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The only order she needed was the one that had been given to her by the queen. Those were the only words ringing through her mind, over and over and over again. The words of her monarch, ordering her to make her way to the capitol. Ordering her to set down roots, to plant herself at the center of Athenia and turn the tide of loyalties in the queen's favor. Iris did not pretend that she was the best woman to turn the heads and minds of the people, but she had her father's name to uphold. She had his legacy to keep close to her chest and she had the trust of the Antonis family to make things right.
Surely, she had pushed just the slightest bit too far by taking the Queen into her home and giving her safe haven. She knew, in her heart, that the Antonis had wanted to stay neutral. If there was one thing that this fire would do for the newly budding civil war, it was to draw the support of the Antonis to the Queen's side. If she knew her Lord Alehandros well enough, having worked with him in her father's stead for a number of years, then she knew that something like this? It was hard to remain neutral when your land was burned to ash.
And that was what Iris saw here and now, settled atop her mare and looking out across her charred lands. The air smelled acrid, like smoke and flesh. The flesh of trees. The flesh of animals and humans. The sweet smell of burned wine from the remains of the homes that she and Hector of Arcana passed. Generally, she would have gone with her husband, but in this moment she did not want his calm words and his encouraging presence. She did not want to feel the shame and grief he felt for having played any part at all in giving Elias the upper hand. If anything, she was tired of hearing him speak.
She was tired of hearing words falling from the mouths of people around her while simultaneously witnessing her warnings ignored. So she had sent Aimias ahead of her, not wanting to listen and simply wanting silence. Hector of Arcana was good for that. The silence. And though she felt the ripples of rage in her chest with every breath she took, she found her peace and her calm because he did not see it fit to speak at every turn of the road or every burned house of fallen tree.
She had expressed to Persephone that attending to the Harvest Festival was a bad idea. She had expressed that sitting back for so long and doing nothing was a bad idea. Iris had been the first to beg for aid. For her Kingdom. For her own province. For the people she loved from here to Taengea. At first, Persephone hadn't wanted to budge. She had wanted to take Emilia and run. And though she felt guilty and angry with herself to admit it, the queen's initial cowardice at handling Elias of Stravos, a man of whom Iris was very intimately acquainted with, both emotionally and physically, was the reason that Iris was riding through her charred lands.
The reluctance to act. The want to hide and run instead of stand was what lead to this moment. Iris could keenly remember the words she spoke to the queen when Persephone had first attended upon her home: "As your friend, I am begging you not to let our Kingdom drown under the weight of another man's hubris."
It was only when they made it to what was left of Iris' childhood home that they stopped and Iris dismounted from her horse. She stood there for a long moment, gazing out at the marble base, the deep green and black of her home's floor singed but not destroyed with the flames. Everything was gone. Absolutely everything... save for the soft glint of golden metal that sunlight caught now that there were no leaves to stop its descent toward solid ground.
"Its all gone," Iris whispered, the first words she had truly said since she had turned away from the direction of Athenia to make a detour toward her home. Her green eyes trailed to Hector and she breathed out deeply, "Every bit of it..."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The only order she needed was the one that had been given to her by the queen. Those were the only words ringing through her mind, over and over and over again. The words of her monarch, ordering her to make her way to the capitol. Ordering her to set down roots, to plant herself at the center of Athenia and turn the tide of loyalties in the queen's favor. Iris did not pretend that she was the best woman to turn the heads and minds of the people, but she had her father's name to uphold. She had his legacy to keep close to her chest and she had the trust of the Antonis family to make things right.
Surely, she had pushed just the slightest bit too far by taking the Queen into her home and giving her safe haven. She knew, in her heart, that the Antonis had wanted to stay neutral. If there was one thing that this fire would do for the newly budding civil war, it was to draw the support of the Antonis to the Queen's side. If she knew her Lord Alehandros well enough, having worked with him in her father's stead for a number of years, then she knew that something like this? It was hard to remain neutral when your land was burned to ash.
And that was what Iris saw here and now, settled atop her mare and looking out across her charred lands. The air smelled acrid, like smoke and flesh. The flesh of trees. The flesh of animals and humans. The sweet smell of burned wine from the remains of the homes that she and Hector of Arcana passed. Generally, she would have gone with her husband, but in this moment she did not want his calm words and his encouraging presence. She did not want to feel the shame and grief he felt for having played any part at all in giving Elias the upper hand. If anything, she was tired of hearing him speak.
She was tired of hearing words falling from the mouths of people around her while simultaneously witnessing her warnings ignored. So she had sent Aimias ahead of her, not wanting to listen and simply wanting silence. Hector of Arcana was good for that. The silence. And though she felt the ripples of rage in her chest with every breath she took, she found her peace and her calm because he did not see it fit to speak at every turn of the road or every burned house of fallen tree.
She had expressed to Persephone that attending to the Harvest Festival was a bad idea. She had expressed that sitting back for so long and doing nothing was a bad idea. Iris had been the first to beg for aid. For her Kingdom. For her own province. For the people she loved from here to Taengea. At first, Persephone hadn't wanted to budge. She had wanted to take Emilia and run. And though she felt guilty and angry with herself to admit it, the queen's initial cowardice at handling Elias of Stravos, a man of whom Iris was very intimately acquainted with, both emotionally and physically, was the reason that Iris was riding through her charred lands.
The reluctance to act. The want to hide and run instead of stand was what lead to this moment. Iris could keenly remember the words she spoke to the queen when Persephone had first attended upon her home: "As your friend, I am begging you not to let our Kingdom drown under the weight of another man's hubris."
It was only when they made it to what was left of Iris' childhood home that they stopped and Iris dismounted from her horse. She stood there for a long moment, gazing out at the marble base, the deep green and black of her home's floor singed but not destroyed with the flames. Everything was gone. Absolutely everything... save for the soft glint of golden metal that sunlight caught now that there were no leaves to stop its descent toward solid ground.
"Its all gone," Iris whispered, the first words she had truly said since she had turned away from the direction of Athenia to make a detour toward her home. Her green eyes trailed to Hector and she breathed out deeply, "Every bit of it..."
The only order she needed was the one that had been given to her by the queen. Those were the only words ringing through her mind, over and over and over again. The words of her monarch, ordering her to make her way to the capitol. Ordering her to set down roots, to plant herself at the center of Athenia and turn the tide of loyalties in the queen's favor. Iris did not pretend that she was the best woman to turn the heads and minds of the people, but she had her father's name to uphold. She had his legacy to keep close to her chest and she had the trust of the Antonis family to make things right.
Surely, she had pushed just the slightest bit too far by taking the Queen into her home and giving her safe haven. She knew, in her heart, that the Antonis had wanted to stay neutral. If there was one thing that this fire would do for the newly budding civil war, it was to draw the support of the Antonis to the Queen's side. If she knew her Lord Alehandros well enough, having worked with him in her father's stead for a number of years, then she knew that something like this? It was hard to remain neutral when your land was burned to ash.
And that was what Iris saw here and now, settled atop her mare and looking out across her charred lands. The air smelled acrid, like smoke and flesh. The flesh of trees. The flesh of animals and humans. The sweet smell of burned wine from the remains of the homes that she and Hector of Arcana passed. Generally, she would have gone with her husband, but in this moment she did not want his calm words and his encouraging presence. She did not want to feel the shame and grief he felt for having played any part at all in giving Elias the upper hand. If anything, she was tired of hearing him speak.
She was tired of hearing words falling from the mouths of people around her while simultaneously witnessing her warnings ignored. So she had sent Aimias ahead of her, not wanting to listen and simply wanting silence. Hector of Arcana was good for that. The silence. And though she felt the ripples of rage in her chest with every breath she took, she found her peace and her calm because he did not see it fit to speak at every turn of the road or every burned house of fallen tree.
She had expressed to Persephone that attending to the Harvest Festival was a bad idea. She had expressed that sitting back for so long and doing nothing was a bad idea. Iris had been the first to beg for aid. For her Kingdom. For her own province. For the people she loved from here to Taengea. At first, Persephone hadn't wanted to budge. She had wanted to take Emilia and run. And though she felt guilty and angry with herself to admit it, the queen's initial cowardice at handling Elias of Stravos, a man of whom Iris was very intimately acquainted with, both emotionally and physically, was the reason that Iris was riding through her charred lands.
The reluctance to act. The want to hide and run instead of stand was what lead to this moment. Iris could keenly remember the words she spoke to the queen when Persephone had first attended upon her home: "As your friend, I am begging you not to let our Kingdom drown under the weight of another man's hubris."
It was only when they made it to what was left of Iris' childhood home that they stopped and Iris dismounted from her horse. She stood there for a long moment, gazing out at the marble base, the deep green and black of her home's floor singed but not destroyed with the flames. Everything was gone. Absolutely everything... save for the soft glint of golden metal that sunlight caught now that there were no leaves to stop its descent toward solid ground.
"Its all gone," Iris whispered, the first words she had truly said since she had turned away from the direction of Athenia to make a detour toward her home. Her green eyes trailed to Hector and she breathed out deeply, "Every bit of it..."
Between sunset and sunrise, the world had changed. From the moment he answered the frantic knocks at the door to find his daughter and his monarch standing before him, the smell of smoke and chaos billowing into the room, Hector felt as though he stood on the edge of a dream...or a nightmare.
Each face that stood before him brought with it a different emotion - joy and relief at the sight of Ariadne, surprise and deference at the sight of Queen Persephone, unease and suspicion at his long-time friend, Aimias, whose confession and will sat hidden in his study, and overwhelm at the sheer number that now crowded beneath his roof. In a house that comfortably held his immediate family, there were now nearly a dozen there at a time.
It would be ever so slightly more comfortable as of this particular morning, now that the three of them departed at sunrise, despite that the idea of leaving at all filled Hector's stomach with anxious knots. His house was never intended for royals and nobles to ever set eyes upon, but Ariadne assured him that she would ensure their guests were as comfortable as possible there. He trusted her in that. After all, upon hearing the harrowing escape from Aetaea, a small, discreet hideaway would suit their needs, even as a place to lay their heads for a short while.
It was his duty to serve and protect the Xanthos, by whatever means necessary, no matter how surprising and unconventional they may be.
The order had been for Lady Iris to return to Athenia and in this, Hector was to escort her for protection. The silence as they rode towards the capital was unsettling yet understandable, nearly broken only once when the Lady turned them on the path away from Athenia and to Aetaea. They could smell it in the air before they could see the blackened timbers and shells of homes. Hector had never been to Aetaea but he could imagine it's beauty before this...and his stomach pitted again as he feared for the same fate to happen in Arcana, should those who caused this follow the Queen's trail.
Hector dismounted in tandem with Lady Iris, his expression drawn and stoic as he took the reins of her mount before hobbling the horses deftly. Standing, he cleared his throat slightly, nose wrinkling at the spoiled smells all around them. Keeping himself at a distance, he followed behind the noblewoman, a pang in his chest as he felt restricted into helplessness as she surveyed the damage. His eyes shifted away from where the stood towards the scorched horizon, the forest looking as if it had been coated in tar as far as he could see.
His militant mindset switched on, noting it would be easier to see anyone following or approaching them, now.
Her voice drew his attention away from their surrounding.
"I am sorry, my lady," he said, knowing that such words were too pale and feeble for the gravity of the situation. Everything around them was blackened, making indistinguishable shapes across the marble floor. He stepped forward, dipping down beneath a half-collapsed support beam to have a better look. In Egypt, he had personally seen to the burning of many buildings, though with most made of stone, the charred carcasses of them alway stood. The devastation here was clearer.
A sound from the treeline drew his attention, his head snapping around to the main roadway leading towards the remains of the manor.
"Someone is coming..."
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Between sunset and sunrise, the world had changed. From the moment he answered the frantic knocks at the door to find his daughter and his monarch standing before him, the smell of smoke and chaos billowing into the room, Hector felt as though he stood on the edge of a dream...or a nightmare.
Each face that stood before him brought with it a different emotion - joy and relief at the sight of Ariadne, surprise and deference at the sight of Queen Persephone, unease and suspicion at his long-time friend, Aimias, whose confession and will sat hidden in his study, and overwhelm at the sheer number that now crowded beneath his roof. In a house that comfortably held his immediate family, there were now nearly a dozen there at a time.
It would be ever so slightly more comfortable as of this particular morning, now that the three of them departed at sunrise, despite that the idea of leaving at all filled Hector's stomach with anxious knots. His house was never intended for royals and nobles to ever set eyes upon, but Ariadne assured him that she would ensure their guests were as comfortable as possible there. He trusted her in that. After all, upon hearing the harrowing escape from Aetaea, a small, discreet hideaway would suit their needs, even as a place to lay their heads for a short while.
It was his duty to serve and protect the Xanthos, by whatever means necessary, no matter how surprising and unconventional they may be.
The order had been for Lady Iris to return to Athenia and in this, Hector was to escort her for protection. The silence as they rode towards the capital was unsettling yet understandable, nearly broken only once when the Lady turned them on the path away from Athenia and to Aetaea. They could smell it in the air before they could see the blackened timbers and shells of homes. Hector had never been to Aetaea but he could imagine it's beauty before this...and his stomach pitted again as he feared for the same fate to happen in Arcana, should those who caused this follow the Queen's trail.
Hector dismounted in tandem with Lady Iris, his expression drawn and stoic as he took the reins of her mount before hobbling the horses deftly. Standing, he cleared his throat slightly, nose wrinkling at the spoiled smells all around them. Keeping himself at a distance, he followed behind the noblewoman, a pang in his chest as he felt restricted into helplessness as she surveyed the damage. His eyes shifted away from where the stood towards the scorched horizon, the forest looking as if it had been coated in tar as far as he could see.
His militant mindset switched on, noting it would be easier to see anyone following or approaching them, now.
Her voice drew his attention away from their surrounding.
"I am sorry, my lady," he said, knowing that such words were too pale and feeble for the gravity of the situation. Everything around them was blackened, making indistinguishable shapes across the marble floor. He stepped forward, dipping down beneath a half-collapsed support beam to have a better look. In Egypt, he had personally seen to the burning of many buildings, though with most made of stone, the charred carcasses of them alway stood. The devastation here was clearer.
A sound from the treeline drew his attention, his head snapping around to the main roadway leading towards the remains of the manor.
"Someone is coming..."
Between sunset and sunrise, the world had changed. From the moment he answered the frantic knocks at the door to find his daughter and his monarch standing before him, the smell of smoke and chaos billowing into the room, Hector felt as though he stood on the edge of a dream...or a nightmare.
Each face that stood before him brought with it a different emotion - joy and relief at the sight of Ariadne, surprise and deference at the sight of Queen Persephone, unease and suspicion at his long-time friend, Aimias, whose confession and will sat hidden in his study, and overwhelm at the sheer number that now crowded beneath his roof. In a house that comfortably held his immediate family, there were now nearly a dozen there at a time.
It would be ever so slightly more comfortable as of this particular morning, now that the three of them departed at sunrise, despite that the idea of leaving at all filled Hector's stomach with anxious knots. His house was never intended for royals and nobles to ever set eyes upon, but Ariadne assured him that she would ensure their guests were as comfortable as possible there. He trusted her in that. After all, upon hearing the harrowing escape from Aetaea, a small, discreet hideaway would suit their needs, even as a place to lay their heads for a short while.
It was his duty to serve and protect the Xanthos, by whatever means necessary, no matter how surprising and unconventional they may be.
