The Price of a Crown, -for Renna and Ormad-

[E'doa A'nii]

"We have found her, Sire." The soldier placed his fist on his right shoulder in salute.
He was a tall man, broad shouldered and stockily built; with muscles like an ox. He was handsome too. In a cruel sort of way. His black hair and eyes seemed to contrast with his pale skin, giving him the appearance of a wraith, or something long dead. And in truth,the soldier had died in his heart a very long time ago.

"Very good." The plump man to which the soldier bowed cracked a hideous grin. His voice sounded immensely satisfied; much like a cat would sound right after it ate the canary. "I expect her here within the day." His tone implied that failure was not an option.

The soldier saluted, turned on his heel and left. His boots clicked on the tile floor, with each long measured stride he took. They seemed a mocking laughter of their own; cruel and cold. The last sound heard in the silent marble hall was the death knoll echo of the slamming door behind him.

---------------------------------------------

There was a grunt, and thump as the body of the fat innkeeper was heaved over the desk and hurled into a table. The table creaked under his weight, as he struggled to get up. The innkeeper was sweating profusely, and breathing hard; but the innkeeper's breath caught in his throat as the soldier leapt over the counter and grabbed him by his shirt collar.

"Where is she?" The soldier demanded, eyes glaring and malicious as he raised a hand to strike his victim's mealy face.

The innkeeper cringed, "S-she's upst-t-airs." He was pale and shaking. Soldiers of the King swarmed his inn, tearing it apart; turning over every item in it; beating up those they deemed capable of resistance. They took what they wished, helping themselves to ale or women's jewelry... or worse: The women themselves.

The soldier was about to interrogate the innkeeper further, when a soldier came rushing down the stairs.
"I've found her quarters, milord!" He shouted over the ruckus.

The messenger on the stairs received a nod, as the interrogating soldier barked, "Valden! Squire! Page! Up those stairs! Now!" Valden and Squire made it first. Page had to pocket a string of pearls, and drop the girl he was holding. She had fainted, and landed with an unceremonious 'thud' on the floor. Other then the bump on her head, and the bruise on her arm from her aggressor's vise like grip, she would be ok.

"I'll deal with you later." The soldier frowned, released his grip on the fat man's clothes and speedily headed up the stairs. The innkeeper had been a wimp. Horribly disappointing. Kirgath El'var delighted in taking his time torturing his victims. It was why he had been sent on this mission: He could be quite... persuasive. Sometimes, his pursuasion worked a little too well too soon. He had not had as much fun as he had hoped.

His boots thumped on the landing and right up to Marszenka's door. His black gloved fist pounded on the wooden door so hard the hinges rattled.

"Ms. Marszenka! Open up in the name of the King!" Kirgath demanded. His soldiers took their places behind him, fanning out in an arc so that anyone running out could not escape the width of the door frame.

He could hardly wait to see her sobbing pathetic face. She would throw herself on his mercy; beg for her life. That would be entertaining indeed. Kirgath did not understand why the girl was so valuable to his master. She was a peasant; not worth the clothes she wore. But Sir Gyle had made it abundantly clear that she was worth far more then she appeared to be, and that failure would mean Kirgath's head.

[Renna]

At first Marszenka wasn't alarmed by the violent sounds rising up from below. She worked at an inn and a bar, after all; brawls were common. Breaking glass and shouts formed the soundtrack of her world, and she'd long learned not to pay any attention to them. Besides, this was her precious free time, and Miera was awake. The young mother smiled and held her arms out to her girl, encouraging her to toddle over from the safety of the bed. "Come on, darling, come see me. Come seeeeee me. Come on."

The sing-song of her voice made Miera smile, and Marszenka made a face. Her daughter burst into a peal of laughter and tripped over as fast as her fat little legs could take her, falling into Mama's arms only to be caught shrieking into the air and tickled. "I've got you now! I've got you, Miera! Grrrrr. Grrrrrrr." Miera shrieked even more at her mother's growls and flailed, trying vainly to escape. Marszy laughed at the little girl's distress and swooped in to kiss all over the babe's face, cuddling her close as she calmed down. "Oh, there you are, sweetheart. My little Miera."

For a moment everything was perfect; mother and daughter together in a moment of peace. But the shrieks below escalated into something more, and Marszenka frowned. She set Miera down very carefully and crouched, pressing her ear to the floor--then abruptly shuttered the windows and threw the heavy bolt across the floor. Miera raced forward and tugged at her skirt, only to be swept up and told severely to hush. What was going on? Bandits, maybe, but bandits weren't so stupid to ride against an entire inn. They didn't know who was residing there; it was too risky a move to be justified. So who, then, was downstairs and tearing the place into chaos?

Czcibor.

The harlot turned dead white and crushed her daughter to her breast, staring with wide eyes and bated breath at the door. Surely she was wrong. Surely whoever was here wanted only to rob; knew nothing about her at all. She'd been careful. There was nothing to know. Czcibor was far away and proud in his castle, no one here knew or cared about her. It would be fine. It would be fine. It would be fine....

Ms. Marszenka, open up in the name of the King!"

Marszenka's knees buckled. But what could she do? She'd refused before, and what had that gotten her? Nothing but misery. So she stretched out a numb hand and removed the bolt, clutching her baby as the door swung open to reveal a circle of guards. Wide eyes met those of the man in front, and the girl swallowed. "...Sir, have I done something wrong?"

Kirgath and his men were treated to the sight of a very pale young woman with a shock of dark curls, enormous brown eyes, and extremely immodest clothing. Now that she was trapped by them Marszy wished she'd thought to change into something more decent before opening the door, but the thought quickly fled as she wrapped her other arm around little Kazimiera. All that mattered now was keeping her safe. Please, God, let her stay safe.

[E'doa A'nii]

Kirgath allowed his unpleasant gaze to travel very slowly up and down Marszenka's skimpily clad body before he answered. She was very pleasantly formed, with a pretty face. Her clothing gave away her occupation; and Kirgath could not say that he did not think she made good money at it.

Page whistled. The other two merely chuckled unpleasantly.

"You will be informed when the time is right." A carefully calculated answer meant to distress more then inform. He motioned for his guards to take her. "Allow us to be your escort milady." A mockery.

Two of the guards flanked Marszenka, each taking a firm grip on one of her arms, just above the elbow joint. Kirgath himself wrenched Kazimiera from her mother's arms. His grip was none too gentle, as it was his intention to make the toddler wail.

"Hm. What a fine baby you have here." His tone was less then admiring. It was more an implication that there would cease to be a fine baby if Marszenka resisted.

"Bring the coach." He motioned to Valden.

Valden dissapeared, rushing down the stairs and through the chaos to have the coach brought round. Kirgath took his sweet time escorting the woman down the stairs and out the door. He seemed to think it necessary to make friendly chat with every soldier he passed; show them the baby (who's cheeks he was constantly pinching); point out the mother. At one point he even had her sit very uncomfortably on the very edge of a wooden chair while he made conversation for upwards of five minutes.

Things seemed to have settled down somewhat downstairs. Drunken soldiers hooted and made unpleasant comments in Marszenka's direction. Peasants sat about in terror, not daring to move lest they suffer more. Others nursed their wounds and tended to the injured. One of the braver peasants offered Marszenka a glass of water. Which she was allowed to take, if she wanted it.

When they finally got out of the inn, they were greeted by a long black coach driven by four perfectly matched black horses. Kirgath assumed a seat upfront next to the driver, and out in the open... still holding Kazimiera.

Marszenka was practically shoved into the carriage. Once she took her seat, the guards climbed in and sat down... to close for comfort. One even went so far as to pu this arm around her shoulders. And then the carraige was off, rattling down the road. The road itself seemed unusally bumpy, as if it too had somepart to play in the drama ahead.

[Renna]

The poor woman made a wretched sight as she huddled in the doorway, white-faced and clutching her toddler amidst the squalor that surrounded them. The distressed young woman would have melted a heart of stone as she bowed her head meekly to Kirgath...but proved to have no power over one of iron. For even as the girl offered a humble 'yes, my lord', the soldier stepped forward and put his hand around Miera's arm. What a fine baby you have here.

