Crossed Stars Don't Always Fall

"We're like Romeo and Juliet."

"What?" repeated Darien as he jerked his head up from his book to find Arana smiling sleepily at him from the other end of his couch where she'd been napping. He then frowned, flicking the heavily dog-eared pages in his fingers, and said, "No, we're not."

She laughed at that and sat up, sliding across the cushions to settle next to him. Her eyes flicked over the old and obviously very well read copy of the play in his hands then she pulled it away to set it down on his coffee table. "Yes," she said firmly, "we are."

Darien wrapped an arm around her waist, wondering exactly what point she was trying to make. "I'm not particularly fond of death, Rana. I would make a terrible Romeo."

She tossed her head back at that and let out a silvery laugh. Then she moved, settling herself in his lap and kissed him as she murmured, "I don't mean that bit, O'Connell. Honestly, taking that part of the relationship to mark our own would be something a love-struck teenager would do."

Arana grounded her hips downward into his then, making him groan and grasp at her thighs. "And I'm not a teenager, now am I?" she purred huskily.

"I could swear you're randy like one," growled Darien back a few moments later when he was able to think clearly again.

"You would know, Mister Stuck-At-Nineteen-Forever."

"Not my fault."

She snorted then smiled as she said, "I'd make a terrible Juliet myself so we're even. I mean, seriously, me doing things like she does?"

Darien laughed at that and nodded. "Agreed, Miss Folwns. I could never imagine you as a love-struck teenager." He then leaned forward to peck her lips in a quick kiss as his hands began to slide upwards underneath her shirt. "Obviously you're a sex fiend."

"That's your fault."

He grunted then began tracing an idle circle over her hip bone with his right hand. "So what did you mean? I've read that play several times and I'm not following how we're like Romeo and Juliet."

Arana rolled her eyes, giving him that look she had when he was being particularly stupid. Sighing, she wound her arms around his neck and leaned forward, her breasts pressing into his chest as she kissed him. "The star-crossed bit, idiot," she grumbled with a shake of her head. "Honestly, you own copies of Shakespeare older than the both of us combined and you couldn't get that? You really do have a teenage mind."

"I resent that," grumbled Darien. He then frowned and asked, "So if we're star-crossed, does that mean this is going to end badly?"

"Not every one of them does."

"No, just most."

She hummed at that and slid both hands underneath his shirt to rake her fingernails lightly across his chest. As he growled and tugged her closer, she firmly stated, "And who said we had to follow their example?"

"You started this star-crossed thing, Rana," Darien breathed as he leaned forward to kiss her.

When they came up for breath, Arana answered him with, "I was just going off the fact that I'm three centuries younger than you, Dari. Surely that counts."

"Given the time gap and that this isn't just some fling of a relationship, yeah, I'd agreed. Let's just remember to skip the dying part."

"Duly noted," she purred as she leaned in close again and he forgot all about crossed stars, plays, or dying in favor of the woman in his arms.

From the Journal of Kerim Tarellen: Age Fourteen

My grandfather hates me. And he isn't subtle about it the way Arick's father is with him.

I guess there's a difference in that Arick is the unwanted sixth child - just another mouth to feed. Me, on the other hand, I've got two strikes against me according to Vald.

One: I'm half elf and he hates elves.

Two: My birth killed my mother, his only child.

Of course Vald Tarellen follows what's apparently old family code: "blood is blood no matter what." That's the only reason he didn't shuck me into an orphanage before my mother's body had gone cold. I've heard how much he wanted to more times than I can count and every time he tells me I should be glad he kept to the family code. How can I be glad when my only blood kin loathes me and only puts a roof over my head and food in my belly because some Tarellen years ago said so?

To the planes with Vald though. Not like he'll have to worry about me much longer anyway and I'm sure seeing the back of me will make him happier than he's ever been. He'll probably congratulate himself on getting rid of me.

Soon as we have enough coin saved up, Arick and me are gone from Mathan. We're going to get out of this nothing port and make our own fortune, take control of our own lives, and anyone that tries to stop us can go to the planes. I'm not going to end up like my grandfather in the back of beyond with a piss poor job.

