The Conjured and the exiles

Vespa woke the next morning with an awful hang over. Everything hurt, and the sound of horses hoof’s clattering on cobbles, drums, whistles, signing, cheers, and general chatter in the street below her rang in her head as if her skull was a bell and someone had struck it hard. She let out a sigh of relief when the cavalcade finally passed out of the city. That’s right it was the hunt today. It was too late to go now she reasoned and pulled her covers up over her head, the muscles on her back aching in protest. Had she fallen down a set of stairs or something last night, because by the god’s it felt like it!

Not quite cognizant yet it took a while for her to call to mind the previous evenings events. When they did, her recollections were hazy, and came back in no particular order. Looking at her broken nails she remembered fighting with Daen, which would explain why she felt like she had taken a tumble off her horse. It also explained why she felt like she should remember been ashamed about something; and that would have been getting caught by Lord Darcia, not long after she had confessed her undying love for him. If she had played with the idea of attending the hunt later in the day, that recollection put a final nail in that coffin, there was no way she would go out today now. Getting up she decided to first get some water, and then check what damage had been done.

Her mouth tasted fuzzy and awful. What had induced her to drink whisky, it always made her leery. She drank a glass of water tentatively, but the very idea of food was too much for her unsettled stomach. Shaking slightly she went to her mirror, under her eyes were heavy black bags, and she looked terribly sallow and worn. Fortunately save for a nasty gash above her eye Vespa’s face was unmarred by the cat fight. Touching the slightly raised cut gingerly she discovered that it was stitched closed, clinging to her fingers was some form of greasy unguent, when she smelt it she realised that someone had also treated her wound with a slave, quite an expensive one to prevent scaring. But who? She had no memory what so ever of seeing a surgeon.

Heading back to her bed room, she now took in her surroundings. There was a pitcher of fresh water already on her bedside table that she had not noticed before. And her yellow dress had been hung up neatly behind the door. Somehow Vespa did not think that she had been capable of that last night. Her memory after the fight was at best murky, and the acuteness of her hang over was leading Vespa to believe that she was perhaps mildly concussed on top of recovering from the effects of overindulging in drink. Placed above her small fire place was a small twist of paper, picking it up Vespa read through the short missive, written in a familiar bold, flamboyant scrawl.

‘I had to leave early, there’s trouble in the south. Kef will explain it to you if you ask. I want to carry on our conversation when I get back, Love V.’

Vespa supposed that the scribbled note at least cleared up who had walked her home, undressed her, and treated her cut. Settling back in to bed Vespa now noticed the faint smell still lingering to the covers that was distinctly Veione, sandalwood, leather, beeswax harness polish, sweet hay, straw and molasses. Closing her eyes and inhaling the scent she remembered Veione holding her against him as she talked. The scent, acting like a key in a lock opened the closed door of her mind and Vespa discovered more memories, reliving bits and pieces to varying degrees of mortification and disbelief.

Veione had escorted her out the back way of the plaice, trying to avoid any attention. He had chided her about getting in to such a messy state, acidly she retorted that he was hypocrite, the infamous dulling, drinking, womanising Veione Faorin, criticising her indeed, who had been the one to drag him out of bars on so many occasions? That had shut him up. They went through the stables, Vespa little more than baggage lent drunkenly on the blond captain, he dragged her in to the in the tack room, sitting her firmly down upon a blanket chest. The blond man lit a lamp, managing to burn his fingers at the same time, and cursed as he fumbled, dropping the match. In the golden light Vespa could see his expression, he was trying to look irritated, rather than anxious, but Vespa could see through his thin veneer. Veione’s true emotions never hid far below the surface, he was as clear as the lake on a sunny day.

‘You’re very pale.’ He said, then moved the carriage lamp in front of her eyes, watching her pupils dilate and contract sluggishly. ‘Bend your head forward; I want to check for lumps.’

When she did, his fingers threaded through her hair gently, he found a small bump at the back of her scalp, which made her hiss when he touched it, probably from where she had banged it against the floor, when Daen had thrown her. He sighed softly. ‘I think you have concussion.’

‘I can’t see out of my one eye.’ Vespa replied.

Veione made her sit up quickly, his blue eyes wide with panic. He almost laughed from relief when he saw what the problem was. Blood from the gash above her eye brow had trickled in to her eye; it was nothing more serous than that. ‘Come on we should get that stitched up in the infirmary.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Why not?’

