《Rebel and King》 Prologue Oly waited. He was tucked up in the dark, creaking rafters of some long-abandoned farmhouse. He could smell the rot in its bones. The windows were half missing, and the razor edges of what little remained cut the moonlight, illuminating the constellations of dust he¡¯d kicked up getting up here. Oly shifted, high above the dirt floor, a position that gave him a good view out of the shattered window and out onto the gravel road. Fog smothered the air, clung to his aspen skin, and made him shiver faintly. Right foot planted on the window sill, other foot braced against the rafter, he hugged the roll of blankets pinched between his legs. Listening for the signal took so little headspace that he soon got bored. He let himself zone out and study the glow of the heavy golden moon through the fog, the warm light thawing through the midnight¡¯s icy blue. It gave his restless mind a moment of peace, even if the slightest sound made him flinch back to attention. What if he missed the signal because he¡¯d distracted himself with pretty lights? No, that was too humiliating a thought to bear. He wasn¡¯t supposed to break into the blanket roll, but the night air coming through the window was making his toes numb. I won¡¯t be able to run with them if I can¡¯t feel my feet, right? After checking the road carefully, Oly untied the string wrapping his bundle of blankets, then pulled apart the waterproofed packaging to extract one: a faded blue curtain. They had to steal what little they could find and stow away, so most of the materials they had for the journey were castoffs. He draped it over his shoulders while he worked at recreating the original knot and wrapping, but it was much easier to pull things apart than it was to put them together with such stiff fingers. He eventually came up with something that would be much harder to pluck away, but at least it wouldn¡¯t undo itself while he was running. Besides, it might be warmer the next time they all needed to unpack. He thought about the others when his mind inevitably drifted again. Laya¡¯s deft and elegant hands, calloused with work yet capable of incredible delicacy. Still, he could imagine her failing to undo the knots once, twice, then swearing until the earth was salted. Oly thought of Leon. He¡¯d forgotten his strength many times and crushed, torn, shattered, and spilled quite a few of his old duties, yet he was overflowing with patience. Ever-tolerant, ever-resilient, he was the mountain that withstood any weather and provided shelter to those around him. Nevertheless, if he couldn¡¯t get the knot undone then he would most likely just snap the string entirely. Jacivik would scowl and cross his arms. What a waste of good string, he¡¯d say, why¡¯d you untie it at all? Practical and analytical, he would still eventually grow to understand eventually. He cared more than he said, so Oly knew he¡¯d forgive a need for warmth and comfort on a night like this. More playfully, Mavani would wrap her arm around Oly¡¯s shoulder in her overly familiar way and tease him for it. Did ya get the shivers, little prince? That thin skin hasn¡¯t thickened up yet, huh? Bet it never will. Never mind that he used to be from the high north, and it was his transport down here that thinned his skin. Oly rubbed his cheek, recalling how many times she¡¯d pinched his cheek to infantilize him. He believed it was her way of caring. Outside he heard the crunch of gravel, footsteps on the path, and he fought down the urge to jump up and check for his companions. Don¡¯t make a damn sound. Don¡¯t do anything until you hear our signal, ok? Laya was very firm on that point. Oly pulled the curtain tighter around himself with a shudder. He¡¯d acclimated to Kishalon¡¯s late summer too quickly, this fall chill ill-suited him now. The signal, where¡¯s the signal? The footsteps are getting closer¡­ Oly rose to his feet and nimbly leapt over to the next rafter, away from the window. The moment his heel slammed down on mossy wood, the beam gave a dangerous buck and creak that reminded him just how old the building was, but he was never practiced with quiet or stealthy landings. He restrained himself enough not to slap his hand against the wall for stability, instead he widened his stance and carefully extended his hand until the pressure of his fingertips against the grain of the stucco wall gave him a point of friction to anchor against. Oly took a deep breath to steady himself and closed his eyes to focus. The rafter¡¯s creaking stopped. He let out the breath. The sound of footsteps on gravel drifted up through the window and crunched in his left ear, then disappeared. He strained his hearing to determine where they went, then his right ear picked up the noise through the open door. He¡¯d tried to close it the best he could when he first arrived, but the hinges were broken and he had no real way to inch it across the floor aside from his own meager strength. He¡¯d only made it move a pace or so. He watched the door from the shadows and froze when he saw three soldiers enter and scan the room. Oblivious, yet looking with obvious purpose. One ventured further to start looking behind and under the pieces of rusty equipment, using his sword to slice open the bellies of various half-rotted baskets. Dust bled from the gashes, mice and mold having long since consumed the harvest within. ¡°Look,¡± the second soldier called. He pointed to the ground, where Oly¡¯s efforts to close the door had turned up the dirt accumulated on the floor, exposing a streak of moist and loose earth. ¡°What do you think?¡± ¡°Within the last few hours, at least. We¡¯re close.¡± Very close. Oly dared not move his body, he cursed the trembling of his legs, the awareness that he couldn¡¯t hold this position forever. He feared the beating of his own heart, though he knew he was the only one who could hear it. He slid his eyes over to the bundle of blankets, then to the broken window. He couldn¡¯t jump through without injuring himself, either by the landing or by cutting himself. It was a bad idea, but he could feel the ghost of movement in his muscles as the impulse to escape hit him anyway. ¡°There are tracks inside, but none going out. It¡¯s been waiting for hours.¡± There was a fourth set of footsteps. ¡°He¡¯s here then? Scrap!¡± Oly forced the breath to freeze in his lungs. That voice was far too familiar. ¡°Scrap, your friends are halfway across the country. We lost their trail hours ago, they weren¡¯t even going this direction.¡± Oly smirked. The attempt to rile him up was a bit too obvious, especially coming from his handler.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Oly was a patient man, but there was no resisting the urge to run when one of the guards finally looked up and practically locked eyes with him. Maybe he would have been cloaked by shadow, maybe he was glowing with pale light. He had to move, regardless. The guard opened his mouth to say something, but Oly didn¡¯t even wait for him to make a noise before he was bolting down the rafter. Before it ran out, Oly deftly used the same route down that he used to climb up; the last sturdy shelf in the barn held firm under his heel, even as he pushed off to the ledge of a stable door. He screamed when the rusted hinges gave way, his ankle rolled, and he toppled over into the clutches of a guard. He only had a moment to register the pain before the man growled with annoyance and shoved him into the wall, making his head knock against something sharp and metallic. He didn¡¯t see what exactly it was, as his vision started fading and warmth dripped down the side of his face. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll heal you up.¡± His old handler reassured as Oly¡¯s legs buckled and he slid down the wall, his friend¡¯s names on his lips. ¡°Again and again, until you¡¯ve taken the punishment for all your little traitors too.