Solstice Day Part 2

“Here, give me back that drink and sit down,” ordered Caliburn firmly.

Rune sat on a sofa.  The brown patterned fabric had signs of wear but it was soft enough for comfort and firm enough that she wasn’t going to keep sinking into it forever.

Caliburn sat down beside her and handed back her drink.  “Now, have some of that.”  While she obediently sipped he went on, “Connie, come and sit beside her – you’re her father, you can’t just stand off and make comments.”  He paused.  “Well you could, but from my observations it doesn’t work well.”

As Constantine made his way over to the sofa, Algernon said brightly, “We can have the Assembly check their database to see if your mother’s on file.”

“There’s no need for that,” protested Constantine, “I know who her mother is.”

“Yes,” agreed Algernon drily, “but you’re not sharing.”

While Sebastian got himself a drink, Caliburn gave his two older brothers a disgusted look before turning back to Rune and asking, “So what were you planning to do today before we burst into your life?”

“Go home to my flat, shower, eat some of the ham and pickled chicken I cooked yesterday, sleep, get up and go back to work.”  Rune sipped some more of her plum cordial.

“We’ve cut into your sleeping time, haven’t we?”  Algernon changed his focus with disconcerting speed.  “If it’s no more of an inconvenience to you, you could sleep in one of our guest rooms after we eat – it would save you the travel time back to your flat.  Caliburn could drop you back at work on his way to his thing he’s got on tonight.”

“I could,” agreed Caliburn readily, then added, “I’m certainly a safer driver than Algernon.”

“As is my chauffer,” concurred Algernon, “but really, if-.”

A man dressed in the same livery as the porter opened the doors to the room wide and announced, “Your Grace, the meal is ready.”

“Then let it be served man, let it be served!”  Rune thought the exchange between the servant and Algernon was some sort of ritual, but then Algernon went on, “Krulhorn, please have one of the bathroomed guest rooms made up for Damma Greymalk to sleep in this afternoon.  So she doesn’t have to dash home after eating to rest before going back on duty at six this evening.”

Yes, your Grace,” Krulhorn replied, “it will be done while you are at the table.”

“Thank you, Krulhorn.”  Algernon smiled genially.  “Come everyone,” he turned to his brothers and Rune, “let us go and eat.”

Algernon escorted Rune to the dining room, the two of them leading the way for the others.  Runes suspected that they were progressing, as if they were in a historical novel, and thought it seemed sad for only five people.  Five settings were arranged comfortably around the end of the long dining table.  Algernon handed Rune into the seat on the right hand of the head of the table while he took the position of primacy.  Constantine sat beside Rune while Sebastian and Caliburn sat opposite them.

The meal itself was in removes instead of courses and of traditional Solstice fare.  The first remove was fish, all of it smoked, salted, fermented or dried.  There were no soups on the table but there was pie, terrine, a kitchen-sill salad with tiny brined fish pieces and a whole, thinly sliced smoked salmon.  When all of that was removed, the meat was brought in.  Rune thought that whoever did the cooking was being frustrated with so few people to feed.  When everything had been served there was baked ham, smoked venison sausages, corned beef, pickled chicken and pickled duck, all accompanied by root vegetables prepared in various ways and no less than eight jellies, preserves and sauces.

"Don't hold back if you want seconds," advised Algernon, "we'll be living off leftovers for most of the week, as you can see.  Which accompaniment would you like with your ham?"

Rune was almost nodding off in her chair by the time the sweet dishes were brought in and she was so full she had to wave off anything more than a thin slice of apple pie and a spoonful of rice pudding.

"We'd better make good with that offer of a room," Sebastian observed from across the table.

"I'm sorry," Rune apologised, "I can't seem to keep my eyes open."

"You've been up all night," Constantine reminded her, "and now we've stuffed you full of good food.  It's probably past time for you to be in bed."

"Krulhorn will get one of the maids to show you up," Algernon announced, pressing a call button under the table.

Krulhorn appeared almost immediately.  "Your Grace?"

"Damma Greymalk is falling asleep in her seat," Algernon told him.  "Please have one of the maids take her upstairs and settle her in so she can have that afternoon's rest we promised her."

"Certainly, your Grace."  Krulhorn turned to Rune, "If you would care to come with me, Damma?"

"Thank you, yes," Rune went to stand up and found that Constantine had risen and pulled out her chair for her.  "Thank you, sir."

"You could call me Father," he pointed out a touch sadly.

"I don't want to become familiar and even fond," Rune replied in the same tone, "and then find out I've only crossed and confused paths with the right girl."

"I am certain," Constantine said firmly.  "I've had a number of years to confirm my opinion, after all."

"I haven't and I'm not."  Rune looked up at him, firm rather than defiant.

"Later, children," Algernon intervened, "when Rune is rested and we have more time.  Please my dear, go with Krulhorn."

Krulhorn led Rune from the room and handed her over to a maid at the bottom of the main staircase.

"I'm sorry to be taking you away from your Solstice feast," Rune apologised to the maid, whom Krulhorn had introduced as Beatrice.

"They're clearing the fish remove now," Beatrice smiled at her.  "We had five sorts of herring alone, so it will take a while.  Cook would like to put more dishes on the upstairs table, but there is a limit to how much the four gentlemen and yourself can be expected to eat.  There are more of us downstairs - there's not just the gentlemen to look after but the house and the grounds too.  Cook's still finishing off our gravies, so I doubt I'll miss out on anything."

Beatrice showed Rune to a room that was the size of her flat’s living room, eating nook and kitchen combined.  The size of the room didn’t bother her, she’d been in larger hotel rooms and her own flat had been picked for convenience to public transport and an eye to building her savings.  “The bathroom is through here.”  Beatrice crossed the room and opened a door.  “If you need anything washed so it’s clean to put on again when you wake, you can put it in this laundry bag,” she held up a cloth bag that could have held everything Rune was wearing, “and we can put it through the washer and dryer, and then press it for you before you wake up.”

Rune did a mental inventory and said apologetically, “There are a couple of things I’d love to have washed out actually...”

“There’s a bathrobe here for you, Damma, and wardrobe space for anything you want to hang up,” encouraged Beatrice.

Ten minutes later Rune was washing off under a hot shower, Beatrice was taking her socks and briefs downstairs to be washed and the rest of Rune’s clothes were hanging up in the wardrobe.

Fifteen minutes more and Rune was fast asleep in the oversized double bed.

