Identity Crisis
Chapter Four
In which Tatya meets the Heralds, and a deal is made.
*******
Tatya clutched the thick clay mug to her, and let the warm of the hot broth warm her inside and out. She didn't look around at the furnishings or the two people in the room with her. The room was not, quite, a cell, but its cloister-like appointments suggested that her current status was only a small step removed from that unenviable position. The guards hadn't said much beyond, "Sit here," and "Here's some broth," but she didn't mind. All she really wanted to do was go to sleep.
*Where is Annice? She should be here by now,* Rhys grumbled. If he had any control of her body at all, they'd be pacing. Without control, he still managed to convey the _sense_ of pacing. Occasionally, one of Tatya's legs twitched, just in sympathy.
*Calm down, flower-child,* Faniel soothed. *I've spoken to Doric, and he's assure me that his Chosen is on her way. It _is_ early, you know.*
*And Byron?* Rhys didn't sound soothed.
*Is coming as well. One advantage of the Seneschal and King's Own being married,* Faniel said in an aside to Tatya, *is that when you have to wake one at an inconvenient hour, the other is inevitably needed, as well. Thus marital strife is avoided.*
She smiled at the weak joke. "I hope they get here soon," she said, blushing as the closest guard gave her a stern look, "I'm about to fall over."
*Patience, children.* Faniel ignored Rhys' indignant snort.
Before the Herald could think of a retort, the door swung open, and the guards sprung to attention. An older woman with loose silver hair and a sleepy-eyed young man entered, their white uniforms marking their allegiance. The woman nodded at the guards. "Thank you, Captain. We'll take it from here."
The Guard Captain saluted, and the guards departed. The Heralds took seats across from Tatya. She ducked her head to avoid the force of their combined regard. The female Herald cleared her throat, and said, "I'm the Seneschal. My name is Annice, and this is the King's Own Herald, Byron. Now, what is this all about?"
Tatya looked up, astonished. "Faniel didn't tell you?"
*You didn't tell them?*
"No," said Annice. "Doric merely said that it was urgent that I see you. Where is Faniel's Chosen?"
*I thought it would be most appropriate to let you explain it,* Faniel said. He sounded just the tiniest bit sheepish.
"Thanks a lot," Tatya muttered, and waved away the Heralds' questioning looks. Then she launched into the short version of recent events, covering what Rhys had told her about his mission, and their meeting, but leaving out her own reasons for being on the road.
"And this," she said, unwrapping the belt holding the satchel to her waist, "is the letter Herald Rhys wanted...wants you to have." Before she could forget, she stuck her hand into it, and pulled out her bundle, then passed the satchel to Annice.
Annice looked at the bundle in Tatya's hand. "What's that?"
"That's mine." Tatya tucked it into one of her pockets, and set her face into a mutinous expression when it looked like Annice would press harder.
Byron sat forward, and expression of intense curiosity on his lean face. "Fascinating. You are actually sharing your mind with another person?"
"That's what I said, already."
He held up a hand. "I'm sorry, it's just all so...improbable! Can he, can he hear us?"
*Of course I can, Bree.*
"He says 'Of course I can, Bree'."
"Fascinating," Byron repeated, and sat back. His eyes, which were a peculiar and unsettling shade of grey-green, gleamed. "I have, of course, read stories...fragments of ancient legends, really, of mages and otherworldly creatures that could take residence in the bodies of other people or animals, but I never expected to see such for myself. I wonder which one of you is doing it?"
Under his stare, Tatya was starting to feel a little like some rare and exotic species of insect. She glanced at Annice for support or distraction, but the Seneschal was staring at the thin sheaf of papers in her hands with total concentration. There was no help there. "Um, it's probably Rhys. I mean, he's the Herald and all."
"Possibly," Byron said, "but I wonder. After all, the Collegium tests all incoming Heraldic trainees for gifts, and I flatter myself to believe that we do a rather good job of it. It's...disturbing to think that we missed an ability of this caliber."
