I know a man, he's kind and he's fair

His merry laugh and sun kissed hair

Should we set out together for a far-distant shore

Who would give chase to Olysa's door?

- a song heard by the sailors on the Visund

Marget chose to dismiss Ellis, and Jori felt a great disappointment wash through him. He would love to disappear as well, but instead he was led along with Alez to the dining hall. Jori supposed he could spend a good three hours standing there and listing all the finery that was decked out inside. Mahogany, glass, porcelain, if it had a price tag it was in Marget's dining hall. He glanced towards the closed window overlooking the governor's mansion and steeled himself.

"May I open a window?" he announced and did not wait for a yes or no before he did it. Then he sat himself down where he could both block and survey the windows beyond it.

They had not gone straight to Byhill upon docking the ship. His explanation to Alez would have been that he was giving Alez more time to perfect those cookies of his. But Alez, too preoccupied with meeting his witch sister, had not asked. He frowned, no, that was an insult to witches, he was sure one of them had helped him before. Whereas Marget looked as if he'd personally dragged something dead and dying into her living room. She wasn't wrong, per se, he did have Olysa's... skin map in his pocket but he was distracting himself again from the task at hand. There was a spoon in front of him and he picked it up to angle at the window. There was a moving light there, no doubt Giersa was busy snickering and opening the drawers.

He hastily placed the spoon down, thinking that Marget would comment upon his interest in her cutlery but no, Marget and Alez were both seated and talking. Though it was all honeyed poison from the sound of it.

"It is so sudden you came," Marget said, "I would have prepared your favorites. It has been awhile since you've visited."

Here she gestured to the food being served. How she could summon such a thing at a moment's notice, he didn't know. Though it was a nice mushroom soup that was placed in front of him, creamy and flavored with rosemary and thyme. The lady of the house did not gesture for him to eat it, but seeing as the soup was placed in front of him he shrugged, picked up the spoon that was right for it and began to eat.

"I did want to visit," Alez insisted, "I did, but you know… he said the journey was too much and—"

"He was very concerned for you," said Marget, nodding solemnly as she folded a napkin over her lap and motioned for the servants to place more dishes in front of them. "He said so in all his letters." She took the spoon into one delicate hand and began eating, looking at Alez between bites.

If Alez gripped that napkin any harder his knuckles would match its shade, Jori thought mildly. Though that was the least unnerving thing about the room, the way Marget could make a perfectly good soup taste like ashes in his mouth as she implied things. While he couldn't quite understand all of her references, he wasn't a fool. Marget was playing Alez like a spider's web and Alez was too blind with sibling loyalty to see.

But Alez had wanted him to play along didn't he, Alez wanted him to act like this was a familial visit and the death of his husband just happened while he was away. So Jori would play along. He could have done worse, he could have rolled up with Alez and proclaimed he'd married the man. The horror would have overcome Marget, and the good lady would have fainted dead away. Then he would have made a clean escape. So by all intents and purposes, he kept his end of the bargain, he'd done precisely what he'd promised Alez, he'd been nice. Though that was proving a hard task, with each word that Marget was speaking. Jori was loath to use the comparison but this wasn't brotherly affection, Alez truly had a slavish devotion to someone who saw him as one of her… he shook his head. Of course Alez would have some love for his sister if she was the one raising him, and given what the schools taught all the older girls no doubt Marget only emulated the best.

"He was writing to you?"

Jori perked up, curious, as this was the first time he Alez's question had an underlying anger to them. How exciting, he would have thought, except for who it was directed at and the situation they were in. So he tamed that thought, and placed a placid smile on his face as he glanced from one sibling to another.

"Why not?" Marget shrugged delicately.

If this was one of those courtesans in the Sun King's court then Jori would have suspected Marget of infidelity, but as it were he decided she just liked gossip for the sake of it, no matter the expense of the other person at the end. It rather matched her house, rich and expensive but quite empty of talent and passion.

"He told me—" Alez took in a deep breath, and closed his mouth. "Never mind."

Instead of taking that as a sign of Alez backing down from speaking, Marget took the opportunity to strike. "Well you weren't writing, dear, so I thought I would inquire—"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Maybe he ought to break up the brewing war in front of him before either Marget or Alez threw themselves at each other instead of words. Jori took in a steadying breath, gripped the spoon in his hand and contemplated throwing it before he beheld the reflection in in. A a pair of garish bloomers being brandished out a window. Giersa waved it back and forth with one hand, holding the other in alternate thumbs up or thumbs down gesture. Jori scowled, and spooned himself another mouthful of soup and decided whoever this chef's efforts were, it would not be wasted on a family dinner gone completely off course.

"—you were telling him about my private things!" Alez said in an angry whisper. But the thing about being angry was that it was very hard to control your tone, no matter how meek you were, and Jori heard enough.

Though not before deciding it would be awhile he would have his hands on such fine mushrooms and he might as well eat finish the bowl that was served to him. He waved away the serving man that offered him more and broke a piece of the bread, also crisp and delightful, to soak up the last of it. Truly the most horrible people had the least appreciation for the best things about life.

"Compliments to the chef," he said to the maid that replaced the serving man and glancing at the two siblings staring daggers at each other, slipped the maid a copper coin, "for you and your colleagues, for your exemplary service."

