol path. The royal blue edges of his wing feathers flickered in and out of Hunter’s peripheral vision as Canaan pumped his wings a little harder to work against the prevailing wind.

Then, the lieutenant caught sight of something- a flicker of movement in the trees far below. Looking over Canaan’s shoulder, he squinted through his flight goggles and tried to see what it was. In all likelihood just an animal of some sort but a fireknight didn’t rise to officer rank by being complacent.

Such a caution was well-placed, as within a few moments, it became abundantly clear that it was no mere beast rustling through the brush. Rather, the lithe form of a woman stood crouched before a massive oak tree, a small child clutched tightly to her chest and her dress so dirty that it nearly blended in with the fauna. Three other children accompanied the pair, their matching coppery locks catching in the snatches of sunlight that managed to snake its way through the forest canopy. The eldest of them, a boy, couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve, while the littler two-- both girls, it seemed, from the tumbling length of their rust-coloured tresses-- hardly reached the woman’s hip.

From their stooping postures, and the way the woman was gesturing hurriedly at the children as she flicked her gaze rapidly between them and the sky, it was clear that she’d seen the flock of phoenixes overhead-- and that she was terrified. As the unit coasted closer, she shifted the toddler into one arm and snatched onto another of the children’s hands, drawing the girl close. Then, as if she knew there was no point in taking any measures else, she leaned back against the towering oak tree. Resigned. Waiting.

Hunter gave Canaan the same signal his subordinate had given their phoenix earlier, and Canaan called out for the attention of the rest of the wing. Signalling the presence of the people far below, the lieutenant led the rest of the fireknights circling downwards. The five armored orange and blue phoenixes landed in a circle around the woman and children.

Hunter nudged Canaan closer. The phoenix, seeming to sense how terrified the children clinging to the woman’s hip were, lowered his head on his long neck and made a pleasant fluting noise, tilting his head sideways like a dog might. The children, however, seemed past the threshold of soothing, the toddler merely burrowing his head against the woman’s chest, and the other three staring on with trembling jaws.

The Lieutenant removed his goggles and flight helmet, letting sweaty blackish brown hair fall free around his eyes. Addressing the woman he said, “Do you speak Kythian?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes. Of course I do.”

There was no apparent accent to her voice, and some of the tension in the fireknight’s back relaxed. “Well met, Madam. I am Lieutenant Miles Hunter of the second wing of House Escalus’ fireknights. What is your name, and pray, what are you and these children doing so far out from any civilization?”

Here, the woman hesitated, her pale blonde brow knit with trepidation. “I’m trying to make it to Ecliptus. Or at least, the territory of House Cressida,” she said. “I see I’ve aimed too far west.”

“House Cressida?” the fireknight repeated, quirking an eyebrow. His muscles had gone immediately taunt again when the woman refused to name herself. “Any particular reason why?”

“To speak with Lord Jacob.” The toddler in her arms whimpered, and forcing a deep breath, the woman planted a kiss atop the crown of his honey-colored hair. “I… I need to speak with Lord Jacob.”

At her further evasiveness, Lieutenant Hunter frowned openly. “Madam, given the present tensions along this borderland you’ll understand if my orders don’t give me appreciable room for allowing people the benefit of the doubt. You’ll need to give me a little more than that before I begin escorting you to see ruling house lords.”

“R-right. Of course.” She blinked hard, her sky blue eyes shimmering with the threat of moisture. “I… I-- forgive me if I’m being… difficult. It’s just been a v-very long past few weeks, and… I’m exhausted, and the children are exhausted, and…” She shook her head. “M-my name is Elisabeth. Lady Elisabeth. Of… of House Thierry--”

“Of Emryn,” the knight interrupted, his eyes narrowing, and the other fireknights around him shifting uneasily. “In Courdon. Am I wrong?”

“No,” Elisabeth said. “You’re not wrong. But--”

“Kyth is neutral in the Courdonian… civil conflict,” the fireknight interrupted yet again. “We cannot give shelter to refugees. Certainly we cannot bring an anki officially to one of our border lords. I understand if desperation has driven you to flee across the border, but--”

“Can you let me talk, please?” A flash of aggravation crossed Elisabeth Thierry’s face, and she stiffened. “While I understand your concerns, think for a moment-- do I sound Courdonian? For that matter, do I look Courdonian? You meet many ankis with pale skin and white-blonde hair?”

Canaan jerked back a bit at the woman’s tone, his feathers puffing up. Lieutenant Hunter sighed, shaking his head. “I suppose not, no...”

“And that’s because I’m not,” Elisabeth said. “My married name is Thierry, yes. But I was born in Kyth. I grew up in Kyth.” Locking her eyes with his, she continued flatly, “I was aiming for Ecliptus because Lord Jacob is my older brother. Because before I was Elisabeth Thierry, I was Elisabeth Cressida. So please, for the love of Woo, do not send me and my children back down over that border. The rebels already burned Signy. They killed my husband. They killed everyone. And if we go back to Emryn, we will die.”

The fireknights exchanged startled glances. After a moment of silence, the Lieutenant swallowed hard. “If what you say is true, then you have a right to ask for sanctuary with your kin. But I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I didn’t verify your identity somehow. Do you have any proof?”

Looking close to outright tears, Elisabeth shook her head. “No. No, I don’t have any proof. My children and I fled in the night with the clothes on our back as the city burned at our heels. I hardly had time to scrounge up… evidence of who I was, or… or anything like that.” She bit down on her lip, hard. “But you said you’re from House Escalus? My paternal aunt, Grace, is married to Lord Dimitri Escalus. And my little brother, Linden, is husband to Catia Escalus. Linden, Grace, or Dimitri could identify me.”

The knight seemed to recognize the names, and nodded. “Very well. I’ll have to detain you at our border outpost for the time being, but we can have a missive sent to Lord Escalus within the hour of our arrival. If what you say is true, we should have confirmation soon enough.”

***

There was a knock at the door to Filipe Escalus’ office, and when he invited whoever it was to enter, he was greeted by the face of his younger brother Dimitri, and Dimitri's wife Grace.

“You sent for us?” the younger brother said, limping into the room with a cane in one hand. “The servant said it was urgent?”

“It is yes,” Filipe replied. “But I also asked for Linden, and I’d rather not go into this twice. He’ll definitely want to hear.”

“Us and Linden?” Dimitri said, raising his eyebrows. “But… not Catia?”

“It doesn’t concern Catia,” Filipe replied simply.

Taking a seat opposite Filipe, and motioning for Dimitri to take the chair beside her, Grace creased her graying chestnut brow. “I don’t like that look on your face, Fill,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“If what the fireknights posted along the border have told me is true, nothing,” he replied. “In fact, it’s good news. But the ‘if’ is the matter of debate.”

Dimitri sat next to his wife, giving a soft, involuntary grunt of pain as he did so. “Your being vague about it isn’t reassuring.”

“And since when has urgent news been good news?” Grace agreed, sighing as she glanced over her shoulder toward the door, as if she hoped that by staring at it, she’d hasten Linden’s arrival.

Grace’s nephew, his dark blonde hair secured in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck, seemed equally as put off when he arrived several minutes later. His fingernails sprinkled with dirt, it appeared as though he’d been interrupted in the middle of his favorite pastime, gardening; the scent of fragrant lemon balm and clove clung to him like a perfume. When he saw Grace and Dimitri already assembled, his bronze skin went nearly as pale as his aunt’s creamy complexion.

“What’s happened?” he said with no preamble. “Is it-- is it… Catia… the pregnancy--”

Filipe shook his head. “Catia was fine the last I spoke with her two hours ago, her and the baby both. No, this is a matter entirely unrelated to that. You’ll want to be sitting, Linden.”

Linden obliged hesitantly, dragging a third chair up to Filipe’s desk and dropping down into it without another word. As he did, Grace shot him a wavering smile of reassurance, reaching out to set a hand on her nephew’s shoulder. In return he only flattened his lips into a tight line, his blue eyes squinted in equal parts bemusement and consternation as he studied his father-in-law’s inscrutable face. Dimitri tapped a finger on the top of his cane, looking straight into his brother’s eyes. “Out with it, Fill, we’re all here.”

“I received a letter from the border about twenty minutes ago,” the lord of House Escalus explained. “Apparently the fireknights intercepted a very peculiar individual crossing over. A woman, several small children in tow, looking as ragged as any runaway slave crossing the border. Except she wasn’t a runaway slave. It took them a bit of doing, but eventually they got her to tell them who she was- Elisabeth Thierry nee Cressida.”

Dimitri gaped in shock, while Grace’s jaw fell clear open. Linden, meanwhile, sat frozen for a moment, before his eyes sprang wide as the weight of Filipe’s statement bowled into him, stealing the very breath from his lungs. He made a small, strangled noise that might have been a whimper, his hands suddenly clenched so tightly in his lap that his fingernails ate into his palms like tiny blades.

“Lin,” Grace managed. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he said. Then: “No.” His gaze hooked with Filipe’s. “Is… is she okay? Is she… hurt-- are her kids hurt-- w-where’s her husband, and--”

“Linden, easy,” Dimitri said softly, putting a hand on his nephew’s knee. Turning to his brother, he said, “I think you need to tell us everything.”

“What little I know, at any rate,” Filipe replied. “From what she told them, it seems that the city-” he consulted a small bit of paper near his hand, “Signy was burned to the ground by the rebels. Her husband is dead. She managed to flee with all of her children, and they all seemed unhurt, though understandably terrified and exhausted.” He sighed. “She crossed trying to get to Lord Jacob. But in the confusion listed too far west.”

Dimitri exhaled slowly. “Woo, it’s a miracle she made it over the border in one piece at all…”

“W-where is she?” Linden said. “I… I need to see her. Talk with her. Woo, no one in my family’s been able to contact her in nearly three years-- we’ve been terrified--”

“I’ll have her brought up to Heleos as soon as I can,” Filipe assured his son-in-law. “There’s just one problem. Because of the tensions along the border, we can’t just take any noble into our sanctuary without risk of infuriating the rebels and turning their ire on Kyth. So we need to actually confirm that the woman the fireknights have in their custody is Elisabeth.”

“Well any of the three of us could recognize her,” Dimitri said. “But somehow I doubt you’re going to let any of us frolic down to the border outpost with things as they are.”

“I’ll go,” Linden said without hesitation. “I know her best of anyone. And I met her eldest son, at Father’s funeral. I can recognize him, too.”

“No, Linden,” Filipe replied sternly, the frown on his face making the maze of wrinkles he had acquired in the last three years starkly visible- stress of the war had aged the Escalus Lord tremendously. “But I think I have a compromise. The three of you know Elisabeth, and have met her on multiple occasions. So each of you will pose a question for her- something only Elisabeth would know. If she can answer all three questions, it’s obviously the real woman and we’ll have her brought up by phoenix immediately. By nightfall she’ll be in Heleos. If not, we’ll keep her in custody as we have the defecting soldiers.”

Turning to Grace, Filipe lifted a hand, pulling out a quill and a sheaf of parchment. “If you’d like to begin?”

“Ask her which of her siblings came along to the capital for Queen Maia’s funeral,” Grace said after a moment. “A poseur might know the names of Wynn’s children, but… not something so specific.”

“For reference,” Dimitri added, “the answer is Jacob, herself, and Bay.” He looked pensive, then said, “Ask her which of her father’s siblings attended his funeral.” With a crooked smile, he glanced at Grace. “The answer is- just Grace.”

Filipe nodded, penning these questions down. “Linden?”

“The name of our theology tutor,” Linden said. “When we were kids. It’s Master Aigle.” He brought a hand up to his throbbing temple. “And there are… a few more things. That could help to verify, if you want to be entirely sure. I’ve only met her eldest son, but he should be… ten or eleven by now. He’s a ginger; his name is Lysander. And… Bethie has some scars. On her left calf, where one of Father’s hounds bit her when she was fourteen.” Smiling lopsidedly, he tapped a small scar of his own: a rippled slash on his right hand, faded to a waxy white with age. “I got that trying to pull the dog off her. Before a knight heard our screaming and rushed in to help.”

“And ever charming, I’m sure Wynn didn’t have the marks healed as some sort of lesson about not messing with his hounds,” Dimitri remarked dryly. Turning to his brother he said, “That suit you, Fill?”

“I’d say so,” the Escalus lord replied. He blew on the paper a bit to dry the ink, then rolled it up and tucked it into a small scrollcase on his desk. “There. That will arrive at the outpost within a minute, and if the commander has his on him- which he bloody well should- we should hopefully get our answer back as soon as he has time to talk to Elisabeth.”

Dimitri moved to stand, gritting his teeth a bit as his right leg wobbled dangerously. “I can see the healer. Have him make ready so that she can be examined when she arrives.”

Grace frowned as she watched her husband grimace. “I’ll come with,” she announced, standing and hooking an arm through his to help steady him. “And perhaps we can get you something for your pain while we’re there, Dems.”

“I won’t object to that,” he remarked. “What I’ve been using doesn’t seem to be doing much anymore. I think I’m… how’d the healer put it, ‘building up a resistance?’”

“I’ve been working on a new brew, Uncle Dimitri,” Linden said, absently stroking the wand that was holstered at his hip; although he wasn’t formally a healer of House Escalus, Linden dabbled heavily in the healing arts in his spare time. “It’ll be ready within a few weeks. I’m hoping that it should help.” He sighed. “I’d like to wait here, if it’s okay. So that I know the moment you’ve received word back, Filipe.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Filipe replied. With a crooked smile he added, “As long as you promise not to fidget too much.”

“I’ll sit on my hands if I must,” Linden said. “Put all my years of suffering through long church services to task.”

“And… let us know, Fill?” Grace added, pausing with Dimitri at the doorway. “I might not know Elisabeth as well as you do, Linden, but she’s my niece all the same, and I’ve been worried for her, too-- and praying for her every night. I truly do hope that it’s her. That she’s alright. And I’m sure it’ll be an immense relief for Jacob, as well.”

Dimitri nodded emphatically. “Send a servant as soon as you get word?”

“I’ll send Linden as soon as I get word,” Filipe assured them. “Closer at hand than a servant. You alright with that, Linden? You can send a pigeon to Ecliptus right afterward.”

“I’ll find you the moment that we hear,” Linden promised. “By Woo, I just hope that it’s soon.”

***

Within the hour, word had arrived back to Heleos: the woman claiming to be Elisabeth Thierry nee Cressida had answered all three questions flawlessly, her eldest son was called Lysander, and she had a half-moon of bite-shaped scars in the middle of her left calf. Filipe gave orders for her to be brought by phoenix directly to Escalus Manor, and just as the sun was dipping beneath the horizon that evening, the flock bearing Linden’s sister, nieces, and nephews touched down in the front courtyard. Their cumulative breaths held, Linden, Filipe, Dimitri, and Grace watched on from a few feet away, the dying light of the dusk glaring into their backs.

Filipe approached first, the knights dismounting as one and bowing before helping their charges down. As soon as Elisabeth’s feet touched the ground, the Escalus lord gestured to Linden. “We could do the formalities, but you seem hardly in any shape for them and I think your brother might just burst from impatience if we did. Welcome to Heleos, Lady Elisabeth- I promise you’re safe here.”

“T-thank you, my lord,” Elisabeth said, but she was looking only toward Linden, tears brimming in her eyes as she took a step toward him.

Linden needed no other directive then: in an instant he’d swept across the courtyard to his sister’s side, enfolding her in a hug. Beth’s toddler son, still enveloped in his mother’s arms, let out a small squawk of surprise, and with a trembling voice Beth hushed him, sniffling as she pressed her cheek against her brother’s shoulder.

“I’m so glad that you’re okay,” Linden breathed, forcing himself to pull away when the toddler began fretting louder. “By Woo, Beth, we’ve all been so worried about you.”

“F-for good reason,” Beth said, the misery written plain on her face. Turning slightly toward her three elder children, who were standing in a fidgeting clump at their mother’s heel, she nodded them forward. “Come meet your uncle,” she murmured in Courdonian, before she seemed to notice Grace and Dimitri for the first time. “And Mama’s aunt and uncle, too.”

Dimitri smiled, limping forwards to the children. In lieu of speaking, he held out a bag he was holding in the hand not wrapped around his cane. Inside there were apples, sausages, and slices of bread. “There’s a proper meal waiting for you inside, but I imagine it’s been some time since you’ve eaten properly so you may as well have a decent appetizer now. I’m your Uncle Dimitri, kids- it’s good to meet you.”

Tentatively, the oldest amidst the children-- presumably Lysander-- accepted the bag into his hand. His voice was fragile as dandelion fluff as he said, “T-thank you.” He looked to his little sisters, their matching coppery hair catching in the last rays of sunlight. “You want apples or meat first?”

The older of the two, perhaps eight or nine, looked into the bag. After a brief deliberation she said, “Apple? I’m thirsty too, apples are juicy.”

The littler girl, who couldn’t have been more than five, said nothing, only shrugging as she took a step closer to Elisabeth, her tiny arms encircling the woman’s waist as she buried her face against her mother’s threadbare dress. Lysander sighed in turn, making no comment of it as he doled an apple out to the elder sister and took a sausage for his own consumption. Although he was only eleven, there was a certain jaded quality to the way he carried himself, and as he watched the boy wolf down the sausage as if he hadn’t seen solid food in weeks, Linden’s stomach twisted in sympathy. Though Woo only knew what this child had suffered through, any man with eyes could have told that it was far beyond what any young boy ever ought to endure.

“Shall we head inside?” Linden asked. “I’m sure you and the children would like to all sit, Beth. And… after you get some food in you, we can have baths drawn. Get some of the road cleaned off of you.”

“The healer is waiting as well,” Dimitri added. “To have a look at everyone and make sure none of you are worse than tired and hungry.”

“Thank you,” Beth said, patting the still-fussing toddler’s back. “Marc has been grouchy for days, and I’ve no idea if he’s simply exhausted, or… something worse.” She looked to the little girl who was buried in her skirts. “And Alexandra has a cough. It comes and goes, and it’s probably nothing, but… I’m just worried, you know?”

Grace, finally taking a few steps forward, nodded. “Of course, Beth,” she said. “Anyone would be worried. After what you’ve been through.”

The older of the two girlchildren, who hadn’t understood a word of this conversation, was tucking into her apple. As Grace fell silent, tears began to flow down the girl’s face as she continued to chew.

“Mama,” she whimpered around a mouthful of fruit. “Are we s-safe? The r-rebels can’t get us anymore?”

At the sight of her daughter’s tears, Beth swung Marc onto one hip so that she could wrap her other arm around the child’s back. “Shh, it’s alright, Igraine,” she said softly. “We’re safe here. With Mama’s brother and auntie and uncle. No one to hurt us here. I promise.”

The girl sniffled, leaning into her mother’s chest for a moment, sobbing with sheer release to have reached a place of safety after the terrifying flight from their razed home.

“You’re never going to need to be afraid of the rebels again,” Filipe put in gently. “We’ll get you some nice food, and warm baths, and beds to sleep in.”

Igraine nodded, finally pulling back from her mother and looking up at the other adults, the tears hanging from her eyelashes sparkling in the dying sunlight. Looking towards his wife and nephew, Dimitri said, “I’m a little slow, I’m afraid, but if you two want to lead the way?”

“I’d be glad,” Grace said. Studying Beth’s children, and the barely consoled Igraine in particular, she added in Courdonian, “Would you like to hold my hand, sweetie? Since your mama’s got her arms full with your brother and sister.”

Igraine hesitated a moment, then nodded, coming up and sliding her small hand into Grace’s timidly. She gave the older woman a small smile, and Grace returned it, in that moment noting just how much the young girl’s features resembled Beth’s-- and Linden’s.

“We can head up the ensemble,” Grace said to Igraine. “Whenever you’re ready, honey.”

***

Fed, washed, examined by the healer, and given a fresh change of clothes, Elisabeth’s three oldest children were out like spent flames the moment their heads hit the pillows in one of Escalus Manor’s guest suites. Little Marc, however, was not so easily soothed, clinging to Beth like a leech and kicking up a right tantrum whenever anybody attempted to coax him from his mother’s arms. While the healer had declared him free of all physical ills, the toddler had clearly taken the stresses of the past few weeks hard, at three and a half the boy far too young to even begin to understand all of the frightening things that were happening to him.

“I’ll just keep him with me,” Beth said finally, smoothing his red-blonde ringlets as he nestled his cheek against her breast. Standing in the front room of the guest suite, she glanced to Dimitri, who was seated on a worn but comfortable couch. “Your brother just wanted to ask me some questions, right? Nothing… intensive. And it’s not like Marc understands a lick of Kythian, anyway.”

“Shouldn’t be anything that’ll distress him, no,” her uncle replied. “And it would take a more heartless man than Filipe to begrudge the poor boy given everything he’s been through. Should be a lot less of a hubbub as well. Since Grace is helping Filipe’s wife watch after Linden’s children and I’m staying here in case your older three need anything, it’ll just be Fill, Lin, and Lin’s wife Catia.” He chuckled softly. “Catia’s six months pregnant, so if anything she’ll be in maternal overdrive and more sympathetic to young Marc.”

“My congratulations,” Beth said, turning toward Linden, who stood near the door. “What are you hoping for?”

“A quiet angel,” Linden said wryly. “Who doesn’t fill my shoes with innovative pastes made of honey and mud.”

With that, the young Escalus lord led Beth out of the suite, the brother and sister silent as they wended through a series of wood-floored corridors. Finally, they drew to a halt outside Filipe’s office, its door ajar and both the House patriarch and his daughter already waiting inside. They appeared to have been talking softly with one another, but as Linden pushed the door the rest of the way open they fell silent, nodding politely to Elisabeth. As reported, the auburn haired heir of House Escalus had an impossible to miss baby bump under her loose maternity dress. Dimitri’s prediction proved accurate when Catia caught sight of Marc and her eyes immediately softened.

“Someone felt a little insecure, hm?” she asked with a smile.

“He’s been my little shadow since the day he was born,” Elisabeth said, as Linden motioned for her to sit. Obliging, the former Cressida added, “Between him and Alexandra, I don’t think I’ve had free arms in over five years.”

Linden, taking a seat of his own, chuckled. “Our oldest was like that. Clingy as a tick until she was-- oh, who am I kidding, she’s nine now and still trails me like a loyal hound.”

“Would help if her brother wasn’t an overbearing little troublemaker,” Filipe remarked dryly. “But that’s neither here nor there.” He held up a sheaf of parchment. “Before we begin- this just arrived not ten minutes ago. It seems Jacob responded very promptly to the letter Linden sent him earlier. He expresses deepest relief to hear you safe, and says he’ll send someone to bring you and your children to Ecliptus as soon as he can feasibly manage.”

“Unfortunately,” Catia said with a sympathetic expression, “it won’t be for a few days at least. All the Corvid border forces are stretched very thin trying to keep the war in Courdon from ebbing over to our side. He has to try and scramble together someone to come for you without leaving a gap.”

“I understand,” Beth said, although she couldn’t hide the edge of disappointment to her voice. Chiding Marc as the little boy twisted in her lap to make a rogue grab for the shiny silver inkpot on Filipe’s desk, the woman went on, “I’m just… grateful for your assistance, Lord Filipe. I’ve spent the last several weeks half-convinced that I-- and all my children-- were one wrong step away from dying. I can’t even describe to you how much of a relief it is knowing that my babies are falling asleep tonight under a safe roof.”

“Our home is your home as long as you’re here, Lady Elisabeth,” Catia assured her sister-in-law. “Linden has been worried sick for you- I warn you, he speaks of our daughter being a tick but he’ll like as not be following you around and seeing to the every need of you and your little ones.” At this she cast Linden a slightly teasing smile.

Linden smirked back, impudent. “At least I shall be a helpful tick, hm?”

Filipe chuckled. “You are very good at finding ways to make yourself helpful, Linden.” Turning back to Elisabeth he sobered. “I hate to dampen the mood, but I’m afraid that you’re the first reliable source that has come across the border since things started to really melt down in Emryn. We’re in such an intelligence blackout that we can’t really afford to overlook an opportunity to learn at least something of what’s been going on in Courdon.”

“I honestly don’t know how much help I’ll be,” Beth said, “but I’ll try my best, Lord Filipe.” She sighed, stroking her son’s back. “My husband… he didn’t exactly share much with me, politically. After the fighting started, the children and I were blanket forbidden from leaving our manor at all. Part of me doubts I know much more than you do.”

Filipe nodded reluctantly. “Can you at least tell us what happened to… Signy I think it was? How did you end up on the run with naught but the clothes on your back?”

“About a month ago, my husband started getting… addled,” Beth said. “I pleaded with him to tell me what was happening, and he refused. But I knew that it couldn’t be good. Not when he started sleeping with a Woo-cursed dagger on the nightstand.” She raked an agitated hand through her white-blonde hair. “They showed up about a week after that. And things went bad very quickly. I told Rene not to fight. That it wasn’t worth it. But he didn’t listen.” Again, more softly: “He wouldn’t bloody listen.”

Catia bit her lip. “The letter the fireknights sent us said that… they burned the city?”

“Rene died before that.” Beth’s voice cracked. “After they got through the city gates, he told me he wasn't going to be a coward. That he wasn’t going to hide in his manor like a quivering child. He went out to fight, and he never came back. And then it was his brother in charge, and…” The woman blinked sharply. “When they started torching buildings, I knew that it was over. That if I didn’t run, I was going to die. Rene’s brother tried to stop me. Told me that I… I couldn’t just flee into the night with four children, that he was in charge now and I must obey what he said, but-- I couldn’t, you know? I wasn’t going to just sit there like a lame horse and watch my children die. We… we were in one of the manor’s sitting rooms, and when my brother-in-law left to talk with his knights, I just… ran. I didn’t even have time to grab my wand. Or cloaks or food or… anything.”

Filipe sighed, massaging his chest with one hand. “To put an entire city to the torch… seems we were right that the rebels would hold grudges and not discriminate targets when seeing them through.” He moaned softly, and Linden straightened in his chair, frowning.

“Do you need your tonic, Filipe?” he asked. They’d been dealing for months now with instances like these, where the lord of Heleos’s chest would suddenly go fluttering and tight. “I… can step out to fetch it, if you’d like. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

“If you would?” Filipe replied. “I was fine just a moment ago…”

“Of course.” Linden was on his feet and out the door in an instant, Beth craning her neck to watch as her brother disappeared into the hall.

“Is… everything alright, my lord?” she asked.

“It’s the stress,” Catia explained, rubbing her father’s back. Her expression reflected her worry. “At least our healer thinks so. It’s been making his heart act up. And his stomach too, he’s very little appetite these days.”

“I’ll be fine,” the lord of House Escalus replied, though his voice was somewhat high with pain.

“I’m sorry to hear you’ve been ailing,” Beth said. Indulging Marc as he set about fiddling with a lock of her long hair, the woman murmured, “The war can’t have been easy here, either. For you. For Jacob. And anyone else near the border.”

“No, it hasn’t been,” Catia replied softly. “You saw how Uncle Dimitri is limping? That wasn’t an accident. It was done to him by a ward of our House, who was trying to take his son to join the rebels. He went after them, and got a permanent gouge out of the muscles in his leg for the trouble.”

“What a miserable time for all.” Beth let out a gusty sigh. “I… I don’t agree with slavery. It’s sinful, it’s wrong-- I know that. And I never liked anything to do with Rene’s keeping of slaves. How they were treated. How they were… viewed, as if they were less than human. But the rebels…” She tightened her arms around Marc. “They might be fighting for good things, but what they did to Signy-- that wasn’t goodness.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Filipe replied, massaging his chest wearily. “It was revenge. The sort of bloody, all consuming revenge that doesn’t care what it hurts in the process as long as it gets its target.” Looking up at Elisabeth with a thin, pain-filled smile he said, “I just thank the Woo that you and your children weren’t consumed by it.”

She nodded reluctantly. “The Woo was on our side that night.” Leaning back heavily in the chair, Elisabeth shut her eyes. “But I left Rene’s mother and his two little sisters in that manor, Lord Filipe. Twin girls. They’re fifteen. I… I’d like to think they made it out. And when Lysander and Igraine and Alex keep asking about them, that’s what I say. That the gods wouldn’t have let anything bad happen to innocent women and children.” She nuzzled her chin against Marc’s ringlets. “Deep down, though, I think I know it’s a bit of a fairytale. Their grandmother isn’t alive. And neither are those girls. Fire doesn’t discriminate between the guilty and the guiltless.”

The lord of House Escalus and his heir were silent for several moments, their expressions bleak. Finally Filipe turned to Catia. “Word of this will need to be sent to the other border lords at least- probably to House Jade as well. We finally have a clear idea of what methods the rebels are willing to use. Could you get started on that? I don’t think…”

“You’re going to rest, Father,” Catia agreed. She started around the desk, looking up at the sound of the office door creaking open, and Linden’s eye caught his wife’s as the man slipped back inside, a cup of pale gray liquid in his hand.

“Your tonic, Filipe,” Elisabeth’s brother said, stepping forward and setting the glass on the desk. “I added a bit of honey to it, to help with the bitterness.”

“Thank you, Linden,” Filipe replied with a smile. He took the cup, downing the potion in three gulps. As he set the cup down again, he sighed softly. “I think we’ve interrogated your sister enough for one night.” He turned to Elisabeth. “Is there anything you or your children need? Anything that might give you or them some comfort?”

“Honestly, I think a good night’s sleep will be comfort more than anything,” Beth said. “When I left, they were all nested in one bed like baby birds.”

As if on cue, Marc let out a sudden yawn. “Mama, night night?”

Beth touched his cheek. “Soon, honey,” she said. “Really soon, I promise.”

“Very well then,” Filipe replied, watching out of the corner of his eye as Catia left to write the letters he’d asked of her. He turned to Linden. “Will you help her find her way back to her rooms then? And let Dimitri know he’s excused from babysitting duty for the night.”

“Of course.” Linden smiled down at his sister and nephew. “Uncle Linden’s going to take you back to your room. So you can go night night, Marc.”

“Papa there?” Marc asked, yawning again as Beth stood.

“No,” Beth said softly. “Papa’s not there. But Mama will be, sweetie. And you can sleep in bed with her.” Sighing, Beth spared one last glance toward Filipe. “Thank you again,” she said, switching back to Kythian. “For… everything, Lord Filipe. I don’t even know how to repay you.”

He chuckled softly. “You’ve been living in Courdon for some time- they put a very great deal of value there on kin ties, do they not?” He gestured to Linden. “You are my son-in-law’s sister, and my brother’s niece. I would be a cruel man indeed to turn you away. You owe me nothing, Lady Elisabeth.”

[Avery]

This is a quasi-sequel to "Once Upon Another Time", following dear Basil once he ragequit the funeral/coronation/et al. 8D Knowledge of that fic is probably helpful, though I think we've left enough context clues where it's not... totally necessary as long as you read maingame. XD Collab with Tiger, with a cameo by Shinko in part two! Featuring everyone's favorite House: Accipiter. <3

An Unexpected Visit: Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

Cateline Accipiter was comfortably settled in a room on the second floor of Accipiter Manor, overlooking the grounds and a bare edge of the city proper. It was high summer, and not much was moving outside beyond what the occasional breeze stirred up. Things would cool and return to life again when the rain came back in the evening, but in the meantime it was quiet and she could get some work done.

Or she would have been able to, had she not been interrupted barely five minutes in by a polite rapping at the door. She looked up from the letter she was penning with a sniff. That would be one of the servants, but what did they want? There shouldn’t be anything out-of-the-ordinary that needed her attention, and the servants generally had the running of the manor well in hand.

At Cateline’s barked “yes?”, one of the manor staff opened the door and side-stepped into the room. “Lady Accipiter,” she said, “you have a visitor. He’s - “

“Is it urgent? I’m trying to get some work done, and if it’s someone from the city trying to follow up on a concern…” She motioned to the rolls of parchment on her desk. “I need to get to their concern first.”

“It isn’t a petitioner,” the servant said neutrally. “It isn’t an emergency, but it’s important - it’s - “

“Shouldn’t my husband handle it then?”

“He asked for you specifically - my Lady, it’s Lord Basil Cressida.”

Cateline looked up in surprise. “Basil? Already?” The Accipiters were expecting the Cressidas’ company, but not for a few days yet - surely they hadn’t started on the return-trip from Medieville this soon. The king must just have been buried, and surely Princess Destiney’s coronation wasn’t for another few days. Absolutely he’d not just now be making his way north; not when the royal family was also his wife’s family. And speaking of - “Is it only Lord Basil, or is his family with him?”

“Only Lord Basil.”

Very strange; Cateline hoped nothing was wrong. Rising to her feet, she asked, “You brought him in and offered him a drink and food, yes?”

“Ah - he’s been shown to the parlor and offered drink, yes. The Lord hasn’t been offered food - yet, but I’ll send someone to make the request and ready the kitchen staff. ”

“See that you do. Also let him know I’ll be down momentarily.” Cateline all but trod on the back of the servant’s dress as the two left the room. She might have made the announcement of her impending arrival unnecessary, had she not spotted light coming out of Richard’s office slightly down the hall. “Has my husband been informed?”

“I was just about to - “

“I’ll handle it,” Catline said. “Make sure Lord Basil is made comfortable.”

“...Yes, Lady Accipiter.” Cateline didn’t bother asking about the servant’s poorly-masked confusion, just went to Richard’s door, knocked, and entered when he called out permission.

Lord Accipiter looked up from a book of spells as his wife entered the room, an eyebrow rising slightly. “What’s going on?” he asked. “You look pleased.”

“Lord Basil’s here,” she announced.

Richard’s gray eyes widened briefly, but his expression quickly turned from surprise to a slight frown. “This is quite a bit earlier than we expected them.”

“At the moment, it’s only Basil,” Cateline elaborated. “I’m not sure what’s happened, but I think I’ll have the servants prepare a guest room, in case he isn’t urgently needed in the capital or in Ecliptus.” Her tone was steady and even, but purposeful - Richard might not particularly care for Basil, but he was Cateline’s friend, and her family to boot. She was not going to let Richard try to rush him off on some pretense, which she would not entirely put past him.

Richard met her gaze with a measured expression, and finally sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t make a difference precisely which day he arrives.” He set the book aside. “...I’m sure you want to speak to him; I’ll arrange preparations for a potential guest, you go on ahead of me. Have someone sent to inform me if the rest of his family is on their way as well.”

Cateline was quite sure offering to take care of the arrangements was an excuse to put off meeting with Basil - but she didn’t challenge him on it. Conversations with her cousin were more enjoyable without Richard there, and Cateline could at least trust him with the task. He would consider passive-aggressively sabotaging Basil’s stay a petty vengeance, and one not worth the damage it could do to his reputation, nor to Raylier Manor’s as a proper noble home. Politics had its uses.

“Thank you, Richard,” Cateline said. “I’ll have someone sent to fill you in on the details once I’m made aware of them.” She didn’t dawdle in the doorway - she could hardly leave her cousin waiting alone in the sitting room, after all.

Inside, Basil Cressida rather looked as if he’d seen the very wrong side of a wind tunnel. His silver hair was frizzy as a startled cat’s, and his traveling clothes-- all in shades of exciting gray-- were several strokes beyond merely wrinkled. Heavy bags of exhaustion limned his eyes, as if he’d not slept properly in weeks, while nearly every patch of exposed skin on the lord was stippled with small, uncomfortable-looking bumps. Bites?

When he saw Cateline, however, the man let through a genuine smile. Swiftly rising from his seat atop a plush sofa, he took a step forward, his arms open as though to accept the stern-faced Accipiter into an embrace.

“Cate!” he exclaimed. “How lovely it is to see you, cousin! I hope I’ve not taken you too much by surprise?”

“A little,” Cateline said, opening her arms for a hug as well. “But only because we’d assumed you and your family would be in Medieville, considering the...situation with the king…” She paused, holding Basil’s shoulders and scrutinizing him at arm’s length. “What in the world happened to you, Basil? It looks like you trekked through a cloud of mosquitoes and not slept a night through it - I’ll have a servant send for Regina and she can fetch something to treat those,” she added, referring to her eldest daughter and the Accipiter family healer. “They must be causing you no small amount of grief!”

“They’re flea bites,” Basil groused. “You won’t believe the time I had in the capital, Catey. Woo-cursed pit of heathens, that’s what it is!” He jutted his chin. “The inn lost our reservation. Then it was filled with vermin. But worry not-- the queen mother provided alternate lodgings after seeing Gracie and Astra’s bites.” Pausing as if for dramatic effect, he proceeded on, “Except I wasn’t invited. No, my family left me behind to suffer at the rat hole! Gracie got to take her husband, but I was explicitly forbidden, like I was-- like I was--” He dropped back down onto the couch, indignant. “Since it was obvious my company was not desired, and I could not stand a moment more in that sinful excuse for a city, I decided I’d best head home. And since we’d spoken in advance about the prospect of us staying with you for a night on our return journey anyhow…”

“Of course you’ll stay here - I would hardly send you out on the road as you are, especially not after enduring such indignities!” She shook her head, sitting on the couch opposite her cousin. “I’m appalled to hear the royal family would treat a House Lord so - and using his family to rub it in his face, no less!”

A servant entered the room, forcing Cateline to halt her tongue for a moment. The man had brought goblets, which he filled with wine, and a platter of cheeses. Cateline passed on the request for Regina, and the man left again.

Turning back to her cousin, Cateline said firmly, “And of course, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, Basil. I’d certainly feel better if you had time for those bites to start healing before you went back to Ecliptus, and after a week in that chaos of a city - “ Cateline hadn’t been to Medieville in...a while, she couldn't remember exactly how long, but she remembered it being loud and chaotic and full of booze and very odd people - “I think you could use some recuperative time in a more proper part of Avani.”

“Woo knows I’d certainly never pass up a chance to spend time with you, dearest cousin,” Basil replied, taking a greedy sip of the wine. “Perchance I could stay until Astra, Gracie, and my son-in-law reach these parts after the coronation? And then the group of us can continue the rest of the journey south together, as was originally planned. I do so hate, after all, leaving my poor wife to make such a long trek without me.” He smiled, adding: “If, of course, it’s not too much of an imposition on you, Cateline. I’d hate to be a bother. With Lord Richard, ah...” He nodded sagely. “Well, you know.”

“Richard won’t be a problem,” Cateline assured him. Not if the man knew what was good for him. “And that sounds like a perfectly reasonable plan - there’s no point in you returning to Ecliptus yet and disrupting the arrangements for your absence, and certainly it’s a long way for your wife and daughter to go without you there. Even if they’re with Grace’s husband - one of Olander’s boys, yes?” she asked, almost as an aside. “And I’d enjoy your company, of course, Basil - it wouldn’t be an imposition at all.” She returned his smile before taking a sip of wine herself.

“Yes, Grace is married to Olander’s youngest son,” Basil agreed. “Dimitri. Astra wanted Malenna to come, as well, but Mal apparently thought better of deigning herself to her family’s company.” The man sighed loudly. “But enough about me. How have you been, Cate? Everything well in Raylier, I hope?” He paused, tentative. “I… ah, believe I caught sight of your son a few times during my stay in the capital. With the traveling zoo of a contingent that came north from Solis.”

Cateline froze for a moment, and finally slowly lowered her goblet. “...Did you?” Her attempted nonchalance was not very convincing even in her own ears. For about half of a second, she’d thought he might have meant Markus, and had wondered what he was doing there - but the mention of Solis clarified it. He meant Leif, not Markus. “I...I don’t suppose you had a chance to speak with - with any of the Jade party? If they were making such a ruckus...”

Basil shook his head. “I did not want to prod that nest of snakes. They were making-- well, forgive me for speaking impudently, but they were not pious representatives of our great province, dear cousin. Strutting about like gibbering fools.” Hurriedly, he thought to add, “Your boy did not seem to be involved in the most ostentatious of it, at least. He seemed rather, ah… jaded with the whole lot.” Basil couldn’t help but smirk at this last bit.

Cateline smiled thinly back. “That’s good news, I suppose. I expect…” She hesitated, then shook her head. “Well, I suppose it...doesn’t matter.” She picked up her goblet again. “But I’m disappointed to hear the Jades are carousing about the capital, I thought Lord Everett would have more control over his House than that. You’ll have to tell me what all they’ve done so I’m not taken by surprise hearing about it at some political event.”

“Oh, Catey, I do hope you’ve prepared yourself for the long haul.” Basil chuckled. “I could fill an entire scroll with their hijinks. Hm, where to even begin?” He leaned back, cracking his knuckles. “Well, it all started at the funeral…”

***

Over the next few days, Cateline and Basil spent a great deal of time bonding with each other by disparaging nearly every person else, while Richard Accipiter largely avoided them both as he tackled an immensely convenient and newly sprung well of “ah, paperwork”. This did not in any way, shape, or form seem to bother Cateline or Basil-- and anyhow, there were more than enough other Accipiter relatives about to compensate for the tragic lack of the patriarch’s presence, most of whom Basil found vastly more palatable in company than the stiff and humorless spouse of his dearest and darlingest cousin.

For instance, lingering at the breakfast table this morning a few days after Basil’s arrival were Henry, his wife Astrid, and their three children - one-year-old Signy sat with her mother while eight-year-old Runna and five-year old Jonas played an intricate but quiet game with their cousins, Regina’s boys Bryon and Rolf, involving stacking and making shapes with their combined sets of wooden blocks. Henry was in the middle of sharing with Basil and his mother the particulars of a new variety of grape being grown in one of the more prestigious of Raylier’s vineyards when a servant came into the room, a sealed letter in hand. Cateline glanced the servant’s way as she took the letter, surprisingly, to Astrid rather than herself or Henry.

“It was marked as urgent,” the servant murmured. Astrid’s polite smile faded somewhat at that information, as she shifted Signy in her arms so she could open the letter. Cateline turned back to the conversation at hand; Astrid would ask for their input or help or simply excuse herself if that was what was needed.

“The trouble they’re having,” Henry was saying, “is that the window for a good harvest is so narrow - and once the grapes start getting overripe, the wine quality goes down so sharply they wound up calling it by a different name to avoid sullying the reputation of - “

“Henry!” Astrid interrupted in a strangled voice. The three adults turned toward her, as did the more observant of the children. Astrid was staring at the letter, shaking in her hand.

Henry got up from his chair and went to her, asking, “What is it? Who’s it from?”

“It’s - it’s from Thomas - he’s in Medieville, for the Coronation, and - “

His eyes darting over the paper as he read it over her shoulder, Henry bit his tongue. “Oh, ‘Woo…”

“What?” Cateline demanded. “What is it?”

After a moment, Henry said delicately, “Lord Melvin was there, too. And...well, there’s...been an accident.” He pulled his chair up next to Astrid’s with his foot and sat down, to put himself at a better height to carefully take Signy in one arm and wrap the other around his wife’s shoulder.

Cateline stared for a moment, almost unable to believe it - Melvin Ophid was dead? Beside his cousin, Basil’s silver brow rose high, his clear blue eyes narrowing. Melvin Ophid-- by Woo, Basil had seen the eccentric blighter but days ago, looking as spry as ever. But why would Astrid care, she should hardly be so invested in mad Ophid lords--

Except, right. In a moment Basil had noted the way Henry’s wife so remarkably resembled the Elacs highlords he’d seen from afar at the funeral and feast, and he remembered with a start that indeed Henry had struck a windfall when he’d married the Ophids’ eldest daughter. Twin to their heir, Thomas, in fact. Cateline, he recalled, had been quite pleased about the whole arrangement, as it wasn’t every day little lords like the Accipiters made off with a high lord’s daughter. Basil would have been jealous at the time, had he not assuaged the sting of it by reminding himself that while Cate’s boy might have netted an Ophid, he, Basil, had himself a royal Ascension for a bride.

“I’m… very sorry for your loss, Lady Astrid,” Basil said, gently. “You and your family will certainly be in my prayers.”

Astrid nodded mutely, her eyes brimming with tears. “I - I can’t even go to the funeral, it’s - they’ve had it already, I missed my father’s funeral…”

By this point, even the children had figured out something was wrong and had abandoned their block game. Runna took a hesitant step toward her parents. “What’s wrong, Mama, why’re you sad?” she asked.

“Runna,” Cateline started, but Henry spoke up before she could finish.

“We’ll talk about it later, honey - right now, would you be a big help and see if one of your aunts is nearby?”

“Mama needs time with the grown-ups?” Runna guessed. Her father nodded, and she sighed a little but headed for the hallway.

“There’ll be a service in Copperhead, I’m sure,” Henry said quietly. “We’ll make sure we’re there.”

“We should absolutely send a party to Copperhead to pay respects,” Cateline agreed. “I’m sorry, Astrid. He was a good man.” Eccentric to a fault when it came to his snakes…

Astrid didn’t seem to be listening. “But Thomas is all alone up there - well, except for Travis, but - what if he needs me, Henry? I should be there, I should’ve - “

“Even if we left right now, we’d barely get there before they have to go back to Elacs - and we can’t leave right this instant, they’d be on the road again by the time we got there if we take the time we need to in order to prepare.”

“Yes, but - but…”

Cateline cleared her throat quietly and got to her feet. “Basil, perhaps you and I should take the children and find somewhere else for them to play.”

“Yes. Of course.” Basil stood, smiling with false cheer down at the remaining children. “Would you like to play outside, little ones?” he asked them. “Perhaps in the back courtyard?” In other words, far, far away from poor Astrid should Henry’s wife’s composure crumble further-- and loudly.

Cateline took Signy from Henry, and, though clearly concerned, the children allowed themselves to be herded out of the room. Outside, the clump of young Accipiters quickly fell back into play, taking turns on a weathered swing that was hung from the branches of a venerable maple tree as Cateline and Basil monitored from a few steps over, Signy still clutched in the lady of House Accipiter’s arms.

“Such a shock about Lord Melvin,” Basil said after a few minutes, frowning but refraining from comment as Henry’s son Jonas nearly pushed one of his cousins off the swing. “I mean, I saw him but days ago… healthy as rain…”

“Jonas, don’t push! It’s Bryon’s turn - what does your father say about sharing?” Cateline turned her attention back to Basil. “I was going to ask if he seemed ill. You don’t suppose one of his snakes bit him? Or...well, you said the Houses were getting competitive; what if someone was worried he might let Travis try his hand at courting the princess?”

Basil snorted. “As far as I can tell, the only thing Lord Travis has any plans on courting is the Woo-cursed boa constrictor he had slung about his neck like a fashion accessory at the funeral and memorial feast both.” He sobered. “Henry did say it was an accident, though, when he read the letter. So yes, it wouldn’t surprise me if it were one of the snakes involved. Nasty creatures, those. Woo, I almost wonder if I didn’t make a mistake not pressing harder for Astra-- and Gracie, for that matter-- to return home with me. That city-- it’s vile. I do not rest easy knowing my wife and child remain there. That I left them there.”

Basil sighed, dour, crossing his arms at his chest and wrinkling his nose as though he were quite literally disgusted by this reality.

Then, after a moment of silent brooding, he added with a bite to his tone: “Not that I probably could have lugged Grace off with me, anyhow. Astra, if I’d put my foot down, of course: she’s my wife. But Grace-- dear Woo, Cateline, you should see-- and hear-- her these days! If she were still under my authority, she’d be having her mouth washed out with soap on an hourly basis. And combine that newfound fiery temperament with a city like Medieville…”

Cateline shook her head. “It’s a shame, she seemed like such a sweet girl when I last saw her. Some children just lose all sense when they leave home.” She knew that from experience - granted, most of her children had stayed in Raylier, but there were still incidents like Markus’ inexplicable thought that his parents might approve of a male spouse for him, and of course, the fiasco with Leif...not that she could blame all of that on the church or even on him…

Shifting her thoughts back to the situation at hand, Cateline said, “Don’t blame yourself, Basil. You had every right to leave the city - were you expected to endure fleas in your lodgings? You’re the ruling lord of a Corvid House; it was ludicrous of them to put you up in such conditions in the first place, let alone abandoning you to the beasts.”

“Even so. I merely pray that things calm down in the capital for the rest of my family’s stay. And for your boy’s sake, too, Catey. Young Leif never did like a clamor, did he?” Basil creased his gray brow. “At least things can’t get any worse there, hm? After a high lord dropped dead, I’d daresay the waters have to be smoother moving forward.”

***

Richard Accipiter was in his office, slowly working out the figures for a piece of the city budget and not bothering to keep his focus from drifting toward the window. The near-daily storms were rolling in early today; he guessed the dark clouds would start dropping rain by early afternoon at the latest. It felt like it was going to be a low-key, sluggish day - the children who were old enough were at their lessons, the littler ones were quiet, at least for the time being, Richard’s sons and daughters were at their own work or with their spouses and children, and Cateline and Lord Basil had found somewhere to entertain themselves that was not near enough for Richard to overhear. If he timed things right, he could probably avoid seeing his wife’s cousin until dinner. At least it wouldn’t be long now before the man’s family came by and picked him up again - the coronation was over, so it was just a matter of travel time…

There was a sharp knock on his door, and then it was flung open. Richard looked up, startled, but expecting to find one of his children or grandchildren in a forgetful moment. The servants never opened doors without waiting for acknowledgment that they could enter.

...At least, ordinarily, they did not. Richard didn’t recognize the thin, slightly sweaty man stepping through his doorway, only that he wore the rougher outfit of one of the outdoor workers, and specifically, that of one of the bird-keepers who worked in the dovecote or the pigeon coops.

There was a small piece of paper and a slender red ribbon clasped in his hand. Richard stood up, striding around the desk and holding out his hand. “How long ago did this arrive?”

“Just now, sir - and the pigeon’s band was purple.”

An urgent message from Medieville? Richard’s throat was suddenly very dry - this wouldn’t just be a message announcing Destiney’s official coronation, or which one of her potential suitors she had chosen; that would not be tied with a red ribbon. Red ribbons were for emergencies, and an emergency around the time of the coronation -

He remembered very suddenly a moment the night of Basil’s arrival, as he and Cateline were settling down for the night. “Basil saw Leif in Medieville,” Cateline had told him. “Evidently Lord Everett brought him along. I’m not sure why, Basil didn’t speak with him.” Richard’s stomach went cold as he unrolled the tiny scroll and his gray eyes flicked over the words.

After a terse few seconds, he whispered a word he would not have wanted anyone to catch him uttering. It was the only thing that seemed an adequate response.

“...L-Lord Accipiter?” the pigeon-keeper stammered.

Richard shut his eyes for a brief second. Hold your temper. You are the Lord of the House before you’re a father. “ He drew his wand, and with a few flicks of his wrist, sent a message to the general of the fireknights, then ordered the pigeon-keeper, “Go back to the coop; pigeons arriving from Medieville, the fireknights, or marked as emergency messages are your highest - no, your only - priority.”

The man hastily nodded, bowed, and rushed out of the room. Richard stayed behind only a moment, gathering his composure again. He felt as if he’d been struck by lightning - and unlike a phoenix, he could not convert that to flames. That didn’t matter - there was not time for how he felt right now.

He left his office, and went a few doors down to the head of the servants’ base of operations. To Richard’s faint relief, the man was there; none of that emotion made it into his voice as he handed the scroll to him. “There’s been an attack in the capital and I need you to ready some things, immediately. I’ve called the general of our fireknights to the war-room; it needs to be ready to host the general and any Lieutenants he choses to bring. Someone needs to be ready to take messages from the pigeon coop and bring them to me at once. I also need someone sent to inform Henry and Stefan and have them sent to the war-room as well.” He paused to take a breath. “And I need someone to tell me where my wife - and Lord Basil - are.”

An Unexpected Visit: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

Cateline and Basil were comfortably settled in a room on the first floor, talking as rainclouds bore down on the city. It had been a pleasantly quiet day so far, though Cateline thought there was suddenly an increase in the number of servants passing outside the room, and taking much less care than usual not to be disruptive. She was inclined to dismiss it as a minor situation - until Richard came into the room and she saw the expression on his face.

Cateline and Richard didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but they were a team. She had seen this look before, had worked alongside him to solve the situations causing it - open discomfort flickered across the woman’s features for a moment before she forced it to neutrality. “What’s wrong?”

Richard handed her a small, rolled-up message - it had to be from one of the messenger birds - but at the same time, he explained, “Destiney’s coronation yesterday - there was an attack. Courdonian soldiers on gryphon-back - they must have snuck around us through Elacs. The lords and their delegations were there, of course, they had to be.” Even though the letter said so - granted, with infuriatingly little detail - Richard added for Cateline’s benefit, “Leif - Leif was there; Everett says he was injured, but he’s alive.” Richard swallowed and visibly forced his emotions back under control before turning to Basil. “It doesn’t say anything about the royal family or their relatives - he wouldn’t know you’re staying here. I’m sorry.”

“An… attack?” Basil was on his feet in an instant, the lord rapidly shaking his head back and forth as if he could not entirely comprehend Richard’s stammered words. “By soldiers? But-- that-- that would mean war, I…” His jaw fell open, and he turned sharply toward the door. “My wife and daughter, they’re… they’re there-- they-- oh, sweet Woo, I left them there, I--”

“It’s not war,” Richard said quickly. “Malik is dead.”

“But how much damage did he do first?” Cateline snarled, tossing the letter onto the table. Her expression and voice quickly lost their anger, however. “How did Leif get hurt, he’s an - he’s a mage - what would’ve gotten through his shields? Or - ‘Woo, he’s the most powerful mage Everett has, what if - Everett wouldn’t send him to the frontlines, he’s not a warmage!”

“Everett says he’s alive,” Richard tried to reassure her. “He’ll be fine.” But Everett hadn’t specified how injured, and Cateline was right - Leif’s magical strength would protect him from smaller threats, but if something was powerful enough to get through his spellwork...Leif did not have combat experience. Richard’s stomach clenched yet-again.

“You have to send a message,” Cateline insisted. “Send a phoenix to Medieville, find out what happened to Leif, and to Basil’s family!”

“I can’t, we need the phoenixes here; what if Courdon pulls west on their way through Elacs? Nid’aigle is practically right on the border, not to mention dozens of villages - we can’t leave them undefended.”

The anger was back in Cateline’s voice, sudden as the strike of a whip. “One phoenix! We can spare that!”

“Not at the Elacs border!” Richard snapped back - as if he didn’t want to send a phoenix to Medieville immediately, as if that hadn’t been one of his first thoughts?

“Forget the bloody phoenixes,” Basil snapped. “I’m going. At once.” He spun on a servant, barking at the man: “Assemble my retinue. The servants can wait here, I want to travel as lightly and quickly as possible but-- my knights. Tell my knights we’re leaving for the capital. Now.”

The servant glanced at Richard, who nodded sharply, and with a quick, “Yes, Lord Cressida,” the servant darted into the hallway.

“We should go, too,” Cateline declared. “Or - I should, at least - “

“We can’t.”

“Why not?” Cateline whirled on him, her hands clenched into fists. “Why not, Richard? What if injured means a gryphon’s sliced him apart, or someone jammed a spear into him, or one of those ‘Pit-cursed mages used a curse on him, or - “

“Cateline! Enough!” Richard tried not to choke on the words, or betray that his gut was seizing at the mental images. “Everett said injured - not dying. Not even critically or badly hurt - and they have other mages, and healers, they’ll take care of him.” It was almost as much a reassurance to himself as to Cateline.

“I don’t care - I need to know that he’s not dying, and if we can't trust Everett to tell us - “ she gestured sharply at the letter, “then - “

“He had to tie that to a dove’s leg - and then send at least eight more to the other Houses, and some of them might have actually lost members!”

Cateline ignored this completely. “Then I need to go see for myself!”

“I need you here, Cateline - I can’t manage all of this on my own, if Courdon is going to make itself a potential threat.”

“You can use Henry - “

“Henry doesn’t have your experience.”

“Then Henry can…” She scowled. “...No. No, him going would make things worse.”

Richard raised an eyebrow, confused, but he was not exactly going to press for her to send his heir off to Medieville. He would need Henry’s help, too - Henry might not be as experienced as Cateline, but he was trained in ways his siblings were not. “He’ll be fine. Everett is hardly going to let him die. And our being around...it’s never helped.”

Cateline glared at him. “I wouldn’t - “


“I’m not saying you would push him intentionally. But don’t you think seeing one of us again, after our last...encounter, would stress him? That’s bad for healing.”

Cateline crossed her arms and scowled - but after a moment, she glanced away. Her fingers dug into the soft cloth of her sleeves. “Basil...”

“It’s going to be okay, Cateline,” her cousin replied, without so much as a scrap of conviction to his tone. “I’ll-- I’ll ride through the night, I can be in the capital in… a day, maybe a day and a half, and--” He clenched his jaw. “Do you want me to check on Leif? I… I can send word back here just as soon as I know. How he is. Any further information about his injuries.”

“Yes,” Cateline said immediately, only afterward glancing at Richard to gauge his opinion. The lord of House Accipiter nodded, looking a little more hesitant - but only a little. Biting her lip, Catline added, “But...maybe you shouldn’t tell him we sent you. The last time we spoke...maybe it’s best we don’t try to fix anything right now.”

“Especially if we can’t go see him yet,” Richard said. “When he returns to Solis with the Jades - we can go visit him personally then.”

“I’ll be discreet,” Basil promised. From his own personal experiences he well remembered that Leif was an… eccentric individual, to say the least, and Cateline’s letters certainly did nothing to dispel such a notion. “He won’t know you’ve sent me, Cate. I’ll make sure.”

Cateline nodded. “Good, it’s probably...for the best. ...Thank you. And I’ll pray that you find your family safe and sound, too, Basil.” She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but instead of speaking she abruptly marched around the table and seized him in a hug. “Please be careful - I don’t want you hurt, too, if the Courdonians are planning anything more.”

Startled slightly, Basil tensed for only a moment before he returned the hug. “I’ll be cautious, Catey,” he assured her. “I promise.” Easing away from her, he flicked his gaze to Richard. “Take care of her, Lord Accipiter,” he said, and then with a final shallow smile toward Cateline, the Cressida lord turned and started out the door.

When the door shut, Cateline slumped back down onto the couch, her forehead falling into her hands. Richard hesitantly took a step forward. “Cateline, I would send - “

“I don’t want to hear it - you could send phoenixes, but you won’t!”

“Only because I can’t. We’re doing what we have to - if Courdon wasn’t involved, if it didn’t mean we were needed here - “

Cateline spoke through gritted teeth. “I understand. I don’t need your lecturing.”

Richard bristled, but forced himself to take a deep breath. He glanced toward the door - there were other things to take care of, he couldn’t be long - but he moved instead toward the couch and sat next to Cateline. He doubted she wanted any sort of comforting gesture from him right now, so he made no move to touch her. “Leif will be fine.”

Cateline was silent for so long that Richard almost got up to leave - but then she said in a voice barely more than a whisper, “Are we just doing the same thing again, Richard?”

“...What same thing?”

She finally looked up at him; there were clearly tears at the corner of Cateline’s eyes but she refused to let them fall. “We knew something was wrong when he was a child - and we did nothing. That same thing.”

Richard shook his head. “No - no, that wasn’t - we didn’t know anything was wrong. We knew he had strange habits -”

“And his episodes.” Cateline’s words were an accusation.

Richard struggled to keep his voice even. “We talked about this - we didn’t know. How could we have known?” He wanted to take back the words immediately, even more so when Cateline looked away. She had made the financial argument against having Leif tested for archmagery, the one thing that would have told them for certain. But the final decision had still been Richard’s; it was at least as much his fault - arguably more.

“...Well - we know what the problem is this time. More or less. It’s a battle wound. Everett would have said if he was...if it didn’t look like he was going to recover. And we know he’s being taken care of.” After a glance toward the door, Richard added quietly, “Leif is his archmage; that alone guarantees Everett will put all his resources into saving him, if he has to.”

Catline gave a bark of a laugh, a humorless thing that echoed oddly in the empty room. “So it is the same thing - Everett has to step in and do what we ought to be doing, while we sit in Raylier doing our duty.”

“That’s the price we pay for being nobility - for all of this.” He waved his arm to indicate the huge room, the tall glass windows, the fancy furnishings, the expensive, quarter-drunk bottle of wine on the table, and all the possessions and opportunities and privileges that existed outside the door as well. It was all attached, like a ship to an anchor, to their responsibility to their section of Corvus. Cateline knew that; Richard knew Cateline knew that.

So he was surprised when her head twisted back in his direction, her blue eyes sharp and heated. “Do you even care? This isn’t a ward we fostered and then handed over to Everett, this is our son!”

Richard stiffened and his fingers curled into fists. Something about her tone, or maybe it was just the last push - his already-tenuous hold on his emotions slipped. “Of course I care! You don’t think imagining it makes me sick? You think I didn’t want to send a phoenix the instant I hit the bottom of that letter?” His voice shook, though he couldn’t be sure if it was anger or fear or something else that caused it. “But what I want - what we want - doesn’t matter; we’re responsible for an entire region of people, and I can’t logically justify sending my best resources to Medieville when it means leaving them all vulnerable! Leif’s being taken care of - anyone who’s taken or killed by any Courdonians wandering across the border is not. What good would our going there do, anyway? He didn’t ask for us, Everett didn’t say that he did, and the last time we tried talking to Leif, he stormed out on us!”

A frosty silence fell between them as Richard waited for a reply and Cateline glared at the note on the table. It was rare the two disagreed on anything so violently - Richard wasn’t entirely sure how to work his way out of this. It didn’t help that his mind was darting to a thousand other worries and a thousand other places - whom he needed to meet with, how many states could be described as “injured but alive”, what orders he needed to give, why the Courdonians had attacked, where they might be along the Elacs border now...it was too much for one person to handle in anything like a timely fashion.

“Cateline. I need you here.” He half-expected it to be shrugged off, but he placed a hand on his wife’s arm. “We honor the past - we don’t live in it. We can’t let old mistakes and regrets stop us from doing what’s right now. Even if it’s painful.”

The rain finally fell upon on them, starting with a few fat drops that smacked against the window, but within seconds turning to the steady patter of a light drizzle. Cateline turned her head to look at the storm. It wasn’t dark enough yet for the reflection of her face to be clear enough for Richard to read. They were just two skin-toned shapes in the glass.

“You’ll be taking Henry and Stefan to the war-room,” Cateline said after a few moments’ silence, still looking out the window. Her voice was stiff but level. “Their siblings and spouses will need to be informed, and someone needs to supervise the children. You’ve told the head of the servants already?”

“Yes, he knows.”

“Then I’ll coordinate with him.” Cateline stood up, and Richard hurried to do the same, and to keep up as she strode toward the door. Just at the threshold, however, the lady of Accipiter paused, her hand on the knob and her shoulders tense.

“Richard.”

“Yes?”

“When this crisis is over, we are finishing this conversation properly.”

Richard frowned, not sure what else there was to discuss - but now was hardly the time to start another argument. He had Cateline’s cooperation; right now, that was what he needed most. “Very well. We’ll finish it later.”

***

Basil Cressida had not ever ridden a horse so hard or so fast in his life. By the time he arrived back to Medieville over a day after departing Raylier, he was saddlesore, wind burnt, and several shades beyond exhausted. Dried mud caked his dove gray breeches, and a headache thrummed beneath his temple like a metronome. He’d been an anxious mess upon leaving Accipiter Manor, and his hurried travel had done little to ease the veil of dread: rumors along the road had been plentiful, convoluted, and bleak, painting a bloody tale of ruin and wreckage, death and despair.

By Woo, why had he left them? Why hadn’t he fought harder for Astra-- and Grace, and her husband, for that matter!-- to come along with him back to Ecliptus? Then they’d all have been gone long before the Courdonians arrived. And they would be okay. And Basil wouldn’t have wicked images searing like monsters through his head: of his wife and child bloodied; of his wife and child screaming; of his wife and child dead, as he’d been down in Raylier sipping wine like a gluttonous fool.

In many ways, the capital of Kyth was no different than it had been when Basil had left it around a week ago. It was still humid; the air still smelled sour, almost fetid; the waves of Lake Plume still broke gently against the shore. But in many others way, it were as if everything had shifted, almost intangibly. The mood on the streets was quiet, even somber. Foot traffic was light, and horse traffic like his even lighter. Looming above the city on its sheer and towering cliff, the Raven’s Keep looked sullen in and of itself, stark gray against the silver sky.

Basil had thought he might have a fight on his hands to gain entry to the palace, given all that had happened on its expansive grounds but days ago, but he received surprisingly little resistance. While his retinue was made to wait outside, the lord himself was escorted up the winding steps by a grim-faced knight, who at the landing turned him over to an even grimmer colleague.

“Lord Cressida, you said?” that man intoned, surveying Basil with a narrowed eye.

“Yes.” Basil swallowed hard. “I was in Raylier when I heard news of… what happened here. My wife, daughter, and son-in-law were in attendance. I’m just trying to get word of them.”

“Of course. Their names?”

Basil gave them, and the knight bade him to wait in place before disappearing into the maw of the Keep. The wait that followed might have only been five or ten minutes, but to Basil, it felt like a smothering lifetime-- and the lord of Ecliptus nearly cried out in relief when, upon his return, the knight spared him a delicate smile.

“All alive and accounted for, my lord,” the man said. “In fact, they’re in residence here, by the orders of the queen mother. I can take you to their chamber now.”

***

Basil’s heart beat in his ears as he was led up and through a series of twisting staircases and corridors. It had been days now since the brutal battle, but signs of it still lingered in the halls of the Keep like scars. A broken table here. A dark stain on the floor there. A painting hanging askew. A shattered mirror with a blood-flecked frame. Woo, how had anyone survived this?

When the knight finally drew to a halt outside a plain wooden door and rapped a hand against it, Basil forced a deep breath, holding it until a familiar woman’s voice called out from within the chamber to grant entry. Grace.

“I’ll leave you in privacy, my lord?” the knight asked softly.

“Yes,” Basil managed. “That’d be best.”

The door opened into a well-appointed suite, with a short foyer that quickly turned over to a wide and airy sitting room. Basil’s son-in-law, Dimitri Escalus, was sitting on a couch close to a window, his right arm in a sling and his hair parted to reveal several deep looking lacerations on his scalp that had been coated in some sort of ointment. He had a bleary expression on his face as if he’d just woken up, and the angle of his head suggesting he’d been dozing against the shoulder of the young woman beside him before Basil walked in. The woman, for her part, was not visibly injured, merely straightening on the sofa as her blue eyes-- nearly identical in shade to Basil’s-- met the Cressida’s.

“Father?” She cocked her head. “What-- what are you doing here?”

“Gracie.” Basil took a step forward, unable to wholly fight back a smile as he surveyed his daughter. Aside from the blue-black bags beneath her eyes that quite suggested she’d not slept in days, Basil’s youngest child did not look any worse than the last time he’d seen her. “Thank Woo you’re alive; I’ve been worried sick. And your mother--?”


“She’s around the Keep somewhere,” Grace said. “With Grandmother.” Quickly, the young woman added, “She’s fine. Completely fine.”

Dimitri lifted his uninjured arm, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. His voice heavy with exhaustion and thick in a way that suggested he was drugged in some way he muttered, “Guess you heard, huh? About the Courdonians?”

Basil nodded shortly, raising his silver brow as he drank in his son-in-law’s various injuries. “Are you-- are you alright, Dimitri? What… happened?” Oh Woo, why did I leave them?

The young man sighed softly. “This-” he gestured to his scalp, “was a gryphon. This-” He swept his hand to take in the broken arm, “was the rider. He had a mace, and was going to use it on Gracie and Astra. Like a moron I threw myself at him unarmed.”

The air left Basil’s lungs as if snatched by greedy hands, and at her husband’s side, Grace winced. “It’s… not as bad as it sounds,” she said. “Or-- maybe it is. But… he’s going to be okay. T-that’s what matters. He’s okay.”

“Right,” Basil forced out. “He’s okay.” Even if Dimitri hardly looked okay, not in any facet of the word. “And… you, Gracie? Are… are you okay?”

It took her a moment to answer, the woman’s voice wavering as she said, “There were a few close calls. And I think it’s only by the grace of Woo and a whole lot of luck that any of us-- Dems, Mother, me-- made it out alive. But… I’m not hurt.”

“That’s not the same thing as okay.” Closing the distance between him and his daughter and son-in-law, Basil hesitantly lowered himself on the couch beside Grace. “You’re shaking, honey,” he said after a moment.

“I’m not.” But Grace was. Dimitri glanced at his wife and reached his good hand to her to brush back her hair, his expression grim.

“It was…” He hesitated, looking a bit sick. “We watched so many people just… cut down. Most of them were civilians, unarmed, just trying to get away. None of us have… had an easy time sleeping.”

“I can imagine not,” Basil said softly, his motions tentative as he reached out to set a hand on Grace’s trembling knee. “I’m just so glad that you’re alive,” the lord murmured, a lump knotting in his throat; Basil tried to swallow it away, but it lingered, persistent. “The further north I rode, the more terrified I became. The letter the Accipiters received in Raylier only had the barest basic details, and-- I thought it couldn’t get any worse than what was written there, but…”

“Destiney’s dead,” Grace said miserably.

“I know, honey.” Basil sighed. “I know.” He looked to Dimitri. “You’re… receiving adequate care for those injuries, I do hope? Enough potions to keep you out of the worst of the pain?”

“Yeah, Queen Maia and Princess Sunney saw to that,” the Escalus lord replied. “The castle ran out of magical potions yesterday and had to switch to herbal stuff, which has… made my head a bit fuzzy. So sorry if I’m not great at the diplomacy-ing thing.” He nuzzled his wife’s head. “Grace doesn’t like it. The fuzziness.”

“Don’t apologize, Dems,” Grace whispered. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Although Basil was seldom one to turn down an apology, for once he had to agree that none was warranted. “I think I owe you my gratitude, not my scorn,” the older man said. “For protecting my daughter. And my wife. I… I can never repay you for that, Dimitri. For being there for them, when I… wasn’t.”

The younger man looked surprised at that. “Well that’s what families do, right? They protect each other. I… don’t always get along with mine, admittedly, but I wouldn’t want Father dead or anything just because of the whole magic-thing. And Grace…” He gave the young woman a one-armed hug with his good arm. “She’s been better to me than I deserve.”

Basil couldn’t help but chuckle beneath his breath as Dimitri’s forwardness, no doubt brought about by the copious amounts of herbal painkillers he had coursing through his veins. But a far more solemn look swiftly settled back over the Cressida’s expression as he said, “Are you just staying here until the pain’s reduced a tad more? Before heading back to Corvus?”

Grace shook her head. “Grandmother’s being a bit… overprotective. She wants Dimitri in the care of the Keep healers until he’s all better. They said it might be a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Basil gawped. “But--”

“If you want to fight Grandmother about it, then by all means do,” Grace cut in quickly. “But it’s not my choice, Father. Nor Dimitri’s. Nor yours.”

“She’s not even listening to Astra’s arguments right now,” Dimitri put in with a thin, somewhat strained smile, as if he didn’t quite remember how to make the expression. “Astra didn’t want to be up here. Doesn’t want to linger so long. Got overruled. Wouldn’t be surprised if we have a contingent of Keep knights with us whenever we do leave.”

“How… lovely. I’ll have to speak with her about that once I see her.” Basil gritted his teeth, before something seemed to occur to him. “... The Jades. Have you-- did you see them, after… everything? Once the dust settled?”

Dimitri actually gave a somewhat bemused snort. “Lord Joffery was singing at Princess Hope in the halls just yesterday.”

“I see.” So at least the daft heir of Corvus had made it; Rindfell, he’d heard, had not been so fortunate. “What about ah, Leif Jade? Nee Accipiter. He’s-- blonde, a mage… and he was injured in some capacity, at least according to Lord Everett’s note. I promised Leif’s mother that I’d check on him. Just as soon as I could. She’s… worried, to say the least.”

“That’s Cateline’s son?” Grace asked.

Basil nodded. “It is. So did you-- see him, or…?”

Dimitri gave a one-sided shrug. “I’ve never met him, so I wouldn’t know him if I did see him. Sorry.”

“We were inside for the majority of it,” Grace added. “And there weren’t any Jades in our safe room. And in the infirmary afterward-- it was chaos. Even if I saw him, I doubt I’d know.”

Basil sighed. “I’ll have to track him down, then. Figure out where he’s at, so that poor Cateline can stop fretting. She was… beside herself when I left, really. Would have come with me had Lord Richard let her, I think.” He pressed a hand against his temple. “I still can’t believe any of this. It’s… mad, all of it. Like a nightmare.”

Dimitri clenched his eyes shut. “Was worse being there. Watching one of the soldiers saunter up to us and casually critique my Courdonian as he was getting ready to kill us. They’re just… just people like us, right? Aunt Lorraine and Aunt Lacy always said so, when they talked about my grandmother, but…” he was shaking a little now. “All those people…”

As Grace nestled tighter against her husband, Basil’s stomach prickled. Suddenly the lord felt as if he were intruding on something: these shared memories he’d only avoided by sheer happenstance, this trauma his poor child and her husband had experienced while he’d been blithely oblivious in the south. For what had to be the umpteenth time over the past thirty-six hours, Basil Cressida felt a spike of self-loathing, the sentiment burning in his veins like acid.

“I… I’m very sorry,” he murmured, squeezing Grace’s knee. “Nobody should have to suffer sights like those. Trauma like that.” He quailed. “I-- I’ve had a long journey here. And… you two seem as if you might… like some time alone, and…” Abruptly, the lord of House Cressida stood. “Let me go get clearance to let my knights in here, so they’re not standing in the sun at the base of the Keep. And then I ought to find your mother, Gracie,” he said. “So that I can figure out what’s happening in regards to the journey home. I’ll… leave you two in peace.”

“Alright,” Grace whispered, her cheek against Dimitri’s chest. “We’ll see you soon?”

“Of course.” Basil glanced to Dimitri. “I’ll see if I can’t track a healer down, too. Ask their opinion on when it’d be safe for you to travel. That way I at least have a scrap of an argument if I dare broach the topic with the queen mother.”

“Good luck,” Dimitri said softly, wrapping his uninjured arm around Grace. “I would rather like to get home as soon as I may… if you have time, could you write to my father for me?” He shook his head as if to try and shake off the bleariness of the drugs. “So much has been going on, I keep forgetting…”

“Certainly.” Dear Woo, poor Olander; in the calamity of the past day and a half, Basil hadn’t even thought of the reigning Escalus lord. “I’ll let him know all that’s happened. And-- Woo willing with the queen mother-- perhaps I’ll even be able to hazard a guess as to when he can expect you and Gracie back.”

***

When it came to the matter of releasing Dimitri before he was all healed up, the queen mother was rather intractable; she insisted he would be staying put until he felt even better than he’d been when he arrived to the capital, and if Basil took issue with it, he could lodge a complaint with the Woo, but she, Maia, would be hearing no further complaints.

… Basil decided to whine Astra’s ear off instead.

Once he finished with this delightful activity, the lord took a quiet dinner in the guest flat with his wife, daughter, and son-in-law. He was still clearly relieved that his family had survived the coronation, but the ardour of his manic journey north was just as clearly catching up to him: Basil was tired, and grouchy, and the moment he crawled into bed following supper, he was out like a spent flame. It wasn’t until the next morning, after a breakfast of fresh fruit, spiced sausage, and juice (the Cressida at least had to concede that, for all its faults, the Keep did have good food), that his promise to Cateline occurred to him once again. Her son. He had to check up on her son.

Because he was a Jade-- by adoption if not blood-- Basil supposed he was probably staying at Marson Manor, a place that the lord had avoided like lava during his initial stay in Medieville over the funeral and coronation. You owe me one, Catey, he thought to himself as he plodded up the front path, a pair of knights trailing dutifully behind him. He’d wanted to bring Astra with, but his wife was busy with Maia, and so then he’d tried for Grace, but his daughter had refused. “I don’t even know him, Father,” she’d insisted. “And I need to be here with Dems.”

And that had been that, and now Basil was alone.

Lovely. The lord straightened his tunic as he knocked firmly on the front door, a warm breeze rustling at his back. He hoped Cateline’s son was home-- and that some of the other Jades weren’t, or even better, had already scampered back to Corvus. He hardly wanted to spend time prostrating to the likes of, say… Lord Everett, especially not after the highlord’s crass, embarrassing shenanigans in the weeks previous (his son and heir had gotten into a musical battle with a Stallion!).

It was nearly a minute before a servant finally swept open the door, and Basil smiled with a healthy heaping of false cheer as the man dipped into a bow. “Good morning,” the lord greeted. “My name is Lord Basil Cressida, of Ecliptus, Corvus. Is Lord Leif in residence?”

“He is, Lord Cressida,” the servant replied. “I can escort you to the drawing room and fetch him for you, if that suits your needs?” Basil agreed that this would be acceptable, and the servant led him to a small but comfortable room with several soft chairs and a sofa.

“I’ll be back with Master Leif...momentarily,” the servant said at the doorway. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gave a polite smile, another bow and backed out of the room.

Basil nodded, taking a seat in a wingback armchair near the rear corner of the room, facing away from a pair of curtained windows. Bits of sunlight sneaked through, illuminating scattered snatches of the room at large, which after a few moments’ assessment Basil decided was decorated quite… cheaply. Apparently being a high-lord could not buy one taste (Basil would know: his taste was excellent, after all).

Despite the fears of his family, Leif Jade was alive and...heading toward well. He wouldn’t say he was quite there yet; he still wanted to sleep more often than not, the wounds on his arm were probably going to scar, and traces of the pull clawed at his fingers every time he cast a spell. He was not casting very many of those lately.

But he was at least starting to feel like himself again. Or...whatever new self he’d started to become since getting to know people in Medieville. Which was strange and somewhat distracting in its own way, all these people he was suddenly associating with - there were Xavier and the Brahams to check on, Miss Ryer’s mysterious magic to prepare to research, he had - well, he supposed, a boyfriend… It was a lot to take in. And that on top of the moments of flashing back, remembering how close he - and Sieg, and Joffery - had almost died, and the injured people in triage, the kinds of wounds he hadn’t seen since his Our Woo of Charity days and even then, never so many at once…

So, with all that to work through...perhaps it was no wonder he was still feeling mentally frazzled, even if it had been close to a week since the fight.

He was half-working on filling out a sheet of parchment with some information Lord Everett wanted, and half-letting his mind wander as he looked out the window and worked his way through a small loaf of bread and some cheese when a knock at his door made him jump.

“Ah - come in?”

He was still learning the names and faces of all the people who worked here, and though Leif couldn’t have guessed the man’s name if his life depended on it, he did recognize him as one of the servants who regularly interacted with the Marsons and their noble guests. With a small bow, the man said, “Master Leif - you have a visitor; Lord Basil Cressida.”

Leif set down his quill, frowning. “Cressida...as in, House Cressida?”

“I presume so; he said he was from Ecliptus.”

Leif didn’t know what in the world a Cressida would want with him, but he supposed this was not a summons he could ignore. With a sigh, he got up from his chair, rubbing at the bandages on his arm. Blighted gryphons… Hopefully Lord Cressida would make this quick.

The servant led Leif to the drawing room, where he’d not been since meeting with Ilsa...maybe a week ago? He wasn’t sure. There was indeed a man waiting for him, dressed in the colors of House Cressida. ...Leif suddenly remembered that Cressida was not precisely the easiest Corvid House to get along with. And that was saying something, considering the Accipiters.

All the same, he was going to have to try to be diplomatic. “Lord - uh, Lord Basil, hello. You needed to see me for something?”

Basil smiled warmly, inclining his head as he gestured to the chair opposite his. “Lord Leif,” he greeted. The boy looked… alive, relatively. “It’s good to see you up and about. Please, sit.”

...Good to see him up and about? Leif wondered if the Cressida had been at the triage - that might explain the phrasing that suggested he’d known Leif was injured enough not to be up and about for a while there. He took the seat Basil had indicated - certainly he wasn’t going to refuse sitting down. He wondered if asking again what the man wanted was rude. Probably it was. “So...you and...everyone with you, they’re all right, after…” He gestured in the general direction of the Keep, not sure he wanted to call the bloodbath something so grand and elegant as a Coronation.

Well, it was good to see the years had done little to improve Leif’s small talk skills; Cateline certainly hadn’t been exaggerating in her letters. “I was… not present, at the time,” Basil replied neutrally. “My wife and daughter came out of it unharmed. My son-in-law… less so, but he’s recovering at the Keep.” As if he simply couldn’t miss a chance to brag of his royal connection (even if the human component of said connection rather disliked the Cressida lord, to say the least), Basil added, “My wife, Astra, grew up as an adopted daughter of Queen Maia and King Falcon. The queen regent has invited us to stay until my son-in-law, Dimitri Escalus, is healed.”

… Invited was a nicer way of putting things than ‘ordered’, and Basil did not dare let Leif see the sudden look of distaste that briefly flashed in his eyes before the Cressida valiantly fought it back. He forced his smile wider, his voice more jovial, as he went on, “I just, ah-- heard of your… ills. And I wanted to check on you. I’m family of yours, after all. Your mother and I shared grandparents, as you surely know.”

Leif stiffened at that. “I - oh. Right, of - of course.” The casual tone he was attempting was not at all a match for what his head was doing - racing through his memory of his family history. So - this was...his mother’s cousin. Had he met much of his mother’s family? Leif hadn’t exactly been the most social child, but…

I guess...I guess he looks a little familiar? It was hard to be sure; Leif would definitely have met his mother’s family only before his blocks had broken, and at that point, he hadn’t done much looking at faces to be able to tell familiar ones from unfamiliar if he didn’t have lot of exposure. ’Woo I hope he’s not going to bring up something I don’t remember… Attempting to bring something more to the conversation than stilted and insincere agreement, Leif added, “I’m glad your family made it through. I, ah...I appreciate you checking in on me.” I don’t understand why, but it’s a nice gesture. “I’m all right. Just recovering from some pull.” He wasn’t sure how much was safe to say on that topic; he’d heard a few whispers about dragons and summoning circles that made him worry he might not be making a secret of his archmagery for much longer - but that was hardly an excuse to blather about it immediately. He shifted in the chair a little, and his arm stung; as he rubbed at the sleeve over the bandages again, he added in a grumble, “And a gryphon got a little angry with me.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” Basil returned. “But, ah-- you shall recover, hopefully? Without any long-lasting ramifications? Have the healers given you a timeline yet?” He had to check such things. For Cateline’s sake. … But he didn’t want the boy to grow wise about what he was doing, and so he added hurriedly, “Sorry, I… used to dabble in the healing arts?”

This was a lie. This was definitely a lie.

But Basil patted the wand at his hip and smiled as though it weren’t. “Though I suppose probably not as good at any ilk of magic as you are, Lord Leif!” As if it only then occurred to him that Cateline had shared the news about her son’s archmagery, via letter some time ago, with the strict caveat of do not tell anyone, Bas, this is supposed to be confidential, Basil assured, “Don’t worry, cousin-- lips are all sealed here, hm?”

This was about the third time this conversation that Leif’s muscles pulled tight and pulled the blighted gryphon slashes again. “I - uhm…” Had - had that been a point about his archmagery? Leif was not always good at picking up small hints and points like that, but what other secrets could Leif be keeping? ...Well, maybe a few, but probably none of them were ones that would leave Basil sounding so cheery. “...Yes,” he decided at last. “Lips are sealed. Lord Everett thinks that’s best kept secret.”

Trying to move on from that particular point - how did he know, though? His mother hadn’t...but Lord Everett had said to keep it secret, and his parents did respect Lord Everett, if nothing else - Leif shifted a little again and said, “Ah - as for the recovery and timeline - I’ll be fine. The pull’s nearly gone, I’m sure it’ll only be a day or two before it stops coming on as soon as I start a spell. The slashes are probably not going to be seen to in time for a full healing, but they’re being bandaged and kept clean. They say I’ll have some light scarring, but nothing worse. I’d finish the healing myself, but I think a full Vulnera Sanwootur isn’t going to do my pull any favors, and if anything happens with any of the people who are still recovering, I’d like to have magic available for them.” Leif supposed that if Basil knew he was an archmage, he didn’t have to invent a reason why he might be called in place of older, more-experienced mages. “In a few days there should be enough healers fully-recovered and the wounds should be light enough that I can heal them with some lighter spells.”

Basil nodded politely along. “I’m glad to hear you’ll heal up well in the scheme of things,” the older lord said. “That must be a great relief to you.” And to your mother, Basil thought but did not say. “Well…” Smiling again, the Cressida stood. “I won’t be keeping you any longer, Leif. I hardly want to disturb your healing, after all.”

“Er...all right.” Leif officially had no idea what was going on. “Thank you for checking in…” It was almost a question. He got to his feet as well, though the servant had appeared as if magically summoned at the doorway to guide Basil back to the door. “I hope your...your son-in-law, yes? I hope he heals well, too.”

“No thanks needed; as I said, I’m family.” Basil bowed briefly. “And I appreciate your well-wishes, Lord Leif. There’s no such thing as too many prayers, after all. Have a good day, cousin, and may your recovery be as swift and painless as possible.”

And then, with a final tip of his head, Basil strode toward the door, following after the servant as the man led him back toward the foyer. The lord of House Cressida would make quick haste back to the Keep: he had a letter to write, after all.

[PFA]

Guess which dorks finally decided to cooperate for a fic? It's House Curys! (Thanks Gelquie for beta reading and Liou for helping with dialogue in one part)

A Tapestry Torn - Part 1

SPOILER: Click to show

The carriage lumbered down the Ash Road, on its way to the Corvid capital of Solis. Seated in that carriage was Cedric Curys, a young man of seventeen years, with blond hair and deep blue eyes. Many thoughts were running through his mind—today, he was only here to accompany his older brother for a simple diplomatic visit, but in a few months, he would be coming back to become a permanent resident of House Jade. He was to be adopted into Corvus' ruling noble house to work as a spellweaver—a special kind of mage dedicated to studying new magic—and married to Lord Jade's daughter to seal the deal.

It was a huge honor, one that he still couldn't quite wrap his head around. He was a pretty good mage, but was he really good enough to be something as prestigious as a spellweaver, let alone for House Jade? And what about his bride-to-be, Lady Dorothea? Today was going to be his first time meeting her, and he had no idea what to expect. What was she like? Would they even get along?

"It's okay if you're nervous," came the voice of his older brother, Chadwick, who was seated beside him. Smiling reassuringly at Cedric, he added, "I was nervous, too, when I first met Mona. But I'm sure it will be fine."

"I hope so," Cedric replied with a nervous smile. "This whole thing is... well, I feel a little inadequate."

"They wouldn't have asked for you if they didn't think you could handle it," Chadwick assured him, reaching over and ruffling his brother's hair. "It'll be great. Don't worry about it, alright?"

Cedric chuckled, absentmindedly smoothing down his hair. "You're probably right. Thanks, Chad."

Chadwick smiled back at him. "You're welcome."

Before they could discuss the matter for much longer, they passed through the gates of Solis, and Cedric found himself instead focusing on the scenery around them. Seeing the beautiful mosaics, the lush gardens, and the detailed architecture, there was no doubt that the capital was the most artistically pleasing city in all of Corvus. It was still hard to believe that he was going to be living here.

Finally, they pulled to a halt in front of Jade Manor. As the Curys nobles climbed out, they could see a dark-haired man waiting there for them, dressed in fine robes in the signature green and gold of House Jade. Based on his presence alone, there was no doubt that this was none other than Lord Eduard Jade, the current ruling Lord of Corvus.

"Welcome to Solis, Lord Chadwick," Lord Eduard said in greeting. "I trust your trip here was without incident?"

"Greetings, Lord Jade," Chadwick replied, bowing his head politely. "The trip was quite pleasant, thank you."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." Eduard smiled, turning his attention to Cedric. "And you must be Lord Cedric?"

Cedric nodded. "Yes, my lord. It's an honor to meet you."

"It's nice meeting you, too," Eduard said, an amused glint in his eyes. "And I'm sure Dorothea will be happy to meet you, as well."

Cedric just smiled awkwardly, not sure how to respond to that. Lord Eduard seemed confident enough in the arrangement, but it was hard to tell how much of it was just for the politics, and how much of it was actual confidence that Dorothea would like him. But only time could tell, he supposed.

"Why don't we go inside? I'm sure you're weary from the road," Eduard suggested. "I can ask the servants to get us some tea."

"That sounds lovely, thank you," Chadwick replied, following the Jade lord as he led him and Cedric inside.

Lord Eduard led them through the manor, which was just as impressive from the inside as it was from the outside—the hallways were lined with grand tapestries, and each important room had beautiful murals adorning the walls and ceilings. Cedric found himself losing track of the conversation between Lord Jade and his brother, lost in his own thoughts as he stared at the incredible scenery. This place was grand, far grander than even the castle he grew up in. It was going to be a lot to get used to.

"You asked for me, father?" came a new voice, distracting Cedric from his thoughts. He turned toward the newcomer, and was greeted with a girl his age, with russet brown hair, bronzy skin and cloudy blue eyes. She was looking back at the Curyses with a curious expression, her gaze ultimately focussing on Cedric.

"Ah, Dorothea, there you are," Eduard remarked with a smile. He placed a hand on Dorothea's shoulder, indicating Cedric. "Dorothea, I'd like you to meet Lord Cedric Curys. Lord Cedric, this is my daughter, Dorothea."

"It's nice to meet you," Dorothea said, dipping into a polite curtsy. Cedric returned the gesture with a polite bow of his own. On first impression, she seemed nice enough, but again, it was hard to tell beneath that diplomatic surface.

Chadwick seemed to sense the tension, deciding to speak up. "Well, Lord Eduard, I believe we have business to take care of. Perhaps we should give these two some time to get to know each other?"

"That sounds alright to me," Lord Eduard agreed, turning to Cedric again. "I assume you two can handle yourselves just fine on your own?"

"Of course, my lord," Cedric replied immediately. He realized absently the implicit amount of trust Lord Eduard must have had in Cedric to leave him alone with his daughter, and made a mental note not to let him down.

With that, Eduard and Chadwick took the cue to leave, leaving Cedric and Dorothea alone together. Before Cedric could even stop to ponder what to say to her, Dorothea let out a girlish giggle, taking him by the arm.

"So you're my groom-to-be, huh?" she asked, grinning. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I, uh..." Cedric felt his face flush. That was certainly a sudden turnaround. "I suppose we do."

"Would you like to go for a walk? I could show you around the manor," Dorothea suggested. "Or we could go to the gardens, or whatever you like."

"Well... I would like to see more of the manor," Cedric admitted.

Dorothea nodded, starting to walk him down the hallway. "Let's go, then. There's a lot to see."

As they walked down the hallway, Cedric found himself lost in the tapestries on the wall, not sure what to say. What could he say to a girl he just met, let alone the girl he was expected to marry? But thankfully, Dorothea was again quick to pick up the slack.

"So why don't you tell me about yourself?" she asked. "What do you like to do?"

"Well, I like to study magic... which will be useful, given what I'll be doing here," Cedric told her with an awkward chuckle. "I also enjoy, ah... art, I suppose."

"Oh, so you're an artist?" Dorothea wondered.

"Not exactly. I don't have much skill for painting," Cedric replied sheepishly. "But I do enjoy seeing what a skilled artist is capable of putting together. And not just painters, but weavers, sculptors... honestly, anything can be a work of art if you think about it."

Dorothea sent him an amused smile. "Oh, so is that why you keep staring at the tapestries?"

"Heh... I guess so." Cedric wasn't sure what else to add to the topic, so instead he asked, "So what about you? What do you like to do?"

"Well, I like art and magic, too, so that's something we have in common," Dorothea told him, smiling. "Though I'm not a mage myself, as you probably know by now. I just think it's interesting."

"I... did hear about that, yes," Cedric admitted carefully. The fact that House Jade was losing its magic was something of an open secret, as was the fact that their own marriage was arranged for that reason. But he was determined to not let this relationship be about the politics—this was about him and Lady Dorothea. "Don't feel bad for not being a mage, though. I'm sure you're a great person without it."

Dorothea chuckled at this. "Thank you. It's alright, though; I've gotten used to it." With an amused smile, she added, "Besides, from what I've heard, it just means a lot more responsibility and a lot more work. I can live without that."

"Given that it's why I'm being hired, I suppose there's no use in disagreeing," Cedric joked back. "But, ah..." He cleared his throat. "I suppose since it's also why I'm marrying you, I have no right to complain, either."

"Haha, you're sweet." Dorothea grinned, clinging a little tighter to his arm. "I think I'm going to like you."

"Oh, er, thank you." Cedric blushed at this, a smile crossing his face. "Anyway, I think I interrupted you. What else do you like to do?"

"I like music, especially songs that tell stories. On that note, I really like stories," Dorothea told him. "I have a twin brother, Theodore; he was always really good at telling stories. In fact, I think that's part of why he became a priest."

"I seem to recall one of your brothers being a priest, yes," Cedric remarked.

Dorothea nodded. "At any rate, he always liked to tell me and my siblings stories when we were younger, and I always loved to listen to them. Heh, I remember this one time, he was telling us stories about St. Nephrite, and Roderick and I tried to reenact them..."

The two of them continued walking through the manor, sharing stories and laughing together as they went. Cedric was very relieved—Dorothea wasn't exactly what he was expecting his wife would be like, but she was certainly promising to be enjoyable company, which was more than he could have hoped for. Maybe this would work out, after all.

---

But of course, the visit did not last forever. Chadwick's meeting with Lord Eduard wrapped up quickly and without incident, and the Curyses were set to return home the next morning. Cedric and Dorothea said their farewells, warmly anticipating their next meeting. Though that next meeting, Cedric realized, would be for their wedding. That was a strange thought to consider.

The trip back to House Curys' home in Araydian was uneventful, the two brothers making light conversation along the way to pass the time. Before they knew it, they had arrived at the gates of Curys Castle, where their family was waiting for them.

"Chad! Cedric! You're home!" chirped their child sister Cecilia, who ran up to greet her brothers with a hug the moment they climbed out of the carriage.

Chadwick laughed at this, patting his sister's golden hair. "It's good to see you, too, sis."

"It is good to see you back home," remarked their father, Lord Colbert Curys. He was the very picture of a Corvid nobleman, with neatly trimmed blond hair and steely gray eyes, wearing the signature red-violet and gold of House Curys. His expertly embroidered cloak billowed out behind him as he approached his two sons. "I assume the meeting went well?"

"It went very well," Chadwick replied. "Lord Eduard was more than happy to agree to the new trade agreements. It almost wasn't worth the trip, haha." Ruffling Cedric's hair, he added, "But thankfully, there was other business to attend to while there, huh?"

"Indeed there was," Colbert agreed, turning his attention to Cedric. "On that note, how did it go with Lady Dorothea?"

"It, uh..." Cedric tried not to shrink under his father's hard gaze. "It went well. Lady Dorothea was very nice."

"Hm. Well, I'm glad to hear it," was Colbert's clearly guarded response. "With such an important political marriage, you may as well be happy in it."

Cedric tried to hide his grimace. The late Lord Patrick Jade's efforts to marry his children and grandchildren to mages had been talked about to death—especially in House Curys, where both Cedric and his younger brother Charles had been arranged to be brought into House Jade. Cedric had no trouble telling that his father was rather skeptical of the arrangement, which only made Cedric more nervous about it. What if he wasn't good enough for House Jade? Would he ever be good enough for his own father?

"I'm very happy for you, Cedric," offered Rosemary, Cedric's mother, in a gratefully more genuine tone than her husband. Smiling encouragingly at Cedric, she added, "It's good that you can get along with your future wife. I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

Cedric smiled. Thank Woo for his mother, always there to support him. "Thank you, mother."

"Did you meet Helena while you were there?" came the voice of Charles, who came up behind his parents.

"Oh, sorry, we didn't get the chance to speak to her," Cedric told him. "But I'm sure you'll be able to meet her another time."

Charles didn't respond, apparently not sure what to say to that. In the ensuing silence, Cecilia decided to tug at Chadwick's hand, looking up at him eagerly.

"Well, you have to tell us all about Solis!" she said. "I hear it's really pretty. Was it pretty? Oh, did you see any phoenixes? I hear Solis has green phoenixes!"

"Whoa, slow down there. One question at time." Chadwick laughed, starting toward the castle. "But sure, we can talk about Solis. It was a very beautiful place."

Cecilia beamed, practically clinging to her brother's side as he walked. "Did you see all the mosaics?"

"Oh yes, there were a lot of mosaics. Mosaics on the walls, mosaics on the streets..."

Cedric smiled at his siblings' antics, carefully pushing past his parents to follow after them. "You know, I'm pretty weary from the trip. I'd like to get something to eat."

"Yes, I'm certain you are," Colbert remarked, following Cedric and beckoning Rosemary and Charles to do likewise. "If you'd like a snack, a fresh batch of oranges came in from Cossar this morning."

"That does sound good," Cedric admitted, silently grateful for the change of topic. He really did not want to talk to his father about his arranged marriage any longer than he had to.

It doesn't matter what he thinks, though, he reminded himself. It's all about me and Dorothea. Everything will be just fine, I'm sure of it.

A Tapestry Torn - Part 2

SPOILER: Click to show

Before they knew it, the day of the wedding had arrived. It was a lovely ceremony, performed at Solis' Holy Cathedral of Lord Woo. Cedric was very nervous, standing at the altar with his and Dorothea's entire families watching them expectantly, but that nervousness quickly faded when he looked into Dorothea's eyes. The politics were not important, he reminded himself. This was about him and her.

The reception that came afterward was equally lovely, taking place in the grand hall of Jade Manor. The food was delectable, and the decor had been expertly put together, the Jades going out of their way to combine the green and red-violet of their two Houses. For most of the reception, though, Cedric found himself meeting with his new in-laws.

"That was a lovely ceremony, wouldn't you say? I'd think it went rather well," Lord Eduard remarked jovially. Beside him was his wife, Lady Eleanor, who was very clearly the one Dorothea got her looks from.

"I think so, too," Cedric agreed. "This reception is nice, too. I really like the decor."

"Isn't it nice? The servants really went all out." Eduard smiled at Dorothea. "But only the best for my little girl, I guess."

Dorothea laughed at that. "I'm not exactly little anymore, you know."

"Sorry, you'll always be my little girl. It's a parent thing," Eduard teased. His expression softened again as he added, "But in all seriousness, I'm happy for you, Dorothea."

"As am I," Eleanor added with a smile. "And you as well, Lord Cedric. I'm sure the two of you will do well together."

"Thank you." Dorothea smiled, clinging to Cedric's arm. "I sure hope so."

Cedric felt his cheeks flush at this. "Er, yes, me too."

Eduard laughed. "Well, the two of you seem to get along just fine, so that's a promising start." Turning to Cedric, he added, "And I'm looking forward to getting to work with you, as well."

"And I likewise, my lord," Cedric agreed. I just hope I can do a good enough job, he thought, but didn't say aloud. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to admit to his perceived inadequacy to his employer, he decided.

"Excuse me, Lord Eduard," came a new voice. The group to looked up to see Lord Colbert approaching them. "I was hoping I could discuss some business with you, while we're here?"

Cedric tried not to frown openly. He really shouldn't have been surprised that his father was quicker to discuss politics than he was to even say hello to his own son at his wedding, but it still bothered him. What business did he have to discuss with Lord Eduard, anyway? It wasn't about the marriage, was it? The wedding was already done and over with; what more could there possibly be to discuss?

"Hm? Oh, of course," Eduard agreed. Gesturing to the newlyweds, he added, "I was just speaking with the bride and groom here."

"Oh. I didn't see you there," was Colbert's response—of course it was. He turned to Cedric, and without even a hint of a smile, he said, "Congratulations, Cedric."

"Thank you," Cedric replied tightly, forcing a smile. He subconsciously found himself clinging a little tighter to Dorothea's arm, as if to demonstrate how happy he was with his new wife, but it wasn't like his father cared about that.

Colbert just gave a polite nod, and apparently with nothing else to say, returned his attention to Lord Eduard. "My apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation."

"No, it's quite alright," Eduard told him, before turning to wave at Cedric and Dorothea. "I suppose I'd best be going. I hope you enjoy the reception."

"Thank you. We will," Cedric replied, watching thoughtfully as Eduard and Eleanor walked away with his father. Here he was at his wedding, the happiest day of his life, and his own father couldn't spare more than two words about it. It doesn't matter what he thinks, he reminded himself. This is about you and Dorothea.

Thankfully, Dorothea was quick to snap him out of his thoughts. "Come on, let's go get something to eat. The food smells great."

"Oh, yes, good idea," Cedric agreed, starting toward the refreshment table with Dorothea.

However, before they could get far, another new voice distracted them. "Dorothea?"

The two of them turned toward the new voice to see two new people approaching—the first was a dark-haired man with clear resemblance to Lord Eduard, but twenty years younger. Beside him was a willowy woman, with long, cornsilk blonde hair and striking blue eyes. There was no doubt that this was Lord Everett, Dorothea's oldest brother and heir to House Jade, and his wife Lady Cassandra.

"We wanted to wish you congratulations on your wedding," Everett said. He seemed genuine enough, though he took on that subdued politeness that Corvid nobles were famous for. "May Lord Woo bless you with a long and happy union."

"Thanks, Everett," Dorothea replied. "I'd like that."

"The two of you seem to be a good match," Cassandra remarked, smiling in an equally diplomatic way. "I'm sure you will be happy together."

"Thank you," Cedric echoed, nodding at Cassandra before turning to Everett. "And I look forward to working with you, as well, Lord Everett." He wasn't sure whether it was more appropriate to refer to him as family or as a superior, given the circumstances, but he decided it was best to play it safe. This way, the worst that could happen is Everett politely correcting him.

He did not, though. "As do I. I'm certain you will do good work here."

"Thank you. I hope to," Cedric replied.

There was a pause, as if no one was quite sure what to say next. It was Dorothea who broke the silence, saying, "Anyway, we were about to get something to eat. We'll see you around, then?"

"Yes, indeed," Everett agreed, glancing at Cedric. "I'm sure we'll be seeing plenty more of each other."

"And congratulations to you, again," Cassandra added.

"I'm sure we will. And thank you," Cedric said, waving to them as he and Dorothea continued on their way.

Dorothea waved as well, waiting until they were out of earshot to turn to her husband. "Don't worry, they're always like that. But they're nice underneath all that nobility."

Cedric blinked, not sure how to respond to that. Ultimately he decided on, "I'll... have to keep that in mind."

Dorothea laughed. "You're adorable. Now come on, I smell cake and I want some."

The two of them continued toward the refreshment table. As they approached it, a plethora of delicious aromas filled the air, ranging from fresh fruit juice to glazed cakes. Clearly, the chefs enjoyed the excuse to go all out for the occasion.

Dorothea, however, was quickly distracted by the food at the sight of a familiar face. "Theo! I'm so glad you came!"

At the sound of the voice, a priest by the table glanced up from his juice. His resemblance to Dorothea was clearly obvious, sharing her complexion, hair and eye colors—there was no doubt that this was the twin brother she had talked about, Theodore. Upon seeing Dorothea, he smiled, setting down his cup to allow Dorothea to greet him with an enthusiastic hug.

"Well, of course I did," he said, laughing and returning the hug. "I wouldn't miss my own sister's wedding. Congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you! It's so good to see you!" Dorothea pulled back from the hug, smiling. "How's priest life treating you?"

"Oh, quite well. I find it to be very rewarding," Theodore replied, before turning his attention to Cedric. "Ah, I don't believe we've met yet, Lord Cedric. I'm Brother Theodore—in multiple senses of the word, I suppose."

"I guessed as much, yes." Cedric smiled in amusement, taking the cue to move closer to the two siblings. "It's nice to formally meet you, though. Dorothea spoke highly of you."

"Did she, now?" Theodore asked, sending his sister an amused glance. "What exactly have you been saying about me, dear sister?"

Dorothea laughed, smiling innocently. "What, are you accusing me of telling embarrassing childhood stories behind your back?"

"Oh dear. Now I'm really worried," Theodore joked back.

Cedric chuckled at the banter between the two siblings. It was easy to see that the two of them were very close; it reminded him of his relationship with Chadwick. "Don't worry, the worst she told me was that you two used to play together as children. I hope that's not too embarrassing?"

"It depends on what stories she told, exactly," was Theodore's response. "Oh well, I suppose if worst comes to worst, I could always make it even by telling you some embarrassing stories about Dorothea."

Dorothea gave a mock gasp. "Theodore Jade! Is that a very priestly thing to do?"

"I'll have you know that the Book of Woo says nothing about it." Theodore laughed, picking up his cup again. "In all seriousness, I'm happy for you, Dory. May Lord Woo bless you both."

"Thank you." Dorothea smiled, putting a hand on Cedric's arm. "I'd say he already has."

Cedric smiled back at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Thank you, dear."

"It's good to see the two of you getting along so well," Theodore remarked. "Most political marriages aren't so lucky."

"I do consider myself to be very lucky," Cedric agreed. "I'm looking forward to working here and getting to know your family."

As if on cue, two young people in Jade colors emerged from the crowd, a boy and a girl, both of them looking to be barely on the edge of what could be considered teenaged. The boy had a head of black hair, like Lord Eduard's, while the girl had the same russet brown hair as Dorothea, with the most notable difference between them being the younger girl's lighter skin tone. Both of them had the same green eyes that the Jade family was known for—Cedric recognized them quickly as Dorothea's two youngest siblings, Roderick and Helena.

"Congratulations, Dory!" said Helena. "We're so happy for you."

"Yeah, congratulations," Roderick agreed.

"Thanks, you two!" Dorothea replied, giving the two of them a hug. After a moment, she pulled back, smiling at them. "I really appreciate it."

Roderick nodded, turning his attention to Cedric. "And we're looking forward to getting to know you, Lord Cedric."

"As am I, Lord Roderick, I assume," Cedric said with a smile.

"This is my brother Roderick, yes," Dorothea confirmed. "And my sister, Helena."

"It's nice to properly meet you both," Cedric said. Glancing at Helena, he added, "Which reminds me, I have a brother who wanted to meet you. Have you had the chance to talk to him yet?"

Helena blinked. "...Do you mean Lord Charles? I haven't talked to him, no."

"Well, it couldn't hurt to get acquainted," he told her, "if you want to talk to him sometime."

"I... guess I could," Helena admitted. Cedric could tell that she was a bit hesitant, though honestly he couldn't blame her—he felt just as awkward meeting Dorothea, after all.

"Well, it's good to see you two," Theodore spoke up, changing the subject. "Roderick, I heard you got a new magic tutor. How is that going?"

"It's going okay," Roderick replied with a shrug. "The tutor says I'm doing really well, but I don't feel like I'm that good."

"Oh, I'm sure you're not that bad," Dorothea assured him. "And hey, Cedric's a mage too, so he could help you if you like! Right, Cedric?"

"Oh, uh, of course," Cedric agreed, though his mind wandered at the topic. The talk about Lord Eduard's mage son had been circulating Corvus, with questions on whether or not the Jade Lord would follow in his father's footsteps and have him married to a mage. Cedric's own father had expressed concern over the matter, hoping that Lord Eduard would not think to take Cecilia for the cause. Two children was enough, he had said.

