23 . 1 . 12

The carriage ride from the Syndocian palace to the Folalli one took nearly two days, but the princes were well-accustomed to such traveling. Syndoc was predominantly rocky and rough, except on the banks of the rivers and lakes that were scattered throughout the small country. Traveling by carriage between cities and towns often took a day or more, due to the distance between habitations and the uneven terrain, even along the roads. The royal family drove around to the major cities of Syndoc at least twice a year, to ensure that the mayors were being honest and applying the laws fairly, and to give audience to their citizens' complaints and problems. This journey took the better part of two months, even given the country's modest size.

The worst part of the journey to Folall, however, was the spiteful Pry desert. While the particularly rough terrain was only an annoyance to a messenger on horseback, it was potentially catastrophic to a carriage — as if the choking heat were not enough to discourage travelers from crossing the expanse. The carriages in Syndoc were made to handle such wear and tear as the Pry offered, since merchants often chose to traverse the desert in order to sell such prizes as fine thread and cloth to Folall at a rich price. Everything about the carriages was tough and solid, from the frame to the axle to the wheels. With proper upkeep, a quality carriage in Syndoc would easily be able to handle such obstacles as uneven roads, steep slopes, shallow pits, and the occasional hefty rock.

It was for this reason that everyone in the royal carriage was shocked when, after hitting a peculiarly rough patch of road, the wheel simply rolled off. This sent the inhabitants lurching forward (in the middle of their discussion about Duke Worthington and whether he had two or three children) and the unfortunate footman sprawling unceremoniously to the ground. His name was Grover, and he had been trying to stay under the shade of the carriage's awning in order to escape the brutal sun before the accident occurred. He was so surprised at this that he merely lay on the ground for a moment, getting up with a cry only when the hot dust began to burn him. It was this cry that brought the driver out of his startled reverie, calling to the princes:

"Your highnesses! The wheel's come off!"

While this statement was not the most helpful or remarkable one that could have been made, it did serve to draw the brothers' attention away from their incredulous thoughts about the impossibility of the event that had just occurred.

"Thank you, Randall!" Simon called back, standing uncertainly on the now-angled floor. "I think we might have guessed that," he added, low enough that only Tyrillius would be able to hear him.

His brother stifled a chuckle and, being already by the door, stepped from the tilted carriage to the much more sturdy ground. Simon soon joined him and they, together with the footman, manservants, and Randall, began to survey the damage done to the royal carriage. One of the manservants was chasing after the wheel, which was happily rolling down the rocky slope back in the direction of Syndoc; it appeared to be rolling splendidly and did not look damaged at all. The axle also seemed to be mostly undamaged, except for a few hairline fractures and dents in the hollow iron bar.

"This should hold until we get to the castle," Randall said, kneeling down to take a closer look and removing a pair of thin spectacles from his pocket. "Provided we can get the wheel back on, that is."

Randall had been a carriage driver since he was younger than Prince Tyrillius, transporting the fortunate folk to and from important events or simply on long visits to other parts of Syndoc. He had driven carriages in all states of disrepair and outright brokenness in his career, and had even once driven a carriage with a broken axle, if the stories were to be believed. He was then, understandably, the source of information on carriage repairs and their severity. The manservants knew this, and they were very grateful that Randall had been appointed for this journey; he had narrowly been selected over Frank, the Head Driver.

"Do I take that to mean that we won't be able to return to Syndoc on it?" Tyrillius asked.

Randall left off tapping the axle — checking it for weaknesses — to look closely at the young prince. After coming to the conclusion that he was being serious, Randall pocketed his spectacles and stood with a tired grunt. He was beginning to feel every one of his forty-seven years.

"Most definitely not, your highness," he finally said. "We'll need a new axle at least. Possibly a new wheel. These cracks won't hold the carriage much further than Goreth; we'll have to get it reinforced there before we can travel on."

The princes looked at each other with resignation. Goreth was the town on the Follali side of the desert — at ten miles away, it was as close to the Pry as the citizens would dare settle, and it was still ravaged with dust storms in the summer. It was impossible to grow all but the most hardy of crops, but the town was founded expressly to make its living on the the Syndocian merchants traveling through. It did a fair job of that, as everything was overpriced and of poor quality. An axle fixed there would cost a pretty penny, and would probably (as Randall was hinting) only last until the royal blacksmith of Folall could work on it.

"I'm not sure we'll be able to get the wheel back on, either," he said, bending down again to squint at the axle. He then straightened and shouted after the manservant who had gone chasing after the wheel. "Jason! Stop gallivanting all over creation! We're roasting in the sun while you trot around like a babe with a wagon!"

