The others were not far behind Ashton, and while he was dealing with Miranda, Nostariel was moving swiftly to Sophiaâs side. The fight through the Coterie with no armor and unfamiliar equipment hadnât exactly been easy, and even the Warden was sporting more than one injury because of it, but sheâd been careful to conserve as much magic as she could, knowing that the others, like her, would rather weather a few more wounds than risk her not being able to help their friend if Sophia really needed it. There was a large cut across one of her cheeks, dipping to the level of her jaw before whatever made it had lost contact with her skin, and her forearms had by now mottled into an ugly conflagration of purple and blue bruises, evident when she pulled her sleeves up past her elbows.
Other than that, she actually wasnât too badly off, having had the benefit of being behind much larger, urgent targets for most of their way through, particularly Lucien. âSophia. Weâre here. Hold still for me, okay?â She didnât look much like she would move, if she even really could right at the moment, but Nostariel knew from experience that it was best to make sure. She noted several arrow wounds, and one from some kind of slashing weapon in her side, which could be very bad if not addressed in short order. Still, her life wasnât in any immediate danger now that healing was within easy reach, and so Nostariel worked carefully as well as quickly, peeling her shirt back to expose the wound to her side first. Her hands were swathed in bluish light, which she passed carefully over the wounds, adding a few threads of magic designed to dull the edges of the pain a little while she worked to stop the bleeding.
Sophia didn't move, allowing herself to remain still on her back while Nostariel worked. "I'm alright. I'm alright." She noted that Lucien was there as well, and closed her eyes, tears threatening. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for all of this."
Lucien, having been basically front and center for most of the trek down here, had sustained a rather large amount of injuries, as one might expect of someone wearing no armor and carrying only a roundshield by way of protection. Blood oozed from several wounds that had once been homes for arrows, the shafts long since snapped off, though he had not yet ventured to remove them in their entirety, as it would only exacerbate his bleeding problem. And indeed, it seemed to be a problemânot all the sanguine drippings he was leaving in a puddle on the floor belonged to members of the Coterie. His linens were black, so it was difficult to tell exactly how much he was injured, but the large gash in the left side of his tunic was an indication that heâd suffered at least one major wound in addition to his broken hand and the various projectiles that had landed. Honestly, heâd been luckyâthere were many more arrows and devastating slashes that had not hit.
This was certainly far from the worst battle heâd ever faced. He wasnât as injured now as he had been at various points in the past. His physical pain was entirely tolerable, and he was hardly in mortal danger, unless something should heal wrong and become infected, which was essentially impossible with Nostariel around. And yet for all that, he would much prefer to endure anything else again rather than this.
Whatever inherent dignity, stoicism, or military upbringing had been holding him upright and in place until then failed him after, and he allowed himself at last to fall to his knees beside Sophia, careful to stay out of Nostarielâs way. It was evocative of another time, when she had been injured and he had felt useless, save that this time, he knew he had not been. He hadnât saved her on his own, but he had no concern for that. She was safe, and that was what mattered. He swallowed thickly, his good hand brushing a few hairs out of her face and settling against her jaw. He brushed a thumb back and forth over her cheekbone a few times, unsure he could trust himself to speak. He tried anyway.
âDonât apologize.â His voice was hoarse, thick, but as gentle as he could make it. âYou are not at fault for this. You never were.â He tried valiantly to prevent it, and perhaps no one else could tell, but his hand shook slightly where his roughened fingers were touching the smooth skin of her cheek. Even the contact itself was delicate, as though he were afraid something might break if he applied even a fraction more pressure.
He wasnât sure if he thought it would be her, or him.
One of Sophia's tears did roll down her cheek, and touched Lucien's hand. She smiled just barely, reaching up and across herself to take a hold of his hand. When she opened her eyes, however, she recoiled away, more from Nostariel than Lucien. "No," she said immediately, "what are you doing? Heal him. I can wait. He needs it." She put her hands to the ground and pushed herself up halfway into a sitting position, scooting away from Nostariel as if to further discourage her from healing.