I'm going to make something of my life.

Even Rocks Have a Sense of Humor

"And for another thing, Da'vil, I don't sleep with every man that I catch the eye of!" snapped the red-haired sorceress before she stormed away from the trestle table, deliberately upsetting the lunch he'd been thoroughly enjoying. Da'vil Graymare just blinked after her, a little confused by her outburst, but covered it by looking mournfully down at where his plate now rested on the floor by his boots.

He honestly hadn't meant to set her off but sometimes his mouth ran away from him. Plus he tended to forget that little Koija at-Isant was still nursing a crush on him after three years of traveling together and him...well, being him. It wasn't like he invited women into his tent or room. He just gave them the boyish smile he gave everyone else upon meeting and was too much of a gentleman to turn them away later on.

Next to him the third member of their little group shifted with a sound like a small avalanche and Da'vil turned to arch an eyebrow at the golem. "Problem, Crag?" he asked as the living rock formation had an oddly...uncomfortable...look on his face. Which was impressive given that his features weren't meant to shift into alternate expressions.

"She make me have a rock formation in my pants," said the golem slowly in the perfectly even tone he tended to speak in.

Da'vil's mouth dropped open slightly in shock as his brain fought to process the words as well as the mental image. He was fairly certain that the former man couldn't get that kind of reaction anymore but in the year they'd spent together, he hadn't shown much of a sense of humor either. An unfortunate side effect of the process that had turned him into a golem against his will.

So the mercenary turned...whatever he was now that he was helping people just said, "You don't have pants."

Crag turned his head with the sound of rock scraping harshly against rock, fixing the man with his gemstone gaze. "Irrelevant," he answered matter-of-factly before his attention went back to whatever he had been focusing on. Da'vil opened his mouth to say something but found he couldn't find the words so he just shook his head and bent over to pick up the remains of his lunch with a slight smile.

He's lost his meal because of Koija but it was worth it to hear the normally emotionless golem attempt a joke.

At least he hoped it had been a joke.

Together Into the Unknown

Sequel to I Will Not Bow

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

Alendan's fingers slipped from his handhold on the rocks above his head, causing him to let out an exclamation of surprise and pain as one of his fingernails tore away and he slid downward. When he caught himself again, he hugged to the rocks for a moment, just breathing then looked to his right at a scrabbling noise.

Sharin pulled herself up next to him, the claws on her paw-like hands far more versatile than his own at clinging to the rocks. Her blue eyes blinked at him before she asked, “Are you all right?”

“Slipped,” he grunted, aware that he was still shaking. Alendan closed his eyes as he added, “Just...just give me a minute.”

The Beastling made a noise in her throat that was a mix of growl and cough before saying, “You have already stated that we cannot waste time, charas. They will be aware of us having left the city by now, yes?”

Alendan nodded against the rocks then slowly pushed himself away from them, trying to control his shaking since he knew she was right. “Some of my people will be laying false trails for them to follow over our own,” he explained. “So while the King may be aware that we've left Karnath, his guards won't be sure which trail to follow.”

She frowned at that, ears flicked back, then purred and flicked her tail slightly. “I see,” she rumbled softly, “that is why you wished to make imprints of my paws, yes? So they could make trails.”

“Right. And you're right as well that we should keep moving.” He frowned as he reached up for a handhold and tested it twice before he began to pull himself up along the rock face again. “Eventually the King will bring in trackers and I want to be past the eastern border before then.”

A hiss answered him along with a softly growled, “The War Lands. The Quisla and Draim will not be pleased to see me again let alone you, charas.”

Alendan would have shrugged if he had been able to. Instead he tilted his head slightly to the side before saying, “Well, they'll just have to deal with it, won't they? I'm not letting you go home alone after what you told me about how your traveling party was killed.”

“What makes you think you can do better than those I had with me?”

