51 Autumn 218
The Tide’s Song Study
Sav
The last grasp or two has been… a lot.
There’s no other way to put it. Event after discovery after twist had piled on, one after the other, and the only thing she could do each time was adjust course as necessary, put her head down and keep moving forward, hauling the weight of a world behind her.
To sit in the ship-bound study she had inadvertently begun to think of as home and write is, in some way, a breath of rest. Putting down the events of and knowledge acquired during the last fourteen days does not require much thought, only recollection, and she is free to breathe and consider as her pencil scratches away.
She’s going to have to apologize to Roux and Athelia at some point - she can feel it in the uneasy knot of guilt coiling at the root of her stomach. Heartfelt though her outburst had been, it wasn’t necessarily deserved. It seemed like their inadvertent trip hadn’t been their conscious doing, and none of them could’ve known that they’d return so much later. What did this Feywild do to time? Was that what that strange flicker of a moment when all the lights had changed their burn rates had been?
Realizing she’d stopped writing, she shakes herself and gets back to it.
Astarael
Astarael thought her anxiety would settle after they made contact with Sav, but her arrival, and the information she brought, had only increased Astarael’s worries.
She prepares a plate of food, and goes off to find Sav.
The door to the study is shut, and she knocks on it with her free hand.
“Sav? It’s me. Are you in there? I brought you something to eat.”
Sav
She jumps a little at the knock, startling Aloysius, then freezes and shakes her head at herself. She moves to get up, then remembers that she’s concealed now, on the ship, and reaches out with the Stuff instead to pull on the door and swing it open, reveling in the luxury of not having to hide her abilities. “‘Star,” she says, breaking into a smile. “Och, aye, I’ll always tak food.”
Astarael
Astarael places the plate on a part of the table that seems relatively clear, at least enough so that it won’t disturb any important work. The strange time effects of the Fey Wild have altered bits and pieces in this room as well. Astarael knows that Sylas will be both fascinated and troubled by the setbacks to the potion making…if they ever find him again.
She perches herself on a nearby crate, pulling her knees up and hugging them.
“I missed you. I know more time has passed for you, and quite a scare as well, but I’m glad you’re back for now. Have you made any contact with Ethan and Warbler?”
Sav
Sav scoots her chair (which is a grand term for it - it’s basically half a barrel that she’s attached to some boards to form a makeshift back) over to the plate and begins to scarf it up with her usual speed and lack of nicety. It’s mostly rations and some bread that tastes like it was just taken out of the oven a half-candle too early, but it’s food. Walking the streets of her childhood has only driven back the lessons she’d learned as a wean - to always be wary, to keep an eye out in every direction and sleep with one eye open, and to eat as much and as quickly as you could when you could, because you never knew when the next meal might come.
It’s ridiculous, now, to feel that way when she could easily float through a tavern kitchen and steal as many pies and roast chickens as she could want. But old instincts die hard, particularly when one has returned to the smithy where those instincts were forged.
“D’na k’n how l’ng A cn stay,” she mumbles muffled around her mouthful. “Figerd before–” A swallow. “—I’d be comin to help with Pashat, but, well. Cannae say I’d nae mind finally seein Paloma an the rest of the Briarbirds after speakin’ with em for sae long, nor hashin’ out a new plan together, but I reckon ye all can palaver about plans as well wi’out me, an’ there’s solid things for me to do here.
“Aye, I met up wi’ em about a half-grasp after ye’d disappeared. Had to figure out a new angle to keep carryin’ on the plan since everythin had changed and we didnae ken where ye’d gone or if ye’d return - nae word of a battle on high nor on low.”
Astarael
Astarael nods. “I wish you could stay here with us, but I do think there’s far more good you could do in Galoring right now. At the very least, perhaps you can keep Ethan out of too much trouble. I really don’t like this business with his sister’s marriage. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but with everything I know about Tyr Isendel, it feels like a trap. Ethan needs to be extra careful. He shouldn’t try to make contact with her either, not before we attack. Or even risk being seen. We can’t know where her loyalties lie, and it’s too dangerous to find out at the moment.” Astarael pauses a moment.
“The Baroness can be very…persuasive…when she wants to be. Even family ties might not be enough to withstand her. As we’ve seen with another Fairchild.”
Astarael sits up and leans closer in towards Sav, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“But it’s not just Ellie’s loyalty that is of concern to me these days. By any chance, have you, Ethan or Warbler been able to look into any of Carter’s connections?”
Sav
“If ‘tis a trap - an I dinnae doubt your instincts on that, not wi’ ye kennin the Baroness an all - then perhaps bein seen to fall in it could hide our greater plans,” Sav muses, a shred of bread pausing halfway to her mouth as she considers this. “The tricky part’d be makin it look true enough wi’out committin ourselves fully or sacrificin’ more’n we must.”
Her brows lift at Astarael’s next words, her attention drawn away from thoughts of traps and feints and trickery. Stuffing the bread into one cheek, she chews slowly, saying, “Nay. She had a letter to be delivered to her home, an’ we cogged about usin’ it - or at least breakin it open to read it - before thinking other avenues were less suspect. I’ve nae hint if the Baroness knows about Holland Blackwood’s death or not, but if she does then anythin comin from that estate be suspicious, an if no then anythin comin from that estate might still be eyed closelike, comin from the family of an Inquisitor. An after pickin that, we were right busy. Have ye reason to suspect aught, or is’t simply makin certain her stories line up?”
