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Stratya was just leaving her swordbreaker with the barkeep when - Ooh, a response, someone continued the song! The knight turned to locate the source of the responding voice excitedly, especially after the response had been so lackluster before his rescue. Was the song not as known as she thought? Well, no matter. Someone had picked it up.

”Oye, ‘ere's a ‘earty response! ‘at's t’kind’o crowd we need, Rriona,” her accent had gotten a little stronger since coming into the bar. She rolled the r just once. A flip, if you will. “Singin’ and drrinkin’ is best with moar, ye ken. Shall we?” The Knight looked for a response more than waited for one, and she was already on her way to stepping toward the voice she’d heard.

Riona shook her head. “You go on ahead. I’ll stick around and guard the fort.” She patted the report in front of her.

Stratya stopped and pivoted about, swinging just so that her beer didn’t spill, “oh.. aye?” She glanced at the report briefly, but decided that this report, itself, wouldn’t be all that sensitive. Riona seemed sharp enough to not bring it otherwise, too.

Her gaze flicked to Darryn’s lonely drink on the other side of the table. “Someone’s gotta make sure that beer doesn’t walk off.” Not that his ghost was about to materialize and chug it down, but hey, she’d paid for the damn thing. If anyone was going to drink it, it’d better be her. “Just don’t forget, you and I still need to talk. So don’t get too crazy out there, okay?” Riona managed to throw a smile at Stratya.

”Alrigh’, ‘hen. Trry not to drrink too much on yerr own, nao.” She heard the Local Sea Captain call out for a response. The Noble Army Captain grinned and drew a breath to give it, ”A fine lass ye be!” Stratya gave Riona a friendly grin before popping on down the bar. They’d hardly known each other and already shared a round of forgiveness. Where she was from, that was a sign of fast friends, and no small feat, either. It felt strange to leave her new friend to drink alone while she went to find a party, but.. maybe Rinoa could be pulled into something a little heartier in a moment. After her first or second beer, perhaps.

Stratya was in earshot of the party she sought just in time to hear the Foreign Sea Captain turn down the Local’s request for a song, and her joy was doubled, ”oooh, but luck is a lady tonigh’, friends! Or three, as the case may be - weeeeell, we rreally arre lucky, arren't we? Hah, I’ll sing ye som’in’ frrom ‘ome.” Stratya hadn’t looked too closely at anyone in particular just yet.

“Oh, ken you my love Johnny, he’d doon on yonder lea
He’s lookin’ and he’s joukin’ and aye he’s watchin’ me.
He’s pu’in and he’s teasin’ but his meanin’s nae sae bad,
Gin it everr gaun tae be, tell me noo, Johnnie lad.“ She drained a good half of her pint as a response rose from the pub. She set it down on the table as she slid into a seat, “Min’ if we join ya? I’ll even buy a rround. Though, per’aps some of us ‘ave ‘ad enough.” She caught herself eyeing Annie, finding her familiar. And drunk.

Very drunk.

The princess in the pink gown had been guzzling drink after drink without a care in the world, as if consequence itself was a foreign concept to her. Her gaze found Stratya, feeling her eyes on her. Through messy blonde locks, Anastasia looked her up and down and smirked. Finally, she rose from her stool and made her way over, stumbling at times as her steps unsteady.

Annie then paused before her with a bright smile. Now that she was closer, the woman was much more familiar, but there was something rather comforting in not knowing exactly who she was just yet.

"Oooh, you're sooo pretty!" she slurred.

That grating, cloying voice stabbed into Riona’s ears like an ice pick. Her fingers clenched around the cup as every muscle went rigid. What is she doing here?

”Ohh hoh, arren't you just a darrlin’. Steady, now. ‘ere, lay y’rr ‘and on m’shoulderr, nae tippin’ ova now.”

Cynwaer’s eyes shone and his brows arched with amusement as he watched Anastasia totter her way over to the singing stranger. Credit where it was due, that the girl was still able to stand up – even if she was about as steady as a newborn foal – and that she still had enough control of her faculties to string a sentence together – even if her words were almost slurred to the point of incoherence – was impressive. Cynwaer had expected her to be face-down on the bar about two or three cups ago.

He looked over to the newcomer, and right away his amusement turned to guarded curiosity. He had heard her speak long before seeing her, and so had assumed her to be someone like him; a foreigner to Sorian, hailing from somewhere in the rural countryside. Deep within it, even; her accent was far thicker and far more pronounced than his.

But that wasn’t what her attire, or the way she carried herself, told him. Did she perhaps hold a title of some sort? The distinctive symbol on the back of her gloves – distinctive enough to catch Cynwaer’s eyes – suggested just that. Or maybe he was reading too much into things, and she was just a particularly well-dressed commoner.

“‘At’s quite a voice yer ‘ave,” Cynwaer remarked to the stranger. “Reminds me o’ a…Well, just a fella I know, aye.” He turned around fully in his seat to face her and gave her a grin. “Where yer fae? It’s nae e’ryday I run intae a lass wi’ words like yers, nae. That said…” He waved a hand in Anastasia’s general direction. “Don’t think we’ll be needin’ mer rounds, not unless we’re wantin’ ta carry our wee lassie ‘ere ‘ame, an’ I’m nae dae’n any o’ that, aye I’m nae.”

Just before turning back around to face the bar, he nodded towards the stranger’s gloves. “Oh, an’ that’s a pair o’ fancy gloves yer ‘ave on, by the way. ‘Ope yer don’t mind me sayin’ sa’.”

”M’ gloves? Ooye, thank ‘ee for no’icin’! I got ‘em as a li’tle gift for m’self, afterr I wer knigh’ed. Me mot’err w’soo su’prrised when I wen’ and tol’ ‘er all abou’ i’. It werr news enough me li’tle village, not even on most maps, called for a festival, of all t’t’ings. T’ese gloves ‘ave been ‘elpful, too. Got me the drop on a crooked tax man or two. ‘Ooh, she’s just some bonnie lass’ - k’pow, a bonnie lass with authori’y and brawn, than’kee.” She had herself a satisfied chuckle before taking another swig. Having something that looked (and was) so official and could be shown so readily was a real ace.

