Picture this:

Me, all lanky arms and lean, strong legs, standing easy with my weight shifted ever-so-slightly forward, casual but always ready to attack. I'm wearing faded black jeans with all my pockets sewn in. Dust still rests in the creases of my leather boots. I have my hat stowed away somewhere, but with the bandana tied loose around my neck I still manage to practically spell "gunslinger" with the buttons on the front of my dark blue shirt. Carrying my guns out would complete the effect, but I've stowed them. They tend to speak with their own voices, and that might just give me away.

I am standing right in the middle of the poser king's court and no one even knows I'm here. I'm elbow-to-elbow with posh. I'm getting dust on their fancy shoes. No one pays me heed.

It's a little trick I learned when I turned Poet almost overnight, you see. I just act like I'm not here, think that I'm not here, and then project that to the rest of the room. And if I do it right, if I hold my stance and tilt my eyes just right, then it works.

It took some practice, but not too much. I'd already earned my Arms, and was one of the most discreet of my brood. I took up the skill well.

So the guards don't see me, and the puffed-up aristocrats don't see me, and the King, he sure as Hell doesn't see me as he glides into the room.

Smart, aren't I? I sure do think so. But not so over-smart that I don't drop my guard. A good thing, too - I almost get found out in the next split-second.

His eyes run over me. The right one fading gold-to red, the left fading purple-to-green. A rainbow visage, and dropped right into the middle of it? A gray-violet onyx teardrop with an ashen slit through the center. A stone eye set right into the middle of his crown.

It's only pure instinct that keeps me from looking directly at it. The reports I had didn't give me that tip. See, you can only depend so much on spy intel. Some things you have to learn firsthand. Hopefully you survive the lesson.

But his gold crown doesn't find out, just perches atop his head with its arched wheat stalks slanting back from the king's brow.

That imposter king, that mockery of royalty. The Peacock King. Look at his tail. Look at the scales in his robe, huge and round and overlapped, brown and scarlet and orange and violet. Look at his pride just slide off of him, ooze onto the floor in a trail right off his fancy draping silks.

And he holds the room with it. He has them all entranced. His face is painted a stark black and white, but his eyes have all the color it needs. Like gemstones, they charm the greedy and those that are hungry for power.

I see one long-fingered, manicured hand reach into the folds of his robe, and come out holding a token-box. It's fine carved wood, I can see from here, decorated with a copper and gold acorn. There's more gold inside, surely, or some fine commodity of equal expense. It's a payment, after all, and he proffers it to buy the slave that is offered in the center of the floor.

One more lad in a collar. One more pretty boy, already entranced, already far-gone. Drugs, possibly, but it could just be the sheer effect of standing this close to the Peacock King.

He tames. He has always tamed. See the peacocks he's named for, see them perched to each side of his throne. Docile, quiet, collared little pets. Such proud, loud birds - they might as well be mute sparrows now.

There's some dickering over price, or at least, the merchant draped in his silks and baubles attempts to dicker. He learns fast that there is no haggling with the Peacock King. The rainbow-eyed one doesn't even argue with him, only stands with his hips tilted just-so, arms crossed, and that smile on his face. It says "go on". He even nods a little, ever more pleased with the merchant's fast-talk.

He says nothing, just stands there with that look, and watches the merchant talk himself out of a steeper price. He smiles wider, and more smug, when the merchant's words trip themselves into a lower price. Lower, and lower still, and I see sweat bead the merchant's brow, until finally the Peacock King lets him go. It's a lucky merchant. He's still allowed to keep a pittance of what he's been given. Just the box. Empty of pay.

More than most who try to haggle the Peacock King usually manage. The bird-lord's happy today, it seems. Must be pleased with his purchase.

And why not? It's a fine boy, dressed well for a slave. And kept well, able to stand straight, though he's crouching a bit in the King's presence. Unbroken, unmarred. Hair's a bit shaggy--

--Wait...

I can't let my guise slip, can't let the glamour I'm casting fall and give away my presence. So I only have so much to probe with at the moment, especially with my fear of the slave himself giving me away. Still, it's enough to get a good whiff of him, smell the lack of humanity on the boy.

He's no boy at all, really.

The beads in his hair, feathers along his collar. The feral clench to his jaw, animal spark - drugged, but still very there - in his eyes. The crouch, not from fear but from natural stance. He's an animism. A forest spirit. From a far-away woods, if I'm right.

Whistling godsouls, is the King of Mockery trading in THEM now? I didn't even know you could buy one. I've never seen one that could be sold without the owners getting killed by the attempt to keep one captive.

The Peacock King reaches his hand forward, turns it palm up to perch his fingers under the animism's chin. Tilts it up. Cocks his head just-so, a quick motion, beady eyes beholding his new acquisition. Daring it.

The animism manages a hiss. It's low, but it echoes through the audience chamber just the same.

A noblewoman asks to pet it. I almost shoot her. Then I thank myself for stowing my Arms. We of the Bullets tend to shoot first, ask later. I may be subtler now that I'm a Poet, but some habits die hard. Such as calling someone's attention to common decency in the bluntest way possible.

The Peacock King denies her with a delicate hand-wave and a low chuckle, shaking his head. "He's not just a kitten, you know. This animal..." he lifts the chin just a little higher, "...has sharper claws and a deeper, quicker bite. And he may appear docile...but that is only because I am focusing so much of my Will right now. Do you know, I'll admit it to the room? I'm straining from this." The smile tucks into the corner of his smooth painted cheek, looks sick in so many senses of the word. "It's been such a time since I've had the pleasure of trying to train, of having to. How much fun...eh?" he asks the animism in a soft tone, a lilt to his voice. Teasing.

The creature snaps at his finger, but the King anticipated the move, more's the pity. It has a jaw on it, and sharp enough teeth in it, that could have severed that finger right off. If it could eat, the feral thing would probably enjoy the meal. But the Tamer has all of his hand left after the snap, and he just grins. Grins so happily that I almost begin to feel nervous.

"Oh, I was just waiting for you to do that, you little creature, you dancer." The grin etches deeper, grows crooked and more cryptic. Any further and it'll run past his jawline. "Faun-doe."

The animism looks sicker by the second. His crouch deepens, slips, and gives away its true nature - he's growing less and less able to stand on his own. The Peacock reaches forward, dips his hand down, and then catches a handful of nothing and closes his fist on it. As he tightens his grip, there's a canine grunt from his captive as the animism sinks to his knees. His hands don't quite make it to the collar on his neck, but it's obvious that he would claw at it if he weren't unconscious.

It's pitiful to watch. They're not tame, the animisms. And they're not ones to be tamed, hunters and guardians that they are. What I am seeing goes beyond crime.

But it is very much calling to the Law. I catch myself before my hand tries to slip to a gun that's not even strapped onto my hip now. The call is strong. Oh Father, how strong is that call.

I let it pass. I let it pass to watch, to witness, to record. There'll come a time later when justice is served. When that time comes, I'll be there to watch. Maybe even to fire the bullet myself.

I watch the body of the animism be carefully loaded into a handcart that's really an expensive-looking cage on wheels. He's down for the count, but His Silkenbritches had to have gone through much trouble to acquire this beast, even if he didn't exactly pay much for it. He'll be secure about it. He's headed right towards me - a well-dressed servant pushing the cart in front of the King, who glides through his court like a gilded parade float. I subtly scoot to the side so that I'm not spotted. Glamour won't work if I'm too obvious of a tourist attraction. Or run into with a damned bejeweled, gold-lacquered cart. I watch them pass. The Peacock King waves out one fine-boned, thin hand, a single gesture dismissing all of those assembled in his audience chamber.

...This leaves me with a short amount of time to decide whether or not I should be following him.

My mission is to spy. It's long-term recon, not just some skirmish to dart in and bust out some new squirrel he's keeping. I'm supposed to ease in subtly, gather information from the King's audiences with his court and report it to my own superiors. I'm not to take action on instinct. That's the mission directives.

...Back t'Hell with it, if they really wanted all that to be followed to the letter, I wouldn't even be on this assignment. Likely none of us would.

It means a shift in my tactics, though. Which will be a bit of a danger if I put it off past this point. I sidle to the back wall of the chamber, facing the Throne, and ease myself behind one of the gigantic pieces of statuary lined up like chess pieces back here. I catch a bit of my mind on one of the servants attending behind the King as I make myself comfortable. It's a feat to juggle the two tasks - but I'm well-practiced at making trouble, with this particular tactic in fact. I put my body at rest in a sitting position, legs crossed, cast my glamour into something more permanent that'll run itself without my attentions. The part of my mind that's caught onto one of the servants secures its hold, eases a little bit closer to the lad's consciousness so that it can hide there. I'm hitching a ride on him without he nor the Peacock King knowing. The trick is in making the ride -and anyone watching him- think that I'm just another part of his thoughts. It's important not to get caught.

I get caught, not only do I give away that I'm a spy and I'm here - I'll also likely as not lose the part of myself that's latched onto the servant like a remora to a shark. Or even worse, once they own a bit of my mind...well, I'd rather not list all the hazards to you right now. Trust me, it'll turn into a grisly affair if I'm not careful.

It's such a good thing that I'm always so careful.

It's a long trip to where he's keeping this pet. I'm surprised he takes so many servants with him, considering the likely value of the way into the place where he keeps his...living treasures. I'd say it's because he trusts these implicitly, but really, it's much more likely that he doesn't think them capable of betraying him. I've already marked that weakness in him before, as have others before me. So outside this glittering chamber is a small sitting room, and then through there...tough to map. It's very warded, and some of the space feels...loose. He's relying on a lot of security measures here, it seems. It'll make it all the more fun to break into. I can make a rough mental map, in any case.

Surroundings are so hazy from this view, especially with the wards interfering, but I can sense that where he stops, there are cells. Well-kept cells, similar in design to the cage on wheels - decorated and sculpted to seem less like a prison. He slides the one he calls Faun into the nearest cell. I don't sense any others being kept in that area, but it's possible I can't detect them while reaching like this. He steps inside with the animism, oversees the chaining of the creature. Pauses in there, and I can guarantee that the extra time spent in there is time spent gloating.

He's in there for awhile. Possibly waiting for Faun to wake up. But it's doubtful. That animism is far from his territory, and kept inside a place of humans against his will. And considering that he was able to be dragged in here at all...whatever was done to him to allow for that also has to be taken into account. No, Mister Faun-doe is too vulnerable in here, too weak.

It'd be to his advantage to sleep anyways, give him time to recover and rest. And plan. Animisms are clever creatures. It would take a lot of trouble to convince me that the Peacock King could keep him for long--

My attention shifts to my body, for it's being looked at right now, and the looker sees me. My glamour isn't shielding me from the inspection. The stray piece of my consciousness still stays with the Peacock King's servant. I don't have the focus to guide it back now, especially with wards to contend with - the servant hiding my mental chunk is allowed in those places, but likely I'm not.

Also, I'm a spy, and I've just been found. That's a bit high on the priorities list. Which is why I'm throwing so much, right now, into staying, and appearing, calm. I mentally cast my glance upwards before I physically shift my gaze--

"Nice, very smooth. I'd hardly have detected you in the first place. So skilled." There's a tiny smirk embedded right into the voice. I'd want to punch him, but he sounds so damn likeable. So familiar. I hazard a glance up with my eyes.

...Mother of...

His face brightens as the recognition dawns over my face. "I missed you. You'd never write home, you know. Some poet you are." He reaches forward with a coiled-up whip, almost taps my chin with it...then decides against it. He glances up for a second, over each shoulder. "Are you here to follow the new catch? I'd sure like the company." His smile falls upon me again, eyes closed. But he could sense my reaction without even looking at me, I know.

He is supposed to be my brother, after all.

He raises an eyebrow at my silence, looks at me with open eyes. "Hmm. Not so talkative on the job? Figures. I'll meet up with you later." He turns, surveys the room, and the doors that the Peacock King departed through. "I've an appointment due anyhow..."

I reach up, tug on his sleeve. Long and belled, with the scalloped edges along it that have come to be one of the Peacock King's motifs. "What's your name?"

He blinks, obviously flustered for a moment. Then laughs. "Lotus now, brother. And you, you I won't have a public name to put to you for quite awhile yet, hmm? But it should be fine that way. I'll always think of you as Gerald." I know something has to show on my face in reaction. Something that makes him look a little taken aback. "...Well! It's been a long time, yes? I do treasure my occasional family reunions. I must be elsewhere now, though, as I said." He makes a bow, a servant's bow at dismissal. "You should write me a letter. I miss reading poetry." With that, he's gone, strolling out the same door that the King himself left from.

But that's no coincidence. I have no doubt of who his upcoming 'appointment' is with.

Oh, Lyric. You and your many names. I'm not even going to tell Father I've seen you here, just yet. He'd only get angry. Or much, much worse...sad.

I check my glamour. Still the same, still just as secure. He only found me because he was my brother. And I'd not thought to put in safeguards to screen myself from family. After all, what family could possibly be here that didn't already know I was here? But of course, I forgot to account for Lyric. Our little runaway. Daddy's troublemaker.

...Well, we were all troublemakers.

It's still a surprise to see him here, though. I knew he'd wandered off, but...to a place like this? He's not stupid, no matter how he might act. Well, not that stupid, anyways. He knows what kind of a kingdom this is. He knows what kind of a King rules it.

Just what is he planning!?

Damnit, I'm not here to watch him, I'm not here to babysit him, I'm here to get a mission done. It's not my job to figure out what in or out of Hell he's up to. That'll just end up getting me closer to getting killed here.

...Which is, of course, why I'm going to end up doing it anyways, I know, but I wanted to affirm all of that to myself, just to hear it in my head.

Oh, what's that I sense? The piece of me that's listening in via the King's servant just recognized my brother entering the room. Straight for the King. Of course. Because Lyric can't just settle for small-time trouble. He aims high.

It's a small miracle that I'm so perfectly positioned to witness just a little of what he's up to, then.

That's what I think before someone grasps my mind, yanks it off of the servant I've attached it to, and drives it without my direction.

* * *

* * *

Shanghaied, brother. You didn't expect me. But that's typical, no one's expected anything out of me in our family. I don't blame you for being your father's son. Hells, I'd strive for that myself, if I thought I had any chance of achieving it.

But, moving on to business. I have need of a poet, and it seems you're so conveniently watching that area, so why not turn your attention to me? It would be difficult to avoid such a thing, I know! I just naturally draw people's eyes and ears. And really, won't I be more useful than some underling servant who looks just like the others, the others who the King will likely forget even before he's left the room? You need me. So you'll be riding my shoulder now.

So don't think of it as a hijacking! Think of it as a favor.

* * *

...If he wasn't kin to me I'd put a bullet in his head. I could hit him from here, too. I could nail him, wards and distance be damned.

No, better to hand him off to Father. Later, when I catch him. Because I'm not leaving here without that little runt. Not now.

...I have a mission. And as idiotic as Lyric is, no matter what name he's giving to himself at this point, he does have a valid argument. He will be more useful as a pair of eyes and ears than that nameless pawn. I'll be much more easily hidden in his mind, since we're family. And Lyric's nature, bright and energetic, means that if he gives everything an extra look for me, it won't be seen as suspicious.

...And does he have special ties with the Peacock King? Lyric, what did you do after you left home? Where have you been?

Yet another advantage is that I can now fully record him, instead of the half-leaning I was doing before. So pardon me, witness, while I bow out. It is time for Poetry.

* * *

The Peacock King looks upon Lotus. His eyes sweep over Lotus's clothing after just a ghost across the boy's face and eyes. Traveler's garb, as to be expected. He's just now arrived after the summons, after all. Probably fresh off the wagon. But it is fine traveler's garb, not something worn and dirty. And he has a bit of style to him as well, the buckles are practical yet ornamental and well-polished. He's chosen his colors to match those of the court he's traveled to. And his shoes are pristine, something that he would only care about because he knew that those higher than him, more important than him, would. There's that short measure of a person, then, that is made by what they wear. A calculation that the Peacock King is well-seasoned in. His eyes return to Lotus's face.

The boy has to crane his neck to meet the rainbow gaze of the King, whose high stature is a far cry from Lotus's modest latitude. Lotus has smooth, round features, a slight blush to his fair skin, an upturned nose, and what could be a permanent smile. His hair is the color of ginger, and has been styled into an ornament itself. His bangs are cut in a scalloped line over his brow, nearly hiding his eyes. Loose strands of hair hang on either side, straight and even at shoulder length, framing his face. The rest of it is bound up in a complex knot that resembles a...

"...Hyacinth." The King's voice is smooth and precise in its enunciation. "But your name is Lotus, correct?"

Lotus makes a respectful nod, though the twinkle of mirth that's lighted in his eyes could betray it as more patronizing than he means it to be. "Yes, King of such an exalted Court, but the hyacinth's shape is so delicate, so graceful. And styling my hair into the shape of my name would be cliche. I'd never hear the end of it." He skirts a glance up to the King, unable to quell his smile. He is curious. Is there approval? Disdain? Humor? What is the response of his audience?

The King tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. "Instead, you choose to style your hair in such a way that people will ask a question of it, to which you can explain and make your first impression, mmm?" He laughs, a soft laugh with a hard tone underneath. There is real mirth in it, but no one could overlook the scoff. "Quaint, but you do have some charm." He smiles down at the boy. "Or do you? I've heard much of your skill, but I desire to test it before I hire it. You're too cheeky to take in on faith. In that, your reputation precedes both you and the reputation of your skills." He looks to the side, makes a short gesture with his hand, bringing the focus to the cell next to them.

Lotus looks over his task before even bothering to worry about a response to the question of his manners. Manners can be forgiven. Incompetence cannot. What is in the cage before him? He raises a hand, hangs it from one of the cell's bars by the tips of his fingers. His eyes look to the corner.

"...That can't be what you have, and surely you wouldn't have me train some scruffy human in the stead of it." He looks up to the King. "What do you mean by this?"

Through most situations, the Peacock King manages to maintain his composure. He's well known for assuming the regal poise and grace of his namesake animal. But right now his face is fixed into a very small grin, for that's the most control he can exert over the huge grin that wants to overtake his face so very badly.

It's only a couple of seconds later that Lotus hears the laugh, a true laugh. A belly-laugh that the Court here has never had the privilege of witnessing. The grin widens. The King simply can't contain that much more of it. He moves his hand to guard his mouth, closes his eyes. The corners of his smile still peek past the span of his fingers.

"They didn't tell me of your humor, Lotus. Only your nerve." He looks to the figure in the cage. "It is what you do not want to think it is, what you could not believe. You come from distant lands and know little of me, Lotus. You have not been a direct witness to what I am capable of." His hand waves to the cell, palm up, the scalloped edges of his sleeve fanning down from the length of his arm. "Behold, now. An animism. See it up close, with no forest grove or thicket to hide in. See it held here for anyone's eyes to look upon. And see it bound for any to reach in and touch." His hand sweeps to his waist, deep into a pocket hidden in the seam line of his robe, and plucks a key out. He turns it in the lock.

Lotus watches the cell door open, watches as the King presents the doorway to him. "Well, go on. It only came in this day. I've barely had time to even look at it before you arrived and stole my attentions from it." He makes a shooing-in motion with his fingers. "So fresh from capture that it still smells of leaves and dew. What other chance will you have in your life to encounter this, Lotus? What other Kingdom can offer you this privilege?"

He's frozen for a moment, Lotus is, deep in some sort of thought process that the Peacock King can't see into with only his eyes. Then the boy moves. It's his hand that moves first, delicate, thin fingers drifting over the coil of whip hanging from his waist. Then he steps forward, his grin and wit returned, and sweeps into the cell.

He had heard that the King has something rare. He had even mentioned it to his brother, expecting that Gerald was involved in a smuggling ring investigation. He could not have anticipated this, though.

[Walking into a cell on invitation while the Peacock King stands at the door holding the only known key? His Father would be so disappointed. Lyric brushes that aside. What his Father thinks doesn't matter anymore.]

He almost thinks, right now, that he is in over his head with this. This isn't just a rare animal. It's a high crime for him to even walk in here, to not immediately assist its escape. "Does he have a name you can put to tongue?" Death. He could face death for leaving here and doing nothing about this.

[He was contemplating things his Father would be disappointed in?]

"Faun." The King smiles, and there's no mirth in this smile. Only cruel smugness. "His captive-name is Faun-doe." He sees Lyric's shoulders jerk, sees the boy react to that particular crime. "It's written on his collar. I'd have hired a Poet for it, to make it more binding, but you know how hard they are to hire for jobs like that."

...Yes. That Lotus would know. Thanks be to whatever he could call Lord now that the Peacock King has no clue as to exactly why Lotus knows that. He only gives a somewhat impressed cast to his features, and then steps closer. Is it asleep, truly asleep? How is the King keeping the creature under? Lotus wants to reach over and touch it. Just like the King said -- brush his fingers over its cloak, against its chin, to prove to himself that this thing is real.

No. He's too smart for that. His instincts are too sharp, too. He can feel the creature's regard, can feel the thing seeing him with its mind even as it lies here unconscious. Lotus thinks he's more impressed by this creature's tenacity than by the Peacock King's success in capturing it.

He has the oddest urge to play chess with it. They're remarkably intelligent, aren't they? Some mistake them for humans. In Lotus's opinion that's underestimating the things.

He's staying back, pacing back and forth in semicircles around the creature, staying outside of a particular radius. The King is watching him, noting his hesitancy. Lotus wonders what he's to do, then, to prove his skills to the King, if the animism is simply going to lie there unconscious.

Prove his skills? Might he be crazy? He should be helping it to escape. Except, he thinks as his fingers pluck over the coils of his whip, where have I to go from here? All that I have left is in pouches hanging from my belt, is in my pockets. I've nowhere to run to and the animism won't care once he has his freedom.

Not enough reason. He should still be helping it to escape.

I can't. I'm just one man who barely knows his way around here, and he's drugged and confused and most likely will be feral at me. This is something Gerald could pull off, not I. I'm stuck here.

I've got to make the most of anything I have left, right this very second.

He doesn't pop the whip. No, he slides forward toward the creature's left side, along the wall, his whip uncoiling as he moves. He lets his robe whisper his intent. He sees the creature's ears prick before it's no longer there.

It's leapt towards Lotus. He notes the deadly aim, thanks himself for planning his evade before even stepping forward. Lotus yanks the whip with a tough, unyielding jerk, tightens the noose he'd formed of it before letting it coil from his fingers and then flicking it out before Faun's leap. The animism hits the floor in the middle of his dash, the whip tight around one shoulder and his neck.

Lotus moves to the side before the animism even lands, which saves him his life. The counterattack is quick. It's still got full use of its legs and arms and hands. Lotus can thankfully trip him up with the whip, though, use it to his advantage in his evades.

[Lose a hand. Lose a hand for laying an ill touch on them. That's the Law.]

He's too busy trying not to get killed to bother with the Law right now. Lotus wonders idly if that's what was foremost on the minds of those that captured this beast, then manages to sneak out some netting from a pouch at the small of his back. The creature's hands and arms snarl up in them, unable to evade while he and Lotus were dancing. Lotus quickly slips behind its back, coiling the whip under an arm, yanking it back up to the neck again for a quick loop.

He's giving ground by doing this, risking close combat and forsaking the distance advantage. But he can trip it now, can make use of its own clothing, of Lotus's own cloak. It's a few moments before the creature is half-bound and half-bundled. On the fringes of Lotus's hearing, he hears a few polite hand-claps. He doesn't care. He's never played for token audience approval, never settled for it.

Lotus only thinks that he is damn lucky this creature, this poor, beautiful creature, is drugged now. Or obviously impaired in some way, because the boy shouldn't be able to do this, shouldn't have been able to succeed at all. He could have it fully bound in just a minute more. It makes him sick, and the hardest part is the task of not showing that fact to his audience.

He has to smile! Smile for the audience, for the show. There is always a role and always a mask.

Fully bound now. Hogtied. Lotus tsks. It lacks elegance. But he's at least made it so that the snarling creature won't hurt itself in its struggle. That would be the greatest tragedy in this whole affair - the animism being injured through this, a pathetic maneuver just for Lotus to prove he has some worth to this charlatan of royalty.

He gets truer applause now, applause that comes closer as he breathes. He does not look up from the animism. He dare not. Once free, it would kill him, and Lotus wouldn't blame the poor thing at all. He keeps a satisfied smirk on his face, backs all the will he has behind it to make it real.

He knows to stick to his role.

He feels the Peacock King next to him. A length of silk brushes his side before the King leans down with something in his hand. Lotus's heart almost stops as he realizes it's a gold dagger.

"Watch," the King whispers as he slides the blade forward. "Learn." He nestles the blade under the animism's neck.

The creature goes still. Docile. Limp, save for its neck, which stays still as an onyx's heartbeat.

Lotus hears the King's smirk, feels the wickedness dripping from the expression.

"He won't move a muscle now, Lotus. He won't dare be cut by me. Forget the laws, the rules. Trying not to hurt this creature is a silly exercise, a stupid dance for stupid Laws. It won't let you hurt it. It lives to persist unharmed. As long as you let it stay aware enough of itself, the animism will preserve itself for you. And it will obey you to keep that preservation. They're quite tame, really, once you have that going for yourself.

Lotus feels the Peacock King's fingers coil around his hand. They guide his hand to the golden, vaguely crescent-like blade. They slide his palm over the handle, clasp over his hand to make him hold it, and then the Peacock King lets go. Lotus is holding the knife to the animal's throat all on his own.

He must not shake.

"Now," says the Peacock King, "get it to kneel to me, and I'll let you stay."

It's really just a matter of guidance, thinks Lotus, trying to block it from his mind even as it happens. It's just a matter of pulling the blade up slowly so that the animism must rise, a matter of "If you jerk back, I will stab you with this." It's just coercion. Lotus's mind skips back as it happens. He met a man in an alley once. He was Lyrics then, and he was scared and hungry, and he had a knife that he'd stolen from some pub, and he held it in the alley. The man, old and short, looked up at Lyric. It wasn't the confusion in his eyes that did it, nor the fear. The man looked at him with doubt even then. Lyric couldn't even pretend to stab him. He couldn't pretend, couldn't become the role for such a thing. He just dropped the knife and looked away from the man in shame. The man lingered there, and then Lyric heard a clink, and the man shuffled away.

He'd left Lyric a gold coin out of simple pity for him.

Lotus cannot believe he's holding a knife to this beautiful creature, threatening it with the stakes of blood-spill. But what frightens him most, sickens him most at this moment, is that Faun believes Lotus really can, and will, stab him.

He would drop the knife right now if he weren't busy wondering if possibly the animism is right.

It is a full kneel. There's a low hiss from the animism's throat. Lyric sees the dullness in its eyes, the exhaustion, and knows to pull away the knife just as the poor thing slumps to the floor. Too much dancing for it. Too much excitement. And worst of all, too much confinement.

He strokes a hand along its back, leans in to check its breathing, and the Peacock King hauls Lotus back by the collar before Faun rips his throat out.

The tall one whispers into the trainer's ear, "The last mistake you will make is to care too much for that one." Then Lotus is pulled from the cell, still clutching the knife, and the King shuts the barred door. The animism simply glares up at them, the silent demand in its eyes simple: 'Untie me.'

"No." The King dusts his hands off, rings clinking and sparkling with the motion. He smoothly takes the knife back from Lotus and tucks it in a sash hidden by a layer of silk. "You've been naughty. The first thing you will learn is that obedience earns favor from your owners." He slips a hand behind Lotus, pushes at the small of his back.

Lotus looks up at him with no small amount of worry, flavored with surprise.

"Come. You've passed. You'll need to know where your room is in my home. Everyone learns their place here. That's the first thing."

Lotus lets himself be guided, silent, and inwardly mulls over his crimes while his exterior allows itself to look relieved.

* * *

* * *

I almost punch the statue in front of me. Once I restrain myself from that, I almost grasp for my guns just so I can shoot something. Anything. I'm not sure if the bullet's really meant for the King or for Lyric.

I am beginning to see why my teachers were so adamant that we who carry Arms learn to keep them in a safe place at times like this. Fury is an automatic thinker.

I sit for a few moments, force myself to be still, to not run after my brother. To not act. Acting right now would lead to foolish mistakes. I'm not thinking with my mind now. I'm thinking with both an anger that can only be caused by my kin and a fury that can only be called up by someone putting my kin into harm. Both must be quelled. This will be a very short mission otherwise.

I think of the smell of the cut flowers in my family's home. Of a card play at the gambling tables. Of a market street where both nothing and everything in particular is happening at once. Of the strings of a lute. A piano. My Father playing piano in my home.

Just idle things. It's the best way to think of nothing at all. And before long, I have my mind back. Now, instead of thinking about killing people, I can think of how to.

It's all about being constructive.

Part of my mind is still with Lotus, noting where he is staying and if the King is still with him. The other part is wondering where I will be staying, and if there will be food there.

If I'm to fulfill my mission and subsequently drag my brother's ass back to our Father for the beating of his life, I'll need to have proper accommodations.

* * *

The inn-keeper doesn't know I'm staying here, but there's a room reserved for me nonetheless. There are fresh towels and sheets for me when I get there. He doesn't have my name on the books. My name won't be anywhere in this Kingdom. But for some reason he is keeping a room free of occupation and keeping it up as if it had a guest in it, and he'll likely never question this decision, explain it away in some simple manner to his workers and guests.

At least, that's what I told him to do as my pocket watch swayed back in forth in front of his eyes. So far it appears that my suggestions were taken well, so I have few worries about it. I change my clothes into something more nondescript, keep up my mental defenses to the degree that most people don't bother looking at me for too long, and then eat downstairs.

I think about my brother. I think about Father. I think about how long I'll be here. How convenient smuggling a body would be. How easy it would be to poison the ruling monarch of this Kingdom. You know, the usual thoughts I have during a meal.

I tip the waitress well, tell her to send a hail on to the cook for me, and then I record the day's events up in my room.

I missed the quill. Like any good Poet. I missed pressing it to paper and watching the ink trail out behind the nib in long, flowing arcs. I missed putting precision and flair into each word that I make. I missed putting it down, most of all. Noting my thoughts and observations, recording them. Making them concrete. It's its own relief, like I've uncorked. Like I've had a good smoke. One of my peers once likened it to taking a really good shit.

...And that sort of thing is why we Poets are known best for our eloquence.

I record my brother, the events he went through with the Peacock King. I don't think about what this may cost him, if my words will bring him to harm. ...Well, I do. But it doesn't cause me to hesitate, only to wonder. More to mull over. I finish my writings. I turn in my chair, surveying the room as I rest my arm on the back.

It's high time for some of that mulling.

What we're taught about our Art is that it helps people. That if we use it properly we can solve problems, help situations. Even, perhaps, make miracles. It's not just a matter of Writing what happens, of observing. Because we are there, because we are the ones observing things...

...Things get better.

So I'm not afraid to write my brother in this terrible situation. Without me here, I suspect it could end very bad for him. I'm here now, though, and I can turn this thing around.

I wish our teacher was here to make me more certain, though. Or another Poet, or anyone, really, to be here and give me the blessed confirmation that all of this won't go to shit. That I could really use. I've been through high stakes before, but this is different. I'm alone, I have to stay alone, and I can't just solve this by fixing my aim and slamming a bullet after it.

I'm just a Poet who can carry the Arms. I'm alone in a foreign, enemy Kingdom. What can I do?

...My brother is getting to me more than I like. We're taught in the first serious classes never to grind our confidence down with questions like that.

Speaking of my brother. My darling younger brother. Just how has he been doing these past few hours? It should be his bedtime now, shouldn't it?

Maybe it's time for me to settle down and spy on him like a good sibling should.

* * *

There's very little to unpack and put away before I go to bed. Important possessions are either kept on my person or squirreled up in some pocket space so no one can find them except me. [When we first began to learn that trick at the Academy, you could just stop the sentence at "so no one can find them."] My writings, especially, are nothing that I want found by anyone. I'll turn them in when I return from my mission.

So I slip my boots off, lie on this little bed with its fresh sheets, take off my hat and set it on the floor beside the bed. One of my guns is under the pillow. [They say that we who sport Arms keep our guns with us a little too much. I don't see why they tease about it. It just...makes me feel more secure at night, like a teddy bear. A...fully-loaded teddy bear.

Sleep is a welcome respite. I've had rough travel and a long day in which I've had to concentrate far too much even while doing the idlest things. Sleep is also, however, a gateway into more work. I have a tag on Lyric, that I do. Now that I can relax and rest...we'll see just how well my brother has fared in his new room in what its owner likes to claim is the finest of palaces. I need to know, really. And as a spy whose identity must be kept secret, as someone who must be seen very rarely in public lest my very distinctive face tell tales of my lineage, I really have nothing to do except to spy more.

So as the room dims, as my breath comes in even and slow, Poetry becomes effortless. Lyric's thoughts, actions and words are my dreams.

* * *

* * *

Lyric, or shall we say Lotus for now, since that is the name he's adopted to call himself by? Lotus has been given fine accommodations: a large suite full of the sort of finery that he's not had the good fortune to live in before. He'll be paid, too. The discussion of sums is out of his head now: really all just a blur. It's more than he expected as compensation, and all of this, down to the animism itself, is more than he expected when he first considered coming to this Kingdom. He has a suite to stay in, now, that he could never have dreamed he would be able to afford in his lifetime.

But as Lotus considers, or avoids considering, all of this, he isn't in his beautiful new suite. It's crowded, even though it is large. It's...loud, even with just him inside. Its every nook and cranny reminds Lotus of where he is and what he has done.

Out here in the garden, at the edge of the pond, amongst the cattails, Lotus can see the sky much better. He doesn't even need to look up, really. He can see it depicted so well in the pond's surface. The occasional ripple is only natural. Of course the world is rippling. Animisms are being bought and sold and caged. His Father's progeny is in the pay of the Peacock King. And said progeny just committed a crime that rightfully means his hand should be cut clean off.

No, if this pond were a true indication of the world, it would have high waves with breakers, not these soft, tiny ripples.

Lotus skirts a look over each shoulder. It's the same look he gave when he first saw his brother Gerald and had to check the room for onlookers. No, he's alone. No one is watching.

Lotus takes a hard silk-covered case from the sash of his robe. [A new robe, from the King himself. He has a new wardrobe, in fact. In a way, they are uniforms - the cuts and lines and patterns on them all reflect the Peacock King's motifs.] His fingers trace over the butterflies embroidered into the lid. He opens it and removes a cigarette. Something from the old world he used to live in. They were expensive, but near the end he was being paid very well for his services.

He feels out of place lighting it here. It is contraband, being a smuggled foreign good that he did not report. There are very strict regulations on imports in this Kingdom, since it is such a secure place and so hard to gain entrance into. The Peacock King shuns ties with others and instead values privacy. Anything that comes in must be inspected to see if there is propaganda, or if it could be considered propaganda. Especially this, skirting close to the definition of a drug.

Also, he has yet to see someone here smoke. He wonders if it's forbidden. Of course, it could be that the surroundings are so beautiful here, so natural, that people feel very strange smoking. But he needs it. He's not sure if it's the relief from stress or the taste of home that he needs more. Either way...

...Either way, it's a relief to start smoking, up until a hand falls on his shoulder and he almost drops the valued cigarette.

Now he wishes he would have dropped it. It would have remained hidden then. But now he's frozen, cigarette firmly clamped in his fingers. He wants to stutter something out.

The Peacock King slides down next to Lotus, sits beside him at the pond, his hand still resting on the boy's shoulder. It nudges sideways, brushes over the boy's arm and sneaks into his hand, slim fingers easing the cigarette out. The monarch brings it to his lips, inhales. The orange glow at the tip echoes bright in his red-hued eye, glints dim in the blue-hued one. He smiles, passes it back to Lotus. "I've yet to taste that type. We have so few leaves coming into my kingdom Perhaps I'll have to start sneaking them in myself."

Lotus almost chokes. Truth be told, the sound that comes out of him sounds close enough to it that someone could easily make the mistake.

"Nervous of being caught with it? I've committed higher crimes in my own kingdom. I'll not fault you for a small addiction." He looks over to Lotus just for a moment, then back to his pond. He cocks his head in a birdlike manner, then leans forward, stretching his hand out over the water.

"Come here, darlings. Monarchs." He coos in a soft tone that can be heard across the pond. Lotus sees them, then. Floating out from the reeds like cotton and lace finery, like...

"Like the hyacinth, I like to imagine. Look at the feathers, so precise, fanning out so artfully. Floating baskets. And their necks, arched high, proud like kings." He keeps his hand out, beckons just slightly to one, and it swims up to him. It caresses his hand with the side of its face.

"You can pet it, Lotus." The King's voice is low, soft, but it still comes across as a command of sorts.

Lotus blinks. He'd never...he had heard that they were dangerous. Such large birds could break his neck with a wingbeat. He'd heard tales of geese attacking, to be sure. Could he...could he touch it?

He stretches his hand out, the edges of his sleeve grazing over the face of the pond. He slides his index finger over one long, tapering feather. The animal only rests its head in the King's palm.

"See? Nothing I take into my Kingdom can harm me, nor those I protect. Not even Faun-doe can, much as he thinks he'd love to."

Lotus digests that, keeps that piece of information very close, sure of the fact that it will be very important for him to remember. He nods to show his understanding. The King smiles at him.

"Lonely on your first night here?" It's an idle question. Conversational.

"I...it's been a long journey. I guess I'm just a little stunned. The quiet is nice out here."

"You don't need to worry about getting the suite dirty by smoking in it."

Lotus blinks. "...Oh. Thanks." He takes a drag off of his cigarette.

The King chuckles. "And etiquette? Not something you're so renowned for either, my boy."

"Thanks...your Majesty?" Lotus's eyebrows raise in innocent curiosity.

The Peacock King coughs into his well-manicured hand. His eyebrow raises, and his tone is wry. "You might attempt to make it sound more sincere in my Court. These customs tend to make acceptance more favorable for you."

"Oh, right." Lotus nods and smiles. "Thank you."

The King's grin quirks curiously, as if he's holding back some judgment, some remark, or just some laughter. "Well. Good night, young Lotus. I hope you find fine company in your thoughts out here. If not, my quarters are down the hall." With that, he rises, and leaves with his hands tucked into his sleeves. As much as his robes drag and drape behind him, his departure is completely silent.

Lotus wonders how far that remark was meant to be taken, then considers the Kingdom he's in, considers its King. It was meant to be taken as far as his bedroom.

Lotus would be wise to take it as far as his own bedroom, and go to sleep. And really, there's not much arguing with himself there. He's seen the King's way with leashes and pets. He doesn't want to see how much farther it goes.

He's tired. He misses home, and it's far away.

* * *

Lotus settles well into his new bed. The room feels less alien now, less foreboding. He hasn't had much to call his own before, ever since he left home. This place is nice. It's a comfort to think it could be his. It's a comfort to think this big bed with its soft mattress and silk sheets could be something he could call his.

And really, he's so weary from this day that any pleasant place with a lock on its door and a spot he can comfortably recline is beyond his blurred scrutiny. Sleep isn't something that comes gradually. Sleep is like plummeting into a deep pond and never floating back to the surface. The waters slip over his head and he's gone.

He expects peace, quiet, calm. Like the pond, with its few ripples, its graceful, quiet birds. But he is nervous here. He didn't feel like this in his room. To be more precise, he'd expected to feel more like this in his room, and was surprised when he didn't. Everything around Lotus is grey. There's a ground, smooth like metal, like the surface of a pond but completely rigid. When he turns, he can see next to nothing in the distance - fog tapers his range of vision off to about fifteen feet out. Everything seems so still, like it's frozen. There's no sound, only the echoes and memories of sounds he's heard before. And he hears breathing. He hears breathing and he swears it's not his own.

What is he so afraid of here?

Of course, that's the wrong question to ask. He hears the bootheels, faint in the distance, then growing louder, more clear. Someone is approaching behind him. A cold chill runs up his neck. He's afraid to turn. He's afraid not to turn. He's afraid to choose between those two.

He hears the sigh, and his hopes slump. He recognizes that demeanor. He recognizes that gait. He turns, and he can barely see the figure in the dimness. It's a vague, fuzzy silhouette. It is tall, though. A man that holds himself high, chin out and steps unrelenting. It's not so much pride that holds the shoulders up as it is a kind of dead certainty. Lyric, not Lotus anymore, not some fake name but definitely Lyric, stumbles back, wobbles, and almost ends up sitting on this strange floor. As it is, he's staring up pretty high at the figure in the fog. He swallows, feels it catch in his throat. He's not ready. He never was ready to face this and he never will be.

Oh Father, how did you find me here, of all places? WHY did you find me here, of all places?

There's a snort. That's his Father alright. The fog parts, Lyric recognizes the face. He's doomed. He's worse than dead. He's grounded.

...I grin. "I'm going to remember that face of yours that you're wearing right now. I'll commit it to Poetry, and then I'll commission a drawing. It's something to treasure always."

Lyric is silent. This is a rare event. I cherish it while it lasts.

"...Brother, if you tell him about this, I will find a way to murder you that looks like the most embarrassing suicide imaginable. And believe me, by this time in my wanderings, I've seen enough to make it happen."

I grin really big and hold my arms out. "Come on. Give your big brother a hug. I missed you."

Lyric drives forward. It's more a tackle crossed with a headbutt, but I wrap my arms around my brother and take it as a hug all the same. Besides, Lyric's pretty tiny. He might say he's seen a lot, but he'll have a lot to learn before he manages to knock me on my ass.

"...Missed you too." The statement is muffled, being almost embedded in my chest. It's grudging, but there's sincerity to it.

I nod. "Amazing what it takes just to have a family reunion with you. You don't suppose you could have picked a better enemy kingdom to defect to?"

Lyric freezes. I wonder if he'll draw away. "That's...that's not what I'm doing. That's not how I got here."

"Then how did you get here?" There's a tone of exasperation under my voice, like we've had this conversation before. Like we've had this conversation a hundred times before, in fact. In a way we haven't and in a way we have. I've heard our Father have this exchange with Lyric so many times that I might as well have a script for it.

"I...well...it's a really long story. Maybe you want to sit down for it." Lyric draws away, arms crossing over his chest. He's looking off to the side, but it's less about not making eye contact and more about gathering the threads of whatever tale he's going to spin for this.

I sigh and sit, my expression half-patient, half amused. I should settle in for this. It's gonna be a good one. Lyric watches, makes sure I'm comfortable and am paying attention, and then starts.

"Well, I'd left home, as you well know. And it took awhile to really, you know, find my niche. It was hard to find a place for someone with my particular talents and skills because, unique as they are, and as starkly individualistic as I am, there was just no readily-made pre-formed mold for me to fit in, you know? So it was difficult going for awhile, but I managed to keep myself afloat. It took some doing, but, well, Dad raised us to survive, right? Even if we leave the nest without his advice or, I don't know, consent or whatever. So I guess I stayed in our Kingdom for a little bit, but really what I did was leave it pretty early, because I mean, what's the good of trying to support yourself if you stay in some place that your Father's going to easily track you down to? I mean, then I wouldn't be very independent and all, so it's really for the best that I took off and jumped a few borders. I mean..." He sweeps his hand out, then inspects his nails as he keeps talking. "...I just went over one border at first, then tried my luck there, and, wouldn't you know...well, things just went bad, a little bit bad, it was out of my hands. Nothing I could do! People just don't understand sometimes, you know, the right people, they don't...well anyways, I learned what not to do in bars, I guess. Well, a little bit of what not to do. I guess that's not enough to leave a Kingdom but I caught this caravan and they seemed like really fun people. And I taught them to dance! That was really fun. So I pretty much managed to keep myself fed and have a dry place to sleep, well, the bottom of a wagon but a dry wagon, and I did it on my own. Then we ended up...well, one thing led to another. Two countries over? Three? Geography was never my strong point."

My face is resting in my palm now, but I skirt glances up to keep track of my brother's gestures and face, and to make sure that Lyric hasn't seen my facepalming at all of this yet.

"So, anyway. They're performer types, some of them, and uh...well, some petty thieves too, maybe a few mercenaries, anyways the party breaks up once we hit a real city. The capitol city.  I stick with some of the street performers. I haven't shown them my acting yet. It's...well, I didn't want to drive anyone off. They're...they did down-to-earth tricks, stuff like I do, it's...not ordinary, sort of like what you do but a little different, and I didn't want anyone scared...anyways! I realized how to fix that later, though. So, that Kingdom, that was Astoniarche. We got a gig to show up in the King's Court there, show what talents we had. He really needed an animal trainer. None of us did that sort of thing. But...well, nobody with me knew that, Gerald. I mean, they didn't know I couldn't train things. But, see, the thing is....I figured if I acted like I could...stop looking like that! Damnit, Gerald, you haven't even heard the whole story."

I nods my head against my palm. "Sorry."

"Your apology is accepted. So, I figure if I act like it, it'll work. And you know...it did! Because to animals training's acting too. They see the body language and hear what you say and it's really just a type of communication. I don't think it's really training, it's more talking. So I don't know about, you know, breaking animals. That's...I don't see the point. See they don't care, really, as long as they can understand you, they know what role they need to play. Animals play roles all the time. They puff up and act all big and threatening to make animals that want to fight with them back off. They show off and look successful and healthy for a mate. They call out and sing and dance to talk to each other. That's all language that I can understand. So really, as an actor, I fit very well as an animal trainer, since to the animals it's all about acting anyways."

I notice my brother has paused. I understand, having witnessed this whole dance so many times before, that this is where I should reply with, "I see."

"Yeah. Right! So, I got a lot of fame doing that. It kind of happened...overnight. I guess...well I didn't understand quite at the time, but see, in Astoniarche, they...well most of them don't interact with animals very well. It's kind of hard to explain--"

"I know what you speak of."

"...Oh. Right. Well, then you know. So, my skills got really famous really fast. I drew a lot of crowds, started making some real money, saving up. I...I bought things! On my own! And I didn't even have to stea--err." He pauses. Just for a moment. "Anyways I was making it independently just like I should have been all this time, and that was really good! And...I was getting kind of famous too. Actually, I was...well I was kind of afraid, before, that Father was going to show up. And I was making such a big name for myself. So I took a stage name."

"You've taken a lot of...'stage names'." I cross one leg over the other, inspecting the toes of my boots.

Lyric's face pales a little bit. "Oh! You heard! Well...well I had reasons, you know, all those other names I took along the way..."

"I imagine you did. Go on."

"Well...anyway, my craft name is Lotus. I didn't think Daddy would track me down by it."

"You still call him that?" I slip and say it before I can stop myself.

"..." Lyric gives just a moment of pause, of thought. "So, I got this invitation." ...Then he ignores the question entirely. "I'd been performing in Astoniarche King's Court for quite some time, but this...this was bigger." He's pausing now, trying to figure out how to phrase things, trying to make this a smooth story. It's obvious he's troubled by where it's going, though. "This was...well, the invitation itself...the gold ink and the engraving...the messengers that delivered it and waited there for my answer...and the offer. The offer...was very good." He looks at me, then looks away. "Astoniarche isn't allied against the Peacock King in the way our Kingdom was. Uh...is, I suppose. I...well I was used to other customs, and I didn't...I don't live in Father's Kingdom anymore. So I didn't think it was important."

I withhold the response. You didn't think at all.

"I did. I did think about it. Keep your mind quiet, brother, you Poets always broadcast more than you think you do. You might carry Arms and might have had that training and lived that life but damned if I didn't catch you unawares in the Peacock King's Court today. Damnit, don't you know anything about safety?"

I hold back the scoff I'd like to make in response.

"It was a good offer and I thought I could keep the gig for a few years, make enough to go totally independent, then...well, move back home. In my own place. Everything'd be okay then. It'd just take some work and some waiting. So, I replied and took the offer. The Peacock King sent back a wagon for me. Well, I say a wagon, but it was almost too nice and too pretty to call it that. Travel was very fast in it, too. Not like the wagons in that caravan I'd been in. So, I got in just a little bit before I found you in the main King's Court here. After that...you know the story."

I nod. "So, I'll just leave you to your devices then? Let you save up and wait for you to come home on your own? You sound like you're doing alright for yourself. More than alright, really. You certainly don't need any help right now, do you?"

I'm not surprised when my question is answered with silence.

"It was a good offer, I know. And you took it, because you thought you'd gotten really lucky. I've heard the tales. That's how they always start. But I don't think this one ends with you moving back to our Kingdom, happy and wealthy. I don't think this ends very well for you at all, Lyric. And I know stories, now. I can see the warp and weave of their fabric. I can predict the pattern."

I look at Lyric. His face is totally pale now, and he's frozen in a half-defensive, half-retreating stance.

Perfect.

"If you find out the Honorable Mister Animism's story for me, perhaps your own tale will change. We'll see. All I know for certain is that what I've recorded so far doesn't speak very well of your actions, though it shows your intents are a far cry from that of the monarch who's hired you. It speaks of someone who's been tricked and coerced, and doesn't know what to do with himself now. You're an actor, or so you've always insisted to us. It's your trade and your life. Can you use that? Will you use that? Or will you simply fold and let the Peacock King use you? There's naught I can do if you don't ante up. If you do...then the story changes."

Lyric looks at me, level and calm. "...Did you rehearse that or something?"

I drape my arms over my knees. "You may be the actor of the family, but you're not the only one with a few skills of that persuasion. Now, can you take care of yourself? Can I depend on you? If not, I'm not going to go ahead with this. You can figure out what to do about your situation and your crimes while I get the job done that I came here to do." I brace, then push myself upright, stand, and wait for Lyric's answer.

"...You...you can depend on me. I'm sorry. I know it's not much, considering the person it's coming from."

I'm silent. Lyric thinks, for a moment, that he doesn't rate a reply. "...It's worth enough." More than enough. "Get some sleep, Lyric. You've had a long day and have traveled far."

Lyric opens his mouth to respond, but I fade out before he has the chance. As I leave, the dream blurs and becomes insubstantial. Lyric drops out of it and sinks into a deeper rest.

* * *

Lotus wakes slowly, his eyes opening and blinking several times while he's still far under the waters. It takes a few minutes of this for his mind to get the notion of waking up, and even then he almost slips back into sleep once more. He feels more tired than he was before he sank under the soft, thick covers. He feels more tired than he's ever felt in his life.

He's also hungry.

Awareness comes to him as his attentions begin to focus on his surroundings. He's too hazy to feel alarmed at their alien nature. There's a reason, isn't there? It's on the cusp of his memories. He's staying at someone's house isn't he? He's a guest somewhere. This is his suite? Right. This is his suite that was given to him by the Peacock King.

Reality slides into place: cold, fast, and unwelcome.

Lotus has no choice but to rise now, there's nothing that staying in bed will do for him. He slips on a silk robe on a hook near the dresser. He stops, looking at his figure as it's framed in the dresser's mirror. There's that moment of study, morning reflection, and then he's off to take a bath. He's still got trail dirt on him, having been too tired last night to wash it off before he passed out.

He stops in the doorway to the bathroom. This is a little...this is something to take in.

Lotus isn't used to this level of luxury. But...he could get used to it.

It's not large, but the tub is deep and the water is very warm. There are enough oils set on little shelves next to the tub that Lotus could be here for days trying the different scents and seeing how they combine. There's brushes and sponges and a pumice stone and a buffer for his nails. The soaps are scented, colored and carved into intricate shapes and designs.

Time slips by in the bathroom. It's time in which Lotus doesn't think about the mess he's made for himself, doesn't think about his estranged family, doesn't think about the King he's in service to or the animism he's been hired to train. What thinking he does is limited to exploring the bath and its features and all the little extras in it. It's a light kind of thought - narcissistic contemplation. It's also much more therapeutic than the sleep Lotus got last night.

He emerges from the tub, dries off, and readies himself for the day. He has to look a certain way for his current job. There's one of the uniform robes, first of all. There's his hair, pulled up in the flower-shaped knot he adopted in Astoniarche. And then there is the matter of makeup, which is one of the few things he brought here with him, one of the most important things he could possess.

He opens the wooden case - simple, elegant, and best of all, sturdy enough to withstand long journeys. He goes to work. The eyes are first, always first. The eyes catch a person and tell them who Lotus is and what he's there to do. Who will he be communicating with? What will he need to tell them? Lotus doesn't know all of who he will meet today, but he knows the two key players he must confront - the Peacock King and Faun.

...What does he want to say to them?

He doesn't want to be dominated by either, as much as one is now his employer. He wants to show himself as the boss of himself, possibly the boss of Faun. As much as he doesn't want to break Faun...he has a job now. A job that may possibly become a cover for what he may really be here for. He needs to play his role well. He also needs to make a show of allegiance to the King, even while establishing his independence.

What do animals communicate danger with? Reds and yellows. But red also implies food, nectar, meat. Lotus doesn't want to associate himself with that. Yellows, then? The King does use the range of yellow, umber and gold for some of his marks and motifs. They're not his signature color of peacock green, but they're still related.

Ochre to paint the shadows of his eyes, light gold to mark the highlights. A delicate rim of copper at the eyeline to catch attention and fix his gaze upon others. Warm, muddy brown to coat his lashes. A dust of warm powder along his cheekbones to sharpen them, elongate his sometimes-too-young face just a bit. Dark brown lips, to emphasize his mouth, make the animism focus on his words. And who knows, he might have to descend to baring his teeth at the creature to make his point known.

Lotus considers painting his nails, then remembers that in some rare cases, food must come before beauty. He's ravenous enough to devour his powder brush.

* * *

I immediately awake when I hear the faintest whisper of treachery in the vicinity or perceive even a hint of movement. In those cases I'm up in a flash, wits razor sharp and mind focused like a hawk's, guns cocked and ready.

Of course, when there's no unforeseen intrusion to be my alarm clock, I'm slow as Hell to wake up and twice as cranky.

I'll not detail my morning, given the aforementioned factors. Instead I'll only note that my crankiness this morning is owed to having to sit through my brother giving the audience a lecture on his overeffiminate indulgences because I accidentally kept following his mind after his dreams were spent. I ready myself for the day and I make way to the palace via trickery unseen.

Brother has his Duty now. I have my own observations to make.

Once I arrive in the Palace, I check in on my brother to see just where he is, and hopefully, just where the Peacock King is. If 'Lotus' is going to be in a position to keep the King so conveniently occupied, I might as well take my full advantage of it.

* * *

Lotus stands outside of Faun's cage, looking over the animism with an expression that gives away little of his opinion on it. His attentions aren't focused on the creature at all, truth be told. While his gaze is cast ahead, his focus is on the tall figure of royalty standing at his side, and on parsing the prickly feeling of that figure looking down upon Lotus.

He can feel the King smile at him.

"Lotus. It has been quite a long time since I've been able to show my collection to someone that would truly appreciate it. I daresay you might even learn something that may be of use to you when you apply your services to my newest acquisition." His hand drops onto Lotus's shoulder, the grip polite but firm. Lotus can't help but note the King's taste in nail polish. "You've only had the chance to acquaint yourself with the lesser animals. I can show you something much more grand."

* * *

* * *

I'm not in the Court itself, but rather in an record-office for the guards, sorting through paperwork. It's quiet in here, cleaner than expected. The King does keep his Palace immaculate, even in the places not seen by the public.

Oh, look. How delightful. Maps.

I listen in on my brother while I work. He's looking at things that are far too interesting to not watch myself.

* * *

"...There are no cages." It's the only observation Lotus can put his voice behind yet.

The Peacock King nods, grinning. "Cages are not necessary, and leashes are more of a show than anything else. If a creature doesn't stay where it's told, it isn't properly trained yet."

* * *

I have to break out of Poetry to explain to you what I see through Lotus's eyes, because Lotus won't tell it right. He doesn't have the proper background, and he's too afraid right now to think enough about this to really do it justice.

There is a huge flat expanse of ivory onyx flooring, regularly dotted with columns. The columns hold up a ceiling and then lead the view out to the edge of the porch, where there are no walls. There are a few spaces within the porch that are bordered by glass and brass supports, gold leafing and gemstone accents. They are perches, seats for the pets he keeps here. But there are no cages, no, save the giant cage of a Palace that this is built inside of. There are regular spaces in the ceiling for sun to shine through, and mirrors anchored in various spots to spread light throughout the entire wall-less room.

The rushing water I hear isn't solely from the marble fountains. There is a creek that flows through this garden, cutting right through the floor. There are trees that grow up through the holes in the ceiling, lush ferns, and hanging vines. It doesn't look overgrown. It looks clean, precise, and tightly controlled, despite the lack of walls, despite the open spaces. Animals crawl and flutter and slither in and out - squirrels and birds, snakes and lizards - and yet it all still feels regulated.

What does the Peacock King keep, in a garden such as this? Not animals, though some animals do live here. He thinks of what he keeps here as beasts, I am sure, but Faun is more animal than these beings, if only for the reason that he is an animism. For that matter, I'm more animal than these beings. I could call them creatures. I would feel a twinge of indecency from it, but I could.

The Peacock King sweeps his hand forward, palm out, and directs my brother's attention to the first one. "I call her Ahlunneisturand now. Isn't she beautiful? I acquired her locally, as her river ran through my Kingdom even before it was expanded. It's a tributary to this spring right here. It's important to keep her kind in a place where their native waters are readily accessible. Ahlunneistrand? This is Lotus. He'll be caring for you at times. You'll see a lot of him in the upcoming future."

She gives a short bow to my brother. Not as deep as the one she skirted to the King. She looks like a woman, but I've met her kind many times before. She is far from human. She almost glows in the sunlight, and though the angle to the stream is completely wrong, it appears as if light is reflecting off of water and onto her skin, all across her naked body. She is, of course, beautiful in such a flawless way that she appears almost alien. I wonder if that'll have any effect on my brother, though, beyond him inquiring what hair care products she uses.

There is a river that runs through this kingdom. It has flowed for years upon years. It predates the empire. Of course, the names of rivers and lands and mountains as we know them are not often their true names. The river's true name may not be the same as its name recorded before the current empire - Elhusuterrain. But it may be that it was its true name. Regardless, the river was renamed by the Peacock King before he took several adjoining kingdoms that the river ran through. He named it the Ahlunneistrand.

She is its nymph.

He took control of the river through means that none outside his borders understood. He could change the direction of its course, cause floods and droughts, make dead zones or bring new life to it. He didn't so much wage war against the kingdoms neighboring him as he held their water ransom.

And now, I know his secret: he found its nymph, the living manifestation of the heart and will of the river. He took her, and bound her, and made her his slave.

"She is not my oldest, though. Well, 'elder' is a bit difficult to define for these beasts, but she is not my first, shall we say. But my first I cannot show you now. She is a dryad, and her tree is not here. I shall introduce you, Lotus, when we travel to that area of my kingdom, hmm? But in the meantime, I want you to see her sapling, here. The child of a great, holy tree. Isn't she beautiful?"

I find it difficult to look in anymore. But I no longer can mock my brother's ability to act. Through the course of being introduced to so many enslaved spirits of the woods and waters, he does not bat an eye, does not show his shock, horror, or revulsion. I only know that he feels them because I can write them, because he carries a piece of my mind in his now.

I note how many he keeps here, the types of spirits, and any names that the King gives as theirs in the back of my mind, but my focus shifts to the maps and records that I am sorting through and copying. I need a break, and the task helps me fix these 'pets' the King keeps into context.  It is also an opportune time to introduce to you some terms to describe what Lotus is witnessing. In common speak, the vocabulary is somewhat lacking. I'll have to use some rarer, more specific words, and since these terms aren't used often enough to be precise, I'm going to have to outline exactly what I mean by them, so as not to make my writings confusing.

'Animism' is a tricky word. Used specifically, it of course refers to spirits like Faun, who embody the animal life of a given area, such as a forest or meadow. Much like the more commonly known dryads and water nymphs (or naiads if you're being more precise), they embody the well-being of that which they preside over. If Faun is injured, every animal within his territory is also injured in the same way. Animisms are there to ensure that the animal population in a certain area remains stable. They are known to attack individual humans for grossly upsetting the balance, but most times all they seem to need to do is exist unharmed, and the population will thrive. Animisms very rarely have much attention paid to them - truth be told, most humans misunderstand and resent them. Whereas most nymphs have their allures and wiles, and will tempt a man with them on occasion, animisms are the exact opposite of agreeable and any attempt to try anything untoward with them will usually result in the unwilling castration of the person who initiated the unwanted physical dialogue.

(I have a brother who lost a fingertip to one this way. Last time he ever tried to date a girl wearing leopard print.)

To further be confusing, 'animism' is also sometimes used to refer to any spirit of the animals or elements, and 'nymph' refers to any spirit of the elements. 'Methilae' is a specific word for water-spirits and is a bit more flexible than 'naiad', which I've seen about a dozen specific definitions for throughout my travels. Methilae can embody entire rivers or can be associated with springs and creeks. Often the branching tributaries become a family tree of spirits similar to a hierarchic command structure. Ahlunneistrand presides over the major river of this Empire, and thus all of the tributaries running from her river. (Incidentally, my brother is currently being introduced to the methilae of most of them, as the Peacock King seems to own the whole family tree. How convenient.)

'Family tree' is an apt phrase for the dryads. Unlike animisms, dryads for the most part protect one tree, or sometimes even one plant. (I've met cactus dryads in my time and let me tell you, don't try laying down with one of those - they bite more than it's worth enduring.) A dryad also protects the small plants that live under the crown of its tree, and sometimes the wildlife as well. It also protects its saplings, and sometimes even commands them, though thankfully, I've not heard often of that being necessary. But the saplings have their own dryads, so it's more of a parental role as far as I've heard. There is usually one dryad in any forest who has authority over all of the trees and plants of the place - that would be the one who protects the sacred tree, the tree which is the hub of the whole forest. That's starting to get out of my breadth of knowledge - I knew I should have been studying up on this more. But perhaps my brother's current employer will unwittingly pass on a little more on the subject for me.

When it comes to the earth spirits, the murntle, I know very little, for they show themselves very rarely. Most of them don't take nymph-like forms, so I don't think I should lump them into the 'animism' category. They embody land, and tend to avoid mankind due to our predilection towards defining borders and boundaries that pay no heed to their territorial boundaries. Fire spirits are known as tyrotyrles, but rarely have fixed enough locations to be like the animisms. For the record, their most prominent trait is that they are fantastic enablers when it comes to those of a pyromaniacal persuasion (such as, unfortunately, all of my sisters and one of my brothers). There are too many types of air spirits to name briefly, but the most nymph-like are the spirits of the greater winds, the haerphietl, most times simply referred to as 'harps'.

And then, of course, there are the greater ones, that go beyond 'spirits' and towards the scale of 'gods'. I see none of those in the Peacock King's possession, and hope I won't have cause to search for them. If he had possession of any one of those, his Empire would have caused trouble enough by now to call in more than just a single Poet to investigate.

I count, among the Peacock King's 'possessions' here, a number of dryads along with many more that he claims not to keep in his palace. He has two murntle here, by my complete surprise, and he alluded to a few more of those. Three tyrotyrles, which by my measure makes him a complete idiot, especially considering the few others he claims to have in his palace for lighting and heating. I'm not sure why the complex isn't a pile of cinders yet. (Maybe one of them will sweet-talk Lyric enough to make that happen, even though he's never shown an aptitude for pyromancy. Then again, a lack of aptitude will cause just as many accidents, so he always has that going for him.) He neither has here, nor claims to own elsewhere, any harps. He does have one small air spirit, but she isn't even at the scale for a nymph, let alone one of the winds. And along with her, there are many minor spirits and sprites in his possession, and by his description, in many parts of the palace.

"There's a few in your room, too, Lotus. I expect you've acquainted yourself with them already."

This brings my attention back to more direct eavesdropping. I lean back in on my brother. The Peacock King is standing above him with a smile that's almost mocking. Oh, great. He's making a test of it.

My brother looks as flustered as if this were a pop quiz. He obviously doesn't want to say 'no', but I'm willing to bet it's the truth. "I...hadn't searched my quarters too thoroughly yet. I thought it might be intrusive of me on my first day, and I didn't want to dawdle in my room when I could be earning my residence in it." Oooh, nice. Not enough charm to make the King swallow it, but enough of an attempt that the monarch thinks Lotus is cute for trying.

I feel a keen sense of relief, some tension leaving me that I didn't know I had been keeping. Have I been on edge every time the King has been in the vicinity of my brother? ...Maybe I have.

"Feel free to look around further and familiarize yourself with what you've been given, Lotus. Why bother staying in my palace if you're not going to explore all of the merits?" He then looks ahead and nods sharply, gesturing in front of him with a tilt of his chin. "This is Rocsui-ehellenae. She is my pride."

"...Indeed," is all my brother can breathe out. I don't blame him. Standing before him is a beauty that denies any ability for me to assign it a cliche from my mental archives. I should note that as I am a Poet, those archives are truly vast.

She could be mistaken for a dancing girl if you only relegated her a quick glance in low light. Any longer of a look would refute that assumption. That isn't dancing attire across her bust and down her thighs, cleverly fashioned from feathers and claws. The feathers sprout right out from and fan over her pale skin in thin, soft trails. At her chest they are deep blue, and near her thighs they taper to an emerald green that sparkles as much as its namesake jewel. These feathers are short and round, but longer ones peek out from behind her, curving down to her calves with twists and flourishes, ending in round eye-marks. She is wearing a crown, fashioned of feathers. I cannot tell if they sprout from her head or not. Her fingernails and toenails are copper, tapering into delicate hooked talons. They tap lightly against the floor with each step she takes.

Lyric isn't sure what to say. His mind has halted for just a moment. He knows something is wrong but he doesn't yet want to think about what it is.

I know it, know it from the sight of her. She's no bird-soul fashioned into human flesh, not any type of animism at all. She is what I first assumed Faun to be. A person. And she has the look of the King in her face.

Anyone could spot the resemblance.

Lyric doesn't yet know what to think, but he could easily say the wrong thing now. Compliment her, I whisper into his mind through his temples. Be a gentleman, and show no disfavor.

My brother is an actor, and I become eternally grateful for it as he sweeps a bow to Rocsui-ehellenae. The gesture is low, graceful, and utterly flattering. He catches her hand in his on the rise from his bow, pulls it forward just a bit, "It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, beautiful damsel," and kisses the back. She tugs it from him as a blush skirts over her face, her hand rising to cover her mouth, her eyes wide. They flick over to meet the Peacock King's. He bursts into laughter, and in that moment Lyric and I both startle so much that we almost switch skins. His grin is wide as he clomps a hand onto Lyric's shoulder.

"Well done! Very well done. And no, Rocsui-ehellenae, my darling, he is no courtier that I've brought from afar to woo you. You know I'd never trade away something so precious to me as you, ever." She looks away at that, but there is a slight smile on her face, as if it pleases some part of her.

Gerald? What is she? Is she...is she his daughter? Lyric's thoughts are reaching a panicked edge. Not that I blame him.

I would have to trace the genealogy to know her exact parentage, but...that she is his daughter is a certainty. Continue to act as if you're meeting a princess. ...You are, in fact.

The Peacock King, meanwhile, is just pleased as punch that Lyric took the course he did. He seems to have delighted in the awkwardness of this situation. He chuckles behind a hand, then shakes his head. "We must move on, dear. Lotus will come visit you later. He will be coming to this room quite a lot."

Lyric, I whisper to my brother as the King begins to lead him towards the exit.

What? My brother's voice is hushed and nervous, as if it were something audible that he was trying to hide from the King next to him.

I calm my tone as much as possible. He doesn't need that to get his nerves up even more. The King has two daughters. I know that much from the intelligence I read before my mission started. You need to keep your eyes open for the other.

He dreads what I'm going to say next, and in a way, so do I.

You'll need to help both of them.

* * *

* * *

These maps and such are all very well, but what I want now is the King's genealogies, and they aren't kept in places such as this. I imagine they'll be much more well-guarded than what I have here. So it seems I'll have to penetrate the King's wards and begin my reconnaissance within the inner confines of his Palace. Really, that would have come eventually anyways. It's just that I have something specific I'm looking for, now.

And I have the oddest feeling that where his genealogies are located, I'll also find records of purchase or sale of his most prized 'living treasures'.

So I begin my first serious forays into investigating the King's wards as Lyric is reunited with his new friend from just last evening.

* * *

Lyric is, in a way, happy to see Faun again. There's a relief that washes over him when he realizes he can work on the simple task of training him for the Peacock King[or giving off the pretense of it, more likely] and the task of learning about him for me. That's much less daunting than all the creatures in the King's wall-less cage of a garden, much less frightening than whatever the King might have done to his daughters. Faun is small, fast, and deadly, but compared to the other trials Lyric may soon face, he is mercifully simple.

The Peacock King looks down at Lyric, analyzing, pondering. Lyric can't discern what the results of the scrutiny may be - only that he is under it. After a few moments the King gives a nod, coming to a decision. "In my experience, I have come to find that the first exploratory jaunt with a new catch is something best left unwatched. A witness makes the whole affair more oriented towards performance than to the relationship that develops. And, Lotus...while I do value your skills highly, take no offense when I comment that you do seem a bit nervous since you've stepped into my Court. It's no surprise to me - most new visitors are much the same." He steps back, bowing his head down just a notch. "So, if I may leave you with your quarry, I am sure that you will report back to me when you're satisfied you've made good progress for the first day." He gestures to the door that leaves the room of cells. "If you approach it, I will receive a signal from that gem set next to the doorknob." A pale aqua onyx the size of my hand glows softly from its setting in the wall.

The Peacock King looks down expectantly at Lyric and receives a short bow from the boy in return. "Of course, your majesty."

With that, the King gives another nod and then floats out in his drifting layers of silk and embroidery.

Faun is the picture of alertness. He is seated on the floor with his back to the wall, his chain too short to allow him to stand. His eyes follow Lyric's movements, darting from his face to his hands, then to his feet, and then back to his hands in quick succession. Lyric is sure that the animism was watching the Peacock King's every movement when he was still in the room, and that he of course was listening to every word spoken between them. As Lyric enters the cell, he notes how Faun's intelligence is shown very clearly through his face. The animism is always thinking, and surely, along with that, planning.

Lyric gives the animism a nod, then sits in the center of the cell, cross-legged, facing him. The animism stares at Lyric, unblinking, his face showing no reaction other than an obvious displeasure that Lyric ever existed at all. Lyric is immune to this expression, something he built up long ago from constant exposure to it through a few family members and almost all cats. He returns it with nothing but a neutral expression, his mouth closed. Smiles were often interpreted as grimaces by animals, and baring his teeth would be an obvious sign of ill will. He waits until he feels his presence in the room has been established, that it will be obvious he will be staying in this position and not making any sudden movements.

He has very, very little to establish any trust with Faun, so he has to make these moments count.

The animism's eyes narrow as he regards Lyric more closely. He scents the air, learning the smells that hang about the boy.

Lyric watches the animism's nose wrinkle. The scented bath oils, he thinks, were probably an ill choice, but that can't be helped now. Next time he would select ones better suited to this task. Right now he smells of pastries and overachieving flowers.

Faun's inspection of the boy seems to end there, with the animism now simply regarding Lyric with an intentful gaze that obviously will not shift from him until Faun is alone in his cage again.

Lyric wonders how best to go from here, then decides to take an unusual tactic. He nods his head to the animism, then gestures out with his hand in a twirl while bending forward at the waist - the best he can do for a bow while seated. The animism seems surprised, but Lyric is happy - he does seem to understand a gesture of greeting often used between lower-level courtiers of the same rank. Lyric is equally surprised when the animism returns it.

Faun's face shifts into a faint smile at the reaction, the first expression Lyric has seen on the animism that wasn't a neutral deadpan or a scowl of defiance. "It seems someone in this Theos-forsaken Kingdom knows the barest breath of manners, or has the wit to display them. May I have the pleasure of a name?" His voice is almost a whisper, but is clear, his words spoken in a light breath. Lyric is...

...Lyric is charmed, to be blunt. He didn't expect anything like this from an animism. He didn't even know they could speak more than ten words. "I...am sorry, you may have heard my name but I have yet to introduce myself properly. My name is Lotus." He gives a nod and another odd waist-bow. The animism returns the nod, making his own gesture of acceptance.

"That is good. A pseudonym will do." His smile is wider now, with an uncomfortable touch of mischief. "I won't let the King know." He turns his head, looking at Lyric from the corner of his eye. "...If you're a nice boy, and keep to these wonderful manners you've become so keen on displaying. Otherwise...it would be a shame to break a budding relationship full of such promise and hope." He notes Lyric's look of dawning horror, then gives a sad shake of his head, smile still shamelessly lingering on his face. "I am no novice to affairs of the Court, Lyric. Those affairs always, always include blackmail. You haven't been at this long enough. ...And you've not been alive long enough, it seems, to know that my eyes read the true names in human faces and hearts. Or perhaps you've not learned to mask either properly." He sees that he's gone a little too far. Lyric is approaching something akin to shock. Faun pauses in his conversation, then, to let the boy recover.

Lyric attempts to school his face into something less obviously terrified. The fact that such an exercise is futile by this point doesn't cross his mind. He thinks he should be thinking now. Thoughts should be darting back and forth in his head, trampling the carpet between his ears and elbowing into each other. But there's no frenzy in his mind, no stunned peaceful bliss either. Just a dull roar of static, barely audible, and the kind of mental quiet that usually comes from walking a long course during a hot day. An exhausted, uneasy quiet that thoughts have too much trouble navigating through to get anywhere productive.

Faun has truly fried him.

The animism's mouth twists into a smirk that's not quite natural. Lyric has noticed, with what little of his brain isn't busy with going into shock, that Faun's more human facial expressions all appear very practiced and purposeful. As an actor Lyric picks up on it very fast - he knows how much control it takes to make one's face look natural and shift from one expression to the other with ease. He knows how hard it is for some to learn. He wonders whether Faun had to practice in front of a mirror, had to puzzle out the actions of humans he watched and connect emotions and social interactions to the twitches of certain facial muscles. He wonders if Faun even feels the emotions that generate those expressions, or if he simply makes them as an attempt to better interact with Lyric's kind.

He wonders more, then realizes his thoughts have trailed off elsewhere while he is still sitting in a cage across from someone who is supposed to be his job, according to both his new King and his older brother. He looks up at the animism, hoping that the creature hasn't noticed. Faun's smirk is still there, but it seems just a tiny bit more genuine now. Shit.

"Are you going to come back now, or do I have to pop that whip of yours to wake you up? It might take awhile. I have no idea how you work that infernal thing. Don't bother demonstrating for me, I'll want to claw your eyes out. And I will try. Because you'll have deserved it." That natural scowl creeps back onto Faun's face.

"I'm sorry." Lyric can't follow it up immediately, just looks down, dejected. He examines his fingernails. One has managed to acquire a chip in it. He reaches into his sash for a mortar board and begins to groom the nail back into shape. It's more a motion of habit, and of occupying his fretting mind, than an act of narcissism.

He misses home, utterly and completely, in one heavy, unexpected moment.

"I didn't want to make you kneel." It's all he can think to say.

"That's nice of you. When the flames of the Inferno spite your heels and bid you to leap into the Chasm we shall see if your regrets give you wings to fly back up." Faun picks over one of his own fingertips, examining the claw on it. "I could take it out of your hide if you're feeling that penitent. Otherwise, forget it. Your sins will be counted in the end, until then why dwell on it? You could be using that mental energy to find a way of getting me out of this accursed region, where even the trees are tamed." He looks up at Lyric now, yellow eyes pinning the actor. They almost pierce him straight through. Yellow, like his Father's eyes, and a gaze just as intense. "I demand aid from you, Lyric, as is my right to ask when mortals imperil my kind. And I ask it of you, Poet."

"I'm not-!" Lyric manages to hide his surprise, the darling. It's a shame that's worthless with someone like Faun, who can see through acts.

And through my connection to my brother, it seems. I am impressed. I knew animisms could see through masks - I did not know they could see through writing itself.

Lyric hears my mental reply, even through the additional shock of Faun's unexpected perception of me. "...The Poet shall extend his aid, as shall I."

"And along with it, his Guns?" The animism's eyebrow raises ever-so-slightly. A subtle nuance of expression for a being who has had to practically learn our emotional indicators from textbooks.

I curse softly. He shouldn't be able to see those. Damnit, he knows he's calling on the Law by asking that of me. And I'm in a tough position to answer that call from. Damn animisms and their demands that they know can't be refused.

"...He shall match his Guns to his Words, yes." Lyric closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, then sighs out. He opens his eyes, regards his temporary cellmate. "I can't just free you, like it's nothing. You know that. You've seen exactly what position I hold here and exactly what's expected of me. You know well the dangers of crossing this Kingdom." He holds his hand up to ward off a rebuttal before he's interrupted. "My oath will not be broken, but I want you to understand the complications involved."

The animism nods. "Oh, take your time! I'm not going anywhere." He grins, a fox-grin, and shakes one of his chains to punctuate the statement. Lyric looks a little sickened in response, and the grin only gets less human. "So I imagine you'll have some problems when that overplumed monarch comes and you've done nothing but just sit and talk with me, hmm?" He sees Lyric's panic rise, raises his hand in an impressive imitation of Lyric's earlier gesture. "Ah-ah-ah! Not to worry, Faun's got it all figured out." His eyes sparkle with animal mischief. "Tame is a funny concept. It means submitting my will to yours, or his, am I correct? When we boil it down to the very grit of it, that's the real spirit of it. The question you should ask yourself when you 'tame' any animal, Lyric--I mean Lotus: 'am I training the animal, or is the animal training me?'" And with that said, Faun's posture changes completely. Lyric's hair rises on the back of his neck, just enough of a warning for him to stand and look ready. He feels someone approaching. Faun rears at him at the moment Lyric realizes who that someone is.

He ducks down, uncoiling the whip and sweeping his arm out in one fluid motion. His head bowed, he doesn't see the movements the other makes, rather senses them. In a way, this is his favorite part of training: the show. It's a dance for him, a set of steps with no possible rehearsal that must be performed flawlessly.

Faun dodges the whip before Lyric has even set a trajectory for it. The pop doesn't come anywhere near the animism, but of course neither of them mean for it to. It drives Faun into the corner from the echo of it, the simple hurtful sound having its own effect. Or so he intends to show with his movements. Faun can act well, just as well as Lyric can, and the boy learns this fast. But it had been his personal theory in the first place, hadn't it? Animal behavior and training was its own form of acting, even on the animal itself's part.

It's a display for the King, a puppet-show to please him. Lyric is surprised at just how much give Faun is showing, how much he backs down and away from the trainer. But it's the animism's will that dictates these actions, not Lyric's. It's a blessing that they both can dance so well. The movements look natural that way. Sincere. He can feel the King's eyes upon him. He can feel the approval - and another kind of sizing-up that Lyric grew used to very quickly in his life as a performer.

He's sure Faun feels that as well, along with another type of look that Lyric prays in his deepest, most secret places in his heart that he'll never feel from that King. Ownership. Pure, unbridled, and unapologetic: assumed mastery.

He can feel it bleed over from Faun, it's so potent. Lyric can't quite take that. He pops the whip to make Faun dart into a corner, shake him and move him in a way to interrupt that moment. It felt dirty to him. That hot, humid feeling you get when you're in a room with two people that are arguing but you can't leave. He'd rather advance the steps of the dance quickly so that no one can dwell on the feeling.

In the end it's a matter of exhaustion that ends the dance - or possibly, feigned exhaustion. Faun does look tired, Lyric knows that. The animism's collapse into a panting heap of furs and chains onto the floor certainly looks genuine. He worries that it's a little too genuine. He knows that Faun's body is easily fatigued by the captivity he's forced into. Animisms survive poorly in bondage - if they survive at all.

He worries.

But the Peacock King only gives a nod and a proud smile in response to the show, then gestures for Lyric to approach him. Once the boy reaches the bars, never fully turning away from the animism, the King gives him a bundle of cloth and silk.

"I want you to dress him. He is to be a part of my Court, after all - he must wear proper attire here." Lyric recognizes the cut and trim of it, even bundled up - a robe much like his own. He doesn't let himself frown. He only regards his target, the task before him.

He regards Faun.

It's easier than he ever would think. He wonders if the animism's limpness is an act, right up until he feel's Faun's teeth gently prick his forearm. It's almost a play-bite, but Lyric knows what it really is. A message: 'I am in charge of this. You are not, whatever it may look like to a King who can't see my jaw gripping you while your belled sleeve obscures the view.' After that he can't feel guilty about stripping the animism down and dressing him in clothing the Peacock King designates for slaves. [Lyric recognizes the difference in the lines, in the colors. He knows the meaning.] At least, he can't feel too guilty.

It's a quick task. The animism falls asleep soon after, and Lyric takes that chance to divest himself of the cell. The furs that Faun wore are still in his hand.

The King smiles, nods down to them. "You may keep them, Lotus. I wouldn't deny my trainer his trophies."

Lyric expresses his gratitude as sincerely as he can muster.

* * *

* * *

Coming back to his room, Lyric takes stock of what he has, now that he has time to do so. His King has given him the rest of the day with no tasks to fulfill and no more lessons to learn or guided tours, for which the actor is grateful. All he wants to do is flump onto his bed and let the day soak into his aching brain.

That endures for a few minutes, but it's not long until he's investigating his new quarters, looking for the nymphs that the Peacock King nudged him about. It's also a good excuse to casually look for magical bugs and recorders. He has a feeling that the good King won't be shy of spying on his newest employee. He won't sweep them out, but he'll note the location of each one, and ways of avoiding them.

He's not sure what to think about the fact that so many are in the bed area.

He finds his first methilae in the bath, and wonders how he missed it earlier. Caught up in his own stress and indulgences, he supposes. She's nothing the size of a river-spirit, but has very apt control of the water currents and temperature in the faucets and plumbing of his room. She's also very articulate, and Lyric finds that more time has passed than he thinks while he simply talks with her. He gives her a bow, then excuses himself.

There's a small tyrotyrle in a globe by his bed, and it passes on a few cursewords to Lyric that are new to even myself. It apparently warms the bed during cold nights, but Lyric thinks he'll avoid using the thing, lest it set his hair on fire in the night. He's not even sure if he wants it in the room at all.

There's a strange spirit in the mirror that seems to be a cross between a dryad and a constructed familiar. Once Lyric realizes her presence she begins to give him even more tips on makeup and fashion that he doesn't really need by this point. I'll spare you the details. At least he has somebody to talk about those kind of things with now.

He returns to his bed, then looks to the dresser beside it. He had left Faun's furs there earlier. Now he tucks them up into his arms, sits on the bed, and breathes in deeply the scent of woods, trees and bark and earth and birds and sunlight. It's so potent that he's almost convinced he's been transported into a forest. He opens his eyes. No, still his bedroom.

He thinks: Faun must miss these so much. They bear the smell of his home, of everything he protects. The last physical connection he had to his forest, taken and traded for a silken insult of a robe. He wishes he could just return it to the animism, but knows he'll have to settle for keeping it safe until Faun is freed. In the meantime...he can enjoy the smell. The feel. There's a flash through Lyric's mind of the tone of the animism's skin after he stripped him down. It catches the boy by surprise, and he looks up, cheeks making themselves rouge without any expert makeup job. He looks around. No one was there in the room to witness that, were they? Wait...

* * *

My perverted brat of a brother then kicks me right out of his skull, and my mind is left with no anchor to latch onto as I pick through the King's wards. I bite a curse back. I'm in too sensitive an area to make any sound. I'm knee-deep in the energy that locks this place down - I was using the connection to Lyric to make myself seem like a normal member of the Court here.

I can fake it until I extricate myself, and then see where I've ended up. I was aiming for the inner sanctuary. Instead, I've found myself a reading room, full of history texts, minutes from meetings, inventory records of the Palace's store-rooms...

...And genealogies.

It seems my brother's abject stupidity is a tool of great fortune and justice.

* * *

While I leaf through all of this wonderful paper, I might as well educate you on the Armed. After all, my brother refuses to entertain us while I work, and I daren't reach out to anyone else to record their goings-on while I don't have his mind as cover.

We're well-known, we who carry the Arms, but not much is known publicly about us. People don't like to get in too close, because they don't want our attention. We are guardians, a police force. We enforce the Law, and that makes the populace nervous. Well, as they should be.

The Law is absolute. It is a force we do not change, and others cannot change as well. Only those in the highest positions in the power structure could do that...and not even then, really. My Father is the Judge, and he is very high indeed - he does not change the Law. He passes down Justice from it. And we Armed, we walk a path that echoes his great footsteps. Our positions and missions are not exact. Our organization is not structured. We have our rites and practices, but ultimately we are the walking evidence that there is a Law by which all are judged - and we deal that justice out in lead, and fire, and gunsmoke.

There is not much to know about us other than that. Nothing else is very important. We walk the land and give it Law. What else matters?

That Faun called upon me to back his cause with my Arms is no light thing. I cannot ignore any call for aid. And a call to the Law...it's dangerous, you see. Because the Law is a pure thing, it has no negative or positive in its heart. It simply abides. Calling it down will not bring any allowances for apologies, any exceptions for mistakes. You can't take it back because you didn't mean it. Faun's forced my hand, forced my Gun into it. If I have to make any judgments from now on, the Law will be what passes those judgments, not my own heart or conscience.

...I worry for my brother. I worry for myself. And I worry for Faun, because if my brother and I are dispatched, who is to help him?

That would cause greater worries, too. An animism, broken and tamed by a King...that could call down higher judgments on this Kingdom on the bystanding Kingdoms. Who knows how far it could echo?

I leaf through family histories. I take my notes here and there, but honestly...it's not helpful. Whether or not the King's bloodline is more royal than mine isn't going to bear much weight when it comes to what sins he's committed. And I can't find any record of his daughters in here. So who is to know who their other parents are? If I knew that...knew anything about their backgrounds...anything to puzzle out this blasted situation...

They're Princesses, after all, so their bloodline has to have some trace here in

(Poet Gerald Akribastes's written account halts abruptly here.)

* * *

* * *

I know my brother's written account has to have ended. I do not know how much he wrote of what he saw, or all of what he saw. All I know is that the Peacock King possesses those writings now, along with Gerald himself.

I don't know what to do right now. I know brother came as a Poet, and so part of his mission was recording what happened. I don't think he can do that from where he is now. I don't entirely understand how Poets work, and I don't dream that my work could come anywhere close to that of a member of that order. If Gerald were writing this, I'm sure it would be eloquent, and would have that mystical effect on the situation. I'm sure he would put it right by his pen.

But he can't do that now. I got him caught. I shoved him away and the Peacock King found him. If I hadn't drawn away from my brother like that...maybe he'd have been more alert, or chosen a different room to spy in.

The Peacock King is excited, by the way. He's thrilled to have a spy. I think it makes him feel important. But also...oh gods I hope it's not the case, but I think the Monarch of this Kingdom desires to use this as leverage against Brother's order. The Poets. And I love them so much. Would have aspired to be one, but I wasn't one to amount to anything. I probably would have brought the whole works down around them from the inside, anyways.

I...

Oh lords and ladies I just can't do this without him, I can't, not on my own, please. Please someone show up to help me. Oh Father please come help me, I'm sorry, I'll do whatever it takes to make things right again, just help, help, please help, whoever reads this...

* * *

...I've come back to my senses. I needed some time to think. I don't know how Poets record so calmly. It must be easy for them, because when I read their writings, it sure looks that way.

I have to do what I can. No one else is here to help. It's just me, now. Me, and my brother's Guns. Like I even know how to load them. They were a warning, though. When they dropped onto my bed, I knew something had happened to him. It gave me time to school my reaction to the news when the Peacock King told me of the incident.

The pair of revolvers fell onto the blankets with a sigh, an oddly soft sound for such a heavy, dangerous set of weaponry. I was afraid they'd fire at me if I as much as moved towards them. I was able to summon up enough grit to reach over and pluck away a note that was partially rolled and tucked into one of the barrels.

That you are reading this means that I have been caught. These are yours to keep safe, and fire if you must defend yourself. Do your utmost to hide them. If you are seen with them you will be killed. I am sure they will help you extricate me from whatever terrible plight I am in. Be brave. You've got guts enough to make it on your own, so you've already proven that you've got guts enough for the road ahead.

Keep them safe? Hide them? I didn't even want to touch the things. I flipped the corner of the blanket over the Arms to keep them out of sight, took a few steps, and then collapsed onto the floor. My brother was in peril and I was alone to do whatever it took to free both him and Faun. Alone, in the Court of the Peacock King.

I broke down for a little while. It wouldn't be the first time that night that I would do so.

...Did Gerald actually pay me a compliment or two in his letter? I read over it again. Did he really believe in me? Gerald? Daddy's eldest, best son, who followed in his Father's footsteps in ways I could never even pretend to, no matter how well I could act? The little sheriff made in the Judge's image? Did he say something nice about me?

...That prick, now I felt even worse that he got caught.

Still, how angry I was at him then didn't change the task that had been put before me. I couldn't ignore his Guns. If someone found them here they'd indict me just as much as if I was discovered hiding Gerald himself. I looked over to them. Conspicuous lumps beneath the blanket. Big lumps, ominous, dangerous.

I didn't want to touch them. I was genuinely afraid that they would shoot me. I still think now that this was a valid fear. However afraid I was, though...

I hurriedly searched for a bathtowel, then flipped the blanket aside, murmured a hushed apology under my breath to them, and scooped them up, wrapping them inside fluffy layers of cotton. Where would I put them? I was halfway back to the bathroom when I heard the first whisper, like air being blown through a metal cave:

'What ferryman are you to carry me?'

* * *

I wake up the next morning to a knock on my door. I freeze in the bed, locked in the middle of some half-forgotten nightmare's struggle. I open my eyes, collect my thoughts as best as I can. They march forward in rank and file, each more urgent than the last, like a list of things to do for the day. Gerald is captured. Keep his guns hidden. Faun must be saved. Look for the other daughter. And most importantly - and the last before the door opens - act as I should to avoid the Peacock King's suspicion.

I hear a key slide and click through the latch before the door swings inward. My eyes snap to whoever is entering. The Peacock King smiles at me, faintly amused.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were a late riser." He enters anyway, walks to my bed, and sits on the end rather primly. His hand idly smooths over a crease in the blanket. "Did you have a fine rest? I hope the trouble didn't keep you awake. You're safe in this room, you know. I made certain that it was secure."

I smile up at him, pulling myself to a sitting position. "Thank you for your concern. I...didn't sleep my easiest, but I do feel safe here. I'm just still adjusting to living here now." I fidget a little. He's staring at me while I'm in bed, barely dressed. That's not nearly as dire as the fact that I've not had any chance beforehand of taking care of my hair. It must be a mess after a night of tossing and turning like that!

He nods, relieved. "Let me know if you need ever need some company to ease your mind." He looks out to the balcony, smiles. "It's a beautiful day today. I think it would be nice if you spent it nearer the outdoors than my Faun-doe's current residence, yes? And I have a few adjustments to make to that area. It's important to put any safety precautions that come to you into action, when they happen. Sometimes it takes a pest getting into a house to remind the denizens to clean it." He rises, then, and nods to me. "I'll let you ready yourself for the day, then. You can spend it in the gardens I showed you through yesterday. I'm appointing you a guide while I see to today's matters. She'll be outside by the time you are ready."

I think that the Peacock King must have appointed me a slow guide.

I give my own nod, unable to bow properly and unwilling to force the indignity of trying while sitting in a bed with my hair mussed. He smiles, just a bit of smirk to it, and then gives me a wave and leaves.

I go to the bath and make some sense of my hair, constructively applying my fears and aggressions into fueling my efforts towards achieving today's look.

* * *

The guide is sunny and cheerful. I actually make a bit of pleasant conversation with her as she shows me to the gardens from yesterday. I finally have someone to pretend around that doesn't present any difficulty in fooling. I feel a little bad for gloating about that, but not too bad.

I don't see the King's daughter there today. I ask after her, and the guide cheerfully informs me that she has her own suite. I'm pretty sure that the King had her stay there, then, with the new danger that's been presented to his Court. He did seem protective of her, and I understand that. It's even a little hard for me, because of that. It's hard to think about the fact that he might genuinely feel endangered, that he wants to protect things that are precious to him.

...And I don't like thinking about the possibility that I am now one of those things. It hurts a little. I could ease his worries, but that would just indict me, and ruin whatever mission Gerald is on.

...Come to think of it, I don't know what that mission is. I've just been taking it on faith that he's up to any good here. It's a valid assumption, though. The Poets and the Armed are both good folks, as far as I've known. Dangerous to evildoers [or sometimes understaffed restaurants], but beneficial to those that the Law protects.

So I know he can't be here for something nefarious, like the King fears.

I pass some time talking with the nymphs the King has collected, learning about them. Making my mental notes on how they are caged, what restrains them. Wondering how he could have ever thought to do such things, and then thinking that it wasn't something I could really wonder about, because I wouldn't find an answer. Maybe Gerald could, if he were free. Wondering after that avenue of pursuit was fruitless.

...But maybe Faun would know.

I make a note of it, then exchange some makeup tips with a dryad who recommends local flower pigments.

The rest of the day is pleasant. I don't see the King again until the evening, when I'm on the way back to my suite. He strides into step with me, hand falling behind my waist, prompting me to speed my pace just slightly until we arrive at my room.

He smiles. It's not as genuine as when he looked so concerned. There's something behind it, some ulterior motive or secret hiding in the corners of his mouth. "I trust you enjoyed the gardens, Lotus?" He lingers outside my door. I nod.

"It was very useful to visit again. I'm eager to learn, and it was as educational as it was gracious to the eyes."

His smile becomes a bit more sincere at the compliment. "Why, I'm quite happy to hear that, Lotus. Faun-doe is eager to see more of you, I imagine. Perhaps you can apply your learnings to him tomorrow." His hand presses a little firmer behind my back. "For now, time to retire, yes?" Something lingers on his voice.

It's the hope that he'll receive an invitation now.

I'm not sure why I have to fight something in myself, but I smile up at him and nod. "Yes. Goodnight, my King. May you rest easy after a day of ensuring your home's safety." With that said, I reach to open the door.

...Locked.

He raises an eyebrow at the look I direct up to him. "My pardon. I have yet to give you a key." He slides one from his sash, unlocks the door, and directs me inside. "I'll see about finding a copy for you. It may take a couple of days, but I'm sure you can get along well without, for now." Without another word, he closes the door. I hear the key slide in, hear the lock click shut.

...I have a certainty come over me now. I can lock my doors from the inside. I can unlock them as well. But I can't unlock them if he turns that key in the outside lock. I doubt I'll receive a key for it, ever.

Why give me a room he can lock me inside of?

I sigh, then turn towards the bed, shedding my robs as I do, letting my hair down from its knot. I shake my head, letting my hair fall down and gently brush my shoulders. It's a comforting touch.

I've just realized that he has me just as caged as Faun or Gerald.

* * *

* * *

I don't remember anything of my dreams, anything at all. It's all a blur, that night. All I know is that I got very little sleep of real value.

This morning brought a surprise. I'd eaten alone for my first few days here - today, however, the Peacock King wished to have breakfast with me on the patio outside his living suite. I was a little nervous to be so near his quarters. His very presence is so commanding and dominating on its own - closer to his rooms it becomes even harder to bear without showing strain.

I miss just working for pay and not having to worry about all of this. All of a sudden the weight of everything just comes upon my back and almost doubles me over. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be stuck in the middle of this. I don't want to have to worry about anyone else.

...Ah well, it's natural. I haven't had my morning tea yet and I've got a pair of talking guns buried in a flowerpot next to my bed - of course I'm cranky.

Speaking of tea, the Peacock King himself comes out with a tray balanced upon splayed fingers. He gives me a pleasant nod, then sets the tray down on the table. Steam drifts up from the charming oriental teapot's spout.

[A thought trails into the front of my mind and tangles itself there: does Gerald have tea where he is? How is he being treated? Surely even the lowliest of prisoners must be accorded some dignity. Even people who are so far below contempt like my brother is.]

I reach forward and serve us both tea as the King sits back, pleased at my showing initiative. It smells divine, like all tea should. By the scent I can tell this particular blend has green tea and some sort of citrus flower mixed in it. He takes his cup in both hands and holds it up close under his chin, eyes reflected in it, making a rainbow shimmer across the surface.

To my relief he just makes idle chatter, inquiring as to how I'm adjusting to living here, how I like my job, even the weather.  He notices my end of the conversation is a little...stunted.  I'm hesitant, I know.  Part of me never stops being nervous when I'm around him, and I have my brother and Faun to worry about, along with everything else.

But the Peacock King, being such an alert individual, and so concerned about the mental state of others around him, does not let the subject of my mood go unmentioned.

"Lotus?  Whatever has you so distracted?  I've never seen someone appear so dull-mooded while drinking this blend."  He fixes me with a stare that has its concern in it, but also doesn't let me avert my eyes and hide my reaction.  That's the thing about his version of kindness...it's far too often paired with interrogation.

...I can't really hide it, can I?  As much as I prided myself on my acting, there's been so many times in this kingdom that it's failed me.  Well, time to try it again, anyways.  Talking about this without getting myself indicted is going to be very difficult.  "I'm...a little troubled by what happened the other night.  It's rested on my mind more heavily than I expected.  I've always tried to avoid politics and rivalries when it comes to my work in the different Kingdoms.  I figure that stuff's best left to those who are suited to it.  To be honest, it's always left me a little nervous.  And, well...I'm not originally from this Kingdom, so it's troubled me that another outsider has caused trouble in here.  I don't want your Court put in danger, but on the other hand, what if he's a fellow countryman?  I...maybe I'm thinking too much about this, sir.  --Er, Sire."  Damnit, it's hard enough to keep my act straight without having to try to remember proper protocol.

The Peacock King has paused in his enjoyment of his tea to watch me, one eyebrow raised.  "I do wonder...Lotus, my boy, do you have any affiliations with the Poet's Court?"

I let the surprise hit my face.  That I didn't expect Poets to be brought up so bluntly can be interpreted as a lack of affiliation with them.  "None, Sire.  I've heard a bit about them, but never was able to learn too much.  ...They're a strange bunch, though, aren't they?  Certainly interesting, but so secretive."  I blink, realization dawning on my face.  "Wait, the spy, he wasn't--"

The Peacock King nods his head very sadly.  "I'm afraid it's the truth.  As much as I laud the accomplishments of that particular order...it seems their King has deemed me and my Kingdom to be of interest to him.  And it isn't the first time, either.  They're a talented and creative bunch, the Poets, but they do follow the lead of their King, not that I blame them.  It's important to follow your Monarch.  But, due to the King in question...they're not very...trustworthy."  He looks to the side, his expression strangely dark for such a bright, sunlit morning.  "I apologize, Lotus.  It is troubling to me."  He rises.

"...Come, you may meet him."

"What?" I can't hide my surprise.  But why bother by now?

The King turns, begins to walk without me.  "I'd like you to have a feel for the loyalties of this Kingdom early, Lotus, before you've settled in.  ...And they are quite interesting, aren't they?  The Poets.  I'm sure you'll learn something.  And you'll know what to be wary for."  His tone grows more troubled by the second.

"Sire?  What's wrong?"  I get to my feet to catch up with him, walking behind him and to the right.

"...Politics and affairs of the Courts, Lotus.  You may not like them, but they affect everyone.  The fact is, I've caught one of their spies.  Can you put a little thought into what that might mean for their Kingdom?  For ours?  War is not something I fear, but I would prefer not to be engaged in one with the Poets."

A chill creeps up my spine.

War?

"...Your Majesty, surely not...over one spy?"

"That all depends on the Poet King, Lotus.  While I've found him to be belligerent, stubborn, and arrogant when it comes to these matters, perhaps he will see reason, this one time."

...I've seen the Poet King, even met him a few times, though not for very long.  He's had drinks in my Father's parlor, listened to my Father play piano there.  He's distant, sometimes...but I expected him to be distant.  It's a bit of a Poet hallmark, really.  But most times he had an intense focus that I recognized from my Father - the eyes and presence of someone in command.  Other than being a little more quiet than expected, he was nice, always polite...more charming than the Peacock King.

I don't have enough experience to know whether he's a stubborn ruler, but my Father spoke well of him, most times - occasionally I'd catch comments about the Poet King being too dedicated to his position, overworking himself into a frenzy.  But these were rare, though that's partly because Father was so discreet that I only caught these comments when I was sneaking around.

Not...not that I snuck around my Father's place...not for anything bad, anyways...does this ink erase?  If I scratch it out someone will know I scratched something out...wait, why am I writing this too?

Disregarding the above paragraph which shouldn't be transcribed into any official editions of this account...or that part of the sentence, either...anyways, the Poet King has a good reputation with my Father and my family, and it's very strange to hear ill spoken of him, even by someone like the Peacock King who has set himself against so many other Kingdoms.

...What's even stranger is readying myself to see my brother. It's odd. I had worried for him in the sense of the long run - how to get him out, what to do if he caused international incident - but I hadn't given any thought as to if he was still alive. I don't know why I didn't worry. I did worry over whether he was doing alright, of course - but it never even crossed my mind that he could be dead or close to it.

Maybe it's just sibling intuition. Which would be odd, considering how little I understand him otherwise.

I follow the Peacock King from the patio along a path through his gardens. It winds towards his suite, then under an arched entryway that's very dark. He picks up a lantern on the way in and gestures for me to come closer so that we can share the light more easily. I walk beside him, just ever so slightly back. The hallway we proceed through is made of white marble masonry, appearing elegant, but with a serviceable edge. It is not another attraction or treat for the eye. It feels a little damp in here, like a cave...or a tomb. Well, I haven't been in any tombs. They're scary. But I think one might feel like this.

The walkway is sloping down a bit as we walk. The hall opens out on a large circular chamber, with tunnels leading from it in every direction. I notice it feels dark, even though it's well-lit inside here. There are crystal globes glowing with clean, cold energy. Every now and then I see something shift or dance inside one, and wonder if they're one of the nymph-spirits that the Peacock King is so fond of keeping.

...Still, why does it feel so dark? And...quiet, as if my ears are muffled...

The Peacock King makes a gesture with his hand, and the air feels clearer, more welcoming. I realize that this place was warded. I must have been perceiving the magical defenses. He nods towards a tunnel offshoot, and we proceed down it. I...I can't remember the journey. I don't understand why, but I remember nothing of that tunnel. I could not chart the walk again if I tried. Maybe it's more of the work of his wards. The King didn't behave as if anything was amiss.

It's all blank, that point. The first thing I remember after that is looking up and seeing Gerald's slumped form silhouetted in a tightly-warded cell. My eyes take a moment to even parse it. The wards are so thick that I can see them, and I'm not the most adept at that sort of thing.

He's sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. His hands are manacled up at the height of his head, spread out to each side. His ankles are manacled directly to the floor, legs laying flat out against the stone. He's missing most of his accessories - all he's wearing now are his shirt and pants. He's not even been allowed his boots. Other than his hands and ankles, there are no other restraints. Instead there's a thin iron collar around his neck with a softly pulsing red jewel in the middle. For some reason, nothing else in the scene makes my hackles rise, but that detail does. Maybe because it seems like overkill. Maybe because I'm tired of seeing everyone here treated as another pet, down to my brother. Whatever the collar is, I assume it has some other means of restraining him than chains.

The Peacock King tsks, standing outside of the cell with his arms crossed. "A shame I have to pen you up so tight, Poet. But I know how far you'll go to write yourself out of there. If it weren't for that, your accommodations would better match the honor I would prefer to accord your position." He opens the cell. There is no key - I see no lock. I can only assume that it opens only for him, or that after all of these precautions, there's no need for one. I highly suspect the former.

Gerald only looks up when the cell door opens. He has the perfect poker face - down to that quarter-of-a-smile he wears so well. His expression only changes when he sees me outside the bars - half an eyebrow-raise. "You've brought me company? Why, thank you. I'd love to make another friend." An even, measured tone - not quite lighthearted. Maybe he's feeling too much pressure about the situation to truly joke.

I glance over to the Peacock King. He's looking at me, waiting for my attention. He sweeps his hand in a come-hither gesture. I enter the cell. As I do, I wince. The energy is so thick that I feel it press against my skin and wash over it, feel my clothing shift as if a wave had sloshed over me. The King reaches out to steady me, expecting the reaction.

...Yes, there is far more locking this cell than a key is necessary for. I start to wonder how in Hells I'm going to get him out of this.  I let that thought train chug along in the background, while I deal with the present. I look over my brother, keeping my face neutral, but inquisitive. I don't meet his eyes. "Funny, he doesn't look like I imagined a Poet would." Well, it's dialogue, to keep things moving. I want to show some sort of a reaction, after all. ...And it's also true. Gerald may be a writer-mage, but he sure doesn't look like one.

The Peacock King gives me a halfway-smile. "My thoughts as well, but I did catch him in the very act of writing his Poetry. I thought for a moment he might also be an Armed, truth be told. He's dressed as if he wants to be one. Alas, he lacks the actual arms to be borne, and no Armed would ever be caught without them." He looks down at Gerald. "See? I bring an ordinary citizen of my country in, to show just who has encroached here. I am not hiding you. I am being discreet, doing you a favor, in fact. If I let it out publicly that I had caught one of your kind spying in our records, someone might call for war. I know that's not what you want." He turns towards me. "You know discretion as well, don't you? You understand I do this for his safety more than my own." I hear Gerald make a cough at the discretion question. I stifle the urge to go and punch him in the stomach. After all, he's so defenseless right now. I could totally nail him.

Gerald smiles, the expression a bit weary, but still sunny enough considering his situation. "Don't think I don't appreciate the courtesy, sire. Were I in your position, though, I'd just let me go. This is just a misunderstanding. Best to just forget about it."

The Peacock King smiles, amused yet a little disappointed. "I expected so much more from you, considering who your Father is."

Gerald freezes. I try not to pee in my pants. I'm sure I was successful. At least that's the way I'm writing it.

"It shows, you know. When you get older, you'll have people mistaking you for him outright, instead of seeing the family line in your face. It's intriguing looking at you, in that way. I don't know if anyone could imagine the High Judge at your age. You should try profiting from it. ...But I suppose he would take issue with that, hmm?" The Peacock King brushes his fingers idly over his chin, musing. "Possibly in the same way that he would take issue with his son spying, and of all the dreadful things that would happen upon his getting caught."

I see true anger spread over Gerald's face, anger unlike anything I've seen in him before.

"...But then, that's really just a family issue. Nothing for me to worry over. Once it gets out to his Kingdom, though...I wonder how the public will take such information? The High Judge, the face and voice and hands of the Law...Father to a spy? My. Such inconvenience that would cause." He scoffs at the angry look on Gerald's face, the grinding of my brother's teeth. "My, my. Such emotion, coming from a youth. You'll grow up too fast if you dote on your feelings like that. Why not think, instead, of how best to avoid incident?" His smirk tucks into his cheek, lazy and comfortable. "What can we do to ensure peace? That's the question I always ask." He turns to the side, hands clasped behind his back, and begins to pace.

I watch from the back of the cell, dumbfounded. Gerald's anger is slipping into something still mad, but with an edge of franticness to it. I hope he doesn't panic. He's in a very bad position for that.

"Ensure peace? You? The conqueror of so many free, non-warring peoples? What could you possibly know of peace?" He spits the last word out, almost hurls it at the King. The jewel at his throat gives a quick pulse, and Gerald jerks back, sucking in his breath with a start.

The King turns his head slowly towards Gerald, smile growing inch by slow inch. "My Kingdom is peaceful. Its denizens are happy and well-protected, well cared for. If there was war in their past, surely they don't care about it now. Their lives are better in my Kingdom than they were under their previous rulers." He turns fully to face my brother, chin high, chest out. "I receive praises from my people that I've led them to a new light, led their towns and cities into prosperity they could never dream of. Given them the protection they need to truly enjoy their freedoms. No other ruler could do this. So, Poet...you speak of peace? You blindly repeat what is told to you, more like. If you'd taken a chance to walk around my Kingdom and witness it, instead of holing yourself up in our musty books and faded records, you would have seen with your own eyes what is true." He tsks. "I love the arts of the Poets, but your kind hold words too high above what is real."

Gerald is silent, thinking. His face is still angry, but he's calmed himself. That's good. I worry if he gets too angry. He's on the defensive, in chains. And he's being stifled by wards and that collar. This isn't fair to him at all.

The Peacock King stares down at him, awaits an answer.

"What do you wish of me? I'd know it, even if I'm not like to do it." Gerald speaks with his eyes closed.

The Peacock King smiles. "I might let you go with no trouble at all, for a few of your services."

Gerald's eyes snap open, flick up. "You wish for me to write without the authority or knowledge of my King?" It's said in a low voice, calm, but something about those words is very heavy indeed.

The Peacock King nods, arms crossed. "My dear boy, I find your King to be the very thing wrong with your order. Not even something terminal, really. Maybe all he needs is to learn to loosen his grip on his subjects, give them a little freedom to write on their own, without his overseeing it."

Gerald raises an eyebrow. "Mere humor, coming from a tyrant such as yourself."

The Peacock King smiles. "My people are peaceful, whereas the Poet King's spy within a peaceful Kingdom's borders. Who is the tyrant?" He shakes his head, waves his hand. "Think about it. I require very little of you, Poet. In the meantime, I will have someone come down with your meal soon. In light of your apparent emotional distress, I shall have tea served as well. I know how much you Poets treasure the drink. ...A shame our minds can't meet so cleanly on other topics." With that, he departs, waving me to walk out in front of him.

The cell door closes with a finality that tears my heart. I look back at Gerald over my shoulder. I catch his eyes.

...And then the Peacock King guides me down the hall, and my brother is once again out of sight.

"I hope this has done somewhat to ease your mind, Lotus. As you see, I try to solve these affairs as peaceably as I can. And just think - we may yet have a Poet-inscribed collar for Faun-doe. It would be delightful to reap such a boon from this terrible bit of incident."

I nod, murmur my agreement, and follow his lead to leave this place. I wish I could remember the way in these warded caves. I want to break Gerald out of here so badly.

At least he's having his tea.

* * *

* * *

The Peacock King dismisses himself afterward, which relieves me. I don't like him hovering around me too long. His pets may enjoy his presence, but all it does for me is make me afraid I'll become one.

I just have more room to think when he's not around. I feel his eyes look at me when he's with me, physically creeping along my skin. There's a pressure against my head that could be his own mind, for all I know. I don't understand these things. Gerald understands these things.

...I need to talk to someone who doesn't have an angle. Or who possibly has the right one. What did I think yesterday? That maybe Faun would have real answers.

...Well, it's my job to train him, so it won't look amiss if I'm seen around his cell. Perhaps I should go spend some time with him now. Some time with bars between us, unfortunately - the Peacock King has the only key to his cell that I know of.  At least I remember the way to it, unlike Gerald's. I walk through the gardens again, and then into the Palace proper, and then down through the easy maze of halls that lead to where he cages his pets that are still being trained. I'm about to arrive at his cell when I stop.

Someone else is here. I listen.

"...You'll do best to just give in to him, and save yourself the trouble, my pet. Fight too hard and you might hurt yourself. And hurting yourself...isn't that the last thing you want?" The Peacock King's voice eases over me, echoing softly from down the hall and around the corner. I stop.

I keep listening.

"All of your animals depend on you to keep yourself safe, Faun-doe." I hear a slump and the soft rattle of chains. That name, that pet-name. It sucks the strength right out of him. "I can keep you safest. If you'd only let me." Such a coddling tone. He's almost begging the animism.

"The animals of my forest are safest in the wild, in their home. As I am them and they are me, the same therefore applies to me. I understand your offer, but decline it. If that is all that you have detained me for, then release me now, for I will never enter your agreement. It is my duty to live free and unharmed so that they will persist and thrive. I can willingly do naught but my duty - to do else would change what I am." He pauses. His tone was slow and even, composed and calm as a stone statue. Now it is tinged with a biting remorse. "As it was with Hespiredes. You know her well, I imagine."

The Peacock King, to my surprise, is quiet. He's so tense that I can feel the air ring with it.

"Hespiredes is nothing compared to what you are. I saved her out of the compassion of my heart." ...Sincerity is never something I expect to come from him, and when it does, it rocks me completely off balance.

"Aye, that is so, and for keeping her and hers safe we are quite grateful, and never start to think otherwise, Peacock King. But I am not her, as you have said. It is you who tries to make me become her--"

Faun's voice halts so suddenly that my heart races. For a moment, I think he might have fallen over dead. I hear the slightest rustling of fabric.

"...Move, and I cut your throat with my nails." The Peacock King's voice eases through gritted teeth.

"Bruise me, and I'll slit your wrist with my own." Faun's, very muffled. I imagine the King's hand clamped around his throat.

I hear a word I cannot repeat in writing. I just feel it would do bad things to record it. It's a spell-word, that is what I do know.  A word of power that causes another flump and chain-rattle, this one more final. I wonder how long Faun will be unconscious. Knocking him out by such a method would be the only way that the King could extricate himself from the cell, at that point, without having the animism hurt him or having the animism get hurt.

I hear the door creak. I make a move, very quietly, holding even my thoughts to be silent. I go farther up the hall, away from this cell. After a few moments, I begin to walk back towards the cell, making no efforts to hide my approach. I act completely normal for myself - and the best part about that, dear friends, is that my usual self in this Kingdom has a touch of nervousness to him anyways!

I see the Peacock King just after he's come around the corner of the cell. He's brushing off his robes, his face clouded, brow furrowed. He's in a sulk, all things told. His head snaps up as he senses my approach. He's off his game - he would have detected me much earlier in any other situation.

"My liege? Are you feeling alright? You look upset." I am bright, perky, aware, and concerned. I see him frown as he thinks, see his eyes skate to the side in contemplation.

"...Lotus. Are you here to see the animism? He's taken a rest." He waves me towards the cell. "Here. If you want to visit with him, go ahead. Observation is nevertheless important. I'll be back to unlock the cell later." I nod, letting him conduct me through the bars. He closes the door, locks it, and starts to make his leave.

Lucky me that he's in such a mood. He put me in here just so I'd get out of his hair.

[He just locked me into a cell to get me out of the way? ...I think I just proved one of Gerald's arguments about the Peacock King's methods of rule.]

I watch the monarch depart, my eyes skating over the scale design cascading down the back of his robe. It traps me for a second. There's so much splendor in it. Then I shake myself out of it. "...Sir? --Sire. You could do with a pot of tea, I think." He pauses just a moment.

"...Yes. Yes I could, Lotus. Thank you." And with that, he departs.

I look over the animism-in-a-coma that is currently keeping me company in this cell. I sigh, then sit. I have naught to do but wait, now. I don't want to nudge him. I like having all of my appendages firmly attached to my body. Instead, I simply watch him. It's a peaceful pastime. He's quiet, and not trying to kill me. And he's...

