Tag Archive | donor

Deep Shit, a continuation of Fae Apoc for the March Giraffe Call

Apr9

For Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt, after Up Shit Creek (LJ), Shit Keeps Coming (LJ), and Shit, Fan (LJ)

Fae Apoc has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

He knew how to use the sword. He’d been practicing since he was old enough to hold one, and with a wooden sword not all that different from this one – except his had been pine and then apple-wood, not, as he hoped this one was, rowan.

Knowing how to hold the thing probably saved his life, or at least his virtue. These creatures were nasty, violent, and far rougher and stronger than anything Pyry had ever seen, much less fought.

Desirée, on the other hand, was an astonishing fighter. If he hadn’t been busy ducking punches and swinging balls of thorns, Pyry would have been amazed. She ducked and wove and jumped, using the walls, the ceiling, the bar, and the floor all as landing surfaces, taking one troll’s head clean off with a long swing of a sickle-like blade and injuring the second one on the back swing. She was doing all right for herself until the third guy grabbed the chain of her weapon and yanked.

Pyry manged to avoid getting hit by her by tucking under the table, but it looked as if she was stunned. The rhino-like troll in front, the one whose arm she’d banged up, was going straight for her. He was going to hurt her. He was going to mess up Des’ lovely skin.

Pyry didn’t think, he charged, head down, sword held in a guard position. He plunged forward as fast as he could, determined to gore the troll before he got to Des.

His horn went into the thing’s chest as the creature grabbed his sword arm, wrenching his wrist and slamming his hand against the wall. But the horn was already in, piercing the thing’s heart. Pyry tossed his head, sending the horn deeper, and thought about piles of shit and piles of hay.

The man screamed. Screamed, screamed, and screamed some more. He grabbed Pyry, trying to dislodge him, but the horn appeared stuck, and his hands skidded off of Pyry’s skin.

He couldn’t see anything but the creature’s stinking shirt, but that began to smolder and smoke, and his forehead was getting uncomfortably warm. The thing kept slapping ineffectually at Pyry, kept swearing, kept screaming, backing up until he ran into something, then scrambling up onto the bar, pulling Pyry with him.

His screams slowed, turned into whimpers, and then from whimpers into tiny moans. “Gods,” he muttered, “thirteen fled gods. Save me. Save me…. shit.”

With a pop, Pyry’s horn pulled out, and he fell to the floor. His arm was broken, but he hauled his sword back into block position anyway.

He could have saved himself the trouble. Des and her opponent had both stopped, staring at the troll on the counter.

At the man on the counter, much smaller, much paler, swimming in his clothes, who had fallen into a position of prayer and was whispering over and over again “i’ll do better, I’ll do better. I’ll be good. I’ll follow the Law, Gods, please don’t forsake me.”

Pyry felt his mouth curl into a feral grin as he turned towards the blue one. “Your turn.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/319035.html. You can comment here or there.

Sidekick

Apr6

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s commissioned prompt.

The Aunt Family has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

“Were you taught about the archetypes?”

It wasn’t the question Evangaline had been expecting; it segued out of left field while she was still pondering the implications of someone leaving their family, of a son leaving the family.

“The tarot?” she offered, while she tried to remember things Asta and the others had mentioned to her. The archetypes, the archetypes… “No, no, not the tarot, but sometimes it seems similar. Something about the stories? Aunt Asta mentioned them, but she didn’t…”

“No, she wouldn’t have. I don’t believe she had the skill of seeing the stories. I wonder if you will.”

“I… don’t know. When Aunt Asta taught me about them, I had dreams…” Only Rosaria could make Eva feel this way, like she was being measured and judged against an invisible ruler. She shrugged, trying to shake off the elementary-school feeling. “In the Wizard of Oz, the way at the end Dorothy say ‘and you were there, and you, and you? That’s what it was like. Crazy dreams, with Uncle Arges as the Scarecrow.”

She gestured hurriedly with her free hand. “I don’t mean really the scarecrow. I mean, a sidekick, following another guy around. They were younger than I knew him, my age at the time, so late teens. I think I’d seen a picture of him at that age recently, one of the family shots? But this was much more vivid.”

“The Sidekick.” Rosaria made her “thinking” noise. “That would be Argie at that age. I don’t have the paintings with me, nor could you give them a proper look while you were driving, but the Sidekick is one of the archetypes we see a lot in our family. The Buddy. The support. That was Argie to Willard, every inch of the way. It’s what’s so tragic about the whole thing.”

More: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/534069.html
The whole story: http://lynthornealder.com/fiction/aunt-family

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/317663.html. You can comment here or there.

First Rose

Apr5

For Friendly Anon’s commissioned continuation of Twelve Roses and One

She’d heard the story her whole life. The rosebushes, the crazy Aunt that nobody wanted to admit was theirs, the twelve pink blossoms that got brighter for each daughter, the “true gift” they were supposed to receive on their sixteenth birthday.

She knew, too, that her parents had planned on stopping at four kids, or stopping after Harold, or stopping at any point that wasn’t almost-to-thirteen-children. She was fairly certain the gift had power… and she had known from a very young age that one ignore fairy gifts at one’s own peril.

So it was no surprise to her, or to the next three sisters down, when, on the dawn of her birthday, Alicia walked out to the rosebush and snipped the rose that her parents had always called “her rose.”

Her parents had been dithering. They were worried about what a “true gift” would be. They were concerned that there would be sort of booby trap. They were, she was pretty sure, concerned they might end up with a hundred and sixty-nine grandchildren spaced over thirty-something years.

None of that mattered. Alicia had decided as soon as she was old enough to remember making decisions that she would do what Aunt Edith had bade. She had planned to go out there, laid out the pruning shears…

..and then woke in the kitchen, silver blade in one hand and the rose in the other, as she placed it in the vase.

“Well.” Brandy, Celia, and Darla were watching her. “Did I…”

“Yup.” Darla looked a little spooked. “Do you remember…”

“Nothing.” She frowned at the flower. “I wonder what’s going to happen now.”

She watched the flower – they all did, including their rather-miffed parents – every day, staring for the first signs of roots. She ran her fingers over the stem every night before bed, wondering what was coming. It seemed as if she was waiting, holding her breath, like her birthday had been delayed for a flower.

The day her mother found out she was pregnant again, two months after Alicia’s birthday, the rose suddenly popped out roots all over the place.

“Of course,” Mom muttered, and pulled out a lovely pot and a bag of potting soil. “Come on, Alicia. Let’s get her planted.”

The rose went into the dirt like it was helping, grabbing at the dirt, sinking in as if relieved, even if Mom was glaring at it. They were all staring at it, Alicia, Dad, all ten of her sisters and her spoiled little brother. Waiting. Holding their breaths.

“What do you think…?” Ida whispered, but just at that moment, Alicia knew.

“Oh…” She reached out and let the thorns, the two thorns this rose had kept, near the bloom, pierce her fingers.

“Alicia!” Mom had gone from angry to horrified. “What have I told you about fairy gifts?”

“It’s okay, Mom.” Everything was going… well, not everything. But enough was going to be okay. “I understand now. I see it all now.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/317092.html. You can comment here or there.

Kiss-Kisses

Apr5

For Rix_Scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of Damn List (LJ), All You Can Be (LJ), and Detente (LJ)

Addergoole has a landing page here.

Does anyone have any suggestions for Ahouva’s Changes? Or, for that matter, Jovanna’s?
“So.” Aeowyn and Jovanna sat down to either side of Ahouva in English class. “Kendon looks miserable.” Her snakelike friend was showing way too much tooth for comfort.

“More importantly.” Jovanna closed in Ahouva in a flurry of excess skirt. “You look happy. Smiling, for real. Your color’s back. You’re smiling again.”

“Your shoulders aren’t hunched. You’re wearing better clothes.” Aeowyn plucked at the sleeve of Ahouva’s sweater. “I love this colour on you. What, did Kendon not approve?”

“Guyyyys.” She folded her arms across her chest and tried not to smile at them. “So you’re saying I was dumpy, grumpy, lumpy and dull when Kendon was Keeping me?” She kept her voice down out of habit, not wanting him – or his friends – to overhear her talking about him. Even now.

“We’re saying… well, yes. You were miserable, misdrawn, and misadvised. Possibly misfiled as well.” Jovanna patted her shoulder. “But nobody was blaming you, Who. We’re all happy to see you away from him.”

“And happier to see that Basalt isn’t horrible.” Aeowyn had a skill for bluntness. “You’re not bruised, you’re sleeping, and you’re eating. All good signs.”

“I’m not a prize horse,” she muttered, but the smile wouldn’t stay down. “Guys, he’s pretty awesome.”

“That’s not what you were saying at first.” Jovanna sat back and muttered under her breath – some sort of Working. “Are you sure you’re really happy?”

“Stop it, Jo. Tuapeka Intinn Ahouva oro’Basalt a Jovanna cy’Solomon. You just said I looked happier.”

“So what did he do?” Aeowyn leaned over Ahouva to thwap Jovanna. “Friends do not read friends’ minds.”

Ahouva found her cheeks warming. She bit her lip. “He kissed me,” she whispered.

“Kendon did a lot more than…” It was Jo’s turn to hit Aowyn. “I’m just saying.”

“He asked first.”

“Aaaaah.”

“Was it a good one?” Jo looked like she wanted to take notes. “Was it just a kiss, or a kiss-kiss, or…”

“What, we’re categorizing these things scientifically now?”

“It was a kiss-kiss. A really good kiss-kiss-kiss.”

“Three kisses.” Aeowyn’s laugh made Ahouva cringe a little bit. “Oh, relax, I’m happy for you. Do you think you two will move past just kissing, however many kissies you add to it?”

“Welllll…” She really didn’t want to admit she’d been thinking about that almost constantly since the first kiss. “I’d like to. But I’m worried he’s going to, you know…”

From the look on Aeowyn’s face, she did know. From the tch’ Jovanna made, she knew, too. “Who, this is Addergoole. High school rules don’t apply.”

“Exactly. If he’s respecting you enough to make it a choice, I think you’re fine.” Aeowyn didn’t talk about her Keeper. She’d made that abundantly clear – Jovanna still had the bite-mark scars. This was as close as talking about being Kept as she would get, analyzing Ahouva’s relationships. For the first time, Ahouva didn’t really mind.

“He’s really nice, when he relaxes.” She thought about the way he held her, when he wasn’t worrying about her broken windows. “I think he could be a lot of fun… all the way relaxed.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/316567.html. You can comment here or there.

And Out, a drabble of Reiassan for the March Giraffe Call

Apr2

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s commissioned prompt

This story comes after:Meat of the Matter (LJ)
Bare Bones (LJ) [Beta]
Skeleton Key (LJ) [donor perk] and Ambush (LJ)

Reiassan has a landing page here.

Rin hopped out of the window, but not so fast that she couldn’t catch the expression on Girey’s face. It made her smile, the sudden panic of being caught out, the further embarrassment at being thanked for it.

She got out of the way and let him hop after her while she scouted the area. The path to the stables was clear; indeed, there was nobody in the courtyard at all.

“We’ve got to go before they figure out we went through the window,” Girey hissed. “These people don’t want to buy you breakfast, Lady Healer.”

“I’m aware.” His concern was touching, his assumption she didn’t know how to handle herself less so. “If this is how you talk to all women, no wonder you don’t have any in your army.” She kept it a half-voiced mutter; he was right. “Come on.” She kept her hand on her sword hilt, her eyes alert for intruders, and still she almost missed the stable boy that stepped out of the shadows.

“Leaving without paying your bill?” he hissed. “A fine lady like yourself? We can take the man as payment, if your purse is empty, Lady Healer.”

If one more person sneered her title, she was going to grow irritated. She reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of coins. She took a quick glance at them to be sure the price was high enough, and pressed the pile of money into the stable-boy’s hands. “That should cover it. And your rooms aren’t nearly worth what my captive is.” It was a ridiculous thing to add, sleeplessness her only excuse. “Our mounts?”

The boy was still staring at the money. “One moment, one moment.” He hurried to the back of the stable, coming back quickly with three saddled goats. “Here you go, your Ladyship, sir. Reiassannon guide your travels.”

“And yours,” Rin answered. There were sounds coming from the inn; they’d noticed they were missing, then. “Speed on the road,” she added, and mounted. Behind her, Girey was doing the same. They put heels to their sleepy mounts’ flanks and were gone.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/313397.html. You can comment here or there.