The real purpose of her tour of the kingdom, and the purpose she wasn’t mentioning, was Inquisition. Magic hunting. She’d made the tour with her gloves in her pocket, figuratively and literally. It was easiest to hear things when you were assumed to be unimportant. “.. I wondah if t’ey still fea’ me. It’s been a while.” Sip.

Cynwaer nodded slowly. The woman’s slurring voice and her thick accent didn’t make it easy for him to understand all of what she said, but he caught enough to know her as an enemy. “So yer a soldier, eh?” He remarked, keeping his voice as light as before. There wasn’t any point in him making the woman an open adversary at this point in time. Not when Renegade and Songbird had yet to arrive. “One o’ ta’ King’s lads– Well, I mean, King’s lassies, are yer? Cannae say yer look ta’ part, but I dae’n look ta’ part o’ a cap’n, either, sae who’m I ta’ say anythin’, aye? S’pose it does work out in me favour sometimes, like what yer said.”

He looked over his shoulder at Sjan-dehk. If the foreign captain had felt left out thus far, he did a good job of hiding it. If anything, the man seemed more interested in reading – at least, that was what Cynwaer assumed he was doing – the faded labels plastered across the bottles sitting on the shelf across from him. “See anythin’ yer like, pal?”

Sjan-dehk shook his head. “No. Only reading. Learning.” He turned to Cynwaer, casting a quick glance over the man’s shoulder at the new woman. She didn’t look like a noblewoman – at least not what Sjan-dehk assumed Caeonian nobility to appear – but she did carry herself with an air that he mostly associated with someone of a military background. Something about the way she spoke and her boisterous mannerisms. That said, Sjan-dehk found her words to be completely incomprehensible, so he was hardly overly-confident in his assessment.

He tilted his head back towards the shelf. “You people like this…Beer? What is it?”

Cynwaer almost laughed. A man who didn’t know what beer was? That was certainly new, and something he found both amusing and enviable. “It’s feckin’ pisswater, that’s what ‘tis,” he said and allowed himself a chuckle. “Be glad yer dae’n know much about it. Aye, there’s good ones out there fae sure, but most o’ it may as well be ta’ king’s evenin’ piss served in ta’ mornin’. Dae yersel’ a favour an’ ‘ave a good whiskey or scotch if yer can.” He nodded towards the barkeep, who had moved further down the counter to serve another customer. “E’en the shite ‘e brews wi’ ‘is wife’s and maw’s draw’rs ‘ave a bet’er taste if yer ask me.”

“Oi, I heard that! Shut your fucking gob!” came an annoyed, but not entirely angry, shout.

“Aye, yer s’posed tae, and ‘tis a compliment!” Cynwaer yelled back with a smile.

Sjan-dehk, although not quite understanding what was going on, nevertheless simply nodded. It was oftentimes the best thing to do, he had come to learn. Sensing that it would be best for him to change the topic, he tilted his chin towards the new woman. “This new woman, you know who she is?”

“Oh, ‘er?” Cynwaer followed Sjan-dehk’s gaze. A look of contempt flashed across his face, and he turned away from her. “She tells me she’s an army lass. One o’ the kings…Folk. Personally, I’m nae a fan o’ any o’ them. All me run-ins wi’ ‘em all tend ta’ end terribly.” He decided against mentioning that his encounters with soldiers typically ended poorly for them. The bodies of the taxman’s escort from days ago were likely still laying in tatters on that very same road as proof of that very fact.

“Army?” Sjan-dehk repeated, a tinge of interest in his tone. That would make the woman one of the few members of the Caesonian military he had met since arriving to Sorian. Before he could ask her any of the questions he had in mind however, her attention had already shifted towards Annie. Sjan-dehk merely shrugged, and busied himself with getting another drink.

The knighted knight glanced at Annie. She was.. distressingly familiar. Stratya was determinedly unphazed, set on drinking and having a good time. But, somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a thread of thought, putting it all together. “Oooh, shall we see jus’ ‘ow drrun’ky’are, swee’eart? Only if you’rre keen to play along, y’ken. All goo’ fun.”

With a grin, Stratya cleared her throat and began, “she sells sheshells- aw, shite. Kyahaah, hoo, coul’n’ even do it sober, fuck. Aahh. She sells she- mmn!, she sells seashells by the sea shoar’. Aack, did it. Thaa’ took way too much focus. Ba’s low, bu’ can ye do i’?” She finished her mug.

Wait a minute. Reminding herself of etiquette lessons put her in the right headspace, suddenly that thread of thought found all the pieces it needed. The young lady she’d had lean on her shoulder was Princess Anastacia! Going back over Annie’s face confirmed it.

Stratya klunked her pint back to the bar, “oye, barrkeep! Anot’er, and drrop a dram in it! The goo’ stuff, thank ye.” Her diction was just slightly more deliberate as she gave her honest thanks.

Suddenly, princess-sitting. The position she found herself in demanded it. She’d be damned if it stopped her from enjoying her trip to the tavern, though.

As Stratya's words finally registered, Anastasia squinted her eyes, attempting to focus. "Ooo, you sing songs about... seas and... shells?" Her voice trailed off, clearly confused but trying to keep up. She giggled, leaning closer to Stratya as if sharing a secret, "I don't know any sea songs... but I like how you say 'sea-shells.”

Riona’s jaw clenched as Anastasia’s laughter cut through the tavern. The princess was having a right jolly time, cheeks flushed with drunken glee and zero f**ks given. Another night, another bender. Dodging accountability with the ease of someone who’d never had to face them. Forgetting.

Her eyes darted to the empty chair beside her, a hollow ache spreading in her chest. What would he have wanted her to do? The question hung in the air, unanswered.

To hells with it. Before she could second-guess herself, Riona snatched up Darryn’s tankard and knocked it back in three swift gulps. Liquid courage, or liquid stupidity? Only one way to find out.

She slammed the mug down and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. One deep breath to steady herself, then Riona scooped up the report and stalked across the room. She didn’t stop until she was toe-to-toe with Anastasia, close enough to smell the alcohol on her breath. She fixed the princess with a glare that could’ve frozen hellfire. “Having fun, Your Highness?” Each word dripped venom.

