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 Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2017 5:04 pm
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With that last, the lady drew a smile from the lark. If there was anything he could do well, it was tell a story. But there would be no embellishments or tall tales for this listener. She would hear only truth from this harper. “As you wish, dear lady.”
He thought to describe a little of the politics between Weyr and Hold, but decided against it. What care would this lady have for news of other corrupt holds? Let her instead imagine dragons. “Both Western and High Reaches Weyrs have seen clutches this turn. Western’s was near twice as large as the Reaches’, and produced a gold. It’s been several turns since either Weyr has hatched a queen egg. Neliath, I believe, is the name of the dam. A grand sight, seeing that exceptional hatchling Impress.”
“Bigger than any of the other hatchlings, just careening around the sands as if she were intent on knocking every one of those candidates over. But her eyes, when she found her lifemate! I’d never seen such an array of color before that Impression. More beautiful than any aurora or rainbow you can find in nature, guaranteed.”
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Posted: Wed Dec 13, 2017 5:19 pm
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Oh, to fly. Ink allowed herself, for one beautiful, shining moment, to imagine Impressing to one of those dragons, to... one day, taking off into the air, and soaring above all of this. So high above Lord Redrick and all of his cronies, that she would never have to fear from him again. That never again would she be curtailed from any dream. Ah, but such fancies were only that. They were... as ephemeral as the feel of a kindly man's arms around her. A lie, no matter how sweet.
"And did all of the hatchlings find their bondmates?" Visions of rainbow swam in her eyes, and she let herself hold onto that dream for one precious moment longer. And then, as their feet engaged in the only sort of flight that she might ever take, she let it die. Defeat flickered through purple eyes that had seen so little joy. Yet still, for a moment there had been something wonderful.
Lord Redrick's raucous laughter permeated every fiber of her existence, and the gentle smile of this lark would not save her when her lord came to collect what was his due. "Have you been to many Hatchings?" He spun her out, and she went smoothly, twirling easily, letting the music carry her. For, although she had not had much solace in all of this, she had never lost music, nor dance. Even if her partner had, until now, been a boorish lord.
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Posted: Thu Dec 14, 2017 5:04 am
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“Yes, every last one of Neliath’s brood Impressed. The celebration feast was a rather lively affair as a result. Twenty-six new rider pairs, which meant twenty six tails, fifty-two wings, and one hundred and four little dragon feet for the feastgoers to trip on.”
There was a thrill of elation when the lady seemed to lose herself in the story, her face softening with—was it joy? Hope? That unexpected light in her dark eyes intensified her beauty, and when it abruptly faded… The lord’s laughter grated at the harper, as if it had come purposely just to spoil this small, stolen respite. She asked another question and then whirled away from him, as the dance required. As lovely as swirling snow, eddying about in the breeze. And—tragically—nearly just as cold. He willed some of his own warmth to transfer to her as she came back into his arms.
“I’ve been to a few other hatches, though none of those produced a gold. One Weyrhold in particular was scarcely even prepared to feed and house the clutch they so generously welcomed. Luckily for those little ones, quite a few riders who’d come by for the event were willing to help them resupply. They were surprised at the generosity, for dragonriders are often looked upon as immense parasites, these days.”
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Posted: Thu Dec 14, 2017 6:19 am
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"It is not like that here," the lady observed, when the harper swept her into his arms. "Dragonriders are the feared servants of Lord Gansley. No one would dare to call them parasites..." Not to their faces, at any rate. As the lark spun his tale for her, the lady watched him with avid eyes. She had been trapped in this cage for five turns already, and had not seen anything of the world in all that time. Nor had Lady Ink been fortunate enough to see the world even before Lord Redrick had made her his captive bride.
Softer than ice, yet more frigid than snow, the lady let the music carry her away, let this man make song of dance. It seemed that he meant to melt her in his arms, and perhaps he might succeed. However, they had not entirely escaped her captor's eyes, and she stiffened as the man himself moved closer to the spectacle they had unknowingly made. His laughter was so close, yet he stayed back. Why?
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Posted: Thu Dec 14, 2017 2:09 pm
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Lord Redrick was still out of earshot, surely. "Yes. There are Nabolese riders, and they are... his enforcers." She whispered, for if Redrick overheard her words, she would surely be in a fair amount of trouble. Granted, her present position undoubtedly had already landed her in a heap of trouble. Yet she was not ready to give up. Not when her lord had not made his move. The lady squared her shoulders, preparing to defend her choice if she must.
Yet... still, Lord Redrick did not approach. He merely watched, as a cat might watch a captive bird. Waiting, perhaps, for a sign of weakness. She knew him better than to think that she had gotten away with her act of defiance. "Lord Gansley always pays his tithes... and he has in-house riders. To all appearances, he is pro-Weyr."
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Posted: Sat Dec 16, 2017 7:30 am
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The harper was dividing his attention between the lord, the lady, and taking copious mental notes. Once he left this place, as he’d certainly be expected to do in the imminent future, he intended to go to Nabol. That cesspit, which he’d avoided in the past, was suddenly very, very interesting.
Once that was decided, he again became focused on moving with the delicate creature in his arms. He wanted to know more about her. And yet… he felt unsure if she would welcome such an intrusion. And perhaps… perhaps her past was just as dark as her present… as dark as her deep purple eyes. Again, he willed that even the tiniest bit of light should pass through the cold walls of her prison to keep that seed of hope alive.
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Posted: Sat Dec 16, 2017 7:48 am
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The music called for the lark to spin her out once more, and when he did... at the end of the spin, the man who caught her was none other than Lord Redrick himself. The lady, already pale, was nearly white with unspoken terror. Her expression was neutral, even as strong, gloved hands wrapped around her tightly. The lord's grip was too tight, his posture possessive and subtly menacing. None of the onlookers save one might think ill of the lord dancing with his lady. She did not dare to look after the harper who had held her so gently, although she caught his eyes past Lord Redrick's shoulder mid-turn.
"Did you enjoy your song, my pet?" the lord inquired, taking Lady Ink's chin with a bruising grip, and tilting it up so that she might meet his gaze. She met his query with silence, but for the moment she could not entirely hide the fear that he inspired. He laughed, the sound seeming to echo endlessly. As though it intended to break the glass he held so carelessly.
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