Logan awoke with a ragged breath in the middle of a carrion's best dream. Dead bodies littered the grounds, tents were upheaved, and contents strewn about by a careless hand. The stench of rot was unbearable. Logan groaned; feeling every nerve alight with pain. He was disoriented; how long…how long had he been out? Some of the bodies around him were desiccated and ghastly, while others had the gangrene and putrefaction of a few days out, no more than five.
Memory returned, slowly. He was…in the field some distance from Lodes keep. He had tried to save, and then tried to revive –
Marie! He pulled his aching body into a seated position, which did not wish to comply. His bones were heavy, and his muscles roared at him for surcease. He had never felt this way, not in any of his scant memories. Her Affliction was strong, and yet, somehow, he had survived. It must be due to his own Afflicted status, his ability to heal from near any death.
It would have been a relief if it wasn't for the fact that he was in the middle of an abandoned battlefield, and Marie was not there. He sniffed the vile air, catching the remains of her scent. It was faint and tinged with something too subtle for him to make out amongst the decay and ruin. He hoisted himself to his feet, and with a groan began to set out after her; he saw no reason to remain here, the dead held this field in their victorious grip.
A long day's hike brought him to a small opening within a copse of trees. Marie had spent time here; and he immediately found the lean-to she made. It looked like a sloppy imitation of something he would have created. He was almost charmed by the look of the small shelter or would have been if he hadn't easily scented a duo of other scents, and from the signs around the small ring of stones where her fire was born, she was accosted.
Rage filled his entire body as he read the signs left behind by the brigands – for brigands they must surely be – as they took her from this place and herded her to parts unknown. The trail was harder to follow here; brigands who were good at their job knew to hide most of their tracks. His pace began to increase in speed as he almost hurriedly, but not sloppily, stalked her and her captors.
He was raging the entire time in his head as he desperately ate ground to catch them, though he had no clue about the two captors or who they might be. The scents he received were the usual of body odor and hard trekking through undeveloped country. One scent was awash with something reminiscent of a marshy bog, while the other…was unnervingly like his in a way; clearly one was carrying an Affliction. No human should smell that wild, that feral.
The only times he stopped were when the pains in his stomach forced him to, or utter exhaustion made him stumble to rest. The best that could be said was that he was gaining on them, though by how much, he wasn't certain. They had come by this way days prior. He ground his teeth in determined silence; while he was making all haste to find her, he feared what he may discover.
On the fifth day of his wild trek through the forests, he came across another wooded area they traversed. This time, there was another battle, this one just as obvious as on the field that he woke. Clearly the brigands were met with opposition, and according to the stiff, rotting corpse of a small man with muscular legs and the swampy scent, they had lost. Returning to the clearing, Logan tracked the fight until its final stand. He saw the remains of rope – a great deal of it – on the ground with a small smattering of broken metal links.
Whoever fought the brigands seemingly won. The ropes smelled of his Marie, and it seemed that the scent wasn't too old, which soothed the beast within him. She yet lived and was freed from the other feral. That other man's scent worried him, especially as he found more recent signs of their passing. The feral was too interested in his mate; and if he were here now, Logan would educate him on who Marie belonged to.
That thought gave him pause, so much so that he stopped his instinctive hunt for her. Belonged? To him? It was inconceivable that he would think in such a way. What had begun as a simple repayment to the Outlander had become something greater, something more.
Rationality returned to him in that moment of surprise. What exactly did he think he was going to do if he found her? Drop to a knee, profess his love, expect her to reciprocate? Logan snorted in derision and spat out his contempt on the forest floor. Marie had told him that her Affliction takes memories, life force, and powers of other Afflicted people. She most assuredly knew that he had come with her murder intended. Would she even want to see him again, now that she knew who he really was?
And yet, he couldn't stop himself from taking another step. And another. There was no real logic to his thoughts. Logan would trek to the ends of the earth, to the green southern lochs, or the north's bitter wind, to find her. He couldn't, wouldn't leave her. And no matter what Nur's intentions were to his mate, he knew he had to counter them.
Another day's trek and it was obvious that the men Marie followed were taking her to the city of Westerly Rock. Greymalkin; the keep within the Rock was home to Lord Xavier, a duke and of considerable power in his own right. His family had seen great fortune in the last century; through marriages and extremely beneficial Afflicted family members who helped the Xavier fortunes swell, similar to Lodes Darkholme own rise. Charles Xavier II had enough power and a long lineage to be considered an adversary to even the most powerful nations and empires. At present, he was an ally and supporter to the Summer King and his court, who knew that their newly forged kingdom in the west of the continent needed allies to protect them from being swallowed whole in world affairs.
