Michalis: Study Herbarium
07
Catria: Steal off to the library
29
Michalis: Break bread with Catria
Many would hold that the men of Macedon are all illiterate barbarians, but to put the lie to that you only need to gesture at the Aerie's well-appointed library. A tall, narrow chamber near the mountain's base was designated for that purpose by King Iote the year you were born. It is kept clean and dry, and it is one of the very few rooms with windows, so that books may be read in the sunlight without taking them away from the safety of this refuge. It holds several hundred books in half-a-dozen languages, and you hold it as a point of pride that you have read nearly all of them. As you usually do when a new acquisition makes its way into your grasp, you carve a day free from obligations, respectfully place the item on one of the wheeled reading stands, maneuver it into the path of the narrow beam of sunlight coming from one of the high slit windows, and commence devouring it for knowledge.
Well. You make the attempt, at least. Everything seems to be working against you, today. The summer heat is strong, even amidst the coolness of the rock. Your mind refuses to focus. Your eyes catch the familiar curl of your mother's handwriting and recall old memories, or else your ears catch the sighs and mutters of the library's other occupant, who is clearly not having much luck finding whatever it is she came here for.
Hmph. The elders remember libraries back on Old Earth that sought to collect all knowledge, books on literally every topic, tens of thousands of them. They could do that, in those vanished cities.
You're getting distracted again. You turn around to the sigher, the one problem here you can really solve: "Do you need help finding something?"
It's one of Dame Palla's sisters, the middle one – Catria. She straightens up as she realizes she's caught your attention. "I – oh! Your majesty. I'm sorry if I disturbed you. Well, I simply…are these all your novels?" She indicates the shelf in front of her, which contains not only novels but a smattering of songs, poems, and everything else that could be considered 'entertainment' or 'fiction'.
"I'm afraid so."
She averts her eyes, clearly annoyed but not wishing to look like she's glaring at you. It makes her look amusingly guilty. "Why are they all in German?"
"A good number of them are in English, actually," you point out. "But you can't read either of those, can you?"
She admits readily, "I can speak a few words of German, but those stick-letters of theirs are beyond me. You still haven't answered my question, though. Your majesty."
"Unfortunately, the printers in the so-called Holy Kingdom have no reason to cater to us. So: German and English, whether we buy it with silver or iron." You do want to get around to printing books in Macedon some day, though there are a hundred more immediately-useful projects clamoring for your attention. "If you look at the hand-scribed texts, you're more likely to find Greek. Can you read anything else?"
"No," Catria says sourly. She turns to glance back at the shelf and sighs. "Never mind. I'll come back here once I've found someone to teach me that gods-damned alphabet, or whatever they call it in German. Please return to your reading, your majesty."
"The German word is still alphabet, actually," you say with a smile. "And I wasn't getting much reading done, anyway." You shut the cover. This is a whim, but – what's the harm in following it? You'd set aside this day anyway. And you've been thinking since Flostym that you need to do something to get the Whitewings on your side. "Where are you going right now?"
Catria, like you, turns out to have no backup plans today. So the two of you stand there awkwardly, still in the beam of light from the window, for long enough that you are reminded that this really is an uncomfortably hot summer day. Then you get an idea. "Can you swim?"
---
Catria isn't used to being seen. She's the middle child, not a shining exemplar like Palla, not an adorable precious baby like Est, just…forgettable. She does plenty of work, but it's the sort of work that garners neither praise nor scorn. She's practical, like the pair of boots you wear when it's muddy out. That's probably the reason why she likes such romantic tales: it's a chance to imagine something more, something special. Someone special, even, who sees the worth in an ordinary-seeming girl after she does something heroic, and then some kind of villain who stands in the way of their marriage is defeated, and there is a happily-ever-after. However, those novels are not easy to find. She thought the Aerie's grand library might have some, only to be foiled by her own poor upbringing. It's okay. She's practical, and pretty well inured to disappointment.
She was not expecting to exchange words with King Michalis, of all people, over it, but he likes books supposedly. It's not especially weird that he happened to be there. The part where he then, spontaneously, invited her to go swimming at a nearby lake? Alone? Together?