Anastasia whirled on Riona and beamed, “ Hi cutie! So nice seeing hereee!”Though innocent on the princess’s part, she made matters worse by trying to hug the castle servant. “ I am having SO much fun!”

Rage simmered beneath Riona’s skin as she bristled from the touch. Her fingers twitched, itching to wipe that infuriating smirk off that face; to crush her windpipe; to slam that pretty head into the pockmarked bar top again and again. Riona inhaled sharply. Her nostrils flared and her eyes snapped shut. The world narrowed to pinpricks of pain as her nails bit crescents into her palms, knuckles white as bleached bone. “Don’t. F**king. Touch. Me.”

Hoo, Riona was pissed. Honest-to-goodness, sober, melt-your-face-with-my-eyes pissed. Well, maybe she weren’t sober anymore, but being drunk had nothing to do with it. The cat was out of the bag, now, too. Maybe that was best? Stratya took a hesitant sip of her new pint. She had been planning on nursing this one a bit slower than her first, but it seemed like their original plans for the evening were going out the window. Not that Stratya had planned on discussing Riona’s report at the tavern. She glanced between the two of them as she sipped her pint slowly, and..

Turned to the bar with the other two captains. ”I s’ppose it’s all th’ same, rreally - I serve t’Crrown - but I w’re knigh’ed by ‘er Grrace Th’Queen, no’ t’King.” The Knight glanced over her shoulder at Riona, eyeing her fists, specifically.

She turned to Sjan-dhek with a soft smile, ”Yer askin’ on my time wit’ t’ arrmy? Heh, much o’ me time’s nae excitin’, which is.. good, jus’ borin’ t’ talk on. Peaceful days ‘n all. Bandi’s were an occasional pain ta deal wit’, bu’ ‘ey’re usually pret’y poor on teamwork. I’m nae patrolin’ much, these days, though.”

It took Sjan-dehk a moment to realise that the woman was addressing him. Firstly, because he didn’t think she was done with her current conversation. And secondly, because it took him more than a few moments to even vaguely grasp the gist of what she said. He nodded slowly; as far as he could understand, the bulk of her service had been during times of peace. Good for her, he supposed, but that also meant that she was unlikely to possess the information he sought.

“I sail,” he said and placed a hand over his chest. “That means I am…How your people say, part of navy? Yes, navy.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the counter as he thought about how to phrase what he wanted to say next. “Was in…No, was at war. Five years. But have sailed for many years. Started when I was very young. Fought in many battles. Mostly pirates. During war, I fought other captains. Some easy, others difficult.”

He cleared his throat, and changed the topic to something he felt was lighter. “Your guards, the ones in the city, I notice most carry swords. Not a lot of guns. You do not use them? Or you do not like them?”

A flash of emotion briefly swam in Anastasia’s gaze and she let go of Riona as if her skin had been hot as lava. Still, she giggled. “Aww seems like everyone isn’t having a fun time. If you want a carriage back to the castle, let me know, Riona.”

She moved from the girl and looked toward Thea, who had been drunkenly laying her head down. “ Maybe I should take Thea home. She looks like she might pass out.”

“What are you even doing here?” Before Anastasia could give some smart ass reply Riona snapped her hand up. “And before you try to be cute, I know you’re at a tavern to get sh*tfaced. That’s not what I’m asking and you know that. Why are you out here?” The princess was supposed to be grounded.

“Cheering up Thea, Riri!” Anastasia enthusiastically replied.

It would be rude of Stratya to shift her attention from the captain she’d just started talking to, especially after he shared a glimpse of such experiences. ”We dunnae fin’ firearrms tae be terribly reliable. A gun migh’ be useful if it werks, bu’ a sword will werk. Do.. ye nae ‘ave that problem wit’ firearrms?” She had to admit, she fancied the idea of a pistol at her side, but couldn’t get over the nagging fear of losing her hand to a malfunction.

Sjan-dehk blinked once, a look of surprise colouring his features despite his best efforts. Surely he had misunderstood something? Surely the woman wasn’t telling him that Caesonian firearms were that far behind what the Commonwealth considered to be standard? “No, we do not have that problem,” he began slowly. “We did, long time ago. But we fix. Now guns are…They are the normal? No, the standard for guards. And soldiers. And sailors. We also have swords, still, and bayonets if need to fight close. Some places, they use spears and bows, but only for…For rites and ceremonies, I think.”

Well, he supposed that he wasn’t one to judge Caesonia too harshly in this regard. Although he never saw it himself, he did hear of incidents during the early weeks of the war when local lords fielded armies in the traditional style of massed spear-armed militiamen, archers, and only a few guns. That swiftly changed once it became clear that even a hastily-trained force of musketeers, backed by cannons, could easily destroy such an army. And as technology marched on over the years, and improved locks and powders of better composition became commonplace, rifles and artillery became the new kings and queens of the battlefield.

“Now we have new guns, also,” Sjan-dehk added. “Load faster. Fire…More straight. Maybe one day can show you.” Although Sada Kurau had left the Commonwealth before she could take on the new breech-loading rifles that were fast becoming standard-issue, Mursi had been working hard to cobble together a makeshift version that could be retrofitted onto Sada Kurau’s existing stores of muzzle-loaders. From what Sjan-dehk had seen, the man had succeeded.

At the same time, however, she didn’t think it wise to ignore the conversation between Riona and the Princess. If you hadn’t heard Riona’s greeting, you’d be forgiven for being unable to tell who the Princess was. Thinking back on it, Stratya would forgive someone for thinking that greeting had been sarcasm, too.

Either way, it didn’t sit properly with her to let the princess go on her own like this. Or with her friend. They were both very drunk. If she tried to leave, Stratya could not let her go in this state. Even from here to the castle ground was too far, considering the morning’s revelation.

Cynwaer had been watching the exchanges between Riona and Annie with interest and a good amount of amusement. Resting an elbow on the counter, he braced his cheek against a closed fist. Should he say something? It would certainly add to the fun, he imagined, but he felt that this Riona was just one wrong word away from ripping Annie’s head clean off her shoulders. And as interesting as that sight might be, Cynwaer would rather have a bloodless end to this night.

