Michellin

Wanderers

Kire forced her thoughts to calm down to answer Ysaryn’s questions. “Blood magic. They take a gem, plant it into a body and use it as a conduit—” She frowned, not sure if she could explain properly to the elf, “—like a way for the magic to flow into the body and control it. Dolls and puppets, they’re toys. Like a slave, only the gem will control you body and soul. Like the dead Kartaian I fought, there isn’t really a mind or a soul in it anymore. It can move, it can fight, but it can’t think or feel. And it will obey only the commands it gets through the gem.”

So, this Itallo is a slaver, and he makes coin out of them. Is he selling to Ikegai? “Thank you, Ysaryn,” Kire said softly; faced with nobody else but the elf and her distress at the dark memory, there was nowhere else for her own anger to go. For now. “I’m—sorry. That you went through that. That my enemy got to you.” She offered a small smile. “But I’m glad you fought, and that you are here now.” Her smile disappeared. “I’ll end him. The Gemini, this Itallo—when I’m done with them they won’t harm anyone else again.” More promises.

Kire sighed and leaned against the cavern wall. “I’ll speak to Ruli about this when he comes back.” She looked over at the elf and smiled again, hoping to help her shake the memory off. “So, tell me. How do you want the fish cooked? I don’t have talent for that, but if you tell me how, I might pull it off.”

Wanderers

Kire was silent, though her lip curled in anger and disgust, as Ysaryn showed her scars. She wasn’t familiar with this; maybe this was something new Ikegai had learned, or a method well-known to slavers. But she could imagine what it entailed. Something to put the drug into the blood faster. A warehouse near the sea. Couldn’t be too close to the city or even the people would suspect. Far from where she and Ruli would emerge, or Kire would have felt it the moment they stepped out of the shadows. But close enough so they could pick off elves from the slums. She tried to picture what Ysaryn had described of the Gemini: green eyes, soulless. Wearing their family’s insignia. There were many with green eyes back home, definitely a few from the Gemini.

She watched the elf lift her tunic, saw the scar below her bellybutton. The hand that held Ysaryn’s tightened a bit, though Kire stopped herself from squeezing hard. “I know why.” Kire let go of Ysaryn and touched her abdomen. “I have it, too.” She wanted to comfort the elf, but she didn’t know how. And clearly, touch was something Ysaryn was still not entirely comfortable with. “The woman who wears my face—she’s a doll made of flesh. Inside her is a gem that keeps her alive, gives her magic, gives her that face. And back in Ziad, there was a corpse of a Kartaian who had a gem on his body, too. Like a puppet. I think that’s what he was trying to do.”

Remembering Ysaryn’s outburst the other day, Kire huffed. “And—Lord Itallo. He has something to do with this, doesn’t he?”

Wanderers

Kire smirked at the elf, shaking her head. "You seem to always like my face anyway," she commented, then stopped when the elf said her name, a haunted look taking over her features. She didn't quite understand what Ysaryn meant at first, but the more she spoke, the more it became clearer to Kire. Gemini. Kire frowned, gesturing at her own chest similar to what Ysaryn did. "Brooch. There's two faces on the jewel facing each other, is that what you meant?"

Kire swore in her own tongue, her anger fueled by the fearful quiet Ysaryn had sunk into. It took a great effort not to pull more answers from Ysaryn so she could go back immediately and begin the hunt. Instead, Kire swallowed her age and let it simmer. "Ysaryn," she said in a low voice, "What else do you remember about the warehouse? What do you mean 'not sold into slavery'?" She reached out and touched her hand gently, though her own trembled with the anger she was holding back, her own eyes dark with it.

Wanderers

Kire grinned at Ysaryn’s delight; admittedly, it was infectious, and she rather liked the way the elf said her name. “Lead the way, milady,” she said, gladly following and looking forward to what she was going to make, forgetting about Ruli and the tools for the moment. As she carried both the seafood and the supplies from the botanist, they passed Zeke, whom she had expected would ignore or avoid them. Instead, Zeke stopped to leer, particularly at Kire, and suddenly burst out in anger. “He’s in Cordon, buying tools,” she said firmly, though she stood there, not quite understanding what he meant. “I don’t think he has any humor left in his body, so you’ll forgive me for not understanding.” She turned to the elf, her own expression questioning. “Ysaryn?” She looked back at Zeke again, defiant at his gaze, then noticed his eyes.

“Oh. Ohh.” Kire growled, not a little annoyed that it took her this long to notice. He just couldn’t help himself, could he? “One of these days I’m going to shove this ring down his throat if he does something stupid again,” she muttered. “To be clear, I didn’t tell him to make it look like this,” she said to Zeke, “I just told him I wanted to look like someone who grew up here with a decent face. Want me to drag him back here by the ear?”

