Gypsy Queen
Chapter 9: Lemon
A group of young courtiers stood to one side of the Throne Room as they awaited Petitioners' Court to begin. The sun shone bright through the large windows, and glinted off of the ladies' jewelry and hair that was brushed and arranged to best flaunt its gloss. Most exquisite of all was the Marquise Cordalyse Avalnae. Her hair seemed as if it were made of flames in the sunlight, and her pale skin—the color of a good pearl—brightened with the illumination. Alec found himself thinking that she was terribly bright. He would have preferred to stand across from someone who was not as blatant in their luminosity. Someone more moon-like than sun.
Cordalyse held her fan in "Polite Inquiry" as she practically vibrated with nerves. "Your Highness, are you sure we are safe with those people here in the palace grounds?"
Alec bowed slightly. "Of course. I would not have allowed them to come if I was not sure that they would pose no threat. Captain Ezranya Fyn's grandmother is the leader of the Gypsies, and we've come to an understanding regarding their residence here."
"Ezra Fyn, the Pirate Princess, is a Gypsy?" Prince Kaelan asked. "Well, that certainly explains the fiery spirit."
"The Clan she descends from is actually the Flacara, which means fire," Alec said. "And her grandmother can throw flames, as well as burn someone's flesh from their bones. However, she could have been exaggerating for the sake of the threat."
"She can throw fire?" Flauvic asked, interested. "What spell does she use? It takes fairly complicated magic to harness an elemental force."
Some of the single ladies in the group sighed. Alec caught his sister's smirk as she touched her husband's arm. His reputation as a reformed evil sorcerer made Flauvic a dashing figure in the minds of the current generation.
"I don't believe she uses any spell," Alec returned. "From what I understand, it's an innate ability."
"Really? That's actually quite impressive. And intriguing. Perh—"
"Flauvic," Elestra warned in a pleasant tone. "Best to not tempt fate. I'd like to keep my husband non-arboreal."
If it had been anyone other than The Flower, he would have scowled in annoyance. But it was Flauvic, and he was in public. So he settled for a slight bow of agreement. "Of course, my dear."
"But if the Gypsies do have such power," Cordalyse fretted, "are we not in some danger of them using it against us? After all, they have been greatly wronged recently. Surely they harbor some resentment?"
She has no idea, Alec thought ironically as he thought back on the two-candle affair of moving the Gypsies from the park to the palace the day before. After the violence was ended by Ezra's grandmother, the Gypsies still had to pack their wagons, what they called their vardo. Still wary of the soldiers, the Gypsies refused any help, although it didn't take as long as Alec had feared. They truly were efficient travelers, and the entire camp—kumpania, he remembered Ezra saying—managed to be ready to travel within less than a candle.
As they'd trekked through the city once again, Alec and Ezra had elected to walk with Loredana and several of the other Gypsy leaders as a demonstration of good faith, and to show the people of Athanarel-city that these were guest of the palace, allies, not under arrest. If the city-folk believed that the Gypsies were being forced to the palace, it would only perpetuate the violence—even seem to condone it. And so the Prince walked amongst his guests with Ezra as his emissary.
Keriam, with both his pride and his head hurting, was sent ahead on horseback, leading Ezra's mount with him. She wasn't comfortable with the animals, and Alec needed her to be confident if they did not want to appear weak while heading this volatile exhibition through the streets.
Alec did feel bad about his friend's wounded dignity. He accidentally overheard a confrontation between Ezra and Thanyl as he made a round to check the well-being of his troops.
"And you had to render me unconscious why, exactly?"
"Keriam, you barreled into the home of a queen threatening her with a sword while I was trying to get her to do her duty and stop the fighting. You made the situation a hundred times more dangerous than it already was!"
"I was trying to protect you."
"I didn't need your protection, but even if I did, that wasn't the way to give it. Either you would have ended up dead, or you would have killed the Lucru Ales of all the Roma. It would be like killing Rider's mother, do you understand that?"
"She was threatening you," Thanyl explained slowly, as if to a child. "I had no intention of killing her, simply of warning her away from you before she did any harm."
