-
February 9, 463 H.E. - 23rd year of the reign of King Jonathan IV and Queen Thayet
The Azure Sea
-
Under normal circumstances, Lianne loved sailing. She didn't get to go nearly as often as she liked, but when she did, she always regretted having to set foot on dry land again. So it really wasn't fair, she couldn't help but think between sulks, that despite being at sea for the first time in ages, Lianne couldn't manage to enjoy herself at all.
Aly was still insisting on being as obtuse as possible, much to Lianne's frustration. While she had moved beyond ignoring questions asked of her, she still only replied in vague and unhelpful terms. Lianne had been particularly annoyed when Aly had informed her, over the dried fruit which was serving as their breakfast, that she had known of Lianne's whereabouts through 'a friend'. Though Lianne pressed quite creatively for more information, she received none. Giving up, she had left the small cabin they were sharing in favor of the fresh air of the deck.
The boat they sailed on was, as far as Lianne could tell, a trading vessel, though she couldn't be sure. Aly was, as per the norm, tight lipped about the specifics of who they were traveling with and how she had managed to buy them passage. Lianne had tried to ask some of the men she had encountered on the ship, but they had only stared at her with dark, slightly suspicious eyes, and it did not take her long to realize they could not understand a word she was saying. She had given up relatively quickly. A part of her knew that she was moping and being a little childish – after all, she wasn't captive anymore, at least, was she? – But that didn't stop her from moodily staring at the shore in the distance with only slight interest.
They're not so bad, she couldn't help but admit, sweeping her eyes over the distant shores and the hills beyond them which, even in the slightly foggy midmorning, were a lush, vibrant green Lianne did not often see in Tortall. She knew from lessons that the highlands of the Copper Isles were not nearly as beautiful, and were actually quite inhospitable, but thus far she had seen only jungles. Admittedly, she had also only seen two islands, and one only from the ship, but Imayhn Island, which they were working their way around, was scenically as lovely as Jerykun had been. She wished she had first visited on better circumstances. All things considering, Lianne knew she would return home with a sour opinion of the Isles, and doubted she would ever feel the urge to return, no matter how pretty they seemed.
"You seem sad," someone said.
She glanced sideways just as Nawat reached the deck's railing. His eyes were dark and questioning and Lianne, uncomfortable by his gaze, looked back towards the distant land. Though they had yet to really have a conversation, she had seen him watching her on more than one occasion since their first introduction, bright and early the morning following her rescue. The unusual intensity of his gazes unnerved her. "I wish I was home," she admitted after a moment, bracing her forearms against the wooden railing.
"Oh, yes." Nawat turned and rested his back against the railing bonelessly, looking with vague interest towards the grey sky. "Aly has told me all about Tortall. It sounds like a very nice place. I would like to visit."
"It is nice," she agreed, homesickness making her throat feel suddenly tight. "It's different though. Milder, for one thing. And we don't have nearly so many mountains."
"You don't like mountains?"
Lianne couldn't help but smile slightly. "No, I like them alright. Just not these. I won't be sorry to leave, when I do. I don't like it here."
He looked at her askance, clearly curious. "Why not?"
"I didn't exactly come here on my own." She sighed, tucking hair pulled from her braid by the wind back behind her ear with mild irritation. "If it had been up to me, I'd never have come at all." Nawat was silent, and after a moment, Lianne went very red, and looked at him, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude. I forgot this is your home."
Nawat smiled for what Lianne thought was possibly the first time she had seen. It was a nice smile, she realized. "I don't mind," he told her, looking back to the clouds. "I'm not as picky about countries as you and Aly are."
For a few moments, Lianne said nothing, instead pretending to be very interested in the worn toes of the boots Aly had given her. "You and Aly are friends then?" she finally asked, looking up.
"We're friends," he said offhandedly. "She has told me that in Tortall, men and women are often friends without mating." A brief silence followed, and Nawat looked at her again, puzzled by her expression. "Isn't that true?"
"It's true," Lianne said, still looking at him a little oddly. "Your people don't do that?"
"We are much more concerned with mating," he answered after a moment.
Lianne wasn't entirely sure how to reply. She looked out over the water, resting her chin in her upturned palm. "That seems a little unusual," she finally said.
"Yes, but Aly says I am getting better."
-
January 31, 463 H.E. - 23rd year of the reign of King Jonathan IV and Queen Thayet
Port Caynn, Tortall
-
Liam supposed it was only a very short matter of time before his father started scrying for him, or his horse turned itself around of it's own accord and marched itself right back into the waiting, probably very annoyed arms of Daine. He wasn't sure how to prevent this yet, especially being scryed, but knew if there was a way to stay hidden, Alan would find it. Their inquiries as Prince Liam and Sir Alan had yielded no results at all. Unruffled by Liam's frustration, Alan had taken Jasson and vanished some hours before. He had been sure that where Sir Alan would find no answers, Alan Cooper would. Of course, he was now pulling entirely different strings, ones that Liam knew virtually nothing about. He found Jasson, just as ignorant, being taken along supremely irritating, and was doing his best not to think about four years of the same.
