Sibling Rivalry

Marie

I felt both guilt and relief as Arianna's eyes filled with tears and she fell into step right beside the litter carrying Derrick. How could I have thought it would be her? Of course not. No. But then which of- no! None of the siblings would do this, they weren't cold hearted or ruthless. They were just children. It had to be something it ate, it had to be... except I couldn't make myself believe that. It would be an injustice to the perfect memory of Derrick. No, that wasn't fair on him. I felt my own tears pushing forward and looked down, tracing the beautiful patterns of the carpet. It really was a beautiful place to grow up and a beautiful place to die.

As the prince was set down on the bed in the guest room, I found my sense of purpose shrivel into nothing. His sisters crowded around, Sandor's attention was distracted by one of his men and I found myself at a loss for what to do. Do. Was there anything I could do? The notion was a foolish one, of course not. I wanted to throw myself over his body and cry my eyes out. But that wouldn't be propper of your station, would it? an inward voice snorted. Well I could cry. Just try and stop me from crying. I pulled out a plain handkerchief and sniffed into that, drying my eyes and feeling stupid.

Okay so crying wasn't something I could do either. That was for ladies and fainting maids and I'd never been very good at the fainting business. So I dried my eyes one more time and stowed the handkerchief away. I needed a purpose? Poo to that! I had one and it was finding out what was going on here. At the very idea of that, my every nerve fought to explain how it wasn't my place but my heart was made up and my mind said: well. Maybe it isn't my place but it's Sandor's and nobody will dispute that my place is will with royal children so I can just go ahead and follow him. It was certainly a more savoury idea than tailing any of the other siblings. The sisters. It was harsh to remind myself that there was no longer a second brother so the word siblings might as well be ripped from my vocabulary. It would have no further use.

Sandor came back into the room looking, well looking like he was going to kill someone. Maybe he already had. I jumped at the thought in my head, ashamed and angry. No. This was his reaction to the death, this was... I had to start trusting someone. Sandor had been closer to Derrick than any of the others.

And he was looking at me. I wondered what he'd seen in my face and hoped it wasn't any level of accusation and if that was there? It wasn't against him. Not Sandor. I forced a weak smile and walked over.

"If it's okay with you I... I'd like to return to my room now." It was strange to ask permission for such a thing but I felt that with the day's events, with... well. I didn't know why I did it but I certainly couldn't just leave.

Arianna-

At last, she sat up and looked around. Rosalie and Casilda were watching her though she couldn't have named the expression with which they were doing so. Marie was speaking quietly to Sandor and as Arianna watched, she ducked her head and began to leave the room. What was the maid doing anyway, eavesdropping on private family affairs? Arianna would deal with her later. For now, she had been aware of another voice in the room, talking to Sandor, but before she asked who that was, she had other business to attend to.

"Rosie?" She beckoned her sister outside the room. Rosalie went over cautiously, as if she was walking on knives.

"Rosie, I need to know who you hired," Arianna said darkly.

Rosalie looked up and down the corridor, astonished. "What? Haven't they done a good enough job?"

"I just need to talk to them." She tried hard to stop her voice from trembling, aware of how red her eyes must be, how dishevelled her hair. And downstairs a whole assembly was waiting.

"Well then, you're out of luck, because I don't know." Rosie gave a vicious sort of grin, an Ari sort of grin.

"You don't know? You don't know who killed our brother?"

She shook her head. "All I know is that I asked someone else to do it for me."

"Who?" She grabbed Rosalie's shoulders and shook her. "Who?"

"I don't even know his name. Friend of Sandor's. That's all I know."

Sandor
What was Garis on about? If anything, now he felt more like throttling the assassin than anyone else. Especially since Ari’s tears seemed at least heartfelt, and had had the effect to dissipate some more of his anger. She couldn't have faked it this well, could she? And yet it was so at odds to what he'd been expecting—though what exactly he'd been expecting, he couldn't have said; triumph, blankness, shock? Stupid. Nothing ever was this easy.

And yet, and yet. He could have sworn she'd been behind it, but seeing her cry chipped at that foundation he'd thought solid. He wasn't good at this, had always preferred fighting tangible enemies. Not doubts, not suspicion.

Sandor hated this—the whole situation, having to doubt of everyone’s intentions, of having to fight them, of watching them kill each other when he could just stand there and take ineffectual measures.

Being so bloody useless.

Garis may have been right. He needed a drink. Or to beat something—someone—up.