There was no time to scream. Marszenka tightened her grip around her baby instinctively, but the moment Kirgath started to pull she let the frightened Miera go. Mara was well-familiar with cruel men by now and knew very well that the man arresting her would be only too glad if the infant was hurt. She would not risk such an injury to her precious trying to play tug-of-war. So she let the wailing baby leave her arms, watching Kirgath with eyes that glittered with tears. The man was pitiless. "Please, sir. My baby." The young woman knew her pleas were useless, but little Miera was so afraid! How could she keep silent? "There is no need to hurt her. I will come so very quietly with you and do as I am told, but she's just a babe, not so? Such a tiny babe. Please, do not--"

Swift hands seized hold of her arms, and Marszenka bit her lip as she was pinioned between the leering guards. Kirgath answered her with a twisted smirk as he called her 'Milady', and at the taunt the wench recoiled. She was 'escorted' downstairs with head bowed, drawn and silent as her captor set about his torture. Mara listened miserably as Kirgath went to speaking to every soldier in the place, showing off her Miera as if he loved her and callously introducing her, with much fanfare, as the mother. Hoots and whistles invariably followed this revelation, but the girl remained blank-faced despite the abuse. Carnal taunts and touches were part of her life now; a part she still hated and feared, of course, but she'd spent too long training herself to lock her fears into coldness to break down before them now. What concerned her more was the state of the Inn.

Even with head bowed and face half-hidden behind her curls, 'Milady' could see the destruction these men had reigned upon the Inn and its inhabitants. The young woman gazed sickened at the cowering tenants; the wounded, the dead. All this for her? Had all of his happened because of her? Mara's lips parted, but she could not speak. She could only stand there in pale misery, displayed before the evil soldiers and suffering peasants alike; a small and beautiful butterfly stripped of her clothing and held up to the light.

Then Kirgath was sneering down at her again, addressing her with that same mocking courtesy he had used earlier. "Ah, Milady. I'm afraid I've forgotten you; you must be tired. Have a seat while you wait."

The guards grinned at each other and promptly forced the girl down onto a chair, making her balance on the very edge as Kirgath continued with his rounds. Poor Mara! She was too short to touch her feet flat to the ground, and so had to keep her toes pointed and back ramrod-straight to avoid falling over. The young woman was soon trembling with the strain of holding the position, but if Kirgath noticed, he certainly didn't care. It was then that Marszenka felt most like weeping, and then when she looked up to see a man watching her with solemn eyes and holding out a cup of water. The girl's dark eyes filled, and then nearly overflowed as Kirgath gave his consent and the stranger gently tipped the water into the sufferer's mouth. She drank gratefully, and showed her thanks by pressing a soft kiss to the hand that had borne the water.

The moment didn't last long.

The other soldiers were drunk and coarse, and it was only a matter of minutes before they had joined in their master's game. One scowled with disgust to see any genuine pity go the prisoner's way, so he quickly seized his own glass of water and knelt before Marszenka's chair. "Milady has been refreshed! But now she must dress to see the king. Right, boys?" He snickered, then lay a fawning hand on her trembling knee. "Oh, please, Milady, let us help you. You're so very out of fashion. Won't you let us help?" The soldier stroked her cheek. "You poor dear."

Marszenka stared at him in terrified silence, then the high-strung tension snapped and he flung his water, soaking her shirt through until the flimsy material went nigh transparent. Her attacker howled with laughter, slapping his knee and hooting at his own wit. "Now that's what I call style!"

At that point, Mara shut down. She sat rigid on her "throne" through her torment, ignoring the vicious sting of the taunts and cries of "Queen Scarlet" in favor of smiling at her now-screaming daughter. "Miera, Mama is fine. Fine. It is just a game...see?" She made a funny face and laughed, but Miera was not decieved. The little girl knew very well that something was wrong, and kicked and screamed her fear while Mother sat helpless.

Finally Kirgath decided he'd had enough sport, and at his signal Marszenka was hauled to her feet, her blouse torn off her shoulders and skirt now badly askew. The poor woman could barely stand after holding herself on the chair for so long, but her 'escorts' had no trouble at all dragging her over to the coach. Still she kept her smile, trying to ignore her panic as Kirgath moved her daughter up to the front. "Lucky you, you get to ride up front! You will have such fun. Be good for me, now."

Miera vanished from view, and the moment she did, Marszenka's face crumbled. She said nothing as she was thrown brutally into the carriage, and nothing as the guards climbed in alongside, but when one put his arm about her shoulder she fell against him with a weary sigh. "I do not care how you touch me, but in mercy's name, please let me rest. I cannot sit up a moment longer." She gestured feebly to her breast, then bit her lip and closed her eyes. "They are yours if you will only hold me. Let me rest."

[E'doa A'nii]

It was no fun to torture a willing victim, so the soldier simply patted her on the shoulder and let her rest. The ride was a long one, wearying on the riders. It was cruel to the little infant toddler, because she was mercilessly jostled about, strapped insecurely to Kirgath's knee with a bit of rope. He would only reach down occasionally to keep her from falling off the side of the coach when they took a turn, or the bumping became too rough.

The toddler's wailing made an endless racket the whole ride, drowning out the sound of the wheels and stressing the horses. It was an effort for Kirgath not to have the baby killed. It would not do to lose the little Kazimiera, because she would be needed later. Sir Gyle had made that undeniably clear. And so, the long black coach bounced along the incredibly bumpy road towards the palace at Ty'ranath Kum.

The palace was large, and stately: Well built of purest white marble that glistened in the sunset; reflecting the colors to look like a sculpted rainbow. During the day, it appeared as a simple, yet sophisticatedly designed building, of snow white. In times of good kings it was a symbol of peace and security. In times of bad kings it was a symbol of dread. As now, all who approached it approached it with caution and trembling, lest they be slaughtered on sight or punished for reasons they did not understand.

Even Kirgath found himself sucking in his breath as he pulled his dark team to a stop. And he did not draw his breath ion honor of the beauty that shone from the palace; but rather the fear of Sir Gyle who virtually ruled the kingdom. The old king, Eugene, was so senile and decrepit that he might as well have been dead; long since corrupted by evil counselors and half-mad he was known to execute people simply because he disliked them.

The current state of oaffairs was pretty pathetic. There was no law among the E'doa. Only chaos and the whim of Sir Gyle ruled the land with the grip of death slowly draining away the resources of the land and the people; bringing the country to ruin. It was a miracle Sir Gyle himself had not been ordered to the block. But then, Kirgath had no idea concerning how much sway the userper truly held over the senile old king.

He unstrapped the baby, wishing her dead for the millionth time as her tireless lungs gave out yet another long and deafening wail. Page and Squire unloaded Marszenka, just as roughly as they had put her in. The coach teetered as they exited, bouncing on it's axels.

Someone came and led away the foaming horses. Evidently the team had been forced into an all out run for the majority of the journey. They were skittish and uneasy; a handful for even an expert horseman.

Valden went in to announce the arrival of the head Torturer, and make preparations for his guests.

"Now, milady," Kirgath began. His voice was loud enough to cut in over Kazimiera's wailing, and cold enough to incite frost to form. " We shall see why Sir Gyle considers you so valuable."

Marszy was again grasped behind her elbows, and escorted into the dimly lit palace. The userper evidently had a liking for drab decorations, because every tapestry was done in shades of blue, grey and black. Deadly looking weapons hung everywhere, on top of battered coats of arms, and faded banners.

The soldiers' footsteps made cold mocking sounds and the large marble door shut behind the little group. In solemn silence, much like a funeral procession, the trio headed down the long dark corridors and into the throne room. The King must've been in bed because Sir Gyle sat very saucily on his 'master's' throne, feet propped up on a nearby table. Away to the side, stood a court jester and a little old hag. The jester was small, and looked like a Mapiya.

He had soft purple skin and long pointy ears, which gave his triangular face an impish feel. His outfit was a dazzling shade of blue; though which shade it was at the time, was hard to tell because the cloth couldn't make up it's mind. It seemed to shift hue withe very motion. The old hag simply sat and braided yarn into some sort of cloth. She kept a lot of it in a little basket at her feet. What her race had been was hard to say (for she was very disfigured) but she appeared to be Seanachta. Her presence seemed soothing; and strangely welcome, though she was quite repulsive to look at.

