Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

Cyreia squeezed her hand, so thankful for the contact. This was-- well, unexpected, to put it lightly, and she needed some kind of anchor. Who would have thought that she'd be discovering new things about her family during the negotiations? About herself? She had abandoned that hope long ago; her mother had been rather tight-lipped when it came to these things, always promising to answer her questions later, except that death had claimed her before she had gotten the chance to do so. With that, the only link to the rest of her family had been severed, and Cyreia hadn't bothered to loom for the missing pieces. Where was she even supposed to start? In Werough, as it turns out. What a curious coincidence. What if the gods had truly guided her the entire time, ensuring that she would end up here? The thought was equally disturbing and comforting. Being nothing but chess piece on a game board so large she didn't even see it in its entirety scared her, but-- it also implied there was some kind of method to the madness, didn't it?

"I am quite sure," Isobel said gently. "And if your magic has acted in strange ways, my king, then that is all the proof you need. It is no wonder you haven't been able to achieve stellar results with the usual training methods." There was no guarantee it couldn't be caused by something else, of course, but Cyreia saw no particular reason to doubt her words. Sure, Isobel could be lying, though what would she gain by that? It would have been different had she been trying to convince her to burn on the pyre as a sacrifice, except that didn't seem to be her goal here. The young lady had mentioned it in passing, probably assuming that they, too, knew about this. If it truly was some form of deception, then Isobel had crafted it masterfully.

"I, uh. How different? And what are the implications of all of this?" she looked at Remin first and then at Isobel only to turn her gaze back at her wife. "I'm just... trying to figure out whether this is a good thing or not." If Cyreia looked confused, then only because she was; Remin, at least, seemed to know some stories about those who had fae blood, but to her, it was just a phrase, and an unfamiliar one at that. What did it all mean?

 

[Conifer]

"It's...neither?" Remin frowns softly. "...Do you not have stories of the fae in Eupriunia?" Surely some had seeped out of the woodwork - but then again, Eupriunia seems to have done a rather thorough job of keeping knowledge that they didn't want their people to have, and knowledge of the fae was even hard to come by for peoples more in touch with the world. "The fae...they're complicated. But their magic is, at least, easier to understand than ours. Than...mine, I guess." Whatever Isobel had going on seemed more divine than anything else - but then again, wasn't Remin's now powered by...the ghosts of her ascendants? She couldn't speak about weird magic. "Mine before, at least." Either Isobel already knew, or she would be curious with that specification, but Remin wasn't going to explain. They had to have some amount of the high ground. "It draws from...primal forces. The earth, the wind, the-- all of that. Which would explain why you're having trouble controlling it, because-- we figured it was your training making it difficult for you, but it's just that you're not listening to the right things. It doesn't matter what your *mind* recognizes as something you can do, or have to do. It matters what you're interpreting from what your surroundings are telling you." Remin was hardly even making sense to her own ears -perhaps she was a little dramatic about their magic being easier to understand. She squeezes Cyeria's hand gently.

"When you stopped us falling, it wasn't because you realized we were falling. It was because the air told you we were falling, and the ground knew we were coming towards us, and you listened." She explains, hopefully a little more clearly. She didn't know fae magic much more than she knew traditional magic, honestly, but fae magic was the sort that showed up in children's books, and she'd read enough of those in her lifetime to have some fantastical idea of it. Half the things she said was probably wrong , but it would serve a worthy enough explanation until they had the resources to prove her otherwise. "And the arrow- again, your surroundings recognized it was flying, and you drew on them to stop it." Would they be able to mitigate the drain Cyeria felt after using magic, knowing this now?Remin hoped so. Nothing terrible had happened yet, but surely the day would come soon that accidental magic would wipe Cyeria out, and she wouldn't be able to react appropriately to a danger.

 

[Aerynth]

"No? We are not very keen on stories about magical creatures. Magic is an evil temptation, remember?" Which was an oversimplification, really, but it summarized the situation rather well. Eupriunians did have stories to amuse themselves with, of course, but the protagonists were always valiant heroes and clever commanders; people like her, in other words, rather than something otherworldly or magical. (Except that it turned out that she was something otherworldly and magical. The thought made her head spin.) There were other things that made her head spin, though; Remin's explanation, for example.

"... what?" Cyreia frowned, confusion clearly written in all over her face. It sounded so incredibly convoluted. How did one listen to earth or wind? It did make some amount of sense with wind, she supposed, because wind at least made noise, but-- well. It was always just that; merely noise, not something that could be understood or communicated with. What did all that talk of listening to the elements even mean? It must have been something more symbolic in nature, she was sure, though knowing that didn't deepen her understanding of the phenomenon in any way and that frustrated her endlessly. Cyreia didn't necessarily have to understand everything, of course, except that this was rather important. How was she to function normally if her own magic could sabotage her efforts in any given moment? It had gotten better since her training sessions with the Olyveire graduates had started, but if what Isobel and Remin told her was true, there were still many things she didn't understand about her magic. What if this lack of understanding eventually led to dangerous situations? No, it wasn't even a matter of if; more likely, it was a matter of when, and that scared her.

"I don't remember listening to earth or wind or anything else, really. I remember being surprised and my body reacting on its own somehow," she said. "How do you even interpret reality based on what the elements are telling you and not on what you see?" That was the main problem here, wasn't it? How to turn off the all the cognitive processes and listen to some foreign entities instead?

 

[Conifer]

"I don't know." Remin admits, unsurprised that her attempts at explanation went sour. "All I know is-- stories. Which rarely make sense on their own. But now that we know what we're working with really, we can research. We can find you answers." If they were lucky, they could find a teacher, but finding someone else who knew fae magic would be a tricky search. Fae were, unlike Remin's opinion of gods before this day, real enough but tended to tuck themselves away into hidden places, unwanting and unwilling to be found by the others that filled the lands. Perhaps someone might take pity on the two of them. Maybe someone might know someone who might know someone, but did they have the time or resources to truly devote to that search right now? No, not with apparently another war on the horizon. They had to focus on preparing for that. There were likely books enough, though. They'd figure this out as best they could on their own. They'd figure it out before something terrible happened.

 

[Aerynth]

"That's fair enough, I suppose," Cyreia chuckled. Expecting Remin to know more than that had probably been foolish, after all; it seemed that fae magic was kind of disconnected from everything else, and her wife had stated in the past that she wasn't particularly well-versed in all things magical, either. It didn't matter, though. Now that they had actual clues to follow, they could-- they could solve this mystery somehow. It wouldn't be just blind guessing anymore. Still, she had so many questions. They weren't even related to her magic in general, but rather to her family. If her father really belonged to this strange, magic-imbued race, then it was no wonder her mother had been so unwilling to share details. Cyreia had always assumed they had broken up on a sour note, but the reason behind her silence might have been something else; children generally didn't know when to shut up, after all, and this little fact could have landed them into some serious trouble. And speaking of trouble, how had she even gotten herself into such a situation? How had she met him? Or had it been her mother who had had fae blood? No, that didn't seem likely. Surely Cyreia would have noticed if she had used magic? ... unless she had never used it out of fear, or simply hadn't known how to control her powers. It's still as meaningless as it has been from the very beginning, she thought with a hint of bitterness. There had been a reason she had never even tried to find out more about her family; it would have been like trying to find a needle in haystack, and not much had changed since then. Isobel had given her some information, yes, but it wasn't nearly enough to uncover-- well, pretty much anything. Her past had burned away, with her only family being Remin. Which... was still more than she had ever dared to ask for, really.

