Queen Immured: Dragons Run My Life, #4

Lindebalgh

3 Tainold, 550 - 12 Dyjorut, 551

1: Jenoele's Palace, Rendekebing

3, 10 Tainold

AFTER THE TRIP NORTH, even the two ’dars Gareth Wilovir had spent in the palace were stifling. In hopes of something, anything to relieve the tedium he faced, he’d seized the idea of observing the doves, the pigeons that carried messages. ’Twill surely be better than listening to the Royals and Ministers prattle about things that canna interest me!

The trip through the Lindebalgh Palace had already taken longer than he’d expected. He followed the guard who’d been asked to lead him to the dovecote, where he assumed he’d find the palace’s pigeons.

The cote was near the top of the palace, standing nearly unattached to the building itself. Construction had begun on the third floor balcony overlooking a courtyard with several pavilions. The openings set into the circular walls gave its purpose away even without stepping inside, where nesting boxes covered the walls.

Gareth wasn't impressed; his dovecote at home held more boxes than this one. Of course, others might exist in the palace.

The kriger who’d led him stood back. Gareth thanked him, then said, You can return to your duty.

Beggin’ yar pardon, milord, can ya find yar way back?

Gareth noted the boy’s lack of confidence; it had been a torturous path once they’d climbed to the second floor. Aye, lad, he said with a grin. I shall not embarrass you. Hie yourself off.

A grey bird fluttered in; Gareth watched with pleasure as the bird found a box and settled there. After several minutes watching, he heard the faint sound of the three-quarters bell, and as it faded, footsteps and a slight rustle in the hallway behind him.

He turned; a girl rounded the corner and walked directly into him. He caught her to keep her from falling, then said, My great pardon, milady. Well met. He stepped back enough to touch his chest. Gareth Wilovir.

She stared for a moment longer than he expected; he allowed his eyes to skitter from her head⁠—black hair beyond her shoulders; pale face, from my unexpected appearance, I ween; tall, almost my height; attractive even in the threadbare feather-covered muslin tunic covering her to her thighs; legs, ah aye, her legs. And bare feet used to walking and not always on smooth pavers.

"Nay, good sire. I beg your pardon. She touched herself between her small breasts. Litta Brams. I pray your forbearance; I must check my birds."

O’course. May I watch? I keep doves myself… at my home.

Her whole demeanor changed; Gareth watched friendliness and pleasure blossom as if the star had lit her from the inside. ’Twould be my pleasure, sire Wilovir. Where is your home?

I pray you call me Gareth. ’Tis in Aberystrad, in the hills to the west and south of here.

She became closed once he said Aberystrad.

What has bothered you, Miss?

You come from Aberystrad? Surely not to discuss pigeons with a… a mere slave.

He caught her arm, but she pulled away. You can ha’e me, if you wish, though ’tis meet to ask my… owner. But I would look to the birds first. She gave him as nasty a glare as he’d ever seen. Worry not. I shall not dash my head on the rocks afore you ha’e your pleasure.

He grabbed again, and again, she snatched her arm back; his fist held her tunic, tearing it from the neck to the waist. This isn't going well, Gareth. Stand away and apologize. Whether or not she believes it, still you must do so. He stepped back one step and spread his arms to the side, open-handed, palms toward her. He dropped to his knee and bowed his head. Truly, Mistress Brams, I beg your forgiveness. I do not wish… He stopped as he realized that he did wish, but not on the terms she expected. I would enjoy your company for anything you would truly offer me. To begin, words would suit. May I help, or stay here out of your way?

You need not kneel to me. She stepped out of the ruined tunic and handed it to him. Take this, if you will, and stand in that alcove. She pointed to a stone niche under the rows of nesting beds. "I will talk with you following my work."

He nodded, wadded the rag up in his hands and stepped into the space as she’d requested. Slave, she’d said. He watched as she went from roost to roost, cleaning the droppings, then distributing feed and grit. Three more quarter-hour bells had rung before she sluiced the water trays out and came to take her tunic from him. She used it to wipe sweat and fluff from her skin, then handed it back.

Ha’e you your own chambers? she asked. I would not e’en talk without a bath.

He nodded. My… quarters are not suitable… I share.

She nodded, her opinion obvious. She confirmed it for him. Nay, nay. I understand. You would not be seen with a slave.

He wanted to hug her, but her earlier words made any contact between them uncomfortable. He reached for her hand, allowing her to finish the motion. After a fiery glare, she placed a finger across his palm. ’Tis something.

