She was shocked when Denar had lifted her up and held her beneath the knees and behind her back. Bridal style most would call this. But Fatima was no bride. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck out of fear and it crossed her features as she looked up at him. He seemed to pay her absolutely no mind. Wings beat and suddenly she was in the air. Her whimper was swept away by the wind. She buried her face against his neck. When she realized he had a tight grip on her and wasn’t about to let her fall, Fatima allowed herself to peek out from his neck. The world below was so small. She looked ahead and the wind made her close her eyes. It was absolutely exhilarating. Fatima could not help but laugh and let out a whoop of excitement as she clung to the man who held her. She looked at him and said, “If I had wings, if this was the way it always felt, I would never want to touch the ground.” She wasn’t sure the man heard her, the wind whisking away her voice nearly as quickly as it left her mouth.

Much too soon for Fatima’s liking they set feet on the ground. She could have flown forever. He set her down on the grass rather unceremoniously. She pouted a bit, having been accustomed to kinder treatment for quite a few years now. None the less she followed the men into the home. It was warm, dark, and lovely. Her eyes grew wide at the strange comfort that she would not have expected from the outside.

This did not last long as Denar, the man who had carried her, directed her down the hall. She made no move to remove her cloak and instead, with head held high, walked down the corridor. Beautiful tapestries and carpeting adorned the way. She let her eyes linger over them. It felt strangely homey. She came to the open door and paused. Fatima began to think, this was it. This was really the time of truth. Would she meet a black widow, or would she meet a healer with just stories? Somehow, she doubted it was stories. How else would a man who disliked her race decide to carry her here?

Sucking in a deep breath, she began through the doorway. As she walked through she noticed the chairs, the old woman, and the fire. Even as she noticed these things she recognized that she was looking through a veil. As if at a funeral, she peered through a strange gauze that muted lines and spaces. Everything seemed abnormal and she wasn’t sure what it was she was looking at.

Rather than call attention, she sat in the less comfortable chair as the old woman spoke. Her chilled body demanded the warmth of the tea so she lifted the teapot and the poured the liquid into both cups. She lifted her own to her lips and sipped delicately before leaning back. Her eyes studied the woman through the veil she forced the girl to see before she replied. “You are exactly what I expected to see, and that makes me have my doubts. However, I understand your need for secrecy for it makes sense with what I need to ask. I came here with the excuse of stories. What I need is truth. My people are slowly dying caused by my mother’s hand. And our ancestors. My land has become barren. Floods have left our sheep with little to feed upon. What I ask… No, what I beg, is a way to re-invigorate the land so that my people and my livestock may flourish again. Please.” Fatima slipped from the chair and placed the cup on the table between them before clasping her hands above a bowed head in a prayer like stance. “Please, I beg you, help me find a way to help my people thrive.”

As soon as Artemis was done healing his leg, Vaclav rushed up the stairs. He did not want to rush his friend when she was helping the two boys but the smell of smoke permeating the house left him uneasy. If more Hyallians showed up at their doorstep, they were not going to make it out alive, especially with a dead Hyallian on their cot.

At least he had already planned for the day that they would have to flee this house. Opening the closet, Vaclav grabbed two packs that he had packed for himself and Artemis in case of emergencies. The packs had essentials like a few days’ worth of clothes and emergency supplies. Looking around the room, he stuffed a few other items that were lying about before making his way back downstairs towards the kitchen.

The location of the nearest safe house was a few days away, so Vaclav pulled out another bag to pack some food. He grabbed mostly dried meats and bread but also packed a few fresh fruits for the road. Before reentering the front room, Vaclav checked over all his bags. Once he was satisfied, Vaclav slipped his Offering jewel underneath his shirt. It would be there in case he needed it, but he didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself.


Artemis heard Vaclav leave the room, no doubt packing all the essentials for their departure. She smiled sadly at Liran’s words. “We will. Don’t worry, dear.” Artemis suppressed a shudder, remembering the times when they were a tad too late fleeing the area. Many times, she wondered how the Hyallians could be so cruel, viciously killing people for power as if there was no value in a life not their own.

Standing up, Artemis stepped into the kitchen where she heard Vaclav rustling around. She noticed her pack on one of the chairs upon entering and slipped it on. Vaclav was standing near the backdoor, peering out of its small window. Walking over to him, Artemis stood on her toes to catch a glimpse of what’s happening outside.

“How are those two?” ask Vaclav quietly.

Artemis shrugged, knowing that her friend could care less about her answer. She knew he just wanted to know if they were able to move though if they weren't, she had no doubts that he would leave them behind. “Doing well for their situation…”

“We need to get out of here.” Vaclav frowned at the situation outside.

Artemis nodded and walked back to the front room. “You two need to leave as well. No one should be here when more of them come.” She motioned for them to follow her through the house. There was no sense in leaving through the front where they could be seen by anyone.

---

Faeril studied the Queen from Hyall as she sipped at the tea, a pinky delicately extended in the proper manners of old. A habit ingrained by her mother when she still lived amongst the Court. But those had been so many years ago, and while she could sympathize with a single Queen's duty to her people... The fact was Faeril had larger issues at hand. The entire Realm was at stake. No, the Black Widow corrected herself, all the Realms from Terreille to Hell and back were at stake. This taint would not stop, it would only worsen until everything was but a shell of what it once was. While her instincts as a Widow declared this woman the one she had been looking for, the Queen she desired who would hold the leash to the triangle she had seen, there was also the possibility this one would not have the spine. A sad thing, for if she did not neither her nor her escort would leave the mountains alive. They simply could not risk it.

Her voice creaked and groaned with false age as she held the web tight. Oh, but the power of this Queen! The will of the Blood! How the Ice Healer hoped and feared what would and would not be! Setting the cup on the small table the weathered hands pulled the shall tighter about herself, the leathery wings behind her rustling. "You seek to help your people, or so you claim." Her grandmotherly voice was soft and there was unyielding iron in it as she leaned forward offering out a weathered hand. Even if she was touched the illusion would hold, though not for long. "But so many have sought me out for my skills. For ill, for good. Such things are easily masked, save for within. Allow to me see the truth within your mind." For a Black Widow to touch one's mind it was a huge risk to both parties. If the Widow wished to harm the person and they were not strong enough to defend, they would be reduced to madness by fighting a intruder within themselves. If the other wished to harm the Widow? It was all too easy to drive a knife into the old hag's ribs. Though there was also the fact of three Eyriens, two of which were Warlord Princes, outside the door most likely hovering about the keyhole. Which all three were infact doing. "You ask this for your people, I ask this for my Realm and all the others aside." There was a edge to the Black Widow-Healer's ravened voice as she stared with icey blue eyes that were misty with age through the dull air to Fatima.

