4:12 Wind in the leaves.

Midday in Suzail rushed by as noisily as always.  The street sellers crowed over the marketplace crowds, children screamed as they dodged into and out of alley ways, and parents, alchemics, fiends, and pickpockets alike found themselves surprised by the kids' sudden appearances or disappearances.  While the solid stone and heavy wood of the Raibeart home kept out most of the noise, the closer one got to the shop, the worse the din became.  The shop itself, of course, added noise of its own- ringing metal, the occasional shout or laugh, hissing water, and crackling wood.

Upstairs, at the small kitchen table that served as Suze's command center, the commissioned blacksmith's wife sighed deeply as she handed her youngest brother in law back the bit of paper, now visibly browned and worn by his insistence upon folding it the way it had been folded when it had arrived.  Iordyn accepted the note without comment and, once again, put it in a chest pocket that he had stitched into the inside of his cloak while he was still studying in Arabel.

"I can't do it," he chuckled bitterly.  "I'd love to, but I can't.  If I did, I'd have to take Mi'ishaen with me, owing to being the guarantor of her good behavior to the entire country.  And as much as I respect her for at least trying to learn how not to be a criminal, I doubt that I could convince either my master to teach her the ways of Lathander, or the... lady... herself to learn."

As a sudden escalation to a previously tense, but quiet conversation in the sitting room, there was a sharp holler, and a solid thud.  Iordyn cast a glance over toward the open archways that gave from the kitchen area to the sitting room, but Suze didn't move a muscle.

"I must confess, I'm less concerned about the practicalities of your returning north than I am about why your mother thinks you should go, and why thinks she can practically order you to do so," Suze said as she sat back in the wooden chair and smoothed her hands over her belly.  "You're not a child; you're enlisted, and assigned to one of the capital city's five archery batteries.  While you're not directly assigned to a battery that Garimond commands, any transfer papers would likely cross his desk before they were approved, and I think we all know how that would go."

"He'd burn it; I've seen him to it to other men's requests," Iordyn noted.  In the room beyond, the conversation's volume began to climb toward that of the previous shout.  "Perhaps she was worried about what Iona would do to me, as Papa was?"

"What Iona would do to you?" Suze echoed, incredulous.  "Your father has battlefield madness, and everyone knows it.  Had you, or that other Dragon, held your peace and allowed his accusation against you to stand on its own, the Pillars would have thrown it out.  Ignoring the fact that Iona is every inch as loving and protective of an elder brother as Stephen or Aaron have ever been, as well as the fact that- thanks to a shipful of godless Semmites- he's now little better than blind, no monk of Tyr would hunt the life of Lathander's dedicant.  Your mother would have to be mad herself, to think any different.  Have you seen the wax stick?"

"It's under the letter from the wood cutter, on your left," Iordyn replied.  "Right th- no, the other s- yes, there it is."

"Well, the baby's taken firm hold of the reigns of my mind," Suze lamented as she put the other letters with which she'd been working back into two smaller, neater mounds.  "I can't very well seal the writ of payment by putting the wax under the 'monies due' letter.

"Be patient with yourself," Iordyn said comfortingly.  "Soon, you'll be-"

Thundering footsteps, both across the rug-covered sitting room and down the wooden stairs toward the shop, froze Iordyn's words into his mouth.

"-sorry all the time!" Sylvester roared, a sharp departure from any sort of normality.  "You're not sorry; you never are!  You're a meddlesome shrew, and he's a block-headed brute; now, can you leave me alone?  You can't, can you?"

"I'm sorry, and I mean it!" Sarai shrieked, not sounding very sorry at all.  "How am I supposed to prove it?  I'm sorry!  We didn't mean-"

Salone walked past the argument to get into the kitchen, dropped a silent curtsey as she entered, then moved with quiet will past both adults there and began moving things around in the larder.

"Well, you did anyhow!"  Sylvester continued to holler.  "Mama's told you, and Papa, and your music teacher, and my scribing tutor, and all the priests that- look, practically everyone else who ever hears either of you open your mouth to me says the exact same thing, but you know better, right?  RIGHT?  LEAVE ME ALONE, Sarai; go away and leave me alone!  Do you understand that?  Should I write it with illustrated calligraphy?  Have your tutor compose a song of it?  Have Mama chant it at you, or read it to you as a bedtime tale?"

"Oh my," Suze sighed under her breath.

"I'm sorry!" Sarai wailed, sounding much closer to actually meaning it than she had just a few seconds before.  "I just want to help you!"

Salone, who had miraculously prepared an entire plate full of sliced apples rolled in cinnamon and sugar, paired with crumbly sweet biscuits, walked back past both adults and through the open arch way.

"Can you stop acting as if I can't do anything without your help?" Sylvester demanded.  "Just go-"

"It's snack time; please eat your snack," Salone interrupted- quiet, but firm as the cold ground.

For a moment, there was silence between the three children.  Only the ambient market noise and the sound of Aleksei and Stephen working together in the shop below rose up to anyone's ears.

"I don't want snack today, Lona," Sylvester said, his voice dropped right back down to his normal mutter.

"I'll save you some," Salone replied.  The simplicity of the statement, in Iordyn's mind, carried the weight of the certainty that Sylvester would both need, and take advantage of, the opportunity she'd made him.  Reserved food of any kind in a house with multiple children was a luxury most siblings couldn't claim.  Iordyn himself never could, when he was young.

And whispered footsteps informed Suze and Iordyn that Salone was heading toward the workshop, likely to make the same request of Saul.

Suze breathed deeply.  "She is so like Leena, it's frightening," she began.

Iordyn shook his head, but said nothing, straining to listen to anything the two children left behind might say.

Nothing.

Then, a few moments later, two sets of overlapping footsteps came up the wooden stairs from the shop.  When the ascent had been completed, and all four children stood at the foot of the steps that led to the upstairs rooms, looking at each other, Suze crunched her fist to her mouth, forgetting that she had the wax stick in it.

Iordyn watched with alarm as her eyes misted up.

"Lona says Mama and Uncle Iordi are in the kitchen, so... if it's all the same, I... I can't eat in the shop, so..." Saul trailed.

"Are you trying to ask me if you can eat in the sitting room?"  Sylvester's tone was something of a cross between surprise and distrust.  It wasn't comfortable to listen to, and Iordyn began to look around for something to dab his sister in law's eyes.

A moment's quiet.

"Yes," Saul finally admitted.  His tone was sincere and even, but almost at the bottom of his range, so that it seemed as though he were practicing at being his father.  "Lona said you were in a spitting rage, and... that... we deserve it."

More quiet.

"Right," came the response, so quiet that it could hardly be heard from the kitchen.

Someone began sniffling.

"Oh, don't- I'm alright.  I won't get angry, if you-  And I don't mind if- if you-"  For whatever reason, Sylvester stopped himself, gave a small noise of discomfort, then tried again.  "Saul, can you-?  We can just- just all eat here.  We can all have it right now, here, and you won't have to save me anything, will you, Lona?  Here, Sarai, please don't-"

"We can't dirty your work," Salone said.

"I'll put it away- I'm going right now, to put it away.  Alright?  Saul, can you-"

"I've no water," Salone added.  It was difficult to tell whether she was simply stating a fact that should have been obvious just by looking at the tray, or whether she was apologizing without actually saying "sorry," which seemed, at the moment, to be a fairly inflammatory word between three of the four children gathered.

"I'll get the water," Sarai piped up, her voice definitely made warbly by emotion.  "Thank you for making snack- all by yourself-"

"Thank you," Saul and Sylvester chorused accidentally.  Their voices, Sylvester's higher key laying atop Saul's, were just slightly easier to listen to than before.  Sarai sniffed a few more times.

"You'll be apprenticed away, soon," Salone stated calmly.  "So will Sly.  I'd better get used to this."

More sniffing.  "It's too late to-"

"No," Salone said firmly.  The single word fell as firmly as a stone.

"Someone'll take you," Sylvester encouraged.

"Pa'll make 'em take you," Saul added.  "No one denies him.  Not for long."

A few very short, quiet gasps, and more sniffing.  "He can't bully somebody into taking me."

"You'll be apprenticed," Salone repeated.  "I know it."

"Let's get ready and eat," Sylvester suggested.  "I'll be right back, alright?  Alright?"

"She can bake, weave, and sew," Suze whispered, knowing that Iordyn was at a loss, "and she should have been apprenticed last year, but-"

There was no telling who moved first, but a collection of footsteps were heard, and Sarai entered the kitchen with predictably red eyes and a runny nose, which she kept wiping with the bottom of the right side of her apron.  Iordyn noted that she must have started quietly crying some time ago, since there was a rather wide wet spot that spread up from that corner to form a cone whose bell reached across nearly a third of her apron.  The young girl passed both adults without looking at or addressing them, and ladled water from the bucket that had been filled that morning into the stoneware pitcher that had been taken down from the hanging racks above the spit, which was closer to the wall.  Once she'd finished that, she took a wooden tray, put four earthenware cups onto it, then balanced the pitcher on it.  Her task done, she passed back out quickly and quietly, hardly dropping a curtsey when Iordyn managed to catch her still-watering eye.

Iordyn watched her leave, then looked at Suze again.  She'd dried her eyes on her own apron while he wasn't looking, but her nose and eyes were still just as red as her eldest daughter's.

"Leena wouldn't have stopped the argument," Iordyn muttered.  "She would have hidden herself away and waited for everyone to calm down.  She hates fighting."

"I mean the way she goes about things,"  Suze whispered, almost to herself.  "It's so- cold.  Other children have taken to calling her Saint Stone.  Hardly better than 'golem,' if you ask me, but she doesn't seem to care.  I've tried so hard-"

"And it shows," Iordyn cut in at once.  "We didn't do that when we were younger, trust me.  Someone would have thrown a punch instead of just continuing to yell, and Mama would have had to get up and break us up, especially if it were Ronny and Dassy.  Is... is there any sort of... special something about Salone?"

Both sat in silence and listened to the stoneware cups moving and clunking about.

"I don't know," Suze admitted, rediscovering the wax stick in her hand and putting it down.  "There was a flicker of some sort of influence, but... I... think I discouraged it."

"No, she still has... something," Iordyn said, hearing himself sound more concerned than comforting.  "When I read this letter the first time, before I'd said anything about it- remember when Papa's letter came, and you sent her out of the room to tell me about it?"

For a few moments, Suze looked at him quizzically, but the realization broke upon her quickly.  "Ah, with the corn.  I don't interrupt her anymore; she speaks so rarely.  And so little.  Unless I give her a message and ask her to tell it to whomever it is for word for word, she'll parse it down to as few words as she can get away with."

