Valerna watched Natalia run back and forth around her study, locating a paper for this, a document for that. Natalia’s normally well cared for hair was a mess, as she frenziedly rummaged through a stack of papers on her desk, murmuring to herself.

“Where did I put that receipt? I swear on the Reapers Scythe, I just had it. Chaff it all!” Natalia swore as her elbow sent a pot of ink clattering to the wooden floor. She quickly scooped it up, trying to minimize the ink spilt. Valerna blew out a stream of air through her mouth, looking at her baby sister’s stressed face. Poor girl. She needed to loosen up, so stressed all the time. Valerna flexed her foot, pointing her toes. Ahhh, that felt nice. Natalia ignored her, just like she always did in this state, but Valerna just waited.

Valerna was not the smartest of women. She knew this. She also knew that she was not the most ladylike of ladies, what with her relatively frequent forays in the world of romance, her crude humor, and her choice of wardrobe. No, she wasn’t the sharp young knife that her little sister was. Thresh, she wasn’t even as smart as Maxim, and that was saying something. She wasn’t the most intelligent, no, but… what was her point again? Oh, Thrice Threshed son of a donkey, she hated when this happened. Her thoughts would get to rambling, and then she would lose where she started. She traced her thoughts back, then snapped her mental fingers. That was it!

Valerna was not the smartest of women, but she was a badass. She wasn’t completely certain if that was what her original conclusion was supposed to be, but it was true regardless. That was all that mattered, she reassured herself. Her eyes went back to her little sister. Ohhhh… right… Valerna was not the smartest of women. In fact, she was downright flighty. Valerna Noblis, however, despite her flightiness, promiscuity, and clothing choice (Three of what her tutors had assured her was a very long list of failings), she knew her family. It was the one thing, other than fighting, that she was truly good at. Because she knew her family, Valerna knew that in approximately five seconds, Natalia would let out a stream of whispered obscenities, collapse into her easy chair, and tell Valerna what was wrong. The girl was so predictable it was almost cute. Five seconds passed. Six. Seven. When her count hit ten, Valerna started to worry that she had miscalculated, but then:

“Son of a thrice threshed, one horned, motherless, priest begotten, demon inhabited, biscuit-eating goat! Reapers Sickle-ing Scythe!” There was a squeak as Natalia threw herself into her chair, and Valerna looked up at her. Natalia had a rather childish pout on her lips. Valerna cleared her throat and spoke, her accent just ever so slightly touched by Edral.

“Ahem. I could be wrong, but I don’t think that Sickle-ing is a word. Change it to Scything Sickle though, and you have a half decent swear. Hmmm…” she paused looking deep in thought, waiting for Natalia to speak. She heard a huff, a brief two second pause, and then:

“Valernapleasedon’tlaughbuthasdadevercaughtyouinbedwithaman?”

Valerna didn’t even blink, still humming to herself. She started to get distracted, but she pulled herself to the task at hand. One thing, then another. She needed to finish this thought before moving to the next.

“I also don’t know how the goat could be both motherless and priest-begotten…” she scratched her nose. “But that priest-begotten one is good. I’ll have to remember that one.” Natalia looked at her blankly dumbfounded.

“What?” she shrilled… well, shrilly. “You’re still on that? I just asked you a deeply personal question, seeking sisterly advice and attention on things of a romantic nature, and you…” she almost choked, “You are giving me advice on swears?!?!?” Valerna hummed three decending notes, then three ascending ones. She like to hum in these situations, it helped her focus. She bit into the apple that she had been polishing for a few minutes, chewing slowly, and shrugged before speaking, her mouth still full.

“Wha’ c’n Ah say?” she swallowed, before looking at her baby sister very seriously. “I’m better at swearing than I am at romantic entanglements.” She took another bite of her apple and sighed contentedly. Truly, it was an excellent apple. A master-piece of an apple even. Natalia let out a disbelieving laugh, tension breaking. Oh, good. She wasn’t feeling awkward anymore, just amused and mildly annoyed. Perfect.

Now she will be less likely to bite my head off. Natalia internally dialogued.

“To answer your other question, no,” Valerna chuckled lightly, “I have been fortunate enough to avoid that particular fate. I always saved my forays for when I was away from home. It appears that we are the exact opposite in that regard, little sister.” Natalia frowned at her.

“You could be a little more encouraging, you know.” The young woman said coldly. Valerna shrugged and finished chewing her current bite of apple.

“I could.” She replied evenly. Chaff, but these apples were good! She would have to get ahold of more of these. “But I also happen to be better at swearing than giving encouragement. It’s what gives me my charm.” She grinned cheekily, through another mouthful of apple. It was nearly gone now, sadly.

“Shut up about that and give me some actual advice!” Natalia snapped. Valerna sighed theatrically.