"Keriam…." Ezra sounded exasperated. "Thanyl. I've been attacked by more fearsome people in my life than one old woman. She may have age and cunning on her side, but I have a lifetime's worth of experience in defending myself. Pirate, remember?"
Alec had walked away before he heard any more. It appeared that if Thanyl was ever going to write to his mother about Ezra, they would certainly need to come to some sort of understanding first. He felt a bit of satisfaction at that, and immediately felt guilty for it. Just because he had a tumultuous relationship with Ezra didn't give him a right to wish her temper on others.
That's not why you were glad of them fighting, a niggling twinge whispered in his mind.
Alec roused himself out of his thoughts as soon as he realized what he was thinking. Really, what thoughts! He had no interest in Ezranya Fyn. She was an ally, a secret weapon, and occasionally a verbal sparring partner. But nothing more than that. Yes, she was attractive enough, and a fine fighter, and never dull, but it wasn't appropriate for him to think of her as any of those things. Unfortunately, he entered into a very similar conversation.
"Given that her grandmother is the leader of the Gypsies, their monarch for lack of a better term, that sort of makes Ezra royalty," Nadav was saying.
"Whatever do you mean?" Elestra asked.
Nadav shrugged. "I was only thinking that if the Gypsies have a lineal ascension to their 'throne' then Ezra qualifies as a princess. I don't believe they do, however, so it's a moot point."
Elestra nodded. "She told me that a Gypsy leader is elected by all the…vistas I believe was the term she used. So while her grandmother is their equivalent of a queen, Ezra has no special position. Indeed, she's rather an outcast given that her Gypsy blood is so diluted. She's only a quarter Gypsy."
"Still," Kaelan interjected, "it's amusing to think about. The pirate princess as a Gypsy princess as well. Alaraec? What do you think?"
Alec opened his mouth to answer, but was saved by the beginning of Petitioners' Court. It was a lucky thing for him, since he had nothing to answer Ezra's hypothetical nobility with.
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"First!"
Ezra swung her sword into position with Major Newbeth's call.
"Fifth! Seventh! Third! First! Third! Second! Fourth!"
Again and again, she lifted, swung, cut, blocked, and parried with her blade. Her arms were burning from the strain, and her chest was tight. Her braced thighs had gone numb long ago. Her body was trained into redundancy, her mind not thinking, just reacting.
"Seventh! First! Fourth! Third! Rest!" the major called. "Good progress today. Dismissed."
Ezra let her arms hang limp at her sides for a moment. She knew she didn't have time for a real rest like the rest of the cadets had at the height of the day. She needed to meet with Loredana to check on how the clan fared in their new surroundings. And then she had to meet with Rider and the War Councilthat was planning the defense against the Brotherhood of the Damned. And then there was strategy training with one of the other training officers. And then there were potatoes to peel. And then dishes. And only then could she collapse onto her bunk.
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder, and Ezra opened her eyes to see Major Newbeth smiling in commiseration. "You look exhausted. Go get yourself a drink of water, and sit down for a while."
"Wish I could, but I have an angry Romani matron to see."
"Yes, I've heard." At Ezra's surprised arch of brow, Newbeth smiled. "Word spreads quicker than a grassland fire here."
"Not much different than a ship," Ezra muttered. She stretched her arms and groaned at the strain of her muscles. "And now I need to visit my grandmother. Until tomorrow, Major."
She saluted, and Major Newbeth returned the gesture.
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Ezra dashed through the communal cleaning frame, and felt the sweat and grit she had accumalated over the course of the morning disappear. She itched – literally – to change out of the dull green uniform she had wearing for the past few months. One would expect her to have gotten use to the sturdy battle tunics by now, but she still felt like a fraud wearing them.
Ah, well. There was no time to change and it'd be a hassle to have to put it back on for the War Council later. She gave her tunic a sharp tug to straighten it out and flipped her single braid back to hang down between her shoulder blades. A quick check to ensure that she was presentable before dashing down the empty hallways. It seemed that every other cadet in her hall was either catching up on their sleep or out for lunch.