¡± --- Oly curled up into a tighter ball on the cell cot. He hadn¡¯t endured thousands of lashes, but his back still tingled and itched from the healer¡¯s artful job of knitting flesh and muscle together. The ache was bone deep, but at least he had no scars. He¡¯d never known how much noise four friends made--even in their sleep--until they were gone, and the resulting silence was suffocating. When he tried to escape that, he was met by his own train of thought. The more he lingered on it all, the more clever it all was, really. Even if he¡¯d wanted to rat, the others didn¡¯t tell him about the real hidden exit, only the obvious one. It might seem odd that a group of slaves would escape where they¡¯d be looked for first, but Oly¡¯s tracks would lead a search party to believe that, obvious or not, it was a lead worth pursuing. They found one slave with supplies for others, so it led the party to stick around and waste time on dead ends. All the while the others were using the smarter routes, evading attention, and taking advantage of the diluted focus. It doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯d intended for me to get caught, the efforts were diluted for me too. Just that I wasn¡¯t in their group. Nevertheless, with Oly left behind to fulfill the job they were being trained for, there was conveniently even less cause to look for a flock of flight risks with loyalty only to each other. However, Oly still believed this was just a mistake. Perhaps he¡¯d misheard the location, botched the directions, or been too quick to run. He still had to face one reality, even if he wanted to evade or justify it. No matter how much it hurt, he knew that the entire time he was punished, his friends were putting as much distance between themselves and Oly as they could. If his handler thought the healer was capable of erasing quite that many scars, then Oly speculated the man would hold true to his threats: a lash for every step. He¡¯d walked for miles to get to that farmhouse. Leon, Laya, Jacivik, Mavani; did they hate him? Did it matter? He was never going to see them again, which left himself as the only one with the authority to confirm. He decided then that no, they didn¡¯t. Couldn¡¯t have. Shouldn¡¯t have. His training would resume in the morning. Nothing had changed, but now he was utterly alone. --- Oly was yanked out of his cell every morning in about the same way you would pull a shirt out of the drawer. The guards opened up the door and used to slap him once on the arm to wake him up, but at this point he was bolt-upright at the sound of the lock turning. They pulled him up by the wrist, pushed him in the direction they were going, and he pliantly went along with them to whatever they had planned for his day. If they went left from his door, it was time to be trained physically. If they went right, then he was to be trained mentally. They went right. He smiled to himself, lowering his head and spacing out for the walk. He liked the behavioral exercises, they felt like a game. Last week he was told that his name was Davir Lask. His trainer gave him a few facts on which to base his identity: he was a Haevan prostitute hired to entertain at a noble lady¡¯s birthday. His teacher pretended to be a guest at the party, and together they improvised a long conversation as he came up with new lies about his life. If he invented something ¡°out of character,¡± she¡¯d smack him once on the back of the hand with a switch. It was hard not to tip his hand that he had a formal education during low-born identities like these ¨C ¡°I don¡¯t know how you know so much about astronomy, Oly, but that hobby attracts attention to Davir.¡± If the details were too boring, then the stories would all blend together and he might mix up his identities. If they were too outlandish, then he¡¯d be punished for being suspicious. Worst of all--something that earned him 5 strikes to each hand-- was getting caught in a lie. She was the only person in this hell who rewarded him for doing well, so she was the only one he genuinely wanted to please¡­ If not for the honey candy, then the praise. He hated knowing what he was being trained for, and that messing up would get him killed, but for now he delighted with the balancing act. In contrast, he disliked the physical training. He didn¡¯t even like thinking about it, full of exercises which made him practice swallowing his pride and doing whatever was asked for him, no matter the disgusting deed. Though it killed him little by little, the agony of debasing himself could only last so long before it had grown old and boring. It was best for his health that he learned to suck it up, high upbringing or no. He slowed to a stop outside the usual door, but let out a sound of surprise when he was pushed forward and around a different corner than usual. He looked up at the guards, but they gave away nothing. He was led into a room with a steaming tub, a few weathered vanities, and several sets of fine clothes hung on pegs. Slaves he¡¯d never seen before were already bathing, dressing, and putting on makeup, but he didn¡¯t know what for. ¡°We¡¯ve invested much time into you, Olymart¨¦.¡± Oly flinched at the sound of his handler¡¯s voice. He only dipped into Oly¡¯s world to wield a whip or check in on his lessons, so the conditioned terror he felt on arrival covered up for his slow reaction to the fake name. Oly turned to regard the monster leaning against the wall. There wasn¡¯t anything remarkable about him: dull eyes, thinning blonde hair, and a belly distending with age. Not tall, not short, not fat, not thin, his arms were muscular with the work of cruelty, and Oly theorized he got that bitter twist to his mouth from overdosing on the drug of belittling others as a break from belittling himself. ¡°Indeed, master.¡± He answered, smoothing his features over into pleasant neutrality. ¡°One year, we¡¯ve trained you. Do you think it was enough?¡± He smiled and replied on the next heartbeat. ¡°I only think of my master¡¯s satisfaction.¡± ¡°Of course I¡¯m not satisfied with you, Scrap.¡± He sneered, pushing off the wall to get closer. Oly¡¯s mind flashed with the usual scenes of violence, but he stood his ground and nothing came. It puzzled him, and then he realized. The handler didn¡¯t want to bruise him. ¡°Yet you¡¯re giving me away today?¡± Oly guessed. Unsightly injury had never stopped the man before--healing magic being what it was--so there must have been no time for it. ¡°The anniversary is today. We couldn¡¯t delay even if we wanted to. I suppose my real question is this¡­¡± He leaned in close enough for Oly to smell his breath. ¡°It¡¯s been six months since your little stroll outside the castle walls. Do you think you¡¯ve been punished enough?¡± Oly took a heartbeat longer to respond. ¡°I only think of my master¡¯s satisfaction.¡± ¡°Four promising candidates lost to the wind, leaving behind the dumbest, weakest, and malformed brat of the bunch. I will never be satisfied, but I would have loved to hear your screams until the day you died. If you fail us, I¡¯ll get that privilege again, and you¡¯ll only wish I would let you off so easy. Do you understand?¡± He threatened. Oly tilted his head to the side. So he can¡¯t really hurt me today, huh? ¡°You talk a lot about training when you only offer punishments, and never any rewards.¡± He remarked. The handler¡¯s hand shot out and grabbed his ear, twisting until the cartilage threatened to pop. Oly wailed theatrically, turning the attention of the entire room to him. The handler stalled for a moment, basking in the audience, yet hesitant to rattle them. ¡°I forgot to mention disobedient.¡± He whispered in Oly¡¯s captive ear. ¡°Do not fail us.¡± ¡°And if I succeed?¡± Oly grunted. The handler hissed out a laugh. ¡°Then we¡¯ll have no more use of you. You¡¯ll be free.