Weekly Prompt #1
Boysenberry #1. One Step Closer
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG (language)
Timeframe : 1275
Word Count : ~1.5k
Making some adjustments. This could be considered the new beginning to the final segment of my canon, which I've bumped up by a couple of years.
Lyssa was perched on the velvet cushioned window seat, back to the glass and legs awkwardly folded beneath her, looking very out of place in her assortment of mismatched armor and still wrapped in her travelling cloak in Ski’s plush sitting room. Ski herself sat at the table, quiet and composed as always, one prince in the chair opposite her, sipping tea from one of the delicate little cups Lyssa was afraid to touch, the other ambling across the room and back again. A lazy afternoon in the palace, or it might have been, were the four of them not planning what some might consider treason.
“You can quit the pacing,” Padric drawled as he poured himself another cup from the steaming kettle. Lyssa wondered if it must be one of the quirks that comes of being royal to treat the upcoming overthrow of one’s king and kin with such detachment. “I promise you we have more than enough evidence.”
Dalton was only half listening as he continued his slow wearing of a path across the soft rug. “We can link Nesrin to Rayurn and the destruction of Tilshire.” He started ticking items off on his fingers. “We can tie him to more than a dozen known necromancers. There’s a trail of money between them that could fund a whole province for a year or two. But we can’t outright tie him to Harmon.”
Lyssa was trying to look like she was only half listening, making a show of carefully polishing the largest of her knives. The blade had achieved the healthiest gleam it had worn in ages a good twenty minutes ago, but the apprehensive looks Padric kept shooting it were well worth the continued attention. “Whole council knows Nesrin doesn’t take a piss without the king’s say so,” she said.
“Eloquent as always.” Padric fixed her with a look of disdain for a moment before turning to the other two. “Remind me which of you it was that decided what this movement needed was a certain touch of barbarism?”
Ski glared at him, though Dalton said nothing as he continued his pacing. “You will be glad for her should your brother force our hand,” she said. “Certainly you will be the last to take up a sword for the cause.”
Padric sniffed. “I shall be quite content to let her bloody her blade all she wishes when and if the time comes. Until then I should rather do without her mouth.”
“Love it when people talk about me like I’m not in front of them,” said Lyssa to no one in particular. “Always a good show.”
At the far end of the room, Dalton spun on his heel and stopped to glower at them all. “Can we get back to the matter at hand?”
“No,” said Lyssa. She didn’t miss the twitch in the younger prince’s eye, but she carried on as if she had. “I want to know what I’m here for. I didn’t ride two days to hear the lot of you discuss the obvious.”
Ski calmly poured herself another cup of tea as, with an exasperated sigh that was lost on no one, her husband resumed his pacing behind her. “I had hoped to get some news from you.” She looked expectantly to her sister, who shrugged.
“Same as always,” she said, gesturing with her knife. “Demons come. Locals panic. Army swoops in to save the day and the people grovel at their feet.”
“How very insightful,” Padric said dryly to Ski. "Good thing you thought to bring her here."
Ski payed him no notice. continuing to look thoughtfully at Lyssa instead. “I thought perhaps you might be privy to something more specific. Something we might make use of. You are out in the field after all.”
“You know damn well I don’t go near the front lines of this mess,” Lyssa snapped.
Padric looked between them, growing nearly as agitated as his brother. “Again, I must ask, why-”
“Of course, lately, they say the Warrior beats the army there more often than not.” Lyssa slouched back into the cushions, idly buffing her blade again. If she had to sit through these stuffy talks, at least she could have the small recompense of making royalty squirm. “It’s like he knows when they’re coming and he’s found some way to be two places at once,” she went on. “Must piss Harmon off something fierce. Demons and soldiers don’t come cheap. S’pose he’ll love it too when you three out his right hand man,” she added, with a grin aimed at Dalton.
Dalton stopped to meet her look with another dark one of his own. “If we can muster enough evidence, and if we can cast doubt on Harmon in light of that.”