Anastasia met Cynwaer's gaze suddenly as her eyes wandered and she smiled. " Friend.” She declared.

“Cheering up Thea, huh? With the Crown’s blessing, I’m sure. Because you couldn’t possibly be that godsdamn stupid or callous to pull this sh*t again without guards, could you? Not after the last clusterf*ck that got a stablehand tortured and nearly put to death as a scapegoat. Remember that? What am I saying, of course you do. It’s only been a few days. No chance in any hell you forgot that quick. Clearly, you’ve taken those hard-learned lessons to heart and wouldn’t dare risk getting another lowborn beaten and killed just so you can keep having fun with your friends, right?”

The knight thought this had gone on long enough. They didn't need a scene. Stratya didn't need the drama when she's at the tavern, trying to relax after a long day. They didn’t need to bother their foreign guests with outbursts like this. She sighed with resignation, ”thank’e fer t’ inforrmation, frrien’. Per’aps I can buy ye a drink anot’er time. Excuse me.”

Riona looked about, searching for any sign of the Princess’s guards she doubted were actually here. “So where are they, your guards?”

She spun around on her barstool again, to face Riona and Anastasia, her mug in her hand, ”’ere I am~,” she chimed. ”Nae bet’er escor’ fer a pint a’ th’ pub, if I do say so, m’self. Drink like an ox, I do, ‘n I’m always the las’ standin’.” Even when there’s a brawl involved. Especially when a brawl’s involved. Stratya gave a cheery motion with her mug before taking a swig. ”Now, ‘fore we star’ a brawl, le’ me finish this here second pint.”

“I’ll nae ‘ave a brawl tae’night,” Cynwaer piped up. He pretended that he hadn’t quite understood what Riona had said – there wasn’t much he could do with such information now – but it at least confirmed to him what he had suspected earlier. Annie, and by extension, Thea, were indeed a pair of noble girls who seemed to have acquired a taste for common pleasures. And judging by what Riona had said, said taste didn’t always turn out well for those who served beneath them.

He reached across and snatched Annie’s mug off the counter. “Yer’ll ‘ave none o’ that. Any mer an’ yer’ll be get’in’ in trouble I cannae be fecked ta’ deal wi’, sae either find somewhere else tae ‘ave yer poison, or ‘ead on ‘ame, lass.” He glanced at the woman – Annie’s guard, as she had so proudly proclaimed – and gave her a slight nod. Enemy that she may be, for now they were hopefully both on the same side of defusing tensions and getting Annie and her friend away.

Anastasia’s eyes initially watered and she clenched her fists. Everyone was always blaming her. Darryn had done it. Callum. Her mother. Even her father. And there was no forgetting that costly ransom, after all.

Anastasia’s expression darkened, narrowing her unfocused gaze on Riona. “Are you seriously blaming me?” she began, her words still slurring even as her voice was low and trembling with restrained fury. “I’m the one who defended him in front of everyone. Where were you? What have you done for Darryn? You’re all talk ! So go ahead, blame me! Blame everything on me!” Her voice grew louder, tinged with bitterness as she took a step back staggering as her arms spread wide in a mock display. “Everything wrong in the kingdom is my fault because I dared to step outside!”

She glared at Riona, glassy eyes blazing with anger. “You want my guards?” She snapped her fingers sharply. “Guards!” Rather quickly, three figures detached themselves from the shadows, moving toward her side. “No matter where I go, no matter how hard I try to escape, they’re always there, Riona. So don’t worry about me.” With a dismissive wave of her hand, she sent them away, her gaze turning icy. For the first time, she looked at Riona with pure contempt. “Don’t you ever bring up Darryn to me again… And stay away from me. I’ve been nothing but nice to you, and I don’t need this. I am done with you.” She turned on her heels and stumbled as she made her way to Thea.

Riona breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted the guards. Good. At least torture and threats of execution were off the table. For them, anyway—she hoped the same courtesy extended to the guards who were supposed to keep people out of Anastasia’s room. The way these guards skulked around, though, made Riona wonder if the Princess had snuck out without permission. She just knew she’d be followed.

”Hoh hooh, you lads are good at tha’” Stratya eyes the Princess Guard, keeping in mind how they seemed to emerge from the shadows. That didn't sit right. ”Guess I’ll nae ‘ave to fill in, after all..” An eye still on the scene, she turned back toward the bar slowly.

“Darryn’s dead.” Riona announced simply. “Murdered.” The word hung heavy in the air. “Given the circumstances, I’m not buying it’s unrelated to the afterparty you snuck off to.”

Anastasia’s pupils dilated.

She strode towards the Princess, ignoring the guard’s blade hovering an inch from her neck, and leaned in close.

“You think everything’s about you? That all the kingdom’s wrongs hang on your shoulders?” She scoffed. “Gods, you’re so full of yourself. No, I’m holding you accountable for your own actions and inactions. Deal with it.” Riona stared into those royal eyes, past the Danrose name, the title, right to Anastasia, the person.

“I don’t think anything’s about me.”

“I believe you could’ve done more to help Darryn. At any point in time. But you picked your mysterious party friend over him. A mysterious party friend who has enough resources and influence to host secret parties with nobles, erase memories, and vanish without a trace. Versus a stablehand who got... what?” She showed her empty palms to emphasize the point. “Who needed you most, Anastasia?”

After taking a deep breath, Riona’s voice softened just a bit. “Even though your dad acts like you don’t exist most of the time, you’ve still got more sway over the outcome of things than any commoner.”

Anastasia’s eyes watered. [color=E77298] Why say such a thing to me about my father? Why tell me my friend is dead then put the weight on me as if I killed him? Is she evil?

Unshed tears stung her eyes. “So, what was I doing? While you were off partying, I was getting lashed. Because the nobles needed someone to blame for their own screw-ups at the ball. Just like Darryn. The Crown couldn’t punish one of their own or another noble in front of esteemed guests, so they made him pay the price instead. More than he should’ve. You stopping his execution was the bare minimum you could’ve done for him.”

