"He still hasn't regained consciousness, but I can't see anything wrong with him," Doctor Hern said, shaking his head. Trosyn stood beside the doctor, having come to check on the cook early the next morning. Trosyn placed a hand on the Doctor's shoulder as he stared bitterly at his patient. He then grabbed a medical reference book he had, flipping to a dog-eared page. He read a few lines, then flicked it with the back of his hand. "There's nothing!"

"Just do your best for him. No one expects you to work miracles crammed in a dank corner of a ship," Trosyn said as reassuringly as she could, squeezing his shoulder. He sighed in defeat, and then brushed her hand off of his shoulder.

"Tell that to the sailors stuck on salted pork and hardtack," Doctor Hern grumbled. Trosyn withdrew her hand and shook her head. She looked at the Cook, who was lying there, barely breathing. "Sorry. You probably don't want to be the one giving bad news to that lot," Doctor Hern said, remembering who he was speaking to.

"It's just so strange... should we be worried?" Trosyn asked, her face pinched and apprehensive.

"I... don't know..." Hern said, lowering his hands.

"I... see..." Trosyn said. Frown still in place, she looked down, her hand rubbing her stomach in slow, circular motions.

"Red. Red? Where did you go?" Trosyn blinked and then set down the tray of tea things she was carrying with a clatter. She slowly set out the steaming teacups to each of the three scientists who were all crowded around a small circular table in Baldovo and Volente's cabin.

"You were staring out into space, nearly tipped the tray over. And while I am sure it would be amusing to see the unflappable Colto yip and dance from hot tea-lap, I wouldn't envy you having to explain why all the tea things are broken," Baldovo said as he sniffed the tea and then gave a small shrug. "No sugar?"

"Only the Captain gets sugar," Trosyn responded, not responding to her lapse in focus.

"It's still lovely. I haven't had a cup for a while. And how did you come by this treat?" Volente asked, lifting the teacup daintily with his pinky extended. This brought a smile to Trosyn's face, but again she seemed to fade to a distant time and place. "Miss? Trosyn?"

"Oh?" Trosyn gave a small jerk of her head as her dream bubble burst. "Ah, I simply asked the Captain." Trosyn shrugged her shoulders.

"Lovely," Volente said, sampling the tea.

"It's alright," Baldovo offered magnanimously.

"I prefer my wife's," Colto said. Volente straightened up, doubling his chins as he pulled his head back in vicarious indignation. Baldovo snickered and Trosyn didn't even seem to notice she'd been slighted.

"Your wife probably uses sugar," Baldovo groused, but he continued to drink the warm beverage despite his complaints. Only Volente seemed to enjoy it, exhaling noisily as a show of gratitude after every sip. From Colto's dark looks, one could tell it was starting to grate on the larger man's nerves.

"You seem distracted, m'dear. Something on your mind?" Baldovo observed as Trosyn again fell quiet, both of her hands locked together and placed over her midriff.

"Just concerned about the Cook. He gave me a hiding earlier that day... but I never meant him any harm." Trosyn muttered.

"Well, of course not," Volente said, not seeing how the two were connected.

"You didn't hit him with a pail, did you?" Although the teacup blocked the view of Baldovo's mouth, his eyes were pushed into amused sickles suggestive of a grin.

Trosyn was silent for a moment, but she shook her head. "No, I just meant... I don't think he deserved whatever happened, even if he was giving me a hard time."

"Of course you didn't," Volente said, waving his hand in the air. "You're a kind soul."

Trosyn looked up at Volente, her lips pressed together. She then smiled and laughed. "That's sweet of you to say, Volente."

"Well," Volente said, a light dusting of pink on his normally sallow cheeks, "I believe, before the unfortunate incident in the galley, we were going to learn Creena's fate? Or what Benold knew about her?" Volente set his cup on the tray, gently pushing it away to make room for his paper and ink, trying hard not to accidentally elbow Baldovo to his right.

That's right. I had asked Benold what he knew about Creena. He indicated that she was to be used for bargaining, but was carefully vague about with whom. I think he wanted me to assume that meant she would be used in negotiations with her people. But I knew that tactic all too well. The art of misdirection was not foreign to me. Instead of throwing me off track, he just confirmed what Creena told me. She was to be some sort of sacrifice to the Unseelie Eye.

Getting that much information was difficult enough. But I had a new objective. To get the information to Asion. I was unsure if they could read our script, so a written note left in the clearing where we'd met to discuss Creena was no guarantee to work. Furthermore, I'd need to get out there, and the guards would stop me if I tried to leave the estate. As the locals seemed attuned to spirits, my other thought was to try a spirit summoning ritual that someone had once taught me. But I had no idea if it worked, and if it would attract a spirit that could convey a message. It might even provoke a malevolent spirit, which I did not wish to do. My last option was to wait for them to make contact again. But even that was risky, as they may not make any further attempts to communicate, other than launching an attack.

