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Atjeh and Andros, lordling and Guild-loquiri, must prevent discovery of their true natures |
| [Introduction] Requested by a Master to visit with an "unusual loquiri", Atjeh--son of Lord Kinyth of Apollar, is surprised to find himself a perfect Match to the man. Even more unnerving, the loquiri--Andros by name--is a full-fledged Guildsman. The powerful Guild would slaughter any man who revealed the loquiri bent, if able, and would reserve a far worse punishment to a man who was both Guild and loquiri, as well as the man's Match. To Bond with Andros, and yet allow them both to survive, Atjeh creates an elaborate Mummer's Dance. But can he win Andros' trust, after his brutal treatment by his Sian? And can he maintain the illusion through love and betrayal, and the dangers lurking about? |
| “There is a man, whom Veritas has written to me of, whose bent is toward light and fire. He is un-Matched, if I understand the notes correctly.” Chrys nodded. Lyrin continued. “I brought a few men with me, whose bents are close to that. If the man could be placed in my care, I will present him to these Seekers and see if any Match with him. Where would he be?” Veritast interrupted. “They must also have much forgiveness. That is…that what he was, that it would not…” Lyrin smiled. “The men I selected are prepared for a loquiri who is unsure.” “No—it’s not that simple.” Veritas frowned. “Andros is….he is different than any other because…” The arrival of the man in question, eyes wide and searching for Chrys, cut him off. “Sire? You are well?” Chrys groaned audibly. "Andros..." "Sire?" "No no," the Fay-el snapped, waving one hand absently. "I am well." The Guildsman was glaring at Veritas too intensely for a moment to notice the Master standing in front of him. But after a moment he turned, and his eyebrows rose nearly into his hair before his expression darkened terribly. "Oh," he gasped, backing away and shaking his head vehemently. "Oh no. My lord... Sire, you didn't!" The Master was staring at the Guildsman in distaste, taking in his slender form, his aquiline features and---perceptively---the eye tattoo upon the inner side of his wrist. "A Guild loquiri?" he said incredulously, and began to chuckle dryly. Andros blanched and spun on his heel, dashing toward the door. Veritas moved in pursuit, just beating the panicked man. He grabbed Andros’ shoulders and, when the Guildsman began to fight back—kicking and cursing—wrapped arms around his waist and dragged him across the floor to the Master. Veritas shoved him to the floor and held him there, sitting at Lyrin’s feet. When the Master seized the Gift and reached for him, Andros twisted again. “Easy, easy now.” Lyrin crouched down to Andros’ level. “I won’t hurt you.” Andros shivered. “You promised….” he said softly. “Promised me.” “I promised that I would not force you to the loquiri school. That is all I said,” Chrys snapped. “You cannot live un-Matched.” “I—I can’t. You can’t have me…” He swallowed hard. “The G-Guild will kill everyone. If I am Matched they….th-they will.” “All the men I brought are from Apollar or Settar. The Guild branch here, in Crossroads, will not know,” the Master said softly. “Men?!” Andros jerked against Veritas, who shoved him down again, much firmer this time. The Guildsman winced and cringed as the Master cupped his chin and brought his gaze up. “I promise not to Bond you against your will. Or to force you to come back with me. If you will promise me, by the Gift in your veins, to allow these men to see you. To be presented to them. Agreed?” Andros swallowed. Lyrin smiled. “Yes? Agreed?” “Aye,” he whispered. Lyrin nodded. "Let him up," he told Veritas. Veritas rolled back on his heels, releasing Andros at once. As expected, the Guildsman jerked his arms up, breaking Veritas's hold even as the royal loquiri let go of him. It was more a matter of pride than necessity. "Do not ever touch me again," he snarled, both at Veritas for pinning him, and the Master for having probed him with the Gift. He rose slowly to his feet. One hip was sore where it had connected solidly with the floor when Veritas had knocked him down, and one shoulder felt nearly wrenched from the socket from the firm grip the royal loquiri had used to pin him. "Come with me, now," Lyrin said gently. He bowed his farewell to the Fay-el and royal loquiri, then led Andros quietly away. "You are much more fortunate than most loquiri," the Master explained with a quirk of his lips. "Usually it is one potential Match who comes to survey several loquiri, and not a loquiri who has his choice of several potential Matches." "You can hardly expect me to feel honored, Half-Soul," Andros snapped. Lyrin ignored the insult, and indeed seemed to have failed to hear it. "There are two and ten men with me," the Master continued calmly. "Seven of them are of Apollar and five from Settar. Most are young---under thirty, and one barely eighteen---but two are older, one in his fifties, the other nearly in his sixties. Four among them are noblemen, and two are highly Gifted." "And how are their teeth?" Andros sneered. "You present them to me as though attempting to sell me a horse, or a Derk-ra!" "Their teeth are in excellent condition," Master Lyrin responded smoothly, and with infinite patience. “Perhaps you are trying to sell me—as if a prize pig at the market.” Lyrin glanced at him over his shoulder. “You are hardly a prize.” The Guildsman’s eyebrows arched in abject surprise. “I am Gifted, of a line of high Gifted. With all the training and knowledge that the Guild has given me.” Lyrin shook his head. “The same training that has suppressed your loquiri instincts?” Andros gaped at him, struck speechless. Lyrin smiled. Probably speechless for the first time in his life. He stepped into the rooms prepared for him, checking to ensure the Guildsman was still following. Two of the men he had brought were already there. They gave Andros a curious look. He cowered, backing into the wall. Lyrin sighed. “Don’t fight your desires,” he said softly. The Guildsman dropped his head. “It’s wrong,” he whispered. “Wrong that I feel…that I want…” Lyrin forced his head up, holding his gaze. “There is nothing wrong. No matter what the Guild has said—no,” he cut off Andros’ protest. “What the Guild teaches is a lie, and is harming you now more than anything else.” He shivered. Lyrin grabbed his shoulders and firmly guided him into the middle of the room. “Sit.” Andros obeyed, but sat tense and stiff. One of the two stepped closer, glancing at Andros before returning his attention to the Master. “This is the one you mentioned?” “Aye.” With a smile, the nobleman bent down and caught his wrist, turning it palm up. Andros flinched and pulled away, but the nobleman was stronger. “Ah, I see why he is afraid. It is a wonder you survived, my friend.” He tipped Andros’ chin up. “Do you have a name?” “A-Andros.” He dropped his head again. The nobleman smiled. “There is nothing to fear from us.” He glanced at Lyrin. “Not enough. I don’t completely Match.” “Aye, I know. His instincts would take over if you did.” Andros inched away from him. The nobleman rested fingers against his shoulder. “No one will hurt you here.” He straightened. “I will send the others.” Lyrin nodded. "And then return. To forget...." The man nodded. "Aye, sar. I suspected as such. With a Guildsman loquiri..." his voice trailed away, as he bit his lip, casting the loqiuri a considering look, before stepping away. Andros had to endure the parade of another nine potential---but ultimately failed---Matches before his chair before one sang true in his blood. He shivered. The Apollar youth standing before him scowled. "A Guildsman?" he demanded, addressing Lyrin rather than Andros himself. The Guildsman in question did not know whether to shrink away from this man---no, this boy, barely eighteen!---or snap at him. He did neither, leaning slightly toward the youth. Behind him, Lyrin nodded. His hands rested lightly on Andros' shoulders, comforting and infuriating at once. The boy sighed. "We Match. Perfectly." He did not look pleased about the fact. But then his dirt-brown eyes narrowed consideringly at the man sitting in the chair. "It could be useful, having my own Guildsman..." Andros's lip curled. "I will not feed you Guild secrets, you whelp of a lordling." The boy stepped closer. "Oh, you won't?" he said softly. Andros shivered, and his eyelids drooped a little as contentment washed over him. After days, nay months, no years of feeling half a person, the sudden relief was as exhausting as a mug of valla, or a Mending. Still, he found the energy to glare. "I have a... a choice." “You do have a choice,” he said. “But can you make it? Unlikely.” The boy rested a hand against his arm, tracing the tattooed eye lightly with one finger. Andros shuddered. He wanted to jerk his hand away and stop the uncanny sensations flooding through him, and yet he wanted to move closer and keep the boy’s touch on his skin. So strange, to feel as though for the first time in his life he was complete, and all because this arrogant stranger simply stood nearby. Even when being near Chrys, he did not feel so completely… himself. The lordling chuckled. The Master’s hands shifted. Andros knew he had stepped back, and couldn’t decide whether he was relieved or disappointed. “You are allowing your feelings and plans to get in the way,” Lyrin told the lordling quietly. “He is a loquiri. Desperate to please you and fulfill his needs. Not a tool to be used for your purpose." “That is true.” The boy pulled his hand away. Andros groaned softly. Heat rose into his face and he dropped his head to study the ground. And the lordling tipped his chin up. “No. Do not be ashamed. You cannot help it.” They were eye-to-eye. Andros searched his face. Buried deep, but there the same, was a compassion, an understanding. The boy smiled slowly. It took every scrap of will that he had to voice the words. Even he was not sure, however, that it was the small concession that made it so difficult, or his decision not to accept on the spot. "I---I will think on it." The youngster nodded, releasing Andros's chin. "Good. For now, that is all I ask. My name is Atjeh nu Kinty na Harad. When you make your decision, send word." The Guildsman nodded slightly. As the boy stepped back, and Andros’ desire spiked, he closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. He felt physically unwell, and although in truth it was no different than the way he’d felt when he’d first entered the room, now that he knew what it was like to be complete, the lack was infinitely more tangible. The door clicked. Lyrin patted his shoulder absently. “I would say you should not see anyone else today.” Andros sighed. “Aye. No more.” The Master chuckled. “He sleeps four doors down. Though I doubt I need to tell you.” Andros stiffened and twisted to glare at him. “I am not like some common…I do not sneak in the night. What I say is true. I will think of it, that is all.” Lyrin smiled and patted his head as if he were a much younger man. “Two days, at the most. Once the link is active, it is much stronger than you think.” Andros glowered. He could last two days. It did not even penetrate that he had not considered lasting forever. |
| < > Atjeh awakened to the pleasant feeling of warmth across his back and soft breath tickling his ear. His first reaction was stiffening of surprise; he had not gone to bed with any woman, and the scent around him was certainly male. The person behind him mumbled absently, fingers trailing up his shoulder—which elicited a shiver—and then burying in his hair. The lordling’s eyes widened, and then sank half-lidded as the oddest tingle swept his spine. Kyda…who…this feels….ah, he sighed, and held still as the hand rubbed his back soothingly, pressing his face down into his pillows. His body relaxed into the sheets. The door clicked. And everything happened at once. The hands on his back and in his hair froze. Someone inhaled sharply, and the weight lifted from the bed, scrambling back away from him. Atjeh sat up on his elbows, blinking groggily about the room. Two maids stared at him from an ajar door, and flushed crimson as his eyes landed on them. “Mi’lord, tis sorry we are. Disturbing your rest. But…” their eyes slid to something beyond him, and they flushed darker. “We thought tis time to break your fast. Didnae know ye were…busy,” with a dip of the head, the two backed away so abruptly Atjeh had not a chance to say a word in agreement or disagreement before they were gone. “Kyda…” he grumbled. Something rustled behind him. Startled, the youngling twisted in his bed and blinked as a figure unfolded from the corner of the room. He had but a moment to catch sight of red-rimmed green eyes and dark brown hair, before the man—Guildsman!—dashed across the room. Atjeh swore again, louder, and flung himself and his Gift toward the fleeing man. They both slammed against the floor. “Let me go! Let me go!” the Guildsman shrieked, twisting in his grasp. As sleep cleared its cobwebs from his mind, the lordling recognized the slender figure and aquiline features of the very same potential loquiri he had Matched with so well but a few days hence. “Shh, Andros. It’s Andros, isn’t it?” “A-aye,” the older man said, trembling in his grip as if he were a much younger ra. Atjeh gently stroked his hair. “I won’t harm you. Shh.” Andros sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes briefly and then turning toward the lordling with wide eyes. “I…I could not help myself. I’m sorry…terribly…” “Shh.” Atjeh smiled reassuringly and rose, helping the Guildsman to his feet and leading him to the edge of his bed. “Catch your breath. Tis not quite what I expected…” With a muffled sob, the Guildsman jerked out of his grasp and dashed a hand at tears. “Sorry. So sorry. I should…better control…fell asleep,” he whirled, yanking the hood of his cloak up, casting his features into shadow, and fled from the room. Atjeh scrambled to his feet, acutely aware of his state of undress as he dashed from bedroom to reception room, and skidded to an embarrassed halt as the door to the corridor beyond remained ajar, the Guildsman’s outline long gone. “By bloody Kyda’s holy name….” he grumbled, and shut his door firmly, before hurrying to his wardrobe to dress. He had to find that loquiri; the ache in the middle of his chest suggested the pair-link was already beginning to form, whether he—or Andros—willed it or no. It was very easy to find the Guildsman. The tug of his Gift and quick questioning of servants that were not gossiping about him and his supposed “liaison” directed him well enough. Unfortunately, Andros apparently had been torn with where to go after fleeing from his chambers. He had spent some time in his own rooms within the palace—they were empty; Atjeh checked himself—and then to the infirmary, where healers had probed the loquiri when he asked and then sent him away. No time to deal with perfectly well, if distraught, patients, they had gruffly told the lordling. To the kitchens, and finally…wearily, Atjeh reached Master Lyrin’s chambers. He didn’t bother to knock. Instead, swinging the door wide, he stalked from reception room to study and opened that door as well, aware of the unfolding sense of that match with another’s Gift surging through him. The Master glanced up at him sharply. Andros was on his knees in front of him, head down, shoulders shaking as he sobbed audibly while Lyrin stroked his hair. The edge of the Master’s lip quirked in a wry smile. Firmly, he took the Guildsman’s shoulders in hand and pulled him to his feet, before walking him to Atjeh’s outstretched arms. He clung to the lordling as if he were a rock in a gale, tears dampening the youngling’s tunic. Atjeh frowned over the Guildsman’s shoulder at Lyrin. The Master simply shook his head and waved his fingers at him, shooing him away. Atjeh scowled. “Lyrin?” “He’s fighting his own desires,” the Master said mildly. “And my study is not the place to teach him differently. Go on now.” The lordling sighed, rolling his eyes, but took Andros’ hand in his and led the hooded Guildsman from the study. The loquiri did not resist his guidance at all, and certainly acted as if he were not afraid of Atjeh, but yet withdrew into himself, barely sniffling and saying not a word as they worked upward to the loquiri’s chambers. “There now. I did not expect you in my room,” Atjeh said mildly, pushing the now wide-eyed Guildsman onto the edge of his bed and ruffling his hair soothingly, smiling as Andros’ eyes drooped half-lidded. “But I certainly did not mind it, alright?” “Aye…my lord,” he mumbled, leaning into the youngling’s touch. Atjeh flushed. “Ah…you don’t have to call me that. I am not quite a lord yet. And…well…if you and I are to be—“ he hesitated. Just the word loquiri seemed to spur the poor man into sobbing fits. “friends…good friends…then you should call me by something simpler. Atjeh would be fine. Or something like that.” “Atjeh,” Andros murmured. He wrapped his arms around the lordling’s shoulders and pulled him closer. Atjeh patted his back awkwardly. “Shh now. I’m here, Andros.” Somehow, that was the wrong thing to say. The Guildsman sniffled for a moment, shoulders shaking as he buried his face against Atjeh’s tunic, before slowing again. “Aye…I need you…here, with me…with me.” The lordling frowned. And then stiffened as Andros straightened halfway and began to loosen the ties of his tunic. Atjeh caught his wrist firmly. “What are you doing?” Fresh tears trailed down his cheeks. “Tis my purpose. The vessel Kyda has made of me.” Atjeh frowned. “What? Kyda’s vessel? I do not understand.” As gently as he could, he slapped away the loquiri’s hands before Andros could reach for his tunic laces again, and then froze when the Guildsman tensed, expression crumpling into abject misery and horror. Discomfort flooded through him, not only from his own lack of knowledge of what to do or, indeed, what he had done, but also the rather unpleasant sensation of sharing---nay, bearing---another person’s pain. “What? What did I do?” he whispered, leaning toward the loquiri and trying to take Andros’ hands in his. The mattress creaked beneath his weight as he shifted, and Andros flinched, wrenching himself out of reach and then darting off the bed and to his feet. “Too young. You’re too bloody young.” The loquiri pushed him away as, sighing, Atjeh reached up to try to pull him back. The Guildsman’s motions were jerky and reluctant, but still he slapped at the youngling’s hands and stepped smoothly away to scowl at him through his tears. The ra gazed up at him, brown eyes wide. “Andros---“ “Why are you here?” he demanded, his voice still somewhat shaky and tear-choked, but fortified somewhat by sternness. Crossing his arms stiffly, he seized his Gift. Around the room, lunes flared to life, casting a cheerful glow over everything. Andros seemed to relax slightly, even as they both winced at the sudden silvery-blue light, but still he did not step closer. “What do you want from me?” The youngling bit his lip, suddenly wishing his Da were here. He had been sent to meet potential loquiris, and had not expected to Match with one so completely and so quickly. And Andros was… broken. He did not understand the why of it, but he could certainly tell---feel---that much. He did not know what to do, and so, lacking wisdom of how to proceed, he swallowed and grasped after honesty. Twas all he had, in any case. “To be your Match,” he said quietly, and as soothingly as he could. “I want to be your Ma---” The slender Guildsman shook his head rapidly back and forth. “Too young. Far too young.” As Atjeh frowned in confusion---he was somewhat older than many Matches were when they first took a loquiri---Andros scowled. “Your voice broke what, a year ago?” he asked contemptuously. The ra flushed. Twas true enough, though--- “What does that have to do with anything?” Again that vehement shake of the head, as though Andros was ignoring what Atjeh was saying and was instead refusing something in his own head. “Who sent you?” He glared at him, striding as far across the bedroom as he could to sink stiffly down into a side chair, hands clasped firmly in his lap. His knuckles were a bloodless white, as though he were physically restraining himself from touching Atjeh even from so far away. “Why would someone do such a thing?” he asked, voice softening ever so slightly, green eyes warming in compassion as he gazed on the youngling from the safety of distance. Atjeh’s brow furrowed. “Such… such a thing? I do not understand. Andros?” The loquiri waited, clearly unwilling to elaborate, and Atjeh bit his lip, trying to navigate through the series of questions he’d been asked to answer as well as he could. Although it was somewhat uncomfortable to have Andros all the way across the room like this while the loquiri was clearly upset---it almost felt to the youngling as though the Guildsman’s unhappiness was physically tugging at him, trying to draw him closer---the ra simply curled his legs up under him. “My… my Da sent me. I’m to be wed, soon. He says tis time for me to also begin considering… considering taking a loquiri.” He bit his lip. “I’ll be a Lord of Apollar, one day.” When his Da died, that was. He did not want to think about that. Surely Kinyth had many, many more years left. “I will need the protection.” Andros’ green eyes hardened to a deep jade. “Protection?” His voice was lightly mocking, and he cocked his head slightly. “Is that all?” Confusion swelled in the youngling once again. Why was the man talking like this? Bloody Guildsman! “Um… and companionship?” he said, fishing after what he thought the loquiri might want to hear. He felt as though he was stumbling through a labyrinth in the dark. A terrible sneer spread over Andros’ face. Atjeh flinched back slightly, confused by the mixed feelings he was sensing---longing, disgust, resignation, a dark humor---through the developing pair-link. “So, poor little lordling. Your Da thinks an arranged marriage might not sit well with you.” It was not a question, but a slow, bitter statement of confirmed suspicions. “Wants to be sure you will have everything you might need to withstand an unhappy marriage.” The youngling bit his lip. Although everything Andros was saying was true enough, Atjeh did not like the tone of the loquiri’s voice, and sensed the Guildsman was suggesting somewhat else. But he could not fathom what. “Aye…” he said hesitantly, reaching down to pluck absently at the deep green threads of the loquiri’s somewhat frayed coverlet. “And I suppose I am chosen to fulfil all your needs?” Andros said, the same dark bitterness coloring his tone. “With you barely a man,” he finished contemptuously, brows drawing down in an annoyed glare. Atjeh flushed. “I have been Confirmed, and my majority will be…soon.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m old enough and man enough to be married, am I not?” “I bedded when I was ten, and I was certainly no man,” the Guildsman snapped back. When Atjeh flushed anew, both from confusion and also embarrassment at the ribald comment, Andros’ eyes narrowed to thin slits. “You’ve never bedded anyone, have you?” “I…ah…” His cheeks flamed. The youngling was certain they were as red as the spicy tomato soup his Da so loved. “Noble blood…it was unwise…had to be careful…just a few…” he scrubbed a hand at his face, studying the coverlet intently. “I won’t do it,” Andros growled. Atjeh glanced up at him, blinking in surprise as the Guildsman scowled at him, but face paling abruptly. “It isn’t fair to you. No matter what your Da thinks you need.” “My…Da?” Atjeh cocked his head. “What does he have to do with you and I? Or, for that matter, whether I’ve known a woman or not?” He rose from the bed, stalking toward the chair swiftly enough that before Andros could finish an oath of surprise and twist away, he had nearly closed the distance between them. “You are a loquiri who needs a Match,” the youngling said, catching his wrist and then arm, pulling him close. “And I am willing to be that for you.” He rubbed fingers down the Guildsman’s spine. Andros shuddered hard in his grip, breath coming in quick gasps. “Please….” Andros rasped, eyes clenched closed and shaking his head. “Please…Atjeh…I…I want—“ and burst into sobs again, jerking away from the lordling and slumping dejectedly to the bed. Atjeh threw his hands up in exasperation. “What? What do you want? Why must you be so bloody difficult!” Andros’ eyes widened. He stared up at the youngling with an expression of mingled grief and resignation. The pair-link was alive with his dark sadness, quiet surrender, and feelings of defilement and anxiety. Atjeh’s angry frustration evaporated. “What’s wrong, Andros?” he reached for the Guildsman, only to have the loquiri flinch away. The youngling bit his lip. “Did I … do something wrong … again?” To his abject surprise, Andros’ features crumbled and his lip trembled, as if restraining more sobs. “I—I…relief…T-Taniz…” his eyes filled with sudden tears. “He knows…me….” The loquiri’s Gift suddenly surged, and the room tilted strangely in Atjeh’s vision. “Andros!” he snapped, blinking and rubbing his eyes until the illusion—as it certainly must have been—faded. “Andros, wait!” But the loquiri had already vanished, the door to his rooms ajar. “Kyda,” Atjeh mumbled, sinking down at the edge of the bed. “Whatever is the matter with him?” < > For three days, Atjeh wandered with Lyrin, speaking with a few other potential loquiri and some of the lords of Eastar and Settar already present. Lord Gyas’ family had fled from court, after a tearful apology from his now widow, eyes darting toward the Border Guard Shitan who glowered at her from their suddenly visible places about the hall—though they had eyes more for the young ra who clung to his mother’s hand. Though he nodded to this one and that one, spending time discussing politics with the other, younglings who were noble-born, his mind consistently strayed to Andros. The ache in the middle of his chest made eating slightly difficult, and twice he caught himself lying on his bed, wide awake for points as misery not his own whispered faintly in the back of his head. By late evening of the third night, Atjeh had grown sick of simply enduring. He had not the patience of his Da, and frankly, did not bloody care that he did not. Dressing hurriedly, the lordling slunk through the dark corridors and quiet halls of Ratacca Korr, drawn back to Andros’ chambers as much by the grief in his mind as by his memory of the way. Atjeh stopped short within a few strides of Andros’ door. The grief swelled into revulsion, and then a faint relief. Voices murmured---and that alone was surprising. “Kyda…Taniz…” Andros’ voice murmured, pleading. “Don’t leave…” “Tis late, kadin,” a deeper voice said, the smooth, even cadence the epitome of Guild training. “I must rest sometime,” he chuckled. Atjeh grimaced and shrank back as the door slid open. A tall Guildsman stood quietly, head up and eyes scanning the darkness, before he slipped a hood over his head and disappeared again, quiet footsteps fading as he headed to the lower floors, and the Guild wing there. Atjeh held his breath and waited until the Guildsman’s footsteps had long since faded to silence. Only then did he creep out of the narrow doorway into which he’d darted and cast a glare down the hall in the direction that the man had gone. Most Guildsmen, Andros included, radiated a quiet air of danger that unsettled Atjeh and any other Gifted person not of the Guild. But this one---this Taniz---was different. The youngling sensed an undercurrent of viciousness beneath the self-satisfied, gaping leer he’d seen on the man’s face as Taniz had first stepped out of Andros’ chambers. It would not do to let the man ever come near him. But he’d been near Andros... Kyda. Swallowing against the grief and revulsion again rising in the other room where the younger Guildsman was---presumably---now alone, the ra stalked forward, worry and anger driving all caution from his mind. He slapped the door to the loquiri’s quarters open and, striding within, glared into inky darkness until he probed the lunes scattered about on bookcase, table and wall niche with his Gift. Cool light flooded the reception room. The youngling glanced around, frowning. There was broken glass in one corner of the room, down beside the leg of a simple table upon which fruit and cheese---utterly untouched---had grown warm over many hours. The bare sandstone floor glistened wetly beneath the glass, the spilled crimson liquid appearing in the silvery light of the lunes like blood beneath moonlight. The glass was from a wine bottle, crushed against the table leg after apparently having been hurled there from across the room. His eyes traced from the mess to the two side chairs resting against the opposite wall. There, two wine glasses---both empty and one shattered on the ground---rested upon the end table. Nibbling his lip uncertainly, but reassured that grief and disgust, not panic or pain, seeped through the growing pair-link, the youngling strode toward the ajar door on the far side of the reception room. “Kyda!” he heard from within a moment before he stepped inside. Andros, sitting up in bed, was already gathering his black and gray sheets toward him, quickly hiding his nudity as he sensed the approach of the Match that he did not want. Atjeh gaped. No wonder the maid had thought that he and Andros were… that they had been... His eyes widened in sudden understanding. The man was--- “Get out!” the loquiri screamed at him, reaching for something---anything---to throw at the ra. “Bloody---Get out!” Atjeh dodged the pillow, blood rushing into his cheeks warmly enough that sweat broke out on his brow. “I did not mean… I thought---“ He stopped, words dying in his throat as he got a closer look not only at Andros’ room---more broken glass here, this time from a shattered lune, its light long since faded---but also at the loquiri himself. “You’re bleeding.” The Guildsman lifted a hand to his split lip, visibly trembling with the fear, rage and embarrassment that Atjeh could sense without effort. “Get out,” he growled again. “He… he hit you?” “Aye, you bloody little ael kinth!” Andros railed at him. “Hit me, and broke m-my lune! That is what Matches do! Did your Da not tell you? Now get out! Get…out!” He was reaching again for something to throw. Two more pillows, easily dodged and swatted aside, hurled toward the youngling. “He is not your Match,” Atjeh snapped, surprised by the possessiveness he felt. “He’s the only one that will take me!” Andros growled back. “He Matches with me, some. And when he…when he…” his lip trembled, and he gulped back tears, “Then everything is alright. But he cannot….please…me, without….hitting. Breaking.” “Oh Andros…” Atjeh reached for him, but the loquiri jerked away from his reach. “Get out,” he snarled. “Leave me alone.” “No.” The Guildsman peered up at him, green eyes narrowing into thin slits. “I don’t want you here,” he said menacingly. “You’re too young…to beat and use and….” He swallowed hard. “Only Taniz accepts me that way.” He paused, color draining from his cheeks as abruptly as the anger vanishing from the pair-link. “No one else…” he buried his face in his hands. “I hate him so. And I need him. And he needs me. And…” his voice broke, shoulders shaking as sobs ripped through the distraught loquiri. Atjeh bit his lip. The pair-link unfolded with sharper grief and pain, misery and revulsion intense enough that his stomach twisted with nausea. The sheets drooped around him, revealing the brilliant gleam of blue-and-black tattoo across his shoulder, marred by bruises of the same shade ringing his forearm and down his ribs. The marks revealed the pain of without, as deeply as the pair-link granted him a vision of the pain within. Without conscious thought, the lordling found himself moving closer, wrapping his arms around the weeping Guildsman and cradling his head to his chest. Andros shuddered in his grasp. “No…no…” he rasped, “Not me. You don’t want me. Taniz…” the loquiri tried to jerk away, but the lordling simply tightened his grip. “Shh.” He slid his hand down the Guildsman’s arm, finding the Eye upon the inner side of his wrist. Gently, he traced its outline with one finger. “Shh, Andros. It’s alright.” “Atjeh….” The youngling laid a hand against the Guildsman’s lips, cutting off his argument. “Quiet, Andros.” He ruffled the loquiri’s hair in the same manner as he had seen other lords coming out of court, and smiled, pleased at the Guildsman’s instant reaction—eyes drooping half-lidded, and a wordless groan escaping. “You’re mine, Andros.” “You don’t want me…” he mumbled, “You’re too young. Can’t…can’t do to me what I need.” “You don’t need that!” Atjeh snapped fiercely. “Aye, I do,” Andros said softly. “Kyda made me such. A loquiri…perversion.” Stiffening, the Guildsman shrank away from his grip abruptly, slapping his hands away as Atjeh reached for him. “I’m such a…a nasty…” he hiccuped a sob, and his face crumpled, tears flooding his eyes as he dropped his head, fingers clutching the coverlet to his chest helplessly. Frowning, Atjeh caught his shoulders in hand, trying to pull him close again. “Andros…it’s not like that at all. I’d never do to you…” Twas the wrong thing to say. The Guildsman’s mildly hopeful look vanished and he burst into tears again, shaking the lordling’s grip away and scrambling for his clothes. "Please," Atjeh said, voice choked as the loquiri---his loquiri, despite all the man's problems---hastily dressed. He turned away, averting his face to give the Guildsman some privacy. "Please, Andros, do not go," he mumbled, knowing he had a few grains, and a few grains only, to say what he needed to say before the Guildsman fled again. "I promise, I can give you what you need, without doing to you as---" He choked on the name. "---as Taniz does. Or even as a lover does. I promise." The loquiri shook his head vehemently, tugging his tunic angrily over his head. "You do not understand. You are just a ra." Stiffening slightly, truly wishing the bloody man would stop saying that, the lordling took a deep breath against the retort that rose in his throat. Any harsh words right now, he knew, would be disastrous. He could feel it. "Then... then prove it. If I'm wrong, I'll just leave you be, alright?" He gritted his teeth and then said the words, though he hated them. "And you can go back to Taniz, or whoever you like. But I promise you, being loquiri... being a loquiri is not what you think. I am young, but I know that much. I know it." Andros had one moccasin on already, and was balancing on one foot in the middle of his rug as he pulled on the other. He glanced up at the lordling, suspicion and despair warring with hope in his eyes. "You promise? When it does not work, do you promise to leave me be?" The youngling hesitated for a moment. If he gave his word, it would mean he only had one chance. But if he did not give his word... "Aye," he said, before the moment could stretch on too long. "Aye, if it does not work, I'll leave you be and try to find another loquiri. Alright? Just let me try." "And you won't... ah..." "No," Atjeh said firmly. "That's not what pair-links are about." Then, with a small smile, he added, "Besides, even if it were, I'm too young for that. Remember?" Andros did not smile back. Biting his lip as he was, and still balanced precariously on one foot, the loquiri would have looked quite humorous if not for the raw need darkening his green eyes. After a moment he pulled the moccasin the rest of the way on, slowly put his foot down, and shifted awkwardly, not stepping even the tiniest bit closer. "Very well. What... what do I have to do?" Even as he breathed a sign of relief, Atjeh realized that was a very good question. He was not even entirely positive what he was supposed to do, let alone what Andros was supposed to do, though he had a vague idea from having spoken with his Da and other Lords. But he did know, without a shade of doubt, that it should not be on the bed, whatever "it" was. Seeing that mattress and those sheets made him cringe faintly with revulsion and filled him with unease, just thinking of what Taniz did to Andros. There was no possible way that the loquiri could relax there. His eyes fell upon a stretch of bare wall, between Andros' bookcase and writing desk. He approached the loquiri slowly, holding out his hand and arching his eyebrows until the Guildsman---after a long moment of hesitation---clasped it with a light shudder. "I'll show you," the lordling murmured, leading him gently across the room. He sank to the floor, leaning his back against the wall and stretching his legs out before him, and patted the ground beside him. "Come, please? I promise, I will not do anything... anything inappropriate." His cheeks burned faintly. He could not even imagine himself doing such things. After a moment, Andros sat down as well, stiffly and with a distrusting glance toward the lordling. He frowned, a small glance of confusion between the bed and the floor the only sign that this was not at all what he'd expected. "Atjeh---" "Shh," the youngling said. He shifted slightly closer. "Close your eyes." When the Guildman's eyes instead narrowed and certainly did not close, he bit his lip. "Please? Trust me." Andros sighed, but obeyed, slouching down against the wall with clear reluctance. With a grim smile, Atjeh scooted closer, until his shoulder bumped into the Guildsman’s. The lordling became aware of two things: a pleasant warmth that kindled just beneath his ribs, and Andros’ sudden tension, body stiffening with—as the pair-link flowed into his mind—dread and anxiety. With a frustrated shake of his head, Atjeh rested his hand on the Guildsman’s shoulder. “Stop that,” he said, keeping his voice mild. “You’re as tight as a bow’s string,” He squeezed firmly. Something…tickled…at his own shoulder. Andros inhaled sharply and made as if to pull away. The lordling tightened his grip and wrapped an arm around the Guildsman, while the other hand began to gently knead the stiff muscles in the loquiri’s shoulders. “Atjeh…” Andros said again, fear choking in his tone. “Shh.” He pressed a thumb deep, drawing small circles between his shoulder blades. “I would never hurt you, Andros.” There was definitely something…odd…about this. Atjeh could feel his own body relaxing, and waves of faint fear—not his own, he was sure—interspersed with soft enjoyment. Taking the Guildsman’s shoulders in hand, he turned him to the side, and pulled him back until his head leaned against the youngling’s chest. “Shh,” he murmured, rubbing the soft skin behind his ears. “K—Kyda!” Andros groaned. He shivered. “I…this feels….” He moaned wordlessly, shuddering hard as Atjeh playfully twisted a lock of his hair around one finger. “So warm,” he mumbled. His eyes snapped open as Atjeh, leaning over him with a fond smile, ran his fingers down his arm, before turning his hand palm-up. “I like these marks, in a way,” the youngling said quietly. “They are very beautiful.” Holding Andros’ hand steady, he used his thumb to trace the outline of the vibrant Eye. Gift saturated the tattoo, enough that it likely made that portion of skin—as well as the other tattoos he knew were beneath the loquiri’s clothing; he could almost feel, through the pair-link that was rapidly expanding, the Gift brimming at thigh and hip and shoulder—were likely very sensitive. His suspicions were confirmed. Andros hissed in surprise and no small amount of pleasure, eyes fluttering closed again, as Atjeh touched the Eye. Andros’ rising happiness unfolded into whispers of mutual joy through the youngling’s mind as well. He shivered slightly, aware of the warmth trickling through his head, and arm, and shoulder, and anywhere that he had recently touched the loquiri. Was this why the Lords said they needed to “warm” the Bond? He could not stop the smile that spread across his face. Andros’ happiness was his own…or his own was Andros’…he could not separate the one from the other any more, and the grief and fear had long ago vanished. The lordling turned the loquiri—his loquiri, he thought fiercely—about, facing him again. Andros’ eyes were open, but half-lidded, as if he could barely keep his head up. Atjeh smiled and cupped the loquiri’s chin in his hands. “Open to me,” he said softly. Though he did not quite understand what the odd phrasing meant, he had heard it multiple times from lords. Surely it had something to do with this warming the Bond…link…somehow? Andros’ face fell. “What? I don’t….” he seized his Gift lightly, tentatively. “This?” Atjeh bit his lip. No. He had not felt Gift prickles when the other lords had said that. He shook his head slightly and pulled Andros’ face closer to him, gently stroking his hair with one hand. “Open to me.” “I…I can’t..” he sobbed. “I don’t know…what you want…” His Gift vanished and he dropped his head, or tried to. Atjeh pulled his gaze up again, holding green with his warm brown. The lordling could feel that part of his mind that belonged to Andros, somehow, alive with warmth, but fading in and out, as if there were a barrier there. Andros shivered in his grasp, moaning as he traced the Eye again, and then cringed as the youngling repeated, “Open to me.” He ran a thumb across cheekbones and jawline. “Follow your desires.” “I…I just…” “Relax. Don’t resist.” “But…but Atjeh I just…” he inhaled sharply. Something…shifted…within Atjeh’s senses. And the Guildsman’s eyes went very wide. “Holy Triad…” he breathed. Atjeh heard the words, but more than that, he felt the words, falling softly like pebbles upon a pillow within his mind. “Holy”, opal-flecked white quartz. “Triad”, uncut ruby, swirling with black, brown and deep red. The words, or rather the sensation of Andros thinking the words, faded slightly in the wake of the onrush of the loquiri’s and his own wonder and shock, echoing back and forth and expanding between them like a bell chime within a cave. And around the words and emotions Andros himself unfolded, a gentle warmth in the back of Atjeh’s mind, gently nudging to make room for himself but by no means crowding or intruding upon the ra’s presence. Like--- Like twins, tangled around one another in the womb, Atjeh realized as his entire body began to relax, and he wondered if Andros could hear the words. He did not think so, for although he felt the Guildsman’s attention turn to him curiously, focusing with childlike awe on the colors and sensations invoked by Atjeh’s own mind as the lordling thought the words, the ra did not sense true understanding. Still he did sense Andros, aware of the echoing sensations of the other’s body---faint pain here, fading warmth there, a heartbeat already slowing to relaxation after the initial surprise of their joining---and the increasingly-more drowsy movement of the other’s mind. As they both tumbled downward into sleep and shared dreams, the Guildsman’s mind shifted softly against his own, curious and joyful, and most of all unafraid. < > “Where is your sister?” Anisa looked up at her father, dust and dirt dripping from his fingers, and wrinkled her nose. “You could not first bathe?” He had the decency to look ashamed, especially as the servants shook out a days worth of dust and grime from his linka. With a gesture of a hand, gloved as was the fashion at the time, Anisa sent two of them to fetch kolinar as her father eased into a chair. “And I do not know where Epona is. She was here, clearly.” Her younger sister’s books were scattered on the table top. Two had been sent from the builders at the School in Settar, another was a book of verses, another was a history. Too much reading and far too many books for Anisa’s taste. It was surely the influence of those that sent her sister to be locked in a room for ages at end, or much worse, sent her out of doors to supervise some small project. Usually of her own design. Anisa grimaced. At least her sister still remembered she was a woman and didn’t start wearing men’s clothing like certain other noble women who were always a source of gossip. Once Anisa would have blamed her sister’s temperament on their mother. The woman died so young that it would be impossible to expect Epona to have all the proper class. But, then again, their mother only encouraged her. And Epona had a good tutor in Anisa, one who after much hammering and pounding, had been able to mold a noble woman out of the girl. But then she would disappear with books and projects again, and with all the delicate charm of a noble woman would, without realizing it, start such political fights among the ladies of court that some would walk out in a huff. Thankfully, no one ever remembered it was Epona who first mentioned the topic innocently around a teacup, but Anisa always did. And it was at times like these she realized that it had to be, as she had told Epona several times, something within the girl’s own temperament and that Epona must try hard to fight it. “How was court, Father? I did not expect you home so soon.” “My work was done, and...” Faint footsteps announced the arrival of her sister, and Anise scowled faintly. Her black hair looked as if it had been twisted and jabbed with pins at the last moment as if to appear in order, but the sweat on her brow and the divided skirts announced she had been out riding. When Anisa raised her brows and looked pointedly at her appearance, Epona flushed and hastily grabbed a kerchief from a servant. Nodding slightly in approval, Anisa sank back in her chair. Their father turned and give his younger daughter a warm smile. “Lo, you’re looking well.” “Da,” she smiled and kissed his brow, and then sank delicately into one of the wrought iron chairs. “I’m glad to see you. What brings you home so soon?” “As I was telling your sister, my business was done.” “You look troubled.” Anisa shot her sister a glare. Yes, she had seen that he was troubled, but there was no need to mention it. Epona ignored her, purposefully taking the time to gather up her books and quills, but her hazel eyes, turned gold by the afternoon sun and the shade from her lashes, eyed their father critically. “What are you studying?” he asked, skillfully changed the subject and Epona grinned. “Rainfall patterns across the Mara. It’s quite interesting really.” Anisa frowned. Their father always encouraged her. “And was that why you were out riding in the midday heat?” Epona looked confused. “I like to ride, you know that. You even said yourself that there is nothing wrong with it.” Anisa opened her mouth to respond but their father cut her off. “I heard your betrothed was in court,” he said. At those words, Epona’s eyes came up and her cheeks flushed. “Really?” “Aye.” He sighed. “I really do believe the servants at Ratacca Korr have far too much on their minds.” Epona looked troubled for a moment and Anisa sighed. “I’ve told you before, do not pay much heed to servant gossip, whatever it may be. Oh it is great entertainment, but really no use for anyone, especially now. We are lucky. You are lucky that we are betrothed to such a high standing family.” “Aye, I know, re,” she smiled softly and Anisa nodded, pleased. The instant that Anisa began to relax, Epona of course opened her mouth once again. “What are the palace servants saying?” Anisa’s sigh was cut short by their Da’s faint smile and gently-reproving, “Your sister is right, ri.” With a scowl that was hardly ladylike, Epona narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth again to speak. But after a grain she reconsidered, and composing her face into something resembling a demure expression, flicked their father a glance out of the corner of her eye. “What was my betrothed doing in court?” she asked, changing tactics. “I had not heard that he was visiting Eastar.” “Epona,” Anisa murmured, “you do not need to know every detail of Atjeh’s business.” The ri wrinkled her nose, looking for a moment fully half her age. Anisa sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, and reached out to pat her sister gently upon the knee. “You are not wed yet,” she pointed out, allowing herself a small, conspiratorial smile. “For now, his life is all his own.” Once again, that faint glow blossomed in Epona’s cheeks and she looked just as any other maiden looked when thinking of her handsome young betrothed. And then she fixed their father---their poor doting Da, who again looked troubled---with a bright smile. “You’ll not keep me from the---“ She smirked slightly at her re. “---oh so tantalizing gossip of the court, will you? Da? Please?” Anisa cleared her throat sternly as their father frowned not in annoyance, but resignation. “Epona. As you yourself pointed out, Da is weary and I am sure we are all hungry. Come help me oversee supper.” Her re huffed a defeated sigh and grumbled quietly under her breath as they both rose, but followed Anisa willingly enough out of the reception room. < > “Epona… really?” Anisa sighed. The younger of the two black-haired women cast an innocent glance back at her re, but inwardly she grinned. She knew that tone well enough. It meant Anisa did not approve of the satchel of books she was bringing with her to the palace, but was not going to complain or even make her leave them behind. “What?” Epona said lightly, strapping the satchel firmly to her saddle. Twas all she was bringing, with the exception of a pale russet gown to be worn at the palace after she’d washed the dust of the road from her skin. She and Anisa would only be attending court for the day in celebration of the Fay-ra’s nameday, but both the books and the gown, she felt, were equally necessary. “The Fay-ra enjoys books.” When last she’d visited and had occasion to join the other well-bred ladies in attending Turina, she and the Fay-ra had spoken for nigh on a point about the comparative merits of Old Maran and Old Dragonian verse. Could the other young women of the court say as much? Nay. Again that long-suffering sigh. “Only because she has been abed for weeks, ri.” Anisa turned aside, leaving off her disapproving comments for the time being as she allowed a servant to assist her into the saddle. Epona, too, accepted a boost up, although normally she would not have required the help; Anisa had insisted that they both ride sidesaddle, as was proper, and that meant no divided skirts. Epona sighed as she settled, arranging her skirts and then glancing about her curiously. “Where is Da?” “He is meeting us outside of Crossroads. He had to go on ahead.” She gestured to the guards. “We will be well protected, and he will be there to head the procession.” Of course. She did love her sister but she enjoyed talking to her Da more. Moving the reins into her other hand, she paused. A stain, an ink stain, on the tip of her right forefinger. Swallowing she curled it into her palm. Anisa had been warning her to remove her gloves when she did her sums and she had forgotten to pack her extra pair. She would have to remember to hide it all night, especially if Atjeh was in residence. Luckily for her, she had become good at that sort of thing. As a guard raised a hand the horse began to move and she moved in time with her mounts sway. She smiled to herself. The last time she had seen the young lord Atjeh was when they had been twelve. Her memories were vague, but she had heard he had grown into a fine young man. A very fine young man. She blushed but her eyes caught the stain again and she sighed. Kyda look at me. I will be a fine lady for him. I must be. The trip to Crossroads wasn’t a long one, but she managed to engage one of their escorts into a fine discussion of Maran military history with her sister’s sharp-eyed gaze noticing nothing amiss. Only when they neared the city did Epona raise her chin and put on her cool mask of Maran nobility. < > As always, court was a bustling affair. The Fay-el had not arrived in the main hall as yet, likely escorting his lady wife or attending to last minute duties, but there were lords and ladies, and their retinues, already crowding into the space. Servants scurried between the craggy pillars, sunlight from the skylights above glinting on mugs of kaffe, kolinar, and simple fruit juice to please the nobility in their restless waiting. Lords argued or murmured on the hastily scribbled missives, or scrolls tucked under their arms, trying out their debate before presentation to the High Fay-el. Their lady wives clustered in smaller groups, chattering about the condition of their gardens, the price of linka fabric, and would you look at Lady Dinah’s rakish gown? Epona glanced toward the Eastar-noblewoman, and couldn’t help but admire the slit from hem to just below her hip, the barest hint of a slim dagger there. It certainly looked practical, though what the lady would need protection from that her ox of a husband could not stop was beyond her. The Lord was guffawing at her side, shaking his head at something one of his lightly-armed guards had said. Anisa tapped her shoulder firmly, jerking her gaze away. “Don’t stare,” she hissed. “Lady Dinah is from the house of Qatan.” Her re scowled at her blank look. “We don’t fraternize with lower houses.” Frowning, Epona nodded and shifted away from her sister’s grasp, carefully averting her gaze from the slighted woman. As the court’s noise continued, almost raising in volume, she swept her eyes about the court, nervously clenching the ink-stained hand at her side. Unlike normal times, when houses rotated their turns at Ratacca Korr, the better to keep track of their holdings and needs of their respective area of the province, this special occasion would have all the lords present. Where could her betrothed be?” Epona cocked her head and wandered slowly through the throne room, brushing aside offers of refreshment from the servants, and pretending not to hear the friendly greetings from a few other lordlings and other noblewomen that she knew as passing acquaintances. A muted chuckle drew her eye, and then she smiled. Lord Kinyth was there, slapping the shoulder of the Fay-el’s steward, and gesturing about in some elaborate story no doubt, while his lady wife looked on with a bemused smile. Epona bit her lip. Then Atjeh should not be too far from them. Her gaze twisted about, trying to spot the boy she knew. Well…he would be taller, and perhaps his hair would be darker….could that be him there, sipping at kaffe and rolling his eyes at two young women’s giggling jokes? No. The eyes were gold, but Atjeh had eyes like rich earth, freshly turned. She swallowed and smoothed her hair carefully, adjusting the linka draped around her neck nervously. They would only remain in court for the day. It would be wonderful to simply catch a glimpse of him, perhaps even speak to her betrothed. Just the thought sent blood rushing to her cheeks. Epona grabbed the edge of her linka, fanning her face hurriedly. And there he was. She froze, silken fabric dropping from her fingers. The lordling leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, worrying his lip. His eyes darted here and there, so dark a brown they could easily have been black. Epona’s gaze wandered over his outline. The careful cut of his clothes, in the latest fashion. He had his doublet clutched in one hand, looking as reluctant to don the full court regalia as she regarded the corset her maid applied every morning. The tunic beneath, a sandy brown fabric with scrollwork stitching, barely hid the broad shoulders and firm body of a man who used the shitans at his waist regularly in sparring circles. Swallowing hard, Epona crept toward him, resisting the urge to clutch her fingers tighter, or scrub at her surely reddening cheeks. His head came up, revealing the features that…Kyda…aye, they were handsome. The servants’ gossip had not exaggerated as much as she suspected. His gaze fell on her, and the dark eyes narrowed consideringly, brow furrowing as if she were familiar, but not quite in his memory as yet. Epona smiled at him. A servant stumbled past her, in a rush to flee the main hall, and obscured her view of the lordling. When the noblewoman eased past, she frowned to find the pillar empty. The rest of her search was curtailed sharply, first by Anisa’s hand on her arm, as she caught hold of her and tsked in her ear. And the next by the bellow of the herald at the door. “Fay-el Chrys nu Endry na Lodear. May the Star bless his house forever,” the man called. Lords turned about, nodding their heads and quieting as Chrys himself stepped through their midst, leading the pale Fay-ra at his side. On the other side of the Fay-el, the royal loquiri, Veritas, walked with an easy stride, but with one hand against the hilt of one shitan. The people gave him a wide berth. Epona fidgeted unhappily, eyes darting from face to face. Surely Atjeh had not gone far? If she could just catch sight of him again… Anisa’s hand tightened, and the ri quieted with a sigh, holding still as the Fay-el settled on his chair atop the dais, with Fay-ra Turina at his side, and then she bit her lip to keep from smiling as the loquiri curled up on the dais steps like an oversized house cat. Court itself was a brief affair. Nearly everyone of consequence was in attendance, but of course none of them were truly there that day to see to the business of the Mara. Appeals to the Fay-el were kept to a decent minimum, and even Lord Stoddard strove for something akin to brevity as he made his usual presentation to Chrys. Epona had to admit however, if only to herself, that she wished the man could have spoken somewhat longer; she always found his explanation of the merits of adjusting the grain tax fascinating, and could not quite comprehend the wave of groans that had spread through Chrys’ hall as Lord Stoddard, his stout frame resplendent for once in cocoa-colored corduroy rather than his usual well-made but dreary gray tunic and jerkin, strode forward to make his obeisance and speak. Yet even she was relieved when court drew to a close after a scant point. Everyone was really here to celebrate the Fay-ra’s nameday, and Epona in particular dearly hoped that she would be able to at least speak with her betrothed, if not---and it made crimson blossom faintly in her cheeks to think of it---stroll through the palace rose gardens for a time with him. But eventually the day and evening would draw to a close, and she and Anisa would have to make the two-hour ride home. She wanted to enjoy what little time she had before twas time to depart for her Da’s estate. I wonder if Atjeh will escort us home? He seemed to her the sort of young nobleman to do so; those strong shoulders and fine marble-handled shitans, paired with warm eyes and---dare she say it?---a gentle enough demeanor suggested a protective nature. Even with the estate guardsmen to escort Epona and Anisa home, surely Atjeh would wish to ensure the safety and comfort of his betrothed and her re? Then she smiled sheepishly to herself, catching sight of Kinyth as the Lord departed the hall, Lady Nora leaning companionably upon his arm. Undoubtedly a contingent of guards had accompanied the noble family from Apollar, and besides, Atjeh was a youngling yet. They both were. Epona knew well how little her own Da refused to let her brother Naet out of his sight for long without a guard, and he twenty-summers old! Atjeh was two summers younger than that, and a powerful Lord’s heir besides. Nay, she doubted her betrothed would be permitted to escort her home… though she did not doubt that he would desire to do so. But that did not mean that they could not walk the rose gardens together… If only she could find him! Even as she gathered with the other young women of the court, gently tucking her linka back into place as the gold-embroidered kaffe colored fabric attempted to billow out behind her---for a moment revealing far too much of her bosom for her own comfort, though significantly less than many of the other maidens---she searched for him. The Lords and lordlings were departing one way, undoubtedly to discuss politics over kolinar and kaffe, but that did not mean she could not go with them. Most of the ladies, including Anisa of course, were going to tea with the Fay-ra, but some were accompanying their husbands, sons, betrotheds and friends the other way. “Do you see him?” Anisa murmured conspiratorially as she noticed Epona standing on tiptoe, scanning the hall. The older noblewoman smiled faintly as her re blushed. “Nay,” Epona said, resisting the urge to pat at her cheeks. She already knew they were flushed, and that Anisa would disapprove, and so drew out a fan instead. “May I go look for him?” Her re craned her graceful neck ever so slightly to see over the others, then shook her head. Epona’s heart sank. “Not without an escort Epona, and I do not see Da or Naet.” The ri sighed, and allowed her sister to take her arm companionably as they followed the other ladies to tea. She would just have to try to find Atjeh later. They day was yet young! < > Kneeling upon her satin cushion before the low tea table about which eight other noblewomen were gathered, Epona’s ear was one again drawn to the quiet, furious whispering coming from one of the tables behind her. She began to swivel to look, but Anisa of course tapped her upon the hand to still her. “They are just gossips, Epona,” her re said in a low voice. She flicked a quick glance behind her, then wrinkled her nose, bending slightly toward her sister and lowering her voice. “And known for speaking of rather unseemly things, I might add.” Her caramel-flecked brown eyes narrowed. “Do not concern yourself.” Epona bit her lip. “But they’re---“ She paused. She had been about to say that she thought the ladies might be whispering about her, but she knew what her re would say. Such an assumption was ridiculous, for a proper young ri such as Epona would surely never set tongues such as those to wagging, and besides, what women of such “lower houses” had to say was of course of no consequence. The ri sighed, sipping at her tea sullenly. “This is a fine blend, I must say,” the elderly woman across from Epona murmured, one hand rising to her wrinkled neck appreciatively as she sipped again at her cup. “Subtle, but intricate.” “Indeed,” her lo, heavy with child, agreed. She lifted the tea to her lips, taking a moment to swirl the steaming cup beneath her nose before sipping delicately. “The top notes are floral, but beneath? Somewhat hardier. I detect a faint trace of… bread.” Epona grinned. “I think tis a rather manly tea,” she said. The other ladies turned to her, and beside her Anisa sighed. “Well, the tannin content is a great deal higher than the white teas, and the fermentation and drying process leaves a rather robust---“ The ladies directly behind her broke off their whispering long enough to snort in brief but rather impolite laughter. Then one whispered to the other, “If she wants ‘manly’, she’ll be disappointed!“ “Or rather, there will be plenty but none left for her.” The giggling started again and Epona put down the tea cup. Ever since she was young, and her sister would begin prodding at her when she spoke the wrong word or began the wrong subject, she had learned to turn her face to marble. Hiding her thoughts, hiding her intents. She glanced at the two ladies behind her. They froze, as if caught in a trap, but then their eyes danced and they began giggling again. Face marble, Epona closed her hand to hide the ink stain. Manly. It’s not only about me they’re speaking. Spots of color rose in her cheeks she turned back to her table and her tea, Anisa momentarily forgotten. “Tell me Lady Orda,” she said to the elderly woman voice raising so the two girls behind her could hear, “One of the poets wrote that the women of the Mara are as fierce as the winds that birthed them? Do you find this true, or just some poet’s silliness?” The lady’s eyes widened in delight. The verse came from Lodear, as did Lady Orda, both of which Epona knew. “Of course it is true. We have the desert in our veins and that is how the Mara survives. That is why we need no ael kinths on our sand.” “So would you say the women of the Mara are fierce, and should be defenders of loved ones? Of their children? Of their husbands?” “Epona,” Anisa hissed. “Of course.” The graying head lifted with a hint of pride. “Women of the Mara are strong. We do not let other’s dishonor our families.” Anisa tittered. “Surely our menfolk can defend themselves.” Lady Orda turned on Epona’s hapless sister. “So you would let strangers in to your home and defile the very man to whom you pledge your life and your love?” “Well no but..” “Perhaps this is the difference between Lodear and Eastar.” Anisa looked pinched and Epona stifled a smile. “But you do agree, Lady Orda, with the poet and that we ladies have a right, nay, a duty to defend our husbands?” “Oh aye.” Epona stole a glance over her shoulders, eyes sparking with flecks of green and gold. The two girls behind her had stopped laughing and glanced at her nervously. “I think so too,” Epona murmured, more to the two than any others at the table. The girls blanched. Epona turned back as another lady cleared her throat and began to explain the importance of Easter to Lodear. With a small smile Epona stirred her tea, only adding one dollop of honey with her silver spoon as Anisa told her all ladies did. She had long since stopped listening to the conversation. See, betrothed, I defend your name, even when you are not here. They are silly things, those girls and whatever they were saying was probably not worth my time but, I speak for you. If only you knew. I’m sure you’d be proud. < > |
| With etching knife held firmly, Andros carved a sloping depression in the softened lune glass, twisting his wrist at the last to give the bowed shape a point. He held his Gift in rigid control, using its heat to keep the lune glass soft enough to carve and shape, but not so much that the glass would shatter or crack under the stress. The rigid control, besides maintaining a steady temperature, allowed him to keep the heat upon the glass, but not upon his own fingers as he drew a second depression, close to the first. Andros hummed softly as he worked, head cocked as he listened absently to that portion of his mind where Atjeh lurked. The oddly wondrous sensations had not faded when they awakened, several points later, curled into each other’s arms. He had been afraid, briefly, that Atjeh would suddenly react as Taniz—shoving him to the floor and..and..well, the lordling had not. Instead, he had touched him again, playing with his hair and running his hands across arms and shoulders. With this thing “open”, the sensation was even more pleasant than the first time. This session lasted just as long as the other, though for entirely different reasons. After ten marks, as Atjeh slowed and instead simply cradled his hand in his, running his finger over the inner side of his wrist, until Andros was crooning in pleasure—the Guildsman had caught the youngling’s hand. The surprise on Atjeh’s face had faded to enraptured, mutual enjoyment as he took a turn in ruffling hair and rubbing shoulders, before smoothly slipping moccasins free and running a thumb across the youngling’s feet. Andros shifted the knife to the other hand, adjusting his Gift as well to compensate, and drew another petal upon the slowly forming Lodear moonflower—a copy of the one tattooed across his right calf—and then set the lune down upon a cooling tray. He would need to wait for the first etching to set before adding more detail. Absently, he tucked his hand into the travel cloak already draped over his shoulders, feeling the slim key Atjeh had slipped into his hand as he left. The lordling had been as reluctant to leave, earlier, as Andros to allow him to do so. But Atjeh had given him the key instead, and assured him that he would be there, in the suite given to him, and alone, three points after supper. They could see each other again then. The Guildsman smiled happily. This was far better than what his Sian did. And it lasted so much longer, and with so much more detail. Andros closed his eyes, rubbing his mind against Atjeh’s lightly. He felt the lordling’s regard turn to him, and the gentle, soothing murmur of his thoughts. Already, he knew the image—the Derk-ra hatchling curled in someone’s protective arms—that marked his name in Atjeh’s mind. He had seen it repeatedly as the lordling passed through the day, in a reassuring golden light as the Guildsman touched his mind hesitantly, checking that the link between them held. Andros opened his eyes again and glanced at the glass, frowning at the very slow passage of time, or so it seemed. He hated waiting for nightfall, and remaining pinned up in his chambers. But he dared not face the court; he could barely keep himself still here, with Atjeh so far below. How could he bear being near to Atjeh, to his Match…and not hug him close? Servants rarely bothered him, and he was known—thanks to his frequent “fits”—to be rather sickly at times. He had simply eaten sparingly when he broke his fast, and sent the servants away with irritation and feigned coughs. No one else had bothered him since. Plucking up the now nearly-cool lune, he seized his Gift again and held the lune firmly, selecting a smaller, more delicate etching knife for the stem and spiky leaves of the small flower. Most Lodear motifs held this plant somewhere in their banners, or seal, or house sigil. The moon flower bloomed only at night, unfurling ghostly-white petals at the height of the dry season. Wherever drops fell, from blessing bowls at the doorway of merchant shops, or the spatter from horse troughs, these graceful blossoms would appear, fighting their way through the heat and the sand. As the Lodear people, where bits of water pooled, conquered the burning sand. Someone knocked against the door. Andros smiled instantly, setting his lune down and releasing his Gift, swinging his legs from the small sette he had been lounging upon to hurry to the doorway. And then pulled short. Atjeh was still downstairs. He could feel the faintness in their link, even if he did not know exactly what the rich, chocolate-brown color in his mind meant. Then who…? Atjeh would not send a servant to fetch him. “Andros?” The Guildsman’s eyes went wide. Clamping a hand to his mouth as a gasp broke free, he whirled and dashed out of the reception room, and as far from the hateful voice of Taniz as he could manage. He crumpled into his bed, burying his face in his pillow and clutching the coverlet to his chest, cringing as Taniz knocked harder, firm and restless. “Kadin?” The knob rattled. “I heard you were not feeling well,” Taniz said smoothly. “I thought perhaps some company would do you good. As it usually does.” Andros shuddered and pushed a knuckle into his mouth, biting down to keep his sobs quiet. Go away. Go away. he murmured inwardly, belly twisting with nausea and fear. Taniz banged against the door, hard enough the blessing bowl at the door shifted; the loquiri could hear the scrape of its porcelain bottom against its shelf. “Andros! Kadin! Open this door!” Tears flooding his vision, Andros bit his lip until he tasted blood. And Atjeh’s mind loomed—bright and warm and welcoming—and gleaming with concern. The peaceful hatchling flashed, followed by a face arching its brows. A question? Atjeh! It’s…h-he’s here. Andros thought, even more confused as to the pattern of this link and thoughts flowing together. Taniz’s Gift tickled, lunes gleaming brighter as it advanced. The loquiri hurled an illusory burst, twisting the Guildsman’s Gift aside. Taniz swore and withdrew, slamming his palm against the door. “Andros!” Crying now, the younger Guildsman curled himself into a tight ball. I—I’m afraid, Jeh! < > Atjeh's heart thudded in his chest, almost overpowering the faint echo of his loquiri's heartbeat pounding the same rhythm. Something was very, very wrong; Andros was panicked, and there was something about Taniz---or at least he thought that the crouching, narrow-eyed Derk-ra snarling in Andros' mind was the elder Guildsman. It was so hard to tell, especially while trying to sift through the stream of emotions flying at him through the pair-link, but at least he did not sense pain or... or any other sensations he thought he might feel if the Guildsman was hurting Andros. Still, the feeling of being trapped, of rising panic was very, very clear. He tried sending soothing thoughts toward Andros, but did not know if they got through; certainly he felt no lessening of the other's terror. It was flowing freely through them both, and dimly he wondered what he must have looked like, leaning upon the pillar in Chrys' hall as though for support, his gaze darting about fearfully as he tried to understand what his loquiri was telling him. He must not have looked too terribly bad, if the black-haired, hazel-eyed young noblewoman smiling at him was any indication. But he did not have time for her, whoever she was. Shaking his head and trying his best to swallow his fear---both of their fear---he tore away from the pillar by which he was standing and made his way out of the hall as quickly as propriety allowed. "Atjeh, ra, wha---" The youngling's eyes widened as his Da's hand closed on his shoulder, and then he forced a smile. He did not have time for this, either. He could dimly hear something pounding in the back of his head, and thought it might be coming from the door to Andros' room. "Just... just forgot... something," he mumbled as his Ma gave him a concerned frown from her husband's side. She always knew he was lying when he made the mistake of looking into her eyes as he did it, and so he studiously avoided her sharp, nearly black gaze. "Just... just have to get it," he stammered. "From the room I'm staying in." Kinyth bit his lip worriedly, then smiled at his son as Yassin, his loquiri, stepped up behind him and rested his hand on the Lord's shoulder. "Alright, nu. But try to hurry? The Fay-el and Fay-ra will be here any moment now." "Aye," Atjeh said, nodding distractedly and already stepping away. "Aye." Andros! he called in his mind, and felt the loquiri's attention turn sharply to him. At least the man recognized his own name, now. Go to Master Lyrin. If you can. Go to Master Lyrin! He felt incomprehension, negation, and fear all roll back toward him as he half walked, half ran up to the loquiri Master's room. Knocking loudly, he sensed something, some feeling of attempted communication come from Andros. It was utterly garbled, a barrage of images and colors, only two of which he understood. The derk-ra. The door. Taniz was blocking the door or preventing him from going out the door, or something. Even as a very real door in front of him flew open, the ra squeezed his eyes closed and focused on forming a very clear image in his mind, then another, thinking the words for each as he did so. Window. It swung open in his mind's eye, revealing clear early-afternoon air. Lyrin. The loquiri Master in his head was only an approximation of the real one who took his shoulders in hand, grip firm, but Atjeh sensed understanding and agreement from Andros and sagged in relief, opening his eyes and looking up into Master Lyrin's warm, concerned face. "Ra..." he murmured, drawing Atjeh toward him. The youngling felt very shaky as the loquiri led him gently to a cushion in his reception room, encouraging him to sit down. "Court a little overwhelming, young lord? Do you wish something to drink?" He glanced over his shoulder at the door, then frowned and---leaving Atjeh for the moment---closed it firmly. "Where is your loquiri?" he asked, before returning to the ra's side. Atjeh swallowed, but took a deep breath. "Coming." He smiled faintly as his dimly sensed a latch being lifted by trembling fingers. "He is coming." < > After crouching upon the ledge outside of his room for a few marks, creeping as best he could away until he could duck within another room out of sight of his own, Andros hurried down the hall. He clutched his cloak tightly around him, turning his wrist inward to hide the Eye, and keeping his hood low around his face. His fast pace was likely not very proper, but he could not bear to slow his stride. Every soft footfall, or uplifted voice, made his heart stutter in his chest, certain it was Taniz directly behind him. Or worse, the touch of the man’s Gift, calling him back, stealing his air…. By the time he reached the door to Master Lyrin’s study, the Guildsman had clasped his hands together to keep from revealing his trembles, and could barely breathe around the icy lump of fear and panic lodged in his throat. He jerked the door open and stalked into the reception room. At the edge of his vision, he saw the loquiri Master rise to his feet, extending welcoming hands, but his gaze was locked upon his Match. Atjeh wordlessly held his arms open, only grunting slightly as Andros landed in a crumpled embrace, burying his face in his chest and digging hands into his tunic. “Shh. Shh now,” the lordling stroked fingers through his hair. “I’m here.” Lyrin stepped past the two of them—Andros heard the rustle of his footsteps as he moved—and then the solid click of the bolt. Always before, that sound had filled him with loathing and fear, but today it surged into comfort, safety. No one could interrupt them, or pull him away. Atjeh’s hand patted his back, and then cupped his chin, pulling his head up to look into tear-filled green. “Did…” his eyes slid to Lyrin, and then back to him, narrowing with a dangerous light. “Did he touch you?” “N-no.” Andros shivered. “But he’ll come back. He’ll know…what…I am.” His head drooped, and he cuddled closer into Atjeh’s grip. “Oh, Jeh!” he sobbed, “What am I to do?” “Jeh?” The lordling ruffled his hair gently, smiling as Andros cast him a worried look. It had slipped out without thinking about it. Pleased fondness flushed through the link. “I like it,” the youngling said softly. “Call me Jeh as much as you like.” He paused, biting his lip, and then pushed Andros away enough to cast him a considering look, before murmuring, “Come now.” < > With a gentle, but firm grip, Atjeh led Andros to the nearest cushion, easing him down and pulling him up against his shoulder, patting his back as he hiccuped sobs, and then slowly tapered down into infrequent shivers. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he said fiercely. A soft chuckle drew his gaze up, and he flushed as Lyrin smiled at him. He had utterly forgotten the Master was there. The older loquiri flashed a bemused grin, shaking his head. “No, do not feel badly. I am used to such things. Truly.” He rested fingers lightly against the younger loquiri’s back. “Ra?” Andros twisted about, glaring at the Master as he brushed a hand at his teary eyes. “Not a ra,” he said firmly. “Jeh is. I’m not.” Lyrin patted his head. “You are but a year past majority.” He sighed as Andros’ chin jutted up in slight stubbornness. “Aye,” he said, “I suppose not a ra. Barely.” He caught Andros’ chin, turning his head from side to side. “The Guild suspects?” “N-no. Not exactly.” Red suffused his cheeks. “It’s…complicated. He…doesn’t know…but he likes…he wants to…” Atjeh cleared his throat, breaking into his loquiri’s clear embarassment, and Lyrin’s perplexed look. “His Sair—“ “Sian,” Andros corrected softly, clasping his hands together and then rising to his feet. “In the Guild, it is called Sian.” Lyrin’s eyes narrowed in tune with Atjeh’s. Though Sair suggested simply a teacher, or ruler, the word Sian referred to a religious overlord, such as a priest or shaman. Andros glanced between them and shrugged slightly. “It is…the term we have always used. I…we do…the Triad and…” With a deep sigh, the younger loquiri fell silent on the matter, and then frowned as a teakettle whistled out of sight. “Ah…let me fetch that first, before you explain, young lord,” Lyrin began, only to trail off as Andros moved. “Thank you, Andros.” Atjeh cleared his throat. “His Sian…Taniz by name…likes to ah, hit Andros. To break his lunes and his possessions.” Lyrin’s brow furrowed. “Whatever for?” His lip curled slightly. “Too ‘wordly’ perhaps?” The lordling could have sighed in relief at the quick lie supplied by the Master. “Aye. I think it is something of the sort. He and I are afraid that, when he gets close, the Sian will discover what he is for truth. Especially with the link…ah…open, as it were.” The Master cocked his head. “He managed to open to you?” “I…um…taught him how.” “I see.” Lyrin’s smile twitched at the edge of his lips. “And I suppose you taught him how to close it too, aye?” Atjeh flushed. The Master chuckled. “Ah, younglings. I will show him presently.” His eyes slid to toward where Andros had vanished, and then back to the lordling. “Tis obvious, to these eyes, that you two are…definitely loquiri and Match. How sensitive is the link?” The youngling blinked at him in confusion. “Pardon?” Lyrin rolled his eyes. “I will find out myself.” He seized his Gift and, before Atjeh could protest, ran a quick, but slightly firmer than normal, probe across the lordling. Something clattered out of sight, and profanity rose from the other room, before Andros came darting back into the room. He whirled on Lyrin, eyes thin green slits. “Don’t touch him! Don’t!” “Very sensitive, I see,” the Master said mildly. He patted Andros’ shoulder gently and rose from his cushion, before crossing to his desk. “You need to Bond. Tonight is likely too early, but perhaps tomorrow…” he mumbled absently, plucking a quill from a drawer and spreading a sheet of parchment before him. Andros’ face drained of color. “B-bond?” He trembled, and jerked away from Atjeh’s comforting touch. “But I’m…I’m not…you promised!” he said fiercely. Lyrin glanced up at him, quill poised in one hand. “That I would not force you into any Bond or pair-link. And aye, I am not. But now you have already found a Match. Why would you delay?” Andros swallowed hard. “But I … I have a year, aye?” The Master’s eyes narrowed. “Aye. But tis not…wise…if you are already this…tender…to remain unBonded. You are very likely to frenzy. That would reveal your nature to every wagging tongue in court, from the scullery maid to the stablehands.” "F-frenzy?" Andros murmured, brows knitting. His green eyes were a dark jade as he whispered, "So... so T-Taniz was right about...about that? Loquiris do that? Lose control, like beasts?" Master Lyrin sighed, kneeling down between the two younglings and resting a hand on each shoulder. "How did you feel, when I probed your Match?" The younger loquiri bit his lip, scowling faintly in memory. "Not... not good." His eyes narrowed at the other loquiri. "And what did you want to do?" "Nothing..." Andros set his chin, insisting firmly, "I am of the Guild. I can control myself." His thumb rubbed the Eye at his wrist absently until Atjeh looped his arm with his own and held Andros' hand upright, palm to the ceiling, as he studied the tattoo there with clear fascination. The loquiri shivered faintly even from the light, casual touch, and Master Lyrin's keen gaze took it in. "Can you? Twas only for a moment that I touched him. What if it were longer?" Seizing his Gift again, he reached out, probing Atjeh roughly again, so that the ra yelped and then glared at him. Beside him, Andros tensed, eyes narrowing. "What if I were a Guildsman, taking my time examining his Gift?" This time, the lordling squirmed uncomfortably, gasping and then hissing. His loquiri surged to his feet, crossing half the distance between himself and the Master as Lyrin rose and took several rapid steps back away from the two younglings. Quickly, the older loquiri released his Gift, then raised an eyebrow pointedly at Andros as the Guildsman relaxed. "Aye," Lyrin said softly but firmly as Andros whirled, darting back to Atjeh's side and collapsing to the cushion beside him, nearly yanking the ra toward him. "You need to Bond." The Guildsman's hands fluttered fretfully over Atjeh's hair and shoulders, but the ra was quite well, if mildly annoyed. After a moment the younger loquiri turned to cast a sheepish---and worried---glance at Lyrin. "Will Bonding stop this from happening?" Lyrin patted his shoulder soothingly. "It will greatly help." "You are speaking to a Guildsman," Andros snapped. "Do not try to bandy words with me; just answer the question!" The Master stiffened ever so slightly, but then relaxed and nodded. His voice, when he spoke, was just as soothing and reasonable as it had been before, as though he had decided not to take offense at yet another newly Matched loquiri's harsh tone. "If he is terribly frightened, or injured, or in clear danger, there is a chance you will frenzy even with the Bond. And unfamiliar sensations, or the sight of a naked blade as he is sparring someone... these are things that may bother you at first, but which your pair-link will adjust to." Andros' eyes narrowed and his jaw stiffened. "So, Bonding does not end the risk of frenzying. It merely minimizes it." He glanced sideways at his Match, biting his lip in sudden hesitation. The ra, too, looked unsure. "I... I do not want him to frenzy. But... but I am to marry soon. I need to wait at least a year after the wedding to Bond, aye?" A look of weariness and extreme dismay passed over the Master's features a moment before he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "Is there any way for you to postpone the wedding?" he murmured. Atjeh swallowed, not at all sure what he had done to upset the Master so. "Um, nay..." He shook his head. "Nay, I do not think so." His eyes widened slightly, and then he cast the Master a pleading look. "And my Ma and Da and Yassin cannot know of the pair-link, either. Please do not tell them. Please. Da will be so... so angry," he whispered. Then he winced. "And my betrothed cannot know, either. Oh Kyda... nobody can know. the Guild will kill him, if anyone lets them find out." “They won’t kill me,” Andros mumbled, “At least, not right away.” His face paled, and he swallowed hard. “The…perpetual death…like ah, Gyas,” the loquiri finished, trembling slightly. Atjeh’s expression was one of horrified fear, and he drew his loquiri closer, hugging him fiercely. “They would…do such to you?” Andros bit his lip and nodded mutely. The lordling’s eyes narrowed, and he tucked the Guildsman against him, one hand idly touching the hilt of his shitans. Lyrin rested a restraining hand against the youngling’s grip, shaking his head firmly as Atjeh glared at him, and then reaching out to pat the younger loquiri’s head as well. “The Guild is not forgiving of such,” the Master said quietly. “You need to Bond, Andros.” “I—I don’t want to,” he said brokenly, trembling once again in Atjeh’s arms and dipping his head to snuggle into his chest. “Donna want to!” he cried. Lyrin stroked his hair soothingly. “Why do you wish not to?” The lordling tensed, scowling darkly at the Master as the distress of his loquiri rose. “He just doesn’t, alright?” he snapped. Lyrin smiled faintly. “There is usually a reason for the reluctance. And one that—once I understand the why—I can help with.” “What if he doesn’t want help?” Atjeh growled. “Just leave him be.” Smiling again, but shaking his head with a weary sigh, the Master squeezed the lordling’s shoulders, and then patted the loquiri’s back, before rising to his feet again and picking up the quill and parchment. “I will not pressure him, if that is your desire, ra. But it is very unwise to delay the Bond. He needs the stability, as do you.” The quill danced over the paper, Lyrin’s voice softening. “He will not be able to stand if you spar, or if a Guildsman probes you. You will not be able to withstand him being probed by Gift either, nor if he is hurt or afraid.” “Matches do not frenzy,” Atjeh said firmly, but his hand slowed in its rub on Andros’ shoulder, hesitance gleaming in his eyes. The edge of Lyrin’s mouth curled into a crooked smile. “No. They do not. That is true. But they do become sensitive, and snappish, and generally do not like their loquiri being harassed.” The Master picked up the scrap of paper, and held it out to the lordling. “This is a list of Masters that are about Apollar and Ratacca Korr. You will need one of them, at the very least, and it is preferred to have a pair of bonded loquiri—in case anything at all should occur. And one lune, as a target for the flying Gifts. Beyond that….a Bond can be performed anywhere.” He touched each of them lightly on the head. “Send for me, or for them, when you are ready.” The Master stepped back and turned away, rummaging in a drawer quietly, before coming toward them with a slim stone, mounted leather on a thong, cradled in his hands. “In the meantime, I have one of these that should help you not be too sensitive. Or at least, to move about in the day without being noticed.” He cupped Andros’ chin in one hand, his expression darkening slightly. "Trust me,” he said, and slipped the stone’s thong over his head. The Guildsman’s eyes went wide, and he grabbed for the stone, panic written across his features. Atjeh swore at his side, rising up to reach for Lyrin—who calmly caught his wrist and held him. “Be at peace, ra. See—he is calming already.” Andros, shivering and biting his lip, carefully pulled the stone away from his skin and glanced at Atjeh, before lowering it once more, tucking it beneath his tunic. “I don’t like it,” he mumbled. “I know. Tis only a dreamstone, and you should wear it until you can go back to Apollar.” The Guildsman frowned at him. “Why would I go….” His eyes slid to Atjeh, and he swallowed hard. “Oh,” he said quietly. “But…if I leave… I—I’m not sure I wish to leave for Apollar.” Atjeh bit his lip, and his voice trembled ever so slightly as he spoke. “Andros… I… I cannot stay at the palace. I can tarry a few weeks, tell my Da that I am still meeting with potential loquiris, but… but I cannot stay here.” His loquiri regarded him with wide-eyed hurt. “But… why? Why must you leave me? Jeh---” The Master sighed, and rested a hand on each head, swiveling both younglings’ gazes up to his own. Silt brown and emerald green eyes swam with tears, and Lyrin smiled at them both reassuringly. “Everything will be alright, ras,” he murmured gently. “You have a little time yet to act, but you need to come to a decision soon.” He shifted one hand down, rubbing Andros’ shoulder soothingly. “Atjeh cannot remain here. You know that. He is a ra… his place is in Apollar, with his Da and Ma and his rus and res.” His expression hardened somewhat into sternness. “And besides, it is not safe for him here, not with the pair-link growing between you, and the Guild lurking about.” The younger loquiri tensed, trying to hold back tears with his entire body. “But I don’t want to g-go! This is my h-home.” He looked pleadingly from one to the other. “And Taniz… H-he will never allow---“ “Can he stop you?” Atjeh demanded fiercely, though his dark brown eyes were red rimmed with unshed tears. “You are an adult, aye? You can go where you please, can’t you? No law can stop you!” He hesitated, biting his lip. “Right?” Andros shuddered. “You do not understand. I… I am not his kadin any longer. Not since my Ascension. But a Sian has the right---it would not be seemly for me to… to deny him, should he wish to see me. And the Guild…I owe… If they should say that I must remain under the jurisdiction of the Riv Citadel here in Crossroads…” “Would they do that?” the ra growled. “Surely Guildsmen transfer from one Citadel to another all the time.” Andros shook his head vehemently. “Not without reason! What am I to tell them? That I am following my Match home?” The ra’s eyes narrowed in consideration. Andros blinked at the sudden, keen brightness of the other’s mind as it churned over something. “What? What are you thinking?” “Maybe… Maybe you tell them the obvious? That you are following me back to Apollar? Maybe…” Atjeh’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh Kyda,” he breathed. “It might work.” Andros drew a surprised breath at the excitement radiating off of the ra, and reached out to touch his shoulder questioningly. But Atjeh pulled away, shaking his head sternly. The light rejection hurt. “Wha---Jeh?” The youngling rose to his feet, gaze already far away as he waved a hand impatiently. “I must think. I have an idea, but I must work out the details.” He frowned down at his loquiri as the Guildsman made to rise. “Alone.” His gaze softened slightly as Andros flinched, and stepping forward, he ruffled the loquiri’s hair gently. “I will see you later today,” he murmured, smiling down at the Guildsman as Andros’ expression relaxed, growing half lidded. “But I cannot think while you are here,” he added gently. “And… and Master Lyrin wants to show you how to… how to close the link.” He blushed faintly as Lyrin chuckled. < > Epona was bored. She had taken tea as was expected, engaged in small talk and even sat and listened to one lady drone on about some terrible lace shortage. Sitting with her back straight, and trying to look interested and appropriately scandalized, she found her muscles cramping and her heart longing to go home. She flicked her fan open and used it to shield a yawn. I don’t see what everyone else finds so exciting about missing lace. She fluttered the fan and her eyes scanned through the courtiers. I suppose it is that defect with in my character pushing through at last. Her heart began to sink. Aye most likely. Even Anisa will have to admit I was doing quite well today. Except…I never got to see him. Her betrothed. Of course she knew she wouldn’t see him taking tea with the Fay-ra, but perhaps mingling among the other nobles or…something. Anything. It would be so nice just to spend sometime together. So he knows I exist and so I can hear what his voice sounds like. Or if his touch is soft. She bit her lip. If anything so we weren’t such strangers when we were married. While anisa would approve of a meeting, she would find it more appropriate to solidify the alliance with the powerful Apollar family rather than Epona’s secret wishes. Which was why she, of course, never told her sister what she was thinking. She excused herself from the lace conversation and rose. If she pretended to be ill from the crowds, Anisa would be more likely to allow them to leave. As if summoned by her thoughts, her sister’s bony hand caught her elbow and spun her around, tugging and straightening loosened black hair and gown. Epona yelped and squirmed under her sister’s stern gaze. “Now stop that,” Anisa chided. “I want to make sure you look appropriate. I found Lord Kinyth and Lady Nora and, as they will be your future i’Da and Ma, it is only appropriate you go over and introduce yourself.” She leaned closer and her grip on Epona tightened. “Do not embarrass me.” Epona blinked. Lord Kinyth and Lady Nora! Hope bloomed and she raised her chin. “I will do no such thing. You have raised me well and I quite understand the importance of this. You need not fear.” Anisa’s eyes didn’t change. “I know you too well to not fear. Come.” Before Epona could make her tongue form a response, her sister was almost dragging her through the crowd. <> There was no doubt that Lord Kinyth and Lady Nora were the elders of the boy Epona had seen earlier. A quick glance of them through her lashes as she curtsied was enough to tell her that. Lord Kinyth shared his son’s brown hair and square jaw while his gray eyes and pale complexion belonged to no other face at court. Lady Nora was a noble woman, who bore the grace of nobility as easy as the Fay-ra herself and for once Epona felt very awkward under her gaze. It was from her Atjeh had to have gotten his desert coloring, with her smooth olive complexion. Anisa’s pinch on her elbow told her to rise and she did so, meeting their eyes curiously as if not quite sure what to expect and only heard the last of her introduction, “…Lady Epona.” “You have indeed grown since the last time we saw you,” Lady Nora said with a smile, all the while her eyes studying her. Epona blushed and did her best not to squirm under the black-eyed gaze. Anisa cleared her throat. “Yes, well, it is time for our younglings to be wed is it not? And we are woefully underprepared for it. The details have not yet been drawn up and a permanent date needs to be set. The agreement was by the end of this year but that will be upon us before we know it.” Epona flashed a glance at her sister, masking her surprise. This wasn’t purely a social call, it was business. Always business. And she speaks about me not embarrassing her. She is haggling me like a young derk-ra whelp. Before her sister could say another word, Epona cleared her throat and curtseyed a second time. “Forgive the interruption, but I have not seen my betrothed in some time and I had hoped to catch a glimpse of him this evening. If we are to be married soon, it would be nice to share a few words.” She saw Anisa scowl out of the corner of her eye and tried to keep the look of triumph out of her delicate lady like smile. A brief scowl passed over Lord Kinyth’s face, quickly smoothed out. For a moment Epona’s hazel eyes widened as she assumed that the flash of irritation was for her, but then Lady Nora murmured, “Ah, I am afraid we have not seen Atjeh for more than a brief moment, my dear.” She glanced at her husband, black eyes softening slightly as she clutched his arm closer. “If he deigns to grace us with his presence, I’ll be sure to---“ Lord Kinyth started to growl, but his wife rolled her eyes. “Epona, ri… Walk with me for a time?” the Lady asked. The young noblewoman could not help but smile faintly as the slight emphasis upon her name; Nora wished to speak with her, and not with Anisa as well. “Of course,” Epona murmured demurely, ignoring the pointed, stern look her re was fixing her with. I know, I know, do not disappoint you! she thought to herself, but felt no irritation for her sister. Anisa was… Anisa. Twas hard to be angry with her, when Epona knew very well that her re was trying her hardest to ensure the best possible life for her. As Lady Nora stepped away from her husband’s side, taking Epona’s arm companionably and leading the ri toward the rose gardens, Lord Kinyth smiled at Anisa. “We’ve arrangements to make, you and I. Now is a good a time as any.” “Certainly,” Anisa said firmly. <> Having known the ra since he would fit in the crook of his elbow, Yassin could not help but worry about his changing behavior the past few days. The loquiri walked at a comfortable pace down the corridor, dipping his head politely to the courtiers and pages that hurried through the halls, scurrying to do this lord and that lady’s business. He had dearly hated to leave Kinyth behind in the main hall—Fay-ra’s name-day or not, he did not trust a one of the bloody Guildsman, or Guild-owned lords that mingled with the rest—but Atjeh’s absence had been clearly distressing his Match. It was just another thing in a lengthening string of odd actions, starting with his early arrival with Lyrin to inspect a few potential loquiris. The ra seemed distracted, and prone to vanishing at strange times. He had even returned to his suite very late last night. Yassin was not a heavy sleeper, not since Kinyth’s favorite Derk-ra had decided his queue was an interesting plaything and meant to be pounced upon with great intensity. It had become a game between them. She only tried occasionally now, and a light slap of Gift to her snout usually distracted her from trying again. Sometimes. Yassin bit his lip and headed for the suites granted to them by Fay-el Chrys. He had heard Atjeh come sneaking back into his room very early in the morning, scuffing his feet wearily and collapsing into the bed—judging by the annoyed creak of the mattress when he laid down. And he had been asleep in his clothes, when the loquiri came to awaken him for court. If he did not know the house so well, Yassin would suspect Atjeh and Epona were having brief trysts, but Epona’s Da was respectable, and her elder sister strict on propriety. He doubted Epona would be away from their watchful gaze long enough to sneak off with Atjeh—if she even knew what he looked like, since his latest growth spurt a six-month ago. And now he fled from court and had not been seen since. Whatever was that youngling up to? The suites were empty of all but the maids, cleaning and preparing it for tonight, and no—they had not seen a tallish young man with ivory-handled shitans. Frustrated, Yassin leaned against the wall outside of the Apollar lord’s suites and frowned, biting his lip. So now he was lying to his Da and Ma as well. That was certainly not at all like Atjeh. Seizing his Gift, Yassin spread it before him in a light, gentle touch, before withdrawing it again. He felt Kinyth’s attention lightly turn to him and sent reassuring thoughts, and a brief comment. Looking for the ra, Kint. I’ll let you know if I find him. After I …. Disapproval fluttered faintly. Kinyth preferred that he be the one to discipline his children. Even if Yassin felt as much their Da…or at least Daru, as if they were his own. Sighing, the loquiri sent back his agreement, and walked on down the halls, sending his Gift out in sweeping waves and then pulling it back when the ra’s particular “feel” did not come return. It took half a point of slow, careful walking and this Gift-search, before Atjeh’s sensation came sweeping into his senses. And more. Yassin frowned. The Gift-sense of Atjeh was muddled, echoing strangely, almost as if there were two of him coming back. But at least he knew where the ra had gone. With a deep sigh, Yassin strode into the small library—more of a storage space for overflow from the royal library—and caught up with a sheepishly blushing Atjeh. He gave him a stern glare, crossing his arms and shaking his head at the ra. “Where have you been, Atjeh? Your Da is worried about you.” Yassin arched a brow mildly. “And your betrothed is just…dying to see you.” Yassin watched, mouth falling open in amused surprise, as a series of emotions chased one after another across the ra’s face, first pleasure and interest, then a minor wince, followed by a scowl of consternation. He played idly at the chain around his neck, which no doubt led to some childish trinket or another hidden beneath his tunic. The loquiri smiled. Ras.. “Whatever is the matter?” Yassin laughed as Atjeh opened his mouth, bit his lip, and then scowled unhappily. “Nothing,” the youngling grumbled. Yassin’s eyes narrowed and he resisted the urge to sigh. Atjeh was very young, and though generally a good ra, he was still prone to the occasional moody outbursts one could naturally expect of a youngling his age. “Now you are lying to me.” As a faint blush rose in Atjeh’s cheeks, Yassin shook his head sternly. “Your Ma and Da are wondering where you are. Why are you not with the court?” Silt brown eyes narrowing, Atjeh set his jaw. “I did not feel like going.” “Oh. I see. You did not feel like doing your duty to your family, and showing your betrothed the courtesy of at least a polite greeting.” Again that strange cascade of emotions ran over the youngling’s face, and Atjeh’s fingertips rose to touch the pendent or charm or whatever it was beneath his tunic. And then Yassin could practically see the ra mulling over excuses or lies, trying to decide which to feed him. He sighed, and waited, arms folded. Yassi? Kinyth murmured in his mind as Atjeh bit his lip and took a deep breath. A moment, Yassin sent back, amused. Your nu is about to present me with his exciting and oh so well thought out excuse for avoiding the rest of the court. He felt a faint grumble in the back of his head, and then Kinyth’s attention turned away from him and back toward the blackhaired ri with which he was speaking again. “There are a lot of loquiris around court,” Atjeh said at last. “It’s… overwhelming, Yassin.” The loquiri arched his brows again. Now that excuse he had not expected. “Pardon?” The ra bit his lip. “You know how many loquiris Master Lyrin has had me meet these past few days.” He swallowed, and added quietly. “Some… some Matched fairly well. They… they might be there.” Yassin sighed. So that was it. “Ra… You do not need to worry. It is very rare for a pair-link to form after only a few meetings. You can be around them without having to worry about a link developing just yet.” “Uh huh,” the ra said. Did Yassin detect a hint of dryness in his tone? “Well, I just do not want to be around them or anyone else right now.” He set his jaw stubbornly, and narrowed his eyes at his Da’s loquiri, as though daring him to drag him out to socialize. Yassin frowned sternly at the lordling, shaking his head at the stubborn look spread across his features. "Atjeh...ra...you can't avoid people. It isn't proper, and can be insulting. To both the Fay-el and your betrothed." Atjeh flinched, and then clutched the pendant about his neck tightly, knuckles paling with the intensity of his grip. "Please Yassin..." he bit his lip. "I really want to..to just stay up here. Please, Daru?" The loquiri's eyes narrowed. "Twill not work with me, ra." he said firmly. "As your Daru, I should insist you come." He laid a firm hand on his shoulder and clasped his arm, tugging him along. "At least speak with your Da and see what he thinks of this affair, aye?" Atjeh squirmed in his grip, and then hissed in dismay, eyes narrowing. "Yassin...don't...let go..." his voice turned sharp, urgent. "Let go, Yassin!" He yelped and shuddered in his grasp, enough that the loquiri released him instantly, glaring down at him. "Whatever is the matter with you, ra? Surely that little bit didn't hurt you?" "Not you.." Atjeh's mouth shut with a clear click, cheeks coloring. Yassin frowned. Twas utterly odd. Gently, he reached out to ruffle the ra's hair, but as soon as he moved, Atjeh jerked his head away and shook his head firmly. "N-no, Yassin. You can't..." his eyes closed, and he breathed deeply, as if resisting something unseen, "can't touch me. Just....leave me be... please?" his eyes opened again, but they were dark and unfocused, sliding to a point to the side of Yassin. The loquiri frowned. "Ra...do you need to see a healer?" "No!" Atjeh and Yassin alike flinched at the loud outburst. The ra had the decency to blush anew. "No, I'm fine. I feel...wonderful..." he mumbled, fingers rising to press against his temples, and then down to the chain about his neck. Yassin's eyes narrowed. With Gyas dead, and his cousin--a known despiser of the Guild--in place, it removed a large proportion of the Guild's power from Apollar houses. Lacing Gift into trinkets and toys was becoming more and more commonplace for the sneakier sects. "Forgive me, ra," Yassin growled, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, holding the now-squirming youngling as he reached for the chain, yanking it up and over his head. Atjeh swore, scrabbling for it. "No! Leave it! Yassin!" "A dreamstone?" The loquiri's brow arched. "Why are you wearing..." he trailed off, seizing his Gift. "Oh, ra! You didn't!" After dropping the dreamstone back beneath Atjeh’s tunic, Yassin swept a probe, gentle and quick, as delicate as he could manage, across the youngling. And aye, he could feel the resistance, the way his Gift tried to part out of his grasp as it flowed over the weak, but slowly growing pair-link. “P—please don’t tell Da, Yassin! Please don’t!” Atjeh cried, grimacing as the distant other half of that developing link must have protested, and vehemently, at Yassin’s intrusion. His lips moved slowly, mumbling something soothing, likely to cool off the panicking new loquiri. The dreamstone alone likely prevented him from rushing to Atjeh’s side. Yassin released his Gift and frowned at him sternly. “You went and …” well, it wasn’t a Bond. The resistance to a probe would have been much stronger if it were. “and started the process? Pair-linking now—a scant what, few months, until you wed? I and Kinyth and every bloody Master you’ve ever met in your short life has told you how very unwise that is!” he growled. Atjeh wilted before him, face falling and flushing a distinctly unflattering shade of red. “I…I didn’t mean to. It just…happened.” The ra shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “He was just—just so unhappy and miserable and confused. He…” the ra peeked up at him through a veil of dark brown hair and long lashes. “He’s never been to a loquiri community or anything, you see. So…he thought, that a Match was like a—a lover. So I taught him that it wasn’t. By—by asking him to…” Atjeh swallowed, wincing. “To open to me,” he said softly. “Kyda,” Yassin said, closing his eyes wearily. “Once you do that, tis nearly impossible to back out of the deal. When will Master Lyrin have you Bonded?” “I---I don’t know.” Atjeh bit his lip, cringing anew at Yassin’s stern glare. “He…he hasn’t set a time yet, because Andros—my loquiri—is….frightened of being Bonded.” The loquiri’s smile, pricked by the very distinct possessiveness in Atjeh’s tone, faded immediately. “Frightened? Whatever for? And how could he have never been in the loquiri community, never known what opening means?” His eyes narrowed. “Sounds like he is tricking you, ra.” “No!” Atjeh shook his head vehemently. “No, that’s not it at all. He’s frightened. It means…he doesn’t know…” the ra flushed anew and he studied the soft rug beneath his feet. “You—you won’t believe me, not until I bring him to you. So you can meet him.” Kinyth’s attention fluttered faintly, curiously. Yassin pushed him away. Later. In a moment. Yassin? The loquiri winced at the mild hurt at the rejection. Sorry. Explain later. Please? Atjeh bit his lip, fingers clutching at the chain of his dreamstone worriedly as he studied his Da’s loquiri’s face. That expression he knew well enough. When Yassin finally focused upon the youngling once more, Atjeh swallowed hard. “Did…did you tell him?” he whispered. “No.” He held up a hand at Atjeh’s hopeful look. “But I will. Once I have…met…your haplessly confused loquiri.” He just resisted a sneer. Loquiris were either in the loquiri community, or slaughtered pell-mell by the Guild. The former ensured proper training. His trite story of not knowing what opening would do was beginning to sound more and more like a loquiri desperate enough to play on Atjeh’s soft side. Yassin would not have it, burgeoning pair-link or not. Gently, he patted Atjeh’s shoulder as the youngling slouched slightly. “Alright, ra. For now, you are going to your room, your room,” he emphasized, “And not your new loquiri’s quarters. Not until I speak to him. After Kinyth is done in court, aye?” Atjeh swallowed. “Aye.” “Good.” Yassin patted his shoulder fondly, shaking his head. Ah, the trouble a ra could find. “Now go on then. I’ll make your excuses to your Da.” <> “You must forgive my husband,” Lady Nora was saying as they wandered the paths among the roses. “It’s been a long day and the stress of the court wears on him. He’s not angry with you, by no means.” Epona ducked her head in response. She had already assumed so, and her mind had already moved along to a more exciting question. Where was Atjeh? What was he doing? Was he also skipping out on noble duties? The thought thrilled her to her core, making her skill pebble with excitement. No, she frowned to herself. What ridiculous thoughts. It’s only my own bloody nature again. I’m sure he’s has a perfectly good reason. He is noble after all. She pushed down the other thoughts and nodded at something Lady Nora was saying, not really hearing her words. Then, to her embarrassment, Lady Nora laughed. “Ah my dear, silly of me. You probably have much on your mind.” She smiled warmly. “We are looking forward to having you in our home. Atjeh is a good ra. You’ll have nothing to fear and I’m sure you will get on quite well. Now, I heard from your father that you were quite good at sums?” Epona looked at her sharply. It didn’t seem to be a joke, and since the lady had asked, Anisa couldn’t get annoyed. “Yes,” Epona said, letting her delight show clearly on her face. “Well, I do enjoy them. And not just sums but how those sums can be used everyday. And can improve things.” She flushed. “Forgive me if I begin to bore you.” Lady Nora smiled again and Epona found herself beginning to like the woman. She ducked her head, suddenly embarrassed. “Ah, perhaps I should get back to my sister. I’m sure she’ll be wanting to see me and make sure…all is well.” “All is well. Of course.” Epona had the suspicion that, even though she had said nothing, Lady Nora understood the meaning behind her words. “Can you find your way back, dear? I would like to spend some more time here among the flowers.” “Of course.” She curtseyed, spreading her skirts wide, then rose and hurried from the garden and into the wide halls of Ratacca Korr. She liked Lady Nora, she realized. And the inkstain on her glove had been visible the whole time. Well…what would Anisa think of that! Lost in her thoughts she made a turn and paused. She was at the juncture of four halls, each leading a different direction and a skylight from above let in cheery sunlight. And it was utterly unfamiliar. Which way? Kyda, of all the fool things…I thought that I knew… she turned looking for something familiar. Kyda, kyda, kyda. I’m a fool. Sighing, she squared her shoulders, and set her jaw in determination. I’m being silly. Choose a path, I will find a servant if not the courtiers. Gathering her skirts firmly in her hands she strode down the chamber directly in front of her. Kyda, kyda, kyda, kyda, The hall kept going with no sign of life. Kyda, kyda, kyda, kyda She rounded a corner and… “Kyda!” The last word burst out of her as she smacked into not a servant, nor the gathering courtiers, but the firm, tall body of a young man with white shitans. She staggered backwards as he blinked in surprised. “Kyda, what…?” she began but the moment his rich brown eyes found her hazel she suddenly realized who she had just run into. Her mind froze and her body reacted automatically, sweeping a curtsey, her linka falling into an unceremonious heap on the floor. “M…A…Betrothed.” Atjeh looked at her, not with sudden affection, but rather with surprise and an almost frantic look in his eyes. “What? Oh…oh Kyda.” His voice broke through her stupor and she looked at him. Really looked at him. Is he…twitching? He seemed to be shifting his weight back and forth and looking around anxiously before his eyes found hers again. “I’m sorry,” he took her hands and helped her to her feet. “I truly am sorry but…I need to go.” He hesitated a moment, looking at her again, then bit his lip. “I must go. We can speak later?” Already he had released her hands and was almost trotting off down the hallway. Epona stood where she was, crossed her arms beneath her breasts, and cocked her head. That certainly was odd. < > "Ah, Epona." Kinyth smiled warmly, stepping slightly away from Anisa as the younger noblewoman rejoined them. Then he raised a dark brow. "Wherever did my wife disappear to?" Epona smiled back easily. Even given the rather jarring end---and, for that matter, beginning---to her encounter with her betrothed, simply having seen him, having spoken to him, both calmed and excited her. His hands had been very gentle as he had helped her to her feet, even given his clear agitation. She could still faintly feel their warmth on her arms. "She is walking the gardens, my lord." The tall Apollar waved a hand back and forth. "Oh, call me Kinyth, if you will. You're soon to be kin." Anisa smiled quietly behind him. "We have set a date for the wedding, Epona." Her heart beat faster in her chest. "Truly?" She glanced from her re to her soon-to-be i'Da, impatient curiosity rising in her. "When?" Her sister rested a hand on her shoulder, but its weight was a clear reminder. Not so many questions. Aye, I know, I know! "We will speak of it on the ride home." Kinyth frowned slightly, glancing from one sister to the other. "Leaving so soon?" Lowering her black head in a regal nod, Anisa murmured, "Indeed, Lord Kinyth. Our Da and ru will be staying later into the night, but I thought it better that Epona and I return home before the sun sets. We must depart within the point if we are to have time to travel." The Lord sighed. "Ah, tis a shame." He nodded to Epona. "I am sorry you were not able to visit with my son this night. He is indisposed, I am afraid." The blackhaired ri frowned. "Indisposed? I just saw him." She tipped her chin toward the door. "In the corridor. He looked rather in a hurry." Clearing his throat, Yassin, Lord Kinyth's loquiri, stepped forward from behind his Match. Epona jumped slightly; it never ceased to amaze her how well loquiris could blend into the background when they wished... or how suddenly they could appear as though from thin air. "He was not feeling well," Yassin said smoothly, and grimaced. "Was likely fleeing straight to his bed. His stomach was bothering him." Epona gasped. "Oh! Is he alright?" A horrified blush rose in her cheeks. "I jostled him quite badly in the hall, I am afraid." That could not have done much to help his sour belly. No wonder he had fled so quickly! "Tis nothing serious," Yassin said reassuringly, glancing from his worried Match to the worried ri. Anisa, for her part, looked far more concerned than the situation surely warranted. "I looked in on him myself, to be honest. He is resting quite, ah, well, I am sure." <> |
| Anisa gave her sister a firm look, but for once Epona didn’t need her instruction. “Please, if you would, extend to him my apologies for our abrupt meeting. And well wishes that he feels better” Kyda knew what impression he had of her now. She frowned. And I was trying so hard too. Kyda! Yassin’s smile was amused. “I will, Lady. You need not fret for him.” Anisa laid a firm hand on Epona’s arm. “Well, we certainly wish you Kyda’s blessing on the day, but I am afraid we must be going. It isn’t too far from our Manor, but daylight will soon be growing short.” They said their goodbyes and Anisa waited until they were out of the main hall before turning on her sister. “What happened?” “Well,” Epona felt a blush rising in her cheeks. “I was just leaving the rose garden and we sort of just…collided.” Her sister’s eyes turned harder. “Oh no, it wasn’t too bad. I promise I recovered as best I could. And I don’t know how much he noticed of me. He seemed…harried…” she trailed off thinking back. His behavior certainly was odd. Yassin said he had an upset belly so perhaps he was hurrying back to the room before it got the best of him but…he didn’t look sick. He looked more frustrated and scared. Before she could piece together more thoughts, Anisa was tugging her through the door. “Well at least the Lord and Lady seemed pleased. You will be interested to know that we set a date for the wedding. It will be just under two months hence. ” Her sister’s look softened and a warm smile broke through. “You are lucky, Epona, they seem like good people. I do only want the best for you, you know that, right?” Epona smiled back. “Aye, aye I do. And I know I can be a little difficult sometimes…” Anisa snorted. “That is an understatement. Come,” her face turned stony again. “We need to return, and tomorrow we need to send for a seamstress. There is much to be done.” Epona smiled. She already had an idea for the gown she wanted to wear on her wedding day all drawn out. It only needed a few finishing touches, and then would be ready to turn over to the seamstress. If the woman had her own idea, it would just have to wait for the next bride. "Aye." < > Even before the quiet knock upon his door came, Andros was dimly aware of his Match's approach and so was not at all frightened when the sound drew him from his fitful dreams. But when he threw open the door, rubbing his eyes blearily but grinning in sheer relief at the lordling, the sight of the queued loquiri standing, narrow-eyed, at the youngling's side threw him into an immediate panic. "Oh... Oh Triad, you didn't!" he gasped, stumbling backwards into the dimly lit interior of his reception room. "I said none could know! Jeh, how could you?" The dark-eyed youth shook his head, striding forward immediately and catching Andros' shoulders in his hands. "I didn't! Shh now, I did not tell. He sensed it." The ra rubbed the loquiri's shoulders soothingly until some---but certainly not all---of the tension drained out of him. Then he glared mildly over his shoulder at Yassin. "Tell him!" The older loquiri frowned, not only at the new loquiri and Match before him, but also at the lunes glowing dimly about the room from the end table, bookcases, a nook in the wall... "Tis true... Andros?" He shook his head, distracted as his eyes continued to sweep the room. "Kyda, you are very into lunes, aren't you, ra? And to take a room in the Guild wing..." He shook his head again, and fixed Andros with a narrow-eyed gaze. "Well, that seems very brave, but yet Atjeh tells me you are afraid of the pair-link?" "Yassin!'" Atjeh growled, blushing faintly, then allowing himself to be drawn closer to Andros, who wrapped an arm around him and tucked him close. Yassin sighed, then stepped forward slowly so as not to alarm the new loquiri. "Forgive me, I suppose I am being rude." He reached out, intending to clasp arms with the frightened youngling before him. "I am Yassin, Atjeh's Da's loquiri. And you are...?" His voice trailed off as Andros flinched, drawing his own hand back toward his body and flicking his wrist strangely to press the inside of his arm against the side of his leg, out of reach. But not before Yassin had seen the eye tattooed there, and gasped. Andros did not remember too very well what happened then. < > "He's a Guildsman!" Yassin snapped, horror rising in him as he reached forward and yanked a surprised Atjeh toward him firmly. The ra tensed, yelping, but the loquiri dragged him toward him and away from the green-eyed Guildsman. "He is not your loquiri, Jeh! He's..." But there was no mistaking the speed with which the Guildsman bore down upon them both, tearing Atjeh from the other loquiri's grasp and shoving him protectively but quite roughly behind him. Nor was there any doubt any longer in Yassin's mind as, wild eyed, Andros turned upon him, snarling wordlessly. The older loquiri had only but a moment to feel his eyes widen before he sprang into action, swiping the youngling's frantic strike away and then catching his arm firmly in the crook of his own, smoothly exerting just enough pressure to drive the snarling Guildsman to the ground. "Come here," Yassin snapped, as Atjeh's mouth fell upon in shock and dismay. He planted a knee firmly in the middle of Andros back, pinning him down. "Now Atjeh! Put your hand on his back or his hair, or he is not going to calm down." Atjeh was shuddering lightly in reaction to the fury and panic of his loquiri, but he obeyed at once, shakily lowering himself to his knees and gently running his fingers through Andros' hair. "Shh..." he soothed. "Calm down, it is alright. I am alright. Shh." He flicked a glance sideways toward his Da's loquiri, glaring sternly. "Now do you believe me?" "Aye," Yassin growled. Kinyth's attention was fully upon him now, alarmed at the rush of emotion he'd undoubtedly felt on the other side of the link. Yassin? What is going on? Yassi? The loquiri shifted his weight to hold Andros down more firmly, but carefully narrowed his side of the pair-link so that most details of what was happening would not trickle through to his Match. Tis... tis nothing, Kinyth. I just... I stumbled upon a new loquiri and Match. Twas certainly true, though the Lord of course could not possibly know how true. Yassin would have to figure out how to explain... this... later, but not just yet. Or better yet, Atjeh could explain. The loquiri was naturally a little... put off... but he is calming already. He felt his Match consider that, and then Kinyth murmured in his mind. Alright. But take care, aye? We both know how unpredictable newly Matched loquiris can be. Aye, Yassin thought dryly, glancing down at the struggling---but slowly calming---Guildsman beneath him. I will return to you in a moment, aye? This... requires my full attention, just now. By the way, Atjeh is feeling better. He will come to bed soon. Even if Yassin had to drag the ra back to his Ma and Da by the ear. He felt Kinyth's agreement, and then narrowed the pair-link as much as he could, focusing on the two younglings. "You two... Kyda." "You... you didn't tell Da, did you?" Atjeh asked, pausing as he stroked Andros' hair soothingly. There was almost no fight left in the loquiri at all, and Yassin eased his weight off the Guildsman slowly, rising to his feet and stepping away to give the two room. "Nay... Not yet," he said, and sighed. "I will let you be the one to tell him, but... Kyda, ra, you had better tell him soon!" < > Lorea sat on the edge of her stool, nibbling at the flat bread Rab had given her. Fresh and hot from the oven, and flavored with anise seed, it was just as good as the ones from home in Apollar. Natalee, Lady Harta’s ladies maid, who was sitting on a colored rug near the large kitchen hearth, said it was too much flavor for those with discerning tastes. But what did she know. She was from Lodear. One of the passing kichen servants passed her a mug of kolinar with a wink and she flushed prettily as she cupped it in her hands. She loved coming to Ratacca Korr with Lady Nora. Sometimes she dreamed she would be discovered by a noble young courtier who would fall in love with her and dress her up in fine clothes and they would dance and be presented to the Fay-el and Fay-ra. But, then again, a castle servant wouldn’t be too bad either. It was why half the lady’s maids of the visiting nobles gathered in the large kitchens during court, sitting on the worn rug and eating scraps from the serving platters, flirting and socializing. “Lorea?” The girl was startled out of her dreams by Sali, one of the Ratacca Korr laundry maids. “You’re Lady Nora’s lady maid, are you not?” There was a glint in the girl’s eye that Lorea had learned to be wary of. “Aye…” she said slowly. Sali burst into giggles and Natalee’s eyes gleamed. “I told you she was, Sali. So, is it true about Lord Atjeh? Oh dear, you must tell us!” Lorea blinked, suddenly startled. “Whatever do you mean?” Half the girls on the rug traded glances, some giggled, some flushed, others looked as confused as Lorea. One, Ellie, leaned forward and whispered, “I heard he ignored his betrothed in the hall!” That was followed by a flurry of whispers and stifled giggles. One ri looked scandalized, while others nodded knowingly. Lorea herself couldn’t help but feel a small, guilty rush of pleasure. She had always admired the young lord Atjeh, with his beautiful dark eyes and such a kind smile. Very often he had played a part in her day-dreams and she had felt the vicious bite of jealousy when she found out about his betrothal. “What? Whatever does that have to do with anything. That doesn’t sound like Atjeh at all!” “Unless, he doesn’t like her,” put in one maid from Settar. “They barely know each other!” Natalee grinned. “Well, I have seen, going back and forth from my Lady’s chamber, a certain young man visiting him every night!” The other ris looked scandalized and Lorea’s eyes widened. She knew of no very close friends that Atjeh kept at court. “You don’t mean…” “Wait!” Black haired Salom had a hand to her mouth. “I know what you’re talking about. You’ll never guess but…” her voice lowered and her eyes sparked, “but I’ve seen that man around court! And around Crossroads. I would swear on my Ma’s grave that he has the Eye tattooed on his wrist!” Lorea gasped. “A Guildsman?!” But that made no sense. Their family had no allegiances with the Guild. “But why would he be keeping hours with a Guildsman?” Sari traded glances with Natalee. “Think about it, Lorea. They are in each other’s chambers all the time. And he’s been so distracted and flustered and even a bit dreamy. And he ignored his own betrothed. He’s a young man, and young men have appetites, yet he ignored her. Lady Epona isn’t ugly either.” “You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying!” Lorea gaped. Although pieces of what the other ris were saying were falling into place. Atjeh had been acting agitated and distant recently. Another girl suddenly cried in exclamation. “I heard from Grett that she went into their room and Atjeh was in bed with a young man!” Titters and giggles echoed across the carpet. Lorea flushed, and not only in embarrassment. Twas ugly, what they were suggesting about poor Atjeh. It was terrible enough to speculate on the young lord's private dalliances---kissing and touching had factored very much into her daydreams about Atjeh, but more than that brought heat to her cheeks---but to say that he buggered men... and worse, Guildsmen... and worse, that he buggered Guildsmen when his devotion should have been only for his betrothed... "Nay!" she cried. "Tis not true!" She set her jaw stubbornly as the other servants exchanged knowing glances, some giggling quietly under their breath. One man rolled his eyes to the smoke-stained ceiling above the stoves, and took his leave, clearly weary of the feminine gossip. "Atjeh is respectable! And noble! And too young besides! He would never---" Natalee chuckled quietly, and patted Lorea's brown curls as though she were a derk-ra hatchling and not a young woman. The Lodear maid's faintly slanted almond eyes narrowed in sympathy, but there was a vicious gleam beneath it. "Ah, ri, you are so very young." Lorea dipped out from beneath the other woman's hand. "Nay, I am not! And what does that have to do with anything?" Giving a patient sigh, Natalee's eyes still glittered as she shared a look with Sari. Lorea dearly wanted to slap them both silly. "Men," Natalee said, turning the word into a curse, "are different sorts of creatures than we are, dear." Another of the spit-boys grunted and rose, grumbling beneath his breath as though he knew what was coming next as he departed. "A woman may be expected to behave with the propriety with which she was raised. If told to save herself for the marriage bed, she will do so, aye? But a man..." Her eyes twinkled. "Well, he has needs, and if he is not allowed to satisfy them with a woman, then... well... a man will do." Cheeks burning like brands, Lorea shook her head vehemently. "But you do not understand. Atjeh is not like that. He... he obeys his Ma, and his Da, and Yassin..." Sali's grin was sickly sweet. "But not any longer, aye?" That smile curled up on the ends, till it was vicious. "If the Guildsman were a woman, I daresay he'd be with child already. Or... perhaps tis the other way around?" Rising to her feet, Lorea clutched her hands at her sides. "You are wrong." Her gray eyes swept them all, stern despite her heated cheeks. "You are all wrong. Atjeh is not... not doing that. And I will not stand here and hear you say it!" As the young lady's maid stalked away, she heard Natalee snort behind her. "Oh, let her go. She'll see on her own soon. How could she not?" Aye, Lorea resolved, gritting her teeth. She would see, alright. She would see very well indeed, and prove them all wrong. It wasn’t far from the kitchens down to the laundry and up again. She didn’t even have to come up with an excuse for freshly laundered sheets, not for one of Lady Nora’s servants. With the fabric firmly in hand, she rose the long steps to the visiting noble’s wing and began counting doors, anger growing with each step. How dare those little snits say such things about Atjeh. It had to be just gossip! Yet a little voice in the back of her head knew that sometimes there was truth in gossip. Lots of truth. But no! She wouldn’t believe it. Not until she had seen for herself. Down the hall she saw a door open and a tall man step out. She paused, immediately recognizing Yassin and she lowered her head and curtseyed as he strode by, his face shadowed with annoyance, irritation, and a hint of worry. Lorea’s belly turned over. He had come from Atjeh’s chambers. Now she had to see. As soon as Yassin passed, she hurried the rest of the way down the hall, linens in hand. It wasn’t unusual for her, or any of the other maids, to change the sheets for the entire family. If asked she could just say the Lady had asked. Nora wouldn’t remember if it were true or not. She took a deep breath and gave the door a quick two raps, as was customary and pushed open the door. “My lord, I’m here to change—“ Lorea froze. Atjeh and another man were standing in the middle of the room, Atjeh’s arm around him, the other stroking his hair. Stroking his hair! Just as she had always dreamed he would do for her. Their eyes suddenly focused on her and she ducked her head down. Shuffling forward, she dropped the sheets on a trunk and almost ran out the door. Atjeh! And another man! The other girls had to be right. Her heart both tore and was about to explode with the news. She wouldn’t believe it unless she had seen it with her own eyes! But did he like only men? Perhaps there was still hope. Oh Kyda, there was so much to discuss! Quickly, she bustled off to the kitchen to share with the other servants. < > Atjeh glared at the departing maid, body tensing in worry and concern, but beyond a quick blush, the girl scurried away without a word or even gasp of surprise. Thankfully, Andros had his face turned into his Match’s shoulder, clinging to him and sighing as he played with his hair, and had not seen the little ri. Though the loquiri had calmed down since the fiasco with Yassin, Atjeh would certainly not rile him again. “Somethin’…wrong…?” Andros asked drowsily, snuggling closer. “Not really,” Atjeh hedged. Did the link allow Andros to know when he lied? Twould be one of the things he would need to ask Yassin. One of many things. The lordling grimaced and gently pushed Andros back, studying his green eyes for a moment and lightly smoothing hair away from his face. “Feel better?” “Aye.” The Guildsman dropped his head, squirming to move closer to his Match. “Very much.” Atjeh pushed him back again, ignoring the puzzled and slightly wounded look on Andros’ face, and guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. The Guildsman’s eyes narrowed, and he swallowed hard, gaze darting fearfully from Atjeh to the pillows and sheets, and then to his own hands as he clutched them tightly together. The first pale tendrils of panic and dread began to rise across the link. Atjeh sighed. “I will never, ever…use…you, as Taniz did. Never.” He rubbed his shoulder soothingly as the Guildsman took a deep, cleansing breath. “Always remember that.” “A…aye, Jeh.” His eyes remained downcast, and he crossed one hand over the other nervously. With a deeper sigh, the lordling guided him to stand and then stepped away. Andros stood where he had been placed, frowning unhappily, and then cocking his head in clear curiosity as Atjeh proceeded to strip the bed. “Jeh?” “You won’t relax. Not there. But I do not want to sit or…or warm the link, on the ground. Aye? So we’ll do it this way.” He kicked the pillows and blankets, arranging them with his hands into a basic pallet, before crooking his finger at his loquiri. Andros came with quiet reluctance, but settled happily enough when his Match did. Resting his head on Atjeh’s shoulder, he sighed in contentment. “Just hold me, Jeh. Please.” Atjeh obliged him for a few marks, stroking his hair until the loquiri’s body relaxed completely, drowsily rubbing against his mind in a curious way. “Andros…” he patted his head, “Andros, I know you’re….it’s hard to think of, but…” the youngling sighed. “We need to Bond.” The Guildsman tensed. “But I don’t want to,” he mumbled, swiveling his head against Atjeh’s shoulder to study his Match’s eyes with his own, wide green. “Jeh…I’m…I’m frightened. What if—what if I’m not good enough, or strong enough…I have a year and then…” Atjeh wrapped his arms around his loquiri, hugging him tightly. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Andros. You know me—you know you can trust me, aye?” “I—I think so. But…” Andros bit his lip and turned away, sitting up and out of his Match’s grip. Atjeh frowned, but did not yank him away again. Andros swallowed hard. His voice was soft when he spoke next. “I thought…I thought that I could trust T-Taniz.” Atjeh winced, closing his eyes for a moment and then opening them again. His gaze was fierce as it settled on his loquiri once again. “But with me, you know. You know.” Still the Guildsman hesitated, his thumb massaging absently at the Eye on his wrist as though it pained him. “I… know you are… sincere. That you truly believe what you say.” He tapped the dreamstone hidden beneath his tunic with one fingernail. “Even with this, I feel it.” The ra scowled. Then why was Andros still sitting apart from him? “But?” The loquiri bit his lip, then gave his Match an apologetic look. “Jeh… you are very young.” “Only seven years younger than you!” Andros laughed quietly. “Only,” he murmured, rolling his eyes. His voice was not quite bitter, not quite amused, but approaching both. “You do not want me like… like t-that, now.” He swallowed, and shook his head. “But people… people change over time.” “Not me,” Atjeh growled. He scooted somewhat closer to his loquiri, crossing his legs beneath him and reaching for the Guildsman’s hands. The loquiri did not pull away, at least. “Andros… I do not like men. I never have.” He nibbled his lip, and flushed faintly. “I… I have never… um… I have not known a woman, yet, but… but I know that I… I like them.” His cheeks were heating yet more, and his eyes slid away from Andros as embarrassment trickled through the pair-link. “I definitely… uh… definitely know that much.” For a moment, the Guildsman only stared at him in surprise, and then barked a sudden laugh. “Triad… you are young,” he chuckled, reaching out to ruffle the ra’s hair as Atjeh scowled and blushed. "I'm not..." Atjeh began, then froze. "Do you hear that?" Andros cocked his head, confused. Atjeh looked at him sharply. "I think someone's coming." < > “So, where is my son?” Lord Kinyth had led his loquiri away from the main gathering of nobles. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe what you told Lady Epona. I know you too well.” The loquiri tried to shrug nonchalantly, but his eyes studied the floor several paces ahead. A look Kinyth knew well. “He is not feeling well, Kinyth. That I can say with truthfulness. And it is better that he stays away from,” he gestured to the people and murmur of conversation, “this.” “That’s a half truth, Yas.” “Aye.” Hesitance and annoyance trickled through the Bond, but it wasn’t directed at him. It didn’t take a great mind to figure out it was Atjeh’s doing. But what could the ra have done to annoy his loquiri, but hide whatever it was from Lord Kinyth? Yassin sighed and rested a hand on his Match’s shoulder. “Don’t fret.” He paused and laughed ruefully. “Well, perhaps you should, but it is probably the last thing you are thinking. The ra needs to tell you himself, with Lady Nora there as well. And then,” he paused again, irritation flaring along the link, “plans will need to be made.” “Where is he?” “Atjeh? He should be in his rooms.” Kinyth suddenly turned on his heel and strode down the hall. Yassin blinked and hurried to catch up. “I don’t like all this secrecy, Yas, you know that. Especially here in Ratacca Korr and with the Guild about.” He turned a corner. “And you’re behaving oddly.” “So you’re going to see for yourself?” Kinyth smirked. “Of course. There is no reason I shouldn’t be able to visit my nu.” It didn’t take long to reach the carved wooden door, and without bothering to knock, flung it open and stepped into his son’s chambers. Atjeh, standing in the middle of the room, jumped. “Da!” “Ra?” Kinyth folded his arms and tried not to smile as his son tried to rearrange his face into the semblance of innocence. “Are you alright?” “I’m fine, Da. Just…my stomach is a little unwell.” He raised a brow. “Uh huh. And so you decided to sleep on the ground?” “Well…” he licked his lips and his eyes darted toward the closet. “It’s cooler on the ground.” Kinyth grunted, inwardly amused by his son’s quick wit. “Of course and that is why you are standing in the middle of the room.” Atjeh paused. “I…was about to use the privy. With my stomach and all…” Kinyth wrinkled his nose and raised his hands. “Enough, ra.” He stepped forward and took his son’s jaw firmly in hand. Atjeh sucked in his breath and held very still. Odd… Kinyth thought. “You have been ignoring the ceremony,” he said aloud, “ignoring your betrothed, and frustrating your Ma and I. Tonight, after the festivities are done, we will be having a chat. And you will tell me what’s going on.” He let go and stepped away and Atjeh appeared to relax. “Finish up what you’re doing, ra,” he said gruffly, “I must be getting back. But do not forget I will see you tonight.” With Yassin on his heels, Lord Kinyth closed the door and sighed heavily. Tiredly, he looked at his loquiri. “He is hiding a woman in there, isn’t he?” Yassin looked startled for a moment, then laughed and his Match scowled. “Come, Kinyth,” he chuckled, putting his hands on his shoulders again. “We need to get back. I’m sure Nora is looking for you.” < > A slow, hesitant knock tapped against the reception room door. Kinyth glanced up from the letter he was writing, smiling faintly as Yassin unfolded from a cushion near the threshold. The loquiri opened the door smoothly, one hand lightly against his shitan hilt, and then stepped back as Atjeh and another figure stepped within. The lord arched a brow, glancing between them. Hooded and cloaked, it was hard to make out exactly the form of the companion with him. But there was no mistaking the tightly-clenched hands between them. Kinyth sighed inwardly. Why must he find anotherwoman, after all the trouble of securing him a good wife in Epona? Yassin’s amusement fluttered on the link. Tis not quite as bad as you think. Well…almost not as bad. Kinyth sighed inwardly, but rose from his desk and held out his hands lightly. “Tis good to see you, Atjeh. Seems that I’ve missed your handsome face lately.” The ra had the decency to blush, but still drew himself straight and studied his Da’s face. “Da…I was…busy, with speaking to Lyrin and…and meeting loquiris.” Kinyth frowned. “Aye, that is good. But not for the entire time here. Your betrothed dearly wanted to…” he trailed off, as Atjeh suddenly flinched, and then cast a quick, annoyed look at his silent companion. The lord took a step forward, frowning at the dark figure. “And who is with you, nu? Is she of at least good breeding?” Yassin guffawed. The lord cast his loquiri a narrow-eyed glare, and he did quiet, but not without clamping a hand to his mouth as if stifling a laugh. At Atjeh’s side, the friend stiffened and crept closer, nestling its head against the ra’s shoulder. Atjeh patted his back absently, eyes on his Da. He bit his lip worriedly. “Tis not…quite like that. I um…well…I was meeting loquiri and…I just…it was a accident, alright? I had seen my friends and other lords—and he was so afraid and um…well….” Kintyh’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Kyda child, you make no sense at all. You were meeting loquiri and what did you do?” “I…I told him to open to me, because he was scared and confused. And it just…happened,” he finished softly, as his Da groaned and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Kyda…Kyda and all his holy spirits!” Kinyth frowned darkly at the hooded man. “And I suppose this is him? Why does he hide his face? Is he ashamed to be seen with you?” “N—no, Da. He can’t be seen with me. Not ever.” The lord’s expression turned perplexed. “But…ra, why not? He is your loquiri—most definitely to be now that you’ve opened to him. He is supposed to stay at your side and guard you.” “Ah…” Atjeh flushed darkly. “Da…Andros cannot be seen as loquiri.” He caught the man’s arm, murmuring soothingly as he brought his hands up, first slipping the hood away from his face. Kinyth was pleased to see good loquiri breeding in his features and fine green eyes. And then Atjeh gently rolled up the man’s sleeves, even as this Andros shook his head vehemently. “Da…you see?” the youngling said softly, and lightly traced his fingers along the inside of his loquiri’s wrist. Kinyth shook his head and focused on the spot. And gasped, eyes widening as his heart sank. “A…a…Guildsman! Atjeh!” “I’m sorry, Da!” Atjeh spluttered. “It just happened! And now…now I couldn’t bear,” he trailed off, and wrapped his arms around the Guildsman—and loquiri apparently—patting his back soothingly as, to Kinyth’s surprise, this Andros burst into tears. “No-no,” the lordling murmured. “He does not hate you. Shh.” Kinyth’s eyes narrowed in dismayed irritation. “Kyda! Whatever is the matter?” he growled. Kinyth… Yassin murmured soothingly but urgently in his mind, crossing immediately to the new loquiri and engulfing him in an embrace. Have a care. Kinyth’s eyes narrowed as he watched both his loquiri and his nu cuddle the bloody, weeping Guildsman. What are you doing? he snapped inwardly, and felt Yassin’s stern disapproval flare toward him in response. What? What, Yassi? He is a Guildsman! And even if he were not, he is a loquiri, yet see how he carries on! This is who shall protect my child? Kyda! Yassin sighed quietly, stroking his fingers through this Andros’ dark hair. He’s a Guildsman, aye, but…but a young one, Kin. He can still change, and… and likely will, hurt as he’s been. Now come here and help calm him down. Kyda, no wonder he did not wish to come. Barely resisting the urge to growl obscenities at the lot of them, the Apollar Lord stalked forward, stopping a few feet in front of the sobbing mess of a Guildsman and placing his hands on his hips. “Come now,” he snapped. “Enough of that. I do not hate you. I just was… surprised… tis all.” The young loquiri’s red-rimmed, green eyes lifted to his face, and he drew a deep breath. “S-sorry, my lord.” Kinyth gritted his teeth. “No need to apologize. But do… stop that, will you? I am certainly not going to reveal you, nor try to separate you two. But we all need to calm down, and think bloody hard about this, aye?” His eyes narrowed. “I do not blame you for this.” His eyes slid to his son. “Either of you, for I know these things happen.” He turned back to Andros, scowling angrily. “But you do know that my nu is now in danger, aye? Simply by being your Match?” Andros swallowed, then nodded slowly, his green eyes very wide. “A-Aye. Triad, aye,” he breathed, pulling Atjeh closer to him. The Lord was relieved to see fear in Atjeh’s silt brown eyes as well. Good, that meant the bloody little ra had at least some inkling of the very real trouble that he was in. “Also,” Kinyth sighed, worry piling gradually atop anger, snuffing it slowly. Yassin let Andros go, gently patting his head one last time, then crossed to his Match to rest a hand on Kinyth’s shoulder. The soothing weight helped. A little. “Although Atjeh’s betrothed is of a good family, with no clear connections to the Guild---that I know of---I simply do not know if they can be trusted to know of… this.” Atjeh bit his lip. “Da… please… please do not tell them. I beg of you, do not.” Kinyth shook his head, frowning from one youngling to the other. “Well, what else can I do, ra? Your wedding is two months away! I cannot simply pretend that Andros does not exist---” Kyda knew he would like to do so. “---but Epona’s family is sure to notice that you have a Guildsman lurking about who behaves suspiciously like a loquiri!“ Immediately, this Andros cringed, his eyes darting toward the door fearfully. Yassin’s hand tightened on the Lord’s shoulder. Indoor voice, Kinyth! he warned worriedly. Bloody--- We need to all sit down and talk, Yassin urged him calmly. Nora as well. “Da…” Atjeh said hesitantly, glancing worriedly at his loquiri for a moment before turning back to his father. “I… I think I know a way to…hide…what we are.” Kinyth held up a hand, shaking his head sternly. Yassin was right. “Not just yet, nu. I am going to find your Ma, and then all five of us are going to sit down and talk about this.” His steel gray eyes narrowed. “We are coming to a decision. Tonight.” < > Folding her hands demurely into her lap, Lady Nora settled at her husband’s side as if they were preparing to hold a lengthy court session with an unruly pack of villagers. But the warning light glinting in her dark eyes, especially as they landed on her son, suggested she would not be quite as demure as she appeared, if necessary. Atjeh swallowed nervously, but did not pull away from Andros’ side. Instead, he continued his soothing rub to the Guildsman’s shoulders, until the older Maran rested his head against Atjeh with a deep sigh. Yassin chuckled mildly, but remained behind Kinyth, hand on his shoulder. “Explain now, ra,” the older loquiri said quietly. “Nora should hear all the story as well as your Da.” Atjeh swallowed, and then nodded. Running his fingers through Andros’ hair, the lordling proceeded to retell the same tale as before, stopping to explain as either his Da, or his Ma, interrupted him with questions of their own. Slowly, he unfolded the sudden Match of their Gifts, the accidental opening to each other, and finally today, with him hiding from court and everyone alike, though with Lyrin’s gift of a set of dreamstones to keep them safe. Nora frowned, settling back and glancing at her husband mildly. “I spoke with Epona today, as you know. She is sweet, but…open. So far as I can tell. Tis a good thing, but I wonder…” “Aye.” Kinyth frowned. “I do not know for certain if she can be trusted to hide it, much less do it well. But neither can I postpone the wedding…” he bit his lip. “Nor is it very wise to marry and Bond within months of each other. You have made arrangements to Bond my son soon, I assume, Andros?” The Guildsman wilted slightly. Kinyth’s eyes narrowed. “What? You plan to delay even that? I will not have it!” Yassin squeezed his shoulder firmly, scolding reproof fluttering in his mind. There was no mistaking the flash of fear in Andros’ eyes, nor the way he scooted closer to his Match and buried his head in Atjeh’s shoulder. The lordling glared at his Da. “You can’t force him to do anything!” The youngling snapped irritably. “I have no intention of—“ he trailed off, wincing, as Yassin snapped in his mind, and lowered his voice. “I won’t force him, no. But it is very dangerous…if he is not Bonded. And makes your pair-link even harder to hide. Ra…any Guildsman that should probe you or him, will likely spur him into some very…obvious…reactions. Ah…” he smiled as Atjeh flushed. “You’ve already seen it?” “Aye. Lyrin probed me, and Andros…” he smiled fondly at his loquiri, ruffling his hair until the loquiri relaxed against him again, nestling his head against his chest. “He could barely stand still. But he’s…not ready…to Bond yet, Da.” The lordling swallowed hard, hands stilling upon his loquiri’s shoulder. “I have an idea, that might work for now.” Kinyth arched a brow, flicking a glance at his lady wife. Nora inclined her head toward Atjeh. “He is educated enough to puzzle a solution. Let us hear it, and see if we approve.” Her eyes narrowed firmly at her son, who quickly ducked his head. “I..ah..well…you’ve heard the rumors, by now, aye?” “Aye,” Kinyth snapped. “It took me two hours to convince Epona’s Da there was nothing at all to them. Was that your loquiri’s doing?” Andros wilted, cringing into Atjeh’s grip. The youngling glared at his Da, but continued rubbing his loquiri’s back gently. “Aye. A maid interrupted us while ah…opening to each other.” Yassin’s snicker in Kinyth’s mind was ribald, with images of their own warming the link the first few times. The lord swallowed around the light heat he felt rushing to his cheeks. “Aye, that can … create those rumors. Do take care to make sure no more rumors are spurred, ra.” “No…I..” Atjeh bit his lip. Andros stirred uneasily, sitting up to glance at him with wide, confused eyes. “I would like to encourage those rumors.” Andros stiffened. He rose to his feet abruptly, shaking his head vehemently. “No! Not you too!” “No, Andros,” Atjeh said quickly, rising as well and wrapping his arms around the trembling loquiri. “A game. A play. Such as a … a mummer’s dance.” His eyes slid to Kinyth and Nora pleadingly. “We could pretend to be…inclined…that way. So when we act like loquiri and Match, everyone will think we’re…” he swallowed, “Lovers.” “And what about your betrothed?” Kinyth’s eyes narrowed. “What will you do about her? You certainly cannot call off this wedding, nor can you accept that her Da will not challenge the fact that you carry on with another man, and a Guildsman at that. Nor can you tell Epona…not yet. Not until you’re sure.” As the brilliant edifice---or so Nora was sure the ra felt---of his plans came tumbling down about him, Atjeh’s face grew an alarming shade of angry crimson. “Well, what else can we do?” he snapped, shuddering with the force of his frustration. “You leave us no options at all! We cannot separate, nor go about openly, nor hide what we are. So what? What, Da?” He swung his head toward Nora. “Ma?” His eyes grew wide, and his lower lip trembled slightly. “I… I do not want us to d-die.” Nora dearly wanted to take her nu into her arms and comfort him, but looking at the young Guildsman curled fearfully up against Atjeh, she knew that to attempt to do so would likely be unforgivably foolish. Fortunately, Yassin knew his kind far better than did the Lady, and stepped forward swiftly to embrace both younglings, one arm firmly around Andros, the other only loosely encircling Atjeh. The younger loquiri tensed ever so slightly, but with the other’s contact with Atjeh so light, immediately relaxed. “Jeh, your Da said we’d not be leaving this room until a solution was found, remember?” Yassin said softly. He leaned slightly away from the two younglings to crouch before them, looking them both in the eyes for a grain before turning back to Atjeh. “Your Da is very smart, ra. As is your Ma.” He smirked slightly. “And I am not an idiot myself, and you are not an idiot, and I am sure Andros here is not an idiot. Between the five of us, I am sure we can come up with something. You will not die, and neither will your friend. We will figure something out.” Lady Nora blinked, “Actually…” Her face heated as four sets of eyes, two darkening once again with raw fear, and two others irritated, fell upon her. “Forgive me, I began poorly,” she murmured. “All that Yassin says is true, ras. In fact, I… believe I already have an idea.” They looked at her doubtfully, of course. Men… so focused on the challenges before them that they could not see the perfectly obvious solutions. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and smiled gently. “Atjeh has always been a good ra,” she said slowly, smile widening slightly as her nu flushed happily. She glanced toward her husband, lifting an eyebrow. “But perhaps no longer?” “Ma!” Atjeh protested, biting his lip. “I already said it was an acciden---“ Nora held up a hand to quiet him. “Nay, ra, you misunderstand me. Let me speak, hmm?” She glanced around at each of them in turn, black eyes falling upon the Eye on the inside of Andros’ wrist, her husband’s and son’s nearly identical angry expressions, Yassin’s quiet curiosity. This might almost be too easy… “Atjeh is eighteen, now. He is of an age when tis very natural for a ra to become somewhat rebellious, to act in ways that directly defy his parents’ wishes.” Before Atjeh could open his mouth to protest, she continued, eyes gleaming as she glanced at her husband next. “One day our nu will be a Lord of Apollar. The Lord of Apollar, if Lord Gyas’ house fails to recover their influence. He will need allies.” Her gaze shifted to Andros, settling upon the tattoo at his wrist. “Powerful allies.” Kinyth frowned. “Nora… Everyone at court knows my feelings toward the bloody Guild. They will never swallow such a---” He quieted at her stern and certainly less-than-demure glance. “Let me speak, I said?” she reminded him mildly enough, and her husband had the good grace to blush. She turned back to Atjeh and Andros, smiling fondly at her son. “The court certainly knows your feelings toward the Guild, but they do not know how Atjeh feels. I think tis only natural that a rebellious young ra, eager to establish his own name in court and to step out from beneath his Da’s shadow, might begin to seek allies among the people his Da has always told him to avoid, hmm?” “So, lead the court to believe that Andros is not Atjeh’s loquiri, nor his lover, but his new…Guild…friend?” Yassin murmured, cocking his head consideringly at the two younglings cuddling upon the cushions. “Tis so obvious that I cannot believe that we…” He shook his head, grinning sheepishly, and then smirked at the new loquiri and Match. “If we want to quiet some of the rumors already flying about, we will need to teach you two how not to behave in public, I think,” he chuckled quietly. “But aye… that may work quite well indeed.” |
| < > Epona always had a fondness for living things. When she tapped into her Gift, she could feel life beneath her palms, pulsing and warm, and with a little touch, she could make a plant grow or make a pony prance. It was why she wanted the greenhouse, much to Anisa’s dismay, and why she spent the time that she did with the horses. With a small grin, Epona coaxed a new shoot up and around its brother. In a few days she would make them move again, once they were stronger, and add another branch to the complex sculpture she had fixed her head. “Lady Epona?” She frowned and stilled. It was a servant, not her sister. Her sister, unnerved enough by the moisture in the air, always would send a servant to the greenhouse, and sometimes the servants would pretend they didn’t see her, too afraid of so much greenery in the desert. Once, when she was younger, one servant whispered that she had unnatural leanings of an evil sort. Anisa found out and the servant was dismissed, lucky to have been spared a beating. Footsteps approached. “Lady?” Inwardly sighing, she turned on her seat and grabbed her hairpins. “I am here, Mora. I suppose I am wanted?” The girl nodded, eyeing a small tree that had been molded into a globe about the size of her own head. “Aye. Your sister, Lady Anisa, has been pounding on the study door and insisting you come out for half a point. The seamstress is here.” Epona colored. “Kyda, I forgot about that. Don’t scowl at me, Mora, I can swear all I like. Here, help me please. In all this damp, my hair’s a mess.” After braiding and pinning the damp locks as best as possible, she followed the maid into her sister’s scowl. “Where have you been?” Anisa demanded, hands on hips. “The greenhouse. I’m sorry, Anisa, I forgot about the plans for today.” Anisa looked more harried than usual, worry lines in her face and thin lips drawn tight. Epona was about to ask about it but the seamstress, a small, bent woman of perhaps sixty seasons, firmly guided her to the center of the room and began getting her out of her dress. And none too gently. “If you are not in your study you’re in that blasted greenhouse, or outside with the workmen. The male workmen…” “Because I’m the one with the measurements and the calculations,” Epona responded, voice muffled by fabric. “I even took my parasol. That’s such a silly fashion you know…” “That’s not the point!” Epona winced. Something was bothering her sister. “It’s not the point,” Anisa repeated, trying to get her tone under control. “I don’t see why we need a second well, when we have water here in our manor.” She held up her hand when Epona tried to argue. “No, that’s not the point at all. The point is, will you continue this nonsense when you are married? Sometimes I think you will be fine, but other times I’m afraid…” her lips pursed again. The seamstress unwound her measure and Epona crossed her arms over her shift. “What’s wrong, Anisa?” “It is these…things…I’ve been hearing about your betrothed.” Epona stopped her and gave the seamstress a meaningful look until the older woman reluctantly left. Anisa glanced at her sister and nodded. “Aye, I forget, it is best that some things are said in private, but I think the whole of the Mara knows this now. Word is Atjeh has taken up with a Guildsman. A Guildsman!” She paled a little. A…Guildsman? My betrothed…Atjeh, has taken up with a Guildsman? “Surely this can’t be true.” “I’m afraid it is. Against his father’s wishes I might add. The young fool thinks it is wise to be friends with one of those…people.” Epona remained silent, considering. It is honestly not such a bad idea. Make friends with one’s enemies, it’s…clever. A small smile touched her lips. Her sister had fallen silent, worry still clouding her features. She was still hiding something. “What is it, Anisa? There’s something more. I know there is.” “It’s nothing. Just a vile, vicious rumor.” “Tell me, Anisa.” “It is not worth your time.” Epona frowned. “Tell me.” Her voice was firm and Anisa glanced at her uncomfortably. “It’s…well, I have heard from the maids that some believe that Atjeh and this Guildsman are lovers.” Epona’s eyes widened. “What? Who would say such a thing!” “I’m not sure,” Anisa raised her chin. “But such a thing is simply vile and I don’t want you to believe it. Lord Kinyth and Lady Nora have given no indication that your wedding will be called off, and once you two are married all these lies will be put to death.” She nodded, fear fluttering for a moment in her stomach. Is that what those ris were gossiping about at court? But no, Anisa is right, they would call off the wedding if something like that were true. Her fists clenched as anger began to replace fear. “How dare someone say such a thing.” Anisa nodded. “I know, but what can be done.” She frowned at her sister’s fists. “Stop that. I’ll get the seamstress.” < > Andros sighed wearily as he trudged down the hall, the faintest throb of the beginnings of Gift overuse mumbling in his head. Today had been a good day with Yassin and Atjeh. The lord’s loquiri had hit upon an excellent plan. Besides the mockery of Atjeh’s friendship with a young Guildsman, which had the Citadel elders alternately fawning and praising him until Andros was certain they would know his secret by the reddening of his cheeks, it gave him a source of training he had not expected. It was simply…ill advised…to continue sneaking to Lyrin’s study. How long before a Guildsman saw him go there? Until a maid let sleep that she had seen him? How would he explain then, how he could possibly have had dealings with a loquiri Master? But after Yassin had bellowed an insistence that, if Kinyth would not stop his ra from cultivating a friendship with the Guild, and then growling that he would at least watch what Atjeh said and did, in case the Guildsman should “bewitch” the lordling. Instead, they spent hours at a time practicing how to hide their natures, the quiet internal communication, and a host of things Andros had never dreamed a loquiri must use or understand to make the link more comfortable. The only drawbacks were the slow spiraling downward of his Gift, and the older loquiri’s quiet, but continued pressure toward a Bond. Things such as drawing Gift or vitality from his Match were not feasible, or at least did not work out well, without that stability. Nor could he tolerate being very far from his Match for very long, while Yassin seemed mostly unconcerned at the distance. Even now…Andros frowned, rubbing his chest and the dreamstone nestled beneath his tunic, as he stepped into his own, dim chambers. The ache of Atjeh’s distance gnawed on his chest. The Guildsman sighed and let his hand drop, before inching his way through the dark reception room. He had only so much Gift left; might as well light only the important lunes. Andros scuffed the last few steps to his own bed and sank onto its edge, resting his head in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he seized his Gift quickly, with a flinch of pain, and flung it outward to light the closest lune. Silver-blue light flooded the small, cramped bedroom, revealing a figure already sitting on the bed as well. Taniz smiled broadly and wrapped his arms about Andros to hug him close. “Ah..kadin,” his breath tickled the hair at the back of his neck. “I’ve missed you.” The younger Guildsman froze, some part of his mind screaming over and over again, Do not move, do not move, do not move, as though somehow this would discourage his Sian. “T-Taniz. What are you doing here?” he whispered, wanting to pull away but knowing that might only incite Taniz’s interest. As cold dread enfolded within him, he felt Atjeh’s mind move against his sluggishly, drawn up out of sleep. The loquiri allowed a single impression from his Match to get through---a man lifting his brows questioningly---before tightening his hold on the pair-link as much as he was able. Even with the dreamstone… Triad, Taniz was so close. It felt almost as though the pair-link were glowing in the dark. “What am I doing here?” the elder Guildsman muttered, hand reaching up to play with a lock of his kadin’s hair. Andros cringed involuntarily, shuddering in revulsion. “I have every right to be here.” He chuckled softly, but the younger Guildsman could hear a thread of danger running through the sound. “The real question is, where have you been?” Andros tried to pull casually away, to frame it as though he was merely… turning to look his Sian in the face, but Taniz’s arms tightened around his shoulders. “B-busy,” the loquiri whispered. “I… I’ve been---“ “Ah… yes,” Taniz said smoothly. “Spending all of your time with your new friend.” A needle of panic stabbed at the loquiri, but he quickly shoved it aside. If he showed fear, Taniz would certainly wish to “comfort” him. “My friend?” he asked as lightly as he could manage. “Lord Atjeh?” Hand running down his kadin’s chest now---Andros grew even more still, holding his breath as his body broke out in a cold sweat---Taniz nodded. His chin brushed Andros’ shoulder as he did so, and his breath was hot against his ear and his neck as he spoke, “Hardly a Lord, that one,” he snorted. “Just a scrawny little ra, disrespecting his sire.” Even though twas precisely the image Andros and Atjeh were working so very hard to portray, the loquiri could still not help but tense. And now Taniz’s hands did still briefly, and his head pulled ever so slightly back away from his kadin’s ear. “Ah. I had thought it only a rumor.” The thread of danger in his voice was much stronger now, thickening into a rope. “W-what?” Andros asked, trying once again to pull away. This time Taniz let him, and the loquiri moved away as quickly as his keen awareness of the predator upon the bed would allow, slipping from the mattress and rising to his feet. He crossed his arms stiffly over his chest, wanting to back all the way across the room but knowing both intuitively and from years of experience that such a thing would only encourage the older Guildsman to stalk after him. Taniz leaned back on his hands and gave his open-mouthed smile to his kadin. “Surely a little ra cannot take care of you, Andros. I know you like this little lordling---and Triad knows that we’ve encouraged your little dalliance, for eventually the whelp may make a strong ally---but you really must keep this in perspective.” He cocked his head, looking up at his kadin sympathetically for a long moment, before rising to his feet and crossing to Andros, resting heavy hands on the youngling’s shoulders and peering deeply into his eyes. “He will be a powerful Lord one day. You are of good Guild stock, but you are no aristocrat, let alone of Brakir’s line. His attention will turn to more… important things…” His thumb rubbed gently at Andros’ collarbone, until the kadin shuddered in sheer revulsion. “But I am here. I will always be here.” Andros automatically twisted aside when the Guildsman leaned in to embrace him. The Sian’s grip shifted to his wrists. “Taniz, please, I do not---“ “Aye, you do. You always have.” Taniz tugged him closer, jerking Andros forward a step. “Let me show you,” he said, reaching up to caress his hair, and meanwhile pressing his entire body against the kadin, forcing him back toward the bed. Panic unfolded. “D-don’t!” Taniz’s eyes narrowed. “What? Not good enough anymore?” He slapped the kadin back toward the bed, hand thrusting out toward his throat. Andros fell back without thought, his body instinctively moving to protect his windpipe. The mattress creaked resoundingly in the room as he landed hard upon it. “Perhaps I should have a little… talk… with this lordling, hmm? Set him straight, let him know that---“ Something inside simply… let loose. “Don’t you go anywhere near him!” Andros snarled. “Bloody ael kinth, stay away, or---“ “Be silent!” Taniz snapped. Andros did, not so much out of obedience as the sudden inability to draw air. He clawed at his throat, trying to inhale and feeling as though he was trying to draw the entire weight of the palace into his chest. He could not do it. “You seem to have forgotten something very important, little Sha. I am your Sian, and my word is law.” Andros grasped behind him, his fingers finding the tattered cloth of a pillow. He tugged on that, threw it toward the Guildsman. Taniz only chuckled dangerously, dodging aside and then advancing on his suffocating kadin. Andros tried to kick out, but his eyes were watering now and his chest burned and dizziness made the strike far weaker than it should have been. Taniz ignored it utterly, grabbing him forcefully by the jaw and driving his head back hard against the iron headboard. Light exploded behind the loquiri’s eyes, followed by screaming pain. Dimly, he felt Atjeh’s attention turn to him sharply, as part of his grip on the pair-link slipped. And still he could not breathe, the agony in his head and lack of air both darkening the edge of his vision. “I am your Sian, and my word is law,” Taniz reminded him. His voice sounded very far away, but still crystal clear as it pierced through the fog of receding consciousness. “Now, obey me. If you want to breathe, roll over.” Nausea rolling in his belly, and tears streaming down his cheeks---and somewhere far away, Atjeh’s mind, tumbling image after incomprehensible image toward him---Andros rolled onto his stomach. < > Yassin snapped awake at a hoarse cry, and then quickly rose from his pallet at the foot of Kinyth’s bed. The lord muttered in his sleep, mind rising in a drowsy question. Patting his Match’s foot absently, until Kinyth rolled over with a grumbled curse and went back to sleep, the loquiri stepped out into the hall. Light streamed beneath the ra’s door to his adjoining suite. Yassin rested his hand against the hilt of his shitan and crept forward. Atjeh’s