Her steps slowed as she neared the courtyard which had been set aside for the gypsies. The colorful vardos seemed out of place in the quadrangle—little wonder, since this part of the palace was usually deserted. Today, not only was it packed with wary gypsies, but soldiers guarded the perimeter as well.
Ezra could not ascertain whether they were guarding the gypsies who were unpacking their meager belongings under those watchful gazes, or the curious courtiers and numerous onlookers who had gathered around to watch the new arrivals. It had been a week since the gypsies were installed at the palace. For the most part, they were left alone but they still drew the noble crowd, who bought trinkets and charms. Transactions were done under the watchful eyes of the guards on duty, and no one without permission could enter or leave the courtyard. That was until a certain young, red-haired, future Marquis ducked under an outstretched arm and headed straight for the Lucru Ales at a run from the opposite end of the courtyard.
"Keneric, come back here!" came the sharp order of an adult whose patience has been sorely tested.
Ezra nodded at the soldiers who stood in her vicinity and approached the Gypsy leader as well. From her vantage point, she saw a blond head bobbing in the distance, following the boy-lord at an almost leisurely pace. Her heart stuttered. She had not thought Rider would have the time to visit the gypsies busy as he must be handling the incident at Laesez and its calamitous consequences.
She raised a hand to wave then checked herself. Was she actually happy to see him? Hadn't she just seen him last week, during which they had quarrelled about where the gypsies would be housed? He had suggested one of the newly built barracks while she had demanded – at Loredana's behest – an open, airy space. She had won. The longer she went without seeing him, the fewer arguments they'd get into; all the better.
Instead of Rider, however, the crowd of onlookers parted to reveal a frazzled Marquis of Merindar striding her way. A sharp, icy stab of disappointment. Then, swiftly on its heels, the cool breeze of relief. His sharp eye picked her out almost immediately despite the large crowd gathered, and he nodded a greeting as they arrived almost simultaneously at the spot where Keneric and Loredana stood conversing.
"… and you are?" asked Loredana, more bemused than annoyed at the little intruder.
"Uncle Alec says you make fire," said Keneric matter-of-factly.
Flauvic dropped a restraining hand on his son's shoulder and admonished his heir, "Keneric, where have your manners gone begging? The lady asked you for your name." He smiled apologetically at the Lucru Ales, then added as he swept her a bow, "Flauvic Merindar, at your service."
"Don't 'at your service' me, my lord Marquis," came the tart reply.
If the Marquis was taken aback by Loredana's forthrightness and knowledge of his identity, his only indication was a quick quirk of his lips. "Keneric," he prompted, as Ezra bit her lower lip to stifle her laughter.
The young boy performed a simple bow, wobbling a little as he recovered. "Keneric Merindar, my lady."
"Nice to meet you Keneric Merindar. No, I don't make fire. I am fire." Loredana inclined her head in Flauvic's direction then turned her back on father and son in an unspoken dismissal. She wasn't surprised to find Ezra just behind her, just flicked a glance her way and gestured a beckon.
Ezra smiled at the Marquis apologetically. Dropping her gaze to young Keneric, she swore that he had turned a shade paler, and his fiery hair stood out in greater contrast. "Papa, will they burn the palace to the ground?" he asked urgently, tugging at his father's arm.
She bent down to whisper, "Don't worry. We're very good at keeping our fires from hurting people."
Keneric sighed in relief, and leaned against his father's leg. Ezra grinned at the boy, and headed off after her grandmother. No sooner was she in speaking distance than the old woman spoke.
"You were looking for me." It wasn't phrased as a question.
Ezra emphasized her "Yes," with a nod.
"You certainly took a while to come visit," commented Loredana. "Even your friend the Prince came to 'pay his respects', as he so eloquently put it."
"I've been busy – " Ezra wondered briefly at her grandmother's bad mood then added incredulously, "Rider came to visit you?"
"He did. An utterly pleasant young man when he isn't spewing threats." She sniffed.
Ezra grinned and found herself jumping to Rider's defense. "He didn't threaten you, he was attempting to negotiate with you. Quite reasonably, I might add. He's rarely reasonable, I assure you. At least not with me." A pause, then, "Is everything all right?"
