Chapter XI: Valiant

Tally and Merek arrive in Valiant under aliases to plan a burglary. Two important characters are introduced.

Seven weeks long was the road from the thieves' refuge in the corner of Tavaun to the capital city of Valiant. As Merek and Tallis rode, they were silent. The rogue highwaymen were few, but they were there, unowned and unmerciful. For food and rest, their stops had been few and far between, and with every stop were further teachings, not only in the art of thievery, but in feigning nobility. To fit amongst Tavaun's elite, Tallis had to learn the positions at court and the noble houses that were currently prominent in the Empire. Tallis had been untouched by the change brought by the Empire, her knowledge of noble families fifteen years behind; many of those she remembered had been stripped of their rank, jailed, or purged in the aftermath of the war. Then there were the dances and customs which the Wassentians liked to change frequently to filter out those who failed to keep up, so Tallis learned those too. She learned the gestures with hidden messages. She learned table etiquette. She learned to mind her tongue in the palace of the oppressor. 

Tonight they stayed in the inn of one of the small towns on the outskirts of Valiant. In the morning, they would be welcomed into the palace. 

"You're as prepared as you're going to be," Merek grumbled. "We're out of time. During our stay amongst nobility, try not to act so," He gestured vaguely to her. "Poor."

"It isn't my fault the Imperials flaunt their wealth so flamboyantly." Tallis countered.  "One would think they didn't have words at all, using their forks and gloves and curtsies' secret language. I hadn't ever even seen a fork before I came here."

Merek stifled a laugh, crossing his arms sternly. "For the love of God, don't repeat that." 

Tallis stretched her neck, the pop echoing in the candlelit room. "I still don't understand how you managed it."

He shrugged, A story I'll share in the future, perhaps. "We won't be in regular attendance. It's much more difficult to obtain a permanent position," he turned briefly to the chair behind him, and from a rucksack that sat upon it, he pulled a scabbard. "I think I'd have to call myself a Lord and marry a lady-in-waiting."

Tallis ignored his words. "What is that?" She gestured to his hands.

"When will you stop assuming I'm going to kill you?" He checked again that the door had been bolted. "I'm going to show you how to defend yourself with this."

"Why?" Tallis sounded stubborn, but she looked afraid.

"Because men are animals, Tallis." He handed her the knife, pommel facing her, his fingers curled around the sheathed blade. "Tomorrow we walk into the mouth of Hell. It would bring me great peace to know that you aren't without defense going in."

Tallis studied the knife in her hands, shifting the weight of it from one hand to the other. "I don't understand. I live in barracks with scores of bandits."

"Scores of bandits who have all been commanded to respect you; the men in Valiant have been given no such command. They have never been denied anything." Though not one for prolonged eye contact, Merek held his gaze on Tally with trepidation. Tally failed to look up from the knife. "If these men intend to do you harm," Merek continued, "First, you will warn them. And if they do not cease, you will destroy them."

Tallis was afraid, not only of the danger Merek warned her of, but also Merek himself. However, he, in his ferocity, also inspired awe. "Alright." She nodded. "Show me how."

"Try on your own first, like before."

Tallis hid the dagger flat against her wrist, walked up close in front of Merek, and pretended to stab the blade upwards into his chest.

"No. That would get lodged in the breastbone." He said, and moved Tallis's hand so the knife pointed to his throat. "This is quicker, but very messy"

Tallis mimed cutting his throat and looked back up at him for confirmation. This required her to be closer to his body than she had been before, despite traveling together across Tavaun. She could feel the warmth of his skin on hers. This made her uneasy. "That's a brutal way to end a life," was all she said.

"Sometimes it is necessary," he said quietly. "You must be sure that it is."

Merek pushed Tallis to the ground. For a moment, she was offended, but then she remembered he was her assailant in this lesson. She stabbed at his leg in one hard motion.

"It's higher, near where the leg begins." He corrected. "And you're holding the dagger the wrong way; you come at a man holding it like that, he can push your wrist back and use it against you." Tallis held the knife as she had before he pushed her, and tried again. 

"There, now you've killed me twice." He extended his hand to help Tallis up. "Now, what you have there is a small dudgeon knife of eight inches, easily hidden, and I want you to keep it near you always, do you understand?"

Tallis nodded. "You don't really think I'm going to need this in the citadel, do you?"

Merek shook his head. "No, I am sure you will be safe. We will remain at the palace for the duration of our stay. I would like you to be capable of removing a threat to your well-being, if need be."

In the midst of the small town outside Valiant was a church. Small, wooden, unpainted. Fourteen years ago, it housed worshippers of the nine dragon-gods the Tavaunish held sacred. It was one of many in the northernmost half of Tavaun, where Wassentia's influence was great, and the fear they instilled was greater. Now those who failed to attend church were jailed, and after three offenses, branded. There will be a new church in Errusten, too, when it is rebuilt, Tallis thought. I hope the holy women will be thieves in that one as well. 

