Islana's Story
"It's unfair," Taylin said, pouring two glasses of wine. He slipped one across the desk to Kieris—High Lord Kieris Alayrin, he reminded himself. He was sad to see the passing of Kieris' father, but predicted nothing but good things for Kieris and Serissa as they officially stepped in to power. They had been powerful for a long time, of course, but this cemented things. They were now, officially, a force to be reckoned with.
"Unfortunate, perhaps, but the situation is of my own making," Kieris reminded him, and then accepted the wine glass.
"You never asked for any of it, you never asked to be in his shadow."
"But when I proposed to her, I was aware her heart belonged to him," Kieris pointed out sagely. "And she does love me back, Taylin. It's not as though it's an empty marriage."
"But she doesn't love you," Taylin objected. "She loves Kalin, she always will. You're too smart not to see that."
"Oh, I do see that. She does love Kalin, passionately. She always will, you are correct in that too—but Kalin is gone."
Taylin shifted nervously in his chair, but said nothing, merely drank his wine. Kieris continued.
"And she is not deluding herself about it. Dead men do not return, she resigned herself to it and decided to try and be happy without him. She turned to me, and we... She'll never love me the way she loves him, but she does love me."
"And it doesn't hurt?" Taylin asked, not believing.
"Of course it hurts," Kieris answered. "Were he still alive, if he ever showed up... They were soul mates, or the closest to it that I've ever witnessed. If he asked her to run away to Kalatsu with him, she would without a second thought for me or the boys. That is what hurts. But I would never stop her."
"Why not?"
"Do you really want to discuss hypothetical situations like this?" Kieris sighed. Taylin nodded. Kieris took another swallow and continued. "I love Serissa and wish her to love me. The fact is, were I to keep her away from him—had he survived—she would not love me, she would only resent me. If she ran away with him, she might at least think of me fondly; surely she'd miss our children. But she'd be happy, and I would never cause her sadness."
"You're a true gentleman, Kieris," Taylin said. "Let us hope it never comes down to that." He realized he'd misspoken as soon as he said it, but it was too late. He'd had a good deal to drink before pouring these two glasses, and couldn't help himself. He'd always been so curious...
"It is merely a hypothetical situation, Lord Taylin," Kieris reminded him, then set down his wine glass, and glanced seriously over the top of his glasses at his fellow High Lord. "Isn't it?"
Taylin took another swallow of wine. "I should probably tell you," he admitted. "I should have told you a long time ago. But not a word of it can reach Serissa, do you understand? I promised him that—I will not let you break that vow for me."
"I never would," Kieris answered, "unless my silence will hurt my wife."
"It won't," Taylin promised. "I suppose I shouldn't have had so much to drink... Ah, Sundancer damn it. You love her, you deserve to know. All right... Let me tell you about the night Kalin died."
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 19: Trial and Trust
Cleran stared.
"Cleran?" Jereh asked, and followed his gaze. She inspected Eliz and understood why a person might stare at her; this was a person who probably turned heads everywhere she went. Eliz was young, had the figure of a nymph, and the dress she wore showed off enough to make a modest viewer blush. Her hair was blond, as was almost everyone else's, and it fell in gentle waves to just past her shoulders, perfectly framing a soft, heart-shaped face. Her wide blue eyes were cast downwards at her book, but feeling the group's eyes on her, she glanced up.
She saw Cleran, and stared. It looked like shock, certainly, her already doe-like eyes widened even further, and her jaw dropped, leaving her perfect lips forming a silent "oh." It was clear Cleran was startled at seeing her, but he didn't approach, and after a long moment of watching each other, she raised a delicate hand to cover her mouth, trying too late to mask how startled she was, and she cast her gaze back down at her book.
Lisandra might almost have believed that Eliz's presence was coincidence, watching that act, but as Cleran and his companions left the library, Eliz looked back up after them. For just a moment, the look of innocence dropped from her, and she smiled a predatory grin, but it vanished quickly and she went back to her reading.
The kettle was simmering and had been for quite awhile now; the slave compensated for water lost to steam by adding in more cool water every now and again. There was an herbal tea the Healers made which helped reduce hangover headaches, and according to Cleran, Ocan would need it. He'd want to be greeted with it immediately upon waking, probably, and she still didn't know when he'd wake... It was now late afternoon, and he'd shown no signs of stirring.
