The boy. What would he do?

Roark wished he could show them.

In Kre'ya, midsummer nights were as precious a commodity as Tzah root. It was a rare time of rest for the citizens. The fields were fertilized and crops were well on their way to fruition. Farmers had nothing to do but tighten their plows, straighten scarecrows, twiddle their thumbs and wait for harvest. The women, too, had a lessened workload. It was in this atmosphere that the villagers would gather, nightly, to the town square.

Loot was the main attraction. He was a one-man show; twanging at his lyre, dancing about under the moonlight, sharing grins and trading songs. Despite his affinity for music, though, his real talent was in drama.

Once the sun went down, there was no more Caluet Skitterson. In the drop of a hatchet the youth could take on any character. No epic in spoken lore was safe. With his voice as his only prop and the fire as his only backdrop, he would holler and howl, creep and cajole through scenes of Ilenian history. At every turn, the audience reacted appropriately.

His Laxton of Almary was so spot-on belligerent that the women hissed in disgust. When he projected Lord Dashow Thousand-Eyes, children clapped their hands over their eyes, and huddled closer together. The thick Northernman accent of his Caius Nielzen was so flawless that the men shook their heads and wondered at it.

The performances were so gripping, no one thought to look up. From his keep window, Roark always heard the cheers, the groans, and the laughter from the audience below. He watched on occasion, as thoughtfully as his hidden features would allow.

The Death Faced still wore that pensive expression. Ah! Roark realized that he must have been stewing in memories for the last thirty seconds or so. Now, that simply wouldn't do! He snapped back to attention, his slate-gray eyes alive.

"The boy takes on characters. Voices. Personalities. He watched Aeferth. Learned."

Miles assumed his fellow knights would recognize the name of Ilena's most celebrated gleeman. After all, the man was responsible for many of their personal endeavors being put to song.

"Not just a weak psyche. Thinks fast. Adopts mannerisms, traits. Perfect spy."

Roark listened to Avark's proposal, and nodded just a fraction.

"Good. I will work on my end for you. Confirm story. Plant rumors. We part ways? Will think of method to contact."

If Avark was uncomfortable with Roark's breezy discussion of spies and secret networks, he was doing a remarkable job of hiding it. The Death Faced was no fool. The knights trusted each other on a level of principle, but Roark still wondered what Avark thought of him.

Doesn't matter.

"Have business to finish in Ayia. Will look out for you. Maybe even send Loot on, once made proper spy. Meet you at Royal City. Boy is best choice."

There was a great clamor from out-of-doors. Once more it seemed that Avark's mount was not taking well to his quarters. With a vivid stream of curses, Caluet Skitterson practically fell out of the stables straight onto his behind, the doors swinging shut behind him. In a telling display of poor cordination, He tried to get to his feet three times. The first he stepped on his own foot, the second he lost his balance, the third he simply plopped over backwards.

Roark hardly blinked.

"Trust me."

The king simply nodded in reply to the excitement, which he thought was horrible. Though, he was impressed on the compliments that he got about his hall from the two girls. Despite him doing none of the work for it, he was definitely going to take all the credit for it, and he did so, just like the greedy king he was.

"Yes, it takes a lotta work for me to keep the palace in this sorta condition. A lotta work indeed." He told Lisa, still watching her closely.

His distraction was taken by his daughter, Jazz and she started talking again. "Can they stay for a few days father?" She asked, her excitement still not being contained as she started to help herself to food. She looked over at Lisa and Marissa. "Help yourself to whatever food you want."

If she'd looked back to her father, she would have noticed the cold, dark look of anger that passed over his face. It was obvious that he didn't like people, two people that sat at his table eating, that were technically common peasants. It just wasn't right. While his daughter was so happy and sensitive (and naive) to how things were really run around the kingdom, he couldn't do anything either, which made his blood boil even more.

Instead, the king grabbed his drink and took a long hard drink from it, before looking over to his son.

Shane stared at his father, his lips pressed in a dark line. He was pissed, there was no doubt about it but he didn't have it in his heart to tell his sister no. She was his weakness, his love, to put it bluntly. Lisa and Marissa where pains, peseants and pieces of garbage his sister had brought home and hoped to (he was sure) make them part of the family but that wouldn't work for they where..well, garbage and no matter how much he loved his sister he wouldn't love them.

"Do what you will, Father." Shane said, his voice haugty. He expected his father to sentence the two youngsters to death, his lips twitching happily at the thought. They would be dead, his sister would be distraught and would come to him to try and stop it and maybe he would, just to make her happy.

In his little fantasy that would make his sister love him. Love him with all her heart, and they would get married, rule the country and she would see the error in her ways of letting two filthy ragamuffin peasants into the castle.

“Of course.” Lisa said with stiff formality. It undoubtedly did take work to keep the palace this nice, but she didn’t believe for a second that the fat king before her had any hand in it. At Jazz’s invitation, Marissa happily dug into the fabulous looking foods she’d never been able to eat before. Lisa however was much more reserved. The king’s pleasant mask didn’t fool her, and she knew quite well she was treading dangerous waters. The Prince’s repulsing haughty attitude almost made her lip curl in disgust, but she knew better than to give into that temptation. She calmed herself with the memory of how she’d nearly broken his nose, and that was nearly enough to bring a smile to her face. She didn’t feel inferior to this selfish pampered prince, in fact, if one was to take away all his soldiers and servants who took care of him, she was quite certain she’d stand a better chance of survival on the streets. And that was without all the angry starving people in Ayia having a shot at him too.

“So my King, what sort of duties shall you be attending today?” Lisa said lifting one inquisitive brow as she continued the well thought out safe small talk. What she was unaware of however, was that one little gesture of hers was also one quite commonly used by her mother, and anyone remotely close to the former Queen of Ayia would know it well.

"Sure, but just a few days." He simply commented, as he started to feast on the food that he'd covered his plate with. His tone had been almost as bad and as grumpy sounding as Shane's, the glares were still there.

Jazz grinned. "Oh thank you, father. I'll make sure we're no trouble at all." She started tucking into her own food as she sat there watching and listening to the others eat and the silence. She was oblivious to the mood and tension of the place that she was currently sitting in. She hadn't even registered to her father's mood, or her brother's. But then again, Jazz was oblivious and naive to a lot of things about the Kingdom. Her father hid things well.

“So my King, what sort of duties shall you be attending today?”

The King looked up at Lisa. He'd had his answer ready and was about to speak when he faltered. Her look. He knew that look anywhere. That look haunted him and it was like the woman he'd loved and also killed had suddenly come back and was sitting in front of him.

Finally, he shook his head and tried to compose himself. "A lot of paperwork is needed to be done for the land. I'll probably sit down and look through them today. I've been putting them off for a while maybe I should get to them." He told her. His thoughts spoke differently though and in his head he was thinking of the paperwork he needed to sign to kill these two kids once Jazz, his beloved daughter, had got bored with having them around.