‘Some one might see.’ She tried to explain. Proud as she was Vespa did not want it to be known that she had been beaten so humiliatingly by the Nhiemmean chit. Besides Veione had been right as much as she hated to admit it, it was unacceptable for a captain of Darcia’s guard to act like they were in a tavern brawl.

Veione looked at her with his blue understanding eyes. ‘It’s alright I know one very discreet healer, and we could tell him that you fell.’

‘I don’t trust the infirmary either; lots of people go in alive and come out dead.’

‘No, you still need a surgeon to stitch that closed. And the people who died were very sick to begin with, honestly you and your phobias.’

‘Veione, you could do it. I have seen you stitch your own arm before, and your leg, I remember helping you with that. You said then if I ever needed a favour doing then I should ask.’

‘Trust you to use that against me!’ He grimaced. ‘Vespa I am as pissed as an owl, it will most likely leave a scar.’

‘Not with your clever hands.’ She smiled unfocusedly up at him, in an ungainly attempt at flirtation.

‘Fine, but don’t lie this at my door when you sober up in the morning. You know what I am like at my cups, and you are the one who pestered me in to do this.’

‘I promise.’ She replied trying for sobriety.

‘Wait here I will be back in a moment.’ He informed her, taking the lamp with him. Alone in the dark Vespa began to slip in to sleep, she was drowsing by the time that Veione returned a box in his hand, and a bowl of water. He petted her cheek, ‘Vespa, you can’t sleep yet.’

‘But I’m tired.’

‘No, stay awake.’ He insisted cruelly, crouching down to get at the wound. He dabbed her eye with a damp cloth rinsing the blood from her eye, the cleaning the gash itself. ‘Tell me what happed tonight?’

Vespa began a drifting account of her exploits that evening. Veione hadn’t really been listening; concentrating on threading a small curved needle with fine gut instead. It was slippery in his non sober, calloused fingers, but finally it was done. At his first attempted push the needle in to her skin the needle just slid across her skin, The awkward way in which he was sat was not helping the situation.

‘Get up.’ He ordered abruptly. Vespa paused open mouthed in her description of Lady Godolphin’s dress did so,with laden obedience, like an old dog. Sitting down on the box himself Veione then invited her to lay her head upon his lap.

She laughed.’ I have heard that one before.’

‘Vespa, I assure you I am not hitting on you. I have to sew your wound up remember.’

She sighed and lay down as he requested on his lap. The muscles of his legs were warm and solid beneath her. His sky blue eyes gazed down at her, full of concern. ‘You know it might be better off for both of us if you did hit on me.’

‘You say that now, but in the morning if you find out that I have so much as touched you I expect you will demand my head on a platter.’ Veione replied ruefully as he took up the needle and thread. ‘At least you’re a bit befuddled, so this wont hurt as bad as it could do.’ He moved the lamp. ‘That’s better I can see what I’m doing now.’ He mumbled as he dabbed away some of the welling blood. Vespa hadn’t made as much as a peep while he worked, though she had shuddered at every stitch, sweat braking out across her forehead. He worked carefully, not quickly. Finally it was over and she let out a long sigh of relief. ‘Not, bad.’ He commented on his own work. Leaning down, so his chest was almost pressed against her face, filling her nose with his masculine sent, he rummaged around for his box. From it he took out a small pot of unguent, applying a liberal smear to her now closed gash.

They remained like that for a while, Veione idly toying with her hair. It had been a long time since they had been like this. When she had been his page she often laid her head on Veione’s lap, while he plated her hair, or combed it for lice. She to would return the favour, but he would sit in his chair, usually buy the fire, so his features were cast in a red glow. He would close his eyes and lean his head back in bliss, as she would comb his shoulder length wheat straw mane, bright as spun gold. ‘I think I should take you home.’ Veione finally said when the chill of the earning began to effect both of them, Vespa almost protested, but in truth she longed for her deep mattress.

They made slow but steady progress through the empty darkling streets. Vespa fumbled finding her key, hidden on a ledge above the door. Veione helped her, practically carrying her in to her bed room. Vespa tugged at her dress, unashamed of her nakedness, to drunk still to care that Veione had not yet left the room. ‘Vespa, hold on a second, wait until I’m at least….’

Vespa managed to get the yellow gown stuck over her head, trying to yank it off without first undoing most of the lacing. With an undignified ‘Oomph.’ She fell to the floor.