No. Don't think about the politics, Cedric had to remind himself. This is about you and Dorothea's family. Don't worry about the politics.

"I would be happy to help you however I can," he told Roderick, smiling.

"Thanks," Roderick replied. "My tutor's been doing a good job of teaching me, but I'll keep that in mind if I need help."

Cedric nodded, grabbing a piece of cake as he pondered what to say next. He felt like he was getting off to an overly political start with Dorothea's siblings, so maybe a topic change was in order. "So have any of you tried this cake yet? It smells delicious."

"I agree completely; it smells great," Dorothea said, grabbing her own piece of cake and taking a bite. After a moment to chew and swallow, she nodded approvingly. "Mmm. You guys should try some!"

Roderick and Helena both nodded, taking the cue to take some cake pieces for themselves. Theodore, meanwhile, just shook his head, politely refusing. "Maybe later. I'm already full up," he told them.

Cedric waited for everyone to finish chewing before speaking up again. "So then, what else do the two of you do? Any hobbies?"

"Well, I like learning. I like puzzles," Roderick told him. "I like being able to really think and challenge myself."

"That's a good trait to have," Cedric said with a nod. Especially for the House's second-in-command, he thought, but decided not to voice. Woo, he was going to turn into his father if he kept obsessing over politics like this. Turning to Helena, he asked, "And what about you?"

"Um... I like flowers, I guess," Helena replied slowly. "And poetry."

Cedric could tell she was a little uncertain. This was the second time now—was that just how she was, or was she afraid of him? Maybe she just didn't like strangers?

Or it could just be that she isn't sure of her answer, he reminded himself. Maybe he just needed to stop being so paranoid.

"It's okay, Helena. There's still time to figure out your interests," Theodore spoke up, as if to confirm his suspicions. "It wasn't until just last year that I finally figured out what I wanted, after all."

"I guess so," Helena admitted with a shrug. Returning her attention to Cedric, she asked, "What about you, Lord Cedric? What do you like to do?"

"Oh, well I enjoy studying magic—which is good, considering what I'll be doing here." Cedric let out a chuckle. "I also like, I suppose you could call it art..."

They continued talking for a while, discussing their interests and getting to know each other. Dorothea's family seemed a bit more aloof than Cedric's own siblings were, but they were friendly to him, which was enough for him—he never expected to be particularly cordial with his employers, so that he could he could consider them friends at all was more than he could have hoped for from a political arrangement. All in all, he was optimistic, and he was glad for that.

---

After the wedding, Cedric was given a few days to settle in before he was given work to do. Which he was grateful for—he didn't want to be overwhelmed on his first day of living here, after all. But of course, Lord Eduard didn't let him be comfortable for too long, as it was only a matter of time before Cedric was approached with a task.

"As I'm sure you know, many of the buildings and structures here in Solis have to be magically enchanted against weather damage," Eduard explained on the way to the library. "But it's a very expensive process that requires a lot of magic to perform, and—as I understand it—involves some fairly complex rune chains. So the question becomes, would it be possible to create a lighter version of the spell?"

Cedric blinked, taking a moment to process the request. "Well, I... I'd have to take a closer look at the spell to be sure, but wouldn't that run the risk of weakening the enchantments?"

"Perhaps so, and ideally we would want to avoid that... but then again, is the level of enchantment we currently use strictly necessary?" Eduard wondered. "For the most important buildings, of course, we would want as much protection as possible, but for the less important ones, it would be massively useful to have a less expensive alternative."

"I suppose that's true," Cedric admitted. "I suspect you could remove some of the excess bloat without sacrificing the spell's function... though again, I would need to look at the spell to be sure."

Eduard smiled, stopping at a set of double doors. "Well, thankfully, that can easily be provided."

The doors swung open, and Cedric was given the first look into the Jade library. The shelves were absolutely packed with books, probably more books than he had ever seen in his life. And between the towering bookshelves were a few expertly placed tables and chairs, perfect for resting and reading the books you had picked out. Seated at one of these tables was a man in mage robes, who, upon spotting the two nobles, promptly stood and gave a respectful bow.

"I'm glad you could make it, my lords," he said.

Eduard nodded, gesturing to the man. "Cedric, this is Denis Sheridan. He specializes in building enchantments, so I asked him to come and offer his expertise."

"It's a pleasure meeting you, Master Sheridan," Cedric said.

"You as well, Lord Cedric," Sheridan replied, before turning and picking up a book from off the table. "I assume you've already been informed of the situation?"

"I believe so. Lord Eduard was telling me about it," Cedric told him. "You wanted a lighter version of the weather protection spell?"

"In essence, yes... though I should mention that there are actually multiple spells." Sheridan handed the book to Cedric for him to look at. "Regardless, I've already taken the liberty of locating the spells for your perusal."

"Oh, thank you." Cedric accepted the book gratefully. "This should definitely help."

As Cedric started skimming through the spell notes, Eduard gave a pleased smile. "Well, I suppose I'd best get back to work, myself. I'll leave you two to that."

"Of course. Thank you again, my lord," Sheridan replied, giving another respectful bow as Lord Eduard left.

Cedric, meanwhile, found himself fully absorbed in the book of spells. He tried to recall everything he could of that slightly mind-numbing class about deconstructing spells, which he had been put through in preparation for this job. The idea was that instead of simply memorizing rune chains, as many novice mages were wont to do, one could learn the exact purpose of each rune, and how they affected the spell as a whole—and, hopefully for his purposes, be able to improve upon them.

"So this is the spell for wind resistance," he said, pointing to the spell in question. "I'm having trouble understanding these runes, though... do you have any idea how the spell works?"

"I think... hm." Sheridan frowned, peering over Cedric's shoulder to get a better look at the runes. "You know, I'm not sure. It looks like the intent is to increase the structural integrity and prevent pieces from breaking off?"

Oh good, so Master Sheridan had some training in spell deconstruction, too. This would have been a lot harder if he had to work through this by himself. "That looks about right," Cedric said. "Though if that's the case, then no wonder it's such an intensive spell. That sounds difficult to maintain. Wouldn't it be easier to use some sort of barrier?"

"Hm, I'm not sure... barriers that large tend to be very magic-intensive," Sheridan replied. "I'm not sure if it would be better or worse than the current system."

"Fair point. I suppose it's worth looking into, but..." Cedric trailed off, thinking on this for a while. "...Perhaps instead of resisting the wind, the wind could be redirected? Then you wouldn't need to reinforce it so strongly."

Sheridan considered this. "Well, I know that wind redirection is a fairly simple spell for humans, but for something as large as a building? ...I'm not sure. I've never heard of it being done."

"It might be useful for statues, at least, if not buildings," Cedric suggested. "Though I wonder what it would take to upscale that spell? I'll have to see if I can find the tome later..."

For the moment, though, he flipped back to take a closer look at the other spells. Aside from the wind resistance spell, most of the spells seemed pretty straightforward, but maybe there were still ways to improve them?

"You know, I wonder..." Cedric pondered, pointing to a section of runes. "Does the tov here actually contribute anything to the spell?"

"The tov?" Sheridan blinked, running a finger over the runes in question. "It's a bridge between kra and sar, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I think it can still work if you arranged it like this..."

The two of them continued discussing the matter, picking apart each spell piece by piece and trying to find ways to improve upon them. Finally, after hours of discussion and spell research, they were able to pen some prototype spells to test. The testing went well enough in small scale, which was promising, though it was yet to be seen how they would hold up when applied to something as large as a building. But since there was no viable way to test that for the moment, Master Sheridan opted to just take what they had and see how it went in the long run.

"Thank you again, Lord Cedric," he said as he gathered up the notes. "I'll be certain to let you know how it goes."

"You're welcome. I hope it works out for you," Cedric replied with a smile.

And with that, Master Sheridan was on his way. Cedric was pleased with how smoothly that went, especially for it being his first attempt at spellweaving. It was especially nice being able to bounce his thoughts off someone else and gather ideas together—it was going to be nice when Charles was here to work with him.

I think I'm going to like it here, Cedric thought to himself.

A Tapestry Torn - Part 3

SPOILER: Click to show

The years passed, and Cedric found that he had settled comfortably into his life in House Jade. Though his work was difficult at times, overall he found it very rewarding. The Jades seemed grateful for his accomplishments, and it truly felt like he was doing some good for the world. He also got along well with Dorothea, which he was more than grateful for.

It was in the midst of summer, and House Jade was still alight with the news that after many failed attempts, Lord Everett and his wife Cassandra were finally going to have a child. The excitement had spread through the whole House, and even Cedric had found himself contemplating it on one of his way back to his room one night. Technically he already was an uncle—they had gotten the news a few months ago of Chadwick's daughter Katrin—but it was still very exhilarating, especially as this would be the first niece or nephew he would be able to interact with on a regular basis. What was it going to be like? Was he ready to be an uncle?

"Hello, Cedric," came Dorothea's voice, as he entered the bedroom. "How was work today?"

"It was good," Cedric replied. "We were finally able to find that spell your father wanted—it took quite some searching for the right tome, but it was worth it."

"Oh, good. I'm glad." Dorothea smiled. She fell silent for a moment, as if hesitant, before speaking again. "Actually, I have some news of my own to share."

"Oh? What's that?"

Dorothea took a deep breath, before slowly walking up to Cedric and taking his hand. Cedric blinked, unsure what to make of the subtle significance of this gesture. What was she going to say? Was it important? He could hear his heart pounding in his ears from suspense.

"Cedric," she said slowly, "we're going to have a baby."

It took him a moment to fully process what she had said. But then, all at once, it hit him—he was going to be a father. No longer was he just an uncle, watching the growth of someone else's child, but he would have a child of his own to take care of. The feeling that came over him was all at once exciting and terrifying, but enough of the former that a smile spread across his face.

"That... that's great news, Dorothea!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. "We're going to be parents! I'll be a father... I can't believe it!"

Dorothea laughed, just wordlessly returning the hug for a while. Finally, she pulled back, looking him in the eye. "Isn't it so exciting? I've already started thinking about possible names."

"This is so incredible," Cedric breathed, still reeling from the news. "Have you told anyone?"

"The healers might know, since they're the ones who helped me realize what was going on," Dorothea said with an airy laugh. "Other than that, no. I wanted to tell you first."

"We should tell your family!" Cedric suggested. "I'm sure your father will be thrilled to know he has another grandchild on the way."

Dorothea laughed at this. "Oh, I'm sure he will."

"Oh, this is excellent news!" Cedric laughed in turn, all but running back into the hall to spread the word. They were going to have a child, and it would be wonderful.

---

As expected, the Jades were thrilled by the news of another child on the way, especially Lord Eduard. Though a cadet line Jade child was not as exciting as a potential heir, it was still a promising omen for the future of House Jade. Everett's child would grow up with a closely-aged cousin, fostering a close friendship and a potential boon for a possible heir. Perhaps the child would be a mage, even, helping to bring magic back to the house as Lord Patrick had wanted. The possibilities were endless.

"We're thinking of Eliot for a name." Dorothea smiled, patting her abdomen which was now starting to swell. "Maybe Ella for a girl."

"Those are both lovely names." Cassandra nodded. "Everett, of course, is hoping for a son. He wanted to name him Eduard, after his—and your—father."

"Aw, that's sweet," Dorothea remarked. "Will you call her Eleanor if she's a girl, then?"

"Possibly," Cassandra replied. "We've discussed some girl names, but we haven't made any decisions yet."

"That's fair. You still have a few months to decide, after all," Dorothea said with a smile. "Oh, I hope our children can be friends. They'll be so close in age."

"I hope so, as well," Cassandra agreed. "They could be of great support to each other."

Dorothea nodded. "I wonder what they'll be like. I'm excited to meet them."

"Well, let's just hope our child doesn't take after you, Dorothea, or we'll all be in trouble," Cedric joked as he stepped into the room.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dorothea teased back. "Besides, from what your brother has told me, I'm not sure taking after you would be any much better."

"Oh my. Were you a troublemaker, Lord Cedric?" Cassandra asked, amused.

Cedric laughed. "Come now, I was not a troublemaker. I did, however, get in trouble a fair bit... though I should point out that not all of it was my fault."

"Right." Dorothea smirked. "So you were a perfect angel, then?"

"Oh, I never said that." Cedric grinned, before giving his wife a quick kiss on the cheek. "At any rate, I'll be happy no matter how what our child turns out to be like."

"Me too," Dorothea agreed. "Whatever sort of child we get, I'm sure it will be wonderful."

Cassandra nodded in agreement. "I'm happy for you both. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful family together."

"Thank you. And the same goes for you, Lady Cassandra," Cedric replied.

"I already have a wonderful family." Dorothea smiled, wrapping an arm around Cedric. "I'm glad you're a part of it, both of you."

Cassandra smiled. "I'm happy you're in my family as well, Lady Dorothea."

The three of them just talked for a while, enjoying each other's company and looking forward to the days ahead. The future looked bright for House Jade, and they were excited to be a part of it.

---

The months passed surprisingly quickly, and before they knew it, the time for Lady Cassandra to give birth had arrived. Excited murmurs spread through the manor about the child's birth, and how long it would be before the news came back about a possible new heir for House Jade.

However, they would soon be greeted with far less pleasant news.

A solemn stillness came over Solis as the news spread of Lady Cassandra's untimely passing. According to the whispers, the birth process was not kind to her, taking her life along with her infant son. All at once, the hopes for an heir, the hopes for House Jade's future had been extinguished, like a candle being blown out like a sudden harsh windstorm.

"How is Everett holding up?" Dorothea asked her twin brother, who had excused himself from his ecclesiastic duties to visit his family in their time of need.

Theodore frowned, shaking his head. "He is... not well. He was really struck hard by this."

"I can only imagine," Cedric said softly. "None of us could have imagined that something like this would happen."

"Mother is speaking with him now," Theodore told them, before taking a seat on the bed beside his sister. "But what about you, Dory? Will you be alright?"

"I just... I-I was really looking forward to our children being friends, you know? To us being mothers together. But now..." Dorothea took quick, shallow breaths as she struggled to keep her composure. "Oh Woo, what if... wh-what if the same thing happens to me?"

"Dorothea..." Cedric frowned, gently wrapping an arm around his wife in hopes to comfort her. "What happened to Lady Cassandra is very unfortunate, but it doesn't happen very often. I'm sure you'll be fine."

"B-but what about the baby?" Dorothea wondered, tears now rolling openly down her cheeks. "I don't want to d-die, but I don't want to lose our child..."

"I know how you must feel," Theodore offered. "And I can't deny that it's scary... but you have to have a little faith. Whatever happens, it will all turn out okay."

"He's right," Cedric agreed. "Don't be scared, alright? I'm sure everything will be fine."

Dorothea didn't respond, just wordlessly leaning into her husband and crying. Cedric put his other arm around her and pulled her close, doing his best to comfort her. They just had to believe that everything would be alright.

---

...But it was not. When the time came for Dorothea to give birth, tensions were high, with many heartfelt prayers that she would not lose her life as did Lady Cassandra. Gratefully, Dorothea was spared... but their son was not.

Some time had passed since the horrific incident, but Dorothea was still lying on the birthing room bed, her strength all but gone after an ultimately fruitless childbirth. Cedric had seated himself on the bed next to her, holding her close and letting her soak his shirt with her tears.

"Wh-why does the Woo hate us?" Dorothea whimpered. "Did we do s-something wrong?"

"I'm sure the Woo doesn't hate us, Dorothea," Cedric assured her, running his fingers through her hair. "I know it's awful, but... sometimes these things just happen."

"But what if it is our fault? Everyone..." Dorothea paused to choke back a sob. "Everyone keeps saying it's my grandfather's fault, for trying to bring magic back. Th-that's why... that's why we're cursed."

Cedric frowned at this. "Come on, Dorothea, surely we're not cursed."

"But we are. That's why Cassandra died, and her son, and o-our little boy..." Dorothea shivered at the thought of it. A son all her own, who she would never get to raise as her own, who she would never hold in her arms... "A-and that's why Theo left, too. He needed to get away."

"Dorothea..." Cedric fell silent, not sure what to say. As much as he tried to ignore it, he knew that there was a lot of controversy around the Jade family—even his own father had voice plenty of complaints about the situation over the years. But cursed, though? It couldn't possibly be true, could it?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door, followed by a voice: Theodore's. "Is it alright if we come in?"

Cedric wasn't sure how to respond, looking to Dorothea for the answer. She hesitated for some time, before finally giving a slow nod. Cedric, seeing this, turned again toward the door. "Come on in."

The door creaked open slowly, revealing three figures standing on the other side—Theodore, of course, as well as Dorothea's two younger siblings, Roderick and Helena. Upon seeing that it was safe to enter, Helena promptly moved to Dorothea's bedside, waiting for Cedric to move aside so she could throw her arms around her sister.

"Dory, we are so glad you're okay," Helena said.

Dorothea didn't respond to this, just returning the hug and crying into her sister's hair. Seeing this, Theodore and Roderick followed Helena into the room, Roderick sitting at the foot of the bed as Theodore stood at the side.

"We are so sorry about what happened," Theodore added. "And we just wanted to let you know that we're here for you."

"Tha... thank you," Dorothea mumbled. She fell silent for a while, just clinging to Helena for support, before finally pulling back from the hug. "I-I just... why did this have to happen? What did we do wrong?"

"It's not your fault, Dory," Theodore told her. "You've done everything you can; please don't blame yourself."

"But why, then?" Dorothea repeated. "If w-we're not being punished... then why?"

Theodore sighed, pulling up a chair beside the bed so he could sit. "...I don't have all the answers, but... I do know that Lord Woo always does things for a reason. Sometimes he has to show us sorrow so we can truly understand joy."

Dorothea let loose another sob, before asking, "D-do you really think it will get better?"

"I don't know what the future holds, but you can't lose hope." Theodore placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'm certain that Lord Woo has a plan for you, Dory. You just have to have faith."

"Yes, I'm sure it will get better," Roderick added. "We really care about you, Dorothea, and we don't want you to be unhappy."

Helena nodded in agreement. "If there's anything we can do to help, just tell us, okay?"

"I-I..." Dorothea fell silent again, thinking on this. "I-I'm so grateful you came to support me." She leaned over, pulling Theodore into a hug. "Thank you..."

Theodore gave a soft smile, returning the hug. "We're here for you, Dory. We always are."

It wasn't long before Helena and even Roderick joined in the hug, just offering a silent pillar of support for their grieving sister. Cedric just stood off to the side and watched for now—though he had grown rather close to Dorothea over the years, he could see that right now she needed the support of her birth family.

"...Dorothea?"

Everyone in the room paused at the sound of the voice, turning to face its source. Sure enough, there standing in the doorway was none other than the Jades' oldest sibling, Lord Everett. Though at first glance he seemed to be perfectly composed, as usual for him, a closer look revealed that he was trembling from a barely restrained sorrow. Empathy.

"Everett..." Dorothea didn't know what to say. That her eldest brother would come to comfort her in her time of need, despite him always being very private about his emotions... despite that it was obviously very hard for him...

Their other siblings wordlessly parted the way for Everett, allowing him to slowly make his way through the room to Dorothea's bedside. Once there, he fell to his knees and deliberately pulled his sister into a hug.

"I'm sorry," he said, barely more than a whisper. The tears finally escaped from his eyes, and his voice cracked as he added, "I know it's hard."

Dorothea cried openly, heartily returning the hug. "Thank you," she mumbled. "Thank you..."

At that point, everyone realized that no more words needed to be said. The unspoken emotions that filled the room said more than mere words could ever hope to convey.

A Tapestry Torn - Part 4

SPOILER: Click to show

Many had been hoping that the tragedies would end there. They did not.

Just one year later, Lord Eduard had set out on a trip to Araydian in order to discuss the details of Charles and Helena's upcoming marriage. Cedric was busy working on an important spell to cure sickness, so he wasn't able to accompany him—not that he would have wanted to. He still remembered how touchy his father was about the wedding arrangements, and he didn't want to be anywhere near that discussion.

But as it turned out, it was a good thing he didn't.

"Lord Eduard is dead?" Cedric echoed.

The servant nodded sadly. "We were told that his carriage was swept away into the Kingfisher River. He never made it to Araydian."

"Oh Woo..." Dorothea breathed, clutching to Cedric's sleeve. "I-I can't believe it..."

"I'm sorry, my lady," the servant offered. "...I still need to tell the others. I'd best be on my way."

With that, the servant quietly bowed out of the room, leaving the two of them alone with their own thoughts. Once they were sure he was gone, Dorothea leaned into Cedric, putting her arm around him for comfort.

"So... father is dead," she muttered, as if still unable to accept it as real. "I never thought... h-how can this happen?"

"I don't know, Dorothea," Cedric replied, lost in his own thoughts. If he hadn't been busy with work, if he had decided to go with Lord Eduard to visit his family, he could have been there with him at the bottom of the river. It was a harrowing thought, sending shivers down his spine.

Not another word was spoken between them, the two of them just silently supporting each other through their grief.

---

The next few months were hectic. Lord Everett was crowned as the next Lord of House Jade, and with that title came all the responsibilities with it. In the wake of the tragedy, Everett had to pull himself together and keep everything running smoothly, all while his advisors begged him to remarry and produce an heir. It wasn't terribly surprising that in the wake of this, House Curys had decided to postpone Charles' marriage to Helena, giving Charles some extra time to study magic at the Iphicles Institute. (Though Cedric suspected that the decision was less about House Jade's situation as it was about his father's hesitance about the arrangement.)

But, like a phoenix from the ashes, House Jade would recover.

A full two years after Cassandra's death, a huge sigh of relief went through all of Corvus as news spread of Lord Everett's plans to marry Lady Satine of House Arach—ending both the fears of Everett never remarrying, and the talk of House Jade's dogged persistence toward only marrying mages. The wedding was set to happen in February, and eager talk of it was circling House Jade.

"I'm still surprised he picked the Arach girl," Dorothea remarked. "I would have expected him to pick someone more... you know, Wooist."

"I admit I'm very curious to meet her," Cedric said. "Lord Everett certainly seems pleased enough about this wedding."

"Right? I don't think he's been this happy since Cassandra," Dorothea agreed. "I'm so curious what she's like."

"Well, she should be here sometime today, so I suppose we'll find out soon." Cedric glanced out the window, checking what time it was. It was midday, which was normally when people would arrive... though given that the Arachs would be coming all the way from Veresia, there was no telling when they would get there.

The time passed quickly, though, and before they knew it, word spread through the manor that the Arach carriage had arrived at their gates. Cedric and Dorothea were not given the honor of waiting at the doors for them, but that didn't stop their curiosity.

"That must be her," Dorothea said, glimpsing what she could from the window. "Ooh, she's pretty. No wonder Everett likes her."

"I'm not sure it's entirely appropriate to be spying, Dorothea," Cedric remarked, though his expression was amused.

"It's not spying! I have every right to look out the window," Dorothea retorted. "Wait, are they holding hands? Oh my Woo, I think they're holding hands, aww!"

"Really?" Cedric blinked. "In front of the Arachs, even?" It was no secret that Lord Everett and Lady Cassandra cared about each other, but to Cedric's recollection, they were never that openly affectionate.

"I think the Arachs are sorting out their luggage or something," Dorothea explained. "I don't think he thinks anyone's looking at them."

"Ah. So you're still definitely not spying, then."

"Shush. Oh! I think they're coming inside." Dorothea climbed out of the windowsill, hurrying down the hallway. "Maybe we can say hello."

Cedric shook his head in amusement, following after his wife. They made it to the entrance hall just in time for Everett and the Arachs to enter through the doors, still making light conversation.

"I really love the scenery here. It's very beautiful," said the woman who was presumably Lady Satine—an elegant woman dressed in the midnight blue of House Arach, with silky black hair falling delicately onto her shoulders. Dorothea wasn't lying; she was a very lovely woman.

"Thank you. We have mages who work very hard to maintain it," Everett told her. "Anyway, if you'll follow me to your quarters... oh."

"Oh! Sorry, we didn't mean to get in your way." Dorothea grinned sheepishly, realizing she and Cedric were standing in the hallway Everett was trying to lead the Arachs down. She cleared her throat awkwardly. "But, uh, it's nice to meet you."

Everett raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't comment. "Right. I suppose I should introduce my sister Dorothea, and her husband, Lord Cedric."

"It's a pleasure meeting you both," said the foremost of the Arachs with a nod. "I'm Lord Sylk of House Arach..." He went on to introduce the rest of his family one by one, before finally ending with, "And of course, my daughter, Satine."

"It's nice meeting you both," Satine said, giving a small curtsy.

"Likewise," Cedric replied, returning the curtsy with a bow. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I imagine you have." Satine laughed—a dainty, pleasant laugh—before smiling warmly at Everett. "And for good reason, too."

"Yes, very good reason," Everett replied, smiling back at her. Cedric was surprised to see such an unusually genuine expression from the man, something he had never seen from Lord Everett before.

"As much as I would love to stay and meet your family, Lord Everett, we are a bit weary from the road," Lord Sylk said. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation later, once we've had some time to get settled?"

"Yes, of course," Everett agreed, the warm expression from earlier vanishing in an instant. "Right this way, please."

Cedric and Dorothea promptly moved out of the way, allowing the Arach company passage through the hallway. They politely regarded the passers by, waiting until they were fully out of earshot before speaking again.

"Did you see that? Everett smiled," Dorothea whispered. "He never smiles like that."

"He does seem quite happy with Lady Satine," Cedric agreed.

"I know, right? I'm surprised by how much she... well, isn't Cassandra, but it seems to work really well." Dorothea was grinning like a giddy schoolgirl at the thought of her big brother being so in love. "Anyone who can get Everett to smile like that must be someone special."

Cedric chuckled at this. "Well, if nothing else, now we can see why he picked her. I'm happy for him: he deserves it, especially after everything that's happened."

Dorothea nodded in agreement. "I'm really interested to get to know her better. She seems really nice."

"Oh, agreed. I'd really like to talk to her more when we get the chance. It will be interesting getting to know her family, too."

"Oh yes! Do you think any of them are mages? I hear Spyder magic is different from ours."

"I've heard that, too. I wonder how well it intermingles..."

The two of them continued talking for a while, excited for the upcoming wedding. Hopes were high that this one would end well, and already things were looking up. Whatever the future held, though, it sure promised to be interesting.

---

The wedding itself was lovely. The ceremony was truly moving, and the reception was excellent as well—the highlight of it surely being when an unassuming young bard performed an original song titled "Lord of Embers," a truly inspirational piece about Lord Everett and House Jade that brought many in the crowd to tears.

It seemed that things were finally looking up for House Jade, as just over a year later, Lord Everett was finally given an heir: Lord Joffery Jade, born the eighth of May in the year 1294. And unlike last time, both Joffery and Satine made it out of the ordeal alive and well, much to House Jade's collective relief. Finally, after all that grief, the future of House Jade was secured in one tiny child.

"Shh, shh, Joffery, it's okay," Satine cooed, trying to soothe her crying baby. "Mommy's here. It's okay." When that didn't seem to be working, she started to sing a lullaby. "Close your eyes, go to sleep, may your happy memories keep..."

The lullaby seemed to be working, as little Joffery quieted at the sound of his mother's voice. By the time she finished the song, he had stopped crying altogether, completely pacified by the melody. Satine smiled at this, gently stroking the thin strands of hair on his head.

"You're so good at that, Satine," Dorothea remarked. She had found herself visiting her young nephew in the nursery a lot lately, and as a result, she had also been seeing a lot of Lady Satine.

"Thank you," Satine replied. "I think he's calm now. Would you like to hold him?"

Dorothea nodded. "Sure."

Satine smiled, carefully handing Joffery over to her sister-in-law. Dorothea accepted the child gratefully, gently rocking him in her arms. He just cooed slightly, looking up at her with curious eyes.

"He really is a beautiful baby," Dorothea said. "I bet you and Everett are really proud."

"We are. Again, thank you." Satine fell silent for a while, lost in thought as she watched as Joffery drifted to sleep in his aunt's arms. "I know how important he is to Everett, especially," she added eventually. "Because he finally has a son."

"...Yeah," Dorothea agreed, a sad longing in her eyes. "When Cassandra died... that was a hard time for all of us, I think."

Satine frowned, taking a seat on the couch beside Dorothea. "...I heard about your son," she spoke slowly. "I can only imagine how hard that must have been for you."

Dorothea didn't respond, painful memories flashing back to mind. She remembered how scared she was, after Cassandra died. She remembered how heartbroken she was, when her child was taken from her. She remembered how hopeless she felt, when all of her dreams of starting a family had been shattered so suddenly.

"You really miss him, don't you?" Satine asked.

Dorothea nodded slowly. "I just... I was really looking forward to it, you know? Being a mother, raising a child... Cassandra and I often talked about how we were going to be young mothers together, but it... it wasn't meant to be, I guess."

"I'm sorry. That must have been devastating," Satine replied.

There was silence for a moment. Then Dorothea gave a small, hollow chuckle, shaking her head. "Woo, that was four years ago, wasn't it? You'd think I would be over it by now."

"It's not easy getting over something like that. I'm not sure it's possible to ever fully forget," Satine told her. Then, putting a reassuring hand on Dorothea's shoulder, she added, "But that doesn't mean you can't move on."

Dorothea looked up at her, thinking on this. She did have a point—maybe it was unreasonable to think that she needed to forget about her lost son, and in fact, she didn't want to. But at the same time, she didn't want to be stuck in the past forever...

"Maybe you're right," Dorothea admitted. "Thank you, Satine. You're a good friend."

"I try to be, thank you," Satine replied with a smile. "I hope I helped in some way."

"I think you did, thank you." Dorothea smiled back at her. After a moment's thought, she nodded, handing baby Joffery back to his mother. "Actually, I think there's something I need to do. Thanks again."

Satine accepted the child back readily. "You're welcome. I'm always here if you ever want to talk."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks," Dorothea said, before leaving the nursery. Satine was right—she needed to move on.

---

"Cedric?"

Cedric looked up from his book to see Dorothea standing in the doorway. "Oh, hello, dear. Back from the nursery already?"

"Yeah. Joffery was sleeping," Dorothea told him. She moved to sit beside him on the sofa, hesitating for a moment before speaking again. "And, well, I've been thinking... I mean, I've been talking to Satine, and..."

"What is it?" Cedric asked, setting his book aside so he could focus on her. "It's alright. You can tell me."

"I think..." Dorothea took a deep breath before continuing. "...I think I'm ready for another try." Before he could ask what she meant by that, she clarified, "I want to try having another baby."

Cedric had to take a moment to process the words before replying. "You are? ...Are you sure?"

"As sure as I ever can be," Dorothea replied with a shrug. "I mean... after last time, I'm not sure I can ever be completely sure. But you can't dwell on the past forever. And how can you know if you don't try?" She turned to look at him directly, smiling faintly. "I mean, if Everett could get over it, I suppose I should be able to, as well."

Slowly, a smile spread across Cedric's face, and he put an arm around her shoulders. "Well then, I think I'm ready to try again, too."

Dorothea's smile softened as she leaned into her husband's chest. "I love you, Cedric."

"I love you too, Dorothea."

---

Coincidentally enough, within a few weeks, the news came that Dorothea was pregnant again. The news was met with great support from her family, and many prayers and well-wishes. Cedric could tell that Dorothea was quite nervous—she paid visits to the healers perhaps more often than was strictly necessary—but she did her best to remain optimistic.

And then, at long last, came the fateful day.

Cedric had brought a book with him, in hopes that it would help distract him from the tension while waiting to receive news from the midwife. However, he found it very difficult to actually concentrate on the words, instead finding himself absentmindedly flipping the pages without actually reading them. Just the simple motions were surprisingly cathartic, but not enough to calm his nerves completely. Would it be alright this time? Would the baby be okay?

"Lord Cedric?"

The voice startled him, and he immediately turned to see the midwife standing over him. Cedric set the book down, standing up promptly. "How is she? The baby...?"

The midwife nodded. "They're both fine, my lord."

Cedric would have breathed a sigh of relief were it not for the sound of his heart thumping loudly in his ears. His excitement was equally as strong as his anxiety as the realization dawned on him—it was for real this time. He was finally going to be a father.

"That's incredible," he finally managed, a grin splitting across his face. "Can I go see her now, or...?"

"You can," the midwife confirmed, beckoning him to follow her back to the birthing room. "This way, please."

Before long, Cedric had found himself surrounded by the familiar sight of the birthing room. And once again, there was Dorothea lying on the bed, with tears streaming down her face—except that this time, there was a newborn child in her arms, and this time, they were tears of joy.

"Cedric," she breathed, "she's so beautiful."

Cedric wasted no time to move to her bedside, kneeling down to get a better look at the baby. No words could describe the emotions that flooded his mind as he realized that this was his child, his very own daughter, alive and well in his wife's arms. This was real. It was actually real.

"She's wonderful," Cedric agreed, putting an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I couldn't ask for anything more."

Dorothea didn't respond, too overwhelmed by her emotions to conjure up words. Cedric didn't mind, just cherishing the moment. It was a moment that could last forever, a moment he would never forget.

A Tapestry Torn - Part 5

SPOILER: Click to show

It was only one month after the birth of their daughter Edith, and by some miracle Cedric couldn't quite fathom, the arrangements for the marriage between Charles and Helena had finally come through. There was a lovely ceremony, one that reminded Cedric remarkably much of his own wedding a full seven years prior. (He had never expected a brother only three years younger than him would get married so much later, but that was how it went.)

"I'm happy for you, Charles," he told him at the reception, while Dorothea was speaking with her sister. "I think you're going to like it here in House Jade."

"Thank you. I'm sure I will," Charles said with a nod. "And it will be good being able to work with you, as well."

"Oh yes. I've been looking forward to it, myself." Cedric smirked as he added, "You might even do better than me, with as much education as you've had. Compared to you, I was thrown in blind."

"That may be so, but you have seven years of practical experience," Charles pointed out. "No amount of education can match that."

Cedric laughed. "True, true. And trust me, you're going to get plenty of jobs that proper education can never prepare you for. Woo, I remember when I was trying to make a scent spell for the healers..."

"A... scent spell? For the healers?" Charles blinked. "Do I dare ask why they would want such a spell?"

"Well, apparently what happened was that someone had accidentally messed up on a potion, and it came out with a foul, lingering stench," Cedric explained. "So they asked me for a spell to neutralize the scent, and, well... let's just say it took a few tries to get right."

Charles quirked a brow. "I... see. I'll have to keep that in mind."

"So does this mean you have perfected the art of eliminating odors, little brother?" came a third, familiar voice. Cedric eagerly turned to see the face of his brother Chadwick smiling back at him. "Because I feel like that would be a useful spell to keep around."

"If by 'perfected' you mean 'high odds of accidentally amplifying the odor,' then yes," Cedric replied.

"Oh Woo. Maybe I'd better wait for the improved version, then." Chadwick laughed, turning his attention to Charles. "Anyway, congratulations to you, Charles. This is an exciting new opportunity for you."

"Thank you," Charles replied. "I am looking forward to my time here... though I will miss having you around."

Chadwick's expression softened, a distant sadness in his eyes as he gave Charles a supportive hug. "I'm going to miss you, too."

"Well, at least Araydian isn't that far away," Cedric pointed out. "And we can always write if nothing else."

"Yes, exactly." Chadwick pulled back, his expression perfectly cheerful again. "Just feel free to let me know anytime you need anything, alright? Or even if you just want to talk."

Charles nodded. "I will, thank you."

"So where's Mona, by the way?" Cedric wondered. "I'm surprised she's not with you."

"Hm?" Chadwick blinked. "Oh, Katrin spilled some juice on her dress, so the two of them went to clean up." He glanced around the area, trying to spot them, but with no luck. "I thought they'd be back by now, though... hm."

"Oh dear." Cedric gave an amused smile, playfully nudging Charles. "Maybe we'd best keep an eye on our wives before they disappear on us."

Dorothea, having overheard that snippet of conversation, called back, "What are you saying about me now, dear husband of mine?"

"Oh, nothing," Cedric insisted. "I just don't want you running off and getting yourself in trouble."

"Cedric!" Dorothea gave a mock gasp. "How can you suggest such a thing?"

"I don't know, Dory," Helena added with a smirk. "Perhaps he speaks from past experience?"

"Slandered by my own sister!" Dorothea whined exaggeratedly. "I feel so betrayed!"

They all laughed together, sharing stories and enjoying each other's company. It was nice, Cedric thought, being able to just spend time with his brothers again. It was going to be nice working with Charles, and he was looking forward to helping Charles settle into his new family life, as well. All in all, Cedric couldn't be more satisfied with his life.

But alas, for it would not last.

---

It was an overcast day in mid November when Lord Colbert arrived in Solis. No one was quite sure what to expect of the visit—when the Lord of House Curys sent word that he would be coming, he only said that it was to discuss a serious issue that had befallen House Curys. Regardless, Lord Everett was dutifully waiting for him outside of Jade Manor when he arrived.

"Welcome, Lord Colbert. We've been expecting you," Everett said as the other lord approached. "I hope your trip was without incident."

"No incidents worth speaking of, my lord," Colbert replied simply. His expression remained flat as he continued, "I mean no disrespect, but I'm afraid I have little patience for small talk today. I'd like to get to the point as soon as possible."

Everett frowned. Whatever had Lord Curys this short-tempered must have been quite serious. "...Very well. This way, please."

"Thank you." Colbert followed without hesitation as Everett led him into the manor. "I would like Cedric and his wife to be present for the meeting, if that is possible. Their input will be necessary."

Dorothea, too? Everett wondered to himself. Wanting Cedric to be there made some sense, but why Dorothea? And why not Charles? But, deciding not to question it for now, he simply nodded. "Of course. I'll let them know."

"Thank you, my lord." Colbert nodded in turn. "I apologize for being brief, but I intend to explain everything at the meeting."

"Fair enough," Everett replied, though inwardly he was beginning to dread this meeting. He had a bad feeling about where this was going.

---

Before long, the four of them had gathered in a small meeting room. As Cedric took his seat beside Dorothea, he couldn't help but notice that she seemed troubled. While Cedric himself had never been much of a diplomat, Dorothea was even less of one, so why had Lord Colbert requested her presence? Cedric was fairly certain that his father wouldn't do this without good reason, but...

Hoping to calm her somewhat, Cedric reached over and took her by the hand. It was a small gesture, but it didn't go unnoticed, as Dorothea gave a brief grateful smile back at him. He was here for her. It would be okay.

Once everyone was settled, Lord Everett spoke up. "So what did you wish to discuss with us?"

"Quite simply, my lord," Lord Colbert said, "my son Chadwick is dead."

Cedric's blood ran cold at the news. Chadwick, dead? Cedric had cared deeply for his elder brother, having shared many fond memories with him, and for him to be gone... Chadwick had a wife and children, too; they must have been heartbroken...

"How... how did it happen?" he asked.

"Some time ago, he started complaining of recurring headaches," Colbert explained. "I'm not sure how long this had been going on, but he said it was getting worse as time went on. The healers gave him some potions to help deal with it, and he was eager to take them—anything to ease the pain, so he said." Colbert's frown deepened. "He was found dead in his room, an empty vial in his hands. The healers suspect he took too much."

"Oh Woo..." Cedric muttered, taking a moment to let this sink in. He never could have suspected this was going on—Chadwick had seemed just fine at Charles' wedding, never letting on anything about headaches.

"I am very sorry for your loss," Everett offered.

"I intend to hold his funeral later this month," Colbert said. "I'll be sending out invitations when the dates are finalized, but I wanted to speak with you directly first." He paused, his brow furrowing. "Regarding my House's inheritance."

"...Lord Chadwick was your only son," Everett realized, "besides Cedric and Charles."

"Correct. And Chadwick himself only ever had daughters—no sons. Since House Jade adopted both of my other sons, I am left with no worthy heirs..." Colbert turned to face his son. "...So I came to petition for Cedric to be returned to House Curys."

Suddenly, it all made sense. This was why Lord Colbert had to come to Solis in person to tell them this. This was why he wanted Cedric and Dorothea to both be present for the meeting. This was a huge thing to ask, both politically and emotionally. Cedric had grown comfortable here, in this job; he had no training for being heir to an entire estate. Would he even be able to handle that much responsibility?

"Why..." Dorothea spoke up for the first time, pausing to swallow the lump in her throat. "...Why does it have to be Cedric? Why not Charles?"

Colbert raised an eyebrow at this. "Why Charles? Cedric is my oldest living son. It's traditional for the heir to be the oldest son."

"W-well, I mean... Charles has less to lose, right?" Dorothea asked. "He's only been here for a few months, but Cedric..."

"Your grandfather assured me that both of my sons would be doing important work here," Cobert replied, with the slightest edge of venom to his otherwise level tone. "But if that's not true, I would be glad to take back Charles, as well."

"Alright, hold on, everyone slow down," Everett interjected, pinching his brow irritably. "Cedric and Charles do both have important work here, I assure you. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't feel comfortable giving either of them up, however..." He sighed. "...You do need an heir."

"Which leads me back to my original request," Colbert said. "Since I knew that both of them play an important role in your House, I did not assume you would be willing to part with both of them. Which is why I only asked for Cedric." His gaze felt particularly pointed as he added, "Whatever important work Cedric does here, surely the fate of an entire noble House is more important?"

"I'm certain we can find a replacement for Cedric," Everett agreed carefully. "Because yes, I could not in good conscience leave you with no heir." Glancing at Cedric and Dorothea, he added, "But if you need more time to think about it..."

"Well, I... I do want to help," Cedric replied slowly. In reality, he didn't feel he had much of a choice, but he didn't exactly want to say that to his father's face. "It's just... it's a lot to take in."

Dorothea, meanwhile, had resigned herself to silence, her eyes cast resolutely at the floor. Her hand clutched tightly onto Cedric's, allowing him to feel her shaking slightly. Cedric frowned. She was clearly very nervous about this.

"I'm sorry, is it alright if we excuse ourselves for a moment?" he asked.

After getting permission from both Lord Everett and Lord Colbert, Cedric carefully guided Dorothea out into the hall. Once they were out of earshot from the meeting room, before Cedric could even say anything, Dorothea spoke up.

"I don't want to go," she said.

"I know, Dorothea," Cedric told her, "but I have an obligation to my family. I have to go."

"I know, but..." Dorothea paused, trying to sort through her thoughts. "We're so comfortable here. I-I mean, you have your job, and all my family is here, a-and..." Her breath hitched, tears welling up in her eyes. "...We would n-need to have a son..."

Cedric's heart sunk at the words. The memories came flooding back of their first child, the son who was dead the moment he left the womb... though they had a healthy daughter now, the thought of his lost son still haunted him from time to time. Clearly it haunted Dorothea even more.

"It's okay, Dorothea," he muttered, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in close. "It's going to be okay..."

Then the two of them lapsed into silence, just taking a small bit of comfort in each other's arms.

---

After some careful negotiations, it was decided that Cedric and Dorothea would be given some time to wrap up loose ends with House Jade, but would be expected to stay in Araydian when they came for Chadwick's funeral. Cedric was grateful for that—at least it gave him the time to say goodbye.

"So Chadwick is dead," Charles said upon hearing the news, a solemn look in his eyes. "I... I can't believe it. This is so sudden."

"Did you know he was having headaches?" Cedric wondered. "Father said he'd been having them for a long time, but I never heard anything about it."

"I knew about it. I didn't know it was that bad," Charles told him, shaking his head. "He did a remarkable job of hiding it."

"I had no idea..." Cedric agreed, trailing off in thought. If only he had known, maybe he would have been able to help... but it was too late now. All they could do was move forward. He took a deep breath, remembering the next part he had to mention. "But that's why... that's why I have to go back to House Curys. Because I'm father's next heir."

Charles frowned as he realized what this meant. "I know you really enjoy working together," he said. "I'm sorry it has to end to suddenly."

Cedric let out a sigh, giving his brother a hug. "I'm sorry, too. I'm sure you'll do just fine on your own."

"Don't worry about me, Cedric. I'll be fine," Charles told him. "And at least Araydian isn't that far away, right?"

"At least we can write, if nothing else." Cedric fought back tears as the words echoed through his mind. They were the same words he had told Chadwick at Charles' wedding... which he now realized was the last time he saw his older brother still alive. He really wished now that he had written more often.

Charles didn't respond, just lapsing into a meaningful silence and giving the both of them time to grieve the loss of their brother.

A Tapestry Torn - Part 6

SPOILER: Click to show

It was really hard to actually go to the funeral. Not because Cedric didn't want to support his family, of course he did, but because of what he knew he would be greeted with when they got there.

No funeral was exactly happy, but the overpowering solemnity at Chadwick's funeral was even more thick and oppressive than usual. Cecilia gave a moving eulogy (Cedric thanked Woo that he didn't have to do it, given the circumstances) and through it all, the air rang with the sound of little girls' tears—Chadwick's two daughters. Oh Woo, those poor children; the anguish in their voice was so plain, Cedric wished he could do anything to help.

So when the service was over, he opted to seek them out and try just that. While Chadwick's widow, Mona, was seeking consolation from her brother, Cedric took Dorothea with him to speak with the two young girls. Katrin, the older of the two girls, wore a sullen expression as her young sister Anise was wailing loudly.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Dorothea immediately knelt down to meet Anise's eye level. "I know it hurts, but it's going to be okay."

Anise shook her head furiously, her short light brown hair whipping back and forth. "S'not okay," she replied firmly. "Daddy's not coming back."

Cedric felt like the words could rip his heart right out of his chest, and struggled to keep his composure as he continued. "...We know, sweetie. And we're all going to miss him, but we have to be strong for him, okay?"

But Anise just continued to shake her head. "I want daddy. But daddy's not coming back."

"Anise, I'm so sorry." Dorothea held out her arms to offer her niece a hug, only to be disappointed when Anise just peered back at her distrustingly. Dorothea frowned. "Is there any way we can help you feel better?"

"The only way you can help is if you can bring him back," added Katrin despondently. "And you can't do that. Mommy says no one can."

Neither Cedric nor Dorothea were sure how to respond to that. There had always been rumors of magic powerful enough to bring back the dead, but it was just that—rumors. Something that only the most powerful of mages could pull off, something that no one was ever quite powerful enough to actually do. The temptation briefly flitted into Cedric's mind to try and seek out the elusive spell—if anyone could do it, it would be a spellweaver, right?—but he immediately forced it out. One should never play around with something as delicate as human life.

"I... I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice cracking. "I can't do that."

Katrin didn't respond, just looking away glumly, while Anise continued to cry. Cedric felt awful; he hadn't cheered up the girls at all, instead only managing to upset himself. What was he thinking, anyway? These girls barely knew him, and clearly didn't really trust him. He could never be a replacement for Chadwick, no matter how much his father wanted him to be.

Mona, who was standing near enough to see what was going on, gave a deep sigh and took her two children by the hand. "I'm sorry, Lord Cedric, Lady Dorothea."

"No, we're sorry," Dorothea insisted, stopping Mona before she could walk away. "I know it's hard, what you're going through right now. I just wanted you to know that we'll be here for you, if you ever need support."

Mona looked back at her, her light brown eyes dull from emotional exhaustion. "...I appreciate that, but..." She mulled over what to say for a long time, before finally turning to Cedric. "...I was thinking of talking to your father about going back to House Charol."

Cedric was surprised by this. She wanted to go back to her birth home? Though really, it made some sense—being as young as she was, and with her having no sons, there was no legal obligation for her to stay in House Curys. But despite this realization, the words that came out of his mouth were still, "But why?"

"It might just be for a while. We'll have to see what the future holds," Mona clarified. "I just... I don't want to be reminded of him every morning. ...I think I need some space."

"...I guess that makes sense," Cedric replied slowly. It all made sense; he felt bad for her, and he wished only the best for her... but somehow it still felt like a stab in the heart, like she was abandoning House Curys in its time of need.

"Well... even so, we'll still be here if you need us," Dorothea said. "You can write, or visit, or whatever you like."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." Mona gave a small, tired smile. It lingered for only a moment, before she let out another sigh. "...I'd best go. Do you know where your father is?"

"I... think he's talking to Lord Everett," Cedric told her. Actually, he knew perfectly well that that was where he was, because he remembered how annoyed he was that he was already discussing politics. Couldn't even wait until after the funeral, he thought glumly.

"Thank you." Mona nodded, before wordlessly turning to leave, taking her two daughters with her.

Cedric waited until she was out of earshot before letting out a sigh. "...I just wish there was more I could do."

"I know, dear," Dorothea replied, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. "Me too."

Cedric returned the hug, losing himself in his thoughts. Maybe for Lady Mona it was easier for her to go home, but he could already tell it was going to be the exact opposite for him.

---

By the time the funeral was over, it was late into the evening, and Cedric was quite grateful to be directed straight to his bedroom for the night. At that point, he was too tired to deal with anything else for the rest of the day, and just wanted to get right to sleep.

In the morning, there was a breakfast feast for everyone who had stayed overnight for the funeral, and they all started on their way home immediately afterward—Lady Mona and her daughters did indeed end up going back with House Charol, which Cedric wasn't sure how to feel about. It was also strange not going home with the Jades, but that was just something he was going to have to get used to.

"Well then," his father said to him, once all the guests were properly gone. "I suppose we'd best get down to business."

Already? was Cedric's first thought. It hadn't even been a full day since Chadwick's funeral, and his father was already talking about the politics? Then again, he didn't even wait that long, was Cedric's second thought, as he recalled how his father spent most of the funeral making political arrangements rather than actually mourning his dead son. How very typical of him, was Cedric's third thought. But what he actually said was, "I suppose we'd best."

"Since you never had the chance to receive proper political training as a child, I've arranged for you to begin lessons tomorrow morning," Colbert explained. His voice was flat and emotionless, so there was no telling what exactly he was thinking as he said this. "You've always been an intelligent man, so I'm sure you'll be able to pick up on it quickly."

"I hope so," Cedric agreed, smiling faintly. At least his father was giving him a day of preparation, which was better than nothing. And at least his father had confidence in him. Cedric just hoped he would be able to live up to those expectations. It wasn't like he had much of a choice.

"In the meantime, if there is anything you or Lady Dorothea need, I'd be more than happy to provide it for you," Colbert continued. "I want you to feel comfortable and at home here."

"I appreciate that, thank you." Cedric took a step back, trying to break away from the conversation. "For now, I think I'd just like to rest for a while."

Colbert nodded. "Of course. Feel free to let the servants know if you need anything."

I'm not unfamiliar with how noble houses work, father, Cedric thought to himself crossly, walking away before he was tempted to say it out loud. Maybe he was being too hard on his father—at least he was trying to be a good host. But then again, he realized, being a good host isn't the same thing as being a good father.

He pushed those thoughts aside, deciding that he needed to focus on something else for now. He recalled that Dorothea said she would be visiting the nursery, so he decided to join her there. That sounded like a good way to unwind.

Sure enough, when he made it to the nursery, there was Dorothea, rocking Edith in her arms. Cedric smiled at the sight. At least he had his wife and daughter here with him—he wasn't sure how well he could manage on his own.

"So how do you like the nursery?" he asked.

"It's... quiet," Dorothea told him. She gave a tentative laugh, adding, "It's a little weird for a nursery, but I guess it's relaxing."

Cedric frowned. So she had noticed it, too—with Lady Mona and her children gone, that left Edith as the only child in House Curys. In fact, the entire House felt very empty compared to House Jade, especially with both Chadwick and Charles gone. And it was probably only a matter of time before Cecilia would be married off, too...

"What about you?" Dorothea asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm... alright. Father wants to start me on heir training tomorrow morning." Cedric let out a sigh. "That should be interesting."

Dorothea frowned, pondering what to say to that. After a moment, she gave an encouraging smile. "Well, it's okay, dear. I'm sure you'll make a great heir."

"Thank you, Dorothea." Cedric smiled back at her. "I hope so."

"I know so. You're a smart, good man." Dorothea gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

"Thank you. I love you, too."

Cedric smiled, putting an arm around Dorothea's shoulders and looking down at the baby in her arms. Their daughter cooed lightly, smiling back at him as if with encouragement of her own. They were right; he had figured out how to create spells from scratch, so how much harder could running a noble house be? He just had to have faith.

---

But then again, faith alone had never really been enough for him before.

After a week of lessons, Cedric found himself seated in the library, furiously poring through a stack of books. He had never realized before the sheer amount of information an heir was expected to know, and no matter how hard he tried, it felt like he could never really absorb it all. He was always forgetting something, never grasping what he was supposed to, and it only continued to frustrate him. So that's why he had decided to spend the evening studying. He needed to learn all of this. He couldn't be a disappointment again.

"Cedric?" came the voice Cedric really did not want to hear—his father's. Lord Colbert strode into the library, coming up behind Cedric and looking down at him in concern. "I heard from the tutors that you weren't doing well."

"I know," Cedric replied simply. "I'm going to do better next time, I swear it."

"That's not what I meant," Colbert said. "You've been acting very agitated. Is there something you need to talk about?"

There were many things Cedric could have said in response to that. But the one he ultimately went with was a curt, "No."

"Don't be short with me, Cedric," Colbert scolded. "I want to know what's wrong."

Cedric let out an exasperated sigh. "...Do you really need to ask?"

Colbert apparently was expecting this, letting out a sigh of his own. "I realize you've been through a lot recently. I understand that. But you can't let your emotions get in the way of your work, especially if you want to be an effective heir."

Of course he would say that. Of course he would. Lord Colbert never cared about anything besides politics. At Cedric's wedding to Dorothea, that was all he could care about. At his own son's funeral, that was all he could care about. And now here he was telling Cedric to disregard his own emotions, because what could possibly be more important than politics?

"...So am I your son, then," Cedric asked, before he could stop himself, "or am I just a political pawn?"

Colbert didn't respond at first, apparently not sure what to make of the question. After a moment, he replied, "Excuse me?"

"I never wanted any of this," Cedric told him. "I was happy in House Jade, but you've never cared about that, have you? You've never cared about how I felt."

"Do you think I'm happy about this, Cedric? Do you think I'm happy that my son is dead?" Colbert spat. "I never asked for this either, but I can't let what I want get in the way of what needs to be done. I'm only asking that you do the same."

"Why can't you ever show any support?" Cedric demanded, practically leaping out of his seat. "I'm sick of never being good enough for you! When I went to House Jade, you kept acting the whole arrangement was a mistake that never should have happened. And now you want me to be your heir, but I..." He hesitated, taking a deep breath. "...I can't. I can't, because I'm not good enough!"

"That's why I'm trying to help you, Cedric."

"Right. By telling me that I need to get over myself. Well, I'm terribly sorry that I have feelings, then." Cedric scowled. "I'm sorry that I can't be you."

Colbert opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. That alone said more than words could ever say—he had no response. No excuse.

Cedric brusquely turned to leave, blinking back the tears that were forming in his eyes. "I'm going to my room."

"Cedric, wait—" Colbert started, but it was no use. Without another word, Cedric left, slamming the door behind him.

A Tapestry Torn - Part 7

SPOILER: Click to show

Cedric felt awful. As much as he meant what he said, he never should have yelled at his father like that. As if the lingering tension wasn't bad enough already, now he had gone and made it worse—father was definitely going to hate him for that.

He didn't even acknowledge the servants he passed in the hall, just making a beeline straight to his bedroom. Once there, he practically ripped open the door and stepped inside, slamming it behind him roughly. At that point, he didn't even feel like moving to the bed, just sliding down the door and hitting the floor with a heavy sigh.

"Cedric? What's wrong?" came Dorothea's voice. Cedric wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed that she was here.

"...I'm an idiot, Dorothea," he replied at length.

Dorothea frowned, getting up from where she was sitting on the bed and cautiously approaching him. "What happened?"

"I yelled at my father. He probably hates me," Cedric mumbled in response. He groaned, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Dorothea. I wish none of this had to happen."

"Cedric..." Dorothea knelt down beside her husband as she pondered what to say. "It's not your fault."

"Maybe not, but I still shouldn't have said anything," Cedric said. "It's not like he'll take back years of resentment after being called out for it once. ...That was stupid of me."

Dorothea was silent, not sure what to say. After a moment, she tentatively gave her husband a hug. "Whatever he does, it will be okay," she told him. "We just have to have faith, right?"

Cedric looked back at her, lost in thought. Those words echoed through his mind as if on endless repeat—we need to have faith. But they had faith, and it didn't stop their son from dying. They had faith, and it didn't help Chadwick. What if Dorothea was right? What if they were cursed?

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Cedric?" came the voice from the other side—his mother. "Is everything alright?"

Cedric groaned inwardly. He didn't really want to talk to his mother right now. "I'm fine, mother," he lied.

"No, you aren't," she replied bluntly. "I heard you yelling earlier, and I'm worried about you. Can I come in?"

Cedric didn't respond, not sure what to say. It was Dorothea who spoke up, noticing his hesitance. "You should talk to her, Cedric."

"...I don't know," he mumbled in response.

"Cedric, come on," Dorothea insisted. "Get up."

"Wha—"

Before Cedric had the chance to resist, Dorothea had hoisted him to his feet, pulling him away from the door. Speaking up louder, she said, "You can come in, Lady Rosemary."

Rosemary immediately took the cue, opening the door and walking inside. As she did, Dorothea stepped aside, leaving the two of them space to talk. Cedric let out a defeated sigh, massaging his temples. There wasn't much he could do when Dorothea was this insistent.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper," he said immediately. "I won't do it again."

"I'm more concerned with why you lost your temper," Rosemary replied. She frowned, stepping closer to him. "This is really stressful for you, isn't it? Giving up your old job just to come here."

"...Yes," Cedric admitted, unsure if he should say more. He wanted to believe she would understand, she must have recognized what his father had been doing to him, but at the same time...

"Being the heir to an estate is very stressful, especially thrust on you so suddenly," Rosemary agreed. "I think... I think the stress really got to your brother." She hesitated for a moment, before adding, "...I wouldn't want the same thing to happen to you."

All fell to silence. As the words echoed through Cedric's mind, the tears he had been fighting back finally broke loose. Though he tried to discreetly wipe them away, it didn't escape Rosemary's notice, and she promptly strode over to him, wrapping her arms around him consolingly.

"It's okay, dear," she said. "I know it's hard; we all miss him."

"It's just... it's just not fair," Cedric admitted, his voice cracking. "How could he die over something so... so..."

"Preventable?" Rosemary guessed, her frown deepening. "I ask myself that same question every day."

"He never told me. If he had, maybe I could have..." Cedric shivered, choking back a sob. "Why didn't he tell me? M-maybe I could have helped..."

"He probably just didn't want to worry you," Rosemary assured him. "Please don't hold it against yourself. There's no way you could have known."

"But I should have known he was stressed, like y-you said he was," Cedric replied weakly. "Of course he was, after I left, and Charles left, and he was all alone, a-and..." He swallowed. "...I should have done something..."

"Cedric..." Rosemary frowned, gently stroking her son's hair. "We don't know all the reasons why this happened, but you can't blame yourself for it. It's not your fault."

"May... maybe not," Cedric admitted. "But father expects me to replace him, and I... I-I can't." He shook his head weakly. "I can't. I'm not good enough."

"You've been stressed, dear. It's hard to be your best when your world is falling apart," Rosemary told him. "You can't be so hard on yourself."

There was silence for a while. And then, slowly, his breath hitching, Cedric said, "Father said... h-he said I shouldn't let my emotions get in the way."

Rosemary let out a long sigh as she collected her thoughts. "...Your father means well," she explained carefully. "He really does care about you, and he wants the best for you."

"Then why doesn't he ever show it?" Cedric asked.

"That's just how he is, dear," Rosemary told him, pulling back from the hug to look him in the eye. "That's the only way he knows how to cope—by shutting himself off from his emotions." She shook her head. "If he's been cross with you, that's just because he's hurting terribly inside. He's taken this all really hard, too."

Cedric fell silent, letting this sink in. Thinking on it, it all made sense. His father was experiencing many of the same things he was: the death of a son, being separated from his family members, seeing the once full hallways of your own home now empty... and that was why he said the things that he did, too. He must have been, in all honesty, trying to help.

Cedric groaned, burying his face in his hands. "...Woo, I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot, Cedric." Rosemary frowned. "Look, I... I'll talk to your father, alright? I'm sure we can get this all sorted out with a little understanding."

"I..." Cedric nodded slowly. "...Okay."

"In the meantime," she added, "you stay here and get some rest, alright? You've had a rough day."

"...Alright."

Rosemary smiled softly, giving her son another hug. "I love you, Cedric. Hang in there, won't you?"

"I will." Cedric sniffed. "I love you too, mother."

Without another word, Rosemary pulled away, leaving the room and closing the door behind her. Once she was gone, Dorothea again took her place at Cedric's side, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I think you needed that," she said simply.

Were he in a better state of mind, Cedric might have laughed. Dorothea always did have an eye for these things. Instead, he simply threw his arms around her, pulling her close and relishing in her warmth.

---

It was some time later—enough time for Cedric to calm down, but short enough that he was still just a bit sore about what had happened—when there was another knock on the bedroom door. Both Cedric and Dorothea had been sitting and relaxing on the bed, but Dorothea stood and went to answer the door. On the other side were Cedric's parents, with Colbert wearing an unusually somber expression on his face.

"We'll leave you two alone," Rosemary said immediately, beckoning Dorothea into the hall with her. "You boys had best behave."

Colbert didn't respond to that, just wordlessly trading places with Dorothea. Dorothea gave an encouraging smile before closing the door behind her, leaving father and son alone together. Colbert took a deep breath, turning his attention to his son seated on the bed.

"Cedric?" he spoke up, his tone softer than usual.

"Father, I... I'm sorry," Cedric said immediately. "I lost my temper, I shouldn't have..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the one who should apologize," Colbert replied, moving closer. "I realize I have not been entirely fair to you. I did not intend to discredit your feelings."

Cedric sighed. "And I didn't mean to discredit yours."

The uncomfortable expression on his father's face was enough to bring a small smile to Cedric's face. Maybe his mother was right, after all—there were emotions in there somewhere, he just didn't know how to express them properly. Regardless, Colbert slowly sat down on the bed beside him, taking another deep breath before speaking again.

"I... had hoped that you would be willing to talk about what's been bothering you," he told him. "So that perhaps I could help. ...I'd still be willing to listen if you like."

Cedric thought long and hard about this. He had already expressed most of his thoughts rather loudly to his father, and the rest had likely been relayed by his mother, so what else was there worth mentioning?

"I guess... I just worry that I'm not going to be good enough," he decided on. "I don't feel like I'm doing very well in my lessons, and... I'm not sure I'll ever be able to replace Chadwick."

"You shouldn't compare yourself to Chadwick," Colbert said. "Chadwick was a good man, and he'll certainly be missed, but you're also an inherently different person than he was. You're quite capable, and I'm sure you'll do a fine job on your own merits."

Cedric was silent, letting this sink in. It sounded like his father was saying that he could be himself, without that sense of expectation of being something else. It was almost surreal—for the first time in as long as he could remember, he had hope that his father could finally be proud of him for who he was, not disappointed from what he wasn't. Could it really be true? He hoped so. It was a nice feeling.

"And besides," Colbert continued, "just between you and me... I never learned much from those lessons, myself."

Cedric blinked in surprise. "...You didn't?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong; the lessons were informative enough, and I enjoyed going to them," Colbert explained. "But I've found that memorizing legal procedures means absolutely nothing until you actually have to use them."

There was a pause. And then, Cedric gave a tentative smirk. "Heh. No amount of education can really prepare you for the real thing, can it?" He knew the feeling all too well from his work as a spellweaver, but he decided not to mention that. He didn't quite feel comfortable talking about his old job to his father, not yet.

"Quite so," Colbert agreed. "I swear I had memorized all the tax codes backwards and forwards, but it didn't help a lick when this rancher came yelling to me about all these tax breaks he deserved because these cattle that he only owned two months a year, and this piece of land he shared with his uncle, and so on and so forth..."

Cedric chuckled at the story. "Oh Woo. Sounds like a hassle."

"It was." Colbert shook his head. "But in all seriousness, if you need help with your lessons, I would be happy to help you however I can. I realize it can be a lot to take in."

"...Thank you." Cedric's expression softened into a genuine smile. "I appreciate that."

Colbert smiled back at him—a strange expression to see on his father's face—just lingering there for a while, before finally clearing his throat and speaking again. "Well, if that's all for now..."

"Yes, I think so," Cedric replied. "I suppose I'd best let you go, then."

"Yes, well, I do have to get back to work." Colbert stood up off the bed, pausing to look back at Cedric. "...I hope that, in the future, you'll be more willing to let me know when something is wrong?"

"...I can try." Cedric nodded. "Thank you for listening."

"Any time." And with that, Colbert went on his way, leaving Cedric alone in the room.

But not for long, as Dorothea reentered the room shortly afterward. "Well?" she asked. "How did it go?"

"Surprisingly well, actually," Cedric told her. "I think... I think maybe everything will be alright."

Dorothea smiled, taking her place beside him on the bed again and giving him a hug. "See? It's just like I told you. You just have to have faith."

Cedric just smiled back at her, returning the hug. There was still work to be done, he still had a long way to go, but things were on the mend. He didn't know what the future held for them, but at least now he knew that there was hope.

And hope was all that Cedric ever really needed.

A Tapestry Torn - Epilogue

SPOILER: Click to show

"Hugh, knock it off!"

"But I'm not touching you!"

"Stop, it's not funny! Mother, father, make him stop!"

Dorothea sighed, breaking away from her conversation with Cedric to see what their children were up to this time. Edith, now fourteen years old, was hunched over a book, while her young brother Hugh was hovering beside her, pestering her by holding his finger very close to her face.

"Alright now," Dorothea said, "settle down, both of you."

"But I didn't do anything!" Edith protested. "It's him who keeps— hey!" She pushed her young brother away. "Quit it!"

"Edith, don't shove your brother," Dorothea scolded. "And Hugh, stop bothering your sister."

"But I wasn't touching her!"

"I mean it, Hugh." Dorothea folded her arms. "Now apologize to your sister before I have to send you to your room."

Hugh made a pouting face at her, to which Dorothea responded by cooly raising an eyebrow. The two of them just stared each other down for a while, before finally Hugh relented with a groan. "Okay, fine... I'm sorry, Edith."

"Thank you," Edith huffed, returning her attention to her book.

Dorothea smiled, ruffling her son's light brown hair. "That's my boy. If you want something to do, I'd be happy to play with you if you like."

Hugh's eyes lit up at this. "Can we play outside?"

"Sure, if you want." Dorothea glanced back at Cedric with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "And maybe we can bring your father with us, too."

"Yeah! Daddy, you should come too!" Hugh agreed.

"Oh dear. What are you two getting me into this time?" Cedric teased.

Dorothea laughed, taking him by the wrist. "I don't know, I guess you'll have to come with us and find out!"

"Yeah! Come on, it'll be fun!" Hugh grinned, hurrying out into the hall and beckoning his parents to follow. "Come on, let's go!"

"No running in the halls, Hugh," Cedric said, chuckling as he and Dorothea followed their energetic son to the castle gardens.

But for as much of a troublemaker as Hugh could be, Cedric was incredibly grateful to have him—especially given the full nine year age gap between him and Edith. After another set of unsuccessful childbirths, there was a very real fear that Cedric and Dorothea would not be able to produce an heir for House Curys, but Hugh's birth proved that Lord Woo rewarded patience and persistence.

The three of them finally made it outside to the gardens, where they were greeted with a tiny yelp and the sound of rustling leaves. Dorothea blinked, following the source of the noise to find a blonde-haired toddler hiding behind the bushes. "Lilac? What are you doing out here?"

"I'm sorry, mommy," the girl whimpered, clutching onto a handful of posies. Lilac was an unexpected miracle, having been born just a few years after her brother Hugh. "I was just lookin' at the flowers."

"That's nice, sweetie, but you shouldn't be sneaking around in the gardens without an adult," Dorothea told her. Gesturing to the flowers in her hand, she added, "And your grandpa doesn't like it when you pick flowers out of the gardens, remember?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry." Lilac frowned, gingerly fingering one of the flowers' petals. "But I was gonna give them to you."

Dorothea smiled at this, bending down and picking up the child. "Well, thank you, they are very pretty. Just don't take them from the gardens next time, okay?"

"Okay." Lilac smiled back, putting her arms around her mother's neck. "I love you, mommy."

"I love you too, sweetie." Dorothea ran her fingers through her daughter's blonde curls. "Come on, we'd best get you back inside."

"Aw, but I thought we were gonna play!" Hugh whined.

"I'll be back in a minute, okay?" Dorothea told him, as she started back toward the doors with Lilac. "In the meantime, you can still play with your father."

"Okay!" Hugh grinned at this. "Hey daddy, bet you can't catch me!"

"What?" Cedric blinked, watching as Hugh darted off. Realizing what he was doing, Cedric gave an amused smile. "Oh, no you don't!"

The two of them just chased each other around the gardens for a while, laughing and having fun together. Finally, after all the hardships their family been through, it was good to know that everything would be alright.

[Shinko]

Behold; a new collabfic between myself and Tiger, quite a long time in the making. This has been a lot of fun, and we're very excited to finally share it with you all!

The Emberwing Championships: Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

For once, Lieutenant Anders Escalus had not asked to meet with his right wedge in the office that he maintained in the officer’s wing of the fireknight barracks. Instead, he was waiting for the man, Cai Shahar, in the phoenix mews. There was far less formality to meeting in this location, a relaxed mode further reinforced by the fact that Anders was not in uniform, but instead in civilian clothes, the badge at his chest the only evidence that he was in fact a fireknight.

Well, that and the way his phoenix, Mirja, was pressing her feathery crown against his chest and cooing as he absently preened the feathers of her neck. As friendly as phoenixes were, only a bird’s own rider usually got that sort of affection.

It was a few weeks after the midsummer solstice, and Cai had only recently returned to duty after his trip to Nid’aigle to visit his half-elvish girlfriend. When Anders had initially put the Ophelia Braham in contact with Cai, he never would’ve guessed that the two of them would enter into a romantic relationship with each other. His right wedge had always been very reserved, cautious, and a man of few words. But once it had started, Anders was hardly going to discourage things. He was happy for Cai, really. It was good to see the former Courdonian slave coming out of his shell a little more and experiencing the joys life had to offer.

Which brought Anders back to the subject of this meeting.

There was a soft creaking from the entrance of the mews, and Anders looked up from his ministrations on Mirja’s feathers. Anders might have dressed down for this meeting, but the short, dark-skinned man entering the mews had apparently not intuited the same thing; though not in full armor, he was wearing the day-to-day military dress of the fireknights. If he was surprised at Anders’ choice of attire, or abashed at his own overly-formal choice, Cai didn’t show it; the only evidence he noticed at all was the flick of his hazel eyes looking his commander up and down.

This was a very unusual situation for Cai, and he was not sure what to expect from this meeting. He could presume it wasn’t disciplinary, and Cai couldn’t think of anything he might have done to earn punishment, anyway. His best guess was that it might be an invitation to a social gathering - but why not just give him the invitation instead of a summons?

He hadn’t let himself fret over it too much; most likely, he’d told himself, it would all make sense when it was explained. Cai’s childhood had somewhat neglected to give him experience with normal interactions, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to be at a loss until a situation was explained.

As he approached the Lieutenant and his phoenix, Cai’s own bird, Tamir, poked his head over the wall of his stall. The phoenix made a noise that combined a twitter and several short hoots until Cai pat his beak. “Settle down, Tamir; you’ll have your turn in a moment.” He slipped a few grapes out of a pocket at his belt, and Tamir eagerly plucked them out of Cai’s hand.

Cai turned his face, the left side of his jaw disfigured by dark splash-burn scars, toward Anders to give the man his full attention and a salute. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant. What can I do for you, sir?”


The lieutenant turned and leaned against the wall of Mirja’s stall, crossing his arms. “I had a meeting this morning with all of the senior officers- word’s just come down from Lord Everett himself.” A smile quirked at Anders’ lips. “After a four year hiatus, we’re finally having the Emberwing Championships again this year. Fifth wing’s split up on a courier mission to take word to the other bases around Corvus.”

Cai nodded slightly, processing this information. This could mean a few things, from needing to cover the fifth wing’s patrol while they were away, to preparing for security around the arena. Why Anders was telling him this alone instead of sharing it with the entire squad, however, Cai wasn’t sure. Maybe there was something else to it.

In any case, it was interesting to know. “That’s good news; if the Championships are on again, the rest of Corvus must be getting back to normal, too.” The past Emberwing Championships had been cancelled thanks to the drought plaguing much of Kyth at the time. With water so scarece, there had been no spare time nor energy for such an event. “Do you plan to compete, Lieutenant?”

“I do,” Anders confirmed. “I’d always been interested in the jousting tournament, but I refrained before now because I didn't want to appear big-headed, thinking myself worthy to compete with fireknights half again my age.” The lieutenant made a face. “There were already enough people thinking that of me for being promoted so young- as you’ll remember.”

Cai nodded slightly. “Yes, I recall.” One of the reasons Cai had been chosen as Anders’ Right Wedge in the first place was that he had been one of the few people who hadn’t been judging Anders by his age. It helped that Cai was two years older than the troops he had trained and graduated with; younger students more skilled than he was weren’t exactly uncommon. Age didn’t necessarily equal experience.

“Well, congratulations,” Cai said. “I’m glad you’re giving yourself the opportunity; you’ve more than earned it. It should be quite a show, Lieutenant.”

Anders gave his Right Wedge a smile. “Thank you, I do hope it will be.” Mirja chose that moment to poke her head over the wall- and her rider’s shoulder- and nudge him on the cheek, prompting Anders to scratch her absently. “But on the subject of allowing people to do things they’ve always held back from… I’ve been thinking that it might be good for you to compete, Shahar.” The lieutenant quirked a smile. “Some old awards records I’ve looked at indicate that Tamir has a bit of a history in the firesetting events.”

“He does?” Cai looked over at his phoenix, who chirruped innocently. Nobody had mentioned Tamir competing in past Emberwing Championships before - it must have been at least two lives before his current one.

The surprise did not last long enough for Cai to forget what else Anders had said. Frowning again, he replied, “I’m not sure my competing would be a good idea. I appreciate the suggestion, Lieutenant,” he added respectfully, “but drawing attention to myself - especially at such a high-profile event…” Cai glanced around the mews, but there was no one in sight; he made a small gesture toward the burn scars on his jaw and neck. “It’s probably safest that I don’t.”

Anders sighed. Lowering his voice he replied, “I thought you might say that. If I may be forgiven a moment of frankness, Shahar, any slave hunter looking to try his hand at kidnapping a man from the single biggest gathering of fireknights in Corvus is either desperate or suicidal- or both.” The younger man shrugged. “The name ‘Cai’ is hardly an uncommon one, could easily be short for a number of equally common names, and burn scars are a bit of an occupational hazard for us.”

The lieutenant shook back his sleeve, revealing places where he too had burn scars from previous combat actions, though nowhere near as bad as any of Cai’s. Then, unexpectedly, he gently smiled. “I think it would be good for you- really, I do. Doing something fun and a little bit reckless, just because you can. Besides- if you live in fear of Courdon and let that fear dictate what you may and may not do, can you really say that you are free of it?”

Cai’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. It took him a moment to respond, but at last, he pointed out in an equally low voice, “They wouldn’t need to resort to kidnapping; by law, I belong to them, and all they would need to do is point me out and remind someone of the treaty.” He crossed his arms as he spoke, hands high on his upper arms; as he finished his sentence, he lightly tapped his right shoulder, where the Armels’ brand was burned into his skin. “...I suppose you make a fair point regarding living in fear. But I don’t know. Maybe emotional freedom is something I ought to strive for - but I don’t want to be greedy. I worry that if I take too much, it’s going to wind up costing me my physical freedom as well. If that makes sense.”

Anders nodded slowly. “Believe me, I’m not from the same situation you are but I do understand in my own way.” He looked away, his teeth gritted. “It’s likely my father or brother will be spectating, and I’ve not seen nor spoken to them in… Woo, it’s got to be going on a decade and a half now. I don’t talk about this much, but let’s just say I didn’t forfeit my noble title for no reason, and I have no wish to suffer a family reunion because I drew attention to myself by competing. I know it’s nowhere near as serious a threat as you face but… I do get it. Being afraid of the past and feeling tied down by it.”

He looked towards Cai again. “But that’s why I decided I would compete this year, despite my misgivings. Because I left so that I could live my own life, by my own terms, and to the ‘Pit with them. ...And it’s why I think this could be good for you as well. Besides, you don’t honestly think after the service you’ve given to Kyth that we would just meekly hand you over, do you? The fireknights save runaways from hunters whenever we can.”

“I know you wouldn’t want to, Lieutenant - but it wouldn’t necessarily be your choice. Lord Everett will be right in the stands; if you don’t cooperate they can go right up to him and he would have to tell you to hand me over. Otherwise it breaks the treaty and could start a war.”

Anders tilted his head. “I assumed you were thinking of them approaching you after your event. Do you really think they’d interrupt the Championship to try and drag someone who, by all immediately obvious measures, is a Kythian citizen? In front of the crowd, the lords, and the other fireknights? Hunters operate quietly and under the radar because they know Kythians as a whole don’t approve of their deeds. If they tried to march out onto the field in the middle of things to demand you bare your arm they would have a mob on their hands.”

Cai paused, considering that. His Lieutenant had a point; Cai had never seen a slave-hunter attempt an arrest in the middle of a group of people, not in Kyth. Even the ones who had found him on the road in virtually the middle of nowhere had waited until they and the slave were alone - or thought they were - to attempt anything. Cai had seen that mobs could be very dangerous - especially in Covus, where an angry crowd could hold mages.

And If any slave-hunters waited until after the event, approached him somewhere away from crowds and potential witnesses...well, Cai had seen how fireknights and their birds handled lone slave-hunters. So long as he took care not to be caught alone, and to always have his blade on him…

“That is true,” Cai admitted. “Fireknights don’t sit idly by when they can help runways. It’s where the legalities come into play that concerns me. But if they don’t try to go about it legally...”

There was still a chance they would...but then, there was always a chance they would. Just like there was a chance, every mission that Cai went on, that he wouldn’t return home. Cai didn’t avoid missions because of a risk in that scenario.

And I suppose there isn’t overmuch chance of it happening...slave-hunters wouldn’t like phoenixes, so they wouldn’t have much reason to attend a Championship. This isn’t the first time people have seen my scars, either; nothing seems to have come of going into town or on missions with the wing. “...Perhaps I’m being overcautious.”

“Your being cautious is understandable given the circumstances,” Anders assured him. “But in this case I really do think you have little reason to fear. The decision is ultimately yours, but… I do wish you would consider it.”

Cai mulled this over as he plucked a bit of hay out of Tamir’s feathers. Even as limited as he might live his life - it would be a lot to lose if he made the wrong decision. At the same time, just because he couldn’t take as many risks as other people didn’t mean he should never take them at all. His job as a fireknight meant risking his life every time he went out on a mission; daring to be less-reserved with Ophelia, while not a danger to his liberty, had put him in vulnerable positions; and hadn’t running for Corvus in the first place been the biggest risk of all?

The rewards for taking those chances had been more generous than he could have possibly imagined...and a part of Cai’s head had to admit that there was a sense of justified comeuppance in the idea of openly participating in a competition despite the brand on his shoulder.

“I suppose if there really isn’t very much risk of being taken back,” Cai said at last. “then there’s no reason not to at least consider it.” Looking up from Tamir’s feathers, the burn-scarred fireknight asked, “How long do I have to decide?”

"Tryouts will take place the second and third week of August," Anders replied. "You've got until then- so a bit over three weeks. Don't feel pressured to do it just because I made the suggestion, though. Think about it and decide if it's something you would really want- something you would enjoy."

He gave Mirja one final scratch on the cheek, adding with a glimmer of amusement in his eye, "If nothing else, it would give you and Tamir an opportunity to show off for Madam Braham, hm?"

By this point, being teased about having a girlfriend was something Cai was a little more accustomed to. “I suppose it would, yes,” he agreed with a small smile. “We have mentioned that Tamir and I should show her some of the exciting parts of flying a phoenix. One of the firesetting events would certainly count for that.”

If Tamir had history of doing well in such competitions - he did burn rather hot, even for a phoenix - then there was a chance Cai could catch up enough to make it through the tryouts. Hardly guaranteed by any means, but worth the effort if he decided to compete. And it wasn’t as if extra time flying Tamir would hurt Cai any even if he decided it was too risky. “I suppose I should pick an event to consider, then; maybe I’ll look into those records you mentioned and see which ones Tamir’s competed in.”

Anders nodded, stepping away from Mirja’s stall. “Good then; in the meantime I’ll see you both tomorrow morning for our regular patrols.”


Over the next few days, Cai indeed gave the idea a lot of thought. He couldn’t honestly say he’d never wanted to compete, if only to test his own skill; phoenix-riding was one talent he possessed that could really be tested and challenged - and, if he was being honest, shown off. Map-reading and shape-puzzles and making friends with animals weren’t exactly events people held competitions for.

Cai had always flicked those idle thoughts away; showmanship was too dangerous, he’d always reminded himself, and that was that. Now that he’d been presented with counter-arguments and more or less assured that the fireknights would intervene if anything were to happen, however...it was difficult to shake the thought that maybe the time to be cautious - or at least, as cautious - was past. It had been so long since Cai had run, and the Armels must have given up the hunt almost as long ago. The iron merchants would not have been interested enough in Cai to continue funding a search after all this time.

Leandros Armel could be dead, a thought that made Cai freeze mid-saddling of Tamir when it first occurred to him. That would put Valerian in charge. Valerian...well, Cai had little doubt that the man would try to kill Cai if ever they encountered each other again. But his vendetta was not so personal he’d go out of his way for it.

While he tried to make his decision, Cai did, as he’d suggested, go search for records of Tamir’s participation in past Championships. It was strange to see Tamir listed with another rider, but Cai tried not to focus on that and instead gauged Tamir’s experience in various events. It seemed that his best activity was the firefall. The goal of firefalling was to use a phoenixes wing and tail flames to set alight as many falling objects - usually some kind of clay ball coated in a flammable liquid - as possible . It wasn’t quite that simple, of course; grace, style, and impressive aerobatics separated champions from soldiers. It was difficult for both bird and rider, but Cai hoped he could count on Tamir’s muscle memory to get a bit of a leg up.

The Right Wedge’s next task was to figure out just how he was going to practice. In the Championship itself, mages dropped the clay balls from a makeshift ceiling built over the arena, but Cai didn’t have magic, or even a trick ceiling. Of course, there was Sir Casca, the mage of the Third Wing; however, Cai was reluctant to ask for his help when he was unsure he’d even be trying out. He reasoned that while he made up his mind, he could make do without magic, and just practice the flight maneuvers and staying in the saddle.

It didn’t take Cai very long to realize that this was not going to work out as well as he’d hoped; he couldn’t tell how precise he was being when the clay balls were only imagined ones. He made an effort to improvise a more solid solution, tossing small fruits into the air - which lasted about two tries, until Tamir snatched an orange out of the air, held onto it until they landed, and then dropped the fruit into Cai’s hand with the clear expectation that it would be peeled for him. Cai decided he did need magical help after all.

If Casca was surprised by Cai’s request and his explanation for it, the man kept it to himself and agreed to help. It was immediately obvious how little good Cai’s practice would have done in this area if he’d continued. The first adjustments, at least, were quick; Tamir did seem to get the rhythm of it back rather quickly, for the most part. Sometimes when making a turn, the phoenix seemed unprepared for the speed, or he would tilt his wings and body smoothly, confidently - only to still miss the target. He clearly had some some memory of how this was done, but it was entirely possible both he and his rider were now different sizes and weights. Cai was certainly small even among the other fireknights.

Or maybe it was because Cai was learning his half of the maneuvers from scratch. They were tricky, too, to say the least; flight was usually about what was efficient, not what was prettiest. Appropriately graceful, stylistic moves meant dealing with more of the forces that tried to pull a rider from his bird. Fighting them meant Cai had to find different ways of balancing - and sometimes he pulled Tamir out of a maneuver all-together, unable to get his bearings and afraid he was going to injure something because of it.

All the same - it was fun. This wasn’t for fighting or saving lives, the deadline wasn’t precisely an important one, Cai didn’t have to plan very much, and he had always enjoyed the experience of flying in of itself. Learning these new techniques reminded him of the days when he’d been a trainee just learning to fly for the first time, and all the thrill of the speed, the freedom, the satisfaction of learning all the fine-tuned adjustments of muscle and weight and angle to keep comfortable and in-synch with Tamir’s flight…

As they continued, Cai could tell that Tamir was starting to reconcile his muscle memory with his current body and rider. Even the fireknight was getting the hang of staying in the saddle, and learning to gauge how quickly they would need to be flying to brush the falling objects with a wingtip or tailfeather. It wasn’t completely unfamiliar to him, aiming for an object - usually the object was just bigger, like a gryphon or brush.

The day of the tryouts came, and it felt like time had passed much more quickly than it should have. Cai had no idea if he stood any chance against the other fireknights - he knew he wasn’t as good as the official competitors he’d seen, certainly not as talented as the ones who had placed. Part of him was tempted not to sign up, but after bringing Casca into his training...it felt like it would be a waste of the man’s efforts not to even try. And, he realized, it would feel like a waste of his and Tamir’s time, too.

So he joined the other recruits at the field on the edge of Solis where tryouts were being held.

***

Anders, meanwhile, had not been idle either.

The lance was the most commonly used weapon in a fireknight's arsenal, being long enough to reach enemies from a distance in the air, but light enough not to burden the phoenixes overmuch. However, there was a profound difference between using a lance in combat against bandits or gryphon riders, and using one in a duel against another fireknight. For that matter, jousting mid-air on a phoenix was not much like jousting on horseback as conventional knights did it either. The only real similarity was the objective to knock the opponent from their saddle by means of hitting their shield with your lance- beyond that it might as well have been a different sport entirely.

Horses, being limited by gravity, ran down a straight, narrow lane directly at one another. Phoenixes? They had three dimensions to work with. Up, down, side to side, diagonal, anything was fair game. A single run in a three-run jousting match could last five minutes as both phoenixes jockeyed for a good position to give their rider an opening for the lance. If neither rider made contact after five minutes, a score was given based on skill and tactics. If they made contact without either side being unseated, a score was given based on accuracy- and additional points awarded for a blow strong enough to damage the cheap, hollow tournament lances. Of course, an unseating was an automatic win, but most jousts didn’t end in an unseating because of the huge amount of power, accuracy, and exquisite timing required to knock free a fireknight strapped down to the saddle.

Suffice it to say, the jousts required an enormous amount of skill. And Anders, by now somewhat notorious for his almost pathological drive to work himself to ridiculous extremes, was not going to go into the tryouts without an enormous amount of practice.

Unlike Cai, who only involved himself and the third wing’s mage, Anders roped in anyone he could convince to help him practice. As he explained multiple times, in the tournament he’d joust a number of different opponents, so he wanted to practice against different people with different fighting styles in preparation for that. He didn’t always win, not by a long shot and especially not at first, but the more he worked at it the better he got, and the less he lost.

As he worked, Anders found his mind drifting occasionally back to the topic he’d briefly touched on with Cai- the representatives that House Escalus was bound to send to the championships. While not every house directly sent members along with their fireknights (some felt it was beneath them, and some considered the entire affair frivolity and only sent fireknights at all because it allowed them to show Lord Jade they were keeping their fighters in trim) in general the nobility of Corvus tried to have a least one member of the house in attendance. Sometimes this was a younger sibling or cadet line cousin, but from what Anders remembered Olander usually attended the Championships personally.

Which Anders was not looking forward to, should this lead to himself and his estranged father crossing paths. He’d already had one extremely awkward encounter with House Escalus the previous spring, and that had been more than enough for him.

But Anders stood by what he’d said to Cai; he wasn’t going to hide from House Escalus for the rest of his life. He’d run away so that he could prove that he was worth something, even if he wasn’t a mage. What better way to do that than competing in the Championships?

Mirja, though at first rather perplexed by the whole affair, soon took to this new “game” with tremendous enthusiasm, as she did with most things. The female phoenix was young- she had only lived two lifetimes before being partnered to Anders- and had never participated in a tournament before. Anders was looking forward to getting to show off his feathered friend’s skills almost as much as his own, knowing how much Mirja basked under praise and positive attention.

When the day of the tryouts dawned, he felt he was as ready as ever he’d be. The first week was rather chaotic, serving only as a sort of weeding exercise to eliminate candidates who either had more enthusiasm than skill, or were only trying out on a whim. Anders made it through this round relatively untroubled, quickly and handily unseating several overconfident young fellows who were then magically floated to the ground, bruised in arm and pride but otherwise unhurt.

Come time for the second week- which was when the real best would be chosen from those trying out, to represent House Jade at the Championships- Anders decided to take advantage of a lull in the proceedings of the jousting tryouts to go and see how the other events were proceeding. He of course hadn’t missed the fact that his Right Wedge had started commandeering the services of their wing’s mage, and it wasn’t long before he arrived at the wide open field where the fire related events were being overseen; sure enough, a skim of the candidates trying out found Cai, Tamir at his side.

Cai had been rather surprised to make it through the first round of tryouts, having seen a few much more skilled competitors in the tryouts before and after his own. Of course, after the fact he’d considered that his performance had been better than some of the others’ - mostly those who either hadn’t spent the past several weeks practicing, or those who were simply too inexperienced to fly a phoenix the way the event required. He was less sure about this second round - though with Casca’s help, Tamir’s patience, and more time for his phoenix to remember his old moves and his rider to learn to work with them, even Cai had to admit he was getting better.

Cai’s turn came just as he noticed Anders’ arrival on the field - the Lieutenant must have finished his jousting tryouts already. Putting the matter out of his mind and setting his nervousness aside - it would do him no good in the ring - Cai stepped into the warded tryout arena. A small stone path led to the center of a rectangular pool of water, where the clay balls Tamir set aflame would fall and be safely extinguished. Four tall posts supported a paneled ceiling, each panel with a round bulge where the clay sphere would sit. Also up on posts were the mage’s box, where someone would be standing with a tablet of runes to trigger the panels to flip and spheres to be replaced, and the judges’ box, which was mostly open in the front to give them a good view.

Cai looked up at the judges’ box as he led Tamir across the stones to give them a respectful salute, and one of them immediately caught his attention. It took a few seconds for him to place why, and for a second after that, Cai wondered if he was mistaken - but then the judge smiled, apparently at Cai’s momentary staring, and there was no question about it. Lieutenant Gray, the man who had arranged for the fireknights to take Cai in all those years ago was one of the tryout judges. He had retired years ago, and Cai certainly hadn’t expected to see him at the base in such an official capacity again.

Cai forced himself to snap out of his surprise; he could consider this sudden reappearance - and perhaps get a chance to speak with the man, even - later, after his tryout. Lieutenant Gray had not been the sort of man who played favorites, so Cai would need to work just as hard to earn his points.

The tryout went well - better than Cai had expected. His score was far from the highest, but it wasn’t one of the lowest so far, either. There weren’t many competitors left, but just enough that a break might be called soon; Cai decided to stick around the area in case Gray was able to come out of the judging box.

They were currently calling the next fireknight into the ring, however, so Cai decided to go speak with Anders in the meantime, after brushing some ash off of Tamir’s wings. The raptor chittered as Cai worked, evidently quite pleased with his performance. “Yes, you can tell Mirja how well you did,” Cai told him as he finished, lightly patting the raptor’s broad chest before motioning for Tamir to follow him.

When Anders saw Cai approaching, the man gave his subordinate a quick salute before smiling. “That wasn’t bad at all, for having just started working on the event a few weeks ago. It looked like Tamir was having fun.”

“Thank you, sir,” Cai said, returning the salute. “Tamir does seem to enjoy his old skill coming back to him, and I’m adjusted enough that he doesn’t have to hold back quite as often anymore. Have they called you for jousting yet, Lieutenant?”

Anders shook his head. “Not yet no; I should hopefully be on the list for tomorrow morning. In the meantime Mirja and I decided to poke around and see how things are going. Sir Hawthorne is trying out as well- apparently he’s qualified to represent Jade in the endurance races, though he didn’t make it in for the sprints.”

Mirja, meanwhile, was bobbing her head at Tamir, whistling in an appreciative manner. Tamir made a series of rapid fluting noises and bobbed his head back; he started to open his wings, but then glanced at the human next to him and restrained his excitement. Being struck by a phoenix wing was not exactly comfortable and so the birds were encouraged to be careful.

Letting the phoenixes handle their own interaction, Cai nodded in reply to Anders’ comment. “That’s very good - they should do quite well, his bird is certainly good at long-distance flights. I’m sorry you haven’t been called yet; I’m a little surprised, you do well with the lance from what I’ve seen.”

“It’ll happen when it happens, I suppose,” Anders replied. “Though- I’m sure you’ll adore this- you remember Sir Butcher? The charming young fellow who managed to twist my knee almost clean out of the socket for me during training before he was transferred to seventh wing? He showed up last week for the jousting tryouts.”

Cai blinked, once, slowly. “I am...surprised, to say the least. Was he allowed to participate?”

“Oh of course not,” Anders replied. “You have to have been a full fireknight at least five years to qualify. But he seemed to think he could really prove himself if the judges let him.” The lieutenant sighed. “I suppose he learned nothing from that lecture you gave him while Hawthorne and Casca carried me to the infirmary.”

“Evidently not. I suppose another one is in order, then. Perhaps from his commanding officer, or maybe the officer above him, if that isn’t sufficient. A fireknight who can’t learn from his mistakes shouldn’t be a fireknight.” The mention of commanding officers reminded Cai of Lieutenant Gray; he glanced back toward the warded pond, where it looked as though the current knight and his phoenix were coming to the end of their tryout. Anders, following his subordinate’s gaze, tilted his head.

“Did you want to watch the rest? If I’m bothering you, you certainly aren’t obligated to attend to me.”

Cai turned back to him quickly. “No, sir - I’m sorry. You’re not bothering me. ...One of the judges is a retired fireknight; he was a Lieutenant when I first arrived. Lieutenant Gray, if you happened to have heard of him.”

“Vaguely, yes,” Anders replied. “He retired about four or five years ago, didn’t he? Just before the drought started. I guess they wanted someone experienced to judge the tryouts.” He glanced towards the old man in question. “Certainly he seems to be enjoying himself.”

Nodding in confirmation of Anders’ guess as to his retirement, Cai also agreed, “He does, yes. I suppose it must be nice to be back on the base and visiting the fireknights - and for something that isn’t a wartime situation, no less.”

“Everyone seems to be relieved to have the Championships going again,” Anders noted. “It might not be quite as impressive as other years considering the short notice for training, but I imagine there will be a generally buoyant enough atmosphere with things looking up after the drought to more than make up for that. I’ve spoken to Lord Jade’s son and apparently there is going to be an effort made to make the whole thing even more of an event than usual, to reinforce the positivity.”

“Oh? Did he specify how?” Cai’s first instinct was to feel uneasy; more of an event meant more people. But it did not mean Courdonians, he reminded himself.

“Not really; he was being annoyingly vague,” the lieutenant shook his head. “I do know there will be the usual gamut of food and souvenir vendors. A bit of a festival in Solis to go along with the tournament.” He smiled thinly. “So plenty to keep you and your girlfriend busy when you aren’t competing, should you deign to invite her.”

“I’ve already sent a letter telling her I’m trying out, actually,” Cai said; it took more effort than usual to keep his expression and tone steady. “Though even if I don’t make it into my event, I imagine she’ll come to see the Championship; you don’t need a personal connection to enjoy it, after all.” He shrugged lightly. “But the city celebration is always fun; it should improve everyone’s moods, along with whatever Lord Jade has planned.”

“As our trainers liked to say, morale is as important on the battlefield as weapons and armor,” Anders remarked. Glancing over Cai’s shoulder, he added, “Looks like they’re taking a break- it is getting to be rather warm out for fireplay.”

Cai turned, quickly, and sure enough, the wards were coming down and the judges and assembled fireknights were dispersing. It took Cai a moment to find him in the crowd, but he eventually did spot Lieutenant - former Lieutenant? - Gray. “Ah - I was going to go speak to him but it looks like he’s coming to us.”

Tamir followed his rider’s gaze, and apparently realizing that the person was coming to talk with them, turned all the way around, tilting his head left, and then right. As Gray separated from the rest of the crowd, however, the phoenix gave a sharp trill followed by several satisfied twitters.

“Yes, yes, it’s me,” Gray said as he came close enough to be heard. “I was wondering if Tamir would recognize me,” he added to Cai, before holding out a hand to the phoenix. “I remember you being much smaller when I was last working here - now look at you, setting fire to things like a big bird.”

Tamir gave the man’s palm a light nudge, but seemed content with that and a soft chitter as his interaction. His phoenix done monopolizing attention, Cai saluted. “Lieutenant - it’s good to see you again.”

“Good to see you as well, Shahar - especially at a tryout for the Championships. I wasn’t expecting it when they invited me to help judge, but I’m glad to see it.”

“Thank you, sir. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have thought to tryout if my Lieutenant hadn’t suggested it. Lieutenant Escalus - this is Lieutenant Gray. Lieutenant Gray - Lieutenant Escalus.”

Gray saluted, then held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. I think I’ve heard of you; the mess with the wildfires in Kine, if I’m not mistaken?”

Anders returned the salute, then accepted Gray’s hand and shook it. “My men in the third wing were sent to address the fires, yes. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He glanced towards Cai with a tilt of his head. “Though I admit I’m surprised my name has apparently made the rounds in connection to that affair. I didn’t know anyone outside of the majors, the general and Lord Everett would recall which wing was sent into Kine, let alone who it’s commander was.”

“Once a fireknight, always a fireknight - we keep track,” Gray said amicably. “And it was definitely something people around here took notice of; the smoke was everywhere.”

Cai noded grimly in agreement; he remembered the smoke well - its effect on Ophelia, combined with her worry over Cai being one of the men sent to fight the fires, he remembered even better.

Anders winced at the mention of the smoke. “I certainly couldn’t forget that if I tried. It was even worse in Kine- by the time we had finished you could have mistaken us for Accipiter fireknights rather than Jade. Both us and the birds were covered in soot and ash.” He gestured to his Right Wedge. “Though Shahar deserves at least as much recognition for his efforts that day as I do, if not more. He stayed behind in a village in the middle of nowhere to supervise the digging of a trench and to start a backfire around the village, with the flames barely a mile or two out.”

“Did you now?” Gray looked Cai over appraisingly.

“It was the most sound option,” Cai said. “Tamir burns hotter, and Lieutenant Escalus’ phoenix is faster than Tamir - so it made sense for them to set the backfire, and us to make sure the fire we were building was set and would hold it.”

“Still, not an easy assignment. Commendations for you both seem to be in order.” He smiled at both of them, but his eyes settled on Cai as he took on a more thoughtful expression. “You’ve come a long way from where you were when you first came here, Cai.”

“I have, sir,” Cai agreed quietly, but genuinely. “Thank you - and thank you especially for the opportunity in the first place.”

“A decision I’m glad I made,” Gray assured him. The retired Lieutenant’s eyes suddenly flicked to something over Cai’s shoulder. “Ah - looks like the others are waiting on me to get lunch. I’d better join them so the next round of candidates aren’t stuck with hungry judges. Best of luck, Shahar - and you as well if you’re participating, Lieutenant Escalus.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Gray,” Anders replied, politely saluting to the retired fireknight. “Here’s hoping next we see you will be in the audience of the Championships- and us astride our phoenixes in the competition.”

The Emberwing Championships: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

By the end of the week the tryouts were complete, and the announcements went out for who in each of the events had been chosen to represent House Jade. Generally at least two people were chosen for a given event, sometimes more. Three people were chosen for the jousting competition- and Anders was thrilled to discover his name among the list.

The jousting competition was set up as a 32 person bracket style tournament, which meant that there would be five rounds total. The various people in the same house would not be competing as a team- it was every man for himself- but they did increase a given house’s chances of winning.

Anders was excited- but he had to admit he was also nervous all over again. Five rounds meant he’d be flying potentially five times and even if his family missed one of his matches for whatever reason, there were plenty of others they might see. He tried to shake it off, to insist to himself it didn’t matter if Olander or Filipe caught him because he wasn’t doing anything wrong and they had no authority over his life anymore… but it didn’t stop him feeling nervous and jittery. So he worked off his nerves the only way he knew how.

He trained obsessively.

Cai, meanwhile, had received notice of the results of his own tryout. Much to his surprise, he’d made it through his tryouts as well, and would be competing in the Championship - the actual Emberwing Championship - alongside three other Jade fireknights. He could hardly believe it - it took him a few seconds to manage the “yes” when Sir Casca asked if Cai still needed his help in training for the event.

Tamir was increasingly coming into his own on the training field, leaving Cai mostly the task of learning to keep in the saddle - though he was realizing that he also needed to help Tamir spot some of the falling objects. There were particular angles where the phoenix’s vision was blocked by his own wings and body, but that Cai could see if he was careful to look for them. Casca guessed that objects dropped in a phoenix’s blindspot would be worth more points, and Cai agreed that this made sense.

It was not easy, managing all this at once. Eventually Cai got the idea to give Sir Casca a few sessions off and instead focus purely on Tamir’s maneuvers, running them multiple times through until he found some sense of balance. The separation helped - when he had Casca back, the training went more smoothly.

By the time the week of the Championships arrived, Cai knew, objectively, that he was better at this than he would ever have predicted when he began training. He was still nervous, at least a little, about whether he had improved enough and what it would be like if he flew disappointingly in the actual event, but for the most part, he was able to press that worry aside. It kept coming back - largely, Cai suspected, because embarrassment was not one of the things he often worried about, so he wasn’t as used to ignoring it.

For the most part, however, he was satisfied when, two nights before the Championships were set to begin, Tamir landed and Casca announced, “You only missed two that time - well done. I think you could have gotten more points if you’d hit that third-to-last one at less of an angle, though; better than missing it entirely, but...:”

Taking off his helmet and wiping away some of the sweat, Cai finished, “But if I want to place well, I need to get as many points for style as I can - there won’t be many misses in the other competitors’ rings, if any.”

“Right.” Casca suddenly glanced at something over Cai’s shoulder. “I’d say let’s do another round, but it looks like Sir Summerby needs you for something, Sir.”

Cai turned and saw one of the other knights of the third wing, who gave him a sketchy salute that was offset by a broad smirk on the man’s face. It wasn’t hard to guess why the man was smirking- he was not alone at the edge of the field.

“Sorry, are we interrupting?” Asked the young woman standing at his side. She had long black hair braided at her back, tall slanted ears, and sapphire blue eyes glimmering in the light of the sun- not just from the amusement in her face, but organically sparkling like a well-polished gem.

“She said she was wishful of seeing you, Right Wedge,” Sir Summerby added cheerfully. “I know normally civilians don’t wander around the training grounds but she was all insistent, so I figured she must’ve been someone real important.”

Tamir chirruped excitedly, and glanced back at Cai with an inquisitive hoot. The Right Wedge was already working at the straps of his saddle to free his legs, and he swung off Tamir’s back within a few moments. “Ophelia - I thought it was going to be another day or two at least before you were here!” he exclaimed as he closed the distance between himself and the half-elf and her fireknight escort. “And no, you’re not interrupting - we just finished, actually. How was your trip? Well, I take it, if you made it here early?”

“Road conditions were better than I had expected,” she replied cheerfully. “Though dear Woo was it a pain getting into the city and claiming my inn room, I really should’ve booked further in advance. Must’ve sent twenty pigeons before I found a decent place to stay.” As her boyfriend drew closer the young woman’s eyes flicked towards Casca and Summerby. “Am I allowed to give you a hello hug or would that undermine your authority with your subordinates?”

“I can look somewhere else?” Summerby offered innocently, turning his back to Ophelia and Cai. Casca gestured widely with his wand as he started removing the walls of the ward he’d put around Cai’s training area, taking exaggerated care and interest in the task.

Shaking his head a little at the knights’ amusement, Cai opened his arms and stepped toward his girlfriend. “Yes, a hug is allowed - if need be I’ll retrain the soldiers to respect my orders. Especially since half of the time, they’re actually Lieutenant Escalus’ orders, anyway.”

Ophelia chortled, hugging Cai and letting her cheek rest against his for a moment as she whispered in his ear, “I missed you, Love- I’m looking forward to seeing you do what you do best.”

“I missed you, too,” Cai said softly back, briefly running his fingers through her hair on the pretense of tucking a strand behind her ear. “I’ll do my best to impress.”

The young woman straightened after a moment, smiling to her boyfriend’s phoenix. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, Tamir. It’s good to see you again as well, and I understand you’ve been working very hard.”

As she spoke, the half-elf reached into a small pouch hanging at her side, and came up with a handful of halved plums, their pits pried out so that only the juicy fruit was left.

Tamir lifted his head, crest feathers rising a little, as he saw what Ophelia had in her hand. With a series of rapid, almost twitter-like hoots, the phoenix stepped closer and delicately plucked the plum halves one by one from Ophelia’s hand, pausing after every two or three plums to actually mash and swallow the fruits in his beak. When the plums were gone, he lightly nudged the half-elf’s shoulder with his beak, then nudged Cai’s arm a bit more forcefully.

“Yes, I know, Ophelia’s a much better phoenix-feeder than I am,” Cai said, scratching Tamir’s feathers just under his lower jaw. “We’d better put on a good show so you earn those treats, hadn’t we?”

Ophelia laughed. “Well I’m glad to meet his majesty’s approval. I caught the tail end of your practicing just now and I won’t lie, that was impressive to watch. I look forward to seeing the whole thing at the event.” She gave a slightly wistful smile. “Unfortunately Sieg couldn’t get any time off to come along, with fireknight presence so thinned in most of the region the normal knights of Corvus are all running double-patrols just as a precautionary measure.”

“Ah - that makes sense. To help cover the southern border and any visitors from that direction, I imagine?” He felt a twist of guilt in his stomach; maybe the fireknights shouldn’t have tournaments when there were slave-raiders to fend off in the south... but if the ground knights were doubling their patrols, it wouldn’t be very much safer for the Courdonians. And there were still fireknights there; not as many, but they weren’t completely gone.

However, Ophelia gave a slightly crooked smile and shook her head. “Knights have other things to defend against beside our cheerful abducting neighbors. There are plenty of homegrown threats too y’know. Bandits, thieves, rioters, and so on.” She kissed his cheek, and whispered, “I know you’re worried, Cai, but Corvus isn’t positively crawling with hunters and raiders, if it was then our defenders would be very bad at their jobs. You just hear about all those incidents because they make a lot of noise.”

“True,” Cai admitted. “The raids should cause a lot of noise - but if that’s because they’re uncommon, all the better. I didn’t mean to imply the knights - any of them - weren’t doing their jobs properly.” He wanted to add that the matter of slavers had come up fairly recently, so it had been on his mind - but he hadn’t told Summerby or Casca about his exact connections to Coudon, and didn’t want to give them anything more to think about it than he had already. Perhaps later he could mention it to Ophelia, when they were alone.