Better than breaking down before everyone when he still had a chance to fix things. Or—who was he kidding? At least deal with the collateral and make sure things didn’t all go to hell.

Especially since they weren’t the only ones affected… He stole a glance at Marie, tried to catch at the emotions flying over it, and failed. He’d never been the best at this either.

“Of course”, he told her when she approached him, puzzled at her even feeling as though she had to ask. Especially that she’d asked him, of all the assembled, when all three of his sisters were there.

“Marie. Just… tell me if there’s anything wrong, alright?” It felt like all he could do, but it was something. And she was close to the others, too. Maybe something might come out of it, however much he doubted anyone would slip this far into this game.

He watched her leave, then looked at the girls. Ari and Rosie were talking in low tones, Casie looking desolate… nothing he could do there. He'd only ever really gotten along well with Derrick, and Casie sometimes. Brotherly wrestling and scuffles to work out feelings he could deal with. Tears? Not so much.

He sighed, and quietly took his leave. Maybe he should get his hand looked at. As well as deal with the people still undoubtedly waiting in the assembly, and station more guards.

And see Garis.

Of course, the cursed man had disappeared, and so things had to go on, more or less as usual, for the rest of the day, while he was near-useless from grief and frustration. He dealt with what absolutely could not wait in a haze, then collapsed at his desk.

Which was why the late afternoon found him stalking down the main street to the Dancer, hand summarily bandaged and in a bad enough mood that he didn’t even bother with the usual platitudes when shouldering his way past haughty nobles out for a lark or lordlings on a stroll.

Good thing Garis had been waiting for him, because Sandor would not have taken well to waiting. The moment he stepped in sight of the tavern’s door the younger man had almost magically appeared at his side, and shepherded him into the building.

“Garis.” That might have been a growl.

The man held his hands up placatingly. “Drink first. Talk later.”

Glaring did nothing. Garis had grown immune to it somewhere along the way, and Sandor knew there was no arguing with him when he was like that. Sullenly, he followed along, and promptly found himself seated at their usual table, glass and bottle firmly set in front of him.

Funny how his cup never seemed to get empty. He'd turn his head and when he looked down again it'd be full to the brim. There was only so long he could wait, though.

“Garis. Now.”

An evaluating look. Probably to estimate how drunk he was right now. “Well…”

Garis

"Derrick isn't dead."

A blank look from Sandor. The older man looked down at his cup, full again, then back up at the assassin. "Come again?"

"Derrick isn't dead," Garis repeated more slowly, carefully enunciating each syllable. Maybe he'd waited a little too long and the man was a touch too drunk...

Another blank look from Sandor, another look at his cup, and a muttered, "I'm either too drunk or not drunk enough."

Well, if the man was sober enough to be doubting his own sobriety, then he was definitely, "Not drunk enough, I'd say." Garis pushed the bottle over.

Sandor eyed the assassin and the bottle before pushing the bottle back. "Explain."

Garis sighed. Definitely not drunk enough, and not likely to get any drunker. Now, how to phrase things so he wouldn't get punched...

"Arianna hired an assassin to take out Derrick."

"Why that--!"

"Sandor!" Garis glared at the other man, pretending to be unhappy with the interruption. "After I'm finished. In any case, Derrick hired me to fake his death. So I did. He should be waking up three days from now, but I'll need your help to sneak him out of the crypt and--"

"Garis."

There was something in Sandor's tone that made Garis stop dead mid-sentence and tense. Feeling anxiety wriggle around in the pit of his stomach, the assassin looked up at his commander...

((Short post, for once. XD))

Sandor
If asked about it, Sandor would have said the punch went off on its own, with no conscious decision on his part. The facts were: his composure had worn too thin, he’d just had Arianna confirmed as the one to call the hit, and Garis was being a touch too relaxed talking about it.

Throwing the hit had seemed like the thing to do. If only to shut him up. He’d given fair warning, and the assassin was fast enough to duck out of the way, possibly aided in that by Sandor's alcohol-impaired aim. He was still coordinated enough to lean in and reach for the front of his shirt, though, fingers twisting at the base of his collar to yank him closer.

“I thought I just hear you say you faked Derrick’s death.” His voice was low enough not be overheard, but he knew it would get to Garis just fine. And would convey his very distinct lack of amusement at those news. “And did not warn me before you did it.”

The shifty look the man was sporting was slightly reminiscent to that of a cornered fox. It might have been amusing, were Sandor in a laughing mood. He wasn’t.

“Care to explain yourself, Garis?”

