The End of the Meetings
Notes:
This chapter is completely safe. It is violence free, nearly angst free, and almost nothing happens in it^^
*****
In the room of what appeared to be a well-furnished, cozy cottage in the woods, two men sat, one of whom could have been mistaken for a grandfather, the other a grandson. They seemed comfortable, content, the elder sitting at a desk, writing something down with a quill pen, the younger lounging against the wall, reading. There was seating available, a sofa and an armchair, and a kitchen table with benches if he was so inclined, but the younger one seemed to prefer being stretched out on the floor.
The elder, who was, unfortunately, the Overseer, looked up from his writing, a wicked grin sliding onto his face. “Tirge, I do believe it is time to escalate things. Let’s make our threats a reality, shall we?”
Puzzled, Tirge glanced up from the book he was reading and frowned. “How? You said we weren’t goin' to hurt the girl, just him.” That business was one he was unwilling to partake in. Why? Because he still held true to a twisted form of the chivalry his father had taught him years ago.
The Overseer cackled, choked, and pressed the tip of the quill pen back to the paper before smiling. “Oh, Tirge, my boy, you must understand that we’re allowed to lie. It’s required of us, really. An’ it’s going to be quite fun. Though it won't be a lie forever. I'm thinking about giving him a break, not sure how long of one, but a break. Maybe even let 'em find each other, make 'em think they're in the clear. Then strike again when they least expected it.”
“I’m not goin' to help you hurt the girl,” Tirge stated emphatically.
Shaking his head in disgust, the Overseer threw his pen to his desk. “Fine, then. I'll get the mole ta do it. But after we let 'Esben Flavogle' free, I need ya to do something for me.”
*****
Sara could barely hold still. The last meeting of the conference would be over in minutes, and then she was free to leave with Artham and search Skree for Janner. Artham had spent a good deal of time over the past week he had been there doing a survey of the portion of Skree nearer Torrboro, and according to him, Joe and Shastan’s services had been “invaluable.”
“Are there any further questions or comments regarding…well, regarding anything?” Chathan asked with a smile, the sort of innocent smile children nearly always wore. There was something pleasant, comforting about it. It gave Sara hope
The lack of questions also boosted her spirits—or at least made it to where she had to wait less time—and even though there certainly were comments (positive ones like, “it’s been wonderful getting reacquainted with the other countries and provinces,” or “Torrboro has been so kind and welcoming”), the number was tolerable.
One person inquired about Queen Bhora's continued absence, a comment which Chathan largely evaded, using the same, halting excuse he had for the past three weeks. Sara would be more suspicious, but she actually had had brief contact with the Queen. Apparently, Artham's anger regarding Janner's disappearance had been enough to summon her from wherever she had hidden, if only for a few hours. She hadn't known anything and hadn't done much more than begrudgingly promise assistance, but at least it was proof she was somewhat there.
Oh, but the comment from one of Lamendron’s representatives, an insufferable man she had dealt with named Polkerstead Kidsow* who insisted on being called "Lord Kidsow," sent uncomfortable chills prickling across her skin.
“I'm curious as to how you managed to lose the King of Anniera,” he began, drawing out his words in a way that was supposed to mock Chathan or perhaps Anniera or…or perhaps her. “And also why no one really ever put much thought into it. Though I suppose that could be why your efforts in locating him were such a failure.”
Her hands folded together and squeezed tightly under the table, Sara kept her eyes glued on Chathan, daring him to say something incorrectly.
Chathan rubbed the back of his neck before answering. “Frankly, I’m surprised no one brought this up sooner and that you've talked about it so little.” His arm swept in an arc, gesturing toward the entirety of people at the table. “King Janner Wingfeather did disappear quite a while ago, and as soon as it happened, Torrboro sent out searchers. We devoted as many resources as I could gather to work on locating Anniera’s King. I though everyone was here for the meal with Lord Artham Wingfeather, Throne Warden of Anniera, arrived, and he and the King's other companions have put a good deal of time into looking for him. And before anyone asks,” he said, holding up a hand and silencing the many voices about to question him. “I will devote Torrboron resources to searching for King Janner for as long as Anniera or her representatives, Lady Sara and Lord Artham, wish, or at least as long as I can convince them to keep looking.”
Sara let out her breath slowly, relief coming to her in small trickles. From her seat to the right, Maraly reached over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Thank you, Sara mouthed, tears brimming in her eyes.
Any positive feelings or emotions were shattered with Kidsow’s next words, though, words that, as soon as she heard them, Sara knew would echo in her mind for years to come.
“How long will you really search? And how long will they really search? For all we know, the King of Anniera could have died the night they took him—”
Owen stood up, rare anger flickering across his normally placid face. “I’m sorry, what?” he interrupted, horror and fury in his voice.
Kidsow ignored him and kept speaking. “—and at best what you’re looking for is an unmarked grave at worst…well, there are ladies present, so I won’t say that. The point is that it may very well be a waste now.”