Sorrow crossed Annie’s expression hearing that Riona had been lashed, but she did not have time to interrupt.

Riona couldn’t help but add, “And don’t f**king act like you were the only one who defended Darryn.” Though Riona hadn’t reached the entrance in time to see it all, she knew Cal and other nobles like Farim and Zarai had pleaded for Darryn's life too. Anastasia was rewriting history to paint herself as some kind of martyr. Gods, she is a Princess Edin.

“I didn’t say that!”

Pushing away her disgust, Riona went on, “After all that, what did I do? Nothing that mattered in the end. I helped patch Darryn up and tried to talk sense into him, to get him to leave all this behind and start over somewhere far away.” She swallowed hard. “I failed him. Now he’s gone.”

“I should’ve tried harder, searched for him sooner. I keep thinking, what else could I’ve said to make him accept my help? Or at least tell me what had him so scared.” Her slumped shoulders straightened as she stood tall, but kept her voice low so the last bit couldn’t be overheard by others. “I can’t turn back time. But I can damn well help find out why he died and make it right.”

“What about you, Anastasia? Knowing that Darryn was killed, possibly because of the afterparty, will you keep wallowing in self-pity? Or are you finally gonna prove that you’re not the self-absorbed, manipulative, fake-nice, hedonistic brat that I think you are?”

Anastasia glared hatefully at Riona.

The fire shivered excitedly. Yes, more.

“Because you can make a difference.” She let the silence settle between them.

“You know where to find me, if you ever decide to be a real friend to Darryn and help solve his murder. You can go now.” The maid dismissed the Princess, turning her back and walking over to Stratya and the two men.

“…It’s not my fault Darryn is dead and it’s not your fault either, Riona. If you ran into Darryn, then you know as well as I do that something way weirder was going on than him! And, I don’t care what you think about me. You make judgments on me, my family, and everyone like you’re above people. You don’t even know me! You sound like the manipulative one framing it as if the only way to be a ‘good friend’ to Darryn is through you and putting such crazy expectations for me to have known what was going to happen. Get a grip!” Once Riona was out of earshot, Anastasia beckoned her guards to help collect Thea, and then the two girls left.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Riona said to them. “But I had to get at least some of it off my chest.”

Cynwaer let out a low whistle as Riona finished her tirade against Annie. He made space for her and nodded his approval as she approached. “Nae bother,” he said, looked for the barkeep, and beckoned the man over. “Sounds like yer ‘ad plenty o’ shite tae get out o’ yer. An’ if e’en ‘alf o’ what yer said’s ta’ truth, then our pink lass o’er there might’ve ‘ad it comin’, aye?” Before either of the women could give him a response, the barkeep approached with an outstretched hand. A look of false indignation crossed Cynwaer’s face as he dug a hand into his trouser pocket. “If yer keep this ol’ game up, folks’ll start tae think I’m some sort o’ nae good scunner who’s nae good fae ‘is tab, y’know?”

“You don’t have a tab, Cyn,” the barkeep said pointedly. Cynwaer chuckled and placed a couple of scuffed silver coins into his open palm. “And we’re all scunners here.” The man snapped his hand into a fist as soon as Cynwaer’s fingers left the coins. “What d’you want?”

“Whate’er that lass asks fae,” Cynwaer said and pointed to Riona. [color=DC143C]“Think she could dae wi’ one or twa good ones, aye?” He then addressed her directly. “‘Eard yer say yer got lashed? That’s a feckin’ terrible punishment if I e’er ‘eard o’ one, and I’m a sailin’ man, aye.”

Riona’s eyes lingered on the door Anastasia and her entourage left from before she turned to the freckled man with a weary smile. “Thanks, uh…” She glanced at the barkeep, jerking her thumb toward the abandoned drinks. “I’ll have what the girls were having.” She faced her unexpected benefactor. “What can I say, some noble’s tantrums could put a hurricane to shame.” With a sigh, she shrugged. “But I need the work at the castle. So I weather the storm and carry on.” And it helped, in its twisted way. To keep the hate and anger burning.

And it was delicious.

The barkeep nodded, filled a glass, and slid it Riona’s way before stomping off to deal with yet another patron who had clearly had more drink than they could handle. Cynwaer nodded to the glass, then looked at Riona. “Well, bot’um’s up, lass,” he said with a friendly smile. “Aye, castle work pays well, I imagine, but if yer e’er in ta’ mood fae a change o’ pace, workin’ a ship’s nae a bad choice. Might e’en ‘ave a spot fae yer on Recompense, but I know enough folks who’d nae mind an extra pair ‘o ‘ands aboard.”

Riona raised the glass in salute before tossing it back in one smooth motion. “I’ll keep that in mind.” But even as the words left her lips, she knew the likelihood of her ever setting foot out of the country, let alone the capital, was low.

”And ‘ere I was, bein’ paranoi’ b’fore.” Stratya scoffed into her pint as she went for more. She looked to the two sea captains. ”I’m nae Princess Guard, for clari’y's sake. Not exactly a thing you want missin’, though. What were we talking about, guns? Faster loadin’, straigh’er shootin’?”

“Yes, we were. Can show next time, but not important now,” Sjan-dehk said and gave Straya a quick bow of his head. His attention had been stolen by Riona’s words, and he had listened with keen interest. They told him quite a few things about the relationship between Caesonian nobles and their subjects, none of them good. To lash someone – or to punish them in general – for no good reason was simply unconscionable as far as Commonwealth sensibilities went. There had to be proper processes and rites for these things, and they had to be fair, otherwise why even bother with a system in the first place?

Stratya followed his attention and nodded softly to herself, ”aye, righ’ you are.”

He cleared his throat. [color=1E90FF]“Cynric, he is correct. Lashing is…Bad. Me, I try not to use it too much on my crew. Only for very bad crimes.” There was a practical reason for that as well. A lashed man needed time to recover, and could do very little during that time. Better to simply punish them in a way that was productive, such as giving them more to do.

[color=DC143C]“That’s respectable o’ yer, Cap’n,” Cynwaer remarked. [color=DC143C]“I try tae dae ta’ same. Pret’y sure some o’ me degenerates might start tae learn tae enjoy it if I use ta’ ol’ lash o’er much.”