Sir Gyle,himself, was a very fat man. His rolls of blubber seemed almost to cascade over the edges of the massive chair. His brown hair and cruel blue eyes did not add to his appearance. Mostly because his hair was rather unkempt, and his eyes looked like they were desperately trying to find a way out of the blubber that comprised his pasty white round face. Sir Gyle's lips were much too large, officially completeing the look of a waterless pufferfish.

The fact that the userper was a heavy breather by nature, only furthered the unprepossesing impression to an almost comical level. He shifted in his seat (causing the massive chair to creak and groan) as Kirgath practically shoved Marszenka into a kneeling bow. The soldier himself gave salute, offering his captive's baby to his liege.

Sir Gyle acknowledged the salute and waved away the baby, jester and hag. He was much more interested in the scantily clad, and quite attractive young lady who knelt ungracefully at his feet.

"You have done well." The pufferfish wheezed. It was amazing he could lift his chest to breathe. The effort showed in his voice, because the gaudily dressed man spoke each word as if it would be his last. "Now then." He puffed at Marszenka, "You will come with me."

The fat man actually managed to get off his throne and waddle his stubby legs down the hall. The effort made him breathe harder, and begin to sweat; each footstep making a laborious pounding sound on the tile.

About three corridors down, he opened a door. The room was bare and empty, save for the white walls and a single iron stool in the middle of it. The stool was chained to the floor, and another chain dangled from the stool. It was a large room, about the size of the inn and poorly ventilated. A single tiny window in the roof was all there was for air. It would most certainly let in rain and wind and all sorts of unpleasant weather. The stool was directly under it; and already storm clouds thundered outside.

When the obese userper had managed to catch his breath (for he was panting quite hard), he continued: "You will remain here, until you have filled this room with jewels. I personally, will visit you, to see that it is done. If the room is not filled by this time tommorrow, your child will be severely punished, and you will have no food for supper. In addition you will be given 20 lashings.

He placed his fat clammy hand under Marszenka's chin and smiled very unpleasantly, "I should like to see them tear the cloth off your back, I think." Yes, a whip would tear that dress to shreds in no time.

And then Sir Gyle was ambling off. Marszenka was dragged into the room and seated wuite firmly upon the bench; the chain affixed to her wrist. The baby was carried off, to... who knows where and the door slammed behind the soldiers. Kirgath's laugh and the mockery of his footsteps were all the sounds to be heard as his feet echoed away through the halls.

[Renna]

The frightened brown eyes grew wider and wider at Gyle's instructions, until Marszenka's rising horror broke. She lunged at him, only to immediately dragged back by the laughing guards holding her arms. An instant later and the flabby hand was under her chin, forcing her face up to meet pitiless eyes and a significant leer. She jerked her head away from the man's touch, then tried once more to attack him--but the men holding her dragged her forward, and her captor turned and oozed his way out the door. It was then that she started to scream. "NO!" The girl thrashed, trying desperately to escape this impossible prison; her cries echoed off the walls and filled the palace. "Please, no--my lord--" She managed to fling her hand around Kirgath's arm and looked at him, pleading. "Whatever you like, let me go--"

Another guard struck her, and she fell back. From there it was a trifle to force the little thing down and chain her to her stool. Marszenka strained uselessly at the iron. "Jesteś szalony! Jak mogłes mi to zrobić?! Mercy, please, PLEASE--!"

The door slammed shut, and Queen Scarlet burst into wrenching sobs. The little harlot huddled forward on her stool, her face buried in her hands, and cried as if her heart would break. This was all her fault. She should have given up Kazimiera years ago; her pride would be the child's downfall--for even though she had enough sorrow for a hundred thousand tears, how could she ever hope to fill up this room? It would never happen. Not in a day. Maybe a hundred days, but she hadn't been given a hundred days. She had twenty-four hours, to fill up an inn with tears. It wouldn't happen. It would never happen...

That thought was enough to make the girl weep harder. Her tears spilled from her hands to bounce along the hard floor of the prison, glistening in the faint light until they lost momentum and rolled to a stop. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, aquamarine and topaz--all perfectly formed, all miraculously faceted, but the Weeper cared nothing for their loveliness. Even as she wept her hands tore at her skirt, lifting it from her thigh so her shaking fingers could tear away a pouch tied to her leg. Marszenka upended the little sack, releasing tears from the past to the growing pile around her feet. Those lovely opalescent ones, like no gem ever found--from seeing Miera's face for the first time, and her first perfect little smile, and the first time she had said 'Mama'. The garnets, shed during the painful and lonely birth. Black onyx, despair and regret....three years of precious tears, and all of it was barely enough to cover her feet up to her ankles.

The heavens opened above her head, and soon the prisoner was drenched with cold rain. Marszenka welcomed it. Anything that would help her shed more of the precious tears was a godsend, for only by pain would her daughter be saved. The desperate mother tore at her shirt and untied the skirt from around her waist, baring herself to the chilling rain. She wept, for a life depended on it, and at first it was easy to do. But precious tears or not, Marszenka was human, and after two hours of violent and terrified sobs her head pounded so that she could not weep. The girl gasped, and shuddered, and tried valiantly to cry some more, but her body betrayed her. She panicked. How much time had passed? It felt like an eternity on one hand, barely a moment on the other--how long had she been crying? How long before the horrible lord came back?

Marszenka sat for a minute in thought, then lifted her arm up to her mouth and bit. The tactic worked. Headache or not the pain of it drew more tears out of her, and for the next hour the terrified girl tore viciously at herself until her mouth filled with blood. But even that didn't work forever, for just an hour later she could not cry any longer. Three hours, and the gems only covered a shallow layer in an area just four feet square. Queen Scarlet stared numbly at her work, then the empty space surrounding her. She went limp. Mara sagged forward, pulling her knees up to her chest and cradling her cheek there in complete and utter despair. What was there to do? She could maybe cry another three hours, much later that night, but the room was so much larger than eight feet. She would get twenty lashes and no supper, and that was fine, because something horrible would then happen to Miera. If she couldn't protect her own child, she deserved much worse than the whip. She deserved to hang.

The young woman bit her lip, resolving that if an opportunity presented itself tomorrow to end her life, she would take it. And if she could hold Miera, only for a moment--

The baby had such a fragile neck...she would snap it. Better her darling died swiftly at her mother's hands then suffered under Kirgath.

Her mind made up, Marszenka huddled under the rain and released a pitiful plea to the darkness. "Please. Help me. Anyone. Help me."

[E'doa A'nii]

"Please...

...Help me.

Anyone.

...Help me."

The little mapiya paused. He and the hag had been on their way to their chambers. (A small room down the hallway in which they were staying.) The pair had been in the palace for a week now, faithfully entertaining the despot. They were not cruel, nor were they what they seemed. And both these facts posed a conflict for the little jester. He wanted to help. His heart broke at the wreched cry comming through the wooden door. But if he helped, it might ruin his chances at helping everyone else.

And a little voice in the back of his head repeated a saying from Sir Eustace; 'Sometimes, for the greater good, sacrifices must be made.' [Actually a quote from The Prince of Egypt.] But telling what the 'greater good' was, was often difficult when the future was so nebulous.

The palace was empty now, forsaken and dark. Everyone was sleeping, and the guard wouldn't make his rounds, this side of the palace for another 30 minutes... That was it then. It would not be too much of a risk to rescue her, provided they worked quickly.

Cautiously, The little jester worked at the lock on the door. If he could just melt it a little bit... Frowning he bit his lip and channeled slightly. The hag simply stood about behind him, wide eyed and statuesqely still. The lock crumpled slightly and the door hung open a bit. Good. He could worry about putting it back later.

Thin purple fingers reached through the doorway and an impish head peeked 'round it. 'Epevetano' immeditaely regretted this action, because he found himself staring at a naked woman. Granted, she was beaten, and quite wet. But undressed all the same. Hastily he pulled back out of the door and slammed it behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the picture from his mind. --and why was she sitting in a pile of jewels?