Sara’s heart clenched, screamed, and outwardly her hand flew to her mouth and she sobbed once, then looked down the table at Kidsow’s disgusting form and glared. “How dare you say that about a king? Even if Janner wasn’t a king, who would have the nerve to say something so cruel about anyone, especially when people who care about them are present?”
“An’ just fer the record,” Maraly pushed in, absolutely livid, to the point at which Kidsow actually shrank back. “The ladies present aren’t so stupid we can’t fill in the blank ‘n’ figure out what yer not sayin’.”
Chathan stood and motioned for silence. “They’re right, Lord Kidsow,” he said, his eyes dark and flashing, so unlike their usual joviality and gentleness. “Would you give up so easily on your Governor? If so, I’ve half a mind to recommend a different delegate for Lamendron.”
Kidrow blanched and went silent after that, and the man next to him—likely Lamendron’s other delegate—gave him a look that seemed to say, why would you be so stupid?
Sara didn’t know what to do or how to react or if she should just drop everything or not. Had it been settled? Had Maraly and Chathan taken care of it? Did she need to fight for Janner anymore? She shouldn’t have even had to fight for him; just the thought it was necessary made her blood boil.
All of a sudden, it was over. The meeting came to a close. Delegates shook hands with one another, then proceeded to get roped into conversations that would last who-knew-how long.
Sara couldn’t wait for that. She barely managed to remember to say “goodbye” and “thank you, so much Chathan, your help has been invaluable,” before rushing away (politely) so she could change and grab the pack of essentials she had put together days ago. Artham was coming. He had promised to come and get her—and Maraly, since she insisted on helping and couldn’t care less about Gebin—the last day of the conference, and he had promised it would be at a reasonable hour—past-noon was reasonable, wasn’t it?
Keeping her mind focused on the search was the only thing that held her back from breaking down and weeping over what Kidsow had said. How could someone be so hateful, so cruel? Lack of faith and desperation had quickly taken their place at the forefront of her mind in the past few weeks, and if she really dwelt on such words, she feared she would lose hope altogether. She couldn’t lose hope. She’d die if she lost hope.
If she and those with her did not lose it, perhaps it would keep hers burning bright as well. Artham certainly had faith, as did Shastan, despite having known Janner for so little time.
They had proved it by making provisions. Artham had sent word to Greston a few days earlier, detailing their potential delay—Blazing Fruit was scheduled to leave Lamendron in a few days—in one letter and requesting an extended berth in Lamendron’s port, both for the Blazing Fruit and the Sylowan sloop. Shastan had protested initially, but Artham had insisted, since Lamendron was far more likely to listen to the Throne Warden of Anniera than a representative of a small, fairly unknown country. Both requests were granted, thus buying them time and inadvertently reminding Sara that not all hope was lost.
As Sara pulled her hooded cloak over the short dress and leggings she had changed into, there was a single knock on the door, then the opening of it. She barely had time to say "come in," between the two.
“Maraly,” Sara said with a grin, still working on wiggling her way properly into the cloak (it had specific spots for one’s arms, sleeves, of a sort, that made the matter a bit more difficult). “What if I had actually still been changing?”
A blink and a shrug was the initial response. “Ya let me in! Just wanted ta say I’m ready, an’ if you wanna come with me an’ wait fer Artham, that’s where I’m goin’.”
Nodding fervently, Sara reached for her pack and slung it over her shoulders. “I want to. Thank you, by the way.”
Maraly shrugged again. “Don’t mention it. We’re friends. Best friends. Being here fer ya…it’s sorta in me job description.”
Sara couldn’t help but smile and even felt herself almost laugh. “You think of it as a ‘job’?” she asked as they left the room—the lovely room trimmed with blues and purples and sprigs of flowers and lace yet unfortunately marred with fear and horror.
For a few seconds, Maraly was silent. As they set off down the staircase, though, she spoke again. “When I say job…I mean things I like doin’. Things that’re important ta me. Jobs’re filled with things an’ people I care ‘bout, so, yeah, bein’ yer best friend’s a job ta me.”
Sara watched her, cropped brown hair bobbing violently one more time as they took the last step. She didn’t care about what people said about Maraly—and what she, on occasion thought—that she was a prickly cactus, a quill diggle, an impersonal thing that never smiled.
It wasn’t true. Maraly was perhaps the most loyal person she had ever known, and she cared so deeply. “Thank you,” Sara said, reaching for her hand. “Thank you for doing this job.”
*****
Notes:
*YES, I brought back the INFAMOUS POLKERSTEAD!!!! Now you know he was actually Skreean, just meddling around with Annieran business for who-knows-what reason. But he does rather similar things in each of his appearances 😂
The chapter title is incredibly, incredibly literal.
Oh- and the oVErSeeR is up to something!!! 😱
ToC for AToTA
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16