Roden had forgotten all about the servant girl he'd sent to the rooms of the Queen. Tobias' tribunal had gone horribly and magnificently all at the same time. Success had ruined by loopholes and failures.
The candles had all been put out by then and morning was only a few more hours away. Roden practically stumbled to his quarters, exhausted and defeated. His missing insignia was the farthest thing from his mind as he collapsed onto his bed face first; he didn't notice the pagan pendant dangling from the gaping window to the right of his bed, nor the slumped figure breathing softly outside his chamber door. It just didn't seem important at the moment.
Dawn crept in with cold fingers and soundless steps, Roden awoke feeling only slightly better than he'd had only a few hours ago. He sat up, his arm was full of pin pricks and his hair stood up on one side. Silently he slouched on his comfortable bed before he tugged his gold and blue tunic onto his body, once again getting a good look at the strange red markings on his body that had appeared the day before. The markings stung when he touched them, and burned as he slid the new tunic over his broad shoulders. He tried his best to stop from grimacing every time he moved, the dull ache in his muscles combined with his intrusive thoughts made Roden long for the times when he'd been a mere boy. He'd thoughts times were hard then and now they were worse in so many other ways.
Maybe the saints were punishing him for not being able to protect little Arran. The night before, nearly every regent had been after his head for not saving the prince, half of them called for him to be executed along with Tobias, the other half wanted him banished. It took hours and hours of arguing and pleading with a catatonic Jaron to finally receive an answer for the ample way to punish Tobias.
Roden shuffled to the large oak door that protected his private little room from the bustling castle halls, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. Tobias would not receive a fair trial because of how unreliable the evidence was. The people wanted somebody to pay for Arran's assassination, and they wanted justice now. The regents had agreed to exile Tobias, he could never return to Carthya for the rest of his natural life. It was the best Roden could've done. With heavy heart, Roden hoisted open the door to the outside world, and managed to stumble over a snoring Mar.
"What in Hell?! You can't just sleep outside somebody's room!" Roden snapped, in turn the freckled maid on the floor yelped awake, and scrambled out of the way.
"I only meant to return this, if I keep it a moment longer I'll begin to smell like your boot!" Mar spat in her not quite Carthyan accent. She held out the cloth with the Harlowe seal on it spitefully. Her eyes widened, a furious blush revealed she knew just how disrespectful her comment was. "Sorry, captain. I didn't mean the disrespect."
"I know you secretly did, and if I catch you speaking to me this way again, I'll ensure that you will never work here again. Am I understood?" Roden scolded.
Mar nodded with shy embarrassment to confirm that she had heard him. It was in that moment that she began to take sudden interest in the floor; Roden's sea colored eyes seemed to bore into anyone and anything. She hadn't noticed he'd stuck out his hand to help her up.
"My arm's growing tired," he said after a moment, offering Mar a closed smile.
Mar silently took Roden's large calloused hand, and stood as he assisted her up. Her own hands were dotted with scratches and calluses and a patch of maroon colored dye. Roden gripped her upper arm, dragging her along to Tobias' final day in Carthyan court. "Did you do as I asked?"
"The queen was in poor condition yesterday," Mar mumbled to the wall across from her, still fingering the Harlowe family crest. Roden hadn't taken it from her just yet.
He nodded while lost deep in thought. There was something strange about all of the sudden situations happening at court, and he couldn't just go ask for assistance from Viola. It was already obvious what her stance was on this hellish matter. There was only so much he could do for the royal family along the lines of comforting them, he was there to protect.. and he had very obviously failed.
Mar soon went back to chittering about silly things like what ladies of the court were wearing and how many of those beautiful silk dresses she'd carefully watched and assisted in repairing them. As they neared the great hall where Tobias was to be banished, Roden had learned that Mar: didn't like this situation, was afraid of ghosts, could ride a horse, read and write, and dreamed of traveling to Gelyn. Roden learned to tune the bothersome maid out. Several times she asked him what it was he liked to do, he grunted answers. It astounded him how somebody could be so cheerful after the death of a child.
