Yovar studied the tapestries hung on the walls in the large chamber as he nervously weighed on his feet. They depicted tall stern men wielding terrifying powers; raining down lightning, calling flames, raising the earth… He didn’t know if they were real or not, but whatever the case they served their purpose of reminding everyone that the man holding court behind the large gilded walls was the most powerful sorcerer Alcea had seen in centuries. Perhaps, the most powerful in the world.

Just as Yovar was studying the only hanging in the room with a woman as the main figure, the doors to the throne room opened and a knight in the black of Janolf waved for Yovar to approach.

“His Majesty is ready to see you now,” he said, stepping aside to let Yovar enter.

To Yovar’s surprise, the enormous room was almost empty. Lord Janolf himself was there, of course, and next to him was Aron, his second in command. And then there was a… being. It could have passed for a human, wrapped completely in black cloth fluttering from some unfelt wind, if it wasn’t for the strange air of cold and malevolence reeking from it. Whatever it was, it was constantly at Janolf’s side.

As soon as he was through the door, Yovar went down on his knees.

“Master Yovar,” Janolf spoke.

“Majesty.”

“You have news for me?”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Approach, then.”

Yovar rose, keeping his head bowed as he walked closer to the throne. When he reached in, he kneeled again.

“Tell me of your news,” Janolf ordered.

“The Resistance is spreading, Majesty. My informers report activity in more and more areas and people disappear from almost every village to join them. But you have loyalists in the country, as well, and they’re becoming more and more willing to report on their neighbors’ activities. And…”

“Yes? What?”

“There has been talk in the border towns. A man from the Resistance, travelling speedily. For Ilvance.”

---

Elya sent the maid away with a hand wave, studying her appearance in the mirror. Her hair was done up in braids, arranged in circles around her head. She had changed into a very dark grey dress made from fine silk and intricately embroidered with black thread: a reminder of the reason for her exile.

Deciding she looked presentable, Elya stood and left her dressing room. In the chamber outside Sir Stefan was waiting for her, his wrinkled face set in a concerned frown. He was as unsettled as Elya by the arrival of this messenger.

“Who is with my son?” she asked him, smoothing her sleeves.

“Khani, from the Emperor’s Guard. And that dog.”

“Good. He is to be kept out of sight for now.”

“As you wish,” Sir Stefan agreed, giving a hint of a bow. “The emperor has offered to let you use the throne room to receive the man.”

Elya considered for a moment, before she shook her head. “No. I will see him here.”

Sir Stefan only inclined his head in reply, waiting for Elya to select a seat. There weren’t very many to chose from; the reception chamber Elya had been given by the emperor was far from small but neither was it meant for large gatherings. One side of the room was almost completely open to the walled-in garden by several arches that at the moment were covered by light curtains.

At the far end from the entrance, facing the door, there was an almost throne-like chair carved from some dark wood, slightly elevated on a small platform. There were chairs set along the other two walls, but most of the floor was bare, showing off the intricate stone work and giving Elya a good position to act the queen from.

She nodded to Sir Stefan.

“Tell them to show him in,” she said, schooling her features into cool inapproachability as she took her seat.

Rayf lent against the wall in the large, imposing chamber the castle guard had left him in. It had been a relief to be able to enter a building without first coming up with a cover-story; he had been travelling largely incognito since Alcea. The ceiling depicted a famous war in the history of Ilvance, the battle of brothers. Rayf had read a lot of information about Ilvance, having had the pick of the royal library in his youth. This mural depicted the critical moment of the battle, two ferocious armies facing each other, all ready to fight and die for the potential ruler they believed in. All of a sudden, the mother of the two opposing princes emerged from one army, standing in the centre of the battlefield and refusing to move until they had settled the conflict peacefully. It was a major event, and one that possessed a certain insightfulness and spirituality that Rayf appreciated.

He'd managed to slip through Alcea and over the border undetected quite easily, posing as a Priest of the Moon-Goddess in the border-town he'd wound up in then making his way through a forest that crossed between the countries. He hadn't eaten well or particularly rested in four days; this message, according to the resistance, was more important than any individual life. This is something Rayf firmly believed, having heard it. A captain among the castle guard entered from the door opposite, clearly giving Rayf a once-over to evaluate him as a potential risk. He, however, was exhausted and not in the mood. "Stare all you like, I've had compliments before" Rayf said, not opening his eyes, leaning his head against the wall.

"Oh good, you're a joker. Now look, I've been sent out to quickly to lay down a few ground-rules. Rule one, if the Queen orders it, we will decapitate you. Understood?"

"Actually no, could you explain that again?"

"Well this is a change of pace, a messenger who thinks he's a jester. I suppose everyone has an identity crisis occasionally. Rule two, no weapons inside of the chamber"

Rayf slowly and non-threateningly unsheathed his bayonet, offering it to the man he'd already made an enemy out of. Always thinking ahead, Rayf, very smart, he though idly whilst the man took his sword.

"Good. Rule three, watch your language and behave with a bit of respect, or.. well, I refer you to rule one, you jammy bastard"

"Well at least you're leading by example. May I see her? This is fairly urgent"

The guard nodded, leading Rayf to the chamber. Rayf tidied his deliberately unkempt hair and straightened his posture, the guard disappearing inside the door. A minute later he emerged once more and beckoned Rayf in. Taking a deep breath, Rayf walked determinedly into the room. "Your majesty, it's an honour. I am Rayf Calderwood, and I'm here to tell you that your country needs you"

Ow...

Ear pulling...

Never had this problem before...

Lacchi sighed as his head involuntarily tilted to the side, wincing away from the tugging fingers before realising that that wouldn't help. The nerves there sent a very sharp message that they didn't appreciate the move. With a yelp, he stood up and shook out the lingering aftereffects of being too patient with an over eager child. When Darlond found a new target to grab, the cursed thief simply stood for a moment, silky tail firmly grasped by the growing toddler and a sorely agrieved pleading in his brown eyes. The guard he turned to, however, was too busy trying not to laugh to be of any help. Fortunately, Khani was also used to seeing Lacchi interact with the little boy, he knew the hound wouldn't harm him. So Lacchi felt no need to be circumspect when Darlond started pulling. He'd grown too insistent since their last visit together, and what used to be cute, was now painful.

Little boys had to learn sometime that pulling tails and ears wasn't wise. Better that it was with a dog who wouldn't bite, but he was a little young for scaring. Turning quickly, he surprised the little boy with the movement and won his tail free. But he didn't stop there. He butted Darlond with his muzzle, knocking the young prince over and then lying on him. No injuries and no teeth bared, just a bit of startling, and the bonus of having his arms pinned for a while. And when the poor brat started sniffling, Lacchi just wagged his tail and licked his face. It took Khani two minutes to try coaxing and then just haul him off the boy. And as soon as he was up, the cursed thief changed tactics, jumping off the ground and grabbing a toy to play with. He knew why Darlond was being restless. There'd been no visit from his mother yet today. Well, that the boy knew of, he'd been asleep when the Queen stopped to check in on him. Lacchi was curious himself, for she'd been more anxious than usual. He didn't like a mother acting anxious over her children.

