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[ryes-up]

luna-crow​:

“Yeah, well you certainly sound and look like a Sidhe to me,” Neve countered. But her tone was almost imperceptibly less sharp this time. She pressed her lips into a thin line, considering her options. As she had that first time she met Rye Hawthorne, she yearned for this guise of kindness to be real. But, experience told him that was still very unlikely. Perhaps his agenda was more mild than having her strung up. But, there was surely an agenda all the same. It was up to her whether she was willing to play into it. But, at the end of the day, what choice did she have. Resentment for this strangely calm man coursed through her. She was a rat backed into a corner. With a hiss of annoyance, she finally acquiesced.

“I can play the pan flute. Quite well, actually. But since I don’t know if Luna can, I haven’t dared play since I got here. And I miss it, I guess.”

The words were low, reluctant and angry. The way Neve glared at Rye, it was clear she blamed him for having to so uncomfortably bare her soul this way. “Are you satisfied? Would you like me to dance next?” she questioned. Her arms were beginning to ache from pointing the daggers so long. So she cautiously lowered them, knuckles still white with anticipation of a sudden movement. 

“Now what? What happens now?” she asked, her glare still boring into him. “Oh, and we’re not friends. This is just an arrangement. I get my information, and you get whatever little pat on the back you’re looking for.”

“A lifetime of practice,” Rye said, lips quirking up a little in amusement. “Hopefully it doesn’t take you so long to learn to speak and act like a Sidhe. Keep your hob curses and hearthling mutterings far from Roheim, even if you think you’re alone. The walls have ears ‘round here.”

His smile softened into something genuine and warm at her admission. He didn’t expect her to divulge anything that, at least on first hearing it, seemed important to her. He’d expected something of less consequence, but he would take it as a show of good faith. “No, I don’t believe she played the pan flute,” Rye said. “I suppose she could’ve learned, and I was just never aware, but I always knew Luna to not have much patience for anything she wasn’t immediately talented at.” He laughed a little at her next words and shook his head. 

“No dancing necessary, though you were quite willing a few moments ago.” He sighed, smile fading a little as his tone became more serious. “Be careful agreeing to anything around someone who you believe has grown suspicious of you. If they’re asking you to agree to some supposed past agreement, or to recall a shared memory, it’s likely a trap they set to make certain of their suspicions. It’s what I did.” 

At her question, he nodded towards the door Maerel guarded from the other side. “Now we go back inside, separately. If you’d like to keep your cover, you should avoid being seen with me. The bad blood between my cousin and I is the Court’s worst kept secret. We’re cordial when we’re required to be, but never friendly. You can rely on Maerel to cover for you if needed as well. Though of course, as he’s known to be close to me, if you’d like him to accompany you anywhere, he’ll use a glamour.” Rye’s smile tilted up to one side, almost teasing as he continued, “You may even find you like having him to keep your secret more than me. He won’t ask any secrets in exchange for helping you. He’ll do so just because I ask.” 

Rye paused, looking at her considering for a moment before he spoke again. “If you’d ever like to get away from the castle, play your pan flute or whatever you’d like, you’re welcome to hide out at my home away from the castle. There’s a path from the castle that heads out west, past the turn off to the main road through the Wildlands to Wisteria. It sits on the edge of Belladonna, bordering the Wolf Clan territory.” He didn’t think she’d take him up on it, but perhaps it would be seen as a show of good faith on his end as well. He held his hand out to her. “Now, Lu,” he smiled a little at the nickname he would never refer to his own cousin as, and wondered distantly if this woman would be as likely to try and stab him for it as Luna would’ve been. “May I have my dagger back?”

[ryes-up]

robinfelldown​:

ryes-up​:

The Last Lalune || Lalorne

@ryes-up

Hadasa was a frequent enough fixture within the Row that her movements were no longer noticed. Like the gamblers, drunkards, and thieves, Hadasa was now of a semi-permanence that faeries rarely batted an eye at her comings or goings.

Including, as it were, in the ramshackle set of rooms she kept for her business. Working with Aubrey Crane as a bit of a healer and a voice of reason aside, Hadasa was a friendly face for people who knew where to search her out.

That was what one faerie knew, as he hobbled from her rooms, a balm for his daughter’s work-calloused hands clutched in gnarled fists. The poor and destitute did not have money for cures and glamour, and Robin knew what it was like to clutch desperately at his health and despair and hope it didn’t crack him entirely in two.

Hadasa had bid the stranger a goodbye, was sitting on her single chair, yet to drop her glamour, when another body came bursting in through the door. Hand quick as a snake, Robin - still with Hadasa’s face - grasped the razor sharp knife from the table beside him.

He only noticed it was Rye a moment later. Robin drops the knife and stands, confusion on Hadasa’s face.

“Rye what – what are you doing here??”

Rye was still shaking as his eyes settled on Hadasa. It was only the quickly-draining adrenaline that kept him upright as he felt relief flood through his body.

“You’re alright,” Rye breathed out, a weak smile attempting to pull at his lips. He turned and closed the door behind his and locking the deadbolt. He crossed the room to the window, drawing the curtains closed before turning back to Hadasa, letting his glamour fade as he turned. He half knelt, half fell to the floor in front of her chair, breaths coming out shaky as he reached out for Robin’s hands—Robin’s, not Hadasa’s.

“Can you drop your glamour, please? I thought something had happened. She—they—the bloody charlatan—“ he took a ragged breath, trying to calm his breaths as he stumbled over his words. “Said you were dead. They said you were dead, I thought Bone had— Robin, you’re okay, right?” Even seeing him, holding his hands in his own, Rye needed—He didn’t know. To stab that bloody charlatan from the Night Market, probably. 

[ryes-up]

The Last Lalune || Lalorne

**NOTE: For full context, read in order:  Transitional Phases, @robinfelldown A Ring for a Ring, -Rye**

Find Robin.

It was the only thing that echoed in Rye’s mind as he ran under the invisible cover of glamour, dodging between shoppers, gamblers, everyone that strolled through Nightshade Row, every single one of them taking up too much space, too much of his time. 

He was certain more than one fae cursed at him as he shouldered past too close, or ran by too quickly, his cloak leave a light gust just enough for them to feel. Who fucking cared—He had to find Robin.

“Haven’t you heard, wolf prince? All the Lalunes are dead.”

She was wrong. She was lying.

“Put the ring on, you’ll know I only tell the truth.”

He hadn’t dared. He was scared to hear her words again, cold and uncaring. 

Rye reached the building Hadasa had a room in. It was the nearest place Robin could be, so it was his first stop. He was usually there around this time every day anyway, though he’d told Rye that morning he’d had some shopping to do. If Alekto discovered him while he was out—

No. She wouldn’t. Not yet. Not while Rye was still useful to her.

Except that he’d fought her every step of the way. What if she’d decided he was too much trouble to bother with blackmailing? If he’d fought against her too much, and she’d taken it out on Robin? 

Rye dropped the invisible glamour as he went inside, opting for the blonde glamour he’d used to get into the Night Market instead. He nearly ran into the fae that was exiting Hadasa’s room as he hurried up the stairs. The fae only glared at him, but Rye was already pushing past him into the room. 