In the meantime, he just said, “In any case; I’m sorry Sieg couldn’t come. There’s supposed to be a sort of miniature marketplace themed around the Championships; we could get him a souvenir to make up for it, perhaps?”

“That’s not a bad notion,” Ophelia agreed. “He did ask me to tell you that he wishes you and Lieutenant Escalus the best of luck. How is he doing in his training, by the by?”

“Working hard,” Summerby put in. “Insanely hard. But then the Lieutenant always does, hm?”

“That he does,” Cai agreed. “But there shouldn’t be an incident like the one during the drought; he won’t want to run Mirja ragged.” He hoped also that the Lieutenant had learned his lesson after literally working himself to collapse, but that remained to be seen. “He’s shaping up to do quite well, from what I’ve seen of his practice.”

“Are you planning to cheer him on from the crowd?” Ophelia asked curiously. “Assuming your events don't overlap anyway. I’d be interested to see how jousting on a phoenix differs from jousting on a horse.”

“I plan to watch and cheer him on, of course; he’s my Lieutenant, I owe him that at least,” Cai said with a smile. “I understand phoenix-mounted jousting is trickier than horse-mounted; I haven’t seen much of the latter, though.”

By this point, Casca had finished taking down the wards and drying up the pool of water. He saluted in Cai’s direction; Cai saluted back, and nodded to grant his unspoken request to be dismissed. “I can take Ophelia from here, Sir Summerby,” Cai told the nearer fireknight as he reached for Tamir’s lead. “Thank you for bringing her here.”

“Of course, Right Wedge, Sir,” Summerby replied, saluting. “Good luck in the Championship, we’re all pulling for you.”

As the man turned to leave, Ophelia watched with a crooked smile. “You really weren’t kidding about the teasing, hm?”

“Not in the slightest,” Cai said. “As I said, I think they’ve been looking for material for some time now. They mean well, but I’m still a novelty of a target, I suppose.” He smiled lightly as he said this, making it clear he didn’t overmind the teasing of his wing.

“To think the straight faced, cool and composed Sir Shahar has human emotions after all,” his girlfriend said with a smile of her own. “Though phrases like that always feel weird for me to say, I’ll admit.” She gestured at one ear meaningfully.

“Kythian is a rather human-biased language,” Cai admitted. “But yes, I imagine that’s precisely what they’re thinking - how odd it is to see me showing the emotions of an actual person. You must be able to empathize, though; I was certainly still very reserved when we first met.”

“You were, but you had perfectly good reason to be,” Ophelia said. “I showed up out of nowhere and asked you to trust me with secrets you were in the habit of keeping on a very tight leash. I didn't spend my entire childhood trying to stifle my own individuality and I still would've been reticent with a person who imposed on my trust like that.”

“Yes, that’s true. Though I’m that way with people who haven’t asked for my trust as well...and apparently I’m reserved in ways that don’t even involve people directly. I did tell you Lieutenant Escalus encouraged me to do this because he thinks I’m being overcautious.”

“Well I would agree that if ten years on the refinery owners are still sending out bounty information on a single runaway worker, they seriously have too much time and money on their hands,” Ophelia remarked, turning and gesturing for Cai to follow as she started to walk back towards the main city. “Not that I blame you; I know it’s hard to forget something like that, and now that you have experienced a better life you’d be even more afraid of having to go back.”

“Absolutely,” Cai agreed quietly. “I know it’s...unlikely, to say the least. I understand that I’m not entirely free of them if I still cater my life around what they might or might not do. And Lieutenant Escalus has assured me nobody will attempt to make...arrests during the Championships themselves, and if they attempt anything in more secluded places, the fireknights will do their work, or I’ll defend myself.”

He sighed. “But it does worry me.”

“Well you can’t help that,” Ophelia acknowledged. “I know that not all Wooist priests are conservative human-supremacist bigots, but I still avoid chapels and churches in general because I’ve been burned enough times that I don’t like to even risk it. But it’s good that you’re trying anyway. My…” she glanced away briefly, then soldiered on. “My father always said that courage isn’t not being afraid- only fools aren’t afraid. Courage is understanding the risks and your own limits, and doing something anyway because you know the possible reward is worth it.”

Cai turned his head to look directly at Ophelia; he knew the subject of her father was not one she brought up lightly, nor easily. “As ever - your father sounds like a very wise man. Fear...can have its advantages. Certainly its share of disadvantages, too, but it does keep a man careful. ...Normally I can just set the fear aside and concentrate on the task at hand; but I this this particular one is just too deeply-rooted.” He shrugged slightly. “I’ll cope with it. ...It does help to be reassured, both that it won’t happen uncontested, and that I’m at least not being foolish for worrying.”

“Those reassurances made,” Ophelia began with a decidedly impish look on her face, “I was rather hoping to kidnap you for a few hours, if his feathered highness didn't mind.” She reached up to Tamir and patted his beak. “I was thinking that a nice back rub might be just the thing to loosen up your muscles for the event. Assuming you’re up for it, of course.”

“I think Tamir can handle letting me go for a few hours; a back rub sounds very nice.”

The Emberwing Championships: Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

The morning of the Championship dawned hazy and misty, but there was light on the horizon that suggested it would clear up before the events got underway. The Jade fireknights who would be competing that day used the time to make final preparations, checking and double-checking their birds, the saddles and reins, and their own flying gear to ensure nothing was damaged; even though Sir Casca wasn’t competing in any of the events, he was up and about with the rest of them to offer magical repairs on the various leather pieces.

The sun was starting to push through the clouds by the time that day’s competing fireknights headed out of the mews to report to the field. There were already some people gathered in the stands, though most of the seats were empty and would remain so for a while yet. The fireknights and phoenixes were only here early to be checked for any tampering, magical or mundane, that might be used to cheat. But at last, the knights who weren’t competing in the first event were allowed to take their seats in their reserved section of stands; while the Jade birds were brought back to the mews and the phoenixes from the other Houses rested beneath a large, magically-assembled and supplemented tent that was serving as a guest-mews. One side of the tent was visible from the field, giving the spectators a distant but still impressive display of their vibrantly-different colors.

As the estimated start of the Championship drew closer - the very nature of the opening ceremony made it impossible to set an exact starting time - the last of the dreary sky cleared away and the stands filled with people. A respectable number of them were nobles; Lord Everett, of course, as well as representatives from some of the minor Houses: the new young lord of House Lazuli, Tor, recently risen after his father’s death during the malaria epidemic during the drought, and his stepmother Kaia Lazuli nee Accipiter; the heir to House Andesine; a duo in the colors of House Opaline; House Oberon’s heir Cyril and a much younger boy who was presumably his brother; Lord Cedric Curys and his wife were not far from the Oberon pair; Murtagh Topaza and his sister Irene spoke animatedly to one another from their place in the stands; and to Anders’ consternation, yes House Escalus was in attendance too. He caught sight of a flash of orange and blue in the crowd, which upon closer inspection solidified into the unpleasantly familiar face of his father Olander. Providing a welcome distraction, Lord Miller of Kine was also in attendance, something that baffled not only Anders but most of the fireknights and the Corvids in general. It was rather rare for nobility from outside Corvus to take an interest in the Emberwing Championships.

Finally, however, the waiting came to an end - there was a brief fanfare of horns that caught the crowd’s attention, and barely a minute later, the first phoenixes came into sight on the horizon. There were ten of them, one from each House, all arriving back from their race around the province and putting on a final burst of speed to try and be the first to reach the field. Specifically, they would be aiming for the large, unlit torch set atop a high stone pillar in the rear center of the field. The gray and peach Cressida phoenix and the red-orange and purple phoenix from Cossar were neck and neck at the head of the flock - but at the last moment, the Cressida knight’s phoenix tucked its wings and shot at a downward angle toward the torch. Bright, peach-colored light rushed down the bird’s feathers as it erupted into flames; just behind them, the Cossar phoenix ignited with a pulse of shimmering purple. The Cressida phoenix was already too far ahead, however, and it was that bird’s fire that lit the torch atop the stone pillar.

After the ten racers and their birds had landed and accepted an enthusiastic, well-deserved ovation, there was the usual round of speeches to be given. One from Lord Everett, of course, one from the Jade fireknights’ general, and a brief one from the winner of the previous event’s starting race. But finally, it was time, and another fanfare announced the start of the first event.

Neither Cai nor Anders completed that first day, which was given over to impressive displays of synchronized flying- in pairs, small groups, and with entire wings. The next day, however, would begin the combat events. Ground-based duels with fireknights wielding their short, curved hallux blades, accuracy competitions for fireknights dropping explosive potions on targets of varying size far, far below, and of course the first round of the jousting competition.

Anders was waiting on the sidelines, trying not to fidget with his nerves. Mirja, seeming to sense his unease, gently pulled her beak through his pale brown hair and chirruped questioningly. He smiled at her preening, but it was a wan expression, and clearly didn’t placate her much as she continued her ministrations.

Cai, sitting next to the Lieutenant and ready to assist with Mirja if assistance was needed, glanced sideways at Anders. “Is everything all right, Lieutenant?” he asked in a low voice, to keep anyone around them from easily overhearing - even if Mirja was making it fairly obvious that Anders was upset, Cai guessed he was more likely to get a genuine answer if he didn’t make the entire wing an audience.

The lieutenant sighed. “Just… nervous I suppose.” He rubbed Mirja’s neck, silent for a moment before he looked to his Right Wedge again and elaborated, “My opponent for the first round is an Escalus fireknight. One of my father’s men.”

“Ahh.” Cai recalled their conversation in the mews instantly. It was almost too coincidental; Cai wasn’t sure where to stand on the subject of gods and their existence, but there were times like these where he could imagine a diety like Carricon cackling with delight as they set ironic events into motion. “I’m sorry, sir; I doubt that was the scenario you were hoping for. ...You’ll have your chance to show them that you’ve moved on with your life right away, at least,” he offered.

“I suppose,” he said noncommittally. “And it’s not like I have anything against this man in particular. Just… the principle of the thing. My father is bound to be watching. I shouldn’t let it bother me, but I suppose old habits die hard. When I was younger I always sought to impress him and win his approval.”

Cai nodded slightly. “I take it you left because he didn’t recognize your efforts?”

“He would argue that he recognized my talents as a warrior well enough,” Anders admitted. “Wanted me to be a knight for House Escalus. But I was… not up to his standards for being House heir.” At this Anders made a gesture with his hand as if he were holding something and swishing it in the air. “So I suppose the answer is yes and no, depending on how you look at it.”

Cai tilted his head. “Magic? That was his reason for not considering you a proper heir? ...I know Corvus values its mages, but I didn’t think was considered necessary for leadership. The Jade lords have been magicless for the past several generations, haven’t they?”

“It’s why I came to them once I was legally of age,” Anders answered simply. Quirking an eyebrow he added, “I know people have whispered about my abandoning the heir position to become a fireknight, but the truth of the matter is I was disinherited when I was nine years old. I simply never bothered to correct the misconception because it wasn’t the business of the gossips.” His expression hardening, he added, “And I don’t want anyone’s pity. I want to be the best I can be for the fireknights, without anybody offering or withholding things because they feel sorry for me or worry other people will claim they just feel sorry for me.”

Cai nodded slightly, considering this. “Well, however you came to the fireknights - I don’t think anyone can doubt that you deserve your position. We all see how hard you push yourself.”

“Thank you, Shahar. I do my best to lead by example,” Anders said with a grateful smile. “If I’m going to demand a lot of my men, it’s only fair I demand at least as much of myself. I am glad the effort doesn't go unnoticed.”

Returning the Lieutenant’s smile with a slight one of his own, Cai said, “I can assure you the wing notices how hard you push yourself. Sometimes they even worry you might push yourself too hard.” Cai looked out toward the field, where the jousting ring was being set up. “I don’t think they like the idea of our wing without you, Lieutenant.”

Anders looked surprised for a moment, then he winced. “Ah. This… is about when I collapsed during the drought, isn’t it?”

“It was meant as a general comment - but the men were worried about you,” Cai admitted. “I had quite a few chances to practice reassuring people while acting as a Lieutenant.”

“It wasn’t my intention to worry anyone,” he said softly. “I just… overestimated myself I suppose. I didn’t want to let down anyone or fail to be the equal to my responsibilities. But it seems I managed to do those things trying too hard to avoid them.”

“It was a hard summer,” Cai said. “And your workload was enormous; frankly, the amount you were able to handle beforehand was impressive. I wouldn’t say you let anyone down, sir.” He considered his words a moment before elaborating, “Nobody seemed resentful or annoyed; we all knew you had been given more work than is really fair to assign to one man running on rationed supplies of water. ...I know you lead by example, Lieutenant; one thing you’ve always done is allowed us to be human, and not held it against us. Why wouldn’t we do the same for you?”

“You are far wiser than I am,” the Lieutenant said, his eyes distant. He laughed. “Perhaps you should be the Lieutenant and me the Right Wedge.”

Cai shook his head with a chuckle. “No, sir - I don’t think I’m suited for full command of a wing. Certainly I wouldn’t do a better job than you do. I’m best where I am, assisting you and the men where I can and acting as intermediary.”

“Well I’m glad I have you here for that,” Anders said. “I know you questioned my sanity a little bit when I promoted you, but I’m glad that you’ve settled into your position and feel confident in it- I would be in a great mess of trouble more often than not without you to balance me out.”

Cai dipped his head. “I think you would find a way to manage; but I appreciate hearing that I’m helpful. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Anders looked out at the ring, which was near to completion and sighed. “I feel much like a young cadet again, about to present for my first examination before our flight instructors.” He held up a hand ruefully, revealing that it was trembling a little from his nerves. “I would not have figured myself for getting stage fright.”

“This is a new situation for you,” Cai pointed out. “I’m sure everyone competing here for the first time - at least - is nervous; and that’s without the pressure from certain people being in the crowd. But you’ll do well. You have your training, Mirja’s excellent flying, a very solid motivation to win - and of course, your wing and all of House Jade territory cheering you on.”

That seemed to catch Anders by surprise. Then he gave a wide smile. “They tell you that, did they Right Wedge?”

“The wing did, yes.” Cai’s smile could almost be called a smirk. “As I said, I’m an intermediary between the fireknights and their Lieutenant.”

“Well in that case you can tell them I mean not to disappoint,” Anders replied. “It looks like it’s almost time to fly- I best get my helmet on and get things started- thank you, Shahar.”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant.” Cai waited for Anders to get his helmet and finish checking his armor, and handed him Mirja’s reins. “Best of luck, sir. I’ll make sure our wing’s section is cheering loudly enough that you can pick us out in the crowd.”

Anders gave his right wedge a salute, then a horn sounded from out on the field- it was time to fly.

The Lieutenant hauled himself over the side of Mirja’s saddle, strapping himself in before he nudged her forwards. She trotted out eagerly, her feathers ruffled in excitement at the “game” she knew by now was about to start. Across the field, a knight emerged riding a phoenix in familiar shades of orange and blue, wearing blue-dyed leather armor- a fireknight of House Escalus.

As was requisite, Anders and the other knight saluted one another and shook hands before guiding their phoenixes to the starting point. Mages were stationed at both ends of the ring, to catch anyone who fell from the saddle, and a referee with a horn in one hand stood at the midpoint. He looked at both of the fireknights, as if to ensure nothing was untoward about their equipment, before he nodded.

“Remember,” the man bellowed. “Your objective is to strike the other man’s shield with your lance. If neither of you lands a blow within five minutes, you will be awarded a score from zero to two based upon skill and style in your flying. If you strike, but both of you remain in the saddle, this is three points. If you strike and break your lance, that is five points. If one of you is unseated, that is an automatic win for the man who remains in his saddle.” His eyes narrowing, he added, “You will be penalized three points for any blows that hit any part of your opponents except for their shield, and five points for striking a phoenix. If you hit your opponent or his phoenix in the head, this is an automatic disqualification. Do you both understand?”

The fireknights nodded, and the referee smiled. “Let’s keep it clean, sirs. On my mark- three… two…”

He blasted a single, long note from his horn, and both phoenixes shot into the air. Mirja was larger than the Escalus bird, and it was immediately obvious that she would be consequently slower. She was only an inch or two lagged in her ascent, but every bit of advantage in height and speed mattered in a joust- Anders would need to account for the difference in his strategy.

As the two birds spiraled upwards into the sky, occasionally making false lunges at each other with their talons in an attempt at intimidation, Anders completely forgot to be concerned about the presence of his father in the crowd. His focus narrowed to keeping his seat on Mirja’s saddle, keeping his lance lined up with the other fireknight’s shield, and analyzing his adversary’s every move to determine how he could go about besting the other man.

It was certainly not easy. Anders was determined to figure out a way to make up the lag in the air, because if he couldn’t make up for that height advantage he was bound to lose points in technique and style. He kept Mirja weaving and dodging, trying his best to avoid letting the other knight line up for a run. However, his hesitation and jockeying ended up backfiring, as the Escalus knight finally managed to round Anders into a position where the other knight couldn’t dodge any further without going out of bounds- and then he sent his phoenix into a stoop. Cursing, Anders nudged Mirja forward to meet him, both birds streaking towards each other as their riders lined up lances.

There was a metallic CLANG as his adversary’s lance impacted against Anders’ shield, and he gritted his teeth in pain as the blow buffeted him against the back of his saddle. The lack of a similar sensation of impact in his own lance arm advertised the fact that, caught off guard as he was, Anders hadn't been able to line up his own aim in time and missed.

There was a blast from the horn, and both phoenixes banked sharply towards the ground. As her talons settled into the grass, Mirja looked around at Anders and twittered with concern. He smiled wanly, though he knew she couldn’t see it behind his mask, and shook out his arm as he said, “No worries, love, just a bit of bruising, I’ll be fine.”

“Three points to Sir Prim of House Escalus,” called one of the judges from his place in the stands, a wand held up to his throat to amplify his voice. “One point to Sir Escalus of House Jade!”

There was an eruption of cheers from the stands, and Anders couldn’t help but feel a tremor of unease at hearing the mention of his former house so close to his own name. He was surprised to have gotten any points at all given how badly he’d fouled that run, but upon reflection he decided that he wasn’t going to overthink it. Instead he simply sighed, holding out his shield arm to the mage who approached him from the sidelines to ensure his arm wasn’t damaged worse than a bruise.

After a few minutes he and the other knight lined up at the starting points again. This time, however, when they shot up into the air Anders opted for a decidedly different tactic. The Jade knight feigned the same struggle he’d made before to compensate for Mirja’s speed disadvantage, but he pulled back on the reigns, encouraging Mirja to move with slightly less than her top speed. If he was lucky, the Escalus knight would assume that Mirja was growing tired, and capitalize on the supposed advantage.

Credit where it was due- the other man was canny, and he didn’t go for the bait immediately. However, once Mirja was lagging fully half a foot behind her opponent in height, he seemed to decide to make a try for it.

Big mistake.

As the Escalus phoenix suddenly shot towards Mirja, its rider lowering his lance, Anders gave Mirja the signal that most fireknights avoided giving as if their lives depended on it- the signal that sent her into a sideways roll in midair, like a barrel that had been knocked on it’s side. He clung as tight to the saddle as he could with his knees and left arm, gritting his teeth as he was briefly flipped entirely upside down before Mirja settled into even flight again. Anders tried to ignore the pounding of blood in his skull as he whirled his phoenix to meet the startled Escalus fireknight. It wasn’t working as well as he’d have liked, his vision tunneling painfully and the roar of the crowd at his daring move inaudible. But regardless, as soon as the enemy fireknight had turned around Anders signaled Mirja for a charge.

Now the Jade fireknight was the one with the height advantage. More importantly, he also had an intimidation factor behind him, the Escalus knight still bewildered and trying to figure out exactly what had happened.

Anders leaned his weight hard into the lance, slamming his arm forwards as at the same second the other fireknight managed to wrench his own lance point up to meet Anders' charge. Twin impacts on his right and left sides sent and explosion of pain along the muscles in his arms, and he heard the telltale crack of wood splintering. As Mirja slowed and spun towards the starting lines once more, Anders' adrenaline drunk mind managed to put together what had happened- a double impact. Both of them had landed their strikes. The crack, it transpired, had been Anders lance breaking, for as he landed he could see that the head of the weapon had snapped off like a twig.

The healers bustled over to both knights, inspecting them for serious injury before letting them go again. As Anders shook out his arms and accepted a new lance to replace the broken one, voices again rang out from the stands.

"Three points to Sir Prim of House Escalus, and five points to Sir Escalus of House Jade," the judge called. "For a total of six points each. Back to the start!"

So they were tied. The match was down to this final round, and Anders knew that if his adversary was smart, he wouldn't rush things. The knight astride the orange phoenix would wait for an absolutely perfect opening before he struck. Anders would have to do the same. There was no room for impatience or cockiness.

The two fireknights moved for the final time to their starting lines. Under his legs Anders could feel Mirja tensing, her dark green feathers fluffed with excitement. He smiled briefly at the young phoenix's exuberance before refocusing on the Escalus knight. It was down to this.

By now Mirja needed no prompting from her rider. As soon as the horn sounded she shot into the sky like an arrow loosed from a bowstring. She and the other phoenix circled one another, diving and swooping, lashing with talons and flicking their iridescent wingtips in the sunlight in phoenix threat displays. All the while Anders kept his focus zeroed in on the other rider's shield, looking for the perfect chance, the perfect opening...

However, no such perfect opening presented itself. Every split second of weakness from his adversary was instantly compensated for. Every time Anders started to line Mirja up for a final rush, the Escalus knight saw it and darted away. The minutes ticked by, Anders distantly aware that the crowd was shouting, whistling, groaning as each knight had one near miss after another.

The crowd's heightened mood seemed to be infecting Mirja as well. Anders could see her feints at the orange phoenix getting more aggressive, and hear hisses of agitation coming from her beak. "Patience my lovely," he murmured desperately. "Now is not the time to forget your training!"

It was doubtful she would hear him over the din, but Anders didn't dare say it any louder lest the other fireknight hear and try to take advantage of Mirja's distraction. Time was ticking away rapidly, and as the five minute round wore down it became more and more likely that one or the other of them would make some sort of mistake out of desperation. Any advantage would be seized upon, and a fractious phoenix was a huge advantage.

As the Escalus phoenix zipped within a feather's breadth of lance range for what felt like the dozenth time, Mirja's crest feathers flared, and Anders knew her competitiveness was about to get the better of her. Desperate to break her fixation on her opponent and the consequent upward spiral of her aggression, Anders gave a sharp, double beat whistle, the signal to drop. Startled, Mirja instinctively obeyed the wordless command, folding her wings and dropping like a stone. There was a cry of surprise from the stands as the dark green blur of the Jade jouster suddenly seemed to go into a free fall.

Once they'd reached a velocity he thought they could get the most momentum out of, he yanked hard on the reins, and Mirja's wings snapped open as her beak angled upwards. They were climbing again, but to his horror Anders realized that the other fireknight had been just above him, waiting for exactly this moment to spring a trap. As Mirja soared upwards, he was plummeting- the two jousters on a vertical collision course.

There was no time to pull out, not with their momentum and trajectory. This was it- the final run, with Anders in a desperately weak position fighting upwards as the Escalus knight was gaining speed and force every second from the simple physics of his own descent.

Anders gritted his teeth as he leveled his lance with his opponent's shield. It was an almost hopeless situation. But the experienced lieutenant had one trick left to play.

As the lance came within range, Anders suddenly changed his aim- slamming not into the center of the shield, but just below the midpoint. His muscles screaming with the effort, he wrenched upwards with his lance, levering the Escalus knight up like one levered a clam out of the shell.

To his astonishment, Anders felt a sudden release of the pressure on his arm. A sensation of give. The orange phoenix shrieked in alarm as quite suddenly the weight of his rider vanished from atop his back. Straps snapped audibly, yanked free by the momentum, leverage, and force of Anders' blow on his adversary's shield. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, frozen in that instant with the Escalus fireknight hanging in midair, Anders' lance still slamming against his shield. Then, time sped up again, and Mirja banked hard to slow her momentum as the Escalus knight plummeted earthwards. Long before he hit the ground a jet of green sparks shot upwards, forming a tornado around the man's body to slow his fall. His bird descended with him, twittering in frantic concern and pumping his wings backwards to slow his descent in the air. For his part Anders kept Mirja circling overhead long enough to be certain that the mage's arrestwoo momentum spell was working as it ought before signaling her to land.

It was only once both men had safely touched down, the Escalus knight being settled gently by the mages and Anders swinging sideways out of Mirja's saddle, that the collective breath the crowd had been holding was released. And then- a roar. Anders jerked a little in surprise at the veritable wall of sound from the stands. Cheering. Applause. Heat crept across his face as it occurred to him that the crowd was applauding him. He'd unseated his adversary, and in doing so he'd won. And the crowd was cheering for him.

"Victory!" The judge far above bellowed, "Flight Lieutenant Anders Escalus of House Jade!"

The cheering, if anything, redoubled at this confirmation. Mirja trumpeted joyously, bumping her beak against Anders' shoulder and prompting a breathless laugh from the man. He reached up, running his fingers through the feathers behind her beak and down her face.

"That's right, Love, you did very well. Very good girl, Mirja," he crooned. Turning towards the other knight, one hand still rubbing Mirja's cheek, he saluted and called, "Well flown, Sir!"

"And you as well, Lieutenant Escalus," the man returned as a healer pried off his gauntlet to check his shield arm for injuries. "I suppose if I must lose in the first round, I should prefer it be to the man who might've been my liege lord. Mildly less embarrassing, that."

Anders smiled wanly. "I was never going to be your liege lord. But if it gives you comfort to think a son of House Escalus won in place of a knight of House Escalus, far be it for me to deny you that."

"Talent like yours would've been wasted behind castle walls anyway, if you don't mind my saying so, Sir," the knight returned absently. "Now wave to your nice fans, before they decide you're too stuck up for them."

Anders chuckled, obliging. As he skimmed the cheering crowd, his eyes locked on a distant figure in familiar orange and blue livery. From the distance it was impossible to see Olander's face, or guess at his expression. A small, distant part of Anders, leftover from his childhood, hoped that even if Olander hated his eldest son for betraying their House that he might find in him a sliver of parental pride for Anders' success.

Doesn't matter, the fireknight thought. The applause from all directions was evidence that he had the approval of the whole of Corvus. Olander's opinion was nothing set against that.

Cai appeared out of the cluster of fireknights to meet Anders at the edge of the field. “Congratulations, and well-flown and fought, Sir,” the Right Wedge said. With a slight smile in the direction of his Lieutenant’s phoenix, he added, “And you as well, Mirja.” The phoenix gave a happy trill, ruffling up her feathers proudly.

Cai’s attention returned to Anders. “No trouble from your relatives?”

“None that I could discern. Admittedly within the first few seconds I forgot I was jousting an Escalus fireknight in particular in the distraction of trying to get the advantage. Alas, Mirja love you are big and strong but not as fast as a smaller bird would be.” He gave Mirja a pat on the beak as he said this, and she leaned into his touch.

“Mirja’s fast for her size - and being strong seemed to carry her through just fine. She seems to feel she did quite well; it looked like she enjoyed the crowd’s applause.”

Anders chuckled. “That she did. And thank you, Shahar, I really do appreciate your support.” He glanced up into the stands. “I hope the rest of the wing was sufficiently impressed. I admit, I wasn’t expecting an unseating on my first tournament joust.” Here the lieutenant’s voice actually carried a note of pride.

“They were very excited, Lieutenant; lots of shouting and cheering, and they certainly implied it was a rare thing for a knight to unseat his opponent on the first joust.” Cai smiled slightly and added, “I’ve already heard remarks to the effect that they’ll need to be very sure to follow your orders now, especially if you’re carrying a lance.”

Anders smirked in reply. “I’ll have to remember to keep that intimidation tactic in reserve. It could be useful.” His expression softening he added, “And I’ll have to be certain to make sure they cheer just as enthusiastically come time for your firefalling event- it’s the day after tomorrow, unless I misremember?”

“That’s correct.” Though Cai knew Anders was joking, he added, “Don’t feel you need to force the men into anything, Sir, I didn’t incentivize or threaten them any to get them to show their support today.” A hesitation, and then, “Besides, Sir Casca has earned the right to a little rest where I’m concerned.”

“Ah, but given that I imagine he’ll want to see the fruits of his hard work,” Anders pointed out amiably. “Regardless, I look forward to seeing you fly and I’m certain the men do as well, with or without my interfering.” Giving Mirja one last sturdy pat, he said, “For now, I need to give this gal a spoiling for her hard work. Enjoy the rest of the events, Shahar- and thank you again.”

The Emberwing Championships: Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

The firefall event was held toward evening the day after the next - mixing fire and noonday heat was generally not a good idea. This meant Cai had all day to worry about the competition, and though he was used to ignoring nervousness, this was not the same sort of unease. It wasn’t really something he could take his mind off of by trying to prepare for, either; though he had taken Tamir for a flight that morning to stretch his wings, he didn’t want to overwork the phoenix the day of their competition.

He was at least able to distract himself somewhat, however, by joining Ophelia in perusing the souvenir stands. Cai hadn’t visited them much in the past; it was an interesting assortment of trinkets, including little paintings of phoenixes, toy versions of the birds - some stuffed, some carved out of wood, and some of the latter even put on small wheels or enchanted to hover a few inches - quills made from donated phoenix feathers, even some barely-related items like fans painted with shiny paint at the edges, and inks that shifted between each House’s color scheme - green to gold, orange to blue, gold to red, gray to peach…

It soon came time, however, for Cai to return to the arena and take his turn. He led Tamir out onto the rocks leading to a large disc in the center of the pool - well, lake would have been a more accurate term - the body of water was much bigger than anything Cai had practiced with. This would, of course, be a bigger playing field.

No point worrying that his practice might not be enough. Tamir could cover the extra distance, and Cai would adjust to do the same – it would hardly be the first time a battlefield grew unexpectedly, and of course, the sky itself was a vast, three-dimensional battlefield.

He could hear the crowd buzzing, and ignored that, too. They might be talking about his scars, or they might not even have been able to see them and were just guessing at Cai’s odds. Maybe some Championship enthusiasts recognized Tamir’s name. It didn’t really matter – the only thing important about the crowd was that Ophelia and, presumably, the rest of Cai’s wing were part of it and cheering for him.

Cai tapped Tamir’s wing, and the phoenix obligingly lowered it so Cai could mount. “Ready, Tamir?” he asked as he settled in the saddle. Tamir hooted and Cai patted his neck. “Let’s make Ophelia, and the wing, and House Jade proud, aye?”

The disc under Tamir’s talons began to rise beneath them, carrying them up toward the top of the field. Tamir shifted his footing a little, but otherwise remained still enough for Cai to pull the cloth cover between his shirt collar up over his mouth and his goggles down over his eyes. He took a look around the playing field; he had been told that there was, in fact, an invisible series of wards all along the top of the field, and that each small shield held up a single clay pot. The wards could be turned off with some sort of complex, enchanted trigger-object, according to some reading Cai had done. There were a few set courses the judges agreed upon ahead of time that were roughly equal in difficulty, one of which whoever was dropping the shields would be following, to ensure that each game was fair. The courses were not, of course, shared with the contestants, and as fast as they went, Cai imagined it was difficult if not impossible to really memorize one just by watching it.

The sharp blare of a horn announced the start of the countdown. Cai snapped out of his study of the field and shifted his weight ever so slightly on Tamir’s back. The phoenix tensed as well, his wings taut, attention focused fully forward and his head still. Every so often Cai could just see the phoenix’s pupils as shift as the bird glanced back at him, waiting for instruction.

Another blast of the horn, this one longer….two blasts…three!

Cai nudged Tamir’s sides and the phoenix leaped from the pillar with a sharp cry of excitement. Cai tapped the bird’s neck and saw the flash of gold light ripple down Tamir’s feathers, followed quickly by the crackle and light and heat of fire erupting all along the phoenix’s wings and tail feathers. The heat licked at the few exposed bits of skin on Cai’s face, but he was far too used to that sensation to let it throw him off now.

Tamir was already on course for the first clay pot; Cai let the phoenix continue his path and looked around for the next one to see if it would be dropping already – there ,he could see it starting to come down. It was almost half the field away from the first one. As Tamir drew close to the first pot, Cai shifted his weight and tugged Tamir into a turn. The phoenix tilted obligingly, stretching his wingtips – the enchanted clay burst into flames and Cai’s lips twitched in a brief smile. All right – on to the next one.

Tamir pulled up to reach the pot Cai had spotted, and just as he set it alight, Cai glanced around to see one falling some distance behind them. Tamir, already banking around, saw it and started a dive. Even as fast as they were going, though, Cai could tell they weren’t going to make it before the pot hit the water. Tamir must have been able to tell, too; Cai saw his wings tense in a familiar way, and had just enough time to brace hard against the stirrups. Tamir flicked his wings to bring them in close to his body and swooped downward – Cai could feel the hot air from the close flames warring with the speed-chilled air from Tamir’s descent, and both battered strongly at his face and rippled around the edges of the few exposed scars.

They weren’t going to catch this one with Tamir’s wings, but Cai traced a long gesture just above the rein-band around Tamir’s neck, and gave the reins a tug. Tamir fluted a long, swooping note as he flared out his wings and pulled up – and also flared his long, fire-coated tail forward. As Tamir’s momentum and a strong stroke of his wings pulled them upward, Cai glanced back over his shoulder. Smoke rose from the water where the third pot had just landed – they must have lit it, just barely in time. As Cai turned his head forward again, he caught a snatch of noise from the crowd. They sounded excited, maybe it had looked like as near a miss as it had felt. Well, hopefully they were getting the show they had expected…

They successfully set fire to the next clay pot as well, but the one after was their first miss – it dropped too close to the pot they had just set aflame, which Cai had not been expecting; Tamir had already been curving around in the opposite direction. Cai instinctively reached for his hallux, but of course he wasn’t wearing the curved blade, not to a friendly competition. If he’d had it, he could have struck the pot – but of course, this wasn’t a battle.

Tamir made an irritated noise not unlike a crow’s ragged caw, but Cai urged him on toward the next pot. He didn’t hear the pot splash into the water, not over the rush of wind and the roar of flames, but he did hear the crowd groan. It at least seemed to Cai not to be disapproving, but rather oddly sympathetic. He didn’t let himself ruminate on it; whichever it was, it wouldn’t help him do better next time.

Three pots later – two hits and one miss – pots started dropping two at a time. Cai had known to expect this, but he hadn’t known when. He and Tamir only hit one of the first duo, and Tamir’s hiss as he swept around echoed Cai’s own frustration. “I know, I know.”

This was where the phoenix’s rider became indispensable – from his position, Cai had a much broader view of the field than Tamir, so he would need to really step in and direct the raptor’s flight. The first two pots were just a few flaps away – far apart, but maybe….

Cai tugged Tamir’s rein band to signal him to fly upward. The phoenix piped in confusion, but pointed his head skyward and pumped his wings hard. Cai only dared one more flap before reversing his command and urging the bird forward and down. Tamir shot toward the water, following Cai’s adjustment to put him almost exactly between the two pots. Tamir suddenly whistled sharply, and before Cai had to give the command, the phoenix spread his wings; as he passed between the two pots, the outstretched, blazing primaries struck both pots at once.

There was a sudden lurch - it lasted barely a second and Tamir instantly adjusted his flight, but it was enough that Cai had to swallow hard, fighting the feeling that his stomach wanted to escape via his throat. Tamir must have hit one of the pots – Cai looked over his wings but there were no injuries as far as he could tell. They would have to be more careful.

The next two pots were a little easier; a swift downward turn would get both. Remembering that special maneuvers were important for points, Cai took a risk and gave Tamir the command for a spinning dive. Usually, the maneuver was used to force distance between a phoenix and an airborne enemy – neither Courdonian gryphons nor their riders enjoyed getting a facefull of fire blown their way - but in this case, Cai would settle for setting the pots on fire and impressing the crowd and judges. He couldn’t hear well-enough to gauge what the crowd thought of it, however.

And his thoughts about the judges’ impression quickly became less fanciful, as Cai realized one of the pots had caught fire barely a second before hitting the lake. Cai was almost certain it had caught fire in that brief time, but gods knew if the judges had seen it, or if it would count even if they had.

Either way – he had to move on. Next pots, next maneuver…

They managed another pair of pots, perfectly, and they were aligned for the next ones, when Cai suddenly realized he was making a mistake – or rather, he was not properly prepared. The pots were close, but not enough for Tamir to simply soar between them. The common response to this arrangement of firefall pots was for the phoenix to make a sharp midair twist as it came to a halt, essentially winding up and swinging out a wave of fire to strike both pots at once. It was a strictly showy maneuver, taxing for both bird and rider – the balance required to keep leaning with the spin, to ride out the violent jolt of suddenly stopping, and immediately the need to push upward and practically stand vertically to keep upright on the saddle was immensely difficult, and Cai hadn’t yet found the right balance even on their slower runs. Tamir was going very fast now.

He could let Tamir make the maneuver anyway – take the risk of pulling or possibly even breaking something to try and boost what were no-doubt rather mediocre points. He needed more points if he wanted to do anything even close to placing. But flying the rest of the match with a pulled ligament or an entire limb pulled out of socket -

Tamir swooped up, throwing his talons forward in preparation for the spin; the force from the air above and the tug on Cai from the ground below pushed at him, and Cai pushed back, but the jolt would come and with his legs this tense…

This is a competition, not a battlefield! Cai gave Tamir’s rein band a pull and the phoenix, with a confused or perhaps disappointed squawk, did not twist, just gave his wings a powerful stroke to keep himself airborne. The two pots careened past and into the water even as Tamir changed angle for a dive.

Cia was disappointed, and he could hear that the crowd was, too. But this was the way things were when a knight had only a few weeks of practice. It was better than injuring and potentially putting himself out of comission for a mission with real lives at stake. Next pots, he thought sternly, and moved his focus on.

Another two duos of pots, and then the warning horn sounded. Cai’s heartbeat, already knocking hard at his chest from the exertion, pounded even faster – this was it, these next pots would be the last drop.

He didn’t see them ahead – not to the left – nor the right – they were behind them, of course they were. Cai could have cursed, but he didn’t have the breathe or the time for it. He tugged Tamir’s reins to pull him around, but glancing at the pots again, Cai doubted they would have time to bank properly. Bracing against the stirrups, Cai tapped his fingers against Tamir’s neck, and the phoenix pulled his wings in close, diving and turning at the same time. The force of it was like a physical pull on Cai’s right side; gritting his teeth, the fireknight pushed back and leaned against it – and in a snap of moment, the pressure was gone – Tamir shot forward, another ripple of gold light streaking down his ash-coated feathers, and swooped under and past the pots like a crocodile surging upward through deep water. The tall flames billowing from Tamir’s wings caught them ablaze at the raptor shot skyward.

Another blast from the trumped, longer and louder this time, signaled the match’s end. Cai gave Tamir the command to extinguish, and with a slightly breathless fluting, Tamir obliged and coasted to a landing on the stones, which had been magically raised to the lake’s surface again. Over his own heavy breathing, Cai could hear the crowd applauding. That was a good sign. He was too far to actually make out anyone’s face, but he searched for Ophelia or the other fireknights, anyway, until Tamir nudged his arm. “Right - let’s get you off the field and us both cleaned up, aye?” He rubbed the phoenix’s beak, probably doing more streaking of ash than any actual cleaning. “And well-done, Tamir,” he added, scratching behind the phoenix’s face, what he would have called the cheeks if Tamir had been human. “You flew wonderfully!” Tamir chittered, a little breathlessly, but happily, and his steps were oddly high considering how much flying he had just done as he followed Cai out of the course.

Despite his liberal coating of ash - or maybe because he knew cleaning it all off himself and Tamir would take a long while - Cai was thrilled to see a familiar figure near the tent for the post-competition knights and birds to report to for treatment of injuries or at least to clean up. “Ophelia!”

The half-elf looked up from where she was sitting in the grass, smiling broadly. “Hey there, stranger. Who are these ash demons and what have they done with my boyfriend and his pheonix?”

It took Cai a second to think up a response, but he replied, “I believe they’re under here somewhere. The firefall takes so much concentration the competitors don’t even realize they’re covered with ash.”

Pushing herself up, Ophelia giggled. “It definitely looked intensive. That was quite a show you both put on.” She came up to Cai, gently kissing him on one cheek, before reaching into her pocket and offering a pair of peeled limes to Tamir. “Sorry, I know they’re not your preference, but fruit’s going for a mint with all these phoenixes in town.”

Tamir leaned forward over Cai’s shoulder and looked the limes over quizzically, before carefully scooping one out of Ophelia’s hand and crushing it in his beak, apparently sampling the flavor. He blinked a few times, as if surprised, but with a low whistle, took the other from Ophelia’s hand as well and shifted it to his talon, where he tore chunks from the fruit to eat..

“He’s never had limes before,” Cai remarked, “Or, rather, I’ve never fed him any; but it looks like he likes them - thank you. And, thank you, for watching - it helped knowing you were out there; it was even more difficult than I was expecting - I didn’t think I would need to pull out of a turn like that, but aside from that, I hope you enjoyed getting to see some actual fancy flying?”

“I did, very much,” Ophelia replied earnestly. “Woo, I can only imagine trying to do that when the sky is full of enemies instead of falling pottery. Now I see exactly what you meant in your letters by riding a phoenix being hard work. Even with the straps holding you on, you’d have to give yourself whiplash if you weren’t absolutely in synch with the bird’s flying.”

Cai nodded, and added, “There’s also force from the turns that you have to fight, and staying in a horizontal saddle when the bird is not horizontal takes a lot of training - for all that, though, it’s still quite exciting, especially when we’re not in a fight…” An idea occurred to him, his hazel eyes lighting up. “Would you like to try it? I could take you flying with Tamir and I - a very calm, casual flight, of course, and once Tamir and I are more presentable and he’s had a chance to rest?”

“I… I really could?” Ophelia asked, her eyes going wide. “That’s allowed?”

“It’s not encouraged, precisely,” Cai admitted, “But there are saddles for second riders in the mews, so nobody will be in any danger, and it isn’t as if I make a habit of this, so they can’t accuse me of overworking Tamir.”

Ophelia grinned, “Well if you’re sure you wouldn’t get in trouble and it wouldn’t be a bother, I’d love to try it out. Might need to find some trousers first, I don’t think your saddle straps accommodate skirts, but it definitely looked like a lot of fun from the stands!”

“Well, we won’t be doing anything that intensive, but I think you’ll still enjoy it!” Cai assured her. “Though, yes, trousers would be a very good idea. ...Hmm. I haven’t ever seen you in trousers; will we need to find a pair somewhere in town first?”

“I don’t normally wear them, no,” she agreed. “But I can probably find something while you and Tamir get cleaned up, I imagine you don’t need an audience for that.” She winked at him, and Cai chuckled lightly. As if to compound it she added, “It’ll be properly scandalous when I show up later and you can see my legs.”

“Oh - I - ah - “ Cai’s eyes went rather wide, but after a moment he was able to smooth his expression into a smile, and said, “Well - I suppose between the flying and your attire...we’ll have a very enjoyable scandalous evening, at least.”

After a few more jokes and pleasantries, the two went their separate ways- Cai to wash up and Ophelia to purchase the requisite men’s pants. The half-elf met Cai at the entrance to the barracks around dusk, now dressed in a simple but well-tailored pair of dark green breeches and a brown and gold cotton shirt.

“Funnily enough, there is a lot of clothing in various house colors available just now,” she remarked with amusement. “Quite an excess, in fact. So, how do I look?”

She accompanied the question with a slight spin in place. Cai’s eyes followed the movement closely, and it was with great earnestness - and a great amount of heat in his face - that he answered, “You look wonderful - they’re - they’re very flattering.”

Ophelia giggled, blushing slightly. “Thanks. You and Tamir feeling less ragged after a few hours rest and washup?”

Cai nodded. “Yes, quite a bit, and I think we’ll be better company for you and your new clothes without the layer of ash. Tamir also had a nap and a meal, so he should be more than ready for some light flying - especially with the wind feeling the way it does tonight.” Reluctantly looking away from Ophelia, Cai turned to the Tamir and motioned for the phoenix to come over. “I already saddled him, so all we need to do…” Cai delicately lifted a separate set of straps from where they were draped over the saddle, “is get you properly strapped in.”

“Alright,” Ophelia agreed, “Just show me what to do.” Smiling up at the phoenix and giving him a playful bow. “Thank you in advance, Tamir. I hope I’m not too heavy, hm?”

Tamir hooted and lightly nudged Ophelia’s shoulder. Cai smiled and said, “Tamir’s strong enough to carry two in armor, and while wearing his own protection; you’ll be just fine. Tamir? Down for mount, please.”

The raptor obligingly crouched and shifted his wings so that the fireknight and the half-elf could easily reach the saddle. Cai motioned for Ophelia to have a seat on the saddle. “Usually, second riders sit in front of the fireknight - but seeing as I’m not as tall as most of them, you’ll be behind me. The straps will definitely hold you in, but of course you can hold onto me as well.”

Ophelia grinned as she carefully slung herself over the saddle. “I’d be doing that anyway, but I’ll take the justification, why not?”

Before Cai set to work securing the double-rider straps, he reached into a pocket and held out the retrieved item to Ophelia. “Goggles, to protect your eyes from the wind; otherwise you’ll have your eyes closed the whole trip, and what fun would that be?”

Ophelia accepted the goggles, carefully sliding them over her head. “I suppose it depends on if you’re afraid of heights, but fortunately I’m not. Do these ever make it hard when you’re fighting? The peripheral vision seems rather limited.”

“It takes some compensation,” Cai admitted as he started attaching the double-rider’s straps to the saddle. “But we’re trained to look around more often to make up for it; and when we’re fighting, we usually aren’t facing one direction too long, which helps. Though we’ll be keeping the tumbling and free-wheeling and banking to a minimum.”

Cai stepped around Tamir to get to the bird’s other side and quickly finished fastening the straps to the other side of Tamir’s saddle. Finally, he started strapping Ophelia in; part of him felt almost...nervous, worried that he was somehow being improper even though there was no reason to feel that way - trousers had been Ophelia’s suggestion, he wasn’t doing anything wrong, Ophelia needed to be strapped to the phoenix for very obvious reasons of safety, and they had been dating for a long time now…

Enough; calm down, Cai told himself. “How does that feel?” Cai asked, finishing off the first strap. “It should be snug and you shouldn’t be able to move your leg much - but it shouldn’t be so tight it might cut off blood flow.”

The half-elf experimentally tugged one leg against the strap, the nodded, “Feels fine to me. Nice and secure, at least on the bottom half. I do apologize in advance if I cling a bit at first though, given there’s nothing strapping me in from the torso up.”

Cai smiled. “That’s quite all right - it’s definitely natural, especially on the first flight up.” As he stepped back around to strap Ophelia’s other leg in, Cai elaborated, “I’ll be keeping Tamir on a fairly level course, but when we take off and land...well, there are only so many ways to do it. Landing I should be able to do smoothly enough, but when we take off - there’s going to be a push as we get up into the air. The straps will hold us in, of course - but just so you’re prepared.”

“Probably a good thing to know, so I don’t panic and think I’m about to fall off,” Ophelia agreed. Once she’d given the opposite leg an experimental tug she looked down at her boyfriend with a smile. “Your turn?”

“My turn,” Cai agreed, and hoisted himself into the saddle. The fireknight quickly strapped his legs into the harnesses, and double-checked that both his and Ophelia’s straps were securely attached to the saddle. Finally satisfied, Cai took the reins in one hand and tapped Tamir’s neck with the other; the phoenix rose to his full height, folding his wings to his sides and glancing back at his two passengers.

“Ready, Ophelia?”

She grinned broadly, carefully wrapping her arms around his chest. “Ready when you are, love.”

“All right then.” Cai nudge Tamir with his knees, and the bird started forward, walking for a few steps, then beginning to pick up speed… The raptor lowered his head, spread his wings, and with a split-second’s pause to bend his legs, Tamir kicked off and shot skyward, wings pumping. Ophelia let out a short whoop of surprise, instinctively clinging tighter around Cai’s chest. In fewer flaps than it seemed it should have taken, the phoenix was high enough to simply spread his wings and level out into a glide.

Ophelia’s arms relaxed around Cai’s middle, and she laughed somewhat breathlessly. “Well! That was a rush. Sorry, didn’t mean to clutch so hard.” She looked around as Tamir glided, and made a wondering noise. “Everything looks so small.”

“That’s all right - I was expecting a tight grip on takeoff,” Cai said with a smile. “It’s remarkable how tiny everything is from the air, isn’t it?” He pulled lightly on the reins, easing Tamir’s flight path a little to the right. “Would you like to go higher?”

“Sure, if it wouldn’t be a burden on Tamir,” Ophelia agreed. With a smirk she added, “And this time I’ll be more ready for that rush.”

“It won’t be quite so strong this time,” Cai said, glancing at Tamir’s wings and sweeping a finger lightly across the feathers of the nearest wing. As the phoenix flapped a few wingstrokes forward, Cai explained, “He’s going to find a pocket of warm air - warmer air rises over colder, and it makes an updraft, strong enough for him to soar on. I’ll guide him into it gently; you might feel your stomach drop or swoop a bit - but it won’t be nearly as strong as takeoff.” Glancing back at Ophelia with a light smile, he added, “Or as gliding directly into it - it’s a good way to get out of range of an arching arrow or gryphon - but it also feels like someone’s dropped a second phoenix on top of your shoulders.”

“You have my commendations for doing the maneuvers you did during the firefall against forces like that,” she replied. “You really weren’t kidding when you said riding a phoenix is a workout.”

“Thank you - you adjust to it, somewhat, but it does take a lot of strength-building to fight it properly. Though having to work with the bird, instead of just riding like a wagon or a horse...it’s rewarding, in its way.” Tamir fluted four precise notes, and Cai used the reins to urge the bird into a slight tilt. “Tamir’s found some rising air. We’ll circle into the pillar of it, and then I’ll let Tamir glide. The view will be incredible,” he promised eagerly. Tamir, perhaps reacting to Cai’s tone, let out a long string of chirrups.

Ophelia giggled, “I bet seeing this view from the sky all the time helped a lot in solving the Solis puzzle I sent you last year, didn’t it? You know exactly what everything looks like from overhead.”

“It would have been much more difficult without that perspective,” Cai agreed, as Tamir started ascending, still lightly tilted. “But it was still quite a challenge - I knew what was on top but not necessarily the bottom.” When they came around so they were slightly tilted toward the city again, Cai asked, “Do you recognize any of the buildings?” A slightly easier task in Solis than in most cities, perhaps, thanks to the plethora of decorative structures and the mosaics and murals on the buildings themselves, but still more challenging than one would expect from the air.

She looked down, glancing about. “Well Jade Manor is hard to mistake,” she joked. “And that building there can only be St. Nephrite’s. Ooooh do you think we might be able to see the water-road mosaic from up here if we got closer?”

Cai glanced toward the streets. “Hmm - I think it should be possible; there’s not a lot of foot traffic. I suppose everyone’s trying to get a look at the phoenixes near the ring?” He looked between Tamir, the ground, and the city, gauging the distance and the height, and finally said, “All right, let’s get Tamir up higher so he can glide - hold on.” Cai gave Tamir a light nudge; with a powerful stroke of his wings, Tamir swooped more quickly up the thermal. After a few circles, Cai gave the reins a light tug and slowed Tamir down, before pulling him out of the thermal to glide toward Solis’ towers. “All right, it shouldn’t take us very long to find...be ready for sudden tilting, if Tamir needs to correct for a crossbreeze.”

The towers and roofs came into slightly better view as Tamir descended a little on his glide, allowing Cai to more accurately pinpoint where they were. There was the building painted with vines bearing brilliant golden flowers, the statue of a saint and a stag, a mosaic of a bear on a stream that Cai thought they had put too many green tiles into this year, the multicolored awnings over the marketplace stalls… The sun was low enough in the sky to cast brilliant gold light down some streets, like a door had been opened onto a brilliantly-lit room, and it turned the buildings’ stark white into a softer beige. Cai wondered what the light would look like if it was shining on the river mosaic - they were about to find out, just one light tilt to the right to shift Tamir’s wings out of the way…

“There!” Cai said, pointing toward the ground. “I see it.” He gave Tamir’s reins a light tug, and the bird pulled into a slightly more level flight so he could fly a touch slower. Ophelia followed the direction of Cai’s pointing finger, then she smiled.

“Ah, I see it too! Wow, it’s a completely different perspective from way up here. It actually looks like a winding river.” The half-elf leaned forwards a bit, resting her chin on Cai’s shoulder. “Feels like so long ago, doesn’t it? But at the same time, not that long at all.”

“It has been a couple years now, hasn’t it?” Cai mused. “It was before we were dating, even, which certainly feels much longer ago than that. ...This was where you complimented my eyes. I suppose I should have suspected something was going on between us at that point,” he added with a soft laugh.

Ophelia chuckled as well, pressing her cheek against his. “In fairness, I was equally oblivious. Though I do still love your eyes. And your smile.” She kissed his cheek. “And you.”

“I love you, too. ...When we get back to ground, I owe you a kiss; it’s harder to turn around in this saddle than you would think.”

The Emberwing Championships: Part Five - cameo by PFA

SPOILER: Click to show

Anders sailed through his second jousting round though it did not end in an unseating as the first had. In a way, the fireknight was relieved about this. He liked the accomplishment of the unseating, but didn’t want people to start whispering that he was cheating or showing off. He’d had quite enough of people whispering about him in his life.

It was late afternoon about five days after his first round, and he was waiting in the wings with Mirja for his next joust. After he stroked the bird to soothe his nerves, he turned to address his companion- but this time, it wasn’t Cai.

“You’d think after three goes I would be less jittery,” Anders said with a laugh. “But I’m not.” He held up a hand, revealing it to be tremoring slightly. “I feel so ridiculous being this nervous.”

“It’s okay to be nervous, I think,” Reynold Jade told him. “But really, you’re doing great out there.”

“Heh, thanks,” Anders said. “Woo I still can’t believe I got paired off against one of my father’s knights in the first round. Don’t tell anyone I said this but I thought I was going to puke.”

“I can only imagine,” Reynold agreed. “I still think you did really well, though.”

Mirja seemed to agree with the sentiment, chirruping and preening her rider’s hair. Anders chuckled, patting her on the neck. “So, your brother planning to attend the phoenix fluting event his afternoon? Or is he too distracted by all the pretty girls come into town for the Championship?”

“I don’t know, that’s a good question.” Reynold rolled his eyes. “But I think he’ll be there, probably.”

Anders tilted his head. “You miffed about something, Reynold?”

“What?” Reynold blinked. “Oh, no, just… you know. Joffery, he’s an idiot. That’s not important; what’s important here is you.” He paused, then added, “You enjoying yourself.”

The fireknight quirked an eyebrow. “If you say so. Though I would hope you and your family are enjoying it too. It must be a profound relief for your father to be able to hold the Championships again after the nightmare of the drought.”

“Yeah, definitely. I think in some ways, it’s kind of like a celebration of it being over,” Reynold told him, his smile perhaps a bit too eager for the situation. “It’ll be— uh, it’s nice.”

Will be? Anders thought, confused. The Championships were already well underway, why the future tense? Still, he chuckled, replying, “We say that now, let’s see if I still feel that way after I get sent plummeting from Mirja’s saddle as I’m inevitably bound to do. It’ll be like that time we did a dive when I took you flying, only with absolutely one-hundred-percent less phoenix wings to temper the descent.”

Reynold chuckled in turn. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” Anders said, smiling slightly as Mirja nudged his young friend on the shoulder in a clear solicitation of scratches. “Woo knows I still don’t entirely know how I’d feel if I did fall from the saddle and my father was watching. I knew he’d probably be here but it still gave me a jolt to see him.”

“Don’t worry about him, Anders,” Reynold told him, while reaching over and scratching Mirja under the chin. “You’re important for you, and that’s what matters.”

Mirja cooed as Reynold’s nails got at the itchy places she couldn’t reach, and Anders gave his young friend a soft smile. “Thank you, Reynold.” A horn sounded from outside the tent, and the fireknight sighed. “The last match just ended. I should get ready to head out.”

He started to pull Mirja’s reins, when a thought occurred to him. “Oh, I’d been meaning to ask- I swear I saw Lord Boovean in the stands during the opening ceremonies. You any clue why he decided to play spectator to this?”

“What? Oh, um…” Reynold hesitated for a moment, before adding, “I don’t know?”

“Ah, alright,” Anders shrugged. “I figured he might’ve spoken to Lord Everett, but who knows, maybe he just wants to put in an appearance as a show of confidence that Kine is able to survive without constant babysitting for a few weeks.” He grinned as he swung into Mirja’s saddle. “I trust you’ll be cheering me on then? I understand Third Wing has a nice little cheering section going in the stands.”

“Oh, they do,” Reynold confirmed, smiling broadly. “And I will. Best of luck out there!”

“Thanks!” Anders called over his shoulder as Mirja started to move forwards. “See you for some cool drinks afterwards!”

***

Anders chuckled softly as Summerby stumbled out of the tavern, humming softly to himself. “He’s feeling no pain tonight. At least Hawthorn should see to it he actually gets home and doesn’t end up passed out in a ditch somewhere.” The lieutenant glanced towards his right wedge, swirling a glass of beer in one hand. “It was nice of them to throw us this little party, though- I’m impressed they managed to surprise us with it, they’re normally awful at keeping secrets.”

“Very much so,” Cai agreed. He was nursing water rather than alcohol, having already indulged in a very small beer earlier in the evening as both an appeasement to the rest of the fireknights and as a small treat for the occasion. “I suppose this is a much easier secret to keep than some bit of gossip or an infraction of some kind.”

“True enough,” Anders agreed. “I don’t know how they thought they were going to keep it secret when the probationary cadet broke his wrist during jousting practice because he was being careless- as if the healers don’t file reports on that sort of thing.”

“And as if we don’t check those reports.” Smiling slightly, Cai added, “At least they seemed appropriately embarrassed afterwards. You pointing out that disguising a cadet’s carelessness meant a potentially carelesss wingmate certainly made them uncomfortable.”

Anders took a sip of his beer before nodding. “I twisted my knee once because someone on the wing was an idiot- I don’t care to repeat the experience.” He chuckled. “Though chances are I won’t have much choice in avoiding injuries. My opponent for the semi-final round is one of the Accipiter fireknights- the elf.”

“Oh? That could certainly make it a challenging joust; I’d heard bits about an elven fireknight before, but not nearly as much as I’ve heard during the Championship.” Tilting his head, Cai asked, “Do you know if he’s a regular jouster, or if this is a new sport for him? I imagine after several hundred years, you would want to try new things from time to time.”

“I was rather hoping you might know better than I do, seeing as you were just in Nid’aigle last summer,” Anders mused. “But unfortunately all I have to go on is rumor and hearsay. I don’t remember seeing him in any of the previous Championships that have been hosted since I came to Solis save the very first one, but admittedly I didn’t pay close attention to him then. You probably remember how anti-social I was as a teenager. Alas, I thought I was over that phase of my youth coming back to bite me.”

“I’d have asked about him if I’d thought of it,” Cai said regretfully. “It’s odd that it’s such a rarity - elves and phoenixes make a logical pairing.” He took a drink of his water. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Lieutenant. You had a lot on your mind at the time.”

“True,” the lieutenant conceded. “But I like to think I’m a lot less self-absorbed and wrapped up in my own issues nowadays. Speaking of which, I heard that the results were posted for round two of the firefall- how’d it go?”

Cai shrugged lightly, taking another small drink. “I scored moderately well. Only twenty-three points below the person just ahead of me. But I didn’t score highly enough to get to the next round. Another knight from our House did make it, though.”

“Ah, sorry to hear,” Anders replied. “Still, it was pretty impressive that you made it into the Championships at all given that it’s your first year and you only had a month and a half or so to prepare.”

“Thank you, Sir. And no need to be sorry; I was hardly expecting to make it into the second round. I pulled out of too many maneuvers, a sentiment I’m given to understand some of the crowd shared - but I couldn’t justify pulling my knee out of socket for the sake of a game.”

“Entirely understandable,” Anders agreed. “I thought you did well, and in a combat situation you certainly wouldn’t want to push things like some of those maneuvers would have demanded if it put you out of the rest of the action. And Representative Braham seemed quite impressed.”

Cai chuckled. “She certainly expressed that she enjoyed the show - and I am quite content with that. As to the maneuvers, that was my thinking exactly. And it’s a good thing they didn’t let us have our hallux, or I would have accidently cheated purely on instinct quite a few times.”

“That was probably exactly why it was banned,” Anders said with a crooked smile. “They drill those combat instincts into us pretty hard. Did Tamir at least have fun showing off? I swear Mirja’s puffed up to three times her normal size the past few days.”

“She definitely seems to be enjoying the attention. I think Tamir enjoyed himself; he seemed to like relearning his old skills, and he usually gets excited when he’s allowed to ignite. ...I wonder if the old firefalls are why that is, if it’s almost nostalgic for him. ...But yes - I think Tamir had a good time and doesn’t regret it either. And if he puffs to a few times his normal size, it’s because he’s been spoiled with treats.”

“Ah, taking advantage of the fact that fruit is no longer going for a small mint, are you?” Anders asked. “I know Mirja has missed it terribly.”

“Oh, it isn’t all me. Ophelia likes giving him treats as well, and Tamir likes taking them.”

“Ah,” Anders chuckled. “So you were right- elves and phoenixes really do go well together. I guess I’m in trouble in the semi-finals.” Anders stood, cracking his neck. “Unless I get lucky and the Accipiter knight’s phoenix is pudgy from too many treats.”

“I suppose you’ll find out,” Cai said, finishing his water and getting up as well. “Though whichever way it goes - it’s remarkable that you’ve made it this far in your first year, and given that you had about the same month and a half to practice, Lieutenant.”

The lieutenant smiled. “Thank you- however things turn out, this has been a great deal of fun, and an excellent chance for Corvus as a whole to let off some stress after the drought. I think that alone has been worth it.”

“Agreed,” Cai said fervently. “Everyone certainly needed the relief. ...Hopefully that’s true for your young Jade friend as well?” Even the reserved Right Wedge knew the Lady of House Jade had died during the drought.

“Reynold has been in a very good mood yes,” Anders agreed with a slightly sad smile. “A bit… cagey, for no reason I can fathom, but he’s obvious when he’s brooding so I doubt it has anything to do with that. Mirja can usually tell when he’s upset too and she seemed unruffled, so I think it’s safe to say he’s enjoying himself.”

“Good - he could use something that brings him some joy.” After leaving some runestones on the table, Cai said, “Hopefully whatever he’s holding back on is something silly.”

Anders turned towards the door, pausing briefly to call over his shoulder, “You best get some sleep, Shahar. I plan to do the same- tomorrow is another day.”

The Emberwing Championships - Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

After so long of being around the green and gold Jade phoenixes, and occasionally working alongside the red-purple birds of Curys and bright yellow phoenixes of Topaza, it was very odd for Anders to see one of the Woo’s birds jet black. It looked… Not wrong, exactly, but strange. Like someone had dumped inky shadows on the bird's feathers.

By now Mirja was familiar enough with the routine not to need instruction. She took her place on the starting point, eyes trained eagerly on the sky. Anders chuckled softly at the bird’s enthusiasm, giving her a pat on the side of the neck before the referee came out onto the field.

“By now you both know the rules, so I shan’t waste your time rehashing them,” he said crisply. On my mark- three... two…”

The horn sounded and both phoenixes exploded into the air in a flurry of feathers. Somewhat to Anders’ surprise, however, the Accipiter bird angled not straight upwards to get height, as was the usual practice, but at a trajectory that would put her on a collision course with Mirja.

A feint? To get me to surrender height? That seemed the most logical explanation, but when the other knight leveled his lance, Anders knew that feint or not he hand to take some sort of evasive action. He yanked hard on the reins, pulling Mirja into a backwards somersault that sent blood surging into the lieutenant’s head, and made his legs scream with pain as the straps on them strained. However, before Anders had time to fully recover from the showy maneuver, the elf’s phoenix was on him again, baring down from above. Anders barely had time to yank his own lance up before the Accipiter knight’s struck his shield. The tip of the elf’s lance snapped off on contact, and the Jade knight’s arm went numb.

Woo, he’s fast!

The two knights came down to earth, Anders shaking out his arm to help ease some of the numbness as the crowd roared. That couldn’t have been more than what, a minute? Less perhaps. He was in trouble.

The two phoenixes lined up at the start again, and this time when they took off Anders guided Mirja in a circling ascent instead of having her fly straight up. This tactic worked, the inconsistent trajectory keeping the Accipiter knight from heading Anders off or colliding with him during the ascent. Seeing what the Jade knight was up to, the elf made no effort to repeat his earlier tactic, instead focussing on a standard flight straight upwards.

As if aware that Anders was now tense and on guard for further unconventional tricks, the elf seemed determined to defy expectations by using only conventional methods. He swooped in towards Mirja in feints and jockies that were not dissimilar to those that Anders’ previous opponents had utilized, and the lieutenant kept waiting for some trick or strategy that was not forthcoming.

Finally the elf managed to line himself up for a run at Anders’ shield that the human fireknight couldn’t evade, and the two of them barreled towards one another. Hoping to hook under the elf’s shield and pop him loose from the saddle as he had in the first round, Anders aimed low and surged forwards to maximize his momentum-

And missed entirely as the elf turned almost completely sideways, evading the blow.

Capitalizing on Anders’ now unbalanced state, the elf rammed his shield forwards, angling not upwards but sideways, with the slant of his adversary’s body. Anders felt the lance connect with his shield, and abruptly his entire body was wrenched to the side and down. Mirja squawked in panic as the straps on Anders’ left side snapped, leaving only the right side holding him to her back so that he was dangling painfully and precariously by his right leg. Anders gave a shriek of agony as, losing the battle with gravity, his knee popped clean out of the socket. The audience was crying out in a combination of shock, terror, and excitement, but all Anders could hear was the blood roaring in his own ears and Mirja’s screams of panic as she tried to get him to the ground without hurting him.

Then, relief. He felt the familiar sensation from his training days of being caught by a hover spell, and another mage must have sliced through the straps on his right leg because it came free from the saddle. With Mirja chirruping in concern the whole way down, Anders was slowly lowered to the earth and into the waiting company of a healer.

“Easy now,” the healer said, lowering Anders to the grass. “Don’t try to move just yet, Lieutenant, let me see what you hurt up there.” The woman stopped the hovering spell and started to come closer, asking, “Will your phoenix let us get near you?”

“M-Mirja, stand down,” Anders said, his voice high and raspy with pain. The phoenix fluffed up her feathers, twittering in a mixture of concern and indignation before she obediently backed up a pace. Though she still reached towards her rider to nudge his cheek with her beak, she was no longer a hovering wall of feathers and talons. “She should let you by now.”

“Thank you, Sir.” The healer who had lowered Anders to the ground covered the remaining distance, accompanied by another mage. As the healer ran her wand over the air above Anders’ leg, the sound of other rapid footsteps on the grass announced someone else approaching.

The other mage looked up, his expression stern, but the newcomer quickly said, “I’m Lieutenant Escalus’ Right Wedge - I won’t get in your way, I just want to know how injured he is, and to help with Mirja if she need it.”

“Shahar,” Anders glanced towards Cai with a wan smile. “Told you I didn’t stand a chance.”

“You did just fine, Lieutenant,” Cai assured him. “You made him work hard for that victory, and against an elf, that’s quite a feat.”

“Dislocated knee,” the healer diagnosed, raising her wand. “I’m going to realign it, and heal as much as I can of what that yank tore around it. You’ll be in a splint for a day or two just to be safe.” Looking up at her partner, she asked, “Give him a pain potion, please?”

The second healer nodded, withdrawing the potion in question from a satchel at her side. Anders tilted his head back mutely to accept the potion, eager for anything that would make him want to chop off his own leg a little less.

“Is he alright?” called a lightly accented voice. The elf, his helmet pulled off to reveal sweat-damp brown hair and bright crimson eyes, was standing just a bit off so as not to be in the way, but he was watching the proceedings with evident concern. “Forgive me, it was not my intention to unseat your lieutenant in such a messy way.”

Cai hesitated, but when it seemed the healers weren’t going to answer, he nodded slightly. “He’ll be fine; it’s a dislocated knee. ...I think your apology belongs to my Lieutenant, however, not to me.” The dark-skinned fireknight looked carefully to Mirja, ready to intervene if she decided the elf was a true enemy rather than an opponent in a competition. She glanced towards the elf with a soft hiss of disdain; “Mirja,” Cai said sternly, and motioned for her to bring her head near him so he could scratch under her feathers. She made a grumbling sort of noise, but obediently butted her head against the right wedge’s hand.

“I’m not angry,” Anders called to the other fireknight. “You needed worry about it. I knew going into this competition there was a good chance of my being hur- augh!”

“Hold still,” the second healer scolded. “This is delicate.”

“Give the pain potion another minute to work,” the healer who had given him the aforementioned potion chided.

“That potion will only do so much.”

Cai, looping an arm over Mirja’s neck just to be safe, and stroking her beak with his other hand, said, “The both of you flew well; your Houses should be proud.”

The elf nodded his head in thanks, clearly thinking nothing in particular of the comment. Anders, however, glanced sidelong at Cai, eyebrow raised in silent questioning. The Right Wedge met his eyes for a moment before he looked toward the stands, focusing in particular on the section of seats bordered by banners in blue and orange. The lieutenant smiled a little sadly.

“Thank you, Shahar. I hope so.” He chuckled ruefully. “Even if I have ensured I’ll be going to the winner’s circle in a splint.”

“Fourth place in your first championship joust is nothing to sneeze at, Lieutenant,” the elf pointed out. “You have done exceptionally well. Given a few years of practice, you could easily be a contender for first place.”

Cai nodded in agreement. “I could certainly see it, Lieutenant.”

The healer who had been waiting for the pain potion to kick in interrupted, “Not if his knee isn’t fixed. The potion ought to have fully kicked-in by now; Lieutenant, I’m going to start fixing your knee now.”

The Emberwing Championships: Epilogue - cameos by PFA & Gelquie

SPOILER: Click to show

Anders did indeed attend the awards ceremony for the jousting competition with his leg in a splint, but that scarcely mattered to him. All of the winners received a laurel wreath to mark their victory, enchanted to take on a different color based on how they had placed- first place was gold, second place was silver, third place was bronze, and fourth place was black. A small matching pin was given to each of the victors that could be worn with their formal uniform, and would last longer than the laurels.

Though normally the two losers of the semi-finals would compete against one another to claim third place, Anders was forced to forfeit that match on account of his injured knee. Not that he minded- as the Accipiter elf had pointed out, fourth place was far better than he had reasonably expected for his first championship, and it was with no disappointment that he accepted the black crown upon his head. In the crowd, Cai, Ophelia, and the men of the third wing of House Jade applauded especially intensely.

Several days later, the last of the events finally wound to an end, awards were handed out, and the morning of the closing ceremony dawned bright and- for Corvus- pleasantly balmy. Anders and Cai, like all of the participating fireknights, had seats in a special section at the front of the stands, giving them a clear view of Everett as he walked on to the makeshift stage.

“This has certainly been a great year for the Emberwing Championships,” the Lord of Embers said, addressing the crowd. “And certainly all of us are grateful to be in a position where we can actually host them again.” He paused for a moment, glancing up at the cloudy sky meaningfully, before continuing. “The fireknights of Corvus strive each and every day to ensure the safety of Corvus and its people, as they have for hundreds of years. In every facet of their work they do their utmost, be it patrolling over the roads, guarding our borders, or even so simple a matter as caring for the Lord Woo’s holy birds—- no one can question their strength, nor their loyalty.”

There was a general murmuring of assent, and once it had passed, Everett spoke up again. “However, every so often a fireknight will go above and beyond the call of duty, and act with such chivalry and valor as to make them exemplary even amongst their already extraordinary peers. As is the tradition of the Emberwing Championship, we will now give honor to those fireknights who stand above the rest.”

The Lord of Corvus gestured towards the stands, and a man dressed in brown and green livery stood- Lord Miller Booveen, whom Anders and Cai had noticed at the opening ceremony. The nobleman cleared his throat. “Yes, quite right. I'm sure you all know of the Famine and how it struck the provinces. But it struck Kine the hardest. It was a difficult time, and we did the best we could. However, the famine brought more problems; one day, wildfires struck the province and grew out of control. No one in Kine had requested help, that or other nobles couldn't reach anyone in time. But nevertheless, the fireknights came, and through their efforts with their phoenixes'... unique talents, they managed to control and eliminate the worst of the fires. They saved many villages and kept the fires from escalating further. So, Jade fireknights, on behalf of House Booveen and all of Kine, thank you. May you continue to do well in the future.”

There was a thunderous round of applause in response to Miller’s speech. Anders blinked in surprise- he certainly hadn’t expected the fires in Kine to be referenced now of all times, but in retrospect it did explain why Miller would be present. Not just to show faith that his recovering region could make do without him for a few weeks, but also to offer his thanks to the forces that had stopped the disastrous wildfires.

Everett, however, didn’t seem to be finished. He held up a hand, and gradually the applause quieted. Once he had the audience’s attention again, he clasped his hands behind his back. “The fireknights who went into Kine that day performed admirably, evacuating Kinean citizens from the danger zone and combating the fires to prevent them spreading further. However, there are two among their number who deserve special recognition.” He turned towards the competitor’s partition of the stands, calling out, “Flight Lieutenant Anders Escalus; Right Wedge Cai Shahar; would both of you come forward?”

It took all of Ander’s military discipline not to gape, slack-jawed at his lord. Cai blinked, his expression shifting at once to polite neutrality; after a moment, he rose to his feet and looked toward his Lieutenant. Anders pulled himself together, rising as well and leading the way towards the stage. Cai followed with a glance back at Ophelia; even he wasn’t sure what emotion he wanted to convey to her. He had felt quite a lot of them just now - surprise, confusion, nervousness, a sudden realization of how many people were in this monstrous crowd… The Right Wedge had shoved that all back for the time being. Lord Everett did not need his fireknights looking baffled and frightened in front of almost all the Houses of Corvus.

As the two men walked up onto the stage, bowing at the waist to their lord before standing at attention, Everett allowed a small, ghost of a smile to appear on his face. “During the crisis in Kine, there was a village located in the path of an oncoming blaze that had not been evacuated, and which by that point could not be evacuated. Though the fires were very closeby, and the danger was great, Lieutenant Escalus and Right Wedge Shahar remained with the village, putting their lives at risk to save those people.”

As heat rose in his face, Anders realized that he could see Reynold in the crowd, the teenage Jade grinning broadly. You little- you knew! You knew Lord Everett was planning this!

Cai, standing with his arms behind his back, glanced briefly in the direction his Lieutenant was watching. He was struck rather quickly by the sheer size of the crowd, all those people watching him and Anders on this little stage. Maybe it was for the best that he hadn’t officially placed in the competition. ...Hopefully they wouldn’t be asked to speak.

In an attempt to make his nerves easier to press down, Cai sought out the seats he and Anders had abandoned in the crowd, and focused, as much as his attention would let him, on Ophelia and his wing. The half-elf gave him a wave and an encouraging smile, her face alight with obvious excitement even from the distance. Cai smiled back at her - a small expression, but he hoped she could see it.

“Lieutenant Escalus, Right Wedge Shahar,” Everett said, turning to both men. “For your tremendous courage and valor, you have the thanks not only of all of Corvus, but all of Kine as well.” He made a beckoning gesture, and a servant approached carrying a black box. Everett opened the box, revealing inside a pair of identical medals; the emblem of Kine, bordered on either side by a pair of green and gold wings that were shielding said emblem from licks of flame on either side. It was small enough to nestle in the palm of a single person’s hand, yet intricately detailed. Anders felt his eyebrows lift at the sheer artistry, and Cai leaned forward a touch to try to see them more clearly.

Everett reached for the first of the two medals, and turned to Anders. “Flight Lieutenant Anders Escalus of the third wing of the Jade fireknights, rider of the phoenix Mirja, I present you with this award in recognition of your admirable actions above and beyond the call of duty.”

The Jade lord afixed the medal to Ander’s chest, and once he had stepped back Anders swallowed hard, saluting in an effort to hide how much his shoulders were trembling. Everett then took up the second medal and turned to Cai.

“Right Wedge Cai Shahar of the third wing of the Jade fireknights, rider of the phoenix Tamir, I present you with this award in recognition of your admirable actions above and beyond the call of duty.”

The Lord of Embers set the medal on Cai’s uniform, where the Right Wedge could feel his rapid heartbeat knocking against it. He saluted as well - that must be proper protocol for awards ceremonies, if Anders was doing it - and then stepped back to join the Lieutenant. From the corner of his eye, Cai could see the sunlight glinting off the medal’s edge. A medal - those weren’t exactly given out every day. Cai knew he and Anders had done something important, and saved a great many lives, but it was their duty to do so…

Well, Cai thought, it isn’t as if we’re going to be putting the medals back in the box. We have them; we might as well be proud of ourselves for it. The burn-scarred fireknight forced his shoulders to relax a touch.

Everett turned back towards the audience, moving out from between them and the fireknights. Almost immediately there was a thunderous round of applause, and Anders felt his face heat up, though it certainly wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. Impulsively, his eyes flitted towards the partition of the stands that was decked in blue and orange, but from this distance and past all of the people he couldn’t really see anything. A soft, almost inaudible sigh, more of a sharp exhale, escaped from his nose.

Cai glanced away from the crowd - abashed, he was finding it hard to look right at so many people applauding at least in part for him - and spotted Anders’ momentary frown. Following the Lieutenant's gaze and managing not to be distracted this time, Cai was not exactly surprised to find himself looking at the Escalus section of the stands. I imagine they’re regretting some of their choices now, he thought, and considered saying something to that effect...but it occurred to him it might only highlight the estrangement.

Instead, turning his gaze back to the crowd, Cai said quietly, “Lieutenant - don’t worry about them. Don’t let them ruin the moment for you.”

Anders’ eyes flicked over towards his Right Wedge, and a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Cai was right of course. He shouldn’t let old grievances get in the way of enjoying this. Instead he turned his attention to Reynold, who was still smirking like an idiot, and the rest of the Third Wing, who were all applauding wildly. His friends. His real family. The people whose opinions mattered.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice equally low. “Glad you decided to participate, Shahar?”

Slowly, thoughtfully, Cai nodded. “I think you were right, about it being good for me. ...And not as dangerous as I thought.” Indeed, looking out at the pocket of the crowd that contained his girlfriend and his wingmates, at the majestic, iridescent-tipped phoenixes, at the decorated towers of white stone beyond the competition field and the green fields and forests beyond that, Cai could only think that yes - it was good to enjoy being free.

[Avery]

A collab with Shinko -- loosely a follow-up to The Gryphon and the Slave, although it's stand-alone enough where it's not necessary you've read that one to follow what's going on here. ^^

Loose Ends: Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

It was late afternoon a few miles off the Ash Road that led south through Corvus, and anyone with an iota of sense would have been anywhere but outside. After all, late afternoons in Corvus, especially in summer—or spring as it was now—meant a deluge of rain.

As if to accentuate this foreboding, a fork of lightning split the sky, and a tremendous explosion of thunder growled across the wild expanse. The air vibrated with electricity, and a sudden howl of wind whipped the lashing rain so that it fell nearly horizontally, cutting across the sultry air like piercing needles— and negating any protective qualities that might have once been afforded by the small, tin-roofed pavilion that stood in the middle of the squelchy brush, its platform floor covered in a slick of moisture, its wooden support beams creaking in protest at the thrashing gale. It was the only man-made construct as far as the eye could see. Like a single measly island amidst a vast and churning sea.

“Woo, won’t it stop?” grumbled one of the heavily-armoured men who huddled inside, wincing as another arc of lightning split the air. Glancing sidelong at the three other men who stood with him, he added sourly, “The on-the-border outposts are the worst assignments, aren’t they? At least when you’re guarding the garrison itself, it’s only a quick jog to the barracks to change into something dry once your watch is over. In the outposts? We’ve got a miles-long hike back. We’ll be lucky if we don’t drown.”

“Awww, does the poor ickle corporal regret his life choices?” jeered another of the men as he pushed sopping bangs out of his face. “Not enjoying the glory of the border guard? Defending the helpless against incursions from our southern neighbors, stalwart in the face of-”

He was cut off as a third man elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and the remaining soldiers chuckled softly. Rubbing his chest where it had been jabbed, the man finished, “Least we only have another hour out here, then we swap out with the next shift.”

“And I’ve got a day of leave tomorrow,” added the fourth knight chipperly. “It’ll just be me, my bedroll, a bottle of whisky, and—”

The knight’s voice fell away as a screech abruptly rent the storm-battered air. The four men all startled straight, spines stiffening as their eyes snapped in the general direction of the sound. Through the cacophony of wind and rain it was hard to tell exactly where it had come from, other than that it was somewhere to the south, or maybe the southeast. In either case, this meant only one thing: the border. ‘Pit, with this pavilion located but a few hundred yards north of the line between Kyth and Courdon, the sound had to be coming from smackdab on the border. Any closer and they’d have seen the source, and any further they wouldn’t have heard it at all, not over the din of the ferocious storm.

“... A puma?” murmured the first knight, the one who’d been complaining. His hand reflexively curling over the hilt of his holstered sword, he dared edge a toe forward, toward the edge of the water-logged platform. “That… was just a puma, aye?”

“Puma is much more throaty than that,” the third knight snarled, speaking for the first time. “That was a person. Let’s go, now.”

He darted out from under the cover, the others following quickly. Although at first it was just the one scream, as the knights hustled closer the sound was joined by a dissonance of competing snarls and voices, the voices all muddling together into one piercing, strident jumble. In some ways, this wasn’t good— after all, the Kythians knew that multiple assailants (and, in turn, potentially multiple victims) meant for a possibly messier confrontation up ahead. On the other hand, at least the increase in volume made for easier tracking; within a minute the platoon had pinpointed the rumble as coming from the due south, and only the squelching mud beneath served to temper their paces as they jogged frantically toward the clamor.

“‘Pit, what if it’s coming from over the border?” puffed the fourth knight, as he blinked wildly against the torrent of rain. Lightning once more sizzled overhead. Thunder shook the humid air. “We’re getting close, it might be over, it—”

“We can chase if it’s a slaver with one of our citizens,” the second knight put in, “but otherwise we have to stay out of it. We’ve no jurisdiction in Courdon.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s marked in ink where Kyth ends and Courdon starts,” wheezed the first knight. “Not off the road like this. We can always say we didn’t know, we can—”

His voice fell away as, at long last, the screaming parties came into hazy view in front of them. True to the knights’ fears, it was immediately apparent that this would not be a small encounter, their cavalcade of four matched effortlessly against just a few opponents whom they could quickly neutralize. Instead, at least half a dozen men stood in ankle-deep mud, fanned in a tight circle around two additional figures who were crouched on the ground below. Through the barrier of the men’s towering silhouettes it was hard to quite make out who they had cornered, other than that one of their targets was clearly the wailing voice that had first caught the knights’ attention. From the pitch of the keens, it seemed to be a woman; she sounded like a dying hare caught within a trap. Desperate. Frantic.

“Halt!” called the second knight as they drew within shouting distance. All four of the knights drew their swords, and the second called again, “Halt in the name of King Galateo! Throw your weapons down!”

The assailants spun to face the brigade, jaws clenched tight; as they turned, it became clear they were all armed, albeit with daggers rather than the swords the knights wielded. Still, knives could cut just as dangerously, and as the men seemed to debate with each other— sending silent, furtive looks leapfrogging amongst their ranks— it looked for a moment as if things might come to blows. To combat.

Then, very abruptly, the men tossed down their knives. Their hands went lifting above their heads.

“Kythian friends!” one of them called, in Kythian that was so heavily accented it nearly seemed to be a mockery of the northern tongue. “We want no fight!”

“We are in unknown ground,” added one of his comrades. Glancing about, he prattled on, “The border may be here— it may be over there— we may be in Kyth, we may be in Courdon, but—” He shook his head. “In any case, we have no quarrel, friends. We are only taking home slaves, see?” Stepping aside to reveal the figures on the ground, he said a bit too jovially, “Branded. Ours.”

“So you say,” the second knight retorted coolly. “You won’t mind then if we check to be sure, yes? So many misunderstandings as to who belongs to Courdon and who doesn’t along this border, you know.”

“Certainly, friends!” chirped the first man. Without skipping a beat, he reached down toward the trembling figures, hooking a hand each over their arms and hauling them bodily to their feet. Neither of the alleged slaves was very tall, the woman who’d been screaming hardly reaching the shortest slaver’s shoulder, but the person with her...

“A child,” murmured one of the Kythian knights, swallowing hard. “‘Pit, it’s a child. A l-little girl.”

“Come, come,” a slaver said pleasantly. “Look at them, they are all branded. Ours.” He glanced briefly toward the woman and child. “Be good, yes?” he threatened, shifting briefly to Courdonian. “Do not speak unless I say you can speak. Or it will be an unpleasant journey home for you both.”

The knight who had been speaking clenched his jaw, striding forwards. He lowered his swordpoint as he did so, though he didn’t sheath the weapon just yet. “Let’s see these brands then,” he said, his throat catching a little as the small girl- Woo she couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven- quivered in the ungentle grasp of her captor.

Without another word, the slaver let go of the pair so that he could roll down the rain-soaked collars of their dresses— indeed revealing a brand each, one in the shape of a crown-wearing gryphon rampant, the other shaped like a backwards S and with a diagonal slash through its center. From the looks of them, the scars were long-healed: the woman and girl were not recent captures. Which meant…

“It… seems they are slaves, indeed,” said another of the Kythian knights as he peered at the brands from afar, his face written with utmost disgust. Revulsion.

“Which means, of course,” one of the slavers said cheerily, “that whether we are in Courdon or Kyth, we may take them. They are our chattel. No concern of yours, sirs.”

“Wait—” the woman started, in surprisingly comprehensible Kythian… but Kythian that was, nevertheless, unmistakably limned with the throaty accent of a native low Courdonian speaker.

“I said that you are not to speak.” The slaver who’d hauled the woman and girl to their feet slapped her. Hard. The back of his hand cracking against her cheek rather sounded like the thunder that was still roiling overhead.

“Sir,” the knight snapped, “your belongings or not, slavery is still illegal in Kyth, so I will thank you not to treat these people with such blatant callousness on Kythian soil. Your business is your business, but I ask that you not try our patience.”

“My apologies, friend,” the slaver said, smiling broadly. He curled a possessive hand over the woman’s shoulder. “Let my colleagues and I just bind them real quick, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Stay safe in this miserable rain,” added another Courdonian, moving to withdraw a spool of rope from within his rucksack. “At least you’re probably much closer to a warm fire and place to rest your head than we are, eh?” He turned toward the woman and girl. “Stay still,” he ordered acerbically. “If you fight us, you’re going to spend the whole trip home sporting stripes.”

But as he moved to lace the rope around the little girl’s wrists, the child jerked back from him, sharply. The slaver looked like he wanted to hit her, as his comrade had the woman, but upon glancing back toward the knights he thought better of it. Instead, he reached for her arm, as if to draw her forward again, and as his iron fingers latched over her sleeve, he opened his lips so that he could scold her.

The slaver, however, hadn’t gotten a single word out before the child let out a miserable burble and started to talk in his stead, her voice pitching frantically as she pleaded: “No, but Circe showed you the writ, she--"

“Silent!” the man snarled. “I will not warn you twice.”

And so the girl didn’t try another time— or at least, not with the slaver. Rather, she snapped her clear blue eyes beyond him, toward the quartet of seething knights who still stood up ahead. Locking gazes with the one who’d most closely inspected her and the woman’s brands, she warbled not in Courdonian at all, but pure, mother-taught Kythian: “Please. Don’t let them take us! Please, please, don’t let them—”

The knights all tensed in near unison, and the one closest to the slavers snaked his hand out to catch the man on the shoulder. His grip far from gentle, he said quietly, “Yours, are they? Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure, of that good sir?”

The addressed slaver faltered in his reply, first taking a moment to exchange a series of beseeching glances amidst his comrade, and the girl used this pause to her advantage. Tears springing to her eyes, she sniveled, “I was b-b-born in Heleos! I l-lived just a f-few streets away from the warmage college, my m-mum swept the halls a-after hours for money sometimes, I—”

“Quiet,” one of the slavers growled. “You— you be quiet, you—”

“Shut it!” one of the knights snapped, all three of the ones who had hung back now drawing closer. “I’d very much like to know how a Courdonian slave knows the name of the city Heleos, or that the city plays host to a warmage college. I was under the impression that slaves weren’t educated in anything beyond their assigned tasks.”

“Unless,” put in the knight who was still gripping the slaver’s shoulder, “She is telling the truth, and she was born of Kythian soil.”

The slaver blanched, glancing longingly toward his dagger, which still rested in the mud. “T-take her then,” he stammered. “But… the other one— the woman, she’s ours, she—”

“She’s got a writ!” the girl cut in, her chin wobbling. “From the queen mother, she’s got a writ, she’s not a slave anymore, she’s—”

“Shut up!” snarled another of the Courdonians, his hands curled into quivering fists. “We told you, whelp, queens don’t just write freedom writs to slaves, it’s a forgery!”

“It’s not!” the child countered. “It’s real, C-Circe wouldn’t forge things, it’s real.” She looked to the knights. “D-don’t let them take her, please. She s-saved me, don’t let them take her—”

“Ariel, hush.” The woman, Circe, finally spoke, her voice feather-light as she gently squeezed the little girl’s shoulder. Her dark eyes teeming with some queer emotion between relief and devastation, she murmured in very shaky Kythian, “The knights are going to help you now. Do not worry about me, love. I will be fine. I promise.”

The knight who had been doing most of the speaking swallowed hard. If the child was telling the truth, and her companion- Circe?- had saved her, he couldn’t in good conscience just let the slavers take the woman back. But he had to admit, the story did seem a little far-fetched. A writ of freedom from the queen mother? Yes, the woman’s brand was the royal emblem of the Courdonian ruling family, but…

“Let us see it,” he found himself saying. “This writ. You’ve already lied once today, you can’t blame me if I’d rather play on the safe side.”

“He took it from her,” Ariel sniffled, pointing toward the slaver who was still awkwardly holding the spool of rope. “When sh-she tried to show it to him back on the road. Before we had to r-run, ‘cos they wouldn’t believe us. It’s in his bag.”

The slaver pursed his lips, almost petulantly. “It’s a fake,” he announced. “Nothing to see.”

“Why don’t we decide that for ourselves?” one of the knights snapped. He held out his hand, expectantly. “Give it.”

Grudgingly, the slaver obliged, rummaging in his rucksack for a few moments before he produced a small, folded piece of parchment. Using his sleeve to shield it from the lashing rain, he handed it gingerly over to the knight, who immediately unfolded it. At once it was clear that if this was a forgery, it was an immensely elaborate one: the message was impeccably inked, the parchment itself was smooth and heavy, and the two wax seals at the bottom of it were… ornate, to say the least. One of them was a near twin of the brand on Circe’s collarbone— a crown-wearing gryphon, the sigil of Courdon’s royal family— while the other was an altered version of it, the gryphon sporting an intricately stylized Mzian alphabetical character across its chest. Presumably the queen mother’s personal seal, as it was well-known that Rhiannon originated from Courdon’s neighbour to the south.

“It’s real,” Ariel said, wiping at her teary eyes. “She’s free. Don’t let them just take her, please.”

The knight narrowed his eyes. “This hardly looks forged to me, sirs. Where would a slave get something like this? How would one get something like this?”

“Slaves will do anything to escape,” the slaver said solemnly. He reached back for the writ, as if to reclaim it, and scowled when the knight moved it out of his reach. “I mean, she clearly already stole this child, so it wouldn’t be a stretch—”

“I hate to interrupt you,” huffed the knight with the letter, “but I might like to remind you that your kingdom is the one that stole the child. Not ah… Circe, is it?”

“She didn’t steal me, anyway!” Ariel added, staring defiantly at the slavers. “She bought me. From my master. The queen mother gave her money, and… and instead of using it to get to somewhere safe quickly, she bought me! She s-saw me on the road with my master, and my master was— was—” The girl whimpered, stammering on frenziedly: “Circe heard me begging h-him to stop in Kythian. And… and she knows Kythian ‘cos… ‘cos the last king taught it to her, and sh-she was headed to Kyth anyway, and so decided t-to save me. So I w-wouldn’t get hurt. And—”

“Shhhh,” one of the knights cut in, moving towards the child and kneeling in front of her; the slavers bristled but— wisely— did not interfere as the knight added, “It’s alright little one, it’s okay. You’re safe, you’re home.”

He reached out, grasping Ariel under her arms and scooping her up. As he did the girl let out another small whimper, tensing— resisting— for a moment before she sagged with relief. Nestling her face against his shoulder-mail, and her sandy blonde hair sticking to her damp cheeks, she draped her arms around the knight’s neck, clinging to him like a tick to a dog.

“It’s real,” she choked out, speaking into the knight’s armour. “Pl-please, it’s real.”

The knight stroked the girl’s sopping hair soothingly, turning a glower towards the slavers. The first knight who had spoken folded his arms, quirking an eyebrow. “Do you still insist on maintaining that the writ this… Circe, was that your name?”

“Yes, sir,” Circe murmured, her throat bobbing.

“Do you still maintain that Circe’s writ is a forgery?” he finished, turning his gaze back to the slavers.

“Yes,” said one of the slavers, stubbornly. “Queens don’t free slaves. It’s just—” He shook his head, letting out a hiss of disgust. “It’s madness. She’s ours. And we’re not losing out on the finder’s fee the royal family will give us for bringing her back, just because you’ve been dazzled by some sniveling brat and piece of paper!”

The knight tapped his foot, his patience clearly wearing thin. “This is out of our jurisdiction then- it’s a matter for higher heads than ours. We’ll have to take this dispute to the reigning lord.”

The slaver with the rope finally placed it back into his rucksack, teeth gritted. “This is preposterous! We’re on the border, and you mean to haul us up to see some lord gods-know-how-far north of here? Over a slave?” He crossed his arms, face alight with indignation. “And I bet you’d try to use the little whelp against us, too. Even though we had no way to know she was Kythian, it’s not like we’re the ones who captured her way back when! We only stumbled on her and the forger on the road here today, we’re perfectly upstanding men who—”

“Who have trespassed on Kythian soil this day, armed and armored and in a group of six men,” the knight snapped, his face twisting dangerously. “Yes, I’m so certain a lone slave or two requires six armed mercenaries to capture! I’m so certain your initial business along this border was entirely legitimate!”

“We don’t know this is Kyth!” the slaver objected. “We might still be on Courdonian soil, in which case you are the interlopers, really, and—”

“Aye, enough,” said another of the knights, tensing his jaw. “I’m done marinating in this rain and arguing with idiots. If you really maintain that the writ’s a forgery, then fine. We’ll take it to Lord Filipe and get his say, and if it’s fake? Then you can take your bloody slave. But you’re not going to just make off into the storm with her. So… if you want her, shut the ‘Pit up and come with us to have an audience with our lord. If you don’t want to slog to Heleos? Then also shut the ‘Pit up, and scarper off back to whence you came!”

The slavers glowered back, incensed. However, finally, one of them strode forward so that he was almost nose to nose with the knight. “Fine. We’ll take this to your lord. See if he remembers the treaty that promises us the right to our runaway chattel. If not?” The slaver chuckled, very softly. “Well then, we can just appeal to our enkis. You’re not all powerful just because we’re in Kyth. Remember that.”

Loose Ends: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

“The knights should be arriving with the petitioners any minute now,” remarked a man of middling height, with dark blonde hair and a heavily freckled face. He absently tugged on the end of his blonde mustache, adding, “So, Fill, just how exactly does a slave end up with a writ of freedom from Queen Rhiannon in the first place? Loathe though I am to give any credit to slavers, I have to admit it… seems far-fetched.”

Standing beside his brother in the sun-baked courtyard of Escalus manor, a man with long chestnut hair and dark tan skin sighed softly. Filipe met the blonde’s blue eyes with equally sky-hued ones of his own, as the second man replied, “I couldn’t say, Dems. I suppose that’s part of what we need to find out, hm?”

Moments later, the gates that led onto the manor grounds yawned open, and an ensemble of horses came thundering down the front path. Travel would have been faster by phoenix-back, but the border guard could hardly spare as many birds as would have been needed, and so instead the group had gone by horseback. The length of the journey— over a day— meant that it least it had stopped raining. On the downside, it was still humid as a sauna, and as the horses came to a halt before the lords, their riders appeared rather… bedraggled, to say the least. And as if they could all very much use a cold, stiff drink.

Filipe spared his younger brother one last sardonic glance before assuming an expression of diplomatic neutrality and striding towards the assemblage. “Welcome to Heleos, ladies, gentlemen. I hope your journey was not too arduous. Much though I know we all have important business to attend, I imagine you would all tremendously appreciate a chance for a cool bath and some food and drink. There are servants waiting inside to see to your needs, and we can discuss your petition once the worst of the road is scrubbed away.”

He’d looked towards the two slaves meaningfully as he spoke, making it clear he meant for them to recieve baths and food as well. In turn Circe only curtsied politely, her head dipped, while Ariel gave the brothers a wobbly, tearful smile.

“Th-thank you, my lord,” she said, bowing. Her voice hitching, she added, “H-has anyone told my d-dad that I’m okay? Mum— Mum was k-killed when the raiders took me— w-we were on a holiday to visit my grandparents near the border, and— and—” She forced a shaky breath. “My dad was here, though. In Heleos. H-he should still live in Heleos.”

“If you can tell us his name and where he lives and works, we can have him summoned to the manor within the hour, young miss,” Dimitri put in, giving the girl a gentle smile. “We need to ask you some questions before you go home, but far be it for us to deny you and your father the chance to see each other again.”

“J-John, my lord,” Ariel murmured, blinking back tears. “His name is John Butcher, w-we lived over his shop— it’s… it’s got a cut-out of a p-pig over the door, near the college, sort of, and…”

“We’ll send a messenger out to find him,” Filipe assured the girl. “For now, let’s get you cleaned up, alright little one? You must be very tired and very hungry.” He turned, gesturing for the assemblage to follow after him. The knights were quickly dismissed to the castle barracks, while the Courdonians and the slaves had been split up into guest chambers tactically far apart from each other in the castle guest wing. They were quickly allowed to bathe in tubs prepared in their various rooms, and then given filling meals before the leader of the slavers, the highest ranked knight, and both of the slaves were led to one of the manor’s smaller meeting rooms to formally discuss the matter at hand with Filipe and Dimitri.

Any discussion, however, was forestalled by the presence of a third man in the room with the noble. Tall, muscular, and wearing a slightly brown stained apron that spoke of a man who hadn’t even bothered to change clothes when he’d been summoned, he had hair an identical shade of blonde to Ariel’s, and his mouth fell open when he caught sight of the child.

“Ari-” he whimpered, taking a staggering step towards her.

The little girl was in her father’s arms in an instant, tears streaming from her eyes. “Daddy,” she whimpered. “I m-m-missed you so much, they took me and I… I…” She let out a pitiful moan. “I thought I was never g-g-gonna get to come back— it’s b-been two years, and I— I—”

“Shhh, it’s okay baby, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,” John whispered, cradling the girl against his chest and rocking her back and forth. “You’re home, you’re safe, you’re never going back to that awful place ever again, I promise.”

Dimitri couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight of the obvious joy and relief from the father and daughter. Curiously, he glanced up towards Circe, who had purportedly either- depending on who you asked- stolen this child from her master, or spent the money that was intended to finance her trip to freedom to buy the young girl. In either case, it was abundantly clear that Circe had no regrets about saving Ariel; her own dark eyes were brimming with tears, a hand pressed over her mouth as she watched the father and daughter cling to each other.

The head slaver, on the other hand, only looked annoyed. Very, very annoyed. “Lovely,” he grumbled. “But can we get on with this, please, my lords? We didn’t exactly plan on taking an extended holiday to Heleos, and we want to get back on our way home as soon as possible. Certainly you understand the importance of expedience, being esteemed lordships such as yourselves.”

Filipe and Dimitri both met the slaver’s gaze with neutral ones of their own. He certainly had gall, talking to nobility like that. Filipe said cooly, “Very well then- if everyone would have a seat, we can begin the discussions.”

Making good on his own suggestion, Filipe took a seat at the head of the table, Dimitri taking his usual place at his older brother’s right hand. John gently led Ariel to another of the seats, drawing the child into his lap as he sat down and shooting Circe a deliriously grateful look. She returned it, eyes wet, throat quaking. The slaver sighed loudly.

“The writ,” he said, taking his own seat. “I’d show it to you, my lords, but your men took it.” He glared sullenly at the knight. “He’s got it now. … My lords.”

Filipe quirked an eyebrow at the knight, who obligingly pulled the rolled up vellum scroll out of his sleeve and presented it to the nobleman. Filipe unrolled it, reading aloud the High Courdonian contents as Dimitri helpfully translated for the knight and John Butcher.

“This document confirms the release of one slave, female, named Circe, former possession of Royal House Alaric of Courdon. She is henceforth and in perpetuity a free citizen of the holy kingdom of Courdon, beholden to no one but herself and bequeathed with the rights established therein by Courdonian law. By order of Her Royal Majesty, Queen Rhiannon Alaric nee Abioye, consort of His Royal Majesty King Rafael Alaric, witnessed by Minister of Slave Affairs His Royal Highness Prince Maverick Alaric.” Filipe glanced over the top of the document towards the slaver. “Awfully lofty language for a slave to come up with. Sounds like it was written by a professional lawyer.”

“She could’ve paid someone,” the slaver countered. “Stolen some money, then paid some shady scribe.” He crossed his arms. “Slaves aren’t trustworthy, my lord. These things happen.”

“And this scribe also had access to royal seals?” Circe asked, her thick accent doing little to veil the contempt in her tone. “It is a hanging crime, to forge those. Who would be so brave?”

“She bought me,” Ariel put in, shifting in her father’s lap. “With silvers. That the queen gave her! Where else would she have gotten so many silvers?”

“As I said, theft,” the slaver snapped. “That makes far more sense than a queen giving her a writ!” He added after a moment’s thought: “And Her Majesty Rhiannon is now only the queen mother, not the queen. Yet the letter doesn’t reflect that!”

“She is the queen mother as of King Oliver’s coronation in late 1319,” Filipe replied, his voice neutral. “This document is dated for October of 1319- she could very easily still have been the legal queen when it was scripted.”

“The man does present a valid point, however,” Dimitri put in reluctantly, turning to face Circe. “Why did the queen free you, Miss? It seems an awfully strange amount of trouble for her to go to, especially given she was born of Mzia, another slave-owning country. She ought have no moral objections to the practice of slavery to motivate her.”

“I was her children’s nurse, my lord,” Circe murmured. “For years and years. And a… a…” She struggled for the right words, finally settling on: “The king was fond of me. Rafael. And when he died…” She smiled sadly. “The new king, Oliver, was not quite so fond. Queen Rhiannon wished for my safety. She knew I would not have it at the palace. Not any longer.”

“So she freed you?” the slaver sneered. “Rather than sell you? Preposterous.”

“To whom would she sell this woman that she could trust?” Dimitri asked the man pointedly. “If she didn’t want her at the palace for her own safety… where in Courdon could a slave really, truly be safe?”

“Then… then…” The slaver grappled for a retort. “1319. The letter’s dated October of 1319. But— that was eighteen months ago. Eighteen months. It does not take eighteen months to travel from Rakine to Corvus.”

“She got delayed” Ariel said tartly. “With me. Just north of Rakine. I-I cost her most of her money. She couldn’t afford a boat anymore. Or a coach. We had to walk most of the way. It took a long time.” She sniffled, turning her beseeching gaze to Dimitri and Filipe. “She saved me, my lords. I w-wouldn’t have ever gotten away otherwise. Not ever!”

Filipe met the young girl’s gaze, his expression full of sympathy. “I imagine that would have slowed the journey a great deal. She would have had to stop along the way to work for more money to keep going.” To Circe he asked, “Why? Not that we aren’t grateful to you for returning our lost citizen to her home, but why did you put yourself at such risk and compromise your own flight?”

“It is probably treason to say,” Circe replied, glancing deliberately at the slaver, “but King Oliver is not a good man. Not to anyone. Even his sisters.” A beat. “Especially his sisters. I spent years watching those girls hurt by him. I could do nothing to stop it. And so when I saw Ariel… her master hitting her as she shook…” The woman looked as if she could punch something. “Finally, I could help a child.”

“I w-was speaking Kythian,” Ariel said. “Cr-crying out in it. And… C-Circe says the old king used to talk to her Kythian. W-when he had to learn it for lessons. And th-that she was goin’ to Kyth already, and so it was… was a sign from the gods, it was…” The girl’s voice broke away as she lapsed into sobs, burying her face back against her father’s shoulder. John hugged his daughter tightly, shooting the slaver a poisonous look.

“My lord, s-surely you aren’t going to give her back to those monsters?” he asked. “She saved my daughter. Your subject. Sh-she deserves your protection.”

“She’s a runaway slave,” the slaver huffed. “You’ve no right to keep her based on a forged letter!”

Filipe looked down at the writ in question- somewhat rumpled and water stained from its adventure, but still it looked every part an official document. If it was a forgery it was a very, very good one.

“I can’t pretend to be an expert in esoteric Courdonian legal documents,” he admitted reluctantly. “I… I’m afraid I can’t be certain as to the legitimacy of this letter.” Before the slaver could do more than smirk, Filipe added, “However, I am not merely handing this woman back over to you based upon uncertainty. Master Butcher is right about one thing; Mistress Circe has saved one of my citizens at great risk to herself, and thus I owe it to her to at least investigate the matter thoroughly. May I remind you that if indeed this document is legitimate, you are acting in treason against your queen-mother.”

The slaver waffled. “I’m a patriot,” he insisted. “I am fighting to return one of the queen mother’s belongings.”

“And you may, if it indeed turns out the letter is false,” Filipe retorted. “But we have no way of knowing that as yet, and thus there will be no decision on the matter today. If that isn’t an acceptable answer to you, you and your colleagues may take your leave. Otherwise, you will have to understand that this is a very delicate international legal issue. You cannot and will not simply bully your way past me, sirrah.”

“No decision today?” The slaver scowled. “How long do you mean to delay then, your lordship? You must understand, we cannot stay here forever. We have families at home who rely on us for income. Innocent wives and babes.”

“Like my wife and child?” John Butcher hissed. “My wife your people killed and my daughter your people stole?”

“Master Butcher, please,” Filipe said, though not without sympathy in his tone. To the slaver, as he moved to stand, Filipe replied, “I will take as long as I need to get a conclusive answer from an expert on Courdonian legal documents. My knights have appealed to me on this matter, and it is my duty to see it through. This is my final decision on the matter.”

Filipe stood, nodding to Circe. “Until the issue is resolved, you will be housed in the guest quarters of the manor. While you will be treated with the utmost respect and courtesy, I must ask that you cooperate with our instructions and that you do not try to flee the manor. It would make things… messy.”