Beatrice woke her, shaking her gently by the shoulder.  “It’s five in the evening, Damma.  You need to get up.  Your breakfast is waiting for you.”

“Yes, right, of course,” Rune sat up, thrown by being woken up by a person, being in a strange bed and wearing a strange nightshirt.  Then she remembered where she was and why.

‘Breakfast’ was a curious but delicious meal of leftovers, specifically ham with potato pancakes.  Constantine and Sebastian sat with her while she ate, drinking coffee and making polite conversation.  Algernon turned up just as she was finishing, asked her how she’d slept and then added, “I’ve been arranging a few extra details for the Assembly’s testing.  Nothing that will concern anyone, unless they want to tamper with the samples.”

“You expect interference?”  Constantine’s question and look were sharp.

“I think suitable precautions will remove the possibility of doubtful results, that’s all,” replied Algernon with an air of self-satisfied inscrutability.

Caliburn entered at that point, obviously dressed for a polite, civilian evening party.  Algernon raised an eyebrow at him, as did Sebastian – but the opposite eyebrow.  Constantine just smiled.  Caliburn surveyed his brothers’ expressions and grinned back at them.  “So, Rune,” he turned to her and she received a friendly smile, “Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, thank you sir.”  She stood readily and pushed her chair back before anyone could do it for her.

“Come along then,” Caliburn nodded, “I’ll get you to work on time.  I warn you,” a wider grin, “Cook has packed a lunch box of leftovers for you.”

Caliburn’s private car was a sleek, low slung, dark green roadster.  The way it handled, she was sure it was probably over-engined, the powerful headlights burning through the darkness.  If Caliburn hadn’t been driving to the conditions Rune might have been frightened.  Instead she tried to make conversation.  “Thank you for dropping me at work.  I hope I’m not taking you out of your way.”

“Not at all,” he smiled at the windscreen, “I’m grateful.  It’d be even more nerve racking without your company.  I’ve been invited along to a Solstice dinner to meet someone’s parents.”

“Oh?”  Rune smiled encouragingly.

“I keep running through reasons they won’t like me in my head.  I think ‘cradle snatcher’ is the one most likely to stick.” Rune made an encouraging noise.  “Yes.”  Caliburn flashed a smile at her while he checked his blind spot.  “He’s only in his early forties, so that could be a valid complaint.”

That made Caliburn’s love interest about twenty years her senior and the Major General himself was about twenty years older than that...  “That should make him old enough to know his own mind then, sir.”

“I hope so,” Major General Caliburn Sjeldnjar sighed as he cornered the car, “but parental opinion can be a powerful force.”

“So I’ve been told, sir.”  Rune looked straight ahead through the windscreen.

“I’m sorry,” Caliburn apologised, “that may have been maladroit of me.”

“No, sir, I don’t think it was.”  It was Rune’s turn to smile him.  “I really don’t get the whole family relationships thing sometimes.”

“Then that’s something we’ll have to work on with you when the test results come back, won’t we?”  They stopped at the last traffic lights before Run’s drop-off and he turned to give her a warm, avuncular smile.

In the privacy of her own mind, as she smiled back, Rune thought, “I hope he really is my uncle.”

******

The duty roving section of the security detachment that guarded the Royal Family in residence at Landislav’s Palace had a problem and it was getting worse.

Solstice Day Part 2

“Here, give me back that drink and sit down,” ordered Caliburn firmly.

Rune sat on a sofa.  The brown patterned fabric had signs of wear but it was soft enough for comfort and firm enough that she wasn’t going to keep sinking into it forever.

Caliburn sat down beside her and handed back her drink.  “Now, have some of that.”  While she obediently sipped he went on, “Connie, come and sit beside her – you’re her father, you can’t just stand off and make comments.”  He paused.  “Well you could, but from my observations it doesn’t work well.”

As Constantine made his way over to the sofa, Algernon said brightly, “We can have the Assembly check their database to see if your mother’s on file.”

“There’s no need for that,” protested Constantine, “I know who her mother is.”

“Yes,” agreed Algernon drily, “but you’re not sharing.”

While Sebastian got himself a drink, Caliburn gave his two older brothers a disgusted look before turning back to Rune and asking, “So what were you planning to do today before we burst into your life?”

“Go home to my flat, shower, eat some of the ham and pickled chicken I cooked yesterday, sleep, get up and go back to work.”  Rune sipped some more of her plum cordial.

“We’ve cut into your sleeping time, haven’t we?”  Algernon changed his focus with disconcerting speed.  “If it’s no more of an inconvenience to you, you could sleep in one of our guest rooms after we eat – it would save you the travel time back to your flat.  Caliburn could drop you back at work on his way to his thing he’s got on tonight.”

“I could,” agreed Caliburn readily, then added, “I’m certainly a safer driver than Algernon.”

“As is my chauffer,” concurred Algernon, “but really, if-.”

A man dressed in the same livery as the porter opened the doors to the room wide and announced, “Your Grace, the meal is ready.”

“Then let it be served man, let it be served!”  Rune thought the exchange between the servant and Algernon was some sort of ritual, but then Algernon went on, “Krulhorn, please have one of the bathroomed guest rooms made up for Damma Greymalk to sleep in this afternoon.  So she doesn’t have to dash home after eating to rest before going back on duty at six this evening.”

Yes, your Grace,” Krulhorn replied, “it will be done while you are at the table.”

“Thank you, Krulhorn.”  Algernon smiled genially.  “Come everyone,” he turned to his brothers and Rune, “let us go and eat.”

Algernon escorted Rune to the dining room, the two of them leading the way for the others.  Runes suspected that they were progressing, as if they were in a historical novel, and thought it seemed sad for only five people.  Five settings were arranged comfortably around the end of the long dining table.  Algernon handed Rune into the seat on the right hand of the head of the table while he took the position of primacy.  Constantine sat beside Rune while Sebastian and Caliburn sat opposite them.

The meal itself was in removes instead of courses and of traditional Solstice fare.  The first remove was fish, all of it smoked, salted, fermented or dried.  There were no soups on the table but there was pie, terrine, a kitchen-sill salad with tiny brined fish pieces and a whole, thinly sliced smoked salmon.  When all of that was removed, the meat was brought in.  Rune thought that whoever did the cooking was being frustrated with so few people to feed.  When everything had been served there was baked ham, smoked venison sausages, corned beef, pickled chicken and pickled duck, all accompanied by root vegetables prepared in various ways and no less than eight jellies, preserves and sauces.