His voice broke as he called out in a panic, only barely remembering to use Robin’s alias. “Ro—Hadasa?”

@robinfelldown

[ryes-up]

A Ring for a Ring || Event SelfPara

**NOTE: Intended to be read after Transitional Phases, @robinfelldown **

“You know, when I told you about this, I thought you’d be more skeptical,” Damira said. Rye walked alongside her through Nightshade Row, his chosen glamour for this visit the same blonde one that he used when dealing with Beatrix and the orphanage. This face wasn’t as unfamiliar a sight around the Row to draw suspicion. Damira’s glamour was a simple one. The longer hair that she wore when she was working at the House of Snow, though she’d forgone the flashy jewelry she usually wore there, and a simple black cloak. 

“Desperate times, I suppose,” Rye answered. “You’re sure this is all legitimate?”

Damira laughed. “Legitimate? Not in the slightest,” she answered. “But the magick you can get here is as powerful as the rumors say, if that’s what you mean.” 

She led him down an alley away from the taverns and brothels on the main road. 

“How is it you came to find out about this place anyway?” Rye asked. 

“I work for the Queen of the Row,” Damira said, a slight smirk tilting her lips. “There’s little that goes on here that the House doesn’t learn of. It’s just here,” she stopped him, gesturing towards a darker alleyway to his right.

“Only the darkest, wettest corners will do,” Rye muttered.

“Oh, don’t act all pretentious and noble,” Damira teased. “It’s never really suited you.” Rye could only laugh at her words as he followed her. 

This part she had explained beforehand, and Rye pulled out his dagger, raising his hand before Damira’s hand shot out the snatch his wrist away.

“What the hell are you doing?” She hissed.

“You said it requires a sigil to be written in blood, right?” 

“Not your blood,” Damira said. She took his dagger and shook her head. “Damned fool. This gateway is sealed with blood magick. Do you truly believe they wouldn’t know there was an Aven here if you used your own blood?”

“I’m not an Aven,” Rye snapped at her.

“Not in name, but your blood will tell any mage worth their magick otherwise,” Damira said. “It’s not worth the risk of anyone finding out you were here. Or worse, going to the King to ask him who of his family has been frequenting the Night Market.” He knew she was right, but he still wanted to protest as she cut a slice about an inch long on her forearm. She barely winced at the cut as she passed his dagger back to him. Rye watched as she swiped the blood onto her fingers and moved closer to the wall to draw the sigil.

Nothing seemed to happen for a long moment, and just as Rye turned to ask Damira if she had drawn the sigil right, he saw over her shoulder, a passageway had appeared. It was shadowed and wet, and if he hadn’t known its secret to open, he would’ve believed it had been there all along. 

“Good luck,” Damira said, then an amused, teasing smirk curled her lips. “Careful what you wish for,” she added in a sing-song voice that made Rye roll his eyes. Her laughter faded into the shadows behind him as he walked through the passageway. 

Ahead of him were lines of tables along either side, and a few tucked into corners and alleyways. Some had scrolls stacked higher than gravity should allow, while others had what looked like parts of various animals preserved in jars or dried out and laid out on tables. 

His eyes were drawn to the signs at each tables. Some boasted power—most, actually—while others boasted oddities and proficiency of skill. None of it was what he sought, though. He walked along between the tables, eyes flicking from one table to another, and quickly away from those that held what looked like the body parts of a fae bud or sapling. Or perhaps human. He wasn’t eager to look closer to see. 

It was then, when he was averting his gaze from one table, which his eyes met that of one of the fae behind a table covered in an odd array of items. 

“All the animals out to play today,” a voice, almost singing, drifted towards him, drawing Rye’s gaze towards a stall mostly in shadows. Bright eyes glinted at him above sharp, glistening teeth, spread wide in an unnerving smile. But still Rye’s couldn’t look away.

“First a little birdie,” the voice said. What magick it was, he couldn’t be certain, that seemed to envelope them. The sounds of the rest of the market faded, and the figure’s voice seemed to echo like they were in a stone chamber. “Now the wolf prince. Lucky me.”

Rye tensed, instinctively reaching towards the glamour magick he’d surrounded himself with. He hadn’t slipped, he was certain of it. Still, this person knew. 

“What did the little birdie say to you?” Rye asked. He could at least play along with an easily denied turn of phrase. 

The smile only only widened. “Ah ah ah, no, what does the wolf prince say to me? That’s the more interesting question.”

“I’ve nothing to say to you,” Rye answered curtly. He wanted to take a step back—he meant to, but his feet wouldn’t move. 

“Oh, so cold, cold as blood, is the wolf prince,” the voice curled back at him. “You come for an end to a war you can’t win by force alone.” Rye didn’t answer, and the smile grew wider. “Knowledge is your answer, wolf prince. It’s the only way to win this war you’ve started.”

“I didn’t come here for some secondhand secret,” Rye said. His fingers clenched around the payment in his pocket. It was worth far more than that. 

“Oh, I don’t deal in secrets,” the figure laughed, and it was an unnerving sound. “I’ll give the means to find your own.” 

Rye had no reason to trust them, but something in their eyes held truth. As unnerving as they were, Rye somehow felt a peace, in knowing what he needed lay here, with this person. Maybe not the answer, the means to get it. 

“What payment do you have for me, wolf prince?” The figure asked without Rye having to verbally accept their offer. 

His fingers tightened, and he closed his eyes for a moment before drawing his hand out of his pocket. Rye kept his fingers clenched tight for a moment longer, a fleeting, Reva, forgive me, a passing thought before he uncurled his fingers. 

Rye tried not to flinch when thin fingers reached out, plucking the ring from his palm. This will be worth it. It has to be worth it.

“Ah, this is the Lalune family crest, isn’t it?” The figure asked. Rye didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. “Lovely family they were. Shame they’re all gone.”

“Not all of them,” Rye said. Somehow he didn’t feel any danger in even the small statement here, with this figure. Who knew so much without the means to. 

Rye felt his blood turn to ice as the figure’s eyes met his again. “Haven’t you heard, wolf prince? All the Lalunes are dead.” 

The world fell out from under his feet.

Shadows spun around him. The words echoed, distant, but never quite making sense.

All the Lalunes are dead.

The air was thinner. His hands felt numb. His legs burned with the desire to run, run, wolf, run. 

“You’re lying,” Rye said, so quiet he wasn’t even sure he said it out loud.

The figure only smiled. “Oh, but I’m not,” they said, practically giddy. “Little birdie isn’t singing to the moon any more.”

Rye was halfway across the table before he made the conscious decision to move, to lunge out at the figure, scrambling for the ring—For Reva’s ring. 

The figure barely touched him, but a second later, Rye was pushed back, standing where he’d been a moment before, breathing short and ragged. 

“Ah ah, a deal’s a deal, wolf prince,” they said. 

“Then give me what you promised,” Rye hissed. He didn’t care anymore what was given to him. If it was even magick or some damned gimmick. He only knew he couldn’t move, couldn’t leave from here until it was done, and he needed to leave. 

