Young Writers Society

Rosalie-

Rosalie sat on the gold-plated bench in her bedroom and stared blankly at the floor. She'd been there ever since slipping away from the others who'd been gathered around Derrick's deathbed. She didn't know how much time had passed, but guessed that he had to be dead by now. The man whom she had hired must already be getting to work with her other siblings. Rosalie was hoping to get out of the way for that reason, just so she wouldn't be a suspect. It was working--she could almost taste the crown.

That was when she heard a loud knock at the door. It must be him, saying that he completed the job.

"Come in?"

It was Arianna, and she looked as if she could murder someone.

{Left it open-ended so you can continue the scene just the way you want it, Stella}

(I didn't really have a direction, but alright!)

Arianna-

"Rosalie," she said, with all the strength she could muster, walking into the room. "I just had a most interesting visit."

"Really?" Rosalie said calmly.

"Yes. From a masked figure who poisoned me."

"Oh, Ari, do you expect me to believe that? If they had poisoned you, you would be dead," Rosalie said, smiling a little.

"I have my methods of staying alive, I assume you would have worked that out by now." Arianna's head was light, but she refused to sit down. She had the upper hand while she was still standing. She paced over to the window to lean on the still. "But do you know, he said something rather interesting."

The colour drained from Rosalie's face. "What was that?"

"About someone paying him off. I think you know who." She watched her sister intensely. Rosalie looked down.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Ari," she said softly.

The anger that had built up in Arianna over the past days, ever since Derrick's death, suddenly came roaring up. "Yes, you do!" she shrieked, and did something she thought she would never do, going over and slapping her little sister hard across the face. Her palm stung. "You tried to kill me," she said, lowering her voice to deadlier tones. "And you're going to pay for it."

Garis

He couldn't breathe. He was lying on his back and he couldn't breathe. He could feel someone's hands on his shoulders, shaking him, but his chest hurt so much and he couldn't breathe even as he tried so hard to. He felt like he was drowning.

And so he twisted out of the person's grip and rolled towards them, onto his belly so that his head was dangling off the edge and began coughing up fluid. It was blood, he realized as he opened his eyes and as the air revived him, and he was coughing it up all over a familiar set of legs.

"Garis! Garis!" he began to hear as his head slowly cleared and he was roughly hauled into a sitting position by his friend. "Garis! Don't you dare die on me! Answer me!"

Sandor sounded almost panicked, the assassin noted in an oddly detached manner. He slumped forward, coughed weakly, and groaned, "Sandor? What...?" He was pushed back into a sitting position and made to meet his commander's eyes.

"I was just about to ask you that! What. Did. You. Do?"

"Nothing," he said, flopping back onto the bed, only to hiss in pain and try to twist away as Sandor grabbed his injured arm to lift him back into a sitting position.

Sandor let go with a sharp breath. "What happened?" he asked, his tone dangerously flat. Garis knew that tone. It meant "talk now, or else", and right now, Garis was in too much pain and hurt too badly to risk any more harm. So he started speaking, keeping it as brief as possible as much for his own sake as Sandor's patience's.

"Went to collect payment from Ari. Tried to kill me." He twitched the injured arm to demonstrate. "Defended. Another assassin." Yes, that lovely lady. What was her name? Had he even asked for it? No. He'd been too busy trying to stay alive. "Poison." Twice. "Passed out. Hard to breathe."

Yes... it was all coming back to him now. That woman had taken him down with hardly any effort. Granted he had been preoccupied and injured, and there wasn't that much of a difference in stature between the two of them, but she obviously had skill. And that poison, he had never come across its like. He would have to see if he could meet her again under less life-threatening circumstances; she might just be someone worth playing with. But not for a long while yet; not until his punctured lung had healed and his ribs fully knitted at the earliest.

But his attention had wandered and his eyes had drifted shut, and when Garis jerked himself fully awake, Sandor was gone. To find a doctor, the assassin hoped as he lay on his bed, coughing up blood and more helpless than he had been in a long while, hoping that the lovely lady wouldn't think pay him another visit tonight.