‘Oh for the love of the gods!’ The blond captain exclaimed, exasperated. ‘Stay still, your trussing yourself up like a chicken squirming about like that!’ Kneeling down next to her and with expert knowledge gleaned from many trysts, he had her out of the dress in moments. There was no article of female clothing that could defeat him. It was joked that Veione could undo a woman’s stay laces with his leterous eyes alone. Vespa didn’t know about that, but she had seen that he could certainly do it with just his teeth. Hanging the expensive garment up carefully he then helped the prone scout captain up. Bruises marred her tawny skin, he regarded them carefully. ‘Vespa what was that all about? It’s not like you to lose your rag like that.’

‘I have already told you.’

‘I want listening properly.’

‘It’s a long story.’ Vespa protested.

Veione shrugged. ‘I have time to hear it now. We used to be friends once I seem to recall. There didn’t used to be anything that you didn’t know about me, or I about you.’

Vespa grabbing a blanket to protect herself from the cold, then went and sat on the edge of her bed. ‘That’s what I thought to. But nothing stays the same forever.’

‘I miss you.’ He admitted.

‘I haven’t gone anywhere.’ She pointed out.

He scratched his head. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

Vespa let her eyes rest on his hansom face, his light brown brows frowning slightly. She was almost impatient. ‘So tell me what you did mean Veione.’

Veione came and sat beside her, a hands breadth away. He turned his face to hers. ‘I miss how you and I used to be.’

Looking down, unable to hold his earnest gaze she replied softly. ‘So do I.’ he slipped an arm around her shoulder, letting her lean in to his body, tucking her head under his chin. And so when he asked to here her version of the nights events she told him, in all its woeful drunken details. She then went on to tell him about her reasons for despising Daen, thin reasons, but she told them with the truthful earnestness of the intoxicated. Veione did not go quiet however until she started talking about Darcia, the more she talked the more he stiffened up. She did not however stop her prattling, trying to analyse her own motives even though as tired as she was she began to wind down her sentences drifting off focus. ‘I think that when you were not interested in me I looked for a way to make you jealous, so I looked at Lord Darcia, then in time it just became an infatuation, it never mattered really until he came back with that girl who looks just like me, then it became a competition…’

‘Wait, Vespa, you were trying to make me jealous?’ Veione interrupted suddenly.

‘Hmm? Oh, yes, at the time. But it didn’t work.’ She said, forgetting who’s company she was in. Glancing up she saw that Veione was looking back at her incredulously. His blue yes wide as she had ever seen them.

‘Vespa, it did work, perhaps better than you know.’

‘I’m so sleepy.’ Vespa smiled dreamily.

Veione chuckled. ‘I suppose we can pick this conversation up in the morning.’ He helped her in to her narowish bed, taking off his boots and coat to join her. Leaning over he meant to kiss her cheek, but she turned her head at the last moment and his lips met her mouth. His eyes opened wide for a second in shock, but when her hand came to gently rest on the back of his neck, coxing the blond haired man to open to her, and he did, opening his mouth as she did hers, slipping his tongue in to her welcoming cavern, to gently explore. Like a wave he retreated, with a sigh of contentment he then settled down, letting Vespa use his shoulder as a pillow. The rest had been short lived as there came a sudden and loud knocking at the door, and the shout of a young voice. ‘Captain Veione, there is an urgent message for you!’

‘Hold on a minuet.’ Veione shouted in response. Vespa was drifting in the foggy gray aria between sleep and wakefulness; she barely noticed when Veione left. Now in the morning she wished she had been paying more attention. She supposed all she could do was wait to see if Veione meant carry on what they started, because she would be dammed if she would be the one chasing him! Another ting she didn’t want to admit, she was afraid of rejection, afraid that he would turn her down once again.


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Leoff was glad to be back at their base, back in to a routine. In his tried and tested fashion he threw himself in to his work so that he did not need to think about anything, least of all how he felt about the new information he had on his friend. Laying in bed, the blankets tightly warped around him he feigned sleep when Vas entered. His booted feet seemed loud in the pitch black, Leoff having closed the shutters on purpose, so that he didn’t have to see his friend, nor Vas see him. Leoff stiffened as he felt the bed shift when Vas sat on it to undress. Leoff let out a breath that he was unconsciously holding chiding himself as a fool, Vas had never done anything to make him distrust him, yet here Leoff was, as tense as someone who suspected to be stabbed in the back.