Heroes, a story of the Aunt Family for the March Giraffe Call

Mar31

For [personal profile] jjhunter‘s commissioned Prompt.

A continuation of “Tell me a Story,” (LJ), “Princesses, Knights, and the Huntsman” (LJ), The Princess and the Huntsman (LJ), and Princesses (LJ).

The Aunt Family has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.

The princess had been the first painting Estebana, Adam, and Anselma had shown Rosaria, first because many young girls dreamed of being princesses, first because, as Anselma had said, in her dry, always-amused voice, “this can be the most dangerous of the stories, for everyone involved. Remember that, Rosaria.”

She had, of course. She’d remembered it when Aunt Estebana had told her the story of her Hero, and gone instead for the Farmer, for her Ned. Ned had been a steady man, a serious man, a reliable man.

Roasaria was careful to never tell her own children, he own grandchildren, not to go after the Hero or the Prince or the Knight. Let them learn on their own, not live their whole lives wishing for something they hadn’t had, the flash of blue eyes and a charming smile.

The Hero. That painting had been stacked sideways against two others, the Prince and the Knight. “These can come after this one, or be part of him, or be completely aside from it,” Estebana had explained to a baffled young Rosa. “We start with the Hero. Many boys start here, as many girls start with her.” Her dismissive gesture had taken in the pretty girl with her tiara as if she was a speck of dust or a bad idea.

“The Hero.” Grandma Anselma’s voice was steady, always steady, always smiling. “He’s a nice one. See him like this, his sturdy chestplate and his long sword. See him when you see a fireman on TV, a soldier coming home from war. This is the one who will protect you. That’s his goal and his shining quest, to protect, to rescue.”

Adam never spoke, but he spoke now, his finger hovering over the painting. “That’s the ding in his armor, the crack there, the dent there. That’s what he takes for the protection. That’s the strength he needs to protect, there in his muscles, there in his sword.”

“There’s a hole in his armor,” young Rosa had pointed out.

There’s a place you can hurt him, a much older Rosaria understood.

“There is,” Adam agreed. “Every Hero has that. Never forget that, Rosa.”

“And him?” At the time, a hole hadn’t seemed all that interesting, nor had the way her aunt and grandma weren’t saying anything seemed significant. The man in the back corner of the drawing, the second face of the Hero.

Aunt Essie smiled. “Ah, him. That’s the Father. Like your father, Rosa, he’s a hero, protecting his family, keeping them safe and warm and fed.”

“Why isn’t there a girl Hero?” The young Rosa had found that very unfair. Princesses were pretty and nice, but she wanted to be a hero, with a sword. She wanted to protect her younger sisters and stab bad guys and her armor would be shiny.

“Aaah.” Essie shook her head. “There are, of course, women who protect, girls who fight and rescue. But they are not Heroes, or Knights, any more than boys are Princesses. That is not how the story goes.”

Rosaria smiled through the decades at her long-gone aunt, and shared a memory of a knowing look with her cousin Adam. Stories, she knew, changed. People changed. And if she wanted to, she could be her own Hero, even now.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/312669.html. You can comment here or there.

Hooked, a drabble of Rin & Girey for the March Giraffe Call

Mar28

For [personal profile] kelkyag‘s commissioned prompt.

Reiassan has a landing page here.

After Sun-on-the-Water (LJ)

“Sun-on-the-water?” Girey asked, when he was pretty sure they were alone.

“A marriage,” she answered in Bitrani, “between people of decidedly different statuses. Or an informal ‘marriage,’ the sort where you say you’re married when the children come, or after you’ve been living together for a while.”

“Your people have the strangest turns of speech.” He was clearly chewing over the implications, however. That was probably a good thing, right?

“Colorful,” she joked, “like everything here. The Bithrain have a few interesting idioms, too.”

“We’re a much more practical people,” he answered. The lightness in his voice fell flat against his expression. “Decidedly different statuses. Is that us?”

“It could be. It does not need to be.” She leaned against the wall, studying him. “A lot of it depends on people like my Uncle Esnees, and on what’s going on with Elin.”

“You’re considering marrying me.”

“You brought the matter forward.”

“I…” He looked startled. “I did. I was trying to distract your uncle.”