He needed to find Robin. To prove to this charlatan that they were wrong. Because Robin was alive, and safe. He had to be. 

“A ring for a ring.”

Rye’s eyes dropped to the table, where a ring sat surrounded by a layer of dust, looking like it had been there all along. 

“Put the ring on,” the figure said, smile wide. “You’ll know I tell only the truth.”

As soon as Rye’s fingers touched the ring, he saw in his mind’s eye what felt like an entire history of the ring, visions of it throughout realms, all foggy and shadowed, but their intentions clear. It was true magick, and he knew how to wield it.

But none of it mattered if anything had happened to Robin.

Rye swiped thee ring off the table , shoving it into his pocket. He didn’t dare put it on, to hear the figure repeat their words. He couldn’t bear to hear them, not knowing the magick the ring held. 

Immediately, the sounds and sights of the Night Market came back into focus around him, and Rye spun away from the table. His glamour was replaced by invisibility, and he didn’t care who saw him just disappear into the air. 

He cared little for anything that didn’t get him to Robin. 

Rye ran, as quickly as he could back the way he’d come, pulse pounding in his ears, his thoughts only a steady stream of, Please Robin, please be safe. Please be alive. 

When he reached the passageway he’d come through, he saw Damira sitting on the other side of it, one side of a long bandage between her teeth as she tightened it around her arm. 

Rye dropped the invisibility glamour when he reached her, and her smile fell immediately.

“What happened?”

“Have you heard from him?” Rye asked.

“Who?” Damira asked, and Rye groaned. “Our bird, our bird. Where is he?”

“Despite what I’ve managed to convince the entire flock of, I don’t actually have eyes everywhere in Midsummer. What happened?” 

“I don’t know, but something’s wrong, and I have to find him,” Rye said quickly, barely breathing as he spoke. “I swear, if Bone did something to him, I’ll—“

“You won’t do anything alone and without a plan, because that’s suicide,” Damira cut him off. “You go find your bird. I don’t think we can wage an all out war on Bone for this, but—“ she added quickly, seeing Rye’s cutting glare at her implication that Robin’s life wasn’t worth an all out war. It absolutely fucking was. “But you’re not the only one who cares for him, and far from the only one who dreams of delivering a deathblow to our beloathed Archmage. I’ll rally those I can find, and come up with a plan. Send me word when you find him. One way or the other.”

“Don’t move on her without my word,” Rye said. He was still shaking, but even in his fury at Bone, and his desperation to find Robin, he knew Damira was right. “If I’m wrong, and he’s safe now, he won’t be for long if we make any move on her.” 

He blinked and Damira was gone. Rye was alone, and racking his brain for where Robin would be. Rye’s rooms at the castle—no, he knew Rye didn’t intend to go back for a few days at least. Rye’s home on the edge of Belladonna and the Wolf Clan—Perhaps, but it was early in the day for him to just be hanging out there without Rye. Black’s Manor—So much as Rye hated it, it was possible. But no, he was certain Robin hadn’t intended to go back to Wisteria just yet. 

Hadasa. Nightshade Row. Of course.

Rye took off at a run, ever unable to outrun the cold smile, the laughter and words of the shopkeep that followed him.

“Haven’t you heard, wolf prince? All the Lalunes are dead.”

[ryes-up]

luna-crow​: 

Neve was openly annoyed at Rye’s correction, scowling as he listed all of those he thought she couldn’t fool. “Says you,” she grumbled. “I’ve done bloody well so far. Maybe you’ve just got nothing better to do than snoop. And it’s not your business who knows anything about me.”

Neve wrinkled her nose, regarding Rye with renewed bemusement at his proposition “You’re being strange again. Perhaps you’re weaselly afterall.” she replied, suspicion returning to her voice. What value did the details of her pitiful little life hold to him? Despite not being able to fathom what it could be, there was little doubt in Neve’s mind that whatever game this was would ultimately be to Rye’s benefit.

“And what if I say no?” Neve countered, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll have me dragged away by castle guards? Hung in the gallows with the rest of your family’s enemies? I’ve been around you people long enough to know what you are,” she spat in disgust. “I’ve seen thieves with better morals than the Sidhe. And nobody in this world is kind just for the sake of being kind,” she said with the certainty of one who had been shown very little kindness in her 396 years of life. “What exactly do you want from me, Rye Hawthorne? Don’t lie. I feel pretty confident in my ability to get at least one good stab in before your man takes me down.” She gestured towards the doors where Rye’s servant stood in waiting. “And, I’ll make it count.”

Rye listened to her, but only held up his hands in silent concession. Her was right, he was certain of it. He had watched the woman carefully avoid being in the same room with Oberon more often than not. It was one of the things that tipped her hand. He’d always thought Luna had a sort of…. Not hero-worship, she wouldn’t believe in such a thing… Jealousy of power and a want to be near it, when it came to Oberon. This woman had nothing of the sort. But she was getting aggravated, and Rye didn’t want to upset her too much. Blind rage did nothing for his intended purpose. 

“I never disagreed with that particular assessment from my cousin,” Rye pointed out. He preferred careful, or tactful. But sure, weaselly was just as accurate, he supposed. It all came to the same end. Rye only smiled a little, listening to her rambling at him about all the heinous things she expected. “As you’ve already pointed out, I’m not a Sidhe. And you should by all the writings of my cousin, that against her better wishes, I’m likely the only one of the Court who wouldn’t have you hanged for denying my request. If you say, no, then you say no. You’re on your own, as you were before. With no one on your side, no one who cares if my brother finds you out and hangs you, and no one with any vested interest in making sure that doesn’t happen. Allies are a rarity here, friends more so. Luna had very few of either, as I’m sure you’ve discovered by now.”

He sighed looking up at her. “Would you believe me if I told you that us noble types get bored so easily, and this is for my own amusement?” He asked, then shook his head in answer to his own question. “You’ve been here too long, fooling too many people, though. You’re smarter than that, so sure, I’ll tell you the truth. I selfishly never want to see any version of my cousin traipse through these halls again. I know better than any you’ll meet in this castle what it’s like to wear a mask for so long that you begin to forget what’s beneath it. I don’t want to see that happen to you. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t particularly care. But you are not Luna Crow, and I will be damned if I watch you become her. So I ask you to tell me any little details of yourself, your real self, so that at least one person here knows, and so maybe you won’t forget.” 

Rye stood up, facing her fully and moving to stand within arm’s reach of her. “Have you listened to a single word I’ve told you?” He asked, not unkindly. His tone was one of genuine curiosity. “I don’t have a guard following me round for my own safety. I can put you on the ground faster than he can, I promise you. But by all means, if you’d like to take a shot.” He spread his arms out, still bent at the elbows, but palms open in silent invitation. The only hint that he was also poised for attack was the slight twitch of his fingers, like a mouse trap set to spring. 

[ryes-up]

Another Promise to Break || Flashback Self-Para

Silence and confusion. No panic or fear. No fighting or cursing out the guards that Robin could’ve put on the ground easily without breaking a sweat. Just hands grabbing at the knight’s arms. Words, claims that he was no longer a knight. Traitor, they said. Lies they spoke. None of this was right. None of it made sense.