voice, though muffled, was distinctly first cursing, and then moaning softly, before rising in angry growls as the door suddenly swung open. Barely clad in his tunic, fumbling with his belt, the youngling staggered into the hall and then seized his shitan, teeth flashing in the dim light as he clenched them tight. “Kyda! I’ll slaughter them! Kill them all!” Yassin blinked. Either the ra had gone mad, or was having a terrible nightmare. Or…a sinking feeling uncoiled in his belly. The Guild was known for midnight raids, especially on one of their own. Eyes narrowing into slits, Atjeh bellowed, “I’m coming!” and spun on his heel. The older loquiri’s eyes widened and he dashed in the youngling’s direction, hands whipping out to catch the ra’s wrist as he slashed his shitan toward the advancing shape, and then firmly clutched him to his chest. “Hush. Shh, ra.” “Yassin…you’ve got to…Andros…” The lordling squirmed in his grasp, anger leaking into terror. “Let me go to him!” “And how will you explain a mad rush through the Guild wing, ra? After a casual friend?” “Yassi…you don’t understand…” Atjeh began to sob, clawing at Yassin’s arms. “Taniz is…hurting him.” His lower lip trembled and he groaned, clenching his eyes closed and burying his head against the older loquiri’s chest. “Kyda…it’s…terrible.” Heart sinking to the floor, Yassin gently stroked the youngling’s hair. “If the Guild has discovered the truth, there is nothing you can do for him. They have no problem kidnapping you, lord’s heir or no.” “N—no. Taniz doesn’t know. He just…” Atjeh grimaced, and shuddered hard. “You can’t tell Da. You can’t tell anyone,” he whispered. “Yassi, Taniz forces Andros. They used to … Match weakly. So he..he wanted to be touched and Taniz…” he shook again, and pushed against Yassin’s chest. “Please, let me go to him!” The loquiri sucked in a horrified breath, and his eyes narrowed into fierce, burning anger. To use a loquiri’s instincts so..turning them into something vile and nasty such as that. Kyda! And they called the loquiri a perversion. Yassin bit his lip hard and turned Atjeh about, though he held him firmly. “Listen now, ra. You can go to him. But not as you are now. Frantic and knowing something is wrong? They’ll know and be suspicious.” The loquiri frowned as his spurt of anger stirred Kinyth’s mind against his. Yas? the lord said drowsily, What’s wrong? Explain later. Just…give me a moment. Said that last time, Humor trickled faintly into the link. No more surprises…I hope. Yassin closed his eyes. Go to sleep, Kin he said soothingly, brushing Gift through the link until his Match settled once more, before he focused on Atjeh’s face. Even in the dim gleam from the lunes within the suite, and faint touch of silvery moonlight from skylights above, he could see the taut fear and worry across the youngling’s face. The ra shivered in his grasp, face twisting in dismay and misery periodically, wincing as his loquiri apparently was being…tormented. Yassin gently stroked his hair. “Shh, ra. Take a deep breath.” He rested his hand on each shoulder. “Now then, you are going to go visit your friend. You have the key he gave you? Good. Go and visit…” he bent down, keeping his gaze stern into the wide chocolate-brown of his charge’s eyes. “You are not surprised. More jealous than anything else. Andros is your lover and friend. Remember that.” “Yas…” “Can you remember that?” he snapped. Atjeh bit his lip and nodded mutely, tears filling his eyes. “Oh Yassin…” The older loquiri swallowed hard, aware of his own chest’s ache of sympathy and dread for the other young, frightened loquiri. “Let’s go to him,” he said softly, resting his hand on Atjeh’s shoulder. And together they walked—past occupied rooms---and ran down the corridor, hurrying to the Guild wing. < > Eyes tightly closed and pair-link held close, Andros tried to will away the sensations. His Sian had forced him to strip out of his clothing, and now he shivered as both intense revulsion and chill swept through him. He did his best to pretend none of this was happening. Not Taniz’s weight upon him, nor his Sian’s quiet croon of pleasure, nor the warm breath at his ear, nor the hands and fingers…the touching…. Andros groaned, bursting into tears without meaning to. Taniz chuckled dryly and slapped him. The loquiri tasted blood. “Hush, kadin. Guildsmen have control, aye?” “Taniz…” Another slap, to the back of his head were blood already matted his hair. “Sian” he growled, and pressed down upon him again, elbow in his back. “Ah, it seems you still have not learned proper respect, little Sha.” He stroked his fingers through Andros’ hair, then down the back of his neck. The loquiri shook in miserable revulsion. “Get off!” he groaned, trying to rise, only to feel air vanish again, followed by a punch to his ribs. “Lie still, kadin. And maybe I’ll leave by morning.” Taniz’s voice was softly mocking as he leaned forward, nibbling at Andros’ ear. “We should have such fun all night. Hmm?” From the reception room, a door clicked, followed by voices calling his name. Andros stiffened. Atjeh’s voice. “No…” he mumbled, and shoved upward, only to feel Taniz’s weight glide away from him suddenly. Pain screamed through the loquiri. Gagging, he swallowed hard and scooted across the bed. The elder Guildsman scowled at the closed bedroom door, and then at his kadin. A slow, open-mouthed smile spread across his features. “Seems your lordling came right to me. I will speak with him. You are going to stay right there.” Taniz leaned closer, clenching his kadin’s jaw and digging his fingers into the skin. “If you move from here, or run out the window again,” he hissed, grinning as Andros' eyes widened. “I will find you, and then I’ll use you until you can’t walk straight.” With another firm shove, slamming Andros’ head against the headboard once more, Taniz whirled and stalked into the other room, shutting the door firmly behind him. < > Yassin squeezed Atjeh’s shoulder firmly as the back bedroom door opened, and then he pulled away and made a point of examining the lunes upon the bookcases, tables and a wall nook within Andros’ reception room. Angry as he was, twas not terribly difficult to tone down his feelings slightly, to reshape his expression into something more akin to annoyance and disapproval than the murderous rage he was feeling. He could only imagine what Taniz must have thought when the Guildsman stepped into the room and found himself face-to-face with Atjeh. The sneer that crossed Taniz’s face upon seeing the ra standing there in his night tunic, a wine bottle clutched in one hand and a key in the other, deeply suggested that he had expected Atjeh’s arrival. That he was possibly even pleased by it. But the sudden frown that flashed across his face---and the flicker of uncertainty darkening his eyes---as his gaze took in Yassin as well strongly suggested that he had not anticipated the lordling being accompanied by an armed loquiri. “Who are you?” Atjeh demanded, and the loquiri could have hugged the ra for the way he managed to look at once uncertain and also ever-so-slightly drunk. Taniz glanced from the wine bottle in the youngling’s hands to the redness of his eyes. At least Atjeh’s face was no longer blotchy with tears and anger, Yassin realized, but instead smoothed out to a cold---if slightly soused---aristocratic mask. “You must be Atjeh,” Taniz crooned, looking the youngling up and down. It took every ounce of Yassin’s self control not to reach for his shitans. “I believe Andros may have mentioned you… once.” The ra’s eyes narrowed, and then he scanned the Guildsman much as Taniz had done to him, managing to take in the bare feet, the barely-fastened robe, the dangerous smile, and the touseled, sweat-dampened hair all without looking in the slightest bit impressed, disgusted or frightened. Only his white-knuckled grip on the wine bottle gave any indication of his anger and terror. “If he told you about me, then surely he told you my title, Guildsman.” Taniz’s eyes narrowed, and Yassin stepped forward automatically, hands dropping to the hilts of his shitans. The Guildsman scowled at the loquiri and then at the ra. “He mentioned that you were a Lord’s son---“ “A Lord’s son is still to be addressed as ‘my lord’,” Atjeh snapped, allowing some of the rage he felt to darken his brown eyes to almost a muddy black. “Do not disrespect me again. Now… Why are you here? And where is Andros?” Again came that open-mouthed sneer. Yassin shuddered with hatred and loathing even as Atjeh stood impassively before the smile. “My… lord, I am Andros’ Sian.” His grin widened, as though to suggest and so much more. “I am afraid the ra is not feeling terribly well.” He flicked his fingers toward the front door. “You will have to come play some other day.” Atjeh crossed his arms. “I do not think so.” He tipped the wine bottle idly, his eyes never leaving the Guildsman. “Andros promised me we would share a libation this eve. I am afraid you will have to go.” “My lor---“ “Now.” Taniz arched a brow and his chin came up slightly, defiance gleaming across his features. The look dimmed as Yassin, with a muttered curse, stepped in front of Atjeh, half-drawing one shitan. “Are you disobeying a direct command, Guildsman?” The Sian’s mouth twisted into a slow scowl, breaking again into that open-mouthed leer. “For now, I will go, as it pleases you, my lord.” He cocked his head. “But I will see you again, ra.” He laughed as Atjeh’s eyes narrowed. “Or at least my disobedient kadin, my lord.The Guild oversees its own punishment.” Dipping his head in a mocking bow, which had Yassin growling under his breath once more, Taniz strode out with calm strides. Atjeh held his body tense and angry until the door closed softly, and Yassin slid the bolt home. Then, shoving the bottle toward his Da’s loquiri’s waiting hands, the lordling strode into the back bedroom. < > Huddled in a corner of the mattress, clutching his blanket close to himself as if he were a ra in need of safety, Andros’ eyes snapped to his Match as Atjeh strode within. Hurt and revulsion competed with shame, and the Guildsman immediately began to sob, head dropping to his chest. The quick glance was quite enough. Blood smeared his lip and side of his face, likely from a beating his Sian had given him; new bruises decorated his ribs and arms. Through the pair-link, other pain besides the visible floated to him, fiercely curtailed as the loquiri scrambled for some control over the link between them. Gently but firmly, Atjeh pushed aside his attempt and opened the pair-link, before holding out his hands to the miserable loquiri. “Come here.” “So vile….so terrible. Not me. Not me. Just a…a tool and vessel, he slapped Atjeh’s hands away. “Go find a good loquiri. A worthy one.” Biting his lip, Atjeh caught his loquiri’s shoulders and pulled him off the bed, ignoring his quiet protests and wrenching sobs. “Aye, I know it hurts. But off the bed. Here now, with me.” The youngling scowled faintly. No, even that would not work. Andros stood in front of him, trembling, eyes darting fearfully toward the door and the window and finally expression crumbling as Yassin stepped in with a worried look. “Kyda…” Atjeh mumbled. “He can’t stay here.” “No, he cannot,” the older loquiri said softly. The lordling reached for his loquiri, face twisting as grief and disgust poured over the link, and bit his lip hard as Andros jerked away. His hands rubbed one over the other, touching the Eye, and then away again. “No good. Just a…a perversion.” He pushed Atjeh away again, firmly enough that the ra stumbled, and dropped down onto the bed again, face in his hands. “Go ‘way.” Yassin frowned. “Andros—“ “Go!” The older loquiri bit his lip. “Get him dressed and we’ll go to your room.” He sighed. “I will tell Kinyth your excuses. I think you’re going to have a terrible hangover tomorrow, and spend all day with your friend,” he inclined his head toward Andros. “No!” Andros shook his head. “Leave me. Leave me a..alone,” he dropped his head again, and started sobbing in earnest. Yassin closed his eyes wearily. “Jeh, you will need to insist. If he stays here, Taniz will find him again and punish him anew, I’m sure. And he needs you desperately.” < > Getting Andros dressed was somewhat easier than Atjeh had expected it to be, though he felt terrible doing it. Sobbing and in pain, the loquiri was not much able to fight back, not after his Match spread soothing Gift over him to calm his protests and quell his struggles, not after the lordling opened the pair-link wide to discourage the Guildsman from striking out at him and to help give what relief he could, not as Atjeh tugged a tunic and breeches onto the helplessly-sobbing loquiri's body. Knowing as he did that Andros did not want his help, did not wish to get dressed or to be moved or tended, it felt nearly as bad as what Taniz had done to use the Gift and the pair-link to force Andros to cooperate. Or so it felt to Atjeh as he tended his loquiri. But it had to be done. When at last the loquiri was dressed in the most lightweight tunic and breeches Atjeh had been able to find, the lordling gently coaxed him out of his bedroom, allowing Yassin to fall in at Andros' other side as the weeping, grimacing loquiri walked stiffly toward the front door of his suite. He still muttered self-depreciating comments under his breath and pleaded for his Match to leave him be, but weary from Atjeh's soothing Gift and at least one half of an open pair-link---he still had a death-grip upon his own side---his words simply did not have as much vehemence as they had held earlier. "Hush," Atjeh soothed once again, walking slowly down the hall with Andros' arms draped over his own and Yassin's shoulders. "You are the best loquiri I could ask for. I do not want another. I want you. Hush now." Yassin tolerated a few of these slow, plodding steps down the corridor, and then finally slung the Guildsman over his shoulder. He did not wish to remain in the Guild wing one instant longer than necessary, and watching Andros' face as he took each painful step was an agony of an entirely different sort. "Come, ra," the older loquiri said, gesturing for Atjeh to come closer to him. He balanced the drowsily protesting Guildsman with one hand, and rested his hand on his shitan with the other. "We need to get out of here. Stay close." Even carrying Andros, it felt like an eternity before they reached Atjeh's bedroom. Yassin carried the Guildsman inside, and began to stride into the lordling's room. "No!" Atjeh snapped, then bit his lip and swallowed, hard. "No," he said less sharply, nodding toward the divan. "He...just... Not the bed, Yassi." The older loquiri grimaced in understanding, laying the weeping youngling down as gently as he could. Andros had squeezed his eyes closed tightly, although whether in pain or to try to hold back tears, Yassin did not know. He reached down, gently touching the still-wet blood matting the right side of the younger loquiri's face, and bit his lip. "He needs a healer." Immediately, Andros' eyes flew open. "N-no!" Atjeh stroked the Guildsman's dark hair, but bit his lip and glanced up at Yassin. "A healer might sense the pair-link, aye?" "Aye," Yassin said softly. "We will use the palace healer. He tends Chrys himself, no? If the Fay-el can trust him, so can we, I think." Still the ra hesitated, his eyes dark as he watched Andros' face. The Guildsman had closed his eyes again, more out of weariness, Yassin thought as he felt the prickle of Atjeh's Gift again, than anything else. "Can we not just give him a Mending?" Yassin winced. He really did not want to explain such things to a ra. Atjeh had already been exposed to so much this night. But... "Jeh, he could be worse than just bruises and... and rough handling. You see his head, and one of his ribs could be broken." He hesitated, feeling ill. "And if there was... was tearing, or if Taniz had a disease..." Andros broke into helpless sobs again, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his hands. Gently, Atjeh ran his fingers through the loquiri's hair, ignoring the blood that came away from the back of his head as he did so except to frown at it worriedly. "Aye," he said softly. "Get Yasej." < > The court healer, Yasej, was a narrow man with a narrow face, and a narrow nose, but like most healers he was strictly business, or at least his face was trained to give that impression. When he first came into the room on Yassin’s heels he only paused for a fraction of a moment in surprise before approaching, Andros, huddled up miserably next to his match. The loquiri whimpered as the healer crouched next to him, the tears beginning to well again in his eyes. Atjeh’s own sought out, desperation filling them and Yassin cringed inwardly. The ra was strong though and squeezed his loquiri’s shoulder. “It’s…it’s for the best, I promise.” Yasej took no notice, or pretended not to, which, Yassin couldn’t say for certain, and seized his Gift. A sob tore through Andros’ throat and he saw Atjeh’s fingers on the man’s shoulder tightened. Then just as quickly, Yasej released and sat back on his heels. “Ra,” he said to Atjeh, “turn his face towards me so that I might see the wound.” Atjeh and Yassin traded glances at the question asked by a man who was used to dealing with loquiris and Yassin gave a firm nod. Atjeh did as he was told and Yasej gave a small ‘mhmm’ noise in the back of his throat. He seized the Gift a second time and again came the small ‘mhmm.’ “Well?” Atjeh’s voice almost cracked. Yasej glaced at him. “I will give him a light Mending on the ribs and some of the more…visible injuries.” “A light Mending! But…” “The body is already fatigued,” Yasej said through Atjeh’s protests. “The amount of energy it will have to expound on a heavy Mending will only make matters worse.” His lips tightened every so slightly. “But I must do a light Mending unless you want me to touch him to bind his ribs.” The last was said meaningfully. Andros shivered again his words and Atjeh’s grip around him turned protective, but a blush betrayed him. Yasej raised a brow. “I thought not.” Turning he opened his kit and, mumbling to himself, brought out a small vial. “He will need to drink this in the morning. It will help warm the muscles and also has the added benefit of helping protect against infection. I suggest he rests tomorrow and recovers.” Wordlessly Atjeh took the small vial and nodded. Yassin cleared his throat. “Anything…major we need to know about.” Yasej glanced between the two of them and rose. Stepping away from the loquiri, he gestured for both of them to join him. “I think,” Yassin began only after Yassin gave Atjeh a hard look to come away from the loquiri, “that there is another…ah issue. You see there is scarring which indicates repeat injury. I don’t think I need to say more? No? Good. With repeated injury, it is best to get the person away from the place where…they keep injuring themselves.” Although Yasej was speaking to Yassin and Atjeh, Yassin knew his voice was loud enough for the loquiri to hear it. Whether or not the healer could feel Andros’s reluctance to leave through his healing arts, the elder loquiri couldn’t say. Atjeh jerked his head. “I…I want to, I’ve been trying to. After this…” he curled his hands into fists. “We have to.” “I would suggest you try harder.” The healer squeezed Atjeh’s shoulder hard and released it. “I also suggest that you not do this…ah…alone. It will wear on your body as well.” Atjeh shot Yassin an accusatory look but the elder loquiri shook his head. He had not explained the situation to the healer before hand. “I…Aye,” the lordling nodded stiffly. “Good.” After Yasej performed the Mending, leaving Andros asleep against Atjeh’s shoulder, Yassin caught his arm. “My lord, just in case, I think you should know that Lord Atjeh’s been drinking somewhat heavily tonight. And even though he has seen eighteen cycles, he is still a youngling. He may have a bit of a hangover in the morning…and may be in need of your services. Would you be available if needed.” Yasej gave the loquiri a narrow smile. “Aye Lord Yassin I can be.” Without another word, the healer silently left the room and Yassin turned his attention back to the lordling. “Ra…we are going to have to face your parents soon.” Atjeh bit his lip. “Aye…I know,” he murmured softly, stroking Andros’s hair. “We can…just…just give me a little bit.” A question drifted through the pair link and Yassin closed his eyes. “Atjeh…I will see what I can do.” < > With the Mend rushing through him, Andros slept well enough on the divan, without moving or giving any sign that he was bothered by ill dreams. Atjeh slept on a small pallet at his side, reluctant to be far from his frightened loquiri. Yassin, thankfully, did manage to convince Kinyth to wait to hear the tale of the night in the morning, when all were better rested. Atjeh groaned, awakening stiffly to the feel of fingers brushing through his hair. He opened his eyes and smiled. Andros smiled back faintly, leaning off the edge of his divan to touch his Match. “Good morning, Jeh,” he said softly. “Morning,” Atjeh responded, rising and rubbing his back at the stiffness there. “How do you feel?” “Well enough,” Andros straightened, his hold on the pair-link tightening to Atjeh’s frown. He reached out, fingers massaging his Match’s shoulder and the tight knots there. “Shouldn’t have slept on the floor.” The lordling shrugged. “I wanted to be with you.” The Guildsman’s eyes grew hooded. The lordling bit his lip, feeling a small touch of guilt and sadness briefly tinge the pair-link between them, before even that tiny sensation vanished away. Atjeh scowled. “Don’t push me away.” Andros shrugged and sat up, folding his hands in his lap. “Yasej left a draught, aye?” he said quietly. “Aye, but…” “I should drink it in the morn?” Atjeh rolled his eyes. “Fine.” After coaxing the healer’s draught down his loquiri’s throat, and then encouraging him to lie on the divan and rest, Atjeh left him there, intending to speak with his Da and Ma about the events of last night. By now, Kinyth was at least aware of Yassin’s hiding something, if not the actual circumstance itself. But as Atjeh stepped up to his Da’s door, swallowing nervously as Yassin, with a wan smile, motioned him inside—a resounding crash made him jerk in surprise, made more so by the definite rush of anger, marked by blood-red rubies, alight with inner fire, within his mind. Yassin’s eyes widened as well. “He didn’t…the window?” The older loquiri rushed to the door into Atjeh’s bedroom, swinging it wide, and then gaping as the Guildsman growled at him. A nice, round hole in the window pane marked where something had met its demise, likely one of his Da’s very expensively procured lunes, as Andros held a second one in his hand, knuckles whitening about it. He glared at Yassin. “I hate them,” he snarled. “Hate the Guild. Hate Taniz. Hate them all!” the second lune hit the wall. Atjeh and Yassin alike winced as silver-blue light flared, before fading as nothing but shards of pale glass and a damp spot upon the wall remained. Andros bent down, and straightened with a wad of already used scrolls, scribbled with his own handwriting. “Liars! Filthy…dirty…” he lapsed into a dialect Atjeh did not know, but the way his lips twisted the words, and his hands systematically shredded the parchments, spoke volumes of the meaning. Atjeh bit his lip and started to step forward. “Andros?” Yassin caught the lordling by the scruff of the neck, and gently tugged him back. “Leave him.” “Yassi?” “Leave him be. Shamed no longer, aye?” The lordling swallowed hard. “No. He’s…angry…furiously, maddeningly angry.” “How would you feel, ra, to have been used as Taniz did to him. The feelig of…helplessness and shame. And then to submit to a healer, for fear of disease or some such, knowing that now I know, and Yasej knows…” Flushing hotly, the youngling nodded. “Aye. I … I think I understand. A little.” A plant was next, sitting demurely in a tan pot. Dirt and bits of leaves spattered the ground. Cushions next, guts of stuffing spilling out in a growing mess around the irate young loquiri. He winced in pain periodically, but was clearly too busy venting his anger to rest. Yassin gently nudged Atjeh back, and then shut the door, muffling the sounds of the Guildsman’s destructive rampage. “Let us speak with your Da, hmm?” he smiled wanly as the youngling sighed. “By the time he’s done scolding you, then Andros will be calm, no?” Lady Nora and Lord Kinyth were breakfasting in their suite, and a place had already been set out for their nu to join them at the small table in their reception room. Empty dishes suggested Yassin had eaten already---and quickly---but a platter of fresh figs, persimmons and blood oranges remained, and some long departed palace servant had brought sweet rice spiced with cinnamon for the Lady and her son and a blend of quinoa and spices that even Atjeh found too hot this early in the morning for the Lord. Flagons of kolinar had been placed before each adult, and Atjeh’s shoulders wilted slightly as he saw that he alone had been brought a cup of pomegranate juice. Of course. His Ma smiled welcomingly at him, but Kinyth only scowled at his son, his expression relaxing ever so slightly as Yassin peeled away from the ra’s side and stepped behind Kinyth to wrap his arms around his Match’s shoulders. “Ra, you’re looking rather weary,” Kinyth commented. He cocked his head slightly, scrutinizing his nu with keen gray eyes. “Did your loquiri keep you up all night?” He chuckled, his laugh slightly ribald, but when Yassin did not join him and Atjeh only bit his lip, he glanced worriedly from the youngling up to his own loquiri. His eyes narrowed. “Or were you awake all eve with whatever had Yassin wandering about the palace in the dark of the night?” “Love,” Nora sighed, shaking her head ever so slightly at her husband. “Let him sit down and eat before you plague him with questions, hmm?” Her black eyes found Yassin’s face, and she smiled fondly, if in a concerned way. “I am sure Yassi would not have fetched him so early had he not thought the ra had somewhat he needed to tell us. But it can wait until he has eaten, hmm?” “Aye,” Kinyth said grudgingly, sweeping a hand toward the food that had been put out for his son. “Eat, nu.” Grateful not only at the opportunity to put off explaining for just a little longer, but also at the invitation, the ra collapsed to his cushion and fell upon the food hungrily. When he drained his pomegranate juice in only a few long pulls, Yassin quietly reached past his Match for the pitcher of kolinar. Nora’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Yassi, you know I do not like him having kolinar,” she said sternly as the loquiri filled the ra’s flagon half full. “I know,” he murmured, giving Kinyth a reassuring smile as the Lord also scowled at him. “But he has been awake most of the night, and his Gift is a bit low. Just this once, aye ra?” “Aye,” Atjeh mumbled gratefully around a cheek full of rice. His Ma turned her frown to him, but he simply was not much in the mood for polite table manners, and ignored her, chewing quickly, draining the kolinar, and reaching for the fruit. Sighing, the Lord and Lady sat back and simply waited, watching with well-bred patience as their child rapidly demolished the remaining food upon the table with the single-minded efficiency of any youngling. Atjeh, meanwhile, worked quickly through his mind what he wanted to say, leaving out the parts that he knew Andros would not wish to be revealed in favor of telling his Ma and Da only what they needed to know. Yassi poured him another, smaller measure of kolinar, patting the ra’s dark hair as Atjeh sipped at it a little more luxuriously this time, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Well?” Kinyth at last growled as the nu eyed stray pieces of rice in his bowl as though contemplating eating even these tiny bits of food. Atjeh flushed, nibbled his lip, and finally put his spoon aside. “Alright. I, um… Andros, he…” The ra turned to Yassin for help. The loquiri shook his head sternly. “Tis not my tale to tell, ra,” he murmured. Catching his lip once again between his teeth, the youngling nodded. “Aye.” He swallowed. Just keep it simple, he cautioned himself, and took a deep breath. “Andros was attacked last night. By.his… his Sair.” Nora’s eyes widened and her hand fluttered near her chest. “Kyda! Is he well?” Atjeh swallowed. “He… is recovering. We---Yassi and I---had a healer see him last night. A healer we could trust,” he added quickly, as a look of alarm crossed both his Ma and Da’s faces. “He gave him a Mending, and a draught to take this morning to help him… help him heal.” A faint blush suffused his cheeks, and a wash of anger, but he ignored it, plowing on. “He is supposed to rest all today, and the healer says I should stay at his side.” Lord Kinyth immediately frowned. “Atjeh, you have already been avoiding court long enough---“ Atjeh shook his head vehemently. “You will have to make excuses for me, Da. The healer said he would come visit this morning to help me with my hangover. The court will not be so surprised to hear that I have been displeasing my lord father by drinking to excess, aye?” “Aye,” Kinyth growled, leaning forward. “But remember that all of these bloody rumors you create, while helping hide your pair-link, are also reflecting poorly upon our family’s reputation!” He thrust a finger at his son. “What will your betrothed’s family think?” Yassin’s hands tightened over so slightly on his Match’s shoulders. “Kiny… Andros needs Atjeh today. Badly.” The loquiri did not relent when the Lord cast an annoyed but now mildly concerned glance at him. “The ra was hurt badly,” he added quietly. “Alright,” Kinyth sighed. He frowned at Atjeh. “Anything else?” His face softened slightly. “Does he need a healer again, ra?” Atjeh shook his head after a moment’s thought. “Nay. At least, I do not think so. As long as he rests he should be… fine.” He frowned, aware dimly still of Andros prowling through his suite, looking for things to break. The loquiri’s anger had calmed---slightly---but he was still in a plainly destructive mood. The pain of moving about so much would likely drive him to rest soon, however. Atjeh sighed. Kyda help him if he would let his Da know about that. He’d have to figure out a way to explain it. Later. “But… um… there is more, Da.” The Lord’s eyes narrowed. “What now?” Tucking his lip between his teeth, the ra hesitated for a moment, then swallowed. “I think I may have angered a Guildsman. I had to chase Taniz---Andros’ Sian---out of his room so that he would stop… stop hurting him,” he said quietly. “He said he would see me again.” Lord Kinyth let out a long breath and settled back in his chair, eyes narrowing even further. “Ra…” he began, menacingly, “every time I speak with you it seems to be something new. But, Kyda, threats from a Guildsman?” Fear wrote feathery lines on Lady Nora’s brow. “Atjeh…” “No,” Kinyth stood, fingers splayed on the long table. “This is ridiculous. The Guild may have suffered some disgrace from Gyas but they are by no means to be taken lightly.” “I know that Da! That’s why we’re cultivating a friendship.” Kinyth held up a hand. “Aye, you have, but that illusion may be broken if Taniz catches you. You may be broken if Taniz catches you.” Atjeh raised his chin, defiance with a hint of fear sparking in his eyes. “I won’t let him. He can’t…” “He may be able to, ra,” Nora’s voice was soft. “Guildsman haven’t become powerful by being stupid. I cannot speak for this Taniz, but arrogance and will power will take a man far. I think this is a sign that we may need to leave.” Kinyth nodded, relaxing slowly under Yassin’s gentle fingers. “Aye,” he sank into his chair, “which means the two of you need to Bond.” Atjeh looked pained. “I don’t think he is…ready, quite yet Da. Especially after…after this attack.” “He had better become ready.” Nora placed a hand on her husband’s arm and he calmed. “It would be wise, especially now as there is a threat to you. I hope Andros will also the wisdom in this?” Atjeh shrugged. “Regardless, We are leaving tomorrow. You are coming with us. If Andros comes, that is his own affair. If this link is there, and it is strong, he may not even have to be bonded to follow of his own accord.” Yassin nodded from his place behind his Match. “Aye, ra, tis true.” He smiled faintly. “If you two have bonded or not by this point, again that is your affair,” Kinyth continued, voice becoming gruffer. “I suggest you do, ra, but I will not sit here and allow my family to be put in more danger because your bloody loquiri is too afraid to bond my nu who has proven himself several times to be trustworthy. I know this Guildsman is probably acting alone, but the sooner we are away from him, the better.” He stood again and this time offered his arm to his wife. “I suspect you had better speak to your loquiri, nu.” And with no other words, Lord Kinyth and Lady Nora swept from the room. < > Cringing as the faint reminders of his pain twinged with every motion—his destructive spree had not been a good idea, in hindsight—Andros sat on the edge of the divan, eyes narrowing as his Match joined him. Hesitance warred with guilt in Atjeh’s mind, the images congealing mostly in forms of Derk-ra, or twisted pines such as Andros had never seen before, rugged beauty in some way. The Guildsman bit his lip, and shook his head vehemently as Atjeh started to speak. “No.” He scowled, arms crossed, his anger barely corralled enough to keep him from stalking in the small space again. “I want to go home. Now.” Atjeh’s face fell. “Andros…you can’t. You can’t go back to your rooms—“ “Home!” Andros snapped. “Take me to Apollar.” “Really? Truly?” the lordling’s face lit with relief, the little bit of guilt---a hiding Derk-ra—vanishing away as he stepped closer, dropping his head and wrapping his arms around Andros. “You’ll come with me?” “Aye,” the Guildsman patted the ra’s back, resting his head against Atjeh’s shoulder. “If you’ll have me. I…I can’t stay here,” he mumbled. “Taniz…I know him…he…” the loquiri swallowed hard. “He holds grudges.” Atjeh’s grip tightened. “He can’t get to you. I won’t let him.” “Aye,” Andros chuckled. “I feel the same for you. But…not here. He has spies and drudges and paid-off guards and…” he shivered, “Not in Ratacca Korr. Not safe so long as he is here.” He shifted uneasily, biting his lip. Soothing bits of Atjeh’s Gift floated toward him. Andros shuddered, and lightly tapped his Match’s shoulder. “No…I was just…thinking.” Dropping his head, he cuddled close to the ra’s neck, fingers combing through his hair. “Jeh..do you…do you really want me?” Andros closed his eyes. “I—I understand, if you want…find…a better loquiri for you. Braver.” Atjeh leaned back, brown eyes wide, and rested one hand on each of the Guildsman’s shoulders. “No!” he said fiercely. “You’re the best I could get. I want you, not someone else.” “Are you…are you sure, ra?” Andros glanced away, studying his hands and rubbing the Eye as it sizzled with pain at his next words. “It would not…hurt me…if you should choose another.” Atjeh’s arms wrapped around him in a firm embrace. “No. You’re the one I want. No matter what happens.” Clutching his loquiri closer, he pulled his head to his chest. Andros sighed, eyes closed in contentment, at the steady beat of Atjeh’s heart beneath his ear. “Then…ra…if you’re sure—“ “Absolutely.” “Would you… ah…” he sighed as Atjeh’s fingers found the Eye at his wrist. “Could you…summon…” he swallowed hard, voice softening. “Summon Lyrin.” The lordling’s hands stilled. Fingers cupped Andros’ chin, bringing his head up, dark brown meeting wide green. “You need Lyrin?” he said quietly, voice calm even though the link gleamed with suppressed hope. “Aye..I need him to…” Andros took a deep breath. “To Bond.” Joy. The link brightened with the relief and happiness of his Match, enough so that Andros shivered happily. “Kyda, Jeh,” he said, faint smile trickling over his face, “It means so much to you?” “Aye, because…Da said…it’s just wonderful!” he hugged Andros close again. His grip faltered slightly, hands cupping the Guildsman’s chin again, thumb rubbing his jawline until he sighed, groaning in pleasure. “Are you sure, Andros? Are you ready for this?” Chuckling dryly, Andros closed his eyes. “Absolutely.” Atjeh laughed happily and snuggled close to him. “I think Yassin is going to be feeling ill soon, hmm?” he mumbled, grinning slyly up at his loquiri. The Guildsman nodded, grinning back. “Lyrin should visit him, hmm?” He closed his eyes, tugging Atjeh closer to him. Gently, his fingers stroked the lordling’s hair. “I…I love you, Jeh,” he said softly. “And…” he bit his lip, and cuddled into the youngling. “I..I trust you,” he whispered. < > Nora and Kinyth were so pleased to hear that Andros had finally “seen reason” that not only did they happily spread whatever excuses Atjeh gave them liberally about the court that day---complaining of their son’s drunkenness, his surliness, his disrespect for his elders, his lamentable friendship with the bloody Guildsman---but the Lord also gave up his loquiri’s company so that Yassin could oversee the preparations for the younglings’ Bonding. Master Lyrin, too, was pleased by the news, although far more cautious. “I do not do this often,” he murmured, handing Yassin an amber and emerald satchel. “Especially not with a growing youngling. But… I daresay it will help, in this instance.” The older loquiri pulled back the drawstring and lifted an eyebrow at the contents therein. Then he blinked, concern flitting over his face, and the Master nodded soberly. “Aye. Tis three parts green and one part red. Start Atjeh on normal green kolinar three points before the rite, but have Andros begin drinking this now, and give him a half-flagon every couple of points until tis time.” He glanced sideways at the young loquiri and Match, who were speaking quietly with Lord Veritas, who---along with Yassin---would be helping oversee their Bonding that night. No other loquiris could entirely be trusted. “He is high Gifted, so I am not overly concerned, but his Gift is still a little lower than I’d like. He was Mended recently?” “Aye,” Yassin said softly, not elaborating. He had not had to tell the Master that much; the half-faded bruises and weakness of the younger loquiri’s Gift told the story quite adequately, even if Lyrin did not know the precise details. The young Master nodded sagely. “I would prefer to wait another day, to let his Gift and body recover---perhaps have him Mended once again---but I see that the situation has become more urgent. You are leaving on the morrow? Aye, then Lord Veritas and I will return at eighth point.” The young loquiri and Match spent the remainder of the day quietly cloistered with Yassin, who explained in practical terms what would happen during the Bonding, what they must do, and how they would feel during and after. All the while he monitored their Gifts, so that by the time Master Lyrin and the royal loquiri returned that eve, the two younglings could barely sit still for the energy coursing through their veins, almost electric up their spines. Between the instruction they had been given, the kolinar to boost their Gifts, and Master Lyrin’s gentle but firm guidance, the Bonding was an easy one, though exhausting for both youths. It was unclear which youngling fell asleep first after the rite, and neither did it particularly matter. Yassin bundled them both in blankets and left them to curl up in Atjeh’s bed for the night, and if there were more rumors the following morning when the maid came in the next morn and found the two young men deeply asleep and cuddling like derk-ra whelps, well, twas just another rumor to help hide what they truly were. < > The maids waited eagerly as the groom stabled the horse, brushed it and fed it. They had seen him taking longer than necessary to take the horse to stable so he could over hear what the lord was saying. Each time a horse rode into their lives these days, it seemed as if it brought new and interesting news from the court at Ratacca Korr. “Well? What is it? Anything new?” The groom brushed off the women with a growl. “No, same old same old. Another maid found them in bed together, and then the whole family took off back to Haden Manor. Seems like young Lord Atjeh’s becoming something of a disobedient youngling.” The maids traded glances. “What? You said nothing new! Nothing new at all!” The groom shrugged absently. “I thought you already knew about…” “Yes, yes we knew about his lover, but not about his court habits. Oh poor Lady Epona!” Wedding arrangements had been in full swing the last few weeks. Agreements were being drawn up, flowers were being delivered, and the goods to be delivered to Haden Manor for the celebration slowly gathered to be sent down by caravan before they arrived. One of the older maids crossed her arms. “Surely the youngling has to know by now. Or her sister has to know.” “Aye,” two other maids exchanged glances nervously, “aye she does. And she gets very angry if she hears us talking about it but ignoring it doesn’t make it not true!” The other maids nodded firmly. The groom picked idly at the doorframe. “So…ah, what does Lady Epona think of all of this?” “She doesn’t believe it,” a young maid murmured, “she doesn’t believe at all. She said…” she screwed up her eyes, trying to remember, “if it were true his family would call off the wedding.” The older maid snorted. “A family like theirs? And miss the alliance with an Eastar house? I think Lady Epona is a bit naïve. But…” she gave a ribald laugh, “she’ll find out soon enough when her new husband pushes her out of their wedding bed!” The maids snickered, but the groom’s look turned downcast. “Lady Epona is not a fool. Perhaps she is right. Nothing but rumor.” “Honestly!” A maid with thick brown hair tossed her head. “Lorea herself saw them snuggling together. And then Rega, one of the castle maids, found them in bed together on the very day they left! It’s clear where that noble’s loyalty lies and just because you have a special fondness for Lady Epona, does not mean she isn’t wrong.” The groomsman colored and tossed a curse over his shoulder as he strode out the door. The maids continued to giggle. <> Epona lifted her hand, hesitated, bit her lip, and lifted it again to knock quietly on her re's door. It took a few moments. Inside, she could hear her i'ru Iosef's rumbling cough, and Anisa's quiet murmur. Then the door opened, and the older of the two black-haired women peeked her head outside her door, holding it up against her body to obscure the fact that she wore only a night shift. But when she saw twas only her little re, standing uncertainly in the hallway, Anisa sighed and opened the door wider to allow her sister to pass. "What is it, ri?" Epona smiled faintly, leaning forward slightly to smile at the man lying upon the bed. "Hello, Iosef," she murmured, nodding her greeting when he lifted his head from the book he was reading. It had been almost two days since the crippled man had last attempted to venture from his bed; rain must be soon to come if his legs pained him so. She glanced up at her re. "Do you mind if we talk for a little while?" she asked softly, then bit her lip again and lowered her voice. "Um... alone?" Anisa gave a knowing smile, and reached out to gently twist one of her sister's curls between two fingers, before tucking it into place in Epona's braid. "Ri-words, Epona?" she asked softly. The younger woman nodded. "Aye." Anisa glanced over her shoulder at her husband briefly, then gave her re a warm smile. "Give me ten marks, aye? And then I will meet you in the study." < > |
| Epona had just enough time to prepare a pot of jasmine tea and set out two cups before her sister arrived. Anisa had dressed, as was of course appropriate for a woman not lounging about in the privacy of her own room, but had not bothered to pull her hair back. She patted Epona's shoulder as she sat down on one of the cushions set upon the ground for reading, or studying, or simply resting. "What is bothering you?" Anisa asked. Epona opened her mouth, then shut it again. "How do you do that?" Her re smiled. "Really, Epona... You are not usually one for idle chatter, and prefer your books and calculations to my company after supper. Something is upsetting you." Blushing faintly at having been so easy to read, Epona nodded and sat down upon her cushion, reaching for the pot of tea. She poured Anisa a mug before responding. "Tis just that... the wedding is so soon. But, have you been hearing the awful things the staff have been saying?" Anisa sighed heavily, setting her mug down immediately to allow the tea to cool. "Epona, what have I told you? Their words are vicious and certainly untrue. Do not pay their gossiping mouths any mind." "But..." Epona bit her lip. "But it is possible they are telling the truth, aye? I mean... sometimes men... do like other men. Anisa, what if Atjeh is in love? I do not want to come between them! And what if we should marry, and it all turns out to be true? What do I do, then?" Anisa was quiet for a long moment, trouble flashing in her eyes, and then, she sighed. “I…do not know.” She smiled weakly. “I suppose I should tell you that you will have to find a way to deal with it, to share him or to learn to live alone in his house. A lady will raise her head and carry on as if nothing has happened. That is proper.” Her smile fell. “But I do not wish that on my re, despite everything.” Sighing she squared her shoulders. “You have always been cleverer than I, Epona. Much cleverer and if these horrible vicious rumors are true you may be able to find a way out of it better than I. But if not, if you must simply live in his house, hold on to your pride. For if he cannot do you proud, you must do yourself proud. But,” Anisa’s voice came firm, “they are nothing more than rumors. His parents have said so. Do not worry, re.” Her hand snaked across the cushions and gave Epona’s a firm squeeze. The younger girl smiled and sipped her tea. “Tell me, Anisa…what is it like, being married?” “It has its trials, I will not lie but,” her face softened and spots of color came to her pale cheeks, “it also has its benefits. It is a wonderful thing to be loved.” Epona blushed and turned the mug over in her hand. It was a delicate thing, made of bone and inscribed with whorls and the symbols of their house. “Do…do you think he’ll like me?” she asked softly. “Of course, re,” Anisa said with a chuckle. “For all of your disposition, you…do try. And you are a good girl at your heart. I am sure he will like you, although familiarity may take time.” “Are you sure? We’ve barely spoken and…” she played with her mug again, “he hasn’t tried to contact me, or speak with me and with these rumors I sometimes wonder…” “Do not, re,” Anisa said firmly. “Ah, there is so much to the world that you cannot anticipate. I am sure he has many duties of his own that have not allowed for this.” Slim fingers tapped her hand and Epona raised her eyes. “Tell me, did you think of any of these things before you heard these rumors?” “No.” “There you are. Nothing but rumors. Now drink your tea, re. It will warm your heart.” With a smile, Epona did. But deep inside her she couldn’t help but still hold the fear that after everything she had done, it hadn’t been enough. < > After the Bond, the first few days had been a blur. If the Guildsman was not warming the link in utter fascination at the change, or dozing drowsily upon his horse as his mind explored his Match’s with gentle probing, he was busily scanning the dunes and horizon for any sign of Apollar’s border, and the strange, twisted pines Atjeh often thought in conjunction with the word ‘home’. Whereas Lodear’s air was dry and stifling, and Eastar slightly more moist, but still burning hot, the sense of Apollar was still warm, but with far more moisture than he expected. It had been cool enough that he tugged his linka hood down around his neck and grinned at the softer breeze playing with his hair. Only Settar, where the kolinar fields and expansive herb gardens were, was more pleasant. Or so he had read. He had dim memories of Lodear from before his sixth birthday, and otherwise had remained in Eastar province. Taniz had been reluctant to travel far from the Riv Citadel in Crossroads—complaining of supposed bandits—and usually left only when his kadin needed a new tattoo to mark another level in his training. The Sian himself had many of them—blots of color marring his back, belly, both legs, both arms, his shoulders, his hips, and traced in broad glyphs across his chest. Though his Gift was marginally higher than Andros’ own, the reservoirs of Gift, the already prepared weavings and shielding and counter-attacks woven deeply into the tattoos ensured he was quite capable of defeating a paltry band of desert raiders, even while resting. No…Andros was quite aware of the truth. Taniz never traveled, for only in Crossroads, the seat of Guild power, could he use his rank and his Gift to cow villagers and tavern-keepers and servants to do his bidding, and do what he pleased to his kadin in the privacy of Ratacca Korr. Shaking his thoughts away, the young loquiri smiled as Atjeh laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. A quick tousle of his hair—Andros sighed happily—and then the lordling gestured to a spot of sand at the distance. “Here they come.” “Who?” The lordling’s eyes had narrowed then in quiet mischief. “Border Guards.” Behind him, the sand suddenly became a group of men, skin tanned dark by years and months in the sun. They dipped their short spears toward Lord Kinyth in quiet respect and then, with a whistle at the Derk-ra crouched at their feet—one to each man—they fanned out around the little party. Atjeh had whispered furiously—something about the lord, his heir, and all of his family in one place needing a little more escort, ransom, bandits—but the Guildsman was instead glancing curiously at the Derk-ra. The lordling had laughed softly at his worry trickling over the pair-link. “They won’t touch you without permission, only if you attack their master.” He patted Andros’ shoulder. “Later, I’ll let you meet mine.” He shook his head another, sharper growl of worry. “And show you the mews.” Atjeh cocked his head idly and bit his lip. “Tis too late for the latest clutches, but…in another six-month or so, the hens will start laying again—Haden Manor is warm enough for two nesting periods. I can get you a hatchling if you’d like?” Andros had shook his head firmly, starting another chuckle from his Match. But Atjeh had assured him, no hatchlings, but he at least had to see the mews, and his own pair of matched blacks—just barely yearlings. Apparently, today was the day. With hands clasped, Atjeh and Andros worked their way through the passageways and corridors of Haden Manor. The complex, winding mostly beneath the ground but sometimes even poking small domes through the sand above, was large enough that even after a full week and a half here, there were portions the loquiri had yet to see. Andros had never imagined that Haden Manor could possibly be so expansive. Twas not only the nearly endless, winding, burrowing passages or the countless rooms lit from directly above with sunlight through stained glass windows. In some ways---though certainly not architecturally---Lord Kinyth’s ancestral stronghold was like a miniature Ratacca Korr, with a serving staff large enough that even after a week, Andros had not had the opportunity to be introduced to them all. Not, of course, that Atjeh did not try. The lordling was well liked within the household, and if there was some disappointment—and aye, some fear, suspicion and even a few rolled eyes and sly, knowing glances---over his having brought a Guildsman home, these were minor. Andros was introduced to Maria, a lowborn young woman working in the kitchen who greeted Andros with no little fear in an accent so thick that the Guildsman could barely understand a word she said. He met Grayes, the son of Lord Kinyth’s blademaster, who had nearly tackled Atjeh with a happy shout, but who had thankfully been stopped short before Andros could react with a smack upside the head from his Da, who snapped at him to mind his manners before the Lord’s son. The last person Andros was introduced to was, perhaps, the most important to the loquiri personally, although certainly not the highest ranking servant within the household. Dinjan was a short, squat man, and built like an ox. His hands looked as though they could crush a man’s skull with little difficulty, but as well as Andros could tell, twas not a violent bone in the man’s body. Dinjan had traditional coloring for a man of Apollar, but the olive was paler than normal, largely untouched by the sun. His steel gray eyes were warm when they settled upon first Atjeh and then his young “friend”, and he slowly put his sketch book down and flicked aside the long-stemmed flower he had been drawing with a careful hand. “Young lord!” he said, his voice soft and warm as he rose from his writing desk. He seized his Gift, cocking his head slightly. “Are you well---“ And then he blinked, and peered at the two younglings more closely. Andros tensed, ready to flee before the knowing look that rose in the middle-aged man’s eyes. Even with the dreamstone on, he could feel another’s Gift brush up against the pair-link, though the probe itself was surprisingly gentle and not at all intrusive. Atjeh reached out, grabbing the Guildsman’s upper arm and pulling him closer to his body. “It is alright, Andros,” he said soothingly. “I trust Dinjan. He is the only one here who will likely be able to sense the link anyway… and he needs to know.” The healer approached slowly, holding a hand out before him as though coming near to a frightened animal. “Do not be afraid, ra. I will not hurt either of you.” He blinked at Atjeh in minor confusion. “Or… or reveal you?” He bit his lip, gray eyes scanning Andros’ face as he came to stand before them. As Atjeh nodded slightly, eyes wide with gratitude and caution, Dinjan cleared his throat quietly, then lifted his voice in the closest thing to a shout Atjeh ever had---and he and Andros ever would---hear from the man. “Aodonn!” Atjeh blinked in surprise as a scrawny, dour adolescent strode out of the smaller study behind Dinjan’s main office. The healer, however, rested a hand on the youth’s shoulder and nodded toward the door. “You are free to go for the day. Memorize the list of analgesics I gave you, and we will begin with the diaphoretic herbs on the morrow.“ Something akin to eagerness warmed the sober youngling’s face for a moment, and then was gone. “Aye, Sair,” he muttered. His eyes scanned Andros and Atjeh’s faces with little interest, and then with a mumbled, “Good day, my lord,” to the latter, he took his leave. “My new apprentice,” Dinjan said by way of explanation. He cocked his head slightly, waiting for the ra’s footsteps to retreat. Then he closed the door firmly, and returned to Atjeh and Andros to gently lead them to sit upon chairs before his desk. “Now then. How can I help you two? And why is it that your pair-link must remain a secret?” Atjeh reached out and gently massaged Andros’ shoulder until the tense young loquiri relaxed slightly. “Andros is going to need to go through the Drommah. Yassin has some books that he will be bringing to you later, from Master Lyrin at Ratacca Korr. Can you oversee it, and ensure that it appears to be something… else?” “Drommah? Aye, I can do it, but why must you hide it?” Dinjan cocked his head, eyes narrowing in mild confusion, as he glanced at his young lord and then his friend. Until his gaze landed upon Andros’ wrist. The loquiri jerked his hand away, tucking it against his side, but not before Dinjan exhaled quietly. The healer smiled then. “Ah, I see.” His eyes brightened slightly. “Tis good to know you were not truly taking up with bad habits, my lord,” the healer said with a quick glance at Atjeh. “The rumors that the others squawk…I could hardly believe them. Not the ra I knew, certainly.” Atjeh smiled, and patted his loquiri’s shoulder again, but Andros was already beginning to relax. “When do..do I start?” he asked quietly. “As soon as you’re ready, and I have the proper books before me.” Dinjan smiled wanly. “And once you give me a chance to do a slightly more thorough probe—weight, metabolism, and your physical condition are all factors, you see, in the dosage—“ he added, as Andros flinched. Gift prickled softly, poised but not released. “With your permission?” Andros closed his eyes, but nodded quickly, grimacing as Dinjan worked, and sighing with relief as the healer retreated. He patted the loquiri’s head as if he were a small ra. “There now, not so bad, hmm?” Dinjan rubbed his shoulder as Andros grumbled mildly under his breath, “Give me a day or so to study the books, and then we’ll start. I daresay…” he cocked his head, eyes gleaming. “You look, Andros, as if you were coming down…mm…with a rather nasty strain of sand fever. This change to Apollar air just doesn’t agree with you, does it?” Atjeh chuckled. “Aye, we’ll spread the rumor. Poor Andy has an Apollar strain of sand fever,” he grinned at his loquiri, who arched a brow, but didn’t argue, and then smirked mildly. “And we can’t send you away before the marriage, not with you abed with sickness, aye?” The Guildsman bit his lip. He’d rather Atjeh not remind him of the impending joining of the two houses. The lordling was happy about the thought, and had described Epona to him while they had been lazily cuddling a few days hence. So she was pretty, and smart with numbers—something Atjeh tolerated in his studies, but did not excel in over much—and so she had this interesting bent with growing things. Andros’ eyes narrowed, and he shrugged away from Atjeh’s touch when the lording’s smirk faltered. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. I just…” Shrugging again, Andros looked away. “Is that all you need of me, for now, Dinjan?” “Aye.” The healer waved a hand idly, dropping to his desk and pulling his earlier project closer. “Go on now. Oh—and ra?” Atjeh glanced back curiously as he rose from his seat and held out a hand to his loquiri. “Seban left a message. He said Tihn is up in your room, but Tyla is not feeling well, so he kept her with him.” Andros frowned. “Friends of yours?” His fingers idly plucked at the dreamstone chain. “I was hoping…just you and me…” And to take this bloody thing off and feel you he added inwardly. Most of it, Atjeh could not understand yet, which was all well and good. Yassin said at some point, he’d not be able to hide anything from his Match, at least, not easily. The lordling smiled wanly. “Aye…they’re…friends…of a sort.” He chuckled and massaged Andros’ shoulder as the loquiri grumbled across the link. “You need to meet them, so they know you.” Andros frowned. “I don’t want to meet anyone.” Sighing, Atjeh reached out, running his finger lightly along Andros’ jaw, until the loquiri relaxed with a shudder. “Do you want to be able to sneak into my room? Tihn and Tyla…would stop you, permanently.” He winked at Dinjan—winked!—and then nudged Andros’ shoulder. “Come on. We’ve lots more exploring to do. Then we can go to my room, hmm?” He ruffled his hair, grinning as Andros’ eyes drooped half-lidded. “During the Drommah, I can be around you more often,” he said gently. The Guildsman relaxed, smiling faintly and resting his head on his shoulder. “And you can help me decide on some of the wedding preparations.” Andros’ improving mood soured again. With a playful pull, Andros followed his Match back out into the hallways of the manor. The ceiling above arched gracefully away from the skylights. The walls, carved from a dark gray rock, were smooth as if someone had taken a giant hand and straightened out any unslightly lumps or jagged edges one would expect from cutting stone. Every now and then, thin strips of white mineral veins would appear, dancing along archways or circling around themselves before pinching out halfway through the wall. Carefully, Andros reached out a finger. The wall was cool, and solid, and smooth. Atjeh grinned. “Carved out by the Gift,” he explained. “That’s why it is the way it is. I’ve always liked the veins but I wish they were in colors other than white,” he grimaced, “but the loquiri and builders who did this say that is the nature of this stone. But that’s why Ma put weavings on some of these, or mirrors to make some of the tunnels look bigger and make them even brighter. Now come on, I want to show you something.” After a few more turns, they came to a set of double doors. With a mischievous look, Atjeh threw them open and ushered his loquiri inside. It was a large living chamber. Large skylights covered most of the ceiling, the one in the center a carefully etched stained glass panal, depicting the Mara and its four provinces. A few sand colored divans rested comfortably around the chamber, and from a far corner came a small burbling noise. Andros cocked his head. “This is the best part,” Atjeh grinned, motioning him to follow. And Andros did. They headed toward what appeared to be a small barrier, no higher than his ankle, sprung from the stone of the floor. Around it, a small garden of stones and a few desert plants. Only when they got nearer did Andros breath, “Kyda. Is that water?” “Aye,” Atjeh affirmed proudly. “There’s a small spring here, it burbles up from somewhere down below. We get more of our own water down there too, but it naturally just comes up…well, here.” “It’s very peaceful.” “Aye, except when my sisters are around.” Annoyance flashed through the link. The click of a lock sounded and the two turned. Atjeh let out what sounded as if it were a sigh of relief as a tall dignified looking man passed through. “Not my sisters,” he muttered under his breath. “Chusa,” he said louder, “come meet my friend Andros.” Chusa nodded politely. “A pleasure to meet you sir.” He clicked his heels together and bowed politely to the young lord. “I have been sent to inform you that the evening meal will be served in a point.” Atjeh snickered. “Oh, stop that.” As Andros blinked in confusion, Chusa merely frowned slightly. “My lord?” The lordling chuckled, and reached out to rest a hand on the stiff young man’s shoulder. “You have been spending too much time with Erilae again, I see.” “I do not know what you mean.” The young lord’s smile turned mischievous, and he draped his arm across the servant’s shoulders. Andros arched a brow, watching curiously; his Match was on friendly terms with most of the staff, but other than the pouncing Grayes, this was the first servant he seemed to have a close enough relationship with that he and the servant were on touching terms. Chusa certainly looked mildly annoyed, but not at all surprised by the lordling’s affection. “So… Have you bedded her yet?” The older youngling’s cheeks burned fierce, sudden red. “My lord!” Atjeh’s laugh turned ribald. “I will take that as an aye.” Chusa shook his head, sputtering and pushing the lordling away. Andros tensed slightly, then relaxed; the contact was light and brief; the young steward was already brushing at his already pristine clothing in a flustered way, clearly trying to focus on anything other than his own discomfort. “Really, my l-lord. It would not be… that would be…” “Improper?” Atjeh smirked. He grinned from Chusa to Andros. “I hear Erilae has taught my sisters more than just knitting and good etiquette.” His brown eyes sparkled. “Serri says she learned all the best ways to kiss from her.” His voice dropped. "Ladies' Saie indeed, aye?" he added, with a wicked smile. Poor Chusa could not quite help the brief, lopsided grin that slid across his face. Then he buried his burning face in his hands. “You are terrible!” Atjeh laughed victoriously, and did not sound in the slightest bit sorry when he said curtly, “I apologize. So…. Did you…?” “Nay!” Chusa glared at him from between two fingers, then lowered his hands and tried on a scowl. “Erilae is much too proper for… to…” He rolled his eyes, and quickly changed the subject. “So, I finally get to meet Andros.” He smiled easily. “What sect of the Guild are you from, sar? My Uncle hails from the Riv sect, but they’ve never had much interest in my Da or me.” He shrugged, flicking an imaginary piece of lint off of the wide sash about his waist. “Not enough Gift.” Andros swallowed, all amusement at the exchange draining rapidly away. “I… um… the Riv sect,” he said. Atjeh did not touch him, but his Match opened the link slightly, sending soothing---and utterly incomprehensible---thoughts toward him. “Your Uncle is a Riv as well?” He bit his lip, hesitated, and then asked lightly, “Here in Apollar?” Chusa nodded. “Indeed, sar. There is a Riv Citadel but three points from here. If you have time while you are visiting, you should certainly go see it. I have never been allowed into the inner sanctum, of course, but the glass and lune work in the atrium is simply exquisite.“ The younger man smiled weakly. “I… I will.” The last thing he wished to do just yet was go visit a local Guild stronghold, but he had to admit that eventually he would have to do so; once it became known to everyone that he was in Apollar to stay, and not merely on holiday, he would have to request a transfer to the Apollar Citadel’s jurisdiction. If only he could transfer Sians, as well. Atjeh cleared his throat. “So… Chusa. If Andros offered to teach you a Guild trick or two, would you be interested?” He smirked, and told the lie he’d been telling everyone. “I’ve convinced him to show me a few things.” As he said the words, however, he was looking intently at Andros, not the steward, as though silently urging him to watch. Chusa shifted uncomfortably. “I…” He frowned, looking at Andros apologetically. “You must forgive me, I mean no disrespect. But… I’ve no interest in learning what the Guild has to teach.” Relief flooded through Andros, but he kept his voice light, almost dangerously so. “Why?” Chusa paled, his eyes flicking to Atjeh for only a moment before he regained his composure and dipped his head again. “I am sorry sir, it is just that Guild secrets are for Guildsmen, sir. Or so I understand. And I…well there are some lessons that they teach that are simply contrary to my own personal beliefs.” He tried a light smile. “It is purely a matter of interest and belief sir, nothing more.” “I see,” Andros kept his face impassive but his Match snickered. “Interests like bedding Erilae.” “My Lord! Please!” This time there was actually a glare in Chusa’s eyes and Atjeh laughed and raised his hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop or…” his eyes sparkled again and he nudged him in the ribs. “After I am married we can compare notes.” Chusa spluttered and Andros felt slightly ill. Atjeh’s laugh died out as he glanced over at his loquiri. “Ah, well, anyways,” he put a hand on Andros’s shoulder. “I’m going to show Andros the rest of the Manor. Would you like to come along?” The servant’s eyes flicked from the hand, to his lord, and back again. “Ah, no sir. I have other duties.” His face softened. “But it was good to see you back home again. The Manor is seems so empty with everyone gone. We servants feel like a couple of beans rattling around in an empty bowl.” Atjeh smiled warmly. “Aye, tis good to be home.” After his servant left, the lordling’s shoulders sank. “It will be hard, hiding this from them.” Regret trickled into the bond and Andros squeezed his Match’s shoulder. “Aye but surely their opinion of you won’t change?” “I hope not. I should think not.” He gave his loquiri a half smile. “I grew up with these people; they should know me well enough. Other people’s opinion’s I don’t really care about, but some of my friends…” He trailed off and a tumble of emotions filtered through the link and Andros moved closer. “If they are true friends it should not matter what they think we are, aye?” Although, he wondered, how much it would matter that he was a Guildsman. “Aye, you are right,” he gave his loquiri a quick hug and the light was back in his warm brown eyes. “I shouldn’t worry. Come, I want to show you my room!” Andros tagged curiously along behind his Match, eagerness welling in him. During the past two days he had been at the manor, he and Atjeh had carefully been keeping their distance. He'd been shown to one of the guest rooms shortly after they'd arrived, and then they'd taken their leave of one another for a few points, knowing full well how it would seem if the first thing they did upon their arrival was disappear into Atjeh's room. Warming the Bond---which had been utterly impossible on the road, as they'd been encouraged to sleep in separate tents to maintain the illusion that they were merely friends---simply had to wait until they could steal scant moments of privacy. These were few and far between; they saw one another off and on all day, but usually formally, such as during the "official"---and very brief---tour Andros was given the first day, or supper that first night, or during a brief sand-cat hunt the next morning. Just that day they had finally found an opportunity to slip off alone after lunch, under the pretense that the young lordling was eager to show his friend the extensive catacombs that had once entombed his ancestors in the depths of the manor itself. These had long since been cleared out, the urns transferred respectfully to a larger family crypt after so many generations had passed that there simply was not room to house all of the remains. Andros had found the catacombs more than a little unsettling---especially when he noticed the wall niches where the urns had once rested---but then Atjeh had led him to a small alcove and started warming the Bond, and twas a little difficult to pay attention to anything else. Now however, with this new excuse that Andros "meet" the mated pair of derk-ra that apparently slept in Atjeh's room, they had a convenient excuse to disappear together once again without anyone's suspicions being raised. Any immediate thoughts regarding warming the Bond flew from Andros' mind when he first saw his Match's room. Like many of the bedrooms in the wing of the manor occupied by the noble family, Atjeh's chamber lay behind double doors, his carved with derk-ra whelps that curled contentedly around their dam, or romped atop rocks, or prowled playfully about dunes. Atjeh blushed faintly as his loquiri leaned close to the stained pine door to see the etchings more clearly. "Tis... the room I've had since I was a ra," he explained. Chuckling, the Guildsman reached out to ruffle his dark hair. "You are still a ra," he pointed out, and with an eye roll the lordling pushed past him, allowing the double doors to swing open. The room was spacious, its walls and floor carved from the same stone as the rest of the manor. But Atjeh had hung as many tapestries as he could manage, hiding white veins he despised so much behind scenes of Apollar's strangely twisted trees, hunting derk-ra, swiftly-running horses, sand cats lounging upon sun-baked rocks. A brazier had been set up on one side of the room, but twas cold at the moment. On the other end of the room, across from a large rug of a forest green and earthy brown weave, was the lordling's four-post bed. And upon his bed was a glossy-scaled, black derk-ra yearling, crouching comfortably upon Atjeh's deep green coverlet, its forked tongue darting out to test the air and its new crest flaring as it spotted or perhaps smelled Andros. "Triad... He... he's bigger than I expected," the loquiri gulped. Atjeh chuckled mildly and patted his shoulder. “This Tihn, the beginning of my own breeding line,” the lordling grinned. “Da gave me my pick of last year’s hatching for my own. His mate, Tyla, is with Seban, the head Derk-ra trainer.” “Breeding line?” “Tis what Apollar is famous for…her fine Derk-ra. With Seban’s advice, of course, I’m expected one day to oversee the mews of Haden Manor—“ the lordling rubbed the back of his neck absently, smiling a little. “Da had me choose a mated pair—well, we hope they will. Tyla is…aloof.” The youngling chuckled. With a low snort, Tihn unfolded from the bed and stretched, tongue flicking once more toward his master and the visitor. Lips peeling back to reveal glistening fangs, the Derk-ra hissed sullenly and crept forward. Andros leaped back a quick step, eyes widening as he circled behind Atjeh. The lordling smiled and caught his loquiri’s shoulder. “Get down. Down.” Andros squirmed beneath his strong grip, shivering as the beast kept coming, and certainly did not like the idea of settling on his knees upon the floor. Atjeh ruffled his hair lightly and ran his fingers down his shoulder and arm, catching his wrist. “Easy. He doesn’t know your scent. And he’s protective of his “dam”,” the lordling explained, tapping his own chest mildly. “Tihn thinks you are his mother.” Andros stared at him. “But…” “Tis called imprinting. I will explain later.” Atjeh pulled Andros’ hand out, toward the beast, palm up. “Relax,” he murmured, as the Guildsman hissed in dismay. “He’ll think you’re challenging him if you don’t be quiet and still.” “Jeh!” “Shh.” Amber eyes alight in the gleam of sunshine and lantern, the Derk-ra stalked closer, belly low to the ground, and finally rose up inches from Andros’ hand, tongue flicking out and crest flared. And then whined softly, crest drooping as the head slid from side to side, studying Atjeh and then Andros himself. “What’s wrong with it?” Andros whispered. Atjeh’s hand lightly ghosted over his hair. “You have my scent on you.” He chuckled ribaldly by the Guildsman’s ear. “I’m establishing you as my mate, at the moment.” “What!” Tihn arched his back at the shout, whistling in an eerie shriek that was nearly womanly. Atjeh’s fingers gripped his shoulder hard. With a quick swallow, Andros did his best to relax, holding his hands out once more and mumbling the beast’s name. “Tihn? Good … ra … “ Jeh? Please! The lizard slid beneath Andros’ outstretched arm, flicked his tongue to taste the air near to the Guildsman’s tunic, and then butted his head against the loquiri’s hand, whining quietly. Atjeh grinned, even as Andros shivered in mild concern. “He trusts you enough to give you the privilege of petting him.” “Oh…” “Scratch his crest.” As Andros obeyed, Atjeh straightened carefully and stepped away, brushing his hands idly at the coverlet of his bed. Tihn had a nasty habit of keeping the last bit of his meals tucked into his mouth, and then leaving it upon the bed for a snack later on. “Watch out though, Andy,” he murmured, “Tihn is somewhat of a … “ he broke off as Andros, with a yelp, was shoved backward onto the floor by the enthusiastic Derk-ra. Claws resting lightly upon his chest, the black-scaled beast nudged his nose into Andros’ neck and stretched most of his length across the Guildsman. Atjeh smiled. “a cuddler,” he finished. “I…Jeh…” his voice trailed off as the lizard, with a light lash of his tail, began to warble happily. “Is he purring?” “In a way,” Atjeh peeled his lips back in a snarl that looked decidedly odd upon his face, and coughed sharply. Tihn’s head snapped up and he whined. And Atjeh made the same sound again, like a coughing laugh. With another, pensive whine, the black beast uncoiled from atop Andros and stalked to a rug spread before the brazier. Slumping down in an almost pouting manner, the Derk-ra curled nose to tail and huffed once, before settling. Andros sat up and bit his lip, but a smile came just the same. The image before him was the same as his name in Andros’ mind. Atjeh’s chuckle behind him suggested he had noticed too. The Guildsman glanced back, and smiled as the lordling, slouching back against his bed, patted the spread beside him and arched a brow. Unfolding from the floor, the Guildsman came and stood before him, cocking his head. “Jealous of a Derk-ra?” Atjeh snorted. “You’re jealous of Epona. Why not?” Andros’ eyes narrowed instantly. “I am not.” With an exasperated eye-roll, the lordling crossed his arms. “You are too. I can feel it every time I talk about the wedding, or betrothed, or Epona,” he said, smirking as Andros cringed with each word. His smile fell as the Guildsman jerked away, back to him, shoulders stiff with irritation. “Andy?” “Just…stop it,” he growled. He glanced back over his shoulder. “You’re mine.” “Aye, but…” he bit his lip pensively and instead rubbed his mind lightly, hesitantly, against the Guildsman’s own. “Andros…” his voice softened. “Come now. We only have a point before supper. I won’t say anything else about…” he swallowed as Andros glared at him. “About…it, alright?” Still the loquiri looked at him disapprovingly. Atjeh shrugged, settling back against his pillow with a sigh. "Only fifty-nine marks left..." he said lightly, closing his eyes casually. Then, when there was no immediate response, "Fifty-eight marks and thirty grains... twenty-nine grains... twenty-eight..." He heard and felt Andros sigh, but then a small smile cut through the Guildsman's irritation. A moment later his eyes flew open and he grinned as the loquiri joined him on the bed, flopping down at his side. "Chusa is right," Andros said dryly, snuggling against him with a drowsy sigh. "You are terrible." "Aye," Atjeh agreed, wrapping an arm around him and tucking him closer, then letting his hands drift through the loquiri's hair soothingly. He opened his side of the Bond, and after a moment felt Andros do the same. "There, that's better," he murmured. < > "Are you... sure... you want to help?" Atjeh asked, as the two of them got ready to go to supper a couple weeks later. Andros closed his eyes for a moment. The tension in the loquiri, and the undercurrent of unhappiness, answered Atjeh's question quite well. But after a grain had passed, he sighed and massaged the ra's shoulder half-heartedly. "I... hate that you are... that she is coming and will take you away from me. But I know how important your wedding is to your family." He grimaced. "And... and to you. I will be... I will adjust." He bit his lip, and gave Atjeh a hopeful look. "All loquiris adjust, aye?" His Match smiled gently, draping an arm around his shoulders and giving him a quick hug. "Aye. You've seen Ma and Yassin, aye? They like one another. They truly do. I... I'm sure that you will..." Swallowing, the Guildsman pulled lightly away and, slipping off of the bed, padded toward Atjeh's door. As an afterthought, he pulled his dreamstone out of his pocket and pulled it over his head with a small grimace. Only then did he glance over his shoulder at his Match, and sadly. "Unlike your Ma with Yassin, Epona will not know that I am your loquiri. She will be confused." The ra rose from bed, and quickly slipped on his own dreamstone. "Nay, she won't," Atjeh argued hurriedly, crossing to the door and his loquiri. "She will just think we are friends, until we know if we can trust her or not." "And then?" Andros asked harshly. "What if we cannot trust her? What then, Jeh?" The ra winced. "Then I find a way to divorce her before she can discover the truth. Because... because every day that she would be here, she would be a danger to you. To us." Relief flowed across the loquiri's face and through the pair-link. Nodding, he reached out to the door. Then he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, and let his hand drop back to his side. "You must not think like that," he said wearily. "When... when you are with her, you must always assume that she will prove trustworthy, at least until you know otherwise. Do not treat her with suspicion. Give her the benefit of the doubt. She will be your... your wife," he said distastefully. "She deserves that from you." The ra bit his lip and nodded. "Aye. Aye, you are right. Thank you, Andy." He swallowed, glancing up at his loquiri. "Are you sure you want to go?" he asked again. "You can... pretend to be ill, if you want. Kyda knows you will be tomorrow anyway when you start the Drommah. I can have Maria bring food to you in your room, if you don't... if you don't want to be there." Smiling weakly, Andros ruffled his hair and reached for the door, swinging it open and pushing the lordling out into the hall. "Aye, I do," he said, more certainty in his voice than could be felt in the Bond. "You are preparing for your wedding, Jeh! There will come a time---perhaps months or year from now, but still---when I will look back on this time and be happy to say, 'Aye, I helped with that'." "Thank you, Andy," Atjeh whispered. They strode down the corridor toward the dining hall and the wedding preparations that would take place after supper. Epona's family would be processing to her soon-to-be husband's home in a mere week, and there many gifts to prepare for the bride and her family, feast foods to select, entertainments to plan. Kyda knew Epona's family was just as busy, not only dipping the candles, cutting the ribbons, and rolling the tapestries and other things they would bring with them and use to ceremonially decorate Epona's new home on the day she arrived, but also with travel preparations, final dress fittings, and any number of other womanly things Atjeh and Andros could barely imagine. < > Her Da droned, but he had a tendency to when it came to prayer. She had learned early to tune him out and say her own secret prayers to Kree, who she liked better than Kratan or Kyda. She knew it was good to appease all of the triad, but when she was little it always seemed to her as if Kree knew who her best. But that probably was because she was a wife as Epona knew she was soon to be. Holy Kree, I know I should be paying attention to the ritual. I know, far off in Apollar, Atjeh’s family is performing the same ceremony at the same time so we can all begin the joining despite the distance. But, as much as I’ve waited for this day I am nervous. Were you when you became consort to our great and holy Kyda? I suppose that’s a silly question since I do not know if Gods can get nervous. Perhaps that would be something for me to debate with Anisa? I know, I know I shouldn’t bait her. But I am nervous a little. There are so many things that are unsure and uncertain and I pray that you guide my feet over this uncertain terrain. Help me be a good and proper wife as I have…well, tried to be. That I can give wisdom to my future husband and be of use. There will be slips I’m sure, and some I’m sure I won’t even notice. So I pray that…well, everything works out okay. She flinched as Anisa nudged her in the ribs. That’s all for now. She rose and sipped from the small cup, carved with images of the Rim and of derk-ra, and then sprinkled the water on her feet. Cleansing of the soul, cleansing of the path, protection for all. Once they were finished, their Da blew out the candle in front of their household shrine and Anisa immediately touched her shoulders. There was much to be done. That evening the family, and their servants, spent their time dipping candles and cutting ribbons. When Epona asked her sister why Lady Nora would appreciate strips of ribbon, Anisa gave her a firm look at told her ‘tradition’ in one her ‘just do it, please,’ tone. She spent three points drying flowers, almost to a point where she felt the moisture would be sucked from her hands, and then another point preparing fresh flowers for the trips. Enlivened with her own small Gift, they would last not only the journey, but also the ceremony and maybe even a little beyond, provided that she tended to them every few days. Their Da had been in charge of supplying the traditional Apollar gift for Atjeh’s family. Several pairs Derk-ra handlers gloves, embossed with the symbol of the Harad house, were packed neatly in a box. As for the Easter gift to the groom, Epona had been carefully tending a small Eastar miniature pomegranate tree, molding its branches and twigs into a unique shape. That Epona packed tenderly into a wagon and supported it with bolts of cloth In the wagons, they also packed crates of figs, nuts, apricots, persimmons and quince, along with several casks of wine. Large circular travel tents were folded, with their poles bound and packed along with cases of clothing and Epona and Anisa’s jewelry. The sun was just rising when the last of the wagons were packed and Epona tiredly drew her horse beside Anisa’s. Her sister smiled softly and reached over and squeezed her hand. “This is the last time this will be the place you call home.” Epona grinned. “Aye, I’ll have a new one. But this place will always hold a spot in my heart. I’m sure I’ll have enough to do once I get there that I won’t ever be homesick.” Anisa laughed and Epona blushed, suddenly realizing all the meanings of what she had just said. “Well…I mean. Of course I will be homesick some but…well...oh bother.” She pulled the hood of her linka over her dark and drew her veil to below her eyes. Anisa patted her arm. “Aye, re. Come, your new family awaits.” And with hope, fear, and a little sadness, Epona turned the head of her horse toward Apollar. < > < > "But I don't wan' sing," Alia piped in her tiny voice. "I wan' play the seyar." Nora sighed, leaning forward to brush the silky, straight brown hair back from her littlest daughter's face. "Alia, you just barely got your seyar. You can play it for guests next year, I promise." "Keri gets to play her seyar for Eppy's family this year," the ri pouted. Her Ma sighed. "Keri is three summers older than you, and has already been playing her seyar for two years. But next year, ri, I promise. You may play your seyar for guests then." The child contemplated her mother's face solemnly, gray eyes narrowing as her mind clearly worked through other possible avenues of argument. She bit her lip, apparently cast away a response, then said, "But Jeh-Jeh will already be married next year!" Then her eyes widened, and she gasped. "Or... Or is Jeh-Jeh going to marry again?" Her face lit up hopefully. Laughing, Nora shook her head and lifted the six-year-old into her lap. "Silly goose. Nay, your ru is only going to marry Epona once." "What about Andros?" the child asked with perfect innocence. Nora paused, wondering what rumor had managed to trickle down to her little daughter, and more importantly, from who. "Andros?" she asked casually. "Why should Atjeh marry Andros? Sar Andros is just his friend, from the palace." Alia shook her head stubbornly. "Nuh-uh! I think they love each other! Mauri says Epona will be sad, but I do not think so. You and Da and Yassi can love me, and Keri, and Mauri, and Atjeh, so it should be okay for Jeh-Jeh to love Epona and Andros, aye?" Smiling weakly, Nora shook her head. "Your ru does not love Andros," she said firmly, though she knew twas not true. Every Match loved his loquiri, and vice versa, and that was how it was supposed to be. Twas impossible not to, she supposed, if you knew another person so deeply. But she could hardly have her six-year-old running about, spreading rumors. There was enough of that going on already. "Atjeh and Sar Andros are just very good friends, ri." “But…they hug each other!” Alia tried once more, with a growing pout. Nora smiled faintly. “You hug your friends, don’t you, ri? And Grayes hugs Atjeh sometimes, and Chusa. Good friends can hug and still be just friends.” Alia cocked her head, bit her lip, and then nodded sagely. “Alright. But…” Nora sighed, but her youngest ri did not falter. “I think Jeh-Jeh should marry Andros, cuz then I’d play my seyar!” Nora shook her head and smoothed Alia’s hair again, nudging her away gently. “Go on now. No more argument; practice your song.” < > Head propped on one hand, and blinking blearily as Dinjan’s latest concoction worked in his system, Andros smiled faintly at the young steward. Save his Match, Chusa was his second most common visitor. For his professing to have little interest in the Guild itself, he had a great many questions about things, ranging from the art of lune-crafting—an explanation that the barely Gifted man could not quite grasp—to the finer points of the Riv sect. His uncle, apparently, had visited him many times, but the last time when he flowered weakly at thirteen summers old, probed him roughly amid his Da’s protests, and treated him with utter disdain ever since, whereas before he had been rather doting at times. That knowledge eased some of the Guildsman’s worry. The Guild had no interest, certainly, in Chusa or any children he should sire. By not assigning him to a Sian in his youth, they had relinquished any right to his life, or that of his future children. Andros flinched at the thought of nus and los, likely with the same loquiri bent as his own. Chusa’s voice faltered. “Do I ask too many questions?” he said quietly, biting his lip. “Nay,” the Guildsman grimaced as his belly twisted with the fading nausea from last night’s dose of demon cloud, nightshade, and a host of other nasty herbs and roots mixed into the elixir. “Even I…do not completely agree with all that the Guild teaches, or even my sect.” He smiled faintly, but kept his eyes intent on the steward’s face. Any recoil or sign of disbelief would likely mean twould be best to keep silent; he had to show his best behavior to both Citadels to keep his transfer relatively easy. One word from Chusa about this conversation and he’d likely be put on probation…or have a Watcher placed on him. Andros flinched again, this time at the idea of another hateful tattoo upon his skin—and the dreadful image of his Sian’s presence, who would be the one to oversee the process, and both place the Gift, and observe his actions. At all costs, the loquiri knew he could not afford a Watcher. His secret would not last long after that. But Chusa, thankfully, simply nodded. “Aye, I feel the same. Such as this hatred toward the lower-Gifted. It is through no fault of mine that my Gift did not perform as my uncle apparently expected.” The steward reached for a small book, a gift from his uncle on his sixth birthday—Andros cringed anew at the statement; if the ra only knew how close he must have been to being taken and assigned—within the book was a set of Guild tenets and the Litany of the Riv sect. “See here? This I disagree with as well. ‘The bent of every man should be considered of much use to the Guild, beloved of Kyda, and should be put to the proper level of training and guidance. Save the bent of loquiri. This shall be abomination to you, a mark of taint and perversion. This should never be seen among you, brethren.’ “ Chusa shook his head. “Tis awful, aye?” Andros bit his lip hard. He shivered and tugged his blanket closer, a sudden chill sweeping down his back. The steward glanced at him worriedly. “Do you feel ill?” “I…no…a little.” Andros swallowed hard, brushing aside Atjeh’s worry as it flared within his head. Fine. I’m fine. He smiled faintly at Chusa. “What do you think of loquiris?” The steward shrugged. “I don’t think tis as bad as the Guild paints it. I have seen Lord Kinyth with his lady wife, and with Yassin. He shows his wife proper affection, and yet treats his loquiri with fondness. But I have never heard gossip, nor seen them ah…bedding…one another.” Inwardly, Andros squirmed uneasily, but outwardly he held tight to his cool, impassive Guildsman mask. “Perhaps not. I am … undecided… upon the matter of loquiri.” He clamped a hand over his tingling Eye. Chusa favored him with a half smile. “At least you are giving them a chance. Perhaps if you spend more time with us you can see for yourself. How much longer do you plan on staying?” Andros hesitated. He was a little surprised the question hadn’t been asked sooner, but even then he was still unprepared for it. “Well…I…once I get over this sickness. It seems to be…lasting. And I do want to be here for Jeh’s wedding,” he tried a smile even as his stomach twisted even more at the thought. The servants face warmed. “Good. It will be quite a celebration.” “I’m sure.” Over the past few days the manor had been in a flurry of activity. Servants bustled through the halls, cleaning shelves, windows, shining sconces and cleaning tapestries. Rooms were being prepared, a group for Epona’s family, and a room for Epona herself while the family was hosted in the manor. The few times Andros had felt well enough to venture out, he had been jostled aside by maids carrying sheets, and bolts of fabric with which to decorate and lighten the rooms. Delicious smells wafted occasionally through the halls. The kitchens were preparing for the arrival as well, practicing dishes they would make for their guests and for the feast and the other meals they would share. Unfortunately, the mixes of poisons Dinjan was giving him, made Andros eat only the more mild of the foods. Atjeh was absent for large portions of the day, but sometimes Andros could feel his Match’s annoyance or exasperation, or sometimes excitement slither through the pair link. “I am sorry you are not feeling well, Andros. Maybe I can do something for you? Have you met Joshin yet? He knows a lot about history, about Apollar, about it all really and he can be very interesting to listen to. Quite smart. He can be some entertainment while you recover.” “I…I think I’ll be okay Chusa.” The last thing Andros needed was another servant’s mind to hide from. “It will be no problem, sar. I do not think Joshin has any particular feelings for the Guild, but if he does, he will surely hide them for the sake of talking about what he knows. I will get him for you.” Before Andros could protest, Chusa clicked his heels together, bowed and left the room. < > Joshin was of an age with Andros, but of such a nervous disposition that he seemed far younger. The loquiri could not tell if it was the scholar's personality that made the man seem so uncomfortable, or if the mere fact that he'd been sent to keep a Guildsman company was what set him ill at ease. Either way, the instant Joshin stepped into Andros' sickroom, it was clear he wanted to be anywhere but at the ill Guldsman's side. "Chusa sent me," he said, trying to sound stoic or cold, but instead only coming off as frozen with fear. Coughing quietly, Andros sat up a little taller against his pillows and tried to give the man a reassuring smile. He must not have been particularly convincing; Joshin shrank away subtly, eyes sliding longingly to the door for a brief moment. "In all honesty," Andros said, trying and failing to slip out of the smooth, cultured cadence in which all Guildsmen were trained to speak, "I had hoped not to take any more visitors this day. I am tired." His Eye did not burn; the words were true enough. If Joshin was aware that the Guildsman had tried to give him an opportunity to leave, he did not show it. Instead, he brushed a slightly shaking---and surprisingly pale to Andros' perceptive gaze---hand through his hair. "I, um, can read to you, if that will help you find your rest." He indicated the small---but still substantial---collection of books tucked under his other arm. "If you'll just tell me your least favorite subject, I am sure I can bore you to sleep." Andros smiled slightly. Perhaps twas just a naturally nervous disposition. Although... that did not explain the way the other man's gaze had settled now upon the Guild tattoo at Andros' wrist. Or, for that matter... "Your eyes..." the Guildsman murmured, frowning without meaning to do so. Joshin's gaze immediately snapped away from the tattoo and focused steadily upon his own feet. But twas too late; Andros had already seen the murky blue, like the sea off of Crossroads just after a sandstorm. "P-pardon?" the scholar asked, shifting half a step back toward the door. Andros' eyes narrowed. "What are you? Eloin? Aquila?" The scholar certainly took a full step away now, alien eyes widening. "N-neither, sar." "Not even your parents?" "Nay," Joshin said, shaking his head. "Perhaps someone---far back---but not for many generations." The Guildsman sighed in disgust. "Triad. And I suppose you are Gifted, too?" "Sar---" Andros shook his head, grimacing. "Out. Get out." Joshin didn’t need another order from Andros. He was gone before the Guildsman could draw another breath. < > Shazi sauntered casually through hall, grinning as she deftly dodged a passing serving maid. Never had she been more happy to be born noble (although to a lower house) and to have no interest what so ever in traditional womanly tasks. Because then she’d be expected to actually help with this nonsense. No, she supposed that weddings weren’t that much nonsense. One day, she might take a lover…well at least in an official manner. She grinned again as she grabbed an orange from a passing tray, earning her a dirty look. She glided down the halls and down into the kitchen where she plopped on a stool in front of a large island and began using a thumbnail to peel the top off the orange. Mel, the head cook, scowled at her as she stuffed a desert quail. “Don’t leave your peelin’s all scattered about like last time. And use your knife, you’ve got plenty.” Shazi barked a laugh. “Oh aye I do, but Harr would beat me senseless, or having me doing drills for the next week if he caught me disrespecting my weapons.” The weaponsmaster’s apprentice patted the leather wrapped handle of a shitan at her waist. “And I so don’t want to miss all the finery.” Mel snorted and gestured for Maria, the young kitchen girl, to finish with the quail and joined Shazi on a stool. “You’ve got it easy. I’m stuck here working my wrinkled old fingers to the bone to get this meal together.” “And stealing all the scraps you can get I’ll warrant.” She poked Mel’s belly playfully and the older woman slapped at her hand. “Stop that!” “Just speaking the obvious.” She gently peeled a segment from her orange and popped it her mouth. “So, tell me about this Guildsman?” “I know nothin’ about no Guildsman.” Shazi laughed shaking her dark hair away from her face. “Of course you do. Everyone does. The girls who bake the bread in the morning talk. You know the ones who are up when the sun rises. The same time I leave to work on bladework? At sunrise? “ “Yes, yes,” Mel scowled again and procured a passing flagon of wine. Turning two cups right side up she poured for both of them and put the wine back. “But I haven’t seen him. Word is he’s been sick and is going to stay even passed the wedding. Just what we need. A bloody Guildsman spying on us.” Suddenly Shazi’s gray green eyes turned serious and she downed her wine in gulp. “Aye. I know. I don’t like how he’s weaseled his way in with Atjeh. Seems awefully convenient for the Guild. Now they may be just friends and all but…” Mel shrugged. “Lord Atjeh’s no fool, Shaz. Neither are the Lord and Lady.” “Perhaps not,” Shazi shrugged. “But I want to be careful. Besides, if something happens to this family how many more blademasters will take another female apprentice. May Kyda bless Harr for taking on Jaara and may Kyda bless Jaara for helping pave the way for me.” She popped another segment of orange into her mouth. “And Kyda bless these oranges. Would you like one?” “No.” “Suit yourself.” Mel poured herself another glass. “This other noble family in sight yet?” “Nope, they’re not due for another few days. Then, when they get on to Harad land, we right out in full ceremony to greet them then escort them back. Then, we’ll, Harr and I will be present as the guards.” She was looking forward to seeing how they reacted to her. A woman apprenticed to the blademaster. Of course they probably already knew, but Shazi always got a secret pleasure out watching the first reactions. Mel grunted. “You have too much time on your hands.” “Just now it does seem like it, aye. But I’ve patterns to work in a point. This is just lunch.” She finished the orange and wiped her hands on a rag. Afternoon training was the best, when the sun was the hottest, working sliding through each movement, seamlessly, easily, almost in tune with the desert. “An orange. Ah, you sneak.” She rose and broke the heel of a piece of bread, topping it with fruit and a soft goat cheese. “Here, eat this. I don’t want you wasting away otherwise I won’t have an excuse to take a break.” Shazi grinned and said a quick prayer to Kyda before tearing into the loaf. “Thanks Mellana. I know I can count on you.” The head cook snorted and began basting the quail. < > |
| Parchment on his lap and quill in hand, Andros drew a thick line through his latest sentence and scowled at the paper, as if it had offended him in some manner. His letter to the Riv Citadel in Crossroads, explaining a reason for the transfer from one to the other, was rapidly becoming a mass of black ink and crumpled edges, smoothed out when his pique of frustration eased again. For one, he needed to ensure the elders in the Citadel would be able to find his name among the mass of records and birth registry, without appearing to expect them to not know. Suggesting an elder had forgotten your existence—even if you tried to disappear for years—was a terribly bad idea. Andros, son of Osheen and… he tapped the back of the quill against his chin. His mother would not appear in any Guild records; she had not been Guild-born, thus her existence ignored—though her child was stolen from her anyway. Twas the reason his Da had never risen far into the ranks, receiving but the Eye and nothing more. He had been beaming proud of his son the last time they had met. Andros sighed. The man who longed nothing more than to be allowed back into his beloved Guild, and the son who wanted to escape and could not. “Kyda…” he mumbled, and crumpled the paper again, before hurling it at the wall. There was already a small collection of wadded parchment there. Drawing his legs up, the Guildsman wrapped his arms around his feet and rested his head atop his knees. Jeh… The lordling’s attention shifted to him vaguely, but clearly drawn away to something else…Andros squinted…a fitting for some new clothes perhaps. Aye? Are you well? Without waiting for an answer, he rubbed his mind against Andros’ own, exploring lightly through his thoughts and recent moments, before spreading soothingly through his body. Tis almost over. the ra said, referring equally to the Drommah and to the annoyance of the tailor and seamstress fussing about him. The Guildsman sighed, closing his eyes. Come to me? Not yet. His thoughts held gentle apology. Epona and her family are due to arrive very soon, and Kyda knows these won’t let me leave until they’re satisfied. The pair-link warmed with longing and fondness at once. I’ll try to see you tonight, Andy. If I can get away. Alright? Aye Andros said faintly, and released his hold. Atjeh’s attention lingered for a moment more, and then wafted away smoothly as the tailor spoke to him. With a sigh, the Guildsman turned to lie on his stomach, eyes closed and breathing slowly. This wedding was becoming more than an annoyance. < > The ra did not get away that night, nor the handful of other nights that remained of the Drommah and Epona’s imminent arrival. Joshin did not return, thankfully. Andros’ waning patience would not stretch to deal with a half-breed, misGifted such as that. Just the thought of the man touching the books brought to the Guildsman had sent chills down his spine. In moments when the dizziness and nausea faded, Andros had nudged the books into a far corner of the room. Twould be best to let them sit and air out for a time, and perhaps he could use them by the time Epona arrived. < > Kohl lined Epona’s eyes, darkened her lids and the brass bangles in her ears clicked softly as she turned her head. She wore bangles on her wrists too, but the delicate filigree chain decorating her neck was hidden beneath a dusky rose linka. “Here, re,” she twisted some last strands of Anisa’s hair and secured them with a pin. Her sister straightened. “Thank you,” she gave her sister a long look and smiled softly. “You look lovely. You really do clean up well.” Epona blushed “Truly?” “Aye, truly.” Anisa was about to say something more but was cut off by Epona’s stomach, gurgling loudly. The girl blushed. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t have much at midmeal.” Anisa shook her head, trying to look stern but there was an amused glint in her eye. “Of course. Only my re. Don’t worry, Lord and Lady Kinyth will have a feast waiting for us when we arrive. Have you finished? Good. The servants will take down the tent.” She followed Anisa out of the tent. The sun was setting, bleeding fire and gold over the horizon, and the desert chill was barely beginning to nip at her sandaled feet. Behind her, the ornate tents they slept in collapsed in on themselves, and the servants shouted as they bundled them and tossed them to the wagons. Her father, dressed in his finest, appeared by her side and handed her the reins to her horse. Squeezing her shoulder, he helped her mount. “Not much longer now.” After everyone mounted, she fell in behind her father, Anisa at her side and the guards spread out around in the formal procession. The sun sunk lower and the gentle sway of the horse beneath her began to calm her nerves. Soon, just after darkness, shadows detached themselves from the dunes and rode forward. Her father reined in and held up a hand. “Lord Dule of Easter has come to present his daughter Epona in marriage. We request escort to Haden Manor.” The blademaster showed his empty hands and bowed to the lord. “And are here as requested by Lord Kinyth to guide you, guard you, to their welcome.” As her horse began to sway again, Epona glanced at her sister wishes she could ask her the questions that swirled in her mind. What if he doesn’t like me? Have I prepared enough? Oh Kyda, what if I say something foolish? I’m to be a lady. A lady. Proper. A… Anisa, as if hearing her thoughts, reached over and patted her hand. Epona flashed her sister a thankful smile and raised her chin. It will be fine. < > As her house's retinue approached the first clear outline of one of Haden Manor's famous domed skylights---the growing spread of these was quite enough to inspire her imagination and she longed to explore the rooms beneath----Epona resisted the urge to adjust her linka, touch her hair, and fidget with the bangles about her wrists one last time. Instead, without even needing to take her cue from Anisa, she lifted her chin proudly and looked calmly and eagerly upon what was not only soon to be her new home, but would also one day be the manor over which she and Atjeh would preside as Lady and Lord. The female members of Lord Kinyth's household waited beside each of the domes that might otherwise have tripped or at the very least confused the approaching wedding processional. They struck cat's tongue torches upon the adobe, until one by one the domes by which these yet faceless women and ris waited were cheerfully illuminated, the torches placed in holders nestled amidst the cacti, rocks and flowers encircling each dome. The result was a corridor of light, and as Epona's family proceeded down it toward the main dome that must surely be the entrance to the manor-proper, her Betrothed's sisters, mother and surely a few aunts and cousins stepped forward, smiling as they lined up along the edges of the corridor. With quiet murmurs of gratitude and greeting, the womenfolk of Epona's family spread out, pressing bundles of dried and fresh flowers into the arms of the ladies of Lord Kinyth's household, dipping to tie ribbons about some of the torches and handing candles and more ribbons to the smallest ris. Smiling as sounds of appreciation gradually warmed the night, Anisa approached Lady Nora, bobbing in a small but graceful curtsy as she presented Atjeh's Ma with the rolled tapestry---beautifully depicting a joyous feast symbolizing the union of the two noble houses---cradled in her arms. Twas too large to unroll and see here---especially in the soft darkness of early evening---but Lady Nora smiled gratefully and gave Anisa's cheeks and lips the kiss of greeting as she would have done with Epona's Ma had the woman yet been alive. "We shall hang it in the hall straightaway. You are very welcome here, Lady Anisa," Lady Nora said, her voice rising to include everyone in her greeting. "Welcome, all of you, to Haden Manor." She smiled, passing the tapestry to some aunt or perhaps much older sister of Atjeh, and then turned to extend her hands toward Epona, who approached slowly on horseback. "Welcome, especially, to you, Epona. Please, come inside. Atjeh and all of the other men are within and are quite eager to greet you." < > Fidgeting uneasily in his chair at the great hall of his Da, Atjeh couldn’t help but frown at the approaching noise of the womenfolk. He dearly wished they would hurry already. Though he had seen sketches and brief glimpses of his betrothed while they were young, he had yet to meet her but that quick moment in the hall, and then his attention had been so tightly wound into Andros’ needs—he squirmed as his loquiri stirred in his mind at the thought of his name. Shh. Go back to sleep. The loquiri needed no further urging. With a drowsy nudge of his mind against his Match’s own in a soothing murmur, the Guildsman curled into his bed again, snuggling into his coverlet. The Drommah was draining enough; twas good to encourage the loquiri to sleep while he could. As the dosage increased, he would not sleep quite so comfortable, Yassin had been quite adamant about that. Atjeh swallowed hard as the noise slowed, a sign the majority of the women were dispersing to tasks such as preparing the feast, or entertainment, or last minute fixing of the suites for Epona’s family. His betrothed was about to step into the main hall at any moment. His mouth was suddenly dry. This was worse than sitting in his Da’s chair, rather than the seat on the lower steps of the dais as he was now, and holding court. Clasping his hands together, Atjeh swallowed hard and glanced worriedly at his Da and Q’Da, both of which flashed him reassuring smiles. “Twill be alright, ra,” Kinyth said mildly, leaning forward on his own chair to quickly ruffle his nu’s brown locks. “I was as nervous as a kitten in a Derk-ra’s pen when I met your Ma. Be yourself and do not fret. The rest will come.” Atjeh nodded, and then cringed as the doors began to swing open, before rising to his feet respectfully. Chusa strode within, clicking his heels together and bowing at the waist. “My Lord Kinyth, may I present the Lord Dule of Eastar, and his retinue.” The two lords smiled at one another, stepping forward and dipping their heads—with Dule dropping farther as customary for a visiting lord in another’s land-holdings—before grasping arms. “Welcome to my Manor, my lord,” Kinyth said warmly. “May the blessing and protection of Kyda touch you all, safety and peace upon your house, a feast always upon your table, and may my water be yours.” Dule nodded at the well-versed blessing, responding in kind. “I thank you, my lord. I will gladly share in your victuals, dwelling in safety in thy home, and may my water be yours.” Atjeh’s attention wandered slowly away from the two lords, speaking the customary welcomes and blessings. There was one older re, with a stern face and strict countenance. Though she vaguely resembled the girl he had crashed into you so many weeks ago—he did not think it was the same one. That girl had been bright and flustered, almost ready to laugh at any moment—whereas this other likely never laughed at all, or rarely. His eyes wandered over the maids and valets, withdrawing linkas and shaking the sand from their clothes, some studying with wide eyes the multiple carvings of coursing Derk-ra and pines and coiled cobras scattered about the hall. And not one servant resisted the urge to peek at the beast lying at the foot of the dais, gray-streaked muzzle marking out the old Derk-ra male that had been his Da’s own since before Atjeh’s birth. (the maids that had watched him as he grew had even teased that the egg hatched the moment his mother went into labor) A pair of nervous eyes met his, above a dusky rose veil. Though her hair was bound securely as befitted an unwed maiden and wellbred lady, a few strands had broken free, and curled rebelliously at the sides of her face. She pulled her veil away, revealing copper bangles around well-shaped wrists, the features of the nobleborn, and the face of the girl he remembered. Atjeh’s eyes widened. Whether because of the kohl, or the attractive clothes, or perhaps the touch of jewelry about her face and wide eyes, the lordling could not tear his gaze away. “She’s…beautiful…” he mumbled absently under his breath. Yassin laughed lowly and patted his shoulder, bending down to whisper in his ear, “Didya think we would choose an ugly woman for you, ra?” The lordling bit his lip hard, flushing. The loquiri squeezed his shoulder and gave him a gentle push. “Say hello to your betrothed, ra.” He stumbled forward, flushing brighter as her eyes landed upon him, running over his body as he had done to her. He shifted uneasily, hands smoothing his tunic absently, flicking at possible lint or dirt or…something. Did she like what she saw? Was he what she had expected—or worse? And then Epona smiled into his face. Atjeh grinned back, warmth pooling in his chest. Briefly, Andros’ mind surfaced, curious and simmering with subdued dislike. The lordling’s attention began to shift, and then yanked away, pushing his loquiri away firmly, as the re extended her arms. They clasped hands, with both looking away shyly, before focusing on their faces. “I..ah..tis wonderful…to meet you. Again. That is…” Epona blushed. “Oh bother. I’m making a mess of it.” Atjeh smiled. “Tis alright. I…I don’t know what to say either. I’m sorry that I…that I had to rush off like that.” “It is no worry,” she said immediately. “Yassin told me of your unsettled belly.” She bit her lip, eyes darkening. “I didn’t harm you, my jostling you so?” “No, no,” he said. “You did nothing wrong. Nothing at all.” He cocked his head, eyes dancing over her gown and hair and face once more. “You’re…very beautiful,” he mumbled, and then flushed darker beneath his tan when he realized he had spoken aloud. Would she think him forward? A flatterer? He didn’t mean that he had expected an ugly woman… Atjeh bit his lip hard. Kyda, this was so worrisome. < > Epona flushed at his praise. With her shoulders a touch to broad and her jaw not quite so rounded, she had heard herself referred to more as handsome than beautiful, so to hear her lord say it made her heart lurch. Her eyes flicked away for a moment, not knowing where to look, but she was drawn back to his eyes. Such warm eyes. Suddenly she realized she hadn’t said anything. “T…thank you,” she stammered, words sticking in her throat. “You look very handsome too.” To cover his own flushing he straightened his tunic. This…this isn’t so bad. He likes me. She smiled. And he’s being so gentlemanly. Just as I thought he might be. Kyda it makes me feel a bit better after that run in with the hall. Even as she thought, Atjeh’s eyes grew distant. Almost the same look from the hall. “Is something wrong, Lord Atjeh?” He favored her with an easy smile. “Ah, no, nothing at all. And just Atjeh because, well, we’re to be married, aye?” She bit her lip as she returned his smile. “Aye.” Before either of them could say more, the deep voice of a bell echoed through the chamber. Lord Kinyth clapped his hands. “We have prepared a feast for our guests. If you will accompany us to the dining hall?” Atjeh offered her his arm, and she took it, feeling a tingling sensation in her blood, and let lead her through the carved out manor. He pointed out tapestries and small statuettes, telling what each of them meant to his family or what he remembered about where they came from. Sometimes Epona only half listened, enjoying the sound of his voice. Other times, she almost interrupted, wanting to ask about the size and shape and over head load of sand and how the tunnels were able to stay in place. But that would be very unlady like and she was so very taken with the young lord who was at her side. Only once did she broach the subject. A simple ‘How long ago was the manor built?’ and he obliged her, in his rich voice. They entered the dining hall and as they were seated he whispered. “My re will be playing for us tonight. She’s very excited.” He nodded across the table to where a little girl was squirming in her chair. “Aye, she looks it.” Another little girl next to her was scowling. “Is that your other re? She doesn’t look quite so excited.” He chuckled. “Ma said they had a fight about it earlier.” “Well I am sure both of them would play equally well.” He was looking at her again and reached out and patted her hand then, tentatively, awkwardly, he left it there for a moment, and she smiled through her blush. The servants came, bringing trays of food and tureens of soup, soon replaced with more platters and the conversation in the feast hall grew to a dull roar. After the first hour, Epona was sipping her soup and trying to think of a lady like line of conversation. So far she thought she had done quite well, they had spoken small things, to the manor, to the members of his family. The only exception was when she began asking about how they had installed the glass, and he just smiled. She had blushed and immediately apologized. She stirred the soup and noticed Atjeh and grown silent again. Is this a part of his personality. These suddenly bouts of silence? She stole a glance at him through her lashes. The look had returned, this time with a slight frown. Do I interrupt him? She decided to wait until she finished her soup, and if she still had the look she would say something. < > …but do you have to touch her so much? Atjeh was not entirely sure he’d interpreted his loquiri’s thoughts correctly---the image of caressing male and female hands, overlaid with an angry red and then shattering like lune glass said something quite strong, if not precisely what the lordling thought it meant---but he sent soothing thoughts back to Andros anyway. As carefully as he could, he resisted the urge to sigh, resisted the urge to wince guiltily or frown in irritation, keenly aware of his betrothed at his side and her family all about. And the servants as well… The bloody servants, who watched them slyly as they brought dish after ceremonial dish of wedding delicacies, all the while undoubtedly hoping that perhaps Atjeh would do or say something to prove the rumors he knew were still floating about---though largely dead now, thanks to the stern talking-to Lady Nora had given Lorea---true. If nothing else, the points of training he and Andros had had with Yassin had taught him quite well to hide his thoughts behind a cool aristocratic mask. Though he dearly wanted to rise and go to his loquiri, he kept still, focusing his eyes on his bowl even as he saw Epona’s spoon rise to her lips once again. Andros… She is to be my wife. Twas a fairly easy thought to convey; his mind was already brimming with excited and nervous images of himself and Epona approaching the shaman, clasping hands as a large bronze bangle was ceremonially fastened about both of their wrists. But he very carefully kept his mind away from thoughts of the wedding night; Andros was having a hard enough time with the simple fact that Atjeh and Epona were sitting next to one another drinking soup. Their shoulders barely brushed one another, and yet the loquiri was tense and unhappy on the other side of the link, the fever from the Drommah hardly helping. If only he would go back to bloody sleep! Dimly, on the other side of the pair-link, he felt his loquiri roll over and bury his face in something cool and soft. His pillow, Atjeh thought. A stream of feelings and images bombarded the lordling like arrows, and this time did flinch, though he quickly hide it behind a polite cough, as though a speck of pepper from the soup had gone down his throat wrong. Meanwhile, he resisted another sigh as he felt Andros’ denial, possessiveness and something about a sundial fly toward him. Not for a week! There was little to do to comfort the loquiri just now. Epona had very nearly finished her soup, and it would be exceedingly awkward if Atjeh were to remain silent through the entirety of the meal. Already his Ma was looking at him pointedly, and nodding slightly, he tightened his hold on his side of the pair-link to give Andros some relief, then turned politely toward his betrothed. His breath once again caught in his throat for a moment as her warm hazel eyes lit up beneath his regard, faint rose touching her cheeks. “What manner of music do you prefer? My little re does not have much of a repertoire as yet, but my Dare and Darelo make a lovely duet, and I am sure they will be willing to take requests when they play.” < > She smiled. “Any sort of music, really. Music is…very mathematical. From the simple beats to the complex harmonics. In fact, in one of my books they discuss adding harmonics into…” pausing, she smoothed her napkin. Kyda, here I am launching into a lecture on music and sound. Kyda… She glanced at Anisa who was in a conversation with Lady Nora. She hadn’t noticed. Lord Atjeh, however…She flashed a guilty grin, meanwhile her hands twisting the napkin in her lap. “Kyda, I’m sorry. Any music will be fine with me, and anything they would like to play. I wouldn’t want to embarrass them by asking for something they didn’t know.” He chuckled lowly. “I am sure they would not mind.” He reached over as if to pat her hand again and instead fiddled with a fork as if suddenly conscious of the fact they were still just getting to know each other. Looking around, casually, Epona noted to the people in the hall. There were Lady Nora and Lord Kinyth, her Da, re, little ru, and an assortment of ras and ris and other relatives from Atjeh’s family. Also what she assumed to be the family’s blademaster lurked in the shadows. A thought niggled at her mind. “Where is your friend?” she asked. His brow furrowed. “My friend?” “You’re friend from the Guild. I heard you had one visiting.” At her words, he fumbled with his wine glass and almost spilled it. Inwardly, she cursed herself. I shouldn’t have listened to gossip. Or at least shouldn’t have brought it up, not so soon. If he’s heard the rumors he’s probably been embarrassed and annoyed by them and I only did worse by bringing them up. Kyda I’m a fool! Messed it up again. She swallowed a lump of disappointment and guilt. But he is doing a wonderful job covering it. His face is as smooth as marble. Desert dusty marble. Kyda he is handsome. Atjeh cleared his throat once, twice, then finally answered. “I..ah, he is not feeling well. He is here but has been sick the whole week and is confined to his chambers.” He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Perhaps later you will get to meet him.” “If he is a friend of yours, then I would be honored to meet him.” That rumor is true at least, but he is only a friend. It is very wise to cultivate that relationship and it is one that I should probably help as well since the Guild is so powerful. He gave her an odd little smile and nodded. “I am…sure he will like to meet you as well. I have told him about you.” Blood rushed to her cheeks. Up until their meeting, she had been unsure if her betrothed had ever even thought of her. “After that run it must have been hard not to speak of me and my clumsiness. And my cursing mouth.” Her words, more frank than Anisa would approve of startled a laugh out of her betrothed, a laugh that startled her in turn. Before she could think on it more, servants came to whisk their plates away and the music began. Epona tried to pay appropriate attention to it. In fact she made a good show of it, but kept sneaking glances at her betrothed out of the corner of her eye. For the first time, she wondered what kind of man he was. It was a quick thought, a small thought, one she answered with ‘he must be a noble man,’ but a small part of her wondered what he was beyond that. Deeper than that. And she wondered if he would show her. The first of the gifts was presented to Epona’s family: A large wardrobe, carved from the pine trees that grew on the estate. Epona, and at least half the Mara, knew of the quality and value of the furniture of the Harad house and such a large and well crafted piece was indeed a treasure. Anisa looked especially impressed and Epona had a feeling it would find its way into her re’s and i’ru’s quarters. They also presented her young ru with a box of sweets and Anisa a vial of perfume. The servants then presented her with her own gifts. They presented her with some traditional gifts of a shawl, and a gown. They also gave her a necklace faceted with three small fire opals, and a bottle of perfume like her sister’s. There was also a small box, carved of pine, that held a mirror and a set of ivory handled combs. For her, personally, they gave a tea set, carved from Eastar silver, mined from the heart of the Rim. Everything was so beautiful Epona was almost at a loss for words when it came to thank yous. Luckily a stern glance from Anisa didn’t allow that to happen. Their own families gifts were next. The candles were immediately taken by servants, who set them on ledges and in scones, lighting them and turning the underground manor cozy with their light. The fruits and nuts were whisked away to the kitchens and the flowers taken by servants to decorate not only the manor but for the upcoming wedding. The little re’s squealed in delight at their ribbons and Anisa shot Epona an ‘I told you so’ look from across the table. When it came time to present the traditional Gifts Lord Kinyth looked impressed by the quality of the leather gloves, even slipping his pair on his hand and flexing his fingers. Atjeh looked at his own pair for a moment and murmured, “I know what I can use these for,” before placing them on the table. Eponas little tree drew murmurs and she flushed, feeling suddenly exposed. She had made it particularly with Atjeh in mind and now, with everybody looking at her work, her hobby, something that was such a part of her she wished it wasn’t quite so public. Anisa and the servants had always been leary of her hobby and her greenhouse and part of her wondered what these people truly thought of it, beneath their polite and noble exterior. It caught her by surprise, then, as she was caught up watching one of the ri’s puzzle over it when Atjeh turned to her and asked, “You really made that?” She blinked, startled at the interested expression in his eyes. “Aye…it’s,” she shrugged a little, “a small hobby.” He looked back at the carefully formed green globe. “How did you do it? I’ve never seen anything like that before.” A spark of pleasure, real warm pleasure heated her belly and drew a small smile to her lips. “I have a small Gift and I turned that toward growing things, among other little hobbies. Then just a pair of pruning clips does the rest.” The look he gave her was appraising and he smiled. < > Epona collapsed, face down on the bed and breathed in the lavender scented coverlet. Her body was tired, worn, from travel and excitement but her mind was too full to think. After the presentation of the gifts, they had all said goodnight and Epona was escorted to her own private chamber that would be used until she and Atjeh were wed. It was a good sized chamber, not to large, but not too small, perfect for a guest. Her things had been brought, her trunk with her clothing, and her satchels of books. Rolling over and propping herself up on her elbow, she eyed them. She took books wherever she went. They were a comfort. And now, as her mind twisted and turned this way and that, she rose and carefully undid the wrapping. It was silly to unpack them, especially when she would leave the room in a week, but she needed to do something to get her mind off her bethrothed. Does he like me? I...I think he might. She handled three books in her palm, looking for a place to put them. He thinks I am beautiful, her heart raced a little at the thought, but does he like me. Was I what he was expecting? Did I do everything right? The looks he had given her had made her blood warm, but there were the other times, the odd times, where he seemed far away and she was just reminded even more what strangers they were. Is he truly everything I think he is? Three more titles she piled on her bedside table and she bit her lip. And we, strangers, are to be married. She swallowed down a lump in her throat. What an odd world it is. Ah stop these silly thoughts. He is a kind person, and handsome. And kind. She felt a smile forming on her lips when she thought of how he looked at her when he saw her little tree. “Ah, my betrothed,” she murmured as she pulled back the coverlet. “I wish you good night. And I hope you think of me.” < > Sitting at the edge of his bed, Atjeh pressed hands to each temple and sighed deeply. He would never fall asleep properly this way. Thoughts of Epona: her easy smiles and the carefully-tended tree, her charming blush and intriguing questions, crowded one upon the other in his head. But far worse, his loquiri’s frustration and near-anger pushed into the same mix, forcing thoughts of Epona deeper and deeper away to simply appease the ill Guildsman. Shh. Shh. It’s alright, Atjeh murmured in his mind, pressing soothing thoughts into the pair-link, trying to picture Andros lying down and relaxing into his coverlet. Shh. Go back to sleep. The loquiri mumbled unhappily in his mind, but a tiny bit of his body relaxed. Jeh? Come to me… Atjeh sighed. With one hand, he smoothed the coverlet upon his bed, longing more than ever to go to his loquiri, but knowing full well he could not. Not with the servants suspiciously watching, both the manor’s and a few of Epona’s household. Changing into sleep clothes and toning down a single lune—the moonflower Andros had finished shortly before the Drommah, Atjeh curled into his bed and opened his pair-link. Shh. Go to sleep, Andy. Please…Atjeh… weary sadness trickled into the Bond. Andros…rest. You’ll make yourself worse. I’ll come to you…when I can. The loquiri rolled over, burying his face into his pillow. Atjeh winced as the Guildsman sobbed quietly. Yassin had tried to prepare him; Exhausted and in pain from the Drommah, a loquiri could say and do odd things. But still…to feel how upset his loquiri was, it hurt like someone had jabbed a shitan to his chest and twisted it sharply. Neither of them was going to sleep well, if at all, unless…. Atjeh rose from the bed, tightening his hold on the pair-link enough that the loquiri could not decipher anything but the slimmest of information. He tapped the lune, smiling as it glowed happily in response to his quick jab of Gift, and then yanked parchment and paper from his writing desk. The quill danced over the page, a quick message to Dinjan, and then the lordling staggered sleepily out the door. It didn’t him long to spot a servant down the hall and slip them the bit of paper. With a sigh of relief as the page scurried out of sight, Atjeh returned to his room and collapsed onto his bed, closing his eyes wearily. The loquiri stirred uneasily, then sat up completely as Dinjan stepped into his room. Atjeh grimaced at the mild taste of lavender-infused broth, but kept his hold upon the pair-link tight, rather than soothing, as a question sped his way. The herb did its work, as well as Dinjan sitting at the loquiri’s side, stroking fingers through his hair. The Guildsman protested only mildly, and finally relaxed, slipping into restless sleep. His descent into that pleasing darkness tugged lightly against Atjeh’s own mind. The lordling sighed and pulled his coverlet up to his chin. His eyes slid, briefly, to the little tree he had filched and placed next to the lune, and a small smile played over his lips as he fell asleep, and dreamt of Epona’s face. < > < > “Did ye see? Moon-eyes,” Maria said triumphantly, shoving an armful of wood into the oven with gusto, “th’ whole morn.” She wiped her forearms free of splinters on her apron, smirking triumphantly at the lady’s maid. “Now pay up, missie!” Lorea cast her gaze ceiling-ward in exasperation. “Of course Epona has eyes only for him. Tis not what the wager is about, and you know it! What of Atjeh? Distant, just as I said!” As the spit-girl opened her mouth to protest, Lorea shook her head vehemently and shook a finger in the other ri’s face. “Oh no, you did not accompany us on the ride this afternoon, Maria! You don’t know! Atjeh may have been a perfect gentleman at brunch, and certainly at yesterday’s tour about the manor, but when we were halfway between the manor and the village, he did not even notice when her mare spooked.” The other servant bit her lip uncertainly, then simply shrugged. “Lady Anisa’s serving ri---she can hardly be called a ladies maid, that ‘un---says Epona rides quite well. Too well, ‘un might say,” she said, lowering her voice slightly. “But I’m sure she dinnae need help bringing no horse t’ heel.” “Tis not the point,” Lorea snapped, grabbing a tray from the overhead cupboard and placing the plate of cheese, bread and fruit she’d prepared upon it. After their long, busy day, Lord Kinyth and Lady Nora would be taking a quiet snack alone in their room---and a “nap” too, the maid was sure---before the big supper later that eve. “Tis only three days until the wedding! Atjeh's whole focus should be upon his betrothed. Have you not seen ‘The Eternal Marriage’ even once? Tis how courtly love should be, but no, Atjeh has eyes for only one person in this manor, and Kyda knows tis not---” Maria pursed her lips sternly, brows knitting. “Dinnae curse, Lorea.” Her gray eyes narrowed. “An’ dinnae say that! Lady Nora told ye t’ quiet your wagging tongue!” “Tis not gossip if tis true,” Lorea snapped, lifting the plate and stepping toward the kitchen door. “I have to deliver this. But how about this to settle our wager? After their constitutional on the morrow… We’ll both watch them return, aye? If Epona seems happy when they arrive back at the manor, we’ll know that he treated her as a groom should treat his betrothed. And if not, we’ll know for certain who truly has his heart.” < > Epona was saying something to her sister. Her dark hair was pinned about her head in ornate braids and her skirts, less ornate and more casual than on the day of the procession, reflected the browns and burnt oranges of the desert. Whatever she was saying she was saying it with a polite smile, and shaking her head. Her sister was silent for a moment, then gave a quick jerky nod and joined his Ma and their maids. Epona stared after them, looking, just for the moment, amused. She was alone. Good. Atjeh took a deep breath and wiped suddenly sweaty palms on his tunic. Her back was to him as he approached. “Epona?” She turned, and as her eyes lighted on him with recognition, she blushed dusky rose and dipped into a curtsey. “Atjeh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” “I was wondering if…” he paused and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, “if well, you’d like to go for a walk. I can show you our pine forests.” Her smile came again, quick and rich and his heart thudded. “Aye,” she said, “I would certainly like that.” As they stepped up into the mid-afternoon sunlight, Atjeh had the strangest urge to reach out and grasp her hand in his own, but he resisted, feeling his cheeks heat. For once, twas not the pair-link that stopped him; Andros was blessedly quiet on the other side of the Bond, dosed into oblivion by Dinjan with a blend of lavender and valerian to ensure the ill loquiri’s rest. Rather, imagining touching Epona in even such a simple way reminded him quite suddenly and quite vividly that the wedding was in two mere days… and more importantly as far as he was concerned, the wedding night. He wondered how she felt about the very idea of consummating their marriage, but was not about to ask. Nervous? Frightened? Disgusted? He blushed. Eager? And what would she think of him, when they… when they did…. that? He had never known a woman---not that he’d admit it to any but Andros---but would she expect him to have done so? Would she be disappointed? Kyda! With her bearing proud and yet gentle, Epona walked softly at his side across the rocky ground, the fallen pine needles beneath their feet---golden on the ends---reflected in her hazel eyes. Her gaze was focused straight ahead, but somehow he knew her attention was on him, even as his was on her from where he watched her out of the corner of his eye. He saw a small freed wisp of her black hair fluttering gently in the breeze and wondered for a moment what she would think if he tucked it away, or twisted it around his finger, or… Their shoulders just barely brushed one another as they turned toward the narrow path winding its way through the trees, and as his face burned hotter at even that simple contact he saw that same, dusky rose rise into her cheeks again. He cleared his throat, gesturing toward the path as they stepped into the denser trees lying around the manor. “We, um… We do not put rocks or any such down to mark the path.” He chuckled nervously, scrubbing one hand over his cheeks and silently growling at himself to get his mind back on more proper topics. Kyda! “Ah, as you can see, of course.” Surely she must have known what he was thinking; he felt as though it were written on his face, in his burning cheeks. She chuckled quietly, a surprisingly rich sound, though still girlish and polite as all young noblewomen were taught to laugh. He blinked, cocking his head slightly and wishing suddenly to hear it again. So strange, to think that this lovely creature would soon be his… his wife. That he would hear that laughter for many years to come. She cast him a small glance out of the corner of her eye. “Tis much more peaceful this way, I think,” she murmured. “Stones would crunch and feel strange to walk upon, but this is nice.” She smiled. “More natural, too, like the path belongs here, as part of the forest.” The lordling grinned easily at that. “It is natural, in fact.” When she cast him a curious glance, he pointed toward the base of one towering pine tree. “Do you see that?” At first, he was afraid she did not, and silently cursed himself for asking her such trivial, boring questions. What would she care about a bloody tree? But then she bit her lip, and glanced uncertainly at him. “Scratches? From… from a… a goat, or some such?” Atjeh grinned, shaking his head. “Not a goat, but close. A derk-ra. We’ve domesticated all of the beasts on our land, of course, but long ago, when this tree was perhaps yet a stripling, the derk-ra hutches that passed through here would use this tree and others to sharpen their claws and scratch their hides. Some of the trunks yet bare the scars.” Epona’s smiled politely, but then gestured to another tree. “Oh, there is another.” Nodding, the lordling led her further along the path. “Aye, they are all about. There was a time, once, when the first warriors who settled here followed these markings through the forest while hunting derk-ra. Twas in Apollar’s early years, of course. Later, when we first began to catch and domesticate derk-ra rather than slay them, twas along this path that the wild derk-ra would roam, and along this path that the warriors would follow with their nets. By the time we’d become a true province, this path was already nearly as you see it now; easy to follow, but untouched by shovel or cobblestone.” She eyed the surrounding trees nervously, although with far less fear than he would have expected. “And, ah, do they wander still?” Atjeh grinned. “Nay. Well, they do when Seban lets them out of the mews to stretch their legs, but there are no longer any feral derk-ra in these parts. Farther north, however, there are quite a few wild hutches.” He gave her an easy smile, all the while trying to remind himself not to stare at her too long. “You’ll not be seeing any derk-ra today, never fear.” “I am not some wetland maid that has never heard the scream of a Derk-ra. I do not fear.” She glanced at him as she said it but as the last word left her lips, her eyes widened. He tried to keep his own face smooth, trying not to look as surprised as she, but, Atjeh had to admit, that was the last thing he expected to come from the noble woman. She lowered her head, embarrassed. He had to still his hand from taking her chin and looking her in the eyes to be sure he was still with the same woman. “Forgive me. I…sometimes I speak too strongly,” she murmured. “No its not,” he blurted, the flushed deeper. Kyda. “I mean, its, well…” her head rose and she looked at him questioningly, warily, hopefully all at once. Kyda the weight of those eyes. “If it’s the truth, it’s the truth,” he said finally. Kyda what kind of answer was that? Why couldn’t I have said it was marvelous? Or witty? Or a dozen other things? It must have been enough because she smiled a little smile and held her shoulders straighter as if nothing had happened. “How many Derk-ra does your family keep?” “A lot,” he chuckled. Not as many as some of the houses whose primary income was based on breeding, but no Apollaran house, especially one as high as his own, would ever have few derk-ra on their estate. “I am surprised you have not seen some in the manor yet. I have two as pets.” “I have seen Apollar nobles bringing Derk-ra to court. Although I hear the High Fay-el has outlawed them in the room at Ratacca Korr when he holds court.” Atjeh winced. “Aye, unfortunately. Although his Derk-ra did nothing wrong. Only the man. There were just some…unfortunate repercussions. Mine are perfectly well trained. You could, ah, see them if you would like when we return to the manor.” “I would like that.” He found himself smiling. Her tone was sincere and truly interested. As the two noble younglings returned to the manor, talking quietly and smiling as they did so, neither of them noticed the frown of one maid looking on or the triumphant grin of another. Two copper coins exchanged hands, and the young women swept off in different directions to their tasks. < > < > Huddled in the corner of his bed, blanket wrapped about his shoulders, when the Guildsman glanced up at Chusa’s arrival, the steward winced in abject sympathy. His pale, drawn face and wide eyes were those of the miserably ill. Chusa stepped closer to him, frowning as he noted the plate of food, half-eaten. “You need to eat more than that,” he scolded gently. Andros shrugged and sighed, turning away and shivering in clear unhappiness. His face screwed up and he swallowed hard. Nausea, most likely. “Go away,” he muttered. “Dinjan had to step out for just one moment. One of the servants slashed her finger deep with a blade, and Aodonn is not quite ready for that yet. He asked me to keep an eye on you.” The steward cocked a brow at him. “He seemed to think you’d be asleep.” Andros snorted softly. The steward smiled. “Perhaps I should make sure the old healer is not correct, aye?” The Guildsman twisted his head to give him a narrow glare, before turning about again. Chusa sighed, resting a hand on each shoulder. “Sar, you need to rest. Twill never get over this if you do not sleep and eat well.” He pushed down firmly, ignoring Andros’ resistance and muttered grumbles. “There you go,” he said smoothly as the Guildsman stretched out upon his coverlet. “Chusa…please…” The steward tugged the blankets up to Andros’ chin. “No more fussing. Dinjan should be back any minute with some soothing herbs, I am sure. But you can at least lie down while you wait, aye?” Gently, he smoothed the Guildsman’s hair away from his neck. His fingers brushed a metal chain. Confused, Chusa frowned, and ran his hand across the same bit of brown hair. A small, silver chain and clasp, leading down to… he tilted his head, eyes following the line of it—and Andros sat up abruptly, one hand clasping at the middle of his tunic and eyes narrowing. “Get out,” he croaked hoarsely. The steward bit his lip, and kept his face neutrally impassive, even as his mind raced. A chain with somehting at the end, down his tunic. What is it? Guild charm? A nexus for his Gift—but no, Daru said nexus’ are granted only to the highest ranked of the Guild and Guild lords. He is no lord. He smiled faintly and reached out as if to ruffle Andros’ hair, keeping his voice level. “Sar, Dinjan asked me to—“ “Get out!” his voice cracked halfway through, but there was no mistaking the panicked intensity in his tone. “Kyda bloody take you—Get out!” Chusa froze, biting his lip. This terrible distress was surely over something the Guildsman did not wish him to see, and was not merely that of a miserable, ill man disdaining company. What in the world was he wearing on that chain? “Sar,” he snapped, more sharply than he’d intended but wanting to pull the man out of this strange half-panic. But he took a small step back, holding up his hands as unthreateningly as he could. “Andros, sar, calm yourself! You will draw the attention of the entire manor!" He took a deep breath, and lowered his own voice yet more. "I mean you no harm.” “Good,” Andros groaned, shrinking back against his pillow. With a face wan and lined with pain and exhaustion, and an expression stricken with desperation as he clutched at whatever twas beneath his tunic, the Guildsman looked much older than his mere twenty-five or so summers. Indeed, he looked as though he were an aging man about to suffer a heart attack. “Then get out!” he shouted, voice rasping. The steward took another step back, his teeth catching his lip even harder this time. He was fairly certain if Andros kept on like this, the man would make himself even more ill, perhaps dangerously so. He swallowed, and strove to keep his voice soothing and calm, though curiosity and worry alike burned within him. “Sar… I do not know what tis you have hidden under that shirt. But I give you my word; I will tell no one of it, if that is your wish. Only… promise me one thing in return?” Andros wrapped his blanket tighter about himself, shuddering and glaring at the other man. “W-What?” Though the look he treated Chusa with was vehement, the steward could not help but note the way his face had drained almost entirely of blood, as though he were not only terrified of what would be demanded of him, but also half certain that he knew what that demand would be. Twas... odd. Chusa took another step back and his hand settled on the doorknob behind him, but his eyes narrowed sternly. Whether the man before him was ill or no was of no consequence when it came to a more important matter. He cleared his throat, and fixed the Guildsman with a sober look, wanting to trust him and leave the poor man be, but also needing to reassure himself that trust was not a terrible mistake. “I will go, and say naught… but you must promise me that you mean the young lord and his family no harm.” Surprise, relief and exasperation alike flooded the Guildsman’s face. “Aye!" he said, in his growling croak. "I would never, ever touch a hair on his head, Chusa! You've my word. Now, out! Get out!” He swept one arm toward the door, his voice cracking again on the last word. The steward frowned pensively. Could he trust that answer? Chusa was not sure, but that relief had been good to see, at least. Certainly, twas better than seeing calculation, or murderous intent or some such flash over the Guildsman's face. “Very well, sar," he said, bowing slightly, hand crossed over his chest as was proper. "I will send Dinjan as soon as he is free. You need to rest.” |
| < > "Oh, they're beautiful," Epona breathed enthusiastically, but she allowed Atjeh to pull her back a couple of inches. The lordling smiled and released her cautiously; for a moment there, he'd been quite sure she would simply pounce upon the beasts, one of which was looking at her curiously, and the other which was ignoring them both and her mate disdainfully. After he had introduced the derk-ra to his betrothed, and vice versa, he simply sat on the floor with his back against his bedframe, smiling as she knelt by the lizards on the rug and stroked their crests and snouts---only a little nervously---as their forked tongues tasted the flesh of her wrists, her cheeks. Only when Lady Nora, passing by the ajar door and hearing the quiet voices and giggling within, peeked her head inside did the two younglings draw themselves up, going in mere grains from looking like a carefree ra and ri to a young man and his betrothed. "Ah, I am pleased to see you like derk-ra so well," Nora said, smiling as she stepped within the room. Epona did not rise from the ground, and neither did Atjeh, but both younglings sat up a little straighter. "Not many ris---or ras or even men, for that matter---from outside of Apollar do." Epona flushed prettily. "Oh, well, these ones are a little different than the beasts that stalk the caravan routes outside of Crossroads. And smaller, too," she said, running her hand over the black scales of the male appreciatively. Atjeh grinned at his Ma, wondering if she was as excited about Epona's easy acceptance of the derk-ra as he had been. Then he turned to his betrothed. "You should have seen them when they were hatchlings. So tiny. Tyla fit in the palm of my hand, and would curl her tail around my wrist." "Are there any hatchlings here now?" Atjeh shrugged. "Some, in the mews. But we cannot see the littlest of them." He grinned sympathetically as her shoulders slumped. "They assume whoever they first lay eyes upon is their dam... and are very uncertain at first around others. Seban usually keeps them away from everyone but their handler until they begin eating bugs." "Bugs?" Epona asked, scrunching her nose slightly. "Aye," Nora said. "The little things have great fun, the first time they eat. Scurrying to and fro on wobbly legs, chasing after crickets and the like." Epona smiled easily. "I should like to see such a thing." As both Ma and nu turned to look upon her in surprise, she flushed. "I mean... ah... the scurrying... the hatchlings playing. Not the bug-eating." Nora chuckled. "Oh, they are certainly not playing. As amusing as tis for us to watch, those little hatchlings are quite convinced of the importance of hunting and slaying their first meal. They are just not very adept at it." She giggled. “Ah. Well then I suppose it is a good thing that I am not a bug, even if they’re not very good.” Nora smiled pleasantly. “These ones here in the manor are well trained, they won’t go for human flesh. Unless they are told to of course.” “And they won’t go against family either.” Atjeh lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I tried to do that to my ri once, a long time ago.” His Ma snorted. “Aye, he did. And was punished quite well for it too.” Atjeh blushed and Epona tried to suppress a smile. Nora looked at them appraisingly, her eyes crinkling at the corners with suppressed amusement. “I will leave you be.” As his Ma left he turned his attention to his betrothed. Her hair had escaped even more from her braids and was half tumbling over one shoulder. Imagine. His betrothed liked his pets. Epona sat back as the derk-ra nuzzled her barefoot. Her skin was delicate and Atjeh’s eyes followed the curve of her ankle to the hint of a shapely calf, hidden by the skirt. “They’re almost like scaled sand cats,” she said. Atjeh smiled, tearing his eyes away before she noticed. “I didn’t…” he cleared his throat, “I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to like the derk-ra so much. Not because I thought you were…well, I mean you’re from Eastar and they’re not so common.” She flushed. “Aye, well…I’ve certainly read enough about them. And sometimes when traders come through I always go out and have a look.” She sighed quietly and bit her lip. “My sister says it’s a defect in my character.” Her lip twisted wryly as her eyes studied the floor. “Probably not something I should mention before we are to marry but you would have to find it out some time.” Atjeh found his eyes widening, and his mouth moving without thought. "Oh! I do not this tis a defect in your character at all! You're perfect." Then he realized what he had said, and looked away, stammering. "Ah, f---for Apollar." His hand rose halfway to his burning face, but he forced it down into his lap, and grinned sheepishly. "Ma and Da and q'Da say you're good with numbers. Most of our family's wealth comes from our pine forests and our derk-ra, so if you like the beasts, tis even better." She beamed at him, cheeks glowing. "You think so?" "I know so." Her smile was all the response he needed. Mustering the courage for a compliment, he licked his lips..and winced at the taste of sleep and misery. Jeh? Jeh… Epona was looking at him questioningly. She is there… Her smile was disappearing to confusion and a hint of worry and he wanted to just push that lock of hair out of her eyes and tell her he was fine. “Atjeh?” Jeh… Jealousy, misery and loneliness surged through the bond and he bit his lip again. Kyda, of all the times. He didn’t want to leave her, especially, he realized suddenly, if she thought she was only good for Apollar. Defect of the character, what… Jeh…I’m so cold. Part of his loquiri’s fever and the misery ran unchecked. His feet itched. He needed to go to him…and yet Epona was still looking at him with those questioning green-gold eyes. “I’m…sorry Epona. I was thinking of my friend. He’s been very ill, you know, and I remembered I need to check on him.” “Oh, of course.” She hesitated her hands folded in her lap. “I would like to meet your friend, if you don’t mind me coming along?” “Um…I…” Atjeh swallowed hard, mind scrambling for a reasonable excuse. He didn’t dare take Epona to see his Guild “friend”. What if Andros slipped? Or if he said something..or… “Epona, I’m not sure if—“ he trailed off as the pair-link sizzled with hurt. You’re ashamed of me… the loquiri sniffled, tears breaking free of his rigid control. ashamed… No! I’m not ashamed of you, Atjeh sent back hurriedly. He bit his lip as Epona’s look only grew more concerned. “I..I suppose it was a bad idea,” she said softly, eyes sinking to the floor. Atjeh would have cursed. “No, I…I don’t mind if you see him. I’m just not sure—“ “Twould not be lady-like, I suppose, to go bother a sick man.” She studied her hands, fingers twisting and untwisting in her lap. “My apologies, Atjeh.” As she rose as if to leave, the lordling joined her on her feet. Andros’ mind stirred again, uncoiling from its miserable keening. Jeh… Be quiet. As the loquiri’s mind snapped sharply away, wounded hurt flaring in shades of scarlet and sapphire, Atjeh winced inwardly, but reached for Epona’s shoulder, hand resting there gently. “Epona…please. I meant no harm. He’s…surly…when he is ill, and I..” his cheeks flushed as he was suddenly aware of his fingers curled about her shoulder, and the bright blush staining her cheeks as her hazel eyes glanced at his hand. “Um…I…when he’s…I don’t want him to upset you,” he finished in a rush. The Eastar lady peered up at him through her lashes. “He won’t upset me. I would like to mean him. He is going to be staying for a little while, aye?” Atjeh’s mouth quirked into a wry grin, even as he resisted the curl of his lip. “Ah…aye. Andros should remain in the manor until he is well at least, and Dinjan—our healer—says twill be another week or so.” Nodding faintly, the ri smiled up at him and his heart melted. Oh Kyda… Atjteh wanted that smile, wanted to see it often and wide with delight. “Well…” Epona began, “If he is to be here for some time, should I not meet him and see how he fares? Perhaps my tree or your pets would cheer him up?” She cocked her head and bit her lip. “You seem to care a great deal about him. And…well…” her hands worried themselves again, “If you care about someone, I think I should at least know them and maybe…like…them too.” Atjeh dearly, dearly wanted her to like Andros, too. And the loquiri to like her back, though he knew that would take some time, as the pair-link was simply not adjusting well to even the slightest feelings of new, outside intimacy. And Kyda, how would Andros feel on the wedding night? He quickly clamped down on his side of the pair-link lest that particular line of thought seep through. “Alright,” Atjeh found himself saying, strangely unable to refuse her while her hazel eyes were focused upon him like that. Kyda Kyda Kyda! Jeh… no, Andros protested---dimly---on the other side of the link where he’d been shoved hastily and less-than-effectively aside by his Match. Please, I am weary. I do not have the energy right now to--- Atjeh bit his lip, resting his hand, feather light, on the small of Epona’s back to nudge her toward the door. “Follow me, then.” Inside, he widened his link slightly, bracing himself against the flood of misery he knew now to expect, and reached out soothingly to the loquiri. You will be alright, Andy. You know she has to meet you sometime. We will try not to stay long. Twas the wrong thing to say, of course. He felt the bone-deep ache in Andros’ body as the loquiri rolled over with a groan, burying his face in his pillow. We? Where will you go, after? Why will you not stay with me? “Atjeh?” He blinked, realizing two things at once; that twas the second time she’d said his name, and that he’d stopped in the middle of the hall without warning. Biting his lip, hard, he fished for a reasonable excuse. “I… I just forgot. I told him I would bring him… something. A-a book. For him to um, read.” Warmth was trickling back into his cheeks as she simply looked at him, her eyebrow raised slightly in amusement as he struggled to get through the statement. “What book?” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I am sorry. Twas what I was trying to think of. I do not read terribly much, myself. I am not sure what he would like.” Liar. Shh. He was shocked by how quickly and completely her face lit up. “Oh! I’ve a… a few books with me.” She ducked her head slightly, eyes dropping to the floor. “That is… Well, I brought a lot, honestly. Too many, Anisa says. Your friend is welcome to borrow one.” I do not bloody want one, the loquiri growled, crushing the pillow against the sides of his head as though to physically block out the sound of Epona’s voice… or worse, his Match’s impression of the sound of Epona’s voice. Hush, Atjeh murmured. Poetry or history? Or perhaps--- “You said he makes lunes, aye? I’ve a copy of ‘Transmission and Distribution Harmonics’ that he might enjoy. I cannot do anything with it---my Gift is not strong enough---but tis fascinating, and it goes into significant depth on the theory and practice of lune-making…” Atjeh’s lip quirked ever so slightly as he sensed Andros’ sudden, unwilling interest. “Aye,” he said, resisting the urge to chuckle. “That sounds good.” < > Sitting up in bed, propped upon pillows and clutching his blanket close to his chest, the Guildsman fixed Atjeh and Epona’s arrival with a stern glare. The quiet frustration in his face, however, was tempered by quick, sly glances toward the Eastar noblewoman’s hands, and the book she held. “A-Atjeh?” Andros shifted uneasily, shuddering mildly. The fever, mixed with the cool air of the manor, often caused cold sweats. Tis why Dinjan had insisted on bundling him up with plentiful blankets and furs scattered across the bed. “Who…is with you?” he rasped, and then bit his lip. The coughing fit came anyway. Both the lord and Guildsman winced as pain sliced through the loquiri’s chest, and across the pair-link, but Atjeh covered it with a quick pass of his hand across his cheeks and a stride closer to the bed. Patting Andros’ back as the loquiri wheezed, Atjeh flashed an encouraging look at Epona, who glanced at the pale, wan Guildsman with slight hesitance. “This is Epona, my betrothed,” he said carefully, aware of the sting of irritation that flared across the pair-link at the word. “Epona, this is Andros of the Riv sect of the Guild.” “Pleased to meet you, sar,” the Eastar-born woman said immediately, dipping in a small curtsey. “Tis a pity you are ill and will be unable to attend the wedding.” Andros’ eyes narrowed at Atjeh. The lordling flinched inwardly. “Ah…I know how ill you are, as Dinjan has told me. Twould be best….” His eyes narrowed back at his loquiri, “…if you simply stayed in bed and recovered. I would not fault you for it.” “Perhaps I will be feeling better…by then…” he mumbled. I knew you were ashamed of me. Hiding me from your own wedding! Atjeh would have groaned aloud if not for his betrothed’s presence. Shh. Tis not true at all. I didn’t think you could…handle it…exactly. Pale violet misery unfolded into blossoms of hurt. No-no. I mean…Kyda. The Guildsman shifted his gaze away from Atjeh, blocking the pair-link into a dull murmur, and forced a small smile toward the young woman. “Tis good to see you as well—Epona, isn’t it?” That dusky rose blush rushed into her cheeks. “Aye, sar. I—I suppose Atjeh has spoken of me.” “Annoyingly often,” Andros growled, glaring at his Match slightly. With his back to his betrothed, Atjeh rolled his eyes. Stop that. You act like a jealous wife. Twas again the wrong thing to say. Across the link, Atjeh received the mental equivalent of a flinch, followed by a deeper walling-off of his loquiri’s mind. The Bond burned with miserable aches, both from the poisons working through his system, and with growing unhappiness of Atjeh’s distance from the loquiri, while Epona had the closeness to his Match that he desired. Atjeh sighed, and then flushed as Epona glanced at him, eyebrows arched and cheeks fairly pink. “Um….Andros….ah…” he twisted his head away, swallowing hard and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Has Dinjan seen to you yet? You look more feverish than before.” He reached out a hand to touch his loquiri’s forehead, murmuring, Shh. Calm down. through the pair-link. The Guildsman accepted the touch briefly—sighing softly in Atjeh’s head—and then pulled away abruptly enough even the lordling frowned. What’s wrong? “Dinjan is supposed to…come back…in fifteen marks,” Andros murmured. “Don’t fret over me.” Go away! I don’t want you here … the tattoo at his wrist twinged across the pair-link. I just…not with her. Just you. he snapped. Epona sat on his other side. The Guildsman tensed, glancing at her with alarm. When she rested her hand upon his forehead as well, before withdrawing it, the loquiri bit his lip hard. She patted his hand lightly, eyes dropping to the book in her hand, just missing the wide-eyed panic in the loquiri’s face, before his eyes swept to his Match. Make her go away! Both of you---leave me…leave me…alone, his head dropped, and he pulled his coverlet close to his face. The loquiri had learned how to hide his feelings quite well from his stern Sian. Only the pair-link’s searing unhappiness allowed Atjeh to distinguish the broken-coughs into subdued sobs. The lordling closed his eyes, swallowing hard several times. Kyda—this urge to wrap his arms around Andros and soothe away his pain and sadness—he could not fulfil the need, and it burned so within. Gently, he rubbed Andros’ shoulder with one hand. Please, Andy…it’s alright. I promise it will be. “Let me fetch Dinjan.” So you can put me to sleep, Andros snapped. Maybe even bed her. The words degenerated into images—some not quite what Atjeh had ever wished to see of Andros and his Sian’s relationship. I promised you—I will never do that to you! Atjeh hissed fiercely. He forced a smile toward Epona, who was thumbing through her book for the section about lunes, murmuring something about what she had read. Neither of them were listening. If…if it will make you stay with me… Atjeh blinked. He started to think of reassuring thoughts, to dissuade the loquiri from thinking thatwas required of him to have Atjeh’s attention, Epona caught his sleeve, snapping his mind from its reverie. “Here it is…that part about lunes.” She glanced at Andros hopefully. “Do you want me to read it to you? Or just…ah…” she flushed again. “I could just leave it and let you read when you feel better.” Atjeh winced at looked at his betrothed. “Perhaps…” “I should go,” she agreed sensibly. Andros squirmed again, but managed to get out a "Go, please. But.... ah... leave the book." Epona hesitated, then slid the book on the table next to him. “I, ah, marked the page…” She smiled warmly at Atjeh and dipped her head. “Until later betrothed.” < > On the day of her wedding, Epona realized something. One thing she had decided she certainly would not miss was maids fussing over her. They fussed over her the night before, giving her a very embarrassing talk. They fussed over her in the morning and they fussed over now, as if afraid she wouldn’t be able to dress herself. Honestly, she had been doing it all by herself since she was only a little ri. But no it was all muss and fuss and giggles and winding a desert rose in her hair. Although …I do want to look beautiful. Like he said I was. Epona bit her lip. She was looking forward to seeing him. Not in the way she had before. Before it had been the attention from a handsome man but now it was…different. There was a hint of a person to the name she had admired from afar. She smiled softly as the silks rustled around her and she glanced over at the books on her side table. One, the Second Treatise on Light Emitting Substances, sat on top of a smaller book on rainfall in Settar. His friend might like to see those later. Much later. Nerves fluttered. After the wedding came the wedding night. She had tried not to think about it, and, every time she did nerves fluttered. Being so intimate with a stranger and pushed fear into her belly, but now…it wasn’t quite so bad. Still a little afraid of what he would think of her when it was just the two of them, and what would, well…happen, but still she found that she wanted to be nearer to him. Those warm eyes would be on her, fingers against her skin… A giggling maid jolted her out of her thoughts and she blushed. At least he liked her. And he didn’t mind her slips and he said it didn’t matter. He said it was perfect. She almost told Anisa. Lookinga t her sister as the maids pinned up her hair, she grinned. Almost told Anisa. She hardly had time to think as the maids laced up the bodice, powdered her cheeks and sprinkled perfume under her jawline, all with giggles and trading glances. The ceremony was a blur. It was out of doors, under a pavilion, after the heat of the day was over but before the chill of the night, the flowers brought by her family draped and scenting the air. Shapes and faces were almost meaningless as she stepped into the circle and her eyes found Atjeh as he took her hands when she stepped into the circle. She smiled nervously. He looked handsome and he was going to be her husband. The shamen spoke their names, spoke words and she caught him looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Flushing, he looked back at the shamen. Before she knew it, the shamen was saying the words. Man and Wife…thrice spoken… And now they were looking at each other. He was flushed but his eyes were bright as he touched her chin, gently raising it. Her heart sped, her muscles wobbled. He leaned forward, and she felt the faint tremble of his fingers. Whether from nerves or eagerness, she didn’t know. He was very close, close enough for her to smell his musky, cinnamony scenty, and his warm breath tickled her lips. Her heart pounded as she closed her eyes and their lips met, gently, oh so gently. Soft. Then they firmed for a fraction of a moment and she felt her blood rush as his hand slipped to her back. And then, suddenly, they parted, both flushed and faced the crowd. Her sister, her Da, his ris and rus, and his Guildsman friend, bundled and looking miserable. She barely saw them, still feeling the echo of his kiss. As the music swelled, people came forward to congratulate them. < > They were supposed to dance and they hadn’t. Person after person had come to speak to them and they had gotten separated among the families. As the music swelled and other couples became a slow dance, Epona looked around for her new husband. A dance…we’re supposed to share a dance… Epona turned, catching a glimpse of brown hair but it was only a servant. He was just here a moment ago… She wound her way through people, nodding politely to congratulations passed her way. His friend has gone too… Perhaps his friend is more than a friend… the rumor passed through her mind again and she squelched it in anger. No. He was simply a friend, Guildsman though he was. And he was her husband now. Those rumors were all lies. Especially after that kiss, they had to be! She tossed her head and grabbed a maid. “Excuse me. Did you happen to see where Atjeh went?” < > “Hush, hush now,” Atjeh murmured. He snuggled closer to his coughing loquiri, tucking one arm around Andros’ shaking shoulders and gently reaching up to stroke his hair with his free hand. The loquiri’s skin was very hot, made that way by the exertion of coughing as much as fever. As soon as he’d been able, Atjeh had come and joined Andros in the Guildsman’s room, where Dinjan had brought the loquiri to rest once a coughing fit had begun. “I told you, you should not have come to the ceremony,” he said quietly, resting his chin on the Guildsman’s shoulder as he felt wave after wave of illness and unhappiness spread through Andros and through the pair-link between them. At his Match’s simple gesture, Andros shuddered against him in equal parts misery and relief. Atjeh could feel him trying very hard to push the pair-link away, to shut his Match out, but sick as the loquiri was---and having been denied warming the Bond for days---twas simply too difficult for him to do so. Despite his jealousy and hurt over the marriage, he could not prevent the natural warming of the Bond, and neither did he truly wish to do so. “Did I embarrass you?” he rasped when he finally managed to stop coughing, burying his head in his cool pillow. “I tried not to stay too long---“ “No!” Atjeh snapped, then relaxed against him and, leaning slightly away, rubbed his hand over his shoulder blade in a slow, soothing circle. He really needed to get back to the celebration, but at the moment his loquiri needed him more than his new wife needed a couple dances with him. Though he very, very much wished to dance with her. Still, he was sure the well-wishers would keep Epona quite well distracted until he returned. Kyda knew they’d kept her away from him quite long enough already as it was. “No, you certainly did not embarrass me,” he said, softening his voice. “You did very, very well.” I know how hard that was, for you. Jeh… The loquiri turned toward him, frowning into his face. His eyes were dull with fatigue and fever. Just hold me? I know you must go, soon. To her. But… The lordling sighed, nodding his head. Aye, soon. But not yet. We have a few marks, I think. Let me make you feel better, hmm? He tucked him closer, until Andros' bowed