I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)

[Inkfinger]

Closed.

But I would walk 500 miles,
And I would walk 500 more,
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles
To fall down at your door...

The city of Irrakam spread out over the island it was named for like a flock of sheep on an autumn hillside. The pure white houses and buildings gleamed against the rusty orange sands and rocks, havens of cool against the already-hot morning sun. The Jya’s Keep rose above the rest, glittering and brilliant, a promise of justice and patience and faith…

And far, far out of reach here in the slums of the Outlander’s Quarters. Cael Strandssen sighed, leading his mount through the narrow streets. The arnabiss - a massive, tawny beast with the mixed traits of a lion and, oddly enough, a hare – was probably the only reason he hadn’t been mugged yet, walking like this. He patted her side, and she let out a small purr, nosing at him as she walked, massive paws hardly even stirring the dust when they rose and fell.

“Woah there, Kina. Be a good girl, alright? We’ve almost got you home.”

His belt hung heavy over his chest, still bearing the stack of missives he’d been given at the Outlander’s Post a week prior. He still stank like travel: sweat, and dust, and scorpion blood, and his eyes still burned.

“You’ve been working for these people for a month, when are you going to cave and wear something for your eyes?” It asked from the saddle where It perched. “If you go blind, don’t complain to me. I warned you, after all.”

“Oh, hush up,” Cael growled, glaring at the paper dragon, who just looked back at him, eyeless face somehow conveying a smirk. He never got a chance to continue arguing.

“Excuse me?”

The voice behind him sounded like bells ringing through clear water – musical and sweet, trilling in a way that most women could only imitate. He’d seen that voice alone start brawls, and end them, and he still didn’t quite understand what it was that made it so powerful. He pulled Kina to a stop, leaning against her side when he turned.

The woman behind him was tall, only two or three inches shorter than Cael, and a build he’d heard called the gods’ gift to males everywhere (as well as a few less polite things.) Her name was Nuärla, and she looked – maybe – eighteen. Her face was slender, her amber eyes wide and innocent, and her hair fell nearly to her rear in golden-red curls. Her light-green, travel-stained shift barely seemed to cover her chest, and the matching leggings hugged her shapely frame like a second skin. He’d seen her full lips, her delicately arched eyebrows and perfectly pointed ears on a sculpture of one of the old Elven goddesses in a museum once.

And I have to admit, she moves me about as much as that stupid slab of marble did.

“Not you.” He tried to say it calmly, but after a week of this nonsense, the old explanation was becoming just that. Old. He flicked his inky fingertips at his familiar, who lifted a folded-paper claw to wave, rustling in silent amusement. “It.”

“Oh.” The usual answer, said with the usual pouting tone - the tone that could clear taverns and have men lying down in the street to keep her feet from touching the earth. “I wish you’d tell him-”

“It,” Cael ground out. “Not him.”

“It, whatever. I wish you’d tell it to speak a civilized language.” There was an undercurrent to the words, something of a breathy throb. It was meant to have an effect. And it did, it truly did, but somehow Cael was certain that frustration was not the effect it was meant to have. "Salvic is so...so passe."

“It’s a demon,” Cael countered for the umpteenth time, feeling It’s claws land on his bare arm. The silky white paper was actually light against his arm. The month in the brilliant Fallien sun had burnt away the sickly parchment-pale tone from his skin. Granted, it would have also burnt away his skin if Îdhdaer hadn’t noticed what was happening and forced him to use the same expensive, enchanted lotion the elf used. “I don’t tell it to do anything. If it wanted to speak Sideways Demonic or gnomic or Infernal or common, I couldn't stop it.”

That had been another of the shifts of this past month. He’d finally managed to continue his painstaking translation of his Ink Magic, and subsequently discovered his familiar, formerly thought to be simple animated paper, was actually a demon bound to an origami frame.

Fortunately, It doesn’t seem to mind, he reflected. The dragon scratched to a stop on his shoulder, snake-like form wrapped around his neck. Or else it’s not a very powerful demon at all.

“I’m telling Îdhdaer that you’re keeping secrets from me,” Nuärla continued, arms crossed beneath her breasts, leaning forward just a bit. Cael managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “Then you’ll be sorry.”

“You do that,” Cael returned, shoving the arna back into motion. Kina obeyed instantly, as eager to get out of the heat and off her feet as her rider was. Nuärla’s mount - a sleek white maneless arna that probably cost more money than Cael had seen in his entire life – followed after. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

Îdhdaer Bireth was the captain of the messenger faction Cael worked for. He was also Nuärla’s older brother, and, as such, responsible for Cael’s current predicament. There was a specific reason Cael had been picked to help Nuärla learn the ropes.

“I could make you delighted…” Nuärla offered. When Cael looked back, she was leaning forward again, a sultry gleam in the amber of her eyes. It reminded him, rather, of all the old ladies he used to have to write letters for.

“Say I took you up on that,” Cael turned back around, finally leading the way out of the maze of buildings and into the open plaza that lay between the Outlander’s Quarters and the Jya’s Keep. “Say I let you make me delighted. You know what would delight me?”

“A nice bl-”

“Half a ream of good paper and a new pen. Everything I’ve got is covered in dust.

Nuärla’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click of teeth, and Cael smirked, leading the tired arna the rest of the way to the stables, whistling aimlessly as he did.

The buildings that housed the il'Jhain Abdos were exactly halfway between the Quarters and the Keep, signifying the balance the il'Jhain runners were supposed to keep between the land that hosted and housed them, and they lands they were from. It was a low-slung building, two stories, and simple. The whitewashed stucco looked drab and dull, but it was brightened by the colorful silk curtains hanging open in the windows.

"Look, I'll take care of the arna. You go tattle on me to Bireth, alright?" He reached out to take the second arna's bridle. The nobel creature snorted at him, shaking its head like an angry horse instead of the feline it was closest to.

"I think I'd better take Princess." Nuärla smirked, sashaying off towards the stables even though there was no one to appreciate her movements. Cael sighed, and followed, undoing Kina's tack as he did.

"Oi! Strandssen!" The call rang through the hot air as Cael neared the stable doors. He looked up, questioningly, to see Îdhdaer sticking his head out one of the windows. "You've got mail, sweetheart." The elf grinned, the eyes that he shared with his younger sister gleaming. "Looks like it's from your dear one. Get my mail in here or I'll let the kiddo open them for you!"

He'd never finished stabling his mount so quickly in his life.

[skyler manfield]

Skyler hated sand. At first she thought it was pretty, the myriad colors and sizes of the different sands. But it got everywhere. And of course, Hawk thought cleaning up the mess it made was a perfect exercise to help the assassin regain her strength. The girl was fairly sure she would rather have remained incapacitated than spend at least an hour out of every day sweeping the little piles of sand out of the corners of the small apartment she shared with her mentor.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, but it was sweltering here in Fallien, and the jumbled together snugness of the Outlander’s Quarter only served to intensify the heat by stilling the air that barely moved through the inferno. She didn’t even want to imagine how impossibly hot it must be out in the desert itself. Already they’d been here for over six weeks, and it had only grown hotter. The good days were the ones when a storm would roll up the river and release a torrent of rain and howling winds over Irrakam. The heat of Fallien was in a tie with Salvar’s frigid cold for most miserable climate. She missed Corone.

But Hawk had business here, and he said the dry climate would help her lungs. Ever since Cael had accidentally poisoned her with Hemlock, nearly six months ago now, she’d had issues breathing. One second she’d be fine, the next she’d be on her knees, struggling to breathe, her throat closed off and her lungs rattling against her ribs. It had only happened twice since they’d come to Irrakam, and much less severe each time. Perhaps Hawk was right about the air here being healthy for her. Besides, Cael was supposed to be in Fallien.

They’d been in touch, just as he’d promised. A note came every couple of weeks, sometimes all too brief, quickly scribbled (which meant it was still immaculately penned compared to Skyler’s chicken scratch) on a scrap of parchment, only saying where he was and what he was doing. She’d painstakingly worked on her own handwriting, trying to make sure she responded to every letter, no matter how hard the process was. She’d learned to read, but never had much cause to write.

Three months prior, she’d sent him a letter to tell him she’d be in Fallien for the Feast of Jya. They’d arrived a little over a month later, and Skyler had waited with anticipation for Cael to make his appearance. She’d wanted to send another note over to the offices of the il’Jhain Abdos to let him know she was in town, but Hawk had told her to wait, that Cael knew when they were to arrive and would visit as soon as he was able.

But she’d heard nothing from him. The festival, which lasted for one month in honor of the High Priestess of the small desert nation, had ended weeks before. Skyler was never known for her patience, and waiting like this was akin to torture. It felt as though she were stuck in a loop. Wake up with the sun, bathe to remove the night’s sweat and dust, dress in a loose fitting tunica which was comfortable but made her feel terribly exposed, then begin cleaning. Never in her life did Skyler imagine she’d be doing housework, but somehow here she was, day after day, dusting and washing and sweeping. Hawk always showed up around midday and they ate a small lunch together, usually fresh fruit and cheese, nothing heavy. He never took her with him, never so much as responded when she begged him for an assignment that didn’t include soapy water or a broom. Stir crazy was an understatement for how she was feeling at the moment.

Today, the assassin was feeling rebellious. She absolutely refused to clean a thing. Except for the few times Hawk had taken her on a shopping trip with him, she’d never ventured out of the apartment into the Outlander’s Quarters. After Hawk left for the day, she bathed quickly, and instead of dressing in the skin baring tunica, spent the extra time wrapping a longer piece of fabric around her and pinning it at the shoulders. It still felt strange to wear a dress instead of breeches, but one wore what the local custom was. Tying her hair up off her neck, and swiping a stick of kohl beneath her eyes to help with the brightness of the sun, as one of the local women had shown her when they had first arrived, Skyler grabbed a small coin purse and pulled the door shut behind her as she left the apartment. Enough waiting.

The Outlander’s Quarter was bustling as always. She could usually hear from her window the shouting of the merchants, and the jingling of the harnesses on various pack animals as they pulled the imports and exports through the city. It was much louder when one was actually immersed in the push and shove of the foreigners who bought and traded in this area of the island. As she emerged into the street from the narrow staircase that led down from their second floor apartment, Skyler blinked in the brilliant sunlight as her eyes adjusted, the white buildings reflecting the brightness back into her face, leaving almost no shadows even this early in the morning.

She knew il’Jhain was housed to the North, between the apartment and Jya’s keep which shone like a beacon on the highest hill of the island. Skyler wasn’t sure how long of a walk it was, but took her time, smiling as merchants hawked their wares loudly, lifting handfuls of glass beads and baskets of fruit in her direction. It was nowhere near as filthy as the slums of Radasanth with her fishmongers and whores lining the streets - not that there weren’t the usual prostitutes and fish sellers in this marketplace, they just kept their hands and words to a less offensive place.

After walking for nearly half an hour, Skyler was drenched in sweat, her hair sticking to her face, the pale blue linen of her chiton clinging to her skin. Nearly every corner held a fountain for just this reason, the playful splash of water against stone a welcome refreshment for any weary shopper. With a relieved sigh, Skyler slumped down on the side of the fountain, dipping her hands in the cool water and splashing it on her face and neck before taking a handful to drink. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to rest for a while here, so long as she was back at the apartment before Hawk returned for lunch.

[Inkfinger]

Cael had been expecting a nice letter. Skyler wasn’t the best at writing, but she was trying so hard. He was actually quite proud of her, and looked forward to each note with an almost-child-like anticipation.

He hadn’t, however, anticipated the date.

“This is nearly four months old, Bireth!” He fumed at the elf, waving the open envelope under his boss’s nose ten minutes later. He was in the process of changing, with the aim of getting out of this place and finding Skyler as fast as he possibly could. Îdhdaer, as usual, had come barging in without knocking. “Four. Months.”

Îdhdaer leaned against the wall, nose wrinkled slightly at the torn paper. “So it may have gotten a little…lost,” he offered by way of apology. “You’ve seen my desk; I don’t have the budget to afford a clerk…”

Cael rolled his eyes. He had seen the elf’s desk. It looked like an avalanche waiting to happen. But that didn’t help matters. He set the envelope and its message on the narrow bedside table, and flopped down on the mattress to try and peel off his socks. “That’s irony for y’,” he snarled irritably. “Y’ run t’ mail and y’ can’t even get it t’ your own staff on time…”

“I know, I know, I’m trying and I’m sorry.” Îdhdaer shrugged in a reasonable facsimile of apology, politely averting his eyes when Cael jerked his shirt over his head. The motion loosed a cascade of sand onto the braided rug. Cael ignored it as he scrubbed a week’s worth of kohl and grit from beneath his eyes, two weeks of sweat and grime from his shoulders. “I’ve got down to the six-month-old stuff now, though!” The elf’s words were far too chirpy. He was trying to make it sound like a good thing. “Soon my desk will be clear, and I’ll have a clean slate-”

“-just in time for t’ next mailbags from Scara Brae,” Cael cut in, dropping the washcloth into his water basin. He stood, and pulled the lid of the locker at the foot of his bed open to find a clean shirt. At least he reflected as he pulled it on, he got the laundry sent out. “I can’t wait to see what Irah thinks of this. You know she’s expectin’ t’do an inspection tour in a month or so?”

“….damn.” Îdhdaer’s simple word might as well have been a whimper. “We’re doomed.”

Cael couldn’t help a laugh, pulling the sandals he wore when not on a mission out of the footlocker. “She’s not a dragon. Maybe she’ll finally assign you an aide or something once she sees Mount Paper…”

“Oh, get out of here,” Îdhdaer whined, sitting on the edge of the bed that Cael had just vacated. “Just get out.”

Cael tossed him a sloppy salute, and headed for the door. He was halfway down the hall when Îdhdaer stalked out as well, calling after him. “And take the brat with you!”

Cael froze for an instant, then spun on his heal. Îdhdaer smirked at him from the top of the stairs. “Bireth, you do remember what I’m doing, right?”

“Going to see Skyler?”

“Yes. Skyler. The woman I am fairly sure I love. Who I have not seen in six months.” The elf blinked at him in stubborn incomprehension. Cael almost felt like stomping his foot. “What do you think she’s going to think when I show up with that…” He tried to think of an appropriate word, and wound up discarding each and every idea before it reached his mouth. “With your sister?”

“I don’t know,” Îdhdaer returned, archly, “And I don’t care. Just go.”

*

He spent the whole time he walked through the narrow streets of the Outlander’s Quarters trying to pry Nuärla off his arm. The looks he was getting from the general populace seemed to indicate he was insane for doing such a thing – who wouldn’t want a willing elf with all her attributes clinging to their person?

He wouldn’t, that was who. It was too hot, her hands were too clammy, and she smelled strongly of the cloying perfume he’d had to smell all the last week, and the week before, and the week before that as he kept her from getting into trouble with any manner of disreputable idiots.

“What is it, exactly?” he finally asked after the third time he’d had to disentangle the hem of his tunic from her slender hands, the fifth time he had to ignore the full-lipped pout. “Hmm? Do they not give y’ a change to be somethin’? Did they simply hand you a too-small shirt and shove y’ out the door? ‘Here, figure out some way t’ make money!’?” She stared up at him, but not too far up – she was nearly as tall as him. He remembered Skyler standing on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye with a fresh pang of longing that quickly turned into a fresh jolt of annoyance.

“Or did you chose to spend all your free time acting like…” All the words he could call her, again, trampled through his head and were summarily rejected. He’d been called them far too often for him to be flinging them out casually at some Elf. Even if she was some fifty or sixty years older than him, she still had the mentality of one of his sixteen-year-old nieces. Or, perhaps, nephews.
“
…a common street walker?” He finally managed to finish. “Is that t’ only way they give you any attention? Is that your problem?”

Hurt flashed in honey-gold eyes for a moment, but then she flounced off in a haughty jumble of curls and bronzed skin. “My problem?” She shot back over her shoulder, in a voice both poisonous and sweet as she marched down the alley. The words echoed off the whitewashed walls as she turned a corner, shoving someone’s vividly colored laundry out of the way. Cael barely ducked in time for avoid wet linen in his face. “I don’t have a problem. I think I know what your problem is, though.”

“Oh?” It was a dangerous question, but he couldn’t help but ask it as he jogged to keep up. “Then what, pray tell, is my problem?”

“You need to get laid.” Cael opened his mouth to snap out a protest, but Nuärla barreled on. “Though…I’ve seen your tattoo. I know what it means.” Cael trailed to a stop, staring at the Elf’s back, slowly feeling all the humor – potential or otherwise – drain from the situation. “It means you only like lovers with dicks.”

She looked back at him, her eyes showing that same strange, coy malice that had been in her voice. Her smile only grew when she took in his expression, a narrow-eyed combination of shock, pain and anger. “Is that it?” She purred, reaching out to stroke gentle fingers up his jawline. She giggled when he jerked away, neatly cornering him against the wall.

He could hear the voices of people passing by the alley; hear the regular trickle of water in the fountain in the square, and Nuärla’s intentionally-labored breathing. He could feel the heat of the sun, the dust on the air, smell the spices of the midday meal still rising from the houses, but in his mind – for all of a moment – he was back in a cold, smelly cell, waiting for his tormentors to return.

“Do you want me to talk to Îdhdaer?” Nuärla’s voice shook him out of his funk, even low and sultry as it was. He shook his head as if to clear it, focusing on his surroundings as she continued. “He’ll do anything with a pulse, most days, I’m sure he coul-”

Cael caught one dove-delicate wrist, jerking the elf off balance and pulling her close enough that he could feel her breath, now jagged with shock. He leaned until his face was inches from hers, teeth gritting together audibly and sending shooting pains up his jaw. For a moment, he felt both gratified and guilty at the fear visible on her face. Talking took what felt like an unfair amount of effort.

“I’m sorry, Nuärla.”

She blinked at him in confusion, her breath catching again, just a bit, when he leaned towards her. “F-for what?” she stammered, her normally clear voice squeaking at the end of the word as she tried to tug away.

“For assuming,” Cael said softly in her ear, gentle as an actual lover, “that we could actually have something resembling a civilized conversation.”

She didn’t respond, though he could see her shivering. He sighed, and shoved her away, abruptly. He didn’t need this. He didn’t want this. He stormed down the alleyway towards the square, leaving Nuärla to collect her dignity and follow, no doubt continuing to be impossible.

Any frustration he felt toward the elf maiden increased tenfold the moment he stepped out of the alley, and saw who was staring at him across the fountain.

Oh saints…

[skyler manfield]

Skyler let her mind wander as she trailed one hand in the water, her eyes following the varied visitors to the capital of Fallien. A building cast a welcome shade over the fountain for the time being, but as noon approached the shadows grew shorter. It was a nice enough spot to people-watch, and the assassin knew she had at least two more hours before Hawk would return to the apartment. As long as she returned before then, he probably wouldn’t even know she’d been gone to begin with.

A familiar voice caught her attention, and Skyler turned toward it, her face lighting up as she saw it’s origin. It was Cael, looking much better since the last time she saw him, his skin much less pale, the dark circles beneath his pale blue eyes nearly gone. He must have finally returned from whatever had kept him from answering her letter and had decided to go right to the apartment to find her. It was as though fate had planned for Skyler to choose today to escape the prison of her temporary home.

The light in her face was replaced by a shadow of confusion and then doubt as her eyes fell on the target of his raised voice. She was perfect, the elven girl, her figure the much sought after hourglass that whores paid hundreds of coin to attain through tightly laced corsets. Skyler watched jealously as she moved effortlessly down the street, her expression playful on her sun-bronzed face. Her golden curls bounced enticingly down her back, and combined with her lilting voice drew the attention of every male in the square. Where the elf was lithe Skyler was lanky, where she was all soft curves the assassin was awkward angles, in the place of the girl’s golden hair and skin, Skyler felt as if she were only shades of grey.

When the girl cornered Cael, her body close to his, her face only a breath away from him, Skyler wanted to look away. But it was like a ship sinking, one couldn’t look away until the last inch of mast disappeared. As the man reached up and took the girl’s wrist and drew her closer to him, Skyler felt her stomach tie itself into a tight knot.

There was no use staying, it was obvious that she’d been wrong about everything. He hadn’t intended to come find Skyler at all, it was just an accident after all. The assassin berated herself for missing entirely the reason she hadn’t heard any response to her letter. Of course he’d found a girl, a very pretty one. Skyler was only a friend, if that, and he probably just felt indebted to her or even sorry for her, otherwise he’d not have stayed in touch at all. She had misread everything that had happened beneath the Cathedral and after, and she hated herself for the sick feeling of disappointment she now felt.

Just as she stood up, their eyes met, and Skyler smiled weakly, clenching her jaw tightly - whether it was to keep from screaming or keep from crying she wasn’t sure and refused to consider. Instead, the mousy girl turned and took flight, pushing past vendors and shoppers, tripping over broken cobbles and stepping over and around children playing in the streets. Merchants shouted at her as she knocked over some of their wares but she did not stop, did not pause to see if Cael followed. Part of her prayed he would, part of her hoped he wouldn't.

She’d made it nearly half way back to the apartment when her lungs decided it would be a perfect time to remind her of their weakened state, another relic of her lovely adventure with Cael in the prison beneath the streets of Knife’s Edge. From one moment to the next it was as though she’d been submerged under water and her lungs filled to drown her. Skyler fell to her knees gasping but unable to catch her breath enough to even cough. A woman with two young children edged closer to the wall of one of the buildings, afraid she’d catch whatever terrible disease she figured the assassin must have.

A young boy, maybe all of nine summers old, knelt at Skyler’s side patting her on the back as he stared wide eyed at her. Her lungs rattled in her chest, and they felt like they were made of soaked tissue paper that would rip apart any moment. Finally, she managed to take a deep enough breath that she could cough, and when she started it was like a dam breaking.

[Inkfinger]

Well, saints damnit.

Cael had, in the months that had past since their parting, imagined their reunion. Sometimes they had been in Corone beneath the trees, the breeze of the mountains making her hair twist and curl as wildly as her soul. Sometimes they’d been back in Salvar, the lights dancing in the sky, the air the almost-warmth of late summer. Sometimes it had been here, in Irrakam, surrounded by other people but with eyes only for each other…

In his daydreams, there had been smiles and teasing and a heady warmth different from the sweltering heat of the desert. His daydreams were one of the few things that had kept him through the cold nights and hotter days –

- and the one, reoccurring factor that had not been in his daydreams was the elf-girl turned harpy currently ruining everything.

“Ooh, is that little Sky?” Nuärla purred, leaning against his shoulder, her hair brushing his skin and her breath gentle and moist in his ear. “I like her, she’s cute…a bit young for you, though, isn’t she?”

There was pain flashing in those bright sea-gray eyes, and the weak smile on Skyler’s lips only made that pain more vivid. Their gazes had only just crossed; their eyes had only met for a minute before she was off running. Cael took a hesitant step forward, uncertain if he should follow. Nuärla’s chuckle drew several looks from out in the square – women shaking their heads in dismay, men…well, being typical men.

“Tell her she’s got nice legs when you catch up with her.” He looked back at the elf, unsure of how, even, to respond to that other than fuming his frustration at her in a tangible cloud of rage. She inspected her nails carelessly, a satisfied gleam in her eyes when she finally met his half-wild stare in a demure flutter of lashes. “If you catch up with her.”

Cael jerked away, ignoring her laughs as he broke into a run across the square. “Skyler! Skyler, wait!”

His own voice echoed back to him off the stucco walls, almost hidden in the murmur of voices and the constant clatter of feet on clay tiles. The assassin had probably always been faster than he was, and was probably going to stay faster than him. The last six months of work had left him stronger, but no amount of exercise was ever going to give him back the full use of his bad leg.

He limped after anyways, vaulting a pile of spilled produce that Skyler had left in her wake. He could see the produce’s owner shaking his meaty fist out of the corner of his eye. He swerved to miss the angry native, catching his foot on a loose section of the street - his feet skidded out from beneath him, and he barely caught himself before he landed on his face.

The impact sent a spike of pain through his hand, barked the skin from his palm, but he pushed himself to his feet through sheer force of will. It was easy enough to follow the distraught girl – she was leaving a trail of fuming merchants and scattered wares in her wake. He almost felt like stopping at each and every cart to explain and apologize on her behalf, but that would only leave him even further behind.

He rounded another corner, and heard the familiar, heart-stopping rattle of Skyler’s desperate coughs long before he could see her. He had listened to that sound for ten days straight not too long ago. This cough sounded healthier than when he’d last heard it, but it was still a horrible noise, dragging him once again back to the snow and stress of the winter past…

That was then, this is now, he told himself, viciously shoving the memories away before they could steal reality entirely. She’s alright, and everything will make sense once you have a chance to talk.

He turned the last corner, and found himself in another square with another fountain, though both were smaller than the square they had just fled. The constant trickle of water did nothing to hide the wracking gasps from the other side of that fountain, and now that he was so very close Cael still hesitated, drawing to a stop so abrupt he almost lost his footing again.

The houses around them had worked together to create a tent of colored silken scarves, knotted together and tossed from rooftop to rooftop. They blocked out the worst of the mid-day sun and cast varicolored shadows on the well-worn tiles. The fountain itself was golden-orange, and Skyler – when he had moved around the fountain enough to see her – was hunched pitifully in a patch of vivid red that caught in her hair, turning her brown locks to a riot of copper and bronze.

There was a child next to her, a small boy, looking as wild-eyed and worried as Cael felt. He looked up as Cael stepped closer, young face drawn in a fierce snarl. He moved, quickly, and the next second he had a small knife – the type typically used for carving toys and cutting fruit, boyhood pastimes – in his tanned hand

Cael spread his own hands, taking one step closer, never taking his eyes from the boy’s. “It’s alright,” he said, softly. “I won’t ‘urt ‘er. I want to ‘elp ‘er…” He drew in a breath that felt as painful as Skyler’s coughs sounded. “If…if she wants me to, that is.” He took another cautious step closer. The boy put a protective arm around Skyler’s shoulder, and Cael let out a sigh.

“An’ if you’ll let me. Uhm.” He waved a hand at Skyler, and switched to halting Fallien. “Friend,” he managed, smiling halfheartedly as he slid to his knees, hoping the name wasn't a lie anymore. Not over some silly misunderstanding. “Very good friend. I help?”

[skyler manfield]

At first, Skyler barely noticed when Cael approached. She was focused only on trying to catch her breath. Every time she tried to inhale deeply, the breath would catch in her chest and she would start coughing again. When she finally did notice him, it was because the child had stopped pounding her back and instead was resting against her. The assassin drew in a ragged shallow breath as she turned to see Cael talking to the boy, and quickly turned her face away from him as she began coughing again. She heard him say something in the Fallien tongue to the boy who hesitated only a moment before scampering away.

Skyler could feel Cael’s presence at her side, and tried to keep her mind and body a safe distance away from him. If she hadn’t been concentrating so hard on catching her breath, she might have been more intent on increasing that distance but at the moment all she could do was allow him to help her to her feet and lead her to the edge of the small fountain a few yards away. When he tried to lift a handful of water to her face, she waved him off and scooped some water with her own hands and tried to still her coughing long enough to drink it. After a few minutes she finally managed to slow her breathing and stop coughing, although her breath still rattled a bit in her chest. She’d go boil a pot of water and breathe the steam in and she’d be fine.

But Cael sat beside her on the side of the fountain, blue eyes staring at her as though he had something to say and wanted to make sure she was well enough to hear it. Skyler knew that her face probably betrayed her hurt feelings, but she lifted her chin and plastered a brave smile on her lips and searched for the right words to make him believe it was safe to walk away.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, “Really. I know it probably seemed like I was running… away. But honestly, I only noticed you after I realized that I was late. Don’t know why but I completely lost track of time this morning and I’d hate to disappoint Hawk - I told him I’d be home and I know he’s probably worried sick.”

She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t still her tongue. The confused expression on Cael’s face only fueled her steady stream of explanation and excuses.

“I just don’t want you to think that I was upset about you being with that girl - she’s right pretty isn’t she? Really, she’s perfect for you. I’m so happy for you and I’m sorry I don’t have more time to talk to you about it. Guess you should be getting back to her before she gets worried about you. Good luck and all that. Good to see you again.”

With that, she quickly stood and tried to get her bearings. Rather than stand there any longer and give Cael a chance to try to explain or worse for the girl to catch up to them - she didn’t want to be introduced to the golden-haired beauty - Skyler started walking down the closest alleyway, hoping it would lead her to a main thoroughfare so she could find her way home from there. Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest as though she had a sparrow trapped in her ribcage.

[Inkfinger]

She’s talking more than she should be... was the first thought that crossed his mind as he sat down next to her on the edge of the fountain, trying not to scowl at the water seeping into the seat of his pants. She should be at home, still resting, and…and I should have asked about a letter every time I came back in the last three months, this is all Îdhdaer’s fault….

His mental train of thought jumped the tracks when Skyler’s babble didn’t slow down, when it shifted from getting back to Hawk to that girl. That girl, of course, being Nuärla. Yeah. Yeah, that had probably looked bad. That had probably looked really bad.

“Sky, I can ex-”

The assassin was on her feet before the words had completely left his mouth, walking towards the nearest alleyway with purpose and confidence in her steps that was probably mostly for show, given the way she’d just been curled up and hacking. Cael grimaced, stood and jogged to catch up, ignoring the water dripping from the hem of his shirt in a steady patter of droplets.

“Skyler, that’s not…she’s…we’re not involved. I swear.” The girl didn’t slow down, but she didn’t ask him to stop following either. Cael decided to view that as a good thing, and sped up, just a bit, eyes roving the alleyways. If he got lost back here, it would probably take Nuärla hours to find him…

Good.

“I know…I know that it probably looked…really bad.” He hesitated a moment, then amended, “no, not probably, I know it looked bad. But…I swear to you, dear heart, it’s not what it looked like.” The elf just knew which triggers to pull to get a reaction out of anyone – even if they weren’t the triggers she was clearly used to.

Skyler still didn’t answer, didn’t slow down, and Cael’s knee was beginning to throb in the annoying way it usually did when he actually made it work, the numbness from the running flaring away into arthritic pain. “She’s my boss’s sister, I’m supposed t’ be trainin’ ‘er, she gets frustratin’ as all nine ‘ells…” He combed his hand through his hair with another sigh. “There were better ways of diffusin’ the situation, but you know me…if there’s an easy way an’ a good way, it’s usually t’last way I think of.”

That earned him a small snort, though whether it was of humor or derision or an after-effect of the coughing, he couldn’t tell – but at least it was a reaction. And, better yet, she even slowed. Looked, for a moment, as if she was going to turn and give him a chance to talk without following after like a puppy.

“Can I try t’explain a bit better? Walk y’ ‘ome, at least?” As if he wasn’t already doing that – but he’d prefer to be walking beside, not jogging behind. “Is Hawk…?”

And that sentence just trailed off uneasily, as if his brain was unwilling to go through another train wreck. Just…gods. If Skyler kept this up, Hawk was going to believe the worst and then things could only ever possibly go downhill from there. He swallowed, and tried to pick the one-sided conversation up as easily as he’d dropped it. “Is Hawk here still?”

[skyler manfield]

Her footsteps echoed off the walls of the buildings on either side of the alleyway, but hers weren’t the only ones that bounced back to her. She cursed silently and tried to walk faster even as she stifled another coughing fit. Not only had she been embarrassed when she realized that Cael wasn’t, in fact, “hers”, but she had been humiliated when she couldn’t even run away properly. And now he was following her. The last thing Skyler wanted was pity.

But he swore the girl was nothing. He swore they weren’t involved. And for a moment Skyler believed him. She paused, stopped running away, turned around to face him. The assassin wasn’t sure if what she felt was relief or hope or what exactly it was, but as he went on and on trying to explain away what she’d seen, her hope turned to doubt. The flustered chatter made it seem like he was trying to cover something up, trying to keep from hurting her feelings.

And just like that, doubt turned to something closer to anger. Of course, whether Skyler would admit it or not, for her anger was just a result of heartache.

“Yes,” she answered slowly, her voice dangerously quiet, “Hawk is still here.”

Her breath caught against the lump in her throat, and she clenched her jaw and forced herself not to look away. Grey eyes locked on blue, and she shook her head in disbelief.

“Don’t really see any need to explain much more. You don’t have to lie to me. I know I’m not very bright, and more than a little naïve. It took me a slap in the face to see what I should have picked up on three months ago.”

Skyler shrugged and exhaled loudly, very aware of how her breath wheezed in her chest. She didn’t want to tell Cael to leave, but she didn’t have too much more to say at this point. She was tired, hungry, and she knew by the shadows that Hawk was probably home and either worried or pissed off.

“I don’t care what you do, Cael. If you want to walk me home, then come on. Maybe you can help me explain to Hawk why I was out and about when I was s'posed to be resting. Just save the rest of the reasons and excuses for when we get there.”

The assassin turned away and looked around to get her bearings before picking a direction and walking away from Cael again. She walked slowly this time, considerate of his bad leg. Her stomach felt like it was doing somersaults, and her heart felt like someone was squeezing it in a vice, and her throat hurt from trying not to cry. It was only a few minutes before they reached the apartment - and Hawk stood angrily in the door to greet them.

“I don’t even want to know,” her mentor grumbled as he turned around and walked back into the cool shadows of the apartment. Skyler sighed and followed behind him. Maybe he wouldn’t berate her in front of Cael.

[Inkfinger]

Cael felt frustration ebb and fade in his mind, one second thinking she’ll come around, the next running the other end of the spectrum: she’s not going to listen, and she’ll hate me forever. Every time he tried to cling to the one lone board of his ship-wrecked optimism, his mind dragged him back under the waves before his mental fingers could find a firm hold.

“You’re far from naïve,” he muttered under his breath, sullen against every instinct he had; pressing on through the pride telling him he didn’t need this nonsense any more than he deserved it. To wit: at all. At least she had slowed down – it was easier to keep up with her that way, without feeling like his leg was about to lock up and send him tumbling. “I mean, if you’re naïve where does that leave me?”

Several steps below naïve, right? What did that make him? Clearly, somehow, still an idiot when it came to women. After almost seventeen years since he’d been the little boy in the big city, after almost seventeen years of dealing with them in one way or another, he was about ready to call it quits.

It did not make sense. He’d met many men in his travels who only viewed women as something to be conquered and bragged over (at best), or a convenient form of tension relief (at worst). Each of them had been – or seemed to have been – horribly charming and nigh-irresistible to the so-called weaker sex.

And here he was, trying to do the right thing and be a gentleman, and what did it earn him? Resentment, annoyance, and now the not-quite-broken-but-possibly-sprained heart of the one person he had never wanted to hurt. It didn’t make sense, it sure as hells wasn’t fair, and it was almost certain to end badly, in one way or another. Whether through Nuärla running to her big brother to tell lies, or through Hawk…

Gods. Hawk.

The older man was Ludvik’s friend, and half of the reason Cael was even alive and free now, instead of rotting in a shallow grave back home. He was Ludvik’s friend, yes – but first and foremost, he was Skyler’s mentor. Probably the closest thing the young woman had to a father. Cael could distinctly remember his own father’s quiet rage any time his sister shed tears over a boy. His father was a simple merchant, and his fury had been frightening. Hawk was a thief who had trained an assassin…

He swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat, and forced himself to keep up with Skyler - easier now. She was pacing herself for him.

Maybe there's hope yet...

Skyler and Hawk’s home was a simple set of rooms in a row of such apartments – whitewashed stucco so white that it practically gleamed in the sunlight, bright enough to sting his eyes. Only the brightly colored curtains broke that brilliance, fluttering now and again in the slight breeze. Hawk stood in the doorway, and Cael’s hands were suddenly clammy for reasons that had nothing to do with the heat, and everything to do with Hawk’s expression – equal parts annoyance, anger, and – curiously – relief.

Probably at Skyler’s return Cael mused, uneasily. He gave the other man an awkward nod of greeting. The gesture wasn’t returned, but Hawk moved aside to let him into the cool interior of the apartment regardless.

The room was furnished in the typical style of Fallien – cushions and low tables and braided rugs instead of chairs and stools, simple tapestries on the walls to muffle the constant sounds of the street and the sand’s constant hissing against the outer walls. Cael hovered near the doorway, slipping off his sandals and brushing more of the ever-present grit from his feet before he dared further in. It was only polite, after all.

“It’s, uhm. It’s good to see you, Hawk, I’m…I’m sorry I’m late, Skyler’s letter was…” he paused, finally forcing a thin, wry smile. “Misplaced. Very misplaced.” He added, glancing at Skyler, apology bright in his pale eyes. “I only just got it less than an hour ago.”

[skyler manfield]

Skyler slipped into her bedroom which was kept private only by a violet silk curtain from which she removed the cord that tied it back. Cael was apologizing to Hawk for her lateness, and explaining why he hadn’t responded to her last letter. Sinking down on her low bed, the assassin picked up the letter she had received from Cael a little over three months before - the last time she had heard from him until today. Angrily, she crushed it between her hands and threw it on the floor before standing and gathering more comfortable clothing than the linen fabric that she had draped about her in the traditional fashion of the Fallien people. She could hear Hawk talking quietly to Cael in the main living area of the apartment, and paused in the process of changing clothes to listen to the exchange.

“I don’t know what you did, lad,” Hawk was saying, “She’s been restless, anxious to see you, but not angry at you. Until now anyways. Kind of expected her to run off and find you long before now.”

Cael’s answer was too low for Skyler to make out, and she scowled as she pulled on a pair of soft grey leggings and a blue sleeveless tunic that buttoned up the front. What if the letter really had been lost and he hadn’t gotten it? Even if it had, why hadn’t he tried to get in touch with her in the three months since his last letter? The assassin picked up the crumpled envelope from the floor and carefully straightened it out and laid it on her bed, then padded barefoot from her room, letting the curtain fall behind her.

Hawk looked up at her as she walked in, not quite succeeding in looking angry at her. Skyler raised an eyebrow at the only two people in the world she gave a damn about, then silently stalked into the kitchen area and began cutting up fruit and cheese and dumping them into bowls.

“Could have at least left a note,” Hawk pointed out, his voice almost sounding hurt, “I wouldn’t have minded quite as much.”

Skyler leaned forward, resting her elbows on the island that separated the kitchen from the rest of the living area, meeting Hawk’s questioning gaze. She very pointedly avoided Cael’s eyes. She wasn’t ready to hear anything else from him yet.

“I needed to get some air. Didn’t mean to be gone so long,” she muttered by way of apology, “Wasn’t even expecting to run across him.”

“He says he didn’t get your letter until today. Can’t be too mad at him if that’s the case,” Hawk reminded her.

Skyler glanced over at Cael, trying not to let him catch her gaze, but unable to miss those pale blue eyes. Clenching her jaw, she picked up the bowls and carried them from the kitchen and set them on the low table between Cael and Hawk.

“Hungry?” she asked, still trying to avoid the conversation, “What do you want to drink? Got fruit juice or water.”

Without waiting for an answer, she returned to the kitchen and grabbed three cups and a clay pitcher from the counter, trying not to slosh the juice within onto the tile floor. Setting it down on the table as well, she sank onto the cushions next to Hawk, picking a piece of melon out of the bowl of fruit.