The holy women inside the church were matronly, older than the thieves in the fort. Perhaps women survive a life of thievery better. They greeted Merek while the youngest of them took Tallis by the hand and led her downstairs into the sleeping quarters. It was silent and windowless, the beds all in a row. Much like the thieves' barracks, but smaller, sadder. 

Finally, the woman spoke. "It's good to see one of our own," she said giddily.

"It's good to see a woman," sighed Tallis. "I feel suffocated in my daily company." She missed how Lola mothered her.

"You could stay here," she suggested, immediately retracting in embarrassment.

Tallis shook her head. "It wouldn't suit me."

"Needed on the front lines," she reached into a trunk and drew out a golden gown. "Let's put you in your armor, then." She thought herself clever.

Tallis had never dressed like a woman. She had always worn the old clothes of Elof and Lola's dead son, and they had always been too wide and too long for her, so she had to cuff the pant legs and roll up her sleeves. The way the dress fit her form and weighed on her waist took adjusting to.  Odder still was the feel of the woman tugging Tallis's hair into plaits above her head.

"This is how the queen wears her hair," she said hushed in Tally's ear. "Or so visitors tell me."

"What is the Guildmaster doing upstairs?" Tallis asked abruptly. They were being so quiet. 

"I'm down here with you, I wouldn't know," was her coy answer. "He doesn't visit us often, but we love when he does." She turned Tallis around to look in the standing mirror. "There you are, you look every bit a lady, now."

Merek had been correct; Tallis could barely recognize her own reflection. Gold satin held her body tightly, a square neckline framed her collarbones, the skirt alone, though challenging to walk in, gave the illusion that her legs were soft and feminine. It made her carry herself differently, as close to elegant as she had ever been. She had imagined she would look like an ugly boy in a lady's raiment. Maybe it was the pounds of cloth that transformed her, maybe it was how tidy her hair had been made, but she looked like a real lady. Then, she wasn't sure if she liked being a lady. It was a disguise, a ploy.

"You only look different," said the holy woman behind her. "It doesn't alter your character. I felt the same as you when I put this costume on."

"Why do you stay here  if it is pretend?" Tallis asked, locking eyes with the woman in the mirror.

"Where are you from, Tallis?"

Tallis considered lying. "Errusten."

The woman blinked her eyes to the floor, but gathered herself in a moment. "It is lucky that you lived so near to him, so he could take you under his wing how he has done." 

 

"It is." And I am an ungrateful child to not have seen so before. The woman's insight made a pit of Tallis's stomach. 

As Tallis left the cellar, and the church soon after, the women and Merek made note of not speaking in front of her, not even to wish each other farewell. The bright sunlight outside on the path to Valliant was shocking in contrast to the church and its cellar. 

"You look like a lady," Merek commented. "I told you."

Tallis said nothing, remaining quiet all the way into the city streets. Then, all she said was, "Do you know where you're going?"

He nodded.

The city was so busy, Tallis feared trampling. A surprising portion of the crowd was walking in line with them, eyes keen* on the tourney yard. When only guests of the monarchy remained, Tallis properly drank in the sight of the city. Here, nearer to the palace, the roads were cleanest, the same reddish pink brick as the walls. The buildings--homes of the deep-pocketed and sin-free--were sturdy brick as well, tall and identical, with flower beds and real chimneys. From the windowsills hung banners, reaching across the streets and fluttering in the warm breeze.

"The buildings are new," said Merek. "The old ones were destroyed, fourteen years ago. Even if they hadn't been, they may have rebuilt them; the Empire's decades ahead of us, now." 

Only because they razed our country.

Through to the North side of the city, within sight of the giant white castle on the coastline, was the tourney yard. Well-to-do men and women passed through the gate, though there were few before Tally and Merek. Before they had found their place behind the list, they became subject to a mild cacophony of raised voices. Three men, visibly lower nobility, argued amongst themselves, arms crossed. Tallis walked past them, hand on Merek's bent arm, but she listened intently. 

One, red-haired, adorned in crimson and gold, waited for silence to say, "We have prioritized time over detail." The other men tried to speak over him, but he persisted.  "We conquer a city and leave it inadequately attended. Who's to say the provinces won't wage war again?" When the man stopped talking, the silence was deafening. Embarrassment flashed across his face as he realized just how loud he'd been.

"We have only left the faithful." said a pale man, young and sniveling, dressed in the king's colors, though Tallis doubted he was of the same stock. "But if you're suggesting we ought to fear retribution from Tavaun, you ought to look to the state of their army; they lost it to us, fourteen years ago."

The first argued, "Ragtag armies have felled monarchs in the past."

The third, dark-haired and weaselly, rasped, "We burned the heretics."

"Deservedly," muttered the second.

"All the more reason we should fear an uprising. Our monarchs are children, our Wise Lord bless them." The fire-haired noble practically spoke through gritted teeth, his resentment obvious, his heresy beginning to bleed through his act. "And for the sake of our Empire, we should be merciful--"

"Merciful?"

"If everyone we quarrel with goes to the pyre, are we not worse than the heretics?"

"Worse then the heretics?" Echoed the pale man.

