Healer, Killer

by Amanda Swiftgold

Completely revised and UPDATED as of 2/20/14! Chapter Fifteen: The Dragoons attack Mayfil, but they find both devils and shadows of the past standing in their way.

13. Chapter Thirteen

HEALER, KILLER
By Amanda Swiftgold

BOOK TWO: DRAGON CAMPAIGN

Chapter Thirteen

The rays of morning light spilled down the palace hallway, though diluted by their passage through the oiled paper covering the window hole, and the small figure of the Mininto standing there tilted his face up to greet them. It had been a night of blood and of birth, and Matthi could still smell the faint traces of it in the air, feel the knowledge of the new spirit that had been called into the world.

Lacing his fingers through cropped pink hair, the small guard rocked back and forth on his heels, humming brightly to himself. Behind the doors that lined this hallway, important things were happening to important people - and he didn't envy them in the slightest.

And then, without warning, Matthi's large pointed ears pricked, picking up the sound of voices a bit further down. As it was his job currently to guard the royal bedchamber, he didn't stray far from his post, simply crossing to the other side of the passageway and tilting his head unashamedly in the direction of the guest room where Kanzas had been taken.

The words were spoken softly, nearly impossible to make out, one voice male and the other female. He waited until he could feel the magic rise in the air, Dragon-magic much different from his own, and drew back against the rough stone of the wall a bit, out of the light.

Humans and magic - no matter how well he knew what the Dragoon power was meant to be used for, part of him still insisted that they hardly understood what they were doing; they would make some mistake with it someday that couldn't be undone…

A sudden sharp female cry broke the Mininto's thoughts, making him stand up straight, eyes fixed on the doorway down the hall. There was another shout, the sound of something like furniture clattering to the floor, and then the door slammed open loudly. Kanzas tore from the room, skidding across the stone floor before pushing off the opposite wall and racing toward him. Matthi quickly stood out of the way, his eyes wide with curiosity, and turned to watch the running Dragoon.

However, he didn't go very far. Swaying rather dizzily, Kanzas fell heavily with his shoulder against the wall, one hand reaching to rub at the ragged, half-knit flesh banding his other arm over and over again. At the sound of the table he'd upset being righted, however, and the footsteps from the other room coming closer, he shoved himself back up again and ran for the stairs, disappearing around the corner.

"You should have just left his arm off, Shirley, if that's all the thanks he has for you," Belzac muttered wearily to the woman, reaching to her shoulder to support her as she made her way unsteadily to his side. At the moment, he just couldn't care how petty that sounded. "Not a word of gratitude-"

"Belzac, stop," she said back, hoping her voice didn't sound as slurred as she was hearing it. "If it wasn't for the Dragoon Spirit, I would have had to leave it like that. It's just I-" She was cut off by a yawn, raising her hand to her mouth to cover it, and when it was done, she'd completely lost her train of thought. "Anyway, it's not finished, so I better go find him. And there's Zieg's burns-"

The large man shook his head, tightening his hand around her shoulder as she tried to take a step forward. "No. You're not going to chase him around the city. It's not going to fall off again, right? Then leave it. It's his own fault if it bothers him - you've been up more than an entire day now." And in that day she'd not only fought at Mekadris, but then delivered a baby, and now this. Frankly, he was amazed she could still stand. "You're going to bed now. We can wake you if Zieg gets any worse."

"But-"

"No buts." He smiled a bit, shifting, and swept her easily into his arms, one beneath her knees, the other at her back. She squeaked in surprise, but otherwise made little protest, holding on with her arm around his neck. "I'll carry you."

Shirley sighed, leaning against Belzac's shoulder, her eyes already closing, and he strode down the hallway as well, too preoccupied to notice Matthi standing there watching them. This was all right by him; the guard remained back out of the way until they'd gone, and only when the footsteps had faded away did he heave a small sigh, shaking his head and returning to his post by the wall.

---

There were more people than ever filling Vellweb now, a handful of refugees trickling in every week to add to the throng. There would be more of them, too, when the warm season came; only the very desperate tried crossing the mountains and the snowfields in winter, most of them wearing clothes better suited for warmer climes.

But Shirley could feel the warmth growing in the air, in the wind blowing from the coast. Midwinter's Day and its festivities had come and gone without notice while she and Kanzas had been in Kadessa, and now the long frozen season was finally turning. Not even the weather-magic of the Winglies could keep Gloriano snowbound year-round, and she was not the only one looking forward to spring, short though it would be.

Still, it wasn't quite spring yet, and it was still cold and windy enough to make bundling up necessary. As she walked through the market square, weaving through the growing crowds, she kept her white cloak pulled closely around her. However, that was more for the benefit of the baby she carried, swaddled tightly in a wrap bound to her chest.

She smiled at the little bundle, adjusting the down-lined hat further over fine brown wisps of hair, making sure to cover tiny ears. The baby, whose otherwise loving parents had named him Kyriaca, worked his lips reflexively, caught up in sleep.

Just a moment later, the red-haired Dragoon caught sight of the stall she had been aiming for, a thick hide drape hanging in front of it to protect the contents from the wind. She pushed the pelt up to one side as she slipped inside, letting it fall behind her and taking a moment to breathe in the strong mixed scents of herbs.

Though the drape didn't do much to keep the noise of the marketplace out, for some reason the interior of the stall seemed like a separate place altogether. It was dark, but a little stove in the corner of the small area kept it warm, and a few carefully placed rushes dipped in tallow provided enough light. Oddly enough, the crackling of the fire was mixed with the gentle strains of music. Strange, she thought, but nice.

Before she could say anything about the oddness, however, the stall owner straightened from behind her wooden slab of a counter, an older woman's slightly plump face giving her a bright smile. "Welcome," she said, her smile broadening as she recognized her customer. "Oh, and greetings to you, Lady Shirley!"

"Hello, Meera," she replied, coming closer to the counter. From here, she could see now where the music was coming from. A blonde woman, much of her hair bound in multiple braids, sat on a low crate in the corner near the fire. Her eyes were closed, a lute cradled in her hands and her fingers moving lightly across the strings. "Forgive me," she said curiously, "but weren't you playing the flute at Emperor Diaz's feast last month?"

The minstrel smiled as she looked up, lifting her hand with a soft musical jangle. "I was, my lady," she replied with a nod, "but I also know other instruments, of course. I have the fortune of being Head Player, the emperor's most favorite musician-"

"Perhaps on account of few others ever learned to play," Meera said in tones half-amused, half-disapproving, as she prodded the younger woman in the shoulder with a finger. "Lady Shirley, please let me introduce my niece, Shar."

"Pleased to meet you," she responded. "You really do play quite well."

Shar smiled again, nodding her respect. "I thank you." Almost without thought, she moved to pluck the strings again, a gentle accompaniment beneath her words. "I write new songs, too; I hope to get the chance to play for the Dragoons, if you may! I did one for the celebration of Mekadris' fall, and soon I hope to have something new worked out for the Year Festival, something to dance to-"

"Come, come," her aunt fussed, "I'm sure Lady Shirley hasn't stopped to hear about your playing."

"Great though it is?" she pressed blithely, giving the lute a quick strum and pretending not to see it as Meera put her hands on her hips, embarrassed by her lack of decorum.

Chuckling, Shirley pushed back her cloak, working with one hand at the knot holding the baby wrapped close to her. "Well, I do need some herbs, for a medicine I want to make," she said, bringing the shop owner's attention back quickly. "I'm not sure which ones would be best to use for him, though."

Meera's round face was practically beaming as she leaned forward, peering over the redheaded woman's arm at the slumbering bundle. "Ah, I reckoned you had a little one with you!" She held out her arms automatically, and with a moment's hesitation Shirley passed Kyriaca to her; the woman's experience was why she had risked bringing him out to her, after all. She cradled the baby with the familiarity of long experience, scrutinizing the child closely. "My, but he is a little one, isn't he?" she murmured to herself.

"Yes," she answered back, "that's…part of the problem." Shirley shook her head, wondering how much she could tell her. As far as the people of Gloriano knew, Diaz's son had been born without complications, without adverse effects from his mother's poisoning, but that was simply not the case.

Leaning down, the other woman listened to the baby's breathing, her ear against his small chest. Behind her, the music fell silent, its sudden absence jarring to the ear, and Shar stood up from her seat, setting the lute down where she'd been resting.

Deeply asleep, Kyriaca merely stirred at the sounds of the vendors shouting outside, but it was not enough to wake him. Shirley and Shar watched in silence as Meera knelt near the fire, using its light to observe the color of his skin, clucking her tongue absently. She finally stood up and shook her head, returning to the counter. "He does not breathe well," she stated firmly.

The vague tone of disapproval grated on her - as if it was her fault his lungs were weak - but Shirley forced her irritation down. Maybe that was only the truth, anyway. "Is there something I can make to help that?" she asked instead. He had grown stronger over the past week since his birth, but not nearly enough for her peace of mind. "I'm afraid mustard plaster would be too much yet."

"Yes, mustard's being a fire element, it's too harsh, even with cloths," she agreed. "How is he-" The herbalist looked up suddenly, a flash of whiteness brightening the interior of the shop as a wizened older woman pushed aside the drape, sidling into the dim space. "Welcome!" she greeted brightly, glancing quickly between Shirley and the new customer.

Knowing that Meera was wondering how to wait on the newcomer and still give her all the attention her rank deserved, Shirley said, "Oh, go ahead. We still haven't found what we need, have we?" She held out her arms to take the baby back, but Shar suddenly raised her hand between them, leaning forward.

"Please," she asked, a bit strongly. "Please, let me hold him."

Blinking, Shirley nodded, watching as Meera transferred the little bundle to her niece with a word of thanks, hurrying to help the other customer. Shar, too, held him with easy confidence in the crook of one arm, tracing the curve of his cheek with her other forefinger as he sleepily opened his eyes to look up at her. One of the beaded ties woven into her thick blonde hair trailed forward over her shoulder, brushing against the swaddling bands wrapped across his chest.

