She woke late by her standards, but far earlier than she should have considering that it had been light out by the time she'd crawled into bed. She'd awoken to Kit shifting under her arm and rolled over to go back to sleep when the familiar scent of Numair—vetiver and jasmine and something else that was uniquely him—roused her. She blinked, pressing her face against her pillow and inhaling deeply.
Memories from just hours before flooded her mind and she sat up, scattering several small, startled mammals about her room. Kit trilled in annoyance, crawling under her pillow and curling into a tight ball.
Numair wanted to escort her to the banquet. Numair wanted to court her. Numair wanted her.
Right?
This last thought raised a series of conflicting emotions for her—excitement and doubt among them. She pushed off the latter, sure it would make sure to visit her again, and focused on the former.
Knowing that getting further sleep was beyond her, she decided to start her day. She stuck her head out her door, a fox and her kits darting out around her feet and taking off down the hill, to see that the sun hadn't quite reached it's peak—still morning, if barely.
Getting ready for a formal event had always been a quick affair for her: a clean dress, do what little she could to tame her curls, and, if she were really feeling motivated, a touch of face paint. She had hours before she'd even need to think of getting started. Still, she eyed the chest that served as her wardrobe. Perhaps she'd better lay out a dress, just to be prepared.
By the time noon bell had rung, the only thing she'd accomplished was destroying her room. The contents of her trunk had been scattered across every surface of her small space and she stood in the middle—hands on her hips, still in her night shift—scowling at everything.
There was a knock on her door and Onua opened the door. "Daine, want to come to lun—" She stopped, whistling softly as she took in the chaos of normally tidy space. "How's it going?" She asked when Daine just continued to seethe.
"I hate all my clothes," the Wildmage snapped. She picked up the pink cotton gown she'd normally have worn for a summer event for the twelfth time in an hour before throwing it on her desk with a huff. She'd been perfectly content with her small collection of dresses for years—she hadn't grown height-wise since she was fifteen, and if she managed not to tear or otherwise ruin a garment it seemed silly to get rid of it. But now everything she had felt worn and childish.
She pulled out an underdress of lilac muslin and a sleeveless surcoat she had held on to since Carthak, holding it on front of her and trying to position herself to get a good view in the little hand mirror propped up on the windowsill. It was the finest thing she owned and she was quite fond of it—and, if she were being honest, knew it looked quite nice on her—but she also knew he would recognize it and very much didn't want to remind him of her being fifteen. She draped it over her chair, and poked at a pile of breeches as if they would produce some finery for her if she bothered them enough.
Onua had closed the door and was watching her with a bemused expression.
"You know, I was expecting this a decade ago. What's this about?"
Daine sighed and looked at her friend, feeling very vulnerable. She opened her mouth several times, failing to conjure anything resembling words, before groaning and rubbing her face with her hands. When she looked back Onua's eyebrows had nearly traveled to her hairline. It occurred to Daine that, considering their conversation just the evening prior, that Onua had more than an inkling as to what irked her but was trying to be polite about it.
"He asked to escort me tonight," Daine said softly, face burning and eyes on the floor. When there was no response she looked up to find Onua looking at her with an alarming expression—eyes over bright, and smile that rested on a trembling lip. "Oh, Onua, really." Daine rolled her eyes at the K'mir's uncharacteristic display of emotion.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Onua wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, turning her attention to the mess around them. Daine recognized that look—it was the same look she had when she was inspecting a new herd, or running over the combinations of Rider's and mounts following new recruit selection. "Okay," she held out a hand, "just sit tight. You clean up," she waved her hand at the general disaster she had created, "this. I'll be back."
"Wait—" The door had shut before Daine could even begin her question and she huffed. "Kit, what are the chances you could magic me something to wear? Kit?" She followed the muffled chirping to her bed, lifting a heavy blanket and pile of breastbands to free the dragonet.
When her room had been returned to some semblance of order—her wardrobe considerably less organized than it had been when she woke—she had just enough time to pull on a shirt and breeches, pull her hair back, and sprint to the mess before the lunch line closed. She accepted a vegetable roll and cider from a harried looking server with an apology, daring to beg for a sausage roll for Kit as well.
She sat near the doors to the pasture—left open so everyone could enjoy the breeze of a surprisingly mild summer day—so Kit could eat while she picked at her own food. When Kit finished with a happy trill, turning a brighter shad of blue, Daine returned to her rooms to find it in a completely new state of disarray.
Onua, Kuri, and a woman she didn't recognize—a servant by the looks, a very pretty one with dark hair tied back into a bun—were busy sorting three heavy piles of gowns in whatever space they could find.
"What in the goddesses name—" Daine gaped, keeping a wary eye on Kit who had scampered over to a dove-grey gown and trilled to make the stones along the hem flow in a way that she knew meant they were real gemstones. She closed the door behind her, shaking her head. "Onua."
"You didn't like what you had, and now you have options," Onua shrugged, inspecting her fingernails.
"Kuri, when do you find the time?" She held up an amethyst gown of crushed velvet to better inspect it.
"Oh, I could never," the woman laughed, "I just had your measurements. These beauties are all Lalasa," she motioned to the shy woman, who curtsied. "She's Keledry of Mindelan's maid—you know her, yes? I thought so—among her other talents." She gestured around them.