“Of course, your lordship,” Circe agreed, her throat bobbing. “And… th-thank you. So much. For hearing my case. For everything.” To Ariel, she added: “Stay in touch, sweetheart? I’ll miss you.”

Ariel nodded, snuffling. “Uh-huh. Of course.”

“Thank you, Miss,” Ariel’s father added fervently. “Thank you so, so much- I know their lordships will see you freed.”

***

“How did it go?” Dimitri’s wife Grace asked late that evening, stifling a yawn as she sat cross-legged atop their bed. There was a small boy nested in her lap, no more than two-years-old, his chubby cheek pressed against Grace’s chest as he valiantly attempted to fight off slumber. Stroking the baby’s hair, the woman added, “I saw the little girl and her father leaving the manor— watched ‘em through the window when I was tending Odin this afternoon.” The little boy in her lap was currently pushing through the last dregs of a nasty chest cold. “She was just clinging to him. And him to her.”

“I doubt he’ll be letting her out of his sight anytime soon,” Dimitri replied as he was pulling off his silken shirt. Glancing fondly at the young boy he added, “I know I wouldn’t if it was one of ours returned after two years in Courdon. All the blessings of the Woo upon Circe- that’s the older woman’s name- for her courage and compassion. Still… I’m worried, Gracie.”

“Worried?” Grace asked, tilting her head. “Why?” Shushing the toddler as he stirred, the petite woman said, “I mean, if she’s got— what did you say, a writ of freedom?—then it’s not like the lovely slavers we’re hosting can do anything to touch her. She’s free by both their laws and ours. Even they can’t argue against that, can they?”

“Apparently nobody gave them that memo,” Dimitri said dryly. Vanishing behind the dressing screen he added, “They’re claiming the writ is faked. It’s on Woo-cursed vellum and sealed in bright crimson wax and yet they are still trying to claim it’s faked. And it’s rather hard to argue that the queen of Courdon going out of her way to liberate one slave is kind of far-fetched.”

“Still.” Grace frowned. “We’re… not going to just let them take her, are we? Treaty be cursed, we usually go out of our way to turn the blind eye to escaping slaves. Let alone ones who might legitimately be free. Giving her over would just be…” She hissed in disgust. “Unconscionable.”

“Mama mad?” the toddler in her lap whimpered, shifting again. He whimpered. “Why Mama mad?”

“Oh, Mama’s not mad, love,” she soothed, kissing his forehead. “Don’t worry. Go night-night.”

Dimitri emerged from behind the screen in a loose nightshirt, giving his son a reassuring smile. “No worries, Odin, it’s okay buddy.” To his wife he went on more softly, “Trust me, Gracie, I sympathize. So does Fill, he wants nothing more than to punt those miserable slavers out of Heleos. But apparently they’ve threatened to get enkis involved if we don’t play by their rules, and the last thing House Escalus needs on top of everything else is an international incident.”

He sat down beside his wife with a sigh, reaching over absently to stroke Odin’s golden brown hair. “To pacify them we’d need to prove the writ of freedom she has is real. It’s just a question of how.”

Grace’s frown deepened, her brow creasing in consternation. “I doubt they’d just trust us if we went ‘oh yes, it’s verified’, would they?” she muttered dourly.

“I seriously doubt that,” Dimitri agreed dryly. “We’d need a source they trust to give an unequivocal confirmation. Someone Courdonian or formerly Courdonian, and who do we know that fits that bill? Aside from Wynn’s wife, but I seriously doubt Asa’s much an expert on legal documents even if your brother wasn’t still being petulant about Fill handing his trash to him last year.”

Grace sighed. “And I doubt any of the little border lords would bother with it, would they? Lord Enok is always half-convinced we’re about to send our war mages descending on him for no particular reason, Thierry’s a prat, the others aren’t much better…” She pulled Odin tighter to her chest. “They won’t do us a favour like this. Or at least, not without demanding something in return that we probably ought not give them.”

“And Asa’s brother wouldn’t give it the time of day,” Dimitri agreed- Asa Cressida was formerly of House Peregrine, the Courdonian major noble who ruled the region of Emryn directly south of Corvus. “Assuming he dignified such an appeal with a response at all, it would likely just be legalese for ‘hand us back our property and stop wasting all of our time.’”

“And Pipp…” Her voice trailing off, Grace fell to silence for a few moments… before— rather abruptly— a smile curved between her lips. A strange, glimmering, nearly impish smile bloomed between her lips, and her clear blue eyes were also suddenly glinting as she said, “It’s perfect, Dems.”

Dimitri frowned. “That’s the same look you gave me before you larked off into the woods after ‘turkeys’ and ran into a group of rebels instead. Dare I ask?”

“Victor Pipp,” Grace clarified. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? He’s perfect.”

As Dimitri well knew, the long-ruling lord of the Northlands was his wife’s first cousin— the eldest son of her mother’s sister, Luna. He also had been present on what was without a doubt the worst day of Grace and Dimitri’s lives, the Bloody Coronation, when the woman’s close kinship tie to him had ended up saving both of their lives. They’d seen him on only one occasion since, at the Kythian queen mother Maia’s funeral, and it had led to several decidedly awkward and unpleasant exchanges. Both Grace and Dimitri had departed the funeral very much never wanting to so much as think of him again. Let alone see him. Or appeal to him for help.

Dimitri stared at his wife without comprehension, looking rather as if she had turned into a bizarre unknown creature before his eyes. “Gracie, are… are you suggesting that we ask Victor Pipp to help us with the document? The man who’d have cheerily seen Malik remove my head?!”

The man’s voice had spiraled up in volume and pitch, and he winced as Odin swiftly reacted with a whimper. Grace patted his back, reassuring him, before she replied softly, “He owes us, Dimitri. Woo, how he owes us. And his mother knows it. Do you remember how remorseful she was at Grandmother Maia’s funeral? How much she wished she could fix what he’d done? Wished that he could make it up to us, somehow?”

“She also admitted indirectly that he didn’t really regret what he’d planned to do,” the man pointed out. “Only that his kin now saw him as a monster for it.” Dimitri looked down at Odin, his voice very soft. “It would have to be us, you know. Not Fill or Bells. Not some representative. You and me.”

“I know,” Grace said, gulping. “They wouldn’t hurt us. Wouldn’t dream of it. Even if Aunt Luna weren’t there to gut Victor if he thought about it…” The woman laughed grimly. “Well, Victor’s proven he was willing to commit near-treason to protect me. I doubt that’s changed.”

Dimitri didn’t answer right away. Instead he closed his eyes, his left hand reaching almost subconsciously to grip his right arm- the arm that had been shattered by a Courdonian soldier’s mace during the Bloody Coronation, an injury that had come perilously close to killing the nobleman. After a long moment of silence, he said, “I know you hate him as much as I do. So… why? Why are you so willing to suffer the company of a man we both agreed we never wanted to see again for the sake of a woman you haven’t even met?”

Grace quailed, silent for a moment. Then, very, very quietly, she said, “Because it makes me mad, Dimitri. The idea of just letting the Courdonians win. Letting them abscond with a woman who risked her own life to save a child of our city. A woman who might rightfully be free, no less! They’re in our estate. They were trying to take off with one of our citizens. Yet we’re just going to… give them what they want?” She clenched her jaw. “They’re bullies. Just like the Courdonians were at the coronation. Just like they always are. When they pillage and steal and… and…”

Dimitri reached for his wife, pulling her into a hug as best he could around Odin. “You’re right. I know you’re right. Victor is our best bet, and he’s an authority the slavers wouldn’t dare contradict. We promised this woman we’d help her, and we owe her for the life she saved. I just… it’s hard. I know it’s selfish of me to say, and you have far more reason than I do to hold a grudge. But it’s still hard.”

“I’d just… feel like we’re selfish people,” Grace whispered. “If we didn’t pursue this simply because it’s uncomfortable for us. We’d… we’d be saying this woman’s life is less worth than the cost of a quick phoenix trip to Eveque, and exchanging awkward pleasantries with my aunt and cousins.” She rocked Odin back and forth. “We’d be just like they are, Dimitri. The Courdonian nobles. The people who enslaved this poor woman at all.”

He shook his head. “I know.” With a wry grin he tweaked the woman’s nose. “Y’know for all that you were so demure and shy when we first married, you’re a lot braver than I am. Did you know that?”

She gave him a wobbly smile. “I think the proper word is impulsive, Dimitri. But… thanks for the compliment. And for not laughing me out of the room.” The woman gulped. “Hopefully it won’t be too bad in Courdon. Aunt Luna’s nice, at least. And… Victor’s kids were sweet.”

“That’s true,” Dimitri agreed. He gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. “We can talk about it to Filipe in the morning. For now, let’s get some sleep, alright?” Ruffling Odin’s hair he added, “All three of us.”

“Me stay here?” Odin asked, turning in his mother’s lap and wriggling free from her grasp so that he could reach out toward Dimitri. “Papa hold?”

“Sure, buddy,” Dimitri agreed, gently plucking the toddler from his mother’s arms and cuddling Odin to his chest as he flopped back on the bed. “You can sleep cozy with Papa tonight. Say night-night Odin.”

“Night-night Odin!” the boy chirped, settling against his father’s chest. Dimitri smirked, trading a bemused glance with his wife as she pulled the covers over them both, before relaxing into his pillow.

Loose Ends: Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

“Absolutely not!” Filipe snapped, his blue eyes flashing. “You cannot seriously be asking me to send you to the castle of the man who tried to murder my brother and abduct his wife!”

“He won’t hurt us, Filipe, he won’t,” Grace replied, though the woman visibly flinched at her brother-in-law’s sharp tone. Seated opposite him in the reigning lord’s office, with Dimitri at her side, the woman added, “It’d just be a quick trip. We make nice, show him the writ, and head home. That’s it.” Then again, with a slight crack to her voice: “Th-that’s it.”

“Will he let it be that simple?” Filipe asked. “You said his mother told you that he wanted your forgiveness, Gracie. He’ll probably try to turn the whole thing into an Event.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have many other options, Fill,” Dimitri pointed out. “Besides, if he makes a show of the affair, it means he won’t be hurting us. ‘Pit, it might intimidate the slavers. If a highlord is going out of his way to be welcoming, it looks like we’re in tight with him.”

Filipe’s jaw clenched, but it was not anger that flashed in his eyes. It was fear. “I don’t like this.”

“We don’t, either,” Grace said. “But it’s far more palatable than just… letting the slavers make off with that poor woman, Filipe. Isn’t it?”

The Escalus lord’s eyes narrowed. After a long, tense silence, he said, “Dimitri stays here. I will go with Grace to Eveque.”

“You what?” Dimitri demanded. “Fill, she’s my wife, I can-”

“I am the reigning lord of the house,” he cut in. “I should be the one to go.”

Grace squashed her brow, exchanging a very befuddled look with Dimitri, before she dared turn her gaze back toward her brother-in-law. “You don’t even know Victor,” she pointed out, not quite sharply, but with far less delicacy than before. “And… Dimitri’s right, he’s my husband, we always travel together when we have to go places—”

“I want you both to be safe, Grace,” Filipe retorted, though his voice was soft. “You need to be there for Victor to talk to us. I’m warmage trained, and if need be I can protect you. Dimitri will be safe here, watching over Heleos while we’re gone.”

“Are you insinuating I can’t…” Dimitri faltered, unable to finish the sentence. His throat bobbed, as he remembered all the times he’d bemoaned the fact that he couldn’t protect Grace when it really mattered. He was no mage, no warrior. The man looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap, but he couldn’t deny the justice of his brother’s words.

Grace, however, seemed zealous to try. “Dimitri kept me safe at the Bloody Coronation,” she insisted. “He’s always been there to keep me safe.” A bit frantically, she prattled on, “And anyway, like I said, Victor won’t hurt us. There’s no way, Filipe, he just— he wouldn’t.”

“Can you really say Victor will care if Dimitri is there or not?” Filipe asked. “Really?”

“I care if he’s there,” Grace said. “He’s my husband, and I want him to come.”

Filipe took a deep breath, slowly, then let it out. “I’m sorry, Grace. I am. But I nearly lost you both at the coronation that day, and I haven’t forgotten how shell-shocked and traumatized both of you were in the aftermath. I’m going. Dimitri’s staying. Period.”

Dimitri bit his lip, reaching out to his wife and squeezing her shoulder, while Grace tensed her jaw and curled her hands into fists in her lap. She looked somewhere between hurt, shocked, and furious, her pale eyes hard as iron as she said to her brother-in-law, “So, it’s non-negotiable, then? If I go, you go, not Dems?”

“Absolutely,” Filipe replied, his voice cool.

She stiffened further. “Fine. But for the record, Dimitri is a perfectly capable escort, Filipe. I don’t want you ever thinking otherwise.”

Filipe sighed, turning to his brother apologetically. “I know. And I am sorry, Dems. I trust you. But Father is gone. Mother is gone. Anders and Heather left. You’re all I have, brother.”

Dimitri winced, rubbing his arm. “I… I understand, Fill. I don’t like it. But I understand.” He gave his wife a wobbly smile. “Someone has to stay and keep an eye on the twins after all.”

Grace sighed, letting herself sag a little. “They’ve never been apart from me. Not even for a few days. They’re both going to be little clings. I hope you like sharing your bed with two toddlers, Dimitri.”

“Hopefully Odin’s finally stopped snuffling and coughing by the time we get everything squared away with Victor,” he mused softly. “Or I’m going to have two cranky toddlers sharing my bed.”

“You’ll manage, I should think,” Filipe replied with a crooked smile. He glanced towards Grace. “You should probably write the letter for Pipp, he’ll take it better coming from you- I’ll help of course, but it should be in your hand. Once we’ve sent it, we can let our guests know what’s on the wind.”

“They’re not going to be happy,” Grace said grimly. “Slavers are going to throw a right tantrum.” A beat, as something seemed to occur to her. “‘Pit, Filipe, we’re not going to have to bring some of them with us, are we?”

“Most likely, yes,” he agreed. “So they know we did in fact talk to Lord Pipp.” He smirked. “The phoenixes are not going to be happy, they always know slavers when they see them and they get very aggressive.”

“As long as they don’t bite the brutes, I suppose,” Grace said, a small smile finally quirking at the corners of her lips. “Then the idiots will just whine the whole time. And bleed all over our luggage.” She leaned back in her chair. “And… what about Circe? We can’t bring her with, obviously, but… she should be told what’s going on. She deserves to be kept in the loop. To be treated like a person, finally, instead of chattel.”

“I had every intention of it,” the Escalus lord replied. “We can speak with her separately from the slavers. Keep them from snarling at her.”

“She’ll have to stay at the manor in the meantime,” Dimitri said regretfully. “If we let her out into the city and she bolts, we’d be accused of helping her escape.”

“Let’s just make it clear to her that she’s a guest,” Grace said. “Not a prisoner. And… that if she wants anything while she’s here, she just has to ask.” The woman gnawed on her lip, mulling for a moment. “Maybe we could see if she wants to help our nurses? Not— not that she has to, of course, just… she clearly likes children, and she was a nurse in the royal court for such a long time. Maybe it’d help her feel more comfortable, being around kids. Tending them, playing with them. Everything she’s used to.”

“It’s an idea,” Filipe agreed. “I’d ask her first, and not in a… suggestive way because if she’s lived her whole life a slave she might take that as an order. But we can certainly broach it with her.” He sighed. “No time like the present. Grace, you can help me with this letter- Dems, let the slavers in on the plans?”

“Sure,” Dimitri agreed, standing. “I’ll bring Circe in once you both are done.”

***

“You nervous?” Dimitri asked as he led Circe through the manor towards his brother’s office. “You don’t have to be; I know you’ve not had an easy time, but you won’t come to any harm within these walls, I promise.”

Circe smiled, but it hardly met her lips, let alone her eyes. “I am not afraid, my lord,” she said nevertheless. “You’ve been very kind to me. And… your men were kind to Ariel. Thank you.”

Dimitri smiled in return. “Our knights do their best, but it isn’t often we can take back a citizen who’s been stolen away. Reuniting Ariel with her father will be the highlight of those mens’ year, Mistress Circe.”

He stopped before the door to Filipe’s office, knocked once, and walked in once he heard his brother invite him inside. He saw Grace standing with Filipe behind the desk and smiled, gesturing to the woman. “Let me introduce you- this is my wife, Lady Grace Escalus. Grace, this is Mistress Circe.”

“It’s nice to meet you, my lady,” Circe said, curtseying deeply.

Grace smiled. “And you as well, Circe.”

Filipe smiled. “Please, everyone sit. I hope your accommodations have been agreeable, Mistress Circe? If there’s anything you need- a particular food, perhaps, or something to occupy yourself- you need only ask.”

As the parties took their seats, Circe kept her head bowed, her dark hair hanging as a curtain in front of her face. “Everything has been wonderful, my lord,” she said. “The room, the food— all of it has been lovely.”

“That’s good,” Filipe said. “I know your stay here isn’t precisely on your own volition, but we don’t want you to feel like a prisoner. We’re doing everything we can to help you shed the last of your chains.”

“Which,” Dimitri put in, “brings us to the subject I’m sure has been doing circles in your head- where we go from here.” He took a deep breath, then gestured towards Grace. “As it happens, we do have an in with someone who we believe will help us with your writ of freedom. Grace? Perhaps you’d like to explain?”

Grace nodded. “Of course,” she said. She took a deep breath. “As far as Dimitri and Filipe tell it, the slavers contend your writ of freedom is a forgery. We don’t think it is, but… we’re also not exactly experts on Courdonian seals. They won’t just accept our opinion. The same wouldn’t apply, however, if it were somebody else examining the writ.” A beat. “A Courdonian noble.”

Circe’s dark eyes crept up from where they’d settled on her lap, rife with confusion. Disbelief, too. “You’re going to bring a Courdonian noble here? To Kyth?” The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I don’t understand. What Courdonian enki would even come here just to look at a letter? And if they did... what if they lied? Siding with their countrymen simply for the sake of it?”

“We aren’t bringing one here,” Filipe replied. “We’re going to one- one whose mother happens to be Lady Grace’s maternal aunt.” He smiled thinly. “Lord Victor Pipp of the Northlands- if you served the royals I imagine you know the family name?”

Circe outright winced. “I do know it, yes.” Swallowing hard, she flitted her gaze amongst the trio of nobles, finally settling it on Grace as she said, “He is… your cousin?”

“Unfortunately,” Grace replied. “It’s not usually something I’m thrilled about, either. But… it can help us in this case, Circe. You know how focused Courdonian nobles are on kin, right? Especially men toward women?”

Circe nodded, reluctantly. “Yes. I suppose.”

“Pipp saved Grace’s life once before,” Dimitri put in. “At tremendous risk to himself. If Grace goes with my brother when they petition, it is likely he won’t try to rake them over the coals. He wants my wife to like him- or say rather, he wants her not to abhor him, but it amounts to the same.” Dimitri sighed softly. “And the document is real, yes?”

“Yes,” Circe said. “It’s real. I swear it on my life, my lord.”

“We believe you,” Grace said. “And Victor won’t lie to us. And once we have the enki of the Northlands vouching for its authenticity, the slavers will have no legs to stand on, Circe. They’ll let you be. You’ll be able to stay here, in Kyth.”

“Free,” Filipe put in. “You can go wherever you want. Work whenever you want.” He tilted his head. “Have you given it much thought? What you’d want to do on the other end, once you’ve shaken the slavers?”

“I… I haven’t, my lord,” the former slave admitted. “I bought Ariel just a few days after the queen mother granted me my freedom. And since then, so much on my focus has just been keeping her safe. That I’m actually here— in Kyth— and Ariel’s with her father…” The woman blinked back tears. “It’s wonderful. Gods, it’s wonderful. But I… I still feel like I’m coming off a fever dream, I suppose. The world hasn’t settled again beneath my feet.”

“You are a very impressive woman,” Dimitri said with a gentle smile. “To get so far, with a small child in tow? Anyone you chose to work for would be lucky to have you.” He flicked his eyes towards Grace before adding, “For now, until we’ve worked out the situation with Pipp, would you like to spend some time with our little ones? If you were the royal nursemaid for King Rafael’s children, it might at least help you find your footing again. Give you something familiar.”

Circe couldn’t wholly fight back a smile. “I’d like that, yes,” she said. “How… how old are they? Your children?”

Grace chuckled. “Well, between Filipe’s kids, and mine and Dimitri’s, we’ve got a stretch. The littlest— twins— are nearly two. The oldest is nine. Five girls, one boy.”

“Rhea- that’s the nine-year-old- she’s always looking to make new friends,” Dimitri said with a smirk. “And the little boy, bless him, he isn’t very bright but he’s… Grace, would ‘vivacious’ be a good word?”

“He’s got more energy than he knows what to do with,” Grace agreed. “When he’s not snuffling from a chest cold, anyhow. Then he just becomes a little cling who starts squalling when it’s time for his medicine.”

“Well, I’d love to meet him, my lady, my lordships,” Circe said. “All of the children. I’m… I’m sure they’re lovely.”

“I’ll bring you to meet them then,” Dimitri said, moving to stand. “And speaking of kids- once everything’s been settled, and the slave hunters aren’t scowling about making nuisances of themselves, you could visit Ariel, if you wish. We’d bring her here but…”

“She shouldn’t be anywhere near those monsters,” Circe finished for him. “And thank you, my lord. I… I love that little girl with all of my heart. I don’t want to intrude on her life with her father now, but…” She exhaled softly. “The idea of watching her grow up safe and free… I can’t even describe how happy that makes me.”

Dimitri smiled gently. “I understand. You’ve spent the last eighteen months seeing to her safety and care- of course you’d want to see her again. See your efforts bear fruit.” He gestured. “Come on- I’ll take you to meet the little rascals.”

***

Circe’s introduction to the Escalus children went over every bit as well as they might have hoped. She quickly proved that she was indeed a very experienced hand when it came to small children, amiably agreeing with the demands of the middle children- six year old Delilah and five year old Willow- that she help them fix their hair and dress their dollies. Though eight year old Catia was a bit skeptical of the stranger at first, as predicted Rhea immediately tried to make friends, drawing the more reserved girl out of her shell in the process. As for the twins, while it was clear that Circe couldn’t wholly stand in for Dimitri or Grace, at least the chubby-cheeked toddlers seemed to like her well enough as an additional caregiver— she was energetic enough for Odin, sensitive enough for Juliet, and skilled enough at telling interesting stories for the both of them.

The existing Escalus nurses- two rather harried women who had their hands well and truly full trying to keep track of six children- were initially wary of the interloper, but when they realized how much help she was and how much easier things were with an extra pair of hands to corral the children, they accepted Circe into their ranks. After all, big families were par for the course in Courdon- this huge gaggle of children was nothing new for the former slave.

In the meantime, the Escaluses received a return letter from Victor agreeing to the visit— and expressing the Courdonian lord’s ‘utmost delight’ at the prospect of catching up with his ‘treasured cousin’. Arrangements were quickly settled, and three days before Filipe and Grace’s scheduled departure the adult Escaluses gathered the children to tell them what was to be happening.

“But… but why you gotta go, Mama?” Delilah demanded, her lower lip pursed. “I want you to stay.”

“I won’t be gone long, love,” Grace promised, tilting the child’s chin up so that their eyes met. “You’ll barely even miss me. Not with Papa still here, and Auntie Bella, and all your nurses.” She smiled toward Circe, who was soothing a cranky Juliet in an armchair across the parlour (the little girl had, quite unfortunately, caught her brother’s chest cold). “They’ll take great care of you, I know it.”

“But… but it’s not fair,” Delilah whimpered.

“Papa has to leave all the time,” Willow put in glumly. “For, for lord things.”

“Papa has important business to deal with in Courdon, Willow, love,” Filipe said gently, tweaking the girl’s nose.

“It’s ‘cause of Miss Circe, right?” Rhea put in. “And, and all the slavers in the guest wing. That we’re not allowed to go near while they’re here.” She pursed her lips. “You gotta make them leave, so Miss Circe can stay, right?”

“Forever?” Delilah needled.

Grace sighed, kissing the crown of the little girl’s head. “Yes, we’re going to Courdon so we can talk to Mama’s cousin Victor, and make sure Circe gets to stay here in Kyth, and the slavers go home. It’s all going to be lots of grown-up talking and boring stuff, though, girls. You’ll have so much more fun here.” She glanced toward Filipe’s wife, Bella, who was sitting on one of the parlour’s plush sofas with a very-much-recovered— and bouncing— Odin in her lap. “Right, Bella? You and Dems are going to make sure they have lots of fun while Filipe and I are gone.”

“Mm-hm,” the Lady of Escalus agreed, tickling Odin on the bottom of his feet so the boy giggled and writhed. “We’ll have lots of fun.”

“Can we play dress-up?” Willow asked. “With, with Circe fixin’ my hair. She’s good at it, the other nurses won’t even try no more.” Willow had inherited her mother Bella’s thick, curling ginger hair which resisted all efforts to tame it.

“I’d be glad to fix your hair, Willow,” Circe said, smiling as she adjusted her grip on the drowsy Juliet. “As long as you get all your lessons done, yes?”

Grace chuckled. “Ahh, the little ones would never dream of slacking in their lessons. Right, girls?”

Delilah puffed out her cheeks. “Boring,” she declared sullenly, making her father quirk his eyebrows.

“Maybe so, but no playing dress up if you don’t behave for your lessons. So you will behave, yes?”

The girl waffled for a moment, then slumped against Grace’s legs. “Mama, stay.”

“Sorry, love,” Grace said, gently coaxing the child upright. “I’ve got to go. You’ll be a good girl for Papa, yes?” Her gaze flicked to Rhea. “And you, too, sweetie?”

“I’ll be good, Mommy,” the oldest of Dimitri and Grace’s girls chirped. “And do all my lessons. ‘Cause, ‘cause I have to set a good example, right?”

“Aaah, if but all our children were so eager to please,” Filipe mused. “You two got extremely lucky with your firstborn. Alas, Lilah is obstinate enough to make that up in spades.”

“And I’ve a feeling Odin is going to give even her a run for her money,” Grace agreed dryly. She shot a fond smile toward the little boy on Bella’s knee. “Isn’t that right, baby boy?”

“Mama!” he exclaimed in reply, grinning broadly. Bella chortled, blowing a raspberry on his neck and making him squeal with glee.

“I think he at least will be easy to distract,” Dimitri said with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Bells and I will make sure the kids don’t wallow in despondency for too long after you leave.” He winked in Circe’s direction. “I imagine consoling kids because their parents had to leave on political business isn’t anything you aren’t used to either, hm?”

“I’d say I have a bit of experience in the field, my lord,” Circe agreed with a small smile. “Normally the kids become much happier when they realise if they are good, I give them extra treats because I know things are hard for them because Mama or Papa is away. But…” She winked toward Rhea, Delilah, Catia, and Willow. “Only if they behave very good.”

The older children brightened eagerly, Catia chirping, “We’ll be good, we’ll be really, really good.”

“Whoops, now I’ll bet they can’t wait to see us out the door,” Filipe said with a chuckle. “I’d say the kids are in good hands, eh Gracie?”

“I think they shall valiantly persevere through our absence, yes,” Grace agreed. “And like I said, girls…” She wrapped an arm each around her daughters. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

***

“This place is a pit, isn’t it?” Grace muttered a few days later, blue eyes narrowed warily as she apprised the ramshackle inn that stood before the Escalus party.

Located somewhere in the far northern Northlands, in a quiet village that seemed to sport twice as many livestock as human residents, the so-called Merry Traveler Lodge looked a very long way from upholding its cheery title, with a drooping roof, faded stone exterior, and front door that was hanging slightly off its hinges. From the size of it, the inn couldn’t have contained more than a half dozen rooms— which Grace hoped meant it might be quiet at least. But given that the Merry Traveler also seemed to be this town’s only real attraction (and, thus, place to get a hot meal and frothy drink), she wasn’t getting her hopes up any.

“Hopefully the rooms are clean, at least,” she commented to Filipe, as the fire-knights accompanying the group set about tending the phoenixes they’d ridden from Heleos, and the rest of the travelers— Grace, Filipe, and two very sour-faced slavers— began toward the lobby. “With only, you know, a few mice and roaches per room.”

Filipe managed to spare his sister-in-law a wan smile. “Should be nostalgic for you then; just like that inn your father rented for you and Dems in Medieville, hm?”

She snorted. “Ah, the memories. Though at least there weren’t any miserable slave lords there.”

One of the slavers quirked a dark brow, looking thoroughly unamused. “You know we can hear you, my lady,” the man said thickly, as the four reached the crooked door that led into the lobby. “Isn’t it considered heavily against noble etiquette to insult people as they stand in their home kingdom?”

“You have spent this entire time giving snide remarks and snarling at my family,” Filipe replied with evident scorn. “Nobility respect those who respect them- you have done nothing to earn it.”

“Just be glad we’re paying for your lodging tonight, Master Sauvage, Master Gabler,” Grace said thickly. “We hardly had to— just as we’re doing you a very nice favour by hosting your comrades at our manor while we’re on this trip. We could’ve easily told them to find their own accommodations elsewhere in the city.”

The first slaver, Sauvage, scowled. “Yes, so then you could have enabled the slave to magically disappear. Spirited her away beneath our fingertips.”

“You are the last people I want to hear snide remarks about spiriting people away from,” Filipe retorted, giving the slavers a hard glower. “Perhaps if you found honest work instead of skulking around the border lying in wait for innocent people to fall into your laps, you would not be in this predicament, sirs.”

He pushed open the door to the inn, which was rather crowded as Grace had dismally guessed it would be. Though dressed down for travel, the Kythian strangers still drew curious, baffled stares from the inn patrons as they walked up to the check-in counter.

“Hello, good sir,” Filipe said crisply, and the innkeeper started at the foreignly accented but nonetheless smooth High Courdonian. “I’d like to rent some rooms for myself and my companions, if you’ve availabilities.”

“Er… yes, enki,” the innkeeper said, dark eyes skipping amongst the ragtag assemblage of guests, as if he were desperately trying— and failing— to figure out the relationships of the group. “How many do you need…?”

“Three,” Filipe replied simply. “One for myself and my sister-in-law, one for our entourage, and one for these two gentlemen.” He gestured towards the slavers, and Gabler frowned.

“Too cheap to get us separate rooms, enki?” he asked snidely.

The innkeeper blinked, clearly startled by the blatant disrespect— but Grace was not so easily jarred, her voice cool as ice as she said flatly, “You know, the stables looked rather nice, didn’t they, Filipe? Maybe our friends ought sleep out there. And we’ll give the knights their room so our men can stretch out.”

Sauvage gawped. “You wouldn’t—”

“Don’t test me, Master Sauvage,” Filipe retorted. “If you and Master Gabler want your own rooms so badly you may pay for a second one. You have done nothing as of yet to earn my charity. I am doing my duty by the treaty between our nations, but I have no obligation to you or your compatriots in particular.”

“So, erm.” The innkeeper smiled awkwardly, producing a trio of keys from beneath the desk. “Three rooms it is, then, enki?”

“Yes, thank you,” Filipe replied, turning back to the innkeeper with a neutrally polite smile. “I would also appreciate a meal for my party. What will the charge be?”

“Board’s included in the room price,” the innkeeper said, passing over the keys; Filipe took two, and Sauvage greedily snatched the other. “Usually it’s two coppers per room, but— shall we settle for a five-copper piece, enki?”

“No need to call him that, you know,” Sauvage replied before Filipe could, his voice laden with contempt. “You can relax, friend. He’s not an enki. Just a meddling northerner.”

Filipe’s jaw clenched, and he rounded on Sauvage, hand dancing towards his wand holster and eyes narrowed. “You speak to a nobleman and a trained warmage, Master Sauvage- one who has been granted audience with a highlord of your kingdom. I will not warn you again. Don’t test me.”

Gabler tensed, his eyes on Filipe’s wand. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Erm,” the innkeeper squeaked. “Let’s… let’s keep this… fr-friendly, please, m-my lord, kind masters? This is… a family establishment, and…”

“Our apologies,” Grace said, genuinely feeling bad for the man; he was pale as snow and looked like he might pass out. “Our friends will be keeping their mouths shut from now on, don’t worry. We’ll be very polite and quiet guests. Or else my dearest cousin Lord Pipp will be hearing about it.” She glared at Sauvage and Gabler. “Right?”

Sauvage quailed. “Right.” A beat. “... My lady.”

Filipe sighed, turning back to the innkeeper. “I’m sorry- you have my word, there will be no harm to you or anyone at this inn.” He reached into his money pouch, pulling out the five-copper denomination coin. “Here you are, sir. And, ah-” he added a small garnet; a low-denomination currency item in Kyth, but here in Courdon it could easily be sold for a decent sum, “for your trouble. I didn’t mean to give you cause for concern.”

The innkeeper’s eyes widened as he gingerly accepted the gleaming gem. “My— my thanks, enki,” he breathed. “Your patronage and generosity are very much appreciated.” He bowed his head. “Have a wonderful stay. And just let me know if you need anything.”

“Certainly,” Grace said. “So, the dining room…?”

“Straight back through the door here.” The proprietor nodded behind him. “Have your fill, the bread of our table is yours, enki, anki.”

“Thank you,” Filipe said amiably, leading the way into the room in question. He glanced sidelong at Grace, adding in a rueful undertone, “That was indecorous of me.”

“They have it coming,” Grace muttered, glaring daggers into Sauvage and Gabler’s backs as the two men shouldered around the nobles to make a beeline for the serving buffet, which was set with an assortment of breads and puddings. “I wonder if they’ll be so bold as to mouth off like that around Victor. Is it bad that part of me hopes they do? Just to see his reaction?”

“It would be entertaining,” Filipe agreed. “I’d especially like to see his reaction to them saying we’re not enkis. Granted, I know the word has a different connotation than ‘noble’ but all the same the implication was clear.”

“If only we’ll be so lucky,” Grace said. At the buffet, after patiently waiting for Sauvage and Gabler to fill their plates, she plucked up a roll and two slices of black pudding, then glanced over her shoulder toward where the slavers had taken a seat— which was, regrettably, seemingly the only open table within the small dining room that was filled with chattering, probably drunken locals and travelers alike. “I take it you wouldn’t want to sit on the floor, Fil?” the woman muttered wistfully.

As Filipe filled a plate of his own, he followed Grace’s gaze and sighed. “Where are those fireknights when you need them? A bit of backup muscle to scowl over our shoulders would be nice just now, even if fireknights are skinny to stay light for flying. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll let us get off with a tense meal in awkward silence?”

“Oh, we can only hope,” Grace said, pretending that Sauvage wasn’t scowling daggers at her and her brother-in-law as they sat opposite him and Gabler (though wisely, the slaver limited his scorn to only looks for the moment). “Food looks surprisingly decent,” she continued on, to Filipe. “Pudding’s thick. And bread seems fresh.”

“Far better than some inns I’ve stayed at,” Filipe agreed. “Though as many people as are here they’d probably have to keep the dishes coming from the kitchen or they’d run out rather quickly.”

“Not going to demand butter with your bread then, lord?” Gabler asked sullenly, to which Filipe only frowned.

“About that warmage training I mentioned I’d had? Part of it involved several weeks in wartime field conditions. Eating hardtack and little else.”

“Ahh, yes, you clearly know great hardship, my lord,” Sauvage muttered— before stiffening as the fire-knights finally reappeared, heading straight toward their lieges the moment they walked through the door. “Ah, lovely.” Sauvage sighed like an angsting teenager. “Why did you bring so many of them, Lord Filipe? Isn’t a party of six protectors a bit of overkill? Especially if you are, as you say, such a mighty warmage.”

“We need one phoenix to carry each of us, which requires their riders,” he retorted, sparing a wan smile at the fireknights as they neared before returning his gaze to Sauvage. “And an additional two unburdened in case of aerial threats from wild gryphons or dragons or the like. Or bandits who’ve stolen military gryphons, it wouldn’t be the first time that has happened.”

“Don’t see how the lady can weigh that much,” Gabler noted, his eyes on his bread. “Why couldn’t she ride with you?”

“Because phoenixes aren’t built to carry three riders?” Grace returned tartly. “Oddly, we’re against injuring our mounts, Master Gabler. We have standards.”

“Ooooh, sorry,” Gabler muttered. He frowned in Filipe’s direction. “Got a smart mouth, your brother’s woman. He let her talk like this all the time?”

“She is not his ‘woman,’” Filipe growled as the fireknights tensed. “She’s his wife. His equal and his partner. She has her own mind and her own rights.”

“Ahh, yes, I forgot,” Sauvage said acidly. “You Kythians let your women run amok. No discipline, no order. Forgive me for my lapse of memory, enki.”

Grace’s cheeks ran hot, a growl rising in her throat. “You oafish, uncultured bas—”

“I think,” Filipe cut in, his body quaking with outrage, “that Masters Sauvage and Gabler were just leaving to finish their meals in their rooms. Isn’t that right, Masters?”

“You can’t just dismiss us!” Gabler retorted.

“I believe,” one of the fire-knights said coolly, “that the lord has dismissed you. An order. Is that correct, my lord?”

“It is,” Filipe said, reaching out a hand and placing it protectively on Grace’s shoulder. “Now go. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

For a moment, it looked as if the slavers might refuse to comply… but then, wisely, the pair of them stood, both glowering like jilted cats as they picked up their plates and stalked back toward the dining room door. Moments later the Escalus party could hear their footsteps thumping against the staircase just outside the communal space, as they presumably skulked up to their shared room.

“Good riddance,” Grace muttered once they were gone. “Those prats, I could smack them.”

“I will be very much relieved when we’ve finally seen the last of them,” Filipe agreed. He hesitated a moment, then gave Grace a wan smile. “I’m sorry. For cutting you off just now. I just wanted to get them out of here before they said anything worse.”

“It’s fine,” Grace said, waving a hand. “At least they’re gone now. And hopefully we won’t have to see them again until morning.” She quirked a brow, smirking a bit as she added dryly, “But Fil, why won’t you spring for extra rooms? They each need their own! And ‘Pit, I need my own, too, you know. How dare you not give me my personal space!?”

He smirked in reply, lightly shoving at her shoulder. “Yes, clearly we should keep separate chambers in a foreign country with openly hostile companions. Dimitri would adore me for that. And Bella absolutely wouldn’t chop me into itty bitty pieces as soon as she found out I’d done it.”

The fireknights exchanged bemused glances with each other at the mention of Filipe’s fiery wife, while Grace simply laughed. “Not to mention Victor,” she teased. “Leaving his vulnerable little woman-kin all alone on the big bad road, in a scary country inn? The horrors!”

“I’d as soon not give both my wife and the enki of the Northlands reason to see what color my guts are,” Fill agreed. He quirked an eyebrow, adding dryly, “So how is our reception liable to be? Should I be nervous or exasperated or both?”

“My guess?” Grace said. “Either he’ll go over the top because he desperately wants to make it clear we’re welcome guests, in which case there will be some garish banquet to suffer through. Or he’ll be so nervous that he wants to play it low-key— we’re just family, after all, harmless family— and so we’ll end up in his private dining room with just his immediate kin, everyone playing it casual.” She sighed. “I’m not quite sure which would be worse, honestly.”

“Well with any luck at least he’ll keep Masters Gabler and Sauvage far away from us,” Filipe said ruefully. “I don’t imagine an enki would house common slave hunters in the same class of guest suite as visiting nobility?”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Grace agreed. “Especially if they keep acting surly toward me. If they do that, they’ll be lucky not to end up housed with the slaves they hunt.”

“I’d feel bad for the slaves,” Filipe replied in an undertone. Glancing up at the Lieutenant of their accompanying fireknights he added, “Here- this is the key for your room, whenever you chose to retire to it.” He handed over the key in question before once more applying himself to his meal. This was going to be a very, very strange visit to Eveque.

Loose Ends: Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

Lord Victor Pipp was dressed to the nines, his forest green tunic impeccably starched and his dizzying array of jewelry gleaming almost blindingly beneath the bright afternoon sun. Standing in the front courtyard of his stone fortress of a castle, he bowed deeply to the arriving Escalus party as they dismounted their phoenixes, his dark ponytail swishing in the breeze.

Smoothing her travel-rumpled skirt, Grace quirked a light brown brow. “Oh, he’s nervous,” she murmured into Filipe’s ear. “I almost feel bad for him.”

“He looks like he’s about to attend a fete,” the Escalus lord remarked in an equally low voice. “I think your feasts-and-formality guess will be the one he leans towards.” They turned to face Victor, bowing in reply before addressing the man. “Lord Pipp, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You’ve met my brother, but I believe this is our first formal introduction; I am Lord Filipe Escalus.”

“Of course, of course,” Victor said, rising from his bow. He forced a smile, though there was no mistaking the anxiety that permeated his voice as he continued, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Filipe. And a pleasure to see you again, dear Grace. You’re looking very well!”

Grace had to fight back a snort; Woo, the enki was trying so hard she was afraid he might pass out from the effort. “Thank you, Victor,” she said. “And you’re looking well yourself.”

“Ah, so kind!” Victor exclaimed, reaching out to embrace his cousin in a ginger hug. Grace stiffened immediately, but she knew it would be seen as rude to pull away out of his grasp— and so the noblewoman was all too glad when after a few moments Victor released her, swallowing hard as he did. “I hope your journey went well? No hiccups on the road?”

“It went well enough,” Filipe replied, watching out of the corner of his eye as the slavers tentatively approached, both of them bowing deeply as they came near. “The local people at least were very polite and respectful.”

“I’m glad to hear,” Victor said brightly. Glancing behind his shoulder, he coolly ordered the group of slaves who loitered there to take his guests’ luggage, and Grace had to bite down on her lip to keep from snapping that their service really wasn’t necessary. Instead, she simply watched as the men and women wordlessly obeyed, Victor seeming to give them no more notice than he would an ant beneath his shoe as he turned his gaze toward the slavers. “And you are?” he inquired.

“P-Percy Sauvage, m’lord,” Sauvage said, not yet daring to rise from his bow. “Out of T-Temsey? I-in the northern part of—”

Victor tilted his head, speaking over him. “Master Sauvage, do you truly think I don’t know the names of my own province’s cities?”

“... Of… of course not, m’lord,” Sauvage squeaked. “My apologies.”

“Right.” Victor looked to Gabler. “And you would be…?”

“E-Evrard Gabler, if it please your lordship,” the man warbled. “From Roubaix in Emryn. J-just west of the border with your esteemed province.”

“Mm. Well— welcome.” As though he were already bored by them, Victor reached an arm out toward Grace, offering it to her. “Come,” he said. “I’ve got refreshments for you and Lord Filipe in the main parlour. Wine, fruit, cheese. The slaves will take your luggage to your chambers— I’ve given you, Lord Filipe, and your knights our finest suite, Gracie.”

“Ah… thank you,” Grace said, smiling thinly. She didn’t want to accept her cousin’s arm but after a moment’s deliberation thought that refusing wouldn’t be worth the awkwardness it might cause— though this did nothing to stop her heart from hammering as she locked elbows with him. Wicked, vivid memories attempted to creep forward in her head, and swallowing heavily, Grace forced them back. “Will anyone else be joining us?” she asked, not daring to let her voice tremble. “Aunt Luna, or…?”

“Yes, of course,” Victor said. “They’re waiting inside— Mother, my wife, my children. You met Lauren and Nicholas, remember, Grace? Up in Medieville?” He smiled toward Filipe. “My two boys. Then I’ve a gaggle of girls beyond them.”

“I remember Dimitri mentioning the younger boy,” Filipe replied politely, though he had to fight to keep his hackles down at the way Victor was acting with Grace. “It will be a pleasure to meet the children, as well as Lady Luna and your wife.”

Gabler looked a little lost, and not a bit pale, exchanging a wary look with his compatriot. It was impossible to miss how casual and companionable Lord Pipp was with Grace, after all, which boded ill for their case. As Victor started toward the castle with the Escalus duo and their knights, the pair of slavers fell into awkward step behind him, and Sauvage’s tone was somewhere between terrified and hopeful as he dared say, “We are so very grateful for your audience, m’lord. Truly, you honour us.”

“Yes, well.” Victor didn’t so much as look at the man. “A lord must be at the service of his people, no?”

“Right, yes, certainly,” Sauvage agreed enthusiastically. “We are your most humble subjects.”

Very casually, Filipe remarked, “So then, I presume Lord Pipp is someone you would consider an enki, then good sirs? Seeing as Lady Grace and I apparently do not count.”

The slavers only blinked, clearly shocked into silence by the question— but Victor was not so easily quieted, the lord furrowing his brow as he looked to Filipe with confusion. “What do you mean by that, Lord Filipe…? I do not follow.”

“Nothing of terrible import, Lord Pipp,” Filipe said amiably, casting a thin smile towards Grace. “Merely a comment that Masters Sauvage and Gabler made to one of the innkeepers we spoke to along the way to Eveque. That we were not enkis, just northern interlopers, was that how it went, Gracie?”

Gabler went white as a sheet, a sheen of sweat appearing on his brow, while Sauvage let out a noise akin to a dying toad’s croak. Grace, however, only smiled, impressed by Filipe’s cleverness as she said cheerily, “Ah, yes, just about. Then they went about huffing to Filipe about how I had such a smart mouth. Insinuating that Filipe and my husband ought to do something about me.”

As they passed through the front doors into the castle’s grandiloquent entry hall, Victor’s jaw tensed. “Is that so, Master Sauvage, Master Gabler?” he asked, craning his neck to look at them— and his entire tone suddenly dripping with venom.

“W-we meant no disrespect, my lord,” Gabler whimpered, his head ducked and his shoulders stooping. “We were j-just… tired from the journey, th-that’s all. A-any man may say things he d-does not mean when he has travelled far and long and b-been prevented from completing his honest work.”

“That is horrendously untrue,” Victor snapped. Suddenly the lord paused in his tracks, releasing Grace’s arm so that he could whirl to face the slavers— who both immediately recoiled as if they’d been physically slapped. “If we were traveling together, you two and I, and you were so very tired, would you dare speak to me like that?”

“N-no, m’lord,” Sauvage squawked. “Never, m’lord.”

“And Grace,” Victor snarled on, wrapping an arm around his cousin’s shoulder and drawing her close, “is my kin. My blood. Nobody speaks to my blood like that.”

Gabler immediately went to his knees stammering, “F-f-forgive us, your lordship, w-we’re sorry, we erred b-badly, we’ll never be so disrespectful again, I swear it!”

Filipe had to fight to hold back an outright smirk to see the cocky slavers put properly in their place. He glanced towards Grace with blue eyes shimmering in amusement, and she returned the look, appearing as though she were fighting back an outright chuckle.

“I was going to invite you to share refreshments with us,” Pipp snarled as Sauvage, too, fell to his knees. “But I no longer wish for your company.” Gesturing for them to stand, he snapped to one of his knights who was trailing the group, “Escort them to their chambers, Sir Ryanne. They may spend their visit there until it is time for me to hear their petition.”

“Yes, enki,” the knight replied. “As you wish.”

Filipe watched the knight shuffle the slavers off for a moment before once more the party of nobles set off. “Thank you, my lord,” he said, his voice carefully neutral to hide his vindicated amusement. “Suffice it to say their company was not our favorite aspect of the trip.”

“They seem like ill-bred swine,” Victor sniffed. “I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer their company. I’ve half a mind to stripe their hides. Make them think twice before they speak to nobility like that.”

“Well… I, ah…” Grace exchanged a thoroughly surprised— but not unpleasantly so— look with Filipe. “I don’t think we’d stop you, Victor, if that’s how you wanted to handle it. Though don’t feel… obligated to go to such measures on our behalf, either.”

As the party neared the parlour where they were to take their refreshments and meet with the rest of the Pipp family, Victor waved a hand. “You’re family, Gracie. And by virtue of that, Lord Filipe is family, too. People do not treat my family like that and get away with it. Period.”

Filipe was clearly startled as well. Even in Kyth, it wouldn’t have been unusual to physically punish a peasant who was so flagrantly disrespectful to a lord, albeit perhaps not with a flogging anymore since the inception of the Shadow Council in 1314. But he certainly hadn’t expected the Courdonian lord to offer it on behalf of his foreign visitors. Filipe reluctantly felt his estimation of Pipp rising a little.

“Speaking of family,” Filipe said, changing the subject smoothly as they came to a pair of tall, oaken doors. “I surmise we are about to get the pleasure of meeting the rest of yours?”

“Indeed,” Pipp agreed, as a slave who’d been hovering before the doors scrambled to open them for the enki and his guests.

Beyond rested a large, elegant parlour that wouldn’t have been out of place at a royal palace: its floors were a polished marble, its walls set with heavy wooden panels that had been polished to gleam, and the furniture was so ornate so as to nearly be imposing— high-backed chairs wrapped in velour cushions, massive sofas with winged-arms, stone side-tables that each probably weighed more than Grace did. More noticeable than the decor, however, were the various people scattered about the space, all clad in various shades of green.

Pipp’s family. Grace recognized her aunt Luna, as well as Pipp’s two sons, but the rest were strangers to her— or at least, it had been so long since she’d seen them that she no longer recognized them.

“Papa!” A small, dark-haired girl of no more than five or six leapt to her feet, grinning broadly. “Papa, the visitors are here? Does that mean we can eat now?”

Pipp winced at the child’s indecorum. “Let them get settled first, please,” he returned, leveling the girl a withering look. “And let them introduce themselves as well, all right?” He glanced toward Filipe and Grace, expectantly.

Filipe resisted an amused smile that was trying to tick at his lips, instead bowing his head politely to the child. “Far be it for me to keep the young Lady from her meal.” Turning to the rest of the room he added, “I am Lord Filipe Escalus of House Escalus in Corvus; I bid you thanks for your most hospitable welcome.”

“And I’m Lady Grace Escalus,” Grace put in, curtseying. “It’s a pleasure to meet most of you— and to see you again, Lord Nicholas, Lord Lauren, Lady Luna.”

Luna, her silver hair hanging over her shoulder in a long, simple plait, chuckled as she rose to her feet. “Oh, so much formality,” she tutted, striding forward with her arms open. “It’s all very flattering, but no need for it, all right? We’re family here.” She wrapped Grace into a brief hug, and upon drawing back from it glanced toward Filipe. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Lord Escalus,” she said.

He smiled politely, recognizing a very slight Kythian accent to her Courdonian, though it was very faint after the decades she’d spent in the southern country. “Lady Luna, I presume? A pleasure to make your acquaintance as well. My father was always close to the Cressidas, so it is an honor to meet Lady Astra’s sister.”

“Ah, a proper flatterer,” Luna teased, smiling warmly. “You know how to make an old woman feel special.”

“Grandmother’s ancient!” the dark-haired girl supplied with an ear-to-ear grin.

“Colette, behave,” snapped a woman who approached behind Luna, her cheeks flaming as she cuffed the girl roundly on the back of her head. She gave an apologetic curtsey, adding, “I’m so sorry for her manners, Lord and Lady Escalus. I am Lady Mavis. It is an honor.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Filipe said, trying not to wince. “I’ve little ones of my own, and I know they don’t always think before they speak.”

“Colette likes to talk,” piped up a lanky boy of perhaps nine or ten. Although he’d grown considerably in the past few years since she’d seen him at Queen Maia’s funeral, Grace immediately identified him as Victor’s son Lauren, whom Dimitri and Grace’s brother Wynn had helped after he’d wandered off from his family up in Medieville. The boy added, “Mama says she’s going to drive a lord mad some day. When she’s all grown up.”

“Lauren, you’re going to get in trouble too you know,” remarked a willowy teenage boy as he came up behind his brother. He bowed, adding, “Lady Grace? It’s been a while.”

Grace returned the bow, impressed by how much the teenager had grown since their last meeting. “Nicholas,” she said. “It’s very nice to see you again. You’re what, now— fourteen? Fifteen?”

“Nick’s fifteen,” Victor said brightly, as he took a seat on one of the chairs and gestured for his guests, too, to make themselves comfortable. “He’s recently betrothed to the daughter of the Northlands’ most eminent minor House. It’s very exciting news.”

The young man blushed slightly. “Father, if I didn’t know better I’d think you’re just excited by the prospect of grandchildren.”

“Well, I’m informed grandchildren are a blessing,” Filipe put in. “Not that I would know, my eldest is eight, but… time makes fools of us all, hm?”

“Grandchildren are quite lovely,” Luna said with a sage nod, sweeping Colette onto her lap as she sat down again. “The banes of my existence at times, but lovely nevertheless.” She ruffled the girl’s long, curly hair. “Isn’t that right, love?”

“Uh-huh!” Colette giggled, dark eyes drifting between the Escaluses and their accompanying knights, who loitered near the doorway. “Did they come with you all the way from Kyth?” the girl nattered on. “That’s gotta be so far. A whole ‘nother planet!”

As Filipe and Grace sat down, the Kythian nobleman chuckled. “Not quite that far, but it was still a bit of a trip, yes. Our phoenixes made the journey in about three days. We could have pushed them for more speed, but I prefer not to strain them if it isn’t necessary.”

Nicholas glanced towards Victor quizzically. “They came astride phoenixes? Are we housing them with our gryphons, then, father?”

Victor laughed softly. “I don't think they'd get along,” he replied. “We cleared out space in the horses’ stables to host the phoenixes.”

“Are those birdies?” demanded a brunette girl who was perhaps a year or two older than Colette. It was nearly hard to keep track of all the girls—Victor seemed to have at least half a dozen daughters, compared to just the two sons. “And are they nicer’n the griffs?”

“I don’t have much experience with gryphons, admittedly,” Filipe said diplomatically, “but phoenixes are quite friendly, I’ve been told. As long as you’re a good person. We’re not sure how, but they always seem to know.”

“Girls, don’t bother our guests so much please,” Mavis said, wincing. “I’m sure they’re quite tired from the trip.”

“It’s quite all right, Lady Pipp,” Grace assured the Courdonian. “Filipe and I both have children back at home— we’re not bothered by their chatter. Right, Fil?”

“Not at all,” Filipe agreed. “Certainly I know it takes a while for kids to get the hang of ‘diplomatic situation means I should be polite and quiet.’ Especially when they’re full of energy. It’s a wonder Odin doesn’t put off heat from all his excess, neh?”

“Odin, is that your son, Lord Filipe?” Nicholas asked.

“He’s mine, actually,” Grace said. “He’s a sweet little boy, but an imp sometimes.” Chuckling as she glanced at the what seemed to be the youngest of the Pipp kids— a curly-haired girl who was wedged between Lauren and Nicholas, cheek lolling against her eldest brother’s sleeve— Grace added, “You must know a whole lot about toddlers, hm, Lord Nicholas? With all these wee siblings. That one there can’t be more than, what— eighteen months?”

“Mm,” he agreed, reaching over to ruffle the toddler’s hair. “Minnie is her name. And I think someone should call for her nurse, she seems in need of a nap.”

“No nap!” the girl said petulantly, though she snuggled her face deeper into Nicholas’ sleeve as she said it.

Victor sighed, bemused. “The same in any kingdom, hm?” he quipped. “Toddler brains know no logic anywhere.” He snapped his fingers behind his shoulder, ordering a slave who waited there: “Fetch her nurse.”

As the slave scuttled off to obey, Grace swallowed hard. This was… strange. In some ways right now, Victor seemed so… normal. Caring, a family man. But she couldn’t forget that he also would have killed her husband without a second thought if it had suited him seven years ago. And that even now, he ruled with an iron fist over dozens— hundreds? —of men, women, and children who knew no lives beyond those of servitude. Slavery.

“You all right there, Gracie?” Luna asked, her voice soft. Concerned.

Grace forced a nod. “I’m fine, Aunt Luna. Thank you. Just… a lengthy journey, that’s all.”

Filipe shot his sister-in-law an understanding glance. He didn’t know exactly what she was thinking, but he had a pretty shrewd guess; after all he was thinking much the same.

Mavis gave Grace an understanding smile. “Travel tires me as well. It’s part of why I stayed here when Victor and Lady Luna visited Medieville for the queen-mother’s funeral. That and someone hand to watch over all the little scamps.” She shot Collette a stern but affectionate look.

“You probably wouldn’t have liked it anyway, Mother,” Nicholas put in. “It was very, very cold.”

Despite the unease still knotting through her, Grace couldn’t help a small laugh. “That it was,” she agreed. “But you and Lauren survived it with all your fingers and toes intact, hm?”

“Uh-huh. I wish it’d snow here sometimes,” Lauren replied. “The little kids thinks we’re making it up— that everything’s just covered in white.” He glanced toward his mother. “Even though we’re not. Because lying’s against the rules.”

“We’ll have to take them all on a vacation to Ruom sometime in winter,” Mavis said sagely. “I hear it gets cold enough in the high mountains for snow sometimes.” She watched as a nursemaid finally arrived, plucking Minnie up in spite of the toddler’s squawks of protest. “For now though, Kythian guests will have to do for novelty, and you’ll have to suffer their cynicism.”

“Hopefully Lady Grace and Lord Filipe enjoy their visit,” Nicholas said with a polite smile in the Kythians’ direction.

“We’ll be sure to, Lord Nicholas,” Grace said, hoping she sounded more confident of this than she felt. “It’s a pleasure to be here.

***

Filipe raised his brows as he ran a hand across the curtains of their guest chamber, curtains which were currently pulled back to reveal a pair of glass doors which opened out onto a whitewashed veranda. “Is this… silk? Actual silk? They really deck the curtains with silk, even Jade isn’t so spendthrifty.”

“Seems like a perfectly good use for expensive materials,” Grace said dryly. “Why, I'm surprised these sofas aren't upholstered in spun gold.” The woman sighed, taking a tired hand through her pale brown hair. “At least the suite’s comfortable. A vast improvement over the inns on the road, eh?”

“The absence of the slavers from our company all afternoon and evening was also a plus,” Filipe agreed. “...Do you think Pipp really plans to have them flogged on our account?”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Grace replied with a shrug. “Courdonian slave lords aren't precisely known for their mercy.” She lifted a brow, a smirk curving at the corners of her lips. “Why? You feel bad for the poor, sad, innocent-as-kittens slavers, Fil?”

“Not in particular, no,” Filipe said dryly. “Not when they probably would have fought our knights for Ariel Butcher if they hadn’t already disarmed expecting to get off scot-free. They want to objectify human beings, they can get a little of what they give.”

“Ohh, but the poor babies, they’ll be in pain.” Grace was nearly beaming now. “Their valiant homecoming where they and their ally Lord Pipp sure-did-show those pesky Kythians— it’s being ruined, Filipe, and you don’t even care?”

The Escalus lord smirked, quirking an eyebrow. “If they were under my jurisdiction I’d have had them punished in some way already, though the Shadow Council would probably balk at flogging Kythian peasants for being lippy.”

“Though being lippy and attempting to violate the slaving treaty might make even the Shadow Council agree flogging’s warranted,” Grace quipped. “Even without Circe and the writ… we need to make sure to remind dear cousin Victor that these idiots were about re-abduct a Kythian citizen off what was likely Kythian soil. Ariel Butcher is one of ours— period. And as far as the story was relayed to me, when she started speaking in Kythian, they told her to be quiet. Which implies to me that they meant to take her anyway. That’s a gross violation if I ever did see one.”

“Good point, I’ll be sure to note it during the discussion tomorrow,” Filipe agreed, coming over and sitting down beside his sister-in-law. He tilted his head, lowering his voice. “He really does seem remarkably sympathetic, all things considered. It’s… hard to reconcile with the story of a man who almost got my baby brother killed.”

“I… don’t think it was ever his idea,” Grace murmured, her smile disappearing like a puddle on a dry day. “The Bloody Coronation. But…” She bit her lip, harder than could have been comfortable. “His mother told Dimitri and me, you know. What he’d… planned. In case the Keep had gone to the Courdonians. If… if we’d lost that day.”

Filipe looked up at Grace in surprise. “She did? At Maia’s funeral you mean?”

“Yes.” Grace was suddenly fidgeting, her heart in her throat. She and Dimitri hadn’t ever shared with anyone else what Luna had told them that night— it hadn’t been a deliberate secret, not precisely, but it was all so… personal, uncomfortable, that the moment had never seemed appropriate to tell anybody else. Not until right now. “He was going to take us here— to Eveque. Mum and me. Marry me to his little brother, so that no one could dispute the fact that I was… well, House Pipp’s property, I suppose. So that nobody would try to wrest me back to Kyth during the war that was surely to come. And Dimitri…” She gulped. “Dimitri didn’t… didn’t figure into his plans.”

Filipe’s jaw tightened. “I see. And assuming Kyth survived the war, it would have been very difficult for us to fight to get you back. And…” he winced, his blue eyes clouding. “Rhea.”

“I don’t think they planned to abduct her,” Grace said. “But… if during the war Courdon had ever made a go at Heleos…” She touched a hand to her forehead, as though it were suddenly throbbing. “I don’t imagine they’d have just left her there.”

Grace’s brother in law hesitated, then pulled her into a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Gracie. I can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been to hear that.”

The woman startled for a moment, but did not pull away, blinking hard as she murmured, “It’s just… strange, I suppose. Knowing that if things had just gone a little differently that day, that…” Drawing back from her brother-in-law’s embrace, she gave the room around them a nearly wistful sweep. “I’d live here. In Eveque. As… as one of them. F-for the rest of my life. And Dimitri would be…”

Filipe didn’t reply, looking back towards the glass doors to the starry sky beyond. After a moment he smiled and said, “But he’s not. He’s back home in Heleos, caring for a sick, clingy two year old born to you both well after the coronation. And in just a few more days we can shake the dirt of Eveque from our boots and you can see them both again.”

“I just hope it goes well,” Grace said softly. “With Pipp and the slavers. For… for Circe’s sake.” She sighed, leaning back in her seat. “I don’t suppose the Courdonian enki is going to condescend to my womanly presence at the big meeting, hm? And I hardly want to sour him against us by arguing…” She gave her brother-in-law a grim, staid smile. “But I trust you, Fil. To argue our case. The slavers have another thing coming for them.”

He smiled grimly back. “I’ll give them a run for their money- and hopefully they will come away with nary a coin in their pockets for their troubles.”

Loose Ends: Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

Filipe was the first to arrive to Victor’s office the following day at the appointed time for the petition hearing, both the Lord Pipp and the two slavers ominously absent. Filipe was a few minutes early, granted, but he couldn’t help wondering where they were- and if in fact it had anything to do with Victor’s earlier threats.

However, when Gabler and Sauvage arrived precisely on time a few minutes later, Pipp just on their heels, the two lecherous slavers looked none worse for the wear. Hell, they even seemed… cocky, almost. Expectant. As though in spite of their sour start with Victor, they were still convinced things at this meeting were about to go their way.

“Your lordship.” Sauvage bowed his head as he took his seat, though one couldn't quite miss the hard glint to his eyes. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Filipe gave Sauvage a flat, diplomatically polite look. “Indeed. I hope you and your associate slept well.”

“We did,” Gabler replied. “You’ve brought along the documents, my lord?”

“Of course,” Filipe agreed, procuring Circe’s writ of freedom from a scroll case at his hip.

“May I see it, please?” Victor asked, face inscrutable— mask-like— as he held out an expectant hand.

The Escalus lord handed the rolled up vellum to Victor, apologetically saying, “It’s a bit water damaged, I’m afraid- apparently these men and their associates had caught the former slaves in question out in a Corvus storm when Circe- the woman who had the writ- tried to show it to them.”

“I see.” Gingerly, Pipp unrolled the parchment; once he had he skimmed the face of the order briefly— and as he did, a frown ticked at his lips. “You deigned this a forgery, Master Sauvage, Master Gabler? What led you to such a conclusion?”

“It seemed far too ludicrous and far-fetched a story to believe, Lord Pipp,” Gabler explained. “A mere slave with a writ of freedom from the queen mother herself? Why would her majesty trouble herself with such a thing?” He made a dismissive motion. “Slaves will say anything if they think it will win sympathy.”

“Indeed,” Filipe said, his voice pleasant. “Like when Circe’s ten year old companion started speaking to my knights in fluent Kythian and they pressed her, you told her to be quiet. She clearly had the resources for a language tutor to train her not only in Kythian, but also to speak it with a perfect south Corvid dialect and accent. Slaves will say anything.”

“We… we let her go,” Gabler warbled.

“You did,” Filipe agreed. “But only after my knights forced you to. And it’s worth noting, the brand on her collarbone was old. Healed. And all that implies.”

Pipp’s frown deepened, his gaze flitting between the writ and the slavers. “This has two seals,” he said. “High quality wax. Intricate detailing.”

“A forgery, clearly,” Sauvage said with a firm nod. His smirk, though, had disappeared. A ripple of sweat had begun to bead at his brow.

“I see.” Pipp set the scroll down, slowly. “And where, pray tell, would a slave have found a forger of such skill and daring? To forge a monarch’s seal is, after all, a capital crime.”

Gabler swallowed hard. “Perhaps they were banking on their work being impossible to trace. That the slave would get too far away before she had any chance of being caught for it to hurt him.”

“Naturally.” Pipp lifted a brow. “And certainly any forger worth his spit would've committed this capital crime for whatever pocket change a runaway slave could've given him— instead of returning the royal family’s property to them for what was sure to be a hefty reward. That makes so much sense, doesn't it, Lord Filipe?”

Though Filipe internally scowled at the casual description of a living human as “property,” his only outward response was a sardonically quirked eyebrow. “It certainly seems counterintuitive.”

“She served the royals though, my lord!” Gabler said desperately. “She… she could’ve swiped an entire purse of silvers before she ran!”

“And you think if she'd done that the Alarics wouldn't have sent a practical army after her to recover their losses?” Victor snapped. “Gods, do you two hear a word that's coming out of your mouths right now?”

Gabler fell silent, his face deathly pale. Filipe tilted his head slightly. “So you believe the document is genuine then, Lord Pipp?” he asked.

“Without a doubt.” The look the lord was leveling the two slavers was nearly murderous. “Even with the practicality of it all set aside, I doubt even I could commission a forgery this good. Let alone a godsdamned runaway slave.”

“But…” Sauvage had gone ash white. “Certainly the queen herself wouldn't bother with such a task, my lords—”

“As Circe explained it,” Filipe put in, “she was a favorite of King Rafael, and served as nurse to his and Queen Rhiannon’s daughters for most of their lives. But the new king, Oliver, did not care for her, so the queen-mother let Circe free as a final gesture of sorts in her husband’s memory.”

That wasn’t precisely what Circe had said, but it was a context to what she said that would make sense in the mind of a Courdonian. And in any case, it seemed to sate Pipp well enough— the Courdonian lord’s scowl grew further, and his voice was dripping with venom as he snapped: “You have wasted a vast amount of resources, Masters Sauvage and Gabler. Not to mention time— your own, of course, but more importantly that of myself and House Escalus. Do you think that is a wise thing to do, wasting the time of lords?”

“N-no, m’lord,” Sauvage squeaked. “Of course not, m’lord.”

“Yet you’ve done a remarkably good job at it anyway,” Pipp growled. “And that’s without even taking into account your group’s spirited efforts to violate the treaty that keeps the great nations of Courdon and Kyth from war. Is that a wise thing to do?”

“N-no, my lord,” Gabler warbled. “B-b-but we, we let the Kythian girl go!”

“Only after she invoked the names of Heleos and the Iphicles Institute,” Filipe put in scathingly, folding his arms. “Locations a peasant child would only have even heard of if they were native to Corvus, if then! And may I remind you her brand was old. Your lot are lucky we’ve no interest in making waves over it, because we’d be within our legal rights to do so.”

“W-we were just trying to—” Sauvage began, quivering in his seat.

But Pipp quickly cut in over him: “I don’t bloody care what you were trying to do! You disgrace yourselves, you disgrace your queen mother, you disgrace me.” Turning to Filipe, he continued, “The writ is legitimate, as I said. You have my apologies for the idiocy of this lot. Sadly I cannot return the time they’ve wasted, but at least I can provide recompense in other means, Lord Filipe.”

Filipe met Victor’s eyes, his irritated expression schooled to diplomatic politeness again. “Oh? What do you mean, Lord Pipp?”

“How much has it cost you thus far?” Victor replied coolly. “To house these men and their comrades, and to transport you, Grace, and these two gentlemen here?”

Filipe pondered this. Of course his house had a professional bookkeeper on staff who handled finances, but the lord had to review these tallies often enough that Filipe had a good notion of how much housing a guest usually cost.

“Hm… there was the cost of food, housing, and our servants’ services for the six men, four of whom are still back in Heleos. That was about…” he tallied the cost in diamonds- the Corvid larger currency denomination that was rarely used in place of the more common runestone- then converted it for Victor. “I’d say the housing amounts to about two hundred or so silvers so far. Plus an additional forty coppers on the road in travel expenses.”

“I see.” Victor considered for a moment, steepling his fingers. Then, very deliberately, he turned to face Sauvage and Gabler. “Let’s add in, oh— let’s call it a cool one-hundred silvers as an inconvenience fee. On top of the two-hundred and the forty already there.”

“As… as what, m’lord?” Sauvage stammered.

“Your fine, of course,” Pipp snapped. “And you’re lucky it isn’t more. And that’s just for the expenses. Speaking nothing of your punishment for your other idiotic actions.”

Gabler went white as a sheet, bleating, “B-b-but we can’t pay all that, my lord, even if we pooled the money it’d take us months, we have families-”

“You say so much as another word of complaint and I’ll double it,” Pipp growled. “You commit the crime, Master Gabler, you pay the recompense. It’s as simple as that.” He tilted his head, entire body alight with fury. “As for your other lapses— attempting to abduct a Kythian citizen, speaking ill to your superiors, being general nuisances…”

“M-m’lord, please,” Sauvage murmured. “Have m-m-mercy.”

As if he hadn’t heard the plea at all, Victor glowered. “You’re only lucky,” the enki said, “that it’d cost more to transport the rest of your group here than it would be worth. Otherwise, they’d be in for it, too. But while I have you two here…”

Ah, here it came. Filipe folded his arms, watching the two slavers as they quivered and groveled. Gabler had gone from white to green, and looked like he was about to puke. Sauvage wasn’t faring any better. It wouldn’t have been a shock if the man had outright passed out.

Fortunately, the slaver stayed conscious as Pipp continued, “You will both be lashed. In the Eveque city square, outside the Marble Temple.” He paused, almost as though for dramatic effect, before adding: “Fifty times each. And since I presume you’ll be in no shape for travel afterward, you will remain here when the Escalus party heads home. Not to mention, we shouldn’t want to burden them with your lodgings roundtrip, hm?”

“B-but… m-m’lord, our comrades are still in Kyth—” Sauvage began.

“Then I shall send a courier to Kyth,” Pipp snarled. “And have them summarily escorted to the border. How and when you reunite with them is none of my concern.”

Filipe’s eyebrow raised a trifle. Fifty lashes? That could kill a man if it were not spaced out sufficiently. Which meant that Gabler and Sauvage would be in Eveque at least long enough to heal from two lashings. Filipe turned his attention back to Victor, nodding politely. “We will be glad to receive your courier in Heleos, Lord Pipp. And I apologize deeply for any inconvenience this matter has caused you.”

“You owe me no apologies,” Pipp said, waving a hand. “You are Grace’s brother-in-law, Lord Filipe— that makes you family. And family is never an inconvenience.”

“Speaking of Grace,” Filipe said, glancing sideways at Sauvage and Gabler. “If there is nothing further to discuss, perhaps these men have wasted enough of both our times. I should let her know what’s happened.”

“Of course,” Lord Pipp agreed. “And tell her that I look forward to seeing her tonight in the banquet hall. We’re having the cooks make a mix of Kythian and Courdonian dishes, in honour of your visit, Lord Filipe.”

Of course you are, the Escalus lord thought, bemused, but he only nodded. “You do us an honor, Lord Pipp. I shall pass along your regards.”

***

Filipe passed along the good news to Grace, including the substantial punishment and fee that had been levied at the Courdonians for their general idiocy. After a final, awkwardly polite dinner with Victor, the two Corvids and their retinue were finally able to return home- somewhat tired from the travel, but surprisingly none the worse for the wear.

The arrived back in Heleos- startling Dimitri when they arrived without Gabler and Sauvage, but with a representative from House Pipp. Pipp’s courier quickly and efficiently evicted the remaining slavers from Heleos. Though Grace’s husband pelted them with questions, Filipe would only say, “Pipp confirmed the writ is genuine- I’ll tell you the rest once Circe is summoned to hear it as well.”

The former slave looked quite anxious when she arrived to meet the summons, head bowed and arms crossed tightly at her chest. She’d been cleaned up considerably from when first they’d met— her hair trimmed, some of her hollows and angles already starting to fill out since she was eating well and regularly— but there was no mistaking the fact that this was a woman who’d spent most of her life in chains. It was evident in almost every facet of her— her hunched posture, her tightly pressed lips, the way she looked as if she might fall to her knees prostrating at the barest hint of reproach.

“Y-you summoned me, my lords, my lady?” Circe murmured, eyes planted firmly on the floor.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Circe,” Filipe said, his voice gentle and coaxing, as one might speak to a spooked deer. “The news is good. We’ve spoken to Lord Pipp. He confirmed that the writ of freedom you possessed was legitimate.” Pulling out the rolled up vellum document and holding it out for its rightful owner, he added, “The slavers have left, and are being levied a hefty fine for trying to interfere with you. You’re free Circe.”

Circe blinked, daring to dredge her gaze up very slightly. “L-Lord Pipp… confirmed it, my lord…?”

Grace nodded, smiling. “He did. No one will be bothering you anymore, Circe. As far as I’m concerned…” She glanced toward Filipe, as though she were seeking his affirmation as she said: “Well, you’re a citizen of Kyth now. It’s only fair, given what you did for Ariel.”

Filipe nodded, smiling. “Nothing will hold you back anymore. You can go where you want; work where you want, under terms you agree to; do what you want, within the bounds of the law. If you want to visit Ariel in the butchery every morning, you can do that. If you want to travel further into the interior, you can do that too.”

“Though I imagine Lilah and Willow will miss you if you do,” Dimitri joked. “Will keeps raving about how you’re the best hairdresser ever.”

Circe gulped, looking surprised. “Does that mean you’d… you’d want to keep me here…?” she said softly. “As a nurse for them?”

“Fill’s the lord, so he gets final say on staffing matters,” Dimitri said, glancing at his brother. “But I think you’ve been a Woosend with the kids, frankly. If you wanted to stay, I would certainly vouch for you.”

“Only if she wants to,” Filipe said with mock sternness, smirking at his brother. To Circe he added, “But if you were agreeable to that, I certainly wouldn’t mind it. The terms would need to be worked out- pay, room and board if you’d like to be housed in the servant’s quarters, and so on- but you’ve certainly proved yourself capable, if the reports of your conduct are true.”

“I’d… I’d be honoured,” Circe said, blinking hard. “Your children are all very sweet. And…” She shrugged, a little sadly. “To be honest, I don’t really know any other life. My charges have always been like my own children. A-and I’d love to add all of your little ones to that rank.”

“And I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have you,” Grace said. “And of course, since you’re a servant, not a slave, you’ll be free to do as you like during your time off. Visit Ariel, if you want. Relax. Use your nice stipend to buy pretty things in the city.”

“You’ll sleep in the nursery some nights,” Dimitri put in, “In case the kids need someone. But most nights you’d be free to rest in privacy- either in your own flat if you prefer, or in the servant’s quarters here. Whatever you decide, that space will be yours and yours alone, and you can fill it up with whatever small comforts and luxuries you wish.”

“That’s…” Circe smiled, very shakily. “That’s v-very kind, my lord.” A beat. “You’re very kind. All of you. Your whole House. When all I did was… was…”

“You saved a child of our city,” Filipe said gently. “We owe you a tremendous debt for that, Circe. Besides, you may not know this, but a noble’s foremost duty is to protect and provide for the people of his estate. They pay taxes and owe fealty to the lord, and in exchange he provides for their welfare. Noblesse oblige it’s called. And you are as much entitled to that protection as anyone.” He smiled. “I can begin drafting citizenship and employment paperwork for you, if you’ve decided then. Though- we’ll need a surname. Just to observe all the legal niceties.”

“A surname?” Circe tilted her head, expression flummoxed, as if she’d never once thought of such a thing. But then, just as quickly as the confusion had unfurled, it evaporated again. Her dark eyes glinted. Her voice was no longer quivering as she said: “Rafael. I’d like my surname to be Rafael. If that’s all right, my lord.”

Dimitri exchanged a surprised look with his brother, but then they smiled, sadly, and Filipe nodded. “Very well, then. Circe Rafael, it is my pleasure to welcome you to Kyth. And I’m sure the little ones will be most excited to welcome you as a permanent member of their nursing staff as well.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Circe said. “I’ll serve your children well— I promise.”

“We’ve no doubts about that, Circe,” Grace said firmly. “Welcome to our House.”

[Shinko]

Collab with Tiger ! Takes place early in the year in 1319.

Forgotten but Not Gone: Part One (Warning for wyvern death if that bothers you)

SPOILER: Click to show

It was a bright, cloudless morning deep in the Corvid forest. Birds were chirping, the wind flirted gently with the leaves in the trees, and the humming if the cicadas filled the air. Before too very long, another voice joined in the humming- a human voice.

Into the lightly wooded clearing emerged a young girl. She looked to me no more than nine, with light brown hair that fell around her face in ringlets. She was humming a cheerful ditty under her breath as she skipped into the clearing, all of her attention focused on the wrath below.

"C'mon Mister Flower," she murmured to herself. "I'm bringing you home to Gramma. Come out, come out wherever you are!"

She inspected a clump of foliage at the base of a nearby tree, making an impatient noise when she didn't seem to find what she was looking for. Another clump a bit away, but still the girl was forced to look on.

She'd been poking around the clearing for about ten minutes when she heard a noise a ways off in the forest. A soft, regular crunching in the leaves on the forest floor.

The girl looked around, her brow furrowing at the noise. Tentatively she called out, “Hello?”

No reply. The noise stopped, and she shrugged and returned to hunting for flowers.

Then she heard a snarl, and the child froze. Turning slowly, she saw a blue scaled head poking out of the trees. A head with a blunt face, a huge boney crest, and long, pointy fangs…

The wyvern snarled again, and the little girl shrieked. It wasn’t just that the creature was there, that its tense, head lowered stance was obviously aggressive that scared her. No, it was the drool. The foaming saliva that flecked from the wyvern’s jaw, all around it’s mouth, screaming to the farmborn girl of the sickness plaguing the thing.

She immediately turned and fled, bolting into the trees. This was the wrong thing to do, however, as the wyvern screeched and gave chase, it’s much longer legs carrying it towards her with speed the child couldn’t hope to match.

“Go away, go away, go away!” she sobbed, zig-zagging through the forest in an attempt to slow the monster down. However she only succeeded in dizzying herself, so that when the turned up root of a tree snagged on her foot, she didn’t even see it coming in time to stop herself tumbling to the ground. The wyvern screeched again, immediately closing the distance so that it was almost on top of her, jaw bared on those foam flecked teeth. The child screamed-

And a dark grey horse slammed into the wyvern from the side, knocking it on it’s side and away from the terrified girl. The child watched in astonishment as the armored animal gave a neigh of rage towards the stunned wyvern, while astride the horse an armored figure was shouting something she couldn’t quite make out.

As the wyvern started to scramble to it’s feet again, the person in the armor- a knight?- turned to face the little girl. “Run and hide! Quickly, I’ll hold it off.”

The child didn’t need a second telling. As the knight held up a weapon that looked like some bizarre marriage of hammer and an ice pick, she stumbled upright and took off into the thicket. Once she was deep enough in the shrubbery to feel that she was reasonably safe, she turned back towards the ongoing fight.

The wyvern had managed to get its feet under it, and was mantling its wings threateningly. The knight said something to the horse, which reared and pawed at the air, forcing the wyvern back several steps. The reptile shrieked, lunging forwards as soon as the horse started to fall, but the knight was ready for such a move bringing the hammer hard across the wyvern’s cheek with a sickening crack! The monster stumbled, and capitalizing on its moment of weakness the knight again brought his hammer around, slamming it this time into the wyvern’s throat.

The draconic monster made a noise like a gag, but wetter. It stumbled backwards a step or two before falling on it’s side, claws brought up to it’s neck as it gagged and sputtered. The knight watched, moving his horse a safe distance away, as it thrashed weakly for several minutes more before gradually going still.

It was dead.

After watching the knight dismount and prod the wyvern a bit with his hammer- evidently checking if it was actually dead- the little girl cautiously emerged from the bushes. “D-did you get the monster?”

The knight turned towards her, pulling off his helm. It was a short man, with deep ebony hair and oddly sparkling amber eyes two slightly slanted ears pricking out behind his locks. He smiled gently at the girl, nodding.

“I did yes- don’t worry honey, you’re sa-”

Before the knight could finish the word “safe” the child rushed towards him, tackling into his legs and sobbing hysterically. The knight hesitated for a fraction of a second, before reaching down and gently plucking the child up into his arms, holding her to his chest as she cried.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed, his voice carrying a strange, singsong lilt as he spoke with an accent the child didn’t recognize. “I know, that was very scary, wasn’t it? I’m just glad I heard you scream and found you in time. Everything’s fine, you’re safe now.”

Gradually the little girl’s sobbing tapered off, exhaustion taking the place of fear and her anxiety being soothed by the knight’s gentle comfort. At length she finally lifted her head from his shoulder, looking up into those warm, sparkly amber eyes.

“I was looking for flowers,” she hiccuped. “For my grandma. ‘Cause she’s sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the knight replied, walking over to his horse and taking the animal’s reins in one hand. “But didn’t she warn you not to go into the forest? I thought the whole village knew about the mad wyvern wandering around here.”

“I th-thought it’d be okay,” the child whimpered. “If I didn’t stay long. If I only went in for a little bit.”

The knight sighed. “Well now you know better, hm? And next time you’ll listen when-”

He froze, every muscle in his body going tense, and whipped around to survey the trees at his back. The child whimpered, flinching against his armored chest again.

“Wh-what is it?” she asked.

“...Probably nothing,” the man said, though he didn’t sound especially convincing. He smiled at the girl, gently putting her up on his horse’s back. “Here- Freya will take you back to your village. I’m going to go have a look at something, alright?”

The child waffled, then nodded. “Okay. B-be careful Mister Knight.”

“I will be,” the knight replied with a wink, before slapping the horse gently on the rump to get it moving. “Don’t worry kiddo, I’ll see you again in just a little bit.”

***

The city of Scorzen, situated in a peninsula between the main body of the Ibis River and two of its tributaries, was nowhere near as beautiful as the gleaming city of Solis, but it was a charming place in its own way. While most of Solis was made of white limestone, the buildings of Scorzen were made from hard-fired clay, so that much of the city had a reddish-orange hue. Banners and kites in shades of cream, butter yellow, and gold rode the wind, and everywhere was displayed the city’s main artistic industry, sculpting. Statues of clay, of limestone, marble, and even a few enterprising smithies with sculptures of iron and bronze out front. Ships sailed in and out of the ports, carrying exported clay bricks and imported luxury goods.

The manor of the noble house that ruled over Scorzen, House Lazuli, was like much of the city built from clay brick, but those bricks had been meticulously coated in a layer of some sort of substance that gave them a near iridescent luster in the sunlight. The Lazuli standard of the burrowing owl mantling over a brick wall flapped from a flag high above the manor, making a soft, cloth wooshing sound as a pair of bronze and cream Lazuli phoenixes came in for a landing in the manor’s courtyard.

The riders dismounted one at a time; the first was a man in light armor dyed Lazuli copper, the chest adorned with a badge marking him as a fireknight. After taking the reins of the second phoenix, the fireknight motioned for its rider to dismount. The second man did so, carefully, adjusting his bright green and gold halfcloak distractedly.

“There should be a servant waiting for you at the steps, Master Leif,” the fireknight said. “They’ll take you to Lord Tor.”

Leif Jade nodded, trying to give the fireknight a grateful smile. His stomach was in knots, however, and he knew it was probably shaky. The phoenix who had carried him twittered in his direction - she left Leif give her a light pat on the beak before the fireknight gave Leif the bag untied for the saddle, and started leading the birds away. Leif headed for the manor.

The archmage’s stomach was not settled at all by the level ground - it had little if anything to do with flying, and much more to do with the reason he was in Scorzen in the first place. Lord Everett’s letter had been both clear enough and vague enough to be very worrying - an unusual disappearance, a possible glamour on a part of a forest, a missing elven knight… And if the knights of Nid’aigle had asked for Leif’s help directly, they were probably expecting something big, something dangerous, something not unlike the skinwalker who had terrorized the elven city two years previous.

While magical catastrophes were hardly out of the ordinary for Leif these days - Conri and his blood magic had been particularly dangerous. Leif had, quite literally, almost been killed - in fact, everyone except Markus had just about died, or at least been in a good position to be killed, at least once - and Markus had just been lucky and was probably next in line for a near-fatal maiming.

All right - calm down - you don’t even know what the situation is yet, Leif scolded himself. And even if it is bad, you need to keep your head.

Looking around in the hopes of finding something that might distract him a little so he could calm himself down, Leif looked up at the manor. His eyes drifted to the banner waving from the roof, the burrowing owl whipping in the wind. Burrowing owls - small, but long-legged. Unlike other raptors, they were ground-hunters, stalking insects and small rodents in the open grasslands where they lived, as their name implied, in little burrows dug into the ground.

But Leif’s thoughts, for once, did not stick to birds. He wondered if Sieg, or Gavin, or both would be on this mission, too. Everett hadn’t specified which elf or elves had asked for his aid, though he guessed it was probably Commander Anri Hasek, who was in charge of the elven knights. She did know that Leif and Sieg and Gavin made a good team, so it seemed like there might be a chance Leif would be working with at least one familiar face.

There was indeed a servant waiting for him, who led Leif inside and through the halls of Lazuli Manor. The building was like many in Corvus, designed to accommodate the southern heat; high ceilings, tall windows at frequent intervals (many of which were open to allow for a crossbreeze) and copious amounts of natural light coming into the interior. Leif was eventually brought to a room on the second floor of the manor, which opened up into a small library with a long ovular table in the center. Standing in the room, dressed in his house colors of copper and cream, was Tor Lazuli, the current lord of the house. He was a young man in his mid twenties, with jet black hair that stood in sharp contrast to his clear, baby blue eyes.

“Lord Leif, I presume?” he said, an odd affect to his voice in spite of an almost pointed effort on his part to enunciate his words. “I am Lord Tor Lazuli. Thank you very much for coming- the representatives from Nid’aigle-” the man tripped over the Elvish word, the pronunciation noticeably mangled- “shall be along shortly.”

Leif nodded, feeling a little bad for the man’s difficulty pronouncing the name of the elven city. There was something strange about the...tone, Leif thought, of Lord Tor’s voice. He couldn’t place what mood it might be, though it didn’t seem angry or anything so dangerous as that. Not quite being able to read a tone was nothing new for Leif; he didn’t dwell on it.

“Yes, I’m Leif Jade,” he said, putting his hands together and bowing slightly. “My official title is ‘Master’, if that’s a thing that you’re particular about. Or - well, call me whatever you like.” Someday he would make an introduction that actually reflected the fact that he’d had etiquette lessons.

“Master Leif,” Tor said, nodding. “I’ll remember it.”

There was a soft click and the creak of a door opening behind Leif, and a few seconds later Tor started slightly and looked up. “Ah, good, you’ve arrived.”

Leif had started to look over his shoulder at the sound of the creak - he glanced briefly back toward Tor when he thought he saw the lord jump slightly, but he seemed calm enough so Leif returned his attention to the newcomers. To his relief, the tall, blond-haired, long-eared man and woman entering the room were people - elves - he recognized.

“Commander,” he said with a respectful dip of his head toward the red-eyed elf. He hesitated for a moment when he glanced toward her companion; Gavin had pointedly asked Leif to call him by his name, but that seemed inappropriate in a formal setting… “Lieutenant Gavin,” he decided at last. “Good to see you two again.”

He wanted to ask about Sieg, at least to know if the half-elf was in the city or was still on duty in Nid’aigle - but he suspected now wasn’t an appropriate time, and held the question back, physically curling his tongue a little like it needed to be reined in.

Gavin gave Leif a smile in return, though it was a noticeably strained one. “Good hello, Master Leif,” he replied in heavily accented, very choppy Kythian.

Anri, her dialect much more clear and crisp, added, “It is good Lord Everett was able to spare you. I have a feeling we will very much require your help. And given the matter is one you will have a personal stake in, well…”

“A personal stake?” Leif repeated, his stomach twisting as much as the flag outside the manor in a heavy breeze, but without nearly as much comfortable give. Looking between Lord Tor and the two elves, Leif asked, “What happened, exactly? All Lord Everett said was that a knight disappeared, and…”

He could practically feel the blood rush out of his face, and for a moment, the only words that came to mind were not ones appropriate to share with the room. Tor seemed momentarily confused as well, quirking a questioning eyebrow in the direction of the two elven officers. Anri sighed, rubbing her face.

“Sir Braham,” she said simply. “The knight who vanished into the forest, the forest not even Lord Lazuli’s finest mages can enter without being spat right back out at the edge of it, is Sir Braham.”

Leif had already known, but hearing Anri actually say it made it feel even worse - up until then, he could have been mistaken. He finally managed to speak again, his shaking hands squeezed into fists - information. He needed information, so he could get into that forest and find Sieg and get him out of there - “This forest - why was Sieg there? How did he get in if the mages can’t? It must have spells on it - misdirection, and maybe a glamour - did it only appear after Sieg disappeared?” His voice was jerky, as jumbled as his thoughts. It had been - ‘Woo, it had been days at least, and who knew how long it had been between Sieg’s disappearance and the elves requesting Leif’s aid?

Anri said something in Elvish to Gavin- perhaps translating?- before she turned her attention back to Leif. “Sir Braham was addressing a minor routine issue a day or so ride within Lazuli territory. A lone wyvern gone rabid that was terrorizing local villagers. According to the report from the only witness- a girl of about eight or nine from the village- Sir Braham saved her from the wyvern and managed to kill it. However, as he was calming her down, he seemed to become aware of something or someone nearby. The child reports that he went from calm and soothing to noticeably edgy. He put her on his horse and ordered Freya to take her back to the village while he went to investigate. He never returned, and when scouts from the village went looking for him the following morning, they found nothing but a mysterious force repelling them from the forest.”

“There are stories,” Tor put in, “that within the forest are the ruins of an ancient elf city, one whose destruction is thought to predate the founding of Corvus. Some villagers insist the ruins are haunted- people have supposedly entered them and never returned. But none of my father or grandfather’s men who looked into the rumors found anything in the ruins. Still, it bears noting that the forest where Sir Braham vanished, the one that is now inaccessible, is that same forest where those ruins are.”

This just got better and better - haunted ruins. And Leif couldn’t even say ghosts didn’t exist or couldn’t hurt anyone; Sieg had multiple literal ghost stories, and one of them featured a ghost becoming a giant owl who had killed several children before being pacified. Although…

“I don’t think ghosts can cast magic,” Leif said, raking a hand through his hair and taking a heavy seat in one of the chairs. “If there’s a new ward, or glamour or - whatever it is, then - there must be a mage involved. Some kind of magic, anyway,” he amended. “Something he could see or hear.” At least he’d gone in prepared, Leif told himself frantically. He hadn’t been taken by surprise, and he wasn’t stupid - he’d be careful if it was a mage he was fighting.

That didn’t make Leif feel much better. It had been days. And wards, glamours, whichever, weren’t something that was cast on the fly; either it was designed to allow people to leave the forest, or it had only been cast after Sieg had...

Leif closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts and focusing on a thrashing, white-hot anger seething in his chest. “I have protections against glamours - I can probably keep from getting misdirected. Or I can take down whatever enchantment’s been put up first.” The archmage got to his feet. “How far is the forest? ...Or - is there anything else we know?” If he had been any less panicked and angry, he would have felt and sounded sheepish for the lapse in procedure.

Anri glanced towards Gavin, repeating the question in Elvish. He gave a limp shrug, before saying something that Anri translated for Leif. “We will be accompanying you, if it helps reassure you. Anri and I both. We have combatted mages before countless times. We will do everything in our power to help.”

Leif nodded, the gesture quick and almost distracted. “Good - that’s good. Thank you. ...It’s probably smarter to go with more than one, especially if it’s anything like last time, with Conri…” He raked a hand through his hair again. “I guess - I guess last time someone disappeared like that, he just came back a puma, so, he could definitely be all right… Still. We should find him, fast.” His eyes flicked to Anri, and he winced slightly. “Ah - I mean… Sorry, Commander; you’re in charge of this, right?”

“In theory,” Anri agreed, folding her arms. “However given your expertise I will be relying upon your advice in the field. Therefore, I need you to collect yourself, Master Jade. It will ill serve Sir Braham if you panic.”

Leif’s immediate urge was to retort that of course he was panicked; Sieg had been missing for days in a place with clearly-dangerous forces and this was the first he was hearing of it because somebody down the line hadn’t thought he should know. But he held it back, long enough for common sense to kick in - Anri was right; Leif going into the situation jumpy as a rabbit who’d spotted a hawk was not going to be helpful. ...It was also probably not a good idea to start off the mission by snapping at the woman in charge.

He nodded slightly and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. Okay. I still want to go right out to the ward and start working, but is that the smartest thing to do? After a moment’s thought, he looked back up at Tor. “Have your mages had any chance to look at spells on the forest, to figure out exactly what it is? Or will I be taking the first look?”

The Lazuli watched Leif’s lips move as he spoke; Leif had a fleeting thought that maybe Tor had the same discomfort with eye contact as the archmage. Whatever the case, once Leif had finished asking his question the man pursed his lips. “My mages have looked into it, or tried, but they say they have never seen its like before. They couldn’t make heads or tails of it.”

Gavin, still having the conversation translated to him through Anri, put in, “One of our elf mages tried to inspect it as well, but every time they called to the magic they seemed to trigger some sort of trip-snare that knocked them unconscious- eventually they gave up.”

Leif frowned. “That’s...that’s odd - why would it knock out that one mage but none of the others?” Maybe something to do with them being an elf? But Leif had never heard of magic humans could use that elves couldn’t - incantational mages, human, elf, and probably hybrid, too, had exactly the same magic. But there were physiological differences; maybe something in the magic was catching on something physical. Perhaps it was similar to elves not being able to take some of the medicines or potions humans used, or vice-versa, because ingredients harmless to one species was poisonous to the other.

“We aren’t sure,” Anri admitted. “But just to be safe it’s why we’re not bringing any mages of our own. We also don’t want to advertise our presence with a large force; hopefully, however, the two highest ranked knights in Nid’aigle can help make up some of that difference.”

“And I will, of course, be happy to provide whatever resources you may need,” Tor put in. “Potions, bribes- anything within reason. This is my territory and Sir… Bram?” He glanced towards Anri. “Is that how you pronounce it?”

Taking care to speak slowly and move her lips in wide, dramatic gestures, she answered, “Bray-uhm.”

Tor nodded, “Sir Braham was helping my people, so I owe you that much.”

Leif waited a moment, but when it seemed the elves weren’t going to start requesting resources, he said, “Thank you, Lord Tor. I brought some potions along, but if you have any...maybe a blood-replenishing potion?” He shifted to include Anri as he elaborated, “I brought some basic things - antivenom potion, a pain-reliever, a fever-reducer, a tracking draught - not a very good one, but it’s something - and I managed to get my hands on a little neutralizing potion and a bit of a salve that’s supposed to be good for sectwoosempra cuts. I checked as best I could to make sure they’re all safe for elves, but I might need someone to double-check them. ...Otherwise - is there anything else you think we should have, Commander?”

Tor cleared his throat before Anri could reply, speaking with a bit of weary plaintiveness. “Forgive me, but could you repeat that? And face me when you say it? I didn’t catch it.”

“Oh - er, sorry,” Leif said, turning to face the Lazuli. Was he hard of hearing, maybe? Leif’s voice would probably have been a little muffled turned to the side. Odd in someone so young... and yet, as Leif repeated his list, adding that he had been asking Anri for her advice, he noticed Tor was watching Leif’s face, but not really making much eye contact; instead, he again seemed to be keeping a close eye on Leif’s mouth. Was it to help him understand what Leif was actually saying?

“Ah,” Tor nodded as Leif finished, glancing towards Anri. She shook her head.

“I have nothing at present to add- Lieutenant Monfort and I will look over the ingredients in Master Jade’s potions and let you know if there is any cause for concern.”

“Very well.” The lord turned back to Leif, his expression apologetic. “I’m sorry for inconveniencing you- I was rather prone to nasty ear infections as a child, and eventually I went deaf from them when I was about twelve. I’m proficient at lip-reading but I need to be able to see a person’s face clearly to do it.”

Leif blinked in surprise, momentarily making eye contact. “Oh - no, it’s - it’s all right, Lord Tor. ...I, ah… I know a few things about inconveniencing people with something I can’t really control.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and almost looked away but remembered not to at the last moment. “I’m sorry, though - losing your hearing...that must have been hard.” Leif couldn’t say for sure he knew what that was like, losing a competent sense - but he imagined his sharp descent into constant near-overload in the church had been similar, at least.

“It certainly took adjusting to,” Tor agreed. “And not everyone has always been understanding or confident in my capability in spite of it. But thank you for your sympathies.” His expressions softening a trifle he added, “I will keep your friend in my prayers; for now I’ll see about the potions you wanted, and you may discuss the ones you have with Lieutenant Monfort and Commander Hasek.”

Forgotten but Not Gone: Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

Sieg’s mouth tasted foul- the kind of taste one got after a very late night, and a very deep sleep without first cleaning one’s teeth. He was fading in and out of awareness, but with each passing moment he could feel his full alertness returning. His ability to think coherently and perceive his surroundings grew as he continued to slowly rouse, as if a guiding hand were deliberately drawing his hazy mind out of sleep.

He was outside- he could tell that much by the bird calls and cicada song he could hear nearby. Grass tickled his cheek and left ear. There was a bit in his nose, and instinctively he reached up to brush it away.

Or tried to. However, he found rather suddenly that he couldn't move his arms.

His eyes snapped open, a surge of panic sapping away the last of Sieg’s grogginess.

He was lying on his side, arms and legs bound by thick, braided ropes. Though Sieg last remembered being in full plate armor- he’d been wholly uninterested in a bite from a rabid wyvern- while he’d been unconscious it seemed that not only had someone removed his armor, but his thick padded surcoat as well. He was wearing only his leggings and a thin off-white undershirt, and in the chill of the winter morning he was shivering.

At least I probably won't be dying of heat stroke once it warms up in the afternoon. How considerate.

Trying to move as best he could without making himself obvious to whoever his captor was- and without straining too much against the bonds and worsening his already developing rope burns- Sieg tried to get an idea of where he was.

Sieg was technically outdoors, but also in some sort of building; a house most likely. Most of the walls, however, had fallen, and the ceiling was completely gone. Grass grew freely and thickly over most of the ground, and ivy climbed the remaining logs that had made up the house’s walls. There was something familiar about the construction- like he’d seen it somewhere before- but Sieg couldn’t put his finger on why.

Beyond the immediate remains of the dwelling were more signs of old, long-abandoned construction - patches of a cobblestone road wound off into the distance, other half-fallen houses lined its rough path, and a very old, heavily weathered plinth lifted a broken, headless statue of a deer a foot or two up from grasses and brush trying to reclaim the area. In fact, leaf-litter and grass and bushes and even trees grew everywhere; one building just down the road looked to be housing a tree whose branches had pushed apart the walls even further. The forest was clearly making steady progress in taking back this abandoned city.

Muted by the much louder bird calls and cicada-humming was the sound of something bubbling, and every so often, a slight, small shuffle of movement. Whoever or whatever it was seemed to be behind Sieg, so that he was lying with his back to them. He wanted to turn and get a look, but it would be tricky while his arms were tied up, especially if he wanted to continue not drawing attention to himself.

He didn’t get very far turned over- just barely enough to catch a shadowy image in his peripheral vision- when his boot clicked against a stone. He cursed internally, wincing.

The response was very quick - a soft noise like something being brushed over leather, and then a flash of green accompanied by a hissed phrase in a language Sieg didn’t know.

In spite of the adrenaline rush of panic and the fact that he’d just woken up, almost immediately a veil of drowsiness so thick it made his head spin slammed into Sieg. His eyelids slid shut almost of their own accord, and his entire body felt as hot and heavy as thick, soupy porridge. His muscles went limp, and in spite of his desperate attempts to claw at wakefulness, within twenty seconds of the green flash Sieg was again completely out cold.

Forgotten But Not Gone: Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

Leif, Anri, and Gavin’s final preparations didn’t take long, which was good because Leif already felt like they were a painfully late rescue party. The three rode out to the forest, Leif on a borrowed horse from the Lazuli stables, Anri and Gavin on their destriers. They were accompanied by two mounted Lazuli squires who would take the three horses back when they reached the woods; according to everyone who had seen it, the forest was too thick near the ruins for the animals to easily traverse.

As far as forests went...it looked fairly normal to Leif. No signs of human habitation or presence, and he imagined there were probably quite a few hawks and owls making their homes here. He approached the trees cautiously on foot, waiting for the buzz of his protective spells to tell him he’d reached the edge of the glamour.

It came later than he would have expected, and strangely - more violent, somehow jagged, and bumpy. Leif twitched, his skin prickling. Something was not right about this. Frowning, Leif looked around and lifted a foot to take a step forward. He paused - and then quickly set his foot back down where it had started as he felt a sharp sense of unsteadiness without physically wavering. He wanted to go two ways at once, and couldn’t quite put his foot down.

Closing his eyes, Leif forced himself to take a step back. The buzzing, mercifully, stopped. “Something’s odd about this glamour,” the archmage said, opening his eyes. “My protective spells aren’t quite working, but I just recast them this morning. Not that it matters much,” Leif said, scowling at the trees as he raised his wand, “since I’m taking it down, but it is odd.”

Anri relayed this to Gavin, who frowned slightly. “What do you mean they aren’t quite working, Leif?” he asked through his commander’s translation.

“Well, House Jade’s glamour-protection spells create a sort of buzzing feeling - it helps jolt you out of the glamour. But on this one, it started up late and it...doesn’t feel quite right. I’m not sure what’s causing it. Maybe...maybe it’s having trouble being triggered? That might explain it. And then - well, we also have a spell that’s supposed to dispel glamours completely; it’s more difficult, but ultimately, that’s what you want if someone’s trying to use a glamour on you. That one doesn’t always work, though - at least, not all the way.” Leif paused a moment to finish casting the spell to reveal runes. As the glowing green mist wafted toward the trees, the archmage continued, “I think while I was standing still and looking straight ahead, I was all right - but as soon as I tried to move, I knew the way I wanted to go was the wrong one - sort of. ...Like there was an illusion and I knew that. Just without an actual, visual illusion.” He hoped that made sense.

After another murmured exchange between Anri and Gavin, the female elf replied, “Alright- let us know if you see anything worth noting; I’m no mage and Gavin hasn’t been one in four-hundred and fifty years, but he knows the theory at least and has offered to provide his thoughts if you would like them.”

Leif nodded. “I wouldn’t mind second opinions. If I notice anything...er, noteworthy, I’ll share.”

He turned his attention back to the mist as it settled over a sheet of invisible something. After a few second, the mist came together and seemed to solidify as hovering, gently-glowing green runes. Leif pulled them a little closer, and began scouring the symbols.

“...Lord Tor wasn’t lying,” he remarked after a few minutes. “This is complex. ...Or - well, it is complex, all glamours are, but…this is different.” He underlined a set of runes with a finger, saying, “This patch here - it’s not very efficient. And here - “ he pointed to another patch, and then the empty space beneath it. “There should be a Tyr-based chain and at least a tunnel for channeling some of the energy back into the spell. ...And there are things like that all over the place. I’d almost say the caster was making this in a hurry, but...it doesn’t seem rushed. Just...I don’t know. Unrefined.”

Leif continued looking through the spell, familiarizing himself with its structure. He noticed more and more missing pieces, more strange rune choices, more parts that were close to but not quite what he was expecting. That got him thinking, and he sorted through the runes until he found a particular piece of the glamour.

“Ahh - well, here’s why it felt so strange. This piece - this is where my protective spells would catch it. But it’s...very odd. I see the skeleton, but the rest of this...it couldn’t have caught and held very well, not with this shape...and these runes here.” He scowled at a small chain near the center of the cluster he was studying. “I’m guessing my protective spells were catching and disengaging over and over again. That’s why it felt bumpy. The repelling piece probably had the same problem.”

Looking over the piece, Leif suddenly noticed an oddly familiar cluster of runes. “What are these doing he - “ Leif cut himself off sharply as he brought the runes into sharper focus. For a moment, he was silent, his eyes flicking over the runes and his fingers occasionally twitching to move a few runes up or down.

“Well…’Pit. So...this? It’s a stupefying spell. Or, similar to it - it’s practically archaic. But, ah - it’s attached to a hook. The base of the hook. Now, the point of the hook… that’s triggered by the spell I used to see these runes in the first place. And...well, there are some runes attached that...look an awful lot like the kinds of runes that, ah...led to the ones that are used in blood magic.” Leif met Anri and Gavin’s eyes briefly in turn. “I think it’s using the...pre-blood magic, I suppose, to determine if the caster is a human or an elf. And then knocking them out.”

“More elf-targeted blood magic?” Gavin remarked through Anri’s translation. “I’m starting to wonder what god we managed to annoy so badly.”

Leif shook his head. “I don’t like to think what the odds are of two blood mages targeting elves. ...Although I doubt this one is a fully-capable blood-mage, or why not use those runes instead of ones like them?”

His stomach lurched, though, at the thought that maybe the mage wasn’t a blood-mage yet, that maybe kidnapping Sieg was somehow part of how they would become a fully-fledged bloodmage, and -

No, Leif reminded himself fiercely. That doesn’t make sense - you don’t capture a knight for blood-magery - and for something ritualistic, you don’t use a stranger! And if they had stronger magic, wouldn’t they have come back to power the glamour better by now?

And in any case - Leif couldn’t let himself panic. If he panicked, he couldn’t get this glamour down, and if he couldn’t get this glamour down, they weren’t going to get any closer to Sieg than this. “I need to find the instructions,” he said, flicking the pre-blood-magic runes away in search of other, more useful ones.

Because talking seemed like a way to stifle his worry, Leif continued explaining what he was doing, and why. “The easiest way to take down a glamour, strictly-speaking, is to take it apart from its projector - the forest, in this case. In practice - by the time a mage can cast a glamour, they’re smart enough to see a weakness like that. It’ll be protected, and getting around the protections there would probably take longer than its worth. But if I can find the instructions, I can overload it - it takes some work, but it’s harder to shield since those instructions need...room? Openness? Sometime to that effect. So, I should be able to get around the protections fairly easily, and then slip new instructions in - to make it too complex, or give it too many contradictions...” Where was this piece? “Then the illusion fails, and at that point, the spell usually falls apart all on its own. Too much erratic magic no longer being directed.”