Maybe, she mused to herself, watching her sleeping master, he won't wake at all... Not that she really believed that, her life had made it clear she didn't have that kind of luck. But she still dreamt of it; she still wished... Someone knocked on the door to his room. She sprang to her feet and answered it quickly, not wanting the knocking to wake Ocan. He'd be in an even worse mood if awoken against his will twice in one day, with an added hangover and the humiliation of the morning's events to make things even worse...
Cleran stood outside, looking vaguely dazed. He greeted her politely, to her surprise, before asking about Ocan.
"He's still asleep, Holy Son," she informed him. He gave her a strange look.
"What did you call me?" he asked.
"H-holy Son, my Lord," she repeated, stuttering, afraid she'd somehow offended him. "It's what the others have been calling you... It is your title..."
"Huh." He sounded a bit startled by that. "I guess it is..." He glanced around her, into the room. "Is he still unconscious, or merely asleep?"
"Asleep, now, I think," she answered.
He gave the sleeping figure an apprehensive look, then smiled a little. "Let's step into the hallway for a moment, then, and not wake him."
She nodded and he backed out of the room. She followed and gently shut the door after her, clueless as to what Cleran wanted to discuss. He watched her silently for a moment, and finally asked, "Does he treat you well?"
"Quite well, he's a gracious and loving master," she answered automatically, though it was a lie. She'd learned long ago to feign love for Ocan; no one cared about the truth, and if she said otherwise, he would find out, and he would punish her for her disloyalty... Besides, she frequently consoled herself, he was no worse than any other master, really. And he was probably kinder to her than to other slaves, as shadow slaves were valued above others in general.
Cleran raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked. She nodded silently. "Then why are you so afraid of what's going to happen when he wakes up?"
"I—" she said. "I don't know what you're talking about, my Lord."
"I can feel you're afraid of him, you're worried about what's going to happen. You wouldn't be worried if he was gracious and loving."
"He..." she trailed off. "He treats me as well as can be expected, my Lord, and I have no complaints."
"And that's a flat out lie," Cleran returned. "Miss, you can trust me. I want to help you."
She seemed to find being called 'Miss,' as odd has he'd found his new title, judging by her reaction... Or perhaps that was just her reaction to having someone in a position of authority offer to help her. Not that she'd ever allow herself to believe he was telling the truth, or take him up on his offer. It would turn out to be a test of some sort, and if she did so, she would fail it. She'd learned that lesson before, painfully.
"Holy Son, if you wish to talk to him—"
"I'll need to. In a minute," he said. "But right now, I'm talking to you. I know he'll be angry at me when he wakes, I don't want him to target you with that anger."
"My master is fair and just," she intoned, again a lie, but one she had to tell.
"The hell he is," Cleran muttered. "Look, Miss, I'm not trying to trick you, I promise. I want to help you. If... If he hurts you, because of what I did to him, it would be my fault. It's only fair that I try and help."
"I appreciate the offer, Holy Son," she replied. "But I promise you that I am fine, more than fine. I am treated well, I am happy."
"Yes, and I can tell by the dead tone in your voice and the defeated look in your eyes that you're definitely not lying to me to get me to go away," he agreed, his voice gentle enough to keep the sarcasm from being obnoxious. "If you're really happy, and you really want me to leave you alone, fine, I will. But... If you are aren't, if you need someone to help you—even if it's just someone to talk to—you can come to me." He smiled a little.
"Thank you," she acknowledged, but he could still feel her doubt. And it wasn't that she didn't want to believe him, merely that she saw no reason to; he seemed to have no motive to help her, despite his kind words.
"It is very important that you trust me," he continued, improvising but deciding to makeup a reason for his offer. Besides, it was a fairly good reason, now that he thought of it. "If not for your own sake, then for Arpiar's... And Kalatsu's. The Knight who will be here—Jereh—she will be watching you, I'm certain. If she sees evidence of you being mistreated, there will be trouble. If she kills Ocan, and believe me, she would, there would be no peace..."
The slave forced herself not to smile at the thought of someone killing Ocan.
