Jormand awoke late in the morning, sunlight already streaming through the open window. He had not bothered closing it the night before, it had been cool and pleasant with a breeze coming from the east that did not reek as those from the harbor did. Now the sun shone in with a vengeance, as if to punish Jormand’s arrogance. The pitiful breeze did still blow, attenuated to the point of impotence. It did little to cut the stifling heat of a sun-warmed mattress and thick blankets.

Jormand pulled himself out from under sweat-damp sheets, out into the slightly cooler room. He could smell the first tinges of autumn on that breeze, just out of his reach. The seasons were always slow to change in Maerin. Summer kept a tight fist on the town long after overstaying its welcome, and charged in, rambunctiously as a drunken sailor, before spring ever had time to stake its claim. It did not feel like autumn. The heat was still there, the roofs outside Jormand’s window still shimmered in the sun, but every now and then, he caught a whiff of something to come. Back home the leaves would be beginning to turn now. The great, green woods would be taking on its coat of many colors and would be teeming with deer and elk with antlers newly blooded. Jormand was not happy to be leaving Maerin but returning home in time for the fall hunts was a meaningful consolation.

He was tempted to don a proper coat today, to spit in the face of tenacious summer as it clung to the door, but he had no such garment to wear. His autumn ware was already packed into large chests and roughspun sacks, ready to be taken with them back home. All that was left was what he meant to leave behind. Courtly jackets heavily decorated with lavish colors, thin, flowing shirts of fine silk that he never wore. Even the shoes were of thin leather and rose barely past his ankles. The kind of thing he would never wear, if given a choice. But he had no such choice. And so, more sullenly that was perhaps necessary, he pulled on the darkest shirt and trousers he could find, both dark brown and more spacious that was reasonable, and found the heaviest jacket he had. As he stuck his arms into the sleeves, he noticed with little amusement that it was the jacket he had worn to that fateful party the night before last. The damage had been mended expertly, hardly a stitch was visible. Had he not known where to look, it would have appeared freshly made. But he was still feeling spiteful towards the tyrannical sun, enough so to weather the shame he still felt at losing that fight. It was too bad the boots and gloves to match the jacket were nowhere to be found.

It was late enough in the day that Jormand was surprised he had not been roused yet. His father would be angry at him for endangering himself for a party. It was ironic, seeing as Martim had sent him to the first one. Jormand would not have even thought of it had he not known that there were proper fights to be had. In any event, he was not eager to confront his father that morning but he did not want to spend the whole day in his rooms alone. So he opened the door and started down the hall, nodding to the two guards stationed outside of his room. They did not wear armor and did not carry spears but Jormand knew full well why they were there. House Derran was on high alert, Martim was taking very few chances. He would probably be even more angry than usual then.

Jormand was beginning to think that staying in his rooms would be preferable when he rounded a corner to find his brother, Ketrim, speaking to an unarmored guard with his back to Jormand. Jormand thought about turning around right then but Ketrim would have heard him coming and it would be better to anger Ketrim than Martim that morning.

Even as Jormand was thinking of leaving, Ketrim turned around, sending the guard on his way. That smirk on his face held little sympathy for his brother. Taller than Jormand by a hair and with features that were nearly identical to his brothers, only more refined, Ketrim looked imperious enough to suit any court.

“I was wondering when you’d wake. Father and I were both asleep by the time you returned last night.” Ketrim asked no question but it was clear he meant to be answered. Sometimes he thought he was already the house seat, rather than just the heir. He had a while to wait yet, a fact that Jormand was keen to remind him of from time to time.

“Was there something you needed me for? Had I known that you were waiting for me, I would have been down sooner.” Jormand replied, best not to admit fault quite yet.

