Perhaps it had not been the wedding night most women dream of, but Shaye Dervla was not most women. Simply waking up at Liam's side had been enough for her, a long night spent in quiet safety, knowing there were no knives out there waiting to make certain she never woke again. At least, no knives that could reach her through attentive Wild Ones. When she woke, Liam was still heavily asleep, and though she could have waited to watch him wake up, she was still very much a soldier at heart. Idleness made her fidgety. So she left while he was still sleeping, a note left on the pillow where her head had rested to promise that she would return, in case he woke up while she was gone.
Unfortunately for Shaye, Liam had always been a heavy sleeper and the ale had only lulled him into a deeper sleep, sprawled on the bed and snoring, completely unaware for the moment that he was not alone. He was likely to wake with a pounding headache, but for now he looked completely relaxed and oblivious of the world around him.
She was not gone too long - long enough to take a run through the camp with a pair of soldiers who had also failed to drink themselves to sleep the night before, and to collect water and food from the cave that passed for kitchens. When she returned to the tent, the morning was mostly gone and the camp just beginning to rouse itself, and there was Liam, snoring like a storm in a teacup, and sweetly oblivious to the fact that he hadn't done his duty the night before. She laughed softly at the sight of him, sitting herself at the end of the bed once her note was discarded, eating an apple to pass the time.
If anyone but his bride were to see the rebel leader in his state of half-undress, sprawled like a boy haphazardly across the bed, his mouth half-open and snoring loudly, they might have either wondered if this really was the infamous rebel leader, or they might have laughed themselves silly. It was a rare occasion to catch the commander in such a compromising position and, thankfully, orders had been given not to disturb the couple until they were ready to emerge from their wedding tent in their own time.
There was one, however, who upon hearing the First Blade had emerged from the wedding tent decided to visit, hoping his timing was right and he wasn't interrupting any romantic interludes. He paused outside the tent to speak with a few of the nomads who stood in vigilant guard outside the tent, but by then, he was close enough to hear the rebel leader sawing wood inside the tent and wondering how Shaye could tolerate the noise. "Lady?" Conall whispered from just outside the tent. "It is Conall," he told her quietly, announcing himself but remaining outside.
Raising her eyes from Liam's limp, peaceful form, Shaye grinned, calling out to the visitor from where she sat. "Come in, Conall." She tossed the apple core onto a plate on the wooden bench, twisting to look over at the tent flap. "If you can stand the noise."
Conall pushed the tent flap aside to allow himself entry, taking a brief glance around, relieved to find Shaye dressed, but furrowing his brows at the sight of his friend oblivious to everything going on around him. He winced at the sound of Liam's snoring, which would have grated on the most patient of ears. "Well, at least he's alive," Conall admitted, though he might not be for long if he kept that racket up.
Her brow rose at this interesting first line. "Did you think I would slit his throat while he slept?" she asked mildly, aware that Conall was a long way from trusting her. But she understood. He didn't know her, and he didn't know her history. All he saw was the First Blade, and she knew most people did not lend much credence to the legend surrounding the Sword of Arlan.
Conall chuckled at her misunderstanding of his meaning, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot again. "No, of course not. Unless you wish to smother him to keep him quiet." He offered a smile, indicating - he hoped - that he had meant no insult by the remark, but had only been remarking on his friend's inebriated state.
She snorted with laughter, glancing at her husband with a grin. "Don't tempt me," she warned Conall in amusement, gesturing toward one of the chairs. "Sit down, at least. Unless you would prefer to stand."
"I will sit, thank you. It will be a while before he wakens," Conall informed her, unsure if she had ever seen Liam in this state before. It was rare, indeed, but Conall had been lucky enough to have witnessed it a time or two before. "I brought something for his head when he wakens," he said, reaching over to hand her a small pouch of herbs before taking a seat.
"Thank you," she chuckled, taking the little pouch. She opened it to sniff curiously before setting it down, turning her full attention to her husband's second and brother in arms. "I have a question. Why, of all the men and women at your command, did you set the Wild Ones to watch over us last night?"
Conall seemed a little uncomfortable, not so much with the question as with the prospect of having a conversation with a woman who, only one day earlier, he had openly distrusted. "There are several ways to answer that question," he replied, unsure which answer she wanted.
"How about you start with the truth?" Shaye suggested, giving him no quarter, no matter how uncomfortable he seemed. She'd given him the power of life and death over her, after all.
He shrugged his shoulders, wondering how much Liam had told her about him and the nomads thus far. Very little, he guessed, assuming the matter of their wedding took precedence over everything else. "If you had arrived a few weeks ago, they would not have been here. I was sent to meet with them and negotiate an alliance. Only one clan answered the summons, and the woman leading the contingent was Liayna."
He went on to explain what had happened after that, how Liayna had seemed to know him or at least know of him; how they'd been attacked by a patrol sent by Velasca to hunt him down and kill him; how he had been injured and Liayna had asked the Goddess for healing. "I do not know how to explain what happened, except that I have seen things, experienced things I cannot explain. You may call it sorcery if you wish, but I do not believe that is true. I have felt the touch of the Goddess. She has blessed me with this woman and her people have welcomed me as one of them. It is likely I am..." He paused, frowning a little as he had shared this information with very few. "It is likely I am of mixed blood."
As he spoke, Shaye absorbed everything he had to tell her, understanding very little of why he was telling her this until he reached that last part. She leaned forward, holding Conall's gaze. "I was a street rat before I was accepted for training," she told him quietly. "My mother was a whore - a very popular one - and my father was the biggest bastard in the Queen's Legions. I doubt you've ever heard of him; I killed him myself shortly after I became the Blade. I don't put much stock in the blood anyone comes from. People are people. Your Liayna and her Goddess have gifts and honors that ordinary Arctrans can never imagine, but it isn't a life suited to many. I've never spent much time with the clans., but mixed blood is no one's business but yours."