"Do you think I could perhaps-" Mar began, her eyes bulging once she entered the grandest hall in Drylliad Castle.
"Mar?" Roden asked politely, pressing a hand to the small of her back to usher her forwards. There was only one stench worse than bodies packed into one place. The stench of betrayal.
The maid stumbled over her feet once or twice as she tried to keep her eyes on the ground. "Yes?"
Roden finally let go of her, melting into the crowd to take his place beside Jaron. He turned back for a moment, meeting Mar's gaze with his own. "Do me a personal favor and shut up."
Mar wanted to stick out her tongue. She stuck out her tongue at her friends within the kitchens when they teased her, but Captain Harlowe certainly wasn't her friend, so instead she gave a nod of her head and began to fiddle with her frayed sleeve.
There was a large wad of string in her bodice pocket once the jilted trial was over. Mar could read, but that didn't equate understanding just what was going on. Some of the 'clauses' went over her head, and everytime Mendenwal's ginger duchess spoke, the whole room went silent. Lady Viola had a way of making perfect sense on why Tobias was the one responsible for this tragic murder of the prince. Tobias was smart enough to burn the baby's body in his own nursery fireplace, but after careful investigation by several anonymous guards, they discovered threads matching the cloak Tobias wore the day before Arran was murdered. Along with the casting of lots, Tobias was within the grasp of an executioner's axe..
However, Rulon Harlowe managed to bring to light that anyone could have been wearing that shade of blue, and the Princess Amarinda could confirm that Tobias remained in their chambers the entire night. In the end, it was agreed that Tobias would not be killed, but as someone needed to be banished, they would exile him to the wastelands of the south. No man had survived there on his own accord.
Roden stormed off after the trial. Mott helped a delirious Jaron return to his chambers while Viola announced she would get the king a new bottle of wine to nobody in particular. Nobles stayed within the great hall, gossiping all about how Bymar's prince consort was a suspected murderer and was doomed to a life southward. Mar blankly stared ahead at the king's throne, her mind completely blank. It was strange witnessing such a controversial trial.
"Duchess Viola says you're to get her a second bottle of wine for her. And she wants a pot of cinnamon tea to use for her hair." Gleaner's high-octave voice penetrated the dark nothingness surrounding Mar. "Right. Now."
Mar nodded her head, internally demanding that Gleaner say please, but that wasn't her place. They were both servants of some sort, but Gleaner was definitely higher up in the serving pecking order. Besides, Mar told herself. I need something to do anyways.
Perhaps if she were working, she'd avoid the attention of anyone else. Specifically the attention of the court's priest, Lord Lenio. She didn't like that he pressured her into become one of the church sisters. If she wanted to swear off 'all fun' and 'do nothing but sing. Or sew' she'd make the choice herself, at least, that was her excuse every time Lenio came inquiring about her. Carthyan Saints were nothing like the things Mar's native churches taught.
Mar made her way to the kitchens. All about scrambled maids and butlers and chefs and all sorts of people, all ready to serve their superiors without a second question. 'What a pathetic way to live,' Mar thought to herself, completely disregarding the fact that she was doing the exact same work as those she looked down upon.
Going through the kitchens was considerably less difficult, most likely because there were several huge kitchens and finding wine was possibly the easiest task a servant could have. Mar dropped her ball of string in a kitchen doorway. She stared at it while it floated to the ground. When she looked back up, she found that Captain Harlowe had beaten her to the wine already.
Mar cleared her throat, "Didn't expect to see you so soon."
"Tobias and Jaron were my first friends," Roden mumbled to the wine bottle in his right hand. He rubbed his forehead with the left one as if he were trying to wipe away the events that had occured within the last two days. "Tobias was the first among us to stop fighting for the crown. He's a good person, the best."
