“I am honored that you should dedicate your talents to myself as a subject to your odes. You do your father proud, taking up the mantle of initiative and splendor in his stead.”

Aea did not look at the Lady with anything but a smile, though her eyes ached to flick down to her chest as the blonde dipped once more. Lady Rene's voice was so melodic, like a gentle ringing of a bell. It conjured to mind scenes of carefree days long past, when everything was beautiful and possible.

Fuck's sake, what was wrong with her? Lady Rene was being very kind. She had no idea what Aea was thinking about, and because of that, it didn’t feel good or decent to think it to begin with. It wasn’t good or decent. This was not fair. What God was laughing at her now? Aphrodite, probably.

Aea’s hands felt warm again, whereas before, she’d banished the anxiety that pricked at her flesh. To be so beautiful as Lady Rene must be a burden, and it was wrong of Aea to traverse into her privacy. A woman's body and her voice were her own, and was not Aea’s place to greedily admire either. How did one go about hanging onto thoughts when this naiad was about?

Still, Aea had to say something. Focus. It was important to remember why she was doing this to herself. The temple. Information. It was especially important to remember what would happen if she fucked this up.
She'd get one chance, and that was it. She’d never sung an ode about a person to that person, but she knew herself well enough to know how to soothe her nerves.
She only had to think of the shoe.

If she blundered and embarrassed Uncle Cassero, Uncle Gatheron would relay it to Uncle Dasmo, and her father’s twin would wack her with his sandal until her bottom and the backs of her legs glowed red. And then he would tell Hektos later, and it would be much worse. The shoe was not a pleasant experience. Dull memory of the pain rooted Aea in place and she was able to look at Rene’s face without going into convulsions in the attempt of having a normal conversation with her.

Despite her inner turmoil, only two or three seconds passed between Rene’s words and Aea’s resolute decision that she was most certainly going to answer the Lady, and she was going to do it in such a way that Lady Rene might think upon her again, perhaps not soon, but years from now when she heard a familiar melody, or the phantom scent of Colchian dirt and sweet flowers. She hoped that if Lady Rene did remember Aea, it would be with a smile, one that Aea had planted long ago.

“Not my ode, Lady Rene, but yours to keep. It is a gift, one most deserved. I will do my best to be worthy of your praise, and I am grateful for the opportunity.”

She only had to wait a moment before her companion glided down to settle onto her shoulder, and if thoughts of the shoe weren’t sobering, it might have been amusing to know that she’d won a challenge with her uncle without presenting it in so many words. Uncle Cassero should have just let Kaia go to the temple, but he did not, and this was the result. Aea, once again, got her way. A ‘no’ was like a great boulder blocking a trail. There were many ways to move it aside and just as many ways to simply bypass it.

There would be consequences for it, but they did not deter her. Pain was part of life, and she stopped fearing it long ago—at least the kind her father gave. What scared her was pain fueled by disappointment, which was mixed by her failure. That hurt far worse than any strike. She would not fail today. She could do this.

“Are you a sign, noble bird?” She stroked the raven’s chest and slowly moved to take her intended place, inclining her head toward the cart. Aea had never taught the raven to cue with a head tilt, but he flew where she indicated all the same and she sent a silent prayer to her patron God, promising him that she would make another sacrifice to his splendor that very night if he would keep his eye upon her little corner of Greece, if he would truly send an inspiration into her mind. He might do it, too, for Lady Rene was the subject she needed assistance with.

She had not been lying when she claimed Rene God-touched. It was improbable that she wasn’t, for an artist as beautiful and resplendent as she must have been chosen by either Apollo or Aphrodite to spread their glory upon the mortal realm. Aea imagined that the golden immortals were arguing on Mount Olympus this very moment, each staunchly claiming that Rene belonged to them.

Aea grabbed Uncle Cassero’s lyre when he handed it over and to his credit, her handsome kin did not look anything less than a proud father. Had they been alone, she might have tried to lighten his mood by making a jest of the situation, and depending on the thoughts already rolling in his skull, it might have worked.

“What do you say, Rene, shall we hear her song?” Lady Ophelia said.

Goosebumps of nervous excitement stroked Aea’s arms and her heart pounded two times too fast. She plucked three more flowers from the cart and wound them around the fine yew of uncle Cassero’s lyre, the same color pattern upon the same strings as the first.

Her melody would be simple so that they could play along without fear of a mistake. It was not the instrumentation that Aea worried for, but the lyrics. Uncle Cassero said that it was important to find five truths to fill an ode, and the deeper the truth, the truer the song. It was not enough to sing of the beauty of a face, for beauty fades, but the soul would never whither, and it is the soul that one should always attempt to see. What truths did Aea know of Lady Rene?

Artistry. Bashfulness. She spoke in less words than Aea...so perhaps a quiet woman, deep as the Aegean. Generous for the gifts she created and bestowed upon her friend. A bashful Lady could be unused to attention, though that seemed a contradiction. Perhaps she had many older siblings that took her chance at glory—Aea could empathize with that. Quiet...no, silent. Without recognition...for now. Passion in creation. Silent. Violent. No. Silent and still, like stone. Shone. Lone. She alone who outshone the Gods. No! That was horrid and blasphemous, she would be struck with lightning, and if not, then thrown into the mines for her impiety. Moan? Shit. The shoe, think of the shoe.

Lord Apollo, I will give you anything you wish if you see me through this without a mistake.

She flicked her eyes upon the row of ladies and it was as if a cool wind blew through her lungs to fill her with calm. Aea looked upon the Lady Rene and smiled, her nerves outweighing her wonder. She hoped that having her friends near might soothe the blonde if she was feeling any trepidation, though if she did feel any, it was well hidden.

There was never a better time to procrastinate than now. “I would not presume to know, Lady Rene, but it seems to me that one so accomplished in a specific art form must practice it to such a degree that others must stay ignored. I would ask you and Lady Ophelia to play with me, and I have made it so that it will feel as if you’d played every day, if you do not already.”

She stepped in a little closer and held up the spare lyre, twisting the knobs until the gut string was taught and the three strings rang out at a tone and a half higher than the standard. She inclined her head and brought her voice low, for her words were only for the ladies upon the cart. “And I find that when you watch your own fingers, observers fade away, and it is like you are alone with nothing but the feel of the string and the warmth of the muses.”

She plucked each of the three strings—E♭, G, B♭—“Music is like color. You have keys as the root sounds, the primary colors, and ours is E—which we shall call blue. Although all of us paint in the color blue, our lyres are tuned to different tones—they are different hues of blue. For you, Lady Rene, you will paint with azure.” She handed the fair woman the spare lyre, the easiest to play due to its thinner strings.

Aea pulled Cassero’s lyre from beneath her arm and tuned the three flower-marked strings one tone higher before holding the fine instrument out to Lady Ophelia. Although Aea would like nothing more than to play her uncle’s beautiful lyre, Lady Ophelia should have the finer instrument. “Lady Ophelia will paint with sapphire.”

Finally, she picked up her own lyre, worn and well-loved, and most meticulously maintained. “And I shall paint in navy. So long as you pluck the strings I have marked with flowers, you may weave any pattern you like, as quickly or as slowly as it pleases you, for the hues will always blend together. And if I was mistaken in my assumptions and you are an accomplished musician, please feel free to play as the song might move you. Of course, I extend that invitation to both of you. The song I feel inside of me is not so fast as Lady Ophelia’s ode.”

She pressed a hand to her bosom and kneeled upon the ground so that she might look up into Lady Rene’s face. Thump. Thump. Thump. Like a steady drop of rain collecting into a bowl, her heart knocked a steady stucco against her chest.
“More of a lullaby. Quiet, beautiful...” Aea closed her eyes and saw Lady Rene in her head, her back turned. She was standing inside, in an open and silent stone palace, her head anchored up to stare at the vines that draped from the ceiling. It was an empty place, but the Lady would make it alive and whole again. The wind swept through the corridors, dried leaves fluttering in its whispering wake.