“Nat, what exactly is it that you need me to give advice about? If it’s the act of bedding someone, I’d say you have that one pretty well down, given the sounds I’ve heard coming from your room on my nightly visits to the privy.”

Valerna grinned wickedly as Natalia’s face went from flushed embarrassment to bloodless shock and horror in about an instant. She laughed. “I’m kidding Nat, you know me, I sleep like a rock. I’m more like to just go in my sleep than actually wake up and find a privy.” Natalia’s face went from bloodless shock and horror back to flushed embarrassed and anger. It reminded Valerna of a chameleon. She loved chameleons. Valerna desperately reeled her attention away from amazingly adorable reptiles and back to her slightly less amazing, but no less adorable, sister. Natalia apparently didn’t have words, which suited Valerna just fine. She wasn’t done anyways.

“What I will say is this: be careful. Caj Donovan is a good man, a better warrior, and apparently, from the way you were blushing earlier,” she gave her little sister a meaningful look, “A hell of a lover. That doesn’t mean that he is safe. There is a reason Maxim doesn’t like Caj: He’s terrified of the man.” Valerna paused for a split second to toss her desiccated apple core into a waste bin. “Caj Donovan is unpredictable. He grew up seeing dead people on a daily basis. Moving their bodies.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Natalia said hotly, coming to Caj’s defense, you can’t just say that he-”

“Stop.” Valerna’s voice had steel in it, and in that moment, all traces of the flighty girl were gone. In that moment, she looked every inch her father’s daughter. Her mind and vision left the study she was in, left the country even, fleeing back to her last diplomatic trip back to the Pewhoasil Desert, where she had been one of three diplomats to work with the Alsakhrat Al’Aslia Tribe, or ‘The Original Rock’ Tribe. It was the smallest of the five major nomadic tribes that wandered the Pewhoasil Desert, but was renowned for its extremely fierce warriors, who made it possible for the tribe to survive in the warlike waste that was the Pewhoasil. While she was there, one of the outlying tribal camps was attacked by a war party of the Rumh Damawium, the ‘Bloody Spear’ Tribe, as they called themselves. A ridiculously gory name perhaps, but it certainly fit. Valerna saw the evidence of that firsthand.

“Have you ever had to move a dead body, Natty? That of a child? Or maybe even just that of a man you knew to be a good person? A father? Have you ever witnessed so many dead that when their cairns were all finished being built, enough rocks were used to make this manse? Have you?” Natalia appeared shocked by Valerna’s words, but she just mutely shook her head. “I have.” Valerna said coldly. Valerna’s nerves were vibrating, and she felt her Taqat Almaeraka, or Battle-Energy, as the Sheikh of the Alsakhrat Al’Aslia called it. No trace of her distracted thoughts from earlier was present. This was why she like to fight, because she could focus.

“Now,” Valerna continued in a dark voice, “Imagine waking up every morning since the day of your birth and walking out your front door to look upon the graves of hundreds. Remember the story Narm told about Caj learning to read by playing next to the Tombstones? Imagine that being your experience. That the burial place of the dead was your childhood playground. Imagine moving dead bodies, day after day, week after week, year after year. Now imagine being taught how to make men dead after that, giving a further step of separation from it. Caj grew up surrounded by death. That changes a person. Making someone dead isn’t a sin to Caj, or even a particularly scarring thing. It’s just a part of his life. I am telling you to be careful Natty, because Caj is the type of man that death will follow for all his life, until it finally catches him. Just make sure that’s the type of thing you want to live with.” Valerna’s explanation stopped there, not because she ran out of things to say, but because her jaw was very nearly dislocated by Natalia’s smack. Half-a-second later, Natty’s fist blackened Valerna’s left eye.

“Shut up you threshed whore! Don’t talk in such way about Caj! He is a better man than you are ever liable to catch!” Natalia stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Valerna sighed, rubbing at her bruised jaw.

“You probably are right, little sister. You probably are right.” She was just about to start thinking about chameleons again, in an attempt to cheer herself up, but a familiar Edralian voice pulled her away from that.

“Well, that went well.” Maxim stepped out from where he had been hiding in the second entryway to the office. Valerna snorted.

“Like you could’ve done better.” She replied snarkily. Her younger brother by two years grinned, then winced as it stretched his swollen nose.

“Yes well, at least now we match.” He replied. “If people didn’t notice the familial resemblance before, then they will now, yes?” Valerna sniffed.

“Nah.” She said after a moment of thought. “I have the good sense not to get a broken nose. They’re positively ugly.” She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed.

“Keep talking, and I’m liable to give you one, then we truly will be twins.” She chuckled at that, but distractedly, as she turned her gaze back to the doorway that Nat had left through. Maxim seemed to recognize the shift in her mood, and excused himself from the room, leaving her to her thoughts of geckos and sisters. Wait. Not geckos, chameleons. Although, geckos were quite adorable also…

***

Emma Let out a deep sigh as she examined the miserable excuse for needlework that was sitting on her lap. It seemed that she was unlikely to ever be included in a women’s sewing circle. Not with needlepoint this bad.