Yet, much like the Darkholmes, to whom Xavier gave his sister to, his family is known for their canny ability to find a positive outcome in even the darkest of times, or in the depths of great trickery. The powers of the Xaviers was different from the Darkholmes, and the Summer King; his Affliction was less known and discussed only in fantastical rumors. What would Xavier do about his niece? Would he protect her, and shelter her?
Logan's thoughts swirled around these concepts as he moved through the forest. Both parts of him wanted to ascertain the level of care she received. To be completely frank, he knew he would not leave her alone to her uncle's keep. Would the Outlander attempt to harm her while in Xavier's hands? He did not think that she would be safe in Westerly; no, he knew it. Nur had wanted her dead. That was not usually a disposition one easily abandoned when first thwarted. She had not been safe with her own family, the snakes that they were. He still felt rage when he remembered the chamber she had been locked and chained into.
And so, Logan continued on in the brisk morning, intent on finding his mate.
Maybe she would forgive him. If he could show her the depth of his devotion, maybe, just maybe, she would smile, extend a pale ungloved hand, and ask him to never leave her.
Hope was a woefully small word, to define a large emotion, yet it kindled within him and kept him warm as he continued to trudge along in the pre-winter chill.
Westerly Rock was an enormous hold, much different from the stratified court and city of Lodes Darkholme. The city's various quarters merged together and seemed to thrive on the large plateau it jutted out from in the middle of a vast plain. There were some buttes scattered haphazardly throughout the plain, which seemed to house watchtowers, and a wide river cut through the middle of the area. It was beautiful land; with the signs of autumn still in power here than where cold Lodes Darkholme lay, further to the west, closer to the rough mountains.
Marie wanted to stop and take in the view, but her companions ushered her along until they were working their way up the switch backed road towards the city proper. As they walked the long miles through the plain and mountain before then towards the keep itself, Marie was shocked to her core to see Afflicted people using their abilities in the open, as if it were nothing. So different from the cold keep of her parents, who did not allow Afflictions to be used unless in direct command of Lord Erik himself. A holdover from their forefathers' past, where assassination was common.
A man tended a fire, poking at it with a stick, but he made shapes rise from the flames to entertain two young children who watched avidly and clapped their hands in delight. There was another man whose arms stretched like sticky tree resin, allowing him to re-shingle a small portion of a damaged roof. A woman, who sang her wares, each note flourishing sparkling lights that wove around her stall, producing a dazzling display.
Marie tried not to gawk at any of the people; but Lucas caught her astonished look. "My lady, what so many call Afflictions, we call gifts here. Many of the people here have gifts and exercise them freely. It is part of what shows the nobility and strength of our Lord Charles."
"Aye," the southron man chimed in, eyeing a pretty woman who had come out of a baker's shop, a long loaf of bread tucked into her basket. Marie doubted the man was looking at her ware and more at her attributes, of which there were many. "Our lord has given us leave to use our gifts however we see fit; and as such, our people thrive."
Marie could see no way that her Affliction was a gift. There was no way that her power could do something beautiful like the shop keep's, or efficient like the one who fixed his roof. It filled her with sadness; her utter uselessness to create or protect, and her companions noticed it, having grown accustomed to her long bouts of silence in the short days they traveled together. All her powers did was take and leave ruin behind them. Logan and Eirene in her mind protested, but damningly, her parents remained silent. It was difficult to sort out her own feelings; her head felt more and more cramped by the day. The two men left her to her silence, which was more and more common as each day had passed as they continued on towards her uncle's stronghold.
The rest of the city went by in a blur, and soon enough they were standing before the gates of Greymalkin. The keep was made with a deep grey stone that seemed to have chips of some sort of shining material in it. It made the whole keep glow in the mid-morning light. The colors of Xavier's house – blue and gold – flew in prominence here, as they did from any official building and quite a few homes as they made their way across the plateau. A man so hated would not have commoners support him so virulently. It gave her hope that her uncle was the man she once knew.