Finally, she said tentatively, "You seem…familiar with…"

Almost as if she hadn't heard, Shar murmured, "He's quiet, isn't he? Passed around like this, most of them squall - mine did."

She knew better than to ask for any more details, and she could probably guess, anyway. Too many babies were lost too soon, in some cases along with their mothers; indeed, many children were lucky to make it to five years, even before Frahma's decree. Besides, if traveling to Mekadris over the years to free slaves had taught Shirley anything, it was that everyone carried their own pain, and if they wished to share it, then they would when they were ready.

Instead, she just nodded, and the minstrel remained silent, a crooked little smile on her lips as she studied the child's face. At the other side of the plank counter, items exchanged hands as the old woman traded for her herbs and turned to leave.

Wiping her hands on her apron absently, Meera bustled back toward the two. Eying Shar momentarily, she seemed to make a quick decision before turning to the Dragoon and saying cheerfully, "Well now, and thank you for waiting. Back to it, then. What's the child's element, Lady Shirley, if you do know it?"

"Void, I'm afraid," she said, giving a helpless little sigh. Kyriaca had inherited his father's element - or, rather, lack of one - which wasn't going to help them now. Many herbs and medicines were more effective when used in conjunction with a person's element, and using plants with the correct association destroyed and cured illnesses much faster. Medicine was also supposed to be stronger when used on the right elemental day of the week, but that wouldn't be of any use here, either.

Meera made a little tsking noise, obviously thinking the same thing. "We'll base it on the latent, then," she decided, turning toward the rows of jars on the shelves behind her. "Not as good, that, but better than taking just anything. And that's…?"

Shirley nodded, hesitating again, but if the two could guess the prince's identity just from knowing his mother's element as well, it couldn't really be helped. "The latent is light, Meera."

"Darkness, then," she muttered to herself, running her fingers across the jars. None were labeled, but she obviously knew just where everything was. "Burdock, no…dandelion, it depends…"

"Poor baby," Shar commented, shaking her head and finally, reluctantly holding Kyriaca out again. Shirley took him carefully as she continued, "I've never known anyone without an element to live content."

She smiled a little, red hair shading her face as she bent her head, tying the sling close to her again. "Then I hope he'll be the first."

"…But dragoni…no, too strong…ah! Astragalus root." Returning to the counter with two jars, the herbalist plunked them down and dragged a little scale closer to her, setting one side with a small weight and tipping out a long yellowish-brown dried root. With the point of a knife, she cracked the root's fibrous skin and began separating out the interior, placing it on the scale's empty saucer. "Make a plaster or poultice with this, my lady," Meera instructed as she worked. "It should draw out any foulness in his blood. He being one of Lord Belzac's orphans, I reckon? How's he fed?"

The assumption startled her, but she let it stay as the truth, since it was a most convenient excuse. "Oh - he has a nurse."

She nodded as she wrapped the pieces of root in a bit of cloth, the loose brown bun at the top of her head bobbing with the movement. "I'll give you some dandelion root too. Have her boil and drink it in a tea. It won't taste much fine, but it will be good for the baby in the milk." Narrowing her eyes, she turned again and took a little bottle from a box on the floor. "Here, and use this as base for the poultice. I wouldn't sell it for usual, but…"

But I'm a Dragoon and could probably afford it, she finished silently, taking the little glass phial and raising it up to look at the green liquid inside. Humans usually bartered between themselves, but both Gigantos and Winglies required money in trade, and anyone who dealt with the world beyond Gloriano's borders tended to accumulate some. "This is…a Wingly potion?" she asked, surprised. "Body Purifier!"

"There used to be some trade," she explained, "before the war, you know. Now there's blockades and all, even if we wanted to trade with Wingly bastards, I beg your pardon. Mostly we get the rarer stuff from the Gigantos away south now. That's where my husband is, 'til spring comes."

"A dangerous journey," she murmured back, closing her hand around the bottle.

Meera nodded unhappily. "Yes, but there's nothing for it. I'm quite glad of Gloriano, don't mistake me, but there's not much what grows here. I do wish I could make such potions, Lady Shirley. They work so much better than anything, but you just can't get many from them as what make them."

From where she was leaning, elbows propped on the counter, Shar straightened up, her melancholy brightening into a rather devilish smile. "Speaking of Gigantos," she drawled, "it's usually Lord Belzac who comes in for herbs. I was surprised it was you today, Lady Shirley. Is he well?"

"He's…busy with the children now," she replied slowly as she turned to face her, startled by the sudden question. "But yes, he's fine. I'll tell him you asked after him."

Pausing as she turned to put the jars back on the shelf, Meera muttered in a voice obviously meant to be heard, "More as like, my girl, the lord got tired of your shameless advances-"

"Now, Aunt Meera!" the minstrel protested, putting one hand on her hip playfully. "I've just heard there are benefits to being half-Giganto, and I wouldn't mind finding out if it's true." She turned and raised an eyebrow toward Shirley, who could feel her face immediately begin to redden; Shar's smile was teasing, but there was a small undercurrent of retribution there. "My lady, perhaps you could say-"

"Oh, I, er-" she stuttered quickly with embarrassment. Did that really mean what she thought it did? "I'm sorry, but I don't think I-"

"Still your wagging tongue, Shar!" the older woman burst in angrily, spinning on her niece. "If you're not lucky, someone less kind may cut it out for you!"

Chastised, she dipped her gaze as in penance, though the little smile still remained. "My apologies, Lady Shirley," she offered. "I meant no harm by it."

"It's…it's all right," the Dragoon returned, still feeling the heat of her blush in her face. It wasn't the innuendo that bothered her as much as the fact that it was innuendo regarding Belzac, and she wasn't quite sure how to take it. "I really should be going, though. I'll take the Body Purifier, too, Meera."

"Of course, my lady. It'll have to be coin for that'un, I'm afraid, since we traded for it special." With another quick frown at Shar, the herbalist took back the bottle of Body Purifier and bundled it with the rest of the herbs.

"That's fine," Shirley told her. "I'll pay for it all that way, if you don't mind." At the woman's nod, she exchanged the package for several gold pieces. The embossed profile of Melbu Frahma glared up at them from the coins as they were slid across the counter, but money was money, no matter who adorned its face.

When she had finally slipped out, she bent her head, adjusting the folds of her cloak - and was stopped suddenly, fingers pressing into her shoulders. She looked up quickly to see someone holding her at arms' length, a familiar figure who had only grown more so over time. "Ought to watch where you're walking," Kanzas said shortly, pushing her back with a little flick of his hands.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized automatically, unable to keep from glancing toward his left arm, feeling uncertain. A week had passed since she had healed him, two since they had argued at the remains of Magrad. Although she'd seen him now and again, mostly upon leaving and returning from patrols, this was the first time they'd spoken since then. When he didn't respond, she let a little note of teasing creep into her voice. "But how strange to meet you here so suddenly. Why, it's almost as if you were waiting for me."

Kanzas chose to ignore that, giving her a dire look before pointing almost accusingly at the sling of cloth cradled against her. "Why are you carrying that around? Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Don't you?" she retorted, placing a hand gently on the baby's head as if to protect him from the words. So…back to pretending nothing happened, is it? After so long without speaking to him, however, she was willing to go along with that. "It helps keep him warm. And his name is Kyriaca. The emperor says it's after a hero in the story of the Goddess Miranda."

The man screwed up his face into a sneer. "So, you're the White-Silver baby-minder, now? I thought Diaz could afford to hire people to watch whatever-his-name-is - Kite."

Shirley frowned, shooting a half-serious glare at him. He was leading her right into it, she knew, but somehow she found herself going along anyway. "It's Kyriaca. You don't name a baby after a kind of hawk, Kanzas."

"Better than the mouthful they did saddle him with." He shrugged carelessly, amusement clearly playing in his eyes as he peered down over her shoulder, pretending to scrutinize the child seriously. "He looks like one, anyway, with his face all red and pinched like that. A plucked hawk, maybe."

"Stop that. He's the prince; show a little more respect." She poked his arm with her index finger, not coincidentally the recently-healed one, before slipping past him as if to continue back into the market square, but he dropped his hand on her shoulder, halting her.

Shaking his head when she looked back, Kanzas asked, "No, really, why are you carrying it around?"

The red-haired woman sighed, glancing at the crowd that was passing by in the dirty avenue away from the stalls. "I…shouldn't tell you," she murmured. "Not here, anyway. If you come back to the palace with me, I'll tell you there. I'm finished here now-"

He snorted derisively, and she turned all the way back around in surprise. "Oh no, you don't. I do that, and you suddenly say you have to go somewhere and fob the kid off on me, right? I don't think so."

What in the world…? She let out a hard breath of air, giving him a look mixed between laughter and disbelief. "You really think I'd do that?"

Kanzas nodded, crossing his arms in front of his chest, the edge of his black cloak slipping down from his shoulder to cover them. "You're predictable, Shirley."

"Well, someone has to be," she muttered wryly. "Look, I wouldn't trust you to watch a child."

"Good!"

"It wasn't a compliment."

"No?" he drawled. "It was to me."

She rolled her eyes at that, giving him a flippant wave. "Come with me or don't come with me, whatever you want. You're the one who's curious about why I have him with me."

He glared at her, but she held the gaze with one of her own, raising an eyebrow. Finally, just as she turned to walk away, she heard an explosive sigh from behind her. "You are very lucky that I like you."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Shirley answered archly, feeling triumphant as he made an irritated noise, catching up to her. Not giving him a chance to refuse, she shoved the parcel into his hands, taking the risk that he wouldn't just drop it into the slush. "Would you carry this for me? My hands are full."