Roden didn't notice Mar shuffling around for an additional bottle of wine, nor did he notice Fink come scuffling in with drooping posture. The only thing Roden Harlowe was aware of was his personal bubble of misery but he didn't seem to care for whoever was listening. Fink said something once...twice...three times. Fink spoke three times before Roden finally looked at the him.
"Do you, do, do you think we could, we.. We could," Fink stumbled over his words, his hands quivered. "Can we just... Send Tobias with something? Provisions? Anything?"
Roden went silent for a moment, staring at the half full bottle before him, and nodded. The castle was so busy it wasn't likely that anybody would notice some missing meat pies. He could hear more shuffling about, Mar's shuffling. Fink's steps soon joined hers as he carefully selected bottles of the purest water and kindest cordials. Roden stood, and turned to face the two.
"Oh please, that is not something Tobias will want in the blazing south," Roden snipped., straightening his posture. He brushed away the slight tipsiness in his head, ready to boss both Mar and Fink the same way he commanded a triple of soldiers in a skirmish. He was determined to send Tobias off with as many resources as possible.
Roden would've given Tobias his own horse, so fit for any kind of battle except for the one beginning within the court. Instead, he'd selected the finest calvary steed, one that surely wouldn't fail his friend in the southern wastelands. The bay stallion already carried two saddlebags, one packed with as much clothing it could fit, the other stuffed with bottles of drink and bits of food. It was strange thinking that he'd never see Tobias again.
The send off was on the quiet, it seemed Jaron wasn't all insane just yet. He didn't want Bymar to known he'd wronged their princess. Amarinda kissed her husband goodbye, and with a slap to his horse's flank, Tobias rode off into the night. Only the regents and a handful of other nobles were there, including Roden, but gossip had already spread through the courts by morning.
Days dragged on. Roden drilled Fink in the courtyards relentlessly with each free moment that he had. Bymar declared that unless Tobias was brought home and he was returned to Bymar along with his family, no longer would the alliance that had been so carefully negotiated years before stand valid. Jaron turned to drinking, Imogen rarely opened her eyes. Viola was always there with Imogen's special medicines to ensure the queen never felt the loss of her son. Gleaner was promoted to Viola's Maid of Honor, as well as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Imogen. Roden found himself seeing more and more of Mar, especially when Willem was around, she still had his family crest hidden in her bodice.
As it so happened, days dragged into weeks. Harvest month ended. The kingdom forgot the bitter sting Arran's death brought. They hadn't bothered to remember Tobias' subtle banishment. The Blood Moon was upon the kingdom, the peasants were more afraid of their own shadows than the grip Mendenwal's Duchess had on the kingdom.
"The servants are talking," Willem breathed on his hands against the cold. He and Roden had ridden out early in the morning in hopes of finding something to hunt. They'd been unlucky., Willem kept insisting that they'd find something in the Blood Woods. Roden always argued that they'd get lost, something usually so unlike him.
"About what?" The sky above was turning grey, they'd been out for several hours. Roden assumed it to be around late afternoon. He hoped it didn't snow.
"Everything. The king, the queen, ya weddin', wherever the bloody hell the Princess Amarinda's gone to," Willem shrugged. He patted the neck of his borrowed mare; Drylliad came into view on the horizon. "Are ya feelin alright mate?"
Roden had shut out his memories of that Harvest festival night. He'd forced himself to forget waking up covered in blood-like spots. Nobody knew, and he intended to keep it that way. The paranoia was eating him alive, "I'm always alright."
The simple fact was that Roden knew the whereabouts of Princess Amarinda, he'd been sworn to secrecy about the situation. Her disappearance had kept the Bymarian monarchy from meddling with Tobias' banishment. Amarinda had left the castle quietly and unassisted. Roden had found a letter declaring she had taken refuge in the Blood Woods, how she got through, he didn't know.