I became skittish and distracted as I had to think of how to get around the restrictions placed on me as a slave, as well as keeping Benold unaware of what I was up to. And I did not feel good about keeping secrets from him. He would surely put an end to my meddling. But I wanted to not only restore my own honour, but his as well by trying to give Asion something. Perhaps if I pulled it off then I could tell him everything. Fortunate for me, he attributed my odd show of nerves to my delicate, female sensibilities with our upcoming, ah, union. I won't deny that I encouraged him to believe that.

I was spending more time in his study, and he told me I was allowed to read his collection. So I did. I was looking for inspiration for my current predicament. Most of it was philosophical treatises, which were in excellent condition I might add, history, and poetry. The poetry books had discoloration and dog ears, indicating more time spent reading. He seemed particularly fond of the epics. Sorry, I am getting off topic. Anyway, among the epics was mention of a minstrel who sang songs that all the clans could understand. The Lienog people...

"Lienog? That's a new term..." Baldover remarked as he lounged on his cot, having been jostled one too many times by Volente's eager writing.

"Oh? I suppose I hadn't called them that before. That was the name of their tribe. And they called their island Liechlan." Trosyn explained.

"Ah... continue."

The Lienog clearly kept their language because they had been isolated when Siperian become the dominant language on the mainland. Yet I could understand them. This minstrel unified them through their songs. Sadly, the epic never goes into where this minstrel gained this power. But it said the minstrel had red hair. And I wondered, was this person real or a legend? Was it all a coincidence that I had red hair and could understand anyone?

"Hmm..." Baldovo tilted his head. He then said a phrase in another language, one which clearly neither Colto nor Volente knew, for they both tilted their heads quizzically. Trosyn looked at Baldovo, squinting her eyes. "Well? What did I say?" Baldovo asked smugly.

Trosyn was silent for a moment or two, gently tugging her left ear lobe. She shook her head. "...Was it... something about... falsehoods? No someone who speaks them... did you call me a liar?"

Baldovo furrowed his eyebrows as his experiment did not have the results he had anticipated. "Oh? Well you are probably guessing. Alright. Try this one," Baldovo spoke another phrase. Calto sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and leaving Baldovo to his tricks. Volente clasped his hands together and set them on his lap, eyes darting between Trosyn and Baldovo.

"Something about head and shoes," Trosyn finally answered after concentrating. Her hands went to her stomach and Volente reached his hand out, then pulled it away.

"Are you alright?" Volente asked. Trosyn nodded. Baldovo picked up a small metal rod, and rolled it between his fingers.

"Interesting. I was banking on you not being to understand me at all, but considered you'd toss my words right back at me. But I didn't expect partial understanding. But what does that mean?" Baldovo pointed the wand at Trosyn. "What aren't you telling us?"

Trosyn's eyebrows furrowed, her hand pressing into her stomach and she shook her head. "I don't-"

Baldovo spat out another abrupt phrase in the other language, which caused Trosyn's eyebrows to rise. Colto coughed.

"I know what that means, and Baldovo, FOR SHAME! We have a lady present!" Volente scolded, placing a hand over his heart. "And I'm sure if Trosyn has any secrets, it's her right to keep them." Volente then gestured at the metal rod in Bladovo's hand. "And put that down, we need to to calibrate-"

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"I know what it's for!" Baldovo interrupted. He set it down anyhow, and then stretched out on his cot, placing his hands under his head. "Fine, tell us more of your story... maybe it will all become clear."

"I hope so..." Trosyn said quietly, her face pale. She cleared her throat and tried to collect her thoughts, avoiding looking at Baldovo who yawned loudly and stared up at the ceiling.

It got me thinking. I searched my mind for the right songs. And every time I was outside, I would sing while I was working. One song was about the Great Hunt, a procession of dark spirits. I would then sing a song about a princess in a tower who yearned to be free like a bird and leapt to her freedom, and died, but her soul was carried away by the birds to fly forever. The choices of these songs was to convey the threat to Creena. It was as unlikely to work as my other plans, but had the least amount of risk.

The reason I considered this might work was because I believe they were often watching the Ovollar Estate and that I would be heard. No telling if they'd understand me. However, I... was not a very talented singer, so I could sense that it caused some irritation from the guards. And I may have been told a few times to pipe down. Meanwhile, some of the maids started picking up the songs and singing along, such as when we were doing laundry.