"Well, before you'd gotten there, she told me about the contents of this letter as though I'd read it to her, or as though she'd read it herself.  And she told me not to go, on behalf of the trees.  In Arabel.  She said they didn't want me there, and that they'd told the trees here as much."

Suze sighed deeply.  "She has done that once before.  About four years ago, Sarai grew jealous of my sewing and knitting friends, so she decided to find and participate in a little sewing circle of her own.  Once there, she came to know a girl some three or four years her senior- Darla- who began to sit with her constantly.  This was unremarkable, since Sarai could make friends with anyone.  But suddenly, just before ice breaking- Lona told Sarai that the trees had warned her that Darla was jealous of how well-liked Sarai was, and would soon try to get rid of her.  Now, since Darla seemed sweet and friendly, the warning seemed absolutely ridiculous.  Sarai suspected that Lona was lonely, or jealous herself, and tried her best to tempt her to join the circle.  Lona vehemently refused, and begged her sister to please sit anywhere but next to Darla.  When Sarai finally complained to me about it, I told Lona that trees don't speak, and that I wouldn't tolerate slander.  Lona dropped the matter, and I thought that was the end of it.  But at the height of the growing season, a girl's pendant went missing, and Darla accused Sarai.  No one really believed Sarai had stolen it, but when her sewing materials were searched, there it was, and the girls' mothers were forced to expel Sarai from the group, to Darla's visible delight.  I apologized to Lona, but it was like speaking with a chapel pillar.  I'm at an impasse now- I thought I might give her over to be an acolyte, but she won't speak to anyone at temple.  I worry that she may be godless, or turned to witchery, because of me."

Iordyn thought back to the cool and calm of the room in which Salone had given her counsel.

"I doubt she's godless," he finally commented.  "When she spoke to me, there was a sort of... I'm not sure... a feeling of serenity.  Sounds from elsewhere got somehow quieter, and the fireplace went completely out."

"Now, that's different," Suze mused.  "I remember wondering about the fireplace, but thought that I was simply having a doting moment, due to the pregnancy."

"It was lit when she came into the room, but out when she was speaking to me," Iordyn reinforced.  "And I physically felt a coolness in the room.  I asked if any of the gods or goddesses of nature had spoken to her- Eldath, Chauntea, Meiliki, Sylvanus- she insisted that she was speaking about and to me, and wouldn't answer in any way, except that the elder trees in Arabel told the sapling that I shot, here, that they didn't want me to return to Arabel.  I don't even know if she meant forever, or just right now.  I asked her to please help me apologize to the sapling I shot, since she said it was annoyed at me, but she hasn't taken me to do so yet."

Suze silently reorganzed the small piles of correspondance with which she was working, then got up.

"What- where are you going?" asked Iordyn, scrambling to his feet himself.

"All this time, to have it be so plain, and still not grasp it," Suze said with deprication, moving resolutely toward the door on the other side of the sitting room.  "I apologized to the wrong person."

All four children looked at their mother and their uncle as they hustled toward the door, but only Salone stopped eating.  Wordlessly, she got up to follow them.

"Sometimes it seems to me like everything is going mad," Sarai said quietly.  "Like everything is changing at once, and it's just going to go on like that.  Just everyone going mad.  And changing."

Saul shrugged, but Sylvester nodded.


Once outside, Suze marched straight to the youngest tree in the yard and looked up at it.  Iordyn caught up to her a few moments later, and Salone trailed behind.

"I apologize," she proclaimed.  "I don't know if it's just you that's offended, or if it's all the trees.  I don't know how you... communicate.  But I am sorry to have insulted you, and I hope you'll forgive me.  Sometimes being a mother- I- have fears.  Doubts.  About my children, about my husband- about myself.  Sometimes I even doubt the gods.  It goes without saying, then, that I make heart breaking mistakes, and... this... is one of them.  Just one of many, I'm sure."

"And I apologize about hurting that young tree," Iordyn chimed in.  "That sacrifice enabled my commander and I to know the will of Lathander, and for that, I thank you, but... I've never been struck by an arrow myself.  It... must have hurt."

Salone walked between her mother and uncle without looking back at them, and looked up at the one sapling as though she were seeing an entire forest grove.  Puckering her lips, she let a single long stream of breath pass between them wthout making any sound, as though she were blowing on a spoonful of hot soup before trying to eat it.

Iordyn noticed that the split arrowhead that he wore under his tunic grew very cool against his skin.

At first, a low murmur replied- some sort of low pulsing tone that neither Iordyn nor Susanna could put any comprehensible  name to.  It swelled quickly, gaining warm alto tones, shrieking sopranos, and majestic baritones.  After a few moments of feeling as though she were being swept away into the force of what was rapidly becoming a symphony of voices, Susanna caught her breath, realizing that no vocal cords were responsible.

Every tree in existance was answering her daughter, and they did not merely speak.
They sang.

Not all of them agreed- some notes were sharp or dischordant.  But after a bit of calling and response between some reedy, older howlers and a few slick younger pipers, the spiraling melody circled back to itself, rested in a solid blend, roared up toward a powerful crecendo, then stopped suddenly.  Iordyn noticed distantly that Valeria had begun baying, and wondered if she too had heard the music.

When the chorus ended, Salone turned around and gave a sparkling-eyed, joyous smile- one that lit up her face so thoroughly that Suze felt as though she might cry at the rarity of it.

"That was beautiful," Suze managed, forcing herself to regain her powers of speech faster than her stunned brother in law.  "I'd never realized this little tree was part of such a concert force."

"It's the same everywhere," Salone explained.  "People pretend that we're too different so that they have an excuse not to try.  But we're the same."

A single leaf fluttered its way down from the sapling and rested itself on Salone's head.  The girl looked up, giggling, and turned to pick the leaf up when it slid off her hair and onto the ground.

"Here, Mama; this is for you," she said happily, once she'd recovered the leaf and brought it over.  "Can we press it?"

"Yes, of course," Suze managed, forcing her choked voice to work.  "Mama has an old, old prayer book that was given to her when she was sent away to be an acolyte.  It's one of her most treasured gifts.  We can press this leaf there, and it'll be another."

"Yay!" Salone cried, seeming suddenly so much more like a natural child that the contrast stung.  "Thank you for saying sorry, Mama."

Iordyn folded his arms, and laid a single finger on his lips.

'She is so like Leena, it's frightening.'  But Leena and Mama didn't speak like this.  Actually, they didn't speak at all.  I wonder if Stephen knows why that was.

4:11 Surrogates.

The air on the College grounds was chilly, and still, just as it had been on the other side of the empty wooden check in stalls.  Dew rested peacefully on the grass all around, and there was no light by which any of the various sundials could decide whether it might be even close to the seventh hour of the day.  A few painstakingly crafted moondials sat outside of the main illusion lecture hall, which itself glimmered in the very early dawn as though it itself had been made of something more costly or beautiful than bleached clay and stone.

Garimond climbed the three steps up to the entrance of the place and tried the door, which was predictably locked.  Not as predictable was the door's sudden opening, and the collection of illusion apprentices whose eyes were heavy with sleep, but made glossy by worry.  One of them, unremarkable in all but his pale, freckled face, recognized Garimond more quickly than the others, and ushered him inside.

"She's this way," he said in a whisper that still betrayed an adolescent voice.  "Keymun and Tanner are taking dictation, but the rest of us were evacuated from that entire wing of the hall almost immediately."

"How long ago was the evacuation done?" Garimond inquired, feeling some annoyance at not being notified about any such action.  Evacuations and sequesters were his job, or the job of some Purple Dragon, whether they were magic-related or not.

"Two hours, perhaps?" the young man answered vacantly.  "It was too early for me to really look at the hall's hourglass when I went by it.  Keymun would know, or would at least know who to ask- usually there's a rotation, but I don't think anyone thought to take over, when all this started."

"Keymun's transcribing and turning the hall's hourglass?" Garimond asked, completely aware that this would be received as an even stupider question than the last.

"It's not much more than a cantrip," the student replied, trying his best not to talk down to someone so much older and more important than he.  "Any one of us could sustain it while taking a multi-school practical exam."

Garimond didn't bother to mention that since he didn't know what a multi-school practical exam required, he had no way of truly understanding the difficulty or ease of sustaining the timely turning of the hall's giant hourglass while performing one.

The two passed a pair of Purple Dragons, who saluted Garimond as soon as they saw him.

"At ease, men.  And you- stay a while," the oversword instructed the young mage, who stopped in his tracks as though he had been petrified.

"Report, officers- who stationed you here, and when?"

The officers looked at each other and elected who was to speak within seconds.  Since their helmets completely covered their faces, Garimond only realized that he was speaking to a female guard when she spoke.

"Firstsword Cimaretto, maybe... about two hours ago?  Could have been less... I'm not sure anymore... I was doing the last leg of my rounds when I heard an... I guess a.... a kind of squishing sound?  Maybe more like slurping- like someone was eating hot noodles very loudly.  And it was huge; just for a second, but monstrously loud.  I mean, to me.  It- I don't know how to describe it- but I knew it was impossible to have a sound like that be normal.  I know it's the illusion sector, but... I mean, even with magic... I was suspicious.  I'd been outside, so I came in to investigate, and... I didn't report back to base when I was supposed to; I was still in here.  Cimaretto is my direct CO, so..."

"No, he already knew about it, somehow, because he was mid-sentence when he just all of the sudden got quiet- you know, that dangerous quiet right before he starts doing things really fast without saying anything?  He shot out of the barracks, temper on fire, and snatched me up, hand high off the ground, like I didn't weigh anything," the other officer finished, their firm, calm voice hovering somewhere between an identifiable masculine or feminine tone.  "Quick marched me over here and posted me, and sent Jules down when he got up there.  Burins might still be at the booth, for all I know; he can't leave, because at this hour, we only ever post the one guard.  I can't counter illusion spells to save my life, literally, and Jules isn't supposed to still be on duty at all."

"Burins's stall is empty, so don't worry about him.  Let me see the situation, and I'll determine whether or not I will release you two of Cimaretto's commands," Garimond mused.  "Now, how long ago was this?"

"I'd say I've been here about an hour," the second officer finished after stealing a glance at the first.  "Jules was here when I got here, though."

"You were here longer than that," Jules piped up weakly.  "But I didn't look at the glass, so I can't say exactly."

"A giant hourglass in the center of the hall, always turned regularly by magic, and no one looks at it," Garimond joked bitterly.  "I'll return.  Come, good sir, let us continue."