“I didn’t have the time to. And a sincere reaction from you does a lot to stave off any suspicions, don’t you think?”

Sandor narrowed his eyes. Garis and his smart ideas.

The second punch didn’t miss, given how close he was holding the younger man. The third one might have—by that time Garis had somehow extirpated himself away from his grip and skipping back out of reach.

“Get back here!” Some of the other patrons were looking their way. Right now, he didn’t quite care. He needed a fight, and Garis had just volunteered himself.

“Not until you calm down.”

“Garis. Here.”

The assassin shook his head, carefully keeping an eye on him. Sandor lunged.

Things got a little confused after that.

Marie

With unsteady fingers, the young woman prepared herself for bed, reaching first for the broach on her dress and fumbling it open. As she did so, she pricked her finger on the point and let out a soft yelp. Placing the little ornament on a side table, Marie stared at her finger, but not at the skin, no. It was the single bead of blood she watched with apprehension.

"Stupid, stupid," Marie mumbled tiredly. She didn't know who or what she was referring to but struggled out of her dress and into a cotton night gown. It was a cool night and for a long time she sat shivering on the edge of her bed, avoiding the thoughts she had carried around for most of the day.

Laying back against her pillows, Marie tried to be rational about it all. She would just conduct an inquiry. She'd ask questions like all the smart detectives did and get down to the bottom of the problem. It all sounded very impossible though: wherever was she to start with a task like that and how was she to do it without raising suspicion or causing further murders to happen. Murder. Had it really been a murder?

Yes. That word sent chills down her spine but to prove she was not afraid, Marie spoke it out loud: "This is murder." Her voice sounded small and desolate and it was no match for the silence of her room.

In the morning, Marie promised herself. She would decide what to do in the morning but for now, she just had to sleep, she had to close her eyes and rest. Except it wasn't happening. Every time she allowed her lids to drop, she was startled away again by the visions that played out before her eyes. Derrick dead. Sandor trying to save Derrick, failing. Sandor thrusting a sword through Derrick's chest, then Arianna poisoning Derrick with wine, clinking cups, merry smiles and Sandor bursting in too late. Red spilled across the carpet, red on their clothes.

It was all too much for Marie and she cried softly into her pillow. Oh please. Let it all be just a dream.

Arianna-

She didn't really remember falling asleep that night. There were blurred "goodnights" at the assembly and a fall onto her bed without unlacing the dress or undressing, more tears and eventually, a brittle and uneasy sleep that she woke from without feeling as if she had rested at all.

The morning greeted her in the same position she had fallen on the bed and she sat up, blurry eyed and squinting for a moment, before she realised what had happened, groaned and fell back down. Derrick. Dead. There would have to be funeral arrangements, and questions would be asked and now the crown hung in the lurch.

With astonishing clarity, she decided to go and visit her mother.

With this purpose in mind, there were several things she needed to do first. She expertly stripped off the red, slightly bloodstained dress and changed her shift, went to the washbasin and washed her face, then rang the bell. A maid put her head round the door.

"Could you get Marie for me, please?" she asked sweetly. She might as well kill two birds with the one stone.

Marie arrived a few minutes later, curtseying.

"Marie," Arianna said curtly. "I was wondering if you would lace me and dress my hair this morning."

"Certainly, Your Highness. Which dress?"

"Black, what else?" Arianna said sadly, inspecting her hands.

She waited until Marie had finished with the back of the dress and her hands had moved to Arianna's hair before she said, "I noticed your presence last night, Marie."

The hands paused. "Yes. I am sorry about Derrick's passing. I know that it is... difficult."

"Indeed." The hands continued. "As much as I appreciate the concern, Marie, I do not think that it is quite your place."

There was silence, only the swish as the brush went through Arianna's gold locks. "No, Your Highness. I overstepped."

She put Arianna's hair in one plait down her back, the sign of a mourning princess. Arianna's mind was whirring. There was so much to do, and Derrick's death didn't stop that. For one, she had not given up on her resolution to meet the assassin. And Rosalie had said it was a friend of Sandor's. If only...

"I will take my leave then." The maid curtseyed and began to leave.

"But, Marie?" Arianna called. The other girl paused.

"Yes?"

"Just because I would rather you were not there last night does not mean that you are totally useless. Do you know the bastard, Sandor?"

Marie did well to hide her surprise. "Of course, Your Highness."

"Follow him, or find someone you trust to follow him. There is someone in his acquaintance whom I would very much like to meet myself. But I would be discreet about it. Do you understand?"