Unfortunately for Shaye, Liam had always been a heavy sleeper and the ale had only lulled him into a deeper sleep, sprawled on the bed and snoring, completely unaware for the moment that he was not alone. He was likely to wake with a pounding headache, but for now he looked completely relaxed and oblivious of the world around him.
She was not gone too long - long enough to take a run through the camp with a pair of soldiers who had also failed to drink themselves to sleep the night before, and to collect water and food from the cave that passed for kitchens. When she returned to the tent, the morning was mostly gone and the camp just beginning to rouse itself, and there was Liam, snoring like a storm in a teacup, and sweetly oblivious to the fact that he hadn't done his duty the night before. She laughed softly at the sight of him, sitting herself at the end of the bed once her note was discarded, eating an apple to pass the time.
If anyone but his bride were to see the rebel leader in his state of half-undress, sprawled like a boy haphazardly across the bed, his mouth half-open and snoring loudly, they might have either wondered if this really was the infamous rebel leader, or they might have laughed themselves silly. It was a rare occasion to catch the commander in such a compromising position and, thankfully, orders had been given not to disturb the couple until they were ready to emerge from their wedding tent in their own time.
There was one, however, who upon hearing the First Blade had emerged from the wedding tent decided to visit, hoping his timing was right and he wasn't interrupting any romantic interludes. He paused outside the tent to speak with a few of the nomads who stood in vigilant guard outside the tent, but by then, he was close enough to hear the rebel leader sawing wood inside the tent and wondering how Shaye could tolerate the noise. "Lady?" Conall whispered from just outside the tent. "It is Conall," he told her quietly, announcing himself but remaining outside.
Raising her eyes from Liam's limp, peaceful form, Shaye grinned, calling out to the visitor from where she sat. "Come in, Conall." She tossed the apple core onto a plate on the wooden bench, twisting to look over at the tent flap. "If you can stand the noise."
Conall pushed the tent flap aside to allow himself entry, taking a brief glance around, relieved to find Shaye dressed, but furrowing his brows at the sight of his friend oblivious to everything going on around him. He winced at the sound of Liam's snoring, which would have grated on the most patient of ears. "Well, at least he's alive," Conall admitted, though he might not be for long if he kept that racket up.
Her brow rose at this interesting first line. "Did you think I would slit his throat while he slept?" she asked mildly, aware that Conall was a long way from trusting her. But she understood. He didn't know her, and he didn't know her history. All he saw was the First Blade, and she knew most people did not lend much credence to the legend surrounding the Sword of Arlan.
Conall chuckled at her misunderstanding of his meaning, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot again. "No, of course not. Unless you wish to smother him to keep him quiet." He offered a smile, indicating - he hoped - that he had meant no insult by the remark, but had only been remarking on his friend's inebriated state.
She snorted with laughter, glancing at her husband with a grin. "Don't tempt me," she warned Conall in amusement, gesturing toward one of the chairs. "Sit down, at least. Unless you would prefer to stand."
"I will sit, thank you. It will be a while before he wakens," Conall informed her, unsure if she had ever seen Liam in this state before. It was rare, indeed, but Conall had been lucky enough to have witnessed it a time or two before. "I brought something for his head when he wakens," he said, reaching over to hand her a small pouch of herbs before taking a seat.
"Thank you," she chuckled, taking the little pouch. She opened it to sniff curiously before setting it down, turning her full attention to her husband's second and brother in arms. "I have a question. Why, of all the men and women at your command, did you set the Wild Ones to watch over us last night?"
Conall seemed a little uncomfortable, not so much with the question as with the prospect of having a conversation with a woman who, only one day earlier, he had openly distrusted. "There are several ways to answer that question," he replied, unsure which answer she wanted.
"How about you start with the truth?" Shaye suggested, giving him no quarter, no matter how uncomfortable he seemed. She'd given him the power of life and death over her, after all.
He shrugged his shoulders, wondering how much Liam had told her about him and the nomads thus far. Very little, he guessed, assuming the matter of their wedding took precedence over everything else. "If you had arrived a few weeks ago, they would not have been here. I was sent to meet with them and negotiate an alliance. Only one clan answered the summons, and the woman leading the contingent was Liayna."
He went on to explain what had happened after that, how Liayna had seemed to know him or at least know of him; how they'd been attacked by a patrol sent by Velasca to hunt him down and kill him; how he had been injured and Liayna had asked the Goddess for healing. "I do not know how to explain what happened, except that I have seen things, experienced things I cannot explain. You may call it sorcery if you wish, but I do not believe that is true. I have felt the touch of the Goddess. She has blessed me with this woman and her people have welcomed me as one of them. It is likely I am..." He paused, frowning a little as he had shared this information with very few. "It is likely I am of mixed blood."
As he spoke, Shaye absorbed everything he had to tell her, understanding very little of why he was telling her this until he reached that last part. She leaned forward, holding Conall's gaze. "I was a street rat before I was accepted for training," she told him quietly. "My mother was a whore - a very popular one - and my father was the biggest bastard in the Queen's Legions. I doubt you've ever heard of him; I killed him myself shortly after I became the Blade. I don't put much stock in the blood anyone comes from. People are people. Your Liayna and her Goddess have gifts and honors that ordinary Arctrans can never imagine, but it isn't a life suited to many. I've never spent much time with the clans., but mixed blood is no one's business but yours."