Vivian

She went to Arianna's window, running her fingers along the frame to see if there was any place to get her fingers in. None. The princess had learned her lesson at her saviour's expense.

No matter. Vivian unclasped her necklace and gripped the thin diamond-shaped pendant. The gold-plated iron had been designed to open windows, the barely-notisable pin at the base just long enough to hold onto the window, but just short enough to slip into the gap. She had slipped it between the window and frame and worked the window open enough to get her fingers in within a minute.

Vivian smiled as she pried the window open just enough to slip in. The princess had learned to keep the window closed, but she hadn't learned to lock it.

Since nobody had jumped when she entered, Vivian figured nobody was in the room. She closed the window before running her hands along the walls. There should be some secret passages around here somewhere...

A pannel clicked open.

Gotcha.

Vivian opened the small panel to reveal a hook nearly covered by necklace chains and a box which had a bracelet visible just under the top. She lifted it out of curiosity, seeing that the princess had certainly stashed away every gem associated with her position. Some of the gold was darker, indicating the age. Heirlooms from queens long past.

She closed the lid and ran her fingers through strands of pearls, gold chains, and gemstone studded pendants. Some had been restrung, while others still felt fragile with age under her touch. She let them drop back into position before clicking the panel closed once more.

Just a few feet away, a bit past the corner, Vivian came across a hidden door. She opened it and took in the scent of a wine-cellar. A very well stocked one, as well. But the more she breathed the more she could detect the faintest amount of drugs mixed in with the wine and cork. She took one of the bottles out and removed the stopper. This one was most certainly drugged. Sleeping powder, if her nose was correct.

Not wanting to outstay her welcome in places the princess most likely didn't want her to know about, Vivian replaced the bottle and closed the door to the cellar. She sat down in a pulled out chair and waited for Arianna to return.

{Ellie is currently on YWS hiatus. Ellie, if you want to post, please feel freer than free to, but I'm going to take the initiative for now, if you don't mind ^^}

Arianna-

She strode away from her sister's room.

Down the hall, past Derrick's, where she paused, only for a moment, considering opening the door. But what good would it do anyway? Her fingers rested on the handle. Derrick was dead. Nothing was going to bring him back. Not even the love of a remorseful sister.

Or the wrath of one.

She left the door and moved on, her shoes tapping against the stone floors. She didn't have a knife with her, felt far too obvious and unprotected. Unprotected. Because what she really needed right now, was, of course, protection. From that stupid little brat.

Arianna had called Rosalie a few far less savoury things before leaving. Rosalie had just smiled her insane little smile. "Whatever you say, sister. The assassin could easily have lied. Besides, how do you know it was me? It might have been dear little Casilda."

But Cas wouldn't do a thing like that, Arianna thought. No, it was Rosalie that was most like Arianna herself, and Arianna knew she was cruel. She had enjoyed being so, until she saw Derrick's body. Somehow though, Rosalie had brought the old Arianna back.

She wouldn't have Rosalie killed. No, Arianna thought, pushing back a few stray blonde hairs. Another sibling's blood on her hands really wasn't what she wanted. She would just scare her, maybe. Or have her arrested for Derrick's death.

After all, she was the one who had asked the assassin to do the deed, wasn't she? Arianna had to smile at the thought, opening the door to her room.

Not for the first time tonight, the room was already occupied. Vivian, to Arianna's disgust, had her feet on the table.

"Do you mind, I'm trying to run a respectable establishment here," Arianna said. "And assassins coming in and out is bad enough but you could at least have some manners."

Vivian smiled, removing her feet. "Sometimes, 'Thank you for saving my life,' is nice to hear."

Arianna snorted. "You barely did."

"I wasn't being paid," Vivian pointed out. "Purely goodwill."

Arianna sat down opposite her. "Then would your services be better rendered were they paid?"

"Are you offering?"

Arianna thought of Rosalie's green-blue eyes, filled with malice. "I may require them in the near future," she said.

Sandor
Sandor’s first, semi-hysterical, thought was something along the lines of Well, there goes another pair of boots.

