Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The Daughters, Chapter 4 - Annette

After five days of travel through the twisting paths of Iron Fen's moors, Annette's assessment of Guardsman Tomis Dane was that he made for good company. He was quick to laugh at her humorous stories and observations, he had stories of own to freely share, and ultimately too clever and kind to be one of Magister Toras's glorified harem boys.

Many of Tomis's anecdotes involved a fellow guardsman named Heron Croix. Tomis spoke of Heron so frequently that Annette was sure the guardsmen were secret sweethearts. Though Tomis hadn't yet directly told her and Annette hadn't yet directly asked.

They stopped beside a spring in the afternoon so their horses could drink and so Tomis could bathe and wash his weathered shirt. The young man was in incredible shape. Annette feigned disinterest in watching him rinse his powerful chest. All that time in the bathhouse made Tomis Dane an expert at personal hygiene, Annette thought to herself with a chuckle.

Annette rinsed her bare feet downstream. Mossy stones danced beneath her fingertips and the cattails on the opposite bank bobbed their heads in her direction. It was easier to curb her need to expel the arcaén she absorbed as a mage, but at times gentle buzzing of the plants around her was hard to ignore. She returned her gaze to Tomis Dane and opted to indulge in playful gossip as a distraction.

"I'm curious, Tomis," she pried. "Would Guardsman Croix have enjoyed our adventure in the wilderness?"

Tomis blushed at the mention of his name. He shrugged and wrang out his shirt.

"I think all of Magister Toras's guards would enjoy such an honor. It isn't often that we get to venture out of Port Shorishal."

Annette rested her palm on her cheek. It was adorable how he avoided the question.

"That wasn't what I asked," she said. "I meant would Heron Croix, in particular, have enjoyed spending time outside of the city with you?"

Tomis coughed and laid out his shirt to dry on a rock.

"I'm not sure what you're inferring," he said.

"You've hardly spoken about anyone else," Annette pressed him. "And it's rare to hear a man describe another man's hair as the color of sweet mead."

"He's... become a good friend," Tomis replied softly.

Annette sighed to herself and decided to give up. She didn't wish to hound the poor man. Yet it seemed her choice words were enough to plant a seed in Tomis Dane. His hands were on his hips. He shook his head in defeat.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked. "I mean, you wouldn't tell anyone?"

"I don't understand how it would be an issue," she confessed. "Everyone knows the guardsmen of Magister Toras are selected to cater to his needs. I'm pleased you found a man to love despite your situation."

Tomis sniffed the air. He remanded guarded, nervous to speak so frankly with The Princess.

"I suppose we are lucky to have each other," he said. "Guardsman Cullan fancies a maid and he never gets to see her. But Magister Toras has been quite clear that we aren't supposed to have romantic interest in anyone. Our affection is reserved for him. If he finds out..."

"Annette wrinkled her nose. She couldn't imagine having to do anything, let alone touch, that nasty old man. Truthfully, she never considered the feelings of the individual men in Toras's employ. She never thought about them having to do things against their will. It was sick.

She stood and carried her shoes over to him. Tomis's head was down. He looked scared, fearful of some unknowable punishment. Annette took his hand. His cheeks were red as he fought the urge to cry.