...He's nice to watch, even though he's so still. Or maybe that's what makes it so nice. I can look at all the little details this way, scrutinize deeply without feeling awkward because I'm staring so hard. He has such soft skin. His proportions are small - thin, but rounded. His face is like a fox's. And his hair...it's not really cut or styled, you would say, but the shaggy nature of it, the short unruly mane, is very charming. He has a kind of perfection I don't see in humans, being in the family of animisms. But it's not the sort of beauty that the nymphs possess. Theirs, for whatever reason, almost seems catered to humans. It's too perfect, too alluring - they set out to seduce humans as much as humans set out to seduce them. But Faun's beauty, and the beauty of all animisms, I suspect, is not for humans. It's not for anyone, really. Perhaps it is all their own.

I like that. I like appreciating a beauty that isn't catered to me. It's simply there, purposeless, natural. In all my travels...I've seen others sell themselves, seen people buy them. I've sold myself, seen others buy me. In so many ways I have seen this throughout the bit of the world I've traveled. It is a relief to look upon someone who is never for sale.

It's just as entrancing as the Peacock King's tail-mark, for me. Perhaps even moreso. I know I forget myself in it, because the next thing I remember is a golden eye staring straight into my own with mild curiosity.

"What are you looking at, human?" The animism's voice is soft, with no tone of curiosity to it. I blink. I don't give him an answer. I can't, really. He makes a face that might, in better lighting, be a fraction of a smile. "I've seen your type at zoos, you know. Staring at the tigers. That's the face that's made right before someone leans in too close to the bars."

I duck away before his claws give me a haircut that goes beneath the scalp. I'm a few feet farther away from him now, my heart racing, my breaths drawing in and out in rapid succession. He smiles at me, something like a dog's grin. I expect his tongue to start hanging out of his mouth. Once the shock dies off a little, I realize something - right now is the first time I've seen Faun happy in the time I've known him.

He laughs, something a little bark-ish, a little clumsy, but less rehearsed than the laughter he's made before. "You're funny. I like you. You'd make a good chewing toy for cubs."

"I...thanks." I take my compliments whenever they're given, whatever the heck they may mean.

He sits up, gathering himself, looking a bit uneasy with the clothing the Peacock King has given him. "I suppose you're here for more training? I'm not really in the mood to dance. You should let me scratch you up instead - it'll be very convincing for your employer."

I shake my head, sitting back down and settling in my spot. It's far enough from Faun that he can't reach me with the chains if I drop my guard again. "He'll be away for awhile. He thinks you'll be unconscious when he comes again. So he doesn't expect me to train - just to observe. Truth be told, he put me in here to get me out of the way. What you two said to each other upset him very much."

Faun's eyebrows draw together slightly and he looks at me with a little more intensity. Like he's considering the potential of an unknown predator. "You heard that? Without him knowing?" He looks to the side, his face growing blank. A neutral expression of a person who's thinking too deeply to be bothered to put effort into coaching his face. "Perhaps it truly does upset him...interesting." His eyes flash back to me. "Why is it your concern?"

I put my hands in front of me, splaying my fingers together, staring at them as I look at the weaving line in between my knuckles. "...Before I heard that, I was coming to ask you about the Peacock King, Faun. The Poet has been imprisoned, and cannot explore it himself. So I must bring the questions to you on my own, and hope it helps things."

Faun raises an eyebrow at me, his expression unreadable - as if that's any different than usual. "Odd. I still feel the touch of a Poet's hand in these events."

His expression goes slightly neutral again as he thinks for a moment. "Perhaps his work stretches on, past the time of recording? I know not the particulars of the work of Poets, though I've met many in my time. In any case, I know he is still alive. I can smell his heartbeat." His eyes flick back to me.

I nod. "The King brought me to see him earlier, for reasons I'm still not quite sure of."

Faun makes a ghost of a smile, then nods back. "Of course. To see if you were his fellow spy, Lotus." The name isn't spoken any differently, but I know he says it then to emphasize my subterfuge.

"I...that's not what it felt like." I blink. Only now do I feel the true nerves wash over me. It's a mercy that the King was so adept at pretending he wasn't trying to sniff me out - knowing that would have pressured me much more at the time. "I don't think he suspects anything. And even if he does...it's best if I ask you my questions. I can worry over being seen as a spy later." The animism raises an eyebrow.

"Questions? For me? You did mention that, but I wonder - what is it that you want to know from me?" His eyes scrutinize me, read me more deeply than a human's could. I swallow, my throat beginning to dry out.

"I was going to ask you about the Peacock King. I don't know of anyone else who could tell me about him without it simply being opinion. You two seem like you have a history, and you're in a position to know more. And...I'd like to know more about what you two were discussing before I came in. Hesperides. It upset him, and it was very strange to see him upset, or hear him be...sincere."

Faun's face grows troubled. This is a strange expression to watch - it's oddly natural, moreso than his learned smiles and coached laughter. His brows draw together and his jaw clenches, lips drawing tight. "Hesperides has a story that makes me sad. I will tell it to you, but you must mark it as very important in your mind, and not forget any word, for I do not wish to waste pain on forgetfulness. There is little to be learned from this story, unfortunately, for it speaks of repercussions that every human should have rightfully learned already. It is a story of waste and needless indecent acts."

"It is the story of my mother."

I sit up straight, almost jump in shock. He goes on.

"Animisms don't reproduce often. Our growth process is as long and patient as that of the the forests and meadows and tundra that we guard. She was...I suppose, is...very old, by your standards. Middle-aged, by mine. Slightly younger than that. I am a child by my kind's reckoning, in the way that we even bother to measure, and I am thousands of years old. My mother's valley was older than that. It was very beautiful, in its time. A peaceful, lazy freedom. She liked the butterflies the most. They thrived there, golden and warm."

His face grows troubled, an emotion so old and ground-in that it looks like a far-off fear. Perhaps it is. "The apples were what they wanted. The apples, so splendid when they were wild. A magical gift to her valley, from the Gods. An orchard of wild, golden apples.

"Humans did not transgress there for a long time. I do not know who started the legend of the golden apples, or that she was guarding them. I do not know who named the Dragon, who guarded the land her valley was in, Ladon. I do not know why they didn't understand that it wasn't because the apples were special that he guarded them so fiercely. It was just because they were his, and Dragons are like that.

"...They wanted them. They wanted the apples badly. And so they knew they could not fight a Dragon -- what can fight a Dragon? So instead they sought to manipulate him, or to bypass him. They sought the animism of the valley. Hesperides. The men, of no Kingdom, only a brigade of lost men, greedy and lawless, took her...and..." Faun pauses. His face is tight, corners of his mouth drawn back in a way that elongates his jaw, partially bares his teeth. His eyes are almost shut in sorrow. I almost reach out and pet his head to soothe him. I am way smarter than you think.

"...They made her to kneel, and when she bit at them, they broke her. Broke her spirit, bent her knees, taught collars to her, taught tame to her. They did it all out of spite, for apples, for nothing at all. They did it because they could." A growl rolls under his voice, primal and foreboding. My heart skips in its beating. "She was nothing, then. And the valley she guarded...broken. All the animals, broken, tamed like pets. The men didn't even care. They gave no notice to it. They tried to enter the valley again, to take the apples.

"The Dragon swallowed them up whole, from under the earth. He gave no entry to the humans that looked for them. They thought him mad, some warring soul, and began to make moves to siege him. Siege a Dragon! While Hesperides crumbled and curled onto the ground, lost with no human to follow. That's when he came.

"The Peacock King." Faun sighs, just a whisper. "He'd heard her call. Of course he would. He came to her aid. He ordered the army away.  He made motions of appeasement to the Dragon, treated him with respect and his proper due, and was allowed to enter the valley...albeit with dragonsbreath boiling down the back of his neck.

"Hesperides looked up. She only wanted a human to take her, really. Take her and lead her and show her what to do, because she couldn't know anymore. He bathed her, fed her. Treated her wounds, healed them. He gave her shelter there, gave her animals shelter. He cared for them all.

"The Dragon allowed him to build the garden there. It was the Peacock King's land. He'd acquired it, through whatever means he tends to do so, and the Dragon saw no infringement upon the Land by the King's actions. He did what was right to do. He did what no other King could, ironically, through his dangerous skills and talents of taming and handling. I cannot fault him for that. She and her animals still persist. Another King might have cared, but only the Peacock King would have devoted himself to the task in the way that he did. I suppose I saw something in what he did then that I wished he'd devote himself fully to. I saw him do good...where even I could not help my Mother. If it makes him sad, then perhaps..."

I cock my head, giving myself a shake. I'd become absorbed in his story, and was a little off-balance from being brought out so abruptly. "Perhaps?"

"...Perhaps there is hope for him yet, if he regrets what was done to her." His eyes search mine. "You're here to know of him, aren't you? Nobody dares ask of him. He's too powerful, too dominating. They're easily chased off, they are, no matter how aware I try to make the humans. Courts, Kings even, and they shrink from him. You are just a nameless actor posing as a servant, no title or property, no accolades. Yet you come to me where they would not. You are strange. I think I like you, but I wonder how long you will last."

My throat goes dry. "Oh? That's disturbing to hear, Faun. Perhaps your problem has been cryptic remarks like that, all along."

He cracks a fox-smile. "If Kings can't take truth when it comes from an animal's tongue, how can they take the commands and demands of their many subjects? How can they possibly stand to face the Peacock King, even? I am amused every time I deal with their wishy-washy politics. I much prefer the system of Law, and its Judge. He does not wince at the Truth." He sees me wince. He narrows his eyes.

...He lets it slide, after a few moments.

"You wish to hear of the Peacock King, Lotus? I have much to tell you. But he draws near now - best that I get my beauty rest." With that, he curls and folds into the position he had before, and I settle and make like I've been staring at someone silent and motionless for a long time.

The Peacock King approaches the cell. "Lotus? I suppose you've had your fill of observation?" He looks less tense, but marginally so.

I nod and rise. "Thank you for the opportunity, my King. Do you have any other need of me?"

He is silent for longer than I expect. "...Not tonight. Come. It's time there was rest in this Court."

* * *

* * *

It's time there was rest.  I agree.  I doubt I'll get any, though - my mind is buzzing with every possible problem or danger that could possibly be in my path.  I bathe, and all that does is make me think even more about everything, my mind in loops.  Also, I smell really good afterward, although that doesn't give me any good ideas on how to solve things.

I'd say it was good to see Gerald, but in reality the encounter made it worse for me.  Now I can't just hope for him to break out on his own.  I don't see how he could, as talented as he is at getting out of trouble.  The Peacock King seems to know a lot about Poets, and I suppose that knowledge went very far towards figuring out how to confine one.

As if Gerald being jailed weren't bad enough, now I have the added worry of whether the Peacock King will decide that I'm a spy.  What if he catches me?  He's already threatened to tell Father about Gerald - if he figures out I'm another of the Judge's sons, I'm toast.  I wonder if I could convince him to execute me instead, in that event.

And then there's the guns.  Gerald's talking Arms, yet another way I could be found out as not all that I seem.

...Talking guns.

I dart to the pot beside my bed and hold my hand to the side.  I try to open up my ears as best as I can - how does one listen with their mind?  Is it like listening to yourself think, or listening to your imagination--

'What seek ye, brother of the one who holsters us?'

* * *

I wake up feeling oddly refreshed. I don't expect to - I expected to wake up just as tense as the last few days. But oddly, I'm relieved now. Maybe talking with my brother, even briefly, and with such a depressing slant to it, made me feel better. I think it did. I think I honestly missed my brother that much.

I shift in my bed, slowly sit up, and open my eyes.

The Peacock King is looking right into them while sitting at the foot of my bed.

After I jump, he pats the lump in the blankets where my ankle is. "Not to worry. I thought I'd greet you for the morning."

I remember the footsteps I heard in my room last night right as I fell asleep.

"...Oh. I'm sorry. I'm not the most...coherent waker."

He smiles. "It's alright. I rather desired the company. There's not much conversation to be had this early, and it was so tense yesterday evening. I wanted to start the morning off right, as it were. And I wanted to prepare for our journey as well."

I blink. "...Journey?"

He nods. "It's not a time I would normally like to leave my palace, but urgent business just doesn't wait for politics. I'd like you to accompany me. You can see the countryside here, see my Kingdom from outside the confines of walls and windows. And...well, I have things I'd like to show you, Lotus." He rises. "Ready yourself for breakfast, and then pack for a few days. I've taken the liberty of packing a few of your robes with my things, so there's not much you'll have to worry about bringing." He begins to walk away.

"...We'll be taking Faun with us."

I blink. "Sir? --Sire. Are you sure? Is it safe to travel with him?"

He only smiles in that cryptic way that makes me want to shiver. "He'll behave for me, this one time. It will be to his benefit."

I'm left to ponder that, because he leaves with no explanation for what could possibly control Faun.

* * *

Packing is madness. I will just put it this way - I'll be gone for several days and I have no idea what facilities will be there, so I have to be prepared for anything when it comes to taking care of my hair.

* * *

I arrive to breakfast to find my King is not there. I wonder if I'm really that late, but a servant informs me that there is an audience in the King's Court. I am encouraged to go and attend - anything that the King leaves breakfast for is apparently urgent news.

Shouldering through the people is difficult, but being small has its advantages. I duck and elbow through the crowd until I have a vantage point near the front. A large expanse of the Court's floor in front of the King's throne is completely clear, save for three people. I straighten up. I recognize one in front, the one who seems to be the representative. Of course he'd be representing the three - he's a very famous Armed. I've seen him with my Father before. Camden Briarseal. He's hard to miss - he has a quiet focus about him that cuts through a crowd in ways that shouting could never do. He is very tall and carries himself with an air of relaxed confidence - no bravado, no showing off. Camden looks trustworthy and approachable at all times. The short blade strapped to his side is a quiet reminder of his office.

There are two women with him, one so young I more think of her as a girl. She's small in stature, and seems to be the one of the party to carry the bags. Mousy and meek. The other is of medium height, her hair twisted into a mahogany braid. She has a longbow and quiver strapped onto her back. Oddly, she doesn't strike me as a gunslinger, even though she has what could be Arms prominently displayed, and stands as though she's near to being Camden's equal.

I wonder what could have possibly brought Camden here, and then am answered by the Armed himself.

"Nothing of any particular. We're just on a training pilgrimage for Jenny Hearthborn here. As much honor as your Kingdom has earned, it would be an insult not to stop here and offer our aid for any suitable tasks you may have. Of course, the best learning is done in the field. If you have anything that my trainee could apply herself to, we would all be grateful." Camden leans forward and makes a graceful bow. The girls follow suit. Jenny has a focused edge to her, a hawk's stare.

I look to the Peacock King, as does the entire rest of the Court. He doesn't seem nervous at all. In fact, if I didn't know any better I'd think he welcomed the presence of Armed in his Kingdom. "...Well. I'm overwhelmed with blessings this morning. I apologize, Peacekeeper - I have no task that immediately comes to mind. My Kingdom is very peaceful, with no labor to be done that would suit your offices, even that of a trainee." He puts his hand to his chin. "And as I am planning a journey just this day, I do not think that I can set aside time to prepare any proper tests, as I have done before."

Camden straightens up. "Though your Kingdom is peaceful, good Sire, might we accompany you? Chie Hearthborn desires to learn the proper protocols of her work - guard work is of vital importance nowadays. Indeed, there might be no better time to learn than with such a beloved official of a peaceful Kingdom."

I blink. I never realized just how eloquent Camden was. With his wire-rimmed spectacles and neat appearance, he could be just as much a Poet as Gerald is.

...Gerald.

I don't want us to leave. I want to help Gerald. Maybe they can help him. Maybe I can get his plea to them, somehow. Only...would that cause just as much incident as Gerald freeing himself? I don't know. All I know is that they are his people, just as the Poets are also his people.

Gods, now I'm torn. Freeing Gerald and Faun would seem to be the best course...but what of the Kingdoms warring, once word got out of a Poet spy within the borders? And what of the Peacock King himself? I know he's a tyrant and I know he's a criminal...but I've seen him be kind, seen him be, well...human. It doesn't seem fair to me. I'm so confused.

I just wait, and watch, as the Peacock King hastily grants Camden's request before he has to explain why he doesn't desire such fine guards to accompany him.

* * *

The audience is dismissed soon, with the Armed staying behind to likely ready for their journey, or have a more private talk with the King. While everyone else is busy, I have some newfound time in which I'm not being watched or accounted for. I rush back to my room, taking a moment to check and see if the Peacock king looked through my things. I can't imagine what else he could have been doing in here all night. I see nothing disturbed, as if that means anything - he's clever enough to put things back where they belong.

I realize that being on a trip like this means that I'll have to do my recording more secretively. Diary writing is a normal thing, I suppose - a shame I don't have one. I take some parchment and a quill and inkwell with me and hope for some opportunity to use them in peace while I'm traveling - or for a bout of cleverness from myself to explain why I'm writing so much.

It's after this that my attention is brought back to the guns. I hunch down near the pot, place my hand on it, and say, "I'm traveling for a few days with the Peacock King."

'Aye, we've ears the same as you.'

* * *

I walk to where the King's caravan is waiting, my things all bundled up on my back or hanging from pouches. I've returned to my traveler's garb, with a few alterations - I'm wearing one of the robes the King gave me underneath the sashes and belts. The bullet is in my prized case of cigarettes. I thought it would be the most natural thing for me to be seen keeping safe.

The caravan is a simple affair - a supply wagon, a wagon for the King to ride in, and another wagon that appears to be an ornate wheeled cage. It earns a few eyebrow raises from Camden and his fellows, but the King merely says that it's for any 'interesting specimens of game' he may find along the way. I'm sure that had the Armed not showed up with no warning, that would be Faun's wagon. He is obviously not coming on this ride, now.

In fact, the King takes me aside for a moment to explain exactly that.

"They won't understand what I do within my own borders, Lotus. You know that. It's best not to tell them of the animism or of the Poet. I'm trying to settle things peaceably with the spy, after all - best to not get the Law involved, and get him in trouble." I agree with him, sincerity very present in my voice. After that, we climb into his wagon and begin our journey.

The King's wagon has large windows, perfect for enjoying the view of the countryside. It's magnificent, green rolling hills dotted with small trees, blue sky with torn-paper perfect white clouds scattered across its face. I realize I haven't been getting outside enough, even with the magnificent gardens in the Palace. Or perhaps anyone who was experiencing this view would think the same.

I realize the King's been watching me all this time. I blink. "Yes, Sire?" I'm getting better at that. I got the 'sire' right on the first go.

He smiles. "Nothing important. I just like to be there when someone sees this region of my lands for the first time."

I nod, then let my eyes explore outside the window again. I watch Camden and the two girls with him ride ahead. The archer, Jenny, is alert, Camden watching her closely. She scouts the horizon for any dangers, even though I'm sure there are none for this King within his Kingdom. Training is training, though.

...Really, the most danger for him is sitting in the wagon beside him, being watched by him. I wonder if that's why I was taken along - so that the Peacock King wouldn't be leaving behind a suspected spy to break out his captive Poet.

I watch the other girl, the one who was carrying the other Armeds' things. Her horse is loaded more than the others. I suppose she's just there as a servant of sorts. I wonder if she stays with the Armed in their Hall, or if she's just been hired for the trip. She reaches an arm up. A falcon plunges down and alights on her arm, where a leather guard is strapped on. I let out a little gasp.

"Mm?" The Peacock King leans down to look out of my window over my shoulder. "...Ahh. What a fine bird!" We both watch her look it in the eyes for a moment, as if they were communicating. Then, timed smoothly with the stride of her horse, she launches it back into the air. I realize that the King and I are both engrossed in this display of falconry. The girl urges her horse faster, keeping pace with the bird's flight above them.

"Is she using it as a lookout?" I squint up. The falcon's high above us now.

"Clever. She's got quite some skill - she makes it look so easy." I think I hear wistfulness in the King's voice. Odd.

"You could do the same, couldn't you? You're known for your gifts with birds more than any other type of animal."

He looks thoughtful, then his eyes scan the sky again. "It's...not the same."

"Ah." I settle back into my seat. I can't see the bird anymore; it's nothing but a dot in the sky now. "My King...I didn't ask before, I'm sorry. Where are we going?" I watch him settle back as well in his seat across from me. He folds his hands in his lap, lets his shoulders sink into the cushions behind him.

"We've a few stops on our way, but our destination is a garden of mine that is very precious to me. I must visit it often to ensure that everything there is as it should be." He sees me tilt my head to the side, smiles at the gesture. "It is named the Valley of Hespiredes. Perhaps you've heard stories of it. It is my treasure."

I nod. "I've heard a tale or two, my King." He waits for me to speak, expecting something. I'm pretty sure I know what. "I've heard some stories about the apples there, but I never understood them. Is there something special about them?" I watch his face grow thoughtful, but if he feels sadness, it's well-hidden.

"...There is something special in that valley, Lotus, but apples have no part of it." He'll say no more after that, telling me to wait until we arrive, so that I might see for myself in person. I leave the questions at that. The day's ride is long, and I fall asleep before it's even halfway done - at noon I'm in a sound doze.

* * *

Gerald's almost asleep, too, in his cell. It takes me a moment to realize that's where I am. Do dreams take me directly to him, now that I carry the bullet with me? I suppose I can try and ask the Guns later. For now, I'd like to talk to my brother. I open my mouth to greet him, as he's yet to notice me in his haze. Before I can get any sound out, though, he turns his head sharply to the side, facing the bars. I see shock hit his face for a split-second before it twists into a rictus of disgust and hatred.

I feel the smile of the visitor outside before I look up and see it - the expression is just that potent. He seems to project himself to the whole room, as if he were rubbing his elbows into every corner. I have trouble seeing him clearly at first - maybe it's the fact that I'm visiting while dreaming, but I can see energy even better now, and the aura surrounding him is dark and smoky, and ripples the light around it like a skim of oil across the surface of a broth. I try squinting, then realize I can edge closer with some semblance of safety. I'm a dream here, and I think the rest of the scene is really taking place. I can see them, but they can't see me. It's a shame. Gerald looks like he could use someone to soothe his nerves.

His visitor crosses his arms, his worn brown leather jacket creasing at the elbows. He's wearing black gloves, which look new in contrast. For some reason this fact sets me on edge. Maybe it's because I can almost smell the leather on his hands. He wears worn grey jeans, and his boots look old enough to be my Father's first pair. There's pouches hanging from his belt, odd lumps in them, some with strange letters branded into them. He doesn't wear a hat, which I almost expect - he has the air of a cowboy, though not of an Armed. He doesn't...have the touch of the Law on him. I'd say it was quite the opposite, but...

...Honestly, it's a little uncomfortable for me to talk about him. Describing him makes me feel greasy.

His face isn't worth noting, in a way. He just looks so normal, except for the touch of delighted malice to his eyes and in the corners of his mouth. There's stubble on his chin, and his brown hair is short, with the look of a haircut that's been self-applied. Needless to say, he's not wearing any makeup to compensate for the deep shadows under his eyes. I don't think he's even heard of the concept of a facial wash. In fact, I'm starting to wonder if he even washes.

That smell can't be Gerald.

Speaking of Gerald...I guess he's met this man, because no one could hate a person on sight to the degree that Gerald obviously does without knowing them from a previous encounter. I start to worry. This man looks like he could mean no good for any person in the world.

He chuckles, the sound echoing too long after he stops. "Why, Gerald. Fancy meeting you down here. Did your Father put you in here? Have you been a bad boy? You sure look like you've been grounded."

Gerald doesn't speak. He just spits. It doesn't make it outside of the bars - the collar flashes and jerks at his neck before he can aim it properly. I'm impressed that he tried to write Poetry from spit, though.

The man snorts, then plucks out an old rust-colored cigarette from a pocket in his jacket. "Poor aim, Armed. Your Father would be ashamed, if he weren't already. Look at you. Pathetic. To think I've chased you down across several countries, and then don't even have to round you up. All the work's been done for me." He tosses a hand up, then lights the cigarette with a flick of his wrist. "Takes the fun out of it, really. I'll have to send in a complaint to the King." He closes his eyes, smiles. Tsks. "We'll have so much fun while he's out on his trip, Gerald."

Gerald narrows his eyes. "You'll get nothing from me but wounds and reasons to beg forgiveness for your sins."

The man makes a cluck of surprise, like a scoff almost. "Such sure words. If you allowed your Arms to be taken from you then you're almost not worth dealing with. The only reason I'm bothering is because I think I might find it in me to enjoy it." He takes a step back, inhaling a drag on his cigarette, then looks to the side. "Now, where is the spare..." He runs his fingers along the bricks in the wall. I realize he's looking for a key to the cell.

...I don't want to be stuck in here with him, dream or no. I start thinking of something to do that can make him stay out, away from me and my brother.

Gerald lets out a puff of a sigh, a rather nonchalant gesture for someone who's in his position. "What are you doing in a place like this, Cade? The question applies much more to you than to me." He sounds so blase about it - weary and worn, like this is a routine for him. Maybe it is, at that. I don't know much at all about Gerald's history as an Armed. He did it for a long time before he trained to be a Poet too. It's altogether too likely that he's run across this man many times.

...Now, I may enjoy making fun of my brother, but I do hold his skills in very high regard, and always have. He's been something to measure myself against...and I've always been found wanting afterward Maybe that's made it hard for me, maybe it screwed me up a little - but the point still stands. Gerald is very skilled and highly regarded as a . If this man has managed to avoid being brought in by my brother up until now, he has to be clever, and very dangerous.

Suddenly, my hair is standing on end even more than it was before.

Cade smiles at the question. "The Peacock King is a very hospitable monarch. I always find a little something in his cupboards to nibble on, and he's always happy to extend the kindness of a scrap or two when my boys and I have been found wanting." His grin grows, stretching wider than I would think that his jaw would allow it to. "You'll learn all about it, soon."

Gerald raises an eyebrow. I have to hand it to him. Now that he's recovered from the shock of seeing his old nemesis here, he's calm and cool. "Really? I would find it strange that the Peacock King wouldn't take issue with you touching his goods without permission. He's so possessive, after all. Are you sure you have permission to even be in here?" It's amazing. He's so laid back about it that I have to blink to make sure he doesn't have his own cigarette.

...The guest seems taken aback. He also seems very uncomfortable with the feeling of being on the accused end. I guess that isn't something that's common for him. "...He'll let me into there. He'll likely request the honor before I even have a chance to bridge the matter to him. He respects me. He likes seeing me work."

Gerald barks a short, low laugh. "Then why are you not so confident that you'll start on it without his supervision? That's always like you, Cade - inventing your own importance where you have none."

There's suddenly a loud clanging in the cell - Cade's kicked the bars, fury hanging on his face like wet clothes on a line. "Don't mouth off to me, boy. I can still hurt you from out here. I've done it to enough of your kind here." His grin grows. "I don't have to touch you to make you suffer. Just ask your sister." He raises an eyebrow as Gerald jerks at his manacles. I made the same jump as my brother did. Which sister? When? How could someone like this get to one of my sisters?

"Liar." Gerald's eyes narrow again.

Cade's chuckle climbs up through the cell, winding and shrill. "Oh? Really? How can you be so sure? Should I tell you a story about it, so you can judge for yourself?" His grin should be slipping off of the side of his cheek now. I want to help it along that track. I wonder if I can slug him through the bars, even though I'm only dreaming. I think it's worth a try.

...I swear Gerald glances up at me to warn me off of it. "Don't bother. I know all my sisters' stories. Can't avoid them when everyone tries that angle to rile me up. You haven't touched either. You'd smell better if you had."

Cade's lip curls up at the rebuttal. "Cute. Little Judge's son thinks he's so clever." He hunkers down and leans forward so that he's at Gerald's eye level, almost pressing up to the bars. "Words won't get you out of there. They'll just make your screaming more articulate."

Gerald brightens up. "You're expanding your vocabulary? That's wonderful. It'll make it more of a challenge to be condescending towards you." He pauses. "That means talking down to a person, Cade. Do you want to write it down in your little notebook where you keep the names of the whores who didn't give you the clap?"

The man's face is frozen in shock, that stupid grin still welded into his cheeks while anger grows in his eyes. The cigarette burns down to his finger, burns into the glove, and he throws it down with a curse. I jump, then feel the floor buckle under me.

Everything shakes. I cry out, try to grab for Gerald, and then plummet down into spiraling darkness.

* * *

I'm moving back and forth. I open my eyes. The Peacock King is shaking me by the shoulders. His eyes are full of concern.

"Lotus? Are you alright?"

I blink, rub my forehead, and let myself fade back into the waking world. I feel more tired now than when I fell asleep. I squint at the King. "M'fine...was I makin' noises? How long was I out?"

The King tsks and shakes his head. "You're such a loud sleeper. I'll have to make a note of that." He sighs, looking out the window. "You've been out for under an hour. You're missing beautiful scenery. It's barely noon yet and I've no one to talk to while you doze."

I hunch down under the nagging assault. "My apologies, sire." I stretch, unable to hold in a yawn. What was I dreaming of? ...Wait, I don't want to be awake. I want to sleep again to check back on my brother.

'Worry not about him. Ye can see him later, when you're not directly under the eyes of the King.'

* * *

...It has been a long day. I've a tent to sleep in, now. I'm staying with the Armed, writing in my journal before I sleep. The Peacock King, Ebrellin-i, has something to attend to right now, so he won't miss my presence.

That's for the better, anyway. If I'd stayed with him tonight...

Well, I guess I wouldn't have time to write this, now would I?

When I left off last time, he took me to meet the tree. Zalriadri-tchillseh-driall. I'm surprised I even remembered the name. As it is, I'm sort of guessing at the spelling. It was pretty easy to feel out, though. Somehow, it feels like it rings right. Maybe I'm just good with names and I don't know it.

She was the King's first. This is something he's waited to show me for awhile, it seems. And I wish I remembered more of the encounter. But as I took her hand and bent to kiss the back of it, I began to see things in the back of my head. It didn't overlay my vision, or I likely would have given away through my actions and distraction that something was wrong. It was like hearing something down the hall while you hold a normal conversation.

No, while the King introduced me to his first tamed spirit, his first conquest, one of his prides...I began to see my brother. And I kept that in the back of my head, let it play out while I went on with my business. I saved it until now, when I can finally lay out what happened on that other side, when I can finally look through it and pin it down.

Gerald was tired. Slumped in his chains, sore, eyes hooded and head sagging. Like the last time I saw him, except more exhausted than bored. I expected him to slip into sleep at the next moment, but the creak of a door swinging on its hinges jerked him awake. He looked up to Cade walking through the door of his cell, a cigarette in his hand, and men at his back.

Gerald's eyes followed the man, or whatever you might label Cade as, without blinking. His jaw was set firm, no expression on his face beyond focus and a growing stubborn anchoring of his will. I've seen that expression on my Father's face before. In an odd way, it gave me confidence that things would be okay. Father always gets his way. Always.

Cade hunched down, knees bending until he was looking at Gerald on his eye level. He took a puff of his cigarette, savored it for a moment, then exhaled through his teeth. A tendril of smoke managed to drift to Gerald's nose. My brother's lip coiled. He blew the smoke away from him.

The man only grinned. "I knew you'd say that." He gestured for one of his men outside the cell to come in by waving the other hand. There was an old leather whip coiled up in it. Gerald paid it no mind.

"...So." Gerald raised a nonchalant eyebrow at Cade. "I suppose you've a purpose in interrupting my beauty rest." His eye twitched as another coil of smoke brushed against his face. Cade's face brightened up from the reaction. The man walked up behind where he hunched, then dangled something over his shoulder. It shined. I saw Gerald startle at it.

It was different than a pair of handcuffs. They reminded me very much of something the Peacock King would keep. Too shiny, almost decorative. Handcuffs would be iron or steel - these were silver, maybe even platinum. Cade took them, dangled one cuff from each index finger, playing with them. His grin grew as he watched light play over the links.

The other two men walked into the cell. One of them had a ring of keys that I knew had to be the King's.

Gerald humphed. "What do you think you're going to do with that?"

Cade's eyes glittered. "I just think you need to be kept somewhere more secure, is all. The Peacock King will thank me when he comes back. If I'd left you here, likely one of his servants would have made a slip and let you escape." He reaches forward, grabbing Gerald under the chin, lifting up. "We can't have that, now can we, boy? We've only just begun to have fun. You need a better place to sleep, anyways. I can even provide you a bed." After that, it's hard to tell what happened. I saw Cade reach back and then hit Gerald in the head. I saw another of the men come up and lay another blow on him. I even saw the red jewel in Gerald's collar flash. After that, black. If what I see is dependent on my connection to Gerald, then I suppose if he's unconscious, I can't see anything.

I would be more worried now, if I didn't see more than that.

There was the slightest faded-in impression of lying on a bed, sometime after that. By the time I saw it, we were back in the carriage and I was making idle chatter with the King. I don't even remember what we spoke of. Mostly his trees, his holdings. I was feeding his ego very thoroughly. It kept him from noticing that I was troubled by something.

It was when we were making camp this evening that I finally saw anything further than that. Gerald woke up in his bed. His arms were cuffed above his head again, to the two corners of the bed there. His ankles were cuffed to the corners on the other end. He was dizzy. He was conscious of the fact that more had been done to him than mere beating. He felt like he was falling, and like he was floating at the same time. He felt like he was spinning. Like if he leaned to one side, the bed would lean with him too. He felt most of all like he should close his eyes and let himself get pulled under, just so the world would stop rocking.

He did not. He looked to the side. He felt Cade watching him. The man was a blur sometimes, sometimes shifting from one side to the other. But he was there. Sitting at a desk, a pipe to his lips now, looking up at Gerald as he wrote something with a quill. It was strange - the quill tapered to grey near its tip, and began to twist and curl in a way that didn't look natural.

Gerald's brows drew together in anger. "You stole that." The words were low and quiet, calm in a way that spoke more of rage than shouting would. Cade only smiled brightly and laid down the quill.

"Maybe its owner just forgot to say he gave it to me." He cocked his head. "Do you miss him? Or did you even hear? You Poets get the news much slower than you think you do." He tossed a hand up, waving the issue away. "No matter. You'll meet him soon enough. After you've had your stay here." He saw Gerald's anger rise. "Oh, am I not going to be able to just brush away the issue like that?" He stood in a sweeping motion that was much faster than I expected, but Gerald did. Within seconds, Cade was leaning down, inches from his face.

"Do you have a problem, Poet?" His breath stank of tobacco and chewed cloves. Gerald coughed, as much as he tried to repress the reaction.

"Where is Elric." It's not even a question. It's a statement, as heavy and cold as lead. Cade blinks.

"...Safe." He smiled. "But far away, for now. Maybe you should behave yourself, if you'd like that to change at all. Or if you want his condition to remain the same." He drug up a chair, then sat, raised an eyebrow. Inhaled from that curious long-stemmed pipe. "Some position you're in to help him, though. Do you just want a friend? You have plenty, where you'll be going. Elric might even join you there." He grinned, end of the pipe clamped between his unnervingly wide teeth.

Gerald is silent for a moment. I could see that he was thinking hard about his next choice of words. I know it had to be hard to interrogate from the position he's in. It's really hard to tell who was doing the real grilling, in fact. "Why should I believe you have any of them? We've received no reports to lead me to believe it." It's odd. I can tell straight away that he was lying as I write this, even though his language didn't give it away, through his voice or his body.

Cade's eyes narrowed, his smirk grew thoughtful. "Hmph. As if your organization's reports meant anything. You all think you know what's really going on in the world." His eyes shone like a magpie who's just found a particularly alluring bit of foil. "I know what's going on, at least. You'll soon know more, of course, because of where you'll be going." He tsks, shook his head. "But...I'll let the King say goodbye to you, first." He reached down, poked his thumb against Gerald's forehead, and pressed. "Now go to sleep, darling. He'll be back to kiss you goodbye in a few days."

It was the creepiest thing I think I've ever heard in my life, coming from his mouth. Gerald jerked, his mouth opening to let out a cry. A pain sparked through his forehead, like it was being burned. Then his eyes went wide, and everything blurred. The moment hung there. Everything felt slow, loose.

Cade blew a puff of smoke into his face.

Darkness came over Gerald slowly, like being pushed down into layers of thick blankets until the covers crept over his head. Then he was out. Then he was truly asleep.

...I'm shaking. It takes me a couple of moments to calm my hand enough to keep writing. I'm not done yet. Still, I break for a few minutes, as I've been handed a mug of tea to calm my nerves.

I was right. I couldn't have written this if I'd stayed with the Peacock King. It's because he'd have felt that something was wrong. I'm too afraid now. I hear Camden telling me to calm down, firm up. It's unsettling to write things like this, but he says the only way to help is to keep focused and keep moving forward. He's right.

We're at our destination now. It didn't take as long as I expected, considering that the trip was to be for several days. It turns out that the King expects to stay here for at least a day and a half. Once we arrived, he left the wagon and proceeded alone, telling me to stay with our guards for the night.  I wasn't sure of what to reply to him. Before I could think of anything, the girl with the falcon looked up to the King.

"Sire? May Tambor'in hunt on these lands?" It was the first time I'd heard her speak. The King looked down at the girl. She was so much smaller than him. She was smaller than me, even. Her falcon was even petite. Her voice, though, was clear and confident, even though it was low in volume.

He smiled, something I didn't quite expect. His demeanor had turned more serious once we reached the valley. "Tambor'in, is it? Surely she may hunt the lands outside of the Valley of Hespiredes. But do not allow her to fly into it or you will lose her. The same goes for any other animal of yours." He looked up to the whole group. "You may hunt here for what is needed, though my supply wagon is open to you as well." He then turned and left.

Camden looked down to the girl with the falcon. He tilted his head. "Rachella? Is there something the King has said that bothers you?" The girl looked back up to him.

"Tambor'in wouldn't leave me, even flying out that far." She frowns as Camden makes a knowing smile.

"He did not mean to imply that you were inadequate in training your bird, Rachella. He only meant to warn you of the properties of that valley." He points out to it. "There are no wild animals in there. Perhaps you have not been taught the story yet...though I would find that strange." His voice is a bit quieter at that last part, and his eyes skirt over to me. I wonder if I'm not exactly welcome to hear this conversation, but it would look awkward to leave, now. And...there's really no one else to go to besides stinky horse drivers or the few servants the King brought with him. They don't even have any fashion sense.

Rachella's eyes widen just a little as she seems to realize something. "Animals who enter the valley as well? I thought only the animals that were already in it went...strange." She looks down at her falcon, her face growing a little more horrified at the thoughts going through her head. I can't blame her. What Camden said is starting to fully become clear to me. Every animal that is ever in the valley, not just the ones who were there when Hespiredes was tamed. Every bird that flies over. Every deer that wanders in. Every one of them, tame and obedient, all the wild driven out.

The King can have the Valley. I don't want to go in there. I don't want to see what's become of the fauna inside. Rachella is thinking the same thing, I can tell. Maybe we all are.

Camden sighs, then shakes his head, fingers splayed above the wire rims of his glasses. "Let's make camp, girls." It takes me a moment to realize that he's not referring to me as well.

...Then he looks back over his shoulder at me as they begin to walk to their horses, and I realize that he is.

Rachella and I found firewood together in a nearby stand of trees. She giggled as I grunted and gasped at the manual labor. "Silly boy. I'm tinier than you and I can carry twice as much."

I sigh, trying to blow a strand of hair from my eyes and failing miserably. "That's because you're a girl."

She giggled, amber eyes merrily shining. "Oh? And what's that supposed to mean, boy?"

I lean down, wince at the ache growing in my back, and pick up another small limb. "It means that girls are smarter and stronger than any boy ever was, and if I say otherwise, both my sisters will come and beat me." She giggles so hard at that that she begins to drop sticks.

We start to build the fire together, but soon Camden walks over, looks at what we're doing, and begins to tsk. "No, not like that. Like this." He begins to stack the sticks and limbs in a more orderly manner than we had. I see Rachella paying close attention...and blushing very hard from the correction. I suppose fire-building must be one of her duties.  She's so very studious about following his instructions, though.

Camden looks up at me, his eyes narrowing a bit as he focuses through his glasses. "You've been with us for awhile now. Why are you staying here? The King's carriage has many more comforts than we can offer you." His eyes flick over my clothing as he says this. I realize that my traveler's garb isn't exactly the rugged wear that's expected for trail living. It's really just high fashion with a serviceable touch. I only smile and shrug.

"I like your company. I'm sorry, should I leave? I can, if you'd like."

"No!" Rachella cuts in before Camden can voice his reply. She shrinks down a little under his gaze, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry sir, I just like him, is all." Again, she looks so nervous at his approval.

Camden just gives a solemn nod. "It's fine. I just didn't want to be wasting the boy's time." His eyes flick up to my face again, and linger there. My eyes lock with his, and I realize I can't break away, even though I'd like to try. It's different than being held by the Peacock King's gaze. It's more like being held by my Dad's.

I realize that thought is only making me look nervous, while being inspected by an Armed, at that. Camden blinks, seems to make some sort of recognition, then shakes it off. He proffers his hand. "My apologies. I've been a bit rude, and I've yet to even give my name to you formally." I shake his hand. He has a firm grip. I try to match it, but something tells me this is the handshake he gives to the ladies. "My line is Briarseal. I give you leave to call me by my given name, Camden." His eyes flick up to mine. He still holds my hand. I realize it's my turn to reply.

I'm unfamiliar with these customs. Before now, I always met Armed through my family ties, so the introductions and rituals were completely different. I've witnessed them in the sense that we're engaging in now, but not participated directly. And all that is just to put off facing this particularly uncomfortable reality: I have to give my name to a man of the Law, and the name I'm currently using in service to the Peacock King is a lie.

I try to put on as much confidence and soak myself in as much calm as I can. Acting is difficult, though, when it comes to someone who has no trouble sniffing out the Truth in me. "I am called Lotus." It's the Truth, still. And I see no trouble pass over the Armed's face. Relief passes over me.

...Still, he doesn't release my hand.

"I see." He nods, propping up his glasses on his nose with his other hand. "Tell me...Lotus. Is that also the name your Father calls you?" His eyes are on me again. I couldn't escape them before they hooked me.

"...No." The Truth is always the best choice with him. For one, it makes him release my hand, though I've no idea why. He takes a step back, as do I. We regard each other. Rachella watches. I have the barest sense that she's tensing, possibly staying fixed on a weapon she has concealed.

"...I must apologize." Camden dusts off his gloves as he speaks. "I don't remember what your Father introduced you as, when we first met. It was years ago, and you were young. I almost didn't realize who you were." He sees me wilt as he goes on.

I forgot. I forgot that Father had introduced Camden to all of us when I was younger. I only remembered seeing him around, on the business of the Law. If I had realized, I'd have tried to hide my face better with my makeup. What I have on is enough to not make the King think of my resemblance to my Father, but for someone who'd already met me...

The barest hint of a smile lights on his face. "Oh. Oh yes. Lyric. I remember now, because one of your brothers is named Lute. In fact, I believe your Father introduced you two as a matched pair, like Gerald and Gerude." The smile tugs stronger at the corner of his mouth.

I sigh.

He gestures for me to sit beside the fire that he's about to start. "My, boy. You sure are in a lot of trouble."  He only chuckles at the despair that spreads across my face at that proclamation.

I dust off the ground a bit, then settle, looking back at Camden.  He's reaching into one of the pouches hanging from his belt, likely for flint and steel.  Unless he means to teach Rachella to make fire by rubbing two sticks together or something rustic like that.  I feel a whump on the ground next to me, then look over to see that the pack-bearer, or student, or whatever, has decided to take up a seat next to me.  She smiles at me, eyes wide and bright.  I feel her gauntleted hand thump a few times between my shoulders.  "Cheer up," she says.  "If it were the end of the world, we'd still have the best view.  That's what the King always tells me."

I see Camden go still, then look up at Rachella with an expression I've not seen on his face yet.  It glues the girl in place.  She pales.  His eyes narrow.  She bows her head.

"I beg pardon, Sire.  My tongue has run out before my head."  She sounds as solemn as a grave.

His eyes only narrow farther. "Pray next time you make a slip like that, Rachella, that it once again isn't around anyone who is any danger to you." She and I both wince at that, though obviously for different reasons.

I pull up my knees and wrap my arms around them. I feel cold, even though the air is warm tonight. King, huh? Not the Peacock King, of course. I feel them both looking at me, the two pairs of eyes so intent that it almost warms me up. Time to state the obvious, I guess. I know what it is that Rachella managed to leak. "I guess you mean the Poet King. It sounds like something he would say. My Father always said he was more kind in tough situations than anyone else had a right to be." I sigh. I don't understand how much trouble I'm in, by now. I understand that I'm in a lot of it, yes. I just...it's all mixing together now. There's no point in even keeping track by now, is there? Everything's a bigger mess by the moment. By the time another hour passes, the world will have come crashing down on my shoulders. I lean my head down against my knees. It is the end of the world, and the view is awful. I wish I had someone like the Poet King to comfort me. The closest I have to someone like that is Ebrellin-i, and he doesn't comfort me. He just makes me nervous that he'll try to do more than comfort.

I feel a hand on my shoulder just as I realize I'm crying. I don't look up. I know it's Rachella's anyways. I just close my eyes and try to take it as something to calm me. I'm so tired. I wish I were home, but at the same time I'm afraid to. I'm so afraid of everything.

The air feels warm, and I hear crackling from the newborn fire.  I feel another whump on the ground at my other side. Did Camden sit down? It certainly feels like someone very tall is next to me. It's quiet for a few more moments. Then, Camden's clear voice cuts through the void. "Your Father has asked that any Armed or Poet notify him if we find any hint of your whereabouts. I have to send in notice to him when I make my next report. It should be a week until that happens." He's quiet for a few more moments, letting that sink in. "It gives you time to run, if you want. If I were you, I wouldn't. Don't make it worse for your Father and yourself. We can escort you home, if you like." He's as kind as Rachella is, just more adult and more grounded. My panic almost ebbs.

Go home with him? End everything, as if it's so easy? I really wish I could. I try to say something, open my mouth, and something catches in my throat before I can speak. I choke on the word, whatever it was going to be, and then the tears come back. I sob into my knees, fall apart right there. Just go home? Everything could be simple? Everything's waiting to come down around my ears - that was the signal for it all to drop.

Neither says anything. Rachella's hand rubs at my back. I wish I could call it a comfort. But nothing's a comfort now. It's not their fault. They couldn't know. I hear Camden sigh, a sound from someone who is trying to be polite and deal with other people's children. I know he's doing the best he can, really. He's tried to be nice.

"If it helps, I'll tell him myself where you were and why, if you tell me why you came to this place, Lyric." He sounds so open. He really does want to help me. He really cares. "It can't be that bad, can it? You ran out of places to run. You didn't understand what you were getting into. You're not legally bound to the Peacock King, you know. As a citizen of your Kingdom, we can easily get you out of any entanglements. Even any sorceries, if things have progressed that far."

That's the last straw. I curl up as tight as I can, trying to block out his voice, Rachella's touch, everything. Block out the world. Just for a moment. Then I let out a heave that's half exhale, half sob, and uncurl. I wipe my face and look up at Camden for just a moment. Then I reach into the sash of my robe and pull out the box.

"I...I'm sorry, I didn't know how to tell you, and I'm so afraid by now..." I can feel Camden's confused scrutiny as I open the box. My cigarettes. "I don't know what to do anymore. I...please don't do something rash. Please let me explain first." I find the bullet. I hold it up. Rachella gasps. Camden jerks, some startled noise barking out of his throat. "I can feel my brother through this. Gerald. He left his guns to me when he got captured here. The Peacock King is threatening to cause a war if he doesn't...there's a man who has him now...the animism's still in the cell...the King suspects I'm a spy and I don't...I don't...I just don't know what to do!" I hurl myself into Camden's arms. He's silent. Looking back, I could have chosen something less awkward to do to him at that moment. It's not important, now. What's important is that once that's out, I start to explain what's happened so far that I know. I even pull out my journal and show what I've written today.

After that...after that, it got even more awkward. I've never been ordered to write. I've never been watched as I do so. Rachella would look over my shoulder, goad me on when I got stuck in parts, when I didn't want to go any further. I recounted Gerald's ordeal as far as I could feel it out. I pressed on, no matter how much Cade scared me. I wrote it all out, every bit that I could, and then just pressed the journal into Rachella's hands, paying no heed to whatever of myself I'd exposed in my writings. I didn't care what secrets I shouldn't have given away. My brother was far more important than my dignity.

Camden stared down at the paper, frowning at certain parts, looking thoughtful at others. He looked alarmed at one or two parts, then startled. He called me over to the part he was reading, pointed to a passage. "This. Lyric. Are you sure you heard him say this? It was that name?"

I look down at what I had written, scanning the paragraph for context. "...Yes. Gerald asked where Elric was. I remember it as if I was still there." I see Rachella's head snap up at the name. "...Who is Elric?"

Camden puts his hand up for quiet, waves me away again. He keeps scanning the journal. "...Thank you. I'll ask the rest of my questions later. You've done a good job," he mutters absently. I only look back at him with confusion, and then Rachella taps my shoulder.

"Camden is Elric's brother," she whispers into my ear. My heart sinks a little. I turn towards her.

"Do you know anything about that Cade guy? What's his story?" I whisper back to her.

She clenches her jaw, her brow furrowing. "He's...notorious, Lyric. What you wrote that I saw over your shoulder...it's very typical of him. If he's keeping Gerald at the Palace until the Peacock King returns...that would be to everyone's advantage. He's taken our people before and we've seen no signs of them again." Her face is very, very troubled, like there's a dark cloud over it.

"...Your people?" The sick feeling in my stomach starts to pulse and ache in worse and worse ways.

"...Poets and Armed, Lyric. He kidnaps them. Other people too. But he hunts...us." She looks to the side. "I might as well get it out: I'm training to bear Arms. I've been a Poet for years. Camden's Poet too, but of course he's famed for his high position as an Armed."  She sees me nod. I understand. I had some of it figured out already, in fact.

Camden finishes with my journal then, and looks up at me. "Lyric." He gestures for me to come sit by him. I settle next to him. He has the journal open on the ground. It's near the beginning of our trip. "I'm going to assume you have the events before the journey written down as well. It certainly reads as if you do." He leans back, looks up at the sky. It's faded to black now, stars dotting the canvas from horizon to horizon. "You're keeping them in a safe place?" The lilt of his voice at the end of that sentence suggests that if I'm not, I'm about to get a lecture and a slap on the wrist, no matter whether or not I'm one of his apprentices. I nod promptly. He relaxes, his shoulders lowering just a sliver. "See to it that you keep doing so. Because you're going to keep writing." He looks to my face to see my reaction.

It's just a blink. I hadn't really thought about it. There wasn't really a question for me, just like apparently there's none for Camden. Of course I'll keep writing. Why would I stop now? I tilt my head at him. He smiles.

"Good. Now, I know you must be keeping your brother's Arms in a safe place now, or else I'd see a finger or two missing from you. They'd enforce that themselves. There's really only one safety precaution that calls for my time now." He points down at a later passage, that took place in the wagon.

I blush, and say nothing in reply.

He nods. "Don't get near him. He is smarter than you, and he will find you out, Jhe Lotus." He doesn't bat an eye at using my pseudonym, even though he sees me wince at the point made from it. "Don't...dissemble about it. It is a blessing that you have gotten as close to him as you have." His head moves just barely, and he smiles. "Jenny, how many spies have been planted successfully under the Jherent o'Audiva Rocale's wings?" He looks to the side, in the brush. I follow his gaze, as does Rachella, who appears somewhat embarrassed that she's been caught off her guard, even by an ally.

The archer grins, stepping through the tall grass until she drops to her knees beside Camden in a careless flop. She's still crunching a bite from an apple that's in her hand. "Way back, I remember we got a kid in there to tell us a few things, but I think it was just a visiting diplomat's munchkin.  Managed to sneak into a room without permission, thought he was raiding a pantry. So other than a mishap with a child barely out of toddling years, we've had no inside men remain inside men. There have been a few short duties done, alike to Gerald's mission, where the spy has been a nearly invisible observer. A few of those have been successful." She shrugs, the heavy mantle on her shoulders shifting oddly with the motion. She adjusts it, then decides to start unbuckling it and remove it entirely.

Camden observes her with just a hint of dryness. "But as for agents posing as members of his own Court, there have been no successes?" He raises an eyebrow. She grins a little, then just gives a nod and a flip of her hair. He shakes his head and sighs. "How long have you been sitting in the brush, listening to all of this? Enough to know everything that's happening, I'm sure." He sounds weary, but completely unsurprised to have been spied on by his...is she supposed to be his student? I don't think she really is. I think that I'm not the only actor in this group.

She only grins longer, then turns her attention to her boots, which she begins unlacing. They go all the way up to her thighs, so it looks like something that could be quite an ordeal. She sighs between her teeth, the exhalation becoming a low whistle. "Maybe Gerald should stick to other missions, and I should have been the one to go in for a full-silence covert operation. He's loyal and has a good work effort, but always did fumble a bit when it came to the subtleties of the game." Her tone grows sad near the end of the sentence. Myself, I feel a pang, and look away. Rachella lays a hand on my shoulder.

"...Yes. There is that to attend to." Camden looks over at me. "Lyric, I'm afraid I won't be able to notify your Father of your whereabouts. We can't leave this area with the situation as it is. We cannot leave Gerald where he is now, nor allow him to be taken elsewhere. You are going to have to continue working for the Jherent o'Audiva Rocale as our spy. It's not something that I am comfortable planning, but to do otherwise would endanger too many. And if an incident arises...none will be left to give aid to your friend animism." He peers into the night, eyes focusing on something distant, something not there at all, really. His fingers pluck at a twig lying on the ground as he ponders. "...We're playing chess, now. This is no gun-flashing raid, no extermination sweep. You're going to have to follow instructions. You're going to have to act on intuition when no instructions arrive. In other words, Lyric, you must continue acting as you have been up until now. I'm doing everything short of drafting you." He closes his eyes then, looking a little sickened. I look worse, I'm sure.

No, he couldn't just ride me back home and escort me back to my old, responsibility-free life. That life is long gone now. I don't think I'll ever have it back.

I miss it, all the same.

* * *

Rachella is the one that guides me away and helps me settle down. "Would you like to sleep outside of the tent? It gets all stuffy in there, you know. I love sleeping under the stars, myself. Have you ever done that?" She catches my hand. I look at her. Her eyes are lit up at the prospect. She's so excited. So bright.

I can't help but be caught up by something like that.

We settle down in sleeping bags, staring up at the sky. My eyes trace over the stars, not bothering to track the constellations that I recognize, not bothering to navigate. I need something to get lost in now. Rachella knew that.

She's looking over at me, meanwhile. "...Lyric? How long have you been on the road, alone?"

I blink and keep watching the stars overhead. From this position, with this view, and while talking to this person, the question doesn't put me on the defensive like it usually would. I think over it. "I was thirteen when I left. I'm twenty-three now. So...it's been ten years by this point." I frown a little, considering the silver and white pinpoints above me. "I don't feel that much older. I don't think about the time that much, to be honest." I see her nod out of the corner of my eye.

"It feels like that for me, and most of the others I've talked with. Time seems to move slower than it passes. I wonder why that is." She lets out a long sigh, then holds a hand up, a long blade of grass pinched between two fingers. "I miss the days in the Academy, sometimes. I felt so young then. I still feel young now...but now it doesn't feel so genuine. It feels like I should be old, you know?" I nod in reply.

The silence stretches on for awhile, comfortable and warm, like a padding for us both. When she breaks it, it's not so much an abrupt thing as just a natural end. "How long have you been writing?"

I laugh softly. "Several days?" I feel her surprise. "I've written before, of course, when I had to. For the little schooling that I got. I'd keep journals every now and then. Nothing important. I think this trip's diary has been the first thing of any substance that I've ever written and then showed to anyone else. It felt strange for him to read it. Mister Camden." I sigh. "I'm just doing what I can while Gerald can't. I'm sure he'll do better, when he's out." She's silent for awhile after that. I wonder if something's wrong, and start to turn towards her. Before my gaze turns entirely from the stars, she speaks.

"I think...maybe what you do will be more than enough, Lyric. What's been written already, and what you'll write, to come. Maybe that will be enough. Did you..." She turns towards me. I look at her, finally. "Did you ever think about that?"

"Think about what?"

She opens her mouth, then hesitates. She's thinking about something very hard. I'm just not sure what. "Gerald...when did he become a Poet?" Her face gets a tinge of concern when I sigh so heavily.

"That was right before I left.  I...I forget, really. If I meant to leave already, and then high-tailed it when he left for the Academy, or if that was the final straw. I don't remember the final straw, anymore. I just remember I had to clear out of there or I'd never be able to stand myself." I see her face, see her reaction to that, and then think I should look back up at the stars again. They're known for their beauty. They're not known for the kind of compassion that makes my stomach go numb when I start to receive it. "I felt better when I was gone."

I feel her hand on my shoulder. It's that little nudge that makes me realize that the stars are blurring in my sight, and the tears are probably showing. "Why?" She could be asking why I left, or why I felt better. Really, though, they both come down to the same thing.

"It just felt like there wasn't any room for me there anymore, and if I wanted space, I'd have to leave. I could say that he was too good, that I couldn't reach that bar he'd raised, he and my other siblings. And I think it's true. But it...just, everyone, the way they were...I didn't even have enough room to breathe." I take a deep breath and sigh. "Everything was so clear right before I left. I had to get out. Even if Gerald was leaving anyways, because of where he was going, he'd be even more there, you know? Once I left it was all alright. I was almost too busy trying to keep my neck safe, and keep my head afloat, to really think too much about it at the time...but at least I could breathe out there. At least I was on my own. It meant a lot, and I couldn't tell you how. It just did." When there's no reply, I start to worry. Maybe I've let too much spill out. Maybe what I'd never told anyone should have remained that way. Then I feel her stir, just a little. Hear her shift in her sleeping bag.

"...I know how you feel."

...Maybe I've been waiting a little too long to hear that said.

There's nothing said after that, but nothing really needed to be. We just watched the stars together. Sometime during that, we fell asleep, and there was peace.

* * *

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Poet and Apprentice Armed Rachella Dovetail's Travel Log
* * *

Seeing the Peacock King's country as we have is such a rare opportunity. I never thought I'd have the chance before I started training for Arms. These days it seems like I'm traveling just about everywhere with Mister Camden. It's very exciting! As always Mister Camden makes me a little nervous, but that's probably true for everyone he interacts with. Except maybe girlfriends. Well, I don't know. If I was Camden's girlfriend, I would be very nervous. But I don't really want to think about that.

Tambor'in and I are learning together, it seems. It's like she changes every day, grows every day, even though we both stay so small. Often falconers let loose their birds and adopt another every few years, but I'm beginning to wonder if she and I will work together for longer than that. Camden says it should be decided by what the bird wants, and I agree with that.

The Peacock King was very imposing in Court! I'm glad I was posing as the bag hauler while we were in audience. I didn't want to be noticed, and Camden's right. It really does work. Nobody expects anything of me or from me, which means he's a lot freer to train me. It's safer when I'm not so sharply observed. Which is funny, considering how much of a pro Jenny is at not being seen at all. I suppose that was also part of Camden's plan. He makes so many intricate plans. I can't keep track of them, and I really do try. He said different agents are better at different skills, and not to be surprised if I can't keep up with him in that regard. But that only makes me want to try harder!

I miss the Hall a lot, and I...well, I guess I did expect to. Who I really miss is our King. It's hard after you leave, and you're so used to being a student, and he's around the Hall all of the time. It's so easy to get used to our King being so near. That and all of the other Poets who are training, or who stay in the Hall...when everyone else is around, I feel a lot different. Everyone's always telling stories and jokes, singing songs. There's so much talking and so many distractions. I don't know, in a way I like being out here and away from all of that, though. I have space to think here, space to create. I'm very focused on my training right now, but if I have some spare time I might try to start drawing, or make my own set of pipes. Camden's played his violin a few times so far and I would love to accompany him.

The new boy is interesting. I haven't been able to talk with him yet, but he's cute, and he's writing right now too. His stage name is cute too: Lotus. Maybe we can talk during dinner tonight, if the King eats with us as well. I'd really like that.

It's strange to think that we're traveling and eating with the very King we're spying on. I took Camden's suggestion and didn't dwell too much on our mission today. He says the most important part is for me to act natural - the information will come to me that way. More invasive, prying methods are best tried after more training's been done. That's a relief to me, really. I have so much to pay attention to and so much to learn - knowing that I just need to behave normally takes a weight off of my shoulders.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Peacekeeper Camden Briarseal's Travel Log
* * *

The Peacock King remains, as ever, inscrutable. At least, that is what he'd prefer to think. There is no evidence of any misdemeanors or wrongdoings. Simply enough evades and obfuscations to make it worth our while to keep more eyes on him, if that will ever be possible. He's following the same patterns, making no surprise moves. Collecting new servants and exotics as usual, though I'm sure he'd not appreciate how many of them I know of from just this visit. His border controls are as stiff as ever, giving off yet again the impression that he has much to hide.

He is cordial to myself and my two riders. I am hoping that we'll be able to see more of the inside of his Kingdom than most in our ranks tend to, what with our new position as his temporary, albeit unneeded, guards. It's amusing to watch him squirm about that. I'd say that his discomfort from so many Armed surrounding him is another small testament to his likely guilt, but the truth of the matter is that any of the public would squirm just as much from our presence. That can't be helped. They should be squirming, all told. That's just a part of life.

While riding, I'm going over our deployments. I knew before I left for this Kingdom that Gerald was here, spying now as a Poet instead of an Armed. However it wants to be labeled, it comes out to the same thing in the end. I've seen no trace of him, which is a relief. Considering that it was Gerald, I worried a small amount over whether he'd be too unsubtle for the assignment. So far he has my commendation - he didn't expect our arrival, but he has yet to give himself away to us or be revealed by us. I mark that as a sign of improvement for the boy.

Otherwise, Elric's been deployed for quite some time. He's taking more time than we expected to finish this last mission, but it is quite far out into foreign territory. He's a careful worker, too. But he is also known for getting things done expediently. Perhaps after this assignment I should request the King order him to take a break. Lords know that's the only way it'll happen - if it were left up to Elric, he'd never stop working. In any case, there's no reason for concern thus far, other than what's already been expressed. He's been sending in regular correspondences. Rather brief in detail than usual, I might note. He must be quite busy.

The Peacock King has seen fit to link a large wheeled cage to his train of wagons. To be honest it makes us nervous from time to time despite his insistence that it is merely for any game he finds along the way that he'd like to make into a pet. I wonder at the original intent of the thing, but for now wondering is all that I may be doing for some time over it. The day that King is forthcoming about anything, I just may eat my hat, provided Jhe Katherine cooks it with her special sauce.

* * *

It seems we have an ally now, and he's brought with him a new game board for us to play against the Peacock King. This marks the rare opportunity to engage in a contest with that monarch - not many have opened up since he and the Jhe o'Radia agreed to cease hostilities against each other's empires. In a way I look forward to the engagement, of course - and by the same token I fear that more will come of it than a simple game of pawns. Pawns often arise to become more than they seem, or show up in the least expected of places to make a mess of my endgames. Don't even get me started on rooks.

The game is already complex at the outset. Our ally is the Jhe h'Akribastes's errant son that we have all been asked to watch for. Apparently his idea of post-teenage rebellion is working himself into the Peacock King's inner Court. That aside, it seems most of Lyric's will to serve in this empire is only due to his brother Gerald's incarceration. It would transpire that Gerald's discretion is in fact due to his being chained up somewhere that's tightly warded. I should have guessed that from the outset - after all, it's not really the first time.

What makes this a blessing in disguise - and likely only Jenny will understand this particular detail - is that Gerald is being held by the one who sometimes calls himself Cade, but we all prefer to give stronger, less polite names for. Some of us have ventured some guesses as to the Peacock King's secret alliances - this is the first glimmer of real evidence of such operations that we've managed to comb up in a long time. And to think, it's been dropped into our lap by Jhe h'Akribastes's wayward boy. It's our happy luck that Gerald's kept with him now until we all come back for him.

I do tend to like it when all of my objectives are in one convenient place, all together.

Using the boy as a pawn is not something that I'm entirely comfortable with. He's not our agent, and is in fact someone that we've all been assigned to protect and send home. On the other hand, taking him home immediately will mean leaving Gerald for dead or worse, which neither I nor his Father would bid me do. I've even mapped out the results of such an action on a larger scale - it would be very bad for Lyric if I took him home now. In a way he is safest with the Peacock King, who will protect him from the things most dangerous to him. Except, of course, from the King himself...

This is where I arrive at the steepest impasse. Lyric has to protect himself from that man, and I know that he's not equipped to. He's already revealed some of that in his writing - there's no way for me to know how much else he's slipped around that King. I worry for him, and the worst part is that there's nothing more I can do except worry. There are always parts of an engagement that I can't control - my pieces move themselves and decide for themselves.

That he's gotten this far safely, though, helps settle my nerves on that score. He's at least aware enough to wonder over whether the Peacock King considers him to be a spy.

That, of course, is something I can only speculate. I'm not of the same opinion as Lyric, though. If the Peacock King was truly convinced that 'Lotus' was a spy, he'd never be as open around him, never leave him in positions where he was so close to him. If the Peacock King thought he was a spy, we'd never have found Lyric. No one would see nor hear from him again.

Hence another reason why I find it safe to keep Lyric with the Peacock King - as long as they remain close, that King will not pause to suspect Lyric as often. As someone he's willingly let into his confidence, Lyric is in less of a position to be accused.

Looking over this, I suppose I've merely been trying to reason out why I decided that the two pieces on this board that are in the most danger should remain in that danger - for them, and us all, to stay safe. Funny old world it is. I keep filing for vacations but the Advocate keeps telling me I'd just find more trouble to resolve if I went off to relax. I can't refute it, either. I'm already waiting for the next shoe to drop, and I suspect that's really because I'm looking forward to it.

I ought to file that next vacation request. If nothing else, it'll give Jhe Katherine more paperwork to glare at.

...There's an issue that I've been pushing out of the way, I know. I don't want to write of it. Writing it means facing it, means admitting it, and in the Poet occupation, that carries a connotation of making it real. But as it happens, it has already been written - my brother Elric is now among those that have been taken by Cade. His correspondences were being forged by Cade's hand himself. I've already set aside time in this night to curse myself and my subordinates for not recognizing the forgeries for what they were. It's my surprise that Cade was able to write with Elric's quill at all - from what Lyric's writings observed, it's been tampered with. The implications of this, and of Elric's being taken, and of the Peacock King harboring Cade to further his actions against us...

I'll plot them out mentally, but I'm not putting them to paper yet. There's too fine a line between speculation and accidentally setting something down as Poetry before it's yet ready for that treatment. For now, I know to be wary of the content of any future correspondences I receive from agents that have been too long in the field. Yet another blessing in the guise of curse.

Elric is a strong person, especially when it comes to his mind. He's never failed us in the field. I have strong confidence that this will not change in captivity.

* * *

Peace is nice. I feel it surround me and cushion me for a long time before I fade in to where I expected to appear in my dreams. Gerald looks up as I'm still settling in.

He looks so afraid that I almost drop to the floor. I think he realizes that, because he tries to stifle it as soon as it registers on him that it's showing so badly.

I look around. I'm not sure if anything has changed in here. I can see it a little better, now. This room looks more like an office that's been modified to also hold prisoners than a true cell, which explains the desk. There's an old fur that's been hung on the wall. It looks like part of a bearskin, along with two ragged spears. The desk near the door that Cade was writing at, along with the chair matching it, look more like something of the Peacock King's - finely carved, well-polished wood. There's a wardrobe closet opposite that's of the same style and color. It's closed and I can't see the contents. Gerald's bed, on the other hand, appears to be pretty old, the mattress spotted with stains. I starts to inspect the cuffs holding him, but he warns me off.

"Don't even look at them. You'll get detected." The nerves are radiating from him. I do spy the silver handcuffs that Cade was brandishing earlier - one end is cuffed to one of the rails of the bed now, the other hooked into one of the chains on Gerald's manacles. It seems like a useless safety precaution, but Gerald's already said that I shouldn't probe what's holding him. I suppose Cade's wards must be that nasty.

I look back up to him. He's been waiting to catch my eye. He's nearly gone white. "Lyric? You need to send word out to Dad. I can't handle this on my own."

He watches me stare at him. From me there is no reply that readily comes to mind. I just watch my brother. He must be panicking. It's obvious he can't quite think straight. It can't quite help that the jewel in the collar around his neck is glowing so brightly that it's gone white. His breath is fast, coming in little gasps. Part of me wants to comfort him.

...Part of me.

I look at the head of his bed. Something's been scrawled on a piece of old paper and then pinned on the wall over him. I can't make it out. It's blurry in the vision of the dream. Maybe a kind of mark, probably writing.

I break away from looking at it when Gerald's breathing breaks into a whimper and he tries to curl on his side. It's simply not possible with the way he's being held. There's no slack to those chains at all. He looks at me. I catch his eyes, look into them. He doesn't really see me. I don't think that whatever he's seeing right now is anything that's in his room. One of those cries comes out again, and goosebumps ride up my spine. That's not something I can believe is coming from my brother. It's just can't be real.

"...Gerald?" I venture the question very carefully. I'm afraid I'll startle him even worse. I see his eyes widen just a tad, see his eyes barely focus. See his lips ghost over the word "Lyric".

I sit on the floor beside the bed. "If you can hear me, let me know, all right?" He gives the barest of nods. I feel...relieved. "Gerald? We're going to get you out of here. Camden came here to train two apprentices of his. He knows what's happening. He told me to keep writing, and he's going to figure out the rest." I see his shoulders ease back, even though his breath is jerking at his chest. "Can I help you right now? What's happened? This isn't like you." It really isn't. It's painful to be here, I just don't feel like I'm really with my brother.

His eyes roll up and focus on the ceiling for a moment. He closes them in concentration. A bead of sweat forms at his temple. Then he slumps, his breathing normal again.

"He's sending energy into me. Emotions. Ghosts of memories of people he's tortured, Lyric. I keep having trouble fighting it off because I can't separate them from my own feelings and thoughts. I'm...I'm just focusing on not letting my will break. Not letting him loosen my tongue. I do that, and everything's alright, right? I'll keep going over here. And you...you keep doing your good job over where you are, and I'm sure I'll be out before we both know it." He sees the worry cross my face. "Really, if Camden's here...and his apprentices are always top of the line. You've tipped them off. We have support. Don't worry. Just keep writing. Just...if you have to, you have my guns."

There's a pause that fills me with dread.

"They're there for you, if you need to use them."

The dream went blurry sometime after. Time was hard to measure after that point. Maybe I didn't want to pay attention anymore, after hearing that. Most of all, though, I didn't want to see my brother like Gerald was now. Not after I'd said I left home partly because he was so successful and talented. Because he shined so bright. The only thing on him now that shines is his collar.

I hear the door of the room open, feel an icy trickle down my neck, and turn just in time to see that Cade still can't see me during my visits. After that I think Gerald willed me straight out of the dream. One moment I was there, the next moment I was awake and staring at the stars.

I turned to the side, saw Rachella's sleeping face, copied the peace inscribed on it into my mental ledger. I wanted to keep it at the forefront of my mind as I drifted back into sleep again.

The next dream I had was something I didn't expect at all. My Father. Sitting with all of us surrounding him. He was reading a book to us. Patient and slow for the younger ones, but expressive and subtle enough for those of us that were older. I don't even remember how many of us were there, then. Time is a funny little thing.

I remember suddenly piping up and asking if I could read one of the parts of a character I liked. He smiled at me, and motioned for me to sit beside him, and I did. That was it. Something so simple. Just shared time. I don't understand what was so important about it.

Deeper sleep tapered in slow and easy on top of that, until I was't dreaming at all, just resting under the night sky with my new friend.

* * *

"I remember when he spoke in Court."

I wake up, my mind alert and my eyes clear. I shift just a little bit, listening to...ah, that's Jenny.

"I was still an apprentice then, attending with my teacher. It's a singular memory indeed: all of those justices and politicians, ambassadors and rulers. The Bureaucracy and the Law, shoulder to shoulder, podium to podium - all forced to listen to an animism's words and at least pretend to care about them. I'd say I liked him just for giving so many of us the opportunity to see that, really. Still, other than that I don't really know him that well. He's more in politics than anything, and that's not exactly given he and I opportunity to cross paths." I hear her shift. "Lyric might be a good one to ask, Camden. He's obviously been in contact with him a few times now."

I smell tobacco, just a faint mild whiff of it. "Aye, but he's still sleeping. Besides that, I'm not sure if he's likely to have gotten anything coherent out of Faun. Animisms in captivity...I've seen it, once. We lost that one, you know." There's a numb silence.

"...Yes. I remember that. They kept trying to salvage that region even after Rapa Nui's death. Stupid fools, as if telling themselves over and over that it would work would change the real Truth of things: she dies, every critter there dies. Even the ones they brought in themselves." She sighs. "Old news...and yet, it feels dangerously relevant. You're concerned about how well Faun fares in his captivity?" There's a pause, the sound of her shifting, maybe tossing her hair. "I came in at the end of that case, so I've only seen the aftermath of a death. What is a captive animism like?"

Camden sighs, the sound an obvious indicator that he doesn't want to discuss this, but knows it must be done. "It came in stages, with her. I saw Rapa Nui early in her incarceration. She was distressed, of course, and always looking for a means of escape. None could touch her without restraint. But she had her mind then, and her calm. The animisms, though they have animal natures, are capable of behaving as rationally, or moreso, than human beings. As a whole they're very calm beings. Their reputations...well, you know how it works. Most people don't try to talk with them tactfully, so they reap what they sow. In any case...early on, she did as well as she could. She was unhappy, but still healthy. Later..." He sighs. "Later on I saw her again. She would brood in the corner, and refused to react to anyone's prodding. Then she would fall upon the unsuspecting without warning. She managed to kill guards, but they still kept her." I can hear the disgust in his voice. "They still wanted to keep her as leverage for their tiny land disputes, on their tiny little island. I saw her in the end, when we finally reclaimed her. We couldn't free her. She hadn't broken - she'd gone mad instead. As if she'd contracted rabies. Frothing at the mouth, unable to tell that there were no bars, there was no cage. She died of shock, and well...you were there. You saw the animals die with her." He lets out a long, weary sigh. "I don't know how similar Faun's case may be. He, to his advantage, has had much more experience interacting with humanity. He may have a higher tolerance for captivity. But..."

I hear a puff of breath. Probably Jenny blowing her hair out of her eyes. "You're worried, I see. Well, why not ask Lyric and at least see what he knows? He's been awake for the past few minutes, after all, listening to us talk and pretending to be asleep."

There's a long stretch of silence in which I pray that I didn't just wet my sleeping bag.

I'm just going to write that I didn't. Nobody can prove me wrong. I WAS THERE. Were you? Wait, what if Camden or Jenny reads this? ...Hey, Daddy's never going to read all this stuff I've written, right? Oh, shit. He might.

...Okay, I'm not thinking about that anymore.

I sit up, rubbing my head and opening my eyes. I've had enough time to be fully awake but not enough time to not feel a little bleary. Or maybe the dizzy feeling I have is from the rush of getting caught eavesdropping. I wipe my eyes and then look up.

Jenny is leaning down and looking at me from three inches away.

I yelp and jump. A few feet over I hear a muffled cry and then Rachella sits straight up in a pose that seems ready for anything. She looks the situation over, then rolls her eyes.

"Jenny, does scaring the livestock ever get old for you?"

The archer makes an amused snort. "Never. Now get up and look lively. Even the 'livestock' isn't as lazy as you this morning."

A blush creeps up on Rachella's cheeks before she gets up and starts to pack her bedding. I decide to follow suit. Going through a morning routine is a better way to prepare to talk to Camden than just getting repeatedly startled by Jenny. ...Not that it didn't happen anyway.

Camden is preparing breakfast over the coals of last night's fire when we begin to discuss things again. "So, Lyric. What can you tell me of Faun? How is he faring in the Jherent O'Monarch's cage?" While he says all of this he surveys the stew with a face so serious that I expect the stew to answer for me. Then his eyes flick up to mine for just an instant, and I remember to answer.

"Faun's...well, he's often very angry, but he seems to keep it down when he needs to. I'm still getting used to his moods. He's impossible to predict. I know that being in captivity makes him tired, especially with the way the Ebrellin-i commands his Court. He always towers over everyone and tries to keep them constantly under command, whether they realize that's the case. Since Faun's a feral person, it's hard for him. Especially in the chains and with that collar on." I see Camden raise his eyebrow in me, a silent question posed. "The collar...it's enchanted. It's not the same as Gerald's, but it subdues Faun if the Peacock King wills it. I think part of it is that the King's given him a pet-name. 'Faun-doe'. I've seen those used before, in the different Courts I've stayed in. For animals rarely - it's been almost always for people. I don't know how it works exactly, but using the name will enforce obedience." I shudder. "I've seen plenty of slaves in other places than the Peacock King's Kingdom. Usually the name makes them do what they're told...they always look forced in their actions. Or like marionettes, or something..." I see Camden nodding at me as I speak. "You've seen it too, then." I sigh. "He can't really force Faun to do much, the King. He...he made me force Faun to kneel, once. Kneel or get a cut. I...I didn't want to."

I can't look Camden in the eye. There's a moment that passes by in which all I can hear is the stew bubbling. Then he says, "Go on," in that even voice that tells me nothing of what he thinks about what I've been saying.

"He says the Law is nothing to worry about. Just silly guidelines. He says he knows better, and he seems determined to train Faun. Make him tame. I don't really understand it, but he's done the same to a lot of his slaves. Humans, I'm sure, but what I'm really talking about are the nymphs, elemental spirits, land spirits...he charms them. Gets their gifts for his own benefit. Lights and heats the rooms, that sort of thing. I don't see why he wants to tame Faun, though. He won't get the same sort of benefit, and he knows it. He was genuinely sad about what happened to Hespiredes, after all. Even Faun said so." I see Camden give me a look then that makes me pause. "...What...what did I say?"

Camden's face still betrays nothing except the bare hint of interest hidden in his eyes. "Faun spoke to you of Hespiredes?" I think he's trying to contain his excitement. Something about him is very held back, right then. 

I nod. "I asked him about her after I overheard the Peacock King and Faun talking about her. That's how I knew the King was upset about it - I heard it in his voice. When I talked to him, Faun told me the story of the valley we're outside of now. He told me about his mother."

Camden raises an eyebrow. "I assume that the King intended to bring Faun to a reunion, then?" His eyes dart over to the cage on wheels in the wagon train. "Rare game indeed."

I nod. "He...he had planned that before you three showed up in his Court. I don't know exactly what he meant by it. Whether he wanted more training to be done on the road, or if he really did want them to have a reunion. I...it's hard to tell. The King is as secretive as he's subtle. And Faun is..." I don't know what face I make, but I must look exasperated, because Camden laughs at it.  "Yeah, well...you obviously know how he is, then."

Camden smiles as he stirs the stew. "As you've apprently heard from Jenny and I's discussion, we've seen him speak in Court. I've also spoken with him many a time face-to-face. Faun has been a singular animism, as strange as it is to think that any of them could be considered 'average'. He's very interested in the Law, and learns the rules of human society so that he can play them to his advantage, to the animisms' advantages, and most especially to the advantage of his forest. He's made more progress getting rights for them than anyone else has, I think. There's a certain advantage that he has in that - it's very difficult to debate against their rights when an animism is sitting next to you in Court-appropriate attire, draped with furs, looking more like he belongs there than most Kings. It tends to throw off the opposition something fierce." He laughs at himself. "I'm going on. Tell me what Faun tells to you. Tell me how he's interacted with you."

I nod. "Once the Peacock King wasn't watching, I started to treat Faun as an equal. He responded in kind immediately. He tries to slit my throat or bite my fingers off every now and then, but I think that's just his way. He's glad that I ask him questions and that I don't just blindly follow the Peacock King. He seems genuinely glad for the company, I think." I look up to Camden, brows knitting together. "You don't think he's going to go crazy like Rapa Nui, do you?"

He sighs and begins ladling stew into metal travel bowls. "I know that he's a more stable individual than Rapa Nui, and is used to human contact and knows how to plan and strategize. I know that he has regular social interaction through you and has a good hope of getting out of his situation. These are all things that Rapa Nui didn't have. But, will he still go crazy? Maybe. In the end, his isn't a human mind nor a human soul. Different things could drive him to the edge. He hasn't shown any warning signs like Rapa Nui did, but can I consider Rapa Nui a yardstick to judge Faun by? No. In the end, conjecture is only conjecture, and my assumptions may mean nothing but wishful thinking."

He stares at me for a moment. I guess the despair was showing, because his next statement is, "Rapa Nui took months, though. Faun's not been in captivity long. We should be concerned, but don't look as if someone's about to die, Lyric."  My expression must have not changed much. He reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Are you that concerned about him? Why don't you write about him?"

I blink in utter confusion.

"You've written about Gerald to look in on him. Why not try it with Faun?" There's not a wink of guile in his face when he asks me this. "There, it's worth a try, isn't it? Here, eat." He hands me a bowl of stew. I feel Jenny settle in beside me.

"Yeah, judging by how I've seen it go with your siblings before, there's no telling when your next meal will be."

That doesn't exactly help the food settle in my stomach. At least Camden's a good cook. After breakfast I decide to try what Camden asked as the rest of them break camp. It helped that Camden reminded me to do so, with a very pointed look.

I'm starting to wonder who I'm working for. Sheesh.

I'm not sure if this is even going to work, but as Camden said, it's worth a try. With Gerald I had the bullet to help me aim. With Faun, I'm not sure where to start. I don't have a memory to record and I don't have something of his, so how do I find him? I can recall him clearly enough, at least. Sandy hair in a feral cut, robes much like mine that Ebrellin-i had me dress him in. There's a certain way his jaw is always set, a sort of clench. His eyes never stop looking out across the room, and never leave me if I'm anywhere near him. The cell is empty of anyone else but he and I, and we're safe in that privacy. He would be sitting near the corner, awake and quiet, too still for the chains to even rattle.

I realize that he can see me at about the same time I realize that I'm recording him even while not being there, even without a guide. I don't pause to think it over or to question it. I just keep going before I lose the secret to this trick. I look around the cell. Nothing's changed. I look down at myself. ...Nothing to see. It's no surprise that Faun can see the invisible, though. Cats are the same way. And then there's Faun himself.

He looks the same as before. It's only been a short while, I remind myself. He looks a little more mussed when it comes to his hair, but that might even be more natural for him. He looks up, over my shoulder.

"You're with more of the upholders of the Law." He scents the air. His head tilts just a bit. "It seems Chire Camden is one of them. I suppose he is well, as are you?" I nod, before I remember I'm not visible. He percieves it anyways. "Good. I want to be out of this place soon. If that hasn't already been provided for, then you'd better see to it, Lyric." There's a firmness to his voice that I'm not used to.

"I..." I sigh. "I'll do what I can. I'm not an Armed. You know that well enough already. I'm trying to do as much for you as I can, but I'm afraid that if we don't take our time and make it subtle...I don't want to get my brother hurt, or get us into a position where we can't help you at all." To my surprise, he takes that rather well.

He gathers himself a bit, then looks at me again. "Sit down." I blink, then decide I might as well. It seems odd to, since I'm not really there. He waits for me to do so, then goes on, "Are you near my mother?" I nod. "Have you seen her yet?" I shake my head. He looks away, his face going blank. He's thinking. "...Tell me of her, after you do. Tell me how she fares, and if the King still treats her kindly. And...pay heed to the animals there. Be careful, most of all. Don't let yourself get caught writing things like this."

I didn't even realize he could feel me writing.

"Of course I can feel you writing, same as I can see you or read your name in your face. Humans are so unobservant. I wish they could percieve more. Maybe then..." He makes an odd little shrug. "No matter. Keep an eye on the Peacock King, most of all. He is not worth your trust." He lets out a long sigh, almost pants, then draws his robes in closer to himself. "I miss my furs," he murmurs, "they smelled of my forest and of those I watched over. Even those of the High Court didn't divest me of my furs when I entered. Even there I was treated with dignity. Especially there." He sinks a bit, drifting off.

"...Faun?"

His eyes snap open, lock onto me, and for a moment he's entirely feral. Then he remembers who I am, and settles down. I see the ghosts of black marks across his cheeks before they vanish. "...Go. Cages tire me. Go and come back soon, and free me." His words taper off into a mumble. I watch as he sinks into sleep, curling as he does. I don't break away for awhile. There's something too entrancing about looking at his face while he's asleep. It's not human, but not animal either. All I can see in it is peace.

* * *

Camden watched me write that, was obviously pleased while I did so. He could tell it was going smoothly. I'm sure he would have liked to read what I wrote, too. I was even getting ready to hand him my journal when Jenny looked up sharply.

"The King of this region is coming. Look as you should."

After that there was no time for him to look over my writing. I stowed away my journal, got myself dressed and worked on my hair while the rest of our little camp assumed their proper poses. Jenny rode out on horseback just as I saw the Peacock King come toward us. She gave what looked like a salute to him on her departure, and he waved her on.

Camden sketched a complex bow, Rachella echoing it somewhat jerkily before looking to the luggage again. She was just a bag girl in the King's presence, after all. I stepped forward and made my own bow, though I had no idea which protocols I should have been following by that point. Being out on the trail out in the country makes it hard to think of the analogous situation for a King's Court.

Ebrellin-i smiles after I bow, making his own mock-bow in reply. I'm a little thrown off by how happy he is to see me. His eyes skirt upwards, tracing along the clouds in the sky above us. The corners of his mouth still remain pricked upwards. "I hope that it has been a pleasant night for you all here, and that you greet the day warmly." He bows his head. "And I have given hail to the Dragon for our group. Do not be alarmed if you feel him brush up against your mind when you enter the valley. He is merely being friendly." He turns then, robe trailing behind him on the soft grass. "Come. We may walk in, horseless. Even your student, Chire Camden. Or is she going to be training long?" His glance at the Armed is very odd. It doesn't quite betray whether the King suspects something, but there is definitely the element of a challenge to it.

Camden sighs, smiling slightly and shrugging. "Young students can be wild and impetuous. I decided it best that she run it off this morning, and join us after lunch. Do you object?"

The Peacock King cocks his head. "...No. I do envy the young for their energy, but the Valley is a place of peace. Perhaps she will come to enjoy that aspect after she's had her exertions for the morning. With that said...please follow me, if you will."

Rachella's falcon bursts up into the sky in a flurry of feathers and talons. She looks up wistfully after it, then turns to follow our group as we march up the hill behind the King.

"She's a good bird." She sounds so sad about it. "I'll miss her."

I look askance at her, then see Camden looking back to give her a look of reproach. Rachella composes herself before the King notices. I keep walking ahead and don't call attention to it.

Marching up the hill is strange for us. It seems like we should be approaching a peaceful place, but Camden and Rachella are increasingly on edge. The surroundings are benign enough - lush green grass on the hillside, the occasional young oak tree, large rocks here and there. It's strange, though - I don't hear any birds calling out here. At this time of morning I expect that.

A quick look around gives me a possible reason why - there are no animals out here save for our horses, and Rachella's swiftly-departing bird. I wonder at that for a little bit before we reach the crest of the hill and look into the valley.

The Garden of Hespiredes.

I can feel the tension coming from Camden and Rachella. I'm not sure what to think, myself. There's some mild horror in me and I don't know why. Nothing looks wrong. Nothing seems out of place. But somehow...everything does.

Camden's eyebrows shoot up, then, Rachella jumps with a squeak, and then I feel something big and feathery brush over my neck and back, snuffling at my cheek and ear, and then just as quickly withdrawing in a puff of cloves and smoke. I share a blink with the others, though Camden's shows no surprise. The King looks back at us as we take it in.

"As I said, the Dragon is a friendly fellow. I do hope you greet him back." Before the prompt, Camden was already making a complex bow, hitting the ground with his knee. Rachella echoes it with her own motions, and I try to follow suit. I've been in the Courts of Kings before, as I have said. And I've learned how to show respect, and can do so quite well when I choose to, and when I'm concerned enough for my neck. Thankfully, the Dragon accepts our gestures. I can feel his presence back away from us, but still watch us. It's a relief when he withdraws a bit - Dragons are so big that even feeling the regard of one, being brushed up against by one's mind, makes me feel very, very small. While seeing one in the flesh would be a singular experience, I'm not exactly on pins and needles waiting for this one to show up, physical form and all.

I see Camden's shoulders lower just a tad, and Rachella's hair stops standing on end. The Peacock King, meanwhile, just watches us, smiles, and doesn't manage to stifle his giggle completely. After the King turns away, Camden rolls his eyes.  I expect the King to notice in some way, but if he does, he doesn't show it. He only continues standing with his shoulders straight, tall and smug, with an energy to him that I've not quite seen in him before. I'm trying to place where it's coming from, but so far, no inspiration. We walk into the valley.

I hear Rachella make the first reaction, a soft gasp that she obviously tried to stifle. I see the King nod just a little. "It'll be like this in the whole Valley. Aren't you glad you kept your bird far away, young falconer?" His voice seems oddly far-off, as if he's not entirely here. But then, maybe he isn't. I can still feel the dragon's gaze on us all. Maybe the King is talking with him.

Or maybe he's thinking about the past.

It's hard to describe what it felt like, walking into there. Not stifling...calm. Tame. Relaxing, befitting the garden that the King has made it into. Somehow the feel here is reminiscent of the Peacock King, perhaps because he is a tamer. But if feels more like the land and the Peacock King are kin. If, perhaps if land could breathe, they inhale and exhale with the same rhythm and beat.

This is all to preface what Rachella was reacting to - an average-sized brown rabbit. Upon seeing us, it hops towards the group, and then looks up at us for attention. Like a very somber and polite puppy. There's no fear in it, no hesitation just because we are humans. It doesn't accord this designation with the status of 'dangerous predator'. It is, in short, the most foolish animal I have ever seen.

Then the stag comes prancing slowly through the trees, its antlers an impressive spread. The mockingbirds follow, one alighting on each side of the rack. They look at us quizzically. I feel myself visually inspected for any pockets or bags that might in any way contain birdseed. The look-over ceases when the Peacock King draws a feedbag from underneath one of his sashes, and hands it to me.

"Share," he says, then proceeds to walk. I hand some to Rachella, who is still stunned and accepts it without much comprehension. Camden declines, his jaw clenched but his face not telling any other tales. His eyes never leave the King.

Have you ever fed a deer from your palm? It's not as enchanting as one would assume. They've got slimy lips. "Watch for the teeth," is the King's suggestion that I'd rather not have heard. I'm too busy not getting my eye impaled by a prong to really mind the suggestion. Rachella of course has more luck with the birds.

"You're drawing a crowd," is the King's soft observation. I can't read much out of his voice beyond very distant, idle amusement. I look up to see a duck, two badgers, five more songbirds of varying coloration, two snakes [Camden narrows his eyes], and one very large cougar. I did not wet myself.

Surprisingly, it is Rachella that creeps up to scratch the cat under the chin, while all four of us look on in utter amazement. It rubs against her fingers as a rumbling purr rises up from its throat. I don't start breathing again until it flops down and rolls over to expose its belly. Out of the corner of my eye I see Camden's shoulders slump in relief.

There's a silence over our group until the King finally says, "Why don't we move on?"

The rest of the valley lays before us, green and luxurious. The bushes and trees are trimmed back, flower beds here and there. A fountain bubbling up in the center of the land is encircled by a bench. He leads us toward that, then sits.

"Hesperides will not come out to meet strangers." The King says this while looking directly at Camden. The Armed nods and makes a gesture of understanding.

"Nor did I expect her to. We are honored that you showed us this Valley at all, Sire. Certainly I did not expect such an invitation. If it is your desire that we leave now, then we shall." The half-bow that follows is more intricate than I expected, and is cut off when Camden looks up. His eyes widen.

Rachella and I follow his gaze and behold the largest beast this world could ever support. The King makes the gesture prompting us to close our gaping mouths as subtlely as he can, which is not very. I can't help it. I can't speak for Rachella but this is the first time I have ever looked upon a Dragon in his full scaly glory. What's scary, at least one of the things that are scary, is that from the slope of the land I can only see his head from here. My eyes are arguing with my brain, telling me there's no possible way such a large thing could exist. Its snout alone is bigger than any tree in this valley.

"He is maintaining that distance so as not to frighten you," murmurs the Peacock King. "Perhaps it is best to give your proper respects in gratitude." Three graceful bows answer the request. For some reason the valley feels very smug in response to our gestures.

The dragon's gaze fixes on Camden. "The most Honorable Briarseal, I believe? It is my pleasure to have you walk my lands. Thank you for gracing this fine Valley and its adjoining lands with the Justice and Law that they so deserve. You are welcome here anytime." I'm not sure how dragon lips make human sounds. There are many teeth involved, though. Very many sharp pointy teeth.

Camden takes a knee and removes his hat, holding it over his chest. "I accept the invitation graciously and wholeheartedly." His voice sounds like it's reciting poetry. Not flowery or ornate, just very clear and sincere.

The dragon gives a nod that could level a house. His gaze flicks over to me. I grow rigid. He smiles a little. I swear it's full of mischief. I hear the Peacock King make a quiet little sigh that is layered and layered with weariness. The dragon's eyes flick over to Rachella, who bows again. The dragon cocks his head, makes what sounds like a cluck. Then it draws back, and its head is no longer visible.

The Peacock King draws himself up, sitting straight on the bench. "He often nests in that hollow there, if you'd like to see the full physical body of a living Dragon." His eyebrow lifts, and I see it's meant as a challenge. Camden looks at him.

The Armed shakes his head. "We'll not intrude. I've seen my Dragons in my lifetime. Rachella and Lotus can have theirs later, I'm sure." Both of us nod in relieved agreement.

The Peacock King shakes his head with a sad smile. "If you insist. Peacekeeper Briarseal, I wish you a good day. If you'd like to depart my garden, you may."

Camden makes a bow which Rachella echoes on cue. "If you have any need of our assistance, we shall be nearby."

The King watches the two of them leave. I stay. I can tell that he wants me to. It's several minutes after we no longer see the two Armed before the Peacock King speaks again.

"...Lotus? Come." He turns and walks towards the place we saw the Dragon appear from. I follow, though my feet drag.

"...I...you don't really have to show me-" A gesture of his hand cuts me off.

"I'm not here to show you the Dragon, my dear Lotus." It's more a command than the order to follow was. I trail behind him without further objections.

We reach the slight hill over which the Dragon peeked at us. The land slopes down dramatically from here, widening into a huge expanse before sloping up again into more mountainous territory. It's a tricky place, this valley. What we had seen before was only the beginning of it. What I look down at now is likely the true Valley.

"The Good Peacekeeper need only see what he is willing to, and what I wish to show him. Everyone's best interests are kept that way, don't you think?" I don't answer him. I know the trickery he's been involved in. But I understand it. At the center of the Valley, I see a small woman curled up, lounging in the coil of the Dragon's tailtip. The tail stretches far out until it reaches into the forest bordering the Valley to the right. From there the trees are so tall that I have no idea of what his size might be. Nor do I want to. There's a certain scale of size that my mind just pees its own pants at.

The Peacock King descends into the Valley, and I follow in his footsteps.

* * *

"Be very quiet, in both your speech and movements. Don't say anything until I signal that you may." The King's voice is low but clear as we approach the center of the Valley. "And don't touch his tail. He's testy about that sort of thing." The last part I needed no hints on. I see Hesperides lift her head up from a clump of feathers on one of the ridges of the tail. She blinks lazily, her face completely blank at first.

Then she sees the King approach, and a smile alights on her face that seems too tender for any animism to express. He walks up to her, hand extended in plain sight, and strokes her cheek. She leans into the motion, her short sandy hair shifting with the tilt. Her eyes roll over to me in the middle of the motion, fixed. Almost afraid.

"He's a friend. He won't touch you," the King whispers. I see her body untense at the words, which are all that she needs to drop her guard completely from me. In fact, her attention seems to completely leave me. All that exists in her world is the King. She pulls him down against the tail that she uses as a couch and then curls around him possessively. In return the King strokes her back as if she were a cat. He looks over her bare shoulder at me and nods, motioning that I should have a seat. I do so on the bare dirt here, where the Dragon's tail has worn away any plant growth. As I do so, the King turns his attentions back to his pet animism.

Hesperides reminds me of Faun, but only faintly. She should moreso. Her appearance is very similar to his, hair longer but in a similar style and color. Her skin tone and eye color are the same as well, facial features only slightly more feminine than his. Her build is that same slight, spry build. But the tautness isn't in her muscles, and the alertness of an animal isn't in her frame. I hadn't realized that so much of Faun's identity is defined by wildness.

If it weren't for the slight points of her ears and a few other things about her appearance, such as her simple, worn leather clothing, I wouldn't even think she was an animism at all. In fact, if I hadn't met Faun, I'd doubt despite those small details. But I wouldn't think of her as human, either. She's more like the dryads and nymphs that the Peacock King keeps in his palace. Too happy to serve to be just a collared, pet-named slave.

If I saw Faun like this, I'd cry. It hurts to even think about it happening. I look at her like this and I don't understand how the Peacock King could keep Faun caged as he does, and plan to tame him. Why break an animism like this? He already can see the result. And I know the result does not make him happy. I can see it in his face, right now. Relieved to be with her and hold her, protect her - but sad that he has to. His eyes flick up to me, and I realize I've been caught staring.

I look away.

The Peacock King shifts against the tail, then slides to the ground, guiding Hespiredes to kneel beside him. She leans against his shoulder after doing so. She still doesn't bother looking at me. From here, I can see the other difference that marks her as unlike Faun. A swirling mark reaches from her jawline to her cheek on the left side of her face. It's so light, almost irridescent. I didn't notice it until I was close to her. The Peacock King watches my inspection. Hespiredes does too, to my surprise. She truly notices me for what feels like the first time.

She reaches a hand out, touches her fingers to my left cheek, and brushes it just barely before withdrawing her hand, wrist curling away shyly. She buries her face into the Peacock King's neck and nests against him without a word. He takes to comforting her again.

"Shh. Good girl. You've been so calm and so well-behaved, dear. No one will hurt you here. I'll keep you safe forever." It goes on like that, him whispering into her hair until she relaxes so much that I realize she's napping. I look up to the King.

He's looking at her, entranced, a little smile on his face so simple and charmed that I wonder if I'm being fooled again, watching another act. This is more than showing humanity. It's showing a type of weakness I'd never credit to him. A type of weakness I've exhibited myself too many times for someone as young as I am.

I wonder if he even knows.

We depart a few hours later. It's lunchtime, and I'm wilting without proper feeding. I think that if there wasn't myself to worry about, he'd have stayed with her well into the afternoon, possibly the evening.

His hand moves to the small of my back, pressing just a little, but more keeping me close to him. "You're wondering why I brought you here, aren't you, Lotus?"

I nod.

"I thought it was important for you to meet her. For you to see her. And I..." the Peacock King's voice breaks a little at the end. "I rarely have a chance to show anyone my treasures as I have to you, Lotus. The only ones I have shown Hespiredes to were those of the Law that visited to ensure she was being taken care of well, and that she would see no more harm than she's been through already. But you...you can appreciate...you can understand..."

Silence drifts between us, filled in by the occasional birdcall.

"...You know the value of that which I keep, Lotus." He seems to deem that enough, and moves on. "And you've learned many things here, I hope?"

I nod. That statement above all is true.

He goes on. "Then--" A rustle in the trees nearby cuts him off. It surprises me just as much as it surprises him. My head jerks to look at whatever's rustling in the tree, and my eyes widen.

There are two pairs of eyes peeking at me from the tree. They are the eyes of children.

The Peacock King is frozen solid for a moment, then looks around quickly, paranoid, to see if we're alone in the Valley. I don't blame him.

Those eyes aren't human. But they echo his own just as much as they echo Hespiredes's.

We watch them in silence until the two children withdraw as quickly as they looked out. They would have been no more than eight if they were humans. By animism standards...I can only guess. I feel the Peacock King's hand curl around my shoulder before I can think on it further.

"I only wanted to protect her. She was lonely. She needed something to keep her in the Valley. She kept trying to follow me out, Lotus." It sounds more like he's explaining himself to someone else. But can I blame him, with what he's been hiding? "She needed them. There was only one way I could make her happy. There's nothing wrong with that."

I nod, my mind numb and my heart a little afraid.

There are some crimes that I don't want to think of the punishments for.

"If you tell anyone..." He sighs. "Lotus, please. No one else will take care of her like I can. I would have moved her into my Palace, all the animals with her as well, but the Dragon wouldn't let me. He said she mustn't leave. She'd only tame more animals as she moved, with her very presence. Do you think the Dragon would have allowed me to do as I did instead, to make her happy, if it were wrong?"

My tongue can't speak. It's limp and senseless.

"No one ever cared to make an animism happy, Lotus. They only cater to them for politics and land-grabbing. I care about her. She needed children. Don't...Lotus, don't tell anyone. Please." His tone has reached a level of pleading that shocks me. I could never imagine a person like him begging me for anything.

Maybe that's what finally makes me reply. I want him to stop.

"I have no reason to tell anyone about the secrets you keep in this Valley, Sire. Please let's just forget that I ever saw. There's no good in exposing you or her children." His relief is so great that when he slumps from it he seems to shrink.

"Thank you, Lotus. You have proven yourself an invaluable confidant. Why don't we retire to my carriage for lunch? You can eat something more civilized than campfire 'vittles'." With that, he leads me out of the Valley, his arm around my shoulders until we're in the safety of his wagon. I don't know if he was that afraid of me leaving and telling Camden of his crimes, or if he needed my shoulders for the support after being shaken so much.

Either way, I'm glad for the distraction that comes with food.

* * *

The Peacock King looks over his shoulder furtively before he shuts the door to the carriage. I'm already seated inside, my hands automatically tending to the tea service that's been set out. I pour two cups and hand the King his cup with saucer, then sip from mine. I can feel the nervousness exhuding from him. I don't blame him for beginning to panic. I don't know if I'll ever see his darkest secrets, whatever they are, and in fact I hope I never have that chance. But what I've seen today may be his most scandalous secret. Who can tell, with him? He's let me in on things before that could destroy him, yes. But he did so purposefully, and with deliberate care. This was a mistake for me to see. This could get him in more trouble than caging Faun.

"...Don't think that I'm a criminal, Lotus. Don't think that I do terrible things. There's an explanation. I know the Law but..." His expression is sorrowful, weary. "I know why that Law was made, too, and what I've done doesn't infringe. Please trust me."

I look up at him over the rim of my teacup. My eyes say nothing. Neither does my mouth. I merely sip.

"...It...there's a reason, after all." He takes out a tray laden with sliced rolls and pastries and picks through the cheeses that are arranged with them. "Do you...do you know why that Law was made, Lotus? It's not to protect the animisms from being assaulted. That was already forbidden by other Laws forbidding touching them without their consent, which were part of the restrictions to keep people from physically harming them. It is technically legal to have, err...relations with their kind. Doing so is its own prohibition, though, since most will not tolerate any sort of that closeness without taking out a person's jugular for the presumption." I see him relax as he goes through these laws, as he leads himself through those knots. I suppose it's as comforting as reciting memorized phrases by rote. "No, that Law was not made to protect the animisms. It was made to protect all of us from the products of such a tryst. The criminal act is not intercourse, but allowing something to be conceived from it." He holds his tea in both hands, warming his palms with the cup. He looks up over the steam, face thoughtful. "Allowances have been made before, though I doubt you'd know that. Interbreeding in itself isn't the forbidden act. Interbreeding irresponsibly...creating monstrosities..." He shakes his head. "I knew the ways to keep that from being a possibility. They're healthy, strong. They have no ill effects on their environment."

He sees how confused I look. A smile timidly creeps up on his face. "Oh, my apologies, dear Lotus. I don't think you know the particular history attached to these Laws. But then...not many do. It is the taboos that become well-known. The details, and especially the reasons...those are the first things to be lost, always." He closes his eyes, shakes his head with a sad smile. "Let me tell you a story, then."

* * *

The Law is something that is constantly taken for granted by the general populace. The High Judge would agree - and of course, he would be the authority. He, too, is often taken for granted - and just as often finds his own ways to reprimand those that do so. Everyone knows there is a Law, whether they obey it or not, and whether or not they undestand it. Few realize, or at least take the time to realize, that most of the rules inherent in the Law are made in reaction to certain incidents. Or, to put it simply - some lucky person will, every now and then, find a way to make an example of themselves.

In the case of the restrictions regarding interbreeding, that would be an entire race that found they'd become an example.

The animism Tolku was, as are all animisms, quite unique. His area of dominion was very unusual - not just a forest or a valley, or a waterway. He watched over the Falls of the Hanging Islands - a misleading name, for the islands were not over water per se, and did not hang. You've heard of them, I'm sure - huge masses of land that balanced precariously on the tops of narrow rocky columns. Curiosities of erosion and geology, they are called a gift from God, for there are very few who can summon the gall to claim that luck and coincidence could manage to create such marvels. In any case, they are, in a way, islands in mid-air. The bases of their supporting rocks aren't surrounded entirely by water, so many authorities quibble that they cannot technically be called islands. I suppose it's not worth arguing over too much.

The islands have patchy forests and scrub trees on them, while below at the bases of the rocks, large forests surround the lakes and rivers created from the water that falls from the islands. Most don't believe that the Hanging Islands could hold enough water to support life while still fueling such great waterfalls. Again, a miracle of geology is to be credited - geysers and hot springs far below the ground create enough pressure to drive up water inside of the stone columns. This fuels the small lakes at the surface of the islands and easily fills them to overflowing.

The Hanging Islands are inhabited by a huge variety of fauna, but are most known for their birds. The Windbirds have wingspans that rival the sails of ships. They soar to the high islands on updrafts and wind currents. They glide above it all, often, causing huge shadows to sweep over the ground underneath. Their wings are partially feathered and partially bald, comprised of a thin yet strong membrane that is extremely light. They have crane-like necks and extremely strong talons, and their beaks are the beaks of hawks.

I've ridden them, you know. There's really no better way of getting up to the islands than a Windbird. Certainly there's no method that could possibly be as stylish.

An animism will always reflect the territory and animals that it guards. Faun's forest is a green, wild place known for its wild cats and fox population. Hespiredes's valley is peaceful, with very few carnivores and many quiet animals. You've seen how these factors reflect in their demeanors and appearances. Tulku's territory is known most for its birds, and its very airborne nature defines it. His thick black hair was oily and sleek, like a crest of feathers. His face was delicate and narrow, his nose a slim hook. Tulku was quiet and watchful, most often sitting up in trees and watching down over his lands, a peculiar hunch to his neck and shoulders.

But the nature of an animism will show through in more ways than appearance and demeanor. Sometimes those ways will be quite unexpected...even by the animism itself. Tulku really could not know what was to happen. How could anyone?

Most people assume all animisms scorn contact with other creatures, living hermit lives in isolation. This is not so. Within their own kind and with the fauna they encounter they are quite social indeed. Of course, their ways of social interaction are not like ours - but as animals do, they seek out mates and maintain relations with them. They love, and they breed. They have their own young.

Among animisms, there are even laws on interbreeding. Their kind is very careful about when they make more young, and how many they make, and with whom. They have to be sure that there is sufficient territory to support another guardian spirit for the lands. And they have to ensure that whatever territory that is free is compatible with the parents' territories. For instance, if two animisms both looked over swamps, their child would be incompatible with mountain territories. And while a valley animism and a forest animism would not be a stretch when it comes to pairings, one that guards desert lands would be unsuitable to pair with one that watches over dense forests. This last rule is more flexible than most assume - it's rare to find two types of land in the world that do not border one another. Even the desert has its oases.

The real problems, and the real strictness in regulations, lie in animisms breeding with other kinds. With the other 'animism spirits', as some call the nymphs and elementals, there lies the most compatibility. They could be likened to cousins, really. Methilae and river animisms make for good couples, and tend to produce more methilae as a result. Forest animisms and dryads are another good example. Any animism whose land has sufficient trees on it can make a suitable pairing for a dryad. Again, they're most likely to produce more dryads. Incompatible elements and lands will make for a pairing that produces no offspring at all.

Animisms also breed very well with dragonkind, both the large Dragons and the smaller Drakes. As long as the draconic type can assume a humanlike form, there will be no problems with the pairing. Since Dragons look over the health of the very land itself, from geology to plant life, and also take great interest towards protecting the living beings that rove their lands, they make excellent compliments to animisms. The resultant child will always be an animism - to be fair, it would have Dragon blood in it, and keep a few draconic traits. It's interesting to see just what kind of hoard an animism can build and guard.

But, of course, there are types that will not breed pleasantly with animisms. There are many types in the world, so many strange peoples and races. But by far the most likely to breed with animisms, and the most likely to, with animisms, produce offspring that become monstrosities, are humans.

Tulku, bless the poor soul, was how we learned of this. He took a human wife, a woman who explored and fell in love with the Hanging Islands. At first, nothing seemed wrong with their children, and the two were very happy with their offspring. Slender and slightly birdlike in mannerism, the children were healthy, strong, beautiful. Their children's children were also fine, though perhaps a bit gangly and long in the finger and toe. One or two had a nose that was disproportionately long.

It was in the third generation that the problems arose. The children of Tulku and his wife were taking human partners, for they all appeared to be human, and seemed to have no special traits about them that would say otherwise. Every child of the third generation, which was quite a large generation - Tulku fathered many children, as did his children - was deformed in the same way. They were covered in feathers, their hands and feet were taloned, and they had beaks instead of mouths. Tulku's nature had shown through in ways that no one expected.

There was nothing wrong with them, at the outset, beyond the strange physical attributes. They behaved differently than their parents and grandparents - more of a mix of the traits of bird, animism, and human. They had affinities with birds, were able to communicate with and have some control over them. They weren't capable of flight, but with windbirds at their beck and call, this was no real problem. They began to form a society of their own, because humans found them strange and unattractive.

Their numbers were small at first, being only the freak children of the third generation. With each other, they would breed true, create more of their avian bretheren. But this was not enough for them. There were too few mates to pick from. It was not long at all until a few brave avians took human mates. Since the humans weren't too keen on the avians in general, this required kidnapping. The humans were released after a child was born from the union - avian traits became dominant after that third generation, so any child ensuing would be another addition to the race.

Occasionally a new avian would trickle into the colony from the human lands - an earlier generation of Tulku's offspring had tried to integrate into society, doing so seamlessly until the third generation 'curse' took effect. And since Tulku did not stop fathering children even after the avians came into being, this still happened for quite some time.

Humans came to hate this race of people that hid their kind amongst the populace until a freak was born of their line. Once news spread of the kidnappings, there was no stopping an uprising. Men and women of the Law were called in before things came to great violence. It was a tense time, especially when the Avians began denying the Law's application to them. As a new race, one not named in any Law yet, they claimed that they were free of the code that all other civilizations were upheld to.

The High Judge, of course, got wind of this.

In the end, the avians went to war before they could be led to reason. New Laws would have been drafted for them, but they did not wait for this. They felt the hatred of humans too easily, and their hearts were too swiftly tempted to malice. The temperaments of animism and human did not mix well in this race. They cared not for Laws. The avians only wished to rage against those that stood against them and those that they thought might ever possibly raise their hands against their kind. As in, every other civilized race on the earth.

They were powerful, and fought fiercely. They had their windbird mounts to aid them. Even with that, though, few survived. They chose to fight against the Armed, after all.

A few exist, even to this day. There are loose groups of them here and there. They're scattered, a nomadic people. Lawful societies won't trade with them, or really interact with them at all. The avians often fall in with underground crime rings to make their way through life. It's not terribly unusual to see one or two in a band of thugs or as part of a stolen goods cartel.

Thus was the Law made: humans and animisms were not to interbreed, under any circumstances. The results would bring about races of people that had no ties to the Law yet and were beholden to no one. And, worst of all, they would be a people who, like the avians, had no place in this world. It's been shown to be true, after a few more infringements comitted by those that paid no heed to the restrictions. And the results? More mostrosities for the criminal underworld, more broken people, and more misery and hate. Such consequences are too great to risk more trysts.

...Writing this, I realize I've shifted into telling it directly from Ebrellin-i's tongue instead of adapting it as I'm used to. It's strange writing directly from his voice, and...I feel a little weird afterwards. Maybe I can ask Rachella about it. I'm not sure if I want to show her and Camden this, though. Not the prior writings, at least, and what I've yet to record of the Peacock King's words to me. I...

...I just don't want to get him in trouble for the children. Other things I know he's guilty of, and I can't say he doesn't deserve punishment, but...well, it's not my place to say what the Law is. It's my Father's place, and I feel very uncomfortable putting my feet anywhere near those shoes. If I had the choice, though, I wouldn't tell a soul about the children.

I can feel Ebrellin-i looking at me as I think, likely wondering what I'm thinking about. I look back up at him. He cocks his head, then sips from his teacup. There's a silence between us as we each wait for the other to speak.

"That...that was a very well-told story. I was impressed." I see his eyes light up at that. Good. Maybe it'll forestall anything else we could discuss about his story.

He smiles with not a little pride. "Of course. The Poet King is my brother, after all. I should hope he carries some of the same family traits as I do." There's so much smugness in his voice that for a moment, I can't even ask the question.

"He's your brother?" I try to pull my words together. "But...but when you speak about him, you're so..." I don't want to say, exactly, but he seems to know what I'm getting at. He smiles wistfully.

"We are siblings, after all." He looks up at me. "Do you have brothers, Lotus?" He sees my resultant expression, and chuckles. "Yes, well, then you know that brothers fight, but they love each other, yes?" He sets his teacup on the tray. "I'm very proud of Elete. He's brought much honor to my family. Everyone has his flaws, is all." He brushes the issue aside with a flip of his hand. "You have other questions." And he looks as if he knows exactly what they are. He waits patiently for me to speak them. I sigh a little inside.

This conversation makes me more and more uncomfortable. I don't really want to know more things that I don't want to repeat to others. "I..." I look away. I really don't want to ask. But I can't just hold the conversation from advancing forever, and I might as well just get it over with. "Well, knowing that story, I still don't understand why you said there's an exception for you in the Law. I...I don't have a problem personally with your children's parentage and all that. But since you've gone and said it..."

The Peacock King nods, knowing I would ask this. He prompted this, after all. He takes a sip of his tea before going on. "I am an exception, Lotus. I am half-Dragon." He raises his eyebrows, watching for my reaction.

