Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright© 2013-2015 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Jaden and her friends spend an evening among the high society of the elven city of Ral Sona. Some are more prepared than others for what it entails, and some surprises occur along the way.

Flashback: The Winterheart cousins head out with the warriors of Strom on one of their first real voyages

---

Chapter 27: Dance of Memories

WINTERHEARTS

The waves splashed against the side of the longship as the men struggled with the oars. With the weather having taken a turn for the worse, it was all they could do to stay on course. Another wave crested at starboard side, pushing ever more of the ocean into their vessel, caught almost like driftwood in a powerful undertow.

“Blasted sea!” An oarsman wiped some of the spray out of his face, his beard hanging limp and wet. “Shaman! Can you do nothing about this before we all drown like rats?”

A huge man turned to the side as he was hunched over between the benches. Each of his hands clutched a small stone that glowed with magical power. Despite his size, he could have been no more than twenty years old. Man enough for a beard, but still untested in battle. The shamans of the clan were kept apprenticed for a long time, whereas a warrior would be allowed alongside his brethren as soon as he could swing his blade and carry his shield.

“I can only do so much, Orek. Do you wish for me to cease draining the bilgewater, or release my homing spirit and have us navigate by the stars?” The young magician shouted to be heard over the crashing of the sea.

“Are you daft, man? There are no stars during the day!” As much as a darkly overcast morning like this could be called day.

“Stop whining, and keep rowing!” The chief roared at the men. He stood by the prow, holding himself upright with an arm around the carved dragonhead rising up in the front.

There was no denying the misfortune of going against the elder shaman’s advice. Before heading out that day, the chief had asked his old friend to read the bones and tell him about their future. The older man had told him to stay the voyage for a full moon, else he would set in motion what would lose the clan their greatest treasure. The chief had thought long about what to make of the warning. His daughters were all married off, and the shield of his grandfather was kept safe next to the throne. Delaying a whole month would only make them seem scared and weak in the eyes of the other clans. No, the Winterhearts had always been the first out of the harbours as soon as spring melted the ice.

“Chief! Flotsam at port side! I can… yes, I see a mast!” Younger than the shaman by a handful of years at least, the boy pointed into the drizzling rain at whatever he had seen.

“Aye, chief! Wreckage by the reef.” Torulf, a seasoned warrior, confirmed what the boy had seen. The scars on his face had done nothing to cloud the keenness of his eyes.

Their leader chewed his lip for a brief moment. The possibilities of loot weighed against the risk of attempting to secure it. In the end, bravery won out against caution.

“Men! Reverse oars!” He called out against the wind. “Shaman! Sound out the depth! Find us a safe passage as close to the shipwreck as possible!”

The young shaman took a deep breath. Since they wouldn’t be traveling further for a while yet, navigation wasn’t necessary. He tried to shut out the noise of the men and the sea, and focused on the whispering of the spirits around him. The ghost ravens that circled around the boat dissipated into the ether. Magic had never come easy to him. He had always been strong. In a contest of arcane might, none of the other apprentices could hold out against him. But their shaman tradition required finesse, something he lacked. Whenever he beckoned the spirits of the land, it felt as if he was walking on eggshells. It felt like he couldn’t use his strength. It made him feel weak and useless.

His call into the spirit world finally brought something back from the deep. A wet and dark sensation whispered what he needed to know.

“Let me take the tiller, chief. I can take us there,” he rumbled loud enough for the leader to hear.

“Take your cousin with you, Kellen,” the chief replied. “He can hold it when you need to do your… magic things.”

It was a slow and careful process taking the longship through whatever underwater hazard had destroyed the other ship. The warriors strained against their oars, arms and backs soaked more by sweat than from the rain. The two young men at the back kept the ship on a true course, and after what felt like forever they finally anchored themselves closely by the wreckage.

By this time, the rain had almost completely stopped, and though the sky remained dark they could see the strange design of the other ship.

“This is no Albander galleon. Look at the base of those masts! And how shape of the hull!” The men murmured amongst themselves. It was a ship unlike what most of them had seen before.

“It’s an elf trireme,” Torulf growled with suspicion.

“But how? The pointy ears have no ports on this side of the…” Orek trailed off as the truth hit him. “They went… around? They went over the far north?”

“That’s madness. There’s nothing but ice and sea serpents beyond the frozen fields,” one of the other men said, staring at the wreckage as if it was something his mind was making up.

“Talking about it will not do us any good. Eigar, take the shaman over there and see if it is intact enough for us to search. Elven ships must carry riches, especially if they went this far.” The chief leaned on a leg propped against the side of the ship as he addressed the men, singling out one of the craftier ones in the bunch by name. This could prove a most profitable day indeed. Maybe the elder shaman was losing his touch with the spirit? If they had waited longer, this wreckage would have been taken by the sea entirely.

“Chief! Can I go along?” The young man next to the shaman spoke. “I promised my aunt I would keep him safe. A Winterheart doesn’t go back on a promise.”

“True enough. Alright, Stann. Try to keep your cousin from drowning himself.” The chief smiled against the wind. While remarkable of strength and size, Kellen was also remarkably clumsy and managed to trip over himself even on the best of days.

“Thanks chief!” The young warrior smiled, and slapped the larger man next to him on the shoulder. “Come along, ugly! Let’s find some elf treasures!”

The Northmen uneasily stepped over the railing and onto a section of the stone reef that had torn out the bottom of the trireme; their minds full of what wonders might wait for them among the wreckage.

Drops of water splashed against the pebbled path as the large rune seeker wrung the water out of his sleeveless shirt. To his credit, the archer hadn’t said anything when Kellen had managed to stumble on a lily pad shaped stepping stone and fallen into the small streams that crisscrossed the city. Rhyce had also not offered to help the Northman up, either. He had just stood by and watched it all happen, no expression on his face.

The rune seeker hadn’t really planned where they were going. He had just asked the archer to help him with a task, and then headed out in a random direction along a path of yellow flowers. By the time Rhyce had realised it had all been a ruse they were far from the inn.

A part of Kellen was curious about how the elves must see the two of them as they passed through the winding ways of the sylvan city. Did they simply see a blundering Northman with a grim borderlander at his side, or did they look beyond the surface to see the magician and hunter instead? Either way, the elves did react to them as the strange pair passed them by. Conversations quieted down, eyes followed them. Those calm, elven eyes. Some even stepped to the side, as if afraid the big rune seeker would simply go through them rather than around. Still, he didn’t feel as self-conscious as he had while visiting the finer parts of Etrana last year. There were no fragile glasswork to break, or tapestries to tear; here there was just nature, living alongside people.

A patrolling group of elven guardians, holding their swordlances in a relaxed stance, kept looking their way as the two of them crossed a small plaza. Kellen noted absently how heavy their armour looked. Somehow he had always had the idea that elves would fight swiftly and light. At least, that was what the history books said about the many wars between the North and Alband, where the southern country sometimes called upon their elven allies to defend themselves against Kellen’s ancestors.

Two of the guardians, veterans by the look of their armour and sashes, watched them intently. No, watched Rhyce intently. The rune seeker’s ears were nowhere near as sharp as the archer’s, but he managed to make out a few words. Lamtar. Lamtar calon.

By his side, Rhyce was looking increasingly stiff, clenching his jaw and keeping his eyes focused on wherever they were going. He didn’t seem to acknowledge the whispering, but his body language spoke loud enough. He had heard. Then again, this was Rhyce. Rhyce always heard.

"So," Kellen began, awkwardly. He scratched the back of his neck. "This is my first time in Ral Sona. Have you been here before, my friend?"

"Yes," Rhyce muttered out between gritted teeth.

"That's nice. Ah. Did you come across anything interesting while you were here?" The rune seeker wasn’t much for smalltalk either, but one of them clearly had to pull this weight.

"No. Passed through. Just long enough to keep a promise." The archer’s left hand twitched slightly, and he closed it into a fist.

"Hmm. Now, my elvish isn't as good as I want it to be, but lam tar means 'dark point', or perhaps... 'black thorn', doesn't it?" Kellen eyed the dark bow slung across the archer's back.

"Don't go there, Kellen," Rhyce warned his friend.

"Do we need to know something about your previous visit?" The large Northman began to feel a little concerned. A quick look over his shoulder showed that the guardians were still by the plaza they had left behind on their stroll.

"No." The reply was as curt as the man who spoke it.

"Because if it'll end up becoming an issue later on, we need to be prepared for-" Kellen began.

"Won't be." Rhyce interrupted the magician.

"That's good. Still, if some of those guardians come knocking on our door and start asking questions-"

"They can't. There are... old rules," Rhyce said, and then quickened his pace a little to let his friend know that the conversation was over.

At some point, though, Kellen was sure that Rhyce had taken to leading them somewhere. The rune seeker wasn’t sure if the archer was even consciously doing so, but the other man didn’t hesitate as he walked. Eventually they slowed down in front of a large building that initially seemed to stand free from any of the surrounding trees. The house was tiered in a way that reminded Kellen of homes in Etria, where families used the roofs as a place to grow plants or dry their washings. Only on closer inspection did he see how branches actually seemed to grow out of various parts of the building; the tree must be inside.

Kellen looked around to see where Rhyce had gone off to while the rune seeker had been considering the house’s strange design, but found that the archer remained next to him. Rhyce stood silently, looking up at one of the upper windows of the building.