"Don't hold back if you want seconds," advised Algernon, "we'll be living off leftovers for most of the week, as you can see.  Which accompaniment would you like with your ham?"

Rune was almost nodding off in her chair by the time the sweet dishes were brought in and she was so full she had to wave off anything more than a thin slice of apple pie and a spoonful of rice pudding.

"We'd better make good with that offer of a room," Sebastian observed from across the table.

"I'm sorry," Rune apologised, "I can't seem to keep my eyes open."

"You've been up all night," Constantine reminded her, "and now we've stuffed you full of good food.  It's probably past time for you to be in bed."

"Krulhorn will get one of the maids to show you up," Algernon announced, pressing a call button under the table.

Krulhorn appeared almost immediately.  "Your Grace?"

"Damma Greymalk is falling asleep in her seat," Algernon told him.  "Please have one of the maids take her upstairs and settle her in so she can have that afternoon's rest we promised her."

"Certainly, your Grace."  Krulhorn turned to Rune, "If you would care to come with me, Damma?"

"Thank you, yes," Rune went to stand up and found that Constantine had risen and pulled out her chair for her.  "Thank you, sir."

"You could call me Father," he pointed out a touch sadly.

"I don't want to become familiar and even fond," Rune replied in the same tone, "and then find out I've only crossed and confused paths with the right girl."

"I am certain," Constantine said firmly.  "I've had a number of years to confirm my opinion, after all."

"I haven't and I'm not."  Rune looked up at him, firm rather than defiant.

"Later, children," Algernon intervened, "when Rune is rested and we have more time.  Please my dear, go with Krulhorn."

Krulhorn led Rune from the room and handed her over to a maid at the bottom of the main staircase.

"I'm sorry to be taking you away from your Solstice feast," Rune apologised to the maid, whom Krulhorn had introduced as Beatrice.

"They're clearing the fish remove now," Beatrice smiled at her.  "We had five sorts of herring alone, so it will take a while.  Cook would like to put more dishes on the upstairs table, but there is a limit to how much the four gentlemen and yourself can be expected to eat.  There are more of us downstairs - there's not just the gentlemen to look after but the house and the grounds too.  Cook's still finishing off our gravies, so I doubt I'll miss out on anything."

Beatrice showed Rune to a room that was the size of her flat’s living room, eating nook and kitchen combined.  The size of the room didn’t bother her, she’d been in larger hotel rooms and her own flat had been picked for convenience to public transport and an eye to building her savings.  “The bathroom is through here.”  Beatrice crossed the room and opened a door.  “If you need anything washed so it’s clean to put on again when you wake, you can put it in this laundry bag,” she held up a cloth bag that could have held everything Rune was wearing, “and we can put it through the washer and dryer, and then press it for you before you wake up.”

Rune did a mental inventory and said apologetically, “There are a couple of things I’d love to have washed out actually...”

“There’s a bathrobe here for you, Damma, and wardrobe space for anything you want to hang up,” encouraged Beatrice.

Ten minutes later Rune was washing off under a hot shower, Beatrice was taking her socks and briefs downstairs to be washed and the rest of Rune’s clothes were hanging up in the wardrobe.

Fifteen minutes more and Rune was fast asleep in the oversized double bed.

Beatrice woke her, shaking her gently by the shoulder.  “It’s five in the evening, Damma.  You need to get up.  Your breakfast is waiting for you.”

“Yes, right, of course,” Rune sat up, thrown by being woken up by a person, being in a strange bed and wearing a strange nightshirt.  Then she remembered where she was and why.

‘Breakfast’ was a curious but delicious meal of leftovers, specifically ham with potato pancakes.  Constantine and Sebastian sat with her while she ate, drinking coffee and making polite conversation.  Algernon turned up just as she was finishing, asked her how she’d slept and then added, “I’ve been arranging a few extra details for the Assembly’s testing.  Nothing that will concern anyone, unless they want to tamper with the samples.”

“You expect interference?”  Constantine’s question and look were sharp.

“I think suitable precautions will remove the possibility of doubtful results, that’s all,” replied Algernon with an air of self-satisfied inscrutability.

Caliburn entered at that point, obviously dressed for a polite, civilian evening party.  Algernon raised an eyebrow at him, as did Sebastian – but the opposite eyebrow.  Constantine just smiled.  Caliburn surveyed his brothers’ expressions and grinned back at them.  “So, Rune,” he turned to her and she received a friendly smile, “Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, thank you sir.”  She stood readily and pushed her chair back before anyone could do it for her.

“Come along then,” Caliburn nodded, “I’ll get you to work on time.  I warn you,” a wider grin, “Cook has packed a lunch box of leftovers for you.”

Caliburn’s private car was a sleek, low slung, dark green roadster.  The way it handled, she was sure it was probably over-engined, the powerful headlights burning through the darkness.  If Caliburn hadn’t been driving to the conditions Rune might have been frightened.  Instead she tried to make conversation.  “Thank you for dropping me at work.  I hope I’m not taking you out of your way.”

“Not at all,” he smiled at the windscreen, “I’m grateful.  It’d be even more nerve racking without your company.  I’ve been invited along to a Solstice dinner to meet someone’s parents.”

“Oh?”  Rune smiled encouragingly.

“I keep running through reasons they won’t like me in my head.  I think ‘cradle snatcher’ is the one most likely to stick.” Rune made an encouraging noise.  “Yes.”  Caliburn flashed a smile at her while he checked his blind spot.  “He’s only in his early forties, so that could be a valid complaint.”

That made Caliburn’s love interest about twenty years her senior and the Major General himself was about twenty years older than that...  “That should make him old enough to know his own mind then, sir.”

“I hope so,” Major General Caliburn Sjeldnjar sighed as he cornered the car, “but parental opinion can be a powerful force.”

“So I’ve been told, sir.”  Rune looked straight ahead through the windscreen.

“I’m sorry,” Caliburn apologised, “that may have been maladroit of me.”

“No, sir, I don’t think it was.”  It was Rune’s turn to smile him.  “I really don’t get the whole family relationships thing sometimes.”

“Then that’s something we’ll have to work on with you when the test results come back, won’t we?”  They stopped at the last traffic lights before Run’s drop-off and he turned to give her a warm, avuncular smile.

In the privacy of her own mind, as she smiled back, Rune thought, “I hope he really is my uncle.”

******

The duty roving section of the security detachment that guarded the Royal Family in residence at Landislav’s Palace had a problem and it was getting worse.