"They are not!" he snapped, tucking the package under his arm anyway as he stomped along next to her. She quickly busied her hands with keeping her cloak wrapped around Kyriaca, supporting his slight weight in the sling, and it was his turn to roll his eyes. He didn't say anything more as they crossed toward the stairs to the upper city.

As they started upward, however, Shirley became aware that Kanzas was humming to himself, staring off into the distance in thought although he kept moving along the narrow, icy stairs as though quite sure of his footing. She watched him quizzically and with a little alarm, and as the stairs began to curve but the direction of his path didn't, she suddenly reached to grab hold of the back of his cloak, pulling him back sharply.

"Ought to watch where you're walking," she echoed quietly, slowly releasing the dark cloth. "What was that tune you-"

"I knew where I was going," he shot back, cutting her off, and shoved the package of herbs back into her outstretched hand. "Here, you can obviously hold this."

"Why, thank you," she muttered under her breath, following him as he started off again, more purposefully this time.

When they reached the nursery inside the palace - one of the few upper-story rooms which hadn't needed to be repaired after the firing of the spear-shooter there - Shirley frowned in dismay upon finding it cold. The nurse's narrow bed lay in one corner, piled high with blankets, and her chest of belongings was set at its end, but otherwise it seemed very spare and impersonal. The fire in the low stone fireplace had nearly gone out, only a few embers flickering amidst piled ash. "There must have been a draft," she figured out loud, crossing the room and reaching for the poker.

Kanzas, however, grabbed it before she could, heaving a weary sigh. "Just let me," he half-snarled; she shrugged, giving him a consenting nod. "Why is this up to you? Wasn't someone hired to watch the kid?"

"Yes," she answered, standing back out of the way, "but I told her to take the afternoon off so I could look into his medicine."

Crouching down, the man stirred the embers a little, reaching for the dry bits of tinder kept in a box nearby to work the fire up again. I shouldn't be surprised, he told himself. I really shouldn't. He barely gave Shirley a look as she knelt next to him briefly, tossing in a few chips from a small basket. The scent of cedar began to waft into the room as it burned, and he raised an eyebrow.

"It purifies the air, promotes health," she explained without being asked, dragging the low cradle a little closer to the tiny fire before slowly untying the sling and laying the baby, wrap and all, into the ornately-carved bed. "I'm hoping that as he gets older his lungs will start to catch up, that he'll get stronger."

When she had her back to him, he turned to watch her slow movements as she crossed to the table she'd set up, unpacking her herbs and beginning her work. He shook his head before standing back up to get firewood from the pile set safely across the room. "So that's why there's been no big announcement, no celebration or something," he said flatly.

Shirley tensed a little, but nodded, her back still turned as she shredded the root further with a small paring knife. Kyriaca's parents didn't think he'd live - and she couldn't make herself say it aloud. "He's so sickly, so weak," she said quietly, settling into a chair as she poured a small amount of the precious Body Purifier into a wooden bowl. "The Dragoon Spirit does nothing, of course - that's just how he was born, so there's nothing it can fix. Emperor Diaz hasn't named him successor yet…and Lady Mille will barely hold him; I think she's afraid of losing him-"

"Horseshit!" Kanzas hissed, but it was only audible as a sharp sound to the other Dragoon. However, she heard him clearly enough as he stormed back over to the fireplace, tossing the wood on the fire without a care that it might quash the little flames. "What kind of excuse is that to hand him over to you?"

"I asked to help," she shot back, twisting to give him a glare and raising the dripping spoon in warning. "If I can help in any way to make him stronger, then I will! For all we know," she choked, "the poison made Lady Mille barren - and don't start on me about guilt! This isn't about my feelings, my wanting to fix what I couldn't before!"

He shrugged in response, as if to say that she'd proved his point before he could even make it. "Well, tell me this, then," he demanded, looking up at her before rising to his feet. "If this one dies, and Mille can't have another, would you have Diaz's heir for him?"

Shirley drew in a short, startled breath of air, looking down at the bowl in her hands, letting her hair fall to hide the sudden chalky paleness of her face. Somehow, she couldn't feel offended by the question although she knew she was supposed to, recognizing its seriousness and knowing deep inside how important Gloriano's future was to her.

After a moment Kanzas stopped waiting for her to speak, as her silence had already answered for her. "All right," he murmured a bit gruffly, spinning away when she guardedly raised her head to meet his eyes. "I guess we better make sure Kite lives, then."

"Kyriaca," she corrected almost immediately, trying to say anything to shift the subject away from where it was.

He snorted, and she let out her breath in huff of a sigh, leaning far forward momentarily. The pungent stench of the stuff in the bowl greeted her nose, and she sat back up quickly with a cough. Giving it a few more stirs with the spoon, she stood and walked back over to the cradle.

Kneeling down, she pulled back the blanket covering the baby's form, unwrapping the swaddling bands before gently untying the ribbons of his gown and sliding it off him. Dipping her fingertips into the oily brown-green ointment she'd made, Shirley gently began to rub it onto his chest. Whether from the temperature of the stuff or from the smell of it, he squirmed uncomfortably, beginning a soft, breathless cry.

"Shh," she whispered, rubbing her hands together briskly to warm them before reaching into the bowl again. "Shh, baby. I know, it smells awful. Just be still, now…soon enough you'll have strength for crying." As she massaged the herbal mixture onto Kyriaca's skin, the touch began to calm him, the odor helping him to breathe easier, and the thready wails subsided.

Feeling motion behind her, the healer looked back up over her shoulder without surprise to see Kanzas standing there, his arms crossed as he stared down at her and the prince. His lips twitched, and he finally muttered, "Your back must hurt, you carrying the world around and all."

"Would you have me stand by and do nothing? Watch as a child dies when I could have done something to save him?" She shook her head, turning away, brown eyes narrowing as she stared into the flickering glow of the fireplace across from her. Without looking, she wiped the last of the stuff off her hands with the edge of the sling. "I don't understand how you can even argue-"

She fell abruptly silent, feeling hands on her shoulders as the other Dragoon knelt down slowly behind her, his voice in her ear whispering, "Shirley, hush."

Something unspoken was hanging in the air between them, and she didn't dare say another word, afraid it would vanish like morning mist in the sunlight. Instead, she simply reached her arm over the wooden side of the cradle, feeling Kyriaca's tiny fist closing tightly around her thumb, holding on with, it seemed, all the strength he possessed.

Kanzas' hands remained on her shoulders, holding her in half an embrace, his breath ruffling her hair. Slowly, she could feel more of his weight pressing against her back, his fingers sliding down the sides of her arms, resting lightly on the tops of her wrists. Though it was beneath his sleeve, she knew exactly where the ragged line of the thick, ridged scar ringing his left bicep was. The memory of the way he'd looked while injured, unconscious and bandaged on the pale sheets of the bed, made her heart ache a little. She finally broke the silence to say, "I wish you would have let me finish healing that for you."

"Scars remind you of the pain," he answered quietly. "If I let you erase it, it would hardly matter now." There had also been the panic that had seized him when he'd woken up and realized how vulnerable, how weak he had been, and that was something he had no interest in trying to talk about now, or ever.

"Why would you want to remember pain?" she asked him, not understanding at all.

He smiled with one corner of his mouth, resting his cheek in the red strands of her hair. "Anything I said to that would just make you feel sorry for me. Forget it."

Shirley exhaled a slow, thoughtful breath, almost unconsciously leaning back into his arms, the baby's hand still curled firmly around her finger. "You were humming a lullaby earlier," she said after a few moments in the warm, comfortable silence. "I'd wondered if you had…ever had a child."

"Not one I've ever met," he answered, feeling her shift slightly at that, though she didn't press him about the meaning of it for once, not wanting to disturb the moment. No, if Jidena had ever been pregnant, either she or the magic tests had put an end to it without him ever knowing about it, and that was certainly for the best. "But there was a baby born in Aglis," he tried to explain, indulging her. Seeing her carrying around that kid had brought back the lullaby, the tune he still knew well enough to hum, had brought it all to the forefront of his mind. Scars indeed. Scars, every one. "Two of the others decided they'd be married, as much as any slave can be. It was a girl."

'Lullay, lullay, little child…why do you cry so hard?'

She nodded; that much was understandable. "And…?" she prodded a bit when it seemed like he had fallen silent.

"Esta was its mother," he said suddenly. "She was the one with fire affinity. She'd…sing. At night…" She'd sung lullabies to her daughter like his mother had sung to him and all his siblings. He'd imagined that someday his own wife might do the same - before he'd known Jidena, anyway, and such imaginings became inconceivable. Still, at one time he'd had hope that the researchers would sell them back into some semblance of a life when they were done with them. He shook his head, sighing in irritation at the resurgence of those old feelings.

'But you must cry…for you were long destined…to forever live in sorrow…and forever sigh and mourn…'

"They let Esta and her husband keep the kid for a year," he finished shortly. "When she was weaned, the researchers took her away. They wanted to find out if magical…resistance could be passed on. What her traits would be."

'As your elders did before you…while they were alive…'

Shirley felt her brows knit, but she couldn't turn to look at his face the way she was sitting. "Oh, Kanzas," she murmured, "I'm sorry."

He made a derisive noise, brushing it off. Soa, but he could still hear her voice now, singing, clear as day. "Esta didn't try to escape with us, you know," he mumbled as if to himself. "She wouldn't leave Aglis when her daughter might still be there. But when it failed, she was executed with the rest. It was all wiped clean, to the Winglies. No scars. No…remembering."

'Lullay, lullay, little child…child, lullay, lullow…into a cruel world…you have come…'

"I'm so sorry," she told him again, wishing there was something she could do, something besides repeating her sadness over and over. She breathed in deeply; the scent of cedar and the poultice was mixing in an odd, but not unpleasant, way.

"You should be," he answered, though without malice. "Making me tell you that so you'd feel sorry for me anyway. But…it's all right. I'm still alive - but do I deserve it?"