The order had been for Lady Iris to return to Athenia and in this, Hector was to escort her for protection. The silence as they rode towards the capital was unsettling yet understandable, nearly broken only once when the Lady turned them on the path away from Athenia and to Aetaea. They could smell it in the air before they could see the blackened timbers and shells of homes. Hector had never been to Aetaea but he could imagine it's beauty before this...and his stomach pitted again as he feared for the same fate to happen in Arcana, should those who caused this follow the Queen's trail.
Hector dismounted in tandem with Lady Iris, his expression drawn and stoic as he took the reins of her mount before hobbling the horses deftly. Standing, he cleared his throat slightly, nose wrinkling at the spoiled smells all around them. Keeping himself at a distance, he followed behind the noblewoman, a pang in his chest as he felt restricted into helplessness as she surveyed the damage. His eyes shifted away from where the stood towards the scorched horizon, the forest looking as if it had been coated in tar as far as he could see.
His militant mindset switched on, noting it would be easier to see anyone following or approaching them, now.
Her voice drew his attention away from their surrounding.
"I am sorry, my lady," he said, knowing that such words were too pale and feeble for the gravity of the situation. Everything around them was blackened, making indistinguishable shapes across the marble floor. He stepped forward, dipping down beneath a half-collapsed support beam to have a better look. In Egypt, he had personally seen to the burning of many buildings, though with most made of stone, the charred carcasses of them alway stood. The devastation here was clearer.
A sound from the treeline drew his attention, his head snapping around to the main roadway leading towards the remains of the manor.
"Someone is coming..."
Alehandros was a kind man. He doted on his wife and daughters with a large heart and happy smiles. He was, and always has been, a family man. Never could Alehandros call himself ambitious. While the throne could have been his, he never wanted it. The crown was too heavy for him to bear, and as each daughter was born it became more and more clear that the life of a ruling monarch was not a life he would want to subject his daughters to.
But it seemed he and his daughters would be pulled into it whether he wanted to or not. While his desires did not change, the throne will never be his, the wants of another man had brought suffering to all of Athenia. While not ambitious, Alehandros was a man of honor and integrity. As such, the attack on the ships and the palatai disgusted him. The riots that had made their way into his home angered him.
But what brought true fury into a typical calm and polite man was two things. The first was the broken treaty with the other Greek kingdoms. Athenia should be sailing to Egypt along with the rest of the Greeks. With this treaty broken, it put Athenia in a much weaker state than ever before. Something that both Alehandros and Lacides tried to communicate to Lord Elias and event went so far to write to Princess Emilia only to hear no response in return. The lands to the northwest of Athenia was home to constant skirmishes. While for now, Athenia had a handle on it, their forces were mighty and organized, no Athenian can truly predict the future. To have friends to call upon should the tides turn would be a great advantage. Not only that but without the alliance of the two neighboring kingdoms, Athenia would be open for them to invade should they ever choose to. Lastly, the metals found in Colchis and the might of the Taengean economy is of great benefit to Athenia. Should they take offense of Athenians lack of support in the war of Egypt, trading may suffer. Due to Athenia’s self-sufficient nature, it may not have instant ramifications, but in the long term, the entire kingdom could suffer.
The second, however, brought Alehandros to his boiling point. Hyla of Nikolaos, Alehandros’s trusted retainer, arrived at his office to inform of him of the fires burning in an Antonis province, Aetaea. If this were different times, Alehandros may think it an act of the gods. With this drought plaguing Athenia fires were bound to spread, especially in the forested areas of the kingdom. However, all was not well as of late. With the death of his uncle, King Minas, and attack on the palatai a dark shadow had cast over the kingdom as a whole. And thus it was not safe to assume that the fires that spread were natural. There was every possibility a hand lit the trees aflame.
Alehandros was uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride over to Aeatea. His mind was clouded by troubling thoughts, unbetrayed by his stoic face. He just stared out the window, watching the passing scenery go by. Various thoughts flittered across his mind. Primarily his mind was on how many soldiers could they feasibly pull from their battle in the northwest. However, for a brief moment, he entertained the thought of whether or not it would be best to send his daughters away. With the recent deaths in Taengea he would not want to send his children there. It wouldn’t do harm sending them to Colchis to stay with Tythra of Drakos, Lacides’s cousin.
Though the Antonis could look week in doing this, and now more than ever with a potential attack on their province the Antonis had to show their strength. No longer would they remain neutral in the squabble for the throne. No longer would they prioritize the northwest when their own lands suffered by the hands of petty, greedy royals. The time for neutrality was done, should this prove an attack like Alehandros suspected. And whoever did it, whether it be Xanthos, Stravos, or Marikas, would come to regret dragging Antonis into the battle. For when it came to war: There was none mightier than the Dynasteia Antonis.
Arriving at Aetaea, Alehandros found the lands devastated. Despite the fire having been quelled, many trees and houses were lost. The sky was still blackened with smoke, appearing as if it were nightfall despite the sun still remaining in the sky. Death, destruction, all unnecessary, and for what? What was gained with this fire? And was it worth all that was and all that has yet to be lost? For surely, even if it is the god’s will that drought has plagued the lands, they would not want for this. The screams of men trapped in flame, and the cries of women in children as all they ever knew vanished in the dark of night. Alehandros did not pretend to understand the whims of gods, but neither did he think they were so cruel as to bring this carnage upon innocents.
With his thumb, Alehandros twisted his signet ring, pensive. Finally, he broke the silence that had traveled with him since he left Athenia. “Draft a letter to the General,” He told Hyla, never taking his eye off the devastation before him. “See how many troops can be pulled from the Northwest. Have them prepare to mobilize.” The cleanup would take a long time, and to ensure that the rest of the lands, and even Athenia itself, was safe from calamity would require forces. Luckily forces were not something that Antonis lacked.
Finally, the carriage rolled to a stop at what was once the Argyris manor. Alehandros stepped from his carriage and onto sooted ground. Eyes swept this way and that, seeing, well an unusual sight. Lady Iris in the company of the Captain of the White Shields. What was an Arcana captain doing here?
“Lady Iris, my condolences,” Alehandros said as he walked to the pair. His deep voice cutting through whatever it was that they may be speaking of. “I would ask, though, what the Captain of the White Shields is doing away from Arcana? And then I would like an explanation as to what brought such destruction onto these lands.”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Alehandros was a kind man. He doted on his wife and daughters with a large heart and happy smiles. He was, and always has been, a family man. Never could Alehandros call himself ambitious. While the throne could have been his, he never wanted it. The crown was too heavy for him to bear, and as each daughter was born it became more and more clear that the life of a ruling monarch was not a life he would want to subject his daughters to.
But it seemed he and his daughters would be pulled into it whether he wanted to or not. While his desires did not change, the throne will never be his, the wants of another man had brought suffering to all of Athenia. While not ambitious, Alehandros was a man of honor and integrity. As such, the attack on the ships and the palatai disgusted him. The riots that had made their way into his home angered him.
But what brought true fury into a typical calm and polite man was two things. The first was the broken treaty with the other Greek kingdoms. Athenia should be sailing to Egypt along with the rest of the Greeks. With this treaty broken, it put Athenia in a much weaker state than ever before. Something that both Alehandros and Lacides tried to communicate to Lord Elias and event went so far to write to Princess Emilia only to hear no response in return. The lands to the northwest of Athenia was home to constant skirmishes. While for now, Athenia had a handle on it, their forces were mighty and organized, no Athenian can truly predict the future. To have friends to call upon should the tides turn would be a great advantage. Not only that but without the alliance of the two neighboring kingdoms, Athenia would be open for them to invade should they ever choose to. Lastly, the metals found in Colchis and the might of the Taengean economy is of great benefit to Athenia. Should they take offense of Athenians lack of support in the war of Egypt, trading may suffer. Due to Athenia’s self-sufficient nature, it may not have instant ramifications, but in the long term, the entire kingdom could suffer.
The second, however, brought Alehandros to his boiling point. Hyla of Nikolaos, Alehandros’s trusted retainer, arrived at his office to inform of him of the fires burning in an Antonis province, Aetaea. If this were different times, Alehandros may think it an act of the gods. With this drought plaguing Athenia fires were bound to spread, especially in the forested areas of the kingdom. However, all was not well as of late. With the death of his uncle, King Minas, and attack on the palatai a dark shadow had cast over the kingdom as a whole. And thus it was not safe to assume that the fires that spread were natural. There was every possibility a hand lit the trees aflame.
Alehandros was uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride over to Aeatea. His mind was clouded by troubling thoughts, unbetrayed by his stoic face. He just stared out the window, watching the passing scenery go by. Various thoughts flittered across his mind. Primarily his mind was on how many soldiers could they feasibly pull from their battle in the northwest. However, for a brief moment, he entertained the thought of whether or not it would be best to send his daughters away. With the recent deaths in Taengea he would not want to send his children there. It wouldn’t do harm sending them to Colchis to stay with Tythra of Drakos, Lacides’s cousin.
Though the Antonis could look week in doing this, and now more than ever with a potential attack on their province the Antonis had to show their strength. No longer would they remain neutral in the squabble for the throne. No longer would they prioritize the northwest when their own lands suffered by the hands of petty, greedy royals. The time for neutrality was done, should this prove an attack like Alehandros suspected. And whoever did it, whether it be Xanthos, Stravos, or Marikas, would come to regret dragging Antonis into the battle. For when it came to war: There was none mightier than the Dynasteia Antonis.
Arriving at Aetaea, Alehandros found the lands devastated. Despite the fire having been quelled, many trees and houses were lost. The sky was still blackened with smoke, appearing as if it were nightfall despite the sun still remaining in the sky. Death, destruction, all unnecessary, and for what? What was gained with this fire? And was it worth all that was and all that has yet to be lost? For surely, even if it is the god’s will that drought has plagued the lands, they would not want for this. The screams of men trapped in flame, and the cries of women in children as all they ever knew vanished in the dark of night. Alehandros did not pretend to understand the whims of gods, but neither did he think they were so cruel as to bring this carnage upon innocents.
With his thumb, Alehandros twisted his signet ring, pensive. Finally, he broke the silence that had traveled with him since he left Athenia. “Draft a letter to the General,” He told Hyla, never taking his eye off the devastation before him. “See how many troops can be pulled from the Northwest. Have them prepare to mobilize.” The cleanup would take a long time, and to ensure that the rest of the lands, and even Athenia itself, was safe from calamity would require forces. Luckily forces were not something that Antonis lacked.
Finally, the carriage rolled to a stop at what was once the Argyris manor. Alehandros stepped from his carriage and onto sooted ground. Eyes swept this way and that, seeing, well an unusual sight. Lady Iris in the company of the Captain of the White Shields. What was an Arcana captain doing here?
“Lady Iris, my condolences,” Alehandros said as he walked to the pair. His deep voice cutting through whatever it was that they may be speaking of. “I would ask, though, what the Captain of the White Shields is doing away from Arcana? And then I would like an explanation as to what brought such destruction onto these lands.”
Alehandros was a kind man. He doted on his wife and daughters with a large heart and happy smiles. He was, and always has been, a family man. Never could Alehandros call himself ambitious. While the throne could have been his, he never wanted it. The crown was too heavy for him to bear, and as each daughter was born it became more and more clear that the life of a ruling monarch was not a life he would want to subject his daughters to.
But it seemed he and his daughters would be pulled into it whether he wanted to or not. While his desires did not change, the throne will never be his, the wants of another man had brought suffering to all of Athenia. While not ambitious, Alehandros was a man of honor and integrity. As such, the attack on the ships and the palatai disgusted him. The riots that had made their way into his home angered him.
But what brought true fury into a typical calm and polite man was two things. The first was the broken treaty with the other Greek kingdoms. Athenia should be sailing to Egypt along with the rest of the Greeks. With this treaty broken, it put Athenia in a much weaker state than ever before. Something that both Alehandros and Lacides tried to communicate to Lord Elias and event went so far to write to Princess Emilia only to hear no response in return. The lands to the northwest of Athenia was home to constant skirmishes. While for now, Athenia had a handle on it, their forces were mighty and organized, no Athenian can truly predict the future. To have friends to call upon should the tides turn would be a great advantage. Not only that but without the alliance of the two neighboring kingdoms, Athenia would be open for them to invade should they ever choose to. Lastly, the metals found in Colchis and the might of the Taengean economy is of great benefit to Athenia. Should they take offense of Athenians lack of support in the war of Egypt, trading may suffer. Due to Athenia’s self-sufficient nature, it may not have instant ramifications, but in the long term, the entire kingdom could suffer.
The second, however, brought Alehandros to his boiling point. Hyla of Nikolaos, Alehandros’s trusted retainer, arrived at his office to inform of him of the fires burning in an Antonis province, Aetaea. If this were different times, Alehandros may think it an act of the gods. With this drought plaguing Athenia fires were bound to spread, especially in the forested areas of the kingdom. However, all was not well as of late. With the death of his uncle, King Minas, and attack on the palatai a dark shadow had cast over the kingdom as a whole. And thus it was not safe to assume that the fires that spread were natural. There was every possibility a hand lit the trees aflame.
Alehandros was uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride over to Aeatea. His mind was clouded by troubling thoughts, unbetrayed by his stoic face. He just stared out the window, watching the passing scenery go by. Various thoughts flittered across his mind. Primarily his mind was on how many soldiers could they feasibly pull from their battle in the northwest. However, for a brief moment, he entertained the thought of whether or not it would be best to send his daughters away. With the recent deaths in Taengea he would not want to send his children there. It wouldn’t do harm sending them to Colchis to stay with Tythra of Drakos, Lacides’s cousin.
Though the Antonis could look week in doing this, and now more than ever with a potential attack on their province the Antonis had to show their strength. No longer would they remain neutral in the squabble for the throne. No longer would they prioritize the northwest when their own lands suffered by the hands of petty, greedy royals. The time for neutrality was done, should this prove an attack like Alehandros suspected. And whoever did it, whether it be Xanthos, Stravos, or Marikas, would come to regret dragging Antonis into the battle. For when it came to war: There was none mightier than the Dynasteia Antonis.
Arriving at Aetaea, Alehandros found the lands devastated. Despite the fire having been quelled, many trees and houses were lost. The sky was still blackened with smoke, appearing as if it were nightfall despite the sun still remaining in the sky. Death, destruction, all unnecessary, and for what? What was gained with this fire? And was it worth all that was and all that has yet to be lost? For surely, even if it is the god’s will that drought has plagued the lands, they would not want for this. The screams of men trapped in flame, and the cries of women in children as all they ever knew vanished in the dark of night. Alehandros did not pretend to understand the whims of gods, but neither did he think they were so cruel as to bring this carnage upon innocents.
With his thumb, Alehandros twisted his signet ring, pensive. Finally, he broke the silence that had traveled with him since he left Athenia. “Draft a letter to the General,” He told Hyla, never taking his eye off the devastation before him. “See how many troops can be pulled from the Northwest. Have them prepare to mobilize.” The cleanup would take a long time, and to ensure that the rest of the lands, and even Athenia itself, was safe from calamity would require forces. Luckily forces were not something that Antonis lacked.
Finally, the carriage rolled to a stop at what was once the Argyris manor. Alehandros stepped from his carriage and onto sooted ground. Eyes swept this way and that, seeing, well an unusual sight. Lady Iris in the company of the Captain of the White Shields. What was an Arcana captain doing here?
“Lady Iris, my condolences,” Alehandros said as he walked to the pair. His deep voice cutting through whatever it was that they may be speaking of. “I would ask, though, what the Captain of the White Shields is doing away from Arcana? And then I would like an explanation as to what brought such destruction onto these lands.”