"I couldn't catch it!" Jason protested, bobbing quick, awkward bows to the princes as he approached, trying to steady the large carriage wheel. "I don't know how it managed to keep rolling over this ground when the carriage apparently couldn't."

Everyone glanced back at the road, which looked perfectly harmless in the afternoon sun. There wasn't a boulder — or even a decently sized stone — to blame for their misfortune; the wheel appeared to have broken free of its own accord.

"The wheel seems to be undamaged," Randall commented, bringing their attention back to the more immediate concern.

Randall soon declared the wheel fit to carry the weight of the carriage, though it too had some fractures around the hub. The chief task, then, became divining how to reattach the wheel to the axle. Since there was nothing large or strong enough to prop the carriage against while the men put the wheel on, it was eventually decided that the carriage would have to be unloaded and held balanced by pairs of men.

This was a long and frustrating task. Deserts are not known for their charming, cool breezes or convenient bouts of cloud-given shade, and the Pry desert was no exception. Before the task was even begun, sweat was beading on every forehead, and it was not long before the men stripped to the waist in an attempt to cool themselves — to little avail.

The task was made more frustrating by the fact that the carriage, even when empty, was not of a negligible weight. The iron frame, while inarguably strong, was more than two or three men could support for very long, so the process was constantly interrupted by the changing hands.

Simon and Tyrillius, seeing that every able hand was needed, quickly lent themselves to the job of bracing the carriage, after some protests from Randall and the others — but still an hour passed with no improvement to their situation. The wheel had fit snugly onto the axle before, but the slight bends in the axle from its impact with the ground had altered its shape just enough that the wheel had to be coaxed on slowly, and every shift in the carriage's weight set the process a step back.

"Hold it a bit more steady," Randall grunted irritably as the axle jerked out of the center of the wheelonce more.

"We're holding it as steady as we can, Randy," the footman snapped. "Our arms are shaking from the weight of it."

"Hold it, hold it, steady," Randall said, not hearing the man's reply as he began to wedge the wheel onto the axle. "Almost—heaven blast it!" he shouted suddenly, dropping the wheel and rubbing furiously at his eye.

"What's the matter?" Simon called, running toward Randall and looking for a bug or animal that might have bitten him.

"Dust and sweat running through my eye like a river—!" Randall exclaimed, blinking and squinting as he succeeded to probably rub more dust into his eye.

"I guess we're back to the beginning again," Tyrillius said longsufferingly, shifting the weight of the carriage in his arms and groaning quietly with the weight. He wasn't a weakling, but neither were his arms used to this caliber of physical exertion.

At this remark, everyone — especially the footman who was holding the other side of the carriage with Tyrillius to keep the axle from bending further by hitting the ground again — looked bleak at the idea of continuing this fruitless endeavor. The sun, as if sensing their despair, took this opportunity to shine brighter and more cheerily, causing those men who had already begun to redden in the sun to wince in discomfort. The dust, accordingly, found it fitting to stir around their feet and float up to their noses, to choke and blind them as much as it was able. The party was really a sorry sight: red-skinned, streaked with dust and sweat, and looking as hopeless as the passengers on a sinking ship.

Then, Tyrillius heard a sound that lifted his spirits more than anything could have at that moment — the stamping of horses' hooves and crunching of gravel under wheels.

"Someone's coming!" he cried, and everyone else looked up from their muttered discussions in surprise.

The desert road was rarely traveled on; they had not expected a passer-by to come upon them until the next day at the earliest. Nevertheless, cresting the smooth slope was a worn farmer's wagon, pulled by two tired-looking horses. Driving the cart was a hunched individual of indeterminate gender, being heavily cloaked to block the sun's vicious rays.

"Heyo!" called Randall, waving an arm to attract the driver's attention.

The person jumped a little, startled from some thought, and turned to them. Upon seeing the carriage wheel lying sadly upon the ground at Randall's feet, the driver reigned the horses in with a soft, "Whoah, ssh," and pushed back the hood of the cloak.

Grey, frizzled hair was escaping the braid the old woman had tied the majority of her hair into, but her face appeared deceptively smooth and young.

Tyrillius decided that she must be from the mountains, remembering the visiting nobility from the mountainous countries; they always appeared quite young, even when their hair was grey and their knuckles swollen and stiff.

"Did your wheel just fall off, or did your axle break?" the woman asked, dismissing any formalities and descending carefully from her cart to walk over to them.

"The axle's a bit damaged, but we mostly can't get the wheel on," Randall said, his face showing evident dismay that the driver was an old woman instead of someone younger or stronger.

"That just came right off," the woman observed with some surprise. "What did you hit?"

