UNMARKED

18: The Moon and the Sun

Stomachs rumbling in unison, Blayre, Ainslee and Fletcher made their way to the dining hall, Fletcher keeping up his usual jovial conversation. Ainslee was noticeably quiet, offering nothing of her usual chattiness. Blayre could feel the awkwardness over her like a blanket of thorns pricking her every time she moved wrong.

    She was going to murder her brother for this. She had assumed that by instructing her to keep his presence quiet to her friend that he would be exposing himself immediately after.

    Once they had piled their plates with food, they sat on a bench at one of the long wooden tables and began to finally satiate her hunger.

    Not even Ainslee's stony silence could ruin Blayre's appetite as she stuffed the roasted fowl and seasoned root vegetables into her mouth. The dining hall was mostly empty, since the bigger rush had already long since passed for dinner, but a soft murmur of voices surrounded them just as a blanket of warm food-scented air covered them. Fletcher, it seemed had finally picked up on Ainslee's dour mood and decided to prod the beast.

    "What's got your smallclothes in a tangle, Red?" He asked, his fork clinking against his plate as he speared another potato.

    Ainslee gave him a seething look, setting her fork and knife deliberately on the table beside her plate. "I don't know, why don't you ask our other friend here? Blayre knows all about it."

    Blayre cringed, suddenly finding the meat she had been chewing to be rather tough. She gulped it down, and followed it with a swig of liquid. "Ains,"

    "Don't "Ains" me, Blayre. You knew he was here and you didn't bother to tell me." Ainslee was leaning into the table as though ready to pounce.

    Fletcher, looking quite confused, was glancing from one woman to the other, clearly unprepared for this unusual outcome. "Blayre knew who was here?" He asked innocently.

    "Her brother!" Ainslee just about yelled across the table at him.

    He flinched, "Oh..." And gave Blayre a look intermingled with both utter helplessness and sympathy.

    "Perhaps," Blayre said through clenched teeth, "If you had discussed the situation in a civil manner, instead of jumping down my throat, you would get better results." She stood abruptly, grabbing her plate of mostly eaten food to dispose of, and strode out of the hall. Fletcher could deal with her if she was going to act like this.

    The night was indeed clear as she stepped outside. With the setting of the sun, a chill had settled over the Capital, and she hugged her arms to her sides to hold in the warmth. She was upset enough that she thought her anger should be creating enough warmth.

    As she passed by the stable, she wanted nothing more than to slip inside of Dove's stall and bury her face in the mare's warm, horsey smell. Horses didn't get mad at you over men. As long as you fed them and groomed them, they would be loyal - if not always obedient, Blayre thought wryly, recalling a spunky pony that she'd had in her childhood.

    A mostly risen half-moon provided ethereal silver light as she walked down the path toward the archery field, hidden away behind a stretch of wall and a copse of trees. It was getting late, but the occasional bird chirp could be heard in the trees, sounding sleepy and reluctant to move. Blayre yawned, thinking longingly of her bed.

    She noticed a soft glow coming from the archery field, which turned into a more distinct pattern of glowing orbs.

    Candles. She realized, and it was enough to freeze her in her tracks. Her first thought was that she was interrupting something. Her next....