It usually meant trouble. He wanted to get out so they could find Queen Elya, but he'd overheard the maid telling Khani that Darlond needed to stay in his room until further word came from the Queen. It only concerned him further, but also took away the opportunity to do anything about it. The last time he'd left a child when he was worried, he'd been turned into a dog. She'd also died... The two facts weren't entirely connected, but neither helped with his nerves. So he did what he could, prancing back to the boy and shaking the wooden block about until he was dizzy. The toothmarks probably wouldn't be appreciated, but that wasn't really a problem he'd have to deal with. Then a sharp corner dug into the roof of his mouth and he dropped the square with a snort. Well, that showed him, didn't it?

Come on boy, let's have a bit of fun if we're stuck here then.

He nudged the block with his nose, wagging his tail and panting encouragement when Darlond reached for it. Fetch was not, ordinarily, something he'd want to take part in, but it would do as a distraction. Or it would have... "Don't want it, Woof." His name, or the one the prince had assigned him anyway, emerged even more emphatically than usual as the boy handed the block back. He took it, because it was expected of him, but simply dropped it again after a moment. He didn't really want it either. So he sighed and lay down again. If there was anything goingfor being stuck in a room with a petulant child it was that at least he wasn't lying amongst all those other dogs in the hall, jostling about for space and scraps. He might not have minded so much if he was better able to read a dog's mannerisms, which you'd think he'd have learned by now, but Lacchi was still learning the subtleties. Granted, being in a room away from the other dogs wasn't helping him there, but it did mean he didn't have to know them, didn't it? He got all the dropped food during mealtimes and had only had to endure one bath to get himself the position. Seemed a fair deal, better than the kennels, anyway.

Now he only had to figure out what was happening, make sure it wasn't a change that would effect him.

The jonquil map was delicately crisp, possessing a rather firm fragility that gulled its user to refrain from handling it, but it was upon the soft touch of human hands that it revealed its secrets: amongst the ink drawn mountains, rivers and roads were subtle embossed marks that denoted a wealth of secrets, each hidden in the sprawling lands of which it claimed representation. It was a slavers map - old and ancient as dead men who founded the dominant slaving companies of the world a great many years ago; its power was greater than tenfold legion of slave soldiers, greater still than all the material wealth the slavers had in their possession, for it gave away, rather exactly, the infrastructure and network that they had relied upon for many epochs. Copies existed, of course, but amongst only the elite of this cruel and vile profession; with its secrets lost, the vulture would be hesitant to return to familiar fields to trade in its black, corruptive feast, least lions be waiting where before they knew not where to wait... such was the power of knowledge, and Cirindel knew it.

"Will you keep it on you?" asked Hoharim; the young lad was barely sixteen, around an inch shorter than Cirindel and fairly thick and stocky for his age; he had bronze skin and matt black, scruffy hair that fell over his hazel eyes like scorched hay blustered by gales. He was a kind boy who desperately wanted nothing more than to become an adventurer - a head filled with grandeur and promises of legends to be written interwoven with his name. He certainly had his uses: he was loyal, quick on horseback, and rather good at the sneakman’s trade despite his bulky size. All in all, he was an asset - acquired when his older brother had followed Cirindel into attacking a bandit camp some six months previous; the brother was a fine swordsman with something of a grudge against the slavers - after he fell, Cirindel felt obliged to keep the young lad close. Now, however, with a new journey on the horizon, she needed to cast him loose, but in doing so give him one last sense of purpose.

"Yes, although by no means will I let that decision be completely transparent." Her voice was low, soft and yet seeded with knowledgeable irony. "Here is a copy - a false one of course; take it to the caves at Acturas and bury it there... the rest others will see to."

The instruction was plain and sealed with a smile Hoharim was unable to refuse; it was quite apparent to Cirindel the crush the lad had developed, and although she was careful not to abuse this power, it certainly helped bend the boy's will to her own.

"Of course, Archangel..." he said, using the nominated title many had designed to call her. Her only reply was another smile, more coy and understated this time, although not enough to give the lad hopes beyond service. He quickly mounted the chestnut mare he had ridden on and set off eastward, away from the rising sun, in the knowledge that once his journey was done, the setting star would likely have caught up with him...

She knelt low, watching the dust trail catch the morning light ever so faintly. Amongst the grasslands little else could be seen or felt; once the horse's gallop had faded, the silence painted itself with the echo of its deceased noise and became a more vibrant shade of nothing. A stillness settled so that even the long grass did little to disturb it; the lull seemed to crystallise matters for Cirindel, intensify the task and matter at hand.

My heart will move through dooms of hope and scale great mounts of hate,
My sword will cleave through crests of steel and soon my shield will break,
And in the winter's great contempt and sin, my fortitude will shake
But I was born in the Valelands, son, and my legacy will be great!

As the song of her people flooded her mind she could see the words etched into the stone above the gates of Valehold; suddenly the wind picked up and the grass danced, throwing up seeds and florets into dawn's breaking gaze. Standing, this light now caught the radiant and polished steel of her plate, each pressing of gold and mother of pearl refracting it so that the calm void that stood moments before was now shattered: Archangel had risen, her purposed stride breaking forward towards the edge of the plain where a narrow river ran smooth and green. Here a boat lay, rocking airily amongst unfurling ripples, some eight foot long and narrow, its black wood freshly cut. Travelling down to the capital of Illvance on the river would be far quieter than by road, although it was her intention to disembark just before the river entered the city and walk in through the main gates - it wouldn't do much good to appear like she was sneaking in, after all...

Nearly a day later...

The journey itself had been easy, although this lack of challenge made Cirindel somewhat sad; not that she would have preferred a fight, but at least that might have kept her wits sharp. Thus she was feeling somewhat sluggish when she entered the city on foot, as if the resolution she had possessed in the grasslands needed a sharp reboot; luckily, this was to occur quickly as she approached the palace district. By this time she had forsaken the simple robe which concealed her distinctly grand and glorious countenance, and had fully emblazoned herself head to tip in the brilliant family plate which had been re-crafted for her person. Eyes turned as she walked, many eyeing the staggering beauty of the work, others casting a somewhat more discerning stare towards the great war-hammer which was slung over her shoulder and down her back. Crowds parted as she approached and the content of the whispers carried on the inner city breeze - many did indeed know of 'Archangel'... As of yet, she heard little that indicated malice, although her right hand never moved far from the short sword, her back up weapon, which hung snugly fixed to her hip-belt.

“You there, halt, stand to the side and declare your purpose for approaching the palace of the Emperor so armed!” The voice was abrupt, firm and dutiful, but contained traces of both aggression and fear; this was a man projecting his power as a trickster does shadows upon the wall. The real threat was the guard along the high wall who had stopped pacing his patrol and was now taking a curious, long look at the armoured figure which had approached the palace gate.

