Two figures stood together in the shadows of the palace gardens. Though the moon was bright, their faces, turned away from it, were impossible to discern. A parcel was handed from one to the other, and they quickly turned away, one swinging up onto his mount, the other hurrying off on foot. The sounds of swishing skirts and horses hooves faded into the night.
When Caryn returned to her room, she slipped silently out of her dress and into bed. The package could wait till morning, all that she needed now was a good rest. In the morning she would open the package that her brother insisted on delivering at 2 am rather than at a more respectable hour. For now, all she wanted was a soft bed, some warm blankets, and a pillow to rest her head. She reached what the sisters at the Convent called the "Shores of Sleep" soon enough, trying to recall the rocking of waves that had lulled her to sleep so many nights out on the water. Lying there she could feel them rock her still, and rocking ever gently, they let her drift slowly to sleep.
The young man on the horse reached the city in no time, and looking for a place to spend the remaining hours of the night, fell upon a small in. The Dancing Dove, being a somewhat small establishment, had no more rooms to let, so he paid board for his horse and settled in the hay loft. He too lay there remembering the rocking of the waves, but they brought him no peace, instead he thought of a soft brown pair of eyes, and long flowing hair, slowly drifting away to sea. His sleep was much more restless than his sister's. He tossed and turned on the scratchy hay, trying to banish the face from his memory, trying to forget her. But how can one forget someone so perfect, so sweet and gentle? It is not easily done, and for many not done at all.