Prompt Request!

The prompt request is open from now (very early Saturday my time) until I get home from work on Monday, my time.  That should have covered the weekend everywhere.

The rules and parameters:

1. Each prompt will be:
   1.  a short sentence or phrase;
   2. a story of mine posted to LJ you want to see more of – it does not need to come from a Prompt Request; or
   3. characters of mine from stories posted on LJ – they do not need to come from a Prompt Request.
2. For each prompt I write to I will write 300±50 words.  If you want to see something I’ve done along these lines before, please see my http://rix-scaedu.livejournal.com/tag/30%20days%20of%20flash%20fiction tag or the results of my previous prompt request on the http://rix-scaedu.livejournal.com/tag/prompt%20request%2031%20dec%2011 tag.
3. I will write one prompt per person, unless you signal boost this prompt request, in which case I will write an additional prompt per site/platform you boost on i.e. one prompt each for LJ, Twitter, Dreamwidth, etc, for each day of the prompt request you signal boost.
4. For each prompter I get, I will write 50 words in a prompting reward story;
5. No fanfic, I just don’t know enough about enough current series and settings to do your favourites justice – give me a name or names and I promise what you get will not be the people you know and love; and
6. Please, nothing that has to be porn – I have to be in the mood to write that sort of thing and I would like to be able to post these stories without warnings.  (Yes, I know, 1b & 1c could produce prompts that are almost like that.)

Why am I doing this?  It’s almost a month since last time did it.  Practice!

And yes, there is a tip jar.  This is for extensions.  I will write extensions at 500 words per $5.00.

Prompt Extensions

100 words $1.00 AUD200 words $2.00 AUD300 words $3.00 AUD400 words $4.00 AUD500 words $5.00 AUD600 words $6.00 AUD700 words $7.00 AUD800 words $8.00 AUD900 words $9.00 AUD1000 words $10.00 AUD

If you are kind enough to give me more signal boosts than you want to prompt, I will use each of your ‘left over’ signal boosts to power another 50 words in the prompt reward story.  Please tell me where you’ve signal boosted as a reply to your comment giving me prompts.

Thank you for participating.

Prompt Request!

The prompt request is open from now (very early Saturday my time) until I get home from work on Monday, my time.  That should have covered the weekend everywhere.

The rules and parameters:

1. Each prompt will be:
   1.  a short sentence or phrase;
   2. a story of mine posted to LJ you want to see more of – it does not need to come from a Prompt Request; or
   3. characters of mine from stories posted on LJ – they do not need to come from a Prompt Request.
2. For each prompt I write to I will write 300±50 words.  If you want to see something I’ve done along these lines before, please see my http://rix-scaedu.livejournal.com/tag/30%20days%20of%20flash%20fiction tag or the results of my previous prompt request on the http://rix-scaedu.livejournal.com/tag/prompt%20request%2031%20dec%2011 tag.
3. I will write one prompt per person, unless you signal boost this prompt request, in which case I will write an additional prompt per site/platform you boost on i.e. one prompt each for LJ, Twitter, Dreamwidth, etc, for each day of the prompt request you signal boost.
4. For each prompter I get, I will write 50 words in a prompting reward story;
5. No fanfic, I just don’t know enough about enough current series and settings to do your favourites justice – give me a name or names and I promise what you get will not be the people you know and love; and
6. Please, nothing that has to be porn – I have to be in the mood to write that sort of thing and I would like to be able to post these stories without warnings.  (Yes, I know, 1b & 1c could produce prompts that are almost like that.)

Why am I doing this?  It’s almost a month since last time did it.  Practice!

And yes, there is a tip jar.  This is for extensions.  I will write extensions at 500 words per $5.00.

Prompt Extensions

100 words $1.00 AUD200 words $2.00 AUD300 words $3.00 AUD400 words $4.00 AUD500 words $5.00 AUD600 words $6.00 AUD700 words $7.00 AUD800 words $8.00 AUD900 words $9.00 AUD1000 words $10.00 AUD

If you are kind enough to give me more signal boosts than you want to prompt, I will use each of your ‘left over’ signal boosts to power another 50 words in the prompt reward story.  Please tell me where you’ve signal boosted as a reply to your comment giving me prompts.

Thank you for participating.

Solstice Day 3

The duty roving section of the security detachment that guarded the Royal Family in residence at Landislav’s Palace had a problem and it was getting worse.

First, they’d received a call from Princess Isadora’s rooms reporting that Princess Dagmar was being attacked in the gardens below them.  When the roving section had arrived, Princess Isadora’s two leather clad playmates du jour had captured the attackers and Princess Dagmar was being comforted by her scantily clad niece.  The collection of drug paraphernalia had suggested an uncomfortable recurrence of old problems but when the senior protection agent had started making getting-Dagmar-help-again moves Princess Isadora had said sharply, “None of that is hers.  They,” she indicated the four prisoners, “were trying to inject her by force.”

Princess Dagmar, wrapped in a blanket that must have come from Princess Isadora’s rooms, had burst into tears in her niece’s arms.

Then the agent searching the Princess’ assailants had quietly informed his section leader, in a slightly shaken tone, that all four men had Palace security passes.  Passes that said they were part of Princess Citrine’s office.

Things had escalated from there.

They were all inside out of the cold now, in the Blue Receiving Room that opened onto the gardens below Princess Isadora’s quarters.  More people were present than just the group that had been outside.  Queen Galina and her husband consort, Prince Stephan, were there as were their other two daughters and Princess Dagmar’s sisters, Crown Princess Aurora and Princess Ulva.  Princess Ulva and her husband seemed slightly surprised that their second daughter was keeping company with two handlebar moustached, leather almost-clad men at once.  To a man the security detail were glad that those two men were now wearing blankets in a toga-like fashion that hid from the older members of the Royal Family how little that leather concealed.

The Crown Princess’ eldest daughter had accompanied her parents.  There was, perhaps, an unspoken feeling that one day her aunt would be Princess Katarina’s problem.

Princess Dagmar’s three ladies-in-waiting and watchdogs were clustered together out of line of sight of the royals.  They were supposed to keep the Princess out of trouble, particularly drug trouble, and it appeared that they had failed.

“Dagmar, how could you?”  Queen Galina, her face settling into a quiet despair, began, “Aft-“

“Grandmother, it wasn’t her.”  Princess Isadora’s interruption was clear and firm.  She indicated the four men in restraints kneeling on the floor.  “They jumped her in the garden.  Three of them were trying to hold her still while the fourth was hovering around the edges with that stuff.  If it’s fingerprinted, you’ll find Aunty Dagmar never touched it.”

