Rhonda
The Sapphire Seneschal, Silas Asgarov
The Water Gardens, the Maith Mansion


 The dance was in full swing by the time the Seneschal returned to his court. Many were moving down the grand double staircase to light up the gardens, fountains, and twinkling pleasure barge, which he had ordered be cleaned and prepared for the King. He had seen the fight with Mallsrek, and had been impressed in the fighting of all parties, most of all The Butcher. The South loved it's jousts, but Silas had fallen in love with the Islander Melee. It was excessively bloody, and once a man viewed a bloodsport, it put all other sports to shame. There would be a long royal stargazing session tonight on the pleasure barge's observatory, complete with augers to interpret and oboe players to entertain and soothe, as was in the King's fashion. 

There was a small conglomeration of guests around the high table as well, Silas saw. The Northerners were being taken away. The guards under his King's employ had quickly snapped to attention, before delegating the tasks to the most able. Slowly the regiment ascended up the staircase and brought the prisoners along with them. Of the few Northern guards that had stayed, there was a tension in the air. But when the bruised and battered body of Mallsrek Skaggerly, it was clear that their fighter would not lead them. And if so, then who? Silas had seen that look before. It was not that the fight had gone out of them, but that too much rum had gone in. The Pirate King had been right to sedate his guests.

But on the great balcony, there were more dancers than he could reliably count. Even with the altercation at the high table, more and more people were growing bored with the slow shuffle of armored men. When Valkrin Farensun turned away, most of the swarthy troublemakers did as well, taking partners onto the floor. He had warned the Islanders against dancing as a precursor to coupling, but at the look of things, he should have been warning the Mainlanders. The wives were dancing with just about everyone, from Islander Patriarchs, to members of the royal court, to dignitaries from the Royal Trading Company, to the lesser knights and lords that had attended the ceremony. Even the lords and ladies of Terresol took up ribbons and spun for a song or three. The band of bards played a lively tune, with drums, bells, and rhythmic singing. The tone was foreign, more Araedian than common, but it was easy enough, and the Islanders were dancing in true Tonati fashion, with hips and arms and twirling braids. Even his King, although much subdued in his thick black robes, danced softly, stepping left, left and right, then switching to spin the little Terresi princess in place. She twirled under his fingers, giggling breathlessly and trying her hardest to replicate Bradai's steps, spinning the ribbons in a great arc above her head. When she tripped over her purple silken slippers, he was there to catch and right her, and he gave her a good natured smile. The Protector King, Caderyn, was behind them both, dancing dutifully with one of his King's wives. He seemed to be enjoying himself as much as he was allowed. Soon the song ended and another began, and with a shout, they all seemed to switch partners, and his view of his King was lost in the crowd.

Then there was a pang of guilt. He had forgotten about Ilona. He would have danced with her, if she was here. Their little Princess. All alone. Even he had forgotten. His throat felt dry. She would be safe.

"Puckgordon," Silas looked down to his side to interrupt the boy's dance. Puck would not have seen him arrive, but now he was there, as if he always had been. "I fear it is finally time. This last task and I will see with the King that he forestall your last flogging. When you are finished, I invite you to come back, enjoy the festivities. I will allow you three drinks. One for the leeches, one for the jousts, and one for this. I think it is fair." 

It was a minute before Silas even noticed his dancing partner. 

"Did you find this one along with your snake?" The boy had a desperate desire to save others.
Antonio
A flash of frustration must have crossed his features just then, but he was quick to school his countenance. With a reassuring smile to his sister, he rose to face the Islander.

' Frankly, man, I have absolutely no intention of coming quietly. Not yet, at least. There are certain standards of etiquette that all men of pedigree are expected to follow, yes? From here to the Northern wastes.'

Shaydrin pointed to the King. ' I would so dearly like to know ***Why*** His Royal Majesty sees fit to arrest us? If he has no reason good enough to bare before the ears of all gathered here, then I see no reason why I should consent to this. It would be a stain on my ***Own*** Honour, and on my dear sister's.'
Tom
Calypso Kolgrim 
The ball, Maith Mansion 

Calypso found herself alone once again. Going back to Bastian was out of the question, after his father's *Suggestion.* And honestly she had no interest in having to entertain him again. 