I give a simple blink, freezing as I raise my teacup to my lips. He laughs.

"It used to be quite well-known, but no one likes to speak of it now, just as no one speaks of the Jherent O'Radia's own lack of total humanity. Many don't like to acknowledge the advantages that some key figures in the arena bear in their blood, but nevertheless, they are still there. And in this case, it is a crucial advantage. It makes me compatible with Hespiredes in a way that very few other men could claim, and it makes her children safe." He spreads his hands. "If investigated by the Law, I could make this claim, and I'm sure after some investigation, I would be found innocent. But the hassle...and the time involved...I have a Kingdom to run, Lotus, and those like Hespiredes to care for. Let the Law chase down criminals, and not pursue those who are just trying to get a day's work done." That said, he cups his hands around his tea, raises it, and takes a sip. It's as if he's closed the entire argument.  "There now, Lotus. Does that answer your question adequately?"

I nod. "I...I don't really know why what I think is so important to you, Sire. I am but a humble servant. Nothing that I say is of much consequence to anybody." It never has been, really, even before I took on the servant role, and the roles before that. I sip my own tea and stay quiet. Whatever story he gives me, it doesn't matter, in the end. I can write the words down, sure, but it's really just for Gerald to turn in. People will listen to him. At least, when he gets out. If...

I look up at Ebrellin-i. His head is cocked, his chin resting on his knuckles as he regards me. "...Not of any consequence." He inhales slowly, his fingers curling in front of his mouth. His eyes search me a little harder than I'm comfortable with.

I keep forgetting about that extra eye in his crown.

His brows draw together. "There's more to what you say than this subject, isn't there? There's something else that makes you worry over not being listened to. What are you worried about?" He turns his attention to his tea then, waiting for my answer. When he breaks eye contact with me, I find myself incredibly relieved. It was like being stuck in a trap.

I can still feel his regard, though. His mind's focus is pretty intent on what I'm feeling right now. I need to be careful. And the most foolproof way of doing that is to just tell the truth. I take in a deep breath, then exhale. "I...worry over the matter of that Poet that you had to imprison, Sire. I don't want war between Kingdoms. And most of all I don't want him to be hurt. He was only doing his job...and doing no harm in that, or at least, much less harm than he could have. I...I just hope you're fair." I look him in the eyes. It's something automatic, meant to convince someone that I'm very serious about what I'm saying. With him, it's a mistake - it's just another moment for him to search me, pin me.

Thankfully, there's nothing for him to find - my words are the truth. I have that working for me, at least.

He nods, puts his head down, hand on his chin. He considers my words while staring into his teacup. I wait for him to speak. After a few minutes, he looks up from his tea. "I wish no harm on a man who simply does his duty, nor do I wish harm on my brother. It is only when I am provoked that I consider a strike. My most fervent wish in this matter, Lotus, is that I am allowed to show leniency. Trust that I know well how to handle a situation such as this, and I will not fail you as your ruler." He cocks his head. "Does that alleviate your fear?"

It can't, not entirely, but if the King is so ready to favor Gerald...maybe something can be done for where my brother is. After all...this is the Peacock King. Cade, whoever he really is, can't control what the monarch here does and what decisions he makes. Right?

I smile. "Thank you, Sire. It's a relief to hear such open words from someone of your rank, to someone of mine. I..." I look down. "I hope we return home soon, Sire. I only just became able to call it home, and already I miss it."

He smiles, closes his eyes and lets that soak in. "Words that I like to hear. We've one more night here, Lotus, and then we journey back. Hopefully you can spend the time with your new friends, yes? It's good to make friends inside the Law, you know." He pats my hand. "Come, let us finish our lunch, and speak no more of issues that have been laid to rest at this hour. Yes? It's bad to dwell on issues. So, if you please..." He holds my hand now. "Do not speak of these matters outside of my company, Lotus. That is my command."

It wrenches at me a little, a quick twist in my chest that I don't expect. A direct command from the King. An order. Within his empire, and within the contract that I serve him under...I am bound.

No worries for him now on whether I'll give away his secrets. I can't speak about any of this to a blessed soul.

* * *

I scan the sky automatically for a falcon as I approach the camp the Armed have made, but I see no sign of Rachella's friend Tambor'n. I catch her eyes next, and the question I planned on asking regarding the bird's whereabouts is cut off before I can make it - Jenny looks over the hills just as Camden outright curses.

I jump, while Rachella frowns for just a moment and then, realization passing over her face, sighs. Camden only continues to come up with curses that are more and more complex while he mounts his horse and rides off, motioning for Jenny to follow. Rachella only watches, an "oh no not this again" expression on her face. As the riders pass the carriage, I see the Peacock King peek out through the door after them.

Rachella sighs, her palm spread over her face, fingers splayed over her forehead. She looks like she's suffering a very familiar, very annoying pain.

As Camden approaches the hill, he waves for Jenny to stop. She waits at the crest of the hill, watching as his form disappears over it from my vantage point. I wish I could know what she's seeing. Or, for that matter, what's going on.

Rachella shakes her head, gives a final sigh, then looks up, hand dropping away from her face. "We have a visitor, Lyric. Maybe...no, stay out here. You should be out here for this. Just...don't let him see you if the King comes out and joins us. We need to speak to him first...make sure he doesn't give you away." She sees the confusion written on my face. "Lyric...he's another of us. Coming for Lord knows what reason...we should have sensed him sooner. Maybe it's the unfamiliar lands here interfering. He certainly couldn't have been sent this fast...so who knows why he just decided to show up here out of nowhere..." She shakes her head again. "Go into the woods. I'll say you're gathering firewood. Keep an eye on this area from there and come out if the King stays in the carriage. That should be safe enough..."  With that said, she turns her attention to the horizon, then sighs again and begins to prep the campfire area for the night. I decide that's my signal to go.

I have a pretty good vantage point from inside the woods, inside far enough that the shadows hide my form from onlookers. I lean against a maple tree and watch as two horsemen come back over the hill to greet Jenny. It's distant, but I can see that one of them, the one who isn't Camden, makes a half-bow from his saddle and lifts his hat in a strangely gentlemanly salute to Jenny. She responds by turning away and riding off towards camp. I see Camden raise his hand, hesitate, and then ride forward, gesturing for the visitor to follow him. It could have been anything, really, but I swear Camden was about to hit the new guy in the back of the head, for whatever reason.

At the carriage, Camden signals a stop. Jenny has already wheeled her horse around a few feet beyond them, waiting, sitting upright and at attention. The carriage door remains closed. They speak to the King from one of the windows for awhile. The angle's all wrong for me to see what the Peacock King's reaction is to our new visitor. It's a long time that they talk there.

The visitor slumps in his saddle as time goes on, looking more and more dejected as they speak. Finally, Camden executes a very formal bow, considering it's being done from a saddle. The visitor echoes it, though his is less crisp, more flamboyant. Jenny also bows, then rides towards our camp. The carriage remains closed as Camden and the visitor also make their leave.

I see Rachella turn back towards me once, then straighten up and regard our visitor on his approach. I decide to head out of the woods now, since the Peacock King hasn't decided to join us. I pick up a few sticks, remembering that my excuse for being out here is to gather firewood. As I approach, the three who've ridden up dismount. Camden starts giving the visitor a dressing-down before the boy's bootheels even hit the ground. Jenny only watches, her expression serious, her bow in hand. I can't tell if her expression is genuine, or if she's secretly amused by all of this. Rachella is obviously not amused by anything right now, and her fear of whatever's to come is ever-so-slightly visible to me.

Camden looks over at me just once when I arrive at the campground, then directs his attention back to the visitor. The visitor...I look him in the eye just as he looks up to give me a glance-over.

"...Lyric?"

It's my turn to cover my eyes with my hand and shake my head. Oh Lords of the heavens and earths. You can't be serious. "...You rode through the Peacock King's territory on your own? You?"

"See?" Camden's tone is biting, stronger than I expected from him. "Even he knows what a stupid, null-brained, pig-headed, arse-faced stubborn little git you are for riding your way hell-bent to destruction through enemy territory what is your Father going to say--" Camden cuts himself clean off, his mouth clamping shut with an audible click of his teeth. The visitor looks at him with mild shock, but it's pretty obvious nothing about his dressing-down has sunk in. At the mention of his Father, he even sneers just a tiny bit. The Peacekeeper closes his eyes, looks away, fingers splayed on the bridge of his nose and over his forehead. I see his mouth move then, as if he's addressing someone else who isn't there, but with no voice to it. For all I know, he's praying.

I see Rachella back away, one bootheel sliding back through the dirt underneath it, before she grabs my arm firmly to tug me back as well. Jenny's already at a healthy distance, likely expecting a scuffle to break out. Camden's head snaps up, his eyes flash open, and he looks straight out ahead as his hand darts to the hilt of his weapon.

Our visitor's face pales. It's possible, through what I see in his blue eyes, that he might just be taking it seriously now. I doubt it, though. He never has. Rachella's eyes are wide - most of what I see now is the whites. Jenny's expression...is just a cold, cutting smile.

I think that's the worst sign of all.

"...I'll permit you to draw your weapon in the woods." Camden turns away, his hand still on the hilt of his weapon. He begins to walk straight back to the spot I was hiding at before. Our visitor follows, but only after Jenny prods him in the butt with the toe of her boot.  He's in shock. He advances, Jenny directly behind him, probably to make sure that he doesn't take off running away. I've seen him do it before, you know, and in much less dire circumstances than this. Rachella follows close behind Jenny, and after a few moments, motions for me to come. I raise my eyebrows. She waves me close, and then whispers into my ear.

"It'll be much more humiliating for him if you see this too. Camden would agree. Just stay quiet, and whatever you do, stay well clear of Camden."

I raise an eyebrow. "What about Jax?"

She replies with a look that's half pity levied at Jax and half pity levied at me for even asking that. I understand.

Jax's voice carries through the woods as we walk. "I...I don't have my Arms yet." He was about to say more, but then the trailing whine in his voice cuts off abruptly. Jenny stops in front of us. It's because Camden has wheeled around in his tracks, looking down through his wire-rimmed glasses at Jax.

"I must commend you for your bravery, jherte Jax. You've advanced alone through enemy territory with nary a weapon of any true capability nor a thought in your blessedly empty head. Truly the Lady of Divine Fortune really has blessed you with all the luck in the world. And now, now that you have arrived here, surely some circumstance will arise to give you a defense against an Armed combatant. After all, that must have been your assumption when you first headed off on this foolhardy expedition." He snapturns to face into the woods again and begins walking without waiting for a reply from Jax. As if there could be any reply to that.

Well, I have to give it to the idiot. He follows without any more whines, and doesn't drag his heels on the way. He does, however, pick up a sturdy-looking stick that lies across the path.

Once we reach a clearing in the woods, Camden walks across it and stops at the other end. He gestures for Jax to stand to his left with a snap of his arm. Jenny stands somewhere behind Camden, out of the range of combat. Rachella stays near the entrance to the clearing, and pulls my arm so that I stay behind her. I have a fine view from this vantage.

Camden's eyes narrow. His hand has never left the hilt of his weapon. He looks up at Jax. "And do you know why, you insolent wretch of an unworthy trainee, the reason is that you've been allowed to endure this here, instead of out in the open, where others can see it?" While waiting for a response, he looks at Jax with such disdain that he rivals some of the Peacock King at his most aristocratic.

Jax just blinks with an expression that might just redefine the word 'blank'. Can I write that? I'm not sure if I have the authority. ...In any case.

Camden sighs, his expression getting the barest hint of weariness to it. "Even with such a great offense committed against your name, our names, and your Father's name, it is foolish to tack humiliation onto the names of our Armies by letting the Enemy witness your castigation. That is the only reason for the reprieve you're recieving. It is nothing. That. You. Have. Earned." And with that said, Camden draws.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Journeywoman Jennelcia Akribastes's Travel Log
* * *

Jax doesn't know when the first strike hits. He sees blood, yes. He sees it fly through the air, even tracks the trajectory from his cheek, idly notes its descent to the ground. He doesn't mark the first strike. For him, it doesn't happen. it's only an event that's noted after the fact, like a diary missive, an object passed on the road.

He lost skin from that blow. Camden's whip is always greedy when it comes to skin. That moreso than blood, truth be told. I consider that wise of him. A man can make more blood much quicker than he can make more skin for himself. I've witnessed, after all, just how fast that can grow back.

Jax may just bear an attractive scar. That still won't attract me to him. But maybe it will teach him a lesson. That, I truly doubt, but I'll enjoy every minute of watching Jher Camden teach it to him. I think Jax has gone too long without proper instruction in these lessons. So fortuitious that he's arrived here, with us. With even a fool like Gerald's little brother to witness the rewards of ignorance. Such serendipity. I might start believing in a God if this proceeds any farther.

Nah, that's saying something far too drastic. I might believe in pixies or unicorns. This is Jax, after all. I saw him struggle through how many academy lessons from classes above him, balconies over him, levels so high over his head. Poor dear. He must feel so bad. Feeling so inferior.

But that'll be all stripped away now, with Camden stripping him down.

The boy can't record this properly. Lyric is his name. He writes things, yes, but I'll tell you how Camden's Arms unsheathe, and then I'll take my leave of this. I'd prefer being lost in this moment than recording it. One reason I might never go and be a Poet like so many of my brothers and sisters in Arms. It unfurls, opens, unfolds like a wing from its sheathe, feathers spreading out like rays.

The boy thought it was a sword, even a puny little knife. Not the first to make that mistake, certainly, and at least he has the excuses of youth, inexperience, and ignorance. No, this is no knife. It is a grand weapon. It's enough to make mke sign my life over, pledge my allegiance when nothing else earns such a thing. This is no mere weapon. it is its own cause. Gerald has his bullets, I might have my arrows, sometime in the future. Camden will see for sure. But this thing, this beauty--sword is no word for it. And well...neither is the word 'whip'.

It unfurls in a hail of blades, a whirlwind of steel and metal-beyond-steel, a bouquet to the assassin-lover that I might be, if I loved anyone like that. I'd love a man for his weapon, yes. And for a weapon like this...I might stay. It is beautiful, shifting, brilliant, a star and a flower and a tesselating shining spiral of metal folding upon itself into death and better-than-death. I couldn't even describe how Camden looks to a passerby, if I were asked. I could go on for hours over his weapon, though. I'm just that kind of woman. Or as Mom and, fuck, Dad would say...I'm that kind of girl.

That's what faces Jax right now, and he doesn't even have an Arm to his name. I don't know about anyone else out there right now, but I'm savoring that and letting it keep me warm while I sleep tonight.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Apprentice Jax Cruxradia's Travel Log
* * *

I stand there in a state of disbelief for...how many seconds? It's hard to measure. I'd call it stupefication, really. I usually only lose time like this when a cute girl passes by me.

Camden's going to strike whether or not my head's in the clouds, though, and so he does. I'll consider it a favor, since it breaks me out of my daze and snaps me into the battle. And a battle this is going to be, even though I'm guaranteed to lose. Well, I don't know. Maybe my stellar gift of good luck will get me out of--

You know, I could move to the side when he strikes out like that. That could help me too! I'm honestly not sure what to do with this stick, though, except for what I've been taught. I mean, it'd be great for parrying and stuff, against, well...any other weapon. If I ever get in close enough to Camden to srike, maybe I can hit him in the head with it. I don't think there's much of a chance of that, though. Fucker's got a hell of a reach with that whip of his. I've seen Katherine and him spar before and come to a standstill. Katherine. I'm still trying to remember what half the weapons are that I'm supposed to learn, and this guy can measure up even with Katherine?

It's bad to focus on negative thinking, though. Daddy says that always sets you up for failure. And that's one of the things I've learned from him that have helped me, so I'm not going to forget it now.

So! Positive things about this fight:

I won't lose to a girl, no matter what some of the guys say about Jhe Camden's hair.

I have a stick, as opposed to nothing.

I'm pretty sure Camden won't kill me. If nothing else, it would look bad for the Peacock King to find my dead body in one of his forests. Well, wait, that might make him happy. That would make him happy. Shit. Well...Camden probably still won't kill me. I'll think of a reason why not in a bit.

Oh yeah, that stick thing? Scratch that. I manage to dodge him a few times once things start up, but wouldn't you know it, he disarms me right after that. Hand-to-whip combat isn't exciting me very much, not when it's a whip made of razor-sharp blades strung on leather. I'd never seen it in action before this - I started up this whole Armed gig pretty recently, and Camden's been out on this training mission since I signed up. I mean, I've heard the stories. I uh...I figured people were exaggerating, really. You know how those Poets are. I mean, I do, since I am one. Well, trained as one. I'll properly graduate once I've gotten in more Armed training. That was the plan, anyway. You never know what's going to come up!

Oh, shit. I didn't expect him to step right out in front of me and punch me square in the jaw. That...that's going to leave a mark. And not a dashing-type mark like whatever neat scar comes from the whip grazing my cheek. No, this is gonna cause swelling, plus some really ugly bruising. That's going to suck. Maybe I can borrow Lyric's makeup kit. I know he's got to be carrying one. Kid's gayer than the Peacock King's shoe collection.

So, Camden takes the time to pull me in by the crook of my arm and maul me close-up with that bladed whip-thing of his. Doesn't bother staying away from my face, but ow-ow-ow! Dude, if you stab me right there that might get infected! Not to mention what this is doing to my clothes. And, considering I take the time to choose my clothing for a certain image...guy's got to think about how he looks, you know? Not maybe as hard as Lyric - I'm not going to go into eyeliner and stuff but--

Shit, shit, I've got to think about fighting, I've got to focus on that, because if I do that hard enough I might write myself fighting better. I sure hope so because I remember losing this fight pretty miserably. Also Camden ordered me to record what happened as "an exercise in humility", so I need to make sure to do it right the first time or he might make me write this whole damn thing over again.

Camden also knows how to use his fists. And elbows. And knees. And bootheels. Good gods, I heard he was originally a soldier from one of the Hill Clans, but I didn't know the rumors about how they fought were really...well, accurate. Shit, I think he bit me. Like, I'm missing a chunk of my ear and I'm not really sure how else that happened because I don't rememebr the whip being anywhere near my face just right then. Is that crazy or what?

[Rest of log deleted from record by Camden Briarseal. Reason given: Rambling uselessness and stupidity are only useful as an example to others of what not to do for the first 800 words or so.]

* * *

...Wow. He just bit Jax. I've always wanted to do that but I was afraid of him crying off to his Daddy about it. I guess that isn't an option, out here in the Peacock King's territory. Hah!

As much as I could find humor in this, though, I am wincing a lot at what's happening in front of me. I like Jax. He was a good friend. He was a bit of an ass. But he doesn't deserve to um...to die for it, or anything.

I really hope things don't go that far.

I am quite sure Camden could kill him. That should be no surprise - it's something anyone would know after finding out the least bit of info about Camden. But watching this fight, it becomes a different thing than just weighing who's the stronger fighter. Watching Camden makes me afraid to be around him later on. I've always seen him as calm, composed - I'm sure he could fight like that, if he wanted to. But he isn't, right now. He's just Hell unleashed, and Jax has nothing to defend with, not even that stick. Really, this isn't like watching a fight. I'm watching a beating. Considering what he's up against, I think Jax is holding up pretty well. He's still standing. I'm not even sure if that's a good sign, though. I have no idea when this is suppossed to stop.

He's taking it pretty well, too. As I would expect of Jax. He's always taken his punches to the chin, as it were. I really don't think he knows any other way to do it. Or maybe he refuses to learn. His enthusiasm and his readiness to take everything on and get through it intact has been impressive...though sometimes what impresses me most is how horribly wrong he manages to make it go. Jax often brags about his stellar luck. Two things he forgets there - one is his success with girls. But romantic tragedies notwithstanding, the other flagrant inaccuracy I've seen regarding his fantastic claims of good luck has been how often he's managed to piss his peers off.

I guess maybe he's asked for it, being such an avid pranker and happy-go-lucky joker. I can't say much, there - I've been in my share of trouble for the same infringements. But Jax has this innate ability to anger others that I've just never managed nor wanted to aspire to.

With Camden, he may finally be learning how much of a detriment this 'skill' of his could be. Well, he'll learn it if he survives this. Just as I think that, Camden manages to land a blow to the side of Jax's head that knocks my childhood friend to the ground. I must have said something, probably squeaked, because Rachella whirls to face me then.

Her eyes pin me, and say more than she might even need to say with her voice. "Don't interfere, and never worry. The Peacekeeper is a fair and just teacher. Please be quiet and observe." I'm impressed with how little emotion creeps into her voice while saying that. It allays my panic a little - but my heart is still pounding. I can't watch someone be kicked when they're down like that and not worry. I just can't.

I wince as Camden flails his whip down at Jax's curled form, then see the weapon gouge a small trench in the ground beside Jax's head. The boy doesn't even flinch.

Camden pauses for a moment, looks down. I see a calm, small smile spread across his face.

Maybe this is a reason to feel more worried. I'm not sure because I stop feeling worry, stop feeling much about this around this point. All I can do is wonder, in my confusion and curiosity, just how this is going to end. The only way to figure that out is to look on.

Jax is still conscious, make no mistake about that. I see his prone form panting, I see his eyes open, looking to the side and locked on Camden's boots. I can see him thinking, weighing contingency plans, trying even now to find a way out of this. His eyes flick upwards, and notice me watching him. His face goes a little blank as he realizes that I've witnessed this whole incident. Maybe I tripped him up there, just by being there. If so, I'm sorry. But Jax couldn't stop what was happening then, and there was little if any way to change what happened next.

He'd earned it.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Peacekeeper Camden Briarseal's Travel Log
* * *

I'm pretty happy with the progress that Apprentice Jax and I have made thus far. He's learned so much about the Arms just in this very short span of time. There's really nothing to compare to up-close, personally gained knowledge of the practical workings of these things that some dare simply call weapons.

No, this is not a lesson he could have learned at home. It's too safe there. Too regulated. Out on the field is where the real class begins. How to survive. How to apologize. How to take a real beating and roll with it. How to tell when to use each of these individal skills, and which are wise to ever combine.

I can't deny it. My whip wants to take over and strip him of more skin than I can allow for this. It's to be expected. Really, if an Armed can't control his weapon, he needs to lay it down and find a different carreer for himself.  I've seen such a thing happen before, enforced it even. I know how to keep my head, and my whip, calm. Apprentice Jax might disagree, but he's not really in a position to debate with me right now. The ground is a bad place to do that sort of thing from. I remind him of that with a strike downward, gashing the dirt next to his head.

...He didn't even jump.

Oh. I recognize that look on his face, as he studies my boots. I've seen it time and again. On his own face, when I've glimpsed him before, and just on the faces of other trainees. It seems like this is just another thing for him to ride out. Once he endures it, the punishment wil be over and he can resume his old ways. Really, I'm just boring him with this. No real point in extending the chastisement. He knows where it's all going.

...Yes, I recognize that look. Maybe I've even had it on my face before. But I was already a fighter at an age when he was still playing with toys and thinking of girls as weird little alien carriers of cooties. I can't really remember the last time I had that expression on my face. Perhaps that makes it difficult for me to sympathize, but it does also make it easier for me to resolve to beat him until he forgets how to even move his jaw, let alone wear an expression as contemptuous as that.

Of course, that won't be enough.

"Stand up." There's a certain way of giving orders that doesn't require rank to be spoken, but it should be noted that a trainee's mind should already have it ground in exactly what he is and how low a rank he is in comparison to his superiors, and if Apprentice Jax's mind is sadly bereft of that particular grindmark, perhaps I need to scuff it in for him. A bootheel would work excellently for that. It's an idea, since my order is not obeyed. I look over to Journeywoman Jenny.

She raises an eyebrow at me, gives a shrug with one hand extended, palm open. She knows he's capable of getting up as well, then. Witnessed.

"Get up or I strip you of your rank and rank-name right here and now, Ethrain." I see his boots twitch first. Then, then he finally responds. He opens his mouth to say something, skirts a glance at my face instead of my feet, and then promptly closes it. He's to his feet, then, in a motion that's almost quicker than my eyes can track.

(Had he done it properly, it wouldn't have been such a slow motion.)

It takes him a moment before he remembers his proper position and loses the slouch. Once he adopts it, I give a slow nod, hand on my chin, and walk in front of him. My eyes are out to the side - I'm more pacing in front of him than confronting him directly. I can feel him grow nervous, and that is of course why I am doing this. I can even feel him start to notice my regard of him, my mental watch over his emotions. Good. Maybe he'll begin to get an awareness of my capabilities. Maybe he'll begin to get an awareness of his capabilities. Maybe he'll begin to get an awareness of anything in the goddamn world around him.

...No.  No, he's just wondering what my next strike will be, and how much it will hurt, and what the best method of ducking away from it would be, to spare him from the most pain.

What a waste.

I hear him squawk before I even think about the next motion I make, or perhaps Geillg'a acts faster than what she calls 'the unbearably slow speed' of my thoughts.  He's not on the ground, though.  She, or rather we, I suppose, flung her around his waist.  I hear another indignant squawk as Apprentice Jaxhelshon feels the metal bits in the whip dig into his waist through his clothing.  His eyes widen, and when he looks back at me he's utterly pleading.

Well, will you look at that?  It's at least a change from willful ignorance.  I give my whip a good yank, enough to entice a "HORK" out of the boy as he lurches forward.  His tongue's hanging out of his mouth and his eyes are bugging out.  A few more tugs earn the frog sounds that entirely match his appearance.

And he still looks at me with those stupid, blue, sappy eyes, that puppy-dog pleading face, and he's on the ground before I know it, my bootheel grinding into the back of his head.  He has the indecency to squawk again at that, as if he'd done anything less than earn this dirt-eating stance of his.  I step away, and then snap my whip to the side.  She coils back up into the shape of a subtly barbed blade.  I look down at him.  He's none the worse for wear.  Still squirming.  I gesture up, snapping my fingers in the way that you tend to have to do to get a trainee's attention.  "Come on.  Up!"

He pulls himself up slowly, straining to even get to his knees. And. He.  Grumbles.

That he hits the dirt before he even has a chance to get to his feet is no fault of mine.  Geillg'a has a low tolerance for lip, as do I - but it was certainly his choice to disobey.  No one has asked him to come down here across the border and piss me off.  I'd know.  I'd have been sent a missive, Halls help me.

"I didn't even DO anything!  OO-O-O-O-F-F-F-F-F!"  The resulting sound is from me punching Apprentice Jaxhelshon in the face, and then pulling back so that the flat ends of Geillg'a's blades repeatedly thwap him in the cheek.  Then I swing my arm back and wham the pommel of Geillg'a's hilt back into his cheek, illiciting a satisfying crunch.

I hear a light bout of applause from Jhe Jenny at the first breaking of a bone.  I make a proper bow in her direction, then continue.

Apprentice Jaxhelshon is lying on the ground, slightly curled, cradling his jaw and whimpering.  There's blood on the ground, as if that's anything new.  There's also a tooth, and that's a fine addition.  Perhaps he'll have sharper memories of this occasion now.  I give another swift kick to his head.  What can I say?  It certainly makes a fine target!  He rolls in the dust, bringing his hands up to shield himself, staving off the inevitable.

At least he realizes that there is an inevitable, now, and has a good enough idea of what it might be.

I wouldn't say that Katherine was easy on the boy, and would never imply that she was soft, but there's something to be said for someone else stepping in and handing troublemakers their asses.  Call it a guest lecture, if you will.

"UP."  I stomp my heel into the ground as I say it.  I think the vibration might get his attention more than the sound.  And he might as well get used to paying attention to those signals.

To his credit, he does still lurch upwards, right before I swing my leg around and kick him in the back of his head with my heel.  Then he falls to the ground again, of course, and attempts to clamber to his knees.  Then I kick him down again.

"I didn't tell you to get up, Apprentice Jaxhelshon."

"B-but..." There's something like a cough or a sob.  I'm going to say it's a sob, because I owe this boy no dignity that he hasn't earned.

"NOW get up."  He's a bit too slow about it, so I slash at the ground next to his head with my whip again, in a sudden bout of encouragement.  He screeches and fumbles his way halfway to his feet.  Then he falls down again, losing his balance.  Then he stays on the ground, waiting.

"I told you to get up, Apprentice Jaxhelshon."

"I...I don't know which way is up anymore, Sir."

"Trust me.  You're not there yet.  UP!"

He muffles a curse under his breath, for which he earns a barbed smack in the ass.  He manages not to fall from that, and does, somehow, end up on his feet.  He turns warily to face me.

It's a quiet moment.  Him standing, barely so, rocking back and forth like a boat in docking, trying to look me in the eye.  I know he's seeing possibly three of me at this point, but it's still a valiant effort.  We watch each other, him waiting.

"Why do you keep knocking me down, Jhe Briarseal?"

I supress the grin.  A deadpan is better in this situation.  Jenny can still see the expression I'm trying to hide, though, and I'll be damned if that girl doesn't supress the tiniest snicker.  I'll have words with her later over that.  For now, I have Apprentice Jaxhelshon.  "So you have a chance to prove you can follow commands, Apprentice Jaxhelshon."

"Wha-"

I backhand him across the face and manage to make his nose gush even more blood down the front of his shirt before he lurches sideways and falls to the ground.

"See?  Now, up."

He...growls at me as he sits up.  I kick him in the head, this time with the toe of my boot.  He makes a nice sputtering noise before he lands sideways in the dirt.

"No," I say, standing over him, "you don't understand, Apprentice Jaxhelshon, and see, that's how you got here.  I will tell you what to do.  You then do it.  You don't do anything else.  You don't roll, you don't kneel, you don't laugh, you don't curse, you don't grumble, you don't even fart unless I tell you to."  I give him another kick in the head for embellishment.  "And do you know why?  Because NOT KNOWING THAT is how you GOT in this miserable bloody heap of a position in the first place."  Three more kicks to the head, with careful avoidance of the neck when he curls away from me.  "Now, Apprentice Jaxhelshon.  If you would please.  Show the class what you have learned here today."

He doesn't move.  He doesn't weep.  He doesn't even fucking bleed.

"Very well done.  UP."

I can summarize.  He gets up every time I tell him to.  I then promptly kick him down.  Eventually, he loses the spirit to make it past his knees.  I decide putting him out of his misery would make the lesson he's learned rather moot, so he finds unconsciousness far longer than he would like, and far longer than I bet even his daddy would like.

Jhe Hearthborn and Jhe Dovetail haul his sorry carcass back to camp, and roll him up in a blanket.  We can worry about healing whatever's worth healing in the morning.  Much like a hangover, waking up after a lesson like this is, in itself, a very important review.

I go to sleep that night without talking to Camden, and Rachella doesn't talk to me, nor does Jenny. Camden's scary, man. I don't think I ever want to talk to him again. Well, that's probably exaggerating.

...No. He's really scary.

Rachella...well, can I blame her for feeling awkward? I sleep under the stars another night. It's...well, I had sort of looked forward to it, but now Camden doesn't even have a chance to look at my journal, and I'm a bit afraid to show it to him.

I walk up to the Peacock King's carriage in the morning, and he quickly tugs me inside, looking out with narrowed eyes before closing the door. He asks me what happened last night, to Jax. He asks me for details, and I try to only tell him what is proper...but he coaxes out of me much more than I'd like to have said. He can even tell that I'm attempting to withhold, and that makes it even worse for me. Eventually he soothes my nerves, makes me some tea.

"I know the private rituals of the Armed are ghastly, Lotus. I'm only glad you came out with your psyche seemingly unharmed. Goodness, but what King in our would ever let their child train as an Armed, become one of them...let alone two?" He looks to the side as he speaks, his voice tapering off as he does so. I blink.

"...Sir?"

He jerks his head up, shaking himself. "Oh? My apologies, Lotus. I do seem to have forgotten myself. Of course, many would take pride in their children joining the ranks of the Armed. It...it just isn't the place for the well-bred, yes? Very improper. Here, try some of this cheese. It's simply delicious, and it'll help settle you for the ride ahead."

As I attempt to do as he suggests, I hear a knock on the carriage door. It's Jhe Camden. I try not to recoil back, whereas Ebrellin-i handles himself much more smoothly.

"Yes, Peacekeeper Briarseal? I trust you are clear to leave for the journey ahead?" There is a bit of an edge to his voice, though, and I'm not quite sure why.

Jhe Camden makes a bow. "Your highness, I apologize for the actions of the Armed trainee who trespassed on your lands. He has been dealt with in the ways we consider proper. However, as we would still like to stay in your beautiful Kingdom for a bit more of Jhe Hearthborn's training, I thought it proper to come to you about the situation and address any concerns you may have. Also, as Jhe Jaxhelshon Cruxradia has trespassed on your property, I am to extend his services to you to give him an opportunity to repay you."

The King snorts, and his nose wrinkles. "I see." He looks out over the distance. "Jhe o'Radia's son himself, then? I had suspected."

Jhe Camden keeps his face calm, but I can see he's trying very hard to suppress a grimace. "Your highness, please know that Jhe Cruxradia is here not as a Prince of the Radian Blood, but as an Armed Trainee."

"Oh, goody. That means it won't be at all beneath him to shovel horse shit, will it?" The Peacock King smiles wide. "Thank you for stopping by with this wonderful news, Jhe Briarseal. Please, let us make haste to the Palace, so that Jhe Cruxradia may repay his debt in my stables as soon as possible."

I can't quite define Jhe Camden's face in words, but I can try: it's somewhere in the middle of deathly pale and holding in peals of laughter. I don't think he knows which he wants to do more. He makes his leave, then, and we leave for the Palace. Our return trip only takes a day and a half, since we have no stops on the way, and Ebrellin-i ensures that we are going at the fastest pace possible. His enthusiasm is, umm...inspiring, I guess.

I try to avoid Camden as much as possible, but I can't be inside the carriage at all times. During a break he manages to catch me by the elbow. I jump.

He tsks. "No reason to be jumpy. You're out in some of the most beautiful country you'll ever lay eyes on." He smirks, then looks over me.

"What?" I'm starting to get paranoid now.

"Nothing. I was able to send in my week's report, you know. I didn't mention anything out of the ordinary. And you'd be considered out of the ordinary, in case you were wondering about that. Also, I put in a request that you'll find amusing, when it comes through."

I blink up at him.

He sighs and shakes his head, still smiling, then props up his glasses, which were scooting down the bridge of his nose. He seems to think something is very funny, for some reason. "Look, don't worry about it. While you were out here, I wanted to ask if I could keep your journal."

I stare at him. I seem to be doing a lot of that. "...Why?"

"I trust Gerald's guns to keep themselves hidden, but I can't say the same of your journal. It's a liability, and if I'm not going to send you home immediately, I'd like you to not have anything that could immediately incriminate you on your person. And while I do believe you when you say you can hide things well, I'd prefer to keep it on me. ...What's wrong?" His eyebrows draw together in a look of concern for me. Well, I suppose I look as upset as I feel.

"What if I want to write?"

He blinks. "I..." He looks away, like he's hiding something from me. I bet he is. "It would be dangerous if you wrote now. I would suggest you wait. But if you simply must write and can't fight off the urge..." He sighs, his shoulders slumping. "Be sure to destroy it afterwards. Don't let your words get found. Even if you think they're inconsequential, the Peacock King is known to be very paranoid about writing. I imagine it's even worse, now. I've met him before and observed him both directly and through reports. He's...even more controlling right now than is his norm, Lyric. So it's best not to take unnecessary risks. He trusts you now. Best not to strain that when it could be avoided." He pauses. "...You're getting pretty pale, Lyric."

I can't hold it back. "You're scary."

He startles, then bites his lip. I can't tell if he's mad or not. For some reason it looks like he's trying not to grin. "...Well. My apologies, then, Jhe Lyric. A pleasant and peaceful day to you." He takes a step back, then extends his hand.

I give a short bow to him in response, then hand him my journal. After that, it's quite some time before I see it again.

* * *

We return to the Palace in the early morning. Ebrellin-i seems to welcome the sight of his home. I have to pretend at excitement - after all this time out of doors it's like greeting a cage. On the other hand, I can look forward to a bath. Perhaps that's why the King is so happy! Wait...maybe that means I smell.

We disembark from our carriage, servants unloading baggage and bringing it inside to be put away or packed. The Armed retire their horses to the stables and go to their own quarters. Ebrellin-i steps off to the side to receive some news from a nervous-looking servant. I watch the King's face slowly twist into horror, and then panic. He straightens up, trying to compose himself. He manages to school his expression into a deadpan, takes a few deep breaths, and then leans down and whispers something to the servant. It must be instructions, because the servant bows and then turns on his heel and dashes off with the importance of someone who has a lot of things to attend to.

Ebrellin-i brings his hands up, and frets with his hair, the gesture so nervous I can barely believe he's making it. Then he flings his hands back down to his sides, takes me by the arm, and stalks into the Palace so fast that I have to run to keep up.

I've never seen the King in such distress. Even when he defended his actions to me in the Valley of Hespiredes, he had a certain calm to him, a manner in his bearing. Now, that is lost. There's anger somewhere behind that calm mask. A low, burning rage, and I'm afraid to know what the source is.

...I hope he hasn't found me out.

He leads me into my suite, sits me in front of the mirror, and guides me to slide my robes away. "Lotus, pay attention now. Today will be a busy day, and you will play the key role." He smooths a hand over my bare shoulder. I feel his nails trail across my skin and inadvertently shiver. He gives my head a pat. "Your clothing will be here soon. I'm having it tailored specially for your figure. But we must work on your hair, now." His hand sinks into the ponytail at the back of my head, then pulls the band holding it out. The whole honey-colored mess falls down around my shoulders.

He looks at me through the mirror, studying how my hair falls, how it changes the line of my jaw. He makes a tiny smirk. "Oh, such looks. Sweet irony, as much as my brother might claim I'm misusing the word."

I blink. He chuckles at my confusion.

"Don't worry your pretty head about it, Lotus." He gathers my hair up in his hand, letting the strands fall through. "Hmm...yes. You'll need a bath." His hands brush over my neck, then trail down my back. I get goosebumps again.

He leans down, chin hovering right over my shoulder. His breath rustles the strands of hair by my cheek, tickling it. "Come. Let's see what I have to work with."

I follow as bidded, barely able to breathe.

* * *

When he finishes, we inspect the end product in a full-length mirror.

He sighs, hands still clasped around my shoulders, holding me just-so. "Beautiful. My cherished one," He leans down, breath tickling my cheek again, "you're so lovely that no one would believe you were flesh and blood, were your arm not weaved with mine." He extends his hand. "If you please?"

I extend my hand, and he weaves his wrist and forearm with mine, our fingers twining together. "Perfect," he whispers.

I...I have to accord him some credit. By someone's standards, I am very near a vision of perfection. My hair is black, the hue just a tint towards dark brown. It falls similar to my usual style, the two clumps still hanging in front of my ears. But in the back, it's caught up in a looping knot, twining into a web of hairsticks and chains and beads. My ears peek out from the hair hanging in front of them, the tops delicately capped with gold ornaments that imitate pointed ears.

My body is draped in robes far finer than I've ever worn, nor likely will again. They are very nearly as fancy as the King's, with layers and knots and sashes and embroidery so complex that I'm not really sure how I got into them...nor do I have any clue how I'll get out. He's even slid rings onto my fingers. I'm pretty sure they're more valuable than I am. I am also very sure that each one has spells woven into it. Spells of binding, controlling...

I shiver, though I manage to keep it discreet.

Jewelry and clothing and shoes and hair. And then...then he's also done something to my face. I keep wanting to grimace in the mirror and track how the marks shift as I do so. The paint feels so light and is so well-mixed that I keep forgetting I'm even wearing it. My face is now as pale as his is painted, that familiar mask of white looking quite creepy as it stares back at me in the mirror. It...shifts my features somewhat. Smooths out shadows and angles, marks of distinction. It makes me look much more like the doll he's treated me like this morning.

...But no one paints dolls like he's painted me.

A black band wraps over my face, over where my eyes are. My eyelids are also black, so my eyes stare out of a band of shadow. Marks on my cheeks compliment the mask, and a dot of black on my lower lip. The entire affair echoes him, as do the clothes, jewelry, and hair. Really, the only things that don't mark me as his own are my eyes. They stare out of the black mask, brilliantly blue, two lost sapphires.

His hand slides over my cheek. The makeup doesn't smear, doesn't flake. He chuckles. "To think I'd see you like this, after how you first appeared in my Court, Lotus. You've come a long way in such a short time."

He turns, and leads me out the door.

"Now, come. As you've already learned, the second most important part of making an impression is presenting yourself flawlessly to your audience, maintaining control of them through that." He smirks. "The most important, of course, is who that audience is."

He leads me on.

* * *

I blink as we step out into the daylight. We're in a shady alcove, but it's still a very sunny, warm day out. This is one of the inner gardens that Ebrellin-i keeps in his private suites. In this area, the security is very high, even though it doesn't appear as such at all. I can feel the wards, though. It's near the heart of his sanctuary. I'm surprised we're meeting anyone here. That he would take someone this deep into his guarded places...maybe it's a high official? Someone who requires just as much security as he?

Well, that's strange to think about. I can't think of many people of that high a stature, and of that very few, I expect none of them to be here.

We step from the stone path into a paved clearing where there is cushioned patio furniture. There is a table set out in the center, a chessboard sitting in the middle of it. There are two chairs at it, facing each other. Another, smaller table to the side has an elaborate tea set. There is a seat by it, as well. Other chairs abound, but are far off to the side or under the shade.

I see several guards, all wearing a very familiar uniform, one not from this country. The chill is already on my neck, now, but I somehow manage to fight it off. Next, I see Jhe Camden, standing behind one of the chairs at the chess table. His posture is perfect, his back utterly straight, his uniform impeccably clean and spotless. His glasses glare in the sunlight. I can't see if his expression changes at the sight of me.

But worse than that is the man sitting in the chair in front of Jhe Camden.

If it were my Father, I somehow think it might be better.

I wait for the Peacock King's signal before I make my bow. I'm serving under his protocol now, much as it pains me at this moment. He stands right in front of the table before he stops, extending his hand to the side just a bit, guiding me into my next action. It's strangely clear just what he wants me to do at this juncture...but then, that's not strange, considering how many binding charms of his I'm wearing now. I sweep a low bow, my hair brushing the ground in the motion before I quickly rise, taking perfect posture again. Throughout the motion he never loosens his grip on my arm.

"My esteemed colleague, Jhe o'Radia, allow me the honor of introducing my consort, J'Lotus d'Audiva Rocale." He gives a flourishing gesture, indicating my person, then leads me to my seat, which is apparently by the tea table. At least serving tea is well within my training and expertise.

"A singular pleasure, I am sure," the visiting King intones so dryly that I make a note to check my hair for split ends later. His eyes skirt over me, looking at my makeup and clothing for what might be the third time since he first laid eyes on me. He's schooling his expression so well that I think any shock will be explained away by the Peacock King taking a consort to what is obviously a diplomatic audience. I, luckily, can easily explain away my awkwardness here as the shock of being introduced as Ebrellin-i's consort. Of course, I think it's no matter to him one way or the other.

The Peacock King is gloating so much now that he might as well be sitting on a nest of golden eggs.

Uncle Lui gives me one more nod before turning his full attention back to the King. Before he turns away, though...

His eyes pin me, and I know he's wondering what the hell his nephew is doing in a place like this. There's absolutely no use in hoping that he doesn't recognize me. Uncle Lui recognizes everyone. It's part of his job in, like, running a whole empire. He also just...I don't know...sees. Father does it too, but people expect it of him because he's the Judge. I don't really get it and I don't know the difference, but I think Uncle Lui sees even more than Father does. He just...well, he doesn't always tell on us.

I...I don't really have much hope of that still being the case. There's no way. Maybe Jhe Camden will tell Jhe o'Radia of the situation, but...well, Uncle Lui is my Uncle through my Father's side, and they're brothers and all...

Oh great bloody seas and big fat blubbery whales I'm in trouble. Even the Peacock King couldn't protect me once word got back to my Father, even if I thought it could come to that or would come to that. I'm just some puppet being jerked in the middle of someone's silly game and I didn't even mean to be here. How did I even get here?

You know what the worst part is? Remembering this:

'You're his favorite nephew, you doof.' Jhe Katherine rolls her eyes. I always feel very strange around her and I try to avoid her at all costs. It tends to be good for the health anyway, I hear. But here she is, grinning down at me, that expression of delight in her eyes, like a cat that's got a catnip mouse. I'm pretty sure I'm not stuffed full of dried herbs, so this is unsettling to me.

She laughs when she sees me blink in confusion.

'Well, he'd never tell you, of course. I don't think anyone would. But Daddy likes you enough that he thinks twice about telling 'Sy that you've gone and done something stupid, just like your brothers. You know how much he loves to bother your Father. You have to have seen it. You seem to make him pretty happy, too. So...' She twirls her hair around her index finger, looking into the distance. Then her eyes snap back to mine, catching me in a way that's eerily like Daddy. 'Don't ruin it.' She watches me blink. 'Don't do something stupid and ruin it, Lyric. All of you boys combined can scrape up the brainpower of a hedgehog, but at least you're wilier than you let on. Sort of like Gerude.' She gives me a little kick. It doesn't hurt. Well...not much. I check my pants for scuff-marks, though, because these are brand-new. 'Get going. I've got training ahead of me, and men to beat into the ground.' She grins. I take that shining opportunity to scamper away.

...You see how bad that makes this right now?

He keeps looking at me. He can read my expression, I know. Even though I'm keeping my pleasant smiling deadpan through it and acting the charming little arm-accessory. He reads eyes.

I hear the Peacock King chuckle. Uncle Lui's gaze snaps back to him. His expression is well-schooled, so I can't tell if he's extremely wary of the ruler here or just trying not to show his shock at where his nephew is.

The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale is smiling at my uncle, his chin in his palm. That grin is so smug and proud and predatory that I have to stamp out the instinctual urge to stand up and get between the two. Really, if Uncle Lui needs protection, he has his royal guards behind him and Jhe Camden over his shoulder. I realize that the chuckle is a well-disguised purr, and my Uncle...it almost looks like his hackles are rising. Almost. "Isn't he the most beautiful thing? I really have trouble taking my eyes off of him. You as well, it seems." And that ambiguous statement just stays ambiguous as his eyes skirt over the chessboard. His fingers dance before falling upon a knight, which he hops over the first row of white men, and to the left. Oh, goodness. I could take this down in chess notation, you know, but I don't think it'd flow very well, and I don't know if everyone knows it. Decisions decisions...

...Anyway, he makes his opening, and I suppose that's meant in several ways. Then his attention skirts to me. "J'Lotus, the tea, if you would please."

It gives me an excuse to stop watching the game, which is something I'm extremely grateful for.

"I do admit he is something particularly difficult to look away from." I hear a soft click, which is Uncle Lui making his move. "You must have schooled him well?" That steel tone is something I don't really associate with my uncle. It's hard to remember that it's being applied to me. It's not just that they're talking about me as if I'm in a separate room - something that I am used to from attending so many Courts. There's the person that the Peacock King is trying to pretend is me, and there's the kind of person that Uncle Lui thinks I am right now, and then there's me. I can't resolve them.

"But of course, dear Regent. Who isn't, that is placed in my hands?" I hear the click on the chessboard of his matched reply.

My hands go to the teapot and I begin to pour out two cups. I note that there are four cups set out, and then my attention gets prodded towards Jhe Camden, and myself. Ah, of course. I frown internally. Giving tea to Jhe Camden is nice and all, but...isn't he serving as the Jhe o'Radia's principle bodyguard?

I can only do as told, though.

It strikes me that the Peacock King is veiling his insults one atop the other here - the Jhe o'Radia's preference for coffee as his favored drink is so well-known that it plays a defining role in the empire's import and export laws. Having coffee on hand as well as tea would have been of negligible effort and expense to the Peacock King.

Rank determines serving, with guests taking priority in cases of equal rank. I move in silent grace, offering the teacup on its saucer with a prim bow to my uncle. He takes it with a nod to me that's obviously paid as a compliment and measure of gratitude. Very proper of him. If he weren't so professional about this all, I might have dropped the teacups by now. As it is I almost serve myself next just so I can have some tea to console myself. Being next to my Uncle is chilling, as if the air around him cools by several degrees until he responds to the Peacock King's question. "In all fairness, it is not a question I can answer, due to lack of direct observation of your handling."

Ebrellin-i's eyes sparkle as he takes his cup and saucer from me, according me a slight tip of his chin before I back away. "A lie," he intones softly, smiling over the rim of his cup.

My uncle's head jerks up. Then he laughs. It's a bit harsh, a bitter sort of mirth, but it's better than the anger I expected. He plays his next move on the board with such cavalier abandon that I wonder if he's trying to lose on purpose. "Of course you would tell me that, Ebrellin-i. But, really. Why don't we move conversation away from your current choice of accessory and onto more pressing matters? My time is important." That viciousness creeps into his eyes and tone, something so familiar to me and synonymous with Unkie that it consoles me.

I hand Jhe Camden his cup, and he gives me a curt nod, his eyes staring straight ahead. He's looking directly at the Peacock King. He probably hasn't looked away from the monarch since he glided in with me. I'm not even sure if he knows I exist. ...Except I am, because it's Jhe Camden, and I doubt a single thing in this garden has escaped his notice.

The Peacock King's smile is laced with poison, his head tilted down over his cup, his eyes closed. He replies on the board before replying with his words, eyes still unopen. His move is tactical and cutting, not at all like Uncle Lui's happy-go-lucky breach of all playing conventions. "On to business. Conversation that suits you so perfectly." He makes a gesture, his fingers rolling, a sort of prompt to advance. "How has her education been? Of course, she's past all of her training, so it is a bit of a moot question, but still one worth asking." He looks up, cup dangling as he holds it with his fingers splayed around the rim. "One never stops learning in one's life, or one dies."

Uncle Lui nods. "Very well said. She's learning the violin, you know. Taking to it very well. And of course she learns a new weapon every week, as surprised as I am to find out that there's still yet another weapon she hasn't mastered yet. But then, we don't run out of weapons in this world." His smile is rather cutting.

I blink. Who are they talking about? I look down and attend to my own tea. The cup is long overdue for me.

Something about the Peacock King's chuckle in response betrays that he's nervous to address that. I wonder why. Of course, Jhe Camden's here, and commenting on weapons like that in the presence of an Armed...

...Maybe they're talking about an Armed, then? It's so confusing. I just can't tell. I'm not here to understand, though. I'm here to look pretty while two Kings play chess and talk about a girl as if she's some country they've fought over. I notice they're even careful not to speak her name, and wonder who they're talking around - me, Jhe Camden, or the guards? Or even each other? That doesn't even make sense!

I do notice that everyone drains their tea rather quickly, except for Uncle Lui. He's still nursing it. Or rather, avoiding it. But then, serving him tea was like a slap in the face by the Peacock King.

After I serve the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale and Jhe Camden, I remain standing, facing the Jhe o'Radia. I wonder if I'm sweating my makeup away. I almost stammer before I get the words out, but they flow as I speak, flawlessly delivered, and too swift and unexpected for Ebrellin-i to stop them.

"Jhe o'Radia, as an esteemed guest here, may I presume to offer you some coffee?" I perform a very dainty bow, trying to ignore the surprised grunt from Ebrellin-i. The monarch masks it with a light cough.

I see several things go through Uncle Lui's eyes. Surprise, relief, and...a sort of searching of me. He grins. "It would be rude of me to decline an invitation from one so beautiful and charming as your consort, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. I hope this imposes no troubles on your behalf."

I straighten up. "It's no trouble, sir! I can fetch it myself, if needed." I back away, and look to the Peacock King.

He has a marvelous deadpan. He gestures for me to leave. "If you would please bring the whole pot, J'Lotus."

I bow low, and then leave, letting none of my nerves show, my strides even, my hands still. I don't want to think about whether he'll be angry at me, about how this might complicate things. Maybe he'll just think I'm being polite.

Of course, Audiva Rocale's strict bans on most imports apply to coffee as well. There's not a native Radian blend to be found, nor one from any other outside countries. But Uncle Lui is a connoisseur, so I'm certain he'll enjoy one of these Aurocan blends. I prepare the grounds in a coffee press and then bring it and some mugs out on a tray.

I can tell the Peacock King is angry, but at least he's aiming it at my uncle and not myself. I can tell it through his chess, how he moves with more aggression than would be advisable. Uncle Lui plays best under that kind of assault, and so answers each move by turning it to his advantage. Serving him coffee only gives his confidence an eerie edge of cheer.

"Why thank you, Jhe Lotus. Oh!" He sniffs the brew. "My commendations, Ebrellin-i. This is a superior blend which I've had much trouble procuring."

The Peacock King accepts the compliment with due grace. "All things flourish on Aurocan soil, whether they be flora or fauna. Your words only serve to give that belief further credence. So, perhaps I am due to receive a visit from my favorite flower, yes?"

Uncle Lui's face is like stone, when before it was happy. "I am afraid I am the wrong official to address that concern to. If it would help, I may pass on a scribed missive to the relevant parties. At the very least, I can ensure more than anyone else that the message will go its course safely."

Ebrellin-i makes a dismissive gesture. "If you can't give your word then my letter is just another letter, regardless of its courier. Don't go through any special efforts for me. I will make do...as I always do." He makes his final move. I blink.

Stalemate.

Uncle Lui scrutinizes the board, then raises an eyebrow. "You could have pushed for a win. Are you playing weak on me?"

The Peacock King grunts. "I'm playing the game you deserve to have played with you."

Uncle Lui's lip curls, but he says nothing further.

The Peacock King gestures for me to rise as he does. I take my place by his side, just as he makes a gesture of farewell. "I believe we have dispensed with all necessary business. As always, it is a pleasure playing games with you."

Uncle Lui laughs, then stands, making a return gesture. "As always. Feel free to send me more regular correspondence. The Poet King has requested the opposite, of course...but were you to send a messenger as attractive and charming as the boy at your side, perhaps he'd finally change his mind." He chuckles. "Really, I'd take him home with me, were he not yours."

I feel the Peacock King's hand tighten around my forearm. "You've seen fit to take enough things from Aurocan soil. Leave my flowers where I plant them and keep yours to your own garden. That gleefully incapable son of yours saw fit to hop over my fences and trample among the rows. He's knee-deep in the fertilizer, now, with a shovel, digging himself out."

"Ah, good, finally there is quality labor in the Aurocan fields. I eagerly await his return after beautifying your Court with his shovel." He's completely aloof about the reference to Jax, amazingly. Almost proud of it, in fact. Uncle Lui's eyes twinkle, and he cocks his head. "You talk to your flowers, do you not, Ebrellin-i? You can ask on your own what soil they long for. If one gives an answer ill-suited to your purposes, would it anger you as a gardener, or would you relocate it to where it would flourish? I have found that the second is painful, but only another part of being a parent, or a ruler. You, of course, close your borders and see fit to fence in your greenery. I don't see much sense in it, myself." He nods to the other ruler. "But, I must be off. A fine evening to you and J'Lotus."

"Go." There's nothing in the Peacock King's voice but cold steel, so much that I wonder if it would cut my uncle were he not on guard.

They leave.

* * *

(Alternate ending: http://www.qwantz.com/archive/001385.html)

He still holds my arm. His other hand falls on my shoulder like a lead weight. Like a dead weight, in fact. I get an eerie mental image of a corpse's hand grabbing me. His grip is anything but dead, though. Not only is it strong, but his fingers twitch. I can feel the tips of his long fingernails poking into my shoulder, twitching a bit. He's angry. He can't keep his hands still, he's so angry. He's angry and he's holding me and he could just shake me like a doll right now and I could do nothing but snap in his arms. Father wouldn't even get a letter about it. I don't make a sound. I don't breathe. The only movement there is to me is the gentle thumping of my heart and the strands of unknotted hair that blow in the light breeze.

He yanks me back and leads me out of the garden without a word. I hear him command doors to open. I hear him command globed tyrotyles to light. I hear all manner of commands, and all I do is walk, in perfect pace with his. I try to keep my mind blank. I've been a servant before. I've been in Courts before. I've been through punishment.

It's different than being punished by my Father, when I'd just cry and plead. In a Court, things are taken with dignity and grace. There's something I prefer about the childhood way of things. Crying is a release. Tantrums are another sort of release. There's no finality, not like we understand finality later in life. There's no terror quickening in your chest into a cold understanding so palpable that you could take it out and set it into jewelry.

He's not leading me to places I know, but I still recognize them. Because I know him, and I recognize these places as his. I know we're traveling deeper into the Palace, to its heart. I can feel his strength here, feel more of his grip tightening around me. This is his sanctuary. The center of the spider's web.

My heart gives one tiny bolt of panic, and I can tell he feels it, but keeps guiding me on. Finally, we reach it. The double-doors, emblem of the peacock spread across them in swirling enamel and gold, open at his breath, and close behind us at his will.

I kneel. I don't think there is a command. There doesn't need to be, here. He could have thought the command, and I would do it. And part of me wonders if he didn't even need to bother with the command at all. Perhaps all kneel to him in this room.

It's certainly something to think about, as his fingers sink into the looping knot of my hair knuckle-deep and curl into it, gripping me. He pulls down, guiding me to look up. I do so just as he directs, and he directs slowly. My eyes immediately go to his. That, in itself, is utterly foolish, but I know casting my gaze down would be a farce here, and an ill-played one at that. His rainbow eyes lock me in place the way chains won't. There's very little I see besides them. The outline of his crown and the pearls lining it. The smoky sheen of the slitted jewel set in the center is just a haze to me now. The black marks on his cheeks stand out, branded into my vision. It's hard to recall his expression, but I remember it now: he was patient. Almost pitying. And furious, absolutely furious.

I feel the sting on my cheek almost a minute after that butterfly-wing feel of him slapping it. He's very good at this, very well-practiced. As expected, for one so renowned as a trainer of pets. He managed to curl his hand in such a way that his rings didn't strike me.

It wasn't even that hard of a blow. It didn't really hurt. Not like I've been hit before. Hell, my brothers hit harder than that. [My sisters, of course, hit MUCH harder.]

Then he pushes me down by that hold in my hair, twisting as he does, and I manage to wince. Schooling your face isn't quite as important when you're facing the floor, and when your master is angry. Being hurt appeases him then. I wish I didn't know this.

My nose is almost rubbing the carpet, my hair already dragging on it. All I can hear is my own breathing. It's much more ragged than I expect. My vision is blurry, and waves are rushing in my ears. I don't ever want to know how powerful he is, under the masks and behind the veils, in his private sanctuary, with nothing to save me. I don't ever want to know, but Gods and Kings help me, I think I'm about to.

His fingers slide out of my hair, strands snagging on the rings and pulling. I hear the sounds of them popping, hear my nerve endings singing counterpoint to it. I blur a little more, but I stay on my knees, and I stay still. He stands over me. I feel like the tiniest person in existance.

He walks away. I stay put. Minutes go by and are no different from one moment to the next. Years could go by. I stay as I am placed and don't move a muscle. There's nothing outside of this tiny space I am occupying, because he's not paying attention to me, or if he is, he desires I do nothing different.

"Rise to your knees. I want to see your face." His voice is about ten feet in front of me. Considering how significantly lower it sounds in direction, I'm fairly sure he's seated. He sounds calm. Almost pleasant. Which means, if his fury is guiding him, he has it on as tight a leash as he's been holding me.

I rise, back straight. I fold my hands in my lap. My shoulders are even and my posture is pretty. My eyes go to his, which may be a mistake, but I've always been prone to looking up instead of down. The eye in his crown catches me and freezes my thoughts before I even see his true eyes. They're like a ghostly aftereffect, now. I'm a puppet. A puppet in thrall. I wonder, idly, if he's ever taken Faun into this room.

He's twitching his hand, seemingly torn as to what gesture to make. I wonder if he'll clench his fist, twist it on the pivot of his wrist, and end me in this spot here. I wonder how much I'm worth, how much I've ever been worth.

He holds his hand up, pinching thumb and forefinger almost all the way together. I don't move. I don't blink. I barely breathe, and I'm fairly sure that for a moment my heart stops beating. He twitches his fingers just slightly apart, enough that blood passes through my body and air comes in and out of my lungs in slow, paced breaths.

His eyes narrow. He cocks his head the tiniest degree, earrings swaying and twinkling with the motion. He, for all the love I've lost in this life, smiles. I wonder how quickly I'll die.

"You're a precious thing, Lotus. Precious to me. Tell me, why does that mangy cur, the so-called Jherent o'Radia, desire to take you?" His eyes flash, almost glow in this low light. His fingers twitch in a gesture that is a complex spell. My tongue is unknotted, and if he bade it, would likely crawl out of my mouth and walk on its own as a free individual.

"He would like to take me from you, of course. He fancies me one of his own, wants to remove me from Aurocan soil, away from your influence. Yet another weapon procured, yet another piece captured. I am your pawn, and he wants me." Oh hells and high waters that drown their screams, how did I manage to not indict myself just now? My tongue still trots out words after he makes a 'come-hither' gesture. "I would apologize, my Lord. I am ten years out of his empire. He may wish to claim me as his own, due to the geographical accident of my birth."

He cocks his head in that slow way again, weighing all that I say. "And where do you come from originally, Lotus?" He twitches his index and middle fingers towards him, tugging the words out of my throat.

"My Father hailed from the Radian Capitol, where I was raised until I left it. My mother was a haerphietl, with no country of citizenry of course. I severed all ties with family when I left."

His eyes narrow. I am so thralled that right now I can't even be afraid of the fact that he could ask me who my Father is right now, and I would have no choice but to answer.

"Do you know the Jherent o'Radia, my Lotus?" He twirls a finger. Words reel out from my mouth.

"I knew him. He saw me from time to time in his capitol. He found me entertaining. He gave me gifts at times." I'm counting my blessings as I listen to my words. I'm still so lucky that he's so intent on Uncle Lui that he hasn't even thought of who I might be related to.

His eyebrows raise. "Did he favor you? Has he taken you into his bed?"

I almost choke at the last question. "He seems to have favored me, as he gave me gifts and paid me many compliments. But he never showed his appreciation in the fashion you asked of."

Something about his expression disturbs me. He's pleased about something, and somehow it's making the shadows in his cheekbones darker, making his marks spread. I don't realize he's moved until his hands are on my face and he's leaning down over me. His hair strokes my cheek, and his perfume washes over me. It almost sends me into unconsciousness, and I don't know why.

I do know when his hands twine around the back of my neck, nails scratching at it ever so lightly, his lips so close to brushing my throat that a change in my breathing would have him kissing me. He leans in and licks at my pulse. My chest jerks, a gasp sucking into my chest, and then he pulls me against him, arms weaving behind me, hair draping over my shoulders and sliding down my back in a way that reminds me too vividly of the spider's web I thought of earlier.

"I have you first, then, darling Lotus?"

"Of course, my Lord." I manage to blink. My voice is so even and tempered that I wonder if it is my own. I still do wonder, even as I write this.

"And you'll not desert me for such a cur?" His hand slides down behind me, sinking under the sash of my robe, reaching lower than that to grope me. I squeak.

"My Lord, I'd not give loyalties away that you keep so well guarded." He holds me closer, biting at my ear. He's standing, now. Pulling me up, guiding me to walk even as his hands climb over me, around me, and in some cases, inside me. I end up sprawled on his bed, my open robes tangling and merging with his intricately patterned sheets.

* * *

After, I lie in the bed, turned away from him, my cheek resting on the silken sheet. The coils of my hair slide down, tugged halfway out of the knot at the back of my head. I remember that so clearly. That alien shade of black spilling over my cheek and spreading in tendrils across the sheet. That chill to the air, matching it. The pearls strung along a few of the strands console me. They're like the tears I have to bury deep inside me right now. They glint so warmly in the dark of this room.

His hair is draping over me too, of course. Long loops of it, with that green sheen I've seen nowhere else in my life. One thick clump is wrapped around my forearm, more of it rippling over my hip. Ensnaring me and clothing me at the same time, holding me close. My eyes trail down the chains and beads that loop down through his mane. They're so abundant and complex, an impossible maze to follow.

I almost slip into sleep then, but I don't think it was going to be sleep. It feels too numb and cold for that. I was probably going to black out, which is its own welcome respite, and I start to long for the opportunity to return, so I can take it this time.

But instead, he shifts, pulling his arm in and tugging me closer against him. His arm is looped over my chest, his fingers spread over my shoulder, gripping it. It's almost tender, like he's cupping a butterfly.

I have been treated like no butterfly tonight.

He starts to nibble on my other shoulder. I hear the sheets behind me rustle, or maybe it's just his hair. His hair - I've become so lost in it tonight, over and over. I really don't know where the end of it is, only that I'll never wriggle out of its snares. I think it's looped around my ankles, even.

There's another blur, that mind-shudder. This time I really do lose a few moments, and then he's on top of me, and definitely in the middle of something again. Well, whatever I've missed, I've apparently performed well during it. Everything today has been about me performing for an audience, hasn't it? Building a mask and maintaining it and making others believe that there is no mask and it's all really my face. It's the most difficult now, you know - now, when it's so easy to let my emotions slip, when he's so close to me and there's nothing between us except more of each other. I want to black out again and wake up when it's over.

It's like flashes of the act, or like it's all disintegrating. First he's whispering holy things to my ear, next my nails are scraping down his back while I scream out the names I have for him, next he's holding me close, cooing to me. He's too close to me. His hands are groping me in ways that make me gasp while his mind is wrapped around mine in ways that are making it break. I think at one point I beg him to stop but it just stammers into frenzied pleas to keep going. I have this tiny certainty inside me that he knew what I really meant, and deemed my request unworthy of filling.

We'd been close in the carriage. That was another type of ensnaring, but I was snaring him just as much as he was snaring me. This is different. I was dragged into here. I was forced to kneel. I'm still being forced to kneel, only I'm bowed over his knees, now. I don't want to be here. I don't...

There's some sort of cruel mercy to him, when it's over. It's felt like it was over several times already, but maybe my mind broke and mixed it all up, and I'm just remembering it all out of order. He cups my cheek, near the end. He gives me a kiss, near the end. He calls me beautiful, devoted, loyal. He settles down with me, curls around me. I remember Hespirides. I feel nothing like her. I could never be so quiet, so docile, so perfect for him. But I am his pet, right now, just as collared as Faun, just as much a possession as Rocsui-ehellenae. He strokes my hair, one slender fingernail parting down the length of it, over and over, and my mind begins to still with each motion. I realize he's spelling me into sleep right as I sink into it. Escaping into what I know is a cage.

Except I don't really sleep, then, and I think he doesn't notice that. He's so pleased with himself and everything else that he just wraps an arm around me and pulls the sheets up under my chin. His breath is soft against my neck, whispering no words, only sighs of peace.

For awhile, I think I really might be asleep. I wish that I were.

What happens next is much worse for the fact that it isn't a dream.

* * *

I still think I'm asleep, though, right up until he moves. The arm draped across me slides away, the many tendrils of hair wrapped over and around me drawing back. Smooth as silk, they flow over my body like water. Goosebumps crawl down my back and legs, but I don't move, don't even shiver. He's cold. He was warm when he took me. Too warm, even, on all levels. My mind burned from it. He was warm when he tried to coax me into sleep and, for whatever reason, managed to fail. He was warm when he himself fell asleep.

There's no warmth to him now, and I'm thankful he's drawing away, climbing off of the bed. The sound of him sliding away is creepy, though - as if he's slithering off. Off the bed, and across the floor - I can see him walking now.

Oh gods. He's nothing more than a black shadow, looming, flowing, oily...

...No, it's his hair. Cloaking his naked body, spreading behind him like a robe.

I try not to watch but I'm too afraid to even close my eyes. I don't want him to see me move. I don't want him to notice me anymore. If he could just forget, and I could go home...but, what about Gerald?

Oh no, I can't think about Gerald in here, and I've been such a good boy about that. What if he picks up my thoughts and learns the truth? Then Gerald's lost.

There's no danger anyhow, though. Watching him makes all thoughts of Gerald leave my head. All thoughts of anything else. He shifts his hips, brings up his hands. I see him in profile. The paint's been wiped away from his face sometime during our contortions in the bed, but the black marks over his cheeks and around his eyes still remain, as if they're tattooed on. He's so deathly pale right now that the paint might as well have remained. His movements are slow, drifting, as if his arms are on tethers. More graceful and controlled than a marionette...like a dancer, even.

His face is blank of any expression, and it clicks for me, finally: he's walking in his sleep. But his eyes are wide open.

A cold dead chill rolls over my shoulders and all down my body. His irises are pure white, with no pupil. It's like staring at a long-dead corpse, or a blind man. He raises his arms again with the grace of a swan. I see that darkness puddle around him and billow out into a set of black robes I've never seen before. They're not like his usual robes at all. They hang down, sleek and narrow, so black that it completes the resemblance to a living shadow. The front seam of the robe blossoms into the pattern of a red rose on his chest that's like a smear of fresh blood.

It's so chilly in here that I'm waiting for my breath to fog.

He makes a gesture, then, drawing his hand in to indicate himself in a slow bow to someone. Something. I don't understand, though. He's facing the full-length mirror on the wall. No one's in there, save his reflection.

A tiny bit of bile hits the back of my throat as reality twists itself on me. His reflection is facing in the same direction that he is, both of them turned away from me. That's not possible. His reflection is standing in a different room than I'm lying in, than Ebrellin-i is standing in. The floor looks like it should be polished granite, but it's swirled in dizzying patterns of white and black. I've never seen this kind of rock before. I don't think it appears in nature. It just makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle even more. The room is vast, a colossal hall with a row of columns on each side of Ebrellin-i, leading down to the front, where there is a raised dais made of the same white and black banded material. Standing on it is a tall chair. Elegant and fine, it looks like it belongs to a dining set more than it looks like a throne. I think it's wood, with bright red lacquer.

It's empty.

...I think so, at least. For some foreboding reason, I'm starting to hope so.

Ebrellin-i looks up to the throne, then immediately casts his gaze down, as if from a glare. He flinches so hard that I feel the backlash of fear from it. He starts to speak softly, but is cut off by a twist of sound that almost might be a bark, but it's...warped. My brain backpedals in horror. It's another language, and I have the most awful hunch about what it is...

I hear more of it, as Ebrellin-i immediately cringes down. A whole sentence of it, if a long speil of it in some sort of varied lack-of-tone and misuse-of-pitch is supposed to be a sentence, in that language. I don't know if that language has sentences. I can't even say that it has words. I didn't think I'd ever even hear it in my life - no, I just prayed and hoped that I never would, as everyone else in their right mind does.

The blight of sound casts itself from the throne, from the throne's occupant. I know where this is now. I know who Ebrellin-i is in attendance to. It makes sense that I couldn't see him. You don't really see...this man. Person. ...Thing? All I know is that most people call him male, and all of them refer to him as a King. Like Uncle Lui and Ebrellin-i. Except that while those two might have a few slights thrown against them at times, they are most often referred to by 'Jhe'. I've never heard anyone refer to this King as anything but 'Jherent'. The Jherent Nul.

He hates all who live, and anything that helps them achieve that state of living. Hell, I think he probably hates the dead, too.

I hear that language come out of Ebrellin-i's mouth, now. I'm ashamed that he knows it. I...I thought so much better of him than that. I think it's a name. Some name for this...this thing that the world refers to as a King. The Nul. Ebrellin-i speaks it in a beseeching tone. A polite tone. Begging, pleading, beseeching.

He's...the Nul's servant.

The Jherent Nul chuckles in response. It's like hearing moths die midair, dead wings rustling down as they drift. I finally see something on the throne. The Nul must be moving. Space is warping, twisting, casting shadows and reflections where none should be. I still don't see a real body, but I can watch the warps where it moves, see an outline. Rings glint off of his hand, the dull sheen of dead metal mixing with arcane sigils and warped stones. The hand...maybe he's wearing armor, or maybe his fingers really are sharp, thick, barbed talons. Like razors linked together. No wonder they reflect and warp so much around them. I can track his gestures. When his hands flip up enough, I see his palms. They're visible, the only concrete things. Bright red.

I realize it's because they're covered in blood. My gaze casts to the throne again. That's not lacquer. The chair is just covered in so much fresh blood that it's glinting in the same way that varnish would.

He points to the floor. Not even forceful. The point is made, and of course, I of all people would know that a well-trained servant needs no punctuation added to a command to know to act swiftly. The Peacock King falls to the floor, robes pooling around him like a puddle of night, hair floating to settle on the floor in serpentine coils. The whole collapse happens in one swift movement of sad beauty. Because, of course, the most well-trained of servants will try to please their masters in any way they can, with any action.

He bows lower than he forced me to bow to him. I hear his earrings jangle, as his hair slides to hang down around his face. He slips and lets out a tiny shiver. Even worse...I hear him whimper.

Oh no. Ebrellin-i. Even I know this is a master you stay silent for.

The Nul sweeps an arm sideways in a flurry of glints and sparks, as if the air itself railed against the assault. The Peacock King is knocked sideways across the floor, sprawling, robes trailing behind him, the sweep of his long hair marking the trajectory of his path. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch. He stays where his master's put him. I actually feel relief.

...I'm afraid for him.

The Jherent Nul beckons upward, then. Rise.

Ebrellin-i swells upward like a cobra, swaying from side to side. Once he gets to his feet, he takes one tottering step toward the Jherent Nul. He almost falls forward before an unseen force lifts him up. He glides toward the throne, bare toes dragging inches above the floor, head tilted back on his neck, hands dangling limp from his wrists. He almost tips in his trajectory. Someone chuckles from the side. From the shadow of a column near the Jherent Nul's throne, only a pace or so away.

Is that...Cade? Blowing twisted pools of pipesmoke into the Peacock King's path, barely containing his mirth. Wearing more than what I saw before of his faded leathers and dusty boots. Wearing a hooded black robe similar to Ebrellin-i's, but more ornate, with a pattern of green streaks of paint falling down the front. It looks like dying leaves. There's a black mark across his face as well, but Cade himself is so hard to describe that I can't capture the mark, either. He's almost as hard to describe as the Nul is, and I wonder for a moment if that's not coincidence.

The Peacock King stops, then sinks to his knees right in front of the Jherent Nul's throne, casting ripples, but no reflection, into the gathering pool of blood there. He's shaking from the proximity of whose space he's sharing, barely able to stay up at all. He's lapsing into a fit. All I hear is laughter, as the Peacock King seizes, contorts, then crumbles to the floor in a final shudder.

"Fitting that you should be the one to make him dance, my Lord," says Cade, a smile twisting into his face. There's a light to his face when he looks upon his King, then. Some sort of adoration I'd never expect to see from him for anything.

The Jherent Nul extends a finger, crooks it upwards in one motion that would be delicate if any other person made it. Ebrellin-i rises to his feet again. He is perfectly still and devoid of expression. I start to wonder if he's even alive anymore.

The marks have webbed out across his face now, spreading like an inkblot. They slide into and over his eyes and swirl in the whites of them. He speaks, now, the words clear, concise and emotionless. Everything is perfectly pronounced and delivered.

"What use may I be to you, my Lord?"

It twists in my chest, hearing him say those words. Even after what he's done to me, after what he's done to my brother and Faun, after what I've seen him do so far tonight. It's like a betrayal, like a kind of heartbreak. I can't believe it of him.

I can't believe the Peacock King would serve like this. Not him. I don't know why. Maybe it's Hespirides, maybe it's his children...why? Why would he do this? He's so proud, so strong...why be the puppet of the foulest person in existence? Why make himself a slave to this?!

But he only bows lower, awaiting instruction.

"Radia still stands tall, looming over our Kingdoms, 'Ebre-schtullin'eh. What will we do to remove this obstacle that you have been assigned, yet have not toppled in all of this time?" I don't understand. The Jherent Nul's voice is clear as a bell in my ears. Is he not talking in nul-speak anymore?

No...that's not the Jherent Nul at all. Cade is delivering his orders from his place at the side of the throne. He's the Nul's Herald.

The Peacock King makes a gesture of obedience to the King, then bows again. "I have plans that are even now coming to fruition. I have seeds that still grow where I planted them by your command. My agents spread, unseen, and I take theirs and trap them, train them, break them. Radia is a slow game, but an artful one which I play expertly. Please watch my next moves, my Lord. I will not disappoint you. I will never fail your trust, I promise."

There's a strange thrum in the air as the shadows where the Nul's face would be twist into what must be a grin. He's purring. I throw up a little in my mouth.

The Jherent Nul makes a gesture, commanding the Peacock King to step away and stand at attention in the center of the room.

Cade grins, and delivers the order with another puff of smoke. "Very well. Dance for me, then, and prove it."

Ebrellin-i sweeps gracefully in an arc across the floor, weaving in ways that I...I've learned these dances. I've taught them to slaves. Ebrellin-i has even instructed me to teach them to Faun, as part of his training.

He's so beautiful, but it cuts me to watch him go through the steps, hair sweeping behind him in arcs of strange warped patterns.

He dances on, and on. It goes on for hours, and he never falters, not one step. His feet must hurt so much. I hear them slap bare against the floor, when they make any sound at all. He doesn't wane, doesn't show his fatigue. He only makes that tiny fake-smile that Court dancers so often make. He only stops when the Jherent Nul raises his hand and commands it.

The Peacock King falls to his knees on the spot, hair billowing around him until it sinks to the floor. The Jherent Nul makes a gesture of dismissal, razored fingers sawing through the air and making it bleed.

"Go now."

The mirror blurs, sliding into a true reflection of the room. I see Cade's face linger in it, grinning in the distance, before the scene finally fades completely.

The Peacock King lies on the floor, naked. There's no trace of the robe he was wearing. He remains as such for a few minutes. I stare, reminding myself to blink, my eyes burning from suppressing the reflex so much during this waking nightmare.

Ebrellin-i picks himself up off of the floor. He's barely moved on this side of the mirror, but his motions show heavy fatigue and weariness so deep that I'm surprised he makes it into the bed. He curls around me again, then, hair falling over my shoulders. He's panting in exhaustion. His breath is warm against my neck, and his skin is warm against me.

He doesn't feel like a corpse anymore.

Somehow with that realization, sleep comes to me, nightmares ebbing into it like broken reflections from the mirror.

I wake up with the full knowledge of where I am, who I'm with, and what I've done the night before. That means that from this point on, everything will get better for me.

The Peacock King's arm tightens around my chest. He moans his yawn into my hair, then presses his lips into the back of my neck. He stretches and the whole bed groans with it. I also feel extremely tiny in comparison with him, but that's no real difference from any other time.

He strokes a hand through my hair. "How are you this morning, my dear?"

The groan I make in reply lacks grace and beauty, but it accurately conveys my state. I must admit that my performance in bed the morning after always leaves much to be desired when it comes to etiquette. I just forget. Mornings are crap. Everyone just pays for the night anyway.

...Please oh please don't show that last part to my Dad.

He pats my head. "There there. You wouldn't be the first former Radian to need his coffee in the morning to function, hmm? Here, now. I'll have the necessary stimulants brought in while I give you an opportunity to have your bath. Would you like some breakfast? Of course you'd like some breakfast. Off with you." He tugs on my hair as I begin to crawl out of bed, though.

"...Yes, my King?"

He chuckles at the proper address. "Nothing, darling Lotus. I was only lamenting that I wouldn't see this color on you, after this."

I turn to him as I sit up. He looks so playful, now. Not frightening. Something about the morning sunlight flooding in through the sheer curtains in the windows... something about how he smiles now. It's all so open. Did last night really happen? "You may dye it as you see fit, if that pleases you." I'm still playing cards with my words. Yes, it happened. It all happened, and I have to live through the results.

His smile is delighted, and very possessive. He reaches up and tugs on a lock. "Really, now? I'll have to take advantage of that." He sits up and stretches again, reaching his arms over his head, bending them back. I watch muscles ripple across his back through the motion, entranced. Then he turns to me, and I blush. "I expect you're not the only one who naturally puts on shows without realizing it?" His smile is so coy. Such a liar. Of course he knows what he's doing, every moment, every step.

...But, thinking of what happened while he sleepwalked last night...does he really know? Or is that all a game of pretend as well?

I skirt a naked curtsy. The last time I did that for a client, they spit their breakfast out. He laughs. "Go on. Enjoy the use of a King's bath."

I make another bow, and then go do so.

* * *

I...

I hurt when I close the door behind me, and he can't see me. I double over and the tears hit me just as my knees hit the floor. The emotions wash through my head so fast that I almost pass out.

It's foolish to do this. I know he can feel it. Even if he didn't have eyes in this room, which I know he does, he can feel my mind from the next room over. All that anguish I kept hidden, he'll see it now. But now that he's out of my sight and there's a good solid door between us, I can't make it stop. I drag myself to the bathtub. It's more like a pool. I catch a glimpse of a naiad before she realizes I'm not the King and smiles politely before flitting away.

My hands brush the water. It warms at my touch, and a perfume rises from it that complements my natural scent. I sigh. I don't even have to wait for it to fill. The wall it runs up against is entirely mirrored, so I can sit on a bench with the bathwater up to my waist while I reach up to my hair and pull out the hairpins and beads that managed to survive last night. They clatter to the floor of the bathroom before I plunge my head down into the water.

Another tremor wracks through my body once the warmth surrounds me. I'm stupid enough to think that at least my tears aren't visible. He can still feel it. He can still hear me. I tried so hard to act perfect around him and now my mask just slips out of my fingers and I can't catch it.

And I can't do anything about that, either, so I'm going to stop fighting it.

The worst of it happens underwater, really. Less embarrassment. I have my little tantrum, go through my bit of agony. I don't want somebody's shoulder to cry on. I don't want anyone to see me like this. I don't think it's all past when I'm done, too. I'm going to go through this again, when I'm finally alone. Whenever that happens, if it ever does.

I miss the days before this happened.

At least I got through some of it, got past enough to not feel like I'm going to pop. Hopefully it was enough of a pressure release to keep me stable from here on out. I...I don't think it was, but I can still hope. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

The black's washing out of my hair, the dye tinting my skin as it trickles over my face and shoulders. The paint's mostly rubbed off already. Thankfully, in my case, the black marks really are just paint, unlike the Peacock King's mysterious markings. I duck my head down again, rubbing my fingers into my hair, working out the rest of the dye. When I next emerge from the water, I grope around for some soap. I don't want this taint in my hair anymore. I don't want him to dye it again, either, but I'll be damned if me telling him that I did want it pleased him to no end. I don't know why he needs another doll to dress up and I don't know why he wants it to be me, but he's so damn pleased with himself about it.

I treat myself to a nice, slow bath. I dry myself. I find a robe that's my size hanging conveniently in the bath, a sign that he planned for this. Of course. I turn to the sink, looking into the mirror above it. I don't really want to touch his makeup, but it seems I won't have to because he's laid out mine here. Fine. I can do my duty to my face and arrange my hair properly. That helps settle me more than anything else I've done in this bathroom, I think.

It's at least nice to see my natural color again. The world's much better when I'm blonde.

I slide the door open, then, facing him again. At least when he's in the same room as me I can keep my mask up. It feels nice to be stable, even if it's faked. I'm afraid of him, but if I'm pretending I'm not, if I'm acting like I'm not, it's almost as if I'm really not. Just like the rest of my acting. Good enough to pass as the real thing, so who will question if it's not?

I even make a flamboyant bow to him. He only laughs. "Come, Lotus. Sit outside with me. The garden is beautiful in the morning."

We're... pleasant. He is extremely pleasant, in fact. It makes me a little angry at him. It makes me angry that he could treat me the way he did last night, and then pretend as if there was never any of that. I try not to think about it, because it's useless to do so. I act charming instead. He loves my 'charm'. He makes a few passes at me due to my 'charm', in fact, and I'm clever enough to return the compliments while keeping that particular gambit from advancing anywhere. After all, I've managed to get out of his bedroom twice so far this morning, each a greater distance than the last. Maybe with more effort I can get even farther away the next time.

And it seems that such a theory might in fact be worth testing further, for after breakfast is done, he waves me away from cleaning it up and tells me that I should prepare for attending Court with him. "You are a part of my Court, after all, Lotus." He laughs when he sees my expression. He knows what I'm thinking. I make sure to let him know. "I am sorry for imposing the role of my consort upon you so suddenly, but you performed so beautifully at it, did you not? You will stand in my Court as my Trainer again, Lotus. I am not known to keep a regular consort. Even so, I believe I trust you more than I would trust someone whom I kept for just that role." He bows his head ever-so-slightly to me as he rises. "You command more respect than that, with both your abilities and the strength of your loyalty." He gestures to me. "I've the necessary garments for you in my wardrobe. You can help me don mine as well." He lets out a deep sigh that's mostly show. "It's such a burden at times, having to wear such complex finery for Court affairs... but we shall bear up under it well, yes?" He winks.

I can't suppress a snicker in reply.

* * *

Court is more relaxing than I expected. I'm near the King, yes, but with a varied group of his other servants. I recognize a few of the nymphs from his garden, bearing up well while dressed in uncomfortable Court finery. Most important of all, I'm not right next to him and his attention is focused elsewhere for almost the entire audience. Most of what's discussed is interesting enough to pay a passing amount of attention to, but not worth stressing much about. I can ignore it all with a clear conscience. Most of it is about his borders, at any rate, and we all know those are going to stay heavily regulated for the next forever or two. Though, apparently he's issued a directive easing up a few import restrictions - notably on the type of cigarettes I prefer. I smile a little. So self-serving of a measure.

I blink. Jhe Camden is in the audience. He's looking right at me... studying me. I find myself unable to suppress a blush. He was there for the meeting with my Uncle, after all. He saw what I was dressed as, then. What the Peacock King had claimed me to be. How do I tell Jhe Camden I'm not a consort? How can I talk with him about my brother? I don't see Jhe Jenny or Jhe Rachella anywhere around, either. At least Jax's absence is explained - he's probably ass-deep in horse manure right now.

All questions that sweep out of my mind whenever Jhe Camden steps forward for official business. I'm too afraid to think about them. What if the King picks up from me that I'm worrying?

"Ahh, Peacekeeper Briarseal. You put in word that you had some business to discuss. Pray, what Armed concern should be raised in this Court? Does the Jhe o'Radia fare well on his return to his native soil? I very much hope his journey is swift."

Jhe Camden smiles and skirts a bow that might be better described as a salute. "He fares well, your highness. I apologize if my business burdens you. Seeing as you invited Jhe Dovetail to stay to see your mews, I felt it best to continue training as usual here. As such it seems that Jhe Jax Cruxradia has been put under my instruction, as he is here for the time being. I felt it best to send for an escort so that he can return to our headquarters as soon as possible. In my experience it is always best for any Armed entering a foreign country to give a proper introduction to their royalty, so as not to cause an alarm such as Jhe Cruxradia managed." He gives a rolling-hand gesture, hurrying himself along. "For brevity's sake, I will simply introduce him." He turns that gesture forwards, and it becomes one that prompts someone else to walk forward.

I feel the Peacock King's spike of panic before I even see the figure clearly. I'm thankful that the King was distracted enough by his emotions not to notice mine. I almost screamed.

It's Gerald.

"From the soil of Radia, I present to you Jhe Gerude Akribastes."

My brother skirts a very presentable bow. But he doesn't look like Gerude. He looks like Gerald, right down to the damn hat, which he holds over his chest like a proper gentleman. He's even the same height. I can see why the King is so on edge. I'm surprised he didn't scream.

My brother Lute can do that same thing, you know. Look like me. And I can look just like him too. There's a certain trick to it. Looking like Daddy is a lot harder, but I can manage it if I try very, very hard. The others have an easier time of it. It's just...well, we're related, technically we have it in us to look like the others. It's just we usually look like ourselves.

My heart's pounding so much in my chest. Oh no. Gerude sees me. He doesn't make it look like it, though - he looks like he's sneaking a wink to the haerphietl standing next to me, who responds with a smile.

Oh my head. Oh my heart. My knees are gonna give out.

I sure hope Jhe Camden told Gerude what's going on. I sure hope...Jhe Camden understands where my loyalties really are...

"My." The King stands, and then begins to walk up to my brother. His pace is slow. Very regal. And, I know, also very cautious. "I must admit, Jhe Akribastes." He even has trouble not pausing before speaking the name. I forgot how much respect my Father commands, especially when he catches people off guard. Even from the Peacock King, who has demeaned the Judge's reach and power at times with his words. "Your face favors your Father, the Judge, so much that it took me by surprise." He stops a few feet in front of my brother, scrutinizing him as politely as possible.

Gerude bows his head and makes a gesture of apology. "Aye, and that it has with many a person before, and you have my apologies for it, your Majesty. I try not to scare people with my face, but it does it for me far too often without any of my consent. It's a bit of a bother for my siblings as well, but we all take it with grace, so to speak. Please, if you would prefer I make myself scarce, I'll certainly keep it in mind."

"Oh! No, there's no need for such measures. Don't let me get in the way of Armed operations, by any means. Go where you must, within the bounds of your Law." He smiles, and makes a gesture of dismissal. "Thank you for introducing yourself in my Court, Jhe Akribastes." There it is again. That pause before he says that name. Wow, my Dad might be as scary to Ebrellin-i as he is to me!

The King retires to his throne, and it seems Jhe Camden has no further business. In fact, after Jhe Camden is finished, it seems the King is in a bit of a rush to get past the rest of business and dismiss Court entirely. I can't imagine why.

Gerude gets one more look at me, and I at him, before we go. He looks so much like my missing brother. I miss Gerald so much. I'm worried.

* * *

He leaves the throne room after the attending audience and Court is dismissed. He curtly orders me to follow him out "treading within my shadow, and no farther away than that, J'Lotus."

I jump at the way he honors me by speaking my name like that. In front of the Jhe o'Radia, I thought it was just another way to insult the visiting official. I didn't think he ever meant that.

I would wonder if he's just playing with me as he would a puppet again, but he's obviously too preoccupied with what Jhe Camden said...and by seeing my brother.

"They are surrounding us, J'Lotus. You must stay close. Now is the hour when allies stay close."

"Yes, sir." He needs responses. He's sounding a little...well, okay, he's crazier than usual. He's walking very quickly, now.

...I recognize this path. I blink. Yes, I recognize this path. Is he...is he walking where I think he's walking?

"You are someone I can trust, J'Lotus, because you walk alongside me, you understand me, and most importantly, you know the value of that which I keep." We walk through. I feel the wards creep across my skin. Underground, in what are almost catacombs. Perhaps they become catacombs, if he keeps someone in there long enough...

I can't find my way in here, but I recognize it all the same. The dungeon he put Gerald in.

Why is he going here?

...Oh no. Does he know yet?

"It's important to know what pieces you have captured or in play, J'Lotus. And...to know the nature of those pieces. Of all things, it is the most important to always know exactly what it is you have captured. Perhaps a Poet, yes? Or perhaps...perhaps more."

Sweat is beading up on his face.

"Jhe h'Akribastes. The Judge. I don't understand. If it's true, why would he send one of his pawns here to get caught reading my most inconsequential records?" He approaches Gerald's cell. I already know what he's going to find, so instead, I watch his face. I consider that to be a very good indication of whether I'll need to duck, or run.

When he sees the empty cell, there is a fraction of a second of disbelief. It shifts into a rictus of frozen horror which simply does not leave his face. I think it might stay there permanently if not for the sound of someone shuffling in from another entrance into this room.

The Peacock King swerves around, grabbing me by the shoulder and hauling me behind him as he arcs his other hand up. I feel the power swell and it makes my hair stand on end in ways special conditioner will probably have to fix. But the power gathered within Ebrellin-i doesn't release. It merely stays, then lingers, then tapers down a little. Still present, and ready, but on an indefinite hold.

I peek around him, terrified that I may be making a terrible mistake in doing so.

Cade makes a single clap from the door he just walked through, a plume of smoke wafting up from the cigarette tucked between his lips. The winking red light from the tip reflects in his eyes, an afterimage that is almost all I can remember of him. I remember his ratty hat, and the faded, dusty leathers and boots he wears. His face...I can remember the way the light from his cigarette plays across it. The rest...it's as if he's wearing a veil, and I know he wasn't.

He's just hard to remember, okay?

The Peacock King's voice is woven through with fury, resulting in a tone of snippish ire. "Jhe Wovenback. What on trod earth are you doing uninvited in here?" His hand still holds me behind him. He gives my arm a warning squeeze. Silence. Listen.

Cade skirts an odd, skittish bow that does little to convey any of the proper respects it should. He even holds his hat over his chest. "The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. Your Grace. How lucky that our paths should cross." He remains slightly stooped instead of rising fully from his bow, his eyes raising up to meet Ebrellin-i's. It looks more like a cringe than a bow, and he's obviously ready to dart away at any moment.

I can feel the Peacock King's anger. I can feel it in the tension of his fingers around my wrist. I wince. I know his rings will leave indentations in my skin. Already they feel cold and hard against it. I can also feel his anger as a palpable thing from his mind, and worse yet...I can tell Cade feels it too. I hate writing this, right now.

I hate writing it because Cade was there. I just hate it.

"Where is he, Jhe Cade?" The King's tone is barely held in calm. I'm waiting for him to attack at any second now. I wonder if Cade is doing the same thing.

"I put him away for you, my leige. He rests easy, safely...securely. He is near." His eyebrows raise. "Oh. Are you angered? By my presumption, it seems? I was only keeping your safety in mind, my leige. What with so many Armed roving about your Kingdom, while you were away...best to keep him more hidden, yes?"

My wrist almost twists in Ebrellin-i's grasp. I bite my lip against the squeak I want to make. I don't want any attention on me. I don't think Ebrellin-i wants attention on me, either. I am happy to indulge his wishes in this matter. "Jhe Cade. I keep any stray Poets that wander here. I attend to their needs. I ensure their safety and security. You may provide other services, when I request them, and pay you for them. Under no circumstances are you to volunteer those services without my permission. Do you understand that?"

"Oh, yes, of course I understand, my leige. Pardon the intrusion. Would you prefer I move the Armed back up into this Poet's cell, then, and wait for his comrades to come and find him where you've seen fit to pen him up? Ah, it seems I've found a problem of yours. Perhaps you'd like to tell me which service of mine you desire to purchase, now?"

Ebrellin-i makes a cutting gesture. "The service of absolute silence, if you please, whilst I think."

"Ah, of course." He makes no more sounds, then, but his face is too devilishly implike for me to trust that to last very long.

Ebrellin-i stands there for a few moments, his eyes drifting over the cell while his attention stays sharply focused on Cade. "Where is he kept, now? Have you found his Arms?"

"He's kept in my suite, my leige. There has been no sign of his Arms. Would you like that I should search the Palace for them? It would be very little trouble."

"Don't search. You'll rouse their suspicions. You'll rouse the attentions of his Arms most of all, which is the last thing we need. I want to see him. I'll decide what to do with him, from here on out. He's not to be moved anywhere else unless upon my say-so. Do I have your understanding in this matter, Jhe Cade?"

"But of course you do, my leige." He skirts a complex bow that does nothing for dignity. "Should I show you his accomodations later this evening, then? Surely you would like a rest after such a long audience in your Court this morning."

"Surely I would like to see him now, with no delays, Jhe Cade. Lead." He juts his chin toward the door Cade entered through. Cade shrugs, though I can tell he is a bit disgruntled that his suggestion was not taken well. He walks through. I follow the Peacock King closely.

After all, I've no choice in the matter - his grip is as firm as ever as he pulls me along behind him.

I feel more a watcher in this scene than anything else. Perhaps that's what I am, as I'm pulled down these hallways, lower and lower and darker and darker. The Peacock King knows I'm here. He's the one bringing me with them, after all. But Cade hasn't looked at me once since he entered the dungeons where Gerald used to be kept. He hasn't mentioned me, and...well, I'd consider myself worth mentioning. I've already been privy to secrets that not many in this Kingdom would likely know of, such as the King locking up Poets and paying someone to...do something with them.

Maybe Cade just lets the King take care of his own business, and doesn't care about naught else. But I don't believe that. He's too cunning and underhanded. Underhanded, sneaky people like knowing everyone's business, and don't like anybody knowing theirs.

So why doesn't he notice me?

J'Lotus?

I jump. I almost mistake him for Gerald in my head, but that's the King. I see him sneak a peek over his shoulder at me, confirming to me that he is, in fact, speaking into my mind.

My...my King? What is it? I sound confused, but...well, I am.

I am keeping you hidden from that man. He will overlook your presence, and the fact that I am holding your hand. Pray do not give yourself away after I have spent such efforts to keep you a secret, yes? You are a valued servant of mine.

Of...of course, my Lord. I blink. Can he really do that? Tricks that murky and deep? I see the jewel in his crown wink, glowing with a light that can't be reflected off of anything in these darker chambers. He can see what's hidden, seek into minds, make his voice heard silently, and obscure the truth...all things I've heard about the Peacock King. Very little that I ever believed before I came here.

"Leige, please allow me to go in ahead of you and neaten the place up just a bit for your royal person. It is not often that I entertain such an esteemed guest in here." Cade says the last words in such a pretentious tone that I suspect he's mocking the King. How the King puts up with it I don't know.

Ebrellin-i only nods, then waits outside the door. "I will pause here for a minute, then, if that is what you need." Cade jumps a little. I wonder if he was trying to buy more time than that. ...Of course. Of course he was trying to buy more time.

How can the King not see it?

Sometimes for rats to dance we must put up with their smell, J'Lotus. Do not doubt me now. And guard your thoughts more closely, please. You're abnormally loud. Perhaps I should take you aside at a later time, and teach you a few useful tricks to do with that mind of yours. For now...focus on quiet, little trainer, and watch. Always, always watch.

His rainbow eyes look over me, almost comforting. I try to put a wall around my thoughts, try to think quietly. If I hadn't seen him in the mirror last night...if I hadn't seen the dances he did himself...perhaps I would look forward to what he offered.

Now, I'm not in a position to know what to think. I'm only here to watch. ...Gerald. I get to see him again, in person. My heart aches suddenly, and I try to keep that quiet as well. I don't want Ebrellin-i to notice something so strange from me, right now, and I certainly don't want Cade noticing me at all.

The door opens. The...door I can't describe as well, strangely. I can describe it even less than I can describe Cade. Strange wards crawl over me as we enter, as Cade waves us in. Or rather, he waves Ebrellin-i in. I almost get the door closed on me.

Ebrellin-i's grip on my wrist is like iron, but I don't mind it, even with the pain. I just don't want him to let go of me. His grip is also a reminder that I really am physically here. With everyone else ignoring me, it's more like I'm just the ghost of some writer watching the scene, like when I've visited Gerald or Faun by writing about them.

Gerald. He's on that bed still, chained down. He's asleep, his head tilted to one side, mouth hanging wide open. I would be remiss if I did not mention that there is a silver trickle of drool oozing from the corner of his mouth.

Cade's hand gestures to the Armed Poet, palm up. "As you see, my leige, he has been resting peacefully here. With no harm done to him."

The Peacock King walks through the room in such a way that it's obvious he's trying to touch nothing in it, even with the edges of his billowing robes. "As is evident by the bruises and cuts on him."

"Of course, nothing lasting, m'leige. As you can see, everything is in order. May I return him to the jail above, or shall he be kept here?"

"How did you know he was Armed?" Ebrellin-i acts as if he didn't hear Cade's question. It doesn't throw off the man, though.

"I recognized him as one."

"Ah. So then, he knows you, and knows you're working with me, and is thus unreturnable. Excellent work, Cade. You have rent my precautions unneccesary with only the efficiency you yourself are known for. Tell me, would you also like to send off a letter to the Poet King telling him of his current whereabouts, or have you already done me that courtesy without properly informing me? I am expecting great things from you now, and would hate to be disappointed by a lapse in your diligence."

Cade is quiet, his lower lip oddly pursed in a way that seems to attempt to hold anger in, but comes across more like a pout.

"Fix it." The King pauses. "No...no. You've done enough fixing. You're ordered off duty until I can be sure you'll no longer take these abrupt measures behind my back."

"...Ordered, my leige?" Cade's voice is dangerously even-toned.

"Commanded. If you prefer that sort of word. I can always clap you in irons, something I suppose you fail to consider every time you traipse about without any due consideration to my rules and sovereignty here."

"...Of course, my leige." Now he is far too quiet for me to feel comfortable here. Behind him, I see Gerald wake.My brother schools himself well. His eyes don't widen at the sight of the Peacock King. He tries to be as beneath notice as is possible, in fact. He doesn't appear to see me, but that's not surprising, considering that Ebrellin-i is shielding me.

The Peacock King notices him, though, and it's obvious Cade notices when Gerald wakes up. I see the man's shoulders stiffen, in fact. What, was he hoping my brother would sleep through this? Will he try to sneak my brother out of here to the same place that Jhe Camden's brother Elric is being kept? I hope as hard as I can that my brother can find a way to make that not happen.

The Peacock King steps forward before Cade can make a reaction. He stands before the chained-down figure, though turns slightly to the side so that he also faces Cade. I find it telling that he doesn't turn his back on that man. Cade only watches the King, wary.

That leaves me behind the King, looking straight down at my brother...who still doesn't see me. And as much as that means more for his safety, I almost wish he could see me, because I miss him so much.

The Peacock King reaches a hand forward, almost traces Gerald's forehead with a fingernail. He doesn't quite brush the skin, though. Gerald flinches. His eyes are too dialated in this light. It's obvious that whatever the Armed Poet see now, it's not quite what's in front of him, though I can tell he's managing to gather some semblance of what's in front of him. The Peacock King waits.

"Ah, the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. I'm honored by your visit." Gerald's voice is a little too prim, as if he's holding back a giggle, or a cough. Cade himself makes an odd strangled squawk of surprise or dismay. "I'm sorry if I'm not keeping the place up well enough to your liking. It's a little hard to get around these days, as you can see." He's...at this kind of time, my brother is joking? Of course...of course. As expected of Gerald.

The Peacock King smirks, but doesn't laugh, only looks over my brother. "Pray tell how did you receive these wounds, Poet?"

"Ah, that's a funny question. That's more one for Jhe Cade, here. He's surely got a clearer recall of it. It's kind of foggy, all those times he beat me up. Or his men. Really hard to tell the moments apart, Sire! Sorry for my lack of proper witness. It's been a doozy of a stay here." Oh dear. He's half-loopy. ...No, definitely more than half.

"Such a loyal Poet, trying so hard to answer my questions honestly." The Peacock King looks away for a moment, at Cade. Then, almost at me.

I am sorry, J'Lotus. I cannot think of any way to spare him that wouldn't bring immediate harm to my Kingdom. Jhe Cade has done a beautiful job of disarming me in that. You did so care for how I treated those innocent pawns sent out to spy in my Kingdom...I'd like not to fail you, but I must.

...I have to think carefully about how I reply to the man who currently holds the position of my King. But I have to think quickly. I can't lose my brother. ...Sire, might you still be able to keep him? Surely...surely you won't kill him...he hasn't earned that sentence. Surely there's a place you can put him where you keep things safe!

Ebrellin-i blinks externally, while he still looks down silently at Gerald. Cade's slowly growing a smile on his face, that he's trying unsuccessfully to hide. I wonder if it was his aim all along, manipulating the King so he'd have to kill Gerald. Of course that was it. I can't see how it could be any other way.

Ebrellin-i considers. Gerald looks back up at him like a man who unfortunately does have some idea that his very fate is at stake, right now, and all he can do is wait.

...Can you keep secrets for me, J'Lotus? Secrets you'll tell none other?

I can. I will, if that's what you require of me to save him.

...Very well. Ebrellin-i straightens up. "Jhe Cade. Unchain your prisoner. He is remanded to my custody."

Cade blinks in a stupor. He was obviously not expecting things to go in this manner.

"I will escort him to a more proper resting place."

Cade's eyebrows knit together in confusion, but he unlocks the chains all the same, including the cuff at the very end of the bed. Gerald gets dragged to his feet, lifted up under the arms by the King. I feel my brother pass out from the vertigo of moving abruptly and wonder with a troubled heart when the last time was that he'd eaten a real meal. The King slings my brother over one shoulder as easily as he would a towel, and my brother's limp enough to drape just like one. He does this all one-handed - he's still holding my wrist with his other hand.

"Jhe Cade. If you please. His hat." He says it so primly and with such regal haughtiness that I want to smack him across the face. "And any of his other effects that you've squirreled away here, if you please."

I hear Cade mutter an affirmative from the other side of the King. I can't really see him - the King is holding me out of Cade's sight, keeping himself between the two of us. I do hear him rummage for a few things.

"That's very little you have in your hands there, Jhe Cade. Did you leave the rest where it originally belonged then? Ah, good. Your presence is no longer desired on this day, then. Please go about your other tasks. Perhaps we will speak on this matter later, when other matters are attended to." The King begins to saunter out, holding me in front so that Cade, behind us, can't see. "Oh, and Jhe Cade?"

"Yes, your Grace?" Goodness gracious I can hear his teeth grind as he replies.

"I want you to be most wary of Jhe Camden Briarseal and the rest of the Armed. They have invited a member of their troops that appears identical to our Poet here. An Armed named Gerude Akribastes. Given that this Poet's father is quite obvious from his face, I'm sure you can think of the many implications of this. Please do be careful." For all the sake of the damned, I'd swear he almost sounds concerned for Cade.

I keep my mind quiet as I puzzle out how stupid Ebrellin-i could be, yet so clever. We leave. I only hear one reply from Cade.

"Yes, leige. ...Thank you very much."

The door closes. Ebrellin-i passes the hat to me, filled with my brother's few belongings that Cade had taken.

Careful that you don't look through them, J'Lotus, for that there may be traps in the bundle. Just carry the load, whilst I carry this one, until we have a place to set both down, yes? I nod. He smiles. You did a very good job, J'Lotus. I am proud.

* * *

I keep an eye on Gerald as much as I am able. We walk out of range of Cade's room soon, but still the King remains silent. We take a different route back out. Not into the dungeons Gerald was kept in before. This is a different path, and it feels like it leads directly into the palace proper.

I feel the tickle along my neck that only coincides with one thing in my experience - the King's personal suites. I can't suppress the cold shiver that runs down my back.

"Yes, the wards are very tight here, J'Lotus. Appropriate, I thought. But no place to keep your dear ex-countryman, is it? No, not at all." He pauses, looking down at me. The wink from that jewel set over his forehead is too strong, but at least the look in his eyes is still somewhat sympathetic. Not like last night...

Was it only last night, that I saw him dance like that?

"Here, you keep a watch on him." He eases Gerald's body down and props my brother against the wall. "See that he doesn't awake and cause us any trouble. Please remember, no matter whether you two were allies before...he is a danger to you now, J'Lotus." He takes the hat from me, begins to look through it with precision and care. "Ahhh. I see he took very little, then. He wouldn't dare keep any of it. I could smell it on him if he had. And he's already in danger of losing his job as it is... Oh, J'Lotus. Good help is so hard to find, I hope you realize. Now. Let's see. Ah, trap, trap, trap. Bugging device that he can't listen through behind these wards anyhow. A few odds and ends." I see a few objects and tiny specks disappear in flashes and sparks. "Now, then. Ah! The good Poet's quill. I do wonder where he kept the Arms to match it. Those, at least, might be easier to find now...have you ever encountered Arms before, J'Lotus?" His gaze suddenly swivels and pins me.

I freeze. He smiles. It's a smile that says nothing of what he thinks. "You practically had an exhibition with the Armed you stayed with during our journey, didn't you? I don't suppose they let you touch them?" I shake my head. "A shame, but a mercy at the same time. Those Arms read just as easily as Poets, often. Even moreso, with the right Armed. Or is it the Arms that make the Armed? You know, I've never been quite able to tell." He sees me blink. He gestures to me, allowing me to speak.

"...Sire...I'm really not sure at all when it comes to the Arms. They're really quite scary, and..."

He waves my objection away. "It is no matter. Tell me though, J'Lotus, a little more of your experience with your friends while we have a sit-down outside the place I'd prefer we keep our good Poet friend in. Yes? Then we might have a few ideas as how to proceed with this whole mess."

He taps Gerald on the shoulder. I scream as Gerald moves, hoists himself up, and then stands in front of the King.

His eyes are still shut. He...he gives off every sense of being asleep.

The King only smiles, a wry little twist. "A parlor trick, J'Lotus. It's easy, once someone is subjugated in my chambers. You'd know that." I...my mouth hangs open. He twirls his finger around, and Gerald turns with the gesture, then walks ahead of us. "Come along now, J'Lotus. He'll outpace you if you're not careful."

I feel my heart begin to beat faster in my chest. Is he going to turn into what he was last night, again? Into the person before we slept, even, that treated me like I was his doll? I don't want to see that person again. I don't want him to be that. I was so hoping I'd never see that again.

"Shhh. J'Lotus. Your fear might wake our Poet friend. You've done nothing wrong today, and in fact have every cause to be happy, as I've granted your boon and am keeping the Poet alive and well. Come, now. We'll have time to sit and talk, and even have tea and dine, just a little further on."

I follow. I hope his words aren't just empty, meaningless things. I can't put too much trust in him, now. Not after all that's happened. Even as much as I want to, as much as I wish I could...

I just hope, most of all, for Gerald's sake. I got him into this mess. I must be able to get him out.

The halls we walk through are strange. The walls are carved ivory, the floors some sort of onyx. Dragons twine and coil all around the corridors and doorways. Lamps keep the way well-lit. More tyrotyles, I think, or perhaps something even more exotic. Ebrellin-i stops before a pair of dark, wooden doors. They have the figures of mermaids carved into them. ...No, dryads. Tyrotyles. Haerphytl. Murntl. Even a pair of Animisms... Ebrellin-i brushes his fingers over the door lovingly. Gerald just stands there like an idiot. The King is holding his hand. I wonder if my brother feels that, in his sleep. I wonder if I could make him pee his pants while he's standing up like that.

"...J'Lotus, did you giggle?"

"...Sorry, Sire."

He shakes his head and sighs. "Past these doors...you cannot lie to me, J'Lotus."

The hair raises on the back of my neck, a strange sort of heat paired with it, as if Father himself is breathing down it. "Yes, Sire."

He nods. "I thought it fair to warn you. I am bringing you into my heart, and far scarier things than mere puppetry may happen in here." He sees me nod. "Well, then. For the sake of one you wish to save." He brushes his fingers in a circle over the surface of the doors, the seam between them splitting the circle halfway. "Let us enter my abode."

They open. No fanfare, no fancy tricks. We walk in. Gerald walks slowly. After he crosses the threshold, I see him falter mid-step, and the King catches him as he slumps sideways.

Ebrellin-i tsks. "Too tired already? Very ill-kept he was." He waves me inside. I enter, and the doors close behind me.

Ebrellin-i watches as I choke a little on how thick the air is. He waits for me to gain my equilibrium back. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you. I bring others in so rarely. Here, have a seat in one of those chairs. I think our Poet here deserves a lie-down on the couch, yes?" I sit, almost falling into the seat. The air here is heavy. The incense is thick, but it's not the incense. It's just...

...Well, it's Ebrellin-i. I watch him lay my brother across the couch, then carefully drape his hands across his chest so that his arms aren't dragging. "There we are. Now. I did say there would be tea." He gestures to the low table that the chairs and couch are centered around. Tea is there, in fact. A steaming pot, and leaves for whichever brew Ebrellin-i might care for. "I do enjoy it fresh, as you well know. If you please? You may use the mint, and your choice of blend, if you prefer it."

I kneel on the floor and set to preparing the tea properly. It's somewhat strange that Ebrellin-i would have me make the tea after he told me to rest and collect myself, but I don't mind too much. In a way I'm happy he gave me this opportunity. I'm collecting myself much better in this role than I would just sitting there, tense and waiting.

"Ah. Good. You may have a seat while it brews, J'Lotus. I shall take care of the rest." He rises, then walks off a little, out of this narrow little sideroom and into air that shimmers and suddenly becomes a kitchen. I blink. He returns with a tray of breads, cheeses and meats. I'm starting to wonder about his clever stash of incredibly attractive, convenient, filling foods, but that pales in comparison to a magically-appearing kitchen.

When I stare at him in confusion, he merely beams at me. "Isn't innovation grand? Here, try the beef."

I do, and while I'm doing so, Ebrellin-i himself pours the tea for us. He pours three cups. One he sets in a saucer at Gerald's end of the table, even though my brother has not yet woken. One he sets in front of himself. One he hands to me directly in some sort of ceremonial manner. I take the saucer, bowing my head. As I do, I spy something lying in the saucer. My hand shakes. I, for all my manners and Court courtesy, manage not to spill a drop of tea, even in this moment of shock.

"I am giving you this chance to explain yourself, J'Lotus." The Peacock King watches my every move as he casually sinks back into the cushions of his chair and sips at his brew. I continue to stare down into my saucer, but have the presence of mind to lean back and sit properly. I even bring my cup to my lips. With the cup gone, the object in the saucer rolls into the center, focusing my attention on it even moreso.

The bullet. The bullet Gerald's Arms gave me.

It was in my cigarette case, which was tucked inside my sash, which the King practically ripped off of me last night. I remember the sound of the case hitting the floor, then. It brings back other painful memories from that act. Tears prick at my eyes from the resonance of those memories.

But the bullet wipes them away, wipes away everything with the clear and cold precision that I've come to associate with the Armed.

The King is staying silent for me. Giving me a chance to plead my case. I'm already thinking about my Father too much - one more thought of the Judge is too many. Not when it's really Ebrellin-i. He's not enough like my Father, and yet too much like him for my comfort. I don't want to think about that, much as some would poke at that. Going from one prowling, possessive person to another...I don't like to think about Daddy like that.

The bullet. The bullet cleans away all those thoughts, too. I find staring at it helps me find a calm within me. Helps me speak when I would choke. Helps me find the Truth in a way that won't put me in the hands of the Unjust. As if I'd made some sort of call, and it had given me aid in a time of need, even when it'd caused all the distress in the first place.

"...I am grateful for the chance you're giving me, Sire. I understand that you could have rightfully killed me already." Ebrellin-i nods, then stirs honey into his tea. "May I ask if you've found his Arms yet?"

"Some Armed would cry disgrace for how much dirt got on them. Yes. I can find a gun by its bullet, especially when they are such Guns as those. I knew last night, if you'd like to know. I tried not to let it come between us. Last night was..." He looks away, rolling his hand in a gesture. "...business." He sees my sad nod. "Why do you ask, J'Lotus?"