I am not embarrassed, he said firmly. Unless o’course, I lose my way and rescuers must save us.

A tiny smile played with the corner of her mouth, but she followed.

If either of them were out of place walking through the palace, it was he. Two of the women they passed had shifts much like Regent Tanial and Queen Miri had donned for the Ministers’ meetings, but most were bare. Four dressed men wore the Palace Guard uniform; three others were as bare as the maids.

Gapten Pryderi and Queen’s Guard Catrin stood blocking access to the chambers Gareth finally found. Are the Regent and the King and Queen all within?

Catrin gave him a knowing smirk; in a different meeting, he would have bandied words with her, but she merely nodded. "With all your pals, Gareth."

Litta now gave him a stare filled with horror. Nay… she whispered.

He cast a stern look at her. You challenge me, that you are unworthy to be seen with me when I greet my friends. Truly, ’tis not so. Lady Guard Catrin, Gapten Pryderi, may I enter? He raised his hand, still holding Litta’s pinky finger. I vouch for her.

O’course, Prince.

He pointed to Catrin, whose smile was smug as ever. You shall pay in the sand, Lady Guard.

What does she mean… Prince?

He handed her through the door. Ne’er mind, Lady Litta. We shall⁠—

They both stopped. Gareth knew his mouth fell open. From the gasp beside him and the reflexive snatching of her hand out of his, Litta’s did the same.

What? she stammered. Maman? Why?

Maman? Is that what she said? Gareth. Miri’s voice intruded on his thought.

He choked, then caught his breath and responded. Aye, Highness.

As you see, Miri continued, "or shall when your eyes work once more, we have a rather larger group than you mayhap expected. I pray you give a formal introduction… both of you and your guest."

He stopped before he spoke foolishly. This is my Queen, asking for a formal introduction. Does she have… she must have reason to require such, when she kens my aversion. My Queen, King Rhion, Princess Regent Saitanne… He laid his fist on his chest. Prince of Aberystrad Gareth Wilovir. My guest… Lady⁠—

Slave. Litta’s word was clear, audible to all. "Do not mince words, my Prince."

He turned and smiled. Her words held almost the contempt he felt at the title.

Lady Litta Brams, he continued, who also claims to be a slave. I pray you forgive us our unseemly intrusion.

As Gareth watched, Tanial turned to a woman he’d seen in recent meetings, but had only heard her given name, Gyda. Minister, Tanial began, but Litta jumped.

Minister, Maman? How? When?

I was about to say, is she your daughter, the pigeon-keeper? The woman had no words; Tanial looked next at a weary man dressed in dusty travel leathers.

Are you… well, Litta? the man said more solicitously than Gareth expected. The man patted Tanial on the shoulder and walked to take Litta’s hands in his.

I am a slave, Liam. O’course I am well.

Ah, ’tis Tanial’s Liam. Weary. Patient, too.

’Tis not true, Litta, Liam said. ’Twas never true. Ne’er shall it be true. Must I take you o’er my knee to teach you this?

Nay, Gapten. ’Twould but embarrass the company and teach me naught. I ken my place, such having been induced so often and forcefully.

He threw up his hands and returned to Tanial.

Then I shall try to teach, Lady Brams, Gareth said, gently imbuing the words with all the strength he had. I beg your leave, Highnesses, Princess Regent, Minister Maman. He picked Litta up and strode to the door where he recalled the bath to be.

Gareth kicked the door closed and swept to the tub. Before he could decide which spigot controlled which temperature of the water, the door opened and Bitte entered. Say naught, either of you. I shall assist and then show you to your room. She gave Gareth a little shove. Sit on the bench by the Lady. ’Twill be a moment. She opened the taps and both hot and unheated water flowed.

While he watched, dumbfounded⁠—and a glance at Litta showed her disbelief as well⁠—Bitte fetched from one of the cabinets lumps of soap and small bottles of oils, and from a closet, a stack of towels almost half her height. She set the towels down on the end of the bench, examined the tub, then danced to stand before them. She held out a hand to each.

Come. The bath is ready. You can go together; ’twill save time, and you should wish to save time. Gareth, remove your leathers else they shall be an otto’dar drying. He stood and as Bitte led Litta into the water he doffed his garments. Bitte gave him a well-come-on-then scowl and he slipped in at the far end. The two girls were intent on scrubbing Litta’s black hair; he was certain the shine would blind him. The thought didn't bother him at all.