Cirindel complied, stood aside and spoke in a calm, clear voice: “I will state my reason for being here; let me first remove my helm?”

The guard nodded in way of reply, his hands gripping his large pole axe so that the leather grips were now chaffing his palms, despite the sweat profusing from them.

Cirindel slowly reached up and removed the angelic helm, its swept silver wings drawing up curls of lustrous platinum blonde hair, before letting them fall in a set of shimmering, supple coils that framed her peach skin, emblazoned by rouge cheeks and piercing emerald eyes. The guard’s mouth dropped, held itself there until his mind kicked back into gear once more, and stammered out a reply (the watching guard on the wall didn't move an inch):

“State your business... lady..." It was clear he didn't expect what his eyes were seeing.

"With greatest respect to the Emperor, my business is with the most gracious and righteous Queen of Alcea who currently resides here under his hospitality and protection. I come with the blessing of my father, a former Lord in Alcea - with the intention to pledge my dutiful service to her cause."

The guard wanted to interrupt, but Cirindel's gaze held him in check.

"I have heard much of the brutality of the sorcerer Janolf - I would do all I can to remove his tyrannical grip upon my homeland and restore the rightful leaders to their power."

There was a momentary pause - the guard on the wall had not moved - his crossbow was loaded but not yet aimed; the guard standing in front of her was indecisive, as if he believed her but was loath to break the guidelines he had been given.

"Many a smooth word may be spoken by assassins looking to reach her majesty; I cannot let you enter so armed, but with surrender of your weapons and under guard, you may approach her majesty." He looked up to his colleague who nodded, turned and signalled; four other guards soon appeared at quick march to the gate.

Cirindel nodded, removed her shield, hammer, sword and dagger. She then submitted to a search, which although intrusive, she reconciled as necessary. Having satisfied their criteria, she was guided without her weaponry under supervision of the four guards into the palace. Once inside an officer outside of a seemingly innocuous room halted their progress; frustration made her heart surge, but she subdued the feeling and let no hint of it enter her expression. Instead she merely smiled.

"Wait... I know you..." His voice betrayed the truth - he did know her, although his mind still searched for the certainty to match the instinct. Cirindel let him reach the conclusion. "Cirindel Valehold - 'Archangel' - yes? You were hired by the Emperor's adjunct Tem'irr seven months ago to rout the bandits who threatened the south silk road - you still have our favour, friend - there was no need to submit to this... embarrassing predicament."

The inflection as he finished seemed to scold the guards, although by now his hesitant tone was laced with a subtle warmth, hidden beneath a professionalism that befitted an experienced soldier.

"I know, captain." Cirindel replied, recognising his rank from the insignia upon his uniform; "though it seemed fitting to demonstrate my intention in this manner rather than force it through the recollection of favour. Please keep my arms for now, I have no need of them in here."

The captain nodded and tapped twice on the door so the guards inside would open it. "Enter then, and present yourself to our guests."

Cirindel did enter, the guards stepping back to watch her although she knew they remained alert. She felt the delicate breeze from the open wall grace the back of her neck, a reminder that she still held her helm in her left arm; scents of jasmine from the garden made the atmosphere sweet and exotic. The sight of the raised, black wood throne provided a simple, yet fitting elevation for the Queen. She was beautiful, certainly; her silk grey dress was not extravagant, but it suited her complexion and allowed her natural loveliness to come to the fore. Others in the room were equally impressive; one man in particular had the appearance of a traditional Alcean knight, a mark of home for the Queen in this foreign place. This man was likely to be her closest bodyguard and a capable man of arms in his own right; Cirindel gave him only a momentary glance, however, knowing her true intention and duty was to the Queen.

In approaching, she kept her head bowed and knelt in front of the throne, keeping a respectful distance. Still bowing, she allowed her rehearsed words to come forward, although they were meant as if un-penned as the passion in her voice indicated:

"Your majesty, true protector of the realm and your son the King of Alcea. My name is Cirindel Valehold, daughter of Martius Valehold, former Lord of our namesake lands in Alcea. In exile we have never renounced our loyalty; in our shame, never regressed in the dedication of our duty to you and your line. I am here to pledge my mind, heart and warrior's arm to your cause; I would do all I can to serve as my father once did and remove the tyrannical usurper from power. I would avenge for you, fight for you and protect you, should you accept my application."

She let the silence which followed absorb the heartfelt meaning of her words, and waited, still knelt and bowed upon the cool stone floor for a reply.

From the corner of the palace, the only evident sight of a small child hidden in the shadows of the palace was the sunlight glistening off his dirty blonde hair. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people had walked past the hiding spot this boy took, without so much as a glance in his direction. Perhaps this spoke badly of the people of Ilvance that they did not grant charity to a dirty boy clothed in rags, or it proved his skills to hide.

His green eyes darted around and upon every passer-by. A few days ago, his eyes would have been searching for anyone dressed in the flowing silks of rich merchants, women browsing through expensive textiles from foreign lands, or anyone who smelled of money. His employer told him otherwise, however. Street urchins did not normally have employers, and certainly none that would pick him out of a line-up of all the other children of the street.

He was looking for something. His eyes lingered on everyone that held a weapon openly, or anyone clad in armour that bore no signs of loyalty to Ilvance. He looked down at his palm for a moment, imagining the sheet of paper his employer showed him for a second. The boy could remember every single detail of that paper, even the small yellow stains caused by age at the top left corner of the sheet. There were pictures of people he could recognise that he had not met, and descriptions that made it seem like he had enjoyed a personal conversation with them for a few minutes. The employer was looking for people. Warriors, knights, mercenaries, wizards and such.

The only woman on the list dwelt on his mind, however. His employer spoke too little of her, but a woman standing at 5 feet and 11 inches, clad in armour that could crush this young boy and wielding a mace left him in awe. She was the first person picked out by him, it seemed like just about everyone noticed the 'Archangel' as well.

With a cheeky little smile, the boy ran out of the shadows, brushing past a soldier standing guard. If he had paid attention to his belongings instead of staring agape the Archangel, he would have realised that the pouch of coins hanging by his belt was gone. The boy had a little bit more spending coin tonight, especially after his employer's payment.

The boy continued darting through and past the crowd, before taking a leap off a flight of stairs and onto the second-floor balcony of a stone building that stood 5 storeys high. Second floor was where his employer's office was, and walking in by the front door was for those not eagerly anticipating more coin.

Mustering a childish, happy grin, he leapt for the door and shoved it aside, before tripping onto a pile of leather-bound books and toppling onto the floor. His coins spilled out onto the floor with a few loud clangs, and he let out a pathetic whimper as he watched them roll around the floor.