Some more panic quickly followed, washing over the lingering wariness left over from the intrusion, and was dealt with as usual: by redirecting it as anger, and just a tiny bit of manhandling. If that was what it took to get Garis to answer truthfully—

He’d gone to see Ari. This was bad. That the other woman—the other assassin, like having just the one wasn’t trouble enough already—was apparently working for his sister was even worse.

She’d caught Garis in the act. Seen Sandor protecting him. And Ari had been the one to call the hit on Derrick.

Oooh, he could feel a world of troubles coming on.

And Garis had just passed out—again—and if there was still enough poison in his system to kill him then he was going to kill that woman and damn were those the other wounds—the ones he’d inflicted on the man himself, don’t think about this right now—looking worse yes they were his breathing was not sounding good at all okay Sandor stop being an useless idiot and get a doctor now.

He had to leave Garis here. Alone. Not good, given his previous track record... Sandor glanced at the window, the door, the mess in the room. Garis.

Snarled, locked the window with more force than necessary, moved out of the room, locked the door behind him, and dashed off to retrieve a doctor he could trust.

All things considered, he was lucky to stumble on old Ilgard the moment he stepped into that particular wing of the palace. The man had been around as long as Sandor could remember, and dealt with more of his ill-acquired scrapes than he could keep count. He could also, and that was the clincher, keep his mouth shut when needed.

A few terse, if polite, words about the general situation were enough to get him to follow him back to the room, all the while looking at Sandor in that disapproving, vaguely grandfatherly way of his, pointed glances at the visible bruises on his face and hands and tutting sounds at his admittedly gruff attempts to convince him that no, he was fine, thank you, you should see the other guy.

Thank the gods Ilgard knew what he was doing, though. Garis was awake when they both stepped into the room, and Sandor did not like the look of the blood at his mouth one bit. The physician had noticed too, instantly stopping the nagging and moving straight for the assassin.

Who didn’t seem quite at ease with another unknown in the room, an admittedly valid, if inconvenient, point of view after what had just happened.

Sandor was suddenly feeling very, very tired. “Garis, please let Ilgard see to those wounds without being anymore of an idiot, alright?” And if he couldn't quite meet his friend's eyes at the mention of those wounds, well. Who could blame him?

[[say hi to the NPC who demanded a cameo :P]]

Vivian

She smiled. "What services do you wish?"

"Protection," Arianna said in the same tone, just barely disguising rage. "From my other sisters."

"I take it," she said casually, "that one of them hired that other assassin?"

The princess nodded. Vivian leaned forward, head resting on her fist. "Come now, tell me. It's hard to protect without knowing who the enemy is."

Arianna glared, but not at Vivian. "Rosalie."

Vivian sat up straight, remembering not to put her hands behind her head for fear of upsetting her now-employer. "Very well."

"What is your required payment?"

"For now," Vivian said. "We can leave it as protection for protection. So long as I cannot be arrested for any— deeds, I shall be satisfied." No use staying in a place crawling with military— especially Sandor, who she was sure would kill her first chance he got— without some sort of royal hand shielding her movements. "But in the future, every assassin I stop will require..." She leaned forward and whispered the sum, enough for a medium-sized ball.

The princess seemed confused at this amount. "I believe that is... lower, than the other assassin demanded."

Vivian smiled. "Price is relative."

Arianna waved her hand, dismissing the assassin. Vivian did a curtsy with only a slight bob and backed out of the room.

Rosalie would need to be dealt with. Arianna would probably deal with her soon enough, but if it was a simple arrest then there would still be ways for another assassin to come in and possibly get close to the crown princess when Vivian wasn't around. Which would give that other assassin, Sandor, or another sibling rom to wiggle in and put her out of commission.

Which meant Rosalie had to go.

Vivian thought through her options. A direct kill would mean Arianna might break the agreement, from a flaw on her part. It would also give a reason for Sandor to very quickly remove her head from her shoulders. Which means an arrest would have to be done before she could make sure that princess never caused trouble again.

