Syrenrei

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

The medical software and their corresponding instruments hummed as they worked in tandem over the unresponsive duchess. More quickly than any human could have ever operated the small laceration was analyzed and mended, a topical treatment was applied to reduce the bruising, and Solae was injected with a cocktail of drugs that would reduce swelling and help stimulate her recovery. What it was unable to synthesize, however, were the benefits of rest. Arguably Mia would have woken her mistress if she didn't have compelling historical evidence it would be better to let her 'sleep' off the worst portion of her healing process. An AI did not have the same emotional capacity as a human being. There had been experiments in creating software that would make them feel that had either ultimately failed or succeeded so well it became inherently dangerous. Scientists had quickly discovered that they were ill-prepared for a sentience that could review and react to their morality or lack thereof, especially since a machine had such vast capabilities that were not confined by fleshy mortality.

What was more worrisome than the mild concussion was the crushing damage the diplomat had sustained to her legs. In the heat of the moment she had reflexively pushed Rosaria and Bel'sian out of the way without considering the circumstances. Anyone who knew her could have complete confidence that she would have done the same even if would have left her crippled. The massive amount of weight on her lower limbs had fractured the bone in multiple places, internal bleeding, compartment syndrome, nerve destruction, and skin that was so badly wounded it was almost uniformly a dark color rather than its normal pallor. Anti-bionics were administered to stave off infection as well as anesthetics while surgery was conducted in the privacy of the pod. Technology would accelerate her return to mobility, yet this was not a top-of-the-line rejuvenation chamber. Zatis, for all his planning, had not anticipated this level of reckless selflessness. For a few days at a minimum she would be moving more slowly and awkwardly.

For their part, Dasin and Yarue had been reluctant to leave Rosaria in charge with the two strangers while Solae and Rene recuperated. Because of the importance of cooperation, consent, and compromise in their society, neither could in good conscience retire to their shared quarters unless they made a mutual agreement. Despite all the horrific treatment at the hands of Thorne they were still Syshin philosophically and culturally. Rosaria went to take a shower, disgusted at the mud, satisfied that Rene had not died from his exhaustion, and reassured that the eccentric linguist would survive without her presence. Bouradine and Bel'sian were left to watch in confusion as the duo of aliens bickered in their tongue about who should be inconvenienced to stand watch.

"Is there anything we can do?" the Kalderi ventured. What they were debating was unknown to her, but it was impossible to not notice that there was a disagreement. The slender female and her merchant partner were sitting near the two patients. They felt a sort of responsibility for the soldier since they had been the ones to first discover her. Similarly the lovers couldn't just walk away from the small entourage that had found them and prevented a mudslide from severing their relationship permanently. They owed the nobleman and noblewoman a debt of gratitude. The least they could do is wait until the larger group was all physically able to hold a conversation about what had transpired and how to approach the future.

"We must choose who stays," Yarue said curtly. He wasn't mad as his short tone might imply; he was tired and annoyed that Dasin was stubbornly refusing to be the one to go lay in their room. Each wanted to sacrifice for the other.

"Who stays?" Bel'sian queried as she shifted her weight and lightly fluttered her wings in bafflement. "Is one of you... leaving?" she asked more hesitantly, looking to Bouradine to make certain her common was correct. He nodded in approval. Hearing a tall masculine humanoid with combat armor and a thick accent have an exchange with a haltingly fluent waifish feminine humanoid in a dirty smock was a bizarre spectacle to say the least.

"One will go to sleep," Yarue answered, "the other stays to watch," he added as he gestured to Rene, Solae, and the soldier as an afterthought. He knew how to follow orders- he just was not as invested in the marine as the humans obviously were. Years of mistreatment left a scar and helpless as she was, it was hard not to see her as a representative of the violently oppressive arm of the Stellar Empire.

"We can keep watch," Bouradine volunteered amicably. "I'll wake you up if anything happens with the duchess," he promised.

Dasin and Yarue stared at him. Besides each other the best at reading their facial expressions and body language was Solae, who had both studied the Syshin and whose profession focused on being able to facilitate communication, regardless of whether it was oral, written, or otherwise. 'Large' emotions were much easier to read than the subtler nuances of doubt, apprehension, or uneasiness. Their silence was what ultimately clued in the trader that they were not terribly enthusiastic about his proposition.

"I owe her my life," Bel'sian interjected. "We promise you that we will not leave until we talk." She didn't quite know how to articulate the rest. Eloquent as she was in the Kalderi language, she knew they would not understand a grand speech given in her native tongue.

"We accept," Dasin agreed before Yarue could object. "The computer will alert us when she wakes," he said. He wasn't quite comfortable with addressing Mia as casually as the humans were- not yet. Something about the fact she was a computer that had control of the vessel and spoke so oddly made him passively uncomfortable with the artificial entity.

---

For over an hour the Bonaventure was quiet. Rosaria, after showering, had made herself scarce in her room while she tried to erase the trauma of being almost buried alive (not recognizing that by most criteria she actually had been). The male crewmen slumbered. Bouradine and Bel'sian chatted quietly, their hands intertwined as they whispered so as to not disturb anyone. Given the unpredictable weather outside they were content in the warmth and shelter of the spacecraft. During the respite Mia had guaranteed any natural disaster disturbance would trigger her emergency protocols and allow her to fly them to somewhere safe. She elected not to inform them that her auto-piloting was rudimentary and that the take off and landing would be quite rough; her code determined this was not data they needed to know.

Underneath the tinted panes of the medical capsule Solae began to stir. With the worst symptoms of her concussion alleviated she started to buoy back towards consciousness gradually. Laying on her back, no matter how high quality the cot, was not her preference, and when she started to try to twist to her side and was unable, it jerked her closer to being awake. Eyes moved underneath their lids, lashes flitting, until they ever so slowly opened. She inhaled quickly as the confines of the space started to make her panic. Her last memory had been in a pile of rubble with a wave of heavy sediment crashing down over top, drowning out light, closing her off from the world. To say that her pod was not an ideal environment for her psychologically was an understatement. "Let me out, let me out!" she hoarsely demanded as she pushed on one 'wall' with her hand. "Mia? Mia, I demand you let me out!"