He motioned for the hag to go into the room. Silently she complied. Immediately she transformed from a repulsive old woman to the young and fairly attractive daughter heir of the Lord High Counselor. But the transformation was unimportant. She was bending over Marszenka, kind hazel eyes speaking comfort that her lips could not; soft white hands, taking her wounds. One by one the self inflicted cuts and scratches appeared on Olivia. And one by one they dissapeared. Simultaneously, she set about soothing the poor wretch's heart. She was very sad indeed, and Olivia found herself crying; moved by the woman's great sorrow and pain. The rain was cold, and Olivia could not help with the chains. But she could get clothing.

Soaked and shivering, she walked outside (jewels skittering about at her feet) and signed to the mapiya for a dress. He concentrated and channeled one, to match her description. It was an effort and he would have to drop his illusion sooner then he had hoped because of it. The dress looked much like the one Marsenka had on originally, only it was more solid and modestly built. Made of light, it would keep her warm, if not dry.

The dress, she handed to the lady. Once it had been put on, Olivia motioned to her brother. In he came, shedding his disguise, and looking quite the figure with his tall, broad build and vivid green eyes. They were soft eyes right now though, and he set about releasing her chain. He motioned for silence as he concentrated on melting the lock. He would have to work quickly, time was short. The rain poured down his back, drenching his shirt, and making his page-boy cut stick to his neck.

He blinked furiously to keep the water out of his eyes, while his sister held her hands over the chain to keep out the water. Rowan's large ox-like hands were suprisingly gentle, though they held the metal fast as he worked.

[Renna]

Marszenka was no longer used to having any prayers be answered 'yes,' so it came as quite a shock when the door swung open. The young woman leaped to her feet, heart pounding, only to have her hopes plummet when the little jester pulled his head back out and let the door slam shut behind him. She sank back onto the stool and put her head in her hands, one final tear slipping down her cheek at this crushing defeat. Of course it wasn't a rescue. The fat man had sent someone here to check on her progress, that was all. The girl wondered if maybe he was bluffing. She'd serviced sailors before, among whom whipping was a common punishment, and ten lashes was hard even for a grown man to bear. Twenty could render him unconscious. More would be deadly. What, then, would twenty lashes mean for a very small girl, who wasn't very strong? Maybe he wouldn't do it. He wanted the wealth from her eyes, which he would never, ever get if she was dead. Maybe he said such things to terrify her into weeping more; maybe he would never really punish her or Miera, as long as she kept weeping.

It wasn't a chance she was very willing to take.

The door opened again, and Marszenka looked up hopelessly. She was naked, so they sent an old woman in to preserve her modesty even as they tormented her? What was the point?

But the woman changed into a girl, and it was all Mara could do not to cry out at the beauty of the sight. A fair young maiden, coming towards her, and--and--

Soft white hands smoothing over the bites and bruises, soft eyes offering comfort and shared sorrow, and soft tears falling into Marszenka's hair with the rain. Immediately the young woman felt badly for making the angel tending her see such a hideous sight, and then felt even worse when her own bites and bruises appeared on the lily-white skin. So she stretched her hand out to seize the girl's, lifting it to her lips and pressing tender little kisses to the Lady's fingers. "Thank you so much." She tried to make her whisper sound brave. "You don't need to do any more; I'll be fine now, milady. Thank you."

The lovely creature turned and left, and Mara couldn't help a soft pang of regret to see her leave. She'd been so beautiful, and it was the first time in two years Marszenka had felt the love of another (adult) human being. Well, it was something. It was enough. She'd been healed and comforted, and she could live through the night with the memory of comfort. It wouldn't do to endanger the pretty thing by crying more. Not at all.

The door opened again, and the angel was back and holding a dress. Marszenka's eyes overflowed as her friend offered it out to her, helping her into it and pulling her hair out of the collar. It was so warm. Mara fell forward the moment she was dressed to throw her arms around the girl, her shivers slowing with the warmth of the light-gown and with the soft reassurance the angel brought. She didn't get a chance to thank Olivia again, for the jester was back and moving forward---then melted into a tall and goodly man, watching her with green eyes. The harlot's mouth opened in wonder, and she stepped shyly aside from Olivia to scoot back from him as far as her chain would allow. Marszenka couldn't shake the feeling that she was in the presence of someone much higher than she, and showed it accordingly by shrinking back. He only surprised her further by taking her wrist and seizing a short section of the chain, staring at it as the metal began to heat. The moment it snapped, the prisoner moved forward to kiss both her rescuers on the cheek. Then she fell to the floor, her hands seizing around the precious happy tears, which she promptly shoved into their grasp. "Thank you. Thank you. This will be so much easier now."

Marszenka's eyes were feverish. She knelt back down and stared pushing the little piles of gems around the stool into a more even layer, struggling to spread them out to fill the whole room. "If I do not fill this room by tomorrow, they will hurt my baby. And twenty lashes for me; but I am so small. I think it will kill me. But oh, little Miera. What will they do to my Miera?" The girl shoved out another little pile and patted it down. "I think I can make a carpet now. Maybe that will be enough."

[E'doa A'nii]

Olivia smiled, soothing Marszenka's hair as the happy woman kissed her on the cheek. She was surprised when she shoved the gems into her hands. Olivia did not feel herself worthy of such a gift.She dropped them promptly when she saw what Marszenka was doing; the girl would need them much more then she. Hastily, the woman bent down and helped Queen Scarlet up. She was just in time to keep her from smoothing out the next pile of gems. Twenty lashes! The monster! Why, the girl would not be able to stand so many. Besides, hadn't he done enough already? The woman had been in quite the state of despair. It was not necessary to punish her further. Olivia felt herself growing angry at the thought. Sir Gyle was a vile beast. He deserved to die. He had caused so very much suffering, not just to Marszenka, but to Rowan and Olivia, herself. Olivia would not be upset should someone decide to take matters into their own hands and murder the userper.

Soon, she was ushering Marszy by her shoulders outside, and down the hall. It would be alright now. Rowan would take care of everything; and get the baby back. What Marszenka needed was food, rest and quiet. It was a small room they arrived in; and an even smaller cot sat by the wall at the far end of it. Onto this, Olivia gently pushed Marszenka. Olivia herself was a small woman, and very thin; not taking up much room in the small space. But together the pair took up quite a lot of room. Rowan would not fit very well, if he were to return.

But that was not important. Olivia shut the door behind them, and motioned for Marszenka to be quiet. She rung out and Marszenka's hair (and then braided it so that it would dry and not tangle), and set about getting the woman something to eat. They had a small satchel under the cot; which held their belongings and contained enough food to last for a few days. Rowan may not ever have enough money for a room at an inn, but he always brought plenty of food.

There was bread and cheese, and a small flask of milk. And these she handed to her guest. She would wait and watch, to see if Marszenka wanted seconds. While she was waiting, she set about wringing her own dress and hair; braiding her hair and braiding the seemingly endless rope of yarn. It seemed a pointless exercise, but the yarn had to be braided, all of it.

It was at moments like these, that Olivia wished she could talk. It was always awkward having questions, and not being able to say them. And Olivia had lots of questions. Like, where Marszenka got the gems from, or what her name was, or how she came to be there (though that would not be a hard thing to guess) or if she wanted to sleep.

Every now and then, Olivia would look up and see if Marszy had finished. The little fingers never quit massive ball which barely fit in the basket. Each color transitioned smoothly into the next, like a free-flowing rainbow; and the basket brimmed with the stuff. Rowan was saving it. Little did she know, it was about to become very useful.

-----------------------

Rowan blushed up to the roots of his hair as the pretty lady kissed him. The sensation gave him an immediate desire to run away; much like a small shy boy has a desire to run from friendly women. But he smiled sheepishly, and nodded his welcome; which quickly turned into suprise as Marszenka loaded his hands with sparkling gems. This embarrased Rowan further. Her reward was much too great for such a small service.