“Well, it worked.” She couldn’t help a smile. “You distracted all of us. But if you decide you find the idea repellent, I can certainly convince the family that Uncle Esnees misunderstood. You haven’t committed to a wedding, of any sort.”

“If I find the idea repellent?” He was looking even more thoughtful. Rin was starting to worry. “And what about you?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/311228.html. You can comment here or there.

Presently, a story of #Addergoole Yr9 for the (February) Giraffe Call (@Rix_scaedu)

Mar27

For [profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt – more of “Birthday Present,” from the December Giraffe Call.

Addergoole has a landing page here

Noam has a sketch here.

He didn’t have any orders! There was nothing holding him from saying anything he wanted! Noam opened his mouth to tell Brenna exactly what he thought of “fun.”

Except, of course, as far as he knew, there wasn’t any way out of Belonging to someone except having them let you go. He closed his mouth again. Pissing her off was probably not what he wanted to do. He tugged at the ribbons a little more, though, just on principle.

Brenna’s face fell. “You don’t want to be here.”

Shit. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’re trying to get away.”

“I’m trying to get untied. Trying to get away would involve more backing towards the door and fumbling with the doorknob.” He gave her his best smile. “I’m not going to lie to you, this wasn’t my idea. Hera caught me in the halls. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think dating you would be a good idea.” Dating, please. Noam was pretty sure he could handle dating.

She touched his pectoral lightly, as if worried it would burn her. When it didn’t light on fire, she set her hand, palm-down, across his chest. “You never said anything.”

“Neither did you. I figured you weren’t interested.”

“Oh.” She looked down at their toes. At her Masked toes, he noted, even here in her bedroom, and his still in shoes. “Oh.”

He kept smiling at her. Smiling seemed good. Her touch seemed very good. “You know, if you let me go, we could date. I’d like that a lot.”

She frowned. “You’re just saying that so I’ll let you go.”

“Well, I’m hoping you’ll let me go, yeah, but I would like dating you, too.” Gods, please?

She bit her lip and shook her head. She hadn’t Masked her teeth. They were very very sharp. “Nobody stays around me long if they have a choice.”

She wasn’t going to let him go, was she? He might as well make the best of it. Noam smiled for her, hoping it wasn’t too fake-looking (Again. He was going to have to spend XP on charisma and bluffing). “Well, I’m yours.”

“You are,” she agreed. “For a while, at least. It’s not forever.”

“Well, if I had to be Owned by someone…” which he’d been doing such a good job of avoiding, thank you, “I’m glad it was you.” He gave the ribbon around his wrists a little tug. He could probably undo it now. Maybe he should wait and let her untie it instead. “What do you think about it?”

“I think…” She looked him over hesitantly, sidelong, uncertainly. “I think you’re mine?”

“Okay.” It was a starting point, at least. “And what do you want to do with me?”

She tugged on the ribbon around his neck. “Unwrap you…” Her shy look up at him was heart-rending. “If that’s okay?”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/309630.html. You can comment here or there.

Setting the Table

Mar26

For Friendly Anon’s commissioned continuation of Tasting (LJ)

Liza’s restaurant opened on the shore of Cayuga Lake, in a prime spot she’d gotten by luck and networking.

She opened on the first day of Spring, an unseasonably warm day with the sun shining brightly off the deep blue water and a few daffodils already in bloom. Her tables were dressed with crocuses and spring greens, and she garnished her plates with little bouquets of the first chives of spring.

And with every dinner that first day came a free glass of her prize wine, served by a sommelier who was grinning from ear to ear, pouring with perfect grace and managing to chat up the diners through that face-stretching smile.

The restaurant’s first night was a smashing success for both of them. Lindon went home pleased. If he could manage to keep the Downside Up Vineyard at the forefront of people’s attentions, all of the money they’d begged, borrowed, or flat-out stolen could be repaid with interest, and their father’s dream would finally be realized.

If he could make the Sunny Side Restaurant succeed, he could keep Downside Up in people’s view long enough to reach their goals. So Sunny Side – and Liza – had to succeed. He could do that.

He made some phone calls. He didn’t really have any favors left to call in, but he could probably borrow from the interest a bit…

Sunny Side’s first week was amazingly successful, almost too much so. Liza found herself running constantly, on the phone constantly, in the kitchen constantly. “I need a clone,” she complained, three hours after closing Friday night, flopped against the deck railing. “Or an extra set of hands. I never imagined that it would be this busy our first week.”