@TorackWhen Lucivar emerged from a quick shower and change, he would find his rooms encased in shields of green. A protective barrier turned prison upon the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince. The Master of the Guard he had so carefully considered at first stood before his doors if the Eyrien cared to open them. At his hip a sword that spoke of wealth and not use. To his left, and thus her right, was Sonya Thorne. The rival queen to the late Karlianne. Her jewel of rank was the Opal but it was the Hyallian- cocky as ever- who held the barrier against the Consort of the late Territory Queen. In the crook of Colten Swett's arm was Andressa, the woman looking worse for wear and bleeding from a wound that had stunned her upside the head. "You shall lay down your weapons and surrender your jewels at once, Eyrien." The voice of Sonya rang in challenge as she stood tall and proud. A blight against her own ravaging of her people. Though it would come as little surprise if anyone saw the greedy glint in her eyes. "You're Queen is dead, and your lands are confiscated per her mistreatment of the Blood."

Colten Swett grinned as he gripped Andressa tighter, holding a knife fast to her throat. While murder was not against the law of the Blood, compensation could be asked for or demanded for. Sonya gave a smirk as she studied the Eyrien before her. He was a large brute, typical of the race. While the other Queens would hem and haw, they would not dare openly challenge her and with word already going out about her usurping the Territory from Karlianne while the girl- for the late Queen was far younger than the prime age of Sonya- puttered about. Letting the Landens trample over the standards set by the Blood and risking revolts. Oh they would murder a few Blood villages and make it look like the Landens did it and vice versa. In fact the Hyallians were already doing so. The bodies would be quickly disposed of to hide any evidence. Some true rebellions would sprout up like weeds in her rose garden but they would only increase the idea in the minds of other queens that Sonya was correct in her actions.

It was all rather ingenious!

@nohbdies The lad nodded in agreement, Liran being the first to speak. "We need to make sure our sister and grandmother have gotten away. They live outside the city on our grandmother's farm." His brother nodded quickly. Panic passing over his face at the thought of their kin so vulnerable to attack. They did not spare another word as both quickly fled. They knew the hills and surrounding lands well, and seemed to have to quarrel with crossing a dangerous zone.

Fatima lifted her head as the old woman spoke. The way the lines and edges looked - somewhat blurred or wobbly made her feel a bit sick to her stomach. None the less she stood, looking at the healer with as much confidence and guile as a young Queen could. Her hands were folded delicately in front of her as she listened carefully. She stiffened at the thought of someone entering her brainspace. This was where all the dark thoughts she held about the realm lived. It was where the evil deeds she had witnessed had sunken roots in deep. Fatima refused to look away.

Bowing deeply to the woman, her hair fell over her shoulder. It has a dark shadow over her face as she prepared herself to do whatever it took to ensure the lives and safety of all in her care. "As you wish, Madame Healer. I am an open book. See what you will, but I must apologize for almost none of it is pleasant." She stayed in this position and awaited the response.

Taking the Queen's hand into one of her weathered ones, Faeril spiraled down into the full strength of the Red for she would more than the charms she had placed about the room for the unwelcome visitors that might transpire through her domain. Fatima would feel a presence move against the mental shields of Grey that protected her mind. "Allow me entry, Grey Queen." The mind-voice that spoke to the feminine nature within Fatima was far younger than any old hag, but there was a regal element to it that demanded respect and she give way. "It is not often I come against one stronger than I these days." A true enough fact as most were the strength of red or weaker due to Dorothea's constant removal of threats. Fear had become the taint of the Blood instead of trust. As Faeril considered this she was well aware her mind too had seen horror and some most likely would leak into this Queen. Like called to like after all.

It felt slimy. Not that she thought that the mind that brushed her barriers was a bad one. She had never felt anything quite like this before. It was as if someone were stroking the inner and most deep parts of herself. Fatima could not help but shudder. At first, she couldn't quite bring herself to open the gateway. This was a lot of trust to place in a stranger. Then the face of a dead child flashed in her mind's eye. First, there was anger and a desire to pull away. The memory of it made her sick but it was the reason for the way she was now. After all, this woman already knew she was of the grey. There would be no going back. The Queen hesitantly lowered the shields. Slow at first, but soon they came down to allow this stranger entrance into her being.

The Black Widow did not hesitate as her power slipped and spread tendrils of a web through Fatima's mind. It was not the ruthless claws Faeril would use with her foes, but a gently pulling. Urging that if any ill thoughts were there they would come forth. Urging the reasons and truth to be revealed. The Widow knew her Craft and she wielded it well. Noting the death of the child, her heart ached in agreement. The unbidden memory of heart-rending loss tore through Faeril's mind and brushed against Fatima's, though the last of the Ashkevrons was able to keep the detail from being known. She did not trust this Queen fully and even if she had... That was not something she would speak easily about. Gently she stroked the young Hyallian's mind as her voice spoke with the wisdom that went beyond her age. "You speak true. You do not seek to destroy, but to embrace. But can you embrace the Darkness and all it is? Can you give up a great sacrifice for the greater cause? Can you hold the leash to the triangle?" Three males appeared as shadowy figures in Fatima's mind. One held the sense of great power, a tidal wave held fast at bay and yet it seethed to be unleashed.

It was as if every time a thread in her mind was plucked, a new and fresh memory ventured forth. Did the healer see it too? See what had happened when her carriage had hit the orphan? When she had milked goats, birthed sheep, and turned her hands to a blistered mess when she had helped work the fields? The moment she had felt the tongue of her whip on her back for protecting a landen child? Tears stung at the corners of her eyes before rolling down her cheeks. This bizarre intimacy made her want to vomit. As if looking through the angled web hadn't been bad enough.

The distraction of the woman's voice brought some relief. However, the words made rage boil in her belly. "The darkness is my mother, my friend, and my lover. I will do all it will take, sacrifice anything and everything in order to destroy Dorothea." The shadow image of the man made something her heartthrob and the rage she felt begin to diminish. She didn't understand. Triangle? Her own people? "Yes," she breathed as if a calling to her truth made her peaceful. "Absolutely."

Faeril withdrew from the Queen's mind gently. Each thread carefully pulled away. Her own eyes were clear of tears though there was sorrow in them. No longer did an old woman sit before the Hyallian Queen, but a woman in her prime. Dark black hair spilled in waves over one shoulder as her glacier blue eyes softened from their coldness, the black dress that draped across her in artful folds accented a body that many a man would look at though few would dare after tasting her sharp tongue. "You pass my test, Fatima Damiana." The voice still contained iron in it, but there a gentler side as a cup of tea was poured and floated over to rest in the Queen's hand. A flask pouring in what smelled like a good furring of alcohol. Something to stiffen the nerves. The room about Fatima came into focus. This was obviously a room for something that was not Healing of the body, but it did not appear like a room a Black Widow would do her work. With a large bed and many different pieces of furniture for comfort it was a room that spoke to different requirements. A bit of everything for whatever was required. "You have done much, and while I do not fully approve of all of it... There is enough to sate my wary nature." As the flask floated to her hand, Faeril took a healthy drink from it before screwing the lid on and vanishing it into the odd cabinet dimension where the Blood could store bits and bobs.