"So please, come to me before it reaches that point," he said. "As much fun as it would be to watch Jereh beat the hell out of him, I can deal with him without it becoming a problem in the negotiations. She can't."
"I understand," she promised. "And I promise to come to you if I think it would cause a problem in the negotiations." She paused, hesitant, then asked quietly, "Is there... Is there a real chance I... That I might be freed?"
"If all goes well," he said. "I can't make any promises, but... Well. We'll see, all of us... If I wake him, will he be upset?"
"Probably," she agreed. "He... Doesn't like being awoken, especially if he's got a headache."
"How upset?"
"Probably he's swear at you. But after this morning, he probably wouldn't take a swing at you."
"I can live with that." Cleran started back to the door.
"Then let me finish the tea, it'll help his head," she interrupted, placing a hand back on the doorknob. "It'll improve his mood, even if it's only a slight improvement..."
"Anything you can do is a help." He smiled and she let him inside. She'd been keeping the water hot by placing it in a kettle settled next to the room's small fireplace; no fire was really needed except in the coldest winter, so most rooms wouldn't have had one, but Ocan's room was more decadent than most of the Warriors'.
She allowed the water to come to a full boil without really letting the fire itself build up much, steeped the tea, and handed it to Cleran. "Good luck," she murmured, and settled back into a corner to wait for when Ocan needed her.
Cleran set the tea next to the bed, a low to the ground futon, crouched, and shook Ocan's shoulder. The older Warrior's hand jerked out and caught Cleran's wrist; he was sitting and glaring before Cleran could react.
"'Morning," Cleran greeted him, pulling his arm free and replacing it with the mug of tea. Ocan accepted it and said nothing. "It's afternoon now, actually. You've been out most of the day."
"What did you do to me, bastard?" Ocan hissed.
"Set your inside on fire," he answered easily. "But, look, it's not important."
"I think it is. What you said this morning—all true?"
"Yeah."
"And just how did Islana escape? You... glossed over that."
"She..." he trailed off. "After you dealt with her, the Healer slave did his best to follow your orders, but couldn't control his power, and she ended up Healed... more or less... and escaped."
"Escaped how?"
Cleran stood up and leant against a wall, arms crossed. "She was being a bitch—no surprise there—and when I stood up to yell at her, I got too close to the bars. Stupid whore grabbed my sword and stabbed me before I realized she was Healed."
"You're a terrible Warrior."
"Yeah. I know."
"You cost us everything."
"I already know that too."
"And you're the Third Prophet." Ocan stood up to be on level with Cleran. "Why you?"
Cleran shrugged. "Ocando chose me. He didn't tell me why."
"Guess," Ocan demanded.
"All right," Cleran agreed, sensing that Ocan was testing him for some reason. "I grew up watching society without being part of it. I saw how things worked but no one ever noticed me. It means... I can come out of nowhere and already know what's going on."
"Solid reasoning, I suppose."
"It wasn't my idea, it was His."
"Of course." Ocan looked over Cleran, measuring him. "You're a leader now, stand up straight, stop looking like you're afraid I'm about to stab you, and try and be taller."
"What?" Cleran asked.
"I don't like you, but I serve Ocando, and apparently, He likes you. You came here to ask for my support, or if you didn't, you should have. You have it, but only if you become the sort of leader we've lacked since Rallan died. So stop slouching and stop being intimidated, and start commanding."
Cleran nodded; his instinct was to answer with, "Yes, sir," but he assumed that wasn't what Ocan wanted to hear.
"And so what has happened since I was unconscious? Tell me everything."
Cleran momentarily debated with himself about this. He didn't want to let Ocan run things from behind the scene, he didn't want to be someone's puppet, but on the other hand, Ocan had more experience than he did, and having his support would make things far easier in the long run. "Not a whole lot," he finally answered, and very briefly explained the few decisions that he'd reached. "Jereh should be back in not too long, with word from his Holiness. I'm going to ask her to go unarmed—and place Tiernan over her as a bodyguard."
"Explain why," Ocan demanded. Cleran saw he was being tested again, but he had reasons for what he planned, so it didn't bother him too much.
"Dysis is incapable of defending himself, and while he is technically a guest, could easily return to the position of hostage if things go wrong—so long as Jereh is here, I'm gong to be taking advantage of it. She will be unharmed, of course, but must put her faith in me to protect her sufficiently, just as Dysis is being forced to trust the Voice."