¡± Oly froze, stumbling away when his ear was released. He raised a hand to rub it, watching the handler¡¯s retreating back. All he needed to do to begin his journey back home was grab some information? It was going to be harder than it sounded, too good to be true, and his only option. His only shot at freedom was doing exactly as he was told. Why should I care about dooming someone just like you and your king? First Sight The ballroom was bordered by several columns holding up an overhead balcony, just beyond them were archways leading down various hallways. Guests filtered in on the south side of the room, immediately greeted by a line of slaves that came in from behind Oly on the north side. He¡¯d been directed to stand in the shadows of the archway, just to the left and slightly behind the throne so he could be easily called forward when the time came. Oly''s presentation was that of a tantalizing ornament on display. He wore the cloth pattern of a servant slave¡¯s robes, but tailored in sheer blue silk instead. An opaque white sash and a long sleeveless undershirt made the outfit decent. He had midnight blue paint trailing and swirling along the lines and curves of his body, thankfully subtle enough that he didn¡¯t look like a zebra. More than that, there was dark and heavy makeup around his eyes, and pale paint masterfully matched to his skin to hide his freckles. Though it¡¯d been protected and made matte by a dusting of some chalky powder, he was still hyper-aware that moving carelessly would make it wear out, so he was stuck standing ¡°at attention¡± and growing more bored by the minute. At first, he occupied himself by surveying the ballroom. As much as he¡¯d grown to dislike Kishalon on principal, he¡¯d always liked the architecture. The floor was massive polished stone slabs, carved to create contrast between types of rocks he couldn¡¯t even guess at to create the shape of the Kishalon royal crest. Scenes of successful hunts, battles, weddings, and treaties were carved into the pillars with their limbs and movements as fluid as a river, spiraling down the length. He saw one was freshly carved, but of all the historical events represented, he thought it was funny to neglect the time their sourthern neighbor started, won, and ended a war with Kishalon. He believed tonight was the ten-year anniversary of that treaty with Sundenta. Guests milled around on the edges of the dance floor. When they passed nearby, Oly was able to fully admire their form and beauty, but when they were as far away as the other end of the ballroom, Oly could imagine that they were fluttering tropical birds. He could only still see on the other side because all these people were early arrivals, the king hadn¡¯t even come out yet. The music matched the air of anticipation, energy beading on the lip of a glass. Most people were dressed in the local high fashion, heavy with glass beads, warm skirts, and long coats. Others were nonlocal, with exposed arms and thin, flowing clothing. What really set them apart as Sundentan was the gorgeous geometric patterns in their cloth and embroidery. Some of their glittering hair ornaments framed and sculpted tight, dark curls, while others pinned a gathering of many braids in place. Another group arrived, met by a swarm of slaves who came out to take their coats and serve snacks (his stomach rumbled for the smell of cookies, fruit, and chocolate every time they walked past.) Finally, there were enough people that the dancing could begin. Though the door was hidden from his view by the throne itself, Oly knew the king entered the room by the sudden hush of the crowd. In the sudden silence he could hear King Vendon¡¯s boots stepping up to the throne, and then the shift of sitting down. ¡°Esteemed friends,¡± He boomed, ¡°Thank you for coming to the celebration of this auspicious day, and please enjoy yourself on the anniversary of the friendship between our two nations. Long may our peace last.¡± Oly raised a brow. The last time they¡¯d met, Oly noticed he made things awkward by making a dramatic entrance and following up with lukewarm words, but he hadn¡¯t expected the king to write a five-second speech for a party of this occasion. Everyone else continued to look at the king as if expecting him to wrap up the speech, but all they got was a command. ¡°Don¡¯t just stare! Dance!¡± Vendon commanded. The party laughed with various levels of sincerity and did as they were told. It was then that Oly encountered a problem he¡¯d had since conception. He¡¯d grown bored with holding still and found himself shifting restlessly from foot to foot, trying to resist the music. He was well and able to be nothing but a gently swaying statue to the waltzes, but the string ensemble started something quick and playful. He groaned quietly, gave a quick glance around, and assured himself that the only people looking at him were fellow slaves carrying trays away and onto the scene. He locked eyes with one waiting in the wings for the signal to bring out more wine, and started rhythmically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He bobbed his head, snapped his fingers, and pivoted his body on the beat without ever breaking his "at attention" posture. He managed to get a smile out of her. "Don''t sweat off your makeup." She whispered, then got pulled away by the almost inaudible chime of her summons. "Oly!" His handler hissed, his hand raised as if to strike him. Oly flinched, but at that moment they both realized that Oly¡¯s styling for this event was too meticulous to touch, much less mark. Oly smiled mischievously as his handler grimaced. ¡°Your time is up. Go kneel at the foot of the throne¡ªjust as you were told. Nothing funny.¡± ¡°If my master wills it one last time.¡± Oly teased, bowing his head. Before he went, he caught a strange man in a black velvet cloak staring at him, the hood still on. Oly blanched. He caught a hint of a smile beneath the hood, warm and gentle, and the stranger raised a hand¡ªto greet him? Dismiss him? Oly turned away and walked to the throne. Oly only saw the king once before this when he was first bought, he was a pale, thin man in his 50s. Oly and his friends had been stripped naked and lined up in a row for his inspection. He proclaimed that Leon would have been his preference if not for his size, Oly and Jacivik were too tall and skinny, and the target had already rejected a girl, so he didn¡¯t have high hopes for Laya and Mavani. ¡°Do your magic, Ashel.¡± He¡¯d intoned to the handler, and left the room. Oly approached now with his head bowed and a hand to his heart. He did not speak, nor did he expect the king to, he simply folded his legs under himself and sat beside the throne. Oly found that sitting still was going about as well as standing still, but right as he¡¯d begun to drum his fingers on his thigh, his boredom was swept away by the hooded stranger approaching the throne. His black velvet cape glittered with intricate gold embroidery, designs like vines and leaves curled around a hexagonal lattice. First he carefully drew back the hood, and before the full effect could hit Oly, he was blown away by the flourish of unclasping the cloak and pulling it from his shoulders with one hand, billowing in the air before it neatly flipped over his attendant¡¯s arm. The attendant bowed, and the man¡¯s gilded hand gave him a gentle pat on the head. The skin on his arms was fully exposed to reveal their winding, golden tattoos. When the designs waned, they augmented his dark sienna skin, and when they waxed, he was practically plated with gold. His flesh was etched with the symbols of his power, and his long braids were extended with gold wire and decorated chains. A section was broken off from the rest to be twisted in a bun at the back of his head, where a few of the chain¡¯s ornaments created the array of his crown: a golden feather to hold it all in place with its quill, a sun to cap the bun, and pure amber carved to look like flowing honey to wrap around the base. Oly recognized him instantly. The ruler of Sundenta, King Hesiat LonDwuat. So this was the man who caught him dancing. A sense of embarrassed