Kiema felt the weight of her message hang about her like the anchor dropped into the depths of the harbor. It droned a haunting tune in her mind, and she dwelled in it during the voyage to Yransea. When she disembarked from the ship, letter from Master Rhys in her satchel, the Changling wasted no time in pressing her steps on toward the Merchant Guild Hall, there in hopes of finding Master Gaerwyn Caisson.

The Escape was still in need of repairs, but those that made them better able to withstand the winter seas had been completed in Rhydin. Now it was minor replacements, additions to materials used up in its limping return, that the vessel required. It was that and permission to sail once more after the loss of crew. The crew went about their duties with the hallmark of guilt creasing their brows. She had felt their iron wills dinted by the loss of comrade and passenger alike. It tolled like mourning bells when she opened her gift to them, but she did not alter their feelings. They were pure and part of the healing process. To change it was to steal them of what honor they had for the risks of their life.

The Merchant Guild Hall was busy that afternoon, but the clerk at the tidy desk in the front hall assured her that Master Caisson was in and available to see her. Delving into her calming center, her eyes filtered from brown to twilight sky blue. She knocked upon the office door and upon the answering call for her to enter, passed inside to see the golden brown head bent over work.

Gaerwyn glanced up to check who had come and then looked up more slowly when it registered she was there. ?Mistress Buie, you are, if you?ll pardon the bold truth, the last person I ever expected to see.?

It was hard not to smile at such honesty. ?Yes, no doubt that is true. I wish it were on a better errand than the one set upon me. I will not delay it for hope it will vanish. Only fairy tales have such conveniences.? She drew out the letter and handed it to the man whose astonishment had given way to justified concern.

The Master Merchant did not hesitate in cracking the seal and read over the letter in haste. His shoulders slumped and one hand rubbed at the furrow of his forehead. Squaring his shoulders, he looked to her again. ?Thank you, Mistress Buie. It seems I have a journey ahead of me. The families should be told first, and those reside in Rhydin. The captain is in harbor, I trust, and I will speak with him as well.?

It was no more or less than she expected. Daring to use some of her own energy to open her gift, she found an echo of the ship crew?s remorse as well as the haunting drone of a dreaded task to bear. The man felt true sorrow for the two lost men but the sorrow was centered, focused, and given into purpose. He did not seem to dwell in it. ?And the Baroness??

A flare of panic like a bright spark from flint shone bright in the man and then dissolved away. ?I will speak with her upon my return.?

?Or I could.? Kiema offered without reluctance. ?She may even expect it in seeing me. It seems I am always in the vicinity when someone close to her is taken away.?

Gaerwyn quirked one brow. He stood from his desk as he considered her and shook his head. ?I would not consider that a badge of honor, Mistress. If you are a harbinger of bad tidings, then I may wish to not see you darken my doorstep again.?

Kiema laughed which seemed to stun the man. ?Bad tidings, good tidings, I am the messenger of many things and often not what one is willing to hear, but must hear all in all. It is better to speak of things than strike them back into hedges of mystery and half truths.?

Drawing on his coat, he opened the door of his office for her and began to share part of the walk. For some time they walked in silence until Gaerwyn bowed at their place of parting. ?I wish you well on your task, and I am off to prepare for mine. A trip to Rhydin is never one of my favorite things to do, but in this matter I will not shirk my responsibility. I thank you for your pains in delivering the message, Mistress Buie.?

?Swift winds bring you back to your loved ones, Master Caisson. We both have sorrow to carry to others, and a task unpleasant at any hour. Good day.?

Sylvia felt torn in twain, one part that immediately understood and another that was unwilling to hear. The first ruled over the second, squashing it into a knife that cut into her doubt. There was no questioning, no pleading ? nothing but the emptiness of her heart spilled free of hope and love from its new wound. She felt inside out and upside down, moving out of necessity. A gown was chosen blindly and slowly folded for the trunk. Its detailed beading and embroidery began to blur as her eyes burned.

The flood of sorrow, anger, and doubt hit Kiema like a wave. The more the baroness fought to keep it in, the higher it surged and tried to break free. Breathing in slow and deep to keep her own self separate from the swirl of the feelings beating out towards her while they had no physical release. ?Sylvia, you must let it out.?

With a whack and slam, the trunk lid was closed. Some of the currents of grief and resentment faded, but only a little. Sylvia was in a mix of emotions. ?Why??

The word held five thousand questions in it. ?I do not know.? It was the truth of it. Kiema did not know why Sylvia was forced to face loss after loss, nor how many times she would be able to open her heart again, battered thing it was, after such abuse.

Throat cleared, tears in check, pain driven down into the dark forge of her soul where she shaped and sharpened it into purpose and drew herself away from its source into its use. Drawing on the training of her position, she faced Kiema as baroness who had lost a subject, not a woman who had lost yet another for whom she cared so deeply. ?Has his family been informed??

Kiema matched her, messenger now to the noble. ?Master Caisson was to see to that task and the changes of the warehouse. Mistress Smith knows, but as you are well aware, she is without her husband at this hour.?

An understanding nod and a trickled out sigh. ?Such difficult news to bare at any hour, but especially?? her hand gave a mild wave.

A wave that was fully understood. ?I am to go on to Baroness Marghaid.? Drawing the baroness?s attention to another close to her that was having a difficult pregnancy in troubling circumstances.

?Yes,? Sylvia was still finding it hard to speak. Her throat felt tight and gritty. She needed some water, but she was not yet done with the burden of the news. ?I will send a letter, failing any other ability to visit, to Mistress Smith to condole with her, though,? she smirked, touching the lamp amulet at her neck, ?those Fraisers are strong willed people. I would not wonder that she has defiance of the news burning in her.?

?More so than you?? Kiema prodded.

Like a tiger drawing down to wait for prey, quiet and still in the dark, Sylvia turned sharp eyes on to Kiema. ?I should never have loved him. Every man I love is taken from me too soon. My father, my husband. I condemned him the moment I opened my heart. No more.?

?Sylvia,? Kiema pleaded, soft notes of calm she tried to push out towards her but was rebuffed with a stunning ferocity that worried her for many reasons. That her own skills were waning and that the baroness felt so strongly.

?Thank you for the information. I have letters to write.? She went to her desk in the family common room, gave her son a smile ? a distant smile ? and sat to write.

Kiema was dismissed completely, and having done her ill fated task, went to prepare for her own journey to face more sorrow, anger, and doubt.