Identity Crisis
Chapter Five
In which mysteries are addressed, and Tatya and Herald Rhys make a journey.
*****
Master Tantony of the Jeweler's Guild studied the young girl on the other side of his counter. She stared back, nervous but defiant, and one corner of this thick, chapped lips twitched with amusement. Through the half open door, Tantony could hear the sounds of the street kids that had gathered outside his shop. The Companion, and it could be nothing else, was visibly preening under their attention, and its blue eyes twinkled as it accepted the occasional choice tidbit from a bold boy or girl.
He looked back at Apprentice Tatya, if he could believe Master Raul's letter, and raised one black eyebrow. "So," he asked, "what's a Herald want to become a jeweler for?"
"I am _not_ a Herald," the girl ground out. The denial appeared to be familiar to her. Tantony raised another eyebrow, and craned his neck to take another long look at the Companion in the street. It raised its head, and Tantony could have sworn it _winked_ at him. Tatya followed his look, and the sound of grinding teeth filled the small space between them. "It's a long story."
"I've no doubt about it. However," he looked down at the pretty little brooch, "if you can assure me that the Collegium isn't going be upset, then I'll submit this and Master Raul's letter to the Guild Council."
"They won't be upset," she promised, her jaw set.
Well, it wasn't *his* problem, and the piece was good enough that he'd take a chance. Besides, if worse came to worse, it couldn't hurt to have a Herald that felt sympathetic towards the Guild around. "Well, then, Apprentice. We'll send a note when we've made our decision. Where can we contact you?"
A hesitation. "The Palace, Heralds' quarters."
"Uh huh. And you're not a Herald?"
"No!"
He raised his hand in a placating gesture. "Just asking, Apprentice. Unless there's anything else, I need to get back to my work." He turned back to the papers spread in front of him. Tantony made it a policy never to spend more than ten minutes with any apprentice that he wasn't directly supervising. Otherwise, they might get an inflated sense of their own importance.
She shook her head, and turned to leave. At the door, she paused and looked back. "How long do you think it'll be?"
"Oh, probably a week or two."
"Ah. Thank you, Master Tantony."
"My pleasure, Apprentice. Now, if you'll excuse me...?"
"Yes, of course."
She didn't speak again until they reached the gate of the Palace. There, the gate guard hailed her. "He--Miss Tatya, the Seneschal has requested your presence in her office at your earliest convenience."
*That means right now,* Rhys offered helpfully.
"Thank you," she said, sincerely to the guard, and sarcastically to Rhys. She took Faniel to the stable, and left him in the capable hands of the trainees on duty. As she hurried across the lawns back to the Collegium, she could feel Rhys' excitement. For herself, there was only a nagging sense of dread.
The Seneschal's office was a closet-sized room tucked away between the Library and the Archives. Tatya knocked on the door, and tried to ignore the feeling of being called in front of an irritated Headmaster that filled her. At a clear, feminine voice from within, she pushed open the door and slipped inside.
The office was awash with paper. Records were stacked in, and on, the cabinets, window ledge, and Annice's desk. A couple of folders even huddled on the floor, where they'd evidently been thrown. Somehow, in spite of the clutter, the room seemed to be dominated by the Herald who sat at the desk. Annice looked up from the documents she was signing, and fixed Tatya with steely eyes. "Good afternoon, Tatya. Did you enjoy your ride?"
Tatya licked her lip. "Yes, ma'am," she said. This confirms it, she thought, I now officially feel about five years old. In fact, she'd had a tutor that looked at her in that exact same way, as if he were trying to make up his mind on whether she was worth the trouble. It was no less intimidating from a woman old enough to be her mother.
Annice waved her to a seat, and Tatya took it gratefully. It was only when she looked up from arranging her skirts that she noticed the King's Own leaning against a stuffed bookcase. He gave her a reassuring smile, and his eyes twinkled as she smiled back. Annice put her work aside, and said. "Do you mind if we..." she made a gesture at Tatya's head.
Tatya shook her head, and felt the Heralds establish their connections with Rhys. "Hello, Rhys," Annice said.
*Annice. Is there any word on the Duke's contacts here in Haven?*
Annice grinned; it sat out of place on her habitually solemn face. "Better than a word. Tomas was able to detach a division of the City Watch, with myself and Armsmaster Raven along for support, and make some preliminary arrests early this morning."