“Dagmar,” the Queen returned to her youngest daughter, “why were you in the garden at that time, in this weather and at this time of year?”

“My walk in the garden is the only privacy I get all day,” Princess Dagmar spoke matter of factly, “and it gives my attendants the opportunity to check my possessions for contraband.”

The Queen frowned in the direction of the ladies-in-waiting.  “But this time contraband in your hands was not the problem.”

“It never has been, Mother,” Dagmar might have suppressed a sigh, “but I gave up hoping to be believed years ago.  I’m not stupid.  I worked out what provokes these attacks and I haven’t been asking about my daughter, I promise.  So what did I do wrong this time?”

There was a background chorusing of “Daughter?” from the two youngest Princesses, “Delusional, again,” from the ladies-in-waiting, “Dags!” from a sympathetic sounding Princess Ulva, and “You think this is about your baby?” from Crown Princess Aurora.  Her mother’s protest cut across the top of all of that, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Princess Citrine swept into the room commanding her flurry of daughters and closing the door behind them with a bang.  “Of course you don’t know what she’s talking about,” she snapped at her elder sister.  “You’ve been too busy being Good Queen Galina to realise when the hard decisions needed to be taken.  That child needed to disappear and be forgotten and I’m the one who’s had to do the work to make it happen.”

Queen Galina looked at her in surprise and said slowly, “We never discussed making the baby disappear forever.  It was simply inadvisable for her to be around when we were in negotiation with the Terrencians.  You were supposed to place her in a suitable foster home, where she would be raised by a family who loved her.  I hoped we would be able to bring her back some day.  When the second Terrencian marriage proposal fell through I though maybe then, but Dagmar started having her drug problems-.”  She broke off, horror dawning on her face.

“Given their Imperial Family’s fertility problems in the last couple of generations,” put in Princess Katarina helpfully, “parading a healthy example of Aunty Dagmar’s reproductive capacity in front of them might have secured a Terrencian match.”

“That wasn’t the point of the exercise,” Citrine snapped at her great-niece.  “The point was to make sure that no member of that family got anywhere near the throne.”

Silence sat in the room, thick with shock.

Isadora was the one who broke it.  “I liked it better when I thought you just couldn’t bear to be wrong.”

Her grandfather followed her up in a flat, direct voice, “Citrine, what have you done with my granddaughter?”

“What had to be done.”  Citrine rounded on him, her daughters looking as appalled as everyone else in the room.  “I’m not a monster.  She was put somewhere she’d be cared for and would have opportunities if she earned them.  If she’d stayed here we’d be hanging on to the throne by our fingertips, if we were lucky.  Those uncles of hers would’ve been running things from her shadows before we’d blinked.”  She practically spat the last few words out.

“You are overwrought.”  Galina sounded supernaturally calm.  “Be still.  You have lied to me and acted against the best interests of heirs of my body.  Because you are my sister and because of your years of service as First Councillor, I am pleased to accept your resignation for health reasons.  We will tell everyone that you have had a mild stroke brought on by age and the stress of your duties and that you are retiring to your house near Kobolgrad to enjoy a recuperation and life in the country.”

“I’m perfectly well,” protested Citrine, “I don’t want-.”

I don’t care what you want,” Galina cut her off.  “I don’t believe we can afford to have you go to trial for the assaults on Princess Dagmar.  I don’t believe your daughters or grandchildren deserve that.  If you feel that the story lacks substance, I can arrange a brain injury for you in the same spirit you arranged drug addiction for my daughter.”

“I’ll clear out my office then,” said Citrine, trying to salvage... something.

“No,” contradicted the Queen, “you won’t.  You will be taken from this room to the Neurological Ward at the University Hospital, and you will stay there until you are released to travel to Kobolgrad.  Does anyone have anything else to add?”

“May it please Your Majesty,” the youngest of Citrine’s daughters, Princess Alexandrina stepped forward and made a brief curtsey, “I believe I speak as well for my sisters when I say that we would like anything found in the First Councillor’s office pertaining to our father’s death to be carefully examined.”

“Alexandrina!  How dare you!”  Her mother went livid and took a few steps towards her before a security agent restrained her.

“I would personally appreciate it,” Alexandrina went on, looking straight at her mother, “if anything pertaining to my husband’s death was fully investigated.”

“Are you still pining over that, that common adventurer?”  Citrine was furious.  “You should be grateful for what you have in case you lose it!”

“I married a good man, Mother,” Alexandrina replied calmly.  “Jaime and I should have been able to grow old together.  Our children should have been able to grow up under their father’s care and I think you’ll find that you won’t be able to give orders to your pet thugs from Kobolgrad.  She hasn’t said it but I believe Her Majesty is implying house arrest.”

“I liked Jaime,” commented Galina.  “I would stop throwing around threats, dear sister.  I’m taking my sticks and goads back and I’m beginning to think that I should never have trusted you with them in the first place.”  She turned to Princess Isadora’s two evening companions and looked them up and down with an increasingly quizzical eye, then said slowly, “I’m not exactly sure what my granddaughter was planning for this evening but I am grateful that she was doing it with people so capable of responding to an immediate crisis.”

She paused and one of the two men, possibly the older or the dominant one or both, bowed slightly and said, “We are honoured to have been of service, Your Majesty.”

Queen Galina nodded in acknowledgement and went on, “I have been wondering, how did you get down from the garden quickly enough to intervene?”

“They jumped from the balcony, Your Majesty.”  That was from one of the prisoners.  Fully half the room looked at the blanket-draped men.

“It seemed urgent,” explained the second of them, quietly and a touch apologetically.

Price Aurora, sufficiently low ranked by birth to be known by his wife’s name and honours, spoke next.  “I’m sure you both understand that we want to keep all of this as quiet as possible.  You’ll both start work in my office first thing in the morning.  We’ll sort out your current employment for you.”  He gave a hard, tight smile.  “At least you don’t have to be told why we’ll be going through the former First Councillor’s office.”

“If I may, sir,” it was the second man in a blanket toga again, “my about to be ex-employer had a problem with a senior staff member who was let go.  You might want to get to Her Highness’ office before any contingency orders or programs have a chance to activate.”

“An excellent suggestion,” agreed Prince Aurora.  The older blanket toga wearer smiled approving.