Ocan nodded his approval. "Why Tiernan?" he asked next.
"Tiernan was the best Warrior to come out training in the past few years," he answered. "He's young and inexperienced, really, but very good and very observant. And, more importantly, he's open-minded enough that he won't stick a knife in her back the moment I'm out of the room."
"Good reasoning," Ocan agreed, "but have you considered his family?"
Cleran shrugged. "So long as he is only the Heir—and he isn't even that yet—his first duty is to us, not his uncle," he responded. "His family may not be thrilled with it, but Tiernan wouldn't fight it."
"All right," Ocan said. "So you do know how to think for yourself. Good..." He trailed off. "I want to spar with you and get you up to my standard," he added. "I don't teach fighting, but I'm better than you are, and you ought to be one of the best around. I'll want to do the same for Tiernan, and perhaps even the lady Knight herself."
"Why Jereh?"
"I want to see how good she really is," he answered grimly. "I get the feeling she's meant to double as an assassin if it comes down to that—I don't want to be unprepared."
"I see."
Ocan looked him over again. "You'll do, I suppose," he decided, apparently ending his test. "I'll support you to the Warriors and the Council, if I can."
"I appreciate that," Cleran answered. "I had been planning to ask, but hadn't been optimistic."
"I still don't like you, but the truth is that his Holiness is a good tactician, but he doesn't have a fighter's spirit, and so he never inspired the Warriors... He's a good politician, and beloved as a Priest, but no one thinks of him as really strong. You can be strong, or at least appear it... I don't like you, bastard, but I see your necessity."
"Uh... Thank you?" Cleran said mildly, not sure what to think.
"It wasn't a compliment," Ocan snapped. "Did you need anything else?"
Cleran straightened up, and nodded. "Just one thing—it's a little thing, really. You have a certain reputation for dealing with slaves... While Jereh is our guest—" he managed to spit the word 'guest,' with enough contempt that even Ocan was satisfied, "you can't hurt them. Not her," he said, gesturing to the woman in the corner, "not the Healer, none of them."
"And if they deserve it?"
"Threats, no actions... I know I have no right to tell you how to deal with your own Shadow, but Jereh would cause problems with the negotiations if she sees any slave being mistreated."
"There's a difference between mistreatment and punishment."
"Not where she's concerned," Cleran said, and stopped himself from apologizing. Ocan wanted him to be a leader, fine; he was going to stop being the pathetic bastard Warrior and start leading.
"Sundancer take her," Ocan muttered. "Very well." He turned and fixed an evil look at the slave in the corner. "I will avoid anything... Unnecessary. That would cause a stir."
"Good. I'm going to go rest, I've been up for almost thirty hours between the two Islands..." Which was true, Cleran had been up the entire day before his return, discussing details with Jall, Dysis and Kalin; and he hadn't paused to sleep before waking Arot, and had been busy ever since then. "When I know more information, I'll come to you."
"And I'll see you in the training fields tomorrow. Tiernan too."
"Yeah. Good evening," Cleran said, then nodded to the slave and let himself out.
[EYECATCH]
Unfortunately, Cleran didn't get to rest quite yet. Tiernan had received word he was supposed to talk to Cleran, and was waiting when Cleran approached his own room. There was an awkward moment, and finally, Tiernan saluted. He was twenty-one, several years Cleran's junior, and his hair was a pale orange that still almost shone blond in the light. His eyes were brown and usually seemed to twinkle, though they hid most of Tiernan's real emotions. His features were somewhat statuesque, quite highly defined and perhaps a bit too sharp, but handsome nonetheless; he was an impressive looking young man who stood with an air of confidence and authority.
"Holy Son?" he asked politely.
Cleran returned the salute. "You can still call me Cleran," he said. It was awkward not because of the title, but because until that morning and despite their relative ages, Tiernan had far outranked him as a Warrior, and neither one was used to the new power dynamics yet. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to take on a special assignment for awhile."
"Anything to be of help," Tiernan promised, and it was the truth. Probably more so than any other Warrior, Tiernan would support the surrender; he didn't want to lose the war, but his family had been sympathetic to Kalatsu's cause for several generations now.
