I can't thank you guys enough for the reviews and kind words. I still stick with my theory that Briar and Rosethorn took Evvy back to Yanjing, though that doesn't mean she went back to her parents. But enough about that, and onto the story. ^_^
Part 4 - Unexpected
Sandry clapped enthusiastically as Pasco danced around her in the practice room. Her laughter echoed off the walls, harmonizing with the softly played music from the small band in a far corner. The younger man grabbed her hands, forcing her to join in the dance, of which she knew none of the steps. After allowing him to whirl her around a few times, Sandry plead exhaustion so that Pasco would release her from his grip.
"Fine, milady, have it your way," he chuckled at her, seemingly unwinded himself.
"Do not laugh at me, Pasco Acalon," she ordered with mock authority, ruining any effect she might have had with a burst of giggles.
"And why is that?" he wondered.
"I'll remind you that my uncle is your sovereign!" she threatened, unable to sound serious.
"Ah, but to me you are nothing but a beautiful flower, begging for the breeze to come and twirl you in its arms," he flirted shamelessly as he danced circles around her.
"You're a breeze?" Sandry roared with fits of laughter, amused to no end with Pasco's sad poetry. "Please, stay with dancing, for it is the only art form I fear you will ever be good at."
He stopped in mid-twirl, faking a look of indignation. Setting both feet gracefully back on the wooden floor, his face settled into an easy smile. "Then I dance to please. Is it time for midday yet?"
Sandry didn't really know what time it was, but her stomach was telling her it was ready for a meal. Coincidentally, the thick doors that led into the hallway opened just then to admit Mistress Yazmin and Duke Vedris. As they were by no means in a secret relationship, Yazmin was comfortably resting her right hand on his Grace's left arm.
"Enough showing off your new dance, boy. It is time that we all retire for the noon meal," Yazmin commanded, added a dazzling smile to soften the harshness of her voice. If Sandry hadn't been sternly watching her uncle just then, she might have noticed the look of concern that Yazmin had cast toward that same man. As it was, Duke Vedris was very skilled in hiding his notice of anything wrong in the situation and at diverting his niece's attention before she caught wind of Yazmin's reason for distress.
"My Dear, will you and Pasco please go on ahead and dine out by yourselves this afternoon? Mistress Yazmin and myself would like to return to the Citadel now," Duke Vedris stated, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Why of course, Uncle," Sandry inclined her head, never one to give up a chance to make her uncle go home and rest. Especially recently, she'd rather see him settled in the Citadel than out and about in the streets. Kissing her uncle's cheek good-bye, Sandry took Pasco's offered arm, and the two of them stepped out into the hallway.
Yazmin was still staring at Vedris. "You need to tell her. You can't act like nothing's wrong."
"She knows that my condition is deteriorating. She just needs time to admit it to herself."
* * * * * *
The Summersea market blazed with color and riches, the sound of laughter and bargaining all around. Briar trekked down the well-worn dirt streets with a purposeful step, taking slight notice of anything in the stalls he passed. He was always interested in browsing different goods, especially the new magical products that seemed to appear on the market every few days, but today he had a specific destination.
After hearing Daja's tale last night about what had happened since he'd left, he wondered how altered Sandry would be from the girl he remembered. Throughout their four years living together, he'd constantly been suspicious, thinking that one day he'd see her as an upper class citizen out of his reach. But it had never happened; she'd always stayed the same caring, friendly housemate. Would her few years with the Duke, actually living as a noble, have finally transformed her into Lady Sandrilene fa Toren?
Briar felt pangs of uncertainty and anxiety. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if Sandry had become jaded by the duties and attentions given to a duchess. He couldn't explain why this worry seemed so much worse than his previous concerns that Daja and Tris might have changed, but it did.
He turned around the corner of a large building resembling a warehouse, though it's sign declared it to be a dance school, and continued on towards the Duke's Citadel. Briar noticed that some shops and stalls were closing for the midday meal, and he sincerely hoped that he would be invited to share a meal at the Citadel. Of course, what if they didn't want him to stay there?
As much as he hated it, Briar couldn't get rid of his doubts about what kind of welcome he'd receive from Sandry. Better to be safe than sorry, though, so he turned his path toward a small restaurant along the path. If he was, in fact, invited to have a meal with Sandry, well then, eating twice was all right.
Waiting for a server to show him a table, Briar let his thoughts go and tuned into the conversations around him. Maybe it wasn't considered respectable to eavesdrop, but what could he say? Old habits die hard.
He heard business talk, comments on the wonderful spring they seemed to be having, and hopes of a good year to come in marketing. None of it exactly interested him, but that didn't matter. Then he heard a voice that caught his attention.
"Are you ever going to consider using your magic as a harrier-mage?" asked a young woman in the accent of nobility.