He was about to say something, when she began talking about her baby and the evil Sir Gyle. It was then that he noticed the gems were comming from her eyes where tears should have been. He found that strange (and wonderful, in a way), but that fact was not what concerned him at this moment.

"Don't worry, we'll get your baby." He said reassuringly, as his sister swept up the woman and hustled her outside. He would have to fix the room first, before he could get the baby. So he began to weave again. This time a pair of slippers appeared, and kept right on materializing into the hem of a dress and the form of a woman who looked exactly like Marsenka. The doll sat onthe stool as if it were chained there. Rowan gave the doll the wretched expression he had first seen on the woman and tied off the weave. It hunched over quite nicely, and felt solid to the touch. The light gave a warm feeling as if she were really alive.

Rowan was panting now, for making a doll that large was quite an effort. He was out of light, and there were still gems to be made. He could not draw from the sky, because the moon was out. The rain was comming to a stop now, though Rowan was quite drenched; and the moon was barely visible through the wispy clouds that peered through the vent in the ceiling.

And so it was that he went back to his little room. (It was a careful exit, because he did not want to disturb the gems too much, or scatter them outside the room.)
He knocked on the door, because it was shut; and wrung his clothes out while he waited. --The poor woman. She had been through so much. And she had a child. Well, Sir Gyle would not have the child much longer, Rowan would see to that.

Perhaps once he had finished arranging things in the other room, he could find out more about her. She seemed to have had a rough time of it.-- Olivia opened the door and gave him the yarn he had asked for. It seemed to shimmer for an instant, and then disappear at his touch. Even the ball was much smaller now: About 1/4 it's original size.

Rowan returned to the room with the stool, and began to weave as if his life depended on it; and in truth, it rather did. If he did not have it finished before Sir Gyle paid his visit, he would not be able to resume his disguise. Little balls of light floated about at his feet like confetti. Each acquired a color and solidified, becoming much like the sparkling gems which Marszenka had so painfully shed. They did not click, but felt hard as diamonds. Marszenka had put down enough of her own gems that it would not matter anyway. The mind was a wonderful thing, but gullible;anyone expecting to find gems would find just that and find that they clicked quite readily beneath the feet, as well.

The guard's footsteps sounded in the corridor, and his key turned in the melted lock. Rowan fielded himself; not daring to breathe, though his lungs ached for air. Becoming invisible was a simple matter, though tedious: One simply had to refract the light away. So while it did not cost light to become invisible, it cost strength; Strength that the son of the Lord High Counselor badly needed. Fortunately, it was already dark in the room, and there was not too much light to refract. The created gems, and the woven doll cast a faint light of their own; but anyone who saw it would consider that the moonlight made the gems sparkle. The sparkle of the gems, in turn, would reflecton Marszenka and make her glow a little.

The guard remained looking in for only a few seconds (evidently finding nothing wrong), and then with a cruel chuckle, he closed the door and walked away. Trembling, Rowan exhaled and set about weaving gems. The gems grew at an exponential rate, rapidly climbing the door and touching the ceiling. In a few hours, the doll was all but buried in a wealth of fake gems.

--------------

Exhausted, weak and trembling, Rowan left the room and headed for his own. He was sweating profusely, and panting hard. It had been a long night, with much straining and toil. But it was finished now, and the room loked as full of gems as if Queen Scarlet herself had been weeping in there all night. Silently he slipped in, and took a seat on the floor in the corner farthest Marszenka. Olivia had made sure that she slept on the cot. In the pale morning light, she looked lovely indeed; like a village gilr who is caught sleeping in a field of flowers. Soft and delicate, yet innocent and playful. A much better look then the way he had found her. Olivia herself was sleepingon the floor, her head pillowed in the supply bag. Rowan wouldn't have minded, except that he was hungry. Very hungry. He would have to get a couple hours of sleep before morning; the king would be waiting bright and early. And Rowan did not dare be late. But he was hungry and wanted something to eat first. So it was, that he very gently woke his sister with a kiss.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him, raising her head so he could get at the bag. He seemed tired. Exhausted; but Olivia could only cure wounds, not tiredness. She leaned against him, and fell asleep while he ate. Rowan was finished with his meal in a matter of minutes, and was soon snoring quite contentedly against the wall.

[Renna]

"oh--wait--"

Marszenka was plainly surprised that they didn't accept her gift, but as the silent Lady started to lead her out she had to bend down and scoop up all of the lovely white crystals as she could. Her happiness was something more precious than all the other gems put together, and she would not let Lord Gyle have that on top of everything else. These tears were from Miera, and although the tall man assured her that the baby would be safe, Marszy knew how much danger would be involved in the rescue. At the end of the day tears and memories might be all she had left of her sweet little daughter, so Mara seized them in her fists and clung to them tightly as Olivia led her away.

What happened next made the girl think perhaps she was dreaming. The gentle maid assisting her sat her down and dried her hair, braiding the dark waves with a sweet and tender touch. There was food, too, and milk--Marszenka ate politely, but hungrily. Her ordeal meant she'd gone hours with nothing but the few sips of water the king peasant had offered her. So the meal was gone in a trifle, but the girl looked up to see Olivia watching her and refrained from taking more. The sweet one was so small and thin, and the chamber she shared with her...was he her husband?...No, he'd blushed to be kissed, he couldn't be. Brother then, for they looked alike. The chamber she shared with her brother was meager and bare; they could not likely afford to feed a third mouth. So she did her best to ignore the still-empty feeling in her stomach, and smiled over at the sweet and silent lady watching her. "That was very good. Thank you."

She wanted to do something for the other girl, but hadn't the slightest idea what. Braiding yarn was a one-person job, and her rescuer had already managed to dry and braid her own hair and clothing. So Marszenka settled for simply talking. "My name is Marszenka, and no one has been so kind to me for two whole years. I miss good people, not so? But you and the blushing boy are good people, like my own family. And you have saved my life." Milady left the cot to kneel down at Olivia's feet, resting the dark head sweetly in the mute girl's lap. "Now I give you mine, sweet Lady, however you may need it." She stood and touched her hand lightly to Olivia's hair. "I am very tired now, sweet, and have to sleep. I can see you are curious, but my story is an ugly one and not one I think will be easy to tell. I shall share more when you are both here, for I do not want to tell it twice. And I think you will not want to hear it twice, either. Thank you again."

She moved to lie on the floor, only to be stopped by Olivia's hands and steered quietly over to the cot. Marszenka was too tired to protest, so she sank down and fell into a completely dreamless sleep.

The mountain girl did not wake when Rowan returned; she slept on oblivious to his presence. Marszenka only woke hours later, when the sunlight was warm and mellow on her cheek, and she sat straight up in bed. The way the man and girl were curled up against each other in the corner made her smile, as well as confirmed their brother-sister relationship. Mara watched the two for a minute with love in her eyes, then cautiously swung herself out of the cot to pad over to corner. There was a little washbasin there; chipped, of course, but it had water in it. And some soap on the side. And a little rag. Perfect.

Mara gathered her supplies together, then tiptoed over to the weary man snoring against the wall. He was covered in sweat; what had he been doing? Regardless, this was a way she could help, so she would. If only she could seize onto a little of her mountain-magic, long buried in her shame....

She concentrated, and the water in the bowl warmed to a pleasant temperature. Simple magic, hedge-magic, but seeing herself do it again nearly made her shriek for happiness. Maybe she hadn't lost it completely, then. Maybe she could do more.

Mara knelt before Rowan and wet her cloth, holding it out to his face. There was a moment of hesitation, then the girl touched the rag cautiously to his cheek. She washed his face and arms gently, even daring to smooth the warm water and soap down his throat and collarbone before she blushed and pulled away. But it was enough, for now. He would be less chilled and sleep more peacefully, and she could set about her other work.

There was a tiny fireplace in the opposite corner, although drowning in soot and ragged from disrepair. But there was also a kettle, and for a mountain woman fireplace and kettle were all that were needed to make magic happen. Marszy smiled and touched her finger into the soot, drawing the seal into the ash and trembling with nerves. She hadn't tried this in so long. The magic only came to those worthy of it, and she hadn't been worthy---she still wasn't, but surely this was for a worthy cause? Surely it would forgive her, since she was doing it for two people who obviously deserved it. She waited, tense, for the magic to either come or destroy her--but then the faint singing started in her blood, and the seal in the soot caught fire. It blazed warmly red, and Marszenka clapped her hands for joy. Setting ash on fire! Then perhaps her stone would work too.