“Jormand, you must take this more seriously.” Ketrim pleaded, he nearly seemed sincere. Except for that commanding air that was ever present as of late. “Our house may not have been targeted yet, but you’ve seen who has been, I know that. These are our allies, brother, our friends!” So he did not even think Jormand was capable of protecting himself. Ever since he had left Derranhold for Maerin three years prior, Ketrim had thought himself the more reasonable sibling, more intelligent too. It made it difficult for Jormand to remember a childhood spent playing in the surf together.

“One of us ought to be out there, Ketrim. If everyone knows that we’re hunkering down in the manor, it defeats the purpose of all the secrecy, wouldn’t you say?” That was not Jormand’s actual reason of course, but Ketrim would respond well to supposed political maneuvering. He was too uppity these days to appreciate that sometimes a man just wanted a good fight. Or to spend an evening with friends.

Ketrim sniffed with disapproval but made no attempt to refute Jormand’s claim. It did make sense, really. Not that he would admit that either. “Well, be that as it may, you should be taking an escort. That lord Caerest fellow and whatever other ruffians you’re going with won’t be much use if assassins set upon you in the night.”

Jormand raised an eyebrow at his brother. He had trained side by side with Galier and Jormand, he knew that Galier was as formidable a warrior as himself, likely better. Ketrim had only won sparring with Galier because he was a full five years older. It was hardly a fair fight when a boy without a touch of scruff on his face fought a man twice his size. But Jormand was not there for an argument and Galier could defend his own honor if he saw fit. A few guards would not get in his way, and perhaps Ketrim was right, Galier tended to spend his evenings with a cup of wine in hand.

Jormand grunted and shrugged. It rubbed to accept the guards from Ketrim, but if it was what it took to keep his freedom, he would take the guards. Better them than a stiff lock on his door.

“Good. Father wants to talk to you before you go out again this evening, which I assume you will?”

Jormand nodded. They were probably only letting him because they knew that if he were not at noble parties, he would be brawling in harborside taverns. That was a poorly kept secret, though they never talked openly about it.

“I’ll go to see him.”

Ketrim gave a sharp nod. He looked very proud of himself. He was due another reminder that he was not the seat of house Derran yet, rather soon, Jormand thought.

Jormand found his father standing by a wide table in his study in the far wing of the manor. The room barely got away with that name. Its wide, columned windows and mosaics made it seem nearly a small courtyard, if not for the roof. That table was new though. It was made of unfinished wood that contrasted with the expensive furniture that filled the rest of the room. Even the stools arrayed around the table were fine, waxed, hardwood.

Martim was talking in a low voice with a group of gathered men wearing the base layers of armor, all quilted jackets and padded trousers. Of the entire group, only one looked to be younger than fifty, but Jormand did not recognize any of them as his father’s usual advisors.

When jormand entered the room, every head swiveled to meet him. Upon seeing who it was that dared interrupt him, Martim dismissed the other men in the room. They all turned to leave with the promptness of long time soldiers. None of them spoke as they left, passing Jormand by to exit through the door behind him.

“Jormand. I assume your brother sent you?” He did not sound angry, but that did not mean he was in a good mood either. He did not look quite as put together as he normally did. His greying hair was tied back messily and the jacket he wore sat askew on his shoulders. Surrounded by that, his face looked more weathered than usual, and more tired.

Jormand nodded but said nothing. Martim would say what he planned to regardless of anything Jormand said.

“I’m glad he caught you before you left.” There was a barb in his words but again, he did not seem to be overtly angry, annoyed at Jormand’s disobedience perhaps, but that did not seem to be the reason Jormand was summoned. “We’ve run into a pitfall in the plan. The Lord Monarch has closed all the gates to anyone but traders and craftsmen. Ostensibly for everyone’s protection.” Martim grimaced, deepening the lines on his face. That was the first hint as to who Martim thought was behind the assassinations, it shocked Jormand to hear that he was wary of the Monarch. Suddenly he regretted not bringing guards with him the night before, a little. The Monarch did not have the same resources nor control as the Empress back in Phoenos, but his power over the city was considerable. If he did not want them to leave, they would be hard pressed to do so. “Our ships have all been taken into imperial protection.” Martim frowned even deeper. “With them, most of our sailors, too. It seems that we do not have the luxury of removing our entire presence here after all.”