“We’ve a paper trail a mile long on the king’s right hand man,” said Padric. “From Hadbury to Norwold and a half dozen atrocities in between over the past decade. Why he even had a hand in the assassins that were after the younger Burnoire here a decade ago,” he added with a gesture Lyssa’s way.
Lyssa was on her feet, knife leveled before her before she could fully consider the impropriety of such a gesture. “You’ll leave my run in with Branimir’s goons out of this.”
Ski was at her side just as quickly, laying a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Yes, yes. Who hasn’t found themselves on the wrong side of Lyssa at one point or another?” she said, in that tone she had for delicate situations in the council room, the one that said she was on everyone’s side all at once. It would have been enough to turn Lyssa’s anger on her if her look and her touch weren’t silently pleading that she go along with the show.
“Of course,” said Lyssa. “Pissing nobles off is just what I do.” She settled back on the window seat, finally sheathing her knife.
Dalton, still determined to continue the discussion, approached the table as Ski returned to her seat. “I wish we had some way to connect this to the massacre at Kalas. I just know Harmon’s hands were dirty even then.”
“Tomorrow marks fifteen years,” said Ski, and she shot the chair beside her a none too subtle look and began pouring tea for Dalton. “We will begin to serve him in court with a list of his crimes. It may be small comfort, but it is a start.”
“You have to let some things go,” said Padric.
“And you can go eat demon shit,” Lyssa snapped.
Silence fell as the rest of the room turned to gape at her.
Lyssa shrugged. “Go eat demon shit, Your Highness?” she offered in mock contrition.
Dalton shook his head. “If it was Danelle that died that day, would you not feel the same as I do? Would you not want to do everything in your power to see justice?”
Padric was still staring at Lyssa, his mouth open in shock. He hastily tried to compose himself to meet Dalton’s question. “Am I not already doing everything in my power-”
“Your battle is hardly the same as ours.” It was a far cry from Lyssa’s outburst, but Ski’s cold, calm declaration still carried as much disdain.
“Oh?” said Padric, slowly.
“Think she’s referring to the nice shiny hat you’re looking to get out of this.” Lyssa smirked at Padric as he turned to her. “But you know,” she continued, hopping down from her perch. “You two will still have your vengeance. What’s it matter if he has any clue the hell we all went through or not? Can we move on now?”
Dalton was still standing, his hands curled around the back of the chair Ski had tried to get him to sit in. “What are you in such a hurry for?” has asked as she passed.
“Think I care for this night any more than you do?” Lyssa stopped. Their eyes locked. No more raising defense, just two people who knew what it meant to have been there that night. “Like to go deal with it my own way, if you don’t mind.”
“No,” Dalton said shakily, turning away. “I… I understand.”
Lyssa rolled her shoulders into an overly dramatic display of stretching her arms. “Well,” she announced, “if there’s no one you need me to kill…”
“I do not think it will come to that just yet,” Ski assured her.
Lyssa clapped her on the shoulder with a grin. “Then I’ll be going. Sure the lot of you can handle your paperwork yourselves. Not sure what you needed to call me here for if there’s no one to fight.”
“By all means,” said Padric, gesturing towards the door. “Don’t let us detain you.”
Lyssa cocked her head and fixed him with a patronizing look. “I’ll get to seeing how many of my barbarian friends I can round up for us, shall I? They won’t come cheap though.”
“It’s no object,” said Dalton. “Secrecy, however…”
“I want this as much as you do. I’m not about to ruin it so easily.”
“It’s just that subtlety has never been your strong suit.”
“Relax.” Lyssa waved him off. “Got it covered.”
She was nearly to the door when Ski caught her by the arm.
“Lyssa,” she said, as she turned to face her.
“Yeah?”
“Will you at least pay Mara a visit before you go?”
Lyssa tensed. “She know I’m here?”
Ski faltered. “I hadn’t thought to-” She looked to Dalton, who shook his head. “No.”
Lyssa slipped her arm from Ski’s grip and reached for the door. “Keep it that way.”