“Because I'm a sneaky southron.” He turned his head to grin down at her as best he could and found Sharin looking up at him with an unamused twist to her muzzle, her whiskers twitching up and down with irritation. “Plus,” added Alendan, “I'm not afraid to knife someone in the back if it means my survival. From what I know of your kind, Sharin, you're too honorable for that.”

His answer to that was an immediate growl.

“There is no honor in such fighting,” she hissed after a moment. “No glory. My kin cannot see the sense in such action.”

Alendan tried to think of a way to explain it and settled for saying, “Trust me when I say I don't go around stabbing anyone in the back. I only do it if I have to, Sharin.”

“Mmm, when your tail is under your foe's paw.”

He frowned at the Beastling proverb for a moment, pausing to test his handhold on the rocks, then nodded. “Exactly what I meant...if I've got the translation right.”

Sharin rumbled out an amused growl before she said, “Well enough as your weak ears hear it, charas.”

That brought a laugh out of Alendan then they both fell silent as the wind picked up, too busy hugging to the rocks to keep from being blown off as they kept moving. There was no noise but for the scrabbling of flesh and claw against stone until they reached the top. Alendan dragged himself up, crawling on his belly, and lay there as he heard her coming up behind him. She let out a snort as she crested the edge and then settled down next to him, her tail flicking across his back.

“So,” began Sharin, “why do you so want to come with me, Alendan?”

Frowning, he pushed himself onto his elbows and asked, “What do you mean?”

“You have risked the wrath of your king to escort me. Surely after this you will not be allowed back within this kingdom?”

Alendan shrugged at that – he had thought long and hard on what would happen since the day he had rescued her from her death. “Probably. I think it was time to pick up and move though, anyway. Some people were starting to get suspicious of my work and I was itching to get away myself. So...perhaps it's for the best.”

He tilted his head back to grin at her wryly before he added, “I've got traveling in my blood as my mum used to always say. Too much northern influence from my grandfather...he and my father could never stay for long at home on the coast.”

Sharin frowned for a moment then said, “So we are both to be without our blood kin.”

Alendan looked at her sharply and she explained, “I and my guardians were fleeing when we were captured upon your King's lands. There had been an usurpation amongst the Pride-Lords and it was seen best that I leave to preserve the bloodline.”

“Oh.” He frowned at that and slowly sat up, folding his long legs together before he leaned his elbows on his knees. Out of the corner of one eye he could see her watching him and finally asked, “Is there any reason for you to go home then?”

“Not without support. It is likeliest that my kin are all dead.” Sharin flicked her ears back and bowed her head as she continued, “I apologize for not speaking of it sooner.”

“It's fine,” waved off Alendan. He gnawed on his lower lip then said, “We should keep for east for now but head north before we reach the border. I've got a few contacts and kin up there that we can rely on for some shelter along the way. Once we cross over into North we'll be safe; they're plenty fine with Beastlings and other non-humans up there. Even heard a few tales from a Northman of his cousin marrying a canine Beastling.”

“I have heard of such unions,” rumbled Sharin, her whiskers twitching again. Her ears flicked back and forth several times before they settled again as she said, “It is...unseemly...for my kind to do such.”

“Looked down upon, you mean.” Alendan smiled slightly. “You don't think much of humans, do you?”

The Beastling shrugged at that, the tip of her tail tapping against the rock.

“Your kind are barbarians to us.” She paused to smile, showing only the slightest bit of her bright fangs, before finishing, “At least those of you we have not met are.”

He grinned at that and asked, “Am I to take that to mean that I'm not a barbarian?”

Sharin purred in response, her eyes lidded in amusement, answering, “Perhaps.”

Alendan chuckled then got to his feet, resettling his pack against his shoulders, before he reached out a hand down to her. “Well then,” he said, “shall we continue on, my Lady? Together?”

With a smile, Sharin slid a paw-hand into his and let him pull her to her feet as she purred, “We shall, charas.”

Wish I Had An Angel

Sequel to I'm No Angel

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

“I wish I had an angel,” said Kara mournfully, breaking the silence that had enveloped the rooftop.