Rhyce fought against a wave of memories. Why had he come here? He had enough wounds as it was. There was no need to start tearing open old ones. But here he was, as if he ever had any choice. He remembered when he had come here last time. He had been a messenger that time.

He held no regret for the path he had taken. Purpose could be a terrible thing. One day you could realise that you were as much of a tool as the one you wielded.

Was he still a messenger? Could he still be one?

Rhyce turned his head almost unnoticeably to the side, shifting his weight more evenly to both feet so that he could move in any direction at a moment's notice. The smell of the flowers from the path made scent meaningless, but he had caught the motion in the edge of his peripheral vision enough times for it not to be coincidence.

"We're followed," he murmured loud enough for the tall Northman to pick up over the noise of leaves quivering on their branches high above as a breeze touched them. He immediately reached out and stopped the giant from turning around with a touch on Kellen's arm.

"Ah, hrm," was Kellen's way of apology. "Are you certain?"

Rhyce merely gave the rune seeker a reproachful glance.

"Yes, of course you are. My mistake. Can you tell who it is?" Kellen studiously made a point of not looking around, but instead appeared to find something utterly fascinating in the small brook that trickled next to the blossom-hedged road.

"Unknown."

"Do you know how long they've been trailing us?" Kellen's eyes followed the small whirl in the water created by a decorative stone set in the stream.

"Ten minutes at most." Rhyce's sense of time wasn't anywhere near as keen as his hearing or sight, but he deemed it was close enough.

"Well, this place is too open for a Worald Boartrap," the rune seeker mused, stroking his moustache as he thought back on the times his cousin had helped him using the old hunter’s trick. "Maybe we could repeat the trick we pulled on the Skinwalker in Etrana?"

"No bricklayer's yard, no camels, and no Jaden. Good idea, though." The archer stood straight, reaching out with his second pair of eyes.

A flutter of wings passed overhead and found a perch further back the way they had come. The black eyes fixed on a figure hiding behind the tree, observing the two men by the brook. The dark bird turned its head sideways to get a better look, and then squawked twice. The second bird dove down, swept around the trunk and flapped wildly near the face of the person trying to stay unseen. He yelped in surprise, stumbling out from behind his cover. The elf was about to duck back in when he saw that he had been spotted.

Kellen had turned around at the sound of the birds and the shout, and made a small wave at the elven man, who seemed barely more than a boy. Blonde hair barely reaching below his chin, and big, frightened eyes. There was an awkward pause when they looked at the elf, and the elf pretended that he didn't know what was going on. Then, the young man's shoulders slumped down a little, and he approached quickly and jittering, as if he expected something or someone else to jump out at him. He looked very pale, as if scared for his life.

"You're following us." Rhyce stated, giving the elf a dead-eyed stare.

"Good day," Kellen tried, in a friendly, rumbling tone.

"En helon," the boy replied, biting his lip little.

“Hrm. Yes. Elvish.” The rune seeker looked at his friend, and motioned at the elven youth in a vague manner. “It’s easier to read than to speak, I find. How is your Sorunese?”

“Sufficient.” Rhyce took a step closer to the boy and clenched his hands into fists. The next words out of his mouth came in a low growl. “Su rovi ken?”

“Viela! Viela! Ta josensina enan sa!” The youth all but sputtered, holding his hands up in front of his face.

“I didn’t quite catch what he said after ‘sorry’,” Kellen told the archer. There was something strange about the elf’s accent. Or maybe it was just Kellen only having heard Outsider elves speaking before?

“Says he’s curious,” Rhyce translated.

“About us?” The rune seeker wasn’t surprised. Rhyce and he were probably the oddest things some of these elves had seen in years. “Ask him who he is.”

«Identify yourself! What do you seek?» The archer had never let his eyes leave the elf. He looked poised to spring into action. Kellen couldn’t understand why his friend was so tense. It was only a single boy, after all. Wasn’t it?

The young elf pointed at the black bow on Rhyce’s back. The archer’s face grew even harder.

«I am spoken to as Tirath. I was tasked to seek the hunter. The blackthorn hunter. Lamtar Keresh. To share the words,» the elven boy spoke haltingly, nervously looking up into the tree in case there would come more birds to attack him.

Kellen furrowed his brow as he struggled to keep up with the frightened babbling. After a few moments he realised that Rhyce wasn’t going to prompt the elf to continue, but instead just stared at the youth with dark eyes.

“Ask him… hrm. Ask what his message is?” Kellen suggested.

«Explain,» the archer demanded of the boy.

«I am afraid to do so, here. There are eyes and ears. Please, come to the Three Star Glade tomorrow. Do not be followed.» The boy kept fidgeting, like he really wanted to run away.

«Why?» Rhyce didn’t seem to care how the boy felt, only for the answers he could give.

«I know of the one you ask about. Come see me, and I will share my thoughts.» With pleading eyes looking at Kellen he added, in clumsy Midland Trade. “Tomorrow. Come.”

With that, the young elf backed away from the two, nervously looking up at the tree where the two black birds perched malevolently. Before the rune seeker could think of anything else to ask, the boy was running away along a path that soon led him behind other buildings. He was gone.

“Didn’t want to talk here. Told us to come to a glade north of the city tomorrow. Know the place,” Rhyce told the tall Northman.

"I think I heard him say that he knew who we were looking for. Shame that such a young person ended up involved in all of this," Kellen mused, stroking his moustache. It was always a sad thing when children lost their innocence.

"He was older than Alisan," the borderlander replied, exchanging a look with the black birds. With a flutter, the two took to the air, leaving only a single dark feather spiralling to the ground.

"What? No, surely not. Right?" Kellen looked confused. While he had as hard a time as anyone judging the age of an elf, that boy had clearly been in his teenage summers.

"He spoke the old dialect. Dyed his hair, too."

"Really? Well, that's... strange, I guess." The rune seeker had felt something was off about how the elf had spoken. Old Sorunese. Original dark elven. The tongue heard in the wildlands before the kingdoms of man had arrived.

"Cea do not pretend to be Seren. Not done. Traditions." The archer paced a little back and forth. Too many things didn’t add up. He let out a quiet snarl that betrayed his stony expression.

"Hrm. I didn't know that. Why do you think he did that, then?" Kellen didn’t know enough of elven culture to satisfy his curiosity. If only he had more time to visit the Wordshaper’s Hall. Speak with the scholars. There was never enough time to learn.

"Don't know. Will find out."

Rhyce stood up straighter, his left hand cradled against his body as it began to ache. He cast his senses out wide, touching upon the small lives that scurried, fluttered and hid. He could feel the pain start making itself known even as he reached out further. The archer could feel the sun on the top of the trees high above just as the first taste of blood got in his mouth. Rhyce forced his body to obey by will alone, and dozens of small eyes turned to the west.

"Seek," he demanded with a whisper that sent the leaves and branches into a rustle as tiny feet and claws heeded his call.

Jaden immediately noticed the difference when they had Alisan to guide them through the city. Yesterday, it had taken them much longer to get to the Wordshaper’s Hall, which now disappeared out of sight on their way to Alisan’s old friend Ranath. She supposed the city recognised one of its own and allowed quick passage for one of its daughters. A part of her felt a little silly for anthropomorphising the elven city like that, but with all the ambient magic flush throughout the streets for ages upon ages, would it be that strange if something had awakened?

Genius loci urbanis. Spirit of the city. But it is sleeping. For now.

A faint shudder went through Jaden. Had she become so used to the warm, sunny plains of Olmar that these shadowcast streets felt cold to her? Maybe she was just tired. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately. She kept having the same dream. A dream of fire.

The sound of hooves upon the smooth, root-covered street brought her attention back to the present. An elf in guardian armour astride a dusky horse, with his lance resting in a stirrup approached them from the side. There was something odd on the way the horse behaved. It seemed to go against the motions of its rider. Oleander perked up even more, if it was possible. She was already excited about what awaited them at their destination.

«May the daystar smile upon you, ladies.» The man tugged at the reins a little, looking somewhat confused.

«And you, as well. Is there something we can help you with?» Alisan spoke for the three of them.

«I am unsure. It seems as if my steed felt inclined to pay you his respects.» The guardian once again tried to win back control of his horse with a small concerned frown marring his face.

While they were talking, the horse had lowered its head and was nibbling at Jaden's hands. She couldn't help but think that there was something familiar about the grey and white elven destrier.

«I assure you, this is most unusual.» The elven man pulled at the reins again, with no more results than before.

"I have no idea what you guys are saying right now," Oleander added to the conversation. She was rubbing the neck of the horse, though. She might not understand Sorunese, but like any child of Olmar she spoke horse just fine.

«What's the name of this horse?» Jaden asked the man. Something tickled a memory.

«It is Cloudstepper. He belongs to the Guardians' stables.»

«Oh! I think I rode him when I was here five or six years ago. I can't believe he remembers me,» Jaden stroked the forehead of the inquisitive horse. «I'm sorry, Steps. I don't have any monell for you this time.»

The horse snorted and gave the mystic a final push with its head before turning away. No biscuit, no petting. Oleander let out a small, disappointed noise when the horse withdrew.

“Serecean hala are both loyal and have long memories, Jaden. Show one kindness once, and it will remember you for life.” Alisan explained in Trade, for the redhead’s benefit.