"Wind your neck in, Dirthitryn."

Tallis's heart leapt. She stared at the man, her uncle? Cousin? Merek heard it as well, heard turning sharply to her. "Say nothing," He whispered. 

The men quieted and settled into the crowd. Tallis knew even without Merek's instruction that she could say nothing. Even if I were not hiding, they sent him away. They would think me an abomination as well. They hated even my mother, and her blood was pure. Scorn aside, Tally was in hiding; She was not Dirthitryn here, she was Gideon. Though neither name was rightfully hers.

There was a stranger to Tallis's side, and though she was relieved that the stranger was a woman, Tallis felt drowned in a crowd of wealth and titles. The feeling did not subside when the new King and Queen of Tavaun emerged from thin air and sat in their private box above the rest of them. Tallis could not see them very well from where she stood, nose to the dirt, and she didn't dare stare. But she looked.

Where Tallis was muscled from the bow and the axe, Estrella's arms were thin and elegant. Where Tallis was tanned and freckled, Estrella's skin was milk and moonlight. She had blue eyes and a button nose. She wore not the dramatic fashions of Wassentia, but a bare face and a flowing lavender gown. And worst, she was younger by a year.

Younger. Prettier. A Queen. Tallis felt more an imposter than she had before. Her golden dress could not disguise her calloused hands, broken nails, archer's arms, brandings of hardship. Her hair alone caused her to stand out, a target for accusations of witchcraft. A lumberjack witch in a slapdash disguise.

The sounding of the trumpet startled her out of her thoughts. The first man to joust was Lord Einar Gideon of Goodwick, an older man, but wealthy and bold. His armor looked onyx, shining where it wasn't scuffed. He waved to the onlookers, and nodded to Merek, as he paraded his horse around the field. Tallis learned, then, that their aliases made use of this man's family name, and that they were only here due to that specific man's shining reputation. She also realized how little she understood the depths of Merek's organization.

Lord Einar's opponent was a man with one name: Unvald. He was as bold as his foeman, though he was not cheered, and did not belong. His horse was white, his armor steel, his hair gold. He disrespected the King and Queen even in how he looked at them. 

On their first run, their lances missed each other. They ran again and Unvald, though his helm concealed his face, seemed determined to a sinister degree. It's only sport, Tallis thought. Unvald's lance was caught by Einar's, and the former splintered at the soket. At the end of the line, Unvald traded his lance for one unused, and again the men charged. When they met in the field's center, Unvald's lance hit Lord Einar in the shoulder, pushing him backwards off of his steed, tumbling in sharp, heavy armor. His horse was still running, kicking sand over his half-encased head. 

Merek did not move, eyes locked onto his confidant, who lay face-down in the tourney yard. Unvald had dismounted his horse, listed the visor of his helm, and was sporting a cocky grin as he walked to Lord Einar. He quickly pulled his wounded shoulder and flipped him over. With a tug, he removed Lord Einar's helmet. He was alive. Tallis saw Merek exhale with relief.

"How do you know him?" Tallis asked Merek later, in the palace gardens, while others flocked around the golden-haired rider. 

"Whom?" Was his absent-minded reply. He knew of whom she asked, but he needed a moment to string together an answer.

"Lord Einar." She had drawn closer, so as not to be heard. Merek could smell her, the dirt of brawling Inquisitors scrubbed from her and replaced with perfume. The dirt had suited her better, as had the boyish clothes. She did not wear refinement well.

"My business is rooted in Goodwick. He is of their house. While we are here, he is my uncle."

For a moment, that answer was enough. Then Tallis asked, "Why isn't the archduke here instead?"

"There are three in his stead. You are one of them. I hope you don't plan on remaining attached to my hip for the entirety of our visit."

Tallis feigned a more amicable exit, her chin up as she walked. As she glanced around her, she saw no one dressed as the Inquisitors had been, in an imitation of holy men. The King and Queen had taken off  quietly after the joust. Didn't want to mix with the common rabble. There were statues and fountains, icons in the Wassentian ideal; long slender bodies dramatically posed, with ears like knives and accents of gold. The garden was bordered with white foxgloves. The Minthe sigil, Tallis remembered. She walked further, both appreciative and irked by the majesty of their lifestyle, the blatant flaunting of their wealth.

"Have you finally come to wish me luck in knighthood?" said a man to her side. Tallis met his gaze; the golden light of sunset suited him better than the tourney yard. His eyes were the palest blue, his hair yellower than her dress. Unvald stood before her, his shoulders back, smiling.

"You aren't a knight," She retorted. 

"I will be, if given your favor." He was amused by her resistance. 

Pig. "What would you want to be a knight for, anyway?" He's from the South. Do they joust in the South, now?

"Living by the sword could give me fame. It's the highest I can rise, following the rules."

"I don't see the function of fame," said Tallis. 

"And the rules?" 

"I don't have a favor to give you." said* Tallis. Lord Einar must have seen her from afar, because he inserted himself between Unvald and Tallis in a façade of camaraderie.