Well, it's sounding suspiciously like the inciting incident of a romance, which makes her nervous. Real men are not like those heroes; those are just comforting fantasies. She sternly orders herself not to get any crazy ideas. And to get on her mount and fly away the moment he does anything untoward.
The lake itself is a nice place in a little sunken valley, its flawless silver surface ringed by thin pebble beaches. Catria is relieved to see that they're not the only ones here. The Avistym sun radiates from a painfully blue sky; heat comes to the mountains late, but it does come, and on days like this the cool snowmelt reservoirs are attractive to everyone. Parents guide little toddlers into the water, older kids play on their own, and a group of older men are languidly playing a board game in the shade a little further back. One of them recognizes Michalis as he leads her along the shoreside trails, and they stop to share pleasantries.
The lake's shores are gradual slopes, but Michalis knows a place where a fallen tree, its base still embedded in the landscape, juts out over deeper waters. When they find it, he gives it an experimental kick. "Still solid!" he says brightly. "I was wondering. This has been here since Maria was learning to swim." Catria tries to imagine a teenage Michalis at this place, gangly and with much greasier hair, having stupid teenager fun. It's not impossible, to her surprise. Some of his kingly mantle, the aura that makes him seem so far beyond everyone else, the sense that he is grappling with weighty and terrible powers, has lifted.
For example, he's currently stripping in front of her without a single care.
"I-is the water cold?" she asks, trying not to look directly at him.
"Of course. Jumping straight in is best." He trots adroitly along the fallen tree and does just that. The splash is quickly swallowed up in the silvery vastness of the lake.
Catria hesitates a few moments longer, neatly folding her clothes as a stalling tactic. She would like to inch across the log, but it is broad enough that that's not necessary. Instead, she pauses near the end, a leaden weight in her stomach. She sits down, her legs swinging, casting a black shadow on the silver waters.
Michalis glides over. "What's this? A pegasus rider, afraid of heights?"
She should respond with some banter, equally playful, like Est would. She should make her strength and confidence clear, like Palla would. Instead what comes out is, "I'm not going to have sex with you."
There is a quiet moment after that non-sequitur when she can hear the birdsong, before Michalis's strangled reply: "Is that what – mph! I see." He gives a little shake of the head that would have sent his hair flying if it weren't currently plastered to his skin. When he speaks again, it is with his normal, haughty tone: "Well, I certainly wouldn't be averse if you offered, but it really is too hot for that kind of thing today. Well? If you don't want to be here, then go. This is Macedon. No one can force you to do anything." Then he turns and dives below the waters, as if he cares so little, he won't even stay to watch.
It's said that leaving something unobserved opens up numberless possibilities, but Catria feels her future constricting into just one. She'll escape, just as she was preparing to from the moment they set out. She'll escape from this man who could destroy her life. She'll leave, because her heart is closed off. Because she doesn't trust anyone save her sisters. Because she doesn't know how to tell what people want from her, or how to tell them what she wants from them in return. Because she is a bitter, black-hearted, paranoid woman, who has no friends, who doesn't know how to make friends – because she has no friends! Because she never spends time with anyone but her sisters! So any efforts she makes to reach out to people are doomed to fail!
It is while she looks out on the vast, glittering lake, struggling not to let her tears out, that the distant flash of Michalis's red hair once more catches her eye. He has swum out truly far. The crystalline beauty of the landscape does something to her, allows her thoughts to move beyond the cage of her self-pity.
She recalls that, the duties of a king to consult his people aside, she has never known Michalis to spend time with anyone but his sisters. She considers that, maybe, he is lonely too, and this is his way of doing something about it. Maybe…he's just a guy who hasn't done anything wrong to her yet.
Her traitorous tears are still threatening to flow, and her heart is pounding. Quickly, before she can lose her nerve, she pushes herself off the log and plummets down to the water.
---
As the sun descends and the sky darkens from azure to cerulean, you build a campfire on one of the beaches, surrounded by a ring of smooth stones. You alternate dark and light, just to amuse yourself while you wait for Catria to come back. She claimed she was 'getting some food' and told you to build a fire suitable for cooking. Sure enough, she comes back with a net full of dark blue, furry bodies. Keese. Easy enough to catch if you surprise them in their lairs during the day, when they sleep. Not a whole lot of meat on them, but sometimes that's a convenience, rather than a function you need to maximize so people don't starve. The Whitewing gives a look of approval at your work, then one of confusion. "Where'd all that come from?"
