Terence
Tiny Vik
Maith Mansion, Tonate Proper

Eight days.  Eight days had passed since Vik came to the Isles.  Eight days of revelry, eight days of torture, and eight days of conflict for the Tiny one.  On one hand, the victims of the court were murderers, and slavers, however something tugged at him.  The court proceedings themselves were the source of the problem.  He had to remind himself that even though Bradai had built this nation from freed slaves, it was still a far cry from the perfect nation he wished to build, even though the mortar and brick of each was the same.  He had to admire the Islanders in a way, they had built a system around their Tide's Bearer Creed, which was the other side of the same coin as his Pilgrimage, so he didn't interfere with the trial, or the whippings, choosing to instead see an example of what his future might hold.

Tiddlywinks and him watched the whippings every day, they also saw parts of the de-handing, and the second proclamation of war, all from the Maith Mansion itself.  Tiny Vik was actually surprised at the convenience.  With the threat of the Northern "Barbarians," And the priority the foreign diplomats held, the only real security he had to deal with were the Sapphire Seneschal's Wards placed throughout the halls.  He didn't recognize the design, so he made a note to visit Azarya and get an account of their take on magic.  Despite the obvious skill it took to craft these defenses, it was a simple matter to bypass them once you knew they were there, yet it gave Vik multiple opportunities to admire the craftsmanship in the glyphs.  Silas was certainly expecting someone, thankfully it wasn't Vik.

Dusk passed on the eighth day, and the Golden Faced man had begun to grow impatient.  He had to admit he had expected some kind of messenger to send for him regarding the King's meetings, expecting to be among them.  *No matter,* He thought as he skipped towards a window, *I can always make my own meeting.*
** **

Security was tight around the King since the lockdown, even a week after the initial threat.  Guards on every door, and, unfortunately, Vik entered many empty rooms in search of the King.  He almost gave up hope, when he spied the door to the King's study.  It didn't pop out as unusual at first glance, however after the sun set he noticed the guards at the door scratching their ears as each servant passed, and the servant seemed to soften their footsteps outside the door.  Curious, Vik made his way to a wall adjacent to the room that had no guards stationed, only a patrol.  Once the black-clad guards passed by, Vik produced a small piece of glowing chalk.  He approached the wall, and drew a small oval barely 4 feet tall.  The wall within the circle pulsed with green light, before fading away to reveal a door.  Vik turned the knob and stepped through, the door fading away as quickly as it appeared once it closed behind the dwarf.

The King's study was a wonder in and of itself.  He had visited Lords before, and many of them had shelves of their favorite books, but Bradai's study truly felt like a library curated by the man himself.  When he entered there was very little light.  A single candle remained, even though there was obvious evidence of multiple candles having burned in the office over years, thick walls of wax forming with the help of heat and gravity at the corners of the mantle, desk, and various shelves.  Vik glanced around, waving his hand to extinguish the last candle flame that persisted.
** **

Bradai was hunched over his desk, snoring quietly, his red wiry beard following the flow of air with each inhale and exhale.  Vik waddled over to one side.  In the darkness he would almost call the scarred man "Cute."  His eyes flitted behind his eyelids as he painted various dreams to take part in.  Vik giggled quietly at the scenario, tiptoeing closer to one of the greatest kings on this side of the planet.  He reached out a hand at the sleeping face, closing his fingers slowly.  He could end it right here.  The Isles, the Invasion, his dream of the Southern Federation against the Mainland.  He could snuff everything out in the time it would take for Bradai to have a bad dream.  He sighed, relaxing his hand, he doubted it would satisfy him.  Instead Vik peered over his shoulder at the book Bradai had been reading, A great and thick tome about the trade of rice over long distances.  The smaller man waddled to the opposite side of the desk, plopping himself in a cushioned chair, and waited.

Time passed, and the sky grew darker as any trace of the sun vanished completely.  Vik sat there for another hour to make sure he could be as dramatic as possible.  Then, with a lift of his hand, he slammed the book closed in front of the sleeping king with a loud *SMACK*!