The temmere lady took the opportunity to explore the surroundings, walking down the stairs towards the beautiful fountain. Her gaze traveled around the structure and the gardens stretching ahead of it, wondering if it was allowed for her to just wander for a moment on her own, to recharge and contemplate what her options were at the moment.

But before she could make a decision, she spotted a couple of familiar figures exiting the garden's paths. Maybe it was intuition, maybe old habits, or maybe just her nerves but instinct screamed at her to not be seen. Quickly Calypso hid behind one of the statues decorating the fountain when the two finally came to light. She had been right about hiding. Samsom walked out of the pat, but it wasn't him her eyes had caught on. Silas, the sensical, the snake man, was right beside him and seemed to be saying something before separating from Sir Dumange. Interesting. 

When the knight made his way in her direction, probably to get back to the maith Maison, Calypso was quick to compose herself, picking up a stem glass from a tray that a maid was parading around, and nonchalantly took a sip out of it keeping her eyes low.

It was only when the man had taken some steps ahead without noticing her that she made her presence known "Enjoying the Evening Sir Dumange?" Stated her raising her gaze up to him, poised and elegant as ever, rolling the glass between manicured fingers. " Care for a drink?" A cordial smile resting on her tinted lips as she took another Glass from the same trail, lifting it to him in offer.
Alice
**Katholou of Clan Drase, Bodyguard of Bradai.
Maith Mansion**

As the party at the ball started to die down, the only people remaining being either those who were too drunk to move or those helping those who were too drunk to move, Katholou retreated back into his chambers to change in preparation for his shift as Bradai's personal bodyguard. He was incredibly tired after fighting in the Melee and participating in a ball, all the while wearing armour, but his resolve to serve His King and be at His side during this period of political unrest was far stronger than any physical restraint that the royal guard's body may impose. He washed his face and and looked up into the mirror, fixing his hair a bit before once again putting on his white helmet and grabbing his weapons and signature tower shield as he headed out, walking towards the room in which Bradai stood at a fast pace. He entered into the room through a side door and shared a quick glance with the various members of Bradai's Shield already present before walking towards the one he was supposed to switch places with mechanical and calculated movements. The other guard did the same, exiting from the same door with swift and silent steps, only daring to relax when he got out of view. Katholou nodded with a smile at this display of discipline. It had taken him a while to teach the members of Bradai's Royal Guard the proper decor but the results were satisfying to say the least. He placed himself against the wall and stood there in silence, ready to act at any moment.
Tom
Calypso Kolgrim 
The ball, Maith Mansion 

"And To her Uncle king Caderyn." Added her, offering the knight an empathic smile, seeing his fading away "May he guide her and protect her. " *And with her, us too. * Thought there but did her own best to keep those grim thoughts away, now it was not the moment. It was clear that the same thoughts were running through the nobleman in front of her. Or was it the residue feeling of whatever had been the subject of conversation between him and the Seneschal?

Without further ado, Calypso took what could barely be called a sip, before offering the man a soft look. " I suspect that you aren't finding yourself most comfortable around so many people all at once do you Sir?" Asked her with a half giggle, before leaning delicately on the side, looking Over Samsom shoulder "Unlike your younger brother." Her statement was supported by the figure of the Anchor surrounded by giggling lovely ladies and men with bright but strained smiles. The temerre lady took another ghostly sip, her silence filled with judgment.

Calypso Kolgrim 
The ball, Maith Mansion 

Now he's forgotten you exist.

At that, Calypso let out a genuine laugh, head tilted slightly back, light reflecting on her earrings "Oh gods," Gasped her slowly recomposing, but without losing her smile " How tragic!" Her tone dripped of sarcasm, silver tongue begging to illustrate how much she cared that she had fallen out of the mind of the High Lord. Sure his attention may have been an advantage in some ways, but Calypso had no interest in losing her dignity over someone so... Boorish.