Wanderers

“Mm. Alright. Axes, more hammers and nails, saws. If you can find one that two people could use, that would be good for cutting down the larger trees faster. Rope. Shovels.” Kire noticed him get distracted momentarily by something and followed his gaze. Huh. That feels familiar. One thing about being an exiled Empress: at least she didn’t have to get stuffed into one of those outfits and hairstyles anytime soon. “Asking the sailors might be a good idea. Though hopefully they don’t just tell you where the best places are for docking their ‘little sailors’,” she added, rolling her eyes, before carrying their haul off to bring it back to the caves.

While Kire had gone back, the streets were suddenly alive with cheering from a distance. An entourage of men flanked by guards whose helmets displayed colorful plumage sauntered down the street, the banners of the Council of Cordon flying from the standards they carried. The men they guarded looked important, with lavish clothing and the same insignia appearing on their coats. And among them walked their right-hand men and attendants. One of these was a well-groomed young man who, unlike the other Lords of Cordon, only gave a small smile to the adoring crowd, his gaze observing their surroundings rather coldly. He wore black, and pinned to the short, plain cape he wore was a brooch made of pale ivory carved into the shape of two faces in profile, set upon a black disk that looked like obsidian. Tiny carnelian beads stood for eyes in the pendant, contrasting with the green of the young lad’s own eyes.

“Why hasn’t your Lord Itallo joined us today?” said one of the councilmen.
“He wasn’t feeling too well, sirs,” the boy named Gavin replied, the tone appropriately apologetic, even if the rest of his expression didn’t reflect it. “If you ask me, the cold spring air and his overexcitement for the wedding is making him too giddy. Please excuse his rather weak constitution.” Gavin chuckled, the mirth not quite reaching his eyes. “I’m sure he’ll be all right before the big day.”
“I must say, my daughters are rather disappointed,” one of the other councilmen remarked. “This bride of his had better be a ravishing beauty.”
“Trust that she is, good sir,” Gavin replied, “and I’m sure everyone in Cordon will be entranced. Looks like Cordon is ready to meet my lady.” He paused in thought, looking around. “No riffraff around, I assume?”
“The elves, you mean?” The councilman’s mouth twitched. “We haven’t had trouble from them of late, but we’ll make sure security is doubled around their little ghetto. We haven’t had reports of complaints. Is Lord Itallo concerned?”
Gavin shrugged. “He trusts your judgment. He hopes they would be dealt with permanently soon. A lot of his plans hinge on this marriage going well. You know him, all his grand plans to usher in a new day for Cordon’s greatness.”

He gave them a small smile that quickly disappeared. As ward and trusted man of Itallo, he was used to speaking for him around Cordon, doing his duty. But being exposed like this sent an anxious shiver down the young lad’s body. Something about being out in the open, being the center of attention, did not sit well with him. He wished this little display would be over soon, but the lord needed him there as his representative. He touched the brooch for comfort, fingering the ivory faces, as he kept his gaze forward.

Wanderers

Kire chuckled at his jest. That would definitely bar him entry. “Mm. Just as well. Royal weddings are rather pompous, and if you don’t really know the parties involved, frightfully boring. Minus the food, I suppose. And the wine. If ever you find yourself in one, you can drown your annoyance in liquor. Mostly though, the ceremony exists so these lords and ladies can throw their wealth and status around, let them know what they’re gaining with the match. Hm. You were invited, though...” She looked at him, but he again had that look when he’s had enough of her questions and would rather not answer in detail, if at all, so she let it be for now. Instead, she directed her attention back to the seafood, impressed with the catch. “Ooh. She might like the octopus. And if you have crab, that, too,” Kire murmured, though it wasn’t clear whether she really meant Ysaryn or herself. “Do you have, uh, igat?” Kire frowned, trying to remember what it was called in common tongue. “Ah. Eel?”

“Ha. It made for good exercise. But yes, tearing down trees with my bare hands wasn’t particularly efficient. I would recommend it if you badly need a neck to wring.” Kire smirked. “Better we bring the seafood back before we look for tools, though. And I’d rather we get these now before somebody else beats us to the best stock. Maybe by the time we finish, Ysaryn would’ve cooked these.” Kire let herself be distracted by the thought of Ysarym’s dishes before she cleared her throat and paid for the food. “Keep the coin for another time,” she said to Ruli.

Wanderers

Kire chuckled softly. “There were some familiar bits, but gods it was a lot. Maybe if you charm Bolym enough he’d be able to help more.” A long shot, of course. “I could ask for advice back home, too, if I ever find the time.” She glanced, curious, at the door where the men and the botanist had disappeared to. “Two days to get what we need, and after that investigate while everyone is busy with the wedding. Oh! Weddings. That’s something else Amria has in common with this place. I’m sure the rituals are quite different, as they are in my home. There are arranged marriages and marriages between people who love each other. Plus many strategic marriages, if you’re a person of any importance.” She wrinkled her nose at that.