Next to her Carus let out a snort. Then he hissed, “Angels don't exist. You should know that by now. The gods the priests are always raving about don't actually exist and there are no miracles.”

Her eyes flicked towards his back and he added in an irritated tone, “I'm not an angel.”

Kara, no longer the skinny girl of thirteen he'd dragged out of a burning building years before, frowned and brushed her auburn hair out of her eyes. She sucked in a breath noisily then let it out in an annoyed huff of air. Carus' eyes darted towards her then, watching the sudden rise and fall of her ample chest with all the pleasure of a male. He didn't make any sort of attempt to hide that he was watching either and her scowl told him that she knew it.

Yet for some reason she continued to hunt him down when he was on the streets. Now that he could not understand but his 'brother' Cal had always told him to never try and understand women.

“Then why do you have wings?” demanded Kara snappishly.

Carus shrugged in response, his gaze already moving away from her to regard the streets below their perch atop the Fighter's Guild.

“Cosmic joke,” he answered airily.

She glared and he added, “How should I know?”

“You should!”

“Why?” asked Carus, not even bothering to look at her.

Kara's frowned deepened as she replied, “Because they're attached to you and you should be at least a little curious as to just why they are?”

“Couldn't care less about the why,” he drawled lazily in response to that. “I know that they're there and I know how to use them. What more than that do I need to know?”

She stared at him for a long moment then huffed angrily, crossing her arms as she pouted her lips. The position of her arms did interesting things to her breasts and he turned to leer until she snapped, “Stop it!”

“Why?” asked Carus, arching an eyebrow. He mostly did what he did to annoy her so much she would leave him alone. “You're a good looking woman with all of the bits in just the right places. And I'm a man...shouldn't I have the right to leer?”

“No,” she spat in response, glaring fiercely. She wrapped her arms around herself, covering the view, and sniffed, “It's embarrassing. And besides, only a man should only leer at his wife.”

He just snorted at that. “There are girls down there who would kill to have a man take notice of them like that. Even if they aren't their husband.”

“Well, I'm not one of them, okay, and I don't want you doing it, Carus. So stop it. Please.”

There was a shrill, terrified sound to her voice and the spattered remnants of his conscience – the very thing that had made him save her in the first place – caused him to nod. “Fine,” Carus grumbled. “Ruin all of my fun why don't you?”

She sniffed again and he scowled at her, annoyed to find a few tears on her cheeks. If he had been anyone else, he might have moved over and wrapped a comforting arm around her. But he was himself and he wasn't a damn nice guy. Hell, he wasn't even remotely close to being one of those.

Unless that stupid, no-account conscience of his got in the way and made him save people.

Sighing, Carus growled, “Oh, dry your tears, lil'bit. We've still got a job to do, y'know, unless you're backing out on me.”

Kara sniffed again then dragged a corner of her sleeve across her nose, wiping the tears from her eyes a moment later. Then she smiled at him because of the nickname – which he insisted was short for 'little bitch' but even if it was, she knew he honestly liked having her around – and murmured, “Okay.”

“Good. There's our target now.”

“Where?” she asked, peering over the crowd. He felt a little bit of pride in his chest as she switched almost instantly to business.

Heh, she might just turn into a decent thief if she kept this up.

“Heading towards the Witch Hall,” he answered. “You see him? Scarlet cloak.”

After a moment Kara nodded and asked, “You want me to play the helpless maiden again?”

Carus turned his head towards her and leered pointedly.

Her expression hardened and he tried to ignore the pain in her eyes as she growled, “The prostitute then.”

“Noble blood like that's got his vices, lil'bit. And the street women are usually the biggest his kind have.”

Kara looked at him for a long moment then nodded before getting to her feet, carefully starting the climb down the vine covered side of the Fighter's Guild. He watched her from above, smirking  once she reached the floor of the alleyway and began to adjust her appearance. All it took really was the plastering of a knowing little smirk on her face, a come-hither shift in her walk, and loosing the ties on her shirt to show off the curves of her breasts. And then she as off and moving and Carus felt his chest tighten a little.

