Epsir

When the Flames Die

Questions for the princess. Whatever it was, it didn't sound particularly positive. Little else that day had been,and a sense of foreboding came over Feril when she heard Sir Thomas' next line. The courier looked up from the table slowly, checking to make sure she was being addressed and sitting up attentively straight when she saw that Thomas was pointing to her. Of course, why not? She'd be chopping lumber or working bars in a few weeks but why not skip the harsh life and jump straight to the thumbscrews. "Yessir," she muttered, looking up at Thomas once before returning her gaze to the table. Nothing in her mind could explain why exactly he was interested in her, of all people. Maybe she wasn't exactly invited, but she had at least delivered a parcel here. The fact that it had gone before the king was suspicious, but that was something they'd look for with the local postmaster, who, as it were, was unaware of her presence. Only the woman in armor. A frown broke across her face at the memory. Maybe she actually was a knight, and was involved with this posse. It made sense but it also made things so much worse.

When the Flames Die

"Hey... welcome back," Feril said, looking to acknowledge Gareth's return and failing to notice that he returned with a sword. Her attention was pulled away by the other stranger at their table a larger man with his face, part of it anyway, obscured by a white eye wrap. Sir Thomas, if she recognized him from his trial. It wasn't as if there were many other people matching his description in the palace. She still didn't know how she felt about him, he had been acquitted of a crime that didn't involve a hair on her but he seemed favored by Canti and that didn't bode well. She returned eye contact when he glanced in her direction, before going back to her drink. The knights were talking now, she assumed they had some business with Sophia, and knew it was best not to interrupt that sort of thing. Before she knew it, she was resting her head on her folded arms over the table. Fatigue had caught up with her after three days riding and one night panicking in the great hall with the others, and closed her eyes as she waited.

When the Flames Die

Feril could only nod her head along in silence as Sophia talked about her mother. It all seemed so far beyond a common courier to be hearing the affairs of a royal, and to sympathize with her mother. But, she understood how the girl felt, she'd felt the same on the trail often. "It's alright, everyone needs someone to talk to and it's better to get it off your chest." She smiled faintly, feeling sleep slowly creeping up on her. The courier rubbed her eyes and looked around the room. Plenty of guests had cleared out, and she wondered if they had managed to lift the gates yet. It wouldn't help her getting out of town but it would mean she could get back into the parts of it she enjoyed. There were a few cheap enough looking places on the way in. "I'm sure everything will turn out okay, it'll just take time. Doesn't matter what country you go to, the royals like to move slow." She said, nodding her head towards the table at the head of the room, now vacated. "No offense," Feril blurted after a moment of silence, realizing what she said.

When the Flames Die

The letter was clearly dated far older than the envelope and package that had accompanied it. The folded sheet within was yellowed and frayed, but the hand it was written in suggested that the author was educated and spent quite a while writing official documents. Perfect, orderly lines crossed the page, most of them were simply a list of names indicating persons in attendance. A later hand had gone through and shakily scrawled through most of the names in mottled, thickly applied ink that stood out from the page's true print. Among those left untouched were one Sir Guy Arnulf, Bard Urien II, and his predecessor-brother Aripert Urien. The name Karl Leid featured prominently at the end of the list. Underneath, an officially worded notice and agreement that all parties named had certified the passing of King Arduin II. It was a common sort of document, the necessary paperwork for when a king died and his authority was to be passed to an heir. However, the sender apparently thought little of the message other than its utility as a list of names. Only a few moments after the parchment had been exposed, its surface began to crackle and the text below the list burned away in a flash. Left behind were large, letter shaped holes spelling out, with blackened borders, 'TAKE HOME YOUR DOG.'