Rye’s blood ran cold, and he took a few steps towards Robin, towards the guards that held him, until one of them held up a hand to stop him. “Please step back, Ser Hawthorne. We have orders to take this traitor to the King.”

He stopped. Right where he was. Just as the guard told him to. He was too numb to hate himself for stopping in that moment. Too confused, and unaware of what was going on to feel sick over his instinctive obedience to the words he was told. But it would come later.

Keep reading

[ryes-up]

luna-crow​:

“No stabbing yet. But, the night is still young,” Neve replied with a half smile. Despite this, she still held out the daggers in front of her, keeping a distance between them. 

Her mouth subtly curved in amusement at his questioning. “Who’s going to be the one brave enough tell Luna Crow she’s acting strange? Very few people seem to be want to be the first. It has been months and you are only the second one to find me out. And that other individual and I have a little understanding.” Neve sighed in frustration, eyes rolling. ”I probably would have gotten away with this a lot longer had I not seen you in the stables. See, that’s sort of the weak spot of this whole plan.” Neve leaned in conspiratorially “Luna kept chests of diaries, absolutely filled with everyone’s secrets. But there are very few visual descriptions of the people she talks about aside from their clothes. So, the amount of times she referred to you as weaselly made me think you’d be more…” Neve gestured vaguely at Rye’s face “well…. more weaselly that this. I imagined someone more pathetic and watery eyed. You’re not even half bad looking. She just really hated you.”

Neve allowed herself to talk freely, the words she had kept inside pouring out after months of near solitude. There was a relief in it. She was now of the opinion that there was around a 50/50 chance Rye wasn’t going to march her to the knights the minute he caught hold of her. Either way her existence as Luna she knew it was likely over. 

“I can name a good number actually, who’d have no problem calling out Luna Crow for acting strangely,” Rye said. Admittedly, she was correct in some regard. It was a small number who would do so, but the number certainly wasn’t zero. “Oberon, for one, likely Hyacinth as well, and Archmage Bone,” he was careful to use her title, as he always was with anyone aside from Robin, Maerel and Freya. His loathing of Bone was better kept a secret to the majority of the Court. “That’s not even to take into account Luna’s relationships within the Seelie Court after her marriage. Lord Black will be the first to say something to you, I’d expect.” He expected she already knew this, but hoped the reminder would make her careful. 

“Who is the other that found you out?” Rye asked. He was careful to keep his tone light and curious. His dread was Bone being the one to find out. She would certainly be capable of convincing a stranger to the Court that she had the other’s best intentions at heart, but she could do a lot with this sort of information. 

As Rye listened to Luna’s written description of him, he couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged at his lips. Weaselly was an odd choice of words that he wouldn’t have expected Luna to use regarding him. Perhaps it was accurate, though. She’d always told him he didn’t belong in the Court, and was only there because of Oberon and because he could pretend to be royalty. Wear the right clothes, say the right words, flatter the right people… Perhaps her analysis of him wasn’t all that incorrect, actually. 

“I’ll admit, hearing any sort of complimentary words from my cousin’s mouth, even knowing you’re not her—it’s very disconcerting,” he said, laughing a little. “Luna and I had an understanding of sorts. Mutual hatred and forced pleasantries amongst the Court.” The more she spoke, the more at ease she seemed, or maybe he was projecting. It was always a relief for him to be able to drop thee mask, the Court facade when he was amongst friends, most often with Robin or Freya. “You have to know that diaries, written accounts alone, won’t be enough to get you by. Relationships, politics, memories and stories. It’s impossible to just step into someone’s life, especially someone as public a figure as Luna Crow, and be able to fake all of those things.”

“I can help, if you’d like. I’ll answer any question you have, explain any relationships, or identify anyone in those diaries you ask me to,” he said, then paused before continuing. He knew his request in return would be the thing that caused her to deny his offer if she chose to. “My only request is, for everything I tell you, you tell me something about you. The real you, not Luna Crow. It doesn’t have to be anything important, or anything identifying. It doesn’t even have to match the gravity of the information I give you. You can ask me to explain the entire twisted, convoluted Unseelie Court structure and major players, and in return you can tell me your favorite color, or what types of flowers you hate. I only ask that it is something true, and something about you. Deal?” 

[ryes-up]

alektobone​:

It was amusing to watch Rye lead her through the crowd. He wanted to be seen with her, perhaps out of paranoia that she intended to slit his throat in the shadows or openly discuss his dear Robin. Alekto quite enjoyed the newfound paranoia. And she was willing to indulge, offering brief nods and words of greeting to those she passed by, making sure that Rye would be able to notice. Let him squirm at the sight of her being more than comfortable enough to indulge his plan. 

“I am. It is always nice to have a break from the monotony,” Alekto hummed as she passed through the garden door, content to allow him to play his part. Her amicable disposition remained even when they were far out of sight and away from prying ears. In fact, she only smiled at his sudden change of tone in a way which might have seemed genuinely friendly to most people. 

Alekto took a sip from her glass and leaned back against one of the garden railways. “Is it so hard to believe that I genuinely just wanted to speak with you and enjoy your company?” Not long ago, the sentiment would have made her nauseous. Now, however, Alekto was inclined to look at court platitudes in a new light when it came to Hawthorne. “Must I always be after one thing or another, shifting from task to task without rest?” 

Rye only tilted his head at her, watching her with impatience as she spoke. Of course she would be the type of predator to play with her food. That wasn’t all that shocking to him, but it was boring and a waste of both their time. 

“Playing a fool doesn’t suit you,” he said. He knew he should humor her a bit more, perhaps even be friendly. But they both knew it would be fake, so what was the point? If she wanted to harm him or Robin, his fake smiles and polite mannerisms wouldn’t stop her. He wondered distantly if this was what Luna’s doppelgänger had felt like when he’d cornered her. No where to run, only to be left at the whims of someone with far more leverage. But then, he hadn’t meant Luna’s murderer any harm, even if she hadn’t fully trusted that. And he knew for a fact that Bone had only ever meant him harm. In recent decades, at least. 

“If you’re truly looking for a rest, I’m sure you can find better company,” Rye said, though he wasn’t even convinced of that. Perhaps Oberon could tolerate her with a friendly enough air. Or Gold. They seemed cut from the same cloth. “There’s people inside that I would prefer to spend my time with, so just make your demands so we can get on with it.” 

[ryes-up]

shymelody​:

ryes-up​:

A Stroll for Company || Edmund & Rye

The nudge on his shoulder made a soft laughter leave Edmund’s lips and his attention turned completely to Nissa. He moved one hand on Nissa’s jaw and the other on the bridge of her nose, giving her nice long pets on both spots at the same time. To some people it was probably weird that Edmund loved animals so much and often found them way more interesting and nicer than people. He probably understood animals way better too.

“Were you two on an adventure?” Edmund asked from Nissa as he listened Rye explain where they were coming from, but then he chuckled and looked up to Rye. “I wouldn’t mind company. We haven’t seen each other in a while.” Edmund even gave Rye a tiny smile to let him know he really did think it was nice to see him and not that he was just saying it to be polite.