And she was pleased to see that Samsom was also not too fond of his half-brother's behavior. So the reserved and nervous knight was capable of wit, how charming. When Samsom leaned forward she imitated the gesture, bringing them closer, a complicit smile curling her lips, as she listened. "I did notice that he also had brought no gifts for King Bradai, was that also due to intimidation? " Chuckled her with a sharp but playful glance. 

The temerre lady lowered her eyes for a moment, long eyelashes hiding her gaze before she lifted it again, pools of ink looking up at the knight with kindness and a hit of concern " But you aren't like that are you Sir Samsom? Intimidated. " The question held no need for an answer "I saw you approach His majesty and the young princess..." She let her voice lack some of the previous firmness, giving her a more gentle tone. "And asked to hold the skull." 

Everyone knew what had been the fate of Archon Baldarian. Tragic and without much glory, slain by the monster that took away so many fathers. Including that of the young princess. It would have been logical for a son to see the skull of the assassin of his parent to feel sentimental about it... And maybe need a bit of comfort. Calypso's delicate hand touched gingerly Samsom's forearm, almost timid "It must not have been easy..." Murmured her, letting apprehension slip into her voice, comprehension reflecting in her gaze, after all, she would know what it feels... Right?
Antonio
' Holding his skull?' he said with a thin voice, and shook his head. ' No, that **Was** Easy—I'm not afraid of remembering. If you mean the other thing ... ' He gazed down into his wine, sounding tired. ' I found my own ways to survive the grief. Awful ways, but yet, here I am.'

He took a sip, but only a brief one. It occurred to him to clear his throat and ask quite suddenly, ' Would you say your father prepared you well, my lady? For after his ...' He trailed off into a vague gesture with his glass.
Tom
Calypso Kolgrim 
The ball, Maith Mansion 


She listened, tilting her head ever so slightly, that thin layer of concern never leaving her gaze as Ser Samsom explained his feelings. But that veil of sympathy was hiding a calculated gaze as she calibrated where was better hit to crack the soldier's wall and let possible important information dribble out. Another simple smile rose on her tinted lips as he tried to calm what Samsom was probably sure was the worry of a kindhearted lady. Calypso could see that he was, mostly, a good man... But even the purest soul can hide a dark secret. 

His question did not surprise her. So many times had been asked, and it was only logical for him to bring the subject up. Her expression shifted ever so slightly, falling into the role of the mourning lady. 

With a soft sigh, Calypso imitated the knight and sat beside him on the marble rim, Gracefully turning her bust, giving the man a glimpse of her exposed back, red silk clinging to her skin as she let her legs sit elegantly on the stone. Her eyes looked down into the water, the light of the moon reflecting off it illuminating her face with hypnotic silver lines, "If you are asking if I find myself in any difficulty in terms of money," Her voice was still gentle but it had a more sorrowful undertone ", The answer is no." Chuckled her lithe. "My father left me a more than decent heritage and my dowry is perfectly adequate and intact." 

Calypso stayed silent for a moment. "But I don't think that anything could have prepared me for what had happened." A shadow passed over her eyes at the memory, maybe the only genuine reaction since the start of their conversation, and then turned around facing Samsom "But I found my own ways to survive the grief." Parroted her offering him a melancholic smile. 

A second passed in silence, eyes as black as the night sky holding the other's gaze with a gentle demeanor, "You know," Murmured her leaning ever so slightly forward like the Knight had done previously, giving their conversation a sense of complicity "I find myself thinking that, maybe... You and I aren't that dissimilar." Confessed Calypso, with that gentle voice.
Antonio
' What else? ' Samson cast an appraising glance over the two of them, then considered the festivities above the stairs with a sidelong look. ' The world only sees both of us standing uneasy next to more important people. There's another one, I'm afraid.' His gaze fell to hers again, and he offered the slightest of shrugs. ' No offence, lady. He's practically inheriting an archonship, though. The daughter of some foreign lord whose the next best thing to a king would probably be a better match. Or one of the Medarrim sisters. Fair dues for trying him, though. You've got daring, a lot more than the other ladies I've known from the City. I like it.'