“Like a dream.” Aea opened her eyes and looked up into Rene’s. She smiled at the blonde, sort and reassuring, “And if you would allow me one more indulgence, My Lady, I should like to look into your eyes for a moment and see what lays behind them.”

Aea swallowed and studied Lady Rene's expressive eyes, awe and curiosity melting away in favor of utter concentration. The Lady's eyes were so warm and blue that they bordered on unreal, and although it was bright outside, her pupils were not so small as Aea expected. Pupils dilated for many reasons, and although it was not the primary or even tertiary method to mine for a truth, it was a beginning of suspect at least.

Something guarded those blue eyes of hers, and yet they were wide and doe-like, and her body was not angled so far away from Aea. Hopeful, perhaps, but unsure of whether to trust the situation. Perhaps she felt vulnerable, or perhaps it was simply curiosity and anticipation of what her ode may be. Hesitant in this moment, but decisive in her heart. Her strengths were not to be seen by those she did not know, and her strengths had nothing to do with her art; for her creations were only products of being her—which was true of everybody.

Lady Rene may present a piece to a large forum, but none of the onlookers would ever know the love and devotion she poured from her soul into her medium, for nothing great could be created without a piece of soul. Had the Lady not been an artist, had she been a mathematician or a doctor, she would have given just as much of herself those crafts. It was the worlds and shapes that bled from her mind that made her an artist, but it was her quiet conviction, her guarded trust, and her bright compassion that made her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. That clear, bright quality—that fraction of her soul—was what people saw when they looked at Lady Rene's work.

“Thank you.” Aea said, breaking her gaze to bow her head. She could not know for certain, but she liked to think that she could see Rene, and the song she’d been grappling with was now thundering into her skull, crowding it with a thousand words and melodies to choose from.

Stone. Lone. Gold. Rose. Eon. Eternity. Still. Secret.

Aea hesitated for only a moment before she cautiously loosened her ebiblema just enough that it circled below her neck. She wore it because Uncle Dasmo did not want her face to be recognizable later, but if she were being honest, she preferred it in public. People could not see what she was thinking so well if they could not see her face. When playing, they could not see the way her lips parted and relaxed, the way her eyebrows furrowed and quirked with each gallop of her fingers. But, she could also not sing clearly with a muffled voice. And if Lady Rene was going to be brave enough to trust Aea’s half-cooked scheme, then Aea would be brave enough to be vulnerable as well.

For the first time since they entered the city, Aea felt as if she could breathe properly, and that her skin was not so stifled by the thin white linen. Aea smiled, and though it was small, it was full of bound excitement and fear. The fingers of her right hand shook, so she clenched her fist, took a deep breath, and straightened her spine, coaxing air into her lungs and pushing every ounce of fear from her body. She was afraid. But she would murder the trepidation and be fearful no longer. I can do this.

Kaia was the singer among them, greater than even Cassero. Her voice was so pure and natural that Aea did not think she would hear its like anywhere else. When Kaia sang, nobody sang with her, for they were too transfixed to do more than listen. Aea was not a songbird. She could not hit as high of a note as her cousin, but she had something that was all her own, something that she secretly liked just because it was hers and nobody else's. It was a round, warm voice that sat in her chest and filtered out gold and rich. At its base, it was dusk and smoke, and at its peak, it was sun-stroked cedar. Kaia was not around to sing, and so Aea did not feel so inferior. This was her show, damnit, and this would be directed as she saw fit, just as she liked things.

Aea plucked two strings together, then pulled off into an eighth, keeping the slow tempo, as steady and sure as her own heartbeat. And then she took another deep breath, pressed her tongue away from the roof of her mouth, and coaxed her voice from the deeps of her chest to rise through her throat, filtering into a bold minor note, proud in its sweet melancholy.

“Here in the halls of House of Nikolaos
Silence wraps through the stones
But for the sound
Of a sigh on the wind
Hushed song, shroud long, and alone”

She flicked her eyes at Lady Rene and half her mouth lifted into a small grin. She’d done it, four bars of a song in public as the soul musician. She knew she could. Now she would have more. Aea was not her uncle, nor did she want to be; she did not weave grand tales of Gods and sweeping worlds. Her song was about Lady Rene, but most importantly, it was to her, and Aea would address it directly—as any gift might be given.

“Blush and silver, sky and rose
Blurred edge, her swept lines define
For Lady Rene keeps the greatest of care
‘Twixt moon drops and pearls of sunshine

Now patience, hush, and time shall abide
For one day she may coax you to see
A master’s work, transfixed shall you be
Don’t shield your eyes, inch deeper inside
And behold flesh-made immortality

Lady Rene, a truth you should know
Our lives are the span of an eve
But the love you have mixed and chiseled and formed
Like the Gods and the stones, shant leave

When our children’s children have babes of their own
Can you see them stand in the square
See their eyes raise high to the arches above
To the muraled stones forever set there

The Lady Rene, of House Nikolaos
Do not doubt the words that you hear
Look to the eons, it’s not a trick of the eye
This is your truth, and it shan't disappear

Fingers steady, Gods wait and make ready
Legends etched, sagas pressed to the wall
Though the lady refind, doesn’t pay mind
As she paints in her silent hall”

Aea released her voice to the air and ended the song, smiling at the two ladies and applauding them both for their bravery and the sounds they created with her—Lady Rene was especially brave, for it was no small feat to be the subject of a spectacle and participate in it as well. She slowly stood on her two feet again, subtly brushing any errant greenery from her bare legs. “Thank you for your leap of faith, Lady Rene.”

Aea still did not know if she should curtsey or bow, but the fluttering in her chest and the sheer magnitude of adrenaline and elation made the difference seem small. Perhaps it was something for a Lady to do, for Aea could not imagine a common woman bending her knees in such a graceful and fluid movement. Beaming, she bowed to Lady Rene and wrapped her epiblema back around her lower face before collecting the lyres.
“And Lady Ophelia, your fingers were so nimble! I should like to hear a song from you…” Aea clutched the three lyres close to her chest. She felt almost dizzy and she was surely talking straight from her ass right now. She cursed inside of her head at the presumption of the statement, “That is...only if you would like to...one day.”

That wasn’t right, either, because that was presupposing they would meet again. Oh. Oh no. She was fucking up. She was fucking everything up real proper. Aea's excitement drained out of her, devoured by dread. Any words she might have said before that would have sounded anything like a normal sentence were gone. It was as if the song had drained her of every word she’d ever known, leaving her in a state of infancy.

Her eyes darted behind the ladies and she searched instinctively for Kaia as she might look for a wayward dagger. She found her easily. Did the song take so long that Kaia had a full visit at the temple? Fuck. She’d done well, why was she getting so nervous? She’d had less anxiety when she stared down the sheer face of a cliff, her toes wiggling in the empty air. Just one step, and she would fall into the rock shards and the churning sea below—that did not make her stomach flip so much as it was now.

A sudden pressure on the back of her neck almost made her jump, but she bit her tongue instead.
“You did well, my heart.” Uncle Cassero’s voice was distorted, as if he spoke through glass. Aea smiled because she didn’t know what else to do with her face. It was only then she realized that seconds had passed between the end of the song and her blunder, and that there was cheering and generous applause.

Uncle Cassero’s fingers dug viciously into the back of her neck and she relaxed, all the tension in her body draining to allow excitement in once more. People were applauding. It was a good song. Cassero would not be disappointed, and neither would her father. They would only be angry at her rogue action. She could deal with anger.