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Up until they had been enclosed in the sphere that offered them so much protection, Bel'sian had been coping remarkably well with the circumstances. Kalderi did not enjoy closed spaces. Their architecture reflected the inherent, arguably evolutionary preference for open areas, to the point they did not have fully solid portals in and out of building structures. For a species that was capable of flight it was a completely understandable preference. The cavern in which the trio had been trapped had started to make the alien somewhat claustrophobic, yet it was the even smaller confines of the raft, and its curved bottom that pressed the three together, that truly made panic rise in her throat. Before she had been able to close her eyes, stretch her legs, and utilize calming techniques to retain a sense of inner peace. Now that she was more cramped, it was impossible to ignore their predicament, or the fact the limbs attached to her back were unable to stretch comfortably. Never would she have guessed that been buried alive could have been preferable to anything else.

"Rene, can you put Bouradine on the communicator?" Rosaria asked in an even tone once she noticed the very obvious signs of Bel'sian beginning to lose her nerve. She didn't pretend to really know much about adult relationships, much less understand them, but she had witnessed the way that Solae and Rene interacted with each other. They seemed to know how to reassure each other better than she ever could, how to communicate better, how to relate to one another on a more intimate level. Since it was clear that Bouradine and Bel'sian were also a couple- something she was still trying to wrap her mind around- then it stood to reason that the most effective way to keep the winged woman from going postal was to have her lover talking her through this bizarre experience.

"What?" she heard the older male grunt, not unkindly, but because it was such an unexpected request and because he was busy, toiling under miserable conditions, and undoubtedly taxing his endurance with the labor necessary to enact his plan.

"I think Bel'sian really needs to talk to Bouradine," she repeated with emphasis in hopes she could diplomatically convey the mini crisis that was unfolding. There was a long pause, which she would later find out was Yarue volunteering his communicator, going to the ship to attach it to Bouradine, and returning back to his post. The delay was frustrating for all, but the strained tone in Rosaria's voice, as well as the fact she hadn't really made any other demands, ultimately made them yield.

The Syshin's stamina was not to be underestimated. Though the Stellar Empire's culture was unequivocally reprehensible subjugating them, it was cruelly accurate in its evaluation of their strengths, particularly their strength. Despite the enhancements that the nobility had, they could not measure against the physiology of the benevolent humanoids, who were mere generations from an existence where they had to rely on physical prowess to survive in a harsh world. Philosophers argued that the enslavement was partially due to the fact that humanity felt threatened by the Syshin's raw superiority in certain aspects (height, mass, musculature, and speed namely). To ensure they remained on top they had to dominate, using their technological advantage to maintain their status as the great, 'unrivaled' galactic force. Anyone who could divorce themselves from the wanton discrimination, however, could gleam their untapped potential. They were not as trained as the marines Rene could have had under his command, but in crucial moments where perseverance and literal might were imperative, they were perhaps better.

"All artists take their inspiration from the world around them, but it isn't all landscapes my love," Bouradine was telling Bel'sian over the open channel in a soothing voice. Everyone outside the veritable pit had seen he was beside himself with worry, but he managed to keep the fear out of his spoken words, focusing instead on giving his partner a focus and distraction.

"I don't know what you mean," Bel'sian replied in a more feeble tremor.

"They express themselves with color and shapes to convey a feeling," he explained. "I know right now you might feel terrible, but you can concentrate on what you are going through, the sensations, the emotions, and in a few minutes when you are free again you can put it on a blank canvas. You can make something beautiful from something that right now is awful. Artists say it heals their soul when they explore their memories with art."

"The canvases and the paints are..." Bel'sian murmured. She was softer now as the edge of hysteria left her tone, neither tranquil nor about to have an anxiety attack, somewhere in-between.

"Much more easily replaced than you, my love," Bouradine answered.

They had a light conversation back and forth, Rosaria leaning back in the bubble. She and Belsian were facing opposite directions with Solae between them, on their laps, to help keep her stable. The teenager kept her hand on the duchess's for tactile affirmation she had not grown cool to the touch and that her pulse could still be felt. Occasionally she, Rene, or Mia would provide an update on their ascent, but there was little to do but wait inside the flotation device. As immobile debris, rocks and small chunk of building, obstructed the path, the sludge had to be watered for several minutes until the pressure could build high enough to make the orb push through. More than once the three males on the hill of mud had to retreat a few steps to secure their footing, regroup, and restart their operation.

Approximately thirty-two minutes after they began they reached an impasse. A jut of thick rock that was connected to the remnants of the structure's floor prevented the pod from hitting the top of the foamy cavity. Cutting it with a tool would not help since anything sharp or hot enough to cut through the thick stone would also blast through the barrier of the escape capsule itself as well. They reversed the function of the hose and sucked the grime off the top of the container, until they could see the hull that needed to be breached, and Yarue and Dasin lowered Dasin so that he could stand on its surface. It was firmly enough wedged that it barely rocked when his feet hit the slippery outer shell. Bouradine came running with a portable stretcher from the Bonaventure since Mia had all but commanded him to keep her mistress from moving more than was absolutely necessary until she could be assessed.

The Betrothed

Rhiane should have known and anticipated that as soon as they were inside the school that she would be disregarded; she just had not expected that the principal would be the exclusive focus of Luke's attention, that he would be drawn into discussions about educational funds or lack thereof, or that he would be completely invested in the finances of anything so far from the reaches of the capital. He showed such thinly-veiled contempt for commoners in private it was baffling that he would be concerned about these strangers whom he had little to no obligation towards and whose very presence irked him. Pleased as she was in his interest, she hated that he did not even so much as glance in her direction to remind himself she existed. Nolan, Tobias, and the rest of their security detail were trustworthy enough to make sure she didn't need him babysit her, but being ignored stung, especially when she was so conscious of him. The former farmer was beginning to understand why some preferred to be actively hated than disregarded.

When Pio addressed her she smiled. The heir to the throne could squander this rare opportunity in front of cameras and absorb himself in the details of monetary allocation; she would not, nor would she outwardly betray the illusion of a fantasy romance. "It's like being part of a new world," she replied honestly. Commenting on their relationship would be too tricky to tackle without outright lying. Unable to claim they were madly in love, that he was the prince on a white horse, or that he was better than his scandals made him out to be, she hoped there wouldn't be further prodding on intimate details. Fortunately, it would be improper enough for him to pry that even a school teacher would be reluctant to force a confession.

"Something for me?" she queried and turned to look. Rhiane was genuinely shocked by the small velvet box and his explanation of the pearls. Instantly she knew how jealous Luke would be if she accepted a trinket of affection from a friend that was a man and, though she hadn't made him aware, a past fling. Refusing was just as challenging. The press could turn towards them at any minute and broadcast what was transpiring. More importantly, she wanted to have a present, a bauble that represented that anyone outside of her familial ties thought of her fondly. "I don't know if I can, Pio," she whispered in a pained tone.