«Well, it was an honour making your acquaintance. Now that I seem to have regained some authority over my steed here, I shall resume my patrols.» The young guardian made a seated bow, and finally managed to urge his horse along.

Jaden wiped her hand on her trousers to get the horse-slobber off her palm.

"I've heard that elven horses live longer than ours do, too? What's the oldest one you've heard about?" Oleander was an Olman girl at heart, and every Olman loved horses.

"I am not certain, Mela. My current one is forty summers this year, and I deem she will carry me for many seasons yet before she should return to her pastures," Alisan said, with a fond smile.

"Wow. Most of ours never even get to be that old, let alone carry riders at that age." Oleander’s surprised expression slowly turned into a speculative one, as if she filed away an important detail for another day.

The path that Alisan had chosen led them alongside one of the long stretches of leafy bushes that Stann had affectionately named ‘walls of cabbage’. Like many plants native to the wildlands, they had adapted to the sparse sunshine and had wide, thick leaves to pick up even the faintest stray light.

“Did you know any Midland Trade when you left the forest for the first time, Creampuff?” Oleander casually ran a finger along the leaves, making them sway a little in her wake.

“Ris. I was taught some of the Outside tongues while I was still in training as a songshaper. I still felt unprepared the first time I spoke with one of you renen, however. Learning and knowing are far apart.” A bit of colour crept up those pale cheeks. “It seems as if I am still learning, yes.”

“Is Sorunese hard to learn? It feels so isolating not knowing what everyone is saying here,” Oleander sighed a little. It was hard to eavesdrop, too. “Hey, Jay? Teach me how to elf!”

“I’m not an elf, Ollie,” the black-haired mystic replied immediately. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure you had some of the basics. The grammar is a bit odd, though.”

“What’s a grummer?”

“You know what? Let’s just make it up as we go along. Yes and no? Ris e lai. Got that?” Jaden reminded herself to think very basic indeed. The Olman girl had no school background at all, and learned things better if they were done in a practical setting.

“Riss!” Oleander chirped happily.

Jaden kept tossing out words and short phrases as they went along the petal path, with Alisan offering her thoughts once or twice. By the time they had arrived at Ranath’s house, the redhead looked a little dazed. Feeling merciful, Jaden decided that maybe it would be a good idea to take a page from Kellen’s book of lecturing and end on a short anecdote.

"You know how my name apparently sounds like the phrase 'she of rain' in Sorunese?" The mystic asked, with a self-deprecating smile. She could laugh at it now, but five years ago it had been a little slice of hell.

"It does? Oh, right, Ali said that the one time, right?" Oleander looked up to the side as if trying to recall the conversation.

"Yeah. That was one of the reasons why the elves kept teasing me about my name when I was here a few years back as part of our training."

"Sounds rough." The redhead was no stranger to name-calling and bullying. It was just a part of life; the strong would pick on the weak. She had promised herself she wouldn’t be one of the weak ones.

"I didn't let it bother me that much. I kept to myself mostly. My sister had it worse, though." Jaden couldn’t hold back an honest smile at the memory. Lilya was nothing if not predictable.

"What? I can't see her being bullied. She's way too scary for that!" Oleander had only seen Jaden’s sister one time, but that had been enough to burn the image of a hard-faced, lance-swinging battle-magician into her mind.

"She was... less so before her spirit quest. But, it turns out that Lilya pretty much means 'sled'."

"... what, like the thing they use to drag things across snow?" Oleander blinked. Sorunese made no sense.

"Right. Apparently, some of the more brave, and mean-spirited, elven girls made a point of teasing her about it. They had to send Lilya back early because she cut off one of the girl's hair and almost forced her to eat it." Jaden shook her head, making her black tresses bounce up and down. She managed to bite back the giggle, though. She had been prepared this time.

"Woah! Lilya doesn't kid around!" The redhead whistled, impressed.

There was a strangled noise from Alisan, whose hands had almost automatically gone to her long, almost white hair. The pale elf cleared her throat, and then pushed the door open to the house. Elves didn’t knock, they just entered and waited.

"That’s my sister. She hates losing to anyone." Jaden shrugged, and together they followed Alisan inside.

“Do you have it in a size bigger?”

Stann turned to the side and felt the fabric stretch tight across his shoulders. It was a splendid jacket. Fit for a chieftain, if one would have the lack of self-respect to puff themself up like an Albander baron or princeling. Would women find him handsome wearing it? It would be hard to do anything too vigorous wearing it, though. Fighting was right out.

“Larger?” The shopkeep, a frizzy-haired elf short by anyone’s standards, let out a dramatic sigh and climbed back up the ladder to check the shelves. “Whatever they feed you Northmen during your budding season, they need to show more restraint.”

“Heh, yeah,” the warrior chuckled. It had been a wild bet trying to find fancy clothes mere hours before the party, in an elf-town no less, but long shots had a way of working out if you just rolled with it.

The elf rummaged around in the part of the storage that seldom saw any use. Old knick-knacks from the Outside, the odd garb made for those of unusual statures, those sort of things.

“In fact, while you’re up there? Do you have anything for a fellow of this height?” Stann held out a hand almost another head above his own.

“What? Surely you are making with the comedy, Northlander! I would have heard about any ogres walking the city streets.” The shopkeeper made an irritated noise, and turned back to the shelf.

“Ogres, eh? I suppose he can be one at times. Sure he won’t feel bad about you not having anything for him. If I know my cousin, and I do, he’ll be looking for any reason to avoid this shindig.”

Having grown up with Kellen just a few houses down the street, Stann knew that the big rune seeker wasn’t uncomfortable among other people. Kellen attended large gatherings nearly as often as he did. The difference was that the magician sought his own kind, book-people, spellcrafters, and storytellers. Counting all his virtues and strengths, grace was not one of them. A formal dance was his anathema.

Mirena leaned down over his shoulder to place her face next to Rhyce’s as they both looked into the mirror. Her expression was one of warm amusement. His was nearly unreadable; were it not for the years they’ve travelled together, the knight wouldn’t had picked up on the slight apprehension. There had been a stiffness to his stance when the archer and the rune seeker had returned to the inn from their walk.

“I had begun considering sending out the others to look for you,” Mirena said to her friend in her mild teasing way. Compassionate, yet playful.

The archer merely made one of those half-hearted grunts and remained in the chair.

“Let’s see if we can’t find a proper gentleman somewhere inside that bristle, shall we?” The knight squeezed Rhyce’s shoulder a bit, and then reached over to pick up the shave brush. She dabbed his cheeks with the warm, wet towel a few times before applying a good layer of foamy soap.

Mirena held the razor as steady as her sword while slowly and precisely shaving the man in the chair. She had done the same for several of her fellow knights-to-be during their temple training. As a squire she had done so for her mentor. Mirena doubted that her father had ever held a razor in his entire life, unless it was to inspect merchandise. It was these little things that made her feel the distance the most.

“What did you and Kellen do today?” She asked, while tidying up the sides near the borderlander’s high cheekbones. They had already talked about the chance meeting with the young elf and the message they had received. Mirena was wondering about how Rhyce was feeling, not what he had uncovered.

“Made sure we wouldn’t forget,” Rhyce replied cryptically.

“Forget what?”

“Why we’re here,” he muttered, loud enough for Mirena to hear.

“Did you?” She finished up, dabbing away the last bits of foam by the ears.

The archer didn’t say anything. He just cradled his left hand and clenched his jaw. Their eyes met in the mirror. His telling her a wordless story she had heard before.

“I’ll go see if your clothes have been delivered yet.” She paused by the door, looking back at the man still sitting in the chair. “Isn’t it strange how they had a Shelmot styled outfit in your size?”

After Mirena had left, Rhyce remained in the chair. His mind was caught up in a dance of memories. The early days in the army. The farm and the old chestnut tree at the edge of the Shelmot Plains. The smiles on their faces.

He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. You couldn’t heal an old wound by cutting a new one. But he couldn’t stop. His memories kept all of them here.

The dressing room had nice mirrors and a table for two to sit down. No doubt had Ranath’s mother and sister used this place for much the same reasons as Jaden and Oleander. The mystic squired around in her seat. It wasn’t as if the chair was uncomfortable, although the backrest barely reached high enough to be called one. It wouldn’t stop her from tipping over if she leaned back. Jaden was ill at ease for different reasons; the thin and low-cut silk slip felt like it barely provided any modesty. The fact that the attendant had done something to take in the previously baggy waist only made her bust all the more pronounced. She could swear that they looked larger than she remembered.

Oleander sat next to her on an identical chair. The short redhead looked as if her undergarments had been made for her. For all Jaden’s ears and heritage, the Olman thief was much closer to elven body types than she. The glossy fabric clung to Oleander’s athletic form in ways that made Jaden’s breath quicken a little. The mystic forced herself to look away and concentrate on what her friend was saying.

"A nice red shade should match the dress well." Oleander held up a small glass vial between her fingers. It had been inside a lacquered box by the mirror, along with several others in all the different hues found in nature.

"Why do I have to do this, again? My nails are fine as they are,” Jaden all but whined. Fineries, paints and styles. It was all very far removed from the starkness of the mountain. Ceremonies had been conducted ascetically. Her people valued the power in weapons and magic, not dance and song.