"You made all of these?" Daine whistled, impressed.
"I practice when I can, M'lady," Lalasa answered in a quiet voice, ignoring Daine and Onua's chorus of 'not a lady' and exchanged smiles, "these are what I had that I thought might fit best."
"Oh, glory." A lovely green silk number embroidered with gold leaves had caught her eye. She whistled softly, and a little sadly. "I'm sorry for the trouble, Lalasa, but there's no way I'd be able to afford this work." Technically, she could, but not without substantially affecting her savings.
"Oh, it's paid for—" She faltered and Daine offered a friendly, if confused, smile.
"Just Daine is fine. But I have to ask, who offered to cover it?"
"Oh," the maid smiled, amused, "a few people, actually."
"Onua," Daine shot a sour look at her friend and knew she was blushing. The entire situation was still very new, and very very private.
Onua, for her part, waved her off. "Don't worry about it; You've curried enough favor—it's okay to enjoy the occasional benefit." She picked up a yellow satin dress, holding it up to Daine and grimacing, before leaning forward with a whisper. "In case you'd forgotten, you have quite a few friends and they like the idea of doing something nice for you whether they're given a reason or not." When Daine failed to look relieved, she laughed, "No one knows the why," she paused, "well, they might suspect but they don't know the who."
Relieved, grateful, and a little overwhelmed Daine took a deep breath and clapped her hands together. "Alright; where do I start?"
The pile of rejects grew quickly—several colors were eliminated in batches and after trying on two of the more elaborate dresses, Daine had turned to Lalasa and said, frankly, "I think these are too fine for the likes of me—what do you think?"
The younger woman looked as if she wanted to be swallowed by the ground, stammering out a handful of half-words before landing on a delicate response and pointing her towards a stack of quite pretty, but much simpler gowns. Daine had looked a little wistfully at the moonstone trim on the dress when Onua helped her out of it, but was quickly proven correct as the next options suited her far more.
"This is better," she nodded, smoothing the skirts of the next attempt. "I still want to look like me," she paused, craning her neck to speak lowly to Onua, "I do want to look like myself, right?" That glimmer of doubt was back and it came with visions of Numair's past lover's as a companion.
"Yes," Onua chuckled. "Let's try this one next."
The green and gold gown received approving looks from her helpers but she hesitated as she looked at herself in the full length mirror which, much to her amusement, Sarge had procured from his own room as there had been none in the women's wing. Onua had shoved him out, calling him a shameless flirt, shortly after.
"What's wrong?" Lalasa had shed a bit of her shyness through the afternoon, but was still so eager to please at the slightest hint of dissatisfaction.
"Oh, it's lovely." She meant it, and at any other time would have chosen it with enthusiasm. "It's just, he likes—" she shut her mouth with an audible sound, blushing under the knowing smiles of the other women, before choosing her words more carefully. "Is there anything similar in blue?"
Very soon after that, she had a new dress of dusk blue silk that, if she were being honest and not modest, was quite alluring on her. They also complimented the sapphire earrings he had bought her some years earlier quite nicely.
Onua flopped on Daine's bed, careful not to rumple the dresses that Lalasa and Kuri were carefully gathering up, with an exhale, "I thought that was going to be easier than wrangling ponies."
"Lad—Daine," Lalasa corrected herself, not for the first time. "Will you need help getting ready?"
Daine shook her head but Onua spoke over her, "Yes."
"I could come down, if you'd like." She curtsied, "I need to help my lady prepare, but she's to help serve and that will be early. I'd have time after."
"You've done plenty already." Daine felt bad taking so much time from someone who obviously had so much on their plate already.
"I'd like to," she ducked her head, "if that's alright."
"Okay then. I'd appreciate it." She smiled, making a mental note to prepare some sort of payment even if it palled compared to what her new dress must have cost.
When she was alone again, Kit trailing after Onua after a promise of unfettered access to the tack scraps if she helped with the mending, she sat down hard on her bed. She had enough time for a nap, which she sorely needed, but didn't think she'd be able to sleep. Despite the flurry of activity, in the back of her mind a steady current of excitement had persisted. Thoughts of Numair, and seeing him so soon in this new context—one she had sorely desired, regardless of how she had try to temper the extent of her feelings when speaking to Onua—buzzed in her mind. Instead, she forced herself to find something to occupy herself. Eventually, she landed on cleaning her desk, even going so far as organizing her correspondences which had been kept in a growing and haphazard pile for several months.
She filed them as she felt appropriate—day-to-day notes and summons were set aside to be burned, while those she wanted to keep were stacked by sender. Some of her favorites from the past year were re-read, among them Miri's letter announcing the birth of her second child and a particularly amusing missive from Maura explaining just how unimpressed she was by her recommended betrothal candidates, complete with a rather overzealous list of each of their respective flaws. Kaddar had sent a handful of short updates—he'd had a fair hard time in his first years of rule, but things seemed to be looking better and she was always a little surprised that the took the time to write at all. She knew for a fact that there were several members of the Council of Lords who had been appalled to find out that the Emperor of Carthak wrote to her personally.