The officers both snapped salutes and remained at attention until Garimond had passed between them.  The student mage led Garimond to the top of the stairs and to the right, all the way to the end of the hallway.  There, oversword and apprentice alike were greeted by the sight of two apprentices.  One was laying on his back with his hands on his face, and the other was intently writing.  Garimond guessed that the low murmuring that was seeming to come from much farther away was actually simply within whatever enclosure had been put between the apprentice magister and the rest of the hallway.  As the two men approached, a very light blue glow betrayed the presence of a ward against magic.  Beyond it was the open wooden door to Apprentice Magister Laurelson's study, where the apprentice magister sat primly at her desk, and Firstsword Cimaretto sat crosslegged with his eyes closed in the middle of the floor, looking for all the world as though he were meditating in the most peaceful place one could imagine.

The trouble was, Apprentice Magister Laurelson's skin was streaked with unhealthy pale greens and deep bruised blues, and Firstsword Cimaretto, who had stripped down to his breeches, was dripping with sweat.  Before Garimond had a chance to begin forming an appropriate question to ask, the apprentice magister turned away from her desk and abruptly began coughing hard enough to nearly push herself from her chair.  The apprentice that was laying on his back gave a shuddering sob in response.

"Perhaps you might collect your colleague?" the oversword quietly asked the young man next to him, who'd clearly only been told of this spectacle.  The boy's eyes were wide as saucers, all sleep chased far away from them.  He nodded his agreement, but stood staring as though he hadn't really heard.

"I've treied to gi' 'em ou' uf 'ere fer ehjes," the one functional scribe sighed, looking up.  "I thenk 'e thenks 'e'd be bitreying 'er, an 'e lef'.  'E's lekke a beast, mos' th' teime, bu' a'th'mo', 'e's all to peices.  Taxin' stuff, thess.  Not fer th' wee ones.  An you no sen pleigue, et looks th' divil."

Garimond stared at the young woman as though she weren't speaking Common at all. 

"Have him fetch us one of the divination students," Apprentice Magister Laurelson manged weakly.  "It's spread upward as well as downward, so I won't have my voice much longer, will I?  We must hurry- and has anyone heard from my family?  My mother may come, and needs to be signed-"

"No, she doesn't," Garimond cut in.  "That cursed oversword is useless, and has failed to assign sufficient officers to the nightwatch.  There's no one to sign in with at all."

The young woman, staring down at her dictation work, spat out a scoff so bitter that Garimond squinted down at her, somewhat insulted.

"That's no way to talk about Garimond," the magister scolded, not realizing to whom she was speaking.  "Slow he may be, but not useless."

"Talk about him any way you want, Michi," Cimaretto scoffed.  While his tone was harsh enough, no part of him physically betrayed his annoyance.  "It's himself playing the joker.  And as for the jest itself, it rings too true to buy my laughter- thanks to the doubled market guard and the skirtfasting of more than half my blades, the nightwatch has been undermanned for weeks."

"And I have received every single complaint you've filed about it," Garimond frowned, looking up from the young girl to the grimly peaceful form of Cimaretto.  "You there, take up your compatriot and do as the magister asked you- you search for any word of the magister's family, and let him find a diviner- or perhaps some one who may have the presence of mind to find one."

This time, the young man did more than just nod.  Stepping forward wordlessly, he took hold of his classmate's elbows and began to tug him into sitting up.  The female scribe set her writing aside to get behind the still-weeping classmate, and together, he was brought to his feet.  Once there, he and the young man who had guided Garimond to the study started back toward the staircase, and the young woman left behind wrapped her arms around herself as though she were suddenly freezing cold.

"Are you Keymun or Tanner?" Garimond asked gently, watching the two departing students.

"I don't mean to be rude, Oversword, but my apprentice and I must keep working," Apprentice Magister Laurelson cut in.  "I'll give you the details you no doubt seek as soon as I've finished making sure that this all won't be for nothing."

"Proceed," Garimond sighed, vaguely annoyed at the minor rebuttal.  It takes all of five seconds to speak a name, he thought.

"Hindy?"

"Stell 'eere," Hindy shot back immediately, unfurling herself and sitting back down to gather up her note taking instruments.

Probably born of the sort of lower class that still uses what they do for who they are, Garimond thought.  Hindy... Helena?  Linda?  But probably Tanner.

"Right- 'to the provocation and continuation of this misery.  In this vein, it becomes sensible that a lifelong curse, or rather, a curse that will outlast both host and caster alike, should exist.  In fact, it may be posited that such maledictions would be preferred over those that must end when does the existence of the caster, so as to render 'Permanency,' which would cost extra time, materials, and magicka, duplicitous'-"

Garimond moved a few paces closer to the glowing ward, whose soft, semi-musical hum surprised him.  "Cimaretto," he said with a trace of nervousness, "can you spare a few words?  I... frankly don't know what is going on."

"Trishinda is taking dictation from Michele about how and why she's contracted this spell-triggered illness, which is highly contagious.  It's somehow locked in just as permanently as Thom's is.  I don't have any advanced healing skill, and I can't get a hold of anyone in that school, so I'm sustaining the ward and a personal enchantment, and turning the hourglass," Cimaretto responded curtly, at full voice.  "And before you start thinking about it, I can't move from here without either Michele's passing, which will end both the spell and the illness it somehow brings with it, or someone casting their version of a retaining ward, unless I want to risk everyone within two hundred feet."

"Understood," Garimond lied quietly.  "The guards downstairs?"

"Two loyal dogs, both overdue a raise.  Most students around here are easily deterred snoops, but only heavy steel and a firm will can stop Michi's kids from trying to see if they can help their tutor or I.  And they're all glam kits, so they can't.  They'll only accidentally distract me."

" 'Glam kits'?" Garimond asked.

"Illusion novices, then," Cimaretto replied, his temper heating up every syllable.  "You might consider actually visiting those of us posted out here once or twice, instead of depending upon tightly restricted reports to sort out what we're doing.  City isn't that big."

"....the continuation of the same.  There is therefore no further purpose than to distract, at worst, or vaguely amuse, at best, this notoriously... fickle and sanguine spirit.  Second note: this tome contains the results of the aforementioned notes and tests, and... on pain of a speedy, but agonizing death, it is not to be opened.  Having thought myself protected from such retaliation by the careful casting of a protection circle, I... opened the seals and immediately contracted a wasting sickness for which I could find no applicable name, nor... even a cursory description.  Other than the flickering of a single rune on the hand... that touched the tome, I had no warning.  There was... no measurable time between the appearance of the rune and the inception of a searing pain, like... unto sticking one's member into a pitch fire, and said pain was... coupled with the immobilization of first the few fingers that touched the tome, then... the entire hand, then the entire arm, then my entire right side.  It would be... in our best interests to... reestablish contact with the Bone... College of Urmlaspyr, and whomever is the most studied authority of contagion studies there...' "

As the apprentice magister went on, her voice grew small and choked, as though a lung or throat infection were taking sudden and powerful residence.  Garimond began to count, slowly, to see how much breath she had between hacks and gasps.  By the time he could no longer count any farther than four between coughing fits, a full figured, grey haired, rosy cheeked woman clambered her way up the stairs and began long, confident strides down the hall.

"Your name and business, madam?" Garimond asked when the woman had come close enough to the situation to be considered in danger of contagion.

"Lady Dani Laurelson, and I have more business here than any of you puppets," the woman replied brightly.  "Kindly remove yourself, and I'll talk to my child in peace."

"We are awaiting a diviner, Lady Laurelson, so that we can have hope of continuing to communicate with your daughter at all," Garimond replied smoothly.

"Ah, yes, that; I passed the bitter end of that little scene on my way here.  It was perfectly useless to send a hysterical waif in the small hours of the morning, to describe in shrieks and wails how the Apprentice Magister Laurelson was attacked by a book.  You should rather have sent one of your men downstairs to command assistance, since even the worst of you, as loyal and well-armed servants of our great king, have power enough to rouse the entire divination hall and march them out like so many common criminals at any wicked hour of the night or day."

Well, here's where the apprentice magister learned her delicate manners, Garimond thought grimly.  And here I was blaming the College for her tenderness.

"Hindy, take this ward, and I'll try a bond," Cimaretto muttered, all but unheard.

"Dinnae tetch 'er," Hindy warned seriously.

"I sent them one of their own, an eye witness to your daughter's struggle, that he may be better received," Garimond answered Lady Laurelson calmly.  "Should I rather have sent one of the Dragons to bring me a mage at sword point?"

Cimaretto opened his eyes, and, immediately regretting it, shut them again.  "I won't make physical contact, but the connection'll be more tenuous.  I can't hold my personal ward while I do it, either."

Hindy blinked at Cimaretto as though he'd just told her he was going to try eating burning balls of pitch.  "So wha're we gonna do fer tha', then?" she finally managed.

"Can you cast destruction?"

Hindy's face went from incredulous to terrified instantly.  It took her a few moments for her trust for the man to overcome the shock of his request.  "I'm... nae s'posed teh talk aboot et, but... aye, tha' I can.  Wha're ye wanten' with et?"

Cimaretto took a deep breath and released a long, weary sigh.  "Vici's part of me, always is.  If I contract the illness, I might lose control of him and be twice as dangerous," he whispered.  "Be who you are just this once, Hindy, and if I survive, I'll be a brick wall to anyone who eyes the pyre.  If I don't... your cousin's downstairs.  Take my coinpurse, she knows where it is, and get home.  Don't either one of you look back."

"A fine job of purposeful exaggeration, my lord," Lady Laurelson said, crossing her arms firmly.  Garimond instantly wondered how long it would take her fingers to go white from the pressure.  "The point remains that no mage of any worth will believe a mere initiate in the dead dark of night, and forsake his bed to check whether or not a book can attack a person- especially in the illusion hall.  The whole situation screams, 'Waste of time'.  If you were so concerned about whether or not your Dragons would behave properly when compelling action, perhaps you should have gone yourself.  Now, you see how my daughter is not long for this world; I will not waste my time speaking to you, or your like.  Begone, and take your pet with you."

"Yer coin buys ye nae deth o' me, nuncle," Hindy hissed back, laying her book and charcoal stick to one side.  "I'll do yer wall, but an et fail, naery a then' worse then paralises."

Cimaretto scoffed lightly.  "Fine time to be sentimental- take no chances with Vici.  If we lose ourselves, use destruction.  Now, to work."

Hindy stared at the blue ward and made a sort of voiced hissing, then pressed her hand to the floor.  An inky black ward pushed its way up from the stone in the floor and struggled as it hissed and sighed its way over Cimaretto's humming blue ward.  Both Garimond and Lady Laurelson watched until the dark ward won its way all the way across the doorway in both directions, and moments after it did, the blue one dissipated, allowing Hindy's ward to become more translucent than before.

"That... that was his ward?  The blue one?" Lady Laurelson asked the room.  Hindy paid the woman no attention, and Garimond gave a short, quiet scoff.

"I'm as unfamiliar with my Dragon's magical acumen as you are," he admitted.  "Were I sure that I could command him to come with me without doing some damage to the containment of whatever it is that has your daughter, I'd certainly have a serious talk with him about it at once."