"No. Those guards watch us like hawks. It's almost as if they're waiting for us to steal something so that they can clap us in chains and toss us into the deepest dungeon. It'd certainly be more convenient than making sure that we don't bite the hand that feeds us," she added sarcastically. "And don't tell me they expect us to entertain them for free!"
Ezra inhaled deeply before she replied in an even voice. "Has it occurred to you that the guards are there for your protection? And why are you so grumpy?"
"I am. Not. Grumpy." The old lady huffed and crossed her arms. "I can only see the sky here. The only running water is a fountain, and there is no earth beneath my feet! It's tiled! I expected better of a palace," she groused.
"It's only temporary. I'll see if I can get Rider to move you into one of the gardens, how's that?" She recalled the Gypsies need to be surrounded by nature and nothing else. That would explain the bad mood.
"Yes, you see to that. Now, there's someone who's been wanting to meet you all proper since the last time was more of a disaster." She indicated a mustachioed man who had appeared seemingly out of thin air. He bowed his head, his oil-slicked hair glistening at the movement. When he straightened, Ezra recognized him as the man who had instigated the fight the other day by throwing a fireball at her.
Ezra took an involuntary step back, her hand falling to the sword by her side. "You!" she gasped.
"Ezra, this is Dukker, our fortune-teller," introduced Loredana, "I've already reprimanded him for his act of aggression but the matter cannot be put to rest unless you forgive him of his transgression against you."
"Aye. I am deeply sorry if I have offended you Mistress Fyn. You must see that I was only trying to protect my Lucru Ales from harm." He seemed sincerely apologetic, his moustache sagged with his downturned mouth. "Please grant me your forgiveness."
Startled by this vehement profession of regret, Ezra only managed to say, "Uh… I guess. Just promise not to throw fireballs at me ever again."
Dukker grinned, showing white teeth. Even his moustache seemed to droop a little less than before. "Certainly, mistress!"
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Alec heard from his brother-in-law that Ezra was visiting with her grandmother in the courtyard that housed the Gypsies. That, unfortunately, did not bode well for her attitude at the convening of the War Council that afternoon. Ezra always seemed in a more fractious mood after she was around them. Something of their fiery nature ignited her own.
The Prince strolled down the corridor headed toward one of the anterooms where the meeting with his father, Prince Kaelen, Savona, Nadav, and several representatives of the sacked ports along with the Admirals and Naval commanders who had experience with the Brotherhood. Keriam would be there, but he had a few administrative details of his own to attend to. As he walked, Alec flipped through a folio of notes and maps and battle strategies. He already knew he was going to have to go out onto the ocean again for the campaign, and his stomach rolled at the thought.
Of course, he would have Ezra provide him with the ensorcelled pearl, the Pirate's Pearl, that prevented sea sickness. He smiled remembering the promise that he wouldn't go out to sea again unless she were the Captain.
"Good day, Your Highness," a sweet voice broke him out of his reverie. Alec looked up to see the lovely Cordalyse, resplendent in her white and rose day gown with her hair braided and wrapped in loops and swirls atop her head, walking towards him from the direction of the library. "You were having pleasant thoughts, I gather?"
Momentarily at a loss to explain what he was thinking, Alec simply gave her a vague smile and hmm'ed. He looked down at the basket of exotic fruits she carried and found it an excellent change of topic. "And where, may I inquire, did you find such as you have there?"
She blushed. "They are for you. You are not the only one with relatives of a magical bent, Your Highness."
Alec was momentarily startled, though he had enough control not to show it. "I'm grateful, Lady Avalnae—"
"Cordalyse, please," she corrected. "We are friends, are we not?"
"Of course. I am thankful for the gift, Cordalyse, however I currently have an engagement with the War Council. I fear I could hardly bring your basket with me."
Again, a deep pink glow flushed the lady's cheeks. "Shall I have it sent to your apartments, then?"
"Rider!"
Alec and Cordalyse turned to find Ezra Fyn striding down the long hall toward them. Or. more rightly, toward Alec. She didn't seem to be terribly concerned about Cordalyse's presence.