*You didn't tell us!*
"We did send a page, but you were asleep. And after that journey, we thought you deserved all the rest you could get," Byron said. Rhys sputtered, and was ignored by everyone. "Anyway," the King's Own continued, "the proctor revealed the whole scheme under Truth Spell. It was exactly as you believed. Good work, Herald."
*I should have been there,* Rhys groused, not appeased by the praise.
"You couldn't have done anything, and if you're going to be at your peak when we confront the Duke, you need every chance to recover we can provide," Annice said, sounding severe. "That is, if you're going?"
Tatya nodded. "We're going."
A previously unnoticed shadow lifted from Annice's expression. "I'm happy to hear that. Not that we would have pushed you into doing anything you didn't want to, but it will make things a lot easier to have the Herald who discovered the problem there."
"In addition," Byron said, "my research suggests that it may be necessary to the resolution of your...situation."
*What have you found out, Bree?*
Byron stepped forward, his face lighting up. "Well, you see, I'd never had much cause to research the religions of Rethwellen before..we're friendly with them, but not really all that connected. However, once I started looking, I discovered a wealth of interesting facts." He appeared to be able to launch into a catalogue of them, but Annice threw him a quelling, but undeniably fond, look. He rubbed the back of his neck, and grinned sheepishly. "Very few of which are relevant to this particular case, unfortunately. The ones that are however...Tatya, you said that your mother was a priestess for the Lady of the Frosts?"
"An acolyte, yes."
He waved away the difference. "Well, it turns out that the priestesses of that particular sect have a reputation, in legend anyway, for channeling the ghosts of the violently dead so that they may finish business left undone. Hence their connection to the Avenger. Now, there are no _recent_ examples of this phenomenon that I can point to, but in the Rede of Wade's Cross there's reference to a Frost priest who carries a 'rageful spirite' within him, and similarly in Bartek's Compendium of Northern Fables the story of Maria Bloodeyes tells of her defeat at the hands of a priestess in 'winter sky blue' who speaks with the voice of her murdered lover. I don't think I need to point out the similarity."
"But I'm not a priestess! What would the Avenger have to do with me?"
"I have long suspected," Byron said, his face tinged pink with excitement, "that much of the 'divine power' manifested by priests is actually a result of their inborn Gifts being trained a certain way. Now," he held up a hand, "this is not to surmise that the gods are not active in our world...the Companions themselves would seem to disprove that, even if they are woefully closemouthed about it." He looked vaguely put out about that, and Tatya heard Faniel chuckle in her mind.
*He's been trying to interrogate us since before he was Chosen,* the Companion whispered in her mind. *For a while, some of the others were convinced that Gally Chose him just so that he would have more opportunities to plague us.* Tatya tried to hide her smile.
Oblivious to the silent conversation, Byron continued. "In your case, Tatya, although your Gift wasn't trained, the conditions were right for it to manifest. The fact that Rhys was a Herald probably had something to do with it, as well. We're not sure how Companions act as catalysts for their Chosen in the area of their Gifts, but it's possible that in Faniel's extremity of emotion, he was able to unconsciously awaken your Gift. Or maybe it was just you. It might even have been the Lady herself. Without having been there, monitoring the situation, I hesitate to speculate." He sounded aggrieved, as if it had been impolite for them to do something interesting without asking him to join them.
Tatya glanced at Annice. The older Herald looked back at her with a smile in her eyes. She lifted one shoulder as to say, 'he is who he is', and then coughed before Byron could start up again. "So now you know what we know, Tatya, Rhys."
*Interesting,* Rhys said, *But not of great importance. What matters most is that it did happen. I'll leave the details to scholars.*
"I don't think so," Tatya snapped. "Does this mean the every time I touch some dying person, I'm going to get a new voice in my head?"
"You plan to make a habit of it?" Annice inquired.
"No, of course not. But anyway, what happens when we go and catch this Duke Deshannel, anyway? Then Rhys' will have his revenge, right?"
"I wouldn't call it revenge," Byron said uncomfortably. He and Annice exchanged a worried look. "As for what happens next, every source I consulted suggests that when the occupying spirit's task is finished it, it moves on."
Tatya froze. Within her, she could feel grief and fear batter at her from both Rhys and Faniel, and she was suspended between them, as fragile as the strand from a spider's web. She began to shudder, while Byron and Annice looked on wretchedly. Lose Rhys? She hadn't realized until that moment just how much she'd gotten used to the sardonic Herald's voice, his jokes and, rarely, his reprimands when she did something that offended his sense of Heraldic duty. How could she lose him, now? Only the presence of the two Heralds kept her from breaking down right there, and even her sense of propriety couldn't stop her hands from shaking, or keep a single tear from flowing down her pale cheek.