The fact that he hadn't set foot beyond the yards of the inn at which they were staying for hours was doing little to distract him. The weather was unseasonably mild, and most of the inn's residents had left for the city to take advantage of the relatively warm air. He hoped whoever occupied the room directly below his had followed suit, as his pacing was surely incredibly annoying. Occasionally, he would cast a glance towards the desk against the far wall, where a half finished letter lay, mocking him. He had planned to use the time to send word back to the palace. Nonchalance, Liam had hoped, would lead his parents to believe that they had really just gone riding for a few days and forgotten to mention their plans. This excuse would completely fall apart when held to the light of day, of course, but he hoped it would buy him a little time. Jasson's presence complicated the matter greatly – a concern he had voiced to Alan, only to be placated and then ignored.
Knowing the mechanics of the palace as well as he did, Liam had no doubt that Alan taking Jasson as a squire had become instantaneous gossip. News concerning the 'big names' of the Palace was golden among the gossip circles. Liam could only imagine the excitement among the halls now that rumors could be shared about a child of the King and child of the Lioness in one breath. With a vague sense of amusement, he wondered who learned of Jasson being taken on first: his father or the woman who did his laundry.
Scanning what he had written so far, Liam sighed, folding his arms as he considered the half-a-letter before him. So far he had avoided any mention of Alan and Jasson, which seemed suspicious now that he was re-reading it. Alan and Jasson are bickering, of course, and…no. True, but it wouldn't work. It made the unlikely pairing seem even more forced. He sat uneasily in the desk's chair and tried to think of a better alternative. Alan and Jasson are off looking at shields while we're here. Apparently his old one isn't in very good condition. This was better, especially as Jasson wasn't particularly known for impeccable care of his equipment. Liam leaned over and wrote it down.
Behind him, the door opened, and Liam turned just as Jasson poked his head into the room.
"We found someone," he said, unable to conceal the triumph on his face. "Alan says to bring money."
-
While Liam, admittedly, had grown up on the sheltered side of life in Corus, he was fairly sure the cramped, noisy market Alan was carefully navigating them through would be considered disreputable by any standards. As far as he could tell, the street served as a market for those residents of Port Caynn who might not find themselves inclined to shop in the city's actual market district, where they would be subject to unseemly rules like the law. Alan had warned him to physically hold his coin purse as they moved, and he now understood why. Around them, the din of haggling and general conversation had risen enough to block his ability to hear anything useful. Side stepping dilapidated stalls, Liam followed mutely.
They continued single file through what seemed to have been the center of the chaos. Now, the further they went, the thinner the crowds became. Liam was extremely grateful for this, and then more so when Alan steered them off the street entirely, and into a dark, but comparatively well maintained building.
They stopped just inside the door and Alan, hands in his pockets, looked at Liam with an odd expression on his face. "Hear me out before you say no."
Liam, startled, raised his eyebrows, looked from Alan to Jasson, who was doing his best to appear nonchalant, and frowned. "An excellent method to inspire confidence." he finally said, mouth turning upwards into a wry, guarded smirk. "I commend you."
"No, it's…" Alan sighed, making a face and trying again. "This is a little unorthodox, but it was all we could find. I think we might have to just go along with it."
"What what?"
"Branding," Jasson supplied, something akin to glee spreading across his face at his brother's obvious discomfort.
Alan, upon seeing Liam blanch, glanced sideways and informed Jasson curtly, "Don't talk."
"We're being branded?"
"No." Alan ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably, and Jasson, about to object, was quieted by the dangerous look shot in his direction. "It's not branding."
"Brandin' is for slaves," a mildly amused voice commented, "This is differ'nt."
The man, when they had all turned enough to see him, was lurking in the room beyond the entrance hall they stood in, hands clasped behind him and one bushy brown eyebrow raised inquisitively. The dim lighting cast deep shadows over the man's heavily lined face, and though his tone had been friendly enough, something about the appraising glint in the man's eye set Liam on his guard.
"You're all buyin', then?"
Alan nodded and the man, with a grin that prominently displayed a chipped front tooth, turned and moved back into the room from which had had come. Liam, jaw set, looked at his companions skeptically.
"Trust me," Alan assured him, clapping him on the shoulder in a light-hearted manner and leading him into the room. "It'll be a wonderful conversation piece. Girls will love it. They'll fawn. It's practically a battle scar."
Liam took the cluttered workroom before him in with a measured glance, gaze lingering on the low wooden tables cluttered with books, bowls, and crystals, on the few wooden chairs scattered about the room, and on the candles – or more specifically, the candlesticks – which cast the room in flickering light. It was plain to see not a single one matched. "What is?"