All of Numair's letters were saved, including a rather adorable doodle of a horse and dragon he'd absentmindedly drawn on an envelope when they were in the library one evening, and then stacked them gently with his others. She organized the much smaller stacks for Alanna, Onua, Evin, and her other friends similarly. A small bundle from George was the last and she paused, looking at the top letter, before putting them in their place and closing the top of the desk. Her last conversations with the Baron of Pirate Swoop had left her with a lot to think about—and not all of them happy thoughts.
Since the Immortals War, she'd found herself working more and more with the Shadow Service. George had made the point many years ago—after that first siege when she was still so new to Tortall, in fact—that her abilities would be wildly useful for spy work. Reconnaissance, particularly.
He wasn't wrong, and there was always work that needed doing—but only one of her. The last time she'd been at the Swoop he'd approached her with a formal offer to join the Service full time as opposed to her periodic support as an Owl. She'd always been happy to lend her talents where they'd be useful, and she'd held many taxing positions in support of the Crown but the proposal had given her pause: being away from home even more than she already was, hiding her identity, and—the crux of it, really—so much time in deep cover was daunting. In her case, undercover didn't mean a border town or a traveler's inn. It meant her and the wilderness, likely for months at a time. She could see the use—particularly with relations with Scanra what they were—and felt selfish to decline it, but she wasn't in a place where she'd wanted to give up so many wonderful things in her life she'd worked hard to cultivate. And now, with Numair...
Her stomach fluttered again at the thought and her focus fell firmly back to the night ahead of her. It was probably time to start getting ready, anyway, and she wanted to take care of getting dressed by herself before Lalasa arrived.
She pulled a linen wrapped package from beneath her pillow where she'd hidden it during her first round of tidying-up, happy that none of her visitors had discovered it. A few years back she'd spotted it in the back of a Pearlmouth Seamstress' shop and purchased it on an impulse. At the time she'd had a swain she'd liked quite well, but by the time she'd returned to Corus the relationship had decidedly soured. Evidently, it hadn't occurred to him that it would be difficult to get away with the carrying away he'd pursued when your sweetheart had the entire Palace animal population eager to let her know just what he'd been up to.
The stay was delicate, white with a a floral embroidery and satin laces in green, and had matching smallclothes to match it. She ran a finger over the material, biting her lip. It was softer than a standard stay—meant to be worn directly on the skin as opposed to over a shift.
She didn't want to get her hopes up—he'd asked to escort her to dinner, nothing more. But she also didn't want to be unprepared. While just the thought of how he'd spoken to her the night before was enough to give her butterflies, it would be a bold-faced lie to say that some of her fantasies didn't have to do with sex. They'd waited plenty long in her opinion.
Committing to the notion, she gathered her soap and towel and hurried down the hall for a quick bath. With the Rider's at training she made quick work of cleaning, careful to keep her hair dry, before returning to her room. The underthings were smooth against her skin and she stopped when she caught her reflection in the mirror—pleasantly surprised. She knew she'd never compare to some of the women of court but even she could admit she looked quite good. She adjusted the laces to pull the stay down and appreciated the compliment to her figure. No one would be calling her buxom but with the help of the stay—well, maybe she should have worn it sooner.
A silk petticoat slung low on her waist was next, and she fumbled with the tie. She was twisted, trying to see it in the mirror, when Onua knocked again and, as she'd done many a time before, walked in without waiting.
Daine let out a surprised yelp and knew that she was a brilliant shade of red. Onua, for her part, shut the door hard behind her. There was an audible thump from the other side, followed by Sarge's voice. "Onua!"
"Go away!" Onua yelled back and, to his credit, they heard no more from the man. The K'mir put her hands on her hips and grinned, not making the slightest effort to give Daine privacy.
"Could I have a moment?" Daine hissed, mortified. In her defense, Daine had not once asked Onua to wait before entering during her many years in that same room.
"Not unless you want someone else to see you like this," she paused, "well, I suppose you do." Her grin widened and she was obviously trying not to laugh. "But if you don't want a third person, you'll need a hand fastening your dress." Onua motioned towards the gown, mercifully dropping the teasing note in her voice—mostly. Daine paused, looking at the row of tiny buttons running along the back of the garment and sighed.
"Let's go, then." She jerked her chin, motioning for Onua to get it, as she finally secured the tie of her petticoat. She had no doubt that Lalasa was discreet, but she'd also seemed one for propriety. Onua was much harder to scandalize.
The last button had just been secured when there was a quiet knock at her door. Lalasa was waiting patiently when they opened it, clutching several bags in her arms.
"This is where my usefulness ends." Onua remarked. "Have fun," she inclined her head to Daine, "I'm assuming Kit can stay with me tonight?" There was a clear suggestion in her voice and Daine her cheeks burn. If Lalasa had heard, she made no indication of it and was at work laying a handful of pins and combs out on Daine's desk.
"Please," Daine said through gritted teeth, both acutely thankful for and annoyed with her friend.
Lalasa made remarkably quick work of her hair and face. For the first time, Daine was a little envious at not having a maid of her own. To her credit, Lalasa was a soft hand and when she was finished Daine looked lovely but also like herself. The maid tried to refuse the pile of coins forced into her hand but Daine would not hear of it and ensure they were will in her possession when she left.
And then, Daine had nothing to do but wait. And wait.