She smirked and went in the approximate direction of the other assassin's rooms. It would be difficult to find from inside, but she would have to learn eventually. Hopefully the military man was guarding the outside. He probably wouldn't, but a doctor should be pacing the halls soon enough for that assassin's injuries.

Voices, one of them vaguely reminiscent of Sandor, came from inside one room. Vivian carefully put her ear to the door and listened to the discussion. There was talk of one man taking better care of himself, with some agreements on the part of Sandor if she was listening correctly. This was almost certainly the right room.

She knocked, waiting for Sandor, the only person inside who should be unoccupied, to open the door.

If glares could shoot daggers, Vivian would have needed to get out of the way.

"I take it your friend is getting treated for his injuries?" she said pleasantly.

His glare didn't waver, and he was already preparing to close the door. "None of your business."

"Shame," she said in a tone that made the door stop. "Because I've found out who ordered the kill on Princess Arianna."

Sandor
She had him there, and she knew it. Sandor couldn’t afford letting that bit of information go by, not after what had happened to Derrick, or had apparently just happened to Ari. He may not particularly care about her, but Casie was potentially in danger, and that he was . And he couldn’t use Garis as an excuse not to see her, since the man was now under Ilgard’s oddly fierce surveillance. It would have been a comic sight, had the situation been different.

“Who’s that?” Granted, Garis was holding up rather well under the Looks and the fussing. Five minutes before trying to find an escape? Sandor had expected it after the first thirty seconds.

He glared at the woman again, then turned to direct another at Garis. “None of your business. And stop moving, you’re just making it worse on yourself.”

He then proceeded to ignore Ilgard’s “don’t antagonize the patient” scowl and swept his gaze over the room. Window was shut. There was no other exit. That he knew of. Garis was in no state to go waltzing out.

Against all his misgivings, he ceded and slipped out of the room. And kept a careful distance between the assassin and him, making a conscious effort to keep his hand away from his sword. No killing the messenger, no matter how smug she looked or how close she’d been to killing his assassin.

At least not until Garis was fully recovered and he’d gotten all he could out of her.

“How nice.” It was supposed to be a sneer, but more fatigue seeped into his tone than he would have liked. Ari had always been better at those, anyway. “I don’t suppose you’d like to share?”

Oh, screw this. He was in no mood to talk with her any longer than he strictly needed to. And if he knew his life, nothing ever came easily.

“What do you want?”

Vivian

She looked around him when he turned, and again when he stepped out of the room to close the door. A man, lying on the bed, getting treated by a doctor.

She'd have to remember the location of this room.

"What do you want?" Sandor growled, after a few lines of dancing around the issue.

Vivan kept a half-smile. Note to self, do not anger him farther by toying with him. "It was Rosalie."

She tried not to smirk as she saw certain choice words on his lips. His eyes narrowed, first into space, then directed at her. "And what do you want for that?"

"Nothing right now." Vivian winked at him. "But I'll think of something."

She saw a growl stop mid-way up his throat, probably mixed with a few more choice words. She continued smiling, beginning to dance away.

"I'll see you later."

And she would. If he came to see Arianna, and he would if he knew what was good for him and his position. And from the way he had still kept her alive and at least tried to bargain with her, he knew what was good for him. But she'd still have to be careful she didn't push him too far. If she wanted to cash in on any of those favours he'd need to at least think she was useful.

With any luck, that had done the trick. At least for a little while.

Vivian continued walking to the princess' room, to see if she would be sleeping somewhere in the palace or would have to stay another night at the Dancer. But, considering what she'd heard one night there...

No. Not yet, at least. Maybe if she ever managed to talk to that other assassin, she would get him to introduce her to the people he knew there. But right now, the connection to the palace was more important to forge.

Casilda:

The halls were in darkness while Casilda slowly made her way to Derrick's room. The castle was unusually quiet... Casilda sighed, trailing her fingers along the wall as she rounded a corner and found Marie talking to another maid....outside Derrick's room. What was going on?

"Marie?" she called and both maids turned towards her, though it wasn't Marie who answered.

