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
* * *