---

"I wouldn't cut it out that low just yet," Feril said, trying to sound cheerful. She wasn't so callous as to say only two people had died and so settled on telling Sophia, "We're all still alive, so there's at least something to be grateful for." Her smile faltered a little, she wasn't convinced even by her own words. Things were going poorly and there was no question to it. No matter who you were, the events at the palace weren't leaving you well off. "With any luck, your guy will still find a way out of town. There's smugglers aplenty in a place like this, and I don't think your country is gonna care what laws you break getting back to them." With those words of wisdom, she shrugged and picked up a class from the table, drinking whatever it was, she didn't quite remember pouring it but it was still sweet enough.

When the Flames Die

Joseph looked around his office at the various charts, less to actually consult them and more in dismay at what the man was asking of him. The woman, of course, sat there sneering from the sidelines in some king of smug victory. Finally, stroking his beard, he looked back to Jezin and broke the bad news. "No such thing, I'm afraid. Some redhead bloke from the council was down last night and told us to bar all ships leaving the harbor. Next thing I know the guard's in here telling me we're under martial law. Under law: No ships out, all ships in checked and warned of their detainment." He shook his head, knowing full well what a bodyguard trying to secure exit the way he was meant. The servants, he wasn't sure what to make of except some sort of status symbol. The bodyguard of a rich princess, too. As if things hadn't been getting bad enough around his office.

---

"No clue but the king didn't very much like it. We couriers don't often have the privilege of looking into what we're hauling around." She said, shrugging her shoulders with the kind of impudence only a messenger enjoying the perks of neutrality could muster. Talking about how the box had bled all over the inside of her bag didn't much appeal to her, and neither did leaking the embarrassing details of how she'd handed it off to some shady woman in armor who quite clearly had not delivered the latter properly. "All in all it's not a bad way to end a career, the food was great," she motioned broadly to the tables filling the great hall. "What about you, your grace? No offense but you're an offlander royal, there aren't too many of them staying on Estovet." There were very few reasons for foreign dignitaries to do anything, but her curiosity had rapidly shifted its way from the departed Gareth to the present Sophia.

When the Flames Die

As the door to the dockmaster's office was opened, it revealed a quaint scene unfolding rapidly in the man's office. The stout, sturdy man bearing a white beard and all the scars and habits of a life spent mostly at sea was being held by the beard. His apparent captor was a refined looking woman, sporting a bob of golden hair and a plain looking blue dress that didn't quite seem up to par with the air of nobility about her, and her expensive looking white gloves currently being used to restrain the poor man. "You won't eat! You won't sleep! You won't have time to shit! Until my crates show up I will be right here-" Her yelling stopped instantaneously, and her hand flew away from the dockmaster back behind her, joining another clasped firmly around a closed white parasol. With a brilliant, wide smile and a tilt of the head, she stepped away to a window and waited for their guests to go about their business. The dockmaster, straightening his charcoal colored garments adorned with the badge of his position, looked, bewildered, over towards the door to address his new guests. "Joseph Leer, dockmaster," he said, extending a hand to Jezin. "What brings you straight to my office?"

---

He was surprised to see one of them leaving so suddenly, more so that he'd been called by a soldier. Whoever this Gareth fellow was, he was involved in something that a trailforged sense of trouble told her to keep her head politely out of. "Yeah, catch you around," she said as he departed, before the weight of what Sophia had said fully fell on her. "A- a princess?" Feril caught herself gaping at the stranger, and felt a little dull not expecting that sort of thing at a coronation. "The pleasure is all mine, I suppose," She quickly appended a "your grace," to her speech. She'd heard of Lyok, but only in passing. It was a large empire on some faraway continent. One day, the kind she might even travel to. "But yes, I came here just to deliver a parcel, actually."

When the Flames Die

She stopped, churning over the girl's words for a moment before doubling back from her tirade to remember her introductions. What a gaff she'd made, her shortly forgotten professionalism as a courier now burned again in the back of her mind. Tempered, of course, by the knowledge that her title was bound for a short future no matter how conditions changed. if word got out about her botched delivery... she decided to refocus on the conversation. "Oh, I'm Feril, Feril Tatchet. Sharpe & Millsworth's Courier Co." She smiled brightly and indicated the patch on her jacket. "For now at least." She looked between the fair two she'd ended up talking to, a young man and a more lavishly dressed girl. The girl clearly wasn't from around these parts, but she couldn't quite place the male which was almost a shock considering how much she'd been back and forth through the south delivering letters. "So... who are you two, if you don't mind me asking back?" She was curious, at the very least, for their names.