Finally pulling her thumb out of Kyriaca's sleepy grip, Shirley twisted awkwardly where she sat in order to face Kanzas, her lips drawn up in a frown. "Of course," she whispered in a voice shaky from repressed tears. "Of course you do."

He scowled, going on as if he hadn't noticed. "Why do you want to hear these things? You can't heal it, you can't bring them back, you can't do anything but cry over it. You've cried for me…you cried when you heard what happened to them."

"And you told me," the other Dragoon answered quietly, "that you didn't want that."

"I know. I don't. I'm just trying to imagine, right now, what it's like to be capable of that. Crying for the deaths of people you didn't even know."

She shook her head slowly, gaze downcast. "Maybe," she mumbled, "it wasn't for them. Maybe it was just for you. Because I can only imagine what you felt, all that pain, and…and I care about you."

"Don't you cry for me, Shirley," Kanzas answered, a furrow forming between his brows. "I almost think you'd never stop."

A little hesitantly, she raised her hand, placing her palm flat against his chest, over his heart. Her own was racing now, bringing a pink flush to her cheeks. If tears were good for anything, she thought, unable to voice it, if they could take away your scars I never would stop-

"You can't save me," he said, his lips forming the words but his voice barely there.

Yet she heard it still, her gaze locked with his and burning hot. "Do you want me to?"

Kanzas bit his lip, moving backward until her outstretched hand could no longer touch him. "The more you know of me," he said tightly, "the worse it will be for you."

"And…" Shirley drew out slowly, a strange thrill running downward through her stomach as she considered the odd expression on his face, "if I say I'm willing to risk that?"

What could he tell her, really? She would love him, without a doubt, even if she knew the truth - but she would love him then for what he was, not for who he was. She would love him because it was her duty to love her family no matter what. He wanted her to love him just because.

His breath felt as if it was coming painfully fast, one thought arising to fill his mind: This isn't a game anymore.

Maybe it had never been one to begin with.

Yet he had been playing with her mind ever since they'd met, and he knew why: she and Belzac swanning into Mekadris like it was normal for Winglies to send slaves to purchase slaves - and somehow getting away with it - talking so nobly of their lord, of fighting for freedom. He hadn't known whether to pity their foolishness or be jealous of their daring. Somehow, without even thinking about it, he'd decided it would be amusing to make Shirley fall for him and shake both of them out of their sense of superiority.

But right from the start it had not gone the way Kanzas had expected it to. Belzac, as far as he knew, hadn't even fought to keep her; her guilt could have stopped it right there. He certainly hadn't counted on the Dragoon Spirit keeping him from leaving as he had planned.

Most of all, he hadn't expected his own feelings to betray him like this. He'd thought she would have gotten sick of him by now, that he would have gotten bored with her. But as time had passed, as she'd learned more and more about him and still did not turn away…

In one single, sudden motion, he jerked back from her, twisting up to his feet. Shirley raised her eyebrow slightly, questioning, but despite a sense of disappointment she didn't press him, simply watching as he moved toward the window, peering out at the overcast afternoon sky and the brown stoniness of the buildings outside.

After a moment, he turned to pace back again, obviously thinking about something. When he came to the door, he paused there, reaching for the latch, and then pulled back again, frowning.

"Kanzas?" she asked.

He took a glance at her expression in the low light and reached for the door handle again before yanking his hand back once more. What the hell was he doing, anyway? He'd just had this sudden, terrible urge to run away, put not only the door but the entire city between himself and Shirley.

Coming back over to the table near the far wall instead, he picked up the small paring knife she'd left, twirling it between two fingers, amber eyes fixed on its shine. He finally plopped down heavily in the chair there, regarding her darkly over the spin of the knife.

There was a moment of silence as she checked on the baby, and then she slowly got to her feet, stretching the stiffness from her legs. "Kanzas," she continued, picking up her bowl, "I don't understand. Tell me what it is you want."

He didn't respond, a brief flicker of something akin to fear alighting in his eyes. Yeah, and what am I supposed to say? he thought angrily at her, rolling the handle of the knife between his palms now, watching the blade catch the firelight, flashing flashing flashing- I want you, Shirley, and I can protect that faith in you far better than that Giganto ever could, and I can make you the strongest, holiest person this world will ever see, but I can't - I shouldn't love you like this and I can't but it's not my fault because you don't know and don't you dare come over here looking at me with eyes like that-

Despite his silent demand, she set down the bowl and pulled out the other chair, swinging it around across from his and sitting down. Her hands folded in her lap, Shirley looked vaguely disapproving as he ran his fingertip idly along the edge of the knife, rocking the thin blade gently back and forth. "What does that accomplish?" she asked softly.

"Not a thing," he answered promptly, gazing at her from under half-closed lids before taking a deep breath. "Shirley, if you don't move right now, I'm going to kiss you - and believe me, you don't want me to do that."

The woman froze at his words but made no attempt to shift away, whispering back in a steady voice, "And…why is that?"

Kanzas didn't respond this time, staring down at the lines of blood beading up on his finger. When he finally looked up, meeting her eyes, he reached out in a quick movement and drew a streak of the bright red across her lips.

Shirley's breath stuck in her throat, and a moment later he leaned in and kissed her, dropping the knife to pull her awkwardly from her chair forward onto his lap. There was the coppery tang of his blood on her tongue, the slight, sudden tug of her hair in his fingers, the roughness of his beard against her face; she twisted to wrap her own arms up around his neck, slowly returning the kiss as her surprise subsided. She had believed him when he'd warned her, but she had made the choice not to move, and the rush of excitement was now sweeping away the last remnants of doubt. For some reason his skin was so cold now, the chill from his fingers startling, but his mouth was warm though she could still taste the blood…

It seemed to go on for ages, neither of them willing or able to stop now that the dam of tension had at last been broken. When they finally broke apart, their breathing fast and harsh, he pulled her against his chest before she could react, holding her there in the circle of his arms. "Don't…say anything," he whispered hoarsely, squeezing his eyes closed. Soa, if he couldn't keep control of himself, how much further would this go? Scarily, he wasn't sure he really cared anymore if he could resist the temptation or not. "I told you it would happen - I told you."

Bewildered, her heart racing, the only thing the healer could do was tighten her grip around him, hug him back, letting out a long sigh against his neck. What had that warning of his meant, anyway? Of course she'd wanted it to happen again; he had to have known that. She had been the one to kiss him, that day beneath the arena, and she'd been wondering why he hadn't tried to return it in all the time since then. Even their arguments and the battles they'd fought didn't seem to explain it. He certainly wasn't behaving like the kind of calculating seducer some of the others seemed to think he was.

Something was going on, of course, but she wasn't sure what. And, here in this comfortable closeness, her heart pounding hard beneath her ribs, part of her didn't think it really mattered at all.

---

Seven Dragoons sat in the council chamber, their emperor at their head - after so long, the table had finally been filled. A great deal had happened since their last meeting, and even more was promised, though it was a bit hard at the moment to get their minds around the thought that what they were proposing could actually be done.

For as long as any of them could remember, the Winglies' Death City had been a terrible, frightening image in the songs and stories of other species. There was no avoiding it, just as there was no avoiding death. Whether sooner or later, eventually one's soul would be called to Mayfil, and there it would be sent as its masters pleased to its destination.

And, for this reason, the plan of attack was coming along slowly indeed. Despite the varying attitudes they had brought to the council table, all of the Dragoons, inwardly or otherwise, had their doubts. It was one thing to speak of troop movements and the flight plans of Dragons, and it was another entirely to propose the destruction of the place where souls were drawn for 'judgment' - to take away their enemies' means of controlling them even after death.

"The thing to remember," Rose was saying from where she sat, looking very much like she wanted to start pacing around the room, "is that Mayfil might be called a city, but it isn't one. There shouldn't be many Winglies there, but that doesn't mean it'll be any easier to attack."

"It has to have some kind of defenses, though," Syuveil rejoined, pushing his glasses back up absently.

His eyes, and everyone else's, were on the Darkness Dragoon now, watching her. Though only a few of them hadn't known, everyone had now been made aware of her past as Melbu Frahma's slave, for with him she had once gone to the Death City and was now their only real source of information about it.

"Rose?" Diaz prompted after silence fell again. "Do you know?"

Shifting a bit uncomfortably, Rose nonetheless met their gazes without the shame that threatened to tinge her expression. "Maybe now there are, but there weren't before. Who would go there? Even Winglies don't go there without orders…so," she sighed, "no, I don't think there are any defenses to worry about."

Though he normally would be making some kind of comforting gesture, instead Zieg next to her was sitting quietly, staring at the table and chewing on his lip; although Shirley had since seen to his wounds, his cheeks were now marred by the scars from the burns that had been healed with potions. The uneasiness around the table was thick as the Dragoons fought to adjust to the subject at hand, to take it seriously.

Shirley leaned forward a bit, folding her arms. "Well…not all of us have been to the floating cities," she began with a quick glance to Belzac and then Damia, who sat looking even paler than usual, continually fiddling with the seashell hanging from her wrist. "We've all only heard about Mayfil from…well, you know, what people say. What can we expect when we get there?"

"You must remember I was young," Rose started shakily, "and things may have changed. I mostly just recall the - souls, they must have been. Little flickers in the air. Moving like a stream through the sky." Zieg did move then, his hand covering hers on the wooden tabletop, and she let it stay there a moment before lacing her fingers together in front of her, shaking her head. "It must - must have generators to keep it in the air, like all the others do. It's not really made for Humans to come to. There are teleporters, and bridges appear if you take a step out onto them - but," she continued with a kind of dark amusement, "you have to trust that they will. There are many rooms, those where the souls are sorted, where some remain."