He wouldn't have called himself the prince of charmers, but if there was anything a bastard could excel at with the right attitude, it was the humour of observations. Especially him. He didn't talk often, and it showed in his voice, but he saw and heard far more than anyone could know. Far more than most people would *Like* To know.

' Oh, and how could I forget? ' Samsom leaned in towards her, and indicated both of them in turn with a finger. ' The two of us have the same ***Aura of mystery***. Ambiguity. People always wonder when I'm going to go crazy one dark, lonely evening and turn into a mad sorcerer with a coat made of children's skin. And you?'

With a sweeping hand, he gestured to those who were dancing and dining up and beyond the fountain. ' Everyone's on the edge of their seat, waiting for the Exarch to announce your engagement to his son.' He tapped his nose. ' Heard whispers when you were giving up that sword. Might have heard someone comment on how the handsome Bastien seems trifle homely next to his supposed fiancée.' 

He took a sip of his wine, and gave another shrug. ' Just wagging tongues, I'm sure.'
Tom
Calypso Kolgrim is 
The ball, Maith Mansion 


The temerre lady set quietly, nodding along to Samsom's words, listening as his voice grew from that witty murmuring into a more playful intonation. She didn't interrupt him, simply humming along sipping her wine a kitten lick at a time, chuckling at the more interesting remarks. Dark eyes skimming over his face, trying to discern the authenticity of those low chuckles and clever statements. 

But from outside she simply appeared taken by his words, which was partially true.

Was he simply that jovial by nature or was he trying to keep her attention away? And away from what? It was hard to comprehend. Part of her, the part that truly believed in their similarities, hoped that he was being sincere, hoped that the walk with the Seneschal meant nothing, that The young knight had no darkness hiding behind his grey eyes. But that was a naive thought and Calypso could not afford to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

When they leaned towards each other she kept her eyes low, a breathy, soft chuckle escaping her lips as she shook her head, dark curls brushing against her rosy cheeks, framing the oval of her face.

"Oh I'm never going to get rid of those rumors..." Groaned her with an exasperated sigh, bringing a hand to her forehead when the subject of the possible relationship between her and the De Lysse's Heir was brought up, playfulness still tugging at the corner of her lips. "I am glad my supposed audacity brings you amusement sir!" Chuckled her. 

 "But you are right..." Her voice suddenly a murmur. Calypso was still leaning pretty close, not so much to invade his space... But close enough, the pearls around her neck sinning under the candle as she followed Samsom's gaze towards the balcony. "We stand on the line between them, " And turned around, obsidian eyes fixing over the walls of the castle, out where the city stretched illuminated by candles, and the darkness of the sea merged with the night skin in one singular obscured shadow "And them." 

"Never completely rejected, but also never really accepted," Explained the lady, " A gray zone where only a handful of lucky ones can stand." That was a peculiar choice of words, but she believed in it. The dark-haired lady turned around facing The knight, something mischievous now mixed with the softness of her gaze. 

 "There is one more thing that makes us similar, and you forgot about it." Stated her confident, chin raised proudly "We don't have a written destiny." And gently hit her glass against that of her interlocutor. The *Tling* Of the crystal celebrating a silent cheer. That gentle smile turned into a smirk that still held some warmth. "They can make assumptions have expectations..." She chuckled low, the sound mixing with that of splashing water from the fountain "They might think awful things about us, that you'll turn into a horrid sorcerer, and that I'm a greedy gold digger." Her head shook again, just a small movement. " But we have no obligation, no family name to continue, no arrangements to fulfill." 

There was a pause, a moment to let Samnom catch up with her words "I never paid much attention to titles..." Confessed her, a hint of embarrassment on her face. "I pay the due respect where it is needed, but for me, the soul of a person is always going to be far more interesting." *And how useful they can be.* "What they are willing to do is far more telling than their words." 