Nostariel sighed. âWe all need it, at the moment.â Still, she was hardly going to get anywhere if Sophia wouldnât cooperate, and she turned to Lucien, asking the question more with the expression on her face than anything else. He shook his head slightly. He was fineâhe would be fine. But nevertheless, he stood, allowing her at least to treat the obvious injuries, at least until he was patched enough that Sophia would let herself be helped.
"You're... as generous as I remember, Sophia," Dairren suddenly said, from where he stood off to the side. He too was somewhat wounded, though he had avoided much more than Lucien had. He leaned against one of the crate stacks for support. The tentative way he spoke, he clearly was unsure how best to enter the conversation.
Sophia, however, reacted immediately. "You." Her eyes narrowed with an intense disdain, her hand scooping up the short sword she had abandoned, and she tried to twist up to her feet, immediately crying out when she did more harm to her own wound, and sinking back to the ground. Dairren remained unsure how to react. "This... was his doing," she managed, breathing heavily. "The blood... on his hands."
At just this moment, several new emotions entered Lucienâs mental landscape, warring insistently with his relief. There was definitely angerâit would be impossible to avoid. Someone, after all, was responsible for Tessaâs death and Sophiaâs kidnap and Liaâs injury, but he had rather thought that person was about to be arrested, and he could deal with that. He had not expected it to be someone that he had helped, but he was careful not to conclude anything just yet. He was also glad that, for the moment, the rest of the Lions were not here.
With his most major injury dealt with, he nodded to Nostariel and stepped away, slightly forward. âHow so?â he inquired quietly.
"Lucien..." Ashton cautioned, though his eyes never left Miranda.
"He intended for me to be captured," Sophia explained, her eyes locked on Dairren the whole time, though she no longer tried to rise, and allowed Nostariel to work. "Had the Coterie pose like they'd betrayed him. He was to sneak in and free me with you, and play the hero in some twisted attempt to win affection!"
"On whose word can you claim this?" Dairren asked, appearing somewhat offended by the accusation. "That witch?" He pointed to Miranda. "She has nothing but contempt for you, Sophia, and would say anything to cause you pain at this point. I would never intentionally bring you harm. You're... my daughter."
"Do not use that word with me." Sophia's tone was full of anger, and now she looked away from him, fixating her gaze upon the ceiling. "I know who my father was. Not you."
"And what of that lovely party?" Miranda chimed in, grimacing through her wound but remaining utterly still. "As I recall, Sophia was left in agony through that affair. Screaming rather loudly." Dairren gave her a murderous glare, but could offer no words to combat her on that count. Miranda's grimace turned to a smile. "I thought as much."
"They're all the lowest of scum," Sophia said, unable to stop more tears. "This was a waste of time. A waste of blood and life."
"You cannot believe Miranda," Dairren repeated. "I owed the Coterie no allegiance, and I would not put your life in the hands of their kind no matter what I stood to gain from it."
âWhomever is telling the truth or lying, it seems to me that this is hardly the place to hash it all out. Weâre injured, and tired, and there are dead to see to as well. What seems evident enough is that we have two former leaders of the Coterie in this room, and a Guard Captain. Perhaps we should leave, and sort this all out the official way.â Nostariel lifted one of her hands to wipe accumulated sweat and grime off her brow, shooting a glance at Ashton. He was the one with authority to arrest or detain people, after all.
Before anyone could answer that suggestion, the sound of approaching feet reached them. Lucien tensed for a moment, but when he heard the voices carrying down the hall, he relaxed again. The chamber soon gained two more occupants, Estella and Donnelly, burdened down with what appeared to be everyoneâs equipment. âEverythingâs still okay upstairs,â she said, attempting to reassure them that they werenât emergency runners, though it was rather obvious. âWe managed to find what we were missing, in one of the storage rooms. Um, there was also this, but I wasnât sure if it belonged to one of us or one of them.â
She held up a small object, thinner and lighter than the average book, and with clear signs of wear on the leather cover, scuffs here and there as well as signs of age. It had no adornments of any kind, and indeed seemed rather plain. âIâm not sure what it is, but I thought Iâd ask before I put my nose where it shouldnât go.â
"That's mine," Dairren immediately claimed, beginning to walk towards Estella with a hand outstretched to claim it.