The girl skipped over to the food sack, seizing the bread and milk before dancing back to the kettle. A hand dipped into the enchanted fire and smeared inside the rim quickly scoured the dish to a gleaming cleanliness. Immediately after bread and milk were dumped inside, Marszenka removed a very round pebble from the now-empty sack around her thigh, holding it carefully over the kettle and rubbing it gently in her hands as she sang the proper song. Sugar and nutmeg and cinnamon fell from the stone, with tiny rivers of cream, and finally plump and juicy raisins.

At the end of ten minutes a lovely pudding was simmering over the fire, and looking at it Marszenka buried her head against the mantel and cried gems of the purest, most peaceful blue.

[E'doa A'nii]

Rowan did not wake, as Marszenka wiped him down with the cloth. This phenomenon was due to the magic in the cloth, as Rowan was by habit, a light sleeper. Years of raising Olivia by himself, and being hunted relentlessly by evil men, had taught him that often times the one thing between life and death was the ability to sleep lightly. The magic soothed his dreams and eased his bones; making his sleep deep and sweet. When Rowan did wake it was gradual. The sound of Marszenka's singing penetrated his dreams and brought him back to the world of his childhood.

Rena had spent most of her days married to Artur as a depressed and solemn woman. She was often locked up in her room (which was as silent and drab as a tomb), leaving Artur to do most of the parenting. When Rena did come out (which was rare), she was humming and cheerful, with a soft smile, much like Rowan's. Rowan's experience was that good things happened when women sang. And one was singing this morning.

So as Marszenka began her pudding song, Rowan gave a small sigh and muttered something about sleeping ten more minutes. But the pudding smelled tantalizingly good, and he was very hungry, so it was not long before he was really awake.

"My! That smells good!" The words flew out of his mouth before he realized where he was. The white palace walls chided him coldly. But their rebuke could not quite dampen his good mood. He did not regret his words, for the pudding really did smell delightfully delicious and bubbled quite merrily in the little fireplace. And good things did happen, because Rowan could not remember the last time he had slept so well.

But Marszenka's song was over by the time he had uttered those words, and he realized that she was leaning on the mantel, crying. She probably missed her baby very much. Rowan felt bad immediately, because he had not found the baby yet, and here she was having to make her own breakfast because he'd slept so late.

"There, there." He began awkwardly, "D-don't cry." Not the most comforting thing to say to anyone. But Rowan didn't know what to do. He couldn't hold her, like he did Olivia, and there really wasn't anything else to say except: "We'll get your baby back" and scoop up the pretty blue gems and hand them back just as fast as they fell.

So to make her feel better (and also because it seemed a great idea) he peered into the pot (which only increased his excitement about breakfast) and remarked how nice it smelled. Women always liked to be praised in their cooking.

Not knowing, what else to do, he turned to the little slit which served as the room's only window and began to draw light. Not too much at once, because someone on the outside might notice. Small little beads of light wafted around him for a few seconds and then dissapeared. And then a small shaft touched the tiny ball of yarn, and made it grow. The yarn grew to be just as large as it had been the night before.

And, so it was that while leaning on the sill, Rowan discovered that his arms were not sticky. Now, years of experience told him that going to bed sweaty made one sticky in the morning. But he was not in the least bit sticky, or itchy. This was disconcerting to the Son of the Lord High Counselor. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know why he felt clean; only that strange things had been happening since they'd found Marszenka and that he really didn't want to contemplate the hows.

So to take his mind off it, and make his guest feel better he began to speak again. "I have got a plan on how to get your baby; but we'll need to get you outside of here first. Do you have any theatrical skills?" It would be fine if she didn't, Rowan had that already worked out. But if she did it would be better, and allow for more possibilities.

---------------------

Olivia was awakened by the intensity of Marszenka's good feelings. It had been a very long time since she had felt such levels of happiness, even from her own brother. The most Rowan ever got was happy or even rarer: mildly excited. He was never exstatic or even slightly overjoyed. The lovely mountain girl was going through raptures over her newly returned skills of mountain magic and the feelings of happiness and joy washed over Olivia with a deliciously warm tingling sensation. For a moment the girl simply sat and enjoyed the feeling; letting it wash over her like ocean waves or the relaxing ripple of a modern day whirl pool.

But eventually, curiosity got the best of Olivia and she opened her eyes to see Marszenka wiping down her brother's face and arms. The girl suppressed a giggle of impish delight at this discovery. If her brother knew what was happening to him he would have apoplexy. Rowan DeHavilland would turn at least three shades of red if she told him. He would stammer out some sort of thanks and devise a way to avoid his guest for the rest of the day. He would most certainly find somewhere else to sleep for the night. While her brother was most certainly not a ladies man, and not quite a shy youth, he did have a sense of chivalry that he firmly associated with his manhood; a sense which was permanently ingrained by the firm, but kind hand of Artur DeHavilland. This sense of propriety made it very difficult for him to accept demonstrations of womanly care from anyone except Olivia.

She had half a mind to wake him, just to see what he'd do; she didn't, though, because it would spoil the lady's act of kindness, and ruin her brother's peace of mind. So the daughter heir of the Lord High Counselor closed her eyes and smiled softly to herself, hoping to look asleep. When she peaked her eyes open again,

Marszenka was making pudding and singing a gay little song. Olivia's toes itched to dance (for any sort of music was inviting) but she did not because the room was too small, and she did not want to make her guest uncomfortable. So, she simply watched and smiled her soft smile (which also reminded Rowan of his mother's and which Olivia had picked up from Rowan) and let her eyes twinkle the delight she could not express.

Rowan was muttering something about sleeping longer (Something he almost never did, unless he was going to be in an especially good mood), which made Olivia's eyes sparkle more. Marszenka's attitude had done wonders for her brother; who had not felt quite so content and happy for a very long time... Until he woke up anyway. And then he felt the way he always did. Determined and thoughtful; and of course, a little awkward because Marszenka was crying and he didn't know what to do. The mountain girl didn't feel sad. So perhaps they were tears of joy. Though it was odd that her tears were gems instead of water. But that fact did explain why Sir Gyle had gone through so much trouble to chain her up, and take her baby.

At anyrate, Rowan was taking care of her. He was very good at that; though he didn't seem to realize it. He was forever apologizing to Olivia for all the things he couldn't do or get, and never seemed to realize that he was doing better then she could ask. The pudding smelled good, and Olivia found that she was very hungry. Her brother was too because he peaked into the pot with much eagerness and remarked (for the second time in the short span of five minutes) how good it smelled. She was certain that had Rowan a spoon, he would have tasted the pot's contents as well.His eagerness was understandable. It had been a very, very long time since either of them had had anything half so luxurious as pudding. And at breakfast at that!

As the yarn grew, Olivia set about braiding it, and listening to her brother talk. As usual, he was taking care of everything. If all went well today, and they recovered the baby, there would be a better kingdom tommorrow.

[Renna]

Marszenka accepted the blue gems quietly from the man who had blushed to be kissed on the cheek, and put them along with the happy tears and the Stone back into her little sack (which, thankfully, she had left on the mantel and not tied to her thigh). Dutifully she wiped her eyes, then ducked her head down shyly to check on the porridge. "Ah, m'lord, no need to fret. I know you will do what you can to get my Miera back for me, and these tears are not sad, not so? They are rather happy." She chanced a smile at him, catching the last little blue gem in her palm and holding it out for him to see. "Light colors like these mean happiness, sky-blue is peace and release; I think." The mountain-girl's accent was soft, clipping syllables in some instances and lengthening them in others, but she was very plainly foreign. Marszy wrapped some of the strange red fire around her finger and stirred the kettle, eyeing the porridge with a practiced eye. "This magic you see me doing; I have not done it for two years and being able to do it now means a new start for me. It is the most beautiful dawn I have ever seen."