"It might be naive but..."Calypso's hand rested on her companion's shoulder, cotton soft touch barely present, like when she had touched his arm "...Let them believe what they want to believe Ser Samsom," Spoke softly looking up at him from under long lashes. " But while they struggle to follow the line that was decided for them before their first breath was even taken, you and I have a white canvas to draw on." And smiled. An impish smile that had something sweet and hopeful " We just have to choose wisely."
Antonio
The honesty of those words had purged something from his soul, and he felt at ease for a time. He fed a long sigh into the warm, humid air, swishing his wine this way and that inside its glinting receptacle. Stone-grey eyes sunk to watch the half-hearted motions, like a hand of dice being cast again and again, all while knowing that each die was weighted against the caster. The drink followed the one motion; only the fleeting, fickle glimmers of white light seemed to change.

' People use me. Picking at my brain like ravens to the corn, trying to see what kernels they can snatch up about the court. Believe me, there aren't as many shadows in the Ramna's halls as people like to think. All that are there are hanging over Lutur. So heavy that he couldn't grow into a man.'

***Couldn't grow***. His eyes found those of this unlikely sparring partner, and he slowly shifted to face her, resting a leg across the smooth marble lip of the fountain. She was—and even in his own mind, he made a point of trying to master his adjectives—as enigmatic as she was venturesome. He felt—no, he ***Knew**—that she was keeping her cards much closer to her chest than she was letting on with all this sincere rumination on their bittersweet lives. And if he himself felt so imperiled, then Bastien was at the mercy of the gods alone.

' You do realize what you're sashaying into, don't you? ' he asked with a tilt to his head, sending some stray locks out of place. ' It's lot more than just cosying up to a future exarch. Hell, that's dangerous enough as it is.' He looked at her more closely, scrutinizing the inscrutable recesses of her mien. ' You're throwing your bones into a mighty stew, my lady. Been brewing a long time. Mightn't have seemed that way over your little urban paradise.'

** **

He nodded towards the balcony. ' Your allies up there? They're going to storm the shores of Andallion, cut their way through the lands you grew up around. And who just gave their king the sword to do it? ' He arched an eyebrow, his finger tapping a ponderous rhythm against the side of his glass. 

' You know our people. They'll throw a hundred souls to the grave just to stop Bradai taking one olive grove. It's them who'll be the 'enemy flesh'. And these ones, they're Islanders—you know they'll bring a vengeance to match.'

His tone was level, and he made sure to keep his voice to a murmur so as not to be overheard. Still, he felt his mind groaning by the weight of his own remarks. 

' Sorry if I sound accusing. Don't mean it that way. Just been thinking about all of it a lot lately.' He shrugged. ' Probably more than what's good for me. Guess I'm just wondering if it troubles ***You*** As much as ...'

He let those words run off, and seemed to bat something away with a vague motion of his glass. He was not looking at her any more. ' I can imagine what Bastien's thinking. Cyprien, Lutur. Peraz, maybe.' His dark, heavy brows knitted over muddled thoughts of his sister, apprehension summoned like a sudden summer rain. They dissipated quick enough in the crystal moonbeams, and he turned his eyes on her again. ' Haven't quite figured it out for myself, really. But you ... '
Elissa
Peraz Dumagne 
The Ball, Maith Mansion

And like that, Peraz found herself alone once more, watching the Captain walk off towards the king.

The night was growing late and the drink weighed heavily in her stomach and she no longer felt like dancing. Begrudgingly she made her way back to her seat at Lutur's table. 

"Brother." She mumbled in greeting, though she didn't have the energy to say much more to him.

Peraz reached for the back of the chair to sit and her hand fumbled a moment. Once seated she glanced along the crowd of strangers and leaned back. Was that Samsom she spotted? Her vision blurred and fogged so she shrugged off the thought - she would yell at Samsom for leaving her alone with Lutur later, for now she wanted rest.