Princess Citrine reacted as she would have if a performing animal had spoken.  She looked gobsmacked.

Solstice Day 3

The duty roving section of the security detachment that guarded the Royal Family in residence at Landislav’s Palace had a problem and it was getting worse.

First, they’d received a call from Princess Isadora’s rooms reporting that Princess Dagmar was being attacked in the gardens below them.  When the roving section had arrived, Princess Isadora’s two leather clad playmates du jour had captured the attackers and Princess Dagmar was being comforted by her scantily clad niece.  The collection of drug paraphernalia had suggested an uncomfortable recurrence of old problems but when the senior protection agent had started making getting-Dagmar-help-again moves Princess Isadora had said sharply, “None of that is hers.  They,” she indicated the four prisoners, “were trying to inject her by force.”

Princess Dagmar, wrapped in a blanket that must have come from Princess Isadora’s rooms, had burst into tears in her niece’s arms.

Then the agent searching the Princess’ assailants had quietly informed his section leader, in a slightly shaken tone, that all four men had Palace security passes.  Passes that said they were part of Princess Citrine’s office.

Things had escalated from there.

They were all inside out of the cold now, in the Blue Receiving Room that opened onto the gardens below Princess Isadora’s quarters.  More people were present than just the group that had been outside.  Queen Galina and her husband consort, Prince Stephan, were there as were their other two daughters and Princess Dagmar’s sisters, Crown Princess Aurora and Princess Ulva.  Princess Ulva and her husband seemed slightly surprised that their second daughter was keeping company with two handlebar moustached, leather almost-clad men at once.  To a man the security detail were glad that those two men were now wearing blankets in a toga-like fashion that hid from the older members of the Royal Family how little that leather concealed.

The Crown Princess’ eldest daughter had accompanied her parents.  There was, perhaps, an unspoken feeling that one day her aunt would be Princess Katarina’s problem.

Princess Dagmar’s three ladies-in-waiting and watchdogs were clustered together out of line of sight of the royals.  They were supposed to keep the Princess out of trouble, particularly drug trouble, and it appeared that they had failed.

“Dagmar, how could you?”  Queen Galina, her face settling into a quiet despair, began, “Aft-“

“Grandmother, it wasn’t her.”  Princess Isadora’s interruption was clear and firm.  She indicated the four men in restraints kneeling on the floor.  “They jumped her in the garden.  Three of them were trying to hold her still while the fourth was hovering around the edges with that stuff.  If it’s fingerprinted, you’ll find Aunty Dagmar never touched it.”

“Dagmar,” the Queen returned to her youngest daughter, “why were you in the garden at that time, in this weather and at this time of year?”

“My walk in the garden is the only privacy I get all day,” Princess Dagmar spoke matter of factly, “and it gives my attendants the opportunity to check my possessions for contraband.”

The Queen frowned in the direction of the ladies-in-waiting.  “But this time contraband in your hands was not the problem.”

“It never has been, Mother,” Dagmar might have suppressed a sigh, “but I gave up hoping to be believed years ago.  I’m not stupid.  I worked out what provokes these attacks and I haven’t been asking about my daughter, I promise.  So what did I do wrong this time?”

There was a background chorusing of “Daughter?” from the two youngest Princesses, “Delusional, again,” from the ladies-in-waiting, “Dags!” from a sympathetic sounding Princess Ulva, and “You think this is about your baby?” from Crown Princess Aurora.  Her mother’s protest cut across the top of all of that, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Princess Citrine swept into the room commanding her flurry of daughters and closing the door behind them with a bang.  “Of course you don’t know what she’s talking about,” she snapped at her elder sister.  “You’ve been too busy being Good Queen Galina to realise when the hard decisions needed to be taken.  That child needed to disappear and be forgotten and I’m the one who’s had to do the work to make it happen.”

Queen Galina looked at her in surprise and said slowly, “We never discussed making the baby disappear forever.  It was simply inadvisable for her to be around when we were in negotiation with the Terrencians.  You were supposed to place her in a suitable foster home, where she would be raised by a family who loved her.  I hoped we would be able to bring her back some day.  When the second Terrencian marriage proposal fell through I though maybe then, but Dagmar started having her drug problems-.”  She broke off, horror dawning on her face.

“Given their Imperial Family’s fertility problems in the last couple of generations,” put in Princess Katarina helpfully, “parading a healthy example of Aunty Dagmar’s reproductive capacity in front of them might have secured a Terrencian match.”

“That wasn’t the point of the exercise,” Citrine snapped at her great-niece.  “The point was to make sure that no member of that family got anywhere near the throne.”

Silence sat in the room, thick with shock.

Isadora was the one who broke it.  “I liked it better when I thought you just couldn’t bear to be wrong.”

Her grandfather followed her up in a flat, direct voice, “Citrine, what have you done with my granddaughter?”

“What had to be done.”  Citrine rounded on him, her daughters looking as appalled as everyone else in the room.  “I’m not a monster.  She was put somewhere she’d be cared for and would have opportunities if she earned them.  If she’d stayed here we’d be hanging on to the throne by our fingertips, if we were lucky.  Those uncles of hers would’ve been running things from her shadows before we’d blinked.”  She practically spat the last few words out.

“You are overwrought.”  Galina sounded supernaturally calm.  “Be still.  You have lied to me and acted against the best interests of heirs of my body.  Because you are my sister and because of your years of service as First Councillor, I am pleased to accept your resignation for health reasons.  We will tell everyone that you have had a mild stroke brought on by age and the stress of your duties and that you are retiring to your house near Kobolgrad to enjoy a recuperation and life in the country.”

“I’m perfectly well,” protested Citrine, “I don’t want-.”

I don’t care what you want,” Galina cut her off.  “I don’t believe we can afford to have you go to trial for the assaults on Princess Dagmar.  I don’t believe your daughters or grandchildren deserve that.  If you feel that the story lacks substance, I can arrange a brain injury for you in the same spirit you arranged drug addiction for my daughter.”

“I’ll clear out my office then,” said Citrine, trying to salvage... something.

“No,” contradicted the Queen, “you won’t.  You will be taken from this room to the Neurological Ward at the University Hospital, and you will stay there until you are released to travel to Kobolgrad.  Does anyone have anything else to add?”

“May it please Your Majesty,” the youngest of Citrine’s daughters, Princess Alexandrina stepped forward and made a brief curtsey, “I believe I speak as well for my sisters when I say that we would like anything found in the First Councillor’s office pertaining to our father’s death to be carefully examined.”