Astarael
“I agree, I think it’s reasonable to assume that her estate will be watched closely. The Baroness would expect to have heard from Inquisitor Blackwood by now.” She frowns. “I don’t have any specific evidence against her, but I also find it very troubling that there isn’t anything to support her claim of connection with the Briarbirds either. We found her floating in the water amongst the wreckage of a battle. Not a single one of the other people we rescued knew her. Even if they all came from a different Briarbird ship, there has to have been some connecting threads between the groups, or how else could they ever coordinate an attack? Even if she had chosen to use a false name, she stands out as a noble. Her mannerisms, her dress, her speech—it’s clearly not of the common folk.
“Even if she isn’t really part of the Briarbirds, and it was coincidence that brought her to us and not some complex nefarious plot, I don’t like how nosy she is about our personal business. She asked me what I planned to do after a successful unseating of Tyr Isendel. I was vague about it, because it felt like she was sizing me up as competition somehow.
“Maybe it’s innocent interest, and I’m being unfair. But something about her just doesn’t add up.”
Sav
Sav frowns, her chewing slowing slightly as she considers this. “‘Tis a part of basic conspiracy-creatin that members each know a only small number of folk, so that an entire rebellion might not be brung down by capturin one member,” she points out. “We’re operatin the same in Galoring right now. Were she claimin a leadin role amongst the Briarbirds I’d consider it a greater mark against her, but she never but said she was a foot soldier, though a usefully rich one. An’ were she a spy, ‘twould ha been less suspicious to appear to be common, not to be an out of place noble.
“An to stand by an’ let her own brother be killt? Her brother, the Inquisitor, who was also a fuckin dragon an could ha perhaps wiped us out had he but some forewarnin? For Nurie’te to return wi’ ye from Smuggler’s Port unharmed, when she could ha grabbed him an sneaked on shore whilst ye were docked? Nay, she’s had far too many chances to betray us an wreck our fight, even wi’out facin us head-on, for me to reckon that she’s a secret Swan or a supporter of the Baroness.
“Nosy, aye. I willnae argue that she’s too curious by half, an about some things as dinnae concern her. But.” Sav shrugs, gesturing at herself with an angled wrist and a dry, lifted brow - she’s hardly one to talk, after all. “An she strikes me as ambitious an summat calculatin, too. But ambition an a coggin turn of mind, while not generally a heroic sort of thing, ent necessarily a mark of a wicked soul neither.” And she’d been so determined and impassioned about her ideas - education for all, a fair chance for anyone to make what they could of themselves. Unrealistic, of course - easier to shatter the two moons than to change human greed and apathy - but her heart seemed in the right place.
She flashes a small, crooked smile. “Besides, the spirit of what ye said about her could as easy have been said about me. What did any of ye know about me, when I first showed up in that crypt uninvited, speakin’ the tongue of a mythic folk, wi’ a past entangled wi’ the Swans? Aye, I’d knownt Emma, an’ could provide enough details about her as to satisfy her auld pals, but ‘twas perhaps details that could have been gained by torturin her - and she had been captured, I reckon, given how quick she was gone.” Her lids flicker for a moment, remembering that echoing wash of grief and loneliness on realizing that chatty, clever girl, her only friend for years, had disappeared. She hadn’t thought about Emma Spinsugar in quite a while. For that matter, Carter reminds her of Emma in more than a few ways.
“The spirit of what ye said could as easily be turnt against ye, as well. The Baroness had ye for a time, an’ may well have left hooks buried deep wi’in yer mind that even ye cannae find, if she’s so powerful as ye say. The Wolf recognized ye, and tried to win ye back. Or Warbler, for that matter. What is less suspicious an’ more harmless than a stranded halflin wi’ a soft way about him an a lean toward plants an’ cookin?”
Sav shrugs again, licking her fingers to stick up some crumbs from the plate before she leans back from the polished dish. “I ent sayin you’re wrang about this, nor that she doesnae warrant some watchin. I’d nae be takken aback if she aimed to use us witches to gain greater power within the Barony - if naught else, seems the iron hand of the Baroness wouldnae lead to much scope for an ambitious young woman wi’ ideas to grow. An’ there’s a reason none of us wanted to hand her letter over to her stewards sight unseen. But that’s no the sort of thing ye’re speakin of, unless I’m hearin awry.”
Astarael
Astarael furrows her brow as she does her best to follow along with what Sav says. She’s grown used to Sav’s heavy accent and way of speaking, but the day has been long and the girl seems to be on a roll.
Astarael sighs.
“I suppose you’re right. Perhaps I’ve grown overly suspicious, it’s just that…the Baroness has a way of making people do things that seem contrary to all reason. Maybe she doesn’t have a hand in this. But something just doesn’t add up about her, is all I’m saying.” She sighs again. “I didn’t get the same anxious feeling with you. I didn’t know you, but I saw you and somehow knew I could trust you. I also trust your judgment. I’ll try to set my fears to rest.”
