Young Writers Society

Of course she never would've seen them. They were from another world. A religion and culture she didn't even know existed that he wore on his skin.

"The rose was one I got earlier in life," he answered, looking down at it. The blood-colored petals. "It was something that someone said to me once." Ajax. "'Take heed, boy, for no matter how pretty the flower, no matter its sweet smell, no matter how carefully you tend to it or how thick the gloves you bear, some thorns never lose their bite.' It's a reminder of...fickle trust, I suppose. No dog loses its teeth, no snake its fangs, so to speak.

"The birds are for a friend who's since passed. When I was a child, I would feed the ravens. They learned my face, my voice; I learned their names, their ways. They have calls for each other as individuals, you know. But ravens, crows--for all their intelligence, they are cruel. A bit twisted. Sadistic, even, at times. She always loved the doves. Nothing's afraid of one, and they always find their way home. So the ink was my remembrance."

He slid his hands into his pockets, gaze somewhat distant for a moment as he explained. Then his eyes flickered back to her, a half-smile. "S-sorry, miss. Probably a longer answer than you needed."

"No, I like to learn about other cultures." Marcella studied the tattoos again. "I can't say I've had the same experience with ravens and crows, but it's so interesting to hear the meaning behind things people hold dear. Thank you." She smiled again.

The crows were his salvation. If only he could've grown wings and followed them. He'd seen them kill each other, eat roadkill alive, and, still, he was entranced by them.

"May I pose a query of my own, about this place?" he asked. "Or, rather, a second one, I suppose, given that that in and of itself is a question."

"It's only fair." Marcella reached the top of the stairs and opened a door for him. "I asked a question, so I owe you one."

He stepped through, fingers wrapping around it to hold it for her when she followed. "It is a bit of a two-parter, but...is there a library and, if so, would the likes of me have access to it? Or books of any sort, really."

If he could get his hands on books, he could get information about the world. Information about the world would open doors to his developing a backstory that was reasonable and that he could maintain. The next time Gaius pressed him, he wanted to have answers. Good ones.

Marcella's eyes lit up. "Oh, we have the largest library in the Northern Realm! You'd have to ask Father for permission to access it, of course, but I don't see why you couldn't use it. Most of the servants are allowed in there--Father encourages literacy."

Of course he'd have to go through Lord Ash. The person who wanted the information he didn't have acting as the gatekeeper to his deceptions. What a perfect arrangement. Was there another way in? Someone who could access the books for him, perhaps? Exchanging favors and going around Gaius' back was dangerous. He was observant, and he was no fool.

No matter. He'd work something out. Though he'd also have to find a way to explain his literacy. His father had taught him, largely, but how the hell did he explain why someone like a farmer would be able to read?

Still, the fact the information at all was good news. "I'm glad to hear it. I'll have to have a word with him about it at some point. Thank you, miss."

"You're quite welcome." Marcella headed down the hall. "We have thousands of tomes on all subjects. Our ancestors were great travelers and scholars, and they collected and wrote on nearly everything in the world. My father and brother spend most of their time in there." She pointed to a pair of massive double doors. "That's the library, right there. Father's office is just down the hall."

And it was in the same hall as Lord Ash's office. Fantastic. Couldn't have been better.

Gaius knew that he was lying. The key would be to leave it difficult to tell which parts of what he said were deceptive and which parts were truths; even if some, like his earlier proclamation of how long he'd been in the North were instantly detected, it would leave others to be questioned. That was his best hope. He wasn't capable of entirely fooling the lord; not yet. He simply hadn't the skill.

His gaze followed her gesture to the doors. Noting their location, eyes widening slightly as he realized just how big the place probably was, given the nature of the threshold. He might've asked further about the traveling ancestors--for instance, if they'd gone overseas--but there was too much risk.

"That's...I don't know if I've the words to describe the value of such a wealth of knowledge, all in one place."

"Nobody does. We tend to leave off with words and just appreciate it for what it is." Marcella grinned proudly at the doors. "Shall we take a quick peek inside after Sera patches you up?" Not waiting for an answer, she strode off again, burgundy skirts swirling around her.

He fell in behind her, long legs bringing him back to her side within a few strides. "I-I'd like that, if it's no inconvenience to you," he smiled, taking one last glance at the double doors that held behind them a vital key to his success. Possibly survival.

"Not at all. I have very little to do, compared to my brothers. Matt and Regulus are always off doing whatever Father wants them to do, and Tiberius never seems to get bored." She turned onto another flight of stairs. "I've always wondered why the infirmary is so high up," she mused. "You'd think it would be on the first floor to make it easier."

Mattathias, Regulus, Tiberius, Marcella. Three brothers, one sister, at least so far as he could gather.

"It does seem a bit counterproductive to have it up so many stairs. I can't imagine trying to carry someone up all of them," he agreed, wondering if, by the end of all this, he'd be able to imagine it quite well.

"We've had to do that a couple times. It's definitely not easy." She glanced at him. "So, where did you learn to read?"

(I'm trying really hard to make Marcella more than just a pretty face that likes to sleep around this time. I've been so unfair to her.)

((I'm liking her this time around! I think so far you're doing quite well with it~))

The question that was difficult to answer, but he had to give her something. "My father taught me."

If she asked for details, he'd have to figure some out. How would his father have learned? The safest bet was to push it back a few generations, remove it a bit from the current time. But not too far. Then he was contending with history. So, his father had learned it from his father, Cornyx's alleged grandfather, who had died before Cornyx had ever met him. Keep it simple. How had the first man learned?

Most of the people who learned to read and write in the medieval-era Europe were religious or of noble descent. Clergy was a dangerous step to take, because he knew nothing of the religion here. So that wasn't an option. Neither was any involvement of nobility, because there were actual written records of those people, and he needed to keep consistent with facts and himself. It wasn't unheard of for commoners to know it. Maybe it was best to leave it open-ended. Had Cornyx truly been from this world, and had Jeremiah been the sole reason he was literate, he probably wouldn't have asked where he'd learned. He would've been too afraid to.

So he'd leave it at that. His father taught him, his grandfather taught his father; he'd never met his grandfather and never asked his father how his predecessor had learned. Simple.