"Is my foeman pestering you for a favor, niece?" asked the Lord.

"He is, and he didn't even ask my name," Tallis replied, voice laden in the same sickly sweet tone that the rich used for coating lies. "Tallis Gideon." She curtsied.  I practiced this for seven weeks. I better look like a lady.

Unvald had forgotten his manners in the unforeseen introduction, confident that Tallis had remembered his name from the tourney. 

"I think this one's run out of clever words," mocked Lord Einar. "We should take our leave of him." He offered his bent arm to Tally, and when she accepted it, he walked her to the end of the gardens and through the open doors to the palace, where the rooms were empty and the air was cool. 

"Are you sure it's alright to be here?" Tallis asked, apprehensive about the possibility of walking into the Queen. 

"As long as you don't steal anything," Lord Einar laughed at his own joke. "I thought a quiet room would be preferable for clearing the air." When Tallis did not understand, he continued. "My nephew tells me so little of his new protégé in the letters he sends. I don't know if I trust this girl who uses my name."

"I wouldn't think trust was something valued here." Tallis quipped.

"He asks favors on behalf of you. He brings you here. You must be of some value." He had stopped walking now, positioned near the foot of a winding staircase, invisible from the doors, and looking Tallis up and down.

"He thinks Valiant has something to offer. I'm only doing what is asked."

"You don't seem the obedient type," Lord Einar said, and Tallis wasn't sure if it was an insult or compliment.

"We all have reasons for putting ourselves in this line of work. Those reasons are how you know to trust us." Because home is not safe anymore. And I need an army. 

"Your disguise isn't so thick as you think it is," said Lord Einar. "I can tell you're a firebrand under your costume."

Tallis reminded herself she had a knife with her.

Lord Einar continued, "Before you do something reckless, a word of advice; we need the Empire to fix the Empire."

Tallis shook her head. "That'll never work. They've made clear what they want." 

"Your Guildmaster is in agreement with me. My family plays nice with the Emperor and his elven w***e, and I am able to help you sad, dirty thieves in the South."

Plays nice with the Emperor. And the Grand Inquisitor. The monstrous coward burning my people.

"You're not thrilled. I see that. But it's for the best."

"What is Goodwick like?" Tally asked. "What does your city do?"

"Port Plockton is the largest port in the Empire. Imports and exports cargo through Smoky Bay."

Tallis had heard enough thieves use polite words to describe their pet crime. "So you're a smuggler."

"I'm a businessman, concerned by the unprecedented meddling of a half-breed girl in our delicate network."

Tallis shifted her weight defensively. "Do you worry I'll ruin this? Is that why you, so discreetly, pulled me away from everyone else?"

"I worry that your loyalties lie elsewhere, yes. Any man with half a brain would suspect you'll soon attempt to run off with a portion of our wealth."

"It was Merek who allowed me to join your guild," Tallis drew close, speech harsh and hushed. "It was he who chose to keep me in the same fort as himself, and it was he who chose me to come here to this cesspit of murderous moneywasters. I came here on guild business, and you are wasting my time."

"You are a disgraceful little gutter rat." Perhaps Lord Einar would have continued, but there was a sudden skittering down the stairs behind Tallis. Lord Einar's cold dark eyes followed the figure until it passed. She, a tall, slender elf with ears as long and sharp as knives, looked up at Tallis quickly as she walked out toward the gardens. The girl had owl-like eyes and white hair, and the structured white fabric of her dress covered every inch of her but her face. She looked scared. 

Lord Einar waited until she was in the gardens before he spoke again. 

"Her." He said, sternly.

"What of her?"

"I don't give a damn what you nab from this palace. No one is holding their breath for the spoils from some masterful heist." Lord Einar pointed out towards the gardens. "If you do anything of use here, earn that girl's trust. She is the key to the greatest possible riches."

As the first day of the tourney wound down, Tallis was eager to retire to their temporary lodgings on the palace grounds, where se would no longer feel the crippling tension that came with keeping up her façade. She could rest, and prepare for the next few days of pretense and subterfuge. She, Merek, and Einar had been assigned to separate chambers within the gatehouse. It was near the stables, and was not very secure and was far from luxurious, but Tallis had not seen anything better. The three Gideons walked to the building on the brick road that had led them to the palace that morning. The thick stablehouse air wafted to them from the evening breeze. Einar muttered bitterly to Merek; something about not being valued highly enough, how they should go ahead and put the dung under his pillow. Tallis did her best not to listen, taking in her surroundings deeply, attempting to memorize every detail of the lavish grounds, both the old Tavaunish and the new Wassentian structures, the latter of which looked out of place--offending statements of superiority that stuck out.

The gate pillars and their adjoining gatehouse were a bold blood red, adorned with iron finials. Like most of Valiant, it was new, and a bungled attempt at improving on the old Tavaunish structures. When the three reached the gatehouse, a guard opened the door for them. Einar went inside first. Merek led Tallis in the door before himself. The guard closed the door behind them without a word, leaving them in the quiet building, the stillness of which was uncomfortable after a day of overwhelming commotion. 