*I suppose I knew,* Rhys said at last. His mind voice sounded hoarse and thick. *After all, I couldn't stay here forever. I'm dead.*
"Rhys," Tatya murmured.
*I'm _dead_, Tatya. There's no getting around that. When it's time to go, I'll go. Hey,* he said with a halfhearted chuckle, *maybe I'll get to stick around for my own funeral. Not many people get to say that.*
No one responded to the weak jest. The air in the tiny room hung heavy and still, as if in a tomb. Finally, Rhys snapped, "For Havens' sakes, people! It hasn't happened yet. So we might as well enjoy the time we have left together, and _I_ for one can't do that if you all are going to cry at me!*
*Well said, Chosen,* Faniel said, in a tone just a shade too hearty to be believed.
Annice was the first of the humans to shake herself out of it. She blinked her over-bright eyes rapidly a few times, and then rearranged the documents on her desk. "Yes, Rhys, well said. And there's still much to do. It'll be about two days before we can finish the arrests here and send messages to the Army units on our way. Until, say, dawn two mornings from now, you're free to do as you please. So, Rhys, if you have any...arrangements..." her voice trailed off, and Byron moved close and placed a supporting arm around his wife's shoulders. Tatya barely noticed, lost as she was in her numb contemplation of a life empty of Rhys.
*Tatya?* Rhys' voice penetrated the haze, and she realized that he must have been calling her for a short while, now. The other Heralds were looking at her with pity, and she turned her face away. *I think we should go now. Thank you, Bree, Annice, for everything.*
"Anytime," Byron said thickly. "If you need anything, just send a message."
*Thanks. Tatya," his voice was soft and cajoling, "it's time to go."
She stood like a puppet, curtseyed to the Heralds and left the room. Standing in the empty hallway, she suddenly realized that she had nowhere to go.
*Tatya,* Fainel said wistfully, *Do you think you could come down to my box? I'd like to be with you both for a while.*
"Of course," she said, and headed for the Companions' Stables at all speed, keeping her head down and not meeting the eyes of anyone she passed. When she reached Faniel's box, he whickered softly to her, and reached his neck over her shoulder. When he drew her close, she knew that it was the closest thing he could give her to a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung for dear life.
None of the three of them remarked on the tears that stained Faniel's silvery coat.
* * *
On the appointed morning, a greatly more composed Tatya sat astride Faniel, clad in a brand-new set of Whites. It had been decided, over much protest on Tatya's part, that it would be too confusing to try and explain why a non-Herald was riding a Companion to the accompanying Guards, and the ones they would later pick up. *Besides,* Rhys had remarked acerbically after an especially long argument, *even if you _aren't_ a Herald, _I_ am. And I'm getting tired of being out of uniform.*
The only reason she'd given in was because she was still all too conscious of their rapidly dwindling time together. Or so she told herself. She couldn't help but admit that the habitual respect and courtesy shown to Heralds, and by extension, her had turned out to be the tiniest bit intoxicating. Right now, for example, she was not quite ignoring the admiring attention of a handsome young Guard. *You go for the over-muscled warrior type, do you?*
*Stop being tedious, Rhys. He seems like a fine young man. Should I sidle closer, Tatya?*
"Both of you knock it off," Tatya muttered, her cheeks pink from more than the cold. She looked resolutely away from the blue-clad Guard.
*Just keep your mind on business, Tatya.*
*Don't mind the flower-child,* Faniel quipped, *He's terrible when he's jealous.*
*I am _not_ jealous!* The mental bellow made Tatya clench her teeth and raise two fingers to her temple, even as her mind reeled under the impact of Faniel's words and the Herald's reaction. Rhys, jealous? The thought sent a tingle of excitement through her body.
"Are you okay?" someone asked at her elbow, and she looked up to meet the intense eyes of Herald Byron. She nodded.
"Rhys and Faniel are at it again," she said.
"Ahhh, yes. If you ever need to calm Rhys down in a hurry, get Faniel to tell you his deep, dark secret."
She giggled. "I already know. Chrysanthemum, right?" She said the last bit in a melodramatic stage whisper.
*Hey, someone could have heard that!*
"That's the one," Byron said. He looked up to the head of the formation, and his eyes grew distant for a moment. "Annice says we're ready up front. Are you ready?"
She swallowed. "As ready as I'll ever be."
"Good." He relayed the information, and the group began to move.