The guards allowed Xavier's men, rangers apparently, to escort her into the keep proper. The courtyard was large, but the keep itself was massive, therefore it only made sense. She was led through halls with enormous windows set with sparkling colored glass, which dappled the floor and walls with colored jewels of light. The ceilings arched gracefully, and each of the pleasant faced servants they passed bowed, curtsied, or saluted the two men who escorted her with cheer. It was very nearly surreal, this behavior. Strict compliance with propriety was all she had ever grown up with, along with an ardent desire to avoid notice – while covertly listening at every closed door and balustrade lip. The open friendliness here was jarring, and somewhat unnerving to her.
Eventually they stood before two oversized doors of a polished dark wood. The men waited to be admitted, before belatedly, Lucas noticed her state. "Forgiveness, my lady," he said earnestly. "Perhaps we should have secured a waiting room so that you may have a moment to attend to yourself."
Marie shook her head, aware of the state of her clothing, and person. "It is better that I look the part of a supplicant. Perhaps it will work in my favor with my uncle." She said, noticing the look of mild surprise the two men passed one another. Their naiveite was touching, and something, some part of her father stirred within her. Their gullibility could be something to exploit in the future. Marie stamped down firmly on that feeling, a wash of shame coming over her. She shouldn't think so ignobly of two men who saved her life.
Before she could say anything to set her bruised conscience at ease, the doors swung open – seemingly of their own accord – and they entered the room. It was not the grand hall, thankfully she did not have to act the cautious and weary petitioner in front of a large audience, but an audience there was.
Lord Charles Xavier II was flanked by ostensibly his closest members of court. Beside him was a strikingly beautiful woman whose long blonde hair was the second aspect of her you noticed. She was evidently using her Afflictio – her Gift, as her flesh was replaced entirely by crystal. Her clothing was…unique. She was evidently an outsider to these lands; furs and silks were used in a masterful display to show every asset of her voluptuous form while hinting at more. Perhaps she was one of the peoples who lived across the nearly impassible world ocean.
Next to her was clearly a Master, as the heavy pin of his station was affixed to a long neck chain. A long open robe trailed and parted across a broad, muscular chest that was in no way hidden by the copious amounts of grey-blue fur that covered him. Large hands and feet were bare of rings, or shoes, and his long pants were wide legged, which seemed comfortable for moving in. His bright yellow eyes had a strange contrivance in front of them, small discs of glass, seven of them, that seemed to be set on a rotating device that he could push in front of his eyes. Marie did not understand their purpose, nor did anyone else within her mind.
On his other side was a man who seemed to have been caught in early winter weather. Part of his body was flesh and blood – hale and whole, despite the fact that the rest of his body seemed carved of ice and snow. He looked at her with piercing blue eyes, taking the state of her dishevelment. Utter compassion entered his face, even the parts that were covered by winter.
These people are uncultured. They let every emotion play across their face without concern.
She pushed the thought from her mind as quickly as it were borne, even as her mother agreed with it. She was in no position to look down on anyone, despite what her parents thought.
Xavier himself was seated atop a small, low backed chair. The chair itself was a carved masterpiece, indeed, it looked as if it had grown in that spot instead of being placed there by a master carpenter. Xavier's bald pate held only a simple crown of twisted silver and gold, studded with golden yellow and deep royal blue sapphires. It seemed to make his forehead shine and sparkle with every movement and every time the light was captured within their depths. He was dressed simply, but elegantly, his clothing and robes of a black silk brocade.
Marie took two steps forward when the two men escorting her stopped. She knew what to do from her lessons, though she felt her parents' distaste as she fell to her knees before Xavier's throne. "Lord Charles Xavier II" she said, as she extended one hand toward him. "I have traveled long and far, in the company of these goodmen, and I beg of you, by dint of blood, and of compacts long established, to grant me sanctuary within your walls. My life will be yours, should you wish to take me on, and I will dedicate myself to you for as long as you see fit."
She wanted to cry but knew that tears would be too much. Further, the revulsion of that thought from her parents by adding such drama to this already shameful display was nearly overwhelming. She could barely get out the time-honored words of asylum as she knelt there, one hand out in beseeching request.
The room was quiet in the heartbeats that followed, as everyone seemed to wait for what Xavier would say in response. His head nodded once as the man in ice stepped away from the small knot around Xavier to offer her his hand of flesh to her with a gamine grin. Reluctantly, fearfully, she let her gloved hand slide into his, as finally, her uncle spoke. "Always so polite, always so well-behaved. My dearest niece," Xavier said as the icy man led her to her uncle. "You are ever welcome here; my home is at your disposal. My protection is ever yours."