There was a small entryway leading to stairs to the floors above, and a room off to the right. "I will take this room. Goodnight." Einar said, already closing the door. 

Walking up the winding wood steps, Merek said, "I will take this room. The highest floor is the safest. I shall see you tomorrow." and with the closing of his door, Tallis was finally alone. She continued up the steps to the final level. Though the gatehouse was only one floor shorter than the old fort's towers, each room was smaller and the ceilings were much shorter. Tallis preferred it. The walls were sturdy and safe and she was alone and doubly secure in her pursuit of Ralnor and Lola. Merek may have insinuated some doubt regarding her safety, cautioning her to take the highest room in case she should have been discovered and seized, but Tallis felt no fear in the gatehouse. Instead, she felt the terrible allure of the city pulling at her, the need to discover every alehouse and speak to every stranger; to investigate every ginnel, to scrape the city walls, to explore the tunnels beneath the roads, where perhaps Ralnor and Lola were waiting. 

But, for now, Tallis was limited to her little room and to the task of sleep. She undressed and laid down, relaxing her body in a real bed after a very long day of being on her feet. Then came the sleep.

By use of a standing mirror, Tallis was able to dress herself. She had adjusted to the mildly weightier clothes now, and after becoming accustomed to the dress, Tallis appreciated how it fit her form. She could hear Merek and Einar speaking in the room below her, and once she was ready she descended the steps to the ground floor and waited. When she passed the room Merek had taken, she didn't linger--she knew Merek could hear her--she heard that their conversation had progressed into hushed bickering. With Tallis now downstairs and by the door, Einar declared their conversation finished, interrupting Merek, who said no more. After a moment, the men joined Tallis on the ground floor. 

"Let's get going, then. Another f*****g day of watching green boys knock each other around to please their King--Queen, rather, the King is irrelevant. I'm content not to take part." From the stairs to the door, Lord Einar walked and talked and left the gatehouse as quickly as possible, Merek trailing behind. Merek, visibly disgruntled, had Tallis take his arm before they followed the stomping Goodwick Lord. 

The crowd was not as unsettling as it had been the day prior, but the joust quickly escalated to a grotesque affair. Unvald emerged into the lists more boldly than before, gloating as he rode around the tiltyard, grinning stupidly at those gathered outside the tilt. He spotted Tallis and gave her an impish frown before assuming his position.

His foeman was Cyrille Leynich, the unlucky son of the Queen's advisor. Cyrille was scrawny, pimpled, and hollow-faced. He was not much older than Tallis. The first time Unvald threw him from his horse, Cyrille rolled, stood, and mounted his horse again. He trotted to his squire and swapped his lance for a mace. Unvald kept his lance. Cyrille failed to swing his mace at anything but Unvald's shield and the median. Cyrille was quick with the mace, but sloppy. Unvald knew when Cyrille was exhausted enough that he could stop defending and on his first attempt, gave Cyrille one hard jab to the breastplate and knocked him down. Cyrille landed on his side, with a thud and a cloud of dust, his horse continuing without him. This time, Unvald did not offer his hand to his fallen opponent. He slowed to a stop in the corner of the tiltyard while Cyrille's squire reclaimed the dismounted horse. Unvald stayed still, as did Cyrille. Until the boy pushed himself up, slowly and with a struggle. He looked to the box where his father stood beside the Queen, and limped back to the tent. 

Tallis looked up to the box as well, and saw that to the Advisor, Ferant Leynich's other side, stood the owl-eyed girl. The mark. She still looked scared. Perhaps that is just her face? Perhaps she got scared once and it stuck that way. 

The sons and grandsons and nephews of powerful men entered the lists and left with wounded bodies and pride. Hours had passed. While the morning had been crisp, the sun was blazing now, the tiltyard and its audience soaked in golden light. Unvald was pacing to the side of the tiltyard, his legs numb and his flesh simmering under his armor. When his final foeman was announced, Unvald mounted his horse and looked every bit ready to joust again. Once more, he lowered his visor and took hold of his lance. Unvald had, until now, been precise in his jousting. Focused and careful. But Unvald was hot and exhausted, and this did not bode well for his final opponent; unlike the men who preceded him, who were cleanly thrown from their horses, on the first run, Unvald jabbed his lance at the boy, who attempted to block it with his shield. Instead, the lance splintered, and the slanted angle at which the boy held his shield directed the lance to his thigh. As their horses ran opposite each other, the lance penetrated the flesh of the boy's thigh. Many who watched were excited to hear the screams, to watch the blood drip from Unvald's lance after the event had been so tame. Others recoiled. Unvald lowered himself to the ground and carried his helmet under his arm. He walked past the wailing boy and with the help of his squire, calmed the frightened horse. After a moment, his opponent was carried into the tent.

Unvald returned, and drank in the praise from his spectators. All weariness had left him, now. The Queen descended from the box with a knighting sword. Her advisor following with a hawk perched on his arm. 

Unvald eagerly knelt before the Queen.