"It just looks good, alright? Humour us with this." The redhead leaned in a little and bumped the mystic with a shoulder.

"It's all I've been doing today," Jaden said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Stop this bellyaching, Jay," Oleander said, and grabbed one of the mystic's hands. She immediately paused, and looked closer. "Sweet honeybadgers! Your nails are hard! Like, really, really hard!"

"Well, my manifested form has claws, so it's not that strange I guess." By now Jaden had resigned herself to the changes her drift brought along. It was not as if she could lose anything else at this point. At the very least, her pride disappeared out of sight the moment she had seen the dress.

"Claws, right. They're almost like claws. That's so cool," Oleander mumbled as she kept running her fingertips across Jaden's nails.

"My dad has claws in his normal shape, though I doubt he paints them." Jaden tilted her head to the side as she imagined what that would be like. She quickly shook the thought away.

"His loss. Let's get these girls all dressed up," the redhead said with an excited voice as she rolled the bottle between her hands.

After making sure she had everything she needed, Oleander scooted closer to the mystic and reached over to inspect Jaden’s hands more closely. Her breath caught a little when she felt something.

"What's this rash here? It almost looks like a..." Oleander turned Jaden’s hand over in her own, looking at the palm.

"It's a brand. I burned my hand back in that village in the woods." The mystic keenly remembered that night, for many reasons. It had been when she had tried to fight the demon, first with fire, then with swords. Finally, she had been forced to drain its power using the Lacunai siphoning techniques. Her family, the Tarasovs, had always been particularly skilled at that. It had also been what pushed her drift into overdrive. Decades worth of changes had twisted her over the course of a week.

"This is from Redwall? When you nicked Rena's sword?"

"Yeah. I guess her god of justice doesn't much like what I turn into,” Jaden gave the mirror a quick half-smirk. That, at least, did Telum and she have in common.

"Why haven't you healed it? I've seen her heal burns before." Both of them had seen the knight after the showdown with the cultists in Tier. The burning building had collapsed around them. Mirena looked like she had been slow-roasted, but her wounds had faded within minutes.

"She did. Or at least, she tried. I don't know. It kind of hurts when she heals me, these days." It made her flesh crawl and cramp up whenever they tried.

"That's creepy, Jay."

"You're telling me? This is my life now. At least for now.” Jaden lowered her voice, even though they were alone. She could share at least a little bit. “Don't tell the others, but I'm working on something."

"Really?" Oleander's eyes shined with a desperate kind of hope.

"I think there's a way of getting rid of all this." She gestured down at herself. Getting rid of her, she added silently to herself.

You don't need to do that. Please. Not yet.

Jaden shook her head suddenly. An uneasy feeling washed over her.

We can still save them. Everyone.

“You should probably get started if we’re going to make it on time.” She offered her hand to Oleander.
It was a strangely relaxing experience sitting there with her fingers splayed wide, watching Oleander carefully brush each nail with an even coating of paint. Jaden glanced up from their hands and almost snickered at the look of concentration her friend's face, even biting her lip.

"Do you want to paint mine once I'm done with yours?" The redhead said, as she reached up to brush away strands from her face once again. Her hair was getting long enough to style into something else than her previous mop.

"No, not really. It feels a little too girly," Jaden made a face.

"'…says the one sitting in a slinky barely-nothing waiting to get laced into a ball gown.' Really, Jay?"

"Shut up, Ollie."

"Make me, elfboy."

The smug expression on Oleander's face just demanded some sort of response. Maybe it was the desire to see it wiped off, or maybe it was just plain desire, but something made Jaden duck in and plant a swift kiss on those smirking lips. It forced a small noise out of the other woman. Smugness was replaced by surprise and mixed pleasure. It was over as quickly as it had begun, with both of them pulling back.

"Jay, I... I'm not sure..." Oleander touched her lips, and looked down.

"I know." The mystic felt her heart squeeze tightly inside her chest. A warm flush spread up from her belly all the way to her cheeks.

"We have to figure this out, Jay." The redhead was blushing too.

"I promise. Once we're done with this." Jaden didn’t know if she meant their current adventure or something grander, but it had felt like the right thing to say.

"Now, keep your hands still for a few minutes, or the paint will run."

Jaden turned around in front of the full-length mirrors. Her image moved as she did, but she couldn't connect what she saw with herself. Her hair had been carefully styled by one of the attendants, spilling down like an onyx waterfall past one shoulder, exposing her right ear. They had even painted her face, using gold colours to accentuate her eyes and lips. A black outline around her eyes made them seem even bigger.

They had managed to find a soft autumn-coloured dress that was made up by saffron and carmine silks. The fabrics of the skirt section folded over itself in an elaborate pattern. It looked like fire when she moved.

It fitted snugly over her upper body, hugging her middle and pushing her chest up where the neckline allowed a generous amount to be on display. The seamstress had worried at the dress for a long while, muttering that it was easier to take away than to add. Jaden was afraid to lean too far forward, despite the assurances that everything would stay in place.

This is you

The mirror must be lying to her. She didn't recognise herself. In a way, it made it a little easier. If it wasn't really her going out in this gown, maybe she would be safe in here while this other Jaden did the dancing?

Oleander had already gone on ahead to another room for her fitting. She had complained about wanting to see Jaden dressed up, but had relented once she had seen Alisan coming upstairs with her own gown. The elf and the Olman had gone into another room together, Oleander whispering something into Alisan’s ear. That had been over an hour ago, but time had passed quickly while the attendant, Miri, had finished up adjusting Jaden’s gown. For a while, though, the mystic had been alone in the dressing room. Alone with a roomful of mirrors and thoughts.

There was a knocking on the door, and Mirena's voice reached Jaden through the cotton that seemed to fill her head.

"Are you ready?"

"Y-yes! Coming." Jaden stood up from the chair and swished over to the door to let them in. If she didn’t think too much about it, it would be alright.

Outside her room waited the knight in her beautiful blue and cream gown, as well as Rhyce who was clean-shaven and dressed in a stylish tan coat. The design seemed vaguely Albander to Jaden’s untrained eye, but she had never seen him wear it before. She didn’t even know he owned anything like that, yet it looked tailored for him. Rhyce looked out of place without his bow at hand, and with his normally unruly dark blonde hair brushed out of his eyes he looked very different. Jaden couldn't make up her mind whether he seemed younger or older.

"Since Kellen excused himself from this event, we had to share our remaining gentlemen. Rhyce will escort you and me, and Stann has offered to lead Oleander and Alisan." Mirena smiled sideways at the archer, who remained quiet.

"And she agreed to it?" Jaden sounded a bit incredulous. Stann and Alisan were like oil and water. Or maybe beer and water. Either way, it ended unfortunately.

"Actually, I suspect it was Oleander's plan," Mirena said with a wink so small Jaden barely caught it.

Rhyce had been silent during the exchange, but was watching the black-haired mystic intently. Jaden felt exposed enough as it was without the additional scrutiny, and began to fidget a little.

"What?" She asked.

"You going like that?" The archer didn’t sound hurtful, just terse.

"D-do I look that bad?" Jaden couldn't help but glance over her barely covered shoulders toward the mirrors. She had a good view of her back from there. As low as it was in front, it went down equally so in the back. Not far enough to allow her access to her wings, should the occasion arise, but it definitely showed a lot of her skin. The dress had a lot of yellow, which was nice. She didn't mind the red parts either.

Rhyce didn't answer immediately, instead a ghost of concern flashed across his face.

"Don't upset he- him, Rhyce.” Mirena chided the archer with a small frown, but smoothened her expression when she turned back to the mystic. “You look very pretty, Jaden. Don't worry."

"Every man will be staring at you," Rhyce said.

"Garda's fires, Rhyce. You're like a worried father or something," Jaden mumbled with a blush, trying to cover her nervousness with a joke. It didn't have the intended effect on the archer, whose expression instead changed subtly with creases of pain in his eyes.

"Guess so. Be careful."

On their way down the stairs, Mirena handed Jaden a shawl to wear if the night would get chilly. It was of a lovely dark red, nearly brown, with faint tower-like patterns. Jaden suspected it was one of the knight’s own, from her home city. The mystic accepted it politely, mostly since it could cover her up a bit, and not because she would be feeling any cold. She couldn’t remember feeling cold lately. The fire within warmed her. Jaden wrapped the cloth around her shoulders and tried to arrange it to preserve the most amount of modesty.

When Mirena, Rhyce and Jaden stepped outside in their fineries, one of Ranath's people was waiting for them. It was a blonde man in green robes with two thin braids on either side of his face, with a narrow chin and small nose. Something about the way he kept himself made Jaden think about cats.

“I am spoken to as Danir. I seem to be your guide this evening.” The elf bowed slightly, his voice higher than expected and somewhat unused to the inflections of Midland Trade.

"Did our friends already leave?" Mirena asked, looking around the outside of Ranath’s house.

"It seems as if they have gone on ahead," Danir replied.

"Very well. Are you bringing the carriage around right now?" The knight couldn’t see any stables nearby.

"Carriage, Dame Kaladon?"

"... so that we can go to the event we are attending?" Mirena explained, somewhat surprised.

"I offer apologies. I had not been informed there were injured among you, who cannot walk. We will see what accommodations can be arranged." The elf turned to leave, face drawn in thought.