While the entourage was distracted, fixated on the principal that was walking slowly and gesturing to some hallway display cases that proved prestige in decades past, Pio gently took the princess elect's elbow and guided her to take a sharp turn down a deserted hallway before ducking into a similarly empty classroom. Rhiane could have pulled away with little effort if she wanted to- but she trusted him and welcomed the opportunity to get away from what had clearly become the royal hour with the eldest child of the queen. She was done fighting for the spotlight. If he wanted it so badly he could have it- and without the false pretense of this being a stop on their journey meant to highlight the woman from which the cameras had panned away.

"If I remember right, you love art, don't you?" Pio smiled broadly at her with unrestrained enthusiasm for being with her. It was such a foreign expression lately. The castle was filled with those that simmered and brooded over having a peasant in their midst, with the sole exception of Callie, who would be her sister-in-law if she went through with the engagement. All around her were paintings on the wall, cheap prints of classical and modern artists for inspiration, local award-winning pieces by alumni, bits and pieces from the teacher that had held a position at the school for over twenty years, but was hardly ever at her desk, preferring the adjacent courtyard for relaxation and inspiration. It smelled of paint, plaster, glue, and clay, a unique and marvelous aroma that instantly made the brunette feel at home. She wandered around the edges, admiring the professional and novice landscapes alight, her eyes drifting over every careful splatter or stroke with joyful wonder.

"We all miss you," Pio told her as he watched her, estimating how many minutes it would take Luke to notice she had gone missing. The art room was an excellent excuse to have 'accidentally' taken her alone elsewhere. Everyone who gave a damn knew she loved it, as it was no secret, and it would make it much less suspicious once they were found in this corner of the building. His highness might be angry that his 'pet' was stolen away temporarily but that was not Pio's problem. "You can always come back, you know. There's always more to paint here and we'd support you. Hell, you'd get a free beer every night for years." He was charming, friendly, considerate, and thoughtful, a gentleman when needed and devious when wanted.

"That's kind of you to say, but I'll be married soon, and will have a lot of responsibilities," Rhiane murmured off-handedly, stopping in front of a large abstract portrait of what just might have been herself. Bold lines and geometric shapes made the subject a mystery. Fascinated, she studied the flow of colors, trying to gleam the meaning behind the creator, and what they were trying to convey.

"Do you have time in your schedule to show us your painting skills at least?" Pio asked sweetly, as if he didn't have an angle he was working, and was merely excited to see her work.

"I haven't painted since the contest," she replied somberly, no longer trying to hide happiness when they were alone.

"He doesn't call you Rhi. We've all noticed," Pio said, meandering closer to her. "That's why we know that you aren't happy. If you were happy, and he loved you as much as he should, he'd call you Rhi. If you were happy, you'd be able paint. Tell me what to do to make you happy, Rhi, and I'll do my best to make it happen. You'll still be in town tonight, won't you? We can sneak out of our houses like when we were teenagers and talk about anything and everything, maybe have some fun like we used to," he added with a sparkle in his eye as he planted the box firmly into her hand. If Luke could have his not-so-clandestine affairs with beautiful starlets and noblewomen, there was no reason he couldn't be a respite for her, a little dalliance to help her remember who she was and what it could be like to lay with someone that would give her the adoration that she deserved.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

During the half hour window the women had in the darkness, buried under mounds of sediment and stone walls that still stood strong, they had little they were able to do. While they waited they separately struggled with the isolation and the impact the environment was having on their emotions. They knew help was coming but that did not make it any easier to tolerate where they were forced to stay with only their hope as comfort. For the Kalderi this was the thing of nightmares. Their culture prized their wings and the freedom it imparted, their architecture always prioritizing wide, open spaces, to such a degree that the concept of the door as humans used them was offensive. By contrast the teenager was drawn into the nightmares of her upbringing, of being caged by an overbearing, morally bankrupt, and sociopathic woman that wanted her to one day be her lover and her successor. It didn't matter that she was not gay. No one had even asked her what her favorite color was, much less her sexual orientation.

"We should turn her on her back," Bel'sian said softly, as if she was afraid that speaking any louder might be ominous.

Because the duchess had been trying to push her companions away from the mudslide that toppled through the open entryways into the building and had destroyed crumbling sections of the structure, she had been turned the corner of the room when she fell. Typically a person would try to brace themselves from impact when they pitched forward. Unfortunately, she was so distracted by her cause, and was overtaken so quickly, that not even her enhanced reflexes could compensate. Solae had pitched forward when a heavy weight struck her backside all at once, and it was simply impossible to prevent it resulting in injury. It almost would have been better if she had gone in the opposite direction.

Rosaria nodded in agreement, deferring to Bel'sian because of her age and confidence. They remained strangers to one another, but the crisis had forged a bond due to their common goal of survival.

With painstaking care and delicacy they rotated the diplomat from her stomach to her back, with Bel'sian keeping her legs stable while Rosaria held onto her shoulders, a part of her mistress that was thankfully undamaged. Visibility in their cocoon of muck and rubble stayed poor and made them exceedingly cautious. Perhaps they could not apply first aid in a meaningful manner, but they could try to make the best of a poor situation, and make the unconscious soul more comfortable. Solae didn't need to be awake to benefit. They could provide care so that her breathing was clearer, her limbs were not bent at odd angles that would cause muscle pain, and relieve any other obvious pressure from an overtaxed body.

Her petite nose, the shape and size of which women went under the scalpel to recreate, was crooked, bruised, and swollen, half-congealed blood creeping out of one nostril more than the other. A huge contusion was on one side of her forehead where a notable lump was forming. She was concussed but without any deep laceration that would require stitches or be a concern for blood loss. Seeing such a lovely face disfigured by her ailments was so jarring that it made Rosaria start to quietly cry again. Though it was hidden from view, the crushing force that had descended on her calves and feet had fractured and shattered several bones. The skin was mottled with dark purples and reds where it remained hidden under her trousers. Her lower extremities had been compacted against the floor in such a way that it had been impossible for any bone to just in any direction. Technology was sophisticated enough to allow reconstruction- once she was rescued from the cave.

"She will not die," Bel'sian said encouragingly. And it was true. They were in much more danger of suffocating, starving, or dehydrating than having the linguist succumb to her injuries, none of which were fatal on their own. Had the aristocrat not been concussed or thrown into shock by the agony she must have felt when the wave of terrain collided with her, she would have been sitting with them, undoubtedly giving them reassurance herself.