Marie collapsed again to her knees, protocol demanding that she press her forehead to his ring. Fearfully, she let her hair – greasy from days without wash – fall over her face so that she could do so without endangering her kin. She spoke the words of gratitude and thanksgiving to finally end the ritual's display. As she did the whole room's demeanor changed; obviously they were no longer considered public and could now converse in private.
"My lord uncle," Marie said, unable to give up propriety until she had discharged every aspect of her duty. "You have already saved me before I entered your keep," and with true relief in her voice, she recounted how Lucas and Cassidy saved her from the brigands intent on selling her to the highest bidder. "Their skills are only matched by their bravery, of which they are hold an inestimable amount. I beg that you give them praise for their excellent service, as they surely saved me from a terrible fate." She concluded.
Cassidy swept a luxuriant bow while Lucas contented himself with a more restrained salute. "The lady is too kind," Cassidy told the room as Lucas chimed in. "It was merely duty, and a pleasure to put a stop to two cretins who would prey upon others."
"Nevertheless," said the lord of Westerly Rock. "You have done a great service to me, my family, and our two lands. You will be rewarded." The room went silent for a moment, before the two men nodded and bowing one last time to their lord, then to each of the high born in the room, left them. Marie had seen no conversation between anyone, yet she knew one had taken place. Her uncle, if he were so Aff- gifted, had never shared with her the nature and depth of his power. She wondered if he was similar to Cassidy, who seemed to use sound in some way. Perhaps Xavier was passing a secret to them at a volume she could not hear.
"My lady," said the woman with the diamond body, her voice a melody of crystalline chimes. Her accent and husky timbre attracting the attention of all in the room. "You must be exhausted from your travels and wish to rest. If my Lord will allow me," she said, barely waiting for his nod of assent that came atop her words. "I may take you to chambers where you might find yourself refreshed before giving a longer account of your travails."
Marie nodded, feeling every bit of the grime and travel that clung to her clothing and body. The other woman, Marchioness Frost; of no relation to the other icy individual in the room, she later learned, led her from the smaller greeting chamber down sumptuous halls to a series of apartments that were set aside for lords and ladies visiting. While not in use by anyone in a long period of time, the Marchioness – "Ema, my darling. You are kin to Lord Charles, and you may call me by my name." – assured her that they would not be too stuffy, and that hot water would be brought quickly for her to reclaim herself. The gorgeous woman stayed with her as servant after servant carried in buckets of hot water in double walled, lidded pails. Once the bathing chamber was readied, a fire stoked to a merry blaze, Ema let her know that the household staff would find her an appropriate change of clothing, as well as a woman to take care of her basic needs. Despite her protestations, Ema would not hear of it. "No lady should ever be denied the care of a knowledgeable maidservant!" Marie was backed into a corner of acceptance. She would have to be careful with whatever woman they gave her, she decided as Ema left her to bathe in peace.
Do not let her touch you. The first voice hissed in her head. Her mother's to which her father 'nodded' in grim agreement.
Do not fear, child. Your uncle is not a man full of contrivance and deceitful schemes.
Use her to find information for you; knowledge is power.
The only one who did not speak during these whirling thoughts as Marie gratefully stripped out of her stinking, travel-stained clothes was Logan. She found it a great relief as the other voice's opinions drowned out any other thought. He seemed content to let her make her own decisions. Such polite circumspection was a balm while she managed to build up bastions in her mind to drown out the chorus of voices.
Her bath was hot, almost too hot to bear, yet after the filth of many days and nights in the wild it was a sheer joy to be clean. She scrubbed virulently until every inch of her skin was a bright stinging red. There was a second basin which she used to wash her hair free of grime and grease.
Wrapping herself in a long section of a woven sort of natural cloth – not wool, but something she had never seen before – Marie began to brush out her hair, patiently working the knots out until it was no longer a tangled snarl.
It took quite a while, and in that time, she reflected on what had transpired over these last days. Her home ransacked, her parents missing. Her Affliction giving her insights to the man she was – even now – smitten by. She battled that feeling as she stared at her reflection in a mirror made of beaten silver and glass. Ever since her powers came to her, she had resolved to be honest with herself. It was the only way for her to best determine whether a thought was hers or another's. Therefore, the uncomfortable, unvarnished truth remained to her; she still had feelings for Logan. It was partly the reason she did not prod or pry into his thoughts that now resided in her head; and of those thoughts there were many. In a memory she had accessed though, she saw that he held her in that battlefield, nearly frantic and desperate to save her.