dread settled heavy in his gut. Oly had heard of the king, of course, and by all means they should have met before. King Hesiat was an honored guest to a peace talk of his parent''s, ensuring a war wouldn''t restart and spread. Oly was sick and unable to attend, but he certainly recognized him by the traditional tattoos and hair ornaments so prized among his people. Oly glanced up at King Vendon, who was stroking his beard and still greeting his fellow king. Everything slid into perfect clarity. Kishalon lost the war when a spy leaked the weaknesses of King Vendon and his army. Queen Varola LonDafina perished in the penultimate battle, leaving only her heir. Vendon hoped the teenage prince would be too emotionally shattered by the death of his mother, so his final desperate attacks banked on weak leadership. He received bloodlust instead. King Hesiat had since softened his demands and garnered the favor of Kishalon¡¯s people with gifts of free medicine and honey, but King Vendon tried to turn down most of it. Now, Oly could see the king¡¯s strategy for exactly what it was: symmetrical retribution. A spy for a spy. A weakness for a weakness. A strike for a strike. Dread and morbid anticipation rose up in equal measure. He never expected this role to be his first mark on world history. --- Oly knew he was just up by the throne to artificially inflate the audience¡¯s sense of value for him. Maybe it worked for everyone else in attendance, but personally it rang pretty hollow. It¡¯d been made fairly explicit to him that he was the least valuable option to present to LonDwuat, if he¡¯d indeed read the room right and that¡¯s who he was going to be gifted to. He couldn¡¯t see why not. Several allied or neutral nations gave LonDwuat coronation gifts (Oly¡¯s parents sent that amber hair ornament, he could dimly recognize it now), and there were rumors that some nation (Oly couldn¡¯t bother to remember) sent a pleasure slave, more beautiful than a sunset at sea. Reports varied on whether he abused or spoiled her, whatever the gossip thought was juiciest at the time. Nevertheless, there was one consensus. He rarely touched her. That added up with what Vendon said about Laya and Mavani too, and it was a good reason to get a wide selection of slaves: If you didn¡¯t like her, what do you like? The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Regardless, he was only up here on display to generate mystery, and Oly had to admit that he was preening under all the attention and intrigued glances he was getting. Oly sat up straight for as long as his energy would allow, but the restlessness inside him was desperately eager to lift off and join the fun. After a while he¡¯d successfully shoved it all down, but then the voices of conversations he couldn''t join grated on him, and the energy of a crowd he couldn¡¯t dance with drained him. Maybe it was the sadness, but boredom felt much the same, and he found his eyes drifting shut after a few hours of looking at the forbidden. ¡°Olymart¨¦.¡± Vendon snapped, making Oly jerk stick-straight again. He looked up at the gathering of men in front of him, his thoughts swimming into slow focus: Hesiat, his attendant, another man with a blue cane in regal Sundentan clothes, and Vendon. He blinked hard and smiled. ¡°Forgive me, gentlemen. The fun of watching you is exhausting.¡± He thought he saw a smile flicker across Hesiat¡¯s lips, but Vendon sniffed and gestured for Oly to get up. The attendant offered his hand, which Oly gratefully took. ¡°Let¡¯s move our discussion somewhere more private.¡± --- The attendant and other guest (LonDwuat¡¯s advisor, Oly guessed) did not join the room, so it was just him, Vendon, and LonDwuat. The lounge was dim with muted lamplight, and the furniture all had the lingering smell of pipe smoke. Vendon sat down in an armchair facing the door, gesturing for Oly to kneel on the floor in front of LonDwuat, where he was reclined in a loveseat. Despite being the visitor in unfamiliar territory, he had no qualms with taking up space with wide, open posture. ¡°What¡¯s this about, Vendon?¡± He asked, trying to ignore Oly. ¡°It¡¯s for you!¡± Vendon scoffed, just out of Oly''s line of sight. ¡°I have to say,¡± the visiting king began, looking down at Oly with a halfway-concealed wary expression, ¡°Given our history, a slave is a bold gift.¡± ¡°Do you dislike it?¡± Vendon asked airily. He put up the flawless appearance of relaxation, that pleasant state right after a few glasses of wine where logic remained but cold and worry left. LonDwuat leaned forward and reached down to cup Oly¡¯s chin in his hand, making the slave pull up to one knee so he could study his face. Oly''s heart pounded like a war drum, and though he¡¯d more than grown used to being inspected like this, he still felt his cheeks grow warm under the scrutiny. ¡°I¡¯d heard of grey eyes, but I¡¯ve never seen them. They glow like silver in this light.¡± He remarked, rubbing his thumb along Oly¡¯s thin, strong jawline and gently directing him to look to the side. His hand left with a lingering touch to Oly¡¯s throat. ¡°Quite a find. What is he good for?¡± Oly was careful to target his brief glare at the carpet. Oh, I¡¯ll show you what I¡¯m good for you arrogant piece of- ¡°Whatever you want. It has not gone unnoticed that you leave your current toy a bit cold, so there¡¯s no obligation to engage with the boy carnally or sensually.¡± Boy? This idiot. Come to think of it, Oly was fairly certain he and LonDwuat were only a few years apart. ¡°We focused its training on being pleasant company for you.¡± Oly turned his gaze back to the foreign king, eyes fixed on LonDwuat''s chest when he wasn¡¯t looking up through his eyelashes with a shy little smile. When he caught LonDwuat looking down, he broke eye contact before it could be made with a coy bite to his lip. Will you like that, or do I have to pull out some of the better tricks? ¡°What do you mean by pleasant company?¡± LonDwuat¡¯s voice was ever-so-slightly harder. ¡°Conversation, companionship, confidence. A pretty little thing to hang on your arm as you go about.¡± ¡°Confidence?¡± LonDwuat laughed, getting out of his seat. ¡°A slave I¡¯m meant to tell secrets to. I won¡¯t spoil our night by saying it, but surely you can see how this looks, my friend?¡± Oh, Oly could only imagine the look on Vendon¡¯s face when LonDwuat called him friend. It made a smile curl onto his lips, even as the foreign king rested a hand on Oly¡¯s head in an almost possessive gesture. ¡°A little thing like this isn¡¯t worth your fear.¡± Vendon sighed. ¡°If the gift scares you so, then you can think of any number of ways to keep it from betraying you.¡± With both men facing each other and his back to Vendon, Oly took a deep breath and pressed his lips thin. ¡°Perhaps you could test its obedience? Is there anything you¡¯d like it to do for you?¡± LonDwuat¡¯s touch abruptly left as he walked to the door. ¡°No.¡± He opened it and gestured for the two others to come in. ¡°So you¡¯re turning it down?¡± Vendon asked, his voice deliberately wiped free of tone, but Oly felt a stone form in his throat and his heartbeat in his ears. He¡¯d been so focused on making sure he could do the mission set out for him, he didn¡¯t anticipate it being stillborn. His back ached with the dread. ¡°Oh, no, no. I have gifts for you as well, and much to discuss! Olymart¨¦, was it?¡± Oly startled and turned his head to LonDwuat, trying not to seem too desperately hopeful. By the amused smile he got, he failed. ¡°Could you please wait outside? I¡¯m sure King Vendon has much to tell me about you, I¡¯d hate to make you embarrassed.¡± Hesiat turned to the attendant outside and spoke, something about bringing in the gifts, while Oly was trying to stand up with any modicum of grace while he was numb with relief. He managed, though he swayed a little on the way to the door. He did not bow or look at Vendon as he left the room, only Hesiat. --- Oly wondered if he should mentally refer to the king as LonDwuat, or the literal translation: The Conqueror. ¡°I was expecting a gift, but I didn¡¯t expect him to have the audacity to give me a confidant. Honestly.