chapter nineteen
His messaged delivered, a soldier falls at General Ish's feet and dies. The music swells into high melodrama, and at my side Tristar stands and does nothing. This is an improvement; he's behaving much better at the theatre of late. Now if I could just get him to sit. And listen.
High above the crowd in the sort of private booth afforded to councilors of stature, he stands and then turns with wide eyes. "He has died. Like Garth, gone away, away from this world." His childlike wonder at the slightest observation coupled with his need to share it---is it for approval or more for the perceived edification of his audience, I wonder--can be trying after a time, but tonight it makes me smile despite myself. Despite his continued careless mention of Garth's name.
"Yes, we've seen this one before, Tristar. 'The Winds of Ernesse', the tale of the coming of the Magicians to Siguard." I watch to see if this registers on his face, in those eyes.
It does not. "I do not recall that man dying. But he's not really dying. He's pretending to die. I do not recall that man pretending to die."
"The cast rotates as time passes. Different actors take up the role in turn. I believe at our last viewing, it was a woman who played the role of Kulan, the ill-fated messenger."
"Ah." And that is all he says. His eyes are bright and open so wide, as if ready to receive all the knowledge of all the world in one voracious sweep. If only they might.
"Tristar, listen--"
Yet again, he does not, turning those wide eyes and their desire to know the world upon my own. "Where do people go when they die?"
"Into the void, from whence they came."
"People do not come from the void, Princess. They come from here." He points to his belly, then corrects himself and points to mine. "No, here. They come from a woman's belly." He looks up and smiles. "Life, not death."
I grab his hand and pat it. "You have attended well at the Learning. But tell me, where does this life reside before it is called forth into a woman's belly?"
His answer surprises me. "In her mouth, of course." Where did he get a strange notion such as that? "And before that, the man has it. Here." The lights dim for the intermission, but I do not need light to guess where he is now pointing. I release his hand.
"And before that?"
Tristar shrugs. "I asked you, Princess. I do not have such knowledge, although it strikes me that if we carry life within us, we should be more careful about dying, and pretending to die. Life unknown, endless possibilities die with us." He thinks about this, and finally sits at my side. "Or pretend to. Garth's ungiven life departed for the void with him."
Tristar, you Blessed fool! "That is one way of looking at it. Can I now speak to you of something else? And please. Stop calling me a princess."
"Not a princess. The Princess. Princess Lida!"
"Shh!" People in nearby booths turn to look at the sound of his raised voice. "I am considered pretentious enough by many in this theatre tonight. Many in our government. Pray do not give them further reason to mistrust me!"
All too often I find myself correcting Tristar with an urgent whisper, and it never fails to amuse me when he immediately begins speaking in kind. "Very well." He leans close, his mouth next to my cheek. "But I do not think you will be able to hide your royal grace for long." Now he reclines, and I see his smile flash as the lights go up and the crowd below begins milling out into the hall for refreshment. I have an urge to pinch him, and might have done so were he not sitting on my target.
My voice returns to a quiet, conversational level as I beckon him close again. "Tristar, listen. Much has happened since you arrived in our land. Tomorrow," and a sigh interrupts me unbidden. I must show better control of my emotions tomorrow. "Tomorrow will be a great reckoning. I am called before the High Council to answer for my actions these past moons. You will be there as well. There will be many questions. They will ask you many questions, Tristar, do you understand?" My eyes drift downward upon the milling crowd, many speaking in hushed conversation, certainly not all of them speaking about the performance on the stage tonight.
Tristar has one of his moments then. "Yes. I am the Lightfather to those." He points at the crowd, then raises his gesture to include the upper dais and the private booths around us as well with a sweep of his arm. "But I am pretending. I will not need to pretend with this High Council. They know it is acting. I am but playing the part of Randle." He leans closer. "I think Tita knows I am acting as well. Your men," his thumb jerks back without looking toward the entrance to the upper hall behind us to where Stoul and Dougard stand at something vaguely reminiscent of attention, "I think they know, too."
