Later, as the candles grew low, just Val and Dorius remained. Val leaned on the verandah balustrade, enjoying the cool air and watching the town slowly grow dark as lanterns and candles were extinguished. Somewhere a raucous chorus could be heard from a tavern, the voices drifting in the still night. Dorius still worked within, books strewn about his ‘war map’ and the colored stones from earlier scattered from the careful positions Strand had placed them all in.

The handmaid let herself in, fresh candles in her hands, preparing to turn the room over for continued study. Dorius held up a hand to indicate there was no need, and dismissed her. With a great sigh he closed the book he was reading and rose to come stand by Val. His golden skin had paled slightly of late, sulking in the carriage for the past weeks, but it seemed as if the warm southern climate and fresh air was already returning his glow to him. With another sigh, he slumped onto the balustrade just as Val pulled herself more upright, stepping back a half step in deference. If he noticed the subtle distinction of their rank it did not bother him, and he leaned on one hand staring into the night. A scarf was still lightly wrapped around his neck, but it hung loose and Val saw no remnants of red marks. Likely the fashion choice was lingering nerves then.

“I’m still not sure why my Uncle would choose to involve me in this, all signs point to something significant occurring on the eastern border and I get the impression my cousins would never involve me if they had their way,” he wondered.

“It wasn’t you he chose, it was Elias,” reminded Val. Dorius seemed to chew on the thought a moment. Val, sensing a turn to melancholy after an afternoon of activity, turned to find the carafe that had been bought in with dinner. She gave it a swirl, the wine within had been mixed with fruit juice and water to lighten it for summer drinking. She frowned at the temperature, yet poured him a cup and bought it for him anyway. Dorius turned, leaning backwards against the railing, and accepted it with both hands but did not immediately drink.

“Elias has served your family his entire life, and I gather was cunning in his youth. If whatever waits to the east is bothering the Pentarch so much, it might be that he was desperate to find anyone loyal to the family for an adjacent task,” she reassured.

Dorius stared into his cup, “It might count as a victory, to be bought into the family circle. If under the guise of Elias, so be it.”

Val frowned, then gave voice to the uncertainty they both shared, “Yet, I agree that it is a flimsy cover at best. I do not think you are as subtle as you think,” she offered in warning. “For those looking your actions speak too loudly. They can plainly see you find unusual and capable assistants, fools do not. And while you mask your estate’s wealth, any cousin could spend an afternoon at a Merchant Guild and likely spot the growing influence of Southold's trade in their ledgers. Other evidence… may indicate that you are not as well hidden as you might think.”

Dorius’ face did not change, but a nervous hand raised to his neck so long fingers could play with the scarf. Finally, Val figured honesty would reach him easiest, and she added, “I am shaken too. I’m not sure I am enough to keep you safe.”

Dorius looked up at her on that comment, his mouth was firm and he took a draught from his cup finally. It seemed he had other thoughts as well, “I am not sure what comes after this.”

Val cocked her head slightly, indicating she was listening to him, but turned to find the carafe to keep his cup full.

“For years my focus has been regaining what faded when my mother passed with an assumption I would always be an outsider. Having no blood-line women left in our branch guarantees that fate,” he mused, more to himself than Val, “If this is a test, I do not know what my goals are after passing. I maintain the Pentarchy is an outdated institution, they are nothing but self-crowned figureheads clinging to a legacy of ‘old blood lines’ and faint memories of the Monarchy from before the unrest, the Guild’s do the real work of the nation. And yet… I do not know if I would still be able to feel the same if I were within?”

“And what if they were breaking the peace,” asked Val, referencing the speculation from earlier.

Dorius took another drink, Val skillfully filling his cup. “The peace is the only good the Pentarchy does,” he declared and drained the rest. Indicating he was done for the night he placed the cup on the railing and folded his hands within his robes. A lighter mood seemed to catch him now, he tilted his head up to Val.

“You are not joining your fellows, spending your hard earned pay on revelry?” he asked, a twitch of mockery in the corner of his mouth.

Val fixed him with a scathing stare, and gently put the carafe down. “I would rather not spoil the fun.” She often felt that more people left than stayed when she joined the mercenaries in social activities, and subtlety was something she was entirely incapable of.

“Ah, but if I went you’d have to go.”

Val did not like where this was leading.

—

The tavern bustled with bodies, men and women packed within laughing, singing and generally enjoying the night. Two bards had the mood worked high and cheery.

Val led Dorius to the bar, using her body to clear him a path. The townsfolk knew the implications of her presence instantly, and most cleared willingly, but drink and conversation meant many were slower than she would have preferred. Dorius followed with his cap on, eagerly glancing around the room in search of Bastian.

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Val from her higher vantage point spotted him first, gathered in a corner cheering on an arm wrestling competition that had struck up. She pointed for Dorius, but kept him close while she obtained their drinks. Mead was the usual choice in Southold at this style of establishment, the wine typically reserved for export.

Two dark bottles in hand, she gestured to Dorius she was ready for him to join Bastian and his companions.