"Injured? No, we're all fine.” Mirena protested. “Wait. Do you mean that everyone usually just walk wherever they need to go?"

"Of course."

"I hope we'll get there in time for the dance." She hadn’t counted on that eventuality. Neither her, nor Jaden’s gowns were made for long strolls.

"The dance will continue all evening and some of the night, Dame Kaladon,” Danir spoke slowly, as if explaining the obvious.

Rhyce crossed his arms, and what looked like faint amusement flickered across his face.

"I mean, I hope we won't be late," the knight tried to clarify.

"Late for what, Dame?" The elf looked confused.

"The dance!" Mirena was starting to feel like the conversation was going in circles.

"Mirena, elven society isn't as obsessed with time as the Coastlands. The party doesn't 'start' at any specific time. It will naturally change as guests arrive and leave. Some are probably there already." Jaden stepped in to bridge the cultural misunderstanding.

Mirena turned back to the elf waiting for them. She took a short moment to compose herself.

"I'm sorry,” she apologised. “I should know better than to let my expectations dictate my reactions. Please, lead us to where we need to be."

"Of course." Danir bowed, turning to Jaden and repeating the gesture. «Thank you for elucidating to the Outsiders, daughter of the envoy.»

Jaden just gave the elf a thin smile, sighing on the inside. In the corner of her eye, she saw the archer give the knight a small pat on the shoulder. Mirena rolled her head back a little, in as close to a defeated slump as Jaden had seen her.

Their guide didn't hurry as he led them along the petal paths of the eternal city. Evening had reclaimed the world and cast it in a twilight shine, pale beams trickling down between the boughs overhead. The cover of the tall trees made the city far darker than a summer night would warrant, but their way was lit by floating orbs of light that formed a softly glowing string of pearls reaching into the distance.

"What are these wisps?" Mirena said in a low voice, as if she feared her words would scare them away.

"These seems to be the... what is a word?" Danir paused in thought. "Liellien. Snow stars."

"They're beautiful," the knight whispered.

Jaden opened her eyes to the mystic's sight, and saw how the orbs were elements of fire and air tethered to the ground by the same strands of magic that maintained them, drawing energy from the arcane arteries that spread throughout the city.

"I didn't see these during the day. I wonder if the sorcerers invoke them each evening, or if they are designed to tap into the energy web only once ambient light falls below a certain threshold?" Jaden talked just loud enough that everyone could hear her. The streetlights in the larger cities were maintained by the Arcane Order. The sorcerers only had to trigger one enchantment to cause the rest to light up due to some sort of sympathetic resonance. It was magic theory above Jaden's head.

"I know not this. These are the liellien. They have always been there."

"We're glad for their presence. Without them, I doubt we could make out the path in front of us."

"Liellien are not necessary for the People," the elf explained, and gestured towards the faint twinkling that showed through the thick leaves far overhead. "The stars above reveals the world."

"Ah, yes. Elven night vision. Does that mean you can see fine as well, Jaden?" Mirena looked away from the floating points of light to meet the mystic’s eyes.

"I'm not an elf, Rena. But, yeah, I can see." Jaden had always had good night vision, most likely due to her mother's side of the family. Lately, however, she had noticed that even when she knew that the light was too poor to see, when it was just too dark, she could still make out the world around her. In a way, it was more than seeing. It was akin to mystic’s sight, but instead of magic, it peeled away the cover of night.

Mirena turned towards Rhyce, who had stopped a few steps further behind. Knowing how keen the archer's eyes were, the knight fought down a flicker of irritation brought on by how she was the only one who couldn't see the way they were going. She took a breath, held it, and with its release she abandoned all those negative thoughts. When the feeling had passed, it left her with a smile. There was something ironic in how she, who professed to mete out justice and truth, now had the most trouble seeing clearly. She would seek guidance from her god and her friends whenever she needed it.

It was unlike mansions made by mankind. It reminded an outsider more of an open air theatre, where rooms were platforms extending out like branches from a tree, partitioned off by walls that looked more like paintings than structures. The roof was covered in ivy to the point where it was uncertain whether there was actual wood slates underneath, or if the trees had been bid to cover the house with their great, green hands.

When Jaden and her friends arrived, there was already plenty of other guests, over a hundred at a glance. While most of them had gravitated to the larger central chamber, from where music and voices reached as far as the entrance, other guests seemed content to find smaller gatherings in the branch rooms.

Mirena noticed that there was nothing that resembled servants or attendants. Instead, the guests took it upon themselves to sample the food and drink spread out in different parts of the ballroom. Some guests even brought things with them, placing bottles or baskets down on available tables for everyone to enjoy.
It was without order, but at the same time not chaotic. This was the life the elves were used to. It was their rhythm. It was fascinating.

"There is no wardrobe," Mirena whispered to Danir. "Where do we leave our shawls?"

"At a place where you will remember where you put it?" The elf replied, gesturing at the branches running alongside the walls, forming natural shelves and hooks but blending arboreally into the building itself like decorations with a practical purpose.

"Yes, but-" The knight began, but was interrupted by the mystic.

"When in Etrana, do as the Etrians," Jaden murmured into Mirena's ear.

"When I was here as a young girl, we visited the Tier embassy. It was much more like... what I'm used to seeing. It is good to challenge one's expectations from time to time, isn't it?" Mirena smiled at Jaden, clearly intending something more than just a casual observation. She pointedly reached down to smoothen out the sides of her gown.

"I... suppose so, Rena." Jaden returned the smile, although somewhat strained. She would have much preferred one of her ceremonial uniforms from home. Talram fashion was a marriage of utility and austerity. If it didn't serve a purpose, the mountain bid you to cast it off. Sometimes that purpose could be to impress others, but it would never be allowed to hamper you like these dresses did.

"If it pleases you to follow me.” Danir touched his chest and gestured towards the grand central room. There was a small group of regal-looking elves standing apart from the rest of the gathering. “Introductions should be made to the one who hosts this event. He seems to be over there, alongside... oh, Lawshaper Ethilmir! And Historian Melatar. I would suggest waiting for them to finish their exchange of words."

"I take it that his company is above our station?" Mirena nodded to herself, filing it away for later.

"Exceedingly. As fortune would have it, however, I see my colleague over there.” The elf indicated a familiar face standing amidst other members of the wisdom caste. Ranath looked to be in his element, and any previous weariness carefully hidden. “Allow me to bring you to him, that my assignment is complete."

As soon as Jaden and her friends came close enough to be noticed by Ranath, their guide shrank back into the crowd with a parting nod. Before disappearing completely, Jaden saw him repeatedly glancing back at the three influential elves from before, looking concerned.

Oleander had a wide grind on her face as she stepped across the threshold into the long and vaulted hall. Lights and shadows played across the walls in a counterpoint dance to the movements of the guests. The music was of various flutes and string instruments, lacking the beating rhythm marked by drums or lower-pitched instruments that most human cultures used. Instead, the pace of the music followed waves, as if imitating the ebb and flow of an ocean of sound.

The Olman woman squirmed a bit, trying to find a way to be comfortable in the borrowed dress. It felt too tight around her stomach and arms, and the skirt tumbled loose around her legs. It was a tripping hazard if she had to run or jump. Still, it was of a flattering greenish blue colour that reminded her of the first time she had seen the sea at the harbour in Etrana. The white lacy bits around the skirt’s hemline only brought the image that much closer to mind.

“Pretty big place,” Stann commented with an appreciating nod. His eyes kept roaming across the dancers, and he adjusted the collar of his dark orange, almost red doublet. It had some highlighted designs that looked like thorns. Oleander was amazed that the warrior had found something that would fit him.

“That’s all you have to say?” The redhead said with a slightly shocked expression.

“What do you want me to say? Fine woodwork? Good floorboards?” The Northman shrugged. “The food looks good, too.”

Oleander just sighed in frustration, throwing up her hands.

Alisan watched the exchange with growing alarm.

“Please. Try to contain your outbursts. There is a need to impress important people this evening.”

“Yeah, Red. Impress them with your silence,” Stann chuckled.

“I’ll show you silence!” The Olman thief hissed back with an entirely false smile plastered across her face.

Alisan looked over at the closest table that displayed a wide selection of delicacies. She briefly considered showing her new friends there in hope that eating would keep them from bickering, but she knew from experience that it would not.

With Ranath to show them around, it had been easy to get an introduction with some of the more influential members of the Ral Sona society. Mirena used Alisan’s friend as an icebreaker to begin asking questions about the city and any strange events that may have been going on – especially ones related to the wildlands or trade with the human nations. The knight weaved her way through the niceties and smalltalk with the same skill she fought in battle, decisively and with a plan in mind. Ranath was quick on the uptake and the two of them took control of any conversation they joined in, steering it away from mundane trivialities and towards what they had come to find out. It made Jaden feel like she wasn’t necessary.

The Lacunai had a reputation for many things, and even more rumours surrounding them, but their finesse in social gatherings was not one of them. In that respect, Jaden’s mother was one of the exceptions and perhaps the reason why she was one of the mountain’s emissaries. Unlike her, Jaden had never been good with words. She had trained hard to be a good protector. She had prided herself in her strength with her sword and her magic. Neither of those was needed here.