The Pirate King had been dreaming.
** **

In his dream, was at his desk, in the library, where he had fallen asleep. Silas and Ilona were standing side by side, as they were wont to do when they needed something from him. The chairs were there as well, the ones that he had moved to the breakfast parlor after Ilona had been sent away. She was there now though, talking to him, although she looked older than he remembered. Silas was talking to him as well, but he was younger. He looked the same, except he had that mustache he had grown after they won the war. The room was bathed in sunlight, and when Bradai looked up to see if the curtains were drawn, he realized they were not there at all, and that he was in the past. The gardens were sparse, the trees stunted, the bookshelves empty. He stood from his spot behind the desk. 
"We are moving in," Bradai said, and picked the ledgers up off of his desk. His knees hurt. He was just as old as he'd ever been. 
"_We_ are," Ilona said. Silas gave him the odd side glance, raising an eyebrow. 
"And me?" He asked. His body was old, but his voice was like that of a child. 
"You're going to war," Ilona said, curtly, and turned away. Then she dropped to her knees, layed down on the carpet, and died. There was blood on her face, and on his fists, and in his rings, and on his cheek. He brought up a thumb and wiped it away, and set the mirror down on his table. Men, boys, were standing before his desk. He was not sure where they had come from. They were like the skulls behind his throne. The sun was gone, and there was a storm to take its place. The doors were thrown open and his library was blown to pieces. The pages of his books swirled around him in the wind, but he could not hear the gales in his ears. One of the men was tall, dark, with long black hair tied up into thick braids. His body had pink scars and tattoos the color of the sea. It was the Tides Barer. His eyes were milky white, cloudy and pale. 
** **

His long arm extended and his gnarled fist closed in upon itself until just a skeletal finger, knotted and crooked like a reed, stood erect before him in accusation. When the Tides Barer spoke, it spoke in his father's voice:
"Fer me," The Tides Barer laughed a dry, wheezing laugh. "Fer me. Ye've given me vhese young souls," And Bradai could see that it was true. They were dead. All dead. Even the Tides Barer, whose face was sick and fetid. His face sagged over his eyes, his jaw hung open and his skin had hung off of it like a poorly made mask, heavy with dark blood and rot. The pit of his mouth beneath shone in the darkness like a black eye, and it's teeth chattered dryly: "You were not vhere, to break th' shackles, my boy. We must all do our part. Yer 'atchet is blunt. Sharpen it and 'old it fast to ye, to send more souls down into the depth to continue our war. Our timeless war. Drag yerself deeper, my boy, and drown in the blood. Earn yer name."
"I will not be a slave, not for ye," Bradai said, but  the word "Slave" Sounded like "Son" On his tongue, and then he felt the blood pour out of his mouth. He had bit down hard. He felt his teeth pass his lips, like bobbing bodies in the river. His father had struck him.
"Then ye will be the whipping boy!" Byron-Pat cried and brought his hand down again for another strike.
** **

The resounding thud of a leatherbound book slamming shut awoke him from his dream. In that moment, the entire affair with Ilona and the skulls and the ghostly Tides Barer all became a distant memory and in an instant the Pirate King could not recall exactly what had made him so uneasy. His body felt numb, and for a moment all he could do was open his eyes. The library was bathed in a pale moonlight, and every color in his magnificent library had been turned to grey. The air was cool but there was a warm and floral breeze coming in from one of the tall doors that had been left ajar. For some reason, his first thought was to reprimand Ilona, but she was gone. He smacked his lips. His mouth was dry. 
When he straightened his back and sat at the table, he realized he was not alone. 
"FUCK—" The Pirate King shouted, and in an instant reached under his desk to remove a large knife, about the size of a dirk, to defend himself. "—king..." His voice soften as his eyes caught up with the rest of him, " 'ells..." He petered off, resting the knife on the top of the desk. He was relieved, but not amused. No smile came over his face.
"Well," The Pirate King said. He knew who Tiny Vik was. He did not know _what_ Tiny Vik was. He did not intend to start harboring any Fae who refused to leave. 
"Do you take some pleasure in sneaking up on me?" The Pirate King asked, rubbing sleep out from one of his eyes with the heel of his hand. When he stopper, his fingers curled around the hilt of the knife. "Does it amuse you to see me sleeping? To fucking scare me?  A trained ape, to shout and clap for you? I 'ave 'ad enuff uff clapping and shouting for one festival, fank you." 
A single giggle escaped Vik after the startling display from the Pirate King rising from a dream, and he brought up a hand quickly to cover his mouth with his palm to stifle it.

"Such hostility,"  He began, "I simply woke you.  You're the one making such a fuss about it."
** **

"By the way, *Hello.*" Vik said after clearing his throat, "I must say you're a lot nicer looking than your coin profile."

Vik rolled an Isles Coin he held up for comparison across his knuckles, slowly before dropping it down his sleeve.  He then kicked out his feet, one foot over the other, wiggling his toes under his pink bunny slippers, and reclined against the back of the cushion with his hands behind his head.