"Princess," the other maid said and gave Casilda a quick curtsy. Casilda nodded to the maid, who then rushed off.

"Casi-," Marie began and then she turned formal. "Princess."

"Marie," Casilda began and then hugged the maid, pressing her face against the other girl's neck. "Why did he have to die?"

Marie

It was a good question and one I had wondered a thousand times and yet it sounded alien on someone else's tongue. Why was that? My surprise, my disbelief that someone else could ask such a thing? Well of course they could, I scolded myself as I held Casilda's small body against my chest. I rubbed her back gently and made soft shushing noises into her lovely hair. I felt a sudden rush of guilt that I had not thought to seek her out sooner and be the aid it was my duty to be. Young, sweet Casilda. It was an awful thing that she should be caught up in the middle of such horribleness.

"Come, let's retire to your room," I encouraged graciously. It would not be fit for the help to see her in such a state. The help. I still considered myself outside that circle at least.

I felt her nod against my body and shielding her as best I could, I led the way back down the hall. It was late and our footsteps echoed eerily until at last we reached the comfort of her beautiful room. There was a time when I was frequently struck by jealousy and a feeling of unfairness at entering any of the royal apartments. Strangely I felt that now but brushed it aside as I helped Casilda get ready for bed and then sat down on the cushions with her. She looked up at me with fire ringed eyes and sighed.

"Was it one of them, Marie?" The vehemence in her voice surprised me, though it was no secret that there was love lost between the sisters. Casilda had always been the most distant and the most attached to her two brothers.

"I would like to think not," I answered guardedly. "I'm certain we can trust Sandor to find the one responsible." But was I? Even to myself, my voice sounded cold, no longer soft and warm. I had a rash impulse to beg her forgiveness, to explain that I had failed to warn him but held my tongue. That wasn't the role I was supposed to play here.

*Guys, Amy's not here, but I'm guessing that Derek is supposed to be waking up sometime soon. Shock horror!*

Arianna-

The assassin left the princess' rooms, and she couldn't help but shudder a little. The girl was slippery, something that Arianna half-admired, but something that also made her feel inordinately ill at ease. She wondered if this decision to hire her for protection was another one that she would regret.

But no. She needed protection. Rosalie had ordered an attempt on her life. Well, Arianna didn't really expect any less. It hadn't been the only time someone had tried it- the first had been when she was thirteen and the guards found an archer hiding on a balcony during a state event, saying his orders had been to kill the crown princess. But never before had someone come so close, never before had she been at death's door and been brought back. She had to hand it to that Vivian girl- she seemed to know what she was doing.

Arianna debated sleep, but it wasn't quite time and all that business of the afternoon- riding, dealing with Rosalie and oh yes, nearly dying- had made her hungry. She decided to pay the kitchens a personal visit- it always paid to stay on good terms with your cook, you never knew what they might slip into your food (though Arianna had some immunity towards certain poisons and could smell others a mile off- perhaps if the assassin tried again he wouldn't be trying poison).

She began making her way down the empty halls and decided that her first order of business in the morning would be to put out the news that Derrick's killer was loose. Arianna would have liked nothing better than to tear that man's head off herself- preferably slowly and painfully, and maybe with her fingernails.

She had cultivated very long fingernails.

Garis

"Hm..." the old man hummed to himself as he examined Garis' open mouth. "Mhm..."

"What?" Garis tried to ask, though it came out as more of a "Uhugkt?" siince his jaws were currently being held open by the doctor's surprisingly strong fingers.

"Some good news," said Ilgard, releasing the assassin's jaw. "The blood seems to be coming from where you bit your cheeks deeply, and couple of teeth that were knocked loose. I can already see the bleeding beginning to stop."

"Well, that is good news, I suppose," Garis said after a coughing fit had passed.

"Of course it is. Means you're probably not going to die. Now, lift your arms over your head so I can feel those ribs."

Garis obeyed, still a bit suspicious of the fussy old man. If he tried anything funny...