Belzac let out a breath of air, thoughtful. "What I'd like to know is - well, we all know that the Winglies can affect a soul after death. But I'd like to know how they're able to decide where…it goes." A little way down the table, Kanzas straightened a bit in his seat as well, listening intently.

Rose frowned to herself. "I doubt they can, at least all on their own," she finally replied. "It would be their agreement with the Devildom that lets them play with souls like they do." Her gaze swept across the others briefly, her fingers clenching and unclenching reflexively. "You may have heard of devils waiting - yes, they do exist. As far as I was able to understand it, this agreement allows the Winglies to send their species' souls to Heaven, and the Devildom gets access to the rest."

"But," Damia squeaked suddenly, her voice breaking the uncomfortable silence and surprising them, "but how can they do that? That's…that's worse than killing people…" She shook her head hard, the thought nearly bringing her to tears. "But then no matter what you do, or how good you are, it just doesn't matter!"

"So we're going to change that," Zieg said strongly, obviously angered by the situation. He brought his fist down on the table, making some of the others jump. "Even if they'd never done anything else to deserve it, this-"

It was Rose's turn to reach to calm him, slipping her hand over his clenched fist momentarily. "We…we all know, Zieg. We won't get any planning finished if we focus too much on what they've done."

"That's right." Syuveil leaned forward, his expression of intense interest contrasting with the general pensiveness of the rest. "And to that end - we'll certainly encounter some of these devils when we attack the Death City, won't we? What can you tell us about them, Rose?"

She sighed a bit, sinking back in her seat and rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Not much, I'm afraid. They were hardly allowed to crowd around Frahma, and I would not have gone off to explore." She said this flatly, her voice rather stiff and even. "As far as I understand it, they are mostly interested in souls, not the living. However, I have no doubt that, if attacked, they would return the favor."

He nodded sharply. When no one else seemed inclined to speak up, the scholar pressed, "What do these devils look like?"

"I…only ever saw one at any distance at all." Rose paused, trying harder to remember the details of that day. "It was…gray, or maybe black. Just a shape, no features but legs. About this big," she went on, indicating something the size of a small cat. "It was on the shoulder of the Wingly Overseer." She made a face at this.

"That small?" Syuveil frowned thoughtfully, the description apparently at odds with what he'd pictured. "I suppose they can change their form, then?"

Diaz cleared his throat, holding up a hand to halt Rose before she could answer. "If the old teachings are true, and the devils' original purpose is to torment damned souls into atoning, then I imagine they can. However," he said strongly, overriding questions and also Kanzas' hissed intake of breath, "as you are living souls, they will have limited redress against you. Your main concern should indeed be the Overseer of the city, the Wingly called Ieo."

Although she did not like the images that brought up, Shirley was inclined to believe Diaz, as he had spent many years, aided by Charle, researching the creation of the world, the species - all things that Winglies didn't want other creatures knowing about anymore. She exhaled, looking across her friends and then to the emperor. "What do we know about him?"

"Her," Rose corrected, and her expression grew sourer. "I don't know much about her, really. She was there when I was, of course. But anything else about her, the connection with the Devildom - the Winglies had no need to speak of it, and so I don't know."

"The details of this link are unknown to me as well," Diaz put in, running a hand over his beard. "Lady Charle would only emphasize that the connection must be broken. The core of this link resides in Ieo, and therefore she must be killed in order to complete the severance between Mayfil and the Devildom and restore the flow of souls to their natural destinations, as according to their fates."

Kanzas laughed shakily at that, a sound which he only halfheartedly tried to hide. Their fates…all our fates. And with Mayfil gone we'll all go to Heaven, is that it? He made no attempt to explain the laugh when they looked at him inquiringly, rocking his chair back on two legs. "Kill the Overseer, problem solved. Got it," he drawled uninterestedly. "So, what's between her and us?"

"Like I said," Rose answered, irritation creeping into her voice, "there won't be regular troops there, as Mayfil itself would probably demoralize them too much for them to be useful at all. The devils would protect themselves, at the very least, and I don't know if Ieo can compel them to fight to protect her. If she can, they will be our opponents."

Damia shuddered at that, pulling her knees up to her chest. Curled into a ball, she was barely visible over the edge of the table. Belzac next to her reached to smooth her hair a bit before looking back, a frown on his face. Although he had been able to keep her away from the last battle, they would need all the Dragoons in order to attack one of the flying cities, no matter how dangerous it would be or how much he'd rather she stayed behind again.

"There will be six generators," the Darkness Dragoon continued on, more in control of herself now that the talk was drifting back to more technical matters. "The common arrangement in all the other flying cities is a circular pattern beneath the surface, with one in the center, and that balance keeps it upright. There's no reason to believe it will be any different in Mayfil. I expect they're shielded enough that we'll have to use our vassal Dragons to break through and destroy them."

"Well, there are seven of us," Zieg said, considering. He traced invisible lines on the table with his fingertip, picturing the layout of the city. "If some of us go for the generators, and others search out the Overseer, we should be able to kill two birds with one stone, don't you think?"

Shirley's brows drew together sharply. "Oh, I don't know," she said before she'd even realized it. "It will be dangerous enough without everyone splitting up, and we don't know what exactly will be protecting those generators, or the Overseer."

"I feel the same," Belzac put in shortly, still watching Damia. Even if they did end up separating, he planned to keep an eye on her anyway.

"We will have the Dragons with us, you know," Syuveil disagreed mildly. "We'll have to stay with them, at least, in order to direct them. The flying cities aren't so big that we or our vassals would get lost within Mayfil if we were alone."

"Don't forget, our goal is to destroy it entirely," Rose said to him rather chidingly. Knowing the scholar, it was probably in the back of his mind to wander off and study the mechanisms of the city, even if he wasn't consciously aware of the thought. "If we can't get to the generators, then we take out its structure. One way or another, it'll fall, and all we have to do is make sure that the Overseer goes with it."

No one seemed really satisfied with the plan as it stood, but there was little more they could do to prepare, as there was no good way to gather information on the Death City at this point in time. Diaz cleared his throat slightly, waiting until all eyes were on him before speaking. "Then we will go on the attack after the Year Festival; I shall have the ground forces set out to join Tibero in the hopes of drawing their attention from you. Be prepared to leave at all times from then on, my Dragoons."

Kanzas let out a breath, inwardly trying to force his thoughts to calm. However, they just seemed to keep drifting back to the Death City, to souls that would be waiting there. "This Year Festival. When is it?"

"If the weather patterns hold, or so I have been informed, the first day of the festival will begin a little over two weeks from now," the emperor answered. As was typical of him, he went on for the benefit of those among them who hadn't lived in Gloriano before. "It lasts for three days and signifies the turning of the new year. The funerals are held for those who died during the winter, and the first planting of the season begins."

"Fine, fine," he muttered. Just over half a month, then. He could manage until then well enough. But this not knowing what to actually expect…

Diaz inclined his head a bit. "Very well. If there is no more discussion?" He waited briefly, but no one spoke up, and so he stood, drawing himself upright with a degree of ceremony. "Then this council is done."

The sound of chairs scraping across the stone floor resounded as most of the Dragoons quickly got to their feet as well, glad that the rather awkward meeting was finally over. Rose and Zieg left just after the emperor, walking closely together as if for some unspoken comfort, and Syuveil went after them, Damia close on his heels.

Belzac, also filing out of the room, was debating speaking to their youngest once more, but he paused just in the hallway, realizing Shirley had not come with them. This, he soon found as he turned back toward the council chamber, was because the Thunder Dragoon had remained at the table, apparently lost in thought.

"Kanzas?" the woman asked, coming up to his side with her hands tucked behind her back, her plain turquoise robe rustling quietly with the motion. "Are you all right? The meeting is over now."

Why does she have to bother? Of course the thought of Mayfil disturbs him, considering how many he must have sent there. Frowning absently in irritation, the half-Giganto waited just outside the room for her to finish.

The russet-haired man snorted, shaking his head as if to clear it and letting the large, heavy chair rock backward on its two legs even further. "Yeah, sure. Could have saved a lot of time if they just said it came down to 'fly in there and blow crap up' at the start, you know."

She rolled her eyes a bit. "We hardly knew it would at the start." She took a couple of steps toward the door, half turning back as she did so to look at him. "How's your arm?" she asked, retreating almost automatically into the safety of little pleasantries.

"Fine," he answered carelessly. Truthfully, he still didn't have much feeling in it, but he wasn't about to get her worked up over something so trivial. It moved when he wanted it to, and as fast as he expected it to, and that was good enough for him. He stretched back further momentarily before letting the chair clunk forward, getting to his feet and heading her way. "Think it's going to matter?" Kanzas asked suddenly, peering at her in the dim light of the room. "Us taking down Mayfil - think it's really going to make fate go the way it should?"

"Yes…I think it will. It can't possibly be planned that the Winglies alone should receive Heaven…"

"Ha." He crossed his arms, turning aside a bit to look out the window, sunset light reddening the brown stone of the towers that surrounded the council chamber. "So then fate doesn't exist right now - or was it fated that fate be stolen?" He spat to the side. "It's all so stupid. In order to believe in fate, I must also believe that, when I was born, Soa decreed 'this kid will grow up, die, and go to Hell'. And, if this is true - well, I'll have some things to say to Soa, when I meet her."

Regarding him momentarily, she suddenly stepped closer, slipping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. The fabric of his shirt smelled strangely earthy, and she could see streaks of what had to be clay dust there. "That's why we're stopping them, Kanzas - so we don't have to endure that false fate the Winglies decreed for us."

He reached to cup her face in his hands, tilting her brown gaze to meet his. "Don't be a child," he told her in soft, rasping tones. "We both know where I'm going to go."

She didn't know what to say, just shaking her head a bit in denial of that, and then leaned forward to kiss him. He allowed her for just a moment before straightening back from her, his expression thoughtful.