Eventually, Jaden had a hard time keeping up with the conversations. Her attention began to wander, and she found herself wandering off along with it. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Instead, she just followed wherever her feet were taking her, curious to see if anything interesting caught her eyes.

Quickly, Jaden lost sight of Mirena and Ranath. Around her were unfamiliar faces, all elven. Even as she tried to blend in, more eyes were drawn to her. They whispered as Jaden walked past them. Whispered with voices or gestures. The way some elves used motion to convey meaning was starting to become louder than the spoken words the more she had become aware of it. She was surrounded by layers of conversations from all directions. It was almost overwhelming.

«Which caste is she? Her dress is yellow, like a guardian, but also red.»

«It may not hold any meaning. Few here are in caste colours tonight.»

«True. She could not be guardian, either way. She is too… generous.»

«But she could be ruler.»

«We know of every member of the ruling caste.»

«I did not say she was, merely that she could be.»

«Yes. She does have that inner fire, don’t you think? The spark of dominion.»

Jaden kept walking, trying to shut out what people were saying about her. As she pulled her thoughts inward, she began to forget about the discomfort of her gown, and the awkwardness of the situation. Her movements became automatic when she stopped forcing herself.

Her bearing had changed as she moved along a colonnade making up the other end of the grand hall. The gown swirled around her legs, making the folds seem like flames flickering around her. Her head was held higher, her back straighter, her step surer. The image of a ruler. A princess of fire.

«Daughter of the envoy?» A dark blonde elf with his hair shorn short enough to fully show his ears, wearing a robe in a series of rich violet hues, held out his hands in greeting. Jaden couldn’t help but notice the faint lines of scars following the jawline on the left side of his face. Hadn’t she seen him earlier? «Your arrival in the city was unexpected, Lilya Tarasov, but not unwelcome. Will your mother be gracing us with her presence as well?»

For a second, Jaden drew a complete blank. She didn’t know what to do. She found herself just staring at the man, her mind spinning. Should she play along with the assumption that she was her sister? Should she correct him, introducing herself?

«You certainly haven’t changed, Tarasov. Stoic and silent like you were the last time we met.» He smiled slightly, which made the scars pull on his mouth, but his eyes looked happy. «Has it already been-?»

«I offer apologies, my lord, but you wished to be informed when the Historian was available again.” Interrupting the man was a woman in a guardian’s yellow surcoat over light plate armour. She was pointing towards one of the many passages that led to outside gardens surrounding the mansion.

«I did, didn’t I?» The violet-robed elf turned back to Jaden and sighed. «Another time, perhaps, if fortune remembers us?»

«This way, Lord Ethilmir,» the guardian ushered the older elf towards the passage, lingering behind a little to make sure they weren’t followed.

Jaden had done a double-take upon hearing the name, her mouth going dry. The Lawshaper. He who had been at the centre of the original union of the two elven people, when the Seren and the Cea first came together as one. The Ethilmir of the stories was one of the elves who had come to these lands with the human refugees from the old empire. Why had her sister been meeting with one of the oldest elves alive? Why did he even know Lilya’s name? With all of those questions whirling around in her head, it was almost funny how, for some reason, the only thing that kept coming to Jaden’s mind was that the man she had been talking to was personally to blame for her being considered an elf by local laws.

Turning around Jaden almost bumped into a slender and dark-haired woman wearing a figure-hugging pale dress decorated with a stylised vine pattern. When the mystic met the other woman’s eyes, something suddenly felt cold inside her stomach. The elf’s lips moved, and the words came unbidden to her mind.

«No more shadows can linger, when the flesh has forgotten.» Those dark blue, nearly purple eyes held hers almost hypnotically. It was the words Jaden had used earlier at the Wordshaper’s Hall. The sign and countersign of the death cult.

«The last to serve the eyeless, the first to blind the world,» Jaden whispered back. She felt a little dizzy. How had she ended up like this? The Sons of Husk were murderers and soul-thieves. She should tell Mirena about this. She should tell someone about this. Anyone. But then… but then she might lose her one chance.

The dark elf nodded slightly and stepped in to hold Jaden in a quick embrace, taking the opportunity to whisper into her ear.

«Our bloodbrother shared your need with us, sister. We will provide news for you by tomorrow. Await our messenger at the central glade at sunhigh. Wear this.» The slender woman pulled at the violet silk ribbon keeping her hair done up, and offered it to Jaden as the curls came tumbling down to her shoulders.

When Jaden accepted the ribbon, the elf leaned in for a quick brush of her lips against the mystic’s cheek. The chill where they touched lingered.

“Val enan Valarat, jadiran,” she whispered huskily, and then slipped back into the crowd.

As soon as he could, Rhyce had disengaged from the knight and the mystic on the pretence of covering more ground if they split up. The archer knew beyond any doubt that, since she had spent all that time dressing up, Mirena would no doubt want to partake in the dance a number of times. Rhyce was making sure he wouldn’t be drawn into any of that. He had enjoyed dancing, long ago. But to dance anew was to lose the memory of the last dance a little more.

Instead, he skulked at the fringes of groups talking, doing what he did better than most: watched and listened. Not counting Jaden, he was probably the one among his friends with the best grasp of Sorunese. Thinking of the mystic, he saw her walk along one side of the hall. Her manner was so different from the Jaden he knew. It was like seeing a different person wearing her face. He didn’t know if she was playing a role, or revealing something she usually kept hidden. Rhyce had only seen a small piece of it before, and at the time he had been gravely wounded.

“Don’t start a fire you can’t put out, princess,” he mumbled, wishing he had his bow should the flames go out of control. It was a strange feeling, the desire to protect beginning to eclipse the need for revenge.

Walking slowly he concentrated on filtering out the inane small-talk going on around him, focusing on anything that seemed to touch upon politics, trade, or humans in the wildlands. He caught snippets in the sea of sound surrounding him. Some worried about the increased presence of human settlements at the border of the wildlands. There were voices discussing the more strained relationship with Alband. Influx of foreign gold due to greater trade with Kasmantur and Olmar. Songwood demand increasing, but production is plateauing.

“Music calls. We will follow?” A young Seren woman with her pale-blond hair done up in a layered waterfall style spoke in broken Midland Trade, but her face beamed with earnest excitement. By her green dress she was most likely a novitiate wisdom. She must have snuck up close to him when he was focused on another conversation.

«No,» he replied curtly, while trying to step to the side to keep line of sight on the group he was listening in on.

«Oh! Fortune remembers! You speak the People’s tongue?» The smiling elf slid into his view again, that wide smile without a care.

«Go away.» Rhyce began walking, brushing past the eager elf.

«But... May I share a dance? Human men, like you, are so… strong and rugged!» The elf leaned in closer, trying to smile even wider.

Rhyce felt his eye twitch. Of all the people he could’ve run into at a place like this, he had to meet the one who was a reverse Stann. He quickened his steps and ducked between a dancing pair as he faded into the crowd.

Oleander had been wandering for a bit, sampling bits of the food and drinks. Maybe a little more of the drink than she should have, but it was helping her with her nerves. Hanging upside down and picking a lock while murderers were nearby? No problem. Exploring dark tunnels deep below the scorching sands where one wrong step would bring her face to face with a horde of immortal tomb children? She could do that in her sleep. But here? Surrounded by people talking in a language she couldn’t understand, wearing clothes she couldn’t run in, and everyone constantly looking at her like an oddity? She felt exposed and alone in a way she had tried very hard to get away from. Despite the summer warmth, fine dress and food in her mouth, there was a little girl dressed in rags, hungry and freezing that followed her inside her mind.

Her ears perked up when a few stray words of Trade reached her across the elven noise. As some dancers moved out of her line of sight, she caught a glimpse of a brown-haired woman wearing a blue Tierin-styled gown. Oleander sighed in relief and crowd-slipped her way towards the familiar lighthouse in the dark sea of strangers.

“That is very interesting, captain. I was not aware of how closely you monitored the situation,” Mirena said to the dark elf she was speaking with, a woman with sensibly short black hair and an almost scandalous, flowing saffron-yellow outfit that left most of the outer sides of her arms and legs showing, barely keeping her decent.

“It is the way it is, paladin. It is for us to keep it from becoming worse.” The elven woman spoke with a voice that seemed more fit for shouting commands than singing, despite being dressed closer to an entertainer than a soldier.

“I’d like to learn more about the wardens, but I believe my companion is trying to get my attention. Maybe later?” The knight smiled and indicated the approaching red-head with a small gesture.

“As fortune would have it. Enjoy the evening, paladin.” The warden-captain touched her fingers together and inclined her head.

Oleander watched as the strangely dressed elf went to talk with someone else. She tried to imagine herself wearing something like that. Perhaps if she was trying to impress someone special, but only if they were alone in a room. An unbidden image came to her mind of that someone sliding those clothes off her, so easily, leaving nothing but warm skin between them. A warm flush crept up her chest and neck, making her cheeks rosy. All that wine wasn’t helping, either.

“Are you well?” The knight’s worried tone brought her back to the present.

“Yeah. Sure. Of course!” Oleander cleared her throat, glancing around. “But, just out of curiosity? What do I do if I need to go to the, uhm, little girl's room?”

“You do it as usual. Elves got restrooms too, you know?” Mirena looked amused, that small smile returning as quickly as it had faded.