¡± LonDwuat shook his head as he spoke to his advisor, keeping up a fast stride. His considerably shorter attendant was keeping an admirable pace, but it was clear that his power-walk wouldn¡¯t be tenable for long. Oly willfully kept his distance, being only a few centimeters shorter than the king and possessing oddly longer legs. He knew he should be trying to endear himself as soon as possible, but he was curious where he stood in the king¡¯s eyes. Listening to this rant seemed to be the best way to find out. It took him a moment to remember why Hesiat might be irritated with the gift of a slave at all, especially when the king''s own country was engaged with the trade as well. Oly''s home wasn''t, so the nuances of turning people into objects were lost on him. Then it hit him. Sundenta had a ritual every 20 years to offer slaves a path to freedom, and giving a slave trained to forge long-term intimacy and keep secrets flew in the face of that sentiment. The rallying point for the war, in fact, was this difference in a slave¡¯s rights, so Vendon¡¯s gesture bordered on insult. ¡°If I use you, then I would be in danger if you decided to go-" Oly looked up from his ponderings with surprise, ¡°If I don¡¯t, then I insult Kishalon and do you a disservice.¡± LonDwuat looked over his shoulder to gauge Oly¡¯s reaction to the conundrum, so he sent the king a playful, knowing smile. ¡°It¡¯s not a disservice to sit with you, my king. Surely you won¡¯t reveal ancient secrets by talking about the weather. Or shall I read to you?¡± He teased, not missing a beat. LonDwuat smirked, and Oly could feel a moment of tension¡ªeither he reeled the man in, or the line would snap, so Oly picked up the pace to be closer to his owner¡¯s side. ¡°You can read?¡± LonDwuat chuckled. Oly grinned. ¡°I have more history than most know, literacy lies among it.¡± ¡°What kind of education have you had?¡± Oly winked at him. ¡°Perhaps we can maintain a balance of ancient secrets, my king. It only matters insofar as I can entertain you.¡± ¡°Entertain me?¡± LonDwuat raised a brow. Oly drew in as close as he could without disturbing his advisor. ¡°What, can you juggle?¡± Oly sighed dramatically. ¡°Oh, if only I hadn¡¯t skipped that class.¡± ¡°Sing?¡± ¡°That one too! The birds tried to teach me, but I was only in attendance for the ravens.¡± ¡°Dance.¡± LonDwuat¡¯s voice was flat with impatience. ¡°I have been in the habit of practicing that one, at least.¡± He was mostly experienced with ballroom dances, both leading and being led, so he had a good sense of rhythm in his bones. His natural desire to be seen and heard meant he easily picked up the style meant for slaves to entertain guests with. Slow, sensual, hypnotic. Killer on the abs and thighs. ¡°Can you do anything other than read and practice dancing?¡± ¡°My king, you wound me.¡± He gave an imploring look to the attendant, who gratefully lagged behind so Oly could take his place on LonDwuat¡¯s left. His voice deepened to a sultry purr, ¡°I can keep a bed warm.¡± LonDwuat looked away. ¡°I have no interest in sleeping with a stranger.¡± Oly held a hand to his chest, indignant. ¡°I only think of your warmth, my king! Surely you understand an Aosan¡¯s concern.¡± ¡°At this time of year? I have no use for warmth.¡± ¡°Under crueler suns, by raging fires, still, frost bites without your company.¡± Oly recited, taking in the other¡¯s surprise. If Vendon would be so neglectful as to never give Oly a lowborn, unassuming identity, then he would use his classical education as he damn well pleased. ¡°Lionel, correct?¡± The king guessed. ¡°Correct! We all need warmth, my king. I¡¯m happy to give you my company.¡± LonDwuat snorted, though his eyes softened. ¡°You can certainly recite poetry at me.¡± ¡°Exactly!¡± Oly met cynicism with earnestness. ¡°Please, give my services a chance.¡± He reached out to touch LonDwuat¡¯s arm, who moved it away with a pointed look. Ah, maybe too soon for Sir No-Strangers-In-Bed. Oly¡¯s smile never wavered, only growing gentler from the gesture, as he bowed his head. ¡°Apologies, my king. I only think of your satisfaction.¡± With that, he fell back and let the conversation lie. The attendant took his place again with a nod to Oly as he passed. Oly wasn¡¯t addressed again for the rest of the walk. Although he paid mind to the conversations between LonDwuat and the other two, it didn¡¯t seem to be anything of importance to him, so he only had a half a brain on them. The other half was on looking at the rose bushes standing guard by the path, vibrantly blue and iridescent to show off the organic magic Vendon could afford. He admired the ivy growing on artfully carved trellises, curled over the cobblestone walkway so its vines could give temporary shelter from the sun, though now the moonlight played on leaves like hammered gold. When they grew closer to the gate and the garden paths fell away, hedges lined the way out instead. They started low and got higher as they walked, trimmed to look like the currents of a brook with all its waves and eddies. The palace was tainted, but all this effort was probably the gardener¡¯s pride and joy, not the work of the monsters within. He wanted to admire the veneer of ¡°the evil he knew¡± before he was whisked away to yet another evil he didn¡¯t. LonDwuat spoke directly to Oly again when they reached the carriages, which really should have stopped catching him off-guard. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I asked you if you could dance.¡± The king remarked thoughtfully. Oly tilted his head to the side as the man hoisted himself up into the carriage car, a playful look in his eye. ¡°From what I¡¯ve seen, you move just fine.¡± He winked at Oly, then left him staring at the closed door. He felt more than a little lost as the attendant escorted Oly to his own car at the back of the caravan. Settling In The trip back took three days. Oly was barely allowed outside of the carriage: transporting slaves from one confinement to another was tricky business, so he was closely monitored and not really allowed to talk to anyone. He¡¯d been allowed every necessity and given extra water to wash off his makeup, but the boredom of sitting in a box the size of a closet with nothing to occupy his mind was only marginally better than just sitting in his cell. At least he had a window to watch the countryside change, sliding from deep valleys, to rolling foothills, to golden grasslands, to the many gleaming rivers nourishing Sundenta¡¯s wildflower fields and marshes. Regardless, Oly tried not to be relieved when they rolled through a bustling city and arrived at the castle gates. The journey was over, but his mission began. It was odd to think of this as the true start to his captivity, but there was a distinctly different quality to the way he was treated from the second he stepped out of the carriage and stretched his arms above his head. For one, there was a slave waiting just outside to welcome and escort him inside. The tattoo around her neck--enchanted to make sure she couldn¡¯t leave the grounds in non-emergencies--looked like it was inked with care. Of course it was nothing intricate, but the ink wasn¡¯t bleeding, there were no scars, and the pattern had purposeful consistency. Back in Kishalon, those who were lucky enough not to get a plain black band would have the freehanded doodles of an apprentice inker on them for the rest of their lives. She smiled and talked often, and aside from replying to the odd question, he was far too tired to do anything but nod along. Still, he tried his best to keep an ear out for important info he¡¯d actually have to absorb. She was welcoming him to the castle, letting him know how things worked, and he was certainly following along well enough, but he was also occupied with looking around. Any nook or cranny was a possible candidate to get a message out. She led him through the ground floor until they arrived at an office, brightly lit and almost friendly, but Oly felt something sour twist inside of him when his guide bowed and greeted the man inside, ¡°Master Lucice.