Uncle Cassero inclined his head, a blinding smile crossing his handsome face “You all did marvelously. It truly was a grand song, the notes blending together like a siren’s echo.”

She was sucked out from the pit of her own anxious quicksand and she felt as if she could finally speak again. Aea took a deep breath and smiled at Lady Ophelia. “I apologize. My tongue was apparently too heavy to allow speech. I meant only that I should like to hear your playing if ever I have the good fortune to meet you again, My Lady, and not be so greedy as to impose upon your enjoyment of the festivities today.”

Her uncle’s hand loosed on the back of her neck and she smiled brighter. It was fine. Everything was absolutely fine. If she were not around her uncle Cassero, she would not have doubted herself—it was a pattern of sorts. Gatheron and Agolois did not create such heavy nerves in her. Had her father been near, she would have never sabotaged Uncle Cassero.
And sabotage was such a heavy word. Really, she was only helping. He looked like he could use the break.

Cassero plucked two of the three lyres from her grip and released her neck altogether before planting a kiss atop her head. She could not contain her smile at that; he never kissed anybody. Well, she was sure he kissed people, but this was not that sort of kiss. She could not have been happier on this day. She had done more than she set out to do and succeeded, and although she was in trouble, her uncle really was proud of her.

“I suppose you and Kaia may take an early break.” He said.

Aea’s eyes widened and she looked up at him. He winked at her, half his mouth cocking in an impish half-smile.

“Thank you, Father.” She breathed with a surprised, pleased smile. Hurriedly, Aea moved to the cart and filled her bag with all of the things she might need before yanking it from under the flowers and tossing it over her shoulders.

Cassero bowed deeply to the Ladies and swept both his arms to the side, lyres in hand. “I thank you most graciously for your consideration this day. Truly, it is one I shall never forget, and I feel light as air knowing that I am kept as a friend in your consideration, Lady Ophelia, and hope that you should accept my friendship and utmost admiration in turn. The rumors, for once, did not lie, and I am glad for it—you truly are worth every esteem the common folk ascribe to you. If ever you should find yourself in Molossia, I will be most glad to receive you and your company at my hearth to refresh and rest if you should pass through the heart of the forest on your way to one of the estates. I extend the same invitation to you, Lady Rene, and pray that should we ever meet again, that it is your work we may view. I wish both of you Great Ladies, and your Houses, many blessings, and your health and happiness shall always be in my prayers to the Gods. By your leave, Lady Ophelia, Lady Rene, I shall excuse myself to attend to our good friends, as I spy a young miss there who would like a song of her very own.”

He looked aside and smiled gently at an adolescent girl in a new tunic that looked recently dirtied from play. She was holding up a bronze coin and looking from Aea to Cassero before finally settling on the handsomer of the two, her smile going bashful and smitten.

Aea held her hand out for Kaia to take and bowed to both Lady Rene and Lady Ophelia again. She had to have permission to leave the sight of a noble, it seemed. She was glad she had the fortune to observe that particular mannerism beforehand, else she would have just bowed and sauntered away without another word—assuming her use was fulfilled.
“Thank you again, Lady Rene, Lady Ophelia.”

Agogos had been perched quietly all the while, observing as he did when he was patiently waiting on his treat. Aea couldn’t very well grab his bag of dried meat, so he would just have to hang on until she found something less premeditated to feed him for a job well done.

Even though Cassero had allowed them on break early, as soon as Dasmo saw Aea, she would have to go back to work. But she didn’t want to. She would work later; right now she wanted to look around and experience a daylight city. She wanted to go to the temple, and people-watch, and perhaps try a food she’d never tried and play some of the games she knew would be played at the far edge of the field. Unfortunately, she only had an hour and a half at most before she had to return to her duties before being released for the rest of the night.

Aea held Kaia's hand tight in her own and she looked from one Lady to the other. “It was very good to meet you. It is a small field, perhaps we will meet again before the night is over with. With your permission, my sister and I will take our leave and bid you both enjoy the amusements of the day. If we should not see you again before dusk, I wish you safe travels home, and bid you a very fond farewell. I should hope to see you again someday.”

When his youngest brother descended from the carriage, Vangelis did not smile. He was not a man for whom emotion came easily to his features. Yet, there was something in his manner that was different. Just as it was with little Athanasia. In the eyes, perhaps. A softness. A familiarity. An attachment of emotion that his nearest and dearest would recognize as a brotherly affection.

When the young Captain commented on performing his princely duties for a moment and then disappearing into the crowd to experience the fun of the event, Vangelis' veneer of stone cracked a little more. The corner of his mouth tilted up at one side. Most of the Kotas disliked the social side of their responsibilities. Yanni was a Queen in more ways than one, ruling over the social obligations of the family. And Tython seemed to genuinely enjoy human contact that was not cast with bloodshed or tainted in violence. But neither had seemed to pass down their diplomacy skills to their children. Zanon was perhaps the most tactically social but even he disliked the notion of greasing palms. And Asia was friendly and loved people but did not possess a manipulative or political bone in her body.

Sometimes, Vangelis wondered if the new generation of Kotas were doomed. And yet, the fear was dispelled quickly. Untalented they might be in such a realm of regal duty. But honorable they would be in learning to uphold it. Sheer willpower would ensure that no child of Kotas blood ever disgraced their parental examples.

"Good luck with that," Vangelis muttered beneath his breath at his brother, a rare break from his stony form.

Only, he was proven wrong by his sister's determination to experience the festival. Her hands tugging on her father's sleeve, her eyes large and beseeching, Vangelis knew that it would be the work of a moment before his father succumbed to her entreaty. And sure enough, Tython was accepting of her request.

"You may," he told her. "But do not leave the stalls. We shall be calling the attention of the people shortly. Witness the populace."

Vangelis had heard that advice before. 'Witness the populace.' It was all very well to rule with wisdom and care but if one did not know the people then they could not rule them. Being a part of the social experience of all, from the common-born to the nobility was a significant benefit to any ruling party.

Of course, with Athanasia permitted to mingle with the Colchian denizens, she would require a guard to be by her side. As heir to the throne and a significantly dominant presence in and of himself, Vangelis was hardly the escort that would aid in Asia experiencing the people in their natural state. Silas on the other hand...

As Asia grinned and darted away towards the market stalls of bright color and noise, Vangelis pinned Silas with a direct look. Pointing to his own eyes and then at Asia's retreating back, his instructions did not need speaking aloud.

Watch her.

The look in his eye made it clear that Silas was being given an order from both his brother and his prince. If any harm was to come to their sister, Silas would be the responsible party.

His eye following his retreating siblings, Vangelis was distracted for a moment by a flash of violet. A carriage had pulled up to the eastern edge of the trader stalls. In a small line of similar vehicles, there was nothing aside from its high gloss and quality of build that attracted notice. Only the woman that descended from it.

Recognizing Fotios of Leventi as her escort, Vangelis thought little of the identity of the woman in purple. Her back was to him, her gown's vibrancy what had caught his eye. Her hair was piled atop her head in white-blonde curls and the line of her neck was elegant as she turned to survey the landscape of sound and engagement.

"Do you think it time to corral the troops, Your Grace?"

Vangelis was distracted from the mystery woman - no doubt one of Lord Fotios' thousands of daughters or nieces - by his father's words. King Tython was suggesting that it was perhaps time to announce an address to the people. Such a process would involve the sounding of the horns and the quieting of the entire settlement so that the kings might be heard across the acres.

Surprised that Tython would suggest such a thing when they were not yet accompanied by all of the monarchs, Vangelis realized that his distraction had caused him to miss the arrival of King Zenon. He bowed in respect to the man and then hovered on the outskirts as the three kings spoke with one another, discussing what they would say to the people. Spotting Princess Emilia, Vangelis attempted not to loom too close, well aware of his reputation as the Blood General.

