1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of ... (#6)

Pardys Isles

Wight does not want to step through that door.

She can hear her lord and her boys--her children--on the other side. Even Paris is there, discussing something with his father.

The mysterious bit of scoria cuts into her palm.

Once she enters, she'll have to explain what's happened. Then she'll have to decide, to do. And on her own, without her lord.

Because that's what he'll tell her. He'll probably even be happy that she's been pushed into this, with how he keeps reminding her, every anniversary, that he owns other property, now, and owning her is redundant. There are other measures they could take to protect the children, too.

But what she's heard and seen in her life on the docks... Property is so easily stolen, and Salles has enacted laws that stripped people of their property, before. They've seen it happen to a nobleman, even, whose only crime was that he was the illegitimate brother to King Aldrik.

...That means he's her brother, too, doesn't it? They all share a father.

Wight sags against the wall, letting it brace her. The fine grain scratches a little, adding a further reason to be glad the old 'gods' no longer rule here.

What was the king of Salles doing with a dockside whore?

Was Wight's mother a dockside whore? Her first memories are of the scrabble of life on dockside streets, so she always though as much, but that could as easily be due to a mother who left her there, rather than living there.

And there's the issue that Wight was never truly feral, not like the children she knows were neglected in infancy. So who took care of her? And what happened?

Wight rubs her eyes against the threatening migraine.

The air shifts against her skin, gaining the weight that comes before a rain.

"Little Pearl?" her lord's voice rumbles, the pet name soothing her as it always has, ever since she was little and young enough that the name was affectionate without any sexual undertones. Regardless whatever the magic is doing, however it intends to muck up her life, she is still his.

"I have to go back to Salles."

The words hang in the air, their weight admitting how badly she does not want to go.

Her lord hesitates, then draws her into an embrace. His strength, his scent comfort her.

"Who will you take with you?"

Wight grimaces. "I don't know who I can bring. It's a dangerous area, and magic will make that worse."

He gently taps her hand, uncurls her fingers to see the scoria, then closes her fist. He would have noticed that's arrival, wouldn't he?

She sighs, gives him the brief explanation. "How did Jarvim get it to leave him? Surely there's something."

Barun hesitates again. "Tully stripped his magic, I understand. I'm not clear on why."

Chill washes through her. "He's magic-less, right now?" No wonder he's fiddling with weapons!

"Seems to be," her lord says. "What about what you need to do? Is there anyone else involved that you can take?"

He isn't asking for details, which is normal, but... Wight eyes him. "I wish you could come."

It's futile, she recognizes that, but it doesn't stop the wish.

He sighs. "What about the third? If we find him, maybe you could meet and travel with him."

That does seem to be the safest option.

"Jarvim thinks it's a brother," she says, "but he's unsure where he is. He said he would send a letter."

"That suggests he has some idea."

"I don't want to leave you again." She spent several months in Marsdenfel, just last year, with the two youngest.

Her lord sighs again, and his fingers brush her lace collar.

Wight yanks herself back. "I told Jarvim I'm keeping it!"

Barun's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You may keep it. But while you return to Salles, you may not wear it."

She narrows her eyes at him. "My lord--" But no, he is her lord, and it's his right to rule that. She scowls.

He chuckles and brushes her lips with his. "Come back to me?"

"Always."

Since Tully was who stripped Jarvim's magic, Wight returns to the woman's hallway after taking a respite with her children. (Poor Paris isn't going to cope well with her going, but he's young enough she doesn't dare bring him. If he were a few years older...)

The door is still cracked open, and there's some clinking of dishes. Wight coughs politely.

"Come in," Tully calls.

Wight carefully nudges the door with her toe, then enters the extravagant suite. It's tasteful, if a bit more red and orange than she likes. The sunlight, filtering through the window, takes on a golden hue, nearly glowing.

They are both illegitimate daughters of a king, but right now, draped in silk and eating something that even smells exotic, dusky Tully looks it.

The half-elf's focus is ostensibly on picking up an odd-looking dumpling with two small rods. Wight doesn't buy it.

"Do you know where William is?" Wight blinks, surprised she's actually managed to ask what she wanted to.

"Probably still in Saf." Tully bites into the crisp dumpling with the smile borne of delicious food. "The whole family tends to be reckless like that. His wife should be off the continent, though. Why?"

"What you did to Jarvim, to strip his royal magic. Can you do that to me?"

Tully pauses, gaze abruptly on Wight and not her meal. Her expression isn't anything Wight can read, some relative to blank though not as a façade. Surprise, maybe. Though...Wight isn't certain she wants to know what the other woman's experienced, if her natural reaction is to hide surprise.

Tully turns her overt focus back to the food she's eating and rubs her stomach. Pregnancy is often uncomfortable, and she's far enough in to both show and feel it.

"No," the half-elf answers.

"What?"

She sighs faintly. "I probably could, but I shouldn't. I've risked the child already. Try Brineli--she might not know how, but she has the strength and stability to be able to do it."

Wight considers her. "Then why'd you do it to Jarvim?"

"Desperation and ignorance," Tully replies--and lightly, which renders it disconcerting. "It was part of how I got Sylvair, and I didn't know the risks."

Wight considers asking how the action can affect the unborn, but she doesn't need those details distracting her from her minute uses of her own magic. Her children have been fine.

Tully glances over her and grimaces, nausea twisting her expression. "I don't think it would work right now, anyway."

"Why not?"

The half-elf hesitates, eying Wight. "It's...odd, right now. Feels like a three-strand braid. Maybe after it settles?"

Great. So she was going to have to make this dangerous trip, without her family, and hope she could outwit it after.

"Thank you." Wight headed back out to find Brineli and get the accursed journey over with.