I keep my eyes on the bullet. It makes everything clear. Precise. It cuts out the distractions. "I wanted to know if it would have been any use of me to tell you. I...I want to ask questions, I am sorry. I know I should explain myself rather than ask you to explain things. It's very sudden for me...you know that. I'm sure you know exactly how I feel, Ebrellin-i." He nods, and gestures for me to go on. The pressure to talk is very, very light. He's choked things out of me much more forcefully before. That in itself eases my nerves. "Sire...I didn't want you to kill him. I didn't want a war. I was afraid, and caught, and I didn't know who to turn to or what to do. I hated misleading you, but..."

"You love peace."

"Yes! Yes I do, Sire! It was so hard...the Guns themselves, they scared me. The bullet, too. The Guns told me to carry it when we rode out to travel. I thought they'd shoot me if I didn't. And I was so afraid for the Poet...I didn't think I had a choice, Sire."

He nods, the handle to the teacup perched so precise in his knuckles. "Why were you to carry the bullet, then? I've been curious about that for almost a day, J'Lotus." He could kill me. Right now. He will kill me, right after this next reply, if I don't answer him how I should.

'Don't worry, little one,' I hear the bullet whisper. 'Ye're safe in the eyes of the Law.'

Good gods, I don't think Ebrellin-i heard it.

"It...it was the Poet's plea for help, Sire." No it wasn't. I know that's not it. But...somehow it's not a lie either. But...the way I said it...Ebrellin-i will think it was so the Armed--

His hand isn't on my throat. He is leaning over me. And his hand, with those sharp nails so poised as if they were claws, is very near my neck. Enough to end me in under a second, if that's how I'm to go. I...I still look at the bullet. I can see his reflection in the bullet. Darker than he looks with naked eyes. Blacker. Twisted.

Aiming for me.

"I didn't give it to them, though. I did show it, before I was taken right there as a traitor aganst Radia. Jhe Briarseal...Sire, he recognized me. He's pretended not to know me, but he remembered me from when I lived in Radia."

"Oh. So, you were lucky to have that bullet with you, weren't you? Such good fortune for you. Am I to believe that...J'Lotus?" He moves just a teeny bit closer.

I gulp. "Sire...I watched him shred a comrade of his to pieces. I told him things, when he asked. I did tell him of the Poet. I answered their questions. I was afraid. They didn't take the bullet from me, though. I...I don't understand that."

"Surely they knew I'd find it." He raises an eyebrow. "Did you think about that yourself, J'Lotus?"

"I..." I blink, looking up at him for a fraction of a second before a glint from the bullet steals my gaze away, before my eyes can look upon that jewel in the Peacock King's crown. "I thought they were protecting me...they said they were." The emotions churn in my chest. Why...why did Camden leave the bullet with me? He should have taken it...for my safety and Gerald's. The King sees my face twist in confusion, senses the hurt in me from the question.

"Did you ever stop and wonder how much you could trust them? Or was it simply blind? Why would they protect you, Lotus?"

My shoulders jerk. I suck in a breath, my chest jumping with the action, another breath following at its heels. A tear rolls down my cheek, warm where everything feels so cold.

"Maybe they wanted you to die for this, to cover up their own sedition and trickery."

He puts a hand on my shoulder, stilling the shakes that are going through my body. When I start to cry more, he wraps the arm around my shoulders. I'm not sure when his face nestled right next to mine, but the jangling of his earrings is the closest sound to my ears right now. It almost distracts me from the glint of the bullet. But still I go on talking. Maybe that was for the best.

"I...I thought I was doing what I was supposed to. I don't understand the Law. I want to follow it, and I want to follow you, and I don't want to break your trust. I...didn't think they were going to hurt me. I just thought they wanted Gerald back."

"Ah. Gerald."

"Jhe Briarseal recognized him from the bullet I had. His brother looks so much like him."

"What else did Jhe Camden say about those missing in action?"

"He didn't think I should be privy to details, Sire. He asked his questions and...drew his own conclusions. You're...you're not going to hurt Gerald, are you? For something Jhe Briarseal did?"

The Peacock King's voice whispers in my ear. "You sound more terrified of him than you are of me. Why, Lotus?" His other hand cups the back of my head. I don't quite feel searched. I don't quite feel mentally gutted. I can still see the bullet, and I realize it's an image in my mind. The Peacock King's body is blocking my physical view of the bullet.

The one in my mind works just as well.

"He's really scary, my King." I suppress a whimper. He... he is.

"And I am not?" I feel his hand on my back, stroking my shoulderblade. Soothing me, even with the light scraping of his long nails. The question is so calm, as if he'd been inquiring as to the weather.

"You don't have to be scary. You're my King. You don't have to beat someone up to get them to listen to you. You...I would have run away by now, if you frightened me. I run away from things I'm scared of. I'm sorry." All I feel is his hand on my back. All I feel are the paths of his nails, stroking along my shoulder.

I'm going to miss being alive. I'm going to miss Gerald.

"Did you know Jhe Gerald Akribastes, in Radia, J'Lotus?" His hand stills. I wonder when it'll come. When he'll decide to lose me.

"I did. I didn't feel like I knew him very well, though. But we grew up together. He was older. I was more distant. I...I made a lot of friends, there, but I felt like no one really understood me. Gerald recognized me, when I arrived in your Court. He told me I should be his ally, or he'd tell the Law that I ran from Radia and turned traitor for Audiva Rocale's soil."

He chuckles. "You were hiding him from the beginning? How brash. I'm piqued." His nails brush a little harder. In that same rhythm, though. Soothing. Drawing the words out. The bullet glints in my mind, and I find concentration again.

"I...I'm sorry sir. I was trapped by him from the beginning."

"An agent, however willing, that he sought aid from upon capture. Did he hide his guns with you from the beginning?" Just one nail dragging along my back now. Just one, drawing at my attention. It's so hard to choose my words like I should. I manage, but it's so tiring.

"No. He sent them to me when he was captured. They showed up on my bed. The Guns told me to hide them, and help him, and...I think you know the rest from then on. Sire, I uh..."

"Yes, Lotus?" One nail-stroke. I can feel his warm breath against my ear. I can feel his earrings jangle against my skin.

"I saw things in my sleep, because of the Guns. I saw Jhe Cade take him. I...I wish I could have told you earlier. He--"

"--Did you tell the Armed of him, J'Lotus? Did you tell Jhe Camden of him?!" He rears back suddenly, hands clamped around my shoulders, glaring down at me. I can't pull away from his eyes. That bullet still stays in my mind's eye somehow, and I'll never know how. The Armed are a mystery I don't want to explore.

"Jhe Camden knew who he was, Sire. I told him, because I didn't know-- should I have? I don't know anymore. Ebrellin-i, I just don't know what's right anymore!"

Instead of shaking me, or slapping me, or reacting to my panic in any way, he...he just looks at me. Then, he laughs.

"Oh, you good boy, you. I knew there was a reason I chose you, in the beginning. I knew you'd prove yourself to me. You've done well, you know. So very well. More than you'll ever know." He brushes his nails over my cheek, scraping away a tear. Then he stands. "Dry yourself up. There is a bathroom down the hall, to the right. Make yourself as pretty as you want. You don't want Jhe Gerald Akribastes to see you in such a state, do you?" He pats my back. "Come, come. Finish your tea afterwards. Off!"

I stand, shaking a bit, still. "But...Sire...how?"

"You've proven yourself. Go."

"Y...Yes." I make a bow that's all memorization and habit. I can't quite array my thoughts into something composed and orderly, but I can keep up my airs and graces like a true expert. I head into the bathroom, seeing it as a welcome retreat. I don't even notice the bullet's still in my fingers as I close the door.

I crash to the floor, wrap my arms around myself, and just shake, and don't think of anything at all.

I hear more than I see, at first. I can hear the Peacock King moving around out there. His robes and many layers of sashes and cords make rustling noises as he attends to what sounds like the tea, or some dishes. I hear a voice, then realize it's not his.

Gerald's talking to him.

My blood freezes for a moment, the chill running from my neck all the way down to my spine. I feel the bullet, cold between my fingers. It almost vibrates. I stare at it, at my tiny little reflection in the gold-tinted metal of the round.

I stare at myself and hear Ebrellin-i reply to my brother as tea is poured. Strange, I think. Very strange, as the bullet vibrates again. I'd already poured the tea.

Maybe...maybe that's not tea. My shoulders stiffen.

Is he...is he poisoning my brother?

No. He can't be. That won't happen.

There must be some other explanation. I just have to pretty myself up and get out there and see what's happening. I can't be afraid now. Gerald's facing the King now, and he's in an even worse and more dangerous position than I am. I've got to be out there to support him.

The bullet vibrates again. I narrow my eyes. 'What do you want, Arms? Gerald's out there, as safe as he can be given his company and circumstances.'

'Aye, lad, safer he be now than he could be.'

'But ye, lad, ye are vulnerable, and we must protect ye.'

My eyes narrow, and a fire bristles in my mind. My nose wrinkles the way my sister Stevane's does anytime she sees someone have tea while not dressed for a proper occasion. Arms, helping me? What help have the Armed been to me? Jhe Camden used me and then left me in danger, rather than protect me. If it weren't for the Armed I wouldn't even be here.

'Just as stubborn as Gerald. Ye may have hope yet.'

'Best not to hold we Arms accountable for the actions of mere Armed. They have their flaws, yes. It is good that ye notice.'

'But we, we are pure. We want to protect ye, Lyric.'

I blink. They addressed me by name?

'Don't ever doubt that the Law wants to protect ye, Lyric. Now, do ye want that protection?'

'Do ye, lad?'

I stare ahead. Past the bullet. Perhaps at my Father, wherever he is. Perhaps...just at nothing. '...No.' My hand clenches around the bullet. 'But I want to protect my brother, and I have to stay safe for that. So I accept that protection, even if I may not want it.' I bite my lip. It burns me in my heart to even accept it. I don't quite understand that, but I certainly feel it.

'Aye, we accept that.'

'We accept yer plea, Lyric Akribastes of the Peacock King's Court.'

'Lucky, too, that ye can accept our protection in a way that the Peacock King won't notice. Do ye understand that, Lyric?'

I look down at the floor. Then I look in the mirror. My hair's in disarray. I attend to it while I go on talking with the Arms. '...No, but I think you're going to tell me how anyway.'

'Such a cheeky fellow. Like yer brother, but not enough that we'd bother with shooting ye for it.'

'What we're going to tell ye is really quite easy. Ye've focused on us already to survive the King's mind, yes? To gain focus. That was right smart of ye.'

'The form ye've imagined us in is one that the King himself is quite obsessed with at the moment, and one ye'd be rightfully preoccupied with.'

'So it won't strike him as odd if he were to peek into yer mind and see our bullet there. Ye'd think of it a lot anyway.'

'He doesn't understand the Law, and so he doesn't understand us, neither. He won't understand, by that same token, that you're drawing strength from us, and focus.'

'Most of all he won't ever admit to himself that he might lose to something like ourselves. To something of the Law. To what he considers to be a mere bullet.'

'Keep us well, Lyric. If the bullet is taken from ye, ye can always keep it in your mind. He can't stop ye from doing that, and even better, he won't.'

I blink as I pull a brush through my hair. It's really coming out rather well. I will admit, Ebrellin-i has some marvelous shampoo. 'But how will that make the Law protect me?' The bullet flashes hot in my fingers for just a second. I almost drop it.

'Silly lad. But ye're young, and that's more forgivable than willfully ignorant. Ye can call upon the Law directly through the bullet in yer mind. It will shield yer mind from the worst ravages of that flouncing ostrich puppet monarch's powers.'

'It will save yer will.'

'Yer free will, what is yours and no other man's to command.'

'Do ye agree to this? Do ye accept the Law's protection, through us?'

It will protect Gerald, and that's all I could ever hope for, at this point. 'Yes, sirs. Uhm...Arms. I accept your protection as you've offered it and as I understand it.'

'Good lad. Ye've a bit of smudge under yer eye there. Neaten up and then outside with ye.'

'That overblown turkey is hovering too close and too long to our Armed for our liking, and ye'll distract him.'

I pause, touching up my makeup. 'Will...can I still talk to you, even if I don't have the bullet? Can I talk to you through the bullet in my mind?'

'Aye. The object is just an object.'

'The Law is in our voices.'

'And when Gerald fires us, we roar to the heavens.'

I nod, then adjust my sash, then open the door, ready to face whatever lies outside. I'm armed with what I need now.

* * *

Ebrellin-i is seated in his armchair, his back to me as I approach. Gerald is sitting up on the couch, leaning over a cup perched properly in his fingers. Steam wafts up from the cup, and I smell something both acrid and familiar.

...No, not poison.

Gerald looks up. He has the strangest smile on his face. It only betrays about sixty percent of his nerves and almost looks like a full apology. "Why, Jhe Lotus. You're a sight for sore eyes." He pokes at his left eye, where a blackened bruise puffs up all around it. "...Literally." He's still wearing that collar. I see him skirt a glance downward at it, a touch nervous after his last word for some reason.

Ebrellin-i coughs, the sound turning into a chuckle. "Nay, Poet, that collar doesn't restrict something so light as a joke, only true will to change reality. I'm sure one such as you can understand the difference."

Gerald's smile is perfectly innocent. "I've heard our art called a joke one too many times, I suppose." Ebrellin-i's shoulders jerk, as if he's suddenly been caught doing something he knows is wrong. Then he turns to me, and gestures for me to sit.

"J'Lotus. I suppose it's time for proper introductions, is it not? Especially now that Jhe Gerald is acting so much more reasonable." Gerald looks sheepish. "Then again, I suppose that is typical of all Armed once they are offered coffee." Ebrellin-i raises a haughty eyebrow at Gerald, acting reproachful for some reason.

Gerald laughs it off. "Sire, I thought it wise to keep my position as an Armed a secret, seeing that I wasn't appointed here under any authority of the Armed. Bringing more trouble to you, and also to my people, was certainly not my aim. Indeed, it is my goal to facilitate peace wherever I go, as it is with my Armed brethren." He drinks his coffee. His shoulders slump down just a tad. I can't imagine how long it's been since he's had a 'cuppa'. "Also, this is fine coffee you have, Sire."

Ebrellin-i nods. "I'm quite pleased that you fancy it, especially considering that you'll be drinking it for quite a long time." He notices my brother startle, then smirks. "Did you think I was going to let you go, Jhe Akribastes?"

My brother's eyes narrow. I stay perfectly still. I'm afraid that any movement I make might disturb the balance of everything. Like a tower of perfectly balanced paper cranes that could come crashing down if my merest breath brushes it. "...Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. I am in an ill position to say this, but still I urge you to reconsider what it seems you are suggesting."

"I can't let you out of my Palace alive." Ebrellin-i says it as cheerfully as a New Year's greeting. Possibly even moreso. "You've heard too much, know too much, and have been slighted too much. Indeed, if it weren't for my servant's intervention, you'd be in a much less pleasant place right now. But, I do grant my boons where it pleases me, and Jhe Lotus does please me so much." ...Oh no. Gerald's cheeks are flushing red, and it's not from embarrassment. "Would you like me to tell you what lies ahead for you in your life, Jhe Gerald? I do like when people know what to expect, it makes everything else afterwards so orderly and precise."

He blinks. I don't think he can think of anything to say. Maybe his life is passing in front of his eyes. Or maybe that's just myself I'm thinking of.

"My laboratories are past the doors beyond this lovely sitting room. I would like if you stayed in them. I will cordon off exactly where you are allowed, and what activities you will be allowed to participate in. You will be very busy and find that you will learn quite a lot as my assistant."

"...Your assistant."

"Yes, exactly as I said. Such a good Poet! My brother must be proud of you, yes? Now, don't worry. The tasks I have for you aren't mere simpleton's work, and I think you'll find them quite fulfilling and exciting."

"...Tasks for me."

"Just like little Elete! Always keeping up with me. Yes, just like that. Now, I do realize you may need a bit more rest before you can start your work here, which is why I've already had quarters cleaned up for you. They are secure, but very comfortable for a cell. I think you'll agree that you've never been incarcerated in more pleasant accommodations than the ones I'm offering you."

"...You're offering."

"You do seem to pick the more pertinent parts to pay attention to. A useful skill. Yes, a servant's contract does have its nice little compensations, as Jhe Lotus can attest to."

"...Contract." There's something else to his voice, now. A deep chill.

"I think you'll be compelled to sign immediately."

"Oh? Will I?" There's that chill again. Familiar. The skin along my spine is tingling, and I'm not quite sure what it is...

Ebrellin-i leans forward, his hands clasped in his lap. "I've trumped you. Trapped you. Checkmated. Whatever word your King might find suits this situation best, hmm? I want you to sign the contract. I would not present the option, however, unless I was sure that I could make you do as I wished."

"Oh? And what is your leverage, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale?" Frost should be limning the rim of his cup, Gerald's voice is so chilly. I realize I recognize that voice, now. If I closed my eyes I would swear my Father was in this room.

The King's smile grows so wide that it might split his face if it continued. "Your wife."

I should take a moment to devote completely to Gerald's face right at this moment.

He has an automatic reaction to protest, but he stifles it quickly, leaving his lips in this weird, pursed position. One hand lifts up, then halts as his words do, dying on the vine. His eyes widen considerably.

And see, he could look scared right now, to a casual observer. Possibly angry. Someone could definitely mistake this face for shock. I know the truth, though, because I grew up with Gerald, and despite the rift between us, I know him.

The truth is that for whatever reason, Gerald is trying his absolute hardest at this moment not to laugh in the Peacock King's face.

When Ebrellin-i presented his threat, I was a little confused. I didn't think about Gerald having a wife. I didn't know he had one.

After looking at his face, I'm pretty sure he doesn't.

"I...I'm sorry, what wife?" Gerald apparently agrees with me.

"Oh, don't play games with me." The Peacock King stirs honey into a fresh cup of tea while still grinning like he'd just eaten a canary. "I know who she is." I didn't think it was possible for him to seem more smug. I was...wrong. Very, very wrong.

"I'm not...wait, you do?" Gerald looks very worried, which is his way of stifling how absolutely perplexed he is.

The King chuckles, then sips his tea, eyes hooded. "I know everything I need to know about you, Jhe Gerald. I have her, you know." Gerald does look alarmed by that. I don't blame him. The thought of the Peacock King wrongfully incarcerating some innocent woman, thinking she's Gerald's nonexistent wife...

"I...I'm sorry. I don't believe you." Gerald does speak the absolute truth. Hell, I concur with him. There's no way the Peacock King could possibly have--

"Jhe Jennelcia Akribastes? Oh, yes. She's working in the Mews alongside Jhe Rachella Hawksgard. It's been very cute, you know. How they've tried to hide their real names. How they've tried to make your wife look like a real Armed." Ebrellin-i brushes his fingers to the side, as if he's sweeping dust off of his sleeve.

Gerald swallows, his face pale. I...I understand. I didn't realize, myself. I understand now, though. Who Jenny really was, all this time.

She was just so young when I left home that I didn't recognize her.

"Your deductions are quite...surprising, Your Highness. I...had not realized that Jennelcia was here in Audiva Rocale."

"Ah, but didn't you expect her?" The King's eyes narrow as he aims a penetrating stare at Gerald's eyes. "You did. I can see it in you. You waited for her. Something you originally thought would be a welcome respite from your mission here, perhaps?"

"I...I did know it was possible she would be here during the training...just...not so soon!" Gerald really impresses me. He makes that sound so plaintive, as if he really is frightened for Jenny.

Hell, I'm frightened for the King, as much as he's harmed me. Jenny's my baby sister.

I should note that she once lit my eyebrows on fire while still in swaddling clothes.

Look, she doesn't look like the rest of us. I mean, you can see the resemblance to her father, it's just...well, you've already read how I didn't recognize her until the Peacock King pointed out her name. She...she does look Radian. Just not...

...You know what? I'm going to stop making excuses for the Peacock King now. He's done a poor job of earning them.

I can only hope that Gerald can keep his poker face on for the duration of this conversation.

The King leans forward, so tall and imposing, so damn smug like always. He takes a sip of his tea, that smile never leaving his face. "Well, Jhe Gerald, it seems you have a decision to make. Spurn my offer of gainful employment, or risk the life of your dear heart. Of course, if you decline...I may have no other choice but to dispose of you now. Then, who would ensure her safety? Jhe Briarseal? Jhe Hawksgard?" He chuckles, looking down into his tea at his reflection in it. "...Please. This is my land. They may have the Law, but right here I have the authority that can surpass it. This is my Court, Jhe Gerald. Please do remember that as you make your decision. And please do keep in mind..." He looks up, tossing his hand to the side, to me. "J'Lotus here has had excellent treatment while serving under me, and can tell you no complaints, I am sure."

...Oh damn. I feel my tongue being sealed. But Gerald knows what's really going on. The Peacock King's ruse there is so obvious that it's more a show of power than anything else. I'm growing weary of being the blackboard he draws his lessons on, though. I only nod, my face betraying nothing. Gerald studies my face. It's strange, seeing him look at me so openly, and me being able to return his gaze just as honestly, while the Peacock King watches.

A little frown line appears between Gerald's eyes, and his face gains a cast of determination to it. He's decided. Not only that...but I think he's about to make a bluff bigger than the Peacock King's.

"Alright, Your Grace. You win this gambit. I will do as you ask, as long as your servant Lotus agrees to it, as he seems the type to be interested in an average person's well-being. He has had the compassion to ask for my life to be saved, as it is. I think I can trust him. But," he holds up a finger, "I will only sign my name to an agreement such as you propose if I am allowed to read it in its entirety. And the agreement must state very clearly that I will only serve so long as you swear to give your protection to my wife. Any other wording I will not trust, even if Jhe Lotus pens it."

The Peacock King sits up, appearing very pleased. No, that doesn't begin to describe it. I'm even a little repulsed by his expression. "Very well, Jhe Gerald Akribastes. It will be exactly as you say it." He gestures for me to rise. "J'Lotus? I have quill, parchment and inkwell in the desk in the room you saw me enter to fetch the tea. Please bring them with haste. I'd like to ensure Jhe Jennelcia's protection as quickly as possible, for Jhe Gerald's sake." He nods to Gerald, gesturing to the platter of food on the table. "If you would care to eat? You appear pale, and I am aware of Jhe Cade's poor treatment of those he keeps. After you sign, I can see to your injuries as well." Gerald nods, and like any good Armed, doesn't decline a free meal. I leave to fetch the stationery.

It almost makes me feel a little ill to get the means by which he'll be chained, but I place my hopes in how confident Gerald's eyes were. I think he's on to something, and I can't lose faith in him right when he needs it most.

* * *

The King leans over the table. He's gone through two sheets of parchment already and is well on his way to going through a third. His quill dances across the paper in precise, angled writing. Gerald watches him scribe out the contract as intently as I do.

He finishes the third sheet, then draws three lines at the very bottom. "There, now. I think that should be it." He looks up to my brother. "Jhe Gerald, given the requirements you stated, would you like my servant to read over the contract? That would ensure that the binding clauses do not include anything he would be dismayed for me to impose upon you." Gerald gives a nod. I'm handed the contract, then.

I dry-swallow, then take a sip of my tea. It's so short, for something that could bind a person for life as a slave. I take my time reading it, but surprisingly find nothing that trips my mental alarms. The Peacock King must be genuinely interested in keeping his agreement clean, here.

...No, there's something in the second page, towards the middle. I peer over it for a moment or two. It's ambiguous... "...This might seem silly to quibble over here, but with the wording of this sentence, it's hard to tell whether you mean you'll give him ample food during his stay, or whether he'll be ample food for...uhm...something?" My eyebrows lift and I look up at my King in confusion. "I'm not really sure what goes on in your labs, but I think--"

Ebrellin-i takes the papers from me. "Here, let me clarify that." He says it in such a cheerful voice...but it sounds like he might be a little snippy. "There, does that help you?"

"Ah, yes, that does make things perfectly clear. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." I catch Gerald's expression before I look back down over the papers again. He seems just a bit concerned...and relieved.

It's funny, this is more work than I put into reading my own contract with the Peacock King. Perhaps if I'd gone through the extra effort in the first place, we wouldn't be in this situation.

There's still room for the King to squirm with this contract, I see. It could be very bad for Gerald, and I wouldn't agree to let Gerald sign it if I didn't see where Ebrellin-i wrote very clearly, and very specifically, in big bold letters, that it was only binding so long as Gerald's wife was given the Peacock King's protection.

Gerald's wife. Not Jennelcia Akribastes.

"...My King, I think this is fair and equitable. I have no problems with Jhe Gerald signing it, though of course he may think differently. I see nothing in it that could do him great harm." I hand it to Gerald at the King's nod. My brother makes a great show of poring over it, but beyond a few mumbles, he shows no protest to his clauses. Of course he doesn't - he's already had the clause added in that will protect him from the contract binding him at all. He signs it, and then the Peacock King, and I sign as a witness.

The King's eyes flick up to me as I do so. I'm not sure why he double-takes at me then, but he quickly brushes it off.

"Well, then, Jhe Gerald...is anything troubling you about your condition?" Ebrellin-i sees to Gerald's injuries as I clean up the food and tea at the table.

* * *

The Peacock King allows me to look over Gerald's new quarters, even, before letting my brother settle in. He makes a great production of having me witness every little thing that might have to do with Gerald's new life. To what ends, I'm not really sure, but he seems very happy about it. And, most of all, he keeps asking if I'm happy with what's been provided for Gerald.

I say yes, of course. Really, it's not too bad, but I also know that Gerald's not really bound into this. Though, speaking of binding...

"Sire? Will you need to collar him anymore? It might hinder him in his work assisting you. I'm not really sure how it works, to be honest."

"Ah! I'm glad you brought that up!" He raises a hand, then taps the back of Gerald's collar. My brother actually yelps and jumps a little. The King laughs, patting him on the back. "There, there. Calm down, now. Nothing's been done to harm you. I've simply adjusted your restraints. I think you should feel much better now. Come, come. Time is short and you've much to do to earn your side of the contract." He sounds so chipper. Gerald glowers as we follow the Peacock King to a wardrobe that's standing by a pair of ominous steel double doors. He opens it, revealing loose white robes in many sizes. He passes one to each of us. "Slide it over your clothes, like this. It helps keep my labs sterile." He slips one on himself. Over the layers of silk and embroidery, the plain white labcoat looks...silly. Especially with the crown.

He looks very happy, though. Especially when he lets us in, throwing the doors open. "Behold! My work space!"

Ebrellin-i's labs are...well, impressive is a good place to start. Scary was going to be my next word, but they definitely make an impression as well. I...it's an entire side of him I've never seen of him before, yet I have. Everything is precisely positioned and labeled. There is a place for everything and all of it stays in its place. Steel, brass, stone, porcelain and glass surfaces are all immaculately cleaned and polished. I'm really not sure what all of it is for, to be honest. Huge tanks and tubs and hoses and nozzles and test tubes adorn the entire complex of rooms and halls in a maze of rubber tubing and...crockery. He has a tea lab in here, see.

There's...living things down here. At least I think they're alive. They move and they make noise. Ebrellin-i claims he made them himself, though, and has so much pride in that statement that I have to school my reaction to the rows of cages and the strange noises from within very carefully. Gerald...Gerald just looks very pale.

But he has questions. Lots of questions.

"Um...will I have to feed these, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale?"

"You may call me Sire. They feed themselves. They're remarkably intelligent, and you shouldn't listen to them, no matter what pleas they may think up."

"I...alright. Can I have a notepad to write these things down? Your instructions seem to be quite important to my well-being and livelihood."

"Here." The King produces a notepad and a pencil for him. "Don't attempt any Poetry unless I give you advance permission. Your collar won't like that. And while you're writing about these creations of mine, you might as well note that they are excellent mimics and can imitate any voice. Thus the extra note of caution."

Gerald seems happy enough just to have something to write on again. "Do little doodles count? The King says I have previously undiscovered levels of talent deficit in drawing. I don't think I'll do any damage with them."

Ebrellin-i raises a wary eyebrow. "Show me first." Gerald very excitedly leans over the pad as his fingers begin to sketch. I'm...well, I'm dubious.

Gerald's art skills were one of the reasons I was a little confused as to why he'd gone off to the Poet Hall to train. At the time I just figured it was because he was Gerald, and he was frustratingly good at everything that I couldn't do, especially when it came to making Father proud. Now I'm more of the opinion that he was very, very stubborn, and wasn't going to let something like complete lack of talent in art keep him away from his dreams.

Ebrellin-i lets out a horrified little gasp. "And you...Elete trained you personally, Jhe Gerald?" He sounds like he's trying very hard not to regurgitate a mouse.

Gerald just sounds chipper as ever. Perhaps that miniature abomination of a drawing helped him regain his stride. "His Highness the Jhe 'hLogos always makes a point of giving each of his Poets personal instruction, Sire. With me...well, I can't say my focus was in drawing, so...well, he forgives us our flaws. I just still like drawing even if I can't really do it, so I wanted to know if I could have your permission for just this little thing."

The King splays his fingers across the bridge of his nose. "...You may, if you're careful that I don't have to look at them, Jhe Gerald. Forgive me for being so blunt as to say that they are horrid."

Gerald laughs. "Thank you very much, Sire." He flips the page to a fresh one, honoring the request and hiding away the monstrosity. I'm not sure if he's responding to the allowance or the insult. He begins jotting down notes. "So, they mimic voices and are very intelligent. I can't really see them well, in those cages. How far can they reach out?"

The King laughs. "Oh, it varies. Don't test them. To put it discreetly, they provide their own food for themselves and I've never had pest problems in this section of the labs. I'm quite convinced that the two are related. Here, let's move on. You most likely won't be in this section much. I just wanted to inform you of the hazards."

This is all a little beyond me, I'll admit. Science sort of makes me drift. It's just not interesting to me, I can't concentrate. So I wander around a little, poking my nose into a few things that look interesting to me. This big tank is pretty cool, for instance. There's something in there that's like an octopus, but it has three eyes and its tentacles are growing out of a weird kind of sponge. I peer closer to the tank, and then Ebrellin-i yanks me back by my collar before a tentacle can twine around my neck. I blink at the tentacle as it hovers midair, dripping water or...whatever it was swimming in. It sort of winks at me with one of its suckers.

"Sssst!" Ebrellin-i sounds like he's chastising a cat. "Eudora! Keep your hands to yourself!" The thing inside the tank responds by squirting out a cloud of black ink. Ebrellin-i scowls at the thing and gives the tank a sharp rap. "Don't you mouth off to me, young lady. You're just one meat grinder and a sterilization phase away from being kibble." Ebrellin-i brushes imaginary dust off of his sleeve, then clears his throat. "My apologies. I've been meaning to teach her manners but there's just so much to do in a day." He looks over at both of us. Gerald's hands are on my shoulders. He's looking up at the King like he's about to grow four arms and a second head. Whereas I'm perfectly calm, but I think that's because I'm starting to brush off these things about Ebrellin-i as 'just his ways'.

The King steps forward and removes Gerald's hands from my shoulders in the way that he'd probably touch a particularly grisly specimen. Then he checks me over, looking into my eyes as he does. "You're feeling alright, J'Lotus?" His hand rests on my neck, kneading it. I nod. His hand strokes down my back, and I feel Gerald bristle a little. "Good, because she secretes a poisonous gas, and I'd so hate to lose you. Come along now!" And then he escorts us to another area, hand resting at the small of my back. Gerald follows behind and watches every corner of the labs while simultaneously keeping his eyes glued to us. It's like having a chaperon who's also a bodyguard.

Gerald's shown through the part of the labs that the Peacock King will have him work in. It's mostly cleanup work and note-taking. "I feel that having a servant down here who is capable of keeping himself alive will encourage me to do more work here. I'm too easily distracted from these pursuits, especially recently. So I feel this relationship will be mutually beneficial, Jhe Gerald. I do hope that you come to agree with me."

Gerald nods, making his notes. No, he's making another one of his doodles. Strange. It looks almost like me, except that I don't recall having three arms.

...Arms...

As if on cue, Gerald looks up. "Sire? I do have a question for you, if I may inquire."

The King turns to face Gerald. We've arrived outside of Gerald's new quarters. Well, they're more like a cell, but then again how different are my quarters from a cell? The King locks both of us in, just the same. He nods to my brother. "You may."

"I believe you have my Arms." He waits, then realizes he hasn't asked a question. "...Well, do you?"

The King smiles. "You know where they are, Jhedeinuos." Gerald's shoulders stiffen with the use of the proper Court title for Armed. Hell, I've only heard it used a few times in my life. "Do you have an issue you would like addressed?"

Gerald's upper lip twitches as he tries very hard to keep his face straight. I have the unpleasant feeling that Gerald is trying very hard not to kill someone. "Not at this moment, Sire."

"Good. Have a pleasant evening then, Jhe Akribastes, and do please enjoy your stay." My brother stands ramrod-straight, arms flat against his sides, as the Peacock King opens his cell door for him and gestures for him to enter.

It's a few moments before Gerald actually budges, but he walks inside and settles in with no further commentary. The Peacock King nods at him. "Dinner and tea shall arrive shortly. Coffee will be provided in the morning. Good night." I nod at Gerald from behind the King. I'm anxious when the door is closed and my brother is closed off.

The King looks down at me. "Well, then, J'Lotus. Jhe Gerald has earned his rest. Perhaps it's time you earn a little of yours?" His hand presses behind my waist as he guides me out of the labs.

I can't say Faun is happy to see me right now, but at least I can be sure that most of his glower is reserved for the Peacock King. I gulp. This might be the most antagonistic I've ever seen the animism look. What's worse is that Faun turns his face up to me and shares that glare with me. I shrink back.

The King's hand behind my waist keeps me from getting far. He presses me forward. "Go," he says, his voice clear but quiet in the room. "Speak to him." That strange air of absurdity and liveliness has left Ebrellin-i now that we're not in the labs. Now he's as cold and composed as before. It's weird. He seemed almost deranged in those labs, but it somehow felt like it was closer to his personality than this chilly aloofness.

I step forward, my hand subconsciously drawn up to perch on the coil of my whip. My fingers curl around the braided leather. I look him over. Maybe a little paler. Just a little gaunt. Most definitely meaner. Chained too far away from the bars for me to worry about that little measure, though.

My thumb strokes the leather of the whip. The role comes to the fore without me even needing to call it up. "Faun-doe. Such a pleasure seeing you, after a long absence from the cage. How fares you on such an evening? Well, I hope." The animism's shoulders jerk with my use of the pet-name, but it has no effect on him. Of course, only the Peacock King would be able to truly use it to its purpose of binding and control. The rest brings little reaction. He cocks his head.

"What do you care of it, little boy-slut, King's toy?" The corners of his mouth perk up as my face goes granite. I see fangs peek out from behind his upper lip. "Why are you outside of the pen? Come, prove yourself to him, earn a few precious more inches of his bed." His hair raises up on his scalp as the taunts. He's puffing up like a cat.

The King's hand pushes behind my back, urging me forward. I step towards the cage just as he sweeps his hand, unlocking the door. It clangs shut behind me as I walk in, whip uncoiling and kissing the floor underneath my feet before the tip of it snaps right above Faun's head.

The animism doesn't even blink. His fingers do clutch at the floor, his nails extending to his claws. I hear a 'shhh' behind me from the Peacock King, and then the animism lurches.

The King waggles his finger. "Bad little toy. Be nice to your master. Pay him your respects just as you would me, Faun-doe."

Faun lurches, stopping his fall right before his chin hits the floor. He glares up at me and spits. I answer with another whip-pop.

"You simply must expend your vocabulary, J'Lotus. He won't listen to reason. You must show it to him." The Peacock King claps his hands twice. "Teach him his role, Trainer."

I execute a complex bow, the whip arcing over my head and then under in a sweeping circle. It pops in front of me at the end of its arc, almost connecting with Faun. There's some tiny part of myself in the back of my head that's shaking in terror from the damage that accidentally striking him could do. It's a very quiet part of me, though. I don't even need to shush it. It knows better than to peep up right now.

Instead I sweep my arm in front of me, the whip whistling over Faun's head. "Come, fox-one," I grin, "rise and join me in the dance."

"Burn and curl into your pyre-grave," he hisses back, "and leave be the quiet ones who would watch over the ground you'll rest in!"

I reach forward, hand cupping the underside of his jaw, fingers digging in. He blinks, and deep in those eyes I see a flicker of confusion. He didn't see that one coming. I was too fast. Which means this place must be getting to him more than he realized. Worry ghosts over his face, and then the expression freezes. I almost give us away, then. I almost show my own confusion.

Instinct tells me to go along with him, though, even though I'm risking getting my own throat torn out here. "Saving your servitude until your masters pass is such a waste, Faun-doe." He doesn't actually give under my grip, but his arms go slack just a tad. Good. I know I really didn't do that, but good all the same. "Give your will to the Kings of the Living World, like all good creatures must do."

I blink. There's a hand sliding over my own. Faun's fingers ghost over my knuckles. I feel the oddest sensation in his throat, and realize he's purring. From a creature that looks like a grown man, it's extremely creepy, especially with how his eyes are hooded right now.

'Just think, little one.' I hear Faun's voice between my ears, and see just the tiniest ghost of a fox-grin on his lips. 'He might eat this up so much that you'll do double-time in his bed.' He feels my suppressed revulsion at that. 'Aww, does he hurt you? Frighten you? Don't deny that it still excites you.' The pang of hurt that causes makes him study me a little closer. 'How have you been surviving? You should visit me. I could teach you tricks to turn the dead in their graves, and his bed into one. At the very least, an escape...' He thinks over my own mental objections to that. 'Come to me by your pen, or in your sleep, or both. You need to get away from him. I'm beginning to see his mark on you, and fear it mirroring itself in me. Now, why not end this in a success? I do so love pretending.'

I nod, then back away, sweeping my whip in front of me. It whispers across the floor, stopping in an arc in front of the animism. He looks down at it like a cat stalking a toy on a string. He then looks up at me, almost asking aloud what I intend for him to do with that.

"Kiss it," I say.

His eyebrow raises.

"Kiss it, and maybe this will be over." I don't let it show, but this is making me nervous. I have no idea if Faun feels like doing this. Certainly he's pretended quite a bit already. It's in his best interests, after all.

"Fine, master," he says in a chirrupy voice that might be all sarcasm and no truth at all. He leans down, grinning, eyes up at me, and barely nudges the thing with his nose. "That should be sufficient, yes?"

I narrow my eyes. "A mere kiss? Surely you can manage that."

"Surely I cannot, for I am a dumb animal, unteachable and untrainable."

"Then kiss it the way a vixen kisses her cubs." My grip tightens on the whip, my knuckles standing out white against my skin. Faun observes this. I'm not sure if it's what prompts his next action.

"Oh. A kiss. Such a simple thing." He leans down and licks the whip, then nuzzles it, yellow eyes smiling up at me the whole time. The hairs raise up on the back of my neck as I realize he is pantomiming an entirely different sort of kissing.

I gulp. "Thank-you-that-is-sufficient." My voice is tighter than usual. A little choked. I can't control it - he's doing things to that whip with his mouth that I've seen harems practice on cucumbers.

His chuckle climbs up through the room. "But I'm having fuuuuuuun..." His words roll into a low, easy purr. The action is cut off as I jerk the whip away, then pop it above his head. He jerks back at the motion, one he didn't expect in the middle of his ministrations. He's still grinning despite it, damn him.

"Easy, now." The Peacock King's voice brings me back into the present. "Come out now. Your performance was sufficient."

Even though I didn't want to perform that dance well for him, I glower at the lack of praise in his voice. Faun watches me leave. I remember his request as I exit. You should visit me.

I should. He's the only one that would understand what I've experienced by the Peacock King's hand. He's the only one who can tell me how to escape that hand's reach.

That hand settles behind my waist again, as we depart. Once we're past the point that Faun can hear us, he pats my back. "Better than you think, and quite noteworthy. I only think you could do better, if taught more. And I do so love helping you reach your potential, J'Lotus." There's a growl in his voice I don't like. A...another purr. "I enjoyed watching your show. When did you teach him to do that, J'Lotus? Your private training with him?" That question asks so much of me. Too much. I let it go unanswered, and let him draw his own conclusions. I'm worrying too much, now. I suspect the next turn we take will bring me to his bedroom once again.

The passage reveals itself step by step, turn by slow turn. My brow creases in confusion as everything around me begins to blur. I recognize this place, yes. It's the King's suites. Why is everything so foggy, though? Why are my senses getting so dull?

The King's hand raises, pressing against the back of my neck now. His fingers get their grip around my neck slowly, easing me into the sensation. "Shhh, J-lui-tiss. Just let your senses sleep."

Even though he says that, or especially because he says that, my nerves rise up enough to make me swallow. It's enough to focus my swiftly fading attention back on my neck, and the odd tightness around it.

"Sleep, my darling," he says, and as he snaps his fingers, I do.

At least...I seem to. It's like when he tried to spell me into sleep when he curled around me in his bed. It feels like sleep, but I'm awake through it, and I'm very sure that he doesn't know that. He treats me like someone who can't hear and see him, who won't remember this in the morning.

I remember all of this.

He presses against me with a growl, pushing my body up against the wall and kissing up under my jaw, under the thin leather band around my neck. His hands wander inside of my robes. He's so frustrated. Faun's show must have affected him quite a bit, because he pulls my sleep-walking body into the bed after scraping his teeth against my neck a few times.

There's not much more than the acts of a very greedy person once he's got my body sprawled on the sheets. I don't recall it as a pleasant experience, but it's like something I watched more than participated in. I'm so detached that in a way it almost didn't happen to me at all. Almost.

His hands find my neck after the act, palms pressing up against the skin, fingers stroking the leather band. I hear his nails rake over the collar. I hear him speak strange words, and then there's heat around my neck, and commands that I hear and I don't think I'll obey. I hope I'm correct. I hear him give me the pet-name properly, then. J-lui-tiss. It makes me think of my Uncle, and that thought sends a shiver down my spine.

I should, by all accounts, be doomed now. I've seen slaves that were collared pets. I've spoken with them, even taught them to put on their makeup right, to walk pretty and bow low. They have no choice but to obey their masters. The collar is the physical proof of the bind, but the name itself is the seal. To re-name a person is to bend them, warp them, re-make them. In the case of pet-names, the person becomes the possession of the namer. Usually this takes elaborate ceremonies and great trickery, but for the Peacock King, an expert in puppetry, it is of course a much simpler task.

He's made some mistake, though. I can feel it. My body will follow his commands for now, under the spell of sleeping, but if I fought it, I wonder if that would be the case. That would be foolish, though. Better to let him think I'm his. Better to play his game without him knowing I'm playing. He looks so pleased with himself, now. Just like he was so pleased when he revealed the identity of Gerald's 'wife'. I'd like him to stay pleased, just like that. All haughty and puffed-up and blissfully ignorant of the truth. While he's like that...

...While he's like that, he won't notice what's under my mask, or under Faun's and Gerald's. Under the masks of all of us, including the Armed that Jhe Camden leads.

If it takes convincing him that I'm his happy little puppet to achieve that, then we're in luck - it will be so simple that I could do it while asleep. In fact, I already am.

He releases my body sometime after his additional commands and reinforcements, and no small amount of gloating. I sleep in his bed. Thankfully, sleep does come this time, with no visions of him playing his own role as a servant again.

Do you know, I manage some real sleep for what might even be several hours? The sensation is so unfamiliar that I almost wake up from the shock of it. I even have a dream, though I don't remember it, like happens with most of my dreams.

At some point, though, I rouse from true rest and into traveling. At least I have some idea of where I mean to go, or was going to go - well, okay, I'm trying to explain away the fact that I just end up in here. Outside the bars, true, but still, I'm crouched on the floor outside Faun's cell. I look up and into the prison. He's asleep, now, but not very deeply. He looks troubled, and he keeps twitching.

"Faun?" I keep my voice low, even though I know I can't be making any real sound here. Still, the Peacock King hears farther than the boundaries of the physical world, and he's not the only one that can do so. Faun shakes awake and tilts his head to face me. His eyes open, deep and dark in this light, like amber. It's like being studied by an owl.

He smiles. "Lyric. Come in. I've missed company." He gestures inward, and to my surprise, the door does open. He laughs at my confusion. "Your dream has different doors than my reality, Lyric. You should be free to enter, much as I am not free to leave, even in the world of my own dreams."

I walk in slowly, waiting for some alarm to go off, my nerves set on a hair-trigger. When nothing happens, I settle down, sitting just outside the range of his chains. "Your own dreams? Even in those, you're chained down?"

Faun's eyes narrow, and the corners of his mouth draw back. It's not really a smile, more like the reaction to biting into a lemon. "The Peacock King's collars bind on all levels, Lyric." He cocks his head at me, and his eyes look hazy for a moment. It's like he's trying to see something that's not quite there. Perhaps that's exactly what he's doing. "What...I don't understand. You can't be wearing one. You can't be here, Lyric, if he's collared you." He looks at me in the eye then, trying to see if I'm telling a lie just by dreaming myself into his cell. "...How are you doing it? More importantly, are you okay? I...I can see...smell what he's done." He's so confused and so deep in thought that he's forgetting to speak very clearly.

I look away from him. "Ebrellin-i...he...he did try to collar me tonight. He did give me a pet-name." I shiver. I don't want to think about it or acknowledge it, but I have to face what happened, if I'm to keep myself from being fully bound. "I'm not sure what he did wrong. He's been very careless lately, and I think he didn't take the time to cast the proper spells. He's failed to put me to sleep before, and I saw..." I swallow the words down. I don't want to talk about it. That would make it real. I want to forget that, too. I want to forget so much.

"Lyric." I barely meet Faun's eyes. He's still studying me, looking deeper than I'm prepared for. How much can he read from me? It's creepy to think about. "Did he bring you under someone's power?"

I shake my head. "I've...seen him...under someone's power, though. He doesn't know. He thought he'd sent me to sleep, and then he was asleep too, and then I watched him sleepwalk..." The images dance before my eyes again, just as Ebrellin-i danced for the Jherent Nul, and I banish them away. "Faun? You were going to tell me, once, of the Peacock King. Is he...is he really with them? With Nul?" I don't want to believe it, as much as I've already seen of it. I want to un-see that night so badly, wipe it all away, but I can't.

Faun is the one to look away, then. "...It isn't something anyone would want to believe, as hated as the Peacock King is in some circles. I...I don't know. But I can tell you a story of him that no others have heard." He sees he has my attention. "I will tell it to you only once. I've valued my forest and my animals far too much to tell it elsewhere. He...he could have attacked, you know, if I had crossed him in that way before. Now, it is too late to worry about such concerns." He looks so pained and desperate, like his leg is stuck in a bear-trap.

"I'll listen. Must I keep it secret?"

Faun shakes his head. "It is past the time that this can remain secret, and almost too late for it to be of any use. It's fortunate in ways I can't convey, Lyric, that you are able to hear it, and that I am not completely alone now." I remember the story of Rapa Nui, and the desperation on his face, the pallid tone, strikes fear into my heart.

"...Faun? Are you okay? I've heard stories about what captivity can do to your kind."

He shakes his head, but he still looks like someone in great pain. "I will survive, Lyric. Don't waste your energy worrying about it." He looks out at the bars. "I miss the sight of my forest, all the same. Can you imagine trees, Lyric? Trees instead of shining steel bars, rough bark running all over their sides like mud-clotted fur? Little sprigs peeking out along the trunks where leaves sprout and branches might soon grow out? The sun in drops that manage to fall through the tiny holes in the bright green glowing canopy above?"

He sighs. "That is home, Lyric. The Peacock King has been there, though it was not the first time I met him. He was a child, that first time, and I was not welcome in his house, but they let me come in, all the same. None could stop an animism from walking where it wished to tread. The Law, as always, has been on our side."

* * *

The Xaillyndesse family. Yes, I know you've heard of them. Everyone's heard of them - well, that's what they'd like to think, in any case. If you ask any other animism, it might get chancy. The dryads and other nymphs, yes - but only because the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale is so well-known among them for taming so many of their kind. With him among them, and the Jhe 'hLogos among them, the Xaillyndesses are quite the powerful family, wouldn't you say? But they're not famed for the amount of royalty in their ranks. Those of that line can cause trouble and intrigues without all the ugliness of attending a throne. The Peacock King and the Poet King are exceptions to the line.

But their status as exceptions was already confirmed before they ever rose to power and took their crowns, Lyric. Perhaps I started it all for Ebrellin-i. Perhaps not. But I met him before he even earned that accolade. When I met him, he was only Ebrelle-heni, the heir, and that additional title wasn't even allowed to be spoken aloud yet. In speech and address, he was only Ebrelle. What right he had to the throne he'd later take was not enough to raise his status in Court, or keep him safe from the criticisms of his conservative family.

Yes, I do suppose he was an exception even before I met him. He saw, Lyric. His younger brother did too, but at that time the later-to-be Jhe 'hLogos, Eleth-travente, was too young to draw attention or scorn for his differences. Too small a child for anyone to take proper notice of his abilities. Ebrelle, however, was already a rather ancient seven years old, certainly enough for the Xaillyndesse family to scrutinize him in every way possible.

He talked to plants, Lyric. He spoke to them, and they would speak back. He was making friends with the dryads and the tinier spirits, with individual blades of grass. He saw many things, and heard many more, and all those things liked him because he would stop and watch and listen to them. His parents were worried that word would get around of their now-elder son's eccentricities, and tried to quiet them, to no real avail. He was quiet in his own way, talking most times in the garden, with no other humans in sight. But he was so blissfully unaware of anything strange about his behavior that he brushed his parents's admonitions away like so much pollen off of his sleeve.

When I came walking onto their property they scowled down at me like I was some mongrel dog who'd shat on their lawn. I did consider it, at that, but first I wanted to visit their son. They couldn't deny me that, because of what I was, and the Laws. But I could feel their hatred all the same, and I knew they'd soon look upon the boy as truly strange. They had been right, though. Word had spread, though not among the humans and their precious society and Courts. Word whispered through the grass and the leaves, trickled along the streams and brooks, until it came to me by birdsong.

So I came to him, as was only right. I was the one to visit humans, most times. Of my kind, I knew the human ways better than most. He needed to be spoken to by one of us, one of his...kindred.

It burned the Xaillyndesses to think of my kind as kindred to one of their sons, you know. But it was true. Ebrelle was, in many ways, closer to my kind than theirs. Perhaps...no, I know for fact that his mixed-heritage Mother feared that her pact with a Dragon for a new son to replace her first would result not in a powerful child, but in a wild-touched one. As if her own purposefully-mixed blood wouldn't be enough to put the feral into his veins. She'd been born with a quarter-heritage of something fae, and before she'd borne any children she'd made one of those pacts with some supernatural creature. She was famed for her pacts. And she wondered why her children were so much more than the normal humans in her society!

Such an interferer, she was, and utterly insane to boot. Of course, being aristocracy, she had the privilege of such madness as being just 'her way'.

Ebrelle was a very special child. Brilliant, attentive, and very caring. He had a beautiful mind, and wanted to communicate with those of my kind very much. Most of all he wanted to learn of the true wild, of nature uncaged and untamed, outside his castle walls. When I finally had to leave he wanted to follow me out, but I couldn't very well pull the heir to a crown from his castle and into the wild at the tender age of seven.

Well, I could, but I didn't, something I've come to regret since.

It got back to me on the wings of a pixie. A very rumpled, very sad pixie. Following her were a few other spirits that had been driven from Ebrelle's home. I went there myself, to see, but didn't come close to their land. I could feel from there that she'd done something to the grounds, something maybe to the gardens as well. Like fencing, or wards. Something none of us liked, and hurt us to be around.

It hurt me that Ebrelle was inside that, but I had to accept that there were some things I couldn't change on my own. I wouldn't enter the grounds. It could cause harm to me, or one of his family might be insane enough to attack me. I would not endanger my animals like that.

So, instead, I wrote.

You might think his parents would prevent such a thing, but they had no idea that I was even literate, and could not tell from my letters that I wasn't someone just as 'well-bred' as them. I even had access to fine stationery, quill and ink.

Ebrelle answered immediately. He missed me very much. But it wasn't possible for him to leave and meet me again. Not until he was older. Not until he had enough power in the Court to grant him that clearance. And not until, it seemed, he had managed something quite difficult, and requiring quite a few strings to be pulled.

Yes, I know you're wondering. Sorry, but I wanted to give a proper dramatic pause, like a Poet would do with this story. He wanted to pass on heirship from himself to his sister. He didn't want the crown. He didn't care about it, and wanted his own life instead.

He...almost managed. Yes, he really did pass it on. But to his young brother, Eleth-travente, instead. His sister...well, she's a separate story, all on her own.

He came into the wild to join me, Lyric. He wanted to learn of himself. Of his forest-heritage. He wanted to truly live up to the dragon's blood in his veins. And he did come to my forest. He did learn. He took a strange path outside of it, one day. Then he disappeared.

A year later, he reappeared in the Royal Court of Lyianneth and forcibly took back his crown inheritance from his brother. It was then that he declared himself the Peacock King. He already bore the marks on his face. I know you know by now that those marks are more than paint.

That is the story I have dared not tell to another. His parents would never dream of leaking it, his siblings...who knows what things happened back then to them to silence them? Ebrellin-i himself would be the only other to know, and he would never let such personal details about his past slip, especially ones questioning how the crown came to him. I have kept silent on the matter, out of fear for what retribution might be had from the Peacock King...or the Xaillyndesses. It has never been important enough. The past most often stays in the past.

But sometimes that changes, especially when Poets come into the scene. I always wanted to know what happened to him, when he left my forest and a year later showed his face as the Peacock King. What happened to the Ebrelle I knew, and where the person that came back wearing his face came from.

* * *

"You look afraid, Lyric."

That brings me out of the haze of concentration I was in. I blink, look up at him. The chains on him catch my eyes and I have trouble focusing on Faun himself.

"You're tired, Lyric. Maybe you should go to sleep." My eyes manage to focus on Faun's face. The animism looks concerned. "Sleep, Lyric. I imagine you don't get enough of that."

"But...there's so much to talk about...so much to do! Gerald's being held in the Peacock King's labs now, and I...I just don't want to go back, Faun. I don't want to wake up with him!" That's the real core of it, isn't it? I'm putting off going back to the waking world...where I'll have to deal with all of this. My skin crawls. "I...I have that collar on. I don't understand why it's not controlling me like it could, Faun."

He nods. "Mine can only drain my energy, as the Peacock King cannot make me his pet without breaking what I am. For some reason, he refuses to do that, which admittedly is a relief to me. As for yours...I could be wrong, Lyric, but it seems as if something is shielding you."

I feel the hollow metallic echo of a laugh behind my ear.

"...The Arms. Gerald's Guns. They made me take protection under the Law. Something about how the King would try to take my will soon. I...I guess they were right?"

Faun tilts his head, weighing it. "Well, it sounds right enough. Can't you tell by yourself?"

I blink. 'I...I guess I could ask you?'

'Nay, it's too funny watching ye guess at everything and flounder.'

'Ye're sort of like a baby duckling who's gotten 'imself stuck upside-down in the water.'

'Distressing, but too amusing to correct it.'

Faun watches me glower at what seems like nothing, then barks out a laugh. "It must be the Arms, then. You almost look like a proper Armed, with that expression."

"What?" Now I'm just annoyed at everyone.

Faun giggles, the sound strangely like a snarl. "They're always looking at their weapons like that."

I let out a deep sigh. He watches me for a moment more.

"Go to bed. I refuse to talk to you any more until you get sleep. You're too cranky right now."

I mumble something in response and do the mental equivalent of rolling over to let the other side of the mattress cook. Soon enough I'm in real dreams again, something about dumplings being stuck upside down while I'm trying to cook them for the Peacock King's brunch. Gerald's revolvers are the only utensils I have, and they just keep laughing at me.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Peacekeeper Camden Briarseal's Travel Log
* * *

I've been very honored today - the Peacock King graced us with his presence this morning. Words cannot describe my gratitude for this wonderful and unparalleled occasion.

Instead of addressing us in his Court, he took the matter to me directly, meeting me outside in a field we've been allowed to use as a sparring practice 'arena'. As he'd hate to show off our strength too openly to his citizens, the field is isolated and walled in, located near an older, less-used section of the palace. Of course, he insists it's for our privacy and for the safety of others, implying that we might actually miss what we were aiming for and cause collateral damage...

...Well, I'll give him that, Jhe Jenny is a part of our group. But he doesn't know what that means, so it's no excuse.

He came in the early hours of the morning. The mist had yet to burn off and the light was still gray, the grass wet with dew. I had come out to the place to collect my thoughts after my morning coffee. The girls were already in the Mews, and would join me later in the morning. As sequestered as the yard was, it was at least a quiet place for introspection.

I heard the signs of his approach long before he stepped out, Geillg'a whispering to me of how the sound of his robes shuffling had pricked her ears. I allow him to reach five paces behind me before turning to face him. He takes my sensing him gracefully. I allowed him to get that far so that he would take it gracefully. There've been days where a person would have had his face hacked off for approaching that close to me without any warning. I note to myself that I'd really just like to initiate a proper war instead of taking a vacation - it would be a much more welcome respite from all of this mincing about and dancing.

I bow to the Jhe o'Sul, and he nods back to me. "Peacekeeper Briarseal. Such a pleasant beginning to your day, is it not? Does the sun shine brighter in Radia, or do you find the Aurocan clime suits one from the lands of the Hills such as yourself?"

I smile. "I must admit, Sul has treated me quite pleasantly. Ah, my pardon. Audiva Rocale. Radia's manners of speaking stick long to my tongue." I give him a short little smile, noting how long it takes for his hackles to calm back down. That little Radian nickname for this Kingdom never has gone over well with the natives here, and of course I would never knowingly let it slip past my lips if I was worried about upsetting someone.

He nods. "Forgiven. Tell me, Jhe Briarseal - is it normal to call so many Armed into a peaceable Kingdom such as mine? Between your fighters and my armies, we seem to be well fortified. Is there something you anticipate to happen soon?"

"Your Majesty, I understand your concerns. The high concentration is not for an operation we planned out - things simply happened this way. Do our numbers concern you? I must admit, I did not expect to stay so long in your locale - I had not foreseen how valuable staying here would be to my trainees. Oh...Jhe Akribastes's appearance didn't upset you, did it?"

He schools his expression well in response, and I have trouble holding myself back instead of penetrating his poker face. There's the route of mindplay, which he would find me more well-versed in than he expects, and then there's the route of my fist cordially greeting his long Xaillyndesse nose. I'm not sure which I would prefer more, but neither are an option at this stage of the game.

"It was a surprise to see the Judge's son arrive in my Court, I must admit. But...it's old news, yes? I am sure he is faring well in my wonderful country. To more prominent business...I do say, Jhe Briarseal. It's very awkward, watching you play these games in the open, and myself being unable to call you on them. I trust you're through switching around which of the people you've brought into my Kingdom are Armed, and which are your clever ploys? I grow bored of the shuffle back and forth, and I'm sure your pieces do as well."

I blink. I don't want to show confusion, but what on land or sea is he nattering on about? Perhaps there's a game being played that I am not aware of at this time? "I do what I must, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. It is my hope that soon our business here will be cleared up, and we will leave your empire in peace."

"Ah. Good." He looks away for a moment, and does the high-and-mighty-ruler version of shuffling his feet, which is more of a cuff-tugging and robe-settling gesture. "Well then. I trust there are no others waiting in the wings? No one whom you are waiting for?"

...He's openly speaking of Gerald to me. Shit. What if I called his bluff, then? Settled this confrontation face to face? ...No, I'd get us all killed, or end up killing him in the conflict when he tries to silence us all. "Nothing that's laid out in my orders, Sire."

It's then that I hear Geillg'a's multiple silver tongues whisper into my ear. 'He's holding Bruce and Wagner now, Tchae. I can feel them through him. The lad doesn't have those two boys kept safe anymore...though they keep him safe, it seems. Gun-stealer. Hoarding chicken of a half-serpent-blood pomped-up ruler.' I hold back any reaction. If the Peacock King has Gerald's Arms, it means Lyric's been compromised. As to what else of our operation could have been blown...who's to tell? 'I could talk to 'im. The lad.'

I almost snort in reaction. 'Geillg'a, the poor squirt would shit his pants if he heard your voice between his ears.'

'All the more reason to do it, then, I think.'

The King leans in closer, and both Geillg'a and I have to suppress the instinct to strike. "Jhe Briarseal? Is there a reason behind that strange glower on your face?"

"I was consulting with my Arms, sir. They do make us appear that we have hemorrhoids."

"Ah." He looks positively made of stone, for some reason, as if talking to inanimate objects were beneath him. That's just absurd from a man who talks to plants.

"It's just their way. Sire, are you sure there's no further use that Jhe Cruxradia can be put to? He finishes clean-up and gardening tasks with remarkable efficiency." Oh, his eyes light up with that idea. Good. I need to stretch out some time in which I can further consult with Geillg'a. I don't want him to suspect any of our interference. Lyric has been put in far too much danger already. 'Talk to the boy as much as you can while this one isn't hovering over his shoulder, then. Being alone is probably a rare opportunity for him. We should be able to find out a great deal from him.'

'Aye, Camden. I'll ensure that the Spruce Lord here doesn't overhear us through Bruce and Wagner's metal-bodies, but I've the feeling they already have that covered, the dears. So nice that they've managed to protect the lad all through this.'

I give her a mental nod, then listen as the King cheerfully lists off ways in which Jhe Jaxhelshon could be put to further use on his Palace Grounds.

* * *

Having spare time isn't something I've grown accustomed to lately. Now that I have it, I'm in the bath, trying to have a private moment. Of course, that's just not possible. Not in this place, and just not for me, anymore. If it's not the nymphs and other creatures that the King has sprinkled throughout my quarters, it's Gerald's blasted guns. They just don't shut up!

'Aye, I do pity you in that, lad. You've had to put up with their chatter for days, I imagine. We think that's why Gerald gets arrested so much - their incessant prattle has made him a little soft in the head.'

I jerk upwards in the water, splashing a wave over the side. A tiny nymph chitters at me in a scolding tone, then flounces off.

Who was that? I didn't recognize the voice. For one, it was female.

'You've met me before, though not truly met, as you've not bled on me, which is probably to your liking, I'll admit. Camden bears me to and fro where I wish.'

I blink. I don't understand. This shouldn't be possible. Also, I didn't think Camden's Arms would be a girl. Not...not that there's anything wrong with that... 'I...beg your pardon, miss. I didn't recognize you. Is there anything I can help you with?'

'Ah! Such a dear. Calling me miss and everything, like a well-mannered boy. I don't think I've been addressed as 'miss' by anybody who wasn't already on their knees and sporting injuries. You're certainly smarter than your brother Gerald, then.' She pauses. I...I think she lost her train of thought. 'Ah, yes. Tchae Camden inquired as to your well-being and your brother's. I found your mind by tracing Bruce and Wagner's trail. They never do clean up their mess.'

'Ach! The wench has found us. Bloody hells and dirty trails.'

'Maybe we should just get 'im arrested again, save us the trouble of talking to 'er.'

Camden's whip sniffs at them, an oddly metallic sound, like razorblades whispering against each other. 'Two fools, the both of you are, and as well-matched to your Armed as any could hope to be. Let me talk with the poor lad before you make his mind an awful mess with your bickering. Off! Off with you!'

I feel the pair of guns shuffle away, the strange smell of gunpowder lingering in my nose even over the scented soap I'm using. The grumbling tapers off, and I feel a little less crowded. 'I...what does Camden want to know?'

'Testy, you are. Common for any that deal with my Armed. You'll get used to it. He's concerned for your safety.' I have the strangest sensation of being sniffed over by something that shouldn't very well have any sort of nose. '...Boy! Are you wearing his collar?'

I shrink down in the bathtub. It doesn't come off, no matter what I try. My fingertips are raw from it. I even tried the bullet on it, to no avail.

'Could have lost a finger doing that if Bruce and Wagner didn't like you as much as they seem to do. Come, boy. Don't hide it. We worry for you. The boys, at least, seem to have blunted it from stealing over your mind. How ill do you fare, wearing it?'

I curl a little in the bathtub, then decide to start scrubbing again. I still feel so dirty. I don't want to climb out of this tub ever. 'I pretend to follow orders. He thinks he has me pretty well controlled. I could disobey, if I wanted, but he's more dangerous if he knows I'm free to do as I please. I don't let him know.'

She nods, and I hear thousands of razors chime against each other. 'Clever. Admirable. Keep focused on your will and don't let him take anything from you. How does the animism fare?'

'Faun is tired, but fares well. He's talked to me much about the Peacock King. I have a story to share, if I ever make it out of here.'

'You have many stories, I am sure. Tell me one of yourself. The King has Bruce and Wagner now. He's obviously found you out. How much does he know?'

I look down into the water and tuck my knees up against my chest. 'He's...he wants to believe I'm loyal. He still needs me, I think to train Faun. He thinks I helped Gerald because I knew him from Radia and didn't want him to get hurt. He also thinks Gerald blackmailed me, which he sort of did, since he threatened telling Daddy about me being here. I made it all sound like it was the truth, which was easy, because it was. I'm a little afraid, but I think it's working. I just don't know how I'll be able to get out and keep both Gerald and I safe. And uh...Gerald...'

She sets her attention closer on me, making the hairs on my neck raise. It's like being aimed at. 'Yes? What?'

'Gerald's working in the King's labs, except he's under a non-binding contract. The King tried to force him into a servitude contract by threatening Jenny. Except the King thinks Jenny's Gerald's wife, so it didn't quite--I'm sorry?'

She keeps making this choking, grinding noise, like wrenching metal. I realize it's the Arms equivalent of a belly-laugh. 'I'm sorry. That's very amusing. Please please do go on.'

'Gerald's alright, since the contract had a clause in it about Gerald's wife, which he doesn't have. He's pretending to be under contract and he seems to be alright. We're all...okay, I guess, but I have no idea how long it will hold out, and I don't know how to get us all out of this without getting someone hurt.'

'Aye, but Tchae Camden will, so you just act as you have been and keep talking to Bruce and Wagner. They'll keep you safe however they can. As will the rest of us. Even though you don't believe that at all, do you?'

It's chillingly like being questioned by my Father. 'I...I'm sorry, but Camden put me in this position and it was the bullet that caught me. I don't understand why he didn't just keep it.'

'Because that's how Camden did it, the silly git, and he'll kick himself enough for it before you ever get a chance. Talk to him about it if you want. You'll have the chance soon.'

I blink. 'I will?'

'We won't let him take you or the animism or our Armed, even if that Armed is a stupid wretch who winds up in a cell every other week. Chin up, lad. Arm yourself however you do that, and keep writing.'

'I haven't written any of this since I left your company on the way back to the Palace.'

'Well, you will write it, because I can feel the words m'self. So don't fret. Tah!'

I scrunch my eyebrows. "...Tah?"

'She's always that flouncy.'

'Not as bad as some others I could mention.'

'Aye, there is that. But even then, she's flouncy.'

'Can't be helped. Camden's a fancy lad.'

Then they both chuckle between my ears while I pretend to have some solitude for once.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Peacekeeper Camden Briarseal's Travel Log
* * *

Pulling at the echoes of their tinny voices in Lyric's head, Geillg'a homes in on the guns and closes in before they can throw a guard up against her. Silent as a feather falling over the blade of a knife, she regards them where they rest.

I didn't think she'd be able to trace their location without calling the Peacock King's attention to it. She chides me for underestimating her ability, and I return that scold with my praise for exceeding my expectations.

Jenny may love that whip, but I don't think she'll ever get Geillg'a to purr like I can.

'Aych. Look at the two of you, all chained up and hooked up and...what is that on your trigger, dear?'

Wagner glares at her through his barrel. 'Careful it doesn't slip and I fire at something you might miss.'

'Tut! No need to be excessively cranky at me, dear heart. The King's the one what hooked you up to this, correct?'

'Aye, that be so. Gerald's almost got it better off than the two of us, at this point,' Bruce's dusty voice crackles to Geillg'a.

Geillg'a has a rage in her so fierce that I have to block it from the Peacock King. I don't blame her at all. He has the Arms chained to a metal table, strange cords and wires threaded through them and down their barrels. I can feel the equipment buzz even through her, and it sets the hairs on my neck on end.

'Warn the Judge. That collar 'round our Armed's neck is trouble.'

Geillg'a glares. 'For what reason did you permit this indignity to yourselves?'

The guns are silent for a moment. Wagner answers. 'We have no reason to answer to yer demand, but an answer we will give: we did not have the compulsion to fire, so we did not shoot that turkey-arsed bastard.'

'He means the Peacock King, not the Judge.'

'Ach. Yea, the Judge be a bigger, meaner turkey than this tarted-up poultry trollop.'

Geillg'a is silent for the moment. She is restraining herself from whipping two young pups. It would cause too much commotion to make it worth it. 'That is sufficient, but if you let Gerald or that lad slip into any more trouble, gods help ye, I'll Aim at ye for it, and I will not miss.'

'Aye, as per usual. A fine day to ye.'

'And just what does he plan to do by twining you about with that many wires and bits and...whatnot?'

'He's attempting to measure us.' Wagner's voice is choked, as if he's trying to hold back laughter.

'The Law is strange to him and must be quantified, it seems.'

'Gerald is his true target. For now he only investigates. He will eventually attempt a bind, one beyond a badly-worded contract, on our Armed. We will turn on the cocky regent then. His days are numbered, as it is now. Pity he doesn't realize that.'

I let my concentration slide back to myself, and after such a statement, it's strange to look at the King in the eye. I still do. He doesn't manage to hold my stare for long.

"So I suppose that dispenses with my concerns. Thank you, Jhe Briarseal, your comments and suggestions were most illuminating."

"Always a pleasure. Ah, Jhe Akribastes." I delight in the tiny little jump the monarch makes as I say that. Gerude walks into the arena from behind the King, then makes a smart, proper bow to him.

"Your Grace, it is a true honor that you visit our hallowed training grounds. And thank you, at that, for giving us these hallowed training grounds." I almost kick him for that, the fop. Just like his twin in the worst ways. But Gerude's grin catches the King in ways that make him exceedingly uncomfortable. I can see the sweat begin to bead on his brow.

Beginning to feel guilt, perhaps? Or at least realizing that retribution may come upon him for his transgressions? ...Too much to set my hopes on.

"Your gratitude is most flattering, Jhe Gerude. Please, go about your morning routine. I do wonder," his gaze skirts back to my eyes, "may I be your audience for a time?"

...Odd. I'd expect him to scram back and attend to his seedy little plottings--

'Geillg'a. Send an alert to Jenny, and keep an eye on the boys. He's planning something. I think he's keeping me here on purpose.'

She radiates a smug smile. 'Little does he know that my reach extends even farther than his grasp. Shall we dance here, then, while I also dance with other couples?'

'Always.' I make a bow to the King. "Of course our host may watch the sport." I then turn without another word, unsheathing Geillg'a as I do so. I know it chills him to be so close to her when she unfurls, the many-jointed tail of cold silver whispering through the air.

Gerude only grins, watching me approach, and waits to see just what game I have in store for the morning.

It will certainly keep everyone on their toes.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Apprentice Armed Rachella Hawksgard's Travel Log
* * *

I know something is wrong at dawn, and I don't even have to ask Jenny if she feels the same. I can feel it coming off of her, and even if that isn't enough, the tension in her poise and the fire in her eyes are dead giveaways. Something is afoot this morning. We're going to see action soon.

The blood thunders in my ears for a few moments from the rush of it. I'm just a trainee, after all. Jenny's earned her Arms, though she's not allowed to carry them publicly yet. If it comes down to us drawing...

No, I'll find some way of fighting. I've been trained. I can handle this.

She leads us out to the yard outside the Mews. We've been watched for awhile here. It puts Jenny on edge. Me...well, I think I know why we're being watched.

I just haven't told anybody about it yet. I don't know what to do about it. I wish I could ask my Arms like Jenny and Camden can, but I don't understand that part yet. I just can't hear. All I can do is think back on it.

* * *

The fog hadn't burnt off of the morning yet when Tamborin' flew in from the periwinkle sky. I was overjoyed to see her, practically grinning my face off in joy. I received her with my gauntlet, bracing myself against the impact. She's not a big raptor, but she comes in very fast when she lands! I gave her a treat, told her she was a good girl, then hooded her before she could nip my nose off.

(The stories never do mention those parts, do they? Falconry sounds so romantic until the little darling goes for your heirloom jasper teardrops and tears your eardrums to ribbons.)

She had a capsule tied around her ankle with a thong. I made a little clucking sound before touching Tamborin's foot (she can be really high-strung in the morning!) and then I take out the note and unroll it. I scan over it, but it's written in the code that Camden knows so much better than Jenny and I do yet.

Four feet in front of me, someone cleared their throat. I almost jumped another four feet. He chuckled, then shushed me.

"Now now, Jhe Rachella - do you really think I present any harm to you?"

"...Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. It is truly an honor." I'd have curtsied, but...he'd chosen rather a bad position for me to do so.

"Please, don't bother with the formality of a bow. I can see plainly that you're unable to. Besides, this meeting is rather...unofficial."

"...Sire?"

He sauntered closer. That was the nearest I've ever been to him. Gods, he was tall. "Jhe Rachella...Dovetail, was it? Yes, I can see your mother's blood in you." He grinned. "But not nearly as much as your father's. Pray, why don't you claim the name of Hawksgard? It carries such prestige, especially for one in your profession." His face twisted into a sly grin. "You're no baggage carrier, are you?"

"I...I'm sorry, sire, but I don't--"

"Don't dissemble it. I may waive the bow, but I do insist on truth in my Court. The good Peacekeeper Briarseal has been hiding you from me under a false name and a false occupation. I do wonder...does he really believe that I would lure you to my Court?" The King's grin grew smug. "...He would be correct."

"I'm not sure what to say, sire."

He shook his head. "Don't bother thinking on those things. Instead...deliberate on just what you would like your pay to be, were you to find Audiva Rocale a suitable place to dwell. I...have many things to offer one such as you, Jhe Rachella, whom I expect well knows the elegance and grandeur that only the well-bred can appreciate."

I could only stammer out a measure of my gratitude for the offer and then begged off a moment alone to deliberate on it.

"Take your time. You may even discuss it with Peacekeeper Briarseal. I'm quite certain that I can offer you more than your Arms training can give you." He made his leave after giving me his own bow. "A lovely day to you, Jhe Hawksgard."

...He'd figured out that I was training for Arms too, then. That made three secrets lost in one morning. My identity, my affiliation, and the fact that we'd been using Tamborin' as a message carrier.

In the end, I told Jhe Camden about the messages being discovered. He took it well. He told me they were just a ruse anyway. With some reluctance, I also admitted that the King had figured out I was an Armed trainee, and a Hawksgard. Jhe Camden expected that first part, but admitted he was hoping my identity would remain a secret. "But, as I instructed you to carry your falcon in the open, it's nothing that is your fault. You behaved well and did as you should. Simply act accordingly around him and see if he'll talk to you more often now that he knows of your bloodline. ...And keep yourself very near Jhe Jenny at all times."

With all that, I just couldn't tell him about being an offered a job here. It's embarrassing. Especially the snooty way the King spoke about the pleasures of the 'well-bred'. I hated being an aristocrat! I don't hate my family, but it doesn't make me better than anybody else. I fancy the birds much more than I fancy my birthright. Jhe h'Akribastes said that none of that would matter when I trained under him.

It's not worth telling anyone, really. I'm not taking the job, so it won't matter.

* * *

"Shhh," Jenny says, patting my shoulder. "You're about as puffed up as a wildcat. Here. Let's rid ourselves of the morning energy."

We've been allowed to set up a rudimentary archery shot here. Just a board nailed up on a sawhorse. Enough to keep us from destroying the rest of the buildings around here from pent-up energy. I swear, what does the King think being an Armed trainee means? Of course I'm going to need to fight! The archery practice we get in is just enough to whet my appetite, but it's been getting very bad, especially since my period is coming up--

--dratted ink doesn't erase! How embarrassing!

I'm still stringing my practice crossbow when I feel them behind me. Jenny's eyes narrow. I think neither of us expected them to do something as foolish as grab me, then, but my arms are hauled behind me all the same. I'm more shocked at their audacity than anything else.

Jenny's bow wasn't strung yet when that happened. So when another of the big men from behind me shouts, "We've already got the only one that's Armed! Grab the other one, the King wants her too!"

Two pertinent points - one, it was very convenient for him to lay all of that out for us. Very expansive dialog. The Jhe o'Sul sure can pick them! Two, Jenny put an arrow in his throat shortly before that exclamation mark would have occurred, so it's more my revision than an actual quote.

...Oh, and three, Jenny can string a bow very fast!

The man holding my arms soon finds himself on the ground, and does not expect me to fall on him with my elbow lodged squarely below where his collarbones meet. Surprises can happen at any time, sir!

It's over before it really begins, but that doesn't mark it as anywhere near the end of our troubles. Jenny managed to pick off a few of the King's men, and we'd both managed no incapacitate a few, but then there's the staff in the Mews, and in the nearby Palace grounds, and whoever's expecting these brutes to return with two 'helpless' girls.

"I want to know just who told them I wasn't Armed," Jenny growls, the air around her crackling with potential ignition. I keep my distance. "Camden's Arms warned us right before that attack. She's told him the whole of it by now. We should report back, but the Palace will be hostile. He would say we shouldn't cause a scene."

"...I-"

"I say he can punish me for it later. Come on. Let's haul." She heads for the closest wing of the Palace - the shortest way to get to the practice arena the King's given us for our stay. I sigh and follow close behind, already scouting to each side for any points I'll have to cover Jenny against.

I suppose that wraps up the end of our stay there, from my perspective at least.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Journeywoman Jennelcia Akribastes's Travel Log
* * *

I'm elbowing through bodies, sometimes punching when elbows don't do the job and boots take too much clearance time. I don't slow down for any of these bastards. They watch silently while that asshole commits crimes from up on high on his throne, and would have watched his crime against us just as silently, and I will not bother being nice, anymore. Mom can tell me all she wants about manners. She can tell it to my younger siblings if she wants someone to listen. I have stuff to do now.

I stomp through the chambers directly adjacent to where we were. Rachella follows if she knows what's good for her. She seems to. I guess she's got a head on her shoulders after all. I note while we dash forward that this is near the entrance and audience chambers of the Palace. Shallow levels. Hard to get to the back places from here, since they're on another end. I can't think of a direct way to get where we need to go...

...But Dyennah can aim for Cam from just about anywhere, and we both together can sniff out a possible way. Off to the side, here. Ah, Lyric's described this part. Didn't he take this way to get to the King's little private zoo?

"Faun is kept this way." Rachella confirms my suspicions from over my shoulder. I nod, then squint at the entrance. "But...there's a lot of wards here...Gerald only got through by mind-riding your brother."

I snort. "Gerald's subtleties never really impressed me, especially when he winds up behind bars because of them. I know how to get into this place."

Rachella gulps, and quickly takes cover. Smart girl. Astoundingly swift learner. I'm beginning to like her.

The doorway explodes into a crackle of energy as I launch an arrow through that. "You can weave a wardbreak in with that, Rachella. I hope you're taking notes whenever you decide to write this down in your log." She gives a curt nod. I take an arrow in my hand and sweep the edges of the doorway, ensuring that I haven't missed anything. I do catch a few snags at the corners which are dispelled quickly. "Come on. They'll rebuild in a few seconds. Once we're in it's all just monitoring-type wards, which I don't give a fuck about anymore." She rushes in behind me, running almost on my heels past all the cages. I hear her let out a few whimpers as she catches some glances at the contents. I make my own notes of just what the Peacock King is keeping in here. Faun isn't his only illegal stash - but he's probably the most illegal here. Hells, that's even worse than him pinning up Gerald or collaring Lyric.

My bile builds up at that. I only knew Lyric a little when I was a child, but I liked him and that bastard shouldn't have touched any of my kin, ever.

We stop at Faun's cage. Rachella's already looking over the wards as I stare in at the King's captive. He returns my stare with a level gaze.

"Jhe Akribastes. It is quite the delayed honor. Dare I assume this means I may be returned to the wild? You can't open this cage without his approval, you kn--" His eyes widen as I aim at the lock. Rachella gasps.

"Yes, I know, Rachella. The shrapnel. But I can aim, you know." Even the animism looks afraid. Fuck him, I know what I'm doing. A poof of dust later, the lock isn't there anymore, and the door swings inwards. Rachella stares. "Minimizing impact. It's one of the first things I was taught." Well, as an urgent preventative measure, but neither of them need to know that.

Rachella enters while I stand guard at the door. No pursuers? No, I hear footsteps echoing down the hallway. As expected. I ready my bow. "Can you get him out?"

"If she removes this collar, I can get myself out." Faun's voice is smooth, even, levelheaded. Trust the feral one to be the calmest, huh?

I don't know how Rachella gets the thing off of him, but I hear her mumbling some spellwork and Poetry, and then there's a flash. Faun lets out a cry of triumph, more a yowl than anything else. The first attackers come in just as his chains crumble into sparks and dust. Of course. Without the Jherent o'Sul's witchcraft, no mortal-forged chains could hold that animism. It can only be bound by the gods, and while the Jherent o'Sul's Emperor status might make him a bit of a deity himself, once that bind's off of him, nothing else matters.

I have a little bit of trouble fighting, then, because Faun's in the way, taking out every attacker we have by their throat. I hate cleaning up other people' messes. I turn and sure enough, here come some more goons from the other side. Great!

I must admit, it is almost difficult to slaughter people while Faun's doing his work, because damn. If you ever get the chance to see a pissed-off animism fight, and you're not the one he's fighting, it is worth the price of admission. Not that I'm advocating that sort of thing, mind, it's just an observation. Jeez, I can feel my Dad looking funny at me just for writing that...

Rachella looks up, just as Faun pauses mid-gutting. The hair bristles up on the back of my neck. I know what that feeling is.

He's here. He has long ears, after all.

The Judge has arrived in Audiva Rocale.

Oh gods Daddy's here.

I can feel it in the very air of this place, feel his presence hanging over my head like an axe...wherever in the Palace he is.

No matter if the nymphs tell you any different, I did not pee in the bathtub just now. I do haul out of it immediately and dry off. I dress in record time. I take about five minutes to do my hair, cutting the regular preparation time drastically short. I need to look ready. Sharp. I need to be alert.

I need to run away.

One problem. The door out of my room is locked. I peer down under it.

...Okay, two problems. The Peacock King has a guard posted in front of my door. Why would he do that?

What's going on?

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Gerude Akribastes's Travel Log
* * *

I find it very convenient that we already have our Arms drawn when all the shit goes down. Camden and I can sense it, and while the Peek is good at schooling his expression, we know he feels it too. I can't tell exactly what's going on. Hell, we just pretend we're having a regular match. The Peek might have been trying to keep Camden busy while his plans were in motion elsewhere, but now we're keeping him here while everything falls apart out there. I know Jenny's racking up carnage, and there's the hint of someone even more vicious than her carving people up, and I'm willing to bet it's on our side.

Then, well, the Judge comes, and nobody can pretend not to notice that. The King calls for us to halt, saying that he must go to the greeting chambers immediately, and we must accompany him.

Well, thank you very much for the orders, Sire! Still, we do need to accompany him. If we don't, Jenny'll probably run across him on the way and murder him in the face.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Jhe h'Akribastes's Travel Log
* * *

I arrive in Audiva Rocale with no fanfare. I, in fact, wait patiently in the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's audience chamber while the King is summoned. Well, perhaps summoned isn't the proper word, but he had better get here...now.

I don't often hear stories about my wandering son, and the one that the Jhe o'Radia told to me upon his homecoming was...alarming enough to summon my presence.

I can tell upon my entry into the Palace that he probably eliminated a few details in his story. Not very surprising, even after I grilled him on it. He's well-known for hiding things from, well, anyone. It's his way. He just wanted to protect his nephew, I am sure. And it will be all right. I won't kill Lyric.

He might wish he were dead, but that's sort of a trend among my children once they get naughty.

I hear the King of this land's approach. I also hear...

My head turns very swiftly. That's not practice combat, it is in the wrong place, and...Jennelcia Akribastes just what are you doing carving up the Peacock King's guards?!

I hear a startled chirp of Sorry Daddy, but they were getting in the way! Hey, are you here to help us kick ass or what?

This...is not the welcome I was expecting from my daughter, though upon a moment's contemplation it should have been. This makes no sense. Camden's reports have mentioned nothing to make me expect this. And where is my son? The littler one. Gerald is no doubt taking care of himself. Or in jail, which equates to the same thing most times.

Ebrellin-i approaches the dais, his hair almost standing on end - which is about the only thing that could make him taller than he already is, by this point. Before he can even open his mouth to speak to me, the entryway to the side - which has wards scarred by my daughter's touch - explodes in an avalanche of bodies. Most of them are guards. One of them is my daughter, and I see her protoge Jhe Hawksgard with her as well. And there's something I almost don't see because it's heading so fast towards the Peacock King that I have to leap forward to catch it, because the last thing I need today is a dead monarch on my hands.

It hisses at me, and I get a handful of blue cloak. Servant clothing? Wait, how could I miss? I don't miss.

Camden can't stop him either, and neither can Gerude, and neither do the monarch's frantic commands and gestures. Ebrellin-i is on the floor and I am planning out how to explain how an assassination happened right in front of my eyes before I notice just who that King is pinned under.

...I can't stop an animism from pursuing its own justice, not when it is Just, and apparently this is. What surprises all of us is that Ebrellin-i isn't dead in an instant. The animism drags him away and pins him up against the wall, razor-sharp teeth bared against his throat. While he does so, he manages to articulately growl out a request. "I cry for the Law against this Man, Jhe Tesynnodai a'Radia h'Akribastes l'Radia. He robbed me of my freedom and bore will to tame me. He committed acts to accomplish just that much."

He speaks truly. Ebrellin-i has the temerity to respond while those teeth are locked against his throat.

"I cry false! Jhe Lotus a'Radia committed those actions, not I."

I stare at him. The words had the barest gleam of truth, but were mere gilded lies. Knowing Lyric's 'stage name' here from his Uncle, I do wonder just how even that touch of gilding is possible. "Good that you mention him. Please summon him, and perhaps this can all be sorted out." I feel twin spikes of alarm from my trainee and journeywoman. "After all, we must address why Arms had to be drawn in your Palace today."

He can't even choke out a word. No surprise, the animism is about to eviscerate the ruler by the look of things. "...Jhe Faun. Please unhand the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. Justice will be had whether or not your grip is on him." I'm a little surprised that it works. The animism draws away from the Peacock King, and then darts behind me to vanish. I blink. It's like having a cat on the loose.

The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale rubs his throat as he stands, summoning bodyguards to immediately surround him, as if they'd be any help. "I cannot believe the audacity of--I'll have you know--how dare you all enter my chambers and make such a FUSS--" he's so angry that he just sputters.

"Summon my son."

His eyes widen as he stares at me. It's as if he's looking at the death of himself. I can't ever deny that prospect, but I'd prefer I had Lyric here first. I don't really see what the problem is, at that. ...Ah. That's right. He doesn't know.

"I will forgive the indiscretion if he is returned promptly and nothing is ever said of it again." I grant few pardons, but take easy comfort in the fact that I can punish him for any number of other indiscretions with my son that we're not going into yet. I just want him here. Now. The Peacock King seems to be confused by this. Very, very confused. ...No.

No, he's worried. He's hiding something. I look at Camden and then I get the whisper and then I know--

"Peacemaker Camden, if you would please search the premises for both of my sons and return them here promptly. You have no cause to withold force within reason." I say it level. Even. Like the length of my Trident. Diyn's three prongs are in the wall, one on each side of Ebrellin-i's neck. The regent is white as a sheet. Even under the paint. I can see his neck, after all. It's so easily cut, in this position. The bodyguards have fallen to either side of the dais, near to or fully unconscious from the mere shockwave of Diyn moving so fast. "You have caused enough of a mess in your Kingdom. It will be sorted out while you are under arrest."

He dares spit, though not in my face. Such rage on his, now, those black marks twisting into ugly contortions as he grimaces. "What cause could you possibly have to arrest me, and under what power do you hope to enforce that? Get. Away from me. Get out of my Palace." They're leveled as commands, the intent and will in every word.

I don't budge. "I am the Law." There are no other words. He can't even choke out another command.

There's the problem of the entire rest of the Palace, and servants that might have a problem with my actions, and...whatnot.

I brought reinforcements with me just in case the King liked his consort too much to part with willingly. They come in handy.

I expect that the search for Gerald might take a bit longer. What I don't expect, but nevertheless does not surprise me, is to feel Bruce and Wagner fire.

One of my sons is finding his own way here, it seems.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Gerald Akribastes's Resumed Mission Log
* * *

Bruce and Wagner and I feel his arrival all at the same time, even with this collar pinning down my abilities. I've been able to stretch it, though, with the King's little slips and ill-given permissions. My doodles may be the terror of the Poet Art Classes but as psychic crowbars they have their own functionality.

'Ach, quit tootin' yer own horn.'

Well, fine, so the Judge is finally here. What can I do about it? Wait for help to arrive? That thought's a little scary - I'm being kept in a pretty secretive part of these premises. I'll have to get their attention somehow--

Bruce and Wagner roar simultaneously, first at the equipment that attempts to bind them, blowing it all to flaming, smoking smithereens. I grin. That'll get some attention! The boys fire again. I scrunch my eyebrows. What are they firing at? It's just ricocheting around! ...Oh shi-

The lock on my cell becomes a smoking hole of blackened steel. I dart to the back of the cell. They both fired, and I know better than to think that one of those bullets wasn't aimed at me. Arms are so damned charming, aren't they? I'm right, it seems - the second shot whistles through the air. It's dead-on, right for my throat. I don't even duck - last time they fired at me, the bullet turned mid-air. Yeah, it was pretty ridiculous. The bullet impacts.

Right into my collar, shattering the jewel in the center of it and fracturing the strange metal it's been crafted from. The thing hinges open in the middle and falls right off.

I throw my arms right into the air and whoop - just in time to jump, my feet stepping up and down in rapid motion. Damn things always do this to me.

'Dance, you scoundrel, dance!'

'Aye, pay us back for all this damned hassle!'

After a few minutes of dancing, they tire of the game and wait patiently for me to collect them.

'Hurry it up! We're gonna miss the fightin'!'

'Lazy git!'

That's pretty patient for Bruce and Wagner, all told.

Of course, getting through the labs safely is a different story. My Arms have been kind enough to free me from my immediate captivity, but Ebrellin-i's labs are a death trap in their own right. I've been pretty sure he's only kept me here to monitor just how I deal with such obstacles. So curious about the Armed, as if they're just more prospective specimens for him. Well, I'll show him just how dangerous a 'lab rat' can be. And, speaking of lab rats, I almost just lost a foot there. 'Boys! Can't you be useful instead of just lying there?'

'Are ye askin' me to put ye out of yer misery?'

'It'd be a pleasure!'

I let out a deep, weary sigh and finally get to where they've been kept. The smoking remains of the machinery surrounding them don't tell me much about what sort of monitoring was being put to them, but I've no real worries. Whatever the Peacock King wanted to do to my Arms, he wouldn't be able to manage with mere machines. I grip a revolver in each hand, do the flippy thing, and holster them.

"Missed you two surly guys."

'Aye, I do admit, it's been lonely here. No dunces to watch.'

'I missed yer pitiful harmonica skills. I tried to imagine cats drowning but it just didn't do it fer me.'

After that it's just a matter of clearing a path of destruction through the King's labs and towards Justice. It's a joyful dance. I've missed this.

I've checked over the windows. They're warded, and I even started poking at those wards. There's guards outside the windows too, though. And I think I could sneak out of here if I tried, but fighting isn't something I'm very confident about. I don't know why I want to get out, really. I mean, look at what I have to face. Daddy's here. For some reason, the shivers aren't running down my spine at that thought anymore.

You know? I think I'll just deal with that once I get out. And I am getting out. I'm tired of this place. Of course, I have no clue how I'm breaking out--

Of course, once I go and think that, I hear a slam against my door, and a sound that I'd definitely equate with a guard expiring. There's some scrabbling against the door, then. "Lyric! Get this door open! Find a way!"

I blink. "...Faun?"

"Yes, yes! Now open the door, it's annoying having to kill all these people just because you're too slow about things!"

I grab my hairbrush and a few hairpins, and set to work on the lock. It's wonderful what a few years on the road can teach you. I'd given some thoughts to picking it before, but didn't want to piss anyone off or get in trouble. I daresay it's a little late now to be worrying about those kinds of things, though. The lock pops open and I pull the door open.

Faun's face is in enough of a blood-covered snarl that I almost dart back and slam the door in his face. Before I can manage that, he grabs he and hauls me outside.

"Come on, Poet. I need you to tell the Judge a few stories." He levels his baleful gaze down the hall. Nobody else, yet. I squeak as I step over the body of the guard that was posted outside my down. Faun tsks. "Let's go." He walks, his arm wrapped over my shoulders, hunching us both close together.

"...Faun? Where are we going?" I keep an eye out around us. I'm waiting for someone to come up on us any moment. Either the Peacock King's men or...my Father's.

"While your Father's sorely late arrival makes its own waves, I feel it prudent to dispense some justice in other areas." He leads me toward a side corridor, peers in. It's pitch black, but Faun doesn't seem to have a problem with this. I'm glad we're so close together - I'd just stumble around in this.

"...Ah." I feel for my own mental map of this place. Headed back towards Faun's cage? "...The zoo?" He grunts an affirmative. "...Faun, why'd you call me a Poet?"

"Because I'd call you a bird if you flew me out of here." He pauses before the end of the corridor, right where a shaft of light falls in from the outer, torchlit hall. I see his long ears twitch. He's listening for anyone else. "Hm. They must have all cleared out and followed the commotion into the audience chamber. Come on, let's finish what your Armed failed to."

I follow him out into the hall. "What do you mean?"

He glares down the hall, looking at the rows and rows of cages. Some strange things are in here. Some...people, too. I remember it well, but from times when I had to pretend to be the captor. It's a new feeling, being the one who could let them all free. "Is that...wise? All at once? Someone might get hurt."

"They deserve it. Stop worrying. I'll ensure the safety of all we free. That's my proper job, you know. Even outside my forest...someone has to do it." He passes his fingers over the lock of a fine-wired cage. It creaks and falls off, dust leaking out of the keyhole. The door swings open. With a sweep of his arm, Faun guides the birds out. They're like flying, gliding jewels, darting through the air and skirting up through the corridor ahead. "They'll find the nearest open door out. There aren't enough open windows in this Palace, you know." He goes on to the next cage. "Lyric...you can pick locks. Take care of the humans here. I daresay you'll have more of a way with them than I would."

I set to that task. What results is a huddle of people inside the corridor, too afraid to leave it and possibly emerge into captor's hands again. Some people I can't even get to leave their cells. And then there's the chain of children who hold hands behind me, the one in the lead hooking his fingers into my sash. I'm not sure what they expect me to do, here.

I guess I should say something. "It's going to be okay. There are people who are outside who will listen to what's happened to you. You can bring your story to the Law. You won't be put in chains again." There are some hopeful faces from that, and a lot of disbelieving eyes.

"Hey, are you a girl?" chirps a tiny voice from the line of kids behind me. I sigh. Faun goes on letting the animals out. I guess it's when the moose trots into the audience chamber that someone decides to look in and see just what the hell is happening. Her eyes widen. It's Rachella.

"...Lyric!"

It would be a nice greeting , but I can feel my Father's attention on me from wherever he is in the audience chamber while I stand here searching for something to say. "I...can you give me some help, Rachella? They're all way more scared than the animals are." She hustles in to do just that.

"Are you all right? How'd you get here? Oh dear look at you you poor thing..." Her attention goes to the people in the corridor with me. "I...Lyric, I'm going to go get some help, this is a lot of people. Can you stay here while I-"

"Sure!" Sure I'll stay here out of the way of my Father, I'm totally fine with that. Faun watches her leave the corridor, then looks over the cages. The animals are out, and the people are looking more hopeful and generally composed.

"Come on, let's go." He grabs me by the wrist and yanks me down back the way we came. "These aren't the only cages in the Palace."

"But--" Well I can't very well stop him, he'll cut me or something.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Gerude Akribastes's Travel Log
* * *

Yeah, so, when Dad- err, the Judge...when he said for everyone to go out and look for Lyric, that order included me. So, off I went, lookin' for my brother. Feels like old times, since I've been out on missions to do just that since years ago. Nice to know I'll hit jackpot this time. He's pretty easy to search for, you know, since I know who to home in on.

I don't quite know my way around the palace, mind you, so I decide to take a shortcut. Well, you see, I figured it was a shortcut. It's got all the right hallmarks for one, accrued through my years of experience with the subject. It's low-lit, creepy-looking, and obviously not oft-used. The fact that it's warded marks it for a dead-ringer. Disconnecting a ward is a piece of cake, you know, if you just want to slip through a door. I can even silence my pistols. I'm also much more discreet about it than Jenny is, but you know, I've got the experience on her there. My little sister'll have to train up a long time to match up to my expertise in that! So, I'm going through this hallway. It's like weaving my way through catacombs, with the creepy low lighting. There's a lot of tunnels but I just keep going. They have to come out on the other side somewhere, after all, and--

Okay, so, I'll admit. Somebody knocked me out right as I got to the circular room where all the cells were. I know it's where the King kept Gerald. Shame I got konked out, because that would have been a pertinent find to report in right then. I get dragged off, though, before it's a real possibility.

I'll give you two guesses as to who it was. If it took your second one to get to Cade, then the first one better have been a really funny joke, because otherwise that's just pitiful, man.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Jax Cruxradia's Travel Log
* * *

I have the best job. Now, I know what you're thinking. How could Jax Cruxradia, future Poet and Armed extroardinaire, proud member of a distinguished royal line, ever have fun doing chores? Well, you see, I just like an honest day's work. And, well, if that honest day just happens to be a long one out of the reach and gaze of one Jhe Camden Briarseal, then all the better, I say. So, the stables are stinky. I think a good stench is manly. Well, I still make it a point to shower pretty often and put on some deodorant before I'm anywhere I'll meet the ladies, because you know. It might very well happen. I even splash on a little cologne, but not too much. And I try to look my best, even for work clothes, because-[paragraph from this point on excised for reason of being excessive drabble]

After I'm done with the stables I get to do landscaping and maintenance. Digging in the dirt is good for a man! Gets me close to the soil. That's honest work! Also, get this- dryads. Audiva Rocale has tons of them, and they're all cute. And, uh, they don't usually wear clothes. It's more like tastefully trimmed foliage.

So, yeah, I'd have to say that gardening is awesome. Since I liked it so much, I started asking the attendants if there was any more work for me, even when the extra work the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale assigned me was all done with early. I figured a few more hours wouldn't hurt, especially with all of the lovely scenery this country has to offer. Now, it's been awhile since I started up this extra work, so they started running out of it. Eventually one of the girls decided to have me work in one of the inner palace gardens, and then one thing lead to another, and then I'm in this beautiful place.

I'm not sure if I can really call it a garden. It's more like an earthly paradise. You know, I can imagine heaven like this.

Okay, nuff said: there are girls everywhere. Some more dryads and some nymphs and some types of things I've never even heard of. They're all around and they're gorgeous and, get this - they all like me. I guess I'm a nice, charming guy. Girls back home don't treat me like this, though. I don't really know what it is. I guess the Peacock King just knows something that we don't.

So anyway, that's work for me. It's hard work, but oh the fringe benefits. Especially since, by now, the stables are pretty clean, the other gardens are all maintained, and so I get everything done pretty early and end up here for the rest of the day!

And, so, as always, there's this one girl. Everyone else is pretty but she's different. She's...a little shy. Blonde. Cute as a button. And...feathered, and I'm not sure what that means. Today, I finally do what I've been too afraid to, all this time. I talk to her.

She's not too sure how to react, at first, but she opens up to me pretty quickly. She's pretty used to me by now, I think. That helps. I wonder just what she is, but I don't really have a smooth way of asking, so I just let it rest for now.

"Cruxradia, you say?" Her eyes twinkle. Her voice is so soft and quiet. It's precious. "You're far from home. Are you here for long?"

"Ah! I...well, I don't know how long my mission here will be, Jhe Rocsui, but I'm quite sure I at least have a few more days."

"Oh, you might be leaving soon! What a shame!" She pouts. "Perhaps I could write you a letter. That would be alright, wouldn't it?" Strange, she's almost asking it to herself.

"Hey! I've got an even better idea. You could come visit my Kingdom when I go back. Wouldn't that be swell?" The prospect seems to shock her, but she's thinking it over even so. Of course, I don't get an answer out of her, because right then somebody decides to, yet again, ruin my prospects of romance.

There's a commotion right near the entrance, and a few spirits come running from it in a panic. Hey, speaking of panic...doesn't the mood seem a little strange now? I'm still learning to pick up on that. What's going on in the Palace right now? Did somebody break something?

I see Lyric walk in, then, with some strange guy that looks more like an animal than Rocsui, somehow. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I think it's cute. I mean, on a girl. Anyway, this guy, he keeps sniffing the dryads and nymphs in here. It's kind of creepy. I stand in front of Rocsui just in case he's dangerous. You know, that Lyric, he kinda has weird taste, so after the Peacock King this guy isn't too much of a surprise.

Lyric looks up to me and startles in surprise. "Jax! What are you doing here?"

I look at him with a deadpan. "Lyric, I work here." He seems awfully confused. Rocsui peeks around my shoulder at him.

"Jhe...Lotus?" Her voice lilts slightly at the end of the inquiry. Lyric sweeps an automatic bow. "Why are you here? Father's been acting strange lately. Is everything alright?"

His lips purse, while the other guy he's with seems to be gathering a few spirits around him. They're curious about him for some reason. Lyric...man, he looks worried. "I...Jhe Rocsui-ehellenae...it's looking quite bad." He bites his lip and looks away. "The...the Judge is here."

It's like her skin turns dead-cold right after he says that. I try to steady her. I don't understand what the problem is. I'm also surprised the Judge got here this early, but hey. "What's he doing here?"

Lyric looks at me like I'm an idiot. Even Rocsui has that same expression, to a lesser degree. "What? Who's in trouble?"

"My Father. Come. While he's distracted, I should get some things together." She turns and walks off to a little-used door that I've only seen her come in and out of. I look back at Lyric. His eyes are wide, but he gestures for me to go.

Oh, well. If she trusts me and all. Nothing here for me but Lyric's weird new boyfriend sniffing at girls like they were trees and he were a dog. Wait, they are trees, some of them. ...Ew.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Gerald Akribastes's Resumed Mission Log
* * *

It is a gloriously triumphant feeling, running down these halls, fully Armed, waiting at corners for what might be lurking around them, spotting for danger, feeling out the wards. Something major is going down, I know. Hell, I can even find out for myself, now. Just a few mental nudges give me the information from my comrades on the status of what's going on with the Judge and the Peacock King. There's a search party out looking for me and my brother. Good. I'm ready to finally see some familiar faces. I've been isolated far too long with little good company. So once I emerge from the labs and run down these hallways that cut through the Peacock King's private suites, I feel out the passages ahead of me to see if any of them are near. No, not very - might be able to intersect with someone if I go down an upcoming branch...

Wait. I feel a different aura, up ahead, if I take a branch that's pretty close. Much different than one of my comrades, but I recognize him all the same.

I stop to cloak my own aura and put a silencing effect on my footfalls and Arms. Then I proceed up the hallway with more caution, my revolvers waiting and ready, already cocked.

It's time for some vengeance. It's gonna be just.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Jhe 'hAkribastes's Travel Log
* * *

This audience chamber is absolute madness, and I can't help but feel I have my son to blame for it. Possibly both of them. I'm trying to avoid thinking on that just right now due to the regent pinned under my Trident, but considering everything that's happening in here...

...Is that a moose?

The birds and other assorted fauna flapping, squawking, trotting, scurrying, and elsewise being distracting in here aren't helping my concentration. The Peacock King certainly isn't settling down any because of them, either. He's still not worked up the gumption to speak, which is a small mercy on the world's part. I can do less with prattle and begging right now.

At least Jhe Hawksgard is making herself useful giving counsel to the strange flood of freed captives from that side-corridor. That only makes me wonder where my daughter has gone off to now. Probably up to no good yet again. Just like the others. What is this family coming to?

...Where is Camden? He has a lot to answer for. Ah. Staying busy as well, I see, organizing the refugees and subtly keeping them from turning into a mob. A fitting task considering his skills with armies. A clever way to avoid me. How intelligent. At least he's keeping out of my way. It makes me wish I saw more of that intelligence in my ranks these days.

The git pinned under my Trident finally has the gall to wiggle. I pin him down with a glare. He glares back up at me. "Take me under arrest? ...Fine, if you seem to have the authority, but I'll unravel just what's behind that later, and you'll answer to my censure." I only raise an eyebrow. Words I've heard before, and they're less entertaining each time. I'm polite enough to suppress a yawn. "...But." He looks away. "If I'm to be under arrest I request the treatment due my station." Well, at least he sounds reasonable.

"...I'll consider it."

He snorts. "Let me put it in plain words for you, if you have such trouble grasping the meaning of my speech. Unpin me from this wall. I'm getting a cramp." Indeed, I don't doubt he is. When I pinned him by the neck, he hunched down a bit in a defensive crouch. Considering how tall he is, the slight hunch, with his knees forced to bend under him as he stands, is likely growing very painful for him.

"Ah. Is that what you meant? My apologies. I'll file the proper paperwork as soon as possible." He makes an indignant squawk and sputters. I turn and ignore him. Diyn can keep an eye on him instead. Some of my men are returning and I'd like a report.

I blink. They're carrying something with them, and I recognize it. "Jhe K'varek, Jhe Harpseal. Where did you find that?"

Clark's black clump of bangs falls over his forehead as he makes a short bow. Kevrin echoes the bow, his sandy hair almost completely obscuring his face. It's strange to even see him, he usually keeps to the shadows with the more secretive operations. Each of them holds an end of a cloak crudely sewn from many furs and animal skins. It's too distinctive to not be Faun's - it's one of his distinguishing characteristics.

Come to think of it, why was that animism in one of the servant robes associated with the Peacock King's Court?

"We found it in the quarters Jhe Lyric was occupying, Judge." Ah. Neither of them seem to be eager to give me details on that. "He was no longer occupying them, but this looked like it might be of interest."

"Indeed." I reach forward and take the cloak to examine it. Hand-sewn, by whatever Faun might use for a needle, I suppose. He prides himself in this cloak. As he should - the animals themselves gave pelts to him for it. It is a symbol of what he works for, fights for, and exists because of. There can be no mistaking it.

"I wonder what that was doing in his room, where I found your son's guns." Ebrellin-i's voice drips with intrigue from behind me. I'll have none of it. "Perhaps he's more involved with this than you think. Maybe it's best to just leave it untried, untouched, and let everyone forget. Spare your son the humiliation...and possible punishments..."

"Spare yourself the breath. If my son's guilt hangs in this cloak's threads I can easily imagine who weaved it in. You're too eager to squirm out of this." I put the cloak aside for now, draping it across the throne the King addresses his visiting audiences from. It was placed conveniently nearby. I look back to my Armed, who await further questions or orders. "Was there any other sign of Lyric?"

Clark shakes his head. "Quite the opposite - by the look of the dead guards outside his door, someone very deadly already made the rounds there."

Kevrin holds up a long-fingered hand. "It was the animism that killed those guards. I of all people would recognize those marks, and how they were dealt."

My eyes cast over Kevrin's taloned fingers and feathered neck, and his strangely beaked face, for yet another appraisal of the boy. Yes, he of all would. "See if you can track them, then, without Faun killing you." They turn and take off, then, Clark looking slightly perturbed at this new mission. It's his first time partnering with Kevrin, isn't it? Still, they're from the same unit, and they're both Armed. And if anybody has a problem with one of my Armed, they have a problem with me.

Speaking of which, I turn to address Ebrellin-i yet again, just in time to see him try to grip Diyn and pull him out of the wall. Well, I certainly won't stop him from trying that, though I have to suppress the almost overwhelming urge to laugh before he manages it.

The scream makes everyone in the giant chamber pause. "It BIT me your...your mongrel of a cheeky weapon bit me how dare it BITE me?!?" He glares at me for it. I don't see why, Diyn did it because he deserved it.

"...You tried to get out. He did what any guard dog would, mongrel or not. You're lucky to still have your fingers. The last time someone was stupid enough to try that, there was nothing left past his bloody stump of a wrist." My voice is level and calm. As far as incidents go, this doesn't interest me much. My children have been much more mature in their whining. ...More convincing, for that matter.

"You cur, he ate my signet ring!"

"I don't see why you're so upset. You might not need it anymore." I ignore his screeching and look over the audience chamber. Slightly less cacophonous now than it was a few minutes ago. Perhaps things will resolve. ...No, I can't lie to myself. All of this spells out trouble that's more far-reaching than the perimeter of this Palace.

The best part is that I'm waiting for it to get even worse, as tends to happen in these situations.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Gerald Akribastes's Mission Log
* * *

Cade eases his way down the dark hall, angling Gerude's body so that his knees don't bump too much against the stone walls. Can't have him getting too serious of an injury, after all. He might need the boy to walk, later. Or to do menial labor. Who's to know what's ahead? The Castle is falling and it's time to move on, as Cade always does, after collecting his souvenirs. It's only a little ways farther, and then he can be out of here, on to the next Court, or gang of bandits, or future disaster site. Who's to tell, with his life? The Jherent Nul always makes it an interesting ride for him, and could he ask for more?

Of course not, not when he can always just take it for himself.

The Jherent o'Audiva Rocale was right about one thing - this Armed certainly looks just like his brother. It's a shame he isn't his brother, but Cade will make do, just as he always does. Looks close enough to pretend, at any rate. Are we getting close, now? He's growing impatient. It's time to leave this empire. The Judge is here already, and Cade's skirted the Law too many times to believe he'll always make out that lucky. It would also be inconvenient to get caught and expose his master's involvement in the Peacock King's crimes.

So Cade thinks, and so he sneaks back into his so-called office, dropping my brother's body onto the bed I not too long ago occupied. He locks the shackles around his wrists and ankles, then looks down, chuckling at hiw similar he looks to me. Then he looks up at an unexpected noise and meets Wagner's barrel as it strikes him across the jaw. Bruce goes for his nose. I'd say the shot at the moment the barrel strikes his nose from the side was unintentional, but it wasn't. Cade screams, grasping for the bloody stump where his nose used to be, which is enough of an opening for me to club him over the head and...kick him a lot while he's down. I'm only paying him back for what he and his men gave me.

After awhile that gets boring and I decide to unchain my stupid brother. Lazy sot. Comes in at the end of things to save the day, and where is he? Lying around in bed. Well, he can have his nap. Time to ransack Cade's desk. There's Elric's poor quill, alright...and here's Cade's writings. Oh, good. He was fool enough to keep a journal.

Looks like I've found more useful things in here than just my brother. I give Cade another kick in the head before trying to rouse Gerude. It's probably going to take awhile - the dip's always had a habit of sleeping in. I want the help when it comes to dragging Cade out of here.

* * *

I can't do much here but watch as Faun speaks to the dryads and nymphs. The small ones he just brushes with his fingertips. They blink, look around them with confusion, and then start to leave.

The larger ones, the ones that look like humans with strange features added...those take more time. Faun looks like he's having trouble. He'll reach up and touch their cheeks, or their foreheads, and concentrate. For some, their eyes clear and focus after that, and they start to ask questions, look around them, or simply just disappear to who knows where. A few, Faun has to take aside and sit down. I realize why after a few moments. One's missing an arm, another is blind...four more have no tongues.

"See, Lyric," he says low, as if he were speaking in church, "some didn't go willingly under his command. There were some that he had to break for that to happen. You see what happened to them, when he did?" I nod. "What am I to do, to free them? I'm as helpless to change them as I am to heal my own mother." He glares down, looking at no one. "Only the Peacock King could hope to free them. Do you see what a mess this is?" He sees me nod. "Then what do you think?"

I look down, unable to meet his eyes. "I think I'm not sure why you're asking me of such things. I haven't been the most help to anyone lately. I don't even know much about these spirits. Why do you have me with you?"

He thinks, his expression blanking. Finally, he produces an answer. "You were allowed to be closer to him than many people ever have, Lyric. The reason for that opportunity is irrelevant. You can use that to help. Who else do you think will help me? How much help have you seen given to me while the Armed were posted right here?" His hair stands on end, the cords in his neck standing out in sharp contrast against his skin.

I lay a hand on his shoulder. His hair lies down a little, and his shoulders un-tense.

"I'll help, Faun, but I still don't know how I can."

He nods. "Just...listen to me, as you have, and that will be enough. I'll have to discuss the rest with the Judge. There needs to be a guard posted - there are too many vulnerable creatures here who cannot leave of their own accord until something has been done for them."

"Right. I'm sure the Judge can arrange that, Jhe Faun." I jump and whirl to see who's found us. Jenny laughs. "I wonder if I'll get credit for finding you. Aaaand...finally nobody I have to work with is around to watch..." She grins, stands there a few moments, and then leaps at me for a hug that feels more like a pounce. No, really, I scream. I also...really didn't pee myself a little, I'm serious, I didn't! "Lyric! I missed you! My big gay brother! Mom blames my lack of prissy girlyness on you, you know. It's so awesome!" She looks up, letting me go, and thus granting me breathing privileges. "Hey, did Jax come through here? I smell his loser spray that he calls cologne."

"He, he um...he went through that door. With the princess. One of the Peacock King's daughters? Her uh, name's Rocsui-ehellenae."

Faun flinches. "You don't know what that name means, do you?" He sees me shake my head, though Jenny's brows draw together. She looks like she might be able to puzzle it out. "No Father would give that as his daughter's true name. It's a bind-name, similar to a pet-name. Calling her Rocsui isn't proper or the best thing but at least it's better than branding her with that. Poor thing. Just as bound as the dryads and nymphs, and jumping for freedom at her first sight of a willing man."

"WHA-" Jenny boggles. "Oh, shit Jax, you idiot--" She bolts for the door. I look away. I really don't want to see what she finds.

It takes a few moments, but the scream reaches us to confirm. "JAX! THAT'S NOT PART OF YOUR JOB!!!"

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Gerude Akribastes's Travel Log
* * *

Okay, for the record, I do feel fairly embarrassed that someone got the drop on me like that, especially someone like Cade. Not my proudest moment.

Still, couldn't Gerald just shut up about it? I'm about to do to his nose what he did to Cade's. The only reaction he makes when I tell him that is to offer to let me carry Cade by myself. I almost sock him, but he might actually be serious.