Edmund lookd confused for a second, glanced over his shoulder towards his lute and a tint of red colored his cheeks. “…sometimes”, he admitted after a short silence. Edmund had a feeling Rye already knew Edmund liked Freya a bit more than just as a friend, so there really was no point on trying to deny it. But he wouldn’t admit that he already had composed one song just for Freya. That was going to stay as a secret between them. Or at least from Edmund’s side.

The redness on his face got deeper, but hearing his nickname made him laugh a bit. “She says ‘Edmund’ sounds so formal. Or well, I don’t think those were her exact words, but something along those lines. No one has ever given me any nickname so it has taken some time to get used to having one.”

Edmund was someone Rye was always glad to see, even if he wasn’t able to make the trip to Wisteria often enough that their paths crossed much. He was glad, at least, that Edmund and Freya seemed to be spending so much time together. Aside from his curiosity over Freya’s words when she spoke of him, it was a relief to know that they each had someone trusted to confide in. It seemed to be a hard thing to find recently.

The light flush of Edmund’s cheeks wasn’t as shocking as the same look had been from Freya, but it made Rye smile all the same. “I know she’ll be glad to see you,” he said. “And if you’re looking for advice not he best places in the Wildlands to find inspiration, no better fae to ask than a Solitary.” In Rye’s experience, few city fae entered the Wildlands with any more intention than just getting through or getting what they need and leaving as quickly as possible. Edmund was one of the few exceptions he’d found. 

Rye’s smile widened, and he joined in with a short laugh at Edmund’s words. Of course Freya would tell him that his full name was too formal. “That sounds like her,” Rye agreed. “If my name wasn’t so short, I’m sure she’d have shortened it decades ago.” His smile softened at Edmund’s words. “Do you prefer Eddie? Or is that more of a nickname reserved for Freya?” He asked, no hint of teasing in his words at all. He’d be happy to call Edmund by whatever name he liked, and didn’t want his teasing to come off in a way that made Edmund believe otherwise. 

As they started walking towards Thornhill, Rye nudged Nissa’s shoulder to encourage her to walk beside them, but didn’t lead her by the reins. She knew well enough to stay beside them without being led. Rye nodded towards Edmund’s lute as they walked. “What piece are you working on lately?”

[ryes-up]

alektobone​:

“Hawthorne? The king must want this prisoner quite badly to send you along.” Alekto smiled. “I thought you’d be older.” The name sent hushed whispers among the gathered Magi before they were silenced by a wave from the Archmage. It explained why Alekto had recognized him. The half-brother of Oberon Aven. Though her pride was still wounded at the implication that she needed assistance, in truth the knowledge intrigued her enough to soothe her irritation. 

Besides, it was better than having to endure a noble with delusions of military grandeur.

And it helped that Hawthorne recognized her authority. It meant that her smile was genuine, and her movement more at ease as she stood. “There is a Seelie war camp not far from here. It’s not terribly large, but it is a supplier for the rest of Mab’s forces in this area. His Majesty wants it gone and its commander captured. Problem is, we don’t know what the fucker looks like, or where he is.”

Alekto gestured at one of the mages standing nearby. He stepped forward and stretched his hand out to the space between her and Rye, utilizing glamour to create the image of the camp along the ground. Small as it was, it bustled with life, simulating the patrols and movements within the camp. “Aemond Farley, sir,” the young mage introduced himself with a nod towards Rye before gesturing to the illusion. “I was one of the mages sent to scout the location. It’s small, but it’s tightly guarded. Soldiers keep an eye on its perimeter constantly, and we noticed Seelie Magi within the ranks. They’ve grown more cautious ever since we started attacking them from within.”

“The plan, Ser Hawthorne,” Alekto purred, walking around the glamour to stand next to Rye, “is to remind them that we don’t play fair. We can’t risk an outright battle, and we can’t just rain hellfire from a distance without killing our target. So we have to make their paranoia work to our advantage.”

Rye’s lips quirked up a little in amusement at the comment about his age. “And here I thought I was being polite by not saying the same to you,” he commented in a light, teasing tone. The Archmage he’d heard stories of was powerful and commanding. She was also younger than Rye was, by at least half a century, if he were to guess. Though war aged them all to varying degrees, so he didn’t put much stock in his guess. 

He kept his eyes on Alekto, ignoring the whispers of her Magi around them. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the whispers, but since the war started, the context of them was less predictable. There were still the old whispers of bastard and mutt, but mixed in since the war started were comments about his family, and assumptions that he only had his status because of his brother. It was the unfortunate truth anytime he was fighting alongside a new team, or under a new general. 

Rye was grateful when Alekto silenced the Magi quickly, but his expression remained neutral as he listened to her starting to talk about the mission. He looked around to the mage that walked over to join them, nodding politely at him. His gaze dropped to the map on the ground between them, eyes wide and not trying to hide his initial impression. The glamour used to create the map alone was astounding. Rye was no stranger to using glamours to recreate some sort of visual after he and Robin went on scouting missions, but a mage’s glamour magic alone made his look like a sapling’s finger painting. 

His eyes narrowed at the map, listening to Alekto as he scanned the out edges of the map. He could pinpoint in how she answered his question one of the differences between working under an Archmage versus a troops’ Commander. A Commander didn’t speak of playing fair, or using paranoia as a battle strategy. They’d have answered his question with pinpointed positions on the map, timing and targets. It may have been her age, or it may have been the way of the Magi. Rye couldn’t guess which, but from the options she’d already ruled out, he guessed her team’s strength leaned towards outright offense. 

“You’re right about outright battle and just raining hellfire,” he said. “Any Commander worth his title will join the battle if they have any hope of winning it, and then we risk killing the target.” As with wildfires turning the entire camp into a graveyard. “Are you thinking doing this by a strike team, try to sneak in, grab the Commander and set it all on fire on the way out? How close can you and your Magi get without being detected by the Seelie Magi? Other option I see is causing such chaos, or paranoia, I suppose,” Rye wasn’t entirely clear on how that worked as a battle strategy, but she seemed well practiced in by how she spoke. “Somewhere we don’t risk the Commander being, one of these outer points,” he pointed at a couple places on the edge of the camp. “And force the target to retreat, straight into a trap. If they’ve backed their camp against a natural barrier, then we should be able to choose which direction we want them to try and escape.” 

Rye knew the woods they were settled in well, and knew most Commanders tended to take advantage of the natural barriers afforded to them by the Wildlands. Rivers wide enough that horses couldn’t cross, or areas where the tree roots had grown so heavy and thick that ground travel was impossible. He walked around Aemond’s other side, scanning the map for any odd displacement of guards around the perimeter that would indicate a natural barrier. His eyes flicked back up to Alekto. “So how exactly does paranoia work as a battle strategy? You make them hallucinate and stab each other, or? How does it get us to our target?”

[ryes-up]

luna-crow​:

Neve could not recall a more bizarre conversation in her entire life, nor seen anyone as calm with two daggers pointed at them. She could not help but stare bemusedly at him, trying to understand exactly what was going on. He appeared, in her eyes, to border on breezy indifference at the knowledge of his cousin’s death. Here he was, assuring her of her importance in the world mere seconds after learning he was face to face with Luna’s murderer. 