He had a much better view of Bitte as the girls worked; she stood behind Litta with her hands working through the girl’s tresses. Bitte’s tan skin was attractive, but while it was a small difference⁠—they were both captivating—he found Litta more pleasing. He accepted that he had no idea why.

Bitte had apparently scrubbed as much of Litta as she would; his reverie ended when she slid her wet body along his and ducked his head preparatory to washing his hair. He fought almost clear until he saw Litta laughing at the picture he and Bitte made. He sat himself up and then set Bitte on her feet and allowed her to apply the soap to his blond hair. Aoife is correct, Master Gareth, you are much fun when… aroused.

I cannot imagine, Miss Bitte, that Aoife even kens the meaning.

Ah, she does, make no mistake. She would have us believe you have rebuffed her, although politely, at every turning.

Miss Bitte, I shall embarrass my guest do I take you over my knee as I should after such words!

With a laugh, she popped out of the tub and ran to grab towels. With Litta wrapped, Bitte dried herself, then caught Litta’s hand and led her to a door at the far end of the bath chamber. Your own rooms, Prince. Hurry; she may start without you! With a giggle that couldn't have been real, the maid raced back to her clothes and pulled them on.

Gareth picked up his leathers and drew the breeches on. Nay, came from the doorway. Fine linen is here for you.

And not for you?

Not for her, he saw as he closed the door.

Litta sat on the bed. The towel lay beneath her.

In a minute, he could examine the rest of the room. Two pitchers stood on the sideboard, along with glasses. She pointed to the open closet. She was right. Dun-colored garments hung within; he grabbed breeches and two tunics. As soon as he had the breeches tied, he took the two tunics to the bedside and handed one to her.

Are you sure, Prince? Am I so unattractive that you wish me covered?

With a grim chuckle, he said, Nay, a thousand times nay, Lady. Forsooth, just the opposite. I wish to protect you… and myself, do I speak the truth. He settled his tunic, carefully avoiding touching her with even his gaze.

Gramercy. Though I am unsure what truth you would speak… There. You may gaze upon me once more, or any⁠—

Any time I wish, since you are but a slave? Nay. Shall not be! Fortunately, he finished before turning; Litta sat in the same position she had, but now inside the tunic.

Up here, she said with a laugh. He dragged his eyes up from their examination of the way the material draped over her body. I understand your interest, though why a slave tempts you so… That I don't ken, at all.

I pray you, don't call yourself a slave.

But I am. How would you ha’e me speak it?

He climbed atop the bed to sit facing her, close enough to touch, but avoiding doing so. Tell me why you call yourself so, if you will.

Maman and Da gave me to the collector of taxes when the bill came due, five winters past. He in turn, sold me to the pigeon keepers’ farm. The overseer told me, afore he dragged me to my space, that the farm owned me til I repaid the amount he had given o’er. O’course, he set my wages to cover the farm’s valuation of my sleeping pad and food. She paused a moment; Gareth found her story both believable and infuriating. They offered good food, I admit. She sighed but he was so angry he barely noticed. For the whole of the five winters, the debt stood, unaltered. To’dar… ’tis unchanged.

I see.

’Tis much the same on your holding, is it not?

Not exactly. I don't bed girls in service⁠—

"I beg your pardon, Prince. He did not coïte with me… then. That happened when the Minister of Finance visited. ’Twas shortly after I arrived. Another girl explained later that those the overseer deems comely are offered to the Minister as a way to keep favorable supply arrangements in place with the crown. She bowed her head. The Minister apparently took a fancy to me, though insufficient to have me in his apartments. Still, on each of his visits, I⁠—"

Stop! Enough. I ken your belief.

She slid along the bed preparatory to getting off. I shall return to my dovecote, Prince. You ha’e little interest in a slave, and none in a slave used o’er and o’er.

Before she made good on her words, Gareth came out of his shock to grab her arm. When he ended once again with her tunic in his hand but not her, she gave him a look he didn't understand, and then said, You would rip this one off me also? Truly, you may command what e’er you wish. You need not ruin it.

Regole’s balls, Litta! I fear…

She stood beside the bed with her hands on the hem of the tunic. She could have been preparing to pull it over her head, or simply smoothing it. What could a Prince of Aberystrad fear from me, a⁠—

Don't say it! He joined her standing, but across the bed from her. Kenning but two or mayhap three things of you, I am stricken. I want you aside me always! That is my fear.

