Burning Bright

[maderr]

Chapter Five


“I don’t understand – where could he be?” Raz buried his head in his hands, more tired than he could ever remember being. “Scorching bastard, why does he think he has to run from me?” His voice was rough, and he buried his head in his arms before he could give more away.

“Raz…” Shio said softly, one hand soothing up and down his back. But she offered no comfort.

“That stupid bastard,” Raz said, sitting up. “I’m going to kill him myself when I find him. I know he’s still around here somewhere.” He glanced at Ailill, who sat quietly on his bed, drinking tea from an old, earthen mug. “I can’t believe someone tried to pay Ivan to kill him. And that someone else agreed. Fire and ash, this is becoming a huge mess.”

Ailill gave him a wry look. “Should killing a god be a simple matter?”

“If I were a god, I’d insist on everything being simple. This no sleep, barely eating, worried sick arrangement is no fun at all. Definitely not how I’d want my murder to go if I were the god in question.”

“No doubt that’s why you’re mortal,” Ailill said, laughing softly. “I’m sure we’ll find him, Raz. If Pechal is staying away, no doubt it’s to protect you – or so my impression, in the short span of time I have known all of you.”

Shinju nodded. “Sounds like Pechal, and we’ve only known him a year. Not the brightest, but he’s got a good heart.”

“Not the brightest,” Raz repeated with a snort. “He’s darker than a cellar at midnight in the middle of winter.”

Ailill choked on his tea. Next to Raz, Shio looked torn between violence and laughter. “Be nice.”

“No,” Raz petulantly. “Pechal started it.”

Shio and Shinju rolled their eyes as Ailill chuckled.

“We’ve looked everywhere,” Raz said. “I’m out of ideas.” He stared glumly at the table. “He couldn’t have left the country already.”

“Doubtful,” Shio said with a frown. “I mean, they’ll be looking for him at the harbor more than anywhere else, right? No where else to go, unless he wants to go all the way north and try to make it through the Jagged Mountains.”

Ailill shook his head. “Even assuming he was stupid enough, he wouldn’t make it. Schatten has been cut off from the world for centuries – he tries to go through the Jagged Mountains and he’ll die for sure. If death didn’t bother him, he’d just turn himself in.”

“He has nowhere to go,” Raz said. “He must be hiding in town somewhere. Fire and ash!” He slammed his fist down on the table and stood up so fast his chair nearly fell over. For several minutes no one said anything. With a sigh, Raz sat back in his chair. “All right. We’ve got to do the job tonight. If we put it off any longer, we’re all scorched.” He eyed Ailill. “I am sorry. If you never want to do business with us again, I understand completely.”

“Do not worry about it. As I said, it is this aspect that assures me I can trust you.” He motioned with his hand, as if brushing it all away. “I wish I could call off the assignment, but I have been hunting this comb for many years. It is imperative I obtain it.”

Raz shook his head. “We’d never call off an assignment, especially when a third of the money is handed over at start. All right – Shio, Shinju, I want you two on the street. Cover my back. If things seem to go wrong, do whatever you can to cause a distraction.”

The sisters nodded.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Ailill asked.

“No,” Raz said, and grinned. “This is what you’re paying us for, so just sit back and let us do it.” He drummed his fingers on the table in thought. “Best to leave town after the deed is done – we’ll travel separate and meet at the old mill. Something like that comb, we don’t want to be anywhere around here when he realizes it’s missing – and if things go wrong, we definitely don’t want to be in town. So – if you don’t see me before three bells, head for the old mill. I’ll see you there.” He glanced at Ailill. “You can stay and wait for me, or head there on your own.”

“I’ll wait here, and if you are not back by three bells…” Ailill shrugged and grinned. “I believe I remember the way. I do not know how you say it in Pozhar, but in Verde we would say ‘Blessing of the Faerie Queen’.” He laughed and looked at the sisters. “Come to that, I don’t know how you’d say it in Kundou either.”

Shio laughed. “We say ‘May the Three Storms favor you.”

“May the fires serve you,” Raz said. “That’s what we say.”

Ailill’s mouth curved in amusement. “As in, do not be consumed by flame?”

“Exactly,” Raz said. “All right. It will be late enough to do this in about two hours – everyone rest, or go get ready however you want. I expect you to be in place in two hours. If you’re not…” Raz didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to – Shio and Shinju would be in place.

He just wished he could say the same for Pechal. They’d each done their share of solo missions, but they preferred to work together. A job as hard as this, he would have felt much more comfortable, even if two people were more likely to get caught than one. “I’m going for a walk, maybe to grab a bite to eat. Ailill, I’ll see you here no later than three. If I take longer than that, move out on your own. Be ready to leave immediately.”

“As you say,” Ailill said.

Raz grinned. “May the fires serve us all, then.” With a wave, he departed, too restless to rest as he probably should.

Outside, the anxiety he’d shoved came back in force, and he fought the urge to send his fist through the wall. “Scorching idiot,” he whispered, “where could you be?” Heaving a long, heavy sigh, Raz stepped out into the street and let his feet lead the way, staying just alert enough to avoid having his pockets lightened.

When he finally looked up several minutes later he realized he’d wound up at the Old Cathedral. It really was a beautiful building – so different from the ugly granite and quickly-weathered wood that were more common.

Every time he visited the royal capital, he avoided this area if he possibly could. Something about it always made him uneasy, like he was about to get caught doing something he shouldn’t. Which was rather amusing, as he only visited the capital when he had a job to do. Maybe it was just a lingering fear of a god who hadn’t been alive in years.

Too bad it wasn’t the sort of place Pechal would hide – far too close to the enemy.

But the idea refused to let go now that it had sparked. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to at least look around – visitors were allowed in the Old Cathedral. It wasn’t really used as much more than a fancy boardinghouse for priests while they worked to hunt down Candidates and magic-possessed.

Shrugging off his trepidation, Raz forced his feet to move and slowly climbed the steps up to the cathedral entrance.

The door opened soundlessly into a room that was nearly empty – a few people here and there, priests and townsfolk, a couple of men that looked like merchants. Voices carried but not the words. Ignoring the few looks sent his way, trying not to attract more notice than he must, Raz moved to the edge of the large room and tried not to gawk.

The ceiling was high, paintings and images done in gold painted all across it, in the hollows of the domes, filling every available inch of space. He wondered what they all meant, but was too busy looking at everything to stay on one image long enough to puzzle it out. Long forgotten stories, no doubt. The floor was black marble, a strange contrast to the white walls and colorful ceiling. Windows lined the walls, filled with colored glass depicting more stories he didn’t know, people and figures he didn’t recognize though he had a strange feeling that he should.

Raz shrugged it off and went back to staring, this time at the work tables scattered across the room, the men bent over a few of them. He felt suddenly sick – these men were drawing more pictures of Pechal. These men were helping to kill his friend.

Hands clenched into fists, Raz turned away and stared at a window until he trusted himself not to do something stupid. He couldn’t help Pechal if he tried to beat up priests. He had to figure out if Pechal might be hiding here, maybe in an empty room or somewhere above the ceiling – in the rafters or something. He and Pechal had made homes in stranger places as kids.

Closing his eyes, Raz took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He did it twice more, then opened his eyes and turned around, ready to hunt for Pechal in earnest. His eyes landed on a priest.

Oh, fire and ash, the man was beautiful.

It felt like something inside him broke, as he watched the man walk down the center of the room. He was tall, pale, hair as black as coal. Slender but not bony. His face was as beautifully made as the paintings on the ceiling, the colored glass in the windows. So solemn looking – he should smile.

Why did the sight of the man make him ache? Like…like…Raz didn’t know. It felt like anguish…anguish and…shame.

Then the man turned, idly looking around the room as he headed toward the door, and faltered to a stop. He stared at Raz, face draining of what little color it had.

Raz stared back. Green. His eyes were as green as an esmeralda struck by sunlight. “Why?” he asked, barely realizing he spoke, voice rough with some strange emotion. “Why does looking at you hurt?”

The man flinched as if he’d been physically struck.

Seeing the look made Raz feel worse. He strove to say something else, to clear up that he hadn’t meant—

“High Priest,” a priest said, coming up behind the one with green eyes.

Raz didn’t hear what else the priest said, eyes only for one man. Fire and ash, this was the man who would kill Pechal. High Priest Dym. Raz stumbled back, breaking contact with those green eyes and feeling like he’d lost something. “Why?” he asked no one in particular. He had to go. Get out. Get away.

There was a sudden commotion from the back of the room, and Raz looked out of habit, taking in changes in environment in case they proved threatening.

“High Priest!” A priest said, dragging a kicking, twisting, terrified man forward with the assistance of two other priests. “We found him hiding in the rafters.”

“No!” Pechal screamed. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“Use a fire feather,” Dym said.

The smooth, cool voice ran made Raz tremble. Something was wrong. It wasn’t right. He didn’t understand why. But he knew he wasn’t going to stay around along enough to find out. It didn’t matter. – what mattered was his friend.

He started moving closer, using the upheaval to slip around unnoticed. If the High Priest had been shaken, for whatever reason, by Raz, obviously the discovery of the Candidate had made him forget.

Raz fought back a scream of rage as Pechal howled in pain and fell to his knees. Then a priest stepped forward, and there was flash of light, then suddenly the cathedral felt too hot.

Almost…mere steps away, as several priests finally took notice, Raz gave up sneaking around. “Pechal! Run!”

Hearing his voice, Pechal jerked his head up, eyes wide with disbelief as he saw Raz – then he sprang into action, throwing off the nearest priest and shoving two more aside before bolting for the door from which they’d come.

Raz knocked out two more, threw a third into a wall before following after his friend. “Go, go!” He said. “How do we get out?”

“This way!” Pechal said and took off running, earlier panic falling away as he fell into the rhythm that made he and Raz such a perfect team.

Raz followed him, knocking over furniture and closing doors, anything to slow down their pursuers. “You scorching idiot!’

“Later!” Pechal countered, leading them down a narrow hallway and into a pantry, on into the kitchen proper. Out the back door and into a garden, climbing up and over the high wall rather than waste time with the locked gate door.

Raz followed, landing neatly on his feet on the opposite side. He didn’t stop, but leaped over another fence into the yard of a house. Pechal ran alongside him, and together they raced through the city, hoping to get out of it.

While they seemed to be outrunning the priests, Raz found he could not outrun the pain, the anguish, that haunted him in the form of a pale, beautiful face and jewel-green eyes.

“We have to get out of the city,” Pechal said, breaking into his thoughts.

“Really?” Raz demanded. “Why do you say that?”

“Shut up,” Pechal managed before he scaled another gate, leaping down into the yard on the other side. “Come on, this way.”

“Since when do you know the city so well?”

Pechal didn’t reply, too busy weaving and bobbing through all the backstreets.

Minutes seemed like hours, and near as Raz could figure nearly an hour passed before they finally managed to get out of the city. They didn’t stop until they’d reached the forest a mile outside the city; a thin forest, not much more than an over-large copse of trees But with the late hour, it would do.

Raz rounded on Pechal, temper flaring. “I’m going to kill you!” He emphasized the threat by sending Pechal to the ground with an aching jaw. “You stupid, scorching idiot! What were you thinking! You could have gotten yourself killed!”

Pechal hunched his shoulders and stared at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough!” Raz grabbed Pechal by the shoulders, hauled him up, and proceeded to shake him to death. “You. Are. An. Idiot. Fire and ash, Pechal, what were you thinking!”

“I just thought—”

“You weren’t thinking!” Raz let him go, watched him fall back down to sit on the ground. “Why did you run from me? From me?”

“I didn’t want you to have to deal with it.”

“Deal with it?” Raz looked at him in disgust. “There’s nothing to deal with. We’re friends. Brothers. Never alone, yeah?” He dropped down next to Pechal. “Scorching idiot. You shouldn’t have run. We could have slipped out of the country all quiet like – Ailill even said he’d help.”

“What?” Pechal’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

Raz cuffed him lightly. “Because he’s a good guy,” he winked, “for a Highlander.” His momentary levity faded. “Look – I’ve got to get back. We’re set to steal the comb in about an hour, and it’ll take me most of that to get back into town. Lay low here, don’t run off, and I’ll be back later with supplies and everything. We’re headed for the mill; after we get there we’ll figure out what else to do. All right?”

“All right,” Pechal agreed meekly. “I’m sorry, Raz.”

The last of Raz’s anger drained away and he tugged Pechal into a tight embrace. “S’okay. Just don’t be stupid again.” He ruffled Pechal’s curls. “We’re not going to let some stupid High Priest burn you.” His voice caught as he said ‘High Priest,’ and he pressed on before Pechal could comment on it, ruthlessly shoving away the memory of green eyes. “Stay out of sight, idiot.” Raz embraced him tightly one last time, then let him go. “See you in a few hours.”

Pechal nodded, and satisfied he’d stay put, Raz turned and hurried back to the city.

Unfortunately it was too late to grab a quick meal from a vendor, and he didn’t have time to stop in a tavern. Well, he’d just eat later.

The south end of the capital was far more quiet than it’s northern half. From the palace the bells chimed eleven times. Raz stuck to the alleys and shadowed portions of the main roads, carefully avoiding the priests walking about, no doubt in search of their lost Candidate.

A complication he hadn’t planned for, but he’d make do. Shio and Shinju were somewhere, they’d distract the priests if it became necessary. Ducking into another alleyway, moving from memory – he’d explored the place thoroughly earlier that day – Raz slowly made his away down the crowded alley until he came to a high stone gate.

Houses in town were crowded together, climbing up rather than spreading out. The Earl Zholty’s house was one of the more elaborate ones, an overblown showcase of his wealth. Raz took a deep breath and then climbed up the gate, landing with a quiet thump on the other side.

This was the same bastard who had apparently hired men to kill Pechal. Raz had never been so tempted to kill someone in his life.

Not that ever been tempted to kill anyone. If he was comfortable with taking lives, he probably would have made himself right at home in Ivan’s little band. No, he stuck with stealing.

Killing the stupid Earl wouldn’t solve problems anyway, just create more. They’d attach the murder to the comb, and if they found out a Highlander had been in town searching for it – and Raz didn’t doubt somehow they’d find that out –it would cause no end of trouble for Ailill.

Which would be bad for business. As well as for his health. That aside, Ailill was fast becoming a friend.

Sighing, Raz snuck through the garden to the servant’s entrance. From inside his jacket he withdrew a small, leather bundle and slipped out a lock pick, guessing which size would most likely work.

Right the first time. Smiling briefly, Raz set to work and had the lock open in seconds. Slipping inside, he silently began to make his way through the house. The servants’ routes would be the wiser, except that servants were more likely to be awake at this hour and he couldn’t risk running into one. So the main staircase it would be.

This was always more fun with Pechal along. But his friend was alive, that’s all that mattered. If he had to do this job solo in return, fine. Raz left the kitchen and stepped quietly into the entrance hall – even in the dark, the place screamed of opulence. No doubt it was lavishly decorated with silk and satin, gilt-trimmed to the point of gaudy. Raz shook his head. Nobles.

He paused at the foot of the staircase, noting that down a smaller hallway, light spilled from beneath a closed door.

Bad – the master of the house was awake. Good – he wasn’t in his bedroom. The only truly useful bit of information they’d been able to glean from the servants was that he didn’t keep the gifts locked up in a study safe. No, the brilliant Earl decided his bedroom was the best place for them.

Raz wasn’t going to complain.

Padding up the stairs, he hesitated briefly at the second floor landing before turning right, counting doors until he came to the third – Shio and Shinju had gotten most of the necessary information. Trusting them, Raz turned the handle and slipped inside.

For a moment, all seemed well.

He and the footman saw each other at the same time. Raz was across the room before the man could give a shout, a swift kick sending the man to the ground. Raz drew a dagger from his boot after he’d pinned the man to the ground. He wasn’t a killer, but he could act like one of the situation called for it. “Don’t do anything stupid,” Raz said, voice quiet but hard. He pressed the edge of his dagger to the man’s throat. “The Earls’ gifts for the Princess – where are they?”

When the man didn’t reply, he pressed down lightly with the dagger. Blood well up from the nick and trailed down the footman’s throat. “Tell me,” Raz said.

“There,” the man said, eyes going to a short bureau on the far side of the room. “But it’s kept locked – only the Earl has the key.”

“Thank you. Fire serve you well,” Raz said politely, then used the hilt of the dagger to knock him out. Standing, he moved the unconscious footmen to where he wouldn’t immediately be noticed should someone glance into the room and went to the bureau.

It came up to just above his waist, made of some dark, heavy wood. Six deep, long drawers, decorated with gold handles and fancy, abstract scroll work engraved in the wood. On the topmost drawer was a keyhole set in gold. Pulling out his picks, Raz selected one of the smaller ones and set to work.

This one took him two minutes, and they felt like two hours. At last it gave, and he quickly began to go through the drawers, throwing whatever was easily carried into the pack he slid off his shoulders. Most of the stolen items would be discarded, most of it too hard to fence. But taking whatever he could carry meant they wouldn’t know the comb was the real focus of the theft.

Where was it? Worried, Raz opened the final drawer and let out a soft sigh of relief. Nestled beside a thick rope of pearls, several rings and two bracelets were four combs – two gold, one that looked like jade, and one of Highland silver. Tucking it into a hidden pocket of his vest, Raz threw the rest into his bag, swung the bag onto his back and crossed the room to the window. A second later he slipped outside, shut the window behind him, then dropped from the balcony into the side yard and worked his way around to the back.

Over the gate, through the alley, Raz didn’t relax until he was back at the inn. He grinned as he entered the room.

Ailill looked up as the door opened, and his eyes took on a gleam as he saw the grin on Raz’s face. “You have it?”

“Of course,” Raz said smugly. Reaching into his vest, he pulled out the silver comb and eyed it a moment. Delicate, pretty, glaringly feminine. The teeth of the comb were long, the ends sharp. All across the top were roses, with rubis for the petals and esmeralda for the leaves, gold making the stem and thorns. “It’s beautiful,” Raz said, and tossed it to Ailill.

“I can’t believe…” Ailill stared at it in wonder. He looked up at Raz. “Thank you. Highland silver is not enough to pay for what you’ve done for me.”

Raz shrugged. “Just another job for me, though it’s rare I get a customer I enjoy working for.” He smiled. “Tell you what – help me get Pechal out of the country and we’ll call it even.”

“Done,” Ailill said immediately. “I hope we find him soon.”

“I did find him,” Raz said with a grin, and there was no mistaking the elation in his voice and face. “But there’s no time to explain now. I had a bit of trouble stealing that; they’ll notice the theft in a matter of minutes if they haven’t already. We’ve got to go.”

Ailill nodded. The comb vanished into the depths of his jacket. “Everything is ready.” He hefted a bag from the floor and slipped it onto his shoulders. “Shall we?”

Raz nodded and led the way outside, through the streets and out of the city.



Chapter Six

Dym walked silently through the halls of the palace, oblivious to the buzz of noise around him, lost in his own thoughts.

Forcing them to current problems was impossible. Even the matter of the Candidate could not hold his attention for more than a second.

On some level, he had known he’d see that face again. It was impossible that he not. Such was the way of things. Still, it had hurt. For a moment, he had not been sure he could bear.

Why does looking at you hurt?

Making a rough sound, biting back the pain that wanted to make itself heard, Dym again wrenched his thoughts back to where they should be. Not on that too-familiar face, but on the other. The Candidate who had gotten away, thanks to carelessness – mostly his own, because he’d let a familiar face shake him.

Dym felt tired.

“High Priest!” Dym turned at the sound of someone calling for him, to see a royal guard marching briskly toward him. “The Princess requires your presence at once.”

“Of course,” Dym said levelly. “Tell her I am on my way.”

“Yes, High Priest.” The guard bowed and then dashed off back the way he’d come.

Dym followed at a slower pace, once more fighting a battle with his thoughts – and this time winning, because it wouldn’t do to let someone else gain the upper hand. If Princess Sonya was summoning him in the middle of the afternoon, it was undoubtedly because of the debacle with the Candidate.

The guard had not mentioned the Princess’s location within the palace, which meant she was most likely in the king’s office. As his illness worsened, more and more of his duties were foisted upon his sister. While it was unusual for a woman to assume such authority, it was not unheard of – and few people had any desire to challenge Princess Sonya.

She was indeed in the king’s office, dressed in a blue afternoon gown decorated with pink and yellow flowers, hair tightly braided and coiled, decorated with flowers to match the dress. Far too pretty a woman to be stuck in an office of dark browns and maroons decorated with hunting trophies and weapons, smelling of pipe smoke and men’s cologne. But the sweet scent of her perfume – vanilla and cinnamon – was slowly permeating the office, staking its own claim.

“High Priest,” Sonya greeted with a warm smile. “Good afternoon.”

“Strength of the Midday, Princess,” Dym said with a bow. “How may I be of assistance?”

“I’ve several things to discuss with you, and I shall be surprised if you don’t know at least the first.”

Dym nodded. “The Candidate, I would hazard.”

“Yes,” Sonya said, setting aside the letter she’d been looking over and sitting back in a wide, deep, leather seat. “The stories I’ve been hearing are fascinating. I suppose I should be upset no report was sent to me, but I know you and so I’m not. Simply appease my curiosity.”

“Yes, Princess,” Dym said, amusement making his eyes brighter than usual. They dimmed as he began to explain. “Apparently the Candidate had taken refuge in the Old Cathedral, sneaking inside and hiding in the old rooms at the top that are no longer used. He probably could have hidden their indefinitely, if a few priests had not been set to cleaning those old rooms out. I was there visiting the priests and checking on the status of things. Rather than follow procedure, they brought him to me in the main room. It caused a panic, and we all were taken enough by surprise that mistakes were made. We will find him again soon, Princess.”

“No doubt,” Sonya said. “I certainly can see where everyone would have been thrown off balance.” She sighed. “What a relief it will be, when all is finally said and done. I wonder, if our ancestors knew of this, would they still have killed the Firebird?”

“Nothing worth having is easily obtained,” Dym calmly. “If you want something, you must be willing to pay the price.”

Sonya nodded. “That is certainly true – unless you are a thief.” Her lips curved in amusement. “Have you heard of what befell the Earl Zholty?”

Dym shook his head.

“You must be the only one. Apparently he was robbed last night. A brigand snuck into his house, accosted his valet and snuck off with a fortune in women's jewelry. Quite violent, I hear. Threatened to take the poor servant’s head off with his sword, and they fear he’ll be back to take what he left behind.

“Interesting,” Dym said. “I hadn’t realized the Earl was in the habit of wearing women's jewelry.”

Sonya shrugged. “Perhaps it’s to bribe women to his bed. Certainly his manners won’t get him very far.”

“Jewelry, is it? My impression was that the latest fad was to visit a prospect in their bathing chamber.”

Sonya’s laughter filled the room, and it was several minutes before she could speak. “Alas, that tactic does not seem to work.” She winked. “Still, perhaps it bears further experimentation. Perhaps when one of those handsome men from Piedre comes for a visit…” She winked again and then forced herself back to work. “My brother is taking a turn for the worse.”

Dym nodded.

“Your face gives nothing away, dearest Dym, but I can read it anyway. I happen to agree, as does my brother. He is never going to take a turn for the better.” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her seat. “I think I could handle it better if I knew what was killing him. ‘Strange disease’ does not reassure me.” She rubbed her forehead tiredly. “Though so long as no one else contracts it, I shall count my meager blessings.”

“All blessings are equally precious. If they seem inadequate, that is the flaw of the blessed, not the blessings.”

Sonya stared at him for a moment, amber eyes intent. Dym starred calmly back, as composed and aloof as ever, but his green eyes were dark, and seemed to say he understood. At last she sighed. “You are right.” She closed her eyes, obviously doing battle with the thoughts in her head. When she finally opened them again, pale amber had turned to dark gold with pain. “It’s probably only a matter of days, weeks if we’re lucky. After that, everything is going to be chaos. Precious few are aware his illness is that bad. I wanted you to know because when chaos takes over, I’ve no doubt my cousin and Earl Zholty will be quick to make sure you’re in line for undergoing significant change. You have my full support – don’t hesitate to make that perfectly clear to whomever tries to trouble you.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

“Speaking of trouble, have you had any – besides the Candidate, which I’m sure you’ll take care of. I’m certain a few extra days will make no difference, really, when we’ve been doing this for centuries.”

Dym shook his head. “Nothing but the usual minor things that crop up from time to time. I’m certain you’ve troubles enough, Princess.”

Sonya shrugged. “It comes with being a Princess with a sick brother.” She smiled. “Speaking with you always cheers me. Thank you.”

Dym stood and bowed. “I am honored to be of assistance, Princess.”

“Thank you for coming. I hope the rest of your day goes well.” She hesitated, then sighed. “Might I ask you something?”

“Princess, please do not say you worry about offending me.”

Sonya smiled ruefully. “Questions can offend more than actions. I wondered why you chose to become a priest? You’re not like the rest of them, who had little choice in the matter. Not that I know your past, I’m not so rude as to invade your privacy, but I sense you could have been much more.”

Dym was silent for several minutes. “There are many, Princess, who said that you could have done much better than an Earl. That you should have done better. Yet had the Earl Oranzhevy been a Baron or even a peasant, I sense you still would have married him.”

“Yes,” Sonya whispered, staring at her desk but seeing something else entirely. She looked at Dym in sudden comprehension. “Are you saying…”

“I am saying that there are some decisions we can not help but make, no matter what it costs us to make them.” With a last nod, Dym left the room.

He made his way back to his own chambers, once more lost in thought, largely oblivious to the people around him. Passing through the outer salon, through his bedroom, Dym stopped at last in his dressing chamber. Slowly he undressed, hanging up his priest robes and exchanging them for one of dark linen. Securing it with a plain gray sash, he moved to a long, backless couch set in a corner of his bedroom.

All his rooms were dark in color, a mix of browns, greens and blues. While the weather was still warm, he kept the windows open, enjoying the smell of fresh air, a hint of the ocean. But mingled with it was the smell of ashes, a scent of which he was never entirely free.

Sitting down, back to the high, curved end of the couch, Dym picked up the sketchpad he’d left lying on it. If any nosy servant, acting on orders or simply impulse, happened to glance through, they would see only sketches of the past and current Candidate mixed in with sketches of flowers, different parts of the castle.

Turning to a blank sheet, Dym hesitated briefly over the materials resting on a small table nearby, finally settling on a thin piece of charcoal. Ignoring the mess it was already making of his hand, he began to slowly and carefully sketch.

Beneath his hands an image slowly began to take shape. It was a close-up of a man. Handsome, charismatic. Large eyes, colorless in charcoal but Dym remembered they’d been the exact color of smoke. Thick hair, poorly cut and messy, as if hands were constantly mussing it. Whose?

Dym shoved the errant thought aside and focused on the sketching, on drawing. Strong cheekbones and jaw, a nose in perfect proportion. Lips, dark in color, curved in a smile that looked infinitely better than the misery that had shaped them in the Cathedral of Dawn.

Why does looking at you hurt?

Flinching, Dym ignored the echoing question and continued to sketch, filling in shoulders, the beginnings of a dark vest and linen shirt. Finished, he tore the page out, set it aside and immediately began another. This second one was a full sketch, showing a trim build encased in simple clothes, eyes still wide, mouth still curved in a smile. Around the figure Dym sketched in details of the Cathedral. Right behind him had been the window depicting the Golden Apples and Dym drew it in, charcoal lines amazingly delicate. Careful lines turned weak moonlight into beams of sunlight, and even in black and white the image seemed to blaze with life.

Making a rough sound, Dym tore it out and treated both images so the charcoal wouldn’t smear. He glanced at the mess on his hands, where it had smeared on his arms and no doubt on his face. Shaking his head, Dym crossed into the sitting room and locked the main door, then passed back through his bedroom and into his dressing room again. Hanging up the dark robe, he carefully picked out a white linen robe, careful not to get charcoal on it. Hanging it on a hook in the bathing chamber, Dym climbed into the steaming pool and began to scrub himself clean.




“I hear a Candidate actually got away from you, High Priest.” Nikolai looked at him from across the long banquet table, smug amusement plain on his face.

Dym nodded, but did not offer any explanation.

Nikolai’s smugness turned into ire. “How did it happen?”

“I dislike boring the table with such a subject. I erred, I am in the process of fixing it. If your Grace would like to see that matters proceed as they should, you are of course most welcome to come by the Cathedral to see for yourself.”

Sonya laughed. “Come, Kolya. Surely you’ve already heard more than enough of that. I certainly have. Don’t we have anything to talk about.”

Reluctantly Nikolai conceded defeat and shifted his attention to the man sitting next to the High Priest. “Zholty, I hear you’ve lost a few things. That is a story that never grows boring.”

“If I ever catch the thief,” the Earl said, making a face, “I shall be certain to send him on to you before I have him locked up.”

“I hear he ran off with your finest string of pearls,” Nikolai goaded.

Earl Zholty laughed. “As well as the earrings I was going to give to you.” Around them the table erupted in laughter.

Sonya shook her head and shared a brief look with Dym. “I would not make too much fun, cousin. Misfortune hits hardest he who thinks himself immune.”

“Immune?” Nikolai snorted. “Hardly that, dear cousin. I’ve headaches enough for three, I assure you.” Along the table, conversation picked up again, tension created by Nikolai’s words to the High Priest fading away.

Another hour passed, as dessert was brought out and eventually taken away, and Sonya started to bring the meal to an end and lead everyone to the grand salon. Before she could speak, a servant appeared at her side and ducked down to whisper in her ear. Hiding a frown, Sonya nodded and whispered a reply back. Smiling politely, she signaled for Nikolai to takeover. “High Priest, might I trouble you to walk with me?”

“I would be honored, Princess,” Dym said. Standing smoothly, he helped Sonya to her feet and escorted her from the room. Behind them, conversation faltered, then resumed in full measure, proper topics of conversation interspersed with speculative whispers.

Dym was silent as they walked the empty halls; the majority of the nobility were in the banquet hall, the rest would be at home complaining that they hadn’t been invited. His robes were the same he always wore, remarkably plain next to the splendor of the nobles in their finest evening gowns and suits, the Chiefs in their fancy robes of state. Beside him Sonya was resplendent in pink and silver…save for the unhappy expression on her face. Dym waited.

“My brother has taken another turn for the worse,” Sonya said at last. “They felt I should be summoned. Normally I would have Nikolai accompany me, but I am tired of him using my brother’s illness as an opening to tell him what he thinks of the current state of things.” Sonya laughed weakly. “So often now it feels like everything is falling apart. My brother is sick, tension is growing in the court, criminals growing bolder…never mind all the problems we’re having with relations abroad. I won’t bore you with that.” She sighed softly. “Perhaps I’m just letting silly superstition get the better of me, but ever since that dratted storm nothing has been the same.”

Dym didn’t answer immediately, and spoke slowly when he finally replied. “When the gods fell, the balance of the world shifted. With the return of the Sacred Storm Bringers that balance is shifting again – for better or worse, no man is fit to say. But the shift affects all things. Silly superstition is merely a lack of understanding. Eventually good things will come to balance out the negativity that is weighing you down.”

Sonya smiled and leaned slightly into him. “Always so comforting, Dym.”

“A priest is mean to comfort and help,” Dym said calmly. “If he cannot be depended upon for that, then he is a poor priest.”

“You make me think of my husband. He always knew exactly what to say.” She sighed and stood straight. “Which reminds me…do you remember all that we spoke of this afternoon?”

“Yes, Princess.”

Sonya let go of his arm and halted, tilting her head to look up at him. “As I’ve already said, my brother will not live much longer. I will probably be on the throne in a matter of weeks. There are only two candidates left, right? I wonder, if when all is done, if you would consider being my consort? I love my husband, I always will, but I think you and I would get on well together. I trust you more than anyone else I know…it would be nice to have you at my side.”

Dym’s face remained composed, but his green eyes flared with surprise. “Princess…”

“I knew you’d say no,” Sonya said, forcing a smile. “But I wanted to ask, and I wanted you to know. The offer is always there, should you ever want to accept it.”

“Princess,” Dym said softly. “I am truly honored, for I assure you I am not worthy.” Slowly he reached up and cupped her face, leaned down to give her a soft, brief kiss. “I thank you, Princess, and wish that I could accept.”

Sonya stared at him, dazed, then shook herself.. “It’s all right,” she said, and gave a more genuine smile. “Were Misha still alive, I would still be his loving, devoted, happily-married wife. I just wanted you to know.” She laughed suddenly. “I have the bath chamber and a kiss; I think I’ll count those blessings and not ask for more. Come, let’s go see my brother.” Her smile was defeated by a deep frown. “Just a few days ago he was walking about the palace, if a trifle slowly, and now he cannot leave his bed. If I didn’t know any better…” she left the sentence unfinished.

A guard opened the door for them as they approached the King’s Chambers. Sonya nodded to him.

Inside her brother’s bedroom, the air was hot, overwhelmed by the blaze in the fireplace. Grimacing at the temperature, and the overwhelming smell if illness permeating the room, Sonya strode briskly to her brother’s bedside and laid a hand across his forehead. “Zarya,” she said quietly. “I’m here.”

“Sonya, sweet sister, I’m so sorry.” Zarya’s voice was faint, but steady.

“Shh…” Sonya soothed. “Just rest. You’ll be better soon.”

“Or dead,” Zarya replied. “Someone else is here. It can’t be Nikolai if he hasn’t opened his mouth yet.”

Dym said nothing as he drew closer, but a faint smile curved his lips. “Majesty.”

Zarya smiled, something like genuine pleasure brightening his illness-dimmed eyes. “Things must be dire indeed if my sister has dragged you from that cathedral.”

“If I can lend your Majesty any comfort, I am more than happy to do so.”

Zarya struggled to sit up, ignoring Sonya’s fussing and making her help him. “I guess in other countries you’d be chanting prayers of death over my head.” Zarya grimaced. “None of that. I am happy merely to have someone who does see me in bed as a good chance to discuss politics. Do I look as though I can do anything about what they tell me?” He motioned to his sister. “I keep telling them to harass her.”

“Yes, and when I tell them no they come back to you. Much like caring for children, I’d imagine.” She looked briefly sad, but pressed on. “Anyway, I thought we weren’t supposed to be discussing politics. Drink your tea, Zarya.”

“If I must,” he agreed, and obediently drank the tea he’d been ignoring. “Amuse me? Did something horribly embarrassing happen to anyone at the banquet?”

“No,” Sonya said reprovingly. “Stop gossiping.”

Zarya looked to Dym pleadingly.

Dym smiled faintly. “How about a story?”

“What kind of story?” Zarya asked.

“Very few people visit the cathedrals anymore; if they did, they would notice that each of the paintings and windows tells a story.”

The king frowned. “How would you know them? By rights, I should have you arrested for knowing more than the law permits.”

“If a king and a farmer enjoy meat pies, does it suddenly make the meat pies bad if a criminal enjoys them as well?”

Zarya threw his head back and laughed, holding on to his amusement even when the laughter turned to racking coughs. “Well spoken, High Priest. Tell us one of your lost stories.”

Dym nodded. “There is one, in a window in the Old Cathedral, which uses six small pictures to tell a story called ‘The Boy and the Golden Apples’.”

Once upon a time there was a young boy who became lost in the forest. Over and over again he cried out for help, searching for the people who had been with him. But no one answered his cries and he found nothing in the woods except the wild animals. For many days he wandered through the forest, surviving on nuts and berries, drinking from the stream he was afraid to let vanish from his sight.

Until one day he found himself at the end of the forest, and staring into a field beyond. In the middle of that field was a beautiful building, like nothing he could remember ever seeing. Entranced by it, the boy immediately set off towards it, fear and exhaustion falling away.

The building was surrounded by a high wall, but by climbing a nearby tree the boy managed to go over the wall and into a magnificent garden. There, too exhausted to move, lulled by the sweet smell of flowers and fruit, he fell asleep beneath a large bush.

He was wakened by the sound of singing, the voice too beautiful for him to believe it was real. Peaking out from behind the bush that hid him, the boy stared in wonder at the singer – a wondrous man, surely a lord, sang as he walked in the garden. He was dressed in splendid gold and silver clothes, but his voice was more splendid by far. The boy stared, unable to look away. Eventually the lord stopped wandering the garden and paused beneath the apple tree at the garden’s center.

The tree outshone everything else in the garden, with leaves so vibrant and green they paled the finest jewels, and the apples hanging amongst the branches were the color of pure gold, heavy and large. The splendid lord reached up and picked one apple, and the boy was sad to hear the singing stop, except he saw how happy the apple made the lord.

The lord finished eating the apple and resumed singing, but his steps led him away from the tree and eventually from the garden. Saddened, the boy hid back beneath his bush and waited for night to fall. When it was dark, he quickly stole whatever he could reach, but never did he go near the lord’s splendid tree of golden apples. After he had eaten, he returned to his bush and fell asleep.

Every day he waited for the splendid lord to appear, and listened to him sing, and watched as he ate a golden apple. By night he helped himself to the garden food, and cleaned as best he could in the little pond in the corner, and went to sleep beneath his bush.

Until one day the lord did not appear, and the boy began to grow anxious. Where was he? Was something wrong? Had the lord gotten lost? Sad to think that he might never see the lord again, anxious to hear that lovely voice, worried that the lord would not be happy without his apple, the boy waited until dark and then ventured to the apple tree. Climbing it, he picked a single golden apple and then walked slowly toward the end of the garden where the lord always vanished and the boy had never been brave enough to go.

At the end of the garden was a door, and it led to a maze of beautiful rooms. But they were no people, only an awful silence to fill them. Through them the boy wandered, holding tightly to the shining, golden apple. Just as he began to despair, to think that he had once again lost himself and would never see the splendid lord again, he came across a room more magnificent than all the others. In this room, sitting by a window, was the splendid lord. The boy froze in the doorway, too scared to move forward.

The splendid lord must have sensed something, for he suddenly looked up, and was surprised to see someone standing in the doorway. He beckoned the boy forward, and asked what he was doing. Shyly the boy explained, and when he finished he held out the golden apple to which he’d so desperately clung.

Smiling, the splendid lord accepted the apple and kissed the top of the boy’s head, and declared that forever after the boy should stay with him, and when he was too busy to visit the garden, the boy would bring the golden apples to him. Then he took the boy into his arms and began to sing, and the boy knew he was lost no more.

“What a pretty story…” Sonya said. “It almost makes me want to cry. How sad that it’s no longer told.”

Dym smiled. “It is not as forgotten as you might think. Many of my priests come from very far away. In the more rural villages many of the stories are still remembered. Speak with them sometime, if you want. It would make them quite happy.”

“I will,” Sonya promised. She glanced at her brother, who had fallen asleep, and stood up to arrange him more comfortably. “Thank you, Dym. As always, you are far too kind.”

Dym bowed. “As always, it is an honor. Shall I escort you to your room?”

“That’s all right. I’m going to stay here for a bit. If you need to go, please do. I take you away from your duties enough as it is.”

“You take precedence, Princess. I am happy to help. Peace of the Evening, to you and his Majesty.” Bowing low, Dym departed.

Comments

[ceria-taliesin.livejournal.com]

I don't know why you think this series isn't publishable.

It's amazing.

I'm always glad to see a new chapter of this.

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Hee, thanks. Mostly because it's too short, actually. Lost Gods started as a desire to do a story of gods coming back to life, rahter than being slaughtered as the evil!beings they always are. But I didn't want it to be a fracking bajillion page epic. So far they're only about 80,000 words each, way too short for most novels (unless I called it Brokeback Gods or something, then it could be 55 pages and world famous, heh).

[rykaine.livejournal.com]

But then again, there're a lot of places in Treasure that could stand to be reworked and fleshed out. I mean... You started writing that about the time of Rainbow, and you've improved vastly since then. Seriously, compare what you have a Burning to Treasure, and you see what I mean.

They could be made novel-worthy just fine with a little spit and polish.

[tygati.livejournal.com]

Woah. o.o Loving Raz's weird not-quite-memory issues... and the thing with Dym.. and... and... *flailflail* so... freaking... cool... *_____________* I'm not sure who's cooler: Raz for being a walking mystery, or Dym for knowing more of the mystery than he care to let on... *______________*

And that story of Dym's near the end... *bouncebouncefidget* I wanna know how that ties innnn...... *flail* The Lord with the apples is the fire god, yes? *working off hazy memories of that fairytale of Ivan....* ^^;

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Hee ^___^ I'm glad it's working, you make this humble writer happy.

Don't ask questions I can't answer, dork. <3

[tygati.livejournal.com]

It's working, it's working!!! *flail flail* It's working too well!!! ^^;;

Ah, but you can answer them... eventually... in upcoming chapters.... *griiiiin*

[nepenth.livejournal.com]

::sighs:: such a beautiful story.

[electrainverted.livejournal.com]

Beautiful~

Two Canidates left, hmm?
Love all around, and once again I wanted to hit people for thinking it's ALL RIGHT, what they do. :D; Fire is change, nothing more, nothing less.

<<; Excuse my rambling.

[mechante-fille.livejournal.com]

Oh loveliness! *sigh* The problem with missing parts, and getting to read several chapters at once, is that I become spoiled, and want more.

But, I shall be patient. Hm, interesting. I had thought that Dym and Pechal would be paired, but now, I'm thinking Dym and Raz. Maybe Pechal is meant for the King? Hm. I don't want him to die. Ivan, either.

I love that you had the fountain from earlier be the story of 'The Boy and the Golden Apples.' And that it was the window behind Raz in the picture Dym drew. Things that make you go hmmm...

Can't wait to see more!! ^_^

[darknesslight.livejournal.com]

Gaaaaah. Just read through the prologue up to here... >.> I'm a bit confused as to whom the sisters are guarding--Pechal or Raz. Maybe it's clear in the story, and I missed it in my impatience.

I love this universe so much. It makes me warm and fuzzy inside.

[vampjannae.livejournal.com]

omg... you've done it again! now I have to keep myself busy until the next chapter... pretty high priest Dym makes me think of Sanzo somehow... maybe that's the fangirl in me though. I dunno.

But good work! I would so love to see this published!

^_^

Please, Ma'am, might I have another? *portrays pitiful orphan child*

[anialove.livejournal.com]

I'm mainly a lurker, but I wanted to comment on this since "Treasure" was the first story I read by you, and I'm ecstatic to see the sequel being posted.

First, much luv for Shio and Shinju, for mermaids are some of the coolest mythological creatures. (Although is there a reason she was Shiinju in Treasure, and now she's merely Shinju?)

Second, I like how you named each country in a different language and gave them some flavor from the counter-part country from which you chose the language. (I can't wait to see Schatten. I like Germans, totally cool people, even if they believe that free refills are only in America.)

Thirdly, there's more of Sonya. She's kick@$$, really, and now she plays off so well with Dym. Who doesn't love a witty princess and high priest?

Fourthly, and lastly, there is thief love. I don't know why, but thieves are awesome. And Raz is so loyal to Pechal, it's very cute. Plus he has a mysterious past with above yummy high priest.

You write so darn well. It'd be annoying if I didn't love reading your stuff so much.

Livi

[suspendisbelief.livejournal.com]

“If I were a god, I’d insist on everything being simple."
- begs the question of whether this will turn out to be prophetic ^_^

Seems lots of things are hinting to it anyway...
Like the sisters seem to be sticking to Raz even though Pechal was the one identified as the Candidate...

Not to mention this thing that's between Raz and Dym.
"It felt like something inside him broke" -loved this sentence... my over-active imagination provided me with the sound effects of bone breaking -_-;;
hmm.. anguish and shame... can't really think why Raz should be ashamed.. assuming he is the lost god. didn't people betray him?
From the sketch done by Dym, could Raz be the lord and is being seen thru the boy's eyes with the golden apple tree as a background? that is the Dym is the boy....?
argh the mysteriousness is eating my brain.


Much love for Ivan and Ailill
not sure if will see their relationship develop in this story or will there be another story concerning the gods of Verde that will include Ivan and Ailill ???

Why was Ivan called Vanya as well?
Is that like his merc name?

I also wonder about the comb. Why search so long and hard for something that, as far as we know, has no magical powers; therefore it has to have some sentimental value to Ailill's mother... and is his relation with his 'mother' the same as shinjo and shio's relation to their 'father'?

Didn't get the saying about the meat pies
too clever for me... -_-;;

I was amused that Dym purposely went to lock his door before he climbed into the bath to wash up after sketching. Have a feeling that the sketch that Dym did of Raz is going to spell trouble for Raz. Like some servant is going to see it and...

heh, Nikolai and the Earl seem to have a close relationship.....
Is the strange illness of the king is actually another curse by the Earl??

Looking forward to the next installment ^__^

[maderr.livejournal.com]

'Vanya' is the pet form of Ivan. It's like calling me 'Meg' instead of 'Megan.'

The meat pies thing just means that just because a thing is liked by bad people doesn't make the thing itself bad.

The comb won't make sense in this story, it's not meant to, but when I do Verde's story all will become clear ^_^

[skylark97.livejournal.com]

*tackle hearts you* I so, so love this story. *____* And I so think it's worth publishing. Don't talk yourself out of it at this stage in the game, at least. *hearts*

Ooh! And I loved this line: “Jewelry, is it? My impression was that the latest fad was to visit a prospect in their bathing chamber.”

*tackle glomps* ^_________________________^!

[phoenix-rinna.livejournal.com]

Yes, I'm late. Sorry about that.... Oh, I'd almost forgotten how good this story was before I finally started reading this installment.

And ah, how the intrigue deepens! Raz and Dym somehow know eachother, I take it, and my guess is that somehow it does or will relate to that boy with the golden apple story.

I'm glad Raz found Pechal. I do hope they manage to get him out of the country, though who knows what that will do for the country?

I like how intricately you've developed the myths, rophecies and beliefs of the lands in this story; after all, those are the things that give life to any world, country, or society; practices, beliefs, legends, history.

Hmm. I have the sense that these people are not going to be able to entirely avoid the prophecies, as they hope. Generally speaking, prophecies can't be avoided. But who knows?

So yes. I really do enjoy this story. Now, I'll be off to read the next chapters.

[tygati.livejournal.com]

Doing a quick re-read to refresh my memory and ran across a few rough spots:

Outside, the anxiety he’d shoved came back in force,

shoved... aside? away? something. 9.9 Sounds funny.

not much more than an over-large copse of trees But with the late hour, it would do.

Decapitalize your But. ;)

Not that ever been tempted to kill anyone.

Not that... he'd? he had? ^^; You lost your sentence subject.

but he could act like one of the situation called for it.

of = if

“The Earls’ gifts for the Princess – where are they?”

Earl's :)

Blood well up from the nick and trailed

welled or somesuch. Check with Sammikins.

with rubis for the petals and esmeralda for the leaves

... I can't decide if you meant to misspell rubies or not. o.o; Since you've used 'esmeralda' several times now... 9.9

He probably could have hidden their indefinitely,

*wince* Hononym. their = there

Dym starred calmly back, as

stared.

I certainly have. Don’t we have anything to talk about.”

... shouldn't that be a question mark? 9.9

Sonya stared at him, dazed, then shook herself.. “It’s all right,”

Double periods. :) Making up for all the missing ones? ^.~

and the overwhelming smell if illness permeating the room

if = of

I am happy merely to have someone who does see me in bed as a good chance to discuss politics.

... I -think- you meant 'does NOT' see..? 9.9

Peaking out from behind the bush that hid him

Hononym. Peaking = Peeking. :)

maze of beautiful rooms. But they were no people,

they = there

Done. ^^; *squees over Dym again and goes zooming off to read the stuff she hasn't read yet* ^^;;;

[maderr.livejournal.com]

It's going to take me all bloody weekend to make all your corrections ^_~

[tygati.livejournal.com]

Bah. All you have to do is a quick cut&paste coupled with an Alt-Edit-Find and presto! Not nearly as long as it took me to find them all! *gringringringrin*

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Yeah, and when there's how many chapters in two stories to be fixed? By the time I c/p the list of corrections into word (cause it's hard to flip back to comments all the time) it'll be into the pages and pages.

Ah, well. Serves me right. XD

[tygati.livejournal.com]

o.o? You sure have a funny way of editing... >.> Or I could just be the ultimate multi-window multitasking queen.... ^.~ ..... o.o! Waitasec... ¬ ¬ You use Word... which has that EVIL copy-paste problem, doesn't it....?

[tygati.livejournal.com]

OR... 9.9 For future stories, you could just send me the doc file so I can fix all the extraneous punctuation myself and hilight the parts you need to fix in neon pink so they're easy to find! ^________^

...... >.> ... hell, I'll do Sandstorm for you tonight if you want. I'll probably be up until 2 or 3 anyway. ^^v

[maderr.livejournal.com]

That's what I do with Sam, oft times. What she's doing now in fact.


>_> Child. you're insane. Don't you dare. If you're going to be up that late, find something *fun* to do.

[tygati.livejournal.com]

See? Easy. Wouldn't even have to break routine. ^.^v

Pfft. I'm pretty sure we're the same age. And I'm always up that late. I've adjusted to Mikey's hours. ^^; So it's pretty much either watch him play KH2, read comics, or read your stories. ;) Which I happen to consider fun. ^.^v

.... >.> .... and yes, I am insane. However did you guess? O:)

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Heh.

Yeah, I think we are. But I call everyone 'child' when I think they're being UBER SILLY.

<3 I miss the days I could stay up that late ;__; As is, I'm going to go bed an hour late just to watch a tv show, and I'll be dead tired b/c of it =_= This acting grown up shit is teh sux0r.

Oh, I didn't have to ask. You're a glutton for punishment is what you are. If I hated you, I'd give you Prisoner. That'd knock sense back into your head.

[tygati.livejournal.com]

What's so silly about it? o.o? If I make all the corrections, then that frees up more of your time to write more story!!! ^_______________^ How is this a bad thing? ^________________________^

For some reason I have yet to understand, on days when I get less sleep than normal I'm hyperactive for the rest of the day. >.>; I just can't do it all the time. ;)

Heh. I'd accept, but I gather from comments that you've made that it needs more than just a grammar-check... which would mean another round of intense scrutiny like that one day with Sandstorm, cause I'm really not so good at picking up on plotty things that don't mesh right. :/ Oftentimes when I'm reading comments I find myself going "blinkblink... wha? I missed that!" ^^;; Heh.

[maderr.livejournal.com]

All it does is give me reason to read all this lovely manga sitting right beside me...

Freakchild.

Yeah, it needs me to fix it, I just don't have the time or patience yet =_= I like it so much, but it fsking sucks right now and that depressed me /whine

Sadly, that happens to me too >_< People go "yeah, but why this and that and this" and I just sort of slink away quietly and go hide in my corner.

[tygati.livejournal.com]

>.> Shame on you for reading manga when you should be entertaining me! writing lovely things for us loyal lapdogscats... ;)

*bows* Thank you, thank you.

Hrm... 9.9 Throw it at me in the morning some day if you want me to see if I can help any. ^.^

You can't think of everything! ;) Besides, isn't that what you have beta-readers for in the first place? ^^ To point that kind of stuff out to you before you put up the Final Draft, so you can work it in somewhere. ^______^v

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Dude, I'm totally writing(I only read two volumes, not all six, so ha)!:

“Isra!” A soldier ran up to him, not trying very hard to hide a grin. “The Falcon Sheik requests that you dine with him this evening.”

“He requests that I dine with him?” Isra glared at his honored uncle’s tent. “You can tell my honored uncle that he’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is.” He rolled his eyes. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself. Stop laughing or you’ll be eating sand.”

“Yes, Isra,” the soldier said, and smothering a laugh he turned and ran off.

Isra handed his horse off to the nearby handler – who was also trying not to laugh – and stalked across camp to his uncle’s tent, ignoring the guards outside and striding right inside. “Having fun at my expense, are we?” He paused only to wash his hands and arms in the bowl just inside the entrance, then sat down heavily at the table, glaring at Jabbar.

Jabbar chuckled. “Well, you’ve moved so high up in the world now, nephew, I thought perhaps I should ask politely for your company.”

“I can’t imagine why you think you’re so amusing,” Isra groused, ignoring his uncle in favor of examining the food. All manner of dishes had been arranged – spicy meat, steamed vegetables, half a dozen kinds of pastries, some savory, some sweet. “You must really want something.” He helped himself to the carafe of wine, drinking one dishful quickly and pouring a second to drink more slowly.

“Only an explanation, nephew, and believe it or not – I have been worried about you. When you left, I was not certain you would return, and I had no men to spare to bring you back.”

Isra winced, chastened. “I am sorry, honored uncle. I thought only of trying to find help…”

“You certainly found it,” Jabbar replied, sitting back and picking up his own wine dish, “and more besides, it would seem.”

“So it would seem,” Isra agreed, forcing himself not to fidget under Jabbar’s stare – as he had so often growing up.

Jabbar laughed outright. “You are not getting out of this, Isra. I want to know how you went from hating the Ghost Sheik to becoming the Sandstorm Prince’s concubine.”



<3 You're a sweetie. and speaking of betas, I think Sam would probably like to kill me right now ^^;

[tygati.livejournal.com]

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! ^_______________^ Love Isra. *nod*

And no obvious typos! o.o I'm amazed...

>.>; Oh? Dare I ask what you inflicted upon her? I'm not sure it can be worse than BB 7&8... x.x I'm not even to 8 yet and I have a page and a half of corrections... ^^;

[maderr.livejournal.com]

It's a good thing I don't have much of an ego for you to beat up, b/c it would take a hit at all these errors. It's amazing anyone puts up with my stories when they're this wretchedly put out.

I <3 Isra muchly. He's so much fun to write.

[tygati.livejournal.com]

We will forgive you for your horrendous butchery of the English Language for the sake of your Masterful Storytelling Skills. ;) Just promise not to post anything else until Sammikins or I have fixed all your typos first. O:)

He is beyond adorable. ^.^ All of your characters are totally awesome. Part of what makes you such a good storyteller. You have powerful, likeable characters. Even the Bad Guys are complex and interesting, as Jade is living proof of. *nod* You can have the most OMG amazing plot in the world and have a totally boring story if the characters aren't gripping enough for the reader to want to follow. ^^