*Well,* Rhys said, *If it takes me dying to reveal it, I'm just as glad it didn't come up until now.*
Tatya smiled. At Byron's raised eyebrow, she relayed Rhys' quip, and the King's Own chuckled appreciatively. "You know," he said, "this could get terribly awkward, using you to relay everything he says. Perhaps you would permit me to touch your mind, and maybe I could hear him as well?"
Tatya's grip tightened on the mug. Let yet another disembodied voice into the sanctum of her mind? The thought sent a shiver of fear down her spine. *Tatya,* Rhys said, his voice gentle, *you don't have to do it if you don't want to. No one here will try and force you.* Beneath his supportive words, however, she felt his wistfulness. How must it feel for him, she wondered, not to be able to talk freely to anyone but herself and Faniel?
"You can," she said. She gave Byron a weak smile. "My throat hurts too much to do all the talking, anyway."
"That's a good girl." Byron smiled back, and she felt pleasure from both Rhys and Faniel as well. She glowed at the approval. "It won't take but a moment to make the connection. Oh," he said, and his voice was suddenly quite casual, "may I test you for Gifts, Tatya? It would make the investigation go more smoothly, and we might as well get it out of the way."
She hesitated, and then nodded. Byron fixed her with his gaze, and then appeared to look _beyond_. A curious sensation filled her mind. It was as if someone were massaging the inside of her skull; not unpleasant, but peculiar. Then it was gone, and Byron focused on her once more.
*Bree? Can you hear me?*
"Indeed, Rhys. And may I say how nice it is to do so again?"
*It's better for me, I assure you.*
"And as for you, young lady," Byron turned his attention to Tatya, "It would appear that Rhys owes you his thanks. It would appear to be your Gift that snatched him from the brink of death."
*Brink? That was no brink.*
"Ahem. At any rate, you do appear to have one active Gift. It appears to be related to Mindspeaking, but I've never seen anything quite like it. If you don't mind my asking, do you have any Heralds in the family?"
Tatya shook her head. "My parents are originally from Rethwellan. My father was a member of a city watch there until he met my mother. Oh," she gasped as a thought struck her, "maybe that has something to do with it."
"Don't keep us in suspense, please."
"Well, you see, my mother was an acolyte at the temple of the Lady of the Frosts. She had been taken there as a baby to be groomed as a priestess. Then she met my father, and they fell in love. She escaped from the temple, and they fled to Valdemar because they knew that we don't let people be taken into holy orders against their will." She looked down at the floor. "I used to think that story was so romantic."
Byron tapped his fingers against one white-clad knee. "The Lady of the Frosts. I believe I have a book that mentioned her, briefly. One of the religions dedicated to the Rethwellan Lady in her aspect as Avenger, isn't it?" He didn't wait for a response. "I'll spend some time this morning chasing down a few interesting sources."
"Before you disappear into the Library," Annice said wryly, then smiled as Tatya jumped. She'd almost forgotten the older Herald was there. "I'll need to you to speak to His Majesty. We're going to have to deal with the Deshannel situation immediately. He has to assume that Faniel got this message to us, even if he doesn't know about Tatya. Does he know about you?"
"I don't see how he could."
"Which is not the same as a 'no', but I'll take what I can get. Even if we go around the Council and make this our priority, however, it'll take a few days to get everything together."
*I'm going.*
"What?" Tatya exclaimed. "Not a chance!*
*Tatya...*
"No!" She leaped from her chair in her agitation, barely noting the warm broth that slopped over her hands from her cup. "I did what you wanted me to, Rhys. But there's no way that I'm going _back_ all that way just to get shot at by some insane Duke."
*It's my responsibility to be there!*
"And it's _my_ body. And we're staying right here."
Byron got to his feet, and with a glance at Annice, approached the scowling form of Tatya. He took the cup from her, and briskly wiped her hands with a fine, white handkerchief. "You're both worked up, and for good reason. Don't try to argue it out now. You must be tired. Why don't you...both get some sleep? You can use Rhys' quarters. I'll call a page to take you there." He reached for the slender bell pull.
*I know the way, Bree.* Rhys' voice was curt.