Finally letting go of him, Shirley lifted her own hands to gently tug his away. There were myriad red lines across his palms and fingertips, dark, scabby cuts, and when she frowned he pulled his hands from hers, turning again and heading straight for the door. "Kanzas!" she protested. "What-"

"Don't bother asking," he said curtly, lips twisting into a smirk as he pushed past Belzac, glancing up at the Golden Dragoon's stunned expression. He didn't slow, however, continuing down the hallway and once more out of sight.

Shirley, also turning her eyes his way, was not prepared for the wave of guilt that crashed through her when she realized that her friend had seen the embrace. Even as her mind flew to think of some kind of explanation, part of her petulantly, almost angrily wanted to know why she had to feel guilty about it in the first place. Calm down, she berated herself, letting out a breath. "Belzac, why do you - what's the matter?"

His hands clenched into fists reflexively at his sides, working out the anger in the motion. There were so many words that threatened to spill, hurt accusations and confessions he wanted to spew, but he finally chose his answer carefully. "I…he's going to break your heart, Shirley. I know it."

She had become aware of his feelings for her before, but it had never been quite as apparent as it was now, the words waiting just under the surface. Their long shared history together had made it difficult to be honest about such things. She didn't want to hurt him, but as her affection for Kanzas had grown, she had become dismally aware that she might well have to do so, and that doing so would ruin their friendship forever. It had been so much easier to ignore what was still unspoken anyway, put off the decision until some other time. "How do you know that?" she finally rejoined. "There's a lot he hasn't let you-" - or me, or anyone else - "-know about him."

"That may be, but he's still rude outwardly. How does that make it all right? Maybe whatever you think you see in him is the lie."

"Why do I feel as though you'd like if that was the case?" she returned, crossing her arms in front of her, trying to dance carefully around the issue that always, if invisibly, lay at the heart of it all. "You have to stop being so…overprotective, Belzac. I'm not a little girl anymore. I don't need you to…watch out for me." Speaking her next words was like striking him - and she knew it would be, fighting away the guilt even as she said, "I think I'm in love with him, and I'm well aware what it's getting me into."

His heart had plummeted into his stomach, which itself seemed to be burning with bile. However, he made a great effort to detach head from heart, to continue as if he only cared for her in a brotherly way. It was just so hard to do- "No," Belzac answered harshly, "no, I don't think you are. And when he hurts you, I'm - I'm not going to wait around for you to come crying to me!"

"If I've made a mistake, all right - then I'll deal with it myself!"

"That's just fine by me!"

Shirley tensed, part of her horrified by the argument taking place. The other part of her had apparently decided it was the perfect time to air the ancient, terrible feelings she thought she'd long left behind. "So are you going to lie in wait for him, too? He's not a boy, and he won't be so easy to beat up!" He'd gone completely still, his face reflecting his shock, but her words kept right on coming, even as she wondered what in the world she was trying to accomplish with this. "Was that the only time, Belzac? Or are you the reason I'm nearly twenty-five years old and he's been the first man to kiss me since then?"

He stared down at her, pale and nauseous, feeling exactly as if she'd stabbed him through the heart and given the knife a twist for good measure. She looked back up at him a moment longer, her dark eyes shining with unshed tears, before she suddenly pushed past him through the doorway, her boots ringing on the stone as she stormed toward the spiraling stairs at the end of the hall.

Belzac remained standing there, staring into the dim, empty council room, too hurt to even move. Those harsh words had held the ring of truth, mixed as they were with the resentment she had apparently bottled inside for so long. No, he'd never threatened a man to keep him away from her, but he had known what his intimidating presence at her side would mean to anyone else who might want to court her. He'd known, and he couldn't deny he had liked that fact, either.

Caught up as they had been with serving Diaz and searching for the bearers of the Dragoon Spirits, he hadn't really realized what it might mean for Shirley to have to wait while he tried to make up for his mistake. That mistake had nearly cost him her friendship ten years ago. Was this going to do the same?

I waited too long, he thought in despair. And fighting for her now will only prove her right, won't it?

Kanzas was going to break her heart, at the very least - he knew that with a certainty not entirely born of jealousy. And if he wanted to keep the shreds of what still remained between them, if there was ever going to be a chance of repairing their bond, he would have to just stand aside and let it happen.

---

The free Humans of Gloriano, Kanzas had decided, seemed to thrive on ceremony; every event, every change of the season called for some kind of recognition from them, and he couldn't help but wonder idly why that was. It probably had something to do with the Winglies, with generations of slavery - most things seemed to come down to that, one way or another.

The first portion of this 'Year Festival' had begun with the burials yesterday, the long procession winding across the slushy fields outside the city to where the graves had been prepared. The ground had been frozen during the long winter season, and the bodies of those who had died had been preserved well enough by the cold in the crypts where they had been kept. However, with the thaw, they needed to be interred, and over the years this grim task had become yet another ceremony.

He hadn't felt like he belonged there, watching from a distance as shrouded corpses - some, admittedly, that he was responsible for - were borne along the trail to their final resting places. Syuveil hadn't even needed help to carry what was left of his friend, Shynn, though the others walked near him, putting aside what they felt about what the dead man had done, had tried to do. The hymns were of pity, sad dirge-like songs, and he'd realized yet again why there was no hope upon death, no promise of anything but Hell and the Devildom.

But we can change that? It just doesn't seem…possible, even with the spirits, the Dragoon thought, absently resting his hand on his other wrist above the small violet marble hidden beneath his bracer. Sitting on the edge of a restraining wall, Kanzas looked down over it at the tangle of streets. This night, obviously to raise the morale of those who had just buried friends and family, bonfires and feasting were going on in the lower city, the lights of the fires like dots far beneath him.

And then, after that, they would go to attack Mayfil. He shifted a bit, shoulders hunched under his black cloak, a brooding expression on his face as he thought about that dead city and what he might find there.

After a while, he became aware of footsteps above, shaking his head to break himself from his thoughts and glancing up at the tower stairs. Shirley, Damia, Rose and Zieg were descending, chatting to each other, and though it was too cold still for finery outdoors, the women and the girl had each done…something with their hair. Kanzas' mind only registered that it was different, and he wondered why briefly before remembering the festivities. He scowled, knowing what was coming, as they saw him and approached.

"Kanzas?" Shirley asked. "Aren't you coming down?"

"Wasn't planning on it," he answered stubbornly, crossing his arms in front of him. "Don't see the point in celebrating the fact the bodies are finally out of the cellar."

She frowned at him, heaving a weary sigh. "That's not what it's about. It's a new year - didn't you ever observe it before?"

He uncurled and jumped down from the ledge, matching her long-suffering sigh with one of his own. "Never was much to celebrate in Aglis. We all got new shirts on Creation Day." He shrugged, glancing to the others. "Besides, I thought the new year had already come."

"The Winglies observe it earlier," Zieg told him, "around Midwinter. Something to do with the position of the stars. It's the same for my clan, too, though we use different stars to chart it. But here in Gloriano it's always at the thaw, just before the first planting of the season."

"And so it's finally my birthday." Damia was obviously delighted by this, nearly hanging over the edge of the wall as she peered down at the bonfires below. Many slaves and former slaves who didn't know their date of birth simply had their birthdays at the new year, and although she hadn't been born into slavery, her mermaid mother hadn't exactly kept track of dates, so it was as good a method as any.

Rose smiled at her, holding out her hand. "Let's go down and have some fun, then," she said. The thirteen-year-old grinned, taking hold of it and nearly pulling her toward the stairs. Zieg, shoving his new wine-colored cloak back over his arms, chuckled softly and followed them at a slower pace.

Shirley glanced to Kanzas, moving to go, and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Well, what?" he returned, as if he didn't know what she meant.

Playing along, she returned innocently, "Well, will you come down to the festival with me?" Despite the guilt she felt over her fight with Belzac, she also was determined not to let it ruin her enjoyment of the festivities. He had been avoiding her since then, except for at the funeral procession, and that had obviously not been the time or place to bring it up. Perhaps some time apart would be for the best, anyway. It would, at the least, give her a chance to think of what she could even say to him, now that she had possibly already said too much to take back.

"All right, all right, whatever," Kanzas griped, giving in, and rolled his eyes as she clapped gloved hands together happily.

Walking silently, they headed down to the lower city, the noise of music and many voices growing louder and louder as they went. Rather than one large bonfire, there were many scattered through the streets. Some were small enough for a group of neighbors, and others, out in the main avenues, had great crowds gathered around them. The smells of roasting meat and various herbs emanated from many of the fires, creating an odd but pleasing scent in the smoky air.

Most of Vellweb was out tonight, enjoying the unusual warmth so many fires provided. A few of the townspeople had their own instruments, makeshift or not, but most of the music was coming from one intersection, where crates had been stacked to form a kind of stage. Shirley recognized the woman she'd met in the herb stall, Shar, amidst the rest of the players. Damia was already over with them, some of her shyness lost as she once again traded banter with the minstrel and was invited to play with them.

The White-Silver Dragoon looked at the man beside her, sighed at his expression, and leaned to kiss his cheek. "It's not that bad. Try to enjoy yourself, hm?" Her voice lowered a bit automatically, brows furrowing. "It might be the last chance we have."

Kanzas snorted; he knew that well enough. After a moment, Shirley heard someone calling her name, and she turned about to find its source. "Kimi?" she suddenly gasped. "I thought you were still at Charle's!" She raised her hand to wave at whoever it was, some friend he didn't know, and in the next instant she'd rushed off to greet the other woman, leaving him standing alone in the middle of a crowd of people he hadn't wanted to join in the first place.

Not bothering to restrain his irritation, he gazed around at the townsfolk and their revelry, idly wondering how he might shape the tomb of this one, that one…

Seemingly from nowhere, a large hand suddenly closed around the fabric of his cloak at his neck, twisting it tight as its owner shoved him back toward the wall in the shadow of a staircase. Torn from his reverie, Kanzas let out a hiss of anger, glaring up at Belzac, who returned the look with the same ire as he'd had during their first meeting. "What the hell do you want, Giganto?"