head rested under his chin. Hugging him close, he simply rubbed his back, the soothing circle the palm of his hand was tracing becoming firmer as he opened his side of the pair-link. The soothing circle his hand pressed into Andros’ back became firmer as he opened his side of the pair-link. I am her husband, but I am also still your Match. And always will be. Open to me. With a pleased shudder, Andros obeyed, the pair-link widening and bringing with it the heightened sensitivity and enjoyment of Atjeh’s touch that came with warming the Bond. The lordling smiled and pushed firmer, using the knuckle of his hand to work at tight and tense muscles in the loquiri’s back and neck and shoulders. The Guildsman moaned softly, eyes fluttering closed. Warmth began to seep into the Bond, until they heat of Andros’ skin from the fever faded before the rising pleasant glow in their minds. Atjeh pushed his loquiri’s head down to his chest and played with his hair, fingers tangling and twisting in the brown locks. His hand found the loquiri’s jawline. Using a light touch, he stroked across his jaw, over his cheekbones, and around the mildly slanted tilt to his eyes. Andros groaned anew and embraced his Match fiercely, shuddering with the rising intensity of the sensations. “More…” he mumbled. “So good.” “Ah,” Atjeh’s lips curled into a pleased smile and he cupped his loquiri’s chin in one hand, thumb rubbing the curve of his throat. “Epona could never replace this, hmm?” “Aye…” the loquiri rasped, and then shivered in growing expectation as Atjeh caught his hand and turned it palm-up. His hands traced the blue-black lines, sweeping into the elaborate Eye outlined across his wrist, the orb seeming almost to blink as he shivered anew, tendons and muscles shifting beneath the skin. “Oh…oh Kyda…” Andros moaned, buried his face into Atjeh’s tunic. “Jeh…I love when you touch me there.” A gasp. The Guildsman tensed, body twisting abruptly away from his Match even as the lordling also cried out with a sharp oath, both of them swiveling to glare at the intruder. Epona, eyes wide with shock, swept her gaze over them both, an ajar door behind her. The servants had all scurried away at a strict order from the lordling, but Epona had certainly not thought about knocking or waiting to enter the Guildsman’s room. Atjeh felt heat rush to his cheeks. Andros was nearly in his lap, cuddled close, and had a faint flush and bit of sweat to his face that had nothing to do with his fever. And explaining that he was warmed by the Bond was out of the question. “Andros and I…Epona it was just that he….” Those hazel eyes, so warm and tender toward him but moments ago, faded into a look brimming with hurt and tears. “Jeh? He calls you—and you are—was it all a trick?” Atjeh tried to untangle himself from his loquiri’s grip. Subtly, but with definite possessive need, Andros’ hold did not loosen by much. He squirmed in the loquiri’s arms and held out an entreating hand. “Epona….if you would just wait—“ ache of his own unfolded in his chest as her eyes narrowed. “My wife—“ “But not your lover, aye? ” she snapped, lower lip trembling. “That’s what you need me for. The title? Or just so you can have the best of both worlds.” Her watery gaze swept to Andros, who looked on with an expression nearly bordering on smug. Hazel eyes met bright green. “And you’re enjoying this!,” Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, but she swallowed hard, her look returning to the lordling, wide with bone-deep hurt. “You…you’re using me. I thought…I thought…I thought you were better than that!” With a firm shove at Andros’ shoulder, finally freeing himself to stand at the edge of the bed, Atjeh frowned darkly. “Epona, tis not true!” “Liar! I’m supposed to believe you now? I…” her voice trailed off into a choked whisper, “I trusted you…” “Epona…” he crossed the room, but she held up her hands and stepped backwards. “Don’t touch me!” she was backing out the door. “Don’t even come near me!” A few maids ducked into the shadows, eyes wide. She glanced at them, raised her chin and gripped her skirts until her knuckles turned white. Only the tears sparkling in her eyes gave her away. Turning sharply, she strode off down the hallway so quickly she might as well have been running and Atjeh slumped in the doorway. < > Epona locked herself in her room. It was childish but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to see anyone, deal with anyone. She had managed to keep herself together long enough to send her sister a quick note, written in her hands and sealed so the maids wouldn’t see. The rumors are true. was all it said. Then she made sure everyone had gone, the door was locked securely, before she threw herself on her bed, and buried her face into her pillow as a sob was ripped through her throat. He lied. He used me, he’s not a noble at all! I hate him! I hate that lying thorla. He made me think he liked me, he made me feel… She gripped the pillowcase, nails digging into the linen. That was the worst part. A small part of her still didn’t hate him. He had made her like him and a small part of her still treasured the look of those warm brown eyes. She had been looking forward to being married to him. He had made it seem okay to be her. With a muffled curse she stood and knocked her books from their stack on the table, sending loose papers and pages fluttering.. “Curse him to Xraj!” Tears came again and she pressed the back of her hands to her mouth, biting the skin so a loud sob wouldn’t betray her as gossip fodder for the maids. And now I’m trapped. In a loveless marriage and in a loveless place. They had to know, the whole family. They all had to know and they didn’t stop any of this! Those lying thorlas! They all just used me like a plaything. I hope they get staked out in the sun so their beloved derk-ra can feed on their carcasses.! I’m trapped…trapped. She sank back to the bed and pulled the blankets over her head. There was a knock on her door, and her sister’s voice. “Epona?” “Go away.” “Epona! What is the meaning of all of this? What did that note mean?” “It meant what it meant,” her voice broke with a sob and she squeezed her pillow. “Go away.” She heard the door rattle as Anisa tried the lock and she turned on her side, back to the door. Anisa finally gave up and the room became silent once more. Epona buried her face against the pillow. I hate them all. < > < > “Ra, open this door at once!” When Atjeh did not immediately answer, Kinyth pounded again, louder. “Atjeh!” Nora rested a hand on his shoulder. “Love, perhaps twould be better to wait until he comes out on his own,” she counseled softly. “I know you are not pleased, but I am sure he will explain himself, in time.” Certainly, he was not pleased. Both newlyweds had disappeared early from the celebration the night before, and Kinyth had gone to bed well pleased, half-expecting to have a new grandchild on the way by morn. But when he had broken his fast just before dawn, the servants were already whispering and Beka had come to Nora two points later reporting that not only had she not needed to change the sheets on the marriage bed, but Atjeh and Epona were not even in it. And then Lady Anisa had come to him with a note from her re, demanding to know what rumor was true, and now both younglings had locked themselves in their respective rooms and were not coming out. It took a solid fifteen marks of knocking and increasingly-louder cursing for the door to at last swing open. But twas not Kinyth’s nu that stood before him, pale as a sheet and clutching a blanket about his shoulders wearily. “Andros, where is Atjeh?” Kinyth growled. The drowsy loquiri shook his head, stumbling aside to allow Kinyth and his lady wife to pass. They found Atjeh curled up in bed, pillow clutched over his head and---when Kinyth pulled that away---his eyes wet with tears. The ra snatched the pillow back and buried his face in it again. “Oh Kyda, what?” Kinyth snapped. Why could his nu not face him like a man, rather than a tantrum-throwing adolescent? Stars and Crescents! Nora nudged him gently aside. One hand resting on Andros’ shoulder, she guided the loquiri back to the bed. “Lie down again, Andros.” Once he had done so, snuggling close to Atjeh, she sat down on the edge of the bed, one hand rubbing her nu’s back gently. “Ra… What happened?” “Ma… muddled… badly,” he moaned into his pillow, his voice muffled. “She… never… forgive me.” Kinyth threw his arms in the air. “What did you do?” When Atjeh’s shoulders only began to shake in sobs, he began to stalk forward, only to fall short when Andros sat up on one elbow, sleepy and wan but eyes narrowed dangerously. He hovered back, clearing his throat before growling in a slightly quieter voice, “Your betrothed is not coming out of her room either. Her family is furious. Anisa says that Epona is claiming the ‘rumor is true’. What did she---” At last, the ra twisted upright to face him, but when he opened his mouth, twas only to scream furiously at his Da. “How hard is it to bloody understand?” he yelled, silt brown eyes red-rimmed and wide, his hands balled into fists. “She saw us! Together!” “Ra….Kyda…how could you have done something so bloody…” Kinyth trailed off as not one, but two pairs of angry eyes—bright green of Andros and dark black of his wife—pinned him with a stern look. “How much did she see?” Atjeh swallowed hard several times, and then studied his hands. “We…Andros and I…were warming the Bond when she came in.” “By Kyda’s bloody name!” the lord exploded. Across the link, his loquiri jumped at the sudden surge of frustration and anger. Yassin’s mind pressed against his lightly, curiously. Kint? The ra….is foolish. Amusement trickled faintly. He is, aye. As his Da was at one time. Or did you forget climbing into Nora’s room while you were courting, and finding her Da waiting for you? Kinyth bit his lip, pushing aside the flush he knew would rise if he allowed the memory to surface. Raking a hand through his hair, the lord softened his tone slightly. “Ra…why didn’t you lock the door? Or go into the catacombs?” “He…he has been sick. And…” Atjeh’s lower lip wobbled, tears filling his eyes. “I never had to worry before. The servants…what they thought…Oh, Da,” and he dropped his head again, shoulders shaking with sobs once more. With a quick glance at the Guildsman—and shushing his own worried loquiri—Kinyth slowly sank down beside his son on the bed, and then tugged him into his arms. “Shh. We’ll puzzle something out. Tis not as if the whole world were ending, ra.” He patted his back gently, though he continued to keep an eye on the nervously fidgeting Andros. “Twill be alright, nu. We’ll talk with the family and see what can be done.” < > The conversation did not go well. Epona refused to leave her room, and demanded even her meals to be brought to her. Atjeh and Andros wisely disappeared from the public eye, but even with their quiet remaining in their rooms, rumors spread among the servants and certainly to Lady Anisa’s ears, as well as Lord Dule, Epona’s father. While the Eastar servants packed the family belongings, preparing to return to their own land-holdings—tittering in gossip about the scandal of last night—the two lords and ladies met in a private chamber, well away from most listening ears. The cursing, the anger, the frustration, and the embarrassment was shared almost equally around. “Why did you not call off the wedding!” Lord Dule thundered once more, throwing his hands up in clear exasperation. “You knew that he was carrying on with this…this Guildsman—“ his face screwed up with disgust, clearly just resisting the urge to spit on his host’s floor, “And yet allowed my daughter to be joined in marriage to your son?” “It is just a phase, Dule,” Kinyth growled back. “Or at least, we believed it so. A mild, youthful phase that would pass when he was married, and settled, and calmer. Even the Fay-el Chrys was wilder than when he wed Turina.” “There is the wild foolishness of youth, but that is utterly different from bedding another man!” Kinyth flinched, and spread soothing thoughts to his loquiri, who squirmed unhappily in the adjoining room. An armed bodyguard somehow did not create a feeling of mutual trust. “My lord…” “I want this marriage annulled,” the hazel eyes, so like his daughter’s, narrowed sternly. “As my daughter certainly has not consummated anything. I want it as soon as it is possible to present our case before the Fay-el.” “Lord Dule, surely we can delay but a little while. The two of them will—“ “I am not requesting this, Kinyth,” the lord growled. At his shoulder, Anisa’s eyes flashed cold and hard. In the force of both of their sour looks, the Apollar lord wilted, sighing even as Nora patted his shoulder. “Aye…we will…bring Atjeh to Ratacca Korr, and allow the Fay-el to make a decision.” He closed his eyes wearily and resisted the urge to rake fingers through his hair. Atjeh could not have arranged making the rumors of his Guild-lover public any better than this. The reputation of the family…was quite strained now. “Do not delay,” Dule warned. “I am not a man of patience where my children are concerned,” he snapped and rose abruptly to his feet. “Good day, Kinyth. And I will take both my daughters with me,” he growled, and slammed the door behind him as he departed. Kinyth slumped in his chair and sighed deeply. “Kyda…” he murmured. < > Epona kept the hood of the linka pulled low over her eyes, trying to decide if she had enough anger to glare at Apollaran nobles or if the hurt and embarrassment would win out. It will be over soon. I’ll be home with my family and people who care about me. Bloody arranged marriage. Even as she said it, hurt welled up anew. He was a very good actor, Lord Atjeh. As much as she tried to stop it, she could still feel the touch of his lips, and the stirring in her blood and she growled at herself and tightened her grip on her reins. Digging her heels into her mount’s ribs, she rode up alongside her sister, a cloud of dust rising behind her. “I wish we could go faster.” Anisa nodded, tight lipped, then gave Epona’s divided skirts and riding boots a pointed look. “What? Not like it matters anymore. I tried to be a lady and I obviously failed. And he wouldn’t give me two looks if I was anyways.” She shrugged awkwardly. “This is the most practical and honestly I could care less what they think of me.” In fact, if she behaved poorly it would give yet another reason why the high Fay-el should accept their bid for an annulment. “Aye, re, but if we are going before the court…” “I think my husband will command more attention than I.” “Perhaps,” her sister murmured and gave Epona a sad look. “I’m sorry, re.” Tears caught in Epona’s throat and she looked away. The marketplace of Crossroads sprawled around the procession. Normal she was distracted by the colors, the shouts, the wares, but this time she was more aware of the curious glances tossed their direction. She pulled her linka hood closer and wished it was over and she was bound for home. They rode into the courtyard and hostlers came to grab the reins of their steeds. Dismounting easily, Epona kept her eyes away from Atjeh. She didn’t know if he looked at her, but then again why would he? His thoughts, his cares, his heart belonged to a bloody Guildsman. And he used me for Kyda knows what. But I won’t let him toy with me much longer. The echo of a voice drifted over to where her father and lord Kinyth stood. “Aye, Chrys is still holding court.” Good. They were in time. < > The Fay-el of the Mara fidgeted uneasily, stilled only by the soothing hand of his loquiri atop his shoulder. With Veritas directly behind him, protective and bemused and worried at once, twas somewhat easier to sit still, but not by much. Chrys swept the gathering with his eyes, almond darkening into a copper as they narrowed beneath his brows. “Kyda…what is the commotion?” At the back of his court, lords and courtiers and pages were all shifting, and a low murmur of whisper and gossip rose softly. The Fay-el rose smoothly to his feet, biting his lip at the faint twinge in his side from the quick motion. Though he had healed beneath Veritas’ Mendings, and the palace healer, until naught but a scar remained of Naftis—beneath Gyas’ control—handiwork, the last of the aching soreness would remain until his body had fully healed. And this portion Veritas and Yasej alike agreed was not worthy of the Gift-drain of a Mend. Of course, they were not having to move with care. Veritas patted his shoulder. Stop that. Chrys flicked him an annoyed glare, which faded to a resigned sigh as the royal loquiri also rose to his feet and rubbed his shoulder soothingly, his other hand sliding to the shitan at his waist. The royal loquiri had not lost his uneasy worry either. Gyas may have been the first, but neither of them thought him the last to try a coup. The crowd parted, and a retinue composed of both Eastar and Apollar noblemen stepped closer. Chrys squinted, making out the sigils and colors as rapidly as he could, cocking his head slightly as his loquiri’s sharper memory set to work, murmuring in his mind. {(}Ah…there…the um…hmm. That is Lord…Dule…and Lord Kinyth—yes, the one on the right who looks upset. Tis not easy to leave your loquiri in the Nook…oh Kyda— Veritas’ mind quieted as the child of Lord Kinyth—Atjeh—who looked as if he had been bawling for several points and shivered unhappily, balking beneath the hands of his parents, suddenly twisted away and threw his hands out. A Guildsman melted out of the group, pushing past the scant few guards and members of Kinyth’s retinue to collapse into the lordlings’ arms. “What is the meaning of this…this farce in my court?” Chrys bellowed, scowling at the two men as they turned to look at him. Recognition passed faintly between them. Oh—good gods— Chrys muttered inwardly to his own loquiri… Andros and Atjeh…that Guild loquiri…that explains the rumors. He snorted mildly. Quite clever. Veritas chuckled and gently nudged his shoulder until he settled in his chair again. Play the game carefully, firebrand. “Lord Kinyth. Lord Dule. Explain yourselves, and quickly. This…this mocking of my court will not continue?” he growled, fixing the two cuddling men with a stern look. Andros was barely dressed, his tunic unlaced enough to reveal part of his chest, and the edge of a tattoo that appeared to spread across his back and partway on a shoulder—also bared by the crookedly worn garment. The two held hands tightly, with the Guildsman laying his head against Atjeh’s shoulder. As if they were young lovers. He is very good at this, Chrys murmured, admiration tempered by his stern look toward the two lords who approached him, casting baleful glances at one another. “My lord,” Dule began, eyes sliding to the two women who had accompanied him into the great hall. “As you can see, Atjeh is quite taken with his…his lover,” his face screwed up, but he did not spit, thank Kyda. The maids would spit him alive if he did. “Lord Kinyth knew, and has admitted as such, but did nothing to stop the…the marriage of my youngest ri to this simpering Atjeh.” The Apollar lord flashed an angry look at Dule, but did not interrupt, even as Dule straightened his shoulders and cast a stern look at the Fay-el instead. “I plead for a divorce, or annulment, for my daughter. This should never have occurred. Tis wrong and hurtful and unfair that she be wed to a…to such a situation as this.” Oh, bloody Kyda and his wife and son! Chrys snarled inwardly, even as a strange breed of admiration filled him for the amazing mess Lord Kinyth’s brat had clearly managed to get himself and indeed his whole family---nay, two whole families, and powerful ones too!---into. Veritas chuckled quietly in his mind, his hand resting soothingly on his Match’s shoulder as Chrys ground his teeth and glared from one member of Lord Kinyth’s retinue to another. Tis a pity. Twas a good match for the youngling, too, the loquiri mused. And for the Mara, Chrys growled back. An alliance between Apollar’s currently most powerful Lord with even this lesser Eastar house would have utterly disrupted the Guild’s control of the most important trade route between Crossroads and Apollar, which ran directly through Lord Dule’s estate and terminated neatly between Lord Kinyth’s and the late Lord Gyas' lands. Once, the Guild-born Lord had maintained a stranglehold upon that route, nearly a monopoly, but now Gyas was dead and his house had severely lost status, both within and without the Guild. Without Gyas, the Guild could not easily continue take advantage of their tax-free status by transporting lunes and other goods via that route, and they would be shut out entirely if Lord Dule and Lord Kinyth simply worked together to gain control of that route. But now… Mak’soit! He resisted the urge to rise and stalk down there. The last time he had done something so foolish---getting into Lord Gyas’ face three months before---he’d earned himself a dys-knife in his side and two points of relatively embarrassing treatment at the hands of Jin’s obnoxious little pet Aquilan healer. Just because he could see the bloody loquiri this time and had reason enough to trust Andros did not make this particular loquiri terribly less dangerous than Naftis had been. Not with his Match right there. Aye, Veritas agreed, following his own Match’s thoughts and feelings with the ease of years. And that is another matter that must be addressed. We can hardly confine Andros to the Nook with the other loquiris during court. But I’ll not allow him in here when Atjeh is present. Especially not armed, he mused, eyes narrowing at the shitan sheathed at the Guild loquiri’s hip. Pah! That does not mean I cannot ban the bloody man---aye, and the rest of them too!---from my court! Veritas patted his shoulder sympathetically, but chuckled within his mind. Perhaps simply… pull them away from the eyes of the court and talk to them for now? The staff should have set a meal in the alcove already… They’re not eating my bloody lunch! Chrys grumbled. But having given these bothersome nobles a good, long dosage of his infamous glare, he at last spoke up, his almond eyes narrowing as he did so. “Before I make a decision, I will speak with each of the injured parties privately.” His gaze snapped to the Apollar retinue. “Lord Kinyth... You, your nu and… this---“ He indicated Andros distastefully. “---will explain yourselves first.“ As he rose to his feet, he shook his head. “If you even can.” Without further ado, he strode out of the hall, Veritas at his side, leaving Kinyth, Atjeh and Andros to scramble hurriedly after him. The court was left behind to whisper, but then, when did they not? < > As Chrys strode into the small alcove, his steward bowed low, with a faint smile that quickly faded as Atjeh, Andros, and Lord Kinyth appeared behind him. “My lord?” “They will not be staying,” Chrys said firmly, waving his hand and sinking into his chair. His loquiri’s hand snapped out, catching him by the arm and staying him briefly. “Chrys I…never mind,” Veritas said distractedly, but his eyes glinted with mischief. You’ll need salve tonight, if you don’t slow down, he warned lightly as he eased his Match, subtly, into his seat. Sliding his hands from arm to shoulders, one on each, Veritas glanced up expectantly as Lord Kinyth and the rest fidgeted uneasily beneath the Fay-el’s stern glare. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” His almond eyes narrowed and he flicked a finger at Andros. “And you…give him your shitan, or leave the room.” The Guildsman’s eyes widened. “Chrys…” “Now.” The Fay-el’s eyes snapped to the lordling as he began to protest. “Not a word from you either. You know the law?” Atjeh’s cheeks flushed red, and Chrys nodded in satisfaction. Swallowing hard and skin paling, Andros still slid the blades from their sheaths and handed them over, hilt first. Veritas set them on the table, out of reach from the Guildsman with a sympathetic smile—pointing to a spot a few feet back. “Stand there,” he said gently. The Guildsman closed his eyes briefly, but obeyed, though his eyes slid longingly toward his Match. Veritas’ body relaxed some, the mild pressure on the pair-link fading in Chrys’ mind. The Fay-el reached for a pitcher of kolinar, filling his flagon as he spoke. “How could you have managed to muddle so badly, Atjeh? I am well pleased that Andros is not bothering me any longer,” his eyes narrowed at the Guildsman. “But I am not happy that Lord Dule is so upset. Nor at the mockery you have made of my court. Do you understand?” “A-aye, my lord.” Atjeh studied the ground, hands clasped behind his back, but eyes sliding to Andros worriedly as the man squirmed. “I have no intention of coming any closer to your Match, Andros,” Chrys said dryly. “I’ve learned my lesson quite well.” He shifted, holding his flagon out and smiling faintly as Veritas pulled it from his hand and sampled the drink. “And Kinyth—this joining of the houses—twould be good for all of the Mara. I have no desire to see the Guild gain control of that portion of land.” He rested the palms of his hands against the table. “Is there any way to salvage the marriage?” “I—I do not know, sire.” Kinyth bit his lip. “Dule is quite angry. He believes that Atjeh…that they are lovers, my lord.” “Has the marriage been consummated?” His eyes slid to Atjeh, who had flushed a brilliant crimson. “Has it?” “N—no, my lord. She…after the wedding, during the celebration…she caught me warming the Bond.” He swallowed hard. “And locked herself in her room until the morning, when we left.” “Kyda!” Chrys bit his lip. “That will make things…more difficult.” Chrys sighed, thinking for a long moment. He needed to know bloody more. His eyes snapped to Lord Kinyth. "You are hardly new to the ways of loquiris and Matches. Why did you not wait a year and a day after Atjeh's and Andros' Bonding before marrying your nu to Lord Dule's lo?" The uniquely pale lord's face flushed a sudden crimson. "I... Sire, the younglings were already betrothed, and the date for the wedding had just been set mere points before I learned of Andros. If I were to suddenly change my mind, saying I would prefer to wait a year and a day, how would I explain it to Lord Dule?" What a mess... Veritas murmured in Chrys' mind, a wave of sympathy and amusement alike passing through the pair-link. The Fay-el thought his loquiri might have been enjoying this a little too much, and turned slightly to cast a glare his way before turning once again back toward Lord Kinyth, his fidgeting nu, and the increasingly more discomfited young Guild loquiri. The latter kept glancing toward the door to the alcove as though he expected a Geno Inquisita to rush within any moment. "Andros," Veritas said softly, noticing the direction his Match's attention had turned. He smiled gently when the loquiri twitched and shifted to look at him. "Tis alright. You are safe here." Chrys, however, had no interest in coddling the bloody Guildsmen, or any of these obnoxious people. "Atjeh," he snapped, drawing the young lordling's attention to him. "If you were already betrothed, and knew you were soon to marry, why did you not wait a year and a day after your wedding to Bond Andros? Surely the two of you could have waited." Now both younglings were blushing, while Kinyth only sighed a great sigh, as though he'd wondered the same thing once and been just as disappointed as Chrys knew he was going to be to learn the answer. "Um... because... because it was already s-so strong, my lord," Atjeh stammered. "The pair-link. I had him... um... we... and then..." Veritas' laughter flowed through the pair-link a moment before it penetrated into actual speech. Chuckling, he shook his head ruefully. "Let me guess. After Lyrin introduced you to one another, you just had to try opening to one another, aye?" The darkening of both ras faces was confirmation enough. "You have made an utter mess of things, haven't you?" But now Atjeh was looking at the royal loquiri and Fay-el hopefully. "Is... is there anything you can do, sire?" He bit his lip, looking up at Chrys through a veil of dark lashes. "I had hoped that Epona and I would wed, and I'd be able to take a few days to get to know her so that I could know if I could trust her or not to tell her the truth. Andros is still recovering from his Drommah, and it would have been easy enough to make him seem like... like just a friend, getting well after an illness. At least, until I was sure of Epona, aye?" He gave his loquiri a long sideways glance, then turned back to Chrys, his face crumbling into the same tearful expression the Fay-el had seen him wearing when the ra had stepped into his court. "None of this was supposed to happen like it did! Please, my lord, do you know if she can be trusted? I want to tell her, and to do right by her, but... but Andros, and the Guild... and... and I don't want us to die!" Chrys flashed the ra an annoyed glare, but his gaze softened slightly at the tear-streaked features. Sighing, he tapped his fingers against the table. “Atjeh, do you truly wish to continue marriage with Epona?” “A-aye, if…if she can be trusted.” The Fay-el’s eyes narrowed. “Tis no way to begin a marriage,” he grumbled, “But aye, I will speak with them and see if I can delay the annulment. And then I will eat lunch and not be disturbed by any of you again, aye?” Kinyth flushed slightly. “Aye, my lord.” “Good.” The Fay-el took one last long pull on his flagon of kolinar, then gestured at the lordling and his Da and loquiri to depart. “Send me Dule and his retinue.” < > By the time the Fay-el had settled back into his throne, Kinyth and Dule alike stood stiffly apart from each other, but both held their heads downcast. Twas Epona, however, who looked the most distraught. Even with kohl and a linka hood, twas no hiding the red splotches upon her cheeks, nor the rims of her eyes, nor the way she sniffled and clung to her sister. The gossip mill was already grinding long before the Fay-el rose to give his judgment. “Tis foolishness indeed,” he growled, sweeping his eyes over both lords. “You both should remember your own youngling days. Tis easy to dabble in what you know is forbidden, even something such as…” his lip curled slightly as he glared at the Guildsman. “As that. Do you not trust in the power of a woman’s feminine charms?” His eyes narrowed as Epona peeked at him, hazel eyes flashing with clear hurt. “Part of a marriage is misunderstanding and confusion and arguments. If I can delay divorcing my wife for these many years, then you, Epona, can delay but a half-month. Aye?” “M-my lord…” “Aye?” Chrys kept his face stern, even as her face crumpled into sobs again. Veritas flinched with him. She does not understand. No, she does not. Perhaps in time…. The Fay-el arched his brows questioningly as Epona buried her face against her older re’s shoulder. Gently, patting her back, Anisa fixed the Fay-el with an angry glare. “Aye, my lord. We will wait. But on the six-month, she will have it annulled. Tis your word that you have given, aye?” Twas a bit unusual for a woman to show such sternness, but then, this was Dule’s eldest child and her sister the one who had been wounded. “Aye,” Chrys cleared his throat. “If she still desires it.” Relief flooded Atjeh’s face for only a moment, swallowed up again by a quiet smugness as he clutched Andros closer to him. The Guildsman had not retrieved his shitans as yet, but still his fingers strayed to his hips as Chrys thundered their names. Aye, no Nook for him. Nor court. Please, Chrys. The Fay-el spread soothing Gift over his loquiri’s uneasiness, flashing the image/sensation of a nod, before staring down both younglings. He had not discussed this with them before. Twould ensure their surprise and fear would show on their faces. “I will not have my court made a mockery of, lovers or no. Lordling or no. Guildsman or no.” He gestured angrily toward the half-unclothed Andros, who buried his face in Atjeh’s shoulder immediately, shivering in dismay. “Kyda. Twould think this were a common inn! You will appear before me clad properly, and without…hanging all about each other.” His eyes narrowed. “And with this…trouble…that you have caused, I wish to see neither of you in my court until the six-month. Do you understand me?” “Aye, sire,” Atjeh said softly. “And when you do return, Atjeh is the lordling and will appear with his retinue—his wife and what servants he needs. Stewards and other servants may remain where they belong.” The color drained from the lordling’s face. “But, my lord—“ As Chrys fixed him with his famous stern glare, rising from his throne to his full height—Lord Kinyth clamped a firm hand upon Atjeh’s shoulder. “Aye, my lord. He will obey your command.” “Good.” He swiveled away, ignoring the quick, heartbroken look from both Epona and Andros, and flicked a hand at the herald. “Dismiss my court.” < > Please don’t go. Don’t leave me with them. With him. Re. I can’t. You ask me to disobey the High Fay-el. Please, Anisa. Please… Epona…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but…I cannot. Remember what I told you? Hold your head high. It is only a half year. That is all. You can survive. I know you can. Otherwise you’re not the re I know. “Only a bloody half year…” Epona bit her lip hard to fight back tears and crossed out another mark she had made on the wall of her cell. It wasn’t really a cell. In fact she couldn’t have asked for a nicer place than her old room at Haden Manor. Her things, despite the maids efforts to move the to the adjoining room, were neatly unpacked, clothing hung in the wardrobe, the skylight let in the sun and she had a lune with which to read at night. She had spent a comfortable three days there, refusing to come out to face her captors. Her betrayers. The first night she hadn’t slept, spending most of her time crying into her pillows or kicking the wall angrily. It was that first night she had marked up the wall, putting the count of her time on the stone. Every morning when she awoke, she would cross one more out. It was something she looked forward to. So many marks…So many days… She sighed and dropped the charcoal on the small writing desk. Despite the safety of her room, she was beginning to admit that it was beginning to feel awfully small. And boring. A familiar click and a familiar creak sounded and her heart lurched. “Oh no you don’t!” she shouted, spinning on her heel. The maids’ eyes went wide, and their eyes darted around the room, looking for something to grab. Epona snatched the nearest thing she could find—a small derk-ra statuette—and held it over her head. “Don’t you dare!” she stalked towards them. “I will not move no matter |
| I can’t do this for a whole half-year. I just can’t. And yet every time I see…him…it hurts. He took my wedding day from me. He took my dreams and…everything. Her sister’s words came back to her and she rubbed her eyes. But I can’t let him control what I do. It’s because of him I’m sitting here moping away. What can he do to me now? Really do to me? She tipped her head up to the light filtering through the glass pane. I would dearly like to see the outdoors again. An idea had kindled itself the day before and had been growing by the point. She eyed the door. If I leave, the maids will take my things… She raised her chin. No matter. I will just retrieve them myself or I’ll sleep here without it all. Straightening her appearance in the mirror, Epona squared her shoulders. “A lady will carry on. And even if she doesn’t, I don’t care. I’m not going to let these people destroy my next half-year.” It was said to herself but she was sure if her sister had been around to hear it, she would certainly be proud. Taking her key and slipping into her shoes, she left her room for the first time since their return and went in search of Lord Kinyth and Lady Nora. < > Lord Kinyth of Haden manor was going over the trade taxes and scratching his head. Atjeh and Epona were still married, and would be for at least six months, which meant in six months time, caravans would be using their land. Which meant if he didn’t figure out some sort of tax they would be travelling for free. But how much if the marriage would only be for a short time? Should he take advantage of the route while he had the chance or… His thoughts were broken off as the door to his study swung open, revealing a maid who barely had time to announce ‘Lady Epona,” before the young woman herself stalked through the door. He had not seen her in days, but she looked well enough to his own surprise. Her hair was neatly brushed although not pinned, but hanging wild in soft waves over her shoulders. Her dress was simple, but unwrinkled, but it was her eyes, red rimmed and very very hard that let him know that all was not forgiven. She dropped a curtsy, before settling into a chair. “Lady Epona. This is…ah…a surprise.” “I should think so.” “Have you moved rooms yet?” “Why should I? So I may hear them in their lovemaking, or just remind me of the mockery you have made of me?” Only a slight quiver in her jaw gave her away and Kinyth winced inwardly. “Ah…” She continued, saving him the chance for a response. “I am here because…you have been kind enough to keep me fed and I would like to see if there is anyway in which I might use my skills to benefit you and this house. Since I will be living here for the half-year, it is the least I can do. If you cannot think of anything, I am sure, I myself, will be able to find projects to suit.” Lord Kinyth frowned. “Lady Epona… I’ll not have you be a servant in my home.” She crossed her arms, frowning right back. “So you would have me be a prisoner instead, with naught to do but watch my fingernails grow?” She shook her head firmly. “Nay, I shall not sit idly by.” Her hazel eyes narrowed at him. “I am neither useless, nor stupid.” His felt his eyes widen slightly. Kyda! “I did not say that you were stupid, Epona, merely---” “Then perhaps you could suggest somewhat that I might do to occupy my time?” she said with steel politeness. He swallowed, glancing toward the doorway, half expecting---nay, half hoping---a maid or Yassin or one of his los or Nora would come and give him an escape. Then he glanced back down at the paper between his fingers. “I am given to understand that you have a fine head for numbers?” She regarded him calmly, neither blushing nor scowling, although her expression did relax ever so slightly. “Perhaps not a fine head, but I have an affinity for figures, aye.” Nodding, he rose from his place, and stepped halfway across the distance of his study to her, handing her the scroll upon which he’d written his calculations. “Perhaps you could take a look at this, see what you think…” His voice trailed off in tandem with the widening of his eyes. Kyda! Her gaze was sweeping over the scroll already; twas too late to snatch it back from her. He resisted the urge to retreat, but instead rocked casually back on his heels, striving to keep his face innocent. What had he been thinking? Kin? Yassin was on the other side of the manor, locked in a room with Andros as he tried to teach the loquiri simple meditation techniques to help him control the sensitivity of his Bond. What is wrong? The Lord sighed. She is going to think I am using her, just to grab onto that trade route as long as I can get away with it. He felt his loquiri’s brow rise. Aren’t you? Kinyth bit his lip, and focused on Epona’s face, trying to think of how she might react to what she was reading. She glanced up at him. “Take the average of the other routes you use through your land and apply it to that one. It’s the only fair way to do it. If you make it too high, when you lose it, it will only make the caravans angry for the unnecessarily high charge.” “Ah…of course.” He was surprised. Was she not angry? As if reading his thoughts, she gave him a bitter smile. “It was one of the reasons for our betrothal. We are still…” her mouth twisted in distaste, “married. It is still your responsibility. You might as well use it while you have me.” The last was tinged with a sadness that brought him pause. We did this very poorly, Yassi. “Anyways,” Epona continued after a hard swallow, “it would do you well to organize this better. Keep your routes in different books so they can be organized by dates. That way you can chart interest charges over the year and income. When you see the most traffic you can adjust your rates accordingly.” He took his scroll back. “That’s…a good idea.” “Aye.” “So, say, could you…” “Put things in order for you? Aye. Simple enough.” Kinyth gave her a long look as another idea occurred to her. “You are still beneath the age of majority, aye?” Her face darkened following his train of thought. “So I am to take lessons, or keep my lessons. And I suppose my husband would be at some of them? Well we shall have to see about that.” Clutching a sheaf of papers in his hand, written in that peculiar, cryptic Guild hand that hid the words from unknowing eyes, Joshin retrieved a matching sheaf—at least, to a quick glance—and stuffed them back into the Guildsman’s writing desk in place of the first. He needed to read over these. Most seemed to be letters to the Guild Citadel in Crossroads; he didn’t need his Ma’s journal to decipher the words for that by now. But a few were journal entries of some sort, written crookedly and roughly during his bouts of illness, smoothing out at times, then turning jagged and rough as if anger fueled them. The latter unnerved the young Keeper the most. His Ma had done extensive work in researching the Guild’s origins, learning the cryptic Guild codes, the hand gestures and careful double meanings, and jotted it down in many journals as he learned. And had most of them destroyed in the same strange fiery accident that claimed his great Ma’s life, shortly after Joshin’s Da received a message that she had found something “troubling and stupendous”. Now, just when he had found the last of the journals—the only one to escape the purge by Geno Inquisitas, as he suspected—this Guildsman appears, like a snooping hound. Joshin grimaced, slinking from the room hurriedly. A lover. Kyda—did anyone expect him to believe such? The lord’s son had always been one to tease about girls, to speak of them longingly and often. Why would he take up with a man , and even more to a viper such as a Guildsman? Twas not likely at all. No, this Riv sect was a ploy. He was likely from the Geno, perhaps a fledgling Inquisita, lacking the triangles upon his face. Sent to see what Joshin was doing. Disappearing as his family had done into Apollar, and into the ruling class, had been a good risk, but twould only last so long as the Guild had no interest in them. Someone…somehow…had warned off the Guild of who they really were. And now they would take care of him, it seems. Joshin swallowed hard and darted into his office, bolting the door before sliding his Ma’s journal out of its hiding place in his desk. Twould be very hard to find it without knowing of the Derk-ra carving that would give beneath careful pressure, revealing a small, narrow drawer. Spreading the sheets before him and opening the journal wide, Joshin compared the sprawling handwriting of the Guildsman to his bard mother’s neat hand, transferring the translation onto a clean sheet of parchment. At first, the letters and journals seemed odd. Though the letters were easily translated—Andros was planning on transferring from one Citadel to another—the journal’s translation was gibberish. The letters were put together in a way that had him utterly confused, with odd spacing and punctuation. Puzzled, Joshin studied the bits and pieces until he came upon a word that he knew quite well. La-qua-roy. Loquiri, in the Lodear dialect. Was Andros’ eyes slanted? The Keeper bit his lip. Aye, now that he thought of his brief glimpse, the Guildsman had appeared to be from Lodear. But why encoded his message twice? Jah-shyn. The Keeper swallowed hard. His name. How long before they knew his ancestry, of what had happened to his family? Slowly, laboriously, Joshin began to translate the Lodear into Common again, receiving bits and pieces of the sentences. I’m afraid…this Hybrid Keeper…does he know? Nose….dusty books, but sometimes…it is hard to hide…loquiri bents are….I must keep watch on Joshin. For a moment, Joshin could not breathe. Could do nothing, in fact, but stare at the words scrawled in the Guildsman’s careful hand. Again and again he read them, trying to translate the passage more fully, to imagine another meaning for the words that were set there on the page, but twas futile. His Lodear was sketchy at best, and the neat handwriting dissolved almost entirely into weary strokes or angry blots here and there as the Guildsman’s emotions had apparently gotten he better of him while writing. Here, over “la-qua-roy”, his Gift picked up faint traces of disgust, though admittedly not as strong as he would have expected. Still though. The world spun slightly as Joshin shoved the papers into the desk, his heart in his throat. A loquiri. Andros thought Joshin might be a loquiri. Slowly, as though his arms were numb, he closed the drawer, hearing it lock with a reassuring click somewhere deep within the pine wood. Shaking slightly, he sat upon the edge of the desk, body bowed forward, his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands as he tried to think, to reassure himself. Perhaps Andros was a Riv after all. That would explain why the man’s dislike for loquiris did not seem to burn like acid through the paper. But if the Geno sect had Inquisitas, perhaps the Riv’s did as well. And Guildsmen talked, did they not? Even if the Riv sect was unlikely to demand Joshin’s death for Andros’ bloody stupid accusation, the Genos might hear and come snooping. Might already be on the way, in fact, although Joshin saw no hint in Andros’ letters that the man had notified anyone. Still, his Ma had alluded in her journal to the way in which Guildsmen could, at times, obscure the words upon a page entirely, or hide them within seals or artwork or other things. But the journals that had contained that information was lost, in the same fire that had claimed Joshin’s Ma so many years before. He is going to get me killed. Me, and Da, and Mayida. He is going to get us all killed. The question was, what to do about it? He could hardly bring his concerns to Lord Kinyth. Not without more substantial proof. And even if he could find a letter or… or something… some evidence that Andros intended to turn his family over to the Guild, would Lord Kinyth do anything? He had already let this man into his home, to even---Kyda!---sleep with his nu and ruin Atjeh’s marriage to Epona. It would take more than just a threat to a lowly household servant to convince the stubborn (and at times slightly dense) Lord that something should be done. But if Andros meant Joshin harm, then surely he meant others harm as well? Certainly the Guildsman could not possibly mean Atjeh well! Biting his lip, he slipped off of the desk and took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. He would need to return the letters and journal pages by the morrow lest their absence be noted. But for now… He nodded to himself, walking more resolutely toward the doorway. Shazi would help. “What is wrong, little Joshin?” Shazi was grinning at him. Her legs stretched out and her feet propped up on a stool, she clutched a wineskin in her right hand and drummed the hilt of a dagger with the fingers of her left. “You look as if you are trembling. I think you’re scared.” Her brows rose and her grin widened. “I’m…I’m,” he stopped and gathered himself. Sometimes Shazi could be unnerving. That, combined with a Guildsman stalking him just made things worse. “I’m worried, Shazi. That is all.” “Oh?” “Aye. About…about the Guildsman. I…I don’t trust him and I wonder what he is doing with Atjeh. Or if the…if the family is in danger…” Shazi’s booted feet hit the floor and she rose as lithly and smoothly as a cat. Her eyes turned deadly. “I don’t trust the thorla either. Any Guildsman. And after this one so neatly disrupted the marriage and has wormed his way into this family, I especially don’t trust this one. I wonder, little Joshin why you come to me now. What do you know?” He swallowed and stepped back. “I just…I just don’t trust Guildsmen, that’s all. And I know Atjeh. It doesn’t make any sense that he’s taken up with him! So I…” he bit his lip, “I took Andros’s journals and some papers. Just to look at you understand.” Like quicksilver, Shazi’s expression changed and she laughed and slapped his back. “Look at you Joshin, you have bigger stones than I thought! I always knew you were smart but I didn’t think you’d have such courage.” She draped an arm over his shoulder and they began to walk. “Tell me, did you find anything.” He bit his lip. He could tell Shazi his past, his own personal fears, but, no. That was too personal. Besides it was Atjeh and the family that would concern her more. “N…nothing much. He writes in a Guild code. But he will be communicating back and forth with the Guild citadel.” Shazi’s eyes lit with understanding. “And if we open and read his mail we can keep tabs on him.” Joshin nodded. “I can’t…well, get his mail. I would get in a lot of trouble.” And if Andros ever found out it was him …He shuddered. “Oh don’t worry,” Shazi’s eyes absolutely sparkled. “I will get it for you. I’ll handle all of that. You just do the decoding.” “And what if someone finds…” “I am the apprentice inquisita. I don’t trust a Guildsmen and it is perfectly within my rights and my duties. I won’t advertise it but, if he discovers I have been getting his mail first…well then,” her smile became feral, “he will have to speak with me won’t he? Don’t worry Joshin, I won’t let him get you.” Thankfully, Andros was neither garrulous with his letters, nor were his friends and fellow Guildsmen in Crossroads apt to send him frequent correspondence. If a letter was delayed a day or so, the Guildsman apparently did not think it amiss. Which worked fine with Joshin and Shazi. The apprentice Inquisita kept a sharp eye on the couriers that came and went, and plucked up any letter bearing the seal of Crossroads, Guild Citadels, or the Riv sect—all of which he showed her without explaining how he knew them, save a stern shake of the head. Her curiosity was piqued; he knew that, but it could not be helped. Shazi, at least, knew him well enough to know that prying into his affairs would only clamp his mouth more tightly closed. The first few letters simply inquired after Andros’ health. One from the shepherd of the chapel in Crossroads—regret and guilt touched his handwriting--another from the chaplain in the Citadel, and a few lune-merchants who politely wondered about his latest project while questioning on his illness, greed saturating the script. Andros’ responses were as equally polite, and vague. There was no strong feeling behind the Guildsman’s responses, only a faint weariness. When the letter requesting a transfer, from one Citadel to another, left, then the mail came faster. Several letters arrived all at once—the same few as before, this time with clear curiosity brimming in their words. And one last one, from a high-ranking Guildsman called Taniz. This one was distinctly different. As Joshin bent over the paper, deciphering the words hurriedly and tapping into his Gift as Shazi fidgeted behind him, he grimaced and pushed it away quickly. “What? Did it say something incriminating?” She leaned forward, hand on his shoulder and peering down at the page. “Well?” “No…not exactly. It…” Joshin frowned again, brushing the page aside with clear disgust. “Lust. It’s just….soaked in it. Like a love letter would be…but worse. There’s…an anger, a quiet seething.” The Keeper shuddered and crumpled the page in his hand. Shazi yelped. “No! Don’t do that. He’ll know…” “This man…he is bad news,” Joshin held the bit of paper to a burning candle, smiling slightly as its corner ignited. He shifted it carefully, allowing the flames to consume the letter into a small pile of ash. “Andros won’t miss this one.” She cocked her head in an expression Joshin knew far too well. “That could have been valuable evidence. Or something important enough that he will notice its absence.” “It asked about his health, and when he was coming home—that this transfer was surely a jest and how disappointed he would be if Andros didn’t come back. How could that be important, Shazi?” “It just…” she crossed her arms. “It just could be, alright? Don’t burn anything else unless I say so.” She sighed as Joshin’s eyes narrowed. “Please,” she grumbled, as if the word was twisted from her lips. Slipping his hand behind his back and crossing the fingers, Joshin nodded. “Aye.” The letters from Taniz slowly became more frequent. Joshin became quite adept at making them into a neat pile, which was always later no longer present by the time Shazi stuffed the pages into their packets and sent them on to the Guildsman. The lust upon the handwriting was only worsening, flooding with anger and deep, dark, malicousness that baffled as much as disgusted the Keeper. And it was, surprisingly, not directed at Atjeh or the lords or at Joshin himself—why had Andros not hinted of his suspicion once to the Guild Citadel—but toward Andros. However had Andros managed to become involved with this one? And why did this Taniz despise him so, yet long after him in a way that, frankly, turned Joshin’s stomach every time he touched his Gift to the pages. Chusa was troubled too. The steward was quiet, and did not speak to him of anything regarding the Guildsman. But his eyes would drift to the door of the man’s room, or he would sigh wearily as Atjeh and his lover would retreat to their bedroom. And twice he had stood in the midst of the hall, biting his lip and glancing from Lord Kinyth’s room to the Guildsman’s quarters until Joshin asked him what he needed. Twas as if the steward knew something about Andros and was unsure just who to tell, if any. But Chusa had always been one to hold secrets tight. Tis why he had always won at cards as a youngling, but now made things more difficult. No amount of cajoling would bring out what Chusa found unsettling. < > "Sar, I hope I am not disturbing you?" Chusa asked stiffly, knocking upon the ajar door and barely stepping within Andros' room as he prepared to deliver his message. As the Guildsman turned to look over his shoulder at him, the steward kept his expression carefully blank. He could not help but notice that Andros wore the same chain about his neck as before, still tucked securely beneath his tunic where no eyes could see what twas that hung from the end, but Chusa sternly counseled himself once again to put it out of his mind. Twas not his business, by Kyda! The younger man carefully set the long tweezers he was using down upon the broad work table he'd managed to procure from some other part of the manor. Then he placed beside it the tulip-shaped lune about which he was carefully wrapping---nay, weaving ---a long, fragile-looking ribbon of bronze, and frowned mildly at Chusa with an equally-blank face. "Aye?" The steward cleared his throat, a small smile quirking his lips despite his unease. Andros stared at him for a moment in confusion, and then his jade green eyes widened and he flushed faintly. He lifted his hand hurriedly---Eye tattoo flashing at his wrist as he did so---and snatched away the small magnifying glass he'd been wearing over his left eye. Chusa nodded slightly, resisting the urge to smile again. Twas much easier to take a man seriously when he did not resemble some strange manner of insect. He clicked his heels together (as Erilae so often commended him for doing, saying it made him look sharp) and delivered his message. "Sar, a cart just arrived for you from Ratacca Korr." Andros rose to his feet immediately, an eager look crossing his face. "Ah," he said happily, stepping toward the doorway and then darting awkwardly sideways when Chusa did not get out of the way quickly enough to prevent them from jostling one another. There was a terrible moment of shuffling steps as they mutually attempted to step aside and only succeeded in getting more fully in one another's way. Then Chusa rested his hands briefly on Andros' shoulders with a mumbled, "Excuse me, sar," to steady the clearly-nervous man. The Guildsman flinched back, one hand rising automatically to his chest to rest over whatever was hidden beneath his tunic. He did not say anything as he cleared his throat and hurriedly squeezed past Chusa, but twas more than clear that the fear of discovery he had shown during his illness had not entirely been the mere result of fever and disorientation. "Kyda," Chusa muttered under his breath as the Guildsman practically fled from the guestroom and down the hall. He shook his head, casting a long glance over Andros' room as he wondered---and certainly not for the first time---what kind of man truly twas that occupied it. The guestroom Andros had been given when he had first come to Haden Manor as a "visitor" had been converted in the course of the past month since the rejected annulment into a simple workroom. Now that the private dalliance between Atjeh and Andros had been exposed, the Guildsman had all but moved into the young lordling's room. But he still kept the guestroom, and used it as a workroom during the day when Atjeh was about other tasks, such as lessons with the Keeper and court sessions at his Lord father's side. The bed had not yet been removed, but had instead been shoved into the far corner of the room to make room for the large table and was currently holding two large crates of assorted scraps of metal and glass that Andros had brought back to the manor a month before on the way back from Crossroads. He had also arranged for his belongings to be sent after him from the palace; what little he had with him when he had first visited the manor had at last been moved into Atjeh's bedroom---the lordling slept still in his childhood room, leaving the new marriage bedroom for his wife... should Epona ever deign to use it---but the rest had had to be sent for from Ratacca Korr. Shaking his head, the steward stepped out of the room and, closing the door, strode down the hall to oversee the delivery of Sar Andros' belongings to whatever room the Guildsman requested that they be moved into. Chusa knew twas not his business to question the actions or discretion of his Lord and Lady, truly he did. But even ignoring the twinges of sympathy he could not help but feel for the two young lovers, he could not help but find Atjeh's parents' decision to not only allow the Guildsman to stay in the manor but also to sleep in Atjeh's room exceedingly strange. Twas simply not proper! Although all the staff in the manor were well aware that Epona's marriage to Atjeh was but a temporary thing, the distant annulment eagerly awaited by the furious bride, still, it seemed a cruel thing indeed to subject the unhappy young bride to Andros' presence in the five-month she had yet to remain at Haden Manor. Could not the man tarry at Ratacca Korr until Lady Epona had at last departed, and then join his young lover at Haden Manor once as much as this situation as could be put to rights had been remedied? Chusa squinted as he stepped up into bright shock of the early afternoon sunlight. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he scanned the nearly untamed forest about the manor and spotted a cart and four bearers, two of them armed and sitting bored upon their horses. With a stern frown, he gestured the men toward him; they may have been hired to deliver the goods untouched by bandits, but that did not mean they could not assist in bringing the boxes and simple chest and wardrobe within. Strangely, Andros---who had practically raced to fetch his belongings---was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a tall, well-built man with an aristocratic bearing stood speaking quietly with the cart's driver, and pressed a handful of coins into his hand, earning a businesslike nod in return. The tall man was dressed for riding, and had likely accompanied from Crossroads; such cosmopolitan fashions were nearly unheard of in Apollar, which largely disdained the foreign trappings that came to the Mara via Crossroads' ports. Chusa frowned as his eyes took in the tattoos upon the man's wrist and curling up the back of his neck from beneath his tunic and jerkin. The stable-ra who had notified him of the cart's arrival had failed utterly to mention the tall Guildsman that had accompanied it. The man stepped forward smoothly, fixing Chusa with an open-mouthed smile that turned the steward's stomach for reasons he could not quite comprehend. "Steward, I cannot tarry long, but while I am here... kindly commend me to my kadin, Andros." Chusa bowed slightly and replied with a practiced, bland tone. "I will see if he is available this day, Sar...?" "Taniz," the Guildsman supplied smoothly. < > Crossing his arms tightly, Chusa shivered as he crept down the long hall that led to the former underground crypts of his lord’s ancestors. Twas one thing to be sent to the wine cellar, or other of the deeper portions of the manor. But this still had the niches where carved urns held the remains of men and their sons, and their well-honored and closest retainers. The air was cool and damp, the lights dim enough that even his feeble candle did not shed more than a pale circle about his feet. But Maria had insisted she had seen the lune-crafter vanish down the stairwell that led to the catacombs, with his newest lune clutched close to him. Chusa swallowed around his dry throat. Why had Andros gone here , rather than retrieved his boxes? He had seemed eager enough before. And why come to the deep catacombs of all places? There was nothing down here but empty space and branching rooms, mazes of tunnels and passages, and the cold, empty slabs where urns had been placed. “Andros?” The silence of the dead greeted him. After several turns, up and down corridors, and through one forked path, Chusa slowed and sighed to himself. Andros certainly could not be down here. He turned another corridor, holding his candle high. “Andros? Something rustled out of sight. Chusa’s eyes narrowed. He hurried around the next corner, dashing at a faster pace, feet slapping against the stone. Pale light fluttered briefly, silver and blue. A lune. “Andros? Please…” The steward bit his lip. The Guildsman’s soft breaths were barely audible, but sound carried in this quiet. Chusa crept a step back and cupped the candle close to him. Backing into a small niche, a natural one where stone met stone and formed a hollow of shadow, the steward snuffed his candle and breathed slowly through his nose. At first, there was only him and the darkness and the Guildsman’s quiet breaths. Then a soft inhale, as if one were biting back sobs of fear or grief. Chusa bit his lip harder. What was wrong with Andros? Slowly, footsteps shuffled closer and the light of the lune brightened. Darkness slid away in place of the silvery gleam, before Andros himself appeared within sight of the hiding steward. Even in the dim light, he could see the red-rimmed eyes, the slight tremble to the hand clutching the lune, the lip chewed bloody. The steward took a quiet, but deep breath, and then strode out of his place, laying hands upon Andros’ shoulders as the Guildsman started. “Easy. It’s Chusa…only Chusa,” he said firmly, as Andros started in his grasp and tried to break free. “Why are you upset?” “Not your business, steward,” the Guildsman growled, or tried to. His voice quavered mildly. “Leave me be.” Firmly, Chusa turned him by his shoulders until Andros faced him, then reached up to brush at the tears in the man’s green eyes. “Is it this Taniz?” Andros stiffened. The steward nodded faintly. “Ah, I see. I will send him away, if you wish.” The man looked away and his throat moved as he swallowed. “Do so.” “Very good, sar.” Chusa bowed smartly and as he turned to leave he was sure that Andros looked at him, considering. < > “I am very sorry, sir, but Andros is occupied? No, I am not sure if the Guildsman will believe that. No one has seen him recently? Yes, that might work better. No one has seen him recently, perhaps he has gone to the local Guild citadel?” Chusa nodded to himself. That was probably the best. If only he could pull off the lie. He had never been comfortable with lying and under the uncomfortable eyes of Taniz, he really didn’t know how well he would do. “Unfortunately, sar, no one has seen him,” he muttered. “Perhaps he has gone to the citadel. Perhaps he has gone to the citadel.” He returned to the light again and, out of doors, even the desert heat could not stop the chill that ran through him when Taniz turned his expectant eyes on him. “Andros?” “I’m…I’m sorry sar, but perhaps the citadel. I mean, no one here has been…” Now he was muddling it. Taniz’s eyes narrowed and Chusa’s heart dropped to his stomach. “Perhaps…I mean…forgive me sar I could not find him. But he had been speaking of visiting the citadel. Perhaps he is there.” Taniz’s clever eyes watched him for a moment longer and Chusa prayed to Kyda that his face remained impassive. “I see,” the guildsman said finally. “And he will not, perhaps, show his face in the next few marks? I would dearly love to see him.” His smile was chilly. “You heard him, Guildsman. Your ilk has gone to the citadel and if you would like to see him, go there. Your little caravan is about to leave anyways and I have highly suggested it leave sooner than later.” Shazi… Chusa’s hoped his face didn’t show the relief he felt. The apprentice inquista hooked her thumbs through her belt and matched the guildsman smile for smile. “Now if you would like to leave a message I will be certain he gets it.” Her smile widened and Taniz lip twitched, almost a snarl that he quickly covered. “No, lady . Just let him know that his Sian was looking for him.” “Of course.” Chusa finally breathed when the man and the empty cart disappeared into the trees. He was about to turn when Shazi caught his shoulder. “Hold Chusa. Oy, you,” she shouted to the servants, “don’t let those things get to far before I get a look at them. I trust nothing carried by Guildsmen.” She turned back to Chusa and gave him a smooth smile. “Now, now, Chusey, why did you lie?” He started. “Shazi…I didn’t…” “Oh come now, you’re a terrible liar. Your voice changed pitch and you were stumbling all over yourself.” He deflated. “Lord Andros asked for the Guildsman to be sent away. He is still not feeling...quite right.” That much was true. He certainly couldn’t call Andros’s state in the catacombs as feeling well . Shazi’s eyes narrowed, appraising and he didn’t know if she believed him or not. “I will tell you this, Chusa. Guildsmen bring trouble. I am sure he is still here, yes? Be careful who your allies are.” He stilled and she laughed brightly. “Oh come now Chusey, that’s not a threat toward you. Just a warning. To be careful.” As she gave him a feral grin and whistled to the servants, he wasn’t quite sure if what she just said was true. "Twas... odd," Chusa admitted, sipping at his mug of kolinar in the lune-lit dark of the cellar and shaking his head at his friend as the blademaster's apprentice took a long pull from a flask of fire brandy. Grayes coughed slightly, wiped his mouth, and gave a noncommittal grunt. For a long moment, the steward was sure that was to be the sum of the other youngling's response, but then the twenty-year-old warrior drew a hand through his head of dark brown---and unevenly cropped---curls as he thought. A moment later he shrugged. "I'm not surprised he ran off and hid in the 'Combs like a little crybaby," he snorted. "The man doesn't seem to have much of a spine to me.” He scowled distastefully. “Half the time he's been here, he's sniffling and hiding beneath his bedsheets, and the rest of the time he's sniffling and clinging to Atjeh? Nay, I'm not surprised at all that he went and hid from some Guildsman." Chusa sighed, stretching out his legs before him. "I just cannot imagine why one Guildsman would flee like that from another, personally. But we should put an end to this conversation, aye? They'll be here soon." "What?" Grayes snapped, thick brows drawing down over his eyes in his sudden displeasure. "Jeh is bringing him ?" "He did not say as such," Chusa replied quietly. "But you know that he will." The apprentice blademaster scowled, tapping the deck of cards with which they would be playing against his thigh. They were sitting in the cellar, backs propped up against the previous year's vintage and legs stretched comfortably before them. When first the two younglings had begun to play cards and dice with their young lord once a month, the three of them had thought to help themselves to a bottle they thought might not be missed. But Lord Kinyth had put a stop to their mischief right quickly after his then sixteen-year-old nu had tried to stumble back to his bedroom with a semblance of sobriety and had woken his Lord father by overturning one of Lady Nora's favorite Settar vases in a loud fit of giggling. Now Chusa drank kolinar from the kitchen, and Grayes the fire brandy he distilled once a month with Shazi's help, and all of the younglings who gathered for cards of course promised not to share a drop of the "adult" drinks with their young lordling. In return, Lord Kinyth let them use his wine cellar for cards and other games once a month, despite the vehement protests of the head cook, who preferred that none be in "his" kitchen after hours. When footsteps padded lightly down the stone staircase, both young men looked with different blends of welcome and reluctance upon their faces toward the newcomer. But when they saw twas not Atjeh or his lover at all, the steward smiled easily, and the apprentice blademaster frowned sourly. "Shazi." She smirked at him, nimbly plucking the cards from his hand and plopping down on the ground beside Chusa. "Ready to lose again?" she asked, treating him with a feral smile. "Where is Joshin?" Grayes asked instead, blatantly ignoring her snide comment. Shazi shrugged with one shoulder, deftly shuffling the cards. "Said he isn't coming. Something about having to mark up Atjeh's sums, or some such." “Typical,” Grayes snorted, rolling his eyes as Chusa flashed him an annoyed and amused look. “Well? Tis why he always loses at cards. Kyda help us the day he must oversee the manor’s taxes!” “Epona is quite good at numbers,” Shazi said smoothly, eyes peering at them each in turn slyly over her cards. Her gaze fixed on Chusa the longest, until the steward squirmed, remembering her earlier warning/threat. “Is she now?” The steward cleared his throat and studied his hand fixedly, avoiding her sharp gaze. “Too bad she is leaving in five months.” “Aye, too bad.” Grayes said, oblivious to Shazi’s cutting look. “Atjeh is an utter fool. She is comely enough—a man could do worse—and a good alliance for the manor…the treasury, and the province.” He slapped a card onto the floor, grinning as Chusa groaned. “What? Did my pair of Nobles beat your lousy hand?” The steward rolled his eyes. “You always know what I have.” “You twitch when it’s a good hand.” “I do not.” Shazi sighed elaborately. “You do, Chusey. Almost as bad as when you lie.” Her eyes narrowed at him again, never leaving his face even as she set her own cards upon the floor. Grayes scowled at her shoulder; she must have beaten his pair. The Maran woman smiled slowly, tucking her winnings closer to her as she cocked her head at him. “So…where did Andros wander off to earlier?” “Don’t you know?” Grayes interjected, shuffling the cards for the next round. “You’re the Inquisita.” “Apprentice Inquisita,” Shazi corrected mildly, flashing him a scowl. She leaned over, grabbing his flask of fire brandy, grinning as Grayes protested. “Quit fussing.” The youngling snorted, and settled back on the palm of his hands after discarding his cards. “Don’t let a re beat you, Chusa,” he said. “I am curious though,” Shazi murmured, laying out a Fay-ra and a Fay-el card, with a Bard kicker. “Why are you so defensive of a lowly Guildsman, Chusey?” “I’m not…defensive…tis just….” The steward was aware of his flushing cheeks, and studied his cards intently, as if staring at them would change the measly Merchant and Craftsman into something that could beat out her hand. “He’s just…he deserves…just because he’s a Guildsman doesn’t mean he has no feelings or is no good or…or anything.” “Do you trust the Guild?” Shazi said, brows arching nearly into her unruly hair. “I certainly do not. Especially after weaseling right in to the best alliance to muddle with Gyas’ former holdings, ruining it quite nicely.” She smiled happily as Chusa laid out his losing hand, scooping up more coins. “Joshin thinks so too.” Grayes rolled his eyes. “Joshin is too quiet. Those are the ones to watch for. Like Derk-ra. It’s the one that doesn’t scream that gets you.” A whistling, womanly shriek sent both Grayes and Chusa starting, cards flying from their hands in a shower of colorful fragments. An amused laugh broke through the air, followed by Atjeh’s own appearance as he settled on the floor with a lithe motion. “Why Grayes, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this pale.” The blademaster’s son rolled his eyes, and pulled his hand back as if to punch Atjeh’s shoulder playfully, only to pause as another figure melted from the shadows, giving him a stern look. “Ah…good day, Sar.” The Guildsman sat down on the floor, resting his fingers lightly on Atjeh’s shoulder. “Just Andros…I’m not that much older than you.” Grayes’ eyes slid from the hand to the Guildsman’s face, then back to the hand again. Chusa could almost read his thoughts. Maybe not older, but certainly with more rank, thanks to your bedfellow. “Ah, if you want, Andros.” His eyes sparked with mild mischief. “Are you any good at cards?” The Guildsman offered a small smile, shifting slightly closer to his lover as he did so. “Nay, I am afraid not.” His hands fidgeted idly in his lap, thumb brushing the Eye there briefly before Atjeh---acting openly enough that Chusa blushed and Grayes grimaced---grasped his hand in both of his own, pulling Andros closer to him until the Guildsman rested his head on the young lordling’s shoulder. Arching her brows, Shazi smiled a smile that was a little too sharp to be pleasant. “A Guildsman who is not good at cards? Kyda, the very foundations of my understanding of the way the world works have been torn asunder!” As Andros’ jade eyes narrowed and a hint of a blush rose in his cheeks, Grayes scowled at the apprentice Inquisita. “Can you not keep that forked tongue between your fangs for one eve, Zi?” She merely pursed her lips at him for a moment, chuckling. “Oooh, have I gotten under your skin already, Gray-Gray?” Her eyes scanned his face quickly, and then her satisfied smirk only grew. “You must already have a losing hand.” “Nay, I do not,” he responded instantly, and a shade too quickly. She wagged a finger at him. “Now, none of that. Let us see it. No need to prolong the inevitable.” “You first.” “Deal Andros and I a hand,” Atjeh said with a quiet laugh, before turning to Shazi. “And give me that.” Rolling her eyes, she passed him Grayes’ flask, to Andros’ disapproving frown and the bladesmaster apprentice’s annoyed scowl. “If you get drunk again---” the young man, who was only just Atjeh’s elder, grumbled. The lordling snorted. “I can hold my drink, Gray-Gray .” He took a long pull, smiling slightly as his friend turned that irritated glare from him to Shazi. “Sharing is caring,” she said sweetly. “Now, let’s see that hand of yours.” She tapped the ground with one finger. “Drinking, Jeh?” Andros asked quietly, shaking his head slightly as the ra offered him the flask. The lordling rolled silt brown eyes at him, pausing to take another pull before snatching up the cards Shazi dealt him after she had swept her winnings toward herself once again to the tune of Grayes grumbled curses. “Tis only one flask, shared between the five of us. We’ll hardly get drunk on so little.” He tipped the flask slightly toward Andros, arching a brow. “Pah, I’ve a whole bloody vat of the stuff in my room,” Shazi said idly, rolling her eyes at Grayes as the warrior grumbled unhappily under his breath when Andros took the flask. The Guildsman frowned at the drink, unstopping it but glancing sideways at his lover. “You know I shouldn’t…” Even Chusa found the long look that passed between the two young men strange. Shazi, her powers of observation honed to a keen edge even in the mere past year of her training, caught it immediately, her face turning pensive... and burning with curiosity. Atjeh and Andros did not notice the scrutinizing stares around them. After a moment, the lordling took the flask back, nodding slightly. “Ah… aye… you’re still recovering and should… not. Very well. Do you want kolinar, then?” “Nay,” Andros said, then gently slipped the flask from Atjeh’s fingers and extended it to Grayes. “But if I do not get to drink spirits, neither do you.” Now Grayes rolled his eyes, as though he had not been unhappy with everyone drinking his brandy but a moment before. "What are you, his Ma?" Andros frowned at the youngling, then rubbed Atjeh’s shoulder gently, with an openness that had both Shazi and Grayes grimacing in distaste. “I want what is best for him,” the Guildsman said firmly. “So what…you gonna take away his cards too? Keep him in bed with you all day?” Shazi grumbled. The Guildsman flashed her a stern look. “Forked tongue indeed,” he said smoothly. Color flushed into the apprentice Inquisita’s face. She crossed her arms sternly, fingers dancing toward shitan hilts. Andros caught her wrists, pinning them with a touch that was more light warning than actual restraint. She scowled up into his face. “Unhand me,” she said slowly, tone as sharp as Derk-ra fang, and quiet as their creeping stalk. The Guildsman released her, but kept his eyes fixed on her face. “Do not meddle in Guild affairs,” he said. “She’s an Inquisita,” Grayes said offhandedly, eyes on his cards. He had missed the tense exchange, or was ignoring it. Chusa suspected the latter, though he couldn’t imagine how Grayes could pretend he didn’t notice, when the action was riveting the steward into stillness and concern. < > “Even an Inquisita knows when to leave matters be,” Andros said quietly, ignoring the quiet warning across the pair-link. “And if I do not?” she said, brows arching and a slow smile twitching her lips. “Then Joshin might discover something unexpected in one of his letters,” he said smoothly. Her Inquisita training had been good; Shazi started only a little, and a quick duck of her head hid widening eyes. Andros glanced over Atjeh’s shoulders at the cards held in the lordling’s hand, but his eyes slid to the young woman, narrowing slightly. As soon as he had spotted Taniz earlier today, he had known several things. That his Sian had not completely loosened his claim over him, and that someone was muddling with his letters. His Sian had always been somewhat of a coward. He had chosen Andros, even knowing of his strange fits and simplistic Gifting, over the stronger and more normal Guild children. They would fight back; he could not. Taniz would always have written first, with scathing and demanding letters, long before he would have shown his face to Atjeh, entered the land-holdings of a lord who was not sympathetic to Guild ways, nor tried to confront Andros. His arrival would have been the last thing, when letters came and went unanswered. Andros suspected Shazi had messed with his letters. Threatening Joshin, her seeming lover—judging by the amount of time they spent with one another—might cool her curiosity for a time. Atjeh shifted uneasily, reaching out to pat his knee lightly. She’s nosy, but means no true harm. You wouldn’t…hurt her, would you? Andros sighed, closing his eyes and giving Shazi a reprieve from his glare. Of course not. The most he could truly do, and feel comfortable with doing, would be to add a bit of illusion to one of the wax seals, triggered by her touch into an image of a viper or some such warning. The apprentice Inquisita rose from her place, stretching lithely as if the cold floor had stiffened her muscles. As she turned, however, her foot slipped, and she tumbled against Andros. He stiffened, reaching out to push her away, even as he felt her hand rest against his back as she straightened, head down low by his ear. “You win this round, Guildsman,” she hissed. “Harm the lordling, though, and I’ll use your hide to bait a Derk-ra hutch.” The woman straightened again, reaching for the flask and taking a good, long pull. Andros’ eyes narrowed, focusing on her, even as Atjeh’s frustration tickled in the back of his head. His hand had not been good enough, apparently. It had been many months since Andros had matched wits with someone like Shazi. Twas almost like dealing with his teachers again, watching each word, thinking of meanings and double meanings. The subterfuge, the ploys and careful strategies. In the dim light and crouched on the floor, he had not received a good look at this sharp-tongued, sharp-minded apprentice. But now, standing up and arching her head back to get the last drops of fire brandy, Andros had a clear view. A slender, lean body dwelt beneath the leather tunic, faded breeches, and thigh-high boots, the fabric thinly veiling her womanly curves. Her features, though bright with cunning, held a beauty much like the harsh majesty of the Rim’s peaks. A woman with a mind as quick as his own, without fear of him or the danger he represented. And likely to continue snooping, even with his threats. Andros bit his lip, shifting uneasily as mild interest murmured into faint desire. His Match grimaced, fumbling with his cards suddenly and giving him a stern look over his shoulder. Stop that! Of all the women in this manor…Kyda! Shazi ambled down the hall in a foul mood. Bloody Guildsman, besting her first. Bloody Guildsman got the first round. No one was allowed to get the first round on her. No one except maybe Grayes, and then because Grayes, she knew, had the training to best her first. At least when it came to blades. But the Guildsman was no Grayes. And the man had the nerve to try to restrain her! Kyda, if Atjeh hadn’t been there… Her lips curled wryly. At least the foolish Guildsman had the impression that she might be a bit meek. That was a bit better. She loosened her hidden pouch of firebrandy and wet her lips. The alcohol warmed her belly and a grin twitched. Let him think he won the first round. Let him revel in it. Time to play with the little Guildsman man-slut. Feeling more like herself, she pushed open Joshin’s door. “Don’t you knock?” “When it suits me,” she grinned, commandeering a tattered red chair. “Want some?” He turned his nose up the small leather skin. “You know that’s too strong for me. And it’s a bad idea to drink this late.” “Aye, but I felt like some right now. I have a thought, Joshin.” Joshin rolled his eyes. It was late and he had candles lighting the rooms, tossing light carelessly over the open pages of his books. A letter was neatly set at the edge of his desk. “I assume it has to do with this?” He picked up the envelope and the seal flashed. “Ah from the Guildsman today?” “Aye.” Word had travelled fast among the servants. Shazi’s grin widened and she laughed. “That’s good news. Let me see it.” He tossed it to her and she studied the seal, following the intricate whorls with her eyes. “Make sure this gets delivered. If the Guildsman asks for his mail, give it to him, but only after we’ve looked at it. No use pretending, now that he knows. Might as well flaunt it.” She paused, not missing Joshin freeze as she sat the last two sentences. “Say, Joshin. If I make a copy of this seal, would you be able to tell me if it looked authentic?” He looked at her suspiciously. “Aye…” “Good.” She flipped it lightly on to the table. “And all that time copying those Guild words, you should be able to help me forge a letter, eh?” To her surprise, the young Keeper paled. “What…what are you talking about? I’m not going to try to forge a letter to the Guild if that’s what you mean!” She laughed lightly. “Relax Joshin, I’m not that big of a fool.” Kyda, by the way he reacted it was as if she had asked him to ride naked into a Derk-ra hutch slathered in chicken fat. It was interesting though. Joshin was afraid of the Guild. More afraid of it than she had thought after the surprising courage he had shown earlier. Was there something more? She filed the idea away in her mind to look at later. She trusted Joshin, as she did the other servants. Whether they knew that or not, well, better to keep them guessing. “I’m only sending a letter to our resident Guildsman.” “I’m not…Shazi…” “You’re under my protection, Joshin,” she said, turning serious. “Trust me.” She didn’t want a good forgery. Nothing perfect. Just something that, on the surface, looked real. Something that said, ‘I could do this if I really tried hard enough.’ Joshin would accomplish that look without even trying, or even knowing it was what she wanted. All the better. Joshin shrugged his shoulders awkwardly as she rested her booted feet on the table. “What do you want it to say?” “Oh, just a simple sentence,” she waved a hand lightly, “’I will meddle in guild affairs when and where you least expect it.’” She paused and nodded with a smile. “Yes, I think that will do quite nicely.” He scowled at her. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” She only flashed another grin in reply. This was going to be amusing. < > “That bloody… Kyda forsaken… lo’soith …” Andros growled under his breath, scribbling furiously upon the piece of parchment before him. It had been a terribly long day. As he had suspected might happen if his Match drank, Atjeh had gone to sleep the eve before more than a little soused---though thankfully Kinyth seemed unaware today---and had woken with a pounding headache. That of course meant that his loquiri, too, had greeted the day with anvils hammering at his skull, though he had been not been foolish enough to drink to excess. Oh no, that had been all Atjeh’s doing, as the ra had repeatedly snuck “sips” here and there from Grayes’ flask, which that bloody, grinning apprentice Inquisita had handed him again and again with little smirks at Andros. It had not required much; he was growing yet, and clearly had little experience with spirits. And then, after an exceedingly long breakfast in which a grumpy Atjeh had tried his hardest not to behave before his Ma, Da and o’Da as though hungover, they both had endured a sudden and rather long lecture from Yassin, who had not been fooled a bit. The loquiri gave Atjeh a thorough dressing down for having broken with his Da’s trust and forbade him to join his friends at cards at the next month’s game. And then he had turned sternly to Andros , and reminded him that not only was he older, but that twas a loquiri’s duty to ensure that his Match either did not engage in such foolishness… or was so thoroughly punished for it that he would never, ever dare drink to excess again. Then later, when Atjeh’s lesson with Joshin was abruptly cancelled---the Keeper had apparently seemed very nervous, and had claimed to be feeling unwell before practically slamming the study door in his pupil’s face---Andros had gone to give the man a good lecture. Joshin might have been of sullied blood, but the man still had a duty to ensure that Atjeh was educated as befit a future Lord of Apollar. But while walking down the hall toward the Keeper’s study, Andros had instead run full tilt into Lady Epona. She squeaked in surprise, cursed in a decidedly un-ladylike fashion as she tripped and fell to the ground, and then glared at him coldly until, muttering apologies with burning cheeks, he had utterly fled from her presence. Twas not until he had returned to his own room that he realized that he had failed to even help his Match’s wife off of the ground. And now what did he find, waiting for him atop that week’s newest batch of letters from Crossroads and the Riv Citadel in Apollar? Threats, from a bloody little Sha of an apprentice Inquisita. Her letter lay now in two pieces, one on either side of his chair. Andros dipped his quill into the ink once again, furiously penning a missive addressed to the Riv Citadel in Apollar. If Shazi kept her behavior up, he just might send it, too! “…Shepherd… inform you that… man of impure… bears watching... strange bent… mayhap even culling ,” he murmured to himself, his eyes narrowing in vindictive satisfaction at that last as his quill scratched across the parchment. What are you doing? Atjeh sent over the pair-link with a light touch. The ra was sitting impatiently upon a cushion in Yassin’s study, paying attention to the loquiri with only half a mind. In the background Andros could dimly hear Yassin’s voice droning on and on about patterns and Gift-output and such. Showing that stupid Shazi that I do not take threats lightly… and that she should not do so either, Andros thought back furiously, folding the letter in half and carefully creasing the middle. He felt his Match’s frown. How will that allay her suspicions, again? Andros rolled his eyes, dripping hot wax onto the paper and blowing upon it for a moment before stamping it with the seal he’d possessed since his Ascension. He knew full well Shazi recognized it now. It won’t. She doesn’t know I am a loquiri. She does not know anything, and won’t learn anything interesting by going through my correspondence. But she bloody will stop if she has incentive to do so! Epona sifted soil through her bare fingers, the sun painting a red line across her unprotected nose. Not that it mattered now, not that anyone cared or even seemed to notice. Partly her own choice. She didn’t want to be manipulated by the Harad house any longer and did the tasks she was provided and began starting her own so as to avoid them. Anger had simmered and cooled over the past month, and though she knew she still hurt her heart was so tired she secretly longed for someone just to care. Even her husband’s real lover had just left her on the floor. She winced as she brushed the last of the dense loam from her fingers and stood. Different here than in the sun brightened areas of the estate, the trees grew better in it. But was the soil a factor of the trees or the trees a factor of the soil? She was working on a survey of the pine forest, much to the interest of one of the woodsman, and it was slow going. Her stomach rumbled. Glancing briefly at the sun, she made her way back toward the manor. Five more months. Five more months where I can go home and I’ll get to hug my sister and someone will say they’re happy to see me. Tears built in her throat and she kicked a cactus angrily. You’re no child. Enough with those tears. Enough…You made this bed yourself. She was still swallowing hard when she made her way into the overhang of an outer courtyard where she left her books and slid into a chair of iron. The servants knew where to find her and tea appeared at her elbow and a set of small lemon cakes dusted with cinnamon. Epona frowned at it. Not very substantial. She heard a small cough and turned her head. Atjeh’s young re, Alia, looking at her with wide serious eyes. Epona paused, not sure what to do. She had little interaction with the family. Even at meal times, which she only sometimes attended, and then in only stony silence not looking at anyone. “Um…yes?” “What are you reading?” The title of the book was a mouthful, one she doubted the little girl would understand. “Just…just a research book that’s all.” “Oh. You read more than even my Ma.” It shouldn’t have hurt but it did. “Ah.” “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She clambered on to the seat opposite and looked at the lemon cakes. Epona couldn’t help but smile a little. No harm from this one. She nudged the plate forward. “Here, please. Take. I don’t think my stomach would like them.” When the little girl hesitated, she added, “I promise I won’t tell your Ma.” Alia looked at her then broke into giggles and stuck one entire cake in her mouth. “Our secret,” she whispered through the crumbs, and put a small finger to her lips. The first warm smile in a month touched Epona’s lips and she tried not to laugh with the giddy joy at a touch of human companionship. “Why aren’t you at your lessons, Alia?” she asked finally. She shrugged. “None right now. They can get boring.” Epona nodded in agreement and the little girl smiled. “I’m glad you think so too.” She eyed the cakes again and Epona pushed the plate toward her. With a joyful yelp she hid one in a pocket of her skirts and began nibbling on the edge of the last. “So…are you just out here to keep me company?” “I wanted…I wanted to know how you made those plants. And where you’ve been going in the pines. And what you were reading and…” Epona held up her hands with a laugh. “That’s a lot of things. Why do you want to know…” “You’re new!” Well, that was indeed a reason. Not exactly the reason she had hoped for but…Kyda it was nice to talk to someone again. Even if it was just a young girl. She chewed her lip. “Do you hav |