Funny enough, what I really want to do is sit aside, read through that diary of his, and see just what he's up to. More the Poet reaction, I suppose. Maybe I'm just catching it from Gerald. Or maybe whatever's in that diary is just that interesting.

"Careful. He's about to wake up." Gerald glares down at our short, bald bit of luggage. "Hey, you knock him out this time."

"Sure! Thanks." Caerig hits the sweet spot on the back of Cade's skull. I wipe the butt of the pistol on the side of my jeans.

"No prob." He shifts the load a little, and we continue walking. I look at my brother out of the corner of my eye. You know, that's just not his normal 'I busted out of jail again go team me' face. He's too serious. And tense, geez. "What are you wound up about?"

He closes his eyes and sighs. "Our runaway brother, mostly." Whoa. He looks like the world's about to end or something. "He's had it pretty bad. I just hope someone's there with him when he meets up with Father again." His eyes widen. "Oh no."

"What? What?" I hate when people freak out all dramatic and then just leave you hanging. Poets do it the most, man. Come on, turn the next page of your brain already.

"He'd better not go and run off again. Oh man, I bet he does." He sucks in a breath. "Let's drop off this trash as quick as possible and then try to find him, alright?"

I snort. "Gerald, aren't you listening? Aren't Poets supposed to be even better at that than Armed?" I roll my eyes. "Jenny already reported him in. She said she found Jax, too. Sounded a little freaked out about that, actually."

"...Oh." His shoulders sag with relief. "Man, I just..."

"What?" Next page, thanks.

"I guess I can't hope for Father to go easy on him, can I? It's just...it's not his fault, man. He was stuck and he even tried to help me."

"Well, I'll make a deal with you. Move your ass instead of moping about it, and we can drop off this stinkape and then you can tell Dad all you want about Lyric's vacation adventures in Sul. Alright? Now, move."

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Peacekeeper Camden Briarseal's Travel Log
* * *

I've often heard it asked how it transpires that a certain Poet wound up recording a certain event. Sometimes the querent is of the opinion that the Poet in question was not the appropriate match for the subject, or was simply an odd choice. It is said that History is decided by the winners. Poetry, though, is written by whoever was there. The Poetry that lives on, though, that's a different story. Sometimes it is a matter intrigue. Sometimes skill or luck. Sometimes even just the humor of their voice.

For me, however, it is none of those. I get to tell this part because out of all of the Poets in the audience room, I had the best view. If it sounds like I am rather proud of my vantage, well, that is somewhat true and somewhat not. In actuality, I am simply pleased that it all happened as it did because it saved me from having to explain myself to the Judge at that very moment.

The moment is when I am standing before the Judge, up on the Peacock King's dais, opening my mouth to answer his prudent question of 'just what is all this mess about, anyway, and why were you here for it?' with of course, the 'why didn't you do anything about it earlier' unsaid. Stealing the words right from my mouth, Gerude steps in alongside our long-lost Poet spy, Gerald. And between the two, dangling like the strangest hunting trophy I've ever seen? A bleeding, unconscious, noseless Cade. I can only grin despite it all. Some of the Armed in the room even give applause. I can't admonish them for it, either. If I weren't in this position, I'd be doing the same.

They bring him forward, then, Gerald's eyes never leaving his Father's. The Judge, however, doesn't break his gaze from Cade. It doesn't even need to be vocally commanded - our best warders and binders set to him immediately.

"Shame I didn't save that collar the Peacock King put round my neck. Might have come in handy," Gerald grumbles, rubbing at a few scratches on his throat. I hear his Arms gloat about that, and need no imagination to know how that went down. Gerald's Father gestures for him to come forward. Gerude follows closely. I narrow my eyes, looking over the second brother. It appears Jhe Gerude has taken an injury recently. His failure to meet anyone's gaze further incriminates him. Perhaps he has his own story to tell, then, though Gerude's stories are often cripplingly short and interspersed with crudeness. ...Appropriate for a story involving Cade.

Gerude stands before his Father, below the dais. The Judge looks him over very closely. "Someone with a healer's touch have a look at him, especially his clarity of mind," he says softly. Then his eyes flick to Gerude. He snorts. "As well as Gerude's clarity of skull."

There's a strange hush, then, and I see 'Sy's face before I see what he's looking up at. Enough shock and long-endured waiting manages to leak through before his expression stiffens. So guarded, always - but there was just that moment.

Gerald knows without looking behind him just who has walked into the room. "Father! Please, don't be harsh with him, he was brave enough to save me several times over when it could have gotten him killed!" Gerald sounds more afraid than Lyric might possibly be.

Lyric is stepping very slowly into the room, Jhe Jenny at his arm, leading him in with confidence. If Lyric's feet shake as he steps, at least he carries himself with some amount of grace. His eyes never leave his Father's face, and his lip is quivering a little, but I do give him this - he does not cry.

Faun follows him, giving side-glances to...what is Jhe Cruxradia doing with them? Did he run across them while working at his chores? Who is the girl on his arm? Why does she look like-

"GET YOUR ACCURSED, FOULBLOODED, SOILED HANDS OFF OF MY DAUGHTER!" I'm impressed at the roar the Peacock King lets out while the Trident is around his throat, and also by how he manages to make the chamber echo and amplify his words even as he's being restrained by the Judge. But then, he's quite the imperiled one right now. Hell, I'd do the same if Jax had so much as winked at any of my get. ...No, my way involves less speech and more blood. Still, the principle is there.

Suddenly the dais under us shakes as Ebrellin-i struggles to stand up fully. There's a rush of energy and then he's simply not there. I'm not sure how he got out, though something tells me the Judge let him out. There's something about Jax taking anyone's daughter to bed that's simply unjust, and that would do it. There's also simple comeuppance for those that have ventured where they simply shouldn't trespass.

[Note added by Jhe Katherine Cruxradia after reading Peacekeeper Briarseal's report: Jhe Camden has received more than one punch in the mouth for the previous sentence's overbearing pompous male assumptive attitude. When next you meet him, please feel free to give him another.]

That's when everything comes apart, or weaves together, depending on your vantage. From my vantage, I see the energy that rushed from out of the reach of the Trident coalesce in front of Jax into a very tall, looming, angry figure. I don't know if Jax has ever had to crane his neck that high to look anyone in the face, but the gesture is soon rewarded with a backhand that audibly swooshes through the air. Jax goes flying backwards, sprawled on the floor, still sliding even as the Peacock King takes another step forward, mouth open as he draws in a breath. Perhaps to speak a curse, or simply scream at the boy to high heaven. Who knows? We won't, because just then something to the very side of him catches the King's eye and makes him turn. There, right in front of him now, only a pace or two away. He levels his arm down to point at the youth, Lyric shrinking back from the gesture. It looks like more of an attack than a gesture, at that.

"You miserable, backstabbing servant! How dare you drag accusations to my door and tie me up in your little machinations! I didn't hire you on for that! Furs found in your quarters that belong to a distinguished animism! Guns squirreled away that belonged to a spy! Lotus isn't even your real name, is it?! Confess! Confess to these crimes you've committed in my Palace!" That accusing finger bends, then, Ebrellin-i's hand clenching into a fist right as a wave of power comes from him. Faun hisses. Lyric lurches.

Then the boy stands up, with some effort, shakes himself, and glares right back up at the King. He steps forward, planting his foot down with a stomp. "I never signed any contract to speak as you command, and I sure as hell won't do it for you now. Your crimes are your own."

The Peacock King's eyes narrow. "Oh? Is that so? I think not. You're a liar, Lyric, if that's even your real name. Confess! Confess in front of the Judge! Did you not take a knife to the animism's throat and force him to his knees? Did you not strip him of his clothing and keep it as a trophy? Did you not mislead me about your true Radian origins? You can't hide it! It shall all come out in the end! So confess now and spare us the time and the trouble! You did all of that, didn't you?" There's so much power coming from him that Faun falls to the ground. Rachella manages to pull him away from the King. His daughter merely stands transfixed, as if someone's holding her there in obedience. Lyric...he's managing, somehow, to stand up with his chin high. He's shaking like a leaf in the wind, but he's standing up under what are obviously commands to capitulate.

"Yes." The Peacock King grins, triumphant. Lyric goes on. "Perhaps you expect all that to wash away the fact that you bought the animism, had him collared, chained him, locked him up, and commanded me to train him? That you locked away the Armed Poet so that you could make him write his Poetry onto a collar for that animism? That you threatened Jennelcia Akribastes, who you thought was his wife, so that he'd serve you for the rest of his life?"

"His WHAT?!" Someone has to stop Jenny from attacking then. I almost fall off the dais myself.

The Peacock King only narrows his eyes, watching Lyric as he levels his own accusations. "Lies, all lies. Try as you may to clear your blame, you only dig the hole deeper." He draws himself up taller, something I wasn't sure was even possible. "Kneel, J-lui-tiss." My eyes widen. He dared give Lyric a pet-name? And he was stupid enough to speak it aloud in front of the Judge? The slitted jewel in his crown flashes, something I can't explain away as just a glint of the light. "On your knees before me, servant, and apologize. Take the weight of the guilt which you have earned." The power of command, the amount of force he's putting behind his will, makes my ears pop. "Plead." His hand lowers near his side, grasping something invisible. I narrow my eyes. I know that stance and that grip very well. My Arms take the primary form of a whip, after all.

Lyric's legs almost move automatically. I see his posture shift and his knees bend, as if someone hit him in the backs of his knees. He staggers towards the King to keep standing, but there's an obvious weight on top of him. He lets out a single whimper, then clenches his hands into fists and bears up under it. "NO. I'm not yours! I never was! No matter what you tried to take or puppeted me into, I was never yours, and I won't dance for you!"

The King snarls, then raises his hand, the whip crackling through the air, the only visible part of it the occasional sparks of white energy. Lyric ducks away, but not fast enough. The King's arm comes down, the whip whistling through the air--

Only to hit the Judge's Trident, whirling around the staff in a tight corkscrew. Ebrellin-i lurches to the side as the Judge yanks the Trident back, pulling him along by the whip. Of all things, I don't understand why he didn't expect that. 'Sy was only going to let him go on with his charade for so long. There are a lot of things we'll never understand about Ebrellin-i, I suppose.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Jhe h'Akribastes's Travel Log
* * *

I only see one thing during this moment. ...That's an error. I can see many things at a time, as that is a function of being the Law. There is only one thing that I am focused solely upon at this moment. It is the Jhe o'Sul's face rushing towards me, eyes widening but still full of mad rage, still utterly convinced he'll have his way and take his vengeance. I correct that assertion by driving my knee up into his nose.

He claws his way away from me, lurching to the side. For some reason he doesn't let go of his whip. I only grin. He snaps the whip away from Diyn's teeth, dissipating the snared length and then rematerializing it after it's unsnared. Oh, what a cute trick. He looks down at me with disdain, which is impressive considering the blood trickling from his nose and the strange crooked angle the feature's been bent to.

"You dare assault me in my Court, Judge? How shameful. Perhaps I should teach you a lesson in decorum."

"Sometimes I wonder why I let criminals speak for so long instead of sealing their fool mouths, and then you go and say something like that. Do you care to back up such a threat? I should love to see you try." I watch him grin, the marks on his face twisting more than the shift in expression can account for. His eyes glisten with glee. He's coveted a rare prize for so long, and now it's come to him. He has apparently long awaited this opportunity.

That jewel in the middle of his crown winks and pulses as he gathers power. I can feel his Will pressing against me, trying to force me, of all entities, to kneel before him. Is this what he used against my son? I'm proud of Lyric, then, for standing up under that weight.

I don't move. I don't even show a sign that I feel what he's attempting. He only gloats and tries harder, as if that trick is going to work. For the rest of the room, this part of the battle must be very boring. It is two men staring at each other, one looking progressively more snakeish and squinty as time passes.

"Is that all? Or were you not done yet?" I ask him in the same tone of voice that I order drinks with. He starts. I twirl my Trident in a lazy arc, looking up at him with a questioning eyebrow.

He glowers at me, wipes his nose, then makes a gesture of cutting and focusing forward. Openly attacking me with his Will, now? Nothing impacts. He's making this boring for the audience, good Graces. He hisses. "You can't be immune. You stand in my Court, on my land, in my domain."

"You cannot bend the Law." I stop Diyn mid-swing, the middle tine of the Trident pausing right under Ebrellin-i's chin. He glances down at it with such Xaillyndesse disdain that I almost gore his throat with it right then and there. "You cannot make another hold responsibility for your transgressions against the Law. Do you not understand that I can hear the lies in that which you say, gauge the depths of your half-truths, pick out the tiny grain of deceit in a river of double-speak? If you forced the boy to his knees it would only change his latitude, not the validity of his words. It would only show you to be even more guilty of tyranny and oppression than you have already proven yourself to be. Can you even say anything for yourself, or are you going to impress me with yet another mis-step?"

Ebrellin-i hisses and makes a gesture to silence me. "Get out of my Court. Your presence is not condoned here."

I chuckle. "Oh, believe me, it rarely is."

"Your Armed have come here, used my land to ill intent, spied on me, soiled the purity of my daughter, assaulted me, and made a mess of my Palace. You invade and search without warrant or cause. Leave me be and leave in peace."

I snort. "Are you trying to plead insanity with those words? Do you even realize half of what you've been caught doing?"

"IF YOU DON'T LEAVE MY COURT IN PEACE I WILL DESTROY EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU!" He leaps forward, hand going for my throat. I swing the Trident to the side a little, catching him in the head with one of the arms. It should have knocked him out.

Whatever keeps him moving after that, I cannot say, but he screams out something incomprehensible, just a long, wretched shriek, as his body writhes on the floor. Then he begins to crawl towards Lyric. "Traitor! Foul cretin! You dare seduce me and lead the Judge into my chambers where he can twist truth into lies at his own whim! I should have collared you from the start! I should have known better than to trust you!" Lyric takes delicate steps backwards, keeping out of the King's range. The King lunges forward, fingers barely grazing Lyric's slipper. Then, something spills out of his mouth that I never, for all my instincts, expected to hear at that moment.

"My consort-King, free me from the grasp of those who would overtake and drag your Empire into nothing...flow your power into me and I promise I will carve with it a path to destruction and ruin over which only you will reign."

My Trident snaps down over his wrist so fast that it's not a matter of movement so much as manifesting in that one spot. My power comes down upon him in the way that he'd earlier tried to assail me. It doesn't so much knock him out as throttle him into incomprehension, his mouth still babbling speech in a language that I'd sooner forget I'd ever heard even once.

Nul-deh'le. The un-tongue.

Lyric's shaking, having retreated into the shadow of a statue standing nearby. He lets out a terrified whimper, and I realize with dawning horror that this isn't the first time he's heard that language spoken.

Cade. The turning and enslaving of more people, creatures and spirits than anyone had guessed at. The long-standing rumors and the air of pure oppression in this Kingdom. There can be only one central source for them all, and foolish Ebrellin-i named that source with his own tongue, in its own tongue. Nul. He bows and pays tribute and beseeches to Nul. This King, that we have kept the shakiest of treaties with, that we have so long clashed wills and wits with, that has caused the world so much blasted trouble, has made a pact with Nul.

I want Justice. But to bring a case like this to Trial is almost as far from my desires as something can hope to get.

* * *

I know someone sits next to me, but I don't look up. I'm a little frozen, I guess. I keep my knees hunched up under my chin. I'm cold. Numb. I know there must be a lot going on in the world around me right now, must be so much chaos in this room, but I don't hear any of it. It's like being submerged in a pool that's surrounded by a large group of very loud people. I can tell they're there, but what they're saying doesn't mean much to me or what I'm doing.

"--ric? Here, turn and face me. Lyric. Lyric. Don't zone out on me. Here, do you see me? Come on, focus. Lyric?"

I cringe away. I can't even tell who it is. Everything's just a blur and I don't want to pay any attention to it. For all I care the world can stay an incomprehensible blur. Incomprehensible blurs probably didn't hurt too many people, in the history of things.

I think I'm being shaken by the shoulders.

"He's lookin' a little green there, Ger. I think he's gonna puke."

"Oh shit 'Rude you're ri--"

The world heaves up. Or maybe that's just my stomach. When I can focus again, things come clear and I see I'm on my hands and knees. I can hear someone else approaching, going on about needing napkins but she has a handkerchief or two on her for Gerald and me. She starts wiping my face but I manage to do that on my own. I check over my clothes. Just a few bits of filth here and there. It's a uniform, anyway. The Peacock King can worry about getting it cleaned.

The Peacock King--

My eyes widen, I turn to the side, and Gerude has time to curse and step back before I manage to puke on his boots.

"He's a damn cannon," Gerald groans. I look up at him. He's trying to clean his shirt off, but it's a losing battle. Wow, I got him good. Then I gag a little, and there's a scurry of footsteps away from me as I turn and hurk up a little more of whatever I've eaten over the past five days.

Gerude snorts from a few paces away. "Not much different than before he left home, then." He sighs. "I wonder if the cleaning staff here has all run off yet?"

Gerald sighs. "They probably sharpened their mops and fought to the death or something. ...Oh shit, Lyric, don't start puking again."

"Ger, I think he's out of ammo. Look, stop trying to save your shirt, it's a goner. Help me sit him up. Here. Lyric? Come on. Everything's going to be okay. Oh shit, don't you start crying now--"

Gerude checks over me, laying a hand on my forehead, looking into my eyes as best as he can considering the tears. "Rachella? You have any more handkerchiefs left?"

"...No. You can keep those, in fact."

"Oh, thanks." Gerude runs a finger along the collar around my neck, then shudders. "We need to get this off of him. It's got to be making him sick."

"Here, let me look at him. Lyric if you throw up on me again so help me..." Gerald doesn't bother and just trails off the threat. He puts a hand on each cheek, looking into my eyes, his brow furrowing as he frowns. "Gerude, hold him up. He's having a trouble even sitting up."

"I am no-oof!" Gerude yanks me to sit straight up, arms around me from behind my back. I guess I was slouching. It's a little hard to think.

"Okay," Gerald's voice is calm and even, a touch of lightness to it that I know is false. "Lyric, stay still, alright? Gerude is holding you, so just relax. And trust me." Dangerously calm, just like Father. Cold metal slides over my neck, grating against the metal of the collar. I startle a little bit, but I force myself to be calm and I close my eyes.

'Aye, I won't hit ye, but this might sting a wee bit.'

The report roars, heat blossoming at the side of my neck. Something cuts me, probably the shrapnel from the thing. There's the sense of a hand gripping me, then slipping away as the collar falls down and clatters on the floor. Gerald leans me forward against him as a coughing fit overtakes me. Wagner's smoky.

'Ooo, ye recognized me?'

'Did he pee 'imself?'

'Dunnae smell like it. The boy's Father will be right proud.'

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Jennelcia Akribastes's Travel Log
* * *

The Judge looks down at the figure of the Peacock King, who now lies somewhat still, though amazingly remains conscious. He's well-restrained, barely moving, but still continues to speak in that language that sent chills throughout the entire room, only now he speaks it so slowly that it takes about thirty seconds for an entire 'word' to get out. That makes it even creepier somehow.

I wonder why Daddy's even letting him go on like this, just lying there without any restraints. Silly me! Daddy's already on it. He's just concentrating. He always gets a funny look on his face when he's in deep thought. He looks very, very serious, and I just wanna honk his nose. The air crackles around him, he's focusing so hard. I know what he's going to do, too. I've been trained in it. I um...well, I've achieved what Camden would call a 'success', but the results weren't something that could really leave a prisoner able to testify. I've been told, in rather wry tones, that it requires a lot of focus and restraint to do properly.

It's funny, the Peacock King might even be familiar with the technique. It seems like something that would be right up his alley.

'Sy grips the Trident by its staff, which still stands upright in the air, the tines of the Arms embedded around the Peacock King's wrist. The weapon warps, a ripple flowing down the pole and to the point where the tines fork out. They bend and grip the King's wrist, then, snaring it like a cuff. It's cute, he screams in the most genteel manner. He tries to struggle, but the cuff forces his wrist to the ground as if the Trident were still pinning him.

'Sy swings the Trident over to the other wrist, then, pinning it down with a quick strike that the King can't evade. He cuffs it, then raises Diyn once more, staring down at Ebrellin-i.

The King manages focus again, breaks off his creepy moon-language monolouge, and then has the audacity to glare up at the Judge and spit. For the record, because he didn't aim it right, it falls back down and splats on his blood-crusted nose.

Daddy snorts. "I should have gone ahead and done this when you were up against the wall." He stabs the Trident downward. I almost wish he'd gotten the bastard in the throat, but no. Daddy's Aim is always precise, and he pins Ebrellin-i's neck between the tines yet again, the Trident flowing into a matching collar that I'm sure my brother would describe as tasteful as well as elegant.

Bound with the full power of the Law, Ebrellin-i stares up in confusion, utterly silent. He turns his head, staring out at whatever's in his range of view.

It's Lyric, leaning against Gerald's shoulder while Gerude kicks at the remains of that cursed pet collar. Then something catches the King's eye, and he looks back up. Faun steps near him now. Staring.

The animism looks sad, for some reason, and then levels a glare of accusation at the Judge before backing away and looking at Lyric. He sniffs my brother over, then trots off to the throne to collect his furs. I don't know, alright? Animisms are fucking strange.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Jhe h'Akribastes's Travel Log
* * *

There is, on the floor in front of me, a bound Emperor. My long-lost son is recovering from enduring servitude to that Emperor, and the complete list of acts he has had to endure or participate in has yet to be made apparent to me. I worry more about Lyric's mental well-being than his guilt. Gerald seems fine, but has his share of stories to tell me. Cade has been bound similarly to the Peacock King, by Jhe Camden. Who, incidentally, has a lot of talking to do. There are freed slaves all around and I've no idea what to do with them. There is a wronged, angry animism stalking about as if he were a housecat whose tail had just met the wrong end of a rocking chair.

Finally there's my bloody idiotic nephew Jax and his unfortunate choice in partners. The Peacock King's younger daughter, whose name has been given to me as Rocsui. I can tell as much as any trained Poet that's a false name, forced upon her. She's no longer spellbound and frozen still, but is in quite a daze, and right now no one has any better idea of what to do with her than let Jax comfort her, which I can't say is that bad of an idea. At least he's found a way to make himself useful that doesn't involve replacing paid maintenance crews. His Father will be so proud.

There's dead guards strewn about, and every few minutes an Armed gets in a tussle with a few servants trying to run to the aid of their captured King. Can I blame the servants? No. Is this arrangement going to work for thirty more minutes? No. But there's the problem of leaving a mess here just as much as there's the problem of staying here safely.

The Peacock King flails against his bonds, only to be slammed down against the floor by the forces that make up his cuffs and collar. He writhes for a short while. I can't knock him out. The binding will hold, yes, but try as I might I can't knock him out here, in his own domain, and if I tried any harder I'd crush his skull like a watermelon. The idea has its appeal but it would make his daughters sad, and cause some very unwanted complications in global politics.

That's the worst part of this - he could very well have earned himself a death sentence, but Radia needs him alive. It is not possible for us to go on without a treaty with Audiva Rocale. Without its monarch, Audiva Rocale will crumble into anarchy.

...I need help.

The measures are quick and I will not go into them in detail. Best not to let it be known exactly how we accomplish it, lest others see through the tricks if we ever have to do it again. In an emergency such as this, and with discovery by the King no longer an issue, transport over the border can now be rather swift. They are teleported in. The crew looks over the wards first. Over the King. Over the entire lay of the Palace.

I will go so far as saying we will find a way to make the King's absence less evident, and begin sneaking the freed slaves to Radia. Most of the freed spirits can find their own way, if they have a place they would rather go. The ones that are injured or broken...

I turn to Faun. He glares up at me, wearing his proper furs now. The servant robes he was wearing before are in shreds at the base of the Peacock King's throne. He tore them off and flung the furs onto himself right on that spot, for all to see. Just as one should expect from one of the wild ones. I raise an eyebrow at him. He only glares further.

"Jhe Faun. Please tell me what I can do for your kind here." I ignore his bristling hair and bared teeth. He has been greatly wronged for quite some amount of time. I fully understand why he is acting as he is.

I only hope I can forestall him from striking at anyone in here.

"Much needs to be done, but I do not know if your kind are sufficient to get it done, something I say out of honesty and not spite. I can say who is required here to bring about the needed healing, but I have another suggestion instead." I nod, and gesture for him to go on. "Talk to the Dragon of this land. You should know him well, I imagine. I smell the blood on you."

I can't help but snort. Animisms are so well known for seeing past what is obscured purposefully, sniffing out the true natures of things. "Fine, then. You are correct. I do know him. Thank you, I shall speak with him. Do you suggest anything for the short term?"

He nods, expression clouding with worry. "Don't let anyone come in and tamper with them. Don't let anyone interact with them who is uneducated as to their natures. I...would help, but I must accompany you to Radia for the King's Trial."

I raise an eyebrow. How preemptive of him. "So you shall. Would you prefer I escort you directly, or will you travel alone?"

"Neither, unless you are escorting your son home."

My eyebrows shoot up. He goes on.

"I am traveling with him, now. I will claim him as my Poet if the Jhe h'Logos grants me such."

I'm pretty confused by this, but don't want to spurn the animism his choice. "...Has Gerald done a good job of it here, then? That's...gratifying."

His eyes widen, and then he crooks a foxish grin. "Nay, sire. Your son by the haerphitl, your son who managed to ensnare even the Peacock King in his Poetry. His skills are unsure, but he shall grow in time, blossom just as flowers do. Lotus was a silly stage-name, but an appropriate one at that." He laughs. I can't school my expression right now, damnit. "Oh, so you didn't know? My, my. You should have him trained as soon as he reaches Radia. He'll be even more trouble if he's left to his own ends for any longer." He turns, walking towards my son. The tails hanging on the bottom of his fur robes sway, taunting me.

I can't help but growl. I walk to my son as well, faster than the animism. I'm much taller, after all. And he may have his claim on the woods, but that is my son, damnit, and I haven't seen him in far, far too long.

Lyric is still small, even though he's obviously grown a bit older. Strange, so much shorter than his twin brother Lute. He's also tired, dazed, and hurt. How long has he been here before his Uncle told me he found him here? How long did I let him--

--No, I can't blame myself right now, even though I will anyway. I take a knee and lean him back from Gerald, who still blanches at the possibility of me speaking with Lyric. Lyric doesn't fight me, which is a relief, especially since I expect it. He just looks at me, clear blue eyes wet with tears that trail through his makeup.

"Are you willing to come back with me to Radia, son?" His eyes widen, and something in his shoulders untenses. He was expecting me to scold him. I look a little deeper than he knows, and I see the binds still hanging around his soul, the wounds that have been dealt to his mind and will, and the pain he's endured.

He swallows, makes a tiny nod, and then buries himself into my chest. I'd like to hear very soon just what it is that he's so afraid of. For now, I hold him until he stops shaking. "I have to leave with the Peacock King, Lyric. I'll be back for you after he's been arranged for. ...So stay here while I'm away, please."

"I won't run off." He sniffles. "Are Ger and 'Rude staying?"

"They'll be with you. It'll be alright." I lean him away, and Gerude hunkers down beside him. Lyric doesn't look too upset, all things taken into account.

I have no choice but to leave, then, to attend to my duty. Faun watches as I walk away, then approaches my son. I pin him with a glare.

The animism startles, then blinks. "You'd dare impede me?"

"You of all creatures would know to permit a dragon his territory." At that he draws back, instead walking off to one of the confused dryads that is wandering around.

I walk up to the Peacock King. He stares up at me, his eyes half-fogged with the binds of collar and cuffs. That even his gaze has to be bound speaks volumes for how much he's fighting the binding. I twirl my Trident midair, then strike it down. When it impacts with the floor, we simply cease to be in that room, and reappear where I will it, in Radia.

* * *

...I'm afraid to go. I hear Gerude tsk.

"Hey, man, I can see it on your face, but we're not letting you run away again." I nod. He pats my shoulder. "Here, it's gonna get boring if you just sit there in stone-stiff-terror. Let's say we all play cards." He fishes a beaten up deck from his pocket, then starts dealing to the three of us.

Gerald snorts. "Like hell I'd play with you. You always cheat." He picks up his hand regardless, squinting as he considers what he's been dealt.

Gerude gives Gerald the death-eye for thirty solid seconds. "You. The notorious sneak-peeking Poet. Accuse me of cheating."

"Damn right I am. Lyric, look at your damn cards." I jump, then pick through my hand.

"...What game are we playing?" I hear a sigh from behind me, and then Jenny flops down to sit beside me. She tosses a spare shirt into Gerald's lap, for which my brother looks absolutely grateful. His current one has had enough with life, and it's time to put it down.

Jenny looks over her shoulder. "Oy, Rachella! Come on, we're playin' poker! No, none of you horseasses are joinin' in, go back to work! Hurry, Rachella! I wanna place bets on who catches Gerald at cheating first!"

"HEY!"

I chuckle, which is really odd to do, because so much of me just wants to break down and cry right now. It could really be alright, couldn't it? Going back home, to Radia, after ten years away? Facing all those old friends and relatives, explaining myself? Accounting for everything I've done while I was away, and everything I've done and seen in this place?

The first game ends early when Jenny kicks Gerald in the eye for "cheating in a way so obvious that it ruined the betting odds." Rachella deals the next hand with a sigh. Time goes by, and somehow I enjoy just sitting here laughing. I honestly can't remember when the last time was that I'd done anything like this.

Maybe it's what home is supposed to be.

* * *
Recorded from an excerpt of Gerald Akribastes's Resumed Mission Log
* * *

We go through ten games before my Father returns, looking much more tired than when he left us. Lyric, bless him, goes white as a sheet and sits up rail-straight. I laugh and slap him on the back. "Here," I say, hauling myself to my feet, then lending him a hand, "get up. Time for you to go home."

I feel my Father's hand on my shoulder, that weight just as ominous as it always has been, and my mind does that automatic thing where it runs through every possible misdeed I might have committed since I was three. "You're not staying here, Gerald. Come on. You're dead on your feet."

I almost laugh, then realize the room's tilting a little not because of some freak decision by an avant-garde-obsessed architect, but because I'm leaning sideways from fatigue. He puts his other hand on Lyric's shoulder, guiding him forward gingerly.

Faun steps behind Lyric, looking up at my Father. The Judge looks back down at the animism. "Yes, you are permitted to join us." The animism simply shakes his head.

"I will come find him when I need him. You have staked your claim. I trust I shall be summoned for the Trial." Then he turns and...just bloody disappears. Somewhere around a corner is the odd sound of fur and wings rustling together, and then a wind rushes out through the doors. My Father just sighs heavily.

"Let's get you boys home before you get into any more trouble here." And with that, my mission in Audiva Rocale ends.

I think I'd call it a success.

* * *
END
* * *

* * *
Gerude
* * *

The palace wards go down with an audible snap, as if all Iaen had to do to make it happen was snip a wire.

'Sssst. I told ya, Rudie, don't talk about me in your writing! Nobody's supposed to even see me!'

The folks in black ops are always so paranoid. Like anyone reads my stuff anyway. I'm sure the official people give it a dusting with their eyes, but come on. Gerald's the real Poet. I'm just the real cowboy. I mean, he gives that a good shot and all, but in the end he's just playin' dress-up.

...Man. He really knows how to make a proper mess, too.

I mean, look at all this. This throne-room, which is already starting to look like a fancy rummage sale/barracks combo. The ornate banners and rugs have gotten real dinged up and frayed, even burnt, by some of the random fights that have broken out. The servants keep on rushing us from out of nowhere, man. And some of those people know what they're doing when it comes to impromptu weapons. Aside from the expected stuff like knives and spades and staves, we have been attacked with ladders, broomsticks, candleabras, tea services, spike-heeled shoes, aprons (makeshift garottes), wigs, torches, torches made out of wigs, spaghetti, plates, saucers, teaspoons, pepper shakers, mousetraps, and corn. Not to mention the tamed animals that Faun didn't get to. They keep siccing them on us. I bet you didn't know that squirrels make capable guard dogs.

Now, it doesn't take too long to find a garden in this place. Say what you want about the creepy buzzard, (and Caerig and Kennit grumble in agreement with that particular description of the Peek) but he has good taste in decor. I keep forgetting that this place is enclosed at all. Everything's so airy and relaxing, feels so open - especially in these little pockets of garden I find in the rooms. One problem with it, though - well, besides mosquitoes. Easy to lose sight of where you came in from, and where you're going. The wards are down now, which makes it easier to, you know, breathe in this place, but that makes my tracking sense even rougher. All the astral stuff around here's pretty broken up, after all. I guess that's my excuse for why I didn't see the damn thing coming until it was on top of my head. To be fair, neither did my Arms.

There's the most horrible screech, like a baby being dropped onto a brazier. Then, without further warning, my ears burst into flames. Well, that's exactly what it feels like, and I'd know since I got so used to the feeling when Stevie learned to ignite people's hair at the age of three. (Look, I don't know. Dad thought it was funny.) They feel strangely wet for being on fire, though. So at first I think it's some sort of, I don't know, operatic tyrotyle, but then fire rakes down my face, and I realize it's talons attacking me.

I lose my balance between all the thwaps my head is getting. Like two guys are just hammering it with pillows as hard as they can. And whatever this thing is, it's heavy, and it's got a curtain over my head or something. I almost get knocked over. Trying to pry whatever's on me off of me just results in more of those spine-shredding screams, and a stab to the back of my hand. So, I figure I'll look for help, while this thing's eating me alive. I run back to the throne room, or at least where I think it might be. For all I know, I'm on the moon with this thing. Can barely see through the blanket or whatever it's got tossed over me. What the hell is this?!

I hear a couple exclamations of surprise, and they're not accompanied by cheers, so I'm pretty sure they're from Armed and not the Peek's servants (or from someone who knows me well enough to find this funny). I hope for some assistance, flopping around while this thing just keeps SCREAMING on top of my head, and then the fire is in my eye and I can't see binocular-style anymore. After that, my arms move on my own. I ignore the fire raking along my scalp as I rip the thing away from my head. It lands on the throne. Then Caerig and Kennit dispatch it like lightning, which tends to be the way Arms dispatch anything.

It dies in a flurry of feathers.

"Gerude? Oh god Gerude, your eye." A couple people rush up, try to dab at my wounded eye, try to give me some medical aid. I don't so much notice. I'm still gaping at that thing I killed on the throne. It's mostly a splatter of red, now, with blue and green down sprinkled around its carcass like horribly-timed confetti. The fan-tail sprawls over the throne like a drape of silk.

Bloody my bones, I've killed one of the Peacock King's peacocks.

* * *
Camden
* * *

While they're mopping up Gerude, I cast my gaze to the heavens and then prop up my glasses. Gestures such as that tend to make them slide off of my face.

I hear Jenny watching me from the side. Hear really isn't the word, I suppose. She can be so quiet. I should recommend her for Julia's squad, when the time comes. Though I wonder if she and Lute would get along, or if sibling rivalry would turn their black ops to gray.

I turn to her, raising an eyebrow. She returns the glance with a wicked grin. I shake my head and tap the space between my eyes, then point to the commotion around the throne. Have to watch for trouble, now. There's no time for fun.

She sulks, and I'm reminded of how much younger she is than me. ...Not all that younger, by other comparisons. Her parents themselves had quite the differential in age...though, I don't really want to think about that. I don't want to think about her parents. I don't want to become a red smear on the floor - though of course, I can brave any danger. Survival, however, is another story.

There is, altogether, far too much happening right now. Thankfully Dooley and Keith and their team are keeping track of things when it comes to the writing. They're all a touch Poet, but not too strong in the art. What I need now is focus, not foolishness. Gerude's incident just now makes me wonder if he's got extreme Poet potential, in fact. I'll have to approach Jhe 'hLogos Elete about that. He's always far too thrilled to take yet another Armed into that loony fold.

Not that I wasn't one of those aforementioned Armed. I just don't let it show. Dooley and Keith are also the same in that regard. Between the three of us, we might just get some sort of grip on what is going on in this madhouse of a Palace. It's time to get organized.

"Alright. The shadows can keep an eye on things up here, but I'd appreciate some also casting back to the places Jhe Gerald and Gerude have reported, such as the labs and the cage-rooms. Hold on the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's bedchambers and personal living spaces until the rest is cleared out. I imagine we'll have the most trouble there, and it's always best to drive all the pests into one spot instead of letting them spread back and forth between areas. That goes for the rest of you lot as well." I clap my hands. "Remember! We're not here to conquer or siege. We're here to prevent chaos while the King of this land is taken to Trial. Until after his sentence, nothing definite can be planned. We are here to bring Justice to those who have been stolen away from the sight of it for too long. We are not here to kill anyone, so try not to make it necessary." I sweep a glare over Gerude's way. He's not paying attention. Well, fair enough, he's missing an eye now. Not that it'd matter to some warriors I've known. Everyone's different.

...Poet potential.

"I want three groups. First group is to follow the shadows very slowly and secure the rooms in the Palace to prevent incidents. Second group, focus on these newly-freed people and spirits and see what assistance you can be. We will be organizing an exodus soon. Keith will be leading you. Third group, form up under my command. We'll be ensuring that the people of this Kingdom don't riot." That will entail something a bit more elaborate than summary demands. "Dooley will be staying here at base, and I'll want a core of soldiers staying here with him to keep it secure and watch over the wounded. If you are wounded, see to it that you heal before you're up on mission again. We need focus and precision now, not just a bunch of live bodies who're liable to be clumsy and light-headed. Do you hear me? No heroics. I've had my damned fill of that today." I push up my glasses, letting that sink in. "The leaders of each team will pick their men. If you're not picked, stay here with the core team. Now, let's work."

* * *
Rocsui
* * *

The Peacekeeper organizes his ducklings very well. And good for him. This place needs organization. Management. Control. It needs it very much, because this palace was born to combat outside forces, no matter if Father's wards are hanging about all broken and shredded.

I shiver. This is my home. This is my home and it's beginning to dislike me, too. I've banded with the invaders, after all. Taken their sympathy, their aid. Their...company.

"Are ya feelin' alright, Roxie?" I suppress the crawl at the back of my neck from someone renaming me. It's nothing he meant like Father meant it. And really, it's nice to be called something that isn't what my Father branded me as.

"I'm fine." I stand, prim, posture perfect. There's so many strangers around me. They don't stare as much as I expected, but they do stare.

He cocks his head at me, eyes warm in that puppy dog way. He's looking at me strange. I fight down the automatic urge to tell Father that with my mind: 'Daddy, a man is looking at me with strange intent.'

I'm not his girl anymore. I'm probably no one's girl.

"I uh...Roxie, why are you lying about that?" He looks uneasy saying it. As you would.

I'm quiet, my voice stiffening in my throat. "You can...tell that? I thought you said you were only training as a Poet."

"First thing they teach us, and there's refresher courses if you go Armed, and plus...well that's a big part of being Armed, so...yeah. I can tell. You're not okay." He squeezes my hands. "What's the problem?"

"I..." My tongue won't move, as usual. He's gone, and the wards are in shreds, but some chains remain in place. "I can't talk about it. I'm sorry." I turn to look over at the Peacekeeper's group. "What's he trying to do? They're poking at the Throne."

"If you're hurt, you should stay with the wounded." He's the one that sounds hurt. I wonder what's upset him.

No matter about it, now. They're doing something important, but the Palace will eat them if they're not careful. "Come. Tell your commander I will help them. Be my Poet." His hand tugs away from mine, but I keep hold of it.

"I...Roxie, are you sure about that?"

"You're the only one here who gives a shit about me. Tell him I know where everything is." I know there's a way to put emotion in my voice. There should be a way. Father fixed that, is all. Maybe Jax can make it right, just as he made me right with his touch and his words and the way he moved. I can't even sound passionate about that, damn my Father.

"You do? Really?" He's incredulous. Was it so hard to believe?

"Yes. A canary knows her cage well."

* * *
Camden
* * *

A pity. I had almost managed to forget about Jhe Jaxhelshon. Now he comes marching up to me, like he actually has something of substance to contribute. Then again, the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's daughter is following him, so that's likely an inaccurate assertion.

I level a look at Jhe Jaxhelshon. He immediately wilts, as he tends to do around me now, smoldering after he crumples. Then he balls his fists up and, to my surprise, looks me in the eye.

"Jhe Rocsui a'Audiva Rocale Xaillyndesse'ten desires an audience."

I raise an eyebrow. That was unexpectedly polite. I hazard a glance at the Xaillyndesse daughter in question. She hazards me one back, just as icy and calculating.

Hm. Perhaps I've underestimated her. Then again, her Father was quite cunning. Why shouldn't she have been granted that aptitude?

"Very well." I skirt a bow to the princess. "Would you prefer to take this matter to a more private antechamber, Jhe Xaillyndesse?"

Her eyebrows quirk together in something that is the skeleton of a dreadful scowl. "I need nothing formal out of you. You're poking around in my Father's Palace and as no one else is left to give a damn, that leaves me in charge of it. You could at least ask me where everything is, or what else I might know that could aid you." There's a sullen undertone to her voice, as if she's actually sulking over this. I wonder how old she is. She doesn't look much older than Jhe Jaxhelshon, but appearances can be deceiving, especially when the person in question has been so obviously altered in her essence. As strange as she may appear, with the feathers sprouting out of her every which way, I do wish my Armed would control their faces better around her. She looks strange, yes, but what in this place hasn't been strange?

I bow again. "My apologies, Jhe Xaillynde-"

A plumed fan stops me short with a tap against my nose. She unfurls it and then positions it in front of her face haughtily. "No-no, none of that, now. You may address me by what name I can call somewhat as my own. Rocsui. Everything else, given or grafted or otherwise, is useless and frippery, especially now."

I clench my teeth, then slowly work my jaws apart, keeping my words smooth with due effort. "Then I extend my apologies once again, Jhe Rocsui, and wonder how it is that you might aid us in our endeavor."

She's distracted now. Oh, blighted and blooded, she's completely scattered, isn't she? Her eyes cast over the throne, her brow furrows, and then she leans down and runs a finger over one of the peacock's stray plumes. "Thelea," she murmurs.

Quite a few starts and jumps go through our merry little group. I am the originator of one of them, truth be told. She looks up at me with a wicked grin.

"Oh, yes. This was his first peacock. He named this one after his mother. The first animal he ever tamed." She practically coos that statement. "Given immortality for its prized status...or perhaps because his mother simply would be insulted if the dratted thing died." She snorts. "Thelea's name was just as much a curse in my Father's household as I hear it is in Crux Radia. It's a shame Father loved the bird so much more than his mother. Otherwise I think he might knight whoever had the blasted aim to kill the poor thing."

"We'll have no more of that talk about my men, in exchange for no more talk of your Xaillyndesse heritage."

She replies with a flutter of her fan and a flutter of her eyes. "Oh? Darling, so sweet of you. I simply must accept. Now," she closes her fan with a snap, tucks it away, and gestures for Jaxhelshon to attend her, all in one smooth motion. "What was it that you were trying to do before we were interrupted?"

"We are about to begin looking for accurate portraiture of the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale." I clear my throat. She certainly...abrades. At least her Father attempts not to snap at his enemies when tact demands it. "Would you like to be of aid, Jhe Rocsui?"

She's absolutely radiant with her smile in reply. I notice, then, that a couple of my men are falling for her besides Jhe Jaxhelshon, and that's certainly all I need, isn't it? "Of course I would. If you're looking for portraiture, well..." she chuckles, leading us away from the throne's dais and off into an adjoining parlor. "...you couldn't have picked a more convenient King for it. He simply loves his face, doesn't he? A shame he hates the Poets so much, but he's found artists enough to satisfy his ego from time to time."

* * *

I've never seen such a broad celebration of a single person's face, let alone busts and full-body studies. There are even sculptures and statues. The gallery Ebrellin-i's daughter has led us into represents such a broad range of medium and style that it could be a museum in itself. I wonder what the Poet King would think of that...and then am reminded of just how much these two sibling Kings detest each other.

Still, there are some of Jhe 'hLogos in here as well. Younger studies, most of them. Both of the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's daughters are represented, though I notice that there are no images of Jhe Rocsui before the age of what appears to be twelve. There are no portraits of any other Xaillyndesse.

One of my Armed gazes up at a life-sized statue of Ebrellin-i in full imperial robes, carved out of marble so finely that it glows transparent through the more thin, delicate sections. "I'm pretty sure this room'll have enough for me to work with." He snorts. "There's even sketches of the gestures he makes."

I nod, propping my glasses up on the bridge of my nose. "Are you sure it will be adequate reference for you, Jhe Duhaine?"

Iaen grins back at me, his face already growing a nose too large and refined to be anything but Xaillyndesse (but only because the Akribastes line tends to produce a much girthier nose). "I've worked with lots less. This'll be a piece of cake. Hey, we found the kitchens yet? We're gonna occupy a Palace, we ought to set up base in its kitchen. Only goes to follow, right?" He's managing his hair now, trying to grow it out slowly so that it doesn't tangle up on the way down.

He's full of jokes today, isn't he? "We will see about provisions, but I caution you not to walk about as if we own this place." I cough. "Well, I would, if you were any other soldier with any other role... Now that I think about it, perhaps you should ask Jhe Rocsui for advice on that."

"Yeah, she's certainly a shadow of her Da', isn't she? Fine piece of work. And certainly not hesitant to contribute her suggestions to the conversation. I think I'll go do just that, before Jax thinks he can hog all the pie-ack."

I keep my grip on Jhe Duhaine's collar very firm. "Let's not repeat any of the mistakes the rookies make, yes?"

He coughs. "Sorry?"

"At least he can claim to be of a station to make the tryst permissible. She's a princess, Jhe Duhaine. Try not to cause a diplomatic incident. I hear-tell it is your duty to contain those."

He rubs his throat after I let go his collar. "Well, now," he grumbles, "can't see how anyone could take time to have fun, too many duties flying about these days." He's off to go consult with Jhe Rocsui, under the forbidding gaze of a hundred Ebrellin-i portraits.

Hell, I'd almost wish him good luck in his endeavors, just to watch one of those portraits flinch.

* * *

* * *
Iaen
* * *

Well, I guess I can talk a little about myself. Not like it can do you any good in IDing me - if ever I want to sneak up behind you, you won't sense me coming, and you'll never recognize me.

Think about that, and smile!

I'm still managing my hair as I approach the fair Princess. There's quite a bit to manage. Already I'm trying to wrap my (now more aristocratically-shaped) head around how to style this terrifying mass. Already my neck is feeling the strain. How I suffer for my duty!

Hey, she's cuter up close.

She looks up at me, eyes narrowing. "I see." Her eyes cast about the room. "That's what all of you wanted to come here for. Well." She heaves a pained sigh. I'd say it was her feelings, but it feels more like she's too good for me and I'm not worth her time. Ahh, royalty. "How long do you plan to pose as him?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential." I give a shrug. Hey. S'how it goes in this business. Like any of us can guess how long this stint has to last.

"At least you lot are making an effort to keep the citizenry at ease." Her shoulders slump. I can see the strain of the situation making its mark in her face, and I also see how she tries to school her expression to hide that. Very important, knowing her looks and mannerisms. Possibly more important than knowing her Father's, if things go badly here. "...You're really going to pose as him?" Her voice lilts up with this question. Her curiosity's piqued, and she walks around me in a slow circle, studying the changes. "It's impressive what you're doing with the clothes." She shakes his head. "No, no, that's still all wrong. His sash is knotted in this manner. It's a mark of rank in Lyiannethe." She reties one of the intricate knots that are weaving their way about my person. She brushes up against me as she does so, and I feel the sweet softness to the curves on her. I think I'm in love.

She gives me a rude look, eyes narrow. "If you are trying to imitate my Father, that would not be the expression he would wear around me." Oh. Whoops. Been awhile since I've been around the public. I grin and brush off the awkward moment.

"Well then, your highness, if you would be so kind as to give me a few acting tips?" I step back to get a look at her, noting a few sketches and studies of the King that show more of his movements and facial quirks than bland portraits typically do.

The Princess draws herself up, shoulders held straight, back impeccable. "He never slouches. Never. If he ever makes an error...well, darling, you must understand. The Peacock King never mis-steps. You must have made an error in your observations, or perhaps your vision is lacking?" As she talks in a tone more disdainful and royal than her own natural one, she also turns, extending her arms, posing as I'm certain her Father must.

I follow the poses and imitate them, adjusting my posture, reminding my body of how it's supposed to behave under this mask. As I do so, I school my face into a better resemblance to the King. I've plenty of material to study from. I take special care to remember Rocsui's resemblance to him, and study her face just for its curves and shadows, for how the muscles stretch and play over her cheekbones. "Ah. I see." I look over my shoulder at her. "What does he call you, in public?"

Her eyebrows lift as she pauses. There's just that hint of sweat on her brow, that hesitation in her breath. The rise in her chest. Is that what she looks like when she doesn't want to talk about something, but must pretend that isn't the case? "Daughter. Rocsui-ehellenae, in formality. If there is an occasion upon which you must use my Xaillyndesse title..." she glances to the side nervously. "Well, it shouldn't arise. Don't worry about it."

I square my shoulders a little more, deepening my voice. He has the neck for it. Let's see if I can get the proper pitch? "Allow me, if I may, to present my prized daughter, Jhe Rocsui-ehellenae, the jewel of my Court."

She jumps. "How did you know how to do that?"

I grin, letting a little remnant of my own face slip through at the corner of my mouth. "Study, precision, and impeccable training." I extend my hand with all the due grace I can bestow upon such long fingers and fine bones. "Please, if you would."

Her fingers hover above my palm for two seconds before she yanks her hand back. There's a timid pinch to the way she holds her shoulders now. "I would prefer not, were it all the same, milord."

I cock my head, the movement birdlike. "Why ever do you say that?"

"Can you stop? It's...really creepy. Look, you're his image, alright? You sound just like him, however you managed that. You've got his manner down pat. So...you don't need to practice anymore." She turns away from me. I get a chance to study the curve of her ass under that little plumed tail of hers. Rowrrr.

"That's no way for a daughter of mine to address her sire." My voice is cold enough that the air almost fogs. She stops, looks back at me with horror, those eyes full of dread as she studies my face, my body. Her Father's face and body. It takes her a long time to allay her fears, and even then, it looks like she'll have trouble sleeping tonight. Daddy wasn't the nicest paternal figure, I take it?

Finally her mouth curls down into an ugly scowl. "Don't you dare ever speak to me again with that tone or I will have you removed from this existence through whatever means I may find necessary." The scolding is a bit more of a novelty than anything else - her tone lacks emotion, and it sounds more like she's reading from a book than speaking in anger. I wonder why that is?

I beam. "I'm so honored you found me convincing, Jhe Rocsui. Shall we get in a little more practice later tonight?"

She slaps me across the face. Little bitch. I hate correcting imaginary makeup.

Hmm. I wonder if she does that in bed.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. Things were so much simpler when I could just shoot the incompetents in the foot so that the battlefield could be relatively clear of stupidity. I can't do that anymore. Well, at least not here. Possibly in a place where the Judge wouldn't get immediate wind of it.

...In any case, there are a lot of idiots about, but unfortunately they happen to be at least halfway useful, and double-unfortunately one of those idiots is Iaen.

Triple-unfortunately, I'll need another idiot to counter Iaen's twice-damned idiocy.

"Jhe Jaxhelshon. Collect your quarry." He looks at me with eyes that are slightly dumber than a cow's. "...The Princess. Ye've seen fit to have her companionship. Now keep it if you value her, and all of our, protection."

His shoulders slump. "But Camden, I don't think she likes me." He has a piteous face, better for panhandling than for reporting to a higher officer with. How did he end up here, again?

I'm admittedly lost for words.

He looks off to the side, sheepish. "I mean, she keeps ignoring what I say, and she doesn't pay much attention to me..." He stops when I lay a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at me, unsure of just what I might be about to impart to him.

I lean down, so that only he (and whoever of our shadows are lingering about and listening in to what's not their business) can hear me, and intone: "Whatever you care for her, boy, you make that enough and don't let yourself give one shit as to whether she cares for you. I can tell ye right now that she don't, and I can also tell ye that if ye feck this up, I will flay every inch of skin off yer ass and send it back home to yer Da'. You can tell that to your sensitivity when you start mincing over every tiny thing instead of doing what fucking duty you can do for Jhe 'hAkribastes and your fellow Armed."

He swallows. I think his colon plunked right down into his bootheels, but he doesn't talk back or glare at me or even cry. He just clenches his fists, and most surprising of all, he thanks me in a low tone.

Then he turns around and does his duty.

* * *
Jax
* * *

Okay. I can totally do this. It involves keeping my ass, and whether Rocsui breaks my heart...

...Well, I'm a man, I can take it!

I don't know what I'm even so worried about. Everything's fine. It's just all a bit much for her and she's really being thrown off by it. She likes me. She said so, or I mean, said as much in her bedroom. In...scream-language.

Probably not the best time to think about that, though.

I catch her outside the door, where there's generally much less of a crowd, which helps. "Rocsui? Hey, are you okay? Maybe we should go somewhere-"

"I'm fine and I don't need any of you. I wish you would get out of my Palace."

Okay. Choke it down, Jaxhelshon. You can take this. It's just a fierce kick to your heart and soul's vital organs. Also, possibly the testicles. "Alright, but I'm worried for you. I want to help you, Rocsui. You asked me to be your Poet."

She stands still, posture straight, chest barely moving as she breathes. Almost a statue to match the one of her Father. She seems to be collecting her thoughts. After a few moments of this and a nod to herself, as if coming to a conclusion, she speaks. "I did. I could use some time alone. Forgive me but I am entirely unused to being surrounded by so many persons with whom I am unacquainted. My Father deemed it inappropriate. So, while you may have use of me, and I may have need of you lot in the near future, I am afraid I must retire." She waits for recognition to hit my eyes, then curtsies in a sweeping, fancy motion. "A good evening to you." She walks away.

I follow her, something which does not slip past her notice.

"What do you want?" By her tone of voice, she could be asking for the time of day.

"Please don't go off alone. It's unsafe for you here."

She closes her eyes, attempting to hide a wince. "...Yes. Then you could do your duties and post a guard on my suite, as I am already well-accustomed to." Summoning a few Armed for the task isn't difficult at all. For some reason, Rocsui seems to get their attention quite easily.

She catches my arm. I look down at her.

"Stay with me." She begins to walk again. I keep pace, not shaking away from her grasp. This close, she's so warm, but I can barely pick up a hint of her scent. It's as if even that has withdrawn, shielding from the world around her.

"Alright." This is strange. It's more like duty than...you know, romance.

She asks me to accompany her into her chambers when we arrive. What we do in there...well, I can't quite call that duty, but it's what she treats it like. Maybe my heart won't take this so badly. Watching her eyes...

They're so cold and empty, like the windows of an abandoned house. If there's any emotion in them, it's the far-off wish for escape, and I'm pretty sure I'm one of the things she'd be escaping. Which confuses me, because she's the one who keeps pulling me into her bedroom. But I just can't figure out girls.

I'm pretty sure I get Camden more than I get girls.

* * *
Camden
* * *

Iaen is, of course, a willing candidate when it comes to playing dress-up and acting like the fountain of egotism that we've evicted from this Palace. This task was made for the boy. In fact, it'll probably turn out to be his favorite role, and we'll never hear the end of it.

But if we're going to have a pretender convince the populace here that all is well and Radia is not, in fact, taking over their dear Kingdom, Iaen will need an entourage.

This is where the situation gets a wee bit difficult. I do not have any volunteers.

It takes some searching and some very pointed orders, but eventually I round up a group of five individuals to make up a bit of a Court for Iaen. Thankfully, the Jhe o'Sul did not bother very much with individuality in his courtiers. Jhe 'Lotus' was perhaps singular in that...but then, considering the King planned for Lotus to take his fall for him, picking someone that stuck out and seemed very foreign was a tactic that aligned with his own interests. There are plenty of spare servant robes about, and heavy makeup is rather in the vogue in this Kingdom, given its principle monarch's habit of caking it on himself in massive volumes.

There we are, then. We might have a shot in Hell of this working, if Iaen does his job right and no one slips. With the Princess's aid, success seems almost likely.

I wish I could see it through. I won't be overseeing that duty, however. I have something else to see to.

I am not looking forward to it.

* * *

"Jhe Cade. It is a long-awaited pleasure, seeing you here in our custody." I may have lied about not looking forward to this, considering my grin. Perhaps 'pleasure' isn't the best word for my expression, however. There's much more malice bred into my expression than any other one thing.

The lout stares up at me from the binds and chains and ties and small magic fetishes and seals and whatever else could be mustered up to hold him in one place. Underneath all that are the manacles and collar that Geillg'a and I forged to hold him. All of that together keeps him in one spot, here, causing no harm to us. Finally, after years of pursuit and near-misses. He's a slippery one. It's difficult enough to describe his face - the lack of a proper nose is at least some aid. Amusing that the lack of a feature defines him more than the features that are still present on his face.

But that's what he's managed, somehow, through his allegiance with Nul. We're not sure how he managed to not get destroyed through it, but somehow he and the Jherent Nul have contrived for Cade Fayegeaux an identity that doesn't identify, a face and mannerisms and voice and name that all manage to slip from memory or even description.

It's been troublesome to deal with. That's a simple way of putting it.

He spits at me in response. It doesn't land, of course. His aim is utter shit. But he still grins that he even managed to do it at all. It's like a toddler taking pride in pissing in the toilet while entirely missing the bowl. "Having a lovely day in Audiva Rocale, are we, Peacekeeper Briarseal?" Calm words, but he can't keep the fear out of his face - what face there is on him.

"Just lovely. A shame you can't be outside to experience the beautiful weather. It's been a fine day for cloud-watching."

"Ah. You'd know, I'm sure - it's all you've done since you came to this dratted empire." He sneers. "Amazing you managed to get him off his throne at all. Or is he merely off on holiday?"

I smile. "Holiday, is it? That sounds splendid. Would you like to accompany him, then? Radia's weather is fine as well - and I find the mountains more scenic."

He clams up.

"You have a few choices, Cade, which is astoundingly more than the Jherent Nul gives you in your life, I am sure. You can divulge the information you know, and that just might be taken into account when you're Tried in Radia. You can stay silent, and see what that gets you when you are, as I said, Tried in Radia." I step forward, boot clomping against the tile floor. "Or you can give me shit. Then you'll go on Trial in Radia. If you're lucky."

He chuckles, not showing a bit of fear. "And just what would be worse than looking at the Judge's ugly face and breathing steel through three nostrils?"

I grin. I draw Geillg'a. "Facing me."

* * *
Cade
* * *

I spit three teeth out onto the floor, and they trail the loveliest little arcs of blood behind them. Like fractals, or sigils, or--

A black boot prods my cheek like a chaperon walking in on a fresh date. "None of that, now."

Oh, Camden, honey. You're such a party crasher. I could have had fun with that.

Scrawling my own escape out with my own blood and spit, using my teeth as the quill-nib? That's much more fun than cribbing Elric's little notes home. "What do 'oo wan', nao?" Yes, that's the voice I talk to the ladies with. Or the gents.

"I see you've regained your Dirybvik accent, then." He's so catty. Aww, did I upset poor wittle Camden by picking on his brother? Maybe he wants another letter. I could oblige, given a few spare hours to spew out an average correspondence from the little Poet. But it seems my hands are tied, here. "Ye've still tongue enough to tell what ye know, though. And ye'll tell, before we turn you over to Radia." He prods me with his boot again. Shame he's such a tease. He's already worked me over with a whip and everything.

"Why woul' I do tha', hen?" I'm known most for my eloquence, of course. After my fabulous dancing skills.

"I'll see that Nul receives your diary."

There's this thing I do, when I get really panicked. I freeze up somewhere in my mind, right in the back of it. And behind that, it's like there's this rabbit in a cage, thumping against the mesh, because it's damn sure it's going to be soup tonight. A whole warren of rabbits, in fact, all worked up in a frenzy, and it's enough to make me a little dizzy. I don't register it physically, of course, which is why you'd never know unless I told you. But there you are. I twitch my eyebrows.

I'm still mulling that one over. I can't let Nul see that thing. Truth be told, I don't even know what's in it. I don't read back on the early stuff. I just write it all as it happens, as you do, and by now it's...well, I suppose it has everything in it. I know Nul wouldn't approve of it. I couldn't give you an exact reason for that, but the way I know is because I feel the need to hide it.

I know it because the rabbits go thump in my head when the Peacekeeper levels his threat.

Well. That does put me in a bit of a pinch, doesn't it? Well, there's not much deliberation.

"I shuppose we coul' haf a tawk."

It's my ass or Nul's. I consider mine the better ass. You would too.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I'll have to admit that I wasn't quite sure that would work. In fact, I wasn't expecting it to. I was entirely bluffing. I keep the appearances up, of course, but now I'm wondering just why he didn't even think twice about giving in.

I'll have to watch him. He's up to something, I'm sure of it. I also keep an eye on his vitals, because he could just try to die on the spot, especially if that's what his master wants.

The master he's possibly outright disobeying right now.

He looks up at me, a noseless man with a sly broken grin on his face. "Y'dunno why ah wanna 'ell ya, do'ya? Foine enough." I suppose that filthy Dirybvik accent of his just comes forward once he's been beaten hard enough. Or maybe it's just his mouth that's messed up. With that accent, who can tell? "Ye dun need tah know."

"Dooley? I wonder if we could get someone in here, make him slightly more comprehensible."

"...Aye, that'd be a struggle, but I'm sure someone's up to a challenge." He's off to find a healer, or possibly a cobbler. Either will do. ...Given, it takes a bit of time to find anyone that's willing to go anywhere near Cade's mouth, but he manages.

Cade peers up at us, his eyebrows slightly misaligned due to some facial reappropriation that Geillg'a engineered, but otherwise not much the worse for wear. He's still down a nose, but at least it looks less like bacon. Also, I think it likely that his mouth will work the way it's meant to now.

"Aye, so you were saying, then?"

He narrows his eyes, but a grin peeks up into his cheeks. "If you don't send on my diary, I suppose we can do business. What are the terms of my release?"

I smirk, crossing my arms. "There are none."

He looks blank for a few moments. He might be thinking that over. "...Then just what am I bartering for, Peacekeeper Briarseal?"

I smile brightly. "The Judge's good favor, and the likelihood of the diary staying safe in his possession." His face darkens as he considers those terms, and then he shakes his head, half-grinning again.

"Still good enough to squeal about. What do you want to know?" Is that a tinge of nervousness I hear?

I wonder why he seems so pressed about it. Logically, the Nul can't do anything to Cade once he's in custody, so the diary shouldn't be much leverage at all. It's too strange for me not to want to puzzle it out, but...well, I have other important questions, and I can tell if he lies. Both are good enough for me to press on with this. "You've trafficked kidnapped Poets and Armed. What are their whereabouts?"

"Unmappable." The reply is flat. It sounds memorized. His eyes are dull as he says it. Then they flick up, and his stare looks like more of something that's coming from a living man. "Nul, of course. Although, a specific area of Nul. I'll not tell you more until I'm in custody." His look is wary now, and he hunches his shoulders in paranoia. Can't say I blame him.

"I suppose that's possible. I'll file the paperwork." He curses. "Ah, no worries, Jhe Fayegeaux. I'll be seeing to your hospitality personally." He curses again. I grin. "More questions, then? Or will you not be able to answer them at all? A shame. What's the point of keeping this journal to ourselves, then?"

He curses once more, spitting as he does so. "You fool, I can't just blaspheme him, trick him, backstab him with no protections put up! Make good on what you promised if you want to bargain. Asking me to spill in an unsecure place such as this is the same as sending him the bloody diary."

I cock my head. "Oh? And just why is it that you don't want it sent on, Jhe Fayegeaux?"

He narrows his eyes. "Because I don't. Now are we through?" He holds his breath. Geillg'a's blade is hovering just under his chin.

"I need a direction to search for Elric Briarseal in, regardless of your peril." His eyes stay narrowed, and I can feel the tingle of the attempt at a curse. It misses, but of course we all expected that. He's too bound for that foolishness to work.

"Look towards Lyiannethe, a fat lot of good getting anywhere near the King's family will do you. It's difficult enough for me. You'll never get a bloody Armed in."

I tap him under the chin with my blade. "That, Jhe Fayegeaux, is my problem. Now ready yourself for a trip. Pack your bags, and such. You'll see Radia's blue skies tomorrow. Call it a homecoming."

He snorts.

"The Judge has missed seeing your charmed face, after all."

* * *

Cade is secure for the coming night. Well, I imagine he's feeling very insecure for the night, but that's his fault, not ours. In any case, while I may be satisfied with progress in that area of operations, the entire Palace is a different matter. Iaen is progressing very nicely with assembling his entourage, and there's no particularly ill news from the shadows that are cleaning out the labs and other cells.

I'd be a fool to think everything is going smoothly, but thus far...well, it may be.

Maybe we can handle this.

* * *

RADIA

* * *
Lyric
* * *

It's not my fault.

I keep trying to think that as Father leads me through Radia's Palace. I don't want to even think of what I'm doing in here. I'm still in the servant robes I was wearing in Audiva Rocale. I'm lucky no one's around to see me, and it doesn't even cross my mind that there might be a reason for that. I don't want to think of much at all, because I'm afraid of Father picking up on those thoughts.

He makes one of those deep sighs, and the sound brings back memories. My mind queues up the long history of disappointments he's had with me while I grew up here. Then, without any warning, he stops in his tracks, boots planted firmly on the marble and malachite tile. I look up at him.

Ever since he laid eyes on me for the first time since I ran away, his expression has been so strange when he sees me. I never remembered him looking that hard at me back before I left home. That weird sort of stern yet almost apologetic searching.

"It's because I'm trying not to upset you by looking too deep."

I blink.

"You never worried before about how many of your thoughts I could hear, how much of you I could see beneath the facial expression." He frowns, a tiny line forming between his brows. "...That's a lie, isn't it?" It's so strange to hear him say that.

"...I did, but it was when you weren't around me to hear." He looks a little hurt at that. He's probably more hurt than he looks, knowing my Father. "I...maybe we should talk."

He looks away, to the path ahead. "We have to talk to your Uncle first." He hears me gulp. "...Not for a scolding. He wanted to see you as soon as you arrived. He missed you." Why's he look so uncomfortable? What's wrong? "Lyric...a...you should start finding your old friends and family, once you're fit for it."

"...I should?" Just being here is making my head spin. Fit for it?

"You were missed." I swear he almost chokes on the words. "Come on." No, it's just that he sounds gruff, that's what it is. Maybe he's angry. I follow him as he continues to walk. The Palace is big, but I don't recognize this arm of it. It's...it looks like a private wing. Maybe that explains why I can be walked about in this clothing.

"...Lyric? Are you alright?" He looks down at me again. I realize I'm lagging behind. I'm also breathing a little heavily.

"I...feel a little funny." That's probably the worst way I could describe it, I know. The look on his face says the same. "Kind of tired and dizzy. I'll be better when I can sit down. And change clothes."

He frowns. "Should Gerald come with us? Would that make you feel better? We can go back to his quarters and get him. He's stayed awake under more fatigue than that before." It's weird hearing him break into a officer's tone in that last sentence, instead of a father's. I'm still not used to it, but then, I never was.

I bite my lip. "...He doesn't have to. He should rest. I can do this." Father makes this weird little frown, like he did before, and I realize with utter horror that he's trying not to cry, and he's failing.

Oh, shit. And to think I just thought that he was mad at me. I start walking again, trying not to show that I saw that. It would just make things even more awkward right now. I'm pretty sure he didn't want me to ever notice that, anyway. So I'll pretend.

"...So, how has Unkie been?" My tone is unusually chipper and light.

He laughs. It's the most awkward chuckle in the world, with an extra weight to the 'hurr' in the middle. "He just got five new shipments of coffee in. He's fine." And with that, we've reached the door to Uncle Lui's suite, which I guess is pretty impressive. Well, it's got to be pretty grand, he's the King of Radia and whatnot.

It's just...well, easy to forget, but I kind of remember while staring up at the big wooden door, which, all things told, could be bigger. This is a private entrance, so there's not so much showyness needed. I think I'm used to that from the Peacock King. Still, the Royal Cruxradia Seal embossed into the door in bronze makes me start to wonder. Am I here to see Uncle Lui, or am I here to see the Jhe o'Radia?

Well, he did miss me.

Father knocks lightly on the door.

"Come in!" Uncle Lui's voice is as light and cheerful as I remember it almost always being. That's good. It means he's already had his morning coffee, which a relief in itself. Father opens the door and looks down at me, waiting for me to go ahead.

"Aww, don't be nervous. I missed you. Get in here!"

I jump a little, but Father pushes me a little between the shoulders, and that gets me to finally move. I walk in, still...on guard. It's Unkie's study, just like usual, where I've been tons of times. Well, usually not this area, this looks a little more private. I can feel the wards. They're powerful, but not like Ebrellin-i's were. Those stifled and choked, or chained. These more...just muffle sound. Privacy wards. And I'm sure there's security wards as well, but they're elegant or quiet enough that I can't really pinpoint them, and I give up on it.

This place is sort of like a den in a big hunting cabin, touched with the refinement and, well...expensiveness that only comes with high levels of royalty. Uncle Lui doesn't bother with a lot of pomp and showoff, but he allows himself what he's due...or, at least, that's how he usually says it. Dark wood paneling edged with ornate plaster molding, thick carpets and cushy armchairs and couches, and--

"--I got him, 'Sy." I blink in confusion. I'm staring up at the ceiling. Unkie's smiling down at me like absolutely nothing's wrong, and I can feel Father hovering all concerned in the background. "Wards got him pretty good! I can't wait to see what's attached to him that triggered that--" He stops himself, looks over his shoulder at my Father, and sighs. "Relax. He'll be all right. I figured something like this would have happened. Here, Lyric, we're gonna put you on the couch, okay?"

"...Okay." I don't understand. Why am I so dizzy?

"Because Audiva Rocale doesn't let things go without a fight, even if one of those things doesn't belong to it. Such a shame my wards are specifically tooled to fight that sort of thing." His voice has that cheerful tone laid over great annoyance, which doesn't really distress me because it's kind of a default for Unkie. He smooths my bangs back from my forehead and looks at the center of it. "Here, 'Sy. It's a pretty easy mark. More of a signature move of Ebrelle's." He looks into my eyes and smiles. "Confusing, isn't it? Don't worry, it'll all be explained once it's fixed. Just don't worry, and try to keep your eyes open. It's easier for us to see it that way."

I frown. I try to do as he says, but of course I immediately want to blink. "See what?"

"Something that has no business being there." Father puts his hand against my forehead, his palm centered over the spot Uncle Lui was inspecting. I feel something very warm under there. Under my skin, I mean. Maybe under my skull too. It...squirms?

Unkie's hand squeezes mine. "Don't worry. Just let your Dad do his work."

"When did you sign a contract with Ebrellin-i, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, Lyric?" Father's voice is very clear. It sounds official, but somehow it doesn't make me panic.

"When he hired me as a trainer. It was right after I entered his Palace and proved my worth. It was just about being paid and what sort of work I would do."

Father shakes his head. Uncle Lui sighs. "It would have been enough for him to build on, given enough leverage," Unkie says, then traces a finger over my cheek, examining something I can't see. "Did you read it very well? No, you didn't. It would have set in after awhile, especially once you started performing outside of your Trainer duties, hmm? That's not typically the type of role a Consort plays, after all. This probably really hit you when he put the makeup on you for that role."

Whatever's under Father's palm pulses. I squirm a little. That really hurt. "I...there was more after that...he collared me..." It hurts to talk.

"There's more at work here than you can talk about, Lyric. You're sealed. Shh," Uncle Lui braces against me, so that I don't squirm off of the couch. "This is going to hurt."

Father grunts. "Don't say things like that, Jheida, it always makes them fidget more." His brow furrows as he stares at my forehead. Looking at his eyes makes me shiver. They're blazing gold, the tone so bright that it's like some metal molted down and ready to pour into a mold. "That's it." Eyes that don't look into me, they pour into me, soaking into everything inside of me and examining it with incredible scrutiny. "Just like that." Like...like wax, really, golden wax, and when you pull it out things catch in it it that don't belong and then the vessel left behind is clean and just a little sticky--

My Father sighs heavily. "Slightly inelegant at the last part, but you're a beginner." He pulls his hand away, revealing...

I look in his palm, perplexed. "What is that?"

Father snorts. "Crusted and broken remnants of half-cast, badly controlled spells." He turns to Uncle Lui. "He's losing his touch."

Uncle Lui raises his eyebrow at the ashen mess in Father's palm. It's like gemstones had been burnt down into charcoal and then half ground up. His lip curls. "Tainted more than focused. Half that work I doubt he even did on purpose. It's like seeing the cast-off clay bits left over from pouring into a mold. Interesting, and useful for something, but hardly a finished product. Lyric, do you feel any better?"

"I really hate these clothes."

"That's because they're gauche, dear." He squints. "And also bugged a bit themselves, though that doesn't matter inside the wards. 'Sy, does he have a change?"

My Father shakes his head. "He'll need some clothes. Nothing will set him right like a good shopping trip, I'm sure." He sighs.

"You have a lot to attend to, and soon so shall I. Why don't you see to it while I talk to him?" For some reason, this makes my Father smile in a way that's a grimace. "...You have news for me after, don't you?"

Father laughs. "Of course. There's no end to it."

"Well, then, why don't you go do some work, and you can torment me about whatever my son's gotten up to when I'm through here." Uncle Lui's voice is heavy with long-tried patience.

Father only grins, a happier expression, but also a very sadistic one. It fades as he looks over to me. "Lyric? I'm going to leave you with your Uncle. You can tell him whatever you want." He pauses before the door.

Uncle Lui cocks his head at him at the same time that I do.

"...Just call if you need me." I'm not sure which of us he was talking to, but he makes sure to leave quickly after that, that pinched expression on his face making my stomach twist. Why oh why did I have to make him cry?

I look at Uncle Lui after the door closes. He smiles at me. It's almost as if I'd never run away.

"It certainly must feel that way to you." He grins. "I wonder what trouble you've been getting up to all these years? I'll expect an account of it sometime, you know."

I frown, siting up as I try to puzzle out why Uncle Lui keeps responding to things that I didn't say out loud.

He chuckles and ruffles my hair. I scowl and fix it back. I hate it getting mussed and he knows it. "It's because you're broadcasting your thoughts. Your Father tinkering with your head and yanking things out probably helped a bit, there, but you've been loud and clear ever since you entered the room." He stands up, hands clasped behind his back, and steps back a little, looking over me. "Stifling, wasn't it? Being in the Jhe o'Sul's Palace for so long. Especially with your personality. It made you get pent up, I'm sure. I know you were fighting against his bonds even during our little tea ceremony in the garden. After fighting back against the his control for so long, your mind would get stronger, and your mental voice...well, louder. You haven't had a chance to adjust it yet--" He laughs with a snort. "No, you don't even know how to yet. But I'm very impressed with you, Lyric." He takes another step back, then flops into a nearby armchair. "You managed to play his games as one of his pieces and still not get caught. Now..." he leans back, propping his chin on the back of one hand, "why don't you tell me just how you went about that?"

I look to the side, trying to avoid his gaze. "I, um...well, I was writing it, before. I wanted to finish doing that."

Unkie nods. "It's usually easier to break heavy news via writing, isn't it? It's a little scary to say certain things in person. Only...writing takes a long time, and while you're doing it, everyone's hovering over your shoulder waiting for the next damn chapter. In the meantime, you might want to just tell me the more pertinent details, and, more importantly...spill what it is you need to get off your chest. That's why your Father left you with me. He's done the same for me before. With Katherine, of course. And sometimes Jaxhelshon." He smirks. "Edward was too awed by him to even think of being afraid to talk, Justice fanboy that he is. And then there's you Akribastes kids. Always in trouble up to your necks and terrified your Father will hurl you into the Void as soon as you make the tiniest peep. I get to listen to all of that." He grins wide. "What luck! So, Lyric," he hunches forward, hands curled under his chin in a pose of rapt attention, "why don't you tell your Uncle a story?"

He watches as I still avoid meeting his eyes. "I...I don't want to upset you, Uncle."

He still smiles. It's not that overly chipper grin anymore, but it is strangely carefree just the same. "You won't be the one that's upsetting me, Lyric. Now, please. If there is anything I am used to in this world, it is hearing things that no one wants to tell me."

I bite my lip. Well then. How do I possibly start talking about this?

I spread my hands, palms out. "Okay. Picture this."

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I don't nap very well. Now, sleeping in, that's another story. But naps just aren't my thing.

Waking up is kind of a blurry experience. The first thing I do is draw my guns, because I don't recognize this room. Then I realize that my hat's over my face and I don't recognize this room because it's the inside of my hat. Wagner and Bruce laugh at me, which is really my usual way of waking up anyway. I reholster my guns and slide my hat off of my head.

Ah. My room in the Armed Hall, as it were. We sort of have dormitories here, or little studies, I guess you could call them. People with families are different of course. And there's room at Father's place if I ever wanted it. But I prefer this room. I missed it, too. Crowded, kind of like a small closet, but with all my old trophies, notes, drawings from Poet friends...just all the souvenirs of my life, I suppose. Alphabetically arranged by the adjective Edward would describe the mess with.

Yeah, I remember now. Dad was bringing the two of us home, and I actually fell over as we got to my dorm room. He dragged me into bed and told me to keep my scrawny trailbitten ass in it until I got some real sleep.

I just can't do that, though. It's not night yet, and...well, things are too crazy right now. If I'm not going to be in the thick of things anymore then I at least want to catch up with anyone I know who's actually here.

Hey, Katherine. Since the Judge is here, and she's his assistant, she'll definitely be here in the Hall. Probably right in her office, doing paperwork. Heh, I probably managed to generate most of that paperwork, what with how my mission went.

Big success! Who else could have taken down the Peacock King? Well, Father did it, but if it weren't for me...Lyric helped too. And I guess Camden was there for something, and Jenny, and Rachella...

But Katherine doesn't need to know that!

I stretch, stand, and put my hat back on. Oof. I really am pretty tired. It's been a busy day. But I can't just prop my boots up now! I have a girl to impress, after all. I leave my quarters and trot off towards Kathe's office. It's a bit of a walk since the Armed Hall's living quarters are placed as far away from the Judge's office as possible, for some strange inexplicable reason. Well, to be fair, it's mostly trainees in three quarters of that area, and the rest is singles housing. Maybe some people don't want to be right next to all of that, for whatever reason.

Anyway, back to Kathe. She and I have a long history, you see. We grew up with each other, and were like childhood sweethearts. We had a couple flings, too. I guess she got over me, eventually. We did our own thing. Still, I like to think she remembers me fondly. And who's to say what the future holds?

I grin as I open the door, leaning my head in. She's nose-deep in paperwork, as usual. She doesn't even bother to look up at me.

"Just stick it in the inbox and I'll queue it behind the rest of the stack," she sighs, then keeps reading over whatever missive is on her desk while she nibbles on the end of her quill. She's a petite little girl, all told, curvy in all the right places. Hunched over like this, she's even teenier. The pinned loop of her mahogany hair peeks over her head like a little crown. I enter, grinning, and stand in front of her desk, hands on my hips.

She skirts a quick glance at me with forest-green eyes, then peers back down at her paperwork through her rectangular reading glasses. I don't think she even saw me. "Eh, Gerude," she says, "aren't you on assignment right now? Better get your ass back in the field."

I scowl. "Kathe, I'm not--"

"Oh, sorry Gerald." She grins up at me. Damnit, that wasn't a flub at all. She was getting a rise out of me! ...Successfully, too, I might add. "Oh hey, you're back! I guess Gerude's mission was a success, huh?" She stands up, coming around the desk to slap me on the shoulder companionably. "Here, it's time for my tea break." She sees me perk at the mention of tea. "Been awhile, huh? Come on, you can have a cup too. We should catch up! How'd your first assignment as a Poet go?" Her eyes are twinkling. I wonder if she's already heard. Oh well, I'll tell it better than anyone else does.

"It was a complete success!" I follow her into the break room, waiting for her to prep the tea. Oh, how nice, the water's already kept hot on a stove. It looks like a kind soul already had the part that takes the longest wait all set to go. Probably Kathe's cute little assistant, Bronwyn. She's the same person that decorated the tea room with the dainty wallpaper and lilac curtains that, while adorable, make for an abrupt departure from the rest of the Armed Hall.

"Oh? Really." She uses that eyebrow raise she learned off of Dad with the rest of us, then turns to pick through for a teacup for each of us. She has her own, of course, but plucks mine from a tea set that's been charmingly painted with tiny daisies and poppies. "That much of a success from jail? Your Poet career sounds like it might end up with the same track record as your Armed one."

I snort. "Yeah, well, sometimes you have to get creative to get the job done. If I hadn't been put in jail, then I wouldn't have been in a position to put the Peacock King in jail!"

She freezes, that eyebrow remaining raised up on her forehead, teacup clenched in her hand. "You...what?"

I give her my all-star grin. "Because of what I did, the Judge had no choice but to haul him to Radia for a Trial! He couldn't have done it if it weren't for me! What do you think of THAT?"

I don't expect her fist to come slamming into my jaw, teacup still lodged in her hand. It makes a very interesting double-impact of porcelain and knuckles. I hear shards tinkle against the floor before I realize that hey, my jaw really hurts!

Then she dives on top of me like a wildcat, teeth and claws tearing at me like I'm a rat that's pinned down for the kill. I really don't know what to do with her. I try to fend her off but this is different than our childhood scuffles, or our more grown-up fights, or even those couple other times that she tried to kill me. (Like I said, we had a few flings, it happens.)

"YOU BASTARD! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" At least that's what she probably says. I don't even remember what language it was in. "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING, THROWING DADDY IN JAIL?!?"

I really can't answer her from this position, so I'm sort of just left to blink as it dawns over me in a sort of slow horror. The Peacock King has two daughters in the royal bloodline. I'd only found one of them while I was in the Palace. And I had never really given that much thought since then.

Guess the joke's on me, huh? Funny. Everything's kind of fading into red and black, and I can't hear Katherine's screaming very much over the rushing in my ears.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I'm...not crying.

Put that fucking quill down right now. I am not. Crying. Do we have that understood?

I leave my brother's suite and walk through the Palace, taking careful note as I do of the energy currents running through the complex. The Palace is one of the buildings whose wards currently play host to the confinement of the Peacock King, and so those energies are playing a very important role right now. Just as important are the background energies of the Palace - the gossip and rumor, the shifting moods. We are in almost the most politically delicate situation I could imagine at this moment - I want to feel the tide right now, and know when it might shift.

Yes, plenty of my mind is occupied by my job right now. A great deal of it is doting on Lyric, though, and it's starting to distract me. Right now is the last time I should be thinking about him. His Uncle is taking care of him right now, and I don't want my mind to wander that way. I might try to intrude and listen in on just what my son is telling him. The desire to hear it is extremely compelling.

I have something to distract myself with, though. Camden will have sent in a preliminary report by now, detailing what's transpired thus far on his side of Audiva Rocale. It'll be awaiting me on my desk, I am sure.

I could take the walk across the complex grounds and into the Armed Hall, but inside the Palace there are a few places I can take a shortcut to get there. Warping space can prove very convenient for those such as myself with access to the privilege. This means I can take a shortcut inside the Hall, reducing the amount of people who might run across me on the way.

I don't want to talk to anyone just yet. I don't want this news spreading too quickly. It might reach...sensitive ears.

Oh, who am I kidding. I'm trying to reach Katherine before anyone who knows a fraction of what's really going on with her father does. I have a fair chance of it, though - it hasn't seemed to have leaked, yet, and right now Katherine should be fairly sequestered in her office, with the...less sensitive paperwork. I saw fit to route the more auspicious missives to my own desk, away from her eyes for now.

Right now with Katherine I've actually got things pretty well handled. For once.

I open the door to her office, bracing myself for a long explanation and some very serious discussion. The scene I come in on is that of Katherine straddling Gerald's chest while gripping his head by a fistful of red hair and slamming his skull back against the floor. It's not something I am unaccustomed to walking in on, to be fair, but I didn't expect it this one time.

My poor son. He's had it worse before, but Katherine's a special sort of pain on so many levels. I haul her off, fending off a fierce blow aimed at my liver, then protecting my crotch from the obvious potshots. She's very quick and efficient at taking down opponents, especially ones that attack from behind. She even tries to get her teeth on my neck. Once she realizes who's lifting her up, though, she...well, keeps hitting me, but in a way that betrays she's pretty sure it won't make contact before I fend it off.

"Let me go! I need to kill him!"

Words I've heard enough times before, to be sure. I sigh. This time is different, though. Gerald may have gotten into a beatdown because of his fool mouth yet again, but what happened to cause this wasn't really his fault. Of course, that doesn't make dealing with Katherine while she's having a fit any easier.

"I am NOT having a fit! I just need to kill a man!" I sigh. Words I've heard often enough. I spare a glance over at Gerald. Boy's not getting up? Ah, unable to? Good. Then I don't have to worry about him being stupid enough to come up to me while I'm dealing with this infernal girl.

I slip Katherine around in my arms while walking towards the wall. This maneuver, by the way, is not something I ever suggest you attempt yourself, unless you want to get mangled by her or me. I manage to catch her gaze with mine before I grab her wrists and hold her up by them. She's dangling about a foot off of the floor, back to the wall. She's also partially entranced by my gaze, or should I say, she's being ordered to Stand Down. That's why I haven't taken both knees to the crotch just yet.

She pouts. "Jhe h'Akribastes, he was lying to me, except that he wasn't." I hear a groan as Gerald attempts to roll over, and then a retch as he discovers yet again how stupid his ideas are at times. I sigh again, and keep eye contact.

"Yes, honey. I've got some things to tell you in my office, if you would be so kind as to help peel your comrade off of the floor." I see that frown line develop between her eyebrows. The pout is my brother's. But that little frown line is all Ebrelle.

"Are you going to tell me that I can't kill him?" It's cute, the way she's somehow convinced that I would let her. ...Well, to be fair, I am his Father and with that does come certain responsibilities and traditions.

"Not for this." I almost want to avert my eyes. "Katherine, what he did, he did within the Law, and he had help." I brace her as the reality hits her. I also hold her back in that last urge to attack Gerald. It's a lurch made from anger and pain, and it's not even something all her heart's behind. She doesn't want her Father to be a villain. I understand that. I give her an arm to lean on after she stops fighting it, and when I get her word that she's not going to kill Gerald today (any longer a duration than that she wouldn't agree to, something I completely understand), she kneels with me beside my son.

"Oh my stars and buttons, what happened to Jhe Gerald?!" I hear a high-pitched voice exclaim as somebody walks in to view the carnage. If I didn't recognize the voice (which is unmistakable), I would have known the entrant just by that nonsensical curse.

Katherine sighs, looking up from Gerald's bleeding, beaten body. "Benny? Maybe you should go and get some bandages and something to clean up Gerald with. He pissed me off." She rolls her eyes, as if that explains everything.

"Oh!" Jhe Averseen claps a hand over her mouth, lips shaped just like the exclamation. "Oh dear, the poor boo! I'll be right there!" She dashes off, a honey-brown blur of long hair and layered skirts. Apparently it was enough of an explanation. Then again, Jhe Averseen spends quite a bit of time with my Katherine. She's probably used to this kind of scene in the office, especially when someone just out of training starts making reports on every little goddamn thing.

(...Not that I had anything to do with making a rule that they had to do exactly that. What, do you think I enjoy frustrating her? How dare you imply any such thing!)

I look up at Katherine. She looks away from me as I catch her staring at me. "In the office. We'll talk there." I give a heaving sigh. "Really, did you have to make so much of a mess while you were busy killing him? It's going to take Hell to get the stains out of the carpet again."

Gerald replies with some odd sort of mumble. As he opens a puffy eyelid, his gaze manages to catch Katherine. My son goes sheet-white. Then he looks up at me with entreaty.

"You've got her 24 hour promise of no killings. Just don't ruin it like last time." I snort in exasperation. "We should be patching you together soon." And to prove my point, the sound of running footsteps rushes up behind me and comes to a halt, along with heavy breathing and the general feeling of...overwhelming exuberance.

* * *
Bronwyn
* * *

Oh my goodness Jhe Gerald looks even worse now that I have a chance to stare! Staring is rude, though. I feel kind of awkward, too. Is something going on between these three? I just sort of stand there with the first aid kit and the cleanup supplies I could find and what...what happened to the rest of Jhe Gerald's shoe?!

"Accidentally cut half of it off instead of his foot." Jhe Katherine sighs, and then she and Jhe Gerald share a look.

...Wait, was I narrating myself out loud again?

"Yes," say all three, and then the Jhe h'Akribastes holds out his hand.

"Something to mop up all the blood, if you please, Jhe Averseen." I nod a little numbly and pass on the towels. Jhe Katherine collects the medical supplies from me. I...edge back a little.

"Sorry, Benny. Just keep in mind that it looks worse than it really is. Most of this is superficial." Katherine starts unlooping a coil of bandage material.

Gerald snorts. "Bullshit it is, Kathe." She just rolls her eyes at his disgruntled tone.

I'd say they seemed tense, but they just get like this sometimes. And then on other days they're totally sweet with each other. I'd say it was a sibling thing but I haven't really ever seen siblings act like those two, and plus they're not even brother and sister. In fact, trying to chart out Gerald and Katherine's relation to each other gives me sort of a headache, and I don't want to think about the two going out with each other...

...Oh, except I suppose I just did.

The two of them get Jhe Gerald inside the office after cleaning him up and making sure he doesn't...bleed any more all over the carpet. Ew. Before the doors close, the Jhe h'Akribastes looks back at me. I make a nervous little bow. He does kind of set me on edge a little. Not that he's a bad person! Just a little scary but I'm sure he doesn't mean that. Some people just have things about themselves they can't really help, and--he holds a hand up. Oh. I was talking out loud again.

"Jhe Averseen, I think it would be best if you were in here for this as well." I blink in confusion. Jhe Katherine's face is...almost confused, but more like...angry?

"Y...Yes sir."

"I'll send someone to take care of the carpet, so don't fret about that. But could you bring in some tea, please? Don't bother knocking." With that, he withdraws into his office, the door left open.

I turn on my heel to go make the tea. Of course, that just makes me wonder more. The area's an utter mess, with broken porcelain on the floor and...more blood in here!

...Weren't there some shards embedded in Jhe Gerald's cheek? Oh thank goodness those weren't teeth! Come to think of it, I was starting to wonder whose teeth would have daisies painted on them.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

One of my eyelids has a cut on it that's going to be a bitch to heal. The other's getting nice and swollen. I can barely see out of that eye. I'm missing some teeth, but good luck finding them in the porcelain shards, which I am still picking out of my cheek, by the way. There's some stuck in my hair. Speaking of hair, I've got a bleeding scalp, plus a bleeding shoulder, bleeding-- you know what? There's just plain a lot of blood. I can imagine why Bronwyn would get squeamish around me right now. I look like Hell ran me over in a stagecoach caravan. I have bruises on my bruises, which is saying a lot considering bruises haven't had a chance to appear yet. I can feel 'em coming on, though. That's what I really need for my homecoming, isn't it? To turn. Freaking. Purple.

It would figure that's what I'd get from meeting up with Katherine, though. I just can't ever predict her or what her moods will turn to or whether she'll have a long-lost daddy that I helped arrest. Isn't life a bitch? She sure can be, but damn. Back in the good old days...

...It was a real sweet relationship, alright? The five or seven or whatever times we restarted it. Things never seemed to fall into place, though. Something always messed up at the wrong time, like I'd get arrested right before a date, or she'd be on the run from killing some corrupt foreign official, or...well...

...Or she'd go and have a kid with Dad. You know. That sort of thing. You'd think I'd be able to work past that, or that she'd move on. You might think I'd be kind of strange for thinking that, but he's had plenty of kids, and I don't see their mothers hangin' around here. They move on, you know? Mine did too. So why can't I get a piece of the action now? That's all I'm saying. Jenny's old enough to be out training on the trail with Camden, saving my ass and Lyric's.

Geez. She is giving me the fiercest glare right now, from one of the chairs in front of Father's desk. She meets my eyes, scowls at me, then scoots her chair farther to the side, legs and arms crossed. She's almost her own ball of rage. Well, no, go ahead and scratch that almost part.

Dad comes in with another chair, slides it between us without a word, and then walks around behind his desk. He passes Katherine on the way, giving her a very gentle pat on the shoulder. She looks up at him with an expression that's slightly less murderous. There's something about his posture, then, that makes me take note of him not as my Father, but as the Jhe h'Akribastes.

He sits. His eyes immediately go to the paperwork stacked neatly on his desk. Katherine lifts an eyebrow. Father replies with a sigh, picking up the sheet on top of the stack.

"I was trying to contain the incident until I could tell you properly myself. My apologies that this was not the case." His eyes run back and forth over the sheet a few times, and then he looks up. "Jhe Briarseal has already sent in one of his missives on the news in your Father's Palace."

Katherine sits up straighter upon hearing that, and actually makes a half-smirk that could be the ghost of a smile. "Camden? That would certainly explain why that stack's so high."

He nods. "You may look over it while we wait for the tea, if you wish." She almost reaches for it, then hesitates.

"...I want my tea. And I want an explanation, not a hundred-page travel guide with footnotes."

Father nods again. He looks over to me and raises an eyebrow. "I'm doing alright," I reply to the unspoken question. His eyebrow lifts higher.

"We'll have someone look to it after our discussion." He looks up before I can say anything. Bronwyn's stepping in, laden with a tray loaded up with a tea set and...aww, those are biscuits and jelly. She shouldn't have. "Jhe Averseen. Right there would be fine. ...If you'd close the door? Thank you." He gestures forward as she stands right in front of the double doors, nervous and timid, like a tiny mouse staring down a hawk. "Please sit." She gives a tiny nod, and then sits in between Katherine and I.

I manage to catch my Father's eye on that move. He narrows his eyes just a little at me, and I get the impression that I should shut my fool mouth if I want to keep it on my face.

There's no reason for Bronwyn to be in here. He brought her into the office so someone would be between Kathe and I. So we'd have to talk around her [whichever of us actually end up getting to talk]. It's a stopgap measure to prevent things from getting bloody. Kathe likes Bronwyn, after all. Bronwyn's her assistant, they work together quite a lot. Bronwyn's also so nice that it's just plain adorable sometimes...and sometimes it's just plain creepy. Well, maybe creepy's the wrong word. It's just, you don't really know what to do when you find a girl who finds something cute and actually cries from it. That's...kind of hard to even believe.

She's pretty special, but most Poets are, I guess. Hell, I'm one of the special ones. So is Kathe, for that matter. But we've got honed edges, which we call our Arms. Bronwyn's not Armed, and considering her reaction to the sight of blood, I don't think she's going to sign up for the forces any time soon.

Katherine shifts her legs while Bronwyn tries her absolute best to sit up straight. I sigh. I didn't mean to show any impatience but I'm getting a little dizzy. A little dizzier. Figures, Katherine gave me a better beating than Cade did.

"The mission in Audiva Rocale concluded much differently than anyone expected. I went there to go and get my son back. Not Gerald - Lyric was sighted there by Jhe o'Radia. So I went to go fetch him back to Radia. Unfortunately, while I was there it, far more turned up to be hiding in Audiva Rocale than a runaway boy." He pauses to settle himself with a heavy sigh. I hazard a glance over at Katherine. She's watching his face like a hawk, and she looks...all Armed right now. If there's anything personal going on in her mind right now, it's not showing on her face.

Maybe that's what it takes for her to deal with this kind of news.

"Cade was found in the Palace, captured by Jhe Gerald Akribastes and Jhe Gerude Akribastes after Jhe Gerald managed an escape from the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's possession. An attempt was made on behalf of the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale to abduct both Jhe Jennelcia Akribastes and Jhe Rachella Hawksgard. The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale was also forcing Jhe Lyric Akribastes, through coercion and...other forms of control, to train an animism illegally detained in the King's...menagerie, which also contained a number of other illegal specimens as well as human slaves. The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale has admitted to some form of servitude to the Jherent Nul. Any other details...likely can be found in Peacekeeper Briarseal's missives. Jhe Lyric is with Jhe o'Radia for debriefing to see what other details he may have regarding this. The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale is currently being held in Radia for trial, which is...imminent. To quell uprisings in Audiva Rocale and keep the state from breaking down into chaos, Peacekeeper Briarseal is manning a temporary team there. While all of this is developing, and while we are still discovering just what in the world was going on in that Kingdom, all of this information should be treated as confidential. Moreover, extreme caution should be taken by anyone connected to the incidents," he nails me with one of his glares, "and anyone close to those people," his eyes go to Katherine now in a look that's less a glare and more...concern. "Jhe Averseen, as Jhe Cruxradia is included on that list, I felt it best that you be privy to this knowledge. The security will affect you as well."

She snaps to attention and then gives a very vigorous nod. I'm not sure if she was paying attention to all that. She looks a little sheepish.

Kathe...is very pale, but still keeping that Armed face on. I think I might want to leave before she kills me. Damn, the Peacock King's her Father, huh? How's that even work? I thought the Jhe o'Radia was her dad. Everything's coming apart on me. First her parents are all ambiguous, then the walls are wobbling from side to side, and now this chair's sinking.... And then Daddy's pinning me with one of those concerned looks again, and things blur a little and go to black. I'm being carried back to my room, though I'm not even sure by who. Then I'm in bed. Then I'm out.

I'm pretty sure I should have just stayed in bed.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

She's sitting up straight in her chair, like she's at attention for me. If that's the way she wants to focus, fine. I'm thankful for any coping response she can make. And really, am I surprised? I've seen this before, when it's been too much for her. She'll lock onto me, rivet her eyes to me. Like when that thing happened to Gerald. Sometimes it's all she has.

Sometimes I'm all she has, and sometimes it's been mutual.

I stand, and she rises with me. Jhe Averseen looks a little lost, and that in itself is understandable. I've burdened her enough today. "Jhe Averseen? If you could cover Jhe Katherine's duties for the rest of the evening, I would be grateful. I have need of her accompaniment." She nods, stands, makes her swift little bow, and then ducks away to Katherine's office to see just what there is to see to.

Katherine remains seated. "Gerald seemed more ill than I thought."

"He'll sleep it off." I look out the door, wondering if Jhe Averseen can hear, or cares to listen, if she can. "He had a heavy burden to bear on his mission. Yours are not the only wounds he took." I see her avert her eyes. "We can see him now, if you wish."

Her shoulders straighten. She still doesn't look up. "...Father?" she says in a low voice. I nod. She doesn't need to see it to know I did so. "When is his trial?"

I pause. It's a strange feeling, not wanting to tell her something this much. Most other times I've felt it, I could also avoid telling her whatever it was. "Tomorrow. You know how I expedite them. ...Waiting only makes it worse." She nods, jaw clenched, eyes pinned straight to the front, focused so rigidly on nothing in particular. I lay my palm on top of her head and stroke through her hair.

There's a little shudder that goes through her, and then she leans against me. Her eyes flick up to my face. Memorizing, saving. A picture for her memory's pocket. It makes it easier for her.

"...Let's go, Tesynnodai. I don't want to wait." She closes her eyes, her brows drawing together. "Don't tell Benny. Just...don't tell her who he really is to me. It'll just make it worse in the upcoming days."

"...Alright. If you wish." I expected nothing else. And of course, it's partially why I brought Jhe Averseen in for this at all. Something that would force the discussion to be blunted. Sometimes I have to play games with my pieces, is all.

With that, we step out of my office, chins high, official as anyone could ever want, towards Katherine's Father's cell. To where I've managed to incarcerate the Emperor of Audiva Rocale, for better, or more likely, for worse.

* * *

It's rare that anyone comes this far into the Armed Hall besides myself. Even Katherine doesn't usually bother following me this far, unless I require her presence. It makes her uncomfortable.

I would say it makes me uncomfortable, but that would be a flagrant lie. I live on this sort of thing, just as I live on the rapport that gunpowder makes when ignited, or the sliding sensation of steel sawing over and through bone, or the pounding thump of blood up against the skull when the pulse races before the axe falls.

I am all of that, and I am this, too. That is, in fact, why we can hold them deep in here. It's not the geography, the restraints, the strength of the bars or the security. It's the fact that the deeper you move within the Hall, the more tangible is the Law, that force that I embody and act as. I can feel Ebrellin-i, down here in the most secure of cells. I can feel him fight and rail against me. I can feel him thrash in ways that make me wonder whether it's really him.

But no, there's no confusion of identity. It's not possible, here. That is Ebrellin-i.

Katherine's hand closes around the bar. Not cold iron, not by far. It looks like gold. Its energy is that of Radia's Palace, however. Ebrellin-i is doubly bound within these bars. I see that read across her face, see her grasp just what that means. The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale bound by the Law, her partner, and by the focused warding of the entire Radian empire and its monarch, her other Father.

I sincerely wish that it didn't have to be like this, if only for her sake.

Ebrellin-i's accomodations are sparse for a King, but at this stage we can't allow him much. He's clever, all too clever, and far too skilled at crafting and mechanics to be allowed much within this prison. The rug is very fine, and he's been given a couch that is suitable for sleeping. There is a desk with a chair and writing implements. What he might write is harshly screened by the wards on the cell.

There are chains, unfortunately, but I had to, or else it would have been even more complicated. Chains make it easier to string wards along him. I have to be brutal. If I were merciful, he might manage to escape, and I can't let that happen. It would, in many ways, be unkind to him to do that.

No one should have to live through servitude to Nul. In a way, it's how I know he can't be in his right mind. If he were sane at all right now, he would be thanking me.

Instead, he spits at me as soon as he catches sight of me standing on the other side of the bars. Katherine jerks as his eyes catch hers. I can't read his expression in that moment. Wide-eyed, possibly in shock, possibly in disbelief. Still hanging on that intense denial, perhaps, even with her staring him in the face.

He stands up straight, then, with that royal posture that not even the members of the Xaillyndesse family can cop unless they happen to also be monarchs. His face tilts downwards, however. He's unable to meet her gaze.

His nose. I hear Katherine's thoughts next to mine, like an extra heartbeat, delicate as a swallow's wingbeat.

He didn't want to come willingly. He was attacking Lyric, and then myself.

She is silent for a moment. ...I'm sorry.

I lay my hand between her shoulders, on her back. I want to tell her not to apologize, that it's not her fault, but the words wouldn't reach her. Not like this. We all are.

He still won't look at her. His hands move in front of him, hanging down, one clasping over the other. It won't hide the manacles on his wrists, and certainly not the length of golden chain hanging between them. Katherine's breath hitches, and she jerks back under my hand, when she sees what he is hiding. His hair hangs down on either side of his face, but even with his head hanging low, it's not enough to hide the collar.

She can recognize where that came from as well. She'd know without recognizing, though. She doesn't like using those, but she's done it before, just like all Armed are trained to do.

"...My daughter. Katherine." Ebrellin-i's voice rasps just a touch. Perhaps he's speaking softly to disguise that. He's certainly screamed enough to wear his throat out quite a bit. "It is good to see you. I was going to request arrangements for you to visit me."

"Ebrellin-i." My voice accumulates frost. "This is not the place."

He steps closer, head still down. "I just recently spoke with your Father, in the garden. You know, the one with the trees arranged so you can't see the fence. We had a lovely time. He even had his coffee. He told me you were learning the violin."

Katherine is almost trembling under my hand, but she looks so still. So perfectly under control.

"Perhaps you can come back to this place soon and play it for your Daddy, while he's here."

I have to keep my hand from clenching over Katherine's shoulder. I will her the strength, even though I already feel her reply coming.

"I am here to inform you that your Trial is tomorrow."

He freezes. His eyes finally skirt up to look at her in disbelief.

"That is my function here. Any pleas you have to make will be heard and recorded at the proper time in the sight of the Judge and his Poet."

His hands clench.

"You are given an allowance to write your pleas before the date in lieu of speaking them, if it suits you."

"...Katherine." His voice sounds far away, like it's not even in my cell at all. Like there is no collar, no chains. As if he were still in Audiva Rocale. "That's not a proper thing for a young girl to say. What if your other Father heard? I do worry about your upbringing at times, and whether you're held to proper decorum."

I decide to preempt her and speak the next line, but she goes ahead before I can. "Your reply is an acknowledgment of your understanding in this matter. Thank you."

He's silent again, his jaw stiff, his lip in that odd pinched position. The Jhe o'Audiva Rocale is not often put in a position to have to endure being stuck at a loss for words. Then, he blinks one more time, gives the slowest of nods, and turns just as slowly. He begins to walk back towards the couch without any further acknowledgment of the two of us.

Then, he just has to go and say something.

"If that's how you prefer it, Katherine, I'll be waiting for you here when you want to act like a reasonable lady." He settles onto his couch without another look at either of us.

I narrow my eyes. Katherine is looking up at me, now. I wonder if it's because she needs to, by this point.

"Is there anything further you would like to say to my Poet, Ebrellin-i? I will leave you in peace until the morning's Trial if there is nothing more."

He stiffens a little, and I feel Katherine's heart quicken. He's silent for quite a long moment.

"I imagine there's nothing left, no, if that's all you've to say to me." His voice is snippy. Dismissive. "Katherine may come back later, if she wishes to play her violin, but I've no need for the likes of you."

I can't keep back a snort. "Why thank you, your grace. It's a pleasure being given your allowance, but I'm afraid I don't need such a thing here, and neither does Jhe Katherine."

"Oh? Does she not." He plucks at a seam on one of the cushions. "Is that so..."

Katherine's jaw is angled to the side. She's grinding her teeth again. "It is as the Law says, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. A good day and pleasant night to you, and may you find due rest before our appointment tomorrow."

"...And you, too." His voice is soft now, finally bearing a tinge of regret. "I love you, Katherine."

"I love you too, Daddy." She turns away. I start to escort her out before he makes his reply.

"Thank you. Good night."

* * *
'Sy
* * *

When we leave the cells, I keep her walking. She's somewhat out of it right now, and so guiding her further isn't a problem. I start to lead her to her quarters, but she resists.

"...Let me see Daddy." There's always a twist of her tone that signals just which one she means. I hesitate. She is tired, and I know he's...busy.

But I can't deny her this, right now. "Alright, but let me come with you."

She gives a curt nod, leaning back against my arm harder than I expect. She knows the way there from here, of course, but still I feel like I'm guiding her. She's gone numb. She needs it.

Walking through the halls of the Palace is sobering. Relaxing. I know most areas of the Palace set her on edge a little. Too official, too full of dignitaries. This branch is private, though, more an extension of my brother's home than of the ruling capitol. Leading Lyric down here made him nervous, but then, what doesn't, right now? To Katherine, it soothes just a bit.

We stop before the doors. "Is he still seeing your son?" I nod. She bites her lip, and then knocks.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

Lyric sits on the couch with his hands in his lap, fingers weaving and curling into and across one another. He's drawn his knees up in front of him from time to time, shifted them to the side, propped them up on the couch or just sprawled a little. He can't really settle on a position while he's talking. He's not comfortable here.

I'm wondering if he'll settle in, or if his Father will have to also worry about Lyric having a permanent wanderlust. I'm starting to wonder if maybe that kind of travel is good for the boy. He's certainly...grown up quite a bit, even if he's not gotten any taller. Without considering the issue of Ebrellin-i, I'd say travel has done him a lot of good. When he's not shifting around he sits up straight and tells his stories very directly. When he forgets himself, that is. He'll stumble every now and then and flinch away from my eyes when he gets self-conscious. All in all, I'm surprised he's told me as much as he has.

...And I would be lying if I said I wasn't shocked by some of what he's told me. I don't visit Audiva Rocale often - its monarch doesn't quite welcome me with open arms anymore. Even so, because it borders Radia to the north and has such a great size and military strength, it comes as a given that I recieve constant intelligence on it. Already some of the things Lyric has told me about are far beyond what we expected Ebrellin-i might be up to.

Of course, Audiva Rocale is notorious for being difficult to sneak a spy into. Gerald getting caught was no surprise, even without considering his track record regarding incarcerations. What really shocks me is that Lyric managed to do what he did, and find out all that he did, without getting himself killed, caged, or bound with something much more severe than the snips and wisps of spells that I found on him when he walked in.

He's hiding something else, though. As astounded as I've been thus far at what he's told me, I can tell from his eyes that he's holding back. I've managed to get him to tell me things up to this point without having to force the issue, but if he's going to hold back, I'm going to have to press.

I just don't want to push him too hard, or make him feel like he's being interrogated. His Father's even more worried than I am that whatever happened to Lyric will damage him permanently. Pulling the story out of him might magnify that if it's done by force.

...But we have to get it from him. And just when I've got a few good ideas as to what to do about that, I hear a knock on my door. I raise an eyebrow as both Lyric and I look over at it. ...Katherine. What's she doing here? With 'Sy, no less? Has he told her already? I look over at Lyric and smile in that 'what can ya do' way. "Excuse me for a moment. We might have to put a hold on this." He nods in a relieved way that only further convinces me there's information we need to pry from him. I sigh. "You may come in," I call.

Katherine strides in like she has business here, which startles the hell out of me. I'm not the one who's the most startled, though - Lyric makes a high-pitched little peep when Katherine plants her boots in front of him, leans over, and narrows her eyes.

"Okay, you tell me what happened to Daddy."

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I look over to Unkie with wide, confused eyes. What? I didn't know anything was wrong with him! All this time I was talking about myself... "I...I'm sorry, I just got back, I'm probably not the best person to--"

She narrows her eyes in a way that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention and tremble. I think the only reason I don't pee myself is that I'm afraid it'll provoke her to attack. Someone clears his throat from behind her. Daddy? Please let that be Daddy. He can stop her.

Probably.

"...Katherine. Please stop Aiming at my son. He doesn't even know what you're asking him." I see a hand on her shoulder. That's Father alright. He pulls her back a little. I remind myself to breathe.

"He's panicking." For some reason Uncle Lui saying that soothes my nerves. Maybe it's because his voice is so calm and even. "Katherine, please have a seat. Lyric's travels have not been kind to him, and I think he's had quite enough of being loomed over." At least, I think that's what he says. It's getting a little blurry for me, and I don't realize until my Father tugs on my hand that I've hunched up on the couch. My knees are up close to my chest, my arms crossed over myself. I blink.

I don't even remember where I am until I look up and see Uncle Lui standing by the couch. Katherine's perched on the other end, listening as Uncle Lui murmurs something in her ear. They keep looking back at me, but Daddy distracts me from that when he brushes through my bangs and then lays his hand against my forehead.

He has to move that hand to my shoulder and hold me down from jerking away. I don't know why I'm so afraid but it feels like something big and scary is towering over me. Like the Peacock King is going to hit me again. I feel Daddy touch my cheek.

"Lyric? Did something happen to you?" The voice is all concern and no interrogation. Nothing like what I expected. Someone's behind him, and later I realize it's Katherine, but right now I just notice the vaguest shadow of a person there, and the presence of my Uncle somewhere behind it.

"He hit me. He didn't...he didn't ask." I'm curling up again, my arms up on either side of my head, shielding me from something I can't quite convince myself isn't there. There's the feeling of Daddy pulling me to lean against him, but all of that is outside. What's inside is what's real right now.

I hear Katherine whispering sharply to Unkie, wanting to know what happened to me, and some response from him I can't quite make out. Hearing outside is hard now. Inside is so deafening.

I...I don't remember this. "It's all red in there. No. No, it's not really red. It just feels red. And green, in slashes. Underneath is the marbled black and white, contorted and twisted, and over that is the roseblood wrapped in the stranglevine. That's where Ebrellin-i was. Caught up in the stranglevine, with me on the leash behind him."

I blink. I'm confused myself by what I'm saying. "It wasn't really. It didn't happen, and that's why I remember it like it did. Because Ebrellin-i goes to a place where nothing happens, and a little of that nothing...he keeps feeling it, because the chain strings to him even through the bars, through the wards...he left a mark on me. He..." I start to shake.

"Keep him warm. Let him talk it out of himself. It's muddy now, but it'll run clear if he keeps talking about it." I can recognize the voice as Unkie's. Someone wraps a blanket around me.

"I watched Ebrellin-i leave the room, after he fucked me. He went into a throneroom through his mirror. Something talked to him there that I don't want to name. He had a red throne. There was blood all around him. He told Ebrellin-i to dance, and he did. Cade watched and laughed. Ebrellin-i jerked around like his limbs were hung on strings. There was so much blood. His marks kept warping and curling around his face. His eyes were white. He got up in the middle of the night. Sleepwalking. He got up in the middle of the night and went to another place through the mirror. The next day he acted like nothing happened. I wanted to pretend it didn't." I keep my head ducked down, hands up around my ears.

"Why?" I think it's my Father's voice. It might have been my Uncle's. I just can't remember.

"Because I don't want it to look at me." I feel the question before it's asked, and go ahead and answer. "The thing that made him dance."

"The Jherent Nul." Katherine might have said that part. It's so hard for me to tell.

I just close my eyes and shut my mouth and curl up tighter. I start to feel again, and that's when I notice that Father's rubbing his hand between my shoulders. That's what brings me out of the haze, in fact.

"Lyric? Is there anything else you need to tell us?" It's Unkie's voice, thank goodness, because if it were Father asking that question then my instincts would take over and my voice would petrify.

"Just...after, he...when he put the collar on me, he..." Unkie nods. Good. He understands. I don't want to say it out loud.

"You were very brave. Now you need to rest." I nod. "Tomorrow you'll need to be with your Father in the morning, but I think after that you'll get to shop for some new clothes." ...I'm amazed that I still can perk up, feeling like this, but I do. It feels like ages since I've been able to pick out my own clothing, let alone get new outfits.

Uncle Lui puts an arm around Katherine. She shrugs away a little, but he doesn't let that deter him. Father looks up to the both of them.

"I'll return shortly. He needs to be walked back."

"Aye, I can't imagine he'll be able to walk in the first place. Jhe h'Logos can send someone along to give him more sleep."

Father makes a crooked little smile. "Of course he can. And afterwards, he can ask his questions."

Uncle Lui chuckles. "Like he always does. Katherine? You could probably use a drink."

"No."

"Right, then I'll have something stiff brought in. 'Sy? Take your son home before he makes a bed of my couch, please."

Of course, that's the last thing I hear before I'm out like a snuffed candle.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

Lyric still has his room in my house. I never...emptied it out. I never quite thought of it as a way of waiting for him, but I suppose that was what I was doing. I had plenty of space and no reason to change what was in here. I just kept it dusted and...I waited.

I never did get a bigger bed for him. That was going to happen very soon, but then he...left. I suppose he can count himself lucky that he never grew any taller.