Another moment of quiet. "...Yes. Yes, I suppose so."

"Good."

She would meet that assassin, and be ready for him when she did. But for now... well, she had a dead brother, and a dying mother waiting on her upstairs.

"Dismissed."

I had Stell okay me slipping in! Profile, then post (As I kinda need the current situation to slip in...)

Profile:

Name: Vivian

Age: About 21. She's unsure about her age because of how long she's been on her own.

Appearance: She's got dark brown hair that falls to middle of her chest, framing a face that's got a rounded chin and high cheekbones. Her eyes are dark brown and she's often complimented on them. Her figure is just curvy enough to be alluring, yet it's lean from the sneaking around she does.

Personality: She loves being in new situations, especially when there's danger involved. She loves leading men on, especially if it means she can get favours to cash in later. Playfully cunning, she loves a challenge and can be two-faced. Smiling to somebody's face before sneaking up behind them and cutting their throat. She can be appear foolish and nothing more than an airhead courtesan, but she uses this appearance to her advantage. Underneath it all, she's cold and has a network of people she's cashed in on. She's excited to be at the palace and form a new network to make her way up to the top. Getting on her good side usually requires a sacrifice on the other's part.

History: She grew up in a traveling band of thieves, where she learned to trust very few. She also learned the skills of sneaking around, petty thievery, and daggers. She also learned how to dance and how to swallow swords, to provide entertainment either on the road or in small courts. At fifteen, bored with what had become routine, she managed to slip into a lesser nobel's home and find work as an assassin. Having found the thrill of hunting a good fit, she began working her way up in the ranks of nobility. She did, however, avoid the palace as she climbed up the ranks as an escort. She figured that the palace had enough assassins with already made connections. But, with things so unsettled, she figures there's room for another assassin to slip in and make new connections. (Ie- She is close to no sibling)

Other: Part temptress, part killer, she's more likely to be smiling at a situation. Either she finds it genuinely amusing, or somebody just walked right into her trap. She is, however, mostly illiterate. A few of the people who hired her taught her basic letters, but she never really had the patience for book learning. She's often sneaky, using poison instead of knives, because of how hard it is to hide weapons while wearing a dress.

*

Post

There are advantages to following nobles around... Vivian thought with a small smirk. The fight in the Dancer was beginning to escalate, the shorter man returning the taller man's blows. Hidden in a shadow near the men, she'd caught a few snatches of conversation, all dealing with the apparent... situation in the palace. The queen had changed order of succession. Vivian expected blood to spill.

She took a step sideways as the fight intensified, more men joining. Some were trying to break up the fight, others wanting to throw punches of their own. The air had been thick with tension since she arrived a few days ago. Vivian wasn't surprised to see people so eager to release it.

Ducking to avoid getting hit in the head with something, she slinked up the stairs to her room on the top floor. She'd need her sleep tonight, if her idea for tomorrow was going to work.

*

When it wasn't quite mid-morning, Vivian slinked into the palace. It was time to find one of the sisters lurking under the roof. The noble's quarters shouldn't be too hard to find. If she couldn't, then there was always dinner. The eldest, Arianna, she'd be a good person to find.

[I left it open, so anybody could find her. Chances are she won't show herself unless she's pretty positive you're one of the sisters. And, considering she likes to get what she wants, she might toy with you.]

Garis

The assassin cursed his luck, timing, and lack of stature as the furiously drunken Sandor trapped him in the corner and began raining down blows. The larger man wasn't holding back, and it was all Garis could do to deflect the punches to less vital areas than his ribs and face and counter with an occasional hit, much less dodge in the cramped space. He had never been good at upfront fighting, always preferring sneak attacks and back stabbings.

The blow to his side sent Garis doubling over and wheezing for breath as he heard his ribs crack. An instant later, a vicious uppercut had the assassin seeing stars and reeling back into the corner, where he limply slid down the wall. The assassin was in too much pain and far too disoriented to defend himself even as the hits kept coming.

A punch to his abdomen sent Garis into a coughing fit, and he hacked up blood, only vaguely aware of the sounds of a brawl around him. He dimly hoped the blood was from him biting his cheek and nothing more serious, even as he kicked weakly at Sandor's knee.

The hit connected, and the enraged man toppled down, only to be piled upon by various tavern-goers. One of the tacklers disentangled himself from the heap and approached Garis who was still coughing weakly as he curled up upon himself. The man knelt down next to Garis, and the assassin recognized him as Fenris, a drinking buddy and guard at the castle.