Cyreia would have loved to explore the topic further, and they probably would, but not in front of Isobel. The woman likely knew even more than she let on, though there was no reason to give her more information than necessary. Besides, it wasn't like the lady cared about her family situation. "I apologize for hijacking the conversation for a bit," Cyreia bowed. "This has been-- slightly surprising, that's all." Not just slightly, but good manners were apparently all about lying, so who was she to break that rule? "Anyway, we should get back to business. Isn't there any other way to increase the clarity of your visions? If we don't find Wellan's body, it would be good to have some... alternative." It would also be good if it didn't involve burning or other morally questionable things, but Cyreia didn't hold her breath in that regard.

 

[Conifer]

Isobel watched their interactions quietly, still with that unsettlingly unreadable gaze; at this point, Remin was more inclined to trust her than distrust her, but that made her feel all the more that she should lean in the opposite direction of that impulse. There was so much more she could be doing if she wanted things from them, but perhaps she was just patient enough to let them give her those things organically? It was so, so hard to tell. Remin was tired of it. She didn't wish for Wellan again, but at least he'd been faultingly upfront about his goals. Anyways, if Isobel did know more, she was an expert at not revealing that she might - through the entire aside, she simply sipped at her tea, watching the two of them without too much intensity like they were an entertaining group of strangers she could see from her window. "There's no need to apologize," She assures Cyeria kindly, setting her delicately decorated mug aside. "I should be the one apologizing. I wasn't aware that you didn't already know."

"But back onto more pressing things, yes." Isobel agrees, rising from her chair and crossing to the fireplace behind her. The room wasn't chilled, but Isobel must have been, because she lights it with a gentle roll of magic off her fingertips as she continues talking, and then returns herself to the soft, high-backed thing she'd been sitting in before. "There are other ways, yes, but they're...less exact. The sacrifice of a suitable body isn't a sure thing, but it's as close to one as the gods might allow. Anything less than that...it really depends on the day. The minute, even." Her ankles cross neatly beneath the chair as she settles back into it, and it's so hard for Remin to tell if it's practiced, intentional elegance, or if it's something that comes more naturally to her than that. Is she playing up her mystery for them, or is this just...who she is, always? Complicated and intriguing? "I raise some animals for the purpose of sacrifice, if it comes to that." She adds, as if the concept of raising things to throw them to fire is a common, unconcerning past time. "Or...blood may do well enough, if they look down on us with sympathy. I've used my own before, and I would again, but...I'm afraid that one of yours may work better. Rituals like what we're discussing prefer ingredients that haven't met other rituals before."

 

[Aerynth]

Was she a terrible person for distrusting Isobel even if she'd been nothing but kind to them so far? Perhaps, but kindness could be used as a shield, too, and Cyreia wasn't blind to that. Isobel could easily be manipulating them and they'd have no way to tell. She could just as easily be genuine, though, which made all of this so difficult; what if she suspected her for no reason? What if this unwillingness to trust her fully would eventually drive a wedge between them and destroy the fragile alliance they needed so much? Moderation, Cyreia thought. Moderation is what I need to practice. She couldn't afford to be completely trusting, but looking for sinister meanings hidden behind each word that fell from her lips? That would be foolish.

Isobel didn't exactly make it easy for her, though, because her request was... all shades of suspicious, really. Magic still remained largely a mystery to her, but even Cyreia knew how potent of a medium blood could be. It was one's very essence, after all. Should they trust Isobel with something like that? A powerful magic user could probably do all sorts of things with it, most of which she didn't like. At the same time, though, what if it worked? What if they truly uncovered a new piece of information thanks to the sacrifice? God, it made her skin crawl, but-- Remin had been right. Athea experiencing another war, especially so soon after this one, would be catastrophic; knowing what to prepare for was one of the few things that could lessen the impact. Cyreia looked Isobel straight in the eye, her gaze unflinching despite the stream of doubts. "I am... not unwilling to help with that," she said, even if thinking of herself as an ingredient caused a shiver to run down her spine. God, no wonder that Eupriunians rejected magic so completely. Cyreia now found the stancr too radical, of course, but avoiding things like blood sacrifice seemed entirely reasonable. Well, too bad they couldn't be reasonable now! (If they absolutely had to throw caution to the wind, though, Cyreia needed the sacrifice to be her, not Remin. Bleeding for her cause wasn't new to her, and-- well. Should things go awry, the realm wouldn't miss her as much. Remin could run the kingdom more effectively than she could, after all, and most of the local nobility didn't hate her. In comparison to her, Cyreia was expendable. Moreover, hadn't Remin suffered enough?) "I just need to know what will be required of me and whether there are any side effects." She also intended to ask Maric about that before agreeing to anything, but comparing the lady's answers to his would be a useful tool in determining whether she could be trusted.

 

[Conifer]

Remin didn't like how quick Cyeria was to volunteer herself. She wasn't surprised - no, she knew her wife well enough by now to know that if there was something that needed to be done that held any risk, then she would nobly toss her hat into the ring. That wasn't going to happen, gods, no, but Remin wasn't surprised in the least bit that Cyeria had volunteered. No, Remin would do it. She was useless enough to her people in times of war; this would be use, and at what cost? The lowering of some flimsy morals, trusting someone she wasn't sure about, and a small amount of blood? Priceless, when compared to what others paid for the price of a war. Arguing it here would serve them no good, though, and so she kept herself quiet.

Isobel shakes her head gently. "No, no side effects. It wouldn't take much blood - only enough to fill a cup, really," She raises her mug as example, before, in an action that Remin's not sure if she means to be amusing or intimidating, taking a sip of her tea. Remin is sure, however, that she finds it much more intimidating than amusing. "You might have some lightheadedness after, but there's no magic cause there, which...I assume was the point of your questioning."

 

[Aerynth]

"So I won't be participating in the divination directly? Just... giving you the blood?" That didn't sound that terrible, to be honest. What was a cup of blood? Cyreia had lost much more than that in an afternoon and she was still there, living and breathing. Yeah, except that none of it has been used on shady rituals before. And that part? That part still made her more nervous than she would have liked to admit. Perhaps Cyreia was just prejudiced, but the idea still didn't sit well with her. It was-- it was almost like the stories they had told Eupriunian soldiers to make them believe that Atheans deserved subjugation; stories of dark magic and even darker intentions. (Cyreia had thought them to be obvious propaganda at first because they were too fantastical, too unbelievable, but the border between one's imagination and reality seemed kind of blurry in Athea. How much of it was lie? How much of it was true? God, she couldn't tell anymore; the more time she spent there, the more uncertain she grew.)