"Yes, and Tita is but a child, while my guards have their orders. Do not concern yourself with them. The council will ask you questions you have already been asked many times, but will be hard pressed to take satisfaction from your answers. I will assist you as I'm able, but for the most part you will be on your own."
"They will be unpleasant and unhappy. You have already said so."
"They will be... direct and unforgiving, yes. For instance, where did you come from, Tristar?"
How many times has he been asked this question? Yet his answer tonight surprises me. An answer that has always taken the form of a vacant, vaguely disinterested shrug, odd as it is, becomes something more now. "I came from another world, not so very different from this one, I suppose. People pretended there as well, is my guess. And died. I do not know why I left, or was asked to leave. I spoke a language that is not so unlike your language here, that much is clear. How else would I learn so quickly? But I do not think my world had a red sky. I believe I might have remembered that. It seems unnatural."
Just when I think I have an understanding of this strange man, he invariably waxes lucid to a degree that is almost unsettling. His memory is surely scattered and unsure, but his mind--more rightly, the way it works ceaselessly to take in information, always processing new information--this is sound and impressive. Who was he, in his previous life? Why is he not half so interested in the answer as any other would be? As I am.
"Forget all talk of tomorrow's reckoning for the moment. I believe we are close to a breakthrough for you. You have said that you came from a room." He nods blankly. "But rooms do not typically stand alone. Did you rise within a room of some household like one returned from the void? Were there others present? Was it a room on a vessel? Was there water, the smell of salt? You say you came from the south and east. Did you come into conscious memory aboard a ship upon the sea? Were there others? Did you have orders?"
He weathers my sudden torrent of questions with his hand on his chin, staring at the floor of the booth and elsewhere, it would seem. He is trying, I can see that. This is no shrug. He is interested this time.
"There was water. But not like Dulma Sea. It was in a glass, I understand that now. There were pictures on a wall that glowed and moved of their own accord, and a voice that spoke from the walls, with no body present to claim it. And I thought for a long time that I was not alone, and hid myself away. Now of course," he grinned, "I understand that it was a looking glass upon the wall, much like the ones to be found at Randle's estate, even in my room at your house." He paused and continued to stare... at what?
"Go on."
"When I left the room, there were hallways. White hallways. Lights, but nothing like torchlight or the Magician's lights one finds throughout Siguard City. I think it might have been a vessel, for I was confronted by a ladder. I did not know that's what it was until I saw them and asked about them on our approach to Siguard City. When I met the Old Crone after tossing Lendora on her backside. If all this was aboard some vessel, it was quite unlike any of the ships you have shown me at Vay's Landing."
"You understand, though, Tristar, that the Eastern Sea is far greater than sad Dulma Sea, do you not? As far greater in size as Dulma Sea is to your glass of water. Can you be sure that there were no others, that this was not some manner of watercraft run aground?"
He turns with a wry smile. "A strange craft, to leave the water so far behind and take up station in the thick of a forest."
"Very well, leave that for a moment. You said you saw pictures that moved?"
Tristar nods. "Yes, it is sooth, strange as it may sound. They glowed and moved with a life of their own. It seems to me now," he pauses, staring again at the floor. He is thinking and I wait patiently. This night's sudden recollection might be more important than--"It seems to me that they were like tiny, moving paintings, paintings that told stories much like the play before. Pictures that moved and pretended."
I can only vaguely guess what he saw, but I am immediately reminded of Magicians. Why did I leave this man with Randle, an ex-Magician focused exclusively on his own agenda, instead of seeking out a true Magician who might have been able to delve deeply into the haze surrounding this stranger's past and bring forth clearer recollection? "I regret now leaving you with Randle. It was convenient, and he owed me favors. I knew he might teach your our language and hoped he might solve the mystery of your absence of memory. At least on one count he proved a sound enough choice."