That thought was abruptly cut off as a particularly bony finger jabbed the assassin in a particularly painful spot. Garis' eyes filled with involuntary tears as he hissed in pain and reflexively tried to curl up around the spot, which only made things more painful and triggered another coughing fit.

"Tsk tsk. Worse than I thought. Sandor, come and hold him down a moment before he hurts himself more."

Garis heard Ilgard begin rummaging around his bag as Sandor came to uncurl him and keep him from squirming, a bit more roughly than necessary. Typical. As the pain abated, Garis opened his eyes to find Ilgard looming over him with some rope. He did not like the look of that rope.

"Arms above your head."

"What's that rope's for?"

Ilgard blinked owlishly. "I'm not going to hurt you with it."

"That wasn't what I was asking."

"Garis," sighed Sandor, still holding the assassin down by the shoulders, "just do what Ilgard says."

"Not until he tells me what that rope is for."

"To keep you from moving, of course."

"You're going to tie me to the bed?!" Garis stared at Ilgard with slowly growing horror before he began trying to wriggle out of Sandor's hold. "No!"

"Garis, th--"

"And you were going to let him?!" The assassin was almost hysterical, and his voice reached pitches higher than he had thought possible. "I thought you were my friend, Sandor!"

"I am, but--" Sandor was cut off as Garis wriggled free and rolled over to try and make a break for the door, only to be stopped by a bony finger prodding him in a most painful place. As Garis found himself flopping back down onto the bed, unable to move, he heard Sandor ask, frantically, "What did you do to him?"

"Pressure point," replied Ilgard, perfectly calm and unperturbed. "Don't worry. It will wear off soon, and he'll be able to move again. Poor boy. With such wounds as these, it's no wonder he's so excitable." There came a reassuring pat on Garis' shoulder which completely failed to reassure the assassin. "Don't worry. Old Ilgard will patch you up right away, and then you can get some rest. Now, Sandor, if you'd help me roll him over and make sure his arms are secured above his head, I'll take care of his legs."

No. This can't be happening. No no no no nonononono! But it was, and by the time Garis could move again, he was securely tied to his bed, old Ilgard advancing on him with a very sharp knife. Garis began squirming like crazy, trying to wriggle out of the ropes' hold, but they had been tied too well. All the while, the knife kept advancing towards his chest where his heart was beating frantically, so fast it was hard to breathe.

"Sandor, hold him still so I don't cut anything important, and try to calm him down if you can."

Calm him down? Calm him down?! Garis was long past hysterical at this point, and if Sandor made any attempts to calm him down, they were completely negated by the fact that the man was holding him down so the knife, that very sharp knife, could cut into his chest. Time seemed to slow down the closer the sharp blade got to his chest, and a piteous whine escaped his lips. The old man was going to kill him, and Sandor was helping.

The wail escalated to a full blown scream as the blade finally cut into his chest, and all Garis could do was toss his head from side to side as the tears streamed down his face, unbidden. He was unable to escape. He was entirely at someone else's mercy. And he was absolutely terrified.

"Finished!" came Ilgard's voice, and suddenly Sandor was off him and he could move his arms and legs. With a sob of relief, Garis curled up in on himself and buried his face in his pillow. He didn't want to talk to anyone. Sandor especially. And so he ignored all of Sandor's attempts at conversation or apology until Ilgard told his commander to stop bothering the patient and Sandor did.

At least Ilgard was good for something.

Vivian (A note: Please keep her alive/somewhat in the plot while I'm gone! xD It's only a couple days)

She slinked down the halls, passing by nobles without having them glance at her more than twice. But for tonight, unfortunately, she wasn't planing on making a few more connections.

First and foremost, she had to see what kind of damage that other assassin could do.

The prince's room was one place to go. And the easiest to get to. Vivian kept behind a corner until the door was clear before creeping up to it. No sounds behind meant she could begin working on the lock. Quick task. She'd expected his lock to be a lot harder to pick.

Inside was a disaster. Vivian had to raise an eyebrow at just what this assassin had been able to do. Glass underfoot meant not stepping that much farther into the room, but from the fading sunlight coming in she could see plenty. Clothes had been tossed in a heap, blood was still staining any fabric it had touched, and there was, under it all, the smell of a poison. It was too faint for her to tell what it was, though. Just that some form of poison had been opened in this room, and not all that long ago.