I don't remember how long I kept that up, but it wasn't producing any results. I was beginning to consider other options. While I was in the study trying to seek out more inspiration, Benold came to me. "It is done."

I must have worn a surprised and concerned expression, because he stuttered something and looked rather displeased. I was worrying that 'it' was something to do with Creena, because she'd been on my mind. "So that's it then," I think I said.

Benold was stricken with consternation. "Yes." His word had such a sense of finality to it. "I thought you'd be relieved."

"Why would I-" And then I realised my error. He had crossed his arms and began picking at his clothing. This wasn't about Creena. "Oh... wait, what are we talking about? What is done?"

"The concubinage laws!" he said, exasperated. "What did you think I was talking about?"

I didn't want to confess the truth. I made some excuse but I don't remember what it was. He only half bought it, but he seemed relieved that my reaction was due to a misunderstanding, and that I was not upset about being his consort. I tried on a smile which I think convinced him. "Well that is a relief."

This ameliorated him just enough. And it wasn't a lie. Perhaps without this bracelet, I might have a little more freedom to roam. But there were more questions that needed to be asked and answered. "So... what happens now?"

"No sense drawing this out longer than it needs to be. And this isn't a... a proper marriage, so I don't think it needs all the..." he waved his hand in the air, "foofaraw."

"No, I suppose not," I responded, wishing he'd just get to the point.

"Well, I think within the week I will have someone in who can witness and the paperwork can be done. And though there won't be a large to-do, I still expect you to look your best." He went on about how I'd be immediately moved into new quarters close to his, how he expected me to take greater care with my appearance, and I was to dine with him except when he had guests, in which case I was to wait for him to instruct me on whether he wanted me present or not. The list went on of last minute expectations that weren't really discussed before. Nothing was said about the most obvious and central duties of a concubine. I think he was making a point not to discuss it. He was a frustrating and particular man, I will freely admit.

Now then, as I was focusing more on my upcoming promotion, as that is how I thought of it, I had begun to think of Creena less. But it seemed my singing may have had an effect after all. One evening as I was spending my free time taking in air, I detected a sudden surge of spiritual energy. I looked to the source and saw one of the natives standing at the edge of the fields, just beyond the fence. Looking around for guards on patrol, I approached.

"You can see me?" he said, seeming surprised. I nodded, but then turned around so I could watch for guards. "That doesn't bode well..."

"I have a message for Asion," I said as quietly as possible.

"Speak."

"Eight days ago I spoke with Creena. She said the Kombani are dealing with the Defilers, and she is to be a host or a sacrifice. I don't know what any of that means, but I was told to convey it." When I heard nothing but silence, I continued, "She said she'd sooner die than be a host." I waited for a response and received none. When I turned around, the messenger looked troubled.

"I will be sure Asion hears of this. You have made the meaning of your songs clear." Then he said to me, "You will please stop singing them. They agitate the local spirits."

I surmised that it wasn't just the spirits that my singing distressed. I agreed not to sing anymore but asked what sort of sign I ought to send instead if I needed to speak with them. He asked me which window was my room. I pointed it out to him, now that I had proper quarters. He told me to place a candle on the right side of my windowsill at midnight, and someone would try to contact me the following evening. After that he left.

I felt a great relief that I had at least attempted to mend my reputation with Asion. I know it may seem odd that it mattered to me, but it did. I would soon be part of house Ovollar, and I wanted to try and find a peaceful solution to the conflict. However, I feared that may not be possible if Sintol had his way. And I was sure Sintol was behind this.

But at least I could give more domestic matters my full attention. The time came for Benold and I to be joined. There was a very small ceremony; he pulled in a notary and a witness, and that was that. I see you looking nervous there, Volente, and YOU trying not to look too interested, Baldovo. I still won't share anything vulgar with you fine gentlemen. Besides, although I was on record as his consort, he said he was going to give me some time to adjust before putting me on full duty.

For the week after I was just a social companion. I dined with him, I read to him, I played music for him, I even sometimes assisted with his personal grooming. He had an important dinner with a foreign dignitary and some local merchants, looking to expand some import and export deals. I dressed my finest to be displayed, I played the harp, and gave recitations. I was mistaken for his wife, which was a little awkward at first, but Benold managed to smoothly explain the distinction without belittling me or creating scandal. He seemed a lot more suave when everyone was equally preoccupied with keeping up appearances.

After that period of grace, a sort of trial I suppose, Benold did summon me to his bed chambers. Was I nervous? Well I did feel a fluttering in my stomach and a concern that I may do something wrong. Sir Benold could be very particular and exacting, and held lofty expectations for everyone that were sometimes impossible to meet. And I felt as thought I had been set up for failure with all of this delaying and building up. I would have preferred to get things over with to be honest. But, well, Sir Benold's will was my command.