"Oh, have no regrets, Princess, for leaving me in Randle's care, for it is there that I did meet the Pretty!" His eyes raise now in what can only be pleasant recollection.
The pretty--"Lendora?"
His ready smile is a little too ready for my liking. "Yes, that is her name. She is fun." Oh, she's fun, is she? Exactly what went on between these two? Lendora's attraction to Tristar was understandable enough; a new and different man--a man with a mystery--entering a life of routine and servitude. But I did not expect--
"Tristar, forgive me, but is Lendora... near to you?"
"Everyone is near to me!" Oh! The High Council will have their hands full tomorrow, if they expect to extract information from this one. "I'd like to hug now."
"No."
"Well." Tristar paused, then grinned widely. "May I pinch your bottom, then?"
My hand is faster than my lips. I cannot help it. The gall, the nerve, his utter lack of guile, they all swirl together and become something far too much for me to handle right now. Of course, his hand is faster still and so we sit with locked eyes, my wrist firmly in his grasp. I feel the Burning close. I do not immediately brush it aside. "You fool! Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are speaking to?"
He rises and looks down at me with the strangest expression. Is it pity? I wrench my wrist free of his hand and cross my arms. I am only a woman, after all.
"You tried to strike me." That is all he says as he leaves the booth and disappears into the upper hall beyond the curtain. Why did I do that? What is wrong with me? Is Lendora right? Do I lay claim to Tristar now, with Garth only recently taken from me?
No. No, I do what I must to keep order, both in my life and without. I serve my nation as I know best. As only I can. This is what infuriates my fellow councilors, this is what I will be expected to account for come tomorrow's meeting. I keep the stranger close to me, I made him into a false Savior that Randle's life might be spared, that the Krysli might persist, and with some fast work on my part, I succeeded on both counts, if only barely. Yesterday's attack on Tristar at the market will further spread his reputation and fame, and he answers to--
No, he isn't, he wouldn't! Tristar is below me now, and a crowd has already gathered about him. He is grinning and speaking vigorously, though I cannot make out his voice over the din of his admirers. This evening's patrons are clearly honored by the presence of the Savior of Siguard among them. The lights go dim and the crowd quiets to a dull, reverberating drone of whispers and asides. A spotlight falls upon the center of the stage. The curtain still drawn, Hedger Lefron, the renowned actor playing General Ish, strides into the light, still dressed in his military costume.
"Faithful patrons and good people of Siguard! It has been brought to our attention that we have a special guest for this evening's performance." No! I mean, yes, this was supposed to happen, but Tristar was supposed to be sitting at my side for the announcement! Now--"We are honored to recognize the Savior of Siguard, Tristar!" No! Applause thunders throughout the hall. If the light falls on me as planned, with no one at my side--
But it does not. Three lights--how fitting--converge with the smooth precision of Magicians' engineering upon Tristar below me, still surrounded by dozens who have chosen not to take their seats. I was supposed to have been warning him about this, and preparing his speech for him, instead of delving into the dim recesses of his memory and losing my temper over... What did I lose my temper over?
Why should I care?
I should more rightly care now, at any rate. The applause dies down, and he is about to speak unguided and unprepared, and I can scarcely predict his actions even when he has received guidance. My hands grip the rests of my chair tightly.
He is still grinning. Always grinning, this one. "Friends and fellow Siguardians! Thank you for your kindness and warm welcome. In sooth, it is I who should be honored! I have but one thing to say, then I pray, good General," at this the crowd laughs. Hedger smiles and takes a small bow. "I pray that you would continue your excellent show!"
The crowd waits. I lean far forward in my seat, so tightly am I focused on the wild, strange man below me. The man who dared refuse me. The man I and I alone have led these people, this city, even this nation to believe is the Father of the Krysli. One could here a pin drop as Tristar slowly turns and takes in his captive audience. It is not entirely impossible that he has already forgotten that he announced he had something to say. Such is his memory. That's it, Tristar. Any moment now, you will forget what you are doing, as so often happens, and wander off. Then I will fetch you and we will sit together, highly visible, and enjoy the rest of the show. This night can still be salvaged, if only you will behave as you are predisposed.