You glance down at the motley collection of summer fruits, seasoned rice crackers, and soft cheese. "There are plenty of groups having picnics out here. Casually walking by was enough. I honestly don't think I could have escaped without accepting any gifts."
She purses her lips. Somehow, she seems displeased. You're starting to suspect she's just a naturally negative person. "Must be nice, getting presents all the time."
"I am expected to pay them all back, at some point, in some fashion," you point out. Probably not these gifts, though – a bit of cheese is such a small thing that it's negligible, in political terms. And half your benefactors today insisted they were repaying you, or your father, for various times they'd been given the Aerie's hospitality. "I could be accurately described as 'Macedon's chief favor trader'."
That gets her to crack a smile, at least. She crouches down to clean the kills while you go back into the woods to find sticks suitable for skewers. She is quick and efficient about it; you are still stripping the bark when she finishes and moves on to starting the fire. This, she has some trouble with. The meager sparks of her flint won't catch.
"Is this dry?" she hisses suspiciously.
"I know how to build a fire, Catria." You heave yourself up. "Look, I'll just get a burning brand from someone else, that will make this easier—"
"No!" Then, "I got it!" She cups the little flame and blows on it until the larger sticks have caught. Then she leans back, highly satisfied. "You done with those skewers, yet?"
The keese are skewered and braced in the stones to roast at the edge of the flames. While they cook, the two of you enjoy the fruit and cheese. "You seem a skilled huntress," you prompt her, hoping to forestall any potential complaining about the food.
"Yeah, well, I had to be. We didn't have much, growing up. Sometimes, what I could catch was all we could eat." She's looking off into the distance, but then she swallows and turns her gaze to you. "It still feels strange, having meals served to us every day. Which is to say – I am grateful, your majesty."
You shrug carelessly. "You and your sisters have proven your worth already, with that mission to Pyrathi. A place in the Aerie is assured for you, now." Something has occurred to you. "It seems odd that three girls were left to fend for themselves, though. Didn't you have any family that could care for you?" Most Macedonians rely heavily on their family ties. Sure, your nation is new, but counting blood, sworn and adoptive kin usually results in a sprawling extended family.
Catria lets out a long, disgusted huff. "Oh, we have too much family. Even before Mother died, we were always moving. But just because someone's family and feels obligated to care for you, doesn't mean they'll do it well. Or without stupid drama. In the end, the only people we could always rely on were each other."
"I see."
"Do you, your majesty?" She's calling you that because she wants to point out the difference in your status, not because she wants to be deferential.
You lean over the fire and check on the skewers, so that your annoyance, or any other inconvenient emotions, will not be visible. You don't want to scare her away or make her think less of you. It's a difficult balance to walk; the memory of that supremely awkward moment at the lake's edge returns to you, when she almost didn't get in the water.
It turns out that making friends with people who are not your sisters is hard, even when you try to treat them exactly as you would your sisters.
"I never went hungry, but I do understand what it means to loathe someone and love them at the same time. To…cut someone off, because you can't trust that they'll make good decisions. Or because you know that they'll keep on drawing you into stupid fights. I trust my sisters, but not much else."
That is, however, a lie. You don't trust your sisters, do you? You don't trust anyone. Not with the knowledge of how very literally you 'cut' your father out of your life. Bare your heart to someone, Lena had written. She doesn't know what she's talking about. That would make it all so much worse.
You pluck a crispy little body out of the fire. "This is done."
Keese are at their best battered and fried in oil, or rubbed in spices and oven-roasted, but there is also something to be said for eating the flesh of something very freshly killed, seasoned by nothing but its own blood. You tear at the skin and into the thin layer of meat beneath, running delicate little bones through your teeth and tossing them into the fire. Across from you, Catria is crunching through her meal like a wyvern.
"Do you like the bones, or do you just not like the effort of picking them out?" you ask.
She wipes her mouth before answering. "They're nutritious. It makes your own bones stronger, less likely to get broken, if you eat them."