“No, I mean, with the dress and all. It's tricksy with all the... things,” the redhead said, making vague motions at her back. Elven clothes didn’t tie off the same way as any she had worn before.

“I have faith in your ability to find a way,” the knight all but laughed, her smile growing wider. “I've known you to slip out of an Etrian prison cell, while manacled. I doubt a dress could hold you for long.”

“True enough, that. At least there are no lacings like with your fancy Tier-clothes. See, no corset!” Oleander patted her stomach. Also, there were the knives she had strapped to her thighs in case of an emergency. Any emergency, in fact.

A couple of elves stared at the small redhead as they passed by, earning a rude gesture in return. The knight just sighed, choosing to pick her battles.

“While it certainly varies from woman to woman, many of the elves I've seen here are too slender to warrant the extra support.” Mirena looked out across the dancers and the crowds gathered around. Only a few of them, mostly blonde, would have the need to use any supportive garments. “Larger chests are much more common among our people.”

“But Jay's supposed to be wearing an elf-dress, too. What about him? He's not exactly 'slender' like they are.” Oleander made a hefting gesture under her chest, getting her another sigh from her friend.

“I'm certain Jaden will survive for an evening,” Mirena said with confidence. Standing a little taller than some, she looked out across the guests to see if she could spot her mystic friend.

“I guess. He's, ah, perkier than you'd think. By far.” The redhead had seen many kinds of women growing up, enough to make comparisons. The alleyways of the poor districts of Tarad was also where many men went to find women selling love, and she had borne witness to those meetings while trying to filch a coin from an unsuspecting pocket.

“Have you been peeking at he- him in the baths again?”

“What do you mean 'again'?” Oleander immediately became defensive. It wasn’t as if she made a habit out of it. It had just happened once or thrice.

“We’re a small group, Oleander. Word travels fast.” The knight raised an eyebrow to go with her smile.

“Damn it, Stann!” Oleander swore, promising herself not to share anything juicy with the warrior again.

The roll of fruit and cheese had stopped halfway to his mouth, forgotten as the Northman frowned in thought.

"At what are your eyes locked, Winterheart?" Alisan asked of the large man next to her.

"I don't know. That guy over there is kind of familiar, somehow,” Stann replied, nodding at a small group of distinguished elves conversing below a balcony. He had seen Rhyce head that direction earlier, but now something was tugging at his memory.

"This seems as likely as a midnight sun. That one is the Historian, as well as several other eminent members of the castes. Ah, yes, I also see the high guardian’s second in command." The pale elf knew of most of the gathering by reputation or rumour. Her mentor with the songshapers might have a place among them, but neither Alisan nor her newfound friends would.

"Yeah. There's just something... Eh, nevermind,” Stann trailed off, and then shrugged uncomfortably. He was reminded of snow for some reason, despite the warm late-summer air. Not the snow of his homeland, the bracing winter of Strom. No, it brought to mind snowclad hills far away from the lands of the North.

«Would you follow the music with me?»

“What?”

Mirena had left her side a little while earlier, to seek out other people to talk to. The knight was good at mingling and doing smalltalk. Oleander was more comfortable meeting people in cosy taverns or dimly lit warehouses.

Oleander turned around, unsure whether she was being addressed by the elven voice behind her. There stood a young dark elf with his black hair done up in a braid that came down over his left shoulder. He was handsome in that way that made her think of heroes in the stories or young army officers in their sharp uniforms; confident and strong.

“Ta viela, jarenen,” the elf said apologetically, gesturing first toward the dancing couples on the floor, and then at the two of them.

“You want to dance? With me?” The redhead made the same gestures.

The dark elf smiled widely, and pulled her on to the dance floor holding her hands in his.

She had no idea how to dance like elves do, but one of the rules of a pickpocket is to blend in. Move as the crowd do. She began to mimic the motions of those around her, faking her way along until she learned the steps. There were cycles and repetitions like in any style, with small variations that seemed to reflect the music. She felt herself beginning to enjoy this.

If she almost closed her eyes, and let her imagination paint in the missing pieces, she could almost let herself see another person holding her instead. Just for a little bit, she allowed herself to dream. A dance with her prince.

The calabash emptied the last of its wine into the cup. One of the younger novitiates had been sent to bring new ones, as more wordshapers kept arriving. Technically they weren’t allowed to drink within their great hall, out of fear of accidents harming any of their texts, but the increasingly crowded room was intended for lectures and held no bookcases.

“As it pleases you, continue when you are refreshed,” urged a pale-eyed Cealon wearing a wordshaper’s blue robes. He had a handful of paper sheets propped against a knee and a quill ready.

“Ah, that is good drink. Not beer, but it will do the job.” Kellen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked out across the room. There must’ve been at least two dozen elves present, with some having gone to bring their friends here as well. It felt good. Not the attention, but speaking to those who wished to listen, to learn. It was good to teach again.

“You were explaining the tenets of the Strom shamans, as declared by Brinal Nighthammer during the era of upheaval,” said another helpful elven scholar, pushing her unkempt black hair back over an ear with inkstained fingers.

“Quite so! The great shaman knew that the old ways wouldn’t survive in the new order forged by his friend and chieftain Sogard Skyrune. He challenged the ideology of his fellow shamans in much the same way Skyrune had challenged the other chieftains’ rule, knowing that only by force could he drag my people into the new era. The world was changing, and we had to change with it.”

The rune seeker always felt a small pang of loss whenever he spoke of his old tradition. Despite the reform brought by Nighthammer so long ago, the shamans of today had stagnated once again. New ideas slid off them like water off the back of a seal. There had been no room for discovery and exploration. Kellen had to cut himself off from his own people if he would have any chance to realise his dreams. His biggest regret was how his cousin had been dragged down with him.

The elves, though, didn’t judge him the way the elder shaman had. They listened and recorded, talked amongst themselves and speculated. It made him feel warm to be surrounded by knowledge tempered by wisdom once again.

The wordshapers were eager to share, as well. From them he learned many things. One of which was how a cealon wordshaper named Kyriel of house Sivanparal. He had suffered an accident during one of his many travels, but upon his return he had been a changed man. He had become more driven and forceful, quickly climbing his way to the top of his department. The other elves were sure that Kyriel must have had some friends in high places to help him out. Not only had the maimed wordshaper received promotions in quick succession, he had also shown up with a replacement hand one day, something he would never have been able to afford on his own. After that, he was seen less and less around the hall, and increasingly in the company of the quel hatar, the Spellguard, bodyguards for the most important members of the oligarchy.

«Found you!»

Rhyce bit back an oath as the bell-like voice chimed behind him. He had been observing some of the elders talking below his hidden position on a balcony. There had been something about the way they moved while talking, as if there was a subtext he could just barely perceive.

«If I had known I would have to chase you, I would have worn better shoes.» The blonde, young elf looked a little out of breath, as if she had been looking all over for him.

«Go away,» Rhyce growled in no uncertain terms.

«But these ones are fashionable, yes?» She lifted her gown a little to show her slippers, turning her foot this way and that to give the archer a really good look, and maybe a little of her leg as well. «Though I am confused about your garb. From all the paintings I’ve seen, human men enjoy wearing unlaced shirts that show off their chest and muscles. Is it because your passions burn so hot?»

Rhyce gripped the balcony rail firmer, trying to tune out the prattling woman. The elders had been discussing something about the high warden, the one of the guardian caste who led the wildwardens, the rangers that protected the wildlands from outside intrusions.

«If you’re not the dancing kind, I may know of a place where we can go and you can show me how easy that shirt is to remove?» The elf put her hands on his shoulders from behind, and leaned in with her head over his left side so that their cheeks almost touched.

Rhyce clenched his jaw and briefly considered the implications of flipping her over the balcony into the laps of the elders below. Instead, he reached out with his thoughts.

The elf squeaked in surprise as a black bird swooped down and plucked a golden hairpin from her head, making her carefully coiffed style go lopsided.

«Give that back, you thieving magpie!”» She swung at the air where the bird had been. It had landed just a little way down the rail, as if baiting her to follow. «I’ll get you, bag of feathers!»

The archer allowed himself a thin smile before turning his attention back to his task.

Jaden had resigned herself to watch the tides of the ball swell and part. One dance flowed into the next with nary a sign as to where one ended and the next began. Couples entered for a time and then left when they were sated, or switched to new partners. Unlike in most other countries, like Alband or Tier, she saw men dancing with other men, and women leading women. From what she could see, the unspoken rule was that the oldest of the couple picked the direction. It was hard to tell with elves, but if you looked closely there were always some signs. Especially in the eyes. Eyes that had seen hundreds of summers were different, somehow. It was hard to explain.

The mystic realised that she wasn’t alone after all. In a subtle way, one of the guests had changed from being a part of the backdrop to entering into Jaden’s awareness. They hadn’t made any sudden movements or even approached closer. It was like they had just decided it was time for them to be recognised.

"You seem to be a new flower. I am spoken to as Tsirnys." The tall elven woman wore a fine, but understated green gown touched with goldthread leafwork along the sleeves. Her black hair contrasted against the pale skin, and was elegantly but simply brushed back over her shoulders. She gave the impression of maturity, even though the elven agelessness graced her features. "Would you share your name?"

"Jaden," the mystic said, slightly distracted by what was going on at the ballroom floor.

