Author's Note: Just to keep everything straight: 1. It does appear to Lauryn that Lord Travion is Travis, her brother. 2. Lord Athaniel's full name is Athaniel of Conte.
We get a little of Kaly in this chapter, but not too much, seeing as how she's still sailing to Carthak. But there will be more on her once she arrives on land.
15. The Gray
Kalasin
Kalasin looked over the ship's railing at the rushing waves of the ocean. She held her book; it was tucked under her left arm.
She carried it with her everywhere she went now. Nobody said anything to her about it. Kitten liked to play with it, but Daine did not tell the others that it was magicked. Not that there were too many others she could have told. Daine was Kalasin's closest companion on the ship. There was a group of ladies on board, also. They had volunteered their services as ladies in waiting, and Kalasin had talked to them a bit before she had left Tortall.
But she did not talk to them now. She was not in a very sociable mood.
They were more than halfway there to Carthak. The book was a good distraction, but she couldn't help but feel uneasy the closer she got to her destination.
She sighed and glanced down at the book she held in her arms. Pink. Just looking at the cover made her smile.
She was quite grateful to have it. She read whenever she possibly could, although, reading for too long at a time made her feel slightly nauseated. It was not a good idea to read on a moving ship.
Dedicated to (and designed for): those in need of this story.
That statement still intrigued her every time she read it. Was she in need of a story?
Perhaps.
With a shrug, she settled down onto her chair, placed especially on the sunny part of the deck just for her. Her sitting there and bending over her book was a common sight to everyone on board.
Poor Lauryn. Working so hard to undermine nobles' power, only to find that the brother that she had lost so many years ago was brainwashed into a noble.
With a shake of her head, she opened her book and started to read.
~*~*~
Nobles' Bane: Chapter 13
"The name is Lord Travion. Do address me as such."
He was a noble.
A noble.
She burst into sudden, mad laughter.
A noble. Not just any noble.
But the Lord Provost.
And she. A member of Nobles' Bane.
Oh, the irony.
She laughed again.
"Miss'm Alisse?"
"The name is Vistra, Acole. Vistra!"
Acole flinched, and his surprise helped her regain her senses.
"I'm sorry, Acole. I didn't mean to snap."
"It's all right, Miss'm. It's all right."
"The name is Lord Travion. Do address me as such."
Travion.
She shook her head.
"Acole, please call me Vistra. My name is not Alisse."
He stared her guardedly. "Earlier you said that your name was Lauryn when you were speaking with the Lord Provost. And now you insist your name is Vistra. Do you not know your name?"
Lauryn.
Vistra.
Vis. Tra.
Tra. Vis.
If you switched the halves of Travis' name around, you got…
"You're right, Acole," she said, shaking her head. "There are too many names. And I do not know which is the proper one."
"You will know in time," Acole said to her gently.
There was silence.
"The sun is setting," Acole said quietly.
Sunset. And then night. This would be the second night that they spent in that horrid cell.
And she had not even let one thought of escape cross her mind the entire time.
Idiot!
She shook off her boot. Acole's eyes widened when he saw her knife strapped to her ankle. She stared at her knife thoughtfully. She could not reach it herself; her hands were tied with rope behind her back.
"Acole. I'm going to put my foot behind you, where you can reach it with your fingers. Try to grab the hilt and pull it out of it's straps."
He quickly nodded and she moved into position behind him, the shackles just barely long enough to let them do so. After a couple misses and almost near cuts, he managed to pull it out and it clattered to the ground.
She leaned over it backwards and picked it up. Then she paused, thinking.
"Acole, hold your knees together. I'm going to place the hilt of the knife there, and try to hold the knife still while I cut away my bindings.
It took longer than she wanted it to. But at last she was done, her hands were free. She quickly cut away the rope at Acole's own wrists. She deftly replaced her knife into her boot, but pulled out something else that was there.
Her set of lock picks.
She studied the locks on their shackles, and after a long moment, pulled out one of her lock picks. She took a deep breath before she started in on it. She never had enough patience to pick locks. But she was going to be patient this time if it killed her.
A bead of sweat ran down the side of her face. Her makeup, although still holding, would not stay that way for long. She needed to reapply it.
She unclenched her jaw; it hurt because she had had it clenched it for so long.
Damn it, how could Danel think this is easy?
Even Axe was better than she at picking locks.
Her hands were trembling with effort by the time the first lock clicked open. She still had three more to go. Her shoulders slumped noticeably.
"Just relax, Miss'm. We'll be fine. Take your time," Acole said to her quietly.
She smiled up at him, grateful. She squared her shoulders, took another deep breath, and then started in on the second lock.
It felt as if hours had gone by after she had finished with the last lock. Acole whispered to her that it had only been several short moments.
"What now?" he glanced at her.
Now?
Now she called in for support.
