Sylvia heard the rising voices in the hallway and the fast movement of feet and the accompanying clang of armor long before Colwyn opened the door. With her dagger in hand standing from the desk where her letter to Margaid was instantly forgotten and unfinished, Sylvia faced the flushed wrinkles of a quick breathing Colwyn. ?My lady,? he gasped, ?a Sedleral here in the courtyard.?

?Blazing pyres,? Sylvia scowled and sheathed the dagger again on the belt resting low on her green, linen dressed hips. ?I hope they have not gutted the poor fellow upon sight,? she grumbled in a rush past Colwyn to the hallway, the guard at her door taking up his pace flanking her as did Colwyn.

The household of Seansloe manor was alive with gossip and still from their duties. People rushed to their places of safety as if they were being invaded, and Sylvia could not help but seethe at the tinge of panic on the air. It tasted like iron. The same taste that entered her mouth when she stood on the edge of a battlefield, sword in hand, and faced the pitched horror and chaos that was conflict between men only there by the wills of their lords or those that had the largest purse.

?You,? she pointed a moment to Cian and Aidan?s tutor who had just stepped from the room designated for their studies to see what the commotion was, ?get back in the room and continue with Aidan. Cian,? she called as she stopped at the door, her son looking up at her, wide eyed and shrinking in his seat. She softened her voice, ?come with me. We have a visitor.?

Cian scrambled from his chair and rushed to walk with his mother down the hallway and the remaining flights of stairs past the crashing waves of whispers and speculation of the household staff. Waves that surged higher when they joined the tableau of warband encircling a lone Sedleral in the wide, warm light of an afternoon lit courtyard.

Keefe made motion to the Sedlaral who rose and looked suspiciously at them, though moved as suggested towards the stone building that rose above the courtyard. ?Do you have a name?? Keefe asked in cautious offer of simple conversation.

?Vetras Miansa, son of Mian,? came the mild reply. A hand reached out to touch the stones of the hallway. Sylvia cringed inside to see in some mockery her reaching to Kieran in the walls. She did not speak of it, but continued to lead on up the first flight of stairs and second to the council chambers. It was a seclusionary room without windows and no fire.

A servant, no more than a girl with bright blonde hair and a dusting of freckles that showed even through the dusting of dirt, rushed at the heels of her liege when news had traveled to Sylvia?s intended destination. ?Excuse me, my lady, I will have this set in no time.? With hurried step, quick hand, and skillful application of flint, several of the wall sconces were lit as well as two of the table lamps. She bobbed a curtsey on her way out and darted down the hall as a doe flushed from cover.

?Please,? Sylvia turned to Vetras, ?sit and tell us more of this aid you seek.?

?You are she, the lady spoken to us by the songbird.? Vetras did not sit but looked at her in his own birdlike fashion. The blue tattoo like emblems of his skin in their delicate and ornate fashion painted him exotic, though she knew from the past they were of no kind of painting but from the inside of them.

?If by the songbird you mean Mistress Kiema Buie, I could be she.?

?She who lost her mate.?

Sylvia seethed, ?Mistress Buie speaks too much.?

If the boy?s skin could grow paler it was a surprising thing, but the inky blue flashed even brighter in comparison. ?Forgive me, mistress, I have come to ask aid, not to bring hurt.?

Keefe stepped up to claim Vetras?s attention. ?Again we ask what is this aid??

?To keep the soldiers from our home. They invade and try to chop down the trees. The trees are our people.? He looked from one to another with hope of their understanding.

?What?? Keefe spoke with the surprise and force Sylvia felt in her own mind.

?The trees, they are--?

?No,? Sylvia interrupted, ?we know what has happened to your people through the work of Mistress Buie. What soldiers? Who is attacking your people??

?Men in uniforms?Blue with grey stars in a row.?

Keefe looked to Sylvia, and though she knew, he spoke the name. ?Baron Galwyn?s men seem to be acting of their own accord with him in the tower of King Rhodri.?

Giving an agreeing nod, she eyed the young man and then spoke. ?Take your rest here. Let my council and I think on the best way to aid you. Tomorrow you will have your answer.?