His employer, seated at a wooden desk, looked up from his book with a disapproving glance that didn't even seem worth the young man's effort. He had to crane his neck just so that his eyes could poke out from behind the wall of books that were stacked up on his table. His name was Prince Francis Machiavelli Enrico Dandolo, the Lord High Admiral of the Republic of Amalfi and the Governor-General of the Southern Amalfi Trading Company, a small young man that was a head shorter than any grown male. His face was softly built with peach skin untouched by sunlight, and brown eyes that fitted a maiden waiting for a husband rather than a merchant prince. His long white hair raced past his shoulders, resting onto the red nape he wore. His reputation did not precede him in Ilvance, and he looked like a girly fop to outsiders.

"You saw one of the targets?" asked Prince Fran. He sounded a little bored, and with good reason. Doing 4 years worth of accounting in a week left little time for other activities. His brother, Giovanni, had fiddled with the numbers to account for slave-trading. It spoke something bad about his brother that even when he was involved in the slave trade, the falsification of account ledgers was ultimately meant to cover up losses rather than illicit gains. Fran had to fix all that before he could truly get involved in the company.

The boy said nothing, though he grunted a few times as he picked up every coin of his on the floor. He froze right after he picked up the last coin. Fran was a rich man, and even though he was just a few inches taller than the urchin, the boy felt the tension in every single muscle of his, just like the first time he spoke to Prince Fran.

It didn't help that the first time he met his employer, he was trying to steal the merchant prince's coin pouch.

That incident happened 3 days ago. When the urchin cased the crowd around the marketplace districts of Ilvance, Prince Fran did stick out in the boy's mind. The red silks he wore as his outfit, along with the scarlet wide-brimmed hat with an embedded white feather made the boy think that the young man was a dandy. He did carry a rapier by his side, but the boy thought he could move fast enough. What the boy did not spot were the 5 bodyguards Fran had around him, dressed casually and carrying weapons of their own.

Fran wasn't sure why he forgave the boy, but the boy had an eye for detail that could be trained, and a memory that surpassed God. And nerves that gave way rather quickly.

"I—I'm—"

Fran raised his head even higher to show a gentle smile.

"Speak calmly, Jack."

The young man spoke with such a comforting tones that Jack first thought of the memories of the mother. The sweet memories made him a little warm inside, just enough to push through the boundaries of nervousness.

"I saw Cirindel Valehold. She was heading to the palace."

Fran shot up, though standing up was only enough for the boy to see the prince's chin and part of his neck above the wall of ledgers. A wry grin made its way across his face, and trailed across his eyes as well.

"Archangel! That's perfect!" Fran cheered.

The history of the Valeholds were not hidden in dusty tomes stashed away in libraries buried beneath time, but not many knew about them outside of Alcea or about how they fell. If a single word could summarised how they were ultimately made irrelevant, it was slavery. The same word that caused his brother's suicide.

Fran hated that word, and everything associated with it. The list of people he showed Jack were of notable men or women, most of them 'hedge knights' or wizards with great magical power, and all of them with a history regarding slavery that most likely left them disgusted. People that could be worked with to deal with slavers at little to no cost.

Something Jack said made Fran think a little bit, and then gasp. Cirindel Valehold was heading to the palace. A warrior who served a crown, by common sense, had less free time to deal with their common interests.

"Jack! Ask Frederick for your pay!" yelled Fran. He tried not to sound like he was scolding anyone, but Jack cowered all the same. The prince would have noticed, if he wasn't in such a hurry. He leapt out of his seat and grabbed his signature wide-brimmed hat at the corner hatstand, hastily placing it on his head. The rapier that hung by the hatstand as well was ignored, considering that he was rushing headlong into a palace.

"And tell him I'm going to the palace!"

Fran rushed past the piles of ledgers, out of the same door Jack entered, and jumped off the balcony. He took the same route Jack did, racing past the crowd and then towards the palace gates. The lone soldier standing guard wavered slightly in his post, the pole-axe he held as a weapon served more like a form of support to the exhausted man.

The guard did tighten his face and his posture when Fran approached.

"Halt! State your business!" he barked out, shoving an open palm in front of Fran in a gesture to stop.

The last time he had entered the palace at Ilvance, even the noble grace of being the Lord High Admiral of the Republic of Amalfi, Governor-General of the Southern Amalfi Trading Company and the 3rd son of the current Doge of the Republic of Amalfi, was not enough for him to avoid the rude accosting by guards and a demand to know his reasons for entering the palace. A merchant prince was probably richer than just about all the nobles in Ilvance, but 'nobility' meant so much more than wealth.

Fran looked up, catching no sights of anyone atop the castle walls. The last time he was here, there was an armed sentry on the walls, but wherever he went to was of no interest to the prince.

The fact that he wasn't there, however, allowed Fran a little indulgence. His hands slipped into his shirt, removed a medium-sized coin pouch, and held it out to the guard.

"I want to meet Cirindel Valehold," stated Fran, matter-of-factly.

The guard's eyes widened, and his own firm gaze now darted around the palace walls. Soldiers were taught to have their loyalties to the throne in their minds before all else, but in practice, that was much harder to implement. With clenched teeth, as if cursing his own greed even as he gave in to it, the guard took the coin pouch and slid it into his pocket.

"Go in," he said with a defeated sigh.

With the sort of smile Fran would give to a defeated foe flashed at the guard, he rushed into the palace. The prince made it into the throne room just as the Archangel finished her vow of loyalty. He heard none of it, but when he saw the knight upon her knees, he could already guess what she was saying to the Queen of Alcea.

"No!" he yelled out. "Don't do this! Not yet!"

Fran regretted those words, or at least his tone, a second after they left his lips and resonated in the throne room. The ever-present Royal Guard, the last of defence to the protection of the queen first had their eyes on Valehold, but shifted to the short young white-haired man who so rudely interrupted them. A few of them whispered amongst themselves, but to the merchant's prince slight relief, none of them actually drew their weapons.

"Lady Cirindel Valehold, I need your assistance. You must not swear allegiance before you at least hear me out. I am Prince Francis Machiavelli Enrico Dandolo of the Republic of Amalfi."

The Queen was obviously shocked by Rayf's words and stared in silence for a moment before she answered coldly. "Explain yourself."

Rayf lowered his head respectfully, "We've been waiting for the right time, my Queen. Our resistance finally has enough resources to strike back against the tyrant Janolf - one of our agents has found some crucial information regarding the throne" He spoke determinedly and seriously, not wanting to waste her time.

The Queen considered for a few seconds, her expression blank. "I have heard of this 'resistance' of yours. A band of lone knights and peasants hiding in the woods. You think you can fight Janolf when my lord husband and all his men could not stand against him?"

"I haven't been cleared of the details, but apparently it had something to do with the royal bloodline, it has some.. some kind of connection to the land of Alcea" He lifted his head, resting the palm of his hand on his chest, "My task is to escort you - and your son - to the Resistance headquarters. I'm a master of stealth and a capable fighter, no harm will come to either of you under my protection. Of course, this is only if you agree to return."