Jormand was beginning to become worried. Martim had not said it yet, but if one of them was to remain in the city, it would likely be Jormand. Martim was the seat and Ketrim his heir. No other lord of the house was in the city, most were back at Derranhall and the others at minor holdings elsewhere. And now that Jormand knew of his father’s suspicions about the assassin’s employer, he was not keen to stay in the city, much less alone.

Martim continued as if Jormand’s worry was not clear to see on his face. “So, since we cannot evacuate our entire household, we must leave a presence here. One who is not a target. I sent word to Brandt but he is indisposed at the moment.” That provoked another frown from Martim. Brandt Varderran was, on the surface, another vassal, one of high standing but nothing too important. In reality, he was one of Martim’s most trusted advisors and a man with good connections with imperial officials. If he was afraid of being in Maerin, Jormand was certainly justified to be as well.

“This has left us with one option, and not a palatable one at that.” Martim raised his eyes from the table finally to stare down his son. He looked very, very tired. Dark shadows clung to his eyes and the eyes themselves were bloodshot from staring too long at the maps. Jormand doubted that he had slept last night, no matter what Ketrim said.

“Father, I don’t think it's a good idea.” Jormand started, but he had to stop a moment to wet his suddenly dry lips. He began again but Martim cut him off, a little more abruptly than Jormand thought he meant to.

“Not you, boy.” Martim shook his head, an unreadable expression on his face.”Lord Caerest. He may not be my son, but he is my blood now. The contract still holds, no matter what his father wishes, and I raised the boy, I trust him over…” He gave Jormand a thin lipped smile. “He had a good head on his shoulders as a boy, easily distracted, but a good boy.”

Jormand was too surprised to be offended by the implied insult to himself. His father had not even spoken to Galier since his arrival in Maerin, as far as Jormand was aware. It was no secret that he had raised Galier as a burden to the whole house and was none too happy with the arrangement. He had always been fair to Galier as a child but that had been the extent of their relationship.

“I want you to tell him, son. I assume you’ll be out with him tonight.” Jormand nodded, still dumb struck. “He is to have anything he needs transported here by tomorrow and I will meet with him then. Ketrim is already aware and will be on hand if I…” He paused for a moment and stared down at the map again. “I may have to leave sooner than we planned to.”

That caught Jormand’s attention enough to snap him out of his confused stupor. Martim Derran was a man to face danger head on even if the odds were against him. If he was ready to flee, Jormand would do well to heed him.

“I will let him know.” Jormand said hesitantly. He studied his father’s face for any hint as to what exactly was causing this, but there was nothing to be gleaned, as per usual. When he looked up again to make eye contact with Jormand, the momentary lapse had ended.

“Good. See that you do.” It was a dismissal, if not overt. Jormand turned to leave and his father went back to his map. Jormand paused at the door. Looking back into the massive study, his father seemed so very small. Dwarfed by the tall columns and extravagant furniture, Martim looked like a stranger in the home of a Giant. Hardly the stern, capable man that Jormand knew him to be. There was something more, Jormand knew it, something he was not being told. But he knew his father and brother well enough, they would not tell him unless they deemed it necessary. He was struck then by just how old his father looked.

Jormand left the room and closed the door behind him. A pair of guards standing in the hallway acknowledged him with nods. These ones he did recognize, good men that they had taken with them from Derranhall. Who were the ones Martim had been talking to? Certainly not new recruits, not at their age. Martim had a plan to be sure, it only bothered Jormand a little that he was apparently not allowed to know what it was.