The first of the evening bells rang—meaning she had just half a candle mark before she was considered rudely late, as opposed to fashionably—and it occurred to her that they hadn't discussed what the precise plan was. Her previous suitors had always met her at her door if they were escorting her, but she supposed that was different. Though in a different context, her and Numair had been attending many of the same events for years and he had never been expected to fetch her before. It may not have occurred to him. Also, her swains were usually coming from outside the Palace—it made little sense for him to walk all the way down to the barracks only to turn heel and go right back.
Feeling silly at her assumption, she took the walk up the hill and to the castle on her own. She hesitated, just past the gate, and wondered if she should stop by his rooms. It was unlikely that he'd expect her to call on him, she decided, and continued on to the banquet hall.
She'd half expected to meet him in the halls, lingering under an archway to catch her as she passed, but reached the entrance without any interruption. She paused once more, glad she'd left at least a little early with how much time all her fretting was taking, when she reached the Lord Stewart.
A formal escort usually involved a request that the couple be announced together. She knew, much to the Lord Stewart's constant annoyance, that these requests were made right up until the start of an engagement, so Numair would have had plenty of time to update both their cards. Such an introduction was also a statement: any pair announced at an event such as this would publicly known and, as such, subject to additional scrutiny. They already received their fair share despite the platonic nature of their relationship to date.
For her part, she'd like to enjoy this new aspect to their relationship with at least a little privacy before they had to deal with the headache of everyone else's opinion. She'd no problem attending with him—was very excited about it, in fact—but hadn't thought about this particular aspect. She'd only been announced with a man a couple of times; most of her public outings with men were in the city proper, or at festivals down at the barracks.
It was a relief, then, when she snuck a look at the card the Lord Stewart had deftly pulled from the substantial stack—Numair said he wasn't gifted but she wasn't sure she believed him—and she saw only one line listed.
Announced, and keeping her composure quite well at having her surname shouted in front of a ballroom full of nobles, she was free to walk the room. She'd made better time than she thought and accepted a fragile glass of bubbling wine from a page.
"Daine," a familiar voice called to her from behind a column in the far corner, where Alanna stood in a striking combination of purple and gold. Her sword and scabbard hung at her hip on a jeweled belt. Joining her, she found the Lioness in good company. She accepted a kiss on the cheek from George and bowed her head to the King and Queen, who were set far enough behind the curtain that they wouldn't be seen from the floor.
"What are we doing?" She asked, amused, and Jon replied with a wry grin.
"We're hiding."
"We're waiting, my love," Thayet rested a hand on his arm. As always, she looked stunning in a lush gown of silver. Diamonds glinted at her earlobes and around her long neck. "To be announced." She added for Daine's edification.
"See, people never think about this part." The King grumbled, peering around the curtain. "They see the grand entrance. They never think about their rulers huddled behind a curtain until someone tells them their allowed to join the party."
"Jon, if you went out now you'd have to talk to people." Alanna reminded him and he nodded, conceding the point with a tap to the side of his own head. The Champion turned back to Daine and put her hand on the younger woman's shoulder, pushing back gently to inspect her. "This turned out quite lovely."
Daine sighed, "I suppose I have you to thank?"
Alanna opened her mouth and was cut off by a soft tut from the King, "ah, I actually believe that I am covering the cost."
Daine blanched as Alanna said something rude to her sovereign and a familiar pattern of quiet bickering started up. There was something particularly mortifying about the thought of her desire for some pretty new clothes making its way to Jon.
"Hold on," Thayet held up a hand to silence her husband and his Champion but her eyes were set firmly on Daine, "Am I understanding it correctly that you wanted a new dress and went to them," she motioned at each in turn, "for help?" The Queen practically bristled.
"It was fair last minute," Daine fumbled, "and I didn't ask either of them. I'm not even sure how they knew," she grumbled, casting a dark glance in both their directions. If Alanna had been prepared to supply the answer it was in vain, as Thayet held up her hand again to silence her and motioned for Daine to step forward.
The Wildmage complied, moving behind the curtain and following her Queen's wordless commands to turn around slowly and submit to inspection. She could hear George laughing.
"Well," Thayet said thoughtfully, clearly a little irked to be expressing approval, "it is exquisite work. Very much so, actually. Who made this?"
"A maid here in the palace, actually. Lalasa," Daine supplied, pleased, despite herself, to have Thayet's approval. Everyone knew she had a discerning eye.
"Lalasa," Thayet nodded, more to herself than anyone else. Meeting Daine's eye she smiled, and tucked an errant curl back in place. "You look lovely. And of course my lord and I will be covering any cost." She shot a cold look at her husband and Alanna, clearly still annoyed with them at being kept out of the loop.
"Perhaps too lovely. Numair will be fair irked to have to spend his night scaring off so many men—" George grunted when Alanna elbowed him with a look that was a little too serious. "Ouch, lass. I'm old and feeble; you've got to be gentle like."
"You're as feeble as the castle walls, and just as thick too."
"Have you seen Numair?" Daine asked, trying to sound casual. Alanna shook her head.
"Hardly surprising. No one spends more time preening than him. Or getting distracted." She grinned at George, "remember that time he took a 'quick stop' at Baylor's Needle and completely missed the Tyran Ambassador's reception?"
"Yes." The sour reply came from the King. "And you'll notice, he's not been late for a function since." Thayet smiled in a way that left no doubt that it was a discussion they all remembered well.
