Chapter Text
Oresrush, the town overflowing with silver coin and golden sand.
Seated in the centre of the party at the longest table the tavern has to offer, their gracious—and more than a little inebriated—host Partitio asks, "So, lady, uh, how'd you learn to use that knife?"
Partitio is on his third drink of the night; Agnea and Throné, both sitting in the general direction of the tankard he is gesturing with, are momentarily unsure which of them he means. "I cook for my family every day," Agnea begins, at the same time Throné says, "I kill people."
Silence falls over the table. On Throné's other side, Temenos stifles a laugh. Throné casts Agnea a curious glance. Agnea, embarrassed, immediately averts her eyes.
Behind the counter, the tavernkeep yells another meal order through the window to the back kitchen. Partitio claps his hands together, laughs heartily, "What esteemed origins, both of you!" and bellows to the tavernkeep for another mug of ale.
The travelling party met the merchant in yellow earlier that day, not too far from Oresrush's town border.
Hikari, the most familiar with the Wildlands' desert and their de facto leader on this league of the journey, had spotted first the abandoned merchant's cart, and then the man himself, fending off a large wild mole with a javelin. He and Ochette swiftly stepped in to help subdue the creature, but not before it sent a shockwave through the sand that knocked the other travellers clean off their feet.
Agnea went down hard and landed badly in the sand, and when she tried to get up, her right ankle gave way with a lancing pain.
Next to her, Castti said, "Stay down, Agnea. The others can handle it."
So she and Castti crouched behind a dune out of the mole's line of sight, listening to the other travellers' battle-cries until they hear the tell-tale thud of a large creature going down. Low voices drift their way—Temenos and Hikari, talking to the traveller—while Throné came around the side of the sand dune to check on them. "Is everyone all right?"
"Think I twisted my ankle," Agnea managed, glancing down at the injury. The skin was flushed red, already beginning to swell. Castti had already pulled various ingredients from her pouch—turmeric, ginger, some oil—which she placed in a small pouch and handed over together a roll of clean cloth, not to Agnea, but to Throné. "Give it a try."
"Castti has been teaching me," Throné explained, matter-of-fact. She helped Agnea out of her sandal, applied the poultice, then asked Agnea to hold it in place while she bandaged the ankle. It wasn't a bad injury—Agnea had seen far worse over years of dancing—but she held as still as she could while Throné worked. Throné's hair was tucked neatly behind one ear, lips faintly pursed in a serious expression. She tucked in the ends of the bandage, then checked the circulation; glanced first at Agnea, then Castti. "How's that look?"
"Well done," Castti said, then asked Agnea to stand and test how well the foot bears weight.
Agnea took several steps, then turned back to the others. "Thank you," she said to Throné with a smile, and Throné simply nodded in reply.
By this time, their new acquaintance had also come around to check on them. "Not far to Oresrush now," the merchant said, indicating the town skyline visible in the middle distance, then turned to Agnea. "Lady, you can ride in the caravan, if you don't mind sitting with the odds and ends."
The merchant—Partitio—turned out to be a genial and generous man. He led the party to the inn and paid upfront for a night's stay for all of them, then invited them to the local tavern for a meal later that evening. "Least I can do, after all your help back there. And if we don't see each other tonight, stop by on your way out and say Partitio sent you. Be a shame to pass through this town and miss it."
Later, when the dinner dishes have been cleared away and the travellers have each retired to their evening activities, Agnea slumps ungracefully on the table and says, "That was so embarrassing."
"It's all right, Agnea," Hikari reassures. "If it helps, I don't even remember what it was." He has a book in hand, and Agnea recognises the cover: a story of two families warring over a country they both laid claim to, Hikari told her early on in their acquaintance. He often reads it on many a companionable evening in.
Usually, on free evenings, Agnea finds a wide empty space out of the way, and runs through her nightly dance practice: stretches, warmup exercises, then one or two routines from her performance repertoire. But tonight she needs to let her injured ankle rest, so she had asked the tavernkeep for some raspberry juice and took the seat opposite Hikari instead.
At the bar counter, Temenos sits with their new acquaintance Partitio, playing some kind of card game over yet more drinks. Ochette is curled up with Mahina in front of the fire, lightly dozing. On the fireplace's other side, Throné sits with Castti, an assortment of plants laid out on the table between them. From this distance, Agnea only catches snatches of conversation: This grape leaf, combined with a plum leaf, will create a healing concoction...
Hikari indicates the other table with a nod of his head. "If you're curious, won't you join them, Agnea?"
"Maybe next time," Agnea capitulates. "I don't want to interrupt. And she scares me, a bit."
"Castti? Yes, she has quite the presence..."