She tipped her head and gave him an appraising gaze. Truly? He nodded, the motion barely visible. Then we should talk, so you may learn enough truth to relieve you of your concerns. She came around the foot of the bed and directed him to a pair of benches fronting the window. Sit. I shall open the window.

When she’d done so, she sat on the second bench, facing him. You may ask whatever you wish, Prince.

You also, Lady. Your maman, the Finance Minister?

I guess. I am unaware except what the overseer tells us. He said the King and Queen are dead, and took us all to the pyres. The new King… Jenoele, isn't in the palace and no one says where she might be. And Princess Miriajona has wed the King of Aberystrad… Her hand flew to her mouth. ’Tis them… she breathed, gesturing toward the door. … is it not?

Aye, ’tis.

You ride with them? For them?

I ride with them as a boon to my sister. She worries that even together they have not the winters nor the experience to survive this sojourn to allow Lindebalgh to celebrate with their princess.

They do seem young.

He laughed. And you miss, how many winters ha’e you seen, to make such a claim?

She drew herself up to glare at him. "I have eighteen winters, Prince, not that it matters one whit how many I ha’e."

A veritable babe, then. His smile was honest. Still, she… nay, she is not too young; I am too old to match her. Still, we can talk. Tell me of your Maman, and then your pigeons.

I shall start with the birds. Maman pitched me out; I do not think on her o’ermuch. She stopped and looked up; Gareth followed her glance but saw nothing unusual in the ceiling. When he brought his eyes back, her gaze was down, staring in the direction of her hands, twisting the fabric of the tunic. Nay, she said, her breath catching as she spoke the single syllable. She cried as did I when the collector took me.

She turned her face toward him; with a quick violent swipe she wiped her cheek. "Afore that… Her position in the Ministry allowed me to study more than most other children, though I had fewer than ten winters. My Master… my teaching master, I mean, gave me letters early, afore I reached ten winters, and numbers⁠—you ken, arithmetic⁠—at the same time.

He wished for me to begin university in the city here… actually, he wished me to be in university in Slot Minear in the west where they study geometry and astronomy, which he was trying to teach me. I loved the learning, though not as much that my friends could na follow… their parents were not lords or in the ministries.

He sat, stunned. While both Glyn and Meinwyn had enjoyed school and their studies, he had done barely enough to prevent the tutor from reporting him to their parents, and no more. Not that he couldn’t; it didn’t interest him. Even to’dar, he needed his overseer to manage the accounts of the household and the coca growing. But she… Litta seemed devastated by her inability to… That all ended when you went to the doves, I reckon.

Aye. No one had a desire for me to ken anything more than the proper care for the birds. The thought made her smile, a little. ’Twas great fun during that learning, but ’twas no more than three thir’dars.

He decided to keep more thoughts to himself rather than have her think he was trying to woo her with schooling. He believed it meant too much to her to be used that way. Gramercy for that sharing.

With a quick look, she dismissed the pain and settled herself on the bench. Da’rien. Now, I was to speak of the doves. She described how she raised the fledglings, training them by traveling away from the palace for longer and longer flights. I am limited by the overseer. He demands a guard ride with me, and we may go only about twenty leagues from the city. Except three or four times each year, I can take them two ’dars ride, about forty leagues.

And vandrefalk? We have many in the mountains. Ours find pigeon most tasty, I reckon, based on the alacrity with which they swoop down and strike. He gave her a wistful smile. ’Tis as a mate of mine said. ‘Do not allow a bird to fly if you cannot stand to lose it.’

She nodded. Truly. We ha’e not so many of the hawks here, but in the uplands… I release three or four with the same message, hoping that all survive, expecting that at least one will.

A rap on the door interrupted their sharing of feed recipes. Bitte peeked through the door. Ah, Gareth, Lady. Good. You are not… engaged.

Would it matter, were we?

Nay, she admitted. Dinner begins no matter our actions. The Queen requests your presence. The two of you shall sit between Tanial and Miri.

That’s the head of the table, he protested.

Nearly. Tanial has placed Rhion⁠—the King, she said in an aside to Litta⁠, at the head. She shrugged. ’Tis as I am directed. You may ask the Queen, do you dare. She looked them over more closely. Afore you ask, Lady, your garb suits. You may feel overdressed, but you shall fit. She came through the door and closed it. Quickly, she had Litta’s hair bundled into a long fall at the back of her head. There. Shall not drag in your soup.