"I suppose so." You're still not going to eat them, though. "Cheese does the same thing, and it's much tastier."
"Cheese? Really?" She sounds skeptical.
"Yes, cheese is good for your bones, because it's rich in calcium. That's knowledge from Old Earth," you say proudly.
"Calcium," she mutters, with undisguised skepticism. "If you say so, your majesty."
[Michalis and Catria have gotten no reading done! They skive off to go swimming and have a picnic instead!]
[Catria's hidden likes and dislikes have been revealed. Likes: Romance, Dislikes: Herself]
[Catria and Michalis have achieved Support Rank C!]
By the time you finish eating and extinguish the fire, the sky is shading a darker blue still, and the white shell of the moon has appeared. This is Avistym, though: the sun journeys at a leisurely pace, so there is no need to rush home. You make your way back to where Catria tied her mount. Lucrecia is nowhere to be seen. You send a call through your implants.
Return to me.
"Where's the wyvern?" Catria asks, a bit worried.
"Sunbasking, probably. I would have noticed if she got into some trouble." A wordless answer crackles through your brain, a vision of a rock outcropping with a good view and, yes, plenty of sun. You step out from under the trees, letting your red hair serve as the signal flag for your location. It takes several minutes, but eventually the snow-white dart alights on the shore with you. "There you are. My own set of white wings." You go to scratch her chin, shooting Catria a playful look. She is at least a little envious. "Have you ever considered bonding a wyvern of your own?"
She huffs. "Sure, I've thought about it. But they're a bit too…vicious. I mean, I can't risk what it would do to my sisters, if I weren't around to control it." That's fair. Even bonded wyverns are notoriously dangerous to approach. Wyvern riders are treated like other wyverns (i.e. with territorial aggression) and ordinary humans are treated like prey. Lucrecia is much more polite than most, in that she will give warning bites before real ones. Maria already has a good understanding with her.
An instinct beyond words, beyond even the crackle of your implants, makes you consider. Catria could have left so many times already, but is still here, looking at your wyvern with fear and desire. You try to hold her in your gaze, her lean limbs, her already-dry hair, her calloused hands, her lingering feet. You cannot really talk to your wyvern unless it's to give her orders, but you try to hold up the image of that woman as a proposal.
The spark from your implants is so intense your vision blanks out for a moment. You see, taste, experience, for a bodiless moment, a memory from Lucrecia, soaring on a perfect summer's day, over a lake that mirrors the cerulean sky. You are far above the ground, but your powerful gaze is fixed on that same woman – and your companion, who is grinning widely as he tries to chase her through the water.
It is not an expression you've seen on him in some time. It pleases you.
You flinch and blink rapidly, still disoriented as Lucrecia stretches herself out on the ground, neck fully extended, wings half-furled, loose and vulnerable in a way she never allows outside her den. "She…she'll let you touch her," you inform Catria. You hope she can't see how shaken you are. Your head aches.
The Whitewing is surprised too, but she takes the offered chance, stepping forward to run her hands along Lucrecia's shining scales. "So bright you are…" Indeed. You suspect she took the opportunity for a bath of her own, today. Catria's fingers run along the folded arm of her wing and Lucrecia responds by sweeping it out, holding the silvery, delicate membrane open for inspection and admiration. Catria gasps, reaching out…
But she does not reach the wing before it snaps shut. The wyvern rises to her feet, sending pebbles skittering; calmly, as if moving according to her own schedule and no one else's, she steps forward (spooking the pegasus rather badly) and stops by her saddle. There she waits, primly.
While Catria goes to soothe her mount, you stand in front of yours, glaring. "What was that?" you demand. At least your headache is fading; the implants aren't supposed to hurt like that.
There is, of course, no answer. After a few more seconds of waiting, she nudges the saddle at you with her snout.
Michalis: Spend time with your wyvern
54
New total: 138/???
[Michalis's wyvern rider trait has been upgraded! Elite White Dragoon: You chose to bond a rare white wyvern, your match in beauty and strength. Your mount is much wiser than she seems, though she keeps her own counsel. +4 Diplomacy, +3 Martial]
She should have more stats. This author is refusing to write me as awesome as I really am.