Byron stopped, and a peculiar expression flitted across his face. "Sorry, Rhys," he said. "But it's a lot to keep in mind."
*You're telling me.*
Annice cleared her throat. "Byron's right. You should both get some sleep. Don't worry about anything for a while, and when you wake up, just send a page to fetch you a meal. I'll have one assigned to your room, Rhys."
*Thank you, Annice,* Rhys said, and then waited impatiently as Byron relayed it. *Let's go, Tatya.*
She would have snapped back at his preemptory tone, except that her outburst seemed to have sapped the last of the energy she had. She made some rather muddled good-byes, and then followed Rhys' directions through the twisting halls of the Palace to a small, but cozy set of rooms somewhere in the depths of the complex.
She retained just enough presence of mind to shed her filthy traveling clothes and set her bundle on a nearby table, before crawling beneath the gloriously soft and thick comforter spread across the bed. *Goodnight,* Faniel whispered, but by then both she and his Chosen were fast asleep.
* * *
"So, what do you think?"
*I think we're short.*
"You're just now noticing that?"
*Oh, I'd noticed before. I just hadn't realized just how short we really were.*
"The Bards have nothing to fear from you, o master of courtly graces," Tatya muttered. She was standing before the floor length mirror in Rhys' bedroom, staring with dismay at her reflection. Upon waking, she'd found the idea of putting on her old clothes again revolting and had taken a much needed bath, instead. Afterwards, a quick look around (while wrapped in a blanket) revealed neither page nor saddlebags in the vicinity. Rhys had offered the use of his Whites, several sets of which hung in the small, oak armoire.
The problem with this, as they soon found out, was that Rhys had been a tall, broad man. None of those described Tatya, who was five feet tall only if she stood on tiptoe, and had been built with rather more curves than angles. Clad in the Herald's Whites, she resembled nothing more closely than a child playing dress up. "I refuse to go out like this."
*Well, there's always the blanket...*
"You're not helping, _Chrysanthemum_." she said through clenched teeth. Inwardly, however, she was more relieved than annoyed. The Herald had been in a playful mood every since they'd woken up, teasing both her and Faniel and, aside from the Whites incident, helping her find her everything she needed. He might just be trying to disarm her before moving in for the 'kill', but Tatya had decided that she was just too tired to keep her defenses up.
*Ow. Okay, okay, I'll stop. Just don't go spreading that name around, I beg of you!* He sent her a mental image of a tiny Herald cowering before a giant Tatya wielding a club. Written on the club in bright red letters was his full name. She laughed, delighted.
"I didn't know you could do that, Rhys."
*When your entire life is reduced to your imagination, it would be foolish not to explore the possibilities.* They were silent for a long moment, each uncomfortable with having broken the lighthearted mood. *I guess we'd better try and find that page.*
"Yeah, we should." Tatya turned away from the mirror and the over-damp hazel eyes of the girl there, and shuffled her way to the hallway. She opened the door, and stuck her head out into the corridor; the young girl who had been standing by the door jumped at her unexpected appearance.
"Yes, m'lady Herald?"
Tatya scowled. "I'm _not_ a Herald. Now, do you know where the Companions' stable is?" The page nodded. "Good, go there and retrieve Faniel's saddlebags."
*Please.*
"Please," she added. The page nodded again.
"Anything else, m'lady?"
*Don't forget food.*
"Oh, right. We're very hungry. Could you bring something to eat?"
"Yes, m'lady." The page gave her an odd look before leaving.
"What was that about?" Tatya asked as she closed the door, and flung herself into one of the overstuffed chairs in the sitting room.
*You mean aside from your unique attire, adamant non-Heraldness, and lapse into the royal we? I can't imagine.* What sounded like a snicker colored the otherwise bland tone of Rhys' words. *And I can't believe I had to remind you about the food. It is _your_ stomach, after all.*
Tatya snorted, and refused to dignify that with an answer. She sat and dozed in the soft chair until the page returned, with the saddlebags slung over her shoulders and a tray of steaming mutton soup, a half loaf of warm bread, and a mug of fragrant tea in her hands. Tatya thanked the page, and wasted no time digging into the meal. It tasted twice as good as it smelled, and she ate with a haste that would have horrified her parents.