The men and the botanist emerged, with the men rattling off instructions which the woman had most likely already heard a hundred times before. Still, she nodded along and bowed her head politely, still with the cheerful smile on her face, until the men had finally left. Once they were out of sight, the botanist let out a deep sigh, wiped her brow, and bounced back towards Ruli and Kire. Before Kire could put in a question she was off again, but thankfully coming back with a piece of parchment and, presumably, instructions, which Kire couldn’t read. “It’s the least I can do for you poor babies,” she remarked, and Kire flashed her a smile.
“Maybe, perhaps, save us the coin, too?” she asked the botanist in as sweet a voice as was possible for her. The botanist laughed and shook her head, though she did concede to give them a small discount.

“Well, I gave it a try,” Kire said, shrugging, as they left the shop with the supplies in tow. “I am not the best at sweet-talking at all.” Mostly because I didn’t really need to for the better part of my life, Kire thought a little sheepishly. As soon as they went back outside, the smells of food cooking nearby. “Ah. Reminds me, I promised Ysaryn I’d bring her some fish and squid,” Kire declared. “Have you ever seen a royal wedding?”

Wanderers

Ohh, she's friendly, Kire thought, putting on a small smile for the woman while Ruli talked to her. She wondered what Ruli had thought of her age; he did seem a bit surprised earlier, based on the look he gave her. Half-breed... Was Ruli as old as he looked? Likely a question to which she wouldn't get an answer, or not soon, anyway, considering his reluctance.

And speaking of reluctance, Kire looked at him and noticed him rather ill at ease. She nudged him with her elbow and made a gesture that said What is with that look?. When the lady returned to speak to them, holding a basket containing pouches of seeds and root crops, Kire smiled at her, letting the woman express her pity for them in between her explanations and recommendations for planting, watering, and harvesting. It was a torrent of information, and Kire was getting lost in parts. She glanced at Ruli sidelong and hoped he understood most of it.

She heard people enter behind them and turned to see well-dressed men, clearly people of standing. "Are the flowers ready for delivery in two days' time?"
"The lord wants everything perfect for his wedding," another interjected, casting the two the briefest glance. "We'd like to make a final inspection." The tone didn't give the impression of a request.
The woman looked apologetically at Kire and Ruli, muttering a hurried apology before ushering the men to the back door of her shop.

"Well. That's something." Kire poked around at the basket while they waiting for the botanists to return and attend to them. "Did you catch all that? I lost track at some point."

Wanderers

"I'm not sure." Kire's brow furrowed, thinking it over. "Apparently this language didn't become widespread until an Off-Worlder who spoke it became a royal consort. I don't think they came to us intentionally; as far as I know, whenever they came to Amria they've been stuck ever since. I hadn't really thought of them as world-travellers until I became Paladin. I had always believed such people were just refugees from some very far-flung corner of Amria." She gestured at the direction of the sea. "It's possible they came from here. Or that some of my people might have ended up here, too."

She nodded at his question. "Age slower, yes. So far, time seems to run the same here, but I can't be too sure until I've spent much more time here. Could be both. We age a bit fast, maybe what would be normal for other humans, when we're young, then slow down upon adolescence. Forty would be, hmm...teenage? Before being adult. And they say a terrible childhood ages you faster, too. I'm about a hundred now."

Wanderers

Kire raised a brow at him, wondering why he looked at her that way, then turned elsewhere, pondering his question. "It's hard to say. There seems to be just as many as there are differences. Yes, only one sun, one moon. Different gods though, depending on what country or island. I'm used to the sun being referred to as the male aspect. Language-wise, we have our own native tongue, and this one that I'm speaking with is one of many that had been brought to us. This one that I speak, we use our own alphabet. I can't read that, for example." She pointed at a nearby sign that looked similar enough to the ones she had seen last time. "I assume if you read that out loud, it would still be the common tongue. Hmm. Seasons. We have four, but other parts, depending on how far from my country, have only two. Our winters aren't so bad, but my family right now is living far North, in the mountains, where it gets really cold."

She paused, getting out of the way of a crowd of giggling women. "We have royalty. Fiefdoms. Lords and ladies who would answer to one crown. At least normally. Things are rather, ah, complicated on that front at the moment." If she had the humor for it, Kire would have laughed at her gross oversimplification of their exile. She gestured around them. "Not this exact festival, but we would have similar ones. Don't particularly like all the shallow courtship stuff, however." She made a face.