"You say that you will take the Darkness as lover, mother, friend. Father, brother, and ally." Studying the woman across from her, Faeril plucked a pair of delicate black gloves that had been shielded from sight and pulled them over her hands. "You will sacrifice anything and everything to destroy Dorothea. Even your own people? Your current Court?" The widow leaned in carefully as her eyes hardened. "Your prosperity will not go unnoticed for much longer, rivals will learn of your mother's death despite what your current Court may try to do to hide the fact. Should one of them feel the draw to another Queen? He will betray you and surrender himself. Seeing safety and way out from a very dangerous situation. I have not forseen this, rather it is something I have witnessed before." There was regret at revealing this possibility to the Queen, but Faeril knew the facts and she was a pragmatic person.

In completed shock, once her mind was free of the strange presence, she straightened, became dizzy and fell backward into the chair. The woman was speaking but it was hard to make out as her mind cleared. When she finally was able to focus she noticed that it was not the old woman but a young one in her place. Quite beautiful too. The edges of things and even the woman no longer moved in that strange way. Fatima had never thought she would come to appreciate the sharpness of her eyesight. The tiny Queen straightened herself and accepted the teacup with relish. Sipping it delicately, rather than gulping it down as she wished, Fatima watched and listened. Each new word cut into her soul with the truth of her situation and the direness of living in this realm. None the less, she was determined.

Once the healer had finished, the girl looked toward the fire and thought a moment. "Of course I would like no harm to come to my people. I will do all in my power to save and protect them. But if a life must be lost in order to save the whole I will do it. My current Court knows this of me. Many have been with me since I was a child. And they know they are not truly mine. And if one should leave me for a different Queen... Well... They have been doing this long enough to become quite excellent at creating unfortunate travesties." She turned her face back to the woman. "If it were not for the grey I bear, love, and cherish, I would have put myself in the path of Dorothea long ago. My mother hid me from the world and in doing so I learned more about the realm than most Queens. If only I could hide my grey... I can act stupid and silly enough to never pose a threat. I am quite small, after all. Not a true danger to most. If my land can heal and become fruitful, none would even begin to guess that it is I who have done so." She gave the woman a wry smile and drained the last of the cup. "Will you help me?"

There was a sharp hiss of breath as the blue eyes turned to ice. "I would not heal Hyallian land if you begged me." Faeril snapped with a harshness in her voice that spoke of hatred. "You listen to naught, yet you are the one to grip the leash and lead the turn of tides." Pinching the bridge of her nose, the Widow cursed in several languages. Of course, this child could not see beyond what she desired! Hyall folk had a knack for that. Though they were hardly alone, the woman admitted. "Your lands will be noticed, your grey will be discovered, and your court will turn or be cut out from under you, foolish girl!" The Red rippled through the room dangerously and outside three men stiffened in worry. "I have seen it happen before, and you are not so great that you may withstand all Dorothea will hurl at you and more!" Faeril's voice was harsh as she hissed at the vapid Queen. Thoughtless and only concerned with what was hers! "A choice lies before you. To be broken and shackled for your power, or to step up to the line. To take your place in the triangle and accept that so many will be lost, but all may yet be saved." Faeril swore sourly again. "Foolish Queen. You are naive in thinking you may continue to hide for the rest of your long life. That your court would defend you even if their lives and families were weighed against yours."

Fatima gently set the teacup down upon the table. She moved forward in her seat, her toes resting against the ground, back straight, and face held high. She was regal. She was a queen. What could this Healer and Black Widow know if her true feelings? Sure, she had been inside the girl's head and seen the things of her past. Had she bothered to really look upon her though? She waited patiently for the healer to finish losing her temper. What good could that do either of them? The energy of the red filled the room but it caused her not to balk in the way the woman was likely used to. Instead, the cool, stormy grey rose from her in a gentle and cloudy way. She did not fill the room with it. Fatima had never felt the need to do such a thing. Her presence and the knowledge of what she was was enough. Young. Inexperienced in the rules of the court. Tiny. She was no fool. She knew herself quite well. She had spent a few hundred years in her own head after all.

In a calm and cold tone, she responded, "I do not imagine myself to be great. I do not imagine my life to be any more valuable than that of a landen. I know full well how easily I can be replaced. How easily the men of my court can be swayed and how soon my people will leave in the hopes of a brighter future. But my people starve, lady. I think you have seen it. I know you have. Drawn faces, stomachs that eat themselves, and the willingness to do what it takes for just a bite of something. Salivating at the thought of taking a bone from a dog? Doing anything in order to feel something within your belly. Have you ever felt that Lady? Have you ever starved? Have you watched your children die and waste away despite skipping your own meals in the hopes that they have one more day?" She paused, deciding to stand now for she shook far too much to sit still. Fatima approached the fire place as she spoke again. "You may look upon me and see a young thing with no thoughts beyond money and smiles. I have had my fair share of losses as you have seen. I know my desire to see Dorothea slain by the hand of one she had deemed close is naught but a fantasy. However, I need to ensure my people can eat so they can see next year. Tell me, will you help me free this realm?" She pressed a hand against the hot stone and listened to the logs crackle. "Will you help me so that I can help our realm?"

Faeril recoiled as the Queen's words struck her own wounds of the past. The loss of her child, her mother and aunt's death. Watching her land descend into the same greed as Hyall. Her lips thinned in a grimace as she looked away from the young Queen lest the Hyallian see the pain in her blue eyes. "I know well the sacrifices of a Queen, my mother was one. I watched this land descend into a mockery of what the Blood should be." As Fatima laid a hand against the warm mantle of the fireplace, Faeril studied the Queen and her quiet Grey. "I will help you so you can save our realm, but I cannot do so if you insist on returning to your Court and village. You possess a leash already in your hands, one that makes your heart flutter. I will tell you only this, if Dorothea were to control or slay you then all indeed would be lost." Her thoughts warred with each other for a time, hemming and hawing over what might be. Holding her peace Faeril inclined her head slightly to the dominant jewel. "Though I will tell you this. Terreille is no longer safe for you. Lady, you must travel to Kaeleer if you seek to survive past the Winter Solstice. If you wish for all the people of this realm to survive past the Winter Solstice." There was a terrible knowledge behind Faeril's eyes. Dorothea was but one threat. In truth, there was another, far darker than the taint. While it would free them all, it would not be a freedom of hope but of finality and death. Nothing but a Whisper in the Darkness.

Aaaah. So she knew. She did know loss and grief and starvation - perhaps not of the body but maybe the soul. Elation filled her when the woman told her that she would help but it quickly caused her heart to plummet to her feet when the woman said she would need to leave her land. A Queen leave her land? How could she do so easily? Fatima thought perhaps this woman would understand just how much this choice would hurt her. At the mention of the shadow man, her heart swooped back upward and her stomach exploded into butterflies. She pressed a hand against the fabric there and tried to calm them. She had never met this person, how could such feelings exist within her?