As she sopped up the last of the soup with the heel of the bread, she said happily, "That was wonderful! And you get meals like this all the time?"
*When I'm in Haven. Generally, though, I'm out on the road, and then it's journeybread and inns. Not that there aren't some very good inns. For instance, there's this place called the Crested Hen near Deshannel..." Rhys trailed off, and Tatya tensed. Here it comes, she thought, he's going to ask me.
"You really want to go back, don't you?"
*Yes,* he said. *It's my duty to see this through. However, I won't ask you to take me. You were right; you've done enough, and it wouldn't be right to send you into danger like that.*
She was startled, and humbled, by the admission. She cleared her throat, nervously, and then said, "Well, I've been thinking, too. And I think we should make a deal."
*What kind of deal?*
"I've got something I've got to do here in Haven. If Faniel gives me a ride to the Jeweler's Guildhouse, I'll agree to go with you."
*Is this about that bundle of cloth you won't show anyone?*
Her cheeks pinked. "Yeah, it is. Um," her hands twisted in her lap, "if you wanted to see it, I'd let you. If you wanted to."
She felt his smile. *I'd be honored.*
She jumped up from the seat like a dog that's been offered a walk, and hurried to the other room, hopping and shuffling to avoid tripping in the overlarge Whites. When she reached the table, Tatya took a deep breath to steady herself before unwrapping the cloth to reveal a small, lacquered box. She opened the lid.
Inside the narrow box were two objects. On the bottom, a sealed letter addressed to the Master of the Haven Guildhouse, written in a bold, untutored hand. Atop of this lay a silver brooch. The stones embedded in the flat center were chips of topaz, mountain ruby, and amber, arranged in a mosaic of an idealized hawk with wings spread. Framing this, the profile of four silver horses rampant appeared to flow out of the metal, with bright sapphire fragments for eyes. *My gods, Tatya. It's beautiful. Did you _make_ this?*
She grinned, and the tension dropped out of her bones, leaving heady pride in its wake. "I did. I had to do it at night, but Master Raul, the family smith, covered for me, and helped me get the materials. I've sort of been his apprentice for a while now, but he's not a jeweler, and that's what I want to be. So he wrote a letter claiming me as his apprentice, and this is my application piece to become a journeyman."
*I don't understand. Why did you have to hide it?*
She shuffled her feet. The floppy legs of the trousers bunched around her feet and almost hid them from view. "I'm an only child, and my father's heir. Aside from which, Momma lost four before they managed to have me. I love them, I do, but they're so _scared_ that they'll lose me, too. All they ever wanted me to do was be a lady and stay safe. They just want what they think is best for me, you know," she said defensively, before Rhys could get the wrong idea.
*And what do _you_ want?*
"I want to make beautiful things. I got the idea for this from a trader that showed me a piece of cloth he says came from the Dor'i'sha Plains. I don't even know if he was telling the truth." She closed the box. "I want to travel all the way from the North to the South, and find all the different kinds of beauty there are, and bring them back here. My parents, even if they could handle the idea of me around forges and hot metal, would never let me do that."
*So you ran away?* He didn't sound condemning, just interested. Tatya nodded, and wiped her hand quickly along her eyes.
"I know it was wrong, and that they're terribly worried about me. But I'll contact them again, just as soon as I've made a place for myself, and they see that I'll be okay on my own. But I _have_ to do this. Before I lose my nerve."
Rhys said nothing, but the back of Tatya's mind was heavy with the weight of his thinking. She rewrapped the box, and shuffled back into the sitting room. There turned out to only be one or two outfits of hers in the saddlebags that weren't hopelessly wrinkled and didn't smell too badly of horse and mildew. She chose the bright orange skirt and blouse over the more sedate brown and grey outfit. Grey would make her look too much like a Heraldic trainee, she thought.
She dressed quickly, and pinned her hair up. Surveying herself in front of the mirror, she asked Rhys shyly, "So, what do you think?"