"You will forgive me if the promise of your protection does not fill me with confidence," the Queen said drily, running her eyes over Rayf in obvious scepticism, "But... I have sworn that my son will have the throne of Alcea. And there is power in his blood."

She paused, frowning. "But tell me, Master Calderwood, what your interest is in winning back the crown for my son."

Rayf failed to suppress a smirk at her questioning of his abilities; when he was more naive and hot-headed he would've been offended, but now he recognised it for a sign of caution and intelligence; precisely the qualities a monarch should possess. He paused, biting his lower lip and casting his eyes to the ground, his hands were unconsciously forming into fists. "I believe you knew my father, Alistair Calderwood. He was the royal librarian; a good man, a shrewd man, but he was no fighter"

Rayf took a deep breath, unclenching his fists, looking into the Queen's eyes, the rage behind his mellowing into purpose; even determination. "He was cut down by Janolf's men. He took a sword through the chest whilst attempting to distract them from the throne room. Then, four of my brothers, each mercilessly slaughtered trying to defend their home. Do not mistake me, my Queen. I am not in this fight for vengeance; that hunger has been moulded into passion. Any ruler who would so casually slaughter the innocent doesn't deserve a throne; they deserve an unmarked grave" He knelt before the Queen, his head bowed. "If you accept the call, I am your sword, your will, and the shadow of your enemy" He lifted his head, a loyal smile spreading across his face, "And I also make a damn good pot of tea"

"I did know your father. I do not believe I knew your brothers, but your family has the gratitude of Alcea." She studied Rayf with narrowed eyes. "I accept your pledge of loyalty, Rayf Calderwood. I must consider the news you have brought me before I come to any further decisions."

Without taking her eyes off Rays, the Queen addressed the elderly man at her side. "Sir Stefan, have my... protector shown to a room and given food and clothes and whatever else he might require. I will call on you soon, Master Calderwood."

"I wouldn't expect anything more" Rayf got to his feet, bowing slightly as he said "I'm at your beck and call"

---

As Sir Stefan lead Rayf down series of stone corridors, Rayf admired the portraits on the walls. They all had that look, the look the Queen had given him. A shimmer of authority and self-confidence, a look you could be loyal to. They reached his designated room and Rayf sighed appreciatively, two days of sleeping on the forest floor had only given him more of an appreciation for this moment. "Sir Stefan, is it? I 'require' a bottle of the best wine the Queen will allow and some kind of hot food" He inspected the dirty, mud-stained clothes he had travelled in and added "And some clothes that might make me look marginally less homeless" With that he collapsed onto the bed they had given him, staring at the ceiling and trying to prepare himself for the journey ahead.

---

Elya’s brow was furrowed in deep thought as Sir Stefan returned from having shown her newfound… protector? - Liegeman? Guard? - to his rooms.

“I’m not sure what to make of this, Sir Stefan,” she admitted as soon as he was at her side, “Do you think him sincere?”

The elderly man considered for a few seconds, crossing his arms over his chest. “He comes from a respectable family, my Queen. I knew his oldest brother a little, a knight. And his father served both your husband and his father before him loyally.”

“Janolf’s family served the throne loyally for generations,” Elya pointed out. She pursed her lips. “I never saw that man at the castle. Do you know where he was?”

“No, my Queen. Sent away to be apprenticed in some field, I imagine. Alistair had a large brood.”

“I must admit that I am tempted to trust him.”

And she was. She didn’t like admitting it, but the familiarity of the man’s accent and clothing and the promise of the company of someone who also called Alcea home made it tempting to accept Rayf Calderwood as an ally. But those were emotional and sentimental reasons; enough, perhaps, for a girl, but not for a Queen.

“Your husband always thought your instincts were good,” Sir Stefan said.

“Yes…” Elya agreed slowly, still after several years feeling the pang of sorrow at losing the man she had come to love, “I’m not sure I have a choice. If Alcea calls, it is my duty to answer.”

---

Elya was dumbstruck as she stared down at her two guests. This was certainly… unusual. It was rare that she had visitors at all and this day brought her three? And the two current ones were remarkable in their own right really. Cirindel Valehold, the woman they called “Archangel”, and a merchant prince from Amalfi? She was almost flattered.

Deciding to deal first with the young Amalfian, she turned her most regal glare on him. “I am of course happy to have such an illustrious visitor from our friend the Republic, but my happiness would grow greater still if you were to tell me, Prince Francis Machiavelli Enrico Dandolo, why you felt it was necessary to introduce yourself in this manner?”

The Amalfians were a silver-tongued people, Elya reflected as she watched the merchant prince and the lady warrior leave her improvised throne room. Cirindel Valehold and come to swear her fealty and ended up striking up a partnership with Francis Dandolo to hunt slavers. Once it became clear that going with Dandolo was in fact what she desired, Elya had given her blessing to it, of course. The Archangel was a loss, but she preferred no ally at all to an ally not entirely devoted to her purpose.

Besides, striking at the slave trade would strike at Janolf, and anything that weakened the man who had killed her husband would be supported by Elya.

She exhaled slowly, not quite a sigh but close to it. things had suddenly become a lot more complicated. And now they were to be complicated further; her new guard – Rayf- had informed her, through Sir Stefan that yet another person would present themselves to her, this one also part of the Resistance and if she decided to answer the call from them, part of her escort through Alcea.

Hopefully, the addition would make up for Cirindel.

***

“Your Majesty?” Sir Stefan spoke from the valve leading from Elya’s rooms to the garden whre she was watching her son play with the dog that seemed to have attached itself to him. she looked up, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes?”

“The woman the Calderwood boy went to fetch is here and wants to be presented.”

“I see,” Elya said. After a moment’s thoughts, she stood, running her hands down her dress to smooth out imagined wrinkles, “I suppose I had better see her right away. What is your impression of her?”

Sir Stefan shrugged. “Peculiar. Hard to say anything beyond that. But I do believe she would make a formidable ally.”

Elya inclined her head in understanding. “Show her in,” she said as they entered her reception room together. She stepped up unto the platform that held the chair that served as her throne and sat down, straightening the sleeves of her dark dress as she mentally prepared herself to meet her next guest.

Yanhua gazed at the end of the room, the cold iron handles of the door still in her grip. The woman she found who sat atop an intricate throne, well more a very nice chair, of dark wood represented regel quite well. She was obviously a woman bred and raised for this very position. The queen’s only striking feature was… her age. So young, it was a shock to her. She had lost everything and yet, still so young. The moment of her entrance passed, a deep breath and she began her descent into the room. Hands folded in her lap like always and her eyes gazing at the stonework, the patterns and shapes carved into the very floor – a distraction as her mind worked for the words. That burning feeling within her chest grew with every step, that mixture of pride and magic that was nearly addictive was swelling and Yanhua would act every part of that fire within. Her stride came to a halt, raising chin to stare into those emerald eyes that belonged to the woman she was to pledge her life to.