"Tak yer cayre weth et, well ye nae?" Hindy whispered, her eyes closed.  "I'm nae wanten' te see an I can put a spill I oughtn't e'en talk of teh yeh."

Cimaretto didn't answer.  Moving onto his knees, he took hold of his sword with his left hand and touched the fingers of his right hand to the center of his head.

For the shortest of moments, Lady Laurelson could swear that a second creature, a spectral dog-like thing, was inside the warded space with her daughter.  Garimond, who was wholly without magical palate, saw nothing at all.  Hindy, who knew not only exactly what the spectral creature was, but why it had appeared, closed her eyes almost immediately after seeing it.

That's sufficient, Michele cooed inside Cimaretto's mind.  Relax, Chimi.  This isn't a concentration spell.

The echo of her voice reverberated in the Purple Dragon, and made the corners of his eyes sting.

That way you've always had of factoring your spells as though the opposing force has the upper hand has served you well.  The connection will hold until... ha... well, until I'm not here to hold on to.

Cimaretto coughed out two short breaths, as though someone had punched him.

Lady Laurelson clenched her arms a bit tighter in response to his sudden sound, unwillingly concerned for the man, and Hindy's closed eyelids pinched with surprise.


Looking from Lady Laurelson to Hindy, and back from Hindy to Lady Laurelson, Garimond got the distinct impression that he was the only one unaware of what was happening.  "Before you set to work again, Apprentice Magister Laurelson, have you any words for your mother?"

Michi responded as though Cimaretto, not Garimond, had spoken.  I have less time left than we feared, dearheart.  Tell my mother, at once, that your biancomangiare will do well with her tea, and that Hindy will finish the quilt with her, when she can pause in her studies.

She hates me, Michi, Cimaretto thought grimly.  She won't countenance me, even now.

Just once more, please.  Maybe now...

The Purple Dragon took a few deep, slow breaths, then spoke.

"Lady Laurelson, if you would like, I can bring biancomangiare- the sweet white confection?- to go with your tea.  And, Trishinda will be happy to finish the quilt with you, when she gets a moment away from her studies."

"I don't-  You know I never-  these are her last words to me?" Lady Laurelson sputtered, her chest deflating like a set of spent bagpipes.  "I just- how does she expect-?"

Tomorrow, she will pay the tax collector, she will keep the house, you will bring biancomangiare, and you all will sit and have a nice common tea while you sort out how it is that you will be a family day after tomorrow.  That's how you'll do it.  One day at a time, until you can do more.  Remind her that she told me that, when my father died.

"Just... one day at a time.  Remember when Ser Laurelson died some years ago, and you told her don't do too much at once?  So, right now, same thing.  Tomorrow, you're going to pay the collector and keep house, like normal, and I'll bring the sweets, and Trishinda, and we'll eat, and we'll sort out how to get on tomorrow.  Okay?"


"And... we...?" Lady Laurelson asked breathlessly.  " 'We'?  I... no.  No, absolutely not.  You... shameless opportunist!  Filthy weapon dragger!  I don't believe you, you imposter!  Pretending to be able to- both of you, get out and leave me in peace.  And take this thick-tongued, half-Elf cretin with you, if you don't mind!  If it weren't for you, both of you, I'd have a proper, chapel going son-in-law and happy grandchildren to keep my age.  Instead, I'll soon have a disfigured corpse to bury or burn, whichever the esteemed potentate, and his steel-plated pets, permits."

Garimond turned his head and shook it as though her words had physically hurt, yet kept himself silent.  Grief will tear bitter answers from the holiest of tongues, after all.

For a few moments, there was a thunderous silence, both inside and outside of Cimaretto's mind.  The Purple Dragon turned his head over his shoulder.

Michi?

Well, the apprentice magister thought, her dignified fury dripping palpably from the single word.  You see now, I suspect, why it was quite difficult to hear my father insist that I was more like her.  To work, then- assuming Hindy's still there?

"Lady Laurelson, with respect, we're working," Cimaretto said quietly.  "The curse locked in on Michele is very similar to the one locked onto a former officer, and right now, she's giving her life for him- rather, for the hope that at some point, someone will be able to figure out how to save him.  Trishinda and I need to work together to get her last notes together."

The woman's grip on herself tightened again, and the tips of her pale, pale fingers flushed bright pink with stifled blood.  "I still don't believe you," she muttered at last, "and you're not welcome.  But I see there's no help for it.  I'll keep quiet here, but don't think you can order me away.  I'll stay right here, and when you're tired of pretending at being a worker of magic, I'll have my daughter back."

"Cimaretto, I'm leaving this all to you- and I'm cutting your detail downstairs loose," Garimond noted with a tightly controlled voice.  "Clean this up, report to me with all notes and findings, and consider yourself on leave- two weeks, half pay.  At the end of two weeks, we talk."

"Sir, yes sir," Cimaretto replied simply.  For the night watch commanding officer best known for his sudden and severe fits of rage, it was much too calm a reception, and Garimond knew better than to assume that it was because he was happy with his treatment.

Once downstairs, Garimond dismissed the soldiers quietly, since most of the students in the downstairs area had taken to sleeping on the floor around them- some immediately in front.  Jules saluted and began picking her way through the slumbering students immediately, but the second guard took time to turn around and whip out a small charcoal pencil.  Garimond decided that it would be a better idea to watch than to ask questions, and was rewarded with the appearance of a partially identifiable symbol.  When the second guard had finished drawing it, they stood upright and removed the gauntlet that covered their right hand.  The thick, calloused fingers there unveiled belied the careful, intricate work that had gone into making the small symbol.  The guard snapped their fingers, and the drawn symbol, just for a moment, gave off a wickedly deep crimson glow.

"There," the guard breathed, turning around.  "Only one of Chimi's tricks that I can actually do.  Works wonders, though- no mage likes feeling as though they've got mindfire."

Garimond smiled and nodded as though he understood the comment, and the guard stood to full height.

And thus I discover that Cimaretto might be one of the Skullwatch Spellswords- I look forward to that little chat.

"Officer?"

"Sir?" the intrepid guard replied without a hint of negative emotion.

"Name and rank, officer."

"Blade Meridha Kattril, by the grace and command of King Foril the first," the officer replied at once.

"Long may he reign," Garimond said, nearly due to habit alone.  "Now, how long has Firstsword Cimaretto been your CO?"

"Since I was transferred here, two years ago," Meridha answered, "and left to him, I won't watch for anyone else.  Hindy's my second cousin on my mum's side, from this tiny mountain village, west of Maloren's.  I asked why she was called down from there to the College, or who sent for her, but no one tells me anything about it.  Anyway, when the envoy she was traveling with came by Greatgaunt, my pop put in for a transfer for me.  Folks from the west- sometimes the eastern folks don't... um... understand them, you know?  Mum begged my pop to put in the request, since his paternal right would practically make it an order.  Cimaretto got wind of it, somehow, and took us aside when we arrived.  Said he knew what it's like to be ripped up and shipped out to people who suspect you're about two prayer book pages away from being a total barbarian.  So he kept me on a beat here, near her hall.  Denied two other commanders to do it, and... we're both grateful."


" '...forced to perform the experimentation of physical operations and transmorphing spellwork intended to heighten the senses and abilities of the subjects, with the ideologically questionable goal of creating a pack mind more easily controlled than each individual could be on their own.'  Got it?"

"Aye," Hindy answered at once, even though she was still scribbling as quickly as her sore fingers could.

Thank you, dearheart.  That was... a bit too difficult, at the end there.

It wasn't too difficult.  I knew what you meant, Cimaretto thought. 

There's... a link.  Or something.  Thom wasn't from the north, and the other subject wasn't even Human, but... there's something.  About all of them.  And you too.  I remember worrying about it, but... I can't think of it now.  Look over my notes.  Help Hindy... I don't know... re-think of it.

Cimaretto tilted his head very slightly to the right.  I'll do my best.  I'm no research mage.

Neither was I, until this, Michi reminded.  Look over everything, together.  Between the three of you, you'll see it again.

Dani Laurelson, who was nervously watching her daughter's chest gradually move less and less, found that she couldn't bear to bring her fist away from her mouth.

"Raiht... 'tes done," Hindy breathed, closing her notepad.  "Thank th' sperets; I though' we'd nae mayke et."

Diego?

Yes? Cimaretto thought, barely restraining the powerful urge to wrap his arms around Michele.


I'm scared.

Cimaretto sighed deeply and sat down with his back to the doorway.


My mother's name is Ursula, he thought.  She prefers Sully to Ursie- long story.  She's dark brown haired, brown eyed, olive skinned.  She had a black ghost wolf, about six hand, forepaw to the top of her head.  Lucia.  Last I visited Mamma's grave with Nonna, Nonna says she's always liked you.  So, I imagine, if she's following me like Nonna says, then, well, she's gotta be close.  Call for her; we're all good d-

Oh, Michele interrupted quietly, her mental voice made just as small as her natural voice had been before she lost it altogether.  Well, that explains- Ursula, right?  Sully, yes, he just said... oh.  Mamma?  But we haven't... oh.  That's true.  ...  Alright, I will; thank you.

Cimaretto mashed the insides of his lips together between his teeth.  Prenditi cura di mia moglie, Mamma.

But the officer said no words aloud.  Off campus, across most of Suzail, in homes, chained to stakes, or in kennels, unearthly howls from all sorts of dogs seemed to all pierce the early morning's cool air at once.  Cimaretto breathed deeply, as though he could smell the sounds.  For the second time in his life, his chest throbbed with a longing to leave the mortal world.

"Chimi?  Heigh-oh, Nuncle Chimi?"


Hindy's voice seemed so quiet and distant that at first, Cimaretto didn't realize she was speaking to him.  Only when she repeated herself did he open his eyes and turn over his shoulder.  Their eyes met during a silence so thick that it felt as though it couldn't have been broken by a scream.

"Gane, is she nae?" Hindy asked, her voice made a whisper under that oppressive silence.

Cimaretto only nodded, then turned his head straight forward again.

"What?  Gone?" Lady Laurelson breathed, her own normally strident voice unable to push itself out of her throat.  "Can't I touch her?  Can't I say goodbye, at least?"

"She gave me words for you, madam, and you would have none of them," Cimaretto replied, his voice rumbling perilously at the bottom of his register, more like a growl than a human sound.  "If you would speak to her now, it had better be to beg her forgiveness."

All the sorrow in the woman's bosom soured into rage at once, and the weighty, somber quiet was shattered by her suddenly full, indignant voice.  "Forgiveness for what?  All her life, that life spent in my house, she was safe.  Out she comes to serve the Crown, and she is at once cut short, torn away from me and any hope of family or fulfillment.  I did what I could as a mother, but you, you miserable blade dragger, you and your ilk return me this.  The wasted shell of my child.  Give her to me, and let me bury her.  None of these military honors.  I want to bury her in my land, with my own hands, and what of our family I can call to my side."