| {*}You’re not listening!{/*} Atjeh snapped, as his loquiri placed the letter he’d written two days before on top of the pile of mail to be picked up that afternoon by the courier. He’d no doubt Shazi would see it, and snatch it up with her sticky little fingers. {*}I apologize,{/*} Andros responded, but only after he had arranged the letter so that it lay face up, seal facing toward the ceiling. He had even put a touch of Gifting upon it, so that the likeness of Shazi’s own shitan would thrust out of the seal when she broke it, flying toward her eyes. Dimly, he felt his Match cross his arms somewhere on the other side of the manor. {*}Liar,{/*} Atjeh growled. {*}You are not sorry at all.{/*} His mind voice sounded petulant, and very, very young. {*}Where are you?{/*} The Guildsman sighed. Twas his fault, of course, and he knew it. He hadn’t spared as much time for his Match these last few days, caught up as he was in planning his revenge on Shazi. Even his thoughts, he realized in retrospect, had been thoroughly occupied with running their conversation over and over in his mind, thinking of the ways he could have responded to better put her in her place. But now that he thought about it… there was an ache deep in his chest, like an old wound. He could not help but know that Atjeh felt it, too. {*}I was headed back toward my room,{/*} Andros sent back, feeling mildly guilty. With a gentle caress, he pressed his mind against Atjeh’s, opening his side of the pair-link slightly. {*}But shall I come to yours instead, or…{/*} {*}Oh, you have time for me, now?{/*} his moody Match responded. {*}I am surprised you even remember me, with{/*} Shazi {*}to occupy your every thought.{/*} Aye, the pair-link needed to be warmed, now. He could not take much more of this tension, now that he was aware of it. Striding through the manor’s winding, tunneling halls, he abruptly changed course, heading back up the staircase away from the servant and guest quarters back up to the wing in which Atjeh and his family slept. His progress was halted, of course. It seemed there was always {*}someone{/*} to getting in his way or bumping into him in Haden Manor’s winding halls and narrow passages. It also seemed he was plagued to always find himself eye to eye with Shazi. She smirked at him, leaning casually against the wall, feet crossed lazily at the ankles. “You have been rather… quiet, Guildsman. Nothing at all to say?” “I do not have time for you,” Andros snapped, even as he smiled inwardly, to Atjeh’s distant eye roll. “Go steal some more {*}mail{/*},” he suggested dismissively, all the while hoping she would do just that…. and that he could see her face when she did. She treated him with a brief, mocking pout. “I’m afraid you get a reprieve today. The courier came early.” Andros frowned. “Wait…” {*}Andy…{/*} Atjeh said worriedly in the back of his mind. {*}What did you write?{/*} Shaking his head, the Guildsman snapped an insult---he did not even know what, though Atjeh’s rude snort implied either something particularly clever, or rather dull-witted---and fled down the hall to catch up with the bloody courier. {*}I will tell you later! Bloody…. I hope he is not gone…{/*} He had not stepped halfway down a corridor before footsteps followed briskly behind him. “What’s wrong with you, Guild-ra? Forget to send out a letter?” Andros clenched his teeth and hurried away from her, but still she came. The bloody Inquisita easily kept up with his long strides—Kyda, how he wished she were encumbered with skirts!—and reached for his shoulder, grinning at him as he glared at her, jerking out of her reach. “Go…bother someone…else,” he snapped. “But you are acting so…curiously..” Her brows arched. “Come now. You cannot deny an Inquisita’s instincts for this sort of thing, now can you?” “And I suppose an {*}apprentice{/*} Inquisita’s instincts are just as well-honed?” Andros growled, unable to resist the verbal jab even as he ducked through another door, then sidestepped about a pair of servants lugging a heavy vase. He caught sight of her flushed cheeks for a moment. Pleased satisfaction curled in his chest briefly. Until his Match tapped against his mind firmly. {*} What did you write, Andy? Um…just some…things…I just…{/*} The loquiri swallowed hard and hurried at a much faster pace down the hall and stairways, eyes darting from one door and corridor to another. Surely he would see the rough travel cloak, the bit of brass wrapped about his forearm in a courier’s torc, the bag bulging with letters and small packages. Andros paused at the snort of a horse just outside. {*} Kyda!{/*} The Guildsman’s heart beat faster. That letter had never been intended to leave the manor, nor even for eyes other than Shazi and her lover Joshin to see. If the Guild Citadel caught wind of what he had said, being a Guildsman and of their rank, they would surely send a Geno Inquisita to look into the matter. Joshin would be doomed, and so would he and Atjeh. Darting down the stairs several steps at a time, and shushing his Match’s worry at the rapid pace down the rather steep flight, Andros stumbled at the bottom of the floor, caught himself with a steadying hand against the wall, and ran on. Where had the courier gone? Surely not far. Surely he had not left yet. Twas servants preparing the horse, that was all. {*} Kyda-Kyda-Kyda. Where is {/*} that{*}courier! What {/*}have{*} you done?{/*} Atjeh asked, mindvoice frantic in tune with his loquiri’s rising panic. {*} Jeh…I didn’t…twas only to scare Shazi… Her again? Would you {/*} stop{*} thinking of nothing but her?{/*} Atjeh’s mind snarled, anger flaring sharply across the pair-link, in tune with the oddest image. A female Derk-ra, brilliant scarlet crest flaring, growling at a crouching, smaller female at her feet. Andros blinked. {*} What?{/*} But Atjeh’s mind had already snapped out of his reach, the lordling focusing on sand-cats to the exclusion of anything else. Which twas good, as Andros’ panic soared at the sight of a the courier’s guest room, doors swung open and servants already clearing the sheets. “Where is the courier?” Andros said, eyes wide, to the servant folding up the coverlet. “Saying his farewells to our Lord Kinyth, I believe. Or…” the man bit his lip. “He said something of the kitchens too. Maria makes such fine sweet rolls. Or…” “Kyda man! Where is the bloody, star-forsaken courier!” “I…I don’t know…” the servant swallowed hard, backing away from him. Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Andros whirled, dashing back into the manor. What could he do? How could he find the man… his fingers itched. Oh, there was a way. But had to be quick, and sudden, before anyone felt the quick surge. Andros paused in the alcove, eyes sweeping the main hall of the manor quickly, before he ducked his fingers down his tunic and pulled the dreamstone up, freeing it from his bare skin. Gift hummed at the edge of his mind, a searing sun at his shoulder. He grabbed their shared Gift, ignoring the spurt of surprise and startled uneasiness from his Match, and spread it outward in a pinging search. Closing his eyes, he swept about in search of the courier. He was no tracker, but his Gift was neither weak, nor less trained enough to manage to find one low-Gifted man. There. The courier had not left yet, thank the Triad! Twas near to Epona’s niche in the manor, a small sideroom where she was already coaxing plants into intriguing shapes. Likely admiring her handiwork. With a deep, relieved sigh, Andros slipped his dreamstone down his tunic, squaring his shoulders. Twould be easy enough to wander casually up there, and coax the letter from the courier. And pray Shazi did not see him at it. And then, hopefully, get her to leave him alone and yet have time to warm the Bond. Atjeh was quite unhappy with him. Rubbing the spot in his chest that pained him, Andros wandered up the stairway. |
| “Where did Andros go?” The maid looked up at Shazi’s unusually stern face. “What?” “The bloody Guildsman came this way, which way did he go?” “I…that way,” she pointed down the hall toward the wing that housed the family living quarters. “He seemed…agitated.” The apprentice Inquisita did her best not to scowl at the young woman. He was more than agitated; he was upset about that letter. A letter she was supposed to read, and one that wasn’t supposed to get to a courier. Kyda, if their letter war had gotten out of hand she would never forgive his stupidity. Or her carelessness. She jogged down the hall in the direction the maid had pointed, around a curve and up a small flight of stairs and she stopped. There he was. At the far end of a short hall, talking with the courier. Even from where she was, she could see the relief, plain on his face as he tucked a letter into his belt. Anger, relief and a little bit of interest carried her down the hall on silent feet and, as the courier left the opposite way, Andros turned and came into contact with her fist. He yelped and stumbled backward, but Shazi caught him before he fell. “That was a stupid thing you did, thorla, but it was a very smart thing to catch it,” she grunted, pressing him against the wall of the corridor and narrowing the full force of her eyes on him. “I give you credit for that, and so right now I’m calling a truce. I’ll stop reading your mail and monitoring your communications, but if I ever catch you pulling a stunt like this again, Atjeh will have to find himself a new lover. Do you understand me?” Her eyes narrowed further when she suddenly realized she didn’t think he was listening to her. In fact, his eyes, which should have been widened in fear, or at least discomfort, had moved from her face, down the curve of her neck, to the length of her legs and back again. And the look in his eyes was anything but fearful. Kyda, and I thought he liked the parts of men! With that look…I wonder… she found herself beginning to smile. I wonder if I’ve been taking on this Guildsman all wrong. Her smile grew wider and she leaned closer until there was only three fingers breath between their bodies. “Ah, look at you Guildsman,” she purred, letting her breath waft over his ear, “Looking at a woman like you should look at your lover. Tsk tsk, what would Atjeh say? Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.” She felt him stiffen and she grinned toothily as she stepped away. “A truce then, Guildsman, when it comes to our mail.” Shazi turned and, whistling, left the Guildsman and headed toward the kitchen. Perhaps I really have been going about this all wrong. I wonder if I can seduce him away from Atjeh. It may not make Atjeh very happy but it would certainly be telling…and very very amusing. < > Three quiet but solid raps upon his door nearly caused Joshin to jump out of his skin. He was halfway out of his chair, his arm reaching out toward... What? A weapon? He did not own or know how to use a weapon, and the book his hand reached for was hardly going to save him from the Geno Inquisita he was half convinced these days lurked in very bloody corner of Haden Manor. After his initial moment of startlement, he took a deep, calming breath and with a touch of grim humor, reminded himself that the Guild was unlikely to knock politely upon his study door before coming to kill, kidnap or even simply interrogate him. "Come in," he murmured softly, lowering himself back to his cushion with a self-depreciating smile. When the door opened, twas not a Geno Inquisita, or even Andros that stepped through his door and glanced down at him with a hesitant expression. Of course. Joshin rolled his eyes as he gestured for Chusa to claim one of the cushions, where a very bored Atjeh had been sitting a mere two points before, struggling explain to the young Keeper why he had filled only one scroll on the differences between Apollar, Lodear, Eastar and Settar law, rather than having written the three scrolls he had been assigned. "Do you have a moment, Joshin?" the steward asked, biting his lip hesitantly. The Keeper glanced upwards toward the skylight. "Erilae will be bringing the ris by for a brief lesson in fifteen marks." Then a small grin crossed his face. "Though... I suppose you would like to tarry, wouldn't you?" The steward's ears turned the most alarming shade of crimson, but other than that he managed not to lose his composure. "She and I broke our fasts this morning together. I can wait to see her... that is, I---" Now heat was creeping into his cheeks too. Joshin smiled the first genuine smile that had touched his face in days. He really did need to stop fretting over Andros and what the man might intend. The latest letters were terribly dull, anyway, and if the Guildsman had not said anything yet, there was really no reason to think he would magically glean the truth for no apparent reason from the thin air. Besides, even Shazi, who had stopped by a few marks before Chusa to tell Joshin that she was going to stop reading Andros' mail, seemed to have had her suspicions allayed somewhat. "What can I do for you?" Joshin asked. He rose from his cushion, stretching muscles that were stiff from having mostly been sitting about on the floor all morn. "I've got kolinar on the lune if you want some." Dinjan, of course, did not approve. Though Joshin was a year past his majority, the healer nevertheless repeatedly insisted that until the last inch or two of growth had been wrung out of a youngling, twas best to avoid the drink. But Joshin, who had started drinking kolinar when most younglings stopped drinking milk, and was neither short nor tall, did not see the point. Chusa nodded politely, his gaze somewhat distant, as though his thoughts were on another matter entirely. "Aye, thank you Joshin," he said. The Keeper nodded absently, stepping to his desk---he rarely sat there these days, as twas much easier to tutor Lord Kinyth and Lady Nora's los and nus when he sat even with them on the cushions littering the floor---and pouring them each a mug of kolinar. Twas quite strong at this time of day, having been stewing for hours, and when the last drops dripped into Chusa's cup, he set the pot aside and nudged the lune gently with his Gift, encouraging it to cool. "Kyda bless you," Chusa murmured, taking the mug he was offered gratefully into both hands. As he sipped at his own drink and settled back on the cushion across from the steward, Joshin could not help but notice that Chusa looked preoccupied and worried. And, one might daresay the steward's normally pristine tunic was slightly askew, as though he had spent the last point fretting over another matter and thus had not had time to fret over his appearance. Joshin would have liked to wait patiently for the other man to speak his mind, but unfortunately he had three ris and Chusa's own sweetheart on the way in a mere few marks. "You are worried," he said, getting straight to the point. "What is it?" Chusa started slightly, as though he had not expected his friend so speak yet, then smiled a small, wry, and not entirely convincing smile. "I am not... worried... exactly. More... curious." He bit his lip, and cocked his head slightly at the Keeper. "I do not know if this is something you studied or not---likely not, for why would you study jewelry?---but what exactly might a dreamstone be used for?" Joshin blinked and shifted to more comfortable spot upon his cushion and folded his fingers beneath his chin. “No, I have not studied that deeply. But I know something of them. A dreamstone…it dampens Gift, more or less.” He frowned, eyes drifting to his hands. “It is used by healers upon younglings who cannot grasp control—to prevent overuse—and on seriously injured patients who might, in their delirium, do something foolish.” He bit his lip. “Inquisitas—those not of the Guild—use them to sneak among the common people, or unknowing lords, or the Guild themselves. It hides a bent. Though tis risky—one cannot use much of their Gift while wearing one.” Chusa’s worried look did not fade, only seemed to darken in clear confusion. “Then why does he … “ Joshin arched a brow. “Who?” “Nothing.” Chusa bit his lip hard. “Tis nothing.” The Keeper smiled, reaching out to rest his hand lightly upon the steward’s shoulder, waiting for the quiet young man to meet his gaze. “Chusa? Who is wearing a dreamstone?” “He…I told him I’d not say anything. And you know I…I keep my word. Tis just…curious to me. That is all.” With crimson slowly creeping into his ears again, the steward rose abruptly from his cushion and took a long pull from his mug, before striding to Joshin’s desk. “Chusa…it is good to keep secrets. But there is a time to share them.” Worry uncoiled faintly in his chest. It had taken him a long span to learn to trust the steward, or any of the servants for that matter. But this paranoid fear of Andros had stirred his old distrust. What was Chusa hedging about? “You know I would never share what you tell me, unless it were serious.” After setting his half-empty mug down, the steward leaned against the desk, pensively studying the whorls and knots in the wood. “I know.” The steward swallowed hard and then turned back, slumping down upon the cushion once more. “Joshin…about the Guildsman…it’s…he…” Joshin patted his knee soothingly, even as his heartbeat pounded faster in his chest. “Chusa?” Closing his eyes, the steward sighed deeply. “Joshin, I…it’s the Guildsman. I saw him. Today. This Andros. He’s got this bit of jewelry under his tunic—and he was in the hall…pulled it out to use his Gift for something. To find something, I think. Felt like it when he swept it about.” He shifted uneasily, rubbing his forehead wearily, eyes still closed. “Twas a dreamstone. Why would Andros wear one of those? He has no need to hide his Gift. Not with that Eye upon his wrist.” The steward did not see Joshin stiffen, going very still and very quiet, as Chusa explained what he had seen. He only heard with half his mind; the rest soared forward with thoughts and pieces, neatly fitting into place. What had he said in those first letters—loquiri and the question, repeated many times in his journal. The Hybrid Keeper….does he know? “Joshin?” The Keeper blinked hurriedly, aware suddenly of Chusa’s hand on his shoulder, and the man’s worried face. The steward must have called his name more than once. “What? What is it?” Chusa’s voice held tight fear. “Is he doing something terrible with it?” “N…no,” Joshin murmured. His mind raced. Kyda! Surely…it could not be—but my mother’s notes…she spoke of chances, of the Master and the Sian parallels…of the religious chants of the Guild and the meditation chants of the loquiri…so many things. He knew what his father had said, their suspicions of where his mother’s research had started to lead. If only he had more of her notes! Joshin bit his lip hard. “Chusa…are you absolutely certain that he wore a dreamstone?” “Aye.” The steward nodded. “I saw it clearly in the light of the hall’s skylight. Twas a purple stone, flecked with green, suspended upon a silver chain.” He cleared his throat, frowning at the soft giggles drawing toward the office. “Joshin…what is it?” The Keeper smiled, triumph rising within his belly. So the Guildsman was going to reveal him, was he? So he was going to tell the Citadel of the Hybrid Keeper? If he were right, then Andros would do nothing against him, not even to lift a finger to harm him. He forced his smile into a cheerful grin, rather than the mocking sneer he was certain was creeping across his lips. He squeezed the steward’s shoulder lightly. “Chusa, do not fret. Tis nothing at all to worry about. I will…check…to see if my guess is correct. Alright?” “Should I tell Lord Kinyth?” Chusa said softly. “Is Andros dangerous to Atjeh with that stone?” “Let me see my records first, alright? Then I will tell Lord Kinyth, if it is necessary.” The giggles were growing louder. Joshin nudged Chusa lightly. “Go ahead on your duties. I will teach the ris and then see. Do not worry.” The steward bit his lip, but nodded quickly, before turning and striding out of the room. He paused briefly, flashing a faint smile toward Erilae, who grinned back—Chusa flushed crimson from ear to cheek to throat—and then they parted ways with longing looks. Joshin swallowed and pushed away the victorious, vindictive feelings sweeping through his chest. Twas time to teach; Andros could wait, for now. < > “Gray-gray!” At the sound of her voice, the apprentice bladesmaster shifted, lowering his stance and turning, liquid smooth on a toe. One hand he kept on the handle of his shitan, the other in front of him, protecting his center. Shazi paused, cocking her head. “What’s wrong with you?” He scowled at her and straightened. She grinned. She had a habit of jumping him in hallways or outside the sparring circles, trying to glean a bit more of his training for herself from his blocks and counter attacks. “What do you want, you little viper?” he muttered as she jogged up next to him and draped an arm over his shoulder. “I don’t want anything exactly. I just had an idea.” “Goody.” “I stopped reading that Guildsman’s mail. For his threats, it honestly doesn’t look like he wants to go to the Guild with any of our issues. Otherwise he would have let his letter go out. Which, when you think about it, is a pretty unusual..and surprisingly noble of him .” “What letter?” She waved a hand. “Never mind. Some letter. But I think that Guildsman may not be all that he seems. He’s been looking at me, so I’m going to see if I can try to seduce him.” Grayes stopped and Shazi, paying only half attention to her feet, stumbled. It was her turn to scowl. “You did that on purpose.” “Why in Kyda’s name are you going to try to seduce the Guildsman?” “Because,” she said brightly, “it could be quite fun to see if I could seduce a man who claims to love another man.” Grayes frown deepened. “Why would you want to seduce a sniveling little..clingy. And he’s a Guildsman…dangerous and…Atjeh’s…” “That’s the beauty of it, Gray-Gray. If I do succeeded, I can go to Atjeh with evidence that Andros is up to no good. That he’s cheating. Either Andros will leave in shame or Atjeh will kick him out.” “Of all the…A guildsman Zi?” She rolled her eyes. “Oh come on now. It’s not so bad. Atjeh at least has good taste. He’s really not bad to look at. Not bad at all.” Grayes look darkened further. “Well I think it’s a stupid idea.” Shazi scowled back. She had hoped Grayes would be a lot more impressed than he was. “Well I don’t care what you think,” she snapped quickly. At that, Grayes looked smug. “Yes you do.” Her frown deepened and her eyes narrowed. “I do not Gray-Gray. In fact I care so little I’m going to do it despite what you think.” She smirked at his look. “And what do you care anyways Grayes. It’s not like you can do anything about it and it’s not your decision to make. Unless you would like to seduce the Guildsman too.” He glared, but otherwise ignored her jab, a familiar tightness in his jaw the only thing giving his irritation away. She laughed again. “I would love to discuss this with you further, but Harr is missing me. I can’t complete my plan if he locks me in a room with treaties for hours for being late.” “Fine,” he growled. “Go. Plot about your Guildsman.” “Don’t be like that Grayes,” she grinned as she separated from him toward a side hall. “I’ll have him out of our hair before you know it.” < > Joshin smiled gently as three of his Lord and Lady's los stepped into his study. The fourth and eldest, Serri, had wed two summers before and moved into the home of her lord husband's Da until such a time as the young couple reached their majorities. But Nora and Kinyth's eldest child was of an age with the Keeper's fourth, unexpected pupil. "L-lady Epona," he said, his murky blue eyes growing wide as the black haired young noblewoman trailed behind the other ris, her hand gently clasping a grinning Alia's. "Look who I brought!" the six year old piped proudly, twisting her head to grin upwards at her new friend. Joshin nodded politely, gesturing for the ris to each take a cushion beneath the sunlight streaming in through the skylight. "I see." He smiled at Epona as the young woman sank gracefully down, folding her hands in her lap. "Lord Kinyth said that you might be joining us." Last month, he added silently, but late was better than never he supposed. For a moment she looked at him blankly, hazel eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. "He did? I did not tell him..." And then she trailed off, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. "Oh. I..." Her spine straightened, and she set her jaw. "I had other uses for my time, certainly, but Alia here insisted," she said, stony expression softening slightly as she glanced sideways at the little ri. Alia seemed intent upon sitting in Epona's lap, and no amount of scolding could quite coax her to sit primly upon her own cushion. Erilae tried, of course, but the best she could do was encourage the ri to sit next to her new friend, so that Epona sat on the cushion and Aria plopped down on the ground beside her, pressed happily against her side. For a long moment, Joshin was terribly unsure of how to proceed. He certainly could not bring up the uncomfortable matter of Epona's wayward young husband and his Guild lover... or potential loquiri. Neither did he feel that now was the time to scold the noblewoman for her absence; Epona was only a handful of summers Joshin's own junior, and besides, he could hardly blame her for wishing to avoid the rest of the household after the disaster a month before. After a few grains had passed and everyone was settled at last, however, he realized that he did not need to bother with niceties. Twas a lesson he was to be providing, not conversation or condolences. He cleared his throat, smiling from sixteen year old Mauri and nine year old Keri, to Alia and Epona. "Who read their lesson last night?" He nodded, pleased, as all but Epona raised their hands. "Excellent. Who can summarize for me the plot of 'Rhaldha and Sereth'?" < > As the lesson wore on and the topic changed from literature, to history, to philosophy, the more Epona relaxed, even chiming in an answer now and then when the younger girls went silent. By the end of it, she had even begun asking Joshin questions. And not just any questions. Questions that were poignant and insightful and Joshin felt a sort of mild respect growing for the young noble woman before him. “Joshin…are we done yet?” Alia always began whining during the last few marks of the lesson. Her attention span was better than a clock. Joshin sighed and closed the tome before him. “Aye, almost. I want all of you to read the Treaty of the Four Provinces for next time. Alia, I’m sure Mauri will help you…” “Or Epona,” the girl grinned, snuggling into the older girl’s side. “Aye,” Epona murmured, “I’ve read it before so it will be no trouble.” Joshin raised a brow. The treaty was one of the first steps at uniting the four provinces into the modern day Mara. It wasn’t a common piece of literature in most noble households. But then again Epona had shown that she didn’t seem to have quite the common education. “Very well. That will be all for today…except…my lady,” he nodded respectfully to Atjeh’s wife, “if you wouldn’t mind staying for a moment longer.” Her look turned suddenly suspicious and he flushed. “Ah, I have a…well maybe a different assignment for you.” “But I want Epona to come with me…” Erilae frowned at the Alia. “What have I told you about whining?” “But she’s my friend. And she was going to show me something in the pine forest today.” Both Erilae and Epona traded glances over the ri’s head and the latter finally nodded and smiled softly at the girl. “I can show you later. The days are quite long and I’m sure the Keeper won’t keep me until the sun is gone. Tis best to obey your Sae.” Alia pouted, but finally relented to following Erilae out of the room. Epona leveled the full force of her hazel eyes on the Keeper, and Joshin cleared his throat. “I’m just…well, impressed, Lady Epona. You have set of knowledge I didn’t expect…I mean, well,” he flushed realizing he may have just insulted her. “What I meant to say…” To his surprise and relief, her lips twisted in a smile. “I know what you mean, Joshin. No harm done. I just…I’ve always liked books of all kinds. Literature and history as well as the philosophy and engineering and numbers I prefer. I would do that in my spare time instead of painting or drawing or whatever else it was my sister liked.” He chuckled. “Aye, I can understand that. I was wondering, judging by some of your questions in class, have you read Assari’s Five Questions of Existence?” Her eyes lit. “Aye! I have.” “You have?” He was surprised. He himself had only finished it a week ago. A thought niggled in his mind. “You know I…well I just finished it. What do you think of it?” “I think his concept of human nature is awfully narrow,” she admitted. “He doesn’t redeem himself either in his second work.” “There’s a second?” Her eyes lit even more. “Oh aye?” A shadow passed by the open door and Joshin bit his tongue. He still needed to test his theory about Andros. And yet…here was Epona, with some very interesting knowledge. The poor girl, he realized, had probably been cooped up so long she was probably dying for some sort of conversation, especially with a mind like hers. And it was someone he could finally discuss Assari with. “Say,” he said gathering up his things, “I have to ah…well, see someone but would you like to continue this conversation over some kaffe later this evening. On the terraces maybe?” Her face lit and she smiled the first real smile he had seen from her since they fateful wedding day. “Aye, I would like that very much. I will bring my copies, aye?” “Aye. I must go but I shall see you later this evening. And I look forward to seeing you at more lessons then? I have to admit that I was expecting you sooner…” Epona snorted. “This family may insist on keeping me in their trap, but they will not tell me what to do.” “Of course,” he nodded and shuffled out of the room. Did Atjeh realize what kind of woman he had sacrificed for a Guildsman? Or now was it a loquiri? He smiled to himself. It was time to find out what Andros really was. < > As Joshin crept into his lordling’s reception room, Atjeh did not turn away from his writing desk, and the scroll he was steadily copying for his lessons of the morrow. The Keeper moved by slow increments, pausing when Atjeh’s quill lifted from the paper, creeping forward when it scratched anew. He slowly dropped his hands down the back of the chair, inhaled quietly even as he saw Atjeh pause once more, head coming up and a small frown at the edge of his lips, and then Joshin jerked the chair out from under him. The lordling yelped in surprise, tumbling to his seat and blinking up at his attacker. The Keeper grabbed a fistful of his tunic and hauled him to his feet, shaking him back and forth. Atjeh’s eyes went wide and he clawed at the grip. “Joshin! Joshin what are you…let go!” The Keeper dropped him to the floor and planted a foot against the lordling’s chest to keep him from rising. With a slow smirk, Joshin cocked his head. Faint swearing came first, distant and muffled by the closed door. Atjeh squirmed anew, grimacing as Joshin pushed down harder to keep him steady, and then cursing himself as the Keeper bent down, fingers sliding beneath his tunic and aye…there twas the silver chain and the stone beneath. The lordling wrestled with his hands now, fingernails digging into his skin, bucking hips and shoulders upward as he fought to get free of the Keeper’s grip. But he paused often, eyes glazed, likely from the increasingly louder curses from his “lover”. When the door slammed open, a keening shriek preceding the stalking path of the Guildsman, Joshin nimbly leaped away from Atjeh, the dreamstone he had filched from the lordling dangling in his fingers. His eyes narrowed as Andros strode toward him, both shitans unsheathed and Gift burning in the room. “You! Unhand him, ael kinth,” he snarled, eyes alight with emerald fire. Atjeh yelped, jerking upright and planting a hand against his chest, and only then did Joshin feel the even higher prickle of Gift. The room suddenly felt warmer, the blades in the Guildsman’s hands shining with light. Joshin swallowed hard. In retrospect, irritating a loquiri when he already disliked him had probably been a bad idea. If he frenzies…oh Kyda Twas a fancy way of committing suicide indeed. “Andros…” Joshin murmured soothingly. "Tis alright. I was only--" The Guild-loquiri—there was no denying the fact now—snarled like a beast. “No!” Atjeh cried, as the Guildsman’s hand jerked, wrist snapping and shitan flying free. Only the lordling’s cry likely saved Joshin, as he ducked his head hurriedly and felt the blade brush past his hair. He swallowed hard and took a large step away from the lordling, who rose to his feet. Andros darted forward, hand clamping onto Atjeh’s shoulder and jerking him behind him—uncaring that the lordling lost his footing and was dragged the last few hand’s breadth—and backed him away from Joshin. The Keeper held his hands up in clear view. “I..I’m sorry, Andros. I just had to know. Don’t you see? I thought, but I…” Atjeh glared at him over his loquiri’s protective shoulder. “Joshin!” “I..I had to…” “Kyda blast your bloody curiosity!” the lordling clamped a hand onto Andros’ shoulder and firmly pushed him downward toward a cushion. The Guildsman twisted in his grip, then stiffened suddenly. “Jeh…” he took a deep breath. “Jeh…don’t…” Joshin tried to step closer, hands out in peaceful entreaty, only to freeze as both Andros and Atjeh fixed him with a stern stare. Gently, Atjeh’s fingers crept to the Guildsman’s hair, the other hand squeezing his shoulder and guiding him to the nearest cushion. “Shh, Andy. Shh.” Atjeh ruffled his hair, smiling faintly as Andros shuddered in pleasure, eyes drooping half-lidded. “How could you bloody do something so blasted stupid?” Atjeh growled. Andros started to rise, eyes narrowing at Joshin once more, only to be caught by the shoulders and turned about, head pushed forward to lean against the lordling’s chest. “Calm down. He’s not hurting me…any more,” the ra fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare, silt-brown eyes nearly a black. “Not any more ever again. Aye?” It felt as though the skin were stretched taut across Joshin’s skull, so wide were his eyes. “N-nay, my lord. I w-won’t.” His lordling scowled at him for a moment sternly, as though judging whether or not to believe him. Then he nodded curtly, and tipped his chin toward the ajar door. “Close that,” he said lowly, his arms still stroking Andros’ hair and shoulders gently, as though he was calming an agitated derk-ra. “We cannot allow anyone to see him like this.” “I am fine, Jeh,” Andros snarled, but he sounded anything but. The last thing Joshin wished to do was lock himself in the room with these two. Particularly the loquiri. But leaving… aye, that sounded like a fantastic idea indeed. “Stay here,” the future Lord of Apollar snapped behind him. Joshin cringed, his foot halfway out into the hallway, and then slipped back into the room, closing the door firmly and bolting it at Atjeh’s pointed look. “My lor---“ “Nay.” Nudging Andros slightly so that the Guildsman sat up straighter, though with his head still lying on his Match’s shoulder, Atjeh fixed his tutor with a firm glare. “We three are going to have a talk. Now. But you will only speak when I give you leave to do so, and only in response to the questions I ask. Understood? Now sit down.” Joshin crept to a cushion at the far side of the room. With Andros glaring at him dangerously like that, breathing hard despite his Match’s soothing touch, the Keeper was quite sure he did not wish to get too close. Though he did wish he could remain standing, convinced as he was that Andros would leap up at any moment and fall upon him. The enraged Guildsman may have thrown one of his shitans, but the other was still clutched in his hand, and glowed faintly. Gift prickled angrily all through the room. Leaving one hand to gently knead his loquiri’s shoulder, Atjeh reached into his pocket and pulled forth a kerchief. “Here,” he said, holding it out. When Joshin only stared at him blankly, the lordling scowled. “Your ear is bleeding.” The Keeper blinked, reaching up to touch both ears. His left hand came back sticky with blood; Andros’ dagger had cut a small notch out of the top. With no small amount of fear, he rose slowly from his cushion and crept as slowly and non-threateningly toward the proffered kerchief as he could manage, pressing it to his ear and darting back to his place the moment twas safe to do so. Andros tensed beneath Atjeh’s hand as the Keeper neared, hissing inarticulately, but did not attempt to rise. “Now,” Atjeh snapped when Joshin had settled gingerly upon his cushion once again. “Whatever did you think you were doing? And what do you intend to do, now that you know the truth of us?” “I…I knew that he…a dreamstone.” Joshin swallowed hard as the Guildsman flicked him a stern look. “I was seeing if my suspicion was true.” “By attacking Atjeh?” Andros growled. “Your lord’s son?” His eyes slid to Atjeh’s face. “He should be banished. Post haste.” The lordling ruffled his loquiri’s hair lightly, pushing his head down again and murmuring soothingly. Andros closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “What do you intend to do, Joshin?” Atjeh said quietly. “You are a Keeper. I know that you are aware what the Guild will do to him.” “Get rid of him,” Andros growled, without opening his eyes or shifting away from his Match. “No one will believe him.” “I cannot do that, Andy,” the lordling said, squeezing the Guildsman’s shoulder as he tensed. “My Da appointed him as Keeper. I would need his permission first. And I would rather not do so,” his eyes narrowed at the older ra. “Will you tell everyone what he is?” “I…no.” Joshin frowned. “As your loquiri, he cannot mean you harm. And I doubt that he is…” the Keeper hesitated, biting his lip. Atjeh’s eyes narrowed sternly, but Andros was the one to speak, sitting up halfway and glaring at him. “And how do I know that you are truthful? You sent Shazi to snoop in my mail, didn’t you? And I’ll bet you’ve been snooping in my things. You’re a sneak and a liar.” “Andros---“ Atjeh began. The Guildsman glanced at his Match, the two of them saying nothing for one long moment—sharing something they’d not wish Joshin to hear, he realized—and then the lordling sighed and reached out, patting the loquiri’s head. “He is right,” he said quietly. “How do I know I can trust you to say nothing, Joshin?” “Atjeh!” The Keeper bristled, frowning deeply. They had known each other for at least a year before Andros’ arrival, and certainly as the lordling’s tutor he should have earned some trust and respect. Kinyth would not appoint just anyone as a Keeper and a teacher of his heir and his other children. “His life hangs in the balance, if I place my trust in the wrong people,” Atjeh said sternly. For all his quick anger and vicious snarls, Andros shivered at the comment and buried his face in the lordling’s tunic. Absently, Atjeh dropped one hand down his loquiri’s arm, fingertips tracing the brilliant Eye at his wrist. “Well, Joshin? I would ask for your word—but I don’t know anymore. You were stealing his mail? What else have you done? Stolen things from his room?” His eyebrows arched at the Keeper’s sudden flush. “Kyda! You have!” “Just his journal. And I put it back. After….after I read it.” Andros, who had shifted to continue to fix Joshin with a furious glare as Atjeh spoke, narrowed his eyes into thin, green slits. And his shitan was back in his hand again. “How could you have read it? Twas in Guild-riddles and glyphs, and my native dialect. You lie.” "Nay," Joshin protested, unable to take his eyes from the blade. He did not think the loquiri would be able to move quite as quickly as before if he chose to throw it---not with the Keeper no longer threatening his Match---but Joshin was doubtful of his luck. He was fairly certain he would have died marks earlier, if Atjeh's shout had not warned him. And now the ra was angry with him too. "Nay?" Andros spat. "How could you possibly be telling the truth?" He lifted his head slightly from Atjeh's shoulder to hiss venomously at the Keeper. "An ael kinth, versed in Guild ways and Guild speech? Tis not something you could possibly---" Now twas Joshin's turn to narrow his eyes angrily. "I know that most letters from the Citadel in Crossroads bear watermarks with hidden messages, whereas the Citadel in Apollar prefers to obfuscate such communications within seals or decorative borders." His lip curled derisively as Andros' eyes widened. "Aushow, I shpeak Lowdear paushaubly weel." The Guildsman's face paled surprisingly quickly. "H-how? How do you know Guild siguls? And Lodear? You never mentioned that you spoke Lodear---" "I am from Settar and I live in Apollar!" Joshin snapped. "Why in Kyda's name would I speak Lodear here?" He swallowed slowly, heart thudding in his chest as he felt the next words simply tumble from his mouth. "As for the rest... ah... tis why I will never reveal you." Atjeh's brow furrowed in confusion. "You will not reveal him because you know Guild....um...." He glanced briefly at his loquiri, then nodded a half grain later. "Because you know Guild sigils?" The Keeper hesitated, feeling his entire body break out in a cold sweat. Was he mad, bringing this up? Andros was precisely the last person who he should be speaking with! “Nay. Because of…of how I know them.” Joshin interlaced his fingers, squeezing hard. “I um…my Ma was more than a Settar woman. She was a…a Settar bard. Fiona by name.” Andros stiffened slightly. “I know that name.” He tucked his shitan slowly back into its sheath, eyes pensive and nibbling his lip absently. “Taniz and other Sians were given a message, to watch for a young lo, a ra, and the husband to Fiona. Though they only told us that we should…should report seeing them to the Guild elders, and nothing more.” His eyes narrowed. “What did your mother do?” “She…she was killed. By a Geno, though they deny it.” The Keeper swallowed hard, tears filling his eyes for thinking of her, of the group of Geno Inquisitas who had searched the family home—while his mother’s workroom burned to the ground, with her inside. Twas enough for his Da; they would surely come for them next, and he had bundled them up into blankets, tucked down in a merchant’s cart for a few bits of silver, and smuggled from Crossroads to a caravan departing for Apollar, his Da’s hunting skills earning them passage. Atjeh frowned, one hand rising and then sinking down again, as if he had thought of patting the Keeper's shoulder. “What you told my Da then…” “Twas a lie. Small ones—I truly did graduate from Settar Academy, my mother’s teachings enabled me to learn quickly—and we are of Eastar and my Ma was lost in a fire. But twas…twas Guild-related.” “What did she do?” Andros repeated. “Geno does not often get involved in such things. And certainly…murder…” he shook his head. “Tis more likely that they would try to frighten her, if she had married a Hybrid or was of lineage to one, and bore a Gifted child. And you are hardly worth anything,” he said matter-of-factly, not even noting the Keeper’s instant stung wince. “Hybrid and barely Gifted as you are, they would sooner sniff and trample you beneath their horses then bother with such as you.” Joshin bit his lip hard. Andros was only stating a true fact, and one that had saved his life, so far. But did he have to say it so smugly? “I…Fiona…My Ma was doing research for her third…fourth..star. I don’t remember which any more.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “She had a thing for patterns—her bent was such, tis why the patterns of handwriting speak to my bent, I believe. She noted a pattern—that Guild training and practice and even beliefs were somewhat like the loquiri. With some help from a young student that she was tutoring…one of these ‘kadins’ that the Sian was utterly frustrated with, Ma learned about Guild glyphs and siguls.” Joshin’s brows drew down darkly. “Twas their special secret,” he muttered with clear rancor. “Until the kadin spoke to his Sian, purely by accident. And there was something—I have but one journal of hers, the rest were burned—but she said…Kerr of Brakir’s line, he is written at the top of both loquiri and Guild breeding records. She wondered if…if there was a connection.” Andros shifed uneasily, suspicion still gleaming in his emerald gaze. “So, I should trust you because the Guild does not?” “Are you utterly daft?” Joshin growled. Andros and Atjeh stiffened. The Keeper grimaced, biting his lip hard, before snapping hurriedly. “if I should speak of your loquiri nature, you need only mention that I am Fiona’s son, and bear her journal. The Geno would do the rest. I dare not tell anyone, for you would tell of me as well, and my family.” < > |
| Oh… bloody Kyda, Atjeh snarled unhappily in the back of Andros’ head before the loquiri even realized what his Match was going on about. Then the Guildsman blinked, realizing his eyes had fallen upon a certain pair of long, shapely legs without him even realizing it. He flushed, glancing quickly away and biting his lip, but not before the viper of an apprentice Inquisita noticed and bared her teeth at him. “I wear trousers because tis a far cry easier to move in the practice circle---and… elsewhere---in them,” she said lightly, grinning wider and striding forward as his cheeks darkened more. “But Kyda, if I had only known they would draw this much attention, I would have had Harr talk the seamstress into fitting them a size or two smaller.” She winked playfully, smirking at his discomfort. “Would you like that?” You had better not, Atjeh grumbled within his head. “Nay,” Andros snapped, managing to scramble after some small measure of self-pride. Twas not his fault the bloody Inquisita showed her legs to all with eyes to see as though she were a stable-ra and not a woman of clear noble bloodlines, who should be much more modestly attired in long skirts and a demure linka. “But you flaunt them about day in and day out,” he growled, frowning at her and trying his hardest to keep his eyes where they belonged… on her face, not her throat, or the tightness of her tunic over… Andros! his unhappy Match complained, and the Guildsman winced. Shazi stepped a little closer. She had already thoroughly blocked his passage down the staircase toward the hallway leading back to his workroom, and now she was practically pressed up against him. But thankfully, she stopped before she became too close for true comfort, and leaned against the wall, lifting one knee casually and leveling that infernal grin at him. “Nobody else stares quite as often as you do, Guild-ra,” she pointed out archly. And, speaking of archly, was she not arching her back ever so slightly, so that… He tore his eyes away, scowling. “Women do not dress as you do back home in Crossroads,” he hissed. “Not unless they are harlots, of course.” Her lips turned in a pout. “A harlot? You wound me, Guildsman. Deeply.” She reached out and twined a piece of his dark hair around her finger. “How rude. You are lucky I can be forgiving. Very forgiving.” The grin returned. “It’s not our fault that women in Crossroads are boring. Besides, I could teach you all sorts of customs of us Apollar women.” Kyda take the bloody woman! The mere suggestion made desire uncurl in his belly. Andros! his Match would try to damp down the link soon Kyda keep yourself under control. For Kyda’s…she’s not even from Apollar… Atjeh’s words cut through Andros and he narrowed his eyes at the woman in front of him, trying to contain a smirk of his own. “You, however, are not from Apollar.” Her eyes, a lovely mix of grays and greens, widened and her cheeks held a spot of color as she pulled back. “How did you know that?” “Isn’t knowing that your job, apprentice?” She appraised him for a moment, then stretched languidly as a cat might, displaying the entire length of her taut frame and Andros couldn’t help his eyes from wandering over it. It was only then he saw her watching out of the corner of his eye and scowled. She laughed. “With those looks, perhaps you should become the Inquisita.” "There is nothing interesting to see here," Andros sneered. Somewhere very far away, his Match flinched as Kinyth snapped something at him. The ra was not paying attention to the petitioners who had come to his Da's weekly court well at all. Can you not just come here? Atjeh grumbled, his eyes obediently riveted on the face of an approaching villager. The Guildsman forgot to respond as Shazi pressed toward him, the entire long... long length of her body just barely brushing his. "Oh really?" she purred, as his fingers flexed unwillingly at his side, nearly reaching out to rest lightly on her hips. And then she was gone, smirking over her shoulder before flouncing around the corner. He was left standing weak-kneed in the hallway, his cheeks burning brightly even though there was nobody there to see what had transpired. Nobody but his Match, that was, who was grumbling petulantly in the back of his mind as the villager facing him and his Da quietly requested permission to dig a second well on the plot of land he had been granted on Lord Kinyth's holdings. Fine, do whatever you please with her! Atjeh growled, snapping something equally seething at the poor villager and earning a stern, displeased glance from his Da. But do not be surprised if I go and... and sleep with every bloody maiden in the manor! Some of the desire churning in Andros' belly dissipated with a wave of wry humor. Ra... You have not known a woman yet. Twas the wrong thing to say, of course. Aye! Atjeh's mind voice was seething with frustration, an unhappy, whistling whine rising between his thoughts like the complaint of a Derk-ra hatchling trying to break free of a handler's hold long enough to go after the tasty hare held just out of his reach. Because someone was jealous and just had to warm the bloody Bond on my wedding night! Dimly, there came the sound of a curt growl, and then Atjeh's sullen, And now you got me kicked out of Da's court! Andros had just arrived at the door to his room, and was reaching into his pocket for his key. He paused, wheeling away and heading down the corridor toward his Match's room. Well, then I suppose we can have some time together, he said coaxingly. I am mad at you, Atjeh shot back. But he was already heading toward his bedroom. < > Epona felt alive for the first time in the past month as she sat on the terrace with the young Keeper, and realized, suddenly and to her own embarrassment, that she was developing the most inappropriate crush. It was the first time she had been able to hold a meaningful conversation with someone, well someone who wasn’t a 7 year old girl. He was so kind, unlike the rest of this household and, since he hadn’t been part of the plot to ensnare her, he was, she felt completely trustworthy. Foolish silly girl. Not only is a servant, he’s Atjeh’s servant. My husband…well only by law husband. And I’m going to be leaving here in a few months anyway… But when his eyes would fall on her and he would actually listen to something she said, or debated a point with her, she thought her heart would burst from joy. Even now, he was examining her carefully mapped pine forest and nodding. “This is quite a good idea, Lady Epona.” She blushed. “I…got bored. Please, just call me Epona. No lady. I feel like I’m a ghost sometimes, and those don’t have titles. I’m just tired of all the…well the awkwardness and the pretending as if nothing has happened. All the…well, all the mummery.” She sighed and inwardly scolded herself. What had that have to do with anything and it was certainly something she shouldn’t have said to Joshin. The Keeper flushed a little and sipped his kaffe. “Ah if you insist. Don’t apologize for being bored…if I had known sooner well, we could have done this,” he gestured to their books and cups, “sooner.” She tried not to flush again. “I appreciate it.” “I have to admit, I like it myself. I well…I am originally from Settar and with the School being located there.” Epona’s eyes grew wider. “You’re from Settar? Kyda,” she smiled sheepishly and lowered her voice, “when I was a child, I used to dream about going to the School there. Not the music one, or the politics one, but the one for the Builders. It was just a fanciful dream really, I knew it wasn’t possible. Especially after the…the betrothal.” She bit her lip. She really shouldn’t be saying all this to a Joshin but it felt so good to talk to someone again. To just get everything out. To someone who was listening. “Even after I found out about…him. I even briefly thought about running away. It would have been very easy, but I realized it would only make matters worse. Maybe when I can leave here I can go. I’m sure not many lords will be jumping on my contract immediately after all the rumors about my current husband.” Joshin smiled sadly. “I’m sorry Epona, about, well everything that happened. It wasn’t fair. But Atjeh really is a good ra. I just wish it wasn’t a Guildsman.” “Aye,” she nodded fervently. “You don’t like him either?” Something in his pale eyes darkened and she was immediately concerned. “Has he threatened you or hurt you too?” The look he gave her was odd and he slowly shook his head. “It’s…it’s just complicated.” “I guess I blame Atjeh and his family more than I blame Andros. They…they knew Kyda curse them. Joshin shifted---dare she say it?---uncomfortably. "They... They... well---" He broke off, sighing and looking into her face with a wan smile. "I do not wish to make excuses for them, L---Epona. They likely believe they are doing what is best..." A small stab of hurt pierced her. It was an old pain, but it had not eased. "I do not understand how they can believe that this is for the best," she said, more bitterly than she had intended. She bit her lip, shaking her head. "I understand that they did not want to risk offending my family and I, but did they honestly think I would lack the eyes to see what was going on?" But they had, of course. Lord Kinyth and Lady Nora---and especially Atjeh---had been just as shocked as she by her discovery. She was fairly certain now that they had expected her to wed Atjeh, go to the marriage bed with him, bear his children... Kyda, perhaps the Lord and Lady had even thought that she would entice their nu away from Andros. Was that it? Joshin seemed to be the kind of man who took a great deal of time to think through his words before voicing them. When he spoke, it was softly and gently. "I do not believe they thought you a fool, Epona. Nor blind. How could they?" He sighed. "I think they hoped that everything would work out, that... that Atjeh would do the right thing. That he would be a good husband for you." "Despite Andros?" she asked sharply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It seemed they were always escaping from her braids, especially these days now that she did not see as much a point in binding her hair securely as was proper. Who cared, really? Joshin said nothing for a long moment, only shrugging helplessly. This time Epona did not wait for him to speak, and only clutched her mug of kaffe hard in her hands. He was such a good listener, and it felt so very, very good to be able to voice her thoughts for once. "I just do not understand why he is still here. After everything! Can they not just... just send him away?" The Keeper sighed sympathetically and reached out to pat her hand. "Aye, that would certainly be much kinder to you. But then Atjeh would follow after his lo---his lover." For a moment she thought he had been about to say something else, but then he simply continued. "Tis almost too bad they cannot send them both away." She swallowed, very aware of Joshin’s hand on her own. “No…no I wouldn’t wish that. This is his home, after all. I’m the guest.” Only the guest. “But I will not be their little tool, I will do what I must while I’m here but of my own will. Not theirs. What if the Guild came to fetch their man?” Joshin took a long sip of his kaffe. “Well,” he began slowly, “why would they? It would be more beneficial for the Guild to have an ally here.” “I suppose so. No you’re exactly right. It would make sense. And I’m sure Andros isn’t just some lowly Guildsman. He can probably do what he likes. Clearly he and Atjeh have.” She closed her eyes, suddenly realizing how bitter it sounded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It just hurts. Still. And I wish it would stop.” She felt tears lodge in her throat and she coughed delicately. “Forgive me, Joshin, it just is nice to talk to someone. Someone trustworthy.” He colored at her admission and she had to stop herself from following suit. “Ah, so ,” she cleared her throat, “I’m sorry. Should we get back to Assari?” His smile came easy and he chuckled. “Aye, that might be for the best.” < > "My lord, I do not mean to pry, but..." "But you will." Joshin was speaking to Atjeh during a brief break in the ra's studies, but twas of course Andros who responded. Andros, who now did not trust the Keeper enough to be alone with his Match during Atjeh's lessons, as though sure Joshin would do the ra harm or some such. The Keeper sighed patiently, trying his hardest not to glare at the Guildsman or shrink away from him. He was honestly unsure of which he would prefer. "I just... I think you should tell your wife the truth, my lord." The lordling opened his mouth to speak, but his words were swallowed up when Andros rested a hand on the ra's shoulder, squeezing gently and glaring over his head at Joshin. The Keeper was unsure how he could have possibly mistaken that touch for anything other than the possessive protectiveness of a loquiri. "Tis none of your business, Hybrid," the Guildsman snapped. As Joshin flinched, Atjeh glanced up at his loquiri from where they sat side by side upon a cushion---Joshin had tried to tell the ra one of the lesser-known tales of the Mara's founding, and had had to endure Andros' snickers and scoffing remarks throughout---and something seemed to pass wordlessly between them. Andros actually winced slightly, then scowled at Joshin. Atjeh merely smiled sadly at the Keeper. "I wish to. Truly, I do. But I do not know yet if I can trust her, Sair." Joshin grimaced. He hated that title. Loathed it. "Please, my lord, call me Joshin. I am far too young to be called Sair." He grimaced. "Your loquiri and I are of an age." The ra's smile was almost too wry for someone his age. "And I am too young to be 'my lord'. We play cards now, do we not? Call me Atjeh, please." Without even looking at Andros, he added cheerfully. "Hush, you." Despite himself, Joshin resisted the urge to chuckle. He knew his Gift was not strong enough to ever Match with a loquiri, and could not help but be glad. He could not imagine what it must be like, to have someone else's voice constantly rattling in his mind. His own voice rattled around in his mind enough as twas, by Kyda. He frowned at the light streaming in through the skylight. Twas nearly noon, and thus nearly time for the ra to take a break from his studies. If he wanted to discuss the differences between what Chronicler Varg had written in his account of the founding and what he had felt as he had written that account, he would need to begin soon. But... this matter with Epona... "Atjeh... Why is it that you believe you cannot trust her?" he found himself asking before he realized he had even made a decision to forgo the rest of the lesson. The ra frowned, even as Andros glared. "Tis not that I distrust her. Tis just... I just do not know." He bit his lip, glancing sideways at his loquiri. Andros, of course, was no help. "Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?" Joshin shrugged one shoulder. "She just seems... sad. And lonely. It feels unfair that I should know the truth, and yet she---Atjeh's wife---cannot know." "You were not supposed to know," Andros growled. "And how are we supposed to trust you, if already you want to tell the whole bloody world the truth?" His eyes narrowed. "And how is it that you know how Epona is feeling? Have you told her anything?" “No! No…of course not,” Joshin shook his head. Kyda, he did not need the Guildsman attacking him again. “Of course I haven’t, but speaking with her, or even being around her, it is as plain as day. She got, forgive me my lord, but a poor lot in all of this.” “What were you speaking about?” “Kyda,” Joshin threw up his hands, patience wearing thin at last. “Cannot I speak to anyone without you being suspicious? We were discussing philosophy. She finally came to lessons and she has a very keen mind and so we had a conversation over kaffe. You might be able to learn to trust her more if you actually tried engaging her in conversation.” Atjeh flinched and picked guiltily at a loose thread. Andros’s eyes narrowed and Joshin blushed sheepishly. He hadn’t meant to take his annoyance on Andros out on Atjeh. “Forgive me, my lord, it is a difficult situation. But I did not betray you. In fact she still firmly believes that you and Andros are very much lovers. If you would give her a chance…” “She was angry before…” Atjeh murmured and his loquiri rubbed his back soothingly. “Aye,” Andros agreed, “and she still has plans to leave. Do you want her to leave with knowing what Jeh and I are so she can spread it about all of Eastar?” Joshin sighed. “No.” He didn’t think Epona would do such a thing but while suspicious Andros was around, he doubted Atjeh would listen to him. “Just…think on it my lord?” Atjeh scowled down at his hands, but the glazed look in his eyes made Joshin realize that the scowl was not meant for him. “My lord?” “Aye, sa..Joshin.” Joshin dipped his head. He did what he could. < > Epona was driving herself to madness, and all for a stupid and silly reason. And yet I’m sitting here, on the terrace with an inviting stack of books, hoping a certain Keeper will happen to walk by, see what I’m reading and join me. She frowned in disgust and shut the cover of the finance book Lord Kinyth had given her with a firm thwap. “Kyda, kyda, kyda,” she murmured to the empty air, “what am I do to?” The loneliness of the past month had faded somewhat, as Atjeh’s little sisters dragged her away from her plants and isolation across the Manor to take place in games and lessons. But there was only so much little girls could really do to entertain someone so much older and to ease the hurt and anger of something they probably didn’t understand. Then there was Joshin. Young, kind, caring, intelligent Joshin. He listened to her. He talked to her. He challenged her. It was as if he was water to her dehydrated body and as addictive as red kolinar. He was the only reason she sat outside for hours on end, or studied above and beyond for lessons. And it was stupid. Bloody, bloody stupid. He was a Keeper. Her ‘husband’s’ Keeper. Not that he would remain her husband after the few months, but then she would be gone from both Atjeh and Joshin. Despite what had been done to her in the Manor, it would only make matters worse if she took up with the Keeper. She heard steps and her heart jumped, but it was only servants heading back underground with baskets of sun-dried linen. Kyda this was getting ridiculous! Her hand tightened around her quill. All she had been doing was moping and sighing after Joshin. She had months until she had to leave. Months where she could do whatever she wanted, now that being a lady didn’t seem to matter to anyone, and now she was getting ensnared by Joshin. Hadn’t she learned? Rising, she summoned a servant to take her things back to her chambers and began making her way toward the stables. A ride would clear her head. It would be nice to feel another life beneath her and riding across the desert with nothing but the wind to tangle fingers in her hair. As she followed the white graveled path toward the stable, another shape was coming towards her. A few more steps and she could make out the form of the Manor’s inquista. That last time Epona had seen her, she had been threatening the Guildsman, Andros. As she approached, Shazi’s eyes passed over her and she offered her a lopsided grin, bowing mockingly from waist. “My lady.” Epona nodded to her. “Inquista. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name…” “Apprentice inquista Shazi. Can’t get above my station now.” The woman winked and Epona wasn’t sure if she were being mocked or not. She raised a brow. The woman was wearing snugly fit breeches, much more proper for a man than a woman, and the shitans at her waist only added to the impropriety. Anisa would disapprove. Epona was immediately fascinated. “You’re a woman with some noble blood? And you’re an inquista? How did you manage that?” The questions may have been too direct but Epona was past caring. Shazi barked a laugh. “Why not, lady? It’s better than trotting about in heavy skirts all day. And it’s fun to make the boys eyes’ go wide.” Epona felt herself blush a little. “You know what I mean.” “Oh I, I do. And I ask, why not? It’s loads of fun.” Her smile was smooth and intelligent, and not exactly friendly. Epona raised a brow and changed subjects, a thought tickling the back of her mind. “Are those breeches easy to wear?” “Of course. You should try a pair.” “I think I will. I’d like to go riding and they look easier than these skirts. Do you have a pair that might fit me?” Shazi’s dark brows rose almost to her hairline in surprise. “You..?” A laugh broke from her lips and she slapped Epona on the back and draped an arm over her shoulders. “Oh I think I’m going to like you, my little heartbroken lady. I think we’re going to get along just fine.” < > Andros winced, not so much at the sound of yet another door slamming firmly somewhere in the back of his head, but at the strange sensation of a dog’s whistle being blown between his ears. The cry of an angry derk-ra whelp. Jeh, he sighed, as his Match’s frustration only mounted higher. The ra was now sweeping out of the dining hall---where he had just snapped at his Ma, Da and q’Da that he was not hungry---and stalking down the hall toward the stairway leading up to the front door of the manor. Thoughts of pounding hooves and the beat of crisp winter wind over his face surged through the angry youngling’s mind. The loquiri, curled up on a cushion in the library with one of the books Epona had given him to read whilst he was ill, sat up a little straighter and frowned. Ra… Wait for me? And let me fetch you a cloak, aye? Tis cold outside. His Match’s distant snort was the only clear response for a moment. Then, as Atjeh’s moccasins crunched over the thin layer of the winter’s first frost, there came the clear, cool thought, I want to ride alone. Andros bit his lip, the words on the page beneath his hands forgotten. But… He pushed away the faint stab of hurt in the middle of his chest at the rejection, and shook his head. The ra was fairly moody this morn, and had woken up that way. Sometimes space was better, even if it ached deeply within them both. Aye, Jeh. But a cloak? And should you not break your fast first? I already told Ma and Da and Yassin that I am not hungry! Atjeh snapped. Now if you could all just let me bloody be--- Andros flinched. How someone who had only been awake a mere point---and had done nothing that morn other than slam his wardrobe door after selecting clothing for the day, snap angrily at Tihn for having left a “snack” on the rug to try to earn Tyla’s regard, and then snarl at his unwitting parents for no reason whatsoever---could be so irritated was beyond him. What is wrong? he asked tentatively, even though he had a strong feeling his Match was just going to rail at him again. He was wrong, but Atjeh’s response was worse even than he’d expected. Rather than receiving the string of invectives he’d grown used to over the past few days, or another sullen insistence that all was well, twas instead as though Atjeh slammed a door in his face. The ra’s mind was locked away from his entirely, though the Guildsman could sense flutters of movement on the other side that indicated the youngling was still there. The loquiri’s hand rose to his chest, resting not on the dreamstone there but on his sternum, where it felt as though a painfully heavy weight had settled. Grinding his teeth, he started to turn to the last page of ‘Transmission and Distribution Harmonics’’ he actually remembered having read, and then shook his head sternly. With a firm snap of his hand, he closed the book and, rising from his cushion, set it upon the end table within the library. Though he did not care particularly much for Epona herself---nay, twas not that even; he simply wished she were gone, but respected her well enough---he did not wish to damage her belongings. Then, opening his side of the pair-link fully, he stalked out of the library and up the way Atjeh had walked. The early morning sunlight was bright when he stepped outside and scanned the trees for his stubborn, moody Match. The pair-link was somewhat of a guide—he had a general idea the direction the lordling had ridden—but twas not strong enough to be certain that he could find Atjeh right away. Instead, with a sigh, Andros draped the extra cloak over the saddle of a small gelding—Kinyth’s quiet gift to him—and rode out through the trail that wound among the thickest and tallest of Apollar pines. The same trail that the lordling had led Epona through what seemed like years ago. The loquiri bit his lip hard, fighting to suppress the immediate jealousy that he knew would paint the link. He felt Atjeh’s irritated growl. Andros clenched his eyes closed, reaching out toward him and brushing aside his own frustration. Jeh…please talk to me. We could…spend time together, hmm? Quit mothering me! I just…it hurts, Jeh. He bit his lip again, nudging his gelding with his heels. The horse snorted, but obliged him with a faster trot for a brief moment, before slowing once more as his attention wandered. Atjeh grumbled obscenities in his head, and then a gruff nudge on the pair-link, coupled with an annoyed snort. Go back. You’ll make yourself sick. Tis not that cold, Andros responded. Not if you are riding in it. Atjeh slammed another door, walling off more of his mind. The Guildsman cringed, hand clutching his heart as the pain of the rejection gnawed at him. He bent at the waist, resting his head against the gelding’s neck, breathing a little fast at the uncomfortable tightness spreading over the Bond. Jeh….please don’t go away. I want you. I want Epona the ra growled in his head, Derk-ra whistling as a sharp counterpoint to his snapped thoughts. And for Chusa not to look at me with pity in his eyes, and the servants to stop shaking their heads, and Maria to stop scolding me, and for everyone to just leave me be! Andros flinched. Alright, Jeh, he mumbled quietly, biting his lip hard. Twas his fault, of course, that Atjeh had all of that. The Guildsman flicked the reins, turning his gelding aside a little and allowing the beast to wander. They picked through the underbrush of Apollar pines, and short grasses that grew near. Cones broke beneath the horse’s hooves, and small creatures scurried from burrows. A woodpecker even rattled near his head briefly, before flitting away. Twas easy enough to cease paying much attention as the gelding moved on, and therefore he considered himself above blame that when the horse finally stopped and he slid from its back, patting the satin hide as the beast dipped its muzzle in the water, that he had no way of knowing the apprentice Inquisita was there. Nor that she had chosen that particular spot to bathe. Not until his weary gaze landed upon a smooth, shapely leg, tanned skin revealed for his eyes. She started when she saw him, looking up from her perch on the rock like some startled wild thing. Then her eyes turned amused and he felt heat and trepidation rush through his blood. Lithely, she dove into the desert pool in a flash of bronzed nakedness, then rose, letting the water run through her dark hair, over her shoulders and womanly curves, and curl around her taut belly and back into the water. “Well look what comes through the pines. As if brought by the gods. What’s wrong, Guildsman? Have you never seen a woman before?” Andros grunted and tried to look away from the apparition in the water. She laughed. “Guildsman, you look tired indeed. Perhaps a swim would do you good.” Shazi came forward, water swirling behind her. “Don’t worry,” she purred, “I’ll even let you keep your clothes on if you so choose.” As she reached out a hand, the hurt reached out with the desire in his chest but the sudden flash of Taniz’s face and the smell of two bodies in memory pulled him back. “I…I cannot,” he stammered. “I have heard it is unwise to swim with snakes.” Shazi laughed a deep rich laugh. “I am perhaps a snake. But you must enjoy my nature as much as you pretend not to. I see it in your eyes. I see a lot in your eyes, Andros, and it is truly fascinating.” The sunlight scintillated off the droplets of water pressed against her skin. “Do you whore yourself to all men of the manor?” “Now that is unfair, Guildsman. Truly it is. I have been with fewer than you might expect.” Her hand darted forward and gripped his tunic and Andros found himself, falling, splashing. He was pulled to the surface and gasped for air. Cool water trickled through his clothing and lean limbs wrapped around him, pulling him close. “You’re a fine man I have to admit. For a Guildsman. Atjeh has fine taste.” She was very close and unbidden his hand found the curve of a hip, bare and smooth beneath his fingers. Her smile broadened and her arms about his neck drew tighter as she leaned toward his ear. “It is a sad thing you are a lover of men. Have you ever thought about women?” She let one arm fall as she traced a finger down his collarbone and onto his chest, playing with the laces that were stuck to his wet skin. “I could be a very good teacher.” "I... But..." he stammered. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely recalled that he was supposed to be brushing off this woman's attempts, or.. or something like that... but twas very hard to remember what he was about when she was pressed to him like this. He had not even realized it, but at some point his other hand had dropped as well, one resting atop the swell of each hip... and not lightly, either. "But?" she purred, her fingers twisting the tunic laces about one another, her lips moving at his ear. Twas not quite a nibble, but close enough that he shuddered involuntarily, and not with disgust. "But... Atjeh..." he managed, even as he found himself drawing her closer, one hand wrapping around her to rest against the small of her back. He may have been fully clothed, but he could feel the warmth of her body straight through the autumn chill of the water drenching his tunic and breeches. Now she was nibbling at his ear, very gently, but still. He honestly did not know what to do about it, but pushing her away was far from his thoughts. "Atjeh," she breathed warmly against his neck, trailing kisses and small nips down to his collarbone, "is not here." That was a good point, he realized somewhat vaguely. His hand seemed to have a life of its own, following her spine gently, feeling out individual vertebrae and then the movement of lithe muscles beneath smooth skin as she slowly began to walk him back toward the edge of the pool, toward the rocky ledge upon which she had been perched when he had first interrupted her. His face heated as they drew near the edge of the pool, where the water grew shallower, falling away from her body to reveal more of her nakedness. Somewhere far, far back in his mind, Atjeh stirred at the sudden wave of his loquiri's desire, but his only response was to lock down on the pair-link more tightly with a distracted grumble. Closed off as he already was, Andros doubted the ra could sense much of anything at all. Which was a good thing. Shazi was definitely muttering something about getting him out of "these cold, wet clothes". He finally nodded slightly and gave in, allowing her to maneuver him onto the rocky ledge and wrest his breeches from him. They were both still shivering slightly from the frigid water when she twined her body about his, but neither of them much noticed. < > For all her sand-cat viciousness and Derk-ra cunning, forked tongue and fangs aside, as a lover Shazi did well indeed. She was soft in all the right places, pliable, and seemed truly pleased as he explored her body, relishing her and himself with sensations. The apprentice Inquisita moaned and sighed, nails digging into his back at times as she whispered encouragements, or body arching in pleasure beneath him, voice husky with need. She gave no sign of disgust or revulsion. So twas a surprise when, after a half-point of bedding in different ways and designs, Shazi rolled away from his grip when he pulled her warm body toward him. She ran fingers through his hair lightly, grinning down at him as she propped herself on one elbow. “Ah-ah, Andros. You need your rest.” His lips curled in a ribald grin. “Later.” Catching her wrist in his hand, he pressed lips to her palm, trying to tug her down beside and beneath him. The apprentice Inquisita smoothly slid her body out of his reach and smirked at him. “Now, Andy,” she murmured. “What would Atjeh think?” Shazi pulled her knees up, clasping her hands around her legs. The sight of the long, shapely skin of her calves sent his heart stuttering, and desire surging once more. She laughed gaily at his uncomfortable shift and hungry grab toward her. “No, no. I think this will not do at all. Know what I think?” Andros cocked his head. So the apprentice Inquisita wished to play games—word games and thought games—twould be easy enough to defeat her. “What are you thinking?” he mumbled drowsily, reaching out one hand to lightly trace a circle upon her thigh, drifting toward her well-shaped hips. She caught his hand, imprisoning it in her grip. Twas stronger than she appeared. Shazi leaned forward slightly. “I think you are a whore, Guildsman.” His eyes widened. She laughed again and shook her head. “You like men, do you, Andy-kins? Seems to me you do rather well with women too.” Shazi tapped a finger to his nose, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Man-slut. Man-whore. You’d take anything on two legs. Maybe on four. Wouldn’t you, Guildsman?” The pleasure and warmth of a scant few marks ago drained into his belly. He swallowed hard. “What? Why are you…” Horror and disgust alike spurred into his stomach. She had not allowed the bedding because she thought him comely, or desired him, or any such thing. He had been used. As Taniz had used him. Andros clutched for his damp clothes and pulled them toward himself. “You…you tried to have me bed you. To…to seduce me!” “Oh aye.” Shazi leaned forward, eyes suddenly narrowing and icy cold. Her fingers curled into his hair, yanking his head forward and boring like awls into his face. “And now I must wonder…what mask do you wear, Andros the Guildsman?” He tried to pull back, but she held him tighter, nails digging into his scalp as she shifted her grip. “You claim to love men, yet you bedded me without disgust. And dare I say…with enjoyment and some skill. Why are you not clumsy, Andy?” His cheeks were reddening, and disgust at himself and the situation alike churned in his stomach. “Shazi…you are a snake,” he hissed. “An evil, Azrael-possessed, Xraj-bred viper!” Jerking away from her grip, that smug smile, he jerked tunic and breeches back on and strode away from the ledge. When she began to laugh again, low and mocking, Andros felt his lip tremble. He swallowed down the beginning tears of hurt, anger, revulsion. He grabbed at the reins of his gelding, sliding onto its back and urging the horse into a trot, and then into full gallop as he cleared the trees. As if that would somehow outrun the memory of her hateful smirk. < > I have him. Kyda, Atjeh must listen now. She shrugged herself into her own tunic and breeches and settled the shitans at her belt. Hopefully the Guildsman will be running… At the thought she felt a slight twinge of regret. She would miss the subtle parries and hidden jabs and that delicious tension, but it was time to rout the fox out of the hen house. She took an opposite path back toward the manor, opposite the way the Andros had gone. She had caught a look in his eyes as he had practically ran from her, and there was something about it she found a bit unsettling. As she passed the stables, a shape molded itself from the desert dust. Ah it is truly my lucky day! “My lord Atjeh!” My, my, doesn’t he look grumpy today. All the better with the news I’m going to tell him. She smiled to herself. If he’s in a bad enough mood, it should only take one more thing to get the Guildsman gone. The young lord dismounted. “What?” he grumbled sullenly. “I don’t have time for your games.” “Games? I play no games today.” He looked at her suspiciously as her look became serious, all lightheartedness gone. “What now?” “Sair, I have very, very good reason to suspect Andros of no good and request you remove him from this house.” He bristled, as she expected him to. “You know, Atjeh, that taking in a Guildsman here was not only dangerous to you, but dangerous to all of us. He has threatened Joshin and Kyda knows what else he’s done and what information he’s funneled back to that Kyda forsaken Guildhouse of his. Citadel. Den of rats. Whatever you call it.” “Shazi, you will not speak that way of…” “Of your lover?” She raised a brow. “I am sorry to tell you lord Atjeh, that your lover is very, very experienced with women. I should know. First hand. Don’t get mad, but I had a very, very good suspicion that he was only an actor and out to break your heart. And he has. With me, not so long ago.” Atjeh’s face went through a startling display of emotions, first anger, then jealousy, then his eyes grew distant for a moment. Shazi waited. Not much longer… Quite suddenly, she found the young lord’s hands on her tunic. “Shazi…you didn’t!” he growled. “Of course. He cheated on you Sa…” “Oh Shazi…what have you done!” He whirled, angrily, and stalked off away from her toward the manor. “Atjeh!” She muttered a curse as she stormed after him. “Can you not see?” she growled at him as she followed him through the halls. “Are you so blinded to see the danger he poses? If you do not, Kyda I will go to your parents, and then I will go to Harr and then to everyone. I will not sit idly by while the Guild infiltrates the house of Harad!” “It’s not going to, Shazi!” “How do you know this, Atjeh? How do you…” He whirled on her, the full force of his dark brown eyes boring into hers, and she fell silent. “How do I know?! I know because…!” he gritted his teeth and seized her by the arm. “You bloody well want to know? Then come and I’ll bloody well tell you.” "Ow!" she snapped, trying to wrench her arm from his grasp. For someone who was "too busy" to attend sparring sessions with Grayes' Da of late, the lordling was surprisingly strong and determined as he dragged her through the front door of the manor and down into the dimness. "Let go, Atjeh! Before I break your bloody wrist! You are hurting me!" He scowled at her over his shoulder as he pulled her along. "Hurting you?" he growled. "Kyda, I bloody well ought to!" But he eased his grip slightly; only slightly. She gritted her teeth, wanting nothing so much as to try three or four of the techniques Harr had taught her to escape such a hold, but knowing quite well not to bother with her Lord's nu. Aye, she'd be free. So free she'd be dismissed, if not executed summarily. Pfft, no, not executed. Not unless I hurt him. Though I've a mind to do so. Her eyes narrowed as the lordling marched her down the hall toward not his room, or the library, or even her own quarters, but instead Andros' room. Everyone in this manor has gone stark-raving mad. Ever since that bloody Guildsman came here. Kyda! Tugging her to a stop behind him, Atjeh finally released her. She rubbed her wrist, lips pulling back in a sneer when the lordling tried the door and found it locked. Well, well, well. Sulking already, Guild-whore? Or trying to come up with a way to sweeten up what you did? “Andros, open the door,” Atjeh said, his voice much softer than Shazi expected. His expression was still full of frustration and anger, but his darting glances over his shoulder made it quite clear he was more angry at her than at Andros. Of course, she snorted, rolling her eyes. Blame it on the messenger, I see. Quiet sniffles drifted from under the door. Shazi was not sure they were real, or fabricated just for Atjeh’s benefit, and did not much care anymore. Either way, she’d learnt what she had intended to learn, and no amount of Guild sniveling was going to seal her lips. If Atjeh did not see reason here and now, she would just go to her Lord and Lady, her Sair, Lord Kinyth’s loquiri. Any and all of them, until one of them sent the sneaky rat of a Guildsman packing. “… talk to you a-alone,” came the quiet reply from behind the door. “Send that viper away. P-please Jeh?” As Shazi frowned---she had not spoken in front of his door, had she?---Atjeh shook his head slightly. “Nay, Andy. We three need to talk.” < > The bolt clicked, and the Guildsman peered out at them, eyes red-rimmed in a pale face. “Jeh, I can’t bear it.” “You can,” the lord said firmly, pushing against the door until Andros backed away from his strong nudge. He glared sternly at Shazi next who, with a roll of her eyes, tramped within the room and then frowned as he locked it again. Kyda…what if…surely Atjeh is not in on this Guildsman’s plotting? Or Andros…if he should… Shazi cut her worried thoughts off, but her eyes still slid toward the Guildsman’s waist, and the shitans resting there. Twould be very easy to silence her voice. But then the Guildsman bit his lip hard, but unable to hide the tremble as his gaze swept the apprentice Inquisita briefly. His eyes slid to the ground, and a choked sob broke free. Surely the Guildsman was not that adept at acting? Atjeh sighed by her ear. “Andy…it’s alright.” “Not alright. Make her go.” Andros stalked out of the reception room and into the bedroom beyond. As the lordling followed, so too did Shazi, with one hand clutching her shitan hilt for reassurance. Andros flounced onto his bed, burying his face in the pillows. His muffled sniffles were still audible. Atjeh fixed her with a stern, frustrated glare, and then sank onto the edge of the bed. Shazi planted hands on her hips, shaking her head. And then grimaced as Atjeh lightly rubbed Andros’ back. “Kyda, Atjeh! Must you do such in front of me?” Another harsh glare came her way, silt-brown darkening to black. “For once in your life, be quiet, Shazi.” The apprentice Inquisita was startled enough that her mouth shut with a click, and then she growled inwardly at her own reaction. The lordling deserved to have what’s what told him to his face, especially after his precious Guildsman had cheated on him—with another woman no less. “Atjeh—“ “Hush,” he snapped, voice sharp with command. And then he turned completely away from her, fingers playing with Andros’ hair. “Andy, she didn’t know. If we tell her, then it won’t happen again.” Shazi’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me what? What are you talking about? I will certainly do it again, or whatever it takes, to prove your ‘lover’ is nothing but a rat in men’s clothing. You hear me, Atjeh?” “Sometimes, Shazi, you are very perceptive.” The lordling gently pulled Andros upright and cuddled him to his chest, ignoring the apprentice Inquisita’s grimace. “And sometimes, you are a fool.” She snorted. “It is my job to protect this family. And now a Guildsman…a Guildsman!...is here making Kyda knows what trouble. It would be foolish of me to ignore him!” “And in all your training are you stuck on such stereotypes you ignore the obvious!” He ran his fingers through Andros’s hair again and she frowned. Obvious? That he’s either a coward or an actor? But nay, a coward wouldn’t have gotten so far. I would say a very good actor, although his façade broke when he was with me. “How do you know I’m wrong, Atjeh? Can you prove it? The Guild even infiltrated the strict guards at Ratacca Kor.” “How do I know?” the lordling snapped, “I know because…” he looked down at Andros and his arm about him tightened. “Hush,” he murmured. “I know,” his attention came back to Shazi, “because he’s my bloody loquiri, that’s how I know!” Shazi wasn’t sure if she let the surprise show on her face. She really wasn’t sure of anything as the news exploded around her and all the pieces began falling into place. This was why they were so touchy feely. This was why Lord Kinyth and Lady Nora allowed Andros to stay in the house, despite what it did to the family reputation. This was why he risked alienating Epona. And Atjeh really was interested in women, just like everyone in the household had thought until Andros came on the scene. |