"Do you need anything else we can help with? If it's within our power, we'll be glad to do so." Within their power and morally acceptable, though Isobel surely knew that; their earlier reaction to the prospect of burning people must have told her everything she needed to know in that regard. "If it's only the blood you need, I'd like to rest for a bit first," Cyreia continued, hoping that she looked sincere enough. She wasn't exactly telling the lady lies - no, definitely not - but... the words that were about to leave her lips weren't entirely true, either. "A cup isn't a lot, but I sustained an injury not too long ago and the journey has been rather exhausting, so some time to recuperate would be more than welcome." More like time to contact Maric and discuss the whole mess with Remin, except that lady Beleret didn't need to know that. Depending on how her powers worked, maybe she already did, but decorum required her to play these little games with her anyway. Cyreia took a sip from her cup, using it to shield her expression for a few moments. Gods, hopefully she wasn't too obvious about all of this! Subtlety still seemed to elude her for some reason.

 

[Conifer]

"You could participate more if you liked to," Isobel offers, but it's clear that she either anticipated or already knew of Cyeria's hesitance to the whole idea if the emphasis on 'if you liked to' was any indication there.

"...If blood's involved, it might be best if we were at least there to observe," Remin said, hoping her moment of obvious distrust would go forgiven; while this ritual sounded safe enough, there were others that you certainly didn't want done with your blood. If someone could grab her by simply placing something in her proximity, what might happen if they had some part of her? It wasn't a risk that Remin was willing to take, for either her or Cyeria. Not in this climate, and likely never. All their blood should go accounted for as best they could have it be.

If the Lady has any thoughts towards this, she doesn't voice them; she just nods politely. "Of course. I don't deal in deception, your highnesses. My processes are open to being watched. You'd be welcome. And...no, but thank you. I have all the rest of the supplies I might need within the walls. If you wished to...compensate, I wouldn't turn it down, as some of the ingredients don't come cheaply, but I'll do it either way." ...Well. Remin hadn't really thought that she wanted money from them, but that more or less confirmed that. Unless, of course, she was just trying to gain their trust. Gods, she wanted to find magic that would force everyone to speak their intentions plainly. It would avoid so, so many headaches. "Go rest. It's best done when the sun is at an extreme- so, sunrise or set, or noon or midnight. If you wish to stay here to rest, I can have someone show you to a room, and you can come find me whenever you might be ready to enact the ritual."

 

[Aerynth]

Oh, so she could? Well, Cyreia sure as hell didn't want to, though, and she would have said it, too, but thankfully Remin was faster. Observing the whole affair wasn't a terrible idea, really. It would doubtlessly be uncomfortable, but perhaps they could at least exercise a modicum of control over what would happen. (In theory. Pulling wool over their eyes wouldn't be particularly difficult, Cyreia supposed, given their own inexperience and Isobel's skills; as much as she hated it, they were at the woman's mercy. Oh, how simple everything had been when her entire world had revolved around warfare! No that Cyreia missed the blood and suffering and taking people's lives, but-- well, sometimes she did miss the steady rhythm.)

"We shall see about that," Cyreia said when Isobel mentioned money. The request sounded almost wrong from her mouth; lady Beleret seemed to be made of mist and moonlight, of stuff of dreams, and hearing her care about such mundane things shattered the illusion instantly. Still, that was probably a good thing. It reminded Cyreia that no matter how mysterious Isobel was, she was, in the end, human. Human like the rest of them. Or just human like Remin? Because Cyreia wasn't entirely human, after all. God, that would take some getting used to. "Meanwhile, we'll rest. Thank you for the hospitality you've shown us so far. It's been an honor, truly," she continued to talk, one learned phrase after another. To be honest? Cyreia felt more like a dog following its master's orders rather than some deeply magical being. One would have thought that being a king would free you from things like this, but no; it was just another set of chains, even if those particular chains were gold and shiny.

"Very well, then," lady Beleret bowed, "I hope that you'll regain your strength soon. Don't hesitate to call me if you have any concerns. I will be glad to answer your questions." After that, a maid came to show them to their chamber. Just like the rest of the castle, it wasn't terribly luxurious, but the furniture had been picked with care. Everything went well together, and the dull shades of brown and green made the room seem rather cozy. Once the door closed behind the maid, Cyreia waited until she heard her footsteps disappear in the distance. That happened soon enough, which meant that Isobel didn't plan to spy on them like the Marshes once had-- or she planned to do it through magical means, which they couldn't do anything about. Oh well, too bad.

Cyreia plopped down on the bed and grinned at Remin. "On a scale from one to ten, how terrible of an idea do you think this is?"

 

[Conifer]

"It's either the best idea we'll have ever gone through with, or the worst." Remin admits, sitting on the bed with Cyeria. Gods, she missed proper beds. The cot in Cyeria's tent wasn't the worst thing, especially after half-sleeping on what she had while in Wellan's grasp, but a bed...Gods, a bed. She would never take a proper mattress for granted again. She let herself lay back against it, feeling nearly properly herself again for the first time in days. It was likely a tentative peace, but it was a peace, and she would luxuriate in it. "I genuinely can't tell if she means solely to help us, or if there's something else to her kindnesses, but quite honestly, I'm....really not sure it matters right now. I don't think she's lying. About the ritual, or about the war. Or about you. I trust her words even if I'm unsure I can trust her."

"And," Remin points out, twisting to face Cyeria better, but still laying against the mattress, "Our last either terrible or incredible plan worked out well enough, so who says that this one might not as well?" Perhaps that was counting on the universe or the gods or whatever might have you a little too much - kindness wasn't infinite, nor was luck. But they'd had a backup plan before, and they more or less had one now. If the ritual proved nothing, then they still knew something was coming. If she was truly nefarious, they still had an entire army still visible on the horizon. They weren't helpless against whatever consequences they might find themselves facing.

She reaches her hand out, unabashedly taking Cyeria's into her own and drawing it to her lips, pressing a kiss there. This was their first true privacy in too long, even if it was a shorter amount of time than it felt. Privacy, at least, if they were giving Isobel the benefit of the doubt and trusting that she wasn't spying on them. Gods, what did it matter, though? If she knew Ianes was Avther, and Avther was fae, was there any point in her spying? She knew their secrets, and likely knew this one, even if Remin reaching out to Cyeria while they were sitting all together didn't tip her off. This was going to become the most poorly kept secret in the history of Athea. "Whatever happens, we'll be at each other's sides, and so it won't be as terrible as it could be." A rousing note of comfort, she was sure, but it was true.