Vas settled on his side of the bed. If he noticed that Leoff did not sling his arm over him as he was custom to do he did not voice it. Leoff’s body protested at the stiff way he was sleeping, laying on his side, his back turned to Vas, as far across the bed as he could manage without falling out. ‘Good night.’ Vas said softly.

Leoff twitched startling a little at the voice which seemed to close to him. He forced himself to relax. So far he reasoned he had seen no signs that Vas was…well was not entirely straight only what Que had told him. Que could have been wrong, after all Vas might not have been with any women, but neither had he been with any men to Leoff’s knowledge. So perhaps Que had been mistaken after all? The easiest way to find out would have been to ask Vas himself, but even in the comforting anonymity of the dark he could not find the courage to ask.

A week passed, and Leoff began to forget what Que had said. In the long run it didn’t matter, Vas never made him feel ill at ease apart from what his own imagination conjured up, and he began to relax again in the company of his closest friend, no longer trying to second guess his actions. However that was to change when a new recruit was drafted on to his team, a young man named Blake also from the mining towns in the Cawmawr just as Vas was.

Leoff as lieutenant went to process him, filling in the necessary forms. Leoff sunk a glance at the man when ever he could. The new recruit Blake sitting across from him looking about the room with idle curiosity. He had dark hair and black eyes as was typical to those of the mines, older than Leoff, probably closer in age to Vas, he also looked strangely familiar, but Leoff could not place the resemblance until they came across Vas as he went to show the recruit where his bunk was.

‘Blake?!’ Vas stopped mid stride, his eyes wide and startled.

‘Vas?!’ The new recruit spluttered. Immediately a wide smile, like the sun barking from the clouds spread across both men’s faces, and they literally jumped in to each others arms and burst in to exited strings of Clodden, the miners own dialect that was to fast for Leoff to follow.

Leoff stood feeling slightly abandoned, like driftwood left up the beach as he watched the two men chatter away. What exactly was going on? As if sensing his confusion Vas pulling away from the other dark haired man’s grip smiled back at the bemused younger man and answered the unasked question. ‘Leoff, Blake is my cousin; we grew up together back home.’

‘I see.’ Leoff said without emotion.

‘Blake this is Loeff Sheld my friend, I told you about him in my letters.’ Vas introduced them.

‘That you did.’ Recognition blossomed in Blake’s eyes, and he looked at Leoff more closely, flashing him a very white knowing grin, that made Leoff distinctly uncomfortable, as did the knowledge that Blake already knew something of him, where as he knew nothing of Blake.’

‘Well since you know him Vas, you should go show him where everything is and I can get back to my regular duties.’ Leoff said, he couldn’t get away from them quick enough. Vas watched his retreating back with puzzlement.

What happened later Leoff was not particularly proud of. However when he was coming back from the stables he overheard soft conversation above him on the battlements. Usualy he would have passed by without hesitation, however he recognised the soft, rich tone of one of the voices. Curiosity naming on him Leoff pressed himself flat against the wall and inched closer to them, hiding in the deep shadows. Listening carefully he began to translate the heavy dialect, understanding more and more as the conversation progressed.

‘Blake how come you left, I never expected to see you as a ….well to see you anywhere outside Carwmawr that is.’

‘I guess I have always had middle child syndrome. Father was hardly going to miss me amongst the other lads. What’s your excuse Vas?’

‘ Black sheep, that’s me.’ Vas laughed.

‘I remember. Black sheep indeed. So what about that young Leoff then, your letters hardly do him justice, he is a very good looking lad. Bit stiff. But its no wonder you like him, I herd you two even share a bed.’

‘It’s not like that.’ Vas said exasperated, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

‘Then what is it like?’

‘It’s difficult for me,’ Vas replied, ‘its not hard for him, because he knows so little about it.’

‘He doesn’t know?’

‘I don’t think he wants to know. Perhaps he suspects…..well actually I’m certain he suspects now. But he chooses not to bring it up, he is like that. I suspect that’s one of the reasons I care for him so much.’

‘How do you cope?’

‘Oh, it’s alright, I treat him like one of my younger brothers, in many respects he reminds me of them; always needing looking after, even when he doesn’t want to admit it. And for now I’m happy just to leave it that way.’

‘You know sharing your time so particularly with him may leave you both open to accusations. I never knew you to be so careless.’

‘The other men know, for the most part they don’t seem to mind. There was one incident with a young man named Pall, but a few of the other men stood up for me, much to my surprise I might add, since then there hasn’t been any trouble. Oh, they tease me, but it’s good natured.’