That the very petite blonde from Athenia should be honored in such splendid poetry was almost too much for her, the center of attention, amid a flower-trimmed wagon under the shady boughs of a generous old tree. It had not been enough that she was the chosen subject of Aea’s ballad, but she’d likewise been invited to play along. It had been some time since Rene had last played a lyre, schooled in such when she was younger, a protocol her mother had insisted upon of the girls in the family. The work of recalling the notes in her head served as a keen distraction for Rene to forget the myriad pairs of eyes staring at her, taking herself mentally back to the long afternoons in one of the grand parlors of the Nikolaos estate, or on the lush terrace, her mother instructing her on how to play the instrument. It came back with relative ease, though she was hardly in league with the likes of Aea and her family of performers. The notion of describing music akin to painting was an enticing encouragement for Rene, a very delicate little smile working its way across her saccharine lips as she picked ever so quietly at the strings to familiarize herself with the resonance the created. Satisfied with the thirty second refresher, she straightened and shifted her beryl blue eyes towards her hostess, and Ophelia as well, likewise included in the play-a-long.

Truly Aea was a master of melody, elegant fingers brushing her own lyre, leading a harmonious path for Rene and Ophelia to follow, picking up from her leads and playing alongside her. Aea’s voice was the most dulcet of sounds, ambrosia for the ears, as if carried about by Hermes himself by order of the gods, and delivered straight to all those around her. The experience was a surreal one for Rene, provided a moment in the spotlight, elevated in a more endearing and generous way by a lovely plebian than any instance ever in the courts. With voice and heart lifted, Aea entranced the entirety of those gathered with her talents, Apollo be proud. And surely, not just Apollo. Her father Cassero most assuredly beamed luminously, chest swelling in pride at his treasure. Rene would have sought the man out to confirm as much, but instead she kept her gaze leveled at Aea, keen to watch her fingers select notes, and to work with that in musical accompaniment.


“Here in the halls of House of Nikolaos
Silence wraps through the stones
But for the sound
Of a sigh on the wind
Hushed song, shroud long, and alone”

“Blush and silver, sky and rose
Blurred edge, her swept lines define
For Lady Rene keeps the greatest of care
‘Twixt moon drops and pearls of sunshine

Now patience, hush, and time shall abide
For one day she may coax you to see
A master’s work, transfixed shall you be
Don’t shield your eyes, inch deeper inside
And behold flesh-made immortality

Lady Rene, a truth you should know
Our lives are the span of an eve
But the love you have mixed and chiseled and formed
Like the Gods and the stones, shant leave

When our children’s children have babes of their own
Can you see them stand in the square
See their eyes raise high to the arches above
To the muraled stones forever set there

The Lady Rene, of House Nikolaos
Do not doubt the words that you hear
Look to the eons, it’s not a trick of the eye
This is your truth, and it shan't disappear

Fingers steady, Gods wait and make ready
Legends etched, sagas pressed to the wall
Though the lady refind, doesn’t pay mind
As she paints in her silent hall”

Rene herself was moved nearly to tears. As the piece ended, she was reduced to staring with glassy eyes and a near tremble at her minstrel’s regal flattery, painting her own portrait of the Athenian, as if she were some enchanting creature, timelessly haunting the hallways of a long-forgotten temple of the arts, kindling memories and creating others with enchanting strokes of a brush, or manipulation of clay. It was an ethereal depiction, the likes of which Rene could not have imagined of herself in her proudest moments. And she was hardly the only one left affected by the unscripted masterpiece. Upon its completion, the crowd signaled their unanimous approval, and the lovely young woman’s father likewise took the opportunity to pay her homage for her gift. Returning the borrowed lyre to its rightful owner, Rene honored her rhapsodist with a small but honest curtsy. “You have been blessed, Lady Aea, by the great benefactor Apollo,” she affixed the title she felt more appropriate and reverent to the balladeer. “I can only aspire to live up to such worthiness as you have regaled. How do mere mortals achieve immortality, but through art? And you have canonized but a humble servant of Aphrodite with your lustrous poetry. I am eternally grateful,” Rene smiled, all too willing to uplift the young woman onto a well-deserved pedestal for her talents and kindness. “I hope I did not besmirch your fine work with my playing. Admittedly, it has been many moons since I have taken up a musical instrument. It has been an enjoyable revisit of such times.”

As the girl’s father likewise showered her with adoration, it warmed the depths of Rene’s heart to see her so valued by her family, that they should be openly affectionate with each other, relishing in the time they had and making no effort to conceal their sentiment behind curtains of protocol and public scrutiny. That was a luxury that so often was ill-afforded to the aristocracy, where personal considerations hardly merited implementation over the good of the bloodlines or their titles. That Aea should be so lucky as to have a family readily available to cherish her, heedless of who observed, Rene confessed a slight envy. Though never one to complain, she was one more than willing to help others celebrate, and as such, she allowed the family their moments before responding.

“....I extend the same invitation to you, Lady Rene, and pray that should we ever meet again, that it is your work we may view. I wish both of you Great Ladies, and your Houses, many blessings, and your health and happiness shall always be in my prayers to the Gods. By your leave, Lady Ophelia, Lady Rene, I shall excuse myself to attend to our good friends, as I spy a young miss there who would like a song of her very own.”

“That is very kind of you, Master Cassero. Should you and yours ever find yourself being embraced by the bustling ports and beautiful landscapes of Magnestis, please know that you are welcomed at House Nikolaos at any time,” Rene offered. Perhaps it was a bit bold and presumptive to make such invitation without consulting her parents first, but she seriously doubted they would take issue with such, generous as they were.

Lastly, she turned her attention once more to the beautiful sisters Aea and Kaia.

“It was very good to meet you. It is a small field, perhaps we will meet again before the night is over with. With your permission, my sister and I will take our leave and bid you both enjoy the amusements of the day. If we should not see you again before dusk, I wish you safe travels home, and bid you a very fond farewell. I should hope to see you again someday.”

“Indeed, it has been a most cherished experience for me, one I shall never forget. Thank you again for your exaltation. It is surely more than I deserve. Until we meet again….” Rene smiled warmly at the pair. As if some bit of her casual and less formal side leaked out sans her permission, she raised a hand and waggled her fingers in an enthusiastic and endearing good-bye. As the concentration of people began to dilute, as many drifted to continue their day submerged in the festivities, Rene’s exquisite blue eyes swept across the spread, unsure where Ophelia was heading next, and wishing not to inhibit her friend’s interests on her account.

The boy with wavy blonde hair and light eyes locked eyes with the young brunette as she strolled the column of stalls, a beefy looking guard in tow, indicating some significance. She was cute, as girls went, nothing he would have become super excited about, but certainly fuckable. She looked elegant enough, smiling and carrying a goblet of wine. It was obvious she was headed his way, and as the token eye candy, it was thoroughly his job to smile and wink at all the girls going by, no matter how wanton their physical appearance, and lure them into the kissing booth to spend money. Like a beam, he zeroed in on her and held up a single finger with which to motion her. “Come closer, My Lady. Surely such sweet lips have never been tasted, but we have delights of all flavors,” he crooned to the young woman.

Essa found him endearingly attractive, the smile, the eyes, the slope of his shoulders, dreamy that he was. As he flattered her, her cheeks pinkened just so. “And are you one of the choices?” she asked him, brown eyes roving up and down his height for a moment.