But why? Why was he so willing to have sacrificed his life for hers, and so gladly?
I thought you said you were being honest with yourself. The voice in her head was undefinable; and for a long moment she wasn't certain who said it.
So focused on her inner dialogue she didn't hear the person enter the room until the door snickered shut. Turning in surprise she realized it was only the maidservant Ema had promised her.
The woman curtsied in a manner similar to the ones from Lodes Darkholme, though not as low, nor as deferential. It was better than the obeisance that was expected in her familial home. The woman smiled and offered her name as Thyses before asking if her lady is ready to be dressed. Marie stammered out an agreement but before the woman came further, there were things that had to be established.
"Thyses, I am afraid I have certain…complications that are unique to my person. I hope you understand that the precautions I must ask you to take are more for your behalf than mine."
"My lady," Thyses said, smiling in an indulgent, motherly way. It twisted Marie's heart a bit; that smile reminded her of her beloved Eirene when she walked the earth. "Whatever you wish of me to do, I will comply. You have nothing to fear; we shall do everything as you ask of it, and I know to keep my peace."
Marie smiled in return, though her parents most certainly cast aspersions by this woman's swift promise of dedication to Marie. Who would immediately promise to be a confidant when they did not know a person, or make their own needs and requirements known as would anyone else in an agreement? Both cautioned her that the woman was not to be trusted, and that she will go running to tell tales to either her lowborn friends or was sent as a spy by that snake Charles. Familial love did not extend to their child, nor did it towards other family relations.
Thyses was told that Marie had a gift (it was still so difficult naming it that instead of Affliction!) and that skin to skin contact must be avoided. The maidservant understood and excused herself long enough to locate a pair of gloves for herself. It took only a few moments, and upon her return the two of them looked through the piles of clothing the maidservant had brought with her.
After a long discussion, and a longer time of sorting through the items that may fit her best, they settled for now on an ankle length white chemise with belled sleeves that fell just beyond her wrists. They belted it with a sleeveless overdress in a royal blue with thread-of-gold trim – Wearing your uncle's colors as if you were a direct descendant! – came a derisive sniff. It fit the best of all the clothing and would not require any taking in, unlike the majority of the other clothes which the maidservant left with, her arms bundling the clothing carelessly – "Don't worry, we have ways to ironing nearly any crease out without incident. Master Henri is a genius!" as well as series of knotted ropes of different color, which were all set to her body's proportions. Thyses was quick to assure her that there would be more clothing as the women of the keep were looking forward to dressing up a young lady.
Her slippers did not match the dress she wore, yet since it fell well beyond her ankles, no one would notice. Besides, anything was better than wearing boots day in and out. A pair of gloves were located, with a promise of more to come. Thyses assured her that she would return with haste once she discharged the duties to the women of the keep. She also promised that Marie's clothes that she arrived in would be cleaned and returned to her at the earliest possible moment. There was no small amount of gratitude that Marie felt by these people's easy warmth and hospitality. It was hard not to break into tears. When had she become so fragile?
You've been through a great deal, Marie. Logan voiced as the door closed on Thyses who was looking so pleased by the heartfelt gratitude Marie had expressed. Marie stilled, and waited for Logan to say more, yet nothing else came from him. She was apprehensive, and disappointed all at once, and it puzzled her to no end.
Before she could think further on it, there was a very formal knock at her apartment's door. She gestured with a hand for a servant to open it before she realized that she was alone. Marie was not her father; she rose and went to the door herself, opening it without comment beyond a surprised "Oh!"
Standing there was the man she had met in her uncle's private chamber; the one who had been half-made of ice. She hadn't expected him to be there, but then again, she had hardly expected anyone to come and see her. "Good day," she said somewhat cautiously, unsure as to why the man was here.
"Good day, Lady Marie." The man said formally, and then flashed that same charming grin from before. His was a face that seemed built for smiling. "I was wondering if you would be interested in entertaining a guest before we attend dinner. I know your travel has been arduous and exhausted, yet I wish to speak with you. If you are not too tired, that is."
Oddly enough, Marie was not. Perhaps it was something of adrenaline, or the restorative effects of a bath, but Marie felt as ready as if she had a week's reprieve. "Not at all, do come in Sir…"
"Robert. Robert of Stronghold Stead" He said as he entered her suite. Not a sir then, but a baron. He looked around approvingly. "It is good to see you are well cared for, Lady Marie. While I did not doubt your uncle's hospitality, it pleases me to see you have been given some our best apartments."