"Captain?" he answered as he looked her over. She was once again in her cadet's uniform of loose trousers under a long tunic emblazoned with the crest of Remalna, and a long-sleeved shirt underneath. Her hair was tied back away from her face, and it struck him again that, with it so, she looked almost like an adolescent boy—albeit a very pretty one. Really, was it any fault of his that he had mistaken her for one when they first met?
A few strands of hair had escaped her ponytail and fluttered about her eyes and ears, stuck to her neck, and Ezra batted one away as she neared them. Her confused, irritated scowl brought an unexpected smile to tug at Alec's mouth.
"Where is this meeting supposed to take place, and did you plan it at the farthest end of the palace away from the barracks just to make my day a little harder?"
"I wouldn't dream of trying to inconvenience you," he answered in a voice that suggested that even if he hadn't planned it that way, seeing her reaction was still a bonus. "We're meeting in one of the Green Anterooms to the Throne Room. I'll lead you there in just a moment."
Alec turned back to the quiet, intimidated marquise. Clearly Ezra's brashness put the modest young woman at a disadvantage. He bent in a polite bow, and asked, "Please excuse me if I leave you, Cordalyse? I'm afraid we are a bit late."
The red-head dipped a curtsy. "Of course. The…the basket?"
With as much dignity as he could muster, he told her that she could have it sent to his rooms. Ezra peered into the basket, and looked up at him. "Yours?" He nodded, and she motioned to the lemon the basket contained. "May I?"
Before he gave her an answer, she took the yellow citrus out, pulled a small knife from her boot and started to spread the peel. "You eat lemons raw?"
The words had escaped from his mouth before he could martial them, much to his chagrin.
She shrugged. "When the only other choice is scurvy, you learn to like them." She started walking away in the direction Alec was originally headed. She looked over her shoulder, and called, "Rider! You're supposed to be leading the way."
Alec once again turned to Cordalyse with a bow and caught up with Ezra in a few long strides.
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They arrived at the antechamber in good time, just as everyone else was settling into their seats. Here, Ezra noticed, the ancient greenwood table was round. And there were twelve beautifully carved chairs to match. Extra chairs, these made of plain wood, had been brought in to accomadate the large War Council. She spotted Keriam standing to the side, a sheaf of papers in his hands. He caught her inquiring glance, and shook his head. There was no place at the table for him.
Rider directed her to one of the greenwood chairs, dropped his folio of documents on to the table, and pulled out the chair for her. Startled, she looked up at him, nearly cutting herself as she finished peeling the lemon. It was obvious that he had not anticipated her surprise for he stared right back at her blankly. An awkward pause ensued before he recovered and said, "Please take a seat, Ezra."
She fought the urge to plop into the cushioned chair as she would have done on any other occasion. Instead, she slid into the space between table and chair by shuffling her feet, and sat only after Rider had smoothly manoeuvred the seat beneath her. No one had ever pulled out a chair for her before. She wasn't sure whether to be flattered at the gesture or irritated that he thought she couldn't sit down on her own. Ezra sneaked a peek at the Prince who seemed unconcerned as he pulled out the chair beside her and settled his lean frame into it with all the grace of a tidal swell surging in to rest on the beach.
A prick of pain reminded her that she still held the wicked blade in her hand. She cut the lemon into quarters then wiped the knife clean with the edge of her tunic and shoved it back into her boot, chiding herself for her foolishness as she did so. He probably opened doors and pulled out chairs for ladies all the time. It was simply habit for him. But did that mean he considered her a lady?
Ezra did not have the time to pursue that train of thought for someone was calling her name, and lemon juice was seeping through her fingers. "Yes?" she asked, looking around the table. Everyone was staring at her.
Then Rider said, "Ezra, you're dripping lemon juice on an antique." She snatched her lemon-filled hand off the table and glared at the infuriating man beside her. "Here, take my handkerchief before you do anymore damage."