“It’s an honor to meet you” The older woman produced a curtsy, hands leaving her lap to rub against the fabric of her dress before holding its edges; small embers seeming to dance from this small but respectful action. Her hazel eyes never left Elya’s face as she began her small speech “I am the sorceress Yanhua, of the house Tristis born to the city of Stormguard and I am pleased to say I shall be your guard along with my companion Rayf. I hope this is acceptable” Her hands by the end of it had come back to clasp and rest within her lap.

Elya studied Yanhua in silence for a few seconds before she spoke. "You are Alcean," she stated calmly, "but your speech is not. May I ask where you have spent your time, my lady?"

Her voice didn't show it, and neither did her straight posture and schooled expression, but beneath the young Queen's calm there was fear. She hadn't been raised to share much of the small-folk's fear of otherworldly powers and had no real animosity toward them. But the last sorcerer she had known had been the same man who took her husband's life and she was unwilling to trust anyone who could call on such powers.

Her words brought that wisp of a smile back to Yanhua's features "At a young age I was sent away to be schooled, in the nation of Awari. I am sure you have heard of it but only in passing due to their small size, they are a people who pride themselves on their knowledge of magic and hold many an institute to teach what they know to all who are willing. They have a rather interesting language that begs for that beat of an accent to speak it, it's hard to unlearn after so many years." Her head bowed as her words died in the air, hoping her answer was sufficient in what her majesty needed to know.

"I see," Elya replied, inclining her head in acknowledgement of the words, "I have heard of these institutes, as you call them. Perhaps the knowledge you have gained there can help us against Janolf." She considered with her lips pursed for a moment, the expression of emotion making her appear younger. "I know little of sorcery. Could you give me some notion of how powerful you are, lady Yanhua? Say, in comparison to Janolf."

Her face had turned hard, a harsh breath blown out. "You insult me, your majesty." Silence stayed for a moment, the woman shaking gently as her chest warmed "Of course it will help you against that vulture. I will do everything in my power to help Alcea be restored to its former self. You must understand, your majesty, that I have pledged my life to Alcea and subsequently you." Her eyelids closed, her breathing replacing her abrasive tone. "I cannot compare myself with Janoff for I do not know him or his true strength" Those visions of blood stained stone and gaping maws of twisting shadow crossed her mind, she knew nothing... absolutely nothing.

She swallowed, eyes opening to meet with that strikingly young face "However I am strong." Her shaking had grown, seeming as if she was freezing to her onlookers but inside she was near melting. Her turn from her audience was abrupt, walking from them at a hefty speed. Her retreat stopped in the middle of the room. Her right foot stepped forward and slid, bringing her face back to meet eye contact with the Queen and as it scrapped that heat in her chest escaped into the world – dancing flames of sweltering heat erupted around her foot, licking up and out into the room. Her hands danced along, erupting more of her soul into the room, letting it dance and twist upon itself as it grew and quickly died before more was birthed into the air. Her eyes betrayed her own exhilaration at finally, after what felt like an eternity to release that built up magic. The air seemed to sing as it crackled, joyous and full of life to her own ears. How arrogant am I to enjoy this so much? To be entranced by my own magic…

Steam left her mouth as she took heavy breathes, body seeming to come to embrace itself as she laid to rest her magic. The room was silent and no traces of her dance was left, the tired woman stood before the queen again as if the performance had never happened but she still heaved and that euphoria was still evident in her features. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

Several seconds passed in silence after Yanhua's display. The Queen had paled, involuntarily pushing herself back into the back of the chair, shying away from the fire. Sir Stefan, standing by the side of the room, had reacted differently; half a foot of his sword was already drawn and he gave his Queen a questioning look. Elya gave a small shake of the head, forcing her breathing to slow and her face to regain its calm expression.

"You misunderstand me," she spoke, her voice conciliatory, "I did not mean to cast doubt on your intentions, only to express my hope that your knowledge might... give us an edge. It was always said in the capital that Janolf's knowledge of magic was unmatched, but he was never at any of these institutes, as far as I know." She paused, studying the other woman intently. "As I said, I know little of sorcery, but your powers do seem impressive. You can use this" - she waved a hand vaguely, indicating what had just taken place in the room - "to fight?

A soft “oh” left the girl’s lips, suddenly feeling very foolish and as if she had been transported back to the classroom of her younger years. Stone eyes studied faces and what should have been shame was instead a disgusting pride. Fear had been itched into their faces clear as the full moon and though Elya had calmed, regained that regal composure it's shadow was still in Yanhua mind. "I would be honored to teach you about sorcery, if you would allow me. Perhaps that would be far better for understanding than simply watching" She bowed her head in that way she always did, a show of hoping for forgiveness that she had learned from an old man long ago. Her right hand rested upon her breast as a cough left her throat "Yes, I can use my pyromancy, fire magic, to fight." The Alcean seemed to slip through the cracks of her accent's beat, seeming to alert her own humiliation.

"Good," the Queen said, "Hopefully, we will not need to fight our way through Alcea, but..." She sighed. "Well, I am not welcome there. Nor is my son. And if we were to be attacked, I wish for him to be protected."

She trailed off, distractedly tapping her fingers against the armrest of her chair as she studied Yanhua from under half-lowered eyelids. "You are a warrior," she said after a few seconds, half statement and half question, "Tell me: would you kill for me, Lady Yanhua?"

She gave another nod "I understand" Yanhua bobbed her head like a bird as she observed her studier, letting the euphoria of moments before still pump through her veins. Fingers toyed with warm ceramic as she waited. Smile cracking through at the woman's words, all action stopping "My Queen" She spoke the words slowly, loud and pronounced, making sure Elya understand exactly what she was implying. "I will burn to the ground anyone and anything in my way. I will kill for you, my queen, without a second thought." Her fingers began to idly play again with her beads, thinking as she found herself in a good position to ask. She stared off, letting herself take in the room once more "My queen, I do indeed have my own agenda. That is, if we succeed" Her head slowly was brought back to her majesty's, letting her request roll off her tongue "If we succeed, I request to become the royal sorcerer and have funding to set up a school for the magically gifted. I find the tradition of sending children off to long forgotten relatives, to even other countries or... worse, letting their own power consume them to be barbaric." She stood silent for a moment, hoping in earnest that this was not the wrong move, not the wrong time. "I am a warrior, but I am also a scholar" Her smile from before had softened though truly genuine, she found her own heart to be beating faster than it did when she was informed of this very quest...

"I will let you think about my request, I find foremost getting you home safety to be my priority" Another sly cough resounded, her words quickly following her request.

At the sorceress' promise, Elya's lips curved up in a small, not entirely pleasant smile and she inclined her head, showing that she understood what Yanhua was offering her. The smile turned to thoughtfulness when the older woman continued, and she pursed her lips in consideration as she listened to Yanhua's words.