"I know," Rosaria said, drying her tears with the back of her hand, assuming her bravado as one would don a suit of armor. She didn't want to appear weak or stupid. Bel'sian had not accused her of either; it was Thorne's indoctrination that made her struggle to feel it was acceptable to express herself and that not everything she had been taught was a vulnerability was necessarily disadvantageous. There were distant, muffled sounds from beyond of the Bonaventure as the hose began to suck up huge swathes of mud before ejecting it elsewhere.

"How did you meet?" she inquired, hoping that the conversation might be a welcome distraction for both the Kalderi and teenager.

"When I was a baby I sold to a woman who was trying to train me to be like her, to take over her business," Rosaria shrugged as if it were an unremarkable story. Bel'sian politely did not interrupt as her eyes widened at the notion of an infant being sold. "Rene found me at the woman's house and freed me. I didn't really have anywhere to go, so I decided to join him and Solae when they left that planet. I knew I definitely didn't want to stay on Zatis."

"I see. Is it... normal for humans to buy each other? Bouradine did not tell me of this," Bel'sian asked with furrowed brows. Her love for the man had not been mitigated; she was merely curious about what he hadn't told her in order to shield her from the ugly sides of his civilization. If she searched her heard she would have to admit that she had been similarly hesitant to expose the flaws and schisms of her own people.

"Yes. No. Well... it depends. We're not supposed to, but there are places where the rules are broken. Solae and Rene are very against it, though. Solae also wants to help liberate- that means give freedom to- the Syshin, who aren't treated very well by a lot of humans. She wouldn't tell you herself, but before Dasin and Yarue no one has ever trusted a Syshin to give them such a nice position, or pay them, or teach them things. I think I like her because she doesn't care what others think and just does what she thinks is right, no matter how many people it upsets, or how hard it is. Mistress Thorne, the woman that owned me, and her friends weren't like that at all." Rosaria was sharing more than she might have otherwise because of the unusual circumstances. The alien next to her was easy to talk to, did not seem to be judgmental, and had nothing better to do than listen to her whining. She would have felt exponentially more awkward making the same sort of confessions to the former marquise's face.

Just as Bel'sian started to contemplate another topic to broach they heard the clang of something striking the roof of their sanctuary. Excited as she was to be free of the building after the last half an hour, she winced at the harsh noise and Rosaria's yelling, and found herself anxious about what the rest of this plan entailed. When word traveled through their communicators that the breach would possibly scatter debris she was even less enthused. She was thankful all the same, just with reservations, and fearful that in the last moment this plot would be quashed by an unknown anomaly.

The much more excited adolescent moved closer to her older counterpart and the two of them bent over Solae to shield her from any debris that could fall from the ceiling. Neither of them wanted to get hurt, but it was prudent to protect the one of them that was worse off, and for whom a stray clump of petrified wood caught in the blast could spell disaster. "We're braced and ready," Rosaria exclaimed to give him the sign he should fire his charge.

The Betrothed

The picture perfect descent of the princess elect from the vehicle, stepping down with the hand and support of her royal fiance, was a stark contrast to their cool conversation. Surprisingly this was also the cause of their conflict. With two people so adept at being professional and portraying a certain image, they were less aware than others where their mask ended and their personal feelings began. Tobias was not shocked at this turn of events, but he stood back stoically, displeased. He didn't know what was harder to watch: someone he adored as much as Rhiane being rejected by his cousin's pride or the two of them pretending nothing was bothering them the instant that the media began to snap photos from afar. It was just a matter of time. When the two of them were together it was as if a pin had been pulled from a grenade- and whether they would explode in passion or anger was anyone's guess.

"Your highnesses," one of the older ladies as she bowed low, almost comically so. For this small village having the crown pay a visit was unimaginable, much less somewhere as unremarkable as the school. Their awkward etiquette was a result of having little time to prepare, unfamiliarity with the crown's protocol, and frayed nerves. "I am Orchidea Vitacco, the school's principal. This is our counselor, Aida Gilardi, and our most senior member of the staff, Efrem Lepro. I believe Ms. Black is familiar with Pio Zattala; he tells me they attended together. He now teaches the seventh year students."

Pio Zattala was not nearly as handsome as the prince with his coiffed blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes. What he lacked in chiseled features or exquisite clothes, however, he made up for in a charming personality that was unlike either of Rhiane's suitors. When he smiled at her it was a wide, bright smile, and there was something in his presence that was congenial. Neither Luke nor Tobias could truly claim that they were as outgoing or friendly as this commoner man was, but he made a good impression nonetheless, and was veritably the sort of individual that could be plastered all over advertisements about the hard-working, unintimidating, and kindly masses of New Rome. This was one of the reasons that the former farmer had Sebastian request he be included as a guide for their tour. If she was going to have a difficult day, she might as well have one with a former flame, one that appreciated her and would make it more enjoyable. That her betrothed would possibly be jealous was an added bonus. He had his redheaded witch and she had her old classmate.

"We've met a couple times since then," Rhiane admitted with a smile that easily reached her eyes and was utterly sincere. "It's a small town, so it would take effort to avoid someone," she joked to lighten the mood. Assuming that no one else in their entourage would want to talk to low-born residents of her birthplace, and that the disrepair of the school building would make them even less enthused to converse with these poor educators, she took the proverbial reigns. "I hope we haven't imposed on you too terribly. I know how important classes are to your students and I hate that we might be interrupting," she added more graciously. The reporters from afar were practically swooning with her humble manners.

"We are honored," Efrem said emphatically. His eyes were slightly misty, overwhelmed by the reality of who was before him, and how far one of their own had come in the world. Seeing him so genuinely touched by their arrival made Rhiane feel a pang of guilt that she never intended to return to her home. She stood by her reasons for her decisions, but she couldn't deny the collateral damage, and that winning the right to be Luke's fiancee had been a victory for more than herself. A tiny municipality that half of the country couldn't point out on a map would be forever touched by her renown. Little girls would dream of her, idolize her, and look to her as proof they could achieve their dreams for generations.