The small talk was typical and somewhat grating, she didn't have much experience in it. Her parents had believed that small talk was only for those who had no real power, but she managed to hold her own end of it. Baron Robert – "Robert, please, merely my name is enough." He had said with a toothsome grin. She managed to return it over the growling in her head. Logan was decidedly uncharmed with Robert's attempts to entertain Marie.
Robert spent the better part of an hour with her that afternoon. He began to give her a few stories of his own life at Stronghold Stead, intermixed with tales of Westerly Rock. Marie spent that time stamping down her parents' emotions and allowing the young man to share his stories, while using a few well-placed prompts to allow him the lead in the conversation. Finally, before he could allow his own curiosity to get the better of him and ask her questions about her life, Thyses returned. The servant tried to excuse herself, but Robert pardoned himself from their presence and on his way out managed to wrought a promise from Marie that she would partner him later that night.
"Isn't the Lord Robert a fascinating man?" Thyses bubbled as the two of them were left alone once more. "He enjoys riding and is rarely unseated at any sport he plays. Though he is best with his Gifts, he is also an accomplished jouster."
"There are jousts here?" Marie asked, no small amount of curiosity in her voice. Jousting was a sport she had only read of; her father did not entertain such gauche displays.
The conversation continued as Thyses eagerly told Marie about the various activities here in Westerly. It was evident that this kingdom spent a great deal of time focused on more than just subsistence living. It was a refreshing change of pace considering the more constrained lifestyle she was accustomed to. Her parents dismissed it as supercilious pomp.
In a shorter time than she had expected, Thyses was escorting her through the sumptuous halls with their wealth on casual display to a 'modestly sized' dining room. "No need for the grand dining room tonight," she said, to which Marie did her best not to goggle at the size of this more "intimate setting". It wasn't the private quarters, but this room was large enough to hold each of the dignitaries that swore their allegiance to Lodes Darkholme thrice over.
Thyses left her then, and Marie entered the room alone. Xavier was already seated at the head and gestured with one hand for her to take the seat to his left. An honor; typically, heirs, wives, or other close familial relations would sit there. Indeed, she was a niece, and a guest as he had said so perhaps it was all done in concert with her standing. And she was, after all, a welcomed guest. It was an honor to be seated so close to the lord of a keep. Her own father, leery of assassination, ate only with her lady mother at his side.
She slid into the seat left for her, noticing that Robert, Ema, and Master Henri were in attendance as well as a smattering of some other nobles she knew only by their devices that were pinned to high collars. As she sat, Xavier picked up his goblet, and saluted the room. This was the symbol for everyone to break form and begin their meal. Servants entered the room, parading the platters about. A large haunch of mutton steamed on one polished plate, and as places were set by an apparently telekinetic servant – expediting the laying out of cutlery and plate ware – Xavier spoke to her. "Tonight, I would like to ask you for a moment's time. We have much to discuss, my niece." He said, his voice so quiet and calm under the mellifluous sounds of some sort of stringed instrument that it was almost difficult to hear him.
"Of course, uncle," Marie replied, as soup was served. The servant seemed to be able to manipulate the tureen to spill out a measured portion for each guest. The casual display of powers was beginning to intimidate her.
You will so easily fall into your uncle's display? I taught you better, girl.
Despite the cold words it did put a little steel into her spine. She may be on unfamiliar ground, but there was no need to act as if she were unworthy to be in the same room. Marie ate her dinner and conversed with her uncle as the meal wore on. Afterwards, there was some light dancing, and Robert did obtain his goal of partnering with her for a few sets. He was indeed a good dancer, just as Thyses gossiped about. Eventually though, the evening wound down, and the sundry nobles departed. Marie was escorted by Master Henri to Xavier's suite – during the dancing her uncle had left the hall, though Marie hadn't noticed when.
Master Henri was a mass of conflicting realities. While one might assume him ungainly and beastlike in gait, he walked quite fluidly through the halls. His mouth held cruel fangs and sharp teeth, yet a more cultured and scholarly vocabulary could not be found in any other human that she had met. His tone was at once genteel and snarling; he was unable to avoid a bit of a growl and a slight lisp due to his enlarged upper canines.