"I want to know your intentions toward Shirley," he growled. "Are you going to marry her?" When the other man merely stared at him, he gave him an ungentle shake. "Are you?"

"Marry her? Soa, no!" Kanzas finally laughed once he'd gotten past the shock of that question, his mirth growing at the expression of pure loathing that crossed Belzac's face. "No, that wouldn't be a very good idea-"

His grip on the other man's cloak tensed even more. "You really are an absolute bastard," he said almost wonderingly, though his anger grew with the realization of what that meant. "So you're doing all this to get her into your bed, is that it?"

"You just ask her if that's what I'm about, Giganto. If you dare," the other Dragoon sneered back, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pressure of the cloth around his neck, pretend it didn't remind him of that damn fight in Magrad. "Ask her if I've even hinted at it."

Belzac glared down at Kanzas before roughly letting go, attempting to judge the truth behind the statement. "You're up to something, I know you are-"

And you'd never guess what, he thought back smugly, reaching to tug his cloak straight again with an air of injured dignity. "You know, though, you do have a point," he said with affected innocence, as if the thought had just struck. "You sure haven't been lighting her candle, so she's got to be terribly lonely at night. Maybe I'll help her out with that after all."

Belzac's fist shook as he kept himself from lashing out, some part of him despite his rage well aware that, if he struck the other Dragoon now, he would be doing exactly what Shirley had accused him of, justifying her resentment of him, and he wasn't going to let that happen. With an ill-hid growl of frustration, he turned to stalk away.

Standing away from the wall, Kanzas crossed his arms and shook his head, chuckling to himself. He moved back out into the streets, glancing this way and that. So many people were out tonight, and in the firelight it was hard to tell them apart at a distance. Ah, well…once he found Shirley, he could then find somewhere to sit and wait for her to finish 'having fun'.

For her part, Shirley had ended up near where the music was playing, listening rather contently as she watched what was going on. Many people were dancing together to the lively songs, food and drink were plentiful, and children allowed up long past their bedtimes had begun to drop off in front of the fires, creating scattered warm piles of blankets dotted here and there.

Diaz too was out tonight, the presence of two of his armored guards giving him away even though he was sitting before a fire like anyone, invited to share the food of a rather awed family. At least in a setting like this there was little chance of him being poisoned, though naturally there were many other ways to threaten the emperor.

She shook her head. Just for tonight, she didn't want to have to think about what she and the others would have to do later to assure their people's freedom.

A note or two out of place in the music made her raise an eyebrow and again pay attention to the stage of crates where the troupe was playing. Damia, once more on the flute, was blushing fiercely and looked rather uncomfortable, though she soon caught the rhythm of the piece once more.

Curious, Shirley looked around for some indication of what was bothering her, and soon enough the answer revealed itself in the form of a vaguely familiar man; he was tall, had sandy hair, and looked to be in his mid-thirties at the least. It took her a few moments to place him, until she suddenly remembered the day Diaz had declared war in Magrad. He was that man of Clan Serdio who'd known Kanzas from the arena, and who had some kind of interest in Damia - interest he obviously still maintained.

Biting her lip as the youngest Dragoon, obviously nervous or unsettled, lost her place in the song again, Shirley looked to the minstrel in charge of the troupe to attempt to bring her attention to the situation. However, she had already noticed. Still singing, Shar narrowed her eyes contemplatively at the man causing the distraction, and with a casual gesture she indicated to the others to bring the song to a close.

There was some applause and cheering, but most of the onlookers were obviously clamoring for another song so they could continue dancing. Several requests were shouted out, and she seized on one, an old favorite, waving her arm in a sweeping motion. "Oh, yes, we all know that one!"

Giving Damia a wink as the group began the new, wordless tune, Shar hopped down lightly from the stage and moved purposefully toward Donar, her gaze intent on the one distracting her sometimes flute player. As unstoppable as an arrow's flight, she approached the unsuspecting man, grabbing hold of his wrists and giving him a tug forward.

"What-?" Literally pulled from his daze, the clansman blinked at the woman in front of him.

She didn't give him a chance to continue, smiling invitingly at him. "Come, come, you can't stay standing there in the middle of the dancing. You'll just have to dance with me, then."

Donar shook his head, protesting, "But I don't know how!" Reddening a bit, he amended, "My lady."

"Nonsense," Shar laughed, pulling him toward the nearest circle of revelers. "I'll show you how."

The music swelled, going faster, and Shirley shook her head, trying to repress a smile. Good, she thought, noting Damia had relaxed again, swaying unconsciously as she played. Perhaps the man's interest was just curiosity over her strange coloring, though it certainly seemed like more than that. At least it didn't feel malicious, like he hated half-breeds; some people did, unfortunately, owing to the fact that most were born of rape. She'd never understood that, for it wasn't the child's fault, but there was no denying that sentiment existed; that they shouldn't be allowed to be born was one of the few and shameful things some Humans agreed with Melbu Frahma about.

Feeling someone move up behind her, the red-haired woman turned to see, quirking a brow at the look on Kanzas' face. "There you are. Something wrong?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Hardly." Actually, it was all turning out to be rather amusing, especially if Belzac was going to keep reacting that way, but he pushed it out of mind. "Let's find some food or something."

Nodding in agreement, she joined him, starting off toward another of the fires. As they passed, she spotted Syuveil sitting slightly apart from one, and she gave him a wave, but Kanzas tugged her along before she could stop and speak to him.

The Jade Dragoon had barely noticed the greeting, anyway, idly turning the stick he was holding in the flames, roasting a piece of sausage impaled on the end. In a rather glum mood, he watched the fire, deep in thought and not paying much attention to the families talking and celebrating nearby.

The voices around him quieted suddenly, but even with this warning he was still surprised by what he next heard. "Your food seems to be burning, Syuveil."

Twisting a bit, he saw the figure of Lady Mille standing to his side, her Mininto guard just behind her. A blush rising to his cheeks, he quickly pulled the blackened meat from the heat and shook it to put out an errant flame. "Oh!" He got to his feet, giving the emperor's wife a respectful bow. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Oh, it's all right." Her face, framed by the white fur-trimmed hood of her cloak, appeared slightly weary, but otherwise she, like Diaz, seemed to have recovered from the poisoning completely. She indicated the low box which he had been sitting on before the bonfire. "May we join you?"

"Please do!" He winced at the way that sounded, although she didn't seem to notice the eagerness, and nodded toward his seat.

She smiled, arranging her skirts over her legs as she sat. "Thank you." Matthi, still remaining close to her, gave a nod to the Dragoon but said nothing, half-turned, scanning the intersection they were in.

Looking away from the Mininto, Syuveil made as if to offer Mille some of the sausage, his blush deepening as he remembered it was burnt. However, she held up a hand to decline, and gratefully he sat down again on the ground nearby. "Are you having a good time tonight, my lady?"

"I am," she answered pleasantly, folding gloved hands in her lap. "You seemed rather…preoccupied, though, Syuveil. I was concerned."

"Ahh…" He stared down at his food, not terribly hungry, but he didn't want to waste it, so he staved off answering for a few moments by taking a bite. Ale-brown eyes watched him, and finally he had to respond. "Well, with the burials yesterday, I've…been thinking about Shynn." It had been a reminder of Mayfil's evil as well, the thought of his friend eternally doomed to Hell quashing his impatience to delve into the Death City's secrets.

Mille nodded to that; it was her turn to not know what to say, and as she was obviously remembering the events of Shynn's betrayal, he regretted telling her the truth. "He was your friend for a long time, was he not? Even the," she paused, "difficult circumstances surrounding his death won't simply wipe those feelings away."

Syuveil shrugged a little, not meeting her gaze and instead returning his attention to the empty sausage skewer he still held. "Yes, he was. Still, I almost feel as if it's…wrong to miss him this way, after what he did. I…none of us had any idea he felt the way he did, you see. Maybe I should have seen it, paid more attention-"

She reached over to pat the back of his free hand, the motion as intended quieting him. "Well, 'if wishes were horses', as they say. Though we might regret, that won't change what happened. Don't think you're to blame, dear Syuveil. As you know, there's a lot more woven into this situation than you, or I, the other Dragon Knights, or even our lord."

"Perhaps," he agreed, fighting the blush that colored his face at her touch. "It's hard not to dwell on it, though. Shynn and I, we grew up in Zenebatos together, like brothers." He should have known. They'd escaped from there together, they were both going to be Dragoons…but, no, that wasn't what Soa wanted, and so…

"All the more reason for you to mourn him, as you wish to do. Syuveil…" The emperor's wife looked down, letting her hood hide her face from view, as her hair had been pinned up beneath it. "It distresses me to see you so upset. You were a great help to me when everything happened." Her expression darkened briefly as she obviously skirted mentioning the consequences of the poisoning. "I feel as though you're part of the reason I've recovered this well. I wish you could forget your troubles, at least for a while."

He blinked at her for a few moments before clearing his throat in embarrassment and looking away himself. "If that's what you want, my lady, then I'll try."

Mille smiled at him. "I'm glad you will." She glanced around a bit, as if searching for something, and when she looked back her smile had grown. "I know something that might help - join me in a dance, would you please?"

The skewer he held clattered from suddenly-slack fingers onto the street's stone, and he quickly leaned forward to pretend to pat around for it to try to hide his surprise. However, Syuveil soon gave up and left it where it was, rising to his feet and straightening his gray tunic. "I'd, ah…be honored."

"Thank you." He offered his hand to help her up, and, taking it, she stood, looking back at her small guard as she did so. He seemed to be staring across the road at a stack of crates, remnants of all the building material the city had been requiring of late. "Is there a problem?"