"Everyone is very excited to see you," Pio added. The 'you' could have been plural- but he was looking directly at Rhiane when he said it. Faces had appeared in some of the windows as adolescents gawked at the caravan of cars and men in suits. For them this was a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle they would tell their own children about when they were adults. There was no questioning whether or not they were a disruption; they were.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

In the short amount of time that Rene had redirected Rosaria's attention in conversation, she was so incredibly frazzled that she had all but forgotten about Bel'sian, and had noticed nothing more than the Kalderi was not injured. As she moved forward to try to attend to Solae as she had been instructed to do, she was surprised and startled as the taller female approached and crouched next to the unconscious woman. A few minutes ago the star-crossed lover had been to terrified to do anything more than than panic. Something inside Bel'sian had clicked, however, though she was not sure what. It could have been the subconscious recognition she was the responsible adult that should be contributing to their escape, the courage she had deep inside her that was so unusual for her race, the outpouring of empathy for someone who had let themselves be harmed to save her, or self-preservation instinct that urged her to act rather than react. Regardless of what was the specific catalyst, she was significantly more calm and composed, focusing on what problems could be solved than those that could not.

"I will help," she said firmly.

Rosaria was in no position to reject her offer. The teenager was stronger than some others her age, but Thorne had not exactly been grooming her for physical labor of this variety, and they would need both strategy and brute force to pull the duchess free of the muck. There was also a comfort in knowing she was not alone in her endeavor. Bel'sian was a stranger, and of a foreign species, yet a sense of camaraderie as they united against the natural disaster was universal. Anecdotally predator and prey would work together at times of peril to increase their chances of success. That two bipedal humanoids could find common ground when buried under an ocean of sludge was a rather predictable outcome.

"He said we need to carefully dig her free," the adolescent pointed out as she sat on her knees and tried to figure out the best way to approach her task.

"I will start on this side," Bel'sian said with a gesture. Seeing that Rosaria was overwhelmed, she continued to explain her train of thought. "We will move it slowly from her legs, and when we can see more then we will pull the rest of the way." Her Imperial common was admirable for an individual that had such minimal contact with the civilization. Bouradine had told her that she was fluent, lavishing her with praise, encouraging her to build up her vocabulary, but she was finding it difficult to communicate clearly what she wanted to convey.

As they raked back the thick earthen ooze with their fingers it became abundantly clear this would be a highly unpleasant chore. Not only was it sticking to their hands in clumps, the pair worked in nearly total darkness, the radiant light from the bits of technology they carried the only illumination. There was enough air trapped in the space with them they were not in immediate danger of suffocation but already their frayed nerves made it feel stale. That they carried was a testament to their mental fortitude and determination. The dim, confining vicinity would have made it all too easy to fall into utter despair. Quietly and diligently they scooped away the debris, making the 'wall' of mud that had fallen on Solae's legs shift precariously. When this occurred they would pause, watch for signs of trouble, and wait to make certain it was stable before cautiously continuing. The slide had come to a stop, giving them the small advantage that their sanctuary wouldn't flood with a new wave rolling down into the valley.

"Who were you talking to?" Bel'sian inquired, tossing a handful of the sludge to the side where she was making a small pile. She didn't want to draw attention to the fact that both legs were undoubtedly injured from the weight on top of them. Neither she nor Rosaria could render effective first aid and to dwell on it could be detrimental to their time constraint.

"Oh, I was talking to Rene," the girl answered, furtively trying to clean gunk off the diplomat's trousers.

"That is her... soldier? Bodyguard?" Bel'sian asked, trying to find the right words. The concept of a political attache was a bit beyond her. The Kalderi civilization had leaders, warriors, mediators, and orators that did not necessarily intersect with all the functions they performed. Bouradine had tried to briefly explain the empress, the dukes and duchesses, the lower nobility, and all the varying careers when she probed him for information on humanity. It was such chaos to her that she wasn't quite certain if it scared her or impressed her that anyone could assume so many roles, or that that independent members of a society could have such synergy without selfless devotion to community.

"Yeah, something like that," Rosaria shrugged, "but he's mostly upset because she's his fiance."

"Fi-ahhh...?" Bel'sian trailed off as she attempted to recreate the syllables and recall the order in which they were used. Somehow it felt like an even more peculiar string of sounds than the rest of humanity's common tongue, as if it didn't quite belong with the overall rhythm.

"Fiance. They are going to get married," she said as she squinted at the winged being opposite her. "I guess you probably have a different word for it. Dasin and Yarue just call them 'mates.' For us you find someone you love, you ask them if they want to be with you, and then if you want to be together forever, you have a ceremony where you make it all official and make promises to each other out loud." It sounded a little more ridiculous the more she elaborated. The Syshin had been disgusted when there was an off-hand comment that having a 'mate' in human society was not actually binding until death, and that either spouse could sever the bond, finding someone else or choosing to be alone. Seeing their visceral reaction helped her appreciate how poorly the same news might be received if she tried to present it to the Kalderi. Solae wanted to make a good impression; she wasn't about to stick her figurative foot in her mouth and ruin it by admitting how worthless a wedding was to her, or how irrelevant it could be to the average layperson. Thorne laughed at the fools swearing undying affection.

"And are Dasin and Yarue other human soldiers?" Bel'sian postulated as she cleared off one of the linguist's knees fully. Her feet would give them resistance if they tried to tug her free, but she was increasingly confident they would be able to haul the blonde to the far corner of their chamber in a few moments' time, barring another crisis.

"No, they're aliens- Syshin. You'll see. Solae isn't like other people- other humans I mean. She cares about everyone," Rosaria told her, her voice faltering as she was pulled back into the reality of how she could have been buried under several feet of rubble, crushed or suffocated in seconds, and how someone who talked directly to the empress and gained her blessing pushed her out of the way without a second thought.

"We will pull now," the Kalderi decided unilaterally. "Do like I do," she instructed as she hooked her long, slender fingers under the shoulder. Yanking on the arms would be more effort and risk further harm, whereas in the crevice between torso and limb was secure. Wiping away an errant tear, and nodding numbly, Rosaria followed suit and they very delicately dragged the aristocrat out of the mire. The grunts and groans they made as they strained to tow her the last few inches echoed in their cavern. On two sides there were stone walls and a ceiling remained partially intact overhead, the edges of which disappeared into a brown slope. Had the upper levels been destroyed all three of them would have been killed by the deceptively dangerous soil avalanche.

"Can I talk to this... Rene?" Bel'sian politely requested as she sat on the floor, sliding the noblewoman to the corner to the best of her ability.

Knitting her brows together in confusion, Rosaria hesitated, perplexed why the odd adventuring painter would need direct contact. After a pause she plucked the communicator off her shirt and handed it over as well as the matching earpiece. She wanted to have a more sophisticated transponder but she was a lanky adolescent not yet finished with puberty, so Solae was hesitant to fabric something that might need to be replaced if she hit another growth spurt. "If you want to," she consented in her typical, moody, feigning-detachment tone.