…Where were the instructions? Leif knew what they looked like, he’d gone through some glamour-breaking training at House Jade, and finding instructions had been one of the things they had emphasized. “The ’Pit!,” he growled. “They have to be somewhere!” He could imagine what the structure must look like; some shields, a hook, then the instructions...

I must be missing something. Squinting at the runes, Leif muttered, “A person goes in...something gets triggered, and the glamour eventually forces them out…” He blinked. “Out in the same place they started. Every time. So…” Leif frowned at the spell, but flicked through the passages again, just a touch more slowly than before. Finally, he stopped, quickly reading a few rune chains, tracing his place with his finger and muttering the rune chains.

“...They used a loop,” Leif said, his tone full of bafflement. “It’s the thirteen-hundreds, what is this person doing? ...I mean - I suppose it fits, half the measures to conserve or cycle the energy back in aren’t here so - why not?”

Gavin shifted, fiddling with his sword. “A loop… so those are not used anymore? I remember they were new when I was practicing magic, a reliable way to keep the effects of a glamour consistent by forcing it on the same path with a stable run circle.”

“Right,” Leif said, “they are. But they’re energy drains; some spells people wanted to make just couldn’t be cast with loops or it would pull the mage completely, and once they found other ways to structure things...usually they replaced them in older spells. And with glamours specifically...well, if we had time, we could probably break the spell by going in and out of the forest a hundred or so times.”

Flicking his wrists to bring his wand back into casting position, however, Leif said, “We don’t have time, though - so I’m going to slip things into this loop. It’ll take me a bit longer than if it wasn’t structured this way, but I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Leif pulled the spell a little closer and set to work. Fitting things into a loop was tricky, as both ends needed to match up, and do so almost at the exact same time when they were hooked in - or else, the spell might start violently devolving. There was also the nature of the runework involved in glamours - the runes behind mental tricks and subtle influences were never quite so clear as the runes for doing something like creating fire or transmuting a rock or summoning an object. Reading them was something of an art, and writing them a feat of willpower and guesswork.

Luckily, Leif had a bit of a guide to work with. Some of the same influences were being used, over and over again, and in a loop, a predictable pattern. After a few minutes’ work, he was fairly confident it was routing people back out of the forest by tricking them into thinking they were going one way when they were doing no such thing - spells for direction mingled with bits and pieces of runes Leif recognized from the basework of sleeping and confounding spells.

So...if I add in some conflicts… Leif carefully began casting the runes for what he intended to be the opposite of the first instruction. After examining the pieces connecting the loop’s parts, he crafted a simple head and tail for his spell, and quickly broke the original connection between the first instruction and the second, and slotted his new rune chain into place. The spell didn’t begin devolving, so he moved on to the next one.

After several minutes of this, Leif finally saw the strain he was looking for. “All right - now I just have to trigger it, and it should overload. I’ll come right back out of it, so I shouldn’t be affected, and I don’t think it’ll get very far before collapsing. ...And it should be me, I have protective enchantments and after that elf-sensing trap we found… I didn’t see anything,” he admitted, “But it still seems like a risk we don’t need to take.”


Anri nodded, her hands clasped behind her back in an at-ease posture as she had waited while Leif worked. “Very well then. But be careful, Master Jade. We don’t want you getting hurt by unexpected side effects.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Will the caster feel the barrier go down? Should we be prepared for a counter strike?”

“They shouldn’t,” Leif said. “The spell’s not tied to them anymore, and even if it was, me overloading it right now would pull them...if not unconscious, very close to it. I don’t see anything that looks like it’s attached to a trigger-object, either.”

“Alright,” Anri said, though her hand drifted towards her sword as if on impulse regardless. “Do what you must- but don’t hesitate to call for help if you need it.”

“I will. Thanks.” Leif kept his wand ready, just in case, and took a careful pace through the runes and into the trees; the glowing shapes fanned away from Leif, then pulled together again behind him. There was a particular fallen twig Leif noticed sitting at just the point where his protective enchantments had started to buzz; he took the two steps remaining toward it, and felt the jolt of the spell catching again. Leif waited barely a second before stepping back, but even that was enough time for his stomach and head to swoop with dizziness from the conflicting instructions.

But as the buzz faded and Leif shook his head to get rid of the dizziness, he saw the runes of the loop he had been manipulating pulse and ripple, slowly at first, but more quickly by the second - and then, abruptly, they cracked apart, dissolving into nothing. The nearby runes glowed for a moment longer, flickered, and then disappeared - some faded out, some dissolved like the loop, others simply winked out of existence like snuffed candles.

“I think that’s done it,” Leif said. He approached the trees and the twig again. “...No buzzing. We should be safe.” The archmage stopped to wait for his companions, hoisting his satchel higher on his shoulder.

As the two elves approached, Gavin muttered, “So our enemy is someone using old, inefficient spell weaves. Yet they managed to outwit several mages and knights with those old methods.” He scratched his beard absently. “And also using not-quite-blood-magic, targeted towards elves. Curious. Very curious.”

“I don’t suppose you have any theories?” Anri asked the other elf dryly, as she continued to translate the exchange for Leif.

“None worth relaying as of yet, unless Leif wishes to recant his comment about ghosts being able to use magic,” Gavin answered with an amused lift of his eyebrow. “Perhaps a centuries old ghost would use centuries old magic, neh?”

“Well,” Leif admitted, “I’ve never actually seen a ghost, so...maybe I’m wrong. I wonder what would make a ghost suddenly show up now, though - Lord Tor said his father and grandfather never found anything in those ruins. Unless...it’s an old elven city, right? Sieg’s half-elf, could that have...triggered something?”

Gavin bit his lip, but it was Anri who replied. “Among our people it is considered anathema to return as a ghost after death- we live for centuries, then when our time comes we accept it. Not to say it does not happen. Sieg himself met an elf ghost that had died as a slave in Courdon and was trying to get home. But if the entire city has ceased to exist, I’m not sure for what reason an elf’s ghost would linger so long.”

Gavin made a comment that got a low growl in reply from the commander, but after a hushed exchange between the two she amended, “Except for revenge. But even so, a thousand years is a long time to linger on this side of death for something so petty. Even for an elf, for whom time means little.”

“Hmm. It would be a lot of time spent doing nothing,” Leif admitted. “Maybe it’s a human ghost, then. Or maybe it’s just some brand new type of mage, or at least one we haven’t seen in these parts before. ...Apologies in advance, I do seem to attract that sort of thing.”

Gavin gave Leif a comforting smile. “And yet you are still here, so clearly you cope with it well. Whatever the case, we will work out a solution, and rescue Sieg. I am confident in your skills and ours.”

Leif nodded. “Whoever or whatever’s got him - we’re definitely not leaving here without Sieg.”

***

When next Sieg awoke, it was significantly darker, and it was not birdsong but the constant dull pitter-patter of rain that drew his awareness up from the depths of slumber. He had fallen asleep in a very awkward position that made him moan involuntarily as his entire back seized with a painful cramp.

He managed to flop over so that he was lying fully on his back instead of twisted half around, hissing as the muscles around his spine spasmed again. He half-expected to be promptly knocked out- again- but when he dared open his eyes and look around he realized he was alone in the ruined building. Whoever had been present with him the last time, they appeared to have wandered off for the time being.

As he lay there, waiting for his back to unknot and trying to gather his wits, other pressing sensations began to creep up on the half-elf. For one thing, he was ravenous. From what he remembered of sleeping spells, they would last eight hours before wearing off on their own, which meant that if he’d been spelled at least twice (possibly more times, if the enchantment had been previously re-applied before it wore off fully) he had been out cold for, at the very least, sixteen hours. Sixteen hours during which he hadn’t eaten a thing, and his stomach was not pleased about this fact.

For another, his awkward sleeping position had strained the ropes, which meant the abrasions on his arms, legs, and wrists were tingling and burning. This day just gets better and better.

Movement in Sieg’s peripheral vision caught his attention, and immediately he whipped his head towards it. A small figure stood in one of the room’s remaining corners; it was a little boy, perhaps eight or nine years old, with light, scruffy hair and slightly upturned eyebrows. His tunic was stained across the chest.

It was hard to tell with what - the color was impossible to tell, as were any colors on the child; hair, skin, eyes, clothing...Every bit of the boy was semi-transparent, looking as substantive as a glass statue in a heavy fog.

He was biting his lip as he stared at Sieg. Stray drops of rain passed through his barely-visible body. The half-elf frowned, confusion and a touch of suspicion mixing with no small amount of concern in his mind. There could be no doubt about it; this child was a ghost. Sieg had seen ghosts many times before, both benign and malevolent, and he wasn’t certain where this one fell on that spectrum.

“Hey,” he called softly. “Who are you, little guy? Do you know where we are?”

The boy’s brow furrowed slightly and he cocked his head, but after a moment, he looked to the side and pointed to something. Sieg followed the direction of the boy’s pointed finger, and his eyes settled on a very low but long stone table, with a circular basin hanging below like the udder of a cow or goat. Directly atop the basin was a small cauldron - tiny enough to hold with only one hand. Little bottles, some chipped, a few tiny bowls, and a plate of herbs with a knife pinning the greens in place were scattered about the rest of the table.

Sieg frowned. “What… is that someone’s cooking table? But no, those leaves are comfrey, you shouldn’t eat those except in very small amounts they’ll give you a bellyache…” He looked towards the child again. “What is this? Is it yours?”

Squinting, the boy leaned forward, and after a moment, hesitantly shook his head. He glanced past Sieg, staring out for a moment into the rain. Sieg turned again, but this time he didn’t see anything except for sheets of rain pouring off of the roof of the building.

“What’s-” he started to ask, turning back to the child.The rest of the question died unuttered on his tongue.

The ghost was gone.

Forgotten but Not Gone: Part Four (Warning for the wyvern's corpse: nothing graphic, but it's there briefly at the beginning.)

SPOILER: Click to show

Though the sun shone over the group as the headed into the forest, the midwinter weather saw to it that they were all shivering nontheless. They searched for signs of Sieg’s passing, or of the alleged ruins in the woods, and eventually the commander held up a hand to stop the group.

“Here’s Freya’s hoofprints,” Anri said, brushing her hand along a shallow depression in the earth below. “Mostly washed out by the rain, but you can just make out the shape of her shoes. No signs of Sieg, but he’s a lot lighter so his prints are likely long gone by this point.”

Leif stooped to see the hoofprint more clearly. “He could have been mounted at the time as well, if he was still riding toward the wyvern. I guess this means we’re going the right way.”

They continued on, making occasional adjustments to keep to the course set by Freya’s hoofprints. It wasn’t long before a heavy, stinking smell started to waft through the trees. Leif flinched when they stepped into a slightly larger break in the trees and something darted off with a loud rustling of foliage - he hadn’t been able to see the animal around the bulk of a much larger, now-deceased one. This was the closest Leif had seen a wyvern - but he didn’t think he would be telling Kirin about this particular near-dragon sighting.

“Let me check for traps. Magical ones,” Leif amended, lifting one arm to cover his nose and the other to cast the rune-revealing spell again. This time, the mist didn’t settle on anything, just faded into the humid, sun-splashed air. “Looks clear.” He coughed a little on the stench. “Doesn’t smell it, but...”

“It’s a good thing your friends the vultures do not get rabies from eating the infected dead,” Gavin offered, clearly an attempt at a joke though he was pointedly not looking at the dead wyvern either- more to the point, not pointing his nose at it.

“Definitely,” Leif agreed. “And big as vultures are, I don’t think I’d like to see one infected with it. Objectively, their talons aren’t very strong, but I imagine that doesn’t help those of us with soft fleshy parts.”

Anri circled the draconic creature, and gave a grunt of something that might have been approval. “Looks like he took it down with his warhammer rather than his sword. A wise decision, to avoid spreading the infected blood. Still, this doesn’t answer for us where he went after the beast was dead.” She looked around. “Hm. If I were an ancient group of elves, where in this forest where I put my city…”

“Near a viable water source,” Gavin returned immediately. “Nid’aigle is near the Silver River, and the city where I was born was set atop a deep system of flooded underground caves that came up in a series of fresh springs.”

Leif looked around, commenting, “Pity there weren’t any maps of this place, or finding the nearest river or lake would be easy. ...Though I suppose the animals would know where water is?” Leif scanned the sky, but there were no convenient waterfowl flying overhead. “Hmm. Any sign of a deer trail, or - we could go the way that animal ran off?”

“As good a start as any,” Anri agreed. “And I imagine the animals will have made dens for themselves in the old buildings as well.” She glanced in the direction the scavenger had taken off, hefting her supply pack on her back. “Let’s get moving.”

After a bit of searching, the group did find a trail- a bear trail, not a deer trail, but it was better than nothing at all. “The tracks are old, I doubt the bear has been this way specifically for several hours,” Gavin had asserted. As they continued along the trail, gradually a sound became audible- running water.

“That sounds promising,” Leif murmured, his pace quickening. Hopefully Gavin was right about the bear being long-gone; the archmage could happily go without seeing another one of those monstrous, sharp-clawed, painfully-massive animals ever again.

Another few minutes’ walk opened out onto a gently flowing stream - Leif opened his mouth to ask if they should follow it upstream or down, but then he and the knights saw it - the city.

It was right upstream, uphill, and across the river from the trio, blended with the forest but not quite hidden inside it the way Nid’aigle was. It looked to have once been a dwelling of mixed log cabins and stone structures, though under the thick coating of moss and vines and the roots of bushes and trees all along the outer-walls, it was difficult to tell for sure. All Leif could say was that the stone of the wall looked very much like the same kinds of stones poking out of the river - probably naturally harvested by the elves, instead of being shipped in from elsewhere like a human city might have chosen to do.

And despite all the work that must have gone into gathering those stones - the city was massive, and Leif couldn’t see the far side of the wall where it must loop around the city.“...Well,” Leif said, “It certainly looks like a place that would have a lot of hiding spots for a kidnapper. Or places to hide their captive.” He scowled.

Anri sighed, shaking her head.“We should proceed with caution; we already know our foe is a mage, so who can say if there are any traps waiting in any of these buildings?” She tightened her jaw. “That said, we should get a move on- there’s no telling what state we’ll find Sir Braham in when we locate him, and the more time that passes the better the chances it won’t be good.”

“At least the water isn’t very deep,” Gavin observed, wading out into the stream. “Probably only up to Leif’s neck at its deepest.”

Leif frowned at the water, and then down at his satchel. “I’m hovering this across,” he told them, removing the bag from his shoulder. “It has some water repelling spells, but they can’t repel a whole stream.” Once his pack was safely on the other side, Leif carefully stepped into the water after the elves. He winced as he finally got deep enough for the cold water to slosh into his boots. 'Pit, this was a good way to get hypothermia... But, jaw clenched, Leif trudged into the river.

He usually didn't pay much mind to his height, but the longer Leif kept the elves waiting and himself freezing by having to struggle through water high enough that he gave up walking halfway through and just swam most of the rest of the way, the more envious Leif was of the elves’ extra foot and then some each. Morgaine and Sieg will love hearing that, Leif thought as he stepped onto dry land.

Leif used a heating spell to quickly dry his and the elves’ clothing - Anri and Gavin's apparently-absorbant surcoats in particular - so the three weren’t weighted down and further frozen by the lingering water. That done, they started toward the city. This was going to be the hard part.

The only movements Leif saw as they approached were birds and the leaves billowing in the wind. Occasionally, something creaked in the distance - probably just a dangling piece of the city also blown about by the stronger gusts. It was unnerving, but it was the only noise besides their footsteps on the cobblestone patches that wasn’t completely natural to the forest. If there were ghosts here, they seemed to be holding back for the time being.

I don’t know, though, Leif thought as they passed through an opening in the wall - a ghost casting incantational magic is still -

“‘Pit!” Leif jolted to a halt as his protective spells suddenly lurched into buzzing. He threw out his arms to block the way. “Hold on, stop - there are glamours here, too!”

Anri turned sharply, translating quickly for Gavin. The male elf scowled. “Here? But why, if the entire forest was protected? And to what end?”

“I don’t know,” Leif said as he raised his wand, green mist already perfuming from its tip. “Maybe just double protections, in case someone broke through the first set. But that means they must be here,” Leif confluded grimly. “...We should back up, so we’re not hit with this.”

Much as he had before - but faster now that he knew the spell’s basic structure - Leif found the loop of instructions. It was bigger than the one on the forest, and the shape was a little different as well - a loop with branching loops, a little closer to the more web-like structures modern glamours took. For once, Leif was not especially interested in whatever homegrown evolution was on display here - he knew how to flood loops, and he knew how to stack webs, and he set to it with a grim expression. It took a few minutes longer to weigh down the city glamour than the forest one - but at last, Leif lowered his wand, flicked the runes aside, and took a few steps back into the city.

More instructions meant more counter-instructions, and the dizziness actually hit Leif full-force even as he started taking a step back. He staggered a little, but managed to catch himself on one of the walls before he embarrassed himself too badly. The runes once again pulsed, then vanished in various flourishes, leaving the city open again.

“Let me check they’re gone,” Leif said, pushing off the wall and carefully stepping forward again. No buzzing, no dizziness - “Okay, we’re sa - well, the glamours are gone.” He let Anri and Gavin pass him and begin searching; they would be much better at physical tracking than Leif, and the archmage could, meanwhile, keep an eye out for any threats.

As the duo poked around, however, Gavin made a noise of surprise and called what could only have been a summons. He was kneeling behind a crumbled wall, glaring hard at something behind a pile of reeds. He lifted something, revealing that it was a scrap of white cloth. Peeling back the sleeve of his surcoat, he revealed an undergarment of cloth in the exact same fabric and a similar shade, although the fragment was somewhat yellowed and filthy.

“Sieg’s,” he said. “And look-” he pointed beyond the reeds, beckoning Leif to come closer. “You had healer training when you were learning to be a priest, right? Tell me what you make of this.”

Leif hurried over, already apprehensive about what might require his training in healing. But it was nothing so morbid as even a blood stain - just a puddle of sick. It was, however, too big to have come from most of the local fauna.

There was something scattered through the puddle; Leif carefully stepped closer and leaned forward a little to see it better. Very, very tiny brownish-black dots - seeds? Some were a little yellow, especially the ones that had cracked. Someone - Sieg, probably - had eaten seeds, and then thrown them up? Dark brown and yellow, very small -

“...Mustard seeds?” Leif guessed hesitantly. “Well...it explains why he threw up, they’re nauseating; but why did he eat them in the first place? They’re too tiny to look very nutritious, if he was going for food...”

Gavin’s jaw tightened. “I trained Sieg when he was a squire- and one of the lessons he got from me was in field triage. How to set a broken bone, how to replace a dislocated limb… and various common, medicinal herbs. Including mustard seeds to induce vomiting in case of the ingestion of something poisonous.”

“...Oh. Of - of course,” Leif said, wincing. “That was what we used mustard seeds for at the church - if someone drank a bad potion or...well, a bad anything.” He got to his feet and looked around, hoping desperately for more clues, something to lead them in an obvious direction. The archmage’s heart was beating so loud he had to consciously focus on each individual word as he said, “But it wouldn’t do anything for what he’s already absorbed - whatever poison he was trying to get rid of, he could still be sick from it!”

And that was hardly the only thing wrong with this situation; Leif could barely hold onto each horrified thought long enough to catalogue it before another one rushed in to take its place. Sieg had been poisoned - with what, by who? He’d been so close to getting out of the city - but how long ago had that been? Was he still wandering around, or - several days was a long time to be wandering around the ruins… And why was he wandering instead of being secured somewhere - were the ruins being used like a twisted prison?

“We need to find Sir Braham,” Anri said, her expression tight with anxiety. “And whoever trapped him here. There is a very great deal going on here, and none of it makes any sense- we need to put the pieces of this puzzle together, and quickly, before it’s too late.”

Forgotten but Not Gone: Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

Before Sieg had time to fully process the ghost’s disappearance, he heard a soft squelching in the wet earth behind him. Every muscle in his body tensed. Ghosts were intangible, they wouldn’t make noises when they moved unless they wanted to. Which could only mean…

He looked back in the direction that the child had done before he vanished, just in time to see a tall, cloaked figure entering the broken rectangle of the house. The cloak had a hood, pulled up against the rain and very low over the lanky figure’s face; it and the rain and the gloom of the shadows thrown by what remained of the ceiling concealed most of their features.

The cloaked figure paused, his face turned toward Sieg, but after a second, he simply kept walking, stooping over the small table. He drew a wand from his belt and lit a fire in the small metal basin hanging under the pot. Sieg watched this, frowning and flipping himself over so that he was lying on his side and facing the stranger.

“Not going to put me right back to sleep again this time?” he demanded tartly. “I was wondering if you planned to sleep me into starvation.”

The stranger’s shoulders stiffened, but his only movement was reaching for a small bottle of an amber-colored liquid and pouring a few drops into the pot.

“The silent treatment then, is it?” Sieg asked. “Not even going to regale me with your elaborate evil plot while you have me conscious and a captive audience?”

Still no response. The man picked up a small, roughly-hewn wooden spoon and gave the cauldron’s contents a few stirs.

“You know, abducting a knight is sort of a stupid move,” the half-elf noted dryly. “I’m bound to be noticed missing. I have to check in with my commanders periodically, and they get a touch unhappy with me if I fail to do that. In the military we call it going MIA.”

The stranger withdrew the spoon from the cauldron, tapped it on the rim, and set it aside. With another flick of his wand, he doused the fire, and began uncorking an empty flask.

Sieg growled softly, taking advantage of his captor’s inattention to slowly draw back his bound legs, and then slam them against the table. It hurt- a lot- but it set the objects atop it clattering sufficiently that whatever was brewing in the cauldron sloshed dangerously. “Either knock me out again, or dignify me with an explanation, by Woo!”

The cloaked figure hissed through his teeth, hands poised to catch the cauldron - when it didn’t tip, he finally looked up at Sieg, and yanked back his hood. The dim light revealed chestnut-colored hair, green eyes that shimmered as if faceted, and long, pointed ears. His lip was curled as he snarled in strangely-accented Elvish, “It’s not enough you use that barbarian tongue, you must act as one of the creatures who use it as well?”

Sieg gaped, his jaw falling open. It was safe to say that whatever he had been expecting, it was not this. Though… it did explain why his captor had seemingly been ignoring him before. He probably hadn’t actually understood a word the half-elf was saying.

Switching to flawless Elvish, Sieg snapped back, “Perhaps if you hadn’t been hiding yourself it would’ve occurred to me to try Elvish. In general I don’t assume an elf would be abducting a knight of Nid’aigle.”

Sneering, the cloaked elf replied, “So this is what Nid’aigle has come to. I had hoped I was wrong about that emblem on your armor.” Still glowering, he turned back to his potion-table and picked up the open flask.

Sieg sighed- if he hadn’t been tied up he might have rubbed his face. “I see. You’re one of those. Sorry my human blood offends you so very much, though if it makes you feel any better you are hardly the only elf to feel that way about me. Plenty of humans don’t like me either. Though none of them have knocked me out for an extended period and tied me up. I assume simple dislike of me on principle of my hybridism is not why you’re chancing my superiors coming down on your hidey hole?”

“Do not attempt to patronize me - I’ve evaded knights before. Humans hating something is hardly new, and as for the elves, it’s their own fault. This is what allying with humans gets us - halfbreeds.” With a twirl of his wand, the green-eyed elf drew some of his potion into an arc between the cauldron and the flask in his opposite hand. “But no, I did not go out looking for half-humans. You just happened to be close by and suitable.”

Sieg tensed. “Suitable? For what, exactly?”

The elf did not reply. The flask was half-full and he cut the flow off, letting the rest drop back into the cauldron. The potion was a rather ugly shade of orange, looking less like juice from an orange fruit and more like liquified and heavily bruised peel.

“Fine, don’t answer,” Sieg snapped. “I’ll have you know, however, that Lieutenant Gavin Monfort of the Nid’aigle knights was my knight-master during my training, and I highly doubt he is going to take my disappearance lying down.”

For a moment, the elf’s hand slowed as he returned his wand to his holster. “Monfort’s still living?” A slight snort of disdain. “He must have hardened up after all.” Abruptly, the green-eyed elf rose to his feet and stalked over to Sieg’s side, crouching next to him, close enough for Sieg to see his face was damp and slightly flushed.

Holding up the potion, the elf said, “You have two choices - I can hold this to your mouth, and you can drink - or I can paralyze you and force you to drink.”

“How generous,” Sieg retorted. “And what’s to stop me from spitting it right back out? I have no idea what that is or why you’re force-feeding it to me. You know my master, have you heard his history? It’s not smart to drink a Woo-knows-what’s-in-it potion.”

“Yes. I’m aware.” The strange elf’s tone was almost dismissive. “If you spit it back out, we go with the second option. I have more where this came from, and you have one chance. I’d take it - less likelihood you’ll choke.”

“If you’re going to kill me, why not just use the knife over there on the table?” Sieg asked. “Why poison?”

“It’s not poison.” The elf’s free hand started to drift toward his waist, where a wand holster was just visible through the gap between the left and right sides of his cloak. Sieg hissed with frustration, but he could see that he had no choice. He had to play along if he didn’t want this idiot to drown him in whatever-the-’Pit this potion was.

“Fine. Get it over with,” he said, opening his mouth.

The elf grabbed Sieg’s chin at the base of his jaw, presumably to force him to keep his head still. The elf’s skin was uncomfortably warm, even in the humid, sticky Corvid climate. Eyes narrowed with concentration, he held the bottle to Sieg’s lips and carefully started trickling it into his mouth. Sieg compliantly swallowed it, coughing a little at the bitter taste as the elf pulled the glass away.

As the kidnapper returned to his potion-table, Sieg studied him, the half-elf’s eyes narrowed. After a moment he said, “You’re red. And your skin feels like a furnace. Are you sick?”

The elf looked up with a scowl as he drew his wand and began swirling the rest of the potion into the flask. “I don’t see what difference it makes to you.”

“Refusing to answer is as good as an admission you know,” Sieg said dryly. “And I- Nnnnn!”

Sieg was cut off as a wave of dizziness washed over him. His eyes began to water so much that he could barely see, and his throat constricted so badly it hurt to breathe. He wheezed, curling up as best he could around his bindings.

The green-eyed elf cursed. “Not even a full few minutes?” He cursed again. After a moment, Sieg heard the sound of the knife chopping something on the small stone table.

“I… told… you-!” Sieg wheezed, his voice high and breathy. He thrashed against his ropes, feeling a sensation like a thousand tiny ants biting him starting at his neck and spreading outwards over his skin. “‘Pit, ‘Pit,’Pit, ‘Pit, ’Pit!” He coughed, sobbing for air as his throat constricted further.

A few minutes passed. The chopping started and stopped intermittently, changing slightly between whatever ingredients the elf was slicing. Occasionally the sound was interrupted by clinks and sloshes and rattles, and these noises were soon joined by the burble of boiling liquid.

And then, the loud, rhythmic sounds of the elf chopping through something that crunched came to a sharp halt, accompanied by a strangled noise from the elf. The half-elf looked up in surprise at the sound. Through his watering eyes, Sieg saw the elf’s knife fly from his hand as he spasmed violently and collapsed onto his side, still violently shaking, and gasping for breath almost as much as Sieg was.

What the…? Sieg watched blearily as his kidnapper continued to spasm, before a fork of lightning outside made the knife glimmer in the corner of his eyes. Sieg’s gaze fixed on it, and glancing quickly between it and the elf he began to fumble for the blade with his still bound hands.

Forgotten but Not Gone: Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

It was getting towards mid afternoon, and as was usually the case in Corvus, this meant that storm clouds were starting to boil overhead. Anri and Gavin seemed entirely unsurprised by this- the elven commander had even said forty minutes or so earlier that she could feel rain on the way- but that didn't’ make it any less unpleasant. An unknown ruin full of unstable structures, with an enemy who could be anywhere, in a storm.

“Sieg appears to be making efforts to conceal his passage,” Anri remarked as she glanced upwards towards the clouds- the first fat raindrops were beginning to fall. “Which says to me that he doesn’t want to be found by someone or something.”

Leif, checking that the flap of his satchel was firmly closed against the oncoming rain, said, “Well, we are assuming he didn’t come here willingly. ...The glamours probably threw him off, too.” Leif hesitated, then asked, “I wonder...should we try signalling him we’re here, somehow? I know it’s risky, but this is a lot of ground to cover - and we need to find him soon, especially if he didn’t get all of whatever poisoned him out of his system.”

“We are as like to draw Sieg’s enemy as Sieg,” Gavin replied, shaking his head. “I am worried too, Leif. Believe me, I know what he might be up against.” The elf flicked his wrist, allowing a bulb of light to appear there for a few seconds before snuffing it. “But it would ill serve him if we were all hurt or-”

The rest of whatever Gavin was saying, Anri did not translate. She had suddenly fallen into a defensive position, one hand grasping her sword hilt. Standing just ahead, having appeared completely out of nowhere, was a human child - light hair, a stain of something across his chest, and semi-transparent, only a little more solid at the edges.

The boy put his hands up and half-stepped, half-glided back a little, his eyes darting to Anri’s sword hilt and the hand wrapped around it. But he looked back up at her face with a questioning expression, and lowered one hand to his ear to make a gesture like he was tugging the end of it upward and narrowed.

Behind Anri, Leif sputtered, “That - that’s a ghost!”

“I noticed,” Anri replied dryly. “It seems these ruins are haunted after all. But by a human ghost?” She flicked her eyes up and down the child’s form, adding, “Clothes are in an old cut- humans haven’t worn that style since the mid-1200s.” In a louder voice, she asked, “Do you understand me?”

The boy had been watching Anri with a furrowed brow, leaning forward a little. When Anri addressed him directly, he hesitated for a long moment. Finally, though, he held up his hand, and showed his thumb and forefinger held just a few inches apart.

“I’m going to take that to mean ‘a little bit,’” Anri mused. To Leif she explained, “this sort of thing is why most elves do not bother to learn Kythian. As time passes, the language changes. It takes a lot of dedication and interaction with humans to keep up with it’s evolution as time passes.”

Trying again, she slightly rephrased the question, pitching her pronunciation and adding an odd sort of sing-song lilt to some of the words.

The ghost’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he nodded, hovering a few inches higher. A little more emphatically, he made the gesture at his ear again.

“I’m guessing he cannot speak,” Gavin mused. “He doesn’t seem to mean us any harm- what’s that gesture he’s making? Is he trying to ask us if we’re elves?”

Leif tilted his head. “Maybe, but...he can see the two of you have the ears he’s miming; why would he need to ask? But...the only other thing I can think is he’s telling us to listen. Except I think that would be more like this.” Leif briefly cupped his hand behind his ear. The ghost glanced at him, looking a little confused, but quickly turned back to Anri.

Anri seemed deep in thought. “Except he isn’t miming the shape of our ears. Our ears are much bigger than what he’s miming.” To the child, she asked urgently, “Little one, you’ve seen another with ears like that?” She mimicked the gesture. “Like mine are, but much smaller?”

The ghost nodded emphatically, and hovering a few inches higher, motioned for them to follow him - though he paused a just a few hovering steps and turned back to put a finger to his lips before continuing down the path.

“He knows where Sieg is,” Anri murmured. “That has to be what he’s getting at. It could be a trap, but… I don’t think so. He isn’t acting at all like a vengeful revenant, just like I would expect a child to do.”

Leif agreed, “And if he wanted to attack us - this is an abandoned city, why take us somewhere else to do it?” He drew his wand and said urgently, “We should follow him.”

Gavin nodded his agreement, and the two knights and the archmage started after the ghost. As the rain began to fall in earnest, it became harder to see his wispy form, but they never fully lost view of him as he wended a distressingly complex path deep into the heart of the ruined city.

“Gods- Sieg must really be lost,” Gavin murmured. “To have gotten so close to the stream and escape only to wander all this way back…”

“Those blighted glamours were confusing enough to do it,” Leif said with a scowl. “...And I didn’t check, but I wonder if whoever cast them put some sort of illusion on the exit from the inside - or I’m sure Sieg would have tried to stick close to that area. ...If he was in any state to think that logically,” he admitted, the anger dropping abruptly out of his voice to be replaced by worry.

The ghost suddenly stopped in front of a particularly large building - Anri might just have been able to brush the ceiling with her fingertips. made of stone, the building seemed to have held up more sturdily than the structures around it. However, a building next to it had not been so fortunate, and collapsed - most of the building front was blocked by rubble, leaving only a broken piece of wall about Leif’s height as an entrance. Even that was probably doomed to close someday, as the tree roots hugging the lip of the entrance were likely going to either crush the stone or simply fill in the empty space over the next several decades.

The ghost glanced back at the group, his eyes flicking over the three as if to make sure they were all still there. That confirmed, he swooped into the building.

From within the entrance, a soft noise was audible- a low, labored wheezing that pitched up in tempo sharply when the ghost entered the building. A few seconds later, there was a scrabbling of boots on stone, and as Anri and Gavin began climbing down the incline towards the building, a very familiar figure swung around the front, leaning heavily on the stone doorframe and panting hard as he brandished what appeared to be a kitchen knife in their direction.

“N'approchez pas, je vous préviens! N’approchez-”

“Sieg!” Leif shouted with relief - though the expression on his face quickly shifted when he saw the knife in his friend’s hand. “Sieg - it’s okay, it’s us! Leif and Commander Anri and Gavin!”

Sieg stared at Leif, his eyes flitting between the archmage, Gavin, and Anri as if in disbelief. Then, a low whimper emerged from his mouth, and he whispered, “Leif? Maître, Commandant?” The fear and aggression went out of his body, and he slumped against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position with a ragged cough. “Woo merci vous êtes ici , s'il vous plaît , aidez-moi…”

As Gavin rushed towards his squire, Anri said, “He’s asking for help- begging for it really, I don’t think he can think clearly enough for Kythian right now.”

“That’s fine, as long as you can translate,” Leif replied, hurrying after Gavin. He half-set, half dropped his satchel next to him as he crouched next to Sieg. “Okay - Sieg, it’s going to be all right, I’m - we’re - going to help you.”

As Gavin sat beside his squire, propping Sieg’s head up on his shoulder, Leif was able to get a closer look at the half-elf. It wasn’t good - Sieg was wheezing badly, as if he couldn’t quite get his breath entirely, his eyes and nose were both running, and he was covered across his face, neck, and what was visible of his arms and chest with inflamed, red hives. There were shallow abrasions across his neck, as if he’d been scratching it from the itching, the inability to breath, or both, and his wrists had telltale rope burns on them- no doubt so would much of him that was currently covered by his clothes.

The sight of the burns reminded Leif that this was probably not anything that had happened incidentally, and anger struck at the inside of his chest like an agitated bird flaring its wings. He reined it back in, refocused it.

“He’s having trouble breathing - we need to fix that, now.” Leif’s eyes flicked over the hives and Sieg’s watering eyes and running nose again. He’d seen this before - sometimes people had been brought to Our ‘Woo of Charity like this. “Sieg - I need you to open your mouth as wide as you can for me.”

Sieg grunted, as if in acknowledgement, and obediently parted his lips. His tongue, as well as much of the inside of his throat, was badly swollen, making it no secret why his breathing was so labored. Anri hissed, anger apparent in her expression.

“This is an allergic reaction, isn’t it?” she asked softly, but with clear venom in her voice.

“Yes,” Leif said, raising his wand toward Sieg’s mouth. He lifted his other hand, fought through an instinctive reluctance to touch, and carefully took hold of Sieg’s jaw to keep the half-elf’s head steady. The archmage muttered the incantation for an inflammation-reducing spell; green light settled on Sieg’s tongue, lingering there for a moment before fading away as the swelling began to recede.

Leif held his wand poised until he was sure he had enough room, then cast the spell again on the back of Sieg’s throat. It had been a while since he’d seen the somewhat-eerie sight of the spell-light glowing from deep inside a person’s throat; it looked like Sieg had just swallowed a small jade magelight.

As the spell took effect, the rasping and wheezing tapered off and Sieg began to breathe more levelly again. The relief to him was obvious, a tremendous tension went out of his body, and he slumped more heavily against Gavin, who muttered what must have been reassurances to his squire in Elvish. After another moment, Sieg let his amber eyes flutter open and smiled wanly.

“Wh-what kept you?” he teased.

Leif smirked back as he rummaged through his satchel. “Gavin refused to turn into a puma and be led here by voices in his head. And I didn’t bring Ayleth along, which was clearly a mistake.” He withdrew two cloths and a small tin from his satchel. “When you’re ready, I have something for you to dry your eyes and nose with. I don’t have anything specific for the hives, but I have some cream for helping to heal sectwoosempra slashes; the worst it can do is nothing. Is there anything else that needs healing, anything we can’t see?”

“N-no, but… I haven’t really eaten more than a mouthful or two of roots and berries since I was caught.” Sieg reached up a hand mindlessly to claw at the red marks on his neck, inadvertently drawing blood.

Leif winced. “Sieg - try not to scratch the hives; you’re bleeding.” He cast a quick Episkey to heal the cut, then holstered his wand again to rummage through his bag. “Here - some bread should be easy on your stomach. We’re guessing it was you who threw up with mustard seeds, anyway?” The archmage passed Sieg a round of trail bread.

“Aye,” Sieg agreed, gratefully accepting the bread and tearing off a huge chunk of it with his teeth. Once he’d swallowed, he added, “I had no idea what was in the potion he fed me, only that I was reacting badly to it.”

“He?” Anri echoed, her eyes narrowing.

Sieg nodded, starting to scratch the hives again but catching himself in time. “Didn’t catch a name, but I saw his face- he was an elf. Green eyes, brown hair. Seemed to recognize Master’s name when I brought it up.”

“An elf poisoned you?” Gavin asked, sounding bewildered. “Why?”

“He didn’t say,” Sieg replied. “Wouldn’t explain anything, really. Just told me it wasn’t poison and that I could either cooperate and drink it or he’d paralyze me with magic and make me drink it.”

“Well, I guess we knew he was a mage, considering the glamours,” Leif said, scooping a lump of salve up with one of his cloths. The stuff put off a strong smell of vinegar, lemons, and mint, making Sieg’s nose scrunch a bit. As he carefully started to apply the salve to Sieg’s hives, the archmage added, “That’s one of the actual reasons it took us so long - there were glamours on the forest, and a massive one here.”

“Oh!” The half-elf slapped a hand to his forehead. “Woo, that’s why I couldn’t find the edge of the ruins! I swear, the little boy was close to tears so many times trying to point me out and I couldn’t figure out why I seemed to be getting nowhere.”

“The boy? You mean the ghost?” Gavin asked. He glanced around, and sure enough, the translucent child was hovering nearby. He was watching the way they had come, but glanced back, saw the group looking at him, and hovered a little closer.

“He’s been helping me,” Sieg confirmed. “I managed to escape… two days ago? Maybe three? The elf almost caught me again a few times, but the boy helped me evade him. He’s been trying to guide me out, but I think the glamours Leif mentioned must have been messing with my head.”

Anri looked up at the child. “You were trying to help Sieg,” she gestured at the half-elf, “to the exit?” The ghost nodded. “Did you know the elf had put magic on the ruins so he would be confused and unable to see the way?”

The boy’s eyes widened and he mouthed an obvious Ohhh! He hesitated, lips pursed and brow squinched in thought, then mimed using a wand and casting a spell, and nodded. Next, he made a swirling gesture over his forehead and an exaggeratedly confused expression, before shaking his head no.

“So he knew that there was magic? But not what it was for,” Anri guessed. “I suppose he might have seen the elf casting the glamours originally.” She tilted her head, “Do you know why he captured Sieg, and made him sick?”

Frowning again, the boy nodded - though he amended this by holding his hands a little ways apart, in the same way he’d held his thumb and forefinger away from each other earlier. The boy made the pulling and tapering gesture near his ears again, but carried it longer - and then abruptly, he spasmed like he’d been struck by a bolt of electricity. He stopped within a few seconds, however, before Leif could do more than draw in a startled breath through his teeth or Gavin and Anri recoil with surprise, and looked very somberly at everyone. Sieg, however, made a noise of understanding.

“I’d forgotten- I think the elf is sick,” Sieg explained. “When he touched me, his hand felt feverish, and I escaped because he fell and started having some sort of shaking fit.”

“Well, they could be unconnected,” Leif said, frowning. “We had a long-term patient at the church who had shaking fits like that - but they had nothing to do with a fever.”

Anri, however, shook her head. “I think I know- we call it ‘la fièvre secouant.’ It doesn’t have a name in Kythian because… well it’s a disease only elves get. Roughly translated it would be called ‘shaking fever.’ The elf who’s ill runs a near-constant low grade fever, but every so often it spikes dramatically up to a dangerously high temperature, making them seize.”

“It isn’t very contagious,” Gavin put in, “but it is deadly if not treated. It eats away at the victim slowly, over several weeks, until they’re too weak to survive.”

Leif winced. “Oh. ...The potion must have been for that, then...except...why would he give it to Sieg? Especially if it clearly doesn’t - “ The archmage blinked. “Is - is there not a potion to treat it? Because it sounds like he was testing a new potion on Sieg.”

Anri shook her head. “There’s no potion for it specifically. You just have to take medicines to keep the fever down until it runs its course naturally.” She hissed. “But why muck around with potions like that when he could easily just come to Nid’aigle and get treatment there?”

“He didn’t seem to particularly like Nid’aigle,” Sieg answered. “He scoffed at how the city is allied with humans, and made particular mention of my hybridism being ‘what we get’ for said alliance.”

“What?” Leif snapped, his tone so abruptly furious the ghost-child jumped. “That’s - that’s ridiculous, humans and elves being allies is a good thing! Look how many problems you and I have solved together, and that’s just one human and half-elf! I mean - we’re both the ‘Woo’s children, he’d want us to be equals - and what, would he prefer we were at war? That’s moronic!”

“Master Jade,” Anri said, her voice sad and uncharacteristically gentle, “there is a lot more to the history of the humans and elves than most humans realize. Our kind is teetering on the edge of outright extinction- Nid’aigle is the last city of what was once a sprawling population across most of what is now Corvus and Elacs.” She sighed, folding her arms. “We were driven out by the early human settlers in Kyth. By the time of the founding of Corvus, our population was half of what it had been to begin with- now it’s even less. Discounting individuals who live scattered and alone in human cities, there are only four-hundred or so of us remaining alive.”

“I - “ Leif faltered, and his eyes dropped to the tin of salve still open on his knees. “I know - you’re right. I’m an Accipiter,” he admitted, “We...we did learn some of the history. A long time ago, but I should’ve remembered before I started...running my mouth. ...But that’s not Sieg’s fault, and he shouldn’t be treated like he’s something wrong with Nid’aigle.” Leif’s voice had briefly risen with anger, again, but he forced himself to take a breath and said more quietly, “That’s all I meant. I’m sorry.”

“Your frustration is understandable,” Gavin said with a sympathetic smile. “I was born in one of those cities that was obliterated and I don’t hold Sieg or his human family in contempt for it. But where for humans these are facts of ancient history, for many of us, these are memories of lives lived. Painful, traumatic memories. It’s irrational, but well, it’s understandable at least.” He bit his lip. “One thing bothers me though- Anri, can you ask the boy a question for me? Ask him how long the elf has been here. If he knows me that implies he must be from Nid’aigle, but here’s the problem- elves are pacifists. It’s a natural instinct, and part of why our population was so easy to demolish. Yet he apparently attacked Sieg without reservation.”

“Which implies a certain level of mental instability,” Anri finished. “It takes our knights years of conditioning to overcome that instinct. Right, I’ll ask.”

The ghost listened carefully to Anri’s question, and then looked down at his hands with a daunted expression. He looked up at Anri again, then pointed to about where the sun was, hidden behind the cloud, and used his finger to track the sun setting, then rising again. He held his thumb and forefinger close together, even closer than before; he squinted at the gap as if it were hard even for him to see.

He made the long-ear motion again, and pointed to himself, then the ground - and threw his arms open, as far apart as they as they would go, and he was straining to reach even farther.

The female elf frowned. “A long time, but you’re not sure exactly how long?” she guessed. The boy nodded. She folded her arms, “Do you know the year it was when you died?”

The boy winced, jerking back a little and hugging himself around the chest..

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I know it probably isn’t fun to remember. But I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, you understand?”

Though he looked sullen, the ghost nodded slowly. He pointed to his mouth and mimed speaking - or maybe he was actually trying to speak. Either way, nothing was audible.

“Lord Tor would be useful to have onhand about now,” Gavin mused, earning a confused look from Sieg. The elf explained, “He reads lips.”

“We’ll make do,” Anri said. To the child she queried, “I want you to point your thumb up in the air for ‘after’ and down to the ground for ‘before’- 1250?”

The ghost pointed his thumb down.

“1240?”

Another guess too high, and Anri guessed 1230. This was still too high, and she queried, “1220?”

The ghost started to raise his thumb upward, but then shrugged and nodded. He looked back up at Anri, however, and used one hand to make his gesture for ‘elf’, and then point his thumb down.

“So he died in the 1220s, but the kidnapper has been here longer than he’s been dead?” Sieg guessed. His eyes flicked to the stain on the boy’s shirt, and the half-elf’s teeth clenched. “Oh Woo… did he…?”

Leif winced and made the sign of the triple feather. “Lord Tor told us people say these ruins are haunted...and that people disappear here. I guess...I guess one makes sense as the cause of the other. ...And he’s been stuck here since then? That’s - that’s horrible.”

After a moment, Leif’s expression hardened. “So - kidnapping, poisoning, and now - now maybe murder. Child murder. You’re right, Gavin.” Lief looked up at the Lieutenant. “That’s...it doesn’t fit.”

“An elf would never hurt a child if he was in his right mind,” Gavin agreed. “Human or not. That goes against… everything in our nature. Children are sacred regardless of the species.”

Anri nodded. “Whoever this elf is, he is unstable, ill, and desperate. I don’t think we can afford to leave him here to continue acting unchecked.”

Sieg tried to rise, his legs trembling so hard it was clear they might give out again at any moment. “I’ll h-help, I-”

“Sieg, sit down!” Leif ordered. “You’ve been running through this city for two days on very little food and unable to breath properly because you were suffering from an allergic reaction! Can we try for at least an hour’s rest? Please?” His requests were said with only half-joking desperation.

“B-but I-” Sieg started to object, only to wilt when Anri shot him a withering glare.

“No buts, Sir Braham,” she said tartly. “You are in no state for a combat, let alone with a mage. You need to rest.” She looked to the ghost. “This place, it is safe? The bad elf won’t find him here?”

The boy nodded, but hesitantly.

Leif offered, “I can put a shield over the gap - or, rather, I can make something for Sieg to trigger a shield to come over the gap, so he has all the time it holds available. And I can set it to alert us, so we know we need to come back here.”

“That will do,” Anri agreed. To Sieg she went on, “You know full well in your condition you would be a liability in a confrontation- you are best served staying here and trying to get back your strength for the journey out of the ruins.”

The half-elf winced, muttering something in Elvish. It seemed to be a agreement, because Anri turned back to the ghost child.

“I’m sorry to ask so much of you, but one more thing?” she said. “Do you know where the elf lives? Can you take us to the place?”

Hugging his chest again, the ghost nodded - but he gave Anri a significant look, mimed the gesture for “elf” again, and then disappeared for a moment before fading back into view.

“You don’t want him to see you?” Anri guessed. The boy nodded fervently, blinking rapidly. “I don’t blame you, little one, I wouldn't want the man who killed me to see me either. Don’t worry, once you show us where to go you can leave if you wish, turn invisible, whatever makes you comfortable.”

The ghost’s shoulders heaved in a silent sigh, but he nodded his assent. His eyes darted to the others, until they landed on Sieg. He gave him a small smile, and pointed to the tree-clasped building the half-elf would be hiding in.

“I’m guessing that is my cue to be a good boy and hide,” Sieg noted dryly. “Leif, you wanted to spell something for me?”

“Yes, let me find a good trigger-object…”

Leif had brought along a number of small objects in his satchel - one of them was a little bag of rocks. They were all rather pretty rocks, colorful and shiny, but they didn’t seem to have much purpose. He had brought each along for a reason, however; different stones reacted differently with magic, after all. After a few minutes of work, Leif handed Sieg a chunk of malachite, magically-grown to the size of the half-elf’s palm. “Hold that for a moment.” The archmage went to the building, his wand trailing runes behind him. Leif touched the stray chain to the lip of the entrance, and a few taps and mutterings later, the glowing symbols vanished.

“Now this one…” He pulled a second stone he had enlarged - blue and spotted with green rings - from his pocket, cast a bit of magic between it and the building as well, and then asked Sieg to flip the stone in his hand over. A glowing shield slid over the entrance, sealing it to outsiders. Leif tucked the blue and green stone stone into his pocket, and after a moment, nodded and announced it had warmed when the shield activated.

“So, if you see or hear anything,” Leif said as Sieg flipped the stone back over and the shield vanished again, “Flip that over. But hopefully we’ll find him first.”

Forgotten but Not Gone: Part Seven

SPOILER: Click to show

After they made sure Sieg was as comfortable as they could make him for the time being, the two elves, the archmage, and the ghost started out into the ruins. The ghost’s care to stay lower than the walls so he was out of sight now made an uncomfortable amount of sense.

As they continued to trek, Anri fell into step alongside Leif, quirking an eyebrow. “I suppose your outdated runes make a touch more sense now. If they were cast by an elf who’s been isolated in a ruined city for a century or more.”

Lief nodded. “He’d have missed the move from loops to webs for certain. I guess that should have occurred to me - considering this is an ancient elf city, I came here with two elves - one of whom is a mage himself - but...I wouldn’t have thought an elf would kidnap Sieg.” Crossing his arms, he said, “He’s mentioned there are elves who don’t like him - but I’d never gotten the implication they would try to do him any physical harm. Especially considering the natural aversion to violence, like you mentioned earlier.”

“The only elves to ever physically hurt him have been his squadmates in sparring practice,” Anri confirmed. “Others have insulted him certainly, in varying degrees of passive-aggressiveness, but but nobody has hurt him.” She ran an agitated hand through her hair. “I would hypothesize that his isolation has left this one mentally unstable, but if he was already murdering children a hundred years ago, that puts things in a very confusing light.”

Leif nodded in agreement. “Well, our guide says he was here before...before they ran into each other. He must have been here long enough to lose his grip before then - and Gavin’s been living in Nid’aigle for a long time, right? He could have met him almost that far back, it would just be a matter of remembering who he was over all that time.” Frowning with confusion, though, Leif asked, “Would isolation alone be enough to make him lose that aversion to violence? I’m not an expert on anything to do with people, really, and even less on elves specifically - but I would think for instincts like that to break, you’d either have to be trying, or feel threatened long enough that you snap.”

“Mm. Usually it either comes about because of something traumatic- and even then it’s a temporary loss of control that is severely regretted later- or, as I mentioned before, it’s something that has to be worked at,” she glanced towards Gavin, quickly translating the conversation so far far for his sake, and he winced a little.

“Elvish knights,” he said softly, “are considered mentally damaged by the standards of our kind. Because we have lost that aversion to fighting. Which is certainly not to say we enjoy violence but it does not horrify and repulse us in the same way as our brethren, not anymore. Though the first few times we kill in battle are generally extremely disquieting. Something has to break there, and it is not a painless process.”

Leif nodded slightly. “That makes sense. ...I know it’s not the same thing, maybe very far-off, but...I was there during the Bloody Coronation, and that was the first real fight I’d been in - I was trying not to kill as much as possible, but…” A memory flashed in his mind’s eye - a Courdonian soldier falling from their gryphon, after a cutting spell from Leif’s wand had sliced through the saddle straps. “It took a while to get to that particular piece of it, but...well, if it’s like that without the instincts against it that elves have, I imagine it must be painful when you do have them.”

He glanced between Anri and Gavin, though, and added, “But there’s a difference between killing on a battlefield and killing random interlopers. You two are perfectly in control, and I’ve never heard anything about an elf knight acting like this. Is…is that a thing that happens? A knight breaks, but breaks too far?”

“Very rarely, a long time ago,” Anri admitted. “But since I’ve become commander I’ve taken steps to try and prevent that. To be a knight, an elf first has to go through a long series of temperament tests to determine if they are of a stable mind and strong fortitude enough to hold against the strain of combat. If I may be permitted a moment of frankness? For all our centuries of experience in combat, of all the Nid’aigle knights Sieg has and always will have more raw talent and good instinct for fighting than any of the rest of us. It’s his human blood- specifically, his human psyche. He takes strongly after his mother mentally, far more human than elf,” she tapped a finger against her forehead, “up here. It was always a point of pride for his father, who was very, very gentle in nature and never would have passed those temperament tests if he had become a knight much later.”

Again, Leif nodded, not entirely sure how to feel about the idea of humans being naturally better at fighting by species alone - but he supposed the ‘Woo had designed them for different things, and anyway, it wasn’t much-related to the point at hand. “Sieg’s mother always implies his father was very peaceable.” He added with a slight smirk, “And I certainly wouldn’t want to make her angry - not that she’d be violent, but the tongue-lashing would do the job just as well, I’m sure.”

Gavin sniggered. “Morgaine is a force to be reckoned with, of that there can be no question. Remember when you first met her Anri?”

The elf woman quirked an eyebrow, her lips ticking upward slightly. “How could I forget? That was easily the biggest Courdonian slave raid we’ve had to endure since I took command of the company.” To Leif she added, “Sieg’s mother, all of eighteen, walked three hours from the nearest human village to Nid’aigle, on a sprained ankle, to warn us of a Courdonian raid on the village and beg for our help. Then afterward she helped to tend the wounded, even though the sight of the battle’s aftermath made her physically sick.”

“That sounds about right,” Leif agreed. “She climbed all the way up to Raven’s Keep the day after she was attacked by a thief and probably almost bled out from it. And, ah...she’d just lost her sight in one eye.” The archmage’s expression shifted to a mix of anger and slight guilt. The later assassination of the thief had been a surprise, but not one Leif was terribly sorry had happened. He was sorry he hadn’t been able to fix all the knife-wielder’s damage, even if Morgaine had told him a thousand times that she didn’t hold it against him.

“In light of that, is it really any surprise Sieg wanted to haul off after our mystery elf in spite of his condition?” Gavin put in. “He certainly gets his streak of rash stubbornness honestly.”

“He’s definitely his mother’s son,” Leif agreed. “For all my yelling, I can’t say I was surprised; he’s been trying to fight through injuries literally since I met him.”

“I’m just glad he’s stopped refusing to be healed,” Anri said, her mouth curling down. “He was going to kill himself that way- almost did several times, we’ve had to force healing on him while he was unconscious and couldn’t object just to keep him alive.”

Gavin flapped a hand. “At least that seems to be behind-”

Ahead of them, the ghost abruptly whirled around, putting a finger to his lips with clear agitation. Even as he lowered his hand, he looked around nervously, biting his lip. Anri and Gavin instantly drew their swords, the transition from relaxed to alert and battle-ready so fast as to be jarring if you weren’t ready for it. Leif trailed just behind them in drawing his wand.

“Is he nearby?” Anri hissed.

Nervously, the boy shrugged and pointed to a cluster of broken buildings several yards away. He followed this with the gesture for the elf they were trying to find, and then mimed sleeping and eating.

“I’m guessing that’s where he lives,” Gavin murmured. He glanced towards Leif, “Be wary- if your protective enchantments weren’t working properly for his glamours, they may also be faulty against other spells in his arsenal.”

“Right,” Leif said, grimacing. Protective spells were very much an evolving, competitive thing, and he could see very old spells potentially no longer being accounted for. “Well, shields should hold solid, at least. Is your armor spelled?”

“Against basic stunners and paralyzers,” Anri replied. Pointing to a small blue stone on her belt she added, “this will release a one-use shield spell when activated by a vocal command. And each of us has a dagger spelled to pierce magic defenses.”

“Good,” Leif said. “I’ll try to give you extra cover or help when I can; hopefully that should be a lot, he should be more focused on the knights closer to him than the mage farther away.”

“Gavin will take point- if the elf knows him, it might get him to hesitate for a minute,” Anri said firmly. “Now let’s go.”

Gavin did indeed set about leading the way, right behind the ghost child, who had faded to near transparency as they came closer to the insane elf’s hideout. Finally, he pointed to a particular building, and when the three living beings started toward it, the ghost vanished completely.

They approached the house carefully, moving as quietly as possible, until they were right up against the largest standing wall, waiting and listening. Finally, a signal was given and the three came around the corner, weapons at the ready -

The shack was empty of any elves. Just a low table in the corner, a coil of rope, and a small, dirty, frayed satchel. Leif frowned, lowering his wand slightly. “He must still be out looking for - “

The archmage caught a flicker of light out of the very corner of his eye, and felt heat approaching his back - just before a blast of pain that felt like a hammerblow hit his spine. Leif staggered forward, hard, with a shout of pain and almost hit the ground - the spell’s strike flashed jade light from where it had hit and momentarily tinted everything nauseatingly green.

“Leif!” Gavin snapped, he and Anri whirling in unison.

“I’m - I’m okay,” Leif managed, forcing himself back to his feet. Had that been a stunning spell? Stupefy always felt like a punch but never a punch that strong - his protective spells really were weakened here...

Leif turned, wand raised, to the buildings behind them. Even at a glance there were a lot of places for someone to hide. How do we flush him out?

A flicker of green came from behind a stone wall, diagonal from them and down the street. Leif started to cast a shield, expecting another strike like the first - and had to cut himself off mid-incantation. “Prote- Sectwoosempra!” Leif’s slicing spell hit the coil of jade light shooting for Anri; the magical rope jerked back as if smacked, then split apart into jagged fragments that quickly vanished.

Anri hissed in surprise, but snapped something in Elvish that must have been an order- Gavin darted around Leif, heading off to the right, while she did the same on the left, calling over her shoulder, “Stay back and find cover!”

Leif nodded and edged back into the elf’s bunker - it didn’t seem like a very defensible spot from this angle, not unless he crouched down lower than he could flexibly cast spells. Okay - what’s he likely to attack with next? Knights coming toward him, he’s going to want to deal with that - but their armor’s spell-resistant - would he know that, or -

Three long, sharp wood shards from one of the destroyed houses rose into the air. Leif caught a glimpse of a person - an elf - peering briefly over the wall - and then each plank shot toward one of the elf’s attackers. Leif managed to hit the one coming for him with a force spell that shattered it, while Anri ducked into a forward roll to dodge the one coming in her direction. Gavin sidestepped the makeshift shrapnel, slashing at it with his sword to sheer the wood in half before he continued forwards. The male elf cried out, “Vous êtes en état d'arrestation! Jetez vos armes et sortez, ou nous serons contraints d'utiliser la force!”

There was no reply from the elf. Leif doubted that was a good thing. He decided to try an old favorite, and found a hole in the wall above where he guessed the elf’s head would be. The spell he fired darted from his wand and seemed to vanish, but then reappeared seconds later in the form of green light and loud pops and bangs bursting through the hole from the opposite side of the wall.

Their enemy finally put himself into their sight, swinging momentarily around the corner. As Sieg had said, he was a brown-haired elf - his eyes might have been green but Leif couldn’t see them well-enough to tell their color, just that they were angry. Sieg had not mentioned that the elf was wearing armor. It wasn’t a complete set, his helmet was missing, but he did have a cuirass, shoulderpads, and some basic covering on his arms and legs. It was all tarnished, rougher in shape than Anri and Gavin’s protective garments, and clearly came from different sets of equipment.

That was about all Leif got to see of the elf before he flung out his arm and sent a wide, arced blade of light in Leif’s direction. The archmage cursed and ducked; the spell hit the wall behind him with a loud thock, swiftly covered by the cracking and splintering of the wood as part of the wall snapped off and fell away.

Gavin spoke again, but this time it was not anger or aggression in his voice, but shock- and recognition.

***

The first lieutenant of the Nid’aigle company stared in open astonishment, his yellow eyes gone wide behind the visor of his helm.

“Bastien?” he cried. “Gods, man, you’re still alive?”

After a moment, the elf sneered back, “Gavin Monfort. Your halfbreed squire mentioned you. Yes, I’m alive, despite everyone’s efforts to the contrary!”

Anri, still crouched from her earlier forward roll, looked sharply towards Gavin. “Who is this- you do know him then?”

“From over a hundred years ago, yes,” Gavin confirmed. “You wouldn’t remember, you were still just the captain of the seventh squad back then.” He slowly lowered the point of his sword. “Bastien Fortier. Sir Bastien Fortier. He used to be a knight in the Nid’aigle company, but he disappeared during a combat action during the Courdonian-Kythian War in the early 1200s. We presumed him taken captive or killed by the Courdonians.”

“You think the humans would be so generous as to just kill me, when they could get my lifetime of labor and showing me off like some precious living artifact? I thought you of all people understood what they’re like! Though I suppose I should thank you - they knew not to bother with magesbane and just dragged me there under paralysis instead. Such a wonderful trip - barely fed, barely watered, the nice smell of the burns from our brands.” Even though Bastien’s words were clearly sarcastic, the elf’s tone was purely enraged. “Oh, and the complete lack of a rescue - not so much as a dot of an elf at the horizon. Certainly no humans, even though I could swear they claimed to need all that land to sprawl themselves across - funny how much of it was empty!”

“Bas,” Gavin said, his voice strangled, “It was a war- you were far from the only person to vanish without a trace, human or elf. We didn't have the resources to track down all of those who were taken. It gutted me- it did. But our duty was to protect the border, and by extension the city of Nid’aigle beyond it. Citronelle fell during that war, not long after you were taken- Nid’aigle was and is literally all we have left.”

“I know Citronelle fell! I know other Nid’aigle elves were taken! You don’t think I checked when I finally got close enough?” Bastien snorted with contempt, and demanded, “What are you doing here, Monfort? Looking for your halfbreed?”

“You’re ill, Bas,” Gavin replied, holding up a hand placatingly. “I know you’re suffering from the shaking fever. Surrender quietly, and we can take you home. Get you medicine.”

Snorting, Bastien said, "So you did find him. But. no - I’ll not be surrendering. After all, whose prison would they keep me the rest of my life? Nid’aigle’s,’ so I can be surrounded by the Jades’ sycophants? Or would the Jades will want me? I’m sure I’d be entertaining to gawk at.” Bastien’s voice went cold. “I will not be a captive again, Monfort.”

Anri stood, bracing with her sword drawn. “You can come quietly, or we can do this the hard way. The treaty with the Jades is what keeps our people from being wiped out entirely. That you stand in defiance of it by abducting knights and committing murder- the human stories of people vanishing into these ruins are no coincidence I’m sure- is not something we can ignore.”

Gavin lifted the visor on his helm so that his face was visible. “You have suffered, Bastien. And for that I am deeply sorry. But I stand as evidence- suffering does not justify the actions you have taken. This is your last chance. Recant this path of violence. You know that it is not the Elvish way.”

“Fighting is the Elvish knight’s way. I will not be put in chains by you, your overseer back there, or your hybrid!” Bastien practically snarled his last words, and before the echo had quite died, Bastien whipped halfway around the corner again, a large and levitating stone swooping out from his hiding place along with him; Bastien flicked his wrist and the stone flew toward Gavin.

The elf backpedaled a step, caught off guard, but fortunately a green dome of light intercepted the rock before it made impact. Gritting his teeth, Gavin called, “Anri, I’ll engage, back me up- Bastien's very old and wily. Have Leif keep covering me from his magic.”

Anri nodded, repeating the instructions to Leif in Kythian.

“Understood!” Leif called back.

Bastien had backed into hiding again. A bit of his shadow was visible on the ground beside him, enough to see he was holding his wand. Gavin pulled his helm back over his face, his jaw clenched with regret. Then, sweeping low, he scooped up a handful of mud from the still falling drizzle and lunged forwards, hurling it in Bastien’s direction as he rounded the corner.

Bastien’s wand spat green light harmlessly into the air as he jerked back from the mud. A shield appeared over the elves’ heads for a brief moment before the light of Bastien’s spell faded without any effect.

With an angry growl, Bastien darted darted back, wiping the mud from his face with his left arm. His wand was in that hand - with his right, he’d been reaching for the handle of a warhammer propped against the wall behind him. Unlike Bastien’s armor, the warhammer was of clearly-modern smithing. Though it was too far away for Gavin to see if the Nid’aigle seal was stamped into the side of the metal head, he could still guess that it was probably Sieg’s weapon- the one he’d used to slay the wyvern, but hadn’t had on his person when they found him earlier.

With Gavin right in front of him, however, Bastien quickly changed tactics; he cast a small shield to deflect Gavin’s attack as he drew his sword - or more likely, a stolen sword, as it looked much sturdier than the rest of his weaponry. Gavin shifted his grip on his own weapon so that he was holding it in both hands, slowly circling. He had to drive Bastien out of his hiding place and into the open where Anri and Leif would be able to join the fray and restrain the mad elf.

The lieutenant darted forwards, swinging his sword in a downward arc towards Bastien’s legs. Without much room to back up, Bastien was forced to scamper sideways. He took advantage of the lieutenant’s forward momentum and downward stroke to swing at the blond elf’s arm, a blow which landed with a painfully hard CLANG but fortunately didn’t do more than leave a slight scratch in Gavin’s armor. The blond spun, arcing his sword back up towards Bastien’s unarmored head.

Bastien brought his sword forward and managed to wrap a few fingers of his wand hand around the sword’s hilt to try and block Gavin’s strike - however, his awkward grip meant he couldn’t quite hold the blade back, just deflect it to one of his spaulders. The metal practically squawked and Bastien snarled as it jostled his wand arm hard. He shoved his blade into the path of Gavin’s to force it back, and Gavin skipped backwards to put some space between the two again.

“I’m impressed you even found that much armor that fit,” he remarked, panting a little. “Or was in any condition to use.”

His breath short, too, Bastien retorted, “I suppose the gods finally thought I deserved something.” The brown-haired elf darted forward, sword raised for a high, wide slash - but at the last moment, he drew back, pointed his wand at the ground, and snapped an incantation that set smoke gushing from the wandtip. Gavin backpedaled, bringing up a hand to protect his face from the smoke, but the helm kept him from being able to fully shield his mouth and nose. Knowing that vision would be useless while he couldn’t see, instead the blond elf closed his eyes, listening for any signs of movement over the patter of the rain.

Bastien was moving quietly, if at all, evidently familiar with creeping along the broken wooden panels and stones of the ruined houses. The rain, however, was already puddling, and through the smoke there was no way for Bastien to avoid doing more than keeping the sound of his steps in puddles to light splashes and sloshes of water. The sounds crept closer and closer toward the wall where Basien had left the stolen warhammer.

Gavin knew that if Bastien got a hold of the heavy weapon, it would mean serious trouble. The weight of the warhammer would crush bones regardless of armor, and the spike on its back side could pierce through layers of metal with no issue.

Tightening his grip on his sword, Gavin made a dash towards Bastien again- but at the last minute he swung his sword not at the other elf, but at where he’d seen the hammer propped against the wall, sending the hammer skittering through the rain puddles.

An enraged shout answered the metallic, staccato clatters of the hammer skittering into the smoke. Bastien’s footsteps darted closer; by the time the two elves could see each other’s shapes through the smoke, it was too late for Bastien to dodge Gavin’s elbow as the blond elf used the rest of his swing to propel a harsh pummeling to Bastien’s gut.

The best the renegade elf could do was attempt to roll with the bow, flinching back into the smoke cloud as he made a choked gasp of pain. He raised his wand, but the incantation was lost in a very sudden, very strong gust of wind that pushed the smoke away. Bastien’s eyes flicked briefly in the direction of his dwelling, and Leif’s hiding place; with a snarl, he flicked his wand again and dropped the small shield he had conjured.

In place of the shield, Bastien swung his wand-arm wide, like he was making an underhanded throw toward Gavin - green light flared into the ground and a trench tore forward through the earth, sending a line of wood shrapnel and chunks of stone flying upward and forward. Gavin stumbled backwards, but with no time to move out of the way he could only bring up his arms defensively over his face as the debris slammed into his armor. Though most of it pinged off harmlessly, there was sufficient force behind it to knock the elf off his feet so that he tumbled to the ground on his back.

Bastien let out a growl of breath and came to a halt, raising his wand and gasping an incantation that drew several thick vines up from the ground - Bastien flicked his wand and they went for Gavin’s wrists and ankles.

Gavin rolled away as quickly as he could, swearing under his breath as one of the vines managed to catch his sword arm. He drew his dagger, hacking through the plant, even as the chestnut-haired elf rushed for his opponent. Bastien slammed the pommel of his sword into Gavin’s helm. Gavin yelped, his helm ringing from the impact, and instinctively swung his dagger towards Bastien’s unarmored face.

Bastien recoiled with a yelp of pain as the blade sliced a cut right along one of his high cheekbones and across his ear. His expression was positively murderous for a second before he managed to get it under control again as he glared at Gavin and lowered his wand-hand from his bleeding cheek. Gavin took advantage of the distraction to slice through the vine pinning his sword arm, plunging the larger weapon into the mud to balance himself as he kicked out with his feet- clearly meaning to knock Bastien to the ground.

The disadvantage of borrowed armor became quite apparent as Gavin’s armored boot found a gap in Bastien’s ill-fitting greaves. The brown-haired elf staggered down, managing just barely to catch himself with his wand hand and not quite slam to the ground. He lashed out with his sword, a swift, defensive swipe that made an unpleasant squealing as the blade slid along Gavin’s armor. The blond elf kicked backwards away from Bastien, struggling to his feet once he’d put enough space between them. One of the leather straps on his cuirass was shredded, making the chest armor hang dangerously loose. Gavin’s head was still pounding from the earlier blow, and he knew he had to get Bastien into the open where Anri could help, or stop the fight himself, very quickly.

As Bastien tried to get to his feet, his leg shaking a little, Gavin turned his sword so that the pommel was facing towards the brown haired elf and brought it down hard towards the shoulder of his wand arm.

Bastien hit the ground side-first with a hard whumph. Part of the pauldron on his shoulder cracked and fell, dangling uselessly. The mage tried to thrust his sword upward to hit Gavin in the gut, but his aim was unsteady and the edge of the sword once again glanced off of the blond’s armor. Dropping his dagger, Gavin grabbed Bastien’s sword arm and wrenched it, twisting the deranged elf around so that he was dangling half-off the ground in an awkward armlock.

Snarling, Bastien tried to wrench himself free, mostly scrabbling for purchase at the awkward angle. He started to lift his arm to bring his wand around, but something - either the broken armor or an injury - stopped him from being able to raise it all the way. Bastien stretched the other way instead and fired a stinging hex at the edges of one of Gavin’s greaves; Gavin yelped as the fiery pins-and-needles feeling flared up in his leg, almost making him lose his balance.

Gritting his teeth against the searing that was making his leg twitch and spasm, Gavin adjusted his grip on his sword and brought the pommel down just behind Bastien’s ear. The blow didn’t strike the temple- not quite, but it was still sufficient that Bastien’s knees buckled and he might have hit the ground in a daze if not for Gavin’s grip on his sword-arm.

Gavin readjusted his hold, hauling the stunned elf out into the open. Anri visibly relaxed when she saw her lieutenant emerge.

“I guess you didn’t need backup after all,” she remarked, sheathing her sword. Gavin shrugged ruefully.

“He didn’t afford me the opening to utilize that backup- I had to improvise.”

“Is he…?”

“Dead? No, of course not,” Gavin shook his head. “He’s not even completely unconscious, just stunned- still has his weapons in a death grip. We should tie him up, though, and get them off him.” To the rousing elf, Gavin added, “I’m deeply, deeply sorry for what you had to go through, Bas. You and I have not always seen eye to eye but I like to think you were a friend to me once. I can’t save you from your own mistakes, but maybe with time the wounds to your heart may be healed.” Bastien shook his head, slowly curling in on himself.

Gavin watched as Anri turned towards the building where Leif had hidden, presumably to get some ropes out of her satchel.

And that was when Bastien yanked the knife from his boot, and slipped the blade around Gavin’s loose, hanging cuirass and deep into his side.

Forgotten but Not Gone: Part Eight
(Warning for mention of a stab wound and removing the knife; nothing graphic but it's mentioned)

SPOILER: Click to show

Gavin screamed in pain, losing his grip on Bastien’s arm and stumbling backwards as blood spurted from his torso. Anri whipped around, crying out her lieutenant’s name in alarm, and Leif darted out of hiding at the panicked sounds and froze for a second in horror. Bastien was staggering to his feet, but quickly picking up speed; Leif drew back his arm and thrust it forward again with the accompanying spell for lightning almost before thinking about it. As Leif hurried toward Gavin, he saw a flick of green and then, a few seconds later, heard a metallic scraping - but Bastien was out of sight when he glanced up.

Gavin fell to his knees, hands clutched to his side where the dagger was still embedded. Blood was saturating the armor of his leg and hip, and as he wrenched off his helm his face had taken on a delicately green tinge. In heavily accented Kythian he wheezed, “Le-eif… help…” His voice was high and shaky with pain.

Leif dropped to his knees next to Gavin, trying to reassure him despite the fact that Gavin couldn’t be getting all of Leif’s meaning between the Kythian and the pain. “Hold on, it’s okay - I’ll get this out, heal everything up, it’ll be all right - “

Though Anri seemed to be deliberating on chasing after Bastien, she shook off the impulse and instead strode towards her lieutenant. She gritted her teeth as she kneeled beside him, hissing, “Of all the loathsome, underhanded…”

“He’s going to pay for that,” Leif agreed, his free hand hovering near Gavin’s side. His years at Our Woo of Charity had helped him learn to deal with grisly sights light this, but his stomach convulsed with fear and anger and panicked impatience to do something -

Speaking quickly, he glanced up at Anri and asked, “Commander - can you translate for me? I need to take the knife out - I know it’s against field aid but I can heal anything I nick right away, and I can’t heal with it there!”

Anri nodded curtly, relaying this to Gavin. He muttered something back which prompted the elf commander to say, “He wants to know if you have anything like a glove or a kerchief- something he can stick in his mouth so he doesn’t bite his tongue.”

“Oh - uh -” Leif reached into his satchel and rummaged a few cloths free. He held them out to Anri. “You know how thick to roll this, I’m guessing?”

“Aye,” she agreed, rolling the cloths into a tight cylinder and offering them to Gavin. The male elf was shaking badly now, and promptly stuffed the cloth bundle between his teeth before giving Leif a sharp pained nod.

It had been a long while since Leif had done this, and even then, he hadn’t ever done it on an actual patient. When they got stab wounds in the church, someone else pulled the blade, and Leif stood by ready to cast healing spells, since he had never seemed to get pulled no matter how much magic had to be poured into a wound. Well, that part hasn’t changed.

Leif temporarily swapped his wand into his left hand and said to Anri, “Tell him I’m about to pull - I’ll count down from three.” He waited for the translation to be given, then carefully wrapped his right hand around the knife hilt. “All right - Three - two - one.”

As gently as he could, Leif started to pull the knife out of the wound. He tried to keep the motion as smooth as possible, but knew it was going to hurt anyway; and to all appearances hurt it did. Gavin bit down hard on the cloth bundle, voicing involuntary screams of agony only slightly muffled by the rags. He clenched his fists, his entire body rigid as he fought the impulse to jerk away from Leif’s hand. “I know, I know,” Leif murmured in as reassuring a tone as he could manage while keeping his focus on the knife. “I know, I’m sorry.” The crimson blood poured from the wound faster as the dagger came free.

“There! There, it’s gone, Gavin!“ Leif threw the dagger aside like it was hot to the touch. He took his wand back into his dominant hand and pointed it close to the wound. “Vulnera Sanwooter!” Ribbons of jade-green light poured from his wand and into the wound like a counter to the blood pouring out; the light disappeared quickly as the healing spell went to work on the deepest damage wrought by the knife.

“This is going to take a few passes, and a little time,” Leif warned, his eyes fixated on the magic as he carefully guided his wand around the stab wound to ensure the spell’s effects were spread evenly. “If you can try to keep him calm, Commander - lower his heart rate, specifically - that’ll slow the bleeding a bit and obviously that’s a good thing.”

Anri nodded, addressing Gavin again in Elvish. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, and after a moment he spat out the cloths from his mouth and muttered mournfully, “Je suis un imbécile.”

Leif caught just enough to figure Gavin was calling someone names. “Bastien?” he guessed. “...Or me? I’d understand some heavy cursing my way about now.”

“Neither,” Anri said, her brow knit with concern. “He was referring to himself. ‘I’m an imbecile.’”

Leif glanced up from his healing for a moment. “What? No he’s not - he thought Bastien was stunned! And where did he even pull that knife from? I didn’t see him holding one, or even one on his belt. And I don’t understand why he didn’t just surrender; he knows I’m a mage, I can heal this - all he’s getting now is a little extra time to run. We’re going to catch right up to him again!”

Anri sighed. “Gavin thinks he’s a fool for attempting to spare Bastien’s life. You didn’t hear our conversation earlier since we were speaking Elvish, but… he used to be a Nid’aigle knight. A long time ago. He was captured by Courdonians during the Kythian-Coudonian war in the early 1200s, and from what I gather they tortured him into his present insanity.”

Gavin gave a pained coughed, and through Anri he added, “He was always unstable. Damaged from the conditioning process that we elf knights have to endure to overcome our instincts against violence. But he wasn’t like… like this.” The elf’s shoulders slumped. “I should have realized he would do anything in his power to avoid being taken prisoner again. I just… he was my comrade. Once, a long time ago, I counted him a friend.”

Leif considered this, casting another Vulnera Sanwootur in the meantime to speed the healing process again. “Well...that’s the difference between the two of you. Er - the sparing, specifically, I mean. Giving him a chance to surrender. Markus says it’s what knights ought to do when they can. ...Just, now we know we can’t trust him to take that opportunity.”

The archmage sighed. “If Courdon got him, though...it’s not surprising he went completely unhinged. The way they treat elves…and he’s a mage; they probably had him under magic-suppression devices, or...they might’ve tried to condition him. Obviously they didn’t finish it if they did start, but…” Leif’s scowl managed somehow to deepen. “The way they do it these days is barbaric - it was probably even worse a hundred years ago. Not that it excuses this,” Leif added, gesturing to Gavin’s bleeding side, “or what he did to Sieg, or the - the ghost…” Whom, Leif suddenly realized, hadn’t shown up in a while.

Anri rubbed her face, relaying Leif’s words for Gavin. The male elf bit his lip, his yellow eyes darkening. “Conditioning- I didn’t even think of that. Gods, if he was put through that, even only partially, no wonder he would react so badly to being taken captive.” The elf hissed softly.

“This is why I don’t let just anyone who wants become a knight anymore,” Anri said emphatically. “The psychological damage is too intense and the training that we receive too deadly to be inflicted upon someone who doesn’t have the constitution to hold to their sanity.”

Leif nodded slowly. “It’s bad when a human knight goes rogue - an elven knight, with hundreds, maybe a thousand years of experience...I guess we’re lucky he hid himself away all these years instead of going on the offensive.” It didn’t feel especially lucky.

Hesitantly, Leif asked, “That’s...that’s not something you two have to worry about, is it? Being too broken by knighthood to hold onto your rationality? I’m not expecting either of you to snap or anything,” he added quickly, “just…” He was tempted to compare it to his overload, except that he wasn’t sure it was accurate enough, or that Anri knew about it. Finally, he finished, “Is that something you have to always work against?”

Anri folded her arms. “War and battle is a tremendous stress on anyone, man or elf. I’m not going to lie to you, Master Jade- we who walk the warrior path are always flirting with that one experience that might snap our resolve. Not everyone breaks in the same way- some might simply withdraw into themselves and shut out the outside world, some might turn their pain outward as Bastien seems to have, others might outright kill themselves just to end the pain. But anyone who tries to tell you nothing can ever break them is either heavily delusional or a liar. Any knight may be broken.”

“We avoid that fate by finding ways to cope,” Gavin put in. “Things which remind us that for all the horror we have to witness, there is more to the world than death and pain and bloodshed. Things that remind us why, for all that it is unpleasant, we ride into combat and soak our hands in blood time and again.” Grinning crookedly, he said, “Things like the love of a fiery, wisecracking human woman and your half-elf, half-human children.”

Leif managed a small laugh and glanced up at Gavin to return the slightly strained smile. “Well, that would certainly explain Sieg’s father keeping his head; family can be good for that.” He wondered if Bastien had any family, but guessed not - after escaping Courdon, wouldn’t he have wanted to go back to them, not hide out in a ruined city?

With a glance at Anri before looking back to his healing spell, Leif added, “I’m sorry it’s like that for you - that’s...it’s a big sacrifice to make, to keep people safe. ...And I’m sorry if I’m prying into things I shouldn’t be - these are sort of personal questions, it’s fair to tell me I’m crossing a line.” He wasn’t entirely sure the Commander wasn’t already annoyed with him for doing just that; he hoped not, and her sternness could easily just be her natural state - she had been fairly stern when they’d all been dealing with the skinwalker in Nid’aigle, after all. But considering Leif had difficulty reading people at the best of times, he couldn’t help but worry that he might already have worn out the Commander’s patience.

The elf woman, however, only shook her head. “It’s alright. I am not going to try and shy away from these truths even if they are unpleasant. It’s a thing that I as a commander have to be aware of- morale is of equally as much import in combat as the temper of one’s weapon or the skill they wield. Part of my duty is to care for my men and ensure that they do not fall to despair and instability in this way. I was not yet in command when Bastien was lost, but if he was once a knight of Nid’aigle I have a duty where he is concerned regardless- a duty to ensure that our failure does not endanger the people of Kyth.”

Leif nodded grimly. “He needs to be stopped.” Wordlessly, he cast the Terwoogeo spell to clear away the blood from Gavin’s stab wound; though the blood that rose to the surface didn’t flood quite as fast or thick as it had initially, Leif muttered another “Vulnera Sanwootur!” and guided a third outpouring of healing energy around the wound. “You’ll probably want to have a little blood-replenishing potion, Gavin, just to be safe. Is it feeling better? Any pain deeper than where the magic’s working now?”

“The pain is much less now,” the male elf replied. “We shouldn’t tarry too much longer, though- we have to catch up to Bastien before he goes too far. He knows these ruins far better than we do, and there’s no telling where he’ll hide.”

Anri glanced around, adding, “And I don’t know if we can rely on our guide to help us again. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s gotten spooked off entirely.”

“Probably,” Leif agreed. “I thought he meant that he’d just turn invisible, but...he was scared of Bastien.” And a child, even a hundred-year-old child, might not quite realize they were invulnerable to harm from the living. “He found us before; maybe he’ll find us again later?”

He pulled his wand back from Gavin’s wound, and this time, no blood flowed out. Only a very small, light cut remained where the knife had been plunged. “If the pain doesn’t go away entirely soon, let me know,” Leif said as he reached into his satchel for the blood-replenishing potion. “Should be just a spoonful or so of this, and then we can be on our way.”

***

With Gavin having been treated, the trio once again set off into the ruins in pursuit of the renegade elf. Gavin had removed his faulty cuirass altogether, explaining that it was chafing what was left of his wound and he didn’t want Leif to waste still more magic trying to repair the thing. The elf seemed mostly fine, though when the group had to scramble over a particularly steep or dense section of rubble he visibly winced.

For scramble they did- Bastien was clearly using his knowledge of the ruins to his full advantage, leading his pursuers on wild goose chase in circles about the abandoned structures. Minutes ticked by and still they didn’t find him, once or twice losing the trail completely. In frustration, Leif suggested conjuring a scent-hound construct, but he retracted the idea almost immediately, admitting that it would be magically draining and tracking scents in the rain was largely an exercise in pointlessness, anyway.

But it was remarkable how quickly Leif’s disgruntled irritation was consumed entirely by fear when he felt something warming in his pocket. The archmage froze, sure for just a moment that it must be his imagination, but then sense kicked in and he scrambled in his pocket for the stone, cursing heatedly. Anri and Gavin whirled, the male elf hissing and clutching at his side as the sudden movement pulled on his injury.

“What’s wrong?” Anri demanded, her eyes flicking momentarily to Gavin but her attention fixing on Leif. “What happened?”

“The stone - the one I tied to Sieg’s shield!” Leif finally yanked the stone from his pocket. The heat was less palpable through his gloves but still noticeably warm. “He’s using the shield - maybe Bastien circled around and found him, or - “ Leif stuffed the stone back in his pocket. “We need to go back!”

Anri hissed with anger, turning to Gavin and snapping an explanation in Elvish. Her attention on Leif again she said, “Let’s hurry- I came here to rescue Sir Braham, I will not have him become a hostage or worse a second time.”

“Over my dead body,” Leif agreed, turning and starting back the way they’d come.

Forgotten but Not Gone: Part Nine

SPOILER: Click to show

The knights and the archmage made much better time getting back to slightly more familiar pathways, even managing to find two shortcuts now that they had a slightly better idea of the layout of parts of the ruined city. Leif still felt like it had been too long when he started recognizing the some of the collapsed, root-wrapped buildings as being close to the little nook where they had left Sieg.

Anri grabbed Leif’s shoulder before he could barrel down towards the building in question, hissing, “Wait- he’s had plenty of time by this point to set a trap. We need to be cautious.”

Leif twitched and jerked out of Anri’s grasp in surprise, but he did stop. He couldn’t keep himself from putting a hand to his shoulder and tugging a little at the fabric in an automatic attempt to pluck away the remnants of the Commander’s hand’s weight and tension as he admitted, “Right - you’re right. How should we go at this? I can look for runes, but that means light from my wand and from the runes…” He glanced away from Anri and Gavin and down the path, like he might be able to see if Sieg was still all right if he just stared hard enough.

“How long was your shield set to last?” Anri demanded. “Is the stone still warm?”

“The stone’s still warm,” Leif confirmed. “It’s set to last a little over an hour - but he’s probably not waiting for it to go down, he’s probably going to try disenchanting it. It’ll take him a while,” the archmage added with a grim, distant pride; “I build complex shields. ...But the spellwork hasn’t changed as much as things like my protective spells. He might be able to figure it out eventually.”

Gavin bit his lip. “I doubt Sieg has been idle- he is not one to cower in anticipation of his fate. Still- he can only hold out so long in his state when the barrier fails. I would be more of a liability than a help in a fight hurt as I am. I can scout ahead and trigger and traps onto myself so you may proceed unimpeded.”

Leif frowned “But since you’re hurt, that means any trap that hits you is going to hit harder. ...I have protective spells, maybe I should scout ahead - the protections might not be working completely, but they should take the brunt of any magic he throws my way.”

“He knows you are a mage and will no doubt account for that,” Gavin retorted. “And he will be willing to be much more overtly aggressive with you because you are human- he’s already proved he can key his spells to tell the difference.”

“I - yes, that's true, but - just because he knows he should do something doesn't mean he knows what to do...” But Leif had to admit, that didn't mean Bastien wouldn’t try his hardest, nor that he wouldn't succeed. His spells were close to evading Leif’s protections already, and if Bastien was smart enough to realize the advanced magic was the problem...well, he had a very long history to draw on for even older, structurally-quirkier magic.

“Loathe though I am to strain my lieutenant further,” Anri said reluctantly, “I think he is right. Tactically we can afford for him to be unable to fight more than we can afford it for you- we need your backup against Bastien’s magic, and Sir Braham will be ill served if two of his rescuers are damaged in such a way that compromises them.”

Leif grimaced - he wasn’t used to and definitely didn't like thinking of people, friends, especially, in terms of who could be risked. But Anri was right about the magic, and about Sieg, and he didn’t have to like the logic to recognize that it made sense. “All right - but, maybe I can put some protections on Gavin first? Not the full suite, it would take too long, but...it would be better if Gavin got less injured from a trap, right?”

“Alright,” the elf commander agreed. “Just make it quick- there’s no telling how long Sieg has a this point.”

“Right.” Leif set to work, quickly, giving Gavin as basic a set of protections as he could manage, trying to style a few with broader triggers to try and catch more of the magic than his own more finely-tailored spells.

“All right,” he said a few minutes later, lowering his wand and cracking his knuckles. “That should give you some protection against magical attacks, glamours - if you feel a buzz or prickle, that’s what it’s sensing - and I added a charm for warding off fire and nullifying lightning. He’s probably not using lightning in any traps,” Leif tried to reassure Gavin, “but if he spots you, that’s...well, angry mages usually throw that, or sectwoosempra.”

Gavin nodded. “I’ll trigger any traps,” he said. “And once I have, you two come down after me. Focus on Bastien; take him down. We need to move fast.”

Without waiting for another word, the elf Lieutenant stood, and strode towards the slope that would bring them back to where Sieg was hidden. His sword was already drawn, and he held it up defensively as he began to scramble down the rocks and roots.

Leif watched anxiously as the elf eventually vanished from sight. So far, so good, but that didn’t mean trouble wasn’t just a step away. ...Unless Bastien hadn’t set trap; maybe he was in such a rush that he had gone after Sieg as soon as he found him? And how could the insane elf know where his opponents were and what direction they would come from, anyway? There probably weren’t any traps. Probably none at all.

Leif had only half-convinced himself of that when he heard a loud snap followed by several more, as if a tree was falling over and losing all its small branches - but the sounds following the snaps was of crunching stone, rolling boulders -

They had all noticed the terrain was treacherous in places. And of course, Bastien would have noticed, too.

Gavin gave a sharp cry of surprise as a seemingly solid pile of bricks, embedded deep in the earth below, gave way under his feet. The rain had turned solid dirt into mud, and once the chain reaction started there was no stopping it. Gavin desperately grabbed for the overhanging branch of a nearby tree, watching as below him the face of the slope fell away into a perfectly vertical, nearly ten foot drop. He kicked with his feet at the muck, trying to pull up on the branch to regain his balance. Then, he looked up and saw the wall of a nearby ruin sagging dangerously over the newly formed cliff, seconds before it gave way entirely with a tremendous groan.

Right on top of the elf.

Trapped between being crushed under hundreds of tons of stone and falling, Gavin took the later option, releasing his hold on the tree and falling straight down the sheer face of the slope. He hit the ground hard on his side, feeling the impact excruciatingly in his arm and chest and screeching with pain, even as he impulsively brought up his upper arm to shield his head and neck from the still falling debris of the crumbling wall. He felt smaller stones ping off of his armor, leaving dents in the metal, and after a few seconds there was a low rumble and the slope gave way yet again, half-burying the elf under a mound of mud and stone.

It was silent for a moment, but then came footsteps from the direction of Sieg’s hiding place. The steps did not, however, belong to Sieg. Instead it was Bastien who came into sight, wand raised, his face slightly smeared with blood, the broken pauldron gone from his shoulder. Upon finding Gavin trapped, the brown-haired elf lowered his wand slightly. His eyes darted around, but at last settled again on the pinned knight. “I should have done that from the beginning. So much for your mage.”

Gavin glowered up at Bastien, his yellow eyes bright with pain. The man’s right arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, and he suspected he had several ribs broken as well. Trying his best to keep his voice even in spite of the agony, he retorted, “Why are you so determined to get at Sieg? Show some mercy to Belial’s son, he has done nothing to you.”

Bastien blinked in surprise. “Belial’s - ah.” He snorted. “Of course. He’s always fancied the humans, hasn’t he? Well - going after his son is nothing personal. I’d just as soon never have met the half-breed.The only reason I took him...” Wiping sweat from his forehead, the elf continued, “was that I needed someone with elven blood to test these potions. If he’s locked himself away, however...” He looked Gavin and the rubble-pile over appraisingly.

“You can go to the ‘Pit,” Gavin snarled, for the first time a light of genuine fear kindling in his eyes. “I’ve already nearly been killed and had my magic permanently crippled by a foul reaction to potion ingredients, I would sooner die than live through that again.”

Bastien gave him a cold scowl. “Pity the knife didn’t finish you off, then. I assume your human patched it up against your will - the boy needs his bodyguards, of course. Or why would you have let an opponent get so close without killing him?” The elf’s voice had turned steadily into a more and more overt sneer as he went on, until his lip was curled and a scornful, hateful heat burned in his shimmering green eyes.

“It’s called mercy,” Gavin shot back. “Nobility, chivalry, honor. Basic decency. The things a knight is supposed to uphold. Things you used to understand.”

“And where did any of that get us, Gavin?! You and I both branded like cattle, our magics tampered with or stolen, our families gone, our cities gone, forced into alliance with the creatures who drove us near to extinction in the first place?” Bastien spat into the dirt, though it was clearly an effort for him to get up enough liquid to do so. “Well, maybe they have the right of it in one way - it’s every man, or elf, for himself!”

“You-”

The rest of whatever Gavin had been about to say was cut off by the sound of rapid footsteps in the mud. Bastien turned sharply towards the sound, to see Sieg making an zig-zagged but surprisingly fast dash towards him, the small knife he’d stolen gripped tightly in the half-elf’s fists.

“My master-” he snarled, “is not by himself!”

He brought the dagger in an upwards slash, aimed directly for Bastien’s throat. Bastien jerked back with a hiss, having to twist so far around to avoid the slash that he nearly lost his footing. The elf just barely managed to catch himself on a chunk of rubble, and pushed himself back to his feet, aiming his wand at Sieg’s hand and snapping the incantation for a force spell. As the light burst from his wand, he reached for the hilt of the sword he’d stolen from Sieg.

Sieg ducked sideways, evading the spell. “I’ll tell you what nobility and mercy and honor get you, you wretch. Friendship! Love! Loyalty! And people who are not willing to stand by and watch you get hurt!”

Sieg slashed the dagger towards Bastien’s face. The brown-haired elf managed to jerk his arm up in time for the slash to score the flesh there rather than across his face - while the half-elf’s arm was still close enough, however, he twisted his arm again, this time to knock Sieg’s arm up and then ram an elbow into his unarmored chest. Sieg gave a gasp of pain, stumbling backwards several steps and losing his footing in the mud so that he landed on his back. Sieg’s entire body was quivering with fatigue, and his amber eyes were dull with exhaustion, but when he glowered at Bastien it was with determination and defiance.

“Leif!” called a female voice from somewhere high above, “Now!”

“Woopulso!” snarled a male voice from a similar spot - a flash of green light shot toward Bastien, who lifted his bleeding arm to take the hit. A rope of green light wrapped around the limb, and Bastien had to dig in his heels to stay on his feet.

Bastien’s glare followed the glowing coil up to the top of the slope, where Anri and Leif were rising to their feet. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised!” he snarled, trying to twist away from the glowing coil as it attempted to wrap itself around his chest and pin his arms to his sides. “You let one man go at it alone. How shrewd, Commander. Or was it the boy’s idea?” He jerked his arm sharply against the rope, and snarled a cutting spell that nicked the last few inches of the magical restraint.

“You mistake me for someone who is easily rattled by petty guilt trips,” Anri retorted, her voice cool and her crimson eyes narrowed as she skipped and jumped down the hill towards him, nimble as a goat on a mountainside. “I don’t play those games- and you are the last person to pass judgements.”

“Leif is my friend,” Sieg added in a snarl, struggling to regain his footing in the slick mud and failing. “He’s saved countless lives, human and elf, you know nothing about him!”

Bastien’s eyes fixed on Anri as she made her way down the hillside, but as he jabbed his sword momentarily into the soft dirt beside him and reached into a pocket inside his cloak, the former knight took the time to sneer to Sieg, “And you have no idea how many elves had to die so he could have a position high enough to play hero, child.” He pulled a flask, full of a yellow liquid, from his cloak - the elf’s eyes darted between the others he was surrounded by, before flicking between Leif and Anri - and finally, he heaved his arm back, and threw it toward the top of the slope. With a snarl, he twisted around, wrenched his wand arm, and and managed to cast a spell in the same direction he’d thrown the potion.

Leif saw and heard the bottle hit the ground and shatter - but it wasn’t near enough that he was worried about being splashed by its contents. It was the spell coming up the slope that worried him, he braced for it and -

...Wind? He was confused for a split-second. Then he inhaled, and felt a horrible, burning, stabbing, suffocating grit flood his throat and lungs. Leif gagged, choked, finally managed a violent, painful cough that quickly spawned into more, a full coughing fit - he could hardly get enough air and every breath just sent the gritty things tossing and raging through his throat - it wasn’t like breathing dust, it was like breathing shrapnel and it was barely like breathing at all - he could hardly stop himself from coughing to even try getting air.

“Leif!” Sieg called, his amber eyes widening with horror. “Leif, what’s going on?”

Leif tried to answer, but couldn’t keep from coughing long enough to get a word out, let alone a shout. He looked around frantically - there there must be something causing this, something he could fix… His gaze landed on the broken potion bottle. The ground around it was dry; a little coil of yellow vapor rose into the air and vanished.

At the base of the slope, the jade-green glowing coil around Bastien’s arm flickered, and then vanished. The elf smiled thinly, snatching up his blade and pulling it into defensive position as he watched Anri. The elf commander barely glanced up at Leif, her jaw tightening as she finally reached the bottom of the slope.

“I suppose you have some potions that work already,” she hissed. “But I think you’re only using them because you’re at the end of your rope, Bastien Fortier. How long can you keep on fighting in your condition?”

Bastien’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve managed to down three of you so far.”

“I think you’ll find I’m rather a different sort of fighter than Lieutenant Monfort or Sir Braham,” Anri retorted. “I for one am-”

The elf commander suddenly shot forwards, her body bent low and her speed screaming defiance against the weight of her armor. She swung her sword with equal speed, and Bastien’s eyes visibly widened a little as he managed to block the attack, but only by retreating a few paces.

“-Not the sort to stand around idly waiting for the banter to be exhausted before attacking,” Anri finished. Her blade was straining against Bastien’s- an arming sword, a one-handed weapon in contrast to the two-handed broadsword Bastien had stolen from Sieg. With her free hand, Anri reached behind her back and drew her dagger, stabbing directly at Bastien’s gut with it while their swords were still tangled together.

Bastien clenched his jaw and darted back another two paces, flicking his wand to cast a shield. Anri’s blade, however, sliced through the shield with a screech like nails on slate and the shattering of thin-paned glass, and Bastien snarled as the blade skimmed across part of his cuirass and jabbed into his side - not as deep a stab as Gavin had received earlier, but enough to bring a thick welling of blood to the wound’s surface.

The dark-haired elf flicked his wand back upward, snapping a cutting spell as he backed away another pace, sword raised and ready for another strike. Anri felt the cutting spell impact her armor like a blow from a mace and stumbled, but managed to keep her footing. She shifted her grip on her sword, using the crossguard on it to catch the crossguard of Bastien’s blade as he struck. She brought the dagger around, hilt first and aiming for Bastien’s wrist.

Unable to force Anri’s sword up and away in time, Bastien had to take the blow to the wrist, his face twisted preemptively in a snarl. His fingers spasmed and the sword slipped from his hand. As he jerked back, Bastien pointed his wand forward and cast a shield, taller and broader than the ones he had cast while fighting Gavin.

He pointed his wand back the way he had come and started to speak an incantation - at that moment, a bolt of green light struck the back of his shoulder and Bastien whirled around with a stifled snarl of pain. Leif was crouched at the top of the slope, still coughing, but his wand was pointed at Bastien. With a snarl, though, Bastien twisted around, rapidly hissed his incantation -

And at that moment Sieg, still crouched in the mud, made a dive for his sword. Hands still inflamed with red hives closed over the hilt, and though he could not attack Bastien around the shield the elf had cast, he did manage to stagger to his feet and set himself in a combat stance.

“Seems you haven’t taken us out of this fight quite yet,” Sieg snarled, his eyes flicking towards Leif high above. The archmage managed a determined nod in the half-elf’s direction.

“Give me a few minutes,” Bastien retorted nastily - but then he smirked as the dull sound of something dragging through the mud reached the group of elves, and Sieg’s warhammer skidded into sight. Bastien lunged for it, and though Sieg and Anri started forwards to stop him they were still stymied by the shield he’d erected. Anri stabbed into the shield with her dagger, once again piercing it with the noise like nails on glass, but too late; Bastien stooped and scooped up the warhammer, twisting around to face Anri and Sieg again. He was holding it in one hand; Gavin, watching this from where he still lay buried, swore.

“He’s enchanted the hammer to reduce it’s weight- be careful, it’ll be faster than you think!”

Sieg clenched his jaw, glancing towards Leif as if seeking confirmation, though it was rather a moot point when the man couldn’t understand what Gavin had said. Leif was giving the warhammer an irritated look; with his mouth momentarily covered by his arm, he looked even more like an angry raptor than usual. His eyes flicked to Sieg, and he lifted his head long enough to call down a strained, “The hammer’s probably enchanted!” before coughing again.

Anri’s eyes narrowed, and tightening her grip on both her dagger and sword, she darted sideways to circle around behind Bastien.Her opponent started to turn to face her, but seemed to suddenly remember Sieg and scrabbled back a few paces to keep an eye on both opponents. Anri pursued him, closing the distance he put between them as quickly as he’d made it and feinting with her sword to try and get him turned around. Sieg started forwards to engage the elf as well, but his legs wobbled dangerously and he knew he had to be conservative with his energy- wait to strike until he had just the right opening.

Bastien saw Sieg falter, and turned slightly to give most of his attention to Anri. He cast another small shield to block the commander’s strike, the corner of his lip twitching as the magic left his wand. As Anri drew her sword back from the shield, Bastien swung the stolen warhammer at her. She tried to dance backwards and away, but wasn’t fast enough and had to bring up her sword to parry the blow. The much heavier warhammer met the sword’s blade with a resounding clang, and a large crack appeared on the steel. She hissed angrily, straining against the force of the hammer with her one-armed sword. Thinking fast, the elf woman spun sideways, lifting a metal booted foot and bringing it down- hard- on Bastien’s toes.

Cursing, Bastien jerked back, lashing out with a kick of his own but missing. He got his footing again and heaved out an angry breath that rattled like a growl. The elf glanced at Sieg - the half-elf was pacing around his commander and adversary’s battle, but didn’t seem ready to intervene yet- and holstered his wand, taking hold of the warhammer with both hands, flexing the fingers on the hand of his wand-arm as he closed them around the handle. Wasting no time, Bastien swung at Anri again, clearly attempting to keep some distance between his toes and the commander this time.

Anri managed to dodge the hammer’s blow, her crimson eyes narrowed. She knew her armor would be of little to no use against the heavier weapon, and that it would only destroy her sword entirely if she kept parrying it. Sheathing her sword entirely, she switched the dagger to her dominant hand and crouched low. Then, like an arrow from a bowstring, she shot forward at speed again, aiming for the weak point of Bastien’s unarmored shoulder.

Bastien twisted his arms around to try and use the hammer’s shaft, but the weapon was too large and unwieldy; while he managed to twine his way out of a direct stab, the slash Anri made in his shoulder soaked the surrounding fabric with blood in just a few short seconds. Jaw clenched, Bastien tried to bring the hammer’s shaft down on Anri. She immediately darted away again, quick as a snake.

And at that same moment, Sieg’s sword arced downwards towards Bastien’s thigh- the half-elf having taken advantage of Bastien’s thorough distraction to move in close. Bastien pivoted on his heel and raised the warhammer, hands spread apart, to catch the sword blade on the hammer’s handle.

When Sieg’s blow rebounded, Bastien lunged forward and dropped his arms - and the hammer - over Sieg’s head and yanked the warhammer’s helve hard against his chest. Sieg gave a cry of surprise, but in his weakened state he was too slow to put up a substantial resistance. The half-elf found himself pinned, and thrashed weakly.

“Sieg!” Gavin cried, and Anri froze with a hiss as she saw the half-elf taken captive again.

Bastien pulled the hammer’s handle up against Sieg’s throat, glaring at Anri. “Get back, or we’ll see what’s stronger, elven steel or a half-elf windpipe!” His eyes darted up to Leif and he added, “And tell your human to throw down his wand. Now!”

The elf woman gritted her teeth, but in Kythian Sieg snapped, “Don’t worry about me- take him down!”

Leif, who of course hadn’t understood Bastien’s elvish command and wasn’t in much state for interpretation, took Sieg at his word and swept his wand in a wide, sharp gesture - Bastien tensed in surprise, and then snarled as a huge, semi-transparent, bright-green eagle with long talons and a crest of puffed-out feathers appeared out of nowhere and swooped toward the rogue knight and his hostage. The bird’s frame shuddered occasionally, in time with Leif’s coughs as he struggled to control his breathe enough to control the bird.

Bastien shifted his grip on the warhammer, taking one hand off it to go for his wand; he shifted his grip with the other hand to hold it in place with his upper arm. To make up for his one-armed grip on Sieg, Bastien drew the hammer tight against his captive’s neck. prompting a noise that was half gasp, half gag from the half-elf. Ignoring this, Bastien pointed his wand - not at the bird, but past it. His incantation was almost curt, though the arm around Sieg’s neck twitched with a flinch of pain as lightning forked from the elf’s wandtip.

The bird faltered momentarily; it started to draw its wings forward, but whether that was to throw its talons forward for a strike or to draw back, they didn’t get to find out as the bolt of lightning struck the archmage. The raptor vanished as Leif convulsed, electricity visibly crackling over his body. Flickers of green suggested there was magic doing something, and a few small, lingering bolts fired off into the sky - but when the lightning vanished, Leif dropped to the ground with all the resistance of a stuffed toy.

Forgotten but Not Gone: Part Ten

SPOILER: Click to show

“Leif!” Sieg rasped, flailing against Bastien’s hold and only succeeding in half-strangling himself. He could still hear the mage’s labored breathing high above, so he must have been alive, but he wasn’t getting up, Woo he wasn’t getting up!

“Is there really no depths of depravity you won’t sink to?” Anri demanded. Her eyes narrowing, she added, “Sir Braham is not you- he has not forgotten his honor nor his duty. And I have been forced to watch my men hurt and killed before in the name of the greater good. It gives me no joy, and I’ve lost count of my sleepless nights, but I won’t hesitate if you force my hand.”

Bastien lips pulled back from his teeth and curved upwards, but it would have been hard to call the expression a smile. “So you agree, when it comes down to it - you can’t save everyone. You can only try to save yourself!”

He took a step back, dragging Sieg along with him, and pointed his wand to the half-elf’s throat. “Go on, Commander - make your choice!”

“There is a difference between letting someone take a fall to save yourself, and a painful decision in order to save the lives of many,” Anri said, her voice very soft. “And my duty is to protect the people of Nid’aigle. The people of Corvus. I’m sorry, Sieg.”

The commander crouched, her face set in an expressionless mask and her dagger poised. Bastien’s expression went cold and detached, his arm flexed -

”No!” The voice, unfamiliar, had the roughness of a whisper but the volume of a shout. Bastien twitched, Sieg and Gavin jerked and Anri whirled- and a piece of the air in front of Bastien shimmered like glass before falling into the almost-transparent shape of a young child, a boy about eight or nine years old, a dark stain across his chest. Drops of whatever darkness colored his shirt dripped to the ground, where they vanished completely.