?Baroness Sylvia has asked that Vetras Miansa, son of Mian stay the night until the request for aid can be fully considered.? Keefe spoke plain and did not rise to the goading glare he saw in his lover?s eyes. ?To accommodate his needs and that request, he will be staying in the barracks tonight.?

?I hold sway over this building, and the request was not agreed upon by me,? Lyana seethed.

If it had been any other point in time, Keefe would have found this bit of position wrangling arousing. Instead, he was irritated. ?If you think you should thwart the Baroness?s request, I will let you take it up with her. I am sure she would listen to your concerns before finding a suitable replacement to your position.?

Lyana laughed and instead of it breaking the tensions that kept tightening around the scene, it only gave it a full twist to tighten more. ?You do not speak for her, nor would she be likely to do so. Find another place for your Sedlaral.?

?I do not wish to cause trouble,? Vetras spoke with solemn voice. He did not show an ounce of fear, but his body was as taut as anyone?s nearby.

?You are a guest,? Keefe stressed the word. ?Captain Lyana, you will shelter him here and not only that, you personally will see to his safety.? She had made the rope noose, and he had dropped it over her head. ?And I do speak for Baroness Sylvia on this count.?

Lyana?s jaw clenched so hard Keefe was sure he could hear the grating of her teeth from this distance. He was going to have a cold bed again for awhile, but that was beside the point. ?Come with me, Sedlaral, I will see you have a room.?

When Vetras followed, Keefe turned and went straight back for the manor and the council chambers to find Sylvia. He would stir up the council on his way there. Seansloe Manor was burning with strain as palpable as standing on sun heated sand. It would not do to wait.

Her fingers folded close to her hand, just touching the warm metal of the wheel charm that dangled from the bracelet about her wrist. The warmth of a the lamp amulet was distinct against the skin of her neck, catching light as she passed beneath fluttering sconces and torches set to waiver in the breeze of evening.

The tension of the manor had not subsided, and whispers with their wary looks still speckled the halls and courtyard. Sylvia did not want to feel those concerns added to the weight on her own conscious. Some she knew had lost kin in the fray that had also taken Kieran from her. Of those, it was not a secret, a few wondered why she had been so forgiving to Ewan and his part in the slaughter. None would speak against her on it, but she knew their shared words. These had faded in the balm of time, but the arrival of the Sedlaral had torn away the healing to open wounds raw inside.

It was that truth that twisted in the center of her and caused her heart to squirm and wiggle out of place.

The length of her green gown flapped and rolled about her legs as her stride, more suitable for pants, took her to the barracks. Playing with strands of dark hair, the breeze cast it into her eyes, but she did not brush it away. Her focus was on the barracks doors, the torches tossing shadows and ripples of light along their tired planes of wood. No one was there to stop or greet her, and she hauled the door open with a firm tug.

An empty foyer was countered by the glow of low set lamps spilling into the hallway from a few open doors. A very disgruntled look guard snapped from his lean against a wall midway down the right side hall when she came around the corner. The door he stood by was closed though the bottom revealed a slender radiance to the use of the room inside.

?The Sedleral is inside?? Her voice was firm in the question to confirm her guess.

?Yes, Your Excellency,? he was less than happy with that idea, but restrained from more than a grumpy growl of his reply.

?Thank you,? and she reached to give a polite warning knock on the door.

A disturbed clunk precipitated the opening of the door. Vetras blinked, the surprise quite evident on his mystical blue lined face. ?I..my?hello?? It was evident he had no idea at this point what the proper thing was to say. No doubt Kiema had not covered the particular possibility of nobility coming to call upon them.

He was, at that moment, so very young. Sylvia felt the sympathy rise up against the distaste, and smiled. ?I would like to speak with you if you are willing.?

She heard the guard grunt, the grumbled words unintelligible, and she took a closer look at his face for dealing later. ?Yes, shall we walk?? The young man came out of his room.

?Yes, that would be fine, and,? she turned to the guard, ?no need for an escort. There are plenty out and about this night. Return to your other duties.? The guard bowed and went on his way.