"Throné," Agnea sighs. When Hikari gives her an inquiring look, she continues, "Not in a bad way. I'm just worried she doesn't like me."
"I hadn't noticed anything to that end," Hikari says. "What makes you think so?"
"Earlier today, she helped me with my ankle, remember? I said thank you, but she just nodded and didn't say anything back."
Hikari considers that. "She's from a big city out east, right?" Agnea nods. "If that place is anything like Ku... it might not be a snub, just a cultural difference of sorts. When population density is high, people have to interact with others so much every day, it's easier, or even more polite, to skip pleasantries so both sides can get on with life."
"When you put it that way," Agnea considers. "But that's just it, isn't it? We're such different people. I don't know how to talk to her. She can fight, but I still have to be protected. She's sophisticated and mature, and I'm... not..."
Hikari places his book on the table, face-up, and regards her. "When I was younger, I had two friends," he says. "One studied the bow, which I was never any good at, and the other outshone me at the lance. Our instructor said I should focus on the sword instead, and we all stayed good friends. Now, when I meet someone who has different skills than I do, instead of feeling like I don't measure up, I try to learn from them."
"Learn from them," Agnea repeats thoughtfully, and glances back at the other table. Maybe that is what Throné is doing, too: learning from Castti about all those plants and how to use them.
The next morning, their gracious host Partitio sees the travelling party to the town border. As he is about to bid them farewell, Temenos pauses—turns, hand outstretched, with an inviting smile that has long grown familiar to Agnea—and says, "Have you thought any more about what I asked yesterday? About joining our little group on our journey?"
And the radiant merchant says, "As a matter of fact, I have, Mr. Inquisitor. It smells like a good deal, and I'd be happy to take it."
In Canalbrine, the town of bridges and rivers, Temenos asks the others if they might linger a few days while he continues his investigation into a series of recent murders. "Just as well," Castti says. "I have several friends here I'd like to visit."
Fortuitously for Agnea as well, she soon catches wind from Temenos that the great dancer Hermes has returned to her hometown, and will be holding performances in Canalbrine's quayside courtyard just after sunset, every day for a week.
Agnea does not often go out after dark, still rather stranger-shy and worried about getting lost. But seeing Hermes perform is a rare chance, she reminds herself. So that evening after dinner she tells Hikari where she's going, then leaves the inn and follows the strains of exuberant flute music to the quayside. A large crowd has already gathered. Agnea goes this way and that, trying to find a standing place with any sort of view, to no success. In a fit of inspiration, she circles around to the bridge on the clearing's other side. It won't get her any closer to the clearing that serves as a stage, but from the higher elevation she might at least be able to see...
Ahead of her, someone is pushing their way through the crowd. Agnea glimpses a violet dress hem and a familiar face: it's Throné, efficiently manoeuvring through the throng of people. She catches sight of Agnea, too, and surprise briefly crosses her face, then vanishes. She puts a finger to her lips and smiles, and then she has slipped past Agnea, across the bridge and out of sight, leaving only lamplight and the sound of flowing water.
Agnea is still puzzling out that little interaction when a man's voice rises over the music. "My pocketwatch! It's gone!"
It might be a coincidence, Agnea thinks, or it might not be.
In the courtyard, the graceful dancer in red flits across the stone to the gentle tones of twin flutes. Flame-torches cast artful shadows over the stage, their light glimmering in the rushing water below. It's a beautiful performance. But all through the night, Agnea can't quite forget it—that smile Throné threw over her shoulder, that slim finger to her lips, as if she was sharing a secret.
When the travellers stay at an inn, the women share a room, so it would be impossible for Agnea not to notice. Throné often goes out after nightfall and does not return until late, usually after Agnea has already retired for the night. She also keeps by her bedside a small tray made of dark wood, where she places her accessories: a pair of earrings, a golden chain-link bracelet, and two rings. From time to time, other pieces also appear in the tray: a silver timepiece on a long chain, a fountain pen, a pair of cufflinks, even a belt buckle once—all gone within a day or two, soon to be replaced with something else.
Throné had never spoken of those things, and Agnea, for her part, had never asked—for the same reason Agnea now heeds this unspoken invitation to silence, instead of going up to greet her. Throné is a thief by profession, so of course she doesn't draw attention to what she does. Agnea can understand that.
But Agnea also begins to pay a little more attention, after that.
To the way Throné sidles up to guards by doors and delivers a silent blow to the back of their head, hard enough to incapacitate, gentle enough not to leave lasting damage. Faced with a locked door, she makes her way to the front, pulls two pins from her hair, and opens it, sometimes before the others even notice the barrier is there. She lifts items from the pockets of unwitting bystanders in broad daylight—a light brush, a muttered apology—and then she's gone, leaving no trace, so quickly and quietly one might never remember she was ever there.