*I think we've got a deal.*
Chapter Four
In which Tatya meets the Heralds, and a deal is made.
*******
Tatya clutched the thick clay mug to her, and let the warm of the hot broth warm her inside and out. She didn't look around at the furnishings or the two people in the room with her. The room was not, quite, a cell, but its cloister-like appointments suggested that her current status was only a small step removed from that unenviable position. The guards hadn't said much beyond, "Sit here," and "Here's some broth," but she didn't mind. All she really wanted to do was go to sleep.
*Where is Annice? She should be here by now,* Rhys grumbled. If he had any control of her body at all, they'd be pacing. Without control, he still managed to convey the _sense_ of pacing. Occasionally, one of Tatya's legs twitched, just in sympathy.
*Calm down, flower-child,* Faniel soothed. *I've spoken to Doric, and he's assure me that his Chosen is on her way. It _is_ early, you know.*
*And Byron?* Rhys didn't sound soothed.
*Is coming as well. One advantage of the Seneschal and King's Own being married,* Faniel said in an aside to Tatya, *is that when you have to wake one at an inconvenient hour, the other is inevitably needed, as well. Thus marital strife is avoided.*
She smiled at the weak joke. "I hope they get here soon," she said, blushing as the closest guard gave her a stern look, "I'm about to fall over."
*Patience, children.* Faniel ignored Rhys' indignant snort.
Before the Herald could think of a retort, the door swung open, and the guards sprung to attention. An older woman with loose silver hair and a sleepy-eyed young man entered, their white uniforms marking their allegiance. The woman nodded at the guards. "Thank you, Captain. We'll take it from here."
The Guard Captain saluted, and the guards departed. The Heralds took seats across from Tatya. She ducked her head to avoid the force of their combined regard. The female Herald cleared her throat, and said, "I'm the Seneschal. My name is Annice, and this is the King's Own Herald, Byron. Now, what is this all about?"
Tatya looked up, astonished. "Faniel didn't tell you?"
*You didn't tell them?*
"No," said Annice. "Doric merely said that it was urgent that I see you. Where is Faniel's Chosen?"
*I thought it would be most appropriate to let you explain it,* Faniel said. He sounded just the tiniest bit sheepish.
"Thanks a lot," Tatya muttered, and waved away the Heralds' questioning looks. Then she launched into the short version of recent events, covering what Rhys had told her about his mission, and their meeting, but leaving out her own reasons for being on the road.
"And this," she said, unwrapping the belt holding the satchel to her waist, "is the letter Herald Rhys wanted...wants you to have." Before she could forget, she stuck her hand into it, and pulled out her bundle, then passed the satchel to Annice.
Annice looked at the bundle in Tatya's hand. "What's that?"
"That's mine." Tatya tucked it into one of her pockets, and set her face into a mutinous expression when it looked like Annice would press harder.
Byron sat forward, and expression of intense curiosity on his lean face. "Fascinating. You are actually sharing your mind with another person?"
"That's what I said, already."
He held up a hand. "I'm sorry, it's just all so...improbable! Can he, can he hear us?"
*Of course I can, Bree.*
"He says 'Of course I can, Bree'."
"Fascinating," Byron repeated, and sat back. His eyes, which were a peculiar and unsettling shade of grey-green, gleamed. "I have, of course, read stories...fragments of ancient legends, really, of mages and otherworldly creatures that could take residence in the bodies of other people or animals, but I never expected to see such for myself. I wonder which one of you is doing it?"
Under his stare, Tatya was starting to feel a little like some rare and exotic species of insect. She glanced at Annice for support or distraction, but the Seneschal was staring at the thin sheaf of papers in her hands with total concentration. There was no help there. "Um, it's probably Rhys. I mean, he's the Herald and all."
"Possibly," Byron said, "but I wonder. After all, the Collegium tests all incoming Heraldic trainees for gifts, and I flatter myself to believe that we do a rather good job of it. It's...disturbing to think that we missed an ability of this caliber."