"It's call'd an Arcana," the man broke in when Alan hesitated to answer, head down as he carefully picked his way through an open wooden box on the furthest table. He was silent for a few moments more, speaking only after pulling a small silver object from the box and shutting it again. "You're lookin' not to be found? This'll do it."
"Is that some kind of charm?" It was definitely metal, that much Liam was sure of, but even as the man advanced on him, he was unable to make out the specifics of the small object.
"No," the object still clutched in one hand, the man reached for Liam's left arm with the other, and Liam stepped backwards without thinking. He was rewarded with an eyeroll, and the man let both of his hands drop to his side, turning his gaze to Alan instead. "I'm not waitin' on him f'rever."
For a half second Liam could see anger plainly on Alan's face, even in the bad lighting, though he was unsure who it was directed towards. As quickly as it had appeared it had vanished, and he was casually opening his coin purse and sorting through its contents. "No, we're serious. I'll pay now. Will that be enough?" The man nodded. Alan began picking coins out one at a time – gold ones, Liam noticed – and glanced up, meeting the questioning glance being aimed in his direction cheerfully. "Demeyson has assured me he's the only one in the city who can inscribe the Arcana we need. There you go."
The man – Demeyson – accepted the coins Alan handed to him and counted them out in his palm quickly. "You're short," he accused.
"That's thirty gold nobles, as we agreed." Alan said, one eyebrow quirked.
"Price is forty-five."
"Forty-five?" Jasson exclaimed incredulously. "You said it'd be ten each!"
"I said that. But that was o'er three hours ago. Now it's fifteen."
"You can't just – "
"Jasson," Alan cut in, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"– raise the price like that without – " he went on, undeterred.
"Jasson." Alan repeated, more firmly. His tone effectively ended the protests, and he looked at Demeyson levelly. "I'll paying what we agreed on."
"Oh?" Demeyson made a show of pocketing the object in his hand, shrugging as if he couldn't be bothered. "You won't find no one else what can hide you like this. But as you please. Smart lad like you can find the door wit'out bein' shown, yeah?"
"He's bluffing," Liam said, feeling his patience growing thin. "There are plenty of mages here."
"None what'll hide you wit'out a permit," Demeyson countered with a tone so casually confident that Liam had to wonder if he was maybe entirely correct. Alan, if his expression was any indication, had the same thought. He stood very still for several seconds, hand still on Jasson's shoulder, before removing it and calmly counting out several more coins.
"You can't be serious," Jasson muttered, watching him.
Alan stepped forward and handed the coins over, smiling grimly. "We don't have a choice. Get on with it."
Demeyson, victorious and making no show of hiding it, once again pulled the metal from his pocket and reached for Liam's arm. This time, though annoyed and fully aware they had been well and good cheated, he allowed him to. He watched in stony silence as the sleeve of his shirt was rolled up and Demeyson placed the small metal object on the skin of his inner arm and then covered it fully with his hand. For a moment, nothing happened – and then, as if from nowhere, he was struck with a searing pain so intense his knees nearly buckled.
For a few moments, his mind was completely blank of anything but a furious burning in his arm – and then, as quickly as it had come, the pain vanished, and his surroundings faded back in. He could hear Jasson shouting about something – he must have made some sound from the shock of it - but he sounded very far away; he could see the yellow fire which had bloomed around Demeyson's hand gradually vanish, but didn't yet connect that it had been that magic which had caused hurt. It wasn't until the hand was removed completely and he was able to see his arm that Liam fully returned to himself.
A dark blue mark stood out clearly against his skin, looking as if it had been painted there. He didn't recognize the symbol. An x about as wide as his thumbnail now colored the skin about half an inch below the crook of his arm; the two lower legs ended at points and then came back in to form a diamond pointing towards his elbow, while the two legs nearer his wrist ended at similar points, but turned outwards instead, forming a jagged line with two peaks.
"Are you all right?" Jasson asked, now at his side.
"You could have warned me," Liam could not help but snap, gingerly touching the mark, then rubbing his fingers across it when it did not seem to smear. Alarm began to invade his thoughts, and he looked up quickly. "Is this permanent?"
"No, it comes off." Alan said, watching Demeyson coldly. "You said it would sting a little."
Demeyson chose to ignore Liam's incredulous snort and raised his eyebrows blamelessly. "Not my fault the lad's got a thin hide."
"It's part of my skin," Liam protested, somewhat indignantly. "How is it supposed to come off?"
A wide smile crossed Demeyson's face, and he replied, "Wit' a lot o' money." A silence followed, and though all three boys were glaring at him fiercely, Demeyson seemed undisturbed. "So," he finally said, breaking the quiet, "Which one o' you is next?"
Though he was looking a bit grey, Alan rolled up his sleeve.