¡± Oly followed suit, but now he knew the large, round man behind the desk was their manager. He had heavy bags under his eyes and a sleepy slump to his figure, but until the slave had greeted him he¡¯d been doing some paperwork and sipping tea. ¡°Good morning, my dear.¡± He greeted in turn with a slow, drowsy voice. The manager echoed his chair¡¯s long, low groan as he stood up, and looked Oly over as the slaves straightened. ¡°Who is this?¡± Oly furrowed his brow, but knew better than to talk if he wasn¡¯t being directly addressed. The slave (Hava? Mava?) introduced him instead. ¡°Hesiat was surprised with the gift of a personal slave on his trip to Kishalon.¡± She explained. ¡°Another one?¡± He muttered. ¡°Well, no matter if he sets you to the side too. We¡¯ll find a place for you in that case.¡± He turned around and opened a large cabinet, pulling out a bundle of cloth and passing it over to Oly. ¡°You look like you¡¯ve been in that prettied-up gear a bit too long. There¡¯s a couple pairs of spare clothes, soap, and the sheets for your bed in there.¡± Oly tried not to sag with relief at the mere mention of a bed and bath. Some of the body paint had rubbed off into the inside of his clothes before he could hastily scrub it off, and it had taken on a waxy texture that grated the edge of his awareness. His mind warred between anticipation to get actually, properly clean, or to just lay down in bed and sleep for ten thousand years. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± He bowed his head, then looked at his escort out of the corner of his eye. She smiled and nodded. ¡°Master Lucice treats us well. If you have any questions or emergencies, you can come to him.¡± Oly thinned his lips. ¡°If it¡¯s not out of line to ask, sir, what¡¯s the smallest emergency you¡¯ll tolerate?¡± Lucice waved him off. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. Anything you can¡¯t do on your own and other people are too busy to help you with. I¡¯m also well-acquainted with dumb questions.¡± Oly wondered if that was an invitation to dispel his worries that an answer may be too obvious, or a dig at his question about emergencies, but he didn¡¯t regret it. Knowing himself, he needed clear instruction or he would freeze up and do nothing at all, and risking punishment for a stupid question was better than risking punishment for serious inaction. ¡°Noted, sir.¡± -- Oly was led up several flights of stairs into nondescript passageways, down undecorated halls, and into the staff wing. Even further into the tail of the wing was where the slave quarters lay. She led him into a thin room, which he immediately stepped into and measured the dimensions by taking careful strides from one end to the other: two-and-some paces wide, and five long. There was a bed in the corner keeping the door from fully opening, the bare mattress just big enough for him: thin, and dipped in the middle. A worn nightstand with chipping lacquer sat at the foot, and a small dresser was set next to the bed with its back to the opposite wall. There was a sink faucet and plain ceramic basin under a tiny circular window at the far wall, and an old matted-down rug to catch any stray water. The protective measure was hardly effective if the state of the floors was anything to go by, as the wood was greying and rough around the doorway, trailing into a line down the middle of the room, and subtly warped around the sink. ¡°How is it?¡± She asked. Oly sunk onto the foot of the bed, resisting the temptation less and less by the second to just lay down and pass out. ¡°Better.¡± He breathed, flashing a ragged smile at her. ¡°Much better.¡± --- Oly did not, in fact, fall dead asleep. The moment he laid down, he felt paint and dust in the cracks of his face, and he didn¡¯t want it to get caked with another day. He devoted himself to the titanic task of pushing himself away from the bed before it could tempt him any further, fished out the soap, and turned the creaking tap to fill the basin. Finally, he could peel the clothes off his body. He tossed them in a dusty corner with a grimace, dipped his rag in the suds, and gave a great sigh of relief when the cool, soapy cloth swiped down over the length of his arm. He hadn¡¯t realized how hot the day had become until he was able to wipe it away. The sun was at just the right angle to shine in through the window as he worked, putting a little spotlight on a stain in the wall, but every once in a while he closed his eyes and shifted just so to let the light shine on his face instead. The door opened before Oly could even process someone had knocked on it, so he jumped out of his skin and spun around to look for a towel. ¡°Hey, perfect timing! Didn¡¯t know you¡¯d arrive so early.¡± The strange woman chirped, though Oly was a bit too flustered to look at her. He shook his head. ¡°Oh, I beg to differ.¡± He didn¡¯t want to use his sheets as a towel, but he didn¡¯t see any options, so he just put his washrag in front of his hips and stepped behind the dresser. It wasn¡¯t particularly wide, but it would do. He propped on elbow up on it and turned a strained smile on her. ¡°I- um. Hello, how, ah. Please excuse me. I¡¯m at a loss for words... and clothes.¡± She burst out laughing, making Oly realize just how pretty she was. Her smile was bright, with a round face and pale violet eyes crinkled in mischief. Her hair was a pink shade of blonde, done in a layered side braid with stray curls that escaped and framed her soft face on the other side. It implied lots of free time in the morning but no extra pair of hands to help her. Her collar was more complicated than most, and her tunic was made with fine decorated linen, tailored to a petite yet curvy frame. Overall, cute. She looked inherently endearing in a captivating sort of way, the kind of looks that could make you want to take your guard down and give her the world. However, the playful look in her eyes told Oly she was fully aware of what effect she had and just how to use it. She held out her hand to shake. ¡°I¡¯m Vika!¡± Her voice was high and sweet, just shy of scratchy. He took her hand and shook it. ¡°Sorry, still a little wet. I¡¯m Oly.¡± ¡°I hear you belong to Hessy now?¡± She remarked, pulling her hand back and trying to discretely wipe it off on her skirt. He laughed. ¡°Who?¡± She slapped her forehead and rolled her eyes. ¡°Right, I¡¯m a dumbass. Hesiat! I¡¯ve known him so long now, you know.¡± Oly huffed and hung his head. Ah, right, Haevan has the diminutive ¨Cy. ¡°No, no, I forgot. Yes, I belong to, uh, Hessy.¡± He gave it a moment of thought. ¡°Though, I guess in my language he¡¯d be Hesya.¡± ¡°Hesya?¡± She cooed. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s cute! You have a wonderful accent, where are you from?¡± ¡°Aoskrali.¡± He answered, stuck between getting relaxed in the conversation and painfully aware that he was still naked. ¡°May-¡° ¡°Oh yes, I think I¡¯ve read a thing or two about that place! On the coast, right? Such a colorful people!¡± His lips thinned into a smile at the pun. He¡¯d heard it many times before, each person thinking they were the first, but some part of him still thought it was funny. ¡°In a manner of speaking. May I get dressed?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t stop on my account.¡± She nudged the door shut and sat at the foot of the bed, but made a point to stare at the wall dead ahead. He supposed a slave like her must have gotten used to a certain lack of privacy. Slow to start, he picked up speed as he finished washing himself, dunked his hair in the basin to scrub at his scalp, and shook his head to send the water flying away. ¡°Hey, I don¡¯t think the floor can take any more water damage.