“So, was this your plan? To become my best friend? That is very strange. You are a very strange man.”  She shook her head, brow still creased as though she was in the midst of solving a puzzle. The words were not necessarily unkind, merely stated as a matter of fact.

The mention of Luna’s brother made her snort, the hint of a quick smile tugging on her lips. “Yeah, Finn’s a bit of a twat, isn’t he? I reckon he’s not totally convinced. I Keep catching him looking at me all shifty eyed. So, I just serve him a lot of wine any time he’s in my company, and hope for the best. It has worked concerningly well so far. The man is an idiot. And in regards to everyone else.” She shrugged. “Luna fell off her horse and has been different ever since. Sometimes the simplest lies work best.”

“I’ve been called worse,” Rye said, lips quirked up in amusement at her words. “My plan was to find out how likely you are to stab me, and as it turns out, not very.” In truth, his plan had been adaptable. He didn’t expect her to trust him immediately, but he figured either she would talk or stab. He had contingencies for either. “You can always count on keeping Finn distracted with alcohol,” he mused. “Or gambling. If you find yourself in the Row, drop him off at the House of Snow, and you won’t have to worry about him for a while,” he said in a light, teasing tone. He was only half joking, though. While it would work, he couldn’t imagine many scenarios in which that particular plan would be useful or convenient. 

Rye couldn’t truly believe everyone else was so easy to lie to with a simple offer of Luna falling off her horse. “Come now, you can’t have fooled anyone with any level of intelligence with that lie,” he commented. Admittedly, the glamour wouldn’t give her away necessarily, unless someone was particularly attuned to picking up exactly how much glamour someone was casting. Luna had always glamoured her hair at least, and likely her skin or eyes. This woman was glamouring far more, but the fact that every fae in the castle used glamour for one reason or another would give her an easy out on that. 

“Fine, fine, if you’re trying to pass off your attempts at coldness and cruelty and missing the mark a few times, perhaps you could get away with it,” Rye conceded. “But knowledge, relationships, memories—Have you just been telling people you lost your memories when you fell off a horse as well?” He thought back to his first meeting with her in the stables. “When you met me in the stables, I didn’t tell you my name. You treated me as a stablehand—which was very in character for my cousin— but then you tried to pass it off as a joke. How did you know who I was? That I’m Luna’s cousin? That Finn is even her brother? Has he not caught you saying something, or misremembering something from the past? You can learn to act like her, but memories are what’s going to get you caught.”

[ryes-up]

Rye could remember a time when he’d been jealous of the saplings he grew up with who had true magick. Even cousins, close family members, his brother. It seemed sometimes like it was only Rye that had been left out. Luna told him it was because he was a mutt, and other saplings around them tended to agree—so long as Oberon was out of earshot. 

He once remembered crying in Oberon’s room some decades before the war started, and his brother had just patted his head until he calmed down. “Rye, you have the swordsmanship of any of the Royal Knights when they were your age, and the marksmanship of a Wolf. Wouldn’t be fair of the Celestials to give you true magick as well,” he had teased. “Leave some fun for the rest of us, hm?” Rye frowned, and said he’d trade both for true magick, but Oberon had called him silly and distracted him with some game or another until he was laughing again. 

Now, in the height of war, Rye wouldn’t trade his skills for true magick. Still though, he had a healthy respect for the Magi under his brother’s command. Seeing the amount of power he’d witnessed by their hands, whether on the battlefield or in medic tents, Rye was both surprised and honored to have been chosen to accompany the Archmage and a select team for a mission. He wasn’t told much about it, only that they needed someone in the Seelie war camp kept alive, and that they needed at least one member on the mission who could move without their magick being detected by the Seelie Magi. That person, apparently, was Rye. 

Given what little he knew of the mission, he knew enough that his weapon of choice would be a bow over a sword, and his armor was chosen accordingly. He looked more Wolf than Knight in the thick leather armor. It was heavy enough to deflect daggers and arrows, but wouldn’t be enough to stop a sword running him through. But then, he wasn’t worried about that as much as magick anyway. And he was fairly certain a heavy breastplate wouldn’t do much against that either, so he erred on the side of agility and dexterity. He felt more comfortable betting his safety on that instead of heavy armor anyway. 

Rye examined the map he was given, and memorized the path to the meeting point where he was told he would find the Archmage before leaving the camp. He didn’t know who he was looking for until he got closer. He knew her more by name and reputation than by sight. He’d only seen her in passing a few times, but stories of ventures out on the battlefield always made their rounds at the camps. 

“It appears so,” Rye said, lips quirking up in a smile as he approached. The closer he got, the more he could feel it—magick in the air. Sure, he’d been around people who had true magick before, but not like this; not poised and ready for battle. The magick felt like a static in the air around him. Like lighting a match would set everything around them ablaze. “Ser Rye Hawthorne, though I believe I’m the one at your service this time, Archmage,” he added with an amused smile. With the air literally buzzing around him, Rye had to tamp down the urge to offer anything up—say something to defend his inclusion on this mission. Celestials, he didn’t even look much like a knight at the moment, but then—what knight would truly go on a mission like this, where stealth was key, in full armor? 

Rye brushed the thought aside and looked around them. “So what’s the plan, then? I wasn’t briefed much on the mission, other than our one nobleman to take as prisoner.” 

Carrion || A Flashback Para || Alekto and Rye

{Set sometime during the Fae War}

The sun was beginning to set behind the forest canopy. Birds had grown quiet in their roosts, insects were humming to life, and Alekto Bone sat at the edge of an Unseelie war encampment, watching the sky. A new moon meant darkness. Darkness and the thick foliage of the forest meant that tonight was ripe for an ambush. 

Her Magi were growing anxious. She could see it in their posture and sense it in their magick. They were ready to hunt. If Alekto was to be perfectly honest, so was she.

But Oberon’s orders were to wait. They needed the Seelie warcamp in flames, yes, and the scouts had reported too many Seelie Magi to not send the Magi to handle the situation, but they needed the nobleman in charge alive. Why, Alekto could not fathom, but Oberon had insisted. Heavily. To a point where he insisted that she not go in alone.

It stung Alekto’s pride, certainly. Even if she knew it was a rare good decision on Oberon’s part. She could hold her own, but her mages were still fresh. They were inexperienced and massively outnumbered by the Seelie forces the scouts had seen milling about the nearby encampment. An outright assault would be a massacre Alekto couldn’t afford.

So, she handpicked a group of sorcerers and instructed them to ready themselves for infiltration. There were twelve of them, not counting the Archmage herself, scattered amongst the trees while they waited. Small, to make the act look convincing and avoid attention, but enough to turn the Seelie camp into a pile of ashes when the time came.  

For a moment, all was still. Alekto enjoyed the silence. Her magick stretched out to the mages around her, dark and heavy, stoking the tension in the air. She wanted them ready. Wanted them alert. As for herself, she merely sat upon the trunk of a fallen tree, sharpening her sword and pretending to ignore the world around her. As if her mind wasn’t running through millions of possibilities for how this night might go over and over again. 