If only. His arm thrusts upward with blinding speed, seeming to thrust me hard against the back of my seat from afar. "She tried to strike me!"
The spotlight follows his accusation with expert precision and now I am blinking under white-hot light. I barely manage to avoid answering the light's heat in kind. Momentarily blinded, I can feel the audience turn as one. I certainly hear them gasp well enough. What do I say, what do I say?
Well, I should probably stand. That's better. Very well, Tristar. Think fast, girl. Three reasons spring to mind why a woman might attempt to strike a man in public. Fear, contempt, and--"Forgive me, Lightfather. Pray, all assembled hear my plea, but you most of all. I was overcome with emotion. I feared," what was it he had said to me? Play it right, play it smooth. I bow my head and call upon tears. I think of my father and raise my head once more sure that the hot light gleams off of my streaming cheeks. "Upon hearing your words of fondness for another, I feared that you no longer felt near to me. That I was not--" I break off now, and put a hand to my distressed eyes with a sob.
"Dear Princess, of course I hold you near!" Oh, thank you, thank you Tristar. You respond just as I hoped.
"Lightfather, Tristar... do you not yet know? Is it not clear for all here to see? I name you Nearest."
The crowd, shuffling and uncertain just a moment before, slowly responds as my public proclamation sinks in. Applause begins, unsure at first, then rising quickly to a mighty crescendo. I blush despite myself, and surely that aids my cause.
It turns out that the theatre was an excellent choice for my discussion with Tristar tonight. They have a particular appreciation for high drama. Tristar hurries to the hall, then the steps, and is by my side grinning and waving to the standing ovation all around as a second, third, then fourth spotlight converge upon us in our booth.
I smile gratefully and wave alongside him. We wave together and I continue to blush. Take that, Lendora. Take that, High Council. Take that, world.
High above the crowd in the sort of private booth afforded to councilors of stature, he stands and then turns with wide eyes. "He has died. Like Garth, gone away, away from this world." His childlike wonder at the slightest observation coupled with his need to share it---is it for approval or more for the perceived edification of his audience, I wonder--can be trying after a time, but tonight it makes me smile despite myself. Despite his continued careless mention of Garth's name.
"Yes, we've seen this one before, Tristar. 'The Winds of Ernesse', the tale of the coming of the Magicians to Siguard." I watch to see if this registers on his face, in those eyes.
It does not. "I do not recall that man dying. But he's not really dying. He's pretending to die. I do not recall that man pretending to die."
"The cast rotates as time passes. Different actors take up the role in turn. I believe at our last viewing, it was a woman who played the role of Kulan, the ill-fated messenger."
"Ah." And that is all he says. His eyes are bright and open so wide, as if ready to receive all the knowledge of all the world in one voracious sweep. If only they might.
"Tristar, listen--"
Yet again, he does not, turning those wide eyes and their desire to know the world upon my own. "Where do people go when they die?"
"Into the void, from whence they came."
"People do not come from the void, Princess. They come from here." He points to his belly, then corrects himself and points to mine. "No, here. They come from a woman's belly." He looks up and smiles. "Life, not death."
I grab his hand and pat it. "You have attended well at the Learning. But tell me, where does this life reside before it is called forth into a woman's belly?"
His answer surprises me. "In her mouth, of course." Where did he get a strange notion such as that? "And before that, the man has it. Here." The lights dim for the intermission, but I do not need light to guess where he is now pointing. I release his hand.
"And before that?"
Tristar shrugs. "I asked you, Princess. I do not have such knowledge, although it strikes me that if we carry life within us, we should be more careful about dying, and pretending to die. Life unknown, endless possibilities die with us." He thinks about this, and finally sits at my side. "Or pretend to. Garth's ungiven life departed for the void with him."