A plain white handkerchief was pulled out of his breast pocket, neatly folded and pristine. He wiped the lemon juice from the table before pressing it into her free hand. She glanced at it and found it clean. "It's ensorcelled," he anticipated her question in his know-it-all voice. She glared at him again but that only seemed to amuse him more as he fought a losing battle with his facial muscles and grinned.
"Alec," said the King in an exasperated tone, "if you're both finished, we have business to attend to." That effectively wiped the smile from his face, and it was her turn to smirk. She popped a lemon slice into her mouth and chewed. The tart sourness prevented her from smirking all the more at Rider's discomfiture. He sent a quick glance her way, a faint flush along his cheeks, then cleared his throat and addressed the room.
"I'm sorry for my distraction." A cough. "It was momentary and will not happen again." He leaned forward and indicated an area along the south-eastern coastal edge of the Remalnan map. "We've commenced building better fortifications for our ports, and coastal towns and cities. Soldiers have also been sent to these areas to resume the militia's training. We have grown lax in maintaining our coastal defenses since the last attempt by the Brotherhood." He paused when General Mishalle gestured for attention. "General?"
"We're still fending off raiders along the inland borders. Won't we be spreading ourselves even thinner by defending the coasts as well? Let's not forget internal strife. We'll need soldiers to maintain peace here as well." There were nods of assent all around.
"That is why we need the militia. We cannot, will not, resort to mercenaries. That is also why we need to ally ourselves with our neighbors. Sartor has offered us their aid," a nod in the Sartoran prince's direction, "but it is upon our selves we must depend. Norsunder is attacking us not only with its military might but with magic as well. My father has appealed to the Dyranarya academy for their guidance in this matter, and they have agreed to help in any way possible."
"Highness, you mention Dyaranarya?" asked one of the representatives. "There are,
I'm sure, not enough mages to go around even if you were to empty the academy of its newest students!"
"You're right. The best solution we've come up with so far is to have qualified mages deployed to reinforce our defenses with magical wards." A quick glance in the King's direction then a look at his cousin. "Nadav, any news?"
"It appears that Zirellia Ianthe is lover to the Emperor's right hand man. From the looks of it, that man and the former Dyarnarya professor are one and the same." The younger Savona appeared contemplative as he delivered his report. "My spies report that it is the latter that we should be more worried about for he has remained unseen and practically unheard of all this while."
Alec leaned back into his chair, his gaze sliding to his right as Ezra slipped another slice of lemon into her mouth. After scrunching up her face at its sourness, she proceeded to lick her lips and fingers with absentminded determination. He watched, for an instant mesmerized by her long fingers and soft lips. Oh, he remembered how soft those lips were. "Mistress Fyn?" he murmured. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"
She paused mid-lick then smiled. "Simple. If you wanna hook the big fish, hook the small one and use it as bait. Sharks will eat their own wounded." Alec grinned at her nautical analogy.
"You're saying that we should capture Zirellia?" asked the Queen, her brows rising. "Perhaps, being a non-magic user you do not fully understand the extent of her powers."
"I do magic!" replied Ezra hotly, demonstrating her skill by igniting the tip of her index finger.
"Elemental magic, yes." The Queen pinched the bridge of her nose. "Zirellia deals with a magic far more complex than what you or I can do. From what I understand, it is difficult to measure her exact amount of power because we are not sure how much is actual, and how much is illusion. She may even be able to use and creates illusions to make it seem as if she were not as powerful as she is, rather than the other way around."
"'Elemental magic' you say? Hmm…" Kaelen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure but I believe I've read somewhere that elemental magic has a canceling effect on dark magic. It's something about the forces of nature being – for obvious reasons – natural, and thus more acceptable to the natural world." He snapped his fingers. "I'll have to go read up on it again."
"I'll send a missive to Oria," said the Queen. "She'll know."
"What about the Gypsies?" piped up the representative from Laesez. "The people are still wary of them."
"Their Lucru Ales has ordered them to keep out of trouble. And I've issued a decree stating that anyone found guilty of harming a gypsy will be brought to the palace and tried as traitors to the Crown. The notices are are being posted as we speak," said the King sternly.