"Speaking of, *Loved* The festival.  I have one of my own back in Akno, and I'm definitely stealing an idea or two from you."  He said, with another giggle.

The Pirate King looked at Tiny Vik through tired eyes, "And 'oo will _you_ be whipping in the town square, I wonder?" His voice was dull and bored, but there was a hint of a smile upon his lips. "My people do not need to look at vheir coins to see me. I grace vhem wiff my presence often enuff." The was a brief pause as Bradai leaned forward to get a better look at the man across from him. The golden face looked back at him, the eyes and mouth full of shadow. The holes seemed to exude darkness. It unnerved him. "And I do not 'ide be'ind a mask," He added, continuing: "I 'ave no patience for smalltalk." 

"To be fair, dear king, I am not *Your* People,"  Vik also leaned forward, "And trust me, I am not hiding behind anything."

"Seriously, not even an offer of tea?  Such manners."  Vik pulled his haversack around to his lap before continuing, "Fine then, I came with a simple proposal that threatens to complicate itself.  You and I both have interests coming to a head in Terresol, the way I see it , this leaves us with three very clear options: We can leave each other alone, We might even be able to work together, or if you really wish, we can stand on opposite sides of the field."
** **

The Pirate King was not moved. "I do not wish for anyfing but peace. I'm tired," He shrugged. "Should we fight, forever and ever, you and me? No. Caderyn Vortigern is tha best choice, and 'e 'as an heir. A good friend uff mine, to 'old my interests close to 'is 'eart after I put little Fleur in Sol. My—" _daughter,_ he wanted to say, "Heir will be fighting alongside 'im. If she wins, she gets to come back. If you stand in the way uff vhat, she _will_ destroy you. You should mark vhat well," He was tired, yes, but there was a flicker of something pleased back there, deep in the grey of his eyes. "Make me a better claim vhen peace, please."

"Oh how scary."  Vik wiggled his hands dramatically, "Your ship full of Azaryan Heirs, fighting for a Terreme exile, to support Islander Interests.  You've quite the collection of people from all nations Bradai.  Regardless, I don't think you and he have forever to spend fighting me, my friend, though that would be fun."

Vik began to pick at one of his nails, "Besides, you misunderstood me.  I'm not here, begging for peace on my hands and knees like your fantasy of 'Mainland' rulers.  I'm here with a gift..."

Vik pulled his oaken box from his bag, placing it on the desk.

"...And a warning:  Your petty little invasion will not stop me.  I have shown the people a taste of what is to come and putting your puppet in place will not be as simple as you wish to frame it."  He coughed once, readjusting himself in his seat.  "But I am not here to make you my enemy, just as I am not here to bend the knee.  If you want taxes, we can negotiate a term and percentage, if you want trade, all the better.  However in return you will allow any who wish to remain free of Vortigern rule the opportunity to *Peacefully* Cede.  Maybe then we can be friends, my sweet, I do have a curiosity about that husband of yours."
** **

The Pirate King was not moved, "Vhat is not 'ow it works. 'e is no puppet, just my friend. As much as you Mainlanders would love it to be so, I do not control Caderyn or his niece, the Queen. No." The comment about his "Husband" He ignored completely, as if Vik had not even said it in the first place. His face remained implacable. 

"Did you know vhat Wisdom Serafina offered me the same offer as you, just now? For me to name my price, to involve myself in your ports," The Pirate King pursed his lips, "But I will tell you what I told 'er: Only when my men are in your lands, vhen I shall give you my numbers. You will feel differently about my conditions after I've burnt your grain and sunk your ships."

A brief silence hung between them before Bradai let out a single bark of a laugh. 

"I joke," The Pirate King grinned, "I will need your grain and ships, of course. I would never burn vhem. But..." The Pirate King reached under his desk and grunted, lifting a stack of leather business ledgers onto his desk, atop a treatise on the transportation of rice. The books fell beside the oaken box with a resounding thud. The Pirate King brought his thumb up to his mouth, ran the pad of it across his tongue, and began to flip the thick pages of parchment. 

"A deal wiff my company..." He began, ""Is only good as long as I remain alive and my Isles are secure. And I will only ever remain alive if I 'ave allies to watch my back and keep me safe, aye? I need peace, and order. When my heir comes into my power, the Mainland _will_ attack. Vhey will seek to destroy everyfing I've made. Would you join vhem?" 