 

[Aerynth]

"I also trust her," Cyreia admitted, "or at least I trust what she's saying. I have to wonder, though, whether there are also things she didn't share." That was the truly dangerous thing here, wasn't it? Isobel didn't even need to lie to them; they weren't exactly well-versed in magic, which meant they hardly knew the right questions to ask. If she wanted to deceive them, choosing to keep her mouth shut would be more than sufficient. "I suppose that it doesn't matter, though. Not when we have no real way of confirming whether her intentions are pure anyway." Which was possibly the worst set-up imaginable; being wise enough to know that you could be walking into a trap, yet not wise enough to know how to discern it. Complete foolishness, at the very least, would have provided comfort. This, though? This only made her feel vaguely threatened and stupid, oh so stupid. If only Maric were here. Sure, Cyreia would contact him, but if the man could witness the firsthand ritual, she'd feel a lot better about it.

Before lying down with Remin properly, Cyreia reached for her trunk and pulled out a small mirror Maric had given her. It was a communication device as well, though one not nearly as convenient as the stones he had given them for their own personal use; apparently it could receive and send messages (even if the person you were trying to talk to wasn't present at the moment), but it was imbued with the man's own magic, which would apparently run out soon. 'It's a new invention,' he had said to her, 'and thus imperfect. Only contact me if you absolutely need it.' Magical counsel seemed like a good enough reason, so Cyreia focused and sent him all the questions she could possibly think of. Afterwards, she finally lay down next to her wife and allowed herself to melt in the kiss. It was terribly unfair, really, that they could only indulge in this behind closed doors. How beautiful would it be if they didn't have to hide like criminals? If others weren't so intent on sticking their noses into their business? Too beautiful to be true, unfortunately.

"You aren't wrong in that regard," she smiled softly and caressed her face. "Though I wouldn't complain if things were a little less eventful. It would be nice if we got one, one day without impeding wars and-- and finding out that I'm not human, apparently." What a strange turn of events. Cyreia... still had no idea what to think about it, really. "I don't know. I feel like this should probably be more meaningful than I feel it is, but I am more... baffled than anything else? I mean, my entire life has been a lie and yet I don't think anything has changed since lady Beleret told me. It's still just the same old me."

 

[Conifer]

Remin watched in interested silence as Cyeria sent off a handful of questions to Maric. She hoped that he'd get back with answers sooner than later - It hadn't seemed like Isobel had any intention of rushing them into the ritual (another note in the 'we may be able to trust her' category, she supposed,) but still, time itself was a rush enough. She hadn't seemed to know when the war would come, and every hour wasted was an hour they didn't have to play strategist and prepare. Not that an hour - or a day, or a week, - would win them anything in the state they were in now. A month might give them some luck. A year would be so, so much better. A year might give them a fighting chance. Even with that fantastical idea of a year of peace, Remin had little trust in their luck, but it would give them a chance. All the same, whether the hours or day would save them, Remin would rather get this all over with as soon as they possibly could. One thing done and onto the next - it was the only way forward.

"It makes sense," Remin says gently. "Especially not having any idea of what any of it means. It's still just an uncertainty. Your life hasn't been a lie - besides...the parts that are, I suppose," Avther was a lie, but not a lie to Cyeria. "It's just been an assumption that has had no reason to be challenged." Which...was barely more than a lie, really. But still, she hoped it might bring some amount of comfort. She squeezes Cyeria's hand gently. "We'll find you the truth as best we can, if you want to find it." At least with that little bit of information, they might be able to find something that might bring her wife some tiny amount of comfortable knowledge if she wanted it. Or, they could ignore all of it altogether if that's what she wanted. Remin could understand the worth in both of the options.

 

[Aerynth]

"I suppose," Cyreia murmured as she rested her head against Remin's bosom. On a rational level, it really did make sense; it was the emotional aspect that felt so strangely off. The reveal had sparked some sort of curiosity in her, yes, but... not much else. Shouldn't this be one of the defining moments of her life? It was always true for heroes from various stories; learning of their true lineage changed them profoundly, put their entire life into a different perspective. Maybe she had simply had way too many life-altering moments; another one didn't register on her radar anymore, kind of like a sponge that was too drenched to absorb water anymore. Well, that, or perhaps she didn't like being even more of an outsider than she had previously thought. Just how distant was she from her friends? From everyone, really? Avther was a great barrier on his own, and now it turned out Cyreia technically wasn't even the same species as those surrounding her. Had the gods intended her to live in isolation? Always alone, never truly belonging anywhere? No, that wasn't true; they had, after all, allowed her to meet Remin. Surely they couldn't be entirely cruel.

"Still," she chuckled softly, "I really have to wonder what kind of life my mother lived. I always assumed she never left our village, but she must have at some point, because I can't imagine she'd meet fae there. There was nothing aside from the mountains." Picturing her as a traveller, perhaps even an adventurer, was a strange thing; her mother who had always dissuaded her from doing anything more exciting than climbing the nearest tree? That woman hadn't seemed like the sort to go on journeys with questionable - even heretical - goals. (Perhaps that was exactly it, though; perhaps she had known where such paths led, and tried to warn her daughter in advance. Wouldn't Cyreia say the same to any children she and Remin might have?) "It just-- well, it sort of makes me think I knew her even less than I previously thought," she admitted into the silence and pressed a kiss on her wrist. "What are fae supposed to be like? According to the stories." Stories that were likely fairytales for children with very loose connections to the truth, but that was still more than Cyreia had right now.

 

[Conifer]

Remin curled gentle fingers through Cyeria's hair, running her nails lightly against the woman's scalp; if she can bring her no comfort with her words, then perhaps she can bring her comfort with a safe place to lay her head, some careful touch that would rather protect than bring harm, but has to do neither in this space between stones where they can finally let guards somewhat down. "You knew her how she wanted to be known." Remin says softly, leaning to press a kiss into her hair. "There's no fault in that." Remin herself knew well enough that there were parts of her parents she would never know - was that for the better? For the worse? It was impossible to know. Maybe her reassurances were wrong, anyways, and maybe there was fault in not knowing the people who brought you from nothing to everything you were now...but truly, sorely, she hoped that wasn't the case. For Cyeria, and selfishly, for herself.