“Your wounds,” Sjan-dehk said to Riona. “I as–I assume you have them, yes? You have doctor to see them? Otherwise will take long time to heal. If it heal properly.” Sjan-dehk tilted his head towards the tavern’s doors. “If you do not have, then my surgeon can look at them. He is good at healing.”

Riona squinted, brain fumbling to place the foreigner. Then it clicked—the guy from the restaurant. Huh. “Oh, thanks, for the offer. I know some herbalism so it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.” Though, maybe she should have a proper doctor check her and not whatever it is that Quack did. Her body had been through the wringer lately—Cal’s concoctions and her own remedies could only do so much. And who knew what that intruder had dosed her with? “But… I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

”We'll talk abou’ our b’sness in t’ mornin’, Rriona. Tomorrah, anyway. Y’need the evenin’, lass. Shite, go on get smashed, y’ wan’. I'll tell ‘em I need ya fer somet’in’, getcher a sneaky day off, ‘n make banana brea’ for yer bot’le ache. It's a hi’ a’ Drunkard's Week, back ‘ome.” Yes, she said week.

Her pint, on the bar, was the perfect target. The knight was looking away. Frrmp. The fuzzy little beast jumped up to the bar and slinked forward, toward the tall glass it had its eye on.

Something tipped Stratya off, her gaze snapping to her pint to catch a cat, trying to sneak a drink. Her hand left the handle of her pint and snatched the creature by the scruff, standing it up on its back legs, “nae, y’ may no’ ‘ave my ale. Aren' ye a lit’le small fer i’? Wee t’ing like you, c’merre.” The cat seemed awfully placid as she scooped it up and laid it in her lap. Must be used to being handled. She took her glove off to give it chin scritches and belly rubs, which it lavished in. ”Ooh, wha’ a baby.”

Riona nodded along absently, thinking that getting wasted sounded pretty damn good right about now. But then a jolt of panic snapped her back to reality. “Wait, no. Stratya, we can’t let this sit until tomorrow.” The report crumpled in her grip as she drew closer, straining to keep her voice low. “We’ve gotta solve this before another Darryn happens. Unless Anastasia decides to cooperate and help us get to the bottom of this, you’ll need to question her. Or tail her. Maybe both.”

Realizing she was all up in the Knight Captain’s face, Riona took a quick step back. “Sorry, I just…” A sigh slipped out. “I don’t think Anastasia fully grasped what I was asking her to do. I was too pissed off to explain it right. But the thing is, Anastasia knows who hosted that afterparty. And I think Darryn’s death,” at this point, the Knight Captain pulled the servant in closer again, giving her a flash of wide eyes to keep it quiet. Her eyes turned to the cat, trying to signal diversion, “is tied to more than just escorting her and the others there. He was terrified of someone, or maybe a whole group of someones. Point is, whatever Anastasia knows about this host could crack the case wide open.”

Riona gazed down at the cat in Stratya’s lap and reached down to scratch behind its ears, gathering her thoughts. Too much detail might be lost on Stratya, if she was two to three sheets to the wind. So Riona gave her the short version in a hushed voice pitched for the Knight’s ears alone. “Quick and dirty on the analysis: that substance? Not organic. I couldn’t find out anything more than that with what I had. If it’s a chemical, it’s potent, most likely synthesized, and not something you can pick up at the market, at least not in this country. Or…” She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “It could be magical.”

Riona watched Stratya’s reaction. “Either way, it’s not something you can normally get without money or connections. Just. Like. The mysterious host.” She emphasized the point. “That’s why I have my suspicions about Anastasia’s more important ‘friend.’” The friend she valued more than Darryn.

“So, if Anastasia keeps protecting this ‘friend,’ even though I said the afterparty could be connected to Darryn’s murder… Guess that proves I was right about her all along.” The thought stung, and Riona sagged as a heavy sigh gusted out of her.

Cynwaer buried his nose in his mug, pretending that he hadn’t caught snippers of what Riona’s hushed whispers. There wasn’t enough for him to paint even half-a-picture of what exactly was going on, but coupled with her earlier outburst, there was enough for him to know that there was some sort of intrigue going on with the pink girl. And for Cynwaer, noble intrigue was something that was always welcome. He never knew when such information would come in handy.

And so, he made a note to keep his eyes and ears open and sharp for anything that might give him a better idea as to what was going on, and stood up from his seat. “Well,” he said. “That’s it fae me. I’d bet’er start making tracks fae me ship.” He glanced at Sjan-dehk with a grin. “Us folk o’ the sea ‘ave early starts tae ta’ day, aye?”

Sjan-dehk nodded in agreement. “Yes. I should go also,” he said and quickly got to his feet. He had already lingered for far more time than he intended, or should. Working a ship, as Cynwaer had said, called for early starts to a day. Unfortunately, there were not nearly enough early ends to balance things out. “Will have to start training crew tomorrow. Keep in practice, yes?”

“Runnin’ the ropes, eh?”

Sjan-dehk blinked once, then nodded when he more-or-less grasped what Cynwaer meant. “Not so much. My crew, they can sail. But weapons, too long did not fire.” He paused, the memories of his brief skirmish with pirates from just a day ago returning to his mind. That had been such a minor incident that he had almost forgotten all about it. “Too long did not fire with…With drill and command, yes,” he corrected himself. Being able to fight in a real battle was well and good, but it was a poor captain who used that as a full substitute for training. There was merit in drilling a crew until every action was second nature, and battle – where tensions were high and nerves could fray – was a poor place to foster such.

“Gunnery practice?” Cynwaer asked, interest in his voice. “Now that’d be a sight, aye.”

“Mayne not cannons. Rifles. Tomorrow, will be sure.” Sjan-dehk shrugged. He would have liked to do both in a single day, but his other, diplomatic duties wouldn’t allow him the time for it. “You, Ri–Riyo–” He tried to address Riona, but kept tripping over her name. He paused, breathed in deeply through his nose, and tried again. “Ri-oh-na, you still want to see doctor? You can come with me.” With that, he turned and started to follow Cynwaer out the door.