She looked at him with soft eyes, then nodded him over to his corner with sudden briskness. "Right then. Of course this smells good; did not my own mama spend hours teaching me? It is also almost done. ^^ So find bowls and spoons if you have any, and eat up. Especially you, little lady." Marszy wagged a finger at Olivia. "You look half-starved and you are not leaving the table until I see you eat two helpings. March!"

Five minutes later and all three were seated with hands washed on the floor, balancing a bowl on their knees. Marszenka tasted her work with satisfaction, then set the bowl aside to watch the others eat. Now seemed as good a time as any. "To answer your question, sir, I do have some theatrical skills." This next bit would make him nervous; she could already tell. Oh well. "I have been employed as a whore for the last several years, and aside from singing and dancing I managed to make people think I liked the job when I did not, not so? So I can lie, when I have to. " The shy girl looked down at her knees, spilling the rest of the story out in a rush. She just wanted it over with. "My name is Marszenka and I am, I think, eighteen years old. You may call me that, or Marszy or Mara; all are fine. I am from a farming family in Erenor. When I was fifteen the son of our manor lord ra....forced me; he is Kazimiera's father. He is also a mage of some power and placed the curse on me---the tears you see. It truly is a curse."

The girl's face was carefully blank as she continued. "I left because my parents could not afford to feed both of us, especially since I would never marry. I came over the sea to look for work, found none because of my baby, and finally took the only job I could. Whoring. Did that for two years, up until yesterday when Sir Gyle sent his men to take me. I wish I knew how he found out; I have not wept in front of anyone since it happened. Czcibor and I are the only ones who know."

Finally she frowned, then shook her head. "Well, there. My story, and like I told the Lady it is an ugly one."

[E'doa A'nii]

Rowan was relieved to find that they were happy tears and not sad ones. He smiled back, hesitantly at first. But genuinely after a second.It was good that the girl had found peace at last. She had a lovely voice. Different, and clearly foreign, but the accent made music of Common.

Rowan and Olivia exchanged glances and smiled at each other. A new start. Everyone needed a new start. Rowan had had plenty of his own: That lady who'd shown him how to care for babies; his first job; his father Artur (Probably the most impactful new start of his whole life). Life would be unbearable without new starts.

And then she was sending him off to his corner and telling him that breakfast was ready. Rowan couldn't have been more delighted. It was going to be a wonderful day! They'd already had tears of happiness and a new start, and now they were going to have pudding for breakfast. He wished his sister could sing. Maybe wonderful days would happen more often.

"Don't worry 'bout Livy, she's been that skinny since she was born. She just... never seems to gain any weight." The first sentance came out reassuring, but the second was...admittedly a little worried. Olivia was such a small girl, quiet and shy. And always looking after everyone else. Life took a heavy toll on her, and Rowan found himself wondering ocasionally if she was healthy. But healing did not make a difference. So perhaps she was. Rowan had given up on finding out. Olivia's unusual thinness was a fact of life, much as the blue sky, or the ever rising sun.

Rowan ate his meal with relish. Rather, he inhaled it, while Marszenka was talking. It was not that he wasn't a compassionate man. But he was famished, and the pudding was very good. All the same his eyes did not leave hers as he listened. Rowan was not so much nervous --though in truth he wasn't sure he knew how to deal with her after that revelation-- as he was indignant and angry that a lord would such advantage of his subjects as to subject them to such misery.

It was almost a mockery that she cried tears of precious stones. She had wealth beyond her wildest dreams, yet she could not use it to her benefit. She could not express her sorrow for fear of evil; and she could not confide in those she might trust and yet, misery tormented her with the knowledge and possession of what she had and could not have because of it. Add to that a baby on one so young (Having raised his sister from infancy, Rowan knew the hardships of being so young and with child) and the curse became almost unbearably cruel. For now, the mother could not care for the child either.

Rowan set his bowl down and went to help himself to seconds while he thought over the story Marszy had just related. Yes, the story was ugly. But not hopeless. Not yet anyway.Several ideas presented themselves at once, and by the time he sat down, he was speaking again.

"Well...we can't use a dancer because the men around here...lack self control. But we could use a singer. So we shall disguise you as that. We will call you Mariposa. Is that alright?"

Olivia was signing something furiously, and he could see it out of the corner of his eye as he placed his bowl on his knee. He nodded and continued "I"m Rowan DeHavilland and this is my sister, Olivia DeWinters." He hated reffering to her as a step-sister. It sounded stand-offish. Especially since she might as well have been a true-blood sister as they were so close.

"She says we should tell you our story, since you were kind enough to tell us yours. I'm afraid she is both deaf and dumb, so she cannot tell you herself. But she reads lips well, and understands what you say." Just incase the lady was wondering about the sign-language.

"My father was...perhaps... the reason Sir Gyle is where is now." Part of him was hoping that Marszenka wouldn't hold that against him. It wasn't like he could pick his relatives. " My mother was his... betrothed." That came out awkwardly. To be illegitimate was a great shame among the E'doa. And while illegitimate children were treated as any other children for the sake of the life they were given, they were not thought of highly amongst the people; they represented a contempt for life shown by the parents. "But he chose another woman over her. My mother was never the same. I didn't really know her well, because she spent her time locked up, but she married my step-father Artur DeHavilland. He was a priest and taught me what I know. When I was ten, the castle was overthrown by my step-mother's lover, Sir Gyle. Lady Winnifred brought us Olivia, her daughter, in the hopes that we could hide her. Sir Gyle slaughtered our whole family, and would have us as well if we had not found the hay barn when we did. So I raised Olivia by myself, and learned to do odd jobs so that I could support her. We've been running from place to place ever since, trying to hide from Sir Gyle till we can find a way to get our kingdom back. But we came here, to the palace... because he won't expect us here. And I'm hoping to start an insurrection and take the palace by force. My uncle-er King Eugene, has been corrupted by the black-heart as well, and cannot be relied upon for assistance."

Here, Rowan paused for he had said quite a lot (for him), and felt as if he had been bearing his heart to the world. "Anyway, what Olivia...and I.. want to know, is: If we get our kingdom back, would you be willing to take a place among the nobility as the Countess of N'ovorod. You would have only to look after the internal affairs of the kingdom; and you would have Olivia for company. She too is 18, and seems to enjoy your company very much. She would not be a burden to you, for she can manage quite well on her own. Only, that she dreads to be alone for any length of time." It was a lot to ask. But surely Marszenka was responsible enough to be a countess. She was raising a baby wasn't she? And she had been managing with the little skills her parents had taught her. (Even if Rowan didn't necessarily approve of how she had done it. He did realize that a girl of sixteen could only do so much. After all, he'd had his own fair share of mishaps and poor choices as a boy of ten.)

"I know it's a lot to ask, but it would be a new start for you; and it wouldn't matter about your gems then, for Countesses have fortunes to do with as they like. And as for Kazimiera, well, she can stay with you. If the public will have me for a king anyway."

Rowan himself rather liked the idea. Marszenka was a sweet girl, and kindly; amazing considering that she had such reason to be incredibly bitter and spiteful. Surely someone with such resiliance would make an excellent countess. She would certainly make a good friend for Olivia; and the baby's happiness would do more for Olivia then Rowan ever could. And Olivia herself would not mind careing for the pair; she was a very caring girl.

And having Marszenka around would mean he wouldn't have to marry Olivia off to someone she didn't love, or worse: she didn't like. Which meant that she could choose the man she wanted to marry, over any man, simply to keep herself from being alone. Rowan would have kept her by his side all the time, but as king he would be very busy and unable to care for her as he should. A state of affairs would make them both unhappy. Marszenka could have a female companion to confide in, and care for as well; who would look after her baby when she was busy.

Olivia would simply be advisor, which would work out well for her, as she could still be in the palace when she wanted. And the two could live off by themselves in the Countess' castle whenever they didn't want to be around the men. It would work nicely, if his guest was unopposed.

----------------------

Olivia smiled good naturedly and took her seat. She felt fine. But the pudding looked just as good as it smelled, and she would not mind having two servings anyway... if she could eat that much.