“She's just another woman,” he growled to himself. “Don't get too attached.”

He knew already though that he was too attached.

Squashing the unease of that moment, he rose and opened his wings to give him the needed lift to leap across the alleyway to the next building. Carus continued bounding across roofs and raced across the wide main street of the town over a rope until he caught up with Kara and their mark. From the roof of the library situated next to the Witch Hall, he could see down into the alley she had led him into.

Their plan was the usual: she would convince the noble with a few coy looks and batting of her eyelashes and he would follow when she got the fool to follow her back 'home'. That was when he would strike, slipping his fingers easily into the noble's pockets with a little of a distracting tug, and she would disappear when the noble turned to look.

That was the usual plan anyway.

When he heard Kara's voice exclaim, “No!” and heard the thump of a body hitting a wall, Carus knew something had gone wrong. Looking down into the alley, his sharp eyes speared through the shadows below to see her being held roughly against the wall. And the noble was fumbling roughly at his waist, already breathing hard in a way he knew all too well.

The fool was that sort.

That knowledge crept like fire through Carus' mind and then Kara tried to scream, her cry muffled by one large hand and a snarl. But the terror in even that half-silence cry reached his ears and called out to something deep within him that demanded he respond.

Before he knew it then, he was spreading his wings and fell into the alley. Wings spread as wide as he could to capture as much air, feathers angled to direct his fall, Carus pulled his legs up and a snarl twisted his features unknowingly. He came down hard on the noble's shoulders, bare feet and toes digging in to his fine clothes, and as his arm came in contact with the surface of a wall, he shoved the man away. The noble hit the other side of the alley with an undignified thump then immediately tried to stumble back upright, fumbling over his open trousers.

Carus didn't allow him that movement.

He hit the ground next to Kara then spun instantly, meeting the noble as he came up. One leg swung around in a swift, brutal kick to the side of the knee that crunched bone and cartilage. The noble collapsed, screaming in pain, and he swept downward with an open-palmed strike towards the man's face. Cartilage snapped under the force of his blow and the screaming instantly took on a watery sound as blood spattered them both. Another kick to the side of his head made the noble lose consciousness and Carus bent over him, rummaging through his clothes with the swift efficiency of his occupation.

When he came up with a heavy pouch of coin and the expensive ruby medallion he took from the noble's neck, Carus turned at a shout from the street and grabbed Kara's arm. Dragging her with him down the alleyway, he ducked into an alcove as the first guard stepped in, pressing his back against the wall and spreading his wings around them. The darkness of the alcove and the black of his feathers would hide them well enough if the guards chose to search the alley.

Kara shuddered in his arms where she had collapsed against his chest and he had to admit he was impressed that she managed to keep quiet.

When the guard began to yell out for healers, he folded his wings and stuffed coin and medallion into a pouch on his belt. Then he grabbed Kara's face, forcing her to look up at him, and hissed, “Cry, girl.”

She stared at him, tears filling her eyes, and he knew that the first sob was right behind her lips. But, to his surprise, she gathered some inner strength and shook her head, refusing. Carus frowned then nodded, drawing her shaking body back against his chest with one hand cupping the back of her neck.

Even he wasn't heartless enough to push away a girl who'd nearly been raped.

“...I have...”

“What?” he asked, not having heard the rest of her sudden mumbling.

Kara looked up at that, a smile decorating her tear-streaked face. “I do have an angel,” she whispered. “Even if you're not a very good one.”

Carus blinked then snorted, pushing her away from him then since she seemed fine now. “Whatever you say, lil'bit.”

“Thank you, Carus.”

Some part of him preened at the thanks but he just growled and stalked away, knowing she would follow him. And another part knew that what had just happened had suddenly changed everything because in that moment he had leapt to her rescue, the thought of someone hurting his woman and that they needed to pay in blood for that transgression had flickered through his mind.

I'm No Angel

“So, you're...”

“Not an angel,” grumbled Carus, knowing from experience where she was going. Having wings doesn't make you an angel, he added silently to himself.

“But...”

“No.”