"I came here to make a pal Your Majesty and I didn't mean to imply that was my offer as simple as it was.  I wanted you to name your preferred price as the businessman with more experience I don't want to waste your time haggling."  Vik curiously thumbed at one of the ledgers that fell in front of him fascinated at peeking at the order behind the curtain of the "Chaotic" Isles.
** **

"And what kind of friend would I be if I helped gang up on you?  In fact, what kind of friend wouldn't rush to the aid of someone they care about?"  Vik snapped the leather cover he was playing with shut, "From a certain point of view, you could gain a lot from this.  The grateful lands that take up your deal would naturally grow as allies, and you wouldn't have to invade them and put them under a ruler they had problems with.  You would be gaining an ally, have a foothold for your invasion, and quell potential rebellions all with one stone."
Bradai looked at him gravely, with eyes as grey as slate. 
"You do not understand," He said. "When I die, what will 'appen? Vhere will be no funeral. Vhere will be no crying and mourning period. Araedia will call it's banners, from the mountains to the Little Bridges. Every single one uff vhem, from the serfs to tha Kings will put down vhier shovels and scepters alike. Terresol will join, as will the Ibbish, because the Pantheon will demand it and the Lords will take the opportunities granted to vhem," These were old thoughts, that much was obvious. The words seemed repeated, rehearsed, but not often given voice to. These words were the _truth._ "And when my loyal _lords and ladies_ 'ear vhem coming, what will vhey do vhen? Vhey'll try and take 'ostages, rescue vheir stolen daughters and destroy my city in the process. Vhey'll try and steal from my treasury, to do what I did to tha Mad King, because my Islanders are cruel in vheir ambitions. Fires will break out. Fhousands will die before the Mainlanders touch down on the Big Isle."
** **

He grew silent after that. He had to stop himself. " 'oo vhen, will support _you?_ When vhere are enemies on every side, wiff nowhere to go but the lawless seas? Where would you rush to, to save me? I am dead. I do not need friends when I am dead. I befriended Anyanka Durkhan and Astoria 'as brought me nuffink but 'eartbreak and woe. It will fall the moment she passes, unless her son is ready, and I do not like 'is chances as of yet. The world will be dark for all of us, and so we _must_ see the bigger picture. A united Terresol is a force to be reckoned wiff. Vhat is what everyone wants, it seems." 
Again, he grew silent. But there was something in his slate grey eyes, a speckle of silvery blue that flickered enticingly. "But if _you_ would like, what I _would_ like, you will 'ave to wait. Friendships take time, I'm afraid." With a glance, the Pirate King reopened his ledger and flipped back to where Vik had slammed it shut. 
"My price is patience and trust. People want two fings from me. Eivher vhey want my goods or vhey want my guidance, but it does not work vhat way. It is a package, vhey are in a sack togevher. You must take bofh, or none at all. Wisdom Serafina rejected my offer and it will prove to be very unwise indeed. Shall you find common cause wiff 'er?" 
"Trust me, Bradai, I don't require just one of your goods or your guidance, I simply see no reason why we should use blood and steel to carve a line in Terresol between us, when it can all be handled in a civilized manner."  Vik tapped at his chin thoughtfully, "No, I have no intention of finding common cause with the idiots in charge of the Pantheon.  They worship a ball of light, and neglect the human soul, I would see their blight cured."
** **

"I want to trust you, Bradai, but I will not trust the Vortigerns without cause.  I can be patient until you take Sol, I can even play pretend in your idea of a 'United,' Terresol.  As long as I have security against your friend waging another war with my people in *My* Gardens."  He began to stop before something crossed his mind, "Actually Your Kingliness, besides a future for the Isles and your friend on the throne, I'm afraid I don't know what *You* Would like."

The King's eyes narrowed, "You should not trust me. My goal is not the destruction of the Panfeon." He stood from his desk and over to the drink cart in the corner of the room. When he knelt down to unlatch the wicker doors, he placed a hand on the side of his hip and groaned under his breath. He was tired. He would need a drink for this. 
"I will sell you out for a barrel of mealy rice. I will," The Pirate King, then seeming so old, let out a raspy honest laugh. He grabbed a glass decanter of dark brown rum from inside the drinking cart and removed the glass stopper. He poured into one of the silver goblets on the cart's glass surface and took the goblet in hand. He took a small sip and closed his eyes. "I need you to understand the terms of our agreement."
** **

The Pirate King moved slowly across the room and sat down at his desk chair, a large scoping wicker seat with cushions on the arms, back and bottom. "You say you will pretend. Vhat is good.  But I need you to pretend..." The Pirate King paused to emphasize his point, "Forever, aye? The Panfheon is strengfh, do you understand? You are..." He lifted his hand and sought for an answer. Silas had told him something about mages in Terresol, spying on the Dumagne bastard. Was this one of them? He was from the south, that was much clear. Even if he wasn't, he still was, in a sense. Mages were mages, even if they didn't all know each other. _That mask,_ he thought, and couldn't help but chuckle. "You are very droll," The Pirate King said, finally. Then he cleared his throat. 