Chapter Five
In which mysteries are addressed, and Tatya and Herald Rhys make a journey.
*****
Master Tantony of the Jeweler's Guild studied the young girl on the other side of his counter. She stared back, nervous but defiant, and one corner of this thick, chapped lips twitched with amusement. Through the half open door, Tantony could hear the sounds of the street kids that had gathered outside his shop. The Companion, and it could be nothing else, was visibly preening under their attention, and its blue eyes twinkled as it accepted the occasional choice tidbit from a bold boy or girl.
He looked back at Apprentice Tatya, if he could believe Master Raul's letter, and raised one black eyebrow. "So," he asked, "what's a Herald want to become a jeweler for?"
"I am _not_ a Herald," the girl ground out. The denial appeared to be familiar to her. Tantony raised another eyebrow, and craned his neck to take another long look at the Companion in the street. It raised its head, and Tantony could have sworn it _winked_ at him. Tatya followed his look, and the sound of grinding teeth filled the small space between them. "It's a long story."
"I've no doubt about it. However," he looked down at the pretty little brooch, "if you can assure me that the Collegium isn't going be upset, then I'll submit this and Master Raul's letter to the Guild Council."
"They won't be upset," she promised, her jaw set.
Well, it wasn't *his* problem, and the piece was good enough that he'd take a chance. Besides, if worse came to worse, it couldn't hurt to have a Herald that felt sympathetic towards the Guild around. "Well, then, Apprentice. We'll send a note when we've made our decision. Where can we contact you?"
A hesitation. "The Palace, Heralds' quarters."
"Uh huh. And you're not a Herald?"
"No!"
He raised his hand in a placating gesture. "Just asking, Apprentice. Unless there's anything else, I need to get back to my work." He turned back to the papers spread in front of him. Tantony made it a policy never to spend more than ten minutes with any apprentice that he wasn't directly supervising. Otherwise, they might get an inflated sense of their own importance.
She shook her head, and turned to leave. At the door, she paused and looked back. "How long do you think it'll be?"
"Oh, probably a week or two."
"Ah. Thank you, Master Tantony."
"My pleasure, Apprentice. Now, if you'll excuse me...?"
"Yes, of course."
She didn't speak again until they reached the gate of the Palace. There, the gate guard hailed her. "He--Miss Tatya, the Seneschal has requested your presence in her office at your earliest convenience."
*That means right now,* Rhys offered helpfully.
"Thank you," she said, sincerely to the guard, and sarcastically to Rhys. She took Faniel to the stable, and left him in the capable hands of the trainees on duty. As she hurried across the lawns back to the Collegium, she could feel Rhys' excitement. For herself, there was only a nagging sense of dread.
The Seneschal's office was a closet-sized room tucked away between the Library and the Archives. Tatya knocked on the door, and tried to ignore the feeling of being called in front of an irritated Headmaster that filled her. At a clear, feminine voice from within, she pushed open the door and slipped inside.
The office was awash with paper. Records were stacked in, and on, the cabinets, window ledge, and Annice's desk. A couple of folders even huddled on the floor, where they'd evidently been thrown. Somehow, in spite of the clutter, the room seemed to be dominated by the Herald who sat at the desk. Annice looked up from the documents she was signing, and fixed Tatya with steely eyes. "Good afternoon, Tatya. Did you enjoy your ride?"
Tatya licked her lip. "Yes, ma'am," she said. This confirms it, she thought, I now officially feel about five years old. In fact, she'd had a tutor that looked at her in that exact same way, as if he were trying to make up his mind on whether she was worth the trouble. It was no less intimidating from a woman old enough to be her mother.
Annice waved her to a seat, and Tatya took it gratefully. It was only when she looked up from arranging her skirts that she noticed the King's Own leaning against a stuffed bookcase. He gave her a reassuring smile, and his eyes twinkled as she smiled back. Annice put her work aside, and said. "Do you mind if we..." she made a gesture at Tatya's head.
Tatya shook her head, and felt the Heralds establish their connections with Rhys. "Hello, Rhys," Annice said.
*Annice. Is there any word on the Duke's contacts here in Haven?*
Annice grinned; it sat out of place on her habitually solemn face. "Better than a word. Tomas was able to detach a division of the City Watch, with myself and Armsmaster Raven along for support, and make some preliminary arrests early this morning."