Left with little else to do and his father’s request weighing heavily upon him, Jormand returned to his room to dress for the evening. He had not planned to meet with Galier so early but it would be best to give the poor man time to consider the proposition. So Jormand replaced his shoes with a worn out pair of boots he felt comfortable fighting in and strapped on his arming belt and made for the gate. Along the way, he stopped by the guardhouse in the courtyard and found a pair of men he recognized from back home to accompany him. They would keep to themselves and not cause too much of a ruckus if they found their way into the ale at whatever party Galier was planning to attend. Once out into the street, his two guards followed him doggedly. They spoke little, to maintain the Maerinen standard of propriety but they kept watch at every corner Jormand turned and every intersection they crossed.

The walk down to the wharf was strangely quiet for midday, there were people to be found but most kept their voices down if they talked at all. Few wore anything more than the clothes of labourers and those that did kept a retinue of guards. The assassinations were not being taken lightly then, apparently people were still feeling the effects.

Most of the way down to the Captain’s Cat, Jormand and his guards were crossing a particularly bustling intersection when, out of the corner of his eye, Jormand spotted a scrawny blonde head peer around a corner. It was Lana, wearing the same dress from the night before it seemed. Skulking as she was around the corner, she looked very strange. She was a sight cleaner than most of the working folk who crossed her path but she walked with the air of someone who did not want to be seen. The deep blue dress did not really allow for her to be hidden and she got more than a few strange looks from those passing by, something she did not appear to be happy about, judging by her frown. It only deepened when she caught sight of Jormand but she still hurried over to him when he beckoned.

The frown was replaced with what Jormand measured to be a false smile as Lana neared. Jormand had no idea what he had done to earn her ire. Perhaps he had been brusque the night before, but she was not supposed to approach him. It had not been part of the plan. Maybe she was just a prickly person, she would not be the first that Galier had brought in. He began to walk again once she joined him. He gave a respectful nod but she made no attempt to talk either and Jormand was more than content to do the same. The Captain’s Cat was not far now and silence suited him well enough.

The walk passed slower with Lana by his side. He found himself shortening his strides so that she could keep up with him without huffing. She gave him a sidelong glance when he did so, but she did not complain. They made an odd group, ostensibly two nobles heeled by their guards, not one of them speaking and nothing passing between them but suspicious glances. Jormand did his best to stare straight ahead, every time he looked at Lana, she shrank away as if afraid of him. He did not think it was a voluntary reaction but he did not mean to make her feel uncomfortable. He did not like the woman but that did not mean that it had to be difficult to work with her. Galier did seem intent that they do so and Jormand meant to make these two days that he had left as pleasant as possible. Galier would need a good memory if he accepted the position Jormand was going to offer him.

Eventually, after what felt like a walk spent with time flowing at a fraction its normal speed, they arrived at their destination. The usual hum of activity around the Captain’s Cat was lacking today, Jormand noted, but the inn still looked as welcoming as always. Once up the stairs and inside, he saw why it looked so vacant, it very nearly was! Only a handful of morose patrons were scattered across the common room and only half the waitstaff seemed to be present. The bar was left unattended and there was no smell of cooking from the kitchen, that was as strange as the rest of it combined. Saphi always had food ready, even if not a single customer was interested in eating. The low stage across the long room from the bar was empty as well. Even this early in the day, there would usually be a minstrel or acrobat to provide entertainment. Perhaps Galier’s new appointment would not be such a bad thing, by the looks of it he may need the distraction.

Jormand dismissed the two guards as he entered and they stalked off to a table where they had a good view of the room. They would remain watchful no matter what Jormand did. They were good men, diligent in their duties, even if that was not always convenient. Jormand himself made his way behind the bar to the door of the kitchen. Inside was a dismal sight. Only one of the river stone ovens was lit and the room seemed nearly empty. Two cooks busied themselves over the one oven and, to Jormand’s shock, Saphi was not to be found. He had never known the woman to take a day off from the kitchen. That worried him more than the few patrons. The cooks who were there told him that Galier had not been down yet. He would likely still be sleeping off last night’s indulgence. That was no surprise but Jormand had been hoping to relinquish his burden. It would only be a little longer though, Galier could not sleep all day.