That’s alright, she thought sardonically, It’s not like I’d be able to talk gossip anyways… She smirked slightly. Her disability never really bothered her. She was a quiet person by nature, so it really didn’t affect her overmuch. She looked back down at the circular hoop in her lap that held her latest addition to the scrap pile and sighed. With a sniff, she stood up and carelessly tossed it onto the pile of other failed attempts. Walking across the living area, to the door that led to Lord Bietre and Lady Natalia’s offices, she grabbed the decanter of weak strawberry wine that was sitting on a decorative table, and poured herself a finger or two of it, before diluting it with water. She liked the fruity taste, but unfortunately, getting a non-alcoholic fruit juice in the northern Reaches of Whoid Stria was a near impossibility. Most beverages made of fruit would have to be imported from Anacsot, as finding an orchard or vineyard in this northern clime was about as likely as Emma Mute leading a sewing circle. She smiled wryly at the thought and sipped at her drink, enjoying the taste. She could hear the hint of voices coming from Bietre’s study. She had been a silent, unseen witness to an argument between Valerna and Natalia earlier, and she felt like she was on a roll. In her lessons with Mother Jamia years ago, and her more recent education with Countess Isabelle, she had learned a few important lessons about spying on people.

The first, most obvious one, was that you won’t ever hear everything. Most of the time, any information you collect will be incomplete and have to be pieced together. The second, slightly less apparent one, was that you should always be prepared with a proper excuse in case you got caught. Emma was rather good at this one, since people often assumed that because she was mute also meant that she was slow, so they would just think she wasn’t paying attention anyways. Her secondary plan, and the one she employed now, was to start crying. Mother Jamia had always been Jealous of her ability to cry on command, and both she and Countess Isabelle had informed her multiple times that the ability to do so was an invaluable skill. She employed the skill now, quickly walking across the room and picking up her latest failure in the realm of needlepoint, then rushing silently back to a padded wooden bench that sat in the hall between Bietre and Natalia’s offices. It was intended to be used by individuals waiting to be seen by one of the two aforementioned individuals. Satisfied that she now could make the effective excuse to be looking for Lady Natalia, she turned towards the next task at hand. She listened.

“… also, there has continued to be a growing presence of banditry here, here, here, here, and here.” A gruff male voice she didn’t recognize spoke, his ‘here’s’ accompanied by firm taps that she assumed to be the sound of a thin wooden stick being used to point to certain areas on the expansive map in Bietre’s office that showed the vast expanse of area that Whoid Stria covered. She heard Bietre’s sarcastic voice next.

“Careful Major Tootlesnoot,” he said, mock seriously. “That map is expensive. I understand that you are angry with the bandits, but don’t take it out on my map, yes?”

Tootlesnoot? Emma thought incredulously, What kind of name is that? That can’t be real. Right? There was an awkward, embarrassed cough.

“Uh, yes milord, sorry milord.” Bietre sighed.

“Relax Doyle. I was kidding, tap the map to your hearts content. I’ve been meaning to get a new one anyways. It’s never been the same since that time I tripped and slashed wine onto it.”

That was true, Emma knew. There was a huge red stain on the map from that incident. There was another cough, then Major… Tootlesnoot? Spoke. That couldn’t be his real name, could it? Doyle was bad enough…

“Ahem, milord, as I’ve said before, I would prefer to be referred to by my rank.”

“Are you sure?” Bietre’s voice dripped with uncertainty.

“Yes, milord.”

“Okay, Major…” Bietre inhaled deeply, “Tootlesnoot. Please continue.”

Emma could scarcely believe it. That poor man. Doyle Tootlesnoot. What an unfortunate name. She turned her attention back to the Major, as she decided to think of him, and the words he was speaking.

“Thank you, milord. Anyways, here, here, here, and here,” four more taps accompanied his words, although somewhat lighter this time. “We have encampments, and are working to build and man waystations. This also fits rather well with the current infrastructure the Barons and the King have been pushing for on the roads. Due to the desire for the waystations, Dukes Hughes, MacNeil, and Affleck, and Lords Bagby, Elrik, and Whigam have all agreed to help finance this, and to commit men to the cause if possible.” The Major stopped as Bietre snorted.

“Bah,” The Lord said. “Hughes is in the capital, his ‘men’ consist of the extra members of the Crimson Keepers. Affleck isn’t much better, and he can’t afford to give up what few soldiers he does have. MacNeil’s forces are ours anyways, so really, the Dukes just are throwing money at it. GOVNO!” He swore in Edralian, and Emma could practically see him rubbing at his eyes. “Bagby can probably provide contingent of twenty, at most, and Whigham maybe twice that, as for Elrik, he’s too far to the north to really be of much use.” Bietre growled. There was a drawn-out moment of silence. “Is there any good news, Doyle?” There was the sound of a man slumping into a chair, and a tired sigh. The Major, Emma assumed.