"So he's home, then." I don't expect that voice over my shoulder, and I'm in my own house. I glare back at the source of it. I almost dropped Lyric. The person behind me chuckles. "Father, I'm sorry, it's just so funny when I startle you into reaching for a weapon." He peers over my shoulder, short silver hair almost falling over his eyes in a shaggy cut. He and Lyric still have the same eyes, no matter how much the brothers have both changed since they were younger. Lute frowns. "...He should be taller." Lute almost matches my height, after all - the tallest of my children. Lyric's almost a midget in comparison.

"Maybe it's you that should be shorter," I say to him as I slide Lyric into his bed. I pull the sheets over him, then lean down and look over his face. "How did you find out he was back?"

"I watched you come in. 'M off-duty right now."

I snort. Off-duty, so he spies in my house in the guise of keeping it 'secure'. Lute is the family pro at not getting caught, after all. "You're going to keep an eye on your brother?"

"Of course, now that I've got the chance to. I'm impressed as hell that he snuck away from home in the first place, but he's not pullin' a second disappearing act on me."

I nod. "Thank you. Club Gerald in the head if he tries to get up, while you're keeping watch, then."

Lute snorts. "Don't tell me he's sleeping here, too. Doesn't he have his big boy room in the Armed Hall?"

I raise an eyebrow at him, then just let out a sigh. "He needs to be in here tonight. Already got himself into enough trouble. And you'll hear all about it soon enough, so stop giving me that look. I've got to go take care of Katherine."

His eyes widen. "It's true, then? I wasn't gonna believe we had the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale here until you confirmed it directly."

"...A lot of things are true right now that I'd prefer not to confirm. Watch your brother. If he wakes up he'll need someone to keep him calm. I think you'd be one of the best at that." He nods, then watches as I stare down at my son.

"...He gonna be okay, Dad?"

"That's one of the things I'd like to confirm, but cannot. I hope so. Good night." I pat Lute's shoulder, then turn towards the door as he melts into the shadows. It's amazing how undetectable he is, even in my own house.

"Night, Dad. Sleep well, when ya do."

I leave, close the door behind me, and check on Gerald. I consider nailing the blanket down over him, then decide Lute will do it for me if it comes to that. I go.

My responsibility to Katherine reaches just as deep as it does for my own children. Sometimes, deeper than I can even imagine.

* * *

I pause before I knock on Luciprochoros's door. I can hear him talking with Katherine. I can't deny that I want to listen to what's being said, but I also am not keen to interrupt a conversation. Judging by my brother's tone of voice, I should wait here.

"...can't do anything about it just yet, hon. I wasn't even there when he got arrest-"

"You damn well CAN do something about it! You're the King of Radia! What good's a fucking royal title and all the stupid decorations and frippery if you can't control what's going on in your own damn Kingdom?"

Luciprochoros is silent for a long time, then exhales through his teeth. "Katherine. You are my daughter and I respect you and love you. Can you not accord the same respect to me while making demands that would be better voiced in Court?"

"This has nothing to do with your Court. Have you even seen him? He's in a cell in the dungeons. He needs help."

Luciprochoros waits again before speaking. The tension gripping him is so palpable that I can feel it through the wards of the door. "Katherine, have you considered that he invited upon himself whatever afflictions he is currently in the grip of?"

"WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?"

"We won't know what any of it means until after his Trial, and that's not a very long wait. Please stop screaming at me, honey."

"NO. You tell me what the FUCK that is supposed to mean, Daddy. You tell me RIGHT NOW."

Silence hangs over the room, the atmosphere thick and volatile. If I touched the door right now, it would explode.

"...Katherine, I am sorry, but you are asking the wrong person to pity him. Please don't discuss this with me any--"

"You're the KING. EMPEROR. But you're putting this aside because you've got personal issues with the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. Why can't you treat this like it's business?"

His voice is smooth and even. So flawlessly controlled, the most telling signal that he's upset. "Why can't you?"

I take that lull in the volley back and forth to walk in. Katherine whirls to face me. Luciprochoros...has to take this particular moment, of all times, to skirt a bow to me and invoke protocol.

"Judge. If you would, please, your Poet Armed requires an escort, and I must retire." I see her fume from that, but it's a quiet fume, and Luciprochoros takes the moment to lean down and kiss her on the cheek. "Night, hon."

"Night." It's more of a bite than a word, but at least she deigned to speak instead of shout. She grabs my hand like it's about to squirm away. "Let's go, Jud--may I leave, then, Jhe h'Akribastes?"

I sigh. "Yes, if there's to be any rest tonight." I give my own bow in reply to the Jhe o'Radia. It's a mixed blessing that he decided to greet me formally, but at least it reminded Katherine of proprieties. "A pleasant rest to you."

"And to you. I'd offer you wine, but..."

"...But you prefer not to give out your glassware upon exit. Of course. The sentiment is nevertheless appreciated. ...Please--"

He inclines his head. "I'll see to contacting Jhe h'Logos while you see to your own. I'd like to talk with him now, at any rate, so it's no inconvenience. Go on."

"...Thank you." I make another bow, then turn and escort Katherine out of her Father's quarters. She opens her mouth as soon as the door's shut behind us, but says nothing when she sees my face.

"Let's go home." She replies by leaning into my side and wrapping an arm around me. I haul her up into my arms and take the short way into my own home from here. I need to get her into bed. She's too distressed right now to make sense of this mess. Not that a calm head helps me make much more sense of it.

She pulls me down into my bed after that. Katherine is, at the heart of her, very complex and exceedingly simple. What she wants may not make any sense to others, but once she knows what she wants, she pursues it relentlessly.

You could take that to mean that I don't get much of any rest before the night is done with.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

...Shut up. None of you understand me. Nobody understands me, not even him. Not even 'Sy.

But oh, how good it is to be under him...closing my eyes and rolling with the rhythm...so warm. So delicious. It's not like taking shelter, because I'm too open to him to be sheltered.

And it's not like hiding from what's going on, because the Judge is every bit a part of that, as much as I might hate that part right now.

It's exultation. Celebration. Embracing something I can't understand but still just want to wrap myself up in. It is something that can take me completely, and there exist very few things in this world which can do that.

Oh, Daddy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be that way. I didn't want to snap at you but--

...'Sy, you always pick the best or the worst moments to distract me.

It's something to be thankful for, right now. I don't want to think of Gerald and how much more I want to kill him than usual. I don't want to think of my fathers and their fighting and where that's gotten them or me. I don't want to think of what the hell Lyric was doing there or why he had to see what he saw or what might be wrong with him because of it...

...Most of all I don't want to think. I dive into that fire that is 'Sy and I close my eyes and just let it consume me.

* * *
Lute
* * *

I can't tell you exactly where I am, right now. Well, I can give you a general idea, and I think that will be enough.

I'm inside all of the shadows of my Dad's house, looking out at anything that might decide to move.

It's a good way to chill. I like chillin'. Really, my other sibs are too high-strung. Even Gerude. He can't just sit back and relax, has to go off saving the world one backwater town at a time. Who's going to take care of things at home? Well, maybe I'm lazy. I do like to chill, as I just said. But tonight I really can't help wanting to be here.

My brother's finally home. My twin brother. That's special, you know? I missed having that other piece of me around. I keep looking down at him and wondering where the hell he's been for the last ten years. Where he's been hiding, most of all.

Audiva Rocale must have been a lonely big place for someone like him.

Look, people don't change. Gerald didn't change any from back when he was five years old and neither did Gerude and neither did I. Jenny might not sleep with a teddy bear anymore but she always tried her hardest to follow Daddy around and do what he was doing. Is she any different now, really? Hell, Lyric didn't even bother getting any taller. He's not any different now. He can't be.

He sure ain't sleeping well, though, that's for sure.

I notice the movement near the door before Dad's wards even do. Ah, but then, the person coming in has enough clearance that those wards won't pay him any mind. I just keep an eye on him as he strolls through. So aloof, such perfect posture, practically gliding through the place as if he owned it all. Then again, that's just the Xaillyndesse way of things, I suppose. Damn snotty.

He looks up as he walks and raises an eyebrow up at the shadows. Whoops. He caught that remark. I keep forgetting what long ears he's got.

He opens the door to my twin brother's room and then pauses. Oh, how polite. As is expected from him. He's waiting for me to manifest. I slip out of the shadows next to the door, then skirt a bow. He makes a quiet chuckle. I suppose it is amusing seeing someone so tall bow from the waist. It actually creates a mild breeze.

"Jhe Akribastes. If you'll forgive the intrusion. Jhe o'Radia requested the services of one of my own, but I preferred to come do the duty myself. May I be allowed to visit your brother as has been requested of me?"

"A'course, Sire." I grin and step to the side. "I'll just be keepin' a watch while you do that."

"Thank you. Such a dutiful boy, as expected from one of Jhe h'Akribastes's own."

I snort, then melt back into the shadows. "If you say so. He just says I'm nosy."

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

...No one would believe that I was here.

No. That's not the truth. The truth is that I wouldn't want them to know that I was here.

I reach out a hand, trailing fingers down one of the golden bars. I feel it radiate with power. My power. The power that threads through my entire Empire. Running through these bars, and still-

Still, 'Sy would be needed to hold him entirely at bay. I can't hold the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale on my own. I suppose I tried it before, long ago. ...No, but I like to fancy that I did, don't I, instead of thinking about who was really holding who?

What's the use of standing here trying to lie to myself? Reality's still the same, and so are these bars, and so is the prisoner behind them. Body draped across the couch while he sleeps, hair trailing down his back and to the floor in a long black smudge. I can't help but notice that he still looks so beautiful. This is, in a way, cruel to me. I shouldn't be able to stare at him while he's laid out, unguarded, the veils torn away. It makes me remember a time that's long gone.

I don't want him to be here. I don't want Katherine to hate me.

I don't want this Trial.

...But I don't see what I could have changed to prevent it. Isn't that such cowardly thinking? I have to face things and admit it, just like I told Katherine earlier: what if Ebrellin-i earned this for himself? 'Sy just wouldn't bring him in unless he merited a Trial. Heck, he couldn't.

What the Hell is everything coming to? If Ebrellin-i's found guilty, if...is there even an if? Is there any chance of there being an if? As much as he's wronged me, almost brought both our Kingdoms toppling down from our shaky truce...I don't want him to earn a death sentence.

I sigh. I'll draw 'Sy's attention if I stay here much longer. Not that he won't know I was here. But I'd like him to have some rest tonight, along with Katherine. ...Or whatever they might define as rest. I don't like to think about it too much. I'm her Father, after all. My eyes flick over Ebrellin-i's form again.

Her other Father. Funny. They never told him. He'd have been too angry. I've wondered, from time to time, how he'd react to knowing he had a granddaughter through Katherine and 'Sy.

...It's strange, when I think about it. Jennelcia looks more like Ebrellin-i than she does anyone else in her family. I've picked a rather strange place to come to that conclusion, haven't I? I chance once more look up at Ebrellin-i before I take my leave.

Oh dear. He's looking right back at me. I gulp. Talking to him really wouldn't be a good idea. It never is, in fact. "My apologies. I thought you were sleeping. I hope I haven't disturbed your rest." Which is why I do it, of course.

His eyes narrow. Now they glare holes through me, as opposed to just smoldering tiny holes into my jacket. Those marks on his face warp and contort as I watch, and I try not to flinch. He sits up, posture so perfect that the couch might as well be a throne. "You are not welcome in here, J'Lucipre'."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You have no claim left by which you may call me by that name again." My face flushes hot and my hands curl into fists. I'm not used to dealing with this anger. It's been years since he's tried that sorry tactic, and longer still since he had the right to use that name. It was bad enough when he pinned the title of consort on my nephew and paraded him in front of me. Pinning that title to my name...no, not even my name, 'an endearing' nickname...and according none of my station alongside it, for added insult to the injury...

He grins. No. No, that is no grin. That is bared teeth. "Admit it. You like it." He rises from the couch.

I stand stock-still, even though all reason screams that I should just leave right now. "No, and no. Call me by my rightful title, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale."

Those teeth still flash, but the grimace around them is happy enough that it might now count as a grin. "Call me Ebrellin-i." His voice is smoke running over silk.

I almost shake.

"No." Why am I not moving? Why can't I just leave? He doesn't have this power anymore. 'Sy tried to convince me back then that he never had it at all. Why didn't I believe him, then? The reason is sauntering up to the bars, wrapping one pale hand around one and sliding the other halfway out, stretching towards me. If he held it out much farther, his long nails could brush my jacket. He could feel my heartbeat through the thick fabric, I'm sure. He can hear it now.

"Then why don't you call me Master instead?" I knew it was coming next. Of course. The only way it could get any worse.

I curl my fists so tight that the nails bite into my skin. Maybe that's what reminds me to act like I still have my balls. "You don't seem to have many things to do in there while you wait for your Trial, so why don't you lie back down on that couch and go fuck yourself until the Judge comes?" Ah, the good old bitterness. I'm feeling better. And he's looking sour, which means I've done something right.

"I don't see why you came here, J'Lucipre', if you had no desires to pay proper respect to me." He draws his hands back and steps away.

"Katherine felt that you were ill, and I wanted to make her happy. Fool me. You're the same as you've always been." I turn and start walking out.

There's no reply. I'd say it's bitter proof that something is wrong with him. He's never let me have the last word before.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Sleep hurts. I suppose it's strange to say that, and maybe I'll have trouble explaining it. You know when you go to sleep angry or hurt, and when you wake up you know the ache never died off? You can tell because it feels like a half-healed bruise. Better, but still bitter. I feel like that.

I know I dreamed of Kathe. 'Sy, too. Father. I can feel them like shadows still lingering behind me. As melancholy as that might sound, it makes taking a shower pretty awkward.

I can't get them out of my head, though. I almost try to dry them out of my hair while I rub it down with the towel. I try to brush them out as I grunt through all of the tangles yet another incarceration has left in my mane. They're still in my head. This feels bad, you know. I still want her.

And I think Father has her, and that's something that just kicks up the bile in my throat.

Dwelling on this makes me rather preoccupied, so I don't notice the fist before it collides with my head and then grabs me by the hair and shakes me a little. From the laugh, and the vague idea of the person's height, I can tell that either it's Lute, or Daddy's feeling pretty strange this morning. "Hey! I missed havin' someone to pick on. Come on, I'm makin' coffee." I snort. That narrows it right down, then. I follow Lute into the kitchen, hoping that coffee will clear my head of its muddle and its hauntings. "You work on breakfast and I'll brew up the coffee, 'kay? I try to take care of these things when Dad's got a big Trial day ahead of him."

I nod. Routine is nice. It helps wash away what lingers. "How many am I cooking for?" The sibling count doesn't often vary that much, but we kinda move in and out at random, depending on who's in training or out on a mission. At least Lute stays around home enough to have a more or less accurate headcount.

He smiles up from the coffee pot. "Well, let's see. Lyric's finally back, and then there's me, a'course, and then you, and then Dad, and Katherine was here tonight, and...hm. Make some extra just in case I missed one, 'kay? Jhe h'Logos saw himself in last night to make sure that Lyric slept off the shock." He looks away while he says that bit. I frown. "...When's the last time you really got a chance to talk to Lyric, Gerald? Do you know what's wrong with him?"

That's enough to break me out of thinking about Katherine and Father for a bit. I've got my own problems, but for Lyric...he must feel like the world's crashing down around his ears. "I haven't really been able to talk with him in a long time. ...Heck. I don't know if I really talked with him while I was out on mission. It was pretty crazy out there."

Lute snorts. "But nothing to write home about, you friggin' Poet? Okay, okay, fair's fair - you were on spy duty, so s'not like you could tie a postcard onto a pigeon. Make up for lost time and tell me while breakfast is cookin'. Those two take forever and a day to peel each other out of bed, so you should have plenty of lead time for the juicy stuff."

I try not to dwell on that last part and just think about what a muddle my mission was. How do I explain all of that before breakfast is done? It's all so complicated! ...Heck, he's my brother - he's used to this shit. "Alright. But it gets kind of scary."

"Oh? Really?" Lute leans back against the counter and grins at me. Funny, if I weren't his brother, and didn't grow up with that grin, I might be on edge right now. He certainly can look threatening to the idle passerby. Maybe it's the fangs that just barely peek out over his bottom lip.

"Yeah. Just wait till I tell you about my wife."

* * *
Lyric
* * *

There's a hand on my forehead. It's a pretty big hand with fine fingers, and it's nice and cool. I'm aware of it for a very long time before I'm aware of the fact that I'm asleep. Once I figure that out, of course, I wake up. I open my eyes while mentally relishing how rested I feel. It's like I've slept for days.

I hear a chuckle. "You could say that, Jhe Lyric."

I blink away the fuzzies in my eyes. There's a man sitting in a chair right by my bed. Hey, my old bed. In my old room. Yeah, that's my old desk chair, alright. Has it been ten years since I last saw all this stuff? Hasn't changed much! Hey, wait...

My eyes widen. Is that the Poet King? I almost stammer some sort of apology out. I'm not really sure what for. Before I can manage it, though, a wave of peace ripples over me and I slump back into bed.

"Oh dear. I think I overdid that one." He sounds a bit sheepish. "Dear boy, don't be afraid of me just because I'm wearing a crown on my head." Jhe h'Logos says that crown part with a kind of relish in the fact that he has one. That one word drips with condescension in such an effortless way that I'm immediately reminded of the fact that the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale is his brother. He does bear some resemblance to Ebrellin-i as well - his nose and eyebrows have similar curves, and the mouth could definitely make some of the Peacock king's most pretentious expressions. He's built much smaller, though...well, okay, comparing anyone to the Peacock King when it comes to height is a bit unfair. Even Father is shorter than the towering monarch. Jhe h'Logos is just a bit shorter than Father, though. His strangely-colored, bulkily layered robes do build him up a bit more to make up for it, but he looks a bit frail, as if he's been ill lately. His inky black hair falls to his shoulders under a gold and silver crown that is styled after the nib of a quill. He leans in, his deep blue eyes full of concern. "Really, are you feeling okay now, Jhe Lyric?" He slides his hand away, allowing me to sit up and see for myself.

I cast my eyes down at the blanket, dwelling on my thoughts. I feel so much better that it's almost strange. There are still things that upset me, but it's like I've put them to rest for awhile. I'm certainly not tired. This is the most well-rested I've felt in my life. "Yes. Did I..." My eyes widen. The Trial! "Did I really sleep for days?"

The Jhe h'Logos sits up straight, rolling his shoulders as I hear his back pop twice. He winces, twists a little to the left, and then there's a third, louder pop. "Well, in a way, you did. But as far as the time goes, only the night has passed for you. You just...slept for quite a very long time." He sees the confused look on my face and laughs. "Time is in the mind, Jhe Lyric, and a Time Lord need not think too hard to give a few days rest to someone that needs it very badly. You are feeling well, yes?"

I nod. "I'm...I'm sorry for the trouble."

"Oh, pay it no mind." He waves it away. "It's nothing to me, really. I am the Poet King, after all."

I'm almost knocked out of my bed from the condescension. It's just like Ebrellin-i's, except nicer, like it's made of feather pillows. So I guess in that way it's sort of pleasant. "I...I have to go to the bathroom." ...Ouch. I really have to go. What the hell?

"Oh, about that. It was three days' worth of sleep after all..."

My eyes widen. The Poet King darts from his chair to give me proper clearance as I run to the bathroom with all the speed my well-rested legs can give me. The relief I experience in that bathroom is so profound that I think it might be life-changing.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I can't help the thought that rolls through my head as I sit down at the kitchen table. Of course Lyric would choose to come home at the most inconvenient time for me to enjoy the fact that he's come home. In the seat next to me, Katherine glowers at the world at large with her morning face. Gerald sits across from her in what must simply be an attempt to look as uncomfortable as possible. I swear, what is wrong with that boy these days? He's got a burr up his butt about something and it can't be his mission, I know that. Getting arrested is too commonplace for him. He's been trained for worse, and he took to that training. I'd know.

Lute, at least, is acting normal. I have that moment of despair that I always feel when I remember that Lute is the most normal member of this household. He slides a plate over to me, then to Katherine, and then to Gerald. He sets one out for himself and his twin, and then there's one more. He pauses with yet another plate, and I'm wondering who the two unidentified guests are that Lute has made plates for.

He recognizes that expression on me, apparently, because after looking at me he smirks and says, "Jhe Elete is still in the house, Father." He stifles a chortle after seeing me scowl. "You didn't know he was here?"

"Your Uncle was supposed to see that he sent a Poet to help your brother sleep." I start to pick at my eggs in emphatic chops. I've forgotten yet again that my fork is not an axe.

"Oh. Well, I guess he kinda decided to handle things directly like he always does."

I snort. "Who is the other plate for?"

He grins. "I figure it's one of those mornings where the unexpected comes in pairs." I narrow my eyes at him. What's he know that I don't? Or...what's he calculating for that I'm not?

Before I can come to a conclusion, the Poet King comes walking in himself, heavily layered robes swaying with his movements. His black shoulder-length hair is, of course, immaculately styled under his crown. It seems to be the Palace's long-running joke that Elete wears his crown more often than the Emperor of Radia does. It would be funny if it weren't true. He pauses in his stride as he sees my expression. Damn it all, he bows.

I hate it when he does that. It means he's about to make me feel bad about the fact that he's apologizing to me.

"Jhe h'Akribastes. I beg your forgiveness for the intrusion into your home, but I wanted to make sure the matter had my personal attention, considering the direness of the circumstances." He watches me as I narrow my eyes at him, then finally has the presence of mind to look sheepish.

"Jhe Elete. I would tell you just how foolish you are to overextend yourself, but I am hungry and I have a long morning ahead of me and at this moment I want nothing more than for you to sit down and eat so that I may consume my bacon."

"I'm really feeling quite fine." He glides over to a seat at the table. Lute actually pulls out the chair for him and then sketches his own smart little bow to the King. Cheeky little ingrate.

I chew and swallow my bacon, and before I can get something else in my mouth to garble the words I decide to reply. "Really? You look paler than even a member of your well-bred family ought to. I should send you back to your Hall on a stretcher." He only makes one of his little sighs and goes to nibbling at his eggs. Damnit, he doesn't even eat enough. I narrow my eyes. "Elete. Your clothing doesn't even match."

Elete's fork pauses halfway to his open mouth, his expression that of shocked perplexion. He looks down at himself and frowns. "I don't understand what you're talking about," he says, as if I were speaking some language that he, in a freakishly improbable turn of events, did not understand.

Katherine clears her throat. "Your...cloak, sire." I don't miss the bitterness in her tone. He's been straining her patience even more than is usual as of late.

Elete spares a glance back at the cloak that drapes over the heavy layers of his well-coordinated robes. He can't hide his surprise as his eyes widen. "I...err." He blinks. His cloak is an eye-searing array of vertical strips of patterned fabric, each more garish than the last. "...The students were practicing again. They often practice on me, you know. It's the custom."

"Yes," I say, raising an eyebrow, "and you've never before lacked the focus it takes to guide them into something coordinated. You're slipping during your lessons, and you can't even properly block your own students from sabotaging your wardrobe." Harsh words, I know, but what will it take to get it into his head that he needs to slow down and ask for help when he's obviously ill?

The Poet King draws himself up, robes shifting around him. His eyes narrow at me with something that borders on scorn. Just as he's about to reply with what I am sure is a well-worded and arrogant retort, my entryway door slams open. The wards ripple, telling me just who has intruded even as I hear the stomping footsteps and then see her burst into the kitchen entryway, a flurry of red curls surrounding two angry golden eyes.

Stevane. I hear Lute mutter an "Oh shi-" as he ducks back a bit, grinning like he's about to watch the world end in the most hilarious way possible.

She strides over to Elete's chair, then looks down at the Poet King, anger so deeply etched into her that she's vibrating with it.

"Jhe h'Lete!" ...Is she still using that childhood nickname for him? She's sixteen now, I thought she had grown out of that after about...six or seven or so! "What are you doing out of your bed?!"

The entire room goes so quiet that you'd think someone had been murdered. ...Perhaps that's more prophetic than observational.

"I...I'm sorry, was someone looking for me...?" His voice is so soft that I almost don't hear it, and he's ducking down in his seat like he's expecting to get hit. Which I know Stevane would...probably...never do.

"...You!" She stamps her foot, balling her fists up by her sides, cheeks puffed out in held-back rage. Finally she expels the breath. "I'm your duty-Poet for this half of the week and you KNEW THAT. Don't try and tell me the schedule was miswritten, I've done my Poet training and I know it wasn't!"

He smiles brightly up at her. "There's always more training to be had, if you'd like. Here, why don't you sit and eat? Someone was nice enough to make one extra." That gives her pause.

Then, her eyes narrow in an eerily spot-on imitation of me. "...And I suppose you're going to make me believe that you didn't plant that idea in someone's head in anticipation of the fact that I'd come running here after your sneaky derriere?"

He grins. I feel a surge of teacher's pride from him. "You're learning! Have a seat, Stevane. I thought it would be nice if you could have breakfast at home today, especially with how hard you've been working this past week. It was very dutiful of you to volunteer for extra work, you know. Ah, you thought I hadn't noticed that little detail? Now, who's overworking themselves?"

I make a quiet little sigh into my plate, giving Katherine that face which she, by now, is intensely familiar with. I make it any time I realize, yet again, just what it is that my children are learning by example when they get instructed by the Poet King.

Lyric, of course, chooses that moment to walk into the kitchen. He looks at me first, that timid expression at least tempered by a good long rest. If Jhe h'Logos has overextended himself in his work, I will have to concede that he performed said work flawlessly. He makes a short little bow to the Poet King, then walks to the table with his shoulders up so high from tension that they're practically level with his ears. He doesn't make it to the table, though.

Stevane interrupts his procession. Lyric's eyes widen. Oh dear. I don't think he recognized his sister. Well, she has grown quite a bit since he left, hasn't she? I can see him taking in the changes. I will admit, she...did sort of grow up all at once. More than I would prefer. There is a lot to take in. ...I think he's going into shock again, damnit.

Stevie just stares at Lyric's face as she holds him by the shoulders, looking him in the eye. "...Lyric?" It's like she's seeing a ghost. Well, in a way she is, isn't she? I didn't think about how this would affect her. Lyric was her favorite person. He barely nudged out my brother in that respect.

Everyone stays quiet as the two look into each other's eyes.

"...Stevane? You...you grew up!" Lyric almost sounds a little sad. Maybe it's getting to him, just how much he's missed while he was away, how much he's been missed. Then Stevie slaps him across the cheek with no warning whatsoever.

"I OUGHT TO SET YOU ON FIRE! ...If this weren't Daddy's kitchen I would! Where have you been?"

Lyric replies with enough stammering that I wonder if he's going into shock again. A special kind of shock that only Stevane can trigger. Thankfully Elete's there to tug her away from her brother just as Lute pulls Lyric back.

"Stevane? That's not the proper way to greet someone, no matter how long a vacation they've taken. Do I need to put you through Etiquette again?" She sulks as he leads her back to her seat, but that doesn't keep her from drilling Lyric on just where he's been and what he thought he was doing, leaving her all alone in Radia. I suppress an eyeroll. Really, I don't know if I'll ever be able to be properly angry at Lyric for leaving home like he did. Stevane went ahead and did it in my stead.

It certainly breaks the pallor over the room that I expected before a Trial. Katherine's so busy watching the spectacle and trying not to laugh that I think what's ahead is, if not completely off her mind, at least not directly at the forefront.

Really, it's a shame breakfast ever had to be over.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

It's strange to see the whole family depart for one destination as we leave. Usually everyone runs off in a different direction to whatever task they're set on, typically either in the Armed or Poet Halls. Now we all amble in...generally the same direction, and everyone looks pretty uncomfortable about it.

Well, at least I'm not the only one looking awkward now. Now it looks like everyone's daddy stole Katherine from them.

Stevane ambles up beside me for a moment while we're all in a group. Just a brief break from staying at the Poet King's side. (I'm...well, I'm surprised. He does have his episodes from time to time, and he does need a lot of assistants to keep him from overworking himself, but this is the first time I've heard of a constant attendant being assigned to him. I wonder what I've missed in the Poet Hall in the time I've been gone...) She looks up at me, then looks away, giving my arm a quick hug before grumbling, "Missed you," in an accusatory tone. "Don't worry me again." I snort, and then she elbows me in the side in a way that makes me wheeze. Those gold eyes glare up into mine. I smile halfheartedly, then ruffle her hair. She's still shorter than me, thank goodness. I don't want her looming over me like Lute always does.

"I'll try. You been good while I've been away?" She tosses her hair in reply to that. She's about to reply, but then she jerks mid-step and darts back to the Poet King's side.

"I'm fine," he reassures Stevane, but she remains unconvinced. Jhe h'Logos isn't smiling much right now. Considering his brother's being tried...

I glance up to Katherine. She's up ahead at the Judge's side. She'll be his Poet for the Trial, as always. Lyric's in front of them both, Father's hand on his back.

...Wait, why is Lyric getting led into the chambers with those two? Even as a witness, that'd make no sense...

He's not getting accused, is he? I start to go forward to ask, but I can't force my steps to close the distance between us. Something's holding me back, like I've been given an order. My eyes widen. I am being ordered back.

Going forward would get in the way of Justice. My heart almost jumps up into my chest. It's true, then. Lyric's going on Trial too.

Why didn't anyone tell me? Why's everyone been acting so normal?

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I keep my focus on my son.

He's done so well thus far. Ever since he got back to Radia, he has really tried to do as requested and answer questions. He has answered honestly in almost every regard. It pains me that his honesty has not been complete.

I cannot carry out Justice without bringing him in alongside his accuser. Perhaps my methods seem heavy-handed. Perhaps you might think me a bad Father. But of all ways to settle this, there is only this one that is Just. I have to take the path of the Law. It is all that I am.

I will admit that some things about this case disquiet me, as much as I like to keep the appearance that I've seen everything before and look stoic in the face of it all. One of those things, one of those deeply disturbing things, will likely keep me awake for many nights ahead of me.

This son of mine is no Armed, but he knows full well what his place in this procession means. I am disturbed, even dismayed, by the fact that he doesn't question it and accepts it without even a flinch of hesitation. That full-knowing admission of guilt is not something I want to see in this circumstance. Being a Father has been very hard for me, if you can understand. There are so many things about my children that I don't want to know, and other parents, the lucky ones, aren't able to look, don't need to look. I could check now, you know, but it has to be during Trial. Otherwise it's no use. I learned very early not to make exceptions.

I can't.

* * *
Ebrellin-i
* * *

The dogs drag me out of my cell like I'm a mangy cur. This collar isn't enough for the Judge. No...no. There must be chains for me as well, to bind my arts and natural talents. As if any of them have the right.

I'll be back in my homeland shortly. Mark those words well. Then, there shall be war. I'll cast away the treaty like so much old dust and scraps, and level the Land flat until it obeys me. They don't know what they've unleashed. Radia should have known never to touch that which it does not own.

I hold myself up well. Like someone they only wish they were, which is obviously a part of this scandal. Tall, graceful, aloof. My crown's been taken away, but there's no mistake of who, and what, I am.

Let them have an early taste. I'll rule them all when this fiasco is over.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I'm actually pretty positive about this whole thing. So don't worry about me.

I still have the bullet, you know. Gerald's bullet. Bruce and Wagner's gunmetal voices echo through my mind as clear as ever. Maybe even clearer now. I heard them in my dreams. I heard them through breakfast.

I'll keep trusting them. That bullet's been the only thing I could rely on through my whole debacle. I shouldn't be afraid anymore. Daddy's right behind me, and I choose to take courage in that, not fear.

So, let it be known to all the generations to come: I absolutely do not wet my pants at any time throughout the entire Trial.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

Is it a little strange that the first thing I really hook my eyes onto when I enter the Court is my Uncle? I'm attending Jhe h'Lete very closely, of course. But I'm watching my Uncle. I guess he's always managed to grab my attention like that. Jhe h'Lete makes jokes that I'm mixing up who I work for, but they're just as good-natured as all his occasional jibes at me are. He's told me he admires the amount of respect I have for my Uncle. ...Then he'll go on and follow that up with a comment on how I should really tighten up my etiquette if I'm so intent on following around a high official.

Maybe I can convey just what it is that grabs me about him.

The Court is Daddy's room when there's a Trial. It's his spectacle. Yes, I say spectacle. I know it's Justice, but it seems like a part of that Justice is the display and the ritual just as much as it is the Law. Of course, those things are very much a part of Daddy, and he is the Law, so I guess it makes sense. But, for all intents and purposes, consider the Jhe o'Radia's Court to be the Judge's arena right now. Unkie is now its principle audience.

During Unkie's regular days of holding Court, the arrangement is a bit different, with him as the prominent figure and the whole interior arranged to compliment that. For the Trial, it's a different shape. Seating is raised up all around in a circle around the central floor, where the Judge presides. There is a podium, of sorts, but it's not used as much as you'd think. Well, you'll see for yourself. It stands under Unkie's throne, which is raised up with the rest of the balconied seating. Both Podium and throne face the doors that enter into the Court.

When I walk in with Jhe h'Lete and Gerald (and Lute somewhere in the back shadows, like always, but he is here), I stay to the right and a step behind the Poet King as he comes forward, presents himself with a simple bow, and then is dismissed to be seated in the upper rows. I like swinging Duty during a Trial because then I can sit with him. He always gets a really good seat. Also it kind of helps me get let in at all. They stopped letting me attend Court when I was a little kid because I was kind of disruptive. Sometimes one of the guards that knows me will try to give me crap when I enter alone, even though that old ruling's been overturned and it's obvious I know how to behave myself like an adult now. The cheek!

Gerald looks nervous as heck, which isn't really much different from his default mode when he's come back from a mission. I yank his arm so that he follows us up into the good seats. "You ought to check in with the King, you dope. You weren't out as an Armed on that mission." He gives me this surprised blink, then nods and follows us.

"You're not worried about your brother?" His voice is so tense with concern that it squeaks.

I shrug. "If he got this far without Dad killing him I can't see how he won't slide through somehow. He couldn't have done anything that bad, anyway." I cast a glare back at him that almost freezes him. "Unless you know something that I don't."

Gerald juts his chin up. "I have to report in to the King on that. You said it yourself, little trainee." I'm about to rise to that old bait and correct him, but Jhe h'Lete gestures for me to heel.

He glances back at us as we walk around to the front, in the nearest group of seats to Unkie. "I'll give out the designations, thank you, Poet." He tilts his head at Gerald in that way of his that's condescending in such an undefinable way that no one can call him on it. Gerald flushes and clenches his fists.

Yeah, the challenged-at-etiquette thing? Kind of a family tradition.

Oh, and getting back to it, my Uncle. I wouldn't say it's the fact that he's on his throne, though he looks absolutely glorious up there, dressed in some of his most formal attire. It's not that it's a Trial, either, though that is when he looks his most serious and insightful. It's just him. He sees things. Daddy sees things too, of course. Unkie always sees them. Whether he chooses to always look, or whether he can't turn it off, there's something in his eyes, in the set of his face. Like he's watching the world, all the world, with concentrated attention. It's even in his posture, in the way his shoulders tilt back and his spine aligns with his back at the base of his neck. His eyes are this light blue that, when he really concentrates, seems to turn so clear that it's white, or tints straight into yellow. He can pin you with those eyes, even from high up on his throne. It's not that kind of pinning that Daddy does, where all the breath goes right out of you. You just have this clarity of being seen, of all the attention of the world being set on you, and you'd better do something now that it has been. Something very interesting. During a Trial, it's even more potent.

Maybe that's what it is about him. I don't know. Maybe Daddy would know better, or Jhe h'Lete.

My brother Lyric is standing alone in the middle of the Court. He looks as relaxed and as confident as I remember him being. Maybe it's because Unkie's looking at him. I don't know. It makes me feel better that Lyric's acting so calm about this, though. He really is a very good person. He should be fine. And I have some other foundations for my hunch on that, but...

...Well, I don't write about that stuff right now. Being at a Trial makes it awkward enough for me. It's easier to focus on Jhe h'Lete and stop thinking about it. He needs someone to pay attention to him. Daddy just can't watch him at all times.

Speaking of Jhe h'Logos, Gerald is whispering things to my King, but he probably wants privacy so I make it a point not to listen in too hard. I'll hear the report in good time. I get to read all the good notes nowadays, especially when I'm bringing the King his tea. What can I say, I have a knack for picking the best jobs for being nosy! It's another family tradition.

Daddy steps behind the podium. He looks over to Jhe Katherine, who is sitting at her desk to the Court's side, facing the accused. She gives him that precise little nod.

He calls Court into order.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

Being inside the Court instead of up in the stands is a different experience altogether. I bet you think I mean that a lot more figuratively than I do. But no, part of why there's a Poet on the floor is so that it can be recorded firsthand just what happens down here on the floor with 'Sy. What the audience sees (with the exception of Daddy up there in his throne) is never reliable.

He looks just as grand as ever. Sometime in between breakfast and his entry into Court, he shifted his clothing. Justice hangs over him, a set of robes, belts, straps and buttons. His office as a clothier would depict it. It's a shame he doesn't wear this more often, it's damn sexy. On the other hand, I'm kind of grateful it's reserved for highly official occasions, because then I don't have to worry about stripping the whole complex mess off of him. It would probably take a pair of wirecutters and a crochet hook just to unlatch the first layer.

Have I mentioned I'm distracting myself from this whole mess? I'm distracting myself from this whole mess.

I'm almost expecting him to whip out the Trident and point it right in his son's face, just so the boy will piss his pants right then and there and never run off again. No, that's just one of 'Sy's passing whims, not something he'll actually do. ...Probably. I see Lyric jerk, all the same, as if he caught the thought as well.

Clever boy. Have you gotten perceptive during your time away? I wonder if you'll see what's coming next, then. I'm quite sure Elete would be interested in that as well.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I've been told that each Judging is very personal, and no two persons have exactly the same one. It would be difficult for me to say. I managed to squirm out of ever seeing one before this, and after I don't think I'll be too keen on a repeat performance, even if it's from up in the stands.

I can hear the bullet's voices echoing in my ears, but I can't make out the words just yet. They're just background crowd noise, nothing I can focus on at all. The only thing I can focus on is Father.

'That's not Father, lad.'

'Aye. That's the Judge.'

'I can't tell the difference.' I shudder. I didn't mean to, but there's something about him right now. It's not just that the podium makes him however many feet taller, and its not how serious he looks, or how serious it is in here, either. 'And I don't want to, either.'

'Some say it won't make much difference if you do.' A steel voice sinks right between my ears and I go rigid, my posture straighter than it's ever been in my life. My eyes flick up to meet my Father's. Somehow this voice matches his eyes, even if it's not his voice. ...The Trident? 'Diyn. If you dare speak of me, you might as well be proper about it.'

I try to make a sound, but it doesn't really come out. There's just this prying, searching, hunting. As if an eye is looking through every part of me, even the parts that try to hide. ...Especially the parts that try to hide. Memories are stirred up that I thought I'd long buried.

Crying in a huddled ball in some windswept threshold, trying to convince myself this was better than being home. Spending the last of someone else's money on booze instead of a warm place to sleep. The girl I met that night, and the things she taught me about my body that I'd never discovered before. Her two sisters. The disease I caught from...one of them, probably the short one.

Judgment shouldn't be like this. I should feel wretched, not...embarrassed. Of course, the shaft of steel that's running through my brain just takes that as an invitation to dig for deeper dirt. It doesn't take long, but on the other hand, he finds so many stops to make along the way. So many things I didn't tell my Uncle, last night. I thought no one needed to know. I tricked a girl into becoming a slave, in some Court before I went to the Peacock King's. I didn't realize. I thought they were just playing games. I only learned afterward what the collars really meant. I didn't--

Further, further down, through those accidental injustices, through the petty thieving and sniping, and into the darkest things in my heart.

I liked him. No, no. It was a little more than that, what I did with the Peacock King. It hurt when I saw him dancing for Nul. It hurt because I loved him. Did I hold back because of that? Did I let people get hurt, because I'd fallen in love with Ebrellin-i?

'He seduced you. Does that make it different to you' The Trident sniffs at me like I'm so much meat.

'Sometimes I wonder if I seduced him.'

'Who are you to know what's in his heart? Who are you to Judge Ebrellin-i?'

I swear I can't think of an answer to that, but somehow it comes forth anyway. Something I'm learning is that you can't not answer the Trident. 'I was close to him. I should have known. I should have stopped him. I should have turned him around. And instead all I did was sit there and let him move me, and turn me, and make me his toy. If he's here at all, isn't at least some of the blame on me?'

'Are you choosing to accept the weight of his crimes?' That question sounds so official that I can't help but wonder what record the answer will be written on. ...Or even worse, what contract.

'No.' I take in a deep breath. 'Only the ones that I committed myself.'

'If you won't accept them then stop blaming yourself for them and wasting my time. Do you want to confess to something you've DONE?'

I let out that deep breath. I also have half a mind to check if my pants are still dry. I have my doubts. 'I touched the animism with a knife. I made sure I didn't draw blood, and the Peacock King's hand guided me through it. I tied him down after that. I was the one who stripped him of his furs, and I was given them as a trophy for my successes in training him.'

'Did you do as ordered?' I can feel its eyes staring straight down into my gut.

'Only when we were being watched by the Peacock King.'

'Then you are guilty of refusing to turn traitor in the King's sight rather than not defile the animism. You already know that.'

'Yes.'

'Why did you freely walk into this Court, Jhe Lyric Akribastes?'

I close my eyes, preparing myself for it. 'Because I knew in my heart that I was guilty.'

'Then that is your Judgment. Are you prepared for the penalty? It is swift.'

My heart forgets to beat for a few moments, and then I try breathing to resurrect it. Guilty? It feels like all the blood's been drained from my body, but I'm so exhilarated at the same time. I wonder how that's even possible. 'Perhaps. I've never really been in this position before.'

'Yes you have. It's referred to by your kind as 'fessing up.'

'Oh. Yes, then.' Giddy. Like all the wind's knocked out of me. Punch drunk. I hear the Trident kill the air as it arcs towards me. I feel it pass through me. I don't even notice. I don't even feel it.

'Well, you're still alive, it would seem.' It sounds a little disappointed.

"We were expecting that." Ah, my Father's voice. It's a little surreal to hear now. It's very surreal to hear anything right now. I should be dead, by all accounts. A big three-pronged hunk of metal just whooshed through my midsection. Maybe I'm just taking my time about falling over in several very neatly-sliced pieces. "Congratulations, Lyric Akribastes. You've been granted a pardon."

My spirits lift up and all the blood comes rushing back to my head at once. It's a miracle I didn't just fall over dead from shock.

Father--no, the Judge-- looks over to Jhe Katherine. She nods and stands, holding up a scroll of parchment. "It is decreed this day that Animism Faun has declared the crimes committed against him by Lyric Akribastes voided, and thus any Judgment called against Lyric Akribastes shall be overturned in favor of the Animism's terms, which shall be contracted in a separate, private hearing. The defendant is dismissed from this Court, may he go in peace and not find his way again to this floor." She bows to me, a short conveyance of decorum and dismissal.

Then she makes this courteous shooing gesture when I don't get the hint. I decide to turn and leave before Diyn decides to aid her. In fact, my steps take on a scampering quality when I realize that Trident is in far too close of a proximity to my butt.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

My brother almost walks right into me as he leaves the Court's floor. Which is just as well, since I immediately crush him against me in a bear-hug.

"Ouf frwm zrrsnk Gerrunk--" he mumbles something completely unintelligible into my shirt. I ignore it. I am reminding myself over and over that he's right there, and he's in my arms, and he's alive. My Guns are berating me for being an unobservant overemotional chickenshit, and you know what? That's okay. It just means I'm in touch with my feelings.

"I think he's gonna die of asphyxiation, bro." Lute pats my shoulder, his voice full of only slightly mirthful understanding. "Really, you need to let go and shake it off before you strangle him. I think you got more upset about his Judgment than he did." His grip tightens, helping cement me in reality. My mind's trying to rush everywhere at once. Wagner is telling me it's my stupid Poet's nature and Bruce says that if I don't focus on something soon he'll shoot me to give me something simple to concentrate on.

It still takes Lute prying at my arms a little to get me to stop squeezing Lyric to death. By that time Lyric's turning blue in the face and looks about ready to pass out.

"Wa-was that my punishment?" Lute snorts, then pulls Lyric close and gives him a much shorter, much less lethal hug. Then he holds Lyric by the shoulders and looks down into his twin's eyes.

"Don't worry me like that again or you'll end up having something to worry about." Lyric gives a prompt nod in response. "Okay. Good. You a'right for steps? You gonna be able to sit up through the next Trial? You don't want to miss the Peacock King getting Judged. That's kind of a one-time event."

Lyric gives a weak little nod, then leans on Lute's arm for support while we guide him up to where my seat was. Stevane's more to the side now, where she and the Jhe h'Logos are talking to...

"Sit, ya moron, these are made for butts, not feet." Lute pushes me down to sit. "You leave your brain in Sul?"

I shake my head and stare at Faun. He gives me a nod, then looks over to Lyric and does the same. "Well, I'm certainly glad to see that my plea was accepted. Are you feeling alive?"

Lyric shakes his head in reply, then leans against Lute.

"Should Lyric still be here?" Stevane's voice is rife with concern. She looks over to him. "You can always read one of the accounts after the Trial. There'll be quite a lot of them, considering." She gestures out to the seats. There are a whole lot of Poets watching the Court.

Lyric shakes his head, then looks out at the floor. "I should be here. I'm what got him here in the first place. It's stupid, but I do owe him that." Lute wraps an arm around him. Jhe h'Logos scoots down to where Lyric sits.

"If I may?"

It never ceases to amaze me how easily the Poet King can confer rest upon a person, or just give them a bit of peace.

Faun decides to sit next to me, of all people, his eyes focused very intently on Lyric. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"I'll keep my distance. I am merely concerned for his well-being." He looks out over the floor. "Ah. The singular event commences."

I break away from scrutinizing the animism to watch as the Peacock King glides into the Court.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I don't recognize him. That terrible man with the sick dark circles under his eyes and hatred riding him like a hood can't be my Father.

'Sy's voice cuts across my thoughts as if it were Diyn. 'Katherine! This is not the time for that.' As deadly serious as his tone is, his thoughts are like a cushion behind me, supporting my own and giving me strength.

'I'm sorry. I forgot my position in that moment.' I bow my head and set my quill to paper. It's so much easier, this way. What I am, and what I do. Words and ink and paper. So simple.

'Just record.' I've never heard him like that in Court. Soft and reassuring. It only sets this event apart even more so.

Ebrellin-i is resplendent in his robes and finery, the chains swaying down heavily in the same motions that his sashes and cords make. The lack of his crown only makes his nose and chin jut out and upward even more prominently. His hair whispers behind him, a raven cloak that shimmers with the green of deep forests. I've never been afraid of him like this.

No, Katherine is afraid. The Advocate watches on with the same relaxed gaze she gives every other defendant. Just as Lyric's Father isn't the Judge, when I become the Advocate, I am no longer Katherine. I watch as Ebrellin-i halts in the center of the floor, the chains clinking and then settling. He jumps as they snake and then bolt to the floor seamlessly. He cranes his neck down to stare at what's been done to him, and then glares up at the Judge.

The Judge returns his glare with a look that could burn stone into glass. The Trident is already in his hand, and his arm is ready, wrist cocked.

I'm almost afraid that Ebrellin-i will be sentenced right here and now.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

There is something that must be done with filth.

First, you must inspect that which has just dragged itself across your threshold. Diyn is ready to destroy him, and there's no reason to hold back that is in the Law in its most literal interpretation. I wonder, then, if a soft hand is a betrayal of myself. No, I don't wonder. But from time to time I must become introspective, before the Advocate does so for me.

A heavy hand is always an option, and it lends a short thrill, but it prevents further learning and growth. It is not caution that stays me in these cases, but the knowledge that Justice is something that must sometimes be excavated rather than dealt. Call it parenting that makes me plunge the Trident into his forehead, then, and spear his Third Eye to see inside of that wretched mind.

The Father in me doesn't want to look, but what Father ever really does? Still, some part of myself that is Lyric's Father takes note of what I see. The rest is sad simply for what Ebrellin-i has done to himself. There are so many crimes in his memory. Were my Poet to record every one, she would be here for days. I've no wish to inflict that on Katherine. Instead, I dig through Ebrellin-i's memory as if it were so much wet earth. The metaphor is accurate down to the worms and their branching tunnels.

I suppose he never noticed that, did he? If his words tell of his deterioration, his mind gives even more testimony to it. I feel him squirm around me, around Diyn. I feel him try to struggle up and grab Diyn's shaft and pull it out of himself. Diyn only bites in harder, even though the chains binding Ebrellin-i are more than enough to bind the King's struggles.

'Avoiding the Truth, are you? Is it that you don't want me to see?' I grin at him. His multi-hued eyes, shot through with blood and pain, can't even manage a proper glare in reply. There's only the pleas that his mouth can't even choke forth. 'Or...is it that you don't want to see for yourself the things you've done?'

'Deserved it, every one of you...' After that, a different part of his mind pipes up in reply, or counterpoint. 'Never even committed a crime. All just a conspiracy. They want to take Katherine and my Kingdom away from me and soil my pure Rocsui-ehellenae.' Some squirming part of his mind only chitters for awhile, before demanding a blood toll from me and the sport of my son, and the rest of my children besides. Diyn reaches out for me and strangles that one before pulling it forward.

"You're so filthy I can barely recognize you, Ebrellin-i."

The creature that is Ebrellin-i grins as if there is no Trident impaling him. His tongue hangs out of his mouth, garbling his speech. "And would you care to guess, Wielder of Destruction's Arm, just what tricks I'd have turned with your son against your country? Your precious Armed and your Poets?" He wriggles, trying to jerk the Trident further into himself.

Trying to destroy himself.

"I can see all of that already."

"The animism would have been beautiful as an assassin. Why didn't you kill the boy for attempting to train him into one? At least trade the beauty for blood. At least give me that much, my King Unkind. I've served you so well. Why do you lay waste to the faithful now?"

Diyn agrees with me. Neither of us can make much sense of what he's saying.

The Advocate's voice nudges my mind. 'He's according you the same respect that he would his own Master.'

I pause, digesting that particular statement. 'How decorous of him. I do wonder what I should respond with.'

'He would prefer you killed him in response, as he's been ordered to suicide rather than expose secrets. Please retry him after you've cleaned that thing out of him. I can barely touch upon the accused's true voice, buried under all that filth. I don't recognize him.' I can hear where her heart would fill those words with emotion, but she says it all in perfect calm. The Advocate's Judgment, then. Given in compliance with Truth.

My eyes narrow, and I slowly draw the Trident out of Ebrellin-i's head. Diyn bickers with me, but doesn't fight, of course. His matters of opinion don't weigh as heavily as the Advocate's.

Ebrellin-i slumps onto the floor in a broken heap. The chains look more alive than he is. Later, I am told that most witnesses in the stands assumed I'd dealt him the death penalty then.

The Advocate walks closer to him, looking down at the pile of hair and elbows and silks that is Ebrellin-i. She's still scrutinizing. She looks up to me. Her eyes blaze a color that I've not seen in quite some time - irises a white-gold so primordial and otherworldly that I shiver, pupils a deep, piercing blue. Many Trials have passed since the last time she's stepped in. I'd almost forgotten those eyes - or possibly tried to, knowing how I often clash with the Advocate's stance.

'Bring him to my Court.' She turns, walking towards the exit. I follow suit, the chains binding around Ebrellin-i's form, one leading from his collar to Diyn. He gets up and walks in front of me, still unconscious, his movements ghostly and puppetlike.

After that we depart to a much different room, our departure's only fanfare the many questions and rumors drifting through the audience.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Lyric goes white when the Peacock King collapses. I think he's going to collapse right on the spot as well. Lute manages to shake him out of it. Lyric watches on, then, as they lead the Peacock King out of the Court.

I look around to see the reactions in the stands. Most people don't know what to make of it. Most of them thought, as my brother did, that Ebrellin-i had been sentenced to death. So there's quite a lot of talking, and even a few arguments breaking out. I'm on guard against fights starting up here in Court. Hell, it wouldn't be the first or last time. And I don't miss the fact that glares are being cast my brother's way. Of course, with no official explanation thus far of my brother's connection to the Peacock King...rumors have no way of being stopped. I stand up to start to counter some of what happened, and then get drawn into an argument myself.

That's why I miss what happens to Jhe h'Logos. The next thing I know, my sister's yanking on my hand so hard that my elbow almost gets pulled out of its socket.

"Gerald. Could you clear the way for us? I already called for some assistance but he needs to get out of here now."

The Poet King leans against my sister. His hand on her shoulder looks consoling, but he's really holding himself up. He's as pale as bone china, but at least that looks natural on a Xaillyndesse. "I am fine. I just need air."

"Then there's fine air where your bed is. Come on." She starts to walk him down, then thinks better of it. She looks over to the throne at the same time that Uncle Lui looks over to her. He stands and beckons her towards his throne. I lean in to prop the King up, but Stevane elbows me away. "He doesn't want to look sick. ...Bring Lyric. The audience in this courtroom's being less kind to him than Diyn was."

The Courtroom begins to empty, but we don't have to worry about the hectic crowd - Uncle Lui's private exit bypasses all of that. We shuffle into his suites right before Jhe h'Logos goes into shock.

* * *
Stevane
* * *

I brace Jhe h'Lete more as his legs start to fail him. I don't ask for help because I know it would embarrass him. With him leaning against me like this, I'm especially aware of his feelings and thoughts. It's painful. In a way wish I could distance myself from him. I manage to get him to the couch before someone does need to help me.

"Here, it's long enough for you to lay down and you won't be cramped."

My King looks up at me, his blue eyes stubborn and his chin held primly. "I'll just sit, Stevane, thank you."

I square my shoulders for an argument, but then there's my Uncle's voice over my shoulder. "Eleth-travente a'Radia. Do as your Poet tells you." I rarely hear Unkie's voice so ironclad. Strangely, I recognize the tone from when he's spoken to his children around me. Jhe h'Lete pales one more shade, then lies down as ordered.

...Wow, I'm going to have to figure out how to pull that trick. I drop to my knees and put my hand on my King's forehead. He sees that frown on my face, sighs, then takes off his crown and hands it to me. I put it in my lap, then put my hand against his forehead again.

My King closes his eyes to hide the fact that he's wincing. He sucks a breath into his chest. I feel the wave of dizziness hit him as if it were my own. I have to catch myself from falling over. ...Correction. Unkie has to catch me from falling over. He then gives me a nudge.

"Let me."

I stand back and let my Uncle see my King. Jhe h'Lete's nerves immediately rise. He even edges away from my Uncle a little. The edge of fear bleeds off of him, over our connection, and onto me. My fingers clench around his crown and my knuckles tint white.

Unkie tsks at Elete. "You..." he sighs. "It's always something, isn't it? Let me look before it gets any worse. ...Stevane?"

I jump a little, then ease my grip on the crown before Elete's scalp begins to itch out of sympathy. I need to be useful, not a mess. "I'll make tea and coffee." I look around the room. Lute's dear enough (and sneaky enough) to have ducked into the shadows and made himself not so much of a nuisance, but Gerald and Lyric are just standing around and gawking like idiots. I push Gerald into a chair and grab Lyric's wrist.

"Give me a hand in here." I pull him into the coffee bar without too much protest on his part. I need someone in the room with me so I won't start worrying about things. I'm pretty sure Lyric could use the same thing. "You know how Unkie liked his coffee? That hasn't changed any. I'll handle the tea. I'm certified."

He snorts as he readies a coffee press. "Does that come with the Poet training?" He can't suppress a little smile as he grinds down the beans.

I giggle. "It's more of a prerequisite. Here, give me a hand, the cups are behind you."

The work keeps us busy, and it's something we can do instead of just worry about. We ready two services. Before we carry them back into the room, I surprise-attack my brother with a bear hug.

"Urp. Stevane, are you okay?"

"Don't make me miss you again." I sigh into his shoulder. "I keep telling people that. Dad and Gerald and Edward and Elric. It never works. Still." I look back up and stare hard into his eyes. "...Don't make me miss you again. Promise?"

"I promise." He kisses me on the cheek. "Let's get tea to your King." He collects the coffee service and hoists it up over his head on one hand. "...And a coffee transfusion to Uncle Lui."

"Hey, I forget. Were you here when he tried injecting it directly into himself?"

My brother almost drops the platter.

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

My Poet King has, yet again, overextended himself. This is just something Elete does because he doesn't like to think of his limits. Everything else is just an extraneous factor.

The thing is, if I keep thinking that at the front of my mind, he won't throw up his guard. It's what he wants me to think. He's easy to get the drop on in that way. A lot easier than he thinks, even though we have to do this almost every time he gets sick. You'd think he'd catch me at this by now.

Even more testament to the fact that he's much sicker than he wants us to know.

"Were you alright, watching the Trial?" Talking's a great distraction for him, once I can get him to stop clamming up.

"...Both were unfortunate, if not earned. Is the boy taking it well, I wonder? He looked fine, but as I've heard told, he's quite the actor."

I manage to drop my senses into that space behind his eyes while I answer. "Lyric's fortitude is admirable. He held up while being groomed as your brother's pawn. He's got quite a mind on him, though he tries to hide that. I imagine things would be different now if I'd thought to put that mind to use before he ran away with it."

Elete snorts. "Hindsight is always so clear. Why not make use of that and turn it into foresight?" Ah, he's got ideas brewing in his mind. That makes it much easier to pick around in there.

He's so dizzy that I'm surprised he's able to think at all. If he'd tried to stay sitting up like he wanted, he'd probably be on the floor by now. There's a dull pain all through his head. He'd call it a particularly bad migraine, of course, and try to work through it if not for the vertigo. Hells, if he'd managed to get to his quarters instead of shoring up in mine, he'd probably be laid out in bed, dictating to Stevane while she took notes. ...Well, maybe a different Poet than Stevane. She's got the same mind as I do when it comes to Elete's illnesses.

"...You sound as if you have a plan for my nephew. Care to inform me of the details?"

Elete grins, and I can't help but welcome that spark of youthful excitement in his eyes. "I've heard a rumor or two that the boy has taken a turn to putting quill to paper."

A new recruit always does lift his spirits so. "So he's told me." I slide my hand to the back of Elete's head, feeling along the base of his skull. "Quite some headache you've got, it seems."

"They come and go." He brushes it off, which makes it easier for me to prod deeper. 'Sy and Katherine are better at searching him, but that's largely because I'm not often willing to pry directly myself. He's pushed my patience and then some, though. This illness has lingered for how long now? We can't even tell - it's been obvious in the past few months to his close students, but he's likely been hiding it for much longer, or explaining it away as 'his usual ailments'. Of course, none of that is even on his mind right now. "Tell me, do you think his Father will mind if I..." he trails off, unable to find a complimentary way to say it.

"If you go about meddling in his affairs like you always have a mind to?" I chuckle. I delve a little deeper into him. He's so difficult to scrutinize. So damn guarded, ever since he moved here from Lyiannethe so many years ago. "...Be careful. 'Sy's only just got his son back, and that son has gone through quite the ordeal." I pause in my scrutiny to think about it for a moment. "It would be better if you waited for Tesynnodai to approach you about Lyric himself. He will. His first concern will be giving Lyric something constructive to do and putting him somewhere safe."

Elete chuckles. "Really? The Jhe h'Akribastes describing a training at the Poet Hall as either constructive or safe would certainly be a moment worth recording."

It's hard to search any deeper than I am, and I can't just do this with a surface reading. I don't know what's causing these episodes of his, but this is the worst yet that I've seen. He should be unconscious. He's straining himself just by staying awake. "Well then, wait for it so that you can put it to permanent record yourself, because I'm sure it will happen." Damn it. I just can't see it. I don't know what to look for or where to look. Elete's always made it a point to keep me from knowing what it is that might distress him.

"Unkie? I have the tea. Lyric made your coffee." I hear a clink as Stevane sets the tray down and then serves her King his tea. He tries to sit up. It's funny how both Stevane and I hold him down at once.

Stevane imparts him with one of her cheerful smiles. "Jhe h'Lete? Why don't you just prop yourself up on your side? I've noticed a tea's flavor improves when enjoyed in a relaxed posture."

Damn, she really can pretend for him, can't she? At least he accepts the excuse gracefully and does as requested. He looks less strained when there's a cup of tea in his hands.

Lyric gives me a nudge. It certainly is a dire situation when I have to be reminded that I have coffee. Stevane can see to her King for the moment. I give Lyric a nod and then take my cup, sink into a nearby armchair, and dose myself.

Gerald looks up from the chair across from me, then immediately looks away from me. He must have been doing his very best to make us forget he was here, because I certainly did.

Well, he certainly isn't the only one in the room who's obviously trying to hide something. "Do you want to talk about it?" He mulls that over. "Get some coffee, then, and think it over. I'm tired of the whole world clamming up around me. You'd think I was your Dad."

Gerald snorts as he gets up. "Thanks, sir."

I scoff. "Disowning me as your Uncle now? It seems I lose more family to protocol every day."

"Sorry, Uncle." He makes himself a cup, then settles back in, shoulders so tight that I wonder if he can even reach his arms over his head. "Bad day."

"Considering the amount of people still alive to see the rest of it, I'd judge it a fair one so far. Come, now. What's eating you?" I watch him take an awkward gulp of coffee, then fidget in his chair. He looks over to where his brother and sister are attending the Poet King. Elete's already chatting the boy up, of course, but I suppose it provides an excellent distraction for the three of them. Everyone's as wound up as a cat on a leaky raft.

"...Most things are eating me." Gerald closes his eyes and sips, then lets out a long, low sigh. "How have Father and Katherine been?"

I snort. Fine. The boy decides to pick at my sore spots. "My brother and my daughter are just darling together." I hold back an acrid comment about weddings. I don't want to even think about those two marrying.

Gerald experiences a sober moment. "...I'm sorry, sir, I hadn't even thought about it that way."

I snort. No one ever thinks about me. "No, really, what's eating you?"

He experiences another one of those strange moments of clarity. I wonder what I'm saying that's so illuminating to him? "I guess...something that's not as big as I think it is. Look, am I going to be useful around here, or should I just haul off?"

I grin. "You know Gerald, you've got a good head on your shoulders for a son of Tesynnodai. Why don't you go out and get a gauge of how your Father is doing with the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale?" I catch the look he gives me, his head cocked to the side. "I don't look in on certain things my brother does, Gerald. I find it a much better idea those times to give him my trust without my scrutiny. It would be best if you waited for them to come out, and then fetched them."

He gets up without a reply and bows courteously before he leaves. I wonder a little bit about him, but I don't think he has problems I can solve that his Father wouldn't solve in a better way.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

...Okay, I think I've been kind of a dick. I guess it took my Uncle coming straight off of a caffeine hit to make me realize it. When I look at the Kathe thing from his perspective, though...wow. But now I've got my boots on the right feet, as it were, and I'm using them to march right down to the Peacock King's holding cell. I know Katherine and 'Sy will have to end up here after Ebrellin-i's secondary interrogation.

Heck, the fact that he got one was pretty extraordinary. I mean, Lyric got sentenced and almost executed and everything without getting some special process called up for him. I don't really know what his Trial was all about.

'Ye'd know if you'd calm down and ask us instead of wandering around and whimpering at everyone like a lost pup.'

...Okay. I am a little chagrined by that. 'Fine. Why didn't you two tell me about his Trial?'

'Because it wouldn't have changed nuthin'.'

'A Trial's a Trial. Ye've got to conduct yerself the same way no matter whose neck it is.'

'Ye know that sure as ye know anything. Why're we even tellin' ya this?'

...I hate getting my ass handed to me by my own guns. There's nothing more wounding to my dignity.

'Eh? How about that time Katherine shoved Gevurah's revolver barrel into your mouth and told you to suck it like a cheap whore if you didn't like her trail cooking?'

...Make that the second most wounding thing.

I gather my wits back together. A proper dressing-down helps with that sometimes. 'So my brother gets tried and pardoned for a single crime against an animism, and the man who forced him to do so much of that gets a special hearing before he'll even get sentenced? I know Ebrellin-i was crazy, but...' I shake my head.

'Ye think he's not crazy enough not to die for his actions like your brother could have if Faun hadn't requested he be pardoned?'

'Why are ye so eager for the turkey buzzard to die? Not that we blame ye.'

'A vile creature he be, but can ye say that he deserves his death with no complete testimony of his actions?'

'Don't you know what it means when Katherine takes special testimony from someone?'

I shake my head. 'I thought it was only done for exceptions from the Law, even when Father claims there are no exceptions from the Law.'

'Nay. Lyric could give his own testimony without special assistance. Even if he'd held back from admitting things, Diyn would drag it out of him in your Father's Court sure enough.'

'The Advocate tries those who have lost the ability to give their own testimony.'

'He's a right crazy buzzard, that King. He was tryin' to kill 'imself before he'd plead insanity.'

'That in itself is reason enough for him to have a special hearing. Whatever he's hiding is important enough for him to destroy himself before giving it up.'

* * *
Katherine
* * *

It's easy to focus on how limp his arms are, hanging down in the same way that his hair drags behind him. His closed eyes and weary expression both could give me a false sense of security.

'Sy doesn't allow that, crossing Diyn in front of Ebrellin-i's chest before the regent can step any further. "Reveal yourself," he whispers. My Father's eyes open.

He had possibly been unconscious once or twice after his Trial, but it's doubtful. No, whatever is within him was still pretending - trying to exploit any weakness that it could find. That won't stop, of course. He'll never stop trying to get himself killed.

That's why we have to destroy that part of him, if you can even call it a part of him. Or at least, I hope we can destroy it. I hope it's not a true part of his Will. If it is...it's back to the Court for him, and 'Sy really will Judge him. We were spared from Lyric's execution. I pray we'll be spared from my Father's as well.

He looks down at me. He doesn't recognize me. I can see that in his eyes. I've not changed enough for that to be possible. He should know his daughter. He knew me last night. But still, he tries to smile, tries to pretend, to look endearing.

It's time.

They never scream when this part comes, and I don't know why, because I want to scream. 'Sy tells me that they forget their wretched mouths at this moment, or even worse, become too cowardly to speak unless commanded.

"Ebrellin-i. You are well-acquainted with cowardice, are you not?" He nods. He tries to shake his head, then, realizing that he had answered me. He fails at even moving his head.

Within this room, there can be nothing but Truth spoken.

"When did you start hurting your daughters?" I don't wince at the question. 'Sy winces for me, but Ebrellin-i does not see him.

"I, I didn--" He halts his speech. A bead of sweat breaks out on his forehead. He's fighting it, but he'll lose. They all do, in the end. This is a Grace to bestow on them, but it hurts me so much. And if they didn't fight it so hard, they wouldn't need to be here in the first place. "Rocsui-ehellenae. I renamed her when she was three. Closer to four. I wanted to protect her, so I removed her name and bound her to me with a new one. I don't remember when the feath--no. Now I do. She was eleven. I feared the day she would grow old enough to begin attracting a mate, who would then take her from my protection. I brought her to my lab and asked her if she wanted to be more beautiful than any other woman would ever be. I needed some indication of consent to enable the process. I made her into someone singular. Unmateable. It meant tainting the Xaillyndesse blood, of course, but I no longer cared for the particulars of that lineage. Eleth-travente could carry on the line if he so wished. I had better things to do. Katherine, though. She was difficult. I couldn't have her, no matter how much I fought the contract or tried to sabotage custodial negotiations. All I could manage, in the end, was to trouble my ex-suitor and ensure she wasn't raised by either of her Fathers. There was very little I could do there, unfortunately. She was always so well-guarded. But in a way, that fulfilled my intentions and my obligations. She was very rarely near me. She was safe. Not safe enough, but I could only do so much."

I narrow my eyes. "And what are you keeping them safe from?"

Ebrellin-i's face is so calm, now. As if he were giving a lecture in his labs. He's starting to accept this, find shelter in it. Or perhaps he's convinced that if he says the right thing, it will get him destroyed, and end his master's worries. "Myself, of course. I could not trust myself with children. Oh, I tried to convince myself it was untrue. Even got Hesperides with two darlings when she begged it of me. That protected her from me, though, so it was acceptable. Keeping children away was better. They might find out. They might see me. They might know what I was. And worse...what owns me might see them and want them, and I couldn't have that. It isn't my children's fault that I'm a traitor."

I nod. "Fine, then. Tell the rest of the truth. You've only given me half."

His face is calm. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I haven't the faintest what you're--" He frowns, his tongue stopping itself. He shakes his head, tries to fight me again. "But I don't...stop showing me this."

"You must look."

"I have no need to see these things." He jerks against the chains. 'Sy presses the Trident's staff closer against Ebrellin-i's chest.

"Every creature must gain a clear sight of who and what he is. You are no exception. This is a favor to you."

"I don't WANT--" he chokes on his own words. Even that was a lie. "Please. Just let me go in peace."

"What can he do to you, all the way from Nul, if you disobey him here?" Ebrellin-i's panicked expression surprises both the Judge and I. If nothing else, his terror is genuine. "Tell me how he punishes you."

"No." His voice is dead quiet, his skin as pale as the white makeup he wears. Still, my power compels him to speak. His mouth opens no matter how his own crippled free will fights to keep it closed. "You can't make--please don't make me. I don't--please. Please." Tears trail down his face, his shoulders jerking. I can see the cracks running along his mind. I draw Gedulah. A shining length of steel, ivory and gold. "Please..."

I ready it. 'Sy moves the Trident away. I thrust my sword through Ebrellin-i's heart.

I feel its beat like a pulse against my palm, throbbing through Gedulah's hilt. Now Ebrellin-i screams.

It's not the wound, you see. It's his heart. He's buried it for so long, trying to forget its existence. Trying to rationalize those beats away as just blood and biomechanics, no matter how damn much he knows about chakras and energy flow. Putting the pain away meant not having to be hurt by his own actions. No, more than that. He'd done much more than that to himself.

Or rather, much more than that had been done to him by someone else. I try to feel for it, but it's too raw to parse through my blade. It's strange to see a person who has been this damaged and mixed up, but was walking around and pretending so convincingly that he was whole. What's wrong with him?

I'm thinking too much. He has to see it for himself. He has to see the knots for them to be untangled. I concentrate on bringing the feelings in his heart forward again. He chokes on his agony. I strain harder until 'Sy's hand falls on my shoulder.

"Don't break him, Khatarina." I frown.

Ebrellin-i is breaking from this, and that's not supposed to happen.

I stop drawing it out, and focus again on interrogation. "Tell me how he punishes you, Ebrellin-i."

Ebrellin-i screams, but it can't mask out the words. "Like this! LIKE THIS!"

I almost drop the blade. I cut short the franticness in the back of my mind that wants to chase itself in circles, scrambling over how Nul could control me and make me into a kind of torture. I keep my grip steady. "Explain."

"He makes me watch!" Ebrellin-i tries to writhe away from the blade, tries to escape, but the chains keep him steady for me. "He makes me watch when I'm like this! I tried to seal them away! I tried to keep my heart silent! He'd have nothing to use then! I could be free!" He's so self-convinced of those lies that they've become their own truths. Very well. Let him speak rather than be silent. "I didn't want to. I didn't want to!"

"You didn't want to what?" 'Sy asks it for me.

"Become this! Writhe for him! Be his p-p-p-pet!" He jerks, his posture straightening with panic. "He'll punish me now. He'll punish me now. He'll punish me now for speaking. I try to be so quiet. I can never stop talking or whimpering, as much as I try. He scares me so much. He'll punish me now. I tried to learn. I'm trying so hard to be good."

'Sy's arm supports me as the panic washes back into me. It wells up so much that I can't block it without help. Even while wielding Gedulah. This terror...it's not natural.

Ebrellin-i's punishment. This fear. It's blinding.

I have to cleanse him of it.

"You'll cripple him."

"Better than letting him live blind." I close my eyes and send the fear back into Ebrellin-i. It causes him to howl again, but I need to be calm. I need perfect clarity. I open my eyes.

I see a man. His name is Ebrellin-i. He ruled an Empire. He is my Father. He is hurting.

I'm going to have to dive into him with Gedulah. "'Sy. Wait for me."

There's just enough time for me to hear my partner curse before my senses are overtaken with what is inside Ebrellin-i's heart.

* * *

* * *
Katherine
* * *

It's very green here, in this tiny piece of my father that Gedulah has found. This is all of him, all that is left of Ebrellin-i. Nothing else remains.

I suppose I should clarify: I mean literally Nothing. Which I guess means there's something in here besides him. That something is lots and lots of Nul. The Jherent Nul's taken ownership of Father, however that was made possible, and so while there might technically be many pieces and broken shards of my father inside this body of his, they're claimed and enfolded by pieces of Nul. It's worse than the Void. At least the Void can be Aimed at, in a manner of speaking.

Nul, though...however it is that it can be possible, Nul doesn't exist in our world. It shouldn't be there at all, and thus, it isn't. Why it can still interfere with Existence and harm the inhabitants of our world is something that every Poet and Armed would give their heart and soul to discover. Sometimes we wonder if that's why Elete is ailing so.

Those broken and abused pieces of my father aren't in here, you see, because the Nul is inside him, claiming almost every part of him. Except...this. This tiny green glowing shard which Gedulah has found for me. She purrs her satisfaction, then slices away at a wave of Nul that tries to wash over me. I'm so proud of my blade.

This cursed filth can't even touch her.

I can almost feel Ebrellin-i quake at the sight of her. That false Ebrellin-i that keeps speaking for my father is terrified. I can see now, though, why it wasn't possible to simply draw out all of the filth in my father and quickly clean it from him. It must be done from the inside.

...But not by me. It must be done from inside of those Nul pieces. Only Father is capable of cleaning them out of himself. I...I don't know if he's capable.

Gedulah chastises me for doubting him. 'He called out to me from deep inside this muck. He led me to the one piece of himself that was still beautiful. Surely you can have more faith that that.'

Arms are so mouthy. What's worse, she's right.

'Why this piece, Gedulah? What makes this one special? Why is it the only one to survive?'

She tilts in my hand, light rippling along her blade, a quick little grin. 'Let us see.'

I turn the shard in my hand, then, and look into it to see through my father's eyes.

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

I've missed Faun. That's in the forefront of my mind as I stand amongst the leaves scattered on the ground underneath the canopy of trees outside of the Lyiannethe estate. The sun cascades down through motes of dust and pollen, dappling everything in gold spots.

It makes Faun's hair look even more like a pelt. I grin. "Welcome back." I execute an odd little bow that barely has even the trappings of decorum in it. Mother would smack me across the face with a hot iron. He returns the bow with a snort, then folds to the ground in a flop that I thought only quadrupeds could manage.

I grin wider and flop to the ground myself, taking care to lean so that my hair doesn't get in the dust. It's the longest it's ever been, now. Almost at the small of my back. I've dared my brother to grow his longer, but Mother keeps cutting his, as if she's trying to prevent another Me happening by simple grooming.

"It's harder to get here now, you know."

I nod. Mother's cut back many of the trees. We're pretty far off from the complex now. They keep an eye out for Faun as well, and try to chase him off as best as can be done. "I...I'm sorry."

"What did you want to talk about, Ebrelle?" His expression doesn't change, just remains at that flat calm. It relaxes me. Just enough to get me to answer his question instead of let it go. Who knows when I'll see him next? I'll never be able to talk about this with anyone in the estate, not even my brother. I don't like to get him in trouble.

"I...my mother." I see him tense just a little, the hair on his neck standing on end, his posture straightening ever so slightly. Otherwise, he suppresses the recoil. I don't blame him for his feelings. "She...still wants pets. I don't understand. Why?"

Faun almost spits, then looks off the the side. "Why do you think? Why do you think it makes people happy to stuff little animals behind bars? If I knew, I don't think I would be what I am."

I bite my lip. He sighs.

"No, Ebrelle. I really do mean it." His hair smooths back down, and for the hundredth time I suppress the urge to reach out and pet him. "Answer the question. For me."

"Why? It won't be my mother's answer."

His yellow eyes simultaneously freeze and heat my soul, just as they always have. Is that the appeal? The draw? "If I wanted your mother's opinion I would ask her for it. I want to hear the answer you give."

I smile. It's an odd bit of praise to take to heart, isn't it? "They say that animals are healthier when taken out of the wild and cared for."

He raises an exacting eyebrow. "Oh, really? Is that your answer?" I look away. He snorts. "Or is it just one of the excuses your mother gives you when she's not smacking you around?"

I clench my jaw, eyes staring hard at the ground. He doesn't apologize. He isn't the type to give people things that are useless. "...Yes."

"Then what is your answer?"

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I want to hear his answer very badly, but it ends there. I don't understand. Why?

'It's fresh. He must have been thinking about it very recently. Perhaps before the Trial.'

I nod. 'During, even.' I look at the little shard. It's so close to being dust in my fingers. 'Can it be healed?'

'It can heal itself, even blossom into something more complete, if given proper soil to grow in.'

...That's not something that can be found in here, not yet. I scrunch my eyebrows. We have to clear this place somehow of all this Nul. We have to try to free his other memories. What I just saw isn't enough yet. Neither 'Sy nor I can get anywhere with it.

'Your father can't get anywhere with it either, and he's the one that will have to fight his way back out.'

I clench my jaw.

'I've got an idea.'

Gedulah listens to me. Gevurah perks up as well, while I recite my plan. Funny, she usually stays out of this part of my duties.

'No, this is way too much fun to miss. The Judge is going to absolutely slay you for doing it.' She cackles, the sound nothing but steel and serrated edges.

I grin. 'He can't see me in here, remember? That's why this part makes him the most nervous. It's something only I can do, and he won't follow me in. So....' I bounce on my toes just once. 'Nobody needs to know, once I leave this place, just what I did in here. Do they, girls?'

Even Gevurah agrees with that. If I die, there'll be no one to stab Gerald with her.

* * *

I draw Gedulah from his chest, forever remembering the squick sound as it comes out. With the same motion, I swing Gedulah back. I arc her, white fire gliding through the air and then through Ebrellin-i's side before slicing clean through him.

Ebrellin-i falls sideways to the floor, not a wound to be found on his body. He twitches, then curls, as something that isn't even fear runs through him. He tries to let out a cry, but his words don't make it out of his throat.

"Memories," 'Sy mumbles.

I nod. "His real punishment. He was shielding himself from it with the fear. But now he has no way to hide."

"That's rather cruel of you."

"No one ever calls me fair except you." I stare down at the man that is my father. I frown, trying to think of how best to do this. "It may be a while until he is retried. This will take time. He will have to do it himself, and I don't know if he's capable of that."

"Capable of coping with memories that he's likely buried since before his children were born?"

"Yes."

He raises an eyebrow, inspecting me for a moment. He could say it, and it goes unsaid, really: I'm hiding something. He turns away, though, and lets it drop. He lets me have my way in this place, of all places.

'...Yes.' I keep it very quiet and discreet.

'Sy has a particularly ugly expression on his face as he looks down at my father. I pay it no heed. I understand his ire. Truly, Ebrellin-i has committed many crimes because of his cowardice. How could 'Sy forgive him that? It's not within the Law, but then...that's why I'm here.

"Of course he'll be successful. He will be aided with all the assistance Radia can offer. Then, I can Judge his wretched soul."

Ebrellin-i whimpers, his body uncurling like a slow exhale. To my surprise he moves again. He looks up at me with eyes that might as well be blind. I take a step towards him. 'Sy's hand squeezes my shoulder again.

"What now?"

I clench my jaw. I peer at Ebrellin-i for a few moments. "...'Sy? Stay by him."

My partner raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" Even with the question asked, he goes to Ebrellin-i's side. Instinct makes him hold the regent down.

I walk closer to Ebrellin-i, looking down at him from a pace away. I expect the strike he attempts then. 'Sy intervenes. It wouldn't even have harmed me. It was a weak flail more than it was an attack.

"Begging for help." 'Sy looks back up at me.

I nod. "He's not allowed to ask for it. He's only allowed to lash out." I hunker down, knees bent, and look Father in the eyes again. He really is almost blind. I think he's guiding his eyes by instinct alone.

"Are you suggesting that everything he's done...."

"Not everything. But what other way would there be for him to try to get help?"

"It's a theory." 'Sy gives me that much. "...What do you plan, now? He can't function on his own. The memories are all but attacking him."

"He'll have a lot of trouble defending himself from them. He's all broken up, and he has to draw himself back together before we can do anything for him. It's especially difficult for him because he's tried so hard to forg--" I catch myself. That was a lie. I frown, trying to probe Ebrellin-i's mind and heart. It's like trying to search a battlefield for a body. "Something's crippling him. Or it crippled him at the time of the memories."

"...Purposefully rendered us ineffective? Thought ahead for a Trial?" That's not accusatory. He's rolling the idea around with interest. The Jherent Nul has tried very interesting tactics against both of us before. Every shift in his moves is another thing for us to consider in our own.

"Of course. It would explain why it's taken this long for the Law to reach him. I don't know what's been done, but whatever it is, it's as good at hiding itself as Cade." 'Sy grimaces at the mention of the name, like there's an acid taste in his mouth. "...We shouldn't destroy him."

"You've already made your case for that."

I shake my head, staring beyond the walls. "If we destroy him before he's healed, we'll have even worse things to deal with than Nul and a broken treaty with Audiva Rocale. I can sense it. Whatever's been done...." I sigh, looking down at my father. "This would have to be complicated, Daddy... How can we help him at all if we can't poke at the memories? He'll take forever to face them. In the meantime we'll have no clue of whatever else might be hurting him."

"They're memories. Someone must remember them."

My fist clenches. "Camden still has Cade in Audiva Rocale?"

'Sy's face splits into a wide grin. "I would love nothing more than to interrogate that wretch. He'll be brought here soon. Do you have anything else you'd like to do in here? If he can't deal with his own memories then he sh--"

"Yes, I know, he shouldn't be in here, but I don't know how much better his own cell will be for him." I sigh. "At least he'll have rest, though, right? That'll help him recover. If he's put to that rest, that is. 'Sy, could you...."

"Of course." A smirk accompanies the thud that the trident's shaft makes against the back of Ebrellin-i's skull. My father's whimpers and moans cut off abruptly. If he were any further into sleep my Court would have a sheep infestation.

"You didn't have to look so happy about it." 'Sy only grins and scoops up my Father's body. We leave the chamber. I can't say I'm distressed about that. It's my job, even a part of me, but not everybody has to be completely happy with themselves.

Even 'Sy.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

"What are you doing here?"

Katherine has given me better greetings. Even Father gives her a look for that one.

"Helping. I have a message from Jhe o'Radia after you're finished with your prisoner." I swallow my pride and step away so that Father can enter the cell. Katherine stays outside while her father is secured. I find that more than a little strange.

"What? You're giving me one of your looks. Stop it." She folds her arms, hunching her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Katherine. I know it hurts you."

She looks at me like I've grown a second head, one that apparently brings back memories of childhood nightmares, judging by the tinge of fear in her eyes. Then she looks away, exasperated. "Yeah. Thanks for that brilliant observation."

I give up.

Father finishes in the cell. "Look over him before I lock it." He winces when he looks at her eyes. "It shouldn't take long. It's just--"

"Everything has to be done correctly. Especially now." She has that odd, calm, faraway voice as she walks in. She leans down over her father, who is now chained by his neck to the couch in the cell. She brushes his hair to the side so that she can look at his face and lean down to his temple. A moment's concentration while she closes her eyes, and whatever she needed to do is done. "He'll rest well. Thank you." She joins us outside the cell. Father locks it.

"What's going to happen to him?" I can't suppress the question, and regret it as soon as I ask it.

"Why are you here?" My father smoothly wipes away the inquiry with one of his own. It's delivered in a tone so calm that I don't even feel a rebuke in it.

I bow my head. I don't want to look anyone in the eye. "Jhe h'Logos took ill after the Trial, and is convalescing in Jhe o'Radia's quarters near the Court. He's pushing himself too hard."

Father snorts, then starts walking briskly towards the Palace. "Nothing new there. Thank you for notifying us."

"He seems a lot worse than usual. I can't be sure...I haven't been here recently. I didn't know his illness had progressed that much. Stevane and Lyric are with him. And Lute is, you know...wherever."

"...Elete. That damn twit can't go a day without us managing him." Father sighs. "Gerald? Could you get the papers from off of my desk while we see to the Jhe h'Logos? Bring them to your uncle's quarters." He pauses. "Bring something to write with as well."

I nod. It'll be a relief to get away from Katherine. She looks like she's about to gut me and make a violin out of what's inside. "Of course."

He gives me an odd look, and I feel the brush of a query against my mind, as if he was about to look for himself to see just what might be on it. It goes away, though, and he and Katherine head to my uncle's rooms. I start to make my way to the front of the Armed Hall.

I sigh. There's nothing quite as exasperating as a father who can make my own guns threaten me into fessing up.

* * *
Stevane

I brush Jhe h'Lete's hair away from his forehead as he sleeps. Sleep may not be the best word for this, considering that he more or less passed out a few minutes ago. Unkie hasn't gotten up out of his chair yet, but he's keeping a close eye on Elete from where he's sitting. I peer as far as I can. He's so guarded, even while asleep. I do have one advantage, however - since I act as Poet for the King so often, his mind and mine are somewhat connected by default, especially when I'm on duty. It's helped me get a feel of just what he's been experiencing.

Still... "I can't see in."

My Uncle nods. "What did you pick up off of him before he nodded off, Stevane?"

"Some pain, but more than that, the dizziness and confusion growing at an alarming rate. Then, shortly before he passed out, he was feeling crushed. Smothered. Surrounded. He wasn't afraid of it, though, which confused him." I swallow. I don't particularly want to say the next part. "When it was happening, it felt familiar to him. He remembered it happening not too long ago. That might be why he was so calm. He was bearing through it because he'd done it before." I pause to breathe calmly for a few moments. I'm really trying not to panic. "He's been...out quite a bit, the past few days. Resting in his quarters. This was happening to him then. He wasn't asking for help."

Unkie just looks so...damn disappointed. I can't help but feel at fault. I should have been sterner with Jhe h'Lete. It's so difficult, though. He was almost like a Father to me when I was little. I try to be like Daddy and keep command of the situation, but...Jhe h'Lete is my King, too.

"I just don't know what to do, Unkie. I...this job..."

"Come here." Unkie stands up. I walk to him and he hugs me. It makes it a little bit better. "This isn't your fault. This also isn't your job. You did what you were supposed to by getting him somewhere safe and not letting him sulk off on his own again. Stop assigning yourself someone else's duties." He lets go of me, looking down at my face. "Now. Go take your brother shopping."

I blink. Lyric looks up. "What?" We say it in unision.

"He can't very well wear that Aurocan uniform every day of the week. Go grab your Aunt Muriel. He's in town, you know. I bet you missed that because you were working so hard, but he misses you and I know he'd love to see his nephew Lyric. Now, go on. Your Father and Katherine will be here soon, and they're experts when it comes to getting the Jhe h'Logos back in good health. There's no sense in you both holing up in here, especially when Lyric's just gotten back home." He pauses for a moment. "Oh, and here. It's on me. Go get some coffee or something while you're at it."

Lyric's eyes widen at the amount of silver Unkie hands me. "Um, I...th-thank--"

"So modest! Now go on and spend it all in one place." He grins. "Out! Before I summon the guards to kick you out!"

My brother and I shuffle out, Lyric still boggling at seeing that much silver. I'm going to guess he's seen some slim days in his years as a runaway. As we leave, I sense Lute slide out behind us, cloaked in shadows.

I wonder who thought Lyric rated a bodyguard today.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

When I arrive in Unkie's suite, my arms are full of papers and journals. Either Camden did quite a lot of logging while on mission (not something that would surprise me) or Father didn't notice just how much paperwork was stacked on his desk. His eyebrows lift as I heave the whole pile over to him. "I tried to bring it all, since I didn't know which of them you wanted."

Uncle clears off a desk for me, and I gratefully set the whole load down, trying not to make more of a mess of the pile of sheets. Father gives it a cursory look-over, then looks back over at the couch.

I grimace once I see how much paler the Jhe h'Logos has gotten. "How is he?"

Father just draws his lips tight, jaw clenched, and watches Katherine lay her hands against Jhe h'Logos's forehead.

Uncle sighs and leans against the wall, looking over at Elete with obvious concern. "He's been out for awhile. I sent your siblings out to get some air...and lighten their spirits a bit. No sense everyone glowers in my room."

Father touches my elbow. "Gerald? Help me go through this. Katherine's going to be at it for awhile." He and I lean over the desk. "Try sorting them out. I'm sorry my desk was such a mess. Everything's...a mess right now." He sighs under his breath, more a growl than an exhalation.

I try to do as instructed, but I can't help looking up at him. He meets my eyes, then recognizes what's on my mind. "...I'm sorry, Gerald. I want to talk with you, but I've been brushing you off, haven't I? ...Later, after dinner--"

"I just want to know what's going on, Dad." I know my tone is petulant but I'm tired of getting shushed when it comes to Jhe h'Logos and his jailed brother. I spent a long time incarcerated by Ebrellin-i and I feel I have a right to know what's going on. All I've gotten for my work and strife so far have been bruises and brushoffs.

Father frowns a little, and I realize that he's seeing all of that go through my head. Fine, that's all well enough. At least he knows now. He shakes his head. "We need to talk about what's going on." He looks up at Katherine. "As soon as she's finished, and as soon as we've read over this. I haven't even gone over all the notes Jhe Camden's sent me yet, and considering what's been happening over there..." he sighs. "You need to make your own report, but you were in the Jhe h'Logos's division for this mission, so I haven't drilled you on it as I normally would have. Still, any commentary you may have on what you read would be very useful, I am sure." He frowns.

I frown too.

"That's not Jhe Camden's writing."

I pick up the papers, carefully clipped together behind Camden's logs. They look as if they've been cut out of a journal. "This is Lyric's writing."

"...Really." Father takes the papers from me.

"Ah yes. Your boy's quite the budding writer, it seems." Uncle Lui grins.

A sigh. "So I've heard." He flips back a corner and looks over the next page.

"He um...picked up writing when I couldn't. That's what he told me in Audiva Rocale. I uh...it might be pretty bad. It was pretty crazy--"

Father holds a finger up to his lips. "I'll look at it myself. Thank you." He pauses once more before reading. "...Where are your writings?"

I lift my eyebrows. I knew I'd forgotten something. "I stashed them with my Arms as I wrote, so..." I flip my hand and lift the papers out of a pocket of hidden space. "Here. The last page is missing since the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale caught me while I was writing it, but there wasn't anything of much consequence on it. I'd only written a sentence about his daughters."

Father pins me with a look I can't read at all. "Oh?"

"I...was looking through his genealogies, since I thought I should know who to keep an eye out for. He got me before I could get far with that."

Father shakes his head. "You should have known better. Here. Read through these. Jennelcia and Jhe Rachella's are in here as well." He glances down, rolls his eyes, then passes some papers to Uncle. "Jaxhelshon's."

We get to reading as Katherine goes on with her work.

* * *

* * *
Rocsui
* * *

I lie back in my bed, blonde hair spread back behind me like a fanned tail. I can feel that it's morning. There are no windows in my room, so I can't see the sun, but the birds outside in the garden are singing. I've always felt a kinship with them since even before Father gave me plumage. I can hear them go on about just how bright it is this morning, how beautiful.

Something to look forward to.

My arm drifts out to the side so that I can brush the cheek of the boy who shares my bed. He's still deep asleep, but makes a little grunt as my nail traces the underside of his jaw. I turn to fully observe him.

There's not been much time for observation. I only made advances yesterday, after all. And he's an excitable young boy, and not prone to introspection. I...well, I suppose I differ, there.

My fingers drift up and down along his jaw, then start to comb through the dark brown curls springing from the top of his head. Fun to play with. Not as fun to pull as I'd hoped. But then...

...Well, I suppose it's rather impolite to say so, but he's not as fun as I'd hoped. Perhaps because he was a virgin? It's so hard to tell. I was as well, after all. (Well, to some extent. Daddy wouldn't like to know that the nymphs and dryads in his gardens were just as amicable towards the Princess as they were towards the King. But none of them had that...well, maleness. Except for the mushroom dryads. They kind of had to.)

Nothing's as fun as I'd hoped. I'm still sleeping in the same old cage, just as the birds outside are. Most animals in the Palace have been freed, but even with Faun putting the wild back into them, some won't move their nests. I wonder, though...

...I wonder if he should have put the wild back into me. I wonder if that's what's missing.

Whatever the case may be, I don't really...care for Jaxhelshon. Not that he's been anything but a gentleman, and anything but kind. He's been a bit bumbling and forgetful, but he's young, and a man. Or a boy, perhaps. Should I feel like I owe him gratitude? No, I am Royalty, and I owe nothing to anyone in my Kingdom who is not a citizen. That much Father taught me, and I take it to heart. Jaxhelshon has his own Kingdom. And though I will keep treaty with his Kingdom if I rule Aurocale in my Father's stead, that does not imply that it brings with it my favor.

Am I already thinking of ruling this place? Well, it must be done. While emotions stir slow in my heart if ever they stir at all, I must admit that the Armed's attempt at a coup has angered me. They may call it maintaining peace if they like - it still doesn't change that they are putting someone outside of the royal line on the throne. No one asked them to.

Yes, this might be anger. I could call it that emotion. It's firmer and colder than what I felt when Iaen mocked me in the form of my Father. I've never really had a chance to attempt more emotions than those necessary to be Daddy's perfect, demure, blushing little doll of a daughter. And in a way...

...Well, I just don't know why I'm so cold. But I don't have the time to just lie here thinking about it. I wake the boy beside me. He'll prove useful today, after our morning fun.

After that, I've other things to do.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I'm not sure if you could call what I had last night sleep. I did work a nap in, just to eliminate the possibility that I might again contract the sort of hair-trigger paranoia that lost Jhe Blackirons a foot that one time. Since then it's been agreed that I do need to obtain some form of rest each night, for the sake of peace.

I'm pretty sure I spent that hour or so of rest mentally flicking through the paperwork that I'm looking over now. Orders have come back from Radia, you see. They were quick about it, thank goodness. I was getting nervous, but as the Judge is leading these operations personally, there's not much bureaucracy to wait on.

I'm to return to Radia.

I put the papers down and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. This is a...development. It isn't that I wasn't looking forward to returning with Cade in tow. It's just that...

Well, there are two things.

First there is the time that these orders were written and sent to me. Technically, they are from later today. That means that when these orders were made, someone found it necessary to muck about with time to make sure they were carried out even faster than is usually possible - as in, before the orders were actually made. It's always a headache when someone messes with time in this way, and since the Judge usually gets the biggest headache of them all from it, it must be for a very important reason. There's some reason that I, and some of those under my command or Armed protection, absolutely should not be here in the next few hours. That's upsetting - it's more than a premonition, but a guarantee that something bad will happen in this Palace today.

The second thing is the reason my presence is requested in Radia. If it were for sanction due to negligence or some other error I've made in the course of carrying out my duties, that would be one thing. I wouldn't make any complaint. If I'm found in error, then I must be disciplined. No, this isn't sanction. I'm being called back to fill a role that has just become necessary again.

When not training Armed or doing a number of other duties, I train, direct, and command armies. That is the role of the Peacekeeper. If I am needed in Radia for such a thing...

Well, war would not be unexpected now, would it? But as ready as I am for it, and as skilled as I am in the fighting of it, it makes me nervous as all Hell. A war with Audiva Rocale would imply the Treaty is done with.

Nobody wants to imagine those two great Empires going to war again. That time was long ago, but the wounds are still healing. Even the scars in the land are still there. Not to mention the scars in the people's consciousness...

I don't want a war with Sul, but my hopes that I'm merely being called back for precautionary measures feel in vain. I sigh, then look through the papers again to make sure I've missed nothing. No, everything is in order. These people are to return to Radia. Myself, my trainees, Jhe Gerude, Jhe Cruxradia. A few more wounded besides Gerude as well - the rest of my men will remain here. And...the King's daughter that Jaxhelshon took up with. It seems proper that she visit her Father, given that it might be his last days in this world. There is also simply too much danger for her to stay here any longer.

Well, I imagine that issuing out those commands will be a fine and peaceful experience and involve no kicking, screaming, or even hairpulling.

It's difficult to write lies when you're a Poet, even when they're meant as sarcasm.

Ah, and then there's the matter of my replacement to direct operations here.

Jhe Julia Wysthaven.

Well, the less said about her, the better for me.

* * *

I had said that I thought the transition would go smoothly. While that was said in outright jest, I did, at the time, think that it would go over slightly better than it is currently.

"You are not taking me away from my country." Jhe Rocsui crosses her arms over her substantial bosom and narrows her eyes at me, the jewels lining her brow and cheeks twinkling in a strange counterpoint to the disdainful glare. Behind her, Jhe Jaxhelshon shifts uneasily, as he always seems to do by default. How cute. He's considering being useful for once.

I cock my head. "Oh? And just what is there for you here? It's a mess, Jhe Xaillyndesse, a mess that needs cleaning up. Forgive me for putting the concept forth so abruptly, but your life is in danger if you continue to occupy the Palace at this time."

She glares at me further, actual emotion beginning to peek around the corners of her eyes. "Oh? And whose fault is that, Peacekeeper Briarseal? Perhaps I should travel to Radia, then, and take up such matters of incompetence and intrusion with Jhe o'Radia. He, perhaps, will listen to reason."

My face does not shift one bit past the realms of diplomatic calm. "That is fine, if you wish to do so. The avenue is not only open to you as an envoy of Audiva Rocale, but I can forward the paperwork to expedite your request and move you to the top of Jhe o'Radia's agenda." Oh dear. I've mis-stepped with my words, by the lift of her eyebrows. I should have phrased that last bit much differently, or not said it at all.

"Oh?" She pops her fan open, propping it just under her chin. "Why would I not be on the top to begin with, Jhe Peacekeeper?" Her words fall cold and heavy, the very stones that seal tombs.

There's no way I can dig myself out of this, but I make a valiant attempt. "Beg my pardon, Jhe Rocsui. I meant to say-"

"That Father will be absolutely delighted to make your accquaintance." Jaxhelshon takes the Princess's hand before she can mince me with her glare, then meets her eyes. "I'm sure there'll be no problems at all. And you did say that you would love to see my homeland, Roxie." He smiles then, that goofy-arsed smile that he shoots at all the ladies. She doesn't melt, but it certainly knocks her balance off. Hell, I'd be off my kilter if that boy gave me sweetheart-eyes. I wonder if she'll follow up the momentary balance loss with a prompt evisceration, as Geillg'a and I would in such a situation.

She seems at a loss for a reply, and Geillg'a and I are robbed of the opportunity to witness possible bloodshed. "I...of course."

I take a closer look at her, while her focus is off of me. Geillg'a's attention draws upon the girl as well. There's something odd...does Jax notice? Or is he thinking entirely with his cock?

"Great! Then it's a date." His eyes sparkle, and he layers on yet more charm through his grin.

"I...I suppose." Rocsui turns, flustered. She's projecting worry as much as she'd previously dripped condescension. Now she does have our attention, and Jax's, but it's a pity mine is lost quite fast as another concern decides to air itself.

A shadow brushes by so fast, and by so narrow a breadth, that she almost hits me. To others, it would look as if a sudden gust blew through the room, perhaps causing a blur in their peripheral vision. I've grown accustomed enough to our shadow agents that I see her, though. Besides, she whispers a message to me through our Arms.

Go home. I'll secure things here.

Ah. Jhe Wysthaven. Earlier than I had expected, optimism be damned. It would be time to get my things, then.

I don't wish to speak with her right now. Truth be told, there's a rather large mess in the Palace for which she will most likely blame me when she gets the idea to. Therefore, I let Jaxhelshon handle the Princess (though I regret phrasing it in quite that way) and see to making my withdrawal as promptly as possible.

Had I not done so, I wouldn't have missed the next guest to arrive, and then Julia would have seen me dead before Geillg'a could so much as be drawn. Thus, there's much to be said about the life-preserving powers of discreet troop withdrawals.

* * *
Jaxhelshon
* * *

I'm so excited. I finally get to go home and see Daddy and I'm practically a hero considering I got a girl here and everything and didn't get killed. Overall things are looking up here for good ol' Jaxie.

Roxie's a little quiet, still, but she's probably just thinking about packing. Or heck, maybe she'll miss the place a bit. We head off together to her room as she maintains her silence. "You alright, there, Roxie?"

She jumps, then slowly starts tinting towards green. I lend her my arm before she wobbles off-course towards the floor. Oh man, I wish I could take that back. She might...puke on me or something.

We arrive at her door in thankfully vomit-free condition. She steadies herself, takes in a deep breath, then grasps the doorknob. "I just need a little bit of time alone. That is all." Another breath. "I...I thank you for your kind hospitality, and your offer, Jhe Jaxhelshon."

I blink. Wait, what's she going on about, now? Is this sort of like when girls go off together to the bathroom? Except she doesn't have any other girls with her. "I uh..."

She levels her gaze at me, and I lose myself in those green irises. Something in the back of my mind murmurs about the Peacock King and his hypnotism, and I startle back into awareness. "I...have not left the Palace in quite some time, Jax." Her fingers perch up under my chin, and suddenly I'm meeting her soft lips with my own.

She breaks away.

"I just need a little time to adjust, and ready myself. Wait for me." And she slips inside as quick and quiet as a gust of wind, while I'm left out here waiting.

Girls. Strange.

* * *
Rocsui
* * *

I don't want to see my Father again.

I pack my hairbrushes and makeup compacts and little perfume imps into a carry-case, then close it with a snap.

I want to stay here. Father isn't here, for once.

I feel him like a hand barely brushing the back of my neck. He's there, still, in Radia's Court, locked up. Not dead and buried yet. He's still out there, and damnit I'm afraid of him, but my tongue can't so much as spit that at anyone.

I look around at the potted plants in my suite, at the windowbox and the patio and all the greenery there. They'll wilt, die, decay. No one here will take care of them. Audiva Rocale is all but a metaphor away from suffering the same fate, with no one left behind to tend her. I cup a leaf in my hand, relishing in the cool green feel of it, smiling at the warmth my heart feels as its dryad purrs to me.

But I couldn't tell them now.

The Peacekeeper noticed, I think, though Jaxie's more concerned about his cock and how tight a grip I've got on his rocks at every passing moment. Fair enough, but I've got grown-up matters to attend to, now that Father's fallen.

Damnit, I should be here now, when the power's finally passed on! When freedom is right on the tip of my tongue! Why can't I just tell them 'no' when I can taste the word in my mouth?

I slam my suitcase shut. It's packed with dresses and feminine concerns such as all-too-frilly underwear. Do you know? It was so much easier when I could just run naked with the nymphs.

I don't want to go out. Why am I going out? Why am I going back to him?

I sigh, the curse I want to spit out unable to even make it out of my mouth, and I let in my fool of a boy toy. He's good for certain things, and this luggage is cumbersome.

* * *
Gerude
* * *

I adjust my goggles.

They're pretty cool. One of the shadows found 'em in the labs and passed 'em on to me. I checked the things over as best as I could with my one good eye, and they're pretty clean and functional. Best of all they look pretty dapper compared to, say, an eyepatch.

I figure, best put my best face forward. Said face being, in this case, one where you can't see my eyes.

Socket's pretty gory. I won't fib or play it down - that damn bird punctured my eye. My uh, former eye. Look, don't be freaked out, I might be able to get it fixed in Radia.

If Dad doesn't glare me into the floor for losing it in the first place. Sheez. Not looking forward to that.

Look, it kind of makes me a laughing-stock already, losing an eye when I'm Armed, given that Armed are kind of defined for, you know, their Aim. Shootin' without missin'. Part of that means that you get the Judge's eyes for that Aiming. So, I just lost one of 'em, is the simplest way of putting it. I get to go to the Armed Hall and give Daddy a good story about how I lost one of his eyes, and that's less embarassing than losing, say, an Arm, but only marginally so.

But hey. These goggles? Pretty sporty. I think I cut a dapper figure in front of the ladies, or at least I will as soon as they stop snickering.

* * *

RADIA

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I've just about finished puzzling through this mess of reports and field journals when I hear the shifting of heavy fabric and a murmured, very polite request for Katherine to stop hovering so much. "I'm perfectly fine, dear. Just another of my episodes. Hardly anything worth mentioning." That's when he looks up and notices that I'm watching him. Oh no! Caught fibbing by a grownup! I've seen the same facial expression on my five-year-olds. "Ah, not that I am anything less than grateful for the assistance. If someone could but summon Jhe Stevane, I think she'll make for fine assistance back to my quarters."

I raise an eyebrow at him as I step forward. "Stevane has gone off on a shopping expedition with my son Lyric."

His eyebrows shoot up, and then there's this pause where he cocks his head and listens to something it seems only he can hear. "...Ah. Yes, I see that. They're going to have an interesting journey, you know."

"Of course," I nod. "Much more interesting than your uneventual retirement to your quarters for some much-needed rest." I swear. That pout he gives me. I just want to slap him across the face. ...Hm. That's more something to do in private, when there's less clothing between us. "For lack of Stevane, I suppose another Akribastes would do just as well for you? Katherine can even accompany me."

"But--" He lets out a heavy sigh. Amazing. He realized that arguing with me is futile. He must be even more tired than I thought. "...Well, I suppose." He tilts his chin up. "If you insist."

Katherine has been very quiet through all of this. Just I'm about to ask her something, she looks up sharply. Right as she does so, I feel a ripple across the back of my mind. Incoming. Someone else has hopped over from Audiva Rocale.

I blink. "Jhe Briarseal?" Of course there can be no mistake, but if there was any doubt as to who had just arrived, Katherine's scowl says everything I need to know.

She and the Peacekeeper always did coexist on special terms with one another.

I notice, then, that Elete is studying my face far too closely, and there's just too much of a twinkle in his eyes for my own comfort. "...You did this." He jumps, then tries to school his face into shock, as if he could even lie to me.

"Why, Jhe h'Akribastes, I believe it is by your request that later in the afternoon I will send the orders promptly enough that Jhe Briarseal and company will arrive this early in the day." He does have the sense to look sheepish under my glare. I hear a sigh behind me. Jheida. I turn and face my brother.

Luciprochoros tugs me by the elbow until I'm out of earshot, then leans over to whisper to me. "It would be best to keep Gerald occupied. He's been feeling a bit useless, I think. And, well...you really ought to talk to him, once you've handled the mess. Until then, he's one of the ones that might benefit from some prolonged exposure to Elete." I raise an eyebrow at him. There's something my brother is hiding. "Ah. Yes. Your son Lyric? Perhaps he should be pointed towards the Poet Hall soon? Nothing keeps Elete busy like a new trainee. Consider the benefits of a new student, even - he'll stay out of the most dangerous foolishness with someone who's just initiated." My brother looks so proud of himself. I...mull it over.

It feels strange, giving over another of my children to Elete, especially when he's ill like this. Or...perhaps I'm simply being protective of the boy. And then there's Gerald. He's been acting all funny lately - keeping watch on Elete will certainly keep him out of harm's way.

Brother grins.

"...It seems we have yet to be at a loss for an Akribastes to attend you, Jhe h'Logos. Such lucky days for you lately. Gerald, would you be so kind as to show the Poet King to his suites and ensure he's properly rested? Stevane and Lyric will be steered your way when they're through gutting the clothiers's racks." Gerald gives me a curt nod, his eyes showing he understands what I need and will carry it out immediately. My. He seems worse now than he was before. Perhaps he could benefit from Elete's presence. As much as the Poet King likes to wear himself out, he tends to lend peace to those around him.

With that, I've a new mess to attend to in my office, and undoubtedly a crankier Katherine to handle during it all, as if having to fix a broken Elete wasn't causing that already.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

"Brother? Hun? If you don't stop cringing, your posture's going to suffer for it."

I try to stop ducking from people's glances. It's an automatic reaction. I'm very nervous about being looked at right now, which is totally not the norm, but...well...

I really, really don't want anyone to recognize me from the Trial. Or worse, from ten years ago. I'm still getting used to being back in Radia and reuniting with old 'friends' isn't really my cup of tea right now. The really bad thing is I think a few people do recognize me, because there's the occasional sneer at me. Word spreads fast, I guess.

"And if you don't ease up, your shoulders are gonna freeze up, and the cut of your clothing will be all wrong when we get it."

I nod. Stevane is right. I need to loosen up. Hey, at least I'm not traipsing around in Aurocan servant robes anymore. She leant me some clothes. This skirt is just darling.

Hey, the looks aren't because of that. I look fabulous in this outfit. I rock the crossdressing scene. If anything they must be looking at me because I am just so fabulous. And with that, I set my shoulders straight, hold my head up high, and relish the attention.

"Yeah, so, I guess it's good you like, wax your legs? Since you couldn't just settle for a pair of trousers." My sister sounds a little grumpy, now that I take time to pay attention to that sort of thing. Whyever might that be?

"How could I wear trousers when you had this cute little skirt?" I do a twirl in it. Okay, that's that - definitely a few looks in my direction from that little move. I've been paranoid when it turns out people are just that impressed with my taste in fashion!

Stevane sighs. "I hadn't even worn it yet. Now everyone's going to think I borrowed it from you!"

I grin. "Well, if that's the case, it would be best if you just gave it to me outright." Ooh, what a glare! I remind myself that she usually looks like that right before flames start sprouting from people's eyebrows. "Look, why don't we find something cute for you today, too, and I'll just buy it with the money I got? Since I'll have this skirt it pretty much comes out even." I think I've got her, now. "I'll get you some barrettes to match!"

"Well, oka--" And then she jumps me, right in the middle of the street. I squawk a protest and flail, but neither saves me from hitting the cobblestones. Shit, now I'm all dirty, and I've got Stevane straddled on top of me, holding up a large hunting knife--

Hey, where'd she get that? And why's there a smoking hole in the wall right behind where I was just standing?

"Fuck." She springs to a hunched-over standing position, still curled over me in an odd manner, like she's blocking something. She tugs me up from the crook of my elbow. "Stay down. We've got to get you out of here."

"I've got you two covered, sis." I don't even see Lute, but he's somewhere in the shadows. "Over here. Keep shielding. You're doing just fine."

I realize with a start that the knife my sister has pulled out of nowhere isn't...normal. Is it...I cock my head. I almost hear the whisper of its voice...

"Go on, you dolt!" She hisses into my ear, shoving me towards the alley, into the shadows. "Don't you have a lick of sense? You almost got assassinated just now! Fucking boys."

There's a chuckle in the darkness, and then the shadows fold around me like a pair of arms. "Now now, sister. Don't hold one idiot against us all. A coupla' us have the sense to leave a crime scene while it's still hot." She ducks in beside me, and fool me, I'm still staring at her...Arm? Or is it a regular knife? Did Stevane go Armed? She sure didn't mention it! Then Lute draws up the shadows around her too, and we all three wink out of there, as if we'd never been there in the first place.

Huh. Assassinated. It's just so inconceivable to me that I can't feel shaken up about it. I just want a nice pair of shoes, and where we're going I don't think we'll get that.

* * *

Okay, I was wrong. But hey, people can be wrong sometimes. Look at the entire duration of my stay in Audiva Rocale for details.

Stevane's hugging my head when we appear in a den that's decorated with impeccable taste and with attention paid to every recent trend in fashion. I recognize it immediately as Muriel's house, which is kind of funny considering it looks completely different than when I was last here over a decade ago. You really can't miss anything having to do with Muriel, though. Trust me, he makes sure of it.

Oh yeah. Stevane's still wrapped over my head like a very large red hat. A stylish hat, I'm sure, but not really an accessory I care to keep wearing. I try to squirm away and she almost wrenches my neck off my shoulders.

"Hey, sis? You can let him go now. We're in a safehouse." Lute comes to my rescue, just like in the old days. I'm de-hatted, but not before a light buff to the noggin. I take it like a man.

"Geez, he even squeals as loud as back in the day." Stevane sounds pretty miffed. Man, what did I do? "You almost got yourself killed! If Lute hadn't been there for our getaway, how much longer do you think we would have lasted? And stop thinking so loud!"

"I don't know, Stevane. You were handling it pretty well on your own. I think you two would have been just fine." Lute sounds perfectly calm, even a little proud, as he pats our sister on the head. She just glares up at him, and he beams down at her in reply. "I think you're letting this get to you too much. You knew it was going to happen, same as I did, right?" She gives a begrudging nod.

"Hey..." I raise a protest, "just how come both of you knew someone was going to take a shot at me? And just why did someone want to kill me? And...hey, Lute, how'd you manage to show up so quick?"

Stevane rolls her eyes and snorts. "You didn't even notice him following us as we left, did you?" She sighs and pinches her brow, the motion so characteristically like my Father that I double-take. "...Just how did you make it back to Radia alive in the first place?"

I scowl at her. I really don't have a good retort, though. I've asked the same question in my mind.

"Boys, boys. Such a ruckus! And you haven't even told your Auntie Muriel hello! Such manners they're teaching the kids these days." Muriel pouts as he poses in the doorway. I double-take. Your first look at Muriel always requires a double-take. There's only so much fashion and fabulousness that one person can gaze upon and actually take in, and Muriel has at least twice that much. I'm not sure if anybody can even measure it. And describing it...

I've heard Muriel's broken a few Poets just by requesting a short description of his more casual outfits, so I'm just going to try to sum this up real quick. He's not the parade float that the Peacock King is, but that's because Muriel doesn't need to show off to that degree. He could dress in anything, in fact, and make it look like that season's top fashion. It's the way he carries himself...heck, more than that, things seem to sparkle when he's around them. He's got blonde hair so light that it's near-white, cut short to frame his refined features. His eyes are a blue that's a little lighter than mine, and a little...dreamier. He looks a lot like Lute and I, actually, and the resemblance was even stronger when the two of us were younger and more twin-like.

Muriel's a lot older than us, though, even though he's another of Father's kids. He's from an earlier generation. My Father's pretty old, and we tend to be long-lived, coming from his bloodline. I guess I don't think about it much...it's kind of weird to really think too hard about. Maybe I just don't want to. But that's why we call him Auntie even though he's technically our brother. He just...sort of acts like an aunt anyway. And um...well, nobody can think of him as an uncle, I guess.