"No," Cimaretto said.  A growl arose from something that wasn't his natural voice, and Hindy recoiled in spite of herself.

Oh, there 'tis, she thought fearfully, looking around for whatever might indicate that the officer's spectral wolf lurked nearby.  A feine teime t' be proven' yer hir'tage!

"What- what is that?" Lady Laurelson asked, looking around herself as well.  "You dare bring a battle hound into-"

"Open your eyes, woman," Cimaretto snarled.  "I am the battle hound."

And as the growl grew louder, Lady Laurelson looked around herself more and more frantically.  Hindy, who could hear the sound just fine, but knew that no magic could pass her ward in either direction, simply watched the older woman whip herself around as though the floor her were on fire.

"Call it off, won't you?" Lady Laurelson demanded after nearly tripping over her skirts.  "Where is it?  Get it away from here!"

"Give Michele to me," Cimaretto breathed, his voice sunk so deeply into his labored breath that Hindy cast a brief look behind her to ensure that he still seemed well.

"No!  You can't threaten me, you're- you're-"

"A filthy weapon dragger, right?" Cimaretto suddenly snapped.  "An unwelcome hack-and-slasher, a steel plated pet, an idiot chained to the throne, a stooped and brutish cretin fit only for a side show faire tent?  Open your eyes and LOOK AT ME."

Lady Laurelson made the mistake of doing just that, and when she saw what appeared like a wolf made entirely of billowing dark grey smoke, her eyes promptly rolled up into her head.  Hildy made it across the small hallway just in time to make sure that the fainting woman didn't hit her head anywhere on the way down.

"Denna ken ef she'll be rimembren' 'at," she remarked with a sigh.  "She'll wek oop en' act jest th' saym, well she nae?"

"Probably," Cimaretto replied, all the fight gone out of his voice at once.  Vici, suddenly made puppy-like in its docility, dropped its smoky head to sniff at the floor, then padded over to its weary spellsword as though it could be patted.  "My best hope is that she's out long enough for me to get Michi out of here and on her way to a pyre, just in case.  The good lady can bring the heavens down on me afterward; I'll bear it."

"Th' gud leddy'll be doen' nae such a theng, or she'll hae a herd o' shamblers after mekken' supper oot ef 'er," Hindy huffed.

Cimaretto chuckled weakly.  "I suppose that's my fault for telling you to be who you are.  It's hard to be quiet again afterward, isn't it?"  He stretched his arm out over the smoky wolf figure, and after picking its head up as if to sniff Cimaretto's hand, it quickly dissipated as though it had been mere natural smoke.

"Aye, 'tes," Hindy admitted, a bit of color rising in her cheeks.  After a few moments, during which Cimaretto got up and stood behind Michele's body, the apprentice asked, "Till me agayne th' stohry ef 'ow yeh were gitten' Vici, well ye nae?"

And Cimaretto laughed more fully, although the sound still seemed somehow sad.  "Now there's a thing I'm not supposed to be talking about at all, but of course I'll tell you again.  As many times as you like; you know that."

"D'yeh thenk trooly et's a kerse?" Hindy asked as she picked up her scribing items.

"What we can do- you and I- we're not curses," Cimaretto said, still smirking.  "You have a necessary skillset, and shouldn't be feared.  And as for me, I'm only scary when I have to be... most of the time.  Isn't that so, Michi?"

And Hindy watched Cimaretto allow himself to run a single finger down the apprentice magister's cheek without a word of reproof.

The Foremothers' hymns 4:10 Rooted.

In the last of the vivisection laboratories of the Bone College, with heavy, metal detailed doors between them and the screams coming from other rooms in that stone corridor, Kaionne sat peacefully in a simple wooden chair while Arlwynna forced herself to stop adjusting the metal tools laid out on the stone slab before her.

They're straight, the student told herself firmly.  They're perfectly straight.  Okay.  Okay.

"The female will wait patiently until you are satisfied with all that surrounds you," Kaionne soothed, innocently smoothing her hands over her well-worn brown dress.  "If the Master Inquisitor can only touch the Beyond when the Great Pool within him is still, how much more still must we then be?"

Arlwynna smiled weakly, but took the hint.  Taking a deep breath, she placed both hands on the stone slab, with all its various instruments, and bowed her head.

Oh, gracious and most wise ancestor, please watch over me as I try to bring you honor by succeeding in this test.  Still my heart with your cool composure, and weight my swirling thoughts with your vast knowledge.  Guide me toward the work that I looked over and prepared, and I will renew your spirit with pride.

Pharen breathed in the prayer like a sweet perfume, and manifested himself immediately.  Once present, he cast his gaze over all the various instruments spread out on the slab with a disdain that welled up from long years of superiority. 

Nervous about correctly using this filthy array, or merely about having to touch it? he asked, safe in the knowledge that she wouldn't actually hear him in order to take offense.  Why these coupled monsters decided to teach you the most brutal, disgusting method of divination extant is beyond me.

The shadows on the other side of the room slowly undulated, as though they a thick, dark liquid instead of a natural response to a partial blockage of the light thrown off by the two chandeliers in the room.

"Thank you for trying," Arlwynna said, turning over her shoulder to look at Kaionne, who looked up at her.  "I do feel a tiny bit better."

"Proceed when you feel at your most calm," Kaionne replied knowingly.  "This one has not scheduled any other tests after yours, and the Beyond is long past any hours or schedules at all.  This one tells you this because it is clear that the Beyond is here, and will guide toward that which is best, if a peaceful heart will allow it."

I repent me of that 'monstrous' comment, Pharen sighed with rolled eyes.  That werewoman always knows, without doubt, when I am near, which speaks to a degree of skill you don't yet have.  But you will; I'll see to that.

 Arlwynna turned back to the stone table and looked over the small stone brazier, the flint stones, the small metal offering plate, the knife, the tongs, the poker, the ceremonial cloth, the pan of ashes, and the pan of still-bloody entrails.  Quietly and with reverently closed eyes, she bowed to the table, then righted herself and used the flint stones to spark a flame in the small brazier under the offering plate.  Once the flame had caught the bit of paper and wood shavings, she reached her right hand forward to take a pinch of ashes.  With a small bow, she sprinkled them over the tongs in order to ceremonially bless them.  She then used the tongs to arrange the entrails- first the intestines, then the lungs, then finally the heart- on the offering plate.  Each placement of the entrails was interrupted by a small bow and a sprinkling of ashes over the tongs, so the entire process took some time.  Beyond the dark skinned half Shadar-kai and her attentive tutor, Pharen slowly paced from one side of the examination room to the other.

Dowsing rods.  The examination of leaves.  The charting of star placements, or the measuring of sea tides, or even the casting of lots- no, they decide to teach you how to read the innards of some poor man or beast.  Which man or beast has died for the pleasure, I know not- but... that's the cost, isn't it?  Death- the highest possible cost for any of our arts.  Perhaps that's why.  Perhaps that's that madman's reasoning... I suppose I should stop calling him a madman...

Another phantasmal presence watched intently as Arlwynna used the ceremonial tongs to move each of the entrails from their pan to the offering plate- all except for the liver.  Knowing both that the young woman was still nervous, and that those nerves were causing her to make small errors, the spirit was much less surprised than Pharen was to hear the sharp clatter of metal on stone a few moments later.

By Tel'Seldarine, girl, Pharen exclaimed, more out of soreness at his own jumping at the sound than anything else.  It annoyed him that the jumpiness he'd always had in life seemed to have followed him into the grave.  Metal near a flame gets hot, doesn't it?

In the shadows, the presence sighed within itself at Pharen's short temper- another facet of him that absolutely hadn't changed one bit.


"Sorry!  I'm so sorry!  I'm so, so sorry!" Arlwynna whispered frantically as she gathered up the plate and the tongs.  "I hope I haven't damaged them; I am so sorry."

Not that sorry, Pharen frowned, still stung by his annoyance at himself.  Don't humiliate yourself so completely in front of a werewoman.

Lady Kaionne is a Shifter, Lord Pharen, Miye corrected sharply, stepping forward from her corner.  The shadows there wavered, and the candles in the room flickered briefly, as though a stiff wind had tried to put them all out.  Your handmaiden wonders at the quickness with which Questioner Seyashen's disappointment at your disrespect for the lady seems to have been forgotten.

The Elven spirit, profoundly surprised, turned and stared at what once was the victim of his lust and abuse.

Miye.
 
The Shadar-kai spirit crossed her arms over her chest.  A tenderness that had never before attended his tone when he spoke her name rang real, but strange at the same time, causing quite the disturbance within her.

Kaionne got up and helped Arlwynna clean up the ashes and blood that had gotten onto the ground without saying a word, but moved so slowly that Arlwynna herself had to slow down in order to move around her without causing more of a mess.  When Kaionne had put everything close to her in its proper place, she put the entrails that Arlwynna had already placed on the altar back in the blood pan very delicately, so that the blood wouldn't splash.

"Now, dear pup of Dhamaina," she said once she'd turned back around from the table.  "The female has with her, maybe, a few sprigs of lavender.  They were sent here by the Tiefling herb woman."

"Daiirdra," Arlwynna sighed as she began to reset the instruments, a trace of misplaced emotion in her voice.  "Always so thoughtful."

"She is, and her own cub will be like unto her," Kaionne soothed as she rooted through the few worn pouches at her waist.  "When that little one comes, this one believes it will be good for her to walk with you.  Ah, here- is this not the work of blessed hands?"

As soon as the blooming stems gave their fragrance to the room, Arlwynna's face relaxed.  She took a deep breath, savoring the scent without even thinking about it, and sighed deeply.

"I'm really very sorry," she repeated again, her voice very small.

"This one is not sure what you are apologizing for," Kaionne replied, her tone perfectly even.  "We have just arrived, and you have very newly struck this flame- how can anything be wrong?  Now, I will use your fire to heat a bit of water.   Will it not be pleasant, before we set to work, to take tea?"

Arlwynna opened her eyes and looked over to Kaionne, who had stepped forward with a waterskin and a small metal cup in order to do exactly as she'd said she would do.

Oh, blessed ancestor, I thank you for your workings, the Shadar-kai thought, still with a tinge of tired sadness.  Truly it is your will that I learn composure, for you have sent me these needful roots- and an amazingly resourceful teacher; I can't imagine where she stuffed that cup- anyway, I thank you.  More than these, I thank you for the second chance that I am receiving.  I beg you, weight my flighty thoughts with your calm wisdom, and I will bring you honor.  And extra offerings, for the embarrassment!