"I don't know. I know my family'd love me to, but it's not what I want. I like performing too much. You turn something you love into work and it spoils it, somehow," came the male reply. That second voice sounded like adolescent educated middle class.
"Well, that's true and it isn't. I suppose that if you were to dance so much that you got tired of it, that might turn it into work. However, if you loved dancing enough that you never tired of it, it wouldn't be spoiled. Do you ever get tired of dancing?" wondered the woman.
"No," there was a pause of thought and then, "Do you ever get tired of weaving?"
"Not at all. I love it too much. When I can communicate with the threads just right, everything flows. And using that magic as a defense or even as an attack only makes it more special to me. It helps me to appreciate what I have."
Briar knew he'd recognized that voice. How many young noble women could there be with thread magic? Of course, her voice was slightly deeper than it had been as a child, but he was sure now that it was Sandry's.
Stepping around the wall divider without waiting for a server to notice him, Briar inched over into the direction that those voices were coming from. The two diners were seated at a small round table with only drinks set in front of them. Sandry's back was to him, giving him a full view of her long, light chestnut hair. Its soft curls and waves reached her waist, with blonde sun-streaks weaving throughout the strands. Glancing now at her dinner partner, Briar saw a medium-skinned boy with dark hair like his own. To call him a boy was probably unfair, as he looked to be only a few years younger than Sandry and himself. However, Briar was right to have assumed the boy to be middle class: he wore common clothing of good quality with no jewelry of any kind.
Not stopping to wonder if it would be rude to interrupt their conversation, Briar quietly walked closer to their table until he was just far enough away that the boy wouldn't stop talking to acknowledge him. When a lull in conversation hit, he knew it was the perfect chance to announce himself.
*Duchess,* he said along his thread-vine, though he wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to address her privately.
Sandry's back went rigid, and Briar knew from the waves of shock rolling toward him along the magical connection that she had not expected him.
"Briar?" *Briar?* she called simultaneously, surprise and wonder in both her physical and magical voices. Slowly, Sandry pivoted in her chair, stopping only when she had a full view of him standing there.
Larzdinn and Sandry16, sorry to disappoint since I know you wanted B/T. However, all throughout both quartets, I've always though of Briar and Tris more as close siblings. And maybe it was just my imagination, but there were some times when the way that Briar and Sandry interacted suggested that they might like each other. It's always been my dream for Tamora to get them together, so I'm kind of writing this story to fulfill that dream since it looks like Tamora probably won't. Anyway, hope you all liked this chapter and the one to come, even if the pairing isn't to your liking. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon.
Part 4 - Unexpected
Sandry clapped enthusiastically as Pasco danced around her in the practice room. Her laughter echoed off the walls, harmonizing with the softly played music from the small band in a far corner. The younger man grabbed her hands, forcing her to join in the dance, of which she knew none of the steps. After allowing him to whirl her around a few times, Sandry plead exhaustion so that Pasco would release her from his grip.
"Fine, milady, have it your way," he chuckled at her, seemingly unwinded himself.
"Do not laugh at me, Pasco Acalon," she ordered with mock authority, ruining any effect she might have had with a burst of giggles.
"And why is that?" he wondered.
"I'll remind you that my uncle is your sovereign!" she threatened, unable to sound serious.
"Ah, but to me you are nothing but a beautiful flower, begging for the breeze to come and twirl you in its arms," he flirted shamelessly as he danced circles around her.
"You're a breeze?" Sandry roared with fits of laughter, amused to no end with Pasco's sad poetry. "Please, stay with dancing, for it is the only art form I fear you will ever be good at."
He stopped in mid-twirl, faking a look of indignation. Setting both feet gracefully back on the wooden floor, his face settled into an easy smile. "Then I dance to please. Is it time for midday yet?"
Sandry didn't really know what time it was, but her stomach was telling her it was ready for a meal. Coincidentally, the thick doors that led into the hallway opened just then to admit Mistress Yazmin and Duke Vedris. As they were by no means in a secret relationship, Yazmin was comfortably resting her right hand on his Grace's left arm.
"Enough showing off your new dance, boy. It is time that we all retire for the noon meal," Yazmin commanded, added a dazzling smile to soften the harshness of her voice. If Sandry hadn't been sternly watching her uncle just then, she might have noticed the look of concern that Yazmin had cast toward that same man. As it was, Duke Vedris was very skilled in hiding his notice of anything wrong in the situation and at diverting his niece's attention before she caught wind of Yazmin's reason for distress.
"My Dear, will you and Pasco please go on ahead and dine out by yourselves this afternoon? Mistress Yazmin and myself would like to return to the Citadel now," Duke Vedris stated, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Why of course, Uncle," Sandry inclined her head, never one to give up a chance to make her uncle go home and rest. Especially recently, she'd rather see him settled in the Citadel than out and about in the streets. Kissing her uncle's cheek good-bye, Sandry took Pasco's offered arm, and the two of them stepped out into the hallway.