Bastien’s flushed, sweat-covered face went suddenly pale and his eyes opened wide. He looked toward the slope, but the Jade mage hadn’t gotten up. Slowly, he let his gaze fall back to the hovering figure. The ghost.

“...Alwin?” Bastien whispered. ...No - no, what was he thinking, Alwin was dead, had been for… It couldn’t be him! “This - this is some kind of trick!” he accused. Even to himself, he sounded unsure, uncertain. Bastien shook his head, hard, but the ghost didn’t so much as waver.

“...So you do know the boy,” Anri said softly. “We guessed as much- you killed him, didn’t you? A child, and you killed him.”

“No!” Bastien snarled. “I - it was - he got in the way! Why did you get in the way!?”

The ghost was trembling, but his eyes remained locked onto Bastien’s. “Stop. Please.” Very simple Kythian - Bastien hadn’t really wanted to learn it, but the boy hadn’t understood Elvish and there were only so many times he could try the elven words before accepting they weren’t making sense, only so many ways to try and teach a child a lick of Elvish so they understood when you told them to leave -

Sieg looked from the ghost- Alwin?- to Bastien, not daring to move much with the elf’s wand still pointed at his head. But he could feel Bastien’s arms shaking, hear the anguish in the man’s voice, and realization clicked in the half-elf’s head.

“It was an accident,” he rasped around the pressure on his throat. “You knew him. At least a little. And you killed him by accident.”

Bastien’s jaw tightened. “He was - I let him go, when he wandered in. Nobody would believe a child’s stories - ‘An elf in the ruins, yes, of course, was he riding a horse with a spiraled horn, too?’” His lip twitched. “He kept coming back - and all those times, I let him leave, I didn’t have to, but I did!”

Understanding dawned in Anri’s eyes, and she turned to Alwin, addressing the boy in Kythian. “You liked him, didn’t you? You were trying to be his friend.”

“He was different - he wasn’t mean. I liked the way his talking sounded, and he could do magic, and had a sword...” The thread of childlike fascination drifted out of his voice. “He only talks mean now, though. And I don’t like the magic anymore.”

Bastien was shaking - he could only pray it wasn’t another fit coming on. “What - what are you telling him?” he demanded of Anri. “What’s he telling you?”

“He idolized you,” Anri replied, her voice soft and sad. “He says you spoke gently towards him. But then you changed. He used to like your magic, but now he doesn’t anymore.”

“It’s how you killed him, isn’t it?” Sieg asked. “With your magic. With a cutting spell, by the look of that wound.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be hit!” Bastien insisted. “He wasn’t supposed to be there, I didn’t know he was there - and he got in the way! The spell was already cast and gone from my wand!” He looked around frantically again - still no sign this was a trick. “And it was a hundred years ago! At least! How are you here?!”

When the question was passed along, Alwin sighed. “I’m stuck. I’m s’posed to go somewhere. They’re waiting for me. But...what if Mama’s mad? And - and - “ He pulled an arm over the slash on his chest. The dark drips began flowing more thickly, trails rather than droplets.

After a moment, the ghost spoke again, finishing his sentence. “...He wants to do it again. To everybody. When people come here, I make ‘em go away so he doesn’t do it anymore. But then he left and brought somebody back - he wants to do it again. T-tell him no!” Alwin begged. “Tell him it hurts!”

“Mama’s mad?” Sieg echoed, looking bewildered. Anri, however, seemed faster to the uptake.

“That’s it,” she said to Bastien. “His mother. His mother came to the ruins looking for him and you tried to kill her. Alwin died trying to stop you, and that betrayal and the need to save more lives from your hatred became his unfinished business. Every death by your hand has been another chain anchoring him to these ruins.”

Bastien flinched. “I didn’t know! I didn’t know he was there, and how was I to know she was his mother? I was - I was trying to protect this place, if humans knew there was a lone elf here…” Even as he tried to defend himself, however, the pitch and tone of Bastien’s voice jolted around, almost as jarring as the defences he was trying to make.

“He’s begging for you to stop this, Bastien,” Anri said, her voice soft and gentle. “He said ‘When people come here, I make them go away so he can’t do it again. But then he left, and he wants to do it again. Tell him no. Tell him it hurts.’”

Bastien’s eyes dropped from the ghost’s, down to the blood flowing down his chest in wide, thick rivulets. “...I tried to heal you.” His voice was a cracked whisper. “The magic just...stopped…” A fresh layer of sweat broke out on his forehead and down his arms. “I didn’t even know he was here!”

Sieg could feel the arms that were restraining him growing hotter. Bastien’s fever must have been spiking again. Thinking fast, the half-elf asked, “You tried to save him? Even though he’s a human?”

“He’s - he was a child! He couldn’t have been a threat - and maybe if I’d taught him properly, if he understood, he could have grown up differently, he could’ve....”

“You cared for him,” this wasn’t Anri or Sieg- it was Gavin. “It wasn’t just that he was no threat. You grew fond of the little human child who kept you company and idolized your skills and power.”

“Stay out of this!” Bastien shouted, more panicked than angry. “It’s instinctive - elves don’t harm children!” The elf’s pulse pounded hard in his ears, every bit feeling like it carried an extra degree of heat. “He - he wanted to learn! He could have been different from the others, he could have been the one human who should be allowed in an elven city, and - ...You don’t know what the quiet is like here! It’s a whole city full of nothing, and if someone else could have been there…”

Slowly, Alwin floated closer to the elf and his half-elf captive. He put a hand on the warhammer’s handle; a thread of iciness trailed outward from the spot. “Bastien….no.” The boy bit his lip, and corrected, “Non.”

The slight chill in the metal hammer against his hands made Bastien even more starkly aware of how fast his temperature was rising - no, not again, not now -

Gritting his teeth, Sieg took advantage of the elf’s distraction to jam his elbow into the unarmored space just under Bastien’s cuirass. Bastien cried out in surprise and pain, his wand arm pulling away as he instinctively reached for the spot where he had been struck. His grip on the warhammer fumbled and it dropped from Sieg’s neck, swinging downward and away like a pendulum. Not wasting a moment, Sieg dove away from Bastien, falling straight through Alwin- he shuddered as a spike of cold gripped his body- and rolling through the mud to land a few feet away. He looked up towards the mad elf, grip on his sword tightening.

Bastien started to straighten and lifted a foot to take a step forward - but before he could, his whole body spasmed, the hammer and wand fell from his hands, and he collapsed, shaking and twitching uncontrollably, green eyes wild and panicked. Alwin floated down lower, his arms still wrapped around his chest. The ghost’s expression was sad, but he didn’t seem surprised or frightened by Bastien’s seizing fit.

Anri sighed; it was clear now the fight was over. Looking up into the grey sky overhead and letting the rain splatter on her face, she said, “In a way, he’s not wrong. That the elves had to surrender to the race that was wiping them out and give their fealty to the human lords, at the time was a travesty. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. And it’s mooted nothing- even in the thousand years since Nid’aigle signed our treaty with House Jade, elf cities that were once proud and glistening beacons of culture and life,” she looked around herself, “have become empty, crumbling relics, abandoned and forgotten.”

She strode towards Bastien’s still-thrashing form, looking down at him with an impassive expression. “But we can only make these harsh truths worse by dwelling on them. As long as we hold ourselves apart, as long as the alliance is in name only and animosity yet lingers, we will only continue to fall by the wayside. To be left behind by time, and written out of a history in which we refused to participate. Sir Braham, Master Jade, and others like them; they are the way forward. They are the best hope our race has to stake our claim on the future of this world, that humanity does not forget the beauty of the elves.”

She knelt beside Bastien, putting a hand on one of his shoulders to hold him down. “Even the Corvid nobles, for all they adore tradition, know better than to cling to old ways of thinking that bring about only hurt and stagnation. I was never your commander, Bastien. I am not the one who failed you so badly that you turned your back on almost everything that makes the elves who and what we are. But I am still the commander of the Nid’aigle company now, and so it falls to me to right the wrongs of my predecessors. To do everything in my power to ensure that there remains a future for the elves in a world ruled by humans. You have suffered in the pain of past mistakes long enough. My lieutenant tried to give you mercy, but he would only have brought you more suffering. And so I in turn offer you my mercy, the best that I am able to give.”

The elf commander closed her eyes, blinking back a sting in them, then looked down at Bastien’s face squarely.

“Sir Bastien of the Nid’aigle Company, I hereby relieve you of duty.”

Anri’s dagger flashed across the elf’s neck.

For a moment, Bastien’s entire body went rigid. But then, as his skin paled, the elf flopped back to limpness. His hands twitched a few times; the last flares of the seizures. And then even that stopped, too, and Bastien’s eyes fell shut as he breathed a last surprisingly soft exhalation. Alwin, who had shut his eyes at the flash of the dagger and not opened them since, slowly turned away, facing the slope rather than his old friend and murderer’s body. Blood had stopped dripping from his stained tunic.

“Sir Braham,” Anri said slowly, standing up and drawing out a cloth to wipe the blood from her dagger, “Have you the strength to get up the slope? I need you to try and rouse Master Jade, we’ll need his help to get Monfort out of the landslide.”

“I can make it,” Sieg agreed, struggling to his feed and using his sword as an improvised crutch. As he started to pick his way up the incline, Anri slowly walked up beside Alwin.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the ghost gently. “It was for the best.”

Alwin opened his eyes slowly, and nodded. “I wish you coulda met him when he was nice.”

“So do I,” Anri said softly. “If we had found him before he spent a hundred years going mad in isolation, maybe we could have helped him.” She tilted her head. “May I ask you something?”

The ghost glanced at her, and nodded.

“Sir Braham- Sieg,” she nodded towards the half-elf, who had just made it to the top of the cliff and was shaking Leif’s shoulder in an effort to wake the archmage. “While he was wandering the city with you, he didn’t happen to show you a trick with a disappearing coin, did he?”

“No - but he disappeared a rock,” Alwin informed her. He pointed to the cobblestone path nearby and said, “One of those.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “It was real neat - I never saw magic you didn’t have to have a wand for before.”

Anri chuckled softly. “Sieg has lots of interesting tricks like that. If you ask him nicely once we’ve got the mage awake, he might even sing for you. If you wanted.”

The ghost considered this. “Does he know good songs? Maybe any in your language?”

Anri smiled. “He knows lots of songs. In Kythian, in Elvish, and even songs that he learned high in the mountains to the north…”

Forgotten but Not Gone: Part Eleven

SPOILER: Click to show

When just shaking the archmage had failed to rouse him- though his continued weak coughs made it clear Leif was at least alive- Sieg pondered what might be of more help. The man had taken a lightning bolt, after all. Magical protections or not that wasn’t going to be easy to just shake off.

“C’mon Leif, I can’t just wake you up with a spell, work with me here,” the half-elf muttered. With a crooked smile he added, “I’d try to imitate a black-shouldered kite noise, that’s grating enough, but my throat’s taken enough abuse in the past few days.”

Sieg noticed Leif’s satchel a few feet away, which he’d apparently set aside before engaging the fight with Bastien. Clambering over to it, Sieg shifted through the bottles. No potions labeled for strength or awakening, which was a shame, but maybe if one of them had a strong smell that might work? The sectwoosempra lotion Leif had used on Sieg had smelled strongly of mint, lemons and vinegar, Sieg recalled…

Taking out the jar in question and unscrewing the lid, Sieg covered the precious balm with a hand to shield it from the rain and held it under Leif’s nose. It took a moment, but then Leif’s nose twitched, his face screwed up into a grimace, and he wrenched his eyes open.

“What’s - what hap - “ The archmage had to cut himself off, turning his head down and away from the lotion as he battled another fit of coughing. Sieg pulled the balm away, forcing himself not to impulsively reach out to his friend to steady him as he coughed. He knew Leif wouldn’t appreciate the contact.

“Easy, easy, catch your breath,” the half-elf murmured, screwing the lid back on the jar. “The elf is dead- Anri killed him. But it turns out that things were more complicated than we realized. The ghost kid? They were friends. The elf killed him by accident, because the kid jumped between the elf and his mother when she came to the ruins looking for him.”

“They were - friends?” Leif repeated, his voice rather raw from coughing. “But I thought he hated humans, so why….unless it’s like Commander Anri said - and even he wouldn’t cross that line...”

Leif’s eyes suddenly went wide and he tried to sit up. “The others - Anri and Gavin - “ He coughed again but forced the next ones back. “Are they okay? And - you’re all right?” Leif swore. “I should’ve done something less - less obvious than a construct. And less distracting.”

“What, you not respond to being angry by setting vicious birds on people?” Sieg asked with a tired smirk. “Don’t speak such blasphemy. I’m well enough, and Commander Anri is alright, but Master is still buried under several tons of mud and stone. We need your help to dig him out before the rain destabilizes the slope and it drops even more on him.”

Wincing, Leif said, “Right - that’s - that needs to be done quick.” He coughed again, muffling the sound with his sleeve. “Thank ‘Woo I don’t need to talk to cast spells. This potion can go right to the ’Pit!”

Sieg lurched to his feet, stumbling a bit but managing to stay upright. He offered a hand to the archmage to help him rise. “I’m sorry. Trust me, I have all the empathy in the world for you right now. Hopefully it’ll wear off on it’s own soon.”

“Hopefully.” Leif accepted the half-elf’s help standing - he needed it, as every muscle in his body ached with pain and exhaustion. “‘Woo, I think we all need about a week of sleep after this.”

The two made their way down the slope, probably looking almost drunk with their staggering and the care they had to take getting to ground-level. Leif approached the half-buried Lieutenant, looking over the pile of rubble with a frown. “This is...hmm. I don’t like how soft this all is. And - “ He paused with a shudder to cough again. “Ach - with this blighted coughing - I can hold one spell easier than starting and coordinating several small ones right now. I think...I think the best thing is for me to lift as much of this as I can off Gavin in one go. Someone should help pull him out.”

“I’ll do it,” Anri remarked, coming up to the others with Alwin in tow. “I’m the strongest of us right now.” She relayed the plan to Gavin, who nodded, then she turned back to Leif. “Just let me know when you’re ready, and I can drag him.”

Leif nodded, and after waiting for another round of coughing to pass and managing to spit something a vile shade of yellow out onto the ground, he raised his wand and free hand toward the rocks. “All right…” he muttered, and wordlessly cast a spell that sent green light shooting toward the rock pile. It disappeared in the minute space between Gavin’s back and the stone-mud-slurry atop it, but then Leif made a gesture as if he were shoving something, and the rocks above Gavin began to lift. A shield came up underneath the pile and out each end, forming upward, raised edges that caught some of the smaller stones falling from the top of the mound of rubble. Through clenched teeth, Leif said to Anri, “When he says he’s free - get him out! And tell me when it’s safe to let it go.” He had the feeling he would be closing his eyes to force his focus onto the spell eventually.

Gavin closed the hand of his undamaged arm into a fist watching the spell for a few seconds before he finally nodded. Anri hooked her hands under Gavin’s armpits, dragging the lieutenant as he gave voice to involuntary yelps and whimpers of pain. “He’s out, but don’t drop it yet,” the commander called. “I want to get him well clear of the cliff in case it comes down hard again.”

Leif nodded sharply, a cough rattling out of him but the spell holding steady.

Once Anri was what she deemed to be a safe distance away, she called, “Alright- let it go and make a run for it!”

The archmage forced in a deep breath, looked up to find Anri, Sieg, and Alwin, and then abruptly dropped the spell and his arms and hurried as fast as he could to join the others. Behind him, the mud and stones and bricks slammed back into the ground, and the entire pile made a rather frightening grinding noise. Its movement slowed quickly enough, however, and Leif sighed in relief - then coughed, of course - and turned to the others. “Anything need healing?”

“I’ve only minor cuts and bruises,” Anri replied. “But Gavin is hurt badly.” Looking down she seemed to inquire something in Elvish, to which he responded in a pained voice.

“My arm is broken- I can’t move it. I think some of my ribs are as well. I can’t move my legs either, though I don’t know if that’s a broken bone or just extensive bruising.”

Sieg winced at the litany, and Leif drew in a worried breath through his teeth. “I’d better check - the legs especially. And then - “ he coughed and winced, but continued, “then start healing things. Sieg - you’re next on the list to check, start preparing.”

Leif sat heavily on the stones next to Gavin, flexing his fingers and then closing his eyes while he cast a spell. He hovered his wand over Gavin’s back, his expression tight but steady - only when he reached Gavin’s hips did it change, his brow creasing sharply. He quickly ran the wand over both of Gavin’s legs, but returned to his hips right away. “Broken pelvis,” he said. “I don’t know why it’s causing trouble with your legs but hopefully fixing the bone and the bleeding will also fix that. Ossis Emendo!” Jade light sprang from Leif’s wand and seemed to vanish as it reached the elf, but Leif held his wand steady, perhaps needing to coax the magic further. After a moment some of the pain in Gavin’s face cleared, and he experimentally bent one knee.

“That seems to have done it. Odd, I wonder why my hips being damaged would paralyze my legs,” he murmured, Anri translating as he spoke.

“The priests at my healing church would love to know the answer to that, too,” Leif said, his voice still not much more than a rasp, “but whatever it is - I’m glad fixing it fixed that, too.” After another pause to cough and mutter a word the healing priests would not have liked to know, Leif shifted position slightly and said, “Your arm definitely needs healing, and you were right about the ribs. Two broken, one borderline, two more cracked. And one of the broken ribs has a crack in another part of it. That one might take a minute.”

“You’re the expert, Leif,” Gavin said with a thin smile. “I’ll hold still and do my best not to make your work harder.”

It was the work of about twenty minutes for the rest of Gavin’s wounds to be healed sufficiently that he could move without too much pain, by which point Leif was awkwardly trying to stretch his upper arms, the pull having swooped up past his wrists. Sieg, fortunately, was mostly okay except for some bruising around his neck, the lingering hives, and some extreme exhaustion. Anri decided that the group should camp for the night in the building Sieg had been occupying when they found him, lest they all have to travel in their overtired states through the rain that was still coming down in buckets. The growing dark was also bringing with it a fresh chill, which was not good in their present soaked states.

As they passed Bastien’s body, however, Anri paused, her mouth drawn thin.

“I’ll give him a proper burial in the morning,” she said. “Once the rain is no longer going to be filling any hole I try to dig instantly with mud.”

Alwin nodded, giving the body a quick glance before looking away again. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’ll be like the place I got buried, and there’ll be nice flower bushes someday.”

The party didn’t have much in the way of camping equipment, but tired as they all were, there wasn’t much complaint, and it was a relief to be out of the rain. Leif cast a spell to warm up their resting place and dry them from the chilly rain - and promised he would cast Silencio on himself if the coughing didn’t abate soon, so that he wouldn’t keep everyone up the entire night. Anri set about clearing away any stones that would have been uncomfortable to lie on, while Gavin- exhausted by his ordeal even though his injuries had been healed physically- fell asleep almost as soon as he’d been propped against one of the walls. Sieg, though almost as exhausted simply sat off to one side in a sort of half-awake fugue. The ghost joined them under the old ruin, sometimes watching them, other times looking out at the rain, his expression distant and oddly contemplative for a nine-year-old.

At length, Sieg roused somewhat and looked towards the revenant. “Are you alright?” he asked hoping the very simple question wouldn’t confuse the boy with his old dialect of Kythian. Sieg understood him mostly fine, but Sieg was also an educated adult, and used to listening to elves who sometimes spoke with archaic grammar.

The ghost glanced over at Sieg; after a moment, he said, “I don’t know. I’m glad Bastien won’t hurt anybody anymore. But now he’s gone, and I don’t know where I’m s’pposed to go. You can’t die two times.”

“Ah,” Sieg tried to mimic the speech Anri had used earlier, asking, “You… you still have regrets? Things from when you were alive that you can’t forget or let go?”

Alwin looked down at his hands, crossed in his lap. “Regrets is...things you’re sad about, right?” He bit his lip. “...I couldn’t stop him from - from hurting Mama. Like he hurt me.” He drew a finger along his chest.

“Ahh,” Sieg’s stomach clenched with empathy. Scooting closer to the ghost, the half-elf pulled up his sleeve, showing the boy the burn scar that decorated his upper-arm. Speaking low so as not to wake the members of their group who were already asleep or trying to sleep, he murmured, “I think I know what you mean. My papa died trying to protect me when I was sixteen. I blamed myself for it, for a very long time.”

The boy’s eyes widened a little. He asked, a little fearfully, “D-d’you think he’s mad at you?”

Sieg smiled and shook his head. “No. Because he loved me, and he would have been willing to die if he could save my life. If anything, he would have been sad that I was mad at myself for so long for something that was not my fault.” He held out a hand to the child. “You were only nine, Alwin. You did the best you could- your mother won’t be mad at you because you weren’t as strong as a knight and a mage hundreds of years older than you.”

His lip quivering, Alwin reached out to touch Sieg’s hand. He seemed unable to speak. The half-elf smiled consolingly.

“You miss her a lot, huh?” he asked softly. Alwin nodded, and a shimmer appeared at the base of each of his semi-transparent eyes.

“I bet she’s been waiting for you,” he urged softly. “In the Woo’s paradise. And she’ll welcome you with a great big hug, and a lullaby. Did your mother sing to you? Mine did, when I was little.”

Alwin sniffled and nodded. “Th-there was a song about a dog, who lived up in the stars; she sang it when I was little. Sometimes - sometimes after I got big, too.”

“I don’t think I know that one” Sieg replied. “It must not be around anymore. I do know one in Elvish though, about a chicken in a barn. My grandma used to sing it to me. Une poule blanche, Est là dans la grange…”

Sieg sang through the song, his low, clear tenor filling the small room. Though Gavin did not stir, Anri glanced towards the half-elf with one eye open, smiling slightly. Leif, jostled out of a doze, decided now would be a good time to silently cast the silencing spell he’d promised earlier on himself.

Alwin meanwhile, smiled a little at the song. He hovered closer to Sieg, wiping his eyes with his sleeve so he could watch more intently. Once Sieg had finished, he gave the boy a light wink. “I always wanted to be a singer when I was little. I find it helps to chase the sadness away.” Alwin smiled back, nodding slightly.

“Sir Braham,” Anri called softly. “Perhaps you could share with our young friend the one song in particular you know that’s just for people like him.”

Sieg frowned slightly, looking at Anri in confusion. Then his amber eyes widened as memory hit- Alwin was a ghost. A ghost child. And the last time he had met a ghost child…

Sieg closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall as he took a deep, slow breath. Then, facing Alwin again, he began to sing. It wasn’t a song with any lyrics, just a slow tune that somehow combined the mournful quality of a funeral dirge with the soothing lilt of a lullaby.

Alwin tilted his head, seeming confused by the lack of words - but at the same time, he looked drawn to it, drifting closer…

The bloodstain on his tunic was the first thing to start fading. One of the ghost’s hands drifted up to his chest, but he didn’t seem to fully process that it was gone - not until the song ended, and he looked down at himself. The edges of Alwin’s shape blurred, but his face was clear enough to read as he looked up again at Sieg and at Anri with a hopeful smile and a small wave.

The ghost faded from view, and the only sign that anything had been there in the first place was a small, warm wind that whistled softly as it rushed out of the cavernous ruin and into the rainy sky.

***

By the following morning the rain had finally stopped, leaving the ruins soggy but glistening in the sunlight. Gavin was initially confused when he woke to find Alwin gone, but when Sieg’s only response was to say he’d gone to be with his mother, Gavin nodded sadly.

As she’d promised, Anri dug a grave for Bastien in the wet, loose earth left behind after the landslide the previous day. Though he was not personally sorry to see his tormentor go, Sieg couldn’t help but be frustrated and saddened by the waste. Gavin, however, was clearly hit the hardest by the whole affair, the elf lieutenant saying very little as he watched his former friend vanishing into the dirt, and remaining largely silent unless spoken to while the four made their way out of the ruins and back to where a party of Lazuli knights were waiting for them.

Once they were brought back to Scorzen and delivered into the hands of professional healers, they spent the next few days recuperating from the ordeal. Apart from Sieg and Gavin’s obvious weakness and lingering injuries, Leif was still a little pulled and had burns from Bastien’s lightning attack - though the effects of the potion Bastien had thrown at the archmage had, at least, abated after a day spent coughing up gobs of what Leif guessed were the remnants of the vapor he’d breathed in. They were the same phlegmy yellow, anyway.

Two days after their return to Scorzen, Sieg found Leif- to no one’s surprise- in House Lazuli’s mews, meeting Lord Tor’s raptors while the deaf man supervised. The archmage glanced away from the merlin he was studying as Sieg approached, and gave the half-elf a friendly smile. “Sieg! Good to see you up and around - feeling better? Or just bored and evading the healers for the time being?”

“A little bit of both,” the half-elf admitted. “I’m still tired as the ‘Pit, but if I have to spend another hour cooped up inside I’m going to tear down the pretty satin window curtains.” To Tor he added, “Ah, no offense.”

The lord flapped a hand dismissively. “None taken.”

“Anyway,” Sieg went on, “I figured when I didn’t find you in your room that this was the likeliest place you’d have gone to clear your head and kill some time.”

“You know me so well,” Leif said. “...Well, it takes maybe a day or so of being around me to know I like birds, but still. You’re welcome to join the tour,” he invited.

“I’ll just stay here and watch you, I think,” Sieg replied. “I don’t have any blocked magic to give me fancy tattoos if I pick up someone cranky and get mauled for my trouble. Though speaking of cranky animals, apparently whatever farmer was babysitting Freya gave her back to Anri this morning, so she’ll be up here later and no doubt sniffing me from top to toe for injuries.”

“The poor girl’s probably worried sick,” Leif said, carefully unlatching the merlin’s catch and offering it his gloved hand. “How much of it should she be able to smell, do you think? All the reactions from the potion allergy are gone now, right?”

“Yes,” Sieg agreed. “And the abrasions where I scratched through my skin. With any luck she’ll find me right as rain, albeit a bit tired.” He leaned on the wall of the mews, looking away. “Freya was a gift from Master Gavin- did I ever tell you that? He buys, sells, and breeds horses in his spare time.”

“Hmm - no, I don’t think you did mention. It sounds like a peaceful-enough hobby.” Leif glanced away from the merlin. “But you don’t sound happy…?”

“Because… because he talked to me this morning. And starting next week, his ranch is going to be his sole source of income.” The half-elf closed his eyes, clenching his hands on his shirt sleeves. “He says… he says that the fight with Bastien, seeing what one of our knights, one of his friends had become, it… it cut a lot deeper than he likes. The things Bastien said to him, they opened up a lot of old wounds, and revitalized some long-buried traumas.”

“He’s - he’s retiring?” Leif blinked, surprised for a moment - but considering what Sieg had said about why… Looking back at the merlin and slipping it a bit of meat from his treat pouch, Leif said quietly, “Commander Anri...told me about some of the trouble elves have with becoming knights. And then there’s the Courdonians they have in common…. I can see how the whole thing would be...disturbing.” It wasn’t often Leif thought of them, not these days, but he remembered his old nightmares warning against using the killing curse - the monster-bird that had been him using that spell had been frightening enough, but if it had been human, if it had been another archmage with experiences similar to his, maybe even someone he’d known at some point...

“He says he was already thinking about retiring decades ago,” the half-elf said with a sigh. “He’s getting older for an elf- four-hundred and fifty years of knighthood is nothing to sneeze at, and nobody really knows how long he was a mage before that. He says he just… wants to live quietly from now on. Spend time with his friends and his horses, and not have to worry about fighting or killing, about watching people he cares about dying all around him…”

Sieg’s fingers clenched tighter. “I can see why he feels that way. And I respect his decision. Still it just… it bothers me. He’s been so much like a father to me since my real father died. I’ve always felt like I could rely on his strength and courage to never run out. To see him falter like this… I don’t think less of him, I don’t, but I suppose it frightens me a little.”

Leif nodded slightly. “That makes sense. But...it’s a hard job, and doing it for over four-hundred years, and while having to worry about turning out like Bastien...that has to be wearying on anyone.” The merlin spread its wings a little, and Leif stepped back a touch so he could hold the bird up and give it more room to stretch. With a glance at Sieg, though, he offered, “At least you won’t have to worry about him going on a mission and...not coming back from it? I know he’s a good soldier, and more experienced than I’m probably even capable of comprehending, but - well, I know I worry about that happening to my knight friends.”

Sieg quirked an eyebrow at Leif, smiling crookedly. “Sorry, I must seem terribly inept, having to get my butt rescued all the time. I don’t blame you if you worry about me.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Leif said with a reproachful look. “I still maintain you’re the one who saved me from the gryphon at the Coronation, and it would be awfully hypocritical of me to criticize your skill right now - you managed to stay out of Bastien’s way for a few days while barely able to breathe. I made it about...five minutes, maybe, before he hit me. I think we can all say who’s the better soldier here, and it isn’t me.”

Slipping another treat to the raptor, Leif said, “It’s just that you never know what could happen on a battlefield, and sometimes it doesn’t matter how good a soldier a person is. So yes, I worry - about you, about Markus, about Gavin…” He sighed. “But I apologize if that’s...insulting. I don’t mean it that way.”

“It’s not insulting, it’s the truth,” Sieg replied with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter how skilled a soldier is- all it takes is one misstep, one lucky arrow, one adversary who managed to sneak up behind you while you were distracted, and that’s it. You have every right to worry.” He bit his lip. “Though as Bastien and Master’s stories attest, dying is possibly the least of the horrible things that can happen to a soldier who loses a battle. Being taken prisoner by an enemy army is so much worse. I don’t blame Master for never wanting to endure that again. Especially since Bastien indirectly threatened to use him as a potion test subject just a few seconds before I jumped out.”

Leif winced. “That -” He made sure his face was turned so Tor couldn't read his lips before uttering a descriptor of Bastien that was not precisely appropriate to use in a lord’s company. “I suppose that explains the shout we heard - Anri wasn’t translating right then, obviously. ...You’re right; there are things worse than death. Maybe that’s part of why this hit Gavin so much harder than other missions, too.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Tilting his head a bit, the half-elf asked, “How are you holding up, by the way? I know you had to find out some… heavy things back there. Things the elves don’t generally talk about.”

“It’s...given me a lot to think about,” Leif admitted. “I can’t say I don’t feel a little guilty for not quite realizing how much you - and knights in general, elven ones especially - have to push through to do the jobs you do. Or some guilt-by-proxy for what happened....what humans did,” he corrected, “to the elves. I wish there was something I could do about those things, but, lacking a time-traveling spell… And I don’t know if what the knights go through can be fixed. Or...well, if it’s not better that there is a cost to learning how to be a soldier.”

Sieg looked down at his hands. “My father used to tell me that no matter what, I should always remember that my enemy is somebody’s baby. Somebody’s sibling. Their spouse. Their parent. And that true evil was killing one’s own conscience, so that they forgot all of those things, and in so doing forgot how to feel real love.” The half-elf chuckled ruefully. “He would have pitied Bastien, I think. Said that how guilty he felt over killing Alwin was proof that no matter how far gone he was, he wasn’t evil. That there was a glimmer of something good in him somewhere still. I think Anri felt the same way. It’s why she buried him, by hand, even though it took a lot longer than it might have if she’d just asked you to explode a hole in the dirt or something.”

Leif sighed. “I suppose. He was a knight, he had to have had decent morals to get to that point. ...I guess I do pity him, though. His choices were deplorable, but...he wasn’t entirely in his right mind. I wonder, if he’d gone back to Nid’aigle after he escaped…”

“I don’t know,” Sieg admitted. “If he’d gone back, maybe he could have found help. Support. But he seemed to have convinced himself that the elves betrayed him by letting him be captured and not trying to free him. Maybe he wouldn’t have been willing to let them help him. And I get the impression he probably didn’t especially like humans even before he was taken.”

Sieg looked towards his friend, amber eyes sad. “You know, it’s not entirely true that the other elf cities were wiped out. At least not by direct conflict. Some of them… just broke up. Cohabitated with humans. Eventually the elves were…” the half-elf made a sweeping gesture, taking himself in, “bred out.”

“Really?” Leif said, surprised. “I didn’t know that - though it makes sense; allying with someone is generally much better than fighting with them, and Jade couldn't have been the first to figure that out. Still...it is a shame those elves disappeared, even if it wasn’t by violence. It seems like it shouldn’t be so difficult for two intelligent, mostly-peaceful species to live alongside each other.”

Sieg rubbed at the scar on his chin. “I’ve always been proud. One part human, one part elf. Proof that the two races can live together, can be something good together that they aren’t separately. I know there are elves who hate me for my human blood, and humans who think I’m an abomination for my elf blood. But I guess I never really thought about how scary I must be to them. The elves. What my existence must represent for them.”

“Well, half-elves don’t mean an end to elves - and hating something - someone - just because you’re afraid of what it might mean thousands of years down the road is just stupid,” Leif said frankly. “Besides - your blood...it’s part of you, yes, but it isn’t all of you. You’re a knight who’s saved dozens, if not hundreds of lives, you’re brave, determined, a great friend, and we have perfectly-compatible senses of humor. Aside from that last one - that’s what people should be focusing on when they’re deciding how they feel about you. The fact that you’re proof what two races can do when they come together is just icing on the cake.”

Sieg met Leif’s blue eyes with his amber ones, and smiled. “Thanks Leif. You’re right, of course. I guess it’s just been a stressful few days. But I’m glad you and the others came for me.”

“And I’m glad we got you back,” Leif said, returning the smile. “I’m sorry it took us so long to get there - next time they put me on phoenix-back, I’m demanding the situation first and then possibly commandeering the bird.”

“Much though you love birds, let’s hope phoenix riding doesn’t become a habit for you,” Sieg said dryly. “Crisis that require that kind of speed cannot be fun to have thrust upon you.”

“No,” Leif admitted, “and they’re definitely not fun for the people in said crises.”

“Definitely not,” Sieg agreed. “Though while you’re here… you want to look around the city? I haven’t seen you in months. I could use a distraction from brooding.”

Lowering his fist so the merlin could step off his glove, Leif said, “Sure - I’d like to hear what adventures you’ve been having, and I can give you all the latest hijinks from Medieville - and I’m not familiar with Scorzen, but I understand it has some very impressive architecture…”

[Shinko]

Collab with Avery

Wash Away the Pain

SPOILER: Click to show

It was a breezy June morning three weeks out from little Leonie Hasek’s fourth birthday, and while that day had been a happy one for everybody involved- the small girl had practically glowed when presented with a slice of generously frosted cake and a small mountain of presents- this one was not turning out so promisingly. Though she’d woken up in a positively cheerful mood, wolfing down a hearty breakfast and then frolicking out to play in the small, well-tended garden that sat behind the cosy cottage where she lived with her grandparents, by midmorning such good humours were absent, the little girl’s disposition taking a decidedly sour turn.

“Aw, sweetie,” crooned Leonie’s grandmother, Noella Hasek, as she wrestled the child into a light linen shift, “there’s nothing to fuss over. I promise, you and PopPop are going to have a great time!”

“No,” the girl objected, arching her back and bucking hard as though this would stop her grandmother from dressing her. When it didn’t, Leonie added: “Don’t wanna go!” She narrowed her mottled hazel eyes— mostly green with specks of brownish-amber latticed throughout her iris— and scowled, somewhat threateningly. “An’ you can’t make me, Nana.”

“I don’t have to,” Noella retorted, though she adjusted the girl in such a way as to firmly pin one arm while stuffing the other into a shirt sleeve. “PopPop is taking you. And I don’t think he’ll appreciate your fussing.”

Leonie let out a sound that was half-whimper and half-growl. “But I don’t wanna,” she insisted again. “I’m tired, Nana. I wanna— wanna take a nap.”

“You just got out of bed an hour ago,” the elf woman retorted, her brow pinching. “You don’t need a nap. You’re just trying to get out of this- it’s really not a big deal honey, swimming is fun.”

Noella might as well have uttered a murdering curse; Leonie stiffened, jaw snapping together as her grandmother capitalized on this stillness to yank her other arm through the shift’s sleeve. “Not fun,” the child countered. “I don’ like water, Nana. I don’ wanna go swimming!”

This was not the first time Noella and Leonie had held this conversation— or, rather, argument. Located on a winding, rushing river, and susceptible to flooding in Corvus’s many wet months, the elven city of Nid’aigle was the sort of place where swimming wasn’t merely a recreational activity: it could be a lifesaver. At four, Leonie was already older than most children were when their guardians first began to acclimate them to water… and Noella and her husband, Josse, had only held off so long in the first place because of, well— exactly this. Leonie’s ardent resistance to the concept. The way she tensed and protested whenever her grandparents brought up the idea of bringing her to one of the shallow springs outside the city to get her feet wet. The way she avoided all bodies of water like they were lava fields, loath to even get a toe wet.

At first, it had only puzzled her guardians; they’d thought they would merely have to wait the child out. That with age the fear would wane, and Leonie would grow more amenable to the concept. But when her fourth birthday had approached— then passed— without a hint of acceptance, the girl’s paternal aunt Anri Hasek had finally confronted them about taking a more proactive approach. Having had to act in flood relief for no few decimated villages in her work as a knight, Anri was no stranger to how devastating it could be for someone to be caught in water above their head without the skills to keep afloat, and had no wish to see her little niece suffer such a fate.

Finally managing to fully clothe the girl- finishing off her wardrobe with a pair of light woven sandals- Noella wearily exited the child’s bedroom and handed her off to Josse, her husband and Leonie’s grandfather. “Best of luck, love. She’s not thrilled.”

Josse quirked a pale blond brow as he scooped the sulking child into his arms. “I can see that,” he said to his wife. Shifting the girl onto his hip, he tilted her chin so their eyes met. “It’s nothing to be scared over, love,” he soothed. “PopPop wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Leonie contorted her expression into one of utmost anguish. “I don’ wanna go,” she declared.

Josse sighed, reaching out to smooth her ringlet curls, which Noella had wrested earlier that morning into a tight bun at the crown of the child’s head. “I know,” he said simply. “But you’ve gotta. Now let’s go get Auntie Anri, all right?”

Leonie said nothing, only letting out a small whimper of dissent as her grandfather started briskly toward the cottage’s front door. Outside, the rustling breeze carried with it the smells of late spring— floral aromas mingling with woodsy undertones— and the flowers and trees that studded the quaint lane where the family lived were bathed in a dazzling glow of morning sunshine. It was only a short walk down a quaint dirt road to reach Anri’s cottage, and Leonie spent the duration of it alternating between pathetic snuffles and loud sighs, the child squirming in her grandfather’s arms like a caught fish flopping around on the dock.

“Maybe Auntie Anri’s busy,” she suggested quietly as they approached the elf knight’s house, and Josse nudged open the hip-height front gate. “We shouldn’t bother her, PopPop.”

Josse shook his head, padding up the cobbled front pathway. “Nope, she’s expecting us,” he said. “So it’s not a bother at all.”

Indeed, Josse barely had to knock before Anri was swinging open the front door, his older sister dressed lightly in plain, worn old trousers and a sleeveless blouse that was stained from multiple uses while working dirty. She smiled at Leonie, giving the small girl a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“You don’t have to look so glum, Leonie,” she soothed, readily reading the distress in the four-year-old’s expression. “Swimming can be great fun once you’re used to it, and neither PopPop nor I are going to let you go while we’re in the water. I bet you’ll like it a lot.”

“Nuh-uh,” Leonie replied dourly. “I don’ like water.”

Josse gave his sister a wan, long-suffering smile. “Noella had to practically wrestle her into the shift,” he informed Anri. “Leonie knew what it meant. And was not keen to cooperate. I think it’d have been easier to stick boots on a kicking hog.”

“We’ll take it slow,” the knight assured her younger brother, stepping around him into the yard and closing the door behind her. “I talked to Hartwin yesterday afternoon, and he helped shed some light on Leonie’s stalwart objections.”

“Oh?” Josse tilted his head, adjusting his grip on Leonie— again— as the girl once more writhed in his steady grip. “What did he say?”

“He said that while the two of them were travelling north out of Courdon, they almost got caught at one point,” Anri explained, leading the way back to the dappled forest lane beyond her cottage. “Some hunters with trained hounds came after them- he could hear them baying. So to throw off the trail he jumped into a river and swam partway downstream before climbing back out again- while carrying Leonie. And you know he’s not the strongest of men, given his age.”

Josse openly cringed, as things suddenly began to make a whole lot more sense. It hadn’t even occurred to him to ask Hartwin about Leonie’s fear, but then again, this wasn’t surprising: Anri had always been acute— calculating— in a way that he wasn’t, ideas burning bright and hot in his older sister’s head that weren’t even a middling spark within his. The elf felt a sudden pang of guilt, a lump welling in his throat. He’d thought Leonie was only being difficult. Her resistance to learning how to swim borne of stubbornness and little else. But if what Anri said was true…

“Do you have bad memories, honey?” he asked his granddaughter, rubbing the small of her back. “Is that why you’ve been so scared?”

Leonie shrugged, lips drawn taut. “I’unno.” A beat. “I wanna go home. I don’ wanna swim!”

“I know you don’t, Leonie,” Anri soothed, pausing to cup a hand over the little girl’s cheek. “But it’s important for you to learn. Even if you don’t like swimming for fun, you at least need to know how so that if you ever fall into water you can get back out again. So you can be safe.”

The girl’s chin wobbled. “I won’ fall,” she said gravely, as tears pricked in her mottled eyes. “I won’ go near the river, Auntie.”

“Leonie,” Josse said, gently but firmly. “I’m very sorry, but you’re not getting out of this, my love.” He looked back toward Anri, voice taking on a somewhat wry note as he added: “After all the water drills you run with your men, this should be easy, right? Just a crying four-year-old to contend with.”

“Most of them can already swim by the time I get them,” she pointed out dryly. “Though they would probably look at me strangely if they panicked over something and I hugged them to comfort them.”

“Oh, you mean you don’t hug your subordinates?” Josse teased, once more shushing Leonie as she continued her fussing. “Strange— I feel like that’d be such an effective management technique, Anri.”

The elf woman rolled her eyes. “It’s not seeming to help much here,” she noted. Turning off the main path and into the deeper trees on the outskirts of the city, the knight went on, “Does she act like this when you bathe her too?”

“Thank the Woo, no,” Josse said.

“I don’ like baths,” Leonie supplied grimly. “But if I’m good, Nana lets me wear my pretty socks after.”

“Noella knit her socks for Woomas,” Joss clarified for his sister, as— through the dense foliage— the distinct bubbling sound of a freshwater spring came into distant earshot. “They’re wool. And… colourful, to say the least.”

“I see,” Anri replied, giving her niece a smile. “Maybe if you’re a good girl while we swim, we can get you a pretty dress to match your nice socks.”

Pushing aside a large, flat leafed plant, Anri revealed that beneath the sheltering canopy was a wide, crystal clear pond. The water was see-through all the way to the bottom even at the deepest point, and a gentle burble from somewhere in the middle announced water bubbling up into it from somewhere far below the surface. In spite of that the water was placid; perfect for swimming.

… Leonie did not seem to agree.

“I wanna go home,” the girl squawked, burrowing deeper into Josse’s arms as though she were a turtle trying to retreat within its shell. “Pl-please!”

“Shhh, honey.” Josse sighed, exchanging a beleaguered look with his sister. “It’ll be fine,” he went on. “We’re going to take it slow, all right? You don’t need to be scared, we’re not going to just drop you in.”

“PopPop can go in first,” Anri added, holding out her arms to accept the child from her brother. “And show you it’s nothing to be afraid of. We’ll watch him swim like a little fish.”

“No!” the little girl screeched as Josse passed her into Anri’s arms. She bucked in resistance, but Anri was well strong enough to wrestle grown men into submission. The knight had little difficulty positioning her niece so that the child’s capacity to keep thrashing was minimized, but so that she was facing the spring and could see the proceedings— something that seemed to frustrate the child even further, Leonie’s voice shrill as she went on: “I wanna go home!”

“Hush, honey.” Josse sighed again, sparing his granddaughter a wan though reassuring smile as he confidently strode toward the water’s edge. “Look, it’s real shallow,” he informed her as he stepped one foot inside. “Barely up to PopPop’s ankles.”

“Mm-hm,” Anri agreed. “We don’t have to go deep at all today. Just up to your PopPop and my knees. No deeper.”

Leonie gnawed on her lip. “‘Kay,” she agreed. “You and PopPop go up to yours knees. An’ I’ll stay here.”

“Yup,” Anri agreed, deliberately misinterpreting. “Right here in my arms. While I go out into the water.”

As Josse stepped his other foot into the water, Leonie whimpered. “No,” the girl said, attempting once more to thrash (and failing miserably against Anri’s iron hold). “I don’ wanna go in!”

Wading steadily deeper, Josse turned to face his sister and granddaughter. “The water feels so nice, Leonie,” he said, as brightly as he could manage. “It’s cool. Refreshing— you’ll like it.”

Anri now began to pace forwards, following Josse. “I’m not going to let you go under, Leonie,” she said, giving the struggling child a kiss on the crown of her head. “You’re safe with me. You trust me, right? To keep you safe?”

“Uh-huh,” Leonie said, but from the way her jaw was tremoring, and her heart hammering so hard against her ribs that Anri could feel each beat, such a statement seemed dubious. “B-but I don’ wanna swim. Why’ve I gotta swim if I don’ wanna swim?”

“I told you, Leonie, it’s to keep you safe,” Anri replied. “Everyone in Nid’aigle has to learn to swim. Everyone. There’s too much water not to learn to swim, you can’t stay away from it forever.”

“And Aunt Anri and I will keep you safe,” Josse stressed; he was in the water up to his shins now. “We’d never let anything bad happen to you, baby girl— right, Anri?”

“Right,” his sister agreed, gently tightening her arms around the child in an approximation of a hug. “You don’t need to be afraid. Not at all. Water’s just water. It won’t hurt you. We won’t let it.”

“No!” Leonie said shrilly. “No, no, no—”

Seeming to realize that arguing with the child would do little good, Anri sighed softly and picked up her stride, until she like her brother was standing in the water up to her shins. In her arms, Leonie outright shrieked, bucking as hard as she possibly could; Josse winced, pity etching every facet of his expression, while Anri only adjusted her grip to hold the child more firmly. Then, slowly, Anri sat down in the shallow water, which was barely up to her mid-torso. This left Leonie submerged up to her waist, her toes brushing the sand at the bottom of the spring.

From the way she was wailing, however, Anri might as well have dunked the child up to her neck, tears flooding Leonie’s marbled eyes as the cool, pleasant water rippled around her and her aunt. The girl looked positively stricken— not just frightened, but panicked through and through.

“Leonie, baby,” Josse said gently, as he waded over toward her and Anri. “You’re okay— Auntie Anri isn’t going to take you any deeper. Right, Anri?”

“Nope,” Anri agreed. “We’re not swimming today. Just sitting in the shallow water. Just getting a bit wet, that’s all. You’re safe Leonie, I’ve got you. I’m not going to put you down, I promise.”

“Wanna get out,” Leonie managed to sputter between fractured sobs.

“But doesn’t it feel nice?” Josse coaxed. “Refreshing, right? Like sitting in a bathtub.” He quirked a pale brow at his sister, tone frothy— light— as he joked, “Hey, we should’ve brought some soap, neh? Two birds with one stone.”

She chuckled. “Ah, but then we’d get soap all in the nice spring water. That wouldn’t be very friendly to the fish or the animals.” She gently rocked Leonie from side to side. “Honey, look at me. Look at me please.”

Leonie balked, her entire small form trembling. “Lemee out!” she croaked.

“You’re okay, Leonie,” Anri soothed, stroking the child’s hair. She gestured for Josse to sit beside her, adding, “We’re right here with you. Promise.”

As Josse quietly obliged, drawing shoulder to shoulder with his sister and reaching out a hand to gently squeeze Leonie’s shaking arm, the child snuffled. “I d-don’ like it,” she announced— as if the adults could have missed this fact.

“I know,” Josse said softly. “But you’re doing so well, sweetheart. My brave girl.”

Anri continued to rock the rattled child, humming softly in an effort to distract and soothe her. At first, such attempts to assuage her seemed fruitless, but after some time the child’s cries slowly quieted, her breathing growing less frantic, less ragged. Her tears trickled gradually to a halt. Her small, clenched fists stopped shaking quite so badly.

“There we go,” Anri said, kissing the child on the forehead. “That’s a good, brave girl.” Looking up to Josse she gestured with her head towards the shore- this was at least progress, and their best bet would probably be to quit while they were ahead rather than push the child and risk her backsliding.

“We getta go now?” Leonie whispered hoarsely as Josse rose to his feet, and then both her grandfather and aunt started back to the dry shore. “I wanna g-go home.”

“Mmhm,” Josse agreed. “And I know— what if Auntie comes over for lunch? I think your nana was going to make pot pies, wasn’t she? Yummy food for her brave baby girl.”

“I can do that,” Anri agreed. “If Leonie wants me to, that is.”

Leonie sniffled, burying her face in Anri’s shoulder as water droplets clung to her shift and bare legs, glimmering beneath the golden sun. “C-can we have juice, too?” the girl asked reluctantly. “Berry juice. W-with honey.”

“That sounds reasonable to me,” Anri agreed. “Berry juice with honey to go with our pot pies. You did a very good job today, you know. I’d say you’ve earned it.”

Back at Josse and Noella’s cottage, it took but one foot through the door for the trio to be assailed by the fragrance of cooking herbs and spices— Noella’s pies, presumably. They’d all dried off during the warm, breezy walk home, but Leonie still immediately announced that she wanted to change, and Anri released her niece from her grasp so that the girl could scamper to her room to do so; meanwhile, the full elf and her brother followed the alluring aroma of food toward the kitchen, where they found Noella in the process of pulling the pies from the window where she’d no doubt set them to cool.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Well, she stopped crying after a while,” Josse said with a wan smile, the man sighing as he plunked down at the kitchen table. “But mostly just because she wore herself out, I think.”

“This isn’t going to be a quick process,” Anri noted sadly. “She’ll have to be slowly desensitized to the water before we can even think of swimming lessons. It isn’t going to be fun, but-”

She broke off as Leonie trudged quietly into the room, the girl changed from her light shift into a longer, heavier nightdress. She clambered immediately over to the table, boosting herself into one of the chairs as her marbled eyes drifted toward the pies.

“They got meat in ‘em, Nana?” she asked somewhat hopefully.

“Mm-hm,” the elf woman agreed. “Some nice rabbit. And carrots and peas, and a little potato chunks. That sound good, sweetie?”

“Uh-huh,” Leonie agreed, gnawing on her lip. “An’ PopPop and Auntie said we could have juice, too. With honey.”

“Did they now?” Noella asked. “Well I guess I should get some for you then.”

Leonie’s grandmother dutifully procured the requested juice, and doled out the pot pies as well. The meal was largely subdued, and Leonie was clearly struggling to keep her eyes open by the end of it— no doubt the stress of the forced swimming adventure had taken its toll on the little girl. As she polished off her pie, she drowsily asked her grandparents if she could head to her room to take a nap. They consented, and without another word the child trudged off, the sound of her bedroom door closing soon echoing down the hall.

As it did, Josse sighed, taking the last bite of his own long-cooled pie. “Well.” The man rubbed his forehead. “That was… a fun morning.”

“I think it’s fairly obvious at this point Hartwin was right,” Anri observed. “It's a phobia, not stubbornness.”

“A phobia?” Noella echoed. “Of water?”

“Aye,” Josse confirmed. “Anri— sharp as always— went to talk to Hartwin. To see if he had any ideas about why Leonie hates the water so much. And well…” The man smiled, very sadly. “Apparently they had a rather traumatic incident on the way north to Kyth— had to jump into a racing river to evade pursuers.”

“Oh Woo,” Noella breathed, looking aghast. “My poor baby, no wonder… Can she be cured of it though? If… If we keep trying?”

“I think so,” Anri replied. “Trauma isn't easy to overcome. Not by a long shot. But it can be done. With patience and reassurance, it can be done.”

“We’ll have to take it slow,” Josse said. “Baby steps.” He swallowed hard. “I just… I hate it— how we’ve already had her for over a year, and still she has demons haunting her. Traumas. ‘Pit, she’s four, just a baby. I hate that she’s known trauma at all.”

“I imagine so did Amelia,” Anri said softly. “That's why she was willing to risk her life to get Leonie home to us.”

Josse shut his eyes. “I wish we knew, at least,” he murmured. “About Amelia. Hartwin… he’s never been sure, has he? If she lived that night. If she… didn’t.” A pause, before he added with a cracking voice: “It’d be nice to know.”

Anri rubbed her face, guilt flickering across her expression. Noella whimpered, speaking into her sister-in-law’s silence. “Leonie isn't even going to remember her after another year or two, is she? And for all we know she could still be alive.”

“She’ll have to live on through us,” Josse said hoarsely. “The stories we tell Leonie. The memories we share with her.” He let out a long, slow exhale. “I just… Woo, I love that little girl so much. Every bit a much as I loved— love — Amelia. And seeing her frightened like she was today…”

“We’re going to make this right, Josse,” Anri said, softly but firmly. “It's awful how terrified Amelia’s child has been made to be of even the simplest things in life. But her mother isn't the only thing time will distance her from. Given time, and love, she will forget Courdon too. These traumas will fade. I'm sure of it.” The knight smiled. “Amelia clearly had faith in us. We can do this.”

***

Leonie spent the remainder of the day thoroughly subdued, and lest they overwhelm her, Josse and Noella decided to wait several days— until Anri’s next free morning— to take the girl back to the spring for her next lesson.

Naturally, Leonie was not an enthused student, the little girl snuffling the entire walk to Anri’s cottage and outright trembling by the time she, her grandfather, and her aunt reached the water. Unlike the pleasant warmth of a few days ago, this morning was positively scalding, with nary a cloud in the sky and the humidity almost swamp-like in its heaviness. As Josse shucked his leather sandals and then waded into the shallows, Anri kissed her terrified niece on the cheek.

“You know,” she murmured softly, “I used to come to this same spring with your Mama to go swimming. When she was just about your age even.”

“Mama swam?” Leonie whispered, throat bobbing as she swallowed hard.

“Your mama was like a fish,” Josse confirmed. “Could barely drag her out of the water come summertime, eh, Anri?”

“She would stay in until she was as wrinkled from the water as your Grandpa Hartwin,” Anri joked, winking at the child. “And she’d giggle and splash the whole time.”

“I… I still don' like it,” Leonie said unevenly. She bit her lip. “I wouldn't wanna be wrinkly.”

“It goes away after just a few minutes of being out of the water,” Anri assured her niece. A grin ticked at her lips, and she added, “You want to know what your mama’s favorite game to play in the water was?”

Leonie pursed her lips, mulling. “What?”

“I'll give you a hint— she liked birdies,” Josse said.

“Especially birdy noises,” Anri added. “The silly ones that birds in the water make.”

The little girl squashed her brow in deliberation. “Did she… did she chase gooses? Cos those are mean. Nana says to stay ‘way from them or they'll bite.”

Anri shook her head. “No. She liked ducks.” As she started slowly to edge towards the water while the child was distracted, Anri added, “She would splash around in the water and say ‘quack quack!’ while your PopPop and I watched.”

“That's silly,” Leonie declared.

“Very silly,” Josse agreed. “Obviously the best water bird to mimic isn't a duck, but a swan.” He grinned toward Anri. “You make great swan noises, right?”

The knight shot her brother a dirty look, but he only laughed in reply. Anri was but inches from the water’s edge now, and although Leonie had clearly noticed it— and tensed in turn— she hadn't begun to quite panic yet, her attention largely eaten up by her grandfather and aunt’s banter. Capitalizing on this, Anri booped her nose against Leonie’s and made a loud honking noise, akin to that of a trumpeter swan. Leonie blinked— then giggled, her dimpled cheeks flushing.

“My favouritest birdies are hawks,” she announced primly. “But they don' like water much, I don’ think. Cos they're too busy flyin’ all over.”

“Nuh-uh,” Anri replied, grinning. “There are hawks that can swim. Ospreys and some eagles both like to splash into the water to catch fishies.”

“I never saw that before,” Leonie said. A beat. “Do they splash fast? From the sky?”

“Mmhm,” Josse agreed. “They dive and swoop right down— like blurs. It's really neat.”

Anri stepped out into the water, adding, “And they scoop up really big fish, right out of the water. So fast the fish doesn’t even know what’s happening.”

“Poor fishie,” Leonie said. As the water rippled beneath Anri’s feet, the child dug her fingers into her aunt's neck. Gulping, she murmured, “Is… is there fishies in here?”

“Not so tight, sweetie, that hurts,” Anri gently admonished. “And yup. Lots of them. They just usually stay where the water is deeper in the middle.”

Loosening grasp— but only by a notch— Leonie exhaled slowly. “Is they the same fishes Madam Boulier sells? At the market? The one Nana buys sometimes, with the shiny scales.”

“No, she gets those from the river,” Anri clarified. “The fish in the spring are small- too small to be very good food for us.”

“But they're great for birdies,” said Josse. His sister and granddaughter were now deep enough into the water where it tickled against Leonie’s dangling feet, and while the child didn't look happy, per se, she was still maintaining her composure well enough. “You know,” Josse ventured, “I bet if Auntie took you toward the middle of the pond, you could maybe catch a glance at the fishies. What do you think, Anri?”

“I think that would be easily doable,” Anri agreed. “You could see them dart around like little silver birds almost.”

“We… we’d hafta go in deep, though,” Leonie whispered reluctantly. “Real deep.”

“You can hold around my shoulders,” Anri offered. “So your head stays up the whole time while I swim. Just as long as you don’t grip too tight so I can’t breathe.”

“I… I…” Leonie’s lip wobbled.

“It'll be fun, honey,” Josse soothed before the child could work herself into a panic. “Just hold tight to Aunt Anri and it'll be lots of fun.”

“I’ve been swimming for three hundred years, Leonie,” Anri added. “I’m very good at it, and the water is very calm. I promise you’ll be okay. You’ll have fun.”

Leonie didn't say anything in reply, merely wrapping her arms around Anri’s neck and holding tight as a leech as the adult elf smiled reassuringly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Anri started to move deeper into the water, so that Leonie was submerged up to her knees. The little girl shivered, tears pricking at her patchwork eyes as a small whimper escaped from her throat. Anri tried to think of how to distract the child, finally saying, “So I know you know ducks and geese. Can you think of any other birdies that like water?”

“H-herons,” the girl warbled, snuffling. “Th-they're the ones w-with long l-legs. I like them.”

“Very good,” Josse said. His heart was humming in his throat, but he didn't dare show this to Leonie. “Any others, baby?”

“I d-dunno,” she said. “All’gators?”

Anri chuckled. “No, alligators are big lizards. But there are also cranes and storks- they look sort of like herons. And there are those.”

Anri pointed up into a tree overhead, where a small dull blue bird with an orange and white breast was perched. “That one is called a belted kingfisher.”

“He's fuzzy,” said Leonie between sniffles. “Like Boots.” This was Noella and Josse’s massive and lazy housecat. “But… he pr-prolly wouldn't like Boots.”

Josse chuckled. “I think the wee birdie could well outrun Boots, at least.”

Anri gently shifted Leonie so that the little girl was hanging to her back instead of her hip- the water was now up to Leonie’s waist. Tears were still dripping from the child’s eyes, but less hysterically than before, and her fingers were no longer quite so claw-like in their grip on Anri.

“I wish we c-could have a birdie,” she whispered. “A pretty one. Who sang songs.”

“Hm,” Anri glanced towards her brother. “Songbirds can be expensive, especially the colorful ones nobles keep. But maybe if it’s okay with your PopPop I can keep an eye out for something nice while I’m out and about working.”

“That sounds fair,” said Josse. “We’d just have to keep the birdie away from Boots, huh?”

Leonie gave a watery smile. “C-could I name it?” she asked.

“Of course you can,” Anri agreed. The water was up to her neck now- and Leonie’s shoulders- so she kicked off of the bottom of the spring and flattened herself out more to actually swim, kicking her legs and sweeping her arms in broad arcs that resembled a frog swimming.

“You can name it whatever you want,” Josse agreed. “And you'll take good care of it, I'm sure.”

“Uh-huh,” Leonie warbled. “I'll feed it every day.”

The water was deep now- the edge of the spring dropped off sheerly at this point, revealing what looked to be a small sinkhole that had since filled with water. As promise, small schools of small fish- silver, murky green, and dull blue- swam about beneath the surface of the water. Anri smiled, pausing to tread water. “Look at them all- have you ever seen so many that weren’t at the market?”

“They're fast,” Leonie murmured, eyes going wide as she tracked the darting creatures. As one dashed by just inches from her and Anri, she yelped in wondering surprise. “They're not even scared, Auntie,” she marveled.

“Nope,” Anri agreed. “If we swim towards them they’ll swim away, but as long as we’re not moving around much they just ignore us. They’re used to people coming here and swimming. It’s normal to them.”

“They're so pretty.” Leonie's wavering smile brightened, as her tears slowed to a halt from their lazy trickle. “Do people keep fishies as pets? It'd be fun to have a fishie pet.”

Josse, paddling over toward where his sister and granddaughter floated, snorted hard. “Let's not get carried away with pets, baby girl,” he said. “You really are like your mama, you know. She loved animals— all kinds.”

“Remember the time she brought home that baby squirrel that fell out of its nest?” Anri mused with a grin.

“Aye. And the baby bird not longer later. Plus…” He began to tick off fingers. “The litter of kittens— three of ‘em, barely had their eyes open. Endless frogs and lizards. Oh— and a snake once. Poor thing had gashed its scales open.” He winked at his granddaughter. “Don’t follow your mama in that regard, okay? Snakes are not good to touch.”

“Although speaking of frogs, look Leonie,” Anri pointed with her chin. “Over there, on that lily pad.”

“Ooh.” Leonie craned her neck to get a better look. “He lives here? In the spring?”

“I bet he does,” Anri agreed. “Lots of dragonflies he can eat. And places where the tadpole eggs can hide. I sometimes envy the animals who can live in water. It’s very nice when it’s hot out like today.”

“We could play a game,” Josse suggested. “Every time we come out here for swimming lessons, sweetie.”

“A game?” Leonie tilted her head.

“Mmhm,” her grandfather agreed. “We can practise our counting by tallying up all the different kinds of animals we see. The fishies, the birds, the frogs… all of ‘em. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I like that idea,” Anri said. “And lots of animals come here to drink. Sometimes deer even come, and they aren't scared of swimming elves just like the fish aren't.”

“Oooh. Could we pet them?” Leonie asked.

Her aunt laughed. “That might spook them a bit. But you can watch from a distance. Remember, we need to respect the forest.”

“Deer aren't like doggies and kitties,” Josse added. “They don't like being petted.” A coy grin tugged at his lips. “Know who does like to get petted and swim? And who we could bring with us next time?”

“Who?”

“Nana.”

Leonie squashed her brow. “Nana don't like to get petted.”

“She likes hugs though,” Anri put in. “And Boots doesn’t, does he?”

“Boots scratches if you try to hug ‘im,” Leonie confirmed. “And meows all mad.”

“Well there you go,” Anri said, slowly paddling back towards the shallow water. “And hugs are even better than pets, right? Boots just thinks he’s too good for them. But your Nana doesn’t.”

“Does… does that mean we’re gonna come back to the water ‘gain…?” Leonie asked apprehensively.

“Mmhm,” Josse confirmed. “You still gotta learn how to swim, baby girl— Auntie can't carry you around forever, right?”

For a long moment, Leonie said nothing. Then, with a hard swallow, she chanced a small nod. “‘Kay,” she whispered— not sounding particularly enthused about it, but nor did she seem all that stricken.

They finally reached the part of the water where Anri could comfortably walk, and she reached around to take Leonie back into her arms. “But since you were such a good, brave girl today, I think you’ve earned a treat. How about we have your Nana make her famous cherry pie. With a dollop of custard cream on top.”

“Really?” Leonie’s eyes glimmered, still damp and red but the tears fully gone. “With milk?”

“With milk,” Anri agreed. “Some nice chilled goat’s milk. What do you think, Josse, should this little lady get some pie and milk?”

“Hmm.” Josse made a show of pretending to mull this over. “I don't know. Pie and milk? I think Boots might be jealous.”

“We can share, PopPop,” Leonie insisted. “If he's beggin’.”

Anri laughed. “I think Boots is fat enough,” she said firmly. “He doesn't need pie. And milk is bad for him. But we can give him a little bit of fish, how’s that?”

“‘Kay.” Stifling a yawn, Leonie nestled her cheek against Anri’s shoulder. “The sun’s hot,” she murmured. “My eyes are sleepy.”

They were mostly out of the water by this point, the wavelets only lapping around the adult’s ankles. Anri smiled gently, kissing her niece on the forehead. “You can nap then, honey. We’ll wake you up when the pie is done in the oven, how’s that sound?”

“M’kay.” As she watched her grandfather slip his leather sandals back on from where he'd abandoned them on the shore, Leonie yawned another time. “You'll hold me all the way home?”

“I will,” Anri agreed. “You can sit in my lap on the porch of PopPop’s house until you dry off, then I’ll tuck you into bed.”

Leonie said nothing in reply, merely letting her eyes flutter shut as her aunt and grandfather started down the wooded path that led back into the village proper. Within minutes her breathing had leveled off, loose strands of chestnut hair frizzed around her pale face like a halo. Shooting the child occasions sidelong glances, Josse smiled, a flush rising to his cheeks.

“She looks content,” he said to Anri. “Peaceful.”

“It helps that she’s so young still,” Anri mused. “Children are more flexible than adults. And infinitely easier to distract. Be careful or you’ll end up with twenty animals by the time she hits puberty.”

“I think Noella will put a stop to it after the nineteenth,” Josse joked. “Though Woo knows Noella’s scowls never did much to dissuade Amelia, neh?”

“Leonie’s a lot like her mother,” Anri said softly. “Energetic. Keen. Clingy as a tick. And able to turn you and Noella into melted elf puddles just by smiling at you.”

“It… it makes me happy,” Josse said, his voice catching. “Seeing those pieces of Amelia in her. Knowing that even if we… we don't know for sure what happened to Amelia— if she's alive, if she's dead…” Josse exhaled. “We have this piece of her. This little girl she loved so much. Just as much as we love Amelia.”

At first his sister didn’t reply, only giving a sad, slow nod. She stroked her grand niece’s back, crimson eyes thoughtful.

“I have to go out on business the day after tomorrow,” she said finally. “You’ll keep things up with Leonie’s swimming lessons while I’m gone?”

“I don't want her to backslide,” Josse said with a nod. “Noella and I will take her.” He gave the little girl another warm glance. “I bet in no time she'll be swimming like a fish. Her bad memories from Courdon only that— memories. Far, far away from her life now.”

“We can hope,” Anri agreed. “And with time, she hopefully won’t remember Courdon at all, except as something scary that happened a long time ago she can’t quite place.” She hugged the slumbering child. “I love you, little one.”

In her aunt’s arms, Leonie stirred briefly, groggy eyes listing up toward Anri. She said nothing, but smiled drowsily, and Anri smiled back. Yes. Leonie would grow up safe, happy, and loved. They would make sure of that.

[PFA]

PFA actually finishing her collabs? What madness is this?!

But yeah, this is a collab with Tiger! Enjoy the most awkward couple in all of Corvus \ o /

Meet Your Match - Part 1

SPOILER: Click to show

“She’s coming today!” came Joffery’s obnoxiously cheerful voice, as he barged into the room. “Are you excited, brother? You’ll finally get to meet your bride!”

“Yeah, sure,” Reynold replied with a sigh. In all honesty, he wasn’t all that excited. The thought that he was going to be married still felt incredibly foreign to him. Romance was never really something he chose to focus on, unlike his lovesick brother Joffery.

In fact, he recalled, before Joffery was ultimately betrothed to a princess, there had been extensive talks of marrying him to the girl who ultimately ended up with Reynold. He tried not to scoff as he remembered that detail. Lady Chamile Accipiter could have been married to the heir of House Jade, to the self-proclaimed ‘Ace of Hearts,’ but instead she got his bitter little brother. Wasn’t she just so lucky!

“It’s okay to be nervous! I was a little nervous, too,” Joffery added helpfully. “But I’m sure Lady Chamile will be a wonderful wife. You’ll love her!”

Reynold rolled his eyes. “Just as much as you love Hope, right?”

Joffery chuckled, absentmindedly patting down his silky brown hair. “Who knows? Just because it’s an arranged marriage doesn’t mean you won’t like her.”

It doesn’t mean I will, either, Reynold thought dryly, but decided not to voice. Instead, he returned his attention to his wardrobe, saying, “We’ll see. Anyway, if you don’t mind, I need to decide what to wear.”

“You should wear something nice!” Joffery suggested. “Something that accentuates what a refined gentleman you are.”

“Yeah, sure. But can you please go somewhere else?”

“Don’t take too long! She’ll be here any minute,” Joffery reminded him, before finally leaving the room.

Reynold sighed, continuing to sort through his clothes. After a while of careful deliberation, he finally decided on an outfit that was a step above his usual attire. Though he didn’t usually like to take Joffery’s advice, he figured it couldn’t hurt to make a decent impression. Who knows? Maybe she would actually like him, and it would actually work out.

Or not. Over the years, Reynold had channeled most of his frustration with his skirt-chasing older brother into focusing extra hard on his studies, and in so doing became more inclined to push girls away than to try and impress them. And honestly, if Lady Chamile were really interested in a guy like that, he’d be surprised.

Either way, once he finished getting dressed, Reynold took a deep breath, making his way to the front entrance. She was going to be here any minute, after all, and he didn’t want to keep her waiting. With any luck, he wouldn’t disappoint her too much.

*******

“Are you ready?” Lord Accipiter asked his daughter after knocking on her closed door. “Today’s the day.”

As if Chamile could forget. “Just a minute, Father.” She scrutinized her reflection in the mirror, checking that her dress was straight and unwrinkled. As usual, she wore mostly black and white; the engagement had allowed her to start incorporating bits of green and gold into her wardrobe, but she still needed to take care not to dress too much like a Jade until the marriage was actually complete. Today, though, it had been deemed appropriate to wear a dress with entirely green sleeves and a thin gold band around the wrist. Chamile fiddled with them again - it was strange to see, these vibrant colors against the stark shades of Accipiter attire. She kept catching glimpses from the corner of her eye and thinking she must have stained the clothes for a split-second before remembering.

“Chamile?”

“I’m coming.” Chamile kept her minor irritation from her tone very well. At least it wasn’t Lady Accipiter who had come along; Chamile’s mother would have had no qualms about coming into her daughter’s temporary quarters to “help”. She’d be most dissatisfied with Chamile’s hair, the girl decided as she evaluated her reflection. Away from her mother’s gaze, she’d tied it up with a simple green ribbon - easy to keep maintained throughout the day without excusing herself to a washroom about thirty times to adjust some pin or tie.

Chamile had also been given a gold piece - bird-shaped, naturally - to finagle into her hair, but exactly how it was supposed to stay in eluded her; after poking herself in the back of the head a few times, Chamile had given up on it. Bloodied hair was not going to impress the Jades.

All right - dress on and straight, shoes not pinching, hair’s up, I’m in green but not too much green, my wand holster’s on… She poked two fingers under her left sleeve. And wand’s in the holster.

Physically, she was ready, and if she didn’t come out of the room soon her father was going to keep pestering her. Emotionally...well. You couldn’t touch up emotions at a mirror, so she supposed there was no reason to linger - even if she sort of wanted to. This marriage was her duty and her opportunity to escape Raylier - but her stomach was tumultuous with nerves, anyway.

It was the uncertainty, more than anything. Leif had told her Reynold wasn’t much like Joffery, but he hadn’t exactly said, “Oh, no, Chamile, you have nothing to worry about! He’s smart and has a great sense of humor and isn’t at all disappointed to be marrying the youngest girl of an exceptionally minor House when his brother’s married to a princess of Kyth!”

Well. Nothing I can do about that, so he’ll have to make do. She straightened her shoulders, beamed at the mirror, and headed out of the room.

Chamile and her father made their way from the inn to Jade Manor in a small but colorfully-painted carriage. It had windows, which Chamile was grateful for - the city of Solis was as incredible as she had always heard. Beautiful white buildings stretched into the sky, colorful little stalls and shops and window drapes added spots of brightness to the street, a beautiful church basked in the morning sun, and of course, there were the spectacular murals and mosaics. Given the choice, the noblewoman would gladly have spent the whole carriage ride with her face to the window. Richard Accipiter was not really much for choices, however.

“Are you ready?” he asked again, and this time with a different meaning.

“Of course,” Chamile said, still leaning to the side to see better. “It’s been years, it’s not as if I haven’t had time to prepare. Actually, it’ll be nice to finally have all the waiting over with.”

“Yes, this has taken...a while. But do not express that to Lord Jade - he was very generous to keep considering us even when the prospect of Lord Joffery being wed to Princess Destiney - ‘Woo rest her soul - came up.”

”Oh, yes, it is an honor being passed around like a spare dish of everyone’s second-favorites at a feast,” Chamile thought even as she smiled and nodded slightly.

“And not to rescind the offer after your brother’s actions in Medieville.”

From what Chamile understood, Lord Everett didn’t seem to think there was anything to hold against the Accipiters in that regard - but that was a conversation she absolutely was not going to have with her father. “I’ll be perfectly respectable, and you know I’m not given to complaining.”

“Good. Is there anything we need to go over again? Relatives, or - “

“No,” Chamile said quickly. “No, I’m - I’m ready.”

They sat mostly in silence after that, until the carriage finally pulled through the gates of a wide courtyard in front of an absolutely resplendent building. Colorful flowers covered the parts of the yard that were not cobblestone, and sticking out from the thickets of blossoms were several tall iron poles, additional iron bars added and elegantly shaped into various flowers and topped with tall glass tubes of bright red liquid. Every so often a hummingbird would dart into view and poke its beak into one of the spouts near the bottom of each tube before flicking out of sight again.

“Wow - and this is just the courtyard!”

“It’s a very elegant place. As is fitting for the lords of the province.”

“It’ll be a lot to get used to. ...Maybe I’ll ask Reynold to show me around? That way you and Lord Everett can talk about your business in peace, without us awkwardly hovering.” It would also, Chamile thought, give them a chance to be more frank about things than either of their fathers might like.

“If you think you have a handle on the situation,” Richard said, warning clear in his tone. Chamile suspected he was trying to say he wouldn’t be there to help if she made some diplomatic mistake. Chamile nodded slightly; in all honesty his presence was just likely to make her edgy.

The carriage stopped. Richard put a hand on the door handle, and looked to Chamile with slightly raised eyebrows. She nodded, adjusting her skirt and checking the straps of her wand holster to make sure it was tight enough not to slip into sight. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

As they made their way toward the doors of the manor, a small entourage of men in Jade colors came into sight—the foremost of them Chamile quickly recognized as Lord Everett. She guessed the the young man standing beside him was Lord Reynold. Her fiancé. Yikes.

Chamile smiled politely at probably-Reynold, trying to gauge from his expression how he felt about all this without simultaneously staring. The balance made it difficult to get a good read on him - and anyway, he might be diplomatically trained enough not to show much of that anyway. Certainly not in front of his father and his guests.

“Welcome to Solis, Lord Accipiter. Lady Chamile,” Lord Everett said as they approached. “I hope your trip here was without incident.”

“Thank you, Lord Jade,” Richard said with a bow. Chamile curtsied. “Our trip was quite smooth; the rain seems to be taking it easy on the Ash Road this season. How are you and yours?”

“Things are faring quite well, thank you,” Everett replied with a nod. “And I’m glad to hear the trip went well. That said, now that you’re here, I suppose some introductions are due.” He gestured to his son. “This is my son, Lord Reynold.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Reynold offered politely.

“A pleasure to meet you as well,” Chamile said with a smile and another curtsey, this time in the young Jade’s direction. Her fiancé's direction - even after all these years it was strange to think that she had one.

“A pleasure, Lord Reynold. Lord Jades, I present my daughter, Lady Chamile.”

She had already curtsied twice; doing it again was going to make her look like a duck bobbing up and down on storm waves. “I’m very excited to be here, and finally get to meet all of you,” she said. And see the city, and all these beautiful things on your grounds, and if Leif wasn’t exaggerating when he said there’re more books in the library than it can fit…

But apparently there was more diplomacy to be handled first; Richard said, “I hear Lady Hope is expecting?”

“Yes, that’s right. The child is expected to arrive in the next few months, I believe,” was Everett’s response, before noticing the barely disguised frown on Reynold’s face at the topic. Deciding to avert the subject, he continued, “And what of your family? How are they faring?”

“Very well. Cateline and Henry regret that they couldn’t be here - there was some wind damage from a storm to a few parts of the city and they’re finalizing matters with the repair work. Fortunately it seems nobody was badly hurt, thank the ‘Woo. As for the rest of the family; I won’t tire you with a list, but everyone in Raylier is well. As is our son in Araydian.”

Chamile found her attention wandering already, though she caught enough to idly think that she didn’t much regret her mother and eldest brother’s absence. Possibly Reynold could sympathize with the latter; Chamile had seen that he hadn’t looked entirely pleased when the subject of Joffery’s wife had come up. Or maybe it was Lady Hope he wasn’t thrilled about. Or babies. Who knew?

...Well, there was a fairly easy way to find out, so long as Lord Accipiter wasn’t scowling over her shoulder. After a few more pleasantries had been exchanged, Chamile looked up at Richard and said lightly, “Father - sorry for interrupting, but quick as the trip was, it was still quite a few days tucked into a carriage. With Lord Jade’s permission, of course, may I take a short walk through the gardens to stretch my legs?”

Richard frowned slightly as he met his daughter’s eyes - he was probably suspicious of her intentions, which Chamile supposed he had the right to be. However, she just smiled and waited; her father couldn’t exactly call her out on anything without alerting Lord Everett to it.

“...If it’s all right with Lord Jade,” Richard said at last. “Be careful not to wander anywhere you aren’t supposed to. I’m sure the gardens take a great deal of care and maintenance, and you don’t want to make the gardeners’ jobs more difficult.”

“Of course not,” Chamile agreed, not bothering to add that she wasn’t five years old and so knew better than to go tromping through the flowers in House Jade’s garden. Instead, she gave Reynold a pointed, conspiratorial glance; surely he wouldn’t mind being away from the dance of diplomatic meetings, either. He must have been through them hundreds of times before. Of course, whether he wanted to come along with Chamile was another matter entirely...

“I don’t mind at all,” Everett said, gesturing in the direction of the gardens. “The gardens are right through there. You shouldn’t get lost as long as you stick to the path.”

Reynold had frozen on the spot under Chamile’s glance. Why was she looking at him like that? Did she want something? Wait, she mentioned the gardens… when it finally occurred to him what she likely wanted, he cleared his throat. “Would, uh, would you like someone to accompany you?”

Chamile almost breathed a sigh of relief. “That would be wonderful - if the gardeners are as protective of their lawn as Father seems to think, it would be nice to have a Jade on hand to stop them from taking me to the dungeons for trespassing.”

If Jonathon had been there, he would have sighed and said something like “I’m sure they aren’t that protective,” or “They wouldn’t take a noblewoman to the dungeons, Chamile,” - leaving his twin an opening to elaborate on the joke. ...Which she might not do in front of Lord Jade, but, still - she missed Jon.

But she would have to get through this one on her own, and Chamile quickly refocused on the situation at hand. “And thank you, Lord Everett,” she added with a final curtsey to the Jade Lord. “I look forward to speaking with you more later!” Chamile motioned for Reynold to join her as she started off in the direction Lord Everett had indicated.

“I hope you enjoy your time here, Lord Accipiter. We’ll meet back with you later,” Reynold offered, before hurrying after Chamile, leaving his father to handle the diplomacy—with Lord Richard, at least. The diplomacy with Chamile was something he would have to handle on his own, it seemed. Hopefully whatever she wanted to talk with him privately about wouldn’t be too hard to handle.

“Right this way,” he continued, pulling open the gate to the garden and gesturing for Chamile to go through. He waited for her to go through, before following after her.

The gardens were very lovely, as Chamile had predicted - but her focus was less on the flowers and bushes and statuary than whether or not they were out of earshot of their parents. Finally, slowing her pace a little, Chamile said, “I’m sorry I made you invite yourself along back there; in any other situation, I’d have just asked. Father would probably have considered it too forward, though, so…”

She shrugged, absently tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “I thought it might be nice for us to have a chance just to talk? But away from our fathers, so they aren’t breathing down our necks and acting like the slightest misphrasing is going to send the other House off to saddle up their phoenixes for war. ...But we’re going to have to try and get along at some point; it might be easier if we have a bit of a base to start with.”

“Oh. Um…” Reynold’s eyes went wide, before darting away bashfully. Of course, she just wanted to talk to him. That was reasonable, given that they were soon to be married. He cleared his throat, forcing a smile before looking at her again. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Well...I guess we could start off with simple things? Things we like? Hobbies and talents?” Chamile wished the post system was faster between Raylier and Araydian - she’d sent a letter to Markus asking for his advice on how to handle this sort of conversation, but a reply hadn’t arrived by the time Chamile and her father had departed.

“Right, um…” Reynold paused for a moment to sort out a response. He wasn’t usually this bad at talking about himself, but something about Chamile being his fiancée was getting his thoughts all jumbled together. “Well, I’m really interested in history… and cultures, and that kind of thing. Hobbies, um, I like puzzles. Skills, um…”

Chamile waited a moment, but when no conclusion to his sentence seemed to be coming she jumped in to avoid too long an awkward pause. “Sorry - I didn’t mean to catch you between answering my question and not wanting to brag.” She smiled. “History and culture? That sounds like something we can have some intelligent conversations about - I’m a little less well-versed on non-Kythian culture than I’d like to be, but there’s still time for me to learn.”

Tugging a bit at one of her sleeves, she added, “I’ve been studying theology more than anything most of my life - I don’t know if you were told, but my brother Jonathon and I were going to go into the priesthood before all of this was arranged.” Chamile gestured widely.

“Really? I didn’t know that, actually. …Or maybe I was told and I forgot,” Reynold admitted with an awkward laugh. After a brief pause, he continued, “But, uh, either way, that’s interesting. And I’m glad we’ll have something to talk about.” Another pause. “So, uh, what was that like? The, uh, priest thing.”

“Well, I can only tell you about studying for it, since I didn’t actually get into a church,” Chamile said. “But it was interesting. Especially from the view of someone who has to preach. How a person interprets the Books is usually their own business, but when you’re a priest, you’re supposed to kind of...help, and talk about it. So we learned a lot about how to interpret the Books to go with all the actual content and the history. It was interesting.”

“That does sound interesting,” Reynold agreed.

Tilting her head, she asked, “How about you? What are your plans? I know the Jades don’t...ah, decide on careers as early as my family,” she said delicately, mildly pleased with her diplomatic phrasing. “But I’m guessing it’s come up by this point. Or you’ve at least thought about it on your own time.”

“Oh, well… I’m the second oldest, so I guess I always figured I’d stay here and help my brother.” Reynold tried not to grimace as he forced back some rather bitter thoughts. This was not the time to dwell on whether or not Joffery was qualified for his job, or on all those times Reynold had wished that he had been the heir instead… Chamile was definitely not going to be interested in that.

Chamile was not unfamiliar with the sight of repressed expressions, but she wasn’t sure what to make of it in this particular case. “Well...I’m sure he could use the help. My parents always have a lot to do, and they’re only managing a territory. Full of fishers and vineyards and wineries - not exactly the most active or dangerous places. House Jade has the entire province, all the minor Houses, and dealing with the border besides… I can’t imagine doing that without help. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. ...Already appreciates it?”

“I guess so,” Reynold admitted absentmindedly, searching for a change in topic. It was foolish to think Chamile would never find out about his strained relationship with Joffery, but it was still something he didn’t really want to talk about right now.

“So, um…” He glanced around at his surroundings, pondering what to talk about. “…The, uh, flowers look really nice this time of year.” Inwardly, he groaned. Smooth, Reynold.

The change of subject surprised Chamile, though it was quickly followed by an internal wince. She wasn’t sure what she had said wrong or what sore spot it might have hit, but boy had she found one. So much for a conversation about diplomatic experiences.

She decided to follow Reynold’s change in topic, at least for the time being. “They do,” she agreed. “I see why my father was worried, gardeners would be possessive of these.”

Hrm. What can I say about flowers… Not much, she quickly realized. Maybe...maybe the gardens? “I’m surprised to see...so much greenery in such a big city. I’d have thought there wouldn’t be quite so much space for it, that the buildings would swallow it all up. And it’s not just here at the manor - I thought I saw some gardens out in town, from the carriage on the way here. Or are those just owned by people in the city?”

“Probably both,” Reynold told her. “Some people have their own gardens, but there’s also some public gardens, for people to look at.”

“Ah, that makes sense. It sounds nice - I really am excited about getting to see the city. Not to insult your manor, of course - it’s amazing. I just wouldn’t mind a chance to gawk at Solis as a whole, I’m sure there’s a lot to see.” With a slightly self-conscious smile, she admitted, “I know I must sound like a tourist - I really haven’t left Raylier very often at all. Which you’ve probably guessed by this point.”

“It’s fine.” Reynold gave an amused smile. “I’m sure we’ll have the chance to look around sometime. Especially since, um… you’ll be living here, I guess.”

“Very true,” Chamile said, returning Reynold’s smile. “And I’m not playing imprisoned storybook princess locked in an ivory tower!” She thought a moment, then asked, “Anywhere in particular you’d recommend I see first?”

“Well, there’s lots of murals around town you might like. There’s some really nice gardens in the memorial park, too…” Reynold racked his brain for ideas. “Um, I like to visit the phoenix mews, but I don’t know if that counts…”

“You’re allowed to visit the phoenix mews?” Chamile asked in surprise. “...Well, I suppose yours are closer than ours - our manor’s in the middle of the city and I guess the first Lady Accipiter didn’t want to risk setting the city on fire or something.” Chamile grinned briefly, before her expression shifted back to one of genuine interest. “...So what are phoenixes like? I’ve seen ours from a distance - definitely wouldn’t want to be a bandit starring one down, but I hear they’re actually very friendly? ...That’s coming from my brother, though, and he’s not always entirely rational about birds.”

Reynold couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t expected her to latch on to the phoenix mews, but he certainly couldn’t blame her. “Leif, right? Yeah, I know what you mean.” He chuckled a little. “But no, he’s right, they’re really friendly if they trust you.”

“Don’t tell Leif I said that about him, or I’ll hold you accountable for any hawks he sends after me,” Chamile said sternly, but then asked, “So the phoenixes trust you, then? Have you ever flown on one?”

“Actually, yeah—I’m friends with one of the fireknights, and he took me flying once,” Reynold replied. “It was a long time ago, but I enjoyed it.”

“Wow - well, I don’t think I can top that. After all, look - it’s a topic that’s finally gotten you to actually smile!” With a grin of her own, Chamile asked, “Should we stay on this subject, then? I don’t know how much I can contribute to it, but if the phoenixes are going to be living in the backyard, it’s probably a good idea I learn more about them.”

“What? Oh, uh…” Reynold blushed self-consciously, realizing that the topic had gotten him to grin like a child on Woomas morning. He cleared his throat to regain his composure. “Uh, I guess. I’m not sure what else to say about them, but…” He thought on this for a moment. “I mean, you could probably come see them for yourself sometime, if you want.”

“I could? This is some fireknight friend you have,” Chamile remarked with amusement.

“I guess? I-I mean, it’s not like the mews are off-limits,” Reynold remarked. With a sheepish expression, he added, “I mean, not really. They don’t really like people wandering around unattended, but… you know.”

“Well - I’ll have to take you up on that offer sometime. Maybe for now I can just ask what it is they look like up close? I know they’re green and gold, and I’ve seen Accipiter phoenixes flying, so I know the basic design - an eagle’s head stuck onto a swan’s neck, attached to a wyvern’s back half, just with feathers instead of scales. ...With parts like that, it’s sort of a wonder they’re friendly.”

Reynold chuckled a little at that. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I’m afraid I’m not really an expert on birds—believe it or not, given all the bird enthusiasts around here.” He smiled awkwardly at the joke, not sure if she’d even find it funny. But, moving on. “Um, well, they’re very big, of course. So people can ride on them. And their feathers—you’d expect them to be warm, but they’re actually cool to the touch. I don’t know if you knew that already, but…”

“Not an expert on birds?” Chamile said with mock-horror, putting a hand to her mouth to stifle an exaggerated gasp. “And here I thought I knew what to expect! All that bird trivia, studied for nothing!” Letting her hand drop, she continued in more normal tones, “Though maybe you’re more of an expert than you think - I didn’t know that about phoenix feathers. Maybe it protects them from the fire? I know that’s real enough; Stefan - one of my older brothers, he’s our House mage - one of his jobs is making sure our fireknights’ armor is properly enchanted against heat. Have you ever seen one of them set themselves on fire? ...Although I guess that’s more of a longshot, I don’t think your fireknight friend would want to get in trouble for accidentally turning one of Lord Everett’s sons into charcoal.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked to see it, actually. Though you’re right, my father probably wouldn’t be too happy.” Reynold shook his head. “But yeah, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind showing you around the mews sometime. The fireknights are usually pretty nice.”

“Then meeting them and their birds should be fun,” Chamile said brightly. She had to admit, if only to herself, that she felt a little better about this already - Reynold was maybe not the most open or talkative person she’d ever met, but at least it wasn’t in a haughty, distrustful sort of way, and he was laughing at some of her comments. Maybe he just needed time to settle his nerves and feel comfortable before he would speak more freely. Or maybe he was just quiet and Chamile was going to need to pay lots of visits to Jonathon to get out her excess chatter.

Speaking of chatter… Chamile thought as she glanced back toward the manor. “I guess we shouldn’t leave our fathers standing around for too long - they might send a servant after us, or worse, find something else to talk about. I do not need my father telling my embarrassing childhood stories to the lord of Corvus!” The real joke there was the idea of Lord Accipiter getting amusement out of anyone’s childhood antics, but Chamile decided not to share that just yet. Likely as not, Reynold either already knew that the Accipiters were...serious, and if he didn’t, well...he would probably find out very soon.

“Oh, yeah, we should probably start heading back,” Reynold agreed, glancing at the sky for an approximation of the time. He then turned and started back toward the exit, beckoning Chamile to follow. “But, uh, I hope you enjoyed the gardens.”

“I did, very much.” Chamile smiled. “Thank you.”

Meet Your Match - Part 2

SPOILER: Click to show

They didn’t linger very long in the courtyard once Reynold and Chamile returned, though there were the obligatory few moments of pleasantries before Lord Everett segwayed into the mention of lunch and they were all allowed to go inside. Chamile looked around the interior with great interest; it was very different from the Accipiter manor, which was made of quite a lot more wood and decorated in a rather monochrome palette. Everything here was also a lot more open, and the ceilings were higher - which made sense; Solis was hot year-round and didn’t have Raylier’s sometimes-chilly winters, and so it would constantly benefit from a great deal of space for heat to disperse.

“Is the rest of your family joining us, Lord Everett?” Richard asked as they traversed the halls. “I hope we’re not disturbing everyone’s routine.”

“Joffery has some important business to attend to,” Everett explained, “and the children have studies, so they will not be joining us, no.” Glancing toward Chamile, he added, “Though I’m sure you’ll have time to meet them later.”

Reynold wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that Joffery wouldn’t be joining them, unnerved by the fact that there would be so few people attending the lunch, or worried at the thought of Chamile meeting the rest of his family. But he tried to remain tentatively optimistic for the moment. “So, um,” he said instead, “how do you like the manor?”

“I like it a lot,” Chamile said with a smile. She was a little tempted to bring up the differences between the Jade and Accipiter manors she had just been thinking about, but considering her father was right there, she decided against it. Even if she didn’t necessarily mean the comparisons to be negative, it would make him edgy and she didn’t really need that hassle right now. Instead, she remarked, “These rooms are all so tall! I’ll bet it doesn’t take much in the way of enchantments on the walls to keep everything cool.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Or is the idea to give the phoenixes room to swoop in and out as they please?”

“I’m pretty sure phoenixes aren’t allowed to fly around indoors.” Reynold chuckled awkwardly, glancing briefly toward their fathers. It was impossible to tell what Lord Everett thought of the exchange, his expression remaining unchanged. Richard raised an eyebrow slightly, yet said nothing. But, Reynold tried to remind himself, this was about getting along with Chamile, not what their parents thought of their jokes. He cleared his throat, then continued. “But yes, we do what we can to keep cool.”

Chamile nodded slightly, not missing the glance toward the lords. Maybe I’m going too far with the jokes… She had hoped it would at least make Reynold feel more comfortable and maybe reveal his own sense of humor - but all it seemed to be doing was making him uncertain. Or maybe just embarrassed? Well, he’s been like that on every subject, Chamile told herself, but now she wasn’t sure what to do; she wasn’t going to clamp down on who she was just to fit in here, but joking wasn’t exactly fun if nobody else was laughing. She felt a keen regret at the lack of Jonathon’s company yet-again.

“That would be very important here,” Chamile agreed, in response to Reynold’s comment about keeping cool. “...Can you even hear the rain when the ceilings are this high?”

Reynold nodded. “You can. I mean, it depends on how hard it’s raining. …I guess it always does.” He frowned. Was there anything he could say that didn’t make him feel like an idiot? So much for making a good impression, he thought glumly. “But, um, I guess you probably hear it less than in shorter buildings.”

“That makes sense,” Chamile said, nodding slightly. “I’ll bet most of the thunder gets swallowed up by the bricks, too. I suppose I’ll find out this evening, unless Solis has…” She caught herself before she quite turned it into a joke about Solis having special permission to disobey the laws of Corvid weather; disobedience seemed like perhaps an unwise choice for jokes in the home of the lord of the province. “Unless it doesn’t rain just about every evening here,” Chamile finished instead.

“Don’t worry, it rains plenty here,” Reynold replied with a tentatively amused smile. “There’s a good chance you’ll get to hear it.”

“And if not tonight, you’ll have plenty of chance later on,” Everett added, as if they didn’t already know about the wedding agreement. But before anyone could comment further, the group arrived at a set of double doors, which Everett indicated. “At any rate, we’re here.”

The doors were opened and everyone filed into the room, Chamile looking around the large, finely-decorated space with interest. Like the rest of the manor, the walls were lined with elaborate tapestries, some of them quite large and depicting scenes from the Book of Woo in great detail. In the center of the room, of course, was a long oak table, which Lord Everett promptly took his place at the head of. Some nearby servants bowed to the nobles, before hurrying off to the kitchens to fetch their meal.

“They should be back shortly,” Everett said, indicating for the others to take their seats. Richard took one of the seats beside Everett’s place at the head of the table, and Chamile, after a moment’s mental flitting through her lessons in this sort of thing, took what she was pretty sure was her proper seat beside her father. It left the seat across from Richard for Reynold, which made sense as Reynold was Lord Everett’s family. It would make more sense, Chamile thought, for her to sit across from her fiancé - but etiquette wasn’t about sense, it was about rules and show, and Richard never abandoned his script.

“This room is beautiful,” Chamile said. “I love the tapestries; were they made here?” She guessed the fabric was probably Veresian, but she also guessed Corvids would have preferred to do the weaving of scenes from the Book of Woo themselves.

“They were, yes,” Everett confirmed. Gesturing to one of the tapestries, he continued, “Some of these survived many generations, even. We’ve taken great care to preserve them.”

“I’m sure, you certainly wouldn’t want to lose them. I’ll have to take a closer look later, there must be a lot of fine detail you just can’t make out from this distance.”

“Just be sure to be careful,” Richard advised. “Generations-old tapestries don’t take to touch well.”

“Of course, Father.” I’ll try to restrain myself from wiping my hands on them after dinner, Chamile thought dryly. Maybe someday her father would stop treating her like she was an idiot. That would be nice.

“So, Lord Reynold,” Richard said, interlocking his fingers and lightly resting his chin upon them; Chamile kept her expression neutral but bit her tongue. “I haven’t heard very much about you yet. Seeing as you’re marrying my daughter - I’d very much like to know more.” He smiled slightly; the gesture’s warmth did not quite make it to his eyes. “Would you be opposed to sharing some things about yourself?”

Reynold froze on the spot at the question. ‘Woo, as if it wasn’t hard enough answering Chamile’s questions, now Lord Richard had to get in on it, too? Regardless, he cleared his throat, casting a quick glance at his father (who only stared back at him expectantly, great) as he attempted to regain his composure.

“Of course,” he replied slowly, a smile plastered on his face. After another brief pause, he added, “…Is there something in particular you want to know?”

“Nothing in particular you want to volunteer?” Richard countered. He was still smiling, but Chamile did not think that was actually a sign to judge anything by. The question itself had likely been a test, just as much as any of Richard’s actual questions would be. To her relief, however, he at least obliged and gave Reynold something to work with. “So what areas of the House do you work in? I know your House generally prefers recruitment from outside for its roles…” Here he gave a slight nod to Lord Everett, as if to assure him that he meant no offence by House Accipiter having a rather different approach to the matter, before continuing, “but I imagine you and your siblings are expected to assist in managing things, just as my children are.”

“Yes, we are,” Reynold answered, doing his best to keep a straight face. “I help with general management of House affairs. So I meet with a lot of representatives of other Houses and such.” He paused, before adding, “Though regrettably, I haven’t had the honor of working with House Accipiter.”

There we go, nice touch! Chamile thought, giving Reynold a slight nod and smile from behind her goblet as she raised it to take a small sip.

Richard nodded as well. “Good, good - diplomacy is very interesting work, don’t you find? I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of us in the future, now that one of our own has married into your family. But,” he added, “what Houses have you worked with, out of curiosity?”

“Well, House Ophid, for one,” Reynold started. Might as well start big. “And, though not technically a House, I’ve also worked with the elves of Nid’aigle. And I’ve done some work with House Escalus and House Topaza, too.” Was that all of them? He was pretty sure that was all of them—he’d interacted with Houses Curys and Oberon plenty of times, but those were usually family visits, so it probably didn’t count. “But yes, it certainly can be very interesting.”

“Ah, so you’re the one the elves meet with when I send them on to House Jade,” Richard said. “Parlez-vous Elfique?”

Chamile said quickly, “Father, even most of us don’t speak Elvish - and you know how hard it is to find a good tutor.” She added to explain to the table at large, “We lost ours...sometime before Ingrid was born?”

“Shortly after Markus,” Richard corrected, even though technically it came down to the same thing.

“Ah, well, usually they send elves who already know Kythian, so it doesn’t matter, per se,” Reynold explained. “But I do speak some Elvish. Er, je parlez un peu Elfique.”

“All of my children have been taught basic Elvish, actually,” Everett clarified, which Reynold wasn’t sure what to think about. “It can be difficult to find a proper tutor, but I find it’s a useful skill to have for diplomatic purposes.”

Richard nodded slowly. “I would agree - I certainly would have preferred all of mine learning Elvish, even over High Courdonian. We have much more to do with elves than Courdonian diplomats.”

“Henry tried teaching us a little,” Chamile said with a shrug, trying to camouflage her embarrassment even as it was carving out a pit in her stomach. ‘Woo’s blessed feathers - her House was the one that was supposed to deal most with the elves, and she was probably the only one at this table who didn’t speak the language.

Thanks for all the effort, Father, she thought savagely. It’s not as if you know Elvish and could have taught us or anything. ‘Woo forbid…

She took a drink to give herself a moment to control her temper and tone. “At least the High Courdonian I know has more chance of coming into practice here than it did in Raylier.” ...Then again, from what she understood of Courdonian culture, her contributions - a woman’s contributions - might not exactly be welcome. She just couldn’t win tonight. “But all the same - maybe I can find a way to learn Elvish once I’m here. I know a lot about Nid’aigle, so it would make sense if I learned to actually communicate it.”

“It’s definitely possible,” Reynold agreed, remembering but deciding not to mention the Courdonian wedding Joffery recently came back from. “And I’m sure our tutors would be willing to teach you some Elvish later on. If you want.”

“That would be nice, if they’re willing and able to spare the time,” Chamile said. She forced a smile through her self-consciousness; being dour wasn’t going to make the situation any better. “Thank you.”

“The elves aside,” Richard said after a moment. “It is of course impressive that you’ve been able to work with some of the other Houses of Corvus. And even House Ophid as well, you said?”

Reynold nodded. “That’s right, yes. And thank you.”

Chamile glanced at her father, but ventured, “Did you get to see any of the Ophids’ snakes?” She kept half an eye on Lord Everett, ready to abandon the topic at the slightest sign he gave that reptiles were not an appropriate topic of dinner conversation. “One of my sisters-in-law is from House Ophid; she has a little boa, but she’s said the real showy species are back home in Elacs.”

“Um, yeah, I did see some snakes,” Reynold replied. “Nothing too impressive, though. Or, I don’t think so, anyway. I’m not much of an expert on snakes.”

Before he had to talk about snakes any longer, the servants finally returned with their meal. Thank Woo, Reynold thought to himself, watching as the plates of food were served to the nobles in order of rank—starting, of course, with Lord Everett. A prayer was offered on the meal, and they began to eat.

A short conversation over the meal and its quality followed, but Chamile knew her father was probably only biding his time - sure enough, when an appropriate break in the conversation came, Richard, setting down his goblet, returned to his line of inquiry. “So do you intend to continue diplomatic work, or are you aspiring to try your hand at some other aspects of House management?”

It took all of Reynold’s willpower not to choke on his food at the question. Though it could have been a completely innocuous question, the way it was phrased felt a little too specific. Did Lord Accipiter know about Reynold’s issues with Joffery? Was that what he was fishing for? If not… Woo, he was not going to be impressed when he heard about that.

“I’m, uh, I’m always happy to help in whatever way my father needs me,” Reynold replied, forcing a smile. “Be that diplomatic work, or anything else.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell that his father was watching him carefully, probably sensing the tension at the topic. Reynold just hoped that it wasn’t as obvious for the Accipiters.

Chamile, her eyes darting between the table’s three other occupants, offered, “That sounds like a good attitude to have, I’m sure it’s appreciated. And I’ll bet it never gets dull,” she added with a smile. “From what I hear, House Jade gets to see a lot of...excitement.”

“That’s certainly true,” Reynold agreed, relaxing somewhat. “You see all sorts of things when you run a province, for sure.” This reminded him that he actually did get to run the province once, when both Everett and Joffery were away in Medieville, but he decided this may not have been the best time to mention that.

“Running even a portion of the province certainly has its share of interesting challenges, so I imagine House Jade has at least ten times the responsibility,” Richard agreed. “We’ve done what we can to prepare Chamile to assist.“

“Yes, I mentioned that earlier, Father,” Chamile said. She was not particularly eager to hear her selling points listed out like she was a horse at market. “And it’s not as if I’m the only person in the manor; if a situation comes up, there’re people I can ask for advice. Just like back home.” Though unlike back home, she could actually talk to Jade’s House mages.

“Yes, well - I trust you two would manage.” Richard said. Chamile wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that comment. Maybe he genuinely meant it?

Before she could make much analysis of it, Richard began cutting another piece of his meal and remarked, mostly toward Everett, “So - you said earlier Lady Hope was expecting in a few months? They must be very excited - have they gotten around to choosing potential names yet?”

With this subject, Richard seemed to have dropped his interrogation of Reynold, at least for the time being, and the conversation turned more casual. Chamile didn’t say much, for once taking more after her twin and trying just to observe and see how everyone responded. She wasn’t nearly as practiced at it, and felt like she didn’t get much from her efforts.

But at least her father had given up hassling Reynold. ...For the moment.

*******

The rest of the evening went amicably enough, and eventually Richard and Chamile were shown to their quarters where they would be staying for the night. Chamile was relieved to finally have some space to herself. Well - she would have appreciated Jonathon’s company, but she was going to have to start learning to cope without her twin being around to bounce her thoughts and jokes off of. Still, she could come to a few conclusions all on her own.

Reynold wasn’t thrilled about the arrangement. Not exactly flattering, but not a shock, either. Her siblings - those who hadn’t chosen their own partners, anyway - had been a little uncomfortable with their betrothed at first, but they had figured things out and settled down. They’d be...well, partners; they were going to have to build up some kind of familiarity with each other eventually. And Henry was always saying that arranged marriages weren’t necessarily loveless, that if one was arranged with care and the parties put effort into it, one could very well come to love them as much as anyone who picked their own spouse.

Which was great and all, for the people who intently wanted that sort of thing. Chamile could go either way on it - it’d probably be nice if it happened, but she was hardly going to consider this a failed venture if it didn’t. What she’d wanted was a way out of Accipiter manor and into her own life, and something meaningful to do with it. Diplomacy with other Houses and provinces - she could do that. Learning Elvish - she could do that, too, much as is stung that she was already behind in that regard. Working together with Reynold…

That, she had to admit, was what she was most worried about. Lying in bed, staring at the far wall and the faint bars of moonlight cast upon it through the slight gaps in the curtains, Chamile reminded herself that this was an awkward situation to begin with, so the fact that he was not easy to talk to was probably in no small part due to that. It would get easier over time. Probably. She certainly wasn’t planning on giving up on that front yet; after all, she’d started getting somewhere with the phoenix topic.

Chamile would just need to watch out for whatever nerve she’d hit during their walk in the garden, and the one her father had hit multiple times, like a cat toying with a mouse. That could be trouble.

Meet Your Match - Part 3

SPOILER: Click to show

Despite her rather weighted thoughts the previous night, Chamile felt a little more confident and not quite as worried when she woke up the next morning. Maybe it was the fact that she could hear what she guessed must be phoenixes singing to welcome the sunrise, or perhaps the fact that for the first time on this trip, she didn’t have to start the day being badgered by her father to hurry. She’d like to see him try and get into a noblewoman’s dress in anything like a reasonable time - and then have to deal with rinsing, combing, and putting up past-shoulder-length hair as well.

The phoenixes were still crowing, though more quietly, by the time Chamile finished getting ready. The dining hall was empty when Chamile poked her head in, so she decided to head out to the courtyard before breakfast was served. Maybe she’d find a spot where the mews and the rest of the fireknight base were visible.

However, before she could get there, just as she was rounding a corner in the hall, she found herself running almost headlong into a Jade noble—and it was obvious that was who he was, thanks to both his green and gold outfit and the obvious resemblance to Reynold and Lord Everett. The Jade stopped just short of running into Chamile, his eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you there!” he said immediately. “Beg pardon.”

Chamile started, just barely managing not to backpedal onto her skirts - now that would have been embarrassing. She smiled and curtsied. “That’s all right, Lord Jade, I’m sorry - I guess I should make some use of the hall space and not skulk along the walls.” Tilting her head slightly, she asked, “Are you a relative of Reynold’s, by chance? I’m Chamile Accipiter - if all the black and white hadn’t told you that already,” she added with a grin and a light tug at her skirt.

“Oh, so you’re Lady Chamile! A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the man replied with a smile and a small, polite bow. “And yes, I would be! Reynold is my little brother.” If that wasn’t clue enough to the man’s identity, he confirmed it with, “I’m Lord Joffery.”