"But if I wanted droll, I'd get a fucking jester." 

With a grunt, he leaned forward and placed the chalice upon his desk. "I joke," He said, with no emotion. "But seriously? What are you? Tha Panfeon it's an institution. You are..." He shrugged a shoulder and raised a few fingers to poke the sleep out of an eye. "A mask? You want to take down the Panfeon, you 'ave to kill many, many men. Even more knights. You'll take cities and burn vheir most beautiful buildings down tha ground, but vhat will only make vhem angrier. Vhey'll come bubbling up from 'oles in tha ground like angry wasps, buzzing and stinging. Do you know 'ow many men vhey 'ave to kill to stop your rebellion? Just one."

The Pirate King placed his hands beneath the ledger on his desk and began to point out words with a finger.
** **

"Rice, rum, wood," He flipped to another page and continued to guide Vik's eyes up and down the parchment sheets, "Ships, sugar, cotton, salt," He flipped the book around, "I make a profit on vhese fings. Now, tell me where you see "Whims and wishes" Marked upon my ledgers. I act as a King _should_ act. I 'ave no dreams. I do not want anyfing. My existence is a fucking fhorn in the paw of a lion. I 'ave made myself useful, and vhats the only reason I'm allowed to be left alive, do you understand me? So I'm _fucking_ burrowing in. Wriggling." Bradai leaned forward and picked up the chalice, bringing it to his lips and sucking down the rum inside. "If you are 'esitent to pick up a sword, your people are fucking terrified. You should fink about vhat, go to war, and when eventually we do meet again, perhaps you shall know my price, as opposed to asking me to form an opinion on a..." The Pirate King paused and raised an eyebrow, "Are you in bed wiff de Burgh?"

"'I want peace and order, but I'll burn your rice; Trust is my price, but do not trust me; You must look at the bigger picture, but I am focused on only half of that.'"  Vik had lowered his voice an octave to imitate his quotes.  Reaching into one of his sleeves and producing a ripe banana, he peeled it as he continued.

"You are very silly, and you contradict yourself sometimes."  He bit into the banana, a chunk disappeared as he pulled it from the shadow, and his words began to sound muffled as his tongue moved around the fruit. "You're only half right, though, the Pantheon is not strength, it is order, corrupt and vile order, but still order.  Some people use order to construct a facsimile of strength, but one does not depend on the other."  He paused to swallow, "Feyshore believed it to be strength too, and now they're scattered into the Nobles that do nothing but count coins, the mercenaries who became knights, and the Amorothi who worship ancestors and magic."
** **

Vik giggled to himself as he put the unfinished plantain back up his left sleeve when de Burgh was brought up, and he thought about that for a second.  *"Why would he ask that?  Unless de Burgh is moving south soon, instead of waiting for the war to pass."* His last report said there were still pockets of rebellion in Northwind, and he assumed de Burgh would spend a few years crushing them before setting his sights south, obviously that would not be the case.

"Hardly in any case you're thinking.  De Burgh is a bull, and all bulls can be trained, but the tamer is far from being in bed with them."  Vik giggled again, "You are very binary, Bradai.  You run a country like a business so you can measure your wealth with numbers and papers.  Because of this, you apply it to other men as well."

Vik briefly pinched the air in front of him as if he was admiring an invisible insect, and he began to mime writing out something.  When he spoke again, his voice was lacking a small percentage of his usual cheer.

"But I am not a man, I'm not even an idea.  I ***Am***.  Do not mistake my preference of peace for hesitation, Wise One, and when weeds threaten my garden, I am the first to pick up a blade.  How many would they have to kill?  Hundreds of Thousands, Millions, Marin itself.  How many do I have to kill?  Less than a thousand.  Belief and structure are not my enemies, neither is the Sun, my enemies are those that would take advantage of the weak and downtrodden.  I will kill any who use faith as an excuse for slavery.  Put any fancy word you want in your ledgers, the Caste is slavery that they sell you into before you're even born.  If you are a Thorn, then I am a Spear.  Your existence is a nuisance, my existence is a threat."  He took a deep breath, and after exhaling slowly, he had returned to his regular tone.