More talk of things that were mostly over her head passed around Ezra. She took it all in from her seat, still eating slices of lemon and occasionally wiping her hands on the still-pristine white handkerchief in her lap. She answered what she could—will the Gypsies remain content for a while longer? are we sure that these attacks are not the result of simple pirate attacks?—but most of the conversation wasn't about her. She did learn several interesting facts during this meeting, however. These were aspects of battle strategy which might have been present at her last meeting in such a situation, but she had been so angry and intent on being belligerent at the time that she had missed them.
Firstly, nothing was done in the Palace without hours of blather and deliberation. It was a wonder anything was done at all. Although it was a little comforting that those in power did nothing until they were absolutely sure they were doing the right thing. And Ezra was forced to admit, once again, that these particular royals were the good sort. They took care of their people.
Secondly, she learned that every opinion in the room mattered while making decisions. They repeatedly asked her for clarification and drew on her pirate or Gypsy knowledge. Even those who sat in the plain chairs rather than the ornate ones, or those who stood, were allowed to weigh in. So it wasn't simply politeness or mockery when Rider asked what she thought. That was humbling enough for Ezra that she considered giving the Prince an apology.
And thirdly, there was no bias against what the Queen or the other female officers had to say in regard to war plans. Not that Ezra had seen many examples of outright misogyny in her life, but many men—at least in the pirate world—tended to think that women were less inclined for violence than men. It explained why those women who did take to the sea often became notorious for savagery. They had to compete with equally bloodthirsty brethren who outnumbered them and tried to take their authority. Not so here.
The War Council concluded with a surprising announcement from Rider's cousin, Nadav. Ezra was quickly learning that this young man was not the flippant fop he pretended to be. A deadly quick mind lay under that immaculately styled coif.
"I will have more information about the Brotherhood tomorrow," the young lord announced. "I have a meeting with an informant tonight. One who has given me reason to suspect new information has come to light."
"Why does this informant have more information than what our own spies have picked up?" one of the Admirals asked.
"I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time," Nadav answered. "However, Captain?" He turned to look at Ezra who was just about to put her last slice of lemon into her mouth. "If you would please remain for a few moments, I would be grateful."
Ezra glanced over at Rider who looked surprised—or the Princely version of surprised when he was trying to look like he knew about this all along—then looked back to Nadav. "Of course," she said, and popped in the last of the lemon.
Rider went to talk with his cousin as the rest of the people in the room filed out. They got into a slight argument, and it ended finally with Rider calling Keriam over to them and all three nodding a grudging consent. Ezra remained at the table until she was alone with the younger spymaster and Keriam.
Nadav shrugged off whatever had passed between him and the Prince, and turned to Ezra with a smile. "I've wanted to ask all this while: where did you get the lemon?"
"Lady Cordalyse had a basket all made up for Rider. I snagged a piece as I passed."
At the marquise's name, his smile faltered somewhat. "Ah. Of course she would. She's really…very thoughtful that way." He cleared his throat and leaned against one of the chairs. "Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I kept you behind. You see, I need your expertise on my interview with this informant. He's a pirate, and since I have very little experience with pirates, I was hoping you could come along and give me your opinion on whether or not he is telling the truth."
Ezra raised her brows and looked over to Keriam. He bowed slightly, his mustache twitching in a repressed smile. "I will be accompanying the both of you as physical protection in case something happens."
"Rider's idea?"
"Alec's idea," confirmed Nadav. "Apparently he was quite worried that one of us would get hurt."
She tossed him a smirk. "Well, having seen you with a sword, I'd worry for your protection as well."
Both men threw their heads back in a laugh, and it was agreed upon to meet at the South Gate of Athanarel at first blue.
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Roma Vocabulary:
Vardo—horse-drawn living wagons
Kumpania—band of families
Vistas—clan
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A/N: We apolgize for the hideously late update. EG's back from Europe and I passed my Final Theory Driving Test! Yay. Okay, I'm working on the second half of chapter 10 now, so be patient. This fic is certainly taking longer than I'd expected but it's moving along nicely plot-wise. Stay Tuned! Review!
Any comments regarding the plot/characters etc. are welcome.)