And the topics he discussed! Storms, the concept of gravity, the heated interiors of the earth, to the delicate wings of a butterfly, his nearly unending stream of words were delivered in a teacher's lecturing tone, but one of finding a mind interested in learning the topics that he was divulging. The walk wasn't long, and yet Marie felt smarter just from standing next to the erudite man. She asked him if he would be willing to talk more with her in the future, and his face lit up; his yellow eyes bright as twin suns at the possibility someone found his research interesting.
Happily delivering her to the door of Xavier's chambers, he left her with a graceful bow, and a promise to speak with her anon. He had pushed the door open at some unseen signal and left her as she entered, the door shut behind her.
Xavier was seated in a large chair by the sitting room's fire, which had a modestly sized fire filling the audience parlor with heat and an equally warm glow. A lap blanket sprawled across his legs, and atop both was a large, fluffy white, orange, and brown cat. He was petting the animal in long strokes, and the cat was purring cheerfully at the ministrations. He smiled and addressed her warmly but did not rise.
Marie curtsied deeply and he waved a hand to give her leave to sit in the chair next to him. She took the chair and basked in the warmth for a long moment. The room was well appointed, and homey to boot. She was feeling a little tired, and the plumply cushioned seat was decidedly comfortable. The cat's purrs were audible in the quiet room, and it produced a soporific effect on her.
"You've been through so much, Marie." Xavier's voice was as quiet and composed as her memories swirled. "My men told me much of how they found you, and with whom. It troubles me greatly that such disreputable men had come to accost you. Cassidy and Lucas told me that you reported they held you for a little under a week. Yet what transpired to have you meet these men? They were not so near Lodes Darkholme; and I cannot imagine your lady mother, my sister, allowing anyone in her family the chance for an invigorating hike." Charles paused and smiled. "Dearest Raven was never one to enjoy the outdoors."
Marie expected that her uncle would try to find more information. She saw no reason to try and hide any evidence from him, despite her parents' voices clamoring in her mind to give Xavier nothing. Yet, they were not here, and she was. She had always liked her uncle Charles; he who was a small, slight man filled with vigor and a love for all outdoor activities. It had been he who taught her to swim in the cool lakes nearby Lodes, and he who refined her horsemanship skills.
Taking a deep breath, she began to tell her tale, starting with Samhain. She edited parts of the story, omitting Logan entirely, it hurt too much for her to speak of him at this time. Instead, she focused on the attack of the undead wights that tore through Lodes Darkholme, their rampage and carnage. She, like many, fled in fear. Her father organized his troops to locate the highborn who had fled into the woods and likewise discovered her. Before they could return to Lodes, another attack came. She again managed to escape, yet this time, she had been accosted by the two men; Victor and Mortimer. They took her and had planned to sell her to the highest bidder, money and exoneration of previous crimes being their focus.
Xavier listened in silence as the words flowed out of her, making no remarks. His blue eyes stayed on her while his hands continued to stroke the luxuriating cat in his lap. The only other sounds aside from her voices in the room were the crackle of wood, and the purrs of a very contented feline.
Finally, she came to the end of her recitation. Silence held for a long moment, then another. Xavier's eyes closed, it seemed he was concentrating on something. Marie held her silence as Xavier reflected on all that was told.
"My dear," he said, still not rising. "There are some questions I would like to ask you. I know that my sister and her husband were not always the most welcoming to those who are Gifted," he paused as she saw her shift uneasily. "even within their own household. Rest assured, I have no misgivings. You must know my Gift; your mother must have told you." He seemed surprised when she voiced the opposite. "She did not? Fascinating. Ah, Raven…you do love your secrets… nevertheless, I am able to see into a living soul's mind. I can speak to them without using my physical voice, and merely send my thoughts to them. I have often thought that your parents established a realm of circumspection. They must have had you trained to withstand many different sorts of infiltration and attempts of espionage."
Marie's pulse sped up; it seemed her uncle knew about Logan. Did he plan to lecture her about her gentle heart, her trusting nature? Was he about to express his disappointment in her, and send her away? Steeling herself, she forced herself to attend his questions and drown out the clamor in her head.
Charles continued. "Imagine my surprise when I found I was unable to access your mind. Even now, you are impenetrable, and I am unable to capture even the most fleeting surface thought. Others who carry similar gifts to me are unable to completely keep me out unless they actively work towards it, and yet you rebuff any advance I attempt."