"No," Ashton spoke up with authority in his voice, "It's not. It's mine, that's evidence. Lucien, call your Lions, we've got a pair of prisoners to transfer."
Other than that, she actually wasnât too badly off, having had the benefit of being behind much larger, urgent targets for most of their way through, particularly Lucien. âSophia. Weâre here. Hold still for me, okay?â She didnât look much like she would move, if she even really could right at the moment, but Nostariel knew from experience that it was best to make sure. She noted several arrow wounds, and one from some kind of slashing weapon in her side, which could be very bad if not addressed in short order. Still, her life wasnât in any immediate danger now that healing was within easy reach, and so Nostariel worked carefully as well as quickly, peeling her shirt back to expose the wound to her side first. Her hands were swathed in bluish light, which she passed carefully over the wounds, adding a few threads of magic designed to dull the edges of the pain a little while she worked to stop the bleeding.
Sophia didn't move, allowing herself to remain still on her back while Nostariel worked. "I'm alright. I'm alright." She noted that Lucien was there as well, and closed her eyes, tears threatening. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for all of this."
Lucien, having been basically front and center for most of the trek down here, had sustained a rather large amount of injuries, as one might expect of someone wearing no armor and carrying only a roundshield by way of protection. Blood oozed from several wounds that had once been homes for arrows, the shafts long since snapped off, though he had not yet ventured to remove them in their entirety, as it would only exacerbate his bleeding problem. And indeed, it seemed to be a problemânot all the sanguine drippings he was leaving in a puddle on the floor belonged to members of the Coterie. His linens were black, so it was difficult to tell exactly how much he was injured, but the large gash in the left side of his tunic was an indication that heâd suffered at least one major wound in addition to his broken hand and the various projectiles that had landed. Honestly, heâd been luckyâthere were many more arrows and devastating slashes that had not hit.
This was certainly far from the worst battle heâd ever faced. He wasnât as injured now as he had been at various points in the past. His physical pain was entirely tolerable, and he was hardly in mortal danger, unless something should heal wrong and become infected, which was essentially impossible with Nostariel around. And yet for all that, he would much prefer to endure anything else again rather than this.
Whatever inherent dignity, stoicism, or military upbringing had been holding him upright and in place until then failed him after, and he allowed himself at last to fall to his knees beside Sophia, careful to stay out of Nostarielâs way. It was evocative of another time, when she had been injured and he had felt useless, save that this time, he knew he had not been. He hadnât saved her on his own, but he had no concern for that. She was safe, and that was what mattered. He swallowed thickly, his good hand brushing a few hairs out of her face and settling against her jaw. He brushed a thumb back and forth over her cheekbone a few times, unsure he could trust himself to speak. He tried anyway.
âDonât apologize.â His voice was hoarse, thick, but as gentle as he could make it. âYou are not at fault for this. You never were.â He tried valiantly to prevent it, and perhaps no one else could tell, but his hand shook slightly where his roughened fingers were touching the smooth skin of her cheek. Even the contact itself was delicate, as though he were afraid something might break if he applied even a fraction more pressure.
He wasnât sure if he thought it would be her, or him.
One of Sophia's tears did roll down her cheek, and touched Lucien's hand. She smiled just barely, reaching up and across herself to take a hold of his hand. When she opened her eyes, however, she recoiled away, more from Nostariel than Lucien. "No," she said immediately, "what are you doing? Heal him. I can wait. He needs it." She put her hands to the ground and pushed herself up halfway into a sitting position, scooting away from Nostariel as if to further discourage her from healing.
Nostariel sighed. âWe all need it, at the moment.â Still, she was hardly going to get anywhere if Sophia wouldnât cooperate, and she turned to Lucien, asking the question more with the expression on her face than anything else. He shook his head slightly. He was fineâhe would be fine. But nevertheless, he stood, allowing her at least to treat the obvious injuries, at least until he was patched enough that Sophia would let herself be helped.