¡± She teased. ¡°I thought you weren¡¯t looking at me.¡± He retorted, unsticking stray curls from his face. ¡°Even a blind woman would get wet when you shake yourself out like a dog.¡± He blushed. ¡°Ah, sorry.¡± He turned around to see she was still staring at the wall, with a few dark spots on her tunic from stray droplets. He dug into the bundle of his sheets until he extracted his own clothes. ¡°So, did you need something from me?¡± Her face brightened. ¡°Yeah, I wanted to help get you settled and everything¡­ and I¡¯ve never had anyone in the castle who was like me in my position before, I was kind of hoping we could be,¡± She interrupted herself to turn towards him as soon as the last button was secure, ¡°That we could get along.¡± Oly regarded her for a long moment as he combed his hair with his fingers, trying to make it slick back and stay out of his face. Face to face with the source of the rumors that led to his selection, he was still no closer to the truth of why Hesiat didn¡¯t touch her. She certainly seemed well cared for: skin bright and clear, an active flush to her cheeks, and her smile was yellowed from sweets. He didn¡¯t sense anything maliciously duplicitous from her. He¡¯d been warned that letting people get attached to him, or vice versa, was a dangerous game that he shouldn¡¯t risk, but otherwise there was no harm in company.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. He smiled and shrugged at her, hopping up on one foot to put on a sandal. ¡°Sure, I could use a friend!¡± Besides, he had to admit he¡¯d been excruciatingly lonely these past six months. She grinned and got to her feet, taking him by the hand and dragging him out of his room the very second his other sandal was on. He yelped and stumbled along with her, just managing to grab the doorknob and pull it shut on their way out. ¡°Good! I bet you¡¯re starving, let¡¯s get you a snack! You have to meet Patyi, oh, and Terese! Terese will adore you. Calla too--don¡¯t be intimidated by her, she¡¯s just stoic.¡± Oly was soon lost in a sea of names to remember as he was introduced to every last person they passed by, led through halls and passageways with the ease of a practiced guide. So much for sleeping, but somehow he didn¡¯t mind. --- Terese had a sign on her door saying she was busy, so the first on the list of people to meet was, ¡°Patyi!¡± Vika greeted with a beaming smile. As far as Vika informed him, the old woman wasn¡¯t exactly the head chef, but her and her family had handled feeding a large portion of the palace staff for 30 years--She had elected to stay in captivity to look after the younger people in her family who couldn¡¯t leave yet. Now, Patyi and her children were taking a break after making lunch before the flurry of dinner. Patyi instantly narrowed her eyes at Vika and clapped the flour off her weathered hands so she could pinch the girl¡¯s cheek punitively. ¡°Vikati, where did all my strawberry tarts go, hm? You can¡¯t blame the twins every time!¡± She scolded. The old woman was even shorter than Vika, who had to bend down to the pinch, but she just laughed and held up her hands in surrender. ¡°I only ate a couple! But I do actually think the twins stole the rest. Please forgive me, Patyi?¡± ¡°And you likely enabled them, eh?¡± Patyi let go to pat her cheek, then turned her attention to Oly. ¡°And who are you? Another accomplice?¡± She accused, though her eyes were kind. She reminded him of what grandmothers were like, or so Oly was told. Her grey hair was pulled into a frizzy bun, her facial tattoos (common among Gilarian women) were distorted by the plentiful lines on her face, and her build was stout and powerful. ¡°Olymart¨¦, ma¡¯am. I¡¯m His Majesty¡¯s new kingslave, it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡± Oly clasped his hands and bowed his head to the elder. He looked up to see her smiling fondly. ¡°Ah, Vikati, why can¡¯t you have manners like that?¡± Patyi chided. ¡°He goes by Oly!¡± Vika instantly changed the subject, clapping him on the shoulder. Patyi rolled her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you too, Olti.¡± She reached out to take his hands into her own and squeeze them, dissolving his tension with warmth. ¡°Well, I know what Vika is here for, so I might as well give it to you instead.¡± She joked, letting him go and picking a length of linen from a hook. She pulled ten bite-sized pastries off of a large tray of a hundred at least, folded the linen over them, then tied two corners together to make a little handle. ¡°Welcome to the palace, Olti. Don¡¯t let her force you to share.¡± Patyi handed the package to him with a wink. He held in a laugh. ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Patyi is fine, dear. Was there anything else you two wanted?¡± ¡°Actually,¡± Vika piped up, ¡°I need your help with something.¡± -- ¡°Vika.¡± ¡°Yes, dear.¡± ¡°What did you do to that poor man¡¯s food.¡± ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t even know what I did yet. Just watch.¡± She said now, spying on a garden fountain from a second-story balcony. ¡°He always eats his lunch here.¡± ¡°How do you know that?¡± ¡°His girlfriend told me.¡± Not a second after, Vika shushed him and ducked back into the shadows to watch the unsuspecting man. Oly leaned forward on the balcony railing; as far as he was concerned, he was just admiring the garden. The diverse selection of plants (tropical, succulents, evergreen) couldn¡¯t be assisted with anything other than magic. True to her word, a tall, heavy man strode down the path, deposited himself on the fountain edge, and opened a bundle Oly knew to be a loaded trap. He squinted and leaned forward with morbid curiosity. Even from a distance, he saw the stranger¡¯s broad shoulders relax under the midday sun. He took a deep breath of the lush aromas, and then he took a bite of his sandwich. At first, nothing happened. He chewed. Took another bite. Then his face flushed pink, darkened to red, his hand flew up to his mouth and he set the sandwich to the side. He cleared his throat, which turned into a coughing fit. Oly steadily grew horrified. ¡°Vika, what did you do?!¡± He whispered. She giggled. ¡°Relax, it won¡¯t hurt him.¡± She waved him off. ¡°Yet he appears to be in pain.¡± He snapped, watching Lark reach for his canteen¡ªwhich had several spoonfulls of some white powder poured in¡ªand take a long swallow, but not a second later he sprayed it all out and made a noise of horrific disgust. He looked around the garden, desperation heavy in his teary eyes, until he finally turned to the fountain and plunged his entire head in. Whatever was holding Vika back broke, and she howled in laughter like some kind of night terror. ¡°You look so concerned!¡± She tried to coo. ¡°He¡¯ll be fine-!¡± ¡°Vika!¡± The victim snarled from below, absolutely drenched from the shoulders up. ¡°You hisara mokan ma bandi,¡± ¡°Get fucked, Lark!¡± Vika shouted back. She tugged on Oly¡¯s arm once Lark approached the staff doors, presumably to come up and find them. ¡°Time to go!¡° She giggled. Oly nodded and sped away with her. He didn¡¯t have time to try and memorize the hallways, he was just swept up in the exhilaration of avoiding trouble. Gods, I haven¡¯t had to flee like this since I was a teenager. Never been the one to discourage a prank before, though. Is this how my brother felt? His train of thought was interrupted when Vika turned a sharp corner and collided with someone. ¡°Hey!¡± They barked, though Oly was too busy helping Vika regain her balance to look at them. Much more tenderly, the stranger spoke again, ¡°Oh, Vika. Sorry.¡± ¡°Calla!¡± Vika chirped, jumping up so she could throw her arms around the strange woman¡¯s shoulders. Vika was so short compared to her that her sandals were hovering off the ground. The guard patted her on the head, hooked her hands under Vika¡¯s arms, and gently lifted her back onto the ground like she weighed absolutely nothing. Between that and her sturdy, practical uniform, Oly guessed she was a somewhat high-ranking member of the royal guard. ¡°Why the rush?