Wait. Leave Terrielle entirely? This had been her home. She had always lived and existed here. Fatima turned swiftly and surveyed the woman. It was no jest though. The young Queen brushed some loose hair back from her face and looked up toward the ceiling as she fought back her tears. "I need to see my men. I need to let them know. I cannot disappear on them again." Mother Darkness knew this would be the easier route. Let them think the Healer had kidnapped and perhaps killed her. No. Wait. What if she was eventually betrayed by one of them? The knowledge of her existence could foil the plan entirely. She moved back to the chair and rested a hand on the arm of it. "My saying goodbye is perhaps not wise. I apologize. I truly wish I could say goodbye but... they were never mine. They belong to someone else. Someone who could mean my death."

---

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---

Lucivar looked Towards Andressa and Colten behind her, his eyes narrowing on the man for a moment, then he turned to Sonya, his face impassive as he nodded, looking as though he was considering her words. He was, in fact, trying to keep his anger in check. Sonya had been nothing but a nuisance while he and the late Queen tried to make the territory a better place, and now to see her gloating before him was only making him angrier. Instead he took a breath, forcing himself to stay and leaned on the door frame as he cleared his throat. "You and I seem to have vastly different ideas of what mistreatment is," he said, "but, I'll make you an offer considering you don't fully understand the gravity of the situation you've just put yourself in. Let Andressa go and I'll let you live. I'll even leave for a couple of years to let you gather your strength to make this an even fight."

He shrugged then, pushing himself off the frame and placed a hand on the shield causing it to shatter and walked into the room, a smile still on his lips but a very dangerous aura around him as he gathered his Craft, the room around them creaking as dust shifted down from the ceiling, the pressure increasing with every passing moment. The windows burst and moments later a stone wall to the right cracked with a thunderous explosion. "Or you could come at me right now, though I strongly advise against it."

---

"Someone who will mean your death." The frosty Healer stated firmly. Her nails drumming against the wood in unease. There had been two strangers in the tavern with her, knowledge a courtesy of Gen and his brothers. They were weak and would be little problem for her men despite both being Warlord Princes. The Eyrien males had trained long and hard to defend her and fulfill a dept that was long past paid. Now it was merely for their small family. Steepling her fingers under her chin, she gazed at the young Queen.

Fatima was not what she thought she would find. The woman was young and brash making the path she would walk all the harder. More than once Faeril had considered if what she was doing was the correct thing. Was it morally right to force the Queen to take the path to war? A path that would tear rifts in the Blood for the greater good? So that they might survive Dorothea's twisted influence. Hyall's grip on the Realm of Terreille had grown to a strangling hold. While some of the smaller and less... savory territories held to the Old Ways of the Blood. Dorothea was thorough in her planting and cultivating the corruption she spread. A thousand years Faeril had watched and it was only growing worse. The shorter lived races were the most susceptible and it was a wonder they remembered anything.

Her heart sunk in a painful pit of guilt and uncertainty. Whatever she was going to do, it would need to be done. Had to be done. Standing the tall Eyrien woman strode towards the door and opened it reveal the three brothers shamelessly listening at the keyhole. "Clean up what remains at the tavern. Do not let word be carried back that she came here. Unless..." Turning towards the Queen that would hold the strongest males in the Realm together, the Widow and Healer frowned. "Did you tell your entire Court where you were going? Or did you figure it out with the two you brought with you?" Gen remained a stone wall before her and his brothers moved off to gather their blades.

@Torack The upstart Queen paled as the shield shattered when Lucivar strode forward. Not aware she had taken a step away from the advancing Warlord Prince who was stalking towards her. The man was walking the killing edge if he hadn't already passed it, and she was on the side the blade would be facing. Sonya's hands shook as she realized the blasted Colten had released their hostage when the windows shattered. Glass flying everywhere, and a few shards nicked her otherwise unmarred skin.

But it was the Green Jeweled Hyallian who had the smartest of idea, slowly slinking away down the hall as he felt the stones shrudder. "Coward." Sonya thought but did not give it voice as she nodded mutely to the Eyrien Warlord Prince. "Get... Get out!" She demanded sharply, trying and failing to hid the shaking of her voice. Colten was unnerving her as well, his eyes were filled with a sick glee of sizing up an opponent. She had accepted his assistance with the idea- the plan to slip him close to the late Queen- due to his hatred of Eyriens, but Sonya now was feeling perhaps his hatred ran the border of madness. A uneasy feeling clamping about her stomach. This was not going to plan at all! Lucivar was supposed to yield to her! He was supposed to be hers!

She was lost in deep thought. Her eyes stared into the flame as if they might speak to her on the future. It simply crackled and spit, consuming as fire always did. Her heart was heavy with the thought of leaving the people who trusted her. She wanted no more than to be the Queen her people needed. Fatima was, for the first time in her life, feeling very homesick. But, they could and would carry on. She had given them plenty of information to attempt to rebuild the lands. They would put it to good use and make do with what little there was.

The young woman was brought rudely crashing from her quiet thoughts at Faeril's words. Fatima whipped around and strode toward the older woman and her men. "Please, I beg of you, don't kill them. They are needed in my lands. They are needed to keep the village safe for as long as possible against the cruelty of a new Queen. The court knows nothing of my current whereabouts as far as I know. Just that I was going on a journey. I..." Tears were brimming up at her eyes and she looked pleadingly at the three brothers. "Is there no other way? Could we not fake my death?" She clutched her hands to her stomach.

She was feeling so sick. To think she had brought her men into danger. She should have gone on her own. She would have been fine on her own. She brought her eyes up to Faeril's face and saw the hard and stony look in her gaze. The tiny Queen brushed back strands of hair from her face and she looked at the three men. "If you truly must... Please, I beg of you, please do not let them suffer. Make it fast and as painless as possible" She choked back a sob as her legs gave out on her. She understood the reasoning behind this. Fatima knew what risks there were to let them live. But her heart was breaking to think that people she had grown up with, people who had risked their very lives to keep her hidden, should be killed because of her. Distraught, she buried her face in her hands and freely sobbed.

Artemis watched the two brothers flee and said a silent prayer to the Darkness for their safety. She hoped that they would find their family safe and unharmed. While they had no qualms slaying men in their path, Artemis knew that Hyallians liked to have their way with the women they came across. She shuddered to think what could happen to their sister if she caught one of their fancy.

“They’ll be fine,” murmured Vaclav, mostly feeling his friend’s worry for the two lads. He didn’t want to mention that the Hyallians seem to have made quite a headway in their destruction already and it’s quite possible that the lads’ kin were already attacked by Hyallians. Turning to his pack, Vaclav pulled out his daggers to put in his thigh holsters. Then he donned his quiver, adjusting his pack so it would not be in the way of him reaching his arrows. He checked his pack one more time to ensure he had all the necessities. “Ready?” he asked Artemis when he was finished.