"I will think on your request," she said, "But you can rest assured that any service to my son, the true King, will be amply rewarded, whether it is with that specifically or not. I must think about all that you have told me. A servant will show you to a room where you can rest. I will call on you when you're needed."

***

“Some more wine, my lady?”

Conrad, his Highness the Emperor of Ilvance, held out a finely made crystal decanter, eyebrows raised in politely inquiry. Elya shook her head, giving the emperor a small smile.

“No thank you, Highness,” she said, “Let us speak of what I have told you. What do you counsel?”

“Well…” the man said thoughtfully, “You are determined to go?”

Elya inclined her head. “It is my duty. Not to mention my wish. Darlond will have his throne.”

“I am not sure I think your decision wise,” Conrad said, “but I will not try to talk you out of it.” He paused, head tilted thoughtfully. “I think that you should travel unseen. Even if I gave you an army to protect you, you would not get through Alcea if Janolf knows you are there.”

“That seems to be the opinion of my… protectors, as well. And they know which routes should be safe to travel.”

“They seem competent,” the emperor conceded a bit reluctantly, perhaps disliking the idea of praising anyone’s skill but his own men’s. “Nevertheless, I will feel better if you accept some aid from me as well. One of my knights has volunteered to accompany you. Sir Nicholas Palentine. You might have seen him once or twice. He knows how to survive in the wild and if it comes to that, he can hold his own in a fight.”

“And why does he wish to accompany me?” Elya asked, immediately suspicious of the fact that an Ilvancian knight would volunteer, at risk to his own life, to escort her through Alcea.

Conrad shrugged. “I imagine he is as disgusted by Janolf’s reign as the rest of us.”

After a moment’s consideration, Elya nodded. “A good enough reason, probably.”

“Also, I would like to give Darlond a parting gift. Monarch to monarch, so to speak. That dog of mine who has taken a liking to him might be use of to you. He’s well trained. Could use him as a guard dog, or to help with hunting.”

“That is very kind of you.” Elya hesitated, folding her hands in her lap as she carefully thought over her next words. “You should know that my gratitude for what you have for Alcea is limitless. There is little I can do to repay you at this moment, but when we have taken back the throne from the traitor Janolf, I will repay you tenfold."

“All I ask is that our countries return to the friendship we had under your husband and his ancestors. And if – when – you and this resistance succeed in overthrowing Janolf, the whole world will be in your debt. You know what is said about him.”

“Yes,” Elya said, forcing herself not to shiver. She’d made sure that the rumors about Janolf reached her ears, and they became more and more unsettling. He summoned demons, he created monsters, he sacrificed his enemies to dark gods…

“When will you leave?” the Emperor asked, interrupting her dark thoughts.

“In the early hours of the morning. Before the city is quite awake, but not early enough to raise suspicions.”

“Good. I will see to it that you aren’t bothered by any guards on your way out. And…well, good luck on your journey, lady Elya.”

***

The sun had barely begun peeking up over the horizon, its rays still too few to give any real warmth or light when Elya exited the palace through a backdoor, carrying her son in her arms. She felt a bit strange wearing the simple, woolen dress her seamstress had quickly made for her, more used as she was to intricately embroidered silk or brocades. Darlond’s clothes matched hers in their plainness, but that was common for him to wear. With his seemingly limitless ability to get dirty, Elya didn’t see much point in dressing him in finery.

The sleeping boy stirred in her arms. “Mother? Where we going?”

“On a small trip, dear. Go back to sleep now.”

“When we come back?”

“I don’t know,” Elya lied easily, “But your dog is coming with us. And Sir Stefan.”

“Mmm,” was all Darlond said before he went back to sleep, apparently soothed by his mother’s words.

There were several horses waiting in the small courtyard. It had been decided that they would travel as light as possible, taking small rarely used road and hoping to avoid people. If they did meet anyone, they would pass themselves off as a family looking for someplace to settle down. Elya had been skeptical about travelling so far with Darlond on horseback, but Sir Stefan had reassured her that it was the best way. The boy might be bored, but that was a small price to pay.

The group’s supplies were already packed, burdening an ancient-looking packhorse who stood patiently waiting. Apart from that, Elya was the first one there, followed by Sir Stefan and the dog Darlond had been gifted with. She had come early, nervousness not letting her relax.

She didn’t like to admit it, but she was frightened. For three years she had lived sheltered here in the palace and before that she had lived an equally sheltered life in Alcea. When she had travelled it had been in greater comfort than most people lived in at their homes. The only exception was the desperate flight from Alcea after Janolf’s takeover, but to be honest she had little memory of those days.

Steeling herself and forcing her face to take on the calm, regal expression that befitted a queen, she settled Darlond on her hip and strode into the courtyard, standing next to her chestnut mare to wait for her companions.

"It's been an experience, Silvio" Rayf smiled, turning to wish goodbye to his short-term mentor. "Whilst our time together has not been long, it's been very.. dense" Rayf despised Silvio. Hated him. Ever since he met the pompous snob in the Palace library to that very moment there in the courtyard he'd hated every second he had spent with him. Silvio had never been made privy to this information, Rayf had deemed it sensitive intel.

"Hmph, quite" Silvio sniffed, clearly unhappy he'd been roused before early afternoon. "If you ever find yourself in Ilvance again be sure to contact me; I have more tests I'd like to attempt"

Rayf paused, his eyes hardening for a second. They quickly softened once more once Rayf managed to regain composure, "Well, as long as you're having fun, Silvio. Be sure to write"

With that Rayf walked away, very pointedly not giving him any contact information whatsoever. The old bugger had clearly wanted to amputate his hands the whole time. Rayf didn't require that extreme a change of wardrobe, he'd already worked on his cover story. He was the youngest son of the family, sent off to learn the ways of the Priesthood when he was but a wee nipper. He stopped next to his grey, speckled horse and gave a leisurely bow in Elya's direction. "Good morning, your grace, it's nice to see I'm not the only one affected by the early hour" He smirked, nodding at the sleeping boy he would one day call king.

"It's good, he should gather his strength" Rayf attached his supplies to the saddle of his horse and hummed tunelessly, awaiting the arrival of the rest of their ragtag group of revolutionaries.

Sir Nicholas had been awake since the even earlier hours of the morning organising his little adventure. He could never sleep a full night these days, he wasn't sure if it was just raw anticipation of something or just the years of screams finally catching up to him. He'd been disconnected the entire morning; sharpening his weapons, checking over long, dry sheets of information and poring over every Alcean map the library contained. None of it would help, but thoroughness quite often had a way of not helping. If there was one thing he'd taken away from his years of experience, it was that fate is law and God is blind.

As the crisp morning air hit him he already had an idea of what he'd be working with. There she was, the young Queen with a sleeping King wrapped in her arms. He didn't recognise the other man; young, lanky, looked like a killer, if he were forced to guess he'd say Resistance. You could always tell a person involved in some kind of revolutionary movement; their eyes tended to be decades older than the rest of their face.