She gave him a resigned look, but before he could put an end to the conversation, the next course came and the maid had given him a stellar cut. It should've gone to Marget, or maybe Alez but looking at the two. He sighed deeply, taking up his knife and fork. He had left his spoon in such a way that it was not taken away with the bowl of soup but clean enough to give him a view of the window without him having to look over his shoulder. There were more shenanigans, Giersa had somehow gotten hold of a pipe and for some Olysa forsaken reason, was blowing rings out of it. Jori rolled his eyes, he did not read smoke rings, signs or letters.

The roasted chicken was delicious but the siblings did not enjoy it. "Are you still doing numbers?" said Marget, "I told Edmund you were so good with them, and maybe he'll give you something to do, you know, your house is so empty and—" here she turned to Jori, "did you know he's good with numbers?"

"Yes," Jori grunted. The meat was particularly delicious and tender. He suspected it must have been soaked in buttermilk before baking, and it had been a while since he'd had a decent roast. Chickens had eggs, and so long as they laid them, they weren't dinner.

Though they weren't quite as fat as the ones that were being served to him, they were hardier breed and small. The one he was eating had no doubt been fatten for the table and it tasted delightful. Usually he would dwell on the recipe, ponder what it was that the cook put in it and how long it took the man or woman. Tonight his attention kept on being diverted by the wonderful host and the man he chose to willingly come to said host's home with. It was truly impressive, how much sweet poison Marget had in her, she should consider a career in brewing and selling it.

"You've always carried that notebook around with you," Marget continued, malevolently. Like a fog, Jori thought, carefully cutting at the meat on his plate and wishing he could abandon all cutlery and just tear into it properly. "You were always so clever! You really should—"

There was a clatter, and Alez ducked under the table. Marget met Jori's eyes and for a moment Jori could swear she looked amused, then the emotion was washed away, to be replaced by a faux concern. For once he was happy that his mask was firmly on and he showed her nothing.

"I hope you had a pleasant journey with my brother," said Marget, "I did not know he was coming, otherwise I would have prepared a more lavish menu. You know he was so particular with foods when he was younger, such a sensitive stomach!"

Alez had never vomited while on board the Plucky, even after some failed meals by the sailors, and one unusually turbulent sea after he decided to sail for Byhill so that was a grand lie. Unless Marget was snooping for any rumors of pregnancy and to that Jori had to laugh because while he could doubt the morale of many a ship's crew he did not doubt his. Nor did he doubt Alez's for that matter, and Marget's games were getting quite boring. "I have heard that sensitive stomachs are tied to emotions as well," said Jori with a shrug, finally reaching for the wine. "I wonder what made him so as a child?"

"My brother is the quiet and retiring sort," Marget began.

Perhaps what he would say next would pull Alez out from under the table, "I beg pardon?" Jori said, all innocence. He placed his elbows on the table, no doubt to Marget's horror and leaned in. "I do believe you don't know Alez at all." He made to put the wine glass down gently but instead froze as the wine in his glass began to eerily float upwards. Just for a moment, then it splashed back into the cup again, and he heard it. From out the window came the sound of thousands of voices lifted up in a haunting melody that sent chills down to his bones.

"I beg your pardon?" Marget raised a dark eyebrow, a challenge that he would normally accept at any other time.

He stood up, pushing past the startled servants to the window where he saw Robaus hold out a white horn in his gloved hand, a triumphant look on his face. He grinned, if possible, even wider when he saw Jori but all Jori could dare give him was a half look at the dining table before he closed the window and pulled the curtains.

Alez was very red faced and there was a steely look in his eyes when Jori returned. He sat stiffly in his chair, but straight-back and the look he gave Marget did something to Jori's stomach. Perhaps it was indigestion, he shrugged away the thought, sitting down and making friends with the wine glass. Marget's eyes were very solemn and serious when she reached out to take Alez's hands in hers. Though with the sleeves on her dress it more resembled a snake enveloping its prey, Jori thought, hiding his irritation with a drink. Then his eyes caught onto the new dishes on display and it must be some horrible trick. Alez's cookies were misshapen to be sure, but they had personality. These sugared monstrosities served on the blue porcelain plates were just for show. Jori gritted his teeth. No, if Alez couldn't quite shake off the chains that held him then he'll do something about it.

"Don't worry brother, I will help you find a new husband, you needn't be in black for long."

She did it so well last time, Jori mused, and thought Alez's stuttering questions and flinches. Jori took another deep, deep drink from the glass to steady himself. He swallowed, did not wipe his mouth with his sleeve, because he was in a genteel household, but said, with all of Marget's sweetness, "That worked so well last time."

"Excuse me?" It was quite funny to see her pretend to be affronted on Alez's behalf, Jori thought. Between the two of them though, he had a better poker face, and he merely shrugged, mirroring her disdain of Alez from before.

"No," said Jori. "You've gone and replaced them," he pointed a finger to the cookies on the platter, "with some pale imitation, because what, they're more pleasing on the eye?" He scowled, "He was beyond polite to sit at your table after your stunt. I would have left, or I suppose demurely left." He was lying, he couldn't have just run over to where Giersa and the merry band was looting through the mansion, but it was good to watch Marget's face flush redder and redder.

"Jori," Alez began, and he made to reach out his hand toward Jori, in a placating sort of way.

Ah, so Alez chose to interrupt him and not the venomous Marget. He tempered his dismay, surely Alez knew that pleasing Marget was a lost cause? "You are a freeman, Alez. What binds you to—" this harpy, he wanted to say, but swallowed the words, "this house but some blood and memories?" Jori said, gripping the arms of his chair to stand up. "Do you want to be saddled to yet another man? A genteel man? You, Alez, are a freeman, I beg you, make your choice as one!"