"Unvald. To be a Knight in Tavaun, you must swear the Knight's Oath. Should you break this Oath, you will incur the divine retribution of Our Lord, and be eternally damned. Will you swear this Oath?" She looked even more a child now, dwarfed by Unvald in his armor, and even more so beside her advisor, whose son was near the Queen's age. Her voice was strong, though. Commanding.

"I will." Unvald agreed, without a moment to ponder the possibility of eternal damnation.

"As a Knight, you shall be devoted to the Wassentian Empire and our Faith. You shall be loyal to your King and Queen. You shall always defend a lady. You shall speak only the truth, and you shall be brave."

Unvald echoed the Queen, swearing the Knight's Oath with sudden solemnity. The Queen tapped the sword either of Unvald's shoulders. When he rose, the Queen's advisor awarded him the hawk for his victory. 

All were ushered into the Great Hall of the Palace, where it was bright and the air was cleaner. Tallis entered the Great Hall with her hand in Merek's arm, Lord Einar walking ahead of them. Almost immediately, Einar removed himself from their company. 

"You should go on. I trust you can navigate this delicately." Merek said, and removed her hand from him with his own gloved hand.

Tallis was apprehensive, but the ability to be in a room like this gave her a happy jittery feeling in her chest. There was music playing at the front of the room, near their new King and Queen. Tallis had heard the odd bard during her and Ralnor's trips to Stoneshore, but never music like this. Music from Wassentia, with half a dozen musicians playing together. Instruments she did not know. New sounds and new people, and all manner of finery, of which she had not ever seen the like, and of which she would have to be comfortable around as long as she had a job to do in the capitol. All around the palace walls were paintings--but not of the Tavaunish rulers whom this palace had housed. Landscapes and seascapes and cityscapes of Wassentia. Portraits of Halcyons, staring down the viewer, gazes cold, adorned in lavender and gold. 

Tallis could see the King and Queen from where she walked. It was strange, to see them, that they were just people. Baby-faced Estrella, firm and scowling, in her flowing pale gown, head weighted with an old jeweled crown. The King Finnegan beside her, who did not appear serious enough. But Estrella held the power here, in her family name and the relationships that came with. Why did she need a King at all, then, if she has the Emperor to sanction her power here? Why do we need her here at all if she does not extend the Emperor's reach? 

To the side of the Queen stood seven girls, each dressed in vastly different clothes from the next, and none of them looked like the Queen. All of them were elves. One of them was the owl-eyed girl. After a moment, she pardoned herself and retreated to the gardens. Tallis followed.

In the gardens, the owl-eyed girl was hunched over a short stone wall overlooking the sea behind the palace. She sighed deeply and looked up at the moons. Tallis approached her, making each step audible, this one time. "You seem troubled. Are you well?" She asked, her very voice fraudulent.

The owl-eyed girl did not startle, did not turn. "You can see them clearer from here. They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"They are." Tallis said, and joined her against the wall. 

"The heretics say they're dragon-gods. That they flew up there and they've been asleep since." She continued. "Of course I don't believe that, but I think the heretics got swept up in the beauty of them." She turned to Tallis. "You don't have to pretend you don't know me. What is it that you want?"

"I don't know you," Tally said. "But I'm Tallis Gideon."

"Merethyl Larkin. Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen."

Oh.

"I apologize for interrupting your conversation yesterday. I behaved impolitely." Merethyl said. 

"I wouldn't dare begrudge a lady. Tallis flattered. "And you were only interrupting my uncle. You should instead consider it a favor."

"This is your first time here, I can tell. Everyone here is a flatterer. You lack skill in flattery."

"Your position affords you the freedom of honesty. I must speak sweetly, even if my words are untrue." Tally retorted.

"And are they?"

"Untrue? Not yet." Tally answered. "After our encounter yesterday, I thought to speak to you. Then you fled the Hall."

Merethyl no longer looked afraid or annoyed. She looked at Tallis curiously. "This court is new to me as well. I sailed with our King and Queen. I am lucky to be here, yes, but I do miss home."

"You have had fear in your eyes every time I've seen you but now. You never answered my question."

"Your question was stupid." Merethyl spat. "I am Lady-in-waiting to the Queen. Of course I am well."

"But homesick."

"It will pass. As I said, it is beautiful here." Merethyl leaned her hip against the wall and looked off behind Tallis to the open palace doors. "What do you think of that new Knight?" She asked, arms crossed, lifting her chin to the palace.

"What do I think of him?" Tallis repeated.

"Yes." Merethyl looked at Tallis, who found her sharp features and stern expression unnerving. Merethyl resembled the surrounding statues, with their deathly pallid skin and long pointed ears. Merethyl's ears stuck out at the sides more than most others. Her gown, white and sturdy like armor, did nothing to soften her. "I noticed how he cornered you yesterday, but I didn't see how that conversation ended."

"I think he considers himself charming. Some fall for it. Not me."

"Interesting. I would say the same of you." Merethyl sneered.