Cleran opened his door and motioned for Tiernan to follow him inside. His room was quite small, and fairly dark: it had once been a supply closet, and there was little reason to put in much light at that point. Since then, a window had been added, but it sat awkwardly at the top of a wall, spilling an almost negligible amount of light into the room at an awkward angle that didn't light anything useful. His room was as he'd left it, weeks ago: highly clean and organized, though by now somewhat dusty. He sat on the only chair in the room, in front of the desk, and motioned for Tiernan to make himself comfortable on the bed if he chose to, though Tiernan declined and remained standing.
"What was your impression of Jereh?" he asked after a long moment.
Tiernan considered for a moment. "She seems to be in her late thirties and quite strong, for a woman. She appears to be experienced as a Knight and powerful as a Healer as well... I'd judge her for a competent, if somewhat overbearing, woman; highly trustworthy and loyal to her cause... Probably somewhat intimidating on a personal level, too, and strong in her beliefs."
"That all sounds about right," Cleran agreed. "How'd you feel about being her body guard?"
"I'd feel honored," Tiernan said, "though confused. She's a Knight, why would she need...?"
"She'll be disliked, she is a Knight. I don't want anyone to start trouble, but if someone does, I want a Warrior to clear it all up. If she gets involved defending herself, it'll look bad, as though either she provoked someone into a fight or that she wanted to fight... Having a Warrior protect her instead of having her do it herself should, hopefully, keep those objections to a minimum."
"How does she feel about this?" he asked next.
"I haven't told her yet. She'll be coming back in a bit, and I need to rest badly, but I'd like you to meet tonight. I suppose you won't have to watch her back at night—I'll find someone to guard her door—but from the time she wakes until then, I'd like you shadowing her."
"Yes, sir," Tiernan agreed.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "She can be a bit... Difficult. But nothing you can't handle. I'll send someone for you when she arrives.
Tiernan nodded. "I'll see you then. Get some sleep, you look like you're going to collapse. How long—"
"Too long." He stood, the exhaustion washing over him, and shook hands with Tiernan. The other Warrior let himself out, and Cleran collapsed onto his futon, kicking off his sandals as he did so. At least I won't dream... he mused to himself, and shut his eyes. He assumed he would be too tired to dream anything, or think anything... Which was for the best. He had, to a certain extent, planned to work until exhausted to be sure that he wouldn't have any time to think or reflect before sleeping. He knew that his feelings for Islana were going to catch up with him soon, and he'd have to face everything, but wanted to put it off for as long as was possible.
However, while he fell asleep, it wasn't a true sleep.
He knelt on a shiny circle of red light, seemingly created just to give him something to balance on. He looked up and saw the two statues—Dysis, bathed in light and now looking vaguely disapproving, and Islana, still serene with her eyes closed. He looked up at her and wanted to reach out, to touch her, to be with her. He yearned for her. He felt empty without her.
"What have you done to me?" he demanded of the figure. "Are you happy now?" he half-yelled. "Is this what you wanted? Some goddamned revenge. At least no one ever fucked your head up, no one made you forget who you are... What you wanted... No one made you question that.
"You're a better torturer than Ocan could ever be, Islana, do you even realize? Did I mean so little to you—did you hate me that much? What did I do to you, Islana? I didn't... I was there, but I never hurt you, I barely touched you... I was only doing my job... What I thought was right, damn it all, and it's not like there was no blood on your hands.
"Not an entire fleet, Islana. You think we didn't have reasons for wanting you dead? Can you blame us? ...I was nice to you, compared to everyone else. So why me? Why did you decide to make me love you?"
He looked away from her, down at the shiny red circle that made up his floor, and buried his head in his hands. "I hate you," he snarled through his fingers. "I hate you. Do you hear me, you goddamned ice bitch? You did this to me, and I hate you!"
And it was true, but even as he yelled it, he knew that he still loved her. That was the part that hurt worst of all; he'd always love her, no matter how much he hated her for it. It was a downward spiral he couldn't escape from.
Propelled by the anger, he half-jumped to his feet and leaned forward. The figure of her was mist-like, he knew, and could be bent out of shape as easily as it was made. He flailed forward with an arm, as if trying to chop across and down her body, and felt the mist swirl and spiral away. He continued, not looking at his destruction, not caring what it looked like so long as it was deformed out of the shape of his tormenter.