Artemis saw Vaclav preparing and went to do the same. She also put her daggers in her holster, although she hoped she didn’t have to use them tonight. Every time she did, she would feel queasy afterwards that she had harmed someone. Artemis was quite glad for Vaclav. Usually he saw the danger before her and took care of it before she even had time to react. Checking through her pack, Artemis noticed a few items missing like herbs that had never been repacked after they were used up. She quickly went to get them in her clinic. “Ready,” said Artemis after she had finished packing.

Vaclav nodded. He peeked outside again before heading out towards the country side. No doubt the city was a mess right now. If Hyallians were already out here burning houses, he doubted the queen was alive. Part of him wanted to go and find out what’s going on but he knew he had to get Artemis to safety before he could go investigate. As it has been for the past 100 years, Artemis’s safety was his priority.

He led Artemis through the hills, remaining in the shadows as much as he could. If there was any indication of someone approaching them, Vaclav would turn the other way. He did not want any confrontations, especially with a Hyallian, if at all possible.

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It was a wonder to think at how people often though they had the upper hand in things, and how easily their plans were shattered in a few short seconds. Even his own plans – or what he had intended to do at least – were now nothing more than possibilities that would never be explored. Just like this fool woman’s plans at trying to control him. He had to give her credit, however, for even thinking she could control him.

Had she played her cards right, had she done something slightly different, than perhaps he would have seen himself in her grasp. But luck would have it that he not only got the upper hand on her, but that he even got to escape with Andressa no less.

Lucivar smiled as the waves of pressure he was creating subsided, the walls sifting with settling dust. He walked over to his aide, offered her a hand, then made his way to a wall between two shattered windows and placed his hand on its smooth, cold surface. A moment later, it exploded outward in a cloud of dust and rubble.

“Pray the Darkness is with you the next we meet, Sonya,” he said then to Andressa and in a lighter tone, continued, “hold on tight.” His wings flapped and he flew out into the air, using the Craft to carry himself higher and go faster out of the manor and eventually the city itself into the countryside where he saw a pair running through the hills. A part of him, the part that was still connected to Dene Nehel and saw protecting the land as a priority, wanted to go down there and help them but what could he do? What help could he offer them save some words? He eventually decided against it and flew onward.

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A strong hand patted Fatima's back as Denar guided the Queen to the chair she had occupied formerly. The Warlord Prince acting within his instincts despite this woman being no Queen of his. Faeril watched on with her impassive eyes of ice, the Saroth brothers waiting for the decision of their de facto leader. Pinching the bridge of her nose, the Black Widow in her reconciled the possible avenues. Point out that it was unlikely any Hyall witch would be able to break a tangled web the Red were to weave about the men. "Bring them." The woman snapped with a sharp gesture that had both men- Denar being far more concerned with the Queen- turning on their heels and rushing to retrieve their guests. Willing or not, Faeril noted with a stern, cold smile. The Warlord Princes would come and there were enough men in the village who owed the Ashkevron Healer and Black Widow that they would aid the Saroth brothers.

Turning on her heels the woman strode down the hall, leaving the Queen with her protector. Denar would see to it she did not leave the room, and thus interrupt the delicate spell work that Faeril was about to weave. Hefting aside the tasteful painting that leaned agianst the wall in her private quarters, the Widow revealed the heavy door that led down into the depths of the mountain. Carved by lovers, husbands, and sons over times that a shorter lived race would deem more than merely ancient the stairs opened up into a room that would not allow sound nor psychic scent to betray it's existence. Wooden shelves housed books bound in delicate leather that had been copied several times over. A large table that was scarred and stained from mistakes or purpose was set against one wall, bearing the weight of the mountain above. But it was the large stone slab in the center of the room that was the terror of all who entered. Thick straps would hold a victim down while the Widow extracted the knowledge or payment. Once that table had been for innocent purposes. Something better than wood, that would bear the weight of ages. Then violence came and the blood of the Blood had been spilled upon it's surface in defense of the Askevron witches. Now Faeril would spill it for the Queen that would remake Terreille for the better.

Flipping open a particular tome the woman scanned the pages aimlessly. Waiting in absolute patience as the witchlights about her flickered. The sound of male voices raised in argument announced them before Gen and Belor appeared hefting one of the Warlord Princes between them. A large man with a Opal jewel upon his finger. "Hold him down." He had put up a damn good fight as Faeril studied the battered Eyrien males. Gen was sprouting two black eyes and a good many deep cuts that didn't require immediate healing. Belor was not so lucky. His wing was torn and his body was covered with deeper gashes. All in all, they looked like they had been through a war as they wrested the struggling Warlord Prince to the table. "You two will go and see the village Healer when we are done." While she could have done it herself, Faeril was not sure what shape she would be in after this. Denar appeared behind his brothers with a man smelling strongly of drink and the Healer guessed he only had a few years left even with his jewel burning the brew off. Meaning he had left the Queen to her own devices.

Snapping a Red lock about the door at the base of the stairs the woman shook her head. "I've gone soft. Trying to spare the Queen agony. You two would do well not to fight me." She advised the two escorts. Only to have spit land just shy of her eye. Raising a gloved hand to wipe away the mess she plucked off the soft material, tossing them onto the stone table. Laying a hand just out of reach of the struggling Beneth's teeth Red power slammed into the metal shields and tore against them. Slowly rending his mind open to her work. It would be easier if he did not fight her, but what could she do? He would fight her no matter what, his dislike was plain. Something that irked the woman, for his hatred of her stemmed from her being a Black Widow. Something she had been born to. Slowly Faeril began her work, weaving a truth into his mind and the truth of the world. Slowly her reorganized his memories, spinning the truth in a snare that would fight against any removal of it. His Queen had left them, ordered them to return. She had gone to seek out a Black Widow. Her tangled web using his hatred of the caste to fuel the certainty that Fatima had fallen to the hands of one.

Releasing his mind, his eyes now glazed in the fog of delirium, Faeril turned to the drunk. His mind was far easier to enter, for he was either far too drunk or had given in. In truth though it was neither. He saw the Black Widow for what she was. Someone who sought to aid his child- a child he had been denied the paternity to and thus could not acknowledge. It had been Fatima's mother's cruel punishment for obeying her. Jassen had slept with other witches for the pleasure of his Queen and to aid her, even as she sneered at his 'betrayals' which were nothing of the sort. Little wonder why he drank, then and now. The death of his Queen, the risk his daughter was going through. Was it his fault? "No. Not your fault. You did as you could. Which is all any of Terreille can do. Now we do as we must." Faeril soothed quietly. She could not risk him knowning the truth and Jassen understood this. Weaving the web of lies and deceit within him. The Black Widow knew that it was not going to last long. The loss of a lover and Queen was a hard blow, but the loss of his child- even with paternity denied... He would not outlive the months to come. Collapsing against the stone table, Faeril covered her eyes with one hand as she pulled out of Jassen's mental shields. "Take them to the border. Leave them there." She snarled, knowing all three were considering remaining. A risk they could not take. They needed to get rid of the men of the Queen lest her webs begin to unravel. The Red lock on the door undid itself as Faeril gave a sharp flick her her fingers. Limping up the stairs after her family, the Ashkevron slouched on the bed dabbing at the tears that slowly fell from her eyes.