"I joke,"  Vik quoted Bradai again, and giggled.
** **

"I can pretend for a forever, as long as the Vortigerns spend that forever staying out of my affairs.  Fuck it, why not have Akno be the first to support the new Lord Regent?  If the Grey Hills were to fall, you'd need Akno's supply to last against the North, and the Rumored Conspiracy."

The Pirate King was not impressed. He looked annoyed. 

"You do not know what 'appened wiff Feyshore," The city was a decades old smoking ruin, but the wound was fresh. He moved to say something again, but the words were caught in his throat. For in instant, every muscle tightened and his fists formed into tight balls, as hard as metal. "You don't." The Pirate King scowled and brought the goblet to his lips, only to see that it was empty. A small brown puddle swirled at the bottom of the glass. 

"Hmph," Was all he had to say then. He was thinking of Ilona. 

"Change, _real change_, takes time," He had told his daughter that, in this very room, and he found himself repeating it now. "A ruler is never as beloved as vhey fink vhey are. You'll be taking jobs, lands, lives. You're a fhreat. You're a fhreat to Akno and Akno only, unless you want to carve out a larger piece off tha world for yourself before Araedia crosses over the ridge and crushes you." He placed his hands across his chest and leaned back into his chair, "Hmph"Ing again. His head began to shake, almost involuntarily. He disapproved of the whole affair.

"Align yourself wiff that true heir and tha Lord Regent. Talk to 'im, not to me. My whims and wishes are not a good basis on which I expect the Terresi to live. Do you understand my meaning? Vhey do not like me, and never will. But vhey will come to love 'im, should 'e do what the realm needs. Provide your men, make vhem useful, and you will be rewarded 'andsomely. But you will not defeat Terresol, not forever. And you will never beat tha Panfeon, not so long as you live. Even if you beat vhem out of Akno, you will never be safe,"
** **

The Pirate King shook his head, "No. I 'ave made my bets and cast my lot. It is order vhat I want, not bloody change. I do not even wish to invite tha whraff uff than Panfeon upon you. Vhey'll destroy Akno and rip out your supporters root and stem, although I'm sure in time you'll anger vhem just the same. No," He repeated, "Join the rightful Queen or die in your swamps, but Akno will suffer terribly if you fail. Fight wiff 'im in tha Grey 'ills. Cyprien de Lysse will need every 'and. No one can say vhey care about tha realm if vhey do not fight the coming battle."

He cleared his throat, "I restate my offer. Join the rightful cause. Once it is all stable and orderly, you will get your just rewards. You can not trust me, but you can trust my promises." 

Now it was Vik's turn to not be impressed, however he was far from disappointed.  Truly he had gained an impressive amount of knowledge from the greatest Spymaster in Marin.  He now knew that de Burgh was moving, and that Bradai, or Caderyn rather, planned to stop them at the Sun Gate.  It made sense on paper, but Vik and Derringer weren't exactly faithful the walls of Pemberlum could hold.  No, this coming fight was not going to be decided at one siege.  Air escaped his mask as if he was about to say something, but he thought against it.  He had already struck a nerve against the Pirate King, and if he spent the next hour explaining why he wasn't exactly right, at best it would only anger Bradai, and at worst he'd make another enemy.  Instead Vik giggled again.

"Thank you for the information, Bradai," His message had a hidden meaning of course, "Please, enjoy the telescope, and I hope your Admiral appreciates the new coat I had made for her conquest.  However I feel that now I owe you something else."

He pulled out a marble, but decided against handing it to someone with a court wizard like Silas.
** **

"Water through the grapevines say that Serafina has found the lost bastard Cleos, or at least someone she tricked into thinking he's Cleos.  Rumor has it she was spotted in a carriage with a boy of his description heading towards Sol."  Vik hopped off the chair he'd taken, and relit the candles in the room with a snap as he waddled towards the door to the study.  As he gripped the ajar portal, he stopped and thought for another second.

"'A ruler is never as beloved as they think they are,'"  He giggled,  "I do hope you warned your 'friend' with that message."

With that, Vik opened the door to the hall, surprising the two guards posted there.  One drew a Dirk, and the other stepped back and lowered their crossbow at him.  Frankly, Vik was growing tired of being threatened.

"Put that down, you look like a jester."  Turning to the other one he continued, "Your King's cup is empty."

The two looked into the study for their King's command.