Footsteps that were not accompanied by the magick of one of the Magi brought Alekto back to the present moment. She lifted her head, staring out in the direction from which the sound had come. Electricity hummed over her armor, crackling at her eyes and fingertips.

“I hear you’ve come to join our little nighttime stroll,” Alekto purred to the man up ahead, tilting her head as she examined him. He was familiar enough that Alekto knew she’d seen him before at one camp or another, though she did not recognize him any further than that. “Archmage Alekto Bone, at your service.” There were few by now who did not know who she was in one capacity or another, but the formality did her no harm. Besides, it still felt good to say it. To remind herself that this-her title, her power, her freedom-were real, and not some dream to be snatched away and replaced with Naveen Byrd’s horrors.  

@ryes-up

[ryes-up]

snow-queen-bea​:

Flashback: All for the Children || Beatrix & Rye

Snow White Children’s Home was Beatrix’s own little pet project. She’d designed every aspect of it to suit her own preferences, and to give children everything she hadn’t had when she’d found herself on the streets. Well, everything except loving parents who didn’t gamble away the family fortune and leave you destitute after getting murdered over stupid debts. But she wasn’t a miracle worker.

While House of Snow would be opulent and imply all sorts of sins that wouldn’t even be available but which rumours would paint delightful pictures to her clientele, the orphanage was simply a large house. There was nothing institutional about it, and it even had a garden, despite being in the middle of Nightshade. She’d had two houses knocked down to make room for it. The house’s owners shouldn’t have owed her quite so much if they wanted to keep their homes. The benefit to building in Nightshade was that you knew anyone who owned property was also a criminal and probably a bastard, so it made inconveniencing people a lot less morally awkward. Not that Beatrix worried much about morals anymore. She maintained an ethos because a gang without rules and scruples didn’t last long in a community. But morals … well, they tended to get in the way of commerce.

She was wearing a net veil and a simple dress of dull gold with red ribbons woven into the sleeves so that they held together elegantly but could stretch and move to allow for stabbing or any other kind of violence, should it become necessary. She believed strongly in fashion being both beautiful and practical.

Waving away the groundskeeper that her new guest was speaking to, Bea strolled over, her wooden stilted sandals designed to allow her to walk over the garden soil without disturbing the plants or sink into the mud. “I’m her. This isn’t a place for business, and I must say, I don’t appreciate being bothered while doing charity work. It’s terribly tacky.” She could see a few of her crew, who were decent carpenters when they weren’t breaking kneecaps, give her an eyebrow raise, but she shook her head. She could handle one dandy. “Whatever it is you want, you’ll have to wait. I don’t dance on attendance to every fop who needs a loan.”

`

Rye smiled at the woman who approached, though it faltered a little when she spoke. He hadn’t expected someone building an orphanage to come off so cold, to someone she didn’t even know. But then, she was also opening a casino, and perhaps thought Rye was there regarding that endeavor instead. 

“Is it less tacky if I’m also here for charity work?” Rye asked. He glanced around them, offering polite smiles and nods to the workmen. One lesson he’d picked up from his brother was to memorize the faces of those around him. It was surprising, and enlightening sometimes, to run across familiar faces in unexpected places. He didn’t recognize any of the workers, but Rye had never frequented the Row much. 

What was more interesting about them was the way they looked at Rye, as if assessing a threat. They’re protective of her, Rye thought. Perhaps not mere hired workers to build the orphanage then.

“The Row has been in need of an orphanage for some time,” Rye mused, turning his gaze back towards Beatrix. “I’m glad you’re here to build it. I wanted to learn more about the project, and see if I could offer my services at all. If now isn’t a good time, perhaps we could meet and discuss it over a drink later? I don’t want to take you away from your work.” 

[ryes-up]

Flashback: All for the Children || Beatrix & Rye

@snow-queen-bea​

If Rye’d had to guess how he would learn about an orphanage opening in Nightshade Row, he wouldn’t have picked Finn to be the one to tell him. 

It wasn’t even intentional, Rye was certain. Finn was excited about a casino opening, and offhandedly mentioned that the person opening it was also opening an orphanage. After asking around the Row, and a few servants around the manor who spent time there when they had free days, Rye learned that someone was indeed opening and orphanage, and actively looking for a benefactor to do so. 

“Money talks,” his brother had told him once. “But money of a nobleman’s family speaks a different language. Be certain you know what you want to say when you go throwing our name and money about.” 

Rye didn’t want the money to say anything. Not now. While Rye was certain his brother wouldn’t mind their names attached to such an altruistic endeavor as an orphanage, Seraphina would, and Rye didn’t want to risk the cruel woman coming in and threatening to tear it down, or worse. The glamour Rye chose gave more than that singular benefit, though. He also appeared some hundred years or so older. No matter his name or title, Rye was conscious of too many people treating him as the sapling that he still technically was. He was fully of the belief, and had expressed it to Robin, that once they’d started training as knights, they should be exempt from being treated as children. Unfortunately, few others seemed to agree. 

The directions he was given by a bartender in the Row led Rye to a nondescript looking building. It seemed too small to be the future orphanage or a casino, but then, looks could be deceiving. Every glamoured noble family’s manor that looked far grander than it actually was could attest to that. A fae hanging around outside caught his attention, and Rye nodded towards the building.

“I’m looking for Beatrix Snow. You know if I can find her here?”

[ryes-up]

luna-crow​:

Neve stood frozen for a moment, unsure what to make of Rye’s strange reaction. She glared suspiciously at the outstretched dagger, waiting for whatever trick he was playing. But, when no danger came, her free hand shot forward to take it from him. Even with two daggers in her hands, she still held them so tightly her knuckles had begun to turn white. In truth she had known very little about Rye, save that he was the pooka brother of the King. Hearing his backstory, and the near nonchalance in his voice unnerved her more than if he’d lunged at her.

“It’s easier if you just call me Luna,” she finally replied, equal parts distrust and resignation in her tone. At this point she had little insight about what would happen after this little run-in. Better to feel it out for now. Luck had already gotten her this far.

 “I was nobody. And, now I’m somebody.” Neve shrugged. “I wish I had a more riveting backstory, but I assure you I don’t.”  She hesitated for a moment, and then added “And, I’m not sure if you’re entirely right about Luna. She is..complicated I think. Perhaps a bit stunted, and a bit cruel. But I sort of feel like I get her sometimes. She’s like.. if you just indulged in every impulse you ever had. And she is rather funny - though I suppose it’s also usually that mean sort of funny,” Neve mused with a half smile, unconsciously speaking about Luna like a character from her favorite book. “Though it admittedly helps the guilt a bit that her own cousin despises her with such…fervor,” she added with a snort. “Was she truly that monstrous?”

Rye frowned at her request, but nodded. It wasn’t the time to push. “I hope you’ll trust me with your name at some point, but I’ll respect your wishes,” he said. He turned away from her despite the daggers she held, to find a chair at the edge of the courtyard and pulled it closer. He sat and nodded an invitation to a closer chair near the woman, but didn’t insist. If she felt safer looming over him with blades brandished, he wouldn’t begrudge her that. 

