“Looks like the tables have turned, little Titus. Did Petrus steal your appetite?” Bartholomew jabbed as he took another bite of his breakfast steak and stared over at his thoughtful brother. Titus’ blue eyes were firmly affixed down on his untouched meal. He shook his head and straightened the collar of his golden, silk shirt before sighing deeply.

“I am afraid it is nothing so simple as stolen appetites, Barty... I know that you did not know Gerathar well, but I hope you can trust me when I say that he was a good man- one of the best in Pilta. He will be sorely missed...” Bartholomew’s apetite was, as opposed to his brother’s, far better than on the average day. This meal was one of celebration- having partaken in the murder of the one his brother now grieved. He had to stop himself from chuckling at the irony, but another word from his red-headed kin deprived him of his bemusement.

“I suppose I am merely exhausted... having to oversee this investigation adds to my duties and I fear that before long, there will be little left of me.” Bartholomew raised his hand to scratch his chin ponderously. Kerras had warned him not to get too involved, but sensing an opportunity to assist the man in his endeavors, he could scarcely resist.

Bartholomew put down his fork and leaned back on the chair to offer: “Then perhaps it is time I offer you some assistance. Though I cannot brag much of my Inquisitorial skills, I have managed the ninth district’s guard rotations... I could assist you in some of the minor duties in regards to the city guards, if you wish.” Titus perked up and finally broke from his staring-contest with his platter of food, but before he could open his mouth to respond, the heavy doors leading into Bartholomew’s chamber swung open to reveal a gleaming, grinning Neda- waving her favored Sargerrei a cheery; “Good morning, Barty!” Being so cheery so early in the morning was a crime worthy of punishment, but the delightful figure in her white dress brought a rare smile to Titus’ frowning lips. He immediately stood from the table- closely followed by Bartholomew and, as expected, both bowed down low as she approached. Bartholomew recovered to wave the entourage of guardsmen away and exclaim;

“Neda! What a surprise!” As she had learned to be customary, she greeted him by leaning into his embrace, but improvised by doing as Asrael had done to her on the evening of the Pyre. Bart looked to his brother over his shoulder as Neda grabbed his buttock and giggled.

“O-oh m-my...” Bartholomew spoke and turned to look at his stumped brother. Seeing the trepidation on Titus’ budding frown, Bartholomew was quick to return the favor and say over his shoulder: “A-a traditional greeting out in the Blight, Titus- worry not. The lovely Neda would never betray Kerras.” Titus seemed relieved to hear it.

“Ah, good... good. I would hate to see our family break other families apart in Pilta.” He chuckled and tapped his brother’s shoulder as he set his course for the door. Before departing, he spoke: “As for your suggestion, Bart... I believe we should discuss this more. Come find me when the lovely miss Kerras leaves, yes?” The two brethren exchanged understanding nods, before Titus bowed down low and bid the two his adieu.

Once the door slapped shut, Bart sighed with relief and tapped Neda’s back. “N-Neda...” She jerked back and let go of her gracious host, but maintained his bright grin. Her eyes quickly darted to the cold platter of steak by the table. “Can I-…” She licked her lips and stared at Titus’ untouched food with a profound hunger. Bart motioned for the table and watched her skip across the chamber, where she immediately sat down to begin devouring the cold meal- making full use of her recently learned skills with the cutlery. As misfortunate as it was to have her interrupt his conversation with his brother at such an opportune time, he was glad to have some company outside the stiff-backed staff of the Garrison. The desert wildling’s enjoyment of the food reminded him of simpler times and the things he had so carelessly taken for granted and her chirpy nature was unlike anything one would ever find in the staff and usual visitors of the facility. Truly; she was a breath of fresh air in the dreary, cobbled halls.

“I must say, I am thrilled to have a visitor.” Bartholomew spoke and continued watching the girl struggling with the cutlery. When at last she succeeded in separating another piece of meat, she thrust the cut-off piece into her mouth and spoke with an accusatory wave of the fork.

“I came to learn more about that white-haired sandlurker.” She spoke through a mouthful of meat, but he could still understand her... after all, he was well used to listening past mouthfuls. He chuckled and leaned forwards on his elbows to question: “Do you mean Lita?” She seemed to be taking a mental note as she nodded.

“How do I kill her?” Bartholomew jerked upright and had to blink a few demonstrative winks.

“I-I would prefer if you did not, miss Neda. She is a kind woman and I have use for her... But understandably; I believe what happened at the tavern was all a misunderstanding-” Neda raised a finger and wagged it back and forth.