A servant appeared from a door behind Their Majesties, summoning them.
"That's our cue," Jon tugged at his sleeves to straighten them, and turned to his friends with a serious expression, "let's hope they pronounce our names right. Horribly embarrassing when they don't."
Thayet drew him away, murmuring to him softly, "My love, you can't make jokes like that. It makes the servants nervous."
George pulled the curtain back in place and the trio returned to the crowds. Daine fought the urge to bite a fingernail, fretting that she had made the wrong choice and she should have stopped by his room.
Alanna placed a hand on Daine's arm. "We're going to find some seats—"
"—good ones, where we don't have to talk to anyone we don't like." George added, exchanging a look with his wife.
"Do you want to join?" The Lioness asked and Daine shook her head.
"You go ahead. I'll see you later."
She used their absence to drop the pretense that she wasn't scanning the crowd for Numair—usually an easy task what with his excessive height. Just when it occurred to her to check the terrace in the event there was an astrological event she hadn't been aware of the Lord Stewart's voice caught her attention.
"Master Numair Salmalín—" Daine turned, heart skipping a beat before plummeting, "and Lady Solise of Marmist."
Numair strode down the steps with a delectable blonde woman wrapped in gleaming pink silk on his arm.
Diane felt numb, and foolish, and like she was about to cry in the middle of the banquet. She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand that did not hold her drink, using the pain as a holdover until she could remember her meditation techniques enough to control her breathing and calm down and not utterly embarrass herself.
She was surely the silliest girl in the realm—twelve feet tall and oafish, six-inches small and forgettable at the same time. Here she was, standing in a dress she'd fussed over all day—gods, a dress that had involved the knowledge of multiple people that there had been something she thought special about the night—for someone who was just publicly announced with another woman. Her face was burning and she was suddenly acutely aware of the soft fabric of her stay and smallclothes; an embarrassing reminder of just how misguided her understanding had been.
Numair and his companion had reached the bottom of the stairs and Daine saw him notice her, saw him raise a hand in greeting, before she turned away. If she were lucky, he'd think she hadn't seen him. If she were lucky, she'd find a quiet seat with some nobles who thought too much of themselves to talk to her. If she were lucky, she would hold herself together through dinner and then she could leave.
Luck, if that had not already been apparent, was not on her side. She'd scoped out a seat towards the far end of a long table—Alanna and George lingered at the other end, diagonal from her, and she kept back against the wall so as not to draw their attention—where a group of nobles she did not recognize hovered around all the other chairs. When Their Majesties made their entrance, there was an expected flurry of movement and the nobles shifted to the neighboring table to leave Daine with empty chairs on all sides.
"Mind if we join?" Numair's familiar tenor voice rose from her right and she shook her head, not trusting her voice. He rested a hand on the back of the chair in front of him, giving her a swift, chaste kiss on the cheek. "You look," he did a doubletake, faltering as he stumbled between the perfunctory compliment and really looking at her for the first time, "gorge—lovely, you look lovely." He swallowed, eyes flitting over her as if not sure where to look before he remembered himself. "Ah, forgive me. Daine, this is Lady Solise," he shifted, stepping back and twisting his body towards the blonde who nodded at Dainev politely enough, "Solise, this is Daine, the Wildmage."
Daine was saved further pleasantries by Their Majesties when Jon pulled out a chair for his Queen, signaling permission for the other women of court to follow suit. Numair obliged Lady Solise, saying something to her as he pulled out her chair that Daine couldn't hear. When he turned to do the same for Daine he found she'd already seated herself.
Next came the standard procedure: John took his seat, followed by the rest of the men, and then pages and servants appeared with wine like a well-choreographed dance. A young mage Daine recognized vaguely as a healer in Duke Baird's employ sat across from her, flashing her a smile which she returned to the best of her ability. He looked nice enough and perhaps she could focus her conversation on him and avoid overlap with Numair and his companion. So far, he seemed distracted enough by Solise—his body half-turned from Daine.
Daine accepted a generous pour of red wine from a page with a thank you and took a sip just in time to see Numair turn and decline one of his own. Catching her eye he grimaced. She looked away and flinched when he leaned over to speak in a voice obviously meant for only her to hear.
"I'm afraid I overdid it last night." He at least had the sensibility to sound nice and abashed about it. She made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat and changed her attention to the mage across from her, who had been trying to catch her eye.
"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met." The man visibly perked up at her address. She could practically feel the calculating look Numair was giving her before he turned slowly back to Solise.
"Lyle of Linden." He bowed his head to her. "I do know you, Wildmage. It's a true pleasure." She softened a bit at his grin. She'd met a number of other nobles from Fief Linden—a lesser family from the North, they had a strong lineage of healers—and had always found them surprisingly pleasant. It wasn't his fault she was in a mood.
She passed the first two courses in nice-enough conversation with Lyle. He had some good, if simple, questions about her magic and asked none of the suggestive ones some men liked to use to try and get a rise out of her. It helped, a little, to have some benign distraction. He was quite interested in her magic, and at least a little interested in her.
Numair had turned to engage her in conversation twice, and she brushed him off both times without looking at him. It wasn't that she was trying to be vindictive. If she looked at him, she was sure she would cry.
