I am absolutely going to change Shta's name... I think... however I haven't found anything better. Sorry! When I change it (if I have any readers by that time) then I will let you know at the beginning of the chapter.
Jean crumpled the sheet of paper in his hands, wadding it into a ball before dropping it to the floor and crushing it beneath his boot. This really could not keep happening. Knaufson was supposed to be regulating his area, not bringing waifs in to usurp magical destinies! Shta offered a sympathetic glance as he picked up the paper and smoothed it before deliberately folding it along its creases. “Trouble in Provence?” he queried after turning it over, before casting a critical eye over the puffing, trembling, red-faced messenger boy.
“Something like that…” Jean replied with a groan, waving the boy off. Shta faced the path they were taking through the gardens, holding the letter to the side for Jean as he took his place beside him again.
“What did you expect, placing a recently out-of-time, inexperienced, golden-hearted champion as the head of a place with anomalies like The Woods, and assets like ochre at Roussillon or the lavander fields every other step? You underestimated the region, mon cher.” Stopping to smell a rather ruffled rose, he quietly tsked under his breath. Jean ignored him morosely, slowing his pace only slightly as he passed the other man.
“I am not surprised that a prodigy emerged there, Shta. Only that he doesn’t know what he must do. If things are the way he accounted, he must end her— it’s common sense, survival! He knows what we’re doing!” Jean railed, sweeping his arm around the gardens in an ineffective gesture.
“Does he?” Shta mused, pinching the rose petals together and plucking them from the bud completely. “He does not have the history with the land that we do. He doesn’t know what is at stake— not really. He is out of time, his history is changed already. Not that he knew anything about what has truly happened in time.” Shta dropped the petals carelessly,
Jean whipped the letter against a rose in the bed at his elbow, eliciting a shower of collected rainwater. “She could prove to be an ‘asset’, as you said,” he supplied, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Shta hesitated, snorting quietly before straightening and facing him.
“You know the history of our predecessors’ ‘assets’. It doesn’t work out, for either party.” Shta’s tone turned bitter as he continued, “We might as well end her now and spare her the pain, spare us the loss. We need control, not anarchy.”
“You’re right, yet I feel that Irle will not settle down without someone else there. He’s still too inhibited to kill an innocent,” Jean wriggled the now damp letter in the air. “Besides, read how he describes her.”
Shta took the letter, unfolding it and scanning the lines. “Young, fragile, wisp-ish?” Shta grimaced. “He has yet to learn how to control compassion. In his position, with the lifespan he will have… that is the saving grace of our way.” Jean nodded in agreement. “I’ll go, I have an annual matter to attend to there so it will be a very minor setback, if any. Though, do make sure he knows I’m coming to assist him, not to domineer him. It will go better for all involved if he reaches and backs our opinion without force.”
“I’ll send a message. When will you leave? What about the solstice?”
“I’ll leave tomorrow morn. My business will not detain me, and if Irle is not a goat about things the child will not detain me either. I will be back before the preparations, I believe.” Jean nodded, pursing his lips as they continued their stroll.
“Try to win him over, Shta. He’s a strong man, and strong men make strong allies.”