@nohbdies Artemis would notice a speck high in the sky, winging hard towards the Tamanara Mountains and Askavi. A likely place where those seeking somewhere to lay low could. If you didn't mind the scorn of the warrior race of Terreille. Eyriens were proud and consider themselves the closest race to the dragons that were the first of the Blood. Of course this gave some of them a ego to match their blunt ways.

@Torack Lucivar would catch the Winds, riding on the web of the Ebon-Grey back towards Askavi. While perhaps not he best place to go it was a good ways from Dena Nehele. A place where he could rest. The village was a small thing, settled among the tall mountains and typical of a Eyrien community it was built within the stone itself. The Winged Boar was the local in and tavern, sitting just above the forest lest it be too far away from the source of wood and local game that provided it with most of its fare. Within the bar looked like a war had hit it. Tables and chairs were shattered, flattened or tossed aside. Blood speckled spots in the floor, and the psychic scent of a fight was a few hours old. The grizzeled barkeep was straightening tables as he made snarly comments about some 'getting too big for their britches'. A younger woman- perhaps a daughter- mopping up a decent pool of blood from the floor. Looking over as the chime of the bell sounded the Eyrien looked about ready to shout before realizing he was facing a potential customer. "A good day to you, don't be minding the mess. Bit of brawl is all. What can we do you for?" His voice was weathered and was the remains of someone who had shouted a bit too often to his men before retiring to this slower business.

Her heart was so broken, the thought that someone else should die because of her mistake was soul-rending. She felt the strong hand at her back and looked up from her hands to find the kind eyes of the Eyrien male looking at her with something like worry. Perhaps kindness? Faeril's words made her heart leap with hope but the logical side of her told her to not read too much into it. She would not ask. She would not begin to think beyond what was in front of her. They were dead to her now and she to them.

Fatima allowed the strong hand that guided her back to her chair. She pulled a handkerchief from between her breasts and wiped the tears from her face and the snot from her nose. The others left and she was alone with Denar. She spoke not for a few minutes, calming herself and watching the fire quietly consume the logs. What was happening now was none of her concern.

With a sigh, she turned her face toward the Eyrien and flicked away the dirty handkerchief into the flames. "She seems... a strong person." She said lightly, to create conversation. A few more beats of quiet and she spoke again. "For the first time in my life, I am feeling quite lost. What do I do?" Her brows knit with her fear for her future. She hadn't realized she was shaking so badly until she tried to smooth out some wrinkles in her skirt. "I'm just so.... tired," she murmured. While, for truth, her body was extremely fatigued, it was her inner strength and conviction which had grown weary. Her very being longed for a break from the sickness of this world that would rip her away from a home that, a few years ago, she had not wanted.

What the man said to her before he left was lost on the young woman. Her eyes moved, glazed, toward the fire. She had to let go of all that was and had been before she could begin to step anew from those flames. What consumed also brought new life. The sleepy queen watched while her lids steadily grew heavier until she fell asleep in the chair.

Artemis looked back to the village she was leaving. The sky was a deep angry orange from the fires that was consuming it. Smoked billowed up from said fires, creating a hazy atmosphere ominous above the village. Sadness overwhelmed her as she thought about the lives lost tonight, in the town she was beginning to call home and throughout the whole Territory. No doubt the Hyallians laid waste to Dena Nehele.

Vaclav turned around, noticing Artemis had stop to look back. He suppressed a sigh since this happened every time they had to flee. He was glad Artemis was not desensitized to what was going on but it was an inconvenience at times like now. “Come on,” he whispered, gently turning Artemis in the right direction. They should not be wasting anymore time.

She sniffled, taking one last look before allowing Vaclav to steer in the direction he wanted to go. Artemis would miss it a lot. She thought about the clinic where she helped everyone that passed through and her garden she tended to everyday. “Where are we going?”

“A safe place east towards Askavi.” Vaclav and Artemis then caught the winds, riding it to the east. While Eyriens were difficult to deal with at times, it would be safer than staying in Dena Nehele. He hopped that the place he was going was still safe. Vaclav have not been there for quite a while and did not know its status.

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Lucivar walked into the tavern, eyeing the blood with some suspicion. When the barkeep told him not to worry about it however, he shrugged and walked over to a fallen chair, righted it, and took a seat, leaning back as Andressa took the chair across from him.

This was not the way things was supposed to go. Somehow, while he was flying across the Ways, he had a strong feeling of deja vu but no matter how hard he tried to wrack his brain, he couldn’t recall where he remembered a flight like that. Still, it mattered little now. What life he had was now torn apart and he had to get back at the bitch who destroyed everything. Killed his Queen, and damn near killed Andressa too.

“Get me your strongest drink,” he called out to the bark keep.

After a few moments of silence he looked up to see Andressa shifting uncomfortably on her chair. “What do you plan to do now?” She asked.

A few more seconds of silence. “I honestly have no idea,” he said. “But I do know Sonya has to die. How we’re going to go about that is a different thing, however. Don’t you have any contacts that could point us in the right direction?”

“At this time, I doubt it’d be wise trying to contact them,” she said, hugging herself, “their shady at best and I have no idea if they turned or not. Any one of them could’ve told Sonya that we were looking into her. I’m sorry, Lucivar.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just take a day and sleep on it, figure something out when this shock is over with, yeah?”

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Faeril gave herself a shake as she patted away the lines of tears. It wouldn't do for others to see her in such pain, after all. She was the Ice Healer, cold and heartless. Standing she smoothed out the wrinkles of her clothing, paranoid about maintaining her appearance. The night was drawing in, and supper would need to be made. It had been some hours since the boyos had left with their 'packages' and with luck they would be back soon. While she had little talent in the kitchen, between herself and a Queen they ought to be able to whip something into an edible form.

Fae's slippered feet padded softly on the carpets that ran through out the maze like eyrie. Her eyes studying the prone form of Fatima. A blanket wrapped about her explaining why she had not come storming down the stairs when Faeril had twisted about the mind of her former Court members. Tucking the blanket about the shoulders of the young Queen, a warming spell gently laid over it to keep the woman warm despite the fire having burned down the slow embers. For all the woman was a hard woman, she did have a heart albeit one that was buried deep under her gruffness. Too many patients had passed away while Faeril had strove to save them, too many family member and friends had passed to protect their secret from the twisted Queens who bent their will to Hyall's desires. The loss of her mothers, aunt and son... She was the last of a long line that was a natural Black Widow. Perhaps she had distant cousins who were of the caste, but Faeril had no way to contact them and even then there was the risk they had broken their honor for Dorothea's ambition.