When Jon stood to make a toast before the main course, she jumped to feel Numair's hand on her knee. He must have felt her discomfort because he pulled his hand back but leaned over to speak to her softly, barely moving his lips.
"Magelet, is everything alright?" The endearment hurt.
She nodded, motioning her chin towards the King to signal that she was trying to listen.
"Daine," he pressed. There was concern and more, sadness, in his voice. It had been a long time since she'd shut him out and she was sure it stung.
"What do you remember from last night?" The words were out before she thought better of it, and she cursed mentally. She was barely holding it together as it was and it was not the time nor the place to be testing her limits.
She felt him tense next to her, body becoming still. There was a long pause during which Jon raised a glass to his court and Daine followed suit. Numair seemed oblivious to the motion around him. "Did I do something?"
She turned her head, meaning to look back at him, but caught Alanna's eye from across the table instead. The older woman was observing them with a furrowed brow and mouthed to Daine, 'Are you okay?'. Daine nodded, hoping her expression was neutral, and whispered back to Numair. "You're drawing attention." She felt his exhale on her neck before he shifted to sit back in his seat and she could breathe again.
The rest of dinner was tense. Lyle, for his part, was happy enough to have his stream of questions about healing with wild magic versus the gift answered to not notice. Daine worked to pay as little attention to Lady Solise as possible, and couldn't have said what the woman did or did not pick up on. When it came to Numair, however, she could sense the anxiety rolling off of him. Every time she shifted or reached for her glass he shot her a concerned look, which she pointedly ignored.
When dinner ended he tried to capture her attention, likely at the expense of offering to escort Solise to the ballroom as quickly as was expected of him, but she was busy accepting Lyle's offer to walk her. She took his arm when he came around to her side, offering a polite parting to Numair and Solise and felt Numair's eyes on her back until the crowd grew thick enough to hide them from sight.
She danced twice with Lyle, answering several more complex questions, until he bowed and asked if she might consider visiting him in the Healing Wing should she have spare time. To her relief, he clarified that he would love to introduce her to some of the trainee healers and continue their conversation as a group. She'd done so before, at Duke Baird's request, and readily agreed. It was nice to make a new friend, and that was a small consolation for the evening.
Alone, as much as she could be in a room full of people, and free of conversation she felt exhaustion hit her like a wall. It was early to leave, but if she slipped out through the garden she wouldn't draw attention. She was mapping her exit when her eyes fell on Alanna and Numair, talking to one another near a table laden with several tiers of cakes decorated in pastel frosting. Alanna was laughing, eyes following her husband as he danced with the Carthaki ambassador's wife, but Numair was nodding absently, his eyes fixed firmly on Daine. He looked a little like he might be sick.
She turned away, but not quickly enough. Alanna had spotted her and waved her over—casually at first, and then with a look that clearly communicated she had seen the younger woman, and she'd best not be ignored.
"I see the two of you are competing for who can be the brightest little ray of sunshine tonight," she scowled when Daine joined them.
"I'm just tired." Daine offered a wan smile, avoiding Numair's intent gaze.
Alanna made an unconvinced noise, but shrugged. "Ah, my husband is free to pay attention to me." The music had stopped and the Baron was bowing to his captor. "Since you're both here, fix whatever's going on," she spoke to them through bared teeth, smiling at her husband in a way that obviously concerned him judging by his expression, "and stop being so weird."
The Champion stepped away but stopped a couple paces away. "Actually—Numair, you're being sought." She jerked her head across the hall, where Lady Solise was craning her neck to scan the crowd. Alanna turned back to him with a raised eyebrow. "Marmist? Surely you've heard the stories?"
Numair sighed, looking uncomfortable. "She's been quite nice," his voice dropped to speak more to himself than anyone else, "although the joint introduction was a surprise."
Alanna heard and laughed, clearly at him, before waving at them and disappearing into the crowd. Daine moved to follow but Numair pulled her back by her elbow.
"Talk to me." There was concern, but also command.
"We're at a party," she sighed. "We should be partaking."
"Please tell me what's wrong." She realized his hand was still wrapped around her wrist. He held it gently, thumb tracing a path over her wrist bone. He was trembling. "Did I," he faltered and cleared his throat, "did I do something? To you?"
She took pity on him, barely. "What do you remember?"
"I remember going to the barracks. I remember having a drink with Sarge," he paused, "then I remember playing a round of King's Folly with Sarge—"
"That actually explains a lot," she muttered.
"—and then—" He shook his head.
She winced. "That's fair worse than I thought."
"That bad?"
She looked up at him, taking a deep breath to steel herself first, and saw, for the first time, just how haggard he looked. Tired, as was expected, but there was a sickly green tinge to his usually swarthy complexion and he looked a little unsteady on his feet. She hesitated and dropped her voice. "Do you remember being in my rooms?"
Several expressions flashed across his face in rapid succession. Most notably, alarm—and shame.
"Daine, did I—" She could tell he was working very hard to maintain composure, but the hitch in his breath when his words failed betrayed him.
"No—" She was angry with him, and hurt, but that didn't mean she wanted to hurt him back. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Solise approaching and nudged him with her elbow. He followed her direction and dropped her wrist, stepping back to a more respectable distance. Daine spoke to him, softly. "Nothing like that."