Anyway, I heard after Muriel was born, Father dressed really stark for a period of time afterwards, just to recover from passing on so much fabulousness to Muriel. That's the legend, anyway. Looking at Muriel now, I can kind of believe it. He's wearing an embroidered jacket and pants that are crisply pressed, with a half-cape riding his shoulders. There's matching white shoes and a handbag to match, and of course earrings and makeup. If I go on any further about him, I'll be writing all night, so that'll just have to do. Besides, I can't really observe too much more about him since the next thing he does is asphyxiate me with affection.

"Lyric!! I'm so glad you're in town again! I think about you every time I go out shopping and I find shoes in your size, you know! Oh look at you you've grown so...not at all! Oh goody I've bought you a couple things here and there that were cute I couldn't pass them up and it's all a bit out of season but I'm sure you'll know how to make that work, yes? So come over here and I'll get you a cup of tea and you can tell Auntie Muriel all about your travels. I hear Sul has the most esquisitely patterned fabrics, did you bring anything back from your trip? Oh, and isn't that skirt so darling on you! I bought it for Stevane, you know, but you two have the same butt."

* * *
Stevane
* * *

Auntie Muriel whisks Lyric away to his wardrobe rooms, which I figure is for the better, especially when Lute lays his hands on my shoulders.

"Easy, girl."

I realize I'm cutting little crescents into my palms with my fingernails. I unclench my fists and try to relax my shoulders. Lute cranes his head down and looks over me.

"First mission accomplished, huh?" It's meant to be comforting, but...

I wilt. "Sure. Someone took a pot shot at my brother and I knocked him out of the way. No one will ever attack him again and my work is done for good."

He snorts. "You expect a lot of yourself, Stevane." His fingertip grazes my upper arm. I hiss. He holds it in front of my face. "You protected your target, but you didn't even notice you got hit? And you bully Lyric for not taking it seriously..." he tsks.

I lift my hand, hold it over my arm, and close my eyes. I can ignore the teasing. Well, at least from Lute. For some reason nothing ever seems particularly malicious when he says it to me. It's just everybody else that raises my ire, even Jhe h'Lete sometimes.

"So, what can you tell from the wound?" His voice is soft, though I doubt Muriel and Lyric will overhear us while they have clothes to distract him.

"It was fired by a woman. Arrowshot. No, dart. Self-destructed on impact, explains the crater in the wall. Would have made a pretty big hole in Lyric--"

"Easy. Focus on the facts. You're emotional enough to kill him yourself, and that won't do no one no good."

"Leaves no trace, if it hits. Pretty easy to feel out by accidental contact, though. My Arms--well, I'm hearing some things from the girls, such as they are."

"You're an overcooked egg. You really should see about going in and getting that taken care of, you know. It doesn't take long, never did for any of us, won't for you." He squeezes my shoulder. "And we've been waitin', ya know."

I try not to feel down about it. "...Maybe when everything calms down. For now...she's a young one, freelance assassin, kind of inexperienced though alert enough. Didn't realize anybody was watching, but then, she should have known better. It's the effin' capital. Got paid a quarter of the hit's worth already, so she loses a lot if she doesn't finish it, but she's not on a good enough contract to keep her really loyal. She might move on. Doesn't know who hired her." I swallow. "Things are moving too fast for there to already be an assassin, Lute."

He narrows his eyes. "Yeah, you'd think that, but I've seen...well, after long enough in my division, Stevane, you're a little less surprised by that sort of thing." He shrugs. "Anything else, sis?"

I close my eyes again, and I hear half a voice (that ought to be Arms, if I'd ever get my act together) tell me I shouldn't need to do that to focus, and I ought to have both of 'em open especially at a time like this. I open my eyes and try to do it right. "She did sloppy work. I could track her from this."

He pats my shoulder. "If you can, others can from your blood. Stay here, kay? I'm gonna see what we can do, and check in with Dad. You're both safe here. Well, you kinda ensure that. But Aunt Muriel's place...well, no one will look for him here. It's the best safehouse right now. Too much stuff is happening near the Palace for my liking-oof!"

I give my brother a hug while I have a chance. He has a habit of disappearing before I can say a proper goodbye to him. He grins, ruffles my hair, and then he's gone.

I sigh. I can still hear the girls halfway, in the back of my mind, and holding off from going to the Armed Hall right now and finishing things up just makes me ache. For now, I bind up my arm before joining my brothers and focusing on fashion. From here, that's not a very difficult task.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

It's not often that I enter my office to find that someone is inspecting my crockery with such intense scrutiny. At least, someone who isn't Jhe h'Logos. The slender blonde looks up at me with an arched eyebrow that implies I am intruding on her. I raise an eyebrow myself, recognizing the features of Ebrellin-i's daughter. While I've no explanation for her presence in my office just yet, I decide that the proper thing to do is bow as I would in Court.

Her dour composure splits into a grin, and she curtseys in return. "My word, it does please me that someone from this realm observes proper decorum. Rocsui Xaillyndesse d'Audiva Rocale, if you please." She extends her hand in greeting. I take it in turn, bow over it enough to be polite, and release it.

"Jhe Tesynnodai h'Akribastes l'Radia, if it please you." I give her a grin that sends a light blush into her cheeks. Just then I hear a not-so-polite cough over my shoulder, and feel a glower that can only be Katherine's. She did follow me in, after all.

So familiar. Would you like to invite her to a sleep-over while you two are at it?

I school my expression so as not to give away that my mind is anywhere else but on my guest. I would think that's more your sort of thing, given that she's your sister. Please calm down. I'm only trying to be polite.

An inaudible snort makes itself heard between my ears. Can't we just throw her into one of the cells? That seems to be the standard royal treatment these days.

Katherine. She quiets after that, at least between my ears, and then moves from behind me and makes herself known to the room at large. Rocsui's eyes narrow. I can feel hate boil up from Katherine. It's like a brewing storm, with nothing in sight to defuse it--

"Oh! My apologies, Princess, but the tea room's a bit of a wreck for some reason, surely temporary, I--Jhe h'Akribastes." My brother's youngest son bows very quickly and neatly for someone carrying a tea service, and also someone so suddenly afraid of me. ...Well, that's not too much different from his childhood. Jaxhelshon always did have a strange knack for self-preservation. A shame it conflicts with his natural predilections towards trouble and stupidity. "I'm very sorry, sir," Jax says, "but I felt it was best to show Radia's hospitality until you arrived here." He's sweating bullets, a trait that would be very useful in this building if it were just a bit more literal.

Katherine looks like she's about to load her Arms with them regardless of whether they're just a turn of phrase. I can hear Gevurah stretching to shift out of her knife-sheathe and into a form more appropriate for shooting with. Katherine mentally catches her Arms and halts the change before damage even starts to get done.

Jax, to his credit, looks slightly more on edge and alert in case of a sudden attack, though I doubt he consciously knows why. That knack for self-preservation is serving him well today. I shake my head, waving him off in a gesture of dismissal that's meant on several levels. "I have read your field notes, Jhe Cruxradia. Please see your guest to the Jhe o'Radia, as I'm sure she has concerns to address that are much more within his means than mine." Perhaps this makes me appear as if I am instantly perceptive to my guest's needs, but in actuality, there's nothing my brother and I enjoy more than using each other to pass unwanted burdens along to. He's fully capable of managing this, and I really do suspect that it's best he does, but I can't deny that the other motivation for handing Luciprochoros this specific chore is the delight of just imagining him dealing with a possible daughter-in-law.

Not that such a potential union doesn't churn my stomach a little bit.

Jhe Jaxhelshon, it seems, is also considering the implications of introducing his new friend to his father. That scared shitless expression is something that only the Cruxradias can properly pull off - as if the entire world is about to sink down and then yank itself out from underfoot.

Rocsui tugs on his elbow. "Well? Are you going to introduce me to your Father, or aren't you?" Her tone leaves no room for argument, and Jaxhelshon has never proven himself to be very resistant against the fairer sex, or even the not-as-fair sex. Soon enough, my office is empty of the couple.

Katherine opens her mouth, but before she can yet again attempt to vocally castrate me, I cut her off. "I noticed that something isn't right with your sister, so I wanted Luciprochoros to look at her as soon as possible. Considering his wards are the strongest single set in the Empire, I think he and your brother will be safe. I'd prefer she be temporarily detained there instead of near her Father, considering the circumstances. Besides that, my brother does need to attend to the matter of his potential daughter-in-law before it becomes even more likely to happen."

Katherine sighs, bites her lip, clenches her fists, and remarkably does not set herself nor the surroundings on fire. I remind myself, as I always find a reason each day to remind myself, why I block her from taking the pyromancy lessons. "Fine. Let's go see what Jhe Briarseal is doing home so friggin' early, then." With that, she turns to the exit, and I follow her. I can't deny that finding that out was part of my reason for shooing Jaxhelshon and Ebrellin-i's other daughter out of my care so quickly.

* * *
Camden
* * *

I'm a bit nervous, but that really shouldn't surprise me, given my position. In exchange for escaping one of my career rivals, I'm facing Katherine, who would be an even longer-running and fiercer rival. And then there's the Judge. Jhe h'Akribastes, who until now, has been very patient with me. Jhe h'Akribastes, who has always considered my rather unconventional approaches to training, missions, and battles with an open mind and, often enough, a forgiving nature. Jhe h'Akribastes, a warrior I respect and, as Geillg'a is quick to bite at me for, currently fear.

I don't pay any mind to the fear, though - or rather I put it all in the back of my mind and deal with more pressing matters that are right in front of me. If the Judge decides that I need to be demoted or punished for what happened in Audiva Rocale, that's fine. I do find it rather silly that I'm worried about these things now, when earlier I was dealing with everything quite calmly. Maybe it was easier to do so when I wasn't about to face that which might threaten, or worse, fire me.

Jenny clears her throat from behind me, breaking me out of my reverie. Ahh, speaking of people who have issues with the particular choices I've made during my command who happen to look like Katherine. Her frown is so deeply etched in, in fact, that I have a tiny moment of panic where I mistake her for her mother. I reach up and poke the little crease between her eyebrows, and in return she bats at my finger in a way that implies she'd break it if she actually caught me. I love doing that to her.

"I am present, in case there is any pressing need for me here." Her words are clipped out through clenched teeth, as if she's rationing each syllable. She's standing rigidly still, her spine straight and her shoulders held in perfect posture. In that stance, she could hold at ease for hours (with a due amount of foot-shifting and pinched expressions) or draw her Arms in a flash.

It might be an odd moment to be filled with pride for her, but I am. I reply to her with a tilted smile. "While you prefer to be in the thick of things, Jhe Jennelcia--"

"Oh cut the crap and the fancy titles, Peacekeeper. I'm through training. I should be out there, not cooped up in here watching some hick who's already locked up just fine! There's nothing to do here!"

I reply by widening my smile to a full grin. "Indeed, and I will put the proper paperwork in with your Father as promptly as is possible within the current circumstances, such as they are. However, until that time comes, you remain my trainee, and I remain needed here. That I was ordered to return from the field is no judgement of your skills or growth, and certainly no punishment for anything you did out there, and you would do well to remember that, Jhe Akribastes." The room grows colder as I speak. Indeed, I'd rather her not think too much about what we've done with each other out in the field. Her Father and her Mother are both adept at picking up thoughts that others don't want them to hear.

Jennelcia replies with a glare that heats the air right back up, crosses her arms, then stomps her boot down on the flagstones in the hall. "Fine. Am I needed here?" Her head tilts at just that angle it gets to before we have our most cataclysmic confrontations.

My smile crooks maliciously. "Do you think you should act as if you've anything to hide from anyone?" I turn to the cell we're standing outside of while she mulls that over.

Her calculating looks becomes more, well, calculating. The question of what to do with Jhe Fayegeaux does have the ability to get ones mind off of nagging issues. With him here to deal with, the likelihood that the Judge will pay Jenny and I's interactions much mind is drastically lowered. I will pay Cade that compliment, then - he's been convenient for a number of parties.

That just may be his only redeeming feature.

He hasn't been accorded the same accommodations as Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, of course, but what he has will likely serve just as well as the quarters Ebrellin-i assigned him. He'll have less to do here, of course, but we might need him to make use of a writing desk, and there's no reason to short him a bed. There is the desire for vengeance, and then there is common decency.

...Well, disregarding all that, if I wanted to take his deeds out on him then Geillg'a and I would simply haul him out and invite more of his blood to taste the air.

He's passed out on the bed, sprawled out on his back, that mangled nose of his lending a disgusting timbre to his snores. Chains lead from the manacles and collar to the bed. Jenny and I both enjoyed a smirk over how similar the arrangement was to how Gerald had been jailed by Cade.

My hand twitches, and I look down at the diary I'm holding in it. I'm still reeling over the fact that he kept one at all. Reading it was...

Well, let's just say that I closed it quickly enough after I opened it, and leave it at that.

The clacking of hobnails against the stairs alerts us to the Judge's approach, though I can't deny the sense of impending doom was a small clue. Katherine precedes him. She gives barely a look to Jenny, and after the cursory limbs-all-on-and-no-funny-business parental check her glare skirts over me before diverting itself to look into the cell. "Well," she says, "at least you brought something to make up for the diversion."

I'm about to protest when the Judge's hand comes down on my shoulder. "Jhe h'Logos," he says, "is being particularly reckless with his timing lately, so please excuse the rush. It may not have been necessary." He looks over into the cell and raises a single eyebrow. "Or do I speak in error? Is that...person even alive?"

"He's only out a nose."

"I'm surprised he's not been flayed." Katherine says it with a grin.

"Yes, well. If we hadn't patched him up after the flaying, he'd never have been able to talk enough to make it worth my trouble." I look up at the Judge. He looks down at me, waiting for an explanation. Good. Nobody is thinking of Jenny.

That's just how we like it.

"Jhe Cade Fayegeaux has agreed to tell us whatever we ask in exchange for his safe-keeping." I smirk. "If my observations are accurate, we seem to have enough leverage to permanently threaten his good standing with the Jherent Nul." I hold up the diary. It's an old thing, the leather green and cracked at the edges, the pages molded and brown. The writing on the cover is illegible with the fading and blurring that comes from age. I've got my hunches as to just how old it is. Older than myself, most definitely, but not my clan. It may have been young when my clan was young, perhaps. I'm sure it'll tell its share of stories about parts of the Dhealg'seala history I've always wondered about. Parts from the other side, from those who attacked it over generations. Only a hunch. But with Elricht gone...well, it's certainly something I've been dwelling on, when I can. "His diary. He's begged me not to pass it on to his employer."

Katherine turns to look at Cade and study his face. Her eyes narrow. We all get the message - he's not asleep anymore, but he'd certainly love us to think that he is.

"How intruiging," the Judge intones, plucking the book from my hand. "Certainly it's very...literate of him." He doesn't open the book. "Have you read anything in it?"

I glance back over at Cade. "...Enough to wonder just how interesting the entire work will be as a read. I felt pressed to close it before I got too far along into his misadventures." I click my tongue. "Should we go on and tell him that we can tell he's spying on us right now, then?"

Cade's eyes pop open, a bit of a grin playing across his cheek. It's like watching a doll come to life. "It would have been rude to interrupt your palaver."

I snort. The Judge cocks his head and looks over the prisoner. "Well, now that you're awake, you're free to join in." Just what is it, Jhe Briarseal, that you agreed to extend on Radia's behalf in exchange for his tongue to flap?

In particular, I told him he was buying your favor, as if it could really be sold. He expects nothing but to be kept here behind our wards, and has been promised nothing more than that arrest. Curiously, that was enough for him, and he did not barter for more.

His eyebrow lifts. Interesting.

"Oh, please, don't mind me, I'd hate to be a bother to ye." Cade attempts to wave the Judge away, the attempt so half-hearted that I wonder if he's simply bored.

"Oh no, I insist." Jhe h'Akribastes's smile quirks up into his cheek in a wicked little hook. "Do not let me stop you from talking, by all means. It has been so long since we've been able to have a pleasant conversation." The Judge's nature is growing more malicious by the second, his tone as calm as ever. Cade shivers for just a moment.

"Ah. Well. There's just so much to talk about that nothing at all comes to mind, Sire." It's interesting hearing him be so polite - like watching a dog very carefully arrange a tea setting.

The Judge nudges me forward. "Well, then, I suppose it wouldn't be too much trouble at all for the Peacekeeper to think of a few prompts to help you focus your thoughts." He leans down to whisper into my ear, "If you could please hand me your summons, Peacekeeper? I would like to have an idea of when it is I shall end up sending them back to you today."

I produce the official scroll rather quickly. Not but a few hours hence, by my mark. Did Jhe h'Logos truly arrange it all for his convenience? Ye summoned me as Peacekeeper, with the implication that the title would be put to full use sooner rather than later.

The Judge pauses as he reads over the scroll. I imagine he was attempting to leave me here with Cade and attend to other matters. His day must be quite full. His lips press into a thin line as he takes in the letter's contents. Amusing that the directive is as much to me as it is to you, isn't it? Jhe h'Logos seems to think that mucking about with time like this makes things simpler, but I feel it often evens out to quite the opposite. In any case, perhaps it would be best if we retired to my offices and discussed this in depth, as much as I am sure we would all love to hear this canary's song.

I repress a shudder. I've heard the horror tales told of Jhe Fayegeaux's vocal contortions. Perhaps so. Allow me to dismiss my trainee, then. Also, your other Gerald has a pressing matter in need of your attention.

The Judge gets a mental flash of Gerude's face. ...Again? I swear that boy's gone through more eyes than Lute's Arms have. He tisks, then looks up to Cade. "My pardon, it seems that we'll have to exchange pleasantries later. I'm sure you'll find a way to pass the time until our return. Perhaps consider just how many things you really feel that you must tell me before we consider a more permanent means of keeping you out of Nul." A flash of teeth punctuates the trailing threat, and Cade turns as pale as a Xaillyndesse. Well, a particularly unwashed one. He's left to think on talking points as we leave for upstairs.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

Jhe h'Logos is someone who I've always respected, and who my Father has always respected (though at more of a downwards angle). I've always considered him a higher power, like my Father is. So it's weird to see him walk just a little slumped, and it's weird to see him look pale enough to be transparent, and it's weird to see hollows under his cheekbones and bags under his eyes. The Poet King can have a quiet nature at most times, but he's also energetic, charged, and quick. He has to be, to keep up with all of his Poets. At some point, he leans against me just slightly, and I'm almost floored. Or rather, I'm not floored at all - he's so light!

He smiles in that undefeatable but still-a-little-bruised manner. "Is my condition so shocking that you're stunned into silence, Jhe Gerude?"

I trip from the misnomer. "Jhe h'Logos, I--" His eyes are twinkling. I just stare at him with my mouth hanging open.

"You'll draw flies, Jhe Akribastes," he says as he glides smoothly ahead. "Such a ghastly health hazard. And some people refer to my august self as sickly." I dart to keep up with the King that I've been assigned to keep an eye on, just as it flits through my mind that this was usually Stevane's task. I recall just how exasperated she was about it, and how quick Stevane is on her feet. Much quicker than me, in fact, when it comes to the reflexes. Then I curse myself for having landed this job. Jhe h'Logos just smiles back at me as I do so, eyes still twinkling. I catch up to him, suppressing a glower. He chuckles.

I let out a heavy sigh. I wonder if this is how my Dad feels, in those frequent times when he complains of just how much trouble the Poet King can be to manage.

Jhe h'Logos's smile quirks up. "Yes, actually. His eyebrows pinch together just like that." He tilts his head. "Please don't think I'm being purposefully difficult for you, Jhe Gerald. You are a delight as a student and trainee-- and, yes, a full Poet, as you have graduated into just recently. I should hate to cause you discomfort."

I suppress an eyebrow-raise. Those words were carefully measured and weighed without actually committing themselves to what they merely implied. Also, I know from watching this morning's breakfast routine that the Poet King enjoys getting a rise out of my sister. Something tells me that the fun doesn't stop once there's a different Akribastes involved. Father would certainly say that it doesn't.

"Yes, well," I compose myself. "I just want to make sure that you're properly settled in for a rest."

"As your Father instructed, yes." He tilts his head ever-so-slightly at me, a strange expression on his face, like a tiny smile. I recognize it from somewhere. I've seen many Poets with that expression, now that I think about it. I just can't place it, though... "Jhe Gerald. Tell me, have you had a chance to look around much in the Poet Hall of late? I don't believe you've been through it since your return, have you?"

I narrow my eyes in suspicion. "No..."

"Ah!" He beams, then catches me by the elbow. "Then come along. I've something to show you before I retire for the evening."

I should feel bad for being waylaid so easily by him, I really should, but hey, I'm a Poet. That look? That's the look we all get when we're getting what is, by Poet systems of measurement at least, a tremendously good idea. The rest of the world at large often differs vastly in opinion.

"...Aside from that, Jhe Gerude, we really should see to your injuries. Your face is so mauled that I keep mistaking you for your brother Gerald."

I facepalm, which is a mistake, as it only makes my swollen eye hurt even more. Is there still a porcelain shard or two in my cheek? I've managed to forget all about that, I've been so busy and too stupid to think about my own condition. Oh man, nobody even mentioned it, did they? I bet they thought it was funny. "Right, my King."

"Oh, don't go on like that, Gerude, you don't have to call me King if you're not a Poet yet." He's all too cheerful about playing this game.

I just sigh heavily. "Gerald, sire." What a long day, and now I'm babysitting the most restless busybody in all of the Empire.

"That would be your Uncle the Emperor, Jhe Gerald. And you have to admit, at least I didn't mistake you for Stevane."

What did I do to deserve this?

* * *

AUDIVA ROCALE

* * *
Julia
* * *

I nudge a piece of broken pottery aside with the toe of my boot. Hm. Rather nice, from an early Lyiannethe dynasty. Such a shame it had to go this way. No real tragedy to me, though - the only reason I'm such a pottery expert is from the amount of estate treasures that have been broken in the course of my duties.

I'm called in when there's nowhere else to go with a situation, when everyone else's skills and options have been exhausted. It's nice to be called in right at the beginning of an incident - but rare. Makes me wonder just what that Poet King thinks is gonna go down here. Not that he could tell us, though. Poets are good for fair warning, which is why I'll still stand to take one or two along with me on a mission, even after seeing what a mess they can make of things. But when it comes to specifics...they can be fucking mysterious, man. Something about 'ruining the suspense', or 'making it a good story'. I've lost good men in 'good stories'. I'd be bitter, but it's my job, and it's my black, hidden world of intrigue. Grisly death is a part of that territory - sometimes, a welcome part.

We're still trying to comb through this entire complex. Something tells me we'll never see the end of it - the Peacock King's got a few dimensional rifts set up as wards, and they make for a lot of complex space to deal with. Nothing we can't crack, but it takes time and effort that might not even be worth it. There's evidence of his misdeeds here, to be sure, but like that'll really matter for anything. The Judge already split Ebrellin-i's head open and looked in himself. There's more evidence between the monarch's ears than we'll ever find in his Palace.

Not that it made his Trial very satisfying, but I don't question the Judge when it comes to his decisions. That's not my place at all. It's just my place to do all the things on behalf of Justice that he'll never admit actually happened. A fun job, to be sure, with not much glamour, a bit more quiet than the uninformed would expect, and not without some small bit of satisfaction.

Lute grins from the shadows. "Took out more of those hiding guards." I hear a blade wipe itself clean against soft fabric, and know that the only reason my ears register it is because Lute allowed the action to be audible. "They're gettin' pretty clever. I'm proud of 'em."

I nod. "Glad you're having fun." I tilt my head, listening to the shadows. "And what of the rest of your division?"

"Split up. Everything's runnin' that can run. Groups aren't a good idea. Everybody's scattered everywhere. I guess to the casual observer it seems like the whole Palace is empty. 'Cept for the audience hall. We ever gonna finish clearing that out?"

I sigh. "I have priorities. We've moved out the most important ones. I'm not going to risk the whole mission for a couple of wayward pixies. Besides, we can't even get some of them to move, even if it's for their own good. Fucking Ebrellin-i. Couldn't just play with his toys like a nice boy. He had to break them just to see the pieces scatter." My voice is just as even-tempered as it always is, even though the conversation's struck a nerve. "I'd like to know just how we're gonna ask a dragon to talk to the King's 'pets' while we're already busy mopping this infernal place dry."

"Eh, one thing after another, just like Dad would say. Hey, at least we got plenty of time, right? Anybody that knows what happened to this place is already dead. By the time word gets around to somebody who can do something about it, we'll be gone." He sounds so happy, so confident.

So much like the now-dead boys I've fought beside. I don't comment, and think back on the Judge's instructions. Clean the place up. Make it presentable. Have Iaen greet whoever shows up that's of enough importance not to kill. Don't betray what we have done, at all costs.

Be prepared to revert things to a more permanent solution if Radia cannot return Audiva Rocale's King to her soil.

I sigh, dragging my fingers through my hair. Gwen rattles politely, reminding me that we have things to do. I pat the razor-sharp length of chain hanging at my side.

"Time to start drawing things together. Perimeter fortifications first, then we gather the floorplans, and we can eat before we start drawing them all together. I want to know this place inside and out. We all will, before the night is through, or we don't sleep."

Lute's already off before the last sentence is through. He knows how that one always ends. Speeding things along, is he? Well, good. He's too lazy not to feel motivated to catch more z's.

* * *
Lute
* * *

Now's a good time to case this place, just to check for anything amiss. I always have the feeling there's something wrong that I just can't quite sense, or that somebody's hiding somethin' from me. Julia calls it healthy paranoia, befitting my job. Sometimes I think it's somethin' else. But I have too much of a job to do to be a Poet, too. Let my brother fulfill that half of our potentials. I'm certainly the only one out of us two pod-peas that's ever gonna be Armed.

So hey, we have...lots of broken stuff around the entryways. That really ain't gonna do. You know, it's our job to be the cleaning crew, but nobody ever cleans. Is it my job to mop up after everybody like this, pick up the loose ends? Cuz it feels just like home, man. Next thing you know I'll be cookin' the bacon.

Here I am, then, Mister Superspy, all decked out in black with shadows stickin' to my clothes still, and I'm weilding Arms? Nope, I've got a hand-broom and a dustpan. Hey, somebody's gotta do it. I start sweeping porcelain statue chunks out of view from the main entrances. If somebody that we can't just kill off checks in on the Palace, they're gonna notice if stuff's broken and if the rugs are all twisted up and ripped.

A soft clap, as if through leather gloves, applauds my labors. A low whistle lends itself to the fanfare. "You should really have gone into interior decorating." The tone's down-to-earth enough, considering the speaker, but it's still so haughty that I wanna punch the guy. Ahh, Aaren. The only Xaillyndesse Armed I think we'll ever have, and thank the Creator and all his really annoying servitors for that. I mean, Aaren's okay and all. He really doesn't prance around like his family does, just keeps it to the same level we all do it at. He doesn't even claim Xaillyndesse heritage, took his mother's surname, Voitre, instead. Not that changing his name got rid of all the snootiness, but hey, it was a start.

Anyway, he's pretty understated for one of them. Shaggy black hair, chin-stubble that's halfheartedly trying to arrange itself into a goatee formation, droopy blue eyes that the girls go crazy for. Can't really blame them, he's a pretty good catch. Too bad he swore he'd never go out with me again after I stabbed him in the ass with Kuroroi. It was just a poke. Shit, you'd think he'd never tried to make a pass at an Akribastes before.

I flick a shard of porcelain at his stubble-swarmed face. "Yeah, well, I figure a few throw-pillows and maybe a skylight, and this place'll be good as new. Maybe switch out for some spring fabrics and go for hardwood floors instead of all this marble tile. Give it some atmosphere, ya know?"

He raises an eyebrow at me, then goes back to his work. "Yeah, well...whatever," he grumbles. He carves a line over the threshold of the doorway he's working in, etching sigils and words of power into the wards he's building for us. Must be nice to be a Poet, sometimes. There's a lot of knowledge you can control, if you go through all that training. Guess Aaren's lucky - he did all that before he ever trained for Armed. He was a little skittish of Dad, you know, but Jhe Elete's been a good friend for Aaren, and I guess he helped convince him it was all gonna be okay, and if Dad killed Xaillyndessen on sight, we'd be minus one Poet King.

S' probably how it went down. I'm glad, anyway. It's hard to find Poets that blend with Black Ops. Poets who go Armed usually end up like...well...uh, Gerald.

You know. All "let's go to jail every three days and make a whole city explode just to prove there's something messy going on that shouldn't". I'm not saying he can't be subtle, or that Poets can't. It's just...well, Mixed are usually kind of...not-very-subtle. They can usually stay by themselves and be quiet and do their duty, but with teams...things get a little messy, you know? I guess Gerald was kinda screwed when Lyric showed up here all of a sudden. If he hadn't, well, maybe Gerald would have stayed undercover. None of us would be here, and he'd still be spying. It sounds a lot less messy, and a lot less interesting, and a lot less crazy. Therefore, a lot less like a job a Mixed would do.

What was I sayin'? Oh yeah - Aaren. Aaren's a damn subtle guy. I'm not sure how he landed the Poet schtick in the first place. But he's fucking good with words and signs, and he can always manage to be quiet, and I've never heard of any explosions happening around him that were his fault. Or that even weren't his fault in that way that they probably, through some crazy causality nonsense, actually were. He's the real deal. Always gets his job done, super-dedicated, always thinks of the team and watches our backs. Super-quiet, almost too quiet, but hey - you can't be too quiet in our division.

So yeah, that's what I'm thinking about right before the fucking doorway explodes, rubble flying inwards through the newly-formed dust.

Fuck. Isn't that always the way? Everybody's gotta make a mess after I sweep.

* * *
Xen
* * *

Cleanup is a dirty job. I'm sure you've heard that before. It goes double for myself, however - I get the dirtiest jobs, doing Jhe Thelea's personal work. I wouldn't have it any other way, though. I love it.

I toe a piece of rubble to the side. That was Ebrellin-i's front door, wasn't it? Well, it was just crawling with roaches. I nudge a hand to the side, which is in fact attached to a wrist, and that wrist leads underneath rubble.

I raise an eyebrow. Is that one of my own...why, yes. I recognize him very well. Aaren. It would be a pity if I had actually killed him. I check around, but there's no other bodies, and nothing alive in sight. Good. I'd not want any of the invading forces to see this. I push aside rubble, taking care not to get my cloak too dirty. I hate getting dust on the fine silk lining. It leaves such inelegant marks.

I pull Aaren out by the shoulders, looking over his long black-clad body. He has suffered no harm - no major harm, that is. Good. He's always served me so well.

I take him back to Thelea and I's little carriage, then, to see how much more use I can have from him. Every war must be fought with specialized tools if it is to be won.

The next bits of destruction can carry on without me for now, in any case. This is only the opening movement - I shall conduct the crescendo directly.

* * *
Lute
* * *

Bastard and a half - not just a good curse, but an adequate description of the two people I just watched leave the scene. Lucky for me I'm so good at hiding myself. I'm barely even hurt - a broken ankle won't hinder me nearly enough to make me useless in combat. Especially if even Kommissar Xaillyndesse didn't see me just now. I cloak myself in shadows once again and follow him directly, after communicating with the tiniest nudge to Julia that I am all right, I am leaving in pursuit of a suspect, and I will not communicate anything again to her until it is safe to. All de rigueur, but I prefer to be polite in my comings and goings, just as Dad taught all of us. Also, I'm fleeing from an imminent battle, and I feel very bad for that, but I know my place, and it's in staying unseen while witnessing secrets that our enemies don't want told.

So that's why I'm not there when the bloodshed starts. I still feel torn about it, but I am confident that I performed my duty adequately, as the Judge would have wanted.

* * *
Dooley
* * *

It's a bit of a privilege that we were even allowed to remain here when Jhe Wysthaven's squad took over and the Peacekeeper departed, so I'll make no complaints abut our roles, or how much danger we might be in. It is the life of the Armed to be in the way of harm, to live in danger so that others will not have to. I have no regrets at all, something I'd like stated up front.

We were considered expendable because we were Camden's regiment. No love lost there, yes. We're the first to die when Lyiannethe forces close in, flooding through the broken front gate and the nearby side entrances. There's a scuffle that I hear of from the entrances farther down from the front, but that's shortly before everything goes black.

We're outmatched, and we all know it. There's too many, and the soldiers who hang in the shadows have the advantage over those of us who fight in the open. I wish the best of Jhe Wysthaven's squad, then, as we don't put up much a fight in the grand scheme of things. As I said, however, I have no regrets. I take down as many of the enemy as I can. My lance cuts into as much flesh as it can before I fall, and Harper grumbles no bitter things into my ear as I die.

I suppose, in the end, we're very simple creatures, we Armed. We fight, and we die. But we fight well. It's all that distinguishes us from the rest of humanity, and it's all we need.

* * *
Iaen
* * *

The fighting's finally on, much sooner than anyone expected here, and what do I do? I immediately get shoved back into a safe place, something that disgruntles me in no small way. But it's my role, and I knew that when I came here. I'm supposed to pose as the King. I can't be out there drawing blood with my knife. Gotta hang back. Protect the role. I could be invaluable, later in the game. That's what castling the King's all about, isn't it? In the opening movements, the endgame lays itself out.

At least, I hope so, because I hate a game where the Kings never get much play. It's always boring, and I didn't choose this job for its scenery.

Can't say much about what happened on the front lines, though, since I'm in the Jhe o'Sul's personal study, heavily protected, while all of this is going down. I get so antsy during this part, even as I outwardly keep the composure that the Peacock King himself would present to the rest of the world.

* * *
Julia
* * *

The remnants of the Peacekeeper's division would argue that I tell lies if I said that I was sad to see all of them die. It is the truth, though. I wish it didn't have to be that way.

This, however, is my battle, which is why we cleared the field of Camden and his wounded lads in the first place. I overlook the end of the slaughter, silently giving orders to my soldiers even before the last of Camden's ceases to breathe. We counter just as quickly and quietly as we do everything else.

These are Xen Xaillyndesse's men, that I can tell. I recognize the heavy black coats and the curt, brusque movements of his enforcers. They're tough bastards, damn good at shielding, and perceptive demons to boot. We wait for their next move. It's expected, but brutal all the same.

"Erase them." One says it. It's the only words I hear spoken by any of them. An enforcer follows suit by holding his two-pronged military fork against Dooley's neck. The soldier's brows knit as he focuses the energy of the weapon. Then he loses his fucking head before he can 'erase' anything.

Did Lute do that? No, he's away. Some other soldier of mine, then, that's so good at hiding his identity that I don't recognize him. Then Xen's soldiers start dropping like flies for a few moments before they get the idea that maybe they ought to leave our fellow Armed's bodies the fuck alone. A few of my men are able to drag the corpses away, sinking them down through the floor in puddles of liquid shadow. It's very elegant. It's the last coherent part of this battle. I'm glad we got the bodies to safety before the next detonation, which makes the ceiling above us crumble and takes out two of my men who were using the buttresses as hiding places. One's gone permanently, but it's a weak one I won't miss. Maybe next time around, Camden can have him.

The other gets pretty badly hurt, but he can still fight, and that's all that matters.

My own arm wells up a line of blood, straight across my left bicep. Damn, the Kommissar's brought shadows of his own, and we've not warded this Palace well enough yet to have an advantage, it seems. Aaren Voitre was on that task - where is he? He's the type to be in the thick of it, all young and green and ready to hone his weapon on anything that moves. I'd love to see that spear-tipped whip-chain snake its way around a few of our enemies right now. Schiphael moves more beautifully than even Geillg'a, when Aaren takes the time to weild his Arms properly.

In any case, there goes the ceiling above us. This is a multi-floored Palace, though - the explosion carries up into the roof, sending not only more plaster, but also terra cotta roofing tiles, down on our heads.

Well, they would be on our heads, if we were anywhere that our heads could be seen from. The walls and doorways are safer, and the astral spaces between them even more so. Everything we do is punctuated by another explosion, though, and soon those spaces become less safe. Ebrellin-i's defenders are decimating his Palace, but it's a solid strategy - it's a good way of decimating us.

I feel Raven die, and I'm not even sure how he managed it. That's strange. He's always been pretty good at not dropping dead, so this is an uncommon slip, for him. But hey, I could be the next to go. None of us rule our own deaths out, ever. That would be foolish. I almost bite it, at that. The next blast loses me an arm.

But not an Arm, and I strike back at the enemy soldier who detonated that blast. Gwen bites into him, sinking her daggerlike links into his neck and turning his head a full 180 degrees further than it should naturally rotate. I'd be dead in the next second, by backstab, but a Poet nudges me right then, and I duck. Ah, that was Cary. You darling, I didn't think you cared. I whirl in a circle and take the neck of the man who almost carved a fucking hole in my back.

I get the barest sense of a bow from Cary, and then nothing. Smart boy. He's always been stealthy. Damn near fucking invisible, for a Poet. I'll never argue against posting a pure Poet with an Armed brigade again, not after having him on my team for this many years. He is a godsend and then some. He's giving us more than a fighting chance, I wager - there's too many near-misses and narrow escapes in this battle for him not to be doing his job. Shame there's only one of him - but he can't watch everybody's back, even if he's ambidextrous and can write with two quills at once. There's just too many of us.

But I approve of a bit of rank-trimming in these situations. Let the weak catch the bullets - it strengthens our ranks. Shame about Raven, though. I won't allow him to live that down, if he ever comes back.

Some don't, no matter how much we try. But some I don't really care to have back, and that's why I'm the biggest bitch to ever set foot in Tesynnodai's Hall, or so I'm told.

There goes the last remaining buttress, right into my shoulder. Doesn't even bruise, so Cary's still doing his job. I feel a bit shoddy, getting hit this many times. I shrug off losing a limb like it's merely a broken nail, but this is a bit perplexing. It's not sloppy, it's just...

...There are more severe casualties in this battle than would be reasonably expected. Cary? What are we dealing with? I dodge a few enemy shadows, snaring one by the ankle and dragging it into the open just in time to catch a few bullets with his throat. Perfect.

The voice that replies is barely a whisper. He's concealing himself, after all. I'm trying. Don't know what they're doing. Try to sing a tune in your head. Tends to work as a cheap counterspell. Cloaking again, Miss. And then I can't sense him at all, which means all is right with the world, really.

Hah. A song. Of course he'd tell me a Poet solution. But I chant the Radian anthem in my head, all the same, and pass on the word to the rest of my soldiers. It could just be my imagination, but after that, we stop getting hit so easily, and the stupid mistakes get a little smarter by comparison. The battle turns, or at least shifts a little, and we hold our ground.

We've got to keep our King piece safe. If for nothing more elaborate than the shock effect. That's something to work on, at least, until Xen Xaillyndesse himself enters the field. I sense him around, and I know of his taste for wetting his own military fork with blood. Sometimes that bloodthirst is so prominent that his own soldiers barely see battle.

* * *

RADIA

* * *
Luciprochoros
* * *

Ruling half of the free world is a busy and time-consuming job, with a lot of distractions. In the founding days of our Kingdom, I had to create a coffee company just to have enough coffee on hand to be able to perform all of my duties. That's right, I have my own supply-chain, bean-sorting, and roasting hierarchy. That is a LOT of coffee. Celestial Coffee Company is a highly successful business as well, more than paying for its own overhead and expenses. It is also a lot to manage in its own right, and it really can't all get done properly unless it's done directly, by myself, no matter what my accountants tell me about fair business practices.

So I'm busy today, alright? 'Sy handed me a bunch of papers to read. I figured Jaxhelshon would be back home in a few hours, so I could skip reading his well-meaning but much-embellished accounting of his deeds in Audiva Rocale until I had a free moment. I don't have free moments. So by the time Jax knocks on the door to my study, I still haven't read any of it.

I wave him in and just let him give me the news directly. I don't expect him to have company. I certainly don't expect him to have Ebrellin-i's other daughter on his arm, her green eyes pinning mine in an eerie imitation of one of his own imperious glares. Jax, bless him, is just grinning his damn face off.

"Hey, Dad, you got a minute? I want you to meet someone special."

I'm afraid to say that I don't really have an answer for him. I'm a bit stuck here at my desk, my face frozen in an expression that is, hopefully, shock. There's a possibility that it could be disgust, and I'd hate to be rude to his first girlfriend.

I ignore the churning in my stomach that the last sentence produced.

I somehow force my jaw to move, and encourage my throat to produce some comprehensible sound to go with the movement of my lips. "Jaxhelshon...would you please do the honor of introductions?" Stalling for time, really. I've got to manage to stand up on my own without hurling.

He makes the most polite of smiles, then bows. "Jhe o'Radia Luciprochoros, may I make known to your accquaintance Jhe Rocsui-ehellenae a'Audiva Rocale Xaillyndesse'ten?" The girl's eyes widen as the whole name is announced in proper Court fashion, with no small amount of Poet flair. She also stumbles a little, which Jaxhelshon misinterprets as nerves. While he pats the back of her hand and soothes her, I pay close attention to the strange reaction my wards had to her name, and what her very presence is doing to them, at that.

To put it briefly, my wards either want to kick her out or knock her out. It's lucky for all of us that she's not considered enough of a threat that they're set to automatically kill her - an honor that has sometimes been reserved for Ebrellin-i during the rockier phases of our relationship. Of course, at some points that was due to 'Sy's insistence. But that's neither here nor there, is it? I step in and catch her before the girl collapses. I get an elbow in the ribs for it, but isn't that always the way when you're being a gentleman?

"Father!" Jaxhelshon is radiating concern, which I suppose is good, but he's radiating it far too close to me right now, and I need some room.

"I'll get her to the couch. Jaxhelshon, you really should announce your guests before you take them into my quarters. Especially foreign guests. I've lectured you on that before. Now...why don't you go and make us all some coffee? I'm sure a stimulant is all she needs. The wards will take a few moments to adjust for her, in any case."

My son's brows draw together, and I swear he's about to confront me on just why my wards are clubbing his new special interest over the head, but he drops it before he can outright ask. Perhaps his experience in the field has garnered him new wisdom, then, because that's a first for him.

* * *
Rocsui
* * *

Being forced to stay mute and demure is a state that I am used to living in. Being clubbed in the head by the astral walls of a room just because my name was spoken aloud is a new experience for me. I'm not really sure how I feel about it just yet, because I am simply too dazed to--

I'm sorry, I lost a few moments right there. When clarity comes back to me, I'm lying on a very comfortable couch while Jaxie's Father stares at me from an armchair. A coffee table sits between us like some sort of barrier. This is not how I imagined my meeting with the Jhe o'Radia would go, but I imagined worse scenarios.

"My apologies for raising the ire of your wards," I say, my eyebrow raised in a subtle way that turns the apology into accusation.

He demurs with a handwave. "Think nothing of it. My couch has gotten lonely. It's been over an hour since anyone's fainted onto it." He shrugs away my confused expression. "We've been introduced, Jhe Rahellene, but I believe you might prefer being addressed by your true name."

My eyes widen and my mouth goes starch-dry. I've not heard my name spoken by anyone in so many years that I'd forgotten what it sounded like. I manage to croak out a response. "How did you know?"

The smile he replies with is oddly sweet for an authoritative figure that I've just met. "I have a long memory for important things. Now, I do appreciate your coming here, and am glad to give you sanctuary, but I must get something out of the way immediately--"

"Oh, don't bother with this part, please. I wasn't going to express any further interest in your son, Jhe o'Radia."

He looks at me in surprise. "Oh?"

"He's a nice boy, but I've already grown bored of him."

Jhe Luciprochoros attempts to disguise a laugh by coughing into his hand, but it's a poor play at discretion. "...My apologies. It's rare that foreign dignitaries address me so directly." He suppresses another snicker.

I try to sit up instead of lying back on the couch, but I simply can't summon the strength to. "I am happy to be recognized as a dignitary, then, and not an attachment." I flick my gaze up to his startlingly bright eyes. "Really, how is it that you knew my name? It was a highly kept secret by my Father."

He nods with the barest tilt of his head. "Yes, and I have long ears."

I bite my lip. The evasion frustrates me, and whenever I try to focus enough to pry at what he's hiding, the wards try and clobber me once more. Fine, then. I'll leave it for now. Best not to play up my disadvantages at the outset. "I have important things to discuss regarding the present state of my country, and your own forces occupying it."

He replies only with an odd sort of grin. I'm not sure if he's taking me seriously.

"I do hope you realize that Audiva Rocale cannot go long without a ruler. Whether or not the one your Judge has seen fit to detain has committed a crime, someone must come forth to bring order to the Kingdom. If things remain as they are at my Palace, the people will riot and order will fall apart in my Kingdom."

He doesn't look as mocking anymore. In fact, I'm not sure if I can describe his expression at all. It almost looks like dawning horror, but it could be sadness as well. Emotion is something I'm still trying to familiarize myself with. I don't feel it like a normal person does, and my Father certainly never showed it.

Of course, before I can get any clarity from just what his face might mean, Jax walks in carrying a tray with coffee on it. I'm not sure if Jhe o'Radia looks relieved or annoyed, but once he has his coffee he certainly appears more in his element. I take my mug but don't drink from it. I more stare at it a bit perplexed, as I've never drunk coffee before, and it does not smell particularly pleasant.

Jax kneels in front of me, looking on me in concern. "Are you alright, Rocsui?"

"Call her Rahellene," his Father speaks over a mug of steaming coffee, eyes closed.

Jax tilts his head at me, now wondering about more than my health.

"Do as Jhe o'Radia says, Jaxhelshon. And I am fine. I simply need to take my repose while the Emperor and I discuss matters of diplomacy."

Jax turns back to his Father to say something, and then pauses with his mouth open. The sternness of Jhe o'Radia's expression is surprising, but Jax must have seen it sometime before, because he scampers out of the room without another word. After the door closes behind the boy, Jhe o'Radia's expression relaxes. Ah, that must have been a 'daddy' expression. It was very efficient, but I'm afraid it just wouldn't have the same effect if I learned it and used it myself.

He turns to me, then, and his face reverts to that odd sadness again. I cock my head, and he composes himself.

"Ahh, Audiva Rocale. Long has your peace been intertwined with Radia's. And long have I grappled with its rulers over said peace." Jhe Luciprochoros smiles at me for a moment. "It would be lovely if I could have peaceable talks concerning the future of both of our countries to you. It is a shame that's not meant to be." He goes on before I can voice a protest. "I know you mean well, Jhe Rahellene. I know just how much you want this, believe me. But I also know how succession will pass along Ebrellin-i's line." He looks away, pain reflecting in his eyes.

I don't understand.

He sighs, then sets his coffee mug down and begins to refill it. "Jhe o'Audiva Rocale Ebrellin-i Xaillyndesse did not pass on heirship to our daughter Katherine. I prevented that, in fact, by passing my heirship to her before he could do so. To protect her. Later, he came to the same conclusion that I had - that the Xaillyndesse heirship was something to be protected from and was not itself any form of protection. To that end, he passed the heirship down to his younger brother, who has not seen fit to pass it on to any of his progeny. As he did this before, or more precisely, during your birth, you are not eligible to inherit his throne."

I can't feel my face. I don't know what expression I'm making. Jhe o'Radia's is one of pity.

He goes on. "As Elethe-Travente Xaillyndesse is in no condition to rule Audiva Rocale, there is no suitable heir to the throne, and thus it would likely be taken over by a steward of the same line. Perhaps she shall declare herself Queen, if she makes it to the throne to do so."

I swallow, but my throat is still dry. "Jhe Thelea Xaillyndesse."

Jhe o'Radia leans over the coffee table towards me. "Now do you see why it is so critical that the Armed take control of the Palace before someone else does?"

I barely manage a nod.

"I'm sorry. I truly am. But I can't twist and turn bloodlines. Your grandmother attempted that herself, and look what we have to show for it! As it is, you need to remain under protection. It is very noble that you have tried to bring your Kingdom to order, Jhe Rahellene. Unfortunately, you aren't the one to do it. In fact, I'm not sure who will be. With all hope, your Father will survive his Judging."

I narrow my eyes as I stare down at my clasped hands. "I have no wish for my Father to live." Oddly, the wards press against me a little less after I say that.

Jhe o'Radia's expression is deeply sad. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I cannot say that I don't understand the sentiment. As it is, his tampering with you is making it difficult for you to live outside your garden, isn't it?"

I look up sharply at him. "Just how do you know where I lived, Jhe o'Radia?"

"Certain places were declared off-limits. I smell Fae on you, and it isn't the blood your grandmother passed down, either. It's like a dusting of pollen on those feathers that dot your skin. I know where you've stayed. Moreover, I know where Jhe o'Audiva Rocale keeps his most precious things."

My eyes narrow. "You're lying."

Jhe o'Radia smiles back at me. "I'm a politician, honey. Lying is one of my hobbies." He sighs, crushing his palm against his forehead. "It's been a tiring day already. You're very stressed. It would be better if you rested now, and got an explanation later."

"I--" I choke my words off. The wards got me before I could even make a demand. No, not the wards. Something else. Something Camden and Jax never saw, even though it was right in front of their eyes.

"In fact, you need more than a rest. You need care. You've been bound for years. Ebrellin-i put more than feathers on you when he changed your true Name."

I shudder. Hearing the truth hurts me. Or, more likely, it makes the binds hurt me. Jhe o'Radia's hand falls on my shoulder, propping me up. He's right. I am tired.

"I have a few spare bedrooms in this suite. I've children away from home, after all. You can sleep in one. The wards are overbearing in here, I know, but it's the safest place for you."

"I didn't know I was in danger." I let him lift me up. There's nothing I can do to fight him off, and sleep sounds divine.

"You'll find, sadly, that there are many things you've never known, Rahellene." He carries me off then. I catch a glimpse of the twin bed before I'm unconscious. I feel the tiniest wrinkle of scorn when I see it - it's his daughter's bed. Katherine - my sister who never had to live in Ebrellin-i's cage of a shadow.

* * *

* * *
'Sy
* * *

The Advocate, the Peacekeeper and I are finally ready to discuss just what is going on with our temporal deployments when my son Lute comes walking into my office, dragging a dead body behind him.

This happens more often than I care to admit.

He blinks at me. Those blue eyes are just as wide and innocent as they were when he was five - very wide, not very innocent. "I'm sorry, were you busy? I can take this elsewhere."

Jhe Camden disguises a laugh with a polite cough. Katherine just smirks.

"Oh, no, please come in and explain just who you've killed this time." I motion him in. Lute was raised to observe proper etiquette, and so closes the door after our dead guest is dragged into the room.

Katherine nods after looking over the body. "Nice one there, Lute. Pretty fresh!"

Lute grins back at her. "I like to get 'em done quick, you know."

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. There really has to be a better place for corpses than my office, but try as I might I just can't think of one right now. "Explain."

Lute places the corpse rather primly in one of the chairs in front of my desk. "She was messin' with my brother, Dad. I had to."

Like I said, just like he was when he was five. Thank goodness that wasn't his first kill, back then. No, he only managed an actual death two years later. The five-year-old attempt was mercifully unsuccessful. I suppose it really didn't help things that I was so proud of him at the time, but can you blame me? He's always looking out for Lyric. But I always have to write the letters afterwards.

In any case, I should have expected this to happen the moment Lyric returned. "Go on."

Lute takes in a deep breath, then begins to explain. Katherine, bless her, starts serving up the tea that Jaxhelshon had made about an hour ago. It's cold, but it's good, and it is also tea.

"Oh, thanks." Lute takes his cup and sips, raising his eyebrows. "Hey, you tell Benya this is good stuff."

Katherine smiles back at him. "Benny will be glad to hear it. She takes such pains to pick nice tea blends. Now, as you were saying?" Katherine perches on the corner of my desk, legs crossed, while Camden stands to the left of her, trying his damnedest not to grin. Camden, I should mention, always liked Lute's approach to kills, and heavily lamented the fact that my shadow-racing son was practically born into Julia's division.

Lute takes the seat next to the corpse. He rolls his shoulders, then pops his knuckles. Oh great, he's settling in for storytelling. This should be good. "Alright, so I dropped Lyric and Stevane off at Muriel's place afore I went and killed anyone, alright? So they're safe, first of all."

I raise a single eyebrow at that, but let him continue his story as he sees fit.

"Lyric's gone and gotten a bounty on his head. I guess flitting about and going over to Sul and foolin' around with its criminal of an Emperor in public and whatnot garnered some attention for himself! As you do. So Stevane tackled the poor boy to the ground this morning before I had a chance to block the hit on him. Good reflexes on the girl! She really ought to come and get her final training, you know. Girl's almost Armed."

I nod and reply with a "Hmm." I'm not sure when that'll happen, honestly. Things are a bit busy around here, as a general understatement.

"Aaaanyway, some assassin took a pot-shot at Lyric while we were walking to the markets, that's the general idea. After I got my two sibs to Muriel's, Stevane did a quick trace on the dart, since it nicked her when she threw her brother out of the way of it. She was targeting pretty well, but I figured it'd be better if she stayed with her brother and Muriel. By using her blood, I was able to trace the assassin on my own." Lute grins up at me, and I have to resist the urge to pat him on the head. I can't reward behavior like this. Well, I shouldn't. I have to keep telling myself this every time he does this.

Then I ask the inevitable question. "So...why did you kill her on the spot, instead of bringing the assassin back to the Hall alive for questioning?"

"Cuz she tried to kill my brother." Lute shrugs as if that's that. And, well, to him it is.

I let out a heavy sigh. Camden squares his shoulders a bit, but hesitates to say anything. Lute isn't under his direct command, after all. The same goes for Katherine, who is only smirking and silently drinking her tea. I have a sip of my own, closing my eyes.

Julia will be furious. Well, fine then. Let Julia handle it, while we figure out just where - and when - our soldiers are supposed to be right now.

"Bring the body to your commanding officer and do what you must. Find out any relevant information."

Lute looks downcast. Ahh, I see. He reported this directly to me so as to avoid Jhe Wysthaven. How typical of any of my progeny. "...Aye, sire." He rises, bows, then takes his leave, moping out of my office, dead body dragging forlornly behind him.

Just like when he was seven.

"Well, that was a nice bit of an interlude. Are we to business now?" Camden turns to me, peering up through his spectacles.

I nod, then get out maps of the Aurocan Palace and the papers for Camden's deployment. "According to this, I sent the rest of our shadows out to relieve your wounded, along with Jhe Wysthaven to relive you of command."

Camden nods. "Aye, sire. The rest of the men I brought to Sul's Palace remained as reinforcements, with Jhe Daltry in command of 'em."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You sound troubled, Peacekeeper."

Camden replies with a very short bow. "Pardon my mentioning it, Jhe h'Akribastes, but I feel ill at ease about leaving my men where Jhe Julia is doing her proper job. It seems an odd place for them, and I'm unsure as to why they remained behind."

As if on cue (and it should not be overlooked that Camden is a Poet as well as Armed), we all three look to the north, as if we could gaze right over the empire of Audiva Rocale. The hairs on the back of my neck are prickling, and I feel that there is a great conflict arising.

"Combat," Camden mutters under his breath, the word almost a growl.

Katherine runs her white gloved fingers over the map. She says nothing out loud, but I know her opinion regardless - it's time to plan for just what we're going to do, regardless of the consequences.

"It's already been done, Jhe Briarseal." I thumb through the orders that I'll send out today to him, contemplating moving troops through time, and just why we would ever do so. It's something that only Elete would typically recommend, but he's at rest right now.

Or he should be, at any rate.

Camden grits his teeth. "More like it will be done, and when that time comes we won't be able to change any of it, regardless of the consequences."

I close my eyes and nod. In the darkness behind my eyelids, the conflict is already playing itself out before me.

"There's one more thing." I look up from my reverie. Katherine and Camden are looking at each other like they just burped kittens up from their mouths. They both said the previous sentence simultaneously.

I motion for Camden to go first. He's just arrived back from a deployment, after all. I hear enough from Katherine day in and day out as it is.

He bows again in that apologetic way that makes me brace myself. "Jhe h'Akribastes, I wrote of some of this in my report - my brother Elricht... well, you read it. I'm worried that, given just who took him and had possession of his quill... there might be something to be concerned on my own end of things."

"You mean, other than that he's your brother?"

He nods, still bowing. "I am divided. He could have just been taken because he is a Poet. They have apparently been keeping many Poets that we thought to be deployed to far outposts. Armed as well. On its own, that is disturbing...and at a time like this, something that could be too easily forgotten. However, Elricht is a Dhealg'seala. A Briarseal. He is not the heir to the line, but he is the only survivor of the clan besides myself. It brings to mind concerns beyond the fact that Elricht is a captive Poet."

I nod. "Such as?" Damn Elete for giving them all a blasted annoying tendency to pause dramatically. I know of some of the implications, but I'd prefer Camden speak plainly about it in case there might be any that I have overlooked.

"Sire, they might use him to break the Seal. Jhe Fayegeaux's clan's history is quite interwoven with monsters that are kin to the Old Man. Liyannethe has a storied history of playing with said monsters. The home Kingdom of the ruling Xaillyndesse family, central in the Aurocan empire, where all the darkest stories come from. They may swear against their 'old religion'...but Ebrellin-i's actions run counter to his words of treaty and peace, so how much can we trust the rest of them? Hell, he was the most reasonable of them with any clout to his name, save Jhe h'Logos Elete. I took from my summons that I'm to be readying the armies for war - I feel there are other things which must be attended to. If I'm not the one to do it, someone responsible must be appointed to this issue."

I nod. "That sounds perfectly reasonable, Jhe Briarseal. Until such time as you are immediately needed as Peacekeeper, please see fit to supervise the situation yourself. Please, you may stop bowing now." I sometimes think that the reason Camden needed a time-consuming Armed career appointment the most is because if he stayed in the Poet Hall for any decent amount of time, he and the Poet King would do nothing but bow at each other, day in and day out.

Oh but I am not looking forward to going into the Poet Hall to ask Jhe h'Logos just what is going on with the timing of our deployments.

"Ah, speaking of which, sire..." Camden ceases his bow, looking flustered from having yet another request. "Forgive me for eavesdropping--"

"We expect you to hear things by now, Jhe Briarseal."

"Aye, yes. If you're going to see the Poet King, then perhaps we should entrust the reading of Cade's journal to him. I..." he looks askance, then nudges his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "I attempted it on my own. I find that to be ill-advised, now. It's very... protected."

I raise an eyebrow. Camden has always been a master of understatements. Given his abilities, it's surprising that he was unable to overcome the journal's defenses. "Oh?"

"To be honest, sire, I was reluctant to pursue the activity any further myself, for fear of inadvertently breaking the Seal."

I know I must look dubious, now. "The Seal? The Seal of clan Dhealg'seala? I thought your life was sufficient enough to keep it locked down."

Camden props up his glasses again, a gesture that's obviously more meant to hide his face. "Yes, well. That's a succinct enough explanation for why I might prefer someone else try to read it from here on out."

I look down at the moldy old book. Impressive, that it came close to killing Camden. "I'm certain Jhe h'Logos and his Poets will have LOTS of fun with it. I'll ensure that it's closely guarded. Will that be all, Jhe Briarseal?"

"Aye."

I nod. "Good. Katherine. State your business, please."

She gives me a pinched look, as if she's about to hit me. If Camden weren't in the office, she possibly might. "Jhe Ebrellin-i Xaillyndesse must be attended to promptly. He can't go long unmonitored, given that which is attacking him from the inside. I must see to him as Advocate." She cocks her head. "The Judge may also attend, if he sees it necessary."

I shake my head. "You may see to it on your own. I can watch just as well from afar, and I've more than enough mess to deal with right now. Let Jhe Averseen know that she'll have plenty of paperwork to keep her busy soon."

Her eyes narrow to dagger points. "Very well." She turns on her heel and marches out without another word. Camden skirts me a nervous bow, then makes his quiet exit.

I prepare myself for the rest of a very, very long day.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I stalk down the hall towards the cells, my boots clacking against the stone floor. Not that anyone cares, but I'm going to go see if my Father's still even alive now.

Of course, while nobody cares, someone might be fool enough to brush my shoulder while I think I'm perfectly alone. I spin on my heel and check the fool into the wall with my hip, then grapple his wrists so I can see just where his hands are, and make sure they stay there. I narrow my eyes.

Calm blue eyes study mine. Camden's face remains stoic. His damn spectacles aren't even ajar. He raises an eyebrow in lieu of asking me just what I think I'm doing. I shove him out of the way and return to stomping off to my destination.

His footsteps follow mine, at a slower pace but somehow the same speed. I remind myself that not only is Camden taller than me, he's also a Poet, and can fudge the details just a bit for effect. I almost spit. I'm getting tired of flair and dramatics for effect. There's too much going on. There's no time for this shit. "Why the hell are you following me, Peacekeeper?"

"Because the Judge sees fit to make our jails more efficient by placing high-risk criminals near each other. My quarry is not far from yours." He pauses, likely for effect. "Perhaps our missions are not too dissimilar, Advocate."

"Oh? Really." I cross my arms, slowing my pace slightly. Not that he needs such an allowance, but it's a sign that I'm more willing to talk to him.

"Indeed. I apologize that I am not quite up to speed regarding Jhe o'Audiva Rocale, but I gathered his sentence was delayed until such time as the Advocate could fulfill her often-mysterious purpose. Tell me, is Ebrellin-i open to be questioned?"

I shrug. "Much good it will do you, in his state. It's doubtful he's even aware of his own words right now. I would advise you focus your interrogation on Cade right now, Camden. Ebrellin-i must grow his tongue back before he can speak."

Camden looks at me with concern. "That bad? Acht. No wonder you're acting as if you're bleeding from a monthly wound."

He ducks far too quickly for someone gifted with such an eloquent tongue for jibes. He's grinning, too. The bastard.

"Aye, but you're grinning as well, aren't ye?" He slaps me on the back, the old camaraderie showing through. "Now, you go fix up your turkey, and I'll go choke my chicken."

I give him a very dubious look for that last comment. It takes him a few moments to realize the euphemism, and then the blush creeps up his cheeks.

"Acht. I didn't mean it like that at all. I still think in Rhivennish, not Radian."

I wave him away. "No worries, Peacekeeper. There's plenty of places to be alone down here. You go have your fun."

He clucks his tongue at my back as our paths diverge, and then I'm alone for a time.

* * *
Camden
* * *

"Aye, so are ye going to get up for a nice chat, or am I going to have to shake you out of bed, Jhe Fayegeaux?" I've already drawn Geillg'a. Cade is, in fact, studying her links very closely.

He grins up at me, those teeth flashing like a dog's. "I see no reason not to engage in healthy conversation. Come on in, Camdhegn. It's a treat, living in a cell with a real bed and no roaches. Might as well share the joy."

I shake my head. "No, but thank you for offering so kindly." I kick a stool out in front of Cade's cell, then take a seat, already tugging out a pad of paper from one of my pockets. It should come in handy. Talking to Cade is in itself a difficulty - he's so closely claimed by Nul that it's hard to make out his features, and often difficult to pin down his words. Behind the wards here, it's a bit easier, but I still prefer to have my tools to hand.

He's watching the paper in my hand, in fact, and the pen. "I did wonder," he murmurs, "why you all chose to pen me up in a cell that had a writing desk."

I shrug. "Perhaps we might find a way to make you useful, Cade, regardless of the improbabilities of that. Now, our chat has been long delayed - just where is Elricht, if you don't mind being precise?" My quill is poised. Cade is very watchful of it.

He did agree to spill his secrets in exchange for protection. I can see him debating it internally. I'm sure the deal seemed quite good at the time, but now that he's held to it... he might actually have to make good on his end. Such offers always seem appealing in the moment of desperation, but later on, there's always the hemming and hawing.

"The Judge always has time for another Trial, regardless of his schedule." Oh, he jumps at that suggestion. "Surely your life as you've lead it has guaranteed you a grisly death by now. Why are you so afraid of comeuppance? It's inevitable."

He spits on the floor cell. Prisoners usually do that early on, before they realize that they're the cleaning crew for their own living quarters. "Inevitable never has to mean today. That's been the key to my longevity, Camdhegn. Surely you, a Dhealg'seala, could properly appreciate that."

I narrow my eyes. He's trying to bait me to distract me from questioning. It's difficult not to rise to catch it, but I stop myself. "Aye, so I can, just as you are in a position to appreciate the inevitable approaching you. Tell me, haven't you ever longed to spill the secrets you've kept all these years? You know more secrets than many men will ever learn. Between who your master is, or perhaps was, and your uncommon longevity, there certainly is a lot to be told of. Beyond all that, there's the simple fact that the Jherent Nul has likely figured out by this point that you, Jhe Fayegeaux, have turned traitor. No matter what you tell us, I doubt there's anything you know that will make us more certain to kill you than we already are. There is only, in fact, room to prolong your life. As such, there are no reasons for you to keep secrets anymore. Tell me where the Poets are."

He smirks. "Such a statesman. They should keep you in the other Hall. Certainly the windbags there could learn from you. But it is true, Camdhegn - I have no reason to keep my secrets." He draws himself up in his seat on the bed. "And perhaps I will enjoy the telling, yes? So, then - your precious Poets. And not a few Armed, besides. Where to keep them, in Nul?" He grins at me. His eyes are full of malice and trouble. Damn his current usefulness. "You've given me a desk. How about I put it to use, and draw ye a map to them all?"

I raise an eyebrow. I don't trust this suggestion. "I've pen and paper of my own, and cartography skills to my own name. I'll draw the map."

"...You wouldn't understand how to get there. You've never been."

"Try me."

He narrows his own eyes. We stare at each other for awhile, a battle of wills. There's not much contest - the collar and manacles I wrought for him are still in play, and none of his strengths can dominate in here. He's too chained down, and besides - I'm too damn stubborn. He looks away, scowling. "Lyiannethe is the closest you'll get to a real physical correlation, for now."

"Aye, ye did mention it earlier. Why do you say 'for now'?" I begin scrawling on my notepad.

"Some of the entrances and portals come and go, mostly...mostly in the desert. Isolated places. Places people forget about. We almost had a great one going in Rhivend, and then you and your brother had to go on and survive." His lip curls up. "That's a different case, of course. There's nothing consistent when it comes to portals to Nul. Just a case of the right energy, the right circumstances, and in some cases, the right person giving it just a push. But then there's Lyiannethe. Spooky place. Well-fortified against Radia, rarely directly incurred upon by the Law. Long, long history of the old ways. Monsters. Blood. Bad magic." He grins. "Lyiannethe is a permanent portal to Nul. Couldn't really say where it is. It's more a matter of who's opening it, and who needs to go through. But things go into Nul there. Things come out, too...some things from Nul are even kept there, to preserve them."

"Preserve them from what?" My throat's gone dry. I'm beginning to wonder why I went off alone to pursue this avenue of questioning. Why does the mere mention of Nul bring such terror to people?

His grin widens, showing off more of those carnivorous teeth. "From Nul, of course. Why do you think I only have half a face?"

I snort. "That last part rings with little truth."

He sighs. "Damn Lawmen, always have to be so literal. It could be said that my lack of identity is in itself a protection. A sort of shield. Being in Nul is being nowhere, after all - it can chafe. Especially if a Poet is kept there too long. In the case of your brother...well. I never imagined a Dhealg'seala would have such a weak constitution." He giggles. "I only kid. He does ail just a tad. He is, after all, a little more special than the average Poet to Nul. They're sometimes kept in Lyiannethe, sometimes in Nul. Most times, it's in the places that hang between - too decayed to be reality, too real to be Nul." He sounds so fucking cheerful about it all.

I unclench my fingers around my quill. I'll crush it. "Who in Lyiannethe is responsible?"

"The entire royal fucking family?" He snickers. "It's hard to find a Xaillyndesse who isn't involved with Nul, Jhe Dhealg'seala. Perhaps you should comb your own ranks. They're more treacherous than even the likes of myself." He shrugs. "If you want specifics, however...well, there's the Kommissar. I don't particularly like him, myself. Too brutish for my tastes. But he'll ally himself with whomever it takes to obtain power. He reeks of the old ways, the old monsters. Thelea Xaillyndesse, of course, hasn't found a power she doesn't want to murk up her own vein-blood with. This should come as no surprise to you. As for what you can do about it... well, it's a bit of a shame, but you're about to go to war with their fucking Kingdom." His grin is split practically ear to ear. "Not the best time to send in a spy, is it? Them damn Akribastes kids always get caught, in any case. Oh, of course - that would be what started the war in the first place, wouldn't it?"

I nod cheerfully. "Wouldn't have 'em any other way." I grin. "Keeps me employed! Now, tell me about what you've done. Most other things you've said might as well be things I already know. Why pay attention to others? Put your own hard work to the fore!"

He looks a bit crestfallen at that suggestion. Ahh, it seems he was trying to distract me with things that had not-much to do with him. Shame I'm so attentive. "Yes, well. You've known me, Camdhegn. My life's not all that interesting."

I poise my pen. "Then do what the trainees do and skip to all the good parts."

* * *
Katherine
* * *

Before I even make it to Ebrellin-i's cell, Gedulah warns me to draw her. I do, pulling the steel length of her up through the sheathe at my hip. I keep her in rapier form, usually - both my Arms are most comfortable resting in blade form. She could be a gun, if I so chose. Hell she could be a mandolin pick. She can be anything I can kill with, as can Gevurah. The only difference between me and the Armed who can only maintain their Arms in one constant form is discipline and practice.

I draw Gedulah as a rapier. She is both elegant and ready for any task at hand. She calms me, curbs my emotions, and makes me cool and calculated. She also can pick up the sensations of the energy around me as her blade glides through the air. That property is most useful to me now. If I feel endangered while approaching my Father's cell, I want to immediately know why.

There's no danger in the hall out here. That's good, then - if something were down here roaming outside the cells that didn't belong here, that would be cause for alarm. There's already been enough alarm in Radia. As I step in front of my Father's cell, I can see why Gedulah wanted to be drawn. Gevurah also calls out to be unsheathed, but that's unnecessary, and I need a free hand. I just look upon the cell and survey what my Father's become. He looks back up at me, and the moment he does that is painful.

His eyes are trying to free themselves of the marks surrounding them. By now, all of his makeup has been wiped away in all the struggles he's gone through. Underneath the decorative paint, black marks stain his face and hands. Black is perhaps the wrong word. They are black in some areas, and in others, they are grey shadows. It is as if ink were seeping under his skin, pooling in some areas and diluting through others. I see the marks ripple as I look upon them, contorting into new patterns and designs. Gedulah vibrates in my hand, and I pull her back from attacking. She sweeps up, then, into a guarding position. I understand - she's to shield me from any curses that are laid from within my Father's skin.

Even with bars between us, those marks could strike me down.

He's trying to hide his face. That's a futile gesture - the marks on his hands wink out at me, an eye welling up on the back of one, warding scripts swirling across the other. Both marks fail to succeed in their aims, but still Gedulah cautions me from even entering the cell right now. My hand hovers over the lock on the door.

"Please don't come in here, daughter." My Father's voice is distant, as if he'd said the words years ago, and I'm only remembering them now. I try to come up with some reply, but I choke it down. I want to go in there. I want to make it all okay for him, even though I know that's a silly wish, a frivolous little girl's thought. If he's to be healed now, it must be worked for. And he must do that work. There's very little that I can do here now.

Why are we here, young one? Gedulah asks me in a patient voice. I have half a mind to spit at her, and then I realize that's Gevurah's urge, not mine.

I have to monitor him.

He must do the work himself, and you know that. It will take time. Why attend his side when it will do nothing for either him or you? Is this one of those silly people-things that we Arms don't understand?

...Yes. That's the best way of putting it, Gedulah. I sigh. I didn't want it to be this way. I thought he would be better off than this. Most of all, I've been afraid that there's more here at work than Father's mind battling for himself. I've seen marked people before. Victims of curses or charms. Nothing like what's on my Father, though. I'm starting to wonder how deep those marks go, and how much they cover him.

Would you like to look? Clothing is no boundary for our eyes.

I nod. My vision ripples, and underneath Ebrellin-i's clothing I see marks ebb and flow, weaving over his entire body. They're concentrated on the energy points of his body, most notably his chakras. The throat is bound well, and then the heart, the stomach, the base of his spine, the groin. Oddly, his forehead is clean, but his crown was enough to charm and block the chakras there. It was taken from him almost immediately - the gem set in the center of it was practically a piece of Nul, it was so tainted and bespelled. His hair jewels were also confiscated for similar reasons, along with the other jewelry he wore. The jeweled posts drilled through his ear cartilage were the most tainted besides the crown itself.

His wrists and ankles are marked so much that he might as well have shadow-lined cuffs under the shackles the Judge wove onto him. Even his ears are marked. When the shadows crossing his body roil faster, Ebrellin-i cringes, pulling the blankets over himself and burying his face into the couch.

They're hurting him. Punishing him. They're ordering him to kill himself, and when he resists or is unable, he meets censure for it.

Sometimes, Gedulah's voice rolls through my mind, sad and soft, they punish him for no other reason than to taste his pain. That is not a new thing to him. It is, in fact, familiar to him.

Gevurah's voice pops in, suddenly. But he doesn't remember those times. That's the strange part, for him at least. He's robbed of those memories, so every time they punish him, he feels surprise, no matter how commonly it happens to him. He's a confused little chick of a peacock, he is, and kept terrified through that cursed ignorance. But... she sighs.

He is trying, says Gedulah, with no small amount of pride.

And that's reason enough not to kill him, says Gevurah, her growl both disappointed and glum.

Will he win? I ask, not understanding why I'm even bothering to. Still, in situations like this, people ask stupid things.

He can, if he keeps at it. He can't hear you right now, though, and I suggest you leave him to it.

I nod at Gedulah, watching the black spirals skate over the rims of Ebrellin-i's ears. I want to cut through them, but something tells me I'll only cut through my Father. What if it takes too long?

It always takes as long as it has to. He can't be rushed. At the very least, he's not completely overwhelmed. He's dealing with it... well, as best as he can. Mostly it's shock right now. He must have devoted a lot of energy to fooling himself into thinking there was nothing wrong with him. He had to have seen the marks before. He had to have seen them, to paint his face as he did. He's been so deluded that he never even consciously acknowledged them. Now, he has to take that all apart piece by piece, and put his own mind back together. Once he's done that, he can have help. Now, go from this place. It is not the one for you, not right now.

I sigh, step away from the cell, and sheathe my rapier. Father cannot talk right now, and I cannot touch him. It is time to be elsewhere.

* * *
Cade
* * *

I'm incredibly talkative today, as if the words are being pulled from me, one by one out of my throat. That's the Poet Camdhegn's fault, of course. He's remarkably apt at calmly grilling someone. I know I'm bespelled by the craft, and what's worse is that I'm so calm about it. So passive. My defenses are down, mostly because so many of my defenses draw from Nul's power, and I can't really call upon that right now, can I? So I'm stuck.

And what's odd about that is that I'm not worried about it at all. Another thing to blame on the Poet, I suspect. His scrawling on that notepad can't just be my words being recorded. Never give a Poet paper, not if you want the upper hand. As if I have a choice here. And I would prefer, on the whole, to have a choice in this. This is my life I'm talking about, after all.

Regardless of what I even remember about it today, I'd prefer all of it to remain secret.

I watch his quill move as I speak. "There were very few casualties when it came to the Armed. That were taken by me, of course. I prefer to preserve my specimens as intact as possible, as that garners the best response from my employers. It's a shame, since they're so fun to play with - but Xen's specific order was that I deliver him the Armed in as perfect a condition as possible. He was annoyingly particular about them being alive. That's no indicator that you'll find them still living, if you find them at all. I've seen very few since giving them to him."

"So your superior is Xen Xaillyndesse, then?"

I snort. A typical pressing point from an officer like Camdhegn. Shame that I really didn't want that avenue explored. "I answer to Nul itself. Jhene Xen and Thelea like to think of themselves as in control, but they're mere pawns of Nul in the end. I am the Herald and no one gives me orders except my Master. Often enough, I relay them their orders, while they treat me as a mere messenger boy."

"But you're very important, aren't you, Jhe Fayegeaux?"

My eye twitches from the use of that surname. A twitch I'd rather hide, but damn the Seal Guard, he notices it all the same. "No one answers directly to Nul as I do. It can be a position of power, if used properly. It lends me a certain preservation - when he'd easily wipe his pawns from the board, I remain as his prized piece. The position has certain costs to it, but doesn't everything?"

"Would you consider it worth it?" Camdhegn raises an eyebrow as he makes the query. Odd sot. What the hell is he trying to get at? I thought these questions were going to be much different.

"I do it, so it must be worth something." I twitch as I feel him pressed for the actual answer. Damn it. "Shove off, obviously I've been in the position for a very long time. Of course it's worth it if I've stayed there that long."

"But it's no longer worth it now, is it? What changed? Is the danger of Nul suspecting betrayal so great that you'd throw your prized position away? You've worked so hard, for years, and now - nothing? Why the turnabout?"

I scowl at him. "None of your bloody business."

He only grins, an expression eviller than any one I've made, by my reckoning. "Fine then. Tell me why you were stationed under Ebrellin-i's command."

I snort, a grin stealing up the side of my face. "Ebrellin-i would like to think he commanded anything! You're quite the comedian today."

I hear a breath sucked in from out of my view. Camdhegn's eyes flick to the side, then back to me. "Jhe Katherine, unless you are to be of use in questioning, I doubt the Advocate has any place here." Aww, he's getting territorial over me! I feel so loved. Or perhaps that's just a tiny bit of bile in my stomach.

The deposed Emperor's daughter herself steps into view, raising an eyebrow as she glances into the cell. Such a Judge-like expression. "I somehow doubt you would need the Advocate presently. However, your line of questioning interests me. May I observe, Peacekeeper?"

A small smile alights on Camdhegn's face. "Of course. Pull up a chair, if you'd like."

She remains standing, staring down at me. "Who commanded Ebrellin-i?"

Ahh, a proper audience for the things I have to tell. I cock my head at her. "Well, who didn't? The current ruler of Audiva Rocale's been wrapped around the finger of the royal family since I've had the pleasure of his accquaintance. And that's been quite a long time, I assure you, lass. The Kommissar and the Mother Queen Thelea have both had their use of him, though he does maintain control over his own Palace and its adjoining lands. Or did, rather. I'm sure they'll love moving into the space, now that their prize pet's been put in the pound." He smirks. "Not that he's their prize pet, mind ye, but Nul likes to let them think that."

"In reality, Ebrellin-i is Nul's pet." The girl says it without making it a question, saying it to herself more than us.

"Ebrellin-i is Nul's prized peacock. It's cute of you to try to win him back, but Nul doesn't give up his possessions."

"Does that make your struggle a hopeless cause, I wonder?" Camdhegn's voice is conversational. Pleasant, almost.

My expression darkens. "I'm no collared prize of his. I serve as I will. Ebrellin-i could never dream to be Herald. He shakes before Nul, grovels and cowers. I take my bows when I should, but never do I have to-hnnnnrgh." I lean forward, hand clasped around my throat.

It's closed itself.

Camdhegn stands bolt upright, then looks quickly around. His witch-whip is out in a flash, streaking through the bars and snaking around my form. I end up with a few nicks, but far less than I'd expect considering the flayings I've earned prior to this. All that is a side concern, however. I'm beginning to see black around the edges of my vision.

Perhaps I really have said too much. I crumple forward off of the bed, the links of the whip curling out of the way before I can be slashed to ribbons. I had thought Nul wouldn't reach me here. That they would protect me. Keep me safe.

I was wrong. Stupid. What a waste of a life - I could have gone down killing someone.

The edges of my vision flash white, and then the veil covering my senses lifts itself as air sucks back into my chest in one great big gulp. I glance up at the door of my cell.

Katherine's eyes are closed, her hand pressed against the bars palm-open, fingers spread. She's chanting something that I can't make out the words to. The words make me tingle in a way that's not unpleasant but that do not make me comfortable. I try to struggle away for a moment, but the spell holds me still. She opens her eyes at the last breath of it, and the pupils that focus on me are a cold blue, the irises around them a milky, golden white.

I piss myself.

She turns away, walking behind Camdhegn's stool. "And you said there'd be no need for the Advocate. Silly Armed. Always so sure of themselves, including me." Her voice sounds strange, as if it's coming from higher than where she speaks from. As if she's a lady twice as tall as even the Judge.

Fucking spooky.

Camdhegn snorts, ignoring the admonition. "I'd imagine he needs as much protection as he can get, now, so it's appreciated, Advocate. Now if only he were bestowed with greater continence." He shakes his head. "Cursed Dirybvik bastards always wet themselves as they run from battle - suppose I should have seen this coming."

I crouch away from them. "Can a man have some privacy to neaten up, then?"

"Nay, put a blanket over yer shame - hope that it teaches you to use the toilet next time. We gave you one, you know."

The Advocate buries her face in her hand, shaking her head. When she looks back up at me, her eyes are forest green again. "So uncivilized, Camden. As I would expect from two boys speaking Rhivendish."

I laugh. I didn't even notice we'd lapsed into it. I wonder when that started happening? As it is, I'm surprised she's returning speech in our language. I grab a blanket and tug it over myself, appreciative of the fact that I didn't have that damn accident in the bed I've been given.

"Keep talking." The bitch certainly doesn't let up any more than Camdhegn does. "I've seen to it that you're free to speak."

That she has, which is rather an alien feeling for me. I'm used to that absolute control Nul holds over my tongue - without it, my words feel strange and alien. "Which topic would you prefer?"

Camdhegn takes the lead on questioning now, his hands clasped over his knee. "Ebrellin-i is of interest, but I will be grilling you further on the Armed you've been assigned to steal away from us. The Poets as well."

"Heh. Funny you mention it like that. I can talk about all three at once - Ebrellin-i stole more Poets than I did, though his track record with Armed is sorely in need of improvement. He tended to avoid them more than capture those pieces. Seemed to have a bloody stupid fear of them, as if they were a real threat. Poets, though, he loved to collect. He'd have his fun being diplomatic, getting drawn, playing his little Court games. Then he'd tire of them, eventually, and off I'd take them. Bloody hilarious, watching them the moment they'd realized he was really just out to catch them. Those collars were so useful. Elricht certainly looked cute with one on. Ahh, yes. He was one of the first, you know. Never made it to the proper post he'd been sent off to, not that anyone could tell from the letters I mocked up."

"Just what did Ebrellin-i do to them?" Camdhegn's just adorable when he tries to hide how tense he is, and how much he wants to kill me for hurting his brother. If there's anything I enjoy from being in here, it's playing with those stifled emotions of his. He looks like he's trying to swallow a rat while keeping his mouth closed.

"Seduced a few, gave em presents, had tea. Then wrapped his collars around their necks, and it was my turn to deliver them to where they truly needed to be. Poor thing, I think he missed his pets after I took them away. He always wanted more." I feel the next question coming on, and go ahead and answer it. "The Poets went to Lady Thelea. That's her own pet project, much as Ebrellin-i sometimes is. Well, he's everyone's pet project, really. It's hilarious to watch him bow down before the throne of Nul. To watch him dance for the Court there, to answer the Calls. He'll sing, if the canary boy's ordered to. He is always so pretty--"

"Where is Elricht now?" Ahh, Camdhegn's cutting that little avenue short before I can probe Katherine's emotions. Pity, I was going to have fun with that. The opportunities that the Elricht topic brings to irritate Camdhegn are too rich to pass up, though.

"Elricht? Ah, I never did say, did I? He's almost Lady Thelea's favorite pet now. Nul favors him as well, but agrees not to look upon him too much. We don't want to break the poor lad. He's too useful as a Poet, and as a tool. We think that maybe we can break your Seal without breaking you, Jhe Camdhegn." I smirk. "And if that's not possible, well now - if it just so happens you die, Seal Guardianship will pass to Elricht, and we'll simply break him. Then, well - there'll be the Old Man for Radia to contend with. Try your armies against that monstrous one -- well, you won't, would ye? Ye'd be dead, not even in the ground then. Legend has it that should ye fall and allow the Seal to be thrown into contention, the Old Man will eat yer soul. I just wonder if that will be true." Camdhegn's anger is flaring up so much that his hair is almost standing on end like a cat's. As it is, now that he's taken his seat again. he's clenching both hands around whip and pen, as if to control both - or summon them to control him.

"Go on," says Katherine's voice, cool and calm. It prickles at my temple, and there's a strange glow from her face that I'm afraid to look at. Her eyes have likely turned again. Advocate. Fucking freak. I start to speak before she tries another of her tricks.

"Elricht is kept safe. Thelea would like him to be her little Court boy, to serve her as one of her pets. She trains up many pets - where do you think Ebrellin-i got his taste for those hobbies, after all? But little Elricht, he isn't very pliant when it comes to that. Mostly he's kept locked up, safe with her. Sometimes he's brought before Nul to punish him, soften him up a little, and remind him why he should behave himself as all good little Poets should. It's funny - ten years now, it's been, and he's still holding up. He's tired, though. Starting to get rattled, but that steel remains. I suppose he's waiting for his little brother to rescue him. I wonder how long he'll be kept waiting, eh?" My eyes flash. "You should go and get him, Camdhegn, before it's too la--"

I snatch my hand up to my throat. It's closed up again, but this isn't Nul. I look up at Katherine, who is making a close-fisted gesture. Little fucking minx, she's commanding me not to speak! Her glowing eyes regard me, and I'm grateful that my bladder's empty already. "That's enough, little Nul-servant. Tell us of the other Poets now."

I shrug, try to play it cool, and try to break my gaze away from the Advocate's. It's not working. Fuck. "As I said, Lady Thelea's pets. She wishes to use the Poet craft to Lyiannethe's own ends. To bend and break them and make the writing and art serve her. She is succeeding, to some degree, and at times it's funny to see just how successful she's been in breaking them. Not everyone can have the will that Elricht has, after all." I smirk. "Even the Jherent o'Radia's eldest son."

Katherine's hand tightens around one of her blades. The long one, the 'merciful' one. "What?"

"Ah, you thought the Cruxradia Poet was away on his mission, doing his duty? Oh no - Edward is at her beck and call. She has him eating from her hand now. He's besotted, it seems - truly broken, almost as much a puppet as Ebrellin-i. Hilarious, to see one of Cruxradian blood kneel before her, follow her every command." Ahh, I've got her now. Her eyes aren't fading back to green yet, but I think she's riled by this. Good. "He's practically her consort. She prizes ones of the royal Radian family line, you know. She worked very hard to collect him. They make quite the handsome pair." I cock my head. "I wonder, has he written you letters home, in all this time? I wasn't given his quill to copy out letters like I was for Elricht. You see, it simply wasn't necessary."

"Shush." Camdhegn steps in for her now, rising. That whip of his coils on the floor. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I feel it aiming for me. "That's enough for now. Your information has been more than sufficient, Jhe Fayegeaux. Tell me, though," he regards me through those square-rimmed spectacles, the gaze somehow freezing me just as the Advocate's did, "what is it about your diary that would provoke you to give up this much information?"

I say nothing. I clamp my damn jaw shut.

"Speak." Damnit, the Advocate's gotten her wits back around her, and the command's loosening my jaw.

"I don't know. Don't bother asking me questions I can't answer, foolish Briarseal."

"Aye? How can that even be the truth?" I think he might be asking Katherine that instead of myself, but somehow I'm prompted to answer the question, still.

"That diary's full of things I don't fucking remember. I don't read it. I just keep it safe. If I don't think Nul should see it, there must just be a reason for it, and it's enough to turn traitor for it. I don't have any better explanation for it, and I won't give you one, no matter how hard ye beat me."

They're quiet. They stare me down, for awhile. Then they turn and leave.

Fuck it all. I don't have a change of pants with me.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Okay, so maybe I'm avoiding thinking about that whole almost-getting-assassinated thing from earlier. Can you blame me? It's the sort of thing that could be very upsetting if you dwell on it too much. I don't want to think about who did it, or why, or whether it might happen again very soon. I just want to try on these frilly shorts and be a girl for awhile. I'm good at that. I'm not good at much else, and I think that's been proven very well by this point.

Then my sister's hand comes down on my shoulder and ruins my introspection. "Hey, you."

I look back at her while applying a matching lipstick shade. I pucker my lips and blot them. "Yes?" She looks unusually serious. Oh, that's right. Sis has a job. And she's probably still thinking about me almost getting killed and all. "Hey, is your arm okay? You didn't get a scrape when we fell, did you?"

She bites her lip, then for some strange reason she smiles. "No, but thanks for asking. I was gonna tell you - Lute sort of whispered over to me that the coast is clear if we wanna head straight back to the Palace Compound. He's got a lookout for us so we'll be safe. And um..." she looks to the side, making sure Aunt Muriel's out of view. "He got the assassin," she whispers. "We can talk about it more later, okay? Don't want to drag stuff like that onto family doorsteps even more than we have today already, you know?" She clears her throat, then starts speaking at a normal volume again. "Anyway, I'm sure you have enough new clothes by now. Looks like Muriel gave you a couple bags of em. How about we drop them off at your room, then go to the Poet Hall? I've gotta check on things. Jhe h'Lete's probably running around again by now, and I don't want him exhausting himself all over again."

"That sounds alright." I think for a moment. "Hey, Stevane? You think that's the place for me to be?"

She mulls it over. "Huh. That'd be nice. I wouldn't be the only Akribastes stuck without guns." She sighs, then heaves a bag up over her shoulder. "Come on, punk. I'm not carrying all your clothes for you. Not unless I get to pick through em afterwards!"

"Hey, would you? Because that looks heavy..." Stevane rolls her eyes at me, then dumps a bag into my arms.

"Come on, let's go say goodbye. Auntie Muriel's not in town very often, you know. And at the rate you've been around, you'd better catch people while you can!"

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I can't really put this off any longer. Of course, it's ridiculous that I'm putting it off at all. It's not as if I'm afraid of the Poet Hall. Oh, no - I just prefer Elete do his job, and I attend to mine, and that they only cross over as is necessary. If someone needs to go to the Poet Hall I'll usually send over one of my Armed that just so happens to also have Poet abilities and duties. Mixed. That's the most polite word I've ever heard them referred to as. As for the less polite words...well, we don't like to repeat those, of course.

I pick up Cade's journal on my way out. I considered attempting to read it myself, as I doubt it could do any real harm to me - but I'd rather leave Elete his jobs. One more thing to keep him from running about. Or so I hope.

It really is a shame about his health. He has his episodes from time to time, and takes his bedrest then - even if we have to tie him down to make him get it. This is far more extended than an occasional illness, however. I'd be less worried if we had any idea as to the cause of it. Of course, all of my worries would be alleviated if Elete would pay any mind to his weaknesses at all, and tell us when something's wrong with him. It's gotten to the point where I've had to pry into his personal affairs - or have others like my daughter do it for me - just to make sure he's not hiding anything else. And he treats it all like it's just a silly game for him!

I sigh heavily, then step out of my office, walking straight into Jhe Bronwyn. She squeaks. The sound is so high-pitched that I double-check to make certain I haven't stepped on a mouse.

She darts back, bowing in such a flustered manner that I can't keep track of where her face is. "Jhe h'Akribastes I'm SO sorry, I didn't see you there! Well of course I didn't see you there, otherwise that would mean I'd run into you on purpose! I-I'd never DO that! Excuse me s-sir, it's just that--there's so much paperwork already and Jhe Katherine's so busy doing her job and all and-and-and well I heard there'd be more, sir, and I'm really in a rush, was there anything you wanted?" She looks up at me with those strange garnet eyes, a deep red set in a cocoa-colored face and framed by blonde hair. Jhe Averseen is fairly tall, and...rather adequately well-endowed. She is also a... handful, but rather useful to Katherine, and I could imagine less annoying pure Poets as a personal assistant in the Armed Hall.

...I mean more annoying. Bronwyn never annoys me. At all. Ever.

"...Yes. Well." I close my eyes and compose myself. I open them. She's still there. "...Jhe Averseen, as it so happens, I will be visiting Jhe h'Logos in the Poet Hall. Perhaps if you accompany me, we may request some aid for your position while we are there." I'm not sure what I'm thinking by surrounding myself with another Poet right now, but I have a feeling that I just desire a buffer from Elete. He is probably out of bed. Trying to run about. Scheming things. I may sound untrusting, I know. But I know him. And I know Poets. And most of the recent problems in my life have beencaused by Poets, so perhaps I am a bit paranoid, so I will have all the buffer I can possibly get from them today.

"I..." She blinks. "That would be wonderful, sir! I might get to go home tonight!"

I blink. "Jhe Averseen, you stay here at night?"

She blushes. "I live outside the city, sir. If my work keeps me here too late, well... well I'd prefer not walking home alone, so I just sleep here sometimes. I... I hope that's not a problem, sir? I'm sorry, I didn't know it was an issue."

"It's... not. I was merely concerned. Come, let us fix that problem for you. It's no good working all day if you can't sleep in a bed at night."

"Oh, that's true sir! And I have a very nice bed! It's so lonely!"

I raise an eyebrow at her. She blinks, and then her cheeks begin an endeavor to match her eyes.

"Jhe h'Akribastes, I, um, I... I didn't mean it like that!" She looks away. "Here, I'll, um, I'll just... I'll go get the documents that need to be delivered to the Poet Hall!"

I close my eyes, rub my temples, and sigh. Poets. When I'm sure she's out of earshot, I begin to chuckle.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Stevane's pretty damn eager to get to the Poet Hall. I don't have time to hang or fold my clothes, and she doesn't listen to any of my complaints about wrinkles and stale odors. In fact, she brushes all of that away with a cryptic phrase: "Just learn how to write it off, okay?"

I've seen the Poet Hall before, but never really been inside other than a few times that I was little and I can't remember very well. Stevane practically grew up in there. Heck, I remember a few grumbles Dad would make when he didn't think anyone was listening to the tune of Jhe Elete being 'her other daddy'. The other kids frequented the Armed Hall much more, except for me. I went shopping.

What? I wasn't really thinking about the future, and nobody ever paid enough attention to me to point out that maybe I should.

While the Armed Hall is more of a compound that people go and shoot each other in, the Poet Hall truly earns the 'Hall' part. The entrance is very open yet also grand, in the famed columns-and-pretty-statues style of every Palace building. This building... it's different, though. There's a pair of boxer shorts on one of the statues decorating the front fountain.

Stevane cocks her head. "Huh! Yesterday it was a bra. Guess some girl found her underwear."

Three people are scaling the wall by the entrance. As we proceed through the grand double-doors, I hear a shout before one of them hits the ground outside with a WHUMP. Then we're walking on clean slate tiles. No, marble. No...granite? I trip as I try to keep track of the shifting pattern.

Stevane grabs my arm and pulls me upright. "Don't bother. That's the current trainee decorating project." She shakes her head, clucking her tongue. "Trainees can never make up their minds. It's like watching you try to pick an outfit in the morn-- hey! HEY, ERYNN!"

A young man with short dark hair waves at us from across the long expansive entryway. "Ey! Stevane! ...Is that Lyric?!" He approaches, and as he gets closer I realize that I recognize his grinning, mischievous face. He obviously recognizes me as well. "Well, where'd you catch him?" His eyes light up. "And do you get the bounty?"

I jump. "Bounty?"

Stevane facepalms, shaking her head. She looks back up at Erynn. "No, Jhe Blackirons. Gerald found him first." Then, her eyes light up. "Hey. We ought to give him the bounty. Where's it being kept?"

Erynn bites his finger tip. "Hmm. Amanda had it for a little bit. Over in the Armed Hall."

Stevane's eyebrows meet as she frowns. "What was it doing over there? We said it was for Poets only. The Armed had their own thing going."

Erynn sighs. "Yeah, but somebody ate that sandwich."

I raise an eyebrow. "Sandwich?"

Stevane, again, facepalms. "The Armed - not Daddy, but the actual Armed themselves - set your bounty as a sandwich, Lyric."

"It was a very nice sandwich," Erynn points out.

I blink. "That's...kind of weird, but I guess it's okay."

Stevane sighs. "No, Lyric, you don't understand. It's the same sandwich. Since you left, they haven't made a new one. For ten years, it's remained - mayonnaise and all. It...damn, Erynn, how could someone eat that thing on accident? It was green!"

Erynn chuckles. "On a dare? Swear it to my mother's name it's true. Mikhal puked it up afterwards, so I guess we could still use it, but eh...no. Anyway, Gerald was out on Poet business, right?" Erynn grins and slaps Stevane on the back. "So the prize goes to us! Gerald gets the Poet bounty. I'll uh...I'll go grab those from 'Manda. Hey, 'Rude came back, right? He went out on mission to cover Gerald's ass again, after all." Oh, that's where I recognize him from. Erynn Blackirons came to Radia with Gerude from way out in Robinstead when I was just a kid. Gerude was on a mission out there, and decided to take Erynn back with him because he had 'Poet potential'. The two have been best friends ever since then.

Stevane nods. "He's around. I haven't seen him yet, but I sort of felt the lurch when he came back. You wanna go hunt him down?"

"Yup! And I'll go get the bounty while I'm at it. Toodle-doo!" With that, Erynn darts away. After he's out of sight, I look up at Stevane. She looks down at me.

"Well. That pretty much sums up this place. Come on, Jhe h'Lete's quarters are this way."

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I approach the Poet Hall with wariness and trepidation that have been trained into me over time, exposure, and some very distressing learning experiences. Bronwyn seems to echo my concern. Then again, no one approaches the Poet Hall completely at ease - too many shenanigans have happened here.

Just as I think that, I'm almost barreled into by my second Poet today. I raise an eyebrow at him. "Is there some emergency, Jhe Blackirons?"

He jumps, then makes a smarmy little bow. "Sorry sir, it's just with your son back, we have to give Gerald the bounty now! So I'm gonna go fetch that."

I lift my eyebrows in concern. "Not another sandwich?"

He chokes back a laugh. "Oh, no sir. Nothing near so special as that. By the way, how is Mikhal? I haven't seen him since he ate that thing. It's been over a week now."

"Jhe Devisch shall walk again someday, or so I'm told. If your Poet bounty does worse to my son, I might see that you share his fate. Now go off and waste someone's time."

Jhe Blackirons pouts up at me from that last statement, then shrugs and dashes off. I don't pay it any mind. I've got things to do.

We enter the Poet Hall. I stare around the receiving area while mentally scanning, then raise an eyebrow. "Jhe Averseen?"

Bronwyn jumps. "Ah, yes sir?"

"By my reckoning, I do believe Jhe h'Logos is not sleeping in his quarters. Perhaps you can aid me in seeking him out?"

"Oh! Of course, sir! I'm sure he's just...resting somewhere else. Here, I think I sense his presence this way..."

And with that, I'm dragged off down a random hall in the Poet complex.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I'm still not exactly sure how I got dragged here. Jhe h'Logos is supposed to be in bed, right? Not in a big room full of weird wooden boxes, pictures of squirrels, and balls of yarn. There's a weird brass contraption in the corner that's gathering dust, and a collection of quills and papers. "Here!" he says. "Try this one." I pick up a quill.

"Sire? With all due respect, you know that I'm not exactly an artist."

He shakes his finger at me. "Gerald, I taught you your arts myself, and made sure to grind it into your head then that it is not the technical skill behind the quill that matters in Poetry nearly so much as intent. Besides which, I need only for you to sign your name. I've had so many Poets out of the Hall as of late that I was short just one more to complete this project." He smiles. "It's been a long-running one, but I think you'll enjoy it. Jhe Stevane thought of it while having coffee with me."

I pause. "Wait, you had coffee?" Jhe o'Radia has handed down instructions to all the Poets and Armed in Radia to only give the Poet King coffee under Imperial authority. Apparently the Poet King is only allowed so much stimulant in a day.

"We had it with Jhe Luciprochoros. He had a new blend delivered that he simply had to share with educated palettes. I was only up for three days afterward. In any case...here, sign your name. It won't take long after that. Then..." his eyes twinkle. "Then you'll see."

I'd say something, but the Poet King is a very persuasive individual, and I'm not going to refuse an order just because it sounds a little...shifty. After all, this is the Poet Hall. Besides, he's a King. He knows what he's doing. I apply my signature. After that...

Well, after that, things get a little fuzzy.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

Jhe Averseen stops suddenly, looking ahead of her with some confusion. She rubs her head, furrowing her brow. I lean down to see what's wrong, but she only shakes her head. "It's nothing, sir. I think...I think somebody must have just now written something really weird. I have the feeling I just helped, though, and that's a bit strange. Well, the King does have his projects that we all help out with. Maybe he just finished one."

"Ah. I thought he should be resting right now."

She sighs. "Of course, sir. It's probably someone else, I'm sure. He's a hard worker but he wouldn't endanger his health...not at a time like this." She sounds so dubious of her words that she must just be saying them for the show of it. Most of all, though, she sounds very worried. That concern is beginning to rub off on me.

Maybe that's more a sense of impending doom. I can feel a strange energy building up. Something very fast...very chaotic...and like nothing I've ever sensed before. I run ahead towards the room we're approaching. What if Camden brought something else with him when he brought Ebrellin-i and Cade? Elete's in no condition to fend off an attack - even if it's from within his own Hall. I burst into the room.

I am consumed by...fluffiness. Disgusting, mewling, purring fluffiness. I summon Diyn. Diyn does not come. I realize, at the worst ever possible time to do so, that Diyn refused to enter the Poet Hall since about fifteen years after Elete took office in it, due to a ridiculous incident that almost cost three Poets their lives and Elete his dignity.

I decide that the best course of action is to set what's attacking me on fire.

"Tesynnodai! Please don't kill them! They've committed no crime!" I would feel more moved by his plea if Elete didn't sound like he was choking back a laugh.

"ELETE. GET WHATEVER THIS IS OFF OF ME." I flail, only to have my arm covered in more of it. Or, possibly, them.

"I err...well, I don't know what to call them yet, 'Sy. We've only just gone and invented them...they're really quite interesting, however. Here, Gerald, you can pick them up. Oh! Jhe Averseen, my dear. Thank you so much for helping. My, my, I didn't think there'd be so many. At least one for every Poet that signed!" He sounds so... proud. As he speaks, the small furry... parasites are being removed from me, one by one. "Stevane thought we could use little helpers, you see. That could fetch, and carry, and take messages...like hawks, except better for the indoors, and trained for litter boxes. And then I thought, cats would be so efficient if they had opposable thumbs. And we figured we should keep the wings, for speed and...well, more efficiency. But we added some squirrel in for...was it balance? Yes. It was balance. And one of the Poets thought it would be nice if we could feed them nuts, though I'm not sure how much of a use that would be...but it sounded plausible at the time. In any case, they're very young now, and...my, they do like you a great deal. Do you keep a lot of cats? I've not seen that many at your house."

I glare at him, now that my face is exposed. I am still wearing a fuzzy helmet made of... whatever these things are. "Cats annoy me. Every one of them seems to know this, and thus they all...oh for fuck's sakes, are these things all nesting on me because of that?"

Elete chokes back a laugh behind his hand. "It's a distinct possibility." He looks one of the things in the eye, then hands it to me. "Here, see? There's no harm in the little thing."

I peer over the small animal in my hands. It's a tiny kitten, though it's older than a newborn. Probably old enough to be weaned, though if it's a Poet creation it wouldn't have a natural mother. On its back are a pair of bird wings, like those of a small songbird. It has a squirrel tail instead of a cat tail. It meows at me, begins to purr, and then disappears. A second later, the damned thing has nested on my head. I look over at Elete. "Teleportation? Was that necessary?"

He smiles, eyes twinkling. "Very convenient, don't you think?"

I shake my head and curse under my breath. "You and your infernal shenanigans are going to be the death of me, Elete."

"Ooo! Shenanigans! Jhe h'Lete, that's the perfect name for them!" Stevane's voice cheers out from behind me. We're then joined by both her and my errant son, who is blinking at everything around him as if he were a newborn foal. There's the Poetic dance of oh-what-are-you-doing-isn't-this-fun-let's-babble-on-like-idiots, and then Stevane suddenly glares at Elete with no warning whatsoever. "All that aside, just what are you doing out of bed, Jhe h'Lete?!"

Elete is about to give a retort to Stevane when he looks over at me. The dawning, morbid, extremely delayed realization of the fact that he has been caught out of bed is warring with a strange smile. I realize that Stevane and I's faces look identical right now. It might almost be too much for the Poet King.

Then he collapses backwards, proving that it, in fact, was the very last straw. Gerald, ever looking for a use in life, catches the King before he lands on a mewling, fighting pile of shenanigans. Wouldn't that just be awful.

* * *

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I don't know what Camden is on about. When we leave Cade's cell, instead of going upstairs to the Yard or possibly to the offices, he takes me by the hand and drags me further into the dungeons. Why? This will just take us over to-

I stop, jerking my hand back. Camden's grip is solid, as if my wrist is Geillg'a's hilt. He looks over his glasses at me in wordless query.

"Why?" It sums everything up rather nicely. Why this way? Why, when I've already done anything that can be done, and there's nothing left to do?

He looks down, brow creasing as he thinks. Then he looks back up at me. "It's what Elricht would do." His words sound a bit unsure - he's speaking in Radian again. Then he turns and keeps walking, and I decide it's more rational to follow along than lose my wrist or lop off his hand. Elric always could see the future in ways most Poets train years to get close to, Camden included.

We stop in front of Ebrellin-i's cell. Camden drags up two chairs before I have a chance to say anything. The only natural thing is to plop down and sit. I look over to watch my father shiver under the blankets just like he did earlier, and then Camden reaches over and whacks my arm.

"Ow!" I turn and glare at him.

He just grins. "Ye need a distraction. I've some things to talk about, at any rate. And eventually, I'm sure the regent there will as well." He sounds pretty cheerful about that.

"I didn't think, by your experiences and position, that you'd like the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale."

He snorts. "Well, it's nothing personal, right? I like him well enough. He's polite when he's in his own head, or so I've seen. Rather pleasant, and he made Ethrain Jaxhelshon shovel horse manure. All admirable qualities in a man."

I look at him warily.

He tries to grin and keep aloof under my scrutiny, but it breaks down quickly enough. His face shifts to something more serious. "Ebrellin-i knows more than a few things about what happened to my brother, Katherine. I'd like to take Cade's testimony with a grain of salt, of course - I believe it would be best to test it against what Ebrellin-i has to say." He turns towards the cell. "Of course, all that is entirely dependent on him being able to talk. You say that it's a waiting game, but still...when Poets witness things, they happen faster. As Jhe h'Logos is so fond of saying, it is the exact opposite of a watched teakettle never boiling. I just feel it's important for us to be here right now, that's all. A hunch, like Elricht always has. It certainly couldn't hurt to wait here while we compare our notes, right?"

I mull that one over. If a breakthrough actually happened in here...well, I certainly see it being worth the time. I'm oddly more comfortable being here while there's another person with me, even though I'm fully capable of being the Advocate alone. "Alright. I can agree with that. I suppose you had something in mind to discuss?"

His eyes flash. "Indeed. Tell me, have you heard any of Lyric's testimony? Or read that which was written?"

I shake my head. "I haven't read anything, but I was there for his Trial. He was pardoned by the animism, in case you were wondering." By Camden's face, he wasn't very worried, nor surprised that Lyric went to Trial at all. "I've also heard a few things from him, here and there, but you know how it is at testimonies. Crazy, especially for those defending themselves. What is it that you know?" I can go back through the Judge's recall of things well enough, but there really is something to be said for perspective, or just for the knowing twinkle in Camden's eyes right now.

"I only know half of his story, really, but he wrote it very clearly in his journal. A classic example of a budding Poet. He was very sympathetic towards Ebrellin-i. He'd fallen in love with the ruler, just as Jhe Fayegeaux accounted that many Poets did with Ebrellin-i. Of course, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale didn't know what he had. He even took Lyric as a consort, and put a good store of trust in him. By all accounts, we have a good amount of testimony in Lyric, if you want someone to ask questions of."

I nod. "I see. Care to share anything specific?"

"No, but I thought I'd put that out there for you to do. This isn't my work. I'm just here to help you, because I feel that I should. No, the real thing I wanted to share was that Ebrellin-i's other daughter, Rocsui, said many things that did corroborate with what we've learned from Jhe Cade. Tell me, did you know just how set against the rest of the Xaillyndesse family your Father was?"

I frown. "Yes. There were few times when I was ever allowed to visit them, or they me. It's a little hard to remember, since I was quite young during some of those times. He was also...very adept at acting as if nothing was wrong during my visits. It's a little hard to look back on it all with an objective eye. Did I not notice his condition because of my youth, because of my closeness to him, or because he simply hid it so well?" I can't keep myself from looking into the cell. Father's shaking harder, and a sheet's fallen off of him, exposing his arm and the dark marks flowing across it. By gods and spirits, he's gotten worse. They're thicker now, and they're warping--

"It could likely be any of those. By all accounts, though, it seems unlikely now that he was a willing participant in many of his crimes, wouldn't you say?" Camden's voice distracts me from the cell. What was I thinking about? Oh well, Camden's got good ideas tonight, I'll keep paying attention to him. He gestures for me to keep watching Father, though. "Do you want to know just how to tell if someone's been conditioned, Advocate?"

"I know of a few ways, but I imagine you'd like to show me regardless." Father's writhing in his bed now, the marks flowing over him as if they're writing on him. I can make out characters every now and then, but I try not to read them. Those of us that can read Nulspeak, those very few of us, are trained not to read it when we see it unless we absolutely must read it. Reading it activates it - often destroying the reader in the process.

"Aye." I hear Camden rise. There's the jingle of metal links spreading across the floor as Geillg'a is unsheathed. Then the song of metal chiming as the whip soars through the air at Camden's side, and finally a uniquely leather POP as Camden cracks the whip. I expect my Father to jump, or to cower.

Instead, his body goes limp and still, and he quiets. It takes the farthest reach of all my senses just to verify that he is still breathing. The breaths are quiet, long, and tense. His eyes are fixed, staring out at a point of the wall that he happened to be looking at when the whip was cracked. They've lost any focus they had left. Ebrellin-i does not dare blink or make the tiniest movement.

That, dear Katherine, is a man who has been trained to stay quiet or know death. It's not the whip he fears. The whip was the warning, or the order. The pain he feels from the marks is also not what he fears. That's a separate thing entirely. Do you think Nul would need a whip to train his pets? Or is that something that Thelea would rather do?

The questions make me shake, make me even want to throw up, but I repress both urges. Thelea beats her servants, and she has many pets. I'm willing to bet that Ebrellin-i learned to use the whip because of her. Nul would not need it. I think about it. He has the marks of Nul's ownership, but Thelea's training. Nul destroys memories and rules and controls through oblivion. Ebrellin-i's been trained like an animal would be. I wince at the irony of it. Father did love his pets, but they were trained very well.

Aye. Enough of an indication, I think, that Cade speaks the truth in at least that case. Do you think, then, that Ebrellin-i can tell us of the Poets he's kidnapped? Or has that been made into oblivion as well?

I shake my head. The memories may have been made Nul, but they can be regained. He has to fight for them, though. That's the most difficult part of my job - I can't do this for him. Father's hands are beginning to twitch again, the eye on the back of one warping and glaring at me. Camden puts his hand on my shoulder, keeping me from getting drawn in again.

You don't have to do this for him, but ye have to watch it for it to happen, I wager.

Watch what? Father's body curls and he closes his eyes. He cries out, then huddles up, then claws at his pillow. His entire body bends backwards, as if someone's yanking him back by the hair. Slowly, he uncurls, as if he's pulling against some unseen force. His hands dart up to his neck, yanking at a collar that isn't visible, but telling by where his hands are positioned it's very thick. Finally his hands dart down, scrabbling at an unseen force. Camden twitches his whip just as my fingers curl around the hilts of my blades.

Father's hand then swipes down across the back of his other hand, sharp nails raking across the inky eye there, drawing his own blood. I see black seep out of the wound as well as red. Most importantly, I see the eye disappear. Ebrellin-i fought for enough control to put it out himself.

Father's body relaxes into the couch, going slack. His eyes stare up at the ceiling. They have a bit more focus to them now than they did before. In a moment, they close, and his breathing turns regular.

I imagine a bit o' sleep will do him best of all. If those marks can't hurt him like that, he should be able to do the important work himself.

I nod. Camden, did you do that?

Nay. I only came here to watch it. Nul's trick isn't to make something not happen - it's to make people not notice when it happens, so they forget it. Then it's like it never happened at all, and so it didn't. I felt we needed to be here, and it seems I was correct. Tell me if I'm needed here again. The Advocate's business is closely tied in with the Peacekeeper's, after all. If you fail, I get a war I don't necessarily want to fight, but will have to win.

I smile. Fine. We'll make it a date. Come on, it's been a long day and there's still more to do during it.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

I'm too furious to properly help my son drag Elete into the bed in the King's quarters. I let Gerald handle it on his own. As it is, Elete's lost more than enough weight to barely be an effort for Gerald to lug about. Most of the difficulty is in how TALL Elete is. And for some reason, that makes me even more furious. Just seeing how much he's let himself and his health go. Watching his slack face and frantically trying to figure out just what the hell to do about it. Katherine isn't here, she's off doting over her failure of a father. She always knew what to do with Elete, whenever any of us did at all. Now what?

Stevane takes one look at me pacing up and down the length of Elete's room and then promptly sends Lyric out to get tea. "Right in that room. However the Peacock King liked it, except with honey. Has he...has he told you that story? Oh, of course not. He probably didn't mention his brother much to you. Jhe h'Lete never really said much about him to me. But...well...tea."

Lyric nods and shakes his head at the appropriate times. "He spoke a little bit of Jhe h'Logos. Um. He said that he was proud of his brother but they um, they fought a lot." Lyric's getting shaky. He almost drops the teapot. It could be that my anger is getting out of hand and affecting others in the vicinity. I try to control it. Diyn whispers to me from across the boundaries of the Poet Hall. I anticipate something in support, but it's more of a contemptuous glare reprimanding me for not controlling myself.

But you're part of me, I tell him.

I fail to see how that makes you my problem.

I almost curse aloud, but I refuse to lose my dignity in this situation more than I already have. Elete's gone and fucking overexerted himself right when I need him, and all I have to show for it is a suit covered in cat hair! Something touches my hand. I jerk alert from my thoughts and stare down at Stevane. Her eyes are wide with tension, but she stands up straight.

She hands me a teacup. "Here. It's just a mild stimulant and it helps with the nerves." It's almost said from rote. I prod at her mind just a little and realize that she's precariously close to shock. Elete was close to her since she was born, after all. He's also her task, and she's close to failure now.

"It wasn't your watch."

She shakes her head as she kneels by her King. "It should have been." She brushes his hair back from his forehead, then gently tugs the crown back just a bit. "We shouldn't take it off. It's bracing him just as much as the Hall is, as much as he gets poked for constantly wearing it. Besides, it'll leave such a dent in his hair--" she chokes back a giggle, then swallows. Hysterics. She looks up, then cocks her head at Gerude. ...Gerald. That's Gerald. She gestures for him to come closer. Gerald, being the stable, obedient boy that he is, obeys. She gestures for him to lean down. He frowns, but complies. She plucks a feathered little fluffball off of his head, which begins to mewl. "Okay, now go find a few others. You and Lyric." She frowns and concentrates on the furball in her hands as her brothers rush out of the room to go bring some more of those wretches in.