Imagine his surprise? Marie nearly slid off her chair in shock and relief. He did not know. He was unable to see within her mind. "It…must be an aspect of my a-gift." She managed weakly, as she locked her knees and managed to keep her back upright.
"Indeed." The Lord of Westerly Rock paused, shifting his seat a bit to become more comfortable. The cat shot the Lord of Westerly Rock a glare; how dare they be disturbed by this human's movement? "My dear; would you do me the honor of discussing your gift with me? I must admit, I am more than a little curious, and curiosity is relentless when one pursues mysteries."
Marie paused, but only for a heartbeat. After all that he had done, she could tell him, could she not? Perhaps this was an elaborate scheme, and yet, too many of the superfluous corroborating factors could not be manufactured so easily or swiftly, just for her befuddlement. He could be trusted.
With a deep breath Marie explained what she knew of her powers. How they took another's life, memories, and in terms of their people, powers. When Xavier asked, prompted by curiosity, she affirmed she had multiple minds within her, though she did not specify whom, and he did not ask. Perhaps he was too much a gentleman, perhaps he would try again some other time.
Finally, at length, after the cat had become bored with its absentminded affection and wandered off, she wound down her account. The fire crackled merrily as Xavier sat in quiet contemplation. Again, exhaustion crested over Marie like a tidal wave, and she felt the weight of fatigue coupled with the enormity of the situation she had found herself in, crushing her. The cognitions in her mind seemed to have a physical weight as well. She felt as if she were struggling in deep water, and unable to keep her head above the waves.
"There has been talk of Nur," Charles said, his words carefully chosen. "That he is looking for access to unlimited energies. Rumor has it he believes that those so Afflicted are tapping into a greater power and channeling it through themselves in manners that befit their personality. He wants access to what he thinks is a bank of power and is eradicating any land that defies him."
Hope began to die, poisoned by suppositions those words wove. Would he send her away to keep his own realm safe? Her parents reiterated their whispered claims of Charles' lack of familial duty, before the man spoke again. "Perhaps he has made it his prerogative to destroy any so Gifted and increase that supposed power bank. That may be why he assaulted your home."
Xavier rose, stiffly, and Marie realized now that one leg, hidden by the blanket before, was withered and unreliable. Charles was using the chair to sturdy his stance, he put no weight on the wasted left leg. When had that happened to him? Her eyes were wide with unasked questions, to which her uncle made a small grimace of apology and waved a hand as if to dismiss the questions. "While Nur may try to come here, I doubt he would, unless with his full force. And only if he had found a way to keep my allies from coming to aid." Charles paused and mused a bit longer. "You will most certainly stay here, my child." Relief was a cold wave washing over the chaotic heat of fear.
"I firmly believe your mother, at the least, still lives." Her uncle did not elucidate on that fact further. Instead he continued. "Until I can locate her, or your lorded father, I must ask you to remain here. I would hope that Raven would not be so far gone as to distrust her own brother in wishing her, as well as her family safe. Yes, in this, we are united. Nur must not succeed, or even come close to it. Upsetting the natural order always ends poorly."
The door to the sitting room opened and Thyses entered, curtseying. The audience was at an end. Marie rose and curtseyed as well, as her uncle bade her goodnight, and dismissed her from his chambers. Thyses escorted Marie back to her room, where she in turn let the woman go to bed – but not after the serving woman successfully convinced Marie to let her prepare the chamber for bed.
Eventually though, she was alone in the room – or as alone as she ever was. Her uncle said she could stay and had also given her a little insight to Nur's plans. She wasn't important or particularly special in them, and for that she was grateful. Nur was trying to increase his power and used wholesale murder, as well as war, to achieve it. Marie laid her head on her pillow, and drifted off to sleep, feeling more at peace than she had in nearly a month.
Logan woke at dawn's first light, less than a single day from Westerly Rock. Exhaustion racked his body; the reason he had curled up in the hollow to sleep. Hunger gnawed at his insides; eating had been pushed aside mentally unless absolutely necessary during his cross-country trek.
He hungered now. Standing, he sniffed the air and was rewarded with a warren nearby. Either rabbit, badger, gopher, or – who really cared? He needed to eat and eat he would.
A short while later, suitably fed, if not particularly satisfied, he continued his loping stride, devouring the ground up with his wolf-like gait. It was astonishing what the mind can ignore in pursuit of a goal, and Logan was a master at this skill. He was going to find her, and nothing, not her Afflicted uncle, nor all his guards or retainers, would stop him.