He finally stared up. Only tendrils of colored mist remained, floating around where once had been her perfect figure, like some sort of abstract painting. He stared at it, satisfied and horrified all at once, and the loneliness overtook him again. He collapsed on to his knees, and even that was too much to bear, and the forward, catching himself on one hand, staring at the red glowing floor through the fingers of his other.
"Oh, God... Oh Father... Why me, why her? Why me?" he demanded, but got no answer.
And finally, too exhausted to keep up even this state of consciousness, real sleep took him.
Cleran woke to the Healer slave shaking him. "She's come through, and is waiting in the Center Room," he said, as Cleran tried to shove his still raw emotions aside. It was hard, though, and while he estimated he'd gotten a few hours of sleep, it wasn't enough to satisfy his exhaustion. He didn't feel refreshed, he felt cheated, as though he'd had his reward for all of his hard work ripped from him.
He took a minute to orient himself, get a drink of water, brush his hair and change into unrumpled clothes before following the slave. He found Tiernan waiting outside the Center Room, unsure of his role, and Cleran motioned for him to follow. "Welcome back," he greeted Jereh.
She didn't answer verbally, merely held out a large, sealed envelope to him. The seal was generic, but he was certain it was a parcel from Dysis nonetheless. "How is he?" he asked.
"Arrogant and stubborn," she answered.
Cleran rolled his eyes. He should have known better than to ask Jereh's opinion of his brother. "Has much gotten accomplished?"
"Virtually nothing. It seems your brother was a bit put out when Erra Kelanister announced—" she didn't pause here, but did catch Cleran's eye and held it in a steely gaze, "that he had adopted Islana and named her as his Heir."
"What?" Cleran asked, his heart jumping at the mention of her name, but his mind filling with anger. Islana as a Kelanister meant she was beyond punishment for everything she'd done to him... That bitch. She must have known, she must have...
"Islana Ylanna was once known as Galiera Kelanister; her name was changed in order to protect her after her parents' deaths, and she was officially disowned nine years ago. His Majesty has decided to reinstate her, and she is now Islana Kelanister—and is no longer a Knight."
"Really," Cleran said flatly. "His Holiness was right after all."
"Yeah."
Cleran glanced over the equipment she'd brought with her, a full duffel bag and a box of healing supplies. She still held her sword from the crossing, and reached to sheathe it, but Cleran reached out and caught her hand. She started to jerk into action, then stopped herself from attacking him. "What?" she demanded.
"Jereh, this is Tiernan; Tiernan, Jereh," he introduced. "He's going to be your bodyguard for the rest of your stay."
She gave Tiernan a measuring look, and he offered his hand to shake. She gave him a dirty look. "I don't need a body guard," she said to Cleran, and Tiernan dropped his arm.
"You do, actually," he disagreed, "because you're going to be unarmed, and—nothing is expected—but in case something happens, you'll need someone to step in."
"Why will I be unarmed?"
Cleran improvised, "Kalatsu and Arpiar are trying to build a new, trustful relationship; Dysis has placed his trust in the Voice and Jall, and so I'm asking you to place that same trust in me."
She glared at him, staring him down, and finally commented, "No harm will come to Dysis, you've already been promised that."
"Jall also promised he trusted me, but here you are. You can store your sword in your room, Tiernan will show you where it is."
She very nearly snarled at Tiernan, but bit it back. "Glad to meet you," Tiernan said, reaching out and taking her hand himself.
She smiled grimly, reached forward, grabbed the knife from his belt and gently jabbed between two of his ribs, though not hard enough to tear the fabric, let alone draw blood. "Touch me again, and I will stab you," she hissed.
Tiernan didn't flinch, just gave Cleran a look. "Down, girl," Cleran said to Jereh, and gave her a half-apologetic shrug when she glared at him. "He was being friendly. Give him the knife back."
"I meant it," she said, now turning the glare to Tiernan. "Touch me again, ever, and I'll kill you."
"I don't doubt it, Lady Knight," he agreed, and she narrowed her eyes but returned his knife. "Interesting move, though. I've never seen anyone..."
"Seems to be a standard they learn," Cleran speculated, "Islana did the same thing to me. Except she actually was trying to kill me."