Your handmaiden hopes that you are proud of her offspring, Miye smiled gently.  She stepped back, crossed her arms, and leaned on the wall in the corner.  Again, the candles flickered in response.  Others are so critical of we Shadar-kai, and of Drow, but truly, Dhamaina and her Tardagh brought this girl up with such tenderness.

Pharen only nodded in agreement.  Despite the fact that he'd managed to swallow the shock that Miye had not only manifested herself anywhere near him, but had spoken to him, he found nothing at all to say to her.


Kaionne cut the lavender stems, but then backed away from the table, leaving Arlwynna to properly cut, separate, and grind the flowers themselves.  The process was so thoroughly ingrained in her being that she finished it long before she realized that she had, and came to herself only just in time to realize that there really was only one cup.

"Had you wanted some, Grand Torturer?" she offered somewhat guiltily.  "I can-"

Kaionne smiled gratefully.  "No, no; this one will drink only water- look, here it is.  Come, let us gather closely, as the old wise ones of my pack did.  Sometimes they took tea, sometimes a bit of gruel, and sometimes even warmed wine with spiced rum, but never did we perform any ceremony without first chasing the chill from our spirits together, for all of our workings were performed outdoors, and always it was very cold."

And, the Shifter, whose long, multilayered dress billowed out around her when she sat on the floor, looked up and waited for the dark skinned Shadar-kai to do the same.  Arlwynna's simple sage green dress, cinched in by the mottled bodice that she wore to do cauldron work, sank straight down with her, putting an unintended cushion between her and the cold stone floor.  Kaionne shifted herself so that both of them could observe the stone slab, so when Arlwynna looked up at it through the steam of the tea, her eyes widened, then lowered to the cup almost immediately.

What made me think to put the utensils so close to the brazier like that?  And the liver is supposed to be on the same plate with the lungs and the heart- perhaps I separated them and forgot to put them back together?

After this contemplation, Arlwynna patted a few of the pockets and pouches that were at her waist, and came up with a bit of mugwort.  Grinding it only between her fingers, she sprinkled it into the tea carefully, and then looked over at her tutor with a small smile.

"Thank you for this; I didn't know that about Shifter mages.  They have it right- I should perhaps have taken more time to truly focus, and tea is always helpful.  I often take tea near my ancestor's shrine, but... I didn't, today.  I don't know that I've fully pleased him, lately."

I hope this isn't about the armorer again, Pharen groaned, forgetting his shame and embarrassment for the moment.  I have never been angry about that armorer, girl.

"The voice of the Beyond is heard quite clearly here, as well you know," Kaionne replied calmly.  "This one believes that if your ancestor were displeased, he would take advantage of how easily he may use others to communicate with you."

Your handmaiden hopes you will forgive her for believing that you may need to give a more gracious sign of your continued favor, if it is that these aberrant affections have not displeased you, Miye suggested.  Her tone was firm, but absolutely free of the venom that it would have carried in life.

Pharen, who noticed the absence immediately, bit his lips and nodded his head slowly.

You're right, but for this: you are not my handmaiden.

And it was Miye's turn to be surprised.

I will take hold of the Tiefling or the ma- the Halfling, rather, and tell her to have a go at that Cormite armorer, Pharen continued firmly, but as soon as he'd said it, his face twisted very slightly.  Although... here, she'll get some sort of education and community.  These people are not ideal tutors, but the Phoenix has changed for the worse, and the Cormite college would never have what they would likely consider to be twice the enemy in their classes, so... perhaps that woman should come to her, wouldn't you say?


Miye stared at him, utterly confused.  Seyashen had warned her that perhaps Pharen may have changed slightly, but she hadn't expected to be spoken to as though she were more than his property, even in death.

Without saying anything else to each other, Kaionne and Arlwynna finished their respective drinks.  Kaionne arose first, then offered a hand down to Arlwynna, who took it only out of politeness.  Kaionne collected the cup, folded the dregs of mugwort and lavender into a small cloth that she tucked into another pouch, then seated herself in her chair again.  Arlwynna smiled gratefully, and turned to the table to fix her positioning errors.

Now, she thought to herself.  Let's try this again.

Ah, Pharen said quietly, taking Miye's silence as anger.  Well, excuse me, I really must... 

He turned away from Miye to pay attention to the proceedings, but Miye's gaze was pinned only to him.

Arlwynna moved the utensils, placed the entrails properly, and blessed them all with ash.  She then took up the ceremonial knife, blessed and cleaned it, then cut into the liver.  As she did, she noted the way the blood flowed, its color, the amount of fat in the liver itself, and any strange spots in either the fat or the meat.  When she had finished with the slicing, she spoke her findings aloud to Kaionne, who made no sound, but nodded from time to time.

You see how proficient she is with even this wicked, archaic method of divination, Pharen breathed to Miye without looking back at her.  It's all your blood.  She looks like a dark Elf- but practices her worship, and this sort of witchery, like a true Shadovar.  I know not what to make of it.

I less than you, Miye answered, a fragile smirk pulling at her lips.  You know that Dhamaina and Tardagh could not find anyone willing to educate her.  So all that this child has done to improve her natural talent, she has done with nothing but their love... and her perception of your guidance.

"This was well done," Kaionne commended at the end of Arlwynna's declaration of findings.  "Congratulations on your first solo practical study- next time, we will work with the entrails of a freshly executed inmate."

"Oh, fresh?" Arlwynna smiled somewhat uncomfortably.  "So I suppose it'll be an early morning practical?"

"Very likely, yes," Kaionne replied.  "The fact that the specimen will be hanged without stoning or burning is very useful for us, so this one made arrangements to have the body be brought straight here so soon as the rope hangs completely taut.  Prepare yourself; you will have to do a reading for the Grand Inquisitor."

"Oh my!" Arlwynna squealed, putting her hands to her face in spite of herself.

"Don't fear," Kaionne smiled.  "He prefers to do it himself because the Beyond will tell him whether or not even he is making a mistake when he helps you to read into their hands.  Remember, it is not truly the future itself we see when we divine; it is instead the signs that the Beyond leave behind them as they move with the All toward the various possibilities, perceived and unperceived.  Many of the realities in which we believe so firmly are only their quietest echoes."

I can't make out the teaching but for the nonsense it's couched in, Pharen complained as he watched Arlwynna and Kaionne clean up the table together.


Don't dismiss her words as nonsense only because you do not understand them, Miye admonished.  Pharen gave a quiet scoff, but nodded his agreement after a few seconds.

"Should I expect it in a week or so?  I was going to make a trip to Cormyr, to pick up some fresh blooms that I just can't get to grow around here," Arlwynna admitted sheepishly.

Lady Kaionne believes in the Great Tree cosmology, Miye reminded.  It's natural for her to refer to the planes, those that inhabit them, and the gods themselves as "the All."  Death sorts one into a different phase of this All, one that is closer to the gods, who are themselves close enough to the future to relay it, albeit unreliably, to their followers.  That said, however, the future itself doesn't exist until it is collectively constructed by the All- it can be said that the gods begin to construct the future, and we dead who follow most closely are, to some extent, gossiping about what we see the gods doing as we ourselves look upon and interact with the future's threshold.

Kaionne smiled at Arlwynna as though she had just let her in on a conspiracy.  "Bring back your blooms to Us," she suggested slyly.  "Although it is commonly said that We are interested only in death, in truth, We are always delighted to encourage and celebrate growth- of all kinds.  Nothing to fear."


Arlwynna blushed, making her beautiful cheeks the color of perfectly ripe black cherries.

That's not unique to tree people, Pharen reasoned.  There's a divination theory stating that the reason many soothsayers, prophets, and fortune tellers disagree with each other is because there is no single future for them to sense or see, but instead an unfathomable web of unfinished planar pathways that all spring into existence as soon as the necessary choices and actions in the past are made or taken- oh, what's the name of that-

The Divergent Paths theory, Miye supplied without missing a beat.  Shadar-kai also hold this same knowledge.  We call it 'carving the world-

-with your deeds,' Pharen finished, somewhat annoyed with himself for not realizing the similarities between the three beliefs more readily.  Why didn't I-

I don't think you knew how to understand it,  Miye said gently.  You could barely understand anyone but yourself, back then.  Even those few that you considered your allies or equals.

"If I can gather them, I'll certainly bring them," Arlwynna finally managed.  "It... is about time that I really, really tried." 

Pharen looked from Miye to Arlwynna, surprised and pleased at the same time.

Don't mistake her, Miye advised, understanding Pharen's reaction.  She believes that, based on the happenings here, you've given your approval and support to her purpose, without her having to ask you about it again.

Pharen looked back at Miye with a sorrow in his gaze that confused her.  Will you ever be able to forgive me, someday?

Kaionne reached out and took Arlwynna's hands, which were still trembling just slightly due to high emotions and nerves.  After giving a gentle pat, the Shifter floated out of the room as though she were ethereal, her lovely train whispering as it moved over the stone of the floor.

Please don't ask me that, Miye replied very quietly, looking away from Pharen.  The gods- I'm not sure whose, yours or mine- have pinned you to this plane to serve as a guide to your great granddaughter.  I cannot demand a greater penance of you than they, but neither can I pretend that this service is sufficient for me to absolve the wrong you did me, or the pain you caused.

Left alone in the room, Arlwynna trailed her hand along the cool stone table, and looked at the burn mark across her first two fingers.

Was there any actual divination done here? Pharen asked, attempting to cover up the fact that Miye's words had been like a hot sword through living flesh.

No, Miye said, grateful for the change of subject.  Those organs were all from various vivisection subjects.  A true reading would require that they all come from the same purified animal... or person... granted the location.

Gods, the place should burn to the ground, Pharen complained, almost out of habit.


It... did, Miye replied as she looked across the room at him.  You can't mean that you, of all people, don't remember that.

The two looked at each other for a few moments, all the words that could not yet be said smoldering in the shadows between them.  Beyond them, Arlwynna stopped staring at her hand and began putting all of the utensils away.

I'm off to the market, Pharen stated flatly, vainly attempting to cover his raw emotions with a businesslike tone.  I like to check her shop before she gets there, these days.

Miye held Pharen's gaze until he broke it himself.  I'll watch over her until she makes it to you, and then I will return to Lord Seyashen.  Whom you may want to thank, when you get a chance.

I will, the Eladrin spirit said as he allowed himself to dissipate into the air.  And, thank you.


Arlwynna closed the wicker basket that held all the utensils and turned to leave the room.  As she stepped toward the door, all of the candles blew out completely, as though a gale of wind had somehow come through.  Arlwynna looked over her shoulder and smiled, then turned and left the room completely, headed down the hall, up the stairs, and toward the large metal reinforced wood door that would put her on the street to her shop.

4:9 Agate and orris.