The girl, barely over thirteen years if he judged correctly and all long skinny limbs, pouted at his harsh tone and crossed her arms over her flat chest. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes then sighed, wondering just what the in all the hells he was doing. All he had meant to do was sneak into the building, take what he could sell, and then get back out without anyone being the wiser until morning.

That had been the plan, at least, until he had caught two others in the building- and obvious amateur thieves due to the fact that the had been using torches. Albeit he had an advantage over his fellows since he could see in low light but still.

Using a torch in a building built of wood was not only stupid but was just asking to be spotted by the guards.

In the end the idiot pair had apparently thought he had been a guard and that was why they had bolted, dropping their torch and setting fire to the entire building in the process. He had turned in the opposite direction, heading for the roof of the building with what little loot he had gotten, and that had been when he had found her. What shreds of his conscience were left had insisted on saving the sleeping girl he had managed to stumble over in his hurry because burning to death in a fire was one fate he didn't wish upon anyone.

Carus leaping from one of the windows with her in his arms and being forced to reveal his most hidden feature to reach the nearest roof had led them to their current conversation.

“So what are you then?” she asked in a snippy tone, breaking through his thoughts.

With a shrug, he answered, “I don't know and I don't really care either.”

“But,” the girl started again and Carus raised a hand, eyes narrowed angrily. He had been cheated of his expected loot for the night by those two idiots and he was displeased at himself. There were supposed to be no attachments in what he did, not when he or another of the real thieves he ran with could be picked up by guards at any time. That was what Ventin had taught him since he had come into the man's hands at seven years and he had lived by that code ever since.

“Look, kid,” he growled out, even though he wasn't her elder by much, “just get out of here and go home. You know what home is, right?”

“I'm not stupid!” she snapped in response, eyes flashing with a sudden fierce spirit. Then she pointed at the building that was starting to creak and groan as the flames consumed it and hissed, “And you just burnt my home down.”

Carus opened his mouth to protest that he wasn't that stupid but shrugged it off. Why in the hells did he care what she thought of him? Instead he asked, “You lived about a butcher's shop?”

The girl wrinkled her nose at his tone and corrected, “No, I lived above the butcher's shop. And where do you live that's so special?”

He smiled grimly at that and replied jokingly, “If I told you, I'd have to kill you,” though there was no indication in his tone that he was joking. After all, he had made it a habit to never give away exactly what he was feeling because it would give an advantage to one of his fellow thieves.

And if there was one thing Carus hated, it was someone to have one up on him.

She sniffed at that, a sound as equally imperious as any woman of noble birth could match. “That's so cliché. You sound like some villain from a kid's book.”

“Don't care,” said Carus, not even bothering to point out that she was a kid. He rose from where he had been crouched on the rooftop as the building finally gave in to the forces wanting to pull it down, straightening the half-cloak that hung around his shoulders. As he noticed her gaze on him again, he deliberately dropped his hand to the hilt of one of the daggers at his belt and gave her his best glower. “Find somewhere else to stay.”

Bending over, he picked up the bag that held what little loot he'd been able to get and stalked to the edge of the roof. But he paused, almost involuntarily, when she called out, “So I guess that means you're not my guardian angel?”

There was a bitter, disappointed tone in her young voice that Carus recognized all too well but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had spent every waking moment he could remember disappointed and bitter so it didn't surprise him that anyone else felt the same. So, stepping onto the edge of the roof, he looked over his shoulder at her and gave her a bitter smile.

“Sorry, kid,” said Carus as muscles along his back shifted, spreading his dark-feathered wings wide. “But, like I said, I'm no angel.”

With that he launched himself off of the roof without a thought to how she'd get down, pushing her aside for thoughts of the drab room he called home and figuring out how much gold his little bit of loot would earn him.

I Will Not Bow

"I will not bow to the likes of you, shukar!"