...Oh. She hadn’t expected to meet Reynold’s older brother so informally. “A brother, that was my first guess, I can see the resemblance. A pleasure to meet you, Lord Joffery. ...I hope I’m not keeping you from getting anywhere urgent?”

“No, not at all! Nothing that can’t wait.” Joffery’s smile broadened slightly. “So how are you liking it in Jade Manor?”

“Very well - it’s a beautiful building, inside and out,” she said, making no effort to keep her admiration for it out of her voice. “I was actually just heading to...well, I’m not sure - somewhere outside, to see if I could get a view of the phoenixes.”

“I see! Phoenixes are quite lovely creatures, I’m sure you’ll love them,” Joffery replied. “In fact, Reynold is good friends with one of the fireknights, so I bet he could take you to see them up close! Has he told you?”

“He mentioned that, yes,” Chamile said with a smile. “I think I’ll have to take him up on that offer, especially since I hear they’re friendlier than they look. ...I’m a little surprised to hear that’s common knowledge, he seemed kind of embarrassed about the whole thing. And now that I think about it...he never really really replied directly to my being surprised he was allowed. Or are you just in on the secret and the two of you are trying to get me in trouble already?” she asked, grinning to make it clear she was joking.

“Oh, no, of course not!” Joffery insisted with what was presumably mock surprise. “We wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. That wouldn’t be very proper of us!” He laughed. “But really, I think you should be fine as long as you don’t sneak in without permission.” His sheepish smile implied that this was probably something he had done in the past.

Hey, someone who jokes back! Maybe Leif was right about Joffery not being so bad, after all. Aloud, she promised, “I’ll let Reynold take me there when he’s ready, then, just to be safe. I imagine fireknights aren’t the sort of people you want to startle, anyway.” Glancing down the hall, she asked, “Speaking of, have you seen Reynold this morning? If he’s awake, I probably ought to at least say hello to him before heading outside.”

“I have not! I assume he’s awake by now, though. He’s usually pretty good at waking up early,” Joffery replied, glancing down the hall himself. “We can go find him if you like!”

Chamile considered, then nodded. “Sure - I don’t want to be rude, and I’m getting the sense I might have to ambush Reynold a little to get to know him.”

It occurred to her that Joffery might be able to give her more insight on Reynold than she had been able to get herself. It also occurred to her that talking about people behind their back was pretty rude. It was still tempting; even questionably-obtained information seemed better than nothing when it was a situation this important and this legally binding - but she held off. Even if she eventually succumbed to gossiping, she figured starting with her fiance’s brother was not the best idea.

“Thank you for the help,” she said instead. “I’ll follow you?”

“Of course! He’s probably down this way.” With that, Joffery started down the hall, beckoning Chamile to follow. He continued talking as he walked. “And yes, my brother can be a little shy, but he’ll warm up in time! He’s very nice, and I’m sure the two of you will get along well.”

“I hope so. Though I can’t blame him for being shy, really; it is a very high-stakes meeting and first impression. ...I hope it’ll be easier once this all settles down. And once our fathers stop hovering over our shoulders.”

“Oh, it’s okay if you’re nervous, too!” Joffery added. “As I told Reynold, I was a little nervous myself, when I married my lovely Hope. But it all turned out wonderful!” Joffery beamed, seemingly completely oblivious to the potential awkwardness of the topic. But before Chamile could comment, he continued, “In fact, that reminds me of a song!”

And then he started to sing.

Chamile was...not entirely sure what to make of this. Yes, she had been told that Joffery loved singing and did so more or less whenever the whim struck him - on carriage rides, while getting dressed, during fights with Courdonians… but it was one thing to hear stories about that habit, and another to...well, hear the actual singing. At least he wasn’t a bad singer, Chamile reasoned. Look at it this way - it’s like free entertainment. And there are worse habits he could have.

When he was finished, she said, “You know, I’d heard something about you liking music. I suppose anyone would, if they sang that well.” She tilted her head a little. “Now, is that one of the songs you wrote yourself? I heard something about you writing your own music.”

“Why thank you!” Joffery replied, smiling broadly. “That particular song is not one of mine, I picked it up on a trip to Rindfell, but I do write my own songs! Would you be interested in hearing one?”

“Joffery, do you mind?” came a familiar voice from down the hall—Reynold’s. “I can hear you from across the—”

As soon as Reynold rounded the corner, catching a glimpse of Chamile, he froze to the spot, looking particularly startled—or perhaps just short of horrified. Oh Woo, he had just snapped at Joffery in front of Chamile, also Chamile was talking to Joffery, this was going to be awkward and awful and—

Joffery, again seemingly unaware of the awkwardness of the situation, just cheerily replied, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you! I was just speaking with Lady Chamile.”

“Um, yeah.” Reynold cleared his throat. “So I see.”

To Chamile, the look of horror on Reynold’s face was all-too apparent. She wasn’t sure how to interpret that - she didn’t get why Reynold was so panicked, but maybe that was in itself something to be worried about? Well. I can worry about it or just plunge right in. I’ve never been a worrier, so...

“Yes, we’ve been talking some,” she said. “I ran into Lord Joffery on my way to see the phoenixes, and I thought maybe I should slow down a touch and say good morning first. So - good morning! Any interest in joining me outside? Or are there things here you need to take care of?” She wasn't certain what things those might be - presumably not something big like morning prayer, that most likely would wait until breakfast, but diplomatic business, maybe, or something to do with one of his younger siblings, or...well, maybe she should just let him answer before she started trying to guess.

“No, I, uh, I should be good,” Reynold replied, before realizing that it meant he had no excuse to get out of this awkward situation. Running away from your bride-to-be probably isn’t a good idea, anyway, he reminded himself. “We can go see the phoenixes if you like.”

“Thanks; some company and a tour guide would be nice,” Chamile said. “And I think I phrased it too vaguely, so to be clear - we don’t need to go all the way down to the mews, I’m guessing there’s not really time for that first thing in the morning unannounced?” She shrugged a little. “But if there’s somewhere we could maybe see them at least from a distance, that would be nice?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Reynold admitted. “There’s a balcony you can see the mews from. We could stop by there.”

“I suppose I should leave you two alone, then,” Joffery remarked, in a more cheerful tone than was probably necessary. “Have fun phoenix-watching!”

“Yeah, sure.” Reynold forced a smile, hoping his displeasure with his brother didn’t come across to Chamile. He quickly started toward the mentioned balcony, beckoning Chamile to follow. “I’ll lead the way.”

“Right behind you.” Yes, there was definitely something up between the two brothers. Chamile wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with that, though - and at least it didn’t seem quite as vitriolic as any of her siblings’ relationships with, say, Stefan. “Thank you for the escort, Lord Joffery,” she said with a polite curtsey, before heading after Reynold.

When they were out of sight and reasonable earshot of Joffery, Chamile said, “So that’s one of your siblings down - I have...let’s see, four left to meet? I hope that’s right, my father would pull a phoenix and light himself on fire if he found out he was missing a Jade child in his genealogy records.”

“Four more siblings, yes,” Reynold confirmed, silently grateful that—at least for the moment—they weren’t talking about Joffery. “Two more brothers, and two sisters… though one of them lives in Kine now.”

“Ah, so I shouldn’t look around the Manor for a missing sister, got it. I take it your sister married and that’s why she’s there now?”

Reynold nodded. “Yeah. To one of Lord Miller’s sons.”

“Ooh, so she’s in Kine? Well, I hope she likes it there - I hear it’s a lot like Araydian - open land, lots of livestock, that sort of thing. Just colder. ...Have you ever been there? ...To Kine, that is.”

“Yeah. They had the wedding there,” Reynold replied. “And I’d say that’s a pretty apt description; there are a lot of farmlands.”

“Well, the food at the feast must have been good, then - all the vegetables were probably fresh out of the fields.” Realizing she was going to quickly run out of things to say if the subject lingered on Kinean parties, Chamile decided she needed to change the topic. But to what…

...She had one idea. “So - I’m sorry if we were by your room when Lord Joffery started singing. I get the impression he does that a lot?” She tried to keep her tone somewhere between interested and neutral. Neutrally interested. Yes. Surely such a natural combination would come off without a hitch.

It was hard to miss the wince Reynold did at the topic shift. There it was. “Ah, yeah, he’s always been big on singing,” he said, chuckling awkwardly in a vain attempt to sound positive. “It’s kind of his thing, I guess.”

“Hm.” Glancing around just to be sure there wasn’t anyone who would overhear, Chamile guessed, “Not really your cup of tea, though? Leif said there would be significantly less singing coming from you. Not,” she added quickly, “that he said anything bad about Lord Joffery, really, just...implied that it wasn’t always well-timed?” That was a little more generously than he’d phrased it, really, but she didn’t want to get her brother into trouble. She’d meant what she’d said the previous day about not wanting to meet any angry hawks.

“Ye… yeah, no, I don’t really sing,” was Reynold’s reply, before he trailed off into awkward silence. It felt like she was trying to goad him into talking about Joffery, but should he? He didn’t have enough context to know if she would take it well, and he didn’t want to say anything wrong…

Though you’re probably already being super obvious, he thought to himself, realizing that his brief pause had been a lot less brief than he had hoped. He’d better say something.

“Yeah, Joffery…” He bit his lip. Here went nothing. “…He can be kind of annoying. With the singing, that is.”

“Older brothers are pretty good at being annoying,” Chamile said with a smirk. “I have four of them - well, two who still live at home, anyway, but trust me, one of them is plenty. Markus says it’s just retaliation against little siblings being annoying - I guess in the end, we can only hope we annoy each other equally,” she finished with over-dramatic solemnity.

Reynold felt a wave of relief come over him at this response. Some part of him was expecting her to scold or look down on him for talking bad about Joffery, but she didn’t. In fact, she even seemed to relate. It didn’t guarantee that she would approve of the rest of his issues, but at least it was a start.

Deciding to test the waters a bit further, he joked back, “As a middle sibling, I can vouch that siblings of any age have plenty of opportunity to annoy. I think that’s just part of the package.”

...Had he just returned her joke with a joke? Grinning, Chamile said, “Middle sibling, ouch - that means getting pestered from both sides! Though you can also retaliate both directions, and I bet that comes in handy - you can deal with haughty lords from other provinces and Courdonians whining about us not trying hard enough to capture their escapees.”

Reynold chuckled, sounding much more relaxed than previously. “Thanks, though usually I don’t treat Courdonians the same way I treat my siblings… no matter how annoying they might be.”

“True - I mean, you wouldn’t want them to think you were respecting them or anything,” Chamile said and winked - but her expression grew more serious and she said, “Though in all seriousness, I can’t feel much respect for the slavers among them to begin with. Not after growing up with Father always worried about slavers getting into Nid’aigle and taking elves captive. ...Not that I would say that to their faces in a diplomatic situation. But I probably wouldn’t stop someone who did, either.” She smirked.

“Ha, yeah,” Reynold agreed. He didn’t really expect to start talking about Courdon, of all things, but he supposed it was his fault for bringing it up. “I, uh, I know people who have bad experiences with slave raiders. It’s tough.”

Chamile was curious about that remark, but decided not to pry - that sounded like business that was not hers to poke into. “I’m sorry, about whoever you know with bad experiences. ...I guess I shouldn’t complain so much since I haven’t really had much to do with it. Whenever there was a problem, Father and Mother and Henry were the ones who took care of it. But still.

“...Although maybe that’s not the best topic of conversation.” Chamile tucked a lock of loose hair behind her ear, a little self-conscious. “Sorry - and here I thought I would never bring down a mood like Father with one of his miniature-speeches!”

“It’s alright,” Reynold replied, giving a sympathetic awkward smile. “I guess House Accipiter would have to deal with slave raiders a lot, what with Nid’aigle being in your territory. I can understand the frustration.”

“I’ll bet - though at least my father can send knights and phoenixes after slave-raiders. You probably don’t have that luxury with the diplomats. Definitely not your siblings,” she added, remembering how the conversation had started. They turned a corner, and near the middle of the hall was a large door made mostly of glass, the large panes decorated with gold-painted, twining iron. “That leads to the balcony you mentioned?” she guessed.

“Yeah.” Reynold nodded, moving to open the door. “Like I said, you should be able to get a nice view of the mews from here—and some of the gardens, as well.”

Chamile stepped through the open door, and went to the edge of the balcony. The view was incredible - as Reynold had promised, she could see the gardens below, patches of green splashed with vivid color and gracefully edged by the stone paths through the plants. A short stone wall separated the gardens from the rest of the grounds, and not far past that was another walled-off section, but much, much larger than the courtyard. Chamile could see a few small buildings, and part of a very long complex that looked something like a barn; the rest of the space was open, and no wonder - the huge jade-green birds must need a lot of space.

“Wow - there are so many of them!” Chamile exclaimed, leaning forward as if a few extra inches might help her see the birds better. There were indeed dozens of the jade-green birds out in the open field; most seemed to be with a person, presumably their rider, or with a cluster of other phoenixes, but a few were off by themselves. Two even perched on the roof of the barn-like building, looking down at the riders and phoenixes and occasionally preening a wing.

“They’re beautiful birds, aren’t they?” Reynold said, coming up beside her. Gesturing to the field, he added, “Sometimes the fireknights will do training exercises with their phoenixes there. If we’re lucky, we might get to see some.”

“That would be neat! ...What kind of exercises do fireknights do? Combat practice, like regular knights?”

“For one, yeah. They also have to do a lot flight training, so they can stay mounted and all that…”

The two of them continued talking about fireknights and phoenixes for a while, just relaxing and enjoying the view together. It was actually surprisingly nice, Reynold thought. Maybe he could get used to this, after all.

Meet Your Match - Part 4

SPOILER: Click to show

Later that day, Reynold gave Chamile the promised tour of the manor. She was excited about getting to see more of the place, and not at all unhappy at getting to avoid spending the afternoon trying to make awkward conversation with her father. Their final stop for the day was the library, and this Chamile was especially excited to see. Her family’s library was relatively large, considering the price of books, but she’d been told it was still nothing compared to the Jades’ collection.

Reynold said there had been recent renovations, and that the library was just a few steps from being complete, but even incomplete, the room was amazing. So much space for so many books, and all decorated with the fine attention to detail Corvid artists were known for, a ceiling painted with ten wheeling phoenixes, one of each House’s color and each, Reynold pointed out, positioned where its corresponding region would be if the ceiling were a map, tables and cozy chairs scattered throughout...

Chamile was so absorbed in looking around at the architecture and furnishings that she almost didn’t notice when they found company. An elven man in a green and gold-trimmed tabard were at the end of one of the rows, scanning the shelves for a particular book. A girl with short black hair was practically clinging to the elf’s side, pestering him with questions.

“Okay, so what’s the word for ‘read’?” she asked.

“That would be ‘lire,’” was the elf’s response.

“‘Lire.’ Okay. So… je veux lire un livre.” The girl grinned at this, tugging at the elf’s clothes. “How was that, Peter? Was that right?”

“Not bad, though you might want to practice your pronunciation.” The elf—Peter, apparently—finally pulled a book off of the shelf before turning to look at the newcomers. “I hope I’m not in your way, Lord Reynold.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Reynold replied, despite the brief glance he shared with the young girl that indicated neither of them were particularly happy to see each other. He masked a sigh, turning to Chamile. “Chamile, this is Advisor Peter. He works for House Jade.”

“Ah, so you must be the Lady Chamile I’ve heard so much about,” Peter replied, an amused twinkle in his eye just before he gave a respectful bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hey, I’m here too, you know!” the black-haired girl interjected, before either Reynold or Chamile could respond.

“As I was about to say…” Reynold tried not to sound too pointed. “…And this is my sister, Caroline.”

Chamile was not blind to the tension between the two siblings, but Chamile was fairly sure she could hold her own; it wasn’t as if she were dealing with Stefan. “A pleasure to meet you both, Advisor Peter, Lady Caroline,” she said with a curtsey, before adding with a smile, “Reynold’s giving me a tour of the manor today - I hope we’re not in your way?”

She hoped Advisor Peter didn’t ask her anything in Elvish; there was probably no reason for him to do so, even if he knew she was an Accipiter, but Chamile wasn’t eager to draw attention to her ignorance after last night’s embarrassment. If I have to admit to an elf that I, an Accipiter, don’t know how to speak Elvish and die of embarrassment, I’m telling the ‘Woo on you, Father!

“Oh, no, not at all,” Peter replied. “I was just looking for a book for one of the other advisors—” a quick glance at the book’s title confirmed that it was a rather dull book on international politics— “but it’s not urgent.”

“And he was helping me with my Elvish!” Caroline added.

Peter chuckled. “Yes, that I was.”

So far, so good. Nodding, Chamile said, “I heard a bit of that - so does Advisor Peter also teach you Elvish, or is that one of his advising duties?” she asked, with a flash of a grin in the elf’s direction.

“Haha, no, I don’t have the time to be a full-time language tutor,” Peter explained. “But I often end up helping people practice for, well, obvious reasons.” He gestured to his long elf ears.

Caroline looked annoyed to be cut off again, but didn’t comment this time. “It’s silly. The tutor’s not even a real elf.”

“Well, it can be difficult to get elves out of Nid’aigle,” Chamile said. “It’s a long way from home, and I’m sure the culture difference takes some getting used to. My House - ah, my birth House, I guess,” she amended; it was surprisingly more real, somehow, when she said that aloud - “isn’t very far from Nid’aigle, and I think the only elf we have living in the area is one of our fireknights.”

“That’s true. Not too many of us are crazy enough to come live out here with humans.” Peter chuckled faintly at his joke, then shook his head. “At any rate, I do enjoy helping how I can.”

“Well, we weird humans probably need all the help we can get right?” Chamile joked back.

Peter laughed. “I think it would be discourteous of me to answer that.”

“You realize that translates as ‘yes,’ right?” Reynold pointed out, smiling in amusement.

“Yeah, exactly!” Caroline agreed. “And speaking of translation…”

She then spouted off something in what was presumably Elvish, to which Peter laughed and responded back in Elvish. Chamile smiled a little, automatically, but her gut squirmed a little. She should know this - of all the people in the room, she was the second-most logical person to understand the language, and yet, she was the only one who didn’t.

And they were telling jokes - that was something Chamile ought to be able to contribute to, that was one of the things she was best at. She could feel her good mood slipping away like soft sand between her fingers.

Still, she tried to smile and play it off as she said, “I hate to be that person, but, ah...I don’t actually speak Elvish. Yet, or at least, I hope it’s a ‘yet’. So - any jokes in or about Elvish as a language are going to go right over my head.” Please don’t be insulted; trust me, I feel worse about it than any of you do… “I mean - don’t not make the jokes on my account, far be it from me to deny people something funny. I just don’t want to insult anyone by not getting what’s so funny.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” was Peter’s response. His expression was neutral, making it hard to tell what he was thinking as he said this. “She was just practicing her Elvish by repeating back what we just said, but translated, and I was correcting her. I wouldn’t wish to make you feel left out.”

“Yeah,” Caroline agreed. Though unlike Peter, it was very easy to read her expression, looking a bit disappointed.

Not quite sure what to make of Caroline’s disappointed expression, Chamile focused her eyes on Peter. “Oh, I see. Sorry for jumping to conclusions - and please, don’t feel like you need to hold back on my account. I don’t want to interrupt the way things are done here. And I’ll do my best to catch up as soon as I can - should help the issue of awkward conversations like these,” she added, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Misunderstandings happen sometimes,” Peter assured her.

Reynold nodded his agreement, then—probably picking up on the awkwardness of the situation—cleared his throat. “Right, er, maybe we should continue the tour? We wouldn’t want to be in your way.”

Chamile was able to avoid wincing, but it was a pretty close call, and for an Accipiter child with a fairly decent grasp on her sanity, that was saying a lot. A fine mess she’d made of this encounter.

“You’re right, we should probably keep moving, and stop interrupting your work.” At least Reynold was offering a way out of this fine mess Chamile had created, even if came with a free disappointed fiancé. Chamile gave a light curtsy to the two. “A pleasure to meet you both. I hope next time we talk, I’ll have significantly less foot in my mouth to talk around.” ...’Putting your foot in your mouth’ had better be a saying in Solis, too, or I’m going to test the strength of these bookshelves and see if I can pull one down to squash me.

Peter smiled and gave another polite bow. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Chamile.”

“Yeah,” Caroline added, remembering a moment later to curtsy.

Reynold nodded to them, before continuing to lead Chamile through the library. The awkward silence was almost stifling - Chamile kept wanting to break it, but she worried Reynold might take a joke as her not taking the situation seriously, when she was in fact taking her lack of Elvish very seriously. However, she also didn’t want to make a big deal out of it if he wasn’t as embarrassed by it as he’d seemed. She would wait a moment, gauge his mood...she hated waiting.

It was Reynold who finally broke the silence, though he waited until they were out of earshot of the others. “So, ah… sorry if Caroline was rude. She tends to be like that.”

“It’s fine,” Chamile said. “My brother Stefan could give vipers lessons on how to be nasty - compared to him, she wasn’t exactly threatening. Just...I don’t know, disappointed, when I told her I didn’t speak Elvish. I guess she thought I already knew it?” She tried to ask the question lightly, and thought she managed at least not to sound too nervous about it.

“Eh, Caroline’s always disappointed about who-knows-what,” Reynold told her. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“I’ll try not to,” Chamile said. It was a relief - presumably that meant they weren’t all disappointed in her. After glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were alone, Chamile sighed and said, “Still, my father should have just taught us the language. He was perfectly capable, he just...didn’t. Which is sort of funny, considering how obsessive he was about preparing me for this whole engagement - but the point is, I’m sorry I’m not prepared there. I’d have bothered Henry about it if I’d known it was going to come up so quickly.”

“That’s kind of strange that he didn’t,” Reynold admitted. “It’s alright, though; it’s not a big deal. You can learn it if you want, but it probably won’t come up all that much.”

“Are you sure?” Chamile asked wryly. “I’ve been here two days, and it’s come up twice already.”

“Well, uh…” Reynold hesitated for a while, as if unsure how to respond to that. Finally, he decided on, “I mean, usually when elves want to do business with humans, they have translators, so I’ve never needed more than basic Elvish.”

Well, that doesn’t really make me feel better considering I don’t have basic Elvish… Rather than saying that, however, Chamile just shrugged a little and said, “I guess we’ll see. I’ll try to earn my keep in other ways in the meantime, promise.” She meant to say it as a joke, and somewhere in her head she knew it was silly to be so worked up over not knowing a foreign language, even if it was kind of stupid that she didn’t know it. Pull yourself together, girl - you’re a mage, you’re not stupid, you tell good jokes, and you aren’t half bad-looking, either. Come on.

The pep talk didn’t really make her feel better. The Jades - or Reynold, at least - didn’t seem to care much about the last two things, and she hadn’t exactly had a chance to demonstrate either of the first two. For all the good it would do, there were bound to be better mages and smarter people here than a twenty-something Accipiter…

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Quit it. Or do you want to explain to Reynold this little pity-party you’re having?

Reynold, meanwhile, seemed unsure of how to respond to that. It was only after some careful deliberation that he finally decided on, “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Chamile remained quiet a moment, but finally said, “Thanks. ...I promise I’m usually not this antsy, by the way. Just...small fish, big pond? Like…” she hesitated, but finally went ahead and broached the topic. “I guess like Lord Joffery probably felt when he was courting a princess. Although, maybe he just sang his way through it,” she admitted, remembering his carefree attitude that morning. “Leif said there was a lot of singing.”

“I’m pretty sure Joffery’s biggest worry at the time was coming up with the perfect song, yeah,” Reynold replied, rolling his eyes. “But, uh, you don’t need to be nervous.”

“Right.” Chamile took a quick breath. Pull yourself together. “You’re right. Sorry.” Chamile brushed a bit of hair out of her face and tried to give Reynold a genuine smile. “Thanks.”

******

Everyone was staring at her. Chamile couldn’t remember exactly what she had done, but clearly it had been something improper or stupid and apparently very attention-grabbing. She tried to turn back to her plate, to let whatever had happened fade away, but her eyes never made it to the table and instead she was looking out at all those people again, all staring. The entire hall of people just gawking at her - her mother and father, most of her siblings, some of her old tutors, a few long-time Accipiter servants, a smattering of people she knew were supposed to be representatives from other Houses, and of course, the Jades. Lord Everett, Advisor Peter, the still-disappointed-looking Caroline, and of course, Reynold…

Reynold ought to be up at the table with her, but Chamile had the strong feeling he didn’t want to - that he’d said earlier he wanted to sit elsewhere, in case Chamile did...something like whatever she’d just done now. Maybe she should apologize to the room at large. She tried to open her mouth to say something, but her jaw felt locked. Would they be able to understand her, anyway? She didn’t speak much elvish, not nearly enough to get her meaning across. ...Or maybe she’d said something inappropriate by mistake and that was the problem?

The lights were starting to dim, and while that seemed to suggest time was passing quickly, nobody took their eyes off her. Chamile tried and failed to look at her food again. There might not even be food there, and now that she looked, none of the people in the hall had anything. She should just get out of here, what was the point in staying?

She stood up, but abruptly it was too dark to see even the ground just beneath her. When Chamile looked around, she discovered that, in fact, the only thing visible were the many pairs of eyes staring back.

The sight was enough to jolt Chamile awake. Her eyes snapped open, revealing nothing more intimidating than the shadows of moonlight on the ceiling, and when she sat up to look around, it was clear she was still in the guestroom, not in a crowded hall of visitors, and that she was very much alone.

Just a dream - obviously, I mean - that is not how darkness works, Chamile thought. But it had been spot-on in terms of mood and how she was feeling about this whole thing. She looked around the room again before lying back down. Still nobody, of course.

When she closed her eyes, she could still see the long tables and the wide, white-ringed eyes. She tried a few times to think about something else, anything else - but then she realized people could be staring at her in other dreams, too, and her ever-helpful head compiled by immediately making this happen.

She sat up again, and this time swung her legs out of bed. Fine. Obviously she was going to have to distract herself from this mood if she wanted to get anything like a decent night’s sleep. Hopefully it would be quick or she was going to be tired regardless. And that should help with the impressions, she thought sarcastically as she pulled a dressing gown over her nightclothes.

Chamile wasn’t quite sure where she was heading as she left her room, but considering she really only knew her way to a few places, she supposed there weren’t many options to pick from. She didn’t want to be by windows. It was stupid, but she didn’t really feel like potentially being watched right now. Maybe the library - it probably has some good places to skulk, and a book wouldn’t be bad...hopefully they don’t mind me using the room.

She was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps and paused, momentarily dreading being caught - but that was ridiculous, she wasn’t an errant child - so she stifled the feeling and determinedly continued down the hall…only to round the corner and wonder if she ought to have tried slipping back to her room or at least into a convenient side-room or closet or the like. “Oh - hello, Reynold! I - ah, I didn’t expect you to be up so late!”

“Chamile!” was Reynold’s response, sounding equally surprised. He cleared his throat in an attempt to ease some of the awkward tension before continuing, “I was, uh, I was having trouble sleeping, so I just got up to get a drink of water. …Were you having trouble sleeping, too?”

Chamile supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by this point - of course she’d run into the most awkward person possible to run into right now. “Yes - well, I got to sleep all right, I just had a...weird dream.” She glanced toward the windows, half expecting to see eyes peeling open out in the darkness. No such thing, of course; just hazy reflections of herself and Reynold in the dim hall light. “I thought I’d go to the library, or walk it off, or something like that.”

“Ah, yeah. I’m sorry to hear that.” Reynold hesitated for a moment, pondering what to say. “Is, uh… is there anything I can do to help?”

“Uhm…” Chamile shrugged. “Well, you were going to get a glass of water, maybe I could walk with you? Maybe some walking and talking will help.” She rubbed one of her eyes with the palm of her hand. “Hopefully we won’t run into anyone else.”

It occurred to her a few seconds later that perhaps that was not the most tactful thing to have said. “No offense to them. It’s just...been a long day and a lot of meeting new people.” Which, usually, she didn’t mind - but said people were generally not going to be her future family members.

“It’s alright, I understand,” Reynold assured her. “But yeah, you can walk with me if you think it will help.”

“Thanks. And don’t worry, this isn’t a habit of mine; I’ll try to stay out of your hair at night, at least.” She’d meant for it to come out as a joke - but she was tired and already in a strange mood and it thrummed all sorts of unpleasant feelings on its way from her head to her mouth. The tone sounded…dry, at best. Some part of her knew this wasn’t going to really help her feel less annoying. Some other part of her was a little beyond caring.

Reynold wasn’t sure how to respond to the comment. She sounded unhappy, but why? Was it because of him? She didn’t really want to be with him, did she? These thoughts were circling in his mind, and against his better judgment, he ended up muttering an awkward, “I-I mean, if you’d rather be alone, that’s fine, too…”

Chamile was so baffled by this response - she’d been the one to suggest joining him on the walk - that she couldn’t stop herself from a startled, “What? Where did you... That isn’t what I meant.” She rubbed her face with her hand. Maybe she should give up the pretense - she was clearly too tired to keep it up properly and it wasn’t doing a whole lot of good, anyway. ‘Pit, she’d just had an entire dream about how she wasn’t measuring up and that wasn’t enough pressure, apparently. “Sorry - I’m really not trying to be rude, or make you uncomfortable like earlier.”

“Sorry, I-I’m not trying to be rude either,” Reynold parroted back at her. “It’s just— I mean, it’s not like we can avoid each other, since…” He paused to massage his brow, struggling with his words. “…I guess what I’m saying is, I wouldn’t want you to feel unwelcome.”

“The welcome’s been perfectly fine,” Chamile said, though perfect was maybe stretching it. Not that that was all Reynold’s fault, or her father’s, or hers - it kind of belonged to everyone. A nice communal fault. “It’s what comes after that has me sort of…” She tried to think of a more diplomatic, less-vulnerable way to say what she was thinking, but blight it all, she was too tired for that nonsense. “Worried. And I know, I shouldn’t be - but small fish, big pond. With big fish.”

Again, Reynold was unsure what to say. “I… I’m sure you’ll fit in fine, if that’s what you’re saying.”

“Well, I hope so, just…” Chamile came to a halt, and looked around. Spotting nobody, she said, “Can we just...speak frankly, a moment?”

Reynold didn’t like where this was going. Trying not to show his nervousness, he managed to utter, “Uh, sure.”

“Neither of us are exactly thrilled about this...this marriage,” Chamile said. “I know it’s been a few years now, but I still feel like I haven’t had time to get used to the idea - I was going to be a priest, remember, this was something I grew up thinking wasn’t going to be part of my life. It’s nothing personal - and I’m glad I’ll get to do something useful, and I know this is an opportunity other minor nobles would kill to have.”

She brushed a bit of hair back behind her ear. “And maybe that’s why you’re upset about this? I don’t know for sure. We’ve just met, so I don’t know - maybe you’re unhappy because you’re marrying a cadet line from House Accipiter. While your brother’s married an Ascension princess.” Chamile gave Reynold a tired smirk. “I am from Raylier; I’m pretty good at spotting places where there might be sour grapes.”

“You— oh. Uh…” That was not what Reynold had expecting her to say, so he had to stop and sort through his thoughts. “It’s not like, uh… I mean, I never really thought about it like that.”

Chamile wasn’t really sure she believed that. “Well - something’s bothering you. Wouldn’t it be better to get it out in the open, and then we can handle it appropriately?”

“I mean, it— it’s not about you,” Reynold admitted slowly. Chamile wanted honesty, so there was little point in dancing around it. “I’m not mad because you’re a minor noble, or anything like that, it’s just… I wasn’t really expecting to get married either, you know? I wanted to make a good impression, but I don’t know if I…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts. “…I’m not good at this. I’m sorry.”

Chamile crossed her arms, but smirked a little as she leaned against the wall. “I don’t think either of us is. ...Why didn’t you expect to get married? I thought that was usually the case for Jades, first-born or not.”

“It, uh…” Honesty or not, Reynold was pretty sure ‘I was hoping I wouldn’t be’ would not be the appropriate thing to say to his to-be wife. “…It depends. I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t… think about it.”

“Not ever?” Chamile asked skeptically. Not looking forward to getting married, she could understand - but imagining that it wasn’t going to happen was certainly...odd. Although...I guess Ingrid was sort of operating on that logic for a while.I wonder if…

Straightening a little, she asked, “Was that because you didn’t want to get married? To anybody? And you can tell the truth.” She waved a hand. “I’m not going to be offended.” Honestly, it would feel better, she thought, to hear that it wasn’t at all personal.

Reynold seemed rather embarrassed as he mumbled his response, “I’ve never been, uh… good… with romance.”

Chamile almost laughed - but she suspected it would come off as rude and that wasn’t quite what she was going for. “Neither am I; you’re talking to a woman who was training to be a priestess. ...If it helps, I’m not expecting the ‘and they fell in love and lived happily ever after’ ending. Not that it wouldn’t be nice, just that plenty of noble couples are never really in love, and...that’s okay. I just...” She searched her tired brain for the right words. “I’d like to at least try to be friends.”

“So you don’t mind that…” Reynold hesitated before adding, “…That I’m not like Joffery?”

“What? Why would - “ She caught herself, quickly amending, “I mean, he seems nice, and Leif says he’s had his moments. I just...I don’t think I’d really want everything he is in a husband. Maybe this sounds weird coming from me, but sometimes serious is good. Balance and all that.” She held out her hands palms up, moving them up and down as if she were comparing the weight of two small objects.

Reynold was silent for a moment, just staring at her hands almost in disbelief. All this time, he was worried that she would be disappointed that she wasn’t marrying Joffery, but… she didn’t even want Joffery? As this information sunk in, he let out a tentative—but relieved—chuckle. “Y-yeah, he really comes off strong, doesn’t he? I’ve tried to tell him that, but… you know how he is.”

“Well, it seems to work out for him - but to each their own, right?” she smiled as she let her hands fall, then gave Reynold a contemplative look. “Is that what you’ve been so...flustered about?”

“…Kind of, yeah,” Reynold admitted.

“Well, that’s a relief. I mean - I’m sorry you were feeling that way, sibling rivalry isn’t fun - but I thought it was directed at me. ...I guess I can be flustering, but there was a difference. Disappointed-flustered instead of just confused-flustered. ...If that makes an ounce of sense,” she added with a slightly self-conscious chuckle.

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that,” Reynold replied, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to give the impression that you were, uh… inadequate? In any way.” He hesitated for a moment, before adding, “You, uh, you seem to be a nice person. I hope we can get to know each other better.”

“Aw, thanks.” She almost nudged him with her elbow, but thought better of it. They could work up to it, maybe. “I hope so, too - you seem pretty nice under all the…” She did her best impression of Lord Everett’s stern expression. “Seriousness.” She dropped the look and grinned.

Reynold blinked, taking a moment to process what she just did. Then, he grinned back at her. “Come on, I’m not that serious.”

“Heh - I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The two of them talked and laughed together for a while longer, almost entirely forgetting how late it was. They would probably regret it later, but they could worry about that another time—for now, it felt like they could finally have a conversation without any social pressures, and it was nice. Maybe this would work out, after all.

[Tiger]

Moving On, Moving Up
A collab between Shinko and Tiger

SPOILER: Click to show

Ophelia Braham was profoundly glad the issue of the Elacsite rattlesnake farm was out of her hands. The Jades seemed willing to take care of the matter, and she was content to step away from it; inter-regional politics were not why she’d gotten into the job of being an Elvish representative. Woo, politics in general weren’t why she’d gotten into this job. She liked translating, but all the wheeling and dealing she could happily have done without.

Still, it had benefits. Travelling to Solis frequently, for example.

This trip had been thrown together in rather a rush, leaving Ophelia with little time to prepare. The elves wanted to head off construction of the Elacsite rattlesnake farm adjacent to their city before it could get too well underway. But now that her business had been dispensed with, Ophelia had nowhere in particular she needed to be in any special hurry. So after asking around a bit, she’d found her way to a small public park near Jade Manor and the adjacent military garrisons. It didn’t take very long at all for her to find exactly what she was looking for there.

Or rather, who.

Cai Shahar, short-statured, dark-skinned, and heavily-scarred on one side of his face, was alone at a small table meant for two. The table’s surface was mostly hidden by a wooden board with an empty, inset space and the array of multicolored tiles scattered around it. The fireknight’s attention seemed to be on where he should place the yellow triangle currently in his hand. As Ophelia approached, however he glanced up, caution in his hazel eyes for a brief second before they widened a touch.

“Ophelia! I didn’t know you’d gotten here already!” Cai stepped down from his seat and went to greet the half-elf with a hug. “Did you already have the meeting with the Jades, or is that later?”

She chuckled, hugging the man back. “I’ve already spoken to them- and finished, as far as I can tell. The young man I spoke to took the entire case out of my hands, and may Woo give him pleasure with it. Sorry, I would’ve let you know I was in town but I had to organize my notes, rehearse my appeal, and all of those other fun diplomacy-things that go along with speaking before high nobility.”

“That’s all right,” Cai said, motioning for Ophelia to return to the table with him. “I probably wouldn’t have gotten the message until...maybe an hour or so ago, anyhow; I was on patrol this morning. It sounds like things went well, if the Jades agreed to handle the issue?”

“Aye,” the half-elf agreed, sitting down across from Cai at the table. “Lord… Reynold, I believe is his name? Said he would look into getting the nobles in Elacs to relocate the hatchery. For which I am grateful- we have enough wild cottonmouths and copperheads in that area to be getting along with, nevermind adding non-native rattlesnakes that will inevitably escape containment.” She smiled thinly. “I doubt I need to tell you how terrifying aggressive, venomous snakes are.”

“No, I know they’re not exactly a welcome sight,” Cai said with a nod. “Learning to identify them was part of fireknight training. More for our sake than the birds; apparently phoenixes aren’t especially fond of snakes and would happily burn one that tried to bite it - or they might kick it to death, I’m told. Not that either is a workable solution to this problem,” he admitted. “Lord Reynold, hm? He’s a friend of Lieutenant Escalus - I think I mentioned him to you before...probably not by name, though. He’s the boy I was considering asking to help look after Mirja when the Lieutenant collapsed during the drought.”

“Ah, I remember that,” Ophelia mused. “Guess he’s as keen as ever. Though I think I managed to fluster the poor boy- his brother came in and I teased them both about Lord Joffery making Reynold an uncle in the near future. Neither of them quite seemed to know what to think of it.”

“I hear new parents - and new aunts and uncles - are usually nervous before it happens,” Cai said with a small smile as he picked up a five-sided green tile. “I suppose it’s better to be a little over-worried than under.”

“Mm,” Ophelia’s gaze had suddenly flicked away, and she bit down on her lip. “Children need the support of their parents, so it’s better to be concerned about them than to assume everything will just work itself out.”

Cai was silent for a moment, slowly turning the piece of his puzzle between his fingers. “That’s true, yes,” he said at last. “...I take it that’s not a comment on Lord Joffery’s parenting skills, though...” His tone suggested this was less a question and more a subtle declaration that he had an idea who the remark might actually be directed toward.

Ophelia didn’t bother to deny it, instead giving a soft, sad sigh. “Remember how I told you that Sieg decided to go off galavanting in Bern all summer and I have… mixed feelings about it?”

Cai tilted his head a touch. “Yes, I remember.” He let his hand drift back to the table, where he abandoned the puzzle piece without looking at it, eyes on Ophelia.

“Well before he left he realized I was… worried. About how he’s been drifting away since the coronation last year. Since…” she shrugged miserably. “Since he made up with our mother.”

“Ahh. I see,” Cai said with a small frown. “He’s been drifting away? ...Do you think it’s your mother’s doing?” He didn’t know especially much about Ophelia’s mother - only that she was a difficult person for Ophelia to talk about, and that she had moved away from Nid’aigle after Belial Braham’s death. Cai had guessed rather than been told that the move had felt like abandonment. The fireknight couldn’t blame his girlfriend for that; it had been more than obvious to him in a relatively short span of time that the half-elf siblings had taken their father’s death excruciatingly hard, and even now weren’t really fully-recovered from it.

“If I'm being honest with myself, no,” Ophelia murmured. “At least not directly. He's just doing what I’ve been asking him to for all these years. Moving on. Living his life. I think making up with Mother just helped give him some of that closure he was missing. And it's petty really, my being jealous. It isn't like I don't leave for personal things for months at a time. Just…”

The half-elf fell silent, her blue eyes clouded. Cai reached out to lightly touch Ophelia’s hand with his own. “Sieg’s been a constant presence in your life...even when other people weren’t. It makes sense that you’d be uncomfortable with him being clear across the country.” He tilted his head slightly. “But you’re jealous, specifically? And it...doesn’t sound like it’s really over his divided attention…”

Ophelia knit her fingers through Cai’s gnawing on her lip. “Maybe not. I don’t know. I just know it hasn’t been sitting right with me. Sieg’s noticed, and he’s worried about me. He…” she averted her gaze. “He made me promise to go talk to her myself. While he’s in Bern. And I agreed to it because it was important to him, but when I think about actually doing it, I… I…”

Cai waited, but when Ophelia seemed either unwilling or unable to continue, he asked, “Are you afraid it wouldn’t go well?”

“She just left,” Ophelia answered evasively. “She… She ran off. But I’m the one who has to go to her to make up.”

The half-elf’s eyes were starting to pool over, and her shoulders were quivering. Cai shifted on the bench so he sat on his knees and reached across the table to put his hand on Ophelia’s shoulder. “It’s not fair,” he agreed.

She sniffed, putting up a hand over Cai’s and squeezing it. “She was… she was just so checked out after Papa died. And you’ve seen how Sieg has taken it, you can imagine how much a mess he was in the direct aftermath. I tried. I t-tried so hard to be... to be the strong one for them. To hold us all together. I loved her, I looked up to her. Sh-she was always strong, protective, loving, she didn’t take anyone’s crap. I th-thought for sure she’d come through. I thought…”

Cai nodded, rubbing his thumb in little consoling circles against her collarbone. “I’m sorry she didn’t. She should have been there for you. Or, at the least, come back to apologize.” He hesitated a long moment, clearly considering his words even more so than usual, and finally asked, “Did Sieg say if he’d talked to her about apologizing? Maybe there’s some reason she hasn’t come back herself?”

“Sieg thinks she’s afraid,” Ophelia mumbled. “He said she wants to make up, but she’s afraid I’ll reject her. He thinks she knows it was her fault and she doesn’t think she’ll get my forgiveness.”

“Hmm. Well, that’s no excuse not to offer an apology...but I suppose that’s easier to see when you’re not so emotionally invested in it.” He tapped the fingers of his free hand against the table. “Or maybe it’s a bit like the way you and Sieg were afraid of smoke and fire, at least for a while - even when you were thinking about it rationally, it was hard to move closer. I don’t know if that can happen with a situation instead of a thing, but...”

The young woman bit her lip. “It was because of her you know. She’s the reason Sieg does that… that awful fake smiling thing. He wanted to be strong. For her. Because she was so torn up. And she should’ve seen right through him. But she didn’t. She only saw what she wanted to see.”

“Hm. That’s true,” Cai admitted. It was difficult for him to understand how she could have missed it; he didn’t know Sieg very well, but he hadn’t needed to in order to realize how fake the smiles were. “...She must know about it now, at least - if she and Sieg made amends. Maybe she’ll look back on other choices she made and things she did...and, well, Sieg might be right that this is a good time to go, if you want an apology.”

He hesitated for a moment, a long pause even for him, before finally trying to meet Ophelia’s eyes and asking, “Do you want to make up with her? I know Sieg made you promise, but it’s your life...you shouldn’t be forced to add people to it.”

“I… I…” Ophelia wavered, then looked away. “You’ll hate me. I know you will. B-but I… part of me wants to confront her. T-to make her realize how badly she hurt us. To make her feel it.”

Cai blinked, surprised, but squeezed her shoulder gently. “Why would I hate you for that? ...It’s a normal reaction to being hurt. I can’t tell you how many fireknight trainees I’ve seen lash out during a practice match because they were hit. ...I wouldn’t recommend anything quite that drastic, but she did hurt you, and your brother. You have the right to confront her over that.” He paused, but ultimately decided to add, “And if either of you wants to fix your relationship, I don’t see any way you can avoid talking about it.”

“I… I do miss her,” Ophelia admitted quietly. “But the mother I miss is the mother I knew growing up. The strong, no-nonsense woman. The person who left wasn’t her. Not anymore.”

“Maybe not,” Cai said, equally quiet. “Even strong people break, if you push them the wrong way.”

When Ophelia was quiet for a long moment, Cai got to his feet. He stepped around the table to join the half-elf on the opposite side of the table, and wrapped his arms around her as best he could while sitting beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wish this wasn’t a situation you had to deal with.”

Ophelia slumped a bit, leaning her cheek against the side of Cai’s head. “I don’t know what I want. I… I really don’t know. I’m scared.”

Cai prompted, “Of what?”

“Of… of being disappointed,” she admitted. “Of psyching myself up, going to Medieville, and finding that she’s been perfectly fine without me. That this has been eating at me for so long, but she just doesn’t care.”

Cai tightened his hug a little. “I can see why you’d worry about that. But I can’t imagine Sieg would think this was a good idea if she didn’t care. If anything, I think he would be angry with her. ...And Sieg said she was afraid you wouldn’t accept her apology - if she didn’t care about what she did, and about you, why would she be afraid?”

“I… I guess you have a point there,” she admitted. The half-elf kissed Cai on his forehead, adding, “When did you get so wise, hm? I barely know you.”

Cai shook his head. “I don’t know about wise; I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know - I just reframed it. ...Or maybe the phoenixes are rubbing off on me. Though I’m sure Tamir would have better advice if he spoke Kythian.”

Ophelia chuckled. “He and Mirja do make excellent relationship coaches, hm? Though on a bit of a lighter note that… does remind me of something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Well… we’ve been dating for five years now. And I’d… I’d held us off from taking things further because I wanted to be there for Sieg. Because he needed me. But now he… he’ll always be my brother, but he doesn’t need me as his crutch anymore.”

Cai, his hazel eyes a little wider and more expressive than he usually allowed, nodded slightly. “All right - so…”

“I… I think that after I finish up in Medieville, whether things go well with with my mother or not, I want to… resign. My position as a representative for Nid’aigle.” She smiled crookedly. “You know how much stress that’s been for me anyway. I’d like to become a translator full time. Here- in Solis.”

Cai blinked twice and sat up straight - not that it made much difference when he was so much shorter than Ophelia. “You’re going to move here? So - we’ll be able to see each other all the time?” A smile abruptly split his face and he pulled Ophelia close for another hug. “That would be - will be …” He was clearly trying to find a word, but finally made a little noise of frustration and amended, “I would love that.” He stretched up to give Ophelia a kiss. She was clearly startled, but after a blink she returned the gesture. Pulling back away she grinned.

“I hoped you might help me find somewhere in town to live- somewhere close to the base, but not so close only high-end merchants can afford to live there. I…” she blushed. “I’ve been saving up. For a long time. So I should be able to afford a proper cottage, rather than just a flat somewhere, if I can find one in a reasonable price range.”

“There should be places near the base like that,” Cai said with a firm nod. “Some of the fireknights live fairly close by, and the ones with families would need something bigger than a flat. I can ask around while you’re gone, if you’d like? Just to get an idea where to start looking?”

“That’d be great,” Ophelia replied eagerly. “If you aren’t too busy. It’ll be…” She pressed herself closer to Cai’s warmth. “It’ll be nice. To be able to see each other casually. Not to live every moment knowing we’re coming closer and closer to when one of us has to leave.”

“We could see each other every day,” Cai marveled, leaning his head on Ophelia’s arm. “Well - every day the both of us are home; but that will still be much more often than we’re in the same city now. No more months of no contact except letters.” He tilted his head to look up at her. “Leaving Nid’aigle will be hard, though, won’t it?”

“It will be… an adjustment,” Ophelia admitted. “I’ve lived there my whole life, so I’d be lying if I said I won’t miss it. The quiet of a forest is much, much different than the bustle of a tight human city.” She smiled, leaning forwards to whisper in his hear. “But you’re worth it.”

Cai laughed lightly, his face a little hot, and pressed a kiss to Ophelia’s lips.

[Shinko]

Whoooo wants to dive into the rabbithole to the early 1100s? This is a collab between myself and Tiger , and it follows some familiar faces during a simpler time of their lives. Simpler, but no less eventful! Enjoy everybody!

(Trigger warning for animal violence.)


A Dangerous Detour

Part One

SPOILER: Click to show

The late spring sun was beating down harshly on the winding countryside road of Southern Corvus. A mostly disused path, repairs that were being done to the Ash Road after a landslide the week prior washed it out saw what was normally a remote hunting trail as now the best route north from Andesine territory.

“Keep an eye on the road ahead,” called a man at the head of a group of three that was currently passing along the mostly forgotten trail. “We don’t want any roots or potholes to catch our mounts by surprise and end up twisting a horse’s ankle.”

“Yes, Mother,” sniped the other man in the group, brown-haired to the leader’s blond. His tone carried an exaggerated weariness as he continued, “We’ve been caring for and riding horses for decades, you know.”

The third member of their small band- a woman with hair and eyes both brown- gave a low chuckle. “Aye, but you know how Captain Monfort is about his horses. Man loves them more than he loves most people.”

“Oh come on, give me some credit,” the blonde flashed a grin back at the other two. “I’m just trying to be a responsible leader. After all if one of our mounts is hurt, then we’ll have to ride double on another of them, and I know neither of you wants that.”

“The horses wouldn’t care for it, either,” the other man said, lightly patting the neck of his horse, a big, broad-chested dapple gray destrier. “Hopefully we won’t be on the road for much longer, anyway; this trail can’t possibly add more than a few hours to our time.”

“We should be able to pick up the Ash again by mid-afternoon,” the blonde man confirmed- it was presently midmorning. “So it could be a lot worse, aye.” He flashed the other man a sympathetic smile. “I know diplomacy work isn’t your favorite thing to be doing, Bastien- hopefully we won’t need to parlay with Citronelle again for some time, and we can focus on the defenses around Nid’aigle again.”

“I’ll be glad of that,” Bastien said fervently. “Something to do besides letting you and Cosette do all the talking so I don’t offend anyone.” The corner of his mouth twisted upward into a smirk.

Cosette chuckled, shaking her head. “Ah, but you were clearly the most important part of our efforts, hm? Where would we be without you to stand behind us imposingly and scowl at anyone looking at us for too long?”

“Intimidation is alas, not one of my strengths,” the captain agreed. “I’m informed I’m about as scary as a week-old kitten.”

Bastien clicked his tongue. “Pah. Even week-old kittens have claws, Gavin.”

Gavin made an exaggerated gesture as if he’d just been stabbed in the chest, his face full of feigned hurt. “I suppose you would know. Wasn’t it your shirt that Sir Joachim dropped a tiny kitten into during your squire training?”

Tapping his fingers on the pommel of his saddle, Bastien said, “You know very well it was; I saw you laughing.” He snorted. “‘Dexterity training’, indeed.”

“You passed with flying colors, at least,” Gavin noted, grinning broadly now. “The kitten was none the worse for its adventure. Whatever happened to it, anyway?”

“I think one of the gardeners who tends to the training grounds took it in,” Cosette piped up. “It lived out the rest of its days quite spoiled.”

“See, there you go,” Gavin winked. “A happy ending for all.”

“Tch. Aside from me, forever branded as victim of a kitten and unable to taunt my captain with comparisons to baby animals because of it.”

“There are plenty of other foibles of mine that you can wield against me,” Gavin replied. “Let me have this one thing.”

The lady knight grinned. “At least Gavin doesn't lecture you on insubordination for-”

Cosette’s quip was cut off by a sudden, ringing shriek that split the forest air. The elf knights tensed immediately, Cossette hissing, “What the ‘Pit was that?”

Bastien clucked his tongue at his horse, whose ears had shot up at the sound, then answered, “Trouble, I’m sure. Are we investigating, Captain?” His tone made it clear the question was cursory, as if he already knew what the answer would be.

Gavin nodded curtly, hand on the hilt of his blade. “Aye- Bastien, you’re with me. Cos, hang back in case we need backing up.”

“Or a rescue,” she noted dryly, though she was already drawing her sword. Gavin jerked his head beckoningly at Bastien before kicking his heels into the haunches of his destrier. The horse, agitated, hesitated not a moment in darting towards the direction of the scream at a swift canter, even as another terrified screech split the air. Bastien and his destrier followed suit, Bastien’s eyes narrowing at the second scream.

They quickly had to leave the narrow trail to follow the cry; the air filled with the sounds of the horses crushing through the vegetation in their path. Another scream, close this time - and then they were on the scene, the horses drawing up short; Bastien’s destrier reared up, kicking its front hooves outward and nearly unseating its rider.

It was fortunate Bastien had been able to stay in the saddle; the puma-sized, black-scaled, blood-spattered dragon might have abandoned the woman it was crouched over and gone for an unseated knight instead.

“Prowler!” Gavin shouted. “I’ll try to distract it, once it’s off the woman get a shield on her!”

The captain kicked his horse forward, charging directly at the dragon so that it hissed and mantled it’s stubby wings. Drool was pooling from the creature’s jaw, forming sticky threads between it and its victim as it bore thumb sized fangs at Gavin. The knight turned his horse at the last moment, swinging the flat of of sword at the prowler’s nostril so that it squealed in pain and leapt backwards on impulse.

Bastien hastily looped his horse’s reins more tightly around his left hand and pointed the wand in his right toward the collapsed woman. His eyes stayed on Gavin and the prowler; when the dragon leaped back, Bastien squinted at the space, and flicked his wrist with a curt ”Protegwoo!” Green light swept up and over the woman in a low dome; the prowler was close enough to scrabble against the magic for purchase, but it quickly abandoned that plan in favor of snarling at Gavin. Its tail lashed back and forth like an angry cat’s.

“You should be going after deer and boar, sir,” Gavin informed the drooling dragon. “Humans are not part of your natural menu.”

The dragon only responded to this with a gurgling growl. However, there was a tremendous crashing from the brush further off into the woods, and after a beat of hesitation- the prowler’s ears pricked and its attention caught by the noise- the dragon turned tail and fled.

Bastien pointed his wand toward the new noise. “And what trouble is this?” he huffed.

A group of humans emerged from the brush - a group of about half a dozen men. Some wore armor; all had some trace of clothing in red and gold - so did the woman who had been attacked by the prowler. Bastien slowly lowered his wand and let his expression become impassive. “Human knights. Wonderful.”

The elf captain rubbed his face, quickly sheathing his sword and putting up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture. “Those are House Topaza colors- I’m sure of it. Cosette should hopefully catch up to us in another moment or two to translate, but with any luck the lack of blood on us should make it clear this isn’t our doing. Remove the shield so it doesn’t look like we’re holding the woman captive.”

Bastien complied and even sheathed his wand when he was done - though he didn’t quite take his hand off of it. A few of the knights converged on the woman, their voices low but urgent and concerned as they looked her over. She was still conscious, at least, but made no move to get up.

One of the other knights - a broadly-built man with a scruffy mustache and somewhat darker skin than most of the Corvid humans the elves were used to seeing - strode toward them, though he kept a careful distance from their horses. He said something in a demanding tone; Gavin tugged the pointed tip of his ear, giving a helpless shrug, while Bastien simply raised an eyebrow. “Lovely. Another human who hasn’t bothered to learn the language older than his entire country.”

“Let’s go easy on the scorn while they still don’t know for sure we’re not the ones who hurt the lady over there,” Gavin said, levelling a withering look in his companion’s direction. Turning back to the human knight, Gavin removed one of his gauntlets and held it out for the man’s inspection. As was requisite, it held the emblem of the knightly order that Gavin and Bastien both served- the Nid’aigle company. The sigil was a navy field with a sky blue tree, and a navy eagle nesting in the branches of the tree.

The knight eased forward to examine the gauntlet more closely, then nodded, saying something that resembled the word “Nid’aigle” in an inquisitive tone. Bastien miraculously kept silent and simply glanced away at the trees rather than making a face at the human’s pronunciation. Gavin nodded, his eyes flicking towards his companion with something between sympathy and weary resignation.

At that moment Cosette finally emerged into the clearing, immediately putting her hands up as the human knights bristled and giving what could only have been a placation in Kythian. The man who had been talking to Gavin and Bastien - presumably the commander of the group - gestured for the others to stand down. He asked Cosette something; the only word the two male elves could understand was “Kythian”. Cosette nodded, adding something which included rattling off her own name as well as Gavin and Bastien’s, before turning to the elves. “I take it that the gentlemen here are not responsible for that woman’s distress, seeing as you’re not fighting them? He’s asking me to translate for him since he doesn’t speak Elvish.”

Bastien said, “No, they came after we chased off the prowler.” He studied the knights as the hovered over the injured woman. “Though they don’t seem to be helping her distress much; I don’t see anyone who looks like a healer with them.”

Gavin coughed, “Tell this gentleman that we didn’t hurt their lady- we simply came when we heard her screaming. If his men merely look at the ground, they will see ample prowler footprints to prove the identity of the real culprit.”

Cossett obliged, and the captain, though visibly startled, gave an order to one of the knights, who hesitantly began scouring the ground near the cluster of knights gathered around the woman. The man paused, then looked up and nodded grimly.

“Well,” the commander said with a scowl, “that answers that. But what a prowler’s doing this close to town...“ He looked up sharply at Cosette. “You three didn’t drive it here, did you?”

“We were just passing through on our way home from a diplomatic mission to Citronelle, over in House Oberon territory,” Cosette retorted after she translated the question, frowning. “My captain and fellow knight saved your lady- I think they’ll thank you not to level unfounded accusations.”

“I think there was something wrong with it,” Gavin said, dismounting from his destrier. “It was drooling heavily the entire time we were fighting it- but not frothing, so I don’t think it was mad.”

“No accusations meant,” the human commander said. “Only that is being chased out here would explain it. Although if there was something wrong with it…” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of drooling as a sign something’s wrong with an animal, but it doesn’t sound normal, either.”

“Captain,” Bastien interjected quietly. “He’s apparently not going to ask, and none of their knights thought to bring a mage healer along - you may want to send me over to help them with those dragon wounds sooner rather than later. Unless he’s still looking for a way to blame us for this, Cosette?”

“No, he’s just pondering the prowler,” Cosette replied with a frown. She cast Gavin a questioning glance, and when he nodded she said aloud, “Sir, the question of the dragon can wait for another time, I believe- the… Lady Topaza I surmise?- is losing quite a bit of blood, and since you seem to have no mage healers of your own Sir Bastien has volunteered to patch her up as best he can so she is stable for moving.”

The commander frowned at his knights. “Yes, let him help - I doubt it’ll come back with this many people around, but I’d rather get us out of here than chance it. Thank you,” he added with a nod in Gavin and Bastien’s direction. Gavin nodded in reply, and as Bastien dismounted his horse and tromped toward the other knights, he folded his arms.

“I surmise you’re on your way to House Andesine or Oberon? Why was the lady so far from her protectors?”

“We’re on our way to House Andesine, yes.” The captain sighed. “I don’t know why she was this far away - she usually wanders a little when we water the horses, but never this far…”

“Hm,” Gavin grunted, looking concerned. After a moment he turned to Bastien. “How bad is it?”

“She should live,” Bastien replied, not looking up from his work. “But it’s not exactly a glancing blow, either. It looks like it couldn’t quite get its jaws around her throat, but it certainly was trying.” He motioned with his free hand to the blood pooled around the junction of the Topaza woman’s neck and shoulder. “And I haven’t checked yet, but I would be surprised if a hundred-something pound dragon didn’t crack a rib or two when it pounced on her.”

“She’ll need to be closely watched for infection as well,” Cosette noted. “Who knows what foulness that thing was carrying in its mouth.” She passed all this along to the knights, adding, “You mentioned we’re near a town? Do you think there might be a more specialized, professional healer there?”

“Not likely,” the commander replied. “It’s small. Very small. ...But it would be better than staying out here, or in the carriage, especially if it comes back.” He scrutinized his group of knights for a moment before asking, “Would you be willing to accompany us? I’ll have to make a report of this, and I’ll need your descriptions of it. I’m also not ashamed to say I wouldn’t mind knights alongside us who know how to drive it off if it comes back again.”

Gavin bowed his head respectfully. “Of course- a prowler attacking humans is on its own a sign something has gone badly amiss; they fear people and seldom attack them without provocation. We can’t overlook this.” Glancing towards Bastien he added, “Sorry, my friend. You’ll have to wait a bit longer before we head back home.”

Bastien grunted in resignation. “We’ve been away this long; what’s a while more? Besides - I’d rather we get some input on how the humans handle the prowler. Maybe they could try giving it a quick death, and perhaps not killing a dozen other animals in their attempts to catch it this time around.”

“I’m going to go ahead and not translate that remark,” Cosette said dryly. “Just let us know when you think Lady, ah... well, the lady is stable enough to be moved.” Glancing at the knight she added, “That reminds me, I gave you our names, but I don’t believe we ever caught yours, Sirs.”

“Ah - of course, I’m sorry; I’m Captain Brenden Meyer; we’re escorting Lady Marilyn Topaza...and her brother. Lord Devon Topaza” - Meyer glanced toward the trees, presumably in the direction they had left the carriage and the Topaza in question - “to Cossar.”

Gavin nodded. “Hopefully we can reassure the lord shortly- I can only imagine he was terrified when he heard his sister screaming. I’m just glad we found her in time to prevent the prowler from delivering a fatal blow.”

“As am I,” Meyer insisted.

Bastien rose to his feet, drawing a few startled looks from the human knights at his height. “I’ve done about all I can do for her,” he said. “She has a crack in a rib and at least some bruising in two others, but I can’t do very much about that.” As a warmage, Bastien had specialized in magics designed to harm or defend, rather than very much healing magic. “She’s not bleeding from the neck so badly anymore, though. I won’t say she doesn’t need stitches here and there, but it should be safe enough to move her.”

“Very well, thank you, Bastien,” Gavin replied. He swung over the saddle of his destrier as Cosette relayed Bastien’s words to the humans, and then through her added, “We’re ready whenever you are, Sirs. Lead the way.”

******

Slowly, and with great care to avoid any further injuries to Lady Topaza, the knights returned to the road. Two other knights waited alongside the carriage there, along with several horses and a man in more red and gold clothing - presumably the Topaza lady’s brother. He already looked nervous when they came out of the forest, but when he saw his sister, injured and bloodied, it escalated to near-panic; only the knights’ firm coaxing and reminders that standing out on the roadway wasn’t going to do his sister any good got him to calm down enough to get into the carriage and let the group set off.

The town was as small as Meyer had implied; there couldn’t have been more than sixty people living in it, and from a glance, it was clear they weren’t likely to find much in the way of professional healing here.

They also found out, when Captain Meyer asked the first villager they came across, that the town didn’t have an inn, either. “I’m not surprised,” Meyer said when he returned to the group, “but it makes things more inconvenient.”

“If this was Topaza territory, his lordship could likely demand to be put up somewhere,” Gavin mused. “But his influence is less considering these are Andesine lands. I imagine he could still ask, however…” Bowing to Devon, the elf added, “Of course this is your decision to make.”

The Topaza man blinked like he’d been startled, but he cleared his throat and managed, “Well - no, it’s probably best not to put people off by throwing around orders and my rank. But...we could ask. And maybe offer payment, if people are reluctant; it’s not as if Topaza is wanting for runestones.”

“That could work,” Meyer said. “And I don’t think you’ll need to cover room and board for everyone, anyhow; I doubt they have spare stabling for all the horses, so some of us will need to stay outside to keep an eye on them. Especially with dragons roaming around.”

“I would be surprised if anyone around here had much beyond a paddock for plow donkeys,” Cosette agreed. “Though that does raise a point we should probably take to the village mayor or headman, when we get the chance- with a prowler so close to the village and clearly not afraid of people, their livestock animals will need close guarding.”

Nodding, Meyer said, “I did get directions to where the headman lives. We’re probably best paying him a visit - if he’s not on his way to meet us already - to explain what we’re doing here before we do much else.”

The village headman, it transpired, was an elderly lime farmer who still owned quite a bit of land and a decent sized cottage on the outskirts of the village. Many of the other villagers were out working in the orchards as the knights passed through, and sure enough the headman was quickly alerted to their approach and rode out to greet them astride a rather grouchy looking mule.

“My lords,” he said, his voice high and rough with age. He swung down from the mule’s back and bowed low. “It isn’t often we get nobility in little old Shady Grove. What can we do for you?”

Meyer glanced at Devon; when the Topaza nodded, Meyer nudged his horse forward and spoke. “Thank you for the welcome. We’re in need of some assistance; we’ve been escorting a Lord and Lady Topaza to House Andesine, and the Lady was attacked just off the road by a prowler dragon.”

The headman looked immensely startled, his jaw falling open so that he was gaping at the knight. “What? Demon attacked you? In broad daylight, with all them knights around? He usually picks off stragglers, and after dark too.”

Gavin, who had been following the exchange through Cosette’s murmured translation, straightened at this. “Demon? You know this beast?”

“Well yeah,” the old man frowned. “He’s been skulking around for going on four months now.”

“So there have been other attacks?” Meyer demanded.

Bastien asked, “What kind of stragglers is he talking about?”

The headman rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Well at first he was just tearing up our chicken coops and rabbit hutches. It’s only within the last three weeks that he’s gotten… venturesome.” The man sighed. “It was the teenage son of the tailor, the first time. Ran out to try and chase Demon away from his ma’s rabbits, and got dragged off. Then a shepherd, out with his flock around dusk. And it’s been like that over and over.”

“He went for a shepherd, but not the sheep?” Cosette asked incredulously.

“He never goes after anything strong enough to fight back,” the headman replied. “On account of his mangled up jaw.”

“Mangled jaw,” Bastien repeated slowly. “That’d be why it couldn’t get a bite around her neck. And - you said it was drooling, Gavin?”

“Profusely,” Gavin agreed, frowning deeply. “I didn’t get a good look at its face, but a broken jaw would indeed account for such strange behavior. Prowlers can breathe fire like their larger kin, but not well nor for long, and their bodies aren’t designed for falcon-like stooping. They hunt like a big cat or a wolf- biting their prey until it strangles.”

“And claws aren’t much good for a quick kill,” Bastien said. Noticing that Cosette had been translating this exchange for the benefit of the others, he added almost reluctantly, “When you’re a predator who can’t get a good enough grip with your teeth to hold your usual prey down...you try to find something weaker.”

Meyer pulled back, looking quite disturbed. “Then - then it needs to be found and killed. It’s a maneater.” Devon Topaza nodded jerkily in agreement. The commander continued; “Maneaters don’t go back to their normal prey - and even if they did; it’s been four months. The prowler’s jaw clearly isn’t healing.”

“At least a few of our number should travel on to Cossar,” Gavin noted. “Tell Lord Andesine about this. Though that begs the question, why haven’t you appealed to Lord Andesine for help before now?”

The headman shrugged helplessly. “When it was just chickens and rabbits, well that was work for guard dogs and shepherd crooks. Nothing a lord would trifle with. Now? Too scared to risk the road. I told you, Demon’s been picking off anyone who goes too far out alone.”

“Well,” Meyer said, his disconcerted expression turning to a scowl, “we’ll see how the beast feels about a group of armored knights. Captain Gavin’s right; Lord Andesine should know about this. And if he could send a trained healer, that would probably be better for Lady Topaza than trying to bring her there. ...Speaking of.” He turned his gaze to the headman. “We could use a safe place for Lady Topaza - and one guard, at least - to rest. We’re been told you don’t have an inn here - but I take it you wouldn’t object to us arranging lodging with someone in the village?”

“Ah, I can set aside some space in my home, I think,” he said, bowing his head again. “My kids have all long moved out so I have two bedrooms no one is using. And of course you’re free to spread out into the main space as well, provided you don’t mind pallets on the floor.”

“We’ve slept in worse places,” Meyer said. “Not to be rude, but can you take us there now? I’d like to get Lady Topaza out of the carriage and send some of my men on to Cossar with a report.”

“Of course, Sir,” the headman agreed, clambering back up on the mule’s back. “Just a bit further down this path. We can get her ladyship niced and tucked away into a warm bed.”

The knights and Topazas followed him back to a modestly-sized house. Meyer assigned some knights to move Lady Topaza, and as they did so - Devon close by - Meyer turned his attention to the elves. “Thank you for coming with us,” he said. “I suppose I should get my report done now; or at least, I assume you three will need to be on your way?”

Gavin folded his arms, glancing at his two companions pensively. “I hardly wish to impose upon you, Captain Meyer, but… if you’re sending some of your squad away, it only stands to reason that we should linger, as I see it. Especially if the problem is a wild animal gone rogue. We handle such cases quite a bit, both around Nid’aigle and elsewhere. And well- if it weren’t for the construction on the Ash Road these people would still have no aid. We owe them our help now that we’re here.”

“Well, I certainly won’t argue against more allies in fighting a dragon, prowler or not,” Meyer said. “Your assistance would be greatly appreciated.” Scrutinizing his own knights, Meyer added, “If you’re staying, perhaps we can put off the report for the time being; let me assign people to continue onto Cossar - and I think I’ll send Lord Topaza with them, so he’s not, ah, in danger here - and then...perhaps we can see if we can track it? Unless you have another suggestion?”

Gavin pondered this, then nodded. “That might be wise- we certainly don’t want to leave it to its own devices, to continue terrorizing this village and its people at will. Four months is far too long already- it is comfortable here and we already disrupted a hunt earlier so we know it’s hungry.”

“Exactly,” Meyer agreed grimly. “Though with luck, that’ll mean it’s close to the village and we can catch it easily. Of course, at this point - “ Meyer jerked his head toward the injured Topaza, “I’m not precisely counting on luck.”

Part Two

SPOILER: Click to show

Meyer made his assignments of who was to go on to Andesine and who was to stay; given the likelihood they would find the prowler close to the village, it was decided that the three knights taking the news would get a few hours’ rest before being sent out. If they managed to catch it by then, there was no point sending out-of-date news.

Getting Devon Topaza to agree to go with the knights wasn’t as simple a matter; the young lord and the captain spent several long minutes arguing about it, Devon insisting he couldn’t leave his injured sister’s side, Meyer explaining over and over again that keeping the Topazas safe was harder to do when both of them were lingering in a village frequented by a man-eating dragon, and that Devon could at least use his rank to bluster the Andesines into sending help as quickly as possible.

Eventually, Meyer seemed to realize everyone was stuck standing around waiting on them to finish, and he cut off the argument with a sharp, “Lord Devon - all due respect, but your father is currently the lord of House Topaza, meaning I serve him first and foremost - his orders were that I keep his children safe. You will be going on to Cossar with the knights. Spend what time you have left here with your sister.” He turned on his heel, mounted his horse and, ignoring Devon’s stammering protests, beckoned the others to follow him back toward the forest.

The elves and the humans split up near the border of the village; while the elves and their destriers would be useful combatants, the language barrier would make it difficult for the two groups to communicate over longer distances while scouting. Instead, the human knights went to search the immediate area, while the elves remained in town to gather information from the residents.

“It feels like we didn’t find out much the headman hadn’t already told us,” Bastien remarked as they rode back to where they’d left the Topazas and their guard. “That it’s likely young, but unless one of you caught more than I did, I don’t think that helped us very much.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Gavin said, his expression one of frustration. “There’s no real pattern to the targets that I can see- just opportunistic picking off of anyone who wanders out alone. I suppose it was too much to hope for that it always attacks from a specific direction and we could narrow the search that way, or something like that.”

“Prowlers usually don’t have permanent dens anyway,” Cosette put in. “They wander their territory and settle in any number of protected spots to rest. Usually only nesting females will defend a single spot.”

“Well, I suppose we know it’s not a nesting mother, then,” Bastien said. “Although it sounds to me like it’s a male, anyway - those top horns must be pretty large for just about everyone to have seen that crack, and I doubt a female’s would have been big enough for that.” His frown deepened. “Especially with the way some people talked about its size.”

Gavin shook his head. “If it’s as small as everyone implied, but has clearly prominent top horns, then yes it was likely a male. An adolescent male, but still a male. That could possibly explain how it got hurt- a hunt that went horribly wrong due to inexperience. I wish I’d had a better chance to get a look at the jaw to see how badly it’s mangled.”

“Well, badly enough that I’m suspecting its bite didn’t get around the Topaza’s throat because it couldn’t work its jaws that way.” A pause. “...Hm. You know - out of every living witness, she had the best view of the prowler.”

“That’s a diplomatic way of phrasing the fact that she had it’s teeth right in her face,” Cosette remarked dryly, lifting an eyebrow in Bastien’s direction. “I ought to applaud, Bas, I think that’s a record high for things in a row you’ve said diplomatically.”

“So it is. Maybe you’ll even start translating for me without editing, hm?”

Gavin chuckled. “Ah, but where would I be without your searing wit to level my hopeless optimism? You’re like the salt added to something sweet to make it better.”

Bastien clicked his tongue. “Now you know I can’t reply with sentimentality or it’ll ruin the effect. Let me try being helpful instead - we want to know what the prowler’s jaw looked like, yes? Maybe we should ask Lady Topaza.”

“As good a notion as any,” Cosette agreed, rubbing her face. Wearily she added, “Always assuming Lord Devon lets us anywhere near her. He was… rather high strung when we left earlier.”

“If his sister has come to at all, maybe she can help to talk some sense into him,” Gavin suggested. “Or perhaps she’ll be terrified and want to use him as a shield. We won’t know unless we try. I agree with Bastien.”

“Cosette’s right that the brother might be a problem. But he wants the prowler killed.” Bastien made a face. “I saw him nod when their captain said it needed to be done. Much as I hate to reinforce the idea of taking vengeance on an animal - we might be able to use that to our advantage. If it comes to it.” He shrugged lightly. “If the two of you and your diplomacy and endless optimism can’t crack him.”

The elves returned to the headman’s home, and were unsurprised to find that while the knights who had been chosen to parlay with Lord Andesine were finishing up a quick meal and preparing to get moving again, Lord Devon appeared not to have stirred from his sister’s side since they departed earlier. In fact, one of the Topaza knights had to knock on the door to get his attention.

“Wha - oh.” The man cleared his throat and tried to sit up straighter. “Did you find anything?”

“Not much worthy of note, my lord,” Gavin replied as Cosette translated. “I’m afraid that most of the accounts we were able to gather were from villagers who only saw glimpses of the prowler while trying to chase it away from their small livestock animals. For… reasons I’m sure are obvious, any firsthand accounts up close are not available to us.”

The elf’s eyes flicked towards the prone woman on the bed. “That being the case, we hoped…”

“Hoped…” Devon’s brow furrowed - but then leaped upward again. “You want to ask her about this? It’s - it’s barely been an hour!”

“It’s been more than that,” Bastien muttered. Cosette did not translate this, and Gavin gave him a stern look before he faced the lord again.

“With all due respect, Lord Topaza, I understand fully your desire not to force your sister to relive something so traumatic. But she and all of these villagers are in grave danger as long as the prowler is still out there, and-”

“And what more information do you need to hunt it down? It’s a dragon - if you can’t find it, what is harassing my sister going to do to help you with that? I’m sure it didn’t have a map of its hiding places etched onto its face!”

“It attacked her,” Gavin said, raising a blonde brow. In spite of the noble’s attempts to puff himself up with anger, all three of the elves stood at least half a head taller than him, and it made for a rather odd image. “Its attack patterns could give us valuable insight into how it stalks its prey, and a means to defend ourselves when the time comes that we do confront it.”

“Didn’t you already fight it off?” the noble demanded. “I don’t see what - “

The woman on the bed groaned, equal parts pain and exasperation evident in her voice. “Devon, please, stop yelling.”

Devon started, and darted back to the bed. “Marilyn - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, I just -”

“My head’s already throbbing from - this,” she gestured with a shaking arm toward her wounds - “I can’t listen to you shouting, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Devon said again, practically whispering.

“Who - who are you shouting at, anyway?” Marilyn started to turn her head, but then went stock still with a sharp hiss of a gasp as it stretched the bite on her neck. “I can’t see who’s there, Devon.” She was clearly trying to sound composed, but her voice shook far too noticeably.

Her brother grumbled, “The elven knights.”

“Elven…?”

“They happened to be nearby when…” Devon cleared his throat. “They were the ones who drove the beast off. Now they want to ask more about it.” He glowered at the bedframe, as if it might make his displeasure known to the elves in a way that would not upset his sister.

Cosette coughed, edging into the room so that she was within Marilyn’s line of sight. “We know you’ve had a very hard day, Lady Topaza, and far be it for us to impose. But we’re trying to help your knights to track the prowler that attacked you- according to the villagers here it is a known maneater. But we need to know as much about it as we can, and we were hoping you could tell us whatever you might remember of when it came after you.”

“Oh,” Marilyn said, and took in a deep, shaking breath.

Devon said, “Marilyn, you don’t have to -”

“I want them to catch it!” Devon’s head jerked back at his sister’s insistence. She went on, taking quick, sharp breaths between parts of sentences - “I don’t want it out there waiting for me - I want them to find it, and make sure it doesn’t attack anyone! And if that means I have to talk - It’s not as if I’m not remembering it already! I might as well talk about it!”

“All right,” Devon said placatingly. “All right - but calm down, Marilyn, you’re going to make the pain worse gasping like that.”

Gavin bit his lip, and glanced at Bastien out of the corner of his eye. “Can you numb her pain? Blocking it entirely would be a bad idea, since she might hurt herself worse without realizing, but if we’re going to force her to relive her attack it’s only fair that we at least do something to make her more comfortable.”

Bastien sighed. “I didn’t bring along any pain-relieving potions. ...But ...I suppose a bit of cooling would numb it some. Not as permanently,” he admitted as he drew his wand, “but for a little while. You may want to explain what I’m doing, Cosette; I don’t want to be tackled by her brother for drawing a wand on his sister.”

When Cosette was finished translating, Bastien stepped up to the bedside and cast a careful Glacius spell around the bites on her neck and shoulder. His wandtip barely flickered with green light, and no actual ice appeared on the skin - just a bit of condensation, and Marilyn gasping a little with surprise at the temperature change.

“That does help some...thank you,” she said. Bastien stepped back and nodded toward Gavin.

“I’m glad,” the elf captain said with a smile. “I am sorry we couldn’t get to you sooner, Lady Topaza. And I’m sorry we have to ask this of you- we wouldn’t if it were not possible this information could save more lives.”

Marilyn started to nod, but then winced and seemed to think better of it. “I understand, Sir. And I am grateful you got to me before it could...well.” She waved a hand vaguely, her face paling a little. “Thank you. ...Did you want to know anything specific, or should I just...recite what happened?”

“As much as you can remember, though of course take as much time as you need,” Gavin replied. “I understand if this will be difficult for you to recount.”

“All right…” Marilyn fell silent for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. Finally, she began, “I went farther from the road than I should have. There was a little path there; I wanted to stretch my legs after being cooped up in the carriage and I thought I would see where it went. But I must have lost track of how long I’d been walking...I really only intended to follow it a little ways.” She fell silent again, taking a few deep but slightly stuttering breaths around her cracked ribs.

“I think it tried to attack me from behind,” she eventually continued, quietly, eyes still turned down. “I had just turned around to start going back, but…I must have seen something out of the corner of my eye? I don’t know - something made me turn around. And...there it was. I didn’t expect them to be so big - I knew they were, you know, a bit bigger than wolves, but...I suppose I haven’t seen a real wolf before, either.

“...Something was wrong with it,” Marilyn said, fiddling with the blanket with the hand of her uninjured arm. “It was drooling, a lot, and its tongue was hanging out, but it wasn’t panting like a dog… I wonder...I wonder if it couldn’t close its mouth right. It bit me - and - and I remember when it looked up because someone was coming...it had its mouth almost closed, but it was like...like this.” She opened her mouth a little and pushed her bottom jaw out to the side, as if she were trying to work out kinks in a stiff jaw. “Just...more so, since it has such a long mouth.”

Cosette nodded. “That matches up with what the villagers told us- apparently this particular prowler suffered a broken jaw at some point, and that’s why it’s been attacking humans. It can’t get enough pressure to it’s bite to take down it’s natural, bigger prey. Did it knock you down before biting, or just… go for the bite?”

“It...it happened fast...I think it knocked me down first.”

“That makes sense,” Bastien said. “I imagine you wouldn’t have to try and drag something down with a half-working jaw many times before realizing that isn’t a good strategy.”

“Was it hiding before it pounced on you?” Gavin asked, his brow furrowed. “Or was it just… out in the open on the trail?”

“Well, I didn’t see it until I turned around...but when I did, it had come out all the way onto the path.”

Gavin turned to Bastien, frowning. “So it’s overconfident. And not very smart about its hunting. That’s worth remembering- it won’t necessarily think to keep itself concealed before it strikes.”

Bastien agreed, “It would make it easier on us if we don’t have to flush it out of hiding. But it does seem to know to wait until backs are turned. Unless that was just coincidence. We’ll need our helmets on for certain, in case it gets lucky with a pounce on someone’s back.”

Gavin nodded. “We don’t leave the city in less than full armor. A prowler’s jaw pressure is normally such that it can at least dent plate mail, but I don’t imagine that will be the case here. It could easily be the difference between life and death.”

Cosette hadn’t bothered to translate this exchange for the Kythians, instead waiting until it seemed that the two male elves were done before gently brooking, “Is there anything else you can remember, Lady Topaza? Anything that stuck out to you, or that you think might be worth knowing?”

Marilyn hesitated, thinking. “I don’t know if it makes much difference, but if you need to identify it...one of the horns on its face had a crack in it.”

Cosette sighed. “Sounds like it’s definitely the same one the villagers have been seeing. So points in our favor- it’s young, inexperienced, and injured. Points against us- it’s desperate, hungry, and has no fear of people.”

“A fairly even spread of pros and cons,” Gavin mused. “At least it’s a prowler we’re dealing with and not a crestie or worse.” Turning back to the young woman, he bowed his head. “Thank you very much for your help, Lady Topaza. We will do everything in our power to find this creature and ensure that no one else will be hurt by it.”

“Please do,” Devon said stiffly; his tone alone earned him a briefly-annoyed look from Bastien before the elf let his features turn impassive again.

Marilyn’s response was more palatable. “Thank you, Sir. I hope - I hope it doesn’t give you any trouble.”

Gavin nodded, beckoning for the other elves to follow him out. He wasn’t entirely optimistic that they would make it out of this unscathed, but he, like Marilyn, could at least hope for the best.

Part Three

SPOILER: Click to show

To the elves’ surprise, they found themselves leaving the village in the company of two human knights of House Topaza, sent by Meyer to help back them up. Even stranger, the knights were under strict orders to mind the elvish captain - actually backup rather than being sent along as babysitters.

“You don’t often get human officers giving way to us,” Cosette said to the men to explain the patently shocked reactions of the elves when Meyer had given the edict. As they rode down the path out of the village and into the deeper woods, she added. “Usually we end up either working alone, or under human knights’ command. Not in a position of authority- so we were just a little taken aback.”

“Seems like it makes sense in this case,” said one of the knights, a broadly-built man with a scar across his wide forehead. He had introduced himself as Sir Hale. “You’re the ones who kept the dragon off Lady Topaza until we showed up to drive it off. And,” he admitted as he looked through a gap in the trees, “far as we know, you could’ve been knighting since Dean and I we were babies.”

Gavin flashed a wide grin over his shoulder at the man in question as Cosette translated his words. “Lad, I’ve been ‘knighting’ at least since your great-great-grandfather was a babe- Cos has been at it nearly as long as I have.” He turned towards Bastien, adding, “though this fellow, he’s newer at it- only about a hundred years, give or take a half-century.”

Bastien grimaced, though he kept his eyes ahead rather than looking back at the conversation. “Must you sell me as inexperienced in front of the human knights, Captain?”

“It’s called irony, Bas, relax. I think the tone gets across even with the language barrier,” Gavin retorted.

As if to prove that Bastien’s reputation wasn’t in as much danger as he thought, the human knight laughed a little self-consciously. “Makes you wonder why they bother with us human knights, eh?”

His companion, Dean, a shorter man with a sterner expression, said, “There wouldn’t be enough elven knights to handle the entire province. Try not to scare off the dragon ahead of time with too much loud chatter, eh?” His scolding had very little heat to it, however, and judging by the way Hale rolled his eyes and smirked, he wasn’t worried about the consequences of not taking it too seriously.

“Don’t sell yourselves short,” Cosette chided gently, her eyes twinkling with merriment that had nothing to do with their natural luster. “I find the young can be devilishly creative when not overburdened by the jaded bias we get with experience. And besides, it doesn’t matter how old you are, all it takes is one lucky archer coming up while your back is turned.”

“Exactly,” Dean agreed. “More experienced doesn’t mean invulnerable.”

“True enough,” Hale conceded. “The credit’s most appreciated. I imagine it could get easy to get conceited, if you’ve lived long as my grandfather and his descendants combined!”

“For the elves who aren’t knights, perhaps,” Gavin replied, some of his good humor ebbing a little. “We who regularly court our own mortality can’t help but become a bit less… complacent, is that a good word?”

“That sounds right to me,” Dean said. “You see that in humans often enough.”

Hale teased, “Ooh, somebody had to deal with the new squires again, huh? That the same between elves and humans, too?”

Cosette sighed, rubbing her face. “I had a squire a few decades back, and I can assure you it is- all stars in his eyes and no common sense, my young Belial. Heard all the romance wondertales growing up, you see.”

“He became a fine polearm, at least,” Gavin pointed out reasonably. “Once he matured a bit.”

“They do get better eventually,” Hale agreed. “I’m sure we were just as naive when we were that age, however long ago that was for each of us.”

“‘Were’?” Bastien repeated wryly. He had edged a little off from the main group, keeping a slight distance between himself and the others, the human knights in particular.

Cosette glanced in Bastien’s direction, her mouth twitching a little, but she opted not to dignify his comment nor translate it. Instead she remarked lightly, “Trying to take sentry position? I think you’re meant to ask the captain before you assume that place.”

Gavin winced. “Cosette.” he said, a slight warning in his tone.

Bastien, though he perhaps ought to have taken the hint as well, replied, “Just hoping to spot anything before the humans trample it or scare it off.”

Cosette’s jaw tightened, and she gave a hiss of frustration through her teeth. “If one of these men ends up pulling the prowler off of your neck-”

“I’m not going that far,” Bastien retorted. “Or the captain would have stopped me, wouldn’t he? Just because those two are distantly related to you doesn’t mean we all want to talk to them.”

Cosette’s shoulders hiked up, her head snapping backwards on her neck, but Gavin cut in before she could say anything. “Enough, both of you. Bastien, you don’t have to speak to the humans, but you will be decorous. Cosette, don’t needle him, you know that’s going to end poorly.”

She huffed softly, looking away. Bastien returned to his search with a frown, though he had the decency to look a little guilty or at least self-conscious. Gavin turned back to the two human knights, who were exchanging a pointed look of slightly raised eyebrows and tightly-shut mouths.

“My sorries,” he said in heavily accented Kythian. “Rude, no mean.”

“That’s all right,” Dean said, looking warily between Bastien and Cosette for a moment before returning his attention to the forest around them. “No offense taken.”

“Hunting down a dragon will cause some tension,” Hale offered, his tone more moderate now than it had been before.

Cosette smiled thinly, though there wasn’t much joy in the expression. “It will that. Especially with esteemed lives on the line.”

Bastien sighed and turned to Gavin. “Permission to ride ahead, Captain? That would be a better use for me than diplomacy.”

Gavin nodded shortly. “Just stay within easy calling distance- we don’t want that thing to ambush you if it thinks you’re alone and not be able to get it of in time.”

“Understood.” Bastien drew his wand. “I’ll shoot up sparks if I get into trouble.” He gave the others a curt nod, then nudged his horse to a faster pace.

When he seemed out of immediate earshot, Hale remarked, “Should we be apologizing for something?”

Cosette scowled, rubbing her face. “It’s not you- at least, not you specifically. He just doesn’t much care for humans.” She turned back with a grim smile, tapping the corners of her eyes. “He was ragging on me as well, if it’s any consolation.”

“Huh,” Hale said. “Seems like a bad time for fussing over species to me. And I don’t see the point of dragging you into it; someone has to translate and we’re not high in options.”

“Oh, ah-” she laughed. “I guess you wouldn’t know, sorry gents. My eyes. They’re brown. Elves don’t have brown eyes. Not purebloods.”

“Her human ancestry is far removed,” Gavin put in. “And it usually does not come up. But ah… he was in a foul mood to begin with.”

“Oh! No, we didn’t know that - or at least, I didn’t. Dean?”

The other knight - apparently Dean - glanced over at Hale. “Did I know elves don’t have brown eyes? No. It’s interesting, considering so many humans have them - but I guess that also means it makes sense they’re a tell for human ancestry.”

“Guess there was a time when elves and humans were better friends with each other, huh?” Hale remarked as he eyed the direction Bastien had gone.

Cosette gave a helpless shrug. “It tended to depend on the individual humans and individual elves. In some places the humans drove elves out violently. In others it just… happened over time by interbreeding. My halfblood ancestor was from an old elf city in Elacs. Most of the elves there either left eventually, or mingled with the locals. The city is still there, but the name has long since changed and what few elves remain are quarter-blood at most.”

“Huh. I guess that does make sense - it’s sort of like phoenixes, where you don’t have kids as often because there’d be too many running around to feed, with you living as long as you do?” Hale guessed.

“Precisely,” Gavin confirmed. “It is common for an elvish woman to have no more than two children in her entire lifetime, it is so difficult for them to conceive. More than four is unheard of.” He shrugged. “It would take no time at all for those with the human fertility to outnumber the elves if they were living in one place.”

Cosette winked over her shoulder at Hale. “The only reason my line bred in the opposite direction and favored back towards the elf side was because my four-times human great-grandfather didn’t want anybody finding out about his, ah. Associations? His lordship figured an elf wouldn’t cause any legitimacy problems with his inheritance, you see, but apparently underestimated his own fertility.”

Dean chuckled a little and smirked, but it took Hale a moment - though it was just as obvious when he understood, as his face reddened a little. “Ah - ah, I see. Well, that would certainly do it.” He gave an abashed smile. “I hope we’re not prying into sensitive topics, ah...ma’am? Sir?” Dean half-stifled another laugh.

“Oh it’s fine,” Cosette replied, flapping a hand dismissively. “I never even met most of these people, it’s just family history I heard from my grandmother. I’d wager that the Elacsite nobles I’m descended from wouldn’t even know the story by now. The halfblood had to leave to keep it hush-hush after all.”

“It might be entertaining to tell them,” Gavin mused. “Nobles are always so flustered about things like that.”

“Secretly, though, I think they enjoy the dramatics,” Dean said. “You’d probably be invited back to see what other gossip and ancient family secrets you might have run across.”

The elf woman laughed. “Tempting. Tempting, that. Nobles do prepare very good meals. Although I don’t know if I’d like to share house room with the snakes that my relatives will inevitably be keeping around. The wild ones around here are troublesome enough.”

“The snakes would dampen my enthusiasm, too,” Hale agreed heartily. “If you time it right, maybe you could just swing by for dinner and a bit of gossip and then be on your way with a full belly and a snakeless night ahead of you.”

“So long as you don’t mind the thought of escaped snakes,” Dean said mildly. Hale gave him an affronted, almost disgusted look.

Gavin grinned. “The Elacsite nobility would be most offended at the implication that they are anything but diligent reptile minders. They like to think their vivariums foolproof. Now if only they did not so frequently open those vivariums and remove the occupants for a cuddle or twenty…”

“Exactly,” Dean said. “They might be offended at the idea of escaped snakes, but that doesn’t mean they’d be right. The more captive snakes there are, the more escaped snakes there have to be.”

“You’re making me glad I work for Topaza instead of an Elacsite House,” Hale said, “but not glad to work with you, Dean.”

“Insulting. If I didn’t point out the escaped snakes, they’d be a surprise.” Dean paused with a sigh, wiping some sweat off the back of his neck. “Wonder if Elacsites would be any help looking for dragons.”

“I doubt it,” Gavin replied. “Dragons only rarely range into Elacsite lands, it isn't their usual sort of territory.” He paused, looking over his mount’s shoulder at the earth on either side of the path they were following through the trees. “I grew up in Elacs, near the coastline, and the biggest predators I ever met were black bears, and those only rarely.”

“That’s Corvus for you, I guess,” Hale said. “Elacs has snakes, Corvus has all the magical predators.”

“I just wondered if they had anything in common beyond scaly and predatory,” Dean clarified. “No secret Elacsian reptile-hunting tips, then?”

“None that I can share,” Gavin replied with a laugh. “Though here’s an Elvish reptile-hunting tip- look for patches of sunlight. Alligators and snakes and the like don’t regulate their body temperature well, so they have to bask a lot of the hours of sunlight to keep warm.”

“We can definitely look for those,” Hale said with a nod. “And footprints or the like would be easier to spot in sunny patches than the shadows.”

Dean said, “Just don’t ignore the shadows - if it’s not sunning, it could be hunting.”

“Sir Dean just does not trust your common sense at all, does he, Sir Hale?” Cosette remarked. “Should we be concerned?”

“No,” Hale said, rolling his eyes. “He’s like this to everyone on the squad except the captain - and that’s only because the captain started making him do laps every time he warned him about something bleedingly obvious.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“Trying to impersonate a broody hen, is more like it.”

Cosette laughed. “A broody hen, eh? That sounds familiar, doesn’t it, Captain?”

Gavin huffed, mock-sulking. “Sorry for wanting to see to the wellbeing of our mounts.”

“He was warning us earlier today to watch out for potholes on that side road we were all on,” Cosette explained to the human knights. “So I can relate with people giving warnings about the glaringly obvious.”

“Ah, there’s a new one for your repertoire, Dean!” Hale said.

“Well, he’s right - it’s bad news if your horse catches its foot in a hole.” The corner of Dean’s lip twitched upward as he spoke.

“Maybe we should abandon these two in the woods,” Hale said to Cosette. “They can caution each other about every rock and tree while we go barreling into danger and get all the glory, eh?”

“Sir Bastien might object to that,” Gavin pointed out. “I was just warning him not to stray too far from us, and if we split up he’ll become confused and not know who to go with.”

“Like as not he’ll come back to you to ask what the ‘Pit has gotten into me” Cosette observed. “And if I mean to scare off not only the prowler but every other animal in these woods tearing through the brush in such a way.”

“Hmm,” Hale said, clearly contemplating his words. “Well. Sir Bastien wouldn’t have to ride with us if he didn’t want to; we could be three groups as easily as two.”

Dean started to say something, but cut himself off, frowning, at the sound of a few snapping twigs and a bit of movement from the head of the group. Bastien and his destrier appeared, the former wearing a particularly stern expression. “Captain. I found a few prints, and some claw marks on a tree. Looks like it was moving a bit north of here.”

Gavin instantly sobered, his lips drawing thin. “Could you tell how fresh?” He demanded as Cosette translated in an undertone for the humans.

“It’s a few hours old,” Basien admitted. “Probably from before it attacked the Topaza woman. It’s your call, of course - but it’s our only sign of it so far, and there’s the chance it’s part of a regular trail and we might find it there.”

Gavin nodded. “It’s our best lead. We can’t afford to snub anything right now. You take point, Bas, we’ll follow after.” He glanced around over his shoulder. “Cos, can you and Sir Dean fan out into the woods on either side and ride sentry? We don’t want it catching us by surprise, or to miss it just a little ways off on a regular trail.”

The Elvish woman translated this, raising a brow at Dean in query. Dean nodded, guiding his horse toward the side of the group.

“Watch out for dragons, Dean,” Hale chided as he drew a little closer to the elves. Bastien turned away silently and started leading the way through the trees.

The search had an entirely different mood now that they had found some tangible evidence of the dragon; in place of banter and chatter, there was silence, and while the knights had been serious under their teasing, now there was only tension and grim anticipation. They came across a few more signs of the prowler’s passing - a few more prints here, a scuffed tree there, a single black scale caught on the sharp edge of a rock that would have made an excellent sunning perch. The elves determined none of them were less than hours old, just like the print Bastien had found; some of them were even older, days at most.

Eventually the trees thinned out some, but rather than coming upon a small clearing or a watering hole, the knights found a wide, open field - filled with grazing sheep.

“...A hunting ground,” Bastien surmised, wrinkling his nose.

Gavin bit his lip. “Bastien. The villagers made no report of the prowler hunting sheep. If it was hunting here…”

Bastien was quiet for a moment, but then murmured, “The headman in the village did say it had dragged off a shepherd already.”

Gavin hissed, turning to Hale. Cosette and Dean should catch up shortly, but in the meantime…

“Dragon-” he said, holding up his hands to the side of his head to mime horns. He then pointed to one of the sheep, and held his arms up in front of his chest in an “x” shape. Then, he mimed the rough shape of a shepherd’s crook, and gave a thumbs up.

Hale watched the gestures, a crease between his brows - he looked between the sheep and Gavin a few times, mouthing words to himself...and finally, his eyes lit up. “Oh - oh, it’s...yes. Yes, you’re right, it...it must have been here hunting humans. Shepherds.” He nodded emphatically to communicate that he understood, before looking around with a hand on his sword. “Think it’s around somewhere? Uh - dragon…?” He pointed around the outline of the pasture against the forest.

Gavin glanced around, biting his lip and looking towards Bastien. “I hope it isn’t anywhere nearby? Those prints were old, and they’re usually dawn and dusk hunters aren’t they? Although it was out in broad daylight after the Topaza lady…”

“Maybe because it couldn’t get a meal here this morning,” Bastien guessed. “This field’s large enough; maybe none of the shepherds got close enough it wanted to take the risk. Or they might have had dogs this morning. ...But I doubt it’s back here now. That’s a regular path we followed, and all the marks were old.”

“I at once hope that is the case and lament it- if it were around at least we could address the issue swiftly.” All the same, Gavin turned his head back towards the Topaza knight and gave a half-shrug while shaking his head. Fortunately, at this point there was a rustle from the woods behind them, and Dean and Cosette emerged from the treeline.

“Oh, good,” Hale said. “We have translation again!”

“I’m glad to see you again, too, Hale,” Dean said wryly. “No sign of the dragon, I’m guessing by the quiet?”

Hale shook his head. Cosette raised an eyebrow, then looked towards Gavin and Bastien. “Missed, was I?”

“I didn’t want to slight the human knights by sending both of them off to play sentry, but in retrospect getting rid of my translator wasn’t one of my brighter moves,” Gavin admitted. “Tell Dean that we think this field is a regular hunting ground for the prowler- to pick off shepherds, not sheep. But we figure it’s probably not here right now.”

Cosette complied, and added, “Don’t suppose your captain could be talked into stationing a man or two out in this field as a precaution?”

Hale laughed, though there was no joy in the sound. “Oh, I’m sure he can be - tell him there’s a dragon using this place to stalk and eat people and you probably won’t even have to suggest the idea yourselves.”

“Good,” Gavin said grimly. “The more we can minimize civilian casualties, the better. And if it comes here again, the knight keeping guard can dispatch it. Thinking about it, I wonder if one of us couldn’t leave our horse here to help keep watch, since their senses are sharper than a human’s.”

As she translated this, Cosette added helpfully, “Elvish horses are more like dogs or even phoenixes in terms of intelligence. We can give them commands and they’ll obey even if we’re not immediately around. And they’ve a mean streak.”

“Still,” Hale said, eyeing Cosette’s destrier, “a horse on its own, against a dragon? I know the prowler’s young and has problems with its jaw, but if it comes down to a fight...”

When Cosette translated this, Bastien snorted. “Don’t they ride warhorses? Predator does not a superior fighter make. The dragon’s making opportunistic kills, not picking fights. A healthy, watchful horse isn’t going to strike it as prey just because it eats grass.”

Gavin gave a soft laugh, then tapped the neck of his palomino mare to get her attention. “Soleil, donner un coup.”

The horse snorted, trotting out so that she was clear of the others, then whirled abruptly, quick as a snake. Her rear hooves lashed out, making a resounding crack in the air before she settled them back down under her.

Hale jerked back in alarm; Dean showed less surprise, but that might have been him being distracted by his horse, which snorted and shifted uneasily at the show of aggression.

“Fun fact you might not be aware of, gents,” Cosette put in cheerily. “Predators never go after young, healthy prey animals. They’d get the ever-living snot beat out of them. They target the very old, the sick, the lame, or the juvenile. It’s likely this prowler was injured in the first place in an ill-advised attempt to hunt something out of its league.”

“Point taken,” Hale said, adjusting his seat in the saddle and clearly trying not to look too obviously embarrassed. “Do as you like.”

Looking up from his horse, Dean said, “Captain Meyer might still want to send a person to be on guard here. So someone can report back if they see anything. Unless your horses can talk, too,” he added with half a grin.

“Hey, don’t bait them - that’ll be when it turns out the horses understand and speak Elvish and Kythian,” Hale said.

“Oh I hadn’t meant in place of a human,” Gavin clarified. “Only that an extra set of eyes and ears might be beneficial. And while they don’t speak human words, they can and will alert whichever of your comrades is out here to when they sense something. Isn’t that right, love?”

The mare gave a soft whinney as she allowed Gavin to guide her back to the others- pausing just long enough to give Dean’s mount a swat on the withers with her tail. Dean’s horse stepped away, ears pinning back and tail swishing back and forth a few times. Her rider clicked his tongue and patted her neck until she settled again.

“That sounds suitable to me,” Dean said. He glanced at Hale, who nodded in agreement, before turning back to the elves. “Should we head back, then? Or are we going to do more searching first?”

Gavin ran a hand through his hair. “We’re so close to the village now that it’s probably easiest just to head back. It’s been a long day, and-” he glanced westward, where the sun was beginning to descend over the distant treetops. “Once it gets dark, the prowler will be in its element in the trees and we will not.”

Bastien nodded once. “Finding signs of it in the first place was hard enough with proper daylight. Trying to track it at night would be even harder.”

When this had been translated, Hale added, “If it hunts at night, it’s probably better to have knights guarding places it attacks - we might even be more likely to find it that way.”

“It already failed to kill Lady Topaza earlier,” Cosette agreed. “It’s likely hungry, so if we keep watch over it’s hunting grounds we’re more liable to catch it. Let’s just hope it doesn’t decide to try its luck with Lord Devon’s entourage.”

“There should be enough knights with the carriage it wouldn’t be worthwhile,” Gavin pointed out, gently tapping his heels against his mare’s sides to start her forward. “I think he’ll be fine.”

Bastien urged his horse into motion as well. “So long as he and his entourage avoid wandering down forest trails.”

Part Four

SPOILER: Click to show

They returned to the unofficial base, where Captain Meyer did indeed station not one but two knights to guard the sheep pasture. The man seemed tired, and though he didn’t say outright, there was a certain tone in his voice when he mentioned that Lord Devon had gone that suggested getting him to go hadn’t been an easy task.

None of the other scouts had found more than incidental signs of the prowler; Gavin’s group had been the ones with the most substantial lead. Meyer conceded that trying to find a prowler in the dark was a bad idea, and after setting up a patrol schedule, sent the knights to bed.

Bastien was the first of the elves up that morning. Aware he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep, he busied himself tending to the two elven destriers who were not helping guard the shepherds, and when the one who had been on duty was brought back, took over untacking and settling her in from the human knight who’d led her back.

While working with the horses, he seemed fine.

Meyer assigned groups and scouting areas for the day, and the knights dispersed. Gavin’s group was leaving their horses behind; the part of the forest they were combing today would not be friendly to the destriers’ large frames. They were also leaving the humans behind, to Bastien’s relief. He had just barely put up with the two they’d been forced to drag along yesterday - today, he had even less patience.

“The maps that the villagers leant us showed a small, spring fed stream west of here,” Gavin said to his two subordinates as he lead the way into the forest. “It’s a good place for the prowler to go for water, when he isn’t raiding the pond near the village. We’ll be headed there today to check for signs of its passage.”

“As good a notion as any,” Cosette agreed, one hand on the pommel of her sword. “Provided that no snakes have set up shop there, at least.”

Bastien said, “Hopefully not. More reptiles - that’s the last thing we need.”

Nobody had any arguments with that sentiment, and so none were offered. Instead, the elves continued through the trees, eyes alert for signs of the prowler’s passage. Eventually Gavin paused, holding up a hand to a broad oak tree- it’s surface scored and slashed.

“Recognize these marks, you two?” He asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Horn rubbing,” Cosette confirmed grimly. “Male prowlers way of keeping their horns sharp, and also marking territory.”

Bastien nodded slightly. “So - we must be on its territory now. I suppose they were right about the river.” He ran a hand down his face as if to wipe water off it. “Ah - how fresh do the marks look?”

“Not very,” Gavin said. “Could easily be days old. But if he’s feeling comfortable enough here to mark territory he probably frequents the area.” He glanced over his shoulder at Bastien. “You doing alright? I have my canteen if you’ve emptied yours; it’s abominably hot out today.”

“I’m fine,” Bastien said, his eyes on the scarred oak tree. “I still have plenty of water. ...If we keep going toward the river, we’ll probably find more horn rubbings. Some of those might be fresher and give us a better idea where he’s been lately.”

“Hm,” Gavin nodded. “As good a plan as any. We won’t find anything standing around here, at any rate.”

He started off into the forest again, all three elves more alert now for signs of the prowler’s passage. Cosette spotted a few scales caught in a bramble they circumvented, and once more they found a place where the dragon had scored the side of a tree with his horns. Finally the stream the villagers had advertised came into view. It was about a man’s height wide, but very shallow. Any of the elves could have stood in the deepest parts of it and had the water no higher than their ankles. In places the water was so thick with rounded stones that it seemed more a path than a stream, while in others the clear, cool water glittered plainly in the sunlight.

“Definitely seems like a good place for the local wildlife to cool off on a hot day,” Cosette commented.

“Which makes it a good place to try and find a small snack, if you’re a wounded dragon,” Bastien said. He leaned to look as far down the river as he could from this angle. “No sign of it from here, though.”

As he started to step back, something moved in the branches up ahead, snapping some small twigs as it did so. The sound was quiet, nonthreatening - and yet Bastien reacted as if he’d just heard sword strikes, lunging away from the noise, hand on his sword - he was two steps into the ankle-deep water without having even intended an evasive maneuver.

Looking up revealed the noise’s source - a large, fluffy, bushy-tailed squirrel. It was currently scrabbling higher up the tree, presumably to escape the intruders in its forest. Bastien released his grip on his sword hilt, and an agitated breath. Cosette and Gavin were both frowning in Bastien’s direction, and the captain's brows were pinched with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re not usually so jumpy. Well, not unless there’s been a battle recently…”

“Which there hasn’t been,” Bastien retorted as he stepped back out of the water. “Don’t worry about me. Man-eating prowler has me a bit on edge, is all.” He glared around at the forest as he spoke. His fingers drummed against his wand holster.

“Bastien c’mon, you know telling the captain not to worry is like telling a bird not to have feathers,” Cosette pointed out dryly. Gavin only clicked his tongue.

“My responsibility is to my command’s morale as much as its marching orders. You know that, Bas.”