Stratya almost expected more magic to be at play. Either way, it was no surprise. She eyed the servant curiously, though she wasn't concerned. Anyone could think to blame magic for something, and all the better for her assistant to know more about it than not.

More immediate than that, however, ”Rriona,” the knight began, considering how she might speak concisely, ”if I woulda known y’ wan’ed t’ brring business tae discuss over drrinks, I woulda just taken us to me ‘ouse. Much more prrivate?” She lowered her voice further, ”no’ as likely to go paintin’ ourselves to t’ shadows we're pokin’?”

Riona met her gaze steadily. She’d thought her intentions about talking business was clear—mentioning that the analysis would be done by the time they met up and again after they arrived at the bar. Even proposed a cover story. Though, thinking back, it wasn’t like she said out loud that “Just two colleagues on a night out” was going to be their cover story. She kind of just assumed Stratya got it. Guess not. Damn. Her fault for not double checking.

“You’ve been acting like you don’t know who to trust.” She continued to keep her voice at a whisper while her eyes searched the other woman’s face. “I thought that’s why you didn’t want to outsource the analysis. That you’re worried about somebody tampering with the evidence.”

She tilted her head towards the rowdy tavern. “If you’re as spooked as I think you are, maybe you weren’t even sure your own house is secure. Could be ears in the walls.” Riona shrugged. “So I figured you thought the tavern might be just loud and chaotic enough to give some cover. You know, make it harder for prying eyes and ears to pick up on things?”

”no’ as likely to go paintin’ ourselves to t’ shadows we're pokin’?”

Did she mean becoming targets themselves? For investigating Darryn’s murder? Something about that struck Riona as a little odd.

She angled herself away from the bulk of the patrons. “A severed head, belonging to someone mixed up in a recent royal scandal, was left behind on purpose, within castle grounds, a territory where a knight or a royal guard would likely be called in. Whoever did it wanted it found, would’ve known there’d be an investigation. If they wanted to avoid that, they’d have disposed of it with the body.”

… Unless there was something Stratya wasn’t telling her. Had the Knight Captain been ordered not to investigate? Was she the only one on the case?

“You’re involved in looking into that afterparty incident too, right? If these people got eyes and ears everywhere, like you suspect, they already knew about you before this. You were and still are a potential threat to them.”

Riona cradled the cat in her arms, using the motion to cover passing off the analysis report into Stratya’s hand. “But hey, if I end up face-down in a gutter, at least you’ve got a tavern full of suspects to round up,” she said, a hint of dark humor in her voice.

The sea captains were leaving, including Riona’s opportunity for medical attention. She looked past Riona and shook her head, ”aack, go on, then. Seein’ tha’ doctor soun’s like a good idea. Even were we t’ jump intae action righ’ now, we nae ken what we need. It'll be bet’er for us t’ take a stea’y pace. I'll see what can be done come mornin’.”

She lifted a hand to wave to the departing, ”’ave fun shoo’in’ ‘em guns, frriend.”

Riona followed Stratya’s line of sight and raised a finger before gently returning the cat back onto the Knight Captain’s lap. “Sorry that I misunderstood why we met up. And I’m sorry if that outburst gave away something that wasn’t meant to be shared. I didn’t consider the possibility that this was an unofficial or not a public investigation yet. But like I said, I don’t think you’re any more or less a target now than you already were.”

Stratya sighed and rubbed a hand over her face, “”Eeh, you're prob’ly reyt.. maybe I jus’ nee’ some shu' eye.”

Taking a step back, she spoke at a normal volume. “Don’t take time for granted Stratya…” She paused, then added, “And... thanks. For agreeing to talk to her. Good night.”

Riona had taken two steps when she halted, turning around. “What did… ‘your lady boss’ say?” The question to the Queen, about the Royal Advisor.

”Nothin’. That she ‘adn’t seen ‘im.”

Riona nodded at the answer thoughtfully. “Thanks, see you later.” And with that, she darted after the dark-haired captain.

Stratya had been fussing over how to dress herself for the event. That, and being unarmed always left her feeling naked. Like she was forgetting something. Nobility was such a fussy thing, as if being an army officer weren’t complicated enough. Aah, but she shouldn’t complain. Things were quite well for her, she should be thankful her duties weren’t as dangerous, anymore. Instead of raiding bandit camps, she was going to parties. It was hard to argue, when you put it like that.

When she did finally get something good together, the knight took a look in the tall mirror in her armory and had to pat herself a few times, as though confirming that was the image of herself. She didn’t often take the time to look in a mirror, so she was still caught off-guard when she did, sometimes. A far cry from the village lass she’d been ten years ago. The uniform was sharp and flattering, and it was an opportunity to wear her antique dirk with the family crest on it.

At last prepared, Stratya left her house with what she appropriately called “The Big Basket”. Despite its physical size, the task was familiar. Nostalgic, even. Walking in the sun with a basket on her arm took her back to her village, and the gently rolling landscape she’d walked so many times.

There was enough for the party and the birthday boy. It was filled with cinnamon rolls and strawberry-banana muffins and chocolate-chip cookies, and large cheesecloths between each layer of sweets to aid with distribution. Over the top had gone her family tartan, making for quite the picturesque bread basket.

One servant drove a horse-drawn cart behind her, loaded with two crates of bottled Durmand Mead - one original, one berry flavored - and a couple loaves of alcoholic bread. Her brother was quite the passionate brewer. Ever since she's gotten proper brewing equipment for the village, the quality had grown like a fern.

”Alrrigh’, wait ‘ere, Stewar’. I’ll ‘ave someone come ‘n collect t’ mead anon. Once she’s unladen, take ‘er ‘ome and ‘elp yourself ta some owt’s left.”

As she entered the Estate grounds, a servant collected her basket of baked goods and a brief explanation that, oops, all sweet breads. As well, Stratya gave the direction to collect the crates of mead and boozy bread, though perhaps it was yet early for drinking. She would leave that decision to someone else. She slipped the ceramic bracelet over her wrist when given it, finding it charming.