The Pirate King did finally look amused. He crossed his hands over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "Tell the little bastard vhat I enjoyed our talk and let 'em go,'' The two guards loosened up, and the one put his dirk back into its sheath, but just as they had fully relaxed, the Pirate King continued, snapping them back to attention, "And tell 'im vhat if 'e's not in the Grey 'ills, 'e'll be the only man vhat didn't go. 'im and vhis _Cleos._ Vhey will remember 'oo was there."

Vik giggled.

"We'll see each other again, Bradai."  He said as he turned away from the study, and skipped into the hall.

With that, the doors closed behind him, and the sliver of golden light grew smaller and smaller, and eventually reduced itself to nothing. The room was dark again, everything muddled blue and gray.
** **

From behind one of the cushioned recliners across the room, the Pirate King heard something move. From somewhere deep in the bowels of the mansion, in the tunnels that ran under them all, something creaked. _Ilona,_  he thought. He was holding his breath. 

"Hmph," He cleared his throat. "Whatever ghosts and..." The Pirate King rose from his chair and placed a hand on his lower back to crack it, he groaned, "_ghoulies_ 'ave come to visit me tonight, I am reading." 

In return there was nothing but silence. Nothing but the sound of the waves. _Or the blood rushing through his ears,_ 

The Pirate King set down his book on the corner of his desk and left the room. For the first time in a while, he did not want to be left alone.
Lester
Ameia Morrow
Tonate Proper - the Stilts

Ofcourse she was hesitant to tell him her thoughts. Every person with the slightest bit of intelligence knew you had to be very careful when sharing opinions about house Maith and the fact that he, together with others or not, had already worked for Bradai only made her doubt her words more. 'Trust me' wasn't exactly enough to convince her otherwise.
"Innocent people? In the court of Bradai?" The loud exhale through her nose made clear that she didn't consider that very possible. There might have been some nobles from outside the Isles that hadn't done anything wrong here, but you could hardly call them good.
Whether or not he agreed, her attention immediately shifted to the other talk.

"You're from the Witherlands?!" Gone was the Islander accent with which she had learned to speak the common tongue, and for the first time in a long period she spoke Northtongue in something that wasn't prayers. "It's been ages since I spoke to someone from back there- I'm from Reapers Skull!"
Ameia couldn't care less that their homes were about as far apart as you could get within the land. 

But Fabian kept switching up his words, according to her. He couldn't be too bad of a guy, he had taken her blaming him a bit too well for that, and she was inclined to trust him even more now that she finally had the chance to speak to a Northmen, but him mentioning Clan Drase was like a slap in the face.
"You'd better be careful with who you tell that around here." Her voice had gone flat again, knowing this was the point she was supposed to swiftly cut off from this man. Yet she didn't. "If you don't care about someone like me disapproving, you will when you join them."
Matthew
**| Fabian Ambrose |**

Tonote Proper - The Stilts 

He frowned as she seemed to teeter between trusting and untrusting. He hadn't been in the southern isles for long, perhaps a week or two. He noted the distrust of the court- which he assumed was common for most people in the lower castes.. Even himself.

"I- well I suppose. But it was more a knee-jerk reaction that I actively chose. And oh, reapers skull... I haven't been there in quite a while.." He paused for a moment, still poking forward.* "I thought you were from the aisle.." He said with a raised eyebrow, obviously a little off Keter at the blatant lie, he couldn't blame her, but it still was- odd for her just to switch like that. He slowly stopped though when the topic of clan Drase popped up.

"I have been on this isle for less than a month, I didn't know someone like you would disapprove of them." He seemed unbothered by her subtle threat, although she might notice him frown a bit deeper after it. "I need work, without it my reasoning for coming here was pointless. But I have- no knowledge of the isles, so I suppose that may be important when choosing an employer."
Lester
Ameia Morrow
Tonate Proper - the Stilts

"I never said I was from here- I said I lived here, this is my home" She corrected him, lying came easy to her, but she had no intent on lying to Fabian yet and was very keen on the words she picked, "I haven't seen the place since I was a child. But I can't imagine it's changed much from the blurry memories I still have." 
As he slowed down, she did as well, turning to face him. Most of the tensed up behaviour she had earlier had disappeared, they were closing in on her house and she considered these streets as safe for her as she could be in the Stilts. 

She kept her mouth shut for once, seeming to ponder something as she once again took a good look at the man. Ameia liked the fact that she could sketch at least some kind of idea based on people's appearance, but the things Fabian had said and how he looked didn't really add up. She didn't know his status, and it could be that what he was wearing was just new, but he seemed unfit for where they were. His armour was just a bit too sturdy, his sword almost a showoff, the cloak couldn't have been cheap either. The only thing that fit was the blood that had started drying up on his chin and his messy hair.