The sommelier winced. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’re doing a great job with the wine. I don’t suppose you know a back-up sous-chef, do you? Or someone who could clone me? Or another greens vendor?”

“Well….”

“God, if you know someone who can clone me, I’ll kiss you.”

The sommelier froze. He hadn’t thought about it before, but the idea of a kiss from Liza suddenly seemed like a very nice idea. “Unfortunately, that’s the one I don’t know. But I can get you a back-up greens vendor, and, if you’ll trust me in your kitchen, I’m a pretty good sous-chef myself. I’ll call my brother in to pour wine for you.”

She blinked at him. “You’d do that for me?”

“I would do more than that for you, Liza. I want Sunny Side to succeed as much as you do.” Maybe more. They were already beginning to get the orders they needed to pay back their debts. If this kept up, they’d actually get what they wanted.

And if Liza was happy… The sommelier blinked at the idea. Liza was blinking at him, too.

“You know,” she murmured, her words a little slurred from wine and exhaustion, “you have beautiful eyes.”

Now was not the time. He picked her up, lifting her easily. “You need some sleep… boss. We can talk about when I start cooking for you tomorrow.”

“And maybe that kiss.”

“And maybe that kiss.” And maybe something, one thing in his life not about their father’s dreams.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/308221.html. You can comment here or there.

Sun-on-the-Water, a story of Rin & Girey for the March Giraffe Calle

Mar25

For Rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt.

Reiassan has a landing page here.

After Navigating Lannamer (LJ.

Arinya kept her uncle pinned with her gaze. Did he know she’d heard him? Did it matter? Nothing he’d said had been specifically treasonous; indeed, he could say, and likely be honest in saying so, that he had been working for the well-being of the Empire.

He kept his gaze on her, but his eyes did flicker to Girey; she could see the moment when he made the connection. She couldn’t keep him hidden forever. She’d always known someone would recognize him. But now that she’d claimed his as her own, it would be harder for them to take him away from her.

“I don’t believe I’ve met your companion, either,” she continued smoothly. The man’s qitari was expensively worked, but gaudy even by Callanthe standards, the patterns a mish-mash of currently-fashionable designs. He was, she was fairly certain, not a relative, or at least not a close one.

“Ah, yes. This is Debnet, Lieutenant Debnet of the Emperor’s Army. But I believe that I have met your companion before, Arinyanca. Prince Girey.”

“I am no Prince.” Girey’s voice was far milder than Arinya had expected from him. “Although I have often been mistaken for one.” He fingered the bracelet on his wrist, and then stroked Rin’s fingers in a clearly affectionate manner. In Bitrani, in a sentence loaded with nuance, he continued, “Although I share a name in common with the former Prince of Bithrain, I am simply Girey of Princess Arinyanca.”

Arinya held back a surprised laugh – or gasp – and wondered if her uncle would catch the meanings twisted into that sentence.

Uncle Esnees was not stupid. “I must have missed the ceremony,” he answered smoothly in the same language. “Certainly my niece would not dishonor such a noble captive with a sun-on-the-water union?”

Mentally, Rin cursed both of them for putting her on the spot. A sun-on-the-water union was exactly what she’d had planned for Girey, a promise whispered over used sheets, a union with him as untitled far-junior partner. If Girey hadn’t claimed himself as exactly that, if her uncle hadn’t pushed the issue…

She smiled brightly at her uncle and his minion. “We’ve been back in Lannamer for less than a day, Uncle. While we’re certainly excited, I don’t want any announcement of ours to overshadow Elin’s wedding. Give it some time, please. The ceremony will come when it comes.” And the look on Girey’s face was well worth it.

Her uncle recovered faster than her captive did. “Well. I look forward to hearing when the happy day will be. Do tell me if you hear where the real Prince of Bithrain is, will you?” He’s still wanted for execution.”

“Certainly,” she smiled back at him. She would need to see if there had been an Imperial order to that effect. And she’d need to find that out soon. “Have a lovely day, Uncle Esnees, Lieutenant Debnet.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/307015.html. You can comment here or there.