On his way back to the common room, Jormand grabbed a jug of ale and a handful of the cheaper, pewter mugs that Galier used for his less auspicious clients. Jormand preferred them, they were much larger.

Lana had joined the guards at their table by the time Jormand was back. They were chatting in low voices, all hunched over the table, mirroring the other patrons. Still, it brought a smile to Jormand’s face. Perhaps Lana was not truly a noble, not by leagues, but it was good to see the breach of decorum. He was already slipping back into his old ways apparently. Going home again was sounding like a better idea by the minute.

The conversation stopped when Jormand arrived, thumping down the jug of ale and mugs onto the table. The pewter looked strange on the well polished tabletop. When taken in full, the Captain’s Cat did not appear as luxurious as it was, but compare any individual piece with its counterpart at another inn and the cost became quite clear. Both guards reached for a mug immediately and poured themselves some ale with wide grins. They were feeling like home as well, Jormand was willing to wager. Lana was more hesitant. She eyed him suspiciously and did not take a mug until Jormand had poured one for himself and one for her as well. Still, she did not drink. Well, that fit with the character she was playing at any rate. Perhaps he should have brought some wine. He chuckled, she probably would not care, he doubted she knew much of wine.

The guards started up their chatting again quickly after pouring their ale. Elyas, the taller of the two, was reminiscing about his youth back north. A man of nearly forty now, Elyas had served Jormand’s father for nearly his entire life. He was the third or fourthson on some family long bonded with Jormand’s and had been around about as long as he could remember. Elyas had even crewed the first ship Jormand had captained. Neither of them spoke of that now.

The other man grunted his agreement with every point Elyas made, though he appeared to be a solid twenty years younger and had probably not been gone from his homeland for long. His accent was still thick enough that even Jormand found it noticeable. Now and then, Jormand would join in with a comment about the cool mornings back home or the food, which seemed to be an important point in Elyas’ eyes, but for the most part he kept quiet. So did Lana. Now that Jormand was there, she was as tight-lipped as she had been on their way to the inn. She appeared to be paying attention to the conversation, though there was no way she really had any interest, but Jormand caught her sending him sharp glances when she thought he was not looking. She looked at him the way a fox might look at a sleeping hound blocking its path, an existential danger that could not be avoided.

Jormand did his best to put Lana’s glares out of his mind and lost himself in the great picture he and the two guards painted of life back at Derranhall. Homesickness so strong it nearly hurt welled up in his chest and, to his shock, he found his eyes were getting moist. It had been a long time, at least a few months, since he had thought of home. It was a dangerous thing to do here, so far away as he was. Nostalgia would overtake him easily. But now he could afford it. Their conversation ranged from autumn feasts to ice skating in the winter, a subject that seemed to leave Lana quite confused, but they never strayed from talk of home. It was at the forefront of all of their minds. Jormand could tell by the way that each man fingered the ring under the gloves that they wore. Jormand had always found his soulstone a reminder of home, even when he did not want it to be. That was part of the reason he often carried it in a belt pouch.

Jormand or Elyas or the other guardsman would occasionally try to engage Lana in their conversation, but she had little to add. It was not a surprise to hear that she had never left the city itself, it was more expensive to travel than to stay put. Jormand found the colder seasons pleasant, to him they meant curling up by the fire with a mug of hot, spiced wine but to her they heralded months of deadly cold and little food to be found. Jormand had never given much thought to how the poorer in Maerin fared during the winter but apparently it was not well. On one of the few occasions that she spoke, Lana told of alleys packed with frozen corpses, only the ones lowest in the pile would survive the night, their own heat kept in by the bodies of their family and strangers. Winter turned the sunny, breezy city into a maze of corridors where wind blew bitterly without anything to stand in its way. Jormand shivered at the thought, not of the cold but of the unprepared beggars who, with no choices left to then, stood in the streets to freeze. It was a good death, Lana said, more pleasant than sickness or a knife in the dark. She said some spoke of peace just before they passed, the bridge to the afterlife, they said. She did not believe them.