There was a part of her that wanted to scream. Scream like the wounded animal she felt. But she didn't, she couldn't, and she wouldn't. Iris breathed deeply through her nose, not wanting condolences or apologies. She wanted restitution for her years of work and dedication, gone. Set to ash before her eyes. The baroness felt no fear with the declaration that someone was coming up the path, because her head turned and she immediately recognized the Antonis colors upon the carriage.
She knew that Lord Alehandros would show his face. Part of her had come here knowing such a thing. The Lord was kind and compassionate. He did not speak without thinking everything through, and he did not make snap judgements in the way that other lords of the lands might. The Argyris dedication to both Antonis and Xanthos over the years was not a secret. Lord Takis had made staunch friends with King Minas long ago, and had remained loyal to the Antonis at every turn. And when Takis could not handle the province due to his illness, he still secured it's health and safety by way of Iris and her own love and dedication to the Antonis family and the trust placed in them.
Seeing Lord Alehandros' carriage now made Iris feel like she had failed her vassal Lord. And, in a way, she had, though a course of hasty decisions and split loyalties that made it difficult to keep herself unbiased and out of the line of fire.
Lady iris gave a deep bow to Lord Alehandros as he joined she and Hector before what was left of Argyris manor. "More specifically, my condolences that my actions have brought such distruction onto your lands, my lord," Iris said slowly, not looking at Hector. Iris was good at keeping secrets, and she knew that she was taking a risk, but she also knew that Lord Alehandros would want the truth, no matter how incriminating it would be. "I will not lie to you, Lord Alehandros, the Captain is with me because someone of import has ordered it," Iris said first and foremost.
Then her gaze drifted away from the man, her fists balling sharply at her sides as she looked across her lands. There was a tension in her shoulders that she had never once allowed. Never had Iris been so angry as in this moment. Hard work, love, and passion for this land meant nothing if it was burned to ash.
"The night was calm," Iris started in without waiting for any further question upon her statement. "There was no crack of thunder, and darkness had already spread," she said slowly, "It was not the gods, but human hands, my lord. Human hands and torches of flame that set Artemis' forests alight under the shine of her brother's light," she said softly. "And I fear it is my fault."
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There was a part of her that wanted to scream. Scream like the wounded animal she felt. But she didn't, she couldn't, and she wouldn't. Iris breathed deeply through her nose, not wanting condolences or apologies. She wanted restitution for her years of work and dedication, gone. Set to ash before her eyes. The baroness felt no fear with the declaration that someone was coming up the path, because her head turned and she immediately recognized the Antonis colors upon the carriage.
She knew that Lord Alehandros would show his face. Part of her had come here knowing such a thing. The Lord was kind and compassionate. He did not speak without thinking everything through, and he did not make snap judgements in the way that other lords of the lands might. The Argyris dedication to both Antonis and Xanthos over the years was not a secret. Lord Takis had made staunch friends with King Minas long ago, and had remained loyal to the Antonis at every turn. And when Takis could not handle the province due to his illness, he still secured it's health and safety by way of Iris and her own love and dedication to the Antonis family and the trust placed in them.
Seeing Lord Alehandros' carriage now made Iris feel like she had failed her vassal Lord. And, in a way, she had, though a course of hasty decisions and split loyalties that made it difficult to keep herself unbiased and out of the line of fire.
Lady iris gave a deep bow to Lord Alehandros as he joined she and Hector before what was left of Argyris manor. "More specifically, my condolences that my actions have brought such distruction onto your lands, my lord," Iris said slowly, not looking at Hector. Iris was good at keeping secrets, and she knew that she was taking a risk, but she also knew that Lord Alehandros would want the truth, no matter how incriminating it would be. "I will not lie to you, Lord Alehandros, the Captain is with me because someone of import has ordered it," Iris said first and foremost.
Then her gaze drifted away from the man, her fists balling sharply at her sides as she looked across her lands. There was a tension in her shoulders that she had never once allowed. Never had Iris been so angry as in this moment. Hard work, love, and passion for this land meant nothing if it was burned to ash.
"The night was calm," Iris started in without waiting for any further question upon her statement. "There was no crack of thunder, and darkness had already spread," she said slowly, "It was not the gods, but human hands, my lord. Human hands and torches of flame that set Artemis' forests alight under the shine of her brother's light," she said softly. "And I fear it is my fault."
There was a part of her that wanted to scream. Scream like the wounded animal she felt. But she didn't, she couldn't, and she wouldn't. Iris breathed deeply through her nose, not wanting condolences or apologies. She wanted restitution for her years of work and dedication, gone. Set to ash before her eyes. The baroness felt no fear with the declaration that someone was coming up the path, because her head turned and she immediately recognized the Antonis colors upon the carriage.
She knew that Lord Alehandros would show his face. Part of her had come here knowing such a thing. The Lord was kind and compassionate. He did not speak without thinking everything through, and he did not make snap judgements in the way that other lords of the lands might. The Argyris dedication to both Antonis and Xanthos over the years was not a secret. Lord Takis had made staunch friends with King Minas long ago, and had remained loyal to the Antonis at every turn. And when Takis could not handle the province due to his illness, he still secured it's health and safety by way of Iris and her own love and dedication to the Antonis family and the trust placed in them.
Seeing Lord Alehandros' carriage now made Iris feel like she had failed her vassal Lord. And, in a way, she had, though a course of hasty decisions and split loyalties that made it difficult to keep herself unbiased and out of the line of fire.
Lady iris gave a deep bow to Lord Alehandros as he joined she and Hector before what was left of Argyris manor. "More specifically, my condolences that my actions have brought such distruction onto your lands, my lord," Iris said slowly, not looking at Hector. Iris was good at keeping secrets, and she knew that she was taking a risk, but she also knew that Lord Alehandros would want the truth, no matter how incriminating it would be. "I will not lie to you, Lord Alehandros, the Captain is with me because someone of import has ordered it," Iris said first and foremost.
Then her gaze drifted away from the man, her fists balling sharply at her sides as she looked across her lands. There was a tension in her shoulders that she had never once allowed. Never had Iris been so angry as in this moment. Hard work, love, and passion for this land meant nothing if it was burned to ash.
"The night was calm," Iris started in without waiting for any further question upon her statement. "There was no crack of thunder, and darkness had already spread," she said slowly, "It was not the gods, but human hands, my lord. Human hands and torches of flame that set Artemis' forests alight under the shine of her brother's light," she said softly. "And I fear it is my fault."
There was much to unpack from Lady Iris’s words. What was immediately interesting to Alehandros was: Someone of import as ordered it. There was a very short list of those who were more important than him. In fact, being her vassal lord meant that there were only two that could give her orders that she must follow. The first was Princess Emilia, primed to take the throne.
The second would be Queen Persephone.
She was supposedly dead. While no body was ever found, something that Alehandros had found suspect for enemies of the throne would surely tout their victory with Queen Persephone’s head, rumors had run rampant of her passing. And then only recently at the harvest festival were there shouts that the Queen was alive. That would be more in line with Alehandros’s thinking. But shouts from peasants were not enough to truly confirm the Lord’s suspicions.
But Emilia was in no state to make demands of the Captain, nor did Lady Iris have any reason to hide that from him. His eyes flicked once more to the captain. He was a fine, honorable man, or so Alehandros heard hearing his daughter chittering to her friend as he passed by her room in the manor. But no matter how fine or honorable he may be, it was still unusual to find him in a burned Antonis province.
More pertinent was her next set of information. The forest was, indeed, lit aflame by human hand. Alehandros did not allow his emotions betray on his face. It remained stony and serious, just as the situation called for. It was a slap in the face to the Lord Antonis who had tried his hardest to remain out of the fight. It was an insult to attack a House who had done nothing but support the Kingdom while the others tried to tear it down. During the riots, while the Stravos cut their people down and allowed the ground to be painted in blood, the Antonis opened their stores and gave the people the food they so desperately needed. It was cowardly, even, to bring fire to their forest in the cover of darkness. Men would meet on the battlefield and look at each other in the eye, fighting a battle worthy of the gods. The weak would resort to such underhanded tactics, uncaring for the lives of innocence as they cried for mercy.
Alehandros took one deep breath. This was not enough for the Lord. For he knew not who had done it… and why. Iris stopped, and Alehandros looked at her with an unwavering eye. “I appreciate your honesty, and I had suspected this much, Lady Iris. For the gods would not want for a sky blacker than my daughter’s paints. But,” Alehandos’s eyes flashed, part in fury, though not necessarily directed at Iris. The answers were so close, the thread unraveling bit by bit, all Iris had to do was… speak, “I do ask that you clarify. Why do you fear that it was your fault?"
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There was much to unpack from Lady Iris’s words. What was immediately interesting to Alehandros was: Someone of import as ordered it. There was a very short list of those who were more important than him. In fact, being her vassal lord meant that there were only two that could give her orders that she must follow. The first was Princess Emilia, primed to take the throne.
The second would be Queen Persephone.
She was supposedly dead. While no body was ever found, something that Alehandros had found suspect for enemies of the throne would surely tout their victory with Queen Persephone’s head, rumors had run rampant of her passing. And then only recently at the harvest festival were there shouts that the Queen was alive. That would be more in line with Alehandros’s thinking. But shouts from peasants were not enough to truly confirm the Lord’s suspicions.
But Emilia was in no state to make demands of the Captain, nor did Lady Iris have any reason to hide that from him. His eyes flicked once more to the captain. He was a fine, honorable man, or so Alehandros heard hearing his daughter chittering to her friend as he passed by her room in the manor. But no matter how fine or honorable he may be, it was still unusual to find him in a burned Antonis province.
More pertinent was her next set of information. The forest was, indeed, lit aflame by human hand. Alehandros did not allow his emotions betray on his face. It remained stony and serious, just as the situation called for. It was a slap in the face to the Lord Antonis who had tried his hardest to remain out of the fight. It was an insult to attack a House who had done nothing but support the Kingdom while the others tried to tear it down. During the riots, while the Stravos cut their people down and allowed the ground to be painted in blood, the Antonis opened their stores and gave the people the food they so desperately needed. It was cowardly, even, to bring fire to their forest in the cover of darkness. Men would meet on the battlefield and look at each other in the eye, fighting a battle worthy of the gods. The weak would resort to such underhanded tactics, uncaring for the lives of innocence as they cried for mercy.
Alehandros took one deep breath. This was not enough for the Lord. For he knew not who had done it… and why. Iris stopped, and Alehandros looked at her with an unwavering eye. “I appreciate your honesty, and I had suspected this much, Lady Iris. For the gods would not want for a sky blacker than my daughter’s paints. But,” Alehandos’s eyes flashed, part in fury, though not necessarily directed at Iris. The answers were so close, the thread unraveling bit by bit, all Iris had to do was… speak, “I do ask that you clarify. Why do you fear that it was your fault?"
There was much to unpack from Lady Iris’s words. What was immediately interesting to Alehandros was: Someone of import as ordered it. There was a very short list of those who were more important than him. In fact, being her vassal lord meant that there were only two that could give her orders that she must follow. The first was Princess Emilia, primed to take the throne.
The second would be Queen Persephone.
She was supposedly dead. While no body was ever found, something that Alehandros had found suspect for enemies of the throne would surely tout their victory with Queen Persephone’s head, rumors had run rampant of her passing. And then only recently at the harvest festival were there shouts that the Queen was alive. That would be more in line with Alehandros’s thinking. But shouts from peasants were not enough to truly confirm the Lord’s suspicions.
But Emilia was in no state to make demands of the Captain, nor did Lady Iris have any reason to hide that from him. His eyes flicked once more to the captain. He was a fine, honorable man, or so Alehandros heard hearing his daughter chittering to her friend as he passed by her room in the manor. But no matter how fine or honorable he may be, it was still unusual to find him in a burned Antonis province.
More pertinent was her next set of information. The forest was, indeed, lit aflame by human hand. Alehandros did not allow his emotions betray on his face. It remained stony and serious, just as the situation called for. It was a slap in the face to the Lord Antonis who had tried his hardest to remain out of the fight. It was an insult to attack a House who had done nothing but support the Kingdom while the others tried to tear it down. During the riots, while the Stravos cut their people down and allowed the ground to be painted in blood, the Antonis opened their stores and gave the people the food they so desperately needed. It was cowardly, even, to bring fire to their forest in the cover of darkness. Men would meet on the battlefield and look at each other in the eye, fighting a battle worthy of the gods. The weak would resort to such underhanded tactics, uncaring for the lives of innocence as they cried for mercy.
Alehandros took one deep breath. This was not enough for the Lord. For he knew not who had done it… and why. Iris stopped, and Alehandros looked at her with an unwavering eye. “I appreciate your honesty, and I had suspected this much, Lady Iris. For the gods would not want for a sky blacker than my daughter’s paints. But,” Alehandos’s eyes flashed, part in fury, though not necessarily directed at Iris. The answers were so close, the thread unraveling bit by bit, all Iris had to do was… speak, “I do ask that you clarify. Why do you fear that it was your fault?"
This was the first step to finding allies for the Xanthos. In a situation where it appeared that both Stravos and Marikas stood united, the Xanthos, a house of only two young women, needed people in their corner. People in the form of the Antonis, the commoners, and whatever provinces, Marikas or Stravos included, that would leand their aid. Iris knew that she could trust Alehandros and she was not keen on hiding very much from him now that she had been so quickly cornered.
An intentional corning on her part, but Lord Alehandros was the best voice to help her. He was the man that could command troops into action with a single word, and Iris was remiss to say nothing at all.
Eyeing her vassal lord, the lady of Aetaea gave him her entire focus as she thought carefully through her words. Though the trees around them were bare and charred, there was no telling who was watching or listening from any spot that they could not see. Her green eyes scanned Lord Alehandros' face, careful with her words, her tone, and the volume of her own voice.
"Because I have made choices that are staunchly against the wants and desires of our current acting monarch," Iris said slowly, "I have supported clashing ideals in a way that they have decided to move against. My punishment seems to be fire, though I assume their intention was outright erradication of myself and those under my care," she did not specify Persephone or her retinue, thinking more about her own people, though she did not think she needed to be so bold and blatant. Lord Alehadnros was a bright man and he likely already knew who and what she was talking about, especially when she cast her gaze outward toward her land.
The lady of Aetaea would speek no words that would truly incriminate. With no names or true proof to stand behind, she was safer in that instance. For she could have been talking about anyone, though no one would have garnered such a reaction as the rumors of Persephone's living breathing person had brought.
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This was the first step to finding allies for the Xanthos. In a situation where it appeared that both Stravos and Marikas stood united, the Xanthos, a house of only two young women, needed people in their corner. People in the form of the Antonis, the commoners, and whatever provinces, Marikas or Stravos included, that would leand their aid. Iris knew that she could trust Alehandros and she was not keen on hiding very much from him now that she had been so quickly cornered.
An intentional corning on her part, but Lord Alehandros was the best voice to help her. He was the man that could command troops into action with a single word, and Iris was remiss to say nothing at all.
Eyeing her vassal lord, the lady of Aetaea gave him her entire focus as she thought carefully through her words. Though the trees around them were bare and charred, there was no telling who was watching or listening from any spot that they could not see. Her green eyes scanned Lord Alehandros' face, careful with her words, her tone, and the volume of her own voice.
"Because I have made choices that are staunchly against the wants and desires of our current acting monarch," Iris said slowly, "I have supported clashing ideals in a way that they have decided to move against. My punishment seems to be fire, though I assume their intention was outright erradication of myself and those under my care," she did not specify Persephone or her retinue, thinking more about her own people, though she did not think she needed to be so bold and blatant. Lord Alehadnros was a bright man and he likely already knew who and what she was talking about, especially when she cast her gaze outward toward her land.
The lady of Aetaea would speek no words that would truly incriminate. With no names or true proof to stand behind, she was safer in that instance. For she could have been talking about anyone, though no one would have garnered such a reaction as the rumors of Persephone's living breathing person had brought.
This was the first step to finding allies for the Xanthos. In a situation where it appeared that both Stravos and Marikas stood united, the Xanthos, a house of only two young women, needed people in their corner. People in the form of the Antonis, the commoners, and whatever provinces, Marikas or Stravos included, that would leand their aid. Iris knew that she could trust Alehandros and she was not keen on hiding very much from him now that she had been so quickly cornered.
An intentional corning on her part, but Lord Alehandros was the best voice to help her. He was the man that could command troops into action with a single word, and Iris was remiss to say nothing at all.
Eyeing her vassal lord, the lady of Aetaea gave him her entire focus as she thought carefully through her words. Though the trees around them were bare and charred, there was no telling who was watching or listening from any spot that they could not see. Her green eyes scanned Lord Alehandros' face, careful with her words, her tone, and the volume of her own voice.
"Because I have made choices that are staunchly against the wants and desires of our current acting monarch," Iris said slowly, "I have supported clashing ideals in a way that they have decided to move against. My punishment seems to be fire, though I assume their intention was outright erradication of myself and those under my care," she did not specify Persephone or her retinue, thinking more about her own people, though she did not think she needed to be so bold and blatant. Lord Alehadnros was a bright man and he likely already knew who and what she was talking about, especially when she cast her gaze outward toward her land.
The lady of Aetaea would speek no words that would truly incriminate. With no names or true proof to stand behind, she was safer in that instance. For she could have been talking about anyone, though no one would have garnered such a reaction as the rumors of Persephone's living breathing person had brought.
Silence fell between them. A very long, uncomfortable silence. The type of silence that would cause your skin to crawl. The type of silence that seemed to last eternities even if it was mere seconds or minutes. The type of silence that should never exist.
Those under her care. Alehandros could imagine exactly who she was talking about. To think that the Queen of Athenia was hiding in his province. The Antonis had wished to remain neutral in the battle between the houses. They cared not who wore the crown only that they would serve whoever’s head that it laid upon. Certainly, Alehandros had his reservations about the Stravos, but not so much that he would vote for the succession law to change in order for the title to remain in the Xanthos’s hands. The Antonis did not, by any means, desire to be in his this fight.
And thus Lady Iris of Argyis put the Lord in a difficult position. For through her actions she brought wrath upon his lands. Without discussing with either Antonis Lord, she, and presumably her husband, made the decision to house Queen Persephone. Should either had informed Alehandros of this decision, perhaps something better could have been done. Whether it would be his securing of her safety to outside Athenia or placing better protection around the manor in such a way to not draw the eye to Aetaea. To not inform the Antonis was an insult, especially given their history… and their position.
Alehandros could not fault either Argyris entirely. To provide haven to a Queen in hiding is not a situation that typically happens in one’s lifetime. And they certainly suffered the price of keeping secrets to their liege lord. Their home burned, their people dead, and a province salvageable, but currently covered in cinder.
Though at least Iris made one thing clear. Stravos were behind the attack on his province, and with this insult Alehandros would make sure that Hades rains down upon them. While later his heart might hurt for the friendship between Marietta and Elias (and rumors that Alehandros would rather not believe of Evi and him), in this current moment his mind was set.
But all would need to be clear. Everything. For seeking vengeance without forethought leads to unnecessary blood being spilled, as evident to his destroyed province. And so once more Alehandros’s eyes fell upon the Captain of the White Shields. Even if it was true and the Queen had ordered him to escort Lady Iris… why him in specific? Alehandros would find it odd if she were in communication with all of her captains. And especially so quickly after the fire…
Eyes finally zeroed in on Hector. Alehandros had met him before, gave him kind words as he went to give his report to General Lacides. But there wasn’t kindness in Alehandros’s eyes. Just stone, cold seriousness as he finally broke the seemingly never-ending silence. “While we’re being so honest, I’ll ask a second time. Why is a Captain of Arcana, a Xanthos province, escorting a Lady to her Antonis province?”
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Silence fell between them. A very long, uncomfortable silence. The type of silence that would cause your skin to crawl. The type of silence that seemed to last eternities even if it was mere seconds or minutes. The type of silence that should never exist.
Those under her care. Alehandros could imagine exactly who she was talking about. To think that the Queen of Athenia was hiding in his province. The Antonis had wished to remain neutral in the battle between the houses. They cared not who wore the crown only that they would serve whoever’s head that it laid upon. Certainly, Alehandros had his reservations about the Stravos, but not so much that he would vote for the succession law to change in order for the title to remain in the Xanthos’s hands. The Antonis did not, by any means, desire to be in his this fight.
And thus Lady Iris of Argyis put the Lord in a difficult position. For through her actions she brought wrath upon his lands. Without discussing with either Antonis Lord, she, and presumably her husband, made the decision to house Queen Persephone. Should either had informed Alehandros of this decision, perhaps something better could have been done. Whether it would be his securing of her safety to outside Athenia or placing better protection around the manor in such a way to not draw the eye to Aetaea. To not inform the Antonis was an insult, especially given their history… and their position.
Alehandros could not fault either Argyris entirely. To provide haven to a Queen in hiding is not a situation that typically happens in one’s lifetime. And they certainly suffered the price of keeping secrets to their liege lord. Their home burned, their people dead, and a province salvageable, but currently covered in cinder.
Though at least Iris made one thing clear. Stravos were behind the attack on his province, and with this insult Alehandros would make sure that Hades rains down upon them. While later his heart might hurt for the friendship between Marietta and Elias (and rumors that Alehandros would rather not believe of Evi and him), in this current moment his mind was set.
But all would need to be clear. Everything. For seeking vengeance without forethought leads to unnecessary blood being spilled, as evident to his destroyed province. And so once more Alehandros’s eyes fell upon the Captain of the White Shields. Even if it was true and the Queen had ordered him to escort Lady Iris… why him in specific? Alehandros would find it odd if she were in communication with all of her captains. And especially so quickly after the fire…
Eyes finally zeroed in on Hector. Alehandros had met him before, gave him kind words as he went to give his report to General Lacides. But there wasn’t kindness in Alehandros’s eyes. Just stone, cold seriousness as he finally broke the seemingly never-ending silence. “While we’re being so honest, I’ll ask a second time. Why is a Captain of Arcana, a Xanthos province, escorting a Lady to her Antonis province?”
Silence fell between them. A very long, uncomfortable silence. The type of silence that would cause your skin to crawl. The type of silence that seemed to last eternities even if it was mere seconds or minutes. The type of silence that should never exist.
Those under her care. Alehandros could imagine exactly who she was talking about. To think that the Queen of Athenia was hiding in his province. The Antonis had wished to remain neutral in the battle between the houses. They cared not who wore the crown only that they would serve whoever’s head that it laid upon. Certainly, Alehandros had his reservations about the Stravos, but not so much that he would vote for the succession law to change in order for the title to remain in the Xanthos’s hands. The Antonis did not, by any means, desire to be in his this fight.
And thus Lady Iris of Argyis put the Lord in a difficult position. For through her actions she brought wrath upon his lands. Without discussing with either Antonis Lord, she, and presumably her husband, made the decision to house Queen Persephone. Should either had informed Alehandros of this decision, perhaps something better could have been done. Whether it would be his securing of her safety to outside Athenia or placing better protection around the manor in such a way to not draw the eye to Aetaea. To not inform the Antonis was an insult, especially given their history… and their position.
Alehandros could not fault either Argyris entirely. To provide haven to a Queen in hiding is not a situation that typically happens in one’s lifetime. And they certainly suffered the price of keeping secrets to their liege lord. Their home burned, their people dead, and a province salvageable, but currently covered in cinder.
Though at least Iris made one thing clear. Stravos were behind the attack on his province, and with this insult Alehandros would make sure that Hades rains down upon them. While later his heart might hurt for the friendship between Marietta and Elias (and rumors that Alehandros would rather not believe of Evi and him), in this current moment his mind was set.
But all would need to be clear. Everything. For seeking vengeance without forethought leads to unnecessary blood being spilled, as evident to his destroyed province. And so once more Alehandros’s eyes fell upon the Captain of the White Shields. Even if it was true and the Queen had ordered him to escort Lady Iris… why him in specific? Alehandros would find it odd if she were in communication with all of her captains. And especially so quickly after the fire…
Eyes finally zeroed in on Hector. Alehandros had met him before, gave him kind words as he went to give his report to General Lacides. But there wasn’t kindness in Alehandros’s eyes. Just stone, cold seriousness as he finally broke the seemingly never-ending silence. “While we’re being so honest, I’ll ask a second time. Why is a Captain of Arcana, a Xanthos province, escorting a Lady to her Antonis province?”
At the arrival of the Antonis carriage, Hector felt a sinking pit in his stomach. While he was not of noble blood, he was well-acquainted with the House Antonis. Their name was synonymous with the Athenian army, and apart from serving at the honor of Arcana's liege house, Xanthos, Hector personally answered directly to the Commanders and the General of the Athenian Army - all of whom were Antonis.
'Relief' was not exactly the word he would have chosen as he saw Lord Alehandros stepping from the carriage, but given his own less-than-sensible presence in an Antonis province, alongside an Antonis baroness, and a quarter of the way across the kingdom away from Arcana or the Captiol, he knew there would be a series of very interesting explanations to come. Honestly, Hector was interested in what the hell would come out of his own mouth.
"Lord Alehandros," Hector murmured in a polite greeting, bowing to the Head of the Antonis House. Hector stood at attention before the man, his stance tense as the Lord offered his condolences and asked his very pointed question. Hector was prepared to create some explanation, which would have mostly been truth but without revealing the details of the matter. His first instinct was to say something along the lines of 'Queen Persephone and about half a dozen nobles plus their various retainers are currently at my house, led there by my daughter' but that would go over about as well as Hector reeling back to punch the man before him in the face.
That same not-quite-relief feeling hit him again as Lady Iris took the opportunity to explain his presence, his eyes flicking to her as she spoke. He felt fine about having her take the lead on this for approximately four seconds before he realized the coded phrasing of it all. As his eyes shifted to Lord Alehandros, it was clear that the man understood the meaning of it all as well.
Hector, having been on the giving end of such deafening silences, was not enjoying being on the receiving end of it at all. However, it did give him a blessed few moments to gather his thoughts together. Hector may have been a simple man, but he was not a stupid one. With Lord Alehandros' and Lady Iris' eyes shifting to him, he knew he would need to craft the appropriate answer - and fast.
There was one thing he knew for certain - he did not want to be the one to state plainly where the Queen was located. While he was convinced that there was no political game wild and twisted enough for a man like Alehandros to burn his own province and then fake a performance like a stage player, one of Hector's primary duties was to guard and protect those of Arcana - including all members of the liege house, Xanthos.
"Baron and Lady Argyris fled to Arcana following the fires, My Lord," Hector started, feeling it was a strong and solid fact, "The Baron and I have known each other for many years. I have since been charged with safely escorting Lady Iris to the capitol. We...made a detour here to Aetaea to see the damages." His eyes quickly flicked to Lady Iris, hoping that the wording was direct enough - after all, it did technically answer the lord's main question.
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At the arrival of the Antonis carriage, Hector felt a sinking pit in his stomach. While he was not of noble blood, he was well-acquainted with the House Antonis. Their name was synonymous with the Athenian army, and apart from serving at the honor of Arcana's liege house, Xanthos, Hector personally answered directly to the Commanders and the General of the Athenian Army - all of whom were Antonis.
'Relief' was not exactly the word he would have chosen as he saw Lord Alehandros stepping from the carriage, but given his own less-than-sensible presence in an Antonis province, alongside an Antonis baroness, and a quarter of the way across the kingdom away from Arcana or the Captiol, he knew there would be a series of very interesting explanations to come. Honestly, Hector was interested in what the hell would come out of his own mouth.
"Lord Alehandros," Hector murmured in a polite greeting, bowing to the Head of the Antonis House. Hector stood at attention before the man, his stance tense as the Lord offered his condolences and asked his very pointed question. Hector was prepared to create some explanation, which would have mostly been truth but without revealing the details of the matter. His first instinct was to say something along the lines of 'Queen Persephone and about half a dozen nobles plus their various retainers are currently at my house, led there by my daughter' but that would go over about as well as Hector reeling back to punch the man before him in the face.
That same not-quite-relief feeling hit him again as Lady Iris took the opportunity to explain his presence, his eyes flicking to her as she spoke. He felt fine about having her take the lead on this for approximately four seconds before he realized the coded phrasing of it all. As his eyes shifted to Lord Alehandros, it was clear that the man understood the meaning of it all as well.
Hector, having been on the giving end of such deafening silences, was not enjoying being on the receiving end of it at all. However, it did give him a blessed few moments to gather his thoughts together. Hector may have been a simple man, but he was not a stupid one. With Lord Alehandros' and Lady Iris' eyes shifting to him, he knew he would need to craft the appropriate answer - and fast.
There was one thing he knew for certain - he did not want to be the one to state plainly where the Queen was located. While he was convinced that there was no political game wild and twisted enough for a man like Alehandros to burn his own province and then fake a performance like a stage player, one of Hector's primary duties was to guard and protect those of Arcana - including all members of the liege house, Xanthos.
"Baron and Lady Argyris fled to Arcana following the fires, My Lord," Hector started, feeling it was a strong and solid fact, "The Baron and I have known each other for many years. I have since been charged with safely escorting Lady Iris to the capitol. We...made a detour here to Aetaea to see the damages." His eyes quickly flicked to Lady Iris, hoping that the wording was direct enough - after all, it did technically answer the lord's main question.
At the arrival of the Antonis carriage, Hector felt a sinking pit in his stomach. While he was not of noble blood, he was well-acquainted with the House Antonis. Their name was synonymous with the Athenian army, and apart from serving at the honor of Arcana's liege house, Xanthos, Hector personally answered directly to the Commanders and the General of the Athenian Army - all of whom were Antonis.
'Relief' was not exactly the word he would have chosen as he saw Lord Alehandros stepping from the carriage, but given his own less-than-sensible presence in an Antonis province, alongside an Antonis baroness, and a quarter of the way across the kingdom away from Arcana or the Captiol, he knew there would be a series of very interesting explanations to come. Honestly, Hector was interested in what the hell would come out of his own mouth.
"Lord Alehandros," Hector murmured in a polite greeting, bowing to the Head of the Antonis House. Hector stood at attention before the man, his stance tense as the Lord offered his condolences and asked his very pointed question. Hector was prepared to create some explanation, which would have mostly been truth but without revealing the details of the matter. His first instinct was to say something along the lines of 'Queen Persephone and about half a dozen nobles plus their various retainers are currently at my house, led there by my daughter' but that would go over about as well as Hector reeling back to punch the man before him in the face.
That same not-quite-relief feeling hit him again as Lady Iris took the opportunity to explain his presence, his eyes flicking to her as she spoke. He felt fine about having her take the lead on this for approximately four seconds before he realized the coded phrasing of it all. As his eyes shifted to Lord Alehandros, it was clear that the man understood the meaning of it all as well.
Hector, having been on the giving end of such deafening silences, was not enjoying being on the receiving end of it at all. However, it did give him a blessed few moments to gather his thoughts together. Hector may have been a simple man, but he was not a stupid one. With Lord Alehandros' and Lady Iris' eyes shifting to him, he knew he would need to craft the appropriate answer - and fast.
There was one thing he knew for certain - he did not want to be the one to state plainly where the Queen was located. While he was convinced that there was no political game wild and twisted enough for a man like Alehandros to burn his own province and then fake a performance like a stage player, one of Hector's primary duties was to guard and protect those of Arcana - including all members of the liege house, Xanthos.
"Baron and Lady Argyris fled to Arcana following the fires, My Lord," Hector started, feeling it was a strong and solid fact, "The Baron and I have known each other for many years. I have since been charged with safely escorting Lady Iris to the capitol. We...made a detour here to Aetaea to see the damages." His eyes quickly flicked to Lady Iris, hoping that the wording was direct enough - after all, it did technically answer the lord's main question.
Alehandros closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He expected devastation. He expected to see corpses. He expected to see sad people. What he did not expect was the Lady of Argyris and some Captain from gods who cares where playing word games instead of just confirming his damn suspicions. He would not gather his forces without solid, indisputable facts to back them.
Breathe, Alehandros. Breathe. He was a calm, kind, polite man. He would never yell at a woman. He was a man who cared for the commoners. He would not yell… he would not shout… no matter how much he truly desired to right now.
Alehandros’s eyes opened once again. The lack of amusement at the situation could not be plainer on his face. His patience was running thin. Thoughts of stripping the province, whatever was left of it, from the Agryis popped in his head. Immediately, though, he such notions away. This would not help the situation. He had to be patient. He had to think.
He had to imagine he was talking with his daughters.
Typically when his daughters were being stubborn it was not Alehandros who caused them the most fear but their mother. Alehandros could be intimidating, but sometimes the addition of one other person could truly strike fear in the hearts of the guilty.
And Hector was clearly the weakest link.
Iris was currently agitating to speak with. Normally a lovely girl and one Alehandros would love to spend time with, just grated him right now. But Captain Hector seemed to be squirming, eyes moving to the Lady for assistance that Alehandros would not allow him have. For before she had a speak, his voice cut through. “Lady and Lord Argyris went to Arcana did they?” An eyebrow raised high on his face. “Interesting, I would think they would go to Attia, Illoclis, Elierea, Loclis, or Pholis.”
Alehandros turned his back to Hector as he took steps forward, hands behind his back walking as a soldier does. “Maybe it was Antonis security, hm?” He paced, as if thinking. “I can understand the nervousness, given what has happened to Aetaea. My apologies Lady Iris that this has caused you to hesitate to seek aid of your neighboring province.”
A hard pivot and he was pacing right back to Hector. Each step deliberate. Each step filled with the confidence only a soldier would have. He walked right up to the man, his face in his. “Is it that the people under your command provide much better protection, captain? Interesting. I shall inform General Lacides. He can come by to observe. And offer his deepest condolences to Lady and Lord Argyris… and anyone else that may be in their retinue. Tell me, Captain Hector of the White Shields, did anyone join them in this journey to Xanthos lands?” Perhaps this “person” that is above Alehandros in rank.
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Alehandros closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He expected devastation. He expected to see corpses. He expected to see sad people. What he did not expect was the Lady of Argyris and some Captain from gods who cares where playing word games instead of just confirming his damn suspicions. He would not gather his forces without solid, indisputable facts to back them.
Breathe, Alehandros. Breathe. He was a calm, kind, polite man. He would never yell at a woman. He was a man who cared for the commoners. He would not yell… he would not shout… no matter how much he truly desired to right now.
Alehandros’s eyes opened once again. The lack of amusement at the situation could not be plainer on his face. His patience was running thin. Thoughts of stripping the province, whatever was left of it, from the Agryis popped in his head. Immediately, though, he such notions away. This would not help the situation. He had to be patient. He had to think.
He had to imagine he was talking with his daughters.
Typically when his daughters were being stubborn it was not Alehandros who caused them the most fear but their mother. Alehandros could be intimidating, but sometimes the addition of one other person could truly strike fear in the hearts of the guilty.
And Hector was clearly the weakest link.
Iris was currently agitating to speak with. Normally a lovely girl and one Alehandros would love to spend time with, just grated him right now. But Captain Hector seemed to be squirming, eyes moving to the Lady for assistance that Alehandros would not allow him have. For before she had a speak, his voice cut through. “Lady and Lord Argyris went to Arcana did they?” An eyebrow raised high on his face. “Interesting, I would think they would go to Attia, Illoclis, Elierea, Loclis, or Pholis.”
Alehandros turned his back to Hector as he took steps forward, hands behind his back walking as a soldier does. “Maybe it was Antonis security, hm?” He paced, as if thinking. “I can understand the nervousness, given what has happened to Aetaea. My apologies Lady Iris that this has caused you to hesitate to seek aid of your neighboring province.”
A hard pivot and he was pacing right back to Hector. Each step deliberate. Each step filled with the confidence only a soldier would have. He walked right up to the man, his face in his. “Is it that the people under your command provide much better protection, captain? Interesting. I shall inform General Lacides. He can come by to observe. And offer his deepest condolences to Lady and Lord Argyris… and anyone else that may be in their retinue. Tell me, Captain Hector of the White Shields, did anyone join them in this journey to Xanthos lands?” Perhaps this “person” that is above Alehandros in rank.
Alehandros closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He expected devastation. He expected to see corpses. He expected to see sad people. What he did not expect was the Lady of Argyris and some Captain from gods who cares where playing word games instead of just confirming his damn suspicions. He would not gather his forces without solid, indisputable facts to back them.
Breathe, Alehandros. Breathe. He was a calm, kind, polite man. He would never yell at a woman. He was a man who cared for the commoners. He would not yell… he would not shout… no matter how much he truly desired to right now.
Alehandros’s eyes opened once again. The lack of amusement at the situation could not be plainer on his face. His patience was running thin. Thoughts of stripping the province, whatever was left of it, from the Agryis popped in his head. Immediately, though, he such notions away. This would not help the situation. He had to be patient. He had to think.
He had to imagine he was talking with his daughters.
Typically when his daughters were being stubborn it was not Alehandros who caused them the most fear but their mother. Alehandros could be intimidating, but sometimes the addition of one other person could truly strike fear in the hearts of the guilty.
And Hector was clearly the weakest link.
Iris was currently agitating to speak with. Normally a lovely girl and one Alehandros would love to spend time with, just grated him right now. But Captain Hector seemed to be squirming, eyes moving to the Lady for assistance that Alehandros would not allow him have. For before she had a speak, his voice cut through. “Lady and Lord Argyris went to Arcana did they?” An eyebrow raised high on his face. “Interesting, I would think they would go to Attia, Illoclis, Elierea, Loclis, or Pholis.”
Alehandros turned his back to Hector as he took steps forward, hands behind his back walking as a soldier does. “Maybe it was Antonis security, hm?” He paced, as if thinking. “I can understand the nervousness, given what has happened to Aetaea. My apologies Lady Iris that this has caused you to hesitate to seek aid of your neighboring province.”
A hard pivot and he was pacing right back to Hector. Each step deliberate. Each step filled with the confidence only a soldier would have. He walked right up to the man, his face in his. “Is it that the people under your command provide much better protection, captain? Interesting. I shall inform General Lacides. He can come by to observe. And offer his deepest condolences to Lady and Lord Argyris… and anyone else that may be in their retinue. Tell me, Captain Hector of the White Shields, did anyone join them in this journey to Xanthos lands?” Perhaps this “person” that is above Alehandros in rank.
Hector’s tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth immediately after the words passed his lips, jaw tightening as he heard the man before him take a heavy breath. How many times had he done that very thing before dressing down his own soldiers for one transgression or another?
The moment Lord Alehandros turned his back to Hector, the Xanthos Captain ground his heels into the soot and ash beneath them. It had been quite some time since he had been on this side of things. Releasing his own preparatory breath soundlessly through his nose, he moved his hands behind his back and let his eyes scan for just the right point on the horizon to let his eyes fix upon.
There, that tree would do.
For the briefest of moments, Hector’s mind wandered through every worst case scenario. It would take but a single letter and a pressed seal into wax to remove him from his position, send his family into destitution - not that money could buy food these days - and ultimately change the course of his life irrevocably. He cooked well - perhaps a new life as a baker? And, famines could not last forever, so perhaps if he could at least urge Ismene or Ariadne towards a local merchant, perhaps a sailor, so they could stay within his home but still technically be provided for? All of these thoughts rolled through the back of his mind.
Meanwhile, every word Lord Alehandros spoke hit just right, carefully chosen in tone and phrasing for maximum effort. Hector wondered for a moment if every militant within Athenia had secretly been trained in this art, the same way women were trained to flounce about the halls of the Palati at court - just so.
Hector all but held his breath on an exhale, a trick to keep him from flinching as the man before him prowled with purpose before all but launching at him in a few long strides. The Captain did not budge, eyes pinned forward in a soldier's gaze, even as the noble lord moved eye to eye with him, the heat of the man’s breath and a few drops of spittle on Hector’s cheek serving as a testament to how close they stood. Though their gazes met, there was no doubt that Hector’s stare was still focused as if it were targeted on that one, half-snapped tree that looked like a man bent over a cane, dozens of yards away, even as he replied.
“Yes, My Lord. There were.” Hector’s reply was brief and obedient, offering a direct answer to the man, but after a moment, the Captain’s eyes leveled with the Antonis lord’s, a particular, knowing sharpness behind them as he added, pointedly, “With all due respect, Lord Alehandros, you well know the primary duty appointed to the White Shields of Arcana.”
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Hector’s tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth immediately after the words passed his lips, jaw tightening as he heard the man before him take a heavy breath. How many times had he done that very thing before dressing down his own soldiers for one transgression or another?
The moment Lord Alehandros turned his back to Hector, the Xanthos Captain ground his heels into the soot and ash beneath them. It had been quite some time since he had been on this side of things. Releasing his own preparatory breath soundlessly through his nose, he moved his hands behind his back and let his eyes scan for just the right point on the horizon to let his eyes fix upon.
There, that tree would do.
For the briefest of moments, Hector’s mind wandered through every worst case scenario. It would take but a single letter and a pressed seal into wax to remove him from his position, send his family into destitution - not that money could buy food these days - and ultimately change the course of his life irrevocably. He cooked well - perhaps a new life as a baker? And, famines could not last forever, so perhaps if he could at least urge Ismene or Ariadne towards a local merchant, perhaps a sailor, so they could stay within his home but still technically be provided for? All of these thoughts rolled through the back of his mind.
Meanwhile, every word Lord Alehandros spoke hit just right, carefully chosen in tone and phrasing for maximum effort. Hector wondered for a moment if every militant within Athenia had secretly been trained in this art, the same way women were trained to flounce about the halls of the Palati at court - just so.
Hector all but held his breath on an exhale, a trick to keep him from flinching as the man before him prowled with purpose before all but launching at him in a few long strides. The Captain did not budge, eyes pinned forward in a soldier's gaze, even as the noble lord moved eye to eye with him, the heat of the man’s breath and a few drops of spittle on Hector’s cheek serving as a testament to how close they stood. Though their gazes met, there was no doubt that Hector’s stare was still focused as if it were targeted on that one, half-snapped tree that looked like a man bent over a cane, dozens of yards away, even as he replied.
“Yes, My Lord. There were.” Hector’s reply was brief and obedient, offering a direct answer to the man, but after a moment, the Captain’s eyes leveled with the Antonis lord’s, a particular, knowing sharpness behind them as he added, pointedly, “With all due respect, Lord Alehandros, you well know the primary duty appointed to the White Shields of Arcana.”
Hector’s tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth immediately after the words passed his lips, jaw tightening as he heard the man before him take a heavy breath. How many times had he done that very thing before dressing down his own soldiers for one transgression or another?
The moment Lord Alehandros turned his back to Hector, the Xanthos Captain ground his heels into the soot and ash beneath them. It had been quite some time since he had been on this side of things. Releasing his own preparatory breath soundlessly through his nose, he moved his hands behind his back and let his eyes scan for just the right point on the horizon to let his eyes fix upon.
There, that tree would do.
For the briefest of moments, Hector’s mind wandered through every worst case scenario. It would take but a single letter and a pressed seal into wax to remove him from his position, send his family into destitution - not that money could buy food these days - and ultimately change the course of his life irrevocably. He cooked well - perhaps a new life as a baker? And, famines could not last forever, so perhaps if he could at least urge Ismene or Ariadne towards a local merchant, perhaps a sailor, so they could stay within his home but still technically be provided for? All of these thoughts rolled through the back of his mind.
Meanwhile, every word Lord Alehandros spoke hit just right, carefully chosen in tone and phrasing for maximum effort. Hector wondered for a moment if every militant within Athenia had secretly been trained in this art, the same way women were trained to flounce about the halls of the Palati at court - just so.
Hector all but held his breath on an exhale, a trick to keep him from flinching as the man before him prowled with purpose before all but launching at him in a few long strides. The Captain did not budge, eyes pinned forward in a soldier's gaze, even as the noble lord moved eye to eye with him, the heat of the man’s breath and a few drops of spittle on Hector’s cheek serving as a testament to how close they stood. Though their gazes met, there was no doubt that Hector’s stare was still focused as if it were targeted on that one, half-snapped tree that looked like a man bent over a cane, dozens of yards away, even as he replied.
“Yes, My Lord. There were.” Hector’s reply was brief and obedient, offering a direct answer to the man, but after a moment, the Captain’s eyes leveled with the Antonis lord’s, a particular, knowing sharpness behind them as he added, pointedly, “With all due respect, Lord Alehandros, you well know the primary duty appointed to the White Shields of Arcana.”
As soon as Lord Alehandros turned his gaze away from Iris herself, the Lady’s gaze lifted straight to the sky as she implored Artemis for her calm and patience. For her every intention was to show the greatest respect to her vassal lord, but her mind was struggling to keep that moment of serenity she had initially found upon her arrival into Aetaea. She knew Alehandros to be a military man, but his stature never had intimidated her in the way that it likely should have.
Iris could recall her own military training, after begging Takis to allow her such tiny freedom before she was even a woman. One would think her temper would be much cooler, but in the moment she found it simmering like one of the hot springs of a bathhouse. When Alehandros moved into a position that spoke of command and contemplation, Iris found herself mirroring his stance, settling her own hands behind her back out of silent habit.
He stepped away and she stepped in the opposite direction, at first leaving Hector to the onslaught of Lord Alehandros, walking carefully against the forward perimeter of her former home as she thought through his words and took the carefully crafted tongue lashing from the fellow lord. Her green gaze observed the green marble, singed, and covered in soot. The lady edged some of it off with her foot, biting down on her tongue inside of her mouth so that she did not lash out verbally in the way she desperately wanted to. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry to the gods because they had not stopped it.
Iris had never truly been one to want for physical things, but now that most of the mementos of her mother and father were gone, soot and dust and ash, she wanted to mourn them. She wanted to mourn the trees she had grown up dashing through. She wanted to mourn the memories that had been built in these halls. The birth of her younger cousins. Learning to read and walk. Learning to use a bow with Captain Praxiteles at her back, guiding her hands into the proper positions.
She recalled the day that Gaios joined the home, young, hungry, just flesh and bone and nothing else. There had been a despondency in his gaze that had disappeared with each passing day until he’d grown into a vibrant young man she would have been happy to call her own brother, had he the blood to back him up.
Iris remembered Acantha prancing the marble floors, laughing through a game of hide and seek and making it too easy for Iris to find her. She missed her retainer then, wishing, of all people who had lived in the manor, that she was here. There was a lightness to her heart and her mind that gave Iris a sense of direction and breath in her lungs that was otherwise fleeting.