‘I meant what happens if they tease him?’

‘Oh, I never thought of that.’ Vas sounded taken a back. ‘I suppose it depends upon what kind of mood they catch him in.’

Shame faced Leoff moved away quietly. He felt scalded. First that Vas would talk of him in such detail to another, and if Leoff had more experience with his emotions he would have realised that much of this was jealousy, jealousy that Vas had other, older friends, who knew more about him than him, who might have supplanted him. Leoff realised that there was a grate deal about his friend that he did not know. True it had never occurred to him to ask, but he had told Vas as much about himself as he could bear to part with, he thought that it had been reciprocated. A few things are as brittle as a young man’s dignity. And so he retreated as swiftly as he could, Vas was just another false hope, another empty promise of companionship. ‘I’m an Idiot, I have always been alone, and I had best get used to that, a curse that comes with my Nheimmen blood, father told me that years ago.’

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Daen stood with a colourful red shawl about her shoulders. She had managed to sneak up on to the city battlements; by a way that Veione had shown her. Thick fog covered the landscape, so that below her the mountains liked like a shore line, with a sea of cloud licking at the dark shore. It had begun to snow, huge white flakes which wafted down with the nightfall. She peered in to the gathering darkness, and the thickening snow fall, but didn’t expect to see much, the road below her, even the grate lake was obscured from view. Only the occasional tree top could be seen, revelled for a moment or two where the mists swirled thinner briefly.

She brought her fingers up to touch the safora band that graced her neck once again. In the cold of the deepening eve the usually body warmed metal was uncomfortably cool against her skin. Lord Darcia had managed to sneak it back around her neck while she was made witless by his parting kiss. She had let out a muffled exclamation of annoyance and disbelief against his lips when he clicked the band shut about her neck.

‘Of all the rotten, dirty…’

He kissed her again, chuckling in to it. Drawing back with a smile, that she was sourly tempted to slap off his face, he replied. ‘It’s for you own good.’ Now she could smile at the memory, seeing the humour in it as much as the band’s presence vexed her.

Two nights, and nearly three day’s the group had been away. Of course the day of the hunt, the absence of Darcia and two of his captains had been commented on. However a glance from Kef has shut up any of the soldiers who may have talked. Unfortunately, as Daen predicted captain Tann’s strict policy of absolute silence only made people the more curious, and the more prying, and rumours spread like wild fire that something was amiss. He would have been better off allowing some information out, something plausible, that there had been some disruption with a border fort, and that the captain’s and Darcia had gone to meet out swift discipline. Daen and the black bearded captain had argued over this issue, surprisingly Captain Vespa had taken her part in the debate, agreeing that the nobles should be told something, least distrust be sown. In the end they had to agree to disagree.

During the hunt Daen had found herself at the focus of grate interest, and not just from young suitors, but the head’s of the noble houses. The morning had been a rushed affair, and cutting through plaice Daen had managed to accidently disturb a young girl who was playing the harp in the grate hall, with wide doe eyes the girl skittered off, but Daen didn’t have time to call her back and apologise, she did however manage to find out her name, Malory Hobin. The hunt itself started with a procession of bells, drums, music, and general gayety as the towns folk that were not joining in directly watched the horses and hounds go by. Daen expecting a good gallop was sorely disappointed however as person after person sought her out.

Though not terribly familiar with imperial politics, Daen as a member of one of the Helge families had been brought up in what was Nheim’s equivalent of a court. She understood intrigue, to survive she had to. Daen knew how to play the game, of coarse that didn’t necessarily mean she was very good at it; After all she had lost in Nheim thinking her position within the Helge would save her, she had been wrong, and it had cost her everything. Since then she had tried to avoid anything even vaguely political like the plague. However she found that experience and insight in to political mechanisms were proving very useful in dealing with Darcia’s nobles.

Daen realised very swiftly that Darcia and his vassals were perhaps not all in the best of humours with each other. There seemed to be three distinct camps, those who supported there duke without reserve, those who hated him but were cowered, and those sitting on the fence. It seemed that quite a few of the nobles if not directly harbouring some form of grievance with her lord, distrusted him. It was strange, as the town officials practically worshiped Lord Darcia. A few well placed questions however told Daen everything that she needed to know. It seemed that in Darcia’s turbulent and convoluted past, had acted somewhat vindictively and capaciously towards his nobility. The question was why? When Daen asked, it seemed to be the subject upon which most people fell in to an embarrassed silence, though it seemed to be a mater of punitive vengeance. The Nehmian woman resolved to ask her lord about it when he returned.

Surprisingly many of the nobles sought Daen out during the hunt, complementing her seat, and generally lavishing attention upon her. Instinct warned Daen that it was not for its own sake, they sought her as another contact to Darcia. This has struck Daen as odd at first, after all why would a native vassal need to seek the support of a foreign woman to bend the ear of their own lord? Through the day she began to appreciate that as Darcia’s official sybilla, she was perceived to be one of his chief advisors, a fact that Darcia had conveniently omitted to inform her of. This knowledge as heady as it was unsettling, and it sat uneasily with the young woman. Was she really a suitable person for such a role? Unable to find a good way to convince the nobles her position was far less important than they thought she was forced to play the part, and apparently she had done it well, as all of a sudden she found herself as the head of proceedings before she quite knew what was happening and could put a stop to it.

On returning from the hunt, all Daen wanted to do was cast herself down on her bed. This however was not to be, there was the feast to attend to, and she presumed to be acting in proxy of Darcia had to get there early to talk to a few nobles who sought an ‘informal’ audience with the sybilla. The young woman suddenly discovered why she had seen so little of her lord at the ball the previous night, throughout the hunt she had been forced to talk to people, reining her restive little mare in, and having to forgo the sport. The feast she realised would most likely be more of the same. The thought was depressing. A maid from yesterday, looking a little worse for ware came and helped her change, dressing her hair, which was post hunting windswept and interesting at best. Avis’s comment along the lines of dragged through a hedge backwards was probably closer to the mark. However the maid worked what Daen could have only described as a miracle on her hair.

It was in the time before dinner that Daen discovered about the rumours circulating about her lord’s absence. With no official explanation, and no comment from the household staff other than awkward, or hostile silences people had made free with there imaginations. Daen suddenly realised that she had perhaps underestimated the level of distrust between some of Darcia’s vassals and the noble himself, as one of the rumours that Daen overheard was the fearful suspicion that lord Darcia had left with his captains and a few crack men to attack the homes of the less favoured nobles while no one was there to oversee a proper defence, the land would then be give over to the men he rose up from the dust, just as the townships rose up. With none of their men attending them here, they were helpless to resist and could be held hostage at any time. Over Dinner Daen realised that somehow the gossip had to be halted.

During the feast staying sat in her place she was not forced to talk to a constant stream of people, tying herself in to knots trying to match faces to names. Praying to all the Gods that she knew not to offend anyone buy getting their names or titles wrong. Lady Alistair sat at her right, keeping up a constant stream of chatter, about the interworking of the Marchadians, the who is who, and who’s related to who, things that Daen realised would be very useful, and she began to formulate a plan.

After Dinner Daen once more passed close to two nobles discussing Darcia’s absence quietly amongst themselves. Daen made no attempt to fain that she had not herd the conversation, and so offering the one noble a glass of wine she laughed, in her most disarming way, ‘If he has gone to war, then he is very foolish forgetting his armour!’

‘He was not wearing his armour?’ Lord Hobin, one of the men asked as one surprised.

‘No, he dressed to travel this morning.’ Daen said innocently, ‘And he rode his Courser, for I saw his war horse Gunnar was still in the stables this morning. So I wouldn’t worry.’ She put a thoughtful finger to her chin. ‘He said something about some disturbance in the mountains.’ She shrugged, blinking her eyes. ‘No, I just can’t remember what it was exactly, so I don’t expect it was that serious.’

The sandy haired men looked, in part bewildered, and dubious, but she could see that their conviction in their shaky accusations was wavering. Daen knew better than trying to convince them in earnest, it would only cause more suspicion; instead she sought to distract them. This time between the feast and nightfall was dangerous territory; she needed to find a way to entertain her guests, all the while wondering when they had become her responsibility. Looking over at the crowed she sought to connect names to faces, and then looking at the corner of the room she hit on a perfect distraction. As well as her Nhemian pipes, Daen had been educated to a standard of reasonable proficiency on the harp. A skill, like dancing and calligraphy was one of the things that all women of the Helge were expected to master in some form.

Throwing back the dust cover, Daen revealed the elegant sweep of the harp. She ran her fingers over the gentle curve of its polished wooden column. It was larger than the one she had played in Nheim but she didn’t suppose that it mattered overly much. Carefully she selected a simple, but beautiful peace, one that she had known since she was a child, but would be easy to play with her unpractised fingers, on an unfamiliar instrument. As she had predicted people turned to listen, she smiled to herself, probably out of politeness, however when she finished the crowd clapped, and she bowed her head in acknowledgement. As she had planed another young woman took her place at the harp directly afterwards.

Moving over to Lady Hobin she smiled. ‘I have heard that your daughter Malory is an exultant harpist, I would love to hear her play.’

Lady Hobin beamed in pleasure. The matriarch as Daen had correctly assumed wanted nothing more than an occasion to show case her daughter, whose shyness had been blighting her social advancement, or any matches that might come her way. Reflected glamour from the new sybilla would perhaps mark her out. Daen’s motives however were not entirely philanthropic. Lord Hobin was one of the more anxious nobles, he also was one of the more sensible ones, and if she could win him by befriending his daughter then the potentially damaging rumours would probably just stay as empty gossip.

‘You may have trouble convincing her; she is lamentably timid aren’t you dear!’ Lady Hobin said, pushing the girl forwards towards Daen before turning her attention to another conversation.

Daen took the mousey girls hand and pulled her out of her mother’s ear shot, she could not have been more than sixteen summers old, and looked at Daen with wide brown eyes as if Daen might eat her. Daen smiled in her most enveloping of ways and moved conspiratorially close to the young Malory. ‘I confess, I need to apologise to your for disturbing your practice earlier. I hoped to talk to you at the hunt, but I was somewhat waylaid and could not find you in the press.’

‘I was right at the back of the field.’ Malory explained her cheeks tinged pink with shame.

‘Well not everyone can be at the front.’

The mousy haired girl bit her lip. ‘Mother says I should try to be a bit bolder.’

‘I would guess that out door sports are not your favourite activity.’ Daen chuckled gaining some insight on the poor little mouse.

‘Oh, no I very much…’ the girl looked stricken; she glanced at her mother, checking to see if she had seen.

‘Don’t worry I wont tell your mother.’ Daen assured her. ‘Outdoor sports are not for every one.’

Malory looked up her with unguarded gratitude and relief. Daen took a closer look at the girl. She was dressed in what Daen supposed to be the height of fashion. Only on the young girl it suited her not. The pale pink dress which would have looked charming on a girl with gold hair, made Malory look washed out, like an old doll with a new dress on. The cut of the gown to was all wrong for the young woman, it was a dress that was designed to make her look more womanly, but coltish with youth, Malory ended up looking like lamb dressed up as mutton. Daen suspected it was a gown made to the mother’s specifications, in an attempt to make her wall flower of a daughter stand out more, unfortunately the effect was if you painted a pansy, spoiling the natural charm of the plant with artifice. ‘So what sort of things do you enjoy?’

The girl’s eyes brightened a little. ‘Reading, collecting flowers, sewing, and painting, there are some lovely views around here, I hoped to bring my paint set but mother…’

‘Ah… well if you want to paint I’m sure we could find you some.’

‘Oh no, I’m not allowed you see!’ The girl gasped, dousing the hope that had been kindled in her expression if for only for a fleeting moment. ‘Mother would be most upset if she found out that I went off on my own when I was supposed to be making friends.’

‘Then come with me on my morning ride. You can paint then. And your mother need know nothing about it.’

‘My lady you are to kind…’

‘Oh don’t attribute me with to much kindness yet. I myself want to spend some time away from the press of people. So what do you say?’

Malory lowered her eyes and nodded her head in a slight curtsy, ‘Thank you my lady.’

‘Oh and it’s not my lady it’s Daen.’

‘Daen’ the girl parroted, her tongue tripping over the unfamiliar word.

‘So how about you playing that harp?’ Daen asked hopefully.

Daen only felt a little bad about gently bullying the quiet creature in to playing, or rather tricked, as Daen using a trick that Darcia often used on her managed to get the girl in the position that she would have to play else lose face. She accompanied her up to the dais and stayed close, giving as much support as she could. ‘Close your eyes, imagine you are alone in the room’ She advised Malory whose playing was suffering from a good deal of nervousness. But once she settled the music came from the harp like shiny beads string along silver thread, lovely and bright. Truthfully the girl was a far more accomplished harpist than Daen could ever have hoped to have been, indeed many of the women in the room’s ears were tuned with envy, it was just a pity that he girl did not believe in it herself. And for once lady Hobin beamed with pride at her timid offspring.