?I do not understand still the need for a guard. I do not want to bring harm,? Vetras was open in his concern, too young to know the art of concealing his concerns or couching his words in ploys and traps.

?It is for your safety more than ours. You cannot be oblivious to the distrust about you. The memories are not so old.?

?Wounds are fresh for us all, mistress, and it is my life, as you say, in more danger than others.?

She smiled that he did understand, but it drew the question most keen to know into her thoughts. The words were hard to find, and she let the walk go on in silence as they exited the barracks into the courtyard and turned for the stairs leading up the walls of the outer bailey to the creneled walkways.

?You still wonder why I came here.? Sorrow salted his words.

The artless manner made the conversation both simpler and more complex. ?I do wonder why. Mistress Buie cannot be the only reason.?

"He cannot be serious," Sylvia looked from one frowning face of the council to another. None of the men there looked to be in a mood for a jest of such extraordinary poor taste. "Why not another of the baronies near by? Both Connor and Eadric have mutual interest and they are themselves, barons."

"My lady," Kalensson spoke with deep sympathy, "His Majesty was convinced by his council, and in some manner it makes sense, that Yransea's connections with The Circelus as well as that Rhydin, make it uniquely qualified to deal with the matter."

Sylvia snickered, "You mean my connections. I will not be prodded on one side to use the nature of Rhydin to the benefit of this country while on the other side condemned for the very same act." One finger pressed firm upon the wood of the table, "That is a trap."

"Surely," the King's emissary, Heathsson, simpered, "you are not suggesting the King wishes to trap you, Baroness."

Violet eyes sharpened. Heathsson was, as so many of Rhodri's favorites, cunning, attractive, and fit to wheedle himself into any situation. This one, however, had the distinct spoiled feeling similar to picking up moldy bread. His hair was grey, his clothes black, and he looked more like the steely scythe of an executioner.

The council chambers were quiet, breaths held still against the thinly disguised ploy. Candles set along the walls and lamps at both ends of the long table where they gathered, glowed cheerfully against the sudden stillness in the room. Keefe sat as if a sword had become his spine, and Kalensson puckered his lips. Sylvia could see him thinking of the best way to diffuse the situation. Ewan, though, sat as he always does. He revealed nothing and watched all.

A well practice smile, Sylvia adopted the same simpering tone, "Why of course not Lord Heathsson. But being so well acquainted, as you say, with the varying degrees of such a pointedly different land, it is imperative that we all understand what a delicate line we walk." A mug of ale would be desperately needed after this session. "Let me be certain I understand the command of His Majesty.

"He requires that until he decides upon a suitable candidate to take up the land tenure of the barony once held by Galwyn and his family, that the Barony of Yransea, with its four and a half year old baron and Lord Protectorate, become custodians of said land?" She had made a very firm point of her son's age.

Heathsson did not hesitate to answer. "Quite right, Your Excellency, and no better custodian could he find that has previous experience with the Sedlaral, a most pressing issue, as well as --"

Sylvia cut him off, "And if we refuse?"

It was apparent by the way Heathsson laughed, something rather cynical and assured all in one, that he found it a profoundly ridiculous question.

"And if we refuse?" Keefe asked again.

"I would not recommend it. You are, afterall, custodians of this land by the grace of the royal decree. Nothing more."

Sylvia looked to Keefe, who gave a subtle nod. Kalensson followed, as did Cravensson, and last Ewan, whose nod joined with one of his spine chilling smiles. At last Sylvia nodded back to Keefe, who as Lord Protectorate, had to say the words.

"We refuse."

Ewan was cautious to avoid meeting the Sedlaral named Vetras. In the confines of the manor grounds, it proved a difficulty, but not impossible. It was the sincere uncertainty of his reaction that kept him away. Not long ago he had slaughtered the boy's people to within a handful, and if it had not been for Kiema, Ewan would have killed him and the rest as well.

Avery proved to be a suitable distraction, and so his son would know of his father's homeland, some small tract of it, they spent their first day going out to the countryside for a night camping. It was, in Ewan's thoughts, educational as well. The making of a camp with just rudimentary supplies and the safety precautions as well. It was a boys' night together.