*You didn't tell us!*
"We did send a page, but you were asleep. And after that journey, we thought you deserved all the rest you could get," Byron said. Rhys sputtered, and was ignored by everyone. "Anyway," the King's Own continued, "the proctor revealed the whole scheme under Truth Spell. It was exactly as you believed. Good work, Herald."
*I should have been there,* Rhys groused, not appeased by the praise.
"You couldn't have done anything, and if you're going to be at your peak when we confront the Duke, you need every chance to recover we can provide," Annice said, sounding severe. "That is, if you're going?"
Tatya nodded. "We're going."
A previously unnoticed shadow lifted from Annice's expression. "I'm happy to hear that. Not that we would have pushed you into doing anything you didn't want to, but it will make things a lot easier to have the Herald who discovered the problem there."
"In addition," Byron said, "my research suggests that it may be necessary to the resolution of your...situation."
*What have you found out, Bree?*
Byron stepped forward, his face lighting up. "Well, you see, I'd never had much cause to research the religions of Rethwellen before..we're friendly with them, but not really all that connected. However, once I started looking, I discovered a wealth of interesting facts." He appeared to be able to launch into a catalogue of them, but Annice threw him a quelling, but undeniably fond, look. He rubbed the back of his neck, and grinned sheepishly. "Very few of which are relevant to this particular case, unfortunately. The ones that are however...Tatya, you said that your mother was a priestess for the Lady of the Frosts?"
"An acolyte, yes."
He waved away the difference. "Well, it turns out that the priestesses of that particular sect have a reputation, in legend anyway, for channeling the ghosts of the violently dead so that they may finish business left undone. Hence their connection to the Avenger. Now, there are no _recent_ examples of this phenomenon that I can point to, but in the Rede of Wade's Cross there's reference to a Frost priest who carries a 'rageful spirite' within him, and similarly in Bartek's Compendium of Northern Fables the story of Maria Bloodeyes tells of her defeat at the hands of a priestess in 'winter sky blue' who speaks with the voice of her murdered lover. I don't think I need to point out the similarity."
"But I'm not a priestess! What would the Avenger have to do with me?"
"I have long suspected," Byron said, his face tinged pink with excitement, "that much of the 'divine power' manifested by priests is actually a result of their inborn Gifts being trained a certain way. Now," he held up a hand, "this is not to surmise that the gods are not active in our world...the Companions themselves would seem to disprove that, even if they are woefully closemouthed about it." He looked vaguely put out about that, and Tatya heard Faniel chuckle in her mind.
*He's been trying to interrogate us since before he was Chosen,* the Companion whispered in her mind. *For a while, some of the others were convinced that Gally Chose him just so that he would have more opportunities to plague us.* Tatya tried to hide her smile.
Oblivious to the silent conversation, Byron continued. "In your case, Tatya, although your Gift wasn't trained, the conditions were right for it to manifest. The fact that Rhys was a Herald probably had something to do with it, as well. We're not sure how Companions act as catalysts for their Chosen in the area of their Gifts, but it's possible that in Faniel's extremity of emotion, he was able to unconsciously awaken your Gift. Or maybe it was just you. It might even have been the Lady herself. Without having been there, monitoring the situation, I hesitate to speculate." He sounded aggrieved, as if it had been impolite for them to do something interesting without asking him to join them.
Tatya glanced at Annice. The older Herald looked back at her with a smile in her eyes. She lifted one shoulder as to say, 'he is who he is', and then coughed before Byron could start up again. "So now you know what we know, Tatya, Rhys."
*Interesting,* Rhys said, *But not of great importance. What matters most is that it did happen. I'll leave the details to scholars.*
"I don't think so," Tatya snapped. "Does this mean the every time I touch some dying person, I'm going to get a new voice in my head?"
"You plan to make a habit of it?" Annice inquired.
"No, of course not. But anyway, what happens when we go and catch this Duke Deshannel, anyway? Then Rhys' will have his revenge, right?"
"I wouldn't call it revenge," Byron said uncomfortably. He and Annice exchanged a worried look. "As for what happens next, every source I consulted suggests that when the occupying spirit's task is finished it, it moves on."
Tatya froze. Within her, she could feel grief and fear batter at her from both Rhys and Faniel, and she was suspended between them, as fragile as the strand from a spider's web. She began to shudder, while Byron and Annice looked on wretchedly. Lose Rhys? She hadn't realized until that moment just how much she'd gotten used to the sardonic Herald's voice, his jokes and, rarely, his reprimands when she did something that offended his sense of Heraldic duty. How could she lose him, now? Only the presence of the two Heralds kept her from breaking down right there, and even her sense of propriety couldn't stop her hands from shaking, or keep a single tear from flowing down her pale cheek.