"It depends on the story," Remin admits softly, pressing one last kiss into Cyeria's hair before she settles back onto the bed, her hand taking up its gentle rhythm of weaving through the strands of hair. "I...think it depends who wrote them, honestly. Some of the stories we have were written by the fae themselves, so, so long ago. Others have been written about them. In those ones...they're stories of morals. Stay near your parents, or the terrible fae may take you and replace you with one of their own. Settle into bed quickly, or the fae that fill the night will see you're awake and will draw you towards their festivities, and years will pass before you return. Be good to your friends and your family, or the fae will slip into your dreams and feed you terrible nightmares." She laughs so softly. "They have a theme, if you hadn't noticed. The rest of the stories...they're long things, most of them, focused on very little in particular. I think it's intentional - they've allowed us to have the stories that prove that they're real, but give us no information about them besides the names of some folk heros or court practices or accounts of parties."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia lay in Remin's arms, enjoying her gentle ministrations. The things she told her, though? Those weren't as pleasing. More than anything, they reminded her of the stories Eupriunians told to each other; stories meant to paint those using magic as something evil, something nefarious. In a way, it was comforting to know that even Atheans had a group they had chosen to demonize in such manner because... well, it showed that they weren't entirely different. Perhaps humans simply worked like this? Or maybe there was a grain of truth to the story and her... people, Cyreia supposed... truly did despicable things. Folklore, after all, had often been built on true foundations, even if everything about it had fallen victim to distortion. She just hoped that the truth buried under embellishments related to their power and not what they did with it. It wasn't like them being comically evil would reflect on her, really, since her connection to them was so fragile, but it would still be nice to have some kind of living family she could be proud of-- or at least not ashamed of. Was that too naive? Perhaps, though not all naivety was bad; sometimes it was the only thing that allowed you to go on. "I kind of have," she laughed. "It's difficult not to."

Cyreia raised herself on her elbows and stole a kiss from Remin. "So they're fairly elusive," she noted after that. Elusive and apparently governed by their own royalty if Remin's mention of court practices was indicative of anything. Honestly? It sounded downright fascinating, this idea of a kingdom hidden within another kingdom. How had they managed to avoid detection for so long? People knew about them, yes, but apparently only so far as they allowed themselves to be known. Surely their magic had caused that somehow? If so, they had to be truly powerful. It wasn't easy to stay hidden like that in Eupriunia where magic was tightly controlled, but in Athea, where everyone and their grandmother could cast spells? That had to be much, much more complicated. "Has there been any diplomatic contact?" Cyreia asked. "Or at least any attempts? Pursuing something like that might be a worthy goal. I mean, we could always use more allies."

 

[Conifer]

The kiss was less stolen and more eagerly and freely given; perhaps one day they would stop peppering discussion with expressions of affection, but that day was not today, and that day was equally not soon. No, Remin still delighted in every time their mouths slotted together so neatly, in every brush of Cyeria's hand against some part of her, in every quiet moment they can indulge in. If they had more promise of security and privacy, then she might draw Cyeria into another kiss, and then another one, and allow that to lead where she'd very much like them to lead, but...best wait for that until they were safely home, despite how near-needy she felt for that specific brand of comfort. Stolen kisses and clasped hands would do them good enough in the meanwhile.

"Centuries ago, yes," Remin says softly, her hand dropping from Cyeria's hair as the other woman moved. A better position to talk in, surely, but she missed the solid weight of her. "Athea has always not bothered them too much - or them, us, thankfully - but there was some trading between us two ages ago. Other countries have varying amounts of contact with them - in Torre, to the south, I've heard that the fae are as populous as the non-fae." Perhaps they could someday go there and find answers for Cyeria. Maybe after all this mess of war and hiding. "But mostly...they simply keep to themselves.

 

[Aerynth]

That sounded... promising, or at least as promising as she could possibly hope for. If there had been trading between them before, surely those relations could be renewed, right? It wouldn't be easy, Cyreia was sure, but maybe it was doable. Maybe they could gain a new ally or two, and she could learn something about herself in the process. Wait, learn something about herself? That turn of phrase reminded her of something; it reminded her of the way Pextian had teased her, dangling new information in front of her nose before yanking it away. 'If you knew herself better,' he had said. Was this what he had meant? Her being fae? That kind of made sense, she supposed. "Torre," Cyreia repeated. The word tasted strange on her tongue; strange and exotic. She knew where that country was, more or less, but she had never been there. Eupriunia's influence didn't reach that far and-- well, she actually hadn't travelled that much when you ignored all those military campaigns. "It may be a good idea to establish tighter diplomatic ties with that kingdom," Cyreia suggested. "I heard that they are rather rich."

She wanted to add something else, but Maric chose this moment to reply; his voice entered her head and she closed her eyes in order to focus on his answers better. "So," Cyreia started when the voice dissolved into nothingness, "Maric says this isn't particularly sketchy. The standard practice is to burn the blood; it could be dangerous if she adds some foreign substance into it because that is how some curses are cast, but if she doesn't do that, we'll be fine. Also, we should pay attention whether she burns all of it. If she doesn't use everything, we need to see her get rid of the remaining blood, because she could technically use it for nefarious purposes when nobody is watching." As terrifying as it was, the fact that lady Beleret really could take advantage of her sacrifice, Cyreia found solace in Maric's words. Even if she still didn't have any deeper insight into the ritual that was about to be performed, knowing at least something about it helped. Wasn't knowledge the best weapon to fight your fears? It had always rung true to her.

The two of them spent more time in each other's embrace, enjoying the closeness, but the comfort by that was illusory. How could Cyreia fully relax when the divination loomed over them like some dark shadow? The short answer was that she couldn't. "There's no reason to delay the inevitable, I suppose," she told Remin as midnight approached. "Let us call lady Beleret and tell her that we're ready." It almost seemed that the lady had been awaiting them, really, since despite how late it was, she turned up almost immediately after they had asked one of the maids to send for her.

"Good evening, your highnesses," she smiled softly. "Is there something you need?" Cyreia was willing to bet that the lady knew very well why they had called her, but asking them was only polite, and Isobel had been the embodiment of politeness so far. Why would she stray from it now?

"No, not really. I was just thinking that we could begin with your ritual, if you're so inclined," Cyreia said. "I am well-rested, so there are no further obstacles on my side." Well-rested and hopefully aware of all the dangers. Was Maric's crash course enough, though? They'd find out soon enough, she supposed.

 

[Conifer]

Maric's reply, even with her dislike of him, eased some of Remin's worries. He knew what he talked of, that she wouldn't deny him. And he wasn't..as terrible as he had been when they'd first met. He still rubbed her entirely the wrong way regardless of whatever trust he'd earned with them, but she was at least somewhat confident that she could trust him. That was better than she could say for most relationships that she had anymore. Outside of Cyeria, she wasn't entirely certain that she could find herself truly trusting anyone. Oren, perhaps, and the cook. Lady Everbright, because she seemed incapable of lying. Deception, perhaps, but at least not outright lying without some sort of tell. Even then, she wouldn't confidently say that any could be trusted with her life if push came to shove; enough money or security or shining new dresses and they, too, would likely turn on her. She wasn't sure she would fault them for it. Maric was trustable, but only if the going was good. For now, it was good enough. She hoped.

Remin knew that she really should speak to Cyeria about her intentions to use her own blood in the ritual, and not Cyeria's, in the scant time they spent resting. But...again. It was scant time, and she was anything but eager to sour it with a disagreement, however mild it might be. No, she wanted to sleep in a real and proper bed, wanted to rest in her lover's arms, and she wanted to speak only of pleasant things if they had to speak of anything at all. Besides...Cyeria would be the one who might manage to talk her out of it, and she truly didn't want to be talked out of it. She'd made her decision, and her decision was firm. So she rested in the hours until Cyeria pointed out the pressing issue of the time, and only dreaded that conversation once they were on their feet and heading towards Isobel's rooms.