Gramercy. My tunic?

Is fine, although heavier than most. Both the Regent and the Queen affect rather shorter… camises, but the King’s pronouncement requires only… Are you comfortable in that, milady?

As to the garment, aye. The rest… I fear not.

You shall be fine then. Gareth, I look to you, as do the Regent and the Queen, to keep the Lady comfortable and relaxed.

How shall I do this, Bitte?

She shrugged, her hands to her sides palms up. "How should I ken? I am but a lowly maid, unfamiliar with the wiles men may use as they seek their goals."

Litta laughed at Bitte’s impassive delivery, but Gareth grumped. That beggars belief, Miss Lady-at-Arms. She gave him an open-eyed glare. Aye. The Queen and the Regent both warned us of your prowess, and Lady Metha’s. Even Lady Aoife is not to be trifled with.

Best you recall it. She gave him a coy glance. They told you Liam trained them first, did they not?

As he nodded, he said, Not directly but I did hear it.

Bitte put an arm around Litta’s waist. With her leave, we shall do the same for this Lady. Now, the Regent holds dinner while we blather.

Does my Maman join the Regent?

Some minsters do, Lady. As to Minister Brams, I don't ken. I reckon it shall not matter. After the Prince, both the Regent and the Queen protect you.

After nearly an otto’dar of meetings, and minutes stolen to spend with Litta, and those explosions mocking Samhain, Gareth Wilovir could hardly recall his first dinner with Litta, but their conversation yester’dar stood bright in his memory. She’d made such an impression that he’d tracked down Lady Bitte, Tanial’s Lady-in-Waiting, and nearly begged for her help, since the Regent was ‘indisposed’, she’d told him.

Now he stood uneasily outside the small audience chamber. Bitte had promised she would bring the Regent so Gareth could discuss Litta’s future… her future as a non-slave. Not a slave! he insisted silently. She’d almost fought him over it; she’d been told she was so often over so long… being free wasn’t real to her. I pray Tain can give her the assurance she craves.

The footman approached and bowed to him, then opened the door and showed him in. In another moment, the man led a small group of servers with pitchers and trays of breads and fruits. The servers looked at him, but he kenned enough to wait for the Regent.

The half-four bell sounded softly as he waited, but the lacquey didn’t open the door again for four minutes. Gareth stood and looked out the window; palace denizens moving about on their business didn’t interest him.

Finally, the door opened and the footman looked through. Gareth made his way from the window to the chair.

Tanial followed the footman, and he bowed.

With a smile and a wave, she took her seat; he bowed again and said, Gramercy, Highness, for this audience. May I pour you either caffe or wine?

You may pour a mug of caffe. Whilst you do, explain your need of an audience, if you will.

Regent Tain, you ken I ha’e been about the palace in the company of Lady Litta Brams. I ha’e⁠—

Hold a moment. Tanial sipped, then continued, I do not see the Lady.

Nay. She awaits our words.

Tanial rolled her eyes, and Gareth frowned. Not a good beginning.

Nay, Prince, Tanial said. We shall not speak words concerning Lady Litta in her absence. You are a Prince of Aberystrad, and a fine one, I ween, but you carry privilege of the crown even if you do not intend it. Do we speak of Lady Litta and you, then both of you shall be present, to agree or not as you both will. I shall wait til the quarter afore bell. Go.

He bowed once more and left the chamber. Regole’s balls, he cursed silently. He stomped⁠—though taking care that he made little noise⁠—to the staircase and then to the dovecote where he’d left Litta. A few minutes to convince her to join him before the Regent would be worthwhile, but he seethed at the delay. And from the idea that Litta needed to hear her fate herself, to speak for herself rather than accepting what⁠— His stupidity almost cost him his footing. O’course she must speak for herself! ’Tis what I ha’e been saying… and not doing! Fool!

He rapped gently on the door, and Litta opened it as if she’d been holding the latch in her hand waiting. What does she say?

"You must be part of our discussion."

Her expression fell as though her favorite pigeon had not returned. She denies you, then.

Nay. Nay, he repeated. "As is meet, she will not accept that I speak for you, to tell her your thoughts and wishes. You must speak yourself."

She hugged him. I fear doing this, Prince.

He hugged her in return, gave her a warm kiss then extended his hand. Take my hand; we shall stand together.