"I acquiesce, my approach was presumptuous. I didn't expect you to be clever." said Tallis, holding her gaze on the ethereal Merethyl. "And you? Your thoughts of Sir Unvald?"

"He's an upstart. A vulgarian." She all but snarled. "I know he won't respect his Oath. But that will be between him and the Lord." Merethyl looked behind them at the palace, and her expression became stern. She straightened. "I must go."

As she fled, Tallis looked to the palace. One of the ladies-in-waiting was summoning Merethyl. Tallis walked behind her, returning to the bright, loud, lively Great Hall.

Anderry Marlcaster, a lower-ranking Lord from the Crystal district, spoke fast and haughtily through long wine-stained teeth, He stood nearly a foot and a half taller than Merek, and his many-layered outfit was so colorful and reflective that it hurt to look at him. But Merek was warm to Lord Marlcaster, even flattering when he felt the opportunity. Lord Marlcaster was very openly a vain man, and took flattery to heart. He was also a favored pawn of the Empire and as such, he was very rich.

 

"I'm ashamed to admit I've completely overlooked your city these last few years," Marlcaster said loudly, and by a few years, he meant fifteen, but what was that for an elf such as he? "I try to keep my business within Wassentia, but you're clearly a smart man."

"Thank you." Merek managed to say before Marlcaster continued.

"Clearly not the dim-witted rebel I thought an independent would be. It would suit us all if you Gideons would consider your Goodwick becoming Imperial territory." Marlcaster brought his glass to his lips. "However that's done." He sipped and looked off to the small group of people who were dancing. 

"I take your point, my Lord, but even if I were the Archduke, I would not be one to surrender my power."

"And there is why I like your conversation. I shall have to plan a visit to Goodwick soon, see the Archduke and all, since he was unable to join us here. The Gideons are welcome in Mazzoli, as well. We would have a riotous time in my city."

"I don't doubt it." Merek said, and he would have continued, but he felt Einar 's hand on his shoulder, guiding him away. 

Marlcaster's attention had been directed elsewhere as well, as all he said was "Mhm." and he gave a wave of his hand.

Einar turned Merek around to meet a woman. Blonde hair adorned by flowers, a lanky figure in a gown the color of seafoam. A Minthe girl? One of the King's three sisters, surely.

"Duchess Bria Minthe, my nephew, Merek Gideon." And with two pats on Merek's shoulder, he left them.

Merek bowed. A new King, sixteen years of age, with no royal blood and no political experience. Likely to be overthrown within the year. "Honored to meet you, your grace. Goodwick has long awaited a strong Wassentian presence in Tavaun's capital. Long may they reign." He will fall, royals will vie for the throne--again. Einar would have me marry the King's sister, offer Goodwick and our connections to her for the Empire.

Bria was pleased by his honeyed tongue. She smiled and swiveled herself a bit. "Yes, long may they reign. I hope their marriage is a happy one."

"I'm certain it will be."

"Do you accept them because they're not elves?" Bria was blunt, but there was no accusation in the question. She was merely...aloof. Naïve.

"I would not reject the leader our Wise Lord chose, not even if they were a," he stammered. "A troll." He gave an outward gesture with his hand, the other remaining behind his back, so as to signify that he did not, in fact, liken her brother to a troll.

Bria giggled. Giggled. "A silly image. I appreciate your answer. I heard that many here did not like them, but liked the elves less. I'm still not sure I understand all of it, if I am completely truthful."

Completely truthful, indeed. "Old grudges, born from a different time. In Goodwick, we don't harbor old resentments. We look to the future, like yourselves."

"Goodwick," She repeated, eyes darting away while she considered. Considered...That if I'm Lord Einar's nephew, how many years does she have to wait until I can provide her with another country? She met Merek's eyes again. Bit her lip. "My family lives on the beach of the Smoky Bay. We've sailed past your city."

"The Gideons are the ones who made it smoky."

The music stopped abruptly. Bria looked to the musicians and to her brother. Merek looked only after she did. The new monarchs were headed to the middle of the Hall, hand in hand, to dance together. A new song began. In his sightline, the palace doors were closing. In trailed two Ladies-in-waiting and Tallis behind them. She caught his gaze and smiled before becoming lost in the crowd. He turned back to Bria. She looked to be older than Finnegan, but younger than himself. The Minthe family had not been among the wealthiest, but one loyal to the Empire throughout the war. They kept the soldiers fed and gave their ships to the Emperor's royal fleet. It was perhaps strange that Bria was not married to a respectable man in Wassentia already, though now she would certainly have suitors from around the world. Bria began walking towards the dancing, but stopped and reached her hand behind her. When it was not quickly taken, she looked back at him. 

"Come on then," she said. Merek accepted.

Lord Einar approached Tally. His mood was better, but still heavy. "Anything useful yet?"

"I can do it. She hates it here. Already speaks freely." Tallis answered.

"You seem sure of yourself. Well, I suppose this is the use in having someone like you with us. She sees a knife-eared girl and the words just pour out." He looked to Bria and Merek. "This suits him, I think. Maybe you can charm your way to succeeding here too." Einar paused. "It will take a lot of charm to get people to look past your breeding, though."