Bastien’s expression soured; his gaze settled on the point where the river disappeared into the trees. A long moment of silence fell between the three of them, before Bastien finally grunted, “I didn’t sleep very well last night. I’m sorry, Captain.”

Understanding dawned across the Gavin’s expression, and one of his hands reached up impulsively towards his right shoulder. “Ah. I see. I’m sorry, Bastien. Was it… do you want to talk about it?”

Bastien crossed his arms, but didn’t reply right away. Not especially seemed right on the tip of his tongue. When he finally opened his mouth, however, what came out was a sigh, and then, “If I say we don’t have time, you’ll tell me we do. So.To speed things along - it was the farmhouse.”

The flickers of memory Bastien had been working to suppress and ignore all morning came back again. Decades ago, separated from his squad in a lucky maneuver by unskilled but persistent bandits, arms aching near to the shoulders with pull from casting spells not yet fully-finessed - and one of their mages had managed to hit Bastien’s sword with something that made the metal heat until it was too hot to hold. That man had been taken down by one of Bastien’s compatriots, but not before Bastien had been forced to retreat further, unable to magically summon his sword to his hand while he fended off direct attacks with a mageshield.

There had been a door at his back, and it had been just dark enough out that the bandits hadn’t realized it was there until Bastien rammed it open with his shoulder and stumbled inside.

He’d been lucky - there had been tools inside. A pitchfork, scythes for harvesting tall crops, a shovel, a hoe. They would do as weapons in a pinch.

It was difficult for an elf to wield a sword - not physically, but mentally. Emotionally. Seeing the violent work of a weapon at the end of one’s arm, no matter how necessary, was repugnant on a deep, instinctual level. Watching men die was a toll taken at a level Bastien couldn’t even begin to describe.

But swords, it turned out, got the job done must faster and much cleaner than rusted farm equipment wielded by a panicked squire.

Gavin winced. He knew of the incident in question- it had been a bit of a talking point amongst the officers. Not because they particularly liked to gossip, but because in the immediate aftermath the young, newly minted squire had been a mess. And no wonder, considering.

For a young elf with no real combat experience to be backed into a corner to the point where he had to do something so ghastly…

“I’m sorry,” Gavin murmured, his words soft but the sincerity behind them impossible to miss. It probably hadn’t helped overmuch that they were staying in the hayloft over the headman’s stable the night before. “I think a round or two at the village pub is called for tonight. My treat.”

Bastien nodded slightly - then nodded again, more firmly. “Yes. That would be nice. ...Thank you.”

Cosette fidgetted- she didn’t know all the details, but had heard enough of a cursory to get the idea that whatever had gone down that night had been bad. “Is there… anything that could help distract you? Get your mind off it?”

Bastien shook his head, squaring his shoulders some. “No. I use work or music to crowd it out when I have to - but we have work to do that needs quiet and thought. Daylight and time will have to do.” He shrugged slightly. “It’ll pass.”

She sighed, folding her arms. “Right. I don’t even want to think about what might happen if that prowler strikes again- unless it’s found a rabbit or something, it has to be ravenous by now.”

Their captain exhaled gustily. “If we find more tracks leading back to the village, I am going to start wondering if that ‘demon’ nickname is more apt than the villagers realize.”

“It’s more evasive than I was expecting,” Bastien admitted. “Young and inexperienced it may be - but it’s good at hiding.” He looked down the river’s path again. “I suppose at least we have a lead here.”

“Aye,” Cosette agreed. “Hopefully if we can pin it down in its own territory we can get it off guard. Too bad this stream is so shallow, or I’d suggest trying to find a nest of waterfowl to lure it with.”

“I’d say it’s done enough killing without us adding additional corpses to the pile,” Gavin pointed out. “Even if it’s just a mallard.”

Bastien nodded in agreement, though he eyed the deeper patches of water as they continued on, searching for fish. Most of the pools seemed empty - perhaps the prowler had already eaten their inhabitants.

“Nothing else for it, then,” Cosette sighed. “Let’s get moving.”

Part Five

SPOILER: Click to show

Unfortunately, the wiley prowler once again evaded the knights, and they were forced again to return to the village at dusk empty-handed. The knight who’d been left with the sheep reported that he’d seen something moving in the shadows of the trees, but it vanished when he tried to approach more closely.

Gavin upheld his promise to treat his friends to a round at the local tavern- nobody would have called Bastien cheered up, precisely, but he did lose the near-permanent scowl eventually and joined in on the teasing banter with varying sizes of smirks.

They all managed to sleep uneventfully that night, and by dawn things seemed more or less as usual. Somewhat to Bastien’s displeasure, the Topaza captain asked that Dean and Hale accompany them again.

“So what’s the plan today?” Cosette asked Gavin. He pursed his lips.

“You’re going to think it’s morbid…” he said hesitantly.

Bastien raised an eyebrow. Dean and Hale exchanged a glance, and Hale asked hesitantly, “How so?”

“Well the prowler might have been spotted near the shepherds yesterday. He’ll know now they’re being protected, but he’ll be getting… very hungry now.”

Cosette pinched the bridge of her nose. “You want us to patrol around the perimeter of the village.”

“Well, places that the villagers regularly go nearby at least” he said sheepishly.

“It makes sense,” Bastien said. “Maybe we’ll have better luck letting it stumble on us than we’ve had trying the other way around.”

Hale frowned, but admitted, “It’s not a bad idea. And if we can’t find it out there, how do we know it won’t slip past us and head for the village, anyway? Seems like it’s good at sneaking. At least with this plan, we’d be around to get involved quick.”

“I imagine you have a specific destination in mind” Cosette remarked, her face and voice both grim. “Out with it then- where do we think the beast is going to make his move?”

“The headman’s orchard,” Gavin said simply. “It has plenty of cover for the prowler to hide in, and there are always people out there working.”

“And it’s big enough it might think it has a chance to slip past us,” Bastien said, frowning. “That’s a risk, it getting to someone before we can intercept it.”

At this Gavin actually chuckled softly, and gave his friend a sardonic look. With a flip of his hand, he called forth a small orb of green light. “I think you can handle that.”

Bastien tilted his head, then snorted, one side of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. “I could cast some wards and tie them to some triggers.” He reached into a pouch on his belt and began selecting colored glass beads. “If we put them out a bit from the fields, we’ll know what direction it’s coming and can race back in the right direction.”

Hale, watching the light in Gavin’s hand, remarked to Cosette, “Huh - I thought the other guy was the mage. No wand for the Captain?”

She looked uncomfortable, brown eyes averted and lips drawn thin. “Bastien is our mage- calling light is the only magic Captain Monfort can do. He… well…”

The woman hesitated, asking something of Gavin that prompted a shrug from him. “No reason to be coy about it, Cos. I was captured by Courdonians during the last war, and they gave me a magesbane potion I reacted poorly to. It permanently disabled my ability to do magic.”

Hale blinked several times. “Oh - oh, that’s - I didn’t know it could do that. ’Pit. Bloody Courdonians - sounds like they were just as nasty back then as they are now.”

Bastien, who had been watching the humans with narrowed eyes, let his attention turn back to the beads after Cosette’s translation. She shrugged, her expression bleak. “It doesn’t, normally. But sometimes the same herbs or medicines that are harmless or at least not debilitatingly harmful in humans can kill us- or vice versa.”

Gavin smiled wanly. “I have my sword now, at least, even if I am no longer a mage. And Bastien can see us right, eh my friend?”

“Yes, or at least, I’ll do my best.” Bastien closed the pocket and slipped the beads into his wand holster. “I can go on ahead and start setting wards. We shouldn’t take long,” he advised. “If the prowler’s getting hungry, he might not wait for us to decide we’re ready to start patrol.”

“Aye,” Gavin agreed. “We’ll get moving as soon as the wards are up.”

Indeed, as soon as Bastien had returned from setting the wards around the orchards, Gavin split the group into two teams- they would be within shouting distance of one another, but could cover more ground this way. Prudently, he put both of the human knights with Cosette this time, and rode into the thicket with Bastien.

“It’s all so… manicured,” Cosette commented softly as they rode along the straight rows of lime trees- more like tall bushes really. “I forget sometimes how orderly humans keep their orchards.”

“Well - it makes them easier to manage,” Hale said, though he sounded a little uncertain. “Do you...not set your orchards up like this?”

“Oh I didn’t mean that as an insult,” Cosette clarified, waving a dismissive hand. “Just an observation. And no- we plant our fruit and nut bearing trees in the footprint of forest pines felled for timber. It’s more or less a forest of cash crops, if that makes sense. It’s more natural that way, disturbs the forest less.”

“But doesn’t it take longer to harvest? If you have to go looking through a whole forest for every tree you want to take fruit from?”

“Oh, they’re still all bunched together,” Cosette said with a soft laugh. “We’ll pick a place in the pine forest, fell the trees there, then plant an orchard in the footprints of the trees. So it’s not really different except in that we can’t ride a wagon between the rows.”

“I see,” Hale said, looking around the orchard again. “...There must be a reason for us doing it differently. I don’t know much about orchards, but it seems like it would be more work to clear the fields like this instead of just...picking a spot in the forest to go take care of it.”

“Well,” Dean said wryly, “This dragon-hunt we’re on suggests one reason it’s not such a good idea to wander off into the forest. An orchard like this probably makes it easier to keep other animals from eating your fruit, too.”

“Hah! Deer are always a problem,” Cosette admitted. “And birds. We actually have birds try to nest in the orchards sometimes, and we have to ah… gently encourage them to relocate their nests before the eggs are laid.”

“So...an orchard like this would be simpler,” Hale said slowly. “Obviously you have a reason for doing it differently, I know simple’s not always best. Not a word, Dean.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“We live for a long time, so we have more patience to do things in less straightforward ways,” she replied cheerfully. “It all depends on what your priorities are, in the end. I-”

She was cut off by a shout- Bastien’s voice- followed almost immediately by a high, terrified shriek.

“The east ward!” Bastien snapped again as he charged past, appearing briefly between the rows of trees. He left the others to catch up, even Gavin. Bastien’s initial plan, the moment he’d felt one of the beads grow hot between his fingers, had been to stick with the group and go after the prowler together; he’d been at the head of the pack only because he had known the ward had been breached first.

Then the scream, and now...he wasn’t really thinking about strategy and teamwork and the fact that brawling with a hungry prowler by one’s self wasn’t necessarily the smartest idea.

It had been a child’s scream, and that was about all Bastien could focus on.

He glimpsed the dragon through the last rows of trees on the east side of the orchard and gave his destrier another sharp nudge with his heels. The horse lunged forward, swerving around the last trees with a loud, challenging shriek.

It was the prowler again, mangled jaw wrapped around a young boy’s leg and one large, paw-like foot pinning an arm down. The child was probably only still alive because he had a shovel in hand, and the prowler seemed unsure about releasing the child’s leg to face the blows from the spade more head-on. It did, however, spring back at the sight of the destrier and the furious elven knight. But just as quickly, it opened its mouth in a crooked snarl and mantled its wings, trying to intimidate them into backing off.

Bastien snapped an incantation and hit the prowler with a force spell - it was the equivalent of a hard shove, however, and did little to move it. The spell he used to rip a branch off one of the nearby trees and whack the prowler in the face was more effective at getting it to stagger back.

At that moment Cosette managed to to catch up, circling around the prowler in an attempt to cut off it’s retreat. The dragon screeched angrily, drool pooling from it’s open maw in sticky strings.

“Hale, get the boy!” she snapped, not taking her eyes off the dragon even as Gavin and the two human knights finally caught up. “Get him out of here!”

Hale scrambled off his horse and darted in, sword raised. The dragon turned its glare on him, but seemed hesitant to attack with so many opponents around. Hale reached the child, scooped him up in his free arm, and backed up to rejoin the others; Dean spurred his horse forward to help cover Hale’s retreat. Gavin, meanwhile, kept his distance, circling the fighters on his horse to keep an eye on all angles of the fight. Bastien’s eyes flicked between the human knights and the dragon the entire time, until the child was out of immediate harm’s way.

This moment’s inattention, however, was a mistake. Gavin bellowed, “Watch out!” as the puma-sized dragon’s chest ballooned out like the bellows on a forge- and as happened when forge bellows were compressed, a cannonball sized plume of flame exploded from the prowler’s maw.

Not very much fire, but enough that the branch Bastien had thrown became kindling. Bastien swore and cut off his incantation partway through, swapping to ”Agwoomenti!” and using the water that burst from his wand to try and put out the flames.

Apparently satisfied with its work, the prowler’s head snapped around to Cosette and the human knights. The elf woman tensed, hissing something that made her destrier rear and flail hooves the size of dinner plates in the prowler’s direction. It retreated slightly, giving a fearful growl and fanning its wings in an attempt to look larger. However, as soon as the horse settled onto all fours again, the prowler lunged forwards, darting between Cosette and Dean’s mounts.

Hale planted his feet and raised his sword; he had already turned sideways to keep the child as far from the angry dragon as possible. He swung the blade; it missed, and quick as a cat, the prowler shifted just a touch to adjust its aim and leap again. A heavy paw slammed into Hale’s side; at the same moment, a rope of glowing green light wrapped around one of the dragon’s hind legs. Bastien yanked; his destrier was already backing up, steps long and heavy. They weren’t enough to pull the dragon far, but it did stumble a little and turn to snarl at whatever was holding it back.

“Cosette!” Bastien said through gritted teeth. “Get it!”

The elven woman was moving to do just that, having dismounted her own destrier in an effort to negate some of the prowler’s advantage in mobility. She darted around, bringing the flat of her blade around to land a ringing blow on the beast’s cracked horn. The fracture spread further from the weakened point, and the prowler gave a squeal of pain. Dean, who had been aiming for one of its mantled wings, hastily jerked back to avoid being hit full-force as they flared out wider. He managed to adjust and on the backswing, sliced a deep nick in one of its wing-fingers.

Gavin, still hanging back to observe the fight from distance, snapped, “Watch its chest, it’s about to breath fire again!”

Clearly furious, the prowler spat another fireball without much aim - it wound up practically throwing it at its feet. A move that sounded sloppy, but the short distance meant flames burst back from the impact, and the position, the center of a triangle of knights and dragon, put everyone in the line of literal fire. Cosette yipped in pain, bringing one arm up impulsively to shield her face even as the steel of her greaves heated almost unbearably, so that she danced in place in a vain effort to kick off the strapped on metal. Dean shouted and jerked back; his horse, responding either to the fire or its rider’s distress or both, shrieked and reared onto its hind legs. Hale wisely darted back a few steps more, every line of his body fraught with tension.

Content that its attackers on the front were momentarily distracted, the prowler then rounded on Bastien, closing it’s mangled jaw over the chord of light still holding one of its feet. Bastien snarled and flicked his wand, vanishing the line before creating a new one and trying to toss it around the prowler’s muzzle. He only managed to get the top jaw, however, and when the prowler shut its mouth and jerked back, shaking its head, it nearly tugged Basiten out of his saddle. The loop vanished along with Bastien’s concentration.

Gavin shouted sharply- the same cry he’d given a few days before in the meadow where the shepherds grazed their flocks- and with a thunder of hooves his mare surged towards the prowler, spinning on her forehooves when she was in range and delivering a swift kick. The dragon, seeing its danger, managed to duck under most of the blow, but the edges of the destrier’s hooves clipped his wings and sent the prowler rolling onto its side.

The prowler screeched as it scrambled back onto its feet and into a crouch. Teeth bared, tail lashing back and forth, it sized up its opponents again. The dragon’s yellow eyes lingered on Gavin’s horse, then on Hale and the boy in his arms. Drool fell in fat, heavy streams onto the orchard soil.

Bastien, back in the saddle, spurred his mount forward. The prowler scampered back, kicking up dirt and flaring its wings again - and then it turned tail and bolted back for the cover of the trees.

“No!” Bastien shouted, throwing another magical rope after it. The dragon’s tail smacked it, and through the rope tried for a moment to wrap around it, it was only a second before it slipped off the tailtip again. Gavin tried to pursue, but the prowler was more nimble in the orchard’s rows of close-growing trees than a warhorse and he couldn’t catch up.

Cosette and the human knights might have joined the pursuit, but they were rather distracted- the prowler’s last fire blast had managed to catch not only a decent bit of the grass, but some of the low-lying leaves and branches of the nearby orchard plants. Bastien, who had followed Gavin, pulled his horse to a stop when he noticed the spreading fire. Teeth gritted so hard the tension in his jaw was visible, he asked, “Captain - fire or dragon?”

Gavin hesitated, then gave a frustrated snarl. “Fire- your magic can put this out far faster than anyone could manage to bring buckets all this way. And there’s still the little boy.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the limp, quivering heap of blood sodden rags that was the child the prowler had grabbed. Bastien nodded sharply, and pulled his horse back around to face the flames.

Between Bastien’s water spell and Dean and Cosette stamping out and throwing dirt over the smaller fires, it didn’t take too long for the collateral fire damage to be brought under control. Some of the trees were scorched, but would likely make a full recovery.

Bastien was quick to disengage once the only thing left of the prowler’s attack was smoke; he rode his horse the short distance to Hale, who had set the child down in the grass and was putting pressure on the worst of the bite marks on his leg. Bastien dismounted, landing heavily, and directed Hale to move with a snap and impatient gesture of his fingers.

As with the Topaza woman, Bastien couldn’t fully heal the wounds, especially deep punctures like these. The best he could do was take the edge off, and make it a little easier for a healer down the line somewhere to finish what the elf had started. Hale lingered, eventually setting to bandaging wounds once he seemed to think Bastien had finished with them. Bastien paid the man little mind, aside from making sure his bandage-work was suitable.

The boy made surprisingly little fuss through the process, quietly whimpering as he shook but otherwise remained still under the knights’ care - aside from a flinch or a yelp if they moved something too painfully.

“There, there,” Bastien said - in Elvish, of course, but he figured the tone might get through. He rose to his feet for a moment and unclipped the saddle from his horse, just enough to get the blanket under its saddle free. It didn’t exactly smell good, nor was it the cleanest, but Bastien refolded it as inside-out as he could get and laid it over the boy’s chest. No point healing his bite and claw wounds only to let him die of shock.

“Cosette,” Gavin said sharply, causing the woman to look towards him from where she was kicking off her greaves- the skin underneath was badly blistered. “Ride over to the headman’s house and have him bring the boy’s family; and bring Captain Meyer if he’s closeby. Sorry, I know you’re wounded, but neither I nor Bastien speak any Kythian and the humans might be better at consoling the frightened orchard workers than us.”

She nodded, relaying this to Dean before mounting her destrier with an audible snarl of pain. Bastien glanced her way with a look of concern, but only for a moment before the boy drew his attention again. Setting her jaw, Cosette rode down the row of trees and vanished quickly around a corner. Gavin glanced around for a moment, assessing the situation, before he sighed and sheathed his sword.

“You hurt?” he asked Dean and Hale.

“I’m fine,” Hale said. “Probably going to have a nasty bruise where it pawed me, but nothing worse. Dean?”

Dean rubbed a little at his arm. “Not too bad. Some of the fire and heat got to me, too, but not as bad.” He frowned in the direction Cosette had rode off, before looking back at Gavin. “How can I help?”

Gavin didn’t catch all of what Dean said, but he gathered by the fact that the man wasn’t displaying any injuries that he probably wasn’t hurt badly. The elf jerked his head in the direction of the child and said, “Water?”

“Right.” Dean nodded. “I’ll be back - you can use this, though.” He unhooked a canteen from his belt and held it out to the captain. Gavin accepted it with a nod, and knelt beside the child to offer him a drink.

Eventually, the sound of hoofbeats heralded the return of Cosette- she had both the headman and a younger man astride her saddle, and Captain Meyer rode his own horse just behind her. The younger man with Cosette immediately threw himself down, bolting towards the child and shouting what could only have been his name.

Meyer let out a long, slow sigh at the sight of the wounded child. “It was a close call, then. I’ll have whoever comes back to heal Lady Topaza have a look at him, too.” His gaze turned to Cosette and Gavin. “I see it got away - did it get injured, will it be easier to track?”

“Mostly only superficially,” Cosette admitted wearily. “It’s wings might be crippled, since Sir Dean scratched them and Captain Monfort’s horse kicked them, but prowlers don’t really fly much.”

“I imagine it is getting quite hungry by now,” Gavin put in. “Which… is a mixed blessing. It’ll be weak from not eating, but it’ll also be getting desperate.”

“You’re right; desperation is certainly not a good thing.” Meyer tapped the pommel of his horse’s saddle, frowning. “Scratches and a kick probably aren’t going to leave a trail of blood for us to follow, but we might as well try to take advantage of it being tired from the fight - I’ll send some knights in the direction it ran off to. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He tilted his head. “Unless there’s something else you would recommend, Captain Monfort?”

“No, that sounds like as good a plan as any,” Gavin agreed. He watched as the child sobbed into the arms of his presumed father, and sighed. “Bastien, Cosette and I will stay here in case it tries another ambush near the village.”

“Good plan,” Meyer agreed. “I’ll leave some men to help you watch the perimeter.” His eyes darted toward the bloodied, crying child. “We’ll get this boy back to the village proper - it looks like he could use more medical attention and a rest, to say the least.”

Part Six

SPOILER: Click to show

The medical attention for the boy arrived in rather a different form than anyone was expecting, for not an hour past dark the reinforcements from House Andesine arrived.

Following Lord Devon and the small detachment of Topaza knights that had gone with him were not one, but two fully armed squads of knights in Andesine livery. Riding in the lead, alongside Devon, was an older gentleman who introduced himself as Lord Huey- the younger brother of the ruling Lord and Marilyn’s future Uncle-in-Law.

“Well, they’re taking this seriously,” Hale murmured to Cosette and in the other elves’ general direction, as Captain Meyer went to speak with Lord Huey. “Although I guess with the first victim being someone about to marry into the House…”

“The first they’re hearing of at least,” Gavin agreed through Cosette’s translations. “Priorities tend to get shifted when a political incident is in the offing.”

“Huey’s saying he is house healer as well as a lord,” Cosette noted, brows rising a trifle. “Guess they wanted to send none less than their best to patch up her ladyship. Hope they can talk him into working with the boy too.”

“That should be easy enough,” Hale said. “If he’s reluctant, I’m sure mention of how Lady Topaza might react if she heard that her new House’s mage was willing to leave a young child with half-treated dragon bites would sway him. Or you could sic your mage on him.” Hale’s eyes flicked over toward Bastien. Ignoring the glower Bastien sent his way, Hale continued. “Seems like he could get affronted enough over it to change the man’s mind.”

Cosette smiled grimly, and Gavin gave Bastien a squeeze on the shoulder that was clearly half a reassurance, half a gentle warning not to be rude. Bastien grunted, but returned to watching the Andesine knights.

If Huey noticed the elves, he gave no indication of it. Instead, after concluding his conversation with Meyer, he strode briskly into the headman’s house, presumably to speak to and heal Marilyn. The two captains he’d brought with him, however, were a good bit less single-minded, and joined by Meyer they approached the elf knights.

“Forgive his lordship, he’s in a hurry,” one of the men said, saluting the elves quickly. “I am Captain Kristof, and this is Captain Hugo- we bring the thanks of Lord Andesine for your quick action to save Lady Topaza, and for letting us know there were troubles in the first place. Can’t imagine how long this would’ve gone unchecked if not for that mudslide on the Ash Road.”

“Of course,” Gavin replied, returning the gesture. “We can hardly expect his lordship to observe political niceties when there are injuries to be seen to.”

Bastien saluted as well, though his expression was not precisely friendly. “Do they know if their lord is seeing to the boy as well?”

When Cosette passed along the question, Hugo grunted, his lip twisted somewhat. “Aye, he is. Wanted him brought here though, so he could ‘keep an eye on her ladyship’ but Captain Meyer managed to convince him it wasn't safe to have the child moved.”

Bastien’s fingers tightened on his crossed arms, but otherwise he gave no obvious sign of his irritation spike, and just nodded. Gavin sighed, then set his jaw in a businesslike fashion. “It’s late tonight, so I imagine you will be resting from your long ride- but what are your plans moving forward?”

“Well,” Kristof said, “From what Captain Meyer here has told us, your prowler’s been an elusive bugger; he knows this forest and we don’t, and one squad plus a few elves can only cover so much ground.”

Meyer said, “Two extra squads could certainly cover more ground. If it helps any, it’s getting hungry and more than a little desperate - we might be able to lure it or drive it into a smaller area. Or at least, the elves seem to know how that would be done.” He nodded toward Gavin.

Gavin folded his arms, casing his eyes towards Cosette and Bastien. “I suppose meat would be the obvious answer. Prowlers aren’t usually scavengers, but like any predators they can be opportunistic. The problem you’re going to run into is not leaving your own scent all over the trail…” He glanced towards Bastien, raising a brow inquisitively.

Bastien nodded slightly. “There’s a spell for dulling scent. Given how hungry it is, I’m not sure people smell would deter it - but better safe than sorry, at this point. The prowler’s not stupid.”

Meyer agreed, “That sounds like a reasonable precaution. ...I suppose the question then would be where we want to lure it to. Obviously nowhere with things it can set on fire - which doesn’t leave us an overwhelming amount of options.”

“Somewhere damp would probably work the best,” Cosette said, arms folded. “It’ll have a hard time setting fire to things that are wet.”

“A shame we’re in the wrong part of Andesine lands for there to be a conveniently located patch of swampland,” Kristof noted dryly. “You’ve been here longer than we have- any notions?”

Meyer rubbed his chin, considering. “There’s the river, but I think that’s still too near the forest in most places. And I don’t want to find out how well they can swim. ...But you know, a few miles back the way we came - off to the side of the road, it looks like someone tried burning the foliage back and it got out of hand. It’s not a huge area, but everything that can burn well has already done it, anything new is too small to cause too much trouble, and without the trees, the ground should be soaked, anyway.”

Gavin nodded, “As good an option as we’re liable to find. Very well then- we can help wherever you believe we’ll be of the most use.”

“Well you’ll be with the ambush party, naturally,” Hugo said, sounding surprised. “You’ve fought the bugger twice already- it only stands to reason.”

“I agree,” Meyer said. “As long as Captain Monfort has no objections. It’ll also remove issues of the ah, language barrier,” he added with a slightly apologetic look at Cosette. “Not that you haven’t done a perfectly fine job, of course.”

Cosette only smiled and flapped a hand dismissively. Gavin nodded. “That seems fine by my account. Hopefully we will be able to end this shortly- though for now, we should probably get some rest. It’s very late and it’s been an eventful day.”

Meyer nodded. “Agreed. And hopefully tomorrow, we can finish this awful business.”

* * *

Cosette gave a long, slow whistle when she saw the burnt area that Meyer had described the day before. As he’d advertised, it wasn’t very wide- maybe about thirty feet in total circumference- but what there was to it was pretty thoroughly decimated, down to ash and the needle-stumps of what must once have been trees.

“Ah-” Gavin, who had been looking around their chosen battlefield, pointed to one stump in particular. “Look here- this trunk isn’t burn like the rest, it’s blasted. See all the scorched wood shards in the ground around it? Hit by lightning.”

“Lucky strike, for us,” Bastien commented. “The rain must have kept it from spreading further than this.” He looked around the scorched area, eyes flicking from one end to the other. “This looks like a good place to fight; good amount of space, nothing to burn down. It’s too big for me to ward entirely to keep it pinned in...but smaller wards should do the trick so it can’t run off on us again.” He tapped at his wand holster absently. “I’m almost glad it’ll be this way - just the three of us and the horses means it should be a quick, clean kill.”

“Assuming the Andesine or Topaza forces swarming the woods don’t find it before it finds our trail,” Cosette commented, busying herself with untying the dead chicken they had dragged along behind them from her destrier’s saddle and looking for a good spot to leave it. “I’m still a little surprised Lord Andesine sent such a large force for one relatively small dragon.”

“Small yes, but smart from what we’ve seen,” Gavin pointed out. “He clearly learned caution from whatever blunder cost him the use of his jaw.”

“Clearly. You could almost be impressed with him,” Bastien remarked. “Obviously it can’t be allowed to roam free hunting people, but it’s survived a lot. Though I imagine the show of force is more for the Topazas’ sake than ours.”

“True enough,” Gavin conceded. “That is the way of nobility. Who knows what sort of deal is being sealed by the marriage of Marilyn Topaza and Lord Andesine’s heir. There is no such thing as overkill where currying favor between lords is concerned. Still, their knights seem sincere in the desire to help.”

Bastien grunted noncommittally. “So long as they do their jobs properly. And don’t talk as much as the two we had plastered to us the past few days.”

“They were just trying to be personable,” Cosette said, sounding a bit impatient. Gavin cleared his throat pointedly, shaking his head.

“Let’s not get into this- I don’t want any arguing right now.” With one last glance about, he added, “We should look for a place of concealment. Somewhere to wait out the prowler’s arrival, should he decide to investigate the blood trail we left him.”

“...Right,” Bastien said, clearly pulling himself back from preparing to argue with Cosette. “Well. The fire doesn’t seem to have left us much to work with. ...Maybe we can use what’s left of the trees to build some sort of cover - it takes out a few more obstacles from the field, anyway.”

“Probably our best bet,” Cosette agreed, equally clearly struggled to reign in her aggravation. “The horses can probably hide within the treeline opposite the road- it puts them farther away, but they’re fast enough they should be able to close the distance, no issue.”

“Let’s get about it then,” Gavin said, moving towards the burnt tree stumps to find pieces that could be broken off. “We want to be ready before the prowler gets here.”

The elves spent the next hour or so scouring the torched field for still-standing strumps, breaking pieces of the wood off and hoping it didn’t crumble in their hands, and assembling them into a rough barricade. Bastien used his magic to help encourage some of the parts to stick together; they’d quickly discovered that most slip-ups resulted in a lot more charcoal and a lot less wood.

Eventually they managed to wrestle together a clump of a barricade just big enough for the three elves to crouch behind. It would look out of place to anyone familiar with fire damage, but to most people and hopefully to a distracted prowler, it would resemble the fallen remains of a burned tree. The three knights settled behind their construction, occasionally conversing quietly, but mostly in silence, waiting for the sounds of a large predator approaching.

Hours passed.

“...Something must be wrong,” Bastien declared sourly, when a second hour passed with no sign of any animal bigger or more ferocious than a curious fox.

“Maybe the Andesine or Topaza knights found it…?” Cosette suggested in an undertone. “But I would think they’d have sounded a horn if that were the case.”

Gavin bit his lip. “Perhaps it managed to catch a rabbit. Or a pheasant.”

“Possible, but surely after all this time, that wouldn’t be enough to sate it?” Bastien said. “...Although on that same trail of thought; I suppose it could have scavenged a larger kill. It might be able to intimidate a small wolf pack or a young puma; they wouldn’t necessarily be able to tell its jaw is broken.”

“They would clear out before it, that’s for certain,” Gavin agreed. “Though… have either of you actually seen any evidence of other big predators in the area? Prints or fur or sites of old kills… I don’t think I have.”

“Wolves or pumas would be stupid to overlap their territory with a dragon,” Cosette pointed out grimly. “Stupid or desperate.”

Bastien nodded. “And the evidence bears out; I haven’t seen any signs of large predators around. And we ought to have by now, with all our tromping through the forest. ...It ought to be hungry, then. Unless a deer died of an accident, though I’ve seen no vultures heading any particular direction.”

Gavin crossed his arms. “So what makes a desperate, starving creature reject food?”

“Not much,” Cosette said. “Bigger predator? But I think we’d notice if a crestie or a king rex were prowling about.”

“Maybe the humans are chasing it the wrong way,” Bastien mused with a scowl. “I wouldn’t put it past them to lose their sense of direction out in the deep woods. The dragon can hardly be tempted by bait it never gets close enough to smell.”

Gavin, his expression unamused, opened his mouth in what was clearly going to be some sort of chastising- then froze. His yellow eyes went wide, and he swore vehemently.

“Captain?” Cosette querried, concern in her voice.

Bastien asked, almost hesitantly, “What’s the matter?”

“A bigger predator- what’s the predator almost every creature in nature is afraid of?” Gavin demanded. “People. Humans. And the Andesines sent two full squads of knights on top of the Topaza squad that was already here. Fully armed, armored humans, with aggressive warhorses, swarming a territory that has already been inhospitable to the prowler for several days now.”

Bastien groaned. “Of course - it’s been attacking humans, but only the weak ones. A predator can take a fawn but still be wary of the stag.” A dark look crossed Bastien’s face. “How much pushing do you think it will take before it abandons this territory all together?”

“If nobody has found it by the end of today,” Gavin said grimly, “we can probably assume it already has.”

“The humans will see that as a victory,” Cosette noted, her expression nauseous. “But if it leaves here, it’ll just try to find a new territory elsewhere, and start all over again.”

“Exactly,” Bastien agreed. He huffed, and added, “Though Lord Topaza might insist on trying to hunt it down as vengeance for his sister.”

“Aw, but Bas,” Cosette teased. “That means we might get your most favorite people- Dean and Hale- coming along with us if we chase it down!”

Bastien wrinkled his nose. “Ach - do not remind me. As if hunting down a maneater isn’t hassle enough.” For a second, he hesitated, then let out a sigh, too loud and dramatic to quite be genuinely frustrated. “Though I suppose we could allow them to try talking the prowler to death.”

“Well, what do we do for now?” Cosette asked Gavin, turning back to her captain. “Wait it out? Or…?”

“We can’t just abandon this post, in case it does come,” Gavin replied grimly. “But if there are still no developments by midafternoon I think we’ll need to sound the horn to call the other knights together and reconsider our options.”

Bastien nodded. “Better than wasting time waiting to ambush a target that isn’t coming. Especially one that might be heading for more victims.”

And, as the elves had predicted, there were no signs of the prowler, and no call from the other knights to indicate they had found it. At length, concluding their worst fears must have been realized, Gavin sounded his war horn to call the rest of the knights together. As soon as Meyer, Kristoff, and Huey had all arrived, he explained the elves’ theory to the human captains.

Meyer sighed. “With as many knights out there as we have, someone ought to have come across it by now. Unless it’s just hunkering down in hiding until the knights go away again.”

“I doubt that,” Gavin replied grimly, Cosette translating. “It’s starving- it won’t linger someplace so hostile when it’s desperate for food. Animals don’t think like people- it probably assumes we’re some new dangerous pack of predators who’ve claimed this territory.”

“Well.. if it’s leaving this area, perhaps it will settle someplace deeper in the wilderness,” Huey suggested, brightening a little. “Go back to its natural prey.”

When Cosette translated this, Bastien scowled. “Maneaters rarely go back to their usual prey. And this one likely couldn’t even if it were inclined, not with that mangled jaw.”

“Aaah but you aren’t from around here,” Kristoff pointed out. “This village is the only human settlement for leagues. It’s at least a day and a half travel by horse to the next nearest town. For a weak, starving prowler? He won’t get anywhere that he can be a danger.”

Meyer considered this. “Hmm. It might be safer that way - nobody has to fight it to take it down. Will Lord Andesine accept there being no body?”

“I think so,” Huey replied. “If we linger about the area for another day or so and there’s still no sign, he’ll probably be satisfied with it.”

Gavin frowned. “Sirs, are you certain there’s nowhere nearby where humans might live?”

“Well we can’t account for isolated hermits,” Kristoff admitted, “But I don’t think any of us could manage a wild goose chase into the swamps looking for those.”

“You would know better than I would,” Meyer conceded, “And I think Lord Topaza would accept that assurance as well. So long as we stay another few days to make sure it’s not just trying to wait us out, as you said.”

Bastien crossed his arms as the exchange was translated. “Hmmph. Not the fastest or most noble death - although at least this way, its body will be left alone instead of taken as some disgusting trophy.”

Gavin sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I… suppose. We are already several days behind schedule, the commander will no doubt start to wonder where we are if we linger too much longer. I don’t really like this but…”

“If they hadn’t sent a whole battalion of knights, the dragon probably wouldn’t have been scared off and we could be sure,” Bastien said. “It’s their fault, not ours.”

“Still, we didn’t realize it was going to be a problem until it was too late,” Cosette pointed out. She rubbed her face. “I guess… I guess for tonight we should rest in the village, and in the morning we can move on.”

“I suppose so,” Gavin agreed, folding his arms. “This is Andesine’s sovereignty and they have the final authority on military action here.”

Meyer said to the Andesine captain, “We’ll be staying here another day or two already; we can’t move on until Lady Topaza’s in a better state. We can still help keep an eye out for it coming back.”

“Understandably,” Huey agreed. “We’ll remain as well, I would imagine, so that we may help ensure Lady Topaza makes it to the manor safely.” To the elves he added, “Thank you for your help- we owe you a great debt.”

Gavin nodded, though he said nothing- at this point, he knew there was nothing more he could contribute to the matter of the prowler. If it was still in the area, the amassed knights would no doubt find it, and if it had gone, starvation would claim it.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow leaving the matter unfinished.

Part Seven

SPOILER: Click to show

The following morning, the elves bid their farewells to the knights of Topaza and Andesine, and started back down the beaten forest track northwards. At first there wasn’t much conversation between them- all three of the knights on high alert in case the prowler actually was still in the area- but gradually they rode past any practical boundary for a single dragon’s territory, and slowly started to relax.

“Did you get the chance to look in on the boy before we rode out, Bas?” Gavin asked curiously, finally breaking the silence.

Bastien gave him a puzzled look. “...Yes. He was asleep and I didn’t want to mime my way through a conversation with the father. But it did look like the Andesines used healing magic on him; I think he’s out of immediate danger of dying. ...How did you know?”

“Oh I didn’t know you had, but I had a guess,” Gavin replied, turning to give Bastien a wink. “If you ever end up settling down you’ll be the most protective bear of a father in all of Nid’aigle.”

Cosette sniggered. Bastien rolled his eyes, but smirked and said, “Almost as protective as you are of us, mother hen.”

“Almost,” the captain agreed gravely. “I work hard to defend my title, you know.”

“So does that mean you’ll protect us from the commander when he demands to know why we’re three days behind schedule on the road from Citronelle?” Cosette asked, batting her eyes. Gavin laughed.

“Well I mean he’d demand it of me anyway, seeing as I’m the officer. You might have to endure a debriefing though, I’m sorry to say.”

Bastien sighed. “I suppose we can endure that. A little more formidable than the prowler, but at least there ought to be less fire.” He frowned a little, then glanced at Cosette. “Speaking of - your burns? How are they faring?”

She winced, looking down at her shins. “I won’t be able to wear my greaves anytime soon, that’s for sure. The apothecary in town at least had some aloe and antiseptic, but it was the best I could do.” Dryly she added, “I didn’t really want to push our luck with Lord Andesine’s generosity.”

“Hmph - they could have afforded us some; we were the ones closest to killing it for them, multiple time. Hopefully they’ll still respond to treatment from home. Should we ever see it again at this rate.”

“With any luck we’ll get home before they start scarring,” Gavin said, his voice soothing. Glancing back around at the path ahead of them, he made a sound of satisfaction. “And our way should be a lot faster now- the trees are thinning up ahead. I think we’re almost back at the Ash Road.”

“Thank the gods,” Bastien said, sitting up higher in the saddle to peer through the thinning trees. “That was a hassle of a detour.”

“One almost has to imagine the hand of the gods in that detour,” Cosette remarked. “Who knows how many more people the prowler would have killed if not for the landslide washing out the road.”

“All the same, I do agree that the road crews can’t get this arm of the Ash safe for casual traffic soon en…” He tensed, hands clenching over his horse’s reins. “Oh. Oh no.”

Bastien squeezed the reins of his own horse, going so far as to slow the animal down. “What? The landslide shouldn’t - “ Understanding suddenly dawned in his eyes. “The road crew. They’re not out of the prowler’s range if it runs, are they?”

Cosette hissed an oath, and Gavin shook his head grimly. “No. They aren’t. Come on, we have to hurry, if it had already fled the territory yesterday the prowler could easily have picked up the scents of the workers by now, they need to be warned.”

Without another word, Gavin kicked his heels into his mare’s side, goading her into a canter. Cosette made a noise of startlement, but swiftly followed after, and Bastien brought up the rear. The air whipping by their long ears and the thudding of their mount’s hooves was the only noise that passed between the knights as they finally burst from the treeline out onto the Ash Road. Instead of heading north, however, the knights whipped back south, their mounts leaping the barricades blocking off the damaged section of the road and moving from a canter into a full on gallop.

It was close to noon by the time the three knights began hearing voices drifting toward them from the road ahead. They weren’t close enough to hear many words for Cosette to translate, but the general tone was...discomforted.

The elves spotted the group barely moments after they’d first heard them; the men had clearly meant to keep their voices from carrying. A quick look showed an odd scene; while several men were working on clearing the landslide, about as many were standing at the edges of the path in a semi-circle, standing shaky guard against something lurking in the forest.

“Something’s already not right,” Bastien murmured as he and his companions slowed their pace, having been noticed by the workers. The humans looked some combination of startled, relieved, and worried by the sight of the trio of knights.

“Hey, Ike!” one of the workers at the landslide called, jamming her shovel into the muddy spread and putting a hand to her mouth to amplify her words. A gruff, older man with more hair in his beard than atop his head looked up from where he was talking with two men at the makeshift perimeter. The woman hitched her thumb toward the elves.

The man - Ike, presumably - approached them quickly, looking a little wary at their weapons but seeming to take some heart from the badges. It was doubtful he recognized the symbol, but the shape would mirror that of knights from provinces he would recognize. “Uh - hello there...Sirs?” The man rubbed at the back of his neck, glanced over his shoulder, and turned back. “I don’t mean to be blunt, but what’re you doing here? We didn’t even send for help yet!”

Gavin’s eyes flicked over to Cosette, and she translated in an undertone before addressing the man. “I am Sir Cosette Lafluer, and my companions are Captain Gavin Monfort and Sir Bastien Fortier.” Lowering her voice, so as not to panic the other workers, she added, “We’re here because we have reason to believe you all might be in some serious danger and wanted to give you warning of it.”

The man nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, we’ve been thinkin’ that’s the case. I’m Isaac - you can call me Ike. You know what’s going on? This danger something that creeps around in the bushes?”

Cosette’s mouth thinned and she translated the question before answering, “Yes, as it happens. So you have seen something?”

“‘Seen’ isn’t the right word, exactly. But we’ve heard and spotted bushes moving without the wind, and a lot of crunching and rustling that shouldn’t be there. We were worried maybe cougar - but you all seem a little much for just a cat.”

Cosette hiked hiked up the leg of her trousers so that the aloe-coated burns on her shin were visible. “You’re in the right range for size, but no, I don’t think your stalker is a cougar. We’ve been tracking a man-eating prowler that was stalking a village a few miles from here, but it quite suddenly vanished from those woods yesterday. We have it on the word of Lord Andesine’s knights that there are no other settlements anywhere nearby, which means aside from the village you’re the only humans for leagues.”

“Prowler - like the dragon?” Ike paled and looked back over his shoulder again - after indulging an obscenity, he said, “I guess that’s why we couldn’t spot it - the black scales. ...So what do we do? You can kill it, right?”

Bastien sneered when Cosette translated the question. Gavin cast a stern glance towards his friend before saying through Cosette’s translation, “If we can find it, we will- the beast is too dangerous to let live. But first we need to find it.”

“Assuming it doesn’t strike first,” Cosette muttered in Elvish.

“I’m surprised it’s waited this long,” Bastien agreed. “...How long has it been here?”

Cosette asked Isaac, and he replied, “Just a few hours - two, maybe three? That’s how long ago we started hearing noises, anyway. ...It seems like it’s getting closer.”

“Probably waiting for someone to venture away from the group,” Gavin said grimly. “To head for your latrine pit or sit down to rest.” He looked up, eyes narrowing. “Everyone is accounted for… yes?”

“Well, I’d hope everyone knows not to wander off alone if there’s anything big enough to eat a person wandering around,” Isaac said as he turned to look over his crew. “But we do have a few who’re shy about using the pit with anyone around. But not getting mauled’s gotta be higher priority than…”

After a moment, Bastien asked Cosette, “Is something wrong…?”

“I’m… not sure he stopped talking in the middle of his sentence,” she replied. In Kythian she brooked, “Master Isaac, is something wrong?”

“It looks like someone here is stupid enough to wander off on his own; I don’t see Cade anywhere.” He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Hey! Any of you seen Cade?”

The murmur of reply had a lot of “no”s and “not lately”s. “‘Pit,” Isaac said. “He probably knew I’d insist on a buddy going to relieve himself. I’ll get him and haul his - haul him back here.” He shouted to his crew for someone to bring him a shovel as Cosette translated.

“This isn’t good,” Gavin said softly to the other elves. “If he’s been gone a while and the prowler’s been stalking around…”

“Either it’s herding him away from the rest before it pounces, or it’s already pounced,” Cosette finished.

Bastien flicked his horse’s reins impatiently. “Where are the latrines?” Looking at Gavin, he added, “I think we ought to go ourselves, now, not wait for him to be ready or to go check. Captain?”

“We can’t afford to dally,” Gavin agreed. “Cos, ask them.”

The female elf nodded, relaying the question to Isaac and adding, “We can look for your man ahead- and tell him to trot home for his chastising if he’s alright.”

“Right - that makes more sense. Latrine’s down the path that way.” He pointed to something less a path and more a trail trampled and hacked through the undergrowth. “Best of luck; I’ll keep everyone here bunched up tight.”

Gavin nodded, jerking his neck towards Cosette and Bastien before starting down the narrow track into the forest. In a growled undertone he muttered, “Why would you go off by yourself with a predator stalking around, even if you did think it was just a cougar?”

“Humans are idiots,” Bastien answered as he drew his wand. “He probably brought a shovel along and thinks he could fight a cougar if one did show up.”

“Nobody understands the concept of ambush predator,” Cosette growled, for once agreeing with Bastien. “Or that being alone makes you a tar-”

Gavin swung out his arm, pulling his horse’s reins to stop the animal. His gaze was riveted to a small green hedge. At the base of the plant were several deep grooved furrows, like something sharp had dug into the earth there. And on the leaves were speckles of blood.

Bastien stared. “...Nobody heard any shouting. The pit can’t be that far away - either the dragon’s bleeding from something else, or…”

“Or ‘Cade’ didn’t get the chance to scream,” Gavin finished, his voice very, very grim. He looked around on the ground, jaw clenched. “Even if he’s unconscious though, there’s a chance he might still be alive. I… I don’t see anywhere he was dragged though. No furrows in the dirt, the blood isn’t trailing off anywhere…”

“C-captain,” Cosette said, her voice trembling. “Look up.”

Startled, Gavin obeyed- and saw that there was more blood in the leaves of the tree limbs immediately over the bush.

“...It’s figured out climbing,” Bastien said through clenched teeth. He pointed his wand up, muttering “Protegwoo,” to cast a dome-shaped shield over their heads. “How are we supposed to get it down?”

“I don’t know,” Gavin said, “but we need to come up with something fast- it seems that it dragged its victim up the tree with it, and if he’s still alive he’s on borrowed time.”

“I’m not convinced he’s still alive if the prowler was able to drag him up a tree, Captain,” Cosette retorted.

“We need to get it down either way, and quicker is better.” Bastien paused. “...But without giving the human a broken neck. A lure won’t work if it has food already; I can’t just start slicing branches, or throwing around wind or water… Hmm.” He looked between his companions. “Could we draw it out with noise? Make it sound like we’re a challenge or a threat?”

“A noise at ground level is liable to just make it retreat further up the tree,” Gavin shook his head. “But… maybe a different sort of challenge. A rival predator that followed him up the tree.”

Cosette blinked. “And how would we…”

“A construct,” Gavin clarified. To Bastien he added, “Do you think you could send a construct up there after him?”

Bastien considered, looking up at the canopy. “What sort of construct do you want? Something large and solid enough to fight a prowler is going to take a good amount of magic that I can’t use later.”

“It doesn’t have to fight him,” Gavin said. “Just spook him. Make him feel threatened enough to either let go of his victim or even come out where we can see him better.”

“Aye.” Bastien pointed his wand toward the nearest large tree branch and muttered an incantation. Green light surged from his wand; midway to the branch, it took the form of a puma. The trees and leaves under its paws were visible through the construct, just heavily tinted green, as if behind colored glass or underwater. It clambered silently into the trees, paws not quite touching the branches properly in places if one looked carefully.

Bastien lowered his wand, eyes dropping and his gazed drifting out of focus. For a moment, there was just silence - and then, with no more warning than a twitch of Bastien’s lip, a loud rustle of tree branches up ahead and a furious and familiar snarl broke the quiet.

“He’s mad,” Cosette remarked grimly, her sword up in a defensive position. She tensed as the branches overhead creaked and rustled for a moment, a long black tail coming into view from amidst the canopy. “Come on, Demon, c’mon, nice and easy…”

There was a louder snarl, and a great crack-crunch as the limb the prowler had been backing up on gave. The huge reptile came tumbling into view, wings pumping wildly and a limp human shape coming down beside it. “Bastien!” Gavin snapped, darting under the shield towards the bloodied victim.

Bastien’s head snapped up and he took in the scene - he flung out his wand, abandoning an obscenity halfway through to instead shout, “Arrestwoo momentum!” The fallen human lurched a little, as if he had suddenly hit water, and then continued drifting downward at a much slower pace.

The prowler, meanwhile, hit the ground hard and a little staggering, but landed on all four feet. It flared its wings at the knights, lips curling back from teeth glistening with drool and blood. Cosette, being the only one of the three who hadn’t been preoccupied with the human, stepped towards the dragon, sword held defensively in front of her. “You want him, you have to go through us!”

Gavin paused beside the man’s form as he settled to the earth, and winced. It was painfully obvious given the state of the body that he had paid the ultimate price for his monumental blunder in going out alone against his supervisor’s orders. Turning to Bastien, Gavin gritted his teeth. “Wand up, sword out- dragons scales are spell-resistant and speed will serve us better than shields… and hopefully he isn’t so foolish as to try spitting fire in the underbrush.”

Bastien nodded, drawing his blade and urging his horse forward to join Cosette. The shield that had hovered above the knights flickered away; no use for it now. The prowler eyed the three elves warily, but its gaze kept flicking to the worker it had killed. The stance it took - wide-spread feet, crouched, tail lashing - was clear. The predator was standing his ground.

“Stubborn animal,” Bastien grunted.

“This is the first substantial meal it’s managed to get in a long time,” Cosette pointed out grimly. “You’d be stubborn too.”

“Cos, circle around,” Gavin said, his voice edged in a way that made it clear he was in full Officer Mode despite the nickname. “Bastien, same in the other direction. I’ll keep between it and the body. We don’t want to bunch up and give it an easy point of focus.”

Cosette nodded, nudging her destrier in a tight circle around the prowler’s left side, not taking her eyes off the dragon. Bastien did the same in the other direction, The prowler snarled and took two steps of a charge in Cosette’s direction before stopping again, twisting its head around to growl at Bastien. When it looked back at Cosette to make sure she hadn’t gotten too close, Bastien took the plunge and nudged his horse to a faster pace, angling his sword to strike at the prowler as he closed the distance. The dragon whirled around toward him, ducking under the sword and slamming its paws against Bastien’s leg for leverage as it tried to stretch its jaws up to bite him. Bastien yanked his arm away from the sharp teeth, and shouted when one of the prowler’s paws slipped off his armor and, in reclaiming its grip, the prowler’s claws dug into a gap between the metal plates. Bastien shouted in pain, before pointing his wand to the dragon’s throat and snapping a spell that made the wand flare with light and the dragon screech and draw back.

The prowler shook itself, no injury visible; any damage Bastien’s spell was supposed to do apparently hadn’t broken through the dragon’s magical protections.

Still, the dragon backed away a step, snarling at Bastien - bringing it closer to Cosette, who signaled to her mare to swing around for a kick at the prowler’s ribs. Unable to avoid both attacks at once, the dragon took the destrier’s kick full in the chest and rolled with the impact, shrieking in pain. It struggled to right itself, small embers dancing around it’s maw, but it was panting too hard to get the necessary deep breath for true flame.

“So not smart enough not to breathe fire in the trees,” Gavin remarked grimly, one hand on his sword and the other on his mare’s reigns.

A jet of water struck the side of the prowler’s muzzle - Bastien’s horse had turned and started back in the direction she and Bastien had charged, putting the elf’s wand closer to the dragon than his sword. Red drops of blood from Bastien’s leg marked their trail in the dirt. “That might buy us a moment,” Bastien said through gritted teeth.

The prowler gave its head a brief shake but otherwise ignored the water as it got to its feet, shaky but still upright. It took a step toward Cosette and her horse and then hissed, drawing back. Bastien shot another burst of water at it, but the prowler didn't fall for a distraction this time; Bastien shrugged, raised his sword, and set his destrier charging toward the dragon.

Now the prowler looked his way - but rather than attacking Bastien or ignoring him to go for Cosette, the prowler lunged forward, aiming straight for Gavin. The elf captain’s eyes narrowed and under him he felt his destrier tense, but neither horse nor man moved. Seeing this the prowler then tried to dart around Gavin, arrowing for the body of the road crew worker. Gavin brough his sword around, aiming for the prowler’s incoming face, but the dragon bunched his muscles and leapt, mangled jaw closing over the elf captain’s forearm. Gavin gave a cry of surprise as he was yanked backwards off of his destrier’s saddle in a clatter of armor. Cosette swore and Bastien shouted; the two spurred their horses forward. Bastien made a slicing motion with his wand at one of the tree limbs; a thin but long, heavily-forked branch dropped from the tree into the fight on the ground - though not very well; most of the branch fell on the prowler’s tail. The prowler spun, clearly meaning to head off whatever was attacking him from behind, and Gavin took the opportunity to land a blow with the pommel of his sword squarely on the hinge of the prowler’s jaw.

The dragon released its grip on Gavin’s arm, shrieking with pain, but before the elf could do anything else his destrier reached down and grabbed a mouthful of surcoat shoulder, hauling him up and away from the reptile. Cosette managed to close on the enraged dragon, but as it spun to meet her its tail smacked into her horse’s still-moving legs, causing the animal to stumble. Thus distracted trying not to fall from the saddle, and with Gavin’s mare dragging him away over his struggles and protests, she was helpless to defend herself from the wicked talons that scored across her already burned legs.

“Over here!” Bastien shouted at the prowler as his horse caught up; the prowler’s tail was still lashing and Bastien’s horse reared to avoid it. Bastien’s face visibly paled as he had to use both legs, injured one included, to keep himself in the saddle. His sword couldn’t reach the prowler, but one of his destrer’s flailing hooves struck the prowler’s cracked horn as it tried to lunge around to get to the horse’s belly. The prowler jerked backwards instantly, shaking its head and making a noise now that was more whine than snarl.

There was a crashing sound in the underbrush, and Gavin- on foot now- emerged from the thicket to stand beside Bastien’s horse. “S-sorry… about that…” he panted, one side of his face squinted against the pain in what was no doubt at the least a badly bruised forearm. “She wouldn’t drop me.”

“It’s fine, we know how the horses are,” Bastien grunted as his horse returned to all four hooves with a snort. “Cosette?”

“I’ll live,” she said shortly, bringing her horse around to cut off the prowler from an attempted escape back towards the body. Her pant leg was streaked with crimson, but she was refusing to give it much attention. She glanced briefly into the trees as Gavin’s mare paced sulkily about just beyond the bushes, but returned her focus to their adversary immediately. “We need to end this, though. Soon.”

“Bas-” Gavin said sharply, as the prowler’s chest expanded like a bellows.

Bastien growled low in his throat and pointed his wand forward; when the prowler pulled back its head, Bastien snapped “Agwootempet!” and a rush of water cascaded from his wand, striking the prowler’s face as it opened its mouth. Gouts of fire spurted out from either side of the water, but most of it was doused and turned to steam. The prowler drew back, sputtering, and snapped at the water stream once before the rush stopped.

“Cosette’s right,” Bastien said, “this needs to end soon. Ideas?”

Gavin’s eyes darted around, then narrowed. “The ground’s still boggy from your last spell- do you have the energy left to freeze it?”

Bastien flexed his fingers. “Yes.” He raised his wand and swept it across the area soaking in the water from his earlier spell. “Glacius!” he snapped; a strange, almost squeaky, crackling sound rose from the ground, and the water started to shine as it turned into ice. The prowler tensed, trying to back away from the onrush of frozen water, but too slowly. One of his foretalons and both of his hind ones became sealed in an inch-thick glaze of ice where previously there had been a puddle. The dragon scrabbled at the crust with his free paw, but could barely scratch the surface.

“Now I need a distraction,” Gavin said grimly. “You’re both mounted so he’ll notice you first- I’m on the ground so I’m smaller and I can sneak up on him.”

“Be careful,” Cosette cautioned. Then, seeing the dragon inhaling to try to burn off the ice, she bellowed, “Hey, ugly!” kicking her horse into motion. Bastien holstered his wand and followed her lead, urging his horse toward the dragon but a little away from Cosette - best to keep the dragon from having a solid direction to attack.

They stopped their horses at the edge of the ice field; Bastien coaxed his mare into an agitated pace back and forth as he held his sword up, shouting to draw the prowler’s attention when it strayed. Cosette did the same, tapping her sword pommel against the metal of her wrist guard to make sure it kept its eyes on the mounted knights. The reptile spat a few tiny sparks, but it couldn’t get a clear enough shot at either of them to fire off any substantial flames.

Gavin, meanwhile, sheathed his sword and instead drew his knife from its holster at the back of his belt. The weapon had less reach, but it was more useful in close-quarters and less likely to accidentally hit something and draw the prowler’s attention. He moved as slowly as he could over the ice to avoid slipping, but didn’t want to move too slow lest the prowler make up its mind to ignore Bastien and Cosette when they refused to draw closer to it for a serious attack…

The prowler, however, was well and truly out of its mind with a combination of pain, hunger, and red-hot fury. It thrashed and bucked against the ice holding it, snarling at the two mounted knights and occasionally spitting embers. Cosette paused briefly in her noise-making with her armor as she saw Gavin get within range, unconsciously holding her breath-

Then, with a furious roar, the prowler yanked its paws free of the ice that had been gradually weakened by both its thrashing and the heat of its breath. Gavin recoiled in surprise, slipping on what remained of the frozen puddles and dropping his dagger with a clatter. Cosette shouted a futile warning as the prowler rounded on her captain, pouncing so that both of its forepaws pinned down his arms. Bastien yanked his wand from its holster, but his horse chose that moment to try and dart forward; he yanked her back and the spell he’d fired crashed into a tree across the road instead of the dragon. Drool puddled out from between the prowler’s teeth, and Gavin struggled against its paws futilely as it opened its jaw to bite.

Then, there was a crashing in the brush, and the prowler’s head snapped up just in time to see the huge palomino form of Gavin’s destrier perform the exact same move she’d demonstrated for Hale and Dean, the one that had missed the prowler during their previous fight with it. This time, however, it connected solidly- with an explosive noise as iron-shod hooves whipped through the air faster than sound, she kicked the extremely startled dragon off of Gavin and sent it tumbling over the ice. Not wasting a moment, Gavin immediately took advantage of his newfound freedom to lunge for his dagger. Before the stunned dragon could regain its feet, he scored the razor-sharp metal across its neck.

Bastien and Cosette kept their weapons trained on the prowler, but it was very apparent very quickly that the wound was not something it was going to shake off; its retaliatory swipe at Gavin was already a lurch more than a coordinated attack, and it quickly slumped onto its belly. The elf captain half crawled, half slid out of the prowler’s range along the ice, stopping at his mare’s feet and leaning against one of her legs as his breath heaved. He kept his eyes trained on the prowler, but it was visibly weakening, and after another moment it sighed heavily and was still.

“...I think it’s over,” Cosette said, after another twenty seconds of cautious silence. She glanced towards her captain, who was reaching up to his mare’s saddle to haul himself to his feet, trembling hard. “You alright? You’re shaking.”

“Adrenaline reaction,” he replied shortly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You should still let Bastien look at your arms, though,” she retorted.

Bastien nodded in agreement, sheathing his sword and motioning for the captain to come closer. “I should check where it slashed you, too, Cosette,” he said. “...And probably where it got me, at some point.”

Gavin sighed, rubbing his forehead and carefully stepping over the ice towards Bastient, peeling off his armor and surcoat. Underneath there were heavy bruises on both arms near the joint of the shoulder, multiple bruises where the prowler had bit his wrist to pull him down from his horse earlier, and no shortage of swelling on his back and chest where he’d landed.

Bastien looked over the damage with a critical eye. “Hrm. You’ll be sore for a few days and look like you fell in a barrel of blackberries - but it doesn’t look like you’ve got any piercing or slashing damage.” He flicked his wand, casting the spell to let him examine for internal injuries; after a moment, he shook his head and drew his wand away again. “And miraculously, nothing worse than a bruised collarbone from being dragged around and pounced on by the thing. Well done, Captain.”

“Commend me again in the morning when I’m so stiff I don’t even want to think about riding,” Gavin replied wearily. He then beckoned to Cosette. “Your turn.”

Instead of dismounting, the lady knight nudged her horse closer and pulled up her pant-leg. The bandages that had been adhered with burn salve to her leg were slashed and falling off, and there were four horizontal lacerations in the skin. “Not deep, at least,” she remarked grimly. “But you are not getting me down from here for all the runestones in Corvus.”

“Understandable,” Bastien said, carefully pulling the bandages away to get a clearer look at the slashes. “I’m not wrestling myself out of this saddle until I’m sure I don’t have to get immediately back into it.”

As he cast a small mending spell over each of the slices in Cosette’s leg, Bastien asked, “Do we have anything to cover the body? The human’s. I didn’t get a good look, but I can’t imagine his co-workers would want to find him...as he is.”

“We can use my blanket,” Gavin said, walking over to his horse and fishing around in her saddlebags. “It’s warm enough I don’t really need it.”

As he moved to cover the man, he added, “We probably need to get a message back to the nobles, don’t we? About what’s happened?”

Cosette gave a small groan. Bastien nodded, sheathing his wand once more. “At least we can also tell them the prowler’s dead,” he said - but did not sound particularly emboldened by that fact. “At least one of us should stay here until the workers are told, yes? Nothing ought to happen to the body, but as soon as we all leave… If you’d rather not get on the horse again, Captain, I can accompany Cosette back. I’ll leave the talking to her.”

“I’ll need to mount sooner or later,” Gavin said grimly. “But I still think I should stay here. Cosette needs to go back to communicate, and you’re clearly pulled on top of bleeding.”

Bastien shrugged and cracked his knuckles. “I’m fine. Not ideal, but I’m not going to pass out - so long as this fool - “ Bastien pat his horse’s neck - “doesn’t do her rearing up trick again and makes me brace with that leg. Whenever you’re ready, Cosette.”

Epilogue

SPOILER: Click to show

The conversation with the road crewmen went every bit as poorly as the knights had feared. They had, of course, heard the sounds of the fighting from the road, but most had hoped the knights had found their colleague independently of the prowler. The manager, Isaac, called a halt to the work for the day and sent a group to bring Cade’s body out of the forest so that they could properly bury it. The prowler, meanwhile, the elves pulled a bit further from the path so that its body wouldn’t draw dangerous scavengers.

All in all, it was another two hours before the elves headed back down the narrow forest track towards the village, and the middle of the afternoon by the time they found themselves in the familiar forest again.

They had discussed already that they should report what had happened to the Topazas and Andesines in the interest of full disclosure and avoiding the waste of resources should one or both of the noble families decide to make sure the prowler was dead. The foreknowledge did not stop Bastien from heaving a small but disappointed sigh when the first knights they came across were their old assignment partners Dean and Hale.

“You’re back?” Hale said, his eyebrows rising.

“Manners,” Dean said.

“Yes, yes, hello, it’s good to see you three again, but I would guess you’re here for a reason? That is probably not a good thing?”

“Depends on your definition of a ‘good thing’” Gavin replied through Cosette’s translations, trying and failing not to lean heavily against his mare’s neck. He was aching badly from several hours ride abusing his bruised muscles. “Come to find out, our friends the Andesines miscalculated in saying there are no other humans near here- they forgot the road crew on the Ash.”

Now Dean looked more startled than smug. Hale slapped a hand to his forehead - “’Pit, of course - how did none of us think of that?!”

“Was anyone hurt?” Dean asked.

“One man was killed,” Gavin replied grimly. “Dragged off by the prowler when he wandered away from the rest. But we did at least manage to kill the beast, finally.”

“Though not without it giving us some injuries to remember it by,” Cosette sardonically added on top of her captain’s report.

“It looks like,” Dean agreed, eyeing the trio’s injuries and less-than-energetic stances. “Thank ‘Woo the prowler is dead, though.”

Hale nodded in agreement. “Word is, Lady Topaza’s still been pretty jumpy about the whole thing. She’ll definitely be happy to hear the problem’s been taken care of with certainty. I guess there’s no problem coming back to the village with them, eh, Dean? We don’t need to be on the lookout for dragons anymore.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “Yes, let’s get back. We can imply to Lady Topaza that she ought to order some resources to your healing, after all the trouble you went through.”

Gavin managed a weak laugh. “If his lordship of Andesine can condescend to it, we would appreciate that. It’s… been a long day.”

The five knights returned along the little trail to the village, where they were approached by Captain Meyer within moments. The man also looked a little alarmed to see the elves again, especially when they informed him that the prowler had not meekly succumbed to starvation.

“The worker’s death is hardly ideal,” Meyer said when the knights had finished their story, “but to be honest, it’s fortunate there was only the one death; this could easily have been much worse. Thank you.” He scrutinized their bandaged wounds and bloodied armor. “Lady Topaza and Lord Andesine’s men would certainly like to hear this as well - but I doubt the latter will want you standing around a lady’s bed bleeding from dragon wounds. Come; I’ll speak to them about getting some magical treatment.”

The two Andesine captains were preoccupied running drills with their men, and seemed equally as alarmed as Meyer when they saw the elven knights again- and duly contrite when they realized they’d neglected to consider the road crew when declaring the area safe from the prowler.

“That’s our people,” moaned Captain Kristof. “The death of that man is on our bloody overconfidence.”

“We’ll have to see about having his lordship provide recompense to the family,” Captain Hugo agreed grimly. Scrutinizing the elves wounds he added, “Wait here- I’ll fetch Lord Huey. Least we can do after everything you’ve been through today.”

There was an impatient set to the Andesine lord’s jaw as he was led out to the elves, but it was clear after a moment his ire was directed at his own men, not them. There was some scathing commentary that Cosette did not deign to translate, which Huey and Kristof both took with bowed heads. Meyer kept his eyes firmly focused on the trees rather than the scolding taking place before them, though occasionally he couldn’t seem to help his eyebrows rising a touch at one of Lord Hugo’s remarks.

After a moment, Huey meekly gestured towards the still bleeding elves, and Lord Hugo relented in his chastising of them to tend to the small squad’s wounds. Cosette, who still had not dismounted for fear of putting weight on her much abused leg, he looked at first, healing not only the lacerations from the prowler’s claws but the old burns that she’d been left to suffer through the previous time. Bastien sat with a tight expression and narrowed eyes as the magic was set to work closing the puncture wounds in his leg, but made no obvious fuss. Finally, Lord Hugo looked over Gavin’s bruising, tsking for a moment before casually flicking his wand and sending the angry purple swelling receding.

“We’re allowed to give this report again now, yes?” Bastien groused to Cosette, checking over his leg as best he could without removing the armor.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of working jointly with multiple officers all of equal authority,” Gavin remarked with a thin smile. “If you ever find yourself dragged into a proper war, expect this sort of thing near-constantly.”

“I certainly hope the elves aren’t dragged into the humans’ next war,” Bastien replied. “If this mission’s been any indication, we’ll be the first ones in and the last ones out.”

“Hopefully at least we won’t be facing any dragons then,” Cosette remarked tiredly, cracking her neck as she tested her leg’s ability to take her weight. “Come on- we’re almost done here. I’m for bed, and the sooner we get this over with the sooner I can become flat for a while.”


Marilyn Topaza was still bed-bound, but she looked a little healthier than the last time the elves had seen her. Her brother was seated at the foot of the bed, and was about the dozenth person who greeted the elves’ reappearance with a startled expression.

“They have some news about the prowler that you’ll want to hear, my Lord and Lady,” Captain Meyer said. “Good news. ...Largely.”

The Topaza siblings listened, their expressions apprehensive, as Cosette described what had happened yet again. Marilyn’s hands fisted in the blanket all through the retelling of the final fight with the prowler.

When they had finished, she demanded, “So - it is dead then? For absolutely certain?”

“They wouldn’t have left it alive,” her brother tried to reason.

“I know, Devon - but I need to hear it from them.”

“It is dead, Lady Topaza,” Gavin said through Cosette, bowing his head. “We waited until it was not longer moving, and after it expired we moved the body away from the road so that it wouldn’t attract other dangerous scavengers. The prowler is no longer a danger to you or anyone.”

“Thank ’Woo.” Marilyn slumped back with relief. “I wasn’t - I just couldn’t stop thinking, what if it came back for me? And I know, Devon - that’s not rational. It is - was only an animal. All the same…” She took a shaky breath and opened her eyes again. “Thank you, Sirs.”

“There is no shame in your feelings, Lady Topaza,” Gavin said gently. “As knights we know our share of trauma, and the way the fear clings to you beyond any rational thinking.” He smiled grimly. “Because of an incident in my youth where I drank a potion that almost killed me, I’ve memorized all the medicinal plants used by both humans and elves so that I know what is and is not safe for both- it’s knowledge I’ve yet to have any real call for, but… I would never be comfortable taking medicines again otherwise.”

Marilyn nodded, sitting up a little again. “I suspect I won’t be taking any more forest trails unless I learn how to spot dragons before they spot me.”

“Well, I doubt that will be much of a problem in Scorzen,” Devon said. “I would say you could ask the knights here for strategies, anyway, but I believe the three of you have been pulled away from the path to home multiple times now?” He glanced at Meyer, who nodded in confirmation. “Though I’m sure you’d be welcome to stay the night; you could probably use some rest.”

“We’d have to camp in the middle of the woods for the night if we left at this point,” Cosette mused. “And I don’t know about the other two, but I could certainly use a bed.”

“Or a bedroll over a stack of hay,” Gavin put in, grinning. “Which is what we’ll actually have, but a barn roof is still better than nothing at all.”

Bastien sighed. “We might as well, since we’re not making it home tonight. ...Can we ask now how the other injured are doing?”

Cosette’s lips twitched upwards into a grin. In Kythian she addressed the nobles. “Before we retire, however, my friend wants to know if either of you has heard about the little boy the prowler attacked the day before yesterday. He doing alright?”

Devon answered, “Last I heard, yes - they’re confident he’ll pull through, and it’s looking like the leg should be able to heal up properly. There’ll likely be scarring, of course, but considering how much worse it could have been…”

Bastien nodded when Cosette translated, a minute amount of tension dropping from his posture.

“We’re going to visit him before we leave, to make sure he’s doing all right,” Marilyn added. “I can imagine what he’s going through right now; I know there may not be much I can do, but I’m going to be sure.”

Gavin smiled. “That is very kind of you; I imagine the people of Andesine’s lands will be glad to have someone so empathetic as their future lady. I’m only sorry it took us so long to put your mind at ease.”

She waved a hand. “No apologies needed - especially when you’re the ones who finished it. I’m just relieved we didn’t have to rely on hoping it perished of starvation.”

“Especially when it would actually have been off attacking more people,” Devon agreed grimly. “I’ll be sure to tell my father about the help you’ve given us; I know you officially liaison through the Jades or the Accipiters, but I can’t imagine they would be too upset if we made some gesture of appreciation.”

Gavin bowed his head. “You honor us, Lord Topaza. We certainly would never think to turn away the good favor of the Corvid nobility. That said- I do think all of us have had a harrowing few days and could use a night’s sleep that won’t be fraught with worry.”

“Certainly; and I think we’ll all sleep better tonight. Captain Meyer, could you make sure these three have somewhere decent to sleep? I can come throw titles around if need be, but - “

“That shouldn’t be necessary, Lord Devon,” Meyer said. “You stay with your sister; I’ll see things are handled.”

The Topaza captain motioned for the elves to follow him, and the group left the little house. “The barn you were staying in last time should still be available, if that’ll do?”

“That sounds like a perfect arrangement,” Cosette said with feeling. “And thank you for not letting his lordship well-meaningly bully some poor family out of their beds for our sake. We appreciate the thought but it’s really not necessary.”

“I’m glad you feel the same,” Meyer said. “It seems to me that knights generally get more reminders than their lords that our services also go toward the common folk.”

Bastien made a face. “I hope that doesn’t mean they’ll forget about the boy they promised to visit.”

“I’m sure her ladyship won’t, at the very least,” Gavin mused. “She seems to sincerely feel for him. And if nothing else, you can check in on him.”

“Though his parents will start to think you a broody hen,” Cosette teased gently.

“They will not - I will refrain from reminding him of obvious dangers, like not pulling snakes from trees or to stay away from the trees during a storm. That is how one is branded a broody hen.”

“Or reminding trained knights of several decades not to founder their horses on an uneven road?” Gavin asked with a self-deprecating smile.

“Precisely.”

“Hey- I kept all of us alive did I not?” Gavin demanded with mock-sternness. “So at least I am an efficient broody hen.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Cosette remarked with a wicked grin. “Think you can lead the ducklings safely back home to Nid’aigle, though? I don’t know about you, but it feels like you’ve been guiding us in circles for days.”

Bastien agreed, “Wonderful as I’m sure the barn will be, I do not enjoy the thought of living there forever. Though it worst comes to worst, I suppose we could try letting the horses find their way back - if you’ll let them take steps unguided.”

“Fortunately, I doubt it will come to that,” Gavin replied with a laugh. “I remember the route home well enough- and we’ve had more than enough excitement for one trip. I think all of us have earned a nice long rest in our own beds. And hey- there’s just enough time between here and home for us to think up a suitably impressive-sounding exaggeration to impress our colleagues with.”

“...On second thought,” Bastien said, “If fighting a prowler isn’t enough to impress them, I might enjoy living out here better after all.”

As Meyer stopped in front of the barn that would be the elves’ shelter for the night, Gavin and Cosette laughed. “Get some rest,” the elf captain advised. “Tomorrow we ride for home- for real this time.”

[Shinko]

A story that takes place in November of 1316... sort of. You'll see. Special thanks to Avery for beta reading and a brief cameo~

Requiem

SPOILER: Click to show

“What’cha writing?”

Dimitri’s words startled his older brother, causing Filipe’s head to pop up like that of a startled horse. The younger man was leaning against the doorframe to Filipe’s office, one brow raised as he looked down at the jumbled mess of his brother’s desk.

The two brothers had eyes an identical shade of sky blue, but thats where any resemblance between them ended. Filipe’s complexion was bronzed, while Dimitri was paler and covered in freckles. Dimitri had short hair in a dark shade of blonde, while his brother wore chestnut locks in a long tail. Yet just now, both of them looked haggard, exhausted, and distracted.

After a moment’s hesitation, Filipe cleared his throat. “I’m… sending a letter to Solis.”

“Solis?” Dimitri echoed. “I thought you already wrote Lord Jade days ago.”

“I did. This letter isn’t for Lord Jade.”

“It’s not for… ah.” Dimitri sighed, shaking his head. “Anders won’t come, Filipe. I’d be surprised if he even opened the envelope.”

“He might,” Filipe replied stiffly. “And in his position if I was a region away I would be extremely upset if I had to hear down the grapevine about… about…”

The lord of House Escalus swallowed visibly, and Dimitri came further into the room to put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Fil. I’m sorry. He… he was good to you. Far better than he ever was to anyone else.”

“I’ve known it was coming for… a long time now,” Filipe admitted softly, his gaze downcast. “We all have. The sugar-sickness just kept getting worse and worse…” the elder Escalus breathed slowly out his nose, his eyes pressed closed. “I’m not ready.”

“You have to be,” Dimitri said with simple, sad frankness. “I know you never wanted this, but Father chose you, and you’re the only one with the training to do this right.”

“I know; I’m still not ready.” Filipe shook his head, opening his eyes and dipping his quil in the ink again. “In any case, I just wanted to… give Anders an opening. He can take it or leave it, but he can’t say we didn’t try to reach out. Father was the one he resented, and he’s… not around anymore.”

Dimitri’s expression remained skeptical, but he didn’t argue. The youngest of Olander Escalus’ sons only gave Filipe’s shoulder a final squeeze before turning and heading out of the office again.

Anders wouldn’t come. Dimitri knew that if he’d ever actually up and left Helios that he certainly wouldn’t have returned for Olander’s funeral of all things. And Anders had dealt with even worse than Dimitri in a lot of ways.

* * *

“Papa!”

Olander blinked, looking down from the representative from Kine he was speaking to. “Dimitri? What is it, dear, Papa’s busy.”

The five year old sniffled, holding up his palm to reveal a long gash running from the base of his thumb to the heel of his hand. “I got a boo boo!”

Olander winced, frowning. “Where you running?”

“I-”

“You know you’re not supposed to run inside, Dimitri.”

“B-but-”

The boy’s father turned, making a beckoning gesture. “Anders! Come here please.”

The preteen boy, who had been sitting by himself on the edge of the banquet hall, rose reluctantly and shuffled towards Olander. “Yes, Father?”

“Take your brother to get his hand bandaged, please.”

Anders frowned a bit, his grey eyes so much like Olander’s own listing towards the stricken, whimpering younger child. Stiffly he muttered, “He looks upset, Father. Maybe you should calm him down first?”

The Kinean raised a brow at Anders’ brusque tone, and Olander scowled, making Dimitri flinch. “Are you giving me attitude, Anders?”

The preteen huffed, shaking his head. “Of course not, Father. Would never dream of it.” He offered a hand to Dimitri, taking the wrist of the little boy’s wounded hand and kneeling down beside him. “Well then, how’d you manage this, kiddo?”

“Anders,” Olander said before Dimitri could reply. “Don’t make me repeat myself; he needs that cut bandaged. Now, please.”

Anders’ jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead he rose, gently towing Dimitri out of the room by the wrist as the littler boy sniffled.

“I shouldn’t have bothered Papa none,” Dimitri whispered. “He’s busy lots.”

“You’re not a bother, kiddo,” Anders soothed, ruffling Dimitri’s hair. “Father just doesn’t have time for anyone without a wand, that’s all.”

“M-mama says I might still show yet,” Dimitri offered. “Would Papa like me then?”

Anders winced, his gaze averting. “M-maybe. Probably.”

Dimitri trailed after Anders for a while in silence, looking pensively at his bleeding hand. Then, slowly, he started to sniffle again. Then to cry in earnest. The elder boy pulled his baby brother into a hug, and Dimitri whimpered pitifully into Anders’ shoulder.

* * *

“Papa!” Rhea squealed, holding up a slightly battered ragdoll with a very obvious stitch across one cheek. “She’s all better! Nurse Tisha made her all better!”

Dimitri chuckled, ruffling the little girl’s hair. “So I see! I hope you’ll be more careful from now on, wouldn’t want her to get an owie again.”

“Nuh-uh!” the four-year-old said firmly. “No owie.”

Dimitri looked up as the door to the nursery creaked. He expected to see his wife, Grace, but to his surprised instead he found his brother Filipe looking in on him.

“Fill?” he said, raising a brow. Filipe’s own daughter, Catia, had a room of her own elsewhere, so… “You need me for something?”

“Hi Uncle Fill!” Rhea chirped obliviously, holding up her doll. “Look! Owie’s all better!”

Filipe cast his niece a wan smile. “That’s lovely, baby. But Uncle Fill needs to borrow your Papa for a bit, is that okay?”

“Aww, but Papa play!” Rhea insisted. Dimitri kissed the girl on the brow.

“Later, promise,” he said firmly. “We can play all you want- for now Papa should go see what your Uncle Fill needs.”

The girl huffed sullenly, but a few more kisses from Dimitri- one on her nose, one on her cheek, and one on the crown on her head- was sufficient to get her giggling again, and he was able to leave her in relatively high spirits.

“So what’s up?” Dimitri asked, falling into step beside his brother as Filipe led the way down the hall.

“I got something in the post from Solis,” Fill said without preamble. The blonde man’s brows shot upwards.

“Already? It’s been what, two days? I would’ve thought he’d be agonizing over his reply for ages, given everything that-”

“Anders didn’t reply,” Filipe cut in, and Dimitri instantly fell silent with a startled blink. The elder brother reached into his pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope sealed with orange wax. “My letter to him. Sent back unopened.

“...Ah.” Dimitri winced. He couldn’t pretend to be surprised, but it was still… harsh. “I would guess he doesn’t realize Father… you know. So he probably saw the seal and assumed it was from Father. Maybe next time seal it less conspicuously?”

Filipe shook his head. “The funeral is in three days- I don’t have time to send another pigeon to Solis. You were right- Anders isn’t coming. Even after all these years, he’s still too resentful to even entertain contact from Heleos.”

“You tried, Fill; that’s more than a lot of Corvid families would do.” Dimitri put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We’ll just have to muddle through on our own.”

Filipe made a soft noise, halfway between a whimper and a moan, and covered his face. “There’s just so much to do. I have to prepare the funeral, and see to the dispersal of the estate, there’s still all the day-to-day maintenance for the lands, and Catia doesn’t understand what’s going on or why everyone’s so quiet lately and-”

“Woah, easy, easy,” Dimitri cautioned, coming around in front of his brother and putting both hands on Filipe’s shoulders now. “You’re going to work yourself into a panic at this rate, Fill. We need you, you can’t clock out now.”

“I know that.” He inhaled sharply. “You think I don’t know that? But I’m stretched thin, Dems. So thin. I… I need help.”

“Whatever you want, Fill, that’s what I’m here for,” Dimitri insisted. “Don’t kill yourself trying to take all of this on alone.”

The older man took a long, slow breath, then met Dimitri’s eyes squarely. “I… I do need a favor, Dems. But you probably won’t like it.”

“Oh?”

Filipe gulped. “The… the eulogy. So much has been going on, and there’s still so much to do… when everyone arrives for the funeral, they’re going to expect a eulogy. But I can’t Dems, I-” his voice broke, and he yammered on quickly, “I can’t. I have to keep it together to get everything done I need to get done, but every time I start trying to write something I end up breaking down. And I can’t afford to break down right now.”

Whatever Dimitri had been expecting, it clearly hadn’t been this. He flinched back from Filipe, biting his lip hard. “That’s…”


“I-I know it’s a lot to ask, Dems,” Filipe said, looking at his brother entreatingly. “I know you and Father… didn’t have the best relationship. But I’m begging you, please; for me. Do this for me.”

Dimitri took a step back, trembling now. “I barely knew the man we called Father, Fill. He never had time for me until I was a grown man. How am I supposed to write anything resembling adequate? What the ‘Pit do I even say?”

“You’ll think of something; you’re smart.” Filipe gulped. “I’m sorry. I know how… hard this is. I wouldn’t ask it if it wasn’t important. But it isn’t just about my being busy. I… I can’t stand the thought that I m-might be alone in missing him. That I might be drowning in this all by myself.”

The younger brother was looking away, his fists clenched. “Heather seems pretty wrecked.”

“Heather also hates my guts and we both know it,” Filipe shot back. “Dimitri, please. Please.”

Dimitri took a long, slow breath in, and finally forced himself to look Filipe in the eye. “I… I need to think about it.”

Filipe’s shoulders drooped, and he sighed. “I… guess that’s fair. It’s a lot to ask of you.” He sighed, and started around Dimitri to head back down the hall. “I’m sorry, Dems- really, really sorry.”

“I know, Fill,” Dimitri replied, making no move to follow his brother. “None of this has ever been your fault, no matter what Anders or I said when we were kids.”

* * *

There was a knock at the door, but Dimitri didn’t call out nor did he rise to see who it was. Instead he remained exactly as he’d been before the noise rang across his chambers- sprawled across the futon in his room, shoulders propped up on a pillow, a book resting on his knees. At length, there was an experimental jiggle at the knob, but it was locked- a futile gesture, Dimitri knew already, and the flare of green light that shone from the crack between the door and the frame confirmed what he’d already supposed would be the intruder’s next move.

“Dimitri?” came the voice of his older brother, Filipe. At thirteen Filipe’s voice was starting to crack, making him sound more adult and mature- but Dimitri knew if he bothered to glance in his brother’s direction he’d find the older boy standing hunched. Uncertain. Eyes full of nervousness. “Woo, you’re not even dressed, what are you thinking? Father’s going to be furious!”

Dimitri hissed softly, finally looking up from his book to meet Filipe’s gaze. While the older boy’s expression was full of worry and unease, Dimitri’s eyes were unnervingly dull and detached for his ten years of age.

“Did he send you to get me?” Dimitri asked, slowing sliding a length of ribbon into his book. “He promised he was going to come help me get ready today. I knew he’d forget.”

“Umm…” the older boy bit his lip. “Well he said he’s got to talk to Lord Topaza and keep him distracted so it’s not as obvious we’re running late, so-”

“Mmm,” Dimitri grunted, a sound that might’ve been agreement or it might’ve been resignation- it was hard to tell. “Right. Lord Topaza.”

He finally stood, trudging over to his wardrobe. Filipe sighed, clutching his elbows with the opposite hands. “If he had come, it would’ve just turned into a fight. He woulda expected you to start getting ready on your own when he didn’t show.”

Dimitri’s lips compressed. “He still shoulda come.”

“What- were you late on purpose? To bait him?”

“He promised!” Dimitri snapped at his elder brother. Then he deflated blue eyes looking far too tired for his ten years of age. “But I guess I shoulda known better. He’s busy, right?”

* * *

Dimitri ran a hand over the bookcase in his old room. The place was covered in a thin film of dust, unneeded while his and Filipe’s children were too young for it and it’s previous occupant hand long since moved into an adult suite with his wife. But he remembered the books here with a mixture of fondness and bitterness- he’d know them all backwards and forwards, every crease in the bindings and dog-eared page. They’d been his only real friends growing up, an escape to a world where he didn’t have to feel so much like an unwanted burden. Probably he could recite some of the pivotal scenes in the stories by heart, if he really put his mind to it.

He could’ve written an essay on any one of these tales without so much as a second thought. But the idea of trying to write a speech glorifying the life of his father… pathetic as it was, he didn’t know Olander Escalus as well as he knew his least favorite of these books.

The sound of footfalls out in the hallway caught his attention, and Dimitri turned and poked his head out of the room. He half expected to see one of his or his brother’s wives, but no- the newcomer was his younger sister, Heather. She looked up in surprise as the door to the room he was in opened, her tousled strawberry-blonde hair falling into a heart-shaped frame around her face.

“My, my,” she said, giving a wan smile. “I didn’t think I’d see you in there again. Feeling nostalgic, brother?”

He shrugged evasively. “Just. Thinking, I suppose. What brings you up here? You usually spend most of your time at the Institute these days.”

She folded her arms, pursing her lips. “Classes have been cancelled for the next four days in recognition of… Father’s… well.” Dimitri heard her breath hitch, and felt immediately ashamed of himself for not realizing. The institute was run and sponsored by House Escalus, of course they’d do something in acknowledgement of the loss of their sovereign.

“Right. I’m sorry, Heather.” He coughed, forcing himself to meet his sister’s eyes- dark grey, so much like their father’s. “Do you know if Lord Cyril intends to attend the funeral?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if he did,” the young woman replied with a thin smile. “He’s so very supportive, I’m fortunate to have gotten to know him.”

Dimitri gave his sister a deadpan smirk. “Oh, don’t we all know how well you’ve ‘gotten to know’ him.”

“Why, I do believe Lord Dimitri Skirt-Chaser is making fun of my perfectly legitimate courtships,” she fired back. Her tone was light, but Dimitri immediately flinched. While he was certain she was going for the same light teasing he’d been employing, the topic of his amorous past was a very sore one, and not something he was especially open to joking about.

“In any case,” he went on, deeming it wise perhaps to steer promptly away from the topic of Cyril Oberon, “I was wonder if I couldn’t get your input on something, since you’re here?”

Heather tilted her head, raising a brow in what seemed to be an invitation to go on.

“Fill asked me to give a eulogy for Father,” Dimitri explained, folding his arms in an attempt to mask his discomfort. “But I… wouldn’t even begin to know what to say. I just…”

It occured to Dimitri, given the list of people he might have chosen to discuss his strained relationship with Olander Escalus, Heather was pretty far down it. He knew the young woman less than he knew even their father, and baring his soul to her just felt… awkward. As he fumbled to think of what to say, the silence between them hung, until finally Heather gave a crooked smile and walked up to her brother.

“You’re smart, Dimitri,” she said comfortingly, patting his cheek. “You’ll think of something. Besides, if I gave you advice it’d be me giving the eulogy, basically. If our dearest older brother wanted it from you, it should come from you. Work through your feelings before you get started, hm? Then you’ll know just what you want to say.”

Her smile widened, and as Dimitri somewhat crossly pulled away from her hand. “I don’t really know if that’s-” he started to reply, but Heather was already walking past him down the hallway.

He bit his lip. On an intellectual level he knew he shouldn’t even consider that particular suggestion. It wasn’t as if he hated his father, not exactly, he just…

No, he hated him. But he’d never really been able to properly construct in his own head and heart an explanation of why that didn’t make him sound like a petulant, attention seeking toddler. Maybe an opportunity to finally work through those repressed feelings, to explain himself in such a way that would let him… find some resolution…

Wracked with frustrated indecision, Dimitri decided to seek out someone who he did trust with his insecurities and weaknesses.

* * *

The teenager knocked on his father’s door, trepidation apparent in his voice as he called, “You wanted to see me, father?”

“Yes, come in please Dimitri,” Olander said from the other side of the oak. Dimitri was highly suspicious, his stomach turning in knots as he opened the door and slipped inside. His father didn’t look up from whatever document he was presently working on, only gesturing to the chair across from the desk with the end of his quill before returning to scratching it upon the parchment. Obediently his son sat in the chair, trying not to fidget.

At length Olander sighed, pausing in whatever he was writing to glance up at his son. “You are sixteen next month, Dimitri. A man grown.”

Whatever the teenager had been expecting, that was definitely not it. He gave a confused nod. “Yes?”

“I’ve arranged a hunt to celebrate,” Olander went on, his eyes falling back down to the paper and his hand resuming it’s careful dance back and forth along the page. “Invited your brother, some of the ranking knights, and Basil Cressida.”

“Mmm,” Dimitri grunted in resigned acknowledgement. Filipe and Olander both loved hunting, and to them this would probably be a grand old time, but Dimitri disliked blood- be it from humans or animals. He’d eventually stopped lessons in swordplay for just that reason, not that he’d ever explained as much- he’d simply told his father he no longer wished to practice the arts of combat and Olander dismissed the tutor. There was little point wasting time explaining or justifying. The why wasn’t relevant to anyone but Dimitri himself.

But if Olander had already sent out invitations for a hunt, a hunt there would be. Dimitri supposed he could at least enjoy the riding. He got along better with horses than he did most people.

“That having been said,” Olander went on, still not looking up from his parchment, “I need to discuss with you this… recreation you’ve recently taken up.”

Dimitri stiffened. “Recreation, father?”

The Escalus lord huffed, rolling his eyes. “People talk, boy. And I was a teenager once too. I know what you’ve been getting up to with the serving girls and on your trips into the city.”

Dimitri flushed, his jaw tightening. “It’s just a bit of fun, Father.”

“You are a nobleman of House Escalus, a month from his seniority,” Olander retorted. “You have your reputation to consider, and the reputation of your House. You can’t be sowing your wild oats like some lowborn dockworker.”

“I’m just- we just-” Dimitri sputtered, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Olander usually never pried into his doings, let alone this closely. He didn’t even know how to begin to explain himself in a way that made sense, nor did he particularly want to.

“Dimitri, this isn’t a subject for debate,” his father said sharply. “This behavior will stop. Am I clear?”

The teenager’s eyes flashed mutinously, but after a few seconds the light went out of his gaze. He nodded brusquely. “Yes sir.

Olander gave Dimitri a long, measured look, then waved his hand. “You can go. And I don’t want to hear any more tales of you getting into trouble.”

The teenager gave no reply to this, only rising with a bow before walking out of his father’s office.

He had no intention of stopping, but his father would never understand. Not the warm flattery of having somebody notice him, compliment him. Not the giddy feeling of passion that came not from some tawdry romance novel, but from a real human.

Maybe it was fleeting, perfunctory, the empty flattery of someone who wanted the bragging rights of a nobleman’s attentions. But it was the closest a non-mage second son could ever come to being legitimately wanted.

* * *

Dimitri finally found who he was looking for in one of the manor stable blocks; a slight young woman with short-cropped chestnut hair and bright blue eyes. She was feeding a lump of sugar to a handsome strawberry roan gelding with a white star in the center of his forehead, but looked around when the stable door creaked open.

“Thought you might be in here,” Dimitri said with a thin smile. “When you weren’t in the nursery or the parlor.”

The woman turned toward him, stifling a yawn. “I had to get outside,” she said. “I was going stir crazy in the house. Years from now, I swear I’m still going to wake up in the middle of the night with Delilah’s phantom colicked screeches echoing in my ears.”

“Aw, Gracie, how could you speak such slander of our beautiful little blessing of the Woo?” He asked with gentle teasing. Ruefully he added, “She’s going to have a temper when she gets older- just wait, we’ll never be able to take eyes off her.”

“She doesn’t have teeth, and she already tries to bite me,” Grace said by way of agreement. Yawning again, she tilted her head. “You doing alright, Dimitri? I can’t imagine you hunted me down just to say hello.”

The man gave a long, tired sigh. “No, nice though the distraction would be. You… know how I told you the other day that Fill had taken it into his head to send a missive to our brother Anders? And that I didn’t think much would come of it, but he was emphatic?” Dimitri pursed his lips. “Well Fill sort of… pulled a bit of a stupid, if I’m being frank. He didn’t put his name on the outside of the envelope, and he stamped it in orange wax with the seal of House Escalus.”

“Why do I feel like Anders probably received it and chucked it straight into a campfire, then danced as he watched it burn?” Grace said dryly.

“He did one better- he sent it back unopened.”

“Ouch.” Grace sighed. “Not surprising, but— still.”

“Yeah- Fill is pretty wrecked,” Dimitri agreed bitterly. “I think he was sort of… hoping to get something good out of this, if that makes sense? Salvage something to give himself a crumb of comfort. So… he came looking for me.”

“Dare I ask why?” Grace returned. “I sincerely hope it’s not to send you chasing after Anders to deliver the message in person— not that there’s even time for it at this juncture, but…”

“No, not to chase down Anders- even on a borrowed phoenix I wouldn’t get to Solis and back in time.” Dimitri swallowed hard, closing his eyes against a headache building in his temples. “He said he’s… drowning, he feels like he has to take all the weight of Heleos and Father dying on his own and… he asked me to give the eulogy at the funeral.”

Grace blinked, clearly not having expected this response. “The eulogy?” she echoed. “He wants… you to give the eulogy…?” A beat. “He… does realise that you and your father, ah, well… weren’t exactly…”

“He knows, full well,” Dimitri rubbed his eyes. “But he’s wrecked. He was close with Father, being the heir and a mage and everything Father could have wanted. I doubt he’s thinking all that clearly. I suggested he could ask Heather, since Father spoiled her rotten, but he pointed out that… well she’s not the fondest of him.”

“Mm.” Grace wrinkled her nose; she’d never quite gelled with her sister-in-law. “I mean… I think you’d have good reason to turn Fill down, too. But… I can see why you wouldn’t want to do that, all the same.” She nibbled on her lip, contemplating. “You… have said yes, then, I take it?”

He averted his gaze. “I… told him I’d think about it.” Hurriedly, the man added, “He caught me off guard, Grace, I didn’t know what to say, what to think, and-”

She set a heavy hand on his arm, hushing him. “You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Dems,” she told him. “And really, if you think about it— this isn’t about your father at all. It’s about Filipe. And he’s done nothing to earn you turning him down in his time of need, no?”

“...No. He hasn’t,” Dimitri admitted softly. “Anders resented the hell out of him when he was still around, and I was jealous too, but none of what happened was ever Filipe’s fault.” He slumped against the stable wall, looking up into the rafters. “I just… it’s hard. Giving a eulogy means trying to put my father’s life in a context. Trying to… talk about him and remember him and celebrate his life. But when I look back, all I can see is a little boy who lived in books because he didn’t think anyone had time for his opinions or thoughts. Who would’ve given anything for just a scrap of affection, but never dared to ask for it after a certain point because he knew the answer was either going to be no, or a yes wouldn’t be followed through on.”

He smacked a closed fist backwards against the stable wall. “Even now, I feel like an entitled brat sometimes. Like I should be grateful. I was never hungry, I was never cold. Father didn’t strike me, nor did he instruct any of my nurses to. Compared to a lot of people, I lived a downright charmed life.”

For a moment, Grace was silent. Then, softly, she said to her husband, “That others lead worse lives hardly means your problems aren’t problems, Dimitri. It doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to have feelings about them. But...” She gave him a small, sad smile. “This eulogy… it’s not about any of that. It’s not about the raw, ugly truth. Eulogies never are. I mean— you remember the one Wynn gave at my father’s funeral, don’t you…?”

“Sort of?” Dimitri said with a sardonic grin. “I remember a very great deal of the Book of Woo being quoted.”

“There was,” Grace agreed. “And the rest of it…” She shook her head. “By Wynn’s account, my father merely needed line up for his beatification. He was a holy man. A wise leader. Never mind that half his children openly disliked him. Never mind that he could be quick to anger and slow to forgive. Never mind how he tromped all over my mother. And— it’s not like Wynn was in denial. For all of my brother’s faults, he was well aware of our father’s interpersonal flaws. They scarcely even liked each other much of the time. But Wynn knew the funeral wasn’t about hashing out his own feelings. That it wasn’t about him, or even our father, really. It was about putting on a stoic face to the visiting lords. It was about making it clear to those in attendance that while our father was gone, the House remained strong. That it wasn’t in a weakened state of transition. That it was… it was…”

“That it was honoring centuries of legacy, and that legacy was and would remain a bulwark of order for Corvus,” Dimitri supplied. The man gave a sigh. “And for all his failings as a father, I can’t deny that Olander Escalus was an intelligent and competent nobleman.”

He pulled his wife into a hug. “Thanks Gracie. Heather said something about ‘working through my feelings,’ and while I don’t think she meant what it sounded like, it just… everything sort of built up. There’s a lot of things I never said to him. Never felt comfortable saying.”

“It’s hard,” Grace agreed. “Woo knows I never hashed things out with my father, and now I never can. But… you’ll get through it, alright? You will, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.” She squeezed him back. “You’ve got me. You’ve got your brother. You’ve got our little monsters who think Papa is the best thing in the world. It’ll be okay, Dimitri. It will. Even if it’s going to be crummy for a while first.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, pulling away with a resigned grin. “Guess I should go let Filipe know- I’ll see you again at supper. Try not to let Delilah run you ragged in the meantime.”

“I won’t,” Grace promised. She leaned up to give him a peck on the lips. “I love you, Dems,” she said. “Never forget that, okay?”

His eyes softened, and his smile became more sincere. “I love you too, Grace. Thanks for saying it- and listening. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” Grace said. “Always.”

* * *

A soft clearing of someone’s throat caught Dimitri’s attention, and he started out of a half-doze. Looking around, he saw the familiar profile of Olander in the frame of the parlor door.

“Father?” he said, his words slightly slurred with fatigue as he moved to sit straight. “Did you need something?”

“No, nothing in particular,” the older man said, his brow knit in a way that Dimitri was fairly certain he’d never seen before. “I just… hoped I might speak with you. If you’ve a moment.”

A muscle in Dimitri’s back immediately tightened, but he did his best to keep his expression even as he nodded. “Of course. I’m at your disposal.”

The older man entered the room tentatively, taking a seat on the couch opposite his son. “I’ve noticed that you and Grace haven’t been… sleeping well. Since you got back from Medieville.”

Dimitri frowned deeply. “Hadn’t been sleeping well” was something of an understatement. The nightmares, both waking and sleeping, that had been haunting him and Grace since the events of what the rumor mill had dubbed “The Bloody Coronation” had left them both exhausted and listless. They jumped at shadows and loud noises, and after the way she’d been made helpless the former-Cressida Grace had pleaded with the rulers of the House until they allowed her to take self-defense instruction.

But this wasn’t exactly something he’d expected Olander to bring up.

“It won’t interfere with my work, Father,” he said, flatly, dismissively.

“That’s not- Woo, Dimitri, that’s not why I brought it up!” Olander replied, very clearly taken aback. “I just… well. You know our lands are an outpost of the Courdonian border. I’ve seen what the trauma of war can do to even a seasoned knight. And I recognize the symptoms.” He stretched out a hand. “I thought… I wondered if maybe you’d like to talk about it.”

Dimitri looked at the hand held out to him without comprehension. “I’m fine, Father,” he said tepidly, half-wondering if this was some sort of test. “I know you’re busy. You needn’t waste your time with my feelings. Grace and I have been taking it in turn to support one another.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I am your father,” he said, hand still outstretched. “I’d like to hope I could offer some support as well.”

“You… you…” Dimitri felt his gut twisting, the fatigue and confusion starting to give way to something more… volatile. “I don’t understand,” he finally said, his voice flat. When Olander only blinked, confusion obvious in his expression, Dimitri elaborated, “We don’t need to discuss my feelings, Father. You’ve work to do, and I can manage.”

“I’m not so busy I can’t spare time when you’re obviously upset, Dimitri,” Olander objected. The young man’s jaw tightened.

“That’s… that’s never…” He forced himself to take a long, deep breath. “It’s fine, father. You’ve never needed to trouble yourself on my account before, right? I’ve managed.”

“You were always very well-adjusted, yes,” Olander admitted. “Mild, quiet. Except for the wild days of your adolescence, but that wasn’t exactly something you needed my help with.”

“W-well… well adjusted?” Dimitri echoed, flabbergasted.

“Oh yes,” Olander agreed warmly. “It was a welcome relief, after the way Anders seemed to lose his mind when he turned thirteen. But just because I’m not keen on dramatics doesn’t mean you can’t come to me if there’s something really, truly bothering you. You’re my son, after all. I love you.”

You… you… I can’t recall if I’ve ever heard you say that to me before! rang a loud objection in Dimitri’s mind, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give the bitter, angry thought voice. Speaking to his father so frankly just felt… wrong.

I’m not so busy I can’t spare time when you’re obviously upset. You can come to me when there’s something really, truly bothering you. I love you..

What about all the times as a child that he’d curled up in his bed, crying alone, because he’d long since learned no one would make any effort to comfort him? What about all the effort he’d gone to as a child to get good marks and impress his father, never to get even a word of praise despite the reports Olander was no doubt receiving from Dimitri’s tutors? What about when he’d approached his father, trembling despite his efforts to hide it, to ask for an end to swordsmanship lessons after he’d managed to accidentally slice a squire’s jaw to the bone?

Growing up Dimitri had learned to accept these things as just the facts of his life. He was bitter of how much attention Filipe and Heather got, but they were mages both, and Filipe was the heir. Dimitri was just a mundane secondborn son. He would never be politically powerful nor a viable option for an alliance marriage. Time spent on or with him was time wasted from more important things.

I love you.

Dimitri wasn’t even aware of the fact that his hands were clenched over his knees until his father’s eyes drifted towards them, and with a very worried tone in his voice he said, “Dimitri? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, Father,” Dimitri choked. An automatic response. Over two decades of ingrained habit forcing it out around the growing lump in the young man’s throat. He didn’t talk about his feelings with Olander. Olander was too busy. He kept his head down, and his marks up, and sought out his comforts elsewhere.

And yet here his father was, offering the sort of concern and comfort that Dimitri would have killed for as a child, but had never once received. As casually as if it were nothing. Obvious A natural, given thing.

All these years I made excuses for you. In my own head I justified you. Beat myself down until I didn’t think I deserved affection except in the form of one-night-stands. Became a flirt and a cad just to get that affection and hurt a woman who’d done nothing to deserve it in the process. And you just… just…!

Dimitri lurched to his feet, causing his father to startled backwards. Trembling, Dimitri hissed through gritted teeth, “I’m. Fine. I’ve never needed your help, right? I’ve managed alone, like you wanted. I didn’t make waves. I became exactly the son you wanted. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Wha- but I…”

Dimitri didn’t wait for his father to reply. Couldn’t meet that gaze, hurt and confused and more than a little panicked, for more than a few seconds. He turned, and fled the room.

* * *

Olander seemed to have done some soul-searching after that conversation. Realized that something had gone badly wrong between himself and Dimitri somewhere. He made efforts far more often to engage his son in casual conversation. To speak to Dimitri, learn his personality and his hobbies.

To Dimitri it had always felt… awkward. Invasive. Like a stranger forcing himself on you in public where good manners wouldn’t let you escape. He tried, humoring his father as best he could. But whatever spark of a bond Olander was looking for just wasn’t there. Any chance to kindle it had long since been smothered by a lifetime of dismissal and indifference. And far from relishing the chance to at long last have a personal relationship with his father, Dimitri found himself cold. Bitterly wondering what about this was so very difficult that Olander could never do it decades ago, when it was desperately needed.

Nowadays, Dimitri didn’t need Olander to fill that hole of love in his heart. He had Grace. He had his daughters, Rhea and Delilah. He had his tentatively fostered friendship with his brother Filipe, and Fill’s wife Annabelle.

Maybe if his father had just admitted how badly he’d messed up. Apologized and approached his son as an equal. But no- he tried to pretend nothing was wrong, to make light chatter as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And no matter how angry and resentful Dimitri felt, no matter how this behavior just hammered home how his life could have been if Olander had made even the tiniest effort, the young man couldn’t bring himself to force the issue. Two decades of ingrained habit held.

Don’t rock the boat. Don’t make a fuss. Don’t bother him with your feelings, he doesn’t want to hear it. Keep your head down, go with it.

And then Olander had grown sick, and it had seemed like the right thing to do was to… let him think he’d succeeded. Let the poor, dying old man feel like in the twilight years of his life, he’d made things right with his youngest son.

And then he’d been dead, and any chance of true reconciliation, true closure, was gone. There was only a tangled, twisted knot of bitterness that Dimitri doubted he’d ever really be able to untangle.

He couldn’t undo the past. He couldn’t view his father’s memory through rose-tinted glasses, and pretend he’d been anything but a deeply, deeply flawed human being. And it was likely that the nature of his upbringing would always weigh on him, in one way or another.

But letting that bitterness consume him had been Anders’ mistake. He’d been so resentful of Olander that he’d imagined malice where there was only ignorance. Misconstrued exasperation with a rebellious son for hatred of a disappointment. And in the end it had cut him off from even a chance at the support system Dimitri had found in Heleos.

As Dimitri stood at his elder brother’s signal, and strode to the podium with his notes in hand, he cast his brother a small, reassuring smile. Grace was right- this wasn’t about Olander, even if he was the content of the speech. It was about them. About two brothers stepping out of their father’s shadow, and forging their own path into the future.