“For the right price, I might be,” he answered with a cheeky grin, stepping a bit closer, a proximity that tempted Essa with the hint of his scent, fragrant with wood and musk notes. Being close to boys wasn’t something she did often, though maybe that came as a result of her always dressing like a street urchin, or in clothes that permitted such things as climbing trees and walls and the like. For that stretch of heartbeats, Essa breathed in her opponent, their faces inches apart, and like a smiling fox, she was entirely ready to lock lips with the stranger just to flip him a few coins and support the cause, like a good citizen, when suddenly, an enormous hand wrapped about her shoulder and yanked her backwards. The sudden rift was met with blank faces, eyes wide. Instead of finding himself face to face with a cute girl, the boy at the kissing booth found himself face to face with her guard, his chiseled jaw set, eyes beady.

“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered in warning. The boy quickly raised his hands, fingers splayed, the universal symbol of surrender.

“Hey, it’s just a kissing booth!” he spluttered, having not foreseen this turn of events.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Now it was Essa’s turn to get involved, her euphoric moment ruined by an adult with a sword up his backside, which he considered some form of reason. Jolting forward, she gave the guard’s shoulder a light shove, which instantly drew his heated gaze. Wise enough to heed such a caution, Essa returned her hand to her own person.

“You cannot simply go around and k-...”

“I’m not a child!” his royal ward cut him off. In a huff, Essa’s gaze vacillated to the attractive boy, feeling humiliated by the entire thing.

“My Lady, your mother would not appro--”

“JUST...pay him….”

The air around the trio staled, finally relenting when the guard took to rifling about his belt to untie the small leather pouch. Unfastening the thong, he retrieved a few coins and held them out to the boy. “As the lady commands,” he muttered, cutting a glance to the side to seek his mistress’ approval…...only…….she wasn’t there. Nothing was there. Thin air was there. But nothing else. Straightening, a surge of panic swept through the man, helmeted head whipping about in a frenzy. “Lady Essa!?”

The sound of his voice bellowing ricocheted down the rows of stalls and off the heads of those clustering the aisles between them. It had only taken a split second of the guard’s attention to be diverted for Essa to slip away, as she’d a lifetime of practice doing so. Perhaps she felt a little bad, knowing the man might come under some form of penalty, but she needed the fresh air without the stifling presence of a soldier marching in tow. Rather pleased with herself, she polished off the last of the wine and set the goblet down on the next flat surface she happened to stroll past, with nary a break in stride as she went. In all the crowd and hustle bustle, it wasn’t hard to do, blending and melding, concealing slights of hand or whatever else the patrons and con artists could acquire or swindle, purchase or pilfer. Brushing her hands together and straightening her dress, Essa merrily went on her way, hastening, though not outright running to put distance between her last known location and herself, letting her disappearance thoroughly become the guard’s problem. She had things to see and do, and the intimidating presence of a soldier was a real hindrance to the possibilities. Ducking beneath scaffolding holding up banners and stall partitions, and drifting across the long columns, Essa’s brown eyes caught something that lit them up like a thousand golden chariots. She nearly drew to a halt, marveling as those rich chocolate pools went wide in enthusiasm. Not waiting a second longer, she took off at a run towards her intended destination.

There in the further most row of stalls, behind them and away from the public side, several boys of various ages had removed one of the swords hanging for decoration. They’d plucked all the flowers and bows off of it, and were taking turns swinging the weapon around and setting up pieces of fruit and rind they’d ‘appropriated’. Imagine their surprise when a girl drew upon them, huffing and out of breath as she hightailed it down the row of stalls, sporting the silliest of grins. Four pairs of eyes turned towards her, looking her up and down. She was certainly not dressed like them, in bright clothing, with shiny jewelry, clean skin and hair. Likewise, Essa looked them over, clearly the children of peasants selling their wares at the festival, but she hardly noticed their earth-toned drabs of clothing and barely-disinfected appearances. They ranged in age from seven to fifteen, all bearing the scrutiny of distrust though.

“Aren’t you on the wrong side? All the tourists are over there,” the eldest boy pointed to the wall of canvas that separated the vendor stalls from where they stood. Essa paid it a fleeting glance before responding.

“I know how to use a sword,” she stated, entirely too excited about the prospect of showing off all of her keen skills she’d been practicing.

“Girls can’t use swords,” the seven year old replied, a bit of taunt and challenge in his tone.

“I most certainly can,” Essa retorted, her hands coming to rest on her hips.

“They’ll throw you in the stocks,” the seven year old continued, hardly backing down despite her obvious noble breeding and wealth.

“I do whatever I want. I’ll show you what I can do,” Essa extended a hand, waiting patiently, her gaze locking tightly on the eldest, the fifteen year old brandishing the blade. For a small eternity it seemed silent, at least, among the small group, the tension thick enough to cut with said sword. The boys exchanged glances, silently deducing what to do in this situation. When it came down to it, if the girl WAS a noble of some kind, she could have them all executed if she chose. With a begrudging acquiescence, the eldest lowered the weapon and offered it to the girl, hilt first.

Rather excitedly, Essa accepted the elegant weapon, turning it about in her hands and examining the detailing of the hilt and handle before sampling the entirety of its weight.

“Well, go on then, show us how a girl sword fights,” the eldest barbed her a bit, stepping back out of a circle of reach, his three companions wisely doing the same.

“You’ll be eating your words,” Essa snapped. In her mind, she revisited all of the instructional scrolls she spent hours pouring over. With a display that wasn't entirely disappointing, she moved through a few forms, and upon executing the last one, the weapon slipped a bit in her grip.

“You’re not supposed to drop your sword,” the eleven year old quipped, seating himself on a box and biting into one of the apples beside him that they’d been having a delightful time chopping in half with their new found toy. “The army will flog you if they see you do that, ya know.”

“I know!” Essa hissed. “I’m only messing up because you’re watching. I know what I’m doing,” she grumbled. She had been so much better at this within the safe confines of her room, with the door closed, and no one around.

“So, you want us to turn around then? Is that what you’d have us do?” the fifteen year old chuckled. “S’that what you intend to do in battle? Just tell everyone to turn around?”

Their collective laughter boiled the blood in Essa’s veins, and in a surprising move, she lunged forward, kicking a leg out in sweeping arch, and catching the loudmouth on the outside of his knee. Naturally he crumpled, and as he dropped to his knees, she was already on top of him, sword in both hands, pointed thoroughly into his chest.

“You were saying?” she retorted rather victoriously, a small boastful smirk working its way across her polished lips. Four pairs of eyes glazed for the first time, regarding the spunky girl a bit more seriously. As discretion was regarded as the better part of valor, the oldest boy raised his hands defensively, offering no resistance.

“Not bad…” the boy admitted, brandishing a smile of his own, especially as Essa lowered the sword from where it pointed directly at his heart. Faster than she could blink, he was up and moving, heaving his greater weight towards her, pushing towards the hilt to keep her from wildly swinging at him as she went off balance. Quite literally, Essa went tumbling backwards, a whirl of color as her chiton flared and swirled about her. Most unceremoniously, she rolled to a stop in the most disheveled of heaps, her chiton askew, hair a bit looser. The uproar of laughter was agony in her ears, the howling of their mockery a torture the likes of which she wasn’t prepared for. It was only after the shock of the turned tables wore that she felt it, a searing pain in her right lower leg.

Shaking off the humiliating and the fiery heat in her cheeks and sitting up from her position thoroughly cast into the dirt, the scorn twisted her otherwise sweet features. Her facade began to flatten, as her umber pools drifted down from the faces of her tormentors to survey the damage. There across the inside of her right calf, the sword, in the turbulence of the spill, had lodged itself neatly into her flesh, sunk in, not to the bone, but deep enough that a quarter of the blade was concealed. Trauma was a strange thing, in that, in such the moment, the pain of being cut with a sword was far drowned by the mere horror of it, the condition of it, the ugliness of such a thing. Still clutching the hilt, like an idiot who’d made possible her own injury, Essa’s hands began to tremble, and in a moment of adrenaline, pulled at the blade to dislodge it from the crevice it had created of her soft tissue. Her visceral cry at having done so effectively silenced the laughter as one by one, the boys’ faces straightened, and then paled. In a jumble of their own alarm, three of them were on their feet and scrambling away, unwilling to stick around any longer as the mood of the showboating had darkened considerably.