Alendan lifted his head at the shout from eavesdropping on the whispers of the two merchants behind him who were discussing some sort of backroom deal. He had been planning on listening to all of their plans since they were plotting a trade of a good sum of the realm's coin for a case full of bottles of a powerful healing potion - illegal to sell in the realm what with the laws against the magic that enhanced it. Stealing both separately from each of them would have ended with a comfortable amount of coin in his pockets and enough potion to help those suffering in squalor in the tunnels under the city.

That shout distracted him though, drawing his attention away with its all too foreign flavoring that they got so little of in the realm with the King's hatred of foreigners. Anywhere else in the realm he might not have noticed it but he was in the King's very own audience hall. In the middle of the capital city of Karnath within the forbidding bulk of the Black Keep whose walls bristled with too many severed heads of the realm's 'enemies,' such a voice was all too easy to hear.

Pushing his way slowly through the mass of people between him and the open area before the King's throne, Alendan's eyes widened at the spectacle once he slipped into an empty space on the edge. There were three figures upon the stones before the throne, two standing and one kneeling. The two standing were tall, broad in the shoulders and chest, and heavy in bearing like their King with the brutish features and red hair that seemed to dominate the people of the central provinces. They were even a good arm-length taller than himself and he was from as far south as one could go in the realm, from the coast where the people grew tall with limbs that seemed too long for their bodies, sun-dark skin, pale hair, and sharp features.

It was not really them that caught his attention though. Their absurd heights had merely distracted him from the real subject of his focus.

Kneeling on the stones before the hulking pair with a heavy iron collar clamped around her throat linked to two thick chains that they each held one of, was a Beastling. She was of the feline type of their race that occupied the lands farthest from the eastern borders of the realm beyond the canine and reptile sort that fought for control over the area between the two regions. And, so far as he knew of her race, she was a superb example of her people, who had been described as incredibly noble and intelligent but fierce by his grandfather from a once-upon-a-time meeting with a group of them.

Despite the collar weighing upon her throat and the sorry state of clothes that had obviously once been regally made, she held herself with the bearing of a queen. Back straight, shoulders back, chin high, she stared at the King with jewel blue eyes that gleamed with fierce intelligence and disgust out of her distinctly feline but still slightly humanoid features. Her mouth, though encased in a considerably feline muzzle, was twisted into a recognizable sneer that showed off a hint of impressive fangs with whiskers twitching beneath a dark nose in irritation.

"You will bow," growled the King as he leaned forward, "or you will die like the house pet you so resemble."

Pointed ears laid back against a mane of russet colored hair streaked with ebony stripes matching the fur that covered her skin at those words and Alendan's thief-trained eyes could see the slight change in her posture. She went from indignant queen to insulted warrior in an instant with the slightest squaring of her shoulders and the quick snap-flick of her tail against the stones of the floor. There was a tremor along her lip - the subtle beginning of a snarl - but it swiftly disappeared an instant later, the motion stillborn.

"I am the daughter of the Pride-Lords of Azdulath," she declared in a strong voice that rang with the power of command, "and I bow to no man. You and your ilk cannot break me, not even with the threat of death."

There was a gasp from the crowd and Alendan's eyes flew to the King, who looked like he was about to go into an apoplectic rage from how close the coloration of his face was to matching his hair. He lunged forward then, looking almost about to leap from his throne, and spittle flew from his lips as he snarled, "You can have the death you seem to so desire then! Guards! Take this...foreign filth...from my presence and kill her as you see fit. And place her head on the eastern wall when you are finished."

Now a snarl did curl her ebony-streaked lips and his stomach cramped, twisting itself into knots at the thought of her death. His grandfather's words rang through his skull as the two brutes moved to haul her to her feet and then, before he was quite aware of what he was doing, Alendan was striding forward.

"My Lord!"

The attention of the entire audience hall was on him in seconds but it did not make him falter; he could not afford such a thing, not with the double-life he led here in Karnath. Ignoring them, he moved to stand merely an arms-length from the female Beastling, who was watching him with an interested gaze, and bowed deeply. He glanced up to see the King twitch his hand in a 'move along' gesture and straightened, smoothing down the front of his tunic before he spoke again.