“Being somebody is overrated. Being multiple somebodies is worse, trust me,” Rye said, offering a smile as he spoke. “Everyone thinks their own backstory is boring. You lived it, how interesting could it be to someone else, right? Backstories are always more interesting to other people. My dearly departed cousin, however. She’d proudly tell you her story. Every coldhearted moment of it, and laugh as she did so.” 

Rye’s practiced smile didn’t falter, but he could feel his skin pricking a little at her words. He didn’t want to push the woman away. But then, the way she spoke, as if making excuses for his cousin. If she wasn’t careful, Rye expected she could easily come to idolize Luna and all the power her name carried. “Nothing wrong with indulging impulses,” Rye agreed. “Luna only had a habit of indulging without care of the casualties. You don’t seem so heartless to me.”

He laughed a little and gestured vaguely towards the castle, to where they’d left the party-goers to their dancing and drinking. “You tell me,” he answered. “I’m rather the outcast of the family, so perhaps I’m biased. I would expect you’d only be met with fear from the servants, annoyance from most of the Court, and loathing from most other. But tell me, have you found anyone friendly towards you since you started wearing my cousin’s face? Aside from Finn, of course. He’s always had a blind spot where it comes to his sister. In fact, how is it you’ve managed to fool him? Fool anyone, actually. I found you out, and I’ve made it a habit for the better part of four centuries of spending as little time with Luna as possible.”

[ryes-up]

alektobone​:

“We’re Unseelie, love. What’s the point of such festivities if not for a little spectacle and the ability to unnerve Mab’s ilk?” And the ability to bother Rye, it seemed. Not that his disgust did anything other than elicit a cold smile from the sorceress. Alekto cared little for his opinions. In the past, she’d be at most irritated at having to play the courtier with Hawthorne. Now, however, watching his attempts at barbed words was amusing. “As for court fashion, I tend to only pay superficial attention. If you wish to emulate my attire I won’t stop you. Occasional change is a good thing.” Truly, Alekto heeded the whims of court fashion only insofar as it gave options and was a tool for social currency. Towing the line, using magick to her advantage and paying her tailors handsomely to keep her apart from the nobility was far more rewarding than following the pattern set by whatever sidhe had an appetite for at a given time.

Her smile widened at his request. “The gardens it is. Private conversations are always preferable, and fresh air will do me good.” There was a glint of curiosity in her eyes all the same. She knew well enough by now that the thought of being alone together was as revolting to Rye as it was to her. Well, as it had been, before she found a way to toy with him. “Please, lead the way.” Alekto gestured out towards the garden exit, her tone practically saccharine. She could afford such gestures of trust and courtesy. Rye wouldn’t touch her, not with the talisman and his lifeline hanging to her will. “I will follow.”

The way Bone smile and agreed so readily to Rye’s suggestion of going to the gardens made him question his own words, but he didn’t let his hesitation show on his face. His practiced smile was perfectly in place as he nodded. “Wonderful, the gardens offer a nice atmosphere this time of the evening.” 

Rye laughed in a way select few would be able to tell was forced, and he shook his head, gesturing her forward to walk beside him as he turned towards the gardens. “Come now, you’ve never been one to follow, Archmage,” he said, his tone almost teasing. He didn’t bother keeping his tone quiet, or to take a route through the room by way of the shadows. He led them through the center of the room, nodding politely to any that caught his eye. For the same reasons he knew Bone had sent her servant to fetch him the middle of a gathering where the King was present; it was insurance. At the moment, without the insurance of publicity and openly conferring together, she was the only one that held any assurances of her own safety. Rye morbidly thought that his own insurance at the moment was only wrapped up in his usefulness to her.

“I do hope you’ve been enjoying the festivities,” Rye continued as they walked. He pushed the door to the gardens open, holding it for her before walking through. “So little we get to celebrate these days.” The jovial tone started to fade the further they walked into the gardens, until they were alone and out of earshot of those few fae milling about elsewhere outside. “What is it you want, Bone?” 

[ryes-up]

luna-crow​:

Neve glowered at Rye.  In two quick motions she hitched her skirt, and pulled a battered dagger from her boot. “Better?” she questioned sarcastically. But the voice was not the nasally, clipped sound of Luna’s voice. This voice was far more mellow and level, with a gentle lilt that hinted at a Hearthling accent. Neve jabbed the dagger forward menacingly, a warning to Rye to stay back. 

“I’ve stuck someone with this blade plenty of times. Not too worried about some royal cunt,” she added in a low growl. Neve was always good at this part. She had never been particularly big or scary. But, in those moments where she had to, she could act far braver than she felt. One had to learn these things when fending for themselves. The fae of Belladonna could sniff out weakness. 

Her gaze flickered to the exit as she accessed her situation. Maerel still stood just beyond the door, a significant hindrance to her plan to gut Rye and disappear into the night. Panic rose in her, but she tried her best to swallow it back.

“You could have just minded your own, and left this be,” she accused, waving her dagger in the air as she spoke. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Well, yer cousin with all her fancy magic was no match for me! What makes you think you’ll fare better?”

Rye saw the moment he’d broken through. When danger flashed in familiar eyes. He couldn’t help the small smile that quirked up one side of his mouth, even as he watched the woman hitch her skirt to retrieve a dagger. Not one in good condition either. Not one of Luna’s, though to be fair, he’d always thought the flashy, bejeweled daggers were impractical. The one this stranger pulled was battered and well-worn. 

“Much better,” Rye answered. He slipped his own dagger from the sheath at the back of his waist in a fluid motion, but flipped it around, holding the dagger by the blade between thumb and forefinger with the hilt towards the woman. 

“You can take mine as well if it makes you feel better.” Given the woman’s stance and hold on her own dagger, he expected her fighting style to be close to that of the hobs he’d trained in the Shambles. Also given the metal bracers that lined both his forearms under his jacket, Rye was fairly confident in his ability to deflect an attack and disarm her if needed. “I don’t need magic or weapons to harm you if I meant to.”

He’d admit, he was surprised the woman admitted she’d fought Luna. She could be lying, but there was little chance a hob fae would know Luna had true magick if she hadn’t fought her. Unless she’d worked in the castle at some point, but if that were the case, she’d play a much more convincing Luna. No, she was a stranger to the castle, that was certain. How then she got her knowledge of Luna’s life, he wasn’t sure.

“However you learned what little you know of my cousin, whether she told you, or you found some of her writings, I expect she never had a single complimentary thing to say of me, so let me fill in the blanks,” Rye said, his tone easy and casual, as though he were talking about the weather. “I’m a Royal Knight of the Unseelie, and not just any. I’m one of the best. I’m confident enough to say I’ve killed at least a hundred fold how many you’ve stabbed with your little knife, and those I killed were well-trained and war-hardened knights. As I’m sure you do know from Luna, I’m the resident mutt of the royal family. Which means I was also trained by the best warriors of the Wolf Clan. Trust me, if I meant you harm, I’d have shot you down weeks ago without you ever having seen my face.” 

His face softened a little and he tilted his head to the side. “You’ve noticed by now there was no love lost between Luna and I, so your secret is safe with me. So I’ll ask again: Who are you?”