Essa’s hands were clamped tightly on the wound, holding it together as if fearful her leg would fall off if she let go. Her face was ashen, her brow diaphoretic, form shaking, and senses still dampened by the excitement. As she clutched the gash in her leg to hold it together, ribbons of crimson trickling between her fingers here and there, the eldest boy plucked an apple from the top of the box his comrades had been seated upon and took a bite. He moved to turn away, following their lead before pausing if just for a moment. Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes resettled on the bleeding girl, puffball that she was in her pretty dress and fancy hair style, hardly phased by her terror. Stepping outside of one's world was a dangerous affair, and there was not so much as a splinter of sympathy he held for her.

“Here’s a freebie, princess,” his tone dipped to infer derision. “Don’t. Trust. ANYONE.” And without a further word, he shuffled off, casually eating his apple, leaving the girl to her new revelations, and the sword which had delivered it. The condescension was infuriating, and it was all she could do not to pound the ground beside her with a tiny fist.

Left in the thunderous silence of her catastrophic failure, Essa panted heavily, her heartbeat like galloping hooves in her ears, pounding beneath her breast. Focus. It wasn’t the first time she’d cut herself. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this. Nothing this deep...but she could handle it. Eventually, the blood would cease to flow, and she could clamber to her feet and limp her way to the closest source of water she could find. Clearing her head, she began to tear the bottom of her chiton into strips to bind the wound, all the while her lips whispered the most colorful array of insults, threats and vitriol, though none of it would ever reach the ears she intended. Not today anyway….For now, she secured her makeshift bandage and slowly worked herself up to her feet. Streaks of read descended from beneath her torn chiton and down into her sandal, and were it anyone but Essa, it might have been a ghastly sight. With a stiff upper lip, the teen padded her way towards the more populated areas, hugging the perimeter and ignoring any glances people cast her way, trying not to scowl, or manifest the burn of walking.

Ophelia could not help but smile at the exchange, for Cassero's words were so kind, and Rene spoke with all the eloquence of of a great lady despite her inexperience. Her reticence seemed to have faded and Ophelia was glad of it. It was wonderful to see Rene thriving in the social scene. Word of how well she had conducted herself was certain to reach her family, and they then could not fail to praise her. Perhaps even her elder sister would take notice, for Ophelia could not recall anyone having deigned to immortalize Celine's name in the language of Apollo.

Ophelia glanced over at her friend, noticing that her smile had widened and she was almost bubbling over with effervescent joy. Pleased to have been the instigator of such a thing, she reached over to intertwine their fingers, giving the girl's tiny hand a delicate squeeze.

Rene delivered her acceptance with such humility and grace that Ophelia could not help but smile. She could not have done better herself, and for this she was proud of her young friend. As Rene had accepted the girl's invitation, she beckoned to Aoide to join them, as Evanthe seemed to have gotten lost in the crowd. Perhaps she had gone to find snacks for the girls, or to purchase a trinket for her sister. The Lady did vaguely recall Evanthe telling her how Eos would surely love to own many of the fine things they sold here, and she had without hesitation given her friend leave to lavish her little sister with as many ornaments as she saw fit.

Once more Aea spoke, insisting that this ode was not hers, but Rene's to keep, for it was a gift. They were much the same words that Cassero had spoken to her, yet from him had come an air of lightheartedness, while Aea's words sounded almost like a solemn vow.

As the raven soared majestically through the air and planted itself upon the bardlet's shoulder, Ophelia's eyes grew as wide as drachma. She had never, to her knowledge, met anyone who had been blessed by a God before, though she had suspected some of her acquaintances to be. This, however, was unequivocal proof; Aea was Apollo's creature. Was her Father, too? Most likely. Her sister? No, with beauty like that, Kaia was likely touched by Aphrodite. Suddenly, she felt as small as an ant in the presence of an eagle, for the Gods had seen fit to bestow their gifts upon these great ones, and she was just a mere mortal. Nobly born, it was true, but without the touch of the divine.

Ophelia glanced once more over at Rene. Her friend was shaking. Did she feel it too, then? The humbling reverence and jubilant ecstasy that came with being so close to one of the divinely chosen? She knew that her eyes were wide, her face pale, but at least she managed to keep her lips firmly pressed together, though their will was to move in silent prayer. It seemed wrong not to pay reverence to a blessed being, especially considering the fact that they had so kindly shared their gifts with her.

Deciding that she would give thanks to Apollo after the festival, she carefully made her ascent. Just as Melba had done, Aiode assisted her before climbing in herself. Ophelia settled herself next to Rene, smoothing out her silken gown of Condos blue. She did not fail to notice the slither of thigh that Rene's own dress momentarily exposed, and for a moment her breath caught in her throat and her eyes flickered nervously to the crowd, searching for any lecher whose eyes may have landed upon the innocent beauty. Fortunately, there were none, but she resolved to caution Rene to take better care in future, lest some unsavoury character take the wrong idea into their heads.


All eyes were rightfully upon Rene now. Nevertheless, Ophelia did not use this as an excuse to be lax in her manners. She sat straight with her head held high, crossing one hand neatly over the other in her lap.

'I would not presume to know, Lady Rene, but it seems to me that one so accomplished in a specific art form must practice it to such a degree that others must stay ignored. I would ask you and Lady Ophelia to play with me, and I have made it so that it will feel as if you’d played every day, if you do not already.'

Ophelia's almond eyes lit up at this revelation. As it so happened, she did play the lyre, rather well in fact. Most definitely not as well as Sir Cassero, for she was no bard, but she set aside as many hours of her week as she was able to the practise of her instruments and often entertained visiting guests with her enchanting melodies.

She kept her eyes trained on Apollo's young protégé as she approached them, watching her twist the knobs of the spare lyre.In a low voice she addressed them, explaining that when one watches only their own fingers, observers seem to fade into the background, leaving a person alone with the music and their muses. Though she addressed them both, Ophelia suspected that Aea's words were chiefly for Rene, for anyone who looked upon her could clearly see that she feared no onlookers. Nevertheless, she smiled brightly at the girl, inclining her head in a nod.

She observed carefully as Aea's fingers moved deftly over the strings. In utter fascination, she hung upon the bardlet's every word. 'Music is like colour...' Aea explained. Ophelia had never heard that said before, but she fell in love with the analogy immediately. It was so poetic, but she would have expected nothing less from Cassero's daughter. She went on to compare the root sounds to the primary colours. Ophelia dared not even breathe as she spoke, not wanting to miss a single syllable. '...Ours is E--which we shall call blue. Although all of us paint in the color blue, our lyres are tuned to different tones—they are different hues of blue. For you, Lady Rene, you will paint with azure.'

It was definitely a clever analogy, comparing the notes of a song to the strokes of a brush, particularly in the presence of an artist. It seemed to be just the right language to move Rene, for a soft smile graced the tender lips of the doe-eyed Nikolaos. Ophelia observed her friend as she plucked quietly at the strings of the lyre in an attempt to refamiliarize herself with the notes. By the way she moved, the Condos Rose could tell that her doe-eyed friend had not played a lyre in some time.