Vivian slipped out of the room and locked the door behind her. If it was poison, then the prince's body should show some signs of it. At the very least, she'd be able to tell who's blood that was.

The crypt took some time to find. Viv was sure the sun was well past set.

The prince's body was on a stone slab, still visible for mourners that would trickle in until he was properly buried. With the amount going on she wasn't surprised to see no trappings, or even a coffin. Only a clean shirt and breeches, along with all marks of his title, adorned him.

That certainly made her job easier.

Vivian went over his shirt carefully, taking the lit candle by his head to look at him better. No dark lines of blood, or unnatural white of bandages showed through his shirt. Which meant the blood had either been the assassins'— unlikely, considering the implied swiftness of his attack on Arianna— or a trick had been played. She wasn't about to check under the breeches, mostly because a cut there required bleeding out. Derrick's skin was pale, but not so pale as to imply he'd bled to death.

And, just under the smell of must and damp, there was that same potion. Must stronger this time. Strong enough for Vivian to realize she didn't know it.

She replaced the candle and turned on her heel, smirk just visible on her lips. If the prince's rooms had been in such a mess, then that had to be a painful poison.

Time to pay a visit to the other assassin. Find out how much damage she'd done, and see if she could get him to say what poison he used.

Sandor
What the hell had that been? He’d never seen Garis that worked up—that terrified—before, and while he’d dutifully followed along with Ilgard’s instructions, he’d never been more relieved than when finally able to release the assassin and stumble back and away from him.

That the apologies he managed after that were completely ignored was expected, but it did nothing to soothe the gnawing worry and ever-increasing weight of inadequacy. Why can’t I get anything right? He stopped himself before his mind could oh-so-helpfully bring up all the reasons, for once grateful for Ilgard’s interference as he herded him out of the room.

“Your friend here will be fine. Now you need to stop hovering like a worried mother. Have you even eaten anything today?” Sandor thought back—and averted his eyes. Ilgard shook his head with a well-practiced air of long-suffering patience and exasperation. “Off you go then. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that hand of yours.” Damn. And it was too late to hide it now... “I want a look at it when you get back, you hear? I know you well enough to guess you haven’t been taking proper care of it.” Well, there wasn’t much he could answer to that, not when it was more or less true. Sufficiently cowed by the physician’s disapproving glower, he slunk away in direction of the kitchens, at least secure in the knowledge that Garis was not going to be up and moving about anytime soon. Not with Ilgard around.

Garis. And he was supposed to stop worrying? This was the second time in as many days that the man had gotten hurt, and he was painfully aware this time had gotten way too close to being terminal. Sandor ground his teeth. Not happening again. Bad enough he’d had to call for help, but just that look on the younger man’s face...

No, he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that panicked, betrayed stare ever again.

Which meant he had to stop being so passive and start acting. And of course I’m so good at that... And yet, if there was a time to break old habits, now was it.

I need a drink. Maybe going to the kitchens wasn’t going to be so useless then.

He almost missed Ari, so caught in his brooding that he’d tuned out most outside stimuli, but there was no ignoring the frosty “Sandor?” sent his way. What was she doing here?

Alone?

He slowed down, unthinkingly fell into step beside her. “Arianna.” There was the customary stare-down, which, as tended to happen, ended with his looking away, and a beat of silence before he brought himself to speak.

“I need to talk to you.”

“What about?” Nice to know she still didn't like having him around. At least that was one thing that hadn’t changed.

“Derrick, for one. A word on that assassination attempt on you earlier today might be nice too.”

That got a reaction. “How do you know about that?”

For once it was his turn to sneer. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Having one hand up on her was a novelty he could get used to.

“Fine. What of it?”

“You know who called for it.” Not a question, but had it been, the hardening of her eyes would have been all the answer he needed.

And there was only one thing left to ask, after that: “What are you going to do about it?”