¡± Calla asked, picking something out of Vika¡¯s hair and flicking it away. ¡°Oh. I put sun pepper seeds and baking soda in Lark¡¯s lunch.¡± Vika beamed, but received utter exasperation from Calla. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that, he needs to build up spice tolerance anyway.¡± ¡°I can reprimand him myself.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t say you couldn¡¯t!¡± Vika tapped Calla on the nose. ¡°I still wanted to teach him a lesson. Want to come with us? I was just showing him around.¡± Vika stepped to the side and gestured back to Oly, leading Calla to turn her piercing gaze on him. Oly felt like she was seeing directly into his head, and wasn¡¯t particularly impressed or disappointed by what she found. ¡°You are Olymart¨¦.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± He answered on reflex. The corner of her mouth twitched up. ¡°I am Calla Hawksong. It¡¯s my job to make sure you two don¡¯t get in trouble.¡± Oly stared at her, glanced meaningfully at Vika, and raised a brow. She treated him to a little half-smile. ¡°Serious trouble.¡± She corrected, and turned her head back to Vika, jingling the silver badges hanging off her braided black bun. ¡°Can¡¯t join, busy.¡± Vika pouted as Calla patted her on the head and continued on her way. ¡°One day I¡¯ll get her to take a break with me.¡± She muttered. ¡°Right. You still got those cookies?¡± ¡°You ask as if I haven¡¯t been guarding them with my life.¡± ¡°Great! Hungry?¡± Oly gave a weary smile. ¡°Enough not to share.¡± She laughed. ¡°I can live with that! Follow me, I know a place.¡± --- Oly and Vika sat beside an old circular tea table, the lacquer worn off on the edges, and the cabinets along the wall needed a new coat of paint. The counter and floor was completely clear of dust and grime, and little colorful bouquets of flowers and weeds were placed in various mugs and cups along the windowsill. If he squinted, he could see the market gondolas paddling home for the day and track the progress of the lantern lighter. Their flames winked into view and glittered across the gentle river¡¯s skin with the dimming day. The sun was just out of view, but the brilliant reds stretched plenty far enough to admire. ¡°This was an old breakroom,¡± Vika explained as she settled into a creaky chair, ¡°Before Hessy cut down the number of slaves. Not a lot of people know about it, so we can do as we like!¡± ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Oh, well, it started when his- after his coronation. He needed a smaller workload and a ton of his mom¡¯s friends left the palace, so there wasn¡¯t as much need.¡± She launched into a longer explanation, but his weariness and exhaustion was turning into a pleasant sleepiness at the white noise of her voice. When he noticed she had stopped talking, he snapped out of it and got hit with a masterful pair of puppy-dog eyes, one hand slowly reaching for the last two cookies. He sighed and relented, pushing the plate towards her. Vika was like a chisel in the dam he¡¯d built around himself over the past year, but he wasn¡¯t aware of just how quickly the cracks would grow. First a trickle, ¡°Can you tell me about where you lived?¡± ¡°Oh, the capital. I think you¡¯d like the churches, lots of crystal prisms.¡± When he got a blank look, he clarified, ¡°lots of rainbows.¡± ¡°Why do you worship a rainbow?¡± ¡°Each color is a different patron god. Mine is Green, for example. Pina.¡± Then a strong leak, ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever made a friend quite this quickly before.¡± ¡°Oh, but you asked so nicely, how could I say no?¡± ¡°I think you¡¯re just an overly friendly kind of guy.¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be the first to say so, but you definitely mean it in a kinder way.¡± ¡°Who said what before?¡± ¡°Oh, I believe the term he used was ¡®bed-busy.¡¯¡± ¡°Ah, he? And who exactly was calling you a slut?¡± He gave her a look of warning. ¡°Someone close enough I let it slide.¡± Then a full stream, ¡°I can¡¯t believe you people worship a rainbow.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe you people worship bees!¡± ¡°That¡¯s different!¡± ¡°Oh, how exactly?¡± ¡°A bee you can touch, you can see it at work. You can eat honey! You can burn beeswax! A rainbow is a rainbow. Oh, whimsical!¡± ¡°Our priests and priestesses are named things like ¡°Brother Blood¡± and ¡°Sister Evergreen,¡± but you have beekeepers. Bee monks.¡± ¡°Hey-¡° ¡°Bonks, if you will.¡± ¡°Hey, wait a second, what kind of name is Brother Blood?¡± He giggled as she went on. ¡°Answer the question, Oly, what kind of name is Brother Blood? What kind of serial killer priests do you have over there?¡± ¡°They get names based on color,¡± He wheezed, she cut him off with a grin. ¡°There are better red things! Roses! Poppies! Rubies!¡± ¡°Kathis is conquest, victory--!¡± ¡°What about Brother Murder Weapon?¡± The longer her names got, the more he laughed, until he was sure he was going to suffocate under, ¡°Have you ever met the humble and peaceful Brother Don¡¯t Mind That Wet Stain On The Wall, Officer, I Swear My Master Is Just Out Gambling Again?¡± Finally, a roar, their voices ever-rising, adding without overriding, weaving in and around each other¡¯s words until their speech was a tangle of laughter and at least 3 topics at a time. He and Vika were well into this mess of a conversation when they heard it from the doorway. ¡°Oh, no.¡± They glanced over to see Calla standing there, looking resigned. ¡°Lords, there¡¯s two of them.¡± She sighed. Vika burst out laughing. ¡°Calla! Come sit down!¡± She shook her head. ¡°Lucice is wondering where you two are.¡± ¡°Bah! You can supervise us, can¡¯t you? No harm in staying up a bit later.¡± ¡°No, no,¡± Oly cut in, rising from the chair and glad someone had broken him out of his focus. He hadn¡¯t realized it while he was having fun, but he was suddenly all-too-aware of how close he was to dropping dead where he stood. ¡°I really need to get to bed.¡± Calla gestured to the door. ¡°I¡¯ll come with you two.¡± ¡°Aw, that¡¯s sweet of you.¡± Vika cooed, getting to her feet as well. Vika continued to chatter at Calla on the way to their rooms, and though Calla only lent back the driest of humor, her posture was completely relaxed around Vika. Lagging behind, Oly could see that she looked away whenever Vika was looking at her, but Calla gazed at Vika whenever the girl was looking ahead. Her smile, when he could see it, was fond. When they came to his door, Oly walked ahead and waved over his shoulder. However, Vika stopped him from opening the door by clasping his hand around the doorknob. ¡°Oly, there was one more thing I wanted to talk to you about.¡± He was about to laugh and protest, but¡ªmeeting her eyes¡ªshe was entirely serious. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I like you, and I¡¯d like you to stick around, but Hesiat is my friend. Do you understand?¡± She tightened her grip. He nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t care who pays you to kiss and tell, and I don¡¯t care if you get spoiled on the way he treats you. If you hurt him, or if you get snippy at me because you think you should have him completely to yourself, let me tell you right now that I¡¯ve been here longer than you. I know how to get rid of threats.¡± He was frozen in her stare, caught off guard by the sudden change, but eventually he managed a slow nod. Lark certainly hadn¡¯t noticed that his food was tampered with until it was too late. ¡°I-I understand your concern.¡± ¡°Great.¡± She released his hand and patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Goodnight, Oly! Sleep well!¡± Vika gave him an apologetic smile before running back over to Calla. He had a hard time falling asleep that night.