Tristar, you Blessed fool! "That is one way of looking at it. Can I now speak to you of something else? And please. Stop calling me a princess."
"Not a princess. The Princess. Princess Lida!"
"Shh!" People in nearby booths turn to look at the sound of his raised voice. "I am considered pretentious enough by many in this theatre tonight. Many in our government. Pray do not give them further reason to mistrust me!"
All too often I find myself correcting Tristar with an urgent whisper, and it never fails to amuse me when he immediately begins speaking in kind. "Very well." He leans close, his mouth next to my cheek. "But I do not think you will be able to hide your royal grace for long." Now he reclines, and I see his smile flash as the lights go up and the crowd below begins milling out into the hall for refreshment. I have an urge to pinch him, and might have done so were he not sitting on my target.
My voice returns to a quiet, conversational level as I beckon him close again. "Tristar, listen. Much has happened since you arrived in our land. Tomorrow," and a sigh interrupts me unbidden. I must show better control of my emotions tomorrow. "Tomorrow will be a great reckoning. I am called before the High Council to answer for my actions these past moons. You will be there as well. There will be many questions. They will ask you many questions, Tristar, do you understand?" My eyes drift downward upon the milling crowd, many speaking in hushed conversation, certainly not all of them speaking about the performance on the stage tonight.
Tristar has one of his moments then. "Yes. I am the Lightfather to those." He points at the crowd, then raises his gesture to include the upper dais and the private booths around us as well with a sweep of his arm. "But I am pretending. I will not need to pretend with this High Council. They know it is acting. I am but playing the part of Randle." He leans closer. "I think Tita knows I am acting as well. Your men," his thumb jerks back without looking toward the entrance to the upper hall behind us to where Stoul and Dougard stand at something vaguely reminiscent of attention, "I think they know, too."
"Yes, and Tita is but a child, while my guards have their orders. Do not concern yourself with them. The council will ask you questions you have already been asked many times, but will be hard pressed to take satisfaction from your answers. I will assist you as I'm able, but for the most part you will be on your own."
"They will be unpleasant and unhappy. You have already said so."
"They will be... direct and unforgiving, yes. For instance, where did you come from, Tristar?"
How many times has he been asked this question? Yet his answer tonight surprises me. An answer that has always taken the form of a vacant, vaguely disinterested shrug, odd as it is, becomes something more now. "I came from another world, not so very different from this one, I suppose. People pretended there as well, is my guess. And died. I do not know why I left, or was asked to leave. I spoke a language that is not so unlike your language here, that much is clear. How else would I learn so quickly? But I do not think my world had a red sky. I believe I might have remembered that. It seems unnatural."
Just when I think I have an understanding of this strange man, he invariably waxes lucid to a degree that is almost unsettling. His memory is surely scattered and unsure, but his mind--more rightly, the way it works ceaselessly to take in information, always processing new information--this is sound and impressive. Who was he, in his previous life? Why is he not half so interested in the answer as any other would be? As I am.
"Forget all talk of tomorrow's reckoning for the moment. I believe we are close to a breakthrough for you. You have said that you came from a room." He nods blankly. "But rooms do not typically stand alone. Did you rise within a room of some household like one returned from the void? Were there others present? Was it a room on a vessel? Was there water, the smell of salt? You say you came from the south and east. Did you come into conscious memory aboard a ship upon the sea? Were there others? Did you have orders?"
He weathers my sudden torrent of questions with his hand on his chin, staring at the floor of the booth and elsewhere, it would seem. He is trying, I can see that. This is no shrug. He is interested this time.
"There was water. But not like Dulma Sea. It was in a glass, I understand that now. There were pictures on a wall that glowed and moved of their own accord, and a voice that spoke from the walls, with no body present to claim it. And I thought for a long time that I was not alone, and hid myself away. Now of course," he grinned, "I understand that it was a looking glass upon the wall, much like the ones to be found at Randle's estate, even in my room at your house." He paused and continued to stare... at what?