"Nothing at all. Just this patch of road right here," Simon answered, gesturing at the road directly behind the carriage as he shrugged into his shirt once more. The other men took their cue from him and regretfully began clothing themselves.

"How strange," the woman said. She kept looking at the spot as if it would explain itself, but when no defense was given, she spoke again. "Well, I'm heading to Folall, and I'd be happy to give you a lift. I might even be able to tow your carriage, if you have some rope."

She sounded strangely apologetic, Tyrillius thought, though he was mostly distracted by handing off the thankless task to the next man in line and shaking out his sore arms. He wandered closer to the conversation, pulling his shirt over his head and taking a position next to Simon.

"We would greatly appreciate it," Simon said thankfully. "My brother and I are expected at the Folalli palace this evening, and we will probably be late as it is."

The woman looked at Simon with a slight frown, like she was thinking, then glanced at Tyrillius. Her frown deepened, but it was quickly covered by her hair as she dipped into a quick, surprisingly graceful curtsy.

"Your highnesses," she said reverently. "Forgive me for not recognizing you at once. I intend only the greatest respect."

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about," Tyrillius said, extending a hand to allow her to straighten her posture once more.

The old woman took his hand and kissed the knuckles, surprising both princes and convincing Tyrillius that his suspicion was correct: she was definitely from the mountains. The custom of kissing the knuckles of monarchs had fallen out of tradition years ago in the more civilized portions of Syndoc. The only place the behavior persisted was on the outskirts of society — in the foothills of the mountains to the north. Although, her dialect did not betray such a heritage; her words were careful and untainted by the northern accent common to those who lived so close to the border.

"It is my honor to serve you," the woman said, releasing his hand and standing. The frown had all but disappeared from her face — presumably, it was shock and embarrassment at meeting the crown princes of Syndoc on a desert road, sweaty and shirtless, which afforded her the scowl.

"It's our good fortune to have met you," Simon replied. "I don't know what we would have done otherwise. Heaven knows what we were doing wasn't working."

"Fate smiles on us today," the woman said simply. "If you would hook your carriage to my wagon, we can be on our way. I think I have some rope in the back of the wagon, if you don't have any."

"More is always better," Randall said, and the men quickly set to the task of attaching the carriage to the woman's cart.

It didn't take long for the manservants to utilize the ropes found in both vehicles to tie the carriage to the wagon and harness all four horses to the front of the procession. They were soon on their way out of the desert, much to everyone's relief.

Since there was no covered place for the princes to sit in the cart, they joined the woman in the front — in the only seats available. The rest of the men filled in around the various crates and barrels in the back of the wagon, holding onto the sides for support and talking amongst themselves.

"What's your business at the castle? If you don't mind my asking, that is," the woman asked after a few minutes of silence.

She didn't seem particularly interested in the answer; it sounded like she was just trying to start a conversation to pass the time.

"The princess' birthday celebration," Tyrillius replied, looking regretfully at the sun, which was approaching its climax with gleeful speed.

"Indeed? Princess Amethyst?" the woman said, looking over at him momentarily before turning back to the road. She looked curious now.

"The one and only," Simon said briefly. He was watching the town slowly materialize in the hazy distance and mentally urging it to arrive faster.

"She turns 16 this year, doesn't she?" the woman asked, then clucked at the horses.

"She does," Tyrillius replied, wondering how much the woman knew of Folalli history — and where she was from exactly.

Since they were talking, he decided to ask. Then he realized he didn't know her name, either. That was bad manners on the princes' part; it was important to know the name of every person you were talking to, whether peasant or noble. (It showed that the throne cared for everyone, which was — of course — true, though sometimes it was hard to show that precisely.) He was actually surprised Simon hadn't asked her name, since socialization and name-remembering was more along the lines of his nature, but a quick look at his brother confirmed that the man was too anxious about their arrival in town to be much concerned for manners.

"What's your name, by the way?" Tyrillius asked her.

"Marthe."

"Where are you from?" he continued, hoping he wasn't sounding rude. "You know of my brother and I, and also Princess Amethyst…"

"Northern Syndoc, in the foothills of the mountains," she said, seeming not at all offended. "A little town called Feoria. Do you know it?"

"I'm afraid I don't," Tyrillius said, racking his memory uselessly.

Even if he had known the name at some point, he would have forgotten it instantly. Names of places settled in his mind with the same tenaciousness as names of people — that is to say, they migrated to more suitable lodging with frightening rapidity.

"It's all right," Marthe said, seeming to notice his discomfort. "I only moved there a few years ago, anyway. Before that, I was closer to river."