"Tom's gone to find a healer, Garis," said Fenris as he reached out to help the assassin sit upright and lean against the wall. "Hold on."

Garis managed a groan in acknowledgement. Now that the blows had stopped raining, the pain was beginning to register, and it took all the assassin's self control and training to not start bawling like a babe. Instead, he began assessing the damage: cracked ribs, massive bruises all over his arms and torso, a possibly broken nose, and a massive pair of black eyes... At least he hadn't lost any teeth, and, aside from maybe the nose, it seemed like he hadn't broken anything either. He felt quite battered, but at least he'd heal well enough, and that counted for a lot.

Not enough to stop him making a mental note to charge Sandor extra for all future services, though. Friendship only went so far, after all. Speaking of which, Sandor's battle cries faded out to gaspings for breath as he was finally subdued when several tavern patrons sat on him.

Garis looked at his friend through quickly swelling lids as the assassin thanked his lucky stars he was generally well-liked among his fellows. Sandor had been much angrier than he had expected, and if the others hadn't interfered... Garis would have to be sure to give all his saviors a proper reward, even though it wounded him to give out so much of his jealously hoarded money. But a life saved was a life saved, and he could always make more. Besides, this drunken rage and almost beating to death of a friend was something he could hold over Sandor's head for years, and that alone made the whole thing worthwhile.

If only he didn't hurt so much.

Sandor
Waking up was not a pleasant experience. The sunlight filtering through the curtains fed a splitting headache and made opening his eyes one of the most unpleasing thing he’d ever had to do. He knew this feeling.

Hangover. Great. He rolled over, and swore as the movement seemed to wake up bruises he didn’t remember having the previous day. He frowned, tried to think back. He wasn’t quite clear on the details of the previous night yet. What on earth…?

Oh, sh—

Derrick. Garis. Garis.

He buried his face in his hands, forced himself to ignore the cuts and bruises on his knuckles. Oh, he’d screwed up. There were no words for how much he’d screwed up, though he could think of a few insults that got close.

How had he even gotten back home? After the first few minutes of the fight—however onesided it had been, and he winced at the memory—it had all been a mess of limbs and exchanged hits, but he remembered enough to imagine the damage he’d done to his friend.

A part of him rose up at the thought, reminded him he’d had his reasons. Granted, but his reaction had been completely out of proportions. On the other hand, he’d killed Derrick, or come pretty close to it. Garis should have been expecting it, really.

Still.

He sighed, pinched at the bridge of his nose in a vain effort to stave off the murderous headache. Deserved it or not, he needed to apologize. Possibly beg for forgiveness, knowing Garis. If he hadn’t been lying about Garis, there was still a chance to fix this whole mess, and Sandor was more than willing to swallow his pride if it might bring his brother back.

Had to find Garis, though, and hope the man wouldn’t refuse to see him entirely, as he was more than entitled to. Sandor sighed again, slowly getting to his feet and managing to dress and more or less fix himself so he didn’t look quite half-dead, though there was little hiding the bruises on his face and hands.

Alright. He took a breath, and stepped out of his quarters. Time to get things right, for once.

**I'm going away for 9 days now. Feel free to control Derrick as you wish.**

Arianna-

"Well, Mother. What do you propose be done now that Derrick is..." She couldn't finish her sentence. She sat back, letting the sun shine through onto the bed, striping her mother's deathly pale face with gold. Her hair, once as thick and lustrous as Arianna's own, lay limp and greasy, her nightgown was dirty. The room was quiet and dusty and not one of the tenders had given a second thought when Arianna asked them to leave. She pulled at a strand of hair nervously, watching her mother breathe raspingly.

She wondered if she could handle losing two family members in the same week. Arianna had always thought she would be good at this, that the deaths would not affect her. Unfortunately, she had proven herself wrong last night. She cursed herself more than anything- for bringing it on herself, yes, but also for not being as strong as she always thought she had been.

"I'll see you later, Mother," she said quietly, standing up and kissing the older woman's forehead. She did not react. With a sigh, Arianna turned and left.

It was perhaps time for a ride- funeral arrangements had been put on hold and besides, she had people to do that sort of thing for her. Instead, there was a slow, trickling queue of people to take vigil at Derrick's bedside. She wondered what Derrick himself would have said at the idea.

Looking down the corridor to where he was being kept, she nearly bumped into someone. The young woman looked up at her smiling. "Your Highness," she said, bobbing a curtsey.