Tentatively, she reached to take it. He squeezed tenderly, then set out for the audience chamber again.

Back at Tanial’s door, he nodded to the footman, who announced and bowed them in.

Tanial returned their bows, then said, Well met, Litta. I hope Gareth spoke with you.

Aye, Highness. She took a breath, and he listened as the words surged out of her. He has purchased me from the farm and now I am his slave. Gareth frowned. This is not what… I am pleased with that, she continued, but he is not. He shall travel with the King and Queen as they return to their home, and he wishes me to travel with him and them. I am willing… nay, happy to go with him.

That is my question answered, Tanial said. But there must still be a… problem?

Aye! Gareth tried not to rage, but his voice still rose. He pushed calm on himself. "I purchased Litta’s documents to remove that encumbrance and allow the overseer to fill the pigeon-keeper’s position. ’Twas repayment of the debt; I did not intend purchasing her. A person cannot be bought or sold!"

We agree. What would you have me do?

"As Regent, you can free her. Eliminate the supposed bondage created when the tax collector accepted her."

I see. And you, Lady Litta, do you agree? Do you believe this necessary?

He held his breath.

Aye, Highness, I do. I hear the words that Gareth speaks about women and men being bought and sold, but… But I lived that life for five winters. I pray authority that… She blushed. May I approach you, Highness?

You may. We shall take ourselves to the window.

At the window, Tanial stood facing back into the room. Gareth stared back at her, but forced himself not to make it a challenging glare. Litta stood just to Tanial’s side, close, positioned so she could whisper in the Regent’s ear. He could still hear the faint sounds.

"I hope for an authority to speak these words, that I am no longer bound. But she or he who speaks so… You ken Gareth needs these words to be true, so he and I shall be happy. He is⁠—"

He gains you does he speak true. Tanial’s voice was normal. You worry he would speak so for that reason, even if it were false.

Litta sagged; Tanial clutched her into a hug and flashed Gareth a look: Stay there! He fell back, retrieving the step he’d taken, Aye, Highness, Litta murmured. I fear you or another might lay a warrant on me claiming I am still a slave.

Tanial nodded, then said, Gareth, fetch the footman. Then, find Rhion and ask him to attend us for a moment. ’Tis not formal, tell him.

When the footman peered in, she said, Tell the Seneschal I require a scribe.

Before the lacquey ran off on his task, he pointed down the hallway. Three doors down, Prince. Tha Guard shall carry yar request.

Gareth hurried in that direction, one door, two and he stopped at the third. Two guards stood there, looking curiously at him. I request King Rhion attend the Princess Regent.

With a nod, one of them stepped into the King’s chamber. He had barely closed the door before he opened it again. Ya may enter, Prince. He bowed and stepped aside.

Gramercy, Gareth muttered as he hurried in. "Tomi, Princess Regent Tain requests you attend her. I… We, Litta and myself, we ha’e asked her to finish Litta’s life as a slave."

Miri’s red head popped through the door that in Gareth’s apartment led to the bath. In a second, the whole of Miri followed. "We shall go. I cannot imagine that either Tain or Tomi wish any to be a slave, let alone Litta. Aoife, my leathers, if you will. I shall not change afore we depart."

Hold a moment, then, Rhion said with a wry grin.

In barely two moments, the footman at Tanial’s chamber bowed them in; the scribe entered on their heels.

Tomi, Tanial said after offering caffe, "we haven’t discussed this, but Lady Litta would join with Gareth. She believes the Prince’s purchase of her documents also conveys her status as a slave… as property, to him. O’course, he disclaims this, but Litta’s concern is that he would say such to please her. She fears mayhap he will not have sway to keep her safe.

If you agree, I propose to gift her a script signed by you as King of Aberystrad and me as Princess Regent of Lindebalgh manumitting her. She will be a free woman, with the rights and responsibilities thereof. Rhion and Miri both quickly agreed. Gareth met Litta’s eyes, now filled with hope and pleasure. Scribe, draw up that document. With the King and the Regent watching, the man nodded, but his look of confusion explained better than words that he didn’t understand what she needed. Before the six bell, they had given the man the wording, signed the parchment and handed it to Litta, who gave all of them an excited hug and kiss when she’d read it. Gareth walked her out the door before he returned her kiss, mayhap more than just returned.

2: A Pub in Rendekebing

17 Tainold

AVERICK CORKILL CALLED FOR more wine. The ’dar had not gone well thus far,