“Alexandrina!  How dare you!”  Her mother went livid and took a few steps towards her before a security agent restrained her.

“I would personally appreciate it,” Alexandrina went on, looking straight at her mother, “if anything pertaining to my husband’s death was fully investigated.”

“Are you still pining over that, that common adventurer?”  Citrine was furious.  “You should be grateful for what you have in case you lose it!”

“I married a good man, Mother,” Alexandrina replied calmly.  “Jaime and I should have been able to grow old together.  Our children should have been able to grow up under their father’s care and I think you’ll find that you won’t be able to give orders to your pet thugs from Kobolgrad.  She hasn’t said it but I believe Her Majesty is implying house arrest.”

“I liked Jaime,” commented Galina.  “I would stop throwing around threats, dear sister.  I’m taking my sticks and goads back and I’m beginning to think that I should never have trusted you with them in the first place.”  She turned to Princess Isadora’s two evening companions and looked them up and down with an increasingly quizzical eye, then said slowly, “I’m not exactly sure what my granddaughter was planning for this evening but I am grateful that she was doing it with people so capable of responding to an immediate crisis.”

She paused and one of the two men, possibly the older or the dominant one or both, bowed slightly and said, “We are honoured to have been of service, Your Majesty.”

Queen Galina nodded in acknowledgement and went on, “I have been wondering, how did you get down from the garden quickly enough to intervene?”

“They jumped from the balcony, Your Majesty.”  That was from one of the prisoners.  Fully half the room looked at the blanket-draped men.

“It seemed urgent,” explained the second of them, quietly and a touch apologetically.

Price Aurora, sufficiently low ranked by birth to be known by his wife’s name and honours, spoke next.  “I’m sure you both understand that we want to keep all of this as quiet as possible.  You’ll both start work in my office first thing in the morning.  We’ll sort out your current employment for you.”  He gave a hard, tight smile.  “At least you don’t have to be told why we’ll be going through the former First Councillor’s office.”

“If I may, sir,” it was the second man in a blanket toga again, “my about to be ex-employer had a problem with a senior staff member who was let go.  You might want to get to Her Highness’ office before any contingency orders or programs have a chance to activate.”

“An excellent suggestion,” agreed Prince Aurora.  The older blanket toga wearer smiled approving.

Princess Citrine reacted as she would have if a performing animal had spoken.  She looked gobsmacked.

A Stitch In Time

This is in response to aldersprig's first prompt.

“Are you finished yet?”  Kelb was looming over her as he spoke, his body language would have told her that he was getting angry if his tone had not.

She finished pulling the thread through for the final stitch and neatly ended the reinforcing seam she had been sewing, then cut the thread.  “Now I am.”  She held out his trousers with a smile.

He snatched them back with a snarl and stumped to his room.  “Stupid woman,” he grumbled loud enough for the whole house to hear.  “She decides to mend my pants when we’re getting ready to go out on patrol?!  What sort of timing is that?  Staz’ll kill me if I keep everyone waiting.”

She smiled to herself as she put her sewing box away.  He would grumble along, at least until they left, and if he held up the beginning of the patrol, then Staz would speak his stinging, short, sharp words to her as the root cause when they returned.

But that was alright.  The scene of future memory was already fading.

The ripping sound as an overstretched seam gave way, followed by the shock of blade biting into a thigh no longer covered by protective cloth.  The momentary, involuntary shock of injured flesh leaving an opening that let a spear plunge through his chest.  Already hard pressed and now one man down, the patrol falls to the enemies’ blades.

Unwarned, less protected, the walled village is overrun by enemies that arrive with the noonday heat.  There is slaughter, mayhem and by nightfall nothing stirs within its walls.  The village’s destruction leaves a hole in the defensive line meant to guard the heartlands of the human world from its enemies.  The enemies pour through that hole and in a few seasons, the human world is no more and will never flower into something greater.

All for want of a few stitches.

She smiled to herself.  Even one of Staz’ scoldings would be a price worth paying for the loss of those memories.

A Stitch In Time

This is in response to aldersprig's first prompt.

“Are you finished yet?”  Kelb was looming over her as he spoke, his body language would have told her that he was getting angry if his tone had not.

She finished pulling the thread through for the final stitch and neatly ended the reinforcing seam she had been sewing, then cut the thread.  “Now I am.”  She held out his trousers with a smile.

He snatched them back with a snarl and stumped to his room.  “Stupid woman,” he grumbled loud enough for the whole house to hear.  “She decides to mend my pants when we’re getting ready to go out on patrol?!  What sort of timing is that?  Staz’ll kill me if I keep everyone waiting.”

She smiled to herself as she put her sewing box away.  He would grumble along, at least until they left, and if he held up the beginning of the patrol, then Staz would speak his stinging, short, sharp words to her as the root cause when they returned.

But that was alright.  The scene of future memory was already fading.

The ripping sound as an overstretched seam gave way, followed by the shock of blade biting into a thigh no longer covered by protective cloth.  The momentary, involuntary shock of injured flesh leaving an opening that let a spear plunge through his chest.  Already hard pressed and now one man down, the patrol falls to the enemies’ blades.

Unwarned, less protected, the walled village is overrun by enemies that arrive with the noonday heat.  There is slaughter, mayhem and by nightfall nothing stirs within its walls.  The village’s destruction leaves a hole in the defensive line meant to guard the heartlands of the human world from its enemies.  The enemies pour through that hole and in a few seasons, the human world is no more and will never flower into something greater.

All for want of a few stitches.

She smiled to herself.  Even one of Staz’ scoldings would be a price worth paying for the loss of those memories.

Custom Made.

This is written to ankewehner's first prompt.

If you’re patient, if you’ve the contacts, if you’ve the money and if he can fit you in, Mr Smith might make you something.  If he likes...

Bracelets of gold and starstones.  Necklaces of black opal set in nacred platinum.  Gem studded rings.  All bespoke.  Everything made for a client.  Nothing accidental or by chance.

His workshop’s in a quiet place, above a store behind a main street and overlooking an alley.  The rich who come to see him usually look out of place, their cars left perforce in the one hour parking zones on the streets at either end of the lane.

It’s not the sort of store or clientele that leave boxes and wrappers in the street, which was part of the reason Al picked up the little box from the pavement and took it back into the jeweller’s shop.  When he explained why he was there and put the box on the counter, the shopgirl blanched and pushed a buzzer.