*Well,* Rhys said, *If it takes me dying to reveal it, I'm just as glad it didn't come up until now.*
Tatya smiled. At Byron's raised eyebrow, she relayed Rhys' quip, and the King's Own chuckled appreciatively. "You know," he said, "this could get terribly awkward, using you to relay everything he says. Perhaps you would permit me to touch your mind, and maybe I could hear him as well?"
Tatya's grip tightened on the mug. Let yet another disembodied voice into the sanctum of her mind? The thought sent a shiver of fear down her spine. *Tatya,* Rhys said, his voice gentle, *you don't have to do it if you don't want to. No one here will try and force you.* Beneath his supportive words, however, she felt his wistfulness. How must it feel for him, she wondered, not to be able to talk freely to anyone but herself and Faniel?
"You can," she said. She gave Byron a weak smile. "My throat hurts too much to do all the talking, anyway."
"That's a good girl." Byron smiled back, and she felt pleasure from both Rhys and Faniel as well. She glowed at the approval. "It won't take but a moment to make the connection. Oh," he said, and his voice was suddenly quite casual, "may I test you for Gifts, Tatya? It would make the investigation go more smoothly, and we might as well get it out of the way."
She hesitated, and then nodded. Byron fixed her with his gaze, and then appeared to look _beyond_. A curious sensation filled her mind. It was as if someone were massaging the inside of her skull; not unpleasant, but peculiar. Then it was gone, and Byron focused on her once more.
*Bree? Can you hear me?*
"Indeed, Rhys. And may I say how nice it is to do so again?"
*It's better for me, I assure you.*
"And as for you, young lady," Byron turned his attention to Tatya, "It would appear that Rhys owes you his thanks. It would appear to be your Gift that snatched him from the brink of death."
*Brink? That was no brink.*
"Ahem. At any rate, you do appear to have one active Gift. It appears to be related to Mindspeaking, but I've never seen anything quite like it. If you don't mind my asking, do you have any Heralds in the family?"
Tatya shook her head. "My parents are originally from Rethwellan. My father was a member of a city watch there until he met my mother. Oh," she gasped as a thought struck her, "maybe that has something to do with it."
"Don't keep us in suspense, please."
"Well, you see, my mother was an acolyte at the temple of the Lady of the Frosts. She had been taken there as a baby to be groomed as a priestess. Then she met my father, and they fell in love. She escaped from the temple, and they fled to Valdemar because they knew that we don't let people be taken into holy orders against their will." She looked down at the floor. "I used to think that story was so romantic."
Byron tapped his fingers against one white-clad knee. "The Lady of the Frosts. I believe I have a book that mentioned her, briefly. One of the religions dedicated to the Rethwellan Lady in her aspect as Avenger, isn't it?" He didn't wait for a response. "I'll spend some time this morning chasing down a few interesting sources."
"Before you disappear into the Library," Annice said wryly, then smiled as Tatya jumped. She'd almost forgotten the older Herald was there. "I'll need to you to speak to His Majesty. We're going to have to deal with the Deshannel situation immediately. He has to assume that Faniel got this message to us, even if he doesn't know about Tatya. Does he know about you?"
"I don't see how he could."
"Which is not the same as a 'no', but I'll take what I can get. Even if we go around the Council and make this our priority, however, it'll take a few days to get everything together."
*I'm going.*
"What?" Tatya exclaimed. "Not a chance!*
*Tatya...*
"No!" She leaped from her chair in her agitation, barely noting the warm broth that slopped over her hands from her cup. "I did what you wanted me to, Rhys. But there's no way that I'm going _back_ all that way just to get shot at by some insane Duke."
*It's my responsibility to be there!*
"And it's _my_ body. And we're staying right here."
Byron got to his feet, and with a glance at Annice, approached the scowling form of Tatya. He took the cup from her, and briskly wiped her hands with a fine, white handkerchief. "You're both worked up, and for good reason. Don't try to argue it out now. You must be tired. Why don't you...both get some sleep? You can use Rhys' quarters. I'll call a page to take you there." He reached for the slender bell pull.
*I know the way, Bree.* Rhys' voice was curt.