When the Flames Die

"I can. That guy's a damn loon," A voice piped up across the table from Gareth and Sophia. The strawberry haired girl in the red coat, Feril Tatchet, finally found it fit to speak now that court had closed. The remaining guests in the room seemed to share her sentiment, as for what few there were there was apparently heated discussion going on around the room. "War footing means they're gonna close the ports soon and I'm gonna lose my job. Half of these people are going to be stuck here for weeks." It didn't seem to bother her, venting to absolute strangers. That said, she hadn't slept a wink and the constant stream of provisions left in the main hall, a fair quantity of which were alcoholic, were doing little to help her state. There were few guards left in the room after Wallace's declaration, the majority of them had cleared out to spread the word through the rest of the capital guard. It was easy to say 'war footing' but it meant exponentially more work and paper for the actual soldiers.

When the Flames Die

"Gentlemen, this is a court," Wallace's voice rose to an unnecessary boom over the relatively quiet great hall. "Sir Tremora, you will not only refrain from further conjecture you will refrain from presenting conjecture itself before the court. Sir Redwyne's death is not yet the subject of this investigation, and I understand it that particular situation is still being dealt with. Sir Thomas was detained during the time of his death, regardless." His agitation slowly subsided as he turned ever slightly to stare at Thomas. "And you, Sir Thomas, will refrain from placing yourself in harm's way as you are a crucial witness of the realm, of crimes committed by Arcartus. With respect to your reputation as a knight, I ask of you to consider the safety of our country before your personal honor." He sat back down, returning to the papers on the table for a moment as he formulated his closing statement. The five cards on the table caught his eye one last time, and he held one up as he leaned back. Maria Trinan, graduated Erschald Military Academy, Captain. No doubt, that was their specter Lexine. A thin smile crossed his lips and he stood back up. "This investigation has concluded hearing testimony. Our current findings are that the nation of Arcartus has conducted a deliberate military action within the borders of Keilaudrin that involved an attempt on our king's life. As acting regent, I am placing the capital guard on war footing and calling for continued investigation into the nature of scale of these attacks." He looked over the crowd, searching for some feeling among them. He doubted the people of Keilaudrin would take such news sitting down, now with what was tantamount to their rival on the continent painted as the villain here. He wouldn't start the fire himself, though, someone else would take care of that. His eyes clicked back over to Thomas and Jezin. He needed at least one of them, he decided then and there. "Sirs, you are released and this court will close its public session. Thank you for your cooperation." He smiled toothily to them, and then began to pack his things along with the rest of the court. They would soon depart from the great hall, searching for more suitable, closed places to compare interpretations of the notes.

When the Flames Die

Wallace nodded along as Thomas spoke, shooting glances back and forth between the speaker and the court secretary rapidly scrawling ink over record parchment at the end of the table. He knew, more than most, that the record contained some degree of fiction, but there were only so many accounts to be had when only one living man had been there. Regardless, he felt there wasn't much more to ask the man, not when he had all the answers on the table before him. Five Arcarti officers, Schelt, Hill, Bruner, Trinan, and Piper. Strange, that all of their stubs were being carried by one person, but no one was asking questions but him, yet. "Thank you Sir Thomas. Your account will be essential in determining the nature of this attack... and conducting our retaliation. Be at ease but remain before the court," Wallace said, and looked away from Thomas over to Jezin, who had made himself present as asked. "The last order of business for today. Your account of the night's events, Sir Jezin. What did you see inside that chamber?" It had to be asked, for what credibility they had left. It would have been so much easier if a knight of the realm had made the arrest, but, as Wallace thought, he had done the things foreigners were apt to do. Hopefully, the differences in their accounts would be superficial enough to overlook.