Bitch.

Soon there was a pot of rough stew boiling over a small banner of witchfire, and the steady chopping of a knife as meat and a small mountain of vegetables were chopped up and set to boil in a thick broth. A tight shield kept the mess from getting on her hands and clothes, though it was awkward to work about. She knew her Craft, but her Craft centered about being a Healer and Black Widow. Hearth craft was not her strongest suit in any way shape or form as evident by her puckered brow and narrowed eyes as she eyed up Gen's precious spice rack. "What am I to add? How on earth does Gen know these things?"

@nohbdiesThe small hostel was not a true stop, but night was drawing in. The place was known to be run by a young Healer and her husband, both of whom were carefully eyeing the straggling folk who were seeking shelter for the night. While it would not be hard for a Sapphire Warlord to ride the Winds all the way through, it had been a long day already and Vaclav despite being healed would notice it might not be wise to show up in the dead of night. The hostel itself was a relatively clean place, filled with those who were taking a pause from travelling for rest or for food.

Artemis would notice an older woman near the warm hearth that kept the bite of the rain and bitter mountain air outside. She was an Eyrien past her prime, with no jewel upon her. A broken witch most likely. Her knobby fingers fed wood to the fire every so often as she carefully set about mending bits of cloth and clothing with shaking hands. The draw to heal this woman would be there, though not overly strong, as Artemis might notice arthritis in her withered hands.

@TorackThe grizzled Eyrien gave a grunt as he wiped out a set of mugs with quick and practiced movements. Quiet as the bar was, it was not hard for the man to overhear the conversation between the two customers. While he had lost a wife to the District Queen when his wife had stepped up to the line when the changes first swept through Askavi, he had been spared his daughter thanks to the witches of the Ashkevron family. Since then, and like so many others in the town, he had kept his eyes and ears open for them. Directing those who needed their aid to them, and directing danger away. A healer was a valuable resource and a Black Widow? Even more so, when that Widow was on your side.

Thunking the two mugs before the wearied travelers, along with a pair of sandwiches, the old man gave a non-commental grunt. "Popular tavern today. Had a bar fight, had another fight before that." He noted with a annoyed look at the aftermath of a pair of Warlords getting too full of themselves. Setting his hands on his hips he studied the Warlord Prince carefully. "Overheard you're sniffing about for a death of some..." His words trailing of in question.

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Lucivar looked up at the barkeep and regarded him for a moment as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the surface of the table. His eyes were on the other’s and although he tried not to show it on his face, he was apprehensive about the sudden question. Who was this stranger that suddenly came asking about his business? In any other time, he would have been open to oblige, thinking of it as nothing more than an over-curious barkeep. Recent events however, and the shock that came with it, kept his guard up.

Anyone could be a spy. Anything he said could put him and Andressa in danger and it was an incredible fortune for the barkeep that Lucivar was intent on being civil. It seemed the place had gone through a rough time, and blood on the floor could mean anything. Still, he wanted to give the man the benefit of the doubt. “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” he said, “I said no such thing. Hard to hear from behind the bar, after all.”

The old Eyrien nodded absently in agreement thought his yellow eyes said he didn't believe the Warlord Prince. "Well I might be mistaken. Though if I were not..." He shrugged well muscled shoulders, "Don't think it's worth my skin to be pushing a Warlord Prince who looks like he's been walking the killing edge." It was common knowledge of how to notice a Warlord Prince on the killing field and Lucivar still had some of that psychic scent about him that a trained warrior would pick up. It was part of protocol that the Blood were taught throughout their childhood. The part that helped them survive. "I know a good knife, but it depends on what you want to cut and why." He noted absently, deciding to take the leap and be direct. Whatever had brought this one in, he had come with a Dena Nehele witch who was shaken up. The Saroth boys had mentioned that land in particular was perhaps the last chance for the Blood in Terreille.

He gave a curt nod, then turned back to his drink. "I'm sure you do."

Fatima awoke to a warm blanket wrapped around her and dying embers in the fireplace. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself and stood. She was glad of the blanket when she left the room. The halls were cold and less welcoming than they had once been. A shiver ran through her body despite the warm blanket.

After wandering a bit she found a place that was well lit and the scent of stew. She breathed it in deeply as she moved into the room. She found Faeril looking over some spices and food cooking over a stove. The kitchen was cozier and neat. Well cared for. The room had a sense of gentle comfort that eased her nerves.

The tiny Queen approached her and looked over the spices the woman had pulled down. "I think that one wouldn't do very well inside of your meal." Her voice was lightly teasing as she lifted one of the other spices - sage. "Try this one." Fatima offered it to the Black Widow.

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The Eyrien woman look up sharply as her blue eyes- a trait that did not come from the long lived races- narrowed at the Queen. "So you are awake." Faeril set the spice aside as she plucked the bottle from the Hayllian's hand, shaking it randomly over the stew. Leaving the questionably stew to boil, the woman moved about the kitchen cleaning away the mess that had been left in her wake. "The men are not back yet, but your... former Court lives." The large, leathery wings opened and closed as Faeril shifted slightly. Unsure how much Fatima knew of her lineage, unsure what could be said on that account. Yet in the end, what could she say? She had not been meant to see that, so the Black Widow kept her peace. Her lips thinning at yet another weight to her already burdened heart.

Thus, when she spoke again her tone was cold and dispassionate. "Denar, Belor, and Gen are taking them to the border where they will leave them to their fate. We cannot risk crossing into Hayll." The unspoke 'and lead the guards back to you' hung in the air, as the dual caste Widow and Healer sat at the heavy table. With the weight of the Askavi mountains about them, Faeril doubted that Fatima felt comfortable. The eyrie itself was like a maze in it's ever twisting halls and plentiful rooms and the masonry that carved more- when needed- from the living mountain. Many of the other races found it unnerving, much to the hardened woman's amusement. Pouring herself a cup of tea, coffee being something she never had the taste for save on her most tiring of healings, Faeril Called in a second cup using the Craft to pour the tea and slide the hot beverage over to a second chair. Her Red Jewel was not as strong as it had been, but she wore the red, and Beneth had- by far- been the lesser. "I did as was nessecary, nothing more. They are fine aside from several broken bones and bruises. Much the same as my boys." Considering all three of those so-called boys, were Warlord Princes (albeit wearing the lighter jewels) Faeril failed to bite back the slight smirk at what their reaction would be to such. For the many years she had spent with them, came with a good bit of friendly and familiar amusements.