"My Lord, I beg you to revoke your ruling and place this Beastling into my hands. I assure you that I can have her bowing at your feet in a mere seven-day and her foreign sentiments trained from her mind in three times that."

Alendan watched the King's eyebrow twitch in obvious irritation before he growled out, "And why should I revoke my ruling to allow this beast to broken, Sir..."

"Alaric Vraistrin, my Lord," he answered with another bow, supplying the name he went by in his guise of merchant and some-time slave trader. "Any man who has bought a slave of mine will attest that they are the most loyal and obedient of any others on the market." Which was true but that was because they were willing students from beneath the city whom he taught how to act and hide their true selves before they became his eyes and ears amongst the rich upper caste. "And imagine, My Lord, how it would look to have a Beastling such as she at your beck-and-call, eating from the palm of your very hand before the Lords of the West and the Northern King?"

In that instant there was a flicker of change about his face and Alendan knew that he had the King with that idea. Glancing out of the corner of his eye at the Beastling, he found her still watching him, her blue eyes narrowed and suspicious. Her ears, however, were no longer laid flat against her mane and her tail was still so he took her attention as a good sign.

The King lifted a hand and his gaze snapped away from her to the man on the throne. "Very well," rumbled the ruler of the realm. "But I expect to see these..results...of yours in a seven-day, Sir Vraistrin. Elsewise your head will be under the axe next to hers."

"Of course, my Lord," intoned Alendan with a sweeping bow. He then turned and took a step closer to the Beastling, inclining his head slightly to her and tilting it to the side to expose his throat. Anyone watching would simply think he was studying her but he knew by the widening of her eyes that she recognized her people's gesture of respect. The two brutes glared at him but he was not cowed and extended a hand calmly for both of the chains they held.

As they reluctantly turned them over, she tensed but stilled when he reached down and held out his hand. Jewel blue eyes studied it for a moment then she whispered, "You know my people," her eyes watching his face as she waited for his answer.

"My grandfather met them briefly," he answered just as quietly. Alendan then added, "Save your breath, my Lady, we are not out of the woods yet." She nodded at that, looking a little surprised at what he called her, then lifted her arm to grip his hand with her own paw-like one. With a smile, he gracefully drew her up from the floor, turned his head to nod deeply to the now scowling King, and then beat a hasty retreat from the audience hall with the Beastling's paw-hand clutched in his left hand and the end of the chains to her collar in his right.

Once they were out of the hall and in the side streets that he steered them into, she sniffed and said with a sneering curl of her striped lip, "I will not bow to you either. And you are a fool if you think you can break me."

Alendan chuckled at that and smiled. "I know better, my Lady. Our King here is hateful of all things foreign so he knows nothing of your kind and thinks that he can break you with mere words like he can do much of the realm."

"He is a fool," she intoned with a regal sniff that made her whiskers twitch wildly. As he nodded in agreement, she flicked an ear back twice then asked, "So what do you intend to do with me if not what your shukar King wishes?"

"The same thing I have always done with the wishes of fools," answered Alendan with a feral sort of smile. "Twist them around and utterly destroy them. With your help, of course."

The Beastling stared at him for a moment, her nose twitching, then she made a rich, deep rumbling noise in her throat that he took to be the equivalent of a chuckle. Her thick, furred fingers tightened against his, pads rasping against his skin, and she purred, "If it will destroy your fool King, then I will agree to it. You may call me Sharin; it is the least of my names I will trust you with."

"I'm Alendan," he said, tilting his head in the same gesture from earlier, exposing his throat partially. "And I hope in time you can come to trust me with more than that, Sharin. Believe me, I only want to help you get out of this twisted realm."

Sharin's lips quirked into a smile at that. "We shall see what truth you speak, Alendan."

"So we shall," agreed Alendan as he began to lead her in the direction of his home, wondering if he had gone mad. This was likely the craziest thing he had ever done in his twenty-and-six seasons and it felt like, this time, he was really on a path leading to nowhere. Just like his father had always told him his wild schemes to change the realm always were.

By the gods though, even if he really was lost, he wasn't about to give in now.