“Honestly… no, not really.” There was a moment of silence before Bietre spoke. And his voice sent chills down Emma’s spine.

With Bietre’s smiling personality, it was easy to forget that who exactly he was. Lord Bietre Noblis was a living legend. Considered by many to be the greatest sword master to ever live, and a cunning commander besides, stories about him were told by every travelling peddler and performer out there. There were stories about him and Norman O’Brien, Narm as she knew him, fighting off over twenty men who had attempted an assassination on King Thomas. There were other stories, most of which were probably exaggerated. He’d killed a grizzly bear with nothing but his Kinjal, the dagger of his mother’s homeland. He had killed his own father for his treason to the crown, humiliating him in an epic duel, before ascending to take his position, something that was seemingly impossible for a bastard child to do. During the peasant revolts twenty years ago, he had given a glowing, passionate speech, talking down a crowd of over 500 people who were armed with pitchforks and torches, and about to storm a military compound. During that time of unrest in the wake of King Thomas’ death, he and Norman O’Brien had dismantled a burgeoning thieves guild in Greatriver. That was one of the most famous stories about him. As the story went, he and Norman O'Brien had lined up twenty figures of the guild who they knew to be violent offenders and questioned them. Norman had asked simple questions to one individual at a time. If they refused to answer, or were unable to, Bietre slit their throats, never saying a word. He’d gotten a nickname from that, although it only caught on in Greatriver. Quietblade.

In the time that she had lived in the Noblis Estate, Emma had come to the conclusion that these stories must be very vastly exaggerated, as they didn’t match Bietre’s personality at all. How could such a smiling, grandfatherly man have done such things? Now, though, she could believe it. His voice was silent and deadly, heavy as a lead weight.

“What about Duke McLellan? Has he offered any men? I know that he has them…”

“The Duke of Ships maintains that his men belong on the sea, as they are members of the Navy, even those in the reserve…” the Major inhaled deeply, frustration evident. “He also said, and I quote, ‘My concern is with the threats of the sea, not those of land. If you can’t stop it yourself, why would I help you? Wipe up your own shite.’” Bietre huffed at this.

“As I expected. Thrice threshed fool. He takes as many men from land forces to supplement his own as he can, leading to our shortage on manpower, then has the audacity to accuse us of being incompetent.” He sighed wearily. “Is there any other news that I should know?”

“Nothing serious sir, just some gossip about political tensions with the Vencheng empire.” Bietre snorted.

“Isn’t there always?” he said, “It’s probably nothing. You are dismissed Major.”

“Yes, milord.” The major said. Emma heard him snap a salute, then march towards the door. She quickly checked to make sure that she still was crying, then pulled her knees up to her chest and stared spitefully at the door to Natalia’s office. A short, plain looking man left Bietre’s office and marched down the hallway in the opposite direction, towards a door that led to an outer courtyard. Somewhat comically, he hadn’t even noticed her, as he had turned in the opposite direction of her seat. A second later Bietre poke his head out the door, looking weary. He stepped out, carrying a wineglass. He looked at her with some surprise, and then worry when he saw her expression. He knelt down next to her.

“Are you okay, little rabbit?” he asked, grandfatherly concern in his voice. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Emma held up her miserly needlepoint, then pointed at the doorway across from her. A look of understanding crossed his features and he nodded meaningfully. “Ah, I see.” He said, a twinkle in his eye. “Well, let me tell you a secret, little rabbit.” He pushed her over slightly and sat down on the bench next to her, then leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I am also, absolutely terrible at needlework. You’d think I’d be better at it, what with it just being poking holes in something. I’m normally rather good at that eh?” he said with a playful wink, tapping the dagger at his side gingerly. “But, alas, It is not meant to be. No matter how much I tried, my wife would never let me join her sewing circles. Of course, even if I could embroider, I don’t think she would let me, yes?” he said with a grin. Emma smiled back hesitantly, and unlike her crying, it was real. She liked Bietre. He ruffled her hair, which didn’t do much since her hair was in a braid, and then stood, holding out his hand. “Come on little rabbit, let’s go find you some better company this this old coot, yes?” She took his hand and trailed after him, wiping away what traces remained of her tears. She wondered how this could be the same man who she heard with such a dark voice, not even five minutes ago. She had a lot to learn about people and what made them good or bad she thought. Or whether they even were. For now, she would follow Bietre, get something to drink, then write down what she heard. Another thing you were always supposed to do. She knew what she heard was probably important, but it didn’t really matter to her. Just another bit of information fallen victim to her practice, she supposed.