“Nu-uh. I-it's not about that. I-…" He felt as if there was something at the tip of her tongue- something aside from half the steak she was neglecting to chew before swallowing it down.

She leaned back on her chair and folded her arms over her chest to say; “I... I don’t trust her. And I don’t like her. I think she wants to steal my place and I don’t need any more competition, all right?” Shet sat back on the chair and crossed her arms- still eyeing the difficult vegetables and sauce with a hunger to her red eyes. He knew jealousy when he saw it- he was well versed in inspiring it in numerous men and women alike, after all.

He cleared his throat and with as much class as only he could present himself with, spoke: “I would hardly call her a competitor... you are his Pa’namph, after all, yes? Surely; you will not let a bit of adultery get between the two of you-” Neda leaned forwards and rested her chin atop her palm- sounding a loud complain as she remembered that she wasn’t even his Pa’namph.

“You don’t get it, Barty... I’m not good at magicky stuff, I’m not good at copying the stuff he draws- I'm just now learning how to read... I can’t even defend myself...” She sighed and turned her head to cradle her face in her palms as she muttered; “I’m so useless...” It had been a long time since he had last met a woman so melancholic. Usually; he would offer her the use of his cock to get her mind off of the dreariness of existence, but on this rare occasion... he did have something to offer.

“My brother has a vast library in which you can study a number of different subjects, but...” He leaned forwards on his chair and rested his sly grin atop his hands. “It just so happens I am more than capable of tutoring you in how to defend yourself, if that is what you wish.” She looked up from her hands and over at the grinning, handsome man with disbelief. She had seen him wear a sword at his hilt and he had, supposedly, swung it around some at the mansion...

“Y-you can? How?” He puffed his chest out with pride and spoke; “Well, I would hate to be a braggard, but I am known to be a capable fighter in several disciplines. Blades- long and short, dueling daggers, shields-”

Neda shot up from her chair and demanded; “Teach me how to use a dagger! I have one- I wanna learn how to use it!” He chuckled and stood up from the chair to nod and offer; “Well, then... come. We will go to the training halls immediately.”

________________________________________________

The similarities between the Inquisition’s training halls and Gerathar’s halls made Neda’s stomach squirm with protest. With the exception of the exceptional layer of grime and dirt on the training-mats and the lack of any and all windows-… she paused to consider that, aside from the four walls and the softness of the floor, this place was not alike Gerathar’s halls at all. Bartholomew chuckled as he saw her timid steps and asked:

“It is a bit too early for you to get scared, Lady Neda. Not to worry- I promise I will be gentle.” He reached behind his back and produced two pairs of holstered weapons- well-worn, tired hilts leading into equally dried and crackled leather scabbards. He extended one pair towards Neda and watched her take them from his right hand with a mischievous grin. She unholstered the two daggers one-by-one and looked at the worn, scratched, flat edges with awe. Blades- even in this state was far beyond what she would’ve ever put her hands on out in the blight.

“I apologize for the state of them, but they will do- I assure you. They are meant to be used to train you- nothing more, nothing less.” In a flashy motion, he grabbed the hilts and swung them outwards- sending the small scabbards off to either side of the grimy, cobbled hall. Not to be outdone, she mirrored his uncaring gesture by throwing the leather pouches off to the sides and nearly knocked one of the braziers by the side of their ring over. He nodded agreeingly and held his hands up for her to see and instruct;

“One blade in either direction. One for stabbing- the other for slashing. See?” She held her hands up and attempted to mirror his grip on the daggers. She imagined the right would be for stabbing, as the thumb offered some stability, whereas she could easily imagine the left- the one directed away from her thumb, could let her slash with ease.

He continued: “Now... repeat after me.” He showed how he could easily switch his grip by spinning the blades mid-air and quickly grab them as he turned. “This little trick might not seem like much, but I assure you, it has won me a duel or two with my men back in Capita.” His eyes glazed over as he traversed his memories- deep in the reminiscence of reaping his rewards. Neda still had no idea what a duel was, but seeing as he ‘won’, she imagined it would be a contest of some kind. She attempted to mirror him once more, only to send both her daggers flying across the room.

She winced before raising a finger and hurriedly sprinted to retrieve them while asking: “What did you win?” It had been a long time since anyone had last wanted to hear Bartholomew’s incessant bragging. Sensing that he had finally landed an audience, he grinned, raised an eyebrow and began: “Do you know what a cuckold is?”