It was so easy to just look to the foundation of the house and mourn the wood and the belongings alone. But Iris didn’t just mourn the loss of the physical, but the loss of the memories that would come with the destruction of a home so loved and cared for. The warmth that had filled her halls had been hotter than any fire, but it had never burned with destruction as the forest had. The lady’s gaze drifted across the large yard of the estate, landing on what was left of the barn and the kennel. For a second, she remembered the whining and crying of the hounds and pups locked within. There had been no time to free them, and that hit harder than anything in the moment. The first drag of grief tugging at her heart in a way that drew a few tears down her cheeks.
And then came the white-hot anger of it all. For just one moment.
She briefly recalled Captain Praxiteles whacking her upside the head, lightly, with the sheathe of his blade, frowning at her when she was clearly ready to implode, prone to an almost feral state of anger when something didn’t go her way. She could feel it then, and she immediately found her breath, turning very sharply on her heel and heading the few paces right back to Lord Alehandros and Captain Hector. In turn, her gaze swept across the decimated, charred remains of her homelands, her resolve hardening into something that she intended to use later. When she attended back upon the capitol with the queen’s orders at the forefront of her mind.
“Lord Alehandros, forgive my aversion to speaking full truths,” she said delicately, speaking only once Hector had expressed what he saw fit to say to a higher-ranking officer. “I am sure that you can understand the delicacy of the matter and that my choices during the fire were not my own,” Iris admitted in a tone that was low and reverent, trying to meet his gaze, though his eyes were trained on the Captain before him. “We rode where the queen commanded in the moment,” she said very softly, as if the trees could hear the words fall off of her lips. As if she were still trying to hold onto the secret that had gnawed at her entire being for days, if not weeks.
In truth, the lady of these woods was trying to hold herself together, hide her tears, and not be the heartsick, angry child that her mind desperately wanted to turn her toward.
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As soon as Lord Alehandros turned his gaze away from Iris herself, the Lady’s gaze lifted straight to the sky as she implored Artemis for her calm and patience. For her every intention was to show the greatest respect to her vassal lord, but her mind was struggling to keep that moment of serenity she had initially found upon her arrival into Aetaea. She knew Alehandros to be a military man, but his stature never had intimidated her in the way that it likely should have.
Iris could recall her own military training, after begging Takis to allow her such tiny freedom before she was even a woman. One would think her temper would be much cooler, but in the moment she found it simmering like one of the hot springs of a bathhouse. When Alehandros moved into a position that spoke of command and contemplation, Iris found herself mirroring his stance, settling her own hands behind her back out of silent habit.
He stepped away and she stepped in the opposite direction, at first leaving Hector to the onslaught of Lord Alehandros, walking carefully against the forward perimeter of her former home as she thought through his words and took the carefully crafted tongue lashing from the fellow lord. Her green gaze observed the green marble, singed, and covered in soot. The lady edged some of it off with her foot, biting down on her tongue inside of her mouth so that she did not lash out verbally in the way she desperately wanted to. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry to the gods because they had not stopped it.
Iris had never truly been one to want for physical things, but now that most of the mementos of her mother and father were gone, soot and dust and ash, she wanted to mourn them. She wanted to mourn the trees she had grown up dashing through. She wanted to mourn the memories that had been built in these halls. The birth of her younger cousins. Learning to read and walk. Learning to use a bow with Captain Praxiteles at her back, guiding her hands into the proper positions.
She recalled the day that Gaios joined the home, young, hungry, just flesh and bone and nothing else. There had been a despondency in his gaze that had disappeared with each passing day until he’d grown into a vibrant young man she would have been happy to call her own brother, had he the blood to back him up.
Iris remembered Acantha prancing the marble floors, laughing through a game of hide and seek and making it too easy for Iris to find her. She missed her retainer then, wishing, of all people who had lived in the manor, that she was here. There was a lightness to her heart and her mind that gave Iris a sense of direction and breath in her lungs that was otherwise fleeting.
It was so easy to just look to the foundation of the house and mourn the wood and the belongings alone. But Iris didn’t just mourn the loss of the physical, but the loss of the memories that would come with the destruction of a home so loved and cared for. The warmth that had filled her halls had been hotter than any fire, but it had never burned with destruction as the forest had. The lady’s gaze drifted across the large yard of the estate, landing on what was left of the barn and the kennel. For a second, she remembered the whining and crying of the hounds and pups locked within. There had been no time to free them, and that hit harder than anything in the moment. The first drag of grief tugging at her heart in a way that drew a few tears down her cheeks.
And then came the white-hot anger of it all. For just one moment.
She briefly recalled Captain Praxiteles whacking her upside the head, lightly, with the sheathe of his blade, frowning at her when she was clearly ready to implode, prone to an almost feral state of anger when something didn’t go her way. She could feel it then, and she immediately found her breath, turning very sharply on her heel and heading the few paces right back to Lord Alehandros and Captain Hector. In turn, her gaze swept across the decimated, charred remains of her homelands, her resolve hardening into something that she intended to use later. When she attended back upon the capitol with the queen’s orders at the forefront of her mind.
“Lord Alehandros, forgive my aversion to speaking full truths,” she said delicately, speaking only once Hector had expressed what he saw fit to say to a higher-ranking officer. “I am sure that you can understand the delicacy of the matter and that my choices during the fire were not my own,” Iris admitted in a tone that was low and reverent, trying to meet his gaze, though his eyes were trained on the Captain before him. “We rode where the queen commanded in the moment,” she said very softly, as if the trees could hear the words fall off of her lips. As if she were still trying to hold onto the secret that had gnawed at her entire being for days, if not weeks.
In truth, the lady of these woods was trying to hold herself together, hide her tears, and not be the heartsick, angry child that her mind desperately wanted to turn her toward.
As soon as Lord Alehandros turned his gaze away from Iris herself, the Lady’s gaze lifted straight to the sky as she implored Artemis for her calm and patience. For her every intention was to show the greatest respect to her vassal lord, but her mind was struggling to keep that moment of serenity she had initially found upon her arrival into Aetaea. She knew Alehandros to be a military man, but his stature never had intimidated her in the way that it likely should have.
Iris could recall her own military training, after begging Takis to allow her such tiny freedom before she was even a woman. One would think her temper would be much cooler, but in the moment she found it simmering like one of the hot springs of a bathhouse. When Alehandros moved into a position that spoke of command and contemplation, Iris found herself mirroring his stance, settling her own hands behind her back out of silent habit.
He stepped away and she stepped in the opposite direction, at first leaving Hector to the onslaught of Lord Alehandros, walking carefully against the forward perimeter of her former home as she thought through his words and took the carefully crafted tongue lashing from the fellow lord. Her green gaze observed the green marble, singed, and covered in soot. The lady edged some of it off with her foot, biting down on her tongue inside of her mouth so that she did not lash out verbally in the way she desperately wanted to. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry to the gods because they had not stopped it.
Iris had never truly been one to want for physical things, but now that most of the mementos of her mother and father were gone, soot and dust and ash, she wanted to mourn them. She wanted to mourn the trees she had grown up dashing through. She wanted to mourn the memories that had been built in these halls. The birth of her younger cousins. Learning to read and walk. Learning to use a bow with Captain Praxiteles at her back, guiding her hands into the proper positions.
She recalled the day that Gaios joined the home, young, hungry, just flesh and bone and nothing else. There had been a despondency in his gaze that had disappeared with each passing day until he’d grown into a vibrant young man she would have been happy to call her own brother, had he the blood to back him up.
Iris remembered Acantha prancing the marble floors, laughing through a game of hide and seek and making it too easy for Iris to find her. She missed her retainer then, wishing, of all people who had lived in the manor, that she was here. There was a lightness to her heart and her mind that gave Iris a sense of direction and breath in her lungs that was otherwise fleeting.
It was so easy to just look to the foundation of the house and mourn the wood and the belongings alone. But Iris didn’t just mourn the loss of the physical, but the loss of the memories that would come with the destruction of a home so loved and cared for. The warmth that had filled her halls had been hotter than any fire, but it had never burned with destruction as the forest had. The lady’s gaze drifted across the large yard of the estate, landing on what was left of the barn and the kennel. For a second, she remembered the whining and crying of the hounds and pups locked within. There had been no time to free them, and that hit harder than anything in the moment. The first drag of grief tugging at her heart in a way that drew a few tears down her cheeks.
And then came the white-hot anger of it all. For just one moment.
She briefly recalled Captain Praxiteles whacking her upside the head, lightly, with the sheathe of his blade, frowning at her when she was clearly ready to implode, prone to an almost feral state of anger when something didn’t go her way. She could feel it then, and she immediately found her breath, turning very sharply on her heel and heading the few paces right back to Lord Alehandros and Captain Hector. In turn, her gaze swept across the decimated, charred remains of her homelands, her resolve hardening into something that she intended to use later. When she attended back upon the capitol with the queen’s orders at the forefront of her mind.
“Lord Alehandros, forgive my aversion to speaking full truths,” she said delicately, speaking only once Hector had expressed what he saw fit to say to a higher-ranking officer. “I am sure that you can understand the delicacy of the matter and that my choices during the fire were not my own,” Iris admitted in a tone that was low and reverent, trying to meet his gaze, though his eyes were trained on the Captain before him. “We rode where the queen commanded in the moment,” she said very softly, as if the trees could hear the words fall off of her lips. As if she were still trying to hold onto the secret that had gnawed at her entire being for days, if not weeks.
In truth, the lady of these woods was trying to hold herself together, hide her tears, and not be the heartsick, angry child that her mind desperately wanted to turn her toward.
That was it. That’s what he needed. Good, confirmation. Both by the man before him and Lady Iris. Without a moment’s hesitation, Alehandros once again spun on his heel. He made his way over to his carriage where Hyla was waiting. “Parchment. Stylus.” He commanded, and when handed to the Lord, Alehandros immediately began to draft a message to the Queen. All the while Hyla worked to light the candle that they had brought with them, originally to send a message to General Lacides.
Alehandros, now used to the veiled words of these two, was able to decipher what Hector said. Specifically that the White Shields are primarily charged with protecting the Xanthos when in residence. But with Iris speaking so plainly, it was a breath of fresh air. For if they did have prying ears… they likely would have understood the veiled words as well.
Alehandros took his time, thinking of every word he scribbled down just as he did with his speech. Only when he was certain he was satisfied he rolled it up, sealing it with the mark of the Antonis. His attention once more returned to the Captain. “I trust, then, this missive will find itself in the right hands.” Before the captain could grab it, however, he turned the scroll upwards, so it would miss his grasp. “No detours.”
With that said his eyes averted to Iris. If these were different circumstances, such as her coming to Alehandros right after the fire, the man would offer an embrace and kind words. However, with ashen ground below them and a sky black as night in the middle of the day, this was not the time for sympathy. This was the time for action, for resolve. And so now when Alehandros approached Iris, it was still as her vassal Lord, and not the longtime friend that she had come to know. “I ask that you recount that night, Lady Iris. To the best of your memory. Were there any potential witnesses to the fire?”
For Alehandros to make demands, and for their soldiers to mobilize, he would have to make it clear. To make accusations without proof would only anger Athenians. Should Alehandros attempt the legal approach, he needed more than suspicions. Evidence. Witnesses. Whatever may connect this to the Stravos house, as he strongly suspected were behind such a cowardly attack.
This would best be discussed with the Queen. But Alehandros would not be able to simply enter Arcana without drawing a suspicious eye. He could, however, potentially send Hyla who hails from a Xanthos province. Or another of his trusted guards should that be required. But without the ability to speak directly to Queen Persephone, Iris and her husband would best give him clarity on that fateful night.
Another deep breath and his eyes soften slightly. “I realize that may be difficult to answer, Lady Iris. I hope you understand the position that I am in. I must act according to protocol. But I promise you this, you both this,” He placed a hand on Lady Iris’s shoulder. “In no way will the Antonis remain neutral any longer. Blood was spilled in our lands. This will not stand.”
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That was it. That’s what he needed. Good, confirmation. Both by the man before him and Lady Iris. Without a moment’s hesitation, Alehandros once again spun on his heel. He made his way over to his carriage where Hyla was waiting. “Parchment. Stylus.” He commanded, and when handed to the Lord, Alehandros immediately began to draft a message to the Queen. All the while Hyla worked to light the candle that they had brought with them, originally to send a message to General Lacides.
Alehandros, now used to the veiled words of these two, was able to decipher what Hector said. Specifically that the White Shields are primarily charged with protecting the Xanthos when in residence. But with Iris speaking so plainly, it was a breath of fresh air. For if they did have prying ears… they likely would have understood the veiled words as well.
Alehandros took his time, thinking of every word he scribbled down just as he did with his speech. Only when he was certain he was satisfied he rolled it up, sealing it with the mark of the Antonis. His attention once more returned to the Captain. “I trust, then, this missive will find itself in the right hands.” Before the captain could grab it, however, he turned the scroll upwards, so it would miss his grasp. “No detours.”
With that said his eyes averted to Iris. If these were different circumstances, such as her coming to Alehandros right after the fire, the man would offer an embrace and kind words. However, with ashen ground below them and a sky black as night in the middle of the day, this was not the time for sympathy. This was the time for action, for resolve. And so now when Alehandros approached Iris, it was still as her vassal Lord, and not the longtime friend that she had come to know. “I ask that you recount that night, Lady Iris. To the best of your memory. Were there any potential witnesses to the fire?”
For Alehandros to make demands, and for their soldiers to mobilize, he would have to make it clear. To make accusations without proof would only anger Athenians. Should Alehandros attempt the legal approach, he needed more than suspicions. Evidence. Witnesses. Whatever may connect this to the Stravos house, as he strongly suspected were behind such a cowardly attack.
This would best be discussed with the Queen. But Alehandros would not be able to simply enter Arcana without drawing a suspicious eye. He could, however, potentially send Hyla who hails from a Xanthos province. Or another of his trusted guards should that be required. But without the ability to speak directly to Queen Persephone, Iris and her husband would best give him clarity on that fateful night.
Another deep breath and his eyes soften slightly. “I realize that may be difficult to answer, Lady Iris. I hope you understand the position that I am in. I must act according to protocol. But I promise you this, you both this,” He placed a hand on Lady Iris’s shoulder. “In no way will the Antonis remain neutral any longer. Blood was spilled in our lands. This will not stand.”
That was it. That’s what he needed. Good, confirmation. Both by the man before him and Lady Iris. Without a moment’s hesitation, Alehandros once again spun on his heel. He made his way over to his carriage where Hyla was waiting. “Parchment. Stylus.” He commanded, and when handed to the Lord, Alehandros immediately began to draft a message to the Queen. All the while Hyla worked to light the candle that they had brought with them, originally to send a message to General Lacides.
Alehandros, now used to the veiled words of these two, was able to decipher what Hector said. Specifically that the White Shields are primarily charged with protecting the Xanthos when in residence. But with Iris speaking so plainly, it was a breath of fresh air. For if they did have prying ears… they likely would have understood the veiled words as well.
Alehandros took his time, thinking of every word he scribbled down just as he did with his speech. Only when he was certain he was satisfied he rolled it up, sealing it with the mark of the Antonis. His attention once more returned to the Captain. “I trust, then, this missive will find itself in the right hands.” Before the captain could grab it, however, he turned the scroll upwards, so it would miss his grasp. “No detours.”