@Torack The barkeep snorts in annoyance. "Youngster now a days." He mutters to himself, frowning. The sharp yellow gaze however turned to the battered Andressa. Small bruises peppering the woman's skin from where the assailants had held her. Opening his mouth as if to say something, the door opened with a wood cracking thud as three Eyrien warriors tumbled in. Each looking battered as if they were part of a barfight- which they had been. Lucivar would note one of being a Green Jeweled Warlord and the other two Warlord Princes of the lighter ranks. Rose, if one were to go by the Jewels about their necks. "Mother Night. Run through a horde of Jhinka?" The grizzled barkeep snarled at the trio.

"Just about." Complained Denar with a snarl as the witch began to fuss over him. While there was nothing between the two, they were allies against the twisted Queens. Which allowed the witch to give the Warlord Prince a scolding look and sharp jab to a particularly ugly bruise, eliciting a yelp form the foolish Rose Warlord Prince. Belor gave into the treatment with little fuss, seeing all the good it did his brother. "No, just doing some work for the Healer. Ashke can be the right taskmaster." The snarling male huffed, as he studied the two new comers with some interest.

The Green Jeweled Warlord, however, was sharply looking at the bruises that covered Andressa from the attack on Greyhaven. His golden eyes narrowed along with those of his brothers. "Lady," His stance was nothing but respectful as he eyed Lucivar with a unspoken challenge. "Are you quite well?" The deadly quiet in that voice was a unspoken question as to how the witch gained her injuries, and for all that he and his brothers were battered and bruised. They would see to it that justice was meted out. Sensing the other Prince Saroths rise to the killing edge, the barkeep's daughter stepped away quickly. It never turned out well to be caught in a fight between Warlord Princes. With careful steps the three fanned out. Belor, the worst injured with his bloodied wings and two black eyes, drifting towards the door and most likely to summon aid.

As the woman moved away from the stew pot, Fatima could not help but take over. If she let it boil erratically as it did there would be burnt bits on the bottom and the whole thing would have a tinge of charcoal flavor. The young queen lifted a wooden spoon and diligently stirred the dish. She could see the uneven cut on things like potatoes and carrots. Fatima smiled, remember her own first attempts at cooking. She paused her movements when Faeril mentioned her court. Her whole body stiffened and then relaxed. Relief swept through her entire body to know they were alive. She could not ask for any more than that. "Thank you," she whispered for she could not bring herself any more than this soft prayer.

She tasted the stew and found it to be rather bland. Perhaps the meat had been added too late? The little queen had to have something to occupy herself so she set to work. Using a series of spices she brought out some of the natural flavors of the meal. Once satisfied she reduced the flame on the pot so that it would simmer rather than continue on a rolling boil. She turned from her cooking to find that Faeril was sitting at the table and watching her with something like annoyance? Or perhaps amusement? She had yet to come to understand this woman's facial expressions.

Fatima sat at the table as well and lifted the warm mug to her lips. Just as before the tea was absolutely delicious and she savored it on her tongue before swallowing it down. "You have done me such a great favor. I am completely in your debt and will do my best to help you and yours." She gave the woman one of her very charming smiles before taking another sip of tea.

The sun was quickly setting and while Vaclav wanted to go for longer, he knew he should stop for the night. Tensions were running high and showing up somewhere in the middle of the night would be ill advised, especially without any prior notice. Spotting the small hostel, Vaclav decided to stop. They could continue their journey in the morning after a nights’ rest. Although, Artemis never voiced it, he had a feeling that her energy was dwindling after all the healing she has done tonight.

Upon entering the hostel, the Warload could tell that the couple who ran it were suspicious of the folk coming in at such an hour. He wondered if news had already spread of what happened in Dena Nehele. If not, he was sure it would come morning; bad news always seemed to travel quickly through the realm. Vaclav strode over to the hostel owner, putting on his best friendly smile. “Good evening, m’lady,” addressing the healer. “Would you happen to have a spare room for the night?’

Artemis was indeed tired but not so much that she would collapse. She was silently thankful when Vaclav decided to find a hostel to stop for the night. A bed sounded heavenly about now. Smiling and nodding to the healer and her husband, Artemis let Vaclav do the talking while she scanned the room.

The hostel was quite small but well-kept and she could tell that the two put a lot of effort into maintaining it. There were several people in the common room, mostly of them eating and minding their own business. She did however, noticed a woman huddled near the warm hearth. Something drew her to the woman, despite never seeing her before and despite knowing she should just keep to herself for now. Figuring Vaclav could work out their housing situation for the night, Artemis mad her way to the old woman, sitting down across from her.

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Faeril's leathery wings rustled in her discomfort as her sharp tongue sprung forth. "Save your debts and your charms for forming a Court. Then pitting that Court against Dorothea and whatever wiles she has at hand." The words were not unkindly said, but there was that ever so sharp nerve that had been trod upon. Faeril was risking so much for this Queen, for this hope of a new and better future for her dear friends and herself. Taking in a breathe and letting it out slowly, the Black Widow-Healer's eyes opened to study the woman before her. It amused her that Fatima had been so adamant about fixing her cooking never mind the insult it could have dealt. Luckily for them both, the Eyrien knew she was no cook save with her potions and spells.

"Forgive me. My tongue is sharp and often causes harm when my temper is unleashed." The reason for that temper being unleashed were the three empty and lonely teacups that were not in use. Set out as if waiting for the giant hands of the Saroth brothers to pluck them up. Studying the absent places with bitter blue eyes, Faeril gave a sigh. "They will return soon, and we will hash out a plan." It was not often Faeril allowed herself to get close to someone, but Gen and his brothers had been her siblings in all the ways that mattered. Protectors, friends, and the ever consistent threats they could carry out only because she let them. That refreshing knowledge she could pit herself against them and not come out hurt because of it. Knowing that while her tongue lashed and wounded, it wouldn't- couldn't drive them away.

She had tried when she first had come into the idea that romance was something she would like to try.

@nohbdies The Healer blinked in surprise at the odd accent. "M'lady." She repeated for a moment before shaking her head. While witches- especially those who dabbled with Courts were called by the males 'Lady' respectfully, the odd twist Vaclav put to it made her blush and shake her head as her husband stiffened and glowered dangerously at the Warlord. Threatened by the attention to his wife, and with the current times there was good reason for that. Laying a possessive hand about his wife's waist the man answered Vaclav with a low and carefully neutral voice. "We do. Though it's a small room, there's room enough for two." The husband's eyes passed over Artemis with a speculative look, while his wife hurried off to deal with another customer.

The old Eyrien woman smiled at Artemis as the Healer sat down, her bony fingers plucking at the needle absently as she mended a old, worn tunic. The shawl about her shoulders was thick, but still the woman shivered even so close to the fire. "Ah, so comes another. Seeking, questioning, gently touching." The voice was soft and as gentle as a breeze, yet there was a certain broken cadence to the old woman's words. "Gently, wandering, leading the many paths. But I shall not follow, not yet."