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : PG (language)
Timeframe : 1275
Word Count : ~1.5k
Making some adjustments. This could be considered the new beginning to the final segment of my canon, which I've bumped up by a couple of years.
Lyssa was perched on the velvet cushioned window seat, back to the glass and legs awkwardly folded beneath her, looking very out of place in her assortment of mismatched armor and still wrapped in her travelling cloak in Ski’s plush sitting room. Ski herself sat at the table, quiet and composed as always, one prince in the chair opposite her, sipping tea from one of the delicate little cups Lyssa was afraid to touch, the other ambling across the room and back again. A lazy afternoon in the palace, or it might have been, were the four of them not planning what some might consider treason.
“You can quit the pacing,” Padric drawled as he poured himself another cup from the steaming kettle. Lyssa wondered if it must be one of the quirks that comes of being royal to treat the upcoming overthrow of one’s king and kin with such detachment. “I promise you we have more than enough evidence.”
Dalton was only half listening as he continued his slow wearing of a path across the soft rug. “We can link Nesrin to Rayurn and the destruction of Tilshire.” He started ticking items off on his fingers. “We can tie him to more than a dozen known necromancers. There’s a trail of money between them that could fund a whole province for a year or two. But we can’t outright tie him to Harmon.”
Lyssa was trying to look like she was only half listening, making a show of carefully polishing the largest of her knives. The blade had achieved the healthiest gleam it had worn in ages a good twenty minutes ago, but the apprehensive looks Padric kept shooting it were well worth the continued attention. “Whole council knows Nesrin doesn’t take a piss without the king’s say so,” she said.
“Eloquent as always.” Padric fixed her with a look of disdain for a moment before turning to the other two. “Remind me which of you it was that decided what this movement needed was a certain touch of barbarism?”
Ski glared at him, though Dalton said nothing as he continued his pacing. “You will be glad for her should your brother force our hand,” she said. “Certainly you will be the last to take up a sword for the cause.”
Padric sniffed. “I shall be quite content to let her bloody her blade all she wishes when and if the time comes. Until then I should rather do without her mouth.”
“Love it when people talk about me like I’m not in front of them,” said Lyssa to no one in particular. “Always a good show.”
At the far end of the room, Dalton spun on his heel and stopped to glower at them all. “Can we get back to the matter at hand?”
“No,” said Lyssa. She didn’t miss the twitch in the younger prince’s eye, but she carried on as if she had. “I want to know what I’m here for. I didn’t ride two days to hear the lot of you discuss the obvious.”
Ski calmly poured herself another cup of tea as, with an exasperated sigh that was lost on no one, her husband resumed his pacing behind her. “I had hoped to get some news from you.” She looked expectantly to her sister, who shrugged.
“Same as always,” she said, gesturing with her knife. “Demons come. Locals panic. Army swoops in to save the day and the people grovel at their feet.”
“How very insightful,” Padric said dryly to Ski. "Good thing you thought to bring her here."
Ski payed him no notice. continuing to look thoughtfully at Lyssa instead. “I thought perhaps you might be privy to something more specific. Something we might make use of. You are out in the field after all.”
“You know damn well I don’t go near the front lines of this mess,” Lyssa snapped.
Padric looked between them, growing nearly as agitated as his brother. “Again, I must ask, why-”
“Of course, lately, they say the Warrior beats the army there more often than not.” Lyssa slouched back into the cushions, idly buffing her blade again. If she had to sit through these stuffy talks, at least she could have the small recompense of making royalty squirm. “It’s like he knows when they’re coming and he’s found some way to be two places at once,” she went on. “Must piss Harmon off something fierce. Demons and soldiers don’t come cheap. S’pose he’ll love it too when you three out his right hand man,” she added, with a grin aimed at Dalton.
Dalton stopped to meet her look with another dark one of his own. “If we can muster enough evidence, and if we can cast doubt on Harmon in light of that.”