Isobel's pleasant expression turned that complicated sort that had colored her features before -difficult to tell if she was eager for something, or dreading it. Perhaps it was both. That was possible, wasn't it? Maybe she wasn't worthy of distrust, and in fact was worth the opposite; perhaps she just wore her feelings so plainly that they mixed together in her eyes and tone and body language until it was something that was entirely unfamiliar to someone who didn't exist within the same mind as she did. "Very well." She says, bland smile crossing her mouth. "Follow me."

She leads them outside of the castle, to Remin's surprise, to a small outbuilding that had gone entirely unnoticed until they had been walking towards it. A gardener's shed, one would assume if they saw it, nestled against the short grass lawn and small pond that made up the space beyond the door she led them out of. Something practical, of no interest unless you were a fan of tools or buckets or perhaps a rusted fishing rod. "I keep my meddlings contained," Isobel explains. Her tone is conversational, but there's something more to it that Remin hopes is reassurance that she's not leading them out there to avoid witnesses when she intends to do something terrible to them, instead of trying to cover that she might be intending to do something terrible to them. Gods, her imagination was running far too wild, but...how far did families really vary? "The castle's old, and while nothing I do is inherently destructive, there's...always the chance of the unexpected." She smiles as she unlocks the dark wood door to the shed and allows them entry.

The space is only a bit smaller than the room they'd been shown to, and due to the slight size, it feels simultaneously packed and starved for visual interest. The floor is mostly clear; a desk, a chair, and a few buckets each filled with something indistinct (is that salt in one? Water in another? Or something that simply looks like each?) are each shoved against the far wall. A deep, intentional gouge is drawn in the floor about a foot beyond the door, stretching from one wall to the other, and seeming even to run under the walls. The space between that line and the desk is clean, even stone, seemingly cut from one large slab. It's stained in places with something that is equally as mysterious as the contents of the buckets, and Remin doesn't look too long there. She doesn't want to know.
A handful of things are hung on the walls: a long shelf that runs the entirety of the room neatly stocked with various labelled jars filled with equally various things (some familiar, some not,) a small painting of some landscape, one window with curtains tightly drawn, and a list tacked to the wall above the desk with things crossed out and re-written and marked and it's perhaps the most personal thing that Remin recalls seeing her entire time in Werough. A lit chandelier of candles lights the room warmly.

"Your highnesses," Isobel says, once the door is closed and locked again behind them (a lock on the inside, just a simple lever, Remin is quick to note. They're not locked in; others are simply locked out.) "I'd ask you both to remain behind that line before you once I begin the ritual. Nothing is likely to happen, but it's a standard safety precaution that I employ. Stay behind it no matter what may happen on the other side of it. If something is to happen to me, find Cassie in the main building - she can handle whatever may come about. However, what we'll do tonight is mundane enough that you should have no worries. Again, this is just a standard precaution." She crosses the room to the desk, sorting through one of its drawers for some items: a small bowl, a sheathed knife, and some bandages. "Your highness," She looks to Cyeria. "I'll have you cross the line for your initial contribution to this ritual. Once the bowl is filled, I'll bandage you, and you'll return to your wife on the opposite side."

"Actually-" Remin says, daring her voice to be as steady, as commanding, as she can. She needs the voice she had before on the battlefield here - Cyeria will protest either way, she knows, but she can hope for some possibility that she might not. "We'll be using my blood for this." She'd stared straight ahead, at Isobel, for the first part, but she allows a soft glance at Cyeria now. Her tone, equally, softens, but doesn't lose that edge that allows little room for argument. "You've shed enough blood for your countries, my solider."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia had expected a lot of things, but she hadn't expected for the ritual to be conducted in a... shed, really. Somehow, it just didn't fit; the mundanity of that space and the sort of unreal quality of divination clashed in a way that was hard for her to comprehend. When lady Beleret opened the door, however, it turned out that the small building was much more extraordinary than it appeared to be on the first glance. What was the purpose behind... well, more than half of the instruments resting on various shelves? Cyreia didn't know and wasn't sure whether she wanted to know, really. And Isobel's explanation? That didn't exactly ease her worries. Call her paranoid, but if the ritual was as safe as she had claimed, there wouldn't have been any need to perform it here and not in the castle, right? Deeds spoke truer than words, and Isobel's deeds were the most convincing proof Cyreia would ever get.

"Of course," she merely nodded despite her doubts. "That is entirely understandable." And it really was. Did Cyreia, after all, have any right to judge anyone who didn't use the safest methods? She knew better than most people that sometimes, you just had to grit your teeth and make an imperfect choice. That you simply had to take a risk because better alternatives weren't available. How many times had she put the lives of her men into danger due to a reckless, borderline foolish plan? Too many times, sadly. No, she was no stranger to throwing caution to the wind; what truly bothered her about this was Remin's presence. What if something went terribly wrong and she wouldn't be able to protect her wife? Cyreia had gotten a taste of that helplessness in the secret chamber below their castle and god, did she not wish to relive those moments again. Would the flimsy line Isobel had drawn in advance really be enough to protect them? Somehow, Cyreia doubted it. Well, at least the door wasn't truly locked; if the worse came to the worst, they could simply... bolt out of the room. (If their legs obeyed them and if the magic could be escaped from, which were two rather big ifs.)

Almost imperceptibly, Cyreia shook her head. There was no point in scaring herself out of her wits; dangerous situations required lightning quick reflexes, and a scared mind was slow. No, she had to remain calm and relaxed. Well, alright, maybe not necessarily calm and relaxed because those were some unrealistic goals, but... perceptive. Right. Instead of dwelling in her thoughts, Cyreia would look around and try to understand her surroundings. That, if nothing else, would provide her with a worthwhile distraction. (Except that it didn't, mostly because she couldn't help but wonder what some of those more mysterious substances were. Lady Beleret didn't hesitate to use blood; who said she didn't also use other questionable ingredients? Things like entrails, maybe? God, it shouldn't feel this repulsive, really, because she had seen them spill from an enemy's body countless times, but something about utilizing them in a... in a magical practice seemed infinitely more disgusting for some reason. Infinitely more exploitative.) Alright, that's not a good topic to think about, either. What else is there?

Thankfully, Cyreia didn't have to ponder over that for long, as Remin said something that woke her up from the strange trance entirely. "What?" she turned to her wife immediately, her voice full of disbelief. Remin had volunteered to serve as the sacrifice? They... they hadn't agreed to this! Which was, as Cyreia quickly realized, probably the entire point. Exclaiming it like that in front of lady Beleret was a blatantly political move; Remin knew very well that they couldn't afford to argue in front of the other woman, or at least not too viciously. What a great way of forcing her hand! Simple and elegant, just like the dresses Remin tended to wear. ... too bad that Cyreia still wasn't a politician enough not to argue when it came to her wife's safety. And honestly? She sorely doubted she would ever reach that stage.