"Someone like me?" She crossed her arms. Without the slight grin that seemed stuck on her face she'd almost look mad, but it was more a taunt than anything else, "Everyone needs work, but the Isles aren't like the mainland. 'Royal' houses didn't exist until half a lifetime ago. The Privateers and the others that serve the Maiths like to think they're pirates- what kind of pirate takes orders from someone that thinks they have a right to rule everyone?"
The last part came out almost like a sneer, but it was the result of the passion with which the words were spoken. It was almost as if she had been there when it happened. Whether it was true or not depended on what you believed, but for Ameia these thoughts meant everything. Her family had made sure of that.
Joel
Mykolas-Reed Lanterns
The Isle of Lanterns, dock by the Lighthouse Keep

Mykolas stayed near the center of the dock as they walked, keeping far away from the edge. He didn't really trust the thin waterlogged boards to hold them, and the rippling darkness under his feet made him feel queasy. He didn't object, though. *He* Was the one who asked to be here. Tokiel, his personal guard, lead him to the end where a man with a fat gut and a brown beard chewed on a cigar. He peeked their way and immediately shouted, 
"TOKIEL! Why you old mutt, am I glad t'see you still alive!"
The two embraced while Mykolas awkwardly stood at Tokiel's side. As they began to chatter, Mykolas studied the boat currently docked. He'd never actually seen a boat up close before, only pictures and blueprints. It was a small caravel, he knew, hewn from dark teak. The boat rocked back and forth in the water in the same way a bored donkey swayed on its feet. He was afraid of what might happen if the ship bumped the dock. Would it throw them off? Break the rotted wood and plunge them into the water? 
"An' who's this jumpy lil falla?" The dockhand said. "He yers?" He reached over to ruffle Mykolas's hair but Tokiel stopped him. 
"No," He said firmly. "This is Mykolas-Reed." The man just stared at him, so Tokiel added: "Your lord." 
The dockhand did a double take at Mykolas. "Well, I- I beg yer pardon, my... My lord," He stuttered, more in surprise than reverence. He looked back to Tokiel and whispered, as though Mykolas wouldn't hear, "Fer true? I didn' think the Lanterns boy was real."

*Not real?* Mykolas thought. Was he serious? He knew it was strange for a lord's son to be as secluded as he'd been, but he never thought that people might think he didn't even *Exist.*
"We're here to disperse letters," Tokiel said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "One to each lord. News of Mykolas-Argil's death."
"Yea... Yea, fuckin' awful news, that is," The dockhand said, accepting the bundle of papers. "Bu' don't you worry. I'll give these t'the next crews out." 
"You have our thanks," Tokiel said. He glanced at Mykolas, who could feel his nausea mounting. "That's all for the time being."
"Right," Said the dockhand. "You all, you eh, be safe now." His eyes lingered on the boy. 
"You also," Mykolas said with a curt nod. He and Tokiel turned away, and Mykolas was relieved when they finally reached solid ground again. 
"You did well," Tokiel said, but Mykolas didn't think so. 
"He called me jumpy."
"You *Were* Jumpy," Tokiel admonished. "What were you so afraid of?"
"The dock," Mykolas said. "It was badly made."
"Badly made." Tokiel shook his head as he gathered his patience. "Mykolas, it's a dock. They're all like that. You must get used to it." 
"Wha' if I fall in?"
"I'll pull you back out." 
"Wha' if I drown first?"
"You won't," Tokiel said. "It takes a while to drown." When Mykolas didn't seem convinced, Tokiel added: "But we should teach you how to swim. I can't think of a lord who can't swim." 
*I'm standing in front of you,* Mykolas thought.

The letters, now on various journeys to the major lords and ladies of the islands, were all in the clumsy writ of a child and all read the same: 
```My lord father Mykolas-Argil Lanterns is dead. He was murdered by skags. As his son, I have taken his place as lord. The Isle of Lanterns is now under my protection. 
With respects,
Mykolas-Reed Lanterns, Lord of the Isle of Lanterns```
Harvey
Captain Valkrin Farensun 
The Irons, Tonate Proper 

After a few hours, they'd found that the girl had no licensure to practice her business. Admittedly, there were no licensed 'rat-catchers' in the city. 

"We'll give you your papers, but you'll be providing your services to the Guard free of charge, a little thank you to me for not skinning you alive." Valkrin's eye never left the piece of paper he stared at, but never seemed to move over it. It was getting late, and there were a multitude of things he'd rather be doing, none of which contained his actual job.