"Can you show me how to turn it on?" The connection was made silently as the moody juvenile made an appropriate activating gesture. "Ah, thank you. We have freed the Solae," Bel'sian announced with her heavy accent on particular consonants that were drawn out in her own language. "Her legs are damaged, and she hit her head when she fell, but she does not have wounds to the other parts of her body. There is... blood you call it, but there is not so much. Kalderi would put a flat... I do not know the word, under the legs. When you find us, I think she will need something flat to put under her legs or we could make it worse. We are now in the corner," she added once the trio had retreated as much was possible. Rosaria had pulled her mentor's head into her lap in a rare moment of tender vulnerability.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

"I will wait for him here," Bel'sian countered uneasily. That she hadn't bolted from Solae which was, in the diplomat's mind, the first success. Ordinary citizens of the Stellar Empire had a simplified and glorified notion of what it meant to be an ambassador. They dreamed of men and women donned in extravagant outfits, so perfectly poised, graceful, and articulate, that they instantly charmed everyone they met. The reality was that many endeavors were orchestrated in stages. It was more common than her peers would admit for there to be a fatal breach of etiquette, an approach made with ignorance of vital cultural tradition, an overabundance of pride coming across as too aggressive, or an excessively cautious introduction giving a weak first impression. These missteps were not common knowledge despite being plentiful. With someone as apprehensive as Bel'sian the goal was to ensure she didn't retreat in fear of the unknown.

"I can understand wanting to do so," the linguist said with a nod in a placating voice, "but he simply can't step away from the soldier. She's barely clinging to life and just before I left he was needed to help administer some much-needed medication to her. If you like, you can walk to your camp before us and we will pack up your things. Would that make you feel better about our intentions?" she suggested. After all the strong-willed individuals she had encountered on her journey throughout the sector, from Thorne and Ten, to Oanh Park and Min Ho Park, to Tychon and Julia, it was jarring to have someone so timid. Mentally she chastised herself for applying that label. Bel'sian had to be a quite brave and independent Kalderi to have left her home. Perhaps it was human bias to consider her trepidation in such a negative light.

"You're not going to make me do all the work, are you?" Rosaria whispered. The teenager had not taken into account that the Kalderi could have more exceptional hearing as a species. It was only after Bel'sian made a soft sound like sounded like mirth in her throat that she blushed, embarrassed she had been overheard.

"Is this your... offspring?" Bel'sian inquired, still firmly planted on her side of the building.

"No," Solae answered, careful not to be too quick or firm in her response, lest she offend her companion. "I do not have any children yet. We're not sure who her parents are, but I am happy to be responsible for her, and to help make certain she can create a future for herself. Not all humans have as strong a sense of community as the Kalderi," she tried to delicately explain. Bel'sian was confused and perplexed. The duchess wasn't sure if she aided or hindered her cause to win over the trust of the other female with her comment.

Just as the flaxen-haired aristocrat parted her lips to offer words of comfort and reassurance she heard a peculiar noise that Bel'sian had also no doubt noticed. The alien had gone rigid, glancing around, trying to determine the source of the sound and what it might to denote. Rosaria stared between the pair until she too heard a rumbling, the crack of distant trees, and the occasional clatter of rocks colliding before strangely falling silent. Of the three it was the noblewoman that first made the deduction. Part of her training as a diplomat involved courses on the various types of posts she might have, how to navigate foreign terrain, and the hazards of worlds that were unstable due to recent terraforming. "Fresh" planets were so popular that settlers would plant themselves on the surface years before they were deemed safe and the empire would have the duty to send negotiators to try to coax them to leave rather than undertake the risk of staying.

Grabbing Rosaria by the wrist Solae darted forward, pushing Bel'sian towards an opposite corner of the structure that did not have empty holes for windows or doors. The intact wall was sufficient to offer them a layer of protection if there was, in fact, earth or water rushing towards them as she predicted. Bel'sian cried out in protest at the manhandling, reflexively wanting to wrench away, but she was shoved into the niche with more strength than she could overcome. Rosaria was slightly less resistant but still tried to shake off the inexplicable steel grip indignantly.

Thick flows of mud burst around them as it veritably explored into the room, oozing through the open portals to the north, the stream several feet tall. Bel'sian gasped in shock- this was not a phenomena that the Kalderi were terribly familiar with, at least not in the area she hailed from- while Rosaria recoiled in disgust and horror. Boulders with a height greater than any of them were pressed into an adjacent ruined section of wall before the weight of the mud and debris behind it forced it through, ripping out a chunk of white rock that was lost in the dark sludge. As the mire encroached on their tiny sanctuary all pretenses of composure bled away. They moved to huddle together with Solae, who had prioritized getting the others to safety before herself, on the outer rim of this makeshift sanctum.

The derelict mansion groaned under the current of mire, sowing panic and creating a distraction, as the wave surged higher and edged inward. Solae released Rosaria as tumbling group of stones that had been swept into the torrent of muck collided with her. The initial impact itself was not deadly, but one leg became trapped underneath the invading filth, and she fell hard to the ground, her head thudding as it struck the stone. Rosaria screamed and tugged on her unconscious savior, crying for the first time she could remember, barely cognizant of the fact her mistress was alive. In that moment she was genuinely scared she'd lose the ounce of happiness she had. Paranoia gave way to despair and Bel'sian was powerless to do anything more than watch helplessly as the tragic scene unfolded. She waited no more than a minute, when she was confident the brown miasma had ebbed slightly, before she awkwardly walked forward and put a hand on the girl's shoulder.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Solae was highly displeased at this turn of events. Truly it was not Rene's fault that it started to rain or that the soldier could not be safely carried to the ship. She knew from experience how stressful it could be, however, to be solely responsible for piloting the spacecraft, and she didn't wish that level of anxious pressure on anyone. Were they under a different set of circumstances she would have made a passionate argument against forcing the responsibility on her Syshin companion. He had only just started to learn the art of navigation of control and his teachers were a relative amateur who had been at the helm less than a month and an AI was improvising an instruction program for their lessons. They were out of options and the injured woman's health was the most important factor in their decisions, but that did not mean she had to be happy with the ultimate outcome.

"Rosaria, let's get going," the duchess said to her charge as she turned towards the path leading from the makeshift campsite to the ruins. She should have known that the inquisitive youth would have questioned their quick departure. In no mood for an extended discussion on the matter, she bristled internally when she didn't hear footsteps behind her. Perhaps she had been too encouraging about letting the girl speak her mind as often as she wanted.