The mood at the table was not soured for long however, it took little prodding for Elyas and the other guard, Guthred was his name Jormand learned, to move back to reminiscing. Jormand did not take part in it anymore. He still longed for a day to spend in the autumn forests near Derranhall but it did not seem fair to Lana. She stared blankly into her mug for the most part, occasionally she would take a swig of ale but she would always return to her unseeing study of the drink. Perhaps he had been too hasty in judging her a prickly person, a life lived as harshly as hers would render most men Jormand knew far worse than she. If she did not trust him, he could understand, no doubt a strange man was a significant danger in her life and Jormand knew full well that he was more intimidating than most, it was no accident.

Elyas and Guthred had moved on to talk of sailing and raids. Their tones did not change even as their talk took a turn to the grisly, if anything, their eyes took on a new, savage light. Perhaps because he did not want to talk about that, or maybe because he had had enough of nostalgia, Jormand turned to Lana and tried to engage her. It felt very much like taking up arms against a man twice his size.

“So, uhm, how did you like the party last night?” As soon as he heard his own words, Jormand cringed inwardly. He was no wordsmith, but that had been clunky even for him.

Lana gave him a hard look for a moment, she seemed to be analysing his every breath, every nervous twitch of his cheek. Eventually, she spoke, but it was in a tone Jormand had thought reserved to grandmothers and grandfathers tiring of their grandchildren. “It was pleasant.”

“Did you watch the duels? I always find them to be the most interesting part of those parties, the rest is really just a preamble.”

She nodded, still with that expression of a cross governess. “I did. You fought quite well.” That comment took a lot of effort on her part. Somehow she made it seem as if it were not a compliment at all. “On that last one, your footwork was rather sloppy though.”

Well that was a surprise. Jormand had thought his last bout against Rianne had gone quite well. She had put up a better defense than she used to, but he had handily ended the duel without ever losing advantage. Who did Lana think she was to critique his technique? A few knife fights in the gutter did not make her a dueling master. He was about to give her a piece of his mind when he saw her lips quirking into a smile behind her mug of ale.

“A joke, northman, you still have those here, don’t you?” Well, it was a rather pointed joke then, but Jormand managed a smile. She was trying to be civil even if she did not manage it well.

“Maybe you’ll fight one yourself one of these days. Galier tells me you’re handy with that knife of yours and I’m inclined to believe him.”

Lana grinned over the rim of her mug, the toothy smile of a mischievous youth, complete with low chuckle. “He told you right then, but I’m not so sure if it would translate well to your duels.” She said it with just enough disgust to show just what she thought of dueling.

He could not blame her, really, they were the only thing left to him in this city. He would not be participating otherwise. He would much rather be fighting a proper battle, even a skirmish with bandits or a raid on a warship. A duel held a little of that spark that kept him itching for the next fight. By comparison, it was weak and waning but it was all he had aside from tavern brawls. It would not be long now though, even if they encountered no brigands on the trail northward, there would always be petty lords willing to hire Jormand and whatever fighting men he could scrounge. If only Galier was coming with him. Aside from the man being excellent company, he knew where to find the best temporary arms-brothers, just the right mix of anger and composure that was needed for a battle.

“You might be surprised. I know I was.” He meant it sincerely but Lana raised an eyebrow as if he was patronizing her. He let it drop. Turning back to his own mug of ale, he caught a snatch of the guards’ conversation. Apparently Guthred greatly preferred northern women and felt the need to express it quite explicitly. Jormand snorted into his ale, he thought it likely that Guthred was exaggerating his experience more than a little. He decided against rejoining the other men’s conversation, opting instead for sitting in silence to wait.