"You're... as generous as I remember, Sophia," Dairren suddenly said, from where he stood off to the side. He too was somewhat wounded, though he had avoided much more than Lucien had. He leaned against one of the crate stacks for support. The tentative way he spoke, he clearly was unsure how best to enter the conversation.
Sophia, however, reacted immediately. "You." Her eyes narrowed with an intense disdain, her hand scooping up the short sword she had abandoned, and she tried to twist up to her feet, immediately crying out when she did more harm to her own wound, and sinking back to the ground. Dairren remained unsure how to react. "This... was his doing," she managed, breathing heavily. "The blood... on his hands."
At just this moment, several new emotions entered Lucienâs mental landscape, warring insistently with his relief. There was definitely angerâit would be impossible to avoid. Someone, after all, was responsible for Tessaâs death and Sophiaâs kidnap and Liaâs injury, but he had rather thought that person was about to be arrested, and he could deal with that. He had not expected it to be someone that he had helped, but he was careful not to conclude anything just yet. He was also glad that, for the moment, the rest of the Lions were not here.
With his most major injury dealt with, he nodded to Nostariel and stepped away, slightly forward. âHow so?â he inquired quietly.
"Lucien..." Ashton cautioned, though his eyes never left Miranda.
"He intended for me to be captured," Sophia explained, her eyes locked on Dairren the whole time, though she no longer tried to rise, and allowed Nostariel to work. "Had the Coterie pose like they'd betrayed him. He was to sneak in and free me with you, and play the hero in some twisted attempt to win affection!"
"On whose word can you claim this?" Dairren asked, appearing somewhat offended by the accusation. "That witch?" He pointed to Miranda. "She has nothing but contempt for you, Sophia, and would say anything to cause you pain at this point. I would never intentionally bring you harm. You're... my daughter."
"Do not use that word with me." Sophia's tone was full of anger, and now she looked away from him, fixating her gaze upon the ceiling. "I know who my father was. Not you."
"And what of that lovely party?" Miranda chimed in, grimacing through her wound but remaining utterly still. "As I recall, Sophia was left in agony through that affair. Screaming rather loudly." Dairren gave her a murderous glare, but could offer no words to combat her on that count. Miranda's grimace turned to a smile. "I thought as much."
"They're all the lowest of scum," Sophia said, unable to stop more tears. "This was a waste of time. A waste of blood and life."
"You cannot believe Miranda," Dairren repeated. "I owed the Coterie no allegiance, and I would not put your life in the hands of their kind no matter what I stood to gain from it."
âWhomever is telling the truth or lying, it seems to me that this is hardly the place to hash it all out. Weâre injured, and tired, and there are dead to see to as well. What seems evident enough is that we have two former leaders of the Coterie in this room, and a Guard Captain. Perhaps we should leave, and sort this all out the official way.â Nostariel lifted one of her hands to wipe accumulated sweat and grime off her brow, shooting a glance at Ashton. He was the one with authority to arrest or detain people, after all.
Before anyone could answer that suggestion, the sound of approaching feet reached them. Lucien tensed for a moment, but when he heard the voices carrying down the hall, he relaxed again. The chamber soon gained two more occupants, Estella and Donnelly, burdened down with what appeared to be everyoneâs equipment. âEverythingâs still okay upstairs,â she said, attempting to reassure them that they werenât emergency runners, though it was rather obvious. âWe managed to find what we were missing, in one of the storage rooms. Um, there was also this, but I wasnât sure if it belonged to one of us or one of them.â
She held up a small object, thinner and lighter than the average book, and with clear signs of wear on the leather cover, scuffs here and there as well as signs of age. It had no adornments of any kind, and indeed seemed rather plain. âIâm not sure what it is, but I thought Iâd ask before I put my nose where it shouldnât go.â
"That's mine," Dairren immediately claimed, beginning to walk towards Estella with a hand outstretched to claim it.
"No," Ashton spoke up with authority in his voice, "It's not. It's mine, that's evidence. Lucien, call your Lions, we've got a pair of prisoners to transfer."
The Chanter's Board has been updated. The Spymaster's Gambit has been completed.