Chapter 3: The Wedding

Thayet left the tent where her husband continued to struggle with George and his choice of outfit. Apparently the former King of Thieves and current Baron of Pirate Swoop was not as fond of blue silk as the king and his queen. Jon had remarked that perhaps if George had attended any of the multiple meetings about the fabrics he could've complained. He had been rewarded with a scowl and a fortunately inaccurately aimed kick.

"It looks nice," she heard Jon protest through the tent's flimsy sides and grinned. Her skirts swished pleasantly as she made her way towards Alanna's tent.

"Excuse me," she heard a hurried voice mumble. She didn't see the man until he had bumped into her knocking her to the ground. He gasped and bent to help her up, "I can't apologise enough."

"I'm fine," she looked down at her dress, which was now streaked with mud. He followed her gaze.

"Oh…I'm so sorry."

"It's alright. I'll get a mage to fix it," she remarked trying to reassure him. He looked so miserable already.

"I…have to go. It was nice ruining your dress. That was supposed to be a joke by the way," he said nervously. "Anyway…" he seemed to reconsider, "goodbye."

He pushed back through the crowd. Alanna's tent was pitched on the opposite side of the wedding field; Thayet tried to ignore the glances people threw at her despoiled dress as she walked towards her friend's tent. "Are you decent?" she called.

The reply came back quickly, "come in."

Standing on a small stool in the tent's centre the Lioness was radiant in ivory silk.

"Do you like it?" she asked anxiously.

Thayet smiled gently, "You look beautiful."

"Your majesty, your dress!" one of the ladies attending the champion exclaimed.

"I ran into someone on my way here," the queen explained, "or rather he ran into me."

"Who?" Alanna asked curiously, stepping off the stool towards Thayet, the movement accompanied by the sound of ripping fabric. Guiltily, Alanna looked down at the tear that had appeared in the fabric of her dress. Tutting the lady who had worried earlier rose from her position on the floor and moved over to where the two women stood. Sparkles of emerald gift spread from her hands over Thayet's despoiled dress and across the rip in Alanna's.

"I didn't recognise him," the queen answered eventually after thanking the seamstress. "He wasn't Tortallan though; probably one of the multitudes of tourists who have journeyed from their distant homelands to witness the wedding of the Lioness."

* * *

While they talked, the man they discussed strolled through the chattering crowds a false air of nonchalance worn around him like another man's cloak. Without pausing Arram surveyed the festivities, it appeared the Lioness' wedding was going to be everything that had been promised.

He felt detached from all these bustling Tortallans, a foreigner invading this special occasion. It had been a week since he had flown across the sea and since that fateful morning he had barely slept or ate. Light stubble clung to his cheeks and his eyes darted nervously around the large field the wedding was being held in. The man that now stood in the middle of a horde of guests was not the same man who had narrowly escaped death at Ozorne's hands. Gone was the easy air and blunt charm. Instead this stranger stood in his place.

His meeting with the Queen had shaken Arram badly. What if she had recognised you? the overly cautious part of his mind asked. Don't be so arrogant, he reprimanded himself quickly. Half the people in the university still only think of you as the rather bumbling student of Lindhall Reed. Why would Queen Thayet of Tortall be able to identify you if most of you year mates still can't?

Still it was a risk he should've have taken. Mistakes at this stage could cost him and that price would be dear. It would cost him his life. Ozorne would not forget so quickly.

He had been standing still for some time now.

"How long has he been there? Do you think he's alright?"

"Why don't you go ask him?"

"Why don't you?"

Arram snapped back to alertness looked over at the two small children who watched him closely, their innocent faces wearing the troubled expressions of far older beings.

After a moments indecision the older plucked up the courage to ask "Are you alright, mister?"

He smiled and bent down to their eye level. "I'm fine" he reached behind the ear of the smaller girl and produced a shining coin "but I believe you must have lost this." She stared at it with a mixture of delight and naked hunger before honesty took over. "I can't take it," she mumbled.

Arram scrutinised them closely. Both were thinner than they ought to be; both still stared at the coin in his out stretched hand.

"I understand," he closed his hands quickly, then opened them. The coin had disappeared. The look of disappointment was not hidden well on either face. "It's a shame but…" he grinned once more, "wait a minute. What's this?" Deftly he reached behind the ear of the other girl; two smaller coins gleamed in his palm. "You should wash behind your ears better," he reprimanded then added encouragingly, "take them, please."

Wide eyed, disbelieving they snatched the coins from the crazy foreigner who made money appear from mid-air and then gave it away. "Are you a mage?" the littlest asked, clutching her coin tightly.

"No, kitten" Arram replied quickly. "I'm a street artist. Why don't you come and see my show some time, I'll look out for you." He ruffled the hair of each before straightening. "Enjoy the wedding."

They scurried off into the bustling crowd and the black robed mage strode off into the viewing stands. It was almost time.

* * *

Down in the groom's tent the king gasped, feeling one of his spells break.

"The barrier's down."

* * *

Why are you doing this? the voice of common sense screamed at him as Arram extinguished the barrier the King of Tortall had created around the festivities. While it was up no mage would've been able to work any spell more serious than mending clothes or filling wineglasses. Now it now longer existed. His gift flew from him and settled in the space previously occupied by Jonathan of Conté's barrier of protection creating the illusion that it was still in place.

Because… Arram answered uncertainly before coming to a decision. Because they ruined my life, damnit.

* * *

"The barrier's down," Jonathan repeated patiently to the growing crowd of friends that gathered around his prostrate figure. "We have an unfriendly mage of phenomenal power in our midst."

"Are you sure?" his wife asked.

"As far as I can see its still up," Alanna put in.

Jonathan shot her a gentle look of disbelief. "Do you doubt that I can feel when my spells are broken?"

"No. That's what worries me," the Lioness replied. "It looks exactly like your gift. I even used the Goddess' ember stone to make sure." Out loud she asked the question they all dreaded to put into words. "What is this mage planning?"

* * *

"What will you do once you reach Tortall?" Lindhall had asked.

"I'm not really sure," Arram replied with an air of innocence that immediately alerted his mentor that it was completely put on.

"I shouldn't have to ask this but, you're not going to do anything stupid are you?"

"Lindhall I'm horrified," his student grinned across from his seat in front of Lindhall desk. "Black-robes don't do stupid things. They only ever experiment." He turned back to the letter he was writing.

"You know I worry about you. When are you ever going to grow up?"

"Hopefully not for a long time yet." He extended his hand over the nearest unlit candle.

"Arram, I wouldn't…" Lindhall managed before it was too late and his apprentice had used his gift in an attempt to light it. The candle exploded covering Arram with hot wax.

"How many times has that happened now?" Lindhall asked picking himself up from the floor where he had remained wax-free.

"Four at least," Arram answered sheepishly.

"Black-robes don't do stupid things? Use a match next time," his master advised him. "I'm running out of candles. Here, allow me." He produced another crimson candle and set it glowing. Quickly Arram sealed his letter using the dripping wax and blew it out. "Ready to work on the simulacrum again?"

"It's almost complete now," Lindhall stated before smiling. "You realise you have managed to completely swing the conversation from what you're going to do in Tortall?"

"It's a gift," Arram told him modestly and followed his master into the room, which housed the simulacrum stopping only briefly to slip the letter inside one of the bigger books that rested on Lindhall's desk.

* * *

He had avoided telling Lindhall mainly because he wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do himself.

"You're not going to do anything stupid are you?"

"Probably," he answered now. It was too late though. Lindhall was back in Carthak; possibly reading his letter now while he was here in Tortall; possibly about to destroy everything he had ever worked for.