Daen had thought that she would dread seeing Vespa the next morning, but kept as busy as she was she had not spared the woman she had bested a thought. In fact it was not until she spotted her stained dress still discarded on the floor that she realised that she had not seen hide nor hair of the woman all day. She was not relieved to see Vespa at the meal as much glad to check one more thing off her mind. She did not see the captain again until Kef asked to have a word with Daen, she had found Vespa sitting in a chair, ignoring Daen’s presence in the room apparently. Captain Tann didn’t beat about the bush, he came right out and berated Daen for her infraction on his rule of silence. After a while Daen began to feel like a child been scolded by her father, however she didn’t feel the least bit apologetic, sure that she had taken the best course, and defending her actions told the grim captain all she had overheard. As expected Kef had no answer, other than they should wait until Darcia returned and had the answers. Much to Daen’s surprise Vespa agreed with her, that something needed to be done before any more rumours started. However arguing against Kef was much like arguing with a bear it got you no where, the dark haired man had decided and that was it.

‘Loyal, but bloody pig headed!’ Vespa groused once the other captain left the room. Daen paused in her stride, shocked that Vespa would be talking to her so civilly after the previous night. ‘So what do we do?’

‘We?’ Daen asked incredulously.

‘Yes we, since Captain Tann is not going to do anything that leaves you and me.’ Vespa sighed, her murky green eyes meeting Daen’s, stair for stair. ‘It’s not that I like you, I still don’t. But something needs to be decided upon. And you seem to have a talent for this sort of thing.’

Vespa was right of course, not that it put Daen in a more charitable mood with her adversary, she supposed for the sake of Darcia’s dukedom she could put squabbling aside. ‘Fine, I suppose we will have to work together.’

And so ensconced in the library Vespa and Daen hatched a plot between themselves. Daen would not have been surprised if someone had told her that pig’s had been seen flying that evening so surreal it felt to her. Still concentrating on the job in hand they decided to would write an official document, explaining Darcia’s absence, using Daen’s explanation of a disturbance at a fort, Vespa would sign it, that way Darcia himself would not be involved, and if the information was false, they could blame a simple mistake, based on poor information. Heading to bed Daen noticed that a few of the nobles had their own guards posted at their doors, confirming her theory that they grew more suspicions; hopefully the missive might elevate that.

The notice ad perhaps come too late to arrest suspicions completely, however they helped a little. Daen was glad that by the time Capatin Tann found out about them she was sitting under a tree, enjoying a brunch of cheese and bread, watching Malory paint the lake. It was nice to be away from it all, just sitting outside away from it all. Malory was a wonderfully quiet companion, which was just what Daen needed, time to ponder. Too much had been happening to quickly the last few months, when she looked at the path she had travelled Daen did not recognise her old self’s, the girl who lived in a cave village, the Daen who was part of the Helge, the young woman engaged to be married, the stupidly curious girl who thought she wouldn’t be caught using magic, the Daen who was exiled, the cursed, the healer, the captive. What was she now?

It was that same last thought had brought her up on to the battlements to look over the scenery, the fog having roiled in about lunch time shrouding much of it. I’m changing she thought. She felt like how the caterpillar must feel just before it bursts out of its cocoon, the restrictions she had put on herself were too confining, and a new part of her was ready to burst forth, a new Daen, the Daen that could have been if she had not been damaged so. Breathing in the cool air she lifted her face to the sky, letting cold flakes dust her face. It was a strange kind of peace, she had found, the knowledge that her broken wings had just needed time to heal, when she had previously thought that they never would.

From somewhere below them horn announced the delayed arrival of Darcia and his cavalcade. Daen wondered what Darcia would think of the changes in her, something told her that he would be pleased, after all he was the was the conductor who orchestrated them. She waited on the battlements for a while, biding her time until she could hear them come close before she scurried down her secret way, clambering down a roof top or two, trying not to slip in the snow, before running to greet her dark lord at the gate.



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a/n; Thank you for your reviews, Alicat1194, Solitude, and Kynrael, they really useful, and are defiantly helping on occasion when I’m not sure in which direction I want a character to go.


Luinil_Telcontar, I’m really honoured that you want to promote this story on your forum! I forgot to say thank you before, so here it is a bit late. (And I hope you enjoyed your time in England, including are infamously wet weather!)


Also thank you to anyone reading this in genral!