Aea spoke in poetry, so Ophelia had no doubt that she would be able to sing in poetry. She watched with a gentle smile as Aea handed Rene the spare lyre, which she knew would be the easiest to play. Cassero's lyre would be the most difficult; would that be handed to her? A surge of secret pride shot through her at the the notion of Aea thinking her capable of playing it. She was right, of course, Ophelia would be able to play it easily, but she still could not prevent the slight smile that tugged at the corners of her rosebud lips.

Just as she suspected, Aea reached for Cassero's lyre next, tuning it higher before offering it to her. Ophelia took the instrument with care, lightly running her fingers over its cool wooden surface.

Taking in Aea's instructions, she bent her head in a nod. She was an accomplished musician, but she would not dare stray from the flower-marked strings, lest a note she played clash with another and shatter the harmony. Having taken on board what Aea said about the song she envisioned being slower in tempo, she began weaving slow, soft melodies in her head. The colour blue worked perfectly, for it was the colour of Rene's gown. In her mind's eye, she pictured the youthful noble dancing to a light, ethereal melody as the sunset bathed her in its glorious hues.

'Like a lullaby...' Ophelia's eyes fluttered open. She had not even realized she had closed them. She blinked, quickly recovering herself. The lyre was still firmly in her grasp. 'Like a dream...'
A dream. Yes. Aea had the right of it. Lady Rene was very much like a dream; a vision of ethereal beauty, almost too beautiful to walk among the living. Yet here she was, as sentient and corporeal as Ophelia herself, seated right beside her. The faint scent of paint and flowers clung to her and every so often a golden wisp of hair blown astray by the breeze would tickle Ophelia's cheek. Though seemingly conjured from a dream, a dream she was not.


Ophelia raised a delicate brow at the young bard's next request, wondering what truths she would find in the deepest depths of Rene's azure orbs. Aea gazed into Rene's eyes for what seemed like an eternity, while Lady Ophelia remained still and silent, wondering what both girls were thinking. Eventually, Aea broke the gaze, quietly thanking Rene. Then, the girl loosened her epiblema. Ophelia watched as it fell around her neck, finally exposing her face. Aea was beautiful. Ophelia's eyes lingered on the girl's face for perhaps a moment longer than was necessary, drinking in her stunning features.
Of course she is beautiful! She scolded herself, quickly averting her eyes. She is Apollo's creature.

She knew not why female beauty had such an affect on her, stopping her heart as it did. The first time she had seen Rene, she had been momentarily speechless, frozen to the spot. How fortunate for her that she had been the one to see Rene first, and had regained all composure by the time she had approached the girl. And now Aea, with her flowing locks and fluttering lashe. Hers too would be a face that would never leave her mind. But there was one face she could never escape, one face that haunted both her dreams and her waking life. All sense of equilibrium fled from her when she saw it, and no matter how much she tried to deny its beauty, she could not. All male countenances paled in comparison to the rosy cheeks and bright eyes of Evanthe of Vasilidon. If she could, she would order every bard in the world to compose an ode to the beauty of that woman, not just of her bod but of her soul. But that could never be, and such thoughts ought not even to cross her mind. With great difficulty, she banished the girl with the warm smile and the heart as gold as her hair from her mind, forcing herself back into the present.

Aea was smiling, but her fingers were tightly clenched. Ophelia offered an encouraging smile of her own, wanting to put any fears the girl might have to rest. It seemed to work, for Aea immediately straightened her spine.

And then the song began.

Aea began with two notes plucked together. Ophelia listened, then took this as her cue, chiming in with the same two, only higher. The melody was slow, almost melancholy. There was something haunting about it, but captivating, beautiful, enchanting. Remembering what Aea had said about lullabies, she stayed away from melancholia to add a whimsical embellishment, something that sounded as though it could have been plucked straight out of a dream. She did not look down, for she had no fear of crowds, but glanced from Rene to Aea to the gathered crowd, occasionally moving her gaze to Cassero to see how he was liking their tune.

'Here in the halls of the House of Nikolaos
Silence wraps through the stones
But for the sound
Of a sigh on the wind
Hushed song, shroud long, and alone...'

Aea was smiling at Rene. Her words were beautiful; Ophelia had been right to think her a poet. She changed tones again, an effortless switch, strumming the lyre slowly but this time weaving a mood of merriment, as befit Rene's passion to her art.

'Blush and silver, sky and rose
Blurred edge, her swept lines define
For Lady Rene keeps the greatest of care
‘Twixt moon drops and pearls of sunshine.'

Again she altered the tone, switching deftly now to one of reverence and solemnity. She looked upon Rene as she played, her heart swelling with fondness for the little dove as she remembered the paper rose the girl had gifted her not too long ago. A symbol of their eternal friendship, she had said. Hopefully, those words would prove true.

'Now patience, hush, and time shall abide
For one day she may coax you to see
A master’s work, transfixed shall you be
Don’t shield your eyes, inch deeper inside
And behold flesh-made immortality.'

She switched then to a more complex melody, playing two strings to a note. One low, one high, to create an atmosphere both entrancing and somber. Never did she lose that dream-like atmosphere, the slight hint of whimsy, though she perfectly balanced the light with the dark.

'Lady Rene, a truth you should know
Our lives are the span of an eve
But the love you have mixed and chiseled and formed
Like the Gods and the stones, shan't leave...'

Gentle as the Summer rain, dulcet as the croon of a mother singing her child to sleep. Ophelia played on, her fingers never faltering on the strings. As she glanced over at Rene, she saw that her eyes were bright as torches; the girl was close to tears, so moved by Aea's words.

'When our children’s children have babes of their own
Can you see them stand in the square
See their eyes raise high to the arches above
To the muraled stones forever set there...'

Ophelia could most definitely picture it. Her great, great granddaughter, staring in a grand square dressed in the finest clothes, come to admire the art of the famous Lady Rene. One day, Rene's masterpieces would become as legendary as the feats of the heroes, of that she had no doubt. Rene's sisters would fade into the background as she rose to acclaim, bringing glory to her great house. And Ophelia would stand loyally at her side, applauding her every step of the way.

'The Lady Rene, of House Nikolaos
Do not doubt the words that you hear
Look to the eons, it’s not a trick of the eye
This is your truth, and it shan't disappear.'

Rene's eyes were glassy, her expression almost vacant. Ophelia knew without having to be told that her friend was in awe of the ballad, and who could blame her? As the song closed with a final stanza, she too felt its power settle over her. It was almost as if this were more a prophecy than a ballad, and within it REne's future was writ.

'Fingers steady, Gods wait and make ready
Legends etched, sagas pressed to the wall
Though the lady refind, doesn’t pay mind
As she paints in her silent hall.'

Ophelia swept her fingers thrice more across the strings of the lyre, ending on a note of glorious promise. Aea was smiling at them. She returned the gesture, her lips parting to reveal a set of straight, white teeth. As Aea applauded them, her eyes skipped to Rene, who still had the look of one entranced. The crowd was in an uproar of cheers, and it was no less than Rene and Aea deserved. Ophelia smiled as her friend gave a curtsy, informing the rhapsodist that she had indeed been blessed by Apollo. Rene's words were eloquent as always, and Ophelia found herself nodding along, though she would not have thought to call Rene a servant of Aphrodite. 'Twas Apollo who patroned the arts, after all. Then again, Rene's medium was the physical art, and Aphrodite was Goddess of beauty, so she supposed it made sense.

When Rene spoke again, she confirmed what Ophelia had first suspected, that she had neglected the musical arts in favour of the visual. However, she had been surprised at how well Rene had played. Evidently, the girl had a marvellous memory.
"I thought your playing was wonderful," she stated honestly. "Especially considering the fact that music is not your chosen medium."