He silently crossed the distance of the courtyard and knelt a few feet in front of Elya, his head bowed in respect and his eyes gently closed. After a few seconds he rose and walked to his horse, slinging his pack over the saddle. "I believe you've been informed of who I am and why I'm here" He said simply, pulling an apple from the leather satchel. "For the purposes of this quest I'd prefer if you just refer to me as Palentine; a Knighthood in this sort of situation tends to be more trouble than it's worth"

He held the apple in front of the horse's eyes until it took the initiative to bite down. "You, fire-haired boy. Your name?"

"Rayf Calderwood. I'd like to say your reputation precedes you.. Palentine, but it doesn't. I wasn't informed you'd be travelling with us?" Rayf walked a few steps towards Nicholas, his head tilted ever so slightly, evaluating whether the stranger was a threat.

"Sir Nicholas Palentine. I win wars" Nicholas turned his head, staring Rayf down. "What do you bring to the table?"

"Infiltration, limitless charm and partial magical ability" Rayf's eyes met Nicholas', "Oh, and a hilarious Janolf impersonation, but you'll have to get me drunk first"

"Hmph" Palentine huffed, moving towards Rayf. "You don't have to try and impress me with dramatic looks and clever wordplay, mage, you're not trying to bed me. One question: will you fight well and will you be discrete?"

Rayf's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he nodded. They shook hands, Nicholas staring through Rayf for a second before returning to his horse. Rayf pondered that they weren't off to a great start; Nicholas was happy they had reached an understanding.

He'd caught the mood off the queen and Sir Stefan a day prior to this early rising. And he thanked whatever luck he'd been given that this night hadn't been a shifting one. He'd spent the night pacing the floor of the young king's room or snatching a few winks before getting up to start all over again. He knew they were leaving, he knew it wasn't a happy occasion. There'd been no news, at least that he'd heard, of compromised security in the palace, so there was no reason for the queen to be going into hiding somewhere else. The only other answer he had for the nervous tension was that they weren't going to be hiding for much longer. A fact he didn't particularly like. It meant he'd lose his pampered position, didn't it? Back to the kennels for him, it'd be. No more prince and no more fine table scraps. And who knew what would happen to them. Maybe that Janolf mage would kill them before they could even start, maybe he wouldn't, maybe they'd succeed. But what were the chances of that? He wasn't very good at looking on the bright side, these days.

So it had been with no small amount of trepidation that he'd stood at the first sound of footsteps in the hall, fur bristling along his spine, growl raising the little boy from his bed with sleepy blinks until his mother opened the door and Lacchi settled back with a snuffle as though to say he'd known who it was all along. It was with surprise that he obeyed the order to come along once the queen had her boy dressed and safely settled over her hip. No one tried to stop him, and none of the men they passed stepped up to claim him and lead him back where he was supposed to go. And then she told Darlond that he was going with them! Well now, he didn't know what to feel! Dismay that he might share their fate, or pleasure that he could stay with the boy a little while longer, help to keep him safe. He decided to ignore his misgivings at least until he couldn't, for the moment anyway, as he preferred not to have an unsettled stomach so early in the morning, and stretched out on the cool stone of the courtyard where he could keep an eye on Darlond and the queen while avoiding the heavy hooves of the horses. Bitter twist if he was allowed to go and then couldn't because of a crushed foot.

He perked his ears to listen to what passed for conversation, brown eyes darting from one face to another as two men made their way into the courtyard. He knew neither, though one he thought he recognised slightly. A soldier? Maybe, he moved with the stiff economy of a man used to efficiency and sharp commands. Lacchi usually made a habit of avoiding such men when he was human, bad for business, getting caught redhanded by a military sort. Now, his head lifted and he licked his nose before panting some amusement at the stranger's rejoinder. Lippy sort of fellow, seemed liable to have some humour in him then. Rayf... A man to keep an eye on when he was looking for entertainment, maybe? And Palentine he'd go to for the important things, like cheese, apples went with cheese, didn't they? And he was feeding the horse...

The hound loosed a high pitched, whining yawn, loosening his jaw and comfortably clicking his teeth shut as their conversation ended before rising and stretching his back in preparation of idling over to sniff a few knees and perhaps beg a morsel or two from so generous a man. He smelled like metal, leather and dusty tomes. And Lacchi sneezed before lifting his head to eye the man accusingly, trying a slight tail wag to garner some favour. The horse wasn't the only hungry beast about.

She stared into the mirror, shivering as water dripped down her back and chest, bringing with it the white paint that she had soaked her chestnut hair in. Gone the white was, slowly leaving and the dull brown returning. The woman continued to wash her hair, coughing at the scent of the mixture she had prepared to strip the color, it burned as it ran down her cheeks. Quickly fresh water, cold as the night air was poured upon her head, gasping as it soothed but chilled her to the bone. Yanhua wrapped herself within blankets, drying herself as she absent minded stared through the bared window – the sun’s light barely coming over the horizon but the few rays that were alive streamed into her small room. It was nice, really, comfortable and had all that the girl could need, it was somewhat painful to think that for the next few weeks she would be confined to sleeping on the hard ground but perhaps it would not be that bad… still, she had little hope. At least nature and the sun would keep her company; even the moon shining in the tapestry of the night sky would be lovely in the expanse of the woods she’d be hiking through soon.
She began to dress, slowly, the velvet evergreen dress was pretty enough but it was painful to wear. Her dried, now dull dark brown hair was wrapped into a bun; even her bangs were swept aside with small clips. Standing there, in front of the mirror, Yanhua the sorceress who birthed fire was gone and instead stood the mundane, dull Helga Tristis. She looked like any other woman you passed in any city or town across the continent, the exotic allure of her dress and looks were gone, the power that she held seemed to be dimmed by the confines of her clothing.
“No”
Her throat was tight, rebelling against the very thought.

Yanhua packed, a few books and scrolls she had collected as well as “borrowed” from the library were carefully placed within a black bag. A pouch was tied around her waist, its contents she hoped not to use. Her precious beads she poured all she could afford into, sitting within the room atop her bed, the sunlight announcing how little time left she had. Carefully, she placed the beads within an inner pocket of her clothing.

Entering the courtyard, she watched the scene unfold with the new fellow, unable to hear their exchanged words. The woman steeled herself as she walked, for the journey and her companions’ reactions to her dramatic change of looks. She crossed her arms tight across her chest as she approached, “Good morning” she called her accent seeming to be nearly gone but voice still stood strong, much stronger than it had earlier that morning. She stood beside her horse, throwing her added pack onto it and securing it before she turned to Rayf. “May I ask what that was about?” She whispered, truly curious what had transpired before she had come. Her eyes darted between her mage company and the new fellow, “I thought it was just us…., who he is and why?” She chewed on her lips as she leaned in, a mixture of puzzlement and anger rather evident in her face.