He did not have to wait long. Galier came walking down the staircase only a few minutes later, looking no worse for wear even after waking past midday. He wore a tight, green coat, quite unembellished for him, but made up for it with an elaborate face of makeup. Beyond the normal paints and powders to accentuate that feature or hide this one, he had also painted an elaborate design on one cheek that reached up to his forehead and down to his jaw. It looked like thorns, all tangled together and twisted yet there was a pattern to it. Today, his dark blond hair was pulled back to show off his face and he grinned from ear to ear like a foolish child. It was contagious though and Jormand found himself smiling before Galier even took a seat next to Lana and across from him at the table.

“Good morning all!” He said in a voice far too chipper for a man who had been as drunk as he the night before.

“It's well past noon, Galier.” Jormand noted goodnaturedly.

“It’s morning somewhere.” Galier replied with a shrug. “I’m surprised to see you here so early, but no matter. I’ve planned out our evening already, the lady Adelphine is hosting a feast down by the harbor to celebrate the beginning of autumn. Now there is no dueling for you.” He gave a sympathetic smile to Jormand, but it did not bother him much. Two nights in a row were enough to tire any man out a little, especially with as little sleep as Jormand had gotten. “But I think it is fitting. I tell you, I can smell the leaves starting to change.” It was a shame that Jormand would have to wipe that wistful smile off of his face, but there was no helping it.

“That's all very well, Galier, but that is not why I am here. I have a message from Martim for you.” Jormand said it as seriously as he could manage while he watched Galier take a swig from the ale pitcher.

“Your father?” He sputtered, barely managing to swallow a mouthful of ale. “I don’t think he’s sent me a message, well, ever. Certainly not since arriving here.” He looked Jormand in the eye, concerned lines forming on his face under the makeup. “It must be important, what did he say?”

Jormand swallowed and frowned deeply before speaking. Part of him did now want to give Galier the opportunity. It would only paint a target on his back, but it was the kind of thing that he lived for. The intrigue and schemes of nobility delighted Galier to no end. That was the only reason he was ready to convey Martim’s message at all.

“He wants you to take his place while he’s gone. Manage the house’s affairs here, maintain our presence…” He trailed off. He had made it sound as dull as he could but he could see Galier’s face lighting up, though he still appeared to be worried. “Galier, he was scared, and I mean scared like I have never seen him before.” Jormand could hear the tremble in his voice, he could not deny that he was frightened too. “You don’t have to do it. He can find someone else…” Even as he said it, Jormand knew that was not true. Galier had been Martim’s last choice, no one else was willing to come, not after they heard what was happening in Maerin.

Galier sat there in silence for a moment, looking gravely at the table. His brow was furrowed and his perfectly manicured fingers drummed restlessly on the polished hardwood. Jormand noticed the guards had ceased their conversation as well, he had not meant for them to overheard. They were staring intently into their no doubt empty mugs now. The only departure from the soured mood was Lana who looked curious though she did not voice any questions she may have had. Her eyes were firmly on Galier’s increasingly worried face.

After a moment that felt longer than it possibly could have been, Galier looked up, locked eyes with jormand, and nodded once, a swift jerk on his head that set his hair bouncing. His demeanor was completely transformed from only minutes ago into that of another man. His jaw was set and his eyes were hard, such a strange expression to see on that face, Jormand thought. But no cracks showed in Galier’s facade, if it even was that.

“I’ll do it.” He said, simply. Jormand did not need anything else from him. The rest would be conducted between Galier and Martim, he did not envy his friend that experience.

“Good. Father wants you to have everything you’ll need brought there tomorrow, he’ll meet with you then.” Galier looked prepared for anything with that expression of cool control and his perfect noble exterior but Jormand felt a stab of shame. While he ran from the dangers of Maerin, he left his childhood friend alone, unknowing of what peril lay in his path. Jormand wished he could tell him, if only he knew himself.