"But why aren't we going to stay here and wait for the Bonaventure?" she ventured, oblivious to how much her aristocratic companion did not want to debate the subject. To her it made sense to delay. Unlike the adults in the party, she didn't think quite so thoroughly or as far ahead, partially because of her age and partially because her life had been so suffocatingly contained before she was liberated from Thorne.

"You might have noticed the colonel said that strapping the armor to her with her burns wouldn't be fun. We won't be any help here," she explained as patiently as was possible, "and I don't think she wants an audience to that pain more than necessary. It would be improper and disrespectful to longer." Once she had finished chastising she glanced over her shoulder to address Rene directly. "We'll be back with Bel'sian as soon as we can to have group conversation. At the very least it will be warm and dry in the ship." The area Bouradine had set up was habitable, just less than ideal, and could not compare to the space and facilities of a freighter. More and more the diplomat was beginning to appreciate what a godsend the slaver's vessel was even if its origins were horrifying and it was several models out of date.

Rosaria jogged to keep up with Solae's brisk pace as her long strides carried her further from what would soon be a ghastly show as quickly as possible. Once she caught caught up with her pace, two of her steps to the linguist's one, she furrowed her brows in worry. "Do you think she'll be all right? The soldier that is?"

"You're really that concerned?" the former marquise asked with mild surprise. She had been a little pessimistic they had intervened too late and Rosaria wouldn't be able to empathize or sympathize with others. There was a raging debate over nature and nurture, yet there were centuries of evidence that rearing a child in a vacuum of emotions could turn them into cold-blooded monsters. Toddlers that weren't shown love could become callous, detached adolescents, and over ten was nearly a guarantee of severe psychological damage. Rosaria was flawed but was miraculous, an exceptional beacon of hope, proof that upbringing was not always a correlation to damnation. They had a long ways to go, but the progress was reassuring. "Rene wouldn't have taken off his armor and volunteered the kit if he didn't think it had a chance to work. Besides, Ten gave us enough medical supplies for a platoon of marines, and the equipment we have will make a huge difference in her condition."

The walk took them longer than she anticipated, almost twenty minutes, before they ended in the ruins. Gradually it became apparent that a significant portion of the trail they followed had once been an actual road that had become overgrown with vegetation since it had been abandoned by civilization. Scraggly shrubbery, piles of rubble, animal droppings, and other bits of wilderness stayed at their sides, never quite able to root itself where they tread, the less refined technology persistently maintaining structure underneath the dirt, grime, and leaves.

If she had to hazard a guess what they approached was once a breathtaking estate constructed of expensive stone to resemble a long-forgotten culture that was fashionably popular in the era. Exterior walls had survived; the doors and windows had not been so fortunate. The two ladies trekked up to on archway that had only rusted hinges left of its door and cautiously walked inside. Creatures must have sought shelter from the weather here intermittently, mud tracked in that outlined countless prints that were foreign to the educated aristocrat. In the corner was Bel'sian, and easel in front of her as well as a half-painted canvas. In retrospect it made sense. For a culture that so valued the artistic expressions of humanity, at least a handful of them must feel compelled to try to replicate the process, to create their own wonders.

"Miss Bel'sian?" Solae said quietly. It was better if they didn't get too much closer without making an introduction first. Failing to announce their presence and then startling her by appearing at her elbow would make a negative first impression by the most gracious of socialites. "I am Duchess Solae Falia, and this is Rosaria."

Bel'sian turned, eyes wide, in what Solae was fairly certain was alarm. Facial features were hard to read, but body language was blessedly universal, making it exponentially easier to communicate if they encountered a language barrier. First contact protocol utilized reading subtle physical cues extensively when there was no common tongue known. "Where is Bouradine?" she demanded, frightened.

"He's fine," Solae replied with a practiced calm, soothing tone. "My attache is helping him and a wounded soldier that was in his care. We didn't come to hurt either of you or take you anywhere you don't want to go," she added, "just to talk. The Kalderi were troubled about your disappearance. I can lead you back to Mr. Bouradine and my retinue. You may not be familiar with the human empire, but I swear to you on my empress that we have honest intentions. We are here to talk and help," she reiterated.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Bouradine, who was much more attached to living beyond the next few minutes than having a misunderstanding blown out of proportion, quickly pulled out his pistol and veritably tossed on the ground as if it was a live grenade that he had to immediately distance himself from to survive. It was not the method in which Rene had instructed him, but the pistol still had the safety lock engaged, and bounced harmlessly in the dirt. The merchant was not a real threat; he was panicked, with a basic knowledge of firearms only as a means for self-defense, and neither equipped nor willing to engage a marine in combat. Terror tended to make people who didn't have martial training or nerves of steel react unpredictably. That he flung his weapon was probably an expected outcome for the soldier, though he said nothing on the matter, nor did he his body posture indicate anything, not even the relief he surely felt when the minor threat had been eliminated.

Just as the colonel leaned down to cautiously retrieve the pistol, his duchess slipped around the side of Rosaria. Everyone was so fixated on the 'enemy' in front of them, and the curious confrontation with the man, that they had been too distracted to notice what the wayward noblewoman was doing. Dasin belatedly stretched out an arm just as she was out of reach, while their teenage companion nearly jumped out of her skin as her mistress glided past. Solae knew that if she had taken another route or waited a second longer someone would have stopped her. While what she was doing might take a year off of Rene's life or give him gray hair premature, she was a cunning woman of determination, and she would no more let her friends stay in her way than she would her adversaries.

"We can worry about propriety later," she declared by way of introduction. "I am Duchess Solae Falia and we come as friends. The Kalderi were worried about their missing citizen, but we can address that after we tend to the injured. We have better medical supplies on our ship," she added as she did a visual assessment of the wounded woman. Rene would be a better judge of what sort of treatment she needed, but the Bonaventure would have an actual bed and equipment that they had acquired during their travels. Ten, mercenary man of ambiguous morals that he was, had stocked them with enough to last them weeks of constant scuffles easily. "Dasin, Yarue, do you think the two of you could carry her to the ship? No offense to Rene, I think you'd have an easier time of it," she said with a bright smile. There probably wasn't an aristocrat in the sector that would so fondly remember being slung over a shoulder.

"D-duchess?" Bouradine stammered again, perplexed. His eyes grew wider as he drank in the refined features of the golden-haired woman in front of him that was so direct and compassionate. He couldn't quite decide what was more bizarre- that he had been found, that a duchess had visited his abandoned planet seeking him out, that she was there apparently on behalf of the Kalderi, that she was personally concerned about the health of a single marine, that she had two Syshin with her, that the Syshin were dressed in uniforms, that the Syshin's uniforms were obviously tailored for their specific use, or that she spoke to them with respect when the empire habitually treated them as slaves. Fiction was less strange than the scene unfolding in front of him. Too stunned into silence to object, his stare traveled around the group.