*I suppose I knew,* Rhys said at last. His mind voice sounded hoarse and thick. *After all, I couldn't stay here forever. I'm dead.*
"Rhys," Tatya murmured.
*I'm _dead_, Tatya. There's no getting around that. When it's time to go, I'll go. Hey,* he said with a halfhearted chuckle, *maybe I'll get to stick around for my own funeral. Not many people get to say that.*
No one responded to the weak jest. The air in the tiny room hung heavy and still, as if in a tomb. Finally, Rhys snapped, "For Havens' sakes, people! It hasn't happened yet. So we might as well enjoy the time we have left together, and _I_ for one can't do that if you all are going to cry at me!*
*Well said, Chosen,* Faniel said, in a tone just a shade too hearty to be believed.
Annice was the first of the humans to shake herself out of it. She blinked her over-bright eyes rapidly a few times, and then rearranged the documents on her desk. "Yes, Rhys, well said. And there's still much to do. It'll be about two days before we can finish the arrests here and send messages to the Army units on our way. Until, say, dawn two mornings from now, you're free to do as you please. So, Rhys, if you have any...arrangements..." her voice trailed off, and Byron moved close and placed a supporting arm around his wife's shoulders. Tatya barely noticed, lost as she was in her numb contemplation of a life empty of Rhys.
*Tatya?* Rhys' voice penetrated the haze, and she realized that he must have been calling her for a short while, now. The other Heralds were looking at her with pity, and she turned her face away. *I think we should go now. Thank you, Bree, Annice, for everything.*
"Anytime," Byron said thickly. "If you need anything, just send a message."
*Thanks. Tatya," his voice was soft and cajoling, "it's time to go."
She stood like a puppet, curtseyed to the Heralds and left the room. Standing in the empty hallway, she suddenly realized that she had nowhere to go.
*Tatya,* Fainel said wistfully, *Do you think you could come down to my box? I'd like to be with you both for a while.*
"Of course," she said, and headed for the Companions' Stables at all speed, keeping her head down and not meeting the eyes of anyone she passed. When she reached Faniel's box, he whickered softly to her, and reached his neck over her shoulder. When he drew her close, she knew that it was the closest thing he could give her to a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung for dear life.
None of the three of them remarked on the tears that stained Faniel's silvery coat.
* * *
On the appointed morning, a greatly more composed Tatya sat astride Faniel, clad in a brand-new set of Whites. It had been decided, over much protest on Tatya's part, that it would be too confusing to try and explain why a non-Herald was riding a Companion to the accompanying Guards, and the ones they would later pick up. *Besides,* Rhys had remarked acerbically after an especially long argument, *even if you _aren't_ a Herald, _I_ am. And I'm getting tired of being out of uniform.*
The only reason she'd given in was because she was still all too conscious of their rapidly dwindling time together. Or so she told herself. She couldn't help but admit that the habitual respect and courtesy shown to Heralds, and by extension, her had turned out to be the tiniest bit intoxicating. Right now, for example, she was not quite ignoring the admiring attention of a handsome young Guard. *You go for the over-muscled warrior type, do you?*
*Stop being tedious, Rhys. He seems like a fine young man. Should I sidle closer, Tatya?*
"Both of you knock it off," Tatya muttered, her cheeks pink from more than the cold. She looked resolutely away from the blue-clad Guard.
*Just keep your mind on business, Tatya.*
*Don't mind the flower-child,* Faniel quipped, *He's terrible when he's jealous.*
*I am _not_ jealous!* The mental bellow made Tatya clench her teeth and raise two fingers to her temple, even as her mind reeled under the impact of Faniel's words and the Herald's reaction. Rhys, jealous? The thought sent a tingle of excitement through her body.
"Are you okay?" someone asked at her elbow, and she looked up to meet the intense eyes of Herald Byron. She nodded.
"Rhys and Faniel are at it again," she said.
"Ahhh, yes. If you ever need to calm Rhys down in a hurry, get Faniel to tell you his deep, dark secret."
She giggled. "I already know. Chrysanthemum, right?" She said the last bit in a melodramatic stage whisper.
*Hey, someone could have heard that!*
"That's the one," Byron said. He looked up to the head of the formation, and his eyes grew distant for a moment. "Annice says we're ready up front. Are you ready?"
She swallowed. "As ready as I'll ever be."
"Good." He relayed the information, and the group began to move.