"Go on."
"When I left the room, there were hallways. White hallways. Lights, but nothing like torchlight or the Magician's lights one finds throughout Siguard City. I think it might have been a vessel, for I was confronted by a ladder. I did not know that's what it was until I saw them and asked about them on our approach to Siguard City. When I met the Old Crone after tossing Lendora on her backside. If all this was aboard some vessel, it was quite unlike any of the ships you have shown me at Vay's Landing."
"You understand, though, Tristar, that the Eastern Sea is far greater than sad Dulma Sea, do you not? As far greater in size as Dulma Sea is to your glass of water. Can you be sure that there were no others, that this was not some manner of watercraft run aground?"
He turns with a wry smile. "A strange craft, to leave the water so far behind and take up station in the thick of a forest."
"Very well, leave that for a moment. You said you saw pictures that moved?"
Tristar nods. "Yes, it is sooth, strange as it may sound. They glowed and moved with a life of their own. It seems to me now," he pauses, staring again at the floor. He is thinking and I wait patiently. This night's sudden recollection might be more important than--"It seems to me that they were like tiny, moving paintings, paintings that told stories much like the play before. Pictures that moved and pretended."
I can only vaguely guess what he saw, but I am immediately reminded of Magicians. Why did I leave this man with Randle, an ex-Magician focused exclusively on his own agenda, instead of seeking out a true Magician who might have been able to delve deeply into the haze surrounding this stranger's past and bring forth clearer recollection? "I regret now leaving you with Randle. It was convenient, and he owed me favors. I knew he might teach your our language and hoped he might solve the mystery of your absence of memory. At least on one count he proved a sound enough choice."
"Oh, have no regrets, Princess, for leaving me in Randle's care, for it is there that I did meet the Pretty!" His eyes raise now in what can only be pleasant recollection.
The pretty--"Lendora?"
His ready smile is a little too ready for my liking. "Yes, that is her name. She is fun." Oh, she's fun, is she? Exactly what went on between these two? Lendora's attraction to Tristar was understandable enough; a new and different man--a man with a mystery--entering a life of routine and servitude. But I did not expect--
"Tristar, forgive me, but is Lendora... near to you?"
"Everyone is near to me!" Oh! The High Council will have their hands full tomorrow, if they expect to extract information from this one. "I'd like to hug now."
"No."
"Well." Tristar paused, then grinned widely. "May I pinch your bottom, then?"
My hand is faster than my lips. I cannot help it. The gall, the nerve, his utter lack of guile, they all swirl together and become something far too much for me to handle right now. Of course, his hand is faster still and so we sit with locked eyes, my wrist firmly in his grasp. I feel the Burning close. I do not immediately brush it aside. "You fool! Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are speaking to?"
He rises and looks down at me with the strangest expression. Is it pity? I wrench my wrist free of his hand and cross my arms. I am only a woman, after all.
"You tried to strike me." That is all he says as he leaves the booth and disappears into the upper hall beyond the curtain. Why did I do that? What is wrong with me? Is Lendora right? Do I lay claim to Tristar now, with Garth only recently taken from me?
No. No, I do what I must to keep order, both in my life and without. I serve my nation as I know best. As only I can. This is what infuriates my fellow councilors, this is what I will be expected to account for come tomorrow's meeting. I keep the stranger close to me, I made him into a false Savior that Randle's life might be spared, that the Krysli might persist, and with some fast work on my part, I succeeded on both counts, if only barely. Yesterday's attack on Tristar at the market will further spread his reputation and fame, and he answers to--
No, he isn't, he wouldn't! Tristar is below me now, and a crowd has already gathered about him. He is grinning and speaking vigorously, though I cannot make out his voice over the din of his admirers. This evening's patrons are clearly honored by the presence of the Savior of Siguard among them. The lights go dim and the crowd quiets to a dull, reverberating drone of whispers and asides. A spotlight falls upon the center of the stage. The curtain still drawn, Hedger Lefron, the renowned actor playing General Ish, strides into the light, still dressed in his military costume.