"Yes," Cyreia said, "I've shed a lot of blood, and that's the reason I'm good at it. Look, Remin, I really think it's better for me to participate in the ritual. I--" What kind of argument should she use to support her claim? That Remin wasn't used to pain? That technically might have been true, but it would have been cruel. Cruel and patronizing, especially after what she had gone through in Wellan's dungeon. It was hard to come up with anything that wasn't 'it's dangerous so you cannot,' mostly because there wasn't any other reason to it. She couldn't say that with lady Beleret in hearing distance, though! "I, uh. I just... what kind of husband would I be if I let my wife bleed for me?" Which wasn't an argument at all, but it was something safe to say; something that wouldn't offend anyone while conveying her sentiments perfectly. Oh, how she hated the idea of Remin being cut with that knife!

Isobel watched the whole exchange with a gentle smile on her lips. "I have no preference between the two of you, your highnesses, as you are both suitable vessels. I urge you to reach an agreement, though. If there is some sort of discord among you, your very presence can disrupt the ritual. Such volatile emotions can easily divert the magical energies to places where they should never go." Even if she spoke calmly and politely, the message was clear enough; either solve this mess quickly or you would have to leave. Were they willing to risk that?

 

[Conifer]

Remin either was willing to risk that, or was counting on Cyeria's own unwillingness to risk it. (It was both, truly; endangering the ritual would defeat the purpose entirely of her wanting to shed the blood herself. She couldn't have that, but she could push it nearly to its limit and hope that Cyeria would lose this terrible game of chicken before she did.) She would later feel terrible for this all, and somewhat she feels terrible for it now, manipulating the situation like this - however straightforward and clear that manipulation could be. "We understand, my lady." Remin says, calmly; for all her want and need to be in control of this, her emotions are easy enough to keep even enough.

It's when she looks to Cyeria, though, that that thought is challenged. It's so much harder to tuck herself away in front of her, but...is it so bad to be honest to her wife? Remin sighs softly. "...it isn't for you." She points out gently, hoping that if she explains herself more carefully, more fully, then perhaps she would understand and not cause a mess of all of this. "It's for the kingdom. You can do all of this, my king. You can - fight, and strategize, and wage war. You can risk - *have* risked - for Athea. For me. Meanwhile, what do I risk?" She asks, gesturing lightly, emphatically. "A handful of papercuts? My time? Meanwhile the people that I lead are risking everything that they have - their homes, their lives, their families, because we asked them to fight for us. I can't just do paperwork when people are dying for me. I need to do this. I *want* to, more importantly. And there's no danger here. It's less blood than you lost recently, in a controlled environment. You can bandage me yourself, if you would like. But I'm doing this."

 

[Aerynth]

God, how Cyreia hated all of this. Why couldn't they have spoken of this in advance? Surely they would have been able to come to a compromise in that quiet bedroom, but here, in front of lady Beleret? They couldn't afford to show her much. And what was even worse, Cyreia could see some merit in Remin's words, or more precisely, in what lay behind them. The fact that she had already risked for Athea? Utterly irrelevant; it was her job to do that, and she'd do it for as long as the crown rested on her head. But Remin's eagerness to do what her duty demanded of her? That a part of why she had fallen in love with her in the first place. Did she have any right to trample on these impulses? Technically, Cyreia supposed, she did; the position of a king did grant her some power over her wife, but... she didn't want to have that kind of a relationship. And if she always decided things for Remin, even with good intentions? There was no way in hell their love would survive that. Besides, if lady Beleret truly planned to do something nefarious with the blood, it might be a good idea for her to keep an eye on Remin rather than it being vice versa. Cyreia, after all, could probably react more quickly. "Fine," she said, obviously unhappy with the situation but relenting. "If that is your wish, let us use your blood."

"In that case, your highness, please cross the boundary. My king, you can do so as well if you wish to bandage your wife," Isobel smiled softly.

"Yes. Yes, I'll do that," Cyreia jumped after the opportunity quickly. It wasn't that she didn't trust Isobel to handle these things competently, but-- well, was wanting to be close to Remin a crime? No, it was only natural to wish to be there for your spouse when she went through something unpleasant.

"Feel free to sit down," she spoke to Remin, her voice smooth as silk. "It might make it a little more comfortable for you." With these words, Isobel pulled the knife out of its scabbard. Despite herself, Cyreia couldn't help but notice how well-crafted it was; it seemed to be made of silver and the blade was covered in runes. Something about them reminded her of the symbols they had found under the castle. Was there a true similarity, however, or did her mind simply cling to the familiar? Ultimately, she supposed, it didn't matter; what happened next did. Cyreia squeezed Remin's other hand as Isobel readied the dagger and buried it in her flesh. Redness colored her skin, and Isobel quickly directed the stream into the chalice. The chalice, too, was covered in runes, and Cyreia focused on them because-- well, looking at them was easier than looking at Remin. I shouldn't have allowed it, she thought, but it was late, all too late.

"That's enough. Now leave, your highnesses," Isobel said. She didn't have to say it twice; Cyreia bandaged Remin's arm with the kind of skill that could only be acquired by practice and then they hurriedly retreated behind the boundary. Meanwhile, Isobel raised the chalice; half-speaking, half-singing in some strange language Cyreia didn't recognize, she summoned a spark out of nowhere and set it on fire. She never would have guessed that blood was flammable, but it did burn; the flames licking the edges of the chalice were green, though, and seeing them filled her with cold dread for some reason. The flames rose higher and higher until the whole room was drowning in smoke, and then-- then Isobel fell to the ground, seemingly unconscious.

 

[Conifer]

Remin would find a way to apologize later, and so much of her wanted to promise herself that she wouldn't abuse the situation like that again when it came to Cyeria, but -- where Cyeria was a strategist at war, she was a strategist at social maneuvers, and that was...an admittedly effective one. But that didn't change how the victory felt like a complicated one, and didn't change her guilt over the dislike of it on Cyeria's face. The one person she could trust fully, and she's just shown that perhaps Cyeria can't entirely trust her. Gods. Maybe it was a mistake, but...she had her way, at least. And that was enough to let her not feel as overwhelmingly guilty over the whole thing as perhaps she should have. Later she would assess Cyeria, assess the fallout of all of this, and respond accordingly. For now, she would step across that deep groove of a line that felt more like some theater of safety rather than a proper blockade against anything nefarious, and she would swallow back a exclamation of pain as Isobel dug the knife into her skin, and she would push away the nausea that she felt at the sight of red running across tawny skin.

