The Rogue Guardian

Chapter 78: What a Spy Hears

hey, who loves when those pesky little side characters you thought were gone/unimportant pop up again? i do!!!

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The wind blew strong but smooth, carrying the damp, green scent of the forest up to the crown of the castle's roof. Nemia placed her hands on the rough stone of the ramparts, arms on either side of her, fingers spread as though she could dig in and grip the rock like putty, and breathed in as deep and full as she could. The breeze brushed strands of short, black hair off her face as gently as it could.

She felt Irina's breath graze her shoulder like another breeze, and then her arms settling around her waste as she tucked herself closer.

"Nemia?"

She hummed in answer. Irina had given her several minutes of silence to enjoy the view and the weather before trying to speak, at least. They were getting better at fitting together.

"Magali asked if you would come to an evening party she's having soon." Irina sounded apologetic, which meant she was probably going to try and convince her to come. "It won't be anything crowded or loud or..." She broke off in a sort of laugh. "Or too people-ish. Probably just about ten or twelve people, some tea, harp music, maybe poetry reading, and of course Magali will be negotiating alliances vital to the future of our kingdom while that goes on, but it should be fun."

Nemia made a noncommittal sound. As if Irina wouldn't have her hands all over those alliances. "What kind of poetry?"

Irina leaned her cheek on her shoulder. "I wouldn't know one kind from another. The pretty, rhyming kind, I suppose, or maybe the absurdly long story-telling kind. Which would make better background noise for subtly blackmailing a knight into applying for the new auxiliary captain position?"

"For blackmailing you want readings of selected love poems from the renaissance. It sets the mood."

Irina laughed. "Oh, of course. How didn't I think of that? You're so clever."

Nemia didn't feel particularly clever. She felt like she was just staving off disaster. Yes, it was beautiful up here, clean and cool and safe, and Irina's hand gently pulling hers away to weave their fingers together was warm and grounding. But she knew the moment of feeling alright would pass. She needed something more comforting than Irina stroking her hair till she fell asleep, something more solid than Magali's tentative outstretched hand. She needed someone to talk to who would understand.

Come home, she thought, trying to follow the rush of the wind down to the city and the river with her eyes. Morie, when are you coming home?

Her face communicated her longing all too well, though Irina could not see it as she rested her head on Nemia's shoulder and stroked the back of her hand with her thumb. Twisted together they made an image almost still and perfect enough to be an engraving in the stone. Galatea watched them for a moment from the shadows of the stairs before turning and going down. It seemed the two girls really were sweethearts, though she'd bet against her father that the Assassin would form an attachment to any noble.

"She's fragile," Iso had said as he leafed through official papers sent from home. "Fragile people seek support from those more strong, and Irina Laycreek could be a strong enemy indeed. We must be aware of how the two progress. Much how we worried over the Thief and that knight, the Assassin may find her allegiances changed. I'm sure that would not be good for our plans."

And so Galatea kept aware, in little snatches of spying. For the plan. For Englescroft.

For her own bitter jealousy.