Tiernan nodded. "I'll show you to your room now, Lady Knight," he said, and bent down to pick up the duffel bag. She stepped on his hand.
"I can carry my own baggage," she snapped.
"You're just a bundle of sunshine, ma'am, and the nicest person I've ever met. Do you have a younger sister?" he asked cheerily, shaking out his hand and picking up her bag anyway.
"If I had a sister, she'd want to kill you, too."
"Probably." He hoisted the bag onto his back and started for the box, but she picked it up. "I'm just trying to be a gentleman," he said defensively.
"Don't. And shouldn't your hands be free in case someone attacks me and you need to get your sword?"
"If someone attacks you, I promise I'll drop your bag," Tiernan swore, his voice dripping sincerity.
"I don't think I like you very much."
"That makes me sad, truly," he responded. "This way; you'll be staying in a guest room in the Priest's quarters of the Church. They're a bit more comfortable than the Warriors', and not surrounded by, well, armed men who want to kill you."
"Unarmed men who want to kill me, then?" she asked as they started walking.
"Well, it's better than nothing," he answered. "Someone else'll be standing guard at night, and you seem more than capable of defending yourself."
"I am," she said. "I've been a Knight probably since you were in diapers."
"How old are you?"
"How young are you?"
"I asked first."
"I thought you were a gentleman. It isn't polite to ask a lady's age."
"You're a Knight, you're barely female," he said easily, and nodded down a corridor. "We turn here." He led her the rest of the way to her room in relative quiet, but didn't mind the silence; she was going to be hostile to him, which was no surprise, but not actually as bad as he'd expected.
The Church wasn't all that hard to find their way around, and Jereh memorized the route as they walked. It took several minutes and a brief trip outside between buildings, but it wasn't any farther than the library she'd been to that morning. "And it's down this—oh," he said, as they turned a corner. Ocan stood at the end of the hall.
"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to meet this morning, Miss Nirral," Ocan greeted her as they approached. He reached over and opened the door for them. She went in without acknowledging his presence. "I'm afraid I made a bad impression this morning—"
"You were Islana's torturer. I was her Healer. Get out of my sight or I'll show you what real pain is." She dropped her box and reached for her sword, but Tiernan gripped it tightly as he set down the bag.
"Miss Nirral, Lord Candisson is the ranking Warrior stationed here, he's—"
"Shut up." She turned to Ocan. "Get out."
"I merely wanted to let you know I'd be watching you. All the time." He smiled, but it was devoid of warmth. "To make sure no one tries to get in the way of the negotiations, of course."
"Get. Out."
He smiled again, bowed slightly, and let himself out. "Tiernan, take good care of her. I'd hate for anything to happen." He shut the door.
Tiernan stared after him a bit. "I wasn't expecting that," he said. "He was..."
"Threatening me," Jereh said. "I expected it."
"No, he merely—"
"There will be more like him, too. Had he drawn his sword, would you have intervened?" she asked. "Are you really willing to draw a brother Warrior's blood?"
He stared at her, and finally nodded. "If I had to," he said. "I wouldn't want to. But... I have a job to do. I was asked to protect you, and I will. With no hesitation."
"We'll see."
"No, we won't. No one will attack you; we want the negotiations to succeed, too. We're tired of fighting a war, Jereh. Two of the four High Lords will sign a treaty for certain, and with pressure from then, the other two High Families will come around. No one wants to see any more death. I'm here to protect you, but there won't be a need."
"You really believe that?" she scoffed. "Just how is a Warrior barely old enough to be out of training so versed in the politics of the High Council?"
"Just how young do you think I am?" he demanded, but continued before she could answer, "One of the four High Lords is my uncle. Well, great-uncle. My father was named his Heir some time ago, and since that puts me in line for the Council seat, I attend all of the meetings. Trust me, Lady Knight, when it comes to politics, I know what I'm talking about. And I've been out of training for almost three years now."
She gave him a strange, contemplative look. "Which High Lord?" she asked finally. "Cleran never gave me your full name."
He offered her his hand again, and this time she shook it. "My full name is Tiernan Elthis Sanasset, and my uncle is High Lord Taylin Sanasset."
[CLOSING CREDITS]