Her burden relieved, Stratya reminded herself that she’d been told specifcally, by The Queen, not to wallflower herself. It couldn’t be worse than marching into combat, right? Right. You've read enough etiquette. In you go.

She caught sight of the hosts and some guests, already gathered. She was part of the first to be here? At any rate, she approached with a smile, ”Duke and Duchess Edwarrds, Duke Vikena, Coun’ Damian, good morning! Wha’ exquisi’e weather forr a par’y, trruly the Gods ‘ave blessed this day f’r celebrration.”

Ryn kept a watchful eye on Lord Smithwood after they left the Gentlemen’s Grill and Cabaret and made their way to the spa. Though the lord’s sudden pinkness was the result of nothing more than a dye job, the enchanted glasses revealed a familiar magicae imprint—one Ryn recognized from the day Lord Smithwood’s voice had climbed to a squeak and sudden, uncontrollable laughter overtook him.

Thankfully, the imprint was far less strong or menacing this time, reduced to wisps of tiny, surprised-looking faces swaying at the edges of Lord Smithwood’s magicae like stalks of ryegrass in a gentle breeze.

A field of… tiny little faces... Eerie, but harmless. Even a little adorable, as it turned out.

With every contented sigh and blissful groan elicited from Lord Smithwood by the masseur’s skilled hands kneading away the knots of tension, the heat of the sauna’s steam seeping into his weary bones, and the scented bathwater cleansed the day’s troubles, the faces faded away, their expressions softening into something almost resembling smiles.

Long before the dye washed clean from Lord Smithwood’s skin and hair, all remnants of the magicae imprint had vanished. Still, the count lingered at the lord’s side, until the deepening creases in Lord Smithwood’s brow warned Ryn he teetered on the brink of overstaying his welcome.

---

Just as he had done for the Damien’s masquerade party two nights ago, Ryn arrived early to Lord Edwards’ fête with the intention to catalog the unique traits of each person’s magicae as they filtered in.

Not to toot his own horn—though a small toot might be forgiven—he became rather adept at identifying the hosts of each magicae. He circulated the garden with an easy smile, exchanging pleasantries while continuing his observations.

At last, the birthday boy made his entrance, resplendent in his fine clothes and immediately surrounded by well-wishers. Ryn crossed the garden to pay his respects, greeting those who surrounded him politely before turning his attention to Lord Edwards himself. “Happy twenty-fourth birthday, my lord,” he said warmly, clasping the man’s hand. “I trust you’ve recovered from yesterday?”

Time: 9:50 am

Since her knighting, the captain had done much for her men. One platoon had been ordered out to her land to construct a village specifically for her soldiers to keep their families in and retire to, should they choose. From sharing drinks with the young lady, he knew she planned to build a second brewery and bakery there, in her family name.

Her personal platoon had more interesting orders. The rest of the platoon was to work with the Adventurer’s Guild and maintain a positive relationship with them. They would then use that positive relationship with the Adventurer's Guild to receive support the Army could not provide, like the cover of working for the Adventurer’s Guild when they really weren’t.

The squad’s standing orders were to blend in, and keep an ear and eye out in the places where the city enforcers did not tend to go, and even, sometimes, in places where they did. To ingratiate themselves to the slumfolk, but not so much they'd draw unwanted attention. Try to draw in the troubles of the slumfolk by gaining their trust. The men of the squad were comfortable with this strategy.. It boiled down to act natural and listen, pretty simple, and pretty lenient. They could even drink reasonably, whatever they needed to make the act a convincing one. After all, a genuine act was also a convincing one.

This is how the three men came to that particular place in the slums. They were idling about, chatting, keeping an eye out for anything while they did. The sergeant grimaced as his nose caught a whiff of something that reminded him of a certain head space. That was the smell of a fresh, dead body. It was faint, though. “Anyone smell ‘at?” One man said no, but the other confirmed after a few sniffs. “Hmmn. Mac, wha’did you say you ‘eard?”

After a brief explanation of what MacGregor heard, which wasn’t too much, the sergeant nodded. Someone hadn’t been seen for a day or two. Well, that was enough for the sergeant to poke around, as per orders. With enough snooping, one of the two men with him found blood and a rusted grate. Great. The sergeant and the other man went in to check it out. The man up top passed down a torch and lit it as he did.

The light let the sergeant see well enough to find something interesting. Two puncture wounds on the neck. “Mac, go tell the Lieutenant we’ve found a body. It’s interesting.”

~

Time: 10:00 am

The Lieutenant was at the desk he had in the space outside Stratya’s office. He often intercepted paperwork headed for her desk. He knew she would avoid it, and had resigned himself to completing what he could for her. For all her accomplishments, written language and etiquette were two battles she seemed to fear, or at least avoid. He supposed he had to understand. He felt similarly about combat, but she seemed so cavalier about that sort of confrontation. So confident.

There were, of course, papers he could not do for her. He had to track her down, sometimes, or tell the sergeant to relay the message. He always seemed to have some luck finding her, usually at the tavern. This time, luckily, she came to him when she delivered a basket of her baked goods to the knight's barracks, and he was able to inform her of some paperwork that needed her specific attention. She was on her way to a social event, and mentioned she was under direct order to mingle. The way she said it, the way she looked at him when she told him.. there was more to it she shouldn’t discuss openly.

A member of the squadron approached. James straightened up from the paperwork he was going over, nodding to the man, “MacGregor, what is it?”

“Lieutenant, we’ve found a body. Someone bothered to dump the bloke in the sewers. The Sergeant says its, ‘interesting’. Whatever that means.”

Lieutenant Clearwell leaned back in his seat, considering the information. The sergeant was not a fool. If Clearwell had been sent for, then clearly McLeary had something that was, indeed, interesting. To start with, hiding a body in the sewers in the slums was an fascinating move. Just hiding it in the slums might have been effective enough, but he could see why the Captain had her platoon doing what it was doing. To find things that would normally not be found, she was doing things that would normally not be done. “No name yet?” No. Hm. Well, then, there was only one course for it.

He put the papers on his desk away and locked the drawer before standing, “I’ll go. Bring a cart from the hospital to carry the body. We’ll take it to the morgue.”