"Yes, we can carry her," Dasin affirmed, "easier together as two if she is hurt, but we are here to protect you." His large eyes went from the half-conscious warrior to the diplomat who looked on with worry.

"My life isn't in danger, though, and hers is," Solae pointed out. "Where is Bel'sian, Mr. Bouradine?" Without consciously meaning to the reluctant leader had taken control of the situation and, just as unconsciously, Bouradine respected her inherent authority. Later he would reflect about what made her so compelling. The fact of the matter that whenever an individual acted as if they were a responsible person to make decisions (as the linguist did not), those around the individual in question would respond in kind so long as they were reasonable.

"Are you going to take her away?" the merchant panicked.

"No, I would never take someone anywhere against their will. Dasin and Yarue can carry the marine to our ship, and we will prove to you that we are the honorable members of the empire we claim ourselves to be, so Rene will escort you there as well. Once this lady has been stabilized we can discuss how we all came to be here. Rosaria and I will go to Bel'sian. You have my word as a Falia, we will do nothing more than talk to her and bring her to the ship."

It wasn't as if there was a true choice. Bouradine recognized they wouldn't just leave after coming all this way. Looking at the marine, and then at the earnest blue eyes in front of him, he sighed. There was no better option than trusting. If he was reading the 'room' correctly, the trio of armed men would back up whatever their leader asked of them, and she was quite set on her plan- enough that he doubted the muscular man with the rifle could dissuade her. Besides, had they meant to kill him, they would have done so already and departed for their next target. "She's down the path," he said with a gesture towards the worn path towards the ruins.

The Betrothed

Rhiane struggled to keep control of her facial features internally, though none of her inner conflict reflected on her visage, which still had a smile plastered on it as she glanced towards the crowds that were lingering behind the perimeter created by the bodyguards and press escort. The very suggestion was absolutely preposterous. Not only was it wretchedly insulting, she could only imagine what his reaction might be if she very casually offered to have one of her flings provide him with a list of possible wedding rings for him to chose from. Of course Luke did not put himself in her shoes. Decades of life within the palace as the pampered crown prince meant that he never had to empathize with anyone else and could instead focus solely on the pressures of his role in the monarchy. She did not assume that it was an upbringing without extreme stress, she was just certain that he had been allowed to become selfish, to enjoy an existence where his thoughts and emotions were valued much more highly than the vast majority of his usual interactions. In a way she almost pitied Anette for not knowing how inconsequential she was to him.

"Humans are very fallible creatures," she murmured in response after a prolonged silence. It was only as they were getting into the SUV that she decided she would respond to him in any meaningful way. "I'm sure I'll be asked about my ring in the future, and I might accidentally let it slip that not only did I pick it out myself, it was from a list prepared for my by your ex. A story like that wouldn't be an issue for you, would it?" she asked innocently in that sweetly furious voice she used when she was incensed to a cold rage.

The former farmer knew exactly would happen if she 'mistakenly' divulged the ring process to the media. Just like any others article of news surrounding the crown it would be dissected and sensationalized to the extreme. There would be a rush to discover the identity of the ex and, if no one immediately made the deduction, there would be a veritable parade of his past dalliances broadcasted every night to estimate the probability they were the one referenced. Any credence they had lent to their charade would crumble under the weight of her tale and the illusion of a enviable romance would shatter. Admittedly it would not necessarily be a death blow, it would just be a crisis they could not afford, even if much of the blame could be shifted onto the princess elect for divulging what she knew she ought not to. With so many eyes on them it would be a challenge to punish her effectively without tarnishing their image further.

Realizing she was stomping on what may have been a horribly ill-conceived olive branch she sat down in her seat, strapped on her seat belt, and pulled out a borrowed device that Tobias had lent to her. Because Luke had failed to go to bed with her last night, and had spent so long with his mother and the red-headed demon, he had yet to meet the conditions under which she'd accept the phone model he had tried to gift her previously. "For the record, I believe Callie and I would have the same opinion on jewelry. When someone picks out something for you, even if it's not precisely what you might have selected yourself, the sentiment makes it more beautiful than it would be otherwise. I'm sure she'll be pleased with her present," she explained as if they were debating nothing more than his purchase. Nolan and Tobias wouldn't expose their private conversations, but it still wasn't an argument she wanted to have in front of them all the same.

For the entire ride to the school she was suspiciously silent, reading articles from her hometown's various publications and blogs. Many candidates for the contests to win Luke's hand in marriage had worn jewelry; she was the exception, not the norm, and none of the final contestants except Rhiane were so devoid of accessories. When she formally moved into the palace she had no necklaces, bracelets, watches, and only very simple hoop and stud earrings with no decorative extras for a change in attire. Any time she had made an appearance with any such trinket it had been selected for her by a stylist, though she had been somewhat consistent that, the few times her opinion was requested, she elected for something less ostentatious. Similarly her dresses had been like her paintings, focused on vivid color, decorative artistic embroidery, and traditionally appealing artistry than it was about being fashion forward, expensive, or the most eye-catching. She had always been someone who valued skill over glamour, which was why the luxury of the wealthy elite did not impress her as much as the elaborate pottery in one of their first tour stops.

The caravan of expensive vehicles came to a stop in front of an old school weathered with age. It was not derelict, having been cleaned the last couple days with intense fervor, but no amount of washing could hide it was far from the new architectural wonders where the highest pedigree of teachers assembled to greet the children of the country's leaders. Large trees with leaves the color of a blazing sunset flocked the entry to the school and were interspersed throughout the front and sight yards. Cars, the sort driven by the lower and middle class, filled the parking lot, with not a soul in sight. The moment the engines idled an older gentleman, two older ladies, and a man approximately the age of the couple sprang out from the front doors- their greeting party. One of the older ladies was the principal, the older gentleman a member of the local school board that oversaw the educational system in the town, and the other older lady was a counselor stationed at the school. Oddly enough the somewhat handsome man in his late twenties or early thirties was not on their itinerary, clearly a late addition.

"Ah, it's an old friend," Rhiane smiled, sounding not at all surprised. Tobias lifted his eyes to glance at her in the rear-view window. Something about the way she had grinned, and the choice of the word 'friend,' told him that this was her doing, and was part of a plot that would shake up what had been original envisioned.