Sav
No doubt spending time right in the heart of where her dialect was born has only made her accent - diluted in her years away - return in full force. And it’s been a particularly long day for her, as well, a factor only more likely to drive her mouth into relaxation, not into shapes for outsiders to understand.
“If ye harbor some doubts, doesnae Roux or Talith have that ability what maks it so folk within it cannae tell a lie?” Sav glances toward the door as though mentioning their names might suddenly summon them. “Might be a bit of a muddle to explain why ‘tis needed noo an not before, but ‘twouldnae be a bad thing to use on all at the forefront of this wee rebellion before the final strike falls.” Which vanguard Carter has, somehow, found herself in - perhaps in no small part because of her eager adoption of magic when it became an option for her, at least to Sav’s mind.
“Your fear’s unnerstaunable - ‘tis what’s kept ye alive in Moraeth and whilst ye were runnin from the Baroness. Bein’ afraid near every day of ma life has kept me in one piece, too. I’m nae one to belittle fear. But in this case, at least, my instincts speak of naught more’n a nob stranger who’s tossed herself intae the midst of danger an visibly allied hersel’ wi’ a passel of witches.”
Astarael
“I wouldn’t subject her to such a thing. If she or someone else gives us just cause to doubt them though, it’s good to remember that they can do such magic. My way of determining the truth is far too intrusive.”
Her mind flashes to a memory of Vanja, lying on the deck of the ship, her face a mess of tears.
“No, I trust your judgment. Your cautiousness is part of why I value your opinion.”
She leans back and settles against the wall of the ship.
Sav
Companionable silence passes for a minute or two as Sav goes back to filling in her ciphered report, before she hesitates, looking up. Her lips purse for a moment, and she pulls out a spare sheet of paper. Dashing something off quickly, she hesitates again, adds something of greater length to the missive, then folds it, writes on the front and hops off her barrel chair to walk the note over to Sylas’ desk, filled now with the rotted/rejuvenated alchemical ingredients of his research. There, she pinions it to the table with a pair of beaker tongs.
Turning about, she says, “This might be moot, ‘pendin ‘pon the outcome of your wee rescue mission back tae the Feywild. But if ye dae get Sylas back, an not in Turns of time - in four, mayhap five days, ‘twill be six months since Sylas came intae the world.
“‘Tis a titch early for a birthday, but things bein what they are, none of us may be about in another six months. So I reckoned it might be guid for him tae have a celebration, like normal folk dae. May be the only piece ae normality any of us mought have for a time. As I most like willnae be on the ship tae see it done, could ye?”
Astarael
Astarael raises an eyebrow.
“I certainly have no intent of venturing into the Feywild again myself. Not if I can help it. There’s too many important things to be done here. I leave that venture to Athelia, Roux, and anyone else who wants to risk it.” Now she smirks. “That said, if we recover him, I would be thrilled to arrange a celebration for him.” She begins to laugh. “He’ll probably hate it, you know, but that makes it all the more fun. It’s only a shame that Ethan isn’t here to put his baking skills to use. Though he’d probably make something with potatoes.” She wrinkles her nose in displeasure. “I never thought I’d grow tired of them, but here we are.”
Sav
Sav looks visibly relieved at Astarael’s statement and nods vigorously. “I was goin tae suggest that ye dinnae - your role in our plans is too key tae risk it, there’s naebody who can dae what ye’ll dae. That goes for Danica an tae some extent Carter, too.” Lowly, she adds, “An ye jist came back. Ye cannae risk yourself again so soon.”
She moves on quickly, flashing a small smile and saying, “If Sylas aims tae travel on the Tide’s Song an’ mak use of the power of this group, he needs must also tak part in the other bits of bein part of a group, like festdays an bein ‘preciated. Mayhap ‘twill help him learn how tae be less of a weirdun.” Which is a strong statement, considering who it’s coming from.
Her smile broadens a touch. “Ach, well, Ethan’s broadened his scope a tadge - flour cakes an pastries an frostin are a thing what he can dae now, an not half-bad, though I got tired of the sugar after the first grasp. There’s a bit called a ‘kwass aunt’ I’ve never had before that’s wondrous, though, all light an flaky an pure butter…”
And she’s off to the races, plopping herself back down at her seat to continue finishing her written report while talking on about the food she’s been eating - it mostly seems to focus on the street food, but there’s a large part of her just talking about treats and snacks that she’s not had in a long time, and so many things not made of potatoes.
Astarael
“Ah, that’s a good suggestion. I think as few of us deal with the Feywild again, the better. At least for now.” Astarael stands and stretches. “With York missing, and Warbler busy in Galoring with Ethan, it looks like I’ll get to test out my baking skills. I doubt I can make anything as fancy as that ‘crass-awnt’ but perhaps I’ll recruit Talith and we’ll create something passable as dessert. I’m getting tired of that Nemra girl making eyes at him, so it would be nice to spend some time together.” She gives Sav a gentle hug around the shoulders, and moves towards the door, off in search of suitable cake ingredients.
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