| Suddenly even more was making sense. Since Andros was a loquiri and a Guildsman, the family was in much more danger than she thought! Both Atjeh and Andros were. This would take a very interesting game, if the ras were adept at handling it. And if they didn’t have a nosy Inquisita poking her nose into it. Like a good Inquista should she amended herself. But still… She hated misjudging situations. So the Guildsman really wasn’t a snake. Or a man-whore. She had really misjudged there. Shaking herself, she had the decency to look a little sheepish. “Oops.” “Oops,” Atjeh glowered more. She put her hands on her hips, lip curling. "Well, what did you expect me to think? To do?" "To use your bloody brains and show a little compassion!" Atjeh snapped, gently pulling the Guild loquiri toward him, fondling his hair soothingly. Shazi cringed involuntarily; even though she knew the why of it now, twas hard to relinquish the reactions of just a few marks before. The perfectly normal reactions. She glared from one to the other. "Do you realize how much of an idiot you sound like right now?" She sneered as Andros' head jerked up and his eyes narrowed at her. Loquiri or not, she was not afraid of him. "One moment you're whining at me for not having put the pieces together more quickly---even though you are the ones who invented this lie---and the next you are sniveling because I did a little homework?" She winked at Andros; he merely cringed, burying his face in his Match's shoulder and sniffling. "Dont... you..." he managed, voice muffled for a moment. Then his head darted back up, and she watched---actually watched---him compose his face into something reminiscent of one of Atjeh's or Lord Kinyth's calm aristocratic masks. Only this was far, far colder, even with his eyes all wet from his little ra tears. "You have learned the truth. Now get out. Go speak it to Kinyth and Nora if you wish, or Harr. They already know." His green eyes narrowed at her. "But if you tell anyone else of this..." He left the threat unvoiced. She started to wind up, feeling the snide words rising and her lip curling in disdain, but then paused and considered. Loath though she was to admit it, he could really do it. As Atjeh's lover, his place in this household was less permanent than her own, subject to the favor of Atjeh and the ra's Ma, Da and q'Da. But as his loquiri... they would send her away a thousand times before they would even suggest that he leave. And likely copperless too... or worse, dead. Aye, point taken Guild-ra, she thought, quietly revising her list of worthies to protect within the household, secrets to keep, interests to pursue. Speaking of which... "You know, Andy-kins," she grinned, ignoring his wince. He'd come around in time, she was sure. "Since you are not tumbling our little Jeh here, it's not really infidelity if you---" "I am not that easy," he interrupted coolly, still wearing that stony Guild mask even as his Match's hand tightened on his shoulder, massaging firmly. He jabbed a stern finger at the door. "Out." < > Shazi slouched down opposite Grayes and Joshin in the wine cellar. The two flicked her quick glances, but only just; the hand was still open—depending on which of them held the trumping Lord card, only defeated by a Guild-mage. The apprentice Inquisita grimaced. Thoughts of Guild anything turned her stomach. Leaning over, she plucked the wineskin of fire brandy, taking a good long pull to wash her thoughts as clean as her dry mouth. Grayes’ low cursing preceded a clatter of coinage being shoved toward the Keeper. Shazi leaned forward then, eyes bright and mischievious. “Really, Gray-Gray. You used to be so good at cards.” Her eyes narrowed, and she thumped Joshin upside the head, ignoring his grumble. “Of course, you’re at a bit of a handicap.” The young blademaster arched his brows, and then glared at the Keeper as red suffused his pale cheeks. “What? Are you cheating, Joshin?” “He has quite an interesting bent, Grayes. You should ask him about it,” Shazi suggested helpfully. Joshin glared at her and cleared his throat, starting to rise. “I..ah…forgot…lessons—“ “No, you don’t,” Grayes growled. As Joshin hesitated, the blademaster tapped his shitan hilt lightly. “Sit, Keeper, or I promise to make your life miserable. Ever sparred at midnight?” The apprentice Inquisita burst into laughter at Joshin’s wide eyes and irritated curse her way. “Oh come now, Josh. Twas you who did the dirty work.” “And you who stuck her Inquisita nose where it doesn’t belong,” the Keeper snapped. Shazi laughed again and took another long pull on the wineskin, before settling back on her hands, stretching her legs before her. “I think…Andros is not….well, that man is a puzzle. Let me tell you.” Grayes passed out a round of cards, passing some to Shazi as well, and casting Joshin a stern glare as the Keeper acted as if he would not play. “You’re playing, just so I can win back my money fair and square,” he growled, and then flicked a look toward the Maran woman. “Is that your Inquisita wisdom speaking?” he mocked. “Didn’t we all know he was a puzzle? Since when has Atjeh had dealings with a man-lover.” Shazi chuckled. “Indeed. He’s quite a lover.” “What? Are you spying at doorways and keyholes?” Shazi waved her free hand. “No, why would I want to be a party to that? Especially when I can get first-hand experience?” Joshin turned disbelieving eyes on her. “You didn’t!” he gasped. She grinned toothily at him. “Oh aye, I did. And I was pleasantly surprised. It was all in the name of information, well, officially at least. I have to admit there was a bit of something more and it made it all the more enjoyable. He’s quite a good lover, our Andy-kins.” Grayes, who had been staring intently at his cards, swore suddenly. “I can’t believe you went along with this Kyda-forsaken plan! He’s a thorla spawned Guildsman!” She raised her chin. “What do you care? You said it was stupid?” “Aye! It is stupid and it still is stupid. What? Has Atjeh now been angered enough and tossed him from our presence?” Shazi allowed herself to pout, finger choices idly in her mind. “No, not exactly. When I told him he was angry and made me come with him when he confronted Andros.” That much was true…somewhat. If any maids happened to hear their exchange out doors, then they would only confirm that much of her story. “When we got to his chambers, they had an argument. Atjeh was a little jealous but apparently they have an arrangement. Even though they are lovers, if they get a little bored or want to try something new, they can. They have a pact that they are allowed to take other lovers, as long as they’re on a temporary type basis.” She grinned. “Which is all the better for me anyways. I wouldn’t mind a little Guildsman dalliance.” “Your turn, Keeper,” Grayes snapped. “So just because he’s your lover you’ve forgotten your job as Inquista and deemed him no longer a threat?” Shazi’s face darkened. “That is not what I said Grayes. I still don’t trust him and I’ll still be looking at him.” Not true, but if she stopped pretending to investigate than other people may get suspicious and she didn’t know how many of the servants knew. “But,” she added, “I don’t have to look at him quite as closely now.” She grinned suggestively again He swore again and threw his cards to the ground, scattering them across the stone. “And Kyda I have no bloody luck tonight! Are you cheating again Joshin? Are you?” He demanded thunderously. Joshin looked from Shazi back to him, alarmed. “N…no Grayes, maybe…” “Bloody, thorla spawned…” he yanked the fire brandy back from Shazi and stood. “You want to fool with a Guildsman? Fine, see what I care when he hurts you, or abuses you, or uses some sort of Guild-spawned tricks on you!” Shazi’s brow furrowed. “Gray-Gray? Calm down.” He snarled something unintelligible and stormed out of the room. Shazi and Joshin exchanged glances. “What’s wrong with him?” the young keeper asked. Shazi frowned after the way her friend had gone. “I haven’t a clue.” < > Chusa started at the thump against his bedroom door, quill drawing a jagged line across his rows of figures. Twas important to have this turned in to Epona tomorrow morn, to allow her to double-check his work before giving the report on the monthly cost of manor upkeep to Lord Kinyth. Which would now need to be rewritten, unless he could salvage that right column. Gruff laughter. The steward frowned, peering at the door. Sighing, he pushed the parchment back and headed for his reception room, slowing as he took note of who had joined him. “Grayes?” The blademaster’s son laughed again, a gruff guffaw that would have been a giggle from a lesser man. He blinked bleary eyes at the steward, rimmed red with alcohol, and his breath fairly reeked of fire brandy as he swayed into the steward’s face. “Ah…Chusie…you duped by Guild-spawn?” “What?” The steward wrinkled his nose and lightly nudged the youngling back. “Grayes, you’re drunk.” “Know,” he mumbled, peering down at the flask in his hands with a pensive frown. “Out now. ‘o more.” The ra dropped his flask and squinted at Chusa. “You ‘ave some?” The steward rested gentle hands on the blademaster’s shoulders, nudging him back toward the nearest cushion. “Sit, Grayes. I think you need some kaffe. Or kolinar.” Grayes hiccuped and dropped his head, staggering and landing on his seat, and missing the cushion completely. He blinked and peered at the tile absently, not even bothering to rise again. Chusa’s eyes narrowed. “Or maybe both, in large portions,” he mumbled, turning away to fix the youngling something to sober him enough to walk him back to his quarters. Without Kinyth seeing him, of course. Else the lord was certain to forbid any more card games—with all the trouble it seemed to be causing lately. Grayes’ hand clamped on his wrist. The steward yelped, and then clawed at his fingers. “You need something to drink, right? You have to let go, Grayes, so I can…” “No,” the blademaster’s son shook his head, grip tightening. “Stay wi’ me. You no dupe…no Gu’d tricks. Joshin fool..and Shazi….” The ra dropped his head, though his grip held strong around Chusa’s wrist. “Kyda…viper bedding the Derk-ra…all fools.” “The Guildsman has done something?” Chusa asked hesitantly. His thoughts snapped to the stone, the one Joshin had brushed aside. “Did you happen to see a stone on him? A dreamstone? Or maybe it’s not a dreamstone at all—only tricked Joshin.” He blinked. “Grayes, did you see him wearing some jewelry?” “No. Just..with her,” He released Chusa finally. The steward rubbed the spot with a frown, glaring at Grayes as the man staggered to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall, and began to gesture wildly. “Spawn-Guild…usin’ them all…even Shazi…sweet Shazi.” His face screwed up and he crumpled to the cushion again, murmuring the apprentice Inquisita’s name absently, cradling his head in his hands. Chusa patted his shoulder gently. “I’ll fetch something for you. Something strong,” he added to himself as he walked away. He had just turned away to put the carafe on the heat lune when he heard the sudden sound of scrambling, then a dull crash. By the time he glanced over his shoulder, Grayes was clutching his wash bowl in a white knuckled two-handed grip, vomiting miserably into the water from that morning. Chusa grimaced slightly, sighing, then crossed over to the youngling. "Come, Grayes," he said. He bit his lip, contemplating for a moment whether or not to pull the bowl away from the apprentice blademaster. But Grayes was hunched over it, and did not look at all inclined to give it up in the near future. "Ugh... blo'dy..." Grayes groaned, before becoming ill once again. Chusa led him gently by the elbow back to the cushion. "Sit down," he murmured, guiding the youngling down to the ground as Grayes woozily obeyed. At least he was making full use of the bowl, and not making a mess on Chusa's freshly swept and scrubbed floor. "Th' woom... spinning..." Grayes muttered. "Aye," Chusa agreed, situating the bowl before the youngling's lap and gently pressing his head down toward it. "Tis because you've had too much to drink. Now you just stay put. I will get you some water to calm your belly." And a nice blend of kaffe and kolinar to sober you up. Kyda, I've never seen him this drunk. He left the blademaster's apprentice alone, listening with one ear to Grayes' moans and unhappy mumbles. But at least this puking meant not all of what he'd swallowed would find its way into his system. The ra was soused enough as twas. As the water heated, he mused quietly to himself. Grayes was clearly very upset, and it did not appear that it was entirely because he was drunk. Indeed, the ra was likely drunk because he was upset. He had said something about Andros, and Shazi. But he had not noticed the dreamstone. Kyda, Chusa growled to himself. And I went and bloody mentioned it again, even after I told Andros I would not. Still grumbling quietly, he at last pulled the water away and poured some into a mug, and the rest into a shallow bowl. Hopefully Grayes would not puke in this one, too. Shaking his head, he refilled the carafe from the pitcher he had brought to his room at the midday meal---twas nearly empty now, though he'd not drank a drop---and set it on the lune before bringing the bowl and mug to Grayes. "Here," he said quietly, handing the youngling the mug. Grayes stared blearily at it for a moment, but took it obediently enough and sipped at it with a queasy grimace. Shaking his head, he set the clean bowl in front of him, then rose again to fetch a rag with which the apprentice might clean his face. Only then, as Grayes was sipping cautiously at the warm water while waiting for the kaffe-kolinar blend to brew, did Chusa gently begin asking his questions. "Nay," Grayes murmured in response to his first inquiry. "Why you keep on 'bout th' dreamstone 'n such?" "No reason," Chusa said lightly, handing him the rag and nodding as Grayes grimaced and unhappily wiped at his chin and mouth. "So... What is all this about Shazi?" At the mention of the apprentice inquista’s name, Grayes jaw quivered slightly and a look mixed with pain and anger washed over him. “Thorla…” “Shazi?” Grayes glowered. “Nay, the other ‘un. He…she…! He a Guildsman…a weak, pid’ly ‘lil Guildsman. Wot she see in him?” Chusa frowned trying to unravel the youngling’s thoughts. “Andros and Shazi? She doesn’t trust him I thought…” “Trusts him enough to…to bed him!” Grayes snapped the last then shut his eyes swallowing. “Not good enough…he’s not good ‘nough for her. He…he’ll hurt her,” he whispered. Chusa overcome his initial surprise and patted the youngling on the back. “Grayes, Shazi is a smart girl. You know she can take care of herself and make her own decisions and…” he paused, “you’re jealous, aren’t you? You’re jealous of Andros and…” his eyes widened further. “Grayes, I had no idea you were keen on Shazi!” His bleary eyes narrowed, then he looked sharply away. “Nooo…she’s just…mine.” “Yes sair, that is quite a difference.” The youngling didn’t register his sarcasm and Chusa sighed. “She does not care for him, Grayes, and I’m sure she had a reason for what she did…” “Says he’s not bad to look at.” Grayes lip curled. “’Atjeh has good taste’…” Suddenly Chusa had a thought. “Grayes, did Shazi say anything about a dreamstone?” Surely if she did bed the Guildsman she would have seen it, but he wasn’t going to bring up that last point to the love sick young man before him. “Dunno,” Grayes shrugged. “Don’t care.” Chusa frowned. Grayes probably wouldn’t have paid attention if she had mentioned it and would never ask her himself. But Shazi….If he asked her she would keep it to herself that he had asked. Hopefully. < > With Grayes sprawled across the cushioned divan in the steward’s reception room, snoring as loudly as a Derk-ra with a sinus infection, Chusa was quite aware he would be unlikely to get any work done, or rest for that matter. He tucked his parchment of figures under his arm and left the youngling sleeping off his fire brandy. Chusa sighed in relief as he entered the quiet, calm library. The musty smell of books, the neatly arranged shelves—Joshin was nothing if not meticulous when it came to scrolls and things—and the soft dim of light passing through the elegant skylight above his head. The steward slouched into a comfortable chair, setting his parchment over his lap and continuing his scribbles. Twas a good two points before he was satisfied with his work, or at least too tired to see straight enough to care. The steward leaned back, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles and then arching his spine until the stiffness eased. Time to give these to Epona. And maybe find Shazi. Perhaps she could drag Grayes back to his own room and his own bed, rather than leaving the soused youngling snoozing in Chusa’s rooms. He wandered through the halls, frowning mildly at the snickering and ribald comments slowly spreading from servant to servant, hurriedly hushed when he came near. Kyda. Shazi really has gone and made a mess of things. If Harr hears that she’s bedding people willy-nilly… The steward shook his head and hurried on. Epona, surprisingly, was not in her quarters, nor even with Joshin or with Atjeh’s younger ris. (Whose giggling stopped abruptly and heads dropped to books when he stuck his head within) Perhaps the lady had gone riding, or hawking, or any number of things. The steward bit his lip. Or perhaps the news/gossip that Atjeh’s proclaimed lover had bedded the Inquisita, while she remained alone and aloof, stung too much to remain. Whatever the case, Epona was not there. He left his stack upon her writing desk, and nearly ran into Shazi as he stepped into her path as she strode down the hall. “Ah! Shazi…wait…I…” The apprentice Inquisita swiveled to study his face, eyes twinkling with quiet mischief. “What are you babbling about, Chusey?” “Chusa,” he corrected absently. Nicknames were for close friends or lovers. And the Inquisita was neither. “Do you mind explaining what you did to Grayes?” “Pardon?” Genuine surprise appeared and then vanished upon her face. “Whatever could I have done to big, strapping, Gray-Gray?” “He’s a sobbing, soused mess in my quarters,” Chusa growled sternly. “And says nothing but your name, and cursing the Guildsman.” He planted hands on his hips, staring her down. As apprentice, she lacked a little of his standing within the manor, and well knew it; he saw her scowl lightly at the commanding tone, but accepted it. “I don’t want him babbling in my rooms. Go see whatever is the matter.” Chusa tapped quill to his lower lip, trying once again to compose a list for the trusted servants headed for Crossroads--for some goods that the manor could not create of itself. But his mind continued to drift. Shazi had not returned from her discussion with Grayes, though Kinyth had grumbled something about her foolhardy ways in the halls. The steward was mildly curious, but where the apprentice Inquisita was concerned, one never knew quite what she was thinking. Not after that escapade on Atjeh’s eighteenth name-day, with a wild goat, a hunting Derk-ra, and a great deal of fire brandy. Kyda, when that woman walked into a room, half the men either cringed and guarded their bodies, or growled obscenities at her. Chusa would rather be locked in the mews for the night then spend a moment too long with her. Too unstable. Now Erilae… Being locked anywhere with her would be Kyda’s Rest. The steward swallowed hard, scrubbing a hand hurriedly across his cheeks, as desire quickened in his veins. More so than Shazi’s disappearance, however, was the matter of the dreamstone. If Andros had been wearing it when they….well, she should have seen it, and mentioned it. But then, Andros had shown no signs of taking it off, and even strong protectiveness toward wearing it at all times. It did not make sense. Even an apprentice Inquisita had instincts and an eye for details. And a dreamstone was obvious enough. Why would she say nothing? Unless she saw it and didn’t say so. But then…why? Chusa bit his lip hard. Kyda. Maybe he should just ask Andros straight out. The ra seemed good enough for Atjeh, even if he did ruin Epona and he’s alliance. Arranged marriages…well, twas not his place to judge. But then again… Chusa set his quill down, cupping his chin in his hand and staring in a brooding way at the wall. “Guildsman are usually tricky, sly and quick. But he seems honest. Yet this stone…but Joshin hedged about it, and now Shazi is hedging. I think.” He raked his fingers through his hair. Well, even if the Keeper didn’t speak out, there were plentiful books within the library that could not be hidden or changed into lies. He glanced at his list, then folded it neatly and set it in his writing desk drawer. That could wait. Twas time to see all that a dreamstone could be used for; then he would know for certain if Andros meant harm, or not. When Chusa arrived at the library, he was surprised to discover that the door was firmly closed. Twas an unusual thing at midday; with the morning chores long since complete and the afternoon meal over, many of the household servants took a point or two to relax in their own chambers, or went for walks in the forest or otherwise enjoyed their free time before twas time for prepare for the evening meal. Usually the manor was quiet at this time of day but for the quiet murmur of conversation between the Keeper and Atjeh during the lordling's early afternoon lesson. There simply was no need to close the door. The steward thought little of it at first as he pushed the door open. But when he stepped within, he was surprised when Andros---leaning over Joshin threateningly with a handful of the Keeper's tunic balled in his fist---swiveled over his shoulder to scowl at the now ajar door. Joshin took that opportunity to strike the distracted Guildsman sharply across the face, snapping in exasperation as he did so, "I did not tell Shazi to bed you, you ignorant---" Chusa frowned, closing the door quietly behind him and glaring sternly at the two men. "Why must you two always be at one another's throats?" he growled. Between his exasperation with Shazi's crass behavior and Grayes' soused misery, he simply was not sure he could abide another moment of this improper and unprofessional behavior between the household staff and Andros. Joshin's murky blue eyes were narrowed as he fixed the furious Guildsman with a seething glare. "I have done nothing but teach our Lord's los and nu. Tis Andros who insists upon coming in here, making all kinds of idiotic accusations and interrupting my lessons!" Andros' lip curled. One hand rose to his jaw, hand trembling in anger, to rub at the bruise already darkening there. "The ris were but a few marks from the end of their lesson anyway, and surely did not need to hear anymore of your fanciful renditions of historical---" "Look, Andros, just because they are not Guild sanctioned---" "Enough!" Chusa snapped, physically stepping between the two men and placing a palm forcefully in the center of each chest as the Keeper and Guildsman tried to stalk toward one another. "The two of you are disrupting the peace of Lord Kinyth's household and I will not have it!" He glared sternly from one to the other, then pushed them slightly away from him and one another, dropping his arms to his sides and straightening the hem of his tunic absently as both relaxed ever so slightly. "Now, what is all of this about, Joshin, sar?" "I tried to apologize to him for the way Shazi treated him, but the bloody thorla accused me of---" "The ael kinth must have worked with that whore of an apprentice Inquisita to try to get Atjeh to turn me out and---" "One at a time, please!" the steward growled. He pointed toward two cushions, long since abandoned by the Keeper's noble pupils. "Sit down, both of you." Both men moved to obey resentfully, ducking their heads but raising their eyes to glare fiercely at Chusa and one another. Shaking his head, he began to follow them, but was brought up short by Andros, who suddenly balked, head turning slightly toward the door. Chusa frowned as Atjeh opened the door and stepped within. "I... lesson..." the lordling mumbled, slinking across the room almost as though he did not see the steward or Keeper and enveloping his lover in an affectionate hug. Rolling his eyes, the steward shook his head. “Ra, not now. I must have words with your…lover.” The last nearly choked in his throat. When the lordling did not react to his words, and only seemed to tighten his grip, Chusa frowned. “My lord…” He bit his lip and seized a handful of the lordling’s tunic, pulling him back firmly. “Sire, you must—“ the rest of his words were lost in a yelp of panic and wide-eyed surprise as his hands were knocked away from Atjeh by the Guildsman, followed by Andros’ fingers wrapped around his collar, hauling him from his feet with unnatural strength and pinning him to the wall. He kicked out feebly, gagging around the grip on his throat. “A-an—“ “Let him go!” Joshin snapped, followed shortly by Atjeh, no longer simpering and instead sharp with annoyance. “Put him down, Andy. Kyda! Can’t anyone even touch me now?” Chusa clawed at the hands holding him, vision spotted with black and filled with narrowed green eyes as Andros glared murderously. “Andros! Now!” Atjeh snapped. The Guildsman tensed. Chusa kicked again, toe of his boot finding the Guildsman’s gut. Andros grunted, but his grip only loosened slightly. The steward inhaled a quick gasp of air and reached blindly for the weak, weak Gift of his own. Best for summoning Derk-ra—he could create the sound of some animals briefly—he used instead a piercing shriek that made Andros cringe, hands jerking to his ears and allowing the steward to slump to the floor. Chusa coughed, rubbing his likely bruised throat, and glared at the Guildsman. “What in Kyda’s bloody name where you Kyda-blasted, thorla-bred doing!” Joshin and Atjeh alike gaped at him. The steward was not prone to profanity. Andros, however, flashed him a sullen look. “Leave Jeh alone.” “I grabbed his tunic. That is all. You cannot gut a man for that.” Andros’ eyes narrowed in a silent threat. Chusa glared back. “What in Kyda’s name is wrong with you?” The Guildsman took one threatening step forward, then halted as Atjeh caught his shoulder firmly. Gently, the lordling stroked soothing fingers through the Guildsman’s air, massaging his shoulder and mumbling softly. Andros shuddered, eyes fluttering, and his body relaxed slightly. Grumbling to himself, Chusa stood and straightened his tunic once more, before giving Joshin, then Atjeh, and finally Andros, a stern look. “Now, let’s try this again. Andros and Joshin will sit there,” he pointed to the cushions once more, where the Keeper already sat calmly. “You, my lord, should return to your work with the blademaster.” “I..ah..” Color suffused his cheeks, while Andros paled dramatically. Chusa blinked, but Atjeh’s words pulled his attention aside. “I want to stay. He’s upset…” he patted Atjeh’s head lightly. The Guildsman sighed. Chusa frowned. “No. You have duties with the blademaster. I know Harr would disapprove of you missing your tasks.” “I…Chusa…” Exasperated, the steward rose and seized Atjeh’s arm again, glaring at Joshin over his shoulder. “Stay here. You and Andros. The ra and I will see if the blademaster has dismissed him as yet.” Andros bristled and stalked forward. “Chusa. Leave him be.” The steward arched a brow. “Lover or no, he must go to his proper lessons, else he will not be a good lord. Joshin. Watch him.” As he started to forcefully push Atjeh with him, keeping his grip tight even as the lordling balked. “No…no..Chusa…let go. Please. Let go.” He babbled, squirming. “For the love of Kyda, let go!” Footfalls. Quick and stealthy. And a voice tight with rage. “Leave Jeh alone.” Joshin’s voice was pitched higher than normal, cracking with tension. “Chusa, stop this instant!” “You are all being childish,” the steward growled. He started to turn, and then gawked as Andros moved from a distant cushion to suddenly in his face with a speed that was anything but normal. “Kyda!” he spluttered, as the Guildsman tackled him roughly to the ground, snarling like an animal. Chusa felt his head smack the cool stone. Then he was blinking, he head throbbing, and the Guildsman’s weight was blessedly not on his back. In fact he was lying on a low divan and Joshin and Atjeh were arguing. “—tell him, Jeh!” Joshin’s voice was like a sharp, and very painful knife to the eye. Chusa winced. Kyda his head hurt. “He didn’t mean to. He was frightened! He still is, because so many people bloody know. One more person will only make things worse.” Know what? “He hurt Chusa. What if he had killed him?” There was a silence, almost petulant before Atjeh murmured, “He wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let him.” With out turning his head Chusa could almost see the lordling, his lover at his side. Cuddling each other. Consoling each other. “I told Chusa to let me go. I tried…” “But he didn’t know so why would he have listened!” “Because I’m the lordling and no one seems to trust me here anymore! Kyda, Joshin, this is serious. Knowing also puts you in danger, everyone in danger I’m sure.” “But…” “No, Joshin,” command was filtering into Atjeh’s voice. “I wish I could, but no…” “Tell me what, Sair?” Chusa sat up slowly, pressing a palm to his brow. Beneath his fingers he could feel a thin smear of blood. The room spun for a moment, and when it stopped Atjeh’s widened eyes landed on his. The lordlings arm was, as expected around his lover who was, in turn, staring at the floor biting his lip so hard it was beginning to bleed. “Chusa!” Atjeh blushed and started to take a step forward, but then seemed to think better of it. “You’re awake! Good, I’ve …I’ve sent for Dinjan. How are you feeling?” “Tell me what, Sair?” he repeated a bit more forcefully. “It’s nothing, Chusa.” He felt his head again. A knot was beginning to form and it was tender to the touch. He winced again. “I think not, Sair.” Atjeh swallowed, glancing in dismay from Andros to Joshin and then back to the steward once again. "You should rest," the lordling said softly, avoiding his eyes now. "We can talk after... after Dinjan has seen to you." Chusa's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, resting his head in his chin but glaring sternly. "We have time now, my lord. Now please, I think I've a right to know why my head is splitting when all I did was try to show you to your lessons." He had been... been pulling on the lordling's arm. And then, Andros and Joshin and Atjeh were all yelling at him, and now here he sat upon the divan, skull throbbing. Across from him, Andros looked as though his favorite derk-ra had been trampled by a horse before his eyes, and his cheeks were unusually pale. The Guildsman swallowed, then swallowed again. "Tis my fault, Chusa. I... lost my temper and you fell. Please... please forgive me," he mumbled, green eyes downcast and voice subdued. Chusa straightened slightly, holding his head briefly in his other hand, then releasing it when the pressure from his palms did nothing to ease the throbbing pain in his skull. "That is not all there is to it." He frowned at the hint of chain around Andros' neck, disappearing into his tunic. "I told you once that I would not mention what you wear about your neck if you in turn promised you were not a threat to Atjeh. Do you recall?" "He will never hurt me," Atjeh said quietly, but quite firmly. Chusa began to shake his head, then thought better of it. "After the way he behaved today, I simply cannot trust your word on that, my lord." He frowned at Andros, setting his jaw in expectation for the argument he was sure would come. "Why do you wear a dreamstone beneath your tunic, Andros?" To his surprise, not only did the Guildsman not panic at having had the stone thus revealed---then why guard it so in the past?---but he actually stepped slightly in front of Atjeh, neatly blocking the lordling from sight. "I have an unusual bent, Chusa. Nothing more." The steward arched a brow. "Joshin has an unusual bent, but you do not see him hiding it beneath a dreamstone." Some of the guilty distress flowed from the Guildsman's face as he sneered. "Joshin's Gift is too weak to attract notice." The Keeper blushed, shooting a glare Andros' way, but before he could speak Chusa shook his head again. That was a bad idea, of course, and he buried his face in his hands as pain and dizziness washed over him, then lay gingerly back on the divan as he continued doggedly, "To... attract notice? So... Kyda... you do not want to attract notice?" He gritted his teeth, but lying down as he was, the pain was already fading. Soft footsteps crept forward, and then Atjeh was peering down at him, the bloody Guildsman of course behind him with one hand resting on his shoulder. The ra's eyes were dark with worry, but Chusa suspected twas as much concern for his wellbeing as fear of the direction his questioning was taking. "You should rest until Dinjan gets here," Atjeh murmured. "And have you... try to avoid?" Chusa mumbled. "Avoid questions, that is." He glanced over Atjeh's shoulder at Andros. The Guildsman was chewing his lip again, but pensively this time rather than in clear worry. For a moment, Chusa was sure he would at last reveal what he had to say. Then came the creak of the door as Dinjan stepped within, and the steward sighed. Kyda.... go away! he snarled inwardly. "What happened?" the healer asked softly. Atjeh and Andros exchanged a glance, and then the ra closed his eyes for a moment and nodded slightly before speaking. "Dinjan... Kinddly close the door? Then we will explain," he sighed, nodding more firmly to Chusa. The healer arched a brow mildly, but did as he was asked. Once the door clicked closed, the lordling stepped away from his lover. Chusa saw Andros frown, reaching for him faintly and then folding his hands again, slouching back onto a cushion. Atjeh cleared his throat and then paced restlessly before the steward’s divan. “I…Andros and I…his bent is very unusual. And dangerous. Dangerous to those who know what it is. Are you sure, Chusa that—“ “Would you just tell me?” the steward snapped. Dinjan sighed and reached out, lightly touching his head and turning his face toward him to study his eyes. “My lord,” he pleaded through teeth clenched in pain. Dinjan’s light Gift probe prickled in an irritating way, only increasing his frustration at the strangely reluctant lord. Atjeh took a deep breath and closed his eyes, raking his fingers through his hair. “Kyda…alright. Andros is my loquiri, Chusa.” “Your…” understanding dawned in a rush of confused, and then worried, realization. “Good gods! I made him frenzy, aye?” “Aye,” Andros mumbled softly. “A little. I should have controlled…but I was so angry at Joshin…and then you…and I…” he dropped his head, shoulders hunching in guilt and distress. “I’m sorry, Chusa.” “Ah,” Dinjan said softly, apparently satisfied with some curiosity. “Just a mild concussion, Chusa,” he said gently, Gift congealing into the beginnings of a Mend. “Sleep after this and you should be well by supper.” Chusa grunted his agreement, beginning to nod and then changing his mind as both pain spiked and Dinjan’s hands lightly touched each of his temples in the final gestures of the Mending. Warmth flooded through him, then drowsiness, but that passed somewhat as the healer helped him sit up. “You should go to your room now,” Dinjan murmured, lips pressing in a small smile. He glanced over his shoulder back toward Atjeh, Andros and Joshin. “But I suspect you would prefer to talk, first.” “Aye,” the steward confirmed, nodding and then nodding again in satisfaction at the lack of pain. He yawned, gesturing lazily with one finger toward the end table nestled between two bookcases, where Joshin oft kept kolinar or kaffe brewing during the day. “Please, Joshin? Would you be so kind?” he asked. The Keeper nodded slightly, retreating as asked with only a small glare over his shoulder---at Andros, not Chusa. Dinjan merely shook his head, then patted Chusa’s head gently. “Kaffe is no substitute for rest,” he pointed out as Joshin began pouring a mug of the dark brew, then shrugged mildly and inclined his head to Atjeh. “I shall leave you younglings to your conversation.” Chusa was not a youngling, but by Kyda, he would get some answers from these ras now. As the door closed behind the healer amidst Atjeh’s quiet murmur of gratitude, the steward rose to his feet, stepping forward to accept the mug of kaffe the Keeper extended to him. Probably some Settar brew, with a name he could not even pronounce. “Thank you, Joshin,” he said, then turned to Andros and Atjeh. The loquiri was still slightly tense, his hand resting once again on Atjeh’s shoulder. Chusa cocked his head slightly, frowning; it had fooled him well enough, but now that he knew the truth, he could not help but notice that the Guildsman’s touch was less the caress of a fretful lover and more the firm, protective grasp of a parent… or of a ra clutching a favorite blanket or teddy bear. “Joshin, you are dismissed,” Atjeh said firmly, not even turning to look at the Keeper as Joshin glanced up from the heat lune and the new pot of kaffe he was preparing to brew. The man positively loved his kaffe---was a bloody snob about his kaffe---and did not bother with any but the finest blends of kolinar either. Chusa was quite sure the Keeper must spend the entirety of his income on such things; twas certain he did not spend it on his slightly tattered and patched wardrobe. Joshin’s mouth fell open slightly in dismay. “But… my lord…” he began, glancing curiously from lordling, to Guildsman, and finally to Chusa himself. The ra shook his head sternly. “Nay.” Andros frowned, twisting slightly to fix Joshin with a narrow-eyed glare. “Jeh, I still have words to exchange with him…” He flinched as Atjeh’s face suddenly darkened. “I said nay!” the ra snapped, olive skin darkening. “Joshin, get out. Chusa, sit down. And Andros…” he sighed, lowering himself into a cushion as the unhappy Keeper slunk out of the room with a reluctant backwards glance. “Sit here with me, Andy,” he said soothingly, patting the cushion beside him and smiling slightly as the Guildsman---loquiri!---sank down beside him. At last, he fixed Chusa with a stern stare. “You may ask me your questions in a moment. But right now, I have one for you.” “Aye?” Chusa asked quietly, sipping at the kaffe and wishing it were just a little cooler so that he could simply gulp the entire mug down. Why Joshin liked his brews so bitter was beyond him; surely he could have put one more dollop of sugar into the pot! The ra may have been only eighteen winters old, but he managed to have a disposition at times of a man many years older. He fixed Chusa with a weighty stare now, his expression very stern and serious. “Do you intend to tell anyone of this?” The steward frowned. The first response that came to his mind---a strong “nay”---was not in fact the correct response, he felt. His eyes narrowed slightly, returning just a touch of the ra’s sternness. “Do your Ma and Da and q’Da know?” “Aye,” the ra answered. Chusa bit his lip pensively. “Clearly, Joshin and Dinjan know. Who else?” Atjeh shrugged, shifting slightly closer to his loquiri and allowing the Guildsman to sling a soothing arm over his shoulders. “Shazi knows, as does Harr. Harr has not told Grayes, however, and no others in the manor know of this.” “The Fay-el, Lord Veritas and Master Lyrin know also,” Andros pointed out quietly. “But Chrys helped me for… quite some time.” Chusa swallowed. “That is it?” They nodded and he sighed. “Kyda… When do you intend to tell Epona?” He felt a sinking feeling in his gut as the loquiri and Match exchanged an uneasy glance. “Kyda…” “Do you intend to tell her?” Atjeh asked. Chusa sighed. “Nay, though you should do so. And Grayes should know as well.” “Too many people know already!” Atjeh snapped. “Aye, my lord,” Chusa agreed quietly. “I know. But you see Grayes nearly every day. His Da knows. The rest of us know… it will be much easier to hide what… the two of you are… if those of us who are around you most often are aware of the illusion you are attempting to create, aye?” He lowered his voice slightly. “And Grayes is your best friend, Atjeh. How will he feel, if he one day learns that he is the only one of us who does not know?” Atjeh wilted slightly. “I will think on it,” he mumbled, then lifted his chin again and fixed Chusa with a stern, somewhat concerned frown. “You should rest, as Dinjan said.” “Aye,” Chusa murmured. Twas clear he would not be able to drink this bitter mug of kaffe. He would just have to recover his energy through a brief nap. < > Chusa had a headache and of a completely different sort from the day before. Although thinking about the day before only made his headache worse. Kyda… Two of the servants had been found drunk the family pantry that morning and three bottles of the Muscat wine brought from Settar were missing and now Mellana was certain some crockery was missing as well. Now he would have to order an entire recount of the items in the pantries and the kitchens. And if that wasn’t enough, one of the maids was sleeping off a Mend from a broken foot. And the last thing he needed to be thinking about was how to work a new loquiri—no a new secret loquiri into the household. He couldn’t blame Andros, not really. But Kyda, if he had known he wouldn’t have made the Guildsman frenzy, he would have been careful and understanding. And as the steward he should be told such things! But no… “Chusa? Are you alright?” The steward started. He was passing Lady Epona’s small niche and the noblewoman was looking at him strangely. He suddenly realized, much to his own embarrassment that he had been muttering to himself under his breath. He drew himself up a little straighter. “Yes, lady, I am perfectly well. Perhaps a little distracted is all.” She looked at him curiously as if she didn’t quite believe him. “Are you sure? I heard you were unwell the other evening?” “I am quite well, but thank you for inquiring.” The lady flashed a quick polite smile and turned back to her work. She was cradling a small shrub-like plant in a hand, it’s twigs slowly starting to curl over her wrist. With her other hand, she fumbled with a pair of clippers. Chusa felt a flash of pity. She seemed to be a good woman, despite the few rumors he had heard of her change in riding attire. It wasn’t her fault she was caught up with all of this. He grimaced internally. What made matters worse was that whatever she most likely thought about Jeh, or Andros, or their marriage, or even her own role in the whole thing was flawed. And she would never know it. He cleared his throat. “May I…get you any thing?” She glanced up at him, hazel eyes catching the light and sparking gold. “Ah, no. Except…” she looked at the clippers in her palm. “No.” “Very good.” He was in mid bow when he sensed a hesitation and he straightened and raised a questioning brow. “Yes, my lady?” “Actually, you see, I let…Andros borrow a book. He returned it to me with a note that said he enjoyed it and gave me a book to try as well. It was interesting and well, I have another one for him. I,” she hesitated, sighed, and straightened her shoulders, “I would prefer not to give it to him myself. Kyda I’m not ready for that.” “Quite understandable.” “But I have that one and the one he lent me on the nightstand in my quarters. Could send a maid to deliver it?” He smiled and dipped his head. “Of course.” He was short staffed but he could do this for lady Epona. It was the least he could do. She dismissed him and turned back to her plants and he turned back to his problems at hand. I can send someone on their way to do laundry. Or dusting. Perhaps…or… Suddenly, he felt an arm draped over his shoulder and he groaned inwardly. “Hello Chusey.” “Go away, Shazi.” “I heard you had an adventure yesterday.” He gave her the sternest look he could muster. “Twas an accident.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “Ah, an accident on whose part?” Her brows rose at his expression. “Why look so nervous suddenly? Have you discovered something?” “Atjeh and Andros told me, Shazi. And I know they told you as well. So kindly stop playing your games.” She looked mildly surprised for about half a grain, and then her eyes sparkled. “Games? Who is playing games, Chusey?” she asked, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Do you not have a sparring lesson with Harr right about now?” he grumbled, pushing her gently away. The apprentice Inquisita arched a brow. “How is it you manage to memorize everyone’s schedules like that?” “Perhaps I am an Inquisita in disguise,” he suggested wearily. The headache was returning, creeping up from behind his eyes. “Now should you not go find your Sair?” The ri’s lips curled away from her teeth in a sharp smile. “Nay, I think not. He sent me away to work on other tasks while he has a certain few words with a certain Gray-Gray about a certain ‘inappropriate’ overnight stay in a certain apprentice Inquisita’s rooms.” Chusa groaned. “Shazi… You didn’t!” Her eyebrows arched. “With Grayes?” She rolled her eyes and laughed up into his face. “Kyda, surely your little adventure yesterday knocked a few bits o’ brain out your ears. Big, strapping Gray-Gray is not my kind of man, Chusey, and Triad knows he does not think of me that way either.” “Of course,” Chusa said dryly, ducking into the laundry. He was sure he would be able to be rid of her then---Shazi did not care to be anywhere near anything even remotely resembling a good woman’s tasks---but the Star was not shining on him, it seemed. He sighed as she strode in after him and hopped agilely atop the rim of one of the large wash basins. An elderly maid stirring the clothes with a stick snapped at her to get down, but the apprentice Inquisita ignored her, striding casually about the edge of the undoubtedly uncomfortably hot basin of sudsy water. Shaking his head, Chusa turned to a young woman who was pulling a basket down from the shelf, certainly on her way to fetch the dirty laundry from the rooms of the noble household; everyone else brought their clothing to the laundry direct if they wanted it cleaned, and picked it up after as well. “Zera, do me a favor and stop by Lady Epona’s room when you are done with that? There are books atop her nightstand she would like to have delivered to Sar Andros’ room.” As Shazi lifted an eyebrow from behind the maid’s shoulder, Zera frowned and bit her lip. “Does that be meanin’ I mus’ go in th’ Guildsman’s room to bring ‘im th’ books?” she asked, nose wrinkling in distaste and some trepidation. Chusa patted her shoulder gently. “He will not hurt you, Zera. I doubt he is even there at the moment.” The ri sighed, but nodded. “Aye, Sar.” After the maid departed, Chusa turned to leave as well, only to find his way firmly blocked by a grinning Shazi. He sighed. “Ri, I have much to do today. What do you need?” It did not seem possible for her smirk to widen, but it did. “So… Have you found the wine, yet?” His eyes narrowed immediately. “Nay. Did you take it?” She chuckled. “Aye. Twas my assignment from Harr. But my task was only to sneak it away without being caught, not to hide it.” She patted his shoulder as his face twisted in exasperation. “I know how you fret, Chusey. Tis in your bed, beneath your pillow.” “How did you get into my room?” he snapped. She arched both brows and gave him a pleased smile. “Oh, I picked the lock.” Chusa sighed. Having Inquisitas in training about the manor rankled him. If it wasn’t items going missing—likely the crockery had also been the case of thieving Shazi’s fingers too—then it was the sneaking about, putting guards and sentries on alert, or driving maids and servants alike to madness with her questioning. “So…” he said instead, beating down his annoyance. “That session with Harr?” With a roll of her eyes, Shazi murmured something deprecating and stalked away. For the first time all day, Chusa smiled. < > Andros scowled at the Keeper as Joshin settled a parcel of books upon the table between them. “What is this?” “Atjeh’s assigned reading,” the man said firmly. “And yours too.” The loquiri’s brow arched. “Excuse me?” “I am quite aware of all that the Guild teaches, both true and false,” the Keeper didn’t flinch as Andros rose from his cushion to glare at him. “If the Guild is correct in what they have taught, then these should agree, aye?” His eyes narrowed. “Not if they were penned by the loqui…ah,” his cheeks flushed slightly and he looked away, averting his gaze from Joshin’s triumphant nod. “I have no need to study histories and bylaws and things such as—“ “Derk-ra breeding and care?” Joshin pushed a slender book, with a green cover, forward. “A pity if Tihn and Tyla tear you apart for a wrong action.” Andros bit his lip. Joshin’s lips curled in a slow smile. “And perhaps some of this.” The Guildsman snorted at the crimson book, then frowned, peering closer at the title, before flipping through the pages. “Are these…?” “Blueprints. The records of the master Builder who designed Haden Manor.” The Keeper nodded as Andros eyes flashed with mild interest. “These chapters might especially interest you…” Joshin flicked through a few pages, stopping on one dog-eared section and pointing to a careful sketch. The Guildsman could not disguise his grudging interest. The detailed drawings showed far more than simply how the manor was put together; rooms deep within the catacombs, curved spots and corners, and ways to scramble to Atjeh’s room through back stairs or side passages, little-used. “I would like to teach you a few things,” Joshin said mildly. “And maybe somewhat of Haden Manor and things. I…I think that the more you know, the safer Atjeh will be. Aye?” Andros lifted his head from the book and studied him thoughtfully, distrust flaring faintly in his emerald gaze. “I do not like you.” Joshin smiled wanly. “I do not care overly much for you either. But I care a great deal for Atjeh. In that we agree.” “Aye…” Andros tapped the book with one finger. “Aye, that is true. One point a day, with you. No more than that.” < > Alia was talking. Her words and happy clipped speech did their best to distract Epona from the neat columns of figures but Epona was cleverer, nodding now and then or making a sympathetic sound when six year old paused for breath. She was almost done getting Lord Kinyth’s books in order. Three large bound books already sat at her elbow, labeled neatly by year and months within, a labor that had taken her the entire past month. One thing was clear, after she had finished organizing and re-adding: her marriage kin were very well off. Even more so in the past few months, but why exactly she wasn’t sure. A small hand batted her page and she looked up. “Hmm?” Alia frowned at her. “You weren’t listening,” she accused. “No, I was. I was…I just thinking about other things. You know how you can do two things at once sometimes?” Alia’s brow furrowed. “Like…when Mellana is cooking and scolding Maria at the same time?” “Um…” Epona rubbed her nose, “sort of. It’s more…” “Alia!” At her name, the girl groaned and looked at Epona. “It’s my sister,” she said in a low conspiratorial voice, as if Epona didn’t know who she was. “She’s annoying! And mean! She makes me do my lessons by myself!” “Terrible.” “I know!” “Alia!” Mauri’s hand landed heavily on her younger ri’s shoulder. “Stop bothering lady Epona. She’s busy and you’re chattering at her like one of those parrots the Aquilan sailors bring in.” Alia pouted and Mauri put her fists on her hips. “Shoo, Ma wants you anyways.” Alia pouted at Epona and she sighed. “It’s best to listen to your Ma. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” The little girl sighed deeply. “I guess so…” Slowly she scooted off the stool and disappeared back into the manor, feet dragging the entire way. After she had gone, Mauri didn’t leave but, instead, sat in the chair her sister had been using. Atjeh’s sister was slender and willowy, sharing the same brown hair color as her brother, but her mother’s dark eyes. When it comes time for her to be married off, I doubt she’ll have trouble finding suitors. Epona mused, closing the book. She and Mauri had spoken little, not because they were unfriendly, but because the only time they saw one another was during lessons and Epona was far more preoccupied with Joshin. Joshin…kyda I need to stop this. “I’m sorry about my sister,” Mauri apologized. “You’re like a new toy. A new toy that humors her.” Epona smiled softly. “I don’t mind.” It was nice to hear another human voice. “You’re polite.” She propped a cheek against her palm and appraised her. “I heard you terrorized the maids.” Epona blushed and shrugged. “They kept trying to move my things. Which I will not have.” Her eyes turned to stones. “My room is perfectly comfortable for one person and for one person it shall remain.” Mauri winced and Epona felt a prick of guilt. It was her fault her brother and family had lied and used her. “I’m sorry about that,” Mauri whispered, “the thing with my brother. I truly am.” Epona sat back and closed the book. “It is done now and can’t be done again.” She sighed. “Don’t pity me.” Mauri opened her mouth to object but Epona shook her head. “I can see it in your face. I don’t mean that to be mean, it’s just…I’m just tired of the pity. I see it in everyone.” Mauri chuckled. “Ah, I see. But I am sorry. I wish things really could have been different. I like you, you seem nice, and smart and my brother’s a good ra. He is. I mean we would squabble when we were younger but he’s a good ra and watches out for me. And everyone. I don’t understand why he’s done this to you. It’s just so…unfair.” Epona raised her brows. “To you or to me?” “Don’t think poorly of me, lady Epona. I mean to you and to all of us. You’re in a terrible situation. I was thinking the other day how soon it would be until Da started looking for a match for me. And how exciting it would be and then, suddenly, I was married but my husband loved someone else.” She swallowed and shook her head. “It would be devastating. I would think, ‘didn’t they respect me enough to tell me?’” Epona felt a familiar lump rising in her throat with the girls’ words. “Kyda, that’s what’s unfair. And that’s what confuses me so. Atjeh’s not like that. He’s really not.” She shrugged and drew a small circle on the tabletop with a fingertip. “I’m not pitying you lady Epona. I think I’m…I asked Joshin what the word was and I’ve forgotten, but you understand?” Epona smiled slightly at the mention of the Keeper's name, then sighed, more at herself than in response to the ri's words. "I do understand, Mauri. At least, I think I do." Mauri smiled back, dark eyes soft and gentle. Doe-like, Epona thought, remembering the tapestries on some of the manor's walls. She had yet to see one of these Apollar creatures---the derk-ra apparently liked them quite well and the larger game animals tended to steer well clear of any Apollar holding with mews---but the liquid black pools of the soft doe and fawn eyes depicted in the tapestries' careful stitching were certainly similar to Mauri's eyes. It was somewhat of a surprise, then, when the gentle ri quietly and almost demurely commented, “The stable-ras tell me you ride astride and in breeches, like Shazi.” She peeked up at Epona through long eyelashes. “I have been trying to convince him to let me do so, and to permit me to learn Fundamentals alongside Shazi as well, but he says nay.” She cocked her head ever so slightly, dark brown hair falling back from a face still soft and childlike, but beginning to show hints of the woman she would one day be. A regal woman, Epona thought, like her Ma Nora. “Do you think he would allow me to ride like a ra, if he knows you do so as well?” A small blush crept into Epona’s cheeks. Although the servants had politely said nothing to her on any of the occasions she had wandered in breeches into the stables to have a horse saddled, she should have known they would gossip and word would creep back to Lord Kinyth’s family. But then her eyes narrowed slightly and she lifted her chin. You do not care what they think, remember? “I do not know, Mauri. But if your Da does permit you to ride as Shazi and I do, you are more than welcome to join us when next we venture out. And, I suppose, you may join us even if he does not allow it, though it may be harder to keep up riding sidesaddle.” Mauri’s smile tilted into a charming, slightly lopsided and more than a little mischievous grin, but her voice was still soft and demure. “Oh, I am sure I can convince him. I can convince Da of anything.” Her eyes turned thoughtful, and she amended, “Well, I can convince q’Da of anything, and he can convince Da.” Epona sighed. The last thing she needed was to have Kinyth’s daughters all begging their Da to allow them to behave as she herself was behaving. The Lord and the rest of his family could think whatever they wanted of her own behavior, but she would not be a cause of trouble. “I had better go with you,” she sighed, rising. The ri nodded politely. “I had hoped you would.” |
| < > As Mauri stepped into the library, the tall loquiri rose lithely from his cushion, setting a book aside and grinning at her. “Ah, ri,” he murmured, pulling her into a soft embrace. She giggled, pushing her face into his tunic to muffle the sound. Yassin chuckled and hugged her once more firmly, before releasing her and pushing her out to arm’s length. Only then did he notice Epona, hovering at the edge of the room. “My lady, forgive me. How do you fare today?” She flushed. “No. No lady please. Just Epona. You are my marriage-father’s loquiri. For now.” That mild cut hit home. Yassin winced, and bit his lip. “Aye, Epona,” he said. Mauri stirred, peeking up at the loquiri. “Alia was keeping her company, but she had to go to her lessons. And I was going to go riding,” the maiden smiled and leaned her head against him. “But I’m not sure if it will work.” “Oh?” “Well…Q’Da, it’s just…” she sighed deeply, “Last time I rode sidesaddle, in skirts, do you remember? Friona threw me when my skirt fluttered by her head. I had bruises for weeks.” Yassin frowned, ruffling her hair fondly. “Aye, that is true. But what else could you do?” Mauri flicked a glanced toward Epona. “Well…” she smiled slightly, reaching up to clasp the loquiri’s hand. “Epona doesn’t ride sidesaddle. Or with skirts.” “Oh?” The loquiri smirked mildly. “Are you trying to wheedle something out of me, Mauri?” “Maybe.” She bit her lip, studying the ground, and then glanced up at him, eyes suddenly wide and even more doe-like. “Pleease, Yassi? Can’t I wear breeches just for riding?” He laughed and squeezed her shoulders. “I think you could melt even the hardest of men. You know that this is not my decision only, correct?” She toed at the floor and nodded dutifully. “I know, but I was thinking you could maybe help convince Da. You know how much safer it would be and lady Epona would be with me so nothing improper would happen.” He glanced at Epona again and she raised her hands. “I had nothing to do with this. I just…promised I’d come.” Mauri turned her large eyes on her and she sighed. “But I would be sure nothing improper happen. Or that a certain apprentice inquista’s attitude doesn’t rub off on her. We only go out into the desert.” “Pleease.” Yassin sighed and knelt down so he was eye to eye with the ri. “And you promise me you will only do this when riding? And only with Epona?” She nodded vigorously. He eyed her, muscles and limbs motionless as he spoke to his Match. After a long moment, he snickered silently to himself and stood. “You’re going to really get me into trouble one of these days Mauri.” “I can go then?” She smiled sweetly, letting hope shine in her face. Yassin chuckled again. “Aye, young on, but only when riding and,” he winced, “try not to say too much around your Ma.” < > When Lady Epona and one of Lord Kinyth's los came wandering into the stable, legs snugly revealed by two pairs of the breeches Shazi had lent the Eastar noblewoman, the apprentice Inquisita could not help but grin. "Well," she smirked, jumping off of the gate to one of the horse stalls. The mare was busily crunching Shazi's crisp red apple, and looked hopefully toward the two newcomers with pure equine entreaty. Shazi looked at them too, from head to toe. "Dare Dinah so wishes to be the inspiration for an entire wave of fashion in court, but lookey here! It seems I am having far more luck than she all the way in woodsy, remote Apollar." As Mauri blushed and pressed her legs together, arms crossed low as though to hide the fact she had abandoned her skirts, Epona merely rolled her eyes. "We'll be inspiring no new fashion here, for none will see us... Beyond those who must," she amended, as a stable-ra with a carefully neutral expression stepped forward with an armful of tack and slipped past Shazi into the stall to groom and saddle the mare. "Uh huh," Shazi said dryly, winking at the ra as she caught him staring appreciatively at her legs, and Lady Epona's. Mauri, she could not help but notice, had stuck out a hip hopefully the moment the ra had appeared, but she was yet without any but the slightest hint of woman's curves and the older ra paid her no mind. Shazi shook her head, then fixed Epona with a sly smile. "Well, I hate to break it to you... but Joshin's going to be here any moment now." "Kyda!" Epona snapped, then slapped a hand to her mouth as Mauri giggled. She jabbed a finger toward the ri. "Now, do not go letting your mouth get away from you as mine does! Your Ma and Da will never forgive me!" "And Yassin?" Mauri asked. Epona smiled slightly. "After what I saw today, I am sure he would forgive me any transgression if you but asked nicely." Shazi arched her eyebrows curiously. "Oh? Does little Mauri-more practice her tricks on poor Yassi?" The ri snorted delicately as Epona gaped from her to Shazi. It seemed the two knew one another already. "You did not teach me how to treat with my q'Da, Shazi. Yassi is just less stern than Ma or Da." "Kyda..." a new voice commented. The three women swiveled to look, greeting Joshin with mixed frowns, smirks and blushes. Then he pressed his hand to his lips much as Epona had done. "Ah... please, forgive my cursing mouth," he apologized, blushing. Shazi could not help it; she tilted her head back and laughed. Joshin glared at the apprentice Inquisita, and then smiled faintly at Epona, before dipping his head at his pupil. “Ah, I hope I am not disturbing an outing?” The Keeper said smoothly. “I was going to ride out, but I would not interfere with any plans of yours.” “Oh, tis fine, Joshin,” Epona said, smile playing over her lips. She cocked her head, brushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m sure we could all ride together if you would like. Do you mind, Mauri?” She glanced at the younger ri, who studied her face with faint curiosity. “I..um…” the Keeper began, interrupting her hurriedly. “Perhaps some other time. I would not like to be…inappropriate.” “For riding with me?” His eyes slid slowly to their breeches-clad legs, then up again hurriedly. “You are a married woman, Epona,” he said gently. “And I would not think Atjeh would be pleased.” Epona frowned, tossing her hair and jutting her chin upward stubbornly. “Did he care if I were pleased, by this errant Guildsman?” Joshin winced. “Epona…please.” The Eastar noblewoman bit her lip hard, quelling the tears that suddenly swelled into her eyes. Hadn’t Joshin agreed before? Had he not been in sympathy and understanding for the wrong Kinyth and Atjeh had done to her? Why was he acting this way? Mauri… Epona glanced at the young ri, taking note of her wide eyes and uncertain glances from one to the other. Gently, she rested a hand on the maiden’s shoulder and gave Joshin a slow, studying look. For the sake of his lord’s family perhaps. That had to be why he was changing his reactions. “If you insist, Joshin,” she said smoothly. “I do.” “You could ride with me, little Keeper,” Shazi said with a grin splitting her face. Joshin snorted and swiveled on his heel. “Oh? Come now, Joshin. I’m not that bad, am I?” He snorted again, louder. “Ky---ah, Shazi, tis not that. I have other duties to attend to, other than entertaining you. And you must watch over Epona and Mauri.” He flushed slightly as all three Maran women glared at him. “Simple precautions. One never knows what could happen out in the woods.” Shazi laughed. “Aye, the woods and their hidden pools can be a very dangerous place.” She grinned toothily at him. “But then the question becomes, little Joshin, what are you doing here in the stables? You’re not much of a rider yourself so I wonder what could have prompted this outing?” He colored slightly. “Nothing. I wanted some air.” “Or perhaps you have a lady waiting for you!” Shazi’s words made Epona’s heart sink to the pit of her stomach like a stone. Joshin, however, looked at the apprentice inquista sourly. “No, Shazi, nothing like that.” “Of course not, that’s not your style.” She tapped her chin, eyes twinkling. “What could have chased you from the house like a bird being rousted from his nest. Perhaps that is it? Was someone rousted?” Joshin colored again. “No! I was not rousted anywhere by anyone. I just wanted some air…” “That’s it!” Shazi practically crowed in delight. “Let’s see, who would have chased you out of a room. Ah, I know, that Guildsman, eh?” His color brightened. “He and Atjeh wanted to use my room for some research but that has…” “Oh yes, it does! Are you running away from him or just don’t want to be—“ Poor Joshin was looking more unhappy by the moment and Epona could take no more. “Leave him be, Shazi,” she said sternly. The Inquista looked at her in surprise. “What’s wrong? I’m just teasing him a bit.” “Well stop, it’s bothering him!” She rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. That’s the whole point.” Suddenly, she cocked her head and wiggled her brows. “But why does that bother you so much Epona?” Now she felt herself beginning to color. “It…I don’t like people being picked on.” “And is that why you are coloring like a maiden?” Joshin looked at her in confusion for a moment, before the realization of what Shazi was implying slowly sunk in. His eyes grew rounder and scarlet began to color his cheekbones. He met Epona’s eyes for a moment and promptly studied the floor. Epona’s face burned and she hastily turned to open the stable door. Grabbing the saddled horses’ halter, she pulled it out trying to not be too rough, and mounted. “Well,” she told the Inquista as proudly as she could through her flaming cheeks, “I am a maiden after all and I certainly couldn’t blush any other way, now could I?” Shazi chuckled but before she could make another remark, Epona tossed her head and nodded to Mauri. “Saddle up, Mauri, for I’m going to ride whether our apprentice Inquista is ready or not!” < > As the two noblewoman rode away from the stables, Shazi tugged on the lead rope of her gelding and flicked a glance at Joshin, who was watching Mauri and Epona’s departing back fixedly. “It stops now, Joshy,” she said firmly, mounting with fluid grace. The Keeper blinked, then swiveled his eyes to hers. “Would you stop using that snake’s tongue of yours? She is lonely and alienated enough, without your ripping on her.” “Stop flirting with her, Joshin,” Shazi said sternly. “I’m not!” “Can you not see it, little Joshin?” The apprentice Inquisita shook her head and adjusted her grip on her horse’s reins. “She has feelings for you, weak or strong is anyone’s guess.” She leaned forward, ignoring his spluttered protest. “You cannot build friendship with her, and yet show devotion to Andros. You know that will not work.” “It is not right, what Atjeh has done. She should know,” his head came up, eyes narrowing. “And if the lordling refuses, well, I at least can be a friend, a shoulder to lean on.” “For Atjeh’s safety, I hold the Guildsman in as much regard as the lordling and his family,” Shazi soothed her horse absently, waiting until Joshin’s gaze turned to her. “Epona is sweet and perhaps will become Atjeh’s wife in all things, when time has passed. But if not, then she will depart. Andros is an essential part of this household whether you and I like it or no.” She cleared her throat, eyes narrowing to thin slits. “Do not make me choose between you and Andros. You would not like my choice.” Before Joshin could form a coherent answer, Shazi kicked her heels into her horse and cantered after Epona and Mauri, not even bothering to look back as he swore after her. < > Joshin slipped into his study, frowning as he took in the scene before him. Twould have been a quaintly domestic scene—if Andros had been a Derk-ra. Atjeh was poring over his scrolls and notes, jotting down answers with one hand, and with the other stroking Andros’ hair. The Guildsman lay on his stomach next to him, resting his head in the lordling’s lap, sighing as contentedly as any Derk-ra whelp. As the door clicked closed behind the Keeper, Andros opened his eyes, glancing about the room before settling upon Joshin, and then narrowed mildly. But the Guild loquiri did not rise from his place. Instead, he shifted his gaze upward, voice almost petulant. “Jeh, send him away.” A smile twisted the lordling’s lips, but his eyes didn’t rise from his paper. Instead, he patted Andros’ head like an oversized hound. “Did you finish the work he left for you?” Andros scowled. “I am not a ra, Jeh.” Gently but firmly, Atjeh pushed the Guildsman away from him, ignoring his unhappy grumble. “Aye, but any man can learn something new.” “Jeh….” Now Atjeh’s head lifted from his work, smiling wanly at the quiet Joshin and inclining his head toward the Keeper’s writing desk, before focusing upon his loquiri. He rested hands on his shoulders, turning him to face where the Keeper had settled as Atjeh had suggested, composing a stern expression on his face. “Finish your work. I’d hate to sleep alone until you finish.” Color flared into Andros’ face. “You … that’s not fair!” “No, it isn’t.” Atjeh pointed sternly. “Go on.” The Guildsman positively scowled, casting Joshin a dark look, but balked no longer. Murmuring sullenly under his breath---Atjeh’s lip twitched slightly in a smile, earning a sharp glare his way---Andros stalked over to the desk, snatched the scroll Joshin was extending politely toward him with an annoyed snort, and trudged over to a cushion. The Keeper could not help but smile and shake his head as Andros flopped down onto the ground, situating himself with scroll open on the ground and chin propped in one hand, before casting his Match a sideways, hopeful glance. Atjeh chuckled, stepping briefly up to him and ruffling his hair before moving a neat step back… to his loquiri’s frown. “I too have lessons to complete.” He flicked an annoyed glance toward Joshin. “Figures, a bloody tedious multitude of figures.” “Repetition is the best way to learn mathematics, my lord,” Joshin said mildly. “If you cease thinking of them as chores, and instead look at them as… puzzles to be solved… perhaps twill be more enjoyable for you to complete them.” The ra did not look particularly convinced. “Cannot I solve four scrolls’ worth of puzzles, instead of six?” “Nay.” Almost pouting, Atjeh sighed and slouched down upon a cushion at Andros’ side, not quite touching the loquiri. Before long both had their heads bent in quiet study, Atjeh’s quill working furiously over his paper, Andros’ more slowly marking out reading notes on a spare scrap of scroll. Joshin breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Atjeh could at times be quite obstinate when he was determined not to apply himself to a task, but it seemed this day, at least, he had decided to be the good example to his less-than-cooperative loquiri. How an adult man no younger than Joshin himself could act so like a little brat of a ra was beyond the Keeper. Bloody Guildsman. When he was sure that the loquiri and Match were quite engrossed thoroughly enough in their tasks that they would not be disturbed, Joshin rose from his desk and rummaged about the bookcases. Andros had read quite quickly through the most recent book Epona had lent him---the whole household knew of their trades now, for the servants were quite taken aback by the quiet display of friendliness if not friendship---and the Eastar lady would undoubtedly be searching soon for something new to lend him. Joshin could not have cared less if the Guildsman was pleased with his reading, but he did very much want to encourage respect and cooperation between Andros and Epona. Surely if they came to like one another, twould be time to let Epona in on the secret of her husband’s “relationship” with the Guildsman? The Keeper scanned the titles, one finger running lovingly over the leather bindings, and at last pulled something from the shelf. Turning around, he made to return to his desk… and instead found himself face to face with Andros. “Kyda!” the Keeper snapped, and unlike earlier that day did not clasp a hand over his mouth. He did not particularly care what Andros thought of his cursing, and he had heard far worse come out of Atjeh. The Guildsman snorted and extended his scroll, neatly rolled once again. “I am done,” he said, a hint of petulance in his voice. Then his green eyes dropped to Joshin’s hands. “What do you have there?” Before Joshin could respond, the loquiri’s hand snapped out and plucked the book from the Keeper’s hands. Joshin sighed as Andros’ eyes scanned the title. “Tis a history of the major developments in Citadel life in the last two hundred yea---” “I see that,” Andros snapped, then began thumbing though the pages. “Is this my next assignment?” Joshin frowned. “Well… I thought