Tallis joined the growing number of dancers. She should put to use all her practice, after all. Act like she belonged here. The next time she and Merek were to return here, the dances would be different. A means of rooting out those who could not afford to prioritize the King's court. Einar had gotten them the information they needed about these ever-changing rules. If a courtier proved over time that they were dedicated enough to keep up, they could earn the King and Queen's favor; be moved to increasingly better accommodations, be invited to a private audience with the King, potentially earn a permanent position in court. Tallis wondered if through deceptive beginnings, Einar intended to build something real. He was a Lord in Goodwick, with a coveted estate and a distinct amount of power; but what Tallis knew, as little as she may have known, was that this was an era of great change in Tavaun, and the most opportune time to get one's hooks into the more elite ranks. 

Tallis floated through the elaborate Wassentian dance, partner after partner. The music, now so close to her ears, made her skin buzz, her arms chill. Where she now found herself was so far removed from the humble home she had dwelled, isolated and quiet save for the sawmill's thunk-ing and hissing in the day. It felt like a dream, which disconcerted Tallis in that as of late, her dreams had been known to shift suddenly from comfort into grisly events. So near her now, even, were the newly minted King and Queen of Tavaun, and though she could not look for long it was apparent that they were happy in the other's company. In their celebration of their reign, they beheld each other as Elof and Lola had. If Tallis knew to what degree they were to blame for the ending of that happiness, she would know to what degree she should feel malice toward them. Tonight, she felt both glad for and malicious toward them, and was settled in knowing she would feel complicatedly about much after this stay in the capital city; complicatedly about the Guildmaster's seduction of the King's sister, and of the Guildmaster himself. Complicatedly about the knowledge that her uncle was in this very room, and the knowledge that she could not speak to him.

After some time, Tallis tired, and removed herself from the shrinking mass of dancing nobles. Merethyl, not far from her, was at the Queen's side and thus entirely unapproachable by Tallis--unless she wished to make an introduction to Queen Estrella, which she felt would be hazardous. Tallis wandered into the hall she and Einar had conspired in the day before, the music and murmured speech from the adjacent ballroom echoed into the corridor, bounding off the arched ceiling, the walls decorated with portraits. As Tallis wandered, she saw they were no longer portraits of the Tavaunish rulers who had lived in the palace, but of the Halcyon family, the Wassentian court, depictions of their faith's epics. The only remnants of Tavaunish kings past was the palace itself.

Tallis walked along the corridor, begrudgingly admiring the fine works in front of her. She stopped in front of one particular portrait: a ghoulish woman, hard-looking, in sturdy, structured regalia bearing an eight-pointed star. Her ears were as tall as her head, as sharp as knives, and dripping with jewels. 

"My aunt, Aelfreda," called a voice behind Tallis. "What does she inspire, do you think?"

"She appears severe," answered Tallis, unmoved. "That it would be unwise to make her an enemy." 

"You are right," said Merethyl, breath on Tallis's shoulder. "She cowed this peasant country, had this city made pure and built anew."

"Everything except for this palace, it would seem."

"She intends to continue throughout the country, should it be necessary. The pox of heresy lingers. Your Goodwick is fortunate not to suffer it," Merethyl placed her hand on Tallis's shoulder, and in response Tallis turned to face her. "When do you return home?"

"I have the pleasure of one more day in Valiant. I leave the morning after," answered Tallis. "But my Lord uncles and I shall return, when next Her Majesty shall receive us."

"You must spend the evening in my rooms, then. Tomorrow night," said Merethyl. "They keep you at the gatehouse, yes? In those cramped rooms with water-swollen walls, where you are close enough to the stables to smell the dung." Her arms were crossed, maintaining her unwelcoming demeanor.

"We are honored to be guests of our new King and Queen," said Tallis, mildly alarmed that she may have sounded ungrateful in the gardens.

Merethyl waved a hand up to silence Tallis. "Yes, of course you are. You will be more grateful in some months, when you are moved inside the palace. Tomorrow, I would have you join me. I have decided to see your jarring boldness as a refreshing attribute."

Author's Note

For clarity, a soket is a "ring-like punch" at the end of a lance.

Edit 6/6/2022: Added ~a dozen pages!? Not perfect but we're getting somewhere!
· A dudgeon dagger just means a dagger with a wood made of dudgeon (usually boxwood). Dudgeon also specifically refers to a kind of wood that is just for the making of daggers.
· The location Merek refers to on his thigh is meant to be the femoral artery. I might revise to make this seem less like she's about to perform fellatio... because it's a little dubious for a minute :)))
· Many new characters!
-Merethyl: The niece of Aelfreda, the Grand Inquisitor and governess of the Saint District of Wassentia, mentioned in the wedding chapter.
-Unvald: Scrappy young man climbing his way up in the world via athleticism & skills useful in battle.
-Ferant Leynich: Advisor to the Queen, but served Tavaunish rulers before the war. Basically, he comes with the house. Last name pronounced like "lay-nick".