And, gods, did it run. The cut of the blade (not quite skin-deep, but no deeper than it had to be to draw this sort of liquid to the surface) hurt more than she had expected it to, but the clean, near-clinical work of the cut made it tolerable than the same sort of wound might be in any other circumstance. It was the blood that did her in. She hadn't seen herself bleed that much...ever. She'd seen others - she'd seen Cyeria, today, and surely that should draw more of a reaction from her than this did - but never herself this much. It ran in red rivulets down her arm that trembled more than it had any decent right to. It felt like Cyeria, holding her tightly, might be the only thing that kept her grounded as the blood continued to flow. It felt endless, and she felt light-headed in the face of it, her stomach turning. It was only a cup, hardly any at all, hardly even a comparison to the blood that had been shed in the battle however short it was, but gods, here she was, trying to keep herself steady and her face neutral with all her might. She would give Cyeria nothing to say 'I told you I should have done it' about. She would face this as the soldiers had faced battle; perhaps full of nerves, but brave enough to press on. She would do this if it was all she could do.

And still, when Isobel spoke the blessed release (minutes later? hours?) she was grateful. It was a heady blur - Cyeria's hands working firmly across her arm, bandages staining red beneath where her fingerpoints ran, and then a retreat to the opposite side of the gouge in the ground that matched the parting of her flesh. She kept her hand held in Cyeria's, unsure if she could manage without at the moment. Gods, what was she? Someone who could manipulate so cleanly in one moment and then cling like some lost toddler the next, to the same person? Perhaps it wasn't the sight of her blood that had made her nauseous but the sight of herself in some mirror known only to her inner workings. Isobel's work provided distraction to that self-pitying line of thought, though; once the ritual had begun, there was little else that seemed to matter.

"...is this to be expected?" Remin asks, beats after Lady Beleret falls to the ground, whispering in the silence. The room is still hazy with the smoke and it feels like speaking properly might either catch the whole room ablaze or break this strangeness that had filled it, and so she doesn't. Remin knows that Cyeria knows no better the answer to her question than she does, but she asks it anyways, voicing her concern. The chalice rolled, almost lazily, clean and empty across the stone floor. It's the only other sound (tinny, irregular) besides Remin's voice. "Should we- we should wait a few moments before getting help, shouldn't we?" Gods, why hadn't Isobel explained exactly what was going to happen? (The easiest answer was that she hand no idea what might occur, which wasn't a comfort.)

It was a few minutes instead of a few moments that they waited, though; Remin kept one hand on the lock of the door, ready to turn it, to dart towards the castle proper to find shelter or to find help, if something terrible happened. She kept an eagle eye on Isobel's chest. It rose and fell, slow and methodical, and after moments, her eyes seemed to move beneath their lids, sharp and darting under the thin curtain. Alive, then. Alive, and...involved with something. And then just as suddenly as she had collapsed, she was sitting. For the first time since they'd met her, she looked out of sorts. Graceful, still, but dazed and unsure. Where did she imagine she was, Remin wondered. Should they say anything, or allow her to speak first? On the off chance the ritual wasn't complete, Remin bit back her tongue as Isobel's eyes landed on the two of them.

 

[Aerynth]

"I don't know?" Cyreia whispered, cautious as if her voice alone could disrupt the ritual. Was that too absurd of a thought? Surely not; if strong emotions could interefere with it, then it didn't seem like too far of a reach. God, why couldn't lady Beleret have told them what was going to happen? This didn't look like a standard occurrence, but what did she know about rituals? Nothing. It easily could be normal, and Cyreia wasn't able to tell. What if it wasn't normal, though? What if Isobel was dying before their very eyes? Dying or perhaps even facing something worse? Divination, as she understood it, was a tricky business. It involved communing with the gods - or with being powerful enough to be gods, really - and that could apparently go wrong within a blink of an eye. Not all gods were as fickle as, say, Pextian, but many of them seemed to be exactly that. Had one of them been insulted by Isobel's sacrifice and decided to retaliate? Were they in danger as well? God, Cyreia would pay a good amount of money for advice on what to do right now, but the only person she knew could help was miles and miles away. Why had nobody invented a spell enabling instant traveling? That would have solved so much of their trouble!

Still, imagining fantasy scenarios and panicking wouldn't help anyone. Even if Cyreia had no idea how to proceed, she had to do something. Or-- well, not necessarily do something, but at least decide on what needed to be done. Everything else would follow from there. "If she doesn't stand up within the next three minutes," she ended up saying and squeezed Remin's hand more tightly, "I'll go fetch someone." What was the worst thing that could happen if she did that? The ritual could potentially fail? That would be unfortunate, yes, though it was still a better alternative than them not doing anything and Isobel dying as a result. She didn't deserve that! Cyreia may not have trusted her fully, but she didn't wish for her to die. Besides, how suspicious would it be if the both Belerets died with the two of them present? Nobody reasonable could criticize them for executing Wellan, of course, but if Isobel mysteriously passed away as well? It would-- it would look like they were trying to destabilize Werough. Destabilize it and possibly remove the local nobility so that they could rule it more effectively. Just how despised would they be? How long would it take for another rebellion to rear its ugly head? And what was even worse, this time the Weroughians would be unified in their cause! God, it probably made her a terrible person that she even realized this instead of just... worrying about Isobel's life, but that was what politics did to you, Cyreia supposed. A life wasn't just a life anymore; it was currency. Currency with which they could buy both peace and war.

Fortunately, they didn't have to resort to running away. Isobel moaned quietly, like a person who might be suffering from headache, and stood up slowly. She seemed unstable, and had to support herself using the nearby table. "Ah. I... I hope I didn't scare you too much, your highnesses," she said. Her voice sounded strangely raspy, almost as if she had been screaming for hours despite doing nothing of the sort. Maybe she had done something like that, actually? In the world beyond this one? "These things... can be rather intense at times," Isobel continued.

"We're fine," Cyreia said quickly. "More importantly, what about you, my lady? Do you need something?" Isobel glanced at her, and the look she gave her was... strange. Strangely guarded, to be precise. But honestly, was that so unexpected? Who knew what the woman had seen; war visions were doubtlessly... concerning, for a lack of a better word.

"I am... alright, my king. Thank you for your concern. I feel a little weak, though. If you would be so kind, could you notify one of my maids? They'll know what to arrange once they hear that a ritual has exhausted me."

"Ah. Sure, sure. No problem," Cyreia smiled. It was a little unusual to ask something like that of a king, she did realize that, but any excuse to leave the shed would do. The atmosphere felt heavy in a way she wasn't used to - almost oppresive - and taking a breath of fresh air was a welcome alternative to... well, staying there. Besides, she was convinced that lady Beleret didn't have good news for them, so it might be nice to delay having to deal with that for a bit. To savor this sweet, sweet uncertainty before the cruel reality hit them. A childish reaction to be sure, but you had to listen to your inner child from time to time. It made things a little more bearable.

"I'll be right back," Cyreia promised before heading towards the castle. Once she disappeared, Isobel moved closer to Remin. She moved like an old woman - a woman whose bones were brittle and muscles worn - but there was determination in her eyes now. Was that what gave her the strength to speak? Quite possibly. "My queen," she began, "I have... seen things. Many things. Some of them I don't understand yet, but-- I do know this for certain; you shouldn't trust your husband. His divided loyalties will become a problem."