Aea rose to her feet and then seemed to hesitate, but she addressed Lady Rene with all courtesy and sweetness. When Aea made a bow to Lady Rene, Ophelia understood the cause of her confusion. The poor girl had probably been trying to figure out the proper etiquette. A curtsy would have been correct, for she was a woman, but her father had probably not had the time to teach her such things. The man had stated that they had spent little time among the nobility.

She decided not to correct Aea's mistake, for she did not wish to embarrass her. Aea was doing much better than most commoners would in her situation, after all. Most who had not encountered a noble before would simply freeze up, she imagined.

A gentle smile crept across her face as she carefully handed Cassero's lyre back to his daughter. As the girl addressed her, her smile broadened. "It would be a great honour to play for one as talented as you, Miss Aea," she replied. "Just as it was an honour to play with you. I am of course not as skilled as your wondrous father, but I hope one day to be."

Aea did not seem pleased with her response, however, and this perplexed her. Ophelia's instinct was to reach out and enquire what was troubling her, but something told her that this would not be appreciated. Her delicate brows knit together in concern as she gazed upon the charming bard's daughter, wondering what she possibly could have said to offend her.

Making up her mind to act, she slipped off the cart and -- when she was close enough to Aea to be only heard by the girl -- reached into her purse to withdraw a silver coin.
"I want you to take this, for the pleasure you have given my friend and I in allowing us to play with you, and for the beautiful words you have spoken about her," she said, ensuring her voice was loud enough to carry to the girl's father. Then, as she pressed the silver into the girl's palm, she lowered her voice to a whisper. She knew not on what impulse she acted, but instinct told her that something was very wrong, and Ophelia always trusted her instincts. "If you or your sister are in some kind of trouble, I will help you; seek me out before I leave Colchis, I shall be here for one month. If you are in any danger at all, come to the house of my in-laws and enquire after me, they are hosting me. If you say that I asked for you, they will not turn you away," she spoke quickly, but pronounced eacy syllable with purpose. Having spoken these words, she drew away from Aea and smiled casually at her, as though she had done nothing more than given her a coin.

As the girl's father approached, she stepped backwards, beaming at him. If she was right and Aea was in some kind of trouble, it may have nothing to do with him. And if she was wrong, nothing more need be said of this. She had made her offer, and it was now up to the sisters whether or not they wished to accept it. If they were in danger, Ophelia had every intention of helping them. But perhaps they were not. Perhaps Aea was simply nervous. Perhaps she had misread the situation.

'You did well, my heart,' she heard the bard say, before he praised them all. Ophelia inclined her head in a graceful nod, offering a smile.

"You have such a talented daughter, Sir Cassero. I can see why your daughters are your greatest treasures. It was such an honour to play alongside them," Ophelia replied. "And I thank you most humbly for the use of your exquisite lyre. To know that my fingers have touched the instrument of one so talented is truly humbling."

As Aea addressed her, Ophelia's eyes lit upon the girl once more. This girl certainly did feel the need to correct herself a lot. Why was that? Was she simply shy, or was there a more sinister reason for it? She hated to think ill of Cassero, but was there perhaps another family member of whom she was afeared? One who would punish her for the slightest misstep?
"You need not apologize, my dear," she said, keeping her voice deliberately soft. She wanted Aea to know that she was a friend, someone she could come to were ever she in need. "I certainly hope we meet again, for I have enjoyed this encounter very much, and should we, I would be delighted to play either for or with you."

No. It couldn't possibly be Cassero that was the cource of her trouble, if indeed there was any. The tender way he kissed her forehead, and the impish half-smile he gave as he granted the girls an early break, had her convinced of that. What, then, might be the issue? Ophelia was still mulling over the theory that it might be another family member. Their mother perhaps? Some mothers could be particularly cruel, or so she had heard.

She watched with a grin as Aea collected her things, then turned her attention to Cassero as he addressed her once again.

"Oh, you are most generous!" Ophelia beamed up at him, one alabaster hand fluttering to her heart. "I shall gladly call upon you if I ever find myself in Molossia, for it would be such a delight to see you again! This day has brought me such joy. I shall think of you and your sweet daughters often, Good Sir. And should you ever need a place to rest if you ever find yourself in Taengea, please feel free to call upon me. I should be honoured to host you and your charming family. And yes, of course, attend to your audience, and take with you my best wishes for the future."

Ophelia's eyes moved to the two sisters, now hand-in-hand. She had not seen Kaia for quite some time, she realized. The elder, despite her beauty, must have a talent for fading into the background. Aea was now requesting their leave to withdraw, speaking as prettily as ever. It was a small field, as she said, so she sincerely hoped that they would meet again before the night was out. Perhaps if she could catch the sisters alone, she could solve a mystery or two.

"Of course, by all means, go and enjoy the festivities. I sincerely hope our paths will cross again, but should they not, I too wish you both a safe journey."

When Kaia spoke, Ophelia bestowed a kind smile upon her. SHe understood that not all were granted the same gifts, and wished to put the girl at ease. "Ah, but I believe you are much favoured by Aphrodite," she said softly. "I believe that each person has at least two talents. The key is being patient enough to find them. You have an eye for beauty. Those flowers you gave matched the outfits the patrons were wearing, did you notice? Never did a single flower clash. I was very impressed," her eyes twinkled as they met those of the eldest sibling. "You may have been doing that without even knowing. So there, that is one talent, and now you must discover your second. I shall leave that as a challenge for you. Perhaps you may discover it today. I understand that you are to visit the Temple now? I shall bid you adieu then, and hope that Artemis answers your prayers."

Ophelia turned then to Rene, her eyes sparkling brightly. "You did so well!" she exclaimed, wrapping the girl in a warm embrace. "I am so proud of you! I know that must have been frightening -- all those people and everything -- but you handled it so graciously!"
She gently took the younger girl by the arm, nodding for their companions to follow. The crowd parted once more for them as Ophelia led her away from the gathered mass and into the quiet, which she imagined would be a great relief for Rene after all the hustle and bustle of the past few moments.
"What would you like to do now?" she questioned gently, settling her warm gaze on the girl. "It is your turn to decide."

(@lu: Do you want to make a side thread?)

After the group around the High Priestess began to disperse, the King of Athenia picked up his pace. Though he seemed in relatively good health to his daughter, he still walked slowly enough that she could easily keep up with him. He introduced both of them and Emilia dropped a perfect curtsy and favored her with a shy smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” she said. Perhaps she should have complimented the woman on the decorations and the other preparations she had made, but no doubt the High Priestess had heard that so many times she was tired of it.

The King of Taengea approached the group. As members of both royal families were staying in the Kotas manor, she had met the other two monarchs already, She curtsied to them and greeted them politely and graciously as a proper princess should. The three Kings were soon engaged in conversation, discussing their speeches for the ceremony. Emilia stood awkwardly beside him. The market stalls called to her but she felt that her place was at her father’s side.

She glanced over at the Crown Prince of Colchis. He was doing much the same as she, but a lot less awkwardly. Emilia smiled at him, knowing that expecting him to smile back would be like expecting a goat to sprout wings and fly. He was very handsome but he reminded her of a statue, expressionless and cold. He had hardly reacted when his sister had bedecked him with flowers. Had he been embarrassed? Angry? Secretly delighted? Usually so perceptive, the young princess could read nothing of his emotions. Did he even have them?

Maybe he was hiding something. Perhaps he liked to dress up in women’s underwear and dance around his room when he was alone. The image that painted itself in her mind was so hilarious that it took all her willpower to suppress a giggle. Emilia was not at all adept at concealing her own feelings. They were usually written all over her face.

Once she had regained her composure, her curiosity got the better of her. Mustering up her courage, she stepped closer to Prince Vangelis and gazed up at him with large hazel eyes. “A drachmae for your thoughts, Your Highness,” she said, favoring him with a winsome smile.