Matthi glanced back over, firelight reflecting in his dark eyes. The normally cheerful warrior's expression was oddly serious, though he managed a smile for them. "Oh, no, it's nothing. I'll just keep a look out while you dance, my lady."

She nodded to him, taking the arm of the Dragoon next to her. "Let us be quick, Syuveil. The musicians are starting a new song." The two Humans started down the street to where the circles of dancers were forming; trailing behind, the Mininto cast one more glance toward the crates before shaking his head and hurrying to follow.

Unaware of Matthi's scrutiny, Belzac sat on the other side of the wooden boxes, a half-empty mug of cider at his side. Elbows resting on pulled-up knees, he watched the swirl of people about the bonfires and listened to the goings-on around him, most of what he heard worsening his already bad mood.

Drink - all of it home-brewed, and some of it unbelievably strong - had been flowing freely throughout the night. Since he had retreated to this out of the way place after confronting Kanzas, he had seen and overheard quite a bit. Some, like the drunken brawls, had been less irritating than the often equally-drunken romantic propositions.

Scowling, the half-Giganto swished some of his cider around before taking a gulp. He was subjecting himself to this torture only to keep an eye on the children from the orphanage, the oldest of whom had been allowed to join the festivities. Occasionally one would run over to bring him another drink or regale him with some excited story, and he made an effort to seem happy for them. However, most of his wards were sleeping around the nearby bonfire right now, and, since he was not inclined to leave them there alone, he just remained sitting where he was, holding back winces at the conversation taking place not far away.

"Drink, sir?" This from a woman, her voice a bit slurred and giving evidence to the fact she had had a few herself already.

The response came from a somewhat youthful voice, a teenager's, if he judged it right; Belzac wasn't in much of a mood to satisfy vague curiosity by looking. "Er, no, no thank you."

"Have you ever seen so many people about?"

"Ah, no, miss, I can't say that I have."

"Hard to find privacy, though. Still, I daresay I know a place." The boy squeaked in surprise, cloth rustled a bit, and she went on with amusement, "Ever been with a woman, soldier-boy?"

His laugh at that was nervous and high-pitched, and the Dragoon overhearing the predicament was beginning to feel a bit sorry for him. "No, no, I haven't. Er, miss, your dress is…er, falling down."

She giggled, cajoling drunkenly, "Oh, that's fine…come on, come on then, I'll show you what it's about. You're such a pretty boy."

Luckily for the young soldier, he didn't have to respond to that as someone else broke in, sounding almost gleeful. "Well, it looks like we might have a…what do you call it…delicate situation here, doesn't it?"

Belzac recognized this voice, and he twisted up a bit, looking over the crates to find its owner and make sure. It was a man in his early twenties, a sword belted at his side, his dark auburn hair an uncombed mess pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was right - Shirley's younger brother, Lyss, had joined the teenager and the woman. Satisfied he wasn't hearing things, he settled back again so they wouldn't see him, finishing off his drink. He knew Lyss well enough to know he'd ask questions he didn't want to think about, or answer.

"Sorry to spoil your fun," Lyss went on, "but my friend here needs to go with me on duty now. I'm sure you understand, since it's for your protection." Amidst the boy's grateful stammering and the woman's slow protest, the man ushered him away from her quickly, trying to stifle his snickers.

Slipping between passersby, they came nearer to where the Golden Dragoon sat, not at an angle to notice him, although he could see them well enough. "Thank you!" the young soldier breathed.

Lyss finally couldn't hold back, letting out a guffaw. "You look white as a ghost, Sage! By the gods, if only such problems happened to me!" He seemed quite amused by the other soldier's discomfort, though Belzac knew it was not out of spite. Despite the man's careless exterior, he had grown up with Shirley, and he shared her kindness and concern for others, even if he apparently felt he had to hide it and put on a rakish show. "Funny, though - isn't that the sort of thing you wanted to avoid? Only, you know…the opposite."

"It's not funny!" the boy called Sage protested, fiddling with his long brown ponytail, face gradually going from a mortified white to embarrassed red. "But, thank you. Come on…I really want to go somewhere else right now."

Obliging, the two began to head off into the crowd again, Lyss lacing his fingers behind his head. "Well, what do you suggest? Rolling some dice, maybe? The night is young, my friend, and as you don't seem to want to spend it in a hayloft with a willing maiden…" He descended into chortles again.

"We could go relieve someone on guard duty," Sage sniped back, sounding a bit petulant.

"Before we have to? Are you out of your mind?"

Belzac shook his head when he could no longer hear them, sighing. He hadn't thought about Shirley's family and what this argument might mean to them, either. He was friends with them, and they with his mother, and yet - it would be so awkward now, should he go to see them, despite the friendship. Somehow, he'd always just assumed…

Assumed too much, he berated himself. You always assumed the chance would still be there waiting for you to have the nerve to take it. It's your own fault, so stop - stop brooding about it.

After a few minutes of sitting there, turning his empty mug around in his hands, he felt an odd tugging feeling in the center of his chest, and a slight warming of the Dragoon Spirit in his vest pocket. A moment later, a familiar voice called out, "Belzac, are you there?"

"Rose…" Zieg sounded as if he was trying to quiet her.

She seemed to ignore it, their footsteps coming closer to his lurking spot. "If I followed the spirit right, he should be around here."

The half-Giganto remained still, wondering if he even wanted to talk to them when he felt like this. Of course, if they were tracking him through the spirit, it might be unavoidable. He frowned, setting the empty mug down quietly and preparing himself for the ordeal of 'acting normally'.

The Fire Dragoon made a pensive noise, finally coming out with it. "Rose…look, do you really think this is a good idea right now?"

She turned, almost sounding surprised. "What are you talking about? He ought to know about this."

"Of course, but what if he already does? Besides," he appealed, "on a night like this - if he doesn't know already, you'll ruin it for him."

Rose sighed. "Zieg, I understand that, but…"

"Besides, isn't it really Shirley's place to tell him?"

"…I suppose so. But, still," she went on grudgingly, "it's just not right."

"I know what you mean. Maybe you should talk to her about it first," Zieg suggested.

She snorted. "I would, but she knows how I feel about that man. She'll think I object just because of that."

From where he was listening, Belzac restrained another sigh. So they'd noticed it too. At least he wasn't the only one unhappy about this, but what Rose had said was also true. She has to learn for herself, he thought yet again. But he'd spent years protecting her from everything…

Some of the din of the crowd quieted as the bells in the lower city began to ring out the passage of midnight. There weren't many bells in the city to begin with, as the metal was more useful elsewhere, and the sound was faint in this area but still audible.

"Hm," the blonde man told his fiancée noncommittally, his attention drawn by the sound. "Hey - do you hear that?"

"Hear what? The bells?"

"Yeah. Did you know," he said, a smile in his voice, "there's a tradition that if you kiss someone by the last bell of the new year, you'll be with them forever."

Rose chuckled softly. "It's a nice thought, Zieg, but there's no such tradition."

"Well, there is now!" He put his arms around her, drawing her close, and as they kissed Belzac fought to keep from covering his ears. Finally, they pulled away, the man murmuring, "How about we just sneak back up to my room? No one will miss us tonight."

"Zieg…you know we'll be training early tomorrow, and you need to rebuild the spirit energy that Wingly stole from you. You can't afford to be tired out." She didn't sound all that opposed to the notion, though, and he laughed.

"Heh, don't worry, I can take it."

"Oh, can you?" Rose teased, taking his arm as they began heading for the stairs to the upper city.

Belzac drew in a breath slowly, letting it out when he was sure they were gone in an attempt to calm his irritation. This was not what he wanted to hear right now. Maybe it was because of the way his thoughts were running, but now suddenly everyone seemed to be wrapped around each other, taunting him - maybe unconsciously, but they were doing it all the same-

There was motion above him as someone suddenly jumped onto the crates, teetering momentarily before righting herself. "Aha, Lord Belzac! I thought I'd spied a familiar bandana back here!"

Startled, he peered up at the sudden arrival, frowning without realizing it as his rather drink-muddled brain fought to place her. "You're…Shar, isn't it?" That's right, the musician, the herbalist's niece. She was often at the stall when he went in to buy medicines, to get tea for Shirley- He quickly cut off the thought, scowling at himself for being so unable to get her out of his mind. "You could have given some warning."

The blonde woman dropped into a seated position on top of the stack of boxes, swinging a stringed instrument on a strap around to her front. "What, you didn't hear the jangle?" She gave him a pleasant grin, multiple braids sliding over her shoulders as she leaned forward to look at him. "I've only come to play a bit, but if you want me to shove off, just say so, sir."

"Sorry," he muttered, vaguely embarrassed by the gruffness of his tone. "I didn't mean - it's just - I'm not having a good time right now."

"Mm. Yes, I think I know." Seemingly settled in, the minstrel turned a few pegs, plucking to test the lute's tuning. "I would…comfort you," she said lightly, her fingers running across the strings, "but I expect it's still too soon for that, my lord?"

He felt his face flush as he recognized her meaning, though this time he was only half-sure it wasn't from the drink, staring down at the tops of his knees. His turn, was it? Everyone in Vellweb was on the verge of spring, and here he was lagging behind. Well, that suited him just fine right now. If he'd been in a more normal frame of mind, he might have been shocked at the proposition; between his unusual heritage and his lack of interest in anyone but Shirley, he hadn't had much - well, any - experience in bed with women. As it was, however, it just seemed like a natural part of this frustrating night that the chance had come, and yet he wasn't interested in taking her up on it. "I - yes, it is. I'm, uh, sorry-"

Shar nodded, a faint smile curving her lips, the dancing shadows of the firelight changing her ambiguous expression with every flicker. "No matter. No matter. Will you let me play for you anyway, sir?"

Belzac leaned back against the crate, turning his head to watch the swinging of her foot nearby keeping time. "Yes, please," he answered quietly. "I'd like that."