But she had to stop eating in the middle of Marszy's story because she was crying so hard she could barely see the bowl. Czibor was an awful man. And as soon as Rowan was king she would mention that he should send an army there to punish him. Maybe they could find a wizard who could lift the curse? Surely a king could find that much.

Marszenka was in good hands now. She would not have to worry about feeding her baby anymore. Olivia wiped her eyes, lest her tears be taken as pity instead of sympathy, and began signing at her brother. Rowan would take care of it. She would see to that. He should tell his story. And he should give her a place in the nobility. And while he was at it, he might want to do something about Czibor.

Olivia was just ignorant and idealistic enough to think that wars could simply be started at whim, and that one could send off armies to crush any evil doers that existed. Little did she know that war is incredibly expensive, and soldiers do not simply spawn on command. Wars cannot be started merely because of one evil man who is taking advantage of his subjects; yet not threatening anyone else. Wars had to be started to prevent an evil from affecting the rest of the world; not just from affecting itself.

But the thought was there all the same. And she looked gratefully at her brother for suggesting it, and imploringly at Marszenka because she wanted her to accept. Olivia had completely forgotten about the pudding in her excitement, and it lay on the floor next to her lap, getting cold.

Her eyes practucally spoke for themselves, saying "Oh please Marszy! It will be such grand fun!" and her little white hands clasped themselves together in front of her chest.

[Renna]

Marszenka nearly choked on her pudding. "A Countess? Me?" She'd followed along the rest of the tale pretty well, accepting her place as the singer 'Mariposa' without the bat of an eyelash; Olivia's deafness as an explanation, and even the pair's destiny as royalty with little true concern. Their story was a sad one to be sure, but she'd sensed something odd about Rowan from the first time she saw his true form. Her heart had known that he was more than he appeared. So while her eyes had grown a little wider and she'd taken pains to scoot a little further away from the rightful King of this strange country, it had not inspired a reaction as strong as the one that came with his expressed wish to make her nobility. The girl quickly set her bowl aside and ducked her head.

"With all due respect, my Lord, no." She wouldn't look at Olivia, looking at her with those huge puppy-dog eyes and pleading little hands. That was cheating, that was. "I will stay with the Lady wherever she may go, whether she wind up Countess or Queen or scullery maid--if she wishes my company, she will have it, for I promised her my life. But I will stay as maid or something." The mountain girl shifted uncomfortably. "Begging your pardon, but to my mind it seems awfully unwise to tell someone you have only known a few hours that you are planning a rebellion and are the future king, all these big secrets; and even unwiser to offer that person such a prominent position in your new kingdom. I could be evil. I'm not, but I could be."

Marszenka tried to explain. "More than that, I am ignorant. How can I run the internal affairs of a kingdom? Maybe I have a good personality for such I thing; I do not know, but I know that I cannot read or write. Not even my own name. I know only this Common language and my own; I do not know how to read a map or how many countries or people there may be in all the world. My knowledge is of mountain and magic and wind. Good knowledge, it is, but not helpful with...with...whatever it is nobles need to know. I would run your kingdom into a wreck." She shook her head. "Thank you, but you must choose someone more qualified, or else waste precious hours teaching me. I am sorry."

[E'doa A'nii]

Rowan wasn't horribly surprised by Marszenka's refusal. It would be a big responsibility, and possibly a burden because she had to look after her own baby as well. But Rowan needed officials he could trust. Hand picking them was the best way to achieve that.

He smiled good naturedly at his guest's comment about propriety. She would have been right, had the circumstances been different. But Rowan was certain that someone who's baby was being held prisoner; someone who had been viciously kidnapped and held hostage in a cold damp room; someone who had pledged his sister her life; and someone who had just been rescued by his sister and himself, was not very likely to repay all that by running off to Sir Gyle and ratting them out.

In addition, Olivia was not a very trusting girl; she could smell a lie a mile away. Her attunement to emotion made her very perceptive, but also easily hurt. She would not trust someone unless she was certain that they were peaceful, gentle people. Olivia needed gentleness in her life, and it showed in the friends she picked.

To top it off, Rowan would have known if Marszenka had poisoned the soup or wandered out in the night. He always trapped the door every night to prevent guards from entering without waking him. The thin beam he left accross the door would pop in his head with the intensity of a firecracker. The tresspasser would remain uninformed of it's presence, and be appropriately dealt with. Poison could not affect Rowan. At least, not the regular poisons commonly used by most hired assasins. But those he could detect all the same; and he would most certainly see ill effects in his sister, if she were to be poisoned.

No. The circumstances made being suspicious illogical, and akin to paranoia. But her warning did show common sense and a sound mind. So Rowan simply nodded at her and smiled approvingly.

The fact that she could not read or write, however was a problem. Not because it prevented Marszenka from being Countess, but because without being able to read she could not learn. At least not from books, anyway. Word of mouth was not always accurate, but books (if chosen carefully) would be entirely truthful. Teaching her would not be a waste. Rowan found that he liked the mountain girl, (As a friend) and would not mind furthering her education to make her more enlightened. Besides, education was never a waste.

-----------------------

At first, Olivia looked dissapointed at Marszenka's refusal. She lowered her eyes, and put her hands in her lap, trying not let the disappointment show. She didn't want a maid. Well, not for the sake of having one. She could take care of herself quite well. If she wanted maids she could hire them by the dozen. What she really wanted was a friend. Rowan was nice and all. He was wonderful in fact. But he was a guy; and guys don't always relate to girls the way they want to be related to. Not because they don't want to, but because they are guys, and somethings only girls can do; Guys don't play dress-up or talk hair, or sit around in the grass just to be with the flowers. (etc.)

Olivia had never really had a female best friend, or mentor for that matter, and she missed that absence greatly. Rowan did his best to make up for that by being around girls as much as possible; but it wasn't the same. (Though her brother was sweet to put himself out of his element like that.) So while she would love Marszy's company, she felt it would be awkward to have her as a maid. But she wouldn't mind a companion. So while she was dissapointed at first, she soon got over it. She could spend many happy hours teaching Marszenka how to read and write; they could dance together and Marszy could teach her about the wind.

So Olivia was soon smiling again in a couple minutes.

----------------------

Rowan was weaving their disguises as he spoke both his sister's response and his own. "Olivia would be delighted to have you. And I would be honored if you would do my sister such a great service as to lend her your company. She misses female companionship greatly, and you would do her a world of good."

Olivia was once again transformed into the ugly old hag; complete with warts, hawk nose, hunch back and whiskers. She was short and fat, with slanty brown eyes, which looke soft and doe-like for all the age behind them.

Rowan turned into the slender, little purple imp; a stark contrast to his large bulky form. The room seemed to expand as he shrunk, though in reality he took up as much space as before. His shimmering blue costume contrated nicely with his purple skin, giving him an air of professional mysticism and delight.

Marszenka herself was transformed into a woman of sixty with silver hair highlighted black. She was taller now, with purple eyes and a face that was comely but not quite handsome. 'Mariposa' had lost much of her figure and looked more like a stick. Her dress, made up for that though as it shimmered like a rainbow with each step she took.

Rowan held the door for his female companions as they passed down the hall and headed out to the throne room. He was already planning what he would say to explain Mariposa's arrival. On their way out they ran accross Sir Gyle, who was comming down the hall way to visit Marszenka in her room and see how she was progressing. Rowan bowed, and Olivia smiled her toothless grin.

'Epevetano' introduced Mariposa and explained that she was a singer and an old friend who had agreed to entertain the king as well. Sir Gyle seemed to accept this story as he smiled unpleasantly and nodded in a slightlt friendly manner. Epevetano held his breath as Sir Gyle opened the door to the room. But he needn't have worried so much because the illusion was' to perfection.' A pile of gems actually cascaded out the doorframe upon the opening of the door. The sparkled and twinkled much more vividly then any real gems, dazzling the eye and mystifying the mind. Sir Gyles chuckled in delight, (a disgusting sound, complete with much wheezings and gaspings) running his fingers through the gems.

"You have done very well my dear." He muttered under his breath, as he went off in search of some guards to collect the 'fortune'."