Yazmin was still staring at Vedris. "You need to tell her. You can't act like nothing's wrong."
"She knows that my condition is deteriorating. She just needs time to admit it to herself."
* * * * * *
The Summersea market blazed with color and riches, the sound of laughter and bargaining all around. Briar trekked down the well-worn dirt streets with a purposeful step, taking slight notice of anything in the stalls he passed. He was always interested in browsing different goods, especially the new magical products that seemed to appear on the market every few days, but today he had a specific destination.
After hearing Daja's tale last night about what had happened since he'd left, he wondered how altered Sandry would be from the girl he remembered. Throughout their four years living together, he'd constantly been suspicious, thinking that one day he'd see her as an upper class citizen out of his reach. But it had never happened; she'd always stayed the same caring, friendly housemate. Would her few years with the Duke, actually living as a noble, have finally transformed her into Lady Sandrilene fa Toren?
Briar felt pangs of uncertainty and anxiety. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if Sandry had become jaded by the duties and attentions given to a duchess. He couldn't explain why this worry seemed so much worse than his previous concerns that Daja and Tris might have changed, but it did.
He turned around the corner of a large building resembling a warehouse, though it's sign declared it to be a dance school, and continued on towards the Duke's Citadel. Briar noticed that some shops and stalls were closing for the midday meal, and he sincerely hoped that he would be invited to share a meal at the Citadel. Of course, what if they didn't want him to stay there?
As much as he hated it, Briar couldn't get rid of his doubts about what kind of welcome he'd receive from Sandry. Better to be safe than sorry, though, so he turned his path toward a small restaurant along the path. If he was, in fact, invited to have a meal with Sandry, well then, eating twice was all right.
Waiting for a server to show him a table, Briar let his thoughts go and tuned into the conversations around him. Maybe it wasn't considered respectable to eavesdrop, but what could he say? Old habits die hard.
He heard business talk, comments on the wonderful spring they seemed to be having, and hopes of a good year to come in marketing. None of it exactly interested him, but that didn't matter. Then he heard a voice that caught his attention.
"Are you ever going to consider using your magic as a harrier-mage?" asked a young woman in the accent of nobility.
"I don't know. I know my family'd love me to, but it's not what I want. I like performing too much. You turn something you love into work and it spoils it, somehow," came the male reply. That second voice sounded like adolescent educated middle class.
"Well, that's true and it isn't. I suppose that if you were to dance so much that you got tired of it, that might turn it into work. However, if you loved dancing enough that you never tired of it, it wouldn't be spoiled. Do you ever get tired of dancing?" wondered the woman.
"No," there was a pause of thought and then, "Do you ever get tired of weaving?"
"Not at all. I love it too much. When I can communicate with the threads just right, everything flows. And using that magic as a defense or even as an attack only makes it more special to me. It helps me to appreciate what I have."
Briar knew he'd recognized that voice. How many young noble women could there be with thread magic? Of course, her voice was slightly deeper than it had been as a child, but he was sure now that it was Sandry's.
Stepping around the wall divider without waiting for a server to notice him, Briar inched over into the direction that those voices were coming from. The two diners were seated at a small round table with only drinks set in front of them. Sandry's back was to him, giving him a full view of her long, light chestnut hair. Its soft curls and waves reached her waist, with blonde sun-streaks weaving throughout the strands. Glancing now at her dinner partner, Briar saw a medium-skinned boy with dark hair like his own. To call him a boy was probably unfair, as he looked to be only a few years younger than Sandry and himself. However, Briar was right to have assumed the boy to be middle class: he wore common clothing of good quality with no jewelry of any kind.
Not stopping to wonder if it would be rude to interrupt their conversation, Briar quietly walked closer to their table until he was just far enough away that the boy wouldn't stop talking to acknowledge him. When a lull in conversation hit, he knew it was the perfect chance to announce himself.
*Duchess,* he said along his thread-vine, though he wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to address her privately.
Sandry's back went rigid, and Briar knew from the waves of shock rolling toward him along the magical connection that she had not expected him.
"Briar?" *Briar?* she called simultaneously, surprise and wonder in both her physical and magical voices. Slowly, Sandry pivoted in her chair, stopping only when she had a full view of him standing there.
Larzdinn and Sandry16, sorry to disappoint since I know you wanted B/T. However, all throughout both quartets, I've always though of Briar and Tris more as close siblings. And maybe it was just my imagination, but there were some times when the way that Briar and Sandry interacted suggested that they might like each other. It's always been my dream for Tamora to get them together, so I'm kind of writing this story to fulfill that dream since it looks like Tamora probably won't. Anyway, hope you all liked this chapter and the one to come, even if the pairing isn't to your liking. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon.