19th of Thira

This morning dawned under a thundercloud. Rain pattered steadily against the diamond-paned windows in the apartment dining room, and the sky was deceptively dark, belying the fact that the sun was well above the horizon.

The dreariness was fitting, somehow, like a widow donning her grieving shawl.

I had eaten breakfast and was sitting at the table, sipping my morning tea and thinking of my father and Raggan, when Arramy's door opened. Then the man himself came trudging out into the kitchen, wearing nothing but his denims, his hair awry. He lurched to a halt and glowered at everything like an angry cave troll.

Braeton caught my attempt to muffle a snort behind my hand and glanced up from the periodical he was reading. A small glimmer of a smile twisted his mouth as he observed Arramy in all his hungover glory. "Rough night?"

Arramy winced and put a hand to his head, then began shuffling around in the kitchen, finding things mostly by feel as he put together a foul-looking concoction that involved baking salts, an egg, and citrus juice.

Braeton 'tsk'ed his tongue. "You know, this is highly unprofessional behavior for the chief of my security detail."

Arramy downed whatever disgusting thing he had stirred together, then gave Braeton a dull, bloodshot glare. "What are you gonna do? Fire me?" His glare flicked over to me, and his jaw tightened. Then he shook his head, winced again at the movement, about-faced, and limped back into his bedroom.

"We're leaving for Arritagne on the hour," Braeton called loudly before the door shut.

I bit my lip as Arramy told Braeton to go do something physically impossible to himself.

Braeton quirked an eyebrow and twitched his periodical open again.

~~~

The colossal glass dome of the Capitol Building managed to be impressive even in the rain, its million facets glittering in the wan light of a late-afternoon storm, illuminated from within by the gaslights on the first floor.

The Central Exchange rose into the sky behind it, its spires of green luxglass and steel marching upward around the tallest tower, home to the bustling Arritagne merchant center.

Sprawling out from the Capitol and the Exchange stood several smaller buildings built during the Expansionist era, with white-washed walls and copper-tiled roofs. Those gave way to a host of smaller buildings, and then the rest of the city clambered up the sides of the Capitol valley in layers, new over old.

The new had never quite managed to overtake all of the old, though, not even in a city as industrious and powerful as Arritagne. The Council tried to hide it, screen it away with fences and tall new buildings, but there was still a dirty, crumbling crust of poverty clinging to the edges of the city.

I wasn't surprised at all when Braeton told Henmyrre to make an unannounced turn off the main road into one of these seedier sections on the outskirts, pulling to a stop in front of a nondescript, dilapidated building that looked just like all the other dilapidated buildings lining that particular street. It was exactly the sort of place NaVarre the Pirate seemed to operate best in, and there was a noticeable spring in Braeton's step when he got out of the horseless and walked away, disappearing down an alley.

He was gone for several minutes. Then he came back, opened the travel compartment door, and climbed in as if he had gone to call on a friend for tea.

I raised an eyebrow as he sat down on his side of the compartment, and tapped the viewing window, signaling to Henmyrre.

My eyebrow stayed up when he settled himself into the seat cushions, making himself comfortable as the horseless pulled away from the curb.

I crossed my arms over my chest.

Braeton finally gave me a look, then pulled a face. "Fine, this does concern you, I just don't want it to... ah... concern you," he said, reaching into his jacket. He withdrew a small, official looking binder, the sort found in a Civil Registration Bureau. My identity papers had come in something similar.

He didn't hand it over right away. He considered me for a moment longer, then said, calmly, "Things are going to start moving quickly after tonight. I have to bluff my way into that meeting at Reixham's party, so I've got to fool at least a few important people into thinking I belong there. Which means I'm going to start dropping big names and telling lies. It won't be long before someone backtracks and starts asking questions, which is going to blow my cover wide open. Hopefully we're already gone by then, but..." he held out the binder. "First, you need to understand that this isn't binding. We can burn it, later. It's only part of an elaborate escape plan if this all goes sideways." He went quiet as I took the binder from him and opened it.

It was a marriage certificate.

Both of my eyebrows shot up. "Hah!"

Braeton heaved a sigh and sat back, lifting his hands in defeat. "And you're laughing. You always laugh - Why do - There is a line of women, a mile-long line, who would pull out all their front teeth for what you're holding."

"I'm not laughing," I said quickly, pinching my mouth small. "And I'm not going to pull out my teeth," I added without looking at him, studying the contents of the binder instead. The names were uninteresting. "Kaen and Larra Anderfield." I moved the certificate and found two sets of identity papers. An arristocratically handsome man with dark, shaggy hair stared at me from one card, and my own face - with my natural hair and features - from the other. "Why do I look like me?"

"It'll be easier to maintain on the run," he said quietly.

I read the details on the standing papers and the travel permits. All of it was simple. Uncomplicated. Designed to blend in anywhere. The last thing in the binder was a scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it. "I take it this is a safehouse?"

Braeton shifted in his seat. "If we get separated, that's where I want you to go. I trust the innkeeper with my life. He'll help you get back to Aethscaul. With or without me."

Frowning, I brought my head up.

"These documents will be kept at that address," he continued, nodding toward the scrap of paper in my hand. "All you have to do is show up and tell Orrelian your cover name. Just... if I'm not there, wait a few weeks before you plan my funeral."

I let a grin spread over my face. "No promises." I was joking, but my smile died quickly, stolen by the enormity of what we were heading into. "Thank you," I murmured.

Braeton's eyes crinkled at the corners, which softened his features ever so slightly. The icy Braeton mask slipped a fraction, and for a moment NaVarre was sitting on the seat across from me. It had been quite a while since I had last seen him – long enough that it had become too easy to forget that Lord Braeton was only an act. I found myself staring at those warm golden-green eyes a little too long, and looked down, closing the binder before handing it back to him.

~~~

We reached the Capitol square of Arritagne at midday and disembarked at the Racynne House as planned. There wasn't a screaming gaggle of sycophants waiting outside this time, mostly because this hotel was in a part of the city accustomed to the rich and famous. In fact, the Racynne House catered strictly to people like Braeton, and many other members of the Circle took rooms there when they were in town. Braeton was counting on it.

After the luggage had been installed in our rooms, he insisted that I change my morning dress for a touring outfit of pale pink silk, and then we headed for the Exchange with Arramy, Henmyrre, and Longwater trailing along behind us. We were out to be seen.

Several hours later Braeton had bought six new sets of insanely expensive jewelry, six new matched accessories, 'peasant' costumes for the veildfaste, and spent a small fortune. My job in all of that was to act the part of his plaything, giddy and clinging, openly demonstrating my appreciation in front of dressmakers and haberdashers and shop goers, attracting attention and causing as much of a commotion as possible.

I did it. I did it, and I squashed every twist of awareness when Arramy glanced away. I did it, and the longer I did it, the easier it got to make myself smile and laugh while not looking for the big, silent blond guarding the door.

When we had made a big enough spectacle of ourselves, and splashed our names across several society papers, Braeton whisked us all back to the hotel, where we got ready for the veildfaste, exchanging sophisticated city clothes for rustics - a white linen tunic and brown denims for Braeton, and a quaint tapestry halfbodice over an off-shoulder white lace blouse and a tiered linen skirt for me. I spent an extra hour making sure my Pretty Pendar mask was glued on well enough to withstand energetic dancing, and that none of the edges could be seen, then I let the maid work her magic on my hair. I looked like some sort of nonsensical fairy-tale version of a farm girl when she was done, with my copper-gold hair tumbling down my back in a riot of wildflower-studded curls.

Braeton smiled when he saw me, took my hand, and twirled me around so he could get a better look.

Arramy didn't smile. He just double-checked the bullet reel on my Misinet, made sure my infuser needles were loaded properly and the barrel was well-concealed in the secret pocket in the hem of my bodice, his touch impersonal and efficient, his expression cool as stone. Then he buckled on his gauntlets and walked out the door ahead of us. 

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