"You're sure?" His breathing was coming too quick to be anything but panic.
"Yes."
"Alright," he seemed a little calmer and smiled, not very convincingly, at Lady Solise as she drew near. "Can we talk more later? Tonight, or tomorrow?" When she didn't answer, he looked down at her. "Daine?"
It was too much. She was already hurting so much and she was so angry at him, and so disappointed in herself, but the fear in his voice on top of all that was just too confusing. She nodded, shifting her face away lest he see how close to crying she was. "Sure; tomorrow." She glanced at him just quickly enough to know that he hadn't been fooled but Solise had reached him and he turned to her, casting one last, long look her way as she retreated.
She accepted another glass of wine from a passing page with no real intention of drinking it. It gave her something to occupy her hands, though. She wanted to leave, but also didn't want to be alone—once she was, she would break down. The thought of returning to her rooms and having to explain what had happened to Onua was a little too much to stomach. She wished she hadn't confided in her—it wasn't Onua's fault, but facing this as a private embarrassment was gods awful enough, let alone having to have it become public.
She leaned against a pillar sipping at her wine slowly and enjoying the gentle numbness that fell over her. Twice she declined offers to dance. Three times she caught Numair looking at her only for him to look away when she did so. Eventually, she noticed George across the hall, lurking near his own pillar, and an unexpected thought occurred to her.
She waited to catch his eye and, succeeding, motioned towards the terrace. He nodded, and in a couple moments they were standing in the evening air. The moment of quiet after the din of a dance was always a sobering moment for her and she blinked at the calm of it.
"While I would never complain about the company of such a pretty lass, you could be having a much better time than with the likes of me right now." He held his hand over his heart, grinning as he leaned on the bannister next to her.
"I thought you weren't supposed to flirt with your wife's friends," she teased back and he laughed.
"Luckily, my wife finds me adorable when I flirt. It's one of the many very strange things about her."
She shifted, turning her back on the festivities, and leaned on her forearms. Below, a nobleman and a kitchen maid were creeping into a section of bushes that Daine knew for a fact contained thorns.
"What can I help you with, lass?" He nudged her but she could hear by the tenor of his voice that he knew she hadn't called him out here just to be sociable.
"I've been rethinking that offer. I want to take it." In truth, she'd only meant to further discuss it, but now the words were out of her mouth and she realized she'd made the decision without conscious thought.
He pushed himself up, tapping the bannister with his fingers as he looked at her.
"You know, it's fair satisfying to be able to surprise you." She smirked. He scoffed.
"You have surprised me plenty." He grinned, but it fell when he continued, replaced with concern. "Are you alright, Daine?"
"Yes—" She turned to look at him and rolled her eyes, sighing. "You have the sight, George. What do you think?"
"Is there something I can do?"
She wasn't expecting for George to be the one to make her cry. It was just a little—a couple escaped tears wiped away on the sleeve of her pretty new dress, but it was there. She'd known how disappointed he had been when she refused to join the Shadow Service, and how many hopes he'd had for what they could accomplish, though he'd been as understanding as he could. So for him to be so focused on her wellbeing instead was deeply touching.
"You can let me work."
"Daine," he hesitated.
"I won't be rash. You can trust me to do what needs to be done."
"That's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried about you."
"I'll take care of myself," she inclined her head, meeting his eyes to impress her point. "I promise. Is there work that's needful?"
He nodded, slowly. "There is."
"How soon can I leave?" She needed to be away—time and space to think and, gods willing, heal a little. She understood that Numair didn't remember their exchange earlier that day—gods, was it really the same day?—but something in that was just as hurtful. That is wasn't memorable. That it wasn't notable. Just a fragile, imagined thing in the early morning hours. Gone by sunrise.
"As soon as you're able," he shrugged and she could tell he was already running through where she could be of most use in his mind.
"Before dawn?"
This startled him, and his full attention snapped to her again. And again, that same concern. He just nodded though, regarding her closely. "Yes."
"Alright. Tell me what's needed."
"There's a few possibilities." His head bobbed, weighing options. "Do you have time to talk now? In my study?" He nodded when she did, "Fifteen minutes then; I'll see you there."
Two hours later, George was fastening a small, encoded scroll to the leg of a pigeon perched calmly in Daine's lap. Daine watched him, feeling tired. She was curled in a blanket on the window seat of his study, enjoying the warmth of the wool around her and the brandy he'd poured for them within her. When he finished he opened the sill and Daine whispered sweet nothings to the bird before urging her to take flight and get to her destination safely.
"They'll be expecting you at the Steady Steed Inn—you should change horses there, and again at Frostforge. And then—" he drank from his glass, leaning against the other side of the window as he watched the bird disappear.
"I've got it." She leaned her head back against the frame, looking back towards the table and the map spread out upon it. There was a cluster of colored glass pebbles forming a perimeter at the northern pass of the Grimhold Mountains. "I'll send word from the checkpoints."
"You're sure?" He didn't look at her, but the way he tapped his wedding band against his glass belied his reservations.
"I am."
"You can change your mind; I won't be angry."
"I know."
He sighed, moving back to the table and looking over the map once more. "And you don't have to leave so soon."
"Yes, I do." That was what she was most sure about.