perhaps…” I’d give it to Epona to give to you, he finished silently, trailing off as the Guildsman found a chapter that brought an interested light to his green eyes. Arching a brow, the Keeper tilted his head to read the title. Lune-Crafting As A Spiritual Discipline: The daily testimony of a Shepherd of Riv Sect. “Aye,” he muttered. “Aye, it is.” Andros fixed him with a frown. “You’ve read this?” “Aye,” Joshin murmured. The Guildsman snorted. “Such is not for the likes of you, low-Gifted as you are. But there are duller things to read, certainly.” Shrugging, he shook his head and stalked away back to his cushion. “I suppose you want it by the end of the point?” He did not wait for the Keeper to respond before burying his nose in the book. Joshin smiled slightly to himself. Epona would just have to find her own book to lend the Guildsman; he was certain she could do so with little difficultly, intelligent as she was. For his part… he wondered how he might entice the Guildsman to begin reading some loquiri writings. Kyda knew the man undoubtedly had much to learn of his bent. < > < > Sister, Life isn’t too bad here I suppose. Don’t get me wrong, I miss you all terribly, every day and if I could leave tomorrow I would, but I cannot of course and so I must make due. My supposed husband’s sisters are very kind, although the youngest is a bid chatty, and the eldest is good company for riding. I am able to do things here that I know you wouldn’t approve of, sister, but I honestly and truly do not care. It is very freeing in a way— Epona nibbled on the tip of her quill. How much more should she tell her sister? Anisa couldn’t do much but scold through a letter this far away, and she knew some of her actions would be curtailed, well, as much as possible anyways, when she returned. Should I flaunt what I have, or hide it? Tucked in her nook, almost hidden by her plants, and with the midmorning sun slanting gently through the skylight, she was feeling almost relaxed enough to put quill to paper and tell Anisa everything, every pair of breeches she had worn, every rule she had broken. She put the nib of her quill in the ink and, just as she was about to put it to paper, heard footsteps in the corridor. Andros and Atjeh were coming through the corridor, heads close as if they were whispering or even arguing about something. Epona held still. She had only seen her husband at meal times and barely spoken to him since the fateful night two months ago. And she would prefer to keep it that way, not out of spite but it made things…simpler. “…don’t want to tell Grayes,” Andros was hissing. “Andy, we should. Everyone else knows.” “So?” “So,” he rolled his eyes, “think about it. He’s bound to find out. If we tell him he won’t get so angry. He’s already been pretty rough with you.” Epona frowned as she eyed them from beneath the wide, spreading leaves. Tell Grayes what? What does everyone else know? That they’re lovers? Surely that’s hardly a secret. Carefully, she laid her quill down on the parchment. Andros nibbled his lip. “I don’t know why. I’ve been nice enough to him. I’ve been nice enough to all of them, even Joshin.” Atjeh snorted. “You have not been nice to Joshin.” Andros straightened his shoulders, pausing in the middle of the hall, crossing his arms at his lover. “I am as nice to him as I can manage to be. He has…tainted…blood,” the Guildsman grimaced, “And he’s Gifted too. Tis enough to turn my stomach.” The lordling sighed, ruffling his lover’s hair fondly and then nudging his shoulder to have him continue moving. “You’re impossible, Andy.” A pleased smile spread over the Guildsman’s face. “And we’re still telling Grayes.” The smile vanished, replaced by a sullen scowl. “Jeh…” “Come along,” Atjeh said smoothly, “Harr has been bothering me for months to have you under his tender tutelage.” As Andros blanched, paling slightly, Atjeh simply chuckled, catching his hand and leading him on down the hall and toward the stairway leading to the outside. Epona frowned at their retreating backs. There was something…she was missing something. It felt somehow important, like a clue to so much odd behavior. But she could make no sense of it. With a sigh, she gathered up her writing things, shifting the newest book for the Guildsman in her grip. She dearly hoped Ghost of a Rose: Study of Herbs And Their Affects would not offend him, written by a loquiri as it was—to detail the different reactions of Bonded loquiri and unbonded to various herbs, even the Drommah, fascinating as that was—but Andros was of the Riv sect. So far as she had heard in court gossip, Riv was the mildest version of the Guild though…clearly, he had a distaste for “tainted” blood, such as Joshin carried. Twas no fault of the Keeper that he was that way. Epona frowned and pushed aside the sudden, angry hurt at the Guildsman’s distaste toward Joshin. He did have a right to his opinion. Twas not like it mattered to her whether Andros and Joshin liked one another, whether she gave books to one or spent time with the other. < > Andros and Atjeh sat back to back in the midst of the sparring circle, with Harr looming over the Guildsman. Though the Inquisita had made not one threatening move, as yet, the pair-link sizzled with unease every time his dark eyes landed on either of them. The word “Inquisita” sent shivers of fear through Andros already, and the man fairly emanated danger, aggressiveness. Nor did it help that he had shitans displayed in clear view upon his hips. Unlike Shazi—who no longer set off his bond, oddly enough; Andros was very curious about that—the touching of the hilts made the pair-link tighten almost painfully. Harr was not slender, nor burly, but a mixture of both. He moved with the litheness of a sand-cat, but with the sense of strength—like a Derk-ra, crested male. His dark hair was pulled taut into a short tail, making him appear even more severe, along with his desert-darkened skin. The blademaster tattoo on his forearm did not ease Andros’ nervousness. The Inquisita frowned at him mildly, then crooked a finger. “Come here, Andros.” The Guildsman stood to his feet, dropping his head in deference, memories of Taniz and other older men’s quick temper and faster fists eliciting the automatic response. He trembled slightly as Harr cupped his chin, bringing his head up. “Easy, ra,” the man muttered. “I am not hurting you, nor your Match.” His hand ruffled Andros’ hair, running down his shoulders, down his arms, patting his back. The Guildsman tensed, shuddering anew. “Shh,” Harr said softly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I mean you no harm at all.” Atjeh, swiveling from his place on the floor, murmured quietly, “What are you doing, Harr? His Sian…” The Inquisita sighed. “If I am to be able to train him at all, his pair-link needs to accept me as a non-threat. Touching helps, usually.” “Train him?” Harr smiled. Andros cringed before that smirk. Dropping the look, the Inquisita ruffled his hair again. “You’ve never held a shitan in your life, aye?” Andros flushed crimson. Atjeh’s mouth gaped, and he glanced in confusion from the Inquisita to his loquiri. “Never, Andy?” “Most Guildsmen do not use weapons,” Harr responded, “Especially not the milder Riv and Phassi sects. They prefer the Gift. Geno and Gid and Purist use shitans and such, but still rather rarely. They feel it..lacks finesse, as I understand it.” Andros’ eyes grew wide and round. “H-how do you…?” Harr grinned. “I am an Inquisita, ra. And had to study on Guildsmen to know what to expect, when Atjeh brought home one as a lover.” “But….there are…how could you possibly…” “I have my ways,” the man’s smirk broadened, and he turned Andros by the shoulders, facing away from him. He traced a line from the base of his neck to down his spine. The pair-link shivered, but did not tighten as painfully as it had before. “Ah,” Harr said, pleased satisfaction in his voice. “It’s adjusting?” “A..a little.” The bond suddenly constricted, tight as an iron band about his chest, while in his ears, there was a shrill, keening thrum that sent prickling aches through his muscles. “Wh-what did you do?” Andros hissed. “Kyda…” Atjeh muttered. “The bond can pick up on that?” “Aye,” the Inquisita mumbled. “Never distrust a loquiri’s instincts. If he feels uneasy, tis likely something wrong.” The Guildsman clenched his teeth, shuddering as the keening grew louder, than faded, then grew loud again. “Stop it! Whatever you’re doing…stop!” Harr chuckled quietly. “I’ve done this with Yassin before. Don’t tense and your link will adapt.” “How can I not tense when I do not even know what you are---“ Andros began through gritted teeth, before jerking and turning half about as the link tightened painfully again. Harr rested a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing him to remain facing away. “Hush. It helps the link adapt, if you do not watch but only feel.” He rubbed his shoulder blade soothingly, until the loquiri stopped jumping and twitching at the light contact. Then he stepped away, and that strange tightness rose again in Andros’ chest a moment before Harr began speaking anew. “Tis like… having someone clap before your eyes. You flinch if you see it coming, even sometimes when the clap does not come, aye? But if you close your eyes, and only hear the sound, you’ll be a little calmer. Tis like that.” “You are clapping behind my back?” Andros snapped, but the Inquisita was right; whatever twas that Harr was doing, the discomfort of it was growing less and less. “Nay,” the Inquisita said softly. “I am sheathing and unsheathing my shitan, nothing more.” “Kyda,” a new voice snorted loudly, “this is the bloody oddest training session I’ve seen yet. What are you doing, Da?” Andros jumped in surprise, swiveling around before Harr could stop him this time and taking two long strides toward his Match before he had truly even registered twas Grayes speaking. The burly young warrior rolled his shoulders, then crossed one arm over his chest in a lazy stretch and grinned at Atjeh. “I’d wondered when you would deign to return to the sparring circle.” Harr cleared his throat smoothly. “Ah… nay, ra. The young lord is not quite ready yet, I am afraid. That shoulder of his needs a bit longer to heal.” Andros and Atjeh frowned at one another. My shoulder? the ra asked. Just go along with it, Andros sighed. But rather than obey, the youngling simply took a deep breath and turned toward his friend. “Tis not my shoulder that keeps me from sparring, Grayes,” he said, as Andros groaned. Harr’s face was an interesting mix of hesitance and approval. “Atjeh…” “Tis best for those closest to me to know, aye?” The lordling said, in a tone that Harr knew rather well; Kinyth spoke that way, when the decision was made already in his mind, but he wished to be polite enough to include Harr, or anyone else, in the conversation. “Aye,” the Inquisita agreed, smile twitching the edge of his lip. “They should know.” Andros glared at him, and then averted his gaze hurriedly. Harr frowned, but allowed the matter to drop. He was aware that the Guild did not coddle their younglings, certainly, but Andros’ almost cowering reactions were still rather odd. Grayes arched his brow, glancing from his Da to his friend, and then narrowing his eyes sternly at Andros. “I am quite tired of the bloody secrecy and careful treading around this Guildsman, just because you decided to take him into your bed,” he growled. Atjeh flinched and held out his hands entreatingly. “Grayes….” “And now he’s taken Shazi into his bed.” The blademaster’s son crossed his arms sullenly, staring Atjeh down. “Tell me what you must, so I know how best to avoid offending your precious lover.” Harr arched a brow at the definite venom Grayes’ tone. And the news of his apprentice Inquisita’s latest indiscretion. And, more importantly, that his nu seemed to care a great deal about what Shazi had done. The Inquisita stepped past Andros, one hand lightly tapping the Guildsman’s shoulder as he moved—startling him would be unwise—before reaching out to rest a soothing hand on his nu’s shoulder. “Grayes, be at peace.” His nu’s eyes narrowed and he jerked away from his Da’s grasp. Atjeh sighed and rested a hand firmly on the small of Andros’ back, nudging him toward the grouchy youngling. “Andros is not my lover, Grayes,” Atjeh said quietly. Surprise painted the blademaster’s son’s face, and then darkened once more. “You’ve shared a bed. The servants have seen you.” He shook his head sternly. “Do not bother denying it,” he growled. “I won’t.” Atjeh ruffled Andros’ hair soothingly as the Guildsman bristled at Grayes’ tone. “We’ve slept in the same room, the same bed, aye. But not as lovers. Anymore than Yassin and Kinyth do.” He arched his brows expectantly. Grayes’ mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. “You…but that…that’s impossible!” He swallowed hard. “You’re a Guildsman. He can’t be a…a…” “Loquiri?” Andros’ mouth curled in a self-deprecating smile. “Oh aye, I certainly am.” “But then….Kyda…” Grayes’ gaze snapped to Harr. “Why in Kyda’s holy name were you waving a shitan near him? Did you want him to frenzy and hurt you, Da?” The Inquisita chuckled. “My…I should have asked you for advice first, eh?” As his nu blushed, Harr shook his head. “The pair-link is quite an amazing thing. I see Joshin has not reached that point in his lessons with you, Grayes? No. I didn’t think as yet.” He reached out, patting Andros’ head absently and nudging the loquiri away from both lordling and nu. “You see,” he said smoothly, turning Andros from facing him even as the Guildsman balked with a muttered curse. “It is a living thing—in a way. The bond, at least within a loquiri, responds to refined loquiri instincts. Such as the intent to harm, or a naked blade…” Harr unsheathed his shitan; Andros shivered, but did not react beyond that. The Inquisita smiled in a pleased way and took a step back. “It will also adjust to the fact that certain people are of no threat at all. Especially close relatives, by blood or by marriage. You can hug your Da, Atjeh, aye? Without Yassin growling at you?” As the lordling nodded, Harr stepped in front of the Guildsman, blade still unsheathed. Andros’ eyes widened at the sight of the steel, but save a quick inhale of breath, did not move. Instead, there was a bright light of curious interest in his eyes. “So…if a loquiri should…um…” Andros’ cheeks began to take on a rosy hue. “If a woman…” Harr guffawed and sheathed his shitan neatly. “I am not the one to ask, Andros. I know of loquiri somewhat, and Yassin has given me some guidance. But if you really wish to know more, twould be Joshin you’d best be asking. Or find some books on it.” Andros’ face darkened, and every bit of interest vanished. “Aye, sar,” he said smoothly, and then bit his lip pensively, studying his Match. “Are you…going to be sparring with him, then?” “No.” Harr slipped shitans free, tossing them outside the circle, and grinning as Grayes smirked, knowing quite well what was coming. “Twill just be you and I.” “I?” Andros’ brows arched into his hair. “But…” “Do you know many Fundamentals?” Harr asked. “Um…a few,” Andros shrugged, “We studied them, in a book. I can recite them, of course. Memorized the list.” “Ah…” there was a volume of understanding and displeasure in the Inquisita’s tone. “Twill be a light, unarmed spar, alright, ra?” His mouth twisted into a grin that was more of a smirk. “No worries.” < > With Grayes at his side, pestering him with all sorts of questions about when he had bonded, what it was like, and a multitude of things even Atjeh did not quite understand, the lordling did his best to ignore his loquiri’s quiet, mental grumbles. And his not-so-quiet yelps of pain as he plowed into the sand, or jerked beneath Harr’s Offered Bowl in his belly. The Guildsman would likely have bruises by the end of the session. “So…” Grayes shifted uneasily. “You can feel his feelings, right?” Atjeh winced as Andros was flipped over the Inquisita’s hip. “Aye. He’s…” “Not right now,” the youngling said quickly, “But um…with Shazi…he doesn’t have…have feelings for her, right? Like…um…does he like her?” Atjeh blinked, and then swiveled to face Grayes. “What?” His mouth curled into a wry grin. “Oh. I see,” he nodded indulgently. His friend colored. “I…it’s not….” “She is rather pretty, in her own way, aye?” Atjeh smirked as his friend’s color darkened, creeping into his ears. "Nay," Grayes snapped immediately, and far too quickly. "You are mad. She is not pretty." But his burning cheeks told quite a different story, and Atjeh, of course, told him so. "Good!" Harr shouted approvingly, distracting them briefly from their conversation. "Use that loquiri speed, Andros." Atjeh cringed, but there was nobody nearby to hear, as Harr likely well knew. "What? To fall... ground... more quickly?" Andros huffed breathlessly from his place at the blademaster-Inquisita's feet. Harr merely gestured with two fingers for the Guildsman to rise again. "On your feet, ra. Let us try that again, shall we? I've much to teach you, but you must learn to at least fall properly first." "Triad," the loquiri wheezed, standing now but bending at the waist, hands on knees. "A moment... please..." Harr's eyes narrowed the most infinitesimal bit, a slight twitch more than anything else. Twas the only warning Andros had. As Grayes' groaned, "Oh Kyda," scrambling hastily away from his friend, Harr surged forward, springing past a surprised Andros and bearing down upon Atjeh. Before the ra even had time to gape or widen his eyes, Harr was upon him, grasping him roughly by the front of the tunic and hauling him to his feet. Andros hissed, tensing, but could do naught else to respond to the shrieking pair-link before he collapsed to the ground, borne down by Atjeh's weight as Harr tossed the ra into his loquiri. They landed with surprised expulsions of air, elbows and hips banging the ground and one another painfully. "If I were an assassin, you would not have the time to catch your breath or take a break. Atjeh would be dead," Harr growled, arms crossing comfortably over his chest as the panicked loquiri reached for his grumbling Match. "Lesson over." < > Epona found Joshin in the great study, beneath a Settar-made time piece that chimed the hour. His legs were crossed on a cushion too large for him and, on the small table before him, sat a silver teapot and a small silver cup. He had just finished pouring and steam was rising from the cup, filling the room with the faint scent of jasmine and she cleared her throat. He looked up and she felt suddenly shy, even though she tried not to, and his smile was welcoming, tinged with nervousness. “La…Epona? It’s not time for lessons and I thought we already discussed the relationships of the Aquila and Dragonian language.” She nodded and hugged the book to her chest. “Aye, well as best we can what with…” “..the gaps in history of course. If you have more interest in that, well, you’ll have to have a discussion with a proper bard.” “Oh aye, aye.” She hesitated again and approached, kneeling lightly at his table as she slipped the book for Andros on the top of it. “I really hate to ask this of you but, if you see the Guildsman, would you give this to him for me?” The Keeper’s smile tightened slightly, but when he caught a look at the title he chuckled to himself. “Oh aye, I shall.” “Good and…you don’t mind?” He glanced up at her with his pale, pale eyes. “No…why do you ask?” She sighed. “I heard Andros talking. I heard what he called you,” she frowned and crossed her arms. “I don’t like it.” Joshin’s head dropped and she knew she didn’t need to explain further. It meant that he had called Joshin that to his face and while she had told herself before she didn’t care, she still felt anger. “Lady Epona…perhaps. It’s not appropriate…It’s nothing really, I assure you.” “It is to me!” She huffed. “Whatever our relationship may be, he has no right to address you like that. He is no master here. And Atjeh allows it, which is the worst of all. If he won’t say something, then I will. I still hold some rank in this house and I might as well use it.” The Keeper’s eyes went wide. “Lady Epona, no. Please, don’t start an argument on my behalf. He’s Atjeh’s responsibility and he is the lord here…you don’t want to…” “He doesn’t care two dried figs for me so what do I care what he thinks?” she interrupted and Epona found herself realizing that she actually meant it. How different from months ago when I defended his name in the palace at Ratacca Korr. She felt a small twinge in her heart. Is it because I wish he was still mine, or because I begrudge him all the times I wasted thinking about him, defending him, almost idolizing him? Kyda what a fool I was. “Ah, Epona?” She started. “Forgive me, Joshin. I was just…thinking.” It was obvious he guessed what she was thinking about, or rather who, and she angrily flicked at a mote of dust on the rug. Like she had told Mauri, she didn’t want pity. She didn’t know what she wanted but she didn’t want to be reminded of everything she once thought. “It is alright, Epona. I will be glad to give him the book for you…” he trailed off as his eyes, along with hers, went toward the open door as the sound of footsteps and voices echoed through the corridor. “Or perhaps you can give it to him yourself? Actually it might be better that way…” Epona didn’t hear the last as she rose to her feet, skirts settling about her as she crossed her arms. The two came in side-by-side. The Guildsman was scowling, rubbing an elbow, hair covered in dust. Atjeh didn’t look much better. The maids would have a good time cleaning their garments. Atjeh saw her first and halted, clearly looking for something to say. Not interested, she laid her heavy, hazel eyes on Andros. The Guildsman looked sharply at his lover, and then suddenly and sharply at her and she pointed to the book on Joshin’s little table. “I brought a book for you,” she said. “I returned your last one already and I thank you for that. But,” her jaw hardened, “I will not continue to loan books of mine to someone who calls good Joshin such horrible things. Tainted indeed. That cruel! And how dare you,” she frowned at Atjeh, “allow him to do it.” “I…Epona…he’s just…tis only that—“ Andros took a step forward, eyes narrowing at her in quiet annoyance. His stride placed him firmly between the lordling and the frustrated lady. He flicked one quick glare at Joshin, and then continued to frown at her. “Tis not cruel and horrible if it is the truth.” “Tainted? Because of what?” Andros sighed with the air of someone teaching an incredibly naïve pupil. “Somewhere in his line—perhaps a grandfather, perhaps an uncle, perhaps a grandfather, was foolish enough to bed an Eloin, or maybe an Aquila. Tis no matter.” He waved a hand at Joshin. “His blood is mixed blood. Hybrid blood. And with his Gifting…” The Guildsman’s face twisted in an expression of disgust. “What fault is it of his, that his ancestors should have mingled blood?” Epona took a step toward him. Atjeh shook his head firmly behind his lover’s shoulder, but she ignored the look and took a step closer, aware of frustrated anger building within her. “I could treat you with such foul things too, for no fault of your own.” “Me?” Andros’ eyes narrowed into thin slits. His body tensed, voice softening into quiet menace. “There is nothing the matter with my bloodline.” “Depends. I think Guild-lines are tainted. Does that make you impure? Someone to be insulted or treated as worthless, for an indiscretion of your family?” The Guildsman bit his lip. His eyes slid away from her briefly, almost thoughtfully, and then he focused on her and gave an unconcerned shrug. “I am a high Gifted Maran, of a line of high Gifted, with all the training that can be given. And am proud of that fact,” Andros rubbed his wrist absently. “Joshin is Hybrid. Nothing more.” Epona leaned closer into his face. Andros growled something under his breath, stepping back and planting a hand against Atjeh’s shoulder. “Well…” she snapped, “Then you will have no more books from me. Not until you beg Joshin’s forgiveness and cease calling him such cruel and vile things.” She heard Joshin’s spluttering protest, but ignored the Keeper’s response. Twas her right to help who she would, and certainly not fair to allow the Guildsman to do as he pleased. Even if Atjeh was too cowardly to stop him. Her eyes flew to Atjeh, pinning him sternly. The lordling grimaced, holding up his hands as she glared at him. “Epona…please, if you would just listen for a moment. Andy is still…the two of them simply must argue, you see. Because…well…” “Oh, be silent!” Epona snapped, tucking her book beneath her arm. “You always make excuses for him. Perhaps if he were nicer to other people, and didn’t hole up in his room with you or hours in that precious study of his, then maybe everyone would like him better. And instead you let him push you around.” The lady took a deep breath, aware her mouth had run away with her. She could almost hear Anisa’s scolding voice. Epona tossed her hair behind her shoulder. So what if Anisa did not approve? Nothing mattered as much so long as she remained here in this Xraj. With a shrug of her shoulder, the lady stalked out of the room, new book in hand. When Andros deigned to beg forgiveness of Joshin, then she would loan him books again. But not until then. < > Jeh... you cannot be serious. Aye, I am. The ra pulled slightly away from his loquiri, inwardly frowning at Andros but outwardly doing his best to look pensive as Joshin asked him his next question. Twas a week after Epona had made her pronouncement, and they sat again in the Keeper’s study, this time upon cushions situated facing Joshin’s desk. The loquiri was just beginning to feel chastened, after the book he had tentatively tried to send Epona that morn---hoping she had gotten over her anger or forgotten---had been returned to him immediately with a note asking him if he had apologized to Joshin yet. He had been left feeling guilty, and that of course annoyed him. But the Bond singing with warm closeness helped somewhat. Now that he and Atjeh knew they did not have to hide the pair-link around Joshin, twas quite nice---freeing---to lock the door to the library and take their dreamstones off for a point or two during lessons. If only Atjeh would not keep insisting that Andros apologize… Jeh, Andros growled, he's a bloody---tithe. Blinking, the youngling cast him a sideways glance. He's a tithe? he asked, a slight smile breaking across his face. Andros snorted inwardly. Nay. Tithe is the answer to the ael kinth's question. Kyda! The ra's eyes were slightly wide as he turned back to the Keeper, his voice a trifle too quick as he blurted out, "Tithe!" "Aye," Joshin said quietly, smiling. "I was not sure you would get that one. And now, what manner of relationship exists between the price placed upon a good and the number of folk who are willing to purchase it for that price?" Inverse. I will not apologize to him. "Inverse," Atjeh said. The Keeper nodded, well pleased. "Very good. You studied well last night, I see." The ra beamed as sincerely as though he had in fact studied. "I am ready for your next question, Sair." Aye, you will, Andy, he told his loquiri as Joshin droned on. Epona is angry at us enough already. I will not have her upset at us over something we can control for once. So apologize. Nay. Jeh... "Atjeh?" Opportunity cost. "Ah... opportunity cost," the ra recited obediently. This time, however, Joshin's eyes were ever-so-slightly narrowed. "My... you did study hard, didn't you?" Atjeh frowned in confusion. "Aye... Why?" The Keeper tapped one finger against his desk pensively for a moment. "Well, we did not cover any material about opportunity cost yesterday. Tis impressive that you knew that answer... but less so since neither you, nor your loquiri, are wearing your dreamstones." |
< > Atjeh and Andros alike flushed crimson. Joshin bit his lip, clearly trying to keep his stern expression, but lost it in a flood of laughter. After a few marks, as he caught his breath and wiped a hand at his tearing eyes, the Keeper circled around his desk and stood in front of them both, crossing his arms. “Kyda…sometimes I truly do not know what to do with you. With either of you.” “If you would not insist on these bloody lessons, then—“ Andros began, only to quiet with a quick glare at his Match. Atjeh snickered. Joshin arched a brow. “Am I missing something?” Both lordling and loquiri shook their heads, flicking quick, annoyed glares at one another, but without true malice. Joshin sighed and rested a hand atop each head. Andros tensed slightly, but didn’t jerk away. The Keeper cleared his throat, sternness tightening his tone. “Being able to not wear your dreamstones is a privilege. If you two cannot deign from…being distracted, or sharing answers, then I will ask Kinyth to revoke that privilege.” He looked into each set of eyes—emerald-green and silt-brown—and was pleased to see them both study the ground. “Do you understand?” “Aye,” Atjeh grumbled. And then elbowed his loquiri in the ribs. Andros grunted, but nodded hurriedly. Both of them were quite aware that Kinyth would back Joshin up on something such as that. “Alright then,” Joshin stepped away, plucking a bound book and rolled-up scroll from his desk. “Here are some more figures for you, Atjeh. You need to correct those first ten. You did them wrong.” Atjeh scowled morosely at the numbers. Andros looked even less pleased as Joshin set his assigned reading before him. “Harr asked that you read over this.” The Keeper bit his lip to keep his smile from breaking free. “He also said to let you know he’d test you on the first chapter tomorrow. And if he were not satisfied, to expect an extra hour in the sparring circle.” The loquiri cringed, taking the book on Weaponry: Strengths and Weaknesses as if it were a list of vile potions. “Kyda…” he grumbled. Joshin allowed them both to work on their respective projects for fifteen marks, before pausing to give them both a lecture on the houses of Apollar, heraldry, and a general overview of the land-holdings that each held. Andros winced at the first mention of Gyas’ name, but besides cuddling a little closer to his Match, did not interrupt the session. Satisfied with the close of today’s lesson, Joshin dismissed them both. “Don’t forget that book, Andros,” he said, “And finish those figures tonight, ” Atjeh. “Not early tomorrow morning, right before our lesson….” The lordling scrubbed a hand at his cheeks, disguising the slow blush, and nodded. He flicked a stern glance at his loquiri and then motioned with his eyes toward Joshin. “Andy?” Andros scowled. “I said no,” he mumbled petulantly. “You are too bloody stubborn!” Atjeh snapped. “Just say it and be done with it. Aye?” “Nay,” Andros growled, his entire face red now, to the very tips of his ears. “I’ve lessons to complete for the morrow,” he added, casting a glare at the Keeper. It had the strong feel of an excuse. Joshin arched an eyebrow, waiting as the loquiri began to walk away toward the door. But then the man paused, biting his lip and casting a glance over his shoulder. Atjeh still sat upon his cushion, legs folded beneath him and clearly not intending to leave. He glanced calmly at his loquiri. A scowl briefly flashed over the Guildsman’s face, which reddened slightly more. Dropping his head, he mumbled something to the floor, earning an eye roll from his exasperated Match and a confused frown from Joshin. “Pardon?” the Keeper asked. “I said …” Andros began, then took a deep breath and met Joshin’s eyes. “I am sorry.” The Keeper could not help but notice, however, that the Guildsman’s hand dropped to the wrist of his other arm, rubbing at the Eye there with a wince. Joshin’s Ma had written of that , as well. “I only want to hear your apology if you are sincere about it, sar,” Joshin said softly. Eyes flashing an annoyed green, Andros’ gaze darted to his Match. “Triad! What more do you want of me?” He gritted his teeth, glaring from Atjeh to Joshin. “He is a Hybrid . Tis not my fault that his Gift is tainted, and I do not see why I must pretend otherwise. I know I should not have said anything about it, that I should have just kept my thoughts to myself, but… Kyda…” Joshin frowned pensively. “Andros… I too have my… feelings… about Guildsmen. I believe there are far, far better things you can---should---devote your life to, than an organization such as that. But I am trying to separate who you are from what you do, aye? I may not respect Guildsmen, but I do respect you .” His eyes narrowed. “Or would like to, if you would but give me a reason to do so.” “I…ah….” Andros swallowed hard and glanced aside, before crossing his arms. “I do not care if you respect me or no—ow!” He bit his lip hard, fingers wrapping about his wrist. Joshin sighed. “Andros…sar, it is not like I had a choice in who my parents would be, any more than you chose to be born to a Guild family.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Or to be born loquiri.” The Guildsman flicked his gaze away and sighed, before raking his fingers through his hair. “I…I suppose that is true.” “You know it is,” Atjeh said sternly. “Why must you insist on this?” Andros’ shoulders drooped and he studied the ground. Eyes downcast, he scuffed at the ground with the toe of his shoe. “It is hard…earning respect from you or anyone. Not expecting it simply because I am Guild. And it’s…everything that I’ve ever known or learned or been taught…” He peeked a glance up at Joshin, “You’re….the epitome of all that is despised among us. A Gifted ael kinth…one who has snooped into the deeper secrets of the Guild, in a position of authority among a lord’s household.” He sighed deeply. “I don’t know who is right.” Joshin reached out, resting a comforting and sympathetic hand on his shoulder. Andros glanced up at him, pensive expression painted across his face. The Keeper smiled warmly, and was pleased to see Andros return the look mildly. “Perhaps I have not been the easiest to get along with, aye?” The Guildsman shrugged. “Perhaps.” He folded his hands and worried at his lip. “I…You’ve done…helped me, even when…taught me and…and I…” Andros swallowed once, eyes downcast once more. “I’m sorry, Joshin. Tis wrong of me, to say such things. You had no control certainly, and even if you did….if the Guild were wrong about the loquiri bent—“ The Keeper chuckled and, suddenly reminded of a penitent ra by the Guildsman’s stammering explanations, pulled Andros into a one-armed embrace. “Apology accepted, sar.” < > By the time Andros returned from his sparring session with Grayes—in which he had been pummeled into the ground once more, been scolded on his mistakes regarding the difference between shitan and dagger—the Guildsman was surprised to find a neat pile of books awaiting him in the suite that he shared with Atjeh. A parchment had his name scrawled in familiar, feminine script, along with a quietly grateful and pleased note from the Lady Epona. The loquiri’s aches and bruises faded in his mind as he plucked up the welcome distraction and curled upon the nearest cushion with his latest treasure. Carefully-drawn herbs and flowers, petals and roots, graced the pages, along with detailed descriptions of affects, symptoms if they were poisonous or useful for medicinal purposes, and even an idea of possible places for them to be found. Twas very interesting. Andros was utterly absorbed in his reading, until the page on somna passed beneath his fingers. More importantly, the side note from the author regarding a slight difference in its affects when it came to pair-links. He spoke as if with personal experience… The Guildsman frowned, tucking a finger to hold his place, and flipped back to the first page of the book, and the brief foreword by the writer of the manuscript. The loquiri writer. His eyes widened. “Kyda!” Joshin. It had to be Joshin. He slammed the book shut and tossed it back on the table. Andy…? Concerned colored the pair link. Nothing Jeh. It’s just that bloody Keeper who… But it was Epona who brought him the books. They were Epona’s books, not Joshin’s. He felt his cheeks color lightly. Andy? Nothing Jeh. I was…being hasty. Atjeh’s mind turned away, focusing on something else, Lord Kinyth most likely and Andros frowned at the book. Was this some sort of sign by Lady Epona that she knew? Or guessed? He touched the book with a finger tip. It’s leather binding yielded gently to his touch, showing care and effort went into its upkeep. No, he doubted Epona would do such a thing, and he doubted even more that she even guessed he and Atjeh were loquiri and Match. But now this book, this loquiri book. Distaste roiled in his belly but he couldn’t help wondering what lay on the next page. Idly he flipped the cover open. It was beautifully done, with lots of time and effort going into each quill-stroke. The man, despite being a loquiri, knew what he was talking about. Or at least sounded like he did. < > Three sharp taps upon his door drew Yassin away from his easel, though not happily. He had just finished dotting the pine needles with white, but had not yet decided whether or not the color of the snow was quite right. Sighing heavily, he stepped away from his landscape, and wiping the smears of paint upon his left hand absently upon the smock he wore over his tunic and the tops of his breeches, strode to the door. As he was reaching for the door, Kinyth's mind unfolded momentarily within his, with Nora's soft encouragements in the background, and then before the loquiri could even grimace, his Match was gone again, blessedly keeping his activities concealed once again behind a wall of interference. "Andros," Yassin murmured, rubbing at his burning cheeks. Bloody Kinyth. The Guildsman blinked, apparently mildly surprised by the other loquiri's appearance. Then his eyes narrowed, and clearing his throat, he thrust a book toward Yassin. "Explain this, loquiri." The ra's expression was apologetic, and Yassin smiled slightly. Aye, there might be servants about, to overhear their conversation. "What is this?" he asked, taking the book and tilting it sideways to read the words printed upon the binding. Twas not a title he recognized, although the author... "A book. Written by a loquiri . Lady Epona gave it to me." Athough his tone was annoyed, Andros' green eyes were bright with curiosity. " Please tell me tis not true that you poison yourselves---" A couple passing servants frowned at the Guildsman's back at his disrespectful tone, but said naught. Yassin held up a hand to stall Andros' question, and stepped slightly aside to give him room to enter. "I will answer any questions you might have, Guildsman, but if you intend to lecture me ra, you had best go on your way." "I would not even bother lecturing such as you. Twould not benefit you." The loquiri sighed. "Come in, Andros. What is it that bothers you about the book?" As the youngling stepped into Yassin’s suite, the older loquiri smoothly closed the door and guided the Guildsman with a gentle hand on his elbow to the nearest cushions. Andros settled, somewhat, his eyes darting in barely subdued curiosity around the small chamber. Yassin chuckled and reached out, wrapping an arm around the young loquiri’s shoulders and pulling him against his side in a light, gentle embrace. The ra had been ill-handled all his life; he deserved some tender care. Andros tensed at the touch, even though Yassin had ensured it was not a restraining grasp, but then the ra slowly relaxed. “This…this is all…er, this is your room?” the younger man murmured. The older loquiri smiled faintly and ruffled his hair, grin broadening as Andros leaned slightly into him. “Aye. By choice. I do not need much space here, just a little bed, a place for a hobby or two. I do not spend much time here. Usually when Kinyth is with Nora.” Andros flicked him a confused glance from the edge of his eyes. Yassin chuckled. “Ra…how much time do you spend in your room? Compared to what….points upon points in Atjeh’s room, aye?” At the slow red rising in the youngling’s cheeks, Yassin smirked in triumph. Andros looked away hurriedly. “I…um…” his eyes landed upon the canvas then, and widened slightly. “That’s…is that yours?” “Aye.” “You’re very good.” Yassin chuckled and slipped out of his smock, folding it neatly and setting it aside. “I’ve an eye for detail, somewhat. The rest comes from practice to escape boredom. When I Bonded Kinyth, he was two years younger than Atjeh. And always in lessons.” He patted Andros’ shoulder lightly. “Twas an easy way to keep myself busy until he could come back. Though…” the older loquiri cupped his chin in one hand, holding the ra’s emerald gaze. “You did not come to me to study my paintings, aye?” “No.” He tried to pull his head away, but Yassin did not loosen his grip immediately. Instead, he lightly ran fingers through the ra’s hair, pleased to see him shudder once, then relax with a low sigh. “My…my bond…” Andros frowned. “You don’t set it off.” “Aye,” Yassin laughed. “Most of the time, other loquiris will not, not unless they feel you somehow are a threat. What is this about a book, ra?” “Not a ra.” The loquiri rolled his eyes. “Alright. What about Epona and this book, Andros? Did she say anything in particular when she gave it to you?” He had heard enough of the manor gossip to know about the book exchange between the two, and in fact, frankly encouraged it. Twas best if the two not utterly hate each other; Kyda knew the strain of loquiri and marriage was rough enough. “She left a note.” Andros worried his lip. “But it didn’t…she was just happy that I apologized to Joshin for some…things I said, and wanted to give me some books she thought I’d enjoy.” He swallowed hard. “Do you think she knows?” he asked softly. Yassin smiled. “Nay, Andros, I don’t think she knows. I am not sure how truly well you know lady Epona, but one thing you should know is that if she found out the truth, you would hear about it. She hasn’t been shy at all about voicing her displeasure with the marriage she believes is ruined. If she found out it was a sham, she would have a lot more to say than just slipping you a book by a loquiri.” Andros nodded and slumped a little into the cushions, but kept nibbling on his lower lip. Cocking his head, the elder loquiri studied the ra. “How are you enjoying it, by the way? The book I mean?” “I am not!” Andros snapped but the color in his cheeks and the sharp surprise in his voice gave him away. “I mean…it’s a loquiri book…” “There’s no shame to enjoy it, especially the information it contains, no matter what the hand was that wrote it.” He gestured to the canvas and the rich green of the needles beneath the snow. “You yourself said my painting was good. Does me being a loquiri make it any less?” “That’s different,” the man mumbled. “Is it?” Andros’s head dropped. “It’s different, in the Guild. You don’t understand…” his voice trailed off and Yassin shook his head. “I do not. You’re right.” He rested his hand on the ra’s shoulder as he nibbled his lip. “You are a loquiri too, don’t forget, and there is no shame in it. There is much you can learn from your brethren.” “I…I should go.” Andros stood nervously. “Jeh needs me.” Yassin smiled indulgently, doubting the young man’s words and seeing instead an escape route from dealing with questions and feelings that challenged most of a lifetime, a painful lifetime, worth of teaching. “Of course, Andros.” He stopped him before he left with a touch on his arm. “If you have any questions, about anything, please don’t hesitate to speak with me, aye?” The young loquiri studied him wordlessly for a moment before dipping his head. “Aye.” < > “So…what do you think about the answer to this one?” “No, Jeh.” “So it’s not right then?” Andros rolled his eyes at his Match. “You know what I mean. I’m not doing your figures for you. Joshin already warned us. If I start doing your work he’s going to start putting us in different rooms or force us to wear the dreamstones. Besides,” he frowned glancing over the messy scribbles, “I’m not very good at numbers either.” They were sprawled in the bright wide room with the spring bubbling in the corner. Tihn and Tyla had joined them, distracted them and were now napping in the afternoon sunshine, while their master frowned at the paper. “I don’t get this.” Frustration rang as clearly through the bond as clearly as it showed on his face and in his earthy eyes. “This is ridiculous, how am I supposed to know this?” Andros bit his lip. “You could as Epona for help.” Atjeh frowned and shoved his paper aside, glowering at it sullenly. “I could not. She wouldn’t even talk to me.” “She talks to me,” the Guildsman pointed out, “And I would think she’d despise me more than you.” The loquiri shifted on his cushion, eyes drifting back to the book he had nearly finished already. “Besides, if you ask, what can she do? Say no and you still do your figures alone, aye? But if she says aye…” Atjeh’s eyes narrowed. “You just want to get rid of me.” “Do not,” Andros murmured absently, turning another page and studying the next artistic rendition of herbs—these native only to the wetlands. “She’s good at figuring. Kinyth and Yassin said so.” His eyes slid to his Match. “Besides, how can you know if she’s trustworthy if you never talk to her?” “She’s the one who won’t talk to me,” Atjeh protested. Andros rolled his eyes. “Then go talk to her now, aye?” The lordling bit his lip, and then glared at the figures, and the multiple red marks of the mis-worked sums from Joshin’s grading. “Kyda….” He grumbled. “Fine. But no grumbling in my head, you hear?” With gaze already drifting toward the book, Andros grunted something noncommittal, finger pressed to the page as he read the lines. Atjeh chuckled and ruffled his hair, smiling as Andros leaned into his touch slightly, before gathering up his paper, quill, and ink. “I’ll see if Epona can help. But no jealousy, aye?” “I’ll try,” Andros said, eyes narrowing. “No touching her.” Atjeh snorted and strode out of the room. < > “Epona…” At the voice, the Maran noblewoman twitched in surprise. The desires unfolding within her conflicted instantly; one of excitement and elation, and another of quiet, simmering anger. She swallowed hard, clasped her hand, and composed her face into a bland mask before turning to face the lordling. “Aye, Atjeh?” He tried on a smile, then let it drop as her face didn’t soften. “I..um…” he shifted the parchment and ink bottle in his grip, swallowing nervously as his eyes scanned her small sanctuary. Though she had remained in her guest room, the suite that would have been hers had been transformed into a small indoor garden. Several bushes had already started to shape themselves to her liking, and a row of flowers in cheery pots added a touch of color to the dark stone, effectively hiding the ugly white veins that she had come to despise. Atjeh’s eyes widened slightly, and then he shook his head as if clearing his mind, before focusing on her once more. “You love growing things, don’t you?” She frowned. “Aye, I do.” Hush. she growled to herself, as her traitorous heart leaped at the quiet praise. He’s only being flattering. “You’re good at flowers and at figures,” he mumbled. “I…I’m sorry to bother you, really,” his cheeks took on a ruddy hue and he extended his book slightly. “But…Joshin has given me…I just don’t understand this…this thing with letters instead of numbers. It doesn’t make any sense.” Epona could not deny the immediate desire that rose within her to declare that she was not living at the manor for his pleasure or his aid, but simply tarrying there until she was freed from the bonds of the marriage she knew he found so distasteful. But the frustration upon his face was very real, and the embarrassment too, and though it would be easy to turn him away, twould not be easy for her . Instead, it would leave her feeling guilty and cruel all the rest of the day, even if part of her felt very strongly that he deserved sharp words from her... and much worse. "Letters?" she asked with a quiet sigh, extending her hand. "Let me see." He handed her the parchment quickly---and, she could not help but notice, without taking a single step toward her---and out of the corner of her eye she saw him flush darker as her gaze scanned the crimson marks upon the paper. Clearly Joshin expected him to correct the mistakes he had made upon an exam or lesson, and judging from what little he'd worked on already, he was just as confused now as he had been when he'd first written the answers. "Ah, he has you working with variables," she murmured, lowering the paper and glancing at him. Twas much easier, she reflected, to meet his eyes without blushing in pleasure or glancing away demurely, now that she was quite sure he was not looking upon her with interest. "I remember when I first started learning them. Twas too... theoretical for me, until I was able to apply them to something concrete." "Aye!" Atjeh said, nodding firmly. His brown eyes narrowed in irritation, not at her, but at the scroll in her hand. "Joshin says I must learn this, but... it doesn't seem to have anything to do with, well, anything!" Epona smiled slightly. She herself had felt similar frustration, although she was not about to tell him that she had been a few years his junior when she had first started working with variables. Twas not the point. "Allow me to give you an example?" " Please ," he said eagerly. She managed a small chuckle. "Tis like this... Imagine that you have a... a hutch?" He nodded, and she went on. "Imagine that you have a hutch of derk-ra whelps, aye? There are seven all together, and four of those are female. How many are male?" "Three," he said instantly, then frowned at her as she winked. "But... That is it? I do not understand where the letters come in..." She nodded, then stepped up to one of the tables she'd had brought to the room and swept some of the loose dirt from its surface with the palm of her hand. Atjeh watched the dirt fall to the ground with a bemused expression, then glanced at the parchment as she set it upon the table and picked up a quill. "Seven equals four plus m," she said, writing it down in her neat hand. "M stands for the number of males in the hutch. Do you see?" He blinked down at the paper, then at her. "Aye," he said, in mild surprise. But then he was frowning again. "But Joshin wants me to move the numbers around so that the letter is alone on one side..." She nodded. "Aye, that is because more difficult problems are not always so intuitive as this one was. But if you think about how you came up with the answer, you'll understand why Joshin wants you to isolate the variable." At his blank look she smiled. "You probably thought to yourself something like, 'If there are seven derk-ra altogether, and four are female, then the rest are male. So seven less four is how many males there are.' Aye?" As he nodded slowly, she leaned over the paper once again, subtracting the four from both sides of the equation to show him how to isolate the variable on paper the same way she knew he was already doing in his head. "Then you just simplify this side from seven minus four, to three, so that you have a single numerical value on one side of the equal sign, and a single variable on the other side. This means that the number of males in the hutch is equal to three, or there are three males. M equals three and three equals M. See?" “So I’m just…simplifying everything to say what M really equals?” “Aye.” “What about this one?” She frowned at him. “I’m not going to just give you answers.” Atjeh flushed, and shifted his weight from side to side. “I…I don’t want you to,” he said softly, “believe me I don’t. But this one’s a lot more complicated.” Believe me? I did before and look what that got me. She had to bite her tongue. He didn’t mean it that way, but Kyda she wanted to say it. I want to say a lot of things. So many things that are just poison in my belly. She shuffled the papers, looking him through his lashes. He looked confused and frustrated. Almost as if nothing has happened or he’s forgotten all about what happened months ago. She sighed. “It’s more complicated because there are a lot more letters and numbers, right?” He nodded. “Well there’s a little trick. Three things are a lot easier to work with than 6, so let’s group like things.” She circled a square root and three numbers that simply needed to be added, and then circled the variable. She then showed him how to assign those a random picture, even using a derk-ra claw for one, then made him rearrange it so the variable was alone. “So…” Atjeh’s brow puckered, “do I just put then numbers back in?” “Aye,” she nodded, a little bit of a smile making its way on her lips. “Exactly. See, you’re understanding.” “With your help.” She shrugged. He had said it honestly enough. “Do you need anything else?” “Ah, no, no…” he took his scroll and began to slowly wind it up again, meanwhile looking at her plants. They had grown well in the last few months, especially with the help from her Gift. Most were desert trees, or small cacti with bright yellow flowers. She even had a pine from Atjeh’s property that she had plucked from the sand when she had gone riding with Shazi. “Did you grow all these yourself?” he asked fingering a leaf. “Yes.” She forced her attention away from him, handling a smooth porcelain pot, and saw her hands were shaking. Taking a deep breath, she folded them on her lap and looked at him. “I can’t do this,” she murmured, voice coming out quieter than she would like. “I can’t sit here and pretend nothing has happened while you make small talk. If you just want to use me for tutoring then let that be it and the end of it.” Her voice was stronger now, supported by anger and frustration and hurt. “If that’s it then that’s it and that is quite alright with me, but Kyda let me know and don’t simply bloody… pretend ." “Pretend?” His gaze was blank, eyes widening in as much confusion as he had shown earlier with the figuring. Epona frowned. “Pretend that you…that you like me, that you even care about me.” “I…but I do, like you,” he swallowed hard, flinching as she glared at him. “It’s…it’s more complicated than that. And I really do think your skill with plants and things..it’s marvelous. I couldn’t make anything grow like this.” She swallowed down the quiet simmer of pleasure at his compliment, stoking her anger instead, allowing its warmth to fill her. “You like me—yet you ruin my chance of any other contracts? Humiliate me in a loveless marriage to a man who…who gallivants about with Guildsmen?” Epona clenched her fingers into her palms. “Kyda. You have a strange way of showing affection,” she growled. Atjeh winced and dropped his head, clutching his scroll closer to his chest. His shoulders rose and fell in a quiet, deep breath, and then he studied her face. “Epona…it’s just…” he shook his head, eyes flashing in mild annoyance briefly, “I like you, Epona. Truly I do. But…I love Andros.” Atjeh swallowed hard. “I love him, and yet… his cheeks had taken on a rosy hue. “Well, Andros certainly cannot bear heirs to the Haden line.” Her mouth gaped. “You planned to have me bear your child, then to announce your lover!” “No!” Atjeh shook his head firmly. “Don’t you understand! I would not have married you at all, not once I found Andros. But it was too late. Da had already made the agreement with your older re. What could I do?” Epona, words of fiery anger rising to her lips, averted her gaze instead. If it had been another woman, if Atjeh had fallen in love with another noblewoman and yet the marriage already planned without his input—aye, she could see that. Twould be very much like if she had fallen in love with…say Kilyl. There was enough blood shared between them that they’d never had interest, but she knew many of the fellow noblewomen who visited Ratacca Korr fairly swooned over him. f she had been the one in love with Kilyl, yet pushed into the marriage by Anissa and her Da, then how much it would have hurt. And she might have carried on with Kilyl, just as he had done with Andros, even after being wed. She had heard enough tales of people in love doing much more than that to be with the one they cared for. Who had never heard the tale of Brakir and Azrael, battling in the tower for Brakir’s beloved? Atjeh cleared his throat. “Epona….I..I’m sorry this happened.” She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a breath, and then opened them again. "Have you told me the truth?" "About... liking you?" he asked, nibbling his lip uncertainly. She shook her head. "Nay, not that. About... not having wed me, had you only had more time to break off our engagement." He nodded his head. "Aye. I... did not know what to do, when I first heard that we were to be wed so soon. Andros and I did not know one another that long yet, not really, but..." His eyes were slightly wide, almost pleading. "Well, I could not leave him. I just could not. Cannot. Ma, Da and q'Da did not know about him when they finalized the date for the wedding, and then after they did know..." He shrugged helplessly. "I think they hoped that you and I might be happily wed, anyway." Epona felt a stab of hot anger in her belly, but this time not directed at her unfortunate husband. "They must have thought the marriage would help you put Andros behind you," she murmured, gritting her teeth. How unfair, she thought, though she was not sure if she referred to her own situation, or his, or both. "They hoped a lot of things," Atjeh said vaguely. "But tis not all their fault. I know that." He blushed, glancing down at his feet, where one toe scuffed at the ground idly. "And I know you know that. I do not know what I was thinking." He shook his head, frowning and wincing. "Like my parents, I feared giving insult to you, I suppose, but... but twould have been a smaller slight not to have married you, than to have put you through all this. But I suppose I thought that mayhap everything would just somehow... work out... if I did not resist?" He shrugged, lifting his eyes slightly to meet her gaze, though his blush darkened. "I am sorry, you know. Truly. Much of what I did was not very... very thoughtful of your feelings... but it was never my intention to hurt or humiliate you." “I believe you…” Epona said softly. Eyes widening, she lifted a hand to her mouth, and then averted her gaze. Aye, she did. Deep down, what he said rang true inside of her. Atjeh truly did seem to care about her, in his own way, and yet was also clearly in love with the Guildsman. She bit her lip. How cruel it would be…to be in love with one, and then suddenly married to another? Twould be very difficult to back out of a pre-arranged betrothal, especially if parents and q’Da and all seemed to desire it. As her gaze lifted to his, Epona allowed a small, slow smile as his silt-brown eyes searched her face. He worried his lip. “If you don’t want me to…to talk to you again…then it’s alright. I don’t mind. Yassin is pretty good at figures, and…and Andros too.” She couldn’t help it; the words slipped out. “If Andros is good, then why did you come to me?” Atjeh’s cheeks flushed. “He…he insisted.” “To talk to me?” Epona’s eyes widened slightly. And after all the cruel things she had said, or thought about in the very beginning at least, Guildsman he had encouraged Atjeh to talk to her? She cleared her throat. “Atjeh…I…” he turned an at once hopeful and resigned expression to her. The noblewoman took a deep breath. Kree help me… “I’d…be happy to help you with your figures again. If need be. And I promise I won’t bite you.” Atjeh’s lips parted in a smile, and his eyes lit as if he were a ra presented with a choice bit of prickly pear candy. “I…I would like that very much.” She treated him to a fleeting smile. He must really be desperate for help if he’s this happy…Kyda! Epona took a deep breath, her shoulders suddenly feeling lighter than they had in months. There was still hurt, but the anger was gone and instead replaced with regret. What was done was done and as much as she wished it had all been different or she could take it back, she couldn’t. At least I know it was for someone else and not any problem with me. That is one good thing at least. I suppose. She bit her lip. I hope. < > Epona couldn’t concentrate on her figures. She was helping design a new irrigation system but the lines and the numbers were blurring before her eyes. “Atjeh really loves that man…” she murmured aloud. “With all his widdle young lordling heart.” Shazi grinned lazily, booted feet resting on the small table and a boot nestled in her lap. The apprentice inquisita was keeping her company among the plants and afternoon sunshine from the skylight. “Why? Did the two of you finally break your silence?” She shrugged. “Aye. He needed help with his figures and Andros made him come to me. I thought for a little while that he truly didn’t like me, or had completely forgotten about me. Maybe he had forgotten about me, but I think he was just afraid to approach me.” She scribbled a few lines, triangles and circles on the edge of the parchment and nibbled her lip. “My sister said once that ‘it’s a wonderful thing to be loved,’ and I was so looking forward to it. I was and…and it still…hurts,” she choked on the last word, “but Atjeh loves Andros and I realized Atjeh’s heart would have been broken had this wedding happened, and my marriage would have been loveless anyways. At least, this way,” she took a deep breath, “one of us is happy.” The inquista’s brows raised. “Giving up then?” “Giving up what?” “The fight. The fight against the guildsman thief!” There was still amusement in Shazi’s tone and Epona realized that the inquista was joking. That or gauging her reaction. “Kyda,” she pushed aside her papers, “there was no fight. I was just…angry. I’m tired of being angry. I needed that talk and I think I realized…I was foolish. I was so busy thinking of myself and all this. I was worried about my defects and defaults I didn’t even think he might have his own worries and concerns and…and secrets. I loved-no I didn’t love him truly-but I think I was infatuated with who I thought he was. Now I just want to leave on good terms. And just...forget about the rest of it.” She shrugged uncomfortably and swallowed back tears and memory. Picking up her clippers, needing to do something with her hands, she found a desert sunflower bush at her elbow. It was showing signs of wilt and had two heads dead and she put her thoughts into her small gift and began trimming. Shazi hrmphed and stood, stretching her long, muscular limbs. “Such a reasonable girl you’re being now. It’s not quite as fun.” “Sorry to ruin your fun,” Epona replied dryly. < > Shazi may not have been having as much fun as before, but Grayes was having substantially more. One boot kicked out, propelling a fine dusting of snow directly in Andros' face, briefly blinding him. The loquiri gasped and stumbled back unsteadily, right heel slipping on a spot of ice as he did so. With a snarled curse, he fell on his rump, hard... and entirely out of the practice circle. Grayes chuckled, dancing from one foot to the other and swinging his arms lazily to stretch the muscles. Snow may have blanketed the ground, but he wore a short sleeved tunic, the exertion of the spar more than enough to keep him warm. The same could not be said for the bloody Guildsman, of course. Lodear born and Eastar reared, Andros had never seen snow before coming to Apollar, and twas clear he did not at all appreciate the desert ground being covered in a layer of white stuff that was not the coarse, quartz-peppered sands stretching from Apollar into Settar province, or the salty, derk-ra infested sands of Lodear. But that was alright. Grayes was more than willing to help ensure the scrawny Guildsman remained nice and warm by chasing the man around and around in the practice ring. In the short time he had been sparring with either Grayes, Harr or Shazi, the loquiri had managed to learn a few very important things, most of which Grayes was delighted to be the one to teach him. First, he learned how to fall properly so as not to injure himself, through repetitive practice of course as the Blademaster's nu threw him again and again to the ground. He learned also how to soak and salve his own bruises, minor cuts and swollen lips, as any man learning the mastery of his Fundamentals must. His Fundamentals, of course, were not yet coming along so very quickly. Andros had a loquiri's speed and grace, but if not for his unique Gifting, he would likely have been an awkward and clumsy man, practically incapable of standing on one foot, let alone mastering the necessary steps and evasions. As it was, he fumbled with nearly every one, and Harr had not even tried to introduce him to the extra eight techniques for use when fighting alongside or against a derk-ra; the Guildsman was apparently as vulnerable to the lizards' venom as a newborn Apollar babe. But that was fine with Grayes; he was more than happy to help the loquiri practice what few Fundamentals he had begun to learn thus far... especially as every strike and swipe at the Guildsman helped ensure him that, nay, Shazi could not possibly have true interest in this scrawny, whiny man. "Kyda," Andros groaned, rising to his feet slowly and stiffly, plainly resisting the urge to rub gingerly at his likely bruised seat. "Is it not second point yet?" Grayes snorted, squinting briefly up at the sun. "Nay, I've still another, oh, twenty-five marks with you." He flicked his hand toward the practice circle, carved into the snow by the blade of one of the shitans that Grayes, unfortunately, still had to keep sheathed; the Guildsman was not yet ready for an armed spar. Not even close. Sighing, the loquiri trudged a couple of steps back into the circle, and waited for his sparring partner, shoulders wilted. Grayes rolled his eyes. "At least I am not Shazi, aye?" The apprentice Inquisita had bruised Andros quite nicely in the circle yesterday morn with a quickly uplifted knee, so that the loquiri was still a little overprotective of his nether regions. It had not been a Fundamental, but then Grayes' Da did not restrict Shazi to only the Fundamentals. Andros crimson blush was not at all what Grayes expected to see, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he stalked toward the bloody Guildsman. Aye, he too could not help but notice Shazi's well-formed, muscular curves when sparring, but at least he did not let it distract him. Nay. “Alright, Andy,” Grayes said, smirking as the Guildsman’s eyes narrowed in his direction. “Let’s try Offered Bowl again. This time, shift your weight as you swing your hand. That should help you keep your balance better.” “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Grayes’ smile did not falter. “Oh aye.” The Guildsman stalked toward him, spine stiffening and shoulders tight with clear irritation. He crouched slightly, shifting his weight forward as if prepared to leap into an attack, or feint aside from one. “What are the rules of the sparring circle again?” Andros said lowly. Grayes rolled his eyes. “Are you truly this dull?” Andros continued to stride toward him, anger turning his already graceful motions into something closer to the sinuous approach of a Derk-ra. Though more like a heavily pregnant dam than any true threat. Edge of his lip curling into a wry grin, Grayes held up his hands in Brakir’s Shield, and slid into a slow, scurrying approach. “You must stay in the circle, upright, and somehow force me to break those first two rules. And no killing or seriously maiming your opponent.” He grinned as the distance closed between them. “That’s important too. Otherwise, you’d be a dead man a long time ago.” He shot his hand out; Andros ducked backwards, nearly fell as he tripped over his own feet, and then sidestepped out of reach. With a lopsided smile, Grayes seized his own Gift and stabbed at the Guildsman. “Fundamentals only.” Andros yelped, then charged in a shaky Rushing Bull. It ended rather abruptly—when Grayes twisted aside at the last minute, jabbing a fist into his ribs and then knocking his legs out from under him in a sweeping kick—and Andros crumpled, cursing. The Guildsman rose lithely in the next grain, growling at the blademaster’s son. He crossed his arms and glared at Grayes. “Why do you despise me so?” “I want to teach you, Andros, nothing more.” Grayes’ eyes flashed. “I think you simply like to whine. Poor little ra.” With a low growl, the Guildsman charged again. His Rushing Bull was straighter. Grayes smiled, however, as he caught sight of a slight wobble. The blademaster’s son watched closely as he approached, and then leaped into action, bringing his hands up into Dragon’s Claw and then down into a Scorpion’s Sting aimed for where he expected the Guildsman to be. Gift prickled; the snow seemed to morph, rippling, shape blurring in such a way that made him pause a moment. And then the Guildsman was suddenly at his left side, shoving him in his chest and clumsily kicking at his feet. Grayes staggered, crying out in surprise and outrage. His hands snaked out, deflecting the blows from the frustrated loquiri, before crossing his wrists and twisted him about. The two of them did a drunken dance, with Andros struggling to free himself and Grayes trying not to get slapped, kicked, or punched. “That wasn’t fair!” Grayes snapped. “Using your Gift.” “You…didn’t say…” Andros jerked back, squirming in his grasp. “Against…rules.” “Not a Fundamental,” Grayes growled. He shoved the Guildsman back, smirking as he lost his balance. Releasing his hold, the blademaster’s son shoved him roughly to his seat amidst a drift of snow. Standing over him, Grayes straddled his body and gave the Guildsman a stern glare. “No Gift. Tis not a true Fundamental. And makes you take longer to learn to spar better.” He smirked. “Though I personally would love to have you in my charge for weeks … for months.” Andros glared up at him from his sprawled position in the snow. “I think I hate you,” he flinched, eyes narrowing and growing glazed. Likely Atjeh did not agree with the sentiment. With tunic and breeches damp, and cheeks and nose reddened from cold, the Guildsman did not seem very dangerous. Grayes snickered. “Oh really?” He planted one hand on his hip, cocking his head coyly. “Come now. There’s at least another fifteen marks that you’re in my circle.” He held out his hand, brows arching. Andros clasped it with a muttered growl, and then suddenly quieted, body leaning back as almost a dead weight. Grayes frowned. “Come on. If Harr catches you and I not sparring, he’ll punish us both.” The Guildsman’s eyes glinted, and he scowled darkly, before curling his lip into a dangerous smirk. Grayes had only a moment of shocked realization, before Andros yanked him forward, using his opponent’s weight against him, as he repaid Shazi’s earlier favor. < > Atjeh had just finished reciting the list of Fay-el’s when Andros came in, looking tired, annoyed and a hint triumphant. The lordling pushed his scroll aside and rose to meet his loquiri. “Are you okay?” Andros only smirked, and his Match sighed. “I don’t think that will gain you any respect in his eyes.” “I don’t care about getting his bloody respect.” “If you’ll be sparring with him..!” Joshin coughed casually and the two sets of eyes turned toward him. “Atjeh, you’re still in the middle of a lesson.” He frowned at the scroll the lordling had so carelessly pushed aside. “It took me hours of copying to get that scroll ready for you family library too.” Atjeh colored. “Ah, I’m sorry Joshin,” he shot his loquiri a glare, “I forgot myself.” “Aye, that’s certainly true.” He sighed and retrieved the scroll, lovingly smoothing its edges. “Well come back. Do you have any questions on the figures you’re to turn into me tomorrow?” “Ah,” the ra bit his lip and traded glances with his loquiri. Andros wordlessly joined them on the cushions, and took up the silver pot of jasmine tea. Joshin didn’t say anything. The loquiri’s presence at the lessons had become less and less tense and Andros had made fewer snorts at the history the Keeper taught even sometimes asking questions cleverly disguised under a shield of arrogance. Now Andros only nodded and Atjeh shrugged his shoulders. “I was hoping to ask Epona.” Joshin raised his brows. “You’re talking to her now?” Atjeh nodded. “Have you told her yet?” He frowned. “No, we haven’t spoken that much. And its not something that would come up in conversations about figures.” “Maybe you should have conversations other than about figures.” “Keeper,” Andros growled, “they had their first conversation in months the other day. You’re truly are an idiot if you think Atjeh would just tell her.” Joshin glanced at the loquiri, ignored him, and looked at his Match. “She’s a good person Atjeh and if you hope to tell her and continue this marriage it would be good if…” If you stopped her from falling in love with me “if you gave her other reasons to stay. Or at least enjoy herself here more.” The ra glared, red rising in his cheeks. "Bloody---Don't you think I want to?" His eyes narrowed and he set his jaw, crossing his arms stiffly over his chest. Andros frowned and moved as though to massage his shoulder gently, but the youngling gently shifted his weight so as to avoid it. "She said she is willing to help me with my figures. She did not mention anything else. I...I do not want to impose." Joshin sighed. "She has friends within the manor, ra. Maybe..." "Really?" Andros asked, eyebrows arching. "Who? What if they---" The Keeper rolled his eyes ceilingward. "Well, you, to begin with. Aye?" "We are not friends," Andros sighed. "Trust me... we share books, tis all." "Well, then Shazi." Joshin shrugged, and glanced at Atjeh. "Why not invite her to cards, when next we play?" The ra gulped. "I... I couldn't. She... I do not think she would welcome---" "Then have Shazi invite her, my lord," Joshin said patiently. "But..." Atjeh wrinkled his nose. "She knows numbers... ah... quite well. Likely probability and such, too." "It sounds to me as though you are making excuses." Andros' eyes flashed an annoyed green. "I hardly think a few games of cards will let us know that she can be trusted with---" He broke off suddenly, rolling his eyes at his Match as Atjeh snorted quietly. "What?" Joshin wondered, frowning in confusion at the brief, considering glance shared between the loquiri and Match. "What are you thinking?" "Twas a joke..." Atjeh murmured. Andros wrapped an arm about his shoulders, squeezing gently. This time the ra did not pull away, and in fact relaxed slightly with a sigh. "Aye but not without merit," the Guildsman said. His gaze flicked briefly toward Joshin, and then he sighed slightly, apparently deigning to notice that the Keeper was still waiting curiously. "Jeh thinks a game or two might tell us a...a little. Can she bluff? Reveal nothing? Encourage us toward the belief that her hand is one thing when tis really another?" Joshin tapped his lip with one finger. “Aye, that is true. Tis one of the things I remember Shazi practicing in her training. To bluff, to lie without showing any sign of it.” The Keeper frowned. “But you do realize if you ever let on the invitation is a..a test of some sort, that she will only feel more betrayed?” Atjeh winced, then straightened with a grim look. “I cannot help it. And can she hate me more than she already does?” “She doesn’t hate you,” Joshin said gently. The lordling glanced at him, but his face did not brighten. Likely because the Apollar Maran did not believe him still. His loquiri reached out, ruffling his hair. “Stop moping. Shazi can speak to her, and we can see if she might be trustworthy.” Andros smirked slightly. “At least then you can be near her, and talking to her, aye?” And to Joshin’s utter surprise, the supposedly uncaring lordling blushed as crimson as a maid. As Andros strode out, with Atjeh at his side, the Keeper stared at his back in amazement. He has feelings for her? Then…then maybe it’s not as hopeless. Oh Kyda… Joshin swallowed hard. Not if she falls in love with me. < > Ungloved hands with slender fingers pushing a few silver coins into the middle, full lips pressed into an appealing line as she studied her cards, and dark hair falling down her back in lush ringlets, Atjeh could barely spare a glance away from his wife long enough to know what cards were in his hands, much less play with any skill. Twice, Andros had murmured a suggestion in his mind regarding a bet—neither of them had worn dreamstones, since the only one in the room unaware of the pair-link was Epona—when his attention wandered. Thankfully, the Guildsman was not participating in the card game, simply lounging on a nearby cushion, excusing it with complaints of an upset stomach. More like the man was watching how much honey whiskey his Match downed. And helping him in cards, it seemed. She hasn’t got a hand worth standing on, Andros murmured quietly in his skull. Push her. See if she can bluff….Please, he added, his imperious tone sending small peals of embarassment—a lune cracking abruptly—into his head. Atjeh lightly soothed his loquiri as he plucked up a handful of silver coins and added them to the middle. “Call.” Joshin rolled his eyes and slapped his cards down, snapping, “Fold,” while Grayes scowled in annoyance at the growing pile in the middle, and his own dwindling one, though the look faltered as Shazi slid her gaze to his. The apprentice Inquisita simply arched a brow. “My…two good hands and the rest a flop?” She dealt the next three cards onto the table. “Do these help at all, snookums?” Grayes turned crimson from cheek to ear, and reached blindly for a flask of honey whiskey, mumbling “Fold,” hurriedly. Shazi chuckled and simply turned her gaze to Epona. “Well? Do you care to wager?” Epona sucked on her lower lip for a long moment, then her hazel eyes flashed to Atjeh, back to Shazi and then she nudged two silvers into the center. “Aye, a bet.” Her eyes turned back to him and she flicked a brow. “Well, Atjeh? Can you match?” You bloody well can and should, Andros grumbled in his head, and stop thinking like that. You show it too much on your face. Atjeh flushed and shot his loquiri a glare. It’s not my fault she had spectacular eyes. “Don’t cheat through your lover.” Spectacular and observant eyes, his loquiri commented, flicking his eyes to the ceiling, better keep your eyes on your hand. “I…I wasn’t cheating,” he said aloud. “I promise. On my honor…” he paused as he watched her eyes narrow every so slight. Kyda, would his honor ever mean anything to her? “and um, on my lover’s honor.” He put his hand over his heart. “Oh so lovely, Jeh,” Shazi said languidly, ‘but I don’t think you can bet that. Or perhaps you’d like to fold and let your coin go to your wife.” “Shut up, Shazi,” he growled and tossed coins into the middle. “Aye, I’m still in. You and me Epona.” She only smiled enigmatically at him, face remaining smooth as Shazi dealt the forth card. Ouch. That bad? Well it doesn’t help her Epona peeked at her cards again and drummed her fingers on the table. “How much do you know about probability, Atjeh?” Atjeh frowned. “Probability? Not much, wh-“ “Just checking.” And with that she pushed half her pile of coins into the center of the table. Nay, do not fold, Andros groaned quietly in his head. Atjeh glanced from the pile of coins, to Epona's calm face, to the coins again. She seems confident, Andy... The Guildsman rolled his eyes. She is bluffing, ra . The lordling slowly put his hand down, finger tapping upon the top card but not yet turning it over. Nay, I do not think so... Now Andros was laughing in his mind, and ever so slightly out loud as well. Epona's eyes slid to him, narrowing slightly as he muffled a snicker in the crook of his elbow, pretending to cough. Jeh! Think with your mind, aye? As the youngling reflected with quiet surprise upon the fact that his loquiri did not seem at all as uncomfortable with his attraction to Epona, though he knew it burned along the pair-link as well as his bloody face, Epona cleared her throat. "Is something amusing?" Atjeh could feel Andros trying to force the smile from his face, but twas simply not cooperating. "I... ah..." Andros swallowed another snicker, arching his brow and glancing at Atjeh. "Tis just..." He shook his head. "Just watch." The lordling cast him a glare, then sighed and flicked his cards toward the center of their little circle, face up so that the others could see. "Fold," he said, arching a brow at Epona. The noblewoman did not respond, but merely glanced toward the next person sunwise about the circle. Grayes scowled at the pile of coins, then at his hand, before finally tossing the cards atop Atjeh's. "Bloody fold." When Epona's gaze turned to him, Chusa's face reddened. "I am not ready yet." Shazi rolled her eyes. "Which means you have nothing. Show us your hand, Chusey." She nodded as he sighed and reluctantly did so, then smirked back at Epona and shifted her own coins into the center. "I am going to take your coin, my lady." "Nay, I am," Joshin laughed, slapping his cards down along with his pouch of coins, and giving Epona a small, smug smile as her shoulders wilted. "It matters not what you have---or how well you bluff, my lady---when I know full well none can have a higher hand than I. Now let's see those cards, hmm?" Epona slowly, reluctantly, pushed her hand out into the center, flipping the cards up at the last moment. Weak, useless cards. Close your mouth. You’re catching flies, Andros said smugly. And Atjeh started, realizing his jaw had gaped open in shocked surprise. She had nothing? But… He glared at his loquiri as the Guildsman chuckled on the pair-link, and then snickered aloud, before burying his face in one of the cushions about him to keep from guffawing. Epona’s eyes slid to him and her lips quirked slightly at the Guildsman’s obvious enjoyment. Joshin nodded happily as he pulled the pile of coins toward his growing pile. “Well played, my lady. I daresay you fooled even poor Grayes.” The blademaster’s son sputtered. Shazi simply grinned at him and rubbed his shoulder. Andros had to push his face into a pillow again in amusement at Graye’s expression at her touch and, more hilarious to him, the apprentice Inquisita who remained oblivious of Grayes’ reaction. That…that’s amazing. Andy…she’s good. She’s very good at this. He felt Andros roll his eyes. At Nobles, aye, she is. But that does not mean she can go toe-to-toe with an Inquisita. Atjeh shifted slightly. Any mention of an Inquisita often spurred a bit of fear. The idea of drawing any attention of a Geno was not pleasant. He reached for his loquiri. The Guildsman’s face brightened and he moved closer, resting his head on his shoulder, but still softly laughing at him along the pair-link. “Play again?” Epona said, eyes narrowing at Andros and Atjeh. The loquiri gently pushed his Match back and scooted back to his cushion. “One more game, Jeh,” he said quietly. “Tis time to sleep soon.” Epona stroked the small sapling curled around her index finger with a thumb, encouraging it to grow. Gently though, slowly, too fast and it would die, but too slow and it would take longer to make it stay in the spiral pattern and she’d have to hold her finger in the same position for a point. At her elbow was the letter she was trying to pen to her sister with her free hand. “Epona?” She looked up and wished the plants hid her more. “Atjeh,” she nodded her head and noticed the papers in his hands. “I guess…figures help, aye?” His lover appeared suddenly at his shoulder and she tried not to grimace. She didn’t mind Andros so much, it was more that he was a constant reminder of things that could not be. Atjeh shook his head. “Not…not exactly. Rather I tried it on my own, I just wanted to see if you’d look over it for me. You know, before I turned it into Joshin.” She nodded and gently extricated her fingers from the plant. He handed the scroll over to her and stood awkwardly glancing now and then at his lover. She glanced at the figures, written some what messily over the parchment. She tried not to smirk. It seemed like the Keeper had given him extra for practice. “What are you doing?” She glanced up and he nodded to the parchment. “Oh. Writing a letter home. To my sister. Don’t worry my lord, soon I will be out of your hair and this whole thing will be behind both of us. And then you can just have you and your lover.” Atjeh looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if his face were trying on many different emotions to find one that fit. Finally, Andros rested a hand on his shoulder and he quieted. “You miss your home then?” She shrugged. Although she and Atjeh were speaking, and the tension had somewhat faded, they were not exactly friends, and she was certainly not going to pour out her thoughts and feelings to him. Did she miss home? Not as much as she used to. She enjoyed the freedom here and leaving would only remind her of her faults and lacks. She shrugged away the sudden, uncomfortable tension in her shoulders. She rolled the scroll and handed it back. “It looks fine, Atjeh.” Suspiciously fine. His lover probably helped. “Ah…thank you.” Then it happened again. A long moment of uncomfortable awkwardness where the lordling stood and twiddled his fingers, sharing a long look wit |
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