With that said his eyes averted to Iris. If these were different circumstances, such as her coming to Alehandros right after the fire, the man would offer an embrace and kind words. However, with ashen ground below them and a sky black as night in the middle of the day, this was not the time for sympathy. This was the time for action, for resolve. And so now when Alehandros approached Iris, it was still as her vassal Lord, and not the longtime friend that she had come to know. “I ask that you recount that night, Lady Iris. To the best of your memory. Were there any potential witnesses to the fire?”
For Alehandros to make demands, and for their soldiers to mobilize, he would have to make it clear. To make accusations without proof would only anger Athenians. Should Alehandros attempt the legal approach, he needed more than suspicions. Evidence. Witnesses. Whatever may connect this to the Stravos house, as he strongly suspected were behind such a cowardly attack.
This would best be discussed with the Queen. But Alehandros would not be able to simply enter Arcana without drawing a suspicious eye. He could, however, potentially send Hyla who hails from a Xanthos province. Or another of his trusted guards should that be required. But without the ability to speak directly to Queen Persephone, Iris and her husband would best give him clarity on that fateful night.
Another deep breath and his eyes soften slightly. “I realize that may be difficult to answer, Lady Iris. I hope you understand the position that I am in. I must act according to protocol. But I promise you this, you both this,” He placed a hand on Lady Iris’s shoulder. “In no way will the Antonis remain neutral any longer. Blood was spilled in our lands. This will not stand.”
It was not at all a surprise that Lord Alehandros would take such quick action, ordering that papyrus and a stylus be brought to him. It was not surprising at all. Iris watched in complete silence as he wrote, her mind already racing with words and a million things that she wanted to say. Drawing in a deep breath, the lady finally turned her gaze back to the ashen kennel, wondering how many of her hounds she would find dead inside. Hounds and pups. Would they be bones, or would there be nothing left?
She closed her eyes, thinking only about keeping her calm and composure until the lord had handed a letter to Captain Hector. Then she opened her eyes, fixing her gaze on some far off place behind Alehandros until he actually spoke to her. Then her green gaze focused on his face once more and she breathed out very deeply once more, "I was coming in from riding when I saw the flames in the trees. I always did the same thing every night. I rode the same path. It was my way of settling down once my eyes had crossed from work," she frowned deeply, her brows knitting together.
"I looked up and all I could feel was shock," she said slowly, "I'd never seen a forest fire that started in multiple different places at once. Here, there, all around. There were multiple torches, I'm sure," Iris continued. "I rode back here as quickly as I could and started to try and tell people the forest was alight. I saved what little I could from Lord Takis and Lady Demetra before Aimias forced me out of the home. The queen got many people out, but three of her servants didn't come out immediately. We waited a while until they were out and then we mounted horses and rode away. There were more people who rode away from the fire than were in my home at the time," Iris added quietly.
Then another deep breath, "Lord Keikelius was with us. From what I heard, he became privy to the information about the plan to burn Aetaea and he forced his way into the fray only to break off and attempt to get us all out safe. I don't know whose idea it was to bring us toward the Xanthos provinces, but all of us were so exhausted, singed, and struggling to breathe... so we stuck close. All of us. In the moment, I don't think any of us thought about anything other than escaping and outrunning our assailants."
Iris was looking toward her decimated home once more, her gaze distant. It was all gone. "I think most of the other witnesses likely burned in the flames... maybe some made it out," she whispered, though the outlook was bleak and she found herself only looking up again when he placed his hand on her shoulder. His words were what brought more breath into her lungs, her voice wavering a bit, "I thank you, Lord Alehandros... because I don't know that I could stand back any further and watch this happen to the rest of my Kingdom. If you need a bid for war in the senate... you have my vote and the Foxlights at your back. Captain Praxiteles would not deny you. Not after all of this."
"This is possibly the greatest insult of all, my lord. For isn't this one of your most profitable provinces?"
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It was not at all a surprise that Lord Alehandros would take such quick action, ordering that papyrus and a stylus be brought to him. It was not surprising at all. Iris watched in complete silence as he wrote, her mind already racing with words and a million things that she wanted to say. Drawing in a deep breath, the lady finally turned her gaze back to the ashen kennel, wondering how many of her hounds she would find dead inside. Hounds and pups. Would they be bones, or would there be nothing left?
She closed her eyes, thinking only about keeping her calm and composure until the lord had handed a letter to Captain Hector. Then she opened her eyes, fixing her gaze on some far off place behind Alehandros until he actually spoke to her. Then her green gaze focused on his face once more and she breathed out very deeply once more, "I was coming in from riding when I saw the flames in the trees. I always did the same thing every night. I rode the same path. It was my way of settling down once my eyes had crossed from work," she frowned deeply, her brows knitting together.
"I looked up and all I could feel was shock," she said slowly, "I'd never seen a forest fire that started in multiple different places at once. Here, there, all around. There were multiple torches, I'm sure," Iris continued. "I rode back here as quickly as I could and started to try and tell people the forest was alight. I saved what little I could from Lord Takis and Lady Demetra before Aimias forced me out of the home. The queen got many people out, but three of her servants didn't come out immediately. We waited a while until they were out and then we mounted horses and rode away. There were more people who rode away from the fire than were in my home at the time," Iris added quietly.
Then another deep breath, "Lord Keikelius was with us. From what I heard, he became privy to the information about the plan to burn Aetaea and he forced his way into the fray only to break off and attempt to get us all out safe. I don't know whose idea it was to bring us toward the Xanthos provinces, but all of us were so exhausted, singed, and struggling to breathe... so we stuck close. All of us. In the moment, I don't think any of us thought about anything other than escaping and outrunning our assailants."
Iris was looking toward her decimated home once more, her gaze distant. It was all gone. "I think most of the other witnesses likely burned in the flames... maybe some made it out," she whispered, though the outlook was bleak and she found herself only looking up again when he placed his hand on her shoulder. His words were what brought more breath into her lungs, her voice wavering a bit, "I thank you, Lord Alehandros... because I don't know that I could stand back any further and watch this happen to the rest of my Kingdom. If you need a bid for war in the senate... you have my vote and the Foxlights at your back. Captain Praxiteles would not deny you. Not after all of this."
"This is possibly the greatest insult of all, my lord. For isn't this one of your most profitable provinces?"
It was not at all a surprise that Lord Alehandros would take such quick action, ordering that papyrus and a stylus be brought to him. It was not surprising at all. Iris watched in complete silence as he wrote, her mind already racing with words and a million things that she wanted to say. Drawing in a deep breath, the lady finally turned her gaze back to the ashen kennel, wondering how many of her hounds she would find dead inside. Hounds and pups. Would they be bones, or would there be nothing left?
She closed her eyes, thinking only about keeping her calm and composure until the lord had handed a letter to Captain Hector. Then she opened her eyes, fixing her gaze on some far off place behind Alehandros until he actually spoke to her. Then her green gaze focused on his face once more and she breathed out very deeply once more, "I was coming in from riding when I saw the flames in the trees. I always did the same thing every night. I rode the same path. It was my way of settling down once my eyes had crossed from work," she frowned deeply, her brows knitting together.
"I looked up and all I could feel was shock," she said slowly, "I'd never seen a forest fire that started in multiple different places at once. Here, there, all around. There were multiple torches, I'm sure," Iris continued. "I rode back here as quickly as I could and started to try and tell people the forest was alight. I saved what little I could from Lord Takis and Lady Demetra before Aimias forced me out of the home. The queen got many people out, but three of her servants didn't come out immediately. We waited a while until they were out and then we mounted horses and rode away. There were more people who rode away from the fire than were in my home at the time," Iris added quietly.
Then another deep breath, "Lord Keikelius was with us. From what I heard, he became privy to the information about the plan to burn Aetaea and he forced his way into the fray only to break off and attempt to get us all out safe. I don't know whose idea it was to bring us toward the Xanthos provinces, but all of us were so exhausted, singed, and struggling to breathe... so we stuck close. All of us. In the moment, I don't think any of us thought about anything other than escaping and outrunning our assailants."
Iris was looking toward her decimated home once more, her gaze distant. It was all gone. "I think most of the other witnesses likely burned in the flames... maybe some made it out," she whispered, though the outlook was bleak and she found herself only looking up again when he placed his hand on her shoulder. His words were what brought more breath into her lungs, her voice wavering a bit, "I thank you, Lord Alehandros... because I don't know that I could stand back any further and watch this happen to the rest of my Kingdom. If you need a bid for war in the senate... you have my vote and the Foxlights at your back. Captain Praxiteles would not deny you. Not after all of this."
"This is possibly the greatest insult of all, my lord. For isn't this one of your most profitable provinces?"
He’d been woken in the early hours of the morning, a hammering on the door of the family home in the upper levels that had the master informer bid Elysia remain abed and go to investigate. The boy, one of his many sets of eyes and ears spoke of a fire burning in Aetaea, and the news had Cicero’s gaze narrow and his suspicions rise. He dropped a couple of silver in the boy’s palm and let the door close with a click, standing quite still for a moment as he considered this development.
It had been only days since he and Elysia had visited the Argyris province and made the discovery of their houseguest. There was little doubt in his mind that somehow that news had made its way to the wrong people, and that this was the consequences.
Of course, it could just be a terrible accident. But Cicero had a cynical streak cultivated from knowing far too much of human nature. It pained him a little that this time some of his suspicions landed close to home, and he was frighteningly calm when he returned to the bedroom he shared with his wife.
Moving around and dressing, he didn’t turn to Elysia when she stirred and asked what was going on, just spoke over his shoulder as he fastened his sandals to his feet.
“What is going on, Elysia, is that your cousin’s province is burning,” he said crisply, and then hesitated, wondering if that was too callous. But perhaps that shock would be what was needed to have his wife stop playing whatever game she was playing. “Do you know why that might be? So soon after we discovered the houseguest Iris had?”
The message had not relayed any information about losses, but the fire might have only been seen from a distance. The real questions were still to be answered and the only way to do so was to venture out to Aetaea and see for himself. If the news had reached him already it would not be long before it was common knowledge, and Cicero’s business was most easily conducted before the carrion crows settled.
He continued methodically tying the leather around his ankles before standing and reaching for the knife he always carried at his belt, slipping into place and finally deigning to turn a gaze upon his wife. In the low light from the candle, his expression was even more inscrutable than ever, but his eyes rested on her unblinking.
“I think the time for secrets of your own has long passed. Get up, get dressed. Let us go see what a mess has been made.”
Never particularly a patient man when it came to her dressing, there was something in his countenance that suggested there would be even less tolerance for any preening. “I shall go have horses readied. Do not tarry Elysia.”
Horses and a paid guard as it turned out, by the time she appeared, ready to go. The city was pale grey in the oncoming dawn, with only the poor folk astir as they prepared for the day ahead. The three riders made fast progress through the city and then once they had broken its borders, Cicero pushed them harder still, leaving no space for complaint. They had miles to cover, and every minute it took was evidence growing colder, the tracks of those responsible being trodden on by fools who knew no better.
It was a long journey and one that they did not dawdle over, pushing the horses steadily. There was no idle chit chat, the master informer grim-faced and determined. Helios’ chariot swept across the sky, and the light was beginning to leech from the day by the time they caught the acrid smoke in the air and knew that they were drawing near. Here, Cicero spared a glance for his wife, for she had ties to the province that he did not, and no doubt seeing it scorched and ruined would be hard enough, even before the fear for her cousin and family. Still, there was no time to allow her to come to terms with the reality of it, and so the spymaster urged his horse onwards.
No beast is content where there is the scent of fire and death, and so the last few miles were awkward, demanding concentration from tired riders and courage from exhausted horses. And when they drew near to the skeletal ruins of what had once been the Argyris manor, Cicero was not surprised to find them far from the first to arrive.
Reining to a halt, he slid from the horses back, stiff from so long in the saddle, and in a rare moment of consideration turned to Elysia to help her down too. He had already spotted Lady Iris, and so there was a relief. With her stood the Lord Alehandros and then Cicero’s gaze narrowed minutely as he recognised the Captain from Arcana and a small ‘hmm’ sounded from between pressed lips. Leaving the hired help to deal with the horses, the master informer picked his way through still smouldering ashes towards those gathered. He offered a bow, and as he stood upright turned to his wife's cousin.
“I would say good day to you, but I think we can all agree it is nothing like such a thing. I’m glad to see you safe, Lady Iris.” The words were cordial and yet Cicero’s gaze was like cold glass where it rested upon the Argyris woman. “And those who were in your company? Are they also well?”
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He’d been woken in the early hours of the morning, a hammering on the door of the family home in the upper levels that had the master informer bid Elysia remain abed and go to investigate. The boy, one of his many sets of eyes and ears spoke of a fire burning in Aetaea, and the news had Cicero’s gaze narrow and his suspicions rise. He dropped a couple of silver in the boy’s palm and let the door close with a click, standing quite still for a moment as he considered this development.
It had been only days since he and Elysia had visited the Argyris province and made the discovery of their houseguest. There was little doubt in his mind that somehow that news had made its way to the wrong people, and that this was the consequences.
Of course, it could just be a terrible accident. But Cicero had a cynical streak cultivated from knowing far too much of human nature. It pained him a little that this time some of his suspicions landed close to home, and he was frighteningly calm when he returned to the bedroom he shared with his wife.
Moving around and dressing, he didn’t turn to Elysia when she stirred and asked what was going on, just spoke over his shoulder as he fastened his sandals to his feet.
“What is going on, Elysia, is that your cousin’s province is burning,” he said crisply, and then hesitated, wondering if that was too callous. But perhaps that shock would be what was needed to have his wife stop playing whatever game she was playing. “Do you know why that might be? So soon after we discovered the houseguest Iris had?”
The message had not relayed any information about losses, but the fire might have only been seen from a distance. The real questions were still to be answered and the only way to do so was to venture out to Aetaea and see for himself. If the news had reached him already it would not be long before it was common knowledge, and Cicero’s business was most easily conducted before the carrion crows settled.
He continued methodically tying the leather around his ankles before standing and reaching for the knife he always carried at his belt, slipping into place and finally deigning to turn a gaze upon his wife. In the low light from the candle, his expression was even more inscrutable than ever, but his eyes rested on her unblinking.
“I think the time for secrets of your own has long passed. Get up, get dressed. Let us go see what a mess has been made.”
Never particularly a patient man when it came to her dressing, there was something in his countenance that suggested there would be even less tolerance for any preening. “I shall go have horses readied. Do not tarry Elysia.”
Horses and a paid guard as it turned out, by the time she appeared, ready to go. The city was pale grey in the oncoming dawn, with only the poor folk astir as they prepared for the day ahead. The three riders made fast progress through the city and then once they had broken its borders, Cicero pushed them harder still, leaving no space for complaint. They had miles to cover, and every minute it took was evidence growing colder, the tracks of those responsible being trodden on by fools who knew no better.
It was a long journey and one that they did not dawdle over, pushing the horses steadily. There was no idle chit chat, the master informer grim-faced and determined. Helios’ chariot swept across the sky, and the light was beginning to leech from the day by the time they caught the acrid smoke in the air and knew that they were drawing near. Here, Cicero spared a glance for his wife, for she had ties to the province that he did not, and no doubt seeing it scorched and ruined would be hard enough, even before the fear for her cousin and family. Still, there was no time to allow her to come to terms with the reality of it, and so the spymaster urged his horse onwards.
No beast is content where there is the scent of fire and death, and so the last few miles were awkward, demanding concentration from tired riders and courage from exhausted horses. And when they drew near to the skeletal ruins of what had once been the Argyris manor, Cicero was not surprised to find them far from the first to arrive.