The Company men cleared Dorius some space as they joined, securing him a position against the wall where multiple bodies would be available as shields if anything broke out elsewhere in the bar. Southold was generally peaceful, but it didn’t stop late night fights breaking out as men got deep into their cups. They gave Val a few nods as she positioned herself over Dorius, leaning against the wall, but did little else to welcome her.

“Who’s winning?” asked Dorius, gesturing for a few of the men who had moved to retake their seats. There was a cheer from those who hadn’t noticed his arrival as the latest competitors finished their bout. He waved to grab Bastian’s attention as well. Bastian clapped a hand on the shoulder of the mercenary he was talking with, and appeared to break off to come join them.

“Sir, Big Yan has a bet going that no one can match him, he’s 12 - 0 so far,” excitedly explained one of the younger men as Bastian squeezed close to sit.

“You didn’t bring me a bottle?” Bastian asked as Dorius drank from his. Val offered him hers from her silent stance, but he waved it back.

“What are the terms of Big Yan’s wager?” asked Dorius.

“There is a pot going for everyone that steps up, first man to beat him gets the lot, otherwise if he lasts the night it’s his to take home,” explained the young man again.

“We’re hoping he’ll cover our drinks from it at least,” added Bastian. There had obviously been a few too many drinks going around, Val was slightly uncomfortable at how familiar the young man was, or how close the mercenaries were sitting to Dorius. Dorius however, seemed to enjoy the lowered inhibitions and physically close company, it was rare he got to feel like a peer these days. She folded her arms, bottle hanging from two fingers, and gazed off into the crowd.

There was another cheer, and the man who must’ve been Big Yan surged to his feet, thumping his chest in victory. He planted one leg on a barrel serving as a chair and bellowed a challenge to the room. Bastian cheered with the crowd, slapping the back of the young man in encouragement for him to give it a go.

“No, I’ve spent my money for the night,” laughed the boy in return, but he gave his arm a flex to try and show off his youthful muscles.

Dorius grinned, “I’ll pay for your ante, as long as you agree to cover Bastian’s drink from the winnings?”

The boy blanched, “No Sir, Prince. Big Yan’d crush me.”

Bastian rocked on his chair and gave him a final good-natured slap on the back. Several other men joining in on the fun jostled the boy around who blushed at the attention.

Several patrons bought Big Yan a tankard of mead as he continued his victory lap, cajoling the crowd for more contestants. He downed the tankard, spilling it partially on his front, and belched loudly to laughter from onlookers. Enjoying his spotlight, he made his way to Dorius’ table.

“You, Prince!” he called, fat finger pointed from across the table, “Challenge the Big Yan?!”

Val tensed. Bastian’s laughter ceased, his grin remained but the edges of his jaw were a little tight. Dorius instead gave the man a look up and down, taking in his sweat and mead soaked clothes.

“Big Yan, I’m too easy a mark for you,” returned Dorius cheerily, taking a sip from his bottle, “Find a more worthy opponent.”

Big Yan thumped his chest in bravado again, his biceps were like hams. “None are a worthy opponent for Big Yan,” he declared. Then the drink gave him confidence a little too far, “What about your brute?” he challenged.

Val’s eyes flashed, Big Yan lived up to his name but her strength was unnatural. “She’d break your arm,” burst out Bastian, his brows rising in incredulity the man would even suggest it.

“Maybe I’d like my arm broken!” Big Yan slapped his thigh and laughed with one of his companions. The more sober members of the crowd shifted glances between each other. “Although, I’d admit I’d enjoy it more to be thrown around in the bedroom. Bet men who vanquish that prey make some fun memories!”

Val desperately willed her face to not react. She could not slink into shadow like she so desperately wanted, stuck standing guard over Dorius. Instead she hoped the uneven lighting of the tavern would hide her red face.

“Bet you don’t get many men bigger than you dal’, let’s see if you match your reputation,” egged on Big Yan. He seemed to make a move as if to begin climbing through the crowd to get to her then. Bastian stood, his grin still in place, but began gesturing to a few of the more sober faces in the crowd.

“Friend, we are more likely to find your next victim from the drunks who haul wagons in the trade district,” Bastian soothed, stepping out of the table to coordinate a few fellows to gather around the boisterous giant and his companions. “Let’s get your winnings before you get too sloshed to remember it! Must be more than a day's pay there Big Yan.”

The gentle stream of compliments from Bastian, and a few of the older men in support, seemed to get Big Yan turned about. Dorius sat mostly amused at the exchange, sipping his bottle. The young man took the opportunity to begin regaling them with descriptions of the earlier bouts, including a particularly exciting one that still ended in Big Yan’s favor despite a member of the crowd stumbling into them and knocking him.

After a moment Bastian returned, Big Yan had been safely escorted to the back of the tavern, and slumped into a seat next to them again. He spared Val a glance, and she offered him her bottle again. This time he took it. A quick sip seemed to return some strength and his grin, before joining the conversation again to embellish the young man’s tale with some added color. He passed the bottle back to her.