Byron stopped, and a peculiar expression flitted across his face. "Sorry, Rhys," he said. "But it's a lot to keep in mind."
*You're telling me.*
Annice cleared her throat. "Byron's right. You should both get some sleep. Don't worry about anything for a while, and when you wake up, just send a page to fetch you a meal. I'll have one assigned to your room, Rhys."
*Thank you, Annice,* Rhys said, and then waited impatiently as Byron relayed it. *Let's go, Tatya.*
She would have snapped back at his preemptory tone, except that her outburst seemed to have sapped the last of the energy she had. She made some rather muddled good-byes, and then followed Rhys' directions through the twisting halls of the Palace to a small, but cozy set of rooms somewhere in the depths of the complex.
She retained just enough presence of mind to shed her filthy traveling clothes and set her bundle on a nearby table, before crawling beneath the gloriously soft and thick comforter spread across the bed. *Goodnight,* Faniel whispered, but by then both she and his Chosen were fast asleep.
* * *
"So, what do you think?"
*I think we're short.*
"You're just now noticing that?"
*Oh, I'd noticed before. I just hadn't realized just how short we really were.*
"The Bards have nothing to fear from you, o master of courtly graces," Tatya muttered. She was standing before the floor length mirror in Rhys' bedroom, staring with dismay at her reflection. Upon waking, she'd found the idea of putting on her old clothes again revolting and had taken a much needed bath, instead. Afterwards, a quick look around (while wrapped in a blanket) revealed neither page nor saddlebags in the vicinity. Rhys had offered the use of his Whites, several sets of which hung in the small, oak armoire.
The problem with this, as they soon found out, was that Rhys had been a tall, broad man. None of those described Tatya, who was five feet tall only if she stood on tiptoe, and had been built with rather more curves than angles. Clad in the Herald's Whites, she resembled nothing more closely than a child playing dress up. "I refuse to go out like this."
*Well, there's always the blanket...*
"You're not helping, _Chrysanthemum_." she said through clenched teeth. Inwardly, however, she was more relieved than annoyed. The Herald had been in a playful mood every since they'd woken up, teasing both her and Faniel and, aside from the Whites incident, helping her find her everything she needed. He might just be trying to disarm her before moving in for the 'kill', but Tatya had decided that she was just too tired to keep her defenses up.
*Ow. Okay, okay, I'll stop. Just don't go spreading that name around, I beg of you!* He sent her a mental image of a tiny Herald cowering before a giant Tatya wielding a club. Written on the club in bright red letters was his full name. She laughed, delighted.
"I didn't know you could do that, Rhys."
*When your entire life is reduced to your imagination, it would be foolish not to explore the possibilities.* They were silent for a long moment, each uncomfortable with having broken the lighthearted mood. *I guess we'd better try and find that page.*
"Yeah, we should." Tatya turned away from the mirror and the over-damp hazel eyes of the girl there, and shuffled her way to the hallway. She opened the door, and stuck her head out into the corridor; the young girl who had been standing by the door jumped at her unexpected appearance.
"Yes, m'lady Herald?"
Tatya scowled. "I'm _not_ a Herald. Now, do you know where the Companions' stable is?" The page nodded. "Good, go there and retrieve Faniel's saddlebags."
*Please.*
"Please," she added. The page nodded again.
"Anything else, m'lady?"
*Don't forget food.*
"Oh, right. We're very hungry. Could you bring something to eat?"
"Yes, m'lady." The page gave her an odd look before leaving.
"What was that about?" Tatya asked as she closed the door, and flung herself into one of the overstuffed chairs in the sitting room.
*You mean aside from your unique attire, adamant non-Heraldness, and lapse into the royal we? I can't imagine.* What sounded like a snicker colored the otherwise bland tone of Rhys' words. *And I can't believe I had to remind you about the food. It is _your_ stomach, after all.*
Tatya snorted, and refused to dignify that with an answer. She sat and dozed in the soft chair until the page returned, with the saddlebags slung over her shoulders and a tray of steaming mutton soup, a half loaf of warm bread, and a mug of fragrant tea in her hands. Tatya thanked the page, and wasted no time digging into the meal. It tasted twice as good as it smelled, and she ate with a haste that would have horrified her parents.