“We’ve a paper trail a mile long on the king’s right hand man,” said Padric. “From Hadbury to Norwold and a half dozen atrocities in between over the past decade. Why he even had a hand in the assassins that were after the younger Burnoire here a decade ago,” he added with a gesture Lyssa’s way.
Lyssa was on her feet, knife leveled before her before she could fully consider the impropriety of such a gesture. “You’ll leave my run in with Branimir’s goons out of this.”
Ski was at her side just as quickly, laying a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Yes, yes. Who hasn’t found themselves on the wrong side of Lyssa at one point or another?” she said, in that tone she had for delicate situations in the council room, the one that said she was on everyone’s side all at once. It would have been enough to turn Lyssa’s anger on her if her look and her touch weren’t silently pleading that she go along with the show.
“Of course,” said Lyssa. “Pissing nobles off is just what I do.” She settled back on the window seat, finally sheathing her knife.
Dalton, still determined to continue the discussion, approached the table as Ski returned to her seat. “I wish we had some way to connect this to the massacre at Kalas. I just know Harmon’s hands were dirty even then.”
“Tomorrow marks fifteen years,” said Ski, and she shot the chair beside her a none too subtle look and began pouring tea for Dalton. “We will begin to serve him in court with a list of his crimes. It may be small comfort, but it is a start.”
“You have to let some things go,” said Padric.
“And you can go eat demon shit,” Lyssa snapped.
Silence fell as the rest of the room turned to gape at her.
Lyssa shrugged. “Go eat demon shit, Your Highness?” she offered in mock contrition.
Dalton shook his head. “If it was Danelle that died that day, would you not feel the same as I do? Would you not want to do everything in your power to see justice?”
Padric was still staring at Lyssa, his mouth open in shock. He hastily tried to compose himself to meet Dalton’s question. “Am I not already doing everything in my power-”
“Your battle is hardly the same as ours.” It was a far cry from Lyssa’s outburst, but Ski’s cold, calm declaration still carried as much disdain.
“Oh?” said Padric, slowly.
“Think she’s referring to the nice shiny hat you’re looking to get out of this.” Lyssa smirked at Padric as he turned to her. “But you know,” she continued, hopping down from her perch. “You two will still have your vengeance. What’s it matter if he has any clue the hell we all went through or not? Can we move on now?”
Dalton was still standing, his hands curled around the back of the chair Ski had tried to get him to sit in. “What are you in such a hurry for?” has asked as she passed.
“Think I care for this night any more than you do?” Lyssa stopped. Their eyes locked. No more raising defense, just two people who knew what it meant to have been there that night. “Like to go deal with it my own way, if you don’t mind.”
“No,” Dalton said shakily, turning away. “I… I understand.”
Lyssa rolled her shoulders into an overly dramatic display of stretching her arms. “Well,” she announced, “if there’s no one you need me to kill…”
“I do not think it will come to that just yet,” Ski assured her.
Lyssa clapped her on the shoulder with a grin. “Then I’ll be going. Sure the lot of you can handle your paperwork yourselves. Not sure what you needed to call me here for if there’s no one to fight.”
“By all means,” said Padric, gesturing towards the door. “Don’t let us detain you.”
Lyssa cocked her head and fixed him with a patronizing look. “I’ll get to seeing how many of my barbarian friends I can round up for us, shall I? They won’t come cheap though.”
“It’s no object,” said Dalton. “Secrecy, however…”
“I want this as much as you do. I’m not about to ruin it so easily.”
“It’s just that subtlety has never been your strong suit.”
“Relax.” Lyssa waved him off. “Got it covered.”
She was nearly to the door when Ski caught her by the arm.
“Lyssa,” she said, as she turned to face her.
“Yeah?”
“Will you at least pay Mara a visit before you go?”
Lyssa tensed. “She know I’m here?”
Ski faltered. “I hadn’t thought to-” She looked to Dalton, who shook his head. “No.”
Lyssa slipped her arm from Ski’s grip and reached for the door. “Keep it that way.”