A few minutes later a middle-aged looking man came down the stairs at the back of the room.  “What’s up Dolly?” he asked.

“This gentleman found one of our boxes on the footpath outside, Mr Smith,” the brunette with the chignon and pearls told her employer, indicating the box on the counter.

“Did he?”  Mr Smith looked Al up and down, taking in the denim and tee shirt.  “And brought it to us instead of the pawnbroker’s?  Interesting.”  He picked up the box and opened it.  “Yes, this was just picked up.”  He looked at Al and the shopgirl.  “It’ll be the wife who ditched it.  She didn’t care for it.  I told her it didn’t mean that he wasn’t a good husband or father, but sometimes, what can you say?”

He turned the open box around, inviting Al to look.  Inside was a tie pin, the face on its end large and chillingly real.

“Every piece with a touch of the owner’s soul,” said Mr Smith.  “He’ll be back for it.”

Al was very, very glad the owner of that soul wasn’t coming to see him.

Custom Made.

This is written to ankewehner's first prompt.

If you’re patient, if you’ve the contacts, if you’ve the money and if he can fit you in, Mr Smith might make you something.  If he likes...

Bracelets of gold and starstones.  Necklaces of black opal set in nacred platinum.  Gem studded rings.  All bespoke.  Everything made for a client.  Nothing accidental or by chance.

His workshop’s in a quiet place, above a store behind a main street and overlooking an alley.  The rich who come to see him usually look out of place, their cars left perforce in the one hour parking zones on the streets at either end of the lane.

It’s not the sort of store or clientele that leave boxes and wrappers in the street, which was part of the reason Al picked up the little box from the pavement and took it back into the jeweller’s shop.  When he explained why he was there and put the box on the counter, the shopgirl blanched and pushed a buzzer.

A few minutes later a middle-aged looking man came down the stairs at the back of the room.  “What’s up Dolly?” he asked.

“This gentleman found one of our boxes on the footpath outside, Mr Smith,” the brunette with the chignon and pearls told her employer, indicating the box on the counter.

“Did he?”  Mr Smith looked Al up and down, taking in the denim and tee shirt.  “And brought it to us instead of the pawnbroker’s?  Interesting.”  He picked up the box and opened it.  “Yes, this was just picked up.”  He looked at Al and the shopgirl.  “It’ll be the wife who ditched it.  She didn’t care for it.  I told her it didn’t mean that he wasn’t a good husband or father, but sometimes, what can you say?”

He turned the open box around, inviting Al to look.  Inside was a tie pin, the face on its end large and chillingly real.

“Every piece with a touch of the owner’s soul,” said Mr Smith.  “He’ll be back for it.”

Al was very, very glad the owner of that soul wasn’t coming to see him.

About The First Wife's Family

This is in response to kelkyag's first prompt.  It also follows on from Meeting His Mother.

“Boys,” agreed Tyrren when Rensa had explained the situation to her, “Lots of boys.  Just in case,” she added thoughtfully, “the two of you should make sure plenty of his sperm is put into frozen storage.  The two of you might only manage to have girls together or we might have another disaster one day.”

“And Yannic is the only one sitting between us and the Central Unit of the CDS taking over.”  Rensa smiled at Tyrren.  “You think that if I spend my reproductive life producing daughters we’ll be selecting the mothers of his sons together?”

“I could help, if I’m still around,” Tyrren offered easily, “or Mirren, and a couple of my undoubtedly beautiful and intelligent granddaughters.  But it’s only a backup plan, it would still be best if you two breed madly and produce lots of boys.  If you think the odds need weighting, I know some herbalists up home who specialise in the reproductive.  Let me know if you think you need some introductions.”

“Thank you,” Rensa smiled back at her future mother-in-law, “I’ll keep that in mind.”  She dropped her eyes to the floor.  “So, what is it you think I need to know about his first wife’s family?”

Tyrren leaned back in her chair.  “They’ve been sniffing around, asking when Yannic’s coming to visit.  Dropping hints that if Kiriel’d lived she’d be Empress now and they should share anything that’s going.  They never came around me before, I was almost beneath their notice and Kiriel could always have done better for herself, if you know what I mean?”

Rensa nodded.

“Now they’re all about how wonderful he is and how much he’ll do for his home district and his relatives and how close they are to him.  I think,” Tyrren said slowly, “that they’re expecting Yannic to bring me to live in the Palace and are angling for an invitation to come too.”

Rensa asked seriously, “What contribution would they make to the work on hand?”

Tyrren grinned at her in delight.  “Oh, you wonderful girl!  They don’t expect to work at all!”

About The First Wife's Family

This is in response to kelkyag's first prompt.  It also follows on from Meeting His Mother.

“Boys,” agreed Tyrren when Rensa had explained the situation to her, “Lots of boys.  Just in case,” she added thoughtfully, “the two of you should make sure plenty of his sperm is put into frozen storage.  The two of you might only manage to have girls together or we might have another disaster one day.”

“And Yannic is the only one sitting between us and the Central Unit of the CDS taking over.”  Rensa smiled at Tyrren.  “You think that if I spend my reproductive life producing daughters we’ll be selecting the mothers of his sons together?”

“I could help, if I’m still around,” Tyrren offered easily, “or Mirren, and a couple of my undoubtedly beautiful and intelligent granddaughters.  But it’s only a backup plan, it would still be best if you two breed madly and produce lots of boys.  If you think the odds need weighting, I know some herbalists up home who specialise in the reproductive.  Let me know if you think you need some introductions.”

“Thank you,” Rensa smiled back at her future mother-in-law, “I’ll keep that in mind.”  She dropped her eyes to the floor.  “So, what is it you think I need to know about his first wife’s family?”

Tyrren leaned back in her chair.  “They’ve been sniffing around, asking when Yannic’s coming to visit.  Dropping hints that if Kiriel’d lived she’d be Empress now and they should share anything that’s going.  They never came around me before, I was almost beneath their notice and Kiriel could always have done better for herself, if you know what I mean?”

Rensa nodded.

“Now they’re all about how wonderful he is and how much he’ll do for his home district and his relatives and how close they are to him.  I think,” Tyrren said slowly, “that they’re expecting Yannic to bring me to live in the Palace and are angling for an invitation to come too.”

Rensa asked seriously, “What contribution would they make to the work on hand?”

Tyrren grinned at her in delight.  “Oh, you wonderful girl!  They don’t expect to work at all!”