That explained her lack of accent, Tyrillius thought. The people of the river towns were bombarded with so many accents from passing travelers that they maintained a sort of homogeneous way of speaking.

"Why did you move?" Tyrillius said, asking the first question that came to mind.

He rather enjoyed the woman's company, though she was quick with her answers and kept her eyes mostly to the road. He supposed she had seen too many things in her life on the river to be astounded by royalty for very long.

"Oh, business," she said lightly. "I couldn't run everything myself after my husband died, so I moved in with my daughter in Feoria."

Time passed in this way, with scattered conversation and pleasant silences, until they arrived at the town; the ride seemed surprisingly short, probably because of the distraction of Marthe's pleasant, but not intrusive, company. Marthe firmly refused to leave until they found a smith to fix their carriage, although that took almost an hour, and waved off any suggestion of reimbursement for her trouble. Tyrillius was about to insist that she take a few latel at least, but she managed to slip away before he returned from the smith. None of the manservants would admit to letting — or even seeing — her leave, and Tyrillius was not pleased.

"She was a weird old lady who just wanted to be nice," Simon said in explanation and shrugged at his brother's annoyance.

They were soon on their way to the Folalli palace, and Randall estimated that they would actually make it to the ball with a scant half hour to spare. Their original itinerary allowed a two-hour rest before the ball, but the princes were pleased at this point to have any time at all. Nonetheless, they hired a swift messenger to ride ahead of them and announce their delay, in case they could not make it on time for any other reason. A half hour is an easy amount of time to lose when traveling.

Review Prompt Of The Day: Who would win in a wrestling match between Simon and Tyrillius?

Captain: Har har. You're hilarious. :-P If it helps, I'm impatient for the ball, too. Unfortunately, there are other things which must occur first. -shifty eyes- Fun fact: I originally had the conversation between Earl and Amethyst being way more dramatic. Imagine that, if you will. XD Okay, as long as you're not getting lost, the style probably isn't too bad, haha. You'll have to see about those side characters... hmm... What do you think of Tyrillius now? Still ambivalent? Ah! I'm excited too. I can't wait. For more than just the obvious reasons. XD

Miss Papillon: I'm glad you're liking Earl and Amethyst! They're really fun to write, both separately and together. Their personalities work so interestingly together, I think, but they're both quite independent. I can see why you'd like them either as a couple or friends! As for Tyrillius and Amethyst, you'll just have to see! -grin-

Fay: Well, I shall alleviate one of those problems by updating in a more expedient fashion! So here you are. Amiable. That's a good word for Simon and Tyrillius. XD Nah, third chapter is a great time to start shipping people. I mean, you never know. It's not like most books and TV shows give you a red herring at the beginning of the book and then change everything later. You're probably safe. :-P

EVA: 1: That's alright. I figured you were busy. No worries. :-) Haha, oh I know that teenagers can whine. Believe me. O.o This story bends reality more than my other stories do, in more ways than that. XD Yes, I'm aware that it's not exactly possible to do what she did - but there's the bending-reality-bit again. That sort of exaggeration/irony/tongue-in-cheek narration is going to keep happening through the story. I'll have to ask you to suspend your belief a little more than usual as you read this story. You have so many interesting theories on Tyrillius, haha! I'll have to just wait and see what you think of him as you keep reading. I'm glad Amethyst is likable and not super annoying. She gets on my nerves sometimes, but she means well, I think. .o 2: I thought you had reviewed the first chapter, but I don't mind another review. -grin and wink- I'm so glad you're liking Earl... and my characters in general! I write my stories for the characters, and apparently that shows. Haha! (I do enjoy me some spinoffs, too. Heh. Ssshh. XD) It's so nice to have an omniscient third person narrator. I like being able to dip into the minds of everyone and see everything that's going on. It helps the tongue-in-cheek/slightly-unbelievable style, too, I think. She is pretty controlling, but also imaginative. I imagine a lot of that time was her rambling on and on about some grandiose idea she had, and Earl talking her out of it in such a way that she didn't feel like he was talking her out of it. Which is very time-consuming. And she also really enjoys his company... and the two of those things together might explain better why she didn't lose patience with an all-day meeting. To her, it didn't seem much like a meeting. Yes, Amethyst's party is ruining everyone's schedule. But what can you do? She is the princess! And it's her 16th birthday, which everyone knows means- well, you know. The other messengers really were quite mean to Diggory. But it was probably good for his character. XD I'm glad you liked Tyrillius! Very interesting observations there. :-) As for Bevan? You'll have to see. ;-)

Reviewers get a slice of sample wedding cake! (There's too much for just me. Flavor of your choice! The frosting will have to be white and purple, though. -grin-)