Arianna really hated bobbers. She liked full, respectful bows. Bobbing just seemed so... casual. "And who are you?"

Vivian

Vivian gave a small smile, beckoning the princess closer. "Somebody who might be of use to you."

Princess Arianna leaned back out. "In.. in what way?"

"I'm sure you'd want Derrick's killer brought to justice. Or, your own person to be protected," Vivian said quietly. "I can help."

"How?" The princess seemed thoroughly confused, and, Vivian noted with satisfaction, fear.

"With the killer, it depends on what your Highness wants." Vivian reached into the belt around her hips and pulled a metal pin halfway. She used it to pierce the skin of whoever she was charged to kill. "For your protection, other, quicker methods might be used."

Princess Arianna looked down the hallway, eventually motioning Vivian into a side hall. "What methods are these?"

Vivian smiled, dark light in her eyes. "Poison."

Marie

Lurking outside Sandor's quarters was giving me an uneasy feeling. At one moment I would sink into the shadows and think to follow him in secret, as requested by Arianna, but at the next, I would come to my senses and step back out but lacked the courage to actually knock. Sandor's room was one you didn't just walk into. Especially the morning after he had been drinking, which this night he most certainly would have been, all events considered.

All events. There was the issue I just couldn't shake. Yesterday felt so long away and so apart that I couldn't find any feeling this morning. And I couldn't show any feeling. I envied the princess her black gown and side plait of golden hair. As for myself, I wore my hair no different to any other day and my dress was the darkest grey I had but might as well have been white compared to theirs.

I heard sounds from within the room. Enough of myself still clung to life that I felt a final moment's indecision but it was too late and I stared, transfixed, as the formidable half brother left his quarters. My eyes trailed across his bruised face and then dropped to my feet when caught by his. I wasn't sure if it was guilt or fear I felt. This was Sandor. It had to be guilt. He was a good man and his anger was not stirred by a light slight but still. It was hard not to feel a fleeting sense of pity for the giver of those bruises. He'd be in much worse shape.

"Marie," Sandor said sounding surprised and perhaps a little annoyed. I swallowed carefully and raised my eyes to his again.

"I'd like to accompany you today, my lord." I feared saying too much in case this was a test and there were others who might be spying on myself. She hadn't said I had to follow him in secret. I just wasn't allowed to make it obvious I was following him to report on him but I wasn't sure if I was keeping that promise anyway and-

"No," Sandor said and he moved past me as if I was of no consequence. I'd felt slighted before, just that morning by Arianna in fact, but somehow, coming from him it was worse. Derrick had never slighted me. Not even yesterday when the crown was within his grasp. And now I watched as Sandor walked away from me. Well follow him I would though what I was going to report would have to be decided upon later.

Garis

He lay in his bed, drowsing, when the door to the room swung open and someone stepped inside. Garis tensed, ready to whip out the dagger beneath his pillow at a moment's notice, but relaxed has he recognized the footsteps -- it was Sandor come to visit. How convenient.

The assassin struggled to keep his breathing even and hide a smug smile as Sandor pulled up a chair and sat down by his bedside. There was no sense in letting his friend know he was awake, not when being asleep would give Sandor the time to really see the damage and marinate in his own guilt.

The urge to grin only grew as Sandor cleared his throat and tentatively called, "Garis?"

The assassin stirred slightly and turned his head to give his friend an unobstructed view of the massive bruise that sprawled over his cheek and stretched up to his temple.

A sharp breath. "Oh, Garis." Muffled, probably by hands. "I'm so sorry."

It was all Garis could do the keep the smug grin off his face. Years. He'd be able to hold this over Sandor for years. How lovely friendship could be. He was a bit disappointed when Sandor remained silent, but it was probably a brooding silence, and the man was likely well saturated with guilt and remorse. Still, it wouldn't hurt to let Sandor steep a little longer...

He must have fallen asleep because it was dark when Garis opened his eyes and looked to where Sandor had sat; he was gone. Garis was a bit annoyed with himself, but no matter. He would be able to go about his business without hindrance of the friend-and-also-commander kind.

With a quiet groan, Garis sat up, clutching at his cracked ribs and heaving for air. It hurt to breathe, and it was extremely inconvenient, but he had suffered worse, and he could still function. At least his nose was still intact; he would have hated to have a crooked nose Garis mused as he finished dressing and checked his appearance in the floor-length mirror. Satisfied with the drape of his cloak and positioning of his mask, Garis slipped out of the window and into the night.

He had an ex-crown princess to visit and a payment to collect.