However, with the arrival of the emissary to hear the King's judgment of the matter, Ewan and Avery were spending that night indoors. Dinner was nearing, and still no suitable solution to the problem. With plans to begin afresh after the meal and children seen to bed, they parted.

The manor felt tilted to one side, though it was perception only. Ewan could feel the unsteady pulse of the grounds like a flighty deer, ears pricked for the first sign of danger. Avery was not in their rooms, but he suspected, and was found right, to be out in the yard where other fighters, men and women like his father, were to found. It also helped that the fighters, those that had trained with Ewan, knew sign and were able to understand the boy.

Avery was sitting on the top rail of a sparring ring, the guards with him sure of his safety by leaning near. A wild wave sent Ewan's way when Avery saw him, and Ewan smiled and waved in return. Springing from the rail, Avery scampered over and Ewan caught him up in a hug. "Being a good lad, then?"

The assured nod accompanied the signing, "I won two whole sticks off of them, see?" He held up the shortened sticks, broken and cast off ends of a sparring swords.

"What do you mean you won them?" Ewan let Avery down and gave the men a questioning look.

"No, harm done, Master Corinsson," Lieutenant Ivar grinned. "The boy caught us betting on a few of the matches. Figured it wouldn't be good to start him out in coin, but sticks wouldn't matter. He's got a right good eye for those with skill. Claimed two winners straight off."

It was hard not to laugh, but he was not about to call the soldiers on it. They had been meaning well. Instead he looked at Avery, "Glad as I am to know that you've not been losing our hearth and home, observing is all well and good, but no more wagering, my boy. Understood?"

The exasperated look, as if his father just could not possibly be more dull, joined in with a shrug and nod. Ewan shook his head, "Alright, then, let's see you have some dinner. Thank you," he cast to the men with a lift of his hand.

But as he turned he saw the Sedlaral exit the barracks. There was no mistaking the face or features. Ewan felt himself go cold and his son felt it too.

The hours dripped by as the four sat in the low lit quiet of the family common room. Children slumbered in the rooms next door as did their nanny. Every shift in a seat was noticed, heard, and drew the eye of others. Long past pacing, they turned the chairs into a close circle of weary conference. Ewan had just stirred the wheezing of the dying fire to crackling life and joined them again.

Sylvia rubbed at gritty eyes burning with their desire to stay closed. This could not wait. The once soft comfort of the dark green cotton gown, layered with an overskirt of brown, was now irritating to her skin with the long day of wear. A bath, perhaps to sink beneath the water for a moment or two, was hungered for in each tight muscle of her back and neck. At the various rubbing of necks and faces, she was not the only one who felt that way.

Only Ewan sat in the cold likeness of a statue, carved but to keep a space of the circle occupied. Sylvia had felt the edge upon him when he joined them after Avery was into bed as clearly as the edge of her dagger. The discussion had crashed upon any chance to ask him the reason, but now with that problem exhausted without conclusion, Sylvia?s tender throat voiced the concern. ?Ewan, what happened when we broke for dinner??

Emerald eyes rose from the floor to her. ?I spoke in brief with Vetras.?

The simple answer had such a web of complications stringing from it. Even the other men in the room, Kalensson and Keefe, broke away from their mind traps to the spark of this information. ?And?? Keefe prompted.

?He wants time for his people.?

?Not an unfair request.? Kalensson murmured.

Ewan and Sylvia shared that same questioning look. Centuries, millennia, so much that they had been a threat that came up from legend, the Sedlaral had time to adapt, to seek peace, and each time had sought upon conquering, consuming, and killing around them to regain what they believed was their land. Would such a history be inherent in the new race of Sedlaral born and not subsumed of another?

?Time,? Sylvia breathed out. ?And time that the King wants us to assure that we will not, not now in our state.?

Just past the midday meal, with the children playing in the gardens together under the supervision of Miriam and Colwyn, Ewan also went to seek the sun and fair weather of the outdoors, though his steps took him to the entrance doors and out into the courtyard, lazy with the happy smiles of people with full stomachs.