Just as she had focused her mind to send out a call to Axe and Danel through her pin, she heard a noise outside. She froze.
Acole glanced around, but he did not see the shadow that crept through the door of the jail and towards their cell. "What's the matter?"
She covered his lips with her hand and stared intently at the black shadow.
The black shadow approached the cell. There was a jangling noise; the black shadow held up a hand that held several keys.
Vistra breathed a sigh of relief.
She motioned at Acole for silence as she waited for the black figure to unlock the door to their cell. The black figure then turned, motioning for them to follow.
"Be as quiet as possible. There may still guards who are alive and awake," he whispered.
Vistra frowned. Alive and awake? She would have to speak with Danel after they got outside. It was not safe to leave guards alive and awake when running a jailbreak. He should know that by now.
She crept along silently, her eyes jumping at every shadow. Would Lord Travion see them? Would he try to stop them if he did?
And what would she do if he tried to stop her?
She would have to kill him. There was no other way. They were enemies, parts of the opposing sides. She could not allow him, or anybody, to distract her. Not after she worked so long and hard to come to where she was now.
No other way…
But amazingly, she saw not one soldier. Not even a dead one, which surprised her. Had Danel hidden the dead bodies?
Once safely outside the jail and a good distance away, she stopped. "Danel--"
"I am not Danel," the figure said.
She jumped. Her gaze started from the top of the person's scarf covered face, slid down over his black shirt, and stopped at the top of his breeches.
Where, around his waist, there was a colored sash.
A gray sash.
Why, no one had worn the gray sash since…
"Consider my debt to you repaid," he said.
"Your debt?" she repeated blankly, feeling slightly faint.
"Yes. It has been paid without your having to call in the favor."
Of course. Why else would he have come to help her?
She nodded wordlessly.
They stood there for a moment, staring at one another. Acole was completely forgotten; he stood a bit to the side, trying not to be intrusive.
Then, to her surprise, he reached for his waist and untied the sash from around it. And then he offered it to her. She slowly took it from his hand.
She stared down at it, stared down at it hard. He had kept his sash, his black clothes, after all these years. He had kept it then, even though their last several moments together were not pleasant ones. And now he was giving his sash to her.
I was wrong. I had thought that that last moment four years ago would be the end.
The end to him. To me. To us.
But she had been wrong. That moment had not been the end.
Because the end was now. With his giving her his sash.
Her fist tightened around the sash; she blinked, feeling amazingly hollow inside.
She glanced up at him. "Nath--"
He covered her mouth with a hand, shaking his head for silence. And then he stepped back. And slipped away into the shadows.
After a long moment of silence, Acole stepped up to her side. His eyes glanced up at her questioningly.
"Nobles' Bane," he said.
No. He was never a member of Nobles' Bane. Never was. Never will be.
"Come, Acole." The hand that held the sash fell limply to her side. But she did not drop it. "I know a place where we can stay tonight."
~*~*~
Lord Travion
He watched them silently, the slave and the servant girl, from his spot in the shadows.
There had been some sort of ruckus at the palace. He had sent all the soldiers away to handle the matter.
Had even considered going himself.
But he hadn't. He had decided to stay. To stay and watch.
"Our father, Darius, was a horsebreeder. Our mother a weaver and dyer. And I was your sister Lauryn"
He did not pursue them as they left. And he knew that he should have. General Aleyn was not going to be happy to hear that they had escaped from Travion's own jail.
General Aleyn.
He had to stifle his snort of derision. A man ruled by his fiery temper, who forgot all else in its wake. A dangerous, but foolish man.
"Remember? Remember?"
He stared down at his hand, his right hand. It was too dark to see more than its outline, but he could swear that it was still pink from when he had hit the servant.
He had never, never hit anyone in the way that he had. Had never laid a hand on any servant or slave, female or otherwise. He had prided himself to be in control of his emotions, his temper.
So why had he hit her?
Were her words true? ..was it possible?
No. Of course not. You're Lord Travion of Nigelle. The former Lord Provost's son. His only son. His heir. He raised you since you were a babe…
So why can't you remember any of your childhood past? Why is it always so hard to remember? And what about those awful, inexplicable dreams you've had since you were younger? Are they significant? Memories, perhaps? Why did father always avoid telling you why you could never remember? Why did he always change the subject when you questioned him about those unusual dreams? Why…
No.
No. He needed to stop these foolish thoughts. They were distracting, dangerous.
And besides. The servant girl had had unusual black hair. Even if he admitted that the vague memories of people he didn't recognize now were true (which he wouldn't admit anyhow), the young girl he saw in his dreams was blonde. Like he was.
He needed to focus. He was Lord Provost. No matter what his past was like earlier. Even if the servant's words are true, he was Lord Provost now. He had a job to do, a role to fulfill.
Just this once. Just this once would he let the criminals escape. But next time…
Next time he would show no such mercy.