Piettro ambled along in his plainclothes, admiring the delicate roses, light lilacs, and warm oranges that the sunset painted across the sky.  His purse, made a bit heavier by the week's pay, shifted ever so slightly with his breath, and with the thudding of his heart.  Up ahead of him, a slow, deep toned bell began tolling the seventh hour.

Can have a pendant made, he thought casually, casting an eye over to a small public sundial that had been carved into the side of a manse.  That small white agate stone...

He passed an incense street vendor on the way to the College of War Wizards, and cast a polite, but disinterested smile at the somewhat disheveled man and his small wooden selling booth.  A strongly built Elven woman trotted down the street beyond the Purple Dragon and the vendor, unbeknownst to both.  As soon as she spotted the seller, she hustled toward her fellow soldier with a bit more urgency.

"Lemongrass for you?" the seller offered as he gave Piettro a vacant-eyed grin.  "Brings clarity of the mind; a great boon for a future commander."

Probably his hundredth pitch today, Piettro thought wearily.  Sense's dulled by all the rejections.

"Cypress for physical strength of all kinds- sage to clear your soul of any impurities such as avarice or pride," the seller continued, motioning behind himself to the wooden set up.  Piettro took some time to notice the marks on the beams where the binding straps must have gone.

New around here, but no stranger to the road.

"Answers to questions you hadn't thought to ask are all here, ser," the vendor continued carefully, somewhat concerned about the soldier's lack of physical or verbal response.  "If you would but let me show you to them..."

The Elven woman- Veladwyn- made it to the two gentlemen before Piettro finally decided to answer.

"Hey there; the market's that way," she offered with a warm, but firm voice.  "Perhaps someone should show you to that?"

"There's precious little room in the market proper," the seller replied simply as he pushed his hands into the wide sleeves of his worn tunic and turned toward her, "and none at all for such as myself.  I thought it might be a good idea to market my little blessings here, closer to those who would better appreciate them.  Chamomile for you, my lady?  It'll do wonders for your tensions."

"I'm sure we can find a proper place for your stall," the Elf replied affably, completely unchanged by the seller's problem or proposition.  "I'm stationed at the College proper, and can't be of too much service to you, but if I lodge a request of assistance with my-"

"Here's five lions," Piettro cut in, undoing the tie to his purse and fishing for the coins.  "The gossip mill's too vicious for open marketing.  Make the acquaintance of one Blade Fenris; if you offer cassia and he demands true cinnamon as though you've insulted him, you'll have him."

"Kind, kind ser!" the seller objected, sparks of embarrassment and terror flashing in his eyes.  "Such charity is tremendous, and I would- ah, wait..."

"Tremendous isn't the word for this," Veladwyn muttered, just loud enough for Piettro to hear it, as the seller rummaged through the various purses at his waist.

"He's no pusher," Piettro whispered back as he pulled his purse strings shut again.

Veladwyn squinted at Piettro in annoyance.  "Maybe not, but he's still-"

"Orris," the seller pronounced with satisfaction, when he'd found the object of his search at last.  "Offers the protection and the passion of the moon- and is too rarely used, in my opinion.  So many make empty, useless offerings- their own ignorance dooms their prayers.  Two lions, and you have my word, I'll take your advice to the center of my heart."

"Glad to hear it- a hand for the stall?" Piettro asked as he received the sheer cloth bag of small, white blooms with one hand, then opened the other to show the five coins.

"No, no," the seller protested with upraised hands.  "I couldn't-"

"For your own offerings, hmm?" Piettro insisted with lowered tone and volume.  "Dunno that I've seen orris, around here."

The vendor looked slowly up from the coins to Piettro, then nodded as he opened his hand to accept all five coins.  "I know you risk not often, but much, once compelled.  Orris for Selune's grace and protection, good ser; look to it.  With my lady's pardon?"

Veladwyn said nothing to the seller in reply, and grabbed Piettro's arm before he could say anything else.

"That is a risk, you know," she crabbed once she'd gotten him half way up the street from which she had come.  "Down the road from dozens of diviners, and you decide to point out a Dragon who turns a blind eye on side alley sales?"

"Man's not very well going to peddle strength, tranquility, and clarity of mind to fiends," Piettro argued, tugging his arm around of Veladwyn's grasp.  "I know the place, and he's a stranger; why shouldn't I give him a solid foothold around here?"

"You can't give a foreigner a foothold by telling him how to get away with selling dishonestly!" Veladwyn hissed.  "He's supposed to-"

"Leave him to Fenris," Piettro said flatly.  "He's stationed in the alleys for good reason.  That man does any damage, he'll clap him in irons as faster than any of us."

The Elf gave a frustrated grunt, but fell silent, unwilling to continue the argument all the way onto the College grounds.  The two officers joined the short entry line at the heavy wooden check-in stalls and saluted the Dragon one at a time before signing a scroll that documented their presence there.  Piettro assumed that his conversation with Veladwyn was over, and began to stroll away from the stall that he'd entered comfortably, but the Elf looked around for him after she'd finished signing and quickly returned to his side.  Around them, other Purple Dragons and mage students alike parted as though the two of them carried the most infectious of plagues.  Being used to at least the occasional head nod or wave from the permanently stationed soldiers, or the students who routinely left the same classes at the same times each day, Piettro found himself irritated with the collective avoidance.

"I suppose you've got nothing better to do than follow me around," he managed tersely after a few moments of silence had gone by.

Veladwyn coughed out a strange laugh just as sharp as the "joke" that had provoked it.  "There's enough for me to do, sad to say.  Factoring protection wards and casting them.  Powering them.  Teaching the greenhorns how to power them.  Recasting them every four hours, or any other time the guard has to rotate.  Refactoring and recasting them every time some idiot Evocation student sets them off-"

"Ask for reassignment," Piettro interrupted, "if you hate it that much."

"I have," the Elf said pointedly.  "I asked to go anywhere that isn't here."

"You are to the College like Fenris is to the alleys," Piettro replied, feeling as though he had been baited into paying Veladwyn a compliment.  "Not a lot of skull bashers are much good to the wand wavers; you're different."

"What I wonder is, why a skull basher is stuck on personal detail for a caster," Veladwyn said airily, ignoring the implied compliment altogether.

"What does my assignment have to do with your wanting to be reassigned?" Piettro asked, just barely stopping himself from snorting at the Elf.

"Qualifications and abilities!  This Eunice woman is a magister's apprentice, a wand waver, as you so elegantly put it.  What good you're supposed do her, I don't understand.  More boots are needed in the market, but the brass won't send you.  The mages could actually do their own casting, like they're supposed to, but there's no chance they'll ever even shift you there.  No, instead of being put in the danger of actually having to draw your sword once or twice, you're skirtfasted to Ranclyffe's useless surrogate brat."

"Good to hear you're not angry about it," Piettro muttered, more to himself than to the Elf.

"The captain feels you've been inappropriately posted," Veladwyn huffed.  "He's spoken to me about it multiple times."

"Look, I can't control what the captain wants to complain about," Piettro sighed.  "He shouldn't be whining to inferiors at all, but..."


Eunice came out of her last class- Clear Proof Writing for Mystics and Diviners- and was the last student to leave, as usual.  She turned to her right when she walked out of the professor's small cottage classroom and looked for Piettro, who could usually be found sitting under a large tree a few paces away.  When she noticed that he was still up the street, and in the company of a handsomely shaped, sandy haired, blue eyed Elf of some sort, she felt a strange tightening in her chest.


"...and if that's the real problem, then he should go talk to Garimond, man to man," Piettro finished strongly.

"Garimond's opinion isn't gold," Veladwyn argued.  Piettro turned sharply away from her and began walking quickly toward a large tree, and the Elf had to hurry to match his change of direction and pace.  "The suspect is a worker of magics, based on the rune he put on her door, and a battlemage-"

"You think command doesn't know that?" Piettro groaned, the words laced with frustration.  "Problem is that based on expert testimony, the bastard would rather use his knife.  There's no counterspell for a knife."

"Domination and enchantment spells means he wants her alive," the Elf argued.  "I'm telling you-"

"Vela, I did as much arguing with the brass as I was going to do weeks ago," Piettro stated in an unmistakably exasperated tone.  "When we first started, we were rotated- twelve grunts, then six, then three.  Now I'm the only-"

"And how's Noelle supposed to feel?  About your having to follow some woman into her ho-"

"If Noelle were upset, she'd tell me herself," Piettro warned, turning on Veladwyn so suddenly that she felt threatened.  "She'd talk to me, woman to man, instead of sending a proxy, like you do.  What's more, how we handle my posting is none of your damn-"

"Hi, Blade Xiarlethi!" Eunice called, trotting up with her class text and notes clutched tightly to her chest.  I'll have to apologize for that scry when we get home.

Piettro turned over his shoulder and smiled, every cloud of anger gone from his face and tone.  "Afternoon, Apprentice magister.  This is Blade Veladwyn Soire."

"Oh!  Are you related to Firstsword Noelle Soire?" Eunice asked brightly, walking around so that Veladwyn was between herself and Piettro.

"I... uh... yes," the Elf fumbled, clearly confused as she looked around herself.  "By marriage.  I married her brother, Arcois- if you know him?"

"Oh, yes- he's a... fourth or fifth level illusionist, isn't he?  Whichever he is, he's very good."  Eunice smiled winningly, and Piettro bit his lips on his smirk.

"Fifth," Vela replied with faded enthusiasm.  "He just passed his most recent set of exams.  I suppose you saw his practical?"

"You're joking with me- you must be!" Eunice chuckled, unwrapping her right arm from her books and flapping that arm's hand at the Elf as though she'd just heard a stale joke from a good friend.  "A radiant purple dragon, taller than a Giant, appearing out of thin air?  I think the whole campus saw that."

"He wanted the whole city to see that," Piettro corrected, so quietly that Eunice almost believed that she hadn't really heard the comment aloud at all.

There was a moment of incredibly awkward silence between all three of them.  No one moved a single muscle.

"So have you met Noelle, or...?" Vela ventured at last.

"Not yet," Eunice replied calmly.  "But I can't wait.  So many lovers talk all sorts of nonsense, but she among women is truly fortunate to have a partner who really does think about her nearly all the time.  If I hadn't taught Blade Xiarlethi a simple abjuring spell, I'd never be able to concentrate."

Vela turned incredulous eyes on Piettro, who rolled his eyes.
Eunice took all of five seconds to realize that she'd made a mistake.

"So you can understand 'all that magic-y stuff'!" the Elf charged.

"No, he only just learned," Eunice countered, unsure of what she could say to fix the situation.  "He hadn't had mental sanctity cla-"

"Because he opted out of them," Vela cut in, her voice nearly a growl.  "Said he didn't understand a word!"

"I didn't!" Piettro exclaimed, leaning his head back so that it seemed as though he were speaking to the sky.  "It was a waste of-"

"But you understand enough to learn an abjuring spell?"

"We all got the basic talking to, and-"

"That doesn't replace an entire semester-"

"It was easy," Eunice interrupted, panic stealing icily into her heart.  "A very simple spell.  I'd teach it to a child-"

The Elf held up a hand to Eunice, which stunned her into silence.  "That class is made simpler than the most basic abjuration coursework on purpose; they know we're all soldiers.  No one makes you factor the spells; they just test your natural comprehension and then teach to what you can actually cast.  So you should have told somebody that you can fully understand-"

"Vela, it took me days to-"

"What?" Eunice squeaked, too surprised to hold her tongue.  "It took you an hour and a half!"

Piettro groaned and flopped his head down with his eyes closed.

Veladwyn's eyes flashed with indignation.  "You have everyone thinking you're simple-"

"I never said that I-"

"-or slow, or something, so that it's a shock-"

"Perhaps I could expl-" Eunice tried, still not fully recovered from Piettro's attempt at a blatant lie.

"-to all of us when they put you on personal detail for-"

"For me," Eunice said firmly, but miserably.  "I'm so sorry I brought this up at all."

"Well, I'm glad you did," Veladwyn proclaimed.  "You, Piettro Ezio Xiarlethi, are effectively lying to the command of the Purple Dragons!  And if you don't-"

"Why are you yelling in public?" a fourth voice hissed from somewhere behind Piettro.  Obligingly, the man moved to his left, revealing a short, but curvaceous human with a fiercely tight, honey brown bun resting perfectly atop her head.  While she had no armor on, nor any sign of the Purple Dragon's crest at all, Eunice found she couldn't help but imagine that she too was some sort of officer.

Piettro released a long, slow breath.  "On duty?"

"What did you just say, officer?" came the biting reply. 

Eunice's gaze dropped momentarily to the ground, and she found herself too nervous to even scry.

"I... apologize for the noise, Firstsword Soire; it... won't..."

"Don't lie to me, Blade Xiarlethi," the woman replied, putting her slightly chubby, pink hands on her hips.  "Or if you feel you must, you could at least turn around and look me in the face, so that I can see your guilt as clearly as I can hear it."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Piettro turned around on his heel, then picked his head slightly up and opened his eyes to look at the woman- perfectly, without a fraction of an inch's mistake.

The woman nodded firmly, then demanded, "Which of you started it?"

"No, no," Eunice interrupted, stepping away from Veladwyn's side and looking up so that she could clearly see the woman.  "I started it.  By accident, but... I started it, all the same."

"Oh, you," the woman smiled, looking over to Eunice.  "Look, I know this wasn't your fault.  Give me a moment to knock these knuckle heads together, and we'll meet each other properly, hmm?"

"Alright," Eunice replied, feeling a smirk creep across her own face.

"You two know I have to write you up for things like this," the woman urged, lowering her voice suddenly.  "How did you even find each other to get into this?  And did you forget you're both on duty right now?"

Piettro closed his eyes again and shifted from foot to foot, unwilling to say a word.  The woman, as if she'd had to perform this act hundreds of times before, didn't bother to demand that he restore his gaze.  Instead, she bored holes into the Elf who was a bit more than twice her height.

"Now, I am sick, sick to death, of you picking at each other!  And so is Arcois, so don't start with the 'family honor.'  Arcois isn't half as dissatisfied with Ezi as you seem to always be, and it is beginning to drive him as far up the wall as it does me, which is quite possibly the only positive outcome this ridiculous bickering could ever possibly have.  Now, what was it this time, so that whatever it is, we can settle it and be done?"

An uncomfortable silence ensued.  After the first few moments, Eunice turned to look at Veladwyn, and was stunned to see that the Elf was legitimately glowering at her sister-in-law.

"Aren't you going to tell her?" she finally asked, incredulous.

Piettro slowly shook his head, and Eunice discovered a surprising jolt of annoyance within herself.

"Well, I taught Blade Xiarlethi a basic abjuration spell, which he learned in an hour and a half, despite not having any mental sanctity classes," she stated frankly.  "He factors very well-"

"Which he failed to properly demonstrate, or even casually mention to the brass," Veladwyn interrupted.  Piettro didn't even bother looking at her.

"That's it?"  The woman sighed deeply, then surprised everyone gathered by ending the sigh with a short chuckle.  "You're annoyed that he didn't take the sanctity classes, but can still factor and cast a simple shielding spell?  That's why you're yelling at him in the middle of the street, with about an hour to dusk bell?"

"It is my complaint that he lied his way out of the soldier's mental sanctity class, yet still got an assignment in which demonstrated magical acumen is imperative, both for the mark's safety and- of course- his own," Veladwyn managed in a respectful, but noticeably tight voice.

There was a bitter silence that Eunice dared not trouble.

Again the woman sighed, but this time, there was no hint of amusement.  "Blade Xiarlethi, due to the fact that you have not appropriately completed your basic mental sanctity testing, you are banned from College grounds until it is.  You are to wait for your charge on the opposite side of the street; she will be checked out at the gate and escorted to you by an appropriately tested officer, with whom you will have to check in every day.  Likewise, when you return your charge to College grounds, you will stop at that same location across the street and allow that same officer to escort her away from you.  Further, while you are on duty, you are not to speak to Blade Veladwyn Soire for any reason.  If you do, or if you cross onto the College grounds, I will suspend you without pay for disrespecting your superior officer.  Am I understood?"

Piettro actually stood straight and snapped a salute before he responded.  "Yes ma'am, Firstsword."

"And Blade Soire, while on duty, you are not to speak to Blade Xiarlethi at all.  Ever.  For any reason.  If anyone at all reports to me that you so much as bless him when he sneezes, I will write you up for the disturbance of the peace.  Have I made myself understood?"

"Yes, Firstsword," Veladwyn replied, about as sharply as if someone had just then stuck her with a thick hatpin.

"Good.  This is your last warning, both of you; mind the crest, or you will lose it.  Dismissed."

Eunice allowed a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding to escape her as the Elven woman left.  The drawn face, sharp wordless salute, and tight departing stride left no questions about whether or not she'd been happy about the warning.

"Well, we won't be invited for week's end dinner parties for a while," the woman commented under her breath as she too watched the Elf leave.  "Not that you'd mind the loss."

"Lee, I don't know that Arcois is changing his opinion of me," Piettro replied after a few moments' pause.  "I think he's just learning to shut up about how much he hates me, and even that only due to your ma's advice."

The woman gave a short puff of breath that was too gentle to be a true scoff.  "He told your CO a few things behind closed doors, I'm told.  So if she's looking for somewhere to place blame for the fact that you got this job without really demonstrating that you could do it- she'd have to place that complaint over his head, not mine."

Piettro looked up with a grunt that now struck Eunice as clearly understandable as if he'd actually put words to his disbelief.

"He didn't volunteer to sing your praises, but Ranclyffe recommended you for the personal detail, and the brass seem to think that you've got a streak of illusion talent in you, so they tapped Arcois to see if you were really as good as Ranclyffe suspects you might be.  Mind you, they'd all know what kind of talent you have, and how much, if you'd only finish your testing...?"

"Or I can lose the crest altogether," Piettro shrugged.  "Then I'll have to join some caravan, or guard some old fop's manse."

"Ugh, Ezi," the woman groaned with feigned misery, exaggerating the rolling of her eyes.  "You say that so often that sometimes, I suspect it's what you really want.  Perhaps I ought to ask the apprentice; so much time spent with a heretofore casually open spirit has probably earned her a bit of knowledge that might prove useful to me."

"I'm not that good," Eunice piped up immediately, feeling as though she'd done enough damage for the day.

And it was Piettro's turn to look at Eunice incredulously.

The woman, noticing the reaction, smiled radiantly.  "You're good; I have that on solid testimony.  If you hadn't guessed by now, I'm Noelle.  And it's good to finally meet the poor caster to whom my rumbly-mumbly Piettro has been skirt-fasted."

Eunice's eyes popped wide, but she bit her lips on her laughter.

"Oh yes; I know you know what I'm talking about," Noelle continued.  "The way he grunts his opinion at you when something doesn't make sense to him."

"Or the way he chews up answers he doesn't want to give," Eunice offered.  "Even before I taught him anything, his mind would just get... quiet, sometimes. He's a natural abjurer, I think, always trying to prevent his feelings from escaping, even before he really knew how."

"That's... not too far off from right, I think," Noelle mused, a romantic seriousness seizing her for just a moment.

Piettro looked at Noelle with a hint of mischievousness, and for just a moment, Eunice felt as though she could see them looking at each other in just that way, many years in the future.  Silver raced back from Piettro's temples through his neatly tied hair, and weary creases weighted the corners of his eyes and lips.  Noelle's hair went completely white, but her healthy cheeks and impish smile went completely unchanged.  Only a few extra furrows on her high brow allowed her face to show any wear at all.

The vision lasted only a moment- it ended sharply when the lovers looked away from each other, and at their viewer.

"Oh," Noelle said, reaching out to lay a careful hand on Eunice's upper arm.  "You've gone pale- are you alright?"

"Maybe needs some water," Piettro stated.  "Moments like that- I don't ask.  I give her space.  And maybe water."

"I can draw you some water when we get you closer to home- you're on your way home, aren't you?" Noelle asked good-naturedly.  "Blade Xiarlethi is on duty, but Firstsword Soire-" she gave a mischievous chuckle- "is not.  So I can just tag along as an... unusually martially-trained friend."

Eunice felt blood tingle in her cheeks, and the twitchy beginnings of a smirk tugging at her lips.  "If you aren't on duty, then how-"

"Don't worry about it," Noelle replied.  "Honestly, Ezi and Vela have so many complaints on their records that any ranked officer would have done the same as I did- and possibly worse, Ezi.  As much as I hate to admit it, Vela's right about your testing.  Nobody's word is going to stand against a solid non-compliance complaint, if she can manage to get somebody to log one for her."

Piettro merely shrugged, then turned and began walking away from both women.  Noelle gestured to him as she looked at Eunice, in a universal show of "see what I have to put up with?" that provoked a chuckle from the apprentice.

"Ezi is from Skullwatch- you told her that, right?  Anyway, that's where his casual disreguard for regulations comes from.  Now, the Soire family hails from Westgate, and to tell the truth, most of them are still there.  Did he tell you how we met?" Noelle asked jovially.

"No!" Eunice replied with excitement.   "And I was curious, too- tell me, tell me!"

Piettro paused until the two women passed him, then continued walking behind them after they had gone by.

I'll buy the agate and have it set, he thought, allowing himself the pleasure of admiring Noelle's striking figure.  And if they're going to be friends, I won't have to wait.  She'll even be excited to have been there.