"I kind of thought them up when everything was getting to be a handful for all of us." I'm not sure if she's talking to me. She almost sounds as if she's talking to herself. "Jhe h'Lete kept talking of convenience. I just thought, wouldn't it be nice if I could set something on top of him and he wouldn't want to get up? He'd finally sit." She sighs heavily, then kisses the shenanigan on the nose before resting it atop Elete's head, right in front of the crown. "Cat purrs are therapeutic. And they're sort of a little bit of him, since he put his energy into their making. Really it was silly..." She sniffles, turning away. "It was silly of him to go on and finish something like that right now when he's so sick."

My daughter is crying, and it hurts me in ways that Elete did not manage with any of his neglect or scatterbrained logic.

"Here, I've got some--oo! It puffed at me!" Lyric and Gerald each have an armload of shenanigans, with more of the little menaces piled on top of Gerald's hat. They try to just pile them on Stevane, who automatically hisses at them for the ridiculousness of that idea.

"Calmly - calmly, I said! - put them near him, or on him in a way that won't suffocate him."

"Here," says Jhe Averseen, moving with a grace and curt adeptness that reminds me very much of Katherine. I wonder why I didn't notice Bronwyn before, and then realize I'd been trying my damnedest to ignore her up until now, so as to feel I was in more control of this bloody situation. I decide I might as well just leave now and let the Poets handle things by stacking a wiggling pyramid of shenanigans around the Poet King. Then Elete has the indecency to pick that very moment to move.

"I think he's waking up!" chirps Lyric. My son. The budding Poet.

"...Dai'? Jhe h'Akribastes? What is the meaning of this?" Elete sounds dazed, almost drunk. Then I realize a shenanigan tail is stuck in his mouth and muffling his words. Bronwyn daintily plucks it out, then cradles the somewhat damp animal.

"Jhe h'Lete, you got sick." Stevane offers the King his tea, battling aside squirrel tails.

"Is that why I'm covered in meowing fur?" Elete takes his tea and sips it. By the unholy places, I think he's gaining coherency. "Oh thank you, dear. My favorite blend."

"My brother Lyric picked it." She looks back over her shoulder, not so much glancing at me as directing Elete's attention to me. Possibly it's a preventative measure. The pressure in the room seems to be rising, and I could be at fault for that detail.

Elete follows her eyes, then settles his focus on me again. His eyes widen. Oh, good. He's discovered that I'm not happy with the current situation. He tries to rise for a moment, but three Poets and one on his way to being one, plus a mountain of shenanigans, is enough to impede Elete frombowing at me.

I step forward. The Poets tense. I realize that they're getting ready to have to defend their King from me. I also remind myself that three of them are my children. Heavens. How did it come to this?

I sink to my knees in front of Elete's bed, which helps offset my height from intimidating them just a little bit. I don't want to hurt anyone. Alright, that's an outright lie - I have some intense desire to hurt Elete right now. But that's not what I'm here for, though I feel it's what I ought to do. "I'm here on Armed business."

Elete pales.

"This morning, our Peacekeeper's wounded and some civilians were withdrawn from Audiva Rocale. In exchange, other Armed forces were sent in. This was done later in the day, as was indicated by yourself, Jhe h'Logos. I can tell by now that there is conflict in the Aurocan Palace. There is undoubtedly killing. And you...sent the word that it should be done, yes?" I blink, then breathe, and go on. "This was your plan. So, now that it is later in the day, I ask you: are you going to go on and do it, or do you have some brilliant idea as to how to avoid this ridiculous bout of bloodshed that my Armed are involved in?"

Elete only shakes his head, but his pupils are dilating, his focus blurring to somewhere far distant. I've seen him look through the veil of Time before. It's common for him. I've never seen him do it in such a haze, though. I almost wonder if he can see it. "No..." he whispers, "that is how it happens. This is what should be." But he, himself, looks confused.

I narrow my eyes. He stares back into mine. "Fine then," I say, "as much help as you seem to be at all for the Armed anymore. As capable as you are of doing you job, anymore. Go on and do it." Stevane opens her mouth, but restrains herself from speaking. Good. I won't have to restrain myself from slapping her for giving one of her insolent retorts.

Elete looks into the distance again, then closes his eyes, and raises his hand. Gently, he turns his wrist, then snaps his fingers. The effort of it looks miniscule, but the act makes him collapse backwards. "I can't change what's already happened. I have to send them on. I can't alter--"

"Shut up." I close my eyes and breathe. I open them. Elete looks like he's staring into his doom. That's a good way of putting it, in fact. "Just stop your talking, for once, and listen to what I have to say. You are confined to this space until Jhe o'Radia gives word otherwise. Until you are fit for your position again, your duties here are ended. You are not capable of making rational decisions, showing restraint with your arts or powers, or guiding others to be capable of acting in your stead. You may think you cannot be replaced." I stand. "You are in error. I will see to it that someone suitable will stand in your stead until you are well again." I clench my fists as I walk towards the door. "If that time ever comes."

I don't wait to witness the horror reeling over him. I suppose that makes me a poor friend and a shitty comrade. The truth is that I can't stand to be in the Poet Hall for one second longer.

I don't notice it at the time, but as I leave, Bronwyn's footsteps follow mine.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

"Jhe h'Lete? You've got to rest."

I watch Stevane hold the Poet King down single-handedly, then wonder if I should help. Funny that I'm in shock and she's being all responsible here. Even Lyric's trying to scramble and sort out all the shenanigans that are swarming all over the place. Bronwyn followed Dad. So what use am I?

"Gerald? We need more tea." Stevane swallows back tears. "Please."

Okay, I know it's dire when Stevane remembers her manners. I go for the pot, pouring us each a cup and refilling Jhe h'Logos's. He doesn't quite meet me in the eye as I do so.

Can Dad really demote the Poet King? Even as Jhe h'Akribastes...can he?

"I'll be fine. Stevane, please. I really need to get up and... see to things."

"No. No, sir, you really don't." Tears pour down her cheek as she pulls him back to at least sit on the bed. "He'll feel better in the morning. And you will, with some rest. Okay? If you get up now you'll just piss him off." She smiles at him. "I've been sick in Daddy's house before, so I know. And you should know that too by now, silly. So stop panicking."

Elete pauses, then smiles at Stevane. "You're giving me a dose of my own medicine, finally." I notice that suspicious twinkle in his eyes, and decide that I'd better intervene before Jhe h'Logos gets a Really Good Idea That Just May Kill Us All. Before I do so, though, Jhe h'Logos collapses into the bed.

Stevane very sheepishly looks at her fist, as if she's wondering who possibly could have moved it. "I um... don't tell anyone." She sends a sharp look to both of us.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I stand up. "I um...maybe I should go see if things are okay on Dad's end."

Stevane cringes. "Have fun with that. I need someone to stay with me. I'm going to make sure Jhe h'Lete sleeps the whole night through."

Lyric raises his hand, which is quickly adopted as a new shenanigan perch. "I'll stay."

She cocks her head. "You sure?"

He grins. "I miss you, and this place is pretty fun. And these little critters are so cute!" He pokes at the shenanigan on his hand - a little cream-colored one with red points and cardinal wings. "Aww, look at you! What's your name?"

The shenanigan replies by biting his finger.

When the resulting scream doesn't wake Jhe h'Logos, I know it's okay for me to leave.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

Arriving at the Armed Hall, assembling Jhe Julia Wysthaven's Shadow Brigade, sending them off ahead with orders to do as they must, shuffling into my office, collapsing into my seat - it's all a blur. Thoughts bat ineffectively at my brain, like moths. That was my son Lute in that squad. I never asked him if he found anything out about my youngest son's attempted assassination. I haven't even talked to Lyric about that, and he was right there. I've left three of my children in charge of a man that I can't even trust to count up to twenty right now without using negative integers or having to divide fractions. I don't even know what Jenny's up to. As if that last part is some sort of cue, someone in my office coughs, and then sets down a cup of coffee in front of me.

Jhe Bronwyn looks up at me with red eyes that are very timid, but have the tiniest, strangest flicker of bravery in them. "I thought you might prefer it right now, sir. Sir, if you don't mind...I'm going to attend to the paperwork now, please."

I blink. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think of asking about that."

"Oh, no sir, Jhe h'Akribastes, it's not a problem at all, you were very very busy, and I should have seen to it myself what with knowing that already, just pardon me while I go work, I've got coffee enough to keep me up til dawn, not that I ever work here til dawn!" And with that, she's out of my office, which is left eerily silent.

There's nothing left to do. I should go home.

* * *
Lute
* * *

I'm not overstating for dramatic effect here - I'm afraid to tell you how I am in this carriage here right now without anyone being able to see me. If I tell you I'll get caught. Best to just leave it at that. As it is, I'm starting to feel better right now. We left Radia in the evening, got to Audiva Rocale in the morning via the Poet King's time magic. So while I've been in Audiva Rocale all day here, I've been in Radia as well, the entire time. We're used to stuff like that, mind you, but it still creates a strain. Existing a couple places at once is just hard on the body and the mind. We're trained to take it. We in the Shadow division are the most likely to have to do it, after all. Now we've actually made it past the time when we left Radia, though - which means there's only one of me at once. That's how I like it. It feels better, and I'm a Pure Armed, so the time stuff confuses me more than it would a Mixed.

This here is a nice carriage. Lots of black, but the Xaillyndessen tend to like black. Fair enough, they all look good in it. Pale, but good. And I like black too. I look good in it. Well, I think I look good. Most other people, they just can't see me in it. And I like that.

Nice wooden interior with black lacquer, black velvet curtains, plush wine-red carpet. Leather seating in the main riding compartment, with a rather spacious bed area through the back door. Two small beds back there in stacked bunks, so I suppose Jhe Thelea and Jhe Xen don't feel like bridging their relationship beyond the professional. Or perhaps they prefer to do it in the road. Hey, people have done crazier things. And the hell of it is, well - it's their country.

One tiny front room that has the tidiest, snuggest kitchen I've ever seen. The whole carriage is pretty damn big. They've got eight horses - fashionably black - out in front, though only six hitched up to pull it. The other two are for riding, I reckon.

So yeah, then there's Aaren. I suppose this is kind of like a family reunion for him, what with Thelea and Xen being right in here with him. And me, of course, in an undisclosed location in this itty-bitty room. I feel sort of like a magician. A magician with a tiny, tiny audience. Boy am I creeped out. I've been in some tight spots before, but all jokes about your mother aside, this has been the tightest of 'em. I don't know how I'll get out of here. I don't know if I'll live through this. But I do know that I'm gonna watch just what in the world is going on in here. Finding out what the hell your comrade's doing being dragged off and sat up in the enemy's carriage is pretty damn motivating, when it comes down to reasons to pay attention.

He's not tied up, you see. Thelea keeps brushing his hair out of his eyes and checking his forehead, as if she were his mother. She's not, we know that - he's a distant cousin or nephew of hers. Just as Jhe h'Logos is related to Xen distantly. And then there's Xen, just sitting next to Aaren and looking at him as if Xen knows a very hilarious secret about him. Finally, the Kommissar stops posing and leans over, reaching for Aaren's chin. He turns the boy to face him.

"Very nice, Aaren my son, but you can stop pretending to sleep now."

I almost fall out of my hiding place. My blood's rushing so fast in my ears that I can't hear for a few moments. Aaren? The Kommissar's son? Does Dad know that? How could the Jhe h'Akribastes not know that? But how could the Judge know that and still let Aaren work in our division? I feel betrayed. Not really by Aaren - by Dad. He should have told us. He should have known one of us would find this out on our own.

Of course, maybe he didn't know Aaren's true heritage. If he didn't...

Aaren opens his eyes. He didn't even flinch at the Kommissar's voice. He'd know it well, wouldn't he? "Father." He blinks up at his Father with those clear blue eyes. The Kommissar smiles down at him, then removes his hand from Aaren's chin. Huh. Right next to each other, they do look kinda alike. Looks like whoever Aaren's mother was, she managed to influence his looks just as much, though. They both have short black hair, but Aaren's hair is coarser and shaggier, and the Kommissar's is neatly-styled. Their eyes have the same shape, but Xen's are dark, almost brown, closer to black. Xen's a whole lot taller than Aaren is, even seated as they are like this. Aaren's pale as all fuck, but Xen looks like he could tan pretty well without turning into a dainty, crispy fairy. Not that Aaren's ever done that on a vacation. Not that I made fun of him for just that thing until he punched me sick in the guts.

I'm feeling sick right now, but it's not from that memory. It's just...well, he was my friend. And still is. Maybe. He'd better not be a traitor. If he's a fucking traitor, I'm going to fucking stab him. Right in the nuts.

Well, okay, I stab friends sometimes too. It's a different kind of poke, though. More... survivable.

Xen smiles, the corner of his mouth tucking up into his cheek like a concealed dagger. "Aaren? Honey? Why don't you ever write?" The voice is sing-song, mocking - but there's something deeper to this. Serious.

"I haven't had a chance to send something that wouldn't be screened." Aaren says it calmly, almost serene. "They're around a lot, you know. They watch me. I make friends." That sounds like it's almost a warning to Xen.

"I see." Xen's face is unreadable, though I can see just a touch of patronly sternness in it.

"Nothing's been of note, in any case. This is my first big mission as an Armed. And, well," Aaren shrugs, "I kind of got taken out pretty early on, so I can't tell you too much." There's the unsaid 'great going there, DAD' that I would have said, had it been my father. Of course, I'm getting the feeling that Aaren and I might have had quite different upbringings. He looks very relaxed and calm in that way that's actually tense as all hell. It's like he's in a fencing match.

"Oh, my apologies. I felt, as you were Armed now, that you would have the necessary reflexes to survive on your own." The Kommissar crosses his arms, looking down his nose at Aaren. "And how has that gone? Do you have them?"

Aaren breaks eye contact, looking straight ahead instead. "Have what?" he says with forced calm.

"Arms. Show me them. You're on a mission now, you're the real thing. You should have Arms by this point." Xen's voice is stony as well, but colder, with a steel edge to it. I'm starting to fear that Aaren's going to die. Hell, someone's going to die - the Kommissar just commanded someone to drop Arms, like he had a right to make that command.

My friend's face pales even more as he forces a calm, even expression. He even smiles a little. "Yes, Father, I am Armed now. If I show you them--"

"I'm protected," Xen says, his voice dead cold. "I fear none of the Judge's tools. I of all people shouldn't have to. Show me them."

Aaren bites his lip. I can't imagine what this decision must feel like. If he's not some chicken-ass, backstabbing traitor, then he's trying to pretend he is while surviving this mission to get back to Radia and report in. If he's a fucking traitor...well, he's scared to kill his boss/Dad. Actually, I know how that latter thing feels, as an Armed Akribastes. So, maybe I'm the one who can sympathize with Aaren the most, if I really want to feel sympathy for him in this situation. You know, I really do. Either way. I'm still his friend even if he's working for the other side. I think that's right and honorable. It should be me that kills him, if it comes down to it.

"Show me," says the Kommissar, his voice getting a dangerous edge to it. Heck, at this point I kinda wanna drop my Arms. That'd result in disaster, though. Hmm. Maybe I should do it, at that...

Aaren interrupts any really cool but way tragic fights I'm about to instigate by closing his eyes, saying "Yes, sir," and laying Schiphael very calmly across his own lap. (Guy's got steel balls. I don't often rest my Arms too near the family jewels.) He's got the calmest face in the world. There's silence in the carriage for a moment. Then, Aaren breaks it. "Father, he'll kill her if you let her stay in this carriage any longer."

It's like someone's just fingered the hairs on the back of my neck like piano keys. I skirt my eyes around the carriage, trying to figure out how they saw me. But I was so well-hidden! Then I notice that no one's looking at me, they're not even aiming at me, and Aaren's looking down at Schiphael with an intense concentration on his brow. I look at Thelea. She's white as snow, and backing towards the wall. Then she ducks out of the carriage, quick as a contract hit.

Xen raises an eyebrow at the Arms. "She was quiet."

"Justice knows the smell of a rat." Aaren clamps his hand over his mouth. Oh, shit, that was Schiphael talking.

Xen grins like he's got canary feathers lining his tongue. He knows what he's talking to? And he's not about to stick Aaren one through the chest? Holy shit, was he trying to do this all along? "And Justice isn't aiming for its counterpart? How strange that the Kommissar is in no danger, considering what I've done to your kind."

Aaren smirks, the expression not his own at all. I've seen that grin on my Father's face once or twice. I want to shudder every time I see it. It's the single expression that sums up what we all are taught - the Judge is not nice by nature. Quite the opposite, in fact. "The Judge doesn't worry about you, Jhe Xen. It's your job to fuck things up for everyone else. You'll get yourself caught."

Xen cocks his head, intrigued. "Strange. That's not what all the other Arms told me."

Aaren jerks, his Arms showing surprise through him. They're uncomfortable with being unsure of something. Hell, I'm having trouble myself. Other Armed have agreed to present Arms to Xen Xaillyndesse? There's no way. And then I realize what it is.

He's not telling the truth. I can tell through my own Arms. Why can't Aaren? Maybe...maybe he's already too far gone. Maybe he's really turned. How'd he keep his own Arms, if he turned? How has Schiphael not killed him for it? I almost want to ask Schiphael through my Arms, but that would give me away to Aaren.

"That doesn't matter," is all Aaren can reply.

"You won't attack me because it would endanger Aaren." Xen smiles, eyes glinting with malice. "I know how much you love your Armed. You want to protect him. They all did, in the end."

"WHAT did you DO?" Aaren lurches forward in his seat as he barks out the query. It's almost as if he's performing the interrogation, instead of the other way around.

Xen only smiles. "You'll see." He reaches forward slowly, making a point of leaving Schiphael an opening to attack or defend. He's showing off, the cocky bastard. Finally, he cups Aaren's chin. I see Schiphael try to struggle through Aaren as Aaren's shoulders twitch. He's being held still. Is Aaren restraining Schiphael, or is the Kommissar actually capable of restraining an Armed and his Arms with no visible effort whatsoever? What's the Kommissar been doing to those Armed, anyway? I don't know, but it's taking all my effort not to jump out and stop this shit right now.

I whisper in my mind to stay calm. Kuroroi's voice does too, its glacial tones helping to cool my nerves. I can't stand to watch this, but it's all I can do. It's what I must do.

Aaren stares up, his eyes calm, his nerves held back precariously. "What are you going to do?"

Xen smiles brightly. "Only what I must!" He tips Aaren's chin up, exposing his pale neck. "Swear allegiance to me, and the suffering your peers felt won't even happen to you."

"Never," growls Aaren in my Father's voice. Schiphael. That's Schiphael speaking, I remind myself.

Xen keeps his smile, then calmly reaches down and clasps Schiphael's handle. His other hand secures a grip around Aaren's neck. As he squeezes very gently, Aaren finally swallows. The whip twitches. "Now, now." Xen tsks, pulling the whip up, coiling it idly with that one hand. "There's no need for theatrics. You can play nicely like a good doggy. I'm only going to take your toy away for a little bit."

"My toy?" Aaren's eyes stare up very calmly. How can he let go like this? How can Schiphael?

"Your Armed, silly. I'll give him back. Once I'm done with him, that is-" His wrist twists just a little, the hand holding Aaren's neck squeezes, and then Aaren slumps.

The whip immediately slings around Xen's wrist, the bladed end flicking towards his throat. Xen only laughs, jerking his arm around so that the whip loops around it, throwing the trajectory of the knife-end off. It should have hit, dammit. The Kommissar shouldn't be able to dodge that at point-blank range! He does, though - wrapping Schiphael around his arm, then palming the blade in a black-gloved hand.

Fuck. That was tidily done. How was that possible? What's wrong with Aaren? Is he even gonna wake up? Why isn't Xen on the floor in many tiny pieces? All questions that I want answers to. Instead, I just see Xen smack Schiphael's blade against his palm, a content smile on his face.

"Let's introduce you to your friends," he says, then disappears.

Am I fool enough to follow him? It's funny that you ask. I am just idiotic enough to go off and do exactly that.

* * *

* * *
Julia
* * *

Not much about this situation is coherent right now. I'm sorry. I try to make my reports as clear as possible. If it weren't for Cary I probably wouldn't be able to think straight right now. I can feel the touch of his quill in my movements and my Aim. That boy can make more sense out of a nasty battle than anyone.

Gwen whips around me in a razored spiral that flays several of the enemy. She's all I can see, really - all I can focus on. To be honest, she's doing the dancing here. I'm only following her steps. I've reached that point in a fight where the Armed is led by her Arms. It's an odd sense of detachment - relaxing. Arms always know what to do in a fight. There's none of that silly hesitation that lost me my arm earlier. There's only that gentle nip at my heels, reminding me to keep up the pace. Gwen is patient, but she is quick.

Why is Cary so prominent in my thoughts now? That's rare - he likes to stay back, not take the spotlight. He's more picky about not being seen than Lute is.

I need your eyes. Can you move to another room? His voice is soft and patient, less abrupt and more subtle than a whisper.

Now that's a strange request, especially from someone who knows just how many people I'm busy killing right now.

I'm writing the rest of the battle with my other hand. Already I've ensured that our forces will endure while you are away. I wrote it ahead of time. I really need you to be somewhere else right now. And just to sugar me up, Gwen disembowels some foolish combatant in punctuation of his statement. Aww, Cary knows the best ways to sweet-talk a girl, doesn't he?

Then write me there, if that's where I need to be. Asking questions would just waste my time. They're not necessary. Cary doesn't pull stunts, so this must be something important.

I press myself into against the shattered remnants of the ceiling, shadows pooling up over me and pulling me into the structure of the Palace. There's an abrupt shift signifying that I'm now in a different area of the Palace. Shadows rise up around me and lift me through the floor of the room Cary needs me to be in. I look up. Jhe o'Audiva Rocale looks down his nose at me. He does this from every angle of the room.

My apologies, mistress, but there's really no way to avoid him in here. Don't worry about the art attacking you as a security measure. It's all neutralized from your point of view - it's really a safeguard protecting this room from the dangers outside. In fact, this is theoretically the safest room in the Palace.

I raise an eyebrow. Ebrellin-i built a shrine to his own face? Typical of a Xaillyndesse. What good is this place to us, other than a safe room? It is remarkably safe in here. It's as if not even a mote of dust has fallen from the eaves, as much as our battle has shaken even the Palace foundations. It's impossibly quiet in here, as well.

It's a treasure trove, at least to its maker it is.

Really. I'd never have guessed. Good gods that life-sized statue is ostentatious. Is he really that tall? I'd never stood anywhere near the monarch, so the perspective is eerie for me. I only reach up to his waist. ...Given, I am what the Peacekeeper refers to as 'a wee lass', and so that says not-so-much about the Peacock King's stature.

It's not what you think. The paintings of himself are mostly a ruse, beyond the protective status they lend. The real treasure is hidden in the other artworks. I need someone to examine them. He pauses, trying not to phrase his words rudely. Carefully examine them. The artworks themselves will also be useful.

I snicker to myself. Does he expect me to destroy them so off-hand? Well, the fear is rather applicable to some of my soldiers, and our brigade is well-known for breaking the most shit on purpose. (Accidental damage is more a Poet dominion.) What am I looking for? My eyes scan over the many paintings, drawings and sculptures of the Peacock King's branch of the Xaillyndesse family. It's less well-represented than I thought. Ebrellin-i's distaste for his mother is well-documented through the discreet channels we listen through, but I still expected at least a miniature of her. Instead, I see only Jhe Katherine, her strange half-sister, and Jhe h'Logos. Something about these artworks is tugging at me, though - they have something in common. What is it?

My eyes widen.

You noticed too? I'm impressed, then. You see why these are so important?

My eyes narrow. What is the Jhe o'Audiva Rocale doing commissioning so many Poets? He's famed for being too secretive to allow that sort of art of himself and his close ones.

Up to no good, I'm sure. Look around the corner. Past the small oval-shaped portrait set. No, behind that one, in the shadows. Oh, my apologies - he's warded it from physical sight. Here-

I'm in a secluded nook of the room, rather out of the way and not obviously worthy of much notice. The space is surrounded by a mediocre little portrait set that convinces people to just overlook it. Cary's work reveals that the wall here isn't blank. There's a portrait here, but it's not part of the set. A stone drops in my stomach.

It's Jhe o'Radia.

Take it. Keep it as safe as you can. They'll need it soon--

I hear Cary curse so strongly that I almost hear the words aloud.

I wanted us to have more time, but you're needed outside, and if I distract myself with this then I might lose us the battle. Quick, take a painting of Rocsui-ehellenae. Any one will work. It'll be needed too.

I do so, smirking. Finally pulling that flaky 'I've got a hunch about something spooky' Poet shit, Cary?

Just do it and get out there. He sounds so annoyed at it that I don't even want to prod him any further. He needs his focus. And he's no good in bed when he's cranky.

I slip out the same way I came in, stash the paintings in a pocket space, and then sink once again into the cacophany of battle.

* * *
Lute
* * *

I'm incredibly lucky that the Kommissar doesn't expect to be followed in a teleport from his own carriage. I'm also lucky that because of this, I can stick close enough to him that I can slip by the wards we pass through. Wherever we are is pretty damn tight when it comes to security, but teleports are kind of funny. They weaken wards easily enough on their own, just as they easily give away travelers if anyone's paying proper attention to things. This is why Dad tends to just walk to most places in Radia. It's safer. For us in Black Ops, shadows make for a much easier, much more secure mode of transport.

Xen Xaillyndesse isn't so subtle, though. He's wearing black, yes. Big black coat, thick leather gloves, black boots. But it's not a very subtle sort of dress, especially with the crisp green armband bearing the seal of Audiva Rocale bisected with a military fork on it. His troops wear it as well, to signify that they're his. The Kommissar does have spies under his command, but when it comes to himself and his shock troops, he's not afraid to advertise at all.

We're in a large room shaped like a circle with the ends cut off. It smells like a laboratory, but it's not like the Jhe o'Sul's labs. There's less chemical smells in here, and more the subtle spice of incense, with faint background hints of metal and leather. It's extremely neat, and almost so tastefully decorated as to be a room in a house, but it's too sparse. The walls are dark mahogany wood, the floor tiled in circular patterns and spirals of ivory-gold and dark brown. After a glance or too, I discern that the floor pattern isn't just for decoration. Spells are laid into it and woven into the pattern. I'm not sure of their nature yet, but I take care not to actually step on the floor. This room is dark enough that I can stick comfortably to the shadows and not be detected.

A countertop cabinet sketches a broken circle around the room, the ivory surface of it clean and shiny. A few prods at the cabinet doors prove unfruitful - they're locked. I could get in if I wanted, or look in on their contents, but I'm afraid of giving myself away to the management. He's still in this room, after all, headed to one of the flat-walled ends. There's a huge black laquer cabinet and rack assembly there, covered in hooks and hangers and brackets. It's sandwiched by two apothecary cabinets. There's also--

I didn't just drop my knife in shock, I caught myself in time, I double-check myself just to make sure I'm still alive, and then I grab onto my nerves as tightly as I possibly can. Kuroroi mutters something in my ear, deep-voiced and worried. I nod to him, only half-listening.

Arms. Ah, that's what he said. I'm too busy trying to stay still and not heave. There's Arms stacked and hung all over that giant cabinet thing. I recognize at least twenty of them. My mind's filing quickly through missing agent reports. None of our core shadow squad, I think, but we've been told that some long-distance correspondences could have been forged, so what if they just weren't reported missing? It's been a damn long time since I've seen Avery, and that crossbow-dartgun hybrid looks like his.

I feel Kuroroi's query before he makes it audible to me. We usually communicate like that - all subtlety, not so much anything you could really write as speech. It's quicker.

There's more than twenty Arms on that cabinet thing. It's just...

Sorry, I just now felt Kuroroi try not to puke, and I didn't even know Arms could puke.

The rest of them are...broken. Mangled. Crooked. How the FUCK. How is that even possible?

I look at Schiphael in the Kommissar's hand and I have the awful aching realization that I might be about to find that out. I realize Kuroroi is clasped in my hand with an intent to be used.

I frown down at Kuroroi. We can't. We'll lose.

The voice of my Arms slices through my head, stubborn and precise. I can't let my comrades fall like this. I can't watch silently. If we're to be here skulking about, we might as well make use of it.

We can't be caught. Why is it I'm the one steadying you, anyway? It's the other way around, most times.

There's a chilly silence from him, and a feeling of being measured. They're not your kind. If they were Armed, would you stand by like this?

I contemplate that. ...Yes, if the stakes were the same. The Judge taught me to do my job.

And what is your job, then?

I smirk. He's playing with me. He never meant for me to jump out there and intervene. Kuroroi is making sure that I'm prepared to face whatever happens in here. To watch. To learn. And, at the right time...to sabotage.

Good. Then wait, and I will watch for the right time.

...I hope that time comes soon.

I inch along the walls towards Xen Xaillyndesse, trying to get a better view of just what he's going to try. We watch, tense, strung tight like catgut on a violin. Xen stares down at the countertop area of the complex cabinet. It's clear of Arms, and seems to be set aside as a workspace. He doesn't set Schiphael down, though. He lifts the handle of the whip up, staring at the Arms. The chain of the whip has retracted into the handle, its knife-barb tip standing up from the handle's end. In this form, Schiphael looks almost like a shortsword.

I don't understand why Schiphael doesn't attack, but I cannot ask him. Kuroroi's voice is gruff and angry.

I bite my lip. I really don't want to be on the business end of whatever Xen might have done to Aaren. On the other hand... Do you think Aaren could have made Schiphael stay still like that? That seems weird, though. Schiphael acted like he was protecting Aaren. I don't see how either of them could be traitors, but I don't understand why they let this happen to themselves.

Kuroroi twitches in the knife equivalent of a shrug. It's nothing I want to find out by watching, but I suppose we shall.

Xen smiles at the blade, his grin warping across the reflective surface. "So you say," he says in reply to something the whip must have said to only him. Then he sweeps the whip downwards in a snapping motion, stabbing the blade into the countertop. "Stay," he says, smirking, and then he turns his back on it.

Schiphael does nothing. Arms are fully capable of attacking without their Armed. Why isn't he doing anything? The Kommissar should be dead twenty times over by this point! Instead, the whip stands silently on the counter, as if it were an inanimate object. Not some sacred key to deadly arts, not some piece of my Father's self melded with the soul of an Armed. Just a regular weapon. That's the most sickening thought of all.

Kuroroi prods for my attention, then directs it towards the other Arms adorning the cabinet's shelves and hooks. I try to see what he's looking at. I could just use his eyes, but I'm trying not to. I don't want to use my Aim in here unless I absolutely have to. It might grab attention. The Arms that aren't mangled don't look abnormal. I can't talk to them and neither will Kuroroi - Xen might hear us. Still, they look...dead. That's the best way I can put it. Immobile, voiceless, unusable. Worse than Schiphael, who is just behaving and staying still for some reason that's beyond my reckoning. When I look at him, at least I get the feeling that he could move, if he chose to. These other Arms...what happened to them? I've never seen a weapon look like that.

Xen approaches the cabinets set in the broken circle, gloved fingers whispering over the smooth countertops. "Failure is so disappointing, Schiphael. I know you know this. Your patron feels failure quite keenly, especially when I'm the cause of it. Isn't that correct? Tesynnodai Akribastes takes things so very personally. I empathize. I, too, despise failure. Do you see the failures of your comrades around you? Those Arms are useless for what I want to do. But, they did serve their purpose to me. Tongueless and barbless as they are now, at least they had a point to their lives. You, too, will have one. Hopefully..." He draws up a vial, set with heavy brass fittings on each end of it. The substance inside of the vial is inky and black. "Hopefully you will serve it out fully. Hm. Don't need much of this, do I?" He squeezes out a tiny drop of the stuff onto his fingertip. It looks a bit thick for ink, but seems inert as it doesn't eat through the glove or anything. Its surface isn't shiny, either - it is leaden and grey.

I blink. I've seen that before. That's...that's the type of inky blackness that marks Nul's presence. I feel chilled inside. Kuroroi tenses like a bloodhound that's found its scent.

Xen only smiles, eyes full of malice as he inspects the droplet closely. He leaves the contraption on the countertop, then walks back to the cabinet rack. Schiphael glints up at him. He inspects the Arms with a cool stare, the smile gone from his face.

"Your comrades suffered. You can behave like a good puppy. I'll let you keep your Armed then."

Schiphael responds with the barest chinking sound as the chain of the whip rattles inside its hilt. But the whip does not attack the Kommissar.

You're not worth that much to me, says Kuroroi, and I learn for the first time just what Arms sound like when they lie.

You said you'd kill me before I ever turned. But would you...turn for me?

Turning is different than standing up under torture. The strangest things can become worth it, if you wait. Even now, Kuroroi sounds unsure. ...I wish I could ask him why he's doing this. Maybe if the Judge...

I blink. Is this truly an undercover mission? Would Father set up something this elaborate? Perhaps that's the most outlandish explanation for this scheme yet. Are we going to let this happen?

Kuroroi sends a cold chill through me. There's very little good I can find in not interfering, but it's marginally better than meddling right at this moment.

Xen reaches down, pointing towards Schiphael. He traces a thin line of Nul down over the hilt of the Arms. He continues all the way down over the shining blade. Schiphael does nothing in reply.

Kuroroi and I wait for something to happen. Time passes. Nothing. Xen smiles. "Good boy," he purrs, stroking his fingers down the unpainted side of the blade. He's treating the Arms like a pet. Kuroroi growls in the back of my head. "Now just keep staying still, and nothing happens to your dear sweet Aaren Voitre. Alright?" His voice is a mocking coo.

Schiphael doesn't move.

The inky form of Nul creeps over the weapon, wispy tendrils of shadow feeling out the texture and angles. The darkness concentrates around the hilt of the whip, encircling it as if it's taking a grip. There's a strange flex in the darkness of the Nul, as if it's squeezing.

Schiphael jumps, the tip of the blade not quite pulling all the way out of the gouge in the surface of the cabinet. The weapon shakes, the trembling almost restrained, as if the Arms are desperately trying to stay still. Xen only watches and tsks. "Now, now. You don't want me to do to your Armed what I did to their Armed," he gestures to the deadened Arms hanging around Schiphael, "do you? Stay still and let it take hold."

Schiphael continues to shake. To its credit, it never falls out of the gouge in the countertop. The Nul spreads over its handle, claiming more space, engulfing the entire hilt. Then, inexplicably, it retracts to a single bead on the surface of the blade.

"Very good. You're halfway there." Xen looks pleased as he grasps the hilt of the Arms, pulling it from the countertop. As he does so, the Nul swells over the blade, engulfing it in one swift sweep.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, forcing myself not to retch aloud.

Xen flicks the blade with his fingers, and with a 'ping' the Nul retracts into a tight little ball, like one of the bullets we load into flintlock pistols. It's roughly the diameter of a dainty woman's pinky nail. Xen palms it, the bead of seeming liquid now solid.

"There now. It's all over with." He holds the bead up in his line of sight, examining it. "Very, very nice. You did a good job. I daresay the Judge would be proud, disregarding a few key details." He raises his eyebrow at the Arms. "Oh? I didn't know you could be that eloquent. Still, you have no place saying such things about my mother. Aaren's her grandson, you know. That makes you related to her." He smiles. "And me, of course. Isn't that such a twisted family tree? In any case, you've fulfilled your use. I suppose the good thing to do would be to return you."

Xen stares at the whip, and the whip resolutely stares back.

"Such a shame," Xen says, and then cuts through the air with it before Schiphael can respond. Can I see the barest hint of effort in Xen's eyes? Is he actually suppressing the Arms with his willpower? I actually hope so. It would mean that this didn't happen because something's wrong with Schiphael. Even though that would mean that the Kommissar could do this to Kuroroi as well.

Kuroroi makes a gagging sound in the back of my mind.

I don't see what the cut has done, and then I do. He cut the very air with Schiphael. Arms are sharp. There's a bit of a rift in reality. My stomach lurches as the room...twists. Through the hole that Xen has cut is a space something that just looks wrong to me, and looking makes my ears pop and my balance go awry. He tosses the whip in. The rift seals itself.

Schiphael is gone.

"Goodbye," Xen whispers. He turns back to the workspace, balancing the little bead in his palm.

* * *

* * *
Kevrin
* * *

My name means 'beloved'. That's what I'm thinking as I stare up through the rubble over my craggy, beaked face. My name means 'beloved', and somehow in my mind, that has something to do with the fact that I'm alive right now. That's a little funny. It hurts to be alive. Heavy pieces of ceiling are crushing my body, and my entire brigade is dead. But I remain 'beloved'. What a joke.

I'm still contemplating that when someone hauls me up from the rubble and starts to brush off my clothes with gentle thwumps. I hope for just a second that another comrade has survived. I know it can't be someone from the shadow division. It's their job to save bodies from outside their division, not lives, and the shadow division invariably does their jobs to exact specs.

The hand brushing the dust and grit off of me is remarkably efficient, because it's feathered. The feathers are long, black and shiny, going all the way up the Avian's arm to disappear under his sleeve. Unlike me, he's covered in them. But then, unlike me, he's probably not a full half haerphitl. His yellow eyes peer out of his black feathered face with kindness and curiosity. It's strange to look at him, really - he looks like all the other Avians typically do, the crow-like visage and all. My hair is sandy and I've only half a beak to me. Still, there's enough flukes like me amongst our kind to not make my appearance seem that strange to him. It's much stranger to humans, most of whom view anyone with features like mine, even only half a beak and a few stray feathers, to be the telltale marks of a monster.

Now, I know for a fact that I'm the only beaked dude in Jhe h'Akribastes's forces, unless there's another in the shadow division that he's hiding away, and I've just ruled out that this person could be shadow division. I let him brush me off. I smile, the skin of my cheeks dimpling around my odd half-beak. He slaps me on the back, laughing.

"Nothing to it, eh? Got yer head on straight? Battle's cleared out from this section, and we're withdrawing to let the Shrouds handle the rest. Shock troops are kinda useless when the rest of the buggers are hidin' in the walls. Hey, you take any of em down when they got you?" His big yellow eyes are trusting, happy in fact. Hey, he just saved a man, and I have no division-identifying marks on my clothing. Why would an Avian be Armed? Of course I must be his comrade. Good thing my Arms like to stay concealed beneath my clothing. Nothing says 'I'm too special to be on your thug labor forces' than a pair of supernaturally sharp chakrams.

I grin. "Three. And a half." It's the truth. I killed almost four of his comrades as the ceiling took me down. The fourth could have died from blood loss afterwards for all I know, but I like to only count direct kills. It's more honest that way.

He punches me on the arm, then checks to make sure that arm isn't injured. It is, just a bit, but I don't wince. "Good on ya. Show those bloody Armed Radian bastards what our kind can really do!"

I grin. "Yeah, when it's not a ten-to-one bloodbath like they tried to kill us off with. 'Ey...where am I, even? My direction's all thrown off and I'm still dizzy as Hell. Can't say they got me that bad but the ceiling's something else in this here Palace."

"No worries, no worries. I'm headed back to base." He heads off, lending me a shoulder. I drape an arm over his back and lean. I'm actually a little unsure of whether I could walk on my own just now. "Terrain's all weird for me anyway. Used to bein' in the air, ya know? But Windbirds ain't no good indoors, and that Xaillyndesse bastard seems to think we are, so. I'll be glad when we pull outta this place, really. Hate operations like this, hate workin' for the stuck-ups in Lyiannethe. Cade's usually got fun errands for us to do. He sent you out on anything interesting lately? Hey, I don't even know your name, so forgetful I am. I'm Djardrik."

"Kevreck." Kevrin's not an Avian kind of name. You can thank my parents's romanticism for it. They wanted to leave me something I'd cherish. Can't say that it's failed in that, though. Hey, at least they left me a name at all. Avians tend to have to name themselves or each other since they're almost always orphaned. My father was a rare sort who actually kept his inexplicably beaky kid. My mother was flighty by nature, being a wind spirit, so I can't really blame her for not being around too much. I'm still lucky to have had parents raise me, instead of grow up in the streets or worse. "I've mostly sacked supply ships out in the Niytherian sea. Nothing so famous as what's in ballads, sorry to say. Plenty of action, though, and the wind's simply fabulous. Storms like you've never seen." Now, Jhe h'Logos was saying something about me maybe making some time for Poet training. Can't say it'll ever happen, but I did just make all of that up.

Djardrik grins. "Aye, the sea's wonderful. Only really been around the woodsy lands, m'self. More companionship, what with all the animisms and spirits and such." It looks like we might be closing in on their camp. I recognize some beaked silhouettes from afar, along with quite a few other interestingly-shaped people.

Oh boy. Reunited amongst my kind. I feel all tingly.

Really, though, the Judge has prepared me for this eventuality. It's why I stay out of prominent notice, and why I don't wear a uniform or badge showing my allegiance. I'm useful to him as a spy because I look like a freak. It's not something that hurts me, nor something I'm ashamed of. It simply is the reality of my existence. Perhaps I don't mind it because I know it's not why I was allowed to become Armed. Jhe h'Akribastes wouldn't waste something so holy as Arms on someone he considered to be a throwaway pawn. He has always respected me, and defended me against those who've condemned me for having a "peckerface", as his son Gerald once put it. (He got a sound reprimand for that, much as he apparently was just joking. The Judge's sound reprimands often leave slow-healing bruises.) It's funny, considering how much 'my kind' condemn the Judge and the Armed for slaughtering so many of their numbers.

Ah, here we are then. Yes, I can see how most of these would have come from Cade's branches of the world. There's creaky wagons, old and worn, hung with odd charms and decorated with strange warped sigils. There's many beasts of burden about, some strange and not like horses at all. More like the cross-mating of unlikely animals, like a mule with a dung beetle. I spot a flock of windbirds tethered off in a corral to the side of the camp. Of course - they're the favored Avian mount, even now. Djardrik helps me over to the infirmary section of the encampment, where a few healers are working on the injured with some very arcane methods indeed. I sit through some strange energy work, after which I feel a lingering dirtiness coating my aura like a fine mist. I'm not sore anymore, though, my dizziness is gone, and I can walk straight.

I tip my hat to the healer who assisted me. "Aye, thank ye. Anywhere we can get some grub here yet?"

"You're the good idea bird today. Come on, let's get on the cooking pot before there's a line!" Djardrik grabs my elbow and pulls me over to the cooking pot. After that, well, we chit-chat. Turns out Djardrik's beaten most of the fellows here soundly at dice games, thus engendering an overall dislike towards him. He was thrilled to find someone that could tolerate speaking amiably with him. I say I'm one of the soldiers who only arrived here lately, which is entirely true.

As we speak, I inspect where supplies are getting carted back and forth, what sorts of creatures are moving about, and how well-fortified this little base is. It's almost not worth taking. These guys are obviously just pawns for the Kommissar - his elite troops are doing the real work in the Palace right now. Djardrik and the rest of these boys won't be here for much longer. When it comes to the Palace being secured, this isn't an integral resource.

However, when it comes to tracking the movement's of the forces of Nul, I've basically found myself a treasure trove. I even see some elusive Arachne-kin. Those spider-people usually stay close to Nul's physical location and are rarely seen in the areas of the living.

"Those guys? Err. Creepy bastards. Dunno what they're here with us for. Didn't see em out in the battle. Don't care to be on their type missions either, so... hopefully none of it involves us." He frowns. "We took a lot of the animism spirits in the Palace over this way, and the Arachne-kin were there to receive them, come to think." He shudders. "Ugh. Don't really like to think what that might mean. Hope we get sent somewhere else soon. I don't like staying in one place for too long as it is."

I slide my beak sideways, the best attempt I can make at biting my lip. "I don't like to think of dryads and nymphs and such getting hurt on account of my actions." It's the truth, regardless of how he perceives it. We tried valiantly to defend those poor creatures from harm, and now they've been drug off. For what purpose would someone take them?

He shakes his head. "Ain't nothing to be done about it, chap. No one takes in Avians and the other strange folk - Nul's sort of people are the only ones who'll give us a job and not kill us on sight. When your only possible world is that world, you have to live by that world's rules. Else just die, and why even be born if'n you're gonna do that?"

I nod. "It seems strange, though. That we'd be born only to break the Law, only to be outcasts and miscreants. I don't see as how someone should be forced to only do ill in the world." That's what I thought about, before the Judge took me in. And then, oh how much I learned. "It seems like there should be another way, you know?"

Djardrik snorts. "The world's the world, and there's no other place we'll be in it. No sense wishing for things what don't exist. I do a good job at what I'm told to do. Maybe in the next life I can be human, and one of the men who slaughtered our kind can take my wretched place here."

I sigh. "Well, our job's done here, in any case. You think they're bringing the animism spirits where we're going next? I always like being around 'em."

He thinks over that one. "Hm. Well. Don't say as I know, but I hear some of us might be part of the escort for the Armed what got captured. They're stowed over there in those wagons. Can't help but think that the few extra wagons are for the dryads and nymphs."

I try to conceal my surprise, then decide that letting it show gives away nothing. "We actually got a few of em? I must have been knocked plumb out for most of the battle then. They actually alive?" I recoil a bit at that last part, but inside I'm a bit hopeful.

The Avian grunts. "Check fer ye-self. Nul and the Kommissar take both corpses and live 'uns. The wagons are enough to hold even the living for now, however that's possible. Don't really trust the charms on those wagons, though. Hope I'm not escorting them. If one is alive, they'll kill every last one of us when they get out."

I nod, then rise, brushing off my clothes. "Wanna come with?" I grin.

He looks at me like I'm daft, then shrugs and rises. "Ey, why not, I say. Die today, die tomorrow, what's the difference?"

I'd ask him why he'd go on and work for Nul if there's no difference, but I imagine that conversation might lead into trouble's path. We head off to the wagons, which are parked rather close to the camp, and oddly unguarded. Peering between the bars set in the back, it's obvious they're all dead. My heart sinks when I see Clark. He just joined the Armed, and we were becoming fast friends on this mission. Then I spy his left wrist and have to suppress a grin.

"...Huh." Djardrik squints. "Why're they all missin' hands? Can't just be an accident. Specially since the cuts look way too clean for that sort o' thing."

They're clean all right. I recognize the mark of Arms. Looks like the shadow unit left behind corpses they couldn't drag away in time and took hands instead. Not anyone's preferred means of being dragged back to Radia, but it'll get the job done. As it is, I'm getting just a bit nervous that no one is here to do the service for me when I'll need it. "...Weird Armed death custom, I suppose. I don't see any Arms on 'em - maybe their Arms did it. Nasty weapons that move of their own will... maybe they just eat chunks of their Armed." I feel a prickle of annoyance from Dram and recieve a lingering hint that Buidhe could make that a reality. I mentally remind my Arms that we're encouraged to spread outrageous rumors about the Armed so as to preserve our secrets.

Djardrik shrugs. "Can't say as I know. Jhe Xen's own lucky human troops get to destroy em on the spot. Don't see why we're the only ones who've gotta drag their spooky dead corpses around instead. And then watch the things all the way to Nul." He frowns. "Not the first time I've seen an Armed corpse headed down the supply chain, either. Wonder what the fuck they're doin' with em."

I shrug. "Not really our business, huh?"

"Yeah, well, just cuz it looks like it isn't doesn't mean I don't wanna know." He shudders. "Just think. The Judge on our ass again. I was in the first Avian battle against the Armed, you know."

I raise an eyebrow. "You don't look it."

"Got more than human and a drop o' animism in my blood. Don't really know what, though. Seems to keep me pretty long-lived." He looks up at me, and I'm struck by just how haunted his eyes are. I've only heard about the battles - and the most details I know, I know from other Armed. It's different hearing it from someone on the other side who was there. "I was just a kid. Ran before it really even started, like a lot o' the teens did. We didn't know what we was doin' there, and the feeling of hundreds of Armed approaching... ghastly. Like Death walking to your door with gravestone in hand. So we watched from far back, then turned our feathered tails when the slaughter was over and they started hunting up in the brush and the woods for any stragglers. They're deadly, fucking deadly. I don't want to be anywhere near them." He glances at the wagon. "In fact, only reason I stayed here was 'cuz we've been talkin 'bout things others might not like to listen in on." He looks a little nervous. Ahh, the familiar face of mutiny - how I know it well. I saw it in every mirror before I signed my life over to the Judge. "Hey, you know what? If we disappeared now, nobody'd ever know or care. They don't bother countin' us. No one in Nul's forces rises up in 'em if they're Avian. Those folk call us birdbrained and don't let us command a thing."

I nod. "Where would we go?"

He looks to the side, shifting his beak askew like I did earlier. The classic thinking pose. "We're as good as dead here, I think. I mean, anywhere else is better. I just got... I just got a real bad feeling, you know? Intuition, instinct, whatever you wanna call it. So you pick, I'll follow - it doesn't really matter."

"Right." I look to the distance. "I've got a crazy idea, then. Wanna grab some Windbirds?"

He looks worried for a moment, and then it passes. I don't know if he trusts me that much - I think he's just desperate. He shrugs. "Might as well. Surprised nobody else flew outta here yet. Let's go, man."

* * *

* * *
Julia
* * *

I rise out of a sea of rubble, my entire right side covered in blood, and it feels good. Possibly this feeling is because I have just killed every enemy soldier in the room. Heavy black coats lay in shreds over the marble shrapnel of the floor like peasant rugs. Every now and then I glimpse a shiny black boot. I take one careful step forward, Gwen's length shimmering in protective circles around my body.

Nobody home.

Given that this used to be the audience chamber, that's impressive. It was a very big room. Now it is very pretty rubble. I toe a broken bit of marble, oddly shaped like a nose. Some departed statue. Pity. Even the Aurocan crest in the overhead stained glass window is shattered.

Let's see. I'm pretty sure the Kommissar's special foot troops are dead. I've had a few reports of Avian troops and other cannon fodder, but they've withdrawn. The Shrouds are still about of course, but we've our own shadows to deal with theirs. We've our own substantial amount of dead as well. No missing remains as far as I know. By my count, we have five to twenty soldiers left on our side, not including Lute.

Plenty.

Now, just where have the dryads and nymphs and other fairies gone? Most were gathered in here. Possibly they're all hiding in the gardens, but that strikes me as somehow unlikely. Something's fishy. The Avians could have taken something with them when they withdrew...

And then Gwen chirps with news from one of Camden's still-living men, an event so astounding that I double-check that I even heard her report of it. He's keeping himself hush and withdrawing to Radia for reconnaissance and purposes. That would be more than enough in most cases - he isn't even under my command. But he also tells Gwen his name, and gives just a bit more information that is quite interesting.

It would go to figure that the Avian boy would wind up spying on the enemy's troops and finding our lost fairies. The extra tidbit that they pulled away Armed bodies for transport is possibly the most important part of his report.

Why is Xen Xaillyndesse destroying or taking Armed bodies? Does he know something about the Armed that we thought was kept secret? I'll have to ask Lute what he's found out, once he reports back. I'll have to ask the whole division and report back to Jhe h'Akribastes, at that. Once we regroup, that is...

Speaking of which, it's high time that was done. There's still enemy forces left to kill, and I'd like to get right on top of that. Iaen's holed up with two shadows in Ebrellin-i's study, right? That should still be safe. I mentally verify that one, though.

Yeah, well, safe. Funny word, that. Iaen seems to be grumbling, he's so discontent. There's so much action in the labs that this room's shaking. And I still can't get out and have fun! Aww. He's pouting.

Ah. Well, allow me to rescue you from danger, fair princess. I melt into the shadows as Gwen feels out the boundaries of Ebrellin-i's laboratory space. Whoa...this place is weird.

Gwen scowls. I've never encountered wards like this before.

These aren't wards, I reply. They're pure madness.

Space-time itself is knit and mangled in strange layers around the underground expanse of the labs. Oddly, I don't encounter any part of the wards that tries to harm me. Crossing into it is difficult just due to navigational issues. It's almost as if I didn't need to sneak in.

Once I'm inside, though... then the real fun begins.

* * *
Lute
* * *

The Kommissar clasps his fingers around the ball of Nul and closes his eyes. After a moment of quiet contemplation, his eyes flick open.

He's looking right at me.

Then he turns away, and my blood starts to pump through my body again. Still can't see me. Thank the light and the shadows that hide from it. He fades from existence, then, and I nick along behind him, quiet like always, ready for him to turn on me at any moment. After all, he's got that strange drop of Nul on him. I don't know what advantage it could be lending him.

Nothing happens, though. We make the hop together, this time ending up in the outdoors. I recognize the terrain outside the Palace - which is conveniently abundant with bushes, tall grass, and trees for cover. The carriage is about a hundred feet away. Xen is talking with Thelea Xaillyndesse. The skinny, pale woman is smoking a kretek with intense annoyance. Her fingers are thin and thick-jointed, perched around the clove cigarette like insect legs. Her hair is long, straight, and black, falling in a perfect line down her back. Her white skin and noble features echo both Jhe h'Logos and Jhe o'Sul sharply, or rather theirs echo hers. Her expression is more sour than I've seen either of their faces be, though.

The Kommissar smirks at her show of nerves. "I have everything handled with him. He'll be no problem to you, or either of us. I told you I had him well-trained. Did he lash out at you? Was your life ever in any danger?"

Thelea's hand shakes, ash spraying from the cigarette. Her face is pinched and angry. "And what if I was, Kommissar? What then would you do? I suppose you would get on very well without me and the leash of my son, yes?"

Xen snickers. "Your eldest son doesn't need a leash. He hangs himself. Did you know there's still evidence of him in the Palace?"

She raises an eyebrow. "I find that highly unlikely."

"Unlikely that he's taken revenge for Radia killing his poor ickle birdie-pet? I think you doted on the thing too much, myself. What if we're raiding his Palace for nothing?" He's not serious. He's all smirk and taunt, enjoying the opportunity to ride Thelea's worn nerve.

She takes the bait. "I keyed it to myself after he named it after me. It constantly attends his throne. His throne-guardian's death is obvious evidence of an attack. I know the location of my sons, Kommissar. They both dwell in Radia."

"Even so." He nods to her in slight deference. "My men are investigating. Until then, perhaps you should examine our catches? It's fine convenience, your defiant son's pantry being emptied right into our coffers." He gestures out to the opposite direction from the carriage. Past what he's gesturing at, a number of our enemies are congregated in a camp. I see very few of his human soldiers - the camp is packed full of Breeds. Avians, rare Canies, even damn blistering Arachne-kin.

Speaking of Arachne-kin, many of those are closer to us. I almost hiss, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. A cat-like reaction, I know. Can you blame me? They're fucking creepy. Their bodies are vaguely humanoid, but they're much less human in appearance than the Avians. Their mouths are bundles of fangs perched under huge, beautiful amber eyes. Tinier eyes are arranged in clusters on their foreheads. Their hair is straight and fine, striped in ginger and black. Their bodies are elongated, with thin striped arms that reach down to their knees and end in long thin skeletal fingers. What disturbs me the most, though, is that they're attractive in some eerie way. They're gathered around a sort of corral made of webbing and cocoons. Given what the Kommissar just said, I imagine that perhaps some of Ebrellin-i's servants have been detained in there. My stomach turns over.

They're still knitting the containments with fine floss woven between their fingers. It looks delicate, but it's stronger than chains and sticky as hell. Makes a damn effective garrote, too. I'm not having too much fun looking at these spider-guys. They're fierce, fast warriors, and much stronger than they look. I've tangled with a few in the past and gotten a few chunks carved out of my flesh in the process.

"It's not a pantry. It's more of a garden." Thelea is aloof as she walks to the enclosure, her movements as graceful as those of the arachne-kin. Xen follows, and thus, so do I.

"What appreciable difference is there? Both of them you eat from." Xen surveys the scene with a look of boredom as the Queen Mother inspects a cocoon closely, running a finger down the smooth side. I don't know why it doesn't stick to her.

She doesn't rise to Xen's bait this time. She looks oddly content, in fact, a slow smile creeping over her face as she runs her palm over the cocoon, feeling it out. "Such a beautiful dryad in here," she purrs.

My eyes widen. I still can't see inside the enclosure or the cocoons, but I can guess now that these aren't servants after all. They're Jhe o'Audiva Rocale's damn nature spirit collection. Fuck, a dryad? I thought you couldn't--

"I thought you couldn't remove a dryad from its tree," the Kommissar says in a bored voice.

Thelea licks her lips. "Just because fruit grows on the tree doesn't mean you can't pick it. Our nimble-fingered friends just so happen to be deft harvesters." She runs her finger down the side of the cocoon one more time before stepping away from it. Something inside shudders. "The arachne-kin have a special way about them, to trap and preserve. It's more difficult without them - it becomes more likely that the dryads will be harmed. The waterways are a bit of a different story, but..." She waves a hand in the hair, passing the effort off as child's play. "Just collar a nymph and they're biddable enough to follow you anywhere, and away from their waters it's simple enough to hydrate them. The perfect pets, really."

"Ah. And the arachne-kin catch them for you as well?" They're both so clinical. One psychopath comparing notes with the other, I suppose.

"Have you ever seen a spider catch a minnow in its web? Of course they catch nymphs." She saunters up to the enclosure, peering through the great swaths of webbed fencing. After a few moments, she sighs with disappointment. "No animism. I was so happy when Ebrellin-i caught one." She scowls. "Especially that little snot of an animal. I was looking forward to caging it with my collection, finally." By the murderous look on her face, I wonder if she slides pins through her menagerie as if they were a butterfly collection. "Well, it can't have run far. And in my territory, it's only a matter of time."

Xen chuckles. "Finally taking the throne for yourself, then? Your son still lives."

"Not for much longer, I wager. He's shown himself to be too incompetent to be useful for much longer. That which isn't useful to Nul... simply dies, when training no longer works." Her smile is proper and composed, as if she's already at the funeral. "I can always make another."

Xen snorts.

"Hush, you. It doesn't matter how warped the vessel is now." She looks down at her hands. Yes, certainly I would describe Thelea Xaillyndesse as a warped vessel by this point. Her bloodline self-experimentation is legendary. Who knows what the hell swims through her veins by now? "A child can come through many processes, and be obtained, if not made." She's grinning, the fox contemplating the henhouse. "I may already have the stock to make another with. There is nothing to fear. I will continue our line of Kings if I have to steal Theos's blood to do it with."

The Kommissar is silent for a long time while he composes himself. "You're not serious, Thelea."

"Even Emperors bleed, Xen. Even Theos passes his blood down. I've been so close. Another opportunity awaits me. I must simply wait until the proper hour, when no one is capable of paying the proper attention to my doings. Elete wasn't a complete failure. I consider him practice, really."

Xen's eyes narrow. "Your son Elete works for the Jhe o'Radia now. Alongside and for the Judge. You consider that wretch anything approaching a success for us?"

She shrugs, turning away and inspecting the Palace on the horizon. "We must fail sometimes if we are to find the errors of our ways, Xen."

The Kommissar takes a step forward, clenching his fist by his side as if he's taking hold of the hilt of a weapon. "...And afterwards, it should follow logically to eliminate those failures, before they taint further experiments."

Thelea crosses her arms, hunching her shoulders. "Hmph. You don't see the usefulness in failed experiments. Sometimes they prove to be further material for success. If I didn't think he had a use, wouldn't he be dead? Just as it seemed for awhile that Ebrellin-i had no use for me. Look at how well he served our purposes over the years." She gestures to the Palace, then turns back to face Xen Xaillyndesse.

"It was my observation that Elete survived because his older brother protected him."

"Ebrellin-i loved to think that, and then fought so hard when his brother left us all for Radia. Now look at the situation he's in. Perhaps if my eldest hadn't fought us so hard..." She sighs. "Ah, well. There's always more blood to be spilled."

"And what of your little garden, here?" The Kommissar gestures to the captive dryads and nymphs.

"The same will probably be said for it. Nul hungers, and I will ask much of him soon." She sighs, stroking the side of another cocoon. It's translucent enough that I can see a faint tint of green from the dryad inside. "They're so pretty when he takes them. Like our estate in Lyiannethe. I miss my gardens, Xen. Ebrellin-i's are too crowded and warm. Choked up with buzzing insects, soil crawling with worms, the smell of dirt and pollen everywhere. Disgusting. It's high time I cleaned up the mess he made of them."

A grin spreads across Xen's face. It's like seeing a skull smile. "I should like very much to watch that, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale."

"Please. I've not been recognized for the title yet." She looks over to the Palace. "I'll keep them in Lyiannethe untouched, for now. I need the throne, first. But I daresay it is unsafe to enter and claim it for myself. Too many Radian forces. And with my poor son being held in Radia as well..." She sighs. "Perhaps we should give them a diplomatic visit."

The Kommissar raises an eyebrow. "I fail to see what logic there would be in such an endeavor. Things could be seen to here, and there it would be dangerous as well. Would you let the Palace descend into chaos, my Lady?"

"I fail to see how its situation could deteriorate any further. Let them squabble in it. Nothing of value is there for me anymore besides the throne. I have business to attend to in Radia." She raises an eyebrow at him, imparting a great deal of meaning to her words. I get a surge of frustration from her subtlety. The thing that annoys me most about spying missions is waiting for my targets to say something without being able to just strangle the information out of them.

He raises both eyebrows, but refuses to elaborate on that. "Well, if it's a matter of business, I must defer to you, my Lady. Please, allow me to escort you personally." He executes a very neat bow. He seems damn smug about something, and I'm beginning to think there's a level to this that I have yet to see. What the hell do they want in Radia, though? I'm torn. Do I follow, do I warn someone? What about Aaren? How can I leave him with them? Whether or not he's a spy, they can't be allowed to keep him for their purposes.

Of course, there's the question of whether I can even leave this territory safely at all. I know that if I leave it, there's extremely little chance I'll be able to return. Sticking with the Kommissar means that he won't detect me while I follow him - my presence is nothing out of the ordinary for him or Thelea ever since I followed Aaren's abduction. I'm missing a valuable opportunity to collect information if I pull out now. But I can't report that information unless I leave.

Thelea heads off to the carriage. The Kommissar leaves instructions with his men, then goes to join Thelea. For all that it might be the wrong decision, I follow him in for the ride.

* * *

RADIA

* * *
Lyric
* * *

Stevane knits her fingers together, hands clasped in front of her legs, knees bent up close to her chest. She's sitting with her back against Jhe h'Logos's bed. She closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath, and then exhales slowly. I don't think I've ever seen her so quietly tense. I've seen her angry, and busy, and frantic. That was different. It seemed more natural.

Then a shenanigans climbs onto her head with a high-pitched mewl, and breaks the spell. Stevane giggles, a strange hiccup that almost sounds like a sob. She cradles the shenanigan, nuzzling its nose. I pet my own shenanigan. She bit me, so I think she thinks I'm hers now. She's a cute little thing, though.

"What are you going to name her?" Stevane looks at me over a pair of tiny kitten ears.

"Mewgul." I nuzzle the thing, and it belligerently bats at my nose. "I think she's pretty cranky."

"Needs sleep." Stevane lets out another long sigh. "Not an uncommon thing in this room."

I nod. "Where'd the other shenanigans go?" There's a few nestled around Jhe h'Logos still, but most of them have disappeared.

She shrugs. "Probably went to whomever created them. Everyone who signed on to the project put in a request for at least one, so I imagine they're all gonna get a surprise or two now. I know Jhe h'Logos planned on a few extras as gifts and stuff, and made at least one for himself, so I think that explains the extras. Then there's my two, and it looks like you're getting one of them. There's no other shenanigans since nobody else is here." That pinched look is on her face again.

"Hey, it's alright. At least I'm here with you." She just hmphs into the kitten's fur. I tilt my head. "Stevane?"

She closes her eyes. "Yes, Lyric?" She looks like she's about to pop, but she's a lot like Father right now - he looks really mad when he really might be about to cry. I even have the same fear of actually seeing those tears manifest. Hopefully what I'm about to ask her will distract her from all of this, but it might backfire totally.

"I know this is going to be a stupid question, but are you Armed?" There's a moment or two of silence, and then I decide to nervously fill it again. "I've been gone ten years, so... I realize I missed a lot, you know?"

She nods, biting her lip and looking away. She's looking for a distraction too, trying to organize her thoughts and speak. She remembers the tea and drinks from her cup. I have a sip too. It makes me think of Ebrellin-i. Thankfully, Stevane starts talking before I can think too much about that.

"Yeah so, I started training as an Armed about a year ago. I decided to after my initial Poet training came to an end. Daddy was so proud, because I was catching on really fast. It felt pretty good for him to be proud of me, since he just thinks of Poets as dorks, or flakes. And well, he's got Jenny, and she's practically a girl-version of Camden when it comes to being Armed. She's a real natural, fighting's like breathing to her. Me, I... well, I didn't hope for the best, but... well, I actually did pretty good!" She gulps nervously. Weird - why would somebody be nervous about succeeding? "I mean, pretty well. I did pretty well." She glances back at Jhe h'Logos, her expression wilting.

"So... do you have Arms now?" I don't want her getting depressed. It feels awful to watch her be like that. Especially now, when things are so tense.

Another long sigh, like the weight of the world's coming down on her shoulders. Another Daddy mannerism. We all have them to some degree, but I've never seen her act so much like him before. It's even more than Gerald does, and he imitates our Father on purpose. "I... not yet. Not quite." She takes a cautious glance back at Jhe h'Logos before drawing out the hunting knife I saw earlier. It has that glint to it, that not-just-a-knife glint. She holds the point in front of her eye, and the glint makes it look like she's winking. "Iaen knows his knives, and so he gave me it when I was going out with him. Before Daddy chased him off and threatened him with a blunt instrument, which is really quite mild for Daddy. It was right when I needed temporary Arms, the kind you focus on and practice with while you train up to have real Arms. Herald... he's pretty handy. Not Arms, no, but I named him just the same. You're supposed to, with weapons. So I can communicate... well, he's like the Arms I don't have yet. It's practice, I guess, and it's honoring the weapon. I'll need to do that for my Arms or they'll, um... Daddy told me the Arms would get angry. Mikhal told me they'd gut me. So, Dad'll give me my true Arms when I complete my training. When I'm... ready." She pouts.

"Well... when are you gonna be ready?"

Her face grows even more pinched. She's really trying not to cry. "When Daddy has a chance? When I do? Jhe h'Lete's grown so weak and sick, and I've been helping out so much everywhere... I can't leave the Poet Hall now, and Daddy's too busy with his job. He says he can make time, but... well, then he doesn't, and I don't want to ask him and end up causing even more problems. There's more important things now than me getting my Arms." That last part sounds like a lie, but maybe I shouldn't say that.

"Is it okay to put it off? You seem... well, you look like hell, sissie. And you haven't acted like yourself since I've gotten back." I guess I can't help but be honest.

"I've been stressed." She bites her lip, waggling the knife back and forth slowly. She traces it down to the floor, almost starts chipping it into the wood, then pulls it up with a blush. She sheathes the thing, then. "Nervous habit."

"...Stevane? What happens if you don't get your Arms?" I can tell she's avoiding me.

She shrugs, looking away. "Let's not talk about that. It's... not something we need to worry about now, okay? I'll be fine. We just need to watch Jhe h'Lete for the nigh--" she chokes, then crumples forward, wrapping her arms around her legs again. She buries her face into her knees, lets out a sob, and then jumps at the squeak from the shenanigan in her lap. She uncurls, picking up the little thing. "Aww. You poor dear." She nuzzles it.

"Dad's... not really gonna fire the Poet King? I mean... he can't, right?" It scares me to even ask it. I mean... I just got to the Poet Hall, and just started considering the idea that I might be able to be a Poet.

She considers that. "He'll have to ask Unkie. Unkie... will probably say 'no'."

"Really?"

She nods. "Really. Dethroning Jhe h'Lete doesn't seem like the sort of thing Unkie would do. I'd know. I pay a lot of attention to how Unkie works and what decisions he makes. It's important, you know? It's kind of... part of what I'm fighting for, I guess. Why I became Armed."

"For Uncle Lui?"

She grins. "Yeah. Everyone has something to fight for, I guess you could say. Different Armed have different nationalities. We're not all sworn to Radia. Heck, Jenny's an anarchist. She just fights because she's like, Daddy number two." She shakes her head. "Getting off-topic. Unkie won't do what Daddy's asking for. He'll probably order Elete to rest, though. There'll be a proxy Poet set up for him to take care of active duties, and possibly some special wards to keep him in bed." She frowns. "It's weird... he's always been a little weaker than everybody else, but right now he's sicker than I've ever seen. It just came out of nowhere, right when the Peacock King got dragged into Radia." She blinks. "...Right when the Peacock King arrived. At the Trial." She frowns.

"What's wrong?"

She shakes her head. "He's... just never really liked his brother. Never likes to talk about Jhe o'Sul at all. Err, Jhe o'Audiva Rocale. He's... well, from what little I could catch, they've been fighting since they were kids. Sometimes... Jhe h'Lete acts like his brother might have... done something bad to him. I don't like to pry." She sighs. "If he did anything to Jhe h'Logos, they'll sort it out. Jhe Katherine and Daddy. But... in the meantime, like I said, somebody's got to fill in for him." She bites her lip, scrunching her eyebrows together.

"So what's the problem with that? I mean, it'd give him rest. He seems... like a pretty active guy. Someone to cover for him sounds like the perfect solution."

"Yeah. You have a point, but who's gonna do it? There's been a few Poets that have stepped in for Jhe h'Lete when he was ordered on vacation before. He's needed a break every now and then. Those guys... well, they're not here. They're on long-distance assignments. One or both will have to be called back here, and that'll probably take awhile since they're on diplomatic missions. Edward's way off in Chethar. That's across the ocean! He can't just hop back the short way from the First World! Elric's closer, over in Rhivend, but communication has been really slow from over that way. And things must be busy, because it's been awhile since I've even gotten a letter from Elric. I really miss them both. Elric's been gone almost as long as you have, Lyric!" She looks up at me, then blinks.

I know I must be making the worst face right now. I'm really trying to contain my emotions, but it's just not possible. She cocks her head at me, the question of 'what's wrong?' not even needing a voice.

"Stevane..." I gulp. "When we were in Audiva Rocale, we found out... Camden found out Elric's gone. He's been captured. That Cade guy had his quill and was faking his letters." Stevane looks horrified. "I'm... I'm really sorry. I didn't know you knew him."

Her eyes are wide. "If Elric's captured--!!" She almost rises, then sits back down when it looks like Jhe h'Logos is about to stir. "Somebody's got to do something! He's very important! It's really, really dangerous for him to be gone! I can't believe nobody let the Poet King know!" She catches herself. "But then... he's so sick right now. Still, his job still has to be done... did Daddy really not tell Jhe h'Logos about this on purpose?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. I do know... well, Stevane, it sounded like they have more Poets. N-Nul does. And Armed too. That's what almost happened to Gerald. He almost got taken away by Cade. He would have, if it weren't for... well, a lot of things."

Her eyes are still wide. "Well? Go on! What's wrong, I want to hear about this!"

"I... well, I wrote a lot of it down already."

"So show me!"

I sigh. "I didn't write it all! I got interrupted in Audiva Rocale and I couldn't record the rest!"

She stands up this time, stalking over to a side of the Jhe h'Logos's room where paper is neatly stacked up. She grabs a sheaf and also snatches a quill and inkwell while she's at it. She plunks them all down in front of me. "Write." She puts her hands on her hips. Her shenanigan glares down at me imperiously from atop her head.

I raise an eyebrow. "That sounded like an order."

She nods, grinning. "It is! You're my apprentice now. You can't just keep goin' untrained, and Jhe h'Lete was probably going to assign you to me. I teach now. That's while I do advanced training in the Poet Hall, and help out with stuff. My previous students are all done with now. So, get to writing!"

I roll my eyes, blow my bangs out of my eyes, and then wince as Mewgul clambers up on top of my head. Teeny kitten claws raking against my delicate skin! Ow!

"And tell it while you're writing it, because I wanna hear!" She grins. "That's good practice, too."

"No ulterior motives there," I grumble.

"Hey! If you're gonna say it, you'd better be writing it, too!"

I get to work. I'm not really that concerned about her being my teacher now or anything. It's more that I remember the last time Stevane set my head on fire, and she's getting that look in her eyes again.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

"Hi, Dad."

Father looks up at me from the door. He blinks, not wanting to show confusion, but obviously wondering what the hell I'm doing home before him. His jaw is tight, too - his face is showing the strain he's feeling right now. Considering how much effort he goes through to hide such things, that's a sign of just how much the situation has gotten to him.

"Stevane and Lyric are still at the Poet Hall, watching over Jhe h'Logos. I came here to make sure you didn't need anything. Gerude's gone out, and I guess Lute's out doing his duty now. Jenny didn't even come by here yet, it looks like." I shrug. "Weird, having an empty house. Do you think Katherine will be by soon?"

His eyebrows knit together. "I'm not sure, to be honest. Gerald, do you have some business with me?"

I startle a bit. "I um... no..." Oh dear. That's a lie. Father cocks his head at me, his expression plainly analytic. I'm being read.

"Lyric is staying in the Hall, you said? That's very good. I imagine Stevane will keep him there, safe. We'll have time to talk, then. I do believe I recall that you and I need to." He leads me into his study after pulling a bottle of wine from the rack in the kitchen.

I turn and look at him. "What's wrong with Lyric?"

Father's face grows a bit pained. "An assassination attempt was made on him after the Trial. Lute took out the would-be assassin, but has yet to be able to follow up on it, considering that he's in Sul now. So I'd rather the boy stayed somewhere safe until things blow over. Likely it's just related to the Trials. He's too closely associated with the Peacock King right now."

"Someone tried to kill him? Today? Are you sure Lyric's okay?" The words are out of my mouth before I even realize my tongue is moving. Father looks up at me with some measure of surprise, then cocks his head, his face shifting to a dubious expression. Almost mocking.

"Are you? You act as if he hasn't survived ten years on his own in one of the most dangerous places he could be, with one of the most dangerous men in the world." That tone. What, am I an object of ridicule now just because I care about my brother? Because I want to protect him? Father winces, then lets out a pained sigh. Oh, yeah. He can hear my thoughts, because I'm not shielding them and I'm in a bad place to even attempt it. I forgot. All that emotional baggage is just piling up in my mind now, and Lyric isn't the issue anymore. I know it never was. There's this awkward moment where I straighten up and he watches me, and we both know exactly what one of us is or is not seeing of the other's thoughts.

He gestures towards me. "Here. Sit down. It's high time I made some time for you." I walk to the armchair he waves me into, my nerves rising as I approach. I settle in with the full knowledge that all of us siblings refer to this thing as the Interrogation Chair. It's the seat in Father's study that he likes to put one of us in when he's in the mood to start grilling.

To my surprise, he passes me a glass of wine. I blink, then automatically hold it under my nose to sniff. It's a deep red, and that's really all I can say, because I can see the color with my eyes. You can't live around 'Sy without gaining some knowledge of wines, and usually I could do some rough cataloging with my nose right now, but I can't focus on it. At least I give it the proper ceremony before getting a mouthful of it and swishing it around. It's a comforting enough ritual, but not enough to really take me out of the situation - it's all a show that's undeniably his.

While I'm deliberating over that, he takes his seat and sips at his own glass. "Talk." There's no command to it, no idleness either. It's just a simple word, and at that, a simple request.

The question is, what's going to pop out of my mouth first? He's not even leading me anywhere, and I...well, okay, I do know exactly what I should be telling him, what I want to talk to him about, what's been driving me crazy. So I don't need to be led. I just need to talk about what I need to talk about.

"Katherine's all over me like she wants to kill me, and normally that wouldn't hurt a bit. S' sort of normal, you know that." I heave a sigh out of my chest. "You know...a lot, when it comes to me and Katherine. Old...news, I guess." I don't look at his face. I don't want to know what his reaction is to something I don't want to admit to. It's weakness, okay? Foolishness. "Look, I get that you two are an item by now. I guess...that happened, and all. Whether I liked it, and whether...I was there to have a say about it and all." I look off to the side, unwilling to see him right now. "Nobody can change that, I guess not even Jhe h'Logos. And I do like having Jenny around. She's a nice sister. Wouldn't trade her for the world."

Silence.

"But look, when you...I mean. I know I died and all, you were there and she was there. It's not something I enjoyed doing. Death's not...usually...fun. But you two, of all people in this blighted, too-small world, knew I was coming back. I'm yours, dammit. Not just in blood but I swore myself to you, and there was no way you were not going to go through that old ceremony. Katherine would have understood that too. She's your closest officer...closest in a lot of ways. So don't tell me you didn't know I would be back. You're...dammit Dad! You're the one that fetches me back from Tia, and you both knew I was coming back!" I glare over at him, forgetting in the heat of my anger that I was trying not to do exactly that.

He's gone white in horror, his hand up by his face, fingers spread out, almost gripping his cheek. Even more telling, his wine has been forgotten, save for the first sip or two he had of it. Worst of all, he's speechless.

Anger carries me forward when all three, in normal circumstances, would stop me in cold shock. "So look, you two...had a thing for each other. Fine, but you could have told me, either of you, you know? Or...fuck, you could have waited. I mean, what did I have to--how could I get her back, then? I'm back from the Void, all stunned from a kill, still muddling that out, still growing into legs that are too stubby and stupid for me to even move correctly. Getting from baby-size to a grown man in the span of weeks. That was enough, but I had to...had to go and see you two..." My fist balls up on the arm of the chair. I set my wine down before I waste it in a spill. "I was physically ten, you know, and when I saw you two kissing I had to remind myself over and over what big-boy-feelings felt like in a body that couldn't...you know...feel it. That was pretty damn fucked up, all over. I just...well, I just avoided you two as best I could then, which was way easier than it should have been. It all was happening at once, I know, but...I could have used...well I was growing up all over again and she was just...you could have waited, if you really wanted to, until your rival was grown past his second childhood, and well...damnit, Dad, when I finally said something you wrote me off like I was a teenager!"

"You were a teenager," he croaks, his eyes staring out wide into a distance far beyond the baseboards.

"I was way older than thirteen in my mind and you knew that. You both did, but at least she was a lot younger than you, and not as experienced with stuff, but..." I sputter, looking down at the table, at my red-tinged reflection in the wine.

"...Sorry." It's a half-whisper, half-mumbled little thing, and I almost don't even notice.

"Are you really? Are you sure you don't just need to elbow me out of the way again? Because I'm a grown man this time around, and it might actually take you a minute this time. Not that she even has eyes for me."

"...I couldn't stop that, Gerald." His voice is quiet, but unapologetic this time.

This time, I can't look up at him. "...Yeah, well." I dab a finger down into the wine and watch the surface ripples play off of the rim of the glass. "I guess that's just how it goes, but I..."

"Have you really been hurt over it all this time, Gerald?" He cuts in, his voice betraying nothing but mild curiosity.

I don't want to talk now, but...well, all I can do is leave instead. If I left now, what would be the point of telling him all the stuff before this? The thought that I do have an alternative, but that it's neither the smart thing to do nor pleasant, is strangely motivational. "Yeah. But hell if a ten-year-old could settle things out with you over a girl. Even if I wasn't mentally ten at the time. Which you sort of conveniently forgot."

"I didn't, but I concede your point." He tips his wineglass at me, then takes a delicate sip.

"And you wouldn't let a teenage kid get a word in edgewise, no matter what the factors were that you conveniently forgot at the time. Like you forgot a lot of things. Conveniently."

"Is that why you took the long missions away from home sometime after then?" His voice has a weird edge to it. Almost pinched.

"As soon as I was able? Well, it was nice to have some time with Gerude. I'd really missed him, and he's pretty heartfelt about saving the derelict corners of the world. ...Can't deny that it felt better away from home, though. As hard as it was to stay away once there were Jenny and Stevie darting around everybody's ankles."

"I was just about to ask why you'd started coming back at that specific time. I thought Katherine and I's spat might have had to do with it."

"I uh...actually, it made it even more awkward. Nah, I just love family, you know? Jenny's always been just like the rest of my siblings, except with a tinge more of a murder complex." Dad snorts. Somehow I think that's good. For some reason I'm glad he's finding something funny. "When it's family, like that, it...well, I wasn't too much focused on you two, you know. Being romantic."

"There wasn't much romance for awhile after Stevane, so you didn't miss much." I raise an eyebrow at him. He waves it away. "Not really something I want to share, and nothing that has any bearing on the present." ...Huh, weird. I wonder if he picked up that the second part didn't ring as true as he probably wanted it to. Nothing I think I'm really going to poke into with him, though. "The important part...well. I suppose you felt rather wronged, or still do."

Not that he needs that confirmed, but he likes it when people confess. "I guess I didn't do such a good job of hiding it recently. I just...well, I got back and...it was rough in Sul and nobody here gave a damn, and I kinda forgot about you and Kathe. You know, I kinda...I kinda thought you'd moved on." I'm having a little trouble looking up at him, and I feel his attention drawing up on me. "You...you've had a lot of...trysts."

"Is that any of your business?" His voice is very low, and it's also dangerous.

"Yeah, well...we've all got a lot of different moms, so it's not like I wouldn't notice."

"Ah." There's a silence that draws out between us as he sips his wine and I just...look into mine. Huh. I'm getting a little stubbly on the chin there. "You thought you had a chance?"

I cough. Didn't really expect that one. "Well I--"

"Because you didn't, Gerald." His voice plows right through my protest, full of authority.

My fists ball up. "Fine, if you want to say it like a man, but you're telling it to me like a Father, and I'm not really into that." He chokes off an indignant squawk. "You're my Father, sure. We ALL get that! But you're not muscling in on Myles and telling Stevane to go to her room if she calls foul on you. ...Well, you're not muscling in on Myles."

"I'm not sending her to her room because of him, either." His voice is wound up pretty tight over that one. "She is sixteen years old and may date whomever she likes." Not that he wouldn't still send a grown woman to her room, but hey. Stevane does kick up a lot of trouble. "What business does it have to do with your complaints?" His voice is tightening up again, and I've got this odd, creeping feeling, like my life is in danger.

Ahh, the familiar feeling of several of my childhoods. (I've kind of made an art of going out in style, guns blazing, so I've had more than one do-over.) "If you want to say anything about Katherine to me, say it as a man. You didn't muscle her away from your son. You muscled her away from a man."

That gives him pause for a bit. "There was no muscling. But you'll tell me that is because there was no man left alive to muscle, and you'll be correct in at least the literal sense. That's fine. I understand, now, how it might have been from your perspective." He pauses. "...Was I not there enough for you, Gerald?"

That makes me pause. Was that what I'd been saying through some of this? "I uh...I don't know. I kinda missed you, sometimes. I just...figured I was getting ignored for a reason, like I'd done something."

"I didn't mean to ignore you." He drums his fingers on his knee. "...You've been feeling that way since you returned, Gerald?"

I don't answer.

"I am very sorry. I should have paid more attention to you. I forget none of you have mothers here save for Jenny and...well, then there's Stevane." He sighs. I can hear the weariness in him from the exhalation. "Do you know, sometimes I haven't the faintest idea what I'm doing, Gerald? That's the trick of being a parent, I'll teach you that this instant. You have to pretend that you're doing it right, and when everyone believes you, your kids believe you. ...But I suppose you have to be around pretty often to be able to do that. Would you say that's the case?"

"I dunno. I think you were a great Dad, just keep off my girlfriends."

"Right. I'll do that."

An uneasy silence settles between us, in which I realize nothing's been settled at all. By the sound of the sigh Father makes, he must have come to the exact same conclusion. Hell, what was I even thinking would happen? We've just made a bigger muck of all this than it was before. I don't even know what I'm mad about anymore.

"...You really think so?" He swishes his wine around. There's way more left in his glass than is close to normal.

I jump. "Do I think what?"

"Do you think that I was a good dad? Really?"

"I said you were a great Dad. I don't think you're even listening, old man."

He snorts. "Fine. I'm senile and inattentive, then. Do you bear Katherine any ill will for what's happened?"

I shrug. "I'm annoyed she's so intent on cutting me up, but the circumstances are...well, you know what they are. No changing that. It just sucks. I don't want to have to deal with this stuff anymore. Not when there's so much important stuff. Not when..." I sigh. "I'm worried about Lyric. He got dragged through a lot of this because of me."

Father shakes his head. "Wrong. He dragged himself through the greater part of this. Why don't you let him fight his own battles, as he's already proven he can? I understand and encourage your wish to protect him, but...well, I've already had to learn that I can't shelter all of you. Sometimes it's difficult, though, to sort out when to be a parent and when to be something else. Roles are so very complex, with me. That's without even a mention of my role as Judge." I sit up a little straighter at the mention of that role, an automatic reflex.

"...Yeah. Well..." I slump. "It's all in the past, now." It still hurts, though. Damn shame I can't hide that anymore, because it's embarrassing.

"It's not your fault you died. I will say that what happened after your death did not occur due to a lack of honor to your memory. Does it sound worse that she needed consoling? That I might have too?"

I screw my mouth to the side. That's just...kind of weird. "No, but uh...awkward. I guess death is kind of awkward, though."

"Yes. That is very true, Gerald. Death is awkward. I am glad you have learned this."

I down half my glass, finally giving the wine some attention. It seemed to be a toasting moment. "Right, well...I'm glad I could contribute something useful to the troops."

He snorts, but it's out of genuine amusement. "You always do, whether you mean to or not. You make me very proud." That kind of sticks in my chest just from how sincerely he meant it. "I'm sorry I seem to have done something which, at the time, seemed like an insult to your memory. We did know -- should have known, in Katherine's case -- that you would be back with us, Gerald. It didn't take the pain or the loss away. You were all the more absent for it, in fact. She...she loved you. She was in a lot of pain. Maybe you should talk to her about it."

I look dubious. "Maybe she'll rip my head off."

"What's the worst that can happen, in that case? Maybe you even underestimate her, Gerald. If you assumed she forgot you so easily, that's possible."

I can't look him in the eye.

"Tell me whatever you need, when you need to. I promise I will make the time for it."

"Thank you." I rise, wine still half-finished. I leave the glass there. I'm just not in the mood for it. I clasp his hand. "Ask me, if you ever feel the need. I'm kind of stupid about remembering to mention some things, as you well know."

He chuckles. "Fine."

I leave, wondering when the last time was that a talk with my Father had gone that well. At least we're all settled between us now, if Kathe really does succeed in ending me this time.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

To mock a great opening line, picture this: Gerald standing in front of me, happy all over his beaming, punchable face, hands on his hips, the very picture of a heroic retard.

"Okay, Katherine, I forgive you."

"I... okay wait, what?" I swear, that was so out of nowhere that I can't figure out a way to kick him for it. "Will you just get out of the way? I need to go see the Judge."

"Oh, Daddy's not in his office. Come on, let's go talk." Gerald grabs my hand. I jerk it away.

"I think I can hear and speak perfectly well right here." Right here is in the hallway that leads up to 'Sy's office suites. Not very private, mind you, but the Armed Hall isn't very populated right now anyway. Besides, I really don't want to talk to him right now, so I'd rather get it done with fast. By the look of his pouting face, I'm going to guess it won't. Fuck. "Look, why don't we just have this talk in his office? It's empty, and it'll give Benny some peace." I lead the way and don't wait for an answer.

After settling down in two of the chairs in front of 'Sy's desk, I realize that not only is this positioning really strange without the Judge behind the desk, but we're repeating a scene from earlier in the day. Except Benny's not here, she's in my office. So without her or the Judge here, I'm missing all the buffer that I'd like to have between Gerald and I.

Great.

"...Well?" I cross my eyes, fixing him in my vision.

He shakes his head. "Sorry. It's just been a long day, and I've had a lot of revelations. Look, I wanted to put the issues between you and I to rest."

I raise an eyebrow. "Hence the sudden talk of forgiving me?"

He grins and nods. "Yeah. It's all in the past, Kathe. I'm okay with you picking Dad over me."

"I... wha?" In the past is an understatement. That's literally a lifetime ago for him. I didn't even know he was still thinking about it.

"I understand that it definitely looked like I was dead."

I look at him in stupor. It's like somebody just smacked me in the face with a fish. "Gerald? You were dead."

"Yes, but I was gonna come back." His face looks comically pained. I'd feel bad for laughing, really I would, but-- "Kathe, don't laugh!" He's laughing too, though. Dammit. Now we're both going off, and I don't know if we can even stop.

"Okay, fine, you died. Then you came back. What does that have to do with me deciding who I want in my life?" I pin him with a glare. He deflates a bit, but only so much.

"Well I um..." He looks off to the side, unable to meet my gaze. A little sheepish, and... I don't really want to notice that he looks hurt, but he does. "I came back and my girlfriend was suddenly with my Dad, Katherine."

"Oh." I'd never really thought about that. To tell the truth, I'd never really given much thought to Gerald after I left him. Not in the romantic way, at least. I was just glad to see him alive, and I'd found who I wanted to be with then, so what was the point? In retrospect, it does seem very callous. Only... "I wasn't your girlfriend."

"What?" Gerald jumps in his seat, a glare sliding onto his face. "What the hell does that mean?"

I roll my eyes. "You remember how you died? In a war? In a city that was being infiltrated by Nul's forces? And how we triggered that war whenever we rode into that place without any caution or discretion whatsoever, and everyone started attacking us and then fighting with each other? And how the reason we were so indiscreet was because we were riding pell-mell into and through the city, firing our Arms at each other, because we were going to kill each other? And that we were fighting because of a lover's spat turned ugly? Really, Gerald." I can't even look at him.

"Well I..." he sighs. "Damn. I didn't really think about it that way."

"Yeah." I run my hands through my bangs, neatening them. "You didn't think much, then."

"But I don't think that counts as a break-up, does it? It was just a fight. We tried to kill each other all the time back then." He's so smug and self-assured. "Katherine? Something wrong?"

My head is in my hands, face hidden from view. He's just so dumb. "Nothing. I'm tired."

"Okay. I'm gonna go out. I wanna catch up with everyone. Dad's at home. I bet... I bet you need some rest."

He sounds guilty. "I just need to get my work done. Do you feel better, Gerald?"

"I guess I do." There's a long pause. "Katherine, I'm sorry about... stuff."

"I am too."

"You have a good night, now." The door closes, and I'm alone. I give him a few moments to clear the area, remind myself that I really shouldn't destroy parts of 'Sy's office in anger, and for once succeed in not doing that. After a few more moments, I get up and make my way to 'Sy's house.

I'm not sure what the hell the point of that talk was, but at least Gerald stopped and went away. Maybe he's finally got it in his head to leave me alone for the next fifty years and get over it. I can only hope.

I was thinking about important things. I was getting somewhere, dammit! Then Gerald had to go stuff his face in mine and go on about long-dead relationships and his effin' Dad and how he'd forgiven me. Okay, fine, whatever. Time for dinner. I can go talk to 'Sy about all this stuff and we can possibly start to get things straightened out. Time to leave all of today's idiocy behind.

I open the door into the house, then close it. Feels pretty empty in here. Strange. It's pretty dark, too. I walk into the kitchen and am immediately struck with the sense of something being wrong. I realize it's because several bottles are missing from the wine rack. 'Sy always replaces the bottles as they're used, so it's pretty odd to see several empties. Maybe one of his kids got into them for a party--no, that's stupid. The house has very clear wine rules that they've all learned early in life. 'Sy's also protective enough of his wine that nine times out of ten he tells them to go buy their own. (The tenth time is when Stevane and Jenny both make the pleading-kitty-eyes at once.)

It's really strange to see so much of the wine gone at once. That's five bottles. It's not a party's worth of wine, and Theos knows 'Sy's drunk more than that on his own before, but it's up there.

I walk out of the kitchen and hear piano music in the study. Of course. Tesynnodai's own sanctuary, a quiet room where he may sometimes entertain close friends or talk seriously with family, but mostly it's his own to withdraw into. Especially when the children are younger (and more are always coming along, believe me), the house can become more chaotic than my partner would like. The study has always been his private place. Not just a relaxtion room, but his office away from the Armed Hall. Even the younger children knock and wait before entering.

By the sound of his piano, he's had a few bottles of that wine himself. I pause before the door, wondering if I should even come in right now. Then I raise my hand and softly knock.

The playing stops.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

I'm thinking about Katherine. Well, not really about her at all. More about the past, and how much of it I've spent not looking ahead, or giving a thought to the present. How much of it I'd spent still thinking I was with her, to be more clear. It's a huge stretch of time. My whole life since I died that one time, really. How did I not see this? Why didn't I realize? It's like a great weight has finally shifted back and fallen off of my shoulders. A waiter comes up to the table I'm sitting at, breaking me out of my reverie.

"I'm sorry, but kittens aren't... allowed in this bar."

My confused expression must tell him a lot, because the thin, dark-haired man heaves out a pained sigh, brushes his bangs away from his face, and then softly taps the top of my hat. I realize that I really should have felt more of a firm impact from that, and also not heard a 'squeak'. I tip my hat down, causing whatever's on top of it to roll off and onto the table. It squeaks again, looking up at me, a confused flurry of feathers with a fluffy tail attached.

I raise an eyebrow. "Shenanigans?"

The waiter snorts. "That's what the manager would call it."

I laugh. "I'm sorry, I had no idea." ...That it was even on my head. No wonder I got some strange looks as I claimed our table. "I'll deal with as soon as my friends get here."

The waiter nods, that pained expression still on his face. I glance at his nametag. Chuck. He cocks his head. "How big a party are we talking about?"

"Oh, pretty big. About ten people, maybe more. A bunch of us from the Poet Hall are having a celebration of sorts--"

His eyes widen. "Poets? Oh shi--" He cuts himself off. "Right! Poets. We're so happy to have your esteemed patronage here. Allow me to escort you to a bigger table..."

After I'm seated at the new table, I peer down at my shenanigan. I... guess it's mine. Jhe h'Logos did get my signature, after all. "I think your name is Jasper. You look like a Jasper."

The black-furred kitten raises one rust-colored eyebrow, the matching tip on its tail flashing like copper as it lashes back and forth. It ruffles its chocolate-colored wings, then settles against my forearms, tucking its rusty paws underneath its chest. Funny. It's colored more like a dog that a cat. Well, winged-cat-thing. A soft purr rumbles up in its chest. Jasper will do.

"'Ey! Gerald! Nice table you grabbed for us!" Erynn looks around inside the pub. "Huh. They're wising up to us, seating us away from all the other patrons. Might have to start looking for a new venue..."

I notice the shenanigan peeking over his shoulder. "Yeah, and they've got a strict 'no kittens' policy. That one your fault too?"

Erynn spit-takes. "Oh, that's rich. Don't worry, I'll talk to the manager if it comes to that." He grins down at Jasper. "You got one too? Good! Stevane should have a couple, is she gonna come?"

I look away. "She had some duties at the Hall--"

"Always working, that girl is! Deplorable."

I move away from that topic. "Anyway, where's everyone else?"

Erynn looks back over his shoulder. "Hm. Good question! They were following me in... looks like they got held up at the door. Here, let me go finesse the management a little." He walks off, and I'm left alone with my shenanigan. After a bit of a wait, he arrives back at the table again, alone, and looking fidgety. "So yeah, uh... they really meant it about that kittens thing. And... animals in general, I guess... something about this place not being a zoo. Plus some disparaging side-comment about Poets belonging in a zoo. So we're all gonna party in my room." He grins. "Plenty of booze there anyway. Come on!"

I chuckle, then get up and follow him. With Erynn, it's always something. There's a bit of a crowd outside waiting for us - and at the sight of me, some grinning faces. Well, this is a bit larger of a gang than I expected. Gerude came as a given, but I haven't seen Amanda in quite awhile - and what's that thing she's carrying? Some sort of round case with a cloth draped over it. Rachella's showing a keen interest in it, whatever it is. Mikhal's with us too. Then there's--

"Jax? Why are you looking so down? Want to be back out in the field again?" I pat him on the back. He just looks up at me, a hint of terror lingering in his eyes.

"Huh, the field? Man, I've had more than enough of that for now, let me tell ya." He sighs, his shoulders slumping. "No, it's a girl."

I blink. A girl? Oh. "...Huh. Well, maybe it's not all lost. Did she uh... come with you to Radia? Or did she stay home?"

Jax's face turns sour. "She's staying in my Dad's suite."

"Oh." I pat him on the back a bit more heartily this time. "Man, I know exactly how ya feel. Next time we get allowed into a real bar again, your drinks are on me for the night."

* * *

I don't know why Erynn even bothers going out. His suite pretty much is a bar in itself. I think this as I sway towards a chair near the corner, trying not to bump into anybody in the room. The room is, by now, awfully full.

A pair of hands gently push my back, guiding me. "Watch out now, honey, you just got back. No need to plaster yourself all over the floor." The voice has a drawl to it that indicates she's just as inebriated, if not moreso, than I am. I turn, as unwise as that is while being guided to a seat.

"Amanda Cee?" I kinda lost track of her in the haze of the party. Where have all these people come from?

She grins. "The one and only. Now sit yer petard down and share a drink on me." Wow, her grammar is really disintegrating. If she were a Poet as well as an Armed, she'd probably be speaking in some other language by this point. We each have a seat, after sorting out which chair is whose in a confusing knot of giggles.

Another voice joins in the laughter, and when I look up to its source I'm faced with the prettiest blue eyes I ever did see. They fade into a honey brown that's even prettier. I cock my head, regarding Rachella Hawksgard and wondering just what Poetry I caught her working just now. We gain our Poet King's eyes when performing that art sometimes, hence the change in color. It's either that, or I really am that drunk. But I don't think I am. Amanda is sloshed, I'm just dizzy and happy.

It takes me a few moments to realize that the girl is smiling back, and that confuses me. After dwelling on my past with Katherine, I'm a little unused to the idea of girls smiling at me that much. I notice that the strange little case is next to her, still covered with a cloth. She breaks away to peer inside after tugging the cloth away on her side. A charmed smile creeps up on her face, and she giggles again.

"Lemme see!" shouts Amanda, and I'm elbowed to the side, right in the ribs even. I let the girl at the case, no fight from me. "I wanna see em one last time."

Rachella sighs. "You know, if you really wanted the dears, you should have gone out and looked for Lyric, same as all of us."

Amanda snorts. "This is a Poet thing. Armed bounty was the sandwich. I'm pretty relieved that Mikhal took that bullet for Gerald, come to think. Guy's walkin' around like he's fine tonight, and if he pukes now it'll probably only be from drinkin'. There's a stomach of iron on him. Gerald's a more delicate man than that, bein' a Poet and all. Ain't that right?" She pats me on the back repeatedly, cackling. It's not so much pounding as patting, really. Damn is she wasted! I just grin and nod, trying to follow this conversation. Amanda drags the cage close to her, parts the curtains just a tad, and then sticks her nose in there and peers with the most serious of expressions. One precisely-groomed eyebrow raises in a deadly hook, and then her expression softens. She sighs, sits up, and scoots the cage away. "Alright." She turns to me. "You can have 'em, you bastard. Treat 'em right, or I'll shoot you. Stick my gun right up in your mouth and pull the trigger." Her expression is deadly serious. I keep nodding. "Okay." She scoots the cage over to me.

Rachella watches it eagerly, her excited gaze skirting up to my face every few seconds, waiting. I scrunch my eyebrows, then uncover the cage. Inside is a pair of tiny sparrows. Rachella squees.

"Aha! You gave him the bounty!" I'm almost knocked over from the blow against my back. Erynn gave it a pat. He's wasted too, very much so. "Congrats, 'Rude!"

"That's Gerald, you brain-stewed idiot." Gerude's voice rises up from behind Erynn.

"I can teach you how to take care of them," whispers Rachella over the table. She gives me a wink.

I return it. "I think I'd like that," I say.

There's a bit of a blur after that, which is when I do share that drink with Amanda, who ends up passed out on the floor after going into a drunken, sputtering confession about how she's worried for her brother Cary, who's out on yet another dangerous mission, and she's so glad I came back in one piece, and she loves those damn birds so much. I think they must remind her of her brother. I also think that I'll give them to her when it's proper - after Rachella teaches me how to care for them, for instance.

The other part of the night is spent making fun of Gerude's ridiculous goggles, after which we have to prevent Erynn from trying to replace that missing eye right then and there while drunk as a skunk. I like laughing at my twin brother, but in the state Erynn's in, 'Rude'd probably wind up with an eyeball on his ankle.

After all that, Rachella and I find a place to go talk, which results in us falling asleep on top of each other in a drunkling, giggling heap.

* * *
Camden
* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to go to your brother's welcome back party?" I say, easing Jenny's shoulders back onto the bed.

Her nose scrunches up, pert, her mouth curling as she tries to hold back a laugh. She raises an eyebrow at me. (Her Daddy's eyebrow. Do you know how much the resemblance makes me shiver when it shows so strongly? If she were anyone else, the effect would make me lose my immediate drive to conquer.) She raises her hands, covering the round swells of her bare breasts. My heart pangs with dismay at the obscuration of two splendid artifacts of beauty. "I'd have to get back into my clothes right after you went through so much trouble taking them off for me."

Well, that settles that. I sink down into the pleasures of the evening, both of us taking such pains to keep the act quiet and concealed that, were Julia here, she'd qualify both of us for her division. After all, Jenny and I both have appetites that even the Advocate might not pardon me for sating.

* * *
'Sy
* * *

There's someone in my house. I think about it as I continue to play. The piano is, in a way, playing itself by this point. The notes always flow best when I've lost just about all of my cares. Still, I think. The thought sloshes back and forth in my brain, and I swish it back and forth a few times to taste it out. Katherine. Katherine's in my house. She's come home. That must be it, because everyone else has gone out. That's fine. I wanted the house to myself, but having Katherine around is fine. Someone to commiserate with. Someone to share the rest of the wine with.

There may not be a rest of the wine, but there are always more bottles in the kitchen, and if those run out, I can finally be arsed to replace them from the cellar's contents. This house is well-fortified with wine. In the event of a siege or apocalypse, you can damn well better be sure that I will be finely drunk, if not dead out there on some bloody battlefield. The flashes of the battlefield to come: something that's been keenly on my mind in the past day or so, and something I've tried to push back, slowly, one bottle's diameter at a time. Or length. How do you measure drunkenness? Height? I'm a very tall guy. I need several more bottles before I could stack them up and match my height. Obviously I need more. I hear a knock. I stop playing.

That's very strange. Katherine almost never knocks on the door to my study. She never has to. I turn to the door and gesture for her to enter. Then I recall that the door is still closed - my hint for that being that I can see that it's closed. I gesture again, then clear my throat. "Katherine, please come in," I say.

She opens the door, head peeking in timidly. She's so much like a cat. Always has been. She steps in, closing the door behind her. "'Sy? Where's everybody gone?"

"Lyric's at the Poet Hall with Stevane, looking after Elete's sorry ass like a good couple of Poets. Gerude went out with Erynn. Jenny's not been back but I expect she's reacquainting herself with the Armed Hall. Lute's gone off to get himself killed again in Sul, and Gerald's fool enough to go talk to you. Is he dead yet, or did he survive that conversation this time?"

Katherine pouts, looking over me. "No, I didn't hurt him this time. Much. He's gone out too. It's just you and me here." She perches on a nearby stool near the piano, an extra one in the same design of my piano stool, but made for one person. I have several. They're very nice for quiet little socials around the piano. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, her hands, ladylike, folded in her lap. She's a delicate thing, I realize. Like my tea doilies, or like Elete. I wonder why that comparison came into my head, but all the same it twists my anger at Elete into my current thoughts. Everything's so complicated. He makes nothing simple.

Katherine frowns. "I...have a lot to talk about. But what's so wrong, 'Sy? It's dark in your house. And you're..." she frowns, cutting off the observation of 'drinking a lot.'

"I'm just fine. Now. I haven't been fine for much of the day." I turn back to my piano and let a few notes ripple through it. I feel better when my hands are moving. When something's being done, even if I'm sitting still.

"Glumly doting over the piano," Katherine mutters. "'Sy? Honey? How is Elete?" In the next few moments I must make a face, because her eyebrows raise and she bites her lip. "Is he going to be alright through the night? Should I check on him?"

I shake my head. "No. He's staying put, I've seen to it."

"Ah." She studies my face for a bit longer. "Honey? What's wrong?"

I stare down at the keys. I've stopped playing. Even music reminds me of him, even though the music is mine. Should be mine. What's wrong? What isn't wrong? "There's been a slaughter in Audiva Rocale. It's being contained as best as it can. But Elete caused a bloodbath due to his insistence on working himself into exhaustion and delusion. I called him away from his Duty. I'll discuss it with Luciprochoros in the morning." I grimace, keeping my eyes on the keys, my hands drifting to them once again. My music. It sounds so lonely. Elete's accompaniment made for the sweetest duet.

Katherine gasps. "I..." She catches her breath, then continues. "'Sy, I don't know what to say. I... I really can't..." She breathes once again. "Perhaps you should think about it."

"He can't go on like this, Katherine." I'm tired. I'm whispering. "He can't continue to abuse his position like this. Too much is falling apart, and he's letting it fall apart."

"But... 'Sy. Elete is what we need right now! He's... my Father needs help from both the Armed and the Poets."

She goes silent. There's nothing but the sound of the piano. A bitter song, no sweetness at all to it. It must be my face that's quieted her. It must be quite stormy indeed.

"...'Sy?" She clears her throat, nervousness creeping into her voice. "There's a lot I have to say. It's very important. I don't think it can wait, either. Father should last the night, but if he deteriorates any further, who knows what the consequences... actually, you know exactly what consequences there will be." The steel creeps back into her voice as that thought comes to her mind.

"Of course there will be consequences, dear Katherine. They're unavoidable. There is no way to stop this bloody war. Don't you feel it? It's already happening in Sul. There's no way to contain this. Your Father was a failure and a fool, at worst a tool and most likely a willing participant in this sabotage. What good will saving him do?"

Katherine's stood up, and the whole room feels like it's on fire. I look over to her, my hands still stumbling across the keys. My Advocate's eyes are like the sun, burning as golden as my own. There's a chill going through me, like cold water being poured down the back of my shirt collar and flowing down my neck and along my spine. I actually shiver a little. I blink a bit in disbelief. Katherine's eyes haven't shifted completely to the Advocate's, but I have a feeling I'm about to face her down.

"It is my duty that he be saved. Do you truly know the consequences of him dying? Do you? You don't know what I saw in his heart when were were in the Advocate's chambers. You haven't even heard the testimony the Peacekeeper and I acquired today. You don't know the half of what's happened to him."

My brows knit together, my expression collecting itself into a glare as my piano bench scrapes slowly back. I don't so much rise as unfold. She is so tiny, and I so tall. Delicate, though, is perhaps not the proper word for her. When she can burn like she is doing now, I don't think 'delicate' works anymore. "Testimony? I tried to Judge him. You dragged him out of my Court before I could gain proper testimony. You coddled him in your own chambers. And then what did you find out? Nothing!"

She bites her lip, fists clenched at her sides, beginning to tremble with rage. "That's not true. How would you even know that? What help were you with it?"

"You disabled me from doing it in the first place! How can you dare to ask me to do anything after stepping in my way and obstructing the Law?" My voice is climbing to a roar that I barely can hear over the rushing in my own ears.

"You're an obstruction to yourself! Disabling the Poet King after trying to kill off a man before beginning to understand what's happened to him! He's so fucking messed up that Camden and I had to interrogate Cade for answers, 'Sy!"

My eyes narrow to tiny slits. Something's got up the fury in my brain. I'm not really sure what, but it's as if she's put a drop of pure vitriol into my bloodstream. "Fucking Cade, the deceiver, direct servant to Jherent Nul himself, is your key to Ebrellin-i's survival? Could you make your methods sound any more questionable?"

There's a fire in her eyes, a dangerous spark, the kind I recognize. I see it in her eyes right before she says something she shouldn't. I'll have to confess that I usually encourage that sort of outburst to happen to get the upper hand - but isn't that my job? "Do you want to know just how desperate I've been to get any edge at all, to make any advances in this without your help, 'Sy? I think you do. I think you deserve to know that I had to speak Nul-deh'le to Ebrellin-i just to get him to hear me. To advance with him at all without you helping me."

Her accusatory tone is enough to send me over the edge on its own, but then there's the question of Nul-deh'le. The tongue that few know, can even learn to begin with, because it destroys the source of the sound as it is spoken. Even thinking in the language can erase a person's thoughts or drive them to madness. The rare times it's ever been taught to Poets is to prevent them from accidentally reading or speaking it. The fact that Katherine would use that language as a ploy to salvage her worthless, wretched Father is so infuriating to me that I have to remind myself to speak. "I see. You're resorting to madness to work with a madman. Has it driven you insane yet?" I take in a deep breath. "I forbid you to work with him any further, if all you're going to do is destroy yourself and everything else in the process."

Her face is utter confusion now. "You what? Forbid me?" Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she says, "You could never do that. It's not how the balance works and you know it."

"Do you want to try and stop me?" I can't prove it, but that might be the most common set of last words to ever be uttered by anybody.

My head is knocked back, my face whipping sideways. A few moments play back in my mind, and I recall the sensation of the back of her hand smacking across my cheek. I come to that conclusion right before her hands dig into the front of my jacket and pull me downwards to eye level. She bites me.

After that, things lose all sense of coherency. I don't remember visuals. I don't remember anything else that we said. I remember the sound of thick glass breaking - the wine bottle, against my head. The echoes of more delicate, thinner glass breaking in the background. My crystal wine glass set. It flies across the study at the same time that the piano is knocked over. I feel a blaze of heat - Katherine letting loose with some concentration of her aura, but still her Arms are withheld. Fair enough; Diyn absolutely refuses to enter this room right now. My only weapon is one of the legs of the piano. Katherine opts for one of the stools. I hear paper ripping. We must migrate to a corner of the study that has my books. Wetness, the smell of wine. A bottle I didn't quite empty, and now that problem's solved. The sound of panting, then of shouting. I'm not quite sure what either of us say. I see her face, red. I feel warmth trickling down my own face. We're both bleeding, and that's at least the one thing right now that feels right about the world.

Then she leaves, and I promptly black out.

* * *
Katherine
* * *

I'm bloodied. I stalk out of his house and I'm bleeding. I'm stalking out of 'Sy's house, and I'm bleeding. Thank the gods and the heavens and all their servants that we didn't draw real weapons. Arms. Because I would have killed him.

Gevurah has the audacity to whisper that I wouldn't have, and I just tell her to shut up. My heels grind in the gravel leading to the Armed complex. It's not far. We're never far from work, after all. It's the only place to go. I can't stay in that house. Daddy's got a guest, I can tell. I don't want anyone else around if I'm gonna go stalking into his place bleeding and angry. Camden's a good ranting partner, but I can't seem to pinpoint where he is. He's quiet. Probably wants some rest. At least Gerald went out, because I don't want to run into him right now. I'd kill him, and I'm not sure now if I'd enjoy his death this time around. Didn't that first time, that's for sure.

There's Elete, but he's in fucking detention with a Poet-and-a-half watching. Fucking 'Sy. Has to ruin everything that's free and everything that might, just might, give me an upper hand in this fight. And it's not even a fight against him! Or at least it wasn't, up until just now.

I hold my hand against my arm. The office. It'll be empty. I can clean up in the tea room. I can sleep behind my desk. Wouldn't be the first time, though it's a true mark of desperation on my part. Tomorrow... tomorrow I can start doing what I can, no matter if the Judge tries to stop me. I can't let Father die. I can't let Elete lose his footing against Tesynnodai. If anything's to come out of this... damnit, I've just got to keep fighting!

I open the door to my office and stare right into the face of Bronwyn Averseen. My hair is falling into my face, and some of it is bloody. She looks up at me in shock, her quill held mid-air as a strange kitten-thing bats at it over the paperwork. A strand of hair falls in front of her nose, completing our awkward moment.

"Jhe Katherine? Hon? Are you bleeding?" She rises, breaking the moment, the kitten-thing mewling after her. I don't really remember her walking to me, just the feeling of her hands around my shoulders. She pulls me into the office, guides me into the tea room. I perceive this in little slices of moments, perfect portraits held up beside one another.

She's wiping my face when she asks me what happened.

"Nothing. 'Sy and I got into a fight. It's... nothing. He's bleeding more, that's enough." I look at the tiny thing sitting on her shoulder. "Benny, what's that?"

She starts, then looks over her shoulder. "Oh! Precia!" She reaches up and scratches the thing behind the ears. "Here." She hands the winged kitten down to me, and I cup it in my hands, instinctively stroking the fur. It responds with a purr of appreciation and settles into my lap. "Jhe h'Logos's most recent project. It's a shenanigan. Everyone gets to have one, or two, or even three, he said. Except Erynn can't have his battalion. Jhe h'Logos said that was too much trouble for even one Poet." At that, she bites her lip. I feel it too. That wave of depression at the mention of the Poet King.

Then the thing nips me on the finger, and I'm not allowed to think about that anymore.

The rest of the night goes reasonably well. I could say, in fact, that it's a lot of fun. Benny's paperwork wraps up quickly, and we proceed to her home. It's pretty far, since she doesn't live in the city, but I relish the feeling of being outside a ways. Free from all of this chaos. A little quiet, for once.

"I was hiding it from him!" Benny recounts the events in the Poet Hall from her vantage, which apparently she didn't pay much attention to, because most of the time she was trying to hide the fact that she had tucked her shenanigan right down into her ample cleavage. That it stayed quiet the entire time she was with the Judge, and that he actually looked her in the eyes and not in the chest every time she talked to him, is a testament to her skills as a Poet. Nothing else could have possibly gotten him to ignore the presence of an animal that had so humiliated him.

In fact, Benny's recounting of the shenanigans crawling all over 'Sy is so vivid that even as I fall asleep in her bed, I'm still giggling about it.

AUDIVA ROCALE, BORDER REGIONS

* * *
Lute
* * *

This carriage is moving way too fast. We should not be anywhere near Radia in this short of a time, but somehow we are. Thelea only looks smug about it, and Xen doesn't question the speed.

Then there's Aaren, who hasn't made any reaction at all to what's gone on in this carriage. He hasn't woken since Xen's return. He just lies back against the seat, his complexion pale and waxy and his face drawn and tight. As far as I can tell, he's experiencing normal sleep, but after what happened to his Arms, who knows what he's experiencing right now? Just thinking about Schiphael makes me want to jump out and get Aaren and I the hell out of here.