"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" He'd been all business since they reached his study, but with a plan in place he was free to be her friend again.
"I am, but thank you."
"If—" There was a thud from the adjoining room, and a clatter that sounded suspiciously like a very expensive belt and sword being dropped on the floor. "Well, if you're sure you're going to creep away you'd best make yourself scarce before you need experience the wrath it will incur." He said, dourly, and it occurred to her for the first time that his proposition may not have been privy to anyone but the King—and that he'd been expecting some less than thrilled reactions from their shared acquaintances. A rueful smile appeared on his face when he read her expression, and he crossed to the door to open it for her.
"Don't worry, I'm a fair hand at weathering my loves temper. If anything, it's Numair—" he shook his head, missing her panged expression at his name. "Let's just say you know who to blame if you return to find a new, fiendishly handsome, tree on the grounds." He put a hand on her shoulder before she could leave. "Be careful."
"I promise." She clasped his hand in hers, feeling his reassuring squeeze, and left.
The walk back to her room was exhausting and invigorating. The night had turned cold, and she put her mind to the task and running over the work at hand. She had little time to prepare, but also little to pack. If she were efficient she would be well gone by dawn. One thought stopped her dead in her tracks: Kit.
She couldn't bring the dragonet with her—could she? There had been a time when stealth had been impossible with her young charge, but Kit learned quickly and it had been a long time since she'd put her in danger. In fact, the dragon had recently discovered a very handy spell for invisibility.
Making a decision she set the thought to the side, adding it to her to-do list. She returned to her rooms as the midnight call could be heard across the grounds. Unbuttoning the dress was a trial, but she managed—eventually. From there she worked quickly: changed into a well-worn and comfortable set of travel clothes, packed a small bag of essentials, sat down to pen exactly two letters, and then cried.
When she ran out of tears—temporarily, she suspected—she set out on the second leg of her leaving. She washed her face, took her belongings, and made the first of three stops. Cloud pawed nervously at the dirt of her stall, ears flush against her skull. Daine dropped her pack in her stall, hushing her old friend.
What happened? You've been shutting me out but you're so upset, Cloud nipped at her sleeve, pulling her closer.
It's okay; I'll be back in a moment, Daine patted her neck and kept moving. She passed by the red door of the women's quarters quietly, and knocked very softly on Onua's. There was a gentle strategy to waking Onua up enough that you didn't find a dagger at your throat, but not so much to incur her real wrath.
"Daine?" Onua blinked, opening one bleary eye at her.
"Go back to sleep. I'm just here for Kit." The dragon croaked, and stumbled out from Onua's blankets into Daine's waiting arms.
"How did it go?" Onua was already falling back to sleep, rolling away from her.
"I'll tell you about it later." Daine backed away, cradling Kit against her chest, and left one of her letters on Onua's desk before stepping back into the hall.
Back with Cloud, Daine set Kit on the ground and sat against the side of the stall. After some coaxing, Cloud followed and she drew close to them.
I need you both to listen. I have to go away for a while. She used her will to impress her words, knowing how prone to mischief they both were.
Kit trilled, unhappily, and Daine reached out to hold her muzzle shut but not without compassion.
It's needful.
Is it war? Cloud's tail flicked back and forth, thumping against the back of the stall.
Maybe not, if I'm able to help. There could be true benefit to this, beyond her easing her own pain. Cloud, I can't take you with me. I'm sorry. I need to stay unseen, and I won't even be riding the same mount for more than a few days at a time. She leaned forward, butting her forehead against her ponies. Pulling away, she turned to the young dragon. Kit, it's your choice. You can come with me, but we'll be away from home for a long time. We'll have to be fair sneaky, and we'll be on the road more than not. And you won't see T'kaa, or Cloud, or Spots, or Numair.
Stork man is not going with you? Cloud huffed, raising a cloud of dust and straw. Who will take care of you?
I will. Daine put her hand on Cloud, willing her to be calm. She avoided using her magic on her oldest friend mostly, knowing it often offended the mare, but she wanted to ease her mind. It was because of her that the horse could even have a mind so troubled. Kit, she turned back to the dragonet who was trilling softly and had turned a troubling shade of pink, I won't be mad if you want to stay.
Kitten slumped, scales shifting to grey, and crawled into Daine's lap with a barely audible chirp.
I'll be back before you know it. She pulled Cloud to her, holding them both in a hug. I love you both.
When she could delay no further, she pulled back and gave Kit her second letter. This is for T'kaa; everything he should know about spoiling you. This, at least, earned something of a happy sound from Kit. Stay with Cloud for now and get some sleep.
With one last hug for each of them, she hefted her pack to her shoulder and jogged to the far end of the stable where a particularly surly roan that George had indicated to her waited.
I've heard you're fast, Daine spoke to the horse—Ghost—as she saddled him.
Fast. And quiet. He stamped the ground, impatient to be running, and she noted how his hooves barely made a sound despite the force he commanded. Can we run far? He was excited. It had been too long since he had stolen away into the night.
Yes, she secured her pack to the saddle and mounted, as far as you can take me before dawn.
He moved from the stable like a shadow, not even disturbing the barn cats asleep beneath the eaves, and picked up speed steadily the further they moved from the barracks. By the time they reached the Royal Forest he was galloping, carrying her far from home.