"Ja ide en. She of rain. A pretty name, yes, for a young blossom. Are you perhaps of House Sivanparal? Yes, it seems as if a raindrop would suit a Dewcatcher's daughter." The woman who had introduced herself as Tsirnys pointed with a finger towards the side of the ballroom, indicating someone in the crowd.

"Raindrop? My mother used to call me that," Jaden turned to give the older elven woman her full attention. A part of her wondered why they were conversing in Midland Trade, rather than Sorunese. Aside from Jaden and her friends, almost everyone present were elves.

"Yes? But, no. With those silks like autumn leaves, and those remarkable golden eyes, you look more like a feren than an ideen." Born of fire, not rain. The woman brushed back the dark hair that marked her as one of the Cealon elves. "Is that who you should be, instead? A jaarat feren?"

There was no real word for hereditary ruler in the elven language. Their concept of birthright differed greatly from the younger races, and the elven culture didn't lend itself to the idea of a sovereign for life. After all, when a ruler could - and would - live for many centuries, it was a dreadful proposition if that ruler was ill-suited for the task. No, the closest word for king or queen in Sorunese was arat; ruler or leader. Jaarat simply meant 'woman leader'. Jaden didn't want to be either of those.

"She does look like a fire spirit wearing that gown, mother," a younger elf said as she joined the two, apparently deciding to rest her feet after having been swept along the floor for several dances. The resemblance between the two was clear, but with the energy of youth instead of the dignity of age. She also spoke Trade with more ease, hinting at that she must have spent some time outside the elven lands.

"Truth of the stars, daughter." Tsirnys gestured at her child as in introduction. "Jaideen, this is Susinia. It appears as if you are close enough of age."

"I have other friends here, mother dear, but it might be fun talking with someone else who's been outside the old treehouse." Susinia rolled her eyes a bit, and struck a slightly bored pose with a hand on her hips. Clearly, she didn't care much for the traditional ways of her people.

Satisfied that her daughter had some company for the evening, the older elf drifted off with a serene expression, leaving Jaden with the younger elf at her side. The girl looked like she was only just stepping into her womanhood, and would see many years yet before the elven blood slowed her aging down to a crawl. Susinia shared her mother's dark hair and green eyes, but a few rebellious highlights ran through that nearly black hair like shooting stars in a night sky.

"Here, I'll take you to some of my friends. They've not been Outside, like us, but they're fun enough. Your Trade is really good. Did you have a human to teach you?" Susinia dragged a protesting Jaden along the edge of the dance floor, bobbing and ducking around guests and attendants alike. "Where did you go when you travelled? I've seen Telasero AND Etrana!"

"Oh, uh, you know. Places. I was in Etrana last summer." Jaden desperately looked around for her friends. The elven girl seemed friendly enough, but there appeared to be no end to her questions.
Jaden thought she glimpsed Oleander's short, red hair over some shoulders, and tried waving in that direction for the Olman girl to notice her. Was Oleander dancing with someone? She felt a sudden tightness in her chest.

"Loved it! Wasn't it fun? And those slaves! Just imagine having someone who has to follow your every command!" There was a sparkle in the dark elf’s green eyes.

"Yeah, about that..." The mystic began, trying to think of a way to get out of the conversation.

Susinia stopped abruptly enough for Jaden to walk into her. A short distance away there were a handful of elven girls positively fawning over a young elven man with beautiful long, wheat-gold hair and a ready smile. He wore a fine snow-white jacket with gold details, and a single yellow seraali flower clipped to his chest above his heart. Against her will, even Jaden felt her heart do a little skip, followed by annoyance. She didn’t find him attractive in the least. It was just that she could… appreciate that some would consider him handsome. Her quickening heartbeat was only because she was angry. Certainly. She swallowed when Susinia pulled her closer.

The young man seemed to wrap up some story he had been telling his admirers, who all giggled and gushed at his every word. It must have been an impressive tale. Maybe about something he had done? Most likely, since those kinds of men loved talking about themselves. Jaden wished she could have heard what it had been about.

Before Jaden's guide could bring them up to the small crowd, the man took the hand one of the girls surrounding him and brought her to the dance floor as the music changed pace. Susinia, as well as several of the others, watched him go with great interest. Their eyes remained on him as everyone began talking again.

«I had to let mother know I had arrived. Did I miss my chance?» Susinia sighed dramatically, watching the focus of their attention enjoy himself. Then she gestured at Jaden. «Oh, I also found an interesting person!»

One of the girls, a willowy beauty with gorgeous blonde hair, took one look at Jaden before recoiling in horror. She looked like someone had slapped her, and was even clutching her hair protectively for some reason. None of the others seemed to notice, however, and instead continued with their gossiping.

The conversation was in a rapid-fire Sorunese Jaden had never heard before. It was far from the precise and eloquent style she had been taught in Talraman, or experienced while studying here in Ral Sona for a summer. It was all she could do just to keep up. From the bits and pieces she understood, it was mostly about the young man who had been there earlier. Finally, Jaden couldn't keep quiet any longer. She had to know.

«Why do women act that way around him?» Jaden asked in as casual Sorunese as she could manage.

«Consult your ovaries, sister. Delandir's a very promising, and handsome, man,» Susinia explained with a grin. Going by what had been said, this Delandir was an up and coming guardian who had already been given a position of responsibility by the ruling caste. Something to do with the palace watch.

«Mm, yes. You could bounce a silver mark off of those buttocks,» said a shorter Seren girl, her blonde hair in corkscrew ringlets to frame her pretty face. The leer on her face was just short of indecent.

«Alendra, such things you say!»

«You were thinking it as well, Susinia!» Alendra’s hair bounced as she giggled.

«Maybe, but to say it! » Susinia put a hand to her chin and looked speculatively at Delandir’s dancing form.

Jaden just wanted to fade away, her face growing redder by the moment.

"Any of you ladies care for a dance?" A familiar voice cut through the giggling, turning all heads towards the speaker. Most of the girls had to crane their heads back a bit to look the tall, bearded man in the face. Like the subject of their previous discussion, he too had long blonde hair. But it was not nearly as well kept, and instead of projecting grace and confidence like Delandir, this man showed brashness and strength.

"Me, pick me!" Jaden said, the words feeling strange in her mouth but right now anywhere was better than here with the blathering elves. She heard some of the girls gasp.

"Jaden?" Stann said, his eyes going wide with incredulity. His voice even went up a little at the end.

"Yeah, let's dance." The mystic took the warrior's hand and pulled them away from the shocked elven girls, who immediately began whispering as soon as they turned their backs. Some of them sounded suitably impressed by her courage in taking on a human man, and the rest wondered what it would have been like.

Once they were far enough away, Jaden stopped and looked up at the Northman.

"I don't know how you found me, but thanks for the save," she said, risking a quick look back at the girls. Susinia was doing an awkward thumbs-up.

"Save? Right. Right." Stann rubbed a hand along his neck. It was like the Northman didn’t know where to look. “That’s some dress, huh?”

At that moment, the orchestra began playing, and suddenly Jaden and Stann found themselves surrounded by dancing couples. The ballroom floor became a blur of colours and motion as the music began. Jaden's protest was lost in a twist and a turn, with Stann's hand steadily moving her to the pace of the dance. Alarm settled down and eventually became surprise. Pleasant surprise.

"You are... good at this, Stann," Jaden mumbled into the Northman's ear loud enough to be heard. They brushed against one another as he turned them to the music.

"I'm a man of many talents, Lady Jadey," Stann laughed, looking so out of place among a sea of elves but still holding his own. The self-confident smile turned a little sideways when he noticed her disbelieving look. "Lemon's been teaching me the steps."

"Alisan has? Why?" Jaden blinked.

"Who knows? Obligation? Pride?"

"Pity?" Jaden raised an eyebrow and smirked a little.

"Hey now," Stann pinched her side.

Elsewhere. The Crying Place.

The sound of the pen scratching across the paper filled the room. It was held in a steady hand as each word flowed across the page. Observations. Numbers. Logistics. Estimates and considerations. When the man stopped long enough to lean forward to dip the pen into the inkwell once more, there was a faint noise as the left hand he kept in his lap clacked against the writing table. It was a hard noise of ceramics hitting wood.

It was as if that single sound begat many others in the room. The creak of leather as his companion leaned back against the wall. The scrape of her lance as it settled in a new position against the flagstones. The faint shuffling from the cage as the beast shifted around. His pointed ears caught the sound of it sobbing again.

«By the grace of Atan!» He swore quietly, putting the pen down. Why was it so hard to get some peace and quiet? He had work to do. «Make it quiet, or I will do something that will require me to write another letter.»

The dark-haired woman in the short, yellow robes pushed away from the wall and walked up to the cage like a predator circled a wounded prey. She slung her lance up over a shoulder as she squatted down to get eye-level with the beast. Her expression spoke louder than any word ever could.

«Hear that, you little monster? Stop snivelling or I’ll cut your tail off.» She sneered, making a scissor-like gesture with a hand. Standing up again, she pulled the cover down over the cage. Maybe it would go to sleep if it was dark, like a hunting bird?

In the darkness of the cage, the beast shrank back from the beings outside as far as it could. It recoiled with a quiet whimper as it bumped into the iron bars. Squeezing its eyes shut, it tried to remember better times; the first time it had seen the sky.