As she sopped up the last of the soup with the heel of the bread, she said happily, "That was wonderful! And you get meals like this all the time?"
*When I'm in Haven. Generally, though, I'm out on the road, and then it's journeybread and inns. Not that there aren't some very good inns. For instance, there's this place called the Crested Hen near Deshannel..." Rhys trailed off, and Tatya tensed. Here it comes, she thought, he's going to ask me.
"You really want to go back, don't you?"
*Yes,* he said. *It's my duty to see this through. However, I won't ask you to take me. You were right; you've done enough, and it wouldn't be right to send you into danger like that.*
She was startled, and humbled, by the admission. She cleared her throat, nervously, and then said, "Well, I've been thinking, too. And I think we should make a deal."
*What kind of deal?*
"I've got something I've got to do here in Haven. If Faniel gives me a ride to the Jeweler's Guildhouse, I'll agree to go with you."
*Is this about that bundle of cloth you won't show anyone?*
Her cheeks pinked. "Yeah, it is. Um," her hands twisted in her lap, "if you wanted to see it, I'd let you. If you wanted to."
She felt his smile. *I'd be honored.*
She jumped up from the seat like a dog that's been offered a walk, and hurried to the other room, hopping and shuffling to avoid tripping in the overlarge Whites. When she reached the table, Tatya took a deep breath to steady herself before unwrapping the cloth to reveal a small, lacquered box. She opened the lid.
Inside the narrow box were two objects. On the bottom, a sealed letter addressed to the Master of the Haven Guildhouse, written in a bold, untutored hand. Atop of this lay a silver brooch. The stones embedded in the flat center were chips of topaz, mountain ruby, and amber, arranged in a mosaic of an idealized hawk with wings spread. Framing this, the profile of four silver horses rampant appeared to flow out of the metal, with bright sapphire fragments for eyes. *My gods, Tatya. It's beautiful. Did you _make_ this?*
She grinned, and the tension dropped out of her bones, leaving heady pride in its wake. "I did. I had to do it at night, but Master Raul, the family smith, covered for me, and helped me get the materials. I've sort of been his apprentice for a while now, but he's not a jeweler, and that's what I want to be. So he wrote a letter claiming me as his apprentice, and this is my application piece to become a journeyman."
*I don't understand. Why did you have to hide it?*
She shuffled her feet. The floppy legs of the trousers bunched around her feet and almost hid them from view. "I'm an only child, and my father's heir. Aside from which, Momma lost four before they managed to have me. I love them, I do, but they're so _scared_ that they'll lose me, too. All they ever wanted me to do was be a lady and stay safe. They just want what they think is best for me, you know," she said defensively, before Rhys could get the wrong idea.
*And what do _you_ want?*
"I want to make beautiful things. I got the idea for this from a trader that showed me a piece of cloth he says came from the Dor'i'sha Plains. I don't even know if he was telling the truth." She closed the box. "I want to travel all the way from the North to the South, and find all the different kinds of beauty there are, and bring them back here. My parents, even if they could handle the idea of me around forges and hot metal, would never let me do that."
*So you ran away?* He didn't sound condemning, just interested. Tatya nodded, and wiped her hand quickly along her eyes.
"I know it was wrong, and that they're terribly worried about me. But I'll contact them again, just as soon as I've made a place for myself, and they see that I'll be okay on my own. But I _have_ to do this. Before I lose my nerve."
Rhys said nothing, but the back of Tatya's mind was heavy with the weight of his thinking. She rewrapped the box, and shuffled back into the sitting room. There turned out to only be one or two outfits of hers in the saddlebags that weren't hopelessly wrinkled and didn't smell too badly of horse and mildew. She chose the bright orange skirt and blouse over the more sedate brown and grey outfit. Grey would make her look too much like a Heraldic trainee, she thought.
She dressed quickly, and pinned her hair up. Surveying herself in front of the mirror, she asked Rhys shyly, "So, what do you think?"
*I think we've got a deal.*