Reining to a halt, he slid from the horses back, stiff from so long in the saddle, and in a rare moment of consideration turned to Elysia to help her down too. He had already spotted Lady Iris, and so there was a relief. With her stood the Lord Alehandros and then Cicero’s gaze narrowed minutely as he recognised the Captain from Arcana and a small ‘hmm’ sounded from between pressed lips. Leaving the hired help to deal with the horses, the master informer picked his way through still smouldering ashes towards those gathered. He offered a bow, and as he stood upright turned to his wife's cousin.
“I would say good day to you, but I think we can all agree it is nothing like such a thing. I’m glad to see you safe, Lady Iris.” The words were cordial and yet Cicero’s gaze was like cold glass where it rested upon the Argyris woman. “And those who were in your company? Are they also well?”
He’d been woken in the early hours of the morning, a hammering on the door of the family home in the upper levels that had the master informer bid Elysia remain abed and go to investigate. The boy, one of his many sets of eyes and ears spoke of a fire burning in Aetaea, and the news had Cicero’s gaze narrow and his suspicions rise. He dropped a couple of silver in the boy’s palm and let the door close with a click, standing quite still for a moment as he considered this development.
It had been only days since he and Elysia had visited the Argyris province and made the discovery of their houseguest. There was little doubt in his mind that somehow that news had made its way to the wrong people, and that this was the consequences.
Of course, it could just be a terrible accident. But Cicero had a cynical streak cultivated from knowing far too much of human nature. It pained him a little that this time some of his suspicions landed close to home, and he was frighteningly calm when he returned to the bedroom he shared with his wife.
Moving around and dressing, he didn’t turn to Elysia when she stirred and asked what was going on, just spoke over his shoulder as he fastened his sandals to his feet.
“What is going on, Elysia, is that your cousin’s province is burning,” he said crisply, and then hesitated, wondering if that was too callous. But perhaps that shock would be what was needed to have his wife stop playing whatever game she was playing. “Do you know why that might be? So soon after we discovered the houseguest Iris had?”
The message had not relayed any information about losses, but the fire might have only been seen from a distance. The real questions were still to be answered and the only way to do so was to venture out to Aetaea and see for himself. If the news had reached him already it would not be long before it was common knowledge, and Cicero’s business was most easily conducted before the carrion crows settled.
He continued methodically tying the leather around his ankles before standing and reaching for the knife he always carried at his belt, slipping into place and finally deigning to turn a gaze upon his wife. In the low light from the candle, his expression was even more inscrutable than ever, but his eyes rested on her unblinking.
“I think the time for secrets of your own has long passed. Get up, get dressed. Let us go see what a mess has been made.”
Never particularly a patient man when it came to her dressing, there was something in his countenance that suggested there would be even less tolerance for any preening. “I shall go have horses readied. Do not tarry Elysia.”
Horses and a paid guard as it turned out, by the time she appeared, ready to go. The city was pale grey in the oncoming dawn, with only the poor folk astir as they prepared for the day ahead. The three riders made fast progress through the city and then once they had broken its borders, Cicero pushed them harder still, leaving no space for complaint. They had miles to cover, and every minute it took was evidence growing colder, the tracks of those responsible being trodden on by fools who knew no better.
It was a long journey and one that they did not dawdle over, pushing the horses steadily. There was no idle chit chat, the master informer grim-faced and determined. Helios’ chariot swept across the sky, and the light was beginning to leech from the day by the time they caught the acrid smoke in the air and knew that they were drawing near. Here, Cicero spared a glance for his wife, for she had ties to the province that he did not, and no doubt seeing it scorched and ruined would be hard enough, even before the fear for her cousin and family. Still, there was no time to allow her to come to terms with the reality of it, and so the spymaster urged his horse onwards.
No beast is content where there is the scent of fire and death, and so the last few miles were awkward, demanding concentration from tired riders and courage from exhausted horses. And when they drew near to the skeletal ruins of what had once been the Argyris manor, Cicero was not surprised to find them far from the first to arrive.
Reining to a halt, he slid from the horses back, stiff from so long in the saddle, and in a rare moment of consideration turned to Elysia to help her down too. He had already spotted Lady Iris, and so there was a relief. With her stood the Lord Alehandros and then Cicero’s gaze narrowed minutely as he recognised the Captain from Arcana and a small ‘hmm’ sounded from between pressed lips. Leaving the hired help to deal with the horses, the master informer picked his way through still smouldering ashes towards those gathered. He offered a bow, and as he stood upright turned to his wife's cousin.
“I would say good day to you, but I think we can all agree it is nothing like such a thing. I’m glad to see you safe, Lady Iris.” The words were cordial and yet Cicero’s gaze was like cold glass where it rested upon the Argyris woman. “And those who were in your company? Are they also well?”
In her dream, the sudden boom was thunder, but the second bang sent her sitting bolt upright in bed, grasping the blanket to her chest like some sort of shield. She did not speak as the slim shadow of her husband rose gracefully in the darkness. Her eyes followed him and she didn’t get up when he told her to stay where she was. Nor did she lay back down. Through the eternal minutes waiting, she could hear the deep rumble of his voice and the higher pitched one of someone else, though not what was said. Then all was silent again until she heard his steps thudding along the corridor outside. Within moments, his shadow reentered the room.
“What is it?” Her voice was craggy from sleep but sharpened on the next question as he began to dress. “Cicero, what is going on?” Some of the initial alarm had worn off once he came back in the room but it was now slithering back the longer he didn’t answer. When he did, she half wished he hadn’t.
“What is going on, Elysia, is that your cousin’s province is burning.”
“What?” Burning? Burning how? Obviously fire, but how? She didn’t understand. It was incomprehensible that her childhood home, her safe place, was currently being destroyed. Not while the night around them was silent and their room as dark as midnight could possibly be. Her thoughts jumbled together, trying to both make sense of what he was saying and push it away as impossible.
“Do you know why that might be? So soon after we discovered the houseguest Iris had?”
“Why would I?” she said at once, insulted by the accusation as though she’d had some hand in it. How dare even he say such a thing. But, then, the rest of his words caught up with her and she pressed her back against the headboard, bringing back up the blanket shield to her chest.
Oh.
She sat mutely for the time being, watching him put on his sandals and realizing that if she wasn’t dressed and up with him, he was leaving and it’d be without her. But she didn’t move. The will to fly up and to the wardrobe was beating against her ribcage like a trapped bird but the weight of what was happening that very likely had to do with her conversation with Elias...one she’d tried hard not to think on since, pressed her down and she simply watched Cicero as he moved about the room.
Her eyes followed the brilliant burst of fire as the wick flamed to life, then settled in on itself to cast dimly, primly. The light made the hollows of Cicero’s face positively gruesome as he turned to her once more. “I think the time for secrets of your own has long passed. Get up, get dressed. Let us go see what a mess has been made.”
She felt very much like a child being chastised by a beloved and respected father, but none of the childish rebellion stirred in her now. Without a word, she got up and dressed in the first thing her hand touched, pulling on the closest sandals, and only grabbed a leather strip for her hair to put it up in a thick, fluffy tail - something she wouldn’t ever have worn under any other circumstance. It was too plain and common but she didn’t care about her appearance in the moment.
“I shall go have horses readied. Do not tarry Elysia.” he’d said to her and left, and now that she was ready, she followed in his footsteps to the stables. No carriage. Just horseback. Elysia was a fair rider but by no means a great one and she didn’t relish the thought of riding hard to Aetaea by this means, but she didn’t hesitate to mount up and do as she was told. The ride was hard and it was long. By midday, she could feel the saddle sores beginning and her horse flagging. There was a real danger that if they kept pushing, all three animals would simply die of a heart attack but the lives of three horses could be managed in the wake of the travesty Elysia was sure they would find.
By the time the air turned smokey and charred, Elysia was too sore and tired to cry. She stared straight ahead, not even noticing her husband watching. Her expression was dull and blank, growing pale as they plunged on towards the manor. What was left of it, anyway. Elysia didn’t move and was only dimly aware of being taken gently from the saddle to be set on her feet. Then she was limping along behind him, trailing further and further as she took in the devastation. Their paid guard put a hand on her upper back, nudging her forward. She kept right on walking, past Cicero, past Lord Alehandros, past Hector, and straight into Iris, wrapping her arms around the other woman and saying nothing at all. The first of the tears came then, silently streaking down her face and onto Iris’s shoulder. There was no sound with them - just a steady stream.
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In her dream, the sudden boom was thunder, but the second bang sent her sitting bolt upright in bed, grasping the blanket to her chest like some sort of shield. She did not speak as the slim shadow of her husband rose gracefully in the darkness. Her eyes followed him and she didn’t get up when he told her to stay where she was. Nor did she lay back down. Through the eternal minutes waiting, she could hear the deep rumble of his voice and the higher pitched one of someone else, though not what was said. Then all was silent again until she heard his steps thudding along the corridor outside. Within moments, his shadow reentered the room.
“What is it?” Her voice was craggy from sleep but sharpened on the next question as he began to dress. “Cicero, what is going on?” Some of the initial alarm had worn off once he came back in the room but it was now slithering back the longer he didn’t answer. When he did, she half wished he hadn’t.
“What is going on, Elysia, is that your cousin’s province is burning.”
“What?” Burning? Burning how? Obviously fire, but how? She didn’t understand. It was incomprehensible that her childhood home, her safe place, was currently being destroyed. Not while the night around them was silent and their room as dark as midnight could possibly be. Her thoughts jumbled together, trying to both make sense of what he was saying and push it away as impossible.
“Do you know why that might be? So soon after we discovered the houseguest Iris had?”
“Why would I?” she said at once, insulted by the accusation as though she’d had some hand in it. How dare even he say such a thing. But, then, the rest of his words caught up with her and she pressed her back against the headboard, bringing back up the blanket shield to her chest.
Oh.
She sat mutely for the time being, watching him put on his sandals and realizing that if she wasn’t dressed and up with him, he was leaving and it’d be without her. But she didn’t move. The will to fly up and to the wardrobe was beating against her ribcage like a trapped bird but the weight of what was happening that very likely had to do with her conversation with Elias...one she’d tried hard not to think on since, pressed her down and she simply watched Cicero as he moved about the room.
Her eyes followed the brilliant burst of fire as the wick flamed to life, then settled in on itself to cast dimly, primly. The light made the hollows of Cicero’s face positively gruesome as he turned to her once more. “I think the time for secrets of your own has long passed. Get up, get dressed. Let us go see what a mess has been made.”
She felt very much like a child being chastised by a beloved and respected father, but none of the childish rebellion stirred in her now. Without a word, she got up and dressed in the first thing her hand touched, pulling on the closest sandals, and only grabbed a leather strip for her hair to put it up in a thick, fluffy tail - something she wouldn’t ever have worn under any other circumstance. It was too plain and common but she didn’t care about her appearance in the moment.
“I shall go have horses readied. Do not tarry Elysia.” he’d said to her and left, and now that she was ready, she followed in his footsteps to the stables. No carriage. Just horseback. Elysia was a fair rider but by no means a great one and she didn’t relish the thought of riding hard to Aetaea by this means, but she didn’t hesitate to mount up and do as she was told. The ride was hard and it was long. By midday, she could feel the saddle sores beginning and her horse flagging. There was a real danger that if they kept pushing, all three animals would simply die of a heart attack but the lives of three horses could be managed in the wake of the travesty Elysia was sure they would find.
By the time the air turned smokey and charred, Elysia was too sore and tired to cry. She stared straight ahead, not even noticing her husband watching. Her expression was dull and blank, growing pale as they plunged on towards the manor. What was left of it, anyway. Elysia didn’t move and was only dimly aware of being taken gently from the saddle to be set on her feet. Then she was limping along behind him, trailing further and further as she took in the devastation. Their paid guard put a hand on her upper back, nudging her forward. She kept right on walking, past Cicero, past Lord Alehandros, past Hector, and straight into Iris, wrapping her arms around the other woman and saying nothing at all. The first of the tears came then, silently streaking down her face and onto Iris’s shoulder. There was no sound with them - just a steady stream.
In her dream, the sudden boom was thunder, but the second bang sent her sitting bolt upright in bed, grasping the blanket to her chest like some sort of shield. She did not speak as the slim shadow of her husband rose gracefully in the darkness. Her eyes followed him and she didn’t get up when he told her to stay where she was. Nor did she lay back down. Through the eternal minutes waiting, she could hear the deep rumble of his voice and the higher pitched one of someone else, though not what was said. Then all was silent again until she heard his steps thudding along the corridor outside. Within moments, his shadow reentered the room.
“What is it?” Her voice was craggy from sleep but sharpened on the next question as he began to dress. “Cicero, what is going on?” Some of the initial alarm had worn off once he came back in the room but it was now slithering back the longer he didn’t answer. When he did, she half wished he hadn’t.
“What is going on, Elysia, is that your cousin’s province is burning.”
“What?” Burning? Burning how? Obviously fire, but how? She didn’t understand. It was incomprehensible that her childhood home, her safe place, was currently being destroyed. Not while the night around them was silent and their room as dark as midnight could possibly be. Her thoughts jumbled together, trying to both make sense of what he was saying and push it away as impossible.
“Do you know why that might be? So soon after we discovered the houseguest Iris had?”
“Why would I?” she said at once, insulted by the accusation as though she’d had some hand in it. How dare even he say such a thing. But, then, the rest of his words caught up with her and she pressed her back against the headboard, bringing back up the blanket shield to her chest.
Oh.
She sat mutely for the time being, watching him put on his sandals and realizing that if she wasn’t dressed and up with him, he was leaving and it’d be without her. But she didn’t move. The will to fly up and to the wardrobe was beating against her ribcage like a trapped bird but the weight of what was happening that very likely had to do with her conversation with Elias...one she’d tried hard not to think on since, pressed her down and she simply watched Cicero as he moved about the room.
Her eyes followed the brilliant burst of fire as the wick flamed to life, then settled in on itself to cast dimly, primly. The light made the hollows of Cicero’s face positively gruesome as he turned to her once more. “I think the time for secrets of your own has long passed. Get up, get dressed. Let us go see what a mess has been made.”
She felt very much like a child being chastised by a beloved and respected father, but none of the childish rebellion stirred in her now. Without a word, she got up and dressed in the first thing her hand touched, pulling on the closest sandals, and only grabbed a leather strip for her hair to put it up in a thick, fluffy tail - something she wouldn’t ever have worn under any other circumstance. It was too plain and common but she didn’t care about her appearance in the moment.
“I shall go have horses readied. Do not tarry Elysia.” he’d said to her and left, and now that she was ready, she followed in his footsteps to the stables. No carriage. Just horseback. Elysia was a fair rider but by no means a great one and she didn’t relish the thought of riding hard to Aetaea by this means, but she didn’t hesitate to mount up and do as she was told. The ride was hard and it was long. By midday, she could feel the saddle sores beginning and her horse flagging. There was a real danger that if they kept pushing, all three animals would simply die of a heart attack but the lives of three horses could be managed in the wake of the travesty Elysia was sure they would find.
By the time the air turned smokey and charred, Elysia was too sore and tired to cry. She stared straight ahead, not even noticing her husband watching. Her expression was dull and blank, growing pale as they plunged on towards the manor. What was left of it, anyway. Elysia didn’t move and was only dimly aware of being taken gently from the saddle to be set on her feet. Then she was limping along behind him, trailing further and further as she took in the devastation. Their paid guard put a hand on her upper back, nudging her forward. She kept right on walking, past Cicero, past Lord Alehandros, past Hector, and straight into Iris, wrapping her arms around the other woman and saying nothing at all. The first of the tears came then, silently streaking down her face and onto Iris’s shoulder. There was no sound with them - just a steady stream.