After checking on Avery out of habit rather than suspicion, Storm caught up with Ewan. Sighing with contentment of the meal and warmth provided provided by the sunlight, she eased her way beside him. "It is a lovely day, yes?" Her smile was bright and reached her eyes.

He looked back, one hand reaching back for hers. Unlike the streets of Rhydin, he had no worries about having one side of him occupied so pleasantly as with the touch of her. "It is at that. I was glad to see you eating well again. I hope the pears here were satisfactory." A teasing smile and a kiss to her cheek to placate any ruffled spirits for the teasing.

Her hand gave his a an affectionate squeeze, and she walked close to nudge him and enjoy the thrill of his proximity, "They were more than satisfactory. I might have to purchase several to return home with us." She tried to hide her laughter with a grin and failed.

"Oh, is that so?" He laughed and an arm stole around her waist, the other hand reaching across him to tickle at her sides. "A crate load I am certain of it." The laughter broke forth again, and Ewan cleared his throat as he realized some of the guards and warband were looking at him strangely. It was the look of seeing a two headed cow. Mesmerized, disbelieving, and entranced would best describe it. But when he gave them a frown, it was as if it broke their trance and they smiled and nodded. It was, in the best way possible, odd to see Ewan so openly loving.

She giggled and laughed, pretending to bat his hands away when she secretly enjoying his, ".. two crates!" She managed to breath out before the tickling and laughter ceased. She caught several of the confused looks, sliding her hand back into his. Finding it amusing, she leaned to kiss his cheek.

He gave her a smile, the touch of her lips to his cheek a soothing, calming feel. He leaned over to whisper close to her ear, "They might think you have bewitched me." His lips dropped to press a soft kiss just beneath the lobe. But as he drew away, his good humor slipped off him like water down the back of a duck. Out of instinct, he chance sides in their walk to place himself between her and the Sedlaral, Vetras, that had just exited the barracks.

She had to lean a bit closer to hear his whisper, and her retort was wiped away with his hidden kiss. She sense several things at once; the humor that had left her husband, the sudden change of his position, and a sense of something different. She carefully shifted to look behind his shoulder to see what had bothered him. It did not take more than once glance to know, and her body stiffened. "He is still here." The words were soft and flat, her hand unknowingly squeezed his.

The nod was the smallest, sharpest movement of his head. His words were plainspoken, empty of emotion whether good or bad. The fact was simple. "He is."

"I wish to speak with him." The feelings that she was receiving from the Sedleral made the fine hairs on her neck lift. It was one of the rare moments that she absently reached for her gift and found it missing.

Ewan frowned, not as he had with the guards before. This was a severe, questioning frown. "To what end?" He did not see the reason, nor understand any desire. Even he did not wish to speak with Vetras anymore than was necessary. He had said the few words and nothing more since that time. That the Sedlaral was watched by him or others was all that remained in Ewan's mind.

"Because while I have severe desires to make his existence miserable, I know I am not allowed to. So," she tried to gently urge them towards Vetras, "I might as well try to find a way to lessen my disliking." By the grip that still remained on his hand, it was obvious that she was no where near even feeling neutral.

He resisted the manipulation of their direction. "He is not as the others." He warned. "And I think my presence is as less a welcome one for him as his is to me, Storm." There was a warning creeping into his voice, as well as the hint of a request. "Be wary of digging into things that make no difference now."

He was right, of course. Whatever she said would not change what had happened. She did not defy her husband, and did not attempt another move towards the Sedlaral. Her face was nearly blank, with only hints of frustration at her lack of her gift. "His kind did not only harm those like you." Her words were whispered, and angry.

"His people have paid for their crimes," he murmured and tried to draw her away. A kiss to her temple. "Come away, beloved. Do not let him ruin our day."

Vetras had seen the couple. Seen the man of death with the woman of such beauty as to be light. He had wanted to speak to them, but there was no hiding the way Ewan drew the woman away. Vetras turned for the outer bailey to explore the woods beyond.

She closed her eyes briefly, the kiss soothing away her anger in the instant. He was hers now, and what had been done did not stop that. Her grip on his hand eased and she smiled, "Of course. Shall we go see what trouble our Avery has gotten into?" With that, she lead them back towards the garden.