"Faithful patrons and good people of Siguard! It has been brought to our attention that we have a special guest for this evening's performance." No! I mean, yes, this was supposed to happen, but Tristar was supposed to be sitting at my side for the announcement! Now--"We are honored to recognize the Savior of Siguard, Tristar!" No! Applause thunders throughout the hall. If the light falls on me as planned, with no one at my side--
But it does not. Three lights--how fitting--converge with the smooth precision of Magicians' engineering upon Tristar below me, still surrounded by dozens who have chosen not to take their seats. I was supposed to have been warning him about this, and preparing his speech for him, instead of delving into the dim recesses of his memory and losing my temper over... What did I lose my temper over?
Why should I care?
I should more rightly care now, at any rate. The applause dies down, and he is about to speak unguided and unprepared, and I can scarcely predict his actions even when he has received guidance. My hands grip the rests of my chair tightly.
He is still grinning. Always grinning, this one. "Friends and fellow Siguardians! Thank you for your kindness and warm welcome. In sooth, it is I who should be honored! I have but one thing to say, then I pray, good General," at this the crowd laughs. Hedger smiles and takes a small bow. "I pray that you would continue your excellent show!"
The crowd waits. I lean far forward in my seat, so tightly am I focused on the wild, strange man below me. The man who dared refuse me. The man I and I alone have led these people, this city, even this nation to believe is the Father of the Krysli. One could here a pin drop as Tristar slowly turns and takes in his captive audience. It is not entirely impossible that he has already forgotten that he announced he had something to say. Such is his memory. That's it, Tristar. Any moment now, you will forget what you are doing, as so often happens, and wander off. Then I will fetch you and we will sit together, highly visible, and enjoy the rest of the show. This night can still be salvaged, if only you will behave as you are predisposed.
If only. His arm thrusts upward with blinding speed, seeming to thrust me hard against the back of my seat from afar. "She tried to strike me!"
The spotlight follows his accusation with expert precision and now I am blinking under white-hot light. I barely manage to avoid answering the light's heat in kind. Momentarily blinded, I can feel the audience turn as one. I certainly hear them gasp well enough. What do I say, what do I say?
Well, I should probably stand. That's better. Very well, Tristar. Think fast, girl. Three reasons spring to mind why a woman might attempt to strike a man in public. Fear, contempt, and--"Forgive me, Lightfather. Pray, all assembled hear my plea, but you most of all. I was overcome with emotion. I feared," what was it he had said to me? Play it right, play it smooth. I bow my head and call upon tears. I think of my father and raise my head once more sure that the hot light gleams off of my streaming cheeks. "Upon hearing your words of fondness for another, I feared that you no longer felt near to me. That I was not--" I break off now, and put a hand to my distressed eyes with a sob.
"Dear Princess, of course I hold you near!" Oh, thank you, thank you Tristar. You respond just as I hoped.
"Lightfather, Tristar... do you not yet know? Is it not clear for all here to see? I name you Nearest."
The crowd, shuffling and uncertain just a moment before, slowly responds as my public proclamation sinks in. Applause begins, unsure at first, then rising quickly to a mighty crescendo. I blush despite myself, and surely that aids my cause.
It turns out that the theatre was an excellent choice for my discussion with Tristar tonight. They have a particular appreciation for high drama. Tristar hurries to the hall, then the steps, and is by my side grinning and waving to the standing ovation all around as a second, third, then fourth spotlight converge upon us in our booth.
I smile gratefully and wave alongside him. We wave together and I continue to blush. Take that, Lendora. Take that, High Council. Take that, world.
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