What happened here is of some importance as it explains my headspace for what I did afterwards. Benold was there, with two goblets of wine. I rarely imbibed, but was grateful for the libations that evening. After some small talk and drinking he put his arms about me, looked me in the eye and asked me. "Does this life suit you?"

I wasn't sure how to respond. The luxuries were nice, but they weren't as important to me as they were to him. All I cared about was feeling protected. I wasn't protected from him, but felt I at least was not free game for anyone else. Anyone who harmed me, impugned his honour. There was security in that. I told him that it suited me fine.

"Do you feel safe here, with me?" he asked me. That was a trickier question to answer. And I stalled and the longer I left him in suspense, the darker his visage became. And the less safe I began to feel. I finally shook my head and braced myself. He looked at me with incredulity.

"Why are you wincing? I would never strike you. I've told you that, I've shown you that," he insisted.

"What if I don't do my duties? What if I had refused to come tonight?" I had to ask. He looked irritated but tried to remain calm.

"I'd be disappointed, but I wouldn't hurt you, even then," he swore in a solemn voice.

And this is where perhaps I was a little foolish, but I wanted to test him. "What if I told you that..." I paused, halfway to changing my mind. But I bit down on my resolve to keep it in place and continued, "...I snuck a message from Creena to Asion?"

This took him completely by surprise and he let go of me, stepping back as if I had struck him a physical blow. He then smiled, giving this little shake of my head as if he expected me to tell him it was a joke, preparing himself to laugh it off. But as no such explanation was forthcoming, he frowned. I expected anger, but instead saw fear.

"You did what?" he whispered. I realised now I really had done it. While I did not expect he would physically hurt me, I could see him lock me up and deny me food. "What have you done, Trosyn?"

"I am trying to help you. You owed them a debt, and if you could not free Creena, I at least wanted them to know she was still alive. We owed them that much for sparing you," I insisted. I thought he was going to lose it and yell at me, but he remained very quiet. "I have my own honour too," I added.

It took him a while to speak. After several heavy sighs, as I am sure he was battling things out in his own mind, he just poured himself more wine and took a gulp. "What's done is done." He told me. This was so very unlike him, I almost wished he would stomp and bluster and throw a tantrum. "But if your debt is discharged, promise me that you won't continue to communicate with them behind my back."

"I can't make that promise." This got a rise out of him and he drained the rest of his cup in one large gulp before slamming down the metal goblet. It was almost as if he expected I would upset him again, and avoided glass this time.

"Pray tell, why not?" he questioned.

"Because I think I can help you find a peaceful solution," I told him.

"I think we're beyond peaceful solutions at this point, Trosyn. You are putting yourself in danger and I... I don't want anything to happen to you. I love you!" He said it quickly, as if he said it fast, it would somehow hurt less. But he looked pained by the confession anyway, perhaps because he felt it was preparing him for another rejection. I was his consort, what more did he want? Of course, I knew what he wanted. He wanted to be loved in return. Not just physically. I was touched that he could say it. He had already, by asking if I loved him. Still, it was warming to my heart, because such tender expression was hard for him. And that night, I let myself forget his deeper defects and injuries towards me.

I wish I could say that this led into a beautiful and transformative experience, but it did not. Despite affection on both sides... Benold... ah bless him. He managed to reach his mature years with his mind filled with vast misinformation, no doubt fuelled by Vormind. I'll just say our first time together was awkward, and his pride was a bit bruised, but I will leave it at that.

Volente had his handkerchief over his face to hide the blush and Baldovo was coughing noisily, a result of his prior sickness and the failure to hold back a laugh. Colto remained placid as ever, hands on his stomach, leaned back in his chair. Trosyn was surprised Colto didn't get up and leave, though he did weigh one of his heavy brows down with vast disapproval of her even sharing that much. Trosyn smiled.

"You know now I'll HAVE to ask for details," Baldovo said once he had sufficiently recovered. The handkerchief fell from Volente's face, who had gone from bright red to pale as his kerchief.

"I say! Do not!" Volente squawked. Baldovo laughed again, which brought on more coughing. Colto rose to his feet.

"I'm going." There was no dissuading him, so Trosyn didn't even try. Baldovo was too busy coughing to try, and Volente was trying to clean up an ink spill caused by his nervous flailing.

"I should probably go as well," Trosyn said. Baldovo sat up, still coughing but held up his hand as if to request that she wait. Trosyn did not comply, acting as if she hadn't seen it.

Volente frowned as story time was concluded for the time being. Trosyn picked up the tray of teacups and headed out the door, hearing the end of Baldovo's coughing as it swung shut behind her.