Normally so full of things to say, Willie stayed quiet for the duration of the ride. He offered to take care of Roden's stallion once they rode back into the stable courtyard. Roden stalked off into the castle, his one goal to make it back to his chambers. He couldn't ever stop thinking about Arran, so young and sweet. It felt like he'd passed on ages ago, though in reality it had been just over a month. His funeral had been solemn and simple. It rained the day they laid his empty coffin in the royal crypt, it had been fitting. He would forever be whispered about.
Arran joined his uncle Darius, his grandparents, and so many others who had forever been recognized as castle ghosts. Servants tucked bits of blackberry into the corners Arran would hide in and, one morning, Roden found someone had draped a garland of rowan and ivy above the doors to Jaron's bedchamber. He didn't have the heart to have it taken down. It was how the under educated took solace in the prince's death. The garlands didn't cause any harm.
Although he was slightly more surprised to find a garland of protecting herbs hanging above the doorway to his quarters. He'd assumed most servants didn't care for him as did most of the nobility. All he was to them was a glittering ornament of war. Roden turned on his heels, determined to find who'd left a wreath atop his found the culprit scrubbing away at the stone steps to the courtyard in the bitter cold.
"Keep your muddy boots off of the steps," Mar snapped, pausing her scrubbing for a moment. There was a glimmer of hope, as if she believed she was to get out of the finger breaking cold. Roden couldn't tell if her face fell as a jest or if she was genuinely disappointed. "Oh... It's you.. I'm sorry, I'd thought you were somebody else."
Roden bowed his head in mock shame, "I'm sorry to disappoint." He sat on the driest stone step he could find. There was a small crackle as he popped his thumb knuckles, a bad habit he'd developed since he began to understand just how soon he was to be married to a woman he... really didn't know. It was seeming these days that he really didn't know anyone anymore. "My company doesn't bother you, does it?"
Mar smiled politely, pulling her cold bucket of soapy water close to her. As she proceeded with cleaning the steps, she shrugged, "Careful Captain, I'm beginning to think you mean to call me your friend."
"I wouldn't go that far, I don't like friends," Roden argued with a teasing lilt. The month of the Blood Moon was so much more of a bitter cold than the Harvest Moon. However, the chill wasn't nearly as biting as the look of betrayal in Tobias' eyes as he mounted his steed and rode off into exile. It wasn't as biting as the stench of wine that followed Jaron from his personal chambers to the throne.
"Why not? Everybody likes talking to other people, it's a given," She insisted, still scrubbing the steps clean with a soaking rag and red hands. Her hair was tucked into a starched white cap, just like it had been before. Roden couldn't help but squint at the odd girl.
"I feel like you just like talking to me, and I shut up and listen."
"You're not exactly wrong there," Mar dipped the rag in the soapy water; freezing droplets of water flung through the air, finding targets on Roden's face, boots, and long blue coat. She snickered as she went back to work, lamely hiding what she'd done.
Roden subtly leaned forwards, getting his fingers wet. By the devils, the water was cold. Without a moment's hesitation, he flicked it at Mar without a moment's hesitation. Dark spots formed on her white cap where the water landed, Roden stifled a chuckle with a cough. Once again, Mar got her rag wet, throwing water at him. Quiet snickers turned to chuckles, leading to shrieks, squeals, and a nearly empty mop bucket.
Mar stuck out her tongue, self consciously touching her now soaking cap. She wrinkled her nose as she decided whether or not to keep it on, choosing to pull it off. Unruly corn colored curls spilled over her shoulders, leaves of ivy and rowan woven into the occasional tiny braid. "Well, I think that qualifies for my yearly bath."
He sincerely hoped that was a joke.
"What's in your hair?" Roden asked, steering the subject away from personal hygiene and off to different subjects that could possibly be less invasive. Impulsively, he leaned forwards, and gave one of Mar's ivy laced braid a slight tug.
"Mostly ivy leaves. There's some rowan in there too, haven't found out how to keep blackberry from falling out just yet. I don't want to be possessed by a spirit," Mar explained quickly, touching her rat's nest mane. "I hope you don't mind that I hung some by your door, you bother me, but that doesn't merit spirit possession."
Ah yes, Mar had mentioned she believed in undead spirits. Roden had dismissed that, it didn't seem important back then with his old friend's neck on the line. "Spirits don't stay here, they've got better places to be. Thank you, for the garland, I think. It'll be useful keeping away nonexistent ghosts."
There was a wild flash of curls as Mar shook her head vigorously. Some hairs sprung out in the shape of a corkscrew, Roden blinked a few times to stare somewhere else instead of Mar's head. "Ghosts are everywhere, especially in the castle! Last week, one of the chefs saw the spirit of Prince Darius hunched over a table with a sack beside him. He's come for revenge, castle ghosts are the worst. Did you hear abou-"
"That doesn't mean spirits are real. That could've been anyone," There was nothing that could shake his unbelief in the things that couldn't be explained. Roden had those fears beaten out of him years ago while struggling to survive in an orphanage. "Ghosts aren't real Mar."
"Yes they are and I might be able to prove it," she tugged on the ends of her hair. "Ghosts are real. Prince Darius and his parents haunt this castle. I promise."
"If I'm right, and I will be," Roden countered, giving Mar a knowing glare of some sorts. He smirked as he thought of a rather dreadful punishment for failing at this little wager. Mar wrinkled her nose in anticipation, still tugging on the ends of her corn colored hair, silently demanding that he get on with it. Roden chuckled. "If I'm right, you've got to wash my feet, and keep a mouse in your pocket."
Mar gagged, and couldn't stop herself from laughing as she thought of the wage's stakes. "No no no no no, I won't do either of those things, that's ridiculous. I'd get fleas from the mouse, catch the plague, and die. If I'm within range of you without boots one, I'll probably die from that too. Can't take you up on the offer. Sorry."
Roden smirked, "Fine, fine, I figured you wouldn't walk into that one unless I'd have to do something terrible myself if I'm wrong."
"Oh, I've got it!" Mar exclaimed excitedly, mischief in her blue eyes. She clapped her hands together several times. "If I'm right, you've got to pull strings and make me a lady-in-waiting to the queen.. Don't look at me that way, I'm agreeing to wash your feet. What's court going to think of you, a betrothed man, letting a girl touch his ankles?"
"Doesn't work that way, only ladies get in trouble for letting men touch their ankles if they're engaged," Roden corrected. "Which is stupid, that I believe."
"So you're agreeing to give me a promotion if I win this wager?"
"No." Without intention, Roden's one word response triggered a whole new argument about why that was a perfect choice for a victory prize. No matter how many times the concept of Mar not being a noblewoman and thus rendering it so she couldn't become a companion to the queen came up, she always looped her way around it somehow. A lady-in waiting was supposed to be a companion, and at the moment, Imogen's ladies were gossiping nobles who paid more attention to Duchess Viola than the actual queen. In the end, Mar settled for Roden simply talking to Imogen, rather than leaving anything set in stone.
After the 'mild' argument, Roden stood, his legs and backside prickling with what felt like invisible needles. He'd been sitting too long; Roden held out a hand to Mar, who was reluctant to take it. She bent to pick up her cleaning supplies, Roden scooped them up much quicker than she. He brushed them off as if he were handing her a bolt of fine silk, and gave them to her. "You're a handful, I think I've decided I may try being your friend."
Mar stuck out her free hand, balancing the bucket in the crook of her other arm. "Maris Bailiff. That's my name. Mar's just my nickname. I think it's silly, Mar's more practical. Don't call me by that though, Maris, people will make fun of me. Since we're attempting being friends, I figured you should know that, doesn't change much though. I'm still Mar, I promise."
"I think you talk a lot Maris," Roden said with a sly smirk. He caught her hand. Rather than give a polite shake, he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to Mar's freezing fingers. Bailiff, now where had he heard